CHAPTER IVA CALL FOR HELP"I'm going down to Mr. Blake's room a minute," said Henry when Jack and his new room-mate had departed. "I sha'n't be gone long.""All right," replied Ward, as he turned to talk with the younger Pond, who had remained as if he had something he wished to speak about. "Well, Pond," he added, after he had seated himself near him, "how do you like Weston?""I think I shall like it after I've become better acquainted. Of course, I've heard my brother tell so many things about it, that it doesn't seem exactly like a new place to me. And he's told so many things too about the boys, that it almost seems to me as if I had always known them.""I'm afraid you haven't always heard good things then, if he's told you about the boys. I'm sure the list of good things wouldn't be very long in my case.""He told me he liked you better than any boy in the school," said young Pond eagerly. "I never heard him say one word against you, except that you didn't work very hard. He declared he never would have been able to lead the class if you had put in half the time he did, on your studies.""That's kind of him," said Ward laughingly, although he was touched by the evident earnestness of the boy before him. "Is this the first time you've ever been away from home?""Yes. And I fear I'm going to be homesick too.""Oh, you mustn't mind that!" said Ward as philosophically as if such feelings were an every-day matter in his life. "You'll get over that all right.""That's what my brother said. And he told me too, that I should need some one to look after me a bit and help to keep me out of the clutches of the 'Tangs,' or some such things. I don't know just what he meant, only he said if I would come to you, that you would help me till he came back next term."For a moment Ward was silent. The "Tangs" had not once been mentioned during the summer, and both Henry and Jack had been silent concerning them. But Ward, although he did not know what course Jack would follow, had decided that for himself safety lay only in breaking with them. But his heart was not entirely free from fears or misgivings when he thought of the possible consequences for himself. And here was Pond's younger brother coming to him with the utmost confidence for protection against the very boys whom he most feared himself. He glanced again at the lad before him. What a slight, delicate little fellow he was. And yet what a bright, eager expression he had. He would have no difficulty in his classes; Ward felt certain of that; but what would he do if the boys began to trouble him?"You come to me, Pond, whenever you're in trouble, and I'll do my best for you," he finally said, unable to resist the unspoken as well as the spoken appeal of the slight boy before him."Thank you! Thank you!" replied Pond, rising from his chair and departing just as Henry returned.It was late on the following morning when Ward and Henry started to go to the dining hall, and they met many of the boys who already had eaten their breakfast. Ward secretly felt relieved at the fact, for the meeting with the boys was what troubled him most. He had been in trouble when the preceding year had closed, and unpopularity was something of which Ward Hill stood in greater fear than of anything else. How he would be received now was the constantly pressing question, but its solution would soon come, for "chapel" would bring all the boys together, and he would not long be left in doubt as to his position among his fellows then.The chapel bell was ringing when Ward and Henry hastily left the Hall, or "hash house" as the building was commonly known, and they hastened back to their rooms to secure their books before they ran swiftly up the walk which led to the chapel. Even then there was the usual delay on the part of some of the students, and Jack Hobart was leading a band of delinquents as the bell began to give out the sharp short strokes that indicated the end of its summons."String out there! String out, you fellows!" called Jack, as he caught sight of Ward and Henry, meanwhile striving hard to button his collar and adjust his tie.This time Ward understood the meaning of the hail far better than when he had first heard it in the preceding year, and ceasing to run, he approached the building more slowly, thus giving Jack and the other delinquents an opportunity to overtake them and secure their seats before the bell ceased to be rung and the doors were closed.Their seats now were in the section which belonged to the seniors. Last year how he had looked up to the boys who occupied these seats. Ned Butler was there then, and others whom Ward had deeply respected. Was any one looking up to him as he had looked up to that marvelous class which had been graduated in the preceding June? Just then he caught a glimpse of young Pond, who was evidently far from feeling at his ease in the midst of the strange scene.But Dr. Gray then arose and the low murmur which had filled the chapel became hushed as the exercises were begun. Then followed a talk from the doctor concerning the work of the year which lay before them, and Ward could not repress a smile as Jack Hobart looked solemnly at him and held up four fingers of one hand, thereby indicating that this was the fourth occasion on which he had listened to the same "lecture" from the good old man. However, the words were well worthy of repetition and Ward was soon interested and listened attentively. Directions were given the new boys concerning the rooms and places in which they were to report, and then each class was told what was to be expected of it on that day, and the boys arose and started toward the doors. Ward now knew that the testing time had come, and he would soon understand just what he had to expect from his old companions. Summoning all his resolution as he passed out, he saw Tim Pickard standing with a group of boys, and at once turned and approached him holding out his hand and endeavoring to appear calm and indifferent."Hello, Tim. Glad to see you back again."Tim Pickard turned and looked insolently at Ward. There was not a gleam of recognition or pleasure expressed upon his face. He looked at Ward just a moment and then, ignoring the outstretched hand and the salutation alike, he turned again to the boys before him and resumed his conversation with them.Ward's face flushed crimson, and at first he felt as if he could not control the feeling of anger which surged up in his heart. Who was Tim Pickard, that he should treat him in such a manner? Had he not been expelled from the school? Did not every fellow in the school know just what he was? Had any one forgotten the escapades of the coarse-fibred boy? Ward's heart sank quickly, however, when he thought of his own record in the preceding year. If Dr.. Gray was willing to receive Tim Pickard back into the school for another trial, who was he to complain? And how much better after all was he than Tim?Ward caught the words "sneak" and "bootlick," which Tim had uttered as he had turned again to his companions, and realized then just what he would have to face. Tim Pickard's anger, the enmity of the "Tangs," and a series of petty annoyances which would be bound to follow him now perhaps all through the school year, must be met.It seemed to the troubled boy as if every one in his class was against him, for he received but a friendly nod or a slight recognition as he hurried into the Latin room and took his old familiar place. Jack already was in the chair next to his and Ward at once perceived from the expression on his face that he was aware of the state of the feeling in the school."Never mind, Ward," he whispered, as his classmate took his seat; "just you keep in mind what I told you about the condition of your vertebrae, and the region of your upper lip. It'll all come out right."To do Ward Hill justice we must say that there was a feeling in his heart which did not promise to be altogether bad. It is true he was hurt and angry as he recognized what lay before him, perhaps more angry than hurt, but he was determined now not to be crushed, or "downed," as he termed it. Mr. Crane kept the class but a few moments, only long enough to assign lessons and to make a few general suggestions, and then dismissed them.As they filed out of the room, Jack said: "Ward, will you come over to my room now?""No," replied Ward quietly. "I think I'll go over to West and get a little start in my work. If I'm to be valedic, you know, I must begin early." Ward smiled slightly as he spoke, but he could not entirely conceal the depression which now swept over him. "Never mind, Speck, don't worry about me," he quickly added as he saw the sympathy expressed upon his friend's face; "I'm going to come through it all right. I'm not for giving up yet, anyway. I'll come over to see you after a bit; but just now I think I'll go to my room.""All right," said Jack heartily, evidently appreciating Ward's desire to be alone.Ward walked slowly over toward West Hall. He felt as if nearly all his companions would be against him now. Tim Pickard, in spite of his well-known character, was still a good deal of a leader, and his wealth and success as an athlete added greatly to his power over the boys. He could not repress the wish that Doctor Gray had not permitted Tim to return, for he must have known what every boy in the Weston school thought of him, and must also have known that there was very slight prospect of Tim's ever advancing. But here he was, and Ward must face the conditions which were before him. There was to be no escape now.He entered his room and at once began to study. It was difficult for him to hold himself to his work, but he succeeded in a measure, and when two hours later Henry entered, Ward had much of his work done. So far as his class work was concerned he could look forward with confidence to what was to come on the morrow.Throughout the day Ward found that his only consolation was in busying himself in some work. When he went down to the boarding hall he had but little to say to his companions, and returned at once to his room.The day somehow passed and after the evening meal, when he had seated himself before his study table to write his first letter home, Big Smith suddenly entered the room, and said:"Why, Ward, I haven't seen you to speak to you before. Where have you kept yourself?""I haven't been very far away," replied Ward with a smile.His heart had never been drawn to the boy before him, but in times like the present even the friendship of Big Smith was not to be lightly cast aside. Ward Hill could endure anything better than the ill-will of his fellows."Well, I'm glad to see you," said Big Smith solemnly. "I sincerely trust you are going to do better this year than you did last.""I hope so too," said Ward; "and I'm not without hope," he added solemnly, and striving to imitate exactly the tones Big Smith had used, "that you too will be able to improve.""Let us hope so. Let us hope so. Doubtless there is room for us all. But, Ward, I'm not so much afraid of you as I am of Tim Pickard. I don't see why the doctor ever permitted him to return. I shouldn't, I'm sure of that."Ward's face flushed and an angry retort rose upon his lips, but he restrained himself, and Big Smith continued:"Yes, I confess, I'm not overmuch rejoiced over Tim's return. He's a good man for the nine, we all know that; but I fear he may be a disturbing element in the school. Not with me," he hastily added, "but I fear for you, Ward, I do, indeed."Still Ward managed in some way to keep silent, though, as he afterward explained it, he never understood just how it was done."Even now," continued Big Smith, "I hear that Timothy is at work again. My brother informs me that he and some of his cronies have beguiled young Pond down on the ball ground and are tormenting him there.""What? What's that, you say?" said Ward quickly, leaping from his seat as he spoke, and without waiting for his question to be answered he seized his hat and ran swiftly out of the room. Down the stairs he rushed, three steps at a jump, and out along the pathway that led to the ball ground.One thought possessed him now--Little Pond was in trouble. Ward recalled his own promise to aid him, and now that the lad was suffering at the hands of Tim Pickard two feelings drove him on. One was his compassion for Pond and the other was his anger at Tim.It was dusk, the sun having disappeared, but the darkness not as yet having settled over all. He ran swiftly forward and as he came near the ball ground he stopped as he heard a shout of laughter coming from that direction. It seemed to him he could hear Tim Pickard's voice above the others, but he did not stop to question as he again ran swiftly forward.He soon came to the brow of the low hill that looked down upon the field. There he stopped for a moment and looked before him. He could see that four or five boys were there and there was something in the midst which at first he could not make out. Soon, however, he could see what it was. It was a baby carriage and some one was lying strapped upon it."Look out now, gentlemen," he heard some one of the boys call. "We have here the finest specimen of the infant terrible ever yet seen.Genus homo, order----""Don't! Please don't!" Ward heard some one pleadingly say. The voice was that of young Pond and the other speaker he now knew was Tim Pickard.The pleadings were not heeded, however, and with a rush the boys started with the baby carriage over the rough ground.Again Ward could hear the pleadings of the frightened lad and the sound was more than he could bear. In an instant he started down the hillside at his highest speed and ran swiftly on toward the noisy group.CHAPTER VA WARNINGWard had drawn near the group before his presence was discovered. The deepening dusk and the sheltered position of the ball ground had made the boys who were tormenting Little Pond almost reckless, so secure did they feel from detection. As a consequence he was close upon them before any one perceived him."Now shake the infant up! Bye, baby, bye! That's a good little boy. We'll give him a good ride, so we will!"There was no mistaking that voice, it could be none other than Tim Pickard's, and Ward could see that he was holding the handle of the carriage and was preparing to make another rush with the unfortunate lad who lay stretched upon it."Look out! Look out!" called one of the boys suddenly, as he caught sight of the approaching form. "Some one's coming. Let's get out of this!"In an instant Tim's companions scattered and fled in the darkness, while Tim himself looked about him in surprise, as if he were not yet able to account for the sudden departure of his friends.Ward was close upon him now, and without hesitating an instant he rushed upon the tormentor of Little Pond with such force that he was sent headlong and rolled over and over upon the ground before he could regain his foothold.Ward had not fully realized what he would have to meet in the struggle, for he had thought that he would be set upon by all the assembled mischief-makers together; but the cry of Little Pond had banished all other thoughts from his mind, and he had gone recklessly to the aid of the lad. He had not counted at all upon the results which quickly followed.As soon as Tim could recover himself he ran swiftly off in the darkness in the direction in which his companions had disappeared, and in a moment no one was left upon the scene except Ward and the lad, who still was lying fast bound and in an exceedingly uncomfortable position upon the top of the baby carriage.Doubtless the fears in the heart of Tim and his companions had either exaggerated the number of those who were approaching, or they had thought some of the teachers were making a descent upon them, and in the latter event Tim most of all would have found a very serious problem to face.At any rate, they had all disappeared so quickly that Ward could hardly believe at first that he was left alone. He waited a moment to see if any would return, his blood boiling, and the feeling of anger in his heart making him almost reckless of any consequences that might befall him for his hasty but generous action.As soon as he was satisfied that no one was coming back he turned to young Pond, and as he unbound the straps by which he had been held fast, he said:"What's the meaning of this? How came you to be here?""I don't know. I was walking along the path over by the chapel when three fellows rushed at me, and before I knew what they were about they were rushing me down here upon the ball ground. One of them tied his handkerchief over my mouth, but I tore it off. I didn't want to cry out, but I couldn't help it. They didn't seem to think any one could hear me and so left it off.""Are you hurt?""Not much, though my back pains me. You see, they picked me up and tied me in the carriage so that my head and shoulders hung over the back, and every time they made a rush it seemed to me as if they would break me straight in two.""How long have you been here?""I don't know; it seems as if it must have been days, but I don't suppose it was more than half an hour. I thought they'd never stop.""Do you know who the fellows were?""Yes.""Who were they?""I don't think I'll tell, Ward. It wouldn't do any good; and besides, I may be mistaken, you know. No, I'd rather not tell you if you don't mind.""You don't need to," said Ward quietly. "I know who they were. At least I know who one was, and I rather think he'll not forget his tumble very soon, either. But come on now, it's time we were in our rooms. There goes the study bell now, and we'll be marked late if we don't look out. Come on."Both boys started quickly toward West Hall, and on their way they met a group of five boys, one of whom was Tim Pickard. They too were heading for their rooms, but the recognition was mutual, and Ward instantly realized that his own troubles were likely to be multiplied by that fact. However, he said nothing to his companion. In a few moments they entered West Hall; but the bell had ceased ringing several minutes before, and as they went up the stairway they met Mr. Blake face to face."Late are you, Hill?" said the teacher. "I'm sorry to see that so early in the term. And you have one of the younger boys with you too!" he added as he saw who Ward's companion was. "That's too bad, Hill, that's too bad. You ought not to get the little fellows into trouble too. It's quite enough for you to get into it yourself. If this happens again, Hill, I shall report it to Dr. Gray."It had been in Ward's heart to explain the cause of his tardiness, or at least to try to shield his companion, but as Mr. Blake talked on, he resolutely shut his lips together and without a word of explanation went on up to his room, while Little Pond also departed to his.As Ward entered the room Henry looked up in surprise, and Ward felt that there was an implied rebuke in his glance. Repressing the feeling of anger which at first arose, he soon explained to his chum the exciting scene he had just witnessed, and as he finished, Henry said:"That was a mean trick! They might have broken the little fellow's back. It was Tim Pickard at the bottom of it, I suppose.""Yes," said Ward quietly."Well, never mind, Ward," said Henry quickly. "Probably he'll turn his attention to you now; but I think you'll be able to stand it.""I shall try to," said Ward with a smile, as he seated himself at his study table, and taking up his books began his preparation of the lessons for the following day. And he studied hard all that evening. His heart was still hot and his feelings were bitter whenever he thought of the brutal treatment of Little Pond, and yet he did not once pause to consider that a year before this time he might have been one of the very boys to be foremost in such a scrape, and call it good fun. Now, however, it seemed to him like a very cowardly act. He had felt a very strong personal liking for the elder Pond, and the letters he had received from him, as well as the appeal of the little fellow himself, had worked strongly upon his own heart. Besides all that, it was such an entirely unusual experience for him to be approached for aid that it was a new motive in his heart which was stirred now. Hitherto, he had been the one to seek help. Now he was a senior, and the feeling of respect with which he had looked to the older boys when he had entered the Weston school must be very like that which Pond's brother now felt toward him.Ward enjoyed the feeling too. The cry of Little Pond for aid came back to him frequently and he had fully resolved before the evening passed that he would "see the little fellow through," which was the way in which he expressed his determination to see that the lad was not put upon or tormented by Tim Pickard or any of his boon companions.Still, when the morning came Ward was hardly prepared for the consequences which soon followed his action.When he entered the post office he found a letter awaiting him there, which evidently had been written by some boy, for the handwriting plainly showed that, and the postmark was Weston.He hastily tore open the envelope and then read the enclosed letter, which was as follows:WESTON SCHOOL, September 18, 19--To WARD HILL, SNEAK:You are hereby notified that you have been expelled from the ancient and venerable order of "Orang-outangs." You have promised never to betray any of the secrets of the order, but probably you will not keep your word any better in this case than you do in others. We want to warn you though, that your best plan is to leave the school at once. Don't delay, for delays are dangerous. Your life will not be safe. You will be snubbed by the fellows and you will find that everybody, except a few sneaks, in the whole school is down on you. If you stay it will be at your own peril. Take the advice and follow the warning of theCOMMITTEE.As Ward looked up after finishing the reading of the letter he saw Tim Pickard standing in the doorway and regarding him with ill-concealed hatred. Ward laughed aloud as he saw the boy, and approaching him and holding out the letter which he had just read, he said:"There, Tim, you'd better take your letter; I don't want it. You may be able to scare the little fellows in the dark as you did Little Pond last night, but you can't scare me. As for you and the 'Tangs,' you know I don't care that for them," and he snapped his fingers derisively as he spoke. "You know as well as I do that I had made up my mind never to have anything more to do with such fellows. Perhaps, if you don't want the letter, Dr. Gray might care for it," he added as Tim made no movement to receive it.Ward was sorry for the words the moment he had uttered them, but they were gone beyond recall now. He had not the slightest inclination to give the letter to the principal, and he knew that Tim Pickard was aware of that fact too; but Tim instantly snatched the letter from his hand and giving Ward a look of intense hatred turned quickly on his heel and departed.Ward was inclined to laugh at the entire matter. As for the "Tangs," he was glad that the break had come. He had known that his only safety lay in cutting loose from them, but just how it was to be done he had not been able to decide. It had been a topic of conversation to which neither he nor Jack had referred since the vacation had begun, and now that the break at last had really come, Ward felt relieved.As for their threats, he cared little for them. The most they could do would be a series of petty annoyances, and in the present state of his feelings that seemed a very small matter.Of Tim Pickard's hatred for him he had no doubt, but that the brutal leader would be able to annoy him seriously he had no fear. He had all those lessons yet to learn, along with some others that were not indicated in the "course of study" as mapped out in the catalogue of the Weston school.When he entered the Latin room that morning and took his seat beside Jack, he felt rather than perceived that a change of some kind had come over his companion. It was nothing that Jack said, nor was it clearly apparent in his manner, and yet there was an indefinable something about him that led Ward to think that a change of some kind had come. For the first time Ward's heart misgave him. Perhaps he had been too bold after all. Could he afford to incur the loss of Jack's friendship for the sake of a little fellow whom he had never met until a few days before this time?His thoughts, however, were soon recalled, and he was giving his entire attention to the work of the class. His own lesson had been thoroughly prepared and when he took his seat after Mr. Crane had called upon him to recite he felt that he had done well.Mr. Crane, however, made no comment, and there was no change in the quiet manner with which he conducted his recitation. Ward was a trifle disappointed, as he felt that such work as he was doing was entitled to a little more recognition than he had received. However, he gave his attention to the lesson, and when the class rose to leave the room he turned to Jack and said:"It's this afternoon the nine practises, isn't it?""Yes," replied Jack evasively.The conversation ceased abruptly, and as Ward passed with the class out to Dr. Gray's recitation room, he several times perceived that he himself was the subject of conversation among the boys.Striving hard not to appear to notice it, and yet with a sinking heart realizing that somehow the boys appeared to avoid him, he apparently was taking his last glimpse at his lesson before entering the recitation room. And yet his thoughts were not of the lesson. Even Jack he noticed was walking by the side of Berry--Luscious Berry--and if one might judge from his manner the conversation was highly interesting. With a heavy heart Ward entered the room, and as soon as the recitation was ended departed alone for his room in West Hall. Once there, he seated himself and in a kind of dull misery began to think over his situation. The fellows were "cutting" him, there was no doubt of that, he thought, and even the new boys were looking at him with suspicion. And yet it was possible for him even now to win back all he had lost; all he would have to do would be to go in with the "Tangs" again and enter heartily into their sports and pranks and he would soon have his position restored.But what would that position be? One which would prevent him from doing good work, first of all, and that was something he was eager to do, at least for the present. Soon he would forfeit the good opinion of Mr. Crane and Dr. Gray, and his steps would begin to slide. He might win a certain amount of popularity from such fellows as Tim, but what would it all amount to?Then why should he feel called upon to defend Little Pond? He had been compelled to fight his own battles when he had entered the school and it had done him good, or at least so Ward thought. Little Pond would soon learn to take his own part, and meanwhile a little attention from Tim might not do him any real harm.Ward Hill was seriously troubled. He did not fully realize it, but the greatest pain in his own heart was over the loss of his popularity among his fellows.For this his heart hungered, and as his struggle went on, more than once his decision wavered. He was now at the dividing of the ways. He had been traveling along a road thus far which, while uneven, had been for the most part unbroken. Now the road forked, and if he went on he must choose either the one branch or the other.That afternoon was to be the first day of practice for the school nine. A notice to that effect had been posted upon the bulletin board, and while no personal invitation had been given him to come, Ward decided to go. He must learn the exact condition of affairs, both for his own sake and to know how to meet the boys, and there would be no better place than on the ballground.Accordingly, when the study hour was over, he closed his books and started for the place, from which as he approached he could hear already the shouts of the fellows in the game.CHAPTER VITHE BEGINNING OF THE STRUGGLEA single glance as he came within sight of the field at once showed Ward that the nine were already in their places, and were playing against a scrub team. Henry was guarding first base, Jack was on second, and his own position in left field was held by the new boy, Ripley.Ward understood it all now; it was the intention of Tim Pickard and his friends to "freeze him out."He thought for a moment bitterly of the success he had had in the game with the Burrs in the preceding year, and how in their enthusiasm after the game was ended, his mates had carried him about on their shoulders, and the cheers for Ward Hill had been given with a will.And it had all been sweet to Ward too. Vanity seemed to have been intended as a part of the original make-up of every son of Adam, and while many times it becomes a source of weakness, more frequently it is an element of power. Almost every boy is prone to look upon his own father, for example, with a confidence and admiration he gives no other man, and rightly too. The belief in one's own ability to do things is no slight element in the possible success which he may achieve. But out of proportion, or not in its proper place, or when permitted to become a controlling power, vanity never fails to become a source of weakness.This had been as true with Ward Hill as it had been with Big Smith, although the manner in which it became manifest was so different. To measure one's self justly, to decide honestly what can be done and what cannot, is ever an element of power, and one of the very best lessons, as it is almost the first of the necessary ones, to be gained as a boy goes out from his own home, where his good qualities have frequently been exaggerated and his poorer ones ignored; and to learn that there are other boys as bright as he, is a difficult but necessary process. A school is the most thoroughly and the most honestly democratic place in all this world, and if a boy finds that there he is not popular with his mates, instead of blaming them he needs very carefully and honestly to look within himself to discover the causes. It is frequently said that the source of Caesar's success was his ability to discover what he could not do and to govern himself accordingly; while the cause of Napoleon's downfall is said to have been his inability to perceive what Caesar saw. But Ward Hill that afternoon was not thinking either of Caesar or Napoleon. He was troubled most of all about Ward Hill and the fact that he had been left off the Weston nine.His mortification was not diminished when he discovered that both Henry and Jack were in their regular positions. Now he understood the meaning of the change in Jack's manner. While he was angry he was not inclined to blame him, for he understood clearly the disposition of the light-hearted lad, and knew that he was never one to stand long against an appeal of almost any kind.But Henry's action troubled him. He had professed so warm a friendship, and apparently had been so eager to have their former relations restored, that he could not understand now why he should not have spoken to him before of the change in the nine. Perhaps Ward's bitterness was a little more intense from the consciousness he had that there was no better player in the Weston school than he knew himself to be. That, however, did not alter the fact that he had been left out, and doubtless intentionally too.Ward's first impulse was to turn quickly and leave, before his presence had been discovered. Suddenly changing his decision, he quietly turned about and striving to appear unconcerned advanced and joined the line of boys who were watching the game. He tried desperately to ignore the glances which were cast at him from the boys in the line, but he could not entirely succeed. Nor could he fail to hear some of the words which were spoken to some of the new boys concerning himself.Just then the side was out, and as the members of the nine came slowly in from the field Tim Pickard spied him. His face lighted up with a malicious smile as he turned to his companions and said: "Here's Ward Hill, fellows. He used to be a decent sort of a player. Can't we find a place for him on the scrubs? The nine needs all the practice it can get, and he'll help us out.""I don't care to play to-day," said Ward quietly, although he felt his cheeks flush as he spoke.His mortification was not diminished when he saw a sardonic grin appear upon Tim's face and the brutal boy turn and wink meaningly at his fellows.Ward stood his ground boldly, however, although in his heart he felt that he was something of a martyr. It was not just clear to him what the cause of his suffering was, but his disappointment and mortification, with which was mingled a feeling of anger, were uppermost. Not yet did he clearly see that he was reaping the harvest of the seed he had sown in the preceding year. All that came to him now was the consciousness that he was being treated unjustly, and his whole soul rebelled, although he felt entirely powerless to change the condition of affairs."Never you mind, Ward," said Jack consolingly, as he sought his friend's side as soon as the game was resumed, "it's all going to come out right in the end."Ward smiled a little bitterly, but made no other reply."Tim's got backing enough to keep you off from the nine now, but it won't last long. We've just got to have you when it comes to the game with the Burrs, and that's all there is about it. Tim knows that as well as any one, and if he wants to he can't keep the fellows back then.""Perhaps he can't, but it takes two to make a bargain. Maybe I sha'n't be so eager as you seem to think I will. I can't do as some of the fellows do, be just the same to everybody, no matter how they act toward me.""I know it," said Jack quietly as he picked up a bat, having heard his name called, and advanced to face the pitcher."It's a shame, Ward!" said Henry who now came up to him. "It's a shame, that's what it is! I didn't know anything about it till I came down on the field. I supposed of course you were to have your regular place on the nine. If there's no place for you, there's no place for me either. Tim Pickard might as well understand that now as at any other time."Ward's feelings were somewhat soothed by Henry's words, and he deeply regretted the manner in which he had just spoken to Jack.It was too late then to recall his words, and he turned to his chum and said: "No, old fellow, you're not going to leave the nine on my account. That would make it all the worse for me, don't you see? You keep on for a while, anyway. I'm going up to see Mr. Crane now. I think I've had all the exercise I want, at least for to-day."Henry said nothing more, though he was strongly inclined to leave with Ward. He understood thoroughly the sensitive nature of his friend and appreciated fully the suffering which he must be undergoing now. But somehow he felt powerless to aid him, and after watching him until he disappeared from sight he turned with a sigh and waited for his turn to bat to come.Ward walked proudly away from the field. He was determined to permit no one to witness his shame, for he felt humiliated and angry. How was it, he thought, that such fellows as Tim Pickard could hold and wield such an influence on the boys? He was not liked, of that he was certain, and yet in spite of that fact no one in the school apparently had more followers. Why had Dr. Gray permitted such a fellow to re-enter the school? He had been expelled once; why should he not have been kept away entirely? The school certainly would be the better for his absence.Ward Hill had yet to learn that "Tim Pickards" were not confined to the Weston school, but that in every place and condition some one stands who apparently blocks our way and prevents us from being our best and truest selves.However, Ward was honest enough to feel the force of the thought which immediately followed. Perhaps if Dr. Gray had been only just, more boys than Tim Pickard might have been prevented from coming back to the Weston school. Where would he himself be but for Dr. Gray's kindness?The thought did not tend to lessen his own bitterness, however, and when at last he entered East Hall and rapped upon the door of Mr. Crane's room the lad felt utterly wretched. It did seem as if all things were working together for bad, as far as he was concerned.Mr. Crane quickly opened the door, and if he read the expression of misery upon Ward's face he was too wise to mention it. He greeted him cordially, and as Ward took the proffered seat, he at once began to talk cheerfully of the life and work of the school.He spoke quietly--for Mr. Crane was never one to bestow praise cheaply--concerning the work which Ward was doing, and succeeded in drawing from the troubled lad so many of his opinions on matters pertaining to his home life and experiences in Rockford, that in spite of himself Ward felt his anger and mortification disappearing for the time, and was soon feeling quite at his ease.As soon as he perceived that the cloud had passed, Mr. Crane led the conversation on to the subjects which he knew were in Ward's mind, and although he did not speak one word directly of them, Ward found himself wondering how much and what the teacher really knew of his troubles. He seemed to understand boys almost instinctively, and as Ward listened, his admiration for the quiet, self-possessed man increased each moment."In school life," said Mr. Crane, "there are always two forces which mostly aid a fellow when he is in trouble, or is trying to build himself up after a fall. One of these is to feel that there is some one looking up to him and perhaps depending upon him in many ways. Dr. Arnold was accustomed to say that the tone of the school life at Rugby was always largely determined by the older boys themselves. What they were and what they did became the standards for the younger fellows. I think the great teacher was exactly right. I have seen many a fellow here who was careless, and perhaps worse, when he was in the lower classes, completely changed when he became a senior. The very fact that he knew the younger boys were looking up to him, as he himself had looked up to those who had been above him when he first entered the school, has served to draw out his very best qualities. Yes, I am convinced that there is nothing which so helps a boy to become a man as to feel that he is responsible for some one besides himself."Ward sat silent as Mr. Crane talked, wondering all the while whether he had learned anything directly concerning him. Certainly he was describing the very condition which had appealed very strongly to Ward after Little Pond's conversation with him a few nights before this time."What was the other thing which helped a fellow, Mr. Crane?" said Ward at last, looking up at his teacher as he spoke. "You said there were two.""Yes, there's another great help, and that is his anger.""His anger? I don't think I understand you, Mr. Crane.""What I mean is this. At times the only force which will rouse one and compel him to do his level best is to be aroused by some strong feeling of anger.""But I thought that was something which was wrong," replied Ward. "I never heard any one speak like that before.""Perhaps not," said Mr. Crane quietly, yet smiling as he spoke. "And yet I firmly believe no boy, or man either for that matter, ever yet did a great thing without having a feeling of strong anger at the time. I'm not talking of your irritable men, nor of bad-tempered men. But there are some things which thoroughly arouse a good man, and the better he is the more will he be aroused. One who evidently knew of what he was speaking boldly encouraged us all to 'abhor that which is evil.' The picture of the peaceful Man of Nazareth in the temple with a scourge in his hands often comes up before me. Do you know, Hill, I have never cared much for the faces some men have painted as being that of that wonderful Man. For myself, I should like to see just how he looked, that quiet, dignified, gentle soul, when he was aroused as he was in the temple. It would be an inspiration to me, I know, in some of the conflicts that go on within me at times."As Ward still sat silent, Mr. Crane after glancing quietly and keenly at him, went on. "Yes, Hill, that's exactly what I mean. No man does his level best until he is thoroughly aroused, and nothing rouses him like a just anger. Why, think of Washington at Monmouth, when he first discovered the cowardice or treachery of Lee. His anger must have been as terrible as it was sublime, and what a wonderful effort he made then and there. Or you can think of Martin Luther in his anger. What would he ever have accomplished if he had not been roused almost to madness by the sight and knowledge of what was going on about him? It is true of every great man and of every good man too, for when you sum it all up no one ever becomes a good man--I don't mean 'goody-goody,' but I do mean a good man--without being at the same time a great man too.""Do you mean a fellow is to be angry at what he sees inside of himself or what he sees going on around him?" asked Ward quickly."In a sense I mean both," replied Mr. Crane. "There isn't one of us who doesn't do things, or is tempted at least to do them, for which he despises himself, and in my opinion he never rises much above them till he comes to have this feeling of anger of which I've just been speaking.""I think I understand what you mean, Mr. Crane," said Ward rising from his chair. "I never looked at it so before, but you've helped me, helped me more than I can tell you. I think it was just to hear you say what you have been saying to me that I must have come here, Mr. Crane.""Come again then, Hill. Come whenever you wish. I shall always be pleased to see you."Ward, as he walked slowly on toward West Hall, of course could not see the smile on Mr. Crane's face as he stood by the window in his room and watched the departing lad, nor perhaps would he have understood it if he had seen it. But Mr. Crane apparently was not displeased at the effect of his words on his pupil, and soon resumed the work which had been interrupted by his entrance.Ward was thinking deeply as he walked along the path. A new and unusual expression was upon his face, and as he ran up the stairs and stopped before his door, he took the key from his pocket, and said aloud to himself, "Ward Hill--the senior." Just what he meant by the expression he did not explain, perhaps he did not know.He unlocked the door and started to open it. There was a slight resistance, and leaning against it he pushed the harder.The door then flew open, but the opening was followed by a crash which might have been heard throughout the building. Chairs, tables, pitchers, lamps, and all the various belongings of the room, had been piled against the door and fallen in a confused mass all about. The room was in complete disorder. The carpet had been torn up, and even the curtains taken from the windows. The bedding was in the middle of the room, and the water from the pitchers had been poured over it. Even the beds had been taken apart and the pieces were scattered about over the floor.
CHAPTER IV
A CALL FOR HELP
"I'm going down to Mr. Blake's room a minute," said Henry when Jack and his new room-mate had departed. "I sha'n't be gone long."
"All right," replied Ward, as he turned to talk with the younger Pond, who had remained as if he had something he wished to speak about. "Well, Pond," he added, after he had seated himself near him, "how do you like Weston?"
"I think I shall like it after I've become better acquainted. Of course, I've heard my brother tell so many things about it, that it doesn't seem exactly like a new place to me. And he's told so many things too about the boys, that it almost seems to me as if I had always known them."
"I'm afraid you haven't always heard good things then, if he's told you about the boys. I'm sure the list of good things wouldn't be very long in my case."
"He told me he liked you better than any boy in the school," said young Pond eagerly. "I never heard him say one word against you, except that you didn't work very hard. He declared he never would have been able to lead the class if you had put in half the time he did, on your studies."
"That's kind of him," said Ward laughingly, although he was touched by the evident earnestness of the boy before him. "Is this the first time you've ever been away from home?"
"Yes. And I fear I'm going to be homesick too."
"Oh, you mustn't mind that!" said Ward as philosophically as if such feelings were an every-day matter in his life. "You'll get over that all right."
"That's what my brother said. And he told me too, that I should need some one to look after me a bit and help to keep me out of the clutches of the 'Tangs,' or some such things. I don't know just what he meant, only he said if I would come to you, that you would help me till he came back next term."
For a moment Ward was silent. The "Tangs" had not once been mentioned during the summer, and both Henry and Jack had been silent concerning them. But Ward, although he did not know what course Jack would follow, had decided that for himself safety lay only in breaking with them. But his heart was not entirely free from fears or misgivings when he thought of the possible consequences for himself. And here was Pond's younger brother coming to him with the utmost confidence for protection against the very boys whom he most feared himself. He glanced again at the lad before him. What a slight, delicate little fellow he was. And yet what a bright, eager expression he had. He would have no difficulty in his classes; Ward felt certain of that; but what would he do if the boys began to trouble him?
"You come to me, Pond, whenever you're in trouble, and I'll do my best for you," he finally said, unable to resist the unspoken as well as the spoken appeal of the slight boy before him.
"Thank you! Thank you!" replied Pond, rising from his chair and departing just as Henry returned.
It was late on the following morning when Ward and Henry started to go to the dining hall, and they met many of the boys who already had eaten their breakfast. Ward secretly felt relieved at the fact, for the meeting with the boys was what troubled him most. He had been in trouble when the preceding year had closed, and unpopularity was something of which Ward Hill stood in greater fear than of anything else. How he would be received now was the constantly pressing question, but its solution would soon come, for "chapel" would bring all the boys together, and he would not long be left in doubt as to his position among his fellows then.
The chapel bell was ringing when Ward and Henry hastily left the Hall, or "hash house" as the building was commonly known, and they hastened back to their rooms to secure their books before they ran swiftly up the walk which led to the chapel. Even then there was the usual delay on the part of some of the students, and Jack Hobart was leading a band of delinquents as the bell began to give out the sharp short strokes that indicated the end of its summons.
"String out there! String out, you fellows!" called Jack, as he caught sight of Ward and Henry, meanwhile striving hard to button his collar and adjust his tie.
This time Ward understood the meaning of the hail far better than when he had first heard it in the preceding year, and ceasing to run, he approached the building more slowly, thus giving Jack and the other delinquents an opportunity to overtake them and secure their seats before the bell ceased to be rung and the doors were closed.
Their seats now were in the section which belonged to the seniors. Last year how he had looked up to the boys who occupied these seats. Ned Butler was there then, and others whom Ward had deeply respected. Was any one looking up to him as he had looked up to that marvelous class which had been graduated in the preceding June? Just then he caught a glimpse of young Pond, who was evidently far from feeling at his ease in the midst of the strange scene.
But Dr. Gray then arose and the low murmur which had filled the chapel became hushed as the exercises were begun. Then followed a talk from the doctor concerning the work of the year which lay before them, and Ward could not repress a smile as Jack Hobart looked solemnly at him and held up four fingers of one hand, thereby indicating that this was the fourth occasion on which he had listened to the same "lecture" from the good old man. However, the words were well worthy of repetition and Ward was soon interested and listened attentively. Directions were given the new boys concerning the rooms and places in which they were to report, and then each class was told what was to be expected of it on that day, and the boys arose and started toward the doors. Ward now knew that the testing time had come, and he would soon understand just what he had to expect from his old companions. Summoning all his resolution as he passed out, he saw Tim Pickard standing with a group of boys, and at once turned and approached him holding out his hand and endeavoring to appear calm and indifferent.
"Hello, Tim. Glad to see you back again."
Tim Pickard turned and looked insolently at Ward. There was not a gleam of recognition or pleasure expressed upon his face. He looked at Ward just a moment and then, ignoring the outstretched hand and the salutation alike, he turned again to the boys before him and resumed his conversation with them.
Ward's face flushed crimson, and at first he felt as if he could not control the feeling of anger which surged up in his heart. Who was Tim Pickard, that he should treat him in such a manner? Had he not been expelled from the school? Did not every fellow in the school know just what he was? Had any one forgotten the escapades of the coarse-fibred boy? Ward's heart sank quickly, however, when he thought of his own record in the preceding year. If Dr.. Gray was willing to receive Tim Pickard back into the school for another trial, who was he to complain? And how much better after all was he than Tim?
Ward caught the words "sneak" and "bootlick," which Tim had uttered as he had turned again to his companions, and realized then just what he would have to face. Tim Pickard's anger, the enmity of the "Tangs," and a series of petty annoyances which would be bound to follow him now perhaps all through the school year, must be met.
It seemed to the troubled boy as if every one in his class was against him, for he received but a friendly nod or a slight recognition as he hurried into the Latin room and took his old familiar place. Jack already was in the chair next to his and Ward at once perceived from the expression on his face that he was aware of the state of the feeling in the school.
"Never mind, Ward," he whispered, as his classmate took his seat; "just you keep in mind what I told you about the condition of your vertebrae, and the region of your upper lip. It'll all come out right."
To do Ward Hill justice we must say that there was a feeling in his heart which did not promise to be altogether bad. It is true he was hurt and angry as he recognized what lay before him, perhaps more angry than hurt, but he was determined now not to be crushed, or "downed," as he termed it. Mr. Crane kept the class but a few moments, only long enough to assign lessons and to make a few general suggestions, and then dismissed them.
As they filed out of the room, Jack said: "Ward, will you come over to my room now?"
"No," replied Ward quietly. "I think I'll go over to West and get a little start in my work. If I'm to be valedic, you know, I must begin early." Ward smiled slightly as he spoke, but he could not entirely conceal the depression which now swept over him. "Never mind, Speck, don't worry about me," he quickly added as he saw the sympathy expressed upon his friend's face; "I'm going to come through it all right. I'm not for giving up yet, anyway. I'll come over to see you after a bit; but just now I think I'll go to my room."
"All right," said Jack heartily, evidently appreciating Ward's desire to be alone.
Ward walked slowly over toward West Hall. He felt as if nearly all his companions would be against him now. Tim Pickard, in spite of his well-known character, was still a good deal of a leader, and his wealth and success as an athlete added greatly to his power over the boys. He could not repress the wish that Doctor Gray had not permitted Tim to return, for he must have known what every boy in the Weston school thought of him, and must also have known that there was very slight prospect of Tim's ever advancing. But here he was, and Ward must face the conditions which were before him. There was to be no escape now.
He entered his room and at once began to study. It was difficult for him to hold himself to his work, but he succeeded in a measure, and when two hours later Henry entered, Ward had much of his work done. So far as his class work was concerned he could look forward with confidence to what was to come on the morrow.
Throughout the day Ward found that his only consolation was in busying himself in some work. When he went down to the boarding hall he had but little to say to his companions, and returned at once to his room.
The day somehow passed and after the evening meal, when he had seated himself before his study table to write his first letter home, Big Smith suddenly entered the room, and said:
"Why, Ward, I haven't seen you to speak to you before. Where have you kept yourself?"
"I haven't been very far away," replied Ward with a smile.
His heart had never been drawn to the boy before him, but in times like the present even the friendship of Big Smith was not to be lightly cast aside. Ward Hill could endure anything better than the ill-will of his fellows.
"Well, I'm glad to see you," said Big Smith solemnly. "I sincerely trust you are going to do better this year than you did last."
"I hope so too," said Ward; "and I'm not without hope," he added solemnly, and striving to imitate exactly the tones Big Smith had used, "that you too will be able to improve."
"Let us hope so. Let us hope so. Doubtless there is room for us all. But, Ward, I'm not so much afraid of you as I am of Tim Pickard. I don't see why the doctor ever permitted him to return. I shouldn't, I'm sure of that."
Ward's face flushed and an angry retort rose upon his lips, but he restrained himself, and Big Smith continued:
"Yes, I confess, I'm not overmuch rejoiced over Tim's return. He's a good man for the nine, we all know that; but I fear he may be a disturbing element in the school. Not with me," he hastily added, "but I fear for you, Ward, I do, indeed."
Still Ward managed in some way to keep silent, though, as he afterward explained it, he never understood just how it was done.
"Even now," continued Big Smith, "I hear that Timothy is at work again. My brother informs me that he and some of his cronies have beguiled young Pond down on the ball ground and are tormenting him there."
"What? What's that, you say?" said Ward quickly, leaping from his seat as he spoke, and without waiting for his question to be answered he seized his hat and ran swiftly out of the room. Down the stairs he rushed, three steps at a jump, and out along the pathway that led to the ball ground.
One thought possessed him now--Little Pond was in trouble. Ward recalled his own promise to aid him, and now that the lad was suffering at the hands of Tim Pickard two feelings drove him on. One was his compassion for Pond and the other was his anger at Tim.
It was dusk, the sun having disappeared, but the darkness not as yet having settled over all. He ran swiftly forward and as he came near the ball ground he stopped as he heard a shout of laughter coming from that direction. It seemed to him he could hear Tim Pickard's voice above the others, but he did not stop to question as he again ran swiftly forward.
He soon came to the brow of the low hill that looked down upon the field. There he stopped for a moment and looked before him. He could see that four or five boys were there and there was something in the midst which at first he could not make out. Soon, however, he could see what it was. It was a baby carriage and some one was lying strapped upon it.
"Look out now, gentlemen," he heard some one of the boys call. "We have here the finest specimen of the infant terrible ever yet seen.Genus homo, order----"
"Don't! Please don't!" Ward heard some one pleadingly say. The voice was that of young Pond and the other speaker he now knew was Tim Pickard.
The pleadings were not heeded, however, and with a rush the boys started with the baby carriage over the rough ground.
Again Ward could hear the pleadings of the frightened lad and the sound was more than he could bear. In an instant he started down the hillside at his highest speed and ran swiftly on toward the noisy group.
CHAPTER V
A WARNING
Ward had drawn near the group before his presence was discovered. The deepening dusk and the sheltered position of the ball ground had made the boys who were tormenting Little Pond almost reckless, so secure did they feel from detection. As a consequence he was close upon them before any one perceived him.
"Now shake the infant up! Bye, baby, bye! That's a good little boy. We'll give him a good ride, so we will!"
There was no mistaking that voice, it could be none other than Tim Pickard's, and Ward could see that he was holding the handle of the carriage and was preparing to make another rush with the unfortunate lad who lay stretched upon it.
"Look out! Look out!" called one of the boys suddenly, as he caught sight of the approaching form. "Some one's coming. Let's get out of this!"
In an instant Tim's companions scattered and fled in the darkness, while Tim himself looked about him in surprise, as if he were not yet able to account for the sudden departure of his friends.
Ward was close upon him now, and without hesitating an instant he rushed upon the tormentor of Little Pond with such force that he was sent headlong and rolled over and over upon the ground before he could regain his foothold.
Ward had not fully realized what he would have to meet in the struggle, for he had thought that he would be set upon by all the assembled mischief-makers together; but the cry of Little Pond had banished all other thoughts from his mind, and he had gone recklessly to the aid of the lad. He had not counted at all upon the results which quickly followed.
As soon as Tim could recover himself he ran swiftly off in the darkness in the direction in which his companions had disappeared, and in a moment no one was left upon the scene except Ward and the lad, who still was lying fast bound and in an exceedingly uncomfortable position upon the top of the baby carriage.
Doubtless the fears in the heart of Tim and his companions had either exaggerated the number of those who were approaching, or they had thought some of the teachers were making a descent upon them, and in the latter event Tim most of all would have found a very serious problem to face.
At any rate, they had all disappeared so quickly that Ward could hardly believe at first that he was left alone. He waited a moment to see if any would return, his blood boiling, and the feeling of anger in his heart making him almost reckless of any consequences that might befall him for his hasty but generous action.
As soon as he was satisfied that no one was coming back he turned to young Pond, and as he unbound the straps by which he had been held fast, he said:
"What's the meaning of this? How came you to be here?"
"I don't know. I was walking along the path over by the chapel when three fellows rushed at me, and before I knew what they were about they were rushing me down here upon the ball ground. One of them tied his handkerchief over my mouth, but I tore it off. I didn't want to cry out, but I couldn't help it. They didn't seem to think any one could hear me and so left it off."
"Are you hurt?"
"Not much, though my back pains me. You see, they picked me up and tied me in the carriage so that my head and shoulders hung over the back, and every time they made a rush it seemed to me as if they would break me straight in two."
"How long have you been here?"
"I don't know; it seems as if it must have been days, but I don't suppose it was more than half an hour. I thought they'd never stop."
"Do you know who the fellows were?"
"Yes."
"Who were they?"
"I don't think I'll tell, Ward. It wouldn't do any good; and besides, I may be mistaken, you know. No, I'd rather not tell you if you don't mind."
"You don't need to," said Ward quietly. "I know who they were. At least I know who one was, and I rather think he'll not forget his tumble very soon, either. But come on now, it's time we were in our rooms. There goes the study bell now, and we'll be marked late if we don't look out. Come on."
Both boys started quickly toward West Hall, and on their way they met a group of five boys, one of whom was Tim Pickard. They too were heading for their rooms, but the recognition was mutual, and Ward instantly realized that his own troubles were likely to be multiplied by that fact. However, he said nothing to his companion. In a few moments they entered West Hall; but the bell had ceased ringing several minutes before, and as they went up the stairway they met Mr. Blake face to face.
"Late are you, Hill?" said the teacher. "I'm sorry to see that so early in the term. And you have one of the younger boys with you too!" he added as he saw who Ward's companion was. "That's too bad, Hill, that's too bad. You ought not to get the little fellows into trouble too. It's quite enough for you to get into it yourself. If this happens again, Hill, I shall report it to Dr. Gray."
It had been in Ward's heart to explain the cause of his tardiness, or at least to try to shield his companion, but as Mr. Blake talked on, he resolutely shut his lips together and without a word of explanation went on up to his room, while Little Pond also departed to his.
As Ward entered the room Henry looked up in surprise, and Ward felt that there was an implied rebuke in his glance. Repressing the feeling of anger which at first arose, he soon explained to his chum the exciting scene he had just witnessed, and as he finished, Henry said:
"That was a mean trick! They might have broken the little fellow's back. It was Tim Pickard at the bottom of it, I suppose."
"Yes," said Ward quietly.
"Well, never mind, Ward," said Henry quickly. "Probably he'll turn his attention to you now; but I think you'll be able to stand it."
"I shall try to," said Ward with a smile, as he seated himself at his study table, and taking up his books began his preparation of the lessons for the following day. And he studied hard all that evening. His heart was still hot and his feelings were bitter whenever he thought of the brutal treatment of Little Pond, and yet he did not once pause to consider that a year before this time he might have been one of the very boys to be foremost in such a scrape, and call it good fun. Now, however, it seemed to him like a very cowardly act. He had felt a very strong personal liking for the elder Pond, and the letters he had received from him, as well as the appeal of the little fellow himself, had worked strongly upon his own heart. Besides all that, it was such an entirely unusual experience for him to be approached for aid that it was a new motive in his heart which was stirred now. Hitherto, he had been the one to seek help. Now he was a senior, and the feeling of respect with which he had looked to the older boys when he had entered the Weston school must be very like that which Pond's brother now felt toward him.
Ward enjoyed the feeling too. The cry of Little Pond for aid came back to him frequently and he had fully resolved before the evening passed that he would "see the little fellow through," which was the way in which he expressed his determination to see that the lad was not put upon or tormented by Tim Pickard or any of his boon companions.
Still, when the morning came Ward was hardly prepared for the consequences which soon followed his action.
When he entered the post office he found a letter awaiting him there, which evidently had been written by some boy, for the handwriting plainly showed that, and the postmark was Weston.
He hastily tore open the envelope and then read the enclosed letter, which was as follows:
WESTON SCHOOL, September 18, 19--
To WARD HILL, SNEAK:
You are hereby notified that you have been expelled from the ancient and venerable order of "Orang-outangs." You have promised never to betray any of the secrets of the order, but probably you will not keep your word any better in this case than you do in others. We want to warn you though, that your best plan is to leave the school at once. Don't delay, for delays are dangerous. Your life will not be safe. You will be snubbed by the fellows and you will find that everybody, except a few sneaks, in the whole school is down on you. If you stay it will be at your own peril. Take the advice and follow the warning of the
COMMITTEE.
As Ward looked up after finishing the reading of the letter he saw Tim Pickard standing in the doorway and regarding him with ill-concealed hatred. Ward laughed aloud as he saw the boy, and approaching him and holding out the letter which he had just read, he said:
"There, Tim, you'd better take your letter; I don't want it. You may be able to scare the little fellows in the dark as you did Little Pond last night, but you can't scare me. As for you and the 'Tangs,' you know I don't care that for them," and he snapped his fingers derisively as he spoke. "You know as well as I do that I had made up my mind never to have anything more to do with such fellows. Perhaps, if you don't want the letter, Dr. Gray might care for it," he added as Tim made no movement to receive it.
Ward was sorry for the words the moment he had uttered them, but they were gone beyond recall now. He had not the slightest inclination to give the letter to the principal, and he knew that Tim Pickard was aware of that fact too; but Tim instantly snatched the letter from his hand and giving Ward a look of intense hatred turned quickly on his heel and departed.
Ward was inclined to laugh at the entire matter. As for the "Tangs," he was glad that the break had come. He had known that his only safety lay in cutting loose from them, but just how it was to be done he had not been able to decide. It had been a topic of conversation to which neither he nor Jack had referred since the vacation had begun, and now that the break at last had really come, Ward felt relieved.
As for their threats, he cared little for them. The most they could do would be a series of petty annoyances, and in the present state of his feelings that seemed a very small matter.
Of Tim Pickard's hatred for him he had no doubt, but that the brutal leader would be able to annoy him seriously he had no fear. He had all those lessons yet to learn, along with some others that were not indicated in the "course of study" as mapped out in the catalogue of the Weston school.
When he entered the Latin room that morning and took his seat beside Jack, he felt rather than perceived that a change of some kind had come over his companion. It was nothing that Jack said, nor was it clearly apparent in his manner, and yet there was an indefinable something about him that led Ward to think that a change of some kind had come. For the first time Ward's heart misgave him. Perhaps he had been too bold after all. Could he afford to incur the loss of Jack's friendship for the sake of a little fellow whom he had never met until a few days before this time?
His thoughts, however, were soon recalled, and he was giving his entire attention to the work of the class. His own lesson had been thoroughly prepared and when he took his seat after Mr. Crane had called upon him to recite he felt that he had done well.
Mr. Crane, however, made no comment, and there was no change in the quiet manner with which he conducted his recitation. Ward was a trifle disappointed, as he felt that such work as he was doing was entitled to a little more recognition than he had received. However, he gave his attention to the lesson, and when the class rose to leave the room he turned to Jack and said:
"It's this afternoon the nine practises, isn't it?"
"Yes," replied Jack evasively.
The conversation ceased abruptly, and as Ward passed with the class out to Dr. Gray's recitation room, he several times perceived that he himself was the subject of conversation among the boys.
Striving hard not to appear to notice it, and yet with a sinking heart realizing that somehow the boys appeared to avoid him, he apparently was taking his last glimpse at his lesson before entering the recitation room. And yet his thoughts were not of the lesson. Even Jack he noticed was walking by the side of Berry--Luscious Berry--and if one might judge from his manner the conversation was highly interesting. With a heavy heart Ward entered the room, and as soon as the recitation was ended departed alone for his room in West Hall. Once there, he seated himself and in a kind of dull misery began to think over his situation. The fellows were "cutting" him, there was no doubt of that, he thought, and even the new boys were looking at him with suspicion. And yet it was possible for him even now to win back all he had lost; all he would have to do would be to go in with the "Tangs" again and enter heartily into their sports and pranks and he would soon have his position restored.
But what would that position be? One which would prevent him from doing good work, first of all, and that was something he was eager to do, at least for the present. Soon he would forfeit the good opinion of Mr. Crane and Dr. Gray, and his steps would begin to slide. He might win a certain amount of popularity from such fellows as Tim, but what would it all amount to?
Then why should he feel called upon to defend Little Pond? He had been compelled to fight his own battles when he had entered the school and it had done him good, or at least so Ward thought. Little Pond would soon learn to take his own part, and meanwhile a little attention from Tim might not do him any real harm.
Ward Hill was seriously troubled. He did not fully realize it, but the greatest pain in his own heart was over the loss of his popularity among his fellows.
For this his heart hungered, and as his struggle went on, more than once his decision wavered. He was now at the dividing of the ways. He had been traveling along a road thus far which, while uneven, had been for the most part unbroken. Now the road forked, and if he went on he must choose either the one branch or the other.
That afternoon was to be the first day of practice for the school nine. A notice to that effect had been posted upon the bulletin board, and while no personal invitation had been given him to come, Ward decided to go. He must learn the exact condition of affairs, both for his own sake and to know how to meet the boys, and there would be no better place than on the ballground.
Accordingly, when the study hour was over, he closed his books and started for the place, from which as he approached he could hear already the shouts of the fellows in the game.
CHAPTER VI
THE BEGINNING OF THE STRUGGLE
A single glance as he came within sight of the field at once showed Ward that the nine were already in their places, and were playing against a scrub team. Henry was guarding first base, Jack was on second, and his own position in left field was held by the new boy, Ripley.
Ward understood it all now; it was the intention of Tim Pickard and his friends to "freeze him out."
He thought for a moment bitterly of the success he had had in the game with the Burrs in the preceding year, and how in their enthusiasm after the game was ended, his mates had carried him about on their shoulders, and the cheers for Ward Hill had been given with a will.
And it had all been sweet to Ward too. Vanity seemed to have been intended as a part of the original make-up of every son of Adam, and while many times it becomes a source of weakness, more frequently it is an element of power. Almost every boy is prone to look upon his own father, for example, with a confidence and admiration he gives no other man, and rightly too. The belief in one's own ability to do things is no slight element in the possible success which he may achieve. But out of proportion, or not in its proper place, or when permitted to become a controlling power, vanity never fails to become a source of weakness.
This had been as true with Ward Hill as it had been with Big Smith, although the manner in which it became manifest was so different. To measure one's self justly, to decide honestly what can be done and what cannot, is ever an element of power, and one of the very best lessons, as it is almost the first of the necessary ones, to be gained as a boy goes out from his own home, where his good qualities have frequently been exaggerated and his poorer ones ignored; and to learn that there are other boys as bright as he, is a difficult but necessary process. A school is the most thoroughly and the most honestly democratic place in all this world, and if a boy finds that there he is not popular with his mates, instead of blaming them he needs very carefully and honestly to look within himself to discover the causes. It is frequently said that the source of Caesar's success was his ability to discover what he could not do and to govern himself accordingly; while the cause of Napoleon's downfall is said to have been his inability to perceive what Caesar saw. But Ward Hill that afternoon was not thinking either of Caesar or Napoleon. He was troubled most of all about Ward Hill and the fact that he had been left off the Weston nine.
His mortification was not diminished when he discovered that both Henry and Jack were in their regular positions. Now he understood the meaning of the change in Jack's manner. While he was angry he was not inclined to blame him, for he understood clearly the disposition of the light-hearted lad, and knew that he was never one to stand long against an appeal of almost any kind.
But Henry's action troubled him. He had professed so warm a friendship, and apparently had been so eager to have their former relations restored, that he could not understand now why he should not have spoken to him before of the change in the nine. Perhaps Ward's bitterness was a little more intense from the consciousness he had that there was no better player in the Weston school than he knew himself to be. That, however, did not alter the fact that he had been left out, and doubtless intentionally too.
Ward's first impulse was to turn quickly and leave, before his presence had been discovered. Suddenly changing his decision, he quietly turned about and striving to appear unconcerned advanced and joined the line of boys who were watching the game. He tried desperately to ignore the glances which were cast at him from the boys in the line, but he could not entirely succeed. Nor could he fail to hear some of the words which were spoken to some of the new boys concerning himself.
Just then the side was out, and as the members of the nine came slowly in from the field Tim Pickard spied him. His face lighted up with a malicious smile as he turned to his companions and said: "Here's Ward Hill, fellows. He used to be a decent sort of a player. Can't we find a place for him on the scrubs? The nine needs all the practice it can get, and he'll help us out."
"I don't care to play to-day," said Ward quietly, although he felt his cheeks flush as he spoke.
His mortification was not diminished when he saw a sardonic grin appear upon Tim's face and the brutal boy turn and wink meaningly at his fellows.
Ward stood his ground boldly, however, although in his heart he felt that he was something of a martyr. It was not just clear to him what the cause of his suffering was, but his disappointment and mortification, with which was mingled a feeling of anger, were uppermost. Not yet did he clearly see that he was reaping the harvest of the seed he had sown in the preceding year. All that came to him now was the consciousness that he was being treated unjustly, and his whole soul rebelled, although he felt entirely powerless to change the condition of affairs.
"Never you mind, Ward," said Jack consolingly, as he sought his friend's side as soon as the game was resumed, "it's all going to come out right in the end."
Ward smiled a little bitterly, but made no other reply.
"Tim's got backing enough to keep you off from the nine now, but it won't last long. We've just got to have you when it comes to the game with the Burrs, and that's all there is about it. Tim knows that as well as any one, and if he wants to he can't keep the fellows back then."
"Perhaps he can't, but it takes two to make a bargain. Maybe I sha'n't be so eager as you seem to think I will. I can't do as some of the fellows do, be just the same to everybody, no matter how they act toward me."
"I know it," said Jack quietly as he picked up a bat, having heard his name called, and advanced to face the pitcher.
"It's a shame, Ward!" said Henry who now came up to him. "It's a shame, that's what it is! I didn't know anything about it till I came down on the field. I supposed of course you were to have your regular place on the nine. If there's no place for you, there's no place for me either. Tim Pickard might as well understand that now as at any other time."
Ward's feelings were somewhat soothed by Henry's words, and he deeply regretted the manner in which he had just spoken to Jack.
It was too late then to recall his words, and he turned to his chum and said: "No, old fellow, you're not going to leave the nine on my account. That would make it all the worse for me, don't you see? You keep on for a while, anyway. I'm going up to see Mr. Crane now. I think I've had all the exercise I want, at least for to-day."
Henry said nothing more, though he was strongly inclined to leave with Ward. He understood thoroughly the sensitive nature of his friend and appreciated fully the suffering which he must be undergoing now. But somehow he felt powerless to aid him, and after watching him until he disappeared from sight he turned with a sigh and waited for his turn to bat to come.
Ward walked proudly away from the field. He was determined to permit no one to witness his shame, for he felt humiliated and angry. How was it, he thought, that such fellows as Tim Pickard could hold and wield such an influence on the boys? He was not liked, of that he was certain, and yet in spite of that fact no one in the school apparently had more followers. Why had Dr. Gray permitted such a fellow to re-enter the school? He had been expelled once; why should he not have been kept away entirely? The school certainly would be the better for his absence.
Ward Hill had yet to learn that "Tim Pickards" were not confined to the Weston school, but that in every place and condition some one stands who apparently blocks our way and prevents us from being our best and truest selves.
However, Ward was honest enough to feel the force of the thought which immediately followed. Perhaps if Dr. Gray had been only just, more boys than Tim Pickard might have been prevented from coming back to the Weston school. Where would he himself be but for Dr. Gray's kindness?
The thought did not tend to lessen his own bitterness, however, and when at last he entered East Hall and rapped upon the door of Mr. Crane's room the lad felt utterly wretched. It did seem as if all things were working together for bad, as far as he was concerned.
Mr. Crane quickly opened the door, and if he read the expression of misery upon Ward's face he was too wise to mention it. He greeted him cordially, and as Ward took the proffered seat, he at once began to talk cheerfully of the life and work of the school.
He spoke quietly--for Mr. Crane was never one to bestow praise cheaply--concerning the work which Ward was doing, and succeeded in drawing from the troubled lad so many of his opinions on matters pertaining to his home life and experiences in Rockford, that in spite of himself Ward felt his anger and mortification disappearing for the time, and was soon feeling quite at his ease.
As soon as he perceived that the cloud had passed, Mr. Crane led the conversation on to the subjects which he knew were in Ward's mind, and although he did not speak one word directly of them, Ward found himself wondering how much and what the teacher really knew of his troubles. He seemed to understand boys almost instinctively, and as Ward listened, his admiration for the quiet, self-possessed man increased each moment.
"In school life," said Mr. Crane, "there are always two forces which mostly aid a fellow when he is in trouble, or is trying to build himself up after a fall. One of these is to feel that there is some one looking up to him and perhaps depending upon him in many ways. Dr. Arnold was accustomed to say that the tone of the school life at Rugby was always largely determined by the older boys themselves. What they were and what they did became the standards for the younger fellows. I think the great teacher was exactly right. I have seen many a fellow here who was careless, and perhaps worse, when he was in the lower classes, completely changed when he became a senior. The very fact that he knew the younger boys were looking up to him, as he himself had looked up to those who had been above him when he first entered the school, has served to draw out his very best qualities. Yes, I am convinced that there is nothing which so helps a boy to become a man as to feel that he is responsible for some one besides himself."
Ward sat silent as Mr. Crane talked, wondering all the while whether he had learned anything directly concerning him. Certainly he was describing the very condition which had appealed very strongly to Ward after Little Pond's conversation with him a few nights before this time.
"What was the other thing which helped a fellow, Mr. Crane?" said Ward at last, looking up at his teacher as he spoke. "You said there were two."
"Yes, there's another great help, and that is his anger."
"His anger? I don't think I understand you, Mr. Crane."
"What I mean is this. At times the only force which will rouse one and compel him to do his level best is to be aroused by some strong feeling of anger."
"But I thought that was something which was wrong," replied Ward. "I never heard any one speak like that before."
"Perhaps not," said Mr. Crane quietly, yet smiling as he spoke. "And yet I firmly believe no boy, or man either for that matter, ever yet did a great thing without having a feeling of strong anger at the time. I'm not talking of your irritable men, nor of bad-tempered men. But there are some things which thoroughly arouse a good man, and the better he is the more will he be aroused. One who evidently knew of what he was speaking boldly encouraged us all to 'abhor that which is evil.' The picture of the peaceful Man of Nazareth in the temple with a scourge in his hands often comes up before me. Do you know, Hill, I have never cared much for the faces some men have painted as being that of that wonderful Man. For myself, I should like to see just how he looked, that quiet, dignified, gentle soul, when he was aroused as he was in the temple. It would be an inspiration to me, I know, in some of the conflicts that go on within me at times."
As Ward still sat silent, Mr. Crane after glancing quietly and keenly at him, went on. "Yes, Hill, that's exactly what I mean. No man does his level best until he is thoroughly aroused, and nothing rouses him like a just anger. Why, think of Washington at Monmouth, when he first discovered the cowardice or treachery of Lee. His anger must have been as terrible as it was sublime, and what a wonderful effort he made then and there. Or you can think of Martin Luther in his anger. What would he ever have accomplished if he had not been roused almost to madness by the sight and knowledge of what was going on about him? It is true of every great man and of every good man too, for when you sum it all up no one ever becomes a good man--I don't mean 'goody-goody,' but I do mean a good man--without being at the same time a great man too."
"Do you mean a fellow is to be angry at what he sees inside of himself or what he sees going on around him?" asked Ward quickly.
"In a sense I mean both," replied Mr. Crane. "There isn't one of us who doesn't do things, or is tempted at least to do them, for which he despises himself, and in my opinion he never rises much above them till he comes to have this feeling of anger of which I've just been speaking."
"I think I understand what you mean, Mr. Crane," said Ward rising from his chair. "I never looked at it so before, but you've helped me, helped me more than I can tell you. I think it was just to hear you say what you have been saying to me that I must have come here, Mr. Crane."
"Come again then, Hill. Come whenever you wish. I shall always be pleased to see you."
Ward, as he walked slowly on toward West Hall, of course could not see the smile on Mr. Crane's face as he stood by the window in his room and watched the departing lad, nor perhaps would he have understood it if he had seen it. But Mr. Crane apparently was not displeased at the effect of his words on his pupil, and soon resumed the work which had been interrupted by his entrance.
Ward was thinking deeply as he walked along the path. A new and unusual expression was upon his face, and as he ran up the stairs and stopped before his door, he took the key from his pocket, and said aloud to himself, "Ward Hill--the senior." Just what he meant by the expression he did not explain, perhaps he did not know.
He unlocked the door and started to open it. There was a slight resistance, and leaning against it he pushed the harder.
The door then flew open, but the opening was followed by a crash which might have been heard throughout the building. Chairs, tables, pitchers, lamps, and all the various belongings of the room, had been piled against the door and fallen in a confused mass all about. The room was in complete disorder. The carpet had been torn up, and even the curtains taken from the windows. The bedding was in the middle of the room, and the water from the pitchers had been poured over it. Even the beds had been taken apart and the pieces were scattered about over the floor.