CHAPTER XI HOCKEY AT BROADWOOD

Kilts must have forgot. For although Dan waited, the summons from the Office didn’t come; and what might have resulted in a very serious piece of business for both Dan and Gerald brought no disagreeable consequences. More than that, the episode actually benefited Gerald, and in more ways than one. It brought him and Dan closer together, increasing their companionship; it cleared the air, Gerald wisely deciding to wipe out old scores and start again with a clean slate; it worked an immediate change in the boy’s attitude toward Mr. McIntyre in particular and school authority in general; and it brought about a more sympathetic relationship between Gerald and mathematics.

I don’t mean to imply that Gerald at once became the star student in his algebra class. He never reached any such pinnacle of success. He never succeeded in viewing algebra with Mr. McIntyre’s enthusiastic eyes. But he put his mind on it with good results and soon found that it[121] was not the dreadful bogy he had fancied. Perhaps the fact that he had discovered his instructor to be human and likable and sympathetic had a good deal to do with his success, and lots of times when he would have gladly thrown aside his algebra in despair he pegged away at it from the mere desire to please Kilts and show him that he was not ungrateful. And the instructor showed that he understood and was pleased. If the truth were known, Kilts gave more credit to the boy who worked hard for his D than to the boy who, with a natural aptitude for mathematics, secured his B with scant labor. But Kilts showed Gerald no favors when it came to marks. No one who knew Kilts would have expected it. Nor did Gerald. Gerald knew that his D’s—and very occasional C’s—were his deserts, neither more nor less. But with algebra no longer haunting him like a nightmare, his other studies came easier, and Gerald began to think that perhaps, after all, there was a place for him in the school life.

Dan had, you may be certain, given an account of Gerald’s attempted escape from his troubles to Alf and Tom. The comment of each was typical. Alf, with his impatience for all things weak and futile, immediately dubbed Gerald “a silly ass.” Tom, big-hearted and sympathetic, declared[122] that he had showed grit if not judgment.

“Of course it was a foolish thing to do,” he said, “but lots of chaps wouldn’t have had the courage to do it. They’d have just sat around and been miserable and unhappy.”

“That’s all right,” said Alf, “but if Faculty had caught him it would have been all up. It was the craziest thing I ever heard of. Somebody’s got to pump some sense into that kid, Dan.”

“Oh, he won’t cut up that way again,” Dan replied. “I think it’s done him good. And old Kilts acting the way he did helped a lot. Gerald had got it into his head that Kilts and Collins and the whole Faculty were sitting up nights trying to devise ways to make trouble for him. Now he thinks that Kilts is just about right, and that has given him hope for the rest of them. I’m not sure, but I think Gerald’s going to settle down now and take things easier.”

“Sure to,” said Tom. “It’s like C?sar Augustus.”

“Who’s he?” asked Dan and Alf in a breath.

“He was a dog. Now he’s a dog-angel. I had him when I was just a youngster.”

“Listen to the doddering, decrepit old idiot,” observed Alf in an aside.

“He was just a puppy when I got him; about three months old. Don’t ask me what sort of a[123] dog he was, for no one ever knew. In fact, it was such a mystery that no one ever dared to guess. Well, C?sar Augustus used to trouble about the cat when he first came. The cat was an old, experienced codger and used to sit on the kitchen windowsill, where the cook kept her geraniums, and blink and purr all day long. C?sar Augustus lived under the stove, except when I dragged him out by the nape of the neck and poured milk down his throat. For we just had to make him eat. He’d sit there with his head sticking out and watch the cat for hours, and tremble and whine and get thin and pine away. You see, that cat worried him silly. He couldn’t understand her; didn’t know what she was made for, what she was good for or anything else. That went on for about a month. Then, driven to desperation one day, C?sar Augustus crawled out from under the stove and went for the cat. Cook and I rescued him after he’d made about six trips around the room with the cat on his back. We washed the blood off, smeared his wounds with mutton tallow and fed him raw steak to heal his sorrow. Sorrow! He didn’t have any! He was happy as a lark, rolled over and played, ate his steak as though he’d been living on it for years, and was a changed dog. Never had an unhappy moment afterwards.”

[124]

“Well,” laughed Alf, “and what’s the moral—the lesson to be derived from your charming tale?”

“The moral,” replied Tom, “is; When anything troubles you take a fall out of it. It may hurt for a while, but you’re a lot better for it afterwards.”

“And you think Gerald’s like C?sar Augustus?” asked Dan.

“Sure. The whole scheme of things here was troubling him. He didn’t understand authority; didn’t know whether it could bite or not. So he had a show-down. Now he knows where he stands. He will come out from under the stove now; you see if he doesn’t.”

“Oh, you’re an idiot,” said Alf. “The trouble is with him, Dan, he thinks he’s a blooming philosopher. But he may be right—for once. I don’t know. Anyhow, you tell Gerald to come over Saturday for his boxing lesson.”

“Well, but there’s no reason why you should be bored with him every week, Alf. If he wants any more lessons I’ll attend to him. I don’t know anything about it, but he will be just as satisfied, I dare say.”

“You think so, do you?” asked Alf indignantly. “Let me tell you that that kid is going to be a boxer. Why, he knows more about using his[125] hands now than half the fellows in school. Don’t you worry about my being bored, old man. In a month or so I’ll have to go my hardest to keep him from knocking my head off!”

“Why doesn’t he get to know more fellows?” puzzled Tom.

“I don’t know, really,” Dan answered. “He’s sort of quiet until you know him real well, but I should think he’d get acquainted better. He meets a good many fellows every day in class and around school. I don’t believe he has more than a nodding acquaintance with any of the fellows at his table. I don’t know what the trouble is.”

“He isn’t a good ‘mixer,’” said Alf. “What we’ll have to do is to take him in hand, fellows. Look here, Dan, bring him up to Cambridge Saturday night for the debate, and we’ll introduce him to a few fellows. And Tom can have him over to Oxford now and then. The rules won’t let us introduce him more than once a month, but if Tom takes him to one meeting and we take him to another that’ll be twice.”

“I’d like to get him into Cambridge,” said Dan, “but the election doesn’t come until May, does it?”

“No,” answered Tom. “But while you’re about it, why don’t you try and get the poor chap[126] into a decent society? If you like, I’ll propose him for Oxford.”

A howl arose from the others, both of whom were members of Cambridge, and in a moment Gerald’s welfare was lost sight of in a good-natured but fierce discussion of the relative merits of the rival debating societies.

Gerald was quite pleased at the idea of accompanying Dan and Alf to one of the Saturday night meetings of the Cambridge Debating Society, and thoroughly enjoyed the proceedings when he went. The two societies had rooms on the top floor of Oxford Hall. Actually, there was not much to choose between them, although the members of each could flaunt all sorts of arguments in favor of their own particular choice. Cambridge had of late years won a majority of the Inter-Society Debates, held in December and June of each year. But Oxford fellows made light of that claim to superiority and pointed out with pride that Oxford was the older society by a dozen years. Also, they were sure to tell you, Oxford had a real combination billiard and pool table! Whereupon, if you owed allegiance to the Light Blue, you scoffed and declared that the table was so old and its legs so weak that fellows had to hold it in their laps while they played on it!

Secret organizations were prohibited at Yardley—although[127] now and then faint whispers of such organizations were wafted about—and so almost every fellow sooner or later accepted an invitation from Oxford or Cambridge. While they were supposed to be debating clubs, and in a measure justified the title, they were in reality far more social in character. The rooms of each society were comfortably furnished and the fellows met there during the day, but especially in the evenings, to chat, read, or play games. The debates took place on Saturday evenings, and it was to one of these that Gerald was taken.

On this occasion the subject in discussion was the elective system in colleges. It seemed something of a shame to Gerald that the presidents of the principal universities were not present, for he was certain some very brilliant things were said on both sides. Personally his sympathies were with the contestants who spoke in favor of the system, but that was because he had been introduced to Oliver Colton, last Fall’s football captain, by Dan before the meeting, and Colton was the most brilliant speaker for the affirmative side.

After the debate was over and the Judge, Doctor Frye, professor of physics, had rendered his decision in favor of the negative side, the chairs were pushed aside and the gathering became[128] purely social and very informal. There was an impromptu concert by several members of the Musical Club, but those who didn’t want to listen didn’t have to, although Gerald thought them very impolite for talking while the music was going on. He was introduced to some of the fellows, not many, for Dan and Alf didn’t want to appear to be forcing the boy on their acquaintances. But Gerald met some four or five chaps who were worth knowing, and they were each quite as polite and interested as the occasion demanded. On the whole, he had a very pleasant evening and began to look forward eagerly to the time when he might join Cambridge.

But a week later he found himself in a quandary. For Tom Dyer took him to a meeting of Oxford, and Gerald had just as good a time—perhaps a little better, since Tom devoted every moment of his time to putting him at his ease and entertaining him; and Tom was so big and jolly and sympathetic that Gerald, who had theretofore been somewhat in awe of him, fell a captive at once. Here, too, he met new fellows. Joe Chambers, to whom he had never been introduced but who always spoke to him, it being part of Joe’s policy to know everyone, was especially kind and invited him around to his room. And lest Joe might forget the invitation, Tom took[129] Gerald around there the next afternoon. There were three other fellows on hand when they arrived and Gerald, partly by keeping still and not appearing “fresh” or assertive, made a good impression on them. But, as I have said, this visit to Oxford left him in a quandary. He told Dan that he didn’t know which society he liked best and was so troubled about it that Dan comforted him by pointing out that he still had three months in which to make up his mind and that it was really idle to bother his head about it now.

Meanwhile February wore away with its rough winds and clouded skies, and Gerald’s period of probation came to an end, not in time, however, to allow him to get back his place on the Clarke Hall hockey team. But if he couldn’t play he could look on and shout, and he did both during the three matches played. Clarke held her own during the first two contests and was picked by the School at large to win the championship. But her pride met a fall when she faced Dudley in the deciding game, for Dudley romped away an easy winner, much to Gerald’s sorrow.

The ’Varsity Hockey Team won and lost about equally. The team got to be something of a joke that year, and it was a common thing to hear a fellow shout to another; “Oh, Jim, come on and let’s go down and see the hockey team lose!”[130] Just what the matter was no one seemed to know, although there were plenty of theories advanced.

The players were quite as good as those of the year before, when Yardley had won seven games out of nine played, and her schedule was no more difficult. The captain was popular and worked hard. But the fellows got injured in the most unlikely ways just before a game, or a strange demoralization would seize upon the team at some critical point in a contest, or one of the stars would lose his temper for no good reason and get sent off by the referee just when his services were most needed.

Dan had had hopes of trying for the team at first and Alf had encouraged him. Alf played point on the team and was one of the steadiest of the seven. But a few days on the river had convinced Dan that he was too poor a performer on runners to make the hockey team, this year at least. He was very uncertain on his skates and was more often losing his balance or denting the ice than really skating. In the end, Alf was forced to admit that it would be as well for him to wait another year before trying for the team.

The final game was with Broadwood Academy and was played on the rival’s rink at Broadwood. Dan and Gerald and Tom were among the sixty-odd boys who accompanied the team. Broadwood[131] has been Yardley’s principal rival for many years. To reach Broadwood from Wissining you cross the carriage bridge beyond the station and, keeping to the right, take the county road which runs inland and westward toward the hills. The academy lies some three miles from the depot at Greenburg and is perched on the slope of a long, wooded hill, with fields and farm below it and acres of forest behind. It is a comparatively new school and its buildings are handsome and up-to-date. Broadwood usually has about two hundred and thirty students, and a large proportion of her graduates enter Princeton.

The Yardley contingent traveled thither in two big “barges,” and had a merry time of it. The team went to the gymnasium to change their clothes, and the rest of the party wandered around the grounds sight-seeing. It is part of the Yardley creed to pretend to find no good in Broadwood, and so even the best of the buildings received disparaging criticisms. Of course, if there happened to be Broadwood fellows within hearing distance the criticisms were subdued; good taste demanded that much. But when their remarks could not be overheard the Yardley visitors indulged in sarcasm and disparagement to their hearts’ content.

“What’s this hovel?” asked Joe Chambers as[132] the party drew up in front of Knowles Hall, the finest building of all. Someone supplied the desired information.

“Knowles Hall?” said Joe. “Well, Knowles ought to try again. Looks like a cross between a circus tent and a Turkish mosque. Get on to the lanterns in front, fellows! Aren’t they the limit?”

“Don’t make light of them,” begged some one.

“What is it, anyhow? A dormitory or a recitation hall?” asked Joe.

“Search me,” answered Paul Rand. “There’s a Broadwood fellow over there. Let’s ask him. He probably Knowles Hall about it.”

While the laughter elicited by this witticism was still convulsing the crowd, four Broadwood fellows came through the doorway and descended the steps, viewing the sightseers with surprise and curiosity.

“Well, it’s certainly a beautiful building,” said Joe loudly and earnestly.

“I never saw a finer one,” agreed Rand. “But then, Broadwood is full of beautiful things.”

“It’s a real privilege to live here,” continued Joe. “No wonder we see so many, many happy faces!”

The Broadwood youths frowned suspiciously as they passed, and one of them let fall a remark[133] about “fresh guys.” But Yardley only chuckled.

“I think it’s a very fine building,” ventured Gerald in a puzzled tone to Tom Dyer. Tom laughed.

“It is,” he whispered, “but you’re not supposed to say so!”

The party passed on to view the gymnasium and one of the fellows expressed a desire to see the trophy room.

“I’ve heard a lot about the Broadwood trophy room,” he explained. “They say there’s a fine collection of croquet balls and checkers in it!”

While this joke was being passed around, the two hockey teams emerged, and the Yardley crowd followed them down to the rink, an expanse of ice secured by flooding the tennis courts. That game was a farce in more ways than one. In the first place the ice was rotten and before the game was five minutes old the surface was badly cut up and covered with loose ice and slush. Broadwood showed herself more accustomed to such conditions than her rival, and wasn’t greatly bothered. On the other hand, Yardley, used to thick, hard ice of the river, floundered about, as Tom said, like hens in a snow bank. Then, to make matters worse, Yardley was outplayed from the first whistle, and it was only the really phenomenal work of her goal-tender that prevented[134] her from being literally swamped in the first half.

The Yardley contingent lined one side of the rink and waved its blue flags and cheered nobly, but the green of Broadwood was in the ascendant to-day. The first half ended with the score three to one for Broadwood, a score that didn’t begin to show the real superiority of the Green. Alf perched himself on the barrier beside Dan and Gerald and Tom, rueful and weary. Dan helped him into his sweater.

“Fine, isn’t it?” asked Alf with a grin.

“What’s the matter?” ventured Gerald anxiously.

“Oh, they’re playing all around us. And look at the ice! Did you ever see such a mess? Why, you can’t slide the puck at all; you’ve got to lift it every time. And your skates just sink into the ice. Still, we couldn’t lick them, anyway, to-day. Those forwards of theirs are dandies, every one of them. Their goal isn’t much, I guess, but the trouble is we can’t break through to try him.”

“You made one goal, though,” said Dan encouragingly. Alf shrugged his shoulders.

“It was just luck,” he said. “I’ll bet we don’t score again!”

If Dan had accepted the wager he would have lost. Yardley became utterly demoralized in the last half; every fellow played for himself and[135] team work was quite forgotten. The result was that Broadwood, amidst the cheers of her adherents, piled up six more goals, and the disastrous contest ended with the score nine to one in favor of the Green. Broadwood cheered Yardley and Yardley cheered Broadwood and the visitors ran for the gymnasium. The crowd of Yardley “rooters” were sad and subdued. Joe Chambers produced the only laugh from the end of the game to the time they were rattling homeward in the barges when he declaimed mournfully:
“Oh, Yardley had a hockey team; Its fleece was white as snow. It went to play with Broadwood; Oh, what an awful blow!”