Kitabı oku: «Cupid of Campion», sayfa 6
CHAPTER XIII
In which Clarence as the guest of Campion College makes an ineffectual effort to bow out the Bright-eyed Goddess of Adventure
Father George Keenan, while Clarence slept, was an unusually busy man. He telephoned, he wrote letters, he sent telegrams. All the machinery of communication was put into requisition. Within an hour the work of dragging the water near Pictured Rocks was discontinued; by noontime a telegram arrived saying that Mr. and Mrs. Esmond were still missing and were in all probability drowned or burned to death; and early in the afternoon the proprietor of a hotel in McGregor arrived in person. The Esmonds had been at his place and had gone, leaving as their address “The Metropole,” Los Angeles, California. But alas, they had not reached their proposed destination.
The hotel man was conducted by the Rector into the infirmary and brought to the side of the sleeping boy. He was breathing softly, the roses had returned to his cheeks and his head was pillowed in his right hand.
“That’s him, all right,” said the hotel keeper after a brief survey. “I’d know him anywheres. There ain’t many boys around here got such rosy cheeks and such fair complexions. There ain’t many boys who’ve got such bright, fluffy hair, and I don’t know a single one who’s got his hair bobbed the way he has.”
On returning to his room, Father Keenan opened a special drawer in his desk and sorted out from a bundle of papers an envelope with a post-mark indicating that it had reached him several days before. He took out the letter and read it again.
“Dear Father Keenan: Probably you don’t remember me. I was a boy with you at St. Maure’s College – and a very poor boy at that. Other fellows had pocket money; I had none – most of the time. I hadn’t been there long when you ‘caught on,’ as we used to say. During the five months we were together you seemed to know when I needed a nickel or a dime, and, in a way that was yours, you managed to keep me supplied. I say it was your way, for you got me to take the money as though I were doing you a favor. The amount you gave me must have been six or seven dollars, all told; and I really don’t think I had sense enough at the time to understand how really kind you were. Many years have passed, and the older I get, the more grateful I feel. Up to a few years ago, I had lost track of you completely. I didn’t know even that you had become a Jesuit. Well, Father George, I happened to see in our Catholic paper last week that you were Rector of Campion College, a boarding school. If you are one-tenth as kind to the boys under your care as you were to me, you’ll be just the sort of President needed in such a place. The memory of our days in St. Maure’s has helped me to live a good life and to practice my faith, surrounded though I be with enemies of the Church. There are three Catholic families here in a population of three thousand. God has blessed me in my business. I have my own home, a loving wife and five of the nicest children in the State of Missouri. Also, to speak of things more material, a grain store and a comfortable bank account.
“I am sending you with this a check for one hundred dollars, payment on your loans of pocket money with compound interest, and then some. Of course, you may do with the money as you please. But if I may make a suggestion – don’t think me sentimental – it would please me if you were to put aside forty or fifty dollars of it to help out some poor boy in the way of clothes, books, and pocket money.
“In sending you this I do not wish you to consider our account closed. So long as God continues to bless and prosper me, I intend sending you from time to time – every quarter, I trust – a like donation. May the money I send do as much good as you did me.
“I still remember the old boys of our day affectionately. Nearly all of them were kind to me. One in particular, a black-haired, dark-complexioned, mischievous little fellow, who was full of heart, I can never forget. I never met him but he sent me off supplied with candy. His name was Tom Playfair. What’s become of him?
“Pray for me, dear Father George, and especially for my wife, who is an angel, and our children, who promise to be worthy of their mother. My love and my gratitude go with this letter.
“Sincerely and gratefully,“John S. Wilcox.”
“Strange!” meditated the Rector. “I just remember Wilcox; but I do not remember ever having given him a cent. Anyhow, I see my way to spend that fifty dollars as he suggests. Poor Esmond is an orphan, I fear. Well, the money goes to him.”
On getting word at half-past five o’clock that Master Esmond was awake and calling for food, Father Keenan hastened to the infirmary.
Clarence, fully dressed in a “purloined” set of clothes, was seated at a table and vigorously attacking a large slab of cornbread, a dish of hash, and a plate of pancakes. In the attack, executed with neatness and dispatch, and in which the youth played no favorites, Clarence had already aroused the amused admiration of the Brother Infirmarian.
“How do you do, Father Rector?” cried the boy, rising and bowing. “I feel able now to tell you that I’m grateful to you beyond words for your kindness. Your breakfast was the best breakfast ever served, that bed I slept on the softest, this supper the finest I could get, and the Brother, who’s been waiting on me as though I were the Prodigal Son is as kind and hospitable as though he took me for an angel.”
“Nobody would take you for an angel who saw you eating,” said the big Brother with a chuckle.
“How do you feel, my boy?” asked the Rector, as, catching Clarence by the shoulders, he forced him back into his seat.
“Feel? I feel like a morning star. I feel like a fighting-cock.”
“Ready, I suppose, for any sort of adventure?”
Clarence laid down his knife and fork once more.
“Adventure! Excuse me. I’ve got over that period of my life for good. No more adventures for me. Only a few days ago I came down the street of McGregor just crazy for adventure. I called her the bright-eyed goddess. I actually invoked her. I begged her to get out her finest assortment of adventures and show me. Well, she did. She got hold of me, and she didn’t let go till I got to bed here this morning. Oh, no. No more bright-eyed goddess for me. If I were to see her coming along the street, I’d duck into a back alley. I’m through with her ladyship for the rest of my natural life.”
“Indeed?” said the Rector.
Clarence was mistaken. The bright-eyed goddess was not done with him yet.
CHAPTER XIV
In which Clarence tells his story and gets the Reverend Rector to take a hand against the Bright-eyed Goddess
“Suppose,” suggested the College President, as Clarence with a sigh of satisfaction came to an end of his meal, “you tell us your story.”
“It is a long one.”
“Wait till I come back,” implored the Infirmarian. “I want to hear it. I’ve been infirmarian in boarding college a great many years, but I’ve never yet seen any sick boy quite so healthy and with such an appetite as Clarence.”
“Thank you for the compliment, Brother. I often feel like apologizing for that appetite of mine.”
“Clarence,” said the Rector as the Infirmarian went off with the empty dishes, “have you any relations, besides your father and mother, living?”
“Just stacks of them, sir.”
“Where are they?”
“There are some in England; a lot of them, on my mother’s side, in Ireland – and oh, yes, I’ve a cousin and his family in New York.”
“Do you know the address of any of them?”
“I really don’t. You know I’ve been at Clermont Academy, a boarding school in New York State, since I was eleven, and I’ve lost track of all of them pretty much.”
“What about your cousin in New York City?”
“I do not even know where he lives. You see, he just came to this country from Ireland a month ago. He brought his family along, and they were still looking for a house when I last saw them three weeks ago.”
“Anyhow, they’re in New York City?”
“I think that’s pretty certain.”
“Very good,” said the Rector, taking out a small memorandum book and making a note.
“Well, let’s have that story,” cried the big Infirmarian, as he re-entered. He was eager as a small boy waiting his turn for the pie to come down the table.
Clarence began with his departure from McGregor, the climb up and beyond Pictured Rocks, his long ride on the river, his encounter with the gypsies, his friendship for Ben, his long talks and walks with Dora, his troubles with Pete and his shrewish wife, his frequent swims in the river.
“And,” he continued, “when I made up my mind to get away somehow or other, I was hard as nails; I could swim for any length of time, it seemed to me, without losing my wind or my strength; and I could eat like a horse.”
“We all know that,” said the Infirmarian.
“And how did you manage to escape?”
“It came about just the way I wanted. Yesterday afternoon we pitched camp at a place right opposite a long island. I went in swimming and began to brag purposely to Ezra about what I could do. I let him know that I thought I could beat him. As a matter of fact, I really think I can. Ezra bit. He challenged me to race him to the island. That was just what I wanted. The old hag, Pete’s wife, came over and cursed me, just before Ben gave us the signal to go. But I didn’t mind that. Curses, like chickens, come home to roost, you know.
“Well, at Ben’s word we plunged into the water, and I kept under till I thought I’d burst. When I came up, I was some distance down stream; and all the way over I kept drifting down. Of course, it looked as if it were not done on purpose – at least I think it did. By the time Ezra was within a few yards of the island almost straight across from where he had started, I was away down near the end of the island, almost or quite half a mile away. Then I began to pretend I was trying to swim upstream and couldn’t do it. When within five yards or so of the very end of the island where there were lots of willows and bushes, I started to splashing wildly as though I had lost my head. I turned towards the shore, gave one last look, and shouted, ‘Help! help!’ I’ll never forget what I saw in that moment. In front of the tent, Pete’s wife was standing with her hands – clawlike old talons – stretched out, palms down, as though she were trying to force me under water; near the edge of the river, Dora, in her white dress, was kneeling, and I could guess she was praying for me.”
Clarence paused a moment.
“Do you know,” he said gravely, “I feel now as I felt all last night, as though her prayers kept with me like an army of little angels. Tennyson says, ‘More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.’ I knew the line over a year ago. Now I know the meaning. Anyhow, after giving that yell for help, I let myself sink and then, under the water, I got to those willows which I forgot to tell you were partly under water. It seemed to me as I felt my way from trunk to trunk that I’d explode if I didn’t get air. I’ve stayed under water many a time; but I never stayed under so long before. When I did come to the surface, I came up cautiously, came face upward, so as to get just my eyes, my mouth, and, because I couldn’t help it, my nose out of water. It was all right. Between me and the gypsies was that clump of willows and I was in a little bay surrounded on three sides by trees and bushes. I lay on my back just long enough to get my breath, and kicked myself down till I came near the end of the inlet. Then I took a deep breath, and dived so as to get out beyond the island in the main current. The dive was a success. When I came up, I lay on my back with only my nose sticking out of the water and let the current carry me along until it grew dark.”
“What were the gypsies doing?” asked the Brother Infirmarian.
“I don’t know. I suppose they took it for granted I was drowned. You see, I wasn’t such a bad actor, and I did my part all right; and besides, they are very superstitious and believe that Pete’s wife has all kinds of power. She told them I was to drown, and that made it doubly certain to them. From what I know of them, I guess Ben came over and searched for my body half the night.”
“And what did you do when the dark came on?” asked the Rector.
“I reversed myself and began swimming. After a while I got awful chilly; so I went to the bank and went through all sorts of Delsarte movements to get warm. This took me from fifteen minutes to half an hour. Then I went in again and swam and floated till I felt I was freezing. I took to the shore again, and ran and jumped as long as I could, and that’s the way it went on the whole night. It was the longest night ever. Every minute got me hungrier and chillier. I didn’t notice the hunger so much; but it seems to me that I’d never, never be warm again. Oh, wasn’t I glad when the dawn came, and didn’t I pray for a hot sun. When the sun did rise, I saw that I was getting near a big town, and I looked about for some place to land. Somehow, I couldn’t quite make up my mind.”
“Why not?” asked the Rector.
“I didn’t like the way I was dressed. Bathing suits are all right for the water, but for company – I may be all sorts of an idiot, but I’m not as nervy as the average summer girl. No decent boy is.”
“Oh, Lord!” gasped the Rector.
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Go on, my boy.”
“Well, I got past the city which, I saw on a sign at a boat landing, was Prairie du Chien, and – no, not quite past. A little after swimming under the bridge, I saw a building – a great big building that looked like a college. It was just beyond the railroad tracks, and it had a beautiful grove of trees just below the building itself. Right on the shore was a lot of weeds that had been cut and been lying there long enough to dry. There was nobody in sight, and so I slipped ashore and covered myself up in the weeds, and tried to get warm. I was there a long time; and it was a long time before I began to get anyways warm. Oh, it was delicious that feeling of warmth coming back slowly but surely. Really, I’d have gone to sleep, only something else began to go wrong.”
“Did the jiggers get you?” asked the Brother.
“No; it wasn’t ants or jiggers or bugs of any kind. It was my little ‘tummy.’ The warmer I got, the hungrier I got. If I had a thousand dollars then, I’d have handed it over gladly for a hunk of bread. After a while, I forgot I had ever been cold, but I was famishing. So I threw off the weeds, put on my bathing suit, and started for that building. I was afraid of my life of being seen by women-folks, so I crawled and walked and crawled. It was slow work. Well, anyhow, I got to the fence leading into those grounds and was just climbing over when down from the building came running and dancing a whole raft of little girls!”
“You struck St. Mary’s Academy, a boarding school for girls,” said the Brother, sympathetically. The Rector’s face was buried in his handkerchief. He was not weeping.
“One little devil – Oh, excuse me – one little double-pigtailed, blue-ribboned thing in the lead saw me and let out a yell. That got me going, and I jumped off that fence and sprinted for the river at the rate of one hundred yards in 9-4/5 seconds – at least, that’s what I thought I was doing, and the screams of all those girls behind me helped me to keep up my clip to the end. I’m sure they thought I was a burglar.”
“Anyhow,” said the Rector consolingly, “they won’t know you again.”
“I should say not. After this I intend paying visits in regulation costume. Well, then, I got into the river, clean blown. I was too tired to swim; so I just lay on my back, and paddled now and then with my feet. The cold got me again in a few minutes; my teeth began to chatter. Oh, it was awful. And then – then I swam and afterward began to lose all feeling, and then I lost consciousness and – I got here.”
“Oh, most lame and impotent conclusion,” said the Rector eyeing the boy sharply. “You’ve left something out.”
“So I have, Father, but I don’t think I have any right to tell the last part.”
The Rector looked puzzled.
“Very well,” he said presently. “Even as it is, it is a wonderful story. In fact, it’s a twentieth century romance. What was the last name of that child Dora?”
“Well, I declare!” said the youth. “It never occurred to me to think she had another name. All I know is that she came from near Dayton, Ohio. Oh, what an ass I am.”
“You might sing that opinion of yourself to the air of ‘My Country, ’tis of Thee,’” suggested the Infirmarian. “We call it the Siamese national hymn.” And he warbled slowly and solemnly to the well-known national air, the words, “O Vatana Siam.” “It will do you lots of good when you feel rather foolish.”
Just then, and while Master Clarence began assuring himself in liquid notes of what an awful ass he was, there came a timid knock at the door.
“Come in,” cried the Infirmarian.
“Is Father Rector in there?” came a much agitated voice, as the door opened a few inches without revealing who was without.
“Excuse me,” said the Rector, leaving the two to sing as a duet “O Vatana Siam.” Every note of it and the entire sentiment filled Clarence with pure joy.
Despite their long drawn and pathetic warbling, the two within caught the sounds of earnest voices without. After singing the air with the self-same words nearly a dozen times, and coming at length to the invariable ending “Vatana Siam” in the enunciation of which Clarence succeeded in outdoing all his previous efforts, the door suddenly opened, and the Rector entered, bringing with him, very red and very confused, Master John Rieler.
“Behold!” he cried, “your preserver, Clarence!”
“Whoop!” cried the singer, jumping forward and almost throwing himself into Rieler’s arms. “You’ve told on yourself, have you?”
“I had to,” said John, shaking Clarence’s two hands. “When I got back to class I began to worry. It wasn’t the going out of bounds, and it wasn’t the swim. I guess that finding of you in the water got on my nerves. I wasn’t scared at the time; but the more I got thinking of it afterwards, the more scared I got. It seemed so odd. And then I had a lot to explain to the teacher, and I couldn’t do it. Anyhow, I couldn’t eat any supper.”
“Oh, I say!” protested the Infirmarian, who happened to be well acquainted with Master Rieler’s efficiency as a trencherman.
“It’s so, all the same. Honest to goodness!” protested the youth, his eyes and features expressing depths of astonishment at himself. “I just actually couldn’t eat.” He paused a minute and added wistfully. “I could now.”
The Rector had put on his face of Indian immobility.
“John Rieler,” he said gravely, “there are two things to be considered in your conduct this morning. First, there is your going out of bounds and taking a swim without permission. Secondly, there’s your saving Clarence Esmond from drowning. For the first, you are to be punished.”
“Father Rector,” protested John earnestly. “I’ll not do it again. I’ll never jump bounds any more this year. I missed Holy Communion this morning, and it was a mistake. Right after supper, only a few minutes ago, I went to Confession, and I hope I’ll never miss a single day’s Communion till further notice.”
“Your punishment,” continued the Rector slowly and impressively —
“Oh, Father,” broke in Clarence in great alarm.
“Your punishment,” repeated the Rector, looking severely at Clarence, “will be not to go in swimming on any account, on any pretext, with or without companions, from the first of December till the first of April.”
“All right, Father,” said John, humbly. He was filled with a sense of the terrible penalty exacted of him till he noticed Clarence’s ecstatic grin. Then his mind fell to considering the dates, and he grinned also.
“As for saving Clarence’s life,” the Rector went on, “I don’t see well how I can reward you properly.”
“I’m worth one thousand dollars, cold,” said Clarence.
“Exactly,” said the Rector, “and the fact of your being alive does not depreciate your value entirely.”
“No, not entirely,” assented the Brother, as though yielding a point.
“Anyhow, I should like to reward you, John. Now, is there anything occurs to you I can do for you?”
“I’m awful hungry,” said John modestly.
“Appetite,” observed the Rector, “waits on a good confession. Brother, can’t you set this boy up to something extra?”
“Beefsteak and onions, cornbread, buttered toast?” cried the Infirmarian interrogatively.
Master Rieler had no need to express himself in words. His face showed glad assent.
“Come and join me, Clarence,” begged the hero of the day as he seated himself later to the “spread.”
“Thank you; I’ve had a good meal already,” answered Clarence, “but I’ll take just a little to keep you company.”
His taking “a little” had such an effect upon the Infirmarian that after watching Clarence’s performance for a few minutes he could no longer contain himself.
“Look here, Clarence! If you go on, you’ll swell up and bust.”
“I’m not swelling so’s I can notice it,” returned Clarence cheerfully.
Before leaving, Father Rector said:
“Now, boys, I’m going to my room, and when you have finished your supper, I want you, John, to bring Clarence to see me. You will wait for him outside my door. Then I’m going to see the Prefect of Discipline and have you excused from studies tonight, so you can show Clarence around.”
There came a babble of enthusiasm from both boys.
“And besides, while Clarence is our guest, you, John Rieler, are to be his host.”
“Oh, thank you, Father,” said John.
“Do you mean to say, Father Rector, that I may stay here tonight?” asked Clarence.
“Yes, my boy” – here the Rector’s voice and face, despite himself, gave hint of a great pity; “you are to be my guest till we’ve got everything fixed to see that you are placed in proper care.”
“Isn’t he a trump!” cried Clarence as the Rector left.
“Trump! I should say he is.”
When Clarence was ushered by the proud young host to the Rector’s room, he was bade to sit down.
“Well, Clarence, while you were sleeping, I was quite busy on your case. The hotel-man from McGregor was here and identified you.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, and I’ve sent out for all sorts of information.”
“But, why don’t you wire my father?”
“The trouble is, Clarence, we don’t know where he is.”
“He’s at the Metropole Hotel, Los Angeles,” said Clarence. “The hotel-man could have told you that.”
“No, Clarence,” said the Rector trying to speak casually, “the train did not get there yet.”
“Was it delayed?”
“Yes. In fact, there was a bad wreck. Some of the cars tumbled into the water.”
“And did anything happen to my mother and father?”
“I hope not. The only thing, my boy, we know is that they are missing. Anyhow, they are not listed among the injured or the dead. Here, sit down and look over this account in the paper.”
The Rector discreetly placed himself in such a position that he could not see the boy’s face. Clarence read, and after a few lines could not go on; tears blinded his eyes. For ten minutes, while the Rector busied himself writing letters, the boy wept, although making pretense of reading.
“This is awful, Father,” Clarence at length said.
“Have hope, Clarence. God has taken wonderful care of you today.”
“Indeed, He has.”
“Trust Him, and keep on hoping. As to all details, leave them to me. If there’s anything to be found out, I’ll get hold of it. In the meantime, you are the guest of Campion College. Here’s some change – pocket money. You know, you’ll have to treat John Rieler. And tomorrow you’ll be fitted out with what clothes you need. God bless you, my boy.”
“Father, you’re too good. Say, won’t you bless me – give me a priest’s blessing – the kind I’ve read about in books.”
“Certainly, Clarence.”
The boy fell on his knees, and over him stretched the Rector’s hands in a fervent benediction.
As Clarence went down the stairs with John, he said: “Say, John Rieler, I got some bad news and I felt sick all over. And do you know what happened? The Rector blessed me, and now I could stand anything.”
