The Half Back - Ralph Henry Barbour
"Isn't it most time to go over?" asked Joel.
"No; don't you be in a hurry. There's a half hour yet. And if you're
going to get the Goodwin you'll get it, and there isn't any use stewing
over it," replied West severely. "As for me, I'm glad I'm not a grind
and don't have to bother my head about such tommyrot. Just sit on the
lid of this pesky thing, Joel, will you? I'm afraid that last coat was
almost too much for it."
But even suspense comes to an end, and presently Joel found himself
seated by West in the crowded hall, and felt his face going red and pale
by turns, and knew that his heart was beating with unaccustomed violence
beneath his shabby vest. Professor Wheeler made his speech--and what a
long one it seemed to many a lad!--and then the fateful list was lifted
from the table.
"Senior class scholarships have been awarded as follows," announced the
principal. "The Calvin scholarship to Albert Park Digbee, Waltham,
Massachusetts." Joel forgot his unpleasant emotions while he clapped and
applauded. But they soon returned as the list went on. Every
announcement met with uproarous commendation, and boy after boy arose
from his seat and more or less awkwardly bowed his recognition. The
principal had almost completed the senior list.
"Ripley scholarships to George Simms Lennox, New York city; John Fiske,
Brookville, Mississippi; Carleton Sharp Eaton, Milton, Massachusetts;
William George Woodruff, Portland, Maine. Masters scholarships to Howard
McDonnell, Indianapolis, Indiana; Thomas Grey, Yonkers, New York;
Stephen Lutger Williams, Connellsville, Rhode Island; Barton Hobbs,
Farmington, Maine; Walter Haskens Browne, Denver, Colorado; and Justin
Thorp Smith, Chicago, Illinois."
Joel's hands were cold and his feet just wouldn't keep still. The
principal leaned down and took up the upper middle class list. West
nudged Joel smartly in the ribs, and whispered excitedly:
"Now! Keep cool, my boy, keep cool!"
Then Joel heard Professor Wheeler's voice reading from the list, and for
a moment it seemed to come from a great distance.
"Upper middle class scholarships have been awarded as follows:" There
was a pause while he found his place. "Goodwin scholarship to Harold
Burke Reeves, Saginaw, Michigan."
West subsided in his seat with a dismal groan. Joel did not hear it. It
is doubtful if he heard anything until several minutes later, when the
pronouncement of his name awoke him from the lethargy into which he
had fallen.
"Masters scholarships to Joel March, Marchdale, Maine--"
"It's better than nothing, Joel," whispered Outfield. "It's fifty
dollars, you know." But Joel made no reply. What was a Masters to him
who had set his heart on the first prize of all? Presently, when the
lists were over, he stole quietly out unnoticed by his chum, and when
West returned to the room he found Joel at the table, head in hands, an
open book before him. West closed the door and walked noiselessly
forward in the manner of one in a sick-room, At length he asked in a
voice which strove to be natural and unconcerned:
"What are you doing, Joel?"
The head over the book only bent closer as its owner answered doggedly:
"Studying Greek!"
CHAPTER XV.
THE BOAT RACE.
The balance of that school year was a season of hard study for Joel. It
was not in his nature to remain long despondent over the loss of the
Goodwin scholarship, and a week after the winter term commenced he was
as cheerful and light-hearted as ever. But his failure served to spur
him on to renewed endeavors, and as a result he soon found himself at
the head of the upper middle. Rightly or wrongly--and there is much to
be said on both sides--he gave up sports almost entirely. Now and then
West persuaded him to an afternoon on the links, but this was
infrequent. The hockey season opened with the first hard ice on the
river, and West joined the team that met and defeated St. Eustace in
January. There was one result of his application to study that Joel had
not looked for. Outfield West, perhaps from a mere desire to be
companionable, took to lessons, and, much to his own pretended dismay,
began to earn the reputation of a diligent student.
"You won't talk," growled West, "you won't play chess, you won't eat
things. You just drive a chap to study!" As spring came in the school
talk turned to baseball and rowing. For the former Joel had little
desire, but rowing attracted him, and he began to allow himself the
unusual pleasure of an hour away from lessons in the afternoon that he
might go down to the boathouse with West, and there, in a sunny angle of
the building, watch the crews at work upon the stream. Hillton was
trying very hard to turn out a winning crew, and Whipple, who was
captain of the first eight, toiled as no captain had toiled before in
the history of Hillton aquatics.
The baseball season ended disastrously with a severe drubbing for the
Hillton nine at the hands of St. Eustace on the latter's home ground.
The fellows said little, but promised to atone for it when the boat race
came off. This occurred two days before class day, which this year came
on June 22d, and very nearly every pupil traveled down the river to
Marshall to witness it. The day away from school came as a welcome
relief after the worry and brain-aching of the spring examination, and
Joel, although he knew for a certainty that he had passed with the
highest marks, was glad to obey Outfield's stern decree and accompany
that youth to the scene of the race.
They went by train and arrived at the little town at noon. After a regal
repast of soup and sandwiches, ice cream and chocolate eclairs, the two
set out for the river side. The Hillton crew had come down the day
before with their new shell, and had spent the night at the only hotel
in the village. The race was to be started at three, and West and Joel
spent the intervening time in exploring the river banks for a mile in
each direction from the bridge, and in getting their feet wet and their
trousers muddy.
By the hour set for the start the river sides were thronged with
spectators, and rival cheers floated across the sparkling stream from
bank to bank. That side of the river whereon St. Eustace Academy lies
hidden behind a hill held the St. Eustace supporters, while upon the
other bank the Hillton lads and their friends congregated. But the long
bridge, something more than a mile below, was common ground, and here
the foes mingled and strove to outshout each other.
The river is broad here below Marshall, and forms what is almost a
basin, hemmed in on either side by low wooded bluffs. From where Joel
and West, with a crowd of Hillton fellows, stood midway upon the bridge,
the starting point, nearly a mile and a half up stream was plainly
visible, and the finish line was a few rods above them. West was
acquainted with several of the St. Eustace boys, and to these Joel was
introduced and was welcomed by them with much cordiality and examined
with some curiosity. He had accomplished the defeat of their Eleven, and
they would know what sort of youth he was.
While they were talking, leaning against the railing of the bridge, Joel
suddenly caught West's arm and drew his attention to a boy some distance
away who was looking toward the starting point through a pair of field
glasses. West indulged in a long whistle, plainly indicative of
amazement.
"Who's that fellow over there?" he asked. One of the St. Eustace boys
followed the direction of his gaze.
"Well, you ought to know him. He knows you. That's Bartlett Cloud. He
was at Hillton last term, and left because he was put off the Eleven; or
so he says."
"Humph!" ejaculated Outfield West. "He left to keep from being
expelled, he did. He left because he was mixed up in some mighty dirty
work, and knew that, even if they let him stay in school, no decent
fellow would associate with him. And you can tell him from me that if he
says I know him he's a liar. I don't know him from--from mud! I should
think you'd be proud of him at Eustace."
"We didn't know that," answered the St. Eustace boy in perplexity. "We
thought--"
"What?" demanded West as the other paused.
"Well, he said that the coach was down on him, and gave his place to
your friend here, and--"
"No," answered Joel quietly. "I didn't take his place. He tried to
strike me one day at practice, and Remsen, our coach, put him off. That
was all. Afterward he--he--But it isn't worth talking about."
"But I didn't know that St. Eustace made a practice of taking in
cast-off scamps from other schools," said West. The other lad flushed as
he answered apologetically:
"We didn't know, West. He said he was a friend of yours and so--But the
other fellows shall know about him." Then there was a stir on the bridge
and a voice cried, "There they go to the float!"
Up the stream at the starting point two shells were seen leisurely
paddling toward a float anchored a few yards off the right bank. The
colors were easily distinguishable, and especially did the crimson of
Hillton show up to the eager watchers on the bridge. Every eye was
turned toward the two boats, and a silence held the throng, a silence
which lasted until sixteen oar-blades caught the water almost together,
and the two boats began to leave the float behind. Then cries of
"They're off!" were raised, and there was a general shoving and pushing
for places of observation on the up-stream side of the structure, while
along the banks the crowds began to move about again.
It was Joel's first sight of a boat race, and he found himself becoming
very excited, while West, veteran though he was, breathed a deal faster,
and talked in disjointed monosyllables.
"Side by side!... No, Hillton's ahead!... Isn't she?... Eh ... You
can't... see from here ... which is ... leading.... Get another hold on
my ... arm, ... Joel; that one's black ... and blue! ... Hillton's
ahead! Hillton's ahead by a half length!"
But she wasn't. Side by side the two shells swept on toward the first
half-mile mark. They were both rowing steadily, with no endeavor to draw
away, Hillton at thirty strokes, St. Eustace at thirty-two. The course
was two miles, almost straight away down the river. The half-mile buoy
was not distinguishable from where Joel stood, but the mile was plainly
in sight. Some one who held a stop-watch behind Joel uttered an
impatient growl at the slow time the crews were making.
"There'll be no record broken to-day," he said. "They're eight seconds
behind already for the first quarter."
But Joel didn't care about that. If only those eight swaying forms might
pass first beyond the finish line he cared but little what the time
might be. The cheering, which had ceased as the boats left the start,
now began again as they approached the finish of the first quarter of
the course.
"Rah-rah-rah; rah-rah-rah; rah-rah-rah, Hillton!" rang out from the
right bank.
"S, E, A; S, E, A; S, E, A; Saint Eustace!" replied the left bank with a
defiant roar of sound that was caught by the hills and flung back in
echoes across the water. "Saint Eustace! Saint Eustace! Saint Eustace!"
"Hillton! Hillton! Hillton!"
Then the cheering grew louder and more frenzied as, boat to boat, the
rival eights passed the half-mile buoy, swinging along with no
perceptible effort over the blue, dancing water.
"Anybody's race," said Outfield West, as he lowered his glasses. "But
Hillton's got the outside course on the turn." The turn was no more than
a slight divergence from the straight line at the one-mile mark, but it
might mean from a half to three quarters of a length to the outside
boat should they maintain their present relative positions. For the next
half mile the same moderate strokes were used until the half-course buoy
was almost reached, when Hillton struck up to thirty-two and then to
thirty-four, and St. Eustace increased her stroke to the latter number.
It was a race for the position nearest the buoy, and St. Eustace won it,
Hillton falling back a half length as the course was changed. Then the
strokes in both boats went back to thirty-two, Hillton seemingly willing
to keep in the rear. On and on they came, the oars taking the water in
unison, and shining like silver when the sun caught the wet blades. And
back, the wakes seemed like two ruled marks, so straight they were.
There was no let up of the cheering now. Back and forth went challenge
and reply across the stream, while the watchers on the bridge fairly
shook that iron-trussed structure with the fury of their slogans.
As the boats neared the three-quarter buoy it was plain to all who
looked that the real race was yet to come. Hillton suddenly hit up her
stroke to thirty-four, to thirty-six, to thirty-eight, and, a bit ragged
perhaps, but nevertheless at a beautiful speed, drew up to St. Eustace,
shoved her nose a quarter length past, and hung there, despite St.
Eustace's best efforts to shake her off.
Both boats were now straining their uttermost, and from now on to the
finish it was to be the stiffest rowing of which each was capable.
Hillton _was_ ragged on the port side, and bow was plainly tuckered.
But St. Eustace also showed signs of wear, and there was an evident
disposition the length of the boat to hurry through the stroke. Joel was
straining his eyes on the crimson backs, and West was vainly and
unconsciously endeavoring to see through the glasses from the wrong end.
The three-quarter mark swept past the boats, and Hillton still
maintained her lead.
The judges' boat, a tiny, saucy naphtha launch, had steamed down to the
finish, and now quivered there as though from impatience and excitement,
and awaited the victor. Suddenly there was a groan of dismay from the
St. Eustace supporters. And no wonder. Their boat had suddenly dropped
behind until its nose was barely lapping the rival shell. Number Four
was rowing "out of time and tune," as Joel shouted triumphantly, and
although he soon steadied down, the damage was hard to repair, for
Hillton, encouraged by the added lead, was rowing magnificently.
But with strokes that brought cries of admiration even from her foes St.
Eustace struggled gloriously to recover her lost water. Little by little
the nose of her boat crept up and up, until it was almost abreast with
Number Three's oar, while cries of encouragement from bridge and shore
urged her on. But now Green, the Hillton coxswain, turned his head
slightly, studied the position of the rival eight, glanced ahead at the
judges' boat, and spoke a short, sharp command.
And instantly, ragged port oars notwithstanding, the crimson crew seemed
to lift their boat from the water at every stroke, and St. Eustace,
struggling gamely, heroically, to the last moment, fell farther and
farther behind. A half length of clear water showed between them, then a
length, then--and now the line was but a stone-throw away--two fair
lengths separated the contestants. And amid the deafening, frenzied
shrieks of their schoolmates, their crimson-clad backs rising and
falling like clock-work, all signs of raggedness gone, the eight heroes
swept over the line winners by two and a half lengths from the St.
Eustace crew, and disappeared under the bridge to emerge on the other
side with trailing oars and wearied limbs.
And as they went from sight, Joel, stooping, yelling, over the railing,
saw, with the piercing shriek of the launch's whistle in his ears, the
upraised face of Green, the coxswain, smiling placidly up at him.
CHAPTER XVI.
GOOD-BY TO HILLTON.
Joel took the preliminary examination for Harwell University in June,
and left class day morning for home. He had the satisfaction of seeing
his name in the list of honor men for the year, having attained A or B
in all studies for the three terms. The parting with Outfield West was
shorn of much of its melancholy by reason of the latter's promise to
visit Joel in August. The suggestion had been made by Outfield, and Joel
had at once warmly pressed him to come.
"Only, you know, Out," Joel had said, "we don't live in much style. And
I have to work a good deal, so there won't be much time for fun."
"What do you have to do?" asked West.
"Well, milk, and go to mill, and perhaps there will be threshing to do
before I leave. And then there's lots of other little things around the
farm that I generally do when I'm home."
"That's all right," answered West cheerfully. "I'll help. I milked a cow
once. Only--Say, what do you hit a cow with when you milk her?"
"I don't hit her at all," laughed Joel. "Do you?"
"I _did_. I hit her with a plank and she up and kicked me eight times
before I could move off. Perhaps I riled her. I thought you should
always hit them before you begin."
Joel had not seen his parents since he had left home in the preceding
fall, and naturally a warm welcome awaited him. Mr. March, to Joel's
relief, did not appear to regret the loss of the Goodwin scholarship
nearly as much as Joel himself had done, and seemed rather proud than
otherwise of the lad's first year at the Academy.
In August Outfield West descended at the little station accompanied by
two trunks, a golf-bag, a photograph camera, and a dress-suit case; and
Farmer March regarded the pile of luggage apprehensively, and
undoubtedly thought many unflattering thoughts of West. But as no one
could withstand that youth for long, at the end of three days both
Joel's father and mother had accepted him unreservedly into their
hearts. As for Joel's brother Ezra, and his twelve-year-old sister, they
had never hesitated for a single instant.
Mr. March absolutely forbade Joel from doing any of the chores after
West arrived at the farm, and sent the boys off on a week's hunting and
fishing excursion with Black Betty and the democrat wagon. West took his
camera along, but was prevailed on to leave his golf clubs at the farm;
and the two had eight days of ideal fun in the Maine woods, and
returned home with marvelous stories of adventure and a goodly store of
game and fish.
West was somewhat disappointed in the golfing facilities afforded by the
country about Marchdale, but politely refrained from allowing the fact
to be known by Joel. Outside of the "pasture" and the "hill-field" the
ground was too rocky and broken to make driving a pleasure, and after
losing half a dozen balls Outfield restricted himself to the pasture,
where he created intense interest on the part of the cows. He found that
he got along much more peaceably with them when he appeared without
his red coat.
In September, happy, healthy, and well browned, the two boys returned to
Hillton with all the dignity becoming the reverend Senior. West had
abandoned his original intention of entering Yates College, and had
taken with Joel the preliminary examination for Harwell; and they were
full of great plans for the future, and spent whole hours telling each
other what marvelous things awaited them at the university.
Joel's Senior year at Hillton was crowded with hard work and filled with
incident. But, as it was more or less a repetition of the preceding
year, it must needs be told of briefly. If space permitted I should like
to tell of Joel's first debate in the Senior Debating Society, in which
he proved conclusively and to the satisfaction of all present that the
Political Privileges of a Citizen of Athens under the Constitution of
Cleisthenes were far superior to those of a Citizen of Rome at the Time
of the Second Punic War. And I should like to tell of the arduous
training on the football field and in the gymnasium, by means of which
Joel increased his sphere of usefulness on the Eleven, and learned to
run with the ball as well as kick it, so proving the truth of an
assertion made by Stephen Remsen, who had said, "With such long legs as
those, March, you should be as fine a runner as you are a kicker."
And I should like to go into tiresome detail over the game with St.
Eustace, in which Joel made no star plays, but worked well and steadily
at the position of left half-back, and thereby aided in the decisive
victory for Hillton that Remsen had spoken of; for the score at the end
of the first half was, Hillton 5, St. Eustace 0; and at the end of the
game, Hillton 11, St. Eustace 0.
Joel and Remsen became fast and familiar friends during that term, and
when, a few days after the St. Eustace game, Remsen took his departure
from the Academy, no more to coach the teams to glorious victory or
honorable defeat, Joel of all the school was perhaps the sorriest to
have him go. But Remsen spoke hopefully of future meetings at Harwell,
and Joel and West waved him farewell from the station platform and
walked back to the yard in the manner of chief mourners at a funeral.
Outfield West again emerged triumphant from the golf tournament, and the
little pewter mug remained securely upon his mantel, a receptacle for
damaged balls. For some time the two missed the familiar faces of
Digbee and Blair and Whipple and some few others. Somers and Cooke still
remained, the latter with radiant hopes of graduation the coming June,
the former to take advanced courses in several studies. Clausen was a
frequent visitor to Number Four Hampton, and both West and Joel had
conceived a liking for him which, as the year went by, grew into sincere
friendship. Those who had been intimate with Wallace Clausen when he was
under the influence of Bartlett Cloud saw a great difference in the lad
at this period. He had grown manlier, more earnest in tone and
attainments, and had apparently shaken off his old habit of weak
carelessness as some insects shed their skins. He, too, was to enter
Harwell the coming fall, a fact which strengthened the bond between the
three youths.
One resolve was uppermost in Joel's heart when he began his last year at
Hillton, and that was to gain the Goodwin scholarship. His failure the
year before had only strengthened his determination to win this time;
and win he did, and was a very proud and happy lad when the lists were
read and the name of "Joel March, Marchdale, Maine," led all the rest.
And it is to be supposed that there was much happiness in the great
rambling snow-covered farmhouse up north when Joel's telegram was
received; for Joel could not wait for the mail to carry the good news,
but must needs run at once to the village and spend a bit of his
prospective fortune on a "night message."
Despite this fortune of two hundred and forty dollars, Joel elected to
spend his Christmas holidays again at Hillton, and Outfield, when he
learned of the intention, declined his uncle's invitation and remained
also. The days passed quickly and merrily. There was excellent skating
on the river, and Joel showed West the methods of ice-fishing, though
with but small results of a finny nature.
Cicero's Orations gave place to De Senectute, the Greek Testament to
Herodotus, and Plane Geometry to Solid; and spring found Joel with two
honor terms behind him, and as sure as might be of passing his final
examination for college.
Again in June St. Eustace and Hillton met on the river, and, as though
to atone for her defeat on the gridiron, Fate gave the victory to St.
Eustace, the wearers of the blue crossing the finish a full length ahead
of the Hillton eight. The baseball team journeyed down to Marshall and
won by an overwhelming majority of runs, and journeyed home again in the
still of a June evening, bringing another soiled and battered ball to
place in the trophy case of the gymnasium.
And finally, one bright day in early summer, Joel put on his best
clothes and, accompanied by West and Clausen, took his way to the
chapel, where, amid an eloquent silence, Professor Wheeler made his
farewell address, and old, gray-haired Dr. Temple preached the
Valedictory Sermon. Then the diplomas were presented, and, save for the
senior class exercises in the school hall in the afternoon, Class Day
was over, and Joel March's school days were past. Joel was graduated at
the head of the class, an honor man once more; and Outfield West,
greatly to every one's amazement, not excepting his own, was also on the
honor list. Cooke passed at last, and later confided to West that he
didn't know what he'd do now that they wouldn't let him stay longer at
Hillton; he was certain he would feel terribly homesick at Harwell. West
playfully suggested that he stay at Hillton and take an advanced course,
and Cooke seemed quite in the notion until he found that he would be
obliged to make the acquaintance of both Livy and Horace.
A lad can not stay two years at a school without becoming deeply
attached to it, and both Joel and West took their departures from
Hillton feeling very melancholy as the wooded hill, crowned by the
sun-lit tower, faded from sight. West went directly to his home,
although Joel had tried to persuade him to visit at Marchdale for a few
weeks. In July Joel received a letter from Outfield asking him to visit
him in Iowa, and, at the solicitation of his parents, he decided to
accept the invitation. The West was terra incognita to Joel, and he
found much to interest and puzzle him. The methods of farming were so
different from those to which he had been accustomed that he spent the
first week of his stay in trying to revolutionize them, much to the
amusement of both Outfield and his father. He at length learned that
Eastern ways are not Western ways, and so became content to see wheat
harvested by machinery and corn cultivated with strange, new implements.