CHAPTER XVIII

A PUZZLING QUESTION

Ward at first was only conscious that there was a scene of great excitement being enacted all over the grounds. He had exerted himself to the utmost and breathless and hardly able to stand he dimly realized that a crowd of boys had surrounded him, and that the game was won. Soon, however, he recovered, and with a beaming face looked out upon the actions of his friends. Hats were thrown into the air, shouts and cheers could be heard on every side.

Silence only was to be found among the supporters of the Burrs, and they were already departing from the field. The treble shouts of the girls had ceased, the banners and streamers which had been flung out were nowhere to be seen now, but the very absence of all the signs of cheer among the friends of the opposing nine only served to make more emphatic the frantic joy of the Weston boys.

It was the first game they had won in more than two years from their sturdy opponents, and naturally the long pent up feelings now broke forth with the reserve of the time past.

For a long time the confusion continued. The cries would die away in a measure, and then some enthusiast would lead in a cheer, and the entire school and all its friends would take up the response, and it would seem that all the previous enthusiasm would be redoubled.

Boys who had not spoken to Ward since his return to Weston now rushed forward, eager to do him honor. He was the center of a constantly increasing group, for those who had been foremost to praise him did not depart when others came with their offering.

"Hill, I wish to congratulate you."

Ward turned as he heard the words, and saw Shackford, the captain of the Burrs, standing before him with outstretched hand.

"I want to congratulate you," said Shackford again cordially. "That was a magnificent hit. I never saw a heavier one. Of course I'm sorry we lost the game, and I know that such a hit as that doesn't reflect very much credit upon the pitcher of the Burrs, but all the same, I don't want to be the last to honor the fellow that did it."

"Thank you," said Ward, highly pleased over the cordial expression. "You needn't say a word about the pitcher of the Burrs. I thought when you caught me napping with that second strike of yours that it was good-bye with me. I wanted to hit you," he added laughingly, "but I was afraid I couldn't, so I feel all the better that it has turned out as it has."

"After your work last year, I was surprised when I heard that you were not to play to-day. At first I felt afraid that if you were off the nine, it must be that the Weston boys had found some still better material, and I knew if that were true we had a great contract on our hands. It wasn't long though before I was chuckling because you were not in the game, and I can tell you I didn't rejoice very much when I saw you throw off your coat and start for left field. Still, I hope I'm not so small as not to be able to appreciate a good play even when it's made by the other side, and I must say, Hill, that hit of yours was great. It just won the game, and the Weston school ought to erect a monument in your honor; they ought to, honestly."

Shackford's words served to increase the eagerness of the boys who had crowded about Ward, and much as he enjoyed the novel experience he soon began to feel somewhat abashed. He caught sight of Little Pond looking at him with longing eyes from the border of the assembly, and pushing his way toward him, Ward was soon grasping his youthful admirer by the hand.

"O Ward, I'm so glad," said Little Pond eagerly. "Everybody's praising you."

"Are they?" replied Ward, laughing as he spoke. "Well, I'm glad we won the game."

He started to depart from the grounds now, but a crowd of boys still followed him, all eager to honor the senior who had won the day and saved the honor of the school.

And Ward Hill was happy. His heart was exulting over his success, and the praise of his fellows was doubly sweet to him after his long period of trouble. He knew he had done well, and the consciousness that Tim Pickard at last had been compelled to come to him for aid, was perhaps not the least of the sources of his enjoyment.

As the boys came up to the campus and turned the corner by the chapel, Tim and Ripley stood there talking with some of the Burr boys. They could not fail to perceive Ward in the midst of the crowd, but neither Tim nor Ripley gave any signs of recognition.

Ward turned to Jack and laughed aloud, so loudly that both Tim and Ripley heard him, and a flush of anger spread over their faces.

"Tim would rather have lost the game than have had it won in the way it was," said Ward, as he started to leave Jack and go to his own room.

"Oh, well," replied Jack gleefully, "you can't blame Tim for making a wry face over swallowing his dose; but it may do him good, after all."

"Perhaps so," said Ward dubiously.

In his heart just at that moment he cared but little about Tim Pickard's feelings toward him. In the flush of success and the apparent return of his popularity he could afford to be magnanimous, and Tim and all his petty torments seemed now to be too slight to be heeded.

For two or three days Ward's long hit was the one theme of the school. Not all of the boys, however, joined in singing his praises, for Tim was not without his followers, and his influence was sufficiently strong to hold them back; but the enthusiasm of the others more than atoned for the failures, and Ward Hill was far happier than he had ever been since he became a student in the Weston school.

The consciousness of having done good work in his classes was the main foundation of it all. The appeals of Little Pond, and the manner in which he himself, with Jack's aid, had met and stopped the stacking of his room, also helped him now, and he rejoiced that he had not stooped to retaliate in Tim's room, as he had been sorely tempted to do.

It may be that his success, and the sudden change which had come in his standing in the school, may have led Ward unknowingly to assume a new air. If he did, it was done wholly unconsciously, but in some way he had come to glance sneeringly at Tim whenever he met him. He felt so strong now that he could afford to condescend even to Tim Pickard himself.

One morning, three days after the game, and when the excitement which had followed it had somewhat abated, as Ward, after passing Tim on their way out from Mr. Crane's room, and returning the glance of hatred which the captain of the nine had given him, was recalled by Mr. Crane, he stopped a moment in front of his desk.

"I haven't seen you to speak to you since the game," said Mr. Crane kindly. "I wanted to tell you that I rejoiced in your success, but perhaps you may have heard all the words of that kind that you care to hear."

"Not from you," replied Ward, his face flushing with pleasure.

"What are you reading in your Greek now?" inquired Mr. Crane.

"Homer," said Ward, wondering what that had to do with the game with the Burrs.

"Do you recall the term which Homer applies to Achilles?"

"Yes, 'swift-footed' is one of them."

"And what is the term which is so frequently given the Greek heroes?"

"Why they're called 'well-greaved,' and 'great-souled,' 'great-hearted,' and, and----"

"That's the word I wanted. The great-hearted, great-souled men. There's a Latin word which is almost the equivalent of the term, and the word was such a good one that it has been retained in many languages, and has come down to us in a form but slightly modified. Do you know what the word is?"

Ward hesitated a moment, and then, as his mind always worked rapidly, his face lightened up as he said, "Why, it's the word 'magnanimous,' isn't it?"

"That's the very word. And what does that word literally mean, then?"

"Large-minded."

"That's right. I mustn't detain you any longer or you'll be late for your Greek. Come and see me some time soon, Hill."

Ward went out of the room, but he was somewhat puzzled over his interview with the teacher. What did Mr. Crane mean by asking him those questions? Was he only trying to test his knowledge? Ward knew better than that. Mr. Crane was not one to put idle questions to him, especially at such a time as he had chosen for the brief interview. But what could he mean?

Ward entered the Greek room, but he only partially heard what Dr. Gray was saying to the class. Boy after boy was called upon to recite, but Ward was giving slight heed to what was occurring about him. His thoughts were upon Mr. Crane's strange questions. What could he mean by them? He never assumed that manner, his eyes slightly twinkling as if there was some concealed joke in his mind and his grave, quiet ways being all the more impressive, without having something more than the mere questions in his mind.

The recitation was about half done, when suddenly Ward started up in his seat. His face flushed as he almost spoke aloud.

Jack looked at him in astonishment, but Ward made no reply as he hastily turned again to his book, and apparently was only following the recitation. And yet in a flash it had come to him what Mr. Crane had meant by his questions. At first he felt somewhat resentful, but as his mind ran rapidly over the events of the past few days, he could not conceal from himself the fact that he had given too much justification for the implied rebuke of his teacher.

All through the day his mind kept going back to that brief interview with Mr. Crane, and the recollection was not always a source of pleasure.

That evening a group of boys was assembled in his room, Little Pond, Jack, and Big Smith all being there, as well as Ward and his room-mate. The conversation had been almost entirely on the game with the Burrs, which to them at least, and most of all to Ward, was still a topic of great interest.

"Well," Jack was saying, "we've got this game, thanks to Ward, and even if we lose the return game in the spring we're not so badly off as we might be. The valedic will help us out then too, won't you, Ward?"

"There's no knowing who the valedic will be, I'm thinking. Your friend Luscious is making a pretty strong bid for it, and Little Pond here says his big brother is coming back next week."

"Is that so?" said Jack eagerly, turning to the lad as he spoke. "Is that so? Why I thought he wasn't coming back till after the Christmas vacation."

"He didn't expect to," replied Little Pond; "but it's turned out so that he can come next week, and I'm expecting him next Wednesday."

"That's fine," said Jack enthusiastically. "I tell you, Pond's got the right stuff in him. Now Luscious has had a good influence on me, and I've braced up wonderfully under his valuable example, and if Pond comes back I think I shall make a try of it myself for the valedic. 'Us four, no more,' will be in it then."

The boys laughed at Jack's declaration that he was about to try for the honors of the class, for they all knew that the impulsive boy was not over fond of study, and that the improvement in his class work had been almost entirely due to the efforts which Berry had made in his behalf.

"I don't see why it is," said Big Smith solemnly, "that I don't receive more recognition in the school. I've tried to do my best, and yet I'm left out of everything. It sometimes seems to me that if a fellow is wild, or gets into scrapes and then reforms, there's a good deal more of a time made over him than there is over a fellow who just plods on and never does anything bad at all. I can't understand it."

Ward's face flushed, for it seemed as if Big Smith meant to be personal. Perhaps the recent return of his own popularity was the more marked because of its very contrast with his previous record and position.

An angry reply rose to his lips, but in a moment the interview with Mr. Crane flashed into his mind, and he bit his lips and remained silent. "'Great-hearted,' 'large-minded,'" he thought. "I suppose Mr. Crane was trying to get me to stretch my soul a bit, and I'll try not to be petty and small to-day, anyway."

"Big Smith," said Jack solemnly, rising and moving his right arm up and down after the manner of a pump-handle as he spoke, "there's a great truth in what you say. I've suffered from the effects of it, lo, these seventeen years. I've often thought if I'd fallen into evil ways or joined in a few scrapes, that when the school saw, as the fellows all must see now, the mighty change in me, they'd give me a good deal more credit than they do. But they just take it all for granted, you see, and expect me to do well every time."

"You can laugh all you please," said Big Smith, "but it's true. Now look at Ward. He's been in more scrapes than I, for I never was in one since I came to Weston; but just see how all the fellows, or almost all of them, are talking him up on every side. They never talk in that way about me, and yet I've tried to do right all the time."

The angry word this time almost escaped Ward's lips, but before he could speak Jack quickly replied, and as Ward looked at Big Smith again he was glad he had not spoken. It was evident the big fellow was in "dead earnest," as the boys phrased it, and Ward thought he even saw traces of moisture in his eyes. Surprise overcame his feeling of resentment, and he stopped to listen to Jack, who had resumed his pump-handle gesture.

"The trouble with you, Big Smith, is that you are a prig. It isn't that you don't do wrong that makes the fellows feel toward you as they do. In their hearts there isn't a fellow who doesn't respect the chap who tries to do right, and they wish they were like him too. But you're a regular grandmother, Big Smith. You've been a big fellow in your own town, and when you went away to school you thought you were doing a big thing. Then you come up here and the first thing you do you go to reaching out and patting all the rest of us bad little boys on our heads. You rebuke us; you think we're all on the downward road because we don't do just what you want us to; and then you expect everybody to do for you instead of trying to be of some use to the fellows. Why, from the time last Mountain Day, when you left others to carry the luggage and then when night came took all of Pond's bedquilt to yourself, every fellow in the school thought you were for Big Smith first, last, and all the time."

"But I was cold that night," said Big Smith solemnly.

"And what did you think of Pond? And whose bedquilt did you think that was? Now Pond never was in any scrape, and yet the fellows all take to him. You're never in any scrape, either, but you've got to do more than that, let me tell you. You heard about the man who never said a foolish thing and never did a wise one, didn't you? Well, let me tell you that a fellow has got to have something more than negative goodness to make him count in the Weston school."

The boys looked with wonder at Jack as they heard him speak. It was all so different from his usual manner that not one of them could understand him, and almost in consternation they turned to see how Big Smith was receiving the lesson.