Read Ebook: Harvard Stories: Sketches of the Undergraduate by Post Waldron Kintzing

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Ebook has 847 lines and 61894 words, and 17 pages

"Oh, well, if we lose, we'll only be hard up, just as we are now," was the assuring response.

"I see I have not been tutoring you in Pol. Econ. for nothing," said Varnum. "No, Rattleton, I'd give anything I could afford to see that game, but I can't afford anything, so don't stir me up about it."

"All right, have your own way. Come 'round and dine with me to-night."

Varnum assented, and Rattleton, calling out to his dog, "come along, Blathers," rode off to the stables. On the way to his room to change his clothes he met the other men of his club table going from Holworthy's room to dinner. He told them that Varnum was coming to his table, and warned them not to talk constant foot-ball all through dinner.

"I wish I could help that chap out somehow," he said, discontentedly; "he has got on to the tutoring dodge. He won't tutor me now, except when there is an hour exam. coming, and he knows I have got to go to somebody to be put through if I don't come to him."

On the following day the Harvard forces began to move on Springfield. The game was to be played on Saturday, but many men went on Friday afternoon, for there is great joy to be had in Springfield on the eve of battle. The Glee Club always gives a concert, after which there is a very fine ball, one of the Springfield Assemblies, I believe. There is also apt to be another ball, a "sociable" of the something-or-other coterie. Holworthy and Gray were on the Glee Club, and were going to the Assembly. The others decided to go to Springfield on that night also, and attend the other ball.

"Down with the bloated silk-stockings," declared Burleigh. "Let the kid-gloved dudes dally with the pampered aristocracy. We are the people; we'll go where we can turn in our waistcoats, stick our sailor-knots in our shirt fronts, and be right in the top flight!"

The Glee Club men had rooms engaged. Hudson was on the shooting-team, and therefore also had a room secured, and the two Jacks, Rattleton and Randolph, were going on one of the club sleeping-cars. Burleigh and Stoughton had no rooms, but were willing to take their chances of getting one. Indeed, these two very rarely failed on an expedition of this sort in getting the best of everything. They were both sons of the energetic West, besides which Stoughton was famed for his craft, and was the recognized Ulysses of "the gang." They had a very effective method of working together in a crowd. Ned Burleigh was six feet three, and his weight had never been accurately ascertained by his friends. Dick Stoughton, on the other hand, was of a slight and active build. On arriving at any town where there was a rush for the hotels, Burleigh would breast the crowd with all the weight of his broad front. Stoughton, following close at his back with both the portmanteaus, would swing them, one on each side of Burleigh's legs, about knee high. Thus they would cut their way through any crowd, and arriving at its front, Ned would take the baggage and come along by slow freight, while Dick dashed for the hotel.

This manoeuvre was successfully executed at Springfield, and Stoughton secured the last room at the Massasoit House.

Next morning the clay-pigeon match came off, as usual, on the grounds of the Springfield Gun Club. It resulted in a close and glorious victory for Harvard, as the Yale team shot a little bit worse. It was a rather costly triumph, however, for both teams with their supporters drove back in a barge to the Massasoit House, and there had another meeting at the expense of the victors. Those Harvard-Yale shooting-matches are a very pleasant sport, and prolific of the best of feeling.

Before it was time to start for the battle-ground at Hampden Park, certain financial transactions took place at the hotel. The slender balance at the Cambridge National Bank, standing in the name of John Rattleton, had been wiped out on the previous day, and most of it was now deposited at the office of the Massasoit House in the joint names of J. Rattleton and a man from New Haven, to become later the sole property of one or the other. As Jack turned away from the clerk's desk, he met the steady Holworthy face to face, and looked guilty.

"Have you been betting all your quarter's income as usual, you jackass?" demanded Holworthy.

"No, only what is left of it," said Rattleton. "Might as well. If I didn't bet it, I should have to lend it all to the rest of the gang, if we get beaten. And suppose we win, as we are almost sure to, and I hadn't taken a blue cent out of New Haven, and had to pay for my own celebration; how should I feel then?" he demanded, triumphantly.

"Will you ever grow up?" asked Holworthy, shaking his head. "Don't come running to me if we get thrashed, that is all. I hope you have kept your return ticket to Cambridge."

"Oh, yes, I have that," answered Rattleton, reassuringly; "and I have twenty-five dollars that I sha'n't put up unless I can get it up even. These fellows want odds here, but I think I can find even money on the field."

The Yale men are prudent bettors, however, and Jack did not "find even money" at Hampden Park. In fact, at the last minute he could not get a taker at any odds that even he was willing to offer. So he kept his last twenty-five dollars, and took his seat with his friends, feeling that he had not done his full duty.

All the morning the trains from New Haven, from Boston, from New York, from everywhere within a six-hour radius, had been pouring their heavy loads into Springfield. The north side of Hampden Park was a crimson-dotted mass, nearly ten thousand strong; the south side was equally banked up with blue, and the two colors ran into each other at the ends. It is never weary waiting for the foot-ball game to begin, when the weather is good. It is amusing to see the grads come swarming to the standard. Familiar and popular faces turn up, that have been out of college only a year or two, and their owners are greeted enthusiastically by their late companions. There, too, come numbers of faces far more widely known, those of governors, congressmen, judges, architects, and clergymen. Other faces, not so conspicuous, are apparently equally interesting over the top of glowing bunches of Jacqueminots, or of violets, as the case may be. Jack Rattleton's terrier Blathers, who was rarely separated from his master on any occasion, took more interest in a big dog with a blue blanket on the other side of the field, a familiar figure at recent foot-ball games.

At about half past two o'clock a great cheer rolled simultaneously along both sides of the field, and there trotted into the lists twenty-two young specimens of this "dyspeptic, ice-water-drinking" nation. It is sometimes said that Americans are overworked and deteriorated from the physical standard of the race; but as these youths of the Western branch pulled off their sweaters and faced each other, they did not look a very degenerate brood. Harvard had the ball and formed a close "wedge," Yale deployed in open line of battle. For a moment they stood there, all crouching forward, their heads well down, their great limbs tense, all straining for the word to spring at each other. There was not a sound around the field. "Play!" called the referee, and the Harvard wedge shot forward, and crashed with a sound of grinding canvas into the mass of blue-legged bodies that rushed to meet it.

For nearly three quarters of an hour the mimic battle was fought back and forth along the white-barred field. All the tactics of war were there employed; the centre was pierced, the flanks were turned, heavy columns were instantaneously massed against any weak spot. It was even, very even; but at last a long punt and a fumble gave Harvard the ball, well in the enemy's territory. A well-supported run around the right end by Jarvis, the famous flying half-back, two charges by Blake the terrible line-breaker, and a wedge bang through the centre drove the ball to Yale's five-yard line. Another gain of his length by the tall Rivers. Another. Then with their backs on their very line the Yale men rallied in a way they have. Down, no gain. Now for one good push or a drop kick! Time. The first half of the game was over and neither side had scored.

"Everything is lovely," declared Hudson. "We'll have the wind with us next half. We've had the best of it so far, as it is. It's a sure thing now." That was the general feeling among the Harvard supporters, and every one was happy. To the excited spectators the interval was a grateful relief, almost a necessary one to little Gray, who was nearly beside himself. He moaned every now and then over his physical inability to carry the Crimson in the lists.

After fifteen minutes' rest, the giants lined up again. The wind did seem to make a difference, for the play from the start was in Yale's ground. Jarvis the runner, who had been saved a good deal in the first half, was now used with telling effect.

Within fifteen minutes, an exchange of punts brought the ball to Yale's thirty-yard line. After three downs Spofford dropped back as though for a kick, and the Yale full-back retreated for the catch. Instead of the expected kick, Rivers the guard charged for the left end, and the blue line concentrated on that point to meet him, when suddenly Jarvis, with the ball tucked under his arm, was seen going like a whirlwind around the right, well covered by his supports. The Yale left-end was knocked off his legs, and the whole crimson bank of spectators rose to its feet with a roar, as it realized that Jarvis had circled the end. The Yale halfs had been drawn to their right, and every one knew that with Jarvis once past the forwards, no one could run him down.

On he went at top speed for the longed-for touch-line. The full-back, however, was heading him off, he had outrun his interferers, and a Yale 'Varsity full-back is not apt to miss a clear tackle in the open. They came together close to the line. Just as his adversary crouched for his hips, Jarvis leaped high from the ground, and hurled himself forward, head first. The Yale man, like a hawk, "nailed" him in the air, but his weight carried him on, and they both fell with a fearful shock--over the line! The next minute they were buried under a pile of men.

Then did all the Harvard hosts shout with a mighty shout that made the air tremble. For five minutes dignified men, old and young, cheered and hugged each other, and acted as they never do on any other occasion, except perhaps a college boat-race. The two elevens had grouped around the spot where the touch-down had been made. Suddenly the pandemonium ceased as the knot of players opened, and a limp form was carried out from among them. "It's Jarvis!" ran along the crowd, followed by an anxious murmur. A substitute ran back to the grand stand and shouted, "nothing serious, only his collar-bone." Those near the place where the plucky half-back was borne off the field could see that his face was pale, but supremely happy, and he smiled faintly as he heard the cheers of thousands, and his own name coupled with that of his Alma Mater.

The touch-down had been made almost at the corner too far aside for the try for goal to succeed. Spofford's kick was a splendid attempt, but the ball struck the goal post.

Then the battle began again. The Harvard team had suffered an irreparable loss in the fall of the famous Jarvis, but the score was four to nothing in its favor, and all it needed to do now was to hold its own. The Crimson was on the crest, and it was for the Blue to come up hill. Every one on the north side was elated and confident. Then began a struggle grim and great. The Yale men closed up and went in for the last chance. There was no punting for them now, the wind was against them; but they had the heavier weight and well they used every ounce of it. Steadily, as the Old Guard trod over its slain at Waterloo, did the Blue wedge drive its way, rod by rod, towards the Harvard line. And as the fierce red Britons tore at Napoleon's devoted column, so did the Crimson warriors leap on that earth-stained phalanx. The rushers strained against it, Blake would plunge into and stagger it, Rivers and Spofford would throw their great bodies flat under the trampling feet, and bring the whole mass down over them. At last there would be a waver in the advance, three forward struggles checked and shattered, and on the fourth down, the ball would be Harvard's. On the first line up with the ball in Harvard's possession, would be heard the sound of Spofford's unerring foot against the leather and the brown oval would go curving and spinning over the heads of the rushers, far back into Yale's territory, with the Harvard ends well under it. A great "Oh!" of relief would go up from the north side. Then those Yale bull-dogs would begin all over again. Again and again did they fight their way almost to the Harvard line, only to be driven all the way back by a long Spofford punt.

"How those Elis do fight!" exclaimed Gray in admiration. "Don't they," admitted Burleigh; "and isn't it nice to be able to be magnanimous and admire them? What a lot of credit you can give a fellow when you are licking him."

"Those chaps aren't thrashed yet, my boy," said Holworthy. "They won't be, either, until the game is called, and, by Jove, they may not be then."

This observation was perfectly true. The Waterloo simile extended no further than the appearance of battle. A Yale touch-down would tie the game, and if made near the goal would probably win it. For the fourth time the New Haven men struggled to the Cantabrigian twenty-yard line. There had been many delays in the game, and the short November afternoon had grown dark. A bad pass by the Harvard quarterback, a slip, a fumble by Spofford, might turn the result. The time was nearly up. The cheering had died almost entirely; the excitement was too deep for that, and every one was too breathless. A short gain for Yale.

"Rattleton? Is Mr. Rattleton here?" called a messenger boy walking along the front of the long stand.

"Hullo, here. What's wanted?" answered Jack.

"Telegram for you, sir," said the boy. Rattleton did not take his eyes from the game while he tore open the envelope. Having opened it, he glanced hurriedly at the message, then jumped to his feet with a whistle. He had read:

"Come to Massachusetts General Hospital immediately when back from game.

"VARNUM."

"When does the next train leave for Boston?" he asked the boy.

"There is one in a few minutes," was the answer.

"Whoop it up for me, children," he said to the others, "I've got to leave. Come along, Blathers."

"Why, Jack, what's up?"

"I don't know. Varnum wants me," and he jumped to the ground, pulling the dog after him. "The poor devil may be dying for all I know," he added to himself, as he made for the gate; "but there is no need of spoiling their fun by telling 'em."

He stretched his long legs for the station at a rate that made his four-footed chum gallop to keep up with him. The train was just starting. As he jumped aboard, he heard, from the direction of Hampden Park, the distant roar of ten thousand throats. "Hear that?" he exclaimed to the brakeman, "either the game is over or Yale has scored." Not a very enlightening conclusion.

There was a dining-car on the train, and the sight of it reminded Jack that he had had no lunch. He did not need to be reminded that he was extremely thirsty also, and actually a little worn by the afternoon's excitement. He entered the moving restaurant, and with one of his accustomed happy thoughts at such moments, was about to order an attractive lunch and a pint of champagne. Suddenly it occurred to him that if that noise had gone up from the wrong side of Hampden Park, he had just twenty-five dollars to carry him over the Christmas vacation and through January. "Furthermore," he reflected, with a knowledge born of bitter experience, "if that is the Eli yell, there won't be a mother's son in Cambridge, that I know well enough to borrow from, who will have any thing to lend,--except perhaps old father Hol. I suppose he will step into the breach as usual and pay our car-fares, but he can't support the whole gang. Hang it, I wish I was on an allowance again; then the governor would pay my bills at Christmas and give me a blowing up. This being my own paymaster isn't what I expected when I was a Soph."

He concluded that a sandwich would support life until he got to Boston, where he could find a precarious credit. He also decided that beer was an excellent beverage, at any rate until he learned the result of the game. After this unusually prudent repast he pulled a cigar out of his pocket, and smoked it carefully in the thought that he might not have another like it for some time--at his own expense. However, he remembered consolingly that his half-colored meerschaum needed attention.

The moment Jack arrived in Boston he jumped into a herdic and drove straight to the hospital. He inquired for Varnum, and, after a little red tape had been untied, was shown into one of the public wards.

At the end of a long room on a narrow bed was Varnum, looking very white, his eyes closed. He opened them as Rattleton and the nurse approached softly, and his face seemed to light up a little when he saw Jack.

"How was the game?" he asked, faintly.

"Splendid. Harvard four, Yale nothing," answered Jack, promptly. He did not think it worth while to mention that he had left before the end.

"Yes, I know, old man; cut all that," broke in Jack. "Don't tire yourself talking. Is there anything I can do for you right away?"

"Yes. There is a sick boy at 62 Sloven Street. Tenement house. Jimmy Haggerty. I promised to see him. There is a can of wine-jelly and a book. They must have brought them here when they picked me up. Will you take them to him and tell him that I am laid up? It is not exactly in your line, Rattleton," he added, with a smile, "but it won't give you much trouble."

"You mustn't talk to him too long, sir," said the nurse.

"All right, I'll go right off. 62 Sloven St.--Haggerty. You make yourself easy, old man, I'll look after all your indigent kids for you, and I'll tell the other fellows you are here. I'll be back soon."

In answer to Rattleton's inquiries, the nurse told him how Varnum had been knocked down and run over by a runaway team in a narrow street. He had been brought to the hospital, and the doctors had at first thought his injuries fatal. Subsequent examination, however, had proved that his condition was not so serious. At his request the telegram had been sent to Rattleton. Jack left directions to have Varnum put in a private room when he could be moved, and every comfort given him. "And, by the way," he added, "don't let him know that there is any expense about it. If he objects, tell him the public wards are chuck-full; tell him there is small-pox in 'em; tell him any good lie that occurs to you. Send the bill to me."

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