On the right side of temperance we always do stand;
We don't use tobacco, for this we do think,
That those who do use it most always do drink."
Some of the singers had very musical voices and the simple little ditty sounded very clear and strong as they all joined in it. Will Phelps, however, was thinking of what it was that would be required of him. Then flashed into his mind the last conversation he had had with his mother and in which he had given her a promise not unlike that at which Mott had hinted. And he intended to keep it too, he assured himself. Come what might, he would not break it. He even smiled slightly as he thought of what his mother's feelings would be if she could look into Peter John's room and see what was then going on there.
As the song ceased abruptly Will said, "What is it you want me to do, Mott?"
"Well, now, freshman, that's cool. You can't help being a freshman, but it's not well even for a freshman to be too fresh. Ever hear the like of that, fellows?" he inquired of his classmates.
"Never did. Never did," responded several, shaking their heads soberly.
"Just think of it," began Mott again. "Here's a freshman who is so anxious to get into our good graces that he's not only willing to do what we tell him but he even comes and asks us what it is we want him to do. That beats anything old Winthrop has ever seen yet."
Will's face flushed, but he was silent, though Hawley began to laugh again. "Now, then, freshman," said Mott, pointing his finger at Will, "we want you to get down on the floor and wrestle with temptation."
"There's nothing here that tempts me very much," replied Will coolly, and Hawley promptly laughed aloud.
"You do as I tell you! Get down on the floor and wrestle with temptation," demanded Mott sharply.
"I don't mind doing it if it will please you any," responded Will as he slipped from his seat on the table to the floor."That's the way. Now then, papa's joy and mamma's pet, show us how it is that you do the trick."
Stretched upon the floor, Will Phelps went through his struggle with an imaginary foe. He twisted and writhed and struggled, shrieks of laughter greeting his efforts from the assembled sophomores, and even Hawley joined in, so ridiculous was the appearance which Will presented.
"That's very good, very good indeed!" remarked Mott when several minutes had elapsed. "You'd better get up now and take a seat beside your friend."
Will quickly did as he was bidden, laughing slightly as he glanced at Hawley, whose imperturbable good nature was not in anywise ruffled.
"Hawley, you're a great football player, I understand," said Mott.
"I'm a big player, can't say that I'm great. Some fellows might think so, but it depends on whether they've seen much or know much, I fancy."
"That's right. You're as modest as Mary's little lamb. I hear you're a great sprinter," he added, turning abruptly to Will Phelps.
"Oh, I can run a little. If you'll give me the chance now I'll show you how I can leave the sophs behind," said Will with a laugh, for he was now feeling somewhat the effects of Hawley's manner of meeting his tormentors, and as he glanced down at Peter John it required no deep insight to perceive which was the better way.
The boys in the room laughed good-naturedly and one of them said, "That's enough, Mott. They don't need any more.""Hold on, I'm not done yet," replied Mott. "Tell me what's the name of the little school from which you came," he demanded of Will.
"The Sterling High School."
"And you ran there?"
"A little."
"Get any medals?"
"A few."
"Nice ones! Got any here?"
On his fob Will wore the gold medal he had won the preceding June, but he laughed and made no reply to Mott's question, fearful of incurring further ridicule if he should display the trophy.
"Did you run against the track team of the Meadowbrook Academy?" inquired Mott.
"No. Is that where you fitted?" replied Will simply. Hawley broke into another loud laugh and Mott's face flushed. Will perceived that he had made a mistake and his better plan would be to say as little as possible, whatever the provocation might be or the opening his adversary might give him.
"Did you beat the fast sprinter from the Toad Hollow Institute?" demanded Mott.
"Can't say that I did. I never heard of the school till now."
"Ever run against anybody from the Honeyville Classical Seminary?"
"No."
"Or from the Smartville Four Corners team?"
"We didn't have anything to do with those schools. We weren't in their class."
"Oh, let up, Mott. We've done enough. Let 'em go now," suggested one of the sophomores.
"Not yet," responded Mott. "We must have these freshmen give us an exhibition of what they can do. You fellows take off your collars," he said, turning again to Will and his classmate.
For an instant Will Phelps hesitated and there was a sudden tightening of the muscles in his arms, but Hawley, good-natured and imperturbable as ever, at once removed his collar and Will quietly followed his example.
"That's good," said Mott encouragingly. "Now take out your collar buttons."
Both freshmen obeyed, wondering what was to be required of them. Their curiosity was speedily relieved when Mott said, "We'll have a collar-button race. You two athletes put these buttons on the floor and push them across to the other side of the room with your noses. The one that wins will make the track team here I haven't a doubt."
Hawley again laughed loudly as he and Will took the places assigned them. For a moment their faces were near together and Hawley whispered a few words in Will's ear. His companion's eyes flashed in response, but he did not reply, and in a moment, at Mott's word, the race was begun.
CHAPTER VI
A RACE IN THE DARKNESS
Slowly and steadily the two freshmen began to push the collar buttons across the floor. The floor itself was uncarpeted and not particularly clean, and the position and actions of the two boys certainly did not add to their dignity; but there was not a trace of a smile to be seen on the face of either as they complied with the demands which had been made. The sophomores in the room were also serious, that is, all were save one, and, as he laughed aloud at the ridiculous aspect of their victims, Mott said savagely, "Put him out! He's no business here? Get out of this room!"
The offending sophomore, despite his protests and his promise to "be good," was thrust out from the room, and the race was then resumed. Whenever either of the contestants lagged or one seemed to be gaining slightly upon the other he was sharply bidden to make good his loss, and when the two freshmen had come near the side of the room which they were seeking to gain the collar buttons were close together and each freshman could see the expression on his companion's face. Perhaps it was well for them both that the members of the rival class could not see the quiet glance which Hawley gave Will nor its equally keen response, but the look was understood by both freshmen and they were aware that the critical time in the contest was approaching.
They were by this time within two feet of the door which opened into the hall. The sophomores who had been standing in front of it now moved back to give the contestants room, and as Hawley perceived that the way was clear, after looking up for a moment and glancing keenly at his classmate, he suddenly leaped to his feet and Will instantly followed his example. Before the astonished sophomores were fully aware of what was occurring both had darted through the doorway after Hawley had with almost incredible quickness flung open the door. Instantly it was closed, and Hawley, seizing the iron handle of the catch and putting forth all his strength, braced his feet against the wall and prepared to hold the inmates prisoners in the room.
"Get Andrews and Briggs!" whispered Hawley, and Will quickly darted across the hallway to the room of his two classmates. A word was sufficient to inform them of what was occurring, and in an incredibly brief time all three were standing beside Hawley.
The giant freshman was holding the door, which opened inward, easily, though the sophomores in the room were striving desperately on their side. But Hawley had the strong handle and only the tiny latch could be seized from within. Numbers counted for nothing in this struggle, as only one could pull at a time.
The silence in the building was unbroken, though the first thought of the bold freshmen had been that their sophs would throw open the window and summon their classmates to their aid. Whether it was due to their excitement or to the fact that they did not wish to have their predicament known, Will Phelps never learned, but no outcry was made, though the steady pull upon the door continued.
"I've got 'em!" whispered Hawley gleefully. "If the latch doesn't give way they won't see outdoors again till I give 'em leave. Run, Will!" he added hastily. "Get twenty of our fellows here as soon as you can and we'll fix 'em yet. I can hold on here forever!"
Leaving his classmates at the doorway, Will Phelps ran swiftly down the stairs and sped across the campus to his own room. He found his room-mate seated at his desk, evidently hard at work. Foster glanced up reprovingly as Will burst into the room and said, "I thought, Will, you were—"
He stopped abruptly as he perceived how excited his classmate was, but before he could make any inquiries Will broke in: "We've got a lot of sophs shut up in Peter John's room! Get some of the fellows and make for the room! Hawley's holding 'em in! Tell Jones and Camp to come and then tell them to get some more and every one to bring two or three with him. Get some more yourself and I'll do the same."
Before his astonished room-mate could make any further inquiries, Will darted out of the room and ran down the stairway covering three steps at a leap. But Foster understood what it was that was demanded of him, and, without hesitating an instant, seized his cap and swiftly followed.
The scheme worked marvelously well, and within five minutes a band of twenty-five freshmen had assembled in the hall in front of Peter John's and Hawley's room in Leland. Hawley was still holding the door and no outcry from within the room had been heard.
"How many sophs room in this entry?" said Will quickly.
"Four," replied Hawley. "Two in the front corner room on the second floor and two in the back corner."
"Can you hold on till we can fix them?"
"I can hold on forever. But you'd better be quick about it."
At Will's word four of his classmates followed him to the floor below and two were speedily assigned to hold one door while two more held the other. They were to be quiet, and, if no outbreak was made, then they were not to make their presence known, but under no circumstances were the sophomores to be permitted to come out from their rooms.
As soon as this arrangement had been perfected Will ran swiftly back to join Hawley and his classmates on the floor above. Hawley was still standing at his post of duty, but as Will approached he laughed silently and whispered:
"What'll we do now, fellows?"
Several whispered suggestions were made, but at last it was agreed that the assembled freshmen should step back on either side and that Hawley should permit the door to be partly opened. It was confidently believed that the sophomores would rush out, and, if they did, a half-dozen were to be permitted to come forth and these were to be seized as silently as possible and bound by the freshmen as their own unfortunate classmate, Peter John Schenck, had already been treated. When a few had emerged and been seized then Hawley was to strive to close the door again and hold the others within, and, with the force thus divided, no strong resistance could be made and the treatment which they were to receive could be determined upon.
As soon as this decision had been made Hawley withdrew from the door, but there was no pressure upon it from within, and for a moment the assembled freshmen stared blankly at one another as if they feared that their game had escaped them and that they themselves were the ones to appear in the unenviable light. Will Phelps advanced as if he was about to open the door, but a silent gesture from Hawley caused him to abandon the project. As he stepped back the latch clicked and the door was suddenly opened. Evidently the inmates were surprised that the door was free, and three or four cautiously stepped forth to peer into the dimly lighted hall. Before they were fully aware of the true condition of affairs they were seized by the waiting freshmen. There were sounds of a momentary struggle, but when those who were within the room attempted to come forth the door was quickly closed in their faces and they were prisoners again. The four who had been seized were quickly bound, and then the assembly turned once more to the door itself.
"We'll go in," said Hawley, "and you musn't let a soph get past you. We must hold every one in there. Now then!" he added, as he pushed gently against the door.
But the door failed to yield to the pressure. For a moment the astounded freshmen knew not what to make of the unexpected resistance, and then as a slight sound from within the room could be heard, Hawley grimly braced himself against the door and whispering to his classmates began to exert all his strength in his endeavor to open it.
For a brief time it resisted all their efforts, and then with a resounding crash it suddenly yielded. But it seemed to the startled freshmen as if the very walls themselves were giving way. There were the sound of falling pieces of furniture and in the midst of the confusion several of the sophomores suddenly darted from the room, and before their enemies could recover from their surprise had gained the head of the stairway and were fleeing from the building.
"Take after 'em! Don't let 'em get away!" called Hawley. "Hold on, it's all right," he quickly added as he perceived Mott in the room. "We don't care for anybody else for we've got the ringleader right here. Let 'em go! Let 'em all go! We don't want anybody else."
There was a momentary hesitation on the part of the sophomores as if they were minded to stand by their classmate, but as they peered about them it seemed almost as if the entire freshman class were present, and instantly discretion became the better part of valor, and they fled in a body from the room and also from the building.
Several of the freshmen had seized Mott by this time, and his desperate attempts to free himself were unavailing. Peter John had been quickly freed by Will Phelps, and then Will said hastily to Hawley:
"We've stirred up the hornets' nest enough, haven't we? The sophs will be back here with all their class. Shall we let him go?"
"Let him go?" laughed Hawley, whose enjoyment seemed to be increasing with every passing moment. "Well, I rather think not."
"What shall we do? They'll be back here in a minute."
"Send everybody to his room. We'll look after this fellow ourselves."
Will Phelps turned to his classmates and said: "Get away from this fellows. The sophs will be here in a minute and we may all be hauled up before the faculty. We'll look after Mott."
Instantly the freshmen ran from Leland Hall, leaving Will Phelps and Foster Bennett, and Peter John and his room-mate to look after the captive sophomore.
"What'll we do with him?" inquired Will hastily.
"Take him over to your room."
"That'll be the first place they'll come to when they don't find him here. Still, I'm perfectly willing—"
"Take him out in the grove," suggested Foster quickly. "If we can get away from here without being seen we'll be all right there."
"That's the thing," assented Hawley. "Foster, you run ahead and see if the coast is all clear, for we may have to carry this fellow, and we might attract some attention if we should happen to be seen on the street."
"No, you won't. I'll go along all right," spoke up Mott. "It's your turn now, but it'll be mine again, you know, and I'll see that you freshmen pay up all your scores with good interest!""Don't you threaten us!" said Peter John angrily, speaking now for the first time.
"I'm not threatening you, freshman, I'm just telling you what you'll have to go through, that's all. You can do with me what you please, but whatever you do you musn't forget that it'll be paid back five times over."
"Don't stop here any longer. Come ahead, fellows," said Hawley quickly.
The party with Mott in their midst swiftly passed down the stairway and turned into the street that led toward "the grove," a clump of huge pine trees that had stood for many years on the borders of the rear campus of the college. The freshmen glanced anxiously about them, but apparently their presence was not noted by the few who were to be seen on the street, and they quickly increased the pace at which they were moving.
As they turned into the campus, Mott suddenly broke away from his captors who had been somewhat deceived by the apparent willingness with which he had followed them, and began to run swiftly back toward the college buildings. The sophomore was known as one of the fleetest footed men in college, and already Will Phelps had had him pointed out as one of the few who had "made" the track team in his freshman year. He had looked up to him with the respect that only a freshman can know for the prominent men in college life, and now was his opportunity to test his own ability against that of the fleeing member of the sophomore class.Quickly he darted in pursuit, feeling rather than perceiving that his own classmates were speedily left far behind him. He was exerting himself to the utmost and ran as though the prize he was seeking was the greatest of coveted honors. As he sped over the grass his respect for his rival increased greatly, for whatever Mott's defects might be, there certainly was in him no lack of ability to run. The distance between the runners was steadily maintained, and indeed, it seemed to Will as if it was being increased. On and on he ran, and the college buildings were now near-by, and if the fleeing sophomore should once gain an entrance in one of them then Will knew all further pursuit would be useless.
Suddenly the form of Mott disappeared in the dim light and Will Phelps stopped abruptly and peered keenly before him. But when his classmates joined him and all four cautiously advanced, several minutes elapsed before a solution for the mystery was found.
CHAPTER VII
SPLINTER'S QUESTIONS
Directly before them the boys could see a long ditch or trench which had been dug the entire length of the back campus and of whose existence they had not been aware. Doubtless Mott had known of it, however, and in his flight had made for it with all the speed he could command, either hoping to lead his pursuers into difficulty or trusting that it in some way would provide a means of escape for himself.
Whatever his plan may have been it succeeded admirably, for when the four freshmen stood together on the border of the trench not a sign of the presence of Mott could be discovered. In which direction he had fled they were also ignorant. It was evident however that he was gone and after a careful search had confirmed the conviction in their minds that the sophomore had escaped, Will Phelps said:
"We'll have to give it up, fellows. He's gone."
"We can go up to his room and get him," suggested Peter John, who was becoming exceedingly bold under the confidence which the presence of his friends gave him.
"We can, but we won't," said Hawley bluntly.
"Why not?" demanded Schenck.
"It's one thing to defend yourself, but it's another to fly straight into the arms of the sophs. I don't wonder that some of the freshmen get into trouble, they're so fresh. If the sophs didn't take it out of them I think our own class itself would."
"That's so," responded Peter John cordially, "I've thought of it myself lots of times. Now there's Merrivale—he rooms next to me, you know—he ought to be shown that he's too fresh."
"What's he done?" inquired Foster.
"Why he came into my room last week and borrowed fifty cents, and he hasn't paid it back yet, either!"
"Oh, well, just remember what Mott said, Peter John."
"What did he say?"
"He said every freshman would be paid back with interest."
"I don't want any interest," declared Peter John in all seriousness. "I'll be satisfied if I'm paid back without that."
"You'll get it, though," laughed Will; and as his two companions also joined in his laugh Peter John said no more, except that he "couldn't see anything very funny in that."
The boys, however, did not longer delay where they were but quietly returned to their rooms, nor were they again disturbed that night. Indeed, for several days the quiet of the college life was not ruffled and both Will Phelps and his room-mate began to hope that their troubles were at an end. Mott, whom they saw on the following morning when they were departing from chapel, laughed good-naturedly as he greeted them and indeed his friendship for them seemed to be increased by the recent experiences through which he had passed. Several times he came to the room of Will and Foster and remained until his welcome was decidedly that was displeasing to both the boys, though there threadbare. There was something in his bearing was a certain indefinable something about him that was not altogether unpleasant. His language, his bearing, and his general appearance all betokened a certain coarseness of fibre that somehow grated upon the feelings of Will and his room-mate, though they could not have explained even to themselves just what it was. He was such a marked man in college, however, and was looked up to by so many that there was a certain pleasure in his personal attention and both Will and Foster felt in a measure the flattery of his evident favor.
The college work had now begun to settle into its regular grooves and when another week had elapsed, Will and Foster began to feel that the spirit of their surroundings had to an extent been received by them and that they were indeed a part of the life. There were moments now that came to Will, when do what he might he could not banish from his mind the thought of the home in Sterling of which practically he was no longer a part. The vision of his father seated in his easy-chair in the library of an evening, before the fire that glowed upon the hearth, his paper in his hands and the very manner in which he occasionally glanced up and read to his mother something he had noticed seemed to be one that Will could not shake off. The pictures on the walls, the very rugs on the floor, and the chairs in the room could all be distinctly seen, and somehow the sight never failed to bring a certain depression with it. Will Phelps would indignantly have denied that he was homesick, but as the days came and went his manner became somewhat subdued and when he rose from his bed in the early morning and peered forth from his bedroom window at the towering hills that were all aglow with the glory of the rising sun, somehow their very beauty and grandeur seemed to deepen his feeling that he was "a good way off," as he expressed it, though just what it was that was so far away he could only have vaguely expressed or defined. Doubtless his room-mate could have explained to him that it was the little city of Sterling that now seemed to be so remote, for he too was suffering slightly from the same malady that troubled his friend.
Why is it that most boys are so afraid to acknowledge that they are ever homesick? Is it the fear that they may appear too dependent and less manly if they confess their longing for home? Certainly no boy who comes from a good home detracts from his own strength of character by acknowledging that he misses the home from which he has gone. Indeed, is it not a reflection upon the boy and the home alike, if he declares when he goes from his father's house that he misses nothing? To yield to the feeling of homesickness, to permit it to overmaster one and prevent him from performing his tasks in the place wherein he finds himself may be a confession of weakness, but to suffer nothing from it is to declare a weakness or defect greater still. And Will Phelps, though he was silent as to his own feelings, was suffering keenly in the early days of his life in Winthrop.
A week had elapsed since the events recorded in the preceding chapter and Will and Foster were studying busily in their rooms one evening, striving to hold their wearied minds to their work, for there had been an unexpected written test that day in their Greek and both were somewhat anxious as to the results of their efforts.
Suddenly the door opened and in walked Peter John, who had already acquired the collegiate habit of never inquiring if his presence was welcome in the room into which he came. His face was beaming and it was at once evident to both Will and Foster that their classmate had something of importance to declare.
"How'd you get along in the test to-day, fellows?" was Peter John's first question.
"Not very well," replied Will, motioning for his visitor to be seated.
"I just killed it."
Will and Foster laughed as they heard Peter John already indulging in college slang. It seemed so out of keeping with his general bearing and appearance. The gap between his trousers and his shoes had never been so apparent, his splotches so vivid, nor his hair so belligerent as now.
"There's that question, 'Who were the mercenaries of the Greeks, and what was a mercenary?' I got that right, I know I did."
"How did you answer it?" inquired Foster.
"Why, I said 'a mercenary was a man that sold himself to some one,' and I showed what I meant by illustrating it."
"How?"
"I said the professors were the mercenaries of the college."
"You did?" exclaimed Will, sitting instantly erect.
"Yes, sir; I did. What's the matter?" he added, as both boys began to laugh loudly. "Isn't it true?"
"Oh, it's too good to be true. Tell us some more, Peter John."
"I can't see what you fellows are laughing at," said Peter John soberly. "That answered the question all right. I'll get an 'A' on that paper. Then there was that question, 'What was the Greek law and conception of vengeance?' That bothered me a bit at first, but I got it, I'm sure."
"What did you say?" inquired Will.
"Why, that's as plain as the nose on your face," responded Peter John glibly. "I said that vengeance was a low-down, mean, spiteful attempt to pay back. 'Vengeance is mine and I will repay,' saith the Lord."
"Oh, you'll get more than 'A' on that," said Will in the extremity of his delight, as he was compelled to go to the window and gaze out into the night. "You'll get at least A square."
"No, I won't. They don't give that. 'A' is the highest mark they give. But I think I got everything right. How did you answer that question about what Christian tenet the Greeks believed in?" he added, glancing at the copy of the questions which he held in his hands.
"How did you answer it, Peter John?" inquired Foster quickly.
"I answered it that they believed in the immorality of the soul."
"In the what?" demanded Foster soberly.
"In the immorality of the soul."
"You meant immortality of the soul, didn't you?"
"Y-e-s, I suppose I did," assented Peter John somewhat ruefully. "But old Splinter will understand," he added quickly. "Splinter will know I just left out a 't', and he won't count that against me."
"No, a little thing like a 't' doesn't count for much, not any more than a decimal point. It doesn't make any difference whether a decimal point is placed before or after a figure, you know. It's only a little thing anyway."
"Yes," assented Peter John, failing to perceive what Foster was saying. "Then there was one other question that was dead easy," he added.
"Which one was that?"
"The one about the animals."
"Let me see, what was that question?" said Foster thoughtfully.
"Why, don't you remember? It was 'Name six animals that were common among the Greeks'."
"Oh, yes; I recall it now; but I don't think I had it right. I could think of but four."
"Pooh! Easiest question of the whole lot."
"What was the answer?"
"Easy! Dead easy! I just said, 'Six dogs'."
The laughter that rang out in the room might have been heard across the campus; but Peter John was only slightly ruffled, and said:
"Oh, well, you fellows may laugh if you want to, but you'll find out when you see my marks."
"They'll put you in Splinter's place as soon as you graduate," suggested Foster when at last he regained control of himself.
"I wish they would," responded Will heartily.
"Splinter" was the term by which the Winthrop boys were accustomed to speak of Professor Hanson, who was in charge of their Greek work. The title did not appear in the college catalog, it was true; but it was the only one by which he was known among the irreverent students. He was an elderly man, whose sensitive nature had suffered for many years from the inadequate preparation of successive classes, until at last not only were his teeth on edge, but his entire disposition as well. He had become somewhat soured and sarcastic in his dealings with the students, and was more unpopular than any other professor in the college. His scholarship was accurate. His ability to impart his knowledge to such students as were eager to learn was also unquestioned, but for the indifferent and lazy, or for the dull or poorly prepared, his words were like drops of vitriol.
His popular title of Splinter had been bestowed upon him because of certain physical characteristics however. He was a very tall man and exceedingly thin, and the very beard which he wore imparted by its sharp point an additionally suggestive emphasis to his slight and slender frame. No one knew how the title originated or how it came to be bestowed upon the professor; but its appropriateness had at once fastened the term and every entering class received it as a heritage from those which had preceded it.
Will Phelps already had acquired a keen dislike for the man, and he had laughed heartily when Mott one night had declared that the student body had been compelled to give Professor Hanson the new name he had received. "You see," Mott had said, "the faculty and the trustees decide what titles a man can wear after his name; so it's only fair that the students should decide what titles he shall wear before his name. Now this man's name used to be simply John Hanson. Then some college or other said it should be John Hanson, PH.D. Well, the students here have only gone a step further and they've not taken anything away from the old fellow. They've added to him, that's what they have; and now it's Prof. Splinter John Hanson, PH.D. He ought to be grateful, but it's a cold world and I sometimes fear he doesn't appreciate what was done for him. In fact such bestowments are rarely received as they should be."
The suggestion Will's room-mate had made that Peter John soon might take Splinter's place had recalled his own difficulties with the man, but soon even the thoughts of the unpopular professor of Greek were forgotten in the new interest that was aroused by the entrance into the room of three young men who were at once recognized as members of the junior class.
CHAPTER VIII
THE PARADE
"You're just the fellows we're looking for," said Allen, the leading spirit of the three young men who entered the room.
"You haven't very far to look, then," replied Will laughingly, for in his heart he felt honored by the unexpected visit of the upper classmen.
"That's right, freshman. How are you getting on?"
"They've kept us busy, to say the least."
"You mean the sophs?"
"Yes. That's the only class we have to think of, isn't it?"
"No. Your own class is first."
"It's the best class in college," interrupted Peter John quickly, and all who were in the room laughed as the uncouth freshman's face flushed.
"That's the way to talk," responded Allen.
"But it is. I'm not joking," persisted Peter John seriously.
"No doubt. No doubt. But what we've come for is to tell you about the parade."
"Parade? What parade?" inquired Foster.
"Why, every fall there is a parade of the freshmen. They have a band usually, at least most of the classes have had one and as yours is the best class that ever entered college, why you won't want to fall behind the others I know."
"Who pays for the band?" demanded Peter John.
"You do, that is, your class does."
"I won't pay a cent," retorted Peter John.
"You don't have to," laughed Allen. "Some of the others will make it up. I'm just telling you what the custom is and only for your own good."
"Go on with your story," interrupted Will. "Let's hear about the parade."
"It's to come off next Saturday afternoon, and we juniors usually help out in the scheme, you see. We try to arrange a part of it for you and help you out in some of the details. The whole thing is 'horse play,' just a sort of burlesque, and the more ridiculous you can make it, the better."
"I'll not make a fool of myself for anybody," spoke up Peter John sharply.
"You don't have to. It won't be necessary," replied Allen quietly, but in the laugh that followed, Peter John took no part.
"What do you want us to do?" inquired Foster.
"Well, we suggest that this young man—I've forgotten his name," said Allen, turning to Peter John as he spoke.
"Schenck. Peter John Schenck—that's my name, and I'm not ashamed of it either!" said that worthy promptly. "But I don't propose to hire a band and march around the streets making a fool of myself for anybody."
"You don't have to," and again a laugh arose at the junior's words. "I was only suggesting, that's all. But if you want to know what I think, I'm of the opinion that if you'd be one to help haul the committee from the senior class around in their chariot it would be a good thing for you. That's only a suggestion on my part, as I told you, and you can do as you please about it."
"I don't please to do it," replied Peter John sulkily.
"What's the 'chariot' you spoke of, Allen?" inquired Will.
"Oh, it's only an old hay wagon. It's been the custom for some of the freshmen to haul the officers of the senior class around in it. It doesn't amount to much, but honestly I think it will be a good thing for you to do it."
"All right, you can count on me," said Will quickly.
"I don't want to count on that from you. I've something else for you and Bennett to do."
"What's that?"
"I'll explain it to you." And Allen at once went into the details of the scheme he proposed. Both Will and Foster laughed as he laid it before them, and willingly consented to do their part. Peter John, however, said not a word, and when the visitors prepared to depart, Allen said, "You're to assemble at the gym, you know, and the parade will be formed in front of it on the street. It'll march up Main Street, down East End Avenue, around through Walker Street, up West Street, across Drury Lane and then back into Main Street and then on down to the ball ground. There the parade will break up and the freshmen and sophomores will have their annual ball game. It'll be great fun if you take it in the right spirit, and you'll have plenty of spectators too."
"How's that?" said Foster.
"Why, the whole college, faculty and all, will turn out to see it, and of course all the village people will be on hand, and if it's a good day there'll be a crowd here from out of town. The trains will be crowded that day, and there'll be a good many who'll come into Winthrop with their automobiles. You'll never forget the day as long as you live."
"Great!" exclaimed Will. "I wish it was to-morrow. Where shall we get these things we're to wear?"
"You can find them in the stores, or maybe I'll be able to help you out some. Come down to my room to-morrow and I'll see what can be done. Good night," Allen added, as he and his classmates started down the stairway.
"Good night," responded Will and Foster, and then closed the door.
"Of all the foolishness I ever heard that beats all," said Peter John when the freshmen were by themselves once more. "They don't get me into it."
"Oh, yes, Peter John. Don't pull off that way," said Will cordially.
"Not much. I'm not so big a fool as they take me to be."
"You'll be a bigger one if you keep out."
"Maybe I will, but I'm not going to go into any such doings."
"Now look here, Peter John. You're a freshman, but you can't help that and no one blames you for it. I'm—"
"I'm no more a freshman than you are," retorted Peter John warmly.
"Right you are. But you don't want to make a bad matter worse. If you keep out you'll be a marked man and everybody in college will hear about it. It'll be a great deal better for you to go in quietly, and whatever you think about it, just keep your thoughts to yourself, and don't call the attention of the whole college to you by your foolishness. It'll be simply a challenge for the sophs, if you don't do it, and you'll be the one to suffer."
"You think so?"
"I know so."
"I guess the sophs found out what sort of a fellow I was the other night. I'd have brained the first one that laid hands on me."
"You didn't though, and you wouldn't. It's a great deal better to do as Hawley did and just laugh it off."
"Oh, I laughed all right, and I'd have given those fellows something to laugh about too, if they hadn't tied me up."
"Of course, but the trouble is they did tie you up, and the next time it'll be worse than that. It isn't worth while to kick too hard, Peter John. A fellow has just got to take some things in life as he finds them and not as he'd like to have them. It's the only way, and the sooner he learns it the better."
"But my father told me never to let anybody impose on me," said Peter John dubiously.
"Nobody is going to impose on you. You won't be doing anything more than every fellow in the class, and if you don't go in you'll be the one marked exception. The sophs will take it as an invitation."
"You think so, do you?"
"Yes, sir, I do. Come along, Peter John, and don't make any more fuss about it.""Well, I'll think about it," replied the freshman as he departed for his own room in Leland Hall.
Saturday dawned bright and clear and the interest and excitement in the college over the parade rose to its highest point. A band had been secured from a neighboring city, and in the afternoon, when its stirring strains were heard from the steps of the gymnasium, all the freshmen were made aware that the time for their assembly had arrived. There were crowds of strangers to be seen about the streets and the little town was all active with unwonted bustle. Automobiles were arriving, the sophomores were assembling at the various buildings, and their jeers and cries could be heard as they greeted the appearance of the members of the class below them when they started for the gymnasium.
Will Phelps and Foster Bennett felt keenly the prevailing excitement, and when they entered the gymnasium building they found a large number of their own classmates already assembled and keenly alive to the demands that were soon to be made upon them.
Under the experienced guidance of the committee of juniors the freshmen were soon equipped for their various parts and the procession was formed. In advance moved the band and behind it was a huge hay wagon in which in great dignity were seated six of the seniors. The wagon itself was drawn by sixteen freshmen, all of whom had a tight grasp upon the ropes that had been fastened to the wagon tongue. Directly behind the wagon came Will Phelps and Foster Bennett and two of their classmates, all dressed in the garb of firemen, with red jackets and helmet hats of paper. In their hands was a huge rope at least two and a half inches in diameter, which was attached to a tiny tin fire engine not more than a foot in length. Behind the firemen came Hawley, who was dressed as an infant with a lace cap on his head and carefully tied bows under his chin, while in his hands he was carrying a bottle of milk. He was seated in an improvised baby carriage, which was being pushed by one of the smallest members of the freshman class. "Sunny Jim," Charley Chaplin and Ben Turpin were among the characters that could be seen in the long lines of freshmen that, three abreast, were arranged still farther back in the procession, and at last, at the word of Allen, the junior who was acting as the marshal of the day, the march was begun. Frequently Will turned and glanced behind him at the long, tortuous line, and its ridiculous appearance caused him to laugh and say to Foster:
"Did you ever see anything in your life like that?"
"I never did."
"Silence there in the ranks!" called Allen sharply, for he chanced to be marching near the "fire engine." Not a trace of a smile could be seen on his face, and to all appearances he was engaged in what he considered one of the most serious events of his life.
In the streets the people were lined up and their laughter and good-natured applause could be heard on every side. Small boys followed the line of march or walked beside the long column, and their derisive remarks were frequent and loud. The sophomores also added their comments, but there was no open disturbance throughout the march. It was one of the events of freshman year and as such was evidently not to be entered upon lightly or unadvisedly, like certain other important epochs in life.
At last the procession arrived at the athletic field and there broke up for the baseball game with the sophomores. The grand stand was already filled with the people and students that had watched the march, and, as soon as Will and Foster had donned their baseball suits, for both had been selected to play on the freshman nine, they appeared upon the field, where already the other members of the team were awaiting their coming.
"I didn't see Peter John, did you, Foster?" inquired Will.
"No. It'll be all the worse for him, I fancy."
"No doubt about that. What are we going to do with him, Foster?"
"Nothing."
"I don't like to see the chap suffer for his own foolishness."
"Neither do I. But he'll have to learn for himself. You can't tell him anything."
"You can tell him all right enough, but I'm afraid that's all the good it does. You might as well try to polish sponge."
The conversation ceased as the call for the game to be begun was heard and both boys hastened to take the positions in which they were to play. The noise among the spectators increased as the signal was given, but for three innings both nines played earnestly and seriously. At the end of the third inning, with the score standing five to four in favor of the sophomores, a radical change was made. The batter was blindfolded and compelled to stand upon an upturned barrel, which was substituted for the home plate. The pitcher and catcher were each also to stand upon a barrel and the pitcher was ordered to throw the ball with his left hand. Naturally it was impossible for the batter to hit the ball, since he was blindfolded, and when three strikes had been called he tore the bandage from his eyes and upon his hands and knees was compelled to crawl toward first base. The baseman stood with his back to the field and naturally found it difficult to secure the ball which had been thrown by the left hand of the catcher. Shrieks of laughter arose from the spectators, shouts and class cries were heard on every side, tin horns mingled their noise with the blasts of the band, and altogether Will Phelps thought that the scene was unique in the experiences of his young life.
CHAPTER IX
THE WALK WITH MOTT
In the days that immediately followed the freshman parade and the burlesque game of baseball with the rival class, the work before Will Phelps and his room-mate settled more deeply into its regular grooves. The novelty of the new life was now gone and to Will it almost seemed that ages had passed since he had been a member of the household in Sterling. His vision of the hilltops from his bedroom window became longer and he could see in his mind far behind the towering barriers of the hills into the familiar street and well-remembered rooms of his father's house. The foliage on the hillsides now had assumed its gorgeous autumn dress and wherever he looked the forests seemed to be clad as if they were all on dress parade. The sight was beautiful and one which in after years was ever present with him; but in those early days of his freshman year in Winthrop, it seemed somehow to impress him as a great barrier between his home and the place where he then was.
However, he never referred to his feeling to any one, not even to Foster, and strove manfully to bear it all. He was working well, but in his Greek he was finding increasing difficulty. This he acknowledged in part was due to his own neglect in the earlier years of his preparatory course, but boy-like he attributed most of his lack of success in that department to "Splinter," for whom he came to cherish a steadily increasing dislike. The man's personality was exceedingly irritating to the young freshman and his dislike for the professor was becoming intense—a marked contrast to his feeling for his teacher in mathematics for whom he entertained a regard that was but little short of adoration. His knowledge evidently was so great, and his inspiring personality in the classroom was so enjoyable that Will soon found himself working in that department as he never before had worked in his brief life. Already, the boys were referring to him as a "shark," and the praise of his classmates was sweet. But in Greek—that was an altogether different affair, he declared. Splinter was so cold-blooded, so unsympathetic, and sarcastic, he appeared to be so fond of "letting a fellow make a fool of himself in recitation," as Will expressed it, that he found but little pleasure in his work. And Will had already suffered from the keen shafts of the teacher's merciless ridicule. One day, when in fact he had spent an additional hour in the preparation of his lesson in Greek, though the results he had achieved left him still troubled as he thought of the recitation, he had been called upon to translate and make comments upon a portion of the lesson of the day. He could feel as well as see, or at least he fancied that he saw, the drawing down of Splinter's lips that presaged an outburst of sarcasm. Will had been permitted to go through his task without interruption and then the professor had said dryly, "That will do, Mr. Phelps. That is what one might term 'making Greek' of it. It certainly is justice neither to the Greek nor to the English." A partly suppressed titter had run through the class at the biting words, and with face flushed scarlet Will Phelps had resumed his seat, feeling that in all the world there could not be found another man so thoroughly despicable as Splinter. And his feeling of dislike had increased with the passing days. He had come not only to detest the man, but the Greek as well. If he could have followed his own desire he would have abandoned the subject at once and substituted something in its place, but Will understood fully his father's desire for him to become proficient in that department and how useless it would be for him to write home for the desired permission. In sheer desperation he began to devote additional time to his study of Greek, until he felt that he was almost neglecting certain other studies in his course that in themselves were far more enjoyable. But his progress under Splinter seemed to be in no wise advanced, and soon Will was cherishing a feeling that was something between a hopeless rage and an ungovernable detestation.
One break had occurred, however, in that both he and Foster had joined one of the Greek letter fraternities—the Phi Alpha. Both freshmen were now taking their meals at the fraternity house and in the good fellowship and the presence of his fellow-members he found a measure of relief from the homesickness that was troubling him and his difficulties with the detested professor of Greek. It was also a source of some comfort to him to learn that his own feeling for Splinter was one that was commonly held by all the students who had been under him; but though his misery may have loved the company, his problem still remained his own and appeared to be as far from solution as ever.
Not long after Will and Foster had joined the Phi Alpha fraternity, Peter John had dropped into their room one evening and quickly discovered the neat little badge or pin that each boy wore on his vest directly over his heart.
"Hello!" exclaimed Peter John; "you've joined the Phi Alpha, have you?"
"Yes," replied Will quietly, striving then to change the topic of conversation, for the subject was one not to be cheapened by ordinary remarks.
"It's about the best in college, isn't it?" persisted Peter John.
"That's not for us to say," laughed Will.
"I haven't joined any fraternity yet," said Peter John. "My father told me I'd better wait and perhaps he'd come up to Winthrop a little later and then he'd tell me which one to join."
Will and Foster glanced at each other, but neither spoke. In fact there was nothing to say.
"If you feel sure the Phi Alpha's the best, I might write home to my father and perhaps he'd let me join now," suggested Peter John. "He thinks that whatever you two fellows do is about right."
As only about half the students in Winthrop were members of the Greek letter fraternities, and as those who were elected were chosen because of certain elements in their characters or lives that made them specially desirable as companions or comrades, the election was naturally looked upon as an especial honor and many of the entering class had been eagerly awaiting the invitation for which all longed. Peter John Schenck's unique personality and his sublime self-assurance had been qualities, if no other defects had been apparent, that would have debarred him, but he was so sublimely unconscious of all this—"Not even knowing enough to know that he didn't know, the worst form of ignorance in all the world," Foster had half angrily declared—that not for a moment did he dream that his membership was something perhaps undesirable of itself.
"I might write home and ask him," suggested Peter John when neither of his classmates responded. "I think I like the Phi Alpha pretty well myself."
"I wouldn't do it," said Foster. "How are you making out with Splinter?" he added, striving to change the subject.
"Oh, Splinter's all right."
"Glad you think so," said Will bitterly.
"Some of the fellows think he's hard, but he's all right if you know how to handle him," declared Peter John pompously. "I'll put down a good mark for him."
"Good for you, Peter John!" laughed Foster. "Wait till he puts down your mark."
"I'll get an 'A' in Greek."
"I hope you'll give me a part of it then," said Will. "Did you ever see such a fellow?" he said to Foster when their visitor had departed.
"I never did. I don't mind him myself, but for his own sake I wish he could learn something. I don't believe he'll ever do it though."
"I'm afraid he'll be taught some things that are not in the course of study.""Do him good," remarked Foster, as he turned once more to his work.
The following day was Saturday, and in the afternoon there were no recitations. Will had promised Mott that he would go for a long walk with him, and promptly after luncheon the sophomore appeared. For some reason which Will could not explain, Mott appeared to have taken a decided fancy to him, and had paid him many special attentions. There was little about him that was attractive to Will, but somehow he found it difficult to avoid him. He certainly was a well dressed handsome young fellow, and was prominent in college chiefly because of his success in athletics, for already he had the reputation of being one of the swiftest runners in college. But in the college vernacular he was commonly referred to as a "sport," a term for which Will instinctively had little liking, and less for the young man himself. However, he had found it difficult to avoid him, and somewhat reluctantly he had consented to take the long walk to a distant village with him on the day to which reference has been made.
For a time after the two young men had departed from Winthrop, and had made their way up the road that led along the steep hillside, the exhilaration of the bracing air and the superb view had made Will keenly alive to the beauties of the surrounding region. A soft halo covered the summits of the lofty hills, and the quiet of the valley was almost as impressive as the framework of the mountains. Mott too had been exceedingly pleasant in all that he had said, and Will was almost beginning to feel that he had misjudged his companion, and that his reputation was worse than the fellow himself.
They had now left the hillside road and were once more in the valley and not far from the village they were seeking.
"I hear you're quite a fair sprinter," suggested Mott, as they proceeded.
"I do a little," assented Will, laughing lightly as he spoke.
"Where did you run?"
"On the high school team."
"What high school?"
"Sterling."
"Run against the other schools in the league?"
"Yes," replied Will, wondering how it was that Mott happened to know of the existence of the league.
"How did you come out?"
"Oh, I happened to win. There wasn't very much to run against, you see."
"What time did you make?"
"Ten, two."
"Going to run here?"
"Going to try to."
"I find this taking long walks is good for me," said Mott. "It keeps my muscles in trim and gives me wind."
This, then, was the object which Mott had in view in inviting him to take the walk, Will hastily concluded. He wanted to find out all he could learn about his ability as a runner, and in spite of himself Will was flattered by the evident interest and attention. They were now within the confines of the village, and excusing himself for a moment Mott left Will, but when he returned it was evident from the odor about him that the sophomore had been to some speakeasy. Will had known of Mott's habits, and the fact that he had left him and gone alone to secure his drink argued that the fellow was not altogether bad.
There was not a long delay in the village, and the return by a different road from that by which they had come was suggested by Mott, and Will had acquiesced. They had not gone far, however, before Mott discovered a farmer approaching with a team and a heavy but empty farm wagon, and quickly suggested that they should ride, and as Will at once agreed, his companion hailed the passing man.
"Hi, grandpa! Will you give us a ride?" he called.
Without a word the farmer, who was an old man, halted his team and permitted the boys to clamber up into the wagon.
"This is more like it," said Mott, forgetful of the benefits of walking, as the horses started.
"It's not half bad," replied Will, as he glanced at the old man who was driving. A straw hat covered his gray head, and his untrimmed gray beard as well as his somewhat rough clothing could not entirely detract from the keen twinkle in his eyes.
"I fancy," said Mott, addressing the driver, "that the beauties of this country have added much to your longevity?"
"My which?" demanded the farmer sharply.
"Your longevity."
"I never had no such complaint's that. I've had the rheumatiz, but that's all that ever bothered me any."
"You are to be congratulated," murmured Mott.
"Guess that's so. See that buryin' ground over there?" inquired the driver, pointing as he spoke to a quaint little cemetery by the roadside.
"Yes," replied Mott. "Probably most of the people died of longevity."
"It don't tell on th' gravestones. Jest got a new gravedigger."
"How's that?"
"Third we've had inside o' a year. Had one fur nigh onto forty year, but he up an' died."
"Longevity?" gravely inquired Mott.
"Like enough; though some folks thought 'twas softenin' o' th' brain; but my 'pinion is he never had any brains to get soft. Still he were a good digger, but the man we got next was no good."
"What was the trouble with him? More longevity?"
"No; he buried everybody with their feet to the west."
"Isn't that the proper thing?"
"No, 'tisn't!"
"Why?"
"Any fool knows ye ought t' be buried with yer feet t' the east."
"Why's that?"
"So't ye can hear Gabriel's trumpet better when he blows, an' can rise up facin' him an' be all ready t' go when he calls."
"I hadn't thought of that.""Like 's not. Some folks don't. We've got another digger now, an' he knows."
For a time conversation ceased, and the farmer drove briskly along the country road. When an hour had elapsed, Mott said, "I don't see that we're getting anywhere near Winthrop."
"Winthrop? Is that where ye want t' go? Students there, maybe?"
"Yes."
"Well, we've been goin' straight away from Winthrop all the time. Ye didn't say nothin' 'bout it, an' I didn't feel called upon t' explain, for I supposed college students knew everything."
"How far is it to Winthrop?" inquired Will blankly.
"'Beout ten mile," responded the farmer, his eyes twinkling as he reined in his team.
CHAPTER X
A VISITOR
The boys both hastily leaped to the ground and the old farmer quickly spoke to his team and started on, leaving his recent passengers in such a frame of mind that they even forgot to thank him for his courtesy and kindness. As the wagon drove off, Will fancied that he heard a sly chuckle from the driver but he had disappeared around the bend in the road before the young freshman recovered from his astonishment sufficiently to speak of it.
"That old chap wasn't such a fool after all," said Mott glumly.
"That's what he wasn't," responded Will beginning to laugh.
"What are you laughing at?" demanded Mott sharply.
"At ourselves."
"I don't see the joke."
"Might as well laugh as cry."
"You'll sing another song before you're back in Winthrop to-night. Ten miles isn't any laughing matter after we've tramped as far as we have to-day."
"But it'll help us for our track meet," suggested Will, laughing again.
"Bother the track meet!"
"It'll help our longevity then. I've always heard that walking was the best exercise."
"The old fellow was foxy. He never said a word but just let us talk on. I'd give a dollar to hear his account of it when he gets home."
"Cheap enough. But say, Mott, have we got to tramp all the way back to Winthrop?"
"Looks that way."
"Can't we get a car here somewhere?"
"Hardly. We might try it at that farmhouse over yonder," replied Mott pointing toward a low house not far away as he spoke.
"Come ahead! Let's try it anyway," suggested Will eagerly.
The boys at once hastened to the place, and after a brief delay succeeded in summoning the young farmer who lived there. They made their wishes known, but in response the man said, "Can't do it anyhow. My wife's sick and I'm goin' for the doctor now."
"Where is he?" demanded Will eagerly.
"Over at the Junction."
Will knew where the Junction was, a little hamlet about seven miles from Winthrop. How far it was distant from the place where he then was, however, he had no idea. It was easy to ascertain, and in response to his question the farmer explained that it was "about three mile."
"You might take us there, then," said Will quickly. "I don't know just how the trains run for Winthrop, but it'll be three miles nearer anyway."
"Yes, I'll be glad to take you there."
"How much are you going to charge us?" demanded Mott who did not plan to be caught again by the "guilelessness" of any of the people of the region."Oh, I sha'n't charge ye anything. Glad t' do ye the favor," responded the farmer heartily.
In a brief time his car was ready, and, acting upon his suggestion, the boys at once took their places on the seat, and the driver soon was briskly speeding down the roadway.
Conversation lagged, for the boys were somewhat wearied by their long tramp and the young farmer was silent, doubtless anxious over the illness in his home. When a brief time had elapsed he deposited the boys on the platform of the little station at the Junction, and again declining any offer on their part to pay for the service he had rendered them at once departed in his search for the physician.
Approaching the little window in the ticket office Mott inquired, "What's the next train we can get for Winthrop?"
"No more trains to-night," responded the man without looking up from the noisy clicker over which he was bending.
"No more trains?"
"That's what I said. The last one passed here fifteen minutes ago."
"Isn't there any way we can get there?"
"I s'pose there is."
"What is it?" demanded Mott eagerly.
"Walk."
"How far is it?"
"Seven miles."
"And there's no other way?"
"You won't be the first that have counted the ties between Junction and Winthrop.""Isn't there a freight train that comes along pretty soon?" inquired Will.
"There's one that's due in 'bout an hour. But you never can depend on it. It may be here in an hour and it may be three hours. You never can tell."
"What shall we do, Phelps?" inquired Mott, turning sharply to his companion.
"I don't care much, but I believe it would be better for us to start. It isn't so very far and besides it'll be good for our longevity and help us for the meet."
There was an exclamation of anger from Mott who doubtless had become somewhat sensitive to the frequent references to his favorite expression of the day, but he made no protest and the two boys at once started up the track. Both were hungry and weary but the distance must be traversed, and there was no time or breath to waste in complaining. Steadily they trudged onward, the monotony of the walk increased by the deepening darkness. They had been gone from the station only about an hour when the shrill screech of the whistle from a locomotive approaching from behind them was heard, and in a few minutes the long and noisy freight train thundered past them.
Mott was almost beside himself with rage as he watched the passing cars and heaped all manner of maledictions upon the head of the station agent, who, he declared, must have known the train was coming, and with malice aforethought had withheld his knowledge and advised the boys to walk. "Everybody was against the college boys," he declared, "and looked upon it as legitimate to take advantage of them in every possible manner." But Will only laughed in response and made no protests though he was as thoroughly wearied as his companion.
At last the lights of the college could be seen and shortly after ten o'clock they arrived at their dormitory. "We'll remember this walk, I take it," said Mott glumly as he turned toward his room.
"We certainly shall," replied Will. "The 'longevity' of that old farmer was something wonderful."
"Bother his longevity!" exclaimed Mott as he turned quickly away.
Left to himself Will slowly climbed the stairs until he arrived at his own room, but as he was about to enter he suddenly stopped and listened intently to the sound of voices within. Surely he knew that voice, he thought, and in an instant opened the door and burst into the room.
Seated in the easy-chair was his father. Instantly Will's weariness was forgotten and with a shout he rushed upon his visitor throwing his arm about his neck and laughing in a way that may have served to keep down a stronger emotion.
"How long have you been here?" he demanded. "Where's mother? When did you come? How's everybody at home? Anything wrong? My, but I'm glad to see you! How long are you going to stay?"
The questions and exclamations fell from Will's lips in such confusion that it was impossible to reply and even Foster who was in the room joined in the laugh with which his room-mate's excitement was greeted."Not too fast, Will," laughed his father. "I had to come near here on business and I thought it would be a good thing to stop at Winthrop over night and have a little visit with my boy. I didn't know that I should be able to have one," he added smilingly, "for he wasn't anywhere to be found."
"I'm sorry! I wish I'd known it. I've been out for a walk with Mott. And we certainly have had one!" he added as he recounted some of the experiences of the afternoon.
His recital was greeted with laughter and even Will himself could enjoy it now that it was all past and he was once more safe in his room. For an hour Mr. Phelps remained in the room listening to the tales of the boys of their new life in the college, laughing as he heard of their pranks, and deeply interested in all they had to relate. At last when he arose to go to his room in the village hotel, he promised to come and attend church in the morning with the boys and then explained that he would have two hours to spend with Will on the morning following as his train did not leave until half-past ten.
"But I have a recitation the first hour," said Will blankly. "I'll 'cut' it, though, for it isn't every day one has his daddy with him, and I wouldn't lose a minute of your time here, pop, for ten hours with old Splinter. I have Greek, you know, the first hour in the morning. Oh, I've got 'cuts' to burn," he added hastily as an unspoken protest appeared in the expression on his father's face. "You needn't worry about that."