Now for Thor himself. Words cannot describe that Prodigious Prodigy; hemust be seen to be believed! We do know that he is John Thorwald, and ofdistinctly Norwegian descent, so that calling him after the mythic Norsegod is extremely appropriate. And he is reminiscent of the great Thor, withhis vast strength and prowess. Thanks to T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s, love ofmystery, and of tantalizing old Bannister, we know nothing of Thorwald'spast, but we are sure he has lived and toiled amongmen, to possessthat powerful build. I can't describe him, old man, without resorting toexaggeration, for ordinary words and phrases are utterly inadequate withThor! Conjure up a vision of Gulliver among the Lilliputians and you canpicture him towering over us. He is a Viking of old, with his fair featuresand blond hair. Probably twenty-five years old, he has a powerful frame andprodigious strength, he dwarfs such behemoths as Butch and Beef, and makessuch insignificant mortals as little Theophilus and myself seem likeinsects!
Thor is sobig, Jack, that when he gets in a room, he crowds everyoneinto the corridor, and fills it alone. No wonder Hicks telegraphed to knockout the partitions between five rooms to make space for Thor! When hestands on the campus he blots out several sections of scenery, and thecollege disappears, giving the impression he has swallowed it. Thor is aslow-minded being, but possessed of a grim determination. To get an ideainto his mind requires a blackboard and Chautauqua lecturer, but once hemasters it, he never lets go; so it will be with football signals, once lethim grasp a play, he will never be confused. He is simply a huge, stolidgiant. He has a bulldog purpose to get an education, and nothing elsematters. As for college spirit, the glad comradeship of the campus, he hasno time for it; he pays no attention to the fellows at all, only to Hicks.
His devotion to that wretch is pathetic! He follows Hicks around like ahuge mastiff after a terrier, or an ocean leviathan towed by a tug-boat; heseems absolutely helpless without T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., and so we havea daily Hicks' personally conducted tour of Thor to interest us. Briefly,Jack, John Thorwald is a slow-moving, slow-minded, grimly bulldog giant,who has come to Bannister to study, and as for any other phase of campusexistence, he has never awakened to it!
Now for the football story: Well, the day after Hicks' sensational arrival,which I described, Coach Corridan, Captain Butch Brewster, Beef, Buster,Pudge, Monty, and Roddy with yours truly, went to Thor's room in Creightonjust before football practice. We found that Colossus, who had matriculatedas a Freshman, aided by Hicks, patiently masticating mental food as servedby Ovid. Coach Corridan said, 'Come on, Thorwald, over to the Gym.; we'llfix you out with togs, if we can get two suits big enough to make one foryour bulk! Ever play the game?' 'I play some,' rumbled Thor stolidly, neverraising his eyes from his Latin. 'Don't bother me, I want tostudy.I have not time for such foolishness. I am here to study, to get aneducation!' 'But,' urged the coach earnestly, 'youmustplay football foryour Alma Mater, for old Bannister. Why, you—youmust, that's all!' Thorgazed at Hicks questioningly—I forgot to add that insect's name—andasked, 'Is it so, Hicks? Igotto play for the college?' And when Hicksgrinned, 'Sure, Thor, it must be did. Bannister expects you to smear theother teams over the landscape,' that blond Norwegian Viking said, 'Well,then, I play.'
All Bannister turned out to behold the "Prodigious Prodigy" on the footballfield. Somewhere—Hicks won't divulge where—Thor has learned the rudimentsof the game. With that bulldog tenacity of his, he has learned them well.Hence he was ready for the scrubs, and in the practice game it was averitable slaughter of the innocents. The 'Varsity could not stop Thor.Remember 'Ole' Skjarsen, the big Swede of George Fitch's 'Siwash College'tales? Thor, after the ten minutes required to teach him a play, would takethe ball and just wade through the regulars for big gains. The only way tostop him was for the entire eleven to cling affectionately to his bulk,and then he transported them several yards. He is a phenom, a veritableProdigious Prodigy, and maybe old Bannister isn'twildwith enthusiasm.His development will be slow but sure, and by the time the big games forthe championship come, he will be a whole team in himself. Right now hegoes through daily scrimmage as solemnly as if performing a sacred rite. Hedoesn't thrill with college spirit, but as for football—
Leaving Hicks to read the rest of Scoop Sawyer's long missive, terminatingwith indignant condemnation of the sunny youth's love of mystery, theterrific enthusiasm roused at old Bannister by the daily appearance onBannister Field of Thor, and his irresistible marches through the 'Varsity,must be chronicled and explained.
Not for five seasons, not since the year before Hicks, Pudge, Butch, Beefand the others of 1919 were Freshmen, had the Gold and Green corraled thatgreatest glory, The State Intercollegiate Football Championship! In CaptainButch's Sophomore year, he had flung his bulk into the fray, training,sacrificing, fighting like a Trojan, only to see the pennant lost by ascant three inches, as Jack Merritt's forty-yard drop-kick for the goalthat would have won the Championship struck the cross-bar and bounded backinto the field. And the past season-old Bannister could still vision thattragic scene of the biggest game.
The students could picture Captain Brewster, with the Bannister eleven afew yards from Ballard's goal-line, and the touchdown that would give theGold and Green that supreme glory. One minute to play; Deacon Radford hadgiven Butch the pigskin, and like a berserker, he fought entirely throughthe scrimmage. But a kick on the head had blinded him, in themêlée—freeof tacklers, with the goal-line, victory, and the Championship so near, hestaggered, reeled blindly, crashed into an upright, and toppled backward,senseless on the field, while the Referee's whistle announced the end ofthe game, and glory to Ballard. Even then, after the first terrible shockof the loss, of the cruel blow fate dealt the Gold and Green twosuccessive seasons, the slogan was: "Next year—Bannister will win theChampionship—next year!"
It was now "next year!" Losing only Jack Merritt, Babe McCabe and HeavyHughes from the line-up, and having Monty Merrlweather and Bunch Bingham,fully as good, Coach Corridan's Gold and Green eleven, before the seasonstarted, seemed a better fighting machine than even the one of the yearbefore. But when the irrepressible T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., in somemysterious fashion making good his rash vow to produce a smashing full-backthat can't be stopped, towed that stolid, blond Colossus, Thor, to oldBannister, enthusiasm broke all limits!
Mass-meetings were held every night. Speeches by Coaches, Captain, players,Faculty, and students, aroused the campus to the highest pitch; every day,the entire student-body, with The Bannister Band, turned out on BannisterField to cheer the eleven, and to watch the Prodigious Prodigy performvalorous deeds, like the god Thor. "Bannister College—State Championship!"was the cry, and with the giant Thor to present an irresistible catapultingthat could not be stopped, the Gold and Green exultantly awaited the biggames with Hamilton and Ballard.
And yet, the stolid, unemotional, unawakened Thor, on whom every hope ofthe Championship was based, whom all Bannister came out to watch every day,practiced as he studied, doggedly, silently. It was evident to all thathe hated the grind, that he wanted to quit, that his heart was not in thegame, but for some cause, he drove his Herculean body ahead, and could notbe stopped!
"Now, you abandoned wretch," said Butch Brewster grimly, as thehappy-go-lucky Hicks finished Scoop's letter, and glanced about him wildlyseeking a way of escape, "in one minute you will tell us all about JohnThorwald, alias 'Thor,' or be tossed sky-high in a blanket by the footballsquad, and please believe me, you'll break all altitude records!"
"Spare me, you banditti!" pleaded Hicks, reluctant to cease torturingBannister with his Billion-Dollar Mystery, yet equally unwilling to aviatefrom a blanket heaved by the husky athletes. "Why seek ye to question theways of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.? You have your Prodigious Prodigy—yoursmashing full-back is distributing the 'Varsity over the scenery withcharming nonchalance that promises dire catastrophe for other teams, oncehe makes the regulars, so—"
At that dramatic moment, just as Butch Brewster glanced at Hicks'alarm-clock, to start the minute of grace, a startling interruption savedthe gladsome youth from having to make a decision. A heavy, creaking treadshook the corridor, and the squad beheld, looming up in the doorway, Thor.He was not in football togs, and as he started to speak his fair face asstolid and expressionless as that of a sphinx, Captain Butch Brewsterstepped toward him.
"Thor!" he exclaimed, seizing the blond Colossus by the arm, "You aren'tready for the scrimmage; hustle over to the Gym. and get on your suit."
But John Thorwald, as passive of feature as though he announced somethingof the most infinitesimal importance, and were not hurling a bomb-shellwhose explosion, was to shake old Bannister terrifically, spoke in amatter-of-fact manner: "I shall not play football—any more."
"What!" Every collegian in Hicks' room, including that dazed producerof the Prodigious Prodigy, chorused the exclamation; to them it was asstunning a shock as the nation would suffer if its President calmlyannounced, "I'm tired of being President of the United States. I shall notreport for work tomorrow." Bannister College, ever since the night thatThor arrived on the campus, had talked or thought of nothing but how thishuge, blond-haired Hercules would bring the Championship to the Gold andGreen; his prodigies on the gridiron, his ever-increasing prowess, hadaroused enthusiasm to fever heat, and now—
"I was told wrong," said Thor, shifting his vast tonnage awkwardly from onefoot to the other, and evidently bewildered at the consternation caused bywhat he believed a trifling announcement, "I understood that Ihadtoplay football, that the Faculty required it of me, and the students let methink so. I have just learned from Doctor Alford that such is not true,that I do not have to play unless I choose, hence, I quit. I came tocollege to study, to gain an education. I have toiled long and hard forthe opportunity, and now I have it, I shall not waste my time on suchfoolishness."
Then, utterly unconscious that he had spoken sentences which would createa mighty sensation at old Bannister, that might doom the Gold and Greento defeat, lose his Alma Mater the Championship, and bring on himself thecruel ostracism and bitter censure of his fellows, John Thorwald lumbereddown the corridor. A moment of tense silence followed and then CaptainButch Brewster groaned.
"It's all over, it's all over, fellows!" he said brokenly, "Bannister losesthe Championship! We know it is impossible to move Thor on the footballfield, and now that he has said 'No!' to playing football, dynamite can notmove him from his decision."
Then, crushed and disconsolate, the football squad filed silently from theroom, to break the glad news to Coach Corridan, and to spread the joyoustidings to old Bannister. When they had gone, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.,staring at the figurative black cloud that lowered over his Alma Mater,strove to find its silver lining, and at last he partially succeeded.
"Anyway," said Hicks, with a lugubrious effort to grin, "Thor'sannouncement shocked the squad so much that I was not forced to explain myBillion-Dollar Mystery!"
CHAPTER V
HICKS MAKES A DECISION
"In the famous words of Mr. Somebody-Or-Other," quoth T. Haviland Hicks,Jr., "something hasgotto be did, and immediately to once!"
Big Butch Brewster nodded assent. So did Head Coach Patrick Henry Corridan,Beef McNaughton, Team Manager Socks Fitzpatrick, Monty Merriweather, DadPendleton, President of the Athletic Association, and Deacon Radford,quarter-back, also Shad Fishpaw, who, being Freshman Class-Chairman,maintained a discreet silence. Instead of the usual sky-larking, care-freecrowd that infested the cozy quarters of the happy-go-lucky Hicks, everycollegian present, except the ever-cheerful youth, seemed to have lost hisbest friend and his last dollar at one fell swoop!
"Oh, yes, something has got to be did!" fleered Beef McNaughton, thedavenport creaking under the combined tonnage of himself and ButchBrewster, "But who will do it? Where's all that Oh-just-leave-it-to-Hicksstuff you have pulled for the past three years, you pestiferous insect?Bah! You did a lot; you dragged a Prodigious Prodigy to old Bannister,enshrouded him in darkest mystery, and now, when he pushed the 'Varsity offthe field and promised to corral the Championship, single-handed, he putshis foot down, and says, 'No—I will not play football!' Get busy, LittleMr. Fix-It."
"Oh, just leave it to Hicks!" accommodated that blithesome Senior, with acheeriness he was far from feeling. "You all do know why Thor won'tplay football; it is not like last season, when Deke Radford, a starquarter-back, refused either to play, or to explain his refusal. Let meget an inspiration, and then Thor will once again gently but firmly thrustentire football elevens down the field before him!"
As evidence of how intensely serious was the situation, let it bechronicled that, for the first time in his scatter-brained campus career,T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., did not dare strum his banjo and roar out balladsto torture his long-suffering colleagues. Popular and beloved as he was,the gladsome youth hesitated to shatter the quietude of the campus withhis saengerfest, knowing as he did what a terrible blow Thor's utterlyastounding announcement had been to the college.
It was nine o'clock, one night two weeks after the day when John Thorwald,better known as Thor, the Prodigious Prodigy, so mysteriously produced byHicks, had stolidly paralyzed old Bannister by unemotionally stating hisdecision to play no more football. Since then, to quote the Phillyloo Bird,"Bannister has staggered around the ring like a prizefighter with theReferee counting off ten seconds and trying to fight again before he takesthe count." In truth, the students had made a fatal mistake in buildingall their hopes of victory on that blond giant, Thor; seeing his wonderfulprowess, and beholding how, in the first week of the season, the NorwegianColossus had ripped to shreds the Varsity line which even the heavy Ballardeleven of the year before could not batter, it was but natural that theenthusiastic youths should think of the Championship chances in terms ofThor. For one week, enthusiasm and excitement soared higher and higher,and then, to use a phrase of fiction, everything fell with a dull,sickening thud!
In vain did Coach Corridan, the staff of Assistant Coaches, Captain ButchBrewster, and others strive to resuscitate football spirit; nightlymass-meetings were held, and enough perfervid oratory hurled to move aRussian fortress, but to no avail. It was useless to argue that, withoutThor, Bannister had an eleven better than that of last year, which sonearly missed the Championship. The campus had seen the massive Thor'sprodigies; they knew he could not be stopped, and to attempt to arouse thecollege to concert pitch over the eleven, with that mountain of muscleblotting out vast sections of scenery, but not in football togs, was notpossible.
"One thing is sure," spoke Dad Pendleton seriously, gazing gloomily fromthe window, "unless we get Thor in the line-up for the Big Games, our lasthope of the Championship is dead and interred! And I feel sorry for the bigfellow, for already the boys like him just about as much as a Germanloves an Englishman; yet, arguments, threats, pleadings, and logic haveabsolutely no effect on him. He has said 'No,' and that ends it!"
"He doesn't understand things, fellows," defended T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.,with surprising earnestness. "Remember how bewildered he seemed at ourappeal to his college spirit, and his love for his Alma Mater. We might aswell have talked Choctaw to him!"
Butch Brewster, Socks Fitzpatrick, Dad Pendleton, Beef McNaughton, DeaconRadford, Monty Merriweather, and Shad Fishpaw well remembered that nightafter Thor's tragic decision, when they—part of a Committee formed of thebest athletes from all teams, and the most representative collegians of oldBannister, had invaded Thor's room in Creighton Hall, to wrestle with therecalcitrant Hercules. Even as Hicks spoke, they visioned it again.
A cold, cheerless room, bare of carpet or pictures, with just thestudy-table, bed, and two chairs. At the study-table, his huge bulksprawling on, and overflowing, a frail chair, they had found the massiveJohn Thorwald laboriously reading aloud the Latin he had translated,literally by the sweat of his brow. The blond Colossus, impatient at theinterruption, had shaken his powerful frame angrily, and with no regard forcampus tradition, had addressed the upperclassmen in a growl: "Well, whatdo you want? Hurry up, I've got to study."
And then, to state it briefly, they had worked with (and on) the stolidThorwald for two hours. They explained how his decision to play no morefootball would practically kill old Bannister's hopes of the Championship,would assassinate football spirit on the campus, and cause the youths tocondemn Thor, and to ostracise him. Waxing eloquent, Butch Brewster haddelivered a wonderful speech, pleading with John Thorwald to play thegame. He tried to show that obviously uninterested mammoth that, like theHercules he so resembled, he stood at the parting of the ways.
"You are on the threshold of your college career, old man!" he thunderedimpressively, though he might as well have tried to shoot holes in abattleship with a pop-gun, "What you do now will make or break you. Do youwant the fellows as friends or as enemies; do you want comradeship, orloneliness and ostracism? You have it in your power to do twobigthings,to win the Championship for your Alma Mater, and to win to yourself theentire student-body, as friends; will you do that, and build a firmfoundation for your college years, or betray your Alma Mater, and gain theenmity of old Bannister!"
Followed more fervid periods, with such phrases as, "For your Alma Mater,""Because of your college spirit," "For dear old Bannister," and "Forthe Gold and Green!" predominating; all of which terms, to the stolid,unimaginative Thorwald being fully as intelligible as Hindustani. Theyappealed to him not to betray his Alma Mater; they implored him, for hislove of old Bannister; they besought him, because of his college spirit;and all the time, for all that the Prodigious Prodigy understood, theymight as well have remained silent.
"I will tell you something," spoke Thor, at last, with an air of impatientresignation, "and don't bother me again, please! I have come to BannisterCollege to get an education, and I have the right to do so, without beingpestered. I pay my bills, and I am entitled to all the knowledge I canpurchase. I look from my window, and I see boys, whose fathers are toiling,sacrificing, to send them here. Instead of studying, to show theirgratitude, they loaf around the campus, or in their rooms, twanging banjosand guitars, singing silly songs, and sky-larking. I don't know what allthis rot is you are talking of; 'college spirit,' 'my Alma Mater,' and soon. I do not want to play football; I do not like the game; I need the timefor my study, so I will not play. Both my father and myself have laboredand sacrificed to send me to college. The past five years, with one greatambition to go to college and learn, I have toiled like a galley-slave.
"And now, when opportunity is mine, do you ask me toplay? You want me toloaf around, wasting precious time better spent in my studies. What do Icare whether the boys like me, or hate me? Bah! I can take any two of you,and knock your heads together! Their friendship or enmity won't move me. Ishall study, learn. I will not waste time in senseless foolishness, and Iwon'tplay football again."
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr. was silent as he stood by the window of his room,gazing down at the campus where the collegians were gathering beforemarching to the Auditorium for the nightly mass-meeting that would vainlystrive to arouse a fighting spirit in the football "rooters." Thatblithesome, heedless, happy-go-lucky youth was capable of far more seriousthought than old Bannister knew; and more, he possessed the rare abilityto read character; in the case of Thor, he saw vastly deeper than hisindignant comrades, who beheld only the surface of the affair. They knewonly that John Thorwald, a veritable Colossus, had exhibited footballprowess that practically promised the State Championship to old Bannister,and then—he had quit the game. They understood only that Thor refused toplay simply because he did not want to, and as to why their appeals to hiscollege spirit and his love for his Alma Mater were unheeded they werepuzzled.
But the gladsome Hicks, always serious beneath his cheerful exterior, whenold Bannister's interests were at stake, or when a collegian's careermight be blighted, when the tragedy could be averted, fully understood. Ofcourse, as originator of the Billion-Dollar Mystery, and producer of theProdigious Prodigy, he knew more about the strange John Thorwald than didhis mystified comrades. He knew that Thor, as he named him, was just a vasthulk of humanity, stolid, unimaginative of mind, slow-thinking, a dull,unresponsive mass, as yet unstirred by that strange, subtle, mighty thingcalled college spirit. He realized that Thor had never had a chance tounderstand the real meaning of campus life, to grasp the glad fellowship ofthe students, to thrill with a great love for his Alma Mater. All that mustcome in time. The blond giant had toiled all his life, had labored amongmen where everything was practical and grim. Small wonder, then, that hefailed utterly to see why the youths "loafed on the campus, or in theirrooms, twanging banjos and guitars, singing silly songs, and skylarking."
"I must save him," murmured Hicks softly, for the others in his room weretalking of Thor. "Oh, imagine that powerful body, imbued with a vast lovefor old Bannister, think of Thor, thrilling with college spirit. Why,Yale's and Harvard's elevens combined could not stop his rushes, then. Imust save him from himself, from the condemnation of the fellows, who justdon't understand. I must, some way, awaken him to a complete understandingof college life in its entirety, but how? He is so different from RoddyPerkins, or Deke Radford."
It seemed that the lovable Hicks was destined to save, every year of hiscampus career, some entering collegian who incurred the wrath, deserved orotherwise, of the students. In his Freshman first term, T. Haviland Hicks,Jr., indignant at the way little Theophilus Opperdyke, the timorous,nervous "grind," had been alarmed at the idea of being hazed, had by asensational escape from a room locked, guarded, and filled with Sophomores,gained immunity for himself and the boner for all time, thus winning theloyal, pathetic devotion of the Human Encyclopedia. As a Sophomore, bycrushing James Roderick Perkins' Napoleonic ambition to upset tradition,and make Freshmen equal with upperclassmen, Hicks had turned thataggressive youth's tremendous energy in the right channels, and made him apower for good on the campus.
And, a Junior, he had saved good Deacon Radford. When that serious youth, afamous prep. quarter, entered old Bannister, the students were wild at thethought of having him to run the Gold and Green team, but to their dismay,he refused either to report for practice or to explain his decision. Hicks,promising blithely, as usual, to solve the mystery and get Deke to play,discovered that the youth's mother, called "Mother Peg" by the collegians,was head-waitress downtown at Jerry's and that she made her son promisenot to own the relationship, and that while she worked to get him throughcollege, Deacon would not play football. The inspired Hicks had gottenMother Peg to start College Inn, and board Freshmen unable to get roomsin the dormitories, and Deacon had played wonderful football. For thisachievement, the original youth failed to get glory, for he sacrificed it,and swore all concerned to secrecy.
"But Roddy and Deke were different," reflected Hicks, pondering seriously."Both had been to Prep. School, and they understood college life and campusspirit. It was Roddy's tremendous ambition that had to be curbed, and Dekewas the victim of circumstances. But Thorwald—it is just a problem of howto awaken in him an understanding of college spirit. The fellows don'tunderstand him, and—"
A sudden thought, one of his inspirations, assailed the blithesome Hicks.Why not make the fellows understand Thor? Surely, if he explained the"Billion-Dollar Mystery," as he humorously called it, and told whyThorwald, as yet, had no conception of college life, in its true meaning,they would not feel bitter against him; perhaps, instead, though regretfulat his decision not to play the game, they would all strive to awaken thestolid Colossus, to stir his soul to an understanding of campustradition and existence. But that would mean—"I surely hate to lose myBillion-Dollar Mystery!" grinned T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., rememberingthe intense indignation of his comrades at his Herman-Kellar-Thurstonatmosphere of mystery, "It is more fun than, my 'Sheerluck Holmes'detective pose or my saengerfests. Still, for old Bannister, and for Thor."
It would seem only a trifle for the heedless Hicks to give up his mystery,and tell Bannister all about Thor; yet, had the Hercules reconsidered, andplayed football, the torturesome youth would have bewildered his colleaguesas long as possible, or until they made him divulge the truth. He dearlyloved to torment his comrades, and this had been such an opportunity forhim to promise nonchalantly to produce a Herculean full-back, then, toreturn to the campus with the Prodigious Prodigy in tow, and for him toperform wonders on Bannister Field, naturally aroused the interest of theyouths, and he had enjoyed hugely their puzzlement, but now—
"Say, fellows," he interrupted an excited conversation of a would-beCommittee of Ways and Means to make Thor play football, "I have anannouncement to make."
"Don't pester us, Hicks!" warned Captain Butch Brewster, grimly. "We loveyou like a brother, but we'll crush you if you start any foolishness,and—"
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., with the study-table between himself and hiscomrades, assumed the attitude of a Chautauqua lecturer, one hand restingon the table and the other thrust into the breast of his coat, anddramatically announced:
"In the Auditorium—at the regular mass-meeting tonight—T. Haviland Hicks,Jr., will give the correct explanation of Thor, the Prodigious Prodigy, andwill solve the Billion-Dollar Mystery!"
CHAPTER VI
HICKS MAKES A SPEECH
The announcement of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., had practically the sameeffect on Head Coach Corridan and the cheery Senior's comrades as a Germangas-bomb would have on the inmates of an Allied trench. For several secondsthey stared at the blithesome youth, in a manner scarcely to be calledaimless, since their looks were aimed with deadly accuracy at him, but ingeneral, with the exception of Hicks, those in the room resembled vastlysome of the celebrated Madame Tussaud's wax-works in London.
"Oh," breathed Monty Merriweather, with the appearance of dawningintelligence, "that's so, Coach, Hicks never has disclosed the details ofhis achievement; we were about to extort a confession from him, when Thorbroke up the league with his announcement, and since then, Bannister hasbeen too worried over Thorwald to trifle with Hicks!"
"That's a good idea!" exclaimed Coach Corridan, who had been remarkablysilent, for him, pondering the football crisis, "Hicks can make hisexplanation at the regular mass-meeting tonight, in the Auditorium. I'llpost an announcement of his purpose, and you fellows spread the news amongthe students, stating that Hicks will tell how he rounded up Thor. Somehave shirked these meetings since Thorwald quit the game, and this willbring them out, so maybe we can arouse the fighting spirit again!"
So well did Butch, Beef, Socks, Monty, Dad, Deacon, and Shad tell the news,that when the bell in the Administration Hall tower rang at ten o'clock itwas ascertained by score-keepers that every youth at Bannister, Freshmenincluded, except that Hercules, Thor, had assembled in the Auditorium. Thatstolid behemoth, who regarded the football mass-meeting as foolishness, wasreported as boning in his cheerless room, fulfilling the mission for whichhe came to college, namely, to get his money's worth of knowledge, which heevidently regarded as some commodity for which Bannister served merely as amarket.
Big Butch Brewster, on the stage of the Auditorium, the big assembly-hallof the college, along with Coach Corridan, several of the Gold and Greeneleven, two members of the Faculty, several Assistant Coaches, and T.Haviland Hicks, Jr., stepped forward and stilled the tumult of the excitedyouths with upraised hand.
"We have with us tonight," he spoke, after the fashion of introducingafter-dinner speakers, "Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Jr., the celebratedMagician and Mystifier, who will present for your approval his world-famousBillion-Dollar Mystery, and give the correct solution to Thor, the problemno one has been able to solve. I take great pleasure in introducing to youthis evening, Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Jr."
The collegians, firmly believing it was another of the pestiferous Hicks'jokes, and wholly unaware of the deep purpose of the sunny-souled,irrepressible youth's speech, went into paroxysms of glee, as theshadow-like Hicks stepped forward. For several minutes, the hall echoedwith jeers, shouts, groans, whistles, and sarcastic comments:
"Hire a hall, Hicks; tell it to Sweeney!"—"Bryan better look out. Hicks,the Chau-talker;"—"Spill the speech, old man; spread the oratory!"—"Oh,where are my smelling-salts? I know I shall faint!"—"You'd better play abanjo-accompaniment to it, Hicks!"
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., for once in his campus career, fervidly wished hehad not been such a happy-go-lucky, care-free collegian, for now, when hewas serious, his comrades refused to believe him to be in such a state.However, quiet was obtained at last, thanks to the fact that the youthspossessed all the curiosity of the proverbial cat who died thereby, and thesunny Senior plunged earnestly into his famous speech, that was destined,at old Bannister, to rank with that of Demosthenes "On The Crown," or anyof W. J, Bryan's masterpieces.
"Fellows," began Hicks, without preface, "I know I've built myself thereputation of being a scatterbrained, heedless nonentity, and it's too lateto change now. But tonight, please believe me to be thoroughly in earnest.Bannister faces more than one crisis, more than one tragedy. It is truethat the football eleven is crippled by the defection of Thor, that wefellows have somewhat unreasonably allowed his quitting the game to shakeour spirit, but there is more at stake than football victories, than eventhe State Intercollegiate Football Championship! The future of a student,of a present Freshman, his hopes of becoming a loyal, solid, representativecollege man, a tremendous power for good, at old Bannister, hang in thebalance at this moment! I speak of John Thorwald. You students have it inyour power to make or break him, to ruin his college years and make him arecluse, a misanthrope, or to gradually bring him to a full realization ofwhat college life and campus tradition really mean."
"I have made a great mystery of Thor, just for a lark, but the enmity andcondemnation of the campus for him because he quit football suddenly, showsme that the time for skylarking is past. For his sake, I must plead. He isnot to blame, altogether, for quitting. Myself, and you fellows, gave himthe impression that it was a Faculty requirement for him to play football,for we feared he would not play, otherwise; when he learned that it was nota Faculty rule, he simply quit."
Here T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., seeing that at last he had convinced thecollegians of his earnestness, though they seemed fairly paralyzed at thephenomenon, paused, and produced a bundle of papers before resuming.
"Now, I'll try to explain the 'mystery' as briefly and as clearly aspossible. Up at Camp Bannister, before college opened, Coach Corridan, asyou know, outlined to Butch, Deke, and myself, his dream of a Herculean,irresistible full-back; I said, 'Just leave It to Hicks!' and they believedthat I, as usual, just made that remark to torment them. But such was notthe case. When I joined them, I remarked that I had a letter from my Dad;Deke made some humorous remarks, and I forgot to read it aloud, as Iintended. Then, after Coach Corridan blue-printed his giant full-back, Ikept silent as to Dad's letter, for reasons you'll understand. But, afterall, there was no mystery about my leaving Camp Bannister, after making aseemingly rash vow, and returning to college with a 'Prodigious Prodigy'who filled specifications, In fact, before I left Camp Bannister, at themoment I made my rash promise—I had Thor already lined up!"
"I shall now read a dipping or two, and a letter or two from my Dad. Theclippings came in Dad's letter to me at Camp Bannister, the letter Iintended to read to Coach Corridan, Deke, and Butch, but which I decided tokeep silent about, after the Coach told of the full-back he wanted, forI knew I had him already! First, a clipping from the San FranciscoExaminer, of August 25:
MAROONED SAILOR RESCUED—TEN YEARSON SOUTH SEA ISLAND!SOLE SURVIVOR OFILL-FATED CRUISE OF THE ZEPHYR
"The trading-schooner Southern Cross, Captain Martin Bascomb, skipper,put into San Francisco yesterday with a cargo of copra from the South SeaIslands. On board was John Thorwald, Sr., who for the past ten yearshas been marooned on an uninhabited coral isle of the Southern Pacific,together with 'Long Tom' Watts, who, however, died several months ago.Thorwald's story reads like a thrilling bit of fiction. He was first mateof the ill-fated yacht Zephyr, which cleared from San Francisco ten yearsago with Henry B. Kingsley, the Oil-King, and a pleasure party, for acruise under the southern star. A terrific tornado wrecked the yacht, andonly Thorwald and 'Long Tom' escaped, being cast upon the coral island,where for ten years they existed, unable to attract the attention of thefew craft that passed, as the isle was out of the regular lanes. Only whenCaptain Martin Bascomb, in the trading-schooner Southern Cross, touchedat the island, hoping to find natives with whom to trade supplies forcopra, were they found, and 'Long Tom' had been dead some months."
"Despite the harrowing experiences of his exile, Thorwald, a vast hulk of astolid, unimaginative Norwegian, who reminds one of the Norse god, 'Thor,'intends to ship as first mate on the New York-Christiania Steamship Line.It is said that Thorwald has a son, at this time about twenty-five years ofage, somewhere In this country, whom he will seek, and—"
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., at this juncture, terminated the newspaper story,and finding that his explanation held his comrades spellbound, he produceda letter, and drew out the message, after stating the youths could read theentire news-story of John Thorwald, Sr., later.
"This is the letter I received from my Dad," he explained to the intenselyinterested Bannister youths, who were giving a concentrated attention thatmembers of the Faculty would have rejoiced to receive from them. "Up atCamp Bannister—I was just about to read it to Coach Corridan, Butch, andDeke Radford, when Deke chaffed me, and then the Coach outlined the mammothfull-back he desired, so I kept quiet. I'll now read it to you:
"Pittsburgh, Pa., Sept, 17.
"DEAR SON THOMAS:
"Read the inclosed clipping from the San Francisco Examiner of August 25,and then pay close attention to the following facts: At the time of thisnews-story I was in 'Frisco on business, as you will recall, and forreasons to be outlined, when I read of the Southern Cross finding themarooned John Thorwald, and bringing him to that city, I was particularlyinterested, so much so that I at once looked up the one-time first mate ofthe ill-starred Zephyr and brought him to Pittsburgh in my private car.My reason was this; in my employ, in the International Steel Combine'smill, was John Thorwald's son, John Thorwald, Jr.
"To state facts as briefly as possible, almost a year ago, as I took somefriends through the steel rolling mill, I chanced to step directly beneatha traveling crane, lowering a steel beam; seeing my peril, I was about tostep aside when I caught my foot and fell. Just then a veritable giant,black and grimy, leaped forward, and with a prodigious display of strength,placed his powerful back under the descending weight, staving it off untilI rolled over to safety!
"Well, of course, I had the fellow report to my office, and instinctivelyfeeling that I wanted to show my gratitude, without being patronizing, heresponded to my question as to what I could do to reward him, by askingsimply that I get him some job that would allow him to attend night school.He stated that, owing to the fact that he worked alternate weeks at nightshift he was unable to do so. Questioning him further, I learned thefollowing facts:
"He was John Thorwald, Jr., only son of John Thorwald, Sr., a Norwegian;his mother was also a Norwegian, but he is a natural born American.Realizing the opportunities for an educated young man in our land,Thorwald's parents determined that he should gain knowledge, and until hewas fifteen years old, he attended school in San Francisco. When he wasfifteen, his father signed as first mate on the yacht Zephyr, going withthe oil-king, Henry B. Kingsley, on a pleasure cruise in the SouthernPacific; Thorwald, Sr.'s, story you read in the paper. Soon after the newsof the Zephyr's wreck, with all on board lost, as was then supposed,Thorwald's mother died. Her dying words (so young Thorwald told me, and Iwas moved by his simple, straightforward tale) were an appeal to herboy. She made him promise, for her sake, to study, study, study to gainknowledge, and to rise in the world! Thorwald promised. Then, believingboth his parents dead, the young Norwegian, a youth of fifteen withoutmoney, had to shift for himself.
"Thomas, Jack London could weave his adventures into a grippingmasterpiece. Starting in as cabin-boy on a freighter to Alaska, youngThorwald, in the past ten years, has simply crowded his life withadventure, thrill, and experience, though thrills mean nothing to him. Hewas in the Klondike gold-fields, in the salmon canneries, a prospector, alumber-jack in the Canadian Northwest, a cowboy, a sailor, a worker in thePanama Canal Zone, on the Big Ditch, and too many other things to remember.Finally, he drifted to Pittsburgh, where his prodigious strength served himin the steel-mills, and, let me add, servedme, as I stated.
"And ever, no matter where he wandered, or what was his toil, wheneverpossible, Thorwald studied. His promise to his mother was always his goal,and in the cities he studied, or in the wilds he read all the books hecould find. The past year, finding he had a good-pay job in Pittsburgh, hesettled to determined effort, and by sheer resolution, by his wonderfulpower to grasp facts and ideas for good once he gets them, he made greatprogress in night school, until he was shifted, a week before he saved mylife, to work that required him to toil nightly, alternate weeks. So, for ayear, Thor has had every possible advantage, some, unknown to him, I paidfor myself; I got him clerical work, with shorter hours, he went to nightschool, and I employed the very best tutor obtainable, letting Thorwaldpay him, as he thought, though his payments wouldn't keep the tutor inneckties. The gratitude of the blond giant is pathetic, and suspecting thatI paid the tutor something, he insisted on paying all he could, which Iallowed, of course.
"Well, in August, a year after Thorwald rescued me from serious injury,perhaps death, I was in 'Frisco, and read of Thorwald, Sr.'s rescue andreturn. Overjoyed, I took the father to Pittsburgh, to the son. I witnessedtheir meeting, with the father practically risen from the dead, and allthose stolid, unimaginative Norwegians did was to shake hands gravely!Young Thorwald told of his mother's last words, and of his promise, of hishaving studied all the years, and of his late progress, so that he wasready to enter college. His father, happy, insisted that he enter thisSeptember, and he would pay for his son's college course, to make up forthe years the youth struggled for himself—Kingsley's heirs, I believe,gave Thorwald, Sr., five thousand dollars on his return. So, thoughgrateful to me for the aid I offered, they would receive no financialassistance, for they want to work it out themselves, and help the youthmake good his promise to his dying mother.
"Much as I love old Bannister, my Alma Mater, I would not have tried tosend Thorwald there, had I not deemed it a good place for him. However,since it is a liberal, not a technical, education he wants, it is allright; and that prodigious strength will serve the Gold and Green on thefootball field. Now, Thomas, I want you to meet him in Philadelphia, andtake him to Bannister, look out for him, get him started O. K., and do allyou can for him. Get him to play football, if you can, but don't condemnif he refuses. Remember, his life has been grim and unimaginative; he hastoiled and studied, it is probable he will not understand college life atfirst."
"That's all I need to read of Dad's letter, fellows," concluded T. HavilandHicks, Jr. "After I got it, and Coach Corridan, Butch, and Beef heard myseemingly rash vow to round up a giant full-back, I made a mystery of it; Iloafed in Philadelphia and Atlantic City until I met Thor, and brought himhere. You have all the data regarding Thor, 'The Billion-Dollar Mystery.'"
The students, almost as one, drew a deep breath. They had been enthralledby the story, and their feeling toward Thor had undergone a vast change.Stirred by hearing of his promise to his dying mother, thrilled at the waythe stolid, determined Norwegian had ceaselessly studied to make somethingof himself for the sake of his mother's sacred memory, the Bannister youthsnow thought of football, of the Championship, as insignificant, beside thegoal of Thorwald, Jr. The blond Colossus, whom an hour ago all Bannisterreviled and condemned for not playing the game, who was a campus outcast,was now a hero; thanks to the erstwhile heedless Hicks, whose intenseearnestness in itself was a revelation to the amazed collegians, Thor stoodbefore them in a different light, and the impulsive, whole-souled, generousyouths were now anxious to make amends.
"Thor! Thor! Thor!" was the thunderous cry, and the Bannister yell forthe Prodigious Prodigy shattered the echoes. Then T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.,ecstatically joyous, again stilled the tumult, and spoke in behalf of JohnThorwald.
"We all understand Thor now, fellows," he said, beaming on his comrades."We want him to play football, and we'll keep after him to play, but wewon't condemn him if he refuses. At present, Thor is simply a stolid,unimaginative, dull mass of muscle. As you can realize, his nature, hislife so far have not tended to make him appreciate the gayer, lighter sideof college life, or to grasp the traditions of the campus. To him, collegeis a market; he pays his money and he takes the knowledge handed out. Wecan not blame him for not understanding college existence in its entirety,or that the gaining of knowledge is a small part of the representativecollegian's purpose.
"Now, boys, here's our job, and let's tackle it together: To awaken inThor a great love for old Bannister, to cause college spirit to stir hispractical soul. Let every fellow be his friend, let no one speak againsthim, because of football. We must work slowly, carefully, gradually makinghim grasp college traditions, and once he awakens to the real meaning ofcampus life, what a power he will be in the college and on the athleticfield! Maybe he will not play football this season, but let us help him toawaken!"
With wild shouts, the aroused collegians poured from the Auditorium, anexcited, turbulent mass of youthful humanity, a tide that swept T. HavilandHicks, Jr., on the shoulders of several, out on the campus. Massed beneaththe window of John Thorwald's room, in Creighton Hall, the Bannisterstudents, now fully understanding that stolid Hercules, and stirred toadmiration of him by T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s, great speech, cheered thesomewhat mystified Thor again and again; in vast sound waves, the shoutsrolled up to his open window:
"Rah! Rah! Rah-rah-rah! Thor! Thor! Thor!" Captain Brewster, through abig megaphone, roared; "Fellows—What's the matter with Thor?"
And in a terrific outburst which, as the Phillyloo Bird afterward said,"Like to of busted Bannister's works!" the enthusiastic collegiansresponded:
"He's—all—right!"
Then Butch, apparently in quest of information, persisted:
"Who's all right?"
To which the three hundred or more youths, all seemingly equipped withlungs of leather, kindly answered:
"Thor! Thor! Thor!"
Still, though the Phillyloo Bird declared that this vocal explosion causedthe seismographs as Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, and in Salt LakeCity, Utah, to register an earthquake somewhere, it had on the blondFreshman a strange effect. The vast mountain of muscle lumbered heavilyacross the room, gazed down at the howling crowd of collegians withoutemotion, then slammed down the window, and returned to study.
"Good night" called Hicks. "The show is over! Let him have another yell,boys, to show we aren't insulted; then we'll disband!"
Considering Thorwald's cool reception of their overtures, which some youthremarked, "Were as noisy as that of a Grand Opera Orchestra," it was quitesurprising to the students, in the morning, when what occurred an hourafter their serenade was revealed to them. As the story was told by thosewho witnessed the scene, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., Butch, Beef, Monty, Pudge,Roddy, Biff, Hefty, Tug, Buster, and Coach Corridan after the commotionsubsided, retired to the sunny Hicks' quarters, where the footballsituation was discussed, along with ways and means to awaken Thor, whenthat colossal Freshman himself loomed up in the doorway.
As they afterward learned, several excited Freshmen had dared to invadeThor's den, even while he studied, and give him a more or less correctaccount of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s masterly oration in his defense. Out oftheir garbled descriptions, big John Thorwald grasped one salient point,and straightway he started for Hicks' room, leaving the indignant Freshmento tell their story to the atmosphere.
"Hicks," said Thor, not bothering with the "Mr." required of all Freshmen,as his vast bulk crowded the doorway, "is it true that Mr. Thomas HavilandHicks, Sr., wants me to play football? He has been very kind to me, andhas helped me, and so have you, here at college. After a year of study, Ishould have had to stop night-school, but for him—instead, I got anotheryear, and prepared for Bannister. I did not know thathedesired me toplay, but if he does, I feel under obligation to show my great gratitude,both for myself and for my father."
A moment of silence, for the glorious news could not be grasped in asecond; those in the room, knowing Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr.'s, brilliantathletic record at old Bannister, and understanding his great love forhis Alma Mater, knew that Hicks, Sr., had sent Thor to Bannister to playfootball for the Gold and Green, though, as he had written his son, hewould not have done so had he honestly believed that another college wouldsuit the ambitious Goliath better.
"Does he?" stammered the dazed T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., while the othersechoed the words feebly, "Yes, I should say hedoes!"
For a second, the ponderous young Colossus hesitated, and then, as calmlyas though announcing he would add Greek to his list of studies, and whollyunaware that his words were to bring joy to old Bannister, he spokestolidly.
"Then I shall play football."
CHAPTER VII
HICKS STARTS ANOTHER MYSTERY.
"Fifteen men sat on the dead man's chest—Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Drink and the Devil had done for the rest—Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!"
T HAVILAND HICKS, JR., his chair tilted at a perilous angle, and his feetthrust gracefully atop of the study-table, in his cozy room, one Fridayafternoon two weeks after John Thorwald's return to the football squad, wasfathoms deep in Stevenson's "Treasure Island." As he perused the thrillingpages, the irrepressible youth twanged a banjo accompaniment, and roaredwith gusto the piratical chantey of Long John Silver's buccaneer crew;Hicks, however, despite his saengerfest, was completely lost in theenthralling narrative, so that he seemed to hear the parrot shrieking,"Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!" and the wild refrain:
"Fifteen men sat on the dead man's chest—Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!"
He was reading that breathlessly exciting part where the cabin-boy of theHispaniola, and Israel Hands have their terrible fight to the death, withthe dodging over the dead man rolling in the scuppers, the climbing up themast, and the dirk pinning the boy's shoulder, before Hands is shot andgoes to join his mate on the bottom; just at the most absorbing page, as hetwanged his beloved banjo louder, and roared the chantey, there sounded,"Tramp—tramp—tramp!" in the corridor, the heavy tread of many feetsounded, coming nearer. Instinctively realizing that the pachydermic paradewas headed forhisroom, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., rushed to the closet,murmuring, "Safety first!" as usual, and stowed away his banjo. He was justin the nick of time, for a second later there crowded into his room CaptainButch, Pudge, Beef, Hefty, Biff, Monty, Roddy, Bunch, Tug, Buster, CoachCorridas, and Thor, the latter duo bringing up the rear.
"Hicks, you unjailed public nuisance!" said Butch Brewster, affectionately."We, whom you behold, are going for to enter into that room across thecorridor from your boudoir, and hold a football signal quiz and confab. Weshould request that you permit a thunderous silence to originate in yourcozy retreat, for the period of at least a hour! A word to thewiseissufficient, so I have spoken several, that even you may comprehend mymeaning."
"I gather you, fluently!" grinned T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., taking up"Treasure Island" and his graceful pose once more. "Leave me to peruse thethrilling pages of this classic blood-and-thunder book, and I'll cause abeautiful serenity to obtain hither."
"See that you do, you pestiferous insect!" threatened Beef McNaughton,ominously. "Come on, fellows, Hicks can't escape our vengeance, ifhe bursts into what he fatuously believes is song. Just let him acthippicanarious, and—"
When the Gold and Green eleven, half of which, to judge by size, wasThor, had gone with Coach Corridan into the room across from that of theblithesome Hicks, the sunny-souled Senior tried to resume his perusal of"Treasure Island," but somehow the spell had been broken by the invasion ofhis cozy quarters. So, after vainly essaying to take up the thread of thestory again, Hicks arose and stood by the window, gazing across the campusto Bannister Field, deserted, since the football team rested for the gameof the morrow. As he stood there, the gladsome Hicks reflected seriously.He thought of "Thor," and decided sorrowfully that the problem of awakeningthat stolid Colossus to a full understanding of campus life was as unsolvedas ever.
"But Iwon'tgive it up!" declared Hicks, determinedly. "I have alwaysbeen good at math, and I won't let this problem baffle me."
Since the night, two weeks back, when T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., had made hismemorable speech, explaining to his fellow-students the "Billon-DollarMystery," and arousing in them a vast admiration for the slow-minded,plodding John Thorwald, every collegian had done his best to befriend thebig Freshman. Upperclassmen helped him with his studies. Despite his almostrude refusal to meet any advances, the collegians always had a cheerygreeting for him, and his class-mates, in fear and trembling, invadedhis den at times, to show him they were his friends. Yet, despite thesewhole-hearted efforts, only two of old Bannister did the silent Thorseem to desire as comrades: the festive Hicks, for reasons known,and—remarkable to chronicle—little Theophilus Opperdyke, the timorous,studious "Human Encyclopedia."
"Colossus and Lilliputian!" the Phillyloo Bird quaintly observed once whenthis strangely assorted duo appeared on the campus. "Say, fellows—sometime Thor will accidentally sit on Theophilus, and we'll have anothermystery, the disappearance of our boner!"
The generous Hicks, longing for Thor's awakening to come, was not in theleast jealous of his loyal little friend, Theophilus. In fact, he wassincerely delighted that the unemotional Hercules desired the comradeshipof the grind, and he urged the Human Encyclopedia to strive constantly toarouse in Thor a realization of college existence, and a true knowledge ofits meaning. At least one thing, Theophilus reported, had been achieved byHicks' defense of Thorwald, and the subsequent attitude of the collegians—the colossal Freshman was puzzled, quite naturally. When over three hundredyouths criticized, condemned, and berated him one night, and the next, evenbefore he reconsidered his decision about football, came under his windowand cheered him, no wonder the young Norwegian was bewildered.
On the football field, with his dogged determination, his bulldog way ofhanging on to things until he mastered them, big Thor progressed slowly,and surely; the past Saturday, against the heavy Alton eleven, the blondFreshman had been sent in for the second half, and, to quote an overjoyedstudent, he had "busted things all up!" It seemed simply impossible to stopthat terrible rush of his huge body. Time after time he plowed through theline for yards, and old Bannister, visioning Thor distributing Hamilton andBallard over the field, in the big games, literally hugged itself.
And yet, despite Thorwald's invincible prowess, despite the vast joy ofold Bannister at the chances of the Championship, some intangibleshadow hovered over the campus. It brooded over the training-table, theshower-rooms after scrimmage, on Bannister Field during practice; as yet,no one had dared to give it form, by voicing his thought, but though noyouth dared admit it, something was wrong, there was a defective cog in themachinery of that marvelous machine, the Gold and Green eleven.
"'Oh, just leave it to Hicks," quoth that sunny youth, at length, turningfrom the window; "I'll solve the problem, or what is more probable,Theophilus may stir that sodden hulk of humanity, after awhile. I won'tworry about it, for that gets me nothing, and it will all come out O.K.,I'm positive!"
At this moment, just as T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., picked up "Treasure Island"again, he heard drifting across the corridor from the room opposite, inButch Brewster's familiar voice:
"—Yes, I'll win three more Bs'—one each in football, baseball and track;next spring, I'll annex my last B at old Bannister, fellows—"
HislastB—The words struck the blithesome Hicks with sledge-hammerforce. Big Butch Brewster was talking of his last B, when he, T. HavilandHicks, Jr., had never won his first; with a feeling almost of alarm, thesunny youth realized that this was his final year at old Bannister, hislast chance to win his athletic letter, and to make happy his beloved Dad,by helping him to realize part of his life's ambition—to behold his sonshattering Hicks, Sr.'s, wonderful record. His final chance, and outside ofhis hopes of winning the track award in the high-jump, Hicks saw no way towin his B.
Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr., as has been chronicled, the beloved Dad of thecheery Senior, a Pittsburgh millionaire Steel King, was a graduate of oldBannister, Class of '92. While wearing the Gold and Green, he had madean all-round athletic record never before, or afterward, rivaled onthe campus. At football, basketball, track, and baseball, he was ascintillating star, annexing enough letters to start an alphabet, had theybeen different ones. Quite naturally, when the Doctor, speaking anentthe then infantile Thomas Haviland Hicks, Jr., said, "Mr. Hicks, it's aboy!"—the one-time Bannister athlete straightway began to dream of the daywhen his only son and heir should follow in his Dad's footsteps, shatteringthe records made at Bannister, and at Yale, by Hicks,père.
However, to quote a sporting phrase, the son of the Steel King "upset thedope!" At the start of his Senior year, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr. had notannexed a single athletic honor, nor did the signs point to any recordsbeing in peril of getting shattered by his prowess; as Hicks himselfphrased it, "Dame Nature wassome stingywhen she handed out the Herculesstuff to me!" The happy-go-lucky youth, when he matriculated as a Freshmanat Bannister College, was builded on the general lines of a toothpick, andhad he elected to follow a pugilistic career, a division somewhat lighterthan the tissue paperweight class would have had to be devised toaccommodate the splinter-student. A generous, sunny-souled, intenselydemocratic collegian, despite his father's wealth, the festive Hicks, withhis room always open-house to all; his firm friendship for star athleteor humble boner, his never-failing sunny nature, together with his famousHicks Personally Conducted Expeditions downtown to the Beef-Steak Busts hehad originated, in his three years at old Bannister, had made himself themost popular and beloved youth on the campus, but, he had not won his B!
And he had tried. With a full realization, of his Dad's ambition, hislife-dream to behold his son a great athlete, the blithesome Hicks hadtried, but with hilariously futile results. Nature had endowed him, as hetold his loyal comrade, Butch Brewster, with "the Herculean build of aJersey mosquito," and his athletic powers neared zero infinity. In hisFreshman year, he inaugurated his athletic career by running the wrong wayin the Sophomore-Freshman football game, scoring a touchdown that won forthe enemy, and naturally, after that performance, every athletic effort wasgreeted with jeers by the students.
"Ihavetried!" said Hicks, producing two letters from the study-table,"But not like I should have tried. I could never have played on the eleven,or on the nine, but I have a chance in the high-jump. I know I've beenindolent and care-free, and I ought to have trained harder. Well, I justmust win my track B this spring, but as to keeping the rash promise I madeto Butch as a Freshman—not a chance!"
It had been at the close of his Freshman year, after Hicks, in theInterclass Track Meet, had smashed hurdles, broken high-jumping cross-bars,finished last in several events, and jeopardized his life with the shot andhammer, that he made the rash vow to which he now had reference. Butch,believing his sunny friend had entered all the events just to entertain thecrowd, in his fun-loving way, was teasing him about his ridiculous fiascos,when Hicks had told him the story—how his Dad wanted him to try and be afamous athlete; he showed Butch a letter, received before the meet, askinghis son to try every event, and to keep on training, so as to win his Bbefore he graduated. Butch, great-hearted, was surprised and moved by therevelation that the gladsome youth, even as he was jeered by his friendlycomrades, who thought he performed for sport, was striving to have hisDad's dream come true; he had sympathized with his classmate, and then hisscatter-brained colleague had aroused his indignation by vowing, with aswaggering confidence:
"'Oh, just leave it to Hicks!' Remember this, Butch, before I graduate fromold Bannister, I shall have won my B in three branches of sport!"
Butch had snorted incredulously. To win the football or the baseball B,the gold letter for the former, and the green one for the latter sport,an athlete had to play in three-fourths of the season's games, on the"'Varsity"; to gain the white track letter, one had to win a first place insome event, in a regularly scheduled track meet with another team. And now,Butch's skepticism seemed confirmed, for at the start of his last year atcollege, Hicks had not annexed a single B, though he bade fair to corralone in the spring in the high-jump.
"Heigh-ho!" chuckled Hicks, at length. "Here I am threatening to get gloomyagain! Well I'll sure train hard to win my track letter, and that seemsall I can do! I'd like to win my three B's, and jeer at Butch, next June,but—it can't be did! I shall now twang my trusty banjo, and drive dullcare away."
Quite forgetful of the football conclave across the corridor, and of ButchBrewster's request for quiet, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr. dragged out hisbeloved banjo, caressed its strings lovingly, and roared:
"Fifteen men sat on the dead man's chest—Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!Drink and the—"
"Hicks!" Big Butch Brewster crashed across the corridor, both doors beingopen. "Is this how you maintain a quiet? I'm going to call Thor over andmake him sit down on you! Why, you—"
"Have mercy!" plead the grinning Hicks. "Honest, Butch, I didn't go to bustup the league—I—I heard you talk about your B's, and I got to thinkingthat I have but little time to make my Dad happy; see, here's proof—readthese letters I was perusing—"
Puzzled, Butch scanned the first one, dated back in the May of theirFreshman year; Hicks had received it before the class track meet, and, aschronicled, he had heard from his sunny comrade later, how it impelled thesplinter youth to try every event, while Bannister believed him to enterthem for fun. The letter was post-marked "Pittsburgh, Pa.," and it read:
DEAR SON THOMAS:
Your last term's report gratified me immensely, and I am proud of yourclass record, and scholastic achievements. Pitch in, and lead your class,and make your Dad happy.
But there is something else of which I want to write, Thomas. As you mustknow, it has always been a cause of keen regret to me that you have neverseemed to care for athletics of any sort; you appear to be too indolent andease-loving to sacrifice, or to endure the hardships of training. I supposeit is because of my athletic record both at Bannister and at old Yale thatI am so eager to see you become a star; in fact, it is my life's mostcherished ambition to have you become as famous as your Dad.
However, I realize that my fond dream can never come true. Nature has notmade you naturally strong and athletic, and what athletic success you maygain, must come from long and hard training and practice. If you can onlywin your college letter, your B, Thomas, while at Bannister, I shall befully content.
I said nothing when you failed even to try for the teams at yourPreparatory School, but I did hope that at Bannister, under good coachesand trainers, you would at least endeavor to win your letter. I must admitthat I am disappointed, for you have not even made an earnest effort tofind your event. Often, by trying everything, especially in a track meet, afellow finds his event, and later stars in it.
I really believe that if you would start in now to develop yourself byregular, systematic gymnasium work, and if you would only try, in a yearor so you could make a Bannister team. Theodore Roosevelt, you know, was apuny, weakly boy, but he built himself up, and became an athlete. If youwant to please me, start now and find your event. Attempt all the sports,all the various track and field events, and always build yourself up byexercise in the Gym.
And you owe it to your Alma Mater, my son! Even if, after conscientiouseffort, you fail to win your B, to know that you have given your collegeand teams what help you could, will please your Dad. Remember, the fellowwho toils on the scrubs is the true hero. If you become good enough to givethe first eleven, the first nine, the first five, or the first track squada hard rub and a fast practice, you are serving Bannister.
I don't ask you to do this, Thomas, I only say that it will make me happyjust to know you are striving. If you never get beyond the scrubs, just tohear you are serving the Gold and Green, giving your best, in that humbleunhonored way, will please me. And if, before you graduate, youcanwinyour B, I shall be so glad! Don't get discouraged, it may take until yourSenior year, but once you start,stick.
Your loving
DAD.
"Read this one, too, Butch," requested Hicks, hurriedly, as a hail of, "Oh,you Hicks, come here!" sounded down the corridor, from Skeet Wigglesworth'sabode. "I'll be back as soon as Skeet finishes his foolishness. Don't waitfor me, though, if I am delayed, for you want to be talking football."
Left alone, big Butch Brewster, who of all the collegians that had knownand loved the sunny Hicks, some now graduated, understood that his athleticefforts, jeered good-naturedly by the students, were made because of agreat desire to win his B and make happy his Dad, read the second letter,dated a few days before:
DEAR SON THOMAS:
You are starting the last lap, son, your Senior year, and your final chanceto win your B! Don't forget how happy it will make your Dad if you win yourletter just once! Of course, you cannot gain it in football, for naturegave you no chance, nor in baseball; but in track work it is up to you.Train hard, Thomas, and try to win a first place; just win your track B,and I'll rest content!
Your college record gives me great pleasure. You stand at the top in yourstudies, and you are vastly popular, while the Faculty speak highly of you.Let your B come as a climax to your career, and I'll be so proud of you.Don't forget, you are the "Class Kid" of Yale, '96, and those sons of oldEli want you to win the letter. As to football, you cannot win your gold Bby playing three-fourths of a season's games, but you might get in a biggame, even win it, if you'll get confidence enough to tell Coach Corridanabout yourself. Don't mind the jeers of your comrades—they just don'tknow how you've tried to please your Dad; you owe it to your Alma Materto tell, and, take my word as a football star, you have the goods! Yourpeculiar prowess has won many a contest, and old Bannister needs it thisseason, I hear—
There was more, but big Butch scarcely saw it, bewildered as the behemothSenior was; what new mystery had Hicks set afoot? What did Hicks, Sr.,mean by writing, "You might get in a big game, even win it, if you'll getconfidence enough to tell Coach Corridan about yourself? You owe it to yourAlma Mater to tell, and take my word, as a football star, you have thegoods—" Why, everyone knew that T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., possessed no morefootball ability than a Jersey mosquito, and yet—
"Another Hicks mystery," groaned Butch, holding the two lettersthoughtfully. "And father and son are in it, But if Hicks don't get his B,it will be a shame. Say, I know—"
A few moments later, good-hearted Butch Brewster, in the behalf of hissunny comrade, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., was making to the Gold and Greeneleven and Coach Corridan, as eloquent a speech as that blithesome youth,two weeks before, had made in defense of the condemned and ostracized Thor!He read them the two letters of Hicks' beloved Dad, and told how the cheerycollegian wanted to win his B for his father's sake; graphically, herelated Hicks, Sr.'s, great ambition, and how Hicks, Jr., for three yearshad vainly tried to make good at some athletic sport, and to win hisletter. Big Butch, warming to his theme, spoke of how T. Haviland Hicks,Jr., letting the students believe that he entered every event in the trackmeet of his Freshman year just for fun, had been trying to find his event,and train for it; he explained that the festive youth, ever sunny-natured,under the good-humored jeers of his comrades, who did not know his realpurpose, really yearned to win his B.
"You fellows, and you, Coach," he thundered, "all know how Hicks, unableto make the 'Varsity, has always done humble service for old Bannister,cheerfully, gladly; how he keeps the athletes in good spirits at thetraining-table, and is always on hand after scrimmage to rub them out. Heis chock-full of college spirit, and is intensely loyal to his Alma Mater.Why, look how he rounded up Thor—he ought to have his B for that!"
Thanks to Butch's speech, the Gold and Green football stars, most of whomwere Hicks' closest friends, saw the scatter-brained, happy-go-luckyyouth in a new light; his eloquent defense of John Thorwald had shown oldBannister that he could be serious, but the knowledge that T. HavilandHicks, Jr., even as he made a ridiculous farce in athletics, was ambitiousto win his B, just to make his Dad happy, stunned them. For three years,the sunny Hicks' appearance on old Bannister Field, to try for a team, hadmeant a small-sized riot of jeers and good-natured ridicule at his expense;but Hicks had always grinned à la Cheshire cat,—and no one but goodButch Brewster, all the time, had known how in earnest the lovablecollegian was.