The days that followed were not pleasant ones for Tommy, and more than once he went to bed with sore heart, after a particularly trying day. It was not that he was persecuted1 or interfered2 with, or that anything was done to him that would call for the head-master’s interference; none of the boys descended3 to that, though he might have even welcomed a little persecution4, for it was the other extreme that irked him. He was left to himself. He was taboo5. At table, the talk excluded him. On the campus, no one saw him. In the class-room, no one seemed interested in whether he recited well or badly, or whether he recited at all. No one dropped in to chat with him in the evening, nor was he invited to any of the little gatherings6 the fellows were always having. Often, as he bent7 over his books in the evening, he would catch the tinkle8 of a banjo or a strain of college song, and his eyes blurred9 so with tears sometimes that he could not see the page before him. But it was only in the solitude10 of his room he permitted himself this weakness. To the world he showed a defiant11 face, and no one suspected how deeply he was hurt. After all, they were only boys, and it is not to be wondered at that, for the moment, victory on the football field appeared to them of more consequence than proficiency12 in class.
Two things comforted him somewhat. One was that he no longer went to his classes unprepared. Indeed, he worked at his books so savagely13 that he was soon in the first group of the class, and more than once the tutors went out of their way to commend him—though it was not for their commendation his heart was aching, but for that of his classmates. His other comfort was in a letter he had received from Mr. Bayliss in reply to the one he had written him telling of his quitting his football practice. The letter ran:
I need hardly tell you how I have rejoiced in your strength in making this decision and in sticking to it. Nothing would compensate14 for failure in your classes—not even the applause of the football field. But I can readily understand how much the decision must have cost you, and I think I can foresee how it will affect the bearing of your classmates toward you, for school-boys sometimes have a very exaggerated and false notion of school honor. Concerning this last, let me give you a word of advice. Next to success in study, there is no more precious thing in college life than class friendship. One can well afford to sacrifice much to gain it. So I would not have you antagonize your classmates unnecessarily. Be prepared to make some sacrifice for them—sacrifice of pride and convenience and time. Perhaps later in the year you may be so well up in your studies that you can afford again to take an active part in the school athletics15. Do not hesitate to do so when you can.
Tommy read this letter over and over again, and drew much consolation16 from it. Gradually, too, some of the fellows began to unbend a little. Little Reeves, who had tackled him so gamely at that first day’s practice, was the first to show his friendship. It was one evening, while Tommy was wandering disconsolately17 about the campus, that he first became aware of Reeves’s feeling toward him.
“I say, Remington,” somebody called after him.
Tommy started at the unaccustomed sound of his name.
“Hullo, Reeves,” he said, as he turned and recognized him.
“How are you, old man?” and Reeves held out his hand and gave Tommy’s a hearty18 clasp that brought his heart into his throat. “Come up to my room awhile, can’t you, and let’s have a talk.”
“Of course I can,” said Tommy, and in a moment was stumbling after Reeves up the stairs of Hamill House with a queer mist before his eyes.
“This is my sanctum,” Reeves remarked, turning up the light. “Sit down here”; and he threw himself on the window-seat opposite. “Now tell me about it, old fellow. I’ve heard the fellows jawing19, of course, but I want to know the straight of it.”
And Tommy opened the flood-gates of his heart and poured the story forth20. Reeves listened to the end without interrupting by word or sign.
“But how does it come,” he asked at last, “that you can’t keep up and play football too? The other fellows do, and they don’t drive us so hard here. Hasn’t your prep been good?”
“Good?” echoed Tommy. “Why, man, three years ago I couldn’t read nor write.”
“Whew!” whistled Reeves, and sat up and looked at him. “Say, tell me about that. I should like to hear about that.”
So Tommy, who felt as though he were lifting a great load from his heart, told him the story, beginning, just as this story began, at the moment he entered the little Wentworth school-house with the circus poster in his hand. How far away it seemed to him now! He could scarcely believe that it had happened so recently. Some parts of the story he did not tell in detail; he did not dwell upon the grime and misery21 of the mines, nor upon the hard conditions of life in New River valley. Somehow they seemed strangely out of place in this airy, pleasant room, with this boy, who had been reared in luxury, for listener. So he hurried on to the time when he first looked into “Lorna Doone,” and then to the patient work of the two who had taught him and fitted him for Lawrenceville. Let us do him the justice to say that he paid them full tribute.
“Don’t you see,” he concluded, “I can’t disappoint those two people. I’ve just got to succeed. Besides, I can’t go back to the mines now. I’ve seen something of the world outside. It’d kill me to go back.”
Reeves came over and gave him his hand again.
“Right,” he said heartily22. “You’re dead right. Say,” he added awkwardly, “let me help you, won’t you? I’d like to. Come up here in the evenings and we’ll tackle the books together. I don’t know very much, but maybe I can help a little. The master will consent, I know.”
“Will you?” cried Tommy. “Oh, will you? That’s just what I want; that’s just what I need! But maybe you’ve other things to do—I don’t want to spoil your evenings.”
“Nonsense!” growled23 Reeves. “I need the study as bad as you do—worse, I suspect. I’ve been loafing too much anyway, and going over the rudiments24 again will help me. It’s as much for my own sake as for yours.”
So it was settled, the master did consent, and every night found the two together. How great a help Reeves was to him need hardly be said. Yet I think the other profited as much—perhaps more. He profited in self-denial and in earnestness, and, in his eagerness to help Tommy on, himself devoted26 much more thought to the work than he would otherwise have done. Word got about that Reeves had taken Tommy’s side of the controversy27, and for a time the others wondered. Some of them dropped in of an evening to see for themselves this remarkable28 sight of Reeves coaching Remington in the first-form work. The example proved a good one, and as time passed some of the other boys forgot their anger toward him, and admitted him again into their friendship. But it was to Reeves he clung closest of all.
“Say, Remington,” said the latter, one Saturday, “I’m going to walk over to Princeton to-morrow after morning service. I’ve got a big brother there in the sophomore29 class, and maybe he’ll show us around if he’s feeling good. How’d you like to go along?”
“I’d like it,” said Tommy, with conviction, for he had never yet had a glimpse of the great college whose achievements were being constantly dinned30 into his ears. “But can I get leave?”
“I’ll fix it for you,” answered Reeves, and he did.
It was a pleasant three-mile walk, that cool October morning, along the level road, shaded on either side by stately elms. The old post-road it used to be, a century and a half before, running from New York to Philadelphia, a gay place echoing to the coachman’s horn, and later, during the Revolution, to the tramp of armies. Only the memory of its former glory now remains31, but its beauty is unchanged. They passed a row of old colonial residences, well back from the road, half hidden amid groves32 of trees and rows of formal hedge. Then into Nassau Street they turned, and so to the college campus.
“That’s Nassau Hall—‘Old North,’ they call it here,” said Reeves, pointing to a long three-storied gray stone building, half covered with ivy33, stretching across the front campus. “It is so old that it was the largest building in America when it was built. During the Revolution, after Washington won the battle of Princeton, just below here, some of the British took refuge in the building; but Washington’s cannon34 soon brought them out. There was a picture of George III. inside in the big hall, and they say that Washington’s first cannon-ball went through the picture and cut off the head. They put a picture of Washington in the frame afterward35.”
Tommy looked with respect at the old building, as solid and substantial now as it was the day it was erected36. Back of it he caught a glimpse of many other buildings, but Reeves turned in at the first one.
“These are all dormitories,” he said. “This is Reunion Hall. Ralph’s room is up there on the second floor.”
They stumbled up the stairs, which were very dark, and presently Reeves knocked at a door. There was no response, and he tried the knob. The door opened.
And for the first time Tommy caught a glimpse of a college room. Orange and black, the college colors, were everywhere. The walls were covered by signs, secured in divers37 places, and by means that would not bear too close scrutiny—all sorts of signs: “For Rent,” “Keep Off the Grass,” “Danger,” “Beware the Dog,” “This Way to the Menagerie,” “Monkey House,” and so on. A banjo and guitar stood in one corner. Above the fireplace were two crossed lacrosse-sticks, a set of boxing-gloves, and a pair of foils with masks. Everywhere there were embroidered38 sofa-cushions—the work of devoted and ill-rewarded feminine fingers—and photographs and books and a great miscellany of trash such as only a college boy knows how to gather together.
“Well, he’s not here,” said Reeves, after a glance around. “It’s no use to wait for him. Maybe we’ll meet him out on the campus. We’ll take a walk around, anyway.”
And take a walk around they did—past beautiful, many-arched Alexander Hall, where the commencement exercises are held; past the old gymnasium, with its bronze gladiator before it; past the observatory39, with its great movable dome40; past Blair Hall, with its lofty towers frowning down upon the little railway station; past Witherspoon Hall, the most luxurious41 of all the dormitories; past the two white marble buildings of the literary societies, Whig and Clio, with their high, many-columned, classic porticos. Reeves showed Tommy the cannon captured from the British, and planted, muzzle42 downward, in the center of the quadrangle, forming the hub about which the whole college world revolved43, and where the class-day exercises were held at commencement. Then on they went to McCosh Walk, with its rows of stately elms; to Prospect44, where the president lives; and back again past Marquand Chapel45 and the new library to the front campus, where they sat down under the elms in front of Old North to rest.
“It’s a great old building, isn’t it?” said Reeves. “See how covered with ivy it is. Every graduating class plants a piece at commencement; it’s one of the big exercises, with an oration46 and all that. The fellows here have great times, I tell you. We must come over some evening next spring and hear the senior singing; the whole class sits on the steps there, and sometimes the banjo and mandolin clubs come out too. Can you sing?”
“No,” said Tommy, “I can’t sing.”
“It’s a great thing to get on the glee club. But no matter; you’re certain to make the football team, and that’s better yet. Nothing’s too good for you if you’re on the team. Wait till you see the Yale game!”
Tommy drew a deep breath of joy and longing47. Would it ever come true? Was it not all a dream, that would presently fade and vanish? He looked about again at the great buildings, the long, winding48 walks, the level, close-clipped campus.
The extent and complexity49 of the college world dazzled him. He began to understand what a great college really is, and his heart leaped to a faster measure at the thought that he would one day be a part of it. He watched the students sauntering along the walks, smoking and chatting, and wondered if any of them had come from such a place as New River valley. He was quite sure that none had—he did not know that these boys were gathered together from every quarter of the world, and that some of them had worked their way up from even lower depths than the coal-mines.
“Let’s have another try at locating Ralph,” said Reeves, after a time, and they again clambered up to his room in Reunion. They found a boy lolling lazily on the window-seat, gazing out across the campus. He looked around as they entered.
“Isn’t this Ralph Reeves’s room?” asked Reeves, hesitating on the threshold.
“Yep,” said the stranger. “At least, part of it is. The other part’s mine. I’m his room-mate. What do you want with him?”
“I want to see him. He’s my brother.”
“Oh, is he?” And the owner of the room looked at them with considerably50 more interest. “Well, I’m afraid you won’t see him. He went up to New York last night to see Mansfield. He can’t get back till this evening, and I don’t much expect him before to-morrow morning.”
“Oh, all right,” he said carelessly. “Come on, Remington; we’d better start back to Lawrenceville.”
“Here, wait a minute,” called the other, as they turned away. “You kids can’t walk ’way back to Lawrenceville without something to eat. I was just thinking about going to lunch. Come along with me. I’m Holland, ’02,” he added, by way of introduction.
Perhaps at another time Reeves might have resented being called a “kid,” but just now his stomach was clamoring for refreshment52 and was not to be denied.
“All right; thank you, Mr. Holland,” said Reeves. “This is Remington,” he added, pulling Tommy forward. “He’s my chum down at Lawrenceville.”
Tommy turned scarlet54 with pleasure at this open avowal55 of friendship. Holland nodded to him, threw on a cap that was lying on the floor, and led the way down the stairs, across the campus, and to a boarding-house on University Place. Half a dozen other fellows were sitting about the table eating and talking, and Holland gave the two boys a general introduction. Tommy listened to the talk as he ate, but there was little of it he could understand, for such strange words as “poller,” “grind,” “trig,” “math,” “cuts,” and dozens of others equally incomprehensible, were constantly recurring56. The meal over, they bade their host good-by, and started back to Lawrenceville, which they reached in time for supper.
The routine of the place went on day after day without incident; only more than once Tommy found himself fighting the same battle over again. Reeves scrupulously57 refrained from talking football to him, but he knew, nevertheless, that Sexton’s prophecy had been fulfilled, and that Banker was making a poor showing for left guard. That position was by far the weakest on the team, and more than once, as the season progressed, the opposing team made gains through it which defeated Lawrenceville. It seemed more and more certain, as the days went by, that they could not hope to win the great game of the season, that with the Princeton freshmen53. Blake labored58 savagely with his men, but they seemed to have lost spirit. A deep gloom settled over the place, and the ill feeling against Tommy, which had bid fair to be forgotten, sprang into life again.
The crisis came one afternoon about a week before the day of the game. Tommy was plugging away at his books, as usual, when he heard the door open, and looking around, saw Reeves and Sexton enter. One glance at their faces told him that something more than usually serious had happened.
“What is it?” he asked quickly.
“It’s mighty59 hard luck, that’s what it is,” said Sexton, sitting down despondently60. “Banker sprained61 a tendon in his ankle at practice this afternoon, and won’t be able to play any more this season. He wasn’t such a great player, but he was the best left guard we had, and there’s nobody to take his place.”
Tommy sat for a moment, silent, looking from one to the other. The last sentences of Mr. Bayliss’s letter were ringing in his ears.
“Is practice over yet?” he asked.
“No,” said Reeves. “It had just begun when Banker was hurt. Blake is hunting around for somebody to take his place.”
Tommy closed his book with a slam, pushed back his chair, and from one corner of the room pulled out his old football suit.
“What are you going to do?” cried Reeves, a great light in his eyes.
“I’m going to play left guard,” said Tommy, as calmly as he could, and trying to steady his hands, which were trembling strangely. “Wait till I get these togs on, will you?”
But Reeves and Sexton had him by the hands and were shaking them wildly.
“I knew it!” cried Reeves. “I knew it! I knew he wouldn’t fail us! I knew the stuff he was made of! We’ll beat those freshmen yet.”
“Beat them!” echoed Sexton, dancing wildly around Tommy; “we’ll beat the life out of them! Hurry up, Remington. Let go his hand, can’t you, Reeves, so he can get into his togs. Let the other fellows get a look at him! It’ll do them good!”
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1
persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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5
taboo
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| n.禁忌，禁止接近，禁止使用；adj.禁忌的；v.禁忌，禁制，禁止 | |
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gatherings
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| 聚集( gathering的名词复数 )； 收集； 采集； 搜集 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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9
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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10
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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11
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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12
proficiency
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| n.精通，熟练，精练 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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14
compensate
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| vt.补偿，赔偿；酬报 vi.弥补；补偿；抵消 | |
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15
athletics
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| n.运动，体育，田径运动 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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disconsolately
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| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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18
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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jawing
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| n.用水灌注 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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23
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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24
rudiments
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| n.基础知识，入门 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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27
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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28
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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29
sophomore
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| n.大学二年级生；adj.第二年的 | |
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30
dinned
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| vt.喧闹（din的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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32
groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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34
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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36
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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37
divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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39
observatory
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| n.天文台，气象台，瞭望台，观测台 | |
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40
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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41
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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42
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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43
revolved
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| v.（使）旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 )；细想 | |
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44
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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45
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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46
oration
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| n.演说，致辞，叙述法 | |
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47
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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48
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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49
complexity
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| n.复杂(性)，复杂的事物 | |
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50
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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51
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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52
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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53
freshmen
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| n.（中学或大学的）一年级学生( freshman的名词复数 ) | |
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54
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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55
avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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56
recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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57
scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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58
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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59
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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60
despondently
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| adv.沮丧地，意志消沉地 | |
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61
sprained
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| v.&n. 扭伤 | |
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