Part 16 (2/2)

But existence at Brimfield Academy wasn't all football, by any means, nor all fun. There was a lot of hard work mixed up with the play, and both Steve and Tom found that an immense amount of study was required of them. They each had thirty recitations a week, and in both Greek and Latin their preparation at high school had, not unnaturally, been deficient. That meant hard sledding for a while. Tom realised the fact before Steve would, and so spared himself some trouble. Steve resented the extra study necessary and for the first fortnight or so trusted to luck to get him through. And for a time luck stood by him. He had a way of looking wise in cla.s.s that imposed for a while on ”Uncle Sim,” as Mr.

Simkins was called, but after Steve had fallen down three or four times the instructor scented the truth of the matter and then Steve's life became a burden to him. Mr. Simkins took delight, it seemed, in calling on him at the most unexpected moments until, one day, in sheer desperation, Steve gave utterance to the answer ”not prepared.” That was to Uncle Sim what a red rag is to a bull! There was a scathing dressing-down then and there, followed by a visit that evening from Mr.

Daley. Steve was secretly uneasy, for more than one story of summary justice on the part of the Greek and Latin instructor had reached him, but he presented a careless front to the Hall Master. Mr. Daley was plainly eager to help, but, as usual, he was embarra.s.sed and nervous, and Steve, who had taken a mild dislike to him, resented his interference.

”The stuff's too hard,” he said in answer to Mr. Daley's inquiries.

”Look at the lesson we had to-day, sir; all that and this, over to here; sight reading, too. And two compositions so far this week! I just didn't have time for it last night, and so when he called on me to-day I told him I wasn't prepared. And then he--he ragged me in front of the cla.s.s and gave me a page and a half to write, beside to-morrow's lesson. I can't do it, and that's all there is to it!”

”Er--yes, yes, I see. I'm sorry, Edwards. Now, let us have a look at this. Yes, there's quite a lot of it. You--ah--you didn't have much Latin before you came here, I take it?”

”Had enough,” growled Steve, ”but nothing like this. I've had Caesar and some Cicero. I never had any luck with Latin, anyway.” And Steve viewed the open book with distaste.

”It's the quant.i.ty, then, you find--ah--difficult,” said Mr. Daley. ”As far as grammar is concerned, I take it you are--ah--well grounded, Edwards?”

”I suppose so. But look at the length of the lesson we have!”

”Yes. Very true. But, of course, to complete a certain amount of work in the year it is--ah--necessary to do quite a good deal every day. Now maybe you--ah--haven't been really setting your mind on this. I know in my own case that I very often find myself--ah--skimping, so to speak; I mean going over a thing without really getting the--ah--the meat out of it. I'm almost certain that if you really settled your mind on this, Edwards, that you'd get along very well with it. Suppose now that you give twice as much time to it to-night as you usually do. If some other study must suffer, why, let it be your French and I will let you by to-morrow if you aren't well prepared. And--ah--I wish when you've been over this you'd come down and let me--ah--go over it with you lightly. I think--I think that would be an excellent idea, Edwards.”

”Oh, I'll try it,” grumbled Steve, ”but it isn't any use. And look at what I've got to translate for him!”

”Yes, yes, I see. Well--ah--bring your book down after awhile and we'll see what can be done. How are you getting on, Hall?”

”Pretty well, sir. I find it a bit stiff, too, but maybe after awhile I'll get the hang of it.”

”That's the way to talk!” exclaimed the instructor approvingly.

”That--ah--that is the right att.i.tude, Hall. Make up your mind that it will come and it _will_ come. We all have our--our problems, and the only way to do is to--ah--face them and ride straight at them. So often, when we reach them, we find them--ah--we find them so very much more trivial than we had supposed. They're like--like hills seen from a distance that look terrifically steep. When we--ah--reach them we find them easy grades after all. You see what I mean? Yes, yes. Well, I shall expect you in my study later, Edwards. I want you--both of you, that is--to realise that I am very eager to be of a.s.sistance at any time.

Possibly I can't help very much,--but--ah--I am most willing, boys.”

”Silly chump,” growled Steve when the door had closed behind Mr. Daley.

”I wish--ah--he'd--ah--mind his own--ah--business!”

But Tom didn't smile. ”I think the chap means to be awfully decent, Steve,” he said thoughtfully. ”The trouble is, I guess, he's scared to death of the fellows. You can see that in cla.s.s.”

”He's a regular granny,” replied Steve. ”Wish he had this stuff to do. I guess he wouldn't be so light and airy about it!”

”You'll go down and let him help you, though, won't you?” asked Tom anxiously.

”Oh, I suppose so. He can do the whole thing if he wants to. Where is my dictionary?”

With Mr. Daley's help, freely offered and grudgingly accepted, Steve weathered that crisis. And secretly he was grateful to the Hall Master, though he still pretended to believe and possibly did half believe that the latter was a sort of mollycoddle. Tom told him indignantly once that since Mr. Daley had been so awfully decent to him he ought to stop poking fun at him. To which Steve cheerfully made answer that even a mollycoddle could be decent at times!

Brimfield played Canterbury High School on a Wednesday afternoon in early October and had a good deal of a scare. Canterbury romped on to the field like a bunch of young colts, and continued to romp for the best part of three ten-minute periods, long after Brimfield had decided that romping was no longer in good taste! Led by a small, wiry, red-headed quarter-back, who was likewise captain, and directed from the side-line by a coach who looked scarcely older than the big youth who played centre for them, the Canterbury team took the most astounding liberties with football precedents. They didn't transgress the rules, but they put such original interpretations on some of them that Mr.

Conklin, who was refereeing, and Mr. Jordan, instructor in mathematics, who was umpiring, had their heads over the rules-book nearly half the time! Now and then they would march to the side-line and consult the Canterbury coach. ”Where do you get your authority for that play?” Mr.

Conklin would ask a trifle irritably. Thereupon, silently but with a twinkle in his eye, the coach would gravely take the book, flip the pages, lay a finger on a section and return it.

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