CHAPTER XXIV
The next morning at eight o'clock Tessibel walked eastward up the long hill toward the college. The "Cranium" fellows were yet asleep. The whole house was tired out from looking for their captured president. The underclassmen did not know that Graves had escaped, Frederick's enemies keeping them in ignorance as long as possible.
Tessibel turned into the carriage drive toward the fraternity with a fish-basket upon her arm.
A man cleaning snow from the flight of steps addressed her.
"What do you want here?"
"I want to see Mr. Jordan.... He air here, ain't he? I has somethin' for him."
"Give it to me," ordered the janitor, "I'll take it to him."
"Can't! He said as how I wasn't to give it to no one but hisself, and I won't, so there!"
"He ain't up yet."
"Don't care, I'll wait, then.... Tell him, will ye, that I air a waitin'?"
Dan Jordan wondered as he crawled slowly out of bed what a girl could want of him at that early hour. He met Tess at the front door, and without waiting for him to speak Tessibel said in an undertone.
"I has somethin' to tell ye.... I air Tess the squatter's brat, what ye gived the coffee to at the parson'shouse. I said as how I has somethin' to tell ye!"
"Will you tell me now?" asked Dan kindly. "You see, I can't ask you in here—"
"I ain't a comin' in," and lowering her voice with a furtive glance she almost whispered, "I knows—I knows where the minister's son air."
Dan started and looked at her sharply. She could mean no other than Frederick. He placed his fingers on his lips.
"You have fish to sell," he asked, "I will take them all. Go around to the back door and leave them...." Then in a lower tone he ordered, "Meet me in five minutes at the bottom of the hill."
The last of the sentence was breathed rather than spoken. Dan Jordan turned into State Street some minutes afterwards, and he could see the glistening red head of the fisher-girl as she swung her empty basket on her arm and jingled the money in her hand which she had received for the fish.
"Tell me quickly where Mr. Graves is," commanded Dan rushing toward her.
"He air in my hut," answered Tess bluntly.
"Did the boys bring him there?"
"Nope, he got away.... And I took him there."
She described the plan she and Frederick had formed.
"Ye see by that way ye can get him to the supper, can't ye?"
"Yes," replied Dan delightedly, "and we will never be able to thank you enough for what you have done. Let me assure you that we are very grateful to you."
"Aw, shut up!" Every white tooth showed in thewide smile, "I ain't done nothin'. He air done more than that for me."
The sweet face lighted by the infinite love for the student hidden in her hut spoke its own secret to Dan Jordan and through his recently acquired knowledge of heart emotions, he stared vaguely at the girl. Would Frederick—no, no—the minister's son was a better lad than he. His eyes filled with tears and a lump came into his throat. He stood watching the figure of Tess moving away, and regarded intently the great boots, the ragged skirt, the beautiful ringlets and the proud young head set so well upon the sloping shoulders. Dan's mind reverted to another girl, no older than the squatter, and with a sigh mournful enough he turned back to the fraternity.
Tess walked down the lane, running as she neared the foot of the hill. She wanted to impart to the student what Dan had told her. With her fingers upon the hut latch she stopped short. Voices came from inside. She dropped her hand—Ben Letts was there or another squatter. Suddenly she opened the door and stood in the entrance. Frederick was seated upon "Daddy's" stool; Professor Young was standing in his fur coat with his back to the stove.
The student's face had blanched to the hue of death; an expression such as Tess had never seen in human eyes rested in his. He was speaking and the girl's ears caught the words.
"I would forfeit my life before I would harm her, believe me!" Two pairs of masculine eyes turned at the opening of the door, and both men were looking intothe eager face of Tessibel. The Professor did not come forward to meet her; his manner was stiff and formal. For a moment even the student's last words left her mind, and Daddy Skinner rose before her.
"Ye be here to tell me about Daddy?" she asked.
"You needed me to come more for yourself than to tell you of your father, child!" said Young with accusing eyes upon Frederick.
A sullen expression flitted across Tessibel's lips.
"Ye didn't need to come, if yer a goin' to make the student sorry," she answered haltingly. "Ye has yer own business to mind."
Tess was standing between them, her glance turning first to Frederick, then to the Professor. She didn't fully understand his words, but she knew that Frederick had been hurt by something the lawyer had said. Young began to button his coat. He had thought the girl worth saving, and Frederick had ever been in his mind as the perfection of young manhood. His throat tightened; he looked at Tess and thought of his love for her. It was almost mastering him. Why should he suffer over such a girl, who insulted him even while he was trying to help her?
Frederick stood up wearily. Professor Young ought to realize the situation, to remember that some shelter was necessary for him. Tess was stolidly arranging the table.
"You do not know how I came to be here," said Frederick briefly.
"It is enough that I see you here," replied Young.
In a temper Tess slammed the oven door loudly.
"She found me on the tracks," explained Frederick. "I escaped from the sophomores and she broughtme here. I should have frozen to death otherwise—and I did not think that it might harm her."
"It ain't hurt me," cried Tessibel coming forward. "He air the one what helped me get my Daddy Skinner out of trouble. He air my friend!"
The rage of the girl when she wheeled impetuously upon him made the Professor catch his breath. He had been the one who had done all the work, had given her father a new lease of life. He had come now to tell her about the letter, and to hear her say that a lad with no influence whatever had done that which it would have been impossible for him to do, to hear Tess give the credit which should be his to Frederick made Young pass his fingers through his hair nervously, and wonder just what the student had done to gain such praise. His own love for Tess, his great desire, pleaded with him to believe in both the boy and the girl. Tessibel's soulful expression went far in giving back to Deforest Young the hope that had made his days brighter and filled the future with promise.
"May I stay with you to dinner, Miss Tessibel?" he said, shaking his shoulders. "I did not understand ... In fact I had forgotten about the banquet. I am glad you helped Mr. Graves make his class dinner.... May I stay?"
Frederick stepped forward, holding out his hand.
"Thanks," he said brokenly; "I shall never forget this—in you."
The clasping of the two hands and the smile on the lips of the student made Tess broaden her own.
"Yep, jerk off yer coat, and eat," ordered she. "Air ye heard about Daddy?"
"Yes." Young hesitated a moment.
"What is it, Professor?" ejaculated Frederick. "Don't keep her in suspense."
"Daddy ain't a-goin' to hang!... He can't!" Her eyes turned to Frederick. "'Cause ye said he couldn't."
The boy flushed to the roots of his hair and glanced at Professor Young. Again she was giving the credit to Graves—credit the lad so little deserved. Frederick felt this, and muttered:
"She doesn't understand yet what you've done, Professor—I'm sorry!"
"They've placed a stay upon your father's execution," explained Young, "that will give us a chance to prove him innocent.... I am positive that he didn't kill the gamekeeper. I went to the prison last week."
"Ye seed him?" asked Tess eagerly, striding close to him. He felt the hot breath against his face and a feeling of longing coursed through his veins.
"Yes," was all he said.
"What did he say about me?"
"Everything good! You will have him very soon here with you, Tessibel."
The girl was fatigued with turbulent emotions, lonely and heartsick. The shadow of the rope was gone from Daddy Skinner. Like a relieved child she sank down upon the floor and began to whimper. Both men were silenced by the swaying red head. The bacon sputtered in the frying pan upon the stove, spitting the grease to the lids, where it burned away in tiny yellow flames.
Then Tess raised her head.
"What a bloke I air to cry when Daddy air a-comin'home.... We air a-goin' to eat now," she ended, wiping her eyes.
Before the meal was over Tess was on better terms with Young than she had ever been before. He outlined to the delighted girl his visit to the prison.
"Your father says, child," he related, "that he took the gun from the stern of the boat, and laid it on the shore, near where he was hauling the net.... He heard a shot and ran forward and was arrested. He swore to me that he did not fire the gun and I believe him. The fatal step was in his taking the rifle at all, because that was disobeying the law."
"Ye air my friend, too," Tess said beamingly, leaning over and taking the Professor's hand in hers. Before he could stop her, she had raised it to her lips, kissed it several times, and dropping it again, calmly went on eating.
CHAPTER XXV
At the "Cranium" Fraternity, Dan Jordan was closeted with three little freshmen. Swipes looked downcast.
"I want to do something to help," he wailed; "I feel as if it were all my fault that the parson is gone. We can't have any fun without him. It's tedious, too, being cooped up here not being able to go anywhere for fear of being taken ourselves."
Dan cleared his throat preparatory to speaking.
"If you fellows won't peach," said he in an eager undertone, "I'll tell you something and you can help."
"What?"
"We'll have Graves if you will all do as I tell you."
"Watch me," cried Swipes, turning a somersault. When he was in the most harrowing position, Brown gave him a swift kick.
"Give him one for me, Shorts," whispered Spuddy, but Swipes was on his feet again, ready to listen.
There was a general hurrah when Jordan in subdued tones had outlined the plan.
"Where are Graves' evening clothes," demanded Dillon; "we must smuggle them into the opera-house some way."
"They'll be there all right," replied Jordan; "they've gone in with the caterer's stuff. You'd better send your own best togs in a barrel or the sophomores willsee to it that you won't have them when you want them.... Now mind, mum's the word."
The fishermen of squatter's row did not recognize the stranger who slouched along by the side of Tessibel, the night of the freshman banquet. She was on her way to the city with her fish. One after another women poked frowsy heads from the hut windows at the barking of their dogs. But Tess went steadily on, not even heeding her companion who hurried his footsteps to keep close to her.
"Ye sells yer fish for a shillin' a pound," said she after a few minutes' walk.
The man nodded. Once only did he raise his eyes. They were passing a dingy-looking empty house, with a large broken window.
Just then, Ben Letts, accompanied by Ezra Longman, met them. The red head of the squatter girl rose a little higher, the lines growing deeper about the narrowed lids. To the fisherman she deigned no good-morrow, nor had she a thought of them after they had passed.
"He air a new squatter," said Ben laconically, turning to look at the queer pair.
"He air her uncle," added Ezra pompously; "he air here to help her pappy out of his scrape."
Ben did not answer, but stepped to the tracks with another evil backward look at Tess and her squatter friend.
Forty or fifty sophomores loafed about the opera-house watching the caterers buzz to and fro. Tables had been spread inside for several hundred guests, and the president's chair was decorated with roses and winterferns. Three little freshmen and Dan Jordan, surrounded by many juniors went calmly in to inspect things.
Several underclassmen stood disconsolately inside.
"Be on your guard," whispered Dan, passing them.
The fifty sophomores outside were waiting for something to happen. Graves would be produced—how, they could not tell. The strangeness of the actions of Frederick's fraternity brothers made the affair more unsolvable. Threatening looks were showered upon them as freshman after freshman, guarded by juniors, filed in. Dan Jordan slouched to the door of the opera-house, his eyes falling mechanically upon Tessibel Skinner across the street. He heard her arguing with the man from the café about her fish. Tessibel then crossed to the opera-house.
"Does ye want any fish?" she smiled, showing her white teeth.
"No," replied Jordan. "What have you?... Eels?"
"No, nothin' but bullheads and suckers."
Dan looked about, grinning upon the sophomores.
"There's enough of them here already.... I want some eels—"
The sophomores pretended not to hear. They were not interested in fishermen, but kept their eyes open for a carriage that would dash in from the main street with the rescued president within it.
"Sling them eels over here," commanded Tessibel, beckoning to the slouching squatter across the way. The man with the basket offered the contents to Dan.
"I'll take what you have, too, girl," said Jordan in a loud voice, "how much do they weigh?"
"Don't know," replied Tess.
"Take them in and get them weighed," said Swipes, innocently coming to Dan's side.
"Hey there, you old guy," chuckled Spuddy; "drag your fish into the opera-house and dump them out.... We're going to have some fun.... If we can't have our president, eels will have to do."
The squatter disappeared inside the building.
"A pile of fun they'll have without their president," grunted a sophomore.
Tessibel gathered her empty basket upon her arm and amid the smiling looks of the students who stood watching her she walked away with her head high in the air.
But Dan Jordan, with a mighty yell, triumphantly taken up by his classmen, grasped the hat from the squatter's head. The smiling, open face of Frederick Graves was before them. The sophomores never quite puzzled out how the freshman president was in his chair at the banquet, and directly in front of him in the place of honor was a huge dish of eels.
Shaking the snow from her shoulders like a great dog in a storm, Tess knocked softly on the Longman shanty door. Mrs. Longman had gone to the city with Satisfied, and Myra, with the whining brat in her arms, welcomed her.
One whole week had passed since Tess had seen the student—seven long interminable days since—and now she had come to ask Myra Longman some of the mysterious questions about the kiss that Frederick had given her. Myra relinquished the child to her and thelittle fellow sank to sleep under Tessibel's crooning voice. His regular breathing told her that he slept; she placed him in the box and sat thoughtfully down.
"Air Ben Letts been here lately?" she asked after a pause.
Myra shook her head.
"He ain't got no time for such as the brat and me," she replied bitterly.
Tess waited until Myra had ceased scattering the shanty chairs in her rage.
"Did he say as how he loved ye that night in the storm on the ragged rocks?" she asked presently.
"Yep, he did say it, he did," answered Myra.
"Air he—air he a-knowin'—how to kiss?"
The very word slipping from her lips brought back with a sudden joy that night a week ago, and the never-to-be-forgotten kiss of the student. She could feel again the warm, strong lips pressed to hers—the long muscular arms enfolding her.
Myra scanned her face closely.
"To kiss—yep; but he ain't never kissed the brat."
There was wonderful longing and passion in her tones.
This was a new thought for Tess. The "Pappy" should kiss his brat—but were they one and the same kisses? She remembered the sweetness of that first caress "Daddy" had given her on the stone window ledge of his cell. It was tinged with bittersweet—bitter because Daddy was going away, sweet because she had desired it so fondly. But it had not been like the student's kiss. She was going to ask Myra Longman to solve the first great problem of her life.
"Air the kisses what ye had from Ben Letts—burnin'ones? Did ye lose the thought of the night and the night things on the ragged rocks?... Did ye want 'em again and again—more and more kisses till they scorched yer face like the bread oven in the spring?"
Tess had risen to her feet, had whitened to the small ears covered with the tawny hair. Myra had risen also. Both girls were eying each other with intentness. Tess started to speak again, coming forward a step toward the other squatter.
"Did ye forget the storm, the wavin' trees and all 'cept—Ben Letts?"
"Ye air been to the ragged rocks," moaned Myra, sinking down upon the floor in a heap.
In a twinkling the meaning of Myra's words dawned upon Tessibel.
"I ain't been there with Ben Letts," she replied suddenly. "I ain't got no likin' for the brat's Pa's kisses—"
"But ye hev been to the ragged rocks," insisted Myra, settling back with a sob against the box where the child slept.
"Nope, I ain't; but I had a kiss, and Myra, it were—like the singin' in the heavens what the song tells about—like the feelin' in here," she placed her hand upon her heart, her eyes flashing golden, "when the world air filled with flowers and the birds air a singin'.... Were it like that with Ben Letts? Were it?"
"Nope," replied Myra sulkily, "Ben Letts ain't got no singin' kisses."
She rose languidly, tucked the blanket closer about the sleeping child's head.
"Tessibel," she broke forth hoarsely, "for all womenfolks there air brats a cryin' for their Pa's to tell 'em yep or nope. And there air men a-walkin' on the ragged rocks with singin' kisses for yer pretty face and tangled hair. There air a brat sleepin' till it's dead in the box." The tired young mother allowed her hungry gaze to fall upon the quiet infant. "Tessibel, yer brat—"
But Tessibel bounded out of the door, over the snow-covered rocks like a deer. She would not lose the sweetness of the kiss in Myra's warning words—that penetrating holy kiss she had treasured for seven long days and nights.
The torturing thoughts that had filled the mind of Professor Young at finding Frederick Graves in the cabin of the fisher-girl were new sensations to him. He loved Tessibel, and in her lay his future happiness. Her stolid indifference to his endeavors to aid her through her father had blasted his hopes somewhat. Then again he would feverishly reason that she had been born to overlook all save those whom she desired and for whom she fought. It was like her kind. Excuses for the girl in the aid she had given the student ran willingly through his brain. If Tess had seen the young fellow in the storm, it was but like the tender, loving heart to aid him. It was no proof that Frederick had found a place in her affections. With these thoughts in his mind he had worked for several days, quietly hoping that the girl might seek him.
Tess found him waiting at the shanty door for her one afternoon after returning from town. She smiled a welcome as she recognized her visitor.
"It air about Daddy ye comed," she said, lifting the padlock from the staple.
"Yes, child, I wanted to tell you of some new friends your father has made in Ithaca—strong friends to aid him."
"Friends," echoed Tess wonderingly. "Daddy Skinner had fishermen for his friends—and not people of Ithacy—come in," she added. The fire crackled on the hearth and Tess sat down to listen with open lips.
"I can't explain just how this came about," said Young, "but some of the people who were in the court-room the day your father was convicted have risen to befriend him."
Professor Young did not add that he himself had urged that money should be raised for a second defense.
"So last night," he went on, "there was a meeting of several prominent men and money has been placed in my hands for another trial for your father."
Tess tried to understand the long words, and blinked knowingly. The import of it was plain. Daddy was coming back—but how soon?
"When air he comin' home, then?" she demanded.
"After another trial.... See if you can read this?"
From a long envelope the lawyer took a piece of paper. Tess examined it carefully for some moments. Young eyeing her with a sense of happiness. He would fight for this child as man never before fought for woman. She would love him out of gratitude if for nothing else. He took the paper she was holding out to him.
"Can't read a damn word—can't read writin' anyway. Tell me what it says about Daddy."
"It's a list of names," replied Young, "mostly members—"
"Of Graves' church?" put in Tess eagerly.
Hadn't the student been praying for just this? she thought.
"Yes; they are all desirous to see your father home again with his little daughter."
"Air the minister givin' money for Daddy?" was the anxious demand.
Young shook his head. He felt a sudden swift-coming desire to tell her enough about the minister's family to make her hate them all. Deforest Young realized for the first time that he was jealous of the student, of a tall dark lad of whom in the past he had taken no more notice than of many other students.
He drew a long breath.
"Not exactly the minister," said he, flushing with shame. "Here—let me read the names to you. William Hopkins of the toggery shop, one hundred dollars. Do you know him?"
Tess shook her head in the negative.
"Deacon Hall and his wife Augusta gave one hundred dollars."
"I know her," Tess cried, "and I knows him a little, too. I tooked them berries and fish—they has a cottage below the ragged rocks."
"And there's the druggist, Mr. Bates—he did not put down his name on the list, but he gave fifty dollars."
Tessibel listened to the explanations as Young read on, making it all plain to her as he proceeded.
She was leaning far over toward him, her chin resting on her open palm.
"They be dum good blokes, to give their money to a squatter, ain't they?"
The professor started perceptibly. She did not understand that all had been done under his supervision; he had tried to impress upon her his great desire to help her, but no words of praise fell from her lips for him. He would have willingly given worlds had she said that he was "a dum good bloke."
"They are all sorry for you and your father," he ended lamely.
"It was the student, Graves, what brought Daddy the money," she burst out with a vivid blush.
"No, the student, Graves, had nothing to do with it," was the grim reply.
"He's a-been prayin' since Daddy went away—that air somethin'," Tess said stubbornly.
Professor Young rose—then seated himself again. He had come for something else, something that meant work and satisfaction for him.
"Now that your father is sure to be saved, will you leave this hut?" he asked peremptorily.
"Nope!"
"But it's not fit for you to be here alone, Tessibel. Listen ... I'll save your father's squatter rights, if you will study in some good school until he returns."
"Aw, cuss! Who air to pay all the money?" Tess got to her feet with effort.
"I will," deliberately answered Young.
"Nope, I air goin' to stay here," snapped Tess. "I can fish and live likes I have been doin' till Daddy comes. I promised him I'd stay. I can read the Bible now," she ejaculated, promptly producing the book fromunder the blankets of the bed. "I's a-readin it every day.... If ye don't believes, ye can listen and see."
She tossed back the curls from her shoulders as she ended emphatically: "I air a goin' to bring Daddy home through this here book—the student says."
Again the terrible jealousy of the handsome student flashed alive in the professor. Tess had opened the Bible to a chapter she had never read before.
"And straightway in the morning," she spelled, "the chief priests—Aw, that ain't no good! Wait till I find about Daddy."
Then suddenly she threw the Bible down upon the floor.
"There air places what says as how Daddy air a comin' home. The student says it air there. I ain't found it yet but I air a-lookin' for it every day. 'Tain't in that place where I just read about them geezers, the priests."
The lawyer stood up. A pain seized him. He would save this ignorant girl in spite of herself, marry her in spite of Frederick Graves. It would be as difficult as scaling the icy mountains, but he would force her to love him more than the whole world.
"You understand," he said shortly, "that these good people have given money toward helping your father come home. It will be some time before the trial will come up, but when it does—I will bring him back to you."
The assurance in his tones brought Tess to his side.
"Ye be a lawyer," she said abruptly, "and the squatters says as how lawyers air liars and tramps, but ye ain't no tramp, and ye ain't no liar, ye ain't—and whenI sells a lot of fish I air bringin' ye the money for what ye air a doin' for Daddy and me. I says once and I says again as how ye air Daddy's friend, and I air glad that the student's meeting-house folks gived ye a little money to help us."
Mist had gathered in her eyes and she slipped her fingers into Professor Young's. She laid her lips upon his hand, covering it with tears and kisses. Opening the shanty doors, she said:
"I likes ye, I likes ye, but how much a squatter's brat likes don't make no difference. Ye go now, for the tracks get dark about five."
"I have my horse at the top of the hill," replied Young, confusedly.
The sensation from the moist lips upon his flesh prompted him for one brief moment to take the girl to him. He was filled with a strange desire to force this rude shanty maid from her surroundings and place her in another life with him.
CHAPTER XXVI
That night, as Tessibel slept and dreamed of Frederick, another girl waited for her lover. Teola Graves watched for the approach of Dan Jordan with strange emotions. When he was with her, his great strength and constant assurances that everything would go rightly with them gave the girl courage and confidence. But in the night-watches, when youthful sleep refused to come, she was afraid—afraid!
She stood just outside the door, upon the veranda, shrinking from the raw winter wind. Relievedly she noticed Dan's tall form, when he swung around the corner.
"You should not stand in the night wind, dear," Dan chided, gently kissing her. "There! now, I have come for a good chat. Teola, do not look so sad—please."
The little drawing-room in the Rectory was partially dark when they seated themselves on the divan.
"I am so unhappy Dan; so different from what I used to be. Then, life was sweet and I was glad to live—"
"But you don't want to be dead now, sweetheart!—Think of it, Teola. When I shall have finished college, I shall be of age. We will go away from Ithaca, and no one will ever know—"
"But we shall know, Dan. If I had only been a good girl!"
Dan was visibly moved.
"Let's make a bargain," said he suddenly. "To-night we won't talk of anything but the pleasantest of things. I have something funny to tell you."
"I have something to tell you, too," breathed Teola.
"Is it pleasant?" demanded the boy, bending and forcing the lowered eyes to his.
Teola shook her head.
"Then we will leave it until to-morrow," he exclaimed. "I'll tell you my news. Shorts, Spuddy and Swipes are in disgrace at the fraternity. If Shorts would keep away from those other two fellows, he might get through college. It was really their fault Frederick was stolen."
"What have they done now?" asked Teola listlessly. She had little interest in the boys of the society, for, nestled close to her heart, was a secret she could not forget. She had a realization that something unusual had fallen upon her of which she was afraid.
"Well, you see," explained Dan, "there is a comic opera playing here. This afternoon, Swipes, Shorts and Spuddy took some of the chorus girls to the house, when the other fellows were away. They might have known the officers would have found it out. Sure enough, they did! The little rascals were all drunk on champagne, and the girls had to be sent to their hotels in carriages. The kids received a great beating, let me tell you. They are all in bed, in the cupola prison rooms, trying to get over big heads."
Teola wanted to smile, to be happy, but the smiles refused to come. Dan turned the subject.
"Haven't they gathered a deal of money for Skinner?"
Teola nodded, and presently responded,
"Yes, and father thinks it is so strange. Mrs. Halland Professor Young were at the bottom of the plan. They think the Skinner girl is a great marvel. I, too, think she is beautiful—and so does Frederick."
"She has a lot of courage," mused Dan, thinking of the girl who had rescued the class president from the hands of his enemies. Teola knew nothing of this episode, for Frederick had asked him to be silent upon it.
"Your father does not wish the man liberated?" The question in Dan's voice brought a flush to Teola's pale face.
"No; he thinks the tribe is a menace to the town, and he is sure the man is guilty. They do tell dreadful things of them, and I can't help but believe some of the tales, although I feel sorry for the girl. But her coming to the toffy pull that night made a great deal of trouble for brother and me."
"So I supposed. But I love you, Teola, for the manner in which you treated her."
Teola straightened herself from her lover's arms, and was about to speak. She would tell him, then, tell him her secret—tell all the fears that weighed upon her heart, as if they were loaded with lead. He would comfort, and tell her not to worry—cheer her, until she could smile again and be happy.
Shorts, Swipes and Spuddy had broken the laws of the fraternity. Rather than suffer the disgrace of leaving it, they had elected a severe punishment.
"I'd rather be cut to pieces, boys," Swipes hiccoughed, turning upon the grave seniors, "than let my mother know what a beast I've been. Go ahead and lick!"
Afterward, the three little freshmen slunk to the rooms in the top of the Society house, which were kept ready for young men whom the officers reprimanded. They had been ordered to bed for three days, and were thankful that the punishment had been no worse than it was.
Swipes demanded a cigarette.
"Go to sleep," ordered Shorts. "It was all your fault in the beginning, and you're drunk."
"No such thing! I couldn't haul a whole bunch of girls up here alone, could I, if I'm drunk! Could I, now? I wish there wasn't any such a being in the world as a woman.... They bring heaps of trouble on us poor men."
Saying this, Swipes tumbled into bed, and sank into a stupor.
The cry of "Fire!" rang out upon the night air, startling Dan Jordan and Teola Graves. The volunteer fire companies were gathering from all parts of the town, and Dan stepped on to the Rectory veranda as a hose-cart rolled by. In an instant he was back in the drawing-room.
"Sweetheart, sweetheart," said he, with a strangling kiss upon Teola's pale lips, "I am sure it's our fraternity house. I must go, dear. I must, I must!"
He pressed her to him again, bounded through the door and was gone.
"Dan! Dan!" exclaimed Teola. "Dan, come back! I have something to tell you ... I'm so—afraid—so afraid!"
Teola stood watching the yellow flames kiss the sky.The whole campus gleamed under the lurid glare of the fraternity fire; the light in the heavens told her that it was no ordinary conflagration.
Until the day of her death she would not forget that night. She was longing to hear one word from Dan or Frederick. Her world seemed charged with hideous forces hitherto unfelt. Teola sickened, and waited. If Dan would only come back!
The very moment after he had fallen asleep, it seemed to Swipes, Shorts was pulling him out of bed, and the room was full of smoke. Spuddy was sleeping in the next chamber, and the first sound came to him in a haze-like dream. He thought he heard a roar of thunder, and rain descending upon the roof. Never mind. He was safe in bed, and had just escaped expulsion from his fraternity. As he rubbed his aching head, a dazed resolution took form in his brain. He would never get drunk again—never—never! Then the fumes of the wine brought visions of bright-colored dresses, of pretty faces and tender loving arms, such as his father had told him to beware of. He would toss such joys from him, if it brought him—Spuddy groaned, turned in bed, and tried to wake up. But to wake up was to realize his disgrace. He groaned again, a sharp pain ripping through his head. He heard the sound of voices—he was dreaming, of course; the wine floated fantastic visions again through his misty brain, relieving it of the effort of thinking. Then Shorts' voice rang in his ear.
"For the love of God, Spud, get up! The house is on fire, and we're boxed in this cupola like rats in a trap."
Spuddy sprang out of bed. The thunder he haddreamed of was the roar of the fire in the walls of the great house. The rain descending on the roof was the water being thrown from the long fire-hose. A strong stream of ice-cold water suddenly broke the window, driving Swipes against the wall. He whimpered drunkenly.
"Plagued fire! 'Course the house had to burn down on a night like this!"
Screams and cries from the crazed mob below came up to the boys through the broken pane. The water ceased its flow, and Shorts, the most sober of the three, crept to the opening. Spuddy had crawled back to bed. Far beneath him, Shorts could see his fraternity brothers running wildly to and fro, frantically waving their arms to him. He could hear orders given in loud tones, and recognized the voices of Frederick Graves and Dan Jordan. It all flashed upon Shorts in a moment how greatly he and his chums were to blame for the disaster, for the fire must have started in the dining-room. He thrust his head through the lurid gleam to attract attention, and saw the men and boys in the yard bringing ladders to rescue them. Now they were splicing them together, to make it possible to reach the great height. Shorts made quick resolves.... If he lived.... He turned with a groan, and dragged Spuddy from the bed to the open window.
"Stay there, and be ready, if you don't want to die," he commanded curtly.
Shorts saw the ladder rear upward, and a form dart from the shadows. Dan Jordan was coming, hand over hand, toward him, the long ladder creaking under his weight. Jordan's face appeared at the opening.
"Come out here," he commanded Shorts.
Shorts pushed Spuddy forward.
"Take him first, Captain," he said, with a twist in his voice. "He's drunk."
Spuddy hung limp on the window-sill for an instant, and was then gathered into Dan's long arms. Shorts' bleared eyes saw the little chap handed safely to the earth, and the ladder again creaked under the upward steps of the big freshman. Shorts pushed Swipes toward the window as Dan called his name.... Now he was alone, and he leaned as far out as he could.
"God! God!" he groaned. "The Captain's face is scorched brown.... God! dear God, bless him!"
The crowds below were sending up cheer after cheer; myriads of sparks shot rocket-like high into the air, dying in the snow as they fell. Streams of water poured into the flaming windows. Jordan was coming up again.
"Come out, Shorts," he heard Dan say, and he clambered over the sill.
"Slip into my arms, old man," the deep voice persuaded. "Come, now; let go.... There, hang limper.... You're heavier than the others."
He felt Dan take a downward step, and his head whirled around and around. They passed window after window, Shorts being carefully held under Dan's arm. Flames licked at them greedily, touching and shriveling their flesh. Smoke choked their nostrils cruelly. Shorts could feel the trembling of Dan's body, as his burned fingers grasped each rung of the ladder. To his mind the figures below looked like goblins dancing in the light.
Suddenly, midway to the ground, the ladder creaked and groaned hideously. Jordan halted.
"The ladder is bending, Shorts," he breathed hoarsely. He did not finish his sentence, but shouted,
"Catch him!"
Little Brown shot into the air like a rubber ball.... A crashing sound broke over the silent, gaping throng below. Then a giant form turned twice in the air, shooting downward like a stone from a sling.... The crowd parted, and Dan Jordan struck the frozen ground. His fraternity brothers lifted up the unconscious boy, and the great roof above, with a sickening din, sank into the fire.
The bitter frost hardened the streams of water pouring from holes in the burning house into ropes of ice. Toward morning, the fire died, leaving the huge frame, like an ice-covered palace, looming darkly against the college hill.
In another fraternity house, Shorts was in bed, face and hands swathed in bandages. Swipes and Spuddy, tear-stained and pale, stood by the door, waiting.
"If only they would come and tell us something!" moaned Spuddy. "Boys, if the Captain goes, I'm done for."
"We'll make it all right with him," came hopefully from Shorts. "He can't die, fellows! He's as strong as a horse. If he hadn't thrown me out into that snow pile, I would have been crushed under him. I'll never forget that in all my life," he finished, with a shudder.
"Gad, but he looked dead when they picked him up," said Swipes in despair. "I'm done for, too, if—if.... Here comes some one! It's Teddy!"
He stepped aside, and Manchester, entering deliberately, closed the door. Then he sat down dazedly.
"He's gone, boys. The Captain's gone." The words came in a stammer through pressed lips.
"I wish it had been I," muttered Swipes brokenly, when they were alone again. "It was all my fault." He burst into a wild sobbing. "I'd give my very life to have heard—the Captain—say he had forgiven me."
"I was more to blame than you were," replied Spuddy. "My mother.... God! look at that sun!"
Bright rays slanted golden through the window upon the three woful little freshmen who had ruined the "Cranium" Society.