Dear Mr. Stover: Just a word to thank you for being my faithful cavalier. Don't forget that you are to pay us a good, long visit this summer, and that we are to become the best of chums.Your very goodfriend,Josephine McCarty.P. S. Don't dare to "kick yourself about the place," whatever that may mean.
Dear Mr. Stover: Just a word to thank you for being my faithful cavalier. Don't forget that you are to pay us a good, long visit this summer, and that we are to become the best of chums.Your very goodfriend,Josephine McCarty.P. S. Don't dare to "kick yourself about the place," whatever that may mean.
When Dink had read this through once he immediately began it again. The second reading left him more bewildered than ever. It was the first time he had come in contact with a manifestation of the workings of the feminine mind. What did she intend him to understand?
"I'll read it again," he said, perching on the back of a chair. "Dear Mr. Stover!" Hestopped and considered. "My dear Mr. Stover—Dear Mr. Stover—well, that's all right. But what the deuce does she mean by 'faithful cavalier'—I wonder now, I wonder. She wants me to visit her—she can't be offended then. 'Your very good friend,' underlined twice, that sounds as though she wanted to warn me. Undoubtedly I made a fool of myself and this is her angelic way of letting me down. 'Friend'—underlined twice—of course that's it. What a blooming, sentimental, moon-struck jay I was. Gee, I could kick myself to Jericho and back!" But here his eye fell on the postscript and his jaw dropped. "Now how did she guess that? That sounds different from the rest, as though—as though she understood."
He went to the window frowning, and then to the mirror, with a new interest in this new Mr. John H. Stover who received perplexing notes on scented paper.
"I must get some decent collars," he said pensively. "How the deuce does Lovely Mead keep his tie tight—mine's always slipping down, showing the stud." He changed his collar, having detected a smirch, and tried the effect of parting his hair on the side, like Garry Cockrell.
"She's a wonderful woman—wonderful," he said softly, taking up the letter again. "What eyes! Reminds me of Lorna Doone. Josephine—sothat's her name, Josephine—it's a beautiful name. I wish the deuce I knew just what she did mean by this!"
By nightfall he had written a dozen answers which had been torn up in a panic as soon as written. Finally, he determined that the craftiest way would be to send her his remembrances by Tough—that would express everything as well as show her that he could be both discreet and dignified.
In the afternoon he added a dozen extra high collars to his wardrobe and examined hesitatingly the counter of Gent's Bon-Ton socks, spring styles, displayed at Bill Appleby's.
The collars, the latest cut, he tried on surreptitiously. They were uncomfortable and projected into his chin, but there was no question of the superior effect. Suddenly a new element in the school came to his notice—fellows like Lovely Mead, Jock Hasbrouk and Dudy Rankin, who wore tailor-made clothes, rainbow cravats, who always looked immaculate and whose trousers never bagged at the knees.
No sooner was this borne in upon him than he was appalled at the state of his wardrobe. He had outgrown everything. Everything he had bagged at the elbows as well as the knees. His neckties were frazzeled and his socks were all earthy-browns and oat-meal grays.
His first step was to buy a blacking brush and his next to press his trousers under his mattress, with the result that, being detected and diverted by Dennis, they appeared next morning with a cross-gartered effect.
At nights, especially moonlight nights, under pretense of insomnia, he drew his bed to the open window and gazed sentimentally into the suddenly discovered starry system.
"What the deuce are you mooning about?" said the Tennessee Shad on the first occasion.
"I'm studying astronomy," said Dink with dignity.
The Tennessee Shad gave a snort and soon went loudly off to sleep.
Dink, unmolested, soared away into his own domain. It is true that, having read Peter Ibbetson, he tried for a week to emulate that favored dreamer, throwing his arms up, clasping his hands behind his head and being most particular in the crossing of the feet. He dreamed, but only discouraging, tantalizing dreams, and the figure his magic summoned up was not the angelic one, but invariably the elfish eyes and star-pointing nose of Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan.
But the dreams that lay like shadows between the faltering eyelids and the shut were real and magic. Then all the difficulties were sweptaway, no cold chill ran up his back to stay the words that rushed to his lips. Conversations to defy the novelist were spun out and, having periodically saved her from a hundred malignant deaths, he continued each night anew the heroic work of rescue with unsatiated delight. At times, in the throbs of the sacred passion, he thought with a start of his blackened past and the tendencies to crime within him.
"Lord!" he said with a gasp, thinking of the orgy in beer, "what would have become of me—it's like an act of Providence. I wish I could let her know what a—what a good influence she's been. I don't know what I'd 'a' done—if I hadn't met her! I was in a dreadful way!"
By this time, having had the advantage of countless midnight walks, not to mention the familiarizing effect of several scores of desperate adventures, the character of Miss Lorna Doone McCarty had been completely unfolded to the reverential Dink. He saw her, he conversed with her, he knew her. She was a sort of heavenly being, misunderstood by her family—especially her brother, who had not the slightest comprehension. She was like Dante's Beatrice, as the pictures, not the dreadful text, represent that lady—and only seven years older than Mr. John H. Stover. There was Napoleon, who hadmarried a woman older than he was—Napoleon and hosts of others.
With the sudden fear of being dropped a year he began to study with such assiduity that, as is the way with newly-sprouted virtue in a cynical world, his motives were suspected by the masters, who, of course, could know nothing of the divine transformation, and by his classmates, who secretly credited him with some new method of cribbing.
Meanwhile, as the year neared its close, the inventive minds of Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan and the Tennessee Shad conceived the idea of a monster mass meeting and illustrative parade, which should down the hereditary foe—the steam laundry.
Up to this time the columns ofThe Lawrencehad been flooded with communications couched in the style of the oration against Catiline, demanding to know how long the supine Lawrenceville boy would bear in silence the return of his shirt with added entrances and exits, and collars that enclosed the neck with a cheval-de-frise.
This verbal, annual outbreak was succeeded, as usual, by House to House mutinies on the occasion of the arrival of the weekly boxes, without the protest taking further head or front. But at the opening of the last week of the school year, whether a machine had suddenly jumpedits fences or whether the ladies of the washtubs desired to open the way for the new summer styles; however it may have been, the laundry returned like the battle flags of the republic to the outraged school. Windows were flung open and indignant boys appeared, with white shreds in hand, and vociferously appealed to the heavens above and the green lands below for justice and indemnification.
A meeting of determined spirits was speedily held under the leadership of the Tennessee Shad and Doc Macnooder, and it was decided that a demonstration should take place instanter, the Houses to form and march with complete exhibits to the Upper House, where the fifth-formers should likewise display their grievances and join them in a mammoth protest.
Dink, at the first sounds of martial organization, pricked up his ears and summoned the Tennessee Shad and Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan to explain why he had been left out of such an important enterprise.
"Why have we left you out?" said the Tennessee Shad indignantly. "What's happened to you these last three weeks? You've had a fighting grouch—no one dared to speak to you for fear of being bitten!"
"In fact," said Dennis, with his sharp, little glance, "you are under the gravest suspicion."
Seeing his secret in peril, Stover assumed a melancholy, injured air.
"You don't know what I've had to worry me," he said, looking out the window, "family matters—financial reverses."
"Oh, I say, Dink, old boy," said the Tennessee Shad, in instant contrition.
"You don't mean it's anything that might keep you from coming back next year?" said Dennis, aghast. "Oh, Dink!"
"I had rather not talk about it," said Stover solemnly.
Dennis and the Shad were overwhelmed with remorse—they offered him at once the Grand Marshalship, which he refused with still offended dignity, but promised his fertile brain to the common cause.
Now Dink's sentimental education, which had progressed with a rush, had just begun to languish on insufficiency of food and a little feeling of staleness on having exhausted the one thousand and one possible methods of saving a heroine's life and wringing the consent of her parents.
He felt a species of guilt in the accusation of his roommate and a sudden longing to be back among mannish pursuits. In an hour, with delighted energy, he had organized the banner and effigy committees of the demonstration and hadhelped concoct the fiery speech of protest that Doc Macnooder, as spokesman, was solemnly pledged to deliver for the embattled school.
Four hours later the Kennedy House, led by Toots Cortell and his famous Confederate bugle, defiled and formed the head of the procession. Each member carried a pole attached to which was some article that had been wholly or partly shot to pieces. The Dickinson contingent, led by Doc Macnooder, marched in a square, supporting four posts around which ran a clothesline decked out with the dreadful debris of the house laundry.
The Woodhull proudly bore as its battle flag a few strings of linen floating from a rake, with this inscription underneath:
The Grand Old Shirt of the Woodhull!Washed 16 Times and Still in the Game!
The Grand Old Shirt of the Woodhull!Washed 16 Times and Still in the Game!
Several poles, adorned with single hosing in the fashion of liberty caps, were labeled:
Where is My Wandering Sock To-night?
The Davis House was headed by Moses Moseby in a tattered nightshirt, backed up by an irreverent placard:
Holy Moses!
But the premier exhibit of the parade was admitted by all to be the Kennedy float, conceived and executed by the Honorable Dink Stover.
On a platform carried by eight hilarious members, was displayed Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan, clothed in a suit of dark gymnasium tights, over which were superimposed a mangled set of upper and lower unmentionables, whose rents and cavities stood admirably out against the dark background, while the Irishman sat on a chair and alternately stuck a white foot through the bottomless socks that were fed him.
Above the platform was the flaring ensign:
Rather Frank Nudity Than This!
Now it happened that at the auspicious moment when Dink Stover led the apparently scantily-clothed Finnegan and the procession of immodest banners around to the Esplanade of the Upper, the Doctor suddenly appeared through the shrubbery that screens Foundation House from the rest of the campus, with a party of ladies, relatives, as it unfortunately happened, of one of the trustees of the school.
One glance of horror and indignation was sufficient for him to wave back the more modestsex and to advance on the astounding procession with fury and determination.
Before Jove's awful look the spirit of '76 vanished. There was a cry of warning and the hosts hesitated, shivered and scampered for shelter.
Now, at any other time the Doctor—who suffered, too, from the common blight—would have secretly if not openly enjoyed the joke; but at that moment the circumstances were admittedly trying. Besides, there was the delicate explanation to be offered to the ladies, who were relatives of one of the influential members of the board of trustees of the Lawrenceville School, John C. Green Foundation. As a consequence, in a towering rage, he summoned the ringleaders, chief among whom he had recognized Dink Stover and, corraling them in his study that night, exposed to them the enormity of their offense against the sex of their mothers and sisters, common decency, morals and morality, the ideals of the school, and the hope that the Nation had a right to place in a body of young men nurtured in such homes and educated at such an institution.
The ringleaders, being veterans, viewed the speech from the point of view of artists, and were unanimous in their appreciation. The episode had for Stover, however, unfortunate complications.With the closing of the scholastic season came the elections in the Houses. The Kennedy House, unanimously and with much enthusiasm, chose the Honorable Honest John Stover to succeed the Honorable King Lentz as administrator and benevolent despot for the ensuing year.
This election, coming as it did as a complete surprise to Stover, was naturally a source of deep gratification. His enjoyment, however, was rudely shocked when, the next morning after chapel, the Doctor stopped him and said:
"Stover, I am considerably surprised at the choice of the Kennedy House and I am not at all sure that I shall ratify it. Nothing in your career has indicated to me your fitness for such a place of responsibility. I shall have a further talk with Mr. Hopkins and let him know my decision."
The Roman! Of course it was The Roman! Of course he had been raging at the thought of his elevation to the presidency! Dink, forgetting the hundred and one times he had met the Faculty in the Monday afternoon deliberations, rushed out to spread the news of The Roman's vindictive persecution. Every one was indignant, outraged at this crowning insult to a free electorate. The whole House would protesten masseif the despot's veto was exercised.
At the hour of these angry threats The Roman, persecutor of Dink, was actually saying to the tyrant:
"Doctor, I think it would be the best thing—the very best. It will bring out the manliness, the serious earnestness that is in the boy."
"What, you say that!" said the Doctor, a little impatiently, for it was only the morrow of the parade. "I should think your patience would be exhausted. The scamp has been in more mischief than any other boy in the school. He's incorrigibly wild!"
"No—no. I shouldn't say that. Very high spirited—excess of energy—too much imagination—that's all. There's nothing vicious about the boy."
"But as president, Hopkins, not as president!"
"No one better," said The Roman firmly. "The boy is bound to lead. I know what's in him—he will rise to his responsibility. Doctor, you will see. I have never lost confidence in him."
The Doctor, unconvinced, debated at length before acceding. When he finally gave his ratification he added with a smile:
"Well, Hopkins, I do this on your judgment. You may be right, we shall see. By the way,Stover must have led you quite a dance over in the Kennedy. What is it you like in him?"
The Roman reflected and then, his eye twitching reminiscently:
"Fearlessness," he said, "and—and a diabolical imagination."
When The Roman returned to the Kennedy he summoned Stover to his study. He knew that Dink misunderstood his attitude and he would have liked to enlighten him. Unfortunately, complete confidence in such cases is sometimes as embarrassing as the relations between father and son. The Roman, pondering, twisted a paper-cutter and frowned in front of him.
"Stover," he said at last. "I have talked with the Doctor. He has seen best to approve of your election."
Dink, of course, perceiving the hesitation, went out gleefully, persuaded that the decision was gall and wormwood to his inveterate foe.
The last day of school ended. He drove to Trenton in a buggy with Tough McCarty as befitted his new dignity. He passed the Green House with a strange thrill. The humiliation of a year before had well been atoned, and yet the associations somehow still had power to rise up and wound him.
"Lord, you've changed!" said Tough, following his thoughts.
"Improved!" said Dink grimly.
"I was an infernal nuisance myself when I landed," said Tough, President of the Woodhull, evasively. "I say, Dink, next year we'll be licking the cubs into shape ourselves."
"That's so," said Stover. "Well, by this time next year I probably won't be so popular."
"Why not?"
"I'm going to put an end to a lot of nonsense," said Dink solemnly. "I'm going to see that my kids walk a chalk-line."
"So am I," said McCarty, with equal paternity. "What a shame we can't room together, old boy!"
"That'll come in the Upper, and afterward!"
They drove sedately, amid the whirling masses of the school that went hilariously past them. They were no longer of the irresponsible; the cares of the state were descending on their shoulders and a certain respect was necessary:
"Good-by, old Sockbuts," said Tough, departing toward New York. "Good-by, old geezer!"
"Au revoir."
"Mind now—fifteenth of July and you come for one month."
"You bet I will!"
"Take care of yourself!"
"I say, Tough," said Dink, with his heart inhis mouth. McCarty, laden with valises, stopped:
"What is it?"
"Remember me to your mother, will you?"
"Oh, sure."
"And—and to all the rest of the family!" said Dink, who thereupon bolted, panic-stricken.
When John Stover, President of the Kennedy House, arrived at theopening of the new scholastic year, he arrived magnificently in a special buggy, his changed personal appearance spreading wonder and incredulity before him. He was stylishly encased in a suit of tan whipcord, with creases down his trousers front that cut the air like the prow of a ship. On his head, rakishly set, was a Panama hat, over his arm was a natty raincoat and he wore gloves.
"Who is it?" said the Tennessee Shad faintly.
"It's the gas inspector," said Dennis de Brian de Boru, who, though now long of trousers, continued short of respect.
"Goodness gracious," said the Tennessee Shad, "can it be the little Dink who came to us from the Green House?"
Stover approached serenely and shook hands.
"Heavens, Dink," said the Gutter Pup, "what has happened? Have you gone into the clothing business?"
"Like my jibs?" said Stover, throwing back his coat. "Catch this!"
The front rank went over like so many nine pins. Stover, pleased with the effect, waved hishand and disappeared to pay his militant respects to The Roman who led him to the light and looked him over with unconcealed amazement.
When Dink had gone to his old room the Tennessee Shad, the Gutter Pup and Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan were already awaiting him, with heads critically slanted.
"Tell us the worst," said the Gutter Pup.
"Are you married?" said the Tennessee Shad.
"Let's see her photograph," said Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan.
Now, Stover had foreseen the greeting and the question and had come prepared. He opened his valise and, taking out a case, arranged a dozen photographs on his bureau, artfully concealing the one and only in a temporarily subordinate position.
The three village loungers arose and stationed themselves in front of the portrait gallery.
"Why, he must be perfectly irresistible!" said the Gutter Pup.
"Dink," said Dennis, "do all these girls love you?"
Stover, disdaining a reply, selected another case.
"Razors!" said the Tennessee Shad.
"What for?" said Dennis.
"Oh, I shave, too," said the Gutter Pup, inwhom the spirit of envy was beginning to work.
"And now, boys," said Stover briskly, taking off his coat, folding it carefully over a chair and beginning to unpack, "sit down. Don't act like a lot of hayseeds on a rail, but tell me what the Freshmen are like."
The manner was complete—convincing, without a trace of embarrassment. The three wits exchanged foolish glances and sat down.
"What do you weigh?" said the Gutter Pup faintly.
"One hundred and fifty-five, and I've grown an inch," said Stover, ranging on a ring a score of flashy neckties.
"I wish Lovely Mead could see those," said the Gutter Pup with a last appearance of levity.
"Call him up. Look at them yourself," said Stover, tendering the neckwear. "I think they're rather tasty myself."
Before such absolute serenity frivolity died of starvation. They made no further attempt at sarcasm, but sat awed until Stover had departed to carry the glad news of his increased weight to Captain Flash Condit.
"Why he's older than The Roman," said the Tennessee Shad, the first to recover.
"He's in love," said Dennis, who had intuitions.
"No, be-loved," said the Gutter Pup with a sigh, who was suffering from the first case, but not from the second.
The amazement of rolling, old Sir John Falstaff at the transformation of Prince Hal was nothing to the consternation of the Kennedy House at the sudden conversion of Dink Stover, the fount of mischief, into a complete disciplinarian.
Now the cardinal principle of House government is the division of the flock by the establishing of an age line. The control of the youngsters is almost always vigorously enforced, and though the logical principles involved are sometimes rather dubious they are adequate from the fact that they are never open to argument. Occasionally, however, under the leadership of some president either too indolent or incapable of leadership, this strict surveillance over the habits and conduct of youth is relaxed, with disastrous results to the orderly reputation of the House.
Stover, having been the arch rebel and fomenter of mischief, had the most determined ideas as to the discipline he intended to enforce and the respect he should exact.
The first clash came with the initial House Meeting, over which he presided. Now in the past these occasions had offered Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan and his attendant imps unlimitedamusement, as King Lentz had been almost totally ignorant of the laws of parliamentary procedure.
Of a consequence, no sooner was a meeting fairly under way, than some young scamp would rise and solemnly move the previous question, which never failed to bring down a storm of hoots at the complete mystification of the perplexed chairman, who never to his last day was able to solve this knotty point of procedure.
Now, Dennis, while he had been impressed by Stover's new majesty, retained still a feeling of resistance. So the moment the gavel declared the meeting open he bobbed up with a wicked gleam and shrilly announced:
"Mr. Chairman, I move the previous question."
"Mr. Finnegan will come to order," said Stover quietly.
"Oh, I say, Dink!"
"Are you addressing the chair?" said Stover sternly.
"Oh, no," said Finnegan, according to his usual manner, "I was just whistling through my teeth, gargling my larynx, trilling——"
Crash came the gavel and the law spoke forth:
"Mr. Finnegan will come to order?"
"I won't!"
"Mr. Finnegan either apologizes to the chair,or the chair will see that Mr. Finnegan returns to short trousers and stays there. Mr. Finnegan has exactly one minute to make up his mind."
Dennis, crimson and gasping, stood more thoroughly amazed and nonplussed than he had ever been in his active existence. He opened his mouth as though to reply, and beheld Stover calmly draw forth his watch. Had it been any one else, Dennis would have hesitated; but he knew Stover of old and what the chilly, metallic note was in his voice. He chose the lesser of two evils and gave the apology.
"The chair will now state," said Stover, replacing his watch, "for the benefit of any other young, transcendent jokers that may care to display their side-splitting wit, that the chair is quite capable of handling the previous question, or any other question, and that these meetings are going to be orderly proceedings and not one-ring circuses for the benefit of the Kennedy Association of Clowns. The question before the House is the protest against compulsory bath. The chair recognizes Mr. Lazelle to make a motion."
The cup of Finnegan's bitterness was not yet filled. Stover's first act of administration was to forbid the privileges of the cold-air flues and the demon cigarette to all members of the Housewho had not attained, according to his judgment, either a proper age or a sufficient display of bodily stature. Among the proscribed was Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan, whose legs, clothed in new dignity, fairly quivered under the affront, as he tearfully protested:
"I say, Dink, it's an outrage!"
"Can't help it. It's for your own good."
"But I'm fifteen."
"Now, see here, Dennis," said Stover firmly, "your business is to grow and to be of some use. No one's going to know about it unless you yell it out, but I'm going to see that you turn out a decent, manly chap and not another Slops Barnett."
"But you went with Slops yourself."
"I did—but you're not going to be such a fool."
"Why, you're a regular tyrant!"
"All right, call it that."
"And I elected you," said Dennis, the aggrieved and astounded modern politician. "This is Goo-gooism!"
"No, it isn't," said Stover indignantly. "I'm not interfering with any fellow who's sixteen—they can do what they darn please. But I'm not going to have a lot of kids in this House starting sporting life until they've grown up to it, savez? They're going to be worth living withand having around, and not abominations in the sight of gods and men. Pass the word along."
The revolt, for a short while, was furiously indignant, but the prestige of Stover's reputation forestalled all thought of disobedience. In such cases absolute power is in the hands of him who can wield it, and Stover could command.
In short order he had reduced the youngsters to respect and usefulness, with the following imperial decrees:
All squabs are to maintain in public a deferential and modest attitude.No squab shall talk to excess in the presence of his elders.No squab shall habitually use bad language, under penalty of an application of soap and water.No squab shall use tobacco in any form.No squab shall leave the House after lights without express permission.
These regulations were not simply an exercise of arbitrary authority, for in the House itself were certain elements which Dink perfectly understood, and whose spheres of influence he was resolved to confine to their own limits.
"How're you going to enforce, Sire, these imperial decrees?" asked the Tennessee Shad, who, however, thoroughly approved.
"I have a method," said Stover, with an interior smile. "It's what I call a Rogues' Gallery."
"I don't see," said the Tennessee Shad, puzzled.
"You will."
The first rebel was a Freshman, Bellefont, known as the Millionaire Baby, who, due to a previous luxurious existence, had acquired manly practices at an early age. Bellefont was detected with the odor of tobacco.
"Young squab, have you been smoking?" said Stover.
"Well, what are you going to do about it?" said the youngster defiantly.
"Gutter Pup, get your camera," said Stover.
The Gutter Pup, mystified, returned. The autocrat seized the young rebel, slung him paternally across his knee and with raised hand spoke:
"Gutter Pup, snap a couple of good ones. We'll make this Exhibit A in our Rogues' Gallery."
Bellefont, at the thought of this public perpetuation, set up a howl and kicked as though mortally stung. Stover held firm. The snapshots were taken, developed and duly posted.
From that moment, in public at least, Stover's slightest gesture was obeyed as promptly as the lifting of an English policeman's finger.
The yoke once accepted became popular alike with the older members, who ceased to be annoyed, and with the squabs themselves, who, finding they were protected from bullying or unfair exactions, soon adopted toward Stover an attitude of reverent idolatry that was not without its embarrassments. He was called upon at all hours to render decisions on matters political and philosophical, with the knowledge that his opinion would instantly be adopted as religion. Before him were brought all family quarrels, some serious, some grotesque; but each class demanding a settlement in equity.
One afternoon Dennis maliciously piloted to his presence Pee-wee Norris and his new roommate, a youngster named Berbacker, called Cyclops from the fact that one eye was glass, a gift that brought him a peculiar admiration and envy.
Stover, observing the cunning expression on Finnegan's face, scented a trap. The matter was, indeed, very grave.
"See here, Dink," said Pee-wee indignantly; "I leave it to you. How would you like to stumble upon a loose eye all over the room?"
"A what?"
"A loose eye. This fellow Cyclops is all the time leaving his glass eye around in my diggin's and I don't like it. It's the deuce of a thing tofind it winking up at you from the table or the window-seat. It gives me the creeps."
"What have you got to say, Cyclops?" said Stover, assuming a judicial air.
"Well, I've always been used to takin' the eye out," said Cyclops, with an injured look. "Most fellows are glad to see it. But, I say, I'm the fellow who has the kick. The whole thing started by Norris hiding it on me."
"Did you swipe his eye?" said Stover severely.
"Well, yes, I did. What right's he got to let it out loose?"
"I want him to leave my eye alone," said Cyclops.
"I want him to keep his old eye in his old socket," said Pee-wee.
"Oh, Solomon, what is thy judgment?" said Dennis, who had engineered it all.
"I'll give my judgment and it'll settle it," said Dink firmly. "But I'll think it over first."
True to his word, he deliberated long and actively and, as the judgment had to be given, he called the complaining parties before him and said:
"Now, look here, Pee-wee and Cyclops; you fellows are rooming together and you've got to get on. If you fight, keep it to yourselves; don't shout it around. But get together—agree.You've got to go on, and the more you agree—ahem—the less you'll disagree, see? It's just like marriage. Now you go back and live like a respectable married couple, and if I hear any more about this glass eye I'll spank you both and have you photographed for the Rogues' Gallery."
Among the members of the Kennedy House there were two who defied his authority and gave him cause for dissatisfaction—the Millionaire Baby, who was a nuisance because he had been pampered and impressed with his own divine right, and a fellow named Horses Griffin, who was unbearable because, owing to his size and strength, he had never had the blessing of a good thrashing.
Now when Stover promulgated his laws for the protection of Squabs he had served notice on the sporting centers that he expected their adherence. Fellows like Slops Barnett and Fatty Harris, who, to do them justice, approved of segregation, made no defiance. Griffin, though, who was a hulking, rather surly, self-conscious fellow, secretly rebelled at this act of authority, and gave asylum to Bellefont, from whom he was glad to accept the good things that regularly arrived in boxes from a solicitous mother.
Stover had seen from the first how the issuewould have to be met, and met it at the first opportunity. Griffin having defied his authority by openly inviting the Millionaire Baby up for the nefarious practice of matching pennies, Dink marched up the stairs and entered the enemy's room.
A moment later the group expectantly gathered in the hall heard something within that resembled an itinerant cyclone, then the door blew open and Griffin shot out and raced for the stairs, while behind him—like an angry tom-cat—came Stover, in time to give to the panicky champion just that extra impetus that allowed him, as Dennis expressed it, to establish a new record—flying start—for the twenty-six steps. After this little explanation Griffin showed a marked disinclination for the company of Bellefont, and became, indeed, quite a useful member of the community, though he always retained such acute memories that an angry tone from Stover would cause him to fidget and calculate the distance to the door.
Griffin subdued, the Millionaire Baby still remained. The problem was a knotty one, for as Bellefont was still of sub-stature the means of correction were limited.
"What worries your Majesty?" said Dennis de Brian de Boru, perceiving Stover in stern meditation. "Is it that beautiful specimen offlunky-raised squab entitled the Millionaire Baby?"
"It is," said Dink. Between him and Dennis peace had long since been concluded.
"He is a very precious hothouse flower," said Dennis sarcastically.
"He is the most useless, pestiferous, conceited little squirt I ever saw," said Dink.
"I love him not."
"But I'll get that flunky smell out of him yet!"
"The pity is he has such fat, juicy boxes from home."
"He has—how often?"
"Every two weeks."
"It oughtn't to be allowed."
"What are you going to do? You can't take 'em by force."
"No—that wouldn't do."
"Still," said Dennis regretfully, "he's so young it is just ruining his little digestion."
They sat a moment deliberating. Finally Dink spoke rapturously:
"I have it. We'll organize the Kennedy Customs House."
"Aha!"
"Everything imported must pass the Customs House."
"Pass?"
"Certainly; everything must be legal."
"What am I to be?"
"Appraiser."
"I'd rather be first taster."
"Same thing."
"You said pass," said Dennis obstinately. "I don't like that word."
"Purely technical sense."
"But there will be duties imposed?"
"Certainly."
"Aha!" said Dennis brightening. "Very high duties?"
"The maximum duty on luxuries," said Dink. "We're all good Republicans, aren't we?"
"I am, if I can write the tariff schedule," said Dennis, who, as may be seen, was orthodox.
When, on the following week, young Bellefont received his regular installment of high-priced indigestibles he was amazed to see the Gutter Pup and Lovely Mead appear with solemn demeanor.
"Hello," said the Millionaire Baby, placing himself in front of the half-open box.
"See these badges," said Lovely Mead, pointing to their caps, around which were displayed white bandages inscribed "inspector."
"Sure."
"We're in the Customs House."
"Well, what?"
"And we have received information that you are systematically smuggling goods into this territory."
The Millionaire Baby looked as though a ghost had arisen.
"Aha!" said the Gutter Pup, perceiving the box. "Here's the evidence now. Officer, seize the goods and the prisoner."
"What are you going to do to me?" said the culprit in great alarm.
"Take you before the Customs Court."
The Customs Court was sitting, without absentees, in Stover's room—appraisers, weighers, adjusters and consulting experts, all legally ticketed and very solemn. The prisoner was stood in a corner and the contents of the box spread on the floor.
"First exhibit—one plum cake," announced Beekstein, who was in a menial position.
"Duty sixty-five per cent," said Dennis de Brian de Born Finnegan, consulting a book. "Raisins and spices."
"Two bottles of anchovy olives,"
"Duty fifty per cent, imported fruits."
"Only fifty per cent?" said Stover, who had a preference for the same.
"That's all."
"What's it on?"
"Imported fruits."
"How about spiced fish?" said the Tennessee Shad, coming to the rescue, "and, likewise, Italian glass?"
The Millionaire Baby gave a groan.
"Imported fish, forty per cent," said Dennis, "glass—Venetian glass—thirty-five per cent. He owes us thirty per cent on this."
"Continue," said Stover, casting a grateful glance at the Tennessee Shad.
"Two boxes of candied prunes, that's vegetables, twenty-five per cent."
"They're preserved in sugar, aren't they?"
"Sure."
"There's a duty of fifty per cent on sugar."
"Long live the Sugar Trust."
"Doggone robbers!" said the Millionaire Baby tearfully.
"Three boxes salted almonds, one large box of chocolate bonbons, one angel cake and six tins of candied ginger."
The judges, deliberating, assessed each article. Stover rose to announce the decree.
"The clerk of the court will return to the importer thirty-five per cent of the plum cake, twenty-five per cent of the candied prunes, one box of salted almonds and two tins of ginger."
The Millionaire Baby breathlessly contained his wrath.
Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan addressed the court:
"Your Honor."
"Mr. Finnegan."
"I beg to call to your Honor's attention that these goods have been seized and are subject to a fine."
"True," said Stover, glancing sternly at the frothing Bellefont. "I would be inclined to be lenient, but I am informed that this is not the defendant's first offense. The clerk of the court will, therefore, confiscate the whole."
The Millionaire Baby, with a howl, began to express himself in the language of the stables.
"Gag him," said Stover, "and let him be informed that the duties will be lightened if in the future he declares his imports."
The government then applied the revenues to the needs of the department of the interior.
"The duty on anchovy olives is too high," said Finnegan, looking fondly down a bottle.
"How so?"
"It will stop the imports."
"True—we might reduce it."
"We must encourage imports," said the Gutter Pup firmly.
And the chorus came full mouthed:
"Sure!"
The Millionaire Baby received three moreboxes—that is, he received the limited portion that a paternal government allowed him. Then, being chastened, he took a despicable revenge—he stopped the supply.
"Well, it was sweet while it lasted," said Dennis regretfully.
"We've stopped toadyism in the House," said Stover virtuously. "We have eliminated the influence of money."
"That is praiseworthy, but it doesn't fill me with enthusiasm."
"Dink," said the Tennessee Shad, "I must say I consider this one of your few failures. You're a great administrator, but you don't understand the theory of taxation."
"I don't, eh? Well, what is the theory?"
"The theory of taxation," said the Tennessee Shad, "is to soak the taxed all they'll stand for, but to leave them just enough, so they'll come again."
No sooner had Mr. John H. Stover returned from the seriousdevelopments of the summer, arranged his new possessions and brought forward the photograph of Miss McCarty to a position on the edge of his bureau, where he could turn to it the last thing at night and again behold it with his waiting glance, than a horrible coincidence appeared.
Among the festive decorations that made the corporate home of Dink and the Tennessee Shad a place to visit and admire was, as has been related, a smashing poster of a ballet dancer in the costume of an amazon parader. Up to now Dink had shared the just pride of the Tennessee Shad in this rakish exhibit that somehow gave the possessor the reputation of having an acquaintance with stage entrances. But on the second morning when his faithful glance turned to the protecting presence of Miss McCarty resting among the brushes, it paused a moment on the representative of the American dramatic profession, who was coquettishly trying to conceal one foot behind her ear.
Then he sat bolt upright with a start. Bysome strange perversion of the fate that delights in torturing lovers, the features of the immodestly clothed amazon bore the most startling resemblance to that paragon of celestial purity, Miss Josephine McCarty.
The more he gazed the more astounding was the impression. He gazed and then he did not gaze at all—it seemed like a profanation. The resemblance, once perceived, positively haunted him; stand where he might his eyes could see nothing but the seraphic head of Miss McCarty upon the unspeakable body of the amazon—and then those legs!
For days this centaurian combination tortured him without his being able to evolve a satisfactory method of removing the blasphemous poster. A direct attack was quite out of the question, for manifestly the Tennessee Shad would demand an adequate explanation for the destruction of his treasured possession. There could be no explanation except the true one, and such a confession was unthinkable, even to a roommate under oath.
For two solid weeks Stover, brooding desperately, sought to avert his glance from the profane spectacle before chance came to his rescue. One Saturday night, after a strenuous game with the Princeton Freshmen, Dink, afraid of going stale, decided to quicken his jaded appetiteby an application of sardines, deviled ham and rootbeer.
The feasting-table happened to be directly beneath the abhorrent poster, so that Stover, as he lifted the bottle to open it, beheld with fury the offending tights. He gave the bottle instinctively a shake and with that disturbing motion suddenly came his plan.
"This rootbeer has been flat as the deuce lately," he said.
"They're selling us poor stuff," said the Tennessee Shad, with the tail of a sardine disappearing within.
"I wonder if I could put life in the blame thing if I shook it up a bit," said Stover, suiting the action to the word.
Now, the Tennessee Shad knew from experience what that result would be, but as Stover was holding the bottle he dissembled his knowledge.
"Give it a shake," he said.
Stover complied.
"Shake her again."
"How's that?"
"Once more. It'll be just like champagne."
Stover gave it a final vigorous shake, pointed the nozzle toward the poster and cut the cork. There was an explosion and then the contents rose like a geyser and spread over the ceilingand the luckless ballet dancer who dared to resemble Miss McCarty.
By the next morning the poster was unrecognizable under a coating of dried reddish spots and was ignominiously removed, to the delight of Stover, whose illusions were thus preserved, as well as his secret.
Now, the month spent at the McCartys' had strengthened his honorable intentions and given them that definite purpose that is sometimes vulgarly ticketed—object matrimony.
It is not that Dink could return over the romantic days of his visit and lay his finger on any particular scene or any definite word that could be construed as binding Miss McCarty. But, on the other hand, his own actions and expressions, he thought, must have been so capable of but one interpretation that, as a man of honor, he held himself morally as well as willingly bound. Of course, she had understood his attitude; she must have understood. And, likewise, there were events that made him believe that she, in her discreet way, had let him see by her actions what she could not convey by her words. For, of course, in his present position of dependence on his father, nothing could be said. He understood that. He would not have changed it. Still, there were unmistakable memories of the preference he had enjoyed. Therhad been, in particular, an ill-favored dude, called Ver Plank, who had always been hanging around with his tandem and his millions, who had been sacrificed a dozen times by the unmercenary angel to his, John H. Stover's, profit. That was clear enough, and there had been many such incidents.
The only thing that disappointed Dink was the polite correctness of her letters. But then something, he said to himself, must be allowed for maiden modesty. His own letters were the product of afternoons and evenings. The herculean difficulty that he experienced in covering four sheets of paper—even when writing a flowing hand and allowing half a page for the signature—secretly worried him. It seemed as though something was lacking in his character or in the strength of his devotion.
On the day after the final disappearance of the brazen amazon Dink pounced upon a violet envelope in the well-known handwriting and bore it to a place of secrecy. It was in answer to four of his own painful compositions.
He gave three glances before reading, three glances that estimate all such longed-for epistles. There were five pages, which brought him a thrill; it was signed "as ever, Josephine," which brought him a doubt; and it began "Dear Jack," which brought him nothing at all.
Having thus passed from hot to cold, and back to a fluctuating temperature, he began the letter—first, to read what was written, and second, to read what might be concealed between the lines: