Part 9 (2/2)

Could T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., Butch Brewster, and the Gold and Green eleven have heard little Theophilus' fervent and eloquent appeal to John Thorwald, they would have felt like giving three cheers for him. They loved this pathetic little b.o.n.e.r, who, because of his pitifully frail body, could never fight for old Bannister on gridiron, diamond, or track, and they tremendously admired him for working for his college and for the redemption of Thor. Timorous and shrinking by nature, whenever his Alma Mater, or a friend, needed him the Human Encyclopedia fought down his painful timidity and came up to scratch n.o.bly.

It was Theophilus whose clear logic had vastly aided T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., to originate The Big Brotherhood of Bannister, in 1919's Soph.o.m.ore year, and quell Roddy Perkins' Freshman Equal Rights campaign. In fact, it had been the b.o.n.e.r's suggestion that gave Hicks his needed inspiration.

And, a Junior, Theophilus had been elected business manager of the Bannister Weekly, with Hicks as editor-in-chief as a colossal joke. The entire burden of that almost defunct periodical had been thrust on those two, and, thanks to the grind's intensely humorous ”copy,” the Weekly had been revived and rebuilt. And Theophilus, in writing the humorous articles, had been moved by a great ambition to do something for old Bannister.

”Look at me, Thor!” continued Theophilus Opperd.y.k.e, his puny body dwarfed as he faced the colossal Prodigious Prodigy. ”A poor, weak, helpless nothing! I'd cheerfully sacrifice all the scholastic honor or glory I ever won, or shall win, just to make a touchdown for the Gold and Green, just to win a baseball game, or to break the tape in a race for old Bannister!

And you--, with that tremendous body, that ma.s.sive bulk, that vast strength--you won't play the game for your Alma Mater, you won't throw that big frame into the scrimmage, thrilled with a desire to win for your college! Oh, what wonderful things youdo with your powerful build; but it means nothing to you, while I-- Oh, you don't care, you just won't awaken; and, unless you do, in tomorrow's game you'll be dropped from the squad, a disgrace.”

John Thorwald-Thor, the Prodigious Prodigy, that Gargantuan Freshman of whom Bannister said he possessed no soul--stirred uneasily, s.h.i.+fted his vast tonnage from one foot to the other, and stared at little Theophilus Opperd.y.k.e. That solemn Senior, who had not seen the slightest effect his ”Missionary Work” was having on the stolid Thor, was in despair; but he did not know the truth. As Hicks had once said, ”You don't know nothing what goes on in Thor's dome. There's a wall of solid concrete around the machinery of his mind, and you can't see the wheels, belts, and cogs at work!”

T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., with all his keen insight into human nature, had failed utterly to diagnose Thor's case, had not even stumbled on the true cause of that young giant's aloofness. The truth was unknown to anyone, but there was one natural reason for John Thorwald's not mingling with his fellows of the campus-the blond Colossus was inordinately bashful! From his fifteenth year, Thor had seen the seamy side of life, had lived, grown and developed among men. In his wanderings in the Klondike, the wild Northwest, in Panama, his experiences as cabin-boy, miner, cowboy, lumber-jack, and Ca.n.a.l Zone worker, he had existed where everything was roughness and violence, where brawn, not brain, usually held sway, where supremacy was won, kept, and lost by fists, spiked boots, or guns! In his adventurous career, young Thorwald had but seldom encountered the finer things of life, and his nature, while wholesome, was st.u.r.dy and virile, not likely to be stirred by sentiment; so that now, among the good-natured, friendly boys of old Bannister, he, accustomed to rude surroundings and rough acquaintances, was bashful.

And Theophilus, as well as T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., shot far wide of the mark in believing that the big Hercules had no power to feel; he possessed that power, but, with it the ability to conceal his feelings. They thought nothing appealed to him, had stirred his soul, at college, but they were wrong; true, Thor was unable to understand this new, strange life; he was puzzled when the collegians condemned and ostracized him at first, when he quit football because it was not a Faculty rule to play, but he was grateful when Hicks defended him, and the admiration of the student-body was welcome to him. He had thought he was doing all they desired of him, when he went back to the game, and now--when Theophilus told him that he might be dropped from the squad, he was bewildered. He could not understand just why this could be, when he was reporting for scrimmage every day!

But the friendliness of the youths, their kind help with his studies, the a.s.sistance of the genial Hicks, and, more than all, above even the admiration of the Freshmen for his promise and purpose, the daily missionary work of little Theophilus, for whom the ma.s.sive Thor felt a real love, had been slowly, insidiously undermining John Thorwald's reserve. No longer did he condemn what he did not understand. At times he had a vague feeling that all was not right, that, after all, he was missing something, that study was not all; and yet, bashful as he was, fearing to appear rough, crude, and uncouth among these skylarking youths, Thor kept on his silent, lonely way, and they thought him untouched by their overtures. Of late, when un.o.bserved, the big Freshman had stood by the window, watching the collegians on the campus, listening to their songs of old Bannister, and yet because he felt embarra.s.sed when with them, he gave no sign that he cared.

Now, however, the splendid appeal of loyal, timorous Theophilus stirred Thor, and yet he could not break down the wall of reserve he had builded around himself. He had deluded himself that this comrades.h.i.+p was not for him, that he could never mingle with these happy-go-lucky youths, that he must plod straight ahead, and live to himself, because his past had roughened him.

”You are a Freshman!” spoke Theophilus, unaware that forces were at work on Thor, and making a last effort. ”You stand on the very threshold of your campus years; everything is before you. I am at the journey's end--very nearly, for in June I graduate from old Bannister. I never had the chance to fight for my Alma Mater on the athletic field, and you--Oh, think of what you can do! About to leave the campus, I, and my cla.s.s-mates, realize how dear our college has become to us. Ifcould just know that Bannister means something to you, even now, if you only felt it, you could make your years mean great things to you. Thor, could you leave old Bannister tomorrow without regret, without one sigh for the dear old place?

We, who soon shall leave it forever, fully understand Shakespeare, when in a sonnet he wrote:

”This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong-- To love that well which thou must leave ere long!”

There was a silence, and then Thor slowly drew out a letter from its envelope, scanning the scrawl across its pages. A few moments, while its meaning seemed to seep into his slow-acting mind, and then a look of helpless bewilderment, as though the stolid Freshman just could not understand at all, came to his face; a minute John Thorwald stood, as in a trance, staring dully at the letter.

”Thor! Thor! What's the matter? What's wrong?” quavered the alarmed Theophilus, ”Have you gotten bad news?”

”Read it, read it,” said the big Freshman lifelessly, extending the letter to the startled Senior. ”It's all over, I suppose, and I've got to go to work again. I've got to leave college, and toil once more, and save. My promise to my mother can't be fulfilled--yet. And just as I was getting fairly started.”

Theophilus Opperd.y.k.e hurriedly perused the message, which had come to Thor in that night's mail but which the blond giant had let lie unnoticed while he tackled his geometry. With difficulty Theophilus deciphered the scrawl on an official letterhead:

THE NEW YORK-CHRISTIANA STEAMs.h.i.+P LINE

(New York Offices)

Nov. 4, 19--.

DEAR SON:

I am writing to tell you that I've run into a sort of hurricane, and you and I have got a hard blow to weather. I started you at college on the $5,000 received from the heirs of Henry B. Kingsley, on whose yacht, as you know, I was wrecked in the South Seas, and marooned for ten years. I figured on giving you an education with that sum, eked out by my wages, and what you earn in vacations.

I had the $5,000, untouched, in a New York bank, and I wanted to take it over to Christiania; when I was about to sail on my last voyage, I drew out the sum, and put it in care of the Purser of the Norwhal, on which I was mate, intending, of course, to get it on docking, and deposit it in Christiania. At the last hour I was transferred to the Valkyrie, to sail a few days later, and I knew the Norwhal's purser would leave the $5,000 for me in the Company's Christiania offices, so I did not bother to transfer it to the Valkyrie.

Perhaps you read in the newspapers that the Norwhal struck a floating mine, and went down with a heavy loss of life. The Purser was among those lost, and none of the s.h.i.+p's papers were saved; my $5,000, of course, went down also.

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