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diff --git a/old/8hick10h.htm b/old/8hick10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..69b0912 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/8hick10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11490 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<title>New File</title> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= +"text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> +<style type="text/css"> +<!-- +body {background:#faebd7; margin:15%; text-align:justify} +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {color:#A82C28} +blockquote {font-size:14pt} +P {font-size:14pt} +--> +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's T. Haviland Hicks Senior, by J. Raymond Elderdice + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: T. Haviland Hicks Senior + +Author: J. Raymond Elderdice + +Release Date: July, 2005 [EBook #8550] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on July 22, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK T. HAVILAND HICKS SENIOR *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, David Widger, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + +</pre> + +<h1>T. HAVILAND HICKS SENIOR</h1> + +<br> +<h2>BY J. RAYMOND ELDERDICE</h2> + +<br> +<br> +<h3><br> +TO MASTER LLOYD ELDERDICE</h3> + +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2><br> +CONTENTS</h2> + +<pre> + I. HICKS—WILD WEST BAD MAN<br> + II. "LEAVE IT TO HICKS"<br> + III. HICKS' PRODIGIOUS PRODIGY<br> + IV. QUOTING SCOOP SAWYER'S LETTER<br> + V. HICKS MAKES A DECISION<br> + VI. HICKS MAKES A SPEECH<br> + VII. HICKS STARTS ANOTHER MYSTERY<br> + VIII. COACH CORRIDAN SURPRISES THE ELEVEN<br> + IX. THEOPHILUS' MISSIONARY WORK<br> + X. THOR'S AWAKENING<br> + XI. "ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL"<br> + XII. THEOPHILUS BETRAYS HICKS<br> + XIII. HICKS—CLASS KID—YALE '96<br> + XIV. THE GREATER GOAL<br> + XV. HICKS HAS A "HUNCH"<br> + XVI. THANKS TO CAESAR NAPOLEON<br> + XVII. HICKS MAKES A RASH PROPHECY<br> +XVIII. T. HAVILAND HICKS, JR.'S HEADWORK<br> + XIX. BANNISTER GIVES HICKS A SURPRISE PARTY<br> + XX. "VALE, ALMA MATER!" +</pre> + +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h1><br> +T. HAVILAND HICKS, SENIOR</h1> + +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>CHAPTER I</p> + +<p>HICKS—WILD WEST BAD MAN</p> + +<p> "Oh, a bold, bad man was Chuckwalla Bill—<br> + An' he lived in a shanty on Tom-cat Hill;<br> + Ten notches on the six-gun he toted on his hip—<br> + For he'd sent ten buckos on the One-way Trip!"</p> + +<p>Big Butch Brewster, captain and full-back of the Bannister +College football<br> +squad, his behemoth bulk swathed in heavy blankets and crowded +into a<br> +narrow bunk, shifted his vast tonnage restlessly. He was dreaming +of the<br> +wild and woolly West, and like a six-reel Western drama thrown on +the<br> +screen in a moving-picture show, he visioned in his slumbers a +vivid and<br> +spectacular panorama.</p> + +<p>The first lurid scene was the Deserted Limited held up at a +tank station in<br> +the great Mojave Desert by a lone, masked bandit who winged the +dreaming<br> +Butch in the shoulder, the latter being an express guard who +resisted.<br> +After the desperado, Two-Gun Steve, had forced the engineer to +run the<br> +train back to a siding, he had ordered Butch to vamoose. Quite +naturally,<br> +then, the collegian next found himself staggering across the arid +expanse,<br> +until at last, half dead from a burning thirst, seeking vainly +for a<br> +water-hole, the vast stretch of sandy, sagebrush-studded wastes +shimmered<br> +into a gorgeous ocean of sparkling blue waters. Then, as he +collapsed on<br> +the scorching-hot sand, helpless, the cool water so near, +suddenly the<br> +scene shifted.</p> + +<p>In quick and vivid succession, Butch Brewster beheld a burning +stockade<br> +besieged by howling Indians, and a frontier town shot up by +recklessly<br> +riding cowboys on a jamboree. Then he became a tenderfoot, +badgered by<br> +yelling, shooting roisterers, and later a sheriff, bravely +leading his<br> +posse to a sensational battle with that same Two-Gun Steve and +his gang,<br> +entrenched in a rock-bound mountain defile.</p> + +<p>Finally, he stood with hands above his head in company with +other<br> +passengers of the Sagebrush Stagecoach, while a huge, red-shirted +Westerner<br> +with a fierce black mustache and a six-shooter in each hand +belching<br> +bullets at Butch's dancing feet, roared out huskily: +"Oh—I'm a ring-tailed<br> +roarer (<i>bang-bang</i>)! I'm a rip-snortin', high-falutin', +loop-the-loopin'<br> +<i>bad</i> man (<i>bang-bang</i>)! I'm wild an' woolly, an' full +o' fleas, an' hard<br> +to curry below the knees—I'm a roarin' wild-cat, an' it's +my night to howl<br> +(<i>bang-bang</i>)! Yip-yip-yip-<i>yeee</i>!"</p> + +<p>Big Butch, opening his eyes and starting up, gazed about him +in sheer<br> +surprise; for an instant, in that state of bewilderment that +comes with<br> +sudden awakening, he almost believed himself in a Western ranch +bunkhouse,<br> +and that some happy cowboy outside roared a grotesque ballad. He +gazed at<br> +the interior of a rough shack built of pine boards, with bunks +constructed<br> +in tiers on both sides. There were figures in them—Western +cowboys,<br> +perhaps. Then it seemed, somehow, that the voice drifting from +the outside<br> +was strangely familiar. Back at Bannister College, where he +remembered he<br> +had gone in the dim and dusty past, he had often heard that same +fog-horn<br> +voice, roaring songs of a less blood-curdling character, and +accompanied by<br> +that same banjo twanging, which tortured the campus, and bothered +would-be<br> +studious youths!</p> + +<p>"I'm not in a moving-picture show," Butch informed himself, as +he donned<br> +khaki trousers, football sweater, and heavy shoes. "I'm not on a +Western<br> +ranch, either. I'm in the sleep-shack of Camp Bannister, the +football<br> +training-camp of the Bannister College squad! Those fellows in +the bunks<br> +are not cowboys, Indians, and bandits—they are my +teammates! I did dream<br> +stuff that would shame a Wild West scenario, but I understand it +all<br> +now—my dreams were influenced by T. Haviland Hicks, +Jr.!"</p> + +<p>At that dramatic moment, to substantiate his statement, the +raucous voice,<br> +accompanied by resounding chords strummed on a banjo, sounded +again. The<br> +vocal and instrumental chaos was frequently punctured by revolver +reports,<br> +as the torturesome Caruso outside roared:</p> + +<p> "Oh, Chuckwalla Bill thought life was sweet—<br> + Till he met up with Sure-shot Pete;<br> + A hotter shootin' match Last Chance never saw—<br> + But Sure-shot Pete was some quicker on the draw!"</p> + +<p>The pachydermic Butch, fully dressed—and awake, raging +in his wrath like<br> +an active volcano, glanced at his watch, and discovered that it +was exactly<br> +five A.M.! Intensely pacified by this knowledge, he lumbered +toward the<br> +bunkhouse door and flung it open, determined to crush the +pestersome youth<br> +who thus unfeelingly disturbed the quietude of Camp Bannister at +such an<br> +unearthly hour! However, his grim purpose was temporarily +thwarted—before<br> +him spread a beautiful panorama, a vast canvas painted in rich +hues and<br> +colors, that indescribably charming masterpiece of nature, +entitled dawn.</p> + +<p>Butch, gazing from the bunkhouse doorway toward the pebbly +shore of the<br> +placid lake stretching out for two miles before him, beheld Old +Sol,<br> +blood-red, peeping above the wooded hills on the far-off, +opposite strand<br> +of Lake Conowingo; the luminous orb laid a flaming pathway across +the<br> +shimmering waters, and golden bars of light, like gleaming +fingers<br> +outstretched, fell athwart the tall pines that towered on the +high bluff<br> +back of the camp. The glorious sunshine, succeeding a flood of +rosy color,<br> +inundated the scene; it bathed in a gorgeous radiance the early +autumn<br> +woods, it illumined the bunkhouse, and another rude shanty known +to the<br> +squad as the grub-shack, it poured down on old Hinky-Dink, the +ancient<br> +negro cookee, setting the breakfast tables just outside the +canvas<br> +cook-tent.</p> + +<p>"Deed, cross mah heart, Mistah Butch," grinned old Hinky-Dink, +seeing, as<br> +a motion picture director would express it, "Wrath registered on +the<br> +countenance" of Butch Brewster, "Ah done tole dat young Hicks dat +a bird<br> +what cain't sing an' will sing mus' be made <i>not</i> to sing! +Ah done info'med<br> +him dat yo'-all was layin' fo' him, cause he done bus' up yo' +sleep!"</p> + +<p>A jay bird, a flashing bit of vivid blue, shot from a tall +pine, jeering<br> +shrilly at Butch; out on the lake, a trout leaped above the water +for an<br> +infinitesimal second, its shining scales gleaming in the +sunshine. From the<br> +cook-tent, where old Hinky-Dink grumbled at the frying pan, the +appetizing<br> +odor of frying fish assailed the football captain, softening his +wrath.</p> + +<p>High above the shanties, on a tall flagpole made from a +straight young<br> +pine, floated a big gold and green banner, its bright colors +gleaming in<br> +the sunshine; it bore the words:</p> + +<p> CAMP BANNISTER<br> + TRAINING CAMP<br> + THE FOOTBALL SQUAD<br> + BANNISTER COLLEGE</p> + +<p>Head Coach Corridan, smashing the precedent that had made +former Gold and<br> +Green squads have their training camp at Bannister College, had +brought<br> +the Varsity and second-string stars to this camp on the shore of +Lake<br> +Conowingo, in the Pennsylvania mountains. For two weeks, one of +which had<br> +passed, they were to train at Camp Bannister, until college +officially<br> +opened; swimming, hunting, cross-country runs, and a healthful +outdoor<br> +existence would give the athletes superb condition, and daily +scrimmages on<br> +the level field back of the bluff rounded out an eleven that +promised to be<br> +the strongest in Bannister history.</p> + +<p>As big, good-natured Butch Brewster stood in the bunkhouse +doorway, his<br> +wrath at the pestiferous Hicks forgotten, in his rapture at the +glorious<br> +dawn, he saw something that showed why his dreams had been of the +wild<br> +West! The expression of indignation, however, yielded to one of +humorous<br> +affection, as he gazed toward the shore.</p> + +<p>"I can't be angry with Hicks!" breathed Butch, beholding a +spectacle more<br> +impressive than dawn. "So, the irrepressible wretch has Coach +Corridan's<br> +revolvers, used in starting our training sprints, and a lot of +blank<br> +cartridges! He is giving an imitation of a Western bad man. No +wonder<br> +I dreamed of Indians, cowboys, and hold-ups; I'll have revenge on +the<br> +heartless villain, routing me out at five!"</p> + +<p>He saw a massive rock, rising thirty feet in air, its sheer +walls scaled<br> +only by a rope-ladder the collegians had rigged up on one side. +Atop of<br> +"Lookout There!" as the campers humorously designated the rock, +roosted<br> +a youth who possessed the colossal structure of a splinter, and +whose<br> +cherubic countenance was decorated with a Cheshire cat grin. +Quite unaware<br> +that his riotous efforts had brought out the wrathful Butch +Brewster,<br> +the youthful narrator of Chuckwalla Bill's stormy career +continued his<br> +excessively noisy séance.</p> + +<p>His costume was strictly in character with his song. He wore a +sombrero,<br> +picked up on his Exposition trip the past vacation, a lurid +red<br> +outing-shirt, and he had wrapped a blanket around each locomotive +limb to<br> +imitate a cowboy's chaps. Two revolvers suspended from a loosened +belt, à<br> +la wild West, and as Butch stared, the embryo Western bad man +twanged a<br> +banjo noisily, and roared the concluding stanza of his desperado +hero's<br> +history:</p> + +<p> "Said Chuckwalla Bill, 'Oh, boys, plant me<br> + With my boots on—on the wide prair-eee'—<br> + Where the coyotes howl, they planted Bill—<br> + An' so far as I know, he's sleepin' there still!"</p> + +<p>"Here they come," grinned Butch, hearing a tumult in the +bunkhouse, and<br> +a confused Babel of voices. "Hicks has awakened the camp. Now +watch the<br> +fellows wreak summary vengeance on his toothpick frame!"</p> + +<p>From the sleep-shack, aroused at that weird hour by the clamor +of the<br> +irrepressible youth, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., tumbled others of +the squad,<br> +in varying stages of <i>déshabille</i>; big Beef +McNaughton, right half-back,<br> +Roddy Perkins, the Titian-haired right-end, Pudge Langdon, a +ponderous<br> +tackle, and Monty Merriweather, a clean-cut, aggressive candidate +for left<br> +end. From within, other wrathy youths howled vociferous protests +at their<br> +tormentor:</p> + +<p>"Stop that noise; put your muzzle on again, +Hicks!"—"Where's the fire?<br> +Say, Hicks, muffle your exhaust!"—"Say, Coach, must we +endure this day and<br> +night?"</p> + +<p>The bunkhouse fairly erupted angry collegians, boiling out +like bees<br> +swarming from a disturbed hive; Hefty Hollingsworth, the +Herculean<br> +center-rush. Biff Pemberton, left half-back, Bunch Bingham, Tug +Cardiff,<br> +and Buster Brown, three huge last-year substitutes; second-string +players,<br> +Don Carterson, Cherub Challoner, Skeet Wigglesworth, and Scoop +Sawyer. A<br> +dozen others, from sheer laziness, hugged their bunks devotedly, +despite<br> +the terrific turmoil outside.</p> + +<p>"It's a disgrace, a <i>howling</i> shame!" exploded Beef, his +elephantine frame<br> +swathed in blankets to conceal a lack of vestiture, "Last night, +until<br> +midnight, that graceless wretch roosted on 'Lookout There' and +because the<br> +glorious moonlight made him sentimental and slushy, he twanged +his banjo<br> +and warbled such mushy stuff as 'My Love is young and fair. My +Love has<br> +golden hair!' When does he expect us to sleep?"</p> + +<p>"He doesn't!" explained Monty Merriweather, with succinct +lucidity,<br> +grinning at his comrades. "Say, fellows, you know how Hicks +dreads a cold<br> +shower-bath; well, some of you rage at him from the other side of +the rock,<br> +while I climb up the rope-ladder and close with him! Then some of +you<br> +prehistoric pachyderms ascend, and we'll chuck that pestersome +insect into<br> +the cold, cold lake—"</p> + +<p>"Done!" chuckled Butch Brewster, delightedly. So, while he, +Beef<br> +McNaughton, Hefty Hollingsworth, and others beguiled the jeering +Hicks,<br> +expressing in dynamic, red-hot sentences their exact opinions of +his<br> +perfidy, the athletic Monty imitated a mountain-scaling Italian +soldier.<br> +He climbed stealthily up the swaying rope-ladder; nearer and +nearer to the<br> +unsuspecting youth he crept, while the cherubic Hicks, to +tantalize the<br> +group below, again burst forth:</p> + +<p>"Whoop-eee! I'm a bold, <i>bad</i> man (<i>bang-bang</i>)! I +got ten notches on my<br> +ole six-gun—I'm a <i>killer</i>. I wings a man before +breakfast every day! I<br> +got a private burying-ground, where I plants my victims +(<i>bang-bang</i>)!<br> +Yip-yip-yip-<i>yee</i>! Oh, I'm a—Ouch, Monty—leggo +me—Oh, I'll be<br> +good—why didn't I pull that rope-ladder up here? Don't bust +my banjo<br> +—don't let Butch get me—"</p> + +<p>Monty Merriweather, reaching the flat top of the rock, had +courageously<br> +flung himself, without regard for the Bad Man's desperate record, +on the<br> +startled Hicks, whose first thought was for his beloved banjo. +While he<br> +held the blithesome tormentor helpless, Butch, Beef, and Roddy +Perkins<br> +climbed the rope-ladder, and the grinning youth was soon in their +clutches,<br> +while the collegians below, like a Roman, mob aroused by the +oratory of Mr.<br> +Mark Antony, howled for revenge:</p> + +<p>"Bust the old banjo over his head, Butch!"—"Sing to him, +Beef—that's<br> +an <i>awful</i> revenge on Hicks!"—"Tie him to the +rock—make him miss his<br> +breakfast!"</p> + +<p>"Hicks," growled Butch, eyeing his sunny comrade ominously, +"you ought to<br> +be tarred and feathered, and shot at sunrise! When Bannister +opens, you<br> +will be a Senior, and you'll disgrace '19's dignity! This is a +sample of<br> +what we have endured at college for three years, and the worst is +yet to<br> +come! You have committed the awful atrocity of awakening Camp +Bannister<br> +at five A. M. with your ridiculous imitation, of a Western +desperado. To<br> +dampen your ardor, we will chuck you into the cold +lake—just as you are!"</p> + +<p>"Help! Assistance! Aid! Succor!" shouted the happy-go-lucky +Hicks, as the<br> +behemoth Butch and Beef seized him, swinging him aloft with +ludicrous ease,<br> +"Police! Fire! Murder! Take care of my banjo, Monty. Tell all the +fellows<br> +at old Bannister I died game, and plant Hair-Trigger Bill with +his boots<br> +on! Oooo, Beef, Butch, <i>have a heart</i>, that water is +<i>cold</i>!"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., relieved of banjo and revolvers, but +his<br> +shadow-like structure still clad in shoes, trousers, with +imitation "chaps"<br> +and flamboyant red shirt, with his classic head still adorned +by<br> +the sombrero, was swung back and forth by the two bulky +football<br> +stars—once—twice—</p> + +<p>"Three—Let him go!" shouted Butch Brewster, and like a +falling meteor,<br> +the splinter-like youth, who had already fallen from grace, shot +from the<br> +rock, head-first, disappearing with a spectacular splash in the +icy waters<br> +of Lake Conowingo. Knowing Hicks to be as much at home in the +water as a<br> +fish in an aquarium, the hilarious squad on shore prepared to +jeer his<br> +reappearance above the water; however, their program was +interrupted by<br> +old Hinky-Dink, who stood in the cook-tent doorway, belaboring a +dishpan<br> +lustily with a soup-ladle, and shouting:</p> + +<p>"Breakfus' am served; fus' an' las' call fo' breakfus; all dem +what am late<br> +don't git no breakfus!"</p> + +<p>"Breakfast!" exclaimed Monty Merriweather, who, with Roddy, +Butch, and<br> +Beef, remained on the rock, despite the summons of the Cookee. +"Hurry up,<br> +Hicks, I'm ravenous. Say, Butch, suppose all that Western regalia +makes him<br> +water-logged; he's a terribly long while down there! Didn't he +look like<br> +the hero in a moving-picture feature? We've given him the +water-cure, but<br> +he will do that same stunt over again. That sunny-souled Hicks is +simply<br> +Incorrigible!"</p> + +<p>A second later, the grinning, cheery countenance of T. +Haviland Hicks,<br> +Jr., shot above the water, and simultaneously with his +appearance, just as<br> +though he had been chanting below the surface, for the +entertainment of the<br> +finny denizens of Lake Conowingo, the irrepressible youth +roared:</p> + +<p> "A hotter shootin' match Last Chance never saw—<br> + But Sure-Shot Pete was some quicker on the draw!"</p> + +<p><br> +CHAPTER II</p> + +<p>"LEAVE IT TO HICKS"</p> + +<p>Head Coach Patrick Henry Corridan, known to toil-tortured Gold +and Green<br> +football squads from time immemorial as "the Slave-Driver," +Captain Butch<br> +Brewster, and serious Deacon Radford, the star Bannister +quarter-back,<br> +foregathered around a table in the Camp Bannister grub-shack.</p> + +<p>It was ten-thirty of the morning whose dawn T. Haviland Hicks, +Jr., had<br> +blithesomely hailed with an impromptu musicale and saengerfest on +"Lookout<br> +There!" rock, and the football triumvirate were in togs. The +squad, over in<br> +the bunkhouse, noisily donned gridiron armor for the morning +practice, and<br> +the pestiferous Hicks was maintaining a mysterious silence, +somewhere.</p> + +<p>This football trio, on whom rested the responsibility of +rounding out a<br> +winning Bannister eleven, vastly resembled a coterie of German +generals,<br> +back of the trenches, studying a war-map. Before them was spread +what<br> +seemed to be a large checker-board. It was a miniature gridiron, +with the<br> +chalk-marks painted in white; there were thumb-tacks stuck here +and there,<br> +some with flat tops painted green and gold, others, representing +the enemy,<br> +were solid red. The former had names printed on them, Butch, +Roddy,<br> +Beef, and so on. By sticking these on the board, the three +directors of<br> +Bannister's football destiny could work out new plays, and +originate<br> +possible winning lineups.</p> + +<p>"We've just got to win the State Championship this season, +Coach!" declared<br> +Butch, banging the table emphatically, as he stated a +self-evident fact.<br> +"It's my last year for Old Bannister, and so with Beef and Pudge. +I'll give<br> +every ounce of strength I possess In every game, to make that +pennant float<br> +over Bannister Field!"</p> + +<p>"Bannister <i>will</i> win it!" vowed the behemoth Beef, his +good-natured<br> +countenance grim, and his jaw set. "Not for five years has a Gold +and Green<br> +team won the Championship—not since the year before Butch +and I were<br> +Freshmen! We've got a splendid bunch of material to build a team +with,<br> +and—"</p> + +<p>"Our biggest problem is this," spoke Coach Corridan, as with a +phenomenal<br> +display of strength he took Beef McNaughton between thumb and +forefinger<br> +and placed him on the field. "We must strengthen both line and +backfield,<br> +for we lost by graduation Babe McCabe, Heavy Hughes, and Jack +Merritt. Now,<br> +to replace that lost power—"</p> + +<p>Just then, from directly beneath the open window by which they +had<br> +gathered, like the midnight serenade of a romantic lover, +sounded<br> +the well-known foghorn voice of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., as to +the<br> +plunkety-plunk of a banjo accompaniment, he warbled +melodiously:</p> + +<p> "Gone are the days—I used to spend with +Car-o-li-nah!<br> + She had the sunshine in her laughter +(<i>plunkety-plunk</i>)<br> + Just like that state they named her after—"</p> + +<p>"Hicks!" announced Butch, stealthily approaching the window, +and<br> +beckoning his companions. "Easy—look at him, Deke, there he +is, Hicks,<br> +the irrepressible! We might as well attempt to stab a rhinocerous +to death<br> +with a humming-bird's feather, as to try and reform +<i>him</i>!"</p> + +<p>Arrayed like a lily of the field, a model of sartorial +splendor, Hicks<br> +occupied a chair beneath the window, tilted back gracefully +against the<br> +side of the grub-shack. He had decked his splinter-structure with +a<br> +dazzling Palm Beach suit, and a glorious pink silk shirt, off-set +by a<br> +lurid scarf. A Panama hat decorated his head, white Oxfords and +flamboyant<br> +hosiery adorned his feet, while the inevitable Cheshire cat grin +beautified<br> +his cherubic countenance. A latest "best seller" was propped on +his knees,<br> +and as he perused its thrilling pages, he carelessly strummed his +beloved<br> +banjo, and in stentorian tones chanted a sentimental ballad:</p> + +<p> "Gone are the days—the golden days I'm dreaming +of,<br> + I think I hear her softly calling (plunkety-plunk)<br> + 'Will you be back? Will you be back? (plunk-plunk)<br> + Back to the Car-o-li-nah you love?'"(plunkety-plunk),</p> + +<p>For three golden campus years T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., had +gayly pursued the<br> +even tenor (or <i>basso</i>, since he possessed a foghorn, +subterranean voice)<br> +of his Bannister career. He absolutely refused to take life +seriously, and<br> +he was forever arousing the wrath—mostly pretended, for no +one could be<br> +really angry with the genial youth—of his comrades, by +twanging his banjo<br> +and roaring out rollicking ballads at all hours. He was never so +happy<br> +as when entertaining a crowd of happy students in his cozy +quarters,<br> +or escorting a Hicks' Personally Conducted expedition downtown +for a<br> +Beef-Steak Bust, at his expense, at Jerry's, the rendezvous of +hungry<br> +collegians.</p> + +<p>However, despite his butterfly existence, Hicks, possessed of +a<br> +scintillating mind, always set the scholastic pace for 1919, by +means of<br> +occasional study-sprints, as he characteristically called them. +But when it<br> +came to helping his beloved Dad realize a long-cherished ambition +to behold<br> +his only son and heir shatter Hicks, Sr.'s, celebrated athletic +records, it<br> +was a different story. T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., ever since he +committed<br> +the farcical <i>faux pas</i> of running the wrong way with the +pigskin in<br> +the Freshman-Sophomore football contest of his first year, had +been a<br> +super-colossal athletic joke at old Bannister.</p> + +<p>His record to date, beside that reverse touchdown that won for +the<br> +Sophomores, consisted of scoring a home-run with the bases +congested, on a<br> +strike-out; of smashing hurdles and cross-bars on the track; +endangering<br> +his heedless career with the shot and hammer; and making a +ridiculous farce<br> +of every event he entered, to the vast hilarity of the students, +who, with<br> +the exception of Butch Brewster, had no idea his ridiculous +efforts were in<br> +earnest. In the high-jump, however, Hicks had given considerable +promise,<br> +which to date the grasshopper collegian had failed to keep.</p> + +<p>Hicks, the lovable, impulsive, and irrepressible, with his +invariable sunny<br> +disposition, his generous nature, and his democratic, loyal +comradeship<br> +for everybody, was loved by old Bannister. The students forgave +him his<br> +pestersome ways, his frequent torturing of them with +banjo-twanging and<br> +rollicking ballads. His classmates idolized him, Juniors and +Sophomores<br> +were his true friends, and entering Freshmen always regarded +this<br> +happy-go-lucky youth as a demigod of the campus.</p> + +<p>Big Butch Brewster, who was forever futilely lecturing the +heedless Hicks,<br> +thrust his head from the grub-shack window, fought down a grin, +and sternly<br> +arraigned his graceless comrade:</p> + +<p>"Hicks, you frivolous, campus-cluttering, infinitesimal atom +of nothing,<br> +you labor under the insane delusion that college life is a +continuous<br> +vaudeville show. You absolutely refuse to take your Bannister +years<br> +seriously, you banjo-thumping, pillow-punishing, +campus-torturing<br> +nonentity. You will never grasp the splendid opportunities within +your<br> +reach! You have no ambition but to strum that banjo, roar +ridiculous songs,<br> +fuss up like a tailor's dummy, and pester your comrades, or drag +them down<br> +to Jerry's for the eats! You won't be earnest, you Human Cipher, +Before you<br> +entered Bannister, you formed your ideas and ideals of campus +life from<br> +colored posters, moving-pictures, magazine stories, and stage +dramas like<br> +'Brown of Harvard"; you have surely lived up, or down, to those +ideals,<br> +you—"</p> + +<p>"Them's harsh words, Butch!" joyously responded the grinning +Hicks,<br> +unchastened, for he knew good Butch Brewster would not, for a +fortune, have<br> +him forsake his care-free nature. "Thou loyal comrade of my happy +campus<br> +years, what wouldst thou of me?—have me don sack-cloth and +ashes, strike<br> +'The Funeral March' on my golden lyre, and cry out in anguish, +'ai! ai!<br> +'Nay, nay, a couple of nays; college years are all too brief; +hence I<br> +shall, by my own original process, extract from them all the +sunshine and<br> +happiness possible, and by my wonderful musical and vocal powers, +bring joy<br> +to my colleagues, who—Ouch, Butch—look out for that +nail, you inhuman<br> +elephant—"</p> + +<p>Big Butch, at that juncture of Hicks' monologue, had +effectively terminated<br> +it by leaning from the window, grasping his unsuspecting comrade +by the<br> +scruff of the neck, and dragging him over the window-ledge, into +the<br> +grub-shack, and the presence of Coach Corridan and Deacon +Radford.<br> +Strenuous objection was registered, both by the futilely +struggling Hicks,<br> +and a nail projecting from the sill, which caught in the Palm +Beach<br> +trousers and ripped a long rent in them; fortunately, Hicks' +anatomy<br> +escaped a similar fate.</p> + +<p>"A ripping good move, eh-what?" chuckled Hicks, twisting like +a<br> +contortionist, to view the damage done his vestiture, "Hello, +what have we<br> +here?—the German field-map, by the Van Dyke beard of the +Prophet! I<br> +bring the Kaiser's order, ham and eggs, and a cup of coffee. No, +that's a<br> +mistake. General Hen Von Kluck, lead a brigade of submarines up +yon hill to<br> +thunder the Russian fort! Von Hindering-Bug, send a flock of +aeroplanes and<br> +Zeppelins to the Allied trenches, the enemy is shooting Russian +caviare<br> +at—"</p> + +<p>"Hicks," said Head Coach Corridan, smiling at Butch Brewster's +indignation,<br> +"you are such a wonder at solving perplexing problems by your +marvelous<br> +'inspirations,' suppose you turn the scintillating searchlight of +your<br> +colossal intellect upon the question that Bannister must solve, +to produce<br> +a championship eleven!"</p> + +<p>It was T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s, inveterate habit, whenever a +baffling<br> +situation, or what the French call an "<i>impasse</i>" presented +itself, to<br> +state with the utmost confidence, "Oh, just leave it to Hicks!" +On<br> +most occasions, when he made this remark, accompanied by a +swaggering<br> +braggadocio that never failed to make good Butch Brewster +wrathful, the<br> +happy-go-lucky youth possessed not the slightest idea of how the +problem<br> +was to be solved. He just uttered his rash promise, and then +trusted to his<br> +needed inspiration to illuminate a way out! And, as the Bannister +campus<br> +well knew, Hicks had solved more than one torturing question by +an<br> +inspiration that flashed on his intellect, when all hope of a +satisfactory<br> +solution seemed dead.</p> + +<p>For example, in his Sophomore year, when the Freshman leader, +James<br> +Roderick Perkins, that same Titian-haired Roddy who was now a +bulwark at<br> +right end, became charged with a Napoleonic ambition, and +organized a<br> +Freshman Equal Rights campaign, paralyzing Bannister football by +refusing<br> +to allow Freshmen to try for athletic teams, unless their demands +were<br> +granted. Hicks, when his inspiration finally smote him, smashed +the<br> +Votes-for-Freshmen crusade, and quelled Roddy, Futilely racking +his brain<br> +for a counter-attack, having blithely told the troubled campus, +"Just leave<br> +it to Hicks," he had ceased to worry, and then the inspiration +had come, By<br> +The Big Brotherhood of Bannister giving the upper-classmen full +government<br> +over Freshmen, a scheme successfully carried through, the peril +had been<br> +thwarted.</p> + +<p>"I got a letter from Dad yesterday," began Hicks, somewhat +irrelevantly,<br> +considering the Coach's remarks, "and he said—"</p> + +<p>"'—Inclosed find the check you wrote for,'" quoth Deacon +Radford,<br> +humorously. "'If you keep up this pace, I shall have to turn my +steel<br> +mills to producing war munitions, to pay your college bills.' +Say, Hicks,<br> +seriously, listen to our problem, and suggest what Coach Corridan +should<br> +do."</p> + +<p>While Hicks' athletic powers were known to equal those of the +paralyzed<br> +oldest inhabitant of a Civil War Veterans' Home, the sunny youth +knew<br> +football thoroughly; often he originated plays that the team +worked out<br> +with success, and his suggestions were always weighed carefully +by the<br> +football directors. So, after he had adjusted his lurid scarf at +the<br> +correct angle, and gazed ruefully at his torn habiliments, the +sunshiny<br> +Senior seated himself at the table, before the "war-map," and +gave heed to<br> +the Coach.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> +<img alt="aw.jpg (100K)" src="aw.jpg" height="839" width="549"> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>"Here's the problem, Hicks," said the Slave-Driver, indicating +the<br> +Bannister eleven, represented by the gold and green topped +thumb-tacks.<br> +"From the line we lost Babe, a tackle, Heavy, a guard, and Jack +Merritt, a<br> +star end. Now, Monty Merriweather will hold down Jack's place O. +K.—l can<br> +shift Beef from right half to guard, and put Butch at right-half, +while<br> +Bunch Bingham can take care of Babe's old berth at tackle. But I +have no<br> +one to shoot in at full-back, when I shift Butch; you see, Hicks, +my plan<br> +is to build an eleven that can execute old-time, line-smashing +football,<br> +and up-to-date open play as well; I want fast ends and halves, +with a<br> +snappy quarter, and I have them; also, the backfield is heavy +enough for<br> +line-bucking, if I get my beefy full-back. I must have a big, +heavy, fast<br> +player, a giant who simply can't be stopped when he hits the +line. With<br> +Butch and Biff at halves, Deke at quarter. Roddy and Monty ends, +and my<br> +heavy line—why, a ponderous, irresistible Hercules at +full-back will—"</p> + +<p>"Say!" grinned the irrepressible Hicks, as Coach Corridan +warmed up to<br> +his vision, "you don't want <i>much</i>, Coach! Why don't you ask +Ted Coy, the<br> +famous ex-Yale full-back, to give up his business and play the +position for<br> +you? Maybe you can persuade Charlie Brickley, a <i>fair</i> sort +of dropkicker,<br> +to quit coaching Hopkins, and kick a few goals for old Bannister! +I get<br> +you, Coach—you want a fellow about the size of the +Lusitania, made of<br> +structural steel, a Brobdingnagian Colossus who will guarantee to +advance<br> +the ball fifteen yards per rush, or money refunded!</p> + +<p>"Why, Coach, while you are wanting things, just wish for a +chap who will<br> +play the entire game himself, taking the ball down the field, +while the<br> +rest of the team are pushed along in rolling-chairs, while +imbibing pink<br> +tea. Get a prodigy who will instill such terror into our rivals +that<br> +instead of playing the schedule, Bannister will simply arrange +with other<br> +teams to mark themselves down defeated, and then agree what the +scores<br> +shall be."</p> + +<p>"I knew it!" growled Butch Brewster, glowering at the jocular +youth. "We<br> +should never have consulted him on this problem, for it is not +one within<br> +his power to solve, even though he performed the miracle of +talking<br> +seriously about it Now—"</p> + +<p>"Now—" echoed Hicks, with pretended seriousness, "Coach, +you just hand me<br> +the blue-prints and specifications of said Gargantuan Hercules, +and I'll<br> +try to corrall just such a phenomenon as you desire. Never +hesitate to<br> +consult me on such important matters, for I am ever-ready to cast +aside my<br> +own multifarious duties, when my Alma Mater needs my mental +assistance,<br> +or—"</p> + +<p>"Hicks, are you <i>crazy</i>?" fleered Deacon Radford, moved +to excitement,<br> +despite his great faith in the versatile youth. "Full-backs like +that do<br> +not grow on trees; the only one I ever read of was Ole Skjarsen, +in<br> +George Fitch's 'Siwash College Stories,' and he was purely +fictitious. We<br> +know you have accomplished some great things by your +'inspirations,' but as<br> +for this—"</p> + +<p>"Just leave it to Hicks" quoth the irrepressible youth, +swaggering toward<br> +the door with an affected nonchalant self-confidence that aroused +Butch to<br> +wrath, and vastly amused his companions. "I'll admit a human +juggernaut<br> +like Coach Corridan dreams of will be hard to round up, but, I'll +have an<br> +inspiration soon. Don't worry about your old eleven, your problem +will be<br> +solved, and you will have a team that can play fifty-seven +varieties of<br> +football. Raw revolver, my comrades."</p> + +<p>When the graceless T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., had sauntered +gracefully out of<br> +the grub-shack, big Butch Brewster, almost exploding with +suppressed wrath,<br> +stared at Slave-Driver Corridan and staid Deacon Radford a full +minute;<br> +then he grinned,</p> + +<p>"That—Hicks!" he murmured, struggling against a desire +to laugh. "What a<br> +ridiculous prophecy! 'Just leave it to Hicks!' Well, that means +the problem<br> +goes unsolved, for though I confess he <i>is</i> brilliant, and +his so-called<br> +'inspirations' have helped old Bannister; when it comes to +rushing out and<br> +lassoing a smashing. Herculean full-back—<i>bah</i>!"</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later, when Coach Corridan and the Gold and Green +squad climbed<br> +the bluff to the field back of Camp Bannister, for morning signal +drill,<br> +their last memory was of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., arrayed in +radiant<br> +vestiture, his chair tilted against the bunkhouse—the +chords of the banjo,<br> +and his foghorn voice drifting to them on the warm September +air:</p> + +<p> "Oh, father and mother pay all the bills +(<i>plunk-plunk</i>)<br> + And we have all the fun (<i>plunkety-plunk</i>)<br> + With the money that we spend in college life!"</p> + +<p>Two hours afterward, as a tired, perspiring squad scrambled +down the bluff,<br> +and made for the cool waters of Lake Conowingo, a mysterious +silence,<br> +like a mighty wave, literally surged toward them. Camp Bannister +seemed<br> +deserted, the sun was still shining, the birds sang as cheerily +as ever,<br> +but instinctively the collegians felt an indescribable +loneliness, a sense<br> +of tremendous loss.</p> + +<p>"Hicks!" shouted Butch Brewster, loudly, his voice shattering +the<br> +stillness. "Hicks—ahoy! I say, Hicks—"</p> + +<p>Old Hinky-Dink, a letter in his hand, hobbled from the +cook-tent toward<br> +them; like a sinister harbinger of evil he advanced, grinning +deprecatingly<br> +at the squad:</p> + +<p>"Mistah Hicks am gone!" he announced importantly. "He done gib +me fo' bits<br> +to row him ober to de village, to cotch de noon 'spress fo' +Philadelphy!<br> +Heah am a letter what he lef'—"</p> + +<p>Big Butch Brewster, to whom the <i>billet-doux</i> was +addressed in T. Haviland<br> +Hicks, Jr.'s, familiar scrawl, tore open the envelope, and while +the squad<br> +listened, he read aloud the message left by that sunny-souled +youth;</p> + +<p>"DEAR BUTCH:</p> + +<p>"Coach Corridan will have to use the alarm clock from now on! +I'm called<br> +away on business. See that my stuff gets to Bannister O.K. Stow +it in the<br> +room next to yours. I'll be back at college some time in the next +century.<br> +Give my <i>adieux</i> to Coach Corridan and the squad.</p> + +<p>"Yours truthfully,</p> + +<p>"T. HAVILAND HICKS, JR.</p> + +<p>"P.S.: Tell Coach Corridan he should worry—<i>not</i>! +I'm hot on the trail of<br> +a fullback that will make Ted Coy at his coyest look like the +paralyzed<br> +inmate of an old man's home. Just leave it to Hicks!"</p> + +<p><br> +CHAPTER III</p> + +<p>HICKS' PRODIGIOUS PRODIGY</p> + +<p> "Has anybody here seen our Hicks?<br> + H-i-c-k-s!<br> + Has anybody here seen our Hicks?<br> + If you've seen him, answer, 'Yes!'<br> + He's tall and slim, and he wears a grin,<br> + And his banjo-thumping is a sin.<br> + Has <i>anybody</i> here seen our Hicks—<br> + Hicks—and his old banjo?"</p> + +<p>Captain Butch Brewster, big Beef McNaughton, the Phillyloo +Bird—that<br> +flamingo-like Senior—and little Theophilus Opperdyke, the +timorous boner<br> +whom Bannister College called the "Human Encyclopedia," roosted +on the<br> +sacred Senior Fence, between the Gymnasium and the Administration +Building.<br> +A gloomy silence, like a somber mantle, enshrouded the four +members of '19,<br> +as they listened to a rollicking parody on, "Has Anybody Here +Seen Kelly?"<br> +chanted by some Juniors in Nordyke, with T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., +as the<br> +object of solicitude. Nor did the melancholy youths respond to +the queries<br> +hurled down at them from the dormitories' windows:</p> + +<p>"Say, Butch Brewster, where is that crazy Hicks?"</p> + +<p>"Beef, ain't our Hicks a-comin' back here no more?"</p> + +<p>"Hello, Phillyloo, any word from our Hicks yet?"</p> + +<p>"Ahoy there, Theophilus, where is Hicks, the Missing?"</p> + +<p>The seven-thirty study-hour bell was ringing, its mellow +chimes sounding<br> +from the Administration Building tower. From the windows of the +dormitories<br> +gleams of light shot athwart the darkness. Over in Creighton +Hall, the<br> +abode of Freshmen, a silence reigned, but in Smithson, where the +Sophomores<br> +roomed, Nordyke, home of the Juniors, and Bannister, haunt of the +solemn<br> +Seniors, pandemonium obtained. In these dorm. rooms and corridors +that<br> +night, just as in the class-rooms, or on the campus, and +Bannister Field<br> +that day, there was but one topic. Whenever two students met, +came the<br> +query inevitable:</p> + +<p>"Where is Hicks? Isn't Hicks coming back this year?"</p> + +<p>The Freshmen, bewildered, quite naturally, at the furore made +over<br> +one missing student, asked, "Who is Hicks?" Seeking information +from<br> +upper-classmen they received innumerable tales, in the nature of +Iliad<br> +and Odyssey, concerning T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.; they heard of his +campus<br> +exploits, such as his originating The Big Brotherhood of +Bannister, and<br> +they laughed, at recitals of his athletic fiascos. They were told +of his<br> +inevitably sunny nature, his loyal comradeship, his generous +disposition,<br> +and as a result, the Freshmen, too, became intensely interested +in the<br> +all-important campus problem: "Where is T. Haviland Hicks, +Jr.?"</p> + +<p>Little Theophilus Opperdyke, whose big-rimmed spectacles, high +forehead,<br> +and bushy hair gave him an intensely owlish appearance, +sighed<br> +tremendously, stared solemnly at his class-mates, and became the +author of<br> +a most astounding statement: "I—I can't study," quavered +the "boner,"<br> +he whose tender devotion to his books was a campus tradition, and +whose<br> +loyalty to his firm friend, the blithesome Hicks, was as that of +Damon<br> +to Pythias, "I just <i>can't</i> care about my studies, without +Hicks here!<br> +Somehow, it—it doesn't seem like old times, on the +campus."</p> + +<p>"I should say not!" ejaculated the Phillyloo Bird, +sepulchrally, his<br> +string-bean length draped with extreme decorative effect on the +Senior<br> +Fence, "Life at old Bannister without T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., is +about as<br> +interesting as 'The Annual Report of the Department of +Agriculture!'<br> +Prexy thought he started the college on its Marathon three days +ago, but<br> +Bannister will not be officially opened until Hicks stands by his +window<br> +some study-hour, twangs that old banjo, and shatters the campus +quietude<br> +with a ballad roared in his fog-horn voice!"</p> + +<p>Big Butch Brewster, enshrouded in melancholy, instinctively +gazed up at the<br> +windows of the room T. Haviland Hicks, Jr. had reserved on the +third floor<br> +of Bannister Hall, the Senior dorm., as if he fully expected to +behold<br> +the missing youth materialize. There, in lonely grandeur, waited +the<br> +sunny-souled Senior's vast aggregation of trunks, crates, and +packing<br> +boxes, together with Hicks' baggage brought down from Camp +Bannister. The<br> +bothersome banjo had disappeared at the same time the youthful +Caruso<br> +imitated the Arabs, folding his figurative tent, and stealing +away.</p> + +<p>"It's a strange paradox," boomed Butch Brewster, finding that +no Hicks<br> +appeared at the window, "but for three years Bannister has +stormed at Hicks<br> +for bothering us during study-hour, or at midnight, with his +saengerfest,<br> +and now I'd give anything to see him up there, and to hear that +banjo, and<br> +his songs! It is just as if the sun doesn't shine on the campus, +when T.<br> +Haviland Hicks, Jr., is away!"</p> + +<p>Bannister College had been running for three days "on one +cylinder," as<br> +the Phillyloo Bird quaintly phrased it, on account of the +gladsome Hicks'<br> +mysterious absence. Not a word had the Head Coach, Captain +Brewster, the<br> +football squad, or any of the collegians received from the +blithesome<br> +youth, since the <i>billet-doux</i> he left with old Hinky-Dink +at Camp<br> +Bannister. Old students, returning to the campus for another +golden year,<br> +invaded Hicks' room in Bannister, ready to enjoy the cozy den of +that<br> +jolly Senior, but they encountered silence and desolation. No one +had the<br> +slightest knowledge of where the cheery Hicks could be; they +missed his<br> +singing and banjo strumming, his pestersome ways, his cheerful +good nature,<br> +his cozy quarters always open house to all, and his Hicks' +Personally<br> +Conducted tours downtown to Jerry's for those celebrated +Beefsteak Busts.</p> + +<p>A telegram to Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr., in Pittsburgh, +sent by the<br> +worried Butch Brewster, had brought this concise response:</p> + +<p>No knowledge of Thomas' whereabouts. He should be at +Bannister.</p> + +<p>"Queer," reflected Beef McNaughton, shifting his bulk on the +protesting<br> +fence. "We know Hicks will be back, for all his luggage is stowed +away<br> +in his room, and we are sure he is giving us all this mystery +just for a<br> +joke—he dearly loves to arrange a sensational and dramatic +climax—but<br> +we just can't get used to his not being on the campus. When +Theophilus<br> +Opperdyke can't study, it's high time the S.O.S. signal was sent +to T.<br> +Haviland Hicks, Jr."</p> + +<p>"That is not the worst of it," growled Captain Butch Brewster, +his arm<br> +across little Theophilus' shoulders. "The football squad misses +Hicks,<br> +Beef. For the past two seasons he has sat at the training-table, +his<br> +invariable good-humor, his Cheshire cat grin, and his sunny ways +have kept<br> +the fellows in fine mental trim so they haven't worried over the +game. But<br> +now, just as soon as he left Camp Bannister, the barometer of +their spirits<br> +went down to zero and every meal at training-table is a funeral. +Coach<br> +Corridan can't inject any pep into the scrimmages, and he says if +Hicks<br> +doesn't return soon, Bannister's chances of the Championship are +gone."</p> + +<p>"As Theophilus says," responded the gloomy Beef, "we just +can't get used<br> +to his not being here. We miss his good-nature, his sunny smile, +the jolly<br> +crowds in his cozy quarters—why, the campus is talking of +nothing but<br> +Hicks—and I don't know what Bannister will do after Hicks +graduates—shut<br> +down, I suppose!"</p> + +<p>"Well, you know," grinned the Phillyloo Bird, his cadaverous +structure<br> +humped over like a turkey on the roost, "our Hicks hath sallied +forth on<br> +the trail of a full-back, a Hercules who will smash the other +elevens to<br> +infinitesimal smithereens! He told the squad to just leave it to +Hicks,<br> +so don't be surprised if he is making flying trips to Yale, +Harvard, and<br> +Princeton, striving to corral some embryo Ted Coy. Remember how +Hicks often<br> +fulfills his rash prophecies!"</p> + +<p>"A Herculean full-back—Bah!" fleered Butch, for all the +campus knew of<br> +T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s, extremely rash vow to unearth a +"phenom." "The<br> +truth of it is, fellows. Hicks has failed to locate such a wonder +as Coach<br> +Corridac outlined, for there ain't no such animal! He doesn't +like to<br> +come back to Bannister without having made good his promise, +without that<br> +Gargantuan giant he vowed to round up for the Gold and +Green."</p> + +<p>Just then, as if to substantiate Butch's jeering statement, a +youth wearing<br> +the uniform and cap of The Western Union Telegraph Company +and<br> +advancing across the campus at that terrific speed always +exhibited by<br> +messenger-boys, appeared in the offing. Periscoping the four +Seniors on the<br> +fence, he navigated his course accordingly and pulling a yellow +envelope<br> +from his cap, he queried, in charmingly chaste English:</p> + +<p>"Say, kin youse tell me where to find a feller name o' +Brewster, wot's<br> +cap'n o' de football bunch?"</p> + +<p>"Right here, Little Nemo," advised the Phillyloo Bird, +solemnly. "Hast thou<br> +any messages from New York for me? John D. Rockefeller promised +to wire me<br> +whether or not to purchase war-stocks."</p> + +<p>The Phillyloo Bird, at this stage of his monologue, was +interrupted by a<br> +yell that would have caused a full-blooded Choctaw Indian to turn +pale.<br> +This came from good Butch Brewster, who, having signed for the +message,<br> +and imagined all manner of catastrophes, from world-wars, +earthquakes,<br> +pestilence and loss of wealth, down to bad news from Hicks, after +the<br> +fashion of those receiving telegrams but seldom, had scanned the +yellow<br> +slip. Never before, or afterward, not even when the luckless +Butch fell in<br> +love, and T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., assisted Cupid, did the +pachydermic Butch<br> +act so insanely as on this occasion.</p> + +<p>"Whoop-<i>eee! Yee-ow! Wow-wow-wow</i>!" howled the supposedly +solemn Senior,<br> +tumbling from the Senior fence and rolling on the campus like a +decapitated<br> +rooster. "Hip-hip-<i>hooray</i>! Ring the bell, Beef, get the +fellows out, have<br> +the Band ready, Oh, where is Coach Corridan? Read it, Beef, +Theophilus,<br> +Phillyloo. Oh, Hicks is <i>coming</i> and he's got—"</p> + +<p>It is possible that little Theophilus, who firmly believed +that big Butch<br> +Brewster had gone emotionally insane, would have fled for help, +but at that<br> +juncture members of the Gold and Green football squad, with Head +Coach<br> +Patrick Henry Corridan, appeared, marching funereally toward the +Gym.,<br> +where a signal quiz was booked for seven forty-five. Beholding +the<br> +paralyzing spectacle of their captain apparently in paroxysms on +the grass,<br> +Hefty Hollingsworth, Biff Pemberton, Monty Merriweather and Pudge +Langdon<br> +hurled themselves on his tonnage, while Roddy Perkins sat on his +head, and<br> +wrested the telegram from his grasp,</p> + +<p>"Call up Matteawan," shouted Roddy, unfolding the slip, "Butch +is getting<br> +barmy in the dome, he—Oh, Coach, fellows—<i>great +joy</i>! Just heed."</p> + +<p>James Roderick Perkins, as excited as a Senator about to make +his first<br> +speech, read aloud the telegram, on which the heedless Hicks had +triple<br> +rates:</p> + +<p>"BUTCH:</p> + +<p>"Coming 8.30 P. M. express today. Discharge entire +eleven—got whole team<br> +in one. Knock out partitions between five rooms. Make space for +Thor, the<br> +Prodigious Prodigy! Leave it to Hicks!</p> + +<p>"T. HAVILAND HICKS, JR."</p> + +<p>"Hicks is coming!" shrieked the Phillyloo Bird, soaring down +from the<br> +Senior Fence like a condor. "He will be here in less than an +hour; he sent<br> +this wire just before his train left Philadelphia. Money is no +object, when<br> +T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., wants to mystify old Bannister."</p> + +<p>"'Discharge entire eleven,'" quoth Butch Brewster, having +somewhat subdued<br> +his frenzy. "'Got whole team in one—knock out partitions +between <i>five</i><br> +rooms—make space for Thor, the Prodigious Prodigy!' Now, +what in the world<br> +has that lunatical Hicks done? Who can Thor be?"</p> + +<p>Tug Cardiff, Buster Brown, Bunch Bingham, Scoop Sawyer, little +Skeet<br> +Wigglesworth, Don Carterson, and Cherub Challoner, not having +given their<br> +brawn to the subduing of Butch, now kindly donated their brain, +in all<br> +manner of weird suggestions. According to their various surmises, +T.<br> +Haviland Hicks, Jr., had lured the Strong Man away from Barnum +and Bailey's<br> +Circus, had in some way reincarnated the mythical Norse god, +Thor, had<br> +hired some Greco-Roman wrestler, or by other devices too numerous +and<br> +ridiculous to mention, had produced a full-back according to +Coach<br> +Corridan's blue-prints and specifications.</p> + +<p>Big Beef McNaughton, seized with an inspiration that +supplied<br> +locomotive-power to his huge frame, lumbered into the Gym., and +soon<br> +appeared with monster megaphones, used in "rooting" for Gold and +Green<br> +teams, which he handed out to his comrades. Then the riotous +squad, at his<br> +suggestion, sprinted for the Quad., that inner quadrangle or +court around<br> +which the four class dormitories, forming the sides of a square, +were<br> +built; anyone desiring an audience could be sure of it here, +since the<br> +collegians in all four dorms. could rush to the Quadrangle side +and look<br> +down from the windows. In the Quadrangle, under the brilliant +arc-lights,<br> +the exuberant youths paused,</p> + +<p>"One—two—three—let 'er go!" boomed Beef, and +the football squad, in<br> +<i>basso profundo</i>, aided by the Phillyloo Bird's uncertain +tenor, and<br> +Theophilus' quavery treble, roared in a tremendous vocal +explosion that<br> +shook the dormitories:</p> + +<p>"Hicks is coming! Hicks is coming! Everybody out on the +campus! Get ready<br> +to welcome our T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.! Hicks is bringing +Bannister's<br> +full-back—a Prodigious Prodigy!"</p> + +<p>Windows rattled up, heads were thrust out, a fusillade of +questions<br> +bombarded the squad in the Quadrangle below; from the three +upper-class<br> +dormitories erupted hordes of howling, shouting youths, and soon +the Quad.<br> +was filled with a singing, yelling, madly happy crowd. The +Bannister Band,<br> +that famous campus musical organization, following a time-honored +habit of<br> +playing on every possible occasion, gladsomely tuned up and soon +the<br> +noise was deafening, while study-hour, as prescribed by the +Faculty, was<br> +forgotten.</p> + +<p>"Everybody on the campus, at once!" Butch Brewster, +Master-of-Ceremonies,<br> +boomed through his megaphone, having aroused excitement to the +highest<br> +pitch by reading Hicks' telegram. "Old Dan Flannagan's jitney-bus +will soon<br> +heave into sight. Let the Band blare, make a <i>big noise</i>. +Let's show Hicks<br> +how glad we are to have him back to old Bannister."</p> + +<p>It is historically certain that Mr. Napoleon Bonaparte +returning from Jena<br> +and Austerlitz, Mr. Julius Caesar, home at Rome from his +Conquests, or Mr.<br> +Alexander the Great (Conqueror, not National League pitcher) +never received<br> +such a welcome as did T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., from his Bannister +comrades<br> +that night. To the excited students, massed on the campus before +the Gym.<br> +awaiting his arrival, every second seemed a century; everybody +talked at<br> +once until the hubbub rivaled that of a Woman's Suffrage +Convention. Thomas<br> +Haviland Hicks, Jr., was actually returning to old Bannister; and +he was<br> +bringing "The Prodigious Prodigy," whatever that was, with him. +Knowing the<br> +cheery Senior's intense love of doing the dramatic and his great +ambition<br> +to startle his Alma Mater with some sensational stunt, they could +hardly<br> +wait for old Dan Flannagan's jitney-bus to roll up the +driveway,</p> + +<p>"Here he comes!" shrieked, little Skeet Wigglesworth, an +excitable Senior,<br> +who had climbed a tree to keep watch. "Here comes our Hicks!"</p> + +<p>"Honk—Honk!" To the incessant blaring of a raucous horn, +old Dan<br> +Flannagan's jitney-bus moved up the driveway. The genial Irish +Jehu, who<br> +for over twenty years had transported Bannister collegians and +alumni<br> +to and from College Hill in a ramshackle hack drawn by Lord +Nelson, an<br> +antiquated, somnambulistic horse, had yielded to modern invention +at<br> +last. Lord Nelson having become defunct during vacation, Old Dan, +with<br> +a collection taken up by several alumni at Commencement, had +bought a<br> +battered Ford, and constructed therewith a jitney-bus. This +conveyance was<br> +fully as rattle-trap in appearance as the traditional hack had +been, but<br> +the returning collegians hailed it with glee.</p> + +<p>"All hail Hicks!" howled Butch Brewster, beside himself with +joy,<br> +"Altogether—the Bannister yell for—Hicks!"</p> + +<p>With half the collegians giving the yell, a number +shouting<br> +indiscriminately, the Bannister Band blaring furiously, "Behold, +The<br> +Conquering Hero Comes," with the youths a yelling, howling, +shrieking,<br> +dancing mass, old Dan Flannagan, adding his quota of noises with +the<br> +Claxon, brought his bus to a stop. This was a hilarious spectacle +in<br> +itself, for on its sides the Bannister students had painted:</p> + +<p>HENRY FORD'S "PIECE-OF-A-SHIP," THE DOVE!<br> +ALL RIDING IN THIS JIT DO<br> +SO AT THEIR OWN RISK! TEN CENTS<br> +FOR A JOY-RIDE TO COLLEG HILL! YES,<br> +IT'S A FORD! WHAT DO YOU CARE? GET ABOARD!</p> + +<p>On the roof of "The Dove," or "The Crab," as the collegians +called it when<br> +it skidded sideways, perched precariously that well-known, +beloved youth,<br> +T. Haviland Hicks, Jr. He clutched his pestersome banjo and was +vigorously<br> +strumming the strings and apparently howling a ballad, lost in +the<br> +unearthly turmoil. As the jitney-bus stopped, the grinning Hicks +arose, and<br> +from his lofty, position made a profound bow.</p> + +<p>"Speech! Speech! Speech!" A mighty shout arose, and Hicks +raised his hand<br> +for silence, which was immediately delivered to him.</p> + +<p>"Fellows, one and all," he shouted, a mist before his eyes, +for his<br> +impulsive soul was touched by the ovation, "I—I am +<i>glad</i> to be back!<br> +Say—I—I—well, I'm glad to be back—that's +all!"</p> + +<p>At this masterly oration, which, despite its brevity, +contained volumes of<br> +feeling, the Bannister students went wild—for a longer +period than any<br> +political convention ever cheered a nominated candidate, they +cheered T.<br> +Haviland Hicks, Jr. +"Roar—roar—roar—<i>roar</i>!" in deafening +sound-waves,<br> +the noise swept across the campus; never had football idol, +baseball hero,<br> +or any athletic demigod, in all Bannister's history, been +accorded such a<br> +tremendous ovation.</p> + +<p>"Fellows," called T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., climbing down from +his precarious<br> +perch, "stand back; I have brought to Bannister the 'Prodigious +Prodigy.'<br> +I have rounded up a full-back who will beat Ballard all by +himself. Behold<br> +the new Gold and Green football eleven, 'Thor'!"</p> + +<p>From the grinning Dan Flannagan's jitney-bus, like a Russian +bear charging<br> +from its den, lumbered a being whose enormous bulk fairly +astounded the<br> +speechless youths; Butch Brewster, Beef McNaughton, Tug Cardiff, +Bunch<br> +Bingham, Buster Brown, and Pudge Langdon were popularly regarded +as the<br> +last word in behemoths, but this "Thor" dwarfed them, towered +above them<br> +like a Colossus over Lilliputians. He was a youth, and yet a +veritable<br> +Hercules. Over six feet he stood, with a massive head, covered +with tousled<br> +white hair, a powerful neck, broad shoulders, a vast chest. To a +judge of<br> +athletes, he would tip the scales at a hundred and ninety pounds, +all solid<br> +muscle, for that superb physique held not an ounce of superfluous +flesh.</p> + +<p>"Hicks," said Head Coach Patrick Henry Corridan, gazing at the +mountain of<br> +muscle, "if <i>size</i> means anything, you have brought old +Bannister an entire<br> +football squad! What splendid material to train for the Big +Games, why—he<br> +will be irresistible!"</p> + +<p><br> +CHAPTER IV</p> + +<p>QUOTING SCOOP SAWYER'S LETTER</p> + +<p> "I didn't raise my Ford to be a <i>jitney</i>—<br> + To run the streets, and stay out late at night!<br> + Who dares to put a jitney sign, upon it—<br> + And send my <i>peace-ship</i> out for fares to fight?"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., standing by his open window at 3 P. M. +one<br> +afternoon a week after his sensational return to Bannister +College, with<br> +the "Prodigious Prodigy" in tow, indulged in the soul-satisfying +pastime of<br> +twanging his banjo, and roaring, in his subterranean voice, a +parody on "I<br> +Didn't Raise My Boy to be a Soldier." It was actually the first +Caruso-like<br> +outburst of the pestersome youth that year, but his saengerfest +brought<br> +vociferous howls of protest from campus and dormitories:</p> + +<p>"Bow-wow-wow! The Grand Opery season is starting!"</p> + +<p>"Sing some records for a talking-machine company, Hicks!"</p> + +<p>"Kill that tom-cat! Listen to the back-fence musicale!"</p> + +<p>"Say, Hicks—we'll take your word for that noise!"</p> + +<p>On the Gym. steps, loafing a few moments before jogging out to +Bannister<br> +Field for a strenuous scrimmage under the personal supervision +of<br> +Slave-Driver Corridan, the Gold and Green football squad had +gathered. It<br> +was from these stalwart gridiron gladiators that the caustic +criticism of<br> +T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s, vocal atrocities emanated, and the +imitation of a<br> +mournful hound by "Ichabod," the skyscraping Senior, was indeed +phenomenal.<br> +Added to the howls, whistles, jeers, and shouts of the squad, +were like<br> +condemnations from other collegians, sky-larking on the campus, +or in the<br> +dorms.</p> + +<p>"At that," grinned Captain Butch Brewster happily, "it surely +makes me feel<br> +jubilant to hear Hicks' foghorn voice shattering the echoes, with +his<br> +banjo strumming disturbing the peace—for which offense it +shall soon be<br> +arrested. We can truly say that old Bannister is now officially +opened for<br> +another year, for T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., has performed his +annual rite—"</p> + +<p>"Right—!" scoffed big Pudge Langdon, indignantly, as he +gazed up at the<br> +happy-go-lucky youth, at the window of his room on the +third-floor, campus<br> +side, of Bannister Hall, "Hicks ought to be tarred and feathered; +there is<br> +<i>nothing right</i> in the way he has acted since his return to +college! He<br> +struts around like Herman, the Master-Magician, and all the +fellows fully<br> +expect to see him produce white rabbits from his cap, or make +varicolored<br> +flags out of his handkerchief."</p> + +<p>"We ought to toss him in a blanket," stormed Beef McNaughton, +in ludicrous<br> +rage. "Ever since he mystified Bannister by going out and +corralling a<br> +Hercules who is an entire eleven in himself, Hicks has maintained +that<br> +sphinx-like silence as to how he achieved the feat, and he +swaggers around,<br> +enshrouded in <i>mystery</i>! All we know is that 'Thor' is John +Thorwald, of<br> +Norwegian descent. If we ask <i>him</i> for information, that +wretch Hicks has<br> +him trained to say, 'Ask the little fellow, Hicks!'"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., in truth, had acted in a most +reprehensible manner<br> +since that memorable night when he brought "Thor, the Prodigious +Prodigy,"<br> +to the campus. Not that he ceased to be the same sunny-souled, +popular and<br> +friendly youth. The collegians, happy at finding his room +open-house again,<br> +flocked to his cozy quarters, Freshmen <i>fell</i> under the +spell of his<br> +generous nature, his Beef-Steak Busts, down at Jerry's were +nightly<br> +occurrences, and he was the same Hicks as of old. But, after the +dramatic<br> +manner in which Hicks had mysteriously made good the rash vow +uttered at<br> +Camp Bannister and had brought to Coach Corridan a blond-haired +giant who<br> +seemed destined to perform prodigies at full-back, the sunny +Senior had<br> +evidently labored under the delusion that he was "Kellar, The +Great<br> +Magician."</p> + +<p>Instead of relieving the tortured curiosity of the students, +wild to know<br> +how and where Hicks had unearthed this physical Hercules, who in +every way<br> +filled the details of Head Coach Corridan's "blue-prints," T. +Haviland<br> +Hicks, Jr., enjoying to the full this novel method of torturing +his<br> +comrades, made a baffling mystery of the affair, much to the +indignation of<br> +his friends.</p> + +<p>"Just leave it to Hicks," he would say, when the Bannister +youths<br> +cajoled, implored, threatened, or argued. "Thor is eligible to +play four<br> +years of football at old Bannister. I call him Thor, after the +great Norse<br> +god, Thor; he is of Norwegian descent. That is all of the +Billion-Dollar<br> +Mystery I can disclose; ten thousand dollars offered for the +correct<br> +solution."</p> + +<p>"Here comes Scoop Sawyer," said Monty Merriweather, as that +Senior, waving<br> +his arms in air, catapulted from Bannister Hall, and strode +toward the<br> +squad on the Gym. steps; his appearance registered wrath, in +photo-play<br> +parlance, and on reaching his comrades he immediately acquainted +them with<br> +its cause.</p> + +<p>"Listen to that Hicks!" he exploded, gesticulating with a +sheaf of papers.<br> +"Hicks, the mocking-bird! He is mocking <i>us</i>—with his +'Billion-Dollar<br> +Mystery!' Say—here I am writing to Jack Merritt; he played +football four<br> +years for old Bannister; he was captain of the Gold and Green +eleven; last<br> +Commencement he graduated, and the last thing he said to me was, +'Scoop,<br> +old pal, write to me next fall, tell me everything about the +football<br> +season; keep me posted as to new material!' Everything—keep +him posted<br> +as to new material—Bah! If I write that Hicks has brought a +fellow he<br> +calls 'Thor,' who spreads the regulars over the field, Jack will +want<br> +to know the details, and—that villainous Hicks won't +divulge his dread<br> +secret!"</p> + +<p>At this moment, Scoop Sawyer, so-called because he was +ambitious to be a<br> +newspaper reporter, after graduation, and for his humorous +articles in the<br> +Bannister Weekly, had his intense wrath soothed by that which +has<br> +"power to soothe the savage breast"; T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., +displaying a<br> +wonderful originality by composing, then chanting, his parody, +concluded<br> +the chorus roaring lustily, to a rollicking banjo +accompaniment:</p> + +<p> "If street car companies gave seats to all patrons<br> + The strap-hangers in jitneys would not ride.<br> + There'd be no jits. today<br> + If Ford owners would say,<br> + I didn't raise my Ford to be a—jitney!"</p> + +<p>"That is too much!" raged Captain Butch Brewster, facing his +excited<br> +colleagues. "Come on, fellows, we'll invade Hicks' room, read him +Scoop's<br> +letter to Jack Merritt, and <i>make</i> him solve the Mystery! +We're done with<br> +diplomacy; now, we'll deliver the ultimatum; when the squad +returns from<br> +scrimmage, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., will tell us all about Thor, +or be<br> +tossed in a blanket! Are you with me?"</p> + +<p>"We are <i>ahead</i> of you!" howled Roddy Perkins, leading a +wild charge for<br> +the entrance to Bannister Hall. Following him up the two flights +of stairs<br> +with thunderous tread came Butch, Beef, Monty, Biff, Hefty, +Pudge, Tug,<br> +Ichabod, Bunch, Buster, Bus Norton, and several second-team +players,<br> +Cherub, Chub Chalmers, Don, Skeet, and Scoop Sawyer with his +letter. With<br> +a terrific, blood-chilling clatter, and hideous howls, the +Hicks-quelling<br> +Expedition roared down the third corridor of Bannister, and +surged into the<br> +room of that tantalizing T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.!</p> + +<p>"Safety first!" shrieked that cheery collegian, stowing his +banjo in the<br> +closet and making a strenuous but futile effort to dive +head-first beneath<br> +the bed, being forcibly restrained by Beef, who clung to his left +ankle.<br> +"Say, to what am I indebted for the honor of this call? Why, when +I got<br> +back to Bannister, you fellows gushed, 'Oh, we're <i>so</i> glad +you're back,<br> +Hicks, old top; we missed even your saengerfests,' and when I +start one—"</p> + +<p>"Hicks," pronounced Butch Brewster grimly, holding the genial +offender<br> +by the scruff of the neck, "you tantalizing, aggravating, +irritating,<br> +lunatical, conscienceless degenerate! You assassin of Father +Time, you<br> +disturber of the peace, <i>heed</i>! Scoop Sawyer is writing to +Jack Merritt, to<br> +tell about the football team, and Bannister's chances of the +Championship;<br> +he wants to tell Jack all about this Thor! Now, you have acted +like<br> +Herman-Kellar-Thurston long enough, and hear our final word. Read +Scoop's<br> +letter, and if when you finish its perusal you fail to give us +full<br> +information, and answer all questions about Thor—"</p> + +<p>"The football team will toss you in a blanket until you do!" +finished Monty<br> +Merriweather, "We intended to wait until after the scrimmage, but +Butch<br> +evidently believes we should end your bothersome mystery as once, +and—"</p> + +<p>"'Curiosity killed the cat!'" grinned T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.; +then seeing<br> +the avenues and boulevards of escape were closed, but fighting +for time,<br> +"let me peruse said missive indited by our literarily +overbalanced Scoop. I<br> +am reluctant to dispel the clouds of mystery, but—"</p> + +<p>Scoop Sawyer thrust the typewritten pages of the +letter—composed on<br> +the battered old typewriter in the editorial sanctum of the +Bannister<br> +Weekly—into Hicks' grasp and with a grin, that blithesome +youth read:</p> + +<p>Bannister College, Sept, 27.</p> + +<p>DEAR OLD JACK:</p> + +<p>There is so <i>much</i> to tell you, old pal, that I scarcely +know where to<br> +start, but you want to know about the football eleven, so I'll +write about<br> +T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., and his 'Billion-Dollar Mystery,' as he +calls it;<br> +about Thor, the Prodigious Prodigy. You well know what a +scatter-brained<br> +wretch Hicks is, and how he dearly loves to plot dramatic +climaxes—to<br> +mystify old Bannister. Just now Hicks has the campus as wrathful +as it is<br> +possible to be with that lovable youth; he has originated a great +mystery,<br> +and achieved a seemingly impossible feat, and instead of +explaining it, he<br> +swaggers around like a Hindoo mystic enshrouded in mystery and +the fellows<br> +are wild enough to tar and feather the incorrigible villain!</p> + +<p>To get off to a sprint-start, up in Camp Bannister, before +college opened,<br> +when the squad was in training camp, Butch Brewster says that +Coach<br> +Corridan one day, before Hicks, expressed a fervid ambition to +find a huge,<br> +irresistible fullback—</p> + +<p>Here the chronicle must hang fire, while T. Haviland Hicks, +Jr., grinning<br> +at the wrath his mysterious behavior aroused, peruses those +sections of<br> +Scoop Sawyer's epistle telling of two scenes already described; +first,<br> +the one in the Camp Bannister grub-shack, where Head Coach +Corridan<br> +blue-printed the Gargantuan athlete he desired, and the +blithesome Hicks<br> +confidently requested that the Herculean task be left to him; +second, the<br> +scene of intense excitement on the campus the night that the +missing Hicks<br> +returned personally conducting that mountain of muscle, the +blond-haired<br> +Thor.</p> + +<p>Having grinned at these descriptions, the pestiferous Hicks +scanned a<br> +picturesque description by Scoop of the events that transpired +between that<br> +memorable night and the present invasion of the sunny Senior's +room by the<br> +indignant squad.</p> + +<p>—Naturally, Jack, old Bannister was intensely curious to +know who this<br> +"Thor" could be, and how Hicks unearthed such a giant. But, +instead of<br> +swaggering a trifle, as he inevitably does, and saying, 'Oh, I +told you<br> +just to leave it to Hicks!' then telling all about it, after +accomplishing<br> +what everyone believed a ridiculously impossible quest, he +maintains that<br> +provokingly mysterious silence, and John Thorwald (we know his +name,<br> +anyway) stolidly refers us to Hicks. So where Thor originated or +how under<br> +the sun Hicks got on his trail, after making his rash vow to +corral a<br> +mighty fullback, is a deep, dark mystery.</p> + +<p>Now for Thor himself. Words cannot describe that Prodigious +Prodigy; he<br> +must be seen to be believed! We do know that he is John Thorwald, +and of<br> +distinctly Norwegian descent, so that calling him after the +mythic Norse<br> +god is extremely appropriate. And he is reminiscent of the great +Thor, with<br> +his vast strength and prowess. Thanks to T. Haviland Hicks, +Jr.'s, love of<br> +mystery, and of tantalizing old Bannister, we know nothing of +Thorwald's<br> +past, but we are sure he has lived and toiled among <i>men</i>, +to possess<br> +that powerful build. I can't describe him, old man, without +resorting to<br> +exaggeration, for ordinary words and phrases are utterly +inadequate with<br> +Thor! Conjure up a vision of Gulliver among the Lilliputians and +you can<br> +picture him towering over us. He is a Viking of old, with his +fair features<br> +and blond hair. Probably twenty-five years old, he has a powerful +frame and<br> +prodigious strength, he dwarfs such behemoths as Butch and Beef, +and makes<br> +such insignificant mortals as little Theophilus and myself seem +like<br> +insects!</p> + +<p>Thor is so <i>big</i>, Jack, that when he gets in a room, he +crowds everyone<br> +into the corridor, and fills it alone. No wonder Hicks +telegraphed to knock<br> +out the partitions between five rooms to make space for Thor! +When he<br> +stands on the campus he blots out several sections of scenery, +and the<br> +college disappears, giving the impression he has swallowed it. +Thor is a<br> +slow-minded being, but possessed of a grim determination. To get +an idea<br> +into his mind requires a blackboard and Chautauqua lecturer, but +once he<br> +masters it, he never lets go; so it will be with football +signals, once let<br> +him grasp a play, he will never be confused. He is simply a huge, +stolid<br> +giant. He has a bulldog purpose to get an education, and nothing +else<br> +matters. As for college spirit, the glad comradeship of the +campus, he has<br> +no time for it; he pays no attention to the fellows at all, only +to Hicks.</p> + +<p>His devotion to that wretch is pathetic! He follows Hicks +around like a<br> +huge mastiff after a terrier, or an ocean leviathan towed by a +tug-boat; he<br> +seems absolutely helpless without T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., and so +we have<br> +a daily Hicks' personally conducted tour of Thor to interest us. +Briefly,<br> +Jack, John Thorwald is a slow-moving, slow-minded, grimly bulldog +giant,<br> +who has come to Bannister to study, and as for any other phase of +campus<br> +existence, he has never awakened to it!</p> + +<p>Now for the football story: Well, the day after Hicks' +sensational arrival,<br> +which I described, Coach Corridan, Captain Butch Brewster, Beef, +Buster,<br> +Pudge, Monty, and Roddy with yours truly, went to Thor's room in +Creighton<br> +just before football practice. We found that Colossus, who had +matriculated<br> +as a Freshman, aided by Hicks, patiently masticating mental food +as served<br> +by Ovid. Coach Corridan said, 'Come on, Thorwald, over to the +Gym.; we'll<br> +fix you out with togs, if we can get two suits big enough to make +one for<br> +your bulk! Ever play the game?' 'I play some,' rumbled Thor +stolidly, never<br> +raising his eyes from his Latin. 'Don't bother me, I want to +<i>study.</i><br> +I have not time for such foolishness. I am here to study, to get +an<br> +education!' 'But,' urged the coach earnestly, 'you <i>must</i> +play football for<br> +your Alma Mater, for old Bannister. Why, you—you +<i>must</i>, that's all!' Thor<br> +gazed at Hicks questioningly—I forgot to add that insect's +name—and<br> +asked, 'Is it so, Hicks? I <i>got</i> to play for the college?' +And when Hicks<br> +grinned, 'Sure, Thor, it must be did. Bannister expects you to +smear the<br> +other teams over the landscape,' that blond Norwegian Viking +said, 'Well,<br> +then, I play.'</p> + +<p>All Bannister turned out to behold the "Prodigious Prodigy" on +the football<br> +field. Somewhere—Hicks won't divulge where—Thor has +learned the rudiments<br> +of the game. With that bulldog tenacity of his, he has learned +them well.<br> +Hence he was ready for the scrubs, and in the practice game it +was a<br> +veritable slaughter of the innocents. The 'Varsity could not stop +Thor.<br> +Remember 'Ole' Skjarsen, the big Swede of George Fitch's 'Siwash +College'<br> +tales? Thor, after the ten minutes required to teach him a play, +would take<br> +the ball and just wade through the regulars for big gains. The +only way to<br> +stop him was for the entire eleven to cling affectionately to his +bulk,<br> +and then he transported them several yards. He is a phenom, a +veritable<br> +Prodigious Prodigy, and maybe old Bannister isn't <i>wild</i> +with enthusiasm.<br> +His development will be slow but sure, and by the time the big +games for<br> +the championship come, he will be a whole team in himself. Right +now he<br> +goes through daily scrimmage as solemnly as if performing a +sacred rite. He<br> +doesn't thrill with college spirit, but as for +football—</p> + +<p>Leaving Hicks to read the rest of Scoop Sawyer's long missive, +terminating<br> +with indignant condemnation of the sunny youth's love of mystery, +the<br> +terrific enthusiasm roused at old Bannister by the daily +appearance on<br> +Bannister Field of Thor, and his irresistible marches through the +'Varsity,<br> +must be chronicled and explained.</p> + +<p>Not for five seasons, not since the year before Hicks, Pudge, +Butch, Beef<br> +and the others of 1919 were Freshmen, had the Gold and Green +corraled that<br> +greatest glory, The State Intercollegiate Football Championship! +In Captain<br> +Butch's Sophomore year, he had flung his bulk into the fray, +training,<br> +sacrificing, fighting like a Trojan, only to see the pennant lost +by a<br> +scant three inches, as Jack Merritt's forty-yard drop-kick for +the goal<br> +that would have won the Championship struck the cross-bar and +bounded back<br> +into the field. And the past season-old Bannister could still +vision that<br> +tragic scene of the biggest game.</p> + +<p>The students could picture Captain Brewster, with the +Bannister eleven a<br> +few yards from Ballard's goal-line, and the touchdown that would +give the<br> +Gold and Green that supreme glory. One minute to play; Deacon +Radford had<br> +given Butch the pigskin, and like a berserker, he fought entirely +through<br> +the scrimmage. But a kick on the head had blinded him, in the +<i>mêlée</i>—free<br> +of tacklers, with the goal-line, victory, and the Championship so +near, he<br> +staggered, reeled blindly, crashed into an upright, and toppled +backward,<br> +senseless on the field, while the Referee's whistle announced the +end of<br> +the game, and glory to Ballard. Even then, after the first +terrible shock<br> +of the loss, of the cruel blow fate dealt the Gold and Green +two<br> +successive seasons, the slogan was: "Next year—Bannister +will win the<br> +Championship—<i>next year</i>!"</p> + +<p>It was now "next year!" Losing only Jack Merritt, Babe McCabe +and Heavy<br> +Hughes from the line-up, and having Monty Merrlweather and Bunch +Bingham,<br> +fully as good, Coach Corridan's Gold and Green eleven, before the +season<br> +started, seemed a better fighting machine than even the one of +the year<br> +before. But when the irrepressible T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., in +some<br> +mysterious fashion making good his rash vow to produce a smashing +full-back<br> +that can't be stopped, towed that stolid, blond Colossus, Thor, +to old<br> +Bannister, enthusiasm broke all limits!</p> + +<p>Mass-meetings were held every night. Speeches by Coaches, +Captain, players,<br> +Faculty, and students, aroused the campus to the highest pitch; +every day,<br> +the entire student-body, with The Bannister Band, turned out on +Bannister<br> +Field to cheer the eleven, and to watch the Prodigious Prodigy +perform<br> +valorous deeds, like the god Thor. "Bannister College—State +Championship!"<br> +was the cry, and with the giant Thor to present an irresistible +catapulting<br> +that could not be stopped, the Gold and Green exultantly awaited +the big<br> +games with Hamilton and Ballard.</p> + +<p>And yet, the stolid, unemotional, unawakened Thor, on whom +every hope of<br> +the Championship was based, whom all Bannister came out to watch +every day,<br> +practiced as he studied, doggedly, silently. It was evident to +all that<br> +he hated the grind, that he wanted to quit, that his heart was +not in the<br> +game, but for some cause, he drove his Herculean body ahead, and +could not<br> +be stopped!</p> + +<p>"Now, you abandoned wretch," said Butch Brewster grimly, as +the<br> +happy-go-lucky Hicks finished Scoop's letter, and glanced about +him wildly<br> +seeking a way of escape, "in one minute you will tell us all +about John<br> +Thorwald, alias 'Thor,' or be tossed sky-high in a blanket by the +football<br> +squad, and please believe me, you'll break all altitude +records!"</p> + +<p>"Spare me, you banditti!" pleaded Hicks, reluctant to cease +torturing<br> +Bannister with his Billion-Dollar Mystery, yet equally unwilling +to aviate<br> +from a blanket heaved by the husky athletes. "Why seek ye to +question the<br> +ways of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.? You have your Prodigious +Prodigy—your<br> +smashing full-back is distributing the 'Varsity over the scenery +with<br> +charming nonchalance that promises dire catastrophe for other +teams, once<br> +he makes the regulars, so—"</p> + +<p>At that dramatic moment, just as Butch Brewster glanced at +Hicks'<br> +alarm-clock, to start the minute of grace, a startling +interruption saved<br> +the gladsome youth from having to make a decision. A heavy, +creaking tread<br> +shook the corridor, and the squad beheld, looming up in the +doorway, Thor.<br> +He was not in football togs, and as he started to speak his fair +face as<br> +stolid and expressionless as that of a sphinx, Captain Butch +Brewster<br> +stepped toward him.</p> + +<p>"Thor!" he exclaimed, seizing the blond Colossus by the arm, +"You aren't<br> +ready for the scrimmage; hustle over to the Gym. and get on your +suit."</p> + +<p>But John Thorwald, as passive of feature as though he +announced something<br> +of the most infinitesimal importance, and were not hurling a +bomb-shell<br> +whose explosion, was to shake old Bannister terrifically, spoke +in a<br> +matter-of-fact manner: "I shall not play football—any +more,"</p> + +<p>"What!" Every collegian in Hicks' room, including that dazed +producer<br> +of the Prodigious Prodigy, chorused the exclamation; to them it +was as<br> +stunning a shock as the nation would suffer if its President +calmly<br> +announced, "I'm tired of being President of the United States. I +shall not<br> +report for work tomorrow." Bannister College, ever since the +night that<br> +Thor arrived on the campus, had talked or thought of nothing but +how this<br> +huge, blond-haired Hercules would bring the Championship to the +Gold and<br> +Green; his prodigies on the gridiron, his ever-increasing +prowess, had<br> +aroused enthusiasm to fever heat, and now—</p> + +<p>"I was told wrong," said Thor, shifting his vast tonnage +awkwardly from one<br> +foot to the other, and evidently bewildered at the consternation +caused by<br> +what he believed a trifling announcement, "I understood that I +<i>had</i> to<br> +play football, that the Faculty required it of me, and the +students let me<br> +think so. I have just learned from Doctor Alford that such is not +true,<br> +that I do not have to play unless I choose, hence, I quit. I came +to<br> +college to study, to gain an education. I have toiled long and +hard for<br> +the opportunity, and now I have it, I shall not waste my time on +such<br> +foolishness."</p> + +<p>Then, utterly unconscious that he had spoken sentences which +would create<br> +a mighty sensation at old Bannister, that might doom the Gold and +Green<br> +to defeat, lose his Alma Mater the Championship, and bring on +himself the<br> +cruel ostracism and bitter censure of his fellows, John Thorwald +lumbered<br> +down the corridor. A moment of tense silence followed and then +Captain<br> +Butch Brewster groaned.</p> + +<p>"It's all over, it's all over, fellows!" he said brokenly, +"Bannister loses<br> +the Championship! We know it is impossible to move Thor on the +football<br> +field, and now that he has said 'No!' to playing football, +dynamite can not<br> +move him from his decision."</p> + +<p>Then, crushed and disconsolate, the football squad filed +silently from the<br> +room, to break the glad news to Coach Corridan, and to spread the +joyous<br> +tidings to old Bannister. When they had gone, T. Haviland Hicks, +Jr.,<br> +staring at the figurative black cloud that lowered over his Alma +Mater,<br> +strove to find its silver lining, and at last he partially +succeeded.</p> + +<p>"Anyway," said Hicks, with a lugubrious effort to grin, +"Thor's<br> +announcement shocked the squad so much that I was not forced to +explain my<br> +Billion-Dollar Mystery!"</p> + +<p><br> +CHAPTER V</p> + +<p>HICKS MAKES A DECISION</p> + +<p>"In the famous words of Mr. Somebody-Or-Other," quoth T. +Haviland Hicks,<br> +Jr., "something has <i>got</i> to be did, and immediately to +once!"</p> + +<p>Big Butch Brewster nodded assent. So did Head Coach Patrick +Henry Corridan,<br> +Beef McNaughton, Team Manager Socks Fitzpatrick, Monty +Merriweather, Dad<br> +Pendleton, President of the Athletic Association, and Deacon +Radford,<br> +quarter-back, also Shad Fishpaw, who, being Freshman +Class-Chairman,<br> +maintained a discreet silence. Instead of the usual sky-larking, +care-free<br> +crowd that infested the cozy quarters of the happy-go-lucky +Hicks, every<br> +collegian present, except the ever-cheerful youth, seemed to have +lost his<br> +best friend and his last dollar at one fell swoop!</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, something has got to be did!" fleered Beef +McNaughton, the<br> +davenport creaking under the combined tonnage of himself and +Butch<br> +Brewster, "But who will do it? Where's all that +Oh-just-leave-it-to-Hicks<br> +stuff you have pulled for the past three years, you pestiferous +insect?<br> +Bah! You did a lot; you dragged a Prodigious Prodigy to old +Bannister,<br> +enshrouded him in darkest mystery, and now, when he pushed the +'Varsity off<br> +the field and promised to corral the Championship, single-handed, +he puts<br> +his foot down, and says, 'No—I will not play football!' Get +busy, Little<br> +Mr. Fix-It."</p> + +<p>"Oh, just leave it to Hicks!" accommodated that blithesome +Senior, with a<br> +cheeriness he was far from feeling. "You all do know why Thor +won't<br> +play football; it is not like last season, when Deke Radford, a +star<br> +quarter-back, refused either to play, or to explain his refusal. +Let me<br> +get an inspiration, and then Thor will once again gently but +firmly thrust<br> +entire football elevens down the field before him!"</p> + +<p>As evidence of how intensely serious was the situation, let it +be<br> +chronicled that, for the first time in his scatter-brained campus +career,<br> +T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., did not dare strum his banjo and roar out +ballads<br> +to torture his long-suffering colleagues. Popular and beloved as +he was,<br> +the gladsome youth hesitated to shatter the quietude of the +campus with<br> +his saengerfest, knowing as he did what a terrible blow Thor's +utterly<br> +astounding announcement had been to the college.</p> + +<p>It was nine o'clock, one night two weeks after the day when +John Thorwald,<br> +better known as Thor, the Prodigious Prodigy, so mysteriously +produced by<br> +Hicks, had stolidly paralyzed old Bannister by unemotionally +stating his<br> +decision to play no more football. Since then, to quote the +Phillyloo Bird,<br> +"Bannister has staggered around the ring like a prizefighter with +the<br> +Referee counting off ten seconds and trying to fight again before +he takes<br> +the count." In truth, the students had made a fatal mistake in +building<br> +all their hopes of victory on that blond giant, Thor; seeing his +wonderful<br> +prowess, and beholding how, in the first week of the season, the +Norwegian<br> +Colossus had ripped to shreds the Varsity line which even the +heavy Ballard<br> +eleven of the year before could not batter, it was but natural +that the<br> +enthusiastic youths should think of the Championship chances in +terms of<br> +Thor. For one week, enthusiasm and excitement soared higher and +higher,<br> +and then, to use a phrase of fiction, everything fell with a +dull,<br> +sickening thud!</p> + +<p>In vain did Coach Corridan, the staff of Assistant Coaches, +Captain Butch<br> +Brewster, and others strive to resuscitate football spirit; +nightly<br> +mass-meetings were held, and enough perfervid oratory hurled to +move a<br> +Russian fortress, but to no avail. It was useless to argue that, +without<br> +Thor, Bannister had an eleven better than that of last year, +which so<br> +nearly missed the Championship. The campus had seen the massive +Thor's<br> +prodigies; they knew he could not be stopped, and to attempt to +arouse the<br> +college to concert pitch over the eleven, with that mountain of +muscle<br> +blotting out vast sections of scenery, but not in football togs, +was not<br> +possible.</p> + +<p>"One thing is sure," spoke Dad Pendleton seriously, gazing +gloomily from<br> +the window, "unless we get Thor in the line-up for the Big Games, +our last<br> +hope of the Championship is dead and interred! And I feel sorry +for the big<br> +fellow, for already the boys like him just about as much as a +German<br> +loves an Englishman; yet, arguments, threats, pleadings, and +logic have<br> +absolutely no effect on him. He has said 'No,' and that ends +it!"</p> + +<p>"He doesn't understand things, fellows," defended T. Haviland +Hicks, Jr.,<br> +with surprising earnestness. "Remember how bewildered he seemed +at our<br> +appeal to his college spirit, and his love for his Alma Mater. We +might as<br> +well have talked Choctaw to him!"</p> + +<p>Butch Brewster, Socks Fitzpatrick, Dad Pendleton, Beef +McNaughton, Deacon<br> +Radford, Monty Merriweather, and Shad Fishpaw well remembered +that night<br> +after Thor's tragic decision, when they—part of a Committee +formed of the<br> +best athletes from all teams, and the most representative +collegians of old<br> +Bannister, had invaded Thor's room in Creighton Hall, to wrestle +with the<br> +recalcitrant Hercules. Even as Hicks spoke, they visioned it +again.</p> + +<p>A cold, cheerless room, bare of carpet or pictures, with just +the<br> +study-table, bed, and two chairs. At the study-table, his huge +bulk<br> +sprawling on, and overflowing, a frail chair, they had found the +massive<br> +John Thorwald laboriously reading aloud the Latin he had +translated,<br> +literally by the sweat of his brow. The blond Colossus, impatient +at the<br> +interruption, had shaken his powerful frame angrily, and with no +regard for<br> +campus tradition, had addressed the upperclassmen in a growl: +"Well, what<br> +do you want? Hurry up, I've got to study."</p> + +<p>And then, to state it briefly, they had worked with (and on) +the stolid<br> +Thorwald for two hours. They explained how his decision to play +no more<br> +football would practically kill old Bannister's hopes of the +Championship,<br> +would assassinate football spirit on the campus, and cause the +youths to<br> +condemn Thor, and to ostracise him. Waxing eloquent, Butch +Brewster had<br> +delivered a wonderful speech, pleading with John Thorwald to play +the<br> +game. He tried to show that obviously uninterested mammoth that, +like the<br> +Hercules he so resembled, he stood at the parting of the +ways.</p> + +<p>"You are on the threshold of your college career, old man!" he +thundered<br> +impressively, though he might as well have tried to shoot holes +in a<br> +battleship with a pop-gun, "What you do now will make or break +you. Do you<br> +want the fellows as friends or as enemies; do you want +comradeship, or<br> +loneliness and ostracism? You have it in your power to do two +<i>big</i> things,<br> +to win the Championship for your Alma Mater, and to win to +yourself the<br> +entire student-body, as friends; will you do that, and build a +firm<br> +foundation for your college years, or betray your Alma Mater, and +gain the<br> +enmity of old Bannister!"</p> + +<p>Followed more fervid periods, with such phrases as, "For your +Alma Mater,"<br> +"Because of your college spirit," "For dear old Bannister," and +"For<br> +the Gold and Green!" predominating; all of which terms, to the +stolid,<br> +unimaginative Thorwald being fully as intelligible as Hindustani. +They<br> +appealed to him not to betray his Alma Mater; they implored him, +for his<br> +love of old Bannister; they besought him, because of his college +spirit;<br> +and all the time, for all that the Prodigious Prodigy understood, +they<br> +might as well have remained silent.</p> + +<p>"I will tell you something," spoke Thor, at last, with an air +of impatient<br> +resignation, "and don't bother me again, please! I have come to +Bannister<br> +College to get an education, and I have the right to do so, +without being<br> +pestered. I pay my bills, and I am entitled to all the knowledge +I can<br> +purchase. I look from my window, and I see boys, whose fathers +are toiling,<br> +sacrificing, to send them here. Instead of studying, to show +their<br> +gratitude, they loaf around the campus, or in their rooms, +twanging banjos<br> +and guitars, singing silly songs, and sky-larking. I don't know +what all<br> +this rot is you are talking of; 'college spirit,' 'my Alma +Mater,' and so<br> +on. I do not want to play football; I do not like the game; I +need the time<br> +for my study, so I will not play. Both my father and myself have +labored<br> +and sacrificed to send me to college. The past five years, with +one great<br> +ambition to go to college and learn, I have toiled like a +galley-slave.</p> + +<p>"And now, when opportunity is mine, do you ask me to +<i>play</i>? You want me to<br> +loaf around, wasting precious time better spent in my studies. +What do I<br> +care whether the boys like me, or hate me? Bah! I can take any +two of you,<br> +and knock your heads together! Their friendship or enmity won't +move me. I<br> +shall study, learn. I will not waste time in senseless +foolishness, and I<br> +<i>won't</i> play football again."</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr. was silent as he stood by the window of +his room,<br> +gazing down at the campus where the collegians were gathering +before<br> +marching to the Auditorium for the nightly mass-meeting that +would vainly<br> +strive to arouse a fighting spirit in the football "rooters." +That<br> +blithesome, heedless, happy-go-lucky youth was capable of far +more serious<br> +thought than old Bannister knew; and more, he possessed the rare +ability<br> +to read character; in the case of Thor, he saw vastly deeper than +his<br> +indignant comrades, who beheld only the surface of the affair. +They knew<br> +only that John Thorwald, a veritable Colossus, had exhibited +football<br> +prowess that practically promised the State Championship to old +Bannister,<br> +and then—he had quit the game. They understood only that +Thor refused to<br> +play simply because he did not want to, and as to why their +appeals to his<br> +college spirit and his love for his Alma Mater were unheeded they +were<br> +puzzled.</p> + +<p>But the gladsome Hicks, always serious beneath his cheerful +exterior, when<br> +old Bannister's interests were at stake, or when a collegian's +career<br> +might be blighted, when the tragedy could be averted, fully +understood. Of<br> +course, as originator of the Billion-Dollar Mystery, and producer +of the<br> +Prodigious Prodigy, he knew more about the strange John Thorwald +than did<br> +his mystified comrades. He knew that Thor, as he named him, was +just a vast<br> +hulk of humanity, stolid, unimaginative of mind, slow-thinking, a +dull,<br> +unresponsive mass, as yet unstirred by that strange, subtle, +mighty thing<br> +called college spirit. He realized that Thor had never had a +chance to<br> +understand the real meaning of campus life, to grasp the glad +fellowship of<br> +the students, to thrill with a great love for his Alma Mater. All +that must<br> +come in time. The blond giant had toiled all his life, had +labored among<br> +men where everything was practical and grim. Small wonder, then, +that he<br> +failed utterly to see why the youths "loafed on the campus, or in +their<br> +rooms, twanging banjos and guitars, singing silly songs, and +skylarking."</p> + +<p>"I must save him," murmured Hicks softly, for the others in +his room were<br> +talking of Thor. "Oh, imagine that powerful body, imbued with a +vast love<br> +for old Bannister, think of Thor, thrilling with college spirit. +Why,<br> +Yale's and Harvard's elevens combined could not stop his rushes, +then. I<br> +must save him from himself, from the condemnation of the fellows, +who just<br> +don't understand. I must, some way, awaken him to a complete +understanding<br> +of college life in its entirety, but how? He is so different from +Roddy<br> +Perkins, or Deke Radford."</p> + +<p>It seemed that the lovable Hicks was destined to save, every +year of his<br> +campus career, some entering collegian who incurred the wrath, +deserved or<br> +otherwise, of the students. In his Freshman first term, T. +Haviland Hicks,<br> +Jr., indignant at the way little Theophilus Opperdyke, the +timorous,<br> +nervous "grind," had been alarmed at the idea of being hazed, had +by a<br> +sensational escape from a room locked, guarded, and filled with +Sophomores,<br> +gained immunity for himself and the boner for all time, thus +winning the<br> +loyal, pathetic devotion of the Human Encyclopedia. As a +Sophomore, by<br> +crushing James Roderick Perkins' Napoleonic ambition to upset +tradition,<br> +and make Freshmen equal with upperclassmen, Hicks had turned +that<br> +aggressive youth's tremendous energy in the right channels, and +made him a<br> +power for good on the campus.</p> + +<p>And, a Junior, he had saved good Deacon Radford. When that +serious youth, a<br> +famous prep. quarter, entered old Bannister, the students were +wild at the<br> +thought of having him to run the Gold and Green team, but to +their dismay,<br> +he refused either to report for practice or to explain his +decision. Hicks,<br> +promising blithely, as usual, to solve the mystery and get Deke +to play,<br> +discovered that the youth's mother, called "Mother Peg" by the +collegians,<br> +was head-waitress downtown at Jerry's and that she made her son +promise<br> +not to own the relationship, and that while she worked to get him +through<br> +college, Deacon would not play football. The inspired Hicks had +gotten<br> +Mother Peg to start College Inn, and board Freshmen unable to get +rooms<br> +in the dormitories, and Deacon had played wonderful football. For +this<br> +achievement, the original youth failed to get glory, for he +sacrificed it,<br> +and swore all concerned to secrecy.</p> + +<p>"But Roddy and Deke were different," reflected Hicks, +pondering seriously.<br> +"Both had been to Prep. School, and they understood college life +and campus<br> +spirit. It was Roddy's tremendous ambition that had to be curbed, +and Deke<br> +was the victim of circumstances. But Thorwald—it is just a +problem of how<br> +to awaken in him an understanding of college spirit. The fellows +don't<br> +understand him, and—"</p> + +<p>A sudden thought, one of his inspirations, assailed the +blithesome Hicks.<br> +Why not make the fellows understand Thor? Surely, if he explained +the<br> +"Billion-Dollar Mystery," as he humorously called it, and told +why<br> +Thorwald, as yet, had no conception of college life, in its true +meaning,<br> +they would not feel bitter against him; perhaps, instead, though +regretful<br> +at his decision not to play the game, they would all strive to +awaken the<br> +stolid Colossus, to stir his soul to an understanding of +campus<br> +tradition and existence. But that would mean—"I surely hate +to lose my<br> +Billion-Dollar Mystery!" grinned T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., +remembering<br> +the intense indignation of his comrades at his +Herman-Kellar-Thurston<br> +atmosphere of mystery, "It is more fun than, my 'Sheerluck +Holmes'<br> +detective pose or my saengerfests. Still, for old Bannister, and +for Thor."</p> + +<p>It would seem only a trifle for the heedless Hicks to give up +his mystery,<br> +and tell Bannister all about Thor; yet, had the Hercules +reconsidered, and<br> +played football, the torturesome youth would have bewildered his +colleagues<br> +as long as possible, or until they made him divulge the truth. He +dearly<br> +loved to torment his comrades, and this had been such an +opportunity for<br> +him to promise nonchalantly to produce a Herculean full-back, +then, to<br> +return to the campus with the Prodigious Prodigy in tow, and for +him to<br> +perform wonders on Bannister Field, naturally aroused the +interest of the<br> +youths, and he had enjoyed hugely their puzzlement, but +now—</p> + +<p>"Say, fellows," he interrupted an excited conversation of a +would-be<br> +Committee of Ways and Means to make Thor play football, "I have +an<br> +announcement to make."</p> + +<p>"Don't pester us, Hicks!" warned Captain Butch Brewster, +grimly. "We love<br> +you like a brother, but we'll crush you if you start any +foolishness,<br> +and—"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., with the study-table between himself +and his<br> +comrades, assumed the attitude of a Chautauqua lecturer, one hand +resting<br> +on the table and the other thrust into the breast of his coat, +and<br> +dramatically announced:</p> + +<p>"In the Auditorium—at the regular mass-meeting +tonight—T. Haviland Hicks,<br> +Jr., will give the correct explanation of Thor, the Prodigious +Prodigy, and<br> +will solve the Billion-Dollar Mystery!"</p> + +<p><br> +CHAPTER VI</p> + +<p>HICKS MAKES A SPEECH</p> + +<p>The announcement of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., had practically +the same<br> +effect on Head Coach Corridan and the cheery Senior's comrades as +a German<br> +gas-bomb would have on the inmates of an Allied trench. For +several seconds<br> +they stared at the blithesome youth, in a manner scarcely to be +called<br> +aimless, since their looks were aimed with deadly accuracy at +him, but in<br> +general, with the exception of Hicks, those in the room resembled +vastly<br> +some of the celebrated Madame Tussaud's wax-works in London.</p> + +<p>"Oh," breathed Monty Merriweather, with the appearance of +dawning<br> +intelligence, "that's so, Coach, Hicks never has disclosed the +details of<br> +his achievement; we were about to extort a confession from him, +when Thor<br> +broke up the league with his announcement, and since then, +Bannister has<br> +been too worried over Thorwald to trifle with Hicks!"</p> + +<p>"That's a good idea!" exclaimed Coach Corridan, who had been +remarkably<br> +silent, for him, pondering the football crisis, "Hicks can make +his<br> +explanation at the regular mass-meeting tonight, in the +Auditorium. I'll<br> +post an announcement of his purpose, and you fellows spread the +news among<br> +the students, stating that Hicks will tell how he rounded up +Thor. Some<br> +have shirked these meetings since Thorwald quit the game, and +this will<br> +bring them out, so maybe we can arouse the fighting spirit +again!"</p> + +<p>So well did Butch, Beef, Socks, Monty, Dad, Deacon, and Shad +tell the news,<br> +that when the bell in the Administration Hall tower rang at ten +o'clock it<br> +was ascertained by score-keepers that every youth at Bannister, +Freshmen<br> +included, except that Hercules, Thor, had assembled in the +Auditorium. That<br> +stolid behemoth, who regarded the football mass-meeting as +foolishness, was<br> +reported as boning in his cheerless room, fulfilling the mission +for which<br> +he came to college, namely, to get his money's worth of +knowledge, which he<br> +evidently regarded as some commodity for which Bannister served +merely as a<br> +market.</p> + +<p>Big Butch Brewster, on the stage of the Auditorium, the big +assembly-hall<br> +of the college, along with Coach Corridan, several of the Gold +and Green<br> +eleven, two members of the Faculty, several Assistant Coaches, +and T.<br> +Haviland Hicks, Jr., stepped forward and stilled the tumult of +the excited<br> +youths with upraised hand.</p> + +<p>"We have with us tonight," he spoke, after the fashion of +introducing<br> +after-dinner speakers, "Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Jr., the +celebrated<br> +Magician and Mystifier, who will present for your approval his +world-famous<br> +Billion-Dollar Mystery, and give the correct solution to Thor, +the problem<br> +no one has been able to solve. I take great pleasure in +introducing to you<br> +this evening, Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Jr."</p> + +<p>The collegians, firmly believing it was another of the +pestiferous Hicks'<br> +jokes, and wholly unaware of the deep purpose of the +sunny-souled,<br> +irrepressible youth's speech, went into paroxysms of glee, as +the<br> +shadow-like Hicks stepped forward. For several minutes, the hall +echoed<br> +with jeers, shouts, groans, whistles, and sarcastic comments:</p> + +<p>"Hire a hall, Hicks; tell it to Sweeney!"—"Bryan better +look out. Hicks,<br> +the Chau-talker;"—"Spill the speech, old man; spread the +oratory!"—"Oh,<br> +where are my smelling-salts? I know I shall faint!"—"You'd +better play a<br> +banjo-accompaniment to it, Hicks!"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., for once in his campus career, +fervidly wished he<br> +had not been such a happy-go-lucky, care-free collegian, for now, +when he<br> +was serious, his comrades refused to believe him to be in such a +state.<br> +However, quiet was obtained at last, thanks to the fact that the +youths<br> +possessed all the curiosity of the proverbial cat who died +thereby, and the<br> +sunny Senior plunged earnestly into his famous speech, that was +destined,<br> +at old Bannister, to rank with that of Demosthenes "On The +Crown," or any<br> +of W. J, Bryan's masterpieces.</p> + +<p>"Fellows," began Hicks, without preface, "I know I've built +myself the<br> +reputation of being a scatterbrained, heedless nonentity, and +it's too late<br> +to change now. But tonight, please believe me to be thoroughly in +earnest.<br> +Bannister faces more than one crisis, more than one tragedy. It +is true<br> +that the football eleven is crippled by the defection of Thor, +that we<br> +fellows have somewhat unreasonably allowed his quitting the game +to shake<br> +our spirit, but there is more at stake than football victories, +than even<br> +the State Intercollegiate Football Championship! The future of a +student,<br> +of a present Freshman, his hopes of becoming a loyal, solid, +representative<br> +college man, a tremendous power for good, at old Bannister, hang +in the<br> +balance at this moment! I speak of John Thorwald. You students +have it in<br> +your power to make or break him, to ruin his college years and +make him a<br> +recluse, a misanthrope, or to gradually bring him to a full +realization of<br> +what college life and campus tradition really mean."</p> + +<p>"I have made a great mystery of Thor, just for a lark, but the +enmity and<br> +condemnation of the campus for him because he quit football +suddenly, shows<br> +me that the time for skylarking is past. For his sake, I must +plead. He is<br> +not to blame, altogether, for quitting. Myself, and you fellows, +gave him<br> +the impression that it was a Faculty requirement for him to play +football,<br> +for we feared he would not play, otherwise; when he learned that +it was not<br> +a Faculty rule, he simply quit."</p> + +<p>Here T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., seeing that at last he had +convinced the<br> +collegians of his earnestness, though they seemed fairly +paralyzed at the<br> +phenomenon, paused, and produced a bundle of papers before +resuming.</p> + +<p>"Now, I'll try to explain the 'mystery' as briefly and as +clearly as<br> +possible. Up at Camp Bannister, before college opened, Coach +Corridan, as<br> +you know, outlined to Butch, Deke, and myself, his dream of a +Herculean,<br> +irresistible full-back; I said, 'Just leave It to Hicks!' and +they believed<br> +that I, as usual, just made that remark to torment them. But such +was not<br> +the case. When I joined them, I remarked that I had a letter from +my Dad;<br> +Deke made some humorous remarks, and I forgot to read it aloud, +as I<br> +intended. Then, after Coach Corridan blue-printed his giant +full-back, I<br> +kept silent as to Dad's letter, for reasons you'll understand. +But, after<br> +all, there was no mystery about my leaving Camp Bannister, after +making a<br> +seemingly rash vow, and returning to college with a 'Prodigious +Prodigy'<br> +who filled specifications, In fact, before I left Camp Bannister, +at the<br> +moment I made my rash promise—I had Thor already lined +up!"</p> + +<p>"I shall now read a dipping or two, and a letter or two from +my Dad. The<br> +clippings came in Dad's letter to me at Camp Bannister, the +letter I<br> +intended to read to Coach Corridan, Deke, and Butch, but which I +decided to<br> +keep silent about, after the Coach told of the full-back he +wanted, for<br> +I knew I had him already! First, a clipping from the San +Francisco<br> +Examiner, of August 25:</p> + +<p>MAROONED SAILOR RESCUED—TEN YEARS<br> +ON SOUTH SEA ISLAND!SOLE SURVIVOR OF<br> +ILL-FATED CRUISE OF THE ZEPHYR</p> + +<p>"The trading-schooner Southern Cross, Captain Martin Bascomb, +skipper,<br> +put into San Francisco yesterday with a cargo of copra from the +South Sea<br> +Islands. On board was John Thorwald, Sr., who for the past ten +years<br> +has been marooned on an uninhabited coral isle of the Southern +Pacific,<br> +together with 'Long Tom' Watts, who, however, died several months +ago.<br> +Thorwald's story reads like a thrilling bit of fiction. He was +first mate<br> +of the ill-fated yacht Zephyr, which cleared from San Francisco +ten years<br> +ago with Henry B. Kingsley, the Oil-King, and a pleasure party, +for a<br> +cruise under the southern star. A terrific tornado wrecked the +yacht, and<br> +only Thorwald and 'Long Tom' escaped, being cast upon the coral +island,<br> +where for ten years they existed, unable to attract the attention +of the<br> +few craft that passed, as the isle was out of the regular lanes. +Only when<br> +Captain Martin Bascomb, in the trading-schooner Southern Cross, +touched<br> +at the island, hoping to find natives with whom to trade supplies +for<br> +copra, were they found, and 'Long Tom' had been dead some +months."</p> + +<p>"Despite the harrowing experiences of his exile, Thorwald, a +vast hulk of a<br> +stolid, unimaginative Norwegian, who reminds one of the Norse +god, 'Thor,'<br> +intends to ship as first mate on the New York-Christiania +Steamship Line.<br> +It is said that Thorwald has a son, at this time about +twenty-five years of<br> +age, somewhere In this country, whom he will seek, +and—"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., at this juncture, terminated the +newspaper story,<br> +and finding that his explanation held his comrades spellbound, he +produced<br> +a letter, and drew out the message, after stating the youths +could read the<br> +entire news-story of John Thorwald, Sr., later.</p> + +<p>"This is the letter I received from my Dad," he explained to +the intensely<br> +interested Bannister youths, who were giving a concentrated +attention that<br> +members of the Faculty would have rejoiced to receive from them. +"Up at<br> +Camp Bannister—I was just about to read it to Coach +Corridan, Butch, and<br> +Deke Radford, when Deke chaffed me, and then the Coach outlined +the mammoth<br> +full-back he desired, so I kept quiet. I'll now read it to +you:</p> + +<p>"Pittsburgh, Pa., Sept, 17.</p> + +<p>"DEAR SON THOMAS:</p> + +<p>"Read the inclosed clipping from the San Francisco Examiner of +August 25,<br> +and then pay close attention to the following facts: At the time +of this<br> +news-story I was in 'Frisco on business, as you will recall, and +for<br> +reasons to be outlined, when I read of the Southern Cross finding +the<br> +marooned John Thorwald, and bringing him to that city, I was +particularly<br> +interested, so much so that I at once looked up the one-time +first mate of<br> +the ill-starred Zephyr and brought him to Pittsburgh in my +private car.<br> +My reason was this; in my employ, in the International Steel +Combine's<br> +mill, was John Thorwald's son, John Thorwald, Jr.</p> + +<p>"To state facts as briefly as possible, almost a year ago, as +I took some<br> +friends through the steel rolling mill, I chanced to step +directly beneath<br> +a traveling crane, lowering a steel beam; seeing my peril, I was +about to<br> +step aside when I caught my foot and fell. Just then a veritable +giant,<br> +black and grimy, leaped forward, and with a prodigious display of +strength,<br> +placed his powerful back under the descending weight, staving it +off until<br> +I rolled over to safety!</p> + +<p>"Well, of course, I had the fellow report to my office, and +instinctively<br> +feeling that I wanted to show my gratitude, without being +patronizing, he<br> +responded to my question as to what I could do to reward him, by +asking<br> +simply that I get him some job that would allow him to attend +night school.<br> +He stated that, owing to the fact that he worked alternate weeks +at night<br> +shift he was unable to do so. Questioning him further, I learned +the<br> +following facts:</p> + +<p>"He was John Thorwald, Jr., only son of John Thorwald, Sr., a +Norwegian;<br> +his mother was also a Norwegian, but he is a natural born +American.<br> +Realizing the opportunities for an educated young man in our +land,<br> +Thorwald's parents determined that he should gain knowledge, and +until he<br> +was fifteen years old, he attended school in San Francisco. When +he was<br> +fifteen, his father signed as first mate on the yacht Zephyr, +going with<br> +the oil-king, Henry B. Kingsley, on a pleasure cruise in the +Southern<br> +Pacific; Thorwald, Sr.'s, story you read in the paper. Soon after +the news<br> +of the Zephyr's wreck, with all on board lost, as was then +supposed,<br> +Thorwald's mother died. Her dying words (so young Thorwald told +me, and I<br> +was moved by his simple, straightforward tale) were an appeal to +her<br> +boy. She made him promise, for her sake, to study, study, study +to gain<br> +knowledge, and to rise in the world! Thorwald promised. Then, +believing<br> +both his parents dead, the young Norwegian, a youth of fifteen +without<br> +money, had to shift for himself.</p> + +<p>"Thomas, Jack London could weave his adventures into a +gripping<br> +masterpiece. Starting in as cabin-boy on a freighter to Alaska, +young<br> +Thorwald, in the past ten years, has simply crowded his life +with<br> +adventure, thrill, and experience, though thrills mean nothing to +him. He<br> +was in the Klondike gold-fields, in the salmon canneries, a +prospector, a<br> +lumber-jack in the Canadian Northwest, a cowboy, a sailor, a +worker in the<br> +Panama Canal Zone, on the Big Ditch, and too many other things to +remember.<br> +Finally, he drifted to Pittsburgh, where his prodigious strength +served him<br> +in the steel-mills, and, let me add, served <i>me</i>, as I +stated.</p> + +<p>"And ever, no matter where he wandered, or what was his toil, +whenever<br> +possible, Thorwald studied. His promise to his mother was always +his goal,<br> +and in the cities he studied, or in the wilds he read all the +books he<br> +could find. The past year, finding he had a good-pay job in +Pittsburgh, he<br> +settled to determined effort, and by sheer resolution, by his +wonderful<br> +power to grasp facts and ideas for good once he gets them, he +made great<br> +progress in night school, until he was shifted, a week before he +saved my<br> +life, to work that required him to toil nightly, alternate weeks. +So, for a<br> +year, Thor has had every possible advantage, some, unknown to +him, I paid<br> +for myself; I got him clerical work, with shorter hours, he went +to night<br> +school, and I employed the very best tutor obtainable, letting +Thorwald<br> +pay him, as he thought, though his payments wouldn't keep the +tutor in<br> +neckties. The gratitude of the blond giant is pathetic, and +suspecting that<br> +I paid the tutor something, he insisted on paying all he could, +which I<br> +allowed, of course.</p> + +<p>"Well, in August, a year after Thorwald rescued me from +serious injury,<br> +perhaps death, I was in 'Frisco, and read of Thorwald, Sr.'s +rescue and<br> +return. Overjoyed, I took the father to Pittsburgh, to the son. I +witnessed<br> +their meeting, with the father practically risen from the dead, +and all<br> +those stolid, unimaginative Norwegians did was to shake hands +gravely!<br> +Young Thorwald told of his mother's last words, and of his +promise, of his<br> +having studied all the years, and of his late progress, so that +he was<br> +ready to enter college. His father, happy, insisted that he enter +this<br> +September, and he would pay for his son's college course, to make +up for<br> +the years the youth struggled for himself—Kingsley's heirs, +I believe,<br> +gave Thorwald, Sr., five thousand dollars on his return. So, +though<br> +grateful to me for the aid I offered, they would receive no +financial<br> +assistance, for they want to work it out themselves, and help the +youth<br> +make good his promise to his dying mother.</p> + +<p>"Much as I love old Bannister, my Alma Mater, I would not have +tried to<br> +send Thorwald there, had I not deemed it a good place for him. +However,<br> +since it is a liberal, not a technical, education he wants, it is +all<br> +right; and that prodigious strength will serve the Gold and Green +on the<br> +football field. Now, Thomas, I want you to meet him in +Philadelphia, and<br> +take him to Bannister, look out for him, get him started O. K., +and do all<br> +you can for him. Get him to play football, if you can, but don't +condemn<br> +if he refuses. Remember, his life has been grim and +unimaginative; he has<br> +toiled and studied, it is probable he will not understand college +life at<br> +first."</p> + +<p>"That's all I need to read of Dad's letter, fellows," +concluded T. Haviland<br> +Hicks, Jr. "After I got it, and Coach Corridan, Butch, and Beef +heard my<br> +seemingly rash vow to round up a giant full-back, I made a +mystery of it; I<br> +loafed in Philadelphia and Atlantic City until I met Thor, and +brought him<br> +here. You have all the data regarding Thor, 'The Billion-Dollar +Mystery.'"</p> + +<p>The students, almost as one, drew a deep breath. They had been +enthralled<br> +by the story, and their feeling toward Thor had undergone a vast +change.<br> +Stirred by hearing of his promise to his dying mother, thrilled +at the way<br> +the stolid, determined Norwegian had ceaselessly studied to make +something<br> +of himself for the sake of his mother's sacred memory, the +Bannister youths<br> +now thought of football, of the Championship, as insignificant, +beside the<br> +goal of Thorwald, Jr. The blond Colossus, whom an hour ago all +Bannister<br> +reviled and condemned for not playing the game, who was a campus +outcast,<br> +was now a hero; thanks to the erstwhile heedless Hicks, whose +intense<br> +earnestness in itself was a revelation to the amazed collegians, +Thor stood<br> +before them in a different light, and the impulsive, +whole-souled, generous<br> +youths were now anxious to make amends.</p> + +<p>"Thor! Thor! Thor!" was the thunderous cry, and the Bannister +yell for<br> +the Prodigious Prodigy shattered the echoes. Then T. Haviland +Hicks, Jr.,<br> +ecstatically joyous, again stilled the tumult, and spoke in +behalf of John<br> +Thorwald.</p> + +<p>"We all understand Thor now, fellows," he said, beaming on his +comrades.<br> +"We want him to play football, and we'll keep after him to play, +but we<br> +won't condemn him if he refuses. At present, Thor is simply a +stolid,<br> +unimaginative, dull mass of muscle. As you can realize, his +nature, his<br> +life so far have not tended to make him appreciate the gayer, +lighter side<br> +of college life, or to grasp the traditions of the campus. To +him, college<br> +is a market; he pays his money and he takes the knowledge handed +out. We<br> +can not blame him for not understanding college existence in its +entirety,<br> +or that the gaining of knowledge is a small part of the +representative<br> +collegian's purpose.</p> + +<p>"Now, boys, here's our job, and let's tackle it together: To +awaken in<br> +Thor a great love for old Bannister, to cause college spirit to +stir his<br> +practical soul. Let every fellow be his friend, let no one speak +against<br> +him, because of football. We must work slowly, carefully, +gradually making<br> +him grasp college traditions, and once he awakens to the real +meaning of<br> +campus life, what a power he will be in the college and on the +athletic<br> +field! Maybe he will not play football this season, but let us +help him to<br> +awaken!"</p> + +<p>With wild shouts, the aroused collegians poured from the +Auditorium, an<br> +excited, turbulent mass of youthful humanity, a tide that swept +T. Haviland<br> +Hicks, Jr., on the shoulders of several, out on the campus. +Massed beneath<br> +the window of John Thorwald's room, in Creighton Hall, the +Bannister<br> +students, now fully understanding that stolid Hercules, and +stirred to<br> +admiration of him by T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s, great speech, +cheered the<br> +somewhat mystified Thor again and again; in vast sound waves, the +shouts<br> +rolled up to his open window:</p> + +<p>"Rah! Rah! Rah-rah-rah! Thor! Thor! Thor!" Captain Brewster, +through a<br> +big megaphone, roared; "Fellows—What's the matter with +Thor?"</p> + +<p>And in a terrific outburst which, as the Phillyloo Bird +afterward said,<br> +"Like to of busted Bannister's works!" the enthusiastic +collegians<br> +responded:</p> + +<p>"He's—all—right!"</p> + +<p>Then Butch, apparently in quest of information, persisted:</p> + +<p>"Who's all right?"</p> + +<p>To which the three hundred or more youths, all seemingly +equipped with<br> +lungs of leather, kindly answered:</p> + +<p>"Thor! Thor! Thor!"</p> + +<p>Still, though the Phillyloo Bird declared that this vocal +explosion caused<br> +the seismographs as Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, and in +Salt Lake<br> +City, Utah, to register an earthquake somewhere, it had on the +blond<br> +Freshman a strange effect. The vast mountain of muscle lumbered +heavily<br> +across the room, gazed down at the howling crowd of collegians +without<br> +emotion, then slammed down the window, and returned to study.</p> + +<p>"Good night" called Hicks. "The show is over! Let him have +another yell,<br> +boys, to show we aren't insulted; then we'll disband!"</p> + +<p>Considering Thorwald's cool reception of their overtures, +which some youth<br> +remarked, "Were as noisy as that of a Grand Opera Orchestra," it +was quite<br> +surprising to the students, in the morning, when what occurred an +hour<br> +after their serenade was revealed to them. As the story was told +by those<br> +who witnessed the scene, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., Butch, Beef, +Monty, Pudge,<br> +Roddy, Biff, Hefty, Tug, Buster, and Coach Corridan after the +commotion<br> +subsided, retired to the sunny Hicks' quarters, where the +football<br> +situation was discussed, along with ways and means to awaken +Thor, when<br> +that colossal Freshman himself loomed up in the doorway.</p> + +<p>As they afterward learned, several excited Freshmen had dared +to invade<br> +Thor's den, even while he studied, and give him a more or less +correct<br> +account of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s masterly oration in his +defense. Out of<br> +their garbled descriptions, big John Thorwald grasped one salient +point,<br> +and straightway he started for Hicks' room, leaving the indignant +Freshmen<br> +to tell their story to the atmosphere.</p> + +<p>"Hicks," said Thor, not bothering with the "Mr." required of +all Freshmen,<br> +as his vast bulk crowded the doorway, "is it true that Mr. Thomas +Haviland<br> +Hicks, Sr., wants me to play football? He has been very kind to +me, and<br> +has helped me, and so have you, here at college. After a year of +study, I<br> +should have had to stop night-school, but for him—instead, +I got another<br> +year, and prepared for Bannister. I did not know that <i>he</i> +desired me to<br> +play, but if he does, I feel under obligation to show my great +gratitude,<br> +both for myself and for my father,"</p> + +<p>A moment of silence, for the glorious news could not be +grasped in a<br> +second; those in the room, knowing Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr.'s, +brilliant<br> +athletic record at old Bannister, and understanding his great +love for<br> +his Alma Mater, knew that Hicks, Sr., had sent Thor to Bannister +to play<br> +football for the Gold and Green, though, as he had written his +son, he<br> +would not have done so had he honestly believed that another +college would<br> +suit the ambitious Goliath better.</p> + +<p>"Does he?" stammered the dazed T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., while +the others<br> +echoed the words feebly, "Yes, I should say he <i>does</i>!"</p> + +<p>For a second, the ponderous young Colossus hesitated, and +then, as calmly<br> +as though announcing he would add Greek to his list of studies, +and wholly<br> +unaware that his words were to bring joy to old Bannister, he +spoke<br> +stolidly.</p> + +<p>"Then I shall play football."</p> + +<p><br> +CHAPTER VII</p> + +<p>HICKS STARTS ANOTHER MYSTERY.</p> + +<p> "Fifteen men sat on the dead man's chest—<br> + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!<br> + Drink and the Devil had done for the rest—<br> + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!"</p> + +<p>T HAVILAND HICKS, JR., his chair tilted at a perilous angle, +and his feet<br> +thrust gracefully atop of the study-table, in his cozy room, one +Friday<br> +afternoon two weeks after John Thorwald's return to the football +squad, was<br> +fathoms deep in Stevenson's "Treasure Island." As he perused the +thrilling<br> +pages, the irrepressible youth twanged a banjo accompaniment, and +roared<br> +with gusto the piratical chantey of Long John Silver's buccaneer +crew;<br> +Hicks, however, despite his saengerfest, was completely lost in +the<br> +enthralling narrative, so that he seemed to hear the parrot +shrieking,<br> +"Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!" and the wild refrain:</p> + +<p> "Fifteen men sat on the dead man's chest—<br> + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!"</p> + +<p>He was reading that breathlessly exciting part where the +cabin-boy of the<br> +Hispaniola, and Israel Hands have their terrible fight to the +death, with<br> +the dodging over the dead man rolling in the scuppers, the +climbing up the<br> +mast, and the dirk pinning the boy's shoulder, before Hands is +shot and<br> +goes to join his mate on the bottom; just at the most absorbing +page, as he<br> +twanged his beloved banjo louder, and roared the chantey, there +sounded,<br> +"Tramp—tramp—tramp!" in the corridor, the heavy tread +of many feet<br> +sounded, coming nearer. Instinctively realizing that the +pachydermic parade<br> +was headed for <i>his</i> room, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., rushed to +the closet,<br> +murmuring, "Safety first!" as usual, and stowed away his banjo. +He was just<br> +in the nick of time, for a second later there crowded into his +room Captain<br> +Butch, Pudge, Beef, Hefty, Biff, Monty, Roddy, Bunch, Tug, +Buster, Coach<br> +Corridas, and Thor, the latter duo bringing up the rear.</p> + +<p>"Hicks, you unjailed public nuisance!" said Butch Brewster, +affectionately.<br> +"We, whom you behold, are going for to enter into that room +across the<br> +corridor from your boudoir, and hold a football signal quiz and +confab. We<br> +should request that you permit a thunderous silence to originate +in your<br> +cozy retreat, for the period of at least a hour! A word to the +<i>wise</i> is<br> +sufficient, so I have spoken several, that even you may +comprehend my<br> +meaning,"</p> + +<p>"I gather you, fluently!" grinned T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., +taking up<br> +"Treasure Island" and his graceful pose once more. "Leave me to +peruse the<br> +thrilling pages of this classic blood-and-thunder book, and I'll +cause a<br> +beautiful serenity to obtain hither."</p> + +<p>"See that you do, you pestiferous insect!" threatened Beef +McNaughton,<br> +ominously. "Come on, fellows, Hicks can't escape our vengeance, +if<br> +he bursts into what he fatuously believes is song. Just let him +act<br> +hippicanarious, and—"</p> + +<p>When the Gold and Green eleven, half of which, to judge by +size, was<br> +Thor, had gone with Coach Corridan into the room across from that +of the<br> +blithesome Hicks, the sunny-souled Senior tried to resume his +perusal of<br> +"Treasure Island," but somehow the spell had been broken by the +invasion of<br> +his cozy quarters. So, after vainly essaying to take up the +thread of the<br> +story again, Hicks arose and stood by the window, gazing across +the campus<br> +to Bannister Field, deserted, since the football team rested for +the game<br> +of the morrow. As he stood there, the gladsome Hicks reflected +seriously.<br> +He thought of "Thor," and decided sorrowfully that the problem of +awakening<br> +that stolid Colossus to a full understanding of campus life was +as unsolved<br> +as ever.</p> + +<p>"But I <i>won't</i> give it up!" declared Hicks, determinedly. +"I have always<br> +been good at math, and I won't let this problem baffle me."</p> + +<p>Since the night, two weeks back, when T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., +had made his<br> +memorable speech, explaining to his fellow-students the +"Billon-Dollar<br> +Mystery," and arousing in them a vast admiration for the +slow-minded,<br> +plodding John Thorwald, every collegian had done his best to +befriend the<br> +big Freshman. Upperclassmen helped him with his studies. Despite +his almost<br> +rude refusal to meet any advances, the collegians always had a +cheery<br> +greeting for him, and his class-mates, in fear and trembling, +invaded<br> +his den at times, to show him they were his friends. Yet, despite +these<br> +whole-hearted efforts, only two of old Bannister did the silent +Thor<br> +seem to desire as comrades: the festive Hicks, for reasons +known,<br> +and—remarkable to chronicle—little Theophilus +Opperdyke, the timorous,<br> +studious "Human Encyclopedia."</p> + +<p>"Colossus and Lilliputian!" the Phillyloo Bird quaintly +observed once when<br> +this strangely assorted duo appeared on the campus. "Say, +fellows—some<br> +time Thor will accidentally sit on Theophilus, and we'll have +another<br> +mystery, the disappearance of our boner!"</p> + +<p>The generous Hicks, longing for Thor's awakening to come, was +not in the<br> +least jealous of his loyal little friend, Theophilus. In fact, he +was<br> +sincerely delighted that the unemotional Hercules desired the +comradeship<br> +of the grind, and he urged the Human Encyclopedia to strive +constantly to<br> +arouse in Thor a realization of college existence, and a true +knowledge of<br> +its meaning. At least one thing, Theophilus reported, had been +achieved by<br> +Hicks' defense of Thorwald, and the subsequent attitude of the +collegians—<br> +the colossal Freshman was puzzled, quite naturally. When over +three hundred<br> +youths criticized, condemned, and berated him one night, and the +next, even<br> +before he reconsidered his decision about football, came under +his window<br> +and cheered him, no wonder the young Norwegian was +bewildered.</p> + +<p>On the football field, with his dogged determination, his +bulldog way of<br> +hanging on to things until he mastered them, big Thor progressed +slowly,<br> +and surely; the past Saturday, against the heavy Alton eleven, +the blond<br> +Freshman had been sent in for the second half, and, to quote an +overjoyed<br> +student, he had "busted things all up!" It seemed simply +impossible to stop<br> +that terrible rush of his huge body. Time after time he plowed +through the<br> +line for yards, and old Bannister, visioning Thor distributing +Hamilton and<br> +Ballard over the field, in the big games, literally hugged +itself.</p> + +<p>And yet, despite Thorwald's invincible prowess, despite the +vast joy of<br> +old Bannister at the chances of the Championship, some +intangible<br> +shadow hovered over the campus. It brooded over the +training-table, the<br> +shower-rooms after scrimmage, on Bannister Field during practice; +as yet,<br> +no one had dared to give it form, by voicing his thought, but +though no<br> +youth dared admit it, something was wrong, there was a defective +cog in the<br> +machinery of that marvelous machine, the Gold and Green +eleven.</p> + +<p>"'Oh, just leave it to Hicks," quoth that sunny youth, at +length, turning<br> +from the window; "I'll solve the problem, or what is more +probable,<br> +Theophilus may stir that sodden hulk of humanity, after awhile. I +won't<br> +worry about it, for that gets me nothing, and it will all come +out O.K.,<br> +I'm positive!"</p> + +<p>At this moment, just as T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., picked up +"Treasure Island"<br> +again, he heard drifting across the corridor from the room +opposite, in<br> +Butch Brewster's familiar voice:</p> + +<p>"—Yes, I'll win three more Bs'—one each in +football, baseball and track;<br> +next spring, I'll annex my last B at old Bannister, +fellows—"</p> + +<p>His <i>last</i> B—The words struck the blithesome Hicks +with sledge-hammer<br> +force. Big Butch Brewster was talking of his last B, when he, T. +Haviland<br> +Hicks, Jr., had never won his first; with a feeling almost of +alarm, the<br> +sunny youth realized that this was his final year at old +Bannister, his<br> +last chance to win his athletic letter, and to make happy his +beloved Dad,<br> +by helping him to realize part of his life's ambition—to +behold his son<br> +shattering Hicks, Sr.'s, wonderful record. His final chance, and +outside of<br> +his hopes of winning the track award in the high-jump, Hicks saw +no way to<br> +win his B.</p> + +<p>Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr., as has been chronicled, the +beloved Dad of the<br> +cheery Senior, a Pittsburgh millionaire Steel King, was a +graduate of old<br> +Bannister, Class of '92. While wearing the Gold and Green, he had +made<br> +an all-round athletic record never before, or afterward, rivaled +on<br> +the campus. At football, basketball, track, and baseball, he was +a<br> +scintillating star, annexing enough letters to start an alphabet, +had they<br> +been different ones. Quite naturally, when the Doctor, speaking +anent<br> +the then infantile Thomas Haviland Hicks, Jr., said, "Mr. Hicks, +it's a<br> +boy!"—the one-time Bannister athlete straightway began to +dream of the day<br> +when his only son and heir should follow in his Dad's footsteps, +shattering<br> +the records made at Bannister, and at Yale, by Hicks, +<i>père</i>.</p> + +<p>However, to quote a sporting phrase, the son of the Steel King +"upset the<br> +dope!" At the start of his Senior year, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr. +had not<br> +annexed a single athletic honor, nor did the signs point to any +records<br> +being in peril of getting shattered by his prowess; as Hicks +himself<br> +phrased it, "Dame Nature was <i>some stingy</i> when she handed +out the Hercules<br> +stuff to me!" The happy-go-lucky youth, when he matriculated as a +Freshman<br> +at Bannister College, was builded on the general lines of a +toothpick, and<br> +had he elected to follow a pugilistic career, a division somewhat +lighter<br> +than the tissue paperweight class would have had to be devised +to<br> +accommodate the splinter-student. A generous, sunny-souled, +intensely<br> +democratic collegian, despite his father's wealth, the festive +Hicks, with<br> +his room always open-house to all; his firm friendship for star +athlete<br> +or humble boner, his never-failing sunny nature, together with +his famous<br> +Hicks Personally Conducted Expeditions downtown to the Beef-Steak +Busts he<br> +had originated, in his three years at old Bannister, had made +himself the<br> +most popular and beloved youth on the campus, but, he had not won +his B!</p> + +<p>And he had tried. With a full realization, of his Dad's +ambition, his<br> +life-dream to behold his son a great athlete, the blithesome +Hicks had<br> +tried, but with hilariously futile results. Nature had endowed +him, as he<br> +told his loyal comrade, Butch Brewster, with "the Herculean build +of a<br> +Jersey mosquito," and his athletic powers neared zero infinity. +In his<br> +Freshman year, he inaugurated his athletic career by running the +wrong way<br> +in the Sophomore-Freshman football game, scoring a touchdown that +won for<br> +the enemy, and naturally, after that performance, every athletic +effort was<br> +greeted with jeers by the students,</p> + +<p>"I <i>have</i> tried!" said Hicks, producing two letters from +the study-table,<br> +"But not like I should have tried. I could never have played on +the eleven,<br> +or on the nine, but I have a chance in the high-jump. I know I've +been<br> +indolent and care-free, and I ought to have trained harder. Well, +I just<br> +must win my track B this spring, but as to keeping the rash +promise I made<br> +to Butch as a Freshman—not a chance!"</p> + +<p>It had been at the close of his Freshman year, after Hicks, in +the<br> +Interclass Track Meet, had smashed hurdles, broken high-jumping +cross-bars,<br> +finished last in several events, and jeopardized his life with +the shot and<br> +hammer, that he made the rash vow to which he now had reference. +Butch,<br> +believing his sunny friend had entered all the events just to +entertain the<br> +crowd, in his fun-loving way, was teasing him about his +ridiculous fiascos,<br> +when Hicks had told him the story—how his Dad wanted him to +try and be a<br> +famous athlete; he showed Butch a letter, received before the +meet, asking<br> +his son to try every event, and to keep on training, so as to win +his B<br> +before he graduated. Butch, great-hearted, was surprised and +moved by the<br> +revelation that the gladsome youth, even as he was jeered by his +friendly<br> +comrades, who thought he performed for sport, was striving to +have his<br> +Dad's dream come true; he had sympathized with his classmate, and +then his<br> +scatter-brained colleague had aroused his indignation by vowing, +with a<br> +swaggering confidence:</p> + +<p>"'Oh, just leave it to Hicks!' Remember this, Butch, before I +graduate from<br> +old Bannister, I shall have won my B in three branches of +sport!"</p> + +<p>Butch had snorted incredulously. To win the football or the +baseball B,<br> +the gold letter for the former, and the green one for the latter +sport,<br> +an athlete had to play in three-fourths of the season's games, on +the<br> +"'Varsity"; to gain the white track letter, one had to win a +first place in<br> +some event, in a regularly scheduled track meet with another +team. And now,<br> +Butch's skepticism seemed confirmed, for at the start of his last +year at<br> +college, Hicks had not annexed a single B, though he bade fair to +corral<br> +one in the spring in the high-jump.</p> + +<p>"Heigh-ho!" chuckled Hicks, at length. "Here I am threatening +to get gloomy<br> +again! Well I'll sure train hard to win my track letter, and that +seems<br> +all I can do! I'd like to win my three B's, and jeer at Butch, +next June,<br> +but—<i>it can't be did</i>! I shall now twang my trusty +banjo, and drive dull<br> +care away."</p> + +<p>Quite forgetful of the football conclave across the corridor, +and of Butch<br> +Brewster's request for quiet, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr. dragged out +his<br> +beloved banjo, caressed its strings lovingly, and roared:</p> + +<p> "Fifteen men sat on the dead man's chest—<br> + Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!<br> + Drink and the—"</p> + +<p>"Hicks!" Big Butch Brewster crashed across the corridor, both +doors being<br> +open. "Is this how you maintain a quiet? I'm going to call Thor +over and<br> +make him sit down on you! Why, you—"</p> + +<p>"Have mercy!" plead the grinning Hicks. "Honest, Butch, I +didn't go to bust<br> +up the league—I—I heard you talk about your B's, and +I got to thinking<br> +that I have but little time to make my Dad happy; see, here's +proof—read<br> +these letters I was perusing—"</p> + +<p>Puzzled, Butch scanned the first one, dated back in the May of +their<br> +Freshman year; Hicks had received it before the class track meet, +and, as<br> +chronicled, he had heard from his sunny comrade later, how it +impelled the<br> +splinter youth to try every event, while Bannister believed him +to enter<br> +them for fun. The letter was post-marked "Pittsburgh, Pa.," and +it read:</p> + +<p>DEAR SON THOMAS:</p> + +<p>Your last term's report gratified me immensely, and I am proud +of your<br> +class record, and scholastic achievements. Pitch in, and lead +your class,<br> +and make your Dad happy.</p> + +<p>But there is something else of which I want to write, Thomas. +As you must<br> +know, it has always been a cause of keen regret to me that you +have never<br> +seemed to care for athletics of any sort; you appear to be too +indolent and<br> +ease-loving to sacrifice, or to endure the hardships of training. +I suppose<br> +it is because of my athletic record both at Bannister and at old +Yale that<br> +I am so eager to see you become a star; in fact, it is my life's +most<br> +cherished ambition to have you become as famous as your Dad.</p> + +<p>However, I realize that my fond dream can never come true. +Nature has not<br> +made you naturally strong and athletic, and what athletic success +you may<br> +gain, must come from long and hard training and practice. If you +can only<br> +win your college letter, your B, Thomas, while at Bannister, I +shall be<br> +fully content.</p> + +<p>I said nothing when you failed even to try for the teams at +your<br> +Preparatory School, but I did hope that at Bannister, under good +coaches<br> +and trainers, you would at least endeavor to win your letter. I +must admit<br> +that I am disappointed, for you have not even made an earnest +effort to<br> +find your event. Often, by trying everything, especially in a +track meet, a<br> +fellow finds his event, and later stars in it.</p> + +<p>I really believe that if you would start in now to develop +yourself by<br> +regular, systematic gymnasium work, and if you would only try, in +a year<br> +or so you could make a Bannister team. Theodore Roosevelt, you +know, was a<br> +puny, weakly boy, but he built himself up, and became an athlete. +If you<br> +want to please me, start now and find your event. Attempt all the +sports,<br> +all the various track and field events, and always build yourself +up by<br> +exercise in the Gym.</p> + +<p>And you owe it to your Alma Mater, my son! Even if, after +conscientious<br> +effort, you fail to win your B, to know that you have given your +college<br> +and teams what help you could, will please your Dad. Remember, +the fellow<br> +who toils on the scrubs is the true hero. If you become good +enough to give<br> +the first eleven, the first nine, the first five, or the first +track squad<br> +a hard rub and a fast practice, you are serving Bannister.</p> + +<p>I don't ask you to do this, Thomas, I only say that it will +make me happy<br> +just to know you are striving. If you never get beyond the +scrubs, just to<br> +hear you are serving the Gold and Green, giving your best, in +that humble<br> +unhonored way, will please me. And if, before you graduate, you +<i>can</i> win<br> +your B, I shall be so glad! Don't get discouraged, it may take +until your<br> +Senior year, but once you start, <i>stick</i>.</p> + +<p>Your loving</p> + +<p>DAD.</p> + +<p>"Read this one, too, Butch," requested Hicks, hurriedly, as a +hail of, "Oh,<br> +you Hicks, come here!" sounded down the corridor, from Skeet +Wigglesworth's<br> +abode. "I'll be back as soon as Skeet finishes his foolishness. +Don't wait<br> +for me, though, if I am delayed, for you want to be talking +football."</p> + +<p>Left alone, big Butch Brewster, who of all the collegians that +had known<br> +and loved the sunny Hicks, some now graduated, understood that +his athletic<br> +efforts, jeered good-naturedly by the students, were made because +of a<br> +great desire to win his B and make happy his Dad, read the second +letter,<br> +dated a few days before:</p> + +<p>DEAR SON THOMAS:</p> + +<p>You are starting the last lap, son, your Senior year, and your +final chance<br> +to win your B! Don't forget how happy it will make your Dad if +you win your<br> +letter just once! Of course, you cannot gain it in football, for +nature<br> +gave you no chance, nor in baseball; but in track work it is up +to you.<br> +Train hard, Thomas, and try to win a first place; just win your +track B,<br> +and I'll rest content!</p> + +<p>Your college record gives me great pleasure. You stand at the +top in your<br> +studies, and you are vastly popular, while the Faculty speak +highly of you.<br> +Let your B come as a climax to your career, and I'll be so proud +of you.<br> +Don't forget, you are the "Class Kid" of Yale, '96, and those +sons of old<br> +Eli want you to win the letter. As to football, you cannot win +your gold B<br> +by playing three-fourths of a season's games, but you might get +in a big<br> +game, even win it, if you'll get confidence enough to tell Coach +Corridan<br> +about yourself. Don't mind the jeers of your comrades—they +just don't<br> +know how you've tried to please your Dad; you owe it to your Alma +Mater<br> +to tell, and, take my word as a football star, you have the +goods! Your<br> +peculiar prowess has won many a contest, and old Bannister needs +it this<br> +season, I hear—</p> + +<p>There was more, but big Butch scarcely saw it, bewildered as +the behemoth<br> +Senior was; what new mystery had Hicks set afoot? What did Hicks, +Sr.,<br> +mean by writing, "You might get in a big game, even win it, if +you'll get<br> +confidence enough to tell Coach Corridan about yourself? You owe +it to your<br> +Alma Mater to tell, and take my word, as a football star, you +have the<br> +goods—" Why, everyone knew that T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., +possessed no more<br> +football ability than a Jersey mosquito, and yet—</p> + +<p>"Another Hicks mystery," groaned Butch, holding the two +letters<br> +thoughtfully. "And father and son are in it, But if Hicks don't +get his B,<br> +it will be a shame. Say, I know—"</p> + +<p>A few moments later, good-hearted Butch Brewster, in the +behalf of his<br> +sunny comrade, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., was making to the Gold and +Green<br> +eleven and Coach Corridan, as eloquent a speech as that +blithesome youth,<br> +two weeks before, had made in defense of the condemned and +ostracized Thor!<br> +He read them the two letters of Hicks' beloved Dad, and told how +the cheery<br> +collegian wanted to win his B for his father's sake; graphically, +he<br> +related Hicks, Sr.'s, great ambition, and how Hicks, Jr., for +three years<br> +had vainly tried to make good at some athletic sport, and to win +his<br> +letter. Big Butch, warming to his theme, spoke of how T. Haviland +Hicks,<br> +Jr., letting the students believe that he entered every event in +the track<br> +meet of his Freshman year just for fun, had been trying to find +his event,<br> +and train for it; he explained that the festive youth, ever +sunny-natured,<br> +under the good-humored jeers of his comrades, who did not know +his real<br> +purpose, really yearned to win his B.</p> + +<p>"You fellows, and you, Coach," he thundered, "all know how +Hicks, unable<br> +to make the 'Varsity, has always done humble service for old +Bannister,<br> +cheerfully, gladly; how he keeps the athletes in good spirits at +the<br> +training-table, and is always on hand after scrimmage to rub them +out. He<br> +is chock-full of college spirit, and is intensely loyal to his +Alma Mater.<br> +Why, look how he rounded up Thor—he ought to have his B for +that!"</p> + +<p>Thanks to Butch's speech, the Gold and Green football stars, +most of whom<br> +were Hicks' closest friends, saw the scatter-brained, +happy-go-lucky<br> +youth in a new light; his eloquent defense of John Thorwald had +shown old<br> +Bannister that he could be serious, but the knowledge that T. +Haviland<br> +Hicks, Jr., even as he made a ridiculous farce in athletics, was +ambitious<br> +to win his B, just to make his Dad happy, stunned them. For three +years,<br> +the sunny Hicks' appearance on old Bannister Field, to try for a +team, had<br> +meant a small-sized riot of jeers and good-natured ridicule at +his expense;<br> +but Hicks had always grinned à la Cheshire cat,—and +no one but good<br> +Butch Brewster, all the time, had known how in earnest the +lovable<br> +collegian was.</p> + +<p>"Now," concluded Butch, "Hicks <i>may</i> win a B in track +work, if he gets a<br> +first place in the high-jump, and if so, O.K., but if he does +not—"</p> + +<p>"You mean—" Monty Merriweather—understood, "if he +fails, then the<br> +Athletic Association ought to—"</p> + +<p>"Present him with a B!" said Butch, earnestly, "as a deserved +reward for<br> +his faithful loyalty and service to old Bannister's athletic +teams. Don't<br> +let him graduate without gaining his letter, and making his Dad +realize a<br> +part of his ambition—a two-thirds vote of the Athletic +Association can<br> +award him his letter, and when all the students know the truth +about his<br> +ridiculous fiasco on Bannister Field, and realize the serious +purpose<br> +beneath them all, they—"</p> + +<p>"We'll give him his B!" shouted Beef, loudly, "If he fails in +track work<br> +next spring, we'll vote him his letter, anyway!"</p> + +<p>Out in the corridor, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., returning from +Skeet<br> +Wigglesworth's room and entering his own cozy quarters, could not +help<br> +hearing the conversation, as the doors of both his den and the +room across<br> +the corridor were open. A great love for his comrades came to his +impulsive<br> +heart, and a mist before his eyes, as he heard how they wanted to +vote him<br> +his B in case he failed to win it in track work; he thrilled at +Butch's<br> +speech, but—</p> + +<br><br><br><br> +<img alt="bw.jpg (92K)" src="bw.jpg" height="851" width="545"> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>"Fellows," he startled them by appearing in the doorway, +"I—I thank you<br> +from the bottom of my heart. I couldn't help hearing, you +know—I <i>do</i><br> +appreciate your generous thoughts, but—I can't and won't +accept my B<br> +unless I win it according to the rule of the Athletic +Association."</p> + +<p>A silence, and then Butch Brewster, gripping his comrade's +hand<br> +understandingly, held out to him the two letters.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, old man," he breathed, "for reading them aloud, +but I wanted<br> +the fellows to know, to appreciate you! And say, Hicks, what does +your Dad<br> +mean by saying that you are the 'Class Kid' of Yale, '96, and +that those<br> +sons of old Eli want you to win your letter? And what does he +mean by<br> +saying that you may get in a <i>big game</i>—may <i>win</i> +it—that you have<br> +the goods in football, but lack the confidence to announce it to +Coach<br> +Corridan? Also that old Bannister needs just the peculiar brand +you<br> +possess?"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., his sunny, Cheshire cat grin +illuminating his<br> +cherubic countenance, beamed on the eleven and Coach Corridan a +moment.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's a <i>mystery</i>," he said, cheerfully. "If I +<i>do</i> gain the courage<br> +and confidence, I'll explain, but unless I do—it remains +a—<i>mystery</i>!"</p> + +<p><br> +CHAPTER VIII</p> + +<p>COACH CORRIDAN SURPRISES THE ELEVEN</p> + +<p>"ALL MEMBERS OF THE FIRST ELEVEN ARE<br> +URGENTLY REQUESTED TO BE PRESENT IN<br> +THE ROOM OF T. HAVILAND HICKS, JR.—<br> +AT EIGHT P. M. TONIGHT;<br> +YOU WILL BE DETAINED ONLY A FEW MINUTES,<br> +BUT LET EVERY PLAYER COME, AS A MATTER OF<br> +EXTREME IMPORTANCE WILL BE PRESENTED.<br> +PATRICK HENRY COERIDAN, HEAD-COACH."</p> + +<p>"Now, what do you suppose is up Coach Corridan's sleeve?" +demanded T.<br> +Haviland Hicks, Jr., cheerfully. "Has Ballard learned our +signals, or some<br> +Bannister student sold them to a rival team, as per the usual +football<br> +story? Though the notice doth not herald it, I am to be present, +for my<br> +room is to be used, and the Coach gave me a special invitation to +cut the<br> +Gordian knot with my keen intellect."</p> + +<p>The sunny Hicks, with Butch, Beef, Tug, and Monty, had just +come from<br> +"Delmonico's Annex," the college dining-hall, after supper; they +had paused<br> +before the Bulletin Board at the Gymnasium entrance, where all +college<br> +notices were posted, and the Coach's urgent request had caught +their gaze.<br> +The announcement had caused quite a stir on the campus. The +Bannister<br> +youths stood in excited groups talking of it, and in the +dormitories it<br> +superseded all thought of study; however, there seemed little +chance that<br> +any but the "'Varsity" and T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., who was always +consulted<br> +in football problems, would know what took place in this +meeting.</p> + +<p>"There is only one way to find out, Hicks," responded big +Butch Brewster,<br> +his arm across his blithesome comrade's shoulders, "and that is, +attend<br> +the meeting! You can wager that every member of the eleven will +be there,<br> +except Thor—he regards it as 'foolishness,' I suppose, and +he won't spare<br> +that precious time from his studies."</p> + +<p>At five minutes past eight, Butch's prophecy was fulfilled, +for every<br> +member of the eleven <i>was</i> in Hicks' cozy room, except Thor, +the Prodigious<br> +Prodigy, whose presence would have caused a mild sensation. It +was an<br> +extremely quiet and orderly gathering, for Coach Corridan, who +had the<br> +floor, was so grave that he impressed the would-be sky-larking +youths.<br> +Having their undivided attention, he proceeded to make a speech +that, to<br> +all intents and purposes, had much the same effect on the team +and Hicks as<br> +a Zeppelin's bombs on London:</p> + +<p>"Boys," he spoke, in forceful sentences, driving straight to +the point,<br> +"I am going to take the eleven, and Hicks, whose suggestions are +always<br> +timely, into my confidence, in the hope that we, working +together, may<br> +carry out an idea of mine for the awakening of Thor to a +realization<br> +of things! I ask you not to let what I shall tell you be known to +the<br> +student-body, but you fellows play with Thor every day, and you +will<br> +understand the crisis, and appreciate <i>why</i> it is done, if I +decide it<br> +necessary to drop John Thorwald from the football squad."</p> + +<p>"Drop Thor from the squad!" gasped T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., +staggered, and<br> +then pandemonium broke loose among the players. Drop the +Prodigious Prodigy<br> +from the squad, why, what <i>could</i> the Slave-Driver be +thinking of? Why,<br> +look how Thorwald, on the scrubs, tore through the heavy 'Varsity +line for<br> +big gains. He was simply unstoppable; and yet, almost on the eve +of the big<br> +game that old Bannister depended on Thor to win by his splendid +prowess, he<br> +might be dropped from the squad! Excited exclamations sounded +from Captain<br> +Butch Brewster, Beef, and the others of the Gold and Green +eleven:</p> + +<p>"Why not give the big games to Ballard and Ham, Coach?"</p> + +<p>"Say, shoot Theophilus Opperdyke in at full-back!"</p> + +<p>"Good-by, championship! No hopes now, fellows!"</p> + +<p>"If Thor doesn't play in the Big Games—good night!"</p> + +<p>A greater sensation could not have been caused even had kindly +white-haired<br> +Prexy announced his intention of challenging Jess Willard for the +World's<br> +Heavy-Weight Championship. Dropping that human battering-ram, +Thor, from<br> +the football, squad was something utterly undreamed-of. Coach +Corridan<br> +raised his hand for silence, and the youths subsided.</p> + +<p>"Hear me carefully, boys," he urged, "I know that old +Bannister has come to<br> +regard John Thorwald as invincible, to use his vast bulk as a +foundation<br> +on which to build hopes of the Championship, which is a bad +policy, for no<br> +team can be a <i>one-man</i> team and win. I realize that as a +football player,<br> +Thor hasn't an equal in the State today, and if he had the right +spirit, he<br> +would have few in the country. It would be ridiculous to decry +his prowess,<br> +for he is a physical phenomenon. But you remember T. Haviland +Hicks, Jr.'s,<br> +splendid defense of Thor, a week or so ago? Hicks gave you a full +and clear<br> +explanation of the big fellow, and showed you <i>why</i> he does +not know what<br> +college spirit is, what loyalty and love for one's Alma Mater +mean! His<br> +masterly speech changed your attitude toward Thor, and even +before he<br> +decided to play football, for Mr. Hicks' sake, you admired him, +because<br> +of his indomitable purpose, his promise to his dying mother. Now +I am<br> +telling you why he may be dropped from the squad, because I want +you<br> +fellows to give Thor a square deal, to remember what Hicks told +you of him,<br> +and to keep on striving to awaken him to the true meaning of +campus years,<br> +to make him realize that college life is more than a mere buying +of<br> +knowledge. I want to keep him on the squad, if humanly possible, +and I<br> +shall outline my plot later.</p> + +<p>"Tomorrow we play Latham College. It is the last game before +the big games<br> +for The State Intercollegiate Football Championship. Saturday +after this,<br> +we play Hamilton, and the following week Ballard, the Champions! +The eleven<br> +I send in against those teams must be a solid unit, <i>one</i> in +spirit and<br> +purpose—every member of the Gold and Green team must be +welded with his<br> +team-mates, and they must forget everything but that their Alma +Mater must<br> +win the Championship! With no thought of self-glory, no other +purpose in<br> +playing than a love for old Bannister, every fellow must go into +those<br> +games to fight for his Alma Mater! Now, as for Thor, I need not +tell you<br> +that he is not in sympathy with our ambition; he simply does not +understand<br> +campus tradition and spirit. He is as yet not possessed of an +Alma Mater;<br> +he plays football only because of gratitude to Mr. Thomas +Haviland Hicks,<br> +Sr., and he hates to lose the time from his studies for the +practice.<br> +The football squad knows that his presence is a veritable wet +blanket on<br> +enthusiasm and the team's fighting spirit."</p> + +<p>It was true. That intangible shadow of something wrong, +brooding over<br> +training-table, shower-room, and Bannister Field, that +self-evident<br> +truth which almost every collegian had for days confessed to +himself yet<br> +hesitated to voice, had been given definite form by Coach +Corridan talking<br> +to the eleven. The good that Thorwald might do for the team by +his superb<br> +prowess and massive bulk was more than offset and nullified by +his<br> +attitude.</p> + +<p>To the blond Colossus, daily practice was unutterable mental +torture. His<br> +mind was on his studies, to which his bulldog purpose shackled +him; he<br> +begrudged the time spent on Bannister Field; he was stolid, +silent, aloof.<br> +He scarcely ever spoke, except when addressed. He reported for +practice at<br> +the last second, went through the scrimmage like a great, dumb, +driven ox,<br> +doing as he was ordered; and when the squad was dismissed he +hurried to his<br> +room. He was among the squad, but not of them; he neither +understood nor<br> +cared about their love for old Bannister, their vast desire to +win for<br> +their Alma Mater; he played football because he was grateful to +Hicks, Sr.,<br> +for helping him to get started toward his goal, but as Coach +Corridan now<br> +told the 'Varsity, he killed the squad's enthusiasm,</p> + +<p>"All of this cannot fail to damage the <i>esprit de corps</i>, +the <i>morale</i>, of<br> +the eleven," declared Coach Corridan, having outlined Thor's +attitude. "I<br> +know that every member of the squad, if Thor played the game +because of<br> +college spirit, for love of old Bannister, would rejoice at his +prowess.<br> +But as it is they are justly resentful that he is not in the +spirit of the<br> +game. What we may gain by his playing, we lose because the others +cannot do<br> +their best with his example to hurt their fighting spirit. I do +not want,<br> +nor will I have on my eleven, any player who plays for other +reasons than a<br> +love for his Alma Mater, be he a Hogan, Brickley, Thorpe, or +Mahan. I have<br> +waited, hoping Thorwald would be awakened, as Hicks explained, +but now I<br> +must act. Tomorrow's game with Latham must see Thor awakened, or +I must,<br> +for the sake of the eleven, drop him from the squad for the rest +of the<br> +season.</p> + +<p>"Yet I beg of you, in case the plan I shall propose fails, +remember Hicks'<br> +appeal! Do not condemn or ostracize John Thorwald in any degree. +He has<br> +three more seasons of football, so let us keep on trying to make +him<br> +understand campus life, college tradition. Be his friends, help +him all you<br> +can, and sooner or later he will awaken. Something may suddenly +shock him<br> +to a true understanding of what old Bannister means to a fellow. +Or perhaps<br> +the awakening will be slow, but it must come. And Bannister can +win without<br> +Thor, don't forget that! We'll make one final effort to awaken +Thor, and<br> +if it fails, just forget him, boys, so far as football goes, and +watch the<br> +Gold and Green win that championship."</p> + +<p>"What is your scheme, Coach?" questioned Captain Butch +Brewster, his honest<br> +countenance showing how heavily the responsibility of team-leader +weighed<br> +upon him. "You are right; as Thor is now, he is a handicap to the +eleven,<br> +but—"</p> + +<p>"My idea is this," explained the Slave-Driver earnestly. +"Select some<br> +student to go to Thorwald and try to show him that unless he gets +into the<br> +game and plays for old Bannister, he will be dropped from the +squad. If<br> +possible, let the fellow make him understand that, in his case, +it will be<br> +a shame and a dishonor. Now, Butch, you and Hicks can probably +approach<br> +Thor, or perhaps you know of someone who—"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s, cherubic countenance showed the +light of dawning<br> +inspiration, and Coach Corridan paused, as the sunny youth +exhibited a<br> +desire to say something, with him not by any means a +phenomenal<br> +happening; given the floor, the blithesome youth burst forth +excitedly:<br> +"Theophilus—Theophilus Opperdyke is the one! He has more +influence over<br> +Thor than any other student, and the big fellow likes the little +boner.<br> +Thor will at least listen to Theophilus, which Is more than any +of us can<br> +gain from him."</p> + +<p>After the meeting had adjourned, and the last inspection had +been made in<br> +the other dorms, the Seniors being exempt, several members of the +Gold and<br> +Green team—Captain Butch, Beef, Pudge, Monty, Roddy, and +Bunch, together<br> +with little Theophilus Opperdyke, dragged from his +studies—foregathered in<br> +the cozy room of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.; those who had heard +the<br> +coach's talk were still stunned at the ban likely to be placed on +the<br> +Brobdingnagian Thor. On the campus outside Creighton Hall, a +horde of<br> +Bannister youths, incited by Tug Cardiff, who gave them no reason +for his<br> +act, were making a strenuous effort to awaken the Prodigious +Prodigy,<br> +evidently depending on noise to achieve that end, for a vast +sound-wave<br> +rolled up to Hicks' windows—"Rah! Rah! Rah! Thor! Thor! +Thor!<br> +He's—all—right!"</p> + +<p>"Listen!" exploded T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., indignantly. "You +and I,<br> +Theophilus, would give a Rajah's ransom just to hear the fellows +whoop it<br> +up for us like that, and it has no more effect on that sodden +hulk of a<br> +Thor than bombarding an English super-dreadnaught with Roman +candles!<br> +Howsomever, Coach Corridan exploded a shrapnel bomb on old +Bannister's<br> +eleven tonight."</p> + +<p>Then Hicks carefully outlined to the dazed little boner the +substance of<br> +the coach's talk to the team, and Theophilus was alarmed when he +thought of<br> +Thor's being dropped from the squad. When Captain Butch had +outlined the<br> +Slave-Driver's plot for striving to awaken the Colossus to a +realization of<br> +what a disgrace it would be to be sent from the gridiron, though +he did not<br> +announce that the Human Encyclopedia had been elected to carry +out Coach<br> +Corridan's last-hope idea, Theophilus sat on the edge of the +chair,<br> +blinking owlishly at them over his big-rimmed spectacles.</p> + +<p>"After all, fellows," quavered Theophilus nervously, "Coach +Corridan, if he<br> +drops Thor from the squad, won't create such a riot on the campus +as you<br> +might expect. You see, the students, even as they built and +planned on<br> +Thor, gradually came to know that there is vastly more to be +considered<br> +than physical power. That great bulk actually acts as a drag on +the eleven,<br> +because Thor isn't in sympathy with things! Still, if he could +only be<br> +aroused, awakened, wouldn't the team play football, with him +striving for<br> +old Bannister, and not because he thinks he ought to play, for +Hicks' dad?<br> +Oh, I <i>do</i> hope the Coach's plan succeeds, and he awakens +tomorrow; I<br> +know the boys won't condemn him, if he doesn't, +but—I—I want him to<br> +understand!"</p> + +<p>"It's his last chance this season," reflected T. Haviland +Hicks, Jr.,<br> +enshrouded in a penumbra of gloom. "I made a big boast that I +would round<br> +up a smashing full-back. I returned to Bannister with the +Prodigious<br> +Prodigy. I made a big mystery of him, and +then—biff!—Thor quit football.<br> +Then I explained the mystery, and got the fellows to admire him, +and when<br> +Thor decided to play the game I thought 'All O.K.; I'll just wait +until<br> +he scatters Hamilton and Ballard over Bannister Field, then I'll +swagger<br> +before Butch and say, "Oh, I told you just to leave it to +Hicks!"' But now<br> +Thor has spilled the beans again."</p> + +<p>"I—I hope that the one you have chosen to appeal to +Thor—" spoke<br> +Theophilus timorously, "will succeed, for—Oh, I +<i>don't</i> want him to be<br> +dropped from the squad, and—"</p> + +<p>Big Butch Brewster, who had been gazing at little Theophilus +Opperdyke with<br> +a basilisk glare that perturbed the bewildered Human +Encyclopedia, suddenly<br> +strode across the room and placed his hand on the grind's thin +shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Theophilus, old man, it's up to you!" he said earnestly. +"Thor has a<br> +strong regard for you; in fact, outside of his good-natured +tolerance<br> +for Hicks, you alone have his friendship. Now I want you to go to +him,<br> +Theophilus, and make a last appeal to Thor. Try to awaken him, to +make him<br> +understand his peril of being dropped from the squad, unless he +plays<br> +the game for his college! It's for old Bannister, old man, for +your Alma<br> +Mater—"</p> + +<p>"Go to it, Theophilus!" urged Beef McNaughton. "Coach Corridan +said Thor<br> +might be suddenly awakened by a shock, but no electric battery +can shock<br> +that Colossus, and, besides, miracles don't happen nowadays. Yes, +it's up<br> +to you, old man."</p> + +<p>For a moment little Theophilus, his big-rimmed spectacles +falling off<br> +as fast as he replaced them, and his puny frame tense with +excitement,<br> +hesitated. Sitting on the extreme edge of the chair, he surveyed +his<br> +comrades solemnly and was convinced that they were in earnest. +Then, "I—I<br> +will <i>try</i>, sir!" exclaimed Theophilus, who would +<i>never</i> forget his<br> +Freshman training. "I'm <i>sure</i> Hicks, or somebody, could do +It better than<br> +I; but—I'll try!"</p> + +<p><br> +CHAPTER IX</p> + +<p>THEOPHILUS' MISSIONARY WORK</p> + +<p> "College ties can ne'er be broken—<br> + Loyal will remain each heart;<br> + Though the last farewell be spoken—<br> + And from Bannister we part!</p> + +<p> "Bannister, Bannister, hail, all hail!<br> + Echoes softly from each heart;<br> + We'll be ever loyal to thee—<br> + Till we from life shall part!"</p> + +<p>Theophilus Opperdyke, the timorous, intensely studious Human +Encyclopedia,<br> +stood at the window of John Thorwald's study room. That behemoth, +desiring<br> +quiet, had moved his study-table and chair to a vacant room +across the<br> +second-floor corridor of Creighton, the Freshman dormitory, when +the<br> +Bannister youths cheered him, and he was still there, so that +Theophilus,<br> +on his mission, had finally located him by his low rumblings, as +he<br> +laboriously read out his Latin. The little Senior was gazing +across the<br> +brightly lighted Quadrangle. He could see into the rooms of the +other<br> +class dormitories, where the students studied, skylarked, +rough-housed,<br> +or conversed on innumerable topics; from a room in Nordyke, the +abode of<br> +care-free Juniors, a splendidly blended sextette sang songs of +their<br> +Alma Mater, and their rich voices drifted across the Quad. to +Thor and<br> +Theophilus:</p> + +<p> "Though thy halls we leave forever<br> + Sadly from the campus turn;<br> + Yet our love shall fail thee never<br> + For old Bannister we'll yearn!<br> + Bannister, Bannister, hail, all hail!"</p> + +<p>Theophilus turned from the window, and looked despairingly at +that young<br> +Colossus, Thor. The behemoth Norwegian, oblivious to everything +except the<br> +geometry problem now causing him to sweat, rested his massive +head on his<br> +palms, elbows on the study-table, and was lost in the intricate +labyrinth<br> +of "Let the line ABC equal the line BVD." The frail chair creaked +under his<br> +ponderous bulk. On the table lay an unopened letter that had come +in the<br> +night's mail, for, tackling one problem, the bulldog Hercules +never let go<br> +his grip until he solved it, and nothing else, not even +Theophilus, could<br> +secure his attention. Hence the Human Encyclopedia, trembling at +the<br> +terrific importance of the mission entrusted to him, waited, +thrilled by<br> +the Juniors' songs, which failed to penetrate Thor's mind.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what <i>can</i> I do?" breathed Theophilus, sitting down +nervously on the<br> +edge of a chair and peering owlishly over his big-rimmed +spectacles at the<br> +stolid John Thorwald. "I am sure that, in time, I can help Thor +to—to know<br> +campus life better; but—<i>tomorrow</i> is his last chance! +He will be dropped<br> +from the squad, unless—"</p> + +<p>As Thor at last leaned back and gazed at his little comrade, +just then, to<br> +the tune of "My Old Kentucky Home," an augmented chorus drifted +across the<br> +Quadrangle:</p> + +<p> "And we'll sing one song<br> + For the college that we love—<br> + For our dear old Bannister—good-by"</p> + +<p>To the Bannister students there was something tremendously +queer in the<br> +friendship of Theophilus and Thor. That the huge Freshman, of all +the<br> +collegians, should have chosen the timorous little boner was most +puzzling.<br> +Yet, to T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., a keen reader of human nature, it +was<br> +clear; Thorwald thought of nothing but study, Theophilus was a +grind,<br> +though he possessed intense college spirit, hence Thor was +naturally drawn<br> +to the little Senior by the mutual bond of their interest in +books, and<br> +Theophilus, with his hero-worshiping soul, intensely admired the +splendid<br> +purpose of John Thorwald, toiling to gain knowledge, because of +the promise<br> +of his dying mother. The grind, who thought that next to T. +Haviland Hicks,<br> +Jr., Thor was the "greatest ever," as Hicks phrased it, had been, +doing<br> +what that care-free collegian termed "missionary work," with the +stolid,<br> +unimaginative Prodigious Prodigy for some weeks. Thrilled with +the thought<br> +that he worked for his Alma Mater, he quietly strove to make +Thorwald<br> +glimpse the true meaning and purpose of college life and its +broadness of<br> +development. The loyal Theophilus lost no opportunity of +impressing his<br> +behemoth friend with the sacred traditions of the campus, or of +explaining<br> +why Thor was wrong in characterizing all else than study as +foolishness and<br> +waste of time.</p> + +<p>"Thor," began Theophilus timidly yet determinedly, for he was +serving old<br> +Bannister now, "old man, do you feel that you are giving the +fellows at<br> +Bannister a square deal?"</p> + +<p>John Thorwald, slowly tearing open the letter that had come +that night,<br> +and had lain, unnoticed, on the study-table while he wrestled +with his<br> +geometry, turned suddenly. The Human Encyclopedia's vast +earnestness and<br> +the strange query he had fired at Thor, surprised even that +stolid mammoth.</p> + +<p>"Why, what do you mean, Theophilus?" spoke Thor slowly. "A +square deal?<br> +Why, I owe them nothing! I sacrifice my time for them, leaving my +studies<br> +to go out and waste precious time foolishly on football. +Why—"</p> + +<p>"I mean this," Theophilus kept doggedly on, his earnest desire +to stir Thor<br> +conquering his natural timidity. "You were brought to old +Bannister by<br> +Hicks, who made a great mystery of you, so we knew nothing of +you; but the<br> +fellows all thought you were willing to play football. Then, +after they<br> +got enthused, and builded hopes of the championship on +<i>you</i>, came<br> +your quitting. Hicks defended you, Thor, and changed the boys' +bitter<br> +condemnation to vast admiration, by telling of your life, your +father's<br> +being a castaway, your mother's dying wish, your toil to get +learning, and<br> +your inability to grasp college life. Then from gratitude to Mr. +Hicks you<br> +started to play again—naturally, the students waxed +enthusiastic, when you<br> +ripped the 'Varsity to pieces, but now you may be dropped by the +coach,<br> +after tomorrow, because you don't play for old Bannister, and +your<br> +indifference kills the team's fighting spirit. You do not care if +you are<br> +dropped; it will give you more time to study, and relieve you of +your<br> +obligation, as you so quixotically view it, to play because Mr. +Hicks will<br> +be glad; but—think of the fellows.</p> + +<p>"They, Thor, disappointed in you, their hopes of your bringing +by your<br> +massive body and huge strength the Championship to old Bannister +shattered,<br> +are still your friends—they of the eleven, I mean +especially, for, as yet,<br> +the rest do not know you may be dropped. And the fellows came +beneath your<br> +window tonight to cheer you; they will do so, Thor, even if you +are dropped<br> +and they know that you will not use that prodigious power for +their Alma<br> +Mater in the big games; they will stand by you, for they +understand! Just<br> +think, old man; haven't the fellows, despite your rude rebuffs, +<i>tried</i><br> +to be your comrades? Haven't they helped you to get settled to +work and<br> +assisted you with your studies? Why, you have been a big boor, +cold and<br> +aloof, you have upset their hopes of you in football, and yet +they have no<br> +condemnation for you, naught but warm friendliness.</p> + +<p>"You are not giving them or yourself a square deal, Thor! You +won't even<br> +<i>try</i> to understand campus life, to grasp its real purpose, +to realize what<br> +tradition is! The time will come, Thor, when you will see your +mistake; you<br> +will yearn for their good fellowship, you will learn that getting +knowledge<br> +is not all of college life. You will know that this 'silly +foolishness' of<br> +singing songs and giving the yell, of rooting for the eleven, of +loyalty<br> +and love for one's Alma Mater, is something worth while. And you +may find<br> +it out too late. Oh, if you could only understand that it isn't +what you<br> +take from old Bannister that makes a man of you, it is what you +give to<br> +your college—in athletics, in your studies, in every phase +of campus life;<br> +that in toiling and sacrificing for your Alma Mater you grow and +develop,<br> +and reap a rich reward!"</p> + +<p>Could T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., Butch Brewster, and the Gold and +Green eleven<br> +have heard little Theophilus' fervent and eloquent appeal to John +Thorwald,<br> +they would have felt like giving three cheers for him. They loved +this<br> +pathetic little boner, who, because of his pitifully frail body, +could<br> +never fight for old Bannister on gridiron, diamond, or track, and +they<br> +tremendously admired him for working for his college and for the +redemption<br> +of Thor. Timorous and shrinking by nature, whenever his Alma +Mater, or a<br> +friend, needed him the Human Encyclopedia fought down his painful +timidity<br> +and came up to scratch nobly.</p> + +<p>It was Theophilus whose clear logic had vastly aided T. +Haviland Hicks,<br> +Jr., to originate The Big Brotherhood of Bannister, in 1919's +Sophomore<br> +year, and quell Roddy Perkins' Freshman Equal Rights campaign. In +fact, it<br> +had been the boner's suggestion that gave Hicks his needed +inspiration.<br> +And, a Junior, Theophilus had been elected business manager of +the<br> +Bannister Weekly, with Hicks as editor-in-chief as a colossal +joke. The<br> +entire burden of that almost defunct periodical had been thrust +on those<br> +two, and, thanks to the grind's intensely humorous "copy," the +Weekly had<br> +been revived and rebuilt. And Theophilus, in writing the humorous +articles,<br> +had been moved by a great ambition to do something for old +Bannister.</p> + +<p>"Look at me, Thor!" continued Theophilus Opperdyke, his puny +body dwarfed<br> +as he faced the colossal Prodigious Prodigy. "A poor, weak, +helpless<br> +nothing! I'd cheerfully sacrifice all the scholastic honor or +glory I ever<br> +won, or shall win, just to make a touchdown for the Gold and +Green, just to<br> +win a baseball game, or to break the tape in a race for old +Bannister!<br> +And you—<i>you</i>, with that tremendous body, that massive +bulk, that vast<br> +strength—you won't play the game for your Alma Mater, you +won't throw<br> +that big frame into the scrimmage, thrilled with a desire to win +for your<br> +college! Oh, what wonderful things you <i>could</i> do with your +powerful build;<br> +but it means nothing to you, while I— Oh, you don't care, +you just won't<br> +awaken; and, unless you do, in tomorrow's game you'll be dropped +from the<br> +squad, a disgrace."</p> + +<p>John Thorwald-Thor, the Prodigious Prodigy, that Gargantuan +Freshman of<br> +whom Bannister said he possessed no soul—stirred uneasily, +shifted his<br> +vast tonnage from one foot to the other, and stared at little +Theophilus<br> +Opperdyke. That solemn Senior, who had not seen the slightest +effect his<br> +"Missionary Work" was having on the stolid Thor, was in despair; +but he did<br> +not know the truth. As Hicks had once said, "You don't know +nothing what<br> +goes on in Thor's dome. There's a wall of solid concrete around +the<br> +machinery of his mind, and you can't see the wheels, belts, and +cogs at<br> +work!"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., with all his keen insight into human +nature, had<br> +failed utterly to diagnose Thor's case, had not even stumbled on +the true<br> +cause of that young giant's aloofness. The truth was unknown to +anyone,<br> +but there was one natural reason for John Thorwald's not mingling +with his<br> +fellows of the campus-the blond Colossus was inordinately +bashful! From his<br> +fifteenth year, Thor had seen the seamy side of life, had lived, +grown and<br> +developed among men. In his wanderings in the Klondike, the wild +Northwest,<br> +in Panama, his experiences as cabin-boy, miner, cowboy, +lumber-jack, and<br> +Canal Zone worker, he had existed where everything was roughness +and<br> +violence, where brawn, not brain, usually held sway, where +supremacy was<br> +won, kept, and lost by fists, spiked boots, or guns! In his +adventurous<br> +career, young Thorwald had but seldom encountered the finer +things of life,<br> +and his nature, while wholesome, was sturdy and virile, not +likely to be<br> +stirred by sentiment; so that now, among the good-natured, +friendly boys of<br> +old Bannister, he, accustomed to rude surroundings and rough +acquaintances,<br> +was bashful.</p> + +<p>And Theophilus, as well as T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., shot far +wide of the<br> +mark in believing that the big Hercules had no power to feel; he +possessed<br> +that power, but, with it the ability to conceal his feelings. +They thought<br> +nothing appealed to him, had stirred his soul, at college, but +they were<br> +wrong; true, Thor was unable to understand this new, strange +life; he was<br> +puzzled when the collegians condemned and ostracized him at +first, when<br> +he quit football because it was not a Faculty rule to play, but +he was<br> +grateful when Hicks defended him, and the admiration of the +student-body<br> +was welcome to him. He had thought he was doing all they desired +of him,<br> +when he went back to the game, and now—when Theophilus told +him that he<br> +might be dropped from the squad, he was bewildered. He could not +understand<br> +just why this could be, when he was reporting for scrimmage every +day!</p> + +<p>But the friendliness of the youths, their kind help with his +studies,<br> +the assistance of the genial Hicks, and, more than all, above +even<br> +the admiration of the Freshmen for his promise and purpose, the +daily<br> +missionary work of little Theophilus, for whom the massive Thor +felt a real<br> +love, had been slowly, insidiously undermining John Thorwald's +reserve. No<br> +longer did he condemn what he did not understand. At times he had +a vague<br> +feeling that all was not right, that, after all, he was missing +something,<br> +that study was not all; and yet, bashful as he was, fearing to +appear<br> +rough, crude, and uncouth among these skylarking youths, Thor +kept on his<br> +silent, lonely way, and they thought him untouched by their +overtures. Of<br> +late, when unobserved, the big Freshman had stood by the window, +watching<br> +the collegians on the campus, listening to their songs of old +Bannister,<br> +and yet because he felt embarrassed when with them, he gave no +sign that he<br> +cared.</p> + +<p>Now, however, the splendid appeal of loyal, timorous +Theophilus stirred<br> +Thor, and yet he could not break down the wall of reserve he had +builded<br> +around himself. He had deluded himself that this comradeship was +not for<br> +him, that he could never mingle with these happy-go-lucky youths, +that<br> +he must plod straight ahead, and live to himself, because his +past had<br> +roughened him.</p> + +<p>"You are a Freshman!" spoke Theophilus, unaware that forces +were at work on<br> +Thor, and making a last effort. "You stand on the very threshold +of your<br> +campus years; everything is before you. I am at the journey's +end—very<br> +nearly, for in June I graduate from old Bannister. I never had +the chance<br> +to fight for my Alma Mater on the athletic field, and +you—Oh, think of<br> +what you can do! About to leave the campus, I, and my +class-mates, realize<br> +how dear our college has become to us. If <i>you</i> could just +know that<br> +Bannister means something to you, even now, if you only felt it, +you<br> +could make your years mean great things to you. Thor, could you +leave old<br> +Bannister tomorrow without regret, without one sigh for the dear +old place?<br> +We, who soon shall leave it forever, fully understand +Shakespeare, when in<br> +a sonnet he wrote:</p> + +<p> "This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more +strong—<br> + To love that well which thou must leave ere long!"</p> + +<p>There was a silence, and then Thor slowly drew out a letter +from its<br> +envelope, scanning the scrawl across its pages. A few moments, +while its<br> +meaning seemed to seep into his slow-acting mind, and then a look +of<br> +helpless bewilderment, as though the stolid Freshman just could +not<br> +understand at all, came to his face; a minute John Thorwald +stood, as in a<br> +trance, staring dully at the letter.</p> + +<p>"Thor! Thor! What's the matter? What's wrong?" quavered the +alarmed<br> +Theophilus, "Have you gotten bad news?"</p> + +<p>"Read it, read it," said the big Freshman lifelessly, +extending the letter<br> +to the startled Senior. "It's all over, I suppose, and I've got +to go to<br> +work again. I've got to leave college, and toil once more, and +save. My<br> +promise to my mother can't be fulfilled—yet. And just as I +was getting<br> +fairly started."</p> + +<p>Theophilus Opperdyke hurriedly perused the message, which had +come to Thor<br> +in that night's mail but which the blond giant had let lie +unnoticed while<br> +he tackled his geometry. With difficulty Theophilus deciphered +the scrawl<br> +on an official letterhead:</p> + +<p>THE NEW YORK-CHRISTIANA STEAMSHIP LINE</p> + +<p>(New York Offices)</p> + +<p>Nov. 4, 19—.</p> + +<p>DEAR SON:</p> + +<p>I am writing to tell you that I've run into a sort of +hurricane, and you<br> +and I have got a hard blow to weather. I started you at college +on the<br> +$5,000 received from the heirs of Henry B. Kingsley, on whose +yacht, as<br> +you know, I was wrecked in the South Seas, and marooned for ten +years. I<br> +figured on giving you an education with that sum, eked out by my +wages, and<br> +what you earn in vacations.</p> + +<p>I had the $5,000, untouched, in a New York bank, and I wanted +to take it<br> +over to Christiania; when I was about to sail on my last voyage, +I drew out<br> +the sum, and put it in care of the Purser of the Norwhal, on +which I<br> +was mate, intending, of course, to get it on docking, and deposit +it in<br> +Christiania. At the last hour I was transferred to the Valkyrie, +to sail<br> +a few days later, and I knew the Norwhal's purser would leave the +$5,000<br> +for me in the Company's Christiania offices, so I did not bother +to<br> +transfer it to the Valkyrie.</p> + +<p>Perhaps you read in the newspapers that the Norwhal struck a +floating<br> +mine, and went down with a heavy loss of life. The Purser was +among those<br> +lost, and none of the ship's papers were saved; my $5,000, of +course, went<br> +down also.</p> + +<p>I am sorry, John, but there seems nothing to do but for you to +leave<br> +college and work. For your mother's sake, I wish we could avoid +it; but we<br> +must wait and work and tackle it again. Your first term expenses +are paid,<br> +so stay until the term is out. Perhaps Mr. Hicks can give you a +job in one<br> +of his steel mills again, but we must work our own way, son. +Don't lose<br> +courage, we'll fight this out together with the memory of your +promise to<br> +your dying mother to spur you on. The road may be long and rocky +but we'll<br> +make it. Just work and save, and in a year or two you can start +at college<br> +again. You can study at night, too, and keep on learning.</p> + +<p>I'll write later. Stay at college till the term is up, and in +the meantime<br> +try to land a job. However, you won't have any trouble to do +that. Keep<br> +your nerve, boy, for your mother's sake. It's a hard blow, but +we'll<br> +weather it, never fear, and reach port.</p> + +<p>Your father,</p> + +<p>JOHN THORWALD, SR.</p> + +<p>P.S. I am sailing on the Valkyrie today, will write you on my +return to<br> +New York, in a few weeks.</p> + +<p>Theophilus looked at the massive young Norwegian, who had +taken this<br> +solar-plexus blow with that same stolid apathy that characterized +his every<br> +action. He wanted to offer sympathy, but he knew not how to reach +Thor. He<br> +fully understood how terrific the blow was, how it must stagger +the<br> +big, earnest Freshman, just as he, after ten years of grinding +toil, of<br> +sacrifice, of grim, unrelenting determination, had conquered +obstacles and<br> +fought to where he had a clear track ahead. Just as it seemed +that fate had<br> +given him a fair chance, with his father rescued and five +thousand dollars<br> +to give him a college course, this terrible misfortune had +befallen him.<br> +Theophilus realized what it must mean to this huge, silent +Hercules, just<br> +making good his promise to his dying mother, to give up his +studies, and go<br> +back to work, toil, labor, to begin all over again, to put off +his college<br> +years.</p> + +<p>"Leave me, please," said Thor dully, apparently as unmoved by +the blow<br> +as he had been by Theophilus' appeal. "I—I would like to be +alone, for<br> +awhile."</p> + +<p>Left alone, John Thorwald stood by the window, apparently not +thinking of<br> +anything in particular, as he gazed across the brightly lighted +Quad. The<br> +huge Freshman seemed in a daze—utterly unable to comprehend +the disaster<br> +that had befallen him; he was as stolid and impassive as ever, +and<br> +Theophilus might have thought that he did not care, even at +having to give<br> +up his college course, had not the Senior known better.</p> + +<p>Across the Quadrangle, from the room of the Caruso-like +Juniors,<br> +accompanied by a melodious banjo-twanging, drifted:</p> + +<p> "Though thy halls we leave forever<br> + Sadly from the campus turn;<br> + Yet our love shall fail thee never<br> + For old Bannister we'll yearn!</p> + +<p> "'Bannister, Bannister, hail, all hail!'<br> + Echoes softly from each heart;<br> + We'll be ever loyal to thee<br> + Till we from life shall part."</p> + +<p>Strangely enough, the behemoth Thorwald was not thinking so +much of having<br> +to give up his studies, of having to lay aside his books and take +up again<br> +the implements of toil. He was not pondering on the cruelty of +fate in<br> +making him abandon, at least temporarily, his goal; instead, his +thoughts<br> +turned, somehow, to his experiences at old Bannister, to the +football<br> +scrimmages, the noisy sessions in "Delmonico's Annex," the +college<br> +dining-hall, to the skylarking he had often watched in the +dormitories. He<br> +thought, too, of the happy, care-free youths, remembering Hicks, +good Butch<br> +Brewster, loyal little Theophilus; and as he reflected, he heard +those<br> +Juniors, over the way, singing. Just now they were chanting +that<br> +exquisitely beautiful Hawaiian melody, "Aloha Oe," or "Farewell +to Thee,"<br> +making the words tell of parting from their Alma Mater. There was +something<br> +in the refrain that seemed to break down Thor's wall of reserve, +to melt<br> +away his aloofness, and he caught himself listening eagerly as +they sang.</p> + +<p>Somehow he felt no desire to condemn those care-free youths, +to call their<br> +singing silly foolishness, to say they were wasting their time +and their<br> +fathers' money. Queer, but he actually liked to hear them sing, +he realized<br> +he had come to listen for their saengerfests. Now that he had to +leave<br> +college, for the first time he began to ponder on what he must +leave. Not<br> +alone books and study, but—</p> + +<p>As he stood there, an ache in his throat, and an awful sorrow +overwhelming<br> +him, with the richly blended voices of the happy Juniors drifting +across to<br> +him, chanting a song of old Ballard, big Thor murmured +softly:</p> + +<p>"What did little Theophilus say? What was it Shakespeare +wrote? Oh, I have<br> +it:</p> + +<p> "'This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more +strong—<br> + To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.'"</p> + +<p><br> +CHAPTER X</p> + +<p>THOR'S AWAKENING</p> + +<p> "There's a hole in the bottom of the sea,<br> + And we'll put Bannister in that hole!<br> + In that hole—in—that—hole—<br> + Oh, we'll put Bannister in that hole!"</p> + +<p>"In the famous words of the late Mike Murphy," said T. +Haviland Hicks, Jr.,<br> +"the celebrated Yale and Penn track trainer, 'you can beat a team +that<br> +can't be beat, but—you can't beat a team that won't be +beat!' Latham must<br> +be in the latter class."</p> + +<p>It was the Bannister-Latham game, and the first half had just +ended.<br> +Captain Butch Brewster's followers had trailed dejectedly from +Bannister<br> +Field to the Gym, where Head Coach Corridan was flaying them with +a tongue<br> +as keen as the two-edged sword that drove Adam and Eve from the +Garden of<br> +Eden. A cold, bleak November afternoon, a leaden sky lowered +overhead, and<br> +a chill wind swept athwart the field; in the concrete stands, the +loyal<br> +"rooters" of the Gold and Green, or of the Gold and Blue, +shivered,<br> +stamped, and swung their arms, waiting for the excitement of the +scrimmage<br> +again to warm them. Yet, the Bannister cohorts seemed silent +and<br> +discouraged, while the Latham supporters went wild, singing, +cheering,<br> +howling. A look at the score-board explained this:</p> + +<p> END OF FIRST HALF: SCORE:<br> + Bannister ........ 0<br> + Latham ........... 3</p> + +<p>The statement of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., swathed in a gold and +green<br> +blanket and humped on the Bannister bench, to shivering little +Theophilus<br> +Opperdyke, the Phillyloo Bird, Shad Weatherby, and several more +collegians<br> +who had joined him when the half ended, was singularly +appropriate. In<br> +Latham's light, fast eleven, trained to the minute, coached to a +shifty,<br> +tricky style of play with numberless deceptive fakes from which +they worked<br> +the forward pass successfully, Bannister seemed to have +encountered, as<br> +Mike Murphy phrased it, "A team that won't be beat!" According to +the<br> +advance dope of the sporting writers, who, in football, are +usually as good<br> +prophets as the Weather Bureau, Bannister was booked to come out +the winner<br> +by at least five touchdowns to none. But here a half was gone, +and Latham<br> +led by three points, scored on a rather lucky field-goal!</p> + +<p>The psychology of football is inexplicable. Yale, beaten by +Virginia,<br> +Brown, and Wash-Jeff, with the Blue's best gridiron star +ineligible to<br> +play, a team that seemed at odds with itself and the 'Varsity, +mismanaged,<br> +poorly coached, journeys to Princeton to battle with old Nassau; +the Tiger,<br> +Its tail as yet untwisted, presents its best eleven for several +seasons, a<br> +great favorite in the odds, and yet the final score is Yale, 14; +Princeton,<br> +7! A strange fear of the Bulldog, bred of many bitter defeats, of +similar<br> +occasions when a feeble Yale team aroused itself and trampled an +invincible<br> +Orange and Black eleven, when the Blue fought old Nassau with a +team that<br> +"wouldn't" be beat, gave victory to the poorer aggregation. So +many things<br> +unforeseen often enter into a football contest, shifting the +balance of<br> +power from the stronger to the weaker team. One eleven gets the +jump on the<br> +other, the favorite weirdly goes to pieces—team dissension +may exist, a<br> +dozen other causes—but, boiled down, Mike Murphy's +statement was most<br> +appropriate now.</p> + +<p>Latham simply <i>would not</i> be beat! The sporting pages had +said: "Latham<br> +simply can't beat Bannister!" Here the team, that could not be +beaten was<br> +being defeated, and the team that would not be defeated was, so +far, the<br> +victor. Perhaps the threatened dropping of Thor from the Gold and +Green<br> +squad shook somewhat Captain Butch's players; more likely, the +Latham<br> +aggregation got the jump on Bannister, opening up a bewildering +attack of<br> +criss-crosses, line plunges, cross-bucks, and tandems, from all +of which<br> +the forward pass frequently developed; they literally overwhelmed +a<br> +supposedly unbeatable team. And once they got the edge, it was +hard for<br> +Bannister to regain poise and to smother the fast plays that +swept through<br> +or around the bewildered eleven.</p> + +<p>"We have <i>got</i> to beat 'em!" growled Shad, "Mike Murphy +or not. Why,<br> +if little old Latham cleans us up, smash go our chances of the +State<br> +Championship! Oh, look at Thor—the big mountain of muscle. +Why doesn't he<br> +wake up, and go push that team off the field?"</p> + +<p>Thor, the Prodigious Prodigy, his vast hulk unprotected from +the cold wind<br> +by a football blanket, squatted on the ground, on the side-line, +apparently<br> +in a trance. Ever since the night before, when his father's +letter had<br> +dealt such a knock-out blow to his hopes of fulfilling the +promise to his<br> +dying mother, had rudely side-tracked him from the climb to his +goal, the<br> +blond giant had maintained that dumb apathy. If anything, it +seemed that<br> +the cruel blow of fate had only served to make Thor more stolid +and<br> +impassive than ever, and Theophilus wondered if the Colossus had +really<br> +grasped the import of the tragic letter as yet. The news had +spread over<br> +the college and campus, and the students were sincerely sorry for +Thor. But<br> +to offer him sympathy was about as difficult as consoling a Polar +bear with<br> +the toothache.</p> + +<p>Coach Corridan, carrying out his plot, had decided not to +start Thor in<br> +the first half of the game. So the Norwegian Hercules, having +received no<br> +orders to the contrary, however, donned togs and appeared on the +side-line,<br> +where he had sat, paying not the slightest heed to the scrimmage +and<br> +seemingly unaware that the Gold and Green was facing defeat and +the loss of<br> +the Championship, for a game lost would put the team out of the +running.<br> +All big John Thorwald knew was, in a few weeks he must leave old +Bannister,<br> +must give up, for a time, his college course. Just when the grim +battle was<br> +won, he must leave, to work. Not that the Viking cared about +toil. It was<br> +the delay that chafed even his stolid self. He was stunned at +having to<br> +wait, maybe two years, before starting again.</p> + +<p>And yet, as he squatted on the side-line, oblivious to +everything but his<br> +bitter reflections, the Theophilus-quoted words of Shakespeare +persisted in<br> +intruding on his thoughts:</p> + +<p> "This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more +strong—<br> + To love that well, which thou must leave ere long."</p> + +<p>Try as he would, he could not fight away the keen realization +that<br> +books and study were not all he would regret to leave. He was +forced to<br> +acknowledge that his mind kept wandering to other things. He +found himself<br> +pondering on the parting with Theophilus Opperdyke, with that +crazy Hicks;<br> +he wondered if he, out in the world again, toiling his lonely +way, would<br> +miss the glad fellowship of these care-free youths that he had +watched,<br> +but never shared, if he would ever think of the weeks at old +Bannister.<br> +Somehow, he felt that he would often vision the Quad at night, +brightly<br> +lighted, dormitories' lights agleam, students crossing and +recrossing,<br> +shouting at studious comrades. He would hear again the +melodious<br> +banjo-twanging, the gleeful saengerfests, the happy skylarking of +the boys.<br> +He had never entered into all this, and yet he knew he would miss +it all;<br> +why, he would even miss the daily scrimmage on Bannister Field; +the noisy<br> +shower-room, with its clouds of steam, and white forms flitting +ghostlike.<br> +He would miss the classrooms; in brief, <i>everything</i>!</p> + +<p>John Thorwald was awakening! Even had this blow not befallen +him, the huge,<br> +slow-minded Norwegian, in time, with Theophilus Opperdyke's +missionary<br> +work, would have gradually come to understand things +better—at least, to<br> +know he was wrong in his ideas, which is the beginning of wisdom. +Already,<br> +he had ceased to condemn all this as foolishness, to rail at the +youths<br> +for wasting time and money. Already something stirred within him, +and yet,<br> +stolid as he was, bashful among the collegians, he was apparently +the same.<br> +But the sudden shock Head Coach Corridan spoke of had come. His +father's<br> +letter telling of his loss and that Thor must leave Bannister had +awakened<br> +him to the startling knowledge that he did care for something +more than<br> +study, that all the things that had puzzled him, that he had +sneered at,<br> +meant something to his existence, that he dreaded leaving other +things than<br> +his books.</p> + +<p>"I—I don't understand things," thought Thorwald. +"But—if I could only<br> +stay, I'd want to learn. I'd try to get this 'college' spirit! +Oh, I've<br> +been all wrong, but if I could only stay—"</p> + +<p>As if in answer to his unspoken thought, the big Freshman +beheld marching<br> +toward him Theophilus Opperdyke, his spectacles off, and his face +aglow,<br> +T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., evidently in the throes of emotional +insanity; a<br> +Senior whom he knew as Parson Palmetter; Registrar Worthington, +and Doctor<br> +Alford, the kindly, beloved Prexy of old Bannister. The last +named placed<br> +his hand on the puzzled behemoth's ponderous shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Thorwald," he said kindly, "Hicks, Opperdyke and Brewster, +last night,<br> +came to my study and acquainted me with your misfortune. They +told me of<br> +your life-history, of your splendid purpose to gain knowledge, to +make<br> +something of yourself, for your dying mother's sake. Old +Bannister needs<br> +men like you, Thorwald. Perhaps you do not understand campus ways +and<br> +tradition yet, perhaps you are not in sympathy with everything +here; but<br> +once a love for your Alma Mater is awakened, you will be a power +for good<br> +for your college.</p> + +<p>"Now I at once took up the matter with Mr. Palmetter, +President of The<br> +Students' Aid Bureau. This year, for the first time in our +history, we have<br> +dispensed with janitors and sweeps in the dormitories, and with +dining-hall<br> +waiters, so that needy and deserving students may work their way +through<br> +Bannister. Owing to the fact that Mr. Deane, a Senior, has given +up his<br> +dormitory, Creighton Hall, as he has funds for the year and needs +the time<br> +to study, we can offer you board and tuition, in exchange for +your work in<br> +the dormitory, and waiting on tables in the dining-hall. Since +your first<br> +term bills, until January first, are paid, if you will start to +work at<br> +once, we will credit any work done this term on books and +incidentals for<br> +next term. By this means—"</p> + +<p>"Why, you don't—you <i>can't</i> mean—" rumbled +Thor, who had just dimly<br> +grasped the greatest point in Prexy's speech. "Why, then I won't +have to<br> +leave Bannister—I won't have to quit my studies! Oh, thank +you, sir; thank<br> +you! I will work <i>so</i> hard. I am not afraid of work; I love +it—a chance to<br> +toil and earn my education, that's what I want! Thank you!"</p> + +<p>"And in addition," said the Registrar, "Mr. Palmetter reports +that he can<br> +secure you, downtown, a number of furnaces to tend this winter, +which you<br> +can do early in the morning and at night; this will bring you an +income for<br> +living expenses, and in the spring something else will offer +itself. It<br> +means every moment of your time will be crowded, but Bannister +needs<br> +workers—"</p> + +<p>Something stirred in John Thorwald. His heart had been touched +at last. He<br> +thought of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., Butch, and little Theophilus +worried<br> +at his having to leave college, going to Doctor Alford; of Prexy, +the<br> +Registrar, and Parson Palmetter, working to keep Thor at old +Bannister.<br> +He recalled how sympathetic all the youths had been, how they +admired his<br> +purpose and determination; and he had rewarded their friendliness +with<br> +cold aloofness. He felt a thrill as he visioned himself working +for his<br> +education, rising in the cold dawn, tending furnaces, working in +the dorm.,<br> +waiting on tables—studying. With what fierce joy he would +assail his<br> +tasks, glad that he could stay! He knew the students would +rejoice, that<br> +they would not look down on him; instead, they would respect and +admire<br> +him, toiling to grow and develop, to attain his goal!</p> + +<p>"Go to it, Thor!" urged T. Haviland Hicks, Jr. "We all want +you to stay,<br> +old man; we'll give you a lift with your studies. Old Bannister +<i>wants</i><br> +you, <i>needs</i> you, so <i>stick</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Stay, please!" quavered little Theophilus. "You don't want to +leave your<br> +Alma Mater; stay, Thorwald, and—you'll understand things +soon,"</p> + +<p>"Report at the Registrar's office at seven tonight, Thorwald," +said Prexy,<br> +and then, because he understood boys and campus problems, "and to +show your<br> +gratitude, you might go out there and spank that team which is +trying to<br> +lick old Bannister."</p> + +<p>John Thorwald, when Doctor Alford and the Registrar had gone, +arose and<br> +stood gazing across Bannister Field. He saw not the white-lined +gridiron,<br> +the gaunt goal-posts, the concrete stands filled with spectators, +or the<br> +gay banners and pennants. He saw the buildings and campus of old +Bannister,<br> +the stately old elms bordering the walks; he beheld the Gym., the +four<br> +dormitories—Bannister, Nordyke, Smithson, and +Creighton—the white Chapel,<br> +the ivy-covered Library, the Administration and Recitation Halls; +he<br> +glimpsed the Memorial Arch over the entrance driveway, and big +Alumni Hall.<br> +All at once, like an inundating wave, the great realization +flashed on<br> +Thor that he did not have to leave it all! Often again would he +hear the<br> +skylarking youths, the gay songs, the banjo-strumming; often +would he see<br> +the brightly lighted Quad., would gaze out on the campus! It was +still<br> +his—the work, the study, and, if he tried, even the glad +comradeship of<br> +the fellows, the bigger things of college life, which as yet he +did not<br> +understand.</p> + +<p>The big slow-minded youth could not awaken, at once, to a full +knowledge<br> +and understanding of campus life and tradition, to a knowledge of +college<br> +spirit; but, thanks to the belief that he had to leave it all, he +had<br> +awakened to the startling fact that already he loved old +Bannister. And<br> +now, joyous that he could stay, John Thorwald suddenly felt a +strong desire<br> +to do something, not for himself, but for these splendid fellows +who had<br> +worried for his sake, had worked to keep him at college. And just +then he<br> +remembered the somewhat unclassical, yet well meant, words of +dear old<br> +Doctor Alford, "And to show your gratitude, you might go out +there and<br> +spank that team, which is trying to lick old Bannister."</p> + +<p>John Thorwald for the first time looked at the score-board; he +saw, in big<br> +white letters:</p> + +<p> BANNISTER .......... 0<br> + LATHAM ............. 3</p> + +<p>From the Gym. the Gold and Green players—grim, +determined, and yet worried<br> +by the team that "won't be beat!"—were jogging, followed by +Head Coach<br> +Patrick Henry Corridan. The Latham eleven was on the field, the +Gold and<br> +Blue rooters rioted in the stands. From the Bannister cohorts +came a<br> +thunderous appeal:</p> + +<p> "Hold 'em, boys—hold 'em, +boys—hold—hold—<i>hold</i>!<br> + Don't let 'em beat the Green and the Gold!"</p> + +<p>A sudden fury swayed the Prodigious Prodigy; it was his +college, his<br> +eleven, and those Blue and Gold youths were actually beating old +Bannister!<br> +The Bannister boys had admired him, some of them had helped him +in his<br> +studies, three had told Doctor Alford of him, had made it +possible for him<br> +to stay, to keep on toward his goal. They would be +sorrow-stricken if<br> +Latham won! A feeling of indignation came to Thor. How dare those +fellows<br> +think they could beat old Bannister! Why, <i>he</i> would go out +there and show<br> +them a few things!</p> + +<p>Head Coach Corridan, let it be chronicled, was paralyzed when +he ducked<br> +under the side-line rope—stretched to hold the spectators +back—to collide<br> +with an immovable body, John Thorwald, and to behold an eager +light on that<br> +behemoth's stolid face. Grasping the Slave-Driver in a grip that +hurt, Thor<br> +boomed:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Corridan, let me play, <i>please</i>! Send me out this +half. We can win.<br> +We've <i>got</i> to win! I want to do something for old +Bannister. Why, if we<br> +lose today, we lose the Championship! I don't understand things +yet, but I<br> +do love the college. I want to fight for Bannister. Please let me +play!"</p> + +<p>The astonished coach and the equally dazed Gold and Green +eleven, with the<br> +bewildered collegians who heard Thor's earnest appeal, were +silent a few<br> +moments, unable to grasp the truth. Then Captain Brewster, his +face aglow,<br> +seized the big Freshman's arm excitedly.</p> + +<p>"Sure you'll play, Thor!" he shouted. "Fullback, old man! Come +on, team.<br> +Thor's awake! He wants to fight for his Alma Mater; he wants +Bannister to<br> +win! Oh, watch us shove Latham off the field—everybody +together now—the<br> +yell, for Thor!"</p> + +<p>"Right here," grinned an excitedly happy T. Haviland Hicks, +Jr., when the<br> +yell was given, "is where a team that won't be beat gets licked +by a chap<br> +what can lick 'em!"</p> + +<p>What took place when the blond Prodigious Prodigy lumbered on +Bannister<br> +Field at the start of the last half of the Bannister-Latham game +can be<br> +imagined by the final score-board figures:</p> + +<p> BANNISTER ......... 27<br> + LATHAM ............. 3</p> + +<p>It can best be described with the aid of Scoop Sawyer's +account in the next<br> +Bannister Weekly:</p> + +<p>—At the start of the second half, however, the Latham +cohorts were given<br> +a shock when they beheld a colossal being almost as big as the +entire Gold<br> +and Blue eleven, go in at fullback for Bannister. And the Latham +eleven<br> +received a series of shocks when Thor began intruding that +massive body<br> +of his into their territory. Tennyson's saying, "The old order +changeth,<br> +yielding place to new" was aptly illustrated in the second half; +for<br> +Bannister's bugler quit sounding "Retreat!" and blew "Charge!" +Four<br> +touchdowns and three goals from touchdowns, in one half, is +usually<br> +considered a fair day's work for an entire team. Even Yale or +Harvard; but<br> +when one player corrals four touchdowns in a half—he is +going some! Well,<br> +Thor went some! Most of the half he furnished free transportation +for<br> +two-thirds of the Latham team, carrying them on his back, legs, +and neck,<br> +as he strode down the field; a writ of habeas corpus could not +have stopped<br> +the blond Colossus. Anyone would have stood more show to stop an +Alpine<br> +avalanche than to slow up Thor, and the stretcher was constantly +in<br> +evidence, for Latham knockouts.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> +<img alt="cw.jpg (97K)" src="cw.jpg" height="853" width="538"> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>The game turned into a Thor's Personally Conducted Tour. +Thorwald, escorted<br> +by the Gold and Green team, made four quick tours to the Latham +goal-line.<br> +It was simply a matter of giving the ball to the Prodigious +Prodigy, then<br> +waving the linesmen to move down twenty yards or more toward +Latham's line.<br> +Thor was simply unstoppable, and more beneficial even than his +phenomenal<br> +playing was his encouragement to the team. He kept urging them to +action,<br> +his foghorn growl of, "Come on, boys!" was a slogan of victory! +Judging by<br> +Thor's awakening, and his work of the Latham game, Bannister's +hopes of The<br> +State Intercollegiate Football Championship are as roseate as the +blush on<br> +a maiden's cheek at her first kiss, and—</p> + +<p>That night, in the cozy room of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., John +Thorwald,<br> +supremely happy yet withal as uncomfortable as a whale on the +Sahara<br> +Desert, overflowed an easy-chair. The room was filled, or what +space Thor<br> +left, with the Bannister eleven, second-team players, Coach +Corridan, and<br> +several students; on the campus a riotous crowd of Bannister +youths "raised<br> +merry Heck," as Hicks phrased it, and their cheer floated up to +the<br> +windows:</p> + +<p>"Rah! Rah! Rah! Thor! Thor! Thor! +He's—all—right!"</p> + +<p>"Come, fellows," spoke T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.</p> + +<p>"Let's sing to the captain, good old Butch! Let 'er go!"</p> + +<p> "Here's to good Butch Brewster! Drink it down!<br> + Here's to good Butch Brewster! Drink It down!<br> + Here's to good Butch Brewster—<br> + He plays football like he <i>uster—</i><br> + Drink it down! Drink it +down—down—down—down!"</p> + +<p>A strange sound startled the joyous youths; it was a rumbling +noise,<br> +like distant thunder, and at first they could not place it. Then, +as It<br> +continued, they located the disturbance as coming from the +prodigious body<br> +of Thor, and at last the wonderful phenomenon dawned on them.</p> + +<p>"Thor is singing college songs!" quavered little Theophilus +Opperdyke,<br> +so happy that his big-rimmed spectacles rode the end of his nose. +"Oh,<br> +Hicks—Butch—Thor is awake at last! He is trying to +get college spirit, to<br> +understand campus life—"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., suddenly realized that what he had so +ardently<br> +longed for had come to pass; aided by Theophilus' missionary work +and by<br> +the sudden shock of Thorwald, Sr.'s, letter. Thor was awakened, +had come to<br> +know that he loved old Bannister. His awakening, as shown in the +football<br> +game, had been splendid. How he had towered over the scrimmage, +in every<br> +play, urging his team to fight, himself doing prodigies for old +Bannister.<br> +Thor, who had been so silent and aloof! Then the sunny-souled +youth<br> +remembered.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I told you I'd awaken Thor, Butch!" he began, but that +behemoth<br> +quelled him with an ominous look.</p> + +<p>"You!" he growled, with pretended wrath, "<i>you</i>! It was +Theophilus<br> +Opperdyke who did the most of it, and Thorwald's father did the +rest! Don't<br> +you rob Theophilus of his glory, you +feeble-imitation-of-some-thing-human!"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., grinned à la Cheshire cat. The +happy-go-lucky<br> +Senior was vastly glad that Thor had awakened, that now he would +try<br> +to grasp the real meaning of college existence. He felt that the +young<br> +Hercules, from now on, would slowly and surely develop to a +splendid<br> +college man, that he would do big things for his Alma Mater. And +the<br> +generous Hicks gave Theophilus all the credit, and impressed on +that<br> +happy Human Encyclopedia the fact that he had done a great deed +for old<br> +Bannister. Just so, Thor was awakened.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say, Deke Radford, Coach, and Butch," Hicks chortled, +getting the<br> +attention of that triumvirate as well as that of the others in +the room,<br> +"remember up in Camp Bannister, in the sleep-shack, when Coach +Corridan<br> +outlined a smashing full-back he wanted?"</p> + +<p>"Sure!" smiled Deke. "What of it, Hicks?"</p> + +<p>Then T, Haviland Hicks, Jr., that care-free, lovable, +irrepressible youth,<br> +whose chance to swagger before this same trio had been postponed +so long<br> +and seemingly lost forever, satiated his fun-loving soul and +reaped his<br> +reward. Calling their attention to Thor, the Prodigious Prodigy, +and asking<br> +them to remember his playing against Latham that day, the sunny +Senior<br> +strutted before them vaingloriously.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I told you just to leave it to Hicks!" he declared, +grinning happily.<br> +"I promised to round up an unstoppable fullback, a Gargantuan +Hercules, and<br> +I did! Just think of what he will do to Hamilton and Ballard in +the big<br> +games! As I have often told you, <i>always</i>—leave It to +Hicks!"</p> + +<p><br> +CHAPTER XI</p> + +<p>"ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL"</p> + +<p> "Oh, what we'll do to Ballard<br> + Will surely be a shame!<br> + We'll push their team clear off the field<br> + And win the football game!"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., one night three days after the first +big game, that<br> +with Hamilton, a week following Thor's great awakening in the +Latham game,<br> +sat in his cozy room, having assumed his favorite +position—chair tilted<br> +back at a perilous angle and feet thrust atop of the radiator. +The<br> +versatile youth, having just composed a song with which to +encourage<br> +Bannister elevens in the future, was reading it aloud, when his +mind was<br> +torpedoed by a most startling thought.</p> + +<p>"Land o' Goshen!" reflected the sunny-souled Senior, aghast. +"I haven't<br> +twanged my ole banjo and held forth with a saengerfest for a +coon's age! I<br> +surely can do so now without arousing Butch to wrath. Thor has +awakened,<br> +Hamilton is walloped, and Bannister will surely win the +Championship!<br> +Everything is happy, an' de goose hangs high, so here goes!"</p> + +<p>Holding his banjo à la troubadour, the blithesome +Hicks, who as a Senior<br> +was harassed by no study-hours or inspections, strode from his +room and out<br> +into the corridor, up and down which he majestically paced, like +a sentinel<br> +on his beat, twanging his beloved banjo with abandon, and roaring +in his<br> +foghorn, subterranean voice:</p> + +<p> "Oh, the way we walloped Hamilton<br> + Surely was a shame!<br> + And we're going to win the Championship—<br> + For we'll do Ballard the same!</p> + +<p> "And Bannister shall flaunt the flag<br> + For at least three seasons more;<br> + Because—no team can win a game<br> + While the Gold and Green has Thor!"</p> + +<p>On Bannister Field, three days before, the Gold and Green had +crushed the<br> +strong team from "old Ham" to the tune of 20 to 0; Thor's +magnificent<br> +ground-gaining, in which he smashed through the supposedly +impregnable<br> +defense of the enemy, was a surprise to his comrades and a shock +to<br> +Hamilton. Time and again, on the fourth down, the ball was given +to<br> +Thorwald, and the blond Colossus, with several of old Ham's +players<br> +clinging to him, plunged ahead for big gains. So now with a +monster<br> +mass-meeting in half an hour, the exultant Bannister youths +pretended to<br> +study, but prepared to parade on the campus, cheer the eleven and +Thor,<br> +and arouse excitement for the winning of the biggest game, a +victory over<br> +Ballard, a week later.</p> + +<p>From the rooms of would-be studious Seniors on both sides of +the corridor,<br> +as Hicks patrolled it, came vociferous protests and classic +criticisms,<br> +gathering in force and volume as the breezy youth's foghorn voice +roared<br> +his song; that heedless collegian grinned as he heard:</p> + +<p>"R-r-rotten! Give that Jersey calf more rope!"</p> + +<p>"Hicks has had a relapse! Sing-Sing for yours, old man!"</p> + +<p>"Arrest Hicks, under the Public Nuisance Act!"</p> + +<p>"Woof! Woof! Shoot it quick! Don't let it suffer!"</p> + +<p>Just as T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., strumming the banjo blithely +and Carusoing<br> +with glee, reached the end of the corridor and executed a brisk +'bout-face,<br> +he heard a terrific commotion on the stairway, and, a moment +later, Butch<br> +Brewster, Beef McNaughton, Deacon Radford and Monty Merriweather +gained the<br> +top of the stairs. As they were now between the offending Hicks +and<br> +his quarters, there seemed no chance for the sunny Senior to play +his<br> +safety-first policy; so he waited, panic-stricken, as Butch and +Beef<br> +lumbered heavily down the corridor.</p> + +<p>"Help! Aid! Succor! Relief! Assistance!" shrieked Hicks, +leaning his<br> +beloved banjo against the wall and throwing himself into what +he<br> +fatuously believed was an intensely pugilistic pose. "I am a +believer in<br> +preparedness. You have me cornered, so beware! I am a follower of +Henry<br> +Ford, but even I will fight—at bay!"</p> + +<p>"Well, you are at <i>sea</i> now!" growled Beef, tucking the +splinter youth<br> +under one arm and striding down the corridor, followed by Butch +with the<br> +banjo, and Monty with Deacon. "You desperado, you destroyer of +peace and<br> +quietude, you one-cylinder gadabout! You're off again! We'll +instruct you<br> +to annoy real students, you faint shadow of something human!"</p> + +<p>"Them's harsh sentences, Beef!" chuckled T. Haviland Hicks, +Jr., as that<br> +behemoth kicked open Hicks' door, bore the futilely squirming, +kicking<br> +youth into the room, and hurled him on the davenport. "Watch my +banjo,<br> +there, Butch; have a couple of cares! Say, what'smatter wid youse +guys,<br> +anyhow? This is my first saengerfest for eons. Old Bannister has +a clear<br> +track ahead at last, the Championship is won for <i>sure</i>, and +Thor, that<br> +mighty engine of destruction to Ham's and Ballard's hopes, after +much<br> +tinkering, is hitting on all twelve cylinders. Why, I prithee, +deny me the<br> +pleasure of a little joyous song?"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., since the memorable Latham game, when +Thor had<br> +awakened between halves, and the Prodigious Prodigy had shown +himself<br> +worthy of his title by winning the game after defeat leered at +old<br> +Bannister, had suffered a relapse, and was again his old sunny, +heedless,<br> +happy-go-lucky self. Now that John Thorwald had been startled +into<br> +realizing that he loved his college and had been saved from +having to<br> +leave, now that he played football for his Alma Mater, and +Bannister's<br> +hopes of the Championship were roseate, the blithesome Hicks had +abandoned<br> +himself to a golden existence of Beefsteak Busts downtown at +Jerry's,<br> +entertaining jolly comrades in his cozy room, and pestering the +campus with<br> +his banjo and ridiculous imitations of Sheerluck Holmes, the +Dachshund<br> +Detective. Big Butch Brewster, lecturing him for his care-free +ways, as<br> +futilely as he had done for three years past, gave up in +despair.</p> + +<p>"I might as well be showing moving-pictures to the inmates of +a blind<br> +asylum," he growled on one occasion, "as to persuade you to quit +acting<br> +like a lunatic! You, a Senior—acting like an escaped +inhabitant of<br> +Matteawan! Bah!"</p> + +<p>Big Butch Brewster, drawing a chair up to the davenport, +assumed the manner<br> +of a physician toward a recalcitrant patient, while Beef +carefully stowed<br> +the banjo in the closet and Deacon Radford, an interested +spectator, sat<br> +on the bed. The happy-go-lucky Hicks, at a loss to account for +the strange<br> +expressions of his comrades, tried to arise, but the football +captain<br> +pinned him down with one hand.</p> + +<p>"Seriously, Hicks," spoke Butch, "your saengerfest came at a +lamentably<br> +inopportune time! I regret to Inform you that old Bannister faces +another<br> +problem, with regard to Thor, and unless it is solved, I +fear—"</p> + +<p>"Thor has balked again?" gasped the dazed Hicks, whom Butch +now allowed to<br> +sit up, as he showed interest. "Has the engine of destruction +stalled?<br> +Why, as fast as we get him lined up, off he slides at an angle! +Well, you<br> +fellows did perfectly right to bring this baffling problem, +whatever it is,<br> +to me. What is the trouble—won't Thor play football?"</p> + +<p>The irrepressible Hicks was bewildered at hearing that a new +problem<br> +regarding Thor had arisen, and, naturally, he at once connected +it with<br> +football, since the big Freshman had twice balked in that +respect. Since<br> +his awakening, effected by Theophilus' missionary work, his last +appeal,<br> +and Thor's letter from his father, Thor had earnestly striven to +grasp the<br> +true meaning of college life, to understand campus tradition. No +longer did<br> +he hold aloof, boning always, in his lonely room. Instead, he +mingled with<br> +his fellows, lingering with the team for the skylarking in the +shower-room<br> +after scrimmage, turning out for the nightly mass-meeting. Often, +as the<br> +youths practiced songs and yells on the campus, Thor's terrific +rumble was<br> +heard—some had even dared to slap his massive back and say, +"Hello, Thor,<br> +old man!" and the big Freshman had responded. It was evident to +all that<br> +Thorwald was striving to become a collegian, and knowing his +slow, bulldog<br> +nature, there was no doubt as to his ultimate success; hence T. +Haviland<br> +Hicks, Jr., was vastly puzzled now.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Thor hasn't backslid!" smiled Beef. "You see, Hicks, it's +this way:<br> +Owing to Mr. Thorwald's losing the five thousand dollars, Thor, +as you<br> +know, is working his way at Bannister. Well, with his hustling, +his studies<br> +and football scrimmage, he simply does not have a minute for the +other<br> +phases of college life, for the comradeship with his +fellows—"</p> + +<p>"Here is his day's schedule," chimed in Deacon, referring to a +paper: "Rise<br> +at four-thirty A. M. Hustle downtown to tend several furnaces +until seven.<br> +Breakfast at seven. Till nine, make beds and sweep dormitory +rooms.<br> +Nine till three-fifteen P. M., recitation periods and dormitory +work,<br> +sandwiched. Then until supper, football practice, and nights +study. Add<br> +to that waiting on tables for the three meals, and what time has +Thor to<br> +broaden and develop, to take in all the big things of campus +existence, to<br> +grow into an all-round college man?"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., wonderful to chronicle, was silent. He +was<br> +reflecting on the irony of fate; as Deacon said, now that Thor +had<br> +awakened, and earnestly wanted to be a collegian, he had no time +to enter<br> +into campus life. Glad at being able to stay at old Bannister, to +keep on<br> +with his studies, climbing steadily toward his goal, and finding +a joy in<br> +his new relationship with the students, the ponderous Thorwald +had flung<br> +himself into his hustling, as the youths called working one's way +at<br> +college, with zeal. To the huge Freshman, toil was nothing, and +since it<br> +meant that he could keep on with his study, he was content. The +collegians<br> +vastly admired his grim determination; they aided all they could +with<br> +his studies, and helped with his work, so he could have more time +for<br> +scrimmage, and yet another phase of the problem came to +Hicks.</p> + +<p>It seemed unjust that John Thorwald, after his long years of +hard physical<br> +toil, and his mental struggles, often after hours of grinding +work, at the<br> +very time when the five thousand dollars from Henry B. Kingsley's +heirs<br> +promised him a chance to study without a body tortured and +exhausted,<br> +should be forced again to take up his stern fight for knowledge. +And it<br> +was cruel that Thor, just awakening to the true meaning of +college life,<br> +striving to grasp campus tradition, and eager to serve his Alma +Mater in<br> +every way, should have so little time to mingle with his fellows. +He should<br> +be with them on the campus, on the athletic field, in the dorms., +the<br> +literary society halls, the Y. M. C. A. He should be realizing +the golden<br> +years of college life, the glad comradeship of the campus. +Instead, he must<br> +arise in the bitter cold, gray dawn, and from then until late +night toil<br> +and study unceasingly.</p> + +<p>"It's a howling shame!" declared the serious Hicks, a heart +full of<br> +sympathy for Thor. "Just as he wakes up and is trying to +understand things<br> +at old Bannister, bang! the Norwhal is blown up by a stray mine, +and<br> +down goes his dad's money. Why didn't Mr. Thorwald get the five +thousand<br> +transferred to the Valkyrie? Oh, if that money hadn't gone down +to Davy<br> +Jones' locker, Thor would be awakened and have time for college +life, too!"</p> + +<p>Butch Brewster started to speak when the thunderous tread of +John Thorwald<br> +sounded in the corridor. The Prodigious Prodigy seemed +approaching at<br> +double-quick time, and the youths stared at each other. However, +when<br> +Thor appeared in the doorway, a letter in hand, they gazed at him +in<br> +bewilderment, for his face fairly glowed.</p> + +<p>"Read it, fellows, read it!" he breathed, with what, for him, +was almost<br> +excitement. "It just came! Oh, isn't that good news? Read it out, +Captain<br> +Butch. Won't we wallop Ballard now!"</p> + +<p>Big Butch Brewster, mystified by Thor's happiness, and urged +on by his<br> +equally puzzled comrades, drew out the letter, and a glad smile +coming to<br> +his honest countenance, he read aloud:</p> + +<p>"THE NEW YORK-CHRISTIANIA. STEAMSHIP LINE (New York +Office)</p> + +<p>"Nov. 18, 19—.</p> + +<p>"MR. JOHN THORWALD, JR., Bannister College.</p> + +<p>"DEAR SIR:</p> + +<p>"We beg to state that your father, first mate on our liner, +the Valkyrie,<br> +three days outbound from New York to Christiania, sent a message, +<i>via</i><br> +wireless, to our New York offices by the inbound Dutch Line's +Rotterdam.<br> +The Rotterdam relayed the message to us, and we forward it +herewith,<br> +<i>verbatim:</i></p> + +<p>"'DEAR SON: Purser of my ship, the Valkyrie, informed me today +that the<br> +purser of the ill-fated Norwhal, learning of my transfer to this +liner,<br> +transferred my $5,000 to the Valkyrie before he sailed to his +fate. I am<br> +sending this <i>via</i> the Rotterdam, inbound, and our office +will forward it<br> +to you. Will write on arriving at Christiania. Father.'</p> + +<p>"We are sorry for the delay in forwarding this message, but +through an<br> +accident, it was mislaid in our office for a few days.</p> + +<p>"Yours truly,</p> + +<p>"THE NEW YORK-CHRISTIANIA STEAMSHIP LINE,</p> + +<p>"per J. L. G."</p> + +<p>A moment of silence; outside on the campus the Bannister +youths, preparing<br> +for the mass-meeting in the Auditorium, started cheering. Someone +caught<br> +sight of Thor, standing now by the window of Hicks' room, on the +third<br> +floor of Bannister Hall, and a few seconds later there +sounded:</p> + +<p>"Thor! Thor! Thor! Thor will bring the Championship to old +Bannister! Rah!<br> +Rah! Rah!—Thor!"</p> + +<p>"Oh," shouted T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., grinning happily, his +arm across<br> +Thor's massive shoulders, "'All's well that ends well,' as Bill +Shakespeare<br> +says. It's all right now, Thor. Fate dealt you a hard punch, but +it served<br> +its purpose; for it made you realize how you would regret to +leave college.<br> +Now you won't have to hustle and have all your time filled with +toil and<br> +study; you can go after every phase of campus life, and serve old +Bannister<br> +in so many ways."</p> + +<p>John Thorwald stood, a contented look on his placid, impassive +face,<br> +gazing down at the campus below and hearing the plaudits of the +excited<br> +collegians. The stately old elms, gaunt and bare, tossed their +limbs<br> +against a leaden sky; a cold, dreary wind sent clouds of dry +leaves<br> +scurrying down the concrete walks. In the faint moonlight that +struggled<br> +through the clouds, the towers and spires of old Bannister were +limned<br> +against the sky-line. Across the campus, on Bannister Field, +the<br> +goal-posts, skeleton-like, kept their lonely vigil. On that +field, in<br> +less than a week, the Gold and Green must face the crucial +test—against<br> +Ballard's championship eleven, in the Biggest Game; and now, +almost on the<br> +eve of battle, the shackles had been knocked from him; he was +free of the<br> +great burden, free to serve his Alma Mater, to fight for the Gold +and<br> +Green, to grow and develop into an all-round, representative +college man.</p> + +<p>All of a sudden it dawned on the slow-thinking young Norwegian +just how<br> +much this freedom to grow and expand meant to him, and he turned +from the<br> +window. From below, the shouts of "Thor! Thor! Thor!" drifted, +stirring his<br> +blood, as he looked at Hicks, Butch, Beef, Monty and Deacon.</p> + +<p>"'All's well that ends well,' you say. Hicks," he spoke +slowly, his face<br> +joyous. "That's true; but I'm just starting, fellows. I'm just +<i>beginning</i><br> +to live my college years, not for myself, but for old Bannister, +for my<br> +Alma Mater, for I am awake, and <i>free</i>!"</p> + +<p><br> +CHAPTER XII</p> + +<p>THEOPHILUS BETRAYS HICKS</p> + +<p>Big Butch Brewster, a life-sized picture of despair, roosted +dejectedly on<br> +the Senior Fence, between the Gym and the Administration +Building. It was<br> +quite cold, and also the beginning of the last study-period +before Butch's<br> +final and most difficult recitation of the day, Chemistry. Yet +instead<br> +of boning in his warm room, the behemoth Senior perched on the +fence and<br> +stared gloomily into space.</p> + +<p>As he sat, enveloped in a penumbra of gloom, the campus +entrance door of<br> +Bannister Hall, the Senior dorm., opened suddenly, and T. +Haviland Hicks,<br> +Jr., that happy-go-lucky youth, came out cautiously, after the +fashion of a<br> +second-story artist, emerging from his crib with a bundle of +swag, the<br> +last item being represented by a football tucked under Hicks' +left arm.<br> +Beholding Butch Brewster on the Senior Fence, the sunny-souled +Senior<br> +exhibited a perturbation of spirit seeming undecided whether to +beat a<br> +retreat or to advance.</p> + +<p>"Now what's ailin' <i>you</i>?" demanded Butch wrathily, +believing the<br> +pestersome Hicks to be acting in that burglarious manner for +effect. "Why<br> +should <i>you</i> sneak out of a dorm., bearing a football like +it was an auk's<br> +egg? Why, you resemble a nigger, making his get-away after +robbing a<br> +hen-roost! Don't torment me, you +accident-somewhere-on-its-way-to-happen. I<br> +feel about as joyous as a traveling salesman who has made a town +and gotten<br> +nary a order!"</p> + +<p>"It's <i>awful</i>!" soliloquized T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., +perching beside the<br> +despondent Butch on the Senior Fence. "I am not a fatalist, old +man, but<br> +it <i>does</i> seem that fate hasn't destined Thor to play +football for old<br> +Bannister this season! Here, after he won the Ham game, and we +expected him<br> +to waltz off with Ballard's scalp and the Championship, he has to +tumble<br> +downstairs! Oh, it's tough luck!"</p> + +<p>It was two days before the biggest game, with +Ballard—the contest that<br> +would decide the State Intercollegiate Football Championship. +Ballard, the<br> +present champions, discounting even Hamilton's stories of Thor's +prowess,<br> +were coming to Bannister with an eleven more mighty than the one +that had<br> +crushed the Gold and Green the year before, with a heavy, +stonewall line,<br> +fast ends, and a powerful, shifty backfield. The Ballard team was +confident<br> +of victory and the pennant. Bannister, building on the awakened +Thorwald,<br> +superbly sure of his phenomenal strength and power, of his +unstoppable<br> +rushes, serenely practiced the doctrine of preparedness, and +awaited the<br> +day.</p> + +<p>And then John Thorwald, the Prodigious Prodigy, whose gigantic +frame seemed<br> +unbattered by the terrific daily scrimmage, whom it was +impossible to<br> +hurt on the gridiron, the day before, going downstairs in +Creighton Hall,<br> +hurrying to a class, had caught his heel on the top step, and +crashed to<br> +the bottom! And now, with a broken ankle, the blond Colossus, +heartbroken<br> +at not being able to win the Championship for old Bannister, +hobbled about<br> +on crutches. Without Thor, the Gold and Green must meet the +invincible<br> +Ballard team! It was a solar-plexus blow, both to the Bannister +youths,<br> +confident in Thor's prowess, building on his Herculean bulk, and +to the<br> +big Freshman. Thorwald, awakened, striving to grasp campus +tradition, to<br> +understand college life, was eager to fling himself into the +scrimmage, to<br> +give every ounce of his mighty power, to offer that splendid +body, for his<br> +Alma Mater, and now he must hobble impotently on the side-line, +watching<br> +his team fight a desperate battle.</p> + +<p>"If Bannister only had a sure, accurate drop-kicker!" +reflected Captain<br> +Butch hopelessly. "One who could be depended on to average eight +out of ten<br> +trials, we'd have a fighting chance with Ballard. Deke Radford is +a wonder.<br> +He can kick a forty-five-yard goal, but he's erratic! He might +boot the<br> +pigskin over when a score is needed from the forty-yard line, and +again he<br> +might miss from the twenty-yard mark. Oh, for a kicker who isn't +brilliant<br> +and spectacular, but who can methodically drop 'em over from, +say, the<br> +thirty-five-yard line! Hello, what's the row, Hicks?"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., started to speak, changed his mind, +coughed, grew<br> +red and embarrassed, and acted in a most puzzling manner. At any +other<br> +time, big Butch would have been bewildered; but with Thor's loss +weighing<br> +on his mind, the Gold and Green captain gave his comrade only a +cursory<br> +glance.</p> + +<p>"I—I—Oh, nothing, Butch!" stammered Hicks, to +whom, being "fussed," as<br> +Bannister termed embarrassment, was almost unknown. "I—I +guess I'll<br> +take this football over to my locker in the Gym. I ought to +glance at my<br> +Chemistry, too. So-long, Butch; see you later, old top!"</p> + +<p>When the splinter-youth had drifted into the Gym., Butch +Brewster,<br> +remembering his strange actions, actually managed to transfer his +thoughts<br> +for a time from the eleven to the care-free T. Haviland Hicks, +Jr. The<br> +behemoth Senior reflected that, to date, the pestiferous Hicks +had not<br> +explained his baffling mystery he recalled the day when he had +told the<br> +Gold and Green eleven of the loyal Hicks' ambition to please his +dad by<br> +winning his B, when he had described the youth's intense college +spirit<br> +and had suggested that if Hicks failed to corral his letter the +Athletic<br> +Association award him one for his loyalty to old Bannister. And +Butch saw<br> +again the bewildering sentences in the letter from Thomas +Haviland Hicks,<br> +Sr., to his son.</p> + +<p>"Evidently," meditated Butch, literally and figuratively "on +the fence,"<br> +"Hicks has failed to summon up enough self-confidence to explain +his<br> +mystery; queer, too, for he usually is bubbling with faith in +himself. He<br> +has acted like a bashful schoolgirl at frequent times—he +starts to tell<br> +me something, then he gets embarrassed, back-fires, and stalls. +He and<br> +Theophilus have been sneaking out in the early dawn, too. Wow! +What did he<br> +sneak out of the dorm. that way, with a football, for? He looked +like a<br> +yeggman working night shift. Why should <i>he</i> skulk out with +a football? He<br> +has never explained his dad's letter, or told just what Mr. Hicks +meant by<br> +calling him the "Class Kid" of Yale, '96, and saying those +members of old<br> +Eli wanted him to star! Oh, he's a tantalizing wretch, and I'd +like to<br> +solve his mystery, without his knowledge, so I could—"</p> + +<p>At that instant, to the intense indignation and bewilderment +of good Butch<br> +Brewster, little Theophilus Opperdyke, the timorous Human +Encyclopedia of<br> +old Bannister, exited from Bannister Hall. The Senior boner gave +a correct<br> +imitation of the offending Hicks, in that he skulked out, gazing +around<br> +him nervously; but he portaged no pigskin, and, unlike the sunny +youth, on<br> +periscoping Butch, he seemed relieved.</p> + +<p>"Theophilus, <i>come here</i>!" thundered the wrathful +football captain,<br> +shifting his tonnage on the Senior Fence. "What's the plot, +anyhow? It's<br> +bad enough when T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., sneaks out, bearing a +football,<br> +like an amateur cracksman making a getaway; but when you appear, +imitating<br> +a Nihilist about to hurl a bomb—say, what's the answer to +the puzzle, old<br> +man?"</p> + +<p>Little Theophilus, his pathetically frail body trembling with +suppressed<br> +excitement, his big-rimmed spectacles tumbling off with +ridiculous<br> +regularity, and his solemn eyes peering owlishly at his behemoth +classmate,<br> +stood before the startled Butch. It was evident that the 1919 +grind<br> +labored under great stress. He was waging a terrific battle with +himself,<br> +struggling to make some vast and all-important decision. He +strove to<br> +speak, hesitated, choked, coughed apologetically, and acted as +fussed as<br> +Hicks had done, until Butch was wild; then, as if resolved to +cast the die<br> +and cross the Rubicon, he decided, and plunged desperately +ahead.</p> + +<p>"It's—it's Hicks, Butch!" he quavered, torn cruelly by +conflicting<br> +emotions. "Oh, I don't want to be a traitor—he trusted me +with his secret,<br> +and I—I can't betray him, I just can't! But he didn't make +me promise not<br> +to tell. He just told me not to. Oh, it's his very last chance, +Butch, and<br> +with Thor hurt, old Bannister might need him in the Ballard +game."</p> + +<p>"What is it, Theophilus, old man?" Butch spoke kindly, for he +saw the<br> +solemn little Senior was intensely excited. "Tell me—if our +Alma Mater<br> +needs any fellow's services, you know, he should give them +freely—since<br> +you did not promise not to tell about Hicks, if Bannister may be +able<br> +to use Hicks against Ballard—though I can't, by any stretch +of the<br> +imagination, figure how—then it is your duty to tell! I +think I glimpse<br> +the dark secret—Hicks possesses some sort of football +prowess, goodness<br> +knows what, and he lacks the confidence to tell Coach Corridan! +Now, were<br> +it only drop-kicking—"</p> + +<p>"It is drop-kicking!" Theophilus burst forth desperately. +"Hicks is a<br> +drop-kicker, Butch, and a sure one—inside the thirty-yard +line. He almost<br> +<i>never</i> misses a goal, and he kicks them from every angle, +too. He isn't<br> +strong enough to kick past the thirty-yard line, but inside that +he is<br> +wonderfully accurate. With Thor out of the Ballard game, a +drop-kick may<br> +win for Bannister, and Deke Radford is so erratic! Oh, Hicks will +be angry<br> +with me for telling; but he just won't tell about himself, after +all his<br> +practice, because he fears the fellows will jeer. He is afraid he +will fail<br> +in the supreme test. Oh, I've betrayed him, but—"</p> + +<p>"T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., a drop-kicker!" exploded the dazed +Butch, who<br> +could not have been more astounded had Theophilus announced that +the sunny<br> +youth possessed powers of black magic. "Theophilus Opperdyke, +Tantalus<br> +himself was never so tantalized as I have been of late. Tell me +the whole<br> +story, old man—hurry. Spill it, old top!"</p> + +<p>Butch Brewster, by questioning the excited Human Encyclopedia, +like a<br> +police official giving the third degree, slowly extracted from +Theophilus<br> +the startling story. A year before, just as the Gold and Green +practiced<br> +for the Ham game, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., one afternoon, had +arrayed his<br> +splinter-structure in a grotesque, nondescript athletic outfit, +and had<br> +jogged out on Bannister Field. The gladsome youth's motive had +been free<br> +from any torturesome purpose. He intended to round up the +Phillyloo Bird,<br> +Shad Weatherby, and other non-athletic collegians, and with them +boot the<br> +pigskin, for exercise. However, little Skeet Wigglesworth, +beholding him<br> +as he donned the weird regalia of loud sweater, odd basket-ball +stockings,<br> +tennis trousers, baseball shoes, and so on, misconstrued his +plan, and<br> +believed Hicks intended to torment the squad. Hence, he hurried +out,<br> +so that when Hicks appeared in the offing, the football squad and +the<br> +spectators in the stands had jeered the happy-go-lucky Junior, +and had<br> +good-natured sport at his expense.</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., after Jack Merritt had drop-kicked a +forty-yard<br> +goal, made the excessively rash statement that it was easy. +Captain Butch<br> +Brewster had indignantly challenged the heedless youth to show +him, and<br> +the results of Hicks' effort to propel the pigskin over the +crossbar were<br> +hilarious, for he missed the oval by a foot, nearly dislocated +his knee,<br> +and, slipping in the mud, he sat down violently with a thud. +However, so<br> +the excited Theophilus now narrated, even as the convulsed +students jeered<br> +Hicks, hurling whistles, shouts, cat-calls, songs and humorous +remarks at<br> +the downfallen kicker, one of Hicks' celebrated inspirations had +smitten<br> +the pestersome Junior, evidently jarred loose by his crashing to +terra<br> +firma.</p> + +<p>"Hicks figured this way, Butch," explained little Theophilus +Opperdyke,<br> +eloquent in his comrade's behalf, "nature had built him like a +mosquito,<br> +and endowed him with enough power to lift a pillow; hence he +could never<br> +hope to play football on the 'Varsity; but he knew that many +games are<br> +won by drop-kicks and by fellows especially trained and coached +for that<br> +purpose, and they don't need weight and strength, but they must +have the<br> +art, that peculiar knack which few possess. His inspiration was +this:<br> +Perhaps he had that knack, perhaps he could practice faithfully, +and<br> +develop into a sure drop-kicker. If he trained for a year, in his +Senior<br> +season, he might be able to serve old Bannister, maybe to win a +big game.<br> +So he set to work."</p> + +<p>Theophilus hurriedly yet graphically narrated how T. Haviland +Hicks, Jr.,<br> +had made the loyal, hero-worshiping little Human Encyclopedia his +sole<br> +confidant. He told the thrilled Butch how the sunny youth, from +that<br> +day on, had watched and listened as Head Coach Corridan trained +the<br> +drop-kickers, learning all the points he could gain. Vividly he +described<br> +the mosquito-like Hicks, as he with a football bought from the +Athletic<br> +Association began in secret to practice the fine art of +drop-kicking! For a<br> +year, at old Bannister and at his dad's country home near +Pittsburgh, Hicks<br> +had faithfully, doggedly kept at it. With no one bat Theophilus +knowing of<br> +his great ambition, he had gone out on Bannister Field, when he +felt safe<br> +from observation; here, with his faithful comrade to keep watch, +and to<br> +retrieve the pigskin, he had practiced the instructions and +points gained<br> +from watching Coach Corridan train the booters of the squad. To +his vast<br> +delight, and the joy of his little friend, Hicks had found that +he did<br> +possess the knack, and from before the Ham game until +Commencement he had<br> +kept his secret, practicing clandestinely at old Bannister; he +had improved<br> +wonderfully, and when vacation started the cheery collegian had +told his<br> +beloved dad, Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr., of his hopes.</p> + +<p>The ex-Yale football star, delighted at his son's ambition to +serve old<br> +Bannister and joyous at discovering that Hicks actually possessed +the<br> +peculiar knack of drop-kicking, coached the splinter-youth all +summer at<br> +their country place near Pittsburgh. Under the instruction of +Hicks, Sr.,<br> +the youth developed rapidly, and when he returned to the campus +for his<br> +final year, he was a sure, dependable drop-kicker, inside the +thirty-yard<br> +line. As Theophilus stated, beyond that he lacked the power, but +in that<br> +zone he could boot 'em over the cross-bar from any angle.</p> + +<p>"He's been practicing all this season, in secret!" quavered +the little<br> +Senior, "and he's a—a <i>fiend</i>, Butch, at drop-kicking. +And yet, here it is<br> +time for the last game of his college years, and—he lacks +confidence to<br> +tell you, or Coach Corridan. Oh, I'm afraid he will be angry with +me for<br> +betraying him, and yet—I just <i>can't</i> let him miss his +splendid chance,<br> +now that Thor is out and old Bannister <i>needs</i> a +drop-kicker!"</p> + +<p>Big Butch was silent for a time. The football leader was +deeply impressed<br> +and thrilled by Theophilus Opperdyke's story of T. Haviland +Hicks, Jr.'s<br> +ambition. As he roosted on the Senior Fence, the behemoth +gridiron<br> +star visioned the mosquito-like youth, whom nature had endowed +with a<br> +splinter-structure, sneaking out on Bannister Field, at every +chance, to<br> +practice clandestinely his drop-kicking. He could see the +faithful Human<br> +Encyclopedia, vastly excited at his blithesome colleague's +improvement,<br> +retrieving the pigskin for Hicks. He thrilled again as he thought +of the<br> +bean-pole Hicks, who could never gain weight and strength enough +to make<br> +the eleven, loyally training and perfecting himself in the +drop-kick,<br> +trying to develop into a sure kicker, within a certain zone, +hoping<br> +sometime, before he left college forever, to serve old Bannister. +With Thor<br> +in the line-up at fullback, he would not have been needed, but +now, with<br> +the Prodigious Prodigy out, it was T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s big +chance!</p> + +<p>And Butch Brewster understood why the usually confident Hicks, +even with<br> +the knowledge of his drop-kicking power, hesitated to announce it +to old<br> +Bannister. Until Butch had told the Gold and Green football team +of Hicks'<br> +being in earnest in his ridiculous athletic attempts of the past +three<br> +years, no one but himself and Hicks had dreamed that the sunny +youth meant<br> +them, that he really strove to win his B and please his dad. The +appearance<br> +of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., on Bannister Field was always the +cause of<br> +a small-sized riot among the squad and spectators. Hicks was +jeered<br> +good-naturedly, and "butchered to make a Bannister holiday," as +he blithely<br> +phrased it. Hence, the splinter-Senior was reluctant to announce +that he<br> +could drop-kick. He knew that when tested he would be so in +earnest, that<br> +so much would hang in the balance and the youths, unknowing how +important<br> +it was, would jeer. Then, too, knowing his long list of athletic +fiascos,<br> +ridiculous and otherwise, Hicks trembled at the thought of being +sent into<br> +the biggest game to kick a goal. He feared he might fail!</p> + +<p>"You are a <i>hero</i>, Theophilus!" said Butch, with deep +feeling. "I can<br> +realize how hard it was for Hicks to tell us. He would have kept +silent<br> +forever, even after his training in secret! And how you must have +suffered,<br> +knowing he could drop-kick, and yet not desiring to betray him! +But your<br> +love for old Bannister and for Hicks himself conquered. I'll take +him out<br> +on the gridiron, before the fellows come from class, and see what +he<br> +can do. Aha! There is the villain now. Hicks, ahoy! Come hither, +you<br> +Kellar-Herman-Thurston. Your dark secret is out at last!"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., peering cautiously from the Gym. +basement doorway,<br> +in quest of the tardy Theophilus, who was to have accompanied him +on a<br> +clandestine journey to Bannister Field, obeyed the summons. +Bewildered,<br> +and gradually guessing the explanation from the shivering little +boner's<br> +alarmed expression, the gladsome youth approached the stern Butch +Brewster,<br> +who was about to condemn him for his silence. "Don't be angry +with me,<br> +Hicks, <i>please</i>!" pled Theophilus, pathetically fearful that +he had<br> +offended his comrade, "I—I just <i>had</i> to tell, for it +was positively your<br> +last chance, and—and old Bannister needs your sure +drop-kicking! I never<br> +promised not to tell. You never made me give my word, +so—"</p> + +<p>"It was Theophilus' duty to tell!" spoke Butch, hiding a grin, +for the<br> +grind was so frightened, "and yours, Hicks, knowing as you do how +we need<br> +you, with Thor hurt! You graceless wretch, you aren't usually so +like ye<br> +modest violet! Why didn't you inform us, then swagger and say, +'Oh, just<br> +leave it to Hicks, he'll win the game with a drop-kick?' Now, you +come with<br> +me, and I'll look over your samples. If you've got the goods, +it's highly<br> +probable you'll get your chance, in the Ballard game; and I'm +<i>glad</i>, old<br> +man, for your sake. I know what it would mean, if you win it! +But—now that<br> +the '<i>mystery</i>' is solved, what's that about your being a +'Class Kid,' of<br> +Yale, '96?"</p> + +<p>"That's easy!" grinned T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., his arm across +Theophilus'<br> +shoulders, "I was the first boy born to any member of Yale, '96; +it is the<br> +custom of classes graduating at Yale to call such a baby the +class kid!<br> +Naturally, the members of old Eli, Class of 1896, are vastly +interested in<br> +me. Hence, my Dad wrote they'd be tickled if I won a big game for +Bannister<br> +with a field-goal!"</p> + +<p>A moment of silence, Theophilus Opperdyke, gathering from +Hicks' arm,<br> +across his shoulders, that the cheery youth was not so awfully +wrathful at<br> +his base betrayal, adjusted his big-rimmed spectacles, and stared +owlishly<br> +at Hicks.</p> + +<p>"Hicks, you—you are not angry?" he quavered. "You are +not sorry. I—I<br> +told—"</p> + +<p>"Sorry?" quoth T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., "Class Kid," of Yale, +'96, with a<br> +Cheshire cat grin, "<i>sorry</i>? I should say <i>not</i>—I +wanted it to be known to<br> +Butch, and Coach Corridan, but I got all shivery when I tried to +confess,<br> +and I—couldn't! Nay, Theophilus, you faithful friend, I'm +so <i>glad</i>, old<br> +man, that beside yours truly, the celebrated Pollyanna resembles +Niobe,<br> +weeping for her lost children."</p> + +<p><br> +CHAPTER XIII</p> + +<p>HICKS—CLASS KID—YALE '96</p> + +<p> "Brekka-kek-kek—Co-Ax—Co-Ax!<br> + Brekka-kek-kek—Co-Ax—Co-Ax!<br> + Whoop-up! Parabaloo! Yale! Yale! Yale!<br> + Hicks! Hicks! Hicks!"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., swathed in a cumbersome Gold and Green +football<br> +blanket, and crouching on the side-line, like some historic +Indian, felt a<br> +thrill shake his splinter-structure, as the yell of "old Eli" +rolled from<br> +the stand, across Bannister Field. In the midst of the Gold and +Green flags<br> +and pennants, fluttering in the section assigned the Bannister +cohorts, he<br> +gazed at a big banner of Blue, with white lettering:</p> + +<p>YALE UNIVERSITY—CLASS OF 1896</p> + +<p>"Oh, Butch," gasped Hicks, torn between fear and hope, "just +listen to<br> +that. Think of all those Yale men in the stand with my Dad! Oh, +suppose I<br> +do get sent in to try for a drop-kick!"</p> + +<p>It was almost time far the biggest game to start, the contest +with Ballard,<br> +the supreme test of the Gold and Green, the final struggle for +The State<br> +Intercollegiate Football Championship! In a few minutes the +referee's<br> +shrill whistle blast would sound, the vast crowd in the stands, +on the<br> +side-lines, and in the parked automobiles, would suddenly still +their<br> +clamor and breathlessly await the kick-off—then, seventy +minutes of grim<br> +battling on the turf, and victory, or defeat, would perch on the +banners of<br> +old Bannister.</p> + +<p>It was a thrilling scene, a sight to stir the blood. Bannister +Field, the<br> +arena where these gridiron gladiators would fly at each other's +throats—or<br> +knees, spread out—barred with white chalk-marks, with the +skeleton-like<br> +goal posts guarding at each end. On the turf the moleskin clad +warriors,<br> +under the crisp commands of their Coaches, swiftly lined down, +shifted to<br> +the formation called, and ran off plays. Nervous subs. stood in +circles,<br> +passing the pigskin. Drop-kickers and punters, tuning up, sent +spirals, or<br> +end-over-end drop-kicks, through the air. The referee, +field-judge, and<br> +linesmen conferred. Team-attendants, equipped with buckets of +water,<br> +sponges, and ominous black medicine-chests, with Red Cross +bandages, ran<br> +hither and thither. On the substitutes' bench, or on the ground, +crouched<br> +nervous second-string players; Ballard's on one side of the +gridiron, and<br> +Bannister's directly across.</p> + +<p>A glorious, sunshiny day in late November, with scarcely a +breath of<br> +wind, the air crisp and bracing; the radiant sunlight fell +athwart the<br> +white-barred field, and glinted from the gay pennants and banners +in the<br> +stands! Here was a riot of color, the gold and green of old +Bannister; in<br> +the next section, the orange and black of Ballard. The bright +hues and<br> +tints of varicolored dresses, and the luster of the official +flowers<br> +all contributed to a bewilderingly beautiful spectacle! +Flower-venders,<br> +peddlers of pennants, sellers of miniature footballs with the +college<br> +colors of one team and the other, hawked their wares, loudly +calling above<br> +the tumult, "Get yer Ballard colors yere!" "This way fer the +Bannister<br> +flags!" Ten thousand spectators, packed into the cheering +sections of the<br> +two colleges, or in the general stands, or standing on the +side-lines,<br> +impatiently awaited the kick-off. At the appearance of each +football star,<br> +a tremendous cheer went up from the mass. Across the field from +each other,<br> +the two bands played stirring strains. The confident Ballard +cohorts<br> +cheered, sang, and yelled and those of Bannister, not +<i>quite</i> so sure of<br> +victory, with Thor out, nevertheless, cheered, sang, and yelled +as loudly,<br> +for the Gold and Green.</p> + +<p>The sight of that vast Yale banner, so conspicuous, with its +big white<br> +letters on a field of blue, amidst the fluttering pennants of +gold and<br> +green, excited comment among the Ballard followers. The Bannister +students,<br> +however, knew what it meant; Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr., and +thirty<br> +members of Yale, '96, were in the stand, ready to cheer Captain +Butch's<br> +eleven, and hoping for a chance to whoop it up for T. Haviland +Hicks, Jr.,<br> +if he got his big chance.</p> + +<p>Two days before, when little Theophilus Opperdyke, after a +terrible<br> +struggle with himself, divided between loyalty to Hicks and a +love for<br> +his Alma Mater, had betrayed his toothpick class-mate to Captain. +Butch<br> +Brewster, that behemoth Senior had rounded up Coach Corridan, and +together<br> +they had dragged the shivering Hicks out to the football field. +Here, while<br> +the rest of the student body, unsuspecting the important event in +progress,<br> +made good use of the study-hour, or attended classes in +Recitation Hall,<br> +the Gold and Green Coach, with the team-Captain, and the excited +Human<br> +Encyclopedia, watched T. Haviland Hicks, Jr. show his samples +of<br> +drop-kicks. And the success of that happy-go-lucky youth, after +his nervous<br> +tension wore off, may be attested by the Slave-Driver's somewhat +slangy<br> +remark, when the exhibition closed.</p> + +<p>"Butch," said Head Coach Patrick Henry Corridan, impressively, +"what it<br> +takes to drop-kick field-goals, from anywhere inside the +thirty-yard line,<br> +T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., is broke out with!"</p> + +<p>The proficiency attained by the heedless Hicks in the +difficult art of<br> +drop-kicking, gained by faithful practice for a year, aided by +his Dad's<br> +valuable coaching, was wonderful. Of course, Hicks possessed +naturally the<br> +needed knack, but he deserved praise for his sticking at it so +loyally. He<br> +had no surety that he would ever be of use to his college, and, +indeed,<br> +with the advent of Thor, his hopes grew dim, yet he plugged on, +in case old<br> +Bannister might sometime need him—and yet, but for +Theophilus, he would<br> +not have summoned the courage to tell! To the surprise and +delight of the<br> +Coach and Captain, Hicks, after missing a few at first, +methodically booted<br> +goals over the crossbar from the ten, twenty, and thirty-yard +lines, and<br> +from the most difficult angles. There was nothing showy or +spectacular in<br> +his work, it was the result of dogged training, but he was almost +sure,<br> +when he kicked!</p> + +<br><br><br><br> +<img alt="dw.jpg (89K)" src="dw.jpg" height="840" width="544"> +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>"Good!" ejaculated Coach Corridan, his arm across Hicks' +shoulders, as they<br> +walked to the Gym. "Hicks, the chances are big that I'll send you +in to try<br> +for a goal tomorrow, if Bannister gets blocked inside the +thirty-yard line!<br> +Just keep your nerve, boy, and boot it over! Now—I'll post +a notice for<br> +a brief mass-meeting at the end of the last class period, and +Butch and I<br> +will tell the fellows about you, and how you may serve +Bannister."</p> + +<p>"That's the idea!" exulted Butch, joyous at his comrade's +chance to get in<br> +the biggest game. "The fellows will understand, Hicks, old man, +and they<br> +won't jeer when you come out this afternoon. They'll root for +you! Oh, just<br> +wait until you hear them cheer you, and <i>mean</i> +it—you'll astonish the<br> +natives, Hicks!"</p> + +<p>Butch's prophecy was well fulfilled. In the scrimmage that +same day, T.<br> +Haviland Hicks, Jr., shivering with apprehensive dread, his heart +in his<br> +shoes, sat on the side-line. In the stands, the entire +student-body,<br> +informed in the mass-meeting of his ability, shrieked for "Hicks! +Hicks!<br> +Hicks!" Near the end of the practice game, the hard-fighting +scrubs fought<br> +their way to the 'Varsity's thirty-yard line, and another rush +took it five<br> +yards more. Coach Corridan, halting the scrimmage, sent the +right-half-back<br> +to the side-line, and a moment later, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr. +hurried out<br> +on the field with the Bannister Band playing, the collegians +yelling<br> +frenziedly, and excitement at fever height, the sunny youth took +his<br> +position in the kick formation. Then a silence, a few seconds of +suspense,<br> +as the pigskin whirled back to him, and then—a quick +stepping forward,<br> +a rip of toe against the leather, and—above the heads of +the 'Varsity<br> +players smashing through, the football shot over the +cross-bar!</p> + +<p>"Hicks! Hicks! Hicks!" was the shout, "Hicks will beat +Ballard!"</p> + +<p>That night, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., having crossed the +Rubicon, and<br> +committed himself to Coach Corridan and Captain Brewster, had +dispatched a<br> +telegraphic night-letter to his beloved Dad. He informed his +distinguished<br> +parent that his drop-kicking powers were now known to old +Bannister, and<br> +that the chances were fifty-fifty that he would be sent in to try +for a<br> +field-goal in the biggest game. On the day before the game, Mr. +Thomas<br> +Haviland Hicks, Sr., in a night-letter, had wired back:</p> + +<p>Son Thomas:</p> + +<p>Am on my way to New Haven for Yale-Harvard game. Will stop off +at old<br> +Bannister—bringing thirty members of Yale '96. We hope our +Class Kid will<br> +get his chance against Ballard.</p> + +<p>Dad.</p> + +<p>On the morning of the Bannister-Ballard game, Mr. Hicks' +private car the<br> +Vulcan, with the Pittsburgh "Steel King," and thirty other +members of<br> +Yale, '96, had reached town. They had ridden in state to College +Hill in<br> +good old Dan Flannagan's jitney, where T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., +proudly<br> +introduced his beloved Dad to the admiring collegians. All +morning, Mr.<br> +Hicks had made friends of the hero-worshiping youths, who +listened to his<br> +tales of athletic triumphs at Bannister and at old Yale +breathlessly. The<br> +ex-Yale star had made a stirring speech to the eleven, sending +them out on<br> +Bannister Field resolved to do or die!</p> + +<p>"My Dad!" breathed T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., crouched on the +side line; as<br> +he gazed at the Yale banner, he could see his father, with his +athletic<br> +figure, his strong face that could be appallingly stern or +wonderfully<br> +tender and kind. Like the sunny Senior, Mr. Hicks, despite his +wealth,<br> +was thoroughly democratic and already the Bannister collegians +were his<br> +comrades.</p> + +<p>"Here we go, Hicks!" spoke Butch Brewster, as the referee +raised his<br> +whistle to his lips. "Hold yourself ready, old man; a field-goal +may win<br> +for us, and I'll send you in just as soon as I find all hope of a +touchdown<br> +is gone. If they hold us back of the thirty-yard line, I'll try +Deke<br> +Radford, but inside it, you are far more sure."</p> + +<p>The vast crowd, a moment before creating an almost +inconceivable din,<br> +stilled with startling suddenness; a shrill blast from the +referee's<br> +whistle cut the air. The gridiron cleared of substitutes, +coaches,<br> +trainers, and rubbers-out, and in their places, the teams of +Bannister and<br> +Ballard jogged out. Captain Brewster won the toss, and elected to +receive<br> +the kick-off. The Gold and Green players, Butch, Beef, Roddy, +Monty, Biff,<br> +Pudge, Bunch, Tug, Hefty, Buster, and Ichabod, spread out, +fan-like,<br> +while across the center of the field the Ballard eleven, a +straight line,<br> +prepared to advance as the full-back kicked off. There was a +breathless<br> +stillness, as the big athlete poised the pigskin, tilted on end, +then<br> +strode back to his position.</p> + +<p>"All ready, Ballard?" The Referee's call brought an +affirmative from the<br> +Orange and Black leader.</p> + +<p>"Ready, Bannister?"</p> + +<p>"Ready!" boomed big Butch Brewster, with a final shout of +encouragement to<br> +his players.</p> + +<p>The biggest game was starting! Before ten thousand wildly +excited and<br> +partisan spectators, the Gold and Green and the Orange and Black +would<br> +battle for Championship honors; with Thor out of the struggle, +Ballard,<br> +three-time Champion, was the favorite. The visitors had brought +the<br> +strongest team in their history, and were supremely confident of +victory.<br> +Bannister, however, could not help remembering, twice fate had +snatched<br> +the greatest glory from their grasp, in Butch's Sophomore year, +when Jack<br> +Merritt's drop-kick struck the cross-bar, and a year later, when +Butch<br> +himself, charging for the winning touchdown, crashed blindly into +the<br> +upright. Old Bannister had not won the Championship for five +years, and<br> +now—when the chances had seemed roseate, with Thor, the +Prodigious<br> +Prodigy—smashing Hamilton out of the way, Fate had dealt +the annual blow<br> +in advance, by crippling him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, we've <i>got</i> to win!" shivered T. Haviland Hicks, Jr. +"Oh, I hope I<br> +don't get sent in—I mean—I hope Bannister wins +without me! But if I <i>do</i><br> +have to kick—Oh, I hope I send it over that +cross-bar—"</p> + +<p>A second later the Ballard line advanced, the fullback's toe +ripped into<br> +the pigskin, sending it whirling, high in air, far into +Bannister's<br> +territory; the yellow oval fell into the outstretched arms of +Captain<br> +Butch Brewster, on the Gold and Green's five-yard line, +and—"We're off!"<br> +shrieked Hicks, excitedly. "Come on, Butch—run it back! Oh, +we're off."</p> + +<p>The biggest game had started!</p> + +<p><br> +CHAPTER XIV</p> + +<p>THE GREATER GOAL</p> + +<p>"Time out!"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., enshrouded in a gold and green +blanket, and<br> +standing on the side-line, like a majestic Sioux Chief, gazed out +on<br> +Bannister Field. There, on the twenty-yard line, the two lines of +scrimmage<br> +had crashed together and Bannister's backfield had smashed into +Ballard's<br> +stonewall defense with terrific impact, to be hurled back for a +five-yard<br> +loss. The mass of humanity slowly untangled, the moleskin clad +players rose<br> +from the turf, all but one. He, wearing the gold and green, lay +still,<br> +white-faced, and silent.</p> + +<p>"It's Biff Pemberton!" chattered Hicks, shivering as with a +chill. "Oh, the<br> +game is lost, the Championship is gone. Biff is out, and the last +quarter<br> +is nearly ended. Coach Corridan has got to send me in to kick. +It's our<br> +very last chance to tie the score, and save old Bannister from +defeat!"</p> + +<p>The time keeper, to whom the referee had megaphoned for time +out, stopped<br> +the game, while Captain Butch Brewster, the campus Doctor, and +several<br> +players worked over the senseless Biff. In the stands, the +exultant Ballard<br> +cohorts, confident that victory was booked to perch on their +banners, arose<br> +<i>en masse,</i> and their thunderous chorus drifted across +Bannister Field:</p> + +<p> "There's a hole in the bottom of the sea,<br> + And we'll put Bannister in that hole!<br> + In that hole—in—that—hole—<br> + Oh, we'll put Bannister in that hole!"</p> + +<p>From the Bannister section, the Gold and Green undergraduates, +alumni, and<br> +supporters, feeling a dread of approaching defeat grip their +hearts, yet<br> +determined to the last, came the famous old slogan of +encouragement to<br> +elevens battling on the gridiron:</p> + +<p> "Smash 'em, boys, run the ends—hold, boys, +<i>hold</i>—<br> + Don't let 'em beat the Green and the Gold!<br> + Touchdown! Touchdown! Hold, boys, <i>hold,<br> + Don't</i> let 'em win from the Green and the Gold!"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., with a groan of despair, sat down on +the deserted<br> +subs. bench. With a feeling that all was lost, the splinter-like +Senior<br> +gazed at the big score-board, announcing, in huge, white letters +and<br> +figures:</p> + +<p>4TH QUARTER; TIME TO PLAY—2 MIN.; <br> +BANNISTER'S BALL ON BALLARD'S 22-YD. LINE; <br> +4TH DOWN—8 YDS. TO GAIN;<br> +SCORE: BALLARD—6; BANNISTER—3.</p> + +<p>It had been a terrific contest, a biggest game never to be +forgotten by<br> +the ten thousand thrilled spectators! Each eleven had been +trained to the<br> +second for this decisive Championship fight, and with the coveted +gonfalon<br> +of glory before them, the Bannister players battled desperately, +while<br> +Ballard's fighters struggled as grimly for their Alma Mater. For +six years,<br> +the Gold and Green had failed to annex the Championship, and for +the past<br> +three, the invincible Ballard machine had rushed like a car of +Juggernaut<br> +over all other State elevens; one team was determined to wrest +the<br> +banner from its rival's grasp, and the other fully as resolved to +retain<br> +possession, hence a memorable gridiron contest, to which even the +alumni<br> +could find none in past history to compare, was the result.</p> + +<p>Weakened by the loss of Thor, whose colossal bulk and +Gargantuan strength<br> +would have made victory a moral certainty, presenting practically +the same<br> +eleven that had faced Ballard the past season and had been +defeated by a<br> +scant margin, old Bannister had started the first quarter with a +furious<br> +rush that swept the enemy to midfield without the loss of a first +down.<br> +Then Ballard had rallied, stopping that triumphal march, on its +own<br> +thirty-five yard line, but unable to check Quarterback Deacon +Radford, who<br> +booted a forty-three-yard goal from a drop-kick, with the score +3-0 in<br> +Bannister's favor, and Deacon, a brilliant but erratic kicker, +apparently<br> +in fine trim, the Gold Green rooters went wild.</p> + +<p>In the second half, however, came the break of the game, as +sporting<br> +writers term it. The strong Ballard eleven found itself, and with +a series<br> +of body-smashing, bone-crushing rushes, battering at the +Bannister lines<br> +like the Germans before Verdun, they steadily fought their way, +trench by<br> +trench, line by line, down the field. Without a fumble, or the +loss of a<br> +single yard, the terrific, catapulting charges forced back old +Bannister,<br> +until the enemy's fullback, who ran like the famous Johnny +Maulbetsch,<br> +of Michigan, shot headlong over the goal line! The attempt for +goal from<br> +touchdown failed, leaving the score, at the end of the third +quarter,<br> +Ballard—6; Bannister—3.</p> + +<p>And Deacon Radford, whose first effort at drop-kicking had +been so<br> +brilliant, failed utterly. Three times, taking a desperate +chance, the<br> +Bannister quarter booted the pigskin, but the oval flew wide of +the goal<br> +posts, even from the thirty-yard line. With his mighty toe not to +be<br> +depended on, with the Gold and Green line worn to a frazzle by +Ballard's<br> +battering rushes, unable to beat back the victorious enemy, the +Bannister<br> +cohorts, dismayed, saw the start of the fourth and final quarter, +their<br> +last hope. The forward pass had been futile, for the visitors +were trained<br> +especially for this aerial attack, and with ease they broke up +every<br> +attempt. And then, with the ball in Ballard's possession on +Bannister's<br> +twenty-yard line, came a fumble—like a leaping tiger, Monty +Merriweather<br> +had flung himself on the elusively bounding ball, rolled over to +his feet,<br> +and was off down the field.</p> + +<p>"Touchdown! Touchdown! Touchdown!" shrieked old Bannister's +madly excited<br> +students, as Monty sprinted. "Go it, +Monty—<i>touchdown</i>! Sprint, old man,<br> +<i>sprint</i>!"</p> + +<p>But Cupid Colfax, Ballard's famous sprinter, playing +quarterback, was off<br> +on Monty's trail almost instantly, and his phenomenal speed cut +down the<br> +Ballard end's advantage; still, by dint of exerting every ounce +of energy,<br> +it was on Ballard's forty-yard line that Monty Merriweather, +hugging the<br> +pigskin grimly, finally crashed to earth.</p> + +<p>"Come on, Bannister!" shouted Captain Butch Brewster, as the +two teams<br> +lined down. "Right across the goal-line, then kick the goal, and +we win!<br> +Play the game—<i>fight</i>—Oh, we can win the +Championship right now."</p> + +<p>Then ensued a session of football spectacular in the extreme, +replete with<br> +thrilling plays, with sensational tackles, and blood-stirring +scrimmage.<br> +The Bannister players, nerved by Captain Brewster's exhortation, +by sheer<br> +will-power drove their battered bodies into the scrimmage. End +runs,<br> +line-smashing tandem plays, forward passes, followed in +bewildering<br> +succession, until the ball rested on Ballard's twenty-yard line, +and a<br> +touchdown meant victory and the Championship for old Bannister, +Another<br> +rush, and five yards gained, then, Ballard, fighting at the last +ditch,<br> +made a stand every bit as heroic and thrilling as that +sensational march<br> +in the first half. The Gold and Green's tigerish rushes were +hurled<br> +back—three times Captain Butch threw his backfield against +the line, and<br> +three times not an inch was gained. On the third down, Monty +Merriweather<br> +was forced back for a loss, so now, with two minutes to play and +the ball<br> +in Bannister's possession, with eight yards to gain, the play was +on<br> +Ballard's twenty-two-yard line!</p> + +<p>And the biggest game had produced a new hero of the gridiron. +Biff<br> +Pemberton, left half-back, imbued with savage energy, had borne +the brunt<br> +of that spectacular advance; and now, he stretched on the turf, +white and<br> +still.</p> + +<p>"Hicks, old man," T, Haviland Hicks, Jr. turned as a hand +rested grippingly<br> +on his shoulder. Head Coach Patrick Henry Corridan, his face +grim, had come<br> +to him, and in quick, terse sentences, he outlined his plan.</p> + +<p>"It's Bannister's last chance—" he said, tensely. "We +<i>can't</i> make the<br> +first down, the way Ballard is fighting, unless we take desperate +odds.<br> +Now, Hicks, it's <i>up to you</i>. On <i>you</i> depend old +Bannister's hopes."</p> + +<p>A great, chilling fear swept over T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., +leaving him weak<br> +and shaken. It had come at last-the moment for which he had +trained and<br> +practiced drop-kicking, for a year, in secret, that moment he had +hoped<br> +would come, sometime, and yet had dreaded, as in a nightmare. +Before that<br> +vast, howling crowd of ten thousand madly partisan spectators, +<i>he</i> must<br> +go out on Bannister Field, to try and boot a drop-kick from +the<br> +twenty-eight-yard-line, to save the Gold and Green from defeat. +And he<br> +thought of the great glory that would be his, if he succeeded-he +would be a<br> +campus hero, the idol of old Bannister, the youth who saved his +Alma Mater<br> +from defeat, in the biggest game! Then he remembered his Dad, +inspiring<br> +the eleven, between the halves, by a ringing speech; he heard +again his<br> +sentences:</p> + +<p>"—And to serve old Bannister, to bring glory and honor +to our dear Alma<br> +Mater, is our greater goal! Go back into the game, throw +yourselves into<br> +the scrimmage, with no thought of personal glory, of the plaudits +of the<br> +crowd—it is a fine thing, a splendid goal, to play the game +and be a hero;<br> +it is a far more noble act to strive for the greater goal, one's +Alma<br> +Mater!"</p> + +<p>"Now listen carefully," Coach Corridan rushed on, "Biff is +knocked out.<br> +They'll start again soon, we are going to take a desperate +chance; your Dad<br> +advises it! A tie score means the Championship stays with +Ballard. To win<br> +it, we must <i>win</i> this game—and on <i>you</i> +everything depends."</p> + +<p>"But—how—" stammered Hicks, dazed—the only +way to <i>tie</i> the score was by<br> +a drop-kick; the only way to win, by a touchdown—did the +Coach mean he was<br> +<i>not</i> to realize his great ambition to save old Bannister by +a goal, the<br> +reward of his long training?</p> + +<p>"You jog out," whispered Coach Corridan, hurriedly, for a +stretcher was<br> +being rushed to Biff Pemberton, "report to the Referee, and +whisper to<br> +Butch to try Formation Z; 23-45-6-A! Now, here is the dope: our +only chance<br> +is to fool Ballard completely. When you go out, the Bannister +rooters, and<br> +your Yale friends, will believe it is to try a drop-kick and tie +the score.<br> +I am sure that the Ballard team will think this, too, because of +your<br> +slender build. You act as though you intend to try for a goal, +and have<br> +Captain Butch make our fellows act that way. Then—it is a +fake-kick; the<br> +backfield lines up in the kick formation, but the ball is passed +to Butch,<br> +at your right. He either tries for a forward pass to the right +end, or<br> +if the end Is blocked, rushes it himself! Hurry-the referee's +whistle is<br> +blowing; remember, Hicks, my boy, it's the greater goal, it's for +your Alma<br> +Mater."</p> + +<p>In a trance, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., flung off the gold and +green blanket,<br> +and dashed out on Bannister Field. How often, in the past year, +had he<br> +visioned this scene, only—he pictured himself saving the +game by a<br> +drop-kick, and now Coach Corridan ordered him to sacrifice this +glory! From<br> +the stands came the thunderous cheer of the excited Bannister +cohorts,<br> +firmly believing that the slender youth, so ludicrously fragile, +among<br> +those young Colossi, was to try for a goal.</p> + +<p>"Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Hicks! Kick the +goal—Hicks!"</p> + +<p>And from the Yale grads., among them his Dad, came a shout, as +he jogged<br> +across the turf:</p> + +<p>"Breka-kek-kek—co-ax—Yale! Hicks-Hicks-Hicks!"</p> + +<p>But the Bannister Senior did not thrill. Now, instead, a +feeling of growing<br> +resentment filled his soul; even this intensely loyal youth, with +all his<br> +love for old Bannister, was vastly human, and he felt cheated of +his just<br> +rights. How the students were cheering him, how those Yale men +called his<br> +name, and he was not to have his big chance! That for which he +had trained<br> +and practiced; the opportunity to serve his Alma Mater, by +kicking a goal<br> +at the crucial moment, and saving Bannister from defeat, was +never to be<br> +his. Now, in his last game at college, he was to act as a decoy, +as a foil.<br> +Like a dummy he must stand, while the other Gold and Green +athletes ran off<br> +the play! Instead of everything, a tie game, or a defeat, +depending on his<br> +kicking, defeat or victory hung on that fake play, on Butch +Brewster<br> +and Monty Merriweather! So—the ear-splitting plaudits of +the crowd for<br> +"Hicks!" meant nothing to him; they were dead sea fruit, +tasteless as<br> +ashes—as the ashes of ambition. And then—</p> + +<p>"—And to serve old Bannister, to bring glory and honor +to our dear Alma<br> +Mater, is our greater goal—no thought of personal +glory—a splendid goal,<br> +to play the game and be a hero; It is a far more noble act to +strive for<br> +the greater goal—one's Alma Mater—"</p> + +<p>"I was nearly a <i>traitor</i>" gasped T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., +his Dad's words<br> +echoing In his memory, and a vision of that staunch, manly +Bannister<br> +ex-athlete before him. "Oh, I was betraying my Alma Mater. +Instead of<br> +rejoicing to make <i>any</i> sacrifice, however big, for +Bannister, I thought<br> +only of myself, of my glory! I'll do it, Dad, I'll strive for the +greater<br> +goal, and—we just can't fail."</p> + +<p>Reaching the scrimmage, Hicks, whose nervous dread had left +him, when<br> +he fought down selfish ambition, and thirst for glory, reported +to the<br> +Referee, and hurriedly transferred Coach Corridan's orders to +Captain<br> +Butch Brewster; half a minute of precious time was spent in +outlining the<br> +desperate play to the eleven, for "time!" had been called, and +then—</p> + +<p>"Z-23-45-6-A!" shouted Quarterback Deacon Radford. "Come on, +line—hold!<br> +Right over the cross-bar with it, Hicks—tie the score, and +save Bannister<br> +from defeat—"</p> + +<p>The Gold and Green backfield shifted to the kick formation. +Ten yards back<br> +of the center, on the thirty-two-yard line of Ballard, stood T. +Haviland<br> +Hicks, Jr.; the vast crowd was hushed, all eyes stared at that +slender<br> +figure, standing there, with Captain Butch Brewster at his right, +and Beef<br> +McNaughton on his left hand-the spectators believed the +frail-looking<br> +youth had been sent in to try a drop-kick. The Ballard rooters +thought<br> +it, and—the Ballard eleven were <i>sure</i> of their +enemy's plan—Hicks'<br> +mosquito-like build, his nervous swinging of that right leg, +deluded them,<br> +and helped Coach Corridan's plot.</p> + +<p>It was the only play, if Bannister wanted the Championship +enough to try a<br> +desperate chance; better a fighting hope for that glory, with a +try for<br> +a touchdown, than a field-goal, and a tie-score! The lines of +scrimmage<br> +tensed. The linesmen dug their cleats in the sod, those of +Ballard tigerish<br> +to break through and block; old Bannister's determined to +<i>hold</i>. Back of<br> +Ballard's line, the backfield swayed on tip-toe, every muscle +nerved, ready<br> +to crash through; the ends prepared to knock Roddy and Monty +aside, the<br> +backs would charge madly ahead, in a berserk rush, to crash into +that slim<br> +figure.</p> + +<p>"Boot it, Hicks!" shrieked Deke Radford, and as he shouted, +the pigskin<br> +shot from the Bannister center's hands; the Gold and Green line +held nobly,<br> +but not so the ends. Monty Merriweather, making a bluff at +blocking the<br> +left end, let him crash past, while he sprinted +ahead—Captain Butch<br> +Brewster, to whom the pass had been made, ran forward, until he +saw he was<br> +blocked, and then, seeing Monty dear, he hurled a beautiful +forward pass.</p> + +<p>Into the arms of the waiting Monty it fell, and that Gold and +Green star,<br> +absolutely free of tacklers, sprinted twelve yards to the +goal-line,<br> +falling on the pigskin behind it! Coach Corridan's "100 to 1" +chance,<br> +suggested by Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr., had succeeded, +and—the<br> +Biggest Game and the Championship had come to old Bannister at +last!</p> + +<p>Followed a scene pauperizing description! For many long years +old Bannister<br> +had waited for this glory; years of bitter disappointment, +seasons when the<br> +Championship had been missed by a scant margin, a drop-kick +striking the<br> +cross-bar, Butch Brewster blindly crashing into an upright. But +now, all<br> +their pent-up joy flowed forth in a mighty torrent! Singing, +yelling,<br> +dancing, howling, the Bannister Band leading them, the Gold and +Green<br> +students, alumni, Faculty, and supporters, snake-danced around +Bannister<br> +Field. A vast, writhing, sinuous line, it wound around the +gridiron,<br> +everyone who possessed a hat flinging it over the cross-bars. +The<br> +victorious eleven, were borne by the maddened +youths—Captain Butch, Pudge,<br> +Beef, Monty, Roddy, Ichabod, Tug, Hefty, Buster, Bunch, +and—T. Haviland<br> +Hicks, Jr. Ballard, firmly believing Hicks would try a +field-goal, had<br> +been taken completely off guard. Surprised by the daring attempt, +it had<br> +succeeded with ease, and the final score was Bannister—10; +Ballard—6!</p> + +<p>"At last! At last!" boomed Butch Brewster, to whom this was +the happiest<br> +day of his life. "The Championship at last. My great ambition is +realized.<br> +Old Bannister has won the Championship, and I was the Team +Captain!"</p> + +<p>After a time, when "the shouting and the tumult died," or at +least quieted<br> +somewhat, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., felt a hand on his arm, and +looking down<br> +from the shoulders on which he perched, he saw his Dad. Mr. +Hicks' strong<br> +face was aglow with pride and a vast joy, and he shook his son's +hand again<br> +and again.</p> + +<p>"I understand, Thomas!" he said, and his words were reward +enough for the<br> +youth. "It was a <i>big</i> sacrifice, but you made it +gladly—I know! You<br> +gave up personal glory for the greater goal, and—old +Bannister won the<br> +Championship! You helped win, for the winning play turned on +<i>you</i>. It was<br> +splendid, my son, and I am proud of you! No matter if your +sacrifice is<br> +never known to the fellows, I understand."</p> + +<p>A moment of silence on Hicks' part; then the sunny youth +grinned at his<br> +beloved Dad, as he responded blithesomely: "I'm Pollyanna, that +old<br> +Bannister and I won out, Dad!"</p> + +<p><br> +CHAPTER XV</p> + +<p>HICKS HAS A "HUNCH"</p> + +<p>"Ladies and gentlemen, Seniors, Juniors, Sophomores, human +beings,<br> +and—Freshmen! Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Jr., the Olympic +High-Jump<br> +Champion, holder of the World's record, and winner at the +Panama-Pacific<br> +International Exposition National Championships, in his event, is +about to<br> +high jump! The bar is at five feet, ten inches. Mr. Hicks is the +Herculean<br> +athlete in the crazy-looking bathrobe."</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., his splinter-structure enshrouded in +that<br> +flamboyant bathrobe of vast proportions and insane colors, that +inevitably<br> +attended his athletic efforts, shaming Joseph's +coat-of-many-colors, gazed<br> +despairingly at his good friend, Butch Brewster, and Track-Coach +Brannigan,<br> +with a Cheshire cat grin on his cherubic countenance.</p> + +<p>"It's no use, Butch, it's no use!" quoth he, with ludicrous +indignation,<br> +as big Tug Cardiff, the behemoth shot-putter, through a huge +megaphone<br> +imitated a Ballyhoo Bill, and roared his absurd announcement to +the<br> +hilarious crowd of collegians in the stand. "Old Bannister will +<i>never</i><br> +take my athletic endeavors seriously. Here I have won two second +places,<br> +and a third, in the high-jump this season, and have a splendid +show to<br> +annex <i>first</i> place and my track B in the Intercollegiates, +but—hear<br> +them!"</p> + +<p>It was a balmy, sunshiny afternoon in late May. The +sunny-souled,<br> +happy-go-lucky T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., had trained indefatigably +for<br> +the high jump, with the result that he had won several points for +his<br> +team—however, he had not realized his great ambition of +first place, and<br> +his track letter.</p> + +<p>As Hicks now exclaimed to his team-mate and Coach Brannigan, +no matter,<br> +to the howling Bannister youths, if he <i>had</i> won three +places in the high<br> +jump, in regularly scheduled meets; his comrades had been jeering +at<br> +his athletic fiascos for nearly four years, and even had Hicks +suddenly<br> +blossomed out as a star athlete, they would not have abandoned +their joyous<br> +habit. Still, those football 'Varsity players to whom good Butch +had read<br> +Hicks, Sr.'s, letters, and explained the sunny youth's +persistence, despite<br> +his ridiculous failures, though they kept on hailing his +appearance on<br> +Bannister Field with exaggerated joy, understood the care-free +collegian,<br> +and loved him for his ambition to please his Dad. Since Hicks +had<br> +absolutely refused to accept his B, for any sport, unless he won +it<br> +according to Athletic Association eligibility rules, the eleven +had kept<br> +secret the contents of the letters Butch Brewster had read to +them, for<br> +Hicks requested it.</p> + +<p>The Bannister College track squad, under Track Coach Brannigan +and Captain<br> +Spike Robertson, had been training most strenuously for that +annual<br> +cinder-path classic, the State Intercollegiate Track and +Field<br> +Championships. The sprinters had been tearing down the +two-twenty<br> +straightaway like suburban commuters catching the 7.20 A.M. for +the city.<br> +Hammer-throwers and shot-putters—the weight +men—heaved the sixteen-pound<br> +shot, or hurled the hammer, with reckless abandon, like the +Strong Man of<br> +the circus. Pole-vaulters seemed ambitious to break the altitude +records,<br> +and In so doing, threatened to break their necks; hurdlers +skimmed over<br> +the standard as lightly as swallows, though no one ever beheld +swallows<br> +hurdling. The distance runners plodded determinedly around the +quarter-mile<br> +track, broad-jumpers tried to jump the length of the landing-pit. +And T.<br> +Haviland Hicks, Jr., vainly essayed to clear five-ten In the +high-jump!</p> + +<p>It was the last-named event that "broke up the show," as the +Phillyloo Bird<br> +quaintly stated, somewhat wrongly, since the appearance of that +blithesome<br> +youth in the offing, his flamboyant bathrobe concealing his +shadow-like<br> +frame, had <i>started</i> the show, causing the track squad, as +well as a<br> +hundred spectator-students, to rush for seats in the stand. The +arrival<br> +of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., to train for form and height in the +high-jump,<br> +though a daily occurrence, was always the signal for a Saturnalia +of sport<br> +at his expense, because—</p> + +<p>"You can't live down your athletic past, Hicks!" smiled +good-hearted Butch<br> +Brewster. "Your making a touchdown for the other eleven, by +running the<br> +wrong way with the pigskin, your hilarious fiascos in every +sport, your<br> +home-run with the bases full, on a strike-out-are specters to +haunt you.<br> +Even now that you have a chance to win your B, just listen to the +fellows."</p> + +<p>The track squad's "heavy weight—white hope" section, +composed of<br> +hammer-heavers and shot-putters—Tug Cardiff, Beef +McNaughton, Pudge<br> +Langdon, Buster Brown, Biff Pemberton, Hefty Hollingsworth, and +Bunch<br> +Bingham, equipped with megaphones, and with the <i>basso +profundo</i> voices<br> +nature gave them, lined up on both sides of the +jumping-standards, and<br> +chanted loudly:</p> + +<p> "All hail to T. Haviland Hicks!<br> + He runs like a carload of bricks;<br> + When to high jump he tries<br> + From the ground he can't rise—<br> + For he's built on a pair of toothpicks!"</p> + +<p>This saengerfest was greeted with vociferous cheers from the +vastly amused<br> +youths in the stands, who hailed the grinning Hicks with jeers, +cat-calls,<br> +whistles, and humorous (so they believed) remarks:</p> + +<p>"Say, Hicks, you won't <i>never</i> be able to jump anything +but your<br> +board-bill!"</p> + +<p>"You're built like a grass-hopper, Hicks, but you've done lost +the hop!"</p> + +<p>"If you keep on improving as you've done lately, you'll make a +high-jumper<br> +in a hundred more years, old top!"</p> + +<p>"You may rise in the world, Hicks, but never in the high +jump!"</p> + +<p>"Don't mind them, Hicks!" spoke Coach Brannigan, his hands on +the<br> +happy-go-lucky youth's shoulders. "Listen to me; the +Intercollegiates will<br> +be the last track meet of your college years, and unless you take +first<br> +place in your event, you won't win your track B. Second, McQuade, +of<br> +Hamilton, will do five-eight, and likely an inch higher, so to +take first<br> +place, you, must do five-ten. You have trained and practiced +faithfully<br> +this season, but no matter what I do, I <i>can't</i> give you +that needed two<br> +inches, and—"</p> + +<p>"I know it, Coach!" responded the chastened Hicks, throwing +aside his<br> +lurid bathrobe determinedly, and exposing to the jeering students +his<br> +splinter-frame. "Leave it to Hicks, I'll clear it this time, +or—"</p> + +<p>"Not!" fleered Butch, whom Hicks' easy self-confidence never +failed to<br> +arouse. "Hicks, listen to me, I can tell you why you can't get +two inches<br> +higher. The whole trouble with you is this; for almost four years +you have<br> +led an indolent, butterfly, care-free existence, and now, when +you must<br> +call on yourself for a special effort, you are too lazy! You can +dear<br> +five-ten; you ought to do it, but you can't summon up the energy. +I've<br> +lectured you all this time, for your heedless, easy-going ways, +and<br> +now—you pay for your idle years!"</p> + +<p>"You said an encyclopedia, Butch!" agreed the Coach, with +vigor. "If only<br> +something would just <i>make</i> Hicks jump that high, if only he +could do it<br> +once, and know it is in his power, he could do it in the +Intercollegiates,<br> +aided by excitement and competition! Let something <i>scare</i> +him so that he<br> +will sail over five-ten, and—he will win his B. He has the +energy, the<br> +build, the spring, and the form, but as you say, he is so +easy-going and<br> +lazy, that his natural grass-hopper frame avails him naught."</p> + +<p>"Here I go!" announced Hicks, who, to an accompaniment of loud +cheers from<br> +the stand, had been jogging up and down in that warming-up +process known to<br> +athletes as the in place run, consisting of trying to dislocate +one's<br> +jaw by bringing the knees, alternately, up against the chin. "Up +and<br> +over—that's my slogan. Just watch Hicks."</p> + +<p>Starting at a distance of twenty yards from the high-jump +standards, on<br> +which the cross-bar rested at five feet, ten inches, T. Haviland +Hicks,<br> +Jr., who vastly resembled a grass-hopper, crept toward the +jumping-pit,<br> +on his toe-spikes, as though hoping to catch the cross-bar off +its guard.<br> +Advancing ten yards, he learned apparently that his design was +discovered,<br> +so he started a loping gallop, turning to a quick, mad sprint, as +though he<br> +attempted to jump over the bar before it had time to rise higher. +With a<br> +beautiful take-off, a splendid spring—a quick, writhing +twist in air, and<br> +two spasmodic kicks, the whole being known as the scissors form +of high<br> +jump, the mosquito-like youth made a strenuous effort to clear +the needed<br> +height, but—one foot kicked the cross-bar, and as Hicks +fell flat on his<br> +back, in the soft landing-pit, the wooden rod, In derision, +clattered down<br> +upon his anatomy.</p> + +<p>"Foiled again!" hissed Hicks, after the fashion of a +"Ten-Twent'-Thirt'"<br> +melodrama-villain, while from the exuberant youths in the +grandstand,<br> +who really wanted Hicks to clear the bar, but who jeered at his +failure,<br> +nevertheless, sounded:</p> + +<p>"Hire a derrick, Hicks, and hoist yourself over the bar!"</p> + +<p>"Your <i>head</i> is light enough—your feet weigh you +down!"</p> + +<p>"'Crossing the Bar'—rendered by T. Haviland Hicks, +Jr.!"</p> + +<p>"Going up! Go play checkers, Hicks, you ain't no athlete!"</p> + +<p>While the grinning, albeit chagrined T, Haviland Hicks, Jr., +reposed<br> +gracefully on his back, staring up at the cross-bar, which +someone kindly<br> +replaced on the pegs, big Butch Brewster, who seemed suddenly to +have<br> +gone crazy, tried to attract Coach Brannigan's attention. +Succeeding,<br> +Butch—usually a grave, serious Senior, winked, contorted +his visage<br> +hideously, pointed at Hicks, and sibilated, "Now, Coach—now +is your<br> +chance! Tell Hicks—"</p> + +<p>Tug Cardiff, Biff Pemberton, Hefty Hollingsworth, Bunch +Bingham, Buster<br> +Brown, Beef McNaughton, and Pudge Langdon, who had been attacked +in a<br> +fashion similar to Butch's spasm, concealed grins of delight, and +made<br> +strenuous efforts to appear guileless, as Track-Coach Brannigan +approached<br> +T. Haviland Hicks, Jr. To that cheery youth, who was brushing the +dirt from<br> +his immaculate track togs, and bowing to the cheering youths in +the stand,<br> +the Coach spoke:</p> + +<p>"Hicks," he said sternly, "you need a cross-country jog, to +get<br> +more strength and power in your limbs! Now, I am going to send +the<br> +Heavy-Weight-White-Hope Brigade for a four-mile run, and you go +with them.<br> +Oh, don't protest; they are all shot-putters and hammer-throwers, +but<br> +Butch, and they can't run fast enough to give a tortoise a fast +heat. Take<br> +'em out two miles and back, Butch, and jog all the way; don't let +'em loaf!<br> +Off with you,"</p> + +<p>The unsuspecting Hicks might have detected the nigger in the +woodpile, had<br> +he not been so anxious to make five-ten in the high-jump. +However, willing<br> +to jog with these behemoths, with whom even he could keep pace, +so as to<br> +develop more jumping power, the blithesome youth cast aside his +garish<br> +bathrobe, pranced about in what he fatuously believed was Ted +Meredith's<br> +style, and howled:</p> + +<p>"Follow Hicks! All out for the Marathon—we're off! +One—two—three—<i>go</i>!"</p> + +<p>With the excited, track squad, non-athletes, and the baseball +crowd, which<br> +had ceased the game to watch the start, yelling, cheering, +howling, and<br> +whistling, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., drawing his knees up in +exaggerated<br> +style at every stride, started to lead the +Heavy-Weight-White-Hope-Brigade<br> +on its cross-country run. Without wondering why Coach Brannigan +had<br> +suddenly elected to send <i>him</i> along with the +hammer-throwers and<br> +shot-putters, on the jog, and not having seen the insane facial +contortions<br> +of the Brigade, before the Coach gave orders, the gladsome +Senior<br> +started forth in good spirits, resembling a tugboat convoying a +fleet of<br> +battleships.</p> + +<p>"'Yo! Ho! Yo! Ho! And over the country we go!'" warbled Hicks, +as the squad<br> +left Bannister Field, and jogged across a green meadow. +"'—O'er hill and<br> +dale, through valley and vale, Yo! Ho! Yo! Ho! Yo! Ho!'"</p> + +<p>"Save your wind, you insect!" growled Butch Brewster, with +sinister<br> +significance that escaped the heedless Hicks, as the behemoth +Butch, a<br> +two-miler, swung into the lead. "You'll <i>need</i> it, you fish, +before we get<br> +back to the campus! Not <i>too</i> fast, you flock of human +tortoises. You'll be<br> +crawling on hands and knees, if you keep that pace up long!"</p> + +<p>A mile and a half passed. Butch, at an easy jog, had led his +squad over<br> +green pastures, up gentle slopes, and across a plowed field, by +way of<br> +variety. At length, he left the road on which the pachydermic +aggregation<br> +had lumbered for some distance, and turned up a long lane, +leading to a<br> +farm-house. Back of it they periscoped an orchard, with +cherry-trees,<br> +laden with red and white fruit, predominating. Also, floating +toward the<br> +collegians on the balmy May air came an ominous sound:</p> + +<p>"Woof! Woof! Woof! Bow-wow-wow! Woof!"</p> + +<p>"Come on, fellows!" urged Butch Brewster. "We'll jog across +old Bildad's<br> +orchard and seize some cherries—the old pirate can't catch +us, for we are<br> +attired for sprinting. Don't they look good?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing stirring!" declared Hicks, slangily, but vehemently, +as he stopped<br> +short in his stride. "Old Bildad has got a bulldog what am as big +as the<br> +New York City Hall. He had it on the campus last month, you know! +Not for<br> +mine! I don't go near that house, or swipe no cherries from his +trees. If<br> +you wish to shuffle off this mortal coil, drive right ahead, but +I will<br> +await your return here."</p> + +<p>T, Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s, dread of dogs, of all sizes, shapes, +pedigrees,<br> +and breeds, was well known to old Bannister; hence, the +Heavy-weights now<br> +jeered him unmercifully. Old "Bildad," as the taciturn recluse +was called,<br> +who lived like a hermit and owned a rich farm, did own a massive +bulldog,<br> +and a sight of his cruel jaws was a "No Trespass" sign. With +great<br> +forethought, when cherries began to ripen, the farmer had brought +Caesar<br> +Napoleon to the campus, exhibited him to the awed youths, and +said, "My<br> +cherries be for <i>sale</i>, not to be <i>stole</i>!" which +object lesson, brief as<br> +it was, to date, had seemed to have the desired effect. +Yet—here was Butch<br> +proposing that they literally thrust their heads, or other +portions of<br> +their anatomies, into the jaws of death!</p> + +<p>"Well," said Bunch Bingham at last, "I tell you what; we'll +jog up to the<br> +house and ask old Bildad to <i>sell</i> us some cherries; we can +pay him when he<br> +comes to the campus with eggs to sell, Come along. Hicks, I'll +beard the<br> +bulldog in his kennel."</p> + +<p>So, dragged along by the bulky hammer-throwers and +shot-putters, the<br> +protesting T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., in mortal terror of Caesar +Napoleon, and<br> +the other canine guardians of old Bildad's property, progressed +up the lane<br> +toward the house.</p> + +<p>"I got a hunch," said the reluctant Hicks, sadly, "that things +ain't<br> +a-comin' out right! In the words of the immortal +Somebody-Or-Other, 'This<br> +'ere ain't none o' <i>my</i> doin'; it's a-bein' thrust on me!' +All right, my<br> +comrades, I'll be the innocent bystander, but heed me—look +out for the<br> +bulldog!"</p> + +<p><br> +CHAPTER XVI</p> + +<p>THANKS TO CAESAR NAPOLEON</p> + +<p>The Heavy-Weight-White-Hope-Brigade, towing the mosquito-like +T. Haviland<br> +Hicks, Jr., advanced on the stronghold of old Bildad, so named +because he<br> +was a pessimistic Job's comforter, like Bildad, the Shuhite, of +old—like<br> +a flock of German spies reconnoitering Allied trenches. Hearing +the house,<br> +with Butch and Beef holding the helpless, but loudly protesting +Hicks, who<br> +would fain have executed what may mildly be termed a strategic +retreat, big<br> +Tug Cardiff boldly marched, in close formation, toward the door, +when the<br> +portal suddenly flew open.</p> + +<p>"Woof! Woof! Bow! Wow! Woof! Let go, Butch—there's the +dog!"</p> + +<p>Amid ferocious howls from Caesar Napoleon, and alarmed +protests from the<br> +paralyzed Hicks, who could not have run, with his wobbly knees, +had he<br> +been set free by his captors, old Bildad, towed from the house by +Caesar<br> +Napoleon, who strained savagely at the leash until his face +bulged, burst<br> +upon the scene with impressive dramatic effect! It was difficult +to decide,<br> +without due consideration, which was the more interesting. +Bildad, a huge,<br> +gnarled old Viking, with matted gray hair, bushy eyebrows, a +flowing beard,<br> +and leathery face, a fierce-looking giant, was appalling to +behold, but so<br> +was Caesar Napoleon, an immense bulldog, cruel, bloodthirsty, his +massive<br> +jaws working convulsively, his ugly fangs gleaming, as he set his +great<br> +body against the leash, and gave evidence of a sincere desire to +make free<br> +lunch of the Bannister youths. As Buster Brown afterward stated, +"Neither<br> +one would take the booby prize at a beauty show, but at that, the +bulldog<br> +had a better chance than Bildad!" T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., let it +be<br> +recorded, could not have qualified as a judge, since his +undivided<br> +attention was awarded to Caesar Napoleon!</p> + +<p>"What d'ye want round here, ye rapscallions?" demanded Bildad, +courteously,<br> +holding the savage bulldog with one hand, and constructing a +ponderous<br> +fist with the other, "Hike—git off'n my land, y'hear? Git, +er Caesar<br> +Napoleon'll git holt o' them scanty duds ye got on!"</p> + +<p>"We want to—to buy some cherries, Mr.—Mr. Bildad!" +explained Bunch<br> +Bingham, edging away nervously. "We won't steal any, honest, sir. +Well pay<br> +you for them the very next time you come to the campus with milk +and eggs."</p> + +<p>"Ho! Ho!" roared old Bildad, piratically, his colossal body +shaking, "A<br> +likely tale, lads—an' when I come for my money, ye'll jeer +me off the<br> +campus, an' tell me to whistle for it! Off my +land—<i>git,</i> an' don't let me<br> +cotch ye on it inside o' two minutes, or I'll let Caesar Napoleon +make a<br> +meal off'n yer bones—<i>git</i>!"</p> + +<p>To express it briefly, they got. T, Haviland Hicks, Jr., not +standing on<br> +the order of his going, set off at a sprint that, while it might +have<br> +caused Ted Meredith to lose sleep, also aroused in Caesar +Napoleon an<br> +overwhelming desire to take out after the fugitive youth, so that +Mr.<br> +Bildad was forced to exert his vast strength to hold the massive +bulldog.<br> +Butch, Beef, Hefty, Tug, Buster, Bunch, Pudge, and Biff, a +pachydermic<br> +crew, awed by Caesar Napoleon's bloodthirsty actions, jogged off +in the<br> +wake of Hicks, who confidently expected to hear the bulldog +giving tongue,<br> +on his trail, at every second.</p> + +<p>Another lane, making in from a road making a cross-roads with +the one<br> +from which they came to Bildad's house, ran alongside the orchard +for two<br> +hundred yards, inside the fence; at its end was a high roadgate. +At<br> +what they decided was a safe distance from the "war zone," +the<br> +Heavy-Weight-White-Hope-Brigade, and T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., the +latter<br> +forcibly restrained from widening the margin between him and +peril, held a<br> +council on preparedness.</p> + +<p>"The old pirate!" stormed Butch Brewster, gazing back to where +the vast<br> +figure of old Bildad, striding toward the house, towered. "We +can't let him<br> +get away with that, fellows. I'll have some of his cherries now, +or—"</p> + +<p>"No, no—<i>don't</i>, Butch!" chattered Hicks, whose +dread of dogs amounted to<br> +an obsession. "He can still see us, and if you leave the lane, he +will send<br> +Caesar Napoleon after us! Oh, <i>don't</i>—"</p> + +<p>But Butch Brewster, evidently wrathful at being balked, strode +from the<br> +path, or lane, of virtue, toward a cherry-tree, whose red fruit +hung<br> +temptingly low, and his example was followed by every one of the +Brigade,<br> +leaving the terrified Hicks to wait in the lane, where, because +of his<br> +alarm, he had no time to wonder at the bravado of his behemoth +comrades.<br> +However, finding that Bildad had disappeared, and believing he +had taken<br> +Caesar Napoleon into the house, the sunny Hicks, who was far from +a coward<br> +otherwise, but who had an unreasonable dread of dogs, little or +big, was<br> +about to wax courageous, and join his team-mates, when a wild +shout burst<br> +from Pudge Langdon:</p> + +<p>"Run, fellows—<i>run</i>! Bildad's put the bulldog on +us! Here comes—Caesar<br> +Napoleon—!"</p> + +<p>With a blood-chilling "Woof! Woof!" steadily sounding louder, +nearer,<br> +a streak of color shot across the orchard, from the house, toward +the<br> +affrighted Brigade, while old Bildad's hoarse growl shattered the +echoes<br> +with "Take 'em out o' here, Nap—chaw 'em up, boy!" For a +startled second,<br> +the youths stared at the on-rushing body, shooting toward them +through the<br> +orchard-grass at terrific speed, and then:</p> + +<p>"Run!" howled T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., terror providing him +with wings, as<br> +per proverb. Down the lane, at a pace that would have done credit +to Barney<br> +Oldfield in his Blitzen Benz, the mosquito-like youth sprinted +madly, and<br> +ever, closer, closer on his trail, sounded that awful "Woof! +Woof!" from<br> +Caesar Napoleon, who, as Hicks well knew, was acting with full +authority<br> +from Bildad! He heard, as he fled frantically, the excited shouts +of his<br> +comrades.</p> + +<p>"Beat it, Hicks—he's right after you—run! +Run!"</p> + +<p>"Jump the fence—he can't get you then—jump!"</p> + +<p>"He's right on your trail, Hicks—<i>sprint</i>, old +man!"</p> + +<p>"Make the fence, old man—<i>jump</i> it—and you're +<i>safe</i>!"</p> + +<p>The terrible truth dawned on the frightened youth, as he +desperately<br> +sprinted: the innocent bystander always gets hurt. He had +protested against<br> +the theft of Bildad's cherries, and naturally, the bulldog had +kept after<br> +<i>him</i>! But it was too late to stop, for the old adage was +extremely<br> +appropriate, "He who hesitates is lost." He must <i>make</i> that +road-gate, and<br> +tumble over it, in some fashion, or be torn to shreds by Caesar +Napoleon,<br> +the savage dog that the cruel Bildad had sent after the +youths.</p> + +<p>Nearer loomed the road-gate, appallingly high. Closer sounded +the panting<br> +breath of the ferocious Caesar Napoleon, and his incessant +"Woof-woof!"<br> +became louder. It seemed to the desperate Hicks that the bulldog +was at his<br> +heels, and every instant he expected to feel those sharp teeth +take hold of<br> +his anatomy! Once, the despairing youth imitated Lot's wife and +turned his<br> +head. He saw a body streaking after him, gaining at every jump, +also he<br> +lost speed; so thereafter, he conscientiously devoted his every +energy to<br> +the task in hand, that of making the gate, and getting over it, +before<br> +Caesar Napoleon caught his quarry!</p> + +<p>At last, the road-gate, at least ten feet high, to Hicks' +fevered<br> +imagination, came so close that a quick decision was necessary, +for Caesar<br> +Napoleon, also, was in the same zone, and in a few seconds he +would<br> +overhaul the fugitive. T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., realizing that a +second<br> +lost, perhaps, might prove fatal to his peace of mind, +desperately resolved<br> +to dash at the gate, and jump; if he succeeded even in striking +somewhere<br> +near the top, and falling over, he would not care, for the +bulldog would<br> +not follow him off Bildad's land. From his comrades, far in the +rear, came<br> +the chorus:</p> + +<p>"Jump, Hicks! He's right on your heels!"</p> + +<p>Like the immortal Light Brigade, Hicks had no time to reason +about<br> +anything. His but to jump or be bitten summed up the situation. +So, with<br> +a last desperate sprint, a quick dash, he left the +ground—luckily, the<br> +earth was hard, giving him a solid take-off, and he got a +splendid spring.<br> +As he arose In air, al! the training and practicing for form +stayed with<br> +him, and instinctively he turned, writhed, and kicked—</p> + +<p>For a fleeting second, he saw the top of the gate beneath his +body, and<br> +he felt a thrill as he beheld twisted strands of barbed wire, +cruel and<br> +jagged, across it; then, with a great sensation of joy, he knew +that he<br> +had cleared the top, and a second later, he landed on the ground, +in the<br> +country road, in a heap.</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., that sunny-souled, happy-go-lucky, +indolent youth,<br> +for once in his care-free campus career aroused to strenuous +action,<br> +scrambled wildly to his feet, and forcibly realized the truth +of<br> +Longfellow's, "And things are not-what they seem!" Instead of +the<br> +ferocious, bloodthirsty bulldog, Caesar Napoleon, a huge, +half-grown<br> +St. Bernard pup gamboled inside the gate, frisking about +gleefully, and<br> +exhibiting, even so that Hicks, with all his innate dread of +dogs, could<br> +understand it, a vast friendliness. In fact, he seemed trying to +say,<br> +"That's fun. Come on and play with me some more!"</p> + +<p>"Hey, fellows," shrieked the relieved Hicks, "that ain't +Caesar Napoleon!<br> +Why, he just wanted to play."</p> + +<p>Bewildered, the members of the Heavy-Weight-White-Hope-Brigade +of the<br> +Bannister College track squad rushed on the scene. To their +surprise, they<br> +found not a savage bulldog, but a clumsy, good-natured St. +Bernard puppy,<br> +who frisked wildly about them, groveled at their feet, and put +his huge<br> +paws on them, with the playfulness of a juvenile elephant.</p> + +<p>"Why, it <i>isn't</i> Nappie, for a fact!" gasped Butch. "Oh, +I am so glad<br> +that old Bildad wasn't mean enough to put the bulldog after us, +for he is<br> +dangerous. He scared us, though, and put this pup on our trail. +He wanted<br> +to play, and he thought it all a game, when Hicks fled. Oho! What +a joke on<br> +Hicks."</p> + +<p>"I don't care!" grinned Hicks, thus siding with the famous Eva +Tanguay.<br> +"You fellows were fooled, too! You were too <i>scared</i> to run, +and if it had<br> +been Caesar Napoleon, I'd have saved your worthless lives by +getting him<br> +after me! I'll bet Bildad is snickering now, the old reprobate! +Why, Tug,<br> +are you <i>crazy</i>?"</p> + +<p>Tug Cardiff, indeed, gave indications of lunacy. He marched up +to the<br> +road-gate, and stood close to it, so that the barbed wire top was +even with<br> +his hair; then he backed off, and gazed first at the gate, then +at the<br> +bewildered Hicks, while he grinned at the dazed squad in a +Cheshire cat<br> +style.</p> + +<p>"Measure it, someone!" he shouted. "I am nearly six feet tall, +and it comes<br> +even with the top of my dome! Can't you see, you brainless +imbeciles, Hicks<br> +cleared it."</p> + +<p>"Wait for me here!" howled big Butch Brewster, climbing the +fence and<br> +starting down the road at a pace that did credit even to that +fast<br> +two-miler. The Brigade, In the absence of their leader, tried to +estimate<br> +the height of the gate, and Hicks, gazing at its barbed-wire +top,<br> +shuddered. The St. Bernard pup, having caused T. Haviland Hicks, +Jr., for<br> +once in his indolent life to exert every possible ounce of energy +in his<br> +splinter-frame, groveled at his feet, and strove to express his +boundless<br> +joy at their presence.</p> + +<p>Butch Brewster, in fifteen minutes, returned, panting and +perspiring,<br> +bearing a tape-measure, borrowed at the next farm-house. With all +the<br> +solemnity of a sacred rite being performed, the youths waited, as +Butch and<br> +Tug, holding the tape taut, carefully measured from the ground to +the top<br> +of the barbed wire on the gate. Three times they did this, and +then, with<br> +an expression of gladness on his honest countenance, Butch hugged +the<br> +dazed T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., while Tug Cardiff howled, "Now for +the<br> +Intercollegiates and your track B, Hicks! You <i>can</i> do +five-ten in the<br> +meet, for Coach Brannigan said you could dear it, if only you did +it<br> +<i>once</i>."</p> + +<p>"Why—what do you mean, Tug?" quavered Hicks, not daring +to allow himself<br> +to believe the truth. "You—you surely don't +mean—"</p> + +<p>"I mean, that now you <i>know</i> you can jump that high," +boomed Tug, executing<br> +a weird dance of exultation, In which, the Brigade joined, until +it<br> +resembled a herd of elephants gone insane, "for you have done +it—allowing<br> +for the sag, and everything, that gate is just five feet, ten +inches high,<br> +and—<i>you cleared it</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Ladies and gentlemen—Hicks, of Bannister, is about to +high jump! Hicks<br> +and McQuade, of Hamilton, are tied for first place at five feet +eight<br> +inches! McQuade has failed three times at five-ten! Hicks' third +and last<br> +trial! Height of bar—five feet ten inches!"</p> + +<p>This time, however, it was not big Tug Cardiff, imitating a +Ballyhoo<br> +Bill, and inciting the Bannister youths to hilarity at the +expense of the<br> +sunny-souled T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.; it was the Official +Announcer at the<br> +Annual State Intercollegiate Field and Track Championships, on +Bannister<br> +Field, and his announcement aroused a tumult of excitement in the +Bannister<br> +section of the stands, as well as among the Gold and Green +cinder-path<br> +stars.</p> + +<p>"Come on, Hicks, old man!" urged Butch Brewster, who, with a +dozen fully<br> +as excited comrades of the cheery Hicks, surrounded that +splinter-athlete.<br> +"It's positively your last chance to win your track B, or your +letter in<br> +any sport, and please your Dad! If they lower the bar, and you +two jump off<br> +the tie, McQuade's endurance will bring him out the winner."</p> + +<p>"You <i>can</i> clear five-ten!" encouraged Bunch Bingham. +"You did it once,<br> +when you believed Caesar Napoleon was after you. Just summon up +that much<br> +energy now, and clear that bar! Once over, the event and your +letter are<br> +won! Oh, if we only had that bulldog here, to sick on you."</p> + +<p>Sad to chronicle, the score-board of the Intercollegiates +recorded the<br> +results of the events, so far, thus:</p> + +<p> HAMILTON ............35 BALLARD .............20 BANNISTER +...........28</p> + +<p>It was the last event, and even did Hicks win the high-jump, +McQuade's<br> +second place would easily give old Ham. the Championship. Hence, +knowing<br> +that victory was not booked for an appearance on the Gold and +Green<br> +banners, the Bannister youths, wild for the lovable, popular +Hicks to win<br> +his Bs vociferously pulled for him:</p> + +<p>"Come on, Hicks—up and over, old man—it's +<i>easy</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Jump, you Human Grass-Hopper—you can do it!"</p> + +<p>"Now or never, Hicks! One big jump does the work!"</p> + +<p>"Sick Caesar Napoleon on him, Coach; he'll clear it then!"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., casting aside that flamboyant +bathrobe, for what he<br> +believed was the last athletic event of his campus career, stood +gazing at<br> +the cross-bar. One superhuman effort, a great explosion of all +his energy,<br> +such as he had executed when he cleared the gate, thinking Caesar +Napoleon<br> +was after him, and the event was won! He <i>had</i> cleared that +height, it was<br> +within his power. If he failed, as Butch said, the bar would be +lowered,<br> +and then raised until one or the other missed once. McQuade, with +his<br> +superior strength and endurance, must inevitably win, but as he +had just<br> +missed on his third trial at five-ten, if Hicks cleared that +height on<br> +<i>his</i> final chance, the first place was his.</p> + +<p>"And my B!" murmured Hicks, tensing his muscles. "Oh, won't my +Dad be<br> +happy? It will help him to realize some of his ambition, when I +show him my<br> +track letter! It is positively my last chance, and I <i>must</i> +clear it."</p> + +<p>With a vast wave of determined confidence inundating his very +being, Hicks<br> +started for the bar; after those first, peculiar, creeping steps, +he had<br> +just started his gallop, when he heard Tug Cardiff's +<i>basso</i>, magnified by<br> +a megaphone, roared:</p> + +<p>"All together, fellows—<i>let 'er go</i>—"</p> + +<p>Then, just as Hicks dug his spikes into the earth, in that +short, mad<br> +sprint that gives the jumper his spring, just as he reached the +take-off,<br> +a perfect explosion of noise startled him, and he caught a sound +that<br> +frightened him, tensed as he was:</p> + +<p>"Woof! Woof! Bow! Wow! Woof! Woof! Woof! Look out, Hicks, +Caesar Napoleon<br> +is after you!"</p> + +<p>Psychology Is inexplicable. Ever afterward, Hicks' comrades of +that<br> +cross-country run averred strenuously that their roaring +through<br> +megaphones, in concert, imitating Caesar Napoleon's savage bark +at the<br> +psychological moment, flung the mosquito-like youth clear of the +cross-bar<br> +and won him the event and his B. Hicks, however, as fervidly +denied this<br> +statement, declaring that he would have won, anyhow, because he +had<br> +summoned up the determination to do it! So it can not be stated +just what<br> +bearing on his jump the plot of Butch Brewster really had. In +truth, that<br> +behemoth had entertained a wild idea of actually hiring old +Bildad and<br> +Caesar Napoleon to appear at the moment Hicks started for his +last trial,<br> +but this weird scheme was abandoned!</p> + +<p>Fifteen minutes later, when T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., had +escaped from the<br> +riotous Bannister students, delirious with joy at the victory of +the<br> +beloved youth, the Heavy-Weight-White-Hope Brigade, capturing +the<br> +grass-hopper Senior, gave him a shock second only to that which +he had<br> +experienced when first he believed Caesar Napoleon was on his +trail.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps our barking didn't make you jump it!" said Beef +McNaughton, when<br> +Hicks indignantly denied that he had been scared over the +cross-bar, "but<br> +indirectly, old man, we helped you to win! If we had not put up a +hoax on<br> +you—"</p> + +<p>"A <i>hoax</i>?" queried the surprised Hicks. "What do you +mean—hoax?"</p> + +<p>"It was all a frame-up!" grinned Butch Brewster, triumphantly. +"We paid old<br> +Bildad five dollars to play his part, and as an actor, he has +Booth and<br> +Barrymore backed off the stage! We got Coach Brannigan to send +you along<br> +with us on the cross-country jog, and your absurd dread of dogs, +Hicks,<br> +made it easy! Bildad, per instructions, produced Caesar Napoleon, +and<br> +scared you. Then, with a telescope, he watched us, and when I +gave the<br> +signal, he let loose Bob, the harmless St. Bernard pup, on our +trail.</p> + +<p>"The pup, as he always does, chased after strangers, ready to +play. We<br> +yelled for you to run, and you were so <i>scared</i>, you insect, +you didn't<br> +wait to see the dog. Even when you looked back, in your alarm, +you didn't<br> +know it was not Caesar Napoleon, for his grim visage was seared +on your<br> +brain—I mean, where your brain ought to be! And even had +you seen it<br> +wasn't the bulldog, you would have been frightened, all the same. +But I<br> +confess, Hicks, when you sailed over that high gate, it was one +on <i>us</i>."</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., drew a deep breath, and then a +Cheshire cat grin<br> +came to his cherubic countenance. So, after all, it had been a +hoax; there<br> +had not been any peril. No wonder these behemoths had so +courageously taken<br> +the cherries! But, beyond a doubt, the joke <i>had</i> helped him +to win his<br> +B. It had shown him he could clear five feet, ten inches, for he +had done<br> +it—and, in the meet, when the crucial moment came, the +knowledge that he<br> +<i>had</i> jumped that high, and, therefore, could do it, +helped—where the<br> +thought that he never had cleared it would have dragged him down. +He had at<br> +last won his B, a part of his beloved Dad's great ambition was +realized,<br> +and—</p> + +<p>"Oh, just leave it to Hicks!" quoth that sunny-souled, +irrepressible<br> +youth, swaggering a trifle, "It was my mighty will-power, my +terrific<br> +determination, that took me over the cross-bar, and +not—<i>not</i> your<br> +imitation of—"</p> + +<p>"Woof! Woof! Woof!" roared the +"Heavy-Weight-White-Hope-Brigade" in<br> +thunderous chorus. "Sick him—Caesar Napoleon—!"</p> + +<p><br> +CHAPTER XVII</p> + +<p>HICKS MAKES A RASH PROPHECY</p> + +<p>"Come on, Butch! Atta boy—some fin, old top! Say, you +Beef—you're asleep<br> +at the switch. What time do you want to be called? More pep +there,<br> +Monty—bust that little old bulb, Roddy! Aw, rotten! Say, +Ballard, your<br> +playing will bring the Board of Health down on you—why +don't you bring<br> +your first team out? Umpire? What—do you call that an +umpire? Why, he's<br> +a highway robber, a bandit. Put a 'Please Help the Blind' sign on +that<br> +hold-up artist!"</p> + +<p>Big Butch Brewster, captain of the Bannister College baseball +squad,<br> +navigating down the third-floor corridor of Bannister Hall, the +Senior<br> +dormitory, laden with suitcases, bat-bags, and other impedimenta, +as Mr.<br> +Julius Caesar says, and vastly resembling a bell-hop in action, +paused in<br> +sheer bewilderment on the threshold of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s, +cozy room.</p> + +<p>"Hicks!" stormed the bewildered Butch, wrathfully, "what in +the name of Sam<br> +Hill <i>are</i> you doing? Are you crazy, you absolutely insane +lunatic? This<br> +is a study-hour, and even if <i>you</i> don't possess an +intellect, some of the<br> +fellows want to exercise their brains an hour or so! Stop that +ridiculous<br> +action."</p> + +<p>The spectacle Butch Brewster beheld was indeed one to paralyze +that<br> +pachydermic collegian, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., the +sunny-souled,<br> +irrepressible Senior, danced madly about on the tiger-skin rug in +midfloor,<br> +evidently laboring under the delusion that he was a lunatical +Hottentot at<br> +a tribal dance; he waved his arms wildly, like a signaling +brakeman, or<br> +howled through a big megaphone, and about his toothpick structure +was<br> +strung his beloved banjo, on which the blithesome youth twanged +at times an<br> +accompaniment to his jargon:</p> + +<p>"Come on, Skeet, take a lead (<i>plunkety-plunk</i>!) Say, +d'ye wanta marry<br> +first base—divorce yourself from that sack! +(<i>plunk-plunk</i>!) Oh, you<br> +bonehead—steal—you won't get arrested for it! Hi! Yi! +Ouch, Butch! Oh,<br> +I'll be good—"</p> + +<p>At this moment, the indignant Butch abruptly terminated T. +Haviland Hicks,<br> +Jr.'s, noisy monologue by seizing that splinter-youth firmly by +the scruff<br> +of the neck and forcibly hurling him on the davenport. Seeing his +loyal<br> +class-mate's resemblance to a Grand Central Station +baggage-smasher, the<br> +irrepressible Senior forthwith imitated a hotel-clerk:</p> + +<p>"Front!" howled the grinning Hicks, to an imaginary bellboy, +"Show this<br> +gentleman to Number 2323! Are you alone, sir, or just by +yourself? I think<br> +you will like the room-it faces on the coal-chute, and has hot +and cold<br> +folding-doors, and running water when the roof leaks! The bed is +made once<br> +a week, regularly, and—"</p> + +<p>"Hicks, you Infinitesimal Atom of Nothing!" growled big Butch, +ominously.<br> +"What were you doing, creating all that riot, as I came down the +corridor?<br> +What's the main idea, anyway, of—"</p> + +<p>"Heed, friend of my campus days," chortled the graceless +Hicks, keeping<br> +a safe distance from his behemoth comrade, "tomorrow-your +baseball<br> +aggregation plays Ballard College, at that knowledge-factory, for +the<br> +Championship of the State. Because nature hath endowed me with +the<br> +Herculean structure of a Jersey mosquito, I am developing a +56-lung-power<br> +voice, and I need practice, as I am to be the only student-rooter +at the<br> +game tomorrow! Q.E.D.! And as for any Bannister student, except +perhaps<br> +Theophilus Opperdyke and Thor, desiring to investigate the +interiors of<br> +their lexicons tonight, I prithee, just periscope the +campus."</p> + +<p>"I guess you are right, Hicks!" grinned Butch Brewster, as he +looked from<br> +the window, down on an indescribably noisy scene. "For once, your +riotous<br> +tumult went unheard. Say, get your traveling-bag ready, and leave +that<br> +pestersome banjo behind, if you want to go with the nine!"</p> + +<p>Several members of the Gold and Green nine, embryo American +and National<br> +League stars, roosted on the Senior Fence between the Gymnasium +and the<br> +Administration Building, with, suitcases and bat-bags on the +grass. In a<br> +few minutes old Dan Flannagan's celebrated jitney-bus would +appear in the<br> +offing, coming to transport the Bannister athletes downtown to +the station,<br> +for the 9 P.M. express to Philadelphia. Incited by Cheer-Leaders +Skeezicks<br> +McCracken and Snake Fisher, several hundred youths encouraged the +nine,<br> +since, because of approaching final exams., they were barred by +Faculty<br> +order from accompanying the team to Ballard. In thunderous chorus +they<br> +chanted:</p> + +<p> "One more Job for the undertaker!<br> + More work for the tombstone maker!<br> + la the local ceme<i>tery</i>, they are +very—very—<i>very</i><br> + Busy on a brand-new grave for—Ballard!"</p> + +<p>As the lovable Hicks expressed it, "'Coming events cast their +shadows<br> +before.' Commencement overshadows our joyous campus existence!" +However, no<br> +Bannister acquaintance of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., could detect +wherein the<br> +swiftly approaching final separation from his Alma Mater had +affected in<br> +the least that happy-go-lucky, care-free, irrepressible youth. If +anything,<br> +it seemed that Hicks strove to fight off thoughts of the end of +his golden<br> +campus years, using as weapons his torturesome saengerfests, his +Beefsteak<br> +Busts down at Jerry's, and various other pastimes, to the vast +indignation<br> +of his good friend and class-mate, Butch Brewster, who tried +futilely to<br> +lecture him into the proper serious mood with which Seniors must +sail<br> +through Commencement!</p> + +<p>"You are a Senior, Hicks, a Senior!" Butch would explain +wrathfully. "You<br> +are popularly supposed to be dignified, and here you persist in +acting like<br> +a comedian in a vaudeville show! I suppose you intend to appear +on the<br> +stage, and, when handed your sheepskin, respond by twanging your +banjo and<br> +roaring a silly ballad."</p> + +<p>Yet, the cheery Hicks had been very busy, since that memorable +day when,<br> +thanks to Caesar Napoleon and the hoax of the +Heavy-Weight-White-Hope-<br> +Brigade of the track squad, he had cleared the cross-bar at +five-ten,<br> +and won the event and his white B! Mr. T. Haviland Hicks, Sr., +overjoyed<br> +at his son's achievement, had sent him a generous check, which +the youth<br> +much needed, and had promised to be present at the annual +Athletic<br> +Association Meeting, at Commencement, when the B's were +awarded<br> +deserving athletes, which caused Hicks as much joy as the pink +slip.<br> +With his final study sprint for the Senior Finals, his duties as +team-<br> +manager of the baseball nine, his preparations for Commencement, +his<br> +social duties at the Junior Prom., and multifarious other +details<br> +coincident to graduation, the heedless Hicks had not found time +to be<br> +sorrowful at the knowledge that it soon would end, forever, that +he must<br> +say "Farewell, Alma Mater," and leave the campus and corridors of +old<br> +Bannister; yet soon even Hicks' ebullient spirits must fail, +for<br> +Commencement was a trifle over a week off.</p> + +<p>"Hicks, you lovable, heedless, irrepressible wretch," said Big +Butch,<br> +affectionately, as the two class-mates thrilled at the scene. +"Does it<br> +penetrate that shrapnel-proof concrete dome of yours that the +Ballard game<br> +tomorrow is the final athletic contest of my, and likewise your, +campus<br> +career at old Bannister?"</p> + +<p>"Similar thoughts has smote my colossal intellect, Butch!" +responded the<br> +bean-pole Hicks, gladsomely. "But—why seek to overshadow +this joyous scene<br> +with somber reflections? You-should-worry. You have annexed +sufficient B's,<br> +were they different, to make up an alphabet. You've won your +letter on<br> +gridiron, track, and baseball field, and you've been team-captain +of<br> +everything twice! Why, therefore, sheddest thou them crocodile +tears?"</p> + +<p>"Not for myself, thou sunny-souled idler!" announced Butch, +generously,<br> +"But for <i>thee</i>! I prithee, since you pritheed me a few +moments hence, let<br> +that so-called colossal intellect of yours stride back along the +corridors<br> +of Time, until it reaches a certain day toward the close of our +Freshman<br> +year. Remember, you had made a hilarious failure of every +athletic event<br> +you tried-football, basketball, track, and baseball; you had just +made a<br> +tremendous farce of the Freshman-Sophomore track meet, and to me, +your<br> +loyal comrade, you uttered these rash words, 'Before I graduate +from old<br> +Bannister, I shall have won my B in three branches of sport!'</p> + +<p>"I reiterate and repeat, tomorrow's game with Ballard is the +last chance<br> +you will have. There is no possibility that you, with your +well-known lack<br> +of baseball ability, will get in the game, and—your track +B, won in the<br> +high-jump, is the only B you have won! Now, do you still maintain +that you<br> +will make good that rash vow?"</p> + +<p>"'Where there's a will, there's a way.' 'Never say die.' +'While there's<br> +life, there's hope.' 'Don't give up the ship.' 'Fight to the last +ditch.'<br> +'In the bright lexicon of youth there is no such word as +<i>fail</i>,'"<br> +quoth the irrepressible Hicks, all in a breath. "As long as there +is an<br> +infinitesimal fraction of a chance left, I repeat, just leave it +to Hicks!"</p> + +<p>"You haven't got a chance in the world!" Butch assured him, +consolingly.<br> +"You did manage to get into one football game, for a minute, and +you were a<br> +'Varsity player that long. By sticking to it, you have won your +track B in<br> +the high-jump, thanks to your grass-hopper build, and we rejoice +at your<br> +reward! Your Dad is happy that you've won a B, so why not be +sensible, and<br> +cease this ridiculous talk of winning your B in <i>three</i> +sports, when you<br> +can see it is preposterously out of the question, absolutely +impossible—"</p> + +<p>It was not that Butch. Brewster did not <i>want</i> his sunny +classmate to win<br> +his B in three sports, or that he would have failed to rejoice at +Hicks'<br> +winning the triple honor. Had such a thing seemed within the +bounds of<br> +possibility, Butch, big-hearted and loyal, would have been as +happy as<br> +Hicks, or his Dad. But what the behemoth athlete became wrathful +at was the<br> +obviously lunatical way in which the cheery Hicks, now that his +college<br> +years were almost ended, parrot-like repeated, "Oh, just leave it +to<br> +Hicks!" when he must know all hope was dead. In truth, T, +Haviland Hicks,<br> +Jr., in pretending to maintain still that he would make good the +rash<br> +vow of his Freshman year, had no purpose but to arouse his +comrade's<br> +indignation; but Butch, serious of nature, believed there really +lurked in<br> +Hicks' system some germs of hope.</p> + +<p>"We never know, old top!" chuckled Hicks, though he was +<i>sure</i> he could<br> +never fulfill that promise, as he had not played three-fourths of +a season<br> +on both the football and the baseball teams, "Something may show +up at the<br> +last minute, and—"</p> + +<p>At that moment, something evidently did show up, on the campus +below, for<br> +the enthusiastic students howled in: thunderous chorus, as the +"Honk!<br> +Honk!" of a Claxon was heard, "Here he comes! All together, +fellows—the<br> +Bannister yell for the nine—then for good old Dan +Flannagan!"</p> + +<p>As Hicks and Butch watched from the window, old Dan +Flannagan's jitney-bus,<br> +to the discordant blaring of a horn, progressed up the driveway, +even as it<br> +had done on that night in September, when it transported to the +campus<br> +T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., and Thor, the Prodigious Prodigy. Amid +salvos of<br> +applause from the Bannister youths, and blasts of the Claxon, old +Dan<br> +brought "The Dove" to a stop before the Senior Fence, and bowed +to the<br> +nine, grinning genially the while.</p> + +<p>"The car waits at the door, sir!" spoke T. Haviland Hicks, +Jr., touching<br> +his cap after the fashion of an English butler, before seizing a +bat-bag,<br> +and his suit-case. "As team manager, I must attempt to force into +Skeet<br> +Wigglesworth's dome how he and the five subs, are to travel on +the C. N. &<br> +Q., to Eastminster, from Baltimore. Come on, Butch, we're +off—"</p> + +<p>"You are always off!" commented Butch, good-humoredly, as he +seized his<br> +baggage and followed the mosquito-like Hicks from the room, +downstairs, and<br> +out on the campus. Here the assembled youths, with yells, cheers, +and songs<br> +sandwiched between humorous remarks to Dan Flannagan, watched the +thrilling<br> +spectacle of the Gold and Green nine, with the Team Manager and +five<br> +substitutes, fifteen in all, squeeze into and atop of Dan +Flannagan's<br> +jitney-Ford.</p> + +<p>"Let me check you fellows off," said Hicks, importantly, +peering into the<br> +jitney, for he, as Team Manager, had to handle the traveling +expenses.<br> +"Monty Merriweather, Roddy Perkins, Biff Pemberton. Butch +Brewster, Skeet<br> +Wigglesworth, Beef McNaughton, Cherub Challoner, Ichabod Crane, +Don<br> +Carterson; that is the regular nine, and are you five subs, +present? O. K.<br> +Skeet, climb out here a second."</p> + +<p>Little Skeet Wigglesworth, the brilliant short-stop, climbed +out with<br> +exceeding difficulty, and facing T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., he +saluted in<br> +military fashion. The team manager, consulting a timetable of the +C. N.<br> +&.Q. railroad, fixed him with a stern look.</p> + +<p>"Skeet," he spoke distinctly, "now, <i>get +this</i>—myself and eight regulars,<br> +<i>nine</i> in all, will take the 9 P. M. express for +Philadelphia, and stay<br> +there all night. Tomorrow, at 8 A. M., we leave Broad Street +Station for<br> +Eastminster, arriving at 11 A. M. Now I have a lot of unused +mileage on<br> +the C. N. & Q., and I want to use it up before Commencement. +So, heed: you<br> +want to go <i>via</i> Baltimore, to see your parents. You take +the 9.20 P. M.<br> +express tonight, to Baltimore, and go from that city in the +morning, to<br> +Eastminster, on the C. N, & Q.—it's the only road. And +take the five subs<br> +with you, to devour the mileage. Now, has that penetrated thy +bomb-proof<br> +dome?"</p> + +<p>"Sure; you don't have to deliver a Chautauqua lecture, Hicks!" +grinned<br> +Skeet. "Say, what time does my train leave Baltimore, in the +A.M., for<br> +Eastminster?"</p> + +<p>"Let's see." T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., handing the mileage-books +to the<br> +shortstop, focused his intellect on the C. N. & Q. timetable. +"Oh, yes—you<br> +leave Union Station, Baltimore, at 7:30 A.M., arriving at +Eastminster at<br> +noon; <i>it is the only train, you can get,</i> to make it in +time for the game,<br> +so remember the hour—7.30 A.M.! Here, stuff the timetable +in your pocket."</p> + +<p>In a few moments, the team and substitutes had been jammed +into old Dan<br> +Flannagan's jitney, and the Bannister youths on the campus +concentrated<br> +their interest on the sunny Hicks, who, grinning à la +Cheshire cat,<br> +climbed atop of "The Dove," which old Dan was having as much +trouble to<br> +start as he had experienced for over twenty years with the late +Lord<br> +Nelson, his defunct quadruped. Seeing Hicks abstract a +Louisville<br> +Slugger from the bat-bag, the students roared facetious remarks +at the<br> +irrepressible youth:</p> + +<p>"Home-run Hicks—he made a home-run—<i>on a +strike-out</i>!"—"Put Hicks in<br> +the game, Captain Butch—he will win it."—"Watch +Hicks—he'll pull<br> +some <i>bonehead</i> play!"—"Bring home the Championship, +but—lose Hicks<br> +somewhere!"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., as the battered engine of the jit. +yielded to<br> +old Dan's cranking, and kindly consented to start, surveyed the +yelling<br> +students, seized a bat, and struck an attitude which he fatuously +believed<br> +was that of Ty Cobb, about to make a hit; taking advantage of a +lull in the<br> +tumult, the lovable youth howled at the hilarious crowd:</p> + +<p>"Just leave it to Hicks! I will win the game and the +Championship, for my<br> +Alma Mater, and—I'll do it by my headwork!"</p> + +<p><br> +CHAPTER XVIII</p> + +<p>T. HAVILAND HICKS, JR'S. HEADWORK</p> + +<p>"Play Ball! Say, Bannister, are you <i>afraid</i> to +play?"</p> + +<p>"Call the game, Mr. Ump.—make 'em play ball!"</p> + +<p>"Batter up! Forfeit the game to Ballard, Umpire!"</p> + +<p>"Lend 'em Ballard's bat-boy-to make a full nine!"</p> + +<p>Captain Butch Brewster, his honest countenance, as a +moving-picture<br> +director would express it, "registering wrathful dismay," +lumbered toward<br> +the Ballard Field concrete dug-out, in which the Gold and Green +players<br> +had entrenched themselves, while from the stands, the Ballard +cohorts<br> +vociferated their intense impatience at the inexplicable +delay.</p> + +<p>"We have <i>got</i> to play," he raged, striding up and down +before the bench.<br> +"The game is ten minutes late now, and the crowd is restless! And +here we<br> +have only <i>eight</i> 'Varsity players, and no one to make the +ninth—not even<br> +a sub.! Oh, I could—"</p> + +<p>"That brainless Skeet Wigglesworth!" ejaculated T. Haviland +Hicks, Jr.,<br> +who, arrayed like a lily of the field, reposed his +splinter-structure on<br> +the bench with his comrades. "In some way, he managed to +<i>miss</i> that train<br> +from Baltimore! They didn't come on the noon C, N. & Q. +train, and there<br> +isn't another one until night. My directions were as plain as a +German<br> +war-map, and it beats me how Skeet got befuddled!"</p> + +<p>Gloom, as thick and abysmal as a London fog, hovered over the +Bannister<br> +dug-out. On the concrete bench, the seven Gold and Green +athletes, Beef,<br> +Monty, Roddy, Biff, Ichabod, Don, and Cherub, with Team Manager +T. Haviland<br> +Hicks, Jr., stared silently at Captain Butch Brewster, who seemed +in<br> +imminent peril of exploding. Something probably never before +heard of in<br> +the annals of athletic history had happened. Bannister College, +about to<br> +play Ballard the big game for the State Championship, had lost a +short-stop<br> +and five substitutes, in some unfathomable manner, and it was +impossible<br> +to round up one other member of the Gold and Green baseball +squad. True, a<br> +hundred loyal alumni were in the stands, but only <i>bona +fide</i> students, of<br> +course, were eligible to play the game, and—the Faculty +ruling had kept<br> +them at old Bannister!</p> + +<p>"Here comes Ballard's Manager," spoke Beef McNaughton, as a +brisk,<br> +clean-cut youth advanced, a yellow envelope in hand. "Why, he has +a<br> +telegram. Do you suppose Skeet actually had <i>brains</i> enough +to wire an<br> +explanation?"</p> + +<p>"Telegram for Captain Brewster!" announced the Ballard +collegian, giving<br> +the message to that surprised behemoth. "It was sent in my +care—collect,<br> +and the sender, name of Wigglesworth, fired one to me personally, +telling<br> +me to deliver this one to Captain Butch Brewster, and collect +from Team<br> +Manager Hicks—he surely didn't bother to save money! I've +been out of<br> +town, and just got back to the campus; of course, the telegrams +could not<br> +be delivered to anyone but me, hence the delay."</p> + +<p>Big Butch, thanking the Ballard Team Manager, and assuring him +that the<br> +charges he had paid would be advanced to him after the game, +ripped open<br> +the yellow envelope, and drew out the message. Like a +thunder-storm<br> +gathering on the horizon, a dark expression came to good +Butch's<br> +countenance, and when he had perused the lengthy telegram, he +transfixed<br> +the startled and bewildered T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., with an angry +glare:</p> + +<p>"Bonehead!" he raged, apparently controlling himself with a +superhuman<br> +effort. "Oh, you lunatic, you wretch, +villain—you—<i>you</i>—"</p> + +<p>To the supreme amazement and dismay of the puzzled Hicks, +Beef, next in<br> +line, after <i>he</i> had scanned Skeet's telegram, followed +Butch's example,<br> +for <i>he</i> glowered at the perturbed youth, and heaped +condemnations on his<br> +devoted head. And so on down the line on the bench, until Monty, +Roddy,<br> +Biff, Ichabod, Don, and Cherub, reading the message, joined in +gazing<br> +indignantly at their gladsome Team Manager, who, as the eight +arose <i>en<br> +masse</i> and advanced on him, sought to flee the wrath to +come.</p> + +<p>"Safety first!" quoth T, Haviland Hicks, Jr. "'Mine not to +reason why, mine<br> +but to haste and fly,' or—be crushed! Ouch! Beef, +Monty—have a heart!"</p> + +<p>Captured by Beef and Monty Merriweather, as he frantically +scrambled up<br> +the steps of the concrete dug-out, the grinning Hicks was held in +the firm<br> +grasp of that behemoth, Butch Brewster, aided by the skyscraper +Ichabod,<br> +while Cherub Challoner thrust the telegram before his eyes. In +words of<br> +fire that burned themselves into his brain—something his +colleagues<br> +denied he possessed—T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., saw the +explanation of Skeet<br> +Wigglesworth's missing the train from Baltimore that A. M. Dazed, +the sunny<br> +youth read the message on which over-charges must be paid:</p> + +<p>"Hicks—you bonehead! The time-table of the C.N. & Q. +you gave me was an<br> +old one—schedule revised two weeks ago! Train now leaves +Balto. at 6.55<br> +A.M.! When we got to station at 7.05 A.M. she had went! No train +to Ballard<br> +till night! I and subs, had to wire Bannister for money to get +back on!<br> +You mis-manager—the <i>head-work</i> you boasted of is +boneheadwork! Pay the<br> +charges on this, you brainless insect! I'll send it to Butch, for +you'd<br> +never show it to him if I sent it to you! Indignantly—</p> + +<p>"SKEET."</p> + +<p>"Mis-manager is <i>right</i>!" seethed Captain Butch, for once +in his campus<br> +career really wrathy at the lovable Hicks. "We are in a +fix—eight players,<br> +and the crowd howling for the game to start. Oh, I could jump +overboard,<br> +and drag you with me!"</p> + +<p>"Bonehead! Bonehead!" chorused the Gold and Green players, +indignantly.<br> +"Gave Skeet an out-of-date time-table—never looked at the +date! Let's drag<br> +him out before the crowd, and announce to them his brilliant +headwork!"</p> + +<p>Captain Butch, "up against it," to employ a slightly slang +expression,<br> +gazed across Ballard Field. In the stands, the students +responding<br> +thunderously to their cheer-leaders' megaphoned requests, roared, +"Play<br> +ball! Play ball! Play ball!" Gay pennants and banners fluttered +in the<br> +glorious sunshine of the June day. It was a bright scene, but its +glory<br> +awakened no happiness in the heart of the Bannister leader, as +his gaze<br> +wandered to the somewhat flabbergasted expression on the cheery +Hicks'<br> +face. That inevitably sunny youth, however, managed to conjure up +a faint<br> +resemblance of his Cheshire cat grin, and following his usual +habit of<br> +letting nothing daunt his gladsome spirit, he croaked feebly: +"Oh, just<br> +leave it to Hicks! I will—"</p> + +<p>"Play the game!" thundered Butch, inspired. "Beef, see the +umpire and say<br> +we'll be ready as soon as we get Hicks into togs-show him the +telegram, and<br> +explain our delay! I'll shift Monty from the outfield to Skeet's +job at<br> +short, and put this diluted imitation of something human in the +field, to<br> +do his worst. Come to the field-house, you poor fish—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Butch, I can't—I just <i>can't</i>!" protested the +alarmed Hicks,<br> +helpless, as the big athlete towed him from the trench, +"I—I can't play<br> +ball, and I don't want to be shown up before all that mob! It's +all right<br> +at Bannister, in class-games, but—Oh, can't you play the +game with <i>eight</i><br> +fellows?"</p> + +<p>"That is just what we intend to do!" said Butch, with grim +humor.<br> +"But—we'll have a dummy in the ninth position, to make the +people believe<br> +we have a full nine! Cheer up, Hicks—'In the bright lexicon +of youth<br> +there ain't no such word as fail,' you say! As for your making a +fool of<br> +yourself, you haven't brains enough to be classed as one! +Now—you'll pay<br> +dearly for your bonehead play."</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., as agitated as a +<i>prima donna</i><br> +making her début with the Metropolitan: Opera Company, +decorated the<br> +Bannister bench, arrayed in one of the substitutes' baseball +suits. It<br> +was too large for his splinter-structure, so that it flapped +grotesquely,<br> +giving him a startling resemblance to a scarecrow escaped from a +cornfield.<br> +With the thermometer of his spirits registering zero, the +dismayed youth,<br> +whose punishment was surely fitting the crime, heard the Umpire +bellow:</p> + +<p>"Play ball! Batter up! Bannister at bat—Ballard in the +field!"</p> + +<p>Hicks, that sunny-souled youth, had often daydreamed of +himself in a big<br> +game of baseball, for his college. He had vividly imagined a +ninth inning<br> +crisis, three of the enemy on base, two out, and a long fly, good +for a<br> +home-run, soaring over his head. How he had +sprinted—back—back—and at<br> +the last second, reached high in the air, grabbing the soaring +spheroid,<br> +and saving the game for his Alma Mater! Often, too, he had +stepped up to<br> +bat in the final frame, with two out, one on base, and Bannister +a run<br> +behind. With the vast crowd silent and breathless, he had +walloped the<br> +ball, over the left-field fence, and jogged around the bases, +thrilling to<br> +the thunderous cheers of his comrades. But now—</p> + +<p>"Oooo!" shivered Hicks, as though he had just stepped beneath +an icy<br> +shower-bath. "I wish I could run away. I just <i>know</i> they'll +knock every<br> +ball to me, and I couldn't catch one with a sheriff and +posse!"</p> + +<p>However, since, despite the blithesome Hicks' lack of +confidence, it was<br> +that sunny Senior, after all, whom fate—or fortune, +accordingly as<br> +each nine viewed it—destined to be the hero of the +Bannister-Ballard<br> +Championship baseball contest, the game itself is shoved into +such<br> +insignificance that it can be briefly chronicled by recording the +events<br> +that led up to T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s, self-prophesied +"head-work."</p> + +<p>Without Skeet Wigglesworth at shortstop, with the futile Hicks +in<br> +right-field, and the confidence of the nine shaken, Captain Butch +Brewster<br> +and the Gold and Green players went into the big game, unable to +shake off<br> +the feeling that they would be defeated. And when Pitcher Don +Carterson,<br> +in his half of the frame, passed the first two Ballard batters, +the belief<br> +deepened to conviction. However, a fast double play and a long +fly ended<br> +the inning without damage, and Bannister, likewise, had failed to +make an<br> +impression on the score-board. In the second, Don promptly showed +that he<br> +was striving to rival the late Cy Morgan, of the Athletics, for +he promptly<br> +hit two batters and passed the third, whereupon, as +sporting-writers<br> +express it, he was "derricked" by Captain Butch.</p> + +<p>Placing the deposed twirler in left field, Captain Brewster, +as a last<br> +resort, believing the game hopelessly lost, with his star pitcher +having<br> +failed, and his relief slabmen, thanks to Hicks, mislaid <i>en +route</i>, sent<br> +out to the box one Ichabod Crane, brought in from the position +given to<br> +Don Carterson. This cadaverous, skyscraper Senior, who always +announced,<br> +himself as originating, "Back at Bedwell Center, Pa., where I +come from—"<br> +was well known to fame as the "Champion Horse-Shoe Pitcher of +Bucks<br> +County," but his baseball pitching was rather uncertain; like the +girl in<br> +the nursery jingle, Ichabod, as a twirler, "When he was good, he +was very,<br> +very good, and when he was wild, he was <i>horrid</i>!" Like +Christy Mathewson,<br> +after he had pitched a few balls, he knew whether or not he was +in<br> +shape for the game, and so did the spectators. With terrific +speed and<br> +bewildering curves, Ichabod would have made a star, but his +wildness<br> +prevented, and only on very rare days could he control the +ball.</p> + +<p>Luckily for old Bannister's chances of victory and the +Championship, this<br> +was one of the elongated Ichabod's rare days. He ambled into the +box, with<br> +the bases full, and promptly struck out a batter. The next rolled +to first,<br> +forcing out the runner at home, while the third hitter under +Ichabod's<br> +régime drove out a long fly to center-field. Thus the game +settled to one<br> +of the most memorable contests that Ballard Field had ever +witnessed, a<br> +pitchers' battle between the awkward, bean-pole youth from +"Bedwell Center,<br> +Pa.," and Bob Forsythe, the crack Ballard twirler. It was a fight +long<br> +to be remembered, with hits as scarce as auks' eggs, and runs out +of the<br> +reckoning, for six innings.</p> + +<p>At the start of the seventh, with the Ballard rooters standing +and<br> +thundering, "The lucky seventh! Ballard—win the game in the +lucky<br> +seventh!" the score was 0-0. Only two hits had been made off +Forsythe, of<br> +Ballard, whose change of pace had the Bannister nine at his +mercy, and<br> +but three off Ichabod, who had superb control of his dazzling +speed. T.<br> +Haviland Hicks, Jr., cavorting in right field, had made the only +error of<br> +the contest, dropping an easy fly that fell into his hands after +he had run<br> +bewilderedly in circles, when any good fielder could have stood +still and<br> +captured it; however, since he got the ball to second in time to +hold the<br> +runner at third, no harm resulted.</p> + +<p>"Hold 'em, Bannister, <i>hold</i> 'em!" entreated Butch +Brewster, as they went<br> +to the field at their end of the lucky seventh, not having +scored. "Do your<br> +best, Hicks, old man—never mind their Jokes. If you can't +<i>catch</i><br> +the ball, just get it to second, or first, without delay! Pitch +ball,<br> +Ichabod—three innings to hold 'em!"</p> + +<p>But it was destined to be the lucky seventh for Ballard. An +error on a hard<br> +chance, for Roddy Perkins, at third, placed a runner on first. +Ichabod<br> +struck out a hitter, and the runner stole second, aided somewhat +by the<br> +umpire. The next player flew out, sacrificing the runner to +third; then—an<br> +easy fly traveled toward the paralyzed T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., +one that<br> +anybody with the most infinitesimal baseball ability could have +corralled,<br> +as Butch said, "with his eyes blindfolded, and his hands tied +behind him!"<br> +But Hicks, who possessed absolutely <i>no</i> baseball talent, +though he made<br> +a desperate try, succeeded in doing an European juggling act for +five<br> +heartbreaking seconds, after which he let the law of gravity act +on the<br> +sphere, so that it descended to terra firma. Hence, the "Lucky +Seventh"<br> +ended with the score: Ballard, 1; Bannister, 0; and the Ballard +cohorts in<br> +a state bordering on lunacy!</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've done it now—I've lost the game and the +Championship!" groaned<br> +the crushed Hicks, as he stumbled toward the Bannister bench. +"First I made<br> +that bonehead play, giving Skeet an old time-table I had on hand, +and not<br> +telling him to get one at the station. How was I to know the old +railroad<br> +would change the schedule, within two weeks of this game? And +now—I've<br> +made the error that gives Ballard the Championship. If I hadn't +pulled that<br> +boner, Skeet would be here, and the regular right-fielder would +have had<br> +that fly. What a glorious climax to my athletic career at old +Bannister!"</p> + +<p>Hicks' comrades were too generous, or heartbroken, to condemn +the sorrowful<br> +youth, as he trailed to the dug-out, but the Ballard rooters had +absolutely<br> +no mercy, and they panned him in regulation style. In fact, all +through<br> +the game, Hicks expressed himself as being butchered by the fans +to make a<br> +Ballard holiday, for he struck out with unfailing regularity at +bat, and<br> +dropped everything in the field, so that the rooters jeered him, +whenever<br> +he stepped to the plate, and—it was quite different from +the good-natured<br> +ridicule of his comrades, back at old Bannister.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, Hicks," said good Butch Brewster, brokenly, +seeing how<br> +sorrow-stricken his sunny classmate was, "We'll beat +'em—yet! We bat this<br> +inning, and in the ninth maybe someone will knock a home-run for +us, and<br> +tie the score."</p> + +<p>The eighth Inning was the lucky one for the Gold and Green. +Monty<br> +Merriweather opened with a clean two-base hit to left, and +advanced to<br> +third on Biff Pemberton's sacrifice to short. Butch, trying to +knock a<br> +home-run, struck out-à la "Cactus" Cravath in the World's +Series; but the<br> +lanky Ichabod, endeavoring to bunt, dropped a Texas-Leaguer over +second,<br> +and the score was tied, though the sky-scraper twirler was caught +off base<br> +a moment later. And, though Ballard fought hard in the last of +the eighth,<br> +Ichabod displayed big-league speed, and retired two hitters by +the<br> +strike-out route, while the third popped out to first.</p> + +<p>"The <i>ninth</i> Inning!" breathed Beef McNaughton, picking +up his Louisville<br> +Slugger, as he strode to the plate. "Come on, boys—we will +win the<br> +Championship <i>right now</i>. Get one run, and Ichabod will hold +Ballard one<br> +more time!"</p> + +<p>Perhaps the pachydermic Beef's grim attitude unnerved the +wonderful Bob<br> +Forsythe, for he passed that elephantine youth. However, he +regained his<br> +splendid control, and struck out Cherub Challoner on three +pitched balls.<br> +After this, it was a shame to behold the Ballard first-baseman +drop the<br> +ball, when Don Carterson grounded to third, and would have been +thrown<br> +out with ease—with two on base, and one out, Roddy Perkins +made a sharp<br> +single, on which the two runners advanced a base. Now, with the +sacks<br> +filled, and with only one out—</p> + +<p>"It's all over!" mourned Captain Butch Brewster, rocking back +and forth on<br> +the bench. "Hicks—is—at—bat!"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., his bat wobbling, and his knees acting +in a similar<br> +fashion, refusing to support even that fragile frame, staggered +toward the<br> +plate, like a martyr. A tremendous howl of unearthly joy went up +from the<br> +stands, for Hicks had struck out every time yet.</p> + +<p>"Three pitched balls, Bob!" was the cry. "Strike him out! It's +all over but<br> +the shouting! He's scared to death, Forsythe—he can't hit a +barn-door<br> +with a scatter-gun! One—two—three—out! Here's +where Ballard wins the<br> +Championship."</p> + +<p>Twice the grinning Bob Forsythe cut loose with blinding +speed—twice the<br> +extremely alarmed Hicks dodged back, and waved a feeble +Chautauqua salute<br> +at the ball he never even saw! Then—trying to "cut the +inside corner" with<br> +a fast inshoot, Forsythe's control wavered a trifle, and T. +Haviland Hicks,<br> +Jr., saw the ball streaking toward him! The paralyzed youth felt +like a man<br> +about to be shot by a burglar. He could feel the bail thud +against him,<br> +feel the terrific shock; and yet—a thought instinctively +flashed on him,<br> +he remembered, in a flash, what a tortured Monty Merriweather had +shouted,<br> +as he wobbled to bat:</p> + +<p>"Get a base on balls, or—if you can't <i>make</i> a +hit—<i>get hit</i>!"</p> + +<p>If he got hit—it meant a run forced in, as the bases +were full! That, in<br> +all probability, would give old Bannister the Championship, for +Ichabod was<br> +invincible. It is not likely that the dazed Hicks thought all +this out, and<br> +weighed it against the agony of getting hit by Forsythe's speed. +The truth<br> +is, the paralyzed youth was too petrified by fear to dodge, and +that before<br> +he could avoid it, the speeding spheroid crashed against his +noble brow<br> +with a sickening impact.</p> + +<p>All went black before him, T, Haviland Hicks, Jr., pale and +limp, crumpled,<br> +and slid to the ground, senseless; therefore, he failed to hear +the roar<br> +from the Bannister bench, from the loyal Gold and Green rooters +in the<br> +stands, as big Beef lumbered across the plate with what proved +later to be<br> +the winning run. He did not hear the Umpire shout: "Take your +base!"</p> + +<p> "What's the matter with our Hicks—he's all right!<br> + What's the matter with our Hicks—he's all right!<br> + He was never a star in the baseball game,<br> + But he won the Championship just the same—<br> + What's the matter with our Hicks-he's all right!"</p> + +<p>"Honk! Honk!" Old Dan Flannagan's jitney-bus, rattling up the +driveway,<br> +bearing back to the Bannister campus the victorious Gold and +Green nine,<br> +and the State Intercollegiate Baseball Championship, though the +hour was<br> +midnight, found every student on the grass before the Senior +Fence! Over<br> +three hundred leather-lunged youths, aided by the Bannister Band, +and every<br> +known noise-making device, hailed "The Dove," as that unseaworthy +craft<br> +halted before them, with the baseball nine inside, and on top. +However, the<br> +terrific tumult stilled, as the bewildered collegians caught the +refrain<br> +from the exuberant players:</p> + +<p> "He was never a star in the baseball game—<br> + But he won the Championship just the same—<br> + What's the matter with our Hicks—he's all right!"</p> + +<p>"Hicks did what?" shrieked Skeezicks McCracken, voicing +through a megaphone<br> +the sentiment of the crowd. Captain Butch had simply telegraphed +the final<br> +score, so old Bannister was puzzled to hear the team lauding T. +Haviland<br> +Hicks, Jr., who, still white and weak, with a bandage around his +classic<br> +forehead, maintained a phenomenal quiet, atop of "The Dove," +leaning<br> +against Butch Brewster.</p> + +<p>"Fellows," shouted Butch, despite Hicks' protest, rising to +his feet on the<br> +roof of the "jit."—"T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., today won the +game and the<br> +Championship! Listen—"</p> + +<p>The vast crowd of erstwhile clamorous youths stood spellbound, +as Captain<br> +Butch Brewster, in graphic sentences, described the +game—Don Carterson's<br> +failure, Ichabod's sensational pitching, Hicks' errors, +and—the wonderful<br> +manner in which the futile youth had won the Championship! As +little Skeet<br> +Wigglesworth and the five substitutes, who had returned that +afternoon, had<br> +spread the story of Hicks' bonehead play, old Bannister had +turned out to<br> +ridicule and jeer good-naturedly the sunny youth, but now they +learned that<br> +Hicks had been forced by his own mistake into the Big Game, and +had won it!<br> +Of course, his comrades knew it had been through no ability of +his, but the<br> +knowledge that he had been knocked senseless by Forsythe's great +speed, and<br> +had suffered so that his college might score, thrilled them.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with Hicks?" thundered Thor, he who at one +time would<br> +have called this riot foolishness, and forgetting that the nine +had just<br> +chanted the response to this query.</p> + +<p>"He's all right!" chorused the collegians, in ecstasy.</p> + +<p>"Who's all right?" demanded John Thorwald, his blond head +towering over<br> +those of his comrades. To him, now, there was nothing silly about +this<br> +performance!</p> + +<p>"Hicks! Hicks! Hicks!" came the shout, and the band fanfared, +while the<br> +exultant collegians shouted, sang, whistled, and created an +indescribable<br> +tumult with their noise-making devices. For five minutes the +ear-splitting<br> +din continued, a wonderful tribute to the lovable, popular youth, +and then<br> +it stilled so suddenly that the result was startling, +for—T. Haviland<br> +Hicks, Jr., swaying on his feet arose, and stood on the roof of +the "jit."</p> + +<p>With that heart-warming Cheshire cat grin on his cherubic +countenance, the<br> +irrepressible Hicks seized a Louisville Slugger, assumed a +Home-Run Baker<br> +batting pose, and shouted to his breathlessly waiting +comrades:</p> + +<p>"Fellows, I vowed I would win that baseball game and the +Championship for<br> +my Alma Mater by my headwork! With the bases full, and the score +a tie, the<br> +Ballard pitcher hit me in the head with the ball, forcing in the +run that<br> +won for old Ballard—now, if that wasn't +<i>headwork</i>—"</p> + +<p><br> +CHAPTER XIX</p> + +<p>BANNISTER GIVES HICKS A SURPRISE PARTY</p> + +<p> "We have come to the close of our college days.<br> + Golden campus years soon must end;<br> + From Bannister we shall go our ways—<br> + And friend shall part from friend!<br> + On our Alma Mater now we gaze,<br> + And our eyes are filled with tears;<br> + For we've come to the close of our college days,<br> + And the end of our campus years!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr., Bannister, '92; Yale, '96, and +Pittsburgh<br> +millionaire "Steel King," stood at the window of Thomas Haviland +Hicks,<br> +Jr.'s, room, his arm across the shoulders of that sunny-souled +Senior, his<br> +only son and heir. Father and son stood, gazing down at the +campus. On the<br> +Gym steps was a group of Seniors, singing songs of old Bannister, +songs<br> +tinged with sadness. Up to Hicks' windows, on the warm June: +night, drifted<br> +the 1916 Class Ode, to the beautiful tune, "A Perfect Day." Over +before the<br> +Science Hall, a crowd of joyous alumni laughed over narratives of +their<br> +campus escapades. Happy undergraduates, skylarking on the +campus,<br> +celebrated the end of study, and gazed with some awe at the +Seniors, in cap<br> +and gown, suddenly transformed into strange beings, instead of +old comrades<br> +and college-mates.</p> + +<p>"'The close of our college days, and the end of our campus +years—!'"<br> +quoted Mr. Hicks, a mist before his eyes as he gazed at the +scene. "In a<br> +few days, Thomas, comes the final parting from old +Bannister—I know it<br> +will be hard, for I had to leave the dear old college, and also +Yale. But<br> +you have made a splendid record in your studies, you have been +one of<br> +the most popular fellows here, and—you have vastly pleased +your Dad, by<br> +winning your B in the high-jump."</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s, last study-sprint was at an end, the +final Exams.<br> +of his Senior year had been passed with what is usually termed +flying<br> +colors; and to the whole-souled delight of the lovable youth, he +and little<br> +Theophilus Opperdyke, the Human Encyclopedia, had, as Hicks +chastely<br> +phrased it, "run a dead heat for the Valedictory!" So close had +their<br> +final averages been that the Faculty, after much consideration, +decided to<br> +announce at the Commencement exercises that the two Seniors had +tied for<br> +the highest collegiate honors, and everyone was satisfied with +the verdict.<br> +So, now it was all ended; the four years of study, athletics, +campus<br> +escapades, dormitory skylarking—the golden years of college +life, were<br> +about to end for 1919. Commencement would officially start on the +morrow,<br> +but tonight, in the Auditorium, would be held the annual +Athletic<br> +Association meeting, when those happy athletes who had won their +B during<br> +the year would have it presented, before the assembled +collegians, by<br> +one-time gridiron, track, and diamond heroes of old +Bannister.</p> + +<p>And—the ecstatic Hicks would have his track B, his white +letter, won in<br> +the high-jump, thanks to Caesar Napoleon's assistance, awarded +him by his<br> +beloved Dad, the greatest all-round athlete that ever wore the +Gold and<br> +Green! Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr., <i>en route</i> to New +Haven and Yale in<br> +his private car, "Vulcan," had reached town that day, together +with other<br> +members of Bannister College, Class of '92. They, as did all the +old<br> +grads., promptly renewed past memories and associations by riding +up to<br> +College Hill in Dan Flannagan's jitney-bus—a youthful, +hilarious crowd of<br> +alumni. Former students, alumni, parents of graduating Seniors, +friends,<br> +sweethearts—every train would bring its quota. The campus +would again<br> +throb and pulsate with that perennial +quickening—Commencement. Three days<br> +of reunions, Class Day exercises, banquets, and other events, +then the<br> +final exercises, and—T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., would be an +alumnus!</p> + +<p>"It's like Theophilus told Thor, last fall, Dad," said the +serious Hicks.<br> +"You know what Shakespeare said: 'This thou perceivest, which +makes thy<br> +love more strong; To love that well which thou must leave ere +long.' Now<br> +that I soon shall leave old Bannister, I—I wish I had +studied more, had<br> +done bigger things for my Alma Mater! And for you, Dad, too; I've +won a B,<br> +but perhaps, had I trained and exercised more, I might have +annexed another<br> +letter—still; hello, what's Butch hollering—?"</p> + +<p>Big Butch Brewster, his pachydermic frame draped in his gown, +and his<br> +mortar-board cap on his head, for the Seniors were required to +wear their<br> +regalia during Commencement week, was bellowing through a +megaphone, as he<br> +stood on the steps of Bannister Hall, and Mr. Hicks, with his +cheerful son,<br> +listened:</p> + +<p>"Everybody—Seniors, Undergrads., Alumni—in the +Auditorium at eight sharp!<br> +We are going to give Mr. Hicks and T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., a +surprise<br> +party—don't miss the fun!"</p> + +<p>"Now, just what does Butch mean, Dad?" queried the bewildered +Senior.<br> +"Something is in the wind. For two days, the fellows have had a +secret<br> +from me—they whisper and plot, and when I approach, loudly +talk of<br> +athletics, or Commencement! Say, Butch—Butch—I ain't +a-comin' tonight,<br> +unless you explain the mystery."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you be, old sport!" roared Butch, from the campus, +employing the<br> +megaphone, "or you don't get your letter! Say, Hicks, one sweetly +solemn<br> +thought attacks me—old Bannister is puzzling <i>you</i> +with a mystery, instead<br> +of vice versa, as is usually the case."</p> + +<p>"Well, Thomas," said Mr. Hicks, his face lighted by a +humorous, kindly<br> +smile, as he heard the storm of good-natured jeers at Hicks, Jr., +that<br> +greeted Butch Brewster's fling, "I'll stroll downtown, and see if +any of<br> +my old comrades came on the night express. I'll see you at the +Athletic<br> +Association meeting, for I believe I am to hand you the B. I +can't imagine<br> +what this 'surprise party' is, but I don't suppose it will harm +us. It will<br> +surely be a happy moment, son, when I present you with the +athletic letter<br> +you worked so hard to win."</p> + +<p>When T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s, beloved Dad had gone, his firm +stride<br> +echoing down the corridor, that blithesome, irrepressible +collegian, whom<br> +old Bannister had come to love as a generous, sunny-souled youth, +stood<br> +again by the window, gazing out at the campus. Now, for the first +time, he<br> +fully realized what a sad occasion a college Commencement really +is—to<br> +those who must go forth from their Alma Mater forever. With +almost the<br> +force of a staggering blow, Hicks suddenly saw how it would hurt +to leave<br> +the well-loved campus and halls of old Bannister, to go from +those comrades<br> +of his golden years. In a day or so, he must part from good +Butch, Pudge,<br> +Beef, Ichabod, Monty, Roddy, Cherub, loyal little Theophilus and +all his<br> +classmates of '19, as well as from his firm friends of the +undergraduates.<br> +It would be the parting from the youths of his class that would +cost him<br> +the greatest regret. Four years they had lived together the +care-free<br> +campus life. From Freshmen to Seniors they had grown and +developed<br> +together, and had striven for 1919 and old Bannister, while a +love for<br> +their Alma Mater had steadily possessed their hearts. And now +soon they<br> +must sing, "Vale, Alma Mater!" and go from the campus and +corridors, as<br> +Jack Merritt, Heavy Hughes, Biff McCabe, and many others had done +before<br> +them.</p> + +<p>Of course, they would return to old Bannister. There would be +alumni<br> +banquets at mid-year and Commencement, with glad class reunions +each year.<br> +They would come back for the big games of the football or +baseball season.<br> +But it would never be the same. The glad, care-free, golden years +of<br> +college life come but once, and they could never live them, as of +old.</p> + +<p>"Caesar's Ghost!" ejaculated T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., making a +dive for his<br> +beloved banjo, as he awakened to the startling fact that for some +time he<br> +had been intensely serious. "This will never, never do. I must +maintain my<br> +blithesome buoyancy to the end, and entertain old Bannister with +my musical<br> +ability. Here goes."</p> + +<p>Assuming a striking pose, à la troubadour, at the open +window, T.<br> +Haviland Hicks, Jr., a somewhat paradoxical figure, his +splinter-structure<br> +enshrouded in the gown, the cap on his classic head, this regalia +symbolic<br> +of dignity, and the torturesome banjo in his grasp, twanged a +ragtime<br> +accompaniment, and to the bewilderment of the old Grads on the +campus, as<br> +well as the wrath of 1919, he roared in his fog-horn voice:</p> + +<p> "Oh, I love for to live in the country!<br> + And I love for to live on the farm!<br> + I love for to wander in the grass-green fields—<br> + Oh, a country life has the charm!<br> + I love for to wander in the garden—<br> + Down by the old haystack;<br> + Where the pretty little chickens go 'Kick-Kack-Kackle!'<br> + And the little docks go 'Quack! Quack!'"</p> + +<p>From the Seniors on the Gym steps, their dignified song rudely +shattered by<br> +this rollicking saenger-fest, came a storm of protests; to the +unbounded<br> +delight of the alumni, watching the scene with interest, shouts, +jeers,<br> +whistles, and cat-calls greeted Hicks' minstrelsy:</p> + +<p>"Tear off his cap and gown—he's a disgrace to '19!"</p> + +<p>"Shades of Schumann-Heink—give that calf more rope!"</p> + +<p>"Ye gods—how long must we endure—that?"</p> + +<p>"Hicks, a Senior—nobody home—can that noise!"</p> + +<p>"Shoot him at sunrise! Where's his Senior dignity?"</p> + +<p>Big Butch Brewster, referring to his watch, bellowed through +the megaphone<br> +that it was nearly eight o'clock, and loudly suggested that they +forcibly<br> +terminate Hicks' saengerfest, and spare the town police force a +riot call<br> +to the campus, by transporting the pestiferous youth to the +Auditorium,<br> +for his "surprise party." His idea finding favor, he, with Beef +and Pudge,<br> +somewhat hampered by their gowns, lumbered up the stairway of +Bannister,<br> +and down the third-floor corridor to the offending Hicks' +boudoir, followed<br> +by a yelling, surging crowd of Seniors and underclassmen. They +invaded the<br> +graceless youth's room, much to the pretended alarm of that +torturesome<br> +collegian, who believed that the entire student-body of old +Bannister had<br> +foregathered to wreak vengeance on his devoted head.</p> + +<p>"Mercy! Have a heart, fellows!" plead T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., +helpless in<br> +the clutches of Butch, Beef, and Pudge, "I won't never do it no +more, no<br> +time! Say, this is too much—much too much—too much +much too much—I,<br> +Oh—<i>help—aid—succor—relief—assistance—"</i></p> + +<p>"To the Auditorium with the wretch!" boomed Butch; and the +splinter-youth<br> +was borne aloft, on his broad shoulders, assisted by Beef +McNaughton. They<br> +transported the grinning Hicks down the corridor, while fifty +noisy youths,<br> +howling, "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow!" tramped after them. +Downstairs<br> +and across the campus the hilarious procession marched, and into +the<br> +Auditorium, where the students and alumni were gathering for the +awarding<br> +of the athletic B. A thunderous shout went up, as T. Haviland +Hicks, Jr.,<br> +was carried to the stage and deposited in a chair.</p> + +<p>"Hicks! Hicks! Hicks! We've got a surprise +for—Hicks!"</p> + +<p>"Now, just what have I did to deserve all these?" grinned +that<br> +happy-go-lucky youth, puzzled, nevertheless. "Well, time will +tell, so all<br> +I can do is to possess my soul with impatience; old Bannister has +a mystery<br> +for me, this trip!"</p> + +<p>In fifteen minutes, the Athletic Association meeting opened. +On the stage,<br> +beside its officers, were those athletes, including T. Haviland +Hicks, Jr.,<br> +who were to receive that coveted reward—their B, together +with a number of<br> +one-time famous Bannister gridiron, track, basketball, and +diamond stars.<br> +Each youth was to receive his monogram from some ex-athlete who +once wore<br> +the Gold and Green, and Hicks' beloved Dad—Bannister's +greatest hero—was<br> +to present his son with the letter.</p> + +<p>There were speeches; the Athletic Association's President +explained the<br> +annual meeting, former Bannister students and athletic idols told +of past<br> +triumphs on Bannister Field; the football Championship banner, +and the<br> +baseball pennant were flaunted proudly, and each team-captain of +the year<br> +was called upon to talk. Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr., a great +favorite<br> +on the campus, delivered a ringing speech, an appeal to the +undergraduates<br> +for clean living, and honorable sportsmanship, and then:</p> + +<p>"We now come to the awarding of the athletic B," stated the +President. "The<br> +Secretary will call first the name of the athlete, and then the +alumnus who<br> +will present him with the letter. In the name of the Athletic +Association<br> +of old Bannister, I congratulate those fellows who are now to be +rewarded<br> +for their loyalty to their Alma Mater!"</p> + +<p>Thrilled, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., watched his comrades, as +they responded<br> +to their names, and had the greatest glory, the B, placed in +their hands by<br> +past Bannister athletic heroes. Butch, Beef, Roddy, Monty, +Ichabod, Biff,<br> +Hefty, Tug, Buster, Deacon Radford, Cherub, Don, Skeet, Thor, who +had<br> +won the hammer-throw. These, and many others, having earned the +award by<br> +playing in three-fourths of a season's games on the eleven or the +nine, or<br> +by winning a first place in some track event, stepped forward, +and were<br> +rewarded. Some, as good Butch, had gained their B many times, but +the fact<br> +that this was their last letter, made the occasion a sad one. +Every name<br> +was called but that of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., and that perturbed +youth<br> +wondered at the omission, when the President spoke:</p> + +<p>"The last name," he said, smiling, "is that of Thomas Haviland +Hicks, Jr.,<br> +and we are glad to have his father present the letter to his son, +as Mr.<br> +Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr., is with us. However, we Bannister +fellows have<br> +prepared a surprise party for our lovable comrade, and I beg your +patience<br> +awhile, as I explain."</p> + +<p>Graphically, Dad Pendleton described the wonderful all-round +athletic<br> +record made by Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr., while at old +Bannister, and<br> +sketched briefly but vividly his phenomenal record at Yale; he +told of<br> +Mr. Hicks' great ambition, for his only son, Thomas, to follow in +his<br> +footsteps—to be a star athlete, and shatter the marks made +by his Dad.<br> +Then he reminded the Bannister students of T. Haviland Hicks, +Jr.'s,<br> +athletic fiascos, hilarious and otherwise, of three years. He +explained how<br> +that cheery youth, grinning good-humoredly at his comrades' +jeers, had been<br> +in earnest, striving to realize his father's ambition. As the +spellbound<br> +collegians and grads. listened, Dad chronicled Hicks' dogged +persistence,<br> +and how he finally, in his Senior year, won his track B in the +high-jump.<br> +Then he described the biggest game of the past football season, +the contest<br> +that brought the Championship to old Bannister. The youths and +alumni heard<br> +how T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., made a great sacrifice, for the +greater goal;<br> +how, after training faithfully in secret for a year, hoping +sometime to win<br> +a game for his Alma Mater, he cheerfully sacrificed his chance to +tie the<br> +score by a drop-kick, and became the pivotal part of a fake-kick +play that<br> +won for the Gold and Green.</p> + +<p>"I have left Hicks' name until last," said Dad, with a smile, +"because<br> +tonight we have a surprise party for our sunny comrade, and for +his Dad. In<br> +the past, the eligibility rule, as regards the football and +baseball B, has<br> +been—an athlete must play on the 'Varsity in three-fourths +of the season's<br> +games. But, just before the Hamilton game, last fall, the +Advisory Board of<br> +the Athletic Association amended this rule.</p> + +<p>"We decided to submit to the required two-thirds majority vote +of the<br> +students this plan, inasmuch as many athletes, toiling and +sacrificing all<br> +season for their college, never get to win their letter, yet +deserve<br> +that reward for their loyalty, we suggested that Bannister +imitate the<br> +universities. Anyone sent into the Yale-Harvard game, you know, +wins his<br> +H or Y. If one team is safely ahead, a lot of scrubs are run into +the<br> +scrimmage, to give them their letter. Therefore, we—the +Advisory<br> +Board—made this rule: 'Any athlete taking part, for any +period of time<br> +whatsoever, in the Ballard football or baseball game as a regular +member of<br> +the first team shall be eligible for his Gold or Green B. This +rule, upon<br> +approval of the students, to be effective from September 25!'</p> + +<p>"Now," continued the Athletic Association President, "we +decided to keep<br> +this new ruling a secret until the present, for this reason: Many +good<br> +football and baseball players, not making the first teams, lack +the loyalty<br> +to stick on the scrubs, and others, not as brilliant, but with +more<br> +college spirit, give their best until the season's end. We knew +that if we<br> +announced this rule last fall, several slackers, who had quit the +squad,<br> +would come out again, just on the hope of getting sent into the +Ballard<br> +game, for their B. This would not be fair to those who loyally +stuck to the<br> +scrubs. So we did not announce the rule until the year closed, +and then a<br> +practically unanimous vote of the students made the rule +effective from<br> +September 25. So—all athletes who took part in the Ballard +football game,<br> +last fall, for any period of time whatsoever, are eligible for +the gold B,<br> +and the same, as regards the green letter, applies to the Ballard +baseball<br> +game this spring."</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., gasped. Slowly, the glorious truth +dawned on the<br> +happy-go-lucky Senior—he had been sent into the +Bannister-Ballard football<br> +game; the crucial and deciding play had turned on him, hence he +had won his<br> +gold letter! And thanks to his brilliant "mismanaging" of the +nine, losing<br> +shortstop Skeet Wigglesworth and the substitutes, he had played +the entire<br> +nine innings of the Ballard-Bannister baseball contest, and, +therefore,<br> +was eligible for his green B. In a dazed condition, he heard Dad +Pendleton<br> +saying:</p> + +<p>"You remember how T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., was sent into the +Ballard<br> +game, and how the fake-play fooled Ballard, who believed he would +try<br> +a drop-kick? Well, knowing Hicks to be eligible for his football +B, we<br> +planned a surprise party. The Advisory Board kept the new rule a +secret,<br> +and not until this week was it voted on. Then, the required +two-thirds<br> +majority made it effective from last September—we managed +to have Hicks<br> +absent from the voting, and the fellows helped us with our +surprise! So<br> +instead of Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr., presenting his son +with one<br> +B, that for track work, we are glad to hand him <i>three</i> +letters, one for<br> +football, one for baseball, and one for track, to give our own T. +Haviland<br> +Hicks, Jr. And, let me add, he can accept them with a clear +conscience, for<br> +when the rule was made by the Advisory Board, we had no idea that +Hicks<br> +would ever be eligible in football or baseball,"</p> + +<p>A moment of silence, and then undergraduates and alumni, +thrilled at Dad<br> +Pendleton's announcement, arose in a body, and howled for T. +Haviland<br> +Hicks, Jr., and his beloved Dad. Mr. Hicks, unable to speak, +silently<br> +placed the three monograms, gold, green, and white, in his son's +hands, and<br> +placed his own on the shoulders of that sunny-souled Senior, who +for once<br> +in his heedless career could not say a word!</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with Hicks?" Big Butch Brewster roared, and +a terrific<br> +response sounded:</p> + +<p>"He's all right! Hicks! Hicks! Hicks!"</p> + +<p>For ten minutes pandemonium reigned. Then, regardless of the +fact that, in<br> +order to surprise Mr. Hicks and his son, other athletes, eligible +under the<br> +new rule, had yet to be presented with their B, the howling +youths swarmed<br> +on the stage, hoisted the grinning T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., and +his happy<br> +Dad to their shoulders, and started a wild parade around the +campus and the<br> +Quadrangle, singing:</p> + +<p>"Here's to our own Hicks—drink it down! Drink it down! +Here's to our own<br> +Hicks—drink it down! Drink it down! Here's to our own +Hicks—When he<br> +starts a thing, he sticks—Drink it down—drink it +down—down! Down!<br> +Down!"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., aloft on the shoulders of his behemoth +class-mate,<br> +Butch Brewster, was deliriously happy. The surprise party of his +campus<br> +comrades was a wonderful one, and he could scarcely realize that +he had<br> +actually, by the Athletic Association ruling, won his three B's! +How glad<br> +his beloved Dad, was, too. He had not expected this bewildering +happiness.<br> +He had been so joyous, when his sort earned the track letter, but +to<br> +have him leave old Bannister, with a B for three sports—it +was almost<br> +unbelievable! And, as Dad had said—there had been no +thought of Hicks when<br> +the Advisory Board made the rule, so Hicks had no reason to +suppose it was<br> +done just to award him his letter.</p> + +<p>Then, Hicks remembered that rash vow, made at the end of his +Freshman year,<br> +a vow uttered with absolutely no other thought than a desire to +torment<br> +Butch Brewster, "Before I graduate from old Bannister, I shall +have won<br> +my B in three branches of sport!" Never, not even for a moment, +had the<br> +happy-go-lucky youth believed that his wild prophecy would be +fulfilled,<br> +though he had pretended to be confident to tease his loyal +comrades; but<br> +now, at the very end of his campus days, just before he +graduated, his<br> +prediction had come true! So the sunny Senior, who four years +before had<br> +made his rash vow, saw its realization, and suddenly thrilled +with the<br> +knowledge that he had a golden opportunity to make Butch +indignant.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say, Butch," he drawled, nonchalantly, leaning down to +talk in<br> +Butch's ear, "do you recall that day, at the close of our +Freshman year,<br> +when I vowed to win my B in three branches of sport, ere I bade +farewell to<br> +old Bannister?"</p> + +<p>"No, you don't get away with that!" exploded Butch Brewster, +indignantly,<br> +lowering his tantalizing classmate to terra firma. "Here, Beef, +Pudge,<br> +catch this wretch; he intends to swagger and say—"</p> + +<p>But he was too late, for T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., dodging from +his grasp,<br> +imitated the celebrated Charley Chaplin strut, and satiated his +fun-loving<br> +soul. After waiting for three years, the irrepressible youth +realized an<br> +ambition he had never imagined would be fulfilled.</p> + +<p>"Oh, just leave it to Hicks!" quoth he, gladsomely. "I told +you I'd win<br> +my three B's, Butch, old top, and—<i>ow</i>!—unhand +me, you villain, you<br> +<i>hurt</i>!"</p> + +<p><br> +CHAPTER XX</p> + +<p>"VALE, ALMA MATER!"</p> + +<p> "Oh, it was 'Ave, Alma Mater—'<br> + We sang as Freshmen gay;<br> + But it's 'Vale, Alma Mater' now<br> + As our last farewells we say!"</p> + +<p>"Honk-Honk! Br-r-rr-r-Bang! Honk-Monk! Br-rr-rr-r—"</p> + +<p>T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., big Butch Brewster, Beef McNaughton, +Pudge Langdon,<br> +Scoop Sawyer, and little Theophilus Opperdyke—late Seniors +of old<br> +Bannister—roosted atop of good old Dan Flannagan's famous +jitney-bus<br> +before Bannister Hall. It was nearly time for the 9.30 A. M. +express, but<br> +the "peace-ship" had inconsiderately stalled, and the choking, +wheezing,<br> +and snorting of the engine, as old Dan frenziedly cranked, +together with<br> +the Claxon, operated by Skeet Wigglesworth, rudely interrupted +the Seniors'<br> +chant. A vociferous protest arose above the tumult:</p> + +<p>"Oh, the little old Ford—rambled right along—like +heck!"</p> + +<p>"Can that noise-we want to sing a last song, boys!"</p> + +<p>"Chuck that engine, Dan, and put in an alarm clock +spring!"</p> + +<p>"Christmas is coming, Dan-u-el—we've graduated you +know!"</p> + +<p>"'The Dove' doesn't want us to leave old Bannister, +fellows!"</p> + +<p>Commencement was ended. The night before, on the stage of +Alumni Hall,<br> +before a vast audience of old Bannister grads, undergraduates, +friends, and<br> +relatives of the Seniors, the Class of 1919 had received its +sheepskins,<br> +and the "Go forth, my children, and live!" of its Alma Mater. T, +Haviland<br> +Hicks, Jr., and timorous little Theophilus had jointly delivered +the<br> +Valedictory, eight other Seniors, including Butch, Scoop, and the +lengthy<br> +Ichabod, had swayed the crowd with oratory. Kindly old Prexy, his +voice<br> +tremulous, had talked to them, as students, for the last time. +The Class<br> +Ode had been sung, the Class Shield unveiled, and +then—Hicks and his<br> +comrades of '19 were alumni!</p> + +<p>It had been a busy, thrilling time, Commencement Week. There +had been<br> +scarcely any spare moments to ponder on the parting so soon to +come; after<br> +the memorable Athletic Association meeting, when T. Haviland +Hicks, Jr.,<br> +and his beloved Dad had been given a wonderful "surprise party" +by the<br> +collegians, and Hicks had corralled his three B's, time had +"sprinted with<br> +spiked shoes," as the sunny Hicks stated. Event had followed +event in<br> +bewildering fashion. The Seniors, dignified in cap and gown, had +been fêted<br> +and banqueted, the cynosure of all eyes. Campus and town were +filled with<br> +visitors. Old Bannister pulsated with renewed life, with the glad +reunions<br> +of former students. There had been the Alumni Banquet, the annual +baseball<br> +game between the 'Varsity and old-time Gold and Green diamond +stars, Class<br> +Night exercises, the Literary Society Oratorical Contests, and +the last<br> +Class Supper; and, Commencement had come.</p> + +<p>It was all ended now—the four happy, golden years of +campus life, of glad<br> +fellowship with each other; like those who had gone before, T. +Haviland<br> +Hicks, Jr., and his comrades of 1919 had come to the final +parting. The<br> +sunny-souled youth's Dad had gone to New Haven, to Yale's +Commencement.<br> +Alumni and visitors had left town; the night before had witnessed +farewells<br> +with Monty, Roddy, Biff, Hefty, and the underclassmen, with that +awakened<br> +Colossus, John Thorwald. All the collegians had gone, except the +few<br> +Seniors now leaving, and they had remained to enjoy Hicks' final +Beefsteak<br> +Bust downtown at Jerry's.</p> + +<p>The campus was silent and deserted. No footsteps or voices +echoed in the<br> +dormitories, and a shadow of sadness hovered over all. The youths +who were<br> +leaving old Bannister forever felt an ache in their throats, and +little<br> +Theophilus Opperdyke's big-rimmed spectacles were fogged with +tears. Three<br> +times, in the past, they had left the campus, but this was +forever, as<br> +collegians!</p> + +<p>"I don't care if we miss the old train!" declared Scoop +Sawyer, as the<br> +jitney-Ford's engine wheezed, gasped, and was silent, for all of +Dan's<br> +cranking. "Just think, fellows, it's all over now—'We have +come to the end<br> +of our college days-golden campus years are at an end—!' +Say, Hicks, old<br> +man, what's your Idea. What future have you blue-printed?"</p> + +<p>"Journalism!" announced T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., sticking a +fountain pen<br> +behind his ear, and fatuously supposing he resembled a City +Editor, "In me<br> +you behold an embryo Richard Harding Davis, or Ty—no, I +mean Irvin Cobb.<br> +I shall first serve my apprenticeship as a 'cub,' but ere many +years, I<br> +shall sit at a desk, run a newspaper, and tell the world where to +get off."</p> + +<p>"That is—If Dad says so!" chuckled Butch Brewster. "You +know, Hicks, it's<br> +the same old story—your father wants you to learn how to +own steel and<br> +iron mills, and when it comes to a showdown, you must convince +Mr. Thomas<br> +Haviland Hicks, Sr., that you'd make a better journalist than +Steel King!"</p> + +<p>"Nay, nay-say not so!" responded the happy-go-lucky alumnus of +old<br> +Bannister, as the perspiring" Dan Flannagan cranked away +futilely. "My Dad<br> +has a broader vision, fellows, than most men. He and I talked it +over last<br> +night, and he would never try to make me take up anything but a +work that<br> +appeals to me. While, as Butch says, he'd like to train me to +follow in his<br> +footsteps, he understands my ambition so thoroughly that he is +trying to<br> +get me started—read this:"</p> + +<p>The lovable youth produced a letter, the envelope bearing the +heading: "THE<br> +BALTIMORE CHRONICLE;" Butch Brewster, to whom he extended it, +read aloud:</p> + +<p>"Baltimore, Maryland,</p> + +<p>"June 12, 1919.</p> + +<p>"DEAR OLD CLASSMATE:</p> + +<p>"I'd sure like to be with you, back at old Yale, next week, +but I can't<br> +leave the wheel of this ship, the Chronicle, for even a day. Give +my<br> +regards to all of old Eli, '96, old man.</p> + +<p>"As regards a berth for your son, Thomas. The Chronicle +usually takes<br> +on a few college men during the summer, when our staff is off +on<br> +vacations. We always use undergraduates, and often, in two or +three<br> +summers, we develop them into star reporters. However, for old +time's<br> +sake, I'll be glad to give your son a chance, and if he means +business,<br> +let him report for duty next Friday, at 1 P.M., to my office.<br> +Understand, Hicks, he must come here and fight his own way, +without any<br> +favor or special help from me. Were he the son of our +nation's<br> +President, I'd not treat him a whit better than the rest of the +Staff,<br> +so let him know that in advance. On the other hand, I'll develop +him all<br> +I can, and if he has the ability, the Chronicle long-room is the +place<br> +for him.</p> + +<p>"Yours for old Yale,</p> + +<p>"'Doc' Whalen, Yale, '96,</p> + +<p>"City Editor—THE CHRONICLE."</p> + +<p>"Here's my Dad's ultimatum," grinned Hicks, when. Butch +finished the<br> +letter. "I am to take a summer as a cub on the Baltimore +Chronicle,<br> +making my own way, and living on my weekly salary, without +financial aid<br> +from anyone. If, at the end of the summer, City Editor Whalen +reports that<br> +I've made good enough to be retained as a regular, +then—Yours truly for<br> +the Fourth Estate. If I fail, then I follow a course charted out +by Mr.<br> +Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr.! So, it is up to me to make +good—"</p> + +<p>"You—you will make good, Hicks," quavered Theophilus, +whose faith in the<br> +shadow-like youth was prodigious. "Oh, that will be splendid, for +I am<br> +going to take a course at a business college in Baltimore. I want +to become<br> +an expert stenographer, and we'll be together,"</p> + +<p>"It's work now, fellows!" sighed Beef McNaughton, shifting his +huge bulk<br> +atop of the jit "College years are ended, we're chucked into the +world, to<br> +make good, or fail! Butch and I have not decided on our work yet. +We may<br> +accept jobs as bank or railroad presidents, or maybe run for +President<br> +of the U.S.A., provided John McGraw or Connie Mack do not sign us +up.<br> +However—"</p> + +<p>At that moment, the engine of old Dan Flannagan's battered +"Dove" consented<br> +to hit on two cylinders, and the genial Irishman, who was to +transport<br> +Hicks and his comrades, as collegians, for the last time, yelled, +"All<br> +aboard!" loudly, to conceal his emotion at the sad scene.</p> + +<p>"We're off!" shrieked Skeet Wigglesworth, stowed away below, +as the<br> +jitney-bus moved down the driveway. "Farewell, dear old +Bannister! Run<br> +slow, Dan, we want to gaze on the campus as long as we can."</p> + +<p>The youths were silent, as the 'bus rolled slowly down the +driveway and<br> +under the Memorial Arch, old Dan, sympathizing with them, and +finding he<br> +could make the express by a safe margin, allowing the jitney to +flutter<br> +along at reduced speed. From its top, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., his +vision<br> +blurred with tears, gazed back with his class-mates. He saw the +campus, its<br> +grass green, with stately old elms bordering the walks, and the +golden<br> +June sunshine bathing everything in a soft radiance. He beheld +the college<br> +buildings—the Gym., the Science Hall, the Administration +Building,<br> +Recitation Hall, the ivy-covered Library; the white Chapel, and +the four<br> +dorms., Creighton, Smithson, Nordyke, Bannister. One year he had +spent in<br> +each, and every year had been one of happiness, of glad +comradeship.<br> +He could see Bannister Field, the scene of his many hilarious +athletic<br> +fiascos.</p> + +<p>And now he was leaving it all—had come to the end of his +college course,<br> +and before him lay Life, with its stern realities, its grim +obstacles, and<br> +hard struggles; ended were the golden campus days, the gay +skylarking<br> +in the dorms. Gone forever were the joyous nights of entertaining +his<br> +comrades, of Beefsteak Busts down at Jerry's. Silenced was his +beloved<br> +banjo, and no more would his saengerfests bother old +Bannister.</p> + +<p>A turn in the street, and the campus could not be seen. As the +last vision<br> +of their Alma Mater vanished, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., smiling +sunnily<br> +through his tear-blurred eyes, gazed at his comrades of old +'19—</p> + +<p>"Say, fellows—" he grinned, though his voice was shaky, +"let's—let's<br> +start in next September, and—do it all over again!"</p> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's T. Haviland Hicks Senior, by J. Raymond Elderdice + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK T. HAVILAND HICKS SENIOR *** + +This file should be named 8hick10h.htm or 8hick10h.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8hick11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8hick10ah.htm + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, David Widger, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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