CHAPTER IV
MICHAELMAS TERM
This late talk with Carroll did more toward putting Tony at his ease inthe school than perhaps anything that happened to him. From that timeon he became very friendly with his room-mate—all the better friendsdoubtless because they always maintained toward each other a certainreserve, due rather to Carroll’s involuntary elaborateness of mannerthan to any deliberate effort on their part. All the better also was itthat real as was their mutual regard for each other neither had thatenthusiastic affection that school boys so frequently experience, andof which Tony was already aware in another direction. For just such afriendship quickly developed between him and Jimmie Lawrence.
He has missed one of the purest joys of life who has not known thedelights of an enthusiastic boyish friendship. It has its sweetnesses,its fears and scruples, as has every other love; but there is acloudless carelessness about its happy days as about no other period oflife. For Tony, in that first Indian summer at Deal to wander off fromthe common fields with Jimmie Lawrence, into unfamiliar haunts, intothe enchanted region of Lovel’s Woods, or along the rocky kelp-strewnshores of the Strathsey River or the tawny beaches of the Neck, was ajoy pure and unalloyed.
Among others Carroll watched the development of this friendship withinterest. Carroll was not the sort to give his affection quickly insuch whole-hearted fashion, though he cared deeply enough about things,he thought. He neither approved nor disapproved of his room-mate’sdevotion to Jimmie, certainly was not jealous of it. If such thingsmust be—he had a way of smiling with his assumed air of cynicismwhen friendship was mentioned—why he supposed Jimmie Lawrence was asworthy of Tony’s devotion as the next boy. Carroll never spoke of thisfriendship to Tony, but tactfully began to welcome Jimmie as a visitorto their rooms during that fall term. To his own form-mates he referredto his study as “the kindergarten.” He did, however, speak unusuallyfrankly to Tony of another friendship which that youth appeared to havemade. They had wandered toward the beach one evening. Football practicewas just over; Tony had had his bath and was glowing a beautiful pinkand white in the soft air of the Indian summer twilight.
“Do you know,” said Carroll, flecking at the pebbles in the sands, asthey stopped at the creek, “that you have made a great hit with ourbeloved Bill?”
Tony laughed. “Bill’s made a great hit with me, I may say. Butdoubtless that’s plain enough.”
“Oh, perfectly,” answered Carroll who was used to boys likingMr. Morris, “but it has never been evident before that Bill hasparticularly cared for one of us rather than for another; he has beenextraordinarily decent to everyone with whom he has to do, just asGumshoe has been extraordinarily odious. For myself, I have alwaysdisliked intensely the attitude that most school masters think itexpedient to assume—to wit, a sort of official consciousness of auniversal _in loco parentis_, a grim determination to make people thinkevery boy is liked just in the same way, which we know is impossible,and as undesirable as it is unreal. Witness, Gumshoe really makes megrateful to him, despite his native hideousness, because he neveraddresses me without a sarcastic snarl or an odious grin as though Iwere amusing him. One understands that amusement.”
“Oh, quite,” said Tony, absently.
Reggie did not like these little interjections in his monologue. “Don’tassume to be paying attention,” he commented now. “I know of coursethat you are not until I get back to you. Don’t think it necessary toassent. I am accustomed to talking without being listened to.”
“Oh, dry up, Reggie, go on with Bill—what about him?”
“Ah, I thought our curiosity had been aroused. This, little one; he hadsucceeded better than most people in liking a good many fellows, withthe result of course that the fellows really like him. But, for you,his liking is more patent than usual. I congratulate you—not to say, Ienvy you.”
“Nonsense,” began Tony.
“Cultivate him, my boy.”
“Oh, I mean to do that,” Deering answered. “Tell me, do you like Mr.Morris, Reggie; you’re such a—”
“I, oh I adore him,—in my way; but even so much is between you andme. He is a demi-god, the superman. As for me, I amuse him, interesthim, baffle him a little, I hope; but he will never be fond of me. Itwill be a relief to Bill when I get out of his house.”
“Don’t you think it’s just that he’s never been sure whether or not hecould trust you?” asked Tony.
Carroll for once started. “Trust me? Good heavens, Deering, I imaginethe man takes me for a gentleman.”
“Oh, of course, that—I meant rather in other ways; if he counts on youto help out....”
“Oh!” Carroll exclaimed, with a tone of relief, “I dare say not.... Idare say not....” And for a while he seemed to think rather seriously.Tony wondered to himself how he had happened to stumble on whatdoubtless was a sore spot with his room-mate in his relation to thehouse-master. As for Carroll’s talk about Mr. Morris’s good opinion,Tony only took that half seriously. He hoped it was true, of course.Tony liked to be liked, as perhaps most people do.
Those were really golden days for him, which he was always to recallwith a peculiar sense of pleasure. He was consciously happier than hehad ever been before, because often at home there had been certainfamily shadows that dimmed the day. Life went well with him thatfirst fall term. He seemed to catch the spirit of the school almostby intuition; indeed, as he said to himself one afternoon as he stoodon the terrace in front of the Old School, looking down across thesloping meadows, past the ochre-colored beach, out upon Deigr Rock anda quivering ocean, it was in his blood: it was his inheritance andtradition to be a part of and to love Deal School.
He was quick and sensible enough to keep his classroom work up to theaverage, and though he did not distinguish himself as a scholar, hesuffered very little from detention or pensums, those popular devicesfor the torture of the dull and the lazy. He had his long afternoonsfree, save for football. And football in that day, under what Tonyever felt was a wise dispensation of the Head’s, was never allowed toabsorb more than an hour, except when a game was on. As it was, healways had a good hour or so of daylight in which with a congenialcompanion,—Jimmie, or Kit, or Carroll, often,—he could explore thesurrounding country. And this for Tony soon became the most fascinatingway of spending his time. Before the Michaelmas term was over he hadgot to know every path and by-way for five miles roundabout. To a boywho had eyes as well as wits there was a plenty to interest him inthe region about Deal;—the bold and varied shore, with its rocks andbeaches, its coves and caves, its points and necks, the abode of wildfowl of the sea; the rolling fertile country to the north; Lovel’sWoods; the quiet waters of Deal Great Pond; the quaint streets of theold town of Monday Port, with its rotting wharves and empty harbor.
This strange old town, despite everywhere the lingering touch of thesummer invasion, with its suggestion of a vanished trade, in the winterwas bereft of all save its memories of a bygone order of things; andwith these memories, to an imaginative boy, the town seemed heavy.It required a special permission and a good excuse for any of theschoolboys, except the Sixth, to get the freedom of its streets. Tonywas especially keen for such excuses and such freedom. His first walkthere had been with Mr. Morris, who seemed to know the intimate storiesof its houses, to be familiar with all its little secrets. In lessconventional conversations Tony planned escapades for that direction;but as yet nothing very definite suggested itself. The penalties forbeing caught in Monday Port without the good excuse were consideredexcessive and usually not worth the risk. Mr. Morris had a glorioustale of the days when he was a schoolboy at Deal, of the actualexodus from the school by night of the whole Fifth, the boarding of aschooner that had lain dreaming in the sleepy harbor for a day or so, athrilling sail into the open, and the overhauling of the pirate crew bythe Head in a steam-launch. Those were the good old days of birching,and yes, Mr. Morris had caught it. He had smiled at the memory as if itwere a pleasant one.
Golden days that
more and more took the aspect of holidays as midstschool strain and throbbing excitement, they drew near the day of the“great game” with Boxford, the rival school across the Smoke mountains.
It had seemed possible for some time that Tony might make end on theSchool team. Mr. Stenton, the athletic director, though he had avigorous way of finding fault, forever threatening the boys with defeatand the benches and fines, secretly regarded Deering as a “find.” Hehad watched his play for a week or two on Kit Wilson’s Third Formteam; saw that he was green but teachable, and judged that he was oneof the swiftest runners that had ever come to Deal. The end of thefirst month found Tony a member of the School squad.
To the old boys it seemed almost “fresh” that a newcomer should beable to play football so much better than they, and to be a greenhornat that! But Jack Stenton knew his business; he was an old Kingsbridgeman, and he had played on the Kingsbridge eleven in the very earliestdays of American football, when it was a very different game indeed.And Stenton made up his mind that Tony eventually should make theKingsbridge eleven. Deal boys had not been taking many places onKingsbridge teams of recent years, which was a matter of real grief tothe faithful coach. Stenton, however, was the last man in the worldto give a boy a good opinion of himself, so that he pretended to holdout to Tony but the smallest hope. “You may squeeze into shape,” hewould say, “but I doubt it.” And in truth he was averse to playing anew boy in a big game; so that up to the eve of the Boxford game theline-up was in doubt. Tony had a vigorous rival for his position, inHenry Marsh, one of the members of the hazing-bee of the first fewnights at Deal. Marsh was quick; Tony was quicker; but Marsh had theadvantage of knowing the game, and clever as Tony was proving himself,he nevertheless was a greenhorn.
His promotion to the school squad did a great deal for Deering in theway of increasing his popularity. Kit Wilson no longer patronized him;on the other hand he was rather proud of Tony’s friendship, and took agood deal of credit to himself for having discovered him. He proposedDeering for membership in the Dealonian, a semi-secret society thattook a great deal of credit to itself for the smooth and successfulrunning of the School. Membership in it was an honor, which a new boyrarely achieved. It was enough to have turned our friend’s head, buthe was singularly not a self-conscious youth, and to this it was duethat his quick success aroused so little jealousy. Tony had the qualityof lovableness to a marked degree, which is after all a quality; itwas what won him at college in later years the nickname of “Sunshine,”a famous nickname in the annals of Kingsbridge, as Kingsbridgeansknow—but that’s another story.
In all the unexpected happiness of the term there was for Tonynevertheless the inevitable rift in the lute. Chapin was still sulkytoward him; and he could see beneath a rather elaborate courtesy, thatHenry Marsh, Chapin’s particular crony, was anything but friendly.This lack of friendliness became so noticeable to Carroll that despitehis intimacy with the two, he began to draw somewhat away from them.Carroll thought that they had singularly failed to appreciate Tony’s“whiteness” in saving them all from an unmerciful horsing. Even theHead Master had called their attention to that in his brief discourseto them on that unpleasant morning afterwards.
Carroll met the two coming out of Thornton Hall—the refectory—oneevening after supper, and joined them as they walked around theterrace in the moonlight.
“I say, you fellows,” he began, plunging _in medias res_—Carrollalways took the unexpected line—“why the deuce do you keep so sour onyoung Deering?”
Chapin looked up quickly, his eyes glinting unpleasantly in themoonlight. “Hang it, Carroll!” he exclaimed, “what’s that to you? We’veno obligation to take up with every little southern beggar that comesto school, as you seem to have.”
“No, assuredly,” Carroll replied, suavely, “but it occurs to me thatwhen a chap has behaved as uncommonly decently to us as Deering has,you might show a little—well, appreciation.”
“Rot! Deering has had a swelled head ever since the night of thehazing-bee, and if Jack Stenton sticks him on the team for the Boxfordgame there’ll be no holding him. We will be for sending him up toKingsbridge instanter.”
“You are uttering unspeakable nonsense, my dear Arthur, and you knowit. Give the lad a show; play fair. What’s the matter with you, Harry?”he added, turning to Marsh, “it is only lately that you have taken tosnubbing him.”
Marsh gave an uneasy laugh. “Oh, Arty and me hang together,” he saidlamely.
“Well, that is more than you can say for your English,” remarkedCarroll, with a contemptuous smile, and turned away.
Chapin followed him up, and laid an arm upon his shoulder. “Look here,Reggie,” he exclaimed, “don’t let’s bicker about this kid. I don’t likehim, but what difference need that make between us? We have stuckpretty close these four years. Come on now, let’s slip down to thecave, hit the pipe, and talk things over.”
“No, thank you,” replied Carroll briefly.
“Come on, Reggie, do,” put in Marsh, “we’ve bagged a bottle of wineto-day, and we’ll bust it to-night in your honor.”
“Thanks, no; seductive as your offering is, I rather fancy you maycount me out of your little meetings in the future.” And with the wordsCarroll went on his way.
The two boys looked after him a moment, until he entered the OldSchool, when Chapin exclaimed, with an oath, “Let him go, Harry; we’llcount him out all right; but we’ll get even with his cub.”
Marsh murmured an assent, but hung back a little when Chapin renewedthe proposal to visit the cave on the beach. “Don’t let us go to-night,Art; remember you’re in training.”
“The deuce with training. What’s the use of banging your head against afootball for a month if a greenhorn like that is to be shoved into thefront row at the last moment. I’m going to have some fun nights, andyou’ll see, I shall be as fit as a fiddle in the morning anyway.” Andas he spoke, he drew Marsh’s arm within his, and together they startedfor the beach.
From that day Carroll avoided them, a circumstance that did notincrease their friendliness toward Tony. It had been comparativelyeasy at the time for Reginald to take the course he did, but as thedays came and went, he began to miss the companionship of Chapin andMarsh more than he cared to acknowledge. Although naturally there waslittle in common between them, for so long a time he had identifiedhimself with them and their crowd,—attracted by their willingnessto engage upon any lark however wild and their keenness to avoidschool rules, a process to which his own languid existence had beensecretly dedicated,—that he keenly missed the nefarious exploits theircompanionship afforded. To be sure he had stopped smoking, he wasbracing up a bit and helping Mr. Morris out with the discipline of thehouse, but beyond that he craved as ardently as ever the excitement andadventure of his more careless days.
At that moment he was ripe to have entered into a closer intimacy withTony, or even with Mr. Morris. But Deering was absorbed in the lifeof his form, and except at night he and Carroll had no opportunity ofbeing together, and then Tony was so tired out with football practicethat by “lights” he was ready to tumble into bed. And so they fellquite out of the way of having nocturnal talks. Mr. Morris had a greatliking for Carroll, despite his obvious faults, but he had long sincegiven up the hope of knowing him better, of getting beyond Carroll’ssupercilious reserve and too-elaborate courtesy. The consequence wasthat he detected no change now in the boy’s attitude and failed tomake the advances that Carroll would have responded to so readily. Forthe first time Carroll became seriously dissatisfied with his life atschool. He was really bored, as he had always pretended to be, andalso lonely, which of course he did not acknowledge, even to himself.He was a little inclined to think in his heart that his half-consciousefforts at reform were not worth while. However he decided to stickit out for the year at any rate, and settled down to the monotonousroutine with an air of indifference, and kept steadily away from hisold companions.
Deering of Deal; Or, The Spirit of the School Page 7