  Produced by Al Haines. Ward Hill BY EVERETT T. TOMLINSON Author of The Made in U.S.A. Copyright 1897 by Published PREFACE A school has been very correctly termed a little world of itself. Within it the temptations and struggles and triumphs are as real as those in the larger world outside. They differ in form, not in character, and become for many a man the foundation upon which later success or failure has been built. It is perhaps wise for me to explain that the boys whose lives in the Weston school have been outlined in this book are "real" boys, and that every fact recorded actually occurred much as it has been described. If the results of the struggles and successes shall prove to be a stimulus to other boys who may be facing similar problems, and if the failures shall serve the purpose of a warning word and teach the younger readers what things are to be avoided and how they are to be overcome, the author will certainly feel well repaid for his labor. Unfolding life is ever a marvelous sight, and the interest with which we follow those who are trending now the paths once familiar to us never fails those still young in heart while old in years. The recently developed interest in the work and lives of the younger people, is one of the marvels of this closing century. Greater than any of the discoveries of science, nobler than any of the great movements of the times is that renewed interest in the possibilities of the young life all about us, undeveloped it is true, but filled with the promise of power. So many times our eyes are opened when it is too late to behold the vision. We may preach, and warn, and urge, and exhort, and scold, but nothing will take the place of actual experience. It is natural for each young heart to wish to learn and test life for itself. However, I am not without hope, that the friendship and sympathy for Ward Hill and his friends may not be entirely without their unspoken lessons, and that before my readers there may arise for each one the vision of the man who is yet to be. When all our platitudes are ignored or forgotten it is still true that youth is the seed-sowing time, and what a man sows, as well as the measure of his sowing, determines the character and the abundance of the harvest he will reap. We do well, then, to strive at least to scatter the seed at the time when the seed can be sown. The soils may vary, the seed is the same. I trust that the interest, the pride, the sorrow, and pleasure which the writer has felt, as he has followed the courses of these boys, may in a degree, at least, be shared by his readers, and also may not be entirely without their effects in inspiring a desire to profit by their examples. Elizabeth, N. J. EVERETT T. TOMLINSON. CONTENTS CHAPTER
WARD HILL THE SENIOR CHAPTER I WAITING The little station at Rockford was the scene of the customary bustle and stir which appear in most country villages just before the arrival of the "afternoon train." The village idlers were assembled for the little break which came in the dull routine of the day. The shrill whistle of the approaching locomotive always brought a slight thrill in the hearts of these stolid watchers, as if something in the stir of the great region beyond their horizon was coming, if but for a moment; and when the train departed, so long as the cloud of smoke and dust remained behind it, it served to quicken the dull minds by the suggestions of the possibilities that lay in that unknown world so far away. Doubtless the village idlers (the busy people of the little town had another term by which they called them) never realized that it was their imaginations to which the arrival of the morning and afternoon trains appealed, and yet it was that very faculty which was daily stirred, and for the arousing of which they waited with all the eagerness with which a toper is said to long for his morning dram. There was the excitement of waiting for the locomotive's shriek and the first puff of smoke that marked the approach of the cars in the distance, and this was followed by the departure, which left them in a state of curiosity and suspense, not entirely unlike that which the old Greek dramas imparted to the breathless audiences that followed them in their vast theatres. Then too there were the few passengers who were soon to leave Rockford, as well as the people who were waiting for the arrival of friends; and as a matter of course the ever-present small boy was very much in evidence, and as he "walked the rails" or leaped across the track, his delight seemed to be increased by the warning word which some one of the assembly occasionally gave him. At frequent intervals some farmer would drive up to the pen which joined the freight house, and with ungentle hands roughly push out the calves he had brought in his great wagon-box, and compel them to join the bleating herd soon to be carried away to the great city. Their piteous cries could be constantly heard by the waiting people, but they attracted little attention, although some occasionally expressed their disgust and anger at the brutal methods, which are all too common, of supplying the toiling people of the great cities with their meat. The thoughts of the coming train however, which now as usual was twenty minutes behind time, did not apparently permit any one long to dwell upon the sufferings, present or prospective, of the brute creation. They were all too eager for the "afternoon train" to come. Among those who were waiting was Ward Hill. Apparently he was taking but little interest in what was going on about him. He nodded or quietly responded to the greetings he received from the waiting people, but that was all. Back and forth along the gravel path which led across the country road to the station, he walked, but he seldom took his eyes from the distant bend in the road where the smoke of the coming locomotive, he was well aware, would first appear. For Ward was expecting a friend to arrive by that same "afternoon train." Early that morning he had received a telegram, a most unusual experience in his life. Even now he could feel the thrill as he tore open the yellow envelope and read the words: Am coming on afternoon train. Meet me at the station. SPECK. Once more he took the message from his pocket and re-read it. He smiled as he placed it again in his coat and a softer expression came over his face. However the other boys in that far-away Weston school might feel toward him, Speck, or John Hobart, as his name had appeared in the catalogue, at least was true to him. "Dear old Speck," thought Ward, as a vision of the school and his experiences there in the preceding year rose before his mind. And yet it was evident that the recollection was not entirely pleasing. To Ward it had largely been a year of failure. He thought of his own high hopes when he had entered, and then the picture of his gradual but sure descent could not be forgotten. How he had neglected his work and been drawn into the company of those who were no credit to the school, to their parents, or to themselves! How he had failed at the very time when he had been most eager to show what he could do! He had won no prize, had failed in the final examinations, and by his one attempt to do right, had incurred the anger of "the fellows," and at last had departed from Weston feeling very like an outcast. The bright spots had been the friendship of Jack Hobart, and the strong confidence which Mr. Crane, the teacher of Latin, had expressed in his ability to recover himself and in a measure make good the time he had lost. All summer long that final interview with Mr. Crane had been his inspiration, and Ward had worked faithfully in his endeavor to make up the work he had lost. There had been times when he had felt that he must give it all up. The days when his friend Henry Boyd and some of his companions had come for him to go with them sailing down the bay and out along the shore of the ocean, which he could see every morning from the window of his room in his father's house, had been the most difficult for him, but somehow he had roused himself and kept steadily at his task. Then too, there had been days when the sun had been almost like a ball of fire, and the very air he breathed had seemed almost like the hot breath of a furnace, and it had required the exertion of all his will power to continue at his studies. And will power had never been Ward Hill's strongest point. His father had not spoken to him all summer long concerning his work, for he had gently informed Ward, at the close of his disastrous year at Weston, that the future lay entirely with him. He was willing to do his utmost for the boy whom he loved, but he never should insist now upon his return. If he made up his work and desired to go on, he would sacrifice and do his utmost for him, but as for sending him when he himself had no desire to go--that was an impossibility. Ward had felt the justice of his father's words, but his heart had been none the less hungry for the words of encouragement which were not spoken. He little realized how difficult it had been for his father to remain silent, and with what tender solicitude he had watched the course of his only boy; but Mr. Hill had been governed largely by the advice of his friend, Dr. Gray, the head of the Weston school, who had keenly realized the crisis which had come in the lad's life. The issues of life have always to be settled by us alone, and all the advice and sympathy of the very best of our friends can never take the place of that decision and exertion which must come, if ever success is to be won, from the individual soul itself. And Ward had done his best. All summer long he had kept steadily at his task. An occasional letter from Mr. Crane had given him some encouragement at the time when he had needed it most; for there was no man whom he respected more and none, with the single exception of his own father--whom Ward, in spite of his failures, dearly loved--for whom he cherished a stronger feeling of affection. After all, perhaps Ward Hill was learning what we all come to know sooner or later, that there is no such thing as a genuine love which does not have a feeling of deep respect as its basis. And yet what a summer it had been! It had brought almost no pleasure to him. The other boys had been free to come and go as they chose, but for Ward there was only the steady grind of work--work which was all unnecessary he knew, for if he had only been reasonably faithful to his duties in the school, he too might have had the summer to spend as every vacation ought to be spent. For him there had been no sailing parties, no fishing trips, nothing but the hard and steady work. Even his friend Henry Boyd had soon let him alone when he saw that Ward was not inclined to join with his companions in the sports of the summer days. Ward had been almost inclined to blame his friend for his neglect, although he well knew he was himself the only one at fault; but then that is a tendency which seems to be in the hearts of us all. It is almost always some one else who is at fault, we fondly believe, for our own shortcomings and failures. Few of us have the moral courage to look squarely at ourselves and to call everything by its proper name. However, Ward had not cherished any ill will, and perhaps smarting under the sense of his failures, had preferred to be let alone. He glanced up at the pastures that stretched away beyond the station at Rockford. How the grass had withered and curled beneath the influence of the hot August sun! A fitting picture, he thought, of his own summer vacation. All his plans had been thwarted and every hope blasted by the failure he had made at Weston. The fields all parched and sere seemed something like his own life. And Ward felt quite like a youthful misanthrope, only it is likely he had never heard that word used, or never had thought of its meaning. But July had gone and the most of August had now passed. The time when he must return to Weston, if he returned at all, would soon be at hand. And Ward Hill had not yet fully decided that question. There were times when he thought he certainly would go back and redeem himself, but when he thought of the unpopularity which had overtaken him near the close of the year, and of what he must face if he should return, his heart almost failed him, and it seemed to the troubled boy as if he never could enter Weston again. The only source of comfort he had was the knowledge that the work at last had been completed and he felt reasonably sure of his ability to pass the examination in which he had failed, and now could go on with his class in case he decided to enter the school again. His thoughts were interrupted by the distant whistle of the engine, and the far-away cloud of smoke and dust proclaimed the approach of the train. In a moment signs of life began to appear about the little station. The man who for years had carried the mails picked up the mail pouch and approached the place where he knew by long experience the mail car would stop. The station-master put on his cap, his sole badge of office, the small boys ceased from their antics, those who were to leave Rockford gathered up their bags and bundles, and all came out from the station and stood waiting for the approaching train. Ward too was thoroughly interested now, and took his stand a little apart from the crowd. On came the rumbling cars, gradually slackening their speed, and at last directly in front of him they came to a rest, the locomotive still puffing as though to add its part to the little station's excitement. And there was Jack, standing upon the platform and gazing eagerly about him for his friend. In a moment he spied him, and flinging his traveling bag before him upon the ground, he leaped lightly from the platform and made a dash for Ward. In a moment he had flung his arm about the neck of his friend and was shaking him eagerly by the hand. Ward, who was a somewhat reserved lad and never very demonstrative in his displays of affection, instead of feeling somewhat abashed by the exuberance of his friend, was greatly touched, and for a moment his eyes were filled with tears. Jack was so different from all the boys he had ever known. No matter what he might say or do, no one could take any exception to him. "I say, Ward," said Jack eagerly, "this is the best sight my poor old eyes have looked upon all summer. You don't know how I have looked forward to this day and how glad I am to see you." "And I am just as glad to see you," said Ward, returning the pressure of his friend's hand. "Glad? Well, I should say! That's a fine word to use in welcoming your long-lost friend and brother after he's taken the dirtiest ride he ever took in his life, and all just to look into your eyes again. Glad? Why don't you say you're teetotally overcome, so to speak. Say you're wild with joy and you 'would that your tongue could utter the thoughts that arise in you.' Isn't that what the doctor used to say was the proper thing in our English class?" "I believe so," replied Ward, laughing more heartily than he had all summer. "Well, say it then! It seems to me you're trying to put it that you would that your tongue could stammer the thoughts that surge up in your massive brain. Why the very calves of Rockford are glad I've come," he added, as there came a louder blast of lamenting from the pen. "I say, Ward, what are they there for? Are they calves which you have specially fattened up for the return of the prodigal?" "They're fatter now than they will ever be again, I'm afraid," said Ward smiling. "It was mighty kind of you to have a whole yard full waiting for me. I didn't expect to have but one. But, then, that's always the way with Ward Hill. He's capable of doing a heap more than he ever lets on. But I say, old fellow, you don't know how glad I am to see you. It's driven every freckle on my face out of sight." And the impulsive Speck again held his friend out at arm's length and gave him a look in which all his boyish love seemed to find expression. Ward picked up his friend's traveling bag and together the boys started up the quaint winding street of the old village, on their way to his home, Jack meanwhile chattering on of all his summer experiences, and of what he had heard from the other boys. "Here we are!" he shouted as they came in sight of Ward's home. "It's just the same, only better than it was. Hold on a minute, Ward," he added as they stopped by the gate. "I've got one thing to say to you, and I want to say it right now. You're going back to Weston, aren't you? Your letters haven't been very satisfactory, and I must know. Tell me. Tell me, quick!" "I don't know," replied Ward evasively. "We'll talk about that later. Here's mother waiting for you." The boys turned quickly and walking rapidly up the flower-bordered path were warmly welcomed by Mrs. Hill, and then at once entered the house. CHAPTER II WARD HILL'S DECISION After dinner that same evening Henry Boyd came over and joined them, and for a long time the three boys sat on the vine-shielded piazza and talked about the experiences of the preceding year at Weston. At times their laughter could have been heard far up the street, for Jack Hobart was not one to permit quiet long to reign where he was. Ward's father and mother, who had not remained with the boys after they saw that the conversation had turned to school topics, were none the less rejoiced at the change which the coming of Jack wrought in their boy. His laugh was the merriest of the three, and for a time it seemed as if the gloom which had rested over Ward all summer long had disappeared. "I've heard from lots of the fellows," Jack was saying, "and I can tell you we're going to have the best year at Weston we have ever seen. Why, even Tim Pickard is coming back." "Tim?" said Henry quickly, "Why, I thought he had been expelled and never could come back again." "Oh, Tim's made it all up with Dr. Gray. He's seen the error of his ways and wants to turn over a new leaf. He's promised all sorts of things and has been studying hard with a tutor. I really think Tim means what he says too. He's not such a bad fellow, you know, after all. He's had too much money and his mother's dead, you know, and so there was no one to look after him besides his father, and he was too much interested in stocks and things to give any attention to his own flesh and blood. I believe he has written some such stuff to the doctor and promises to do his part too in looking after Tim. He's even said he'd see to it that Tim shall have only a dollar a week for spending money. Poor Tim!" added Jack with a laugh. "If he'll only keep it up," said Henry soberly. "Yes, if he'll only keep it up," repeated Jack. "That's the rub, I know. Tim means what he says now; no doubt about that. He's even going to take a room alone down at Ma Perrins', so that he'll be out of the way of temptation and me." And Jack's merry laugh rang out at the words. "Honestly, I don't know about his holding out though. I have my own opinion about that, but I don't mean to prophesy evil of any fellow. And then Tim's going to have some things in his favor you must remember. For example, he'll be out from under the influence of your humble servant, and that's no small thing, I'd have you know." A silence for a brief time followed Jack's words. Ward felt that Jack in his words about Tim Pickard was really taking that means to inform him of some of the problems which would face him upon his return to Weston. That is, if he should return, for Ward was not yet decided as to what he would do. Tim Pickard had been his most bitter enemy. Even now he could see his coarse face and hear his brutal laugh. Could he ever go back and face him? The very peacefulness of Rockford came out just then the stronger by way of contrast with the difficulties he would have to face in the school. The croaking of the distant frogs rose on the air, the fireflies were flitting about in the yard, and the soft mellow light of the moon was beginning to appear. It was the very perfection of quiet and peace. Here there were no "Tangs," no Tim Pickards, no enmities and jealousies; while the presence of his father and mother seemed to him like a shield from everything that was evil. It was so much more easy to keep out of trouble in Rockford than it was in Weston. And yet Ward knew that both his father and mother were intensely eager for him to return to the school and redeem himself. Which was better for him, to go back and face all the possible temptations and difficulties of the school life, or to remain where he was and be free from them all? In his heart Ward knew the answer. To remain in Rockford would be virtually playing the part of a coward. He would not have to meet and struggle with certain forms of evil there, but it would be a confession that he was afraid. He would lose more than he would gain, there could be no doubt as to that, but the struggle to decide was no easy matter. Ward Hill had not yet learned the lesson that whether we do right or wrong depends far more upon ourselves than upon our surroundings. He might remain away from all his troubles, and yet he would also stay away from all that would aid him also. At first Ward had pleaded that he might be permitted to go to some other school, but his father had been firm upon that point. He had told Ward that he would do his utmost and his best for him, but if the lad wished to go on with his studies it must be at Weston and no other place for the coming year. And Ward had realized the justice and truth of his father's demand, and had hot again urged his request. "I say, fellows," said Jack, breaking in upon the silence, "whom do you suppose I saw this summer?" "I can't imagine," said Henry. "Perhaps it was Big Smith." "Good guess, Henry. It was that same and no other. Yes, sir; I was with my family up in the country, and it seems it was right where Big Smith lived, but I'd forgotten all about it, if I ever knew. Well, one day I was walking down the street of the city--it's a place about the size of Rockford, you know--and there I came upon his majesty as big as life, yes, as big as Big Smith. He made a great time over me, beat Ward's reception all to pieces, if he did have all the fatted calves in the country out to greet me upon my arrival." "Was he the same at home that he was in Western?" inquired Ward. "Yes, just the same, only different. He had the same pompous way with him, but I tell you, fellows, Big Smith isn't so bad after all. He's just one of those chaps that's been spoiled by living in a little place, where everybody thought he was a great man because he'd once been away to school. He'd never had a fair chance to size himself up, so to speak, and when he got with a crowd of fellows he didn't know just what to make of it when they didn't all fall down before him." Jack suddenly stopped, realizing then for the first time what he had said. Both of his companions were from a little place too, which he had just declared was not unlike Big Smith's home. Perhaps they too had suffered somewhat from the same cause which had brought about Big Smith's unpopularity. Ward, at least, realized in a measure the truth of Jack's words as applied to himself, and he felt his cheeks burn. But the dusk hid him from the sight of his companions and he said nothing. "You know, of course, you fellows," said Jack, striving to break a part of the force of his own words, as he felt rather than saw that an unfortunate turn in the conversation had arisen, "that I don't mean that Big Smith's ever had any such homes as you have. He's had all the disadvantages without the advantages you have here, and you have all the advantages without his disadvantages. I don't think you fellows half appreciate what you've got here. But Big Smith's a horse of another color. And yet I never saw such a change come over a fellow in my life as there has in him. I couldn't hardly believe my own ears when I heard him talk." "Why, what did he say?" said Ward quietly. "Well, he told me about a talk he had with Mr. Crane before he left Weston, or it may have been a talk Mr. Crane had with him--I'm not sure which it was. It seems that Mr. Crane sent for him and they had a long confab. Mr. Crane got him to talking about himself, and finally led him on until he had expressed his opinion about some of the other fellows too. Finally, after he'd told of some things one of the other boys had done, Mr. Crane turned to him and said in that abrupt way of his, 'Smith, that fellow is making a fool of himself, isn't he?' Big Smith fell into the trap and I can hear his graveyard voice as he said, 'Yes, he is, and a big one too.' Upon that Mr. Crane jumped up out of his chair and looking Big Smith squarely in the face said, 'Well, Smith, that's just what you are doing too!' And then he turned and walked straight out of the room. Big Smith laughed while he was telling me all about it, and said he was never cut up about anything so in all his life, but he'd been thinking of it all summer, and had about made up his mind that Mr. Crane had the right of it. Why, fellows, I almost gasped for breath. Think of Big Smith getting off anything like that. It doesn't seem possible to me even now. Why, if Big Smith can reform there's a chance for Tim Pickard, and there must be for me." "Then he's going back to Weston, is he?" inquired Henry. "Yes, sir, and he says he's going to make Ward and you just bestir yourselves or he will come up to you." "That won't be very much of a task, so far as I'm concerned," said Henry; "but if he overtakes Ward, he'll have to rise somewhat earlier in the morning than he has been accustomed to do." Ward said nothing. He was thinking of that conversation Jack had reported as having taken place between Big Smith and Mr. Crane. Perhaps he himself was the very one of whom Big Smith had made the remark that he had 'been making a fool of himself.' And it was true; that was the worst thing about it. He had played the fool, for a lad of any brains at all would never have done as he had, he thought bitterly. "Did you see Pond? You know he lives in the same place in which Big Smith does," said Henry. "No, I didn't see him," replied Jack; "but I hear he's off working somewhere. At least that's what Big Smith said. I hope he'll come back; he's one of the very best fellows in the Weston school." "That he is," said Ward eagerly; "but he's not coming back before Christmas, if he does then." "Why not? Have you heard from him?" inquired Jack. "Yes, he's written me two or three times. He's the only fellow I've heard from, except Jack here and Mr. Crane, though he isn't exactly a fellow." "Oh, yes he is. Mr. Crane's one of the best fellows I ever met, if he does call me up and set me down hard in the Latin room," said Jack with a laugh. "What did Pond write you?" "He wrote me that he'd have to stay out for the first term and try to earn some money. His younger brother is coming though." "That will be Big Pond and Little Pond then," said Jack. "I wonder whether the fresh Pond is as good a ball player as Big Pond is? We want to fix the Burrs this fall." "I don't believe he's as much good as that," said Ward, "because his brother has written me that he's a slight, delicate little chap, and he wants me to take him under my wing till he himself comes back." "Couldn't be under better, my boy, couldn't be under better," said Jack. "But I don't want his coming to interfere with one of the plans I've made." "What's that?" inquired Ward. "Why, I want you to room with me. You see, I'll be left all alone now that Tim's going down to Ma Perrins. I need your feathers to cover me a good deal more than Little Pond ever could." Jack spoke eagerly and his strong desire was clearly apparent in his words. Ward was deeply touched, but after a brief hesitation, he said slowly: "No, Jack, I can't do it. I hope you don't feel hurt, or think it's because I don't want to. But I've been thinking it all over, as we've been sitting here. At first I didn't see how I could go back to Weston, anyhow. I thought I'd go up just to pass my examinations and clear up last year's work, but since you've been talking here I've decided to go back, and pitch into the work and do my level best." "Good for you, Ward Hill!" said Jack eagerly, springing up from the steps of the piazza upon which he had been seated, and slapping his friend delightedly upon the back. "Good for you! Why, do you know that's just what I came up here for? I was so afraid you weren't going to come that I just couldn't stand it, so I put straight for Rockford. Of course I'm sorry you aren't willing to room with your humble servant, though I don't know as I can find it in my heart to blame you for that. The other thing's so good though, that I'm not going to shed a tear. We'll do up the Burrs in fine style now." "Hear me out," said Ward quietly. "I think I'd better go straight back just as I was, and if Henry here doesn't mind, I'd like to go in with him and take the same old room in West Hall and make a fresh start. If Henry doesn't feel like doing that, that will change matters a bit." "I'm only too glad to do it," said Henry warmly. He said nothing about Ward's declining Jack's offer for he thought he understood exactly how he felt about it. He was so rejoiced over Ward's decision to return that he was eager to do all in his power to aid him now. "That fixes it, then," said Jack enthusiastically. "Come, fellows, let's let off one of the school yells!" The three arose and gave the Weston cheer together. The noise brought Ward's father and mother to the door, and as they appeared Jack shouted: "Ward's going back with us, Mrs. Hill! He's going to room with Henry and we'll whip the Burrs and lead the class and do all sorts of things!" The Hill household was a happy one that night. Ward's decision had wonderfully pleased his father and mother, and he himself was surprised at the relief which had come to him. Better than ever before he realized that it meant a severe struggle for him, but the present weight at least was lifted from his heart, and in the joy which comes from facing and overcoming a difficult problem, Ward Hill was happier than he had been for many weeks past. On the following day the three boys had a sail on the bay, and then the "afternoon train" carried Jack out of Rockford. "Never mind fattening up any more calves for me!" he called from his place on the rear platform of the last car. "It's all right and I'll see you in a few days at Weston!" Two weeks later, just as the sun disappeared behind the western hills, Ward and Henry alighted from the coach in Weston as it stopped before the entrance to West Hall, and running lightly up the stairway, soon entered "seventeen," the same room in which they had begun their experiences of the preceding year. CHAPTER III MR. CRANE'S EXAMINATION Along with all the excitement attending the return of the boys to the school there was a feeling of depression in Ward's heart which he could not entirely shake off. The walls of the room seemed more bare than they did in the preceding year, and the undefined dread of meeting his former companions pressed heavily upon him, now that he found himself once more in the old familiar place and under the necessity of facing not only them but himself as well. The cloud which had rested upon him when he left Weston, while it had never disappeared, had nevertheless been somewhat dim and hazy when he had been away from it all, and had had the presence of his father and mother to strengthen him; but now he was alone, and all his former feelings returned. How long it would be before he would see Rockford again! And what experiences were likely to be his before the fall term was ended. Heavy as his heart was, however, Ward did not refer to his feelings, but busied himself in arranging the few articles of furniture which comprised their possessions, and soon the room took on its old and familiar appearance. Up the stairs and through the halls the other boys were rushing, and the sound of the heavy trunks as they were deposited in the rooms could be continually heard. Their own door was closed and no one entered to disturb them, a fact over which Ward secretly rejoiced, for he was dreading far more than he cared to express, his first meeting with his fellows. "There," said Henry at last, "I don't see that we can do anything more to-night. I think we'd better go over and report to the doctor now, don't you?" "Yes," said Ward gloomily. "It's got to be done, and the sooner it's over the better." Henry glanced keenly at his friend, but made no further response, and in a few moments the boys left West Hall and went over to Dr. Gray's house. The reception room seemed to be almost filled with boys and their parents, and Ward was surprised as he noted that many were evidently new-comers. As he took his seat he busied himself for a time in carefully observing his companions and it was not long before he had satisfied himself that among the new arrivals he would find some who would be congenial to himself. His thoughts and observations were both interrupted by the entrance of the principal, who at once advanced and shook the hands of Ward and Henry, and after they had delivered the letter they had brought, they quickly departed. As they came out again into the broad, shaded street, Ward determined to carry out a plan he had formed, which was nothing less than to seek out Mr. Crane at once, and ascertain when his examination upon the work in which he had failed was to take place. He said nothing concerning it to Henry, however, and merely remarking that he would soon be back in the room, turned and abruptly left his chum. As he walked slowly over toward East Hall, the building over which Mr. Crane had charge and in which he had his room, his feeling of anxiety increased. Perhaps after all he would be unable to pass his examination. He had worked faithfully all summer long and had felt confident when he left home that he could easily make up the lost work, but now that the testing time had come all his fears returned. There was one thing certain any way, he thought, and that was if he should succeed in passing Mr. Crane's tests now, never again would he be found in such a predicament. He thought again of the teacher's words about its being so much more easy to keep up than to catch up. "He's right," said Ward aloud. "He's right. He always is. I almost wish Mr. Crane would let me room with him. I think I could do right there so much more easily." He smiled as he thought of the suggestion and realized how absurd it was. After all, if he could room with the man whom he so highly respected and loved, would he be any better for it? It would be Mr. Crane's "right" and not his. No, he must brace himself to meet his problems himself. Ward Hill's future lay in Ward Hill's hands. Just then he came around the bend in the path and East Hall was right before him. From every window a light was streaming, and it was evident that there was to be no lack of boys at Weston this year. Now and then a burst of laughter could be heard, and occasionally the words of a song rose on the still air. The building seemed to be teeming with life and spirits, and somehow in the presence of it all Ward felt a wave of lonesomeness sweeping over him. The East Hall boys all had good rooms, plenty of money, and no lack of friends. His own room seemed to him bare and chill; money he knew he must use sparingly; and as for friends, he did not know whether any besides Jack and Henry were left for him among the boys of the Weston school. He was now by the stone steps which led up to the first hall, and Mr. Crane's room was the first one on the left. Summoning all his courage, Ward resolutely approached the door and rapped. It was opened by Mr. Crane himself, and as he quickly recognized the lad standing before him, he held forth his hand and said cordially: "Why, Hill, I'm delighted to see you. Come in." Ward entered and seated himself in the chair indicated by his teacher. He was in almost the very same place where he had been ten weeks before, and all the memories of that scene came pressing back upon him. The recollection was not over-pleasing, and the troubled boy was hardly able to speak. He had thought many times of the very words he would use when he first saw Mr. Crane again, but they were gone from him now. Mr. Crane, apparently not noticing Ward's embarrassment, began to speak of the experiences of the summer. "I took a long tramp among the Northern hills," he said. "It was a thoroughly enjoyable experience to me. I was alone the most of the time, and more than once I wished that you were with me. I think you would have enjoyed it, and I knew that I did." Ward listened as Mr. Crane went on with his descriptions, and for a moment almost forgot the purpose of his visit. Soon it all came back, however, and unable to restrain himself longer, he broke out with the words: "I know I should have enjoyed it, Mr. Crane, but I didn't have just that kind of a summer. I spent every forenoon in going over my work. I only had two days off all summer long, and yet I've not felt so bad as I thought I should. At least I don't now, for I think I can pass up on my examinations; that is, if they're no harder than those you gave at the end of the year." "They'll be no harder," replied Mr. Crane, with a smile. "Now tell me about the work you've done." And Ward entered into a detailed account of all the studying he had done during the summer vacation. Mr. Crane listened attentively, occasionally interrupting to ask some question that occurred to him, and at last when the troubled lad had finished his story, he quietly said: "And now you think that you can pass any examination I can give you on the work?" "Hardly that," said Ward quickly; "but I do think, Mr. Crane, that I can pass any examination which isn't any tougher--I mean harder--than the one you gave the class last June." "Very well, Hill, I shall take your word for it. You ought to know as much about it as any one, and if you think you understand the work, I'm satisfied." "I don't understand you," faltered Ward. "What do you mean?" "Just what I said, Hill. All I want of an examination is to satisfy myself that a boy can go on with his class. From what you have told me of your studying, and from what I know of you, I am satisfied you can do that, and that is all I want. Of course I shall expect good work from you, Hill, and you'll not disappoint me." "Why, Mr. Crane," said Ward starting up from his seat. "And I'm not to take an examination? Is that what you mean?" "Yes." "I never expected anything like that," said Ward much moved. "I can't tell you how much I thank you, Mr. Crane. It's not that I'm afraid of the examination," he added hastily, "but I never even dreamed of your doing any such thing." "I trust you are not too much disappointed. If you are, I can very readily arrange to meet your wishes," replied Mr. Crane smilingly. "I've told you, however, just how I feel about it, and if I'm content, why, it seems to me you ought to be." "I am! I am!" said Ward hastily, as he bade Mr. Crane good-night and departed for his room in West Hall. How different everything appeared now! The very stars in the heavens seemed to share in his joy. The songs and laughter that came through the open windows of the great dormitory behind him now seemed to voice his own feelings. In his eagerness he began to run and as he entered West Hall he mounted the steps two at a time and burst into his room. "Oh, Henry----" He suddenly stopped as he saw that there were three boys besides Henry in the room. One was Jack, and in a moment that impulsive lad was welcoming him. "I say, Ward," said Jack, "I'm just in. I didn't stop over in East Hall longer than to leave my grip before I put straight for your room. Behold, I looked for you and you were not. You've been looking me up, I know. That's just what you've been doing. I don't believe I'd have come back to Weston if you hadn't come!" "I've been over to see Mr. Crane and fix up my conditions," said Ward. "Got 'em all fixed?" "Yes, every one." "Good for you, Ward! Good for you! Oh, I say, I haven't introduced the new fellows to, you. This," he added turning to a well-grown lad, evidently of about their own age, "this is Lucius Berry. He's going to enter our class, and from what I hear he's going to make you hustle to get the valedic." Ward greeted the new member of the class cordially, and then Jack said, "This is Pond's baby brother." The lad flushed at Jack's words, and Ward hastened to take him by the hand and assure him of a warm welcome. He was a slight, delicate boy, and while he bore a striking resemblance to his older brother, of whom almost every boy in the Weston school was very fond, it was also evident that he was not nearly so strong and well as he. Ward wondered that he should ever have been permitted to leave home, and as he thought of the experiences through which the sensitive lad was bound to pass if he remained through the year, his own heart went out to him and he resolved that so far as it lay within his power he would do his utmost for him. For a half-hour the boys sat and talked together. The prospects of the nine, the new members of the school, the rooms they were to have, were all gone over, and Ward in the new joy which had come to him at Mr. Crane's words was thoroughly happy. "Little Pond," as Pond's younger brother was at once dubbed, explained that his brother expected to return at the opening of the following term and that meanwhile he was working in the home village store to secure the means. "He's got the best kind of stuff in him!" said Jack enthusiastically. "Talk about money giving a fellow his place in the Weston school! Why, Pond's the most popular boy that's been here in years. I think I'd be glad to change places with him myself, that is, if he'd give me his brains in the bargain. Just imagine me if you can, calling out, 'Yes, this calico is five cents a yard. Those eggs are fresh, for Mrs. Green brought them, and she never has any but the best, you know. Clothespins? Yes, I think we have a few, and I'll measure you off a few yards of this cotton cloth if you say the word.'" The boys all laughed as Jack went through the motions as if he were a clerk in a country store and were measuring off the goods some good woman had decided to purchase. "But I say, fellows, it's hard for the nine, though, with Pond gone. But Berry here is a good player. He was the captain of the nine in the school he came from before he learned of the advantages of the Weston school. There only can you find such fellows as Jack Hobart and Ward Hill, and such teachers as Blake and Big Smith, for I'm of the opinion that Dr. Gray will call Big Smith into the faculty this fall. He'll have to do it, or Big Smith will fire the doctor." Jack thrust his thumbs into his hip pockets and strutted about the room as he talked, and to Ward his manner and bearing seemed irresistibly droll. But then, Ward Hill was in a mood to enjoy almost anything that night. "I say, Berry," said Jack stopping suddenly before the new boy, "your name's Lucius, isn't it?" "Yes," replied Berry. "I've told you so once or twice already." "So you have. So you have," said Jack. "But somehow, I forget so easily. Why, I've actually been known to forget the case and gender of a noun in Mr. Crane's class, haven't I, Ward? Lucius, Lucius," he added as if he were puzzled by the name. "I have it now. You shall be no more Lucius. From this time forth your name shall be Luscious. Luscious Berry! Oh, what a name!" All the boys laughed heartily at Berry's new name, Berry himself joined good-naturedly in the laugh as he said: "I thought I'd shaken that name off when I came to Weston. It's the very same name they gave me in the other school." "Jack," said Ward suddenly, "has Tim Pickard come back?" "Yes," said Jack, sobered in a moment. "Yes, Tim's here. He's going to room alone at Ma Perrins', you know, this year." Ward's face clouded and he knew from the change in Jack's manner that something was wrong, though he could not determine just what it was. The fun, however, was gone, and in a few minutes Jack rose and said: "Come on, Luscious, we'll have to go over to our room. He's to room with me, you know," he added turning to Ward. "He's come all properly recommended and all that sort of thing, so I've agreed to take him in. Good-night, Henry. Good-night, Puddle--a little Pond's a puddle, isn't it? Good-night, Ward. Your vertebrae are in their proper tension I hope, and your upper lip is sufficiently rigid, my dear young friend, I trust." The boys were gone, but Jack's last words were not lost upon Ward. He understood his friend so well that he was satisfied Jack knew of some coming trial for him. And Ward tried to prepare himself for the trouble which he feared was soon coming, although he had slight conception that night of how soon it was to come. |
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