I don’t mean to imply that Gerald at once became the star student in his algebra class. He never reached any such pinnacle of success. He never succeeded in viewing algebra with Mr. McIntyre’s enthusiastic eyes. But he put his mind on it with good results and soon found that it[121] was not the dreadful bogy he had fancied. Perhaps the fact that he had discovered his instructor to be human and likable and sympathetic had a good deal to do with his success, and lots of times when he would have gladly thrown aside his algebra in despair he pegged away at it from the mere desire to please Kilts and show him that he was not ungrateful. And the instructor showed that he understood and was pleased. If the truth were known, Kilts gave more credit to the boy who worked hard for his D than to the boy who, with a natural aptitude for mathematics, secured his B with scant labor. But Kilts showed Gerald no favors when it came to marks. No one who knew Kilts would have expected it. Nor did Gerald. Gerald knew that his D’s—and very occasional C’s—were his deserts, neither more nor less. But with algebra no longer haunting him like a nightmare, his other studies came easier, and Gerald began to think that perhaps, after all, there was a place for him in the school life.
Dan had, you may be certain, given an account of Gerald’s attempted escape from his troubles to Alf and Tom. The comment of each was typical. Alf, with his impatience for all things weak and futile, immediately dubbed Gerald “a silly ass.” Tom, big-hearted and sympathetic, declared[122] that he had showed grit if not judgment.
“Of course it was a foolish thing to do,” he said, “but lots of chaps wouldn’t have had the courage to do it. They’d have just sat around and been miserable and unhappy.”
“That’s all right,” said Alf, “but if Faculty had caught him it would have been all up. It was the craziest thing I ever heard of. Somebody’s got to pump some sense into that kid, Dan.”
“Oh, he won’t cut up that way again,” Dan replied. “I think it’s done him good. And old Kilts acting the way he did helped a lot. Gerald had got it into his head that Kilts and Collins and the whole Faculty were sitting up nights trying to devise ways to make trouble for him. Now he thinks that Kilts is just about right, and that has given him hope for the rest of them. I’m not sure, but I think Gerald’s going to settle down now and take things easier.”
“Sure to,” said Tom. “It’s like C?sar Augustus.”
“Who’s he?” asked Dan and Alf in a breath.
“He was a dog. Now he’s a dog-angel. I had him when I was just a youngster.”
“Listen to the doddering, decrepit old idiot,” observed Alf in an aside.
“He was just a puppy when I got him; about three months old. Don’t ask me what sort of a[123] dog he was, for no one ever knew. In fact, it was such a mystery that no one ever dared to guess. Well, C?sar Augustus used to trouble about the cat when he first came. The cat was an old, experienced codger and used to sit on the kitchen windowsill, where the cook kept her geraniums, and blink and purr all day long. C?sar Augustus lived under the stove, except when I dragged him out by the nape of the neck and poured milk down his throat. For we just had to make him eat. He’d sit there with his head sticking out and watch the cat for hours, and tremble and whine and get thin and pine away. You see, that cat worried him silly. He couldn’t understand her; didn’t know what she was made for, what she was good for or anything else. That went on for about a month. Then, driven to desperation one day, C?sar Augustus crawled out from under the stove and went for the cat. Cook and I rescued him after he’d made about six trips around the room with the cat on his back. We washed the blood off, smeared his wounds with mutton tallow and fed him raw steak to heal his sorrow. Sorrow! He didn’t have any! He was happy as a lark, rolled over and played, ate his steak as though he’d been living on it for years, and was a changed dog. Never had an unhappy moment afterwards.”
[124]
“Well,” laughed Alf, “and what’s the moral—the lesson to be derived from your charming tale?”
“The moral,” replied Tom, “is; When anything troubles you take a fall out of it. It may hurt for a while, but you’re a lot better for it afterwards.”
“And you think Gerald’s like C?sar Augustus?” asked Dan.
“Sure. The whole scheme of things here was troubling him. He didn’t understand authority; didn’t know whether it could bite or not. So he had a show-down. Now he knows where he stands. He will come out from under the stove now; you see if he doesn’t.”
“Oh, you’re an idiot,” said Alf. “The trouble is with him, Dan, he thinks he’s a blooming philosopher. But he may be right—for once. I don’t know. Anyhow, you tell Gerald to come over Saturday for his boxing lesson.”
“Well, but there’s no reason why you should be bored with him every week, Alf. If he wants any more lessons I’ll attend to him. I don’t know anything about it, but he will be just as satisfied, I dare say.”
“You think so, do you?” asked Alf indignantly. “Let me tell you that that kid is going to be a boxer. Why, he knows more about using his[125] hands now than half the fellows in school. Don’t you worry about my being bored, old man. In a month or so I’ll have to go my hardest to keep him from knocking my head off!”
“Why doesn’t he get to know more fellows?” puzzled Tom.
“I don’t know, really,” Dan answered. “He’s sort of quiet until you know him real well, but I should think he’d get acquainted better. He meets a good many fellows every day in class and around school. I don’t believe he has more than a nodding acquaintance with any of the fellows at his table. I don’t know what the trouble is.”
“He isn’t a good ‘mixer,’” said Alf. “What we’ll have to do is to take him in hand, fellows. Look here, Dan, bring him up to Cambridge Saturday night for the debate, and we’ll introduce him to a few fellows. And Tom can have him over to Oxford now and then. The rules won’t let us introduce him more than once a month, but if Tom takes him to one meeting and we take him to another that’ll be twice.”
“I’d like to get him into Cambridge,” said Dan, “but the election doesn’t come until May, does it?”
“No,” answered Tom. “But while you’re about it, why don’t you try and get the poor chap[126] into a decent society? If you like, I’ll propose him for Oxford.”
A howl arose from the others, both of whom were members of Cambridge, and in a moment Gerald’s welfare was lost sight of in a good-natured but fierce discussion of the relative merits of the rival debating societies.
Gerald was quite pleased at the idea of accompanying Dan and Alf to one of the Saturday night meetings of the Cambridge Debating Society, and thoroughly enjoyed the proceedings when he went. The two societies had rooms on the top floor of Oxford Hall. Actually, there was not much to choose between them, although the members of each could flaunt all sorts of arguments in favor of their own particular choice. Cambridge had of late years won a majority of the Inter-Society Debates, held in December and June of each year. But Oxford fellows made light of that claim to superiority and pointed out with pride that Oxford was the older society by a dozen years. Also, they were sure to tell you, Oxford had a real combination billiard and pool table! Whereupon, if you owed allegiance to the Light Blue, you scoffed and declared that the table was so old and its legs so weak that fellows had to hold it in their laps while they played on it!
Secret organizations were prohibited at Yardley—although[127] now and then faint whispers of such organizations were wafted about—and so almost every fellow sooner or later accepted an invitation from Oxford or Cambridge. While they were supposed to be debating clubs, and in a measure justified the title, they were in reality far more social in character. The rooms of each society were comfortably furnished and the fellows met there during the day, but especially in the evenings, to chat, read, or play games. The debates took place on Saturday evenings, and it was to one of these that Gerald was taken.
On this occasion the subject in discussion was the elective system in colleges. It seemed something of a shame to Gerald that the presidents of the principal universities were not present, for he was certain some very brilliant things were said on both sides. Personally his sympathies were with the contestants who spoke in favor of the system, but that was because he had been introduced to Oliver Colton, last Fall’s football captain, by Dan before the meeting, and Colton was the most brilliant speaker for the affirmative side.
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CHAPTER XII YARDLEY GETS REVENGE
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