CHAPTER VIIIOFF FOR YALE
Andy Blair had signed for Yale University. He had, as before noted, communicated to his father his desire to attend the New Haven institution, and Mr. Blair, who had given his son a free hand in the matter, had acquiesced.
Milton was well known among the various preparatory schools, and her final examinations admitted to Yale with few other formalities. So Andy had no trouble on that score, save in a few minor matters, which were easily cleared up.
He had matriculated, and all that remained was to select a room or dormitory. He had been studying over a Yale catalog, and looking at the accompanying map which gave the location of the various buildings.
“Now the question is,” said Andy, talking it over with the folks at home, “the question is do I want to go to a private house and room, or had I better take a place in one of the Halls. I rather like the idea of a Hall room myself—Wright for choice—but of course that might cost more than going to a private house.”
“If it’s a question of cost, don’t let that stand in the way,” replied Mr. Blair, generously. “I’m not given to throwing money away, Andy, my boy, and a college education isn’t a cheap thing, no matter how you look at it. But it’s worth all it costs, I believe, and I want you to have the best.
“If you can get more into the real life of Yale by having a room in Wright Hall, or in any of the college dormitories, why do so. There’s something in being right on the ground, so to speak. You can absorb so much more.”
“Good for you, Dad!” cried Andy. “You’re a real sport. Then I vote for a Hall. I’ll take a run down and see what I can arrange.”
“But wouldn’t a private house be quieter?” suggested Mrs. Blair. “You know you’ll have to do lots of studying, Andy, and if you get in a big building with a lot of other students they may annoy you.”
“Oh, I guess, Mother,” said Bertha, Andy’s sister, “that he’ll do his share of annoying, too.”
“Come again, Sis. Get out your little hammer, and join the anvil chorus!” sarcastically commented Andy.
“No, but really,” went on Mrs. Blair, “wouldn’t a private house be quieter, Andy?”
“Not much more so, I believe,” spoke the prospective Yale freshman. “When there’sany excitement going on those in the private houses get as much of it as those in the college buildings. But, as a matter of fact, when there’s nothing on—like a big game or some of the rushes—Yale is as quiet as the average Sunday school.
“Why, the day I was there I walked all around and nothing happened. The fellows came and went, and seemed very quiet, not to say meek. I walked over the campus, and I expected every minute some big brute of a sophomore would smash my hat down over my eyes, and give a qbRah! Rah!’ yell. But nothing like that happened. It was sort of disappointing.”
“Well, you need quiet if you’re going to study,” went on Mrs. Blair. She had an idea that Yale was a sort of higher-grade boarding school, it seemed.
“Then I’ll decide on Wright Hall,” remarked Andy. “That is, if I can get in.”
Then followed some correspondence which resulted in Andy being informed that a room on the campus side of Wright Hall, and on the second floor, was available. The only trouble was that it was a double room, and Andy would have to share it with another student.
“Hum!” he exclaimed when he had this information. “Now I’m up against it once more. Who can I get to go in with me? I don’t wantto take a total stranger, and yet I guess I’ll have to.”
“You might advertise for a roommate?” suggested his mother.
“I guess they don’t do things that way at Yale,” spoke Andy, with a smile.
“Why don’t you wait until you get there, and maybe you’ll find somebody in the same fix you are?” asked Bertha.
“I guess that is good advice,” remarked Andy. “I’ll take a run down there some time before term opening, and maybe I can get some nice chap wished on me. If Tom, or Chet, or some of the Milton lads, were coming to Yale it would be all right.”
“Didn’t any of them pick out Yale?” asked Mr. Blair.
“Not as far as I know.”
“Oh, well, I guess you’ll make out all right, son. A good roommate is a fine companion to have, so I hope you won’t be disappointed. But there’s no hurry.”
The long summer vacation was at hand. Andy’s people were to go to a lake resort, and soon after coming home from Milton, Andy, with his mother and sister, was installed in a comfortable cottage. Mr. Blair would come up over week-ends.
Chet Anderson and Tom Hatfield were at anearby resort, so Andy knew he was in for a good summer of fun. And he was not disappointed. He and his chums spent much time on the water, living in their bathing suits for whole days at a time. But I will not weary you with a description of the various things they did. Sufficient to say that the vacation was like a good many others Andy had enjoyed, and expected to enjoy again. Nothing in particular happened.
The Summer wore on. The dog-days came and there loomed in the distance the Fall months. Tom had called on Andy one day, and they went out in the canoe together.
“Well, it will soon be study-grind again,” remarked Tom, as he sent the light boat under a fringe of bushes out of the sun.
“Yes, and I won’t be sorry,” spoke Andy. “I’m anxious to see what life at Yale is like. I’ve got to take a run down in a week or so, to fix up about my room. You haven’t heard of anyone I know who is going to be a freshman there; do you?”
“No, but I saw an old friend of yours the other day.”
“You did! Who?”
“Remember that little actress you did the fireman-save-my-child act for this Spring?”
“Miss Fuller? Sure I do. Did you see her?”
“I did.”
“Where?”
“Oh, at a vaudeville theater. She remembered me, too.”
“Did she ask for me?”
“Naturally. I told her you were going to Yale, and she said she might see you there.”
“How?”
“Why, she’s playing a couple of weeks early in October at Poli’s. You want to look her up.”
“I sure will. You saw the mackinaw she sent me?”
“Yes, it’ll come in handy for Yale. I wish I was with you, but I’m wished on to Cornell—I yell!”
“Oh, well, we can’t all go to the same place, but it sure would be fine if we could.”
Then they began to talk of the old days at Milton, until the shadows lengthened over the lake and it was time to paddle back to the cottage.
Andy took a run down to New Haven the next week, and made his final arrangements. He was walking about the now deserted quadrangle, looking up at the window of the room he had selected in Wright Hall, when he was aware that a youth of his own age was doing the same thing.
Something seemed to attract Andy to this stranger. There was a frank, open, ingenuous look in his face that Andy liked. And there wasthat in the air and manner of the lad which told he came of no common stock. His clothing betokened the work of a fashionable tailor, though the garments were quiet, and just a shade off the most up-to-date mode.
“Are you a student here?” asked the stranger of Andy.
“No, but I expect to be. I’m going to start in.”
“So am I. Chamber is my name—Duncan Chamber, though I’m always called Dunk for short.”
“Glad to know you. My name’s Blair—Andy Blair.”
They shook hands, and then followed the usual embarrassed pause. Neither knew what to say next. Finally Duncan broke the silence by asking:
“Got your room yet?”
“Up there,” and Andy pointed to it.
“Gee! That’s all right—a peach! I’m up a stump myself.”
“How so?”
“Well, I’ve about taken one in Pierson Hall, but it’s a double one, and I’ve got to share it with a fellow I don’t take much of a leaning to. He’s a stranger to me. I like it better here, though. Better view of the campus.”
Andy took a sudden resolve.
“I’m about in the same boat,” he said. “That’s a double room of mine up there in Wright, and I haven’t a chum yet. I don’t know what to do. Of course I’m a stranger to you, but if you’d like to share my joint——”
“Friend Andy, say no more!” interrupted Duncan. “Lead me to thy apartment!”
Andy laughed. He was liking this youth more and more every minute.
The room was inspected. Andy was still the only one who had engaged it.
“It suits me to a T if I suit you,” exclaimed Duncan. “What do you say, Blair? Shall we hitch it up?”
“I’m willing.”
“Shake!”
They shook. Thus was the pact made, a union of friends that was to have a strange effect on both.
“Now that’s settled I’ll call the Pierson game off,” said Dunk, as we shall call him from now on. “I’m wished onto you, Blair.”
“I’m glad of it!”
The final arrangements were made, and thus Andy had his new roommate. They went to dinner together, and planned to do all sorts of possible and impossible things when the term should open.
Andy returned to the Summer cottage with thegood news, and then began busy days for him. He replenished his stock of clothes and other possessions and selected his favorite bats and other sporting accessories with which to decorate his room. He had a big pennant enscribed with the name MILTON, and this was to drape one side wall. Dunk Chamber was from Andover, and his school colors would flaunt themselves on the opposite side of the room.
And then the day came.
Andy, spruce and trim in a new suit, had sent on his trunk, and, with his valise in hand, bade his parents and sister good-bye.
The family was still at the summer cottage, which would not be closed for another month. Then they would go back to Dunmore.
Yale was calling to Andy, and one hazy September morning he took the train that, by dint of making several changes, would land him in New Haven.
“And at Yale!” murmured Andy as the engine puffed away from the dingy station. “I’m off for Yale at last!”
CHAPTER IXON THE CAMPUS
Andy’s train rolled into the New Haven station shortly before dusk. On the way the new student had been surreptitiously “sizing up” certain other young men in the car with him, trying to decide whether or not they were Yale students. One was, he had set that down as certain—a quiet, studious-looking lad, who seemed poring over a book and papers.
Then Andy, making an excuse to get a drink of water, passed his seat and looked at the documents. They were a mass of bills which the young man evidently had for collection.
“Stung!” murmured Andy. “But he sure did look like a Yale senior.” He was yet to learn that college men are not so different from ordinary mortals as certain sensational writers would have had him believe.
There was the usual bustle and rush of alighting passengers. Now indeed Andy was sure that a crowd of students had come up on the train with him for, once out of the cars their exuberance manifested itself.
There were greetings galore from one to another. Renewals of past acquaintance came from every side. There were hearty clappings on the backs of scores and scores, and re-clappings in turn.
Youths were tumbling out here, there, everywhere, colliding with one another, bumping up against baggage trucks, running through the station, one or two stopping to snatch a hasty cup of coffee and some doughnuts from the depot restaurant.
Andy stood almost lost for the moment amid the excitement. It had come on suddenly. He had never dreamed there were so many Yale men on the train. They gave no evidence of it until they had reached their own precincts.
Then, like a dog that hesitates to bark until he is within the confines of his own yard, they “cut loose.”
Taxicab chauffeurs were bawling for customers. Hackmen with ancient horses sent out their call of:
“Keb! Keb! Hack, sir! Have a keb!”
The motor bus of the Hotel Taft was being jammed with prosperous looking individuals. Around the curve swept the clanging trolley cars.
“I guess I’ll walk,” mused Andy. “I want to get my mind straightened out.”
He managed to locate an expressman to whomhe gave the check for his trunk, with directions where to send it. Then, gripping his valise, which contained enough in the way of clothing and other accessories to see him through the night, in case his baggage was delayed, our hero started up State Street.
In the distance he could see, looming up, the lighted top stories of the Hotel Taft, and he knew that from those same stories one could look down on the buildings and campus at Yale. It thrilled him as he had not been thrilled before on any of his visits to this great American university.
He paid no attention to those about him. The sidewalks, damp with the hazy dew of the coming September night, were thronged with pedestrians. Many of them were college students, as Andy could tell by their talk.
On he swung, breathing in deep of the air of dusk. He squared back his shoulders and raised his head, widening his nostrils to take in the air, as his eyes and ears absorbed the other impressions of the place.
Past the stores, the hotels, the moving picture places Andy went, until he came to where Chapel Street cuts across State. At the corner a confectionery store thrust out its rounded doorway, and in the windows were signs of various fountain drinks.
“A hot chocolate wouldn’t be so bad,” thought Andy. “It’s a bit chilly.”
He went in rather diffidently, wondering if some of the pretty girls lined up along the marble counter knew that he was a Yale man.
He heard a titter of laughter and grew red behind the ears, fearing it might be directed against him.
But no one seemed to notice him, the girl who passed him out his check making change as nonchalantly as though he was but the veriest traveling man instead of a Yale student.
“Very blasé, probably,” thought Andy, with a sense of resentment.
He stood on the steps a moment as he came out, and then walked toward the Green, with its great elm trees, now looming mistily in the September haze.
Three churches on Temple street seemed to stand as a sort of guard in front of the college buildings that loomed behind them. Three silent and closed churches they were.
Up Chapel street walked Andy, and he came to a stop on College street, opposite Phelps Gateway. Through the gathering dusk he could make out the inscription over it:
LUX ET VERITAS
“That’s it! That’s what I came here for,”he said. “Light and truth! Oh, but it’s great! Great!”
He drew in a long breath, and stood for a moment contemplating the beautiful outlines of the college buildings.
“Oh, but I’m glad I’m here!” he whispered.
Other students were pouring through the classic gateway. Andy crossed the street and joined them. Already lights were beginning to glow in Lawrance and Farnam Halls, where the sophomores had their rooms. Andy could see some of them lolling on cushions in their window seats. Yale blue cushions, they were.
He passed in through the gateway, his footsteps clanging back to his ears, reflected by the arch overhead. He emerged onto the campus, and started across it toward Wright Hall, with its raised courtyard, and its curtained windows of blue.
“I wonder if Dunk is there yet?” thought Andy. “Hope he is. Oh, it’s Yale at last! Yale! Yale!”
He breathed in deep of the night air. He looked at the shadows of the electric lights of the campus filtering through the trees. He paused a moment.
A confusion of sounds came to him. Outside the quadrangle in which he stood he could hear the hum of the busy city—the clang of trolleys,the clatter of horses, the hoarse croak of auto horns. Within the precincts of the college buildings he could hear the hum of voices. Now and then came the tinkle of a piano or the vibration of a violin. Then there were shouts.
“Oh, you, Pop! Stick out your head!”
The call of one student to another.
“I wonder if they’ll ever call me?” mused Andy.
He started across the campus. Coming toward him were several dark figures. Andy met them under a light, and started back. Before he had a chance to speak someone shouted at him:
“There he is now! The freshest of the fresh! Take off that hat!”
It was Mortimer Gaffington.
CHAPTER XMISSING MONEY
For a moment Andy stood there, not knowing what to do or say. It was so unexpected, and yet he knew he must meet Mortimer at Yale—meet and perhaps clash with the lad who was now a sophomore—the lad who had such good cause now to dislike Andy.
On his part the young “swell” leered into Andy’s face, then glanced sidelong at the youths who accompanied him. Andy recognized them as the same who had been in the auto that night of the bonfire at Milton.
“That’s he!” exclaimed Mortimer; then to Andy: “I didn’t think I’d meet you quite so soon, Blair! So you’re here, eh?”
“Yes,” answered Andy.
“Put a ‘sir’ on that!” commanded one of the other lads.
“Yes—sir!”
Andy took his own time with the last word. He knew the rites and customs of Yale, at least by hearsay, and was willing to abide by the unwrittenlaws that make a first-year man demean himself to the upperclassmen. It would not last long.
“That’s better,” commented the third lad. “Never forget your manners—er—what’s your name?”
“Blair.”
“Sir!” snapped the one who had first reminded Andy of the lapse.
“Sir!”
“You know him,” put in Mortimer. “The fellow who put us out of the auto, eh?”
“Oh, sure, I remember now. Nervy little rat! It’s a wonder I remember anything that happened that night. We were pretty well pickled. Oh, land, yes!”
He seemed proud of it.
“Take off that hat!” commanded Mortimer. “Don’t forget you’re a freshman here.”
“And a fresh freshman, too,” added one of his chums. “Take it off!”
Andy was perfectly willing to abide by this unwritten law also, and doffed his derby. He made a mental note that as soon as he could he would get a cap, or soft hat, such as he saw other students wearing.
“The brute has some manners,” commented one of the trio.
“I’ll teach him some more before I getthrough with him!” muttered Mortimer. He, as well as his two companions, seemed to have been dining, “not wisely but too well.”
“Anything more?” asked Andy, good-naturedly. He knew that he must put up with insults, if need be, from Mortimer; for he realized that, in a way, class distinction at Yale is strong in its unwritten laws, and he wanted to do as the others did. It takes much nerve to vary from the customs and traditions of any country or place, more especially a big college. And Andy knew his turn would come.
He also knew that it was all done in good-natured fun, and really with the best intentions. For a first-year man is very likely to become what his name indicates—fresh—and there is need of toning down.
Besides, it is discipline that is good for the soul, and somewhat necessary. It makes for good in after life, in most cases, though of course there are some exceptions. Hazing, after all, is designed, primarily, to bring out a candidate’s character. A lad who will give way to his temper if made to take off his hat to one perhaps below him in social station, or if he sulks when tossed in a blanket—such a lad, in after life, is very apt to do the same thing when he has to knuckle under to a business rival, or to go into a passion when he receives the hard knocks oflife. So, then, hazing, if not carried to extremes, has its uses in adversity, and Andy had sense enough to realize this. So he was ready for what might come.
He knew, also, that Mortimer might, and probably would, be actuated by a mean spirit, and a desire for what he might think was revenge. But he was only one of a large number of college youths. Andy was willing to take his chances.
Andy looked over toward Wright Hall, with its raised courtyard. Lights were gleaming in the windows, and he fancied he could see his own room aglow.
“I hope Dunk is there,” he thought.
“Shall we put him through the paces?” asked one of Mortimer’s companions suggestively, nodding at Andy.
“Not to-night. We’ve got something else on,” answered the society swell. “Trot along, Blair, and don’t forget what we’ve told you. I’ll see you again,” he added, significantly.
The trio had come to a stop some little distance from Andy, and had stood with arms linked. Now they were ready to proceed. On the various walks, that traversed the big campus in the quadrangle of Yale, other students were hurrying to and fro, some going to their rooms, others coming from them. Some were goingtowards their eating clubs or to the University dining hall. And Andy was feeling hungry.
“Well, come on,” urged Mortimer to his companions. “I guess we’ve started this freshman on the right road. Just see that you follow it, Blair. I’ll be watching you.”
“And I’ll be watching you!” thought Andy. And at that moment he was gazing intently at Gaffington. As he looked, Andy saw something fall from below the flap of the coat of one of the trio, and land softly on the pavement. It fell limp, making no noise.
One of Mortimer’s companions, who, Andy afterward learned, was Leonard, or “Len,” Scott, reached his hand into his pocket, and brought it out with a strange look on his face.
“Hello!” he exclaimed, blankly, “my wallet’s gone!”
“Gone!” exclaimed the other, Clarence Boyle by name. “Are you sure you had it?”
“I sure did!” said Len, feeling in various pockets. “Just cashed a check, too!”
“Come on back to your room and have a look for it,” suggested Mortimer pulling his chum half-way around. “If it’s gone I can lend you some. I’m flush to-night.”
“But I’m sure I had it,” went on Len. “I remember feeling it just as we came out of Lawrance. I had about fifty dollars in it!”
“Whew!” whistled Mortimer. “Some little millionaire, you are, Len. Never mind, I can let you have twenty-five if you need it.” Andy knew that Mortimer’s father was reputed to be several times a millionaire.
“But I don’t like to lose that,” went on Len. “I guess I will go back and have a look in my shack. If I can’t find it I’ll stick up a notice.”
“You might have dropped it when we met that other bunch of freshmen and had the little argument with them about their hats,” suggested Clarence.
“That’s right,” went on Mortimer, still pulling on Len’s arm, as though to get him away from the spot. “Maybe one of the freshmen frisked it off you,” he added, looking at Andy.
By this time the trio had turned half-way around, evidently to go back to Scott’s room and look for the missing pocketbook. Andy had a clear view of the object that had fallen from under the coat of one of them.
“There is something,” the freshman said, pointing to the object on the pavement. “I saw one of you drop it. Perhaps it is the pocketbook.”
Len wheeled and made a grab for it.
“That’s mine!” he cried. “It must have worked up out of my pocket and fallen. Thanks!” he added, warmly, to Andy.
With a quick motion Len opened his wallet. A strange look came over his face as he cried:
“It’s empty!”
“Empty!” gasped Mortimer. “Let’s see!”
He leaned forward, as did Clarence, all three staring into the opened pocketbook. Andy looked on curiously.
“It was one of those freshmen!” declared Mortimer, with conviction. “They must have slipped their hand up in your coat when we were frisking them, and taken out the money.”
“But how could they when I still had the pocketbook?” asked Len, much puzzled.
“They must have taken out the bills, and put the wallet back,” went on Mortimer, quickly. “They didn’t get it all the way in your pocket and it tumbled out when you were standing here. Lucky we noticed it or we wouldn’t have known what happened. Come on back. We’ll find those freshmen.”
And, without another look at Andy, they wheeled and hurried across the campus toward Vanderbilt Hall.
“Huh! That’s queer!” mused Andy, as he continued on his way toward Wright. “I’m glad I saw that wallet when I did.”
CHAPTER XI“ROUGH HOUSE”
“Oh, you, Dunk!”
“Stick out your noodle, Chamber!”
“Where are you?”
These were the cries that greeted Andy as he entered the passage leading to his room in Wright Hall—the room he was to share with Duncan Chamber. Down the hall he saw a group of lads who had evidently come to rouse Andy’s prospective chum. Somehow, our hero felt a little hurt that he had to share his friend with others. But it was only momentarily.
“Open up there, Dunk! Open up!”
Thus came the appeal, and fists banged on the door. It was opened a crack, and the rattle of a chain was heard.
“Get on to the beggar!”
“He must think we’re a bunch of sophs!”
“Don’t be afraid, Dunky, we’re only your sweethearts!”
Thus the three callers gibed him.
“Oh, it’s you fellows, is it?” asked Chamber,flinging wide the door, and letting out a flood of light. “I thought I was in for a hazing, so I was keeping things on the safe side. Come on in. I’m just straightening up.”
The three tumbled into the room. Andy followed, and at the sound of his footsteps coming to a pause outside the portal Dunk peered out.
“Oh, hello, Blair!” he greeted, cordially! “I thought you were never coming! Put her there, old man! How are you?”
He caught Andy’s hand in a firm pressure with a mighty slap, and hauled him inside.
“Fellows, here’s my roommate!” went on Dunk. “Andy Blair. I hope you’ll like him as well as I do. Blair, these are some luckless freshmen like ourselves. Take ’em in the order of their beauty—Bob Hunter—never hit the bull’s eye in his life; Ted Wilson—just Ted, mostly; Thad Warburton—no end of a swell, and money to burn! Shake!”
They shook in turn, looking into each other’s eyes with that quick appraising glance that means so much. Andy liked all three. He hoped they would like him.
“So this is your hangout, eh, Dunk?” asked Ted, when the little formality of introduction was over.
“Yes, Andy had this picked out and kindly agreed to share it with me.”
“I sure was glad to!” said Andy, heartily.
“Some swell little joint,” commented Thad Warburton, looking around.
“Wait until we get her fixed up,” advised Dunk. “Then we’ll have something to show you! I haven’t decided on a bed yet,” he added to Dick. “Pick out the one you want.”
“I’m not particular. They all look alike to me.”
“Yes, they’re just the same. Fed your face yet?”
“No, but I’m hungry. Thought I’d wait for you.”
“Say, where is your eating joint?” asked Thad.
“I haven’t picked out one yet,” answered Andy. “I was thinking of going to the Hall——”
“Oh, that’s no fun!” cried Bob. “Come with us. We have a swell place. Run by one of our Andover crowd. Good grub and a nice bunch of fellows.”
“I’m willing,” agreed Andy.
“We could try it for a while,” assented Dunk, “and if we didn’t like it we could switch to the University Hall. What do you say, Andy?”
“I’m with you. The sooner the quicker. I’m starved.”
“All right, then, we’ll let the room go untilafter grub. I was going to stick up a few of my things, but they can wait. Get your trunk, Andy?”
“Did it come? I gave a man the check.”
“Not yet. Sounds like it now.”
There was a bumping and thumping out in the corridor, and an expressman came in with Andy’s baggage. It was stowed away in a corner and then the five lads prepared to set out for the “eating joint.”
“It’s around on York street, not far from Morey’s,” volunteered Thad.
“Oh, yes, Morey’s!” exclaimed Andy. “I’ve heard lots about that joint. I wish we could get in there.”
“No freshman need apply,” quoted Dunk, with a laugh. “That’s for our betters. We’ll get there some day.”
“Oh, I say——” began Ted, as they were about to go out. He looked at Andy rather queerly.
“What is it?” asked our hero, with a frank laugh. “Am I togged up wrong?”
“Your—er—derby,” said Bob, obviously not liking to mention it.
“Oh, yes, that’s right!” chimed in Dunk. “Hope you don’t mind, Andy, but a cap or a crusher would be in better form.”
Andy noticed that the others had on soft hats.
“Sure,” he said. “I was going to get one. I had a soft hat at Milton, but it’s all initialed, and covered with dates from down there. I don’t suppose that would go here.”
“Hardly,” agreed Dunk. “I’ve got an odd one, though. Stick it on until you get yours,” and he hauled a soft hat from under a pile of things on his dresser.
Andy hung up his offending derby and clapped the other on the back of his head. Then the five sallied forth, locking the door behind them.
Their feet echoed on the stone flagging of the open courtyard as they headed out on the campus. Past Dwight Hall, the home of the Young Men’s Christian Association, they went, out into High street and through Library to York. The thoroughfares were thronged with many students now, for it was the hour for supper.
Calls, cries, hails, gibes, comments and appeals were bandied back and forth. For it was the beginning of the term, and many of the new lads had not yet found themselves or their places. It was all pleasurable excitement and anticipation.
Huddled close together, talking rapidly of many things they had seen, or hoped to see—of the things they had done or expected to do, Andy, Dunk, and their chums walked on to the eating place. Dunk informed Andy, in a whisper, thathis three friends had been at Phillips Academy, in Andover, with him.
“Over here!”
“This way!”
“Lots of room!”
“Shove in, Hunter!”
“There’s Wilson!”
“Dunk Chamber, too! Oh, you, Dunk!”
“Oh! Thad Warburton, give us your eye!”
It was a call to health, and several lads arose holding aloft foaming mugs of beer. For a moment Andy’s heart failed him. He did not drink, and he did not intend to, yet he realized that to refuse might be very embarrassing. Yet he resolved on this course.
There were more good-natured cries, and healths proposed, and then Andy and his companions found room at the table. Dunk introduced Andy to several lads.
“Oh, you, Dunk, your eyes on us!”
Several lads called to him, holding aloft their steins. Dunk hesitated a moment and then, with a quick glance at Andy, let his glass be filled. Rising, he gave the pledge and drank.
Andy felt a tug at his heart strings. He was not a crank, nor a stickler for forms or reforms, yet he had made up his mind never to touch intoxicants. And it gave him a shock to find his roommate taking the stuff.
“Well, he’s his own master,” thought Andy. “It’s up to him!”
And then, amid that gay scene—not at all riotous—there came to Andy the memory of a half-forgotten lesson.
“Am I my brother’s keeper?”
Andy wanted to close his mind to it, but that one question seemed to repeat itself over and over again to him.
“Have some beer?”
The voice of a waiter was whispering to him.
“No—not to-night,” said Andy, softly. And what a relief he felt. No one seemed to notice him, nor was his refusal looked upon as strange. Then he noticed with a light heart that only a few of the lads, and the older ones at that, were taking the beverage. Andy noticed, too, with more relief, that Dunk only took one glass.
The meal went on merrily, and then Andy and Dunk, refusing many invitations to come to the rooms of friends, or downtown to a show, went to their own room.
“Let’s get it in shape,” proposed Dunk.
“Sure,” agreed Andy, and they set to work.
Each one had brought from home certain trophies—mementoes of school life—and these soon adorned the walls. Then there were banners and pennants, sofa cushions—the gift of certain girls—and photographs galore.
“Well, I call this some nifty little joint!” exclaimed Dunk, stepping back to admire the effect of the photograph of a pretty girl he had fastened on the wall.
“It sure is,” agreed Andy, who was himself putting up a picture.
“I say, who’s that?” asked Dunk, indicating it. “She’s some little looker, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“My sister.”
“Congrats! I’d like to meet her.”
“Maybe—some day.”
“Who’s this—surely not your sister?” asked Dunk, indicating another picture. “I seem to know her.”
“She’s a vaudeville actress, Miss Fuller.”
“Oh, ho! So that’s the way the wind blows, is it? Say, you are going some, Andy.”
“Nothing doing! I happened to save her from a fire——”
“Save her from a fire! Worse and more of it. I must tell this to the boys!”
“Oh, it wasn’t anything,” and Andy explained. “She sent me a mackinaw in place of my burned coat, and her picture was in the pocket. I kept it.”
“I should think you would. She’s a peach, and clever, too, I understand. She’s billed at Poli’s.”
“Yes, I’m going to see her.”
“Take me around, will you?”
“Sure, if you like.”
“I like all right. Hark, someone’s coming!” and Dunk slipped to the door and put on the chain.
“What’s the matter?” asked Andy.
“Oh, the sophs are around and may come in and make a rough house any minute.”
But the approaching footsteps did not prove to be those of vengeful sophomores. They were the three friends, Bob, Thad, and Ted, who were soon admitted.
As they were sitting about and talking there was a commotion out in the hall. The door, which Dunk had neglected to chain after the admission of his friends, was suddenly burst open, and in came, with a rush, Mortimer Gaffington and several other sophomores.
“Rough house!” was their rallying cry.
“Rough house for the freshies!”
“Rough house!”
CHAPTER XIIA FIERCE TACKLE
Andy and his chums were taken completely by surprise. The approach of Mortimer and the other sophomores had been so silent that no warning had been given.
Immediately on gaining admittance to the room the intruders began tossing things about. They pulled open the drawers of the dresser, scattering the garments all over. They tore down pictures from the walls and ripped off the banners and pennants.
“Rough house!” they kept repeating. “Rough house on the freshmen!”
One of the sophomores pushed Bob and Ted over on Andy’s bed, together.
Then Gaffington pulled from his pocket a handful of finely chopped paper of various colors—“confetti”—and scattered it in a shower over everyone and everything.
“Snow, snow! beautiful snow!” he declaimed. “Shiver, freshmen!”
A momentary pause ensued. Andy and his chums were getting back their breaths.
“Well, why don’t you shiver?” demanded Mortimer. “That’s snow—beautiful snow—all sorts of colored snow! Shiver, I tell you! It’s snowing! Little Eva in Uncle Tom’s Cabin—Eliza crossing the ice! Shiver now, you freshmen, shiver!”
He was laughing in a silly sort of way.
“That’s right—shiver!” commanded some of Mortimer’s companions.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” jeered the society swell at Andy. “Why don’t you shiver?”
“I’ve forgotten how,” said Andy, calmly.
“Hang you,shiver!” and Mortimer fairly howled out the word. He started toward Andy, with raised arm and clenched fist.
Among the possessions disturbed by the intruders was Andy’s favorite baseball bat, which he had brought with him. Instinctively, as he retreated a step, his fingers clutched it. He swung it around and held it in readiness. Mortimer recoiled, and Andy, seeing his advantage, cried:
“Get out of here! All of you. Come on, fellows, put ’em out!”
He raised the bat above his head, without the least intention in the world of using it, but the momentum swung it from his hand and it struck Mortimer on the forehead.
The lad who had led the “rough house” attackstaggered for a moment, and then, blubbering, sank down in a heap on the floor.
A sudden silence fell. In an instant Andy had sunk down on his knees beside his enemy and was feeling his pulse and heart. There was only a slight bruise on the forehead.
“You—you’ve killed him!” whimpered one of the sophomores.
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Dunk. “He’s only over-excited.” This was putting it mildly. Mortimer had been “celebrating,” and had really fainted. “That was only a love tap,” went on Dunk. “Chuck a little water in his face and he’ll be all right.”
This was done and proved to be just what was needed. Mortimer opened his eyes.
“What—what happened?” he asked, weakly. “Where—where am I?”
“Where you don’t belong,” replied Dunk, sharply. “It’s your move—get out!”
“You—you struck me!” went on Mortimer, accusingly to Andy.
“No, indeed, I did not! I thought you were coming for me, and so I raised the bat. It slipped.”
“I guess that’s right, old man,” said one of the sophomores, frankly. “I saw it. Mort has been going it too heavily. We’ll get him out of here. No offense, I hope,” and he lookedaround the dismantled room. “This is the usual thing.”
“Oh, all right,” said Dunk. “We’re not kicking. I guess we held up our end.”
“You sure did,” returned one of the sophomores, as he glanced at the wilted Mortimer. “Come on, fellows.”
Andy, feeling easier now that he was sure Mortimer was not badly hurt, looked at the other lads. Two of them he recognized as the ones who had been with Gaffington when the loss of the money was discovered. Andy wondered whether it had been found, but he did not like to ask.
“I—I’ll get you for this! I’ll fix you!” growled Mortimer, as his chums led him out of the room. “You—you——” and he swayed unsteadily, gazing at Andy.
“Oh, dry up and come on!” advised Len Scott. “We’ll go downtown and have some fun.”
They withdrew and the dazed freshmen began helping Andy and Dunk straighten up the room. It took some time and it was late when they finished. Then, thinking the day had been strenuous enough, Andy and Dunk declined invitations to go out, and got ready for bed.
So ended Andy’s first day at Yale.
There was a hurried run to chapel next morning,and Andy, who had to finish arranging his scarf on the way, found that he was not the only tag-ender. Chapel was not over-popular.
That Len Scott did not recover his lost money was made evident the next day, for there were several notices posted in various places offering a reward for the return of the bills. Andy heard, indirectly, that Len and Mortimer made half-accusations against the freshmen they had “frisked” earlier in the evening, and had been soundly trounced for their impudence.
Andy told Dunk of his connection in the affair and was advised to keep quiet, which Andy thought wise to do. But the loss of the money did not seem to be of much permanent annoyance to Len, for a few days later he was again spending royally.
Andy began now to settle down to his life at Yale. He was duly established in his room with Dunk, and it was the congregating place of many of their freshmen friends. Andy and Dunk continued to eat at the “joint” in York street, though our hero made up his mind that he would shift to University Hall at the first opportunity. He hoped Dunk would come with him, but that was rather doubtful.
“I can try, anyhow,” thought Andy.
Our hero did not find the lessons and lectures easy. There was a spirit of hard work at Yaleas he very soon found out, and he had not as much leisure time as he had anticipated, which, perhaps, was a good thing for him. But Andy wanted to do well, and he applied himself at first with such regularity that he was in danger of becoming known as a “dig.” But he was just saved from that by the influence of Dunk, who took matters a little easier.
Following the episode of the “rough house,” Andy did not see Mortimer for several days, and when he did meet him the latter took no notice of our hero.
“I’m just as pleased,” Andy thought. “Only it looks as though he’d make more trouble.”
Candidates for the football team had been called for, and, as Andy had made good at Milton, he decided to try for at least a place on the freshman team.
So then, one crisp afternoon, in company with other candidates, all rather in fear and trembling, he hopped aboard a trolley to go out to Yale Field.
Dunk was with him, as were also Bob, Ted, and Thad, who likewise had hopes. There was talk and laughter, and admiring and envying glances were cast at the big men—those who had played on the varsity team last year. They were like the lords of creation.
The car stopped near the towering grandstandsthat hemmed in the gridiron, and Andy swarmed with the others into the dressing rooms.
“Lively now!” snapped Holwell, one of the coaches. “Get out on the field, you fellows, and try tackling the dummy.”
A grotesque figure hung from a cross beam, and against this the candidates hurled themselves, endeavoring to clasp the elusive knees in a hard tackle. There were many failures, some of the lads missing the figure entirely and sliding along on their faces. Andy did fairly well, but if he looked for words of praise he was disappointed.
This practice went on for several days, and then came other gridiron work, falling on the ball, punting and drop kicking. Andy was no star, but he managed to stand out among the others, and there was no lack of material that year.
Then came scrimmage practice, the tentative varsity eleven lining up against the scrub. With all his heart Andy longed to get into this, but for days he sat on the bench and watched others being called before him. But he did not neglect practice on this account.
Then, one joyful afternoon he heard his name called by the coach.
“Get in there at right half and see what you can go,” was snapped at him. “Don’t fuddle the signals—smash through—follow the interference,and keep your eyes on the ball. Blake, give him the signals.”
The scrub quarter took him to one side and imparted a simple code used at practice.
“Now, scrub, take the ball,” snapped the coach, “and see what you can do.”
There was a quick line-up. Andy was trembling, but he managed to hold himself down. He looked over at the varsity. To his surprise Mortimer was being tried at tackle.
“Ready!” shrilly called the scrub quarter. “Signal—eighteen—forty-seven—shift—twenty-one—nineteen—”
It was the signal for Andy to take the ball through right tackle and guard. He received the pigskin and with lowered head and hunched shoulders shot forward. He saw a hole torn in the varsity line for him, and leaped through it. The opening was a good one, and the coach raved at the fatal softness of the first-team players. Andy saw his chance and sprinted forward.
But the next instant, after covering a few yards, he was fiercely tackled by Mortimer, who threw him heavily. He fell on Andy, and the breath seemed to leave our hero. His eyes saw black, and there was a ringing in his ears as of many bells.