Deering of Deal; Or, The Spirit of the School

by Latta Griswold

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE NIGHT OF THE BONFIRE

  If Tony had enjoyed the sensation of expanding under appreciation thenight before the game, it reached fatigue point the night after. Itfalls to few boys, even for so short a time, to be the hero of hisschool; but it is one of the pleasantest experiences that can befallhim. It gives the hero a feeling of kinship with the mighty conquerorsof the past; a sense, intense if fleeting, of being one with Alexander,with Cæsar, with Napoleon. And though Deering bore his honors modestly,for this once he enjoyed them to the full; with the full-bloodednessof youth, he luxuriated in a sense of satisfaction with the worldin general and with himself in particular. He was not ordinarilyself-important, but it would have been an inhuman boy who remainedindifferent to the incense of praise he received after that Boxfordgame. To have turned what seemed certain defeat into unexpected victorywas a piece of good luck for which he was grateful, as well as he wasgrateful for the undoubted fact that he could run faster than most boysof his age.

  Immediately after the game a score of boys, rushing across the lines,had laid bodily hold of him, hoisted him on their shoulders; and withsimilar groups, who had performed like service for other members ofthe team, they marched off the field, singing the school song at thetop of their hoarse voices, in dreadful tune but with an enthusiasmthat atoned for all defects. Jack Stenton was in the midst of them, andhe literally hugged Tony when the boys put him down at the entrance tothe Gymnasium locker-room. “I’m glad it fell to you, young ‘un,” hesaid; “it was a great run that will be remembered as long as boys playfootball at Deal.”

  After his shower Tony dressed, joined Kit and Jimmie Lawrence, andwandered about the campus with them, enjoying to the fullest thesensation of universal proprietorship. At half-past six, they wentagain to the Inn to dine with Mrs. Wilson and the girls.

  Kit had a black eye and a swollen nose that hurt considerably, butwhich he would not have foregone for the world; they made him feelas well as look a martyr to the cause. The girls were beaming, quiteunaffectedly proud to be the guests of such heroes. Kit’s bruisesseemed to affect Miss Worthington rather as ornaments than otherwise,to lend a fascination not afforded by his natural good looks, for sheacquiesced this time in the pairing off on the way to the school afterthe dinner, for the celebration, that afforded him an opportunity forthe much desired tête-à-tête. Mrs. Wilson appropriated Jimmie, so thatTony and Betty were left to walk together.

  Alone with him, Betty ceased to beam; in fact, became shy andunwontedly silent. Tony liked the shyness, thought her sweeter so. Hefelt a pronounced sentimental thrill as he gave her his hand to helpher across an insignificant ditch.

  “It must be wonderful,” she said at last to break the awkward silence,“it must be wonderful to win a game.”

  “It is,” Tony laughed ingenuously. “Do you know, Miss Wilson, I feelhalf ashamed of myself. I so hoped something like that might happen.I suppose a fellow ought to think of the game and the school, and Ireckon most of ‘em do; but two years ago, I was the means of our losingthe Boxford game, and I tell you it took me a long time to get over thefeeling that gave me.”

  “I know,” said Betty. “Kit has told me about that.”

  “Well, it was a long time ago; but I never did really get over it.”

  “But it wasn’t your fault,” protested Betty.

  “Oh, yes, in a sense it was; if I had stuck to the ball tighter, Ireckon it wouldn’t have happened. But that sort of made me feel that Iwanted a special chance to-day.”

  “Well, you got it,” said the girl, with a smile. “Of course, one cannothelp wanting to do things one’s self. I suppose we are all a little bitselfish.”

  They chatted on then more at ease, until they reached the great fieldbehind the Chapel where the celebration was to take place.

  Every light in the school building was blazing, and a line of Chineselanterns had been strung to fine effect up and down the driveway andalong the terraces. In the center of the playing-field back of theschool an enormous bonfire had been constructed, of drygoods boxes,barrels, fence rails, and various other combustibles, including anuntenanted chicken-house that an amateur farmer of the Second Form hadcontributed in a genuine spirit of sacrifice. Around the bonfire weregathered three hundred boys of the school, a score or so of the mastersand many of the Old Boys and friends who had stayed over. On theoutskirts of the crowd there was a complement of sundry enthusiasticcountry urchins, who for the night had buried the proverbial hatchetusually in play between them and the school, and were rejoicing lustilyin the honor that had fallen upon the entire community.

  As Mrs. Wilson’s party arrived, Billy Wendell applied a match to a massof kerosene-soaked excelsior, and the flames started up the pile withan avidity, it seemed, that was impelled by sympathy with the mountingspirits of the boys. A dozen rockets were fired off simultaneously,three hundred Roman candles were exploded, and a score of red fireswere lighted in various parts of the field. There was a sudden blaze ofsplendid light.

  Soon the magnificent bonfire dominated the interest. The boys circledabout it, hand in hand, shouting, cheering, singing. The school bellsrang out joyously on the frosty night; the strains of the school songsechoed and re-echoed, until was caught up in full chorus by thosehundreds of happy voices, the triumphal song,—

  “Palms of victory, palms of glory.”

  Finally they hoisted Billy Wendell, the captain, up on the woodenrostrum that was brought out on such occasions; and after more wildand intense cheering when the cheer leaders had sunk back almostexhausted by their efforts, they gave him a chance to speak. “Fellows,”said Billy, with not more than the usual oratorical grace but with aneffect that many a trained orator might have envied, “Fellows, I guesswe’re all glad we won. I can’t make a speech; and anyway there’s someone else here to whom our victory to-day really is due. And I move wehave Tony Deering up here, and tell him what we think of him.”

  Frantic howls as Billy leaped down, and a dozen boys hustled Tonywith rough-and-ready good will up to the rostrum, paying absolutelyno attention to his protests. Tony’s presence of mind quite desertedhim as he faced the encircling crowd of eager, flame-brightenedfaces,—also the feeling that there was anything heroic in being ahero. As they cheered and cheered him to the echo, he had a moment inwhich to gather his wits. “Fellows,” he said at last, when the crowdhad become quiet, “I’m mighty grateful for the way in which you’vetreated me. But I don’t deserve it. The ball popped into my arms in thescrimmage, and I just ran. Any other fellow would have done the same.What really won,” he added, “was that the team had made a good defenseagainst a whirlwind attack at critical moments. And that’s the reasonthat when we got a chance to score, it meant a victory. Ned Claveringscored the winning point by kicking the goal.”

  With that he jumped down, struggled through the crowd, and slippedunobserved to the outskirts of the circle. Other boys were beingelevated to the rostrum, so that attention was diverted from him. Forhimself, his heart was full, and for the moment he wanted to be alone.

  He could not hear the speeches from where he stood, but the scenewas before him like the stage at a play. Suddenly he noticed,standing quite near him, apart from the jubilant crowd, the lonely,pathetic little figure of the despised Finch. The boy was gazingat Tony intently, with an expression of pathetic admiration, theself-forgetting admiration sometimes experienced when we behold anoble or a fine action in which we have had no part, of which we areincapable. There was longing in the boy’s pale watery little eyes, andhis mouth was twisted out of shape, as though it were not fashioned toexpress the unwonted emotions that stirred his soul. As Tony glancedat him, with a flash of intuition, it seemed to him that he thoroughlyunderstood the half-starved soul of Jacob Finch, his pathetic andterrible loneliness, his unreasoned terrors of life, his ardentunsatisfied longings for the boyish friendliness and companionshipabout him in which he had no part.... Involuntarily Tony moved towardhim, and obeying an impulse quite devoid of
that repulsion that Finchusually stirred in him, he threw his arm carelessly over the boy’sshoulder. “It’s a great sight, kid; ain’t it?” he said.

  Finch was trembling as if he had a chill. His eyes glanced for a momentinto Tony’s intensely, then shifted, and he answered in a queer hoarsetone, “I ‘spose so. I dunno.” And then he added, fiercely, “But I’mglad—I’m _glad you_ made that run.” The next instant, as if his ownspeech had frightened him, he shook Tony’s arm from his shoulder, andslipped away into the shadows. Tony saw him no more that night.

  “Poor kid!” he thought, and his eyes filled with tears. He had seenunhappiness before, in his own home, and the memory of it was bitter.Here at school he had forgotten it all; the world had seemed a brightand a happy place, and he was happy in it. Poor Finch brought back tohim intensely the realization that life was not altogether as free fromcare, as full of affection and kindness and joy, as this gay sceneand jubilant celebration would indicate. There was bitterness in thethought, and yet, in a way, he was not sorry it had come. It seemed tohim now that for the last few days he had been absolutely absorbed inhimself, in fact that he had been living self-absorbed for a long time;that despite his generous words from the rostrum, what he had reallybeen glad of in the victory was, that it had been so largely due to him.

  Suddenly he gave the tree against which he was standing a vigorouskick. What a fool he was! to be silly with delight at winning afootball game when just across the hall from him there lived such lividboyish misery!

  At length he resought his companions, and when at last the celebrationwas over, and the great blazing pile of the bonfire had collapsed, hewalked back again with Kit’s party to the Inn. Both Betty and he werequieter now than before. She was shy again, and this time he couldthink of nothing to say. Their commonplaces about the celebration fellflat.

  “You are going to-morrow?” he asked abruptly, as they turned into thegrounds of the Inn.

  “Yes,” she answered, “quite early. Bab and I are at school too, youknow?”

  “Yes, I know. I wish I could see you sometimes....”

  “Well, can’t you?... You’ll be coming home with Kit some holiday.”

  “Perhaps I will. I hope so.” He was silent for a moment, then with astrange shyness, he said, “Will you—will you give me those violets?”

  Betty was silent. She hesitated for a moment, then unpinned the violetsfrom her dress, and gave them to him. Their hands met in the dark,and fluttered in a little clasp for the moment. Then Tony slippedthe violets into his pocket. They were at the Inn steps, and to thesurprise of all, he declined to come in, but bade them good-bye there.

  Instead of going back to the school, he struck across the meadows tothe beach. It had cleared at nightfall, and the stars were shining in adeep blue sky, and a lovely young crescent moon, cloud-clung, hung inthe west. Tony walked up the beach alone, thinking, feeling intensely.The silent somber beauty of the night, the great stars, the lazy splashof the little foam-flecked waves upon the sands, the cool frostydark, appealed to him deeply. He could scarcely have told of what hewas thinking: of various things—the day’s events, the celebration,Betty and the violets she had given him, Finch and his hungry eyes,life. The world seemed beautiful to him, but strange and sad.... Yearsafterward he was to recall that night, and remember that it had markeda definite moment in the process of his coming to himself.

  At the end of the beach he met Mr. Morris, who was also walking alone.“Hello,” exclaimed the master, “what are you doing here? The conqueroris tired of plaudits, eh?”

  “What brings _you_, magister?... I wanted to be alone I guess.”

  “And I,” said Morris, with a smile. “Sometimes a day of excitementreacts on me like this. I need to round it off with a walk by myself.Let’s go back together though, if you have had enough of yourself as Ihave.”

  “Quite enough,” said Tony, as he turned with the older man back towardthe school.

  For a while they said nothing, but eventually the master, by tactfulquestions, led the boy to talk of himself. There followed one of thoselong quiet conversations that come so rarely, but mean so much to boyand master when they come. When they reached the school all of thelights were out save for a glow at the spot where the bonfire had been.They shook hands and parted at the door of Morris’s study.

  The schoolmaster, when he was alone, instead of lighting his lamp,stood for a long while before the glowing embers of the fire on hishearth, absorbed in his thoughts. He had had a bad day, a stupid dayafter the excitement of the game, for there had come upon him one ofthose unaccountable and unreasonable moods of depression wherein itseemed to him that he was wasting his life in the obscurity of a pettyprofession, wasting the talents, abilities, ambitions, that in collegedays had promised a brilliant career. He knew it was but a mood, buthe had not been able to shake it off. Other fellows, classmates ofhis at school and college, had been back, with their good-natured,ill-chosen greetings that drove the iron deeper into his soul: “OldMorris—holding the fort—still on the old camp-ground, eh?” and thelike.

  As he stood before his dying fire that night, he recalled the moodof the afternoon and marveled to realize that it was gone. He askedhimself the reason for its going, but he knew the answer. He knew inhis heart that the best he was, the best he could be, counted here atDeal as much, perhaps, more, than it could count elsewhere; and that itcounted despite the obscurity, despite the lack of recognition wherehe would so keenly have valued it, from those who had expected goodthings from him in days gone by. And he knew that the real compensationwas in the response he got from, the stimulus he gave to, boys likeTony Deering. Once in a while it was given him to see the meaning ofhis life, as in a vision. He knew to-night, as perhaps he had neverdefinitely put it to himself before, that he would stay on at Dealfor good and all, give his best, not only for a time as for years hehad somehow supposed it would only be, but his best for as long as helived....