CHAPTER XXIII
THE LAST TERM
It was a warm bright May day, with just enough breeze to fleck thewaves of the bay and passage with white caps and make it lively for theschool crews in their heavy whaleboats, the substitute at Deal for theconventional shell.
From their post on the Rocking-stone or just by it, high up on thehighest ridge of Lovel’s Woods, two boys looked out upon the spreadingpanorama of marsh and beach and river and bay. They both were drinkingit in with a deep sense of its beauty and with a sense too that it wasthe more beautiful in that it all was a part of the old school. Up onthe hill there, across the wide valley of the marshes and Beaver Pondand Creek, rose the school itself, gleaming now in the bright westernsunlight as a fairy castle of rose and gold.
One of the boys by the Rocking-stone was Tony Deering, coatless,hatless, his hair glowing in the sunlight, half-hidden by the tallsweet grass in which he lay at full length. The other was ReginaldCarroll, now nearly at the end of his Freshman year at KingsbridgeCollege, back at the School for a week-end as he had so often beensince his graduation the previous June. Much of his time on theseoccasions, though we have not chanced to note it, was spent withDeering, much too with Mr. Morris between whom and himself the oldfeeling of distrust had altogether dropped away. For during his lastterm at school Reggie had won his house-master’s confidence as well ashis regard.
“YOU WILL CERTAINLY BE COMING UP TO COLLEGE NEXTYEAR?”]
The boys were sprawled flat on their stomachs in the warm sweet grass,heads on hands, at the very edge of the ridge, peering off across thetops of the pine trees and cedars that rose from the ravine betweenthe ridges almost to a level with their heads. They looked eastwardand their position commanded a view of the Strathsey river, the harborin the bend of the Neck, the broad beach and bay, and the open oceanbeyond. They could see the House crews out beyond Deigr Light; theywere turning the noses of their boats toward the harbor again in thehope of getting back for supper. A dozen or more sailboats were inthe river. Tony and Reggie had been sailing, and had stopped at theRocking-stone on their way back to the School.
“Peachy day, Reg, isn’t it?” said Tony, for the thousandth timesniffing of the good sea breeze.
“Well, rather,” drawled Reggie for reply. He was still languid,individual, different, but distinctly more purposeful, less afflictedwith the air of being perpetually bored than when we first observed himsome four or five years ago.
“Doesn’t it make you sort of sicky to feel you can’t have it all thetime?”
“It does, boy; as you yourself before long will be finding out.”
“Ah—I know.”
“But, I tell you what, Tony; it makes it almost worth while being away,it is so wonderful to come back. College is different, likable too; butit never takes the place of school. Though I must say, toward the endof the year I begin to feel myself caring for it as I didn’t in theleast think I should. It’s rough at first, as I told you before, as youcould see from my pretending it wasn’t last fall. But here—well, theheart’s at home here.”
Tony smiled his appreciation of the phrase. “Old chap, you do get yoursentiments expressed now and then in perfectly good nice poetry, don’tyou? I feel like that ever so often, but to save my life I can neverfind words that seem in the least to do justice to my thoughts.”
“Oh, well, that comes a good deal not only from feeling a thing, boy;but quite as much from the habit of hunting for the right phrase nowand then, as old Jack used to tell us in Sixth English.”
Tony drew in the fragrance of the May flowers that a fresh breezestirred. “Bully, isn’t it? This always was a favorite spot of yours,wasn’t it, Reg?”
“Rather—oh, the time I’ve wasted here, little one—scribbling verseand stuff, dreaming dreams that never came true!”
“You mooning here, poetizing—you must let me see your latest, bythe way,—always remind me of those jolly verses in the Harrow SongBook—remember—‘Byron lay, lazily lay’?”
“More or less—mostly less; let’s have it.”
Tony essayed it in his clear voice.
“’Byron’ lay, lazily lay, Hid from lesson and game away, Dreaming poetry all alone, Up-a-top of the Peachy stone. All in a fury enters Drury. Sets him grammar and Virgil due; Poets shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have, Poets shouldn’t have work to do.”
“That’s all; I don’t know the rest. But when we sing it at GeneralSinging or on the steps of the Old School these spring nights, I alwaysthink of you, and wonder if you scribble verses at Kingsbridge as muchas you used to at school.”
“Oh, yes, still,” laughed Reggie, “as much as ever—and to as littlepurpose as ever, I fancy. But look here, boy; I don’t like to suggestunpleasant things to you such as the fact that school won’t lastforever, but I want to be sure of one thing—”
“Yes?”
“You will certainly be coming up to col. next year?”
“Oh, yes, if I pass my exams. But of course there’s not much doubtabout that. I’m not in much danger of being flunked.”
“Money matters all right?”
“So, so. Yes, much better, thank goodness. But it’s going to be mightyhard to pull out of the old school.”
“There is one thing that helps the pulling out a lot, and particularlyin your case,—” said Carroll, “—more than it did in mine—such a lotof the fellows go up to Kingsbridge from the School—quite the best ofthe form usually, it seems to me; so that you feel quite at home therefrom the beginning. Then there’s always a lot of Dealonians among theupper classmen who look out for you more or less. Most of your chumsare going up, aren’t they?”
“Yes—all, I think, except Ned Clavering. Too bad—but Ned’s going towear the blue—and I hope we’ll line up against each other some time.”
“That’s hard luck; but I didn’t know Ned Clavering was in your crowd.”
“Oh, our crowd!” exclaimed Tony, with something like a sigh.
“What! do you mean to say that you and Kit Wilson are still on theouts?”
“I’m ashamed to say, we are.”
“You still sore at Kit?”
“Not in the least!”
“Well, then, what’s the trouble?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea. Sheer asininity on both our parts, Ireckon. I’ve started over to Kit’s rooms a hundred times this term, Ishould say, and turned back.”
“All serene with the rest of the crowd?”
“Oh, absolutely. After the Finch affair last term everybody except Kitwent out of their way to be decent. Even Tack, whom I had been rathernasty to.”
“Weren’t you a bit sore because Kit didn’t go out of his way to bedecent?”
“Why, yes—naturally; I suppose I was.”
“Well, listen to words of wisdom—it is all nonsense, blooming idioticnonsense. You quarreled about Finch. He’s gone. What’s become of thatlittle shaver, by the way?”
“Finch—oh, he is well now, I reckon; they have taken him away—to themountains or some place. He is ever so much better in every way thanbefore he was ill—it seemed to need that tremendous break and sicknessto get him straight. I have an idea that the Doctor,—good old chap,the Head!—will keep him on here another year, and then put him towork, without trying for college.”
“You carried the guardian angelship business through, didn’t you? didit from the bottom up—as I hoped you would.”
“Oh, I tried.... By Jove, Reg,” Tony exclaimed, looking at his watch,“it’s nearly six; we’ll have to wander if we want to get back in timefor supper. You are staying over, of course, for the game and danceto-morrow?”
“Of course.”
That evening as the Sixth were singing on the steps of the Old School,which was their custom on warm spring nights, Carroll drew Kit Wilsonout of the crowd and walked him off under the shadows of the trees.
“Look here, Wilson,” he said, “I’m butting int
o something that isn’tin the least my affair, but I want to know why on earth you and TonyDeering don’t drop your differences and be friends?”
Kit swung himself loose from Reggie’s friendly encircling arm. “AskDeering,” he said laconically.
“I have asked Deering, and so far as he knows there is no reason underheaven why you shouldn’t be as thick as you ever were. The originalcause of your misunderstanding has long since passed away. Deering issimply holding off because you are. He doesn’t know how you will takeit if he makes advances.”
Still Kit kept silence.
“Come on, Wilson, don’t take it like that. I haven’t any axe to grind;as a matter of fact in school days, Deering’s intimacy with you meantthat I see a lot less of him, and I can tell you I didn’t relish that.You like Tony, don’t you, really?”
“Like him!” cried Kit. “Doesn’t everybody like him—even the odiousGumshoe? Like him! Why, Carroll, I like him better than any fellow Iever knew.”
“Well, my dear child—what then hinders you?”
“Does Tony care a hang about me?—has he ever minded our not beingfriends?” asked Kit huskily.
“Has he minded? why, of course, he has minded.”
“Well, I never supposed he did; hasn’t he had Jimmie and you and BillMorris and a dozen others? Why, honest, Reggie, even the Gumshoe justeats out of his hand. It’s marvelous—don’t understand it—or I guess I_do_ understand it. You can’t _help_ it, can you?”
“No, you can’t; but note this;—the more Tony cares for, the more itseems he can. And I tell you what, Kit, with Tony or with anyone else,the loss of one friend can never be made up by gaining others. If youand Tony don’t make up, you will never forgive yourselves later. As itis, you have lost nearly a year of school life.”
“I know, I know,” said Kit miserably.
“Well, lose no more!”
As they drew back again within the range of the singing, the Sixthwere giving in fine form—“There’s a wind that blows o’er the sea-girtisle,” a song that Reggie had always particularly liked. He steppedforward a bit to encore them. But Doc. Thorn, the leader of thesinging, catching sight of him, cried to the fellows on the steps,“Let’s have ‘Old Boys’ now, in honor of Reggie Carter Westover Carroll.”
And they rang it out with a hearty good will, with long, lingering,caressing notes to the last lines, notes that thrilled every Old Boy’sheart as he heard the well-loved song.
“... and the heart is glad For all the friendliness of vanish’d years.”
The tears were in Reggie’s eyes. He was glad it was dark, and that hecould let them gather there without fear of it being noticed. And justthen Mr. Morris stepped somewhere from out of the gloom and slipped hisarm around Reggie’s shoulders.
The singing was over then; the fellows were beginning to separate forthe evening and were calling to each other as they started away fromthe steps. Carroll pushed Wilson forward. “Now’s your chance,” hewhispered. “Don’t you be a fool and don’t let Tony be a fool!”
Poor Kit’s heart was in his mouth; it seemed to him to be thumpinglike a sledge-hammer. He had a momentary wild hope that he would notbe able to find Tony. But yes,—there he was, just taking leave of NedClavering and starting across the campus alone. Kit hurried after him,feeling as though his legs would scarcely carry him another inch.
“I say—Tony!” he called at last, his voice husky and strange.
Deering stopped, turned, but did not recognize him. “What is it? Who’scalling?”
“It’s me—Kit. Wait a second, will you?”
Tony’s heart was beating wildly too, for he divined what was coming; bythe time Kit reached him his hand was out.
“What’s your hurry?” cried Kit, grabbing the extended hand and wringingit.
“I’m not in a hurry. Are you?”
“No, not a bit.” Then awkwardly, “Well, what are you going to do?”
“Not a thing—loaf—come and do it with me.”
“I’m your man. Where shall we go?”
“Good, old boy. To the beach then.”
They turned about, and arms went about each other’s waist and neck.They swung off across the fragrant fields, soft with the new mowngrass, to the beach. For a while they were silent.
“I have been a stubborn fool,” said Kit at last.
“Not a bit of it; I’ve been a hot-headed one,” protested Tony.
“Well, I guess we’ve both been both,” said Kit lucidly. “Any way, thankGod it’s over.”
“Amen,” said Tony.
Another long silence as they strolled along, strangely happy, in thefresh caressing night.
“I say, Kit.”
“Yes, old chap!”
“Let’s you and Jim and me room together at college next year.”
“Right o! I’ve hated to think of college next year just on account ofthat—we used to plan to, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Well, it’s all right now. Hard though it’s going to be to leave theold school.”
“Mighty hard, Kit.”
Another silence; close step; shoulder to shoulder.
“I say, Tony.”
“Yes, old boy.”
“Let’s swear never to let this sort of thing happen again. Let’s swearalways to talk it out. No matter what, never to break again.”
“All right—I swear—never to break again—absolutely—so help me, God.”
“And I, I swear!—so help me, God.” They wrung each other’s hands.
“Say—Tonio old sport,” said Kit after another pause.
“What is it, Kitty?”
“Reg Carroll’s a brick, don’t you think?”
“He certainly is. By the by, Kit, is Betty coming down for the danceto-morrow night?”
“Yes, gets here to-morrow afternoon; Bab too.”
“Good work. Tell her, will you, before to-morrow night that you and Ihave made it up.”
“I won’t need,” answered Kit; “I never let her know we had fallen out.”
Tony gasped with astonishment. “Well, by Jove, kiddo, you _are_ aperfect corker.”
And so they strolled on, talking by fits and starts, in the sweetfragrant May night, glad of heart, the gladder that for long they hadnot known each other’s friendship.
The next few weeks were wonderful ones to Tony and his friends. On thatbright Saturday a worthy rival had come from western Cæsarea to meettheir baseball team and had bit the dust. Jimmie Lawrence, captainof the team now, had played first without an error and had knocked ahome-run, bringing in three men—a pleasant augury for the Boxford gamein mid-June. In the evening there had been the dance in the Gymnasium,and Betty Wilson had been there, lovelier than ever it seemed to Tony,as his eyes fluttered in the light of her eyes and he thrilled with astrange, nice, happy little thrill at the touch of her hand in his.And Barbara Worthington was there, and Kit too was beaming. As yet theshadow of the final good-byes had not fallen upon them. There werestill three golden weeks for the reunited crowd.
* * * * *
One night, not long after the dance, Tony sat late in Mr. Morris’sstudy, as he was apt to do these last weeks, talking things over withhis older friend.
“This has certainly been a bully term,” said Tony, with a contentedsigh, “I don’t think I have ever been so happy. I can’t bear to thinkof leaving.”
Morris had been happy too, but for him the shadow was already falling.“Ah—that’s the hard part of school life—the going and the being leftbehind.... But you will be coming back often—that’s a comfort. Inever cease to be thankful that Kingsbridge is so near.”
“Yes, I shall be coming back mighty often. Doesn’t seem really as ifthe school could run without us. I suppose I shall like college, but Ican’t imagine that it will ever be quite the same as school.”
“Well,” said Morris, as his mind turned back to good Kingsbridge days,“one grows fond of it. But school——”
“It’s as Reggie says,” Tony interrupted, “the heart’s at home here. Itwill be bully to have Reggie and Kit and Jim and so many of the oldform at Kingsbridge, but, magister, I shan’t have you.”
Morris’s heart glowed at this. “Stupid they,” thought he, “who saya boy does not show feeling or gratitude!” Aloud he murmured, “No;you will not have me. But I will tell you what reconciles me to thesituation, Tony,—you will be coming back during college days prettyoften; and then—I have a strong prophetic feeling—you will be comingback for good.”
Tony smiled. “I wouldn’t wonder, you know. I’ve often thought I’d liketo. The heart’s at home here, magister. Good-night.”
THE END.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
Deering of Deal; Or, The Spirit of the School Page 26