Grannis of the fifth : a story of St. Timothy's

Front matter

ao ee |

SRANNIS OF.

HE. PITH

Contents

Pov ie HE END OF THE YEAR (0 5e ces, iw Qla ge

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Wie 4 Nye !

Chapter I

Ir was the 14th of September, the day before the opening of the autumn term at St. Timothy’s School. The morning train from New York had just arrived; the station platform was crowded; excited family groups hastened this way and that, in search of baggage or carriages; pink-faced boys of twelve and'smartly dressed youths of sixteen were walking beside their parents — for all the boys arriving on this day were new to St. Timothy’s, and few of them were making this first journey unaccompanied.

There was one, however, Alfred Grannis by name, who was not only alone, but lonely. He was one of the older boys, tall and slim, with gray eyes and sensitive lips; he was in black, and wore a mourning-band on his hat. The somberness of his clothes accented the wistfulness in his eyes as he glanced about at the eager

I family groups— heard a father exclaiming, “Come along now, Bill!” and a mother sighing, “Dear me, Charley, I’m sorry to get to the end of this journey!” The pang that was always in his heart in these days sprang into more painful life when he heard the words and saw the actions that showed an affectionate companionship between parents and their boys. Small twins flanking their mother and clinging each to an arm, while their father marched in front, passed by; Grannis followed them with his eyes, swallowed hard— and then suddenly turned and went to look for a carriage.

“Hotel or school?” asked the driver.

“School,” said Grannis.

It was a pleasant, warm September morning; the sun was shining down through the elms that arched the streets of the clean New England town; the leaves were green, the salvias and dahlias were in bloom in the gardens, and clusters of red barberries hung in the hedgerows. Sitting lonely on the rear seat of the open carriage, Grannis looked about him and thought how joyous, how exciting his arrival at St. Timothy’s on such a day as this might have been.

It was a good horse behind which he was driving, and at the top of the second hill after leaving the town, he passed a carriage that contained three persons whom he had seen in the train. They were obviously husband and wife and son; the man was tall, big, red-faced, and flashily dressed; a diamond pin sparkled in his necktie. He directed a glance of annoyance at Grannis’s driver and then at Grannis; he was clearly one of those men who do not like to be passed on the road. His wife, a large, expensive-looking woman, seemed better natured, and sat beaming pride and affection at the youth on the opposite seat of the victoria. He had, like his father, a large, red, confident face — large blue eyes, a large nose, and a large chin. Lounging in the seat, he accepted the homage of his mother’s gaze complacently. While Grannis was passing, he turned his eyes on him in a stare of curiosity.

Grannis wondered what sort of fellow he was, and decided that he might be conceited. He did not think about him long, for soon the driver pointed out the towers of St. Timothy’s, showing among the trees beyond a valley; and from that time until they drew up in front of the gabled red brick building known as the Study, Grannis sat forward and looked about in eager expectancy.

The driver, who had ushered many a new boy into St. Timothy’s, pointed with his whip to a second-story window.

“You go up one flight, turn to the left, and you’ll find Dr. Davenport in there,” he said. “He’ll tell you what building you’re to live he Wid

Grannis crossed the gravel court and mounted the stairs. Upon the screen door of Dr. Davenport’s office was hung a sign, “Walk In.” Obeying the injunction, Grannis found himself in a comfortable study, with many shelves of books, a desk, and a number of straight-backed chairs. The room was unoccupied, but through the open door into an adjoining room Grannis saw a stout, middle-aged clergyman, who glanced out and nodded to him in a friendly way. The clergyman had a ruddy face, gray hair, anda gray mustache; he was talking to some people whom Grannis could not see, but who were evidently a father and mother placing their young son in the school. Grannis sat down and waited, and presently he heard the sound of slow ascending footsteps on the stairs.

In a few moments the trio whom he had passed on the road made their entrance — the father of the family first. He gazed round, looked into the inner room, and then, with another distinct glance of annoyance at Grannis, sat down and pulled out his watch. His wife and son seated themselves beside him, and they all concentrated their eyes on Grannis — with no intent to embarrass him, and with no special interest in his presence, but simply because he was the most obvious object in the room on which to fix their attention. Grannis employed himself under this observation in revolving slowly a large globe that was at hand, and in feeling the smooth oceans and the rough mountain ranges. After a little while the father of the family began to snap the cover of his watch impatiently.

Presently Dr. Davenport ushered his other visitors out of his office and bade them good-bye. No sooner had he finished with them than the big man was on his feet.

“Dr. Davenport?” he began, and made as if to accompany the rector into the inner room.

Dr. Davenport said, “In just one moment, please; you’ll excuse me for just one moment.” And then he turned to Grannis, and said, kindly, ‘‘I think you were waiting to see me next?”

Grannis stood up. ‘Yes, sir, but I’m in no hurry. I don’t mind waiting. After you, sir.”

The last words he addressed to the man whom Dr. Davenport had left discomfited and frowning, and who now took prompt advantage of this courtesy.

“T am Mr. Todd, Dr. Davenport, — Mrs. Todd, — my son, Daniel, about whom we have had some correspondence.”

The rector shook hands with each member of the family, and escorted them into the inner office. There Mr. Todd discoursed so loudly about his son Daniel that Grannis, as well as the rector, was soon acquainted with the youth’s merits and attainments. He was no great scholar, but he had a good level head on his shoulders, sound common sense, which was better than book-learning for most purposes; he was a chip of the old block. Some day he would be the head of the biggest glass plant in eastern Ohio.

~ “T employ twenty-five hundred men,” Mr. Todd informed the rector, and, incidentally, Grannis. ‘“Daniel’s the only son, and will inherit the business. Naturally, I want him to have a gentleman’s education. If he’s treated right, I shall be disposed to do something handsome by the school.”’

“Of course we give no boy special privileges,” replied the rector, quickly. “Every boy who enters must conform to the discipline.”

“T understand, I understand.”” Mr. 'Todd’s voice was sonorously tolerant. ‘‘But this restriction that you have on automobiles — my boy Daniel has two machines, a big touringcar and a runabout, and there’s no better operator in the State of Ohio. 'To my mind, it’s an excellent thing for a boy to run a machine — teaches him self-reliance and gets him interested in mechanics; and I should be glad if you’d make an exception, therefore, in my boy Daniel’s case, and let him have his runabout, at least.”

“T’m sorry, Mr. Todd; it’s out of the question. No special privileges for any boy. We have a machine-shop here, if Daniel is interested in mechanics; and self-reliance is a thing that he can learn in other ways — if he has not already acquired it, as I suspect.”” ‘The rector took the edge off his refusal with a genial laugh.

“T don’t mind about the automobile,” said Daniel, speaking for himself for the first time, and in a curiously gruff voice. “But what I want to know is, what are my chances for playing football?”

The rector laughed again. “They’ll have to be tested on the field,” he said.

“The point is,’ explained Mr. Todd, seriously, “my boy Daniel is a remarkable football-player. But I don’t know that, being a newcomer here, he’ll be given much of a show. Now I’d like to have it understood that if he plays on the team it will be worth while for the athletics of this school. I’Il do something for ’em.”’

“That’s generous of you,” remarked the rector. “‘] am not one of the authorities on football. But I have no doubt that Daniel will be given every chance to show what he can do. Now I have reserved a place for him at the Upper School, — he seems likely to enter the fifth form, — and if you will go over there, Mr. Randolph, who is the master in charge, will show you his quarters. Good-bye, Mrs. Todd; I’m very glad to have met you. Daniel, you and I will see more of each other.”

The interview was clearly at an end; Mrs. Todd and Daniel emerged, but Mr. Todd still detained the rector in the other room to say something — presumably of a financial nature — in a lower tone. Mrs. ‘Todd smiled at Grannis, and came over to him.

“You’re a well-brought-up, nice-mannered boy,” she said, “‘to let us go in ahead of you. Mr. Todd’s such an impatient man — always in a rush. I hope you and Daniel will be friends.”

“T hope so. My name’s Alfred Grannis.”

“And you’re a new boy here, too?”’

ely EG.7”

“And you’ve come all by yourself!” Mrs. Todd looked at him with sympathetic, understanding eyes, and he braced himself to meet some painful questioning. But it did not come, and he liked her for sparing him. “We live in Ohio,” said Mrs. Todd. “Do you live as far away as that?”

“Yarther; Wisconsin.”

“What a long trip for you to make all by yourself! When you go back, you must have Daniel keep you company as far as Ohio. I hope you boys will like it here.”

““I’m sure we shall,” declared Grannis.

“1 ain’t,” said Daniel.

“Now, Daniel, don’t say that.”” His mother looked unhappy. “Of course you’re going to like it.” |

Daniel thrust out his naturally too protrusive lower lip and spun Dr. Davenport’s large globe with his blunt fingers. His mother, after gazing at him with affection and apprehension, touched Grannis’s arm and drew him aside, while her son continued to spin the globe.

““He’s always been a home boy,” she whispered to him. “That’s why he feels so. Do help him all you can.”

Grannis promised, although he felt that Mrs. Todd had somehow misconceived the nature of her offspring. At that moment Mr. Todd appeared, watch in hand, and after bidding the rector farewell, hastily led his family away.

Dr. Davenport came over to Grannis and took his hand, and the boy, looking into the rector’s keen and friendly blue eyes, felt that he was in the presence of one who might sometimes be stern, but who would always be just.

“T think I can guess who you are,” said Dr. Davenport. “You’re Alfred Grannis — yes, I was sure of it. My boy, I came as rector to St. Timothy’s after your father’s time. There is still one of the masters here who knew him — Mr. Dean. You will find memorials of him on every hand — in the schoolroom, in the athletic house, in the Library. I hope you will love the school first for your father’s sake, and then for its own.”

“Yes, sir. My father loved it. He — he was looking forward to coming on here with me.” Grannis’s voice choked for an instant, and then he went bravely on: “That was a nice letter you wrote me, Dr. Davenport.”

“Your father and mother came here on their wedding trip,” said Dr. Davenport. “That was during my first year as rector. I liked them very much; I have always remembered them. I’m very glad to meet their son.” He laid his hand on Grannis’s shoulder. “You’re going into the fifth form, I believe; that, I know, was your father’s idea.”

“T think I’m qualified for it.”

II

“‘Good. I have reserved a room for you at the Upper School; in fact,”—he consulted a schedule, — “it’s next to the room allotted to young Todd, who was here just now. You and he’? — Dr. Davenport’s eyes twinkled — “‘can help each other to get started right, and if ever anything troubles you, come to me.”

The Upper School crowned the little hill, at the foot of which were the Study and the Chapel. It was a large and handsome brick dormitory, built round three sides of a square; in the center of the court was a bit of lawn, partly inclosed in shrubbery. Driving up to the entrance, Grannis had a survey of the school; the Chapel tower and the Study roof showed above the maples of the road; nearer at hand was the Lower School, a red brick building of the Georgian type; it stood near the margin of a little pond, the farther shore of which was bordered by a forest of tall pines. Roofs of other buildings rose here and there among the trees; maples and elms were planted close along the roads, and thick woods covered the neighboring hills.

“T?ll leave your trunk at the back door; it will be taken up to your room,” said the driver;

so Grannis paid him, climbed the steps, and entered the dormitory hall. It was large and high-studded, with a tiled floor and an enormous brick fireplace; on one side of the fireplace was a high-backed oak settle, and a bald young man sat there, reading a book. He rose and came forward to meet Grannis; he was a stout, rubicund person, and he had a merry eye.

“Welcome, stranger!’ was his greeting. **And who may you be?”’

Grannis introduced himself.

“Oh, yes, we’ve been expecting you,” said the master. “I’m Mr. Randolph; I have charge of this dormitory. I’m glad to see you, Grannis. We’re always glad to see the sons of alumni. We have a feeling that they’ll be less trouble than fellows without traditions. But you can’t always tell. We’ll watch you, just the same.”

Talking thus briskly, with many little sidewise glances and nods of the head, Mr. Randolph took Grannis up one flight of stairs, and led the way along a corridor.

“Your next-door neighbor arrived a few moments ago — named Todd. He’s unpacking now; would you like to meet him?”’

“T have met him,” said Grannis — “in Dr. Davenport’s study.”

At that moment a door down the corridor opened, and a sound of kissing and sobbing issued forth. It was followed by the words, in a woman’s voice, “Good-bye, Daniel, dear! You’ll write often, won’t you?” Then Mr. Todd emerged into the corridor, and after him Mrs. Todd, with her handkerchief pressed to her eyes. They both hurried past the master and the boy without speaking. Mr. Todd’s face was working with emotion, and his wife was clinging to him blindly, with her eyes still hidden in her handkerchief.

A moment later Grannis glanced through Todd’s open door, and saw him, coatless and collarless, digging into the bowelsof a huge trunk; garments were already strewn on the bed. ‘Todd glanced up, and seeing the passers-by, nodded. Mr. Randolph paused, and Grannis with him.

“You don’t waste much time, do you, Todd?” said Mr. Randolph.

“Tf the old man had n’t been in such a rush, my mother would have helped me put away this junk,” Todd replied. if

‘© THAT’S A MIGHTY GOOD TENNIS-BAT, TODD”’

He took a tennis-racket out of its case, swung it, and laid it on the bed.

“May I see it?” Mr. Randolph stepped inside, picked up the racket, and swung it also. *“That’s a mighty good tennis bat, Todd.”

“Yes,” Todd answered indifferently. “I never have anything but the best.”

The master glanced at him sharply. ‘‘You’re lucky,’”’ he commented. “I’m sure of one _ thing; you’re going to have the best of neighbors. Grannis, here, is to be next door.”

‘"That’s good.” Todd straightened up and looked across at Grannis. ‘‘I don’t much care to have my mother make my friends for me, but I guess you’re all right.”

“Thank you!” Grannis laughed; Todd, he thought, was an odd fish, and amusing. ‘“‘l don’t mind how I make my friends — so long as they’re friends.”

There was the sound of carriage-wheels on the gravel below Todd’s open window.

“There are your parents driving away, Todd!” exclaimed Mr. Randolph. ‘‘Wave to them !”’

“Oh, I’ve said good-bye,” Todd replied, and he began again diligently to ransack his trunk.

Mr. Randolph turned abruptly. “Come, Grannis, I’ll show you your room,” he said.

Grannis, following him, did not wonder at his obvious disapproval. To him, Todd’s cold-heartedness seemed incomprehensible. A moment before he had been on the point of liking the fellow; now he felt that there was nothing likable about him.

He forgot about Todd in the interest of examining his room; it had a bay window, with red-cushioned window-seats, left by some former occupant, that gave it a comfortable look, in spite of its bareness in other respects. There were an iron bed, an oak table, a white bureau, an iron washstand, and two straight-backed chairs.

“The bathrooms are at the end of the corridor,”’ said Mr. Randolph. “I hope that youll be comfortable here. If you find yourself in need of anything, come to me, and perhaps | can tell you how to get it. Your trunk will be sent up to you at once.”

The master withdrew; and Grannis, after taking another survey of his apartment, and inspecting the small closet, went over to the window-seat. As he gazed out, he saw an open carriage turn from the dormitory avenue into the main road; and then he noticed that one of the occupants was waving a handkerchief toward the dormitory. With a sudden flash of insight, he glanced to the right out of his bay window, and had a moment’s glimpse of ‘Todd, hanging across his window-sill, and waving a towel out toward the carriage in great commanding sweeps.

Grannis slipped quickly into the back part of his room, with a sudden warm and tender feeling for Todd in his heart. The boy’s reluctance to make any demonstration of sentiment in the presence of others, or at the suggestion of a master, was now not so incomprehensible, after all.

In a few minutes, Grannis was unpacking his trunk —a task that he performed with great celerity. When he had finished, he went forth to seek for those memorials of his father of which Dr. Davenport had spoken.

Chapter II

WueEn Grannis stepped out into the corridor, the door of 'Todd’s room was still open; Todd himself stood over a heap of shirts, practicing strokes with his tennis-racket.

“Say, Grannis,” he called, “do you play tennis?”

SA esa litte:

“Do you play well?”

“Why, I don’t know!” Grannis laughed. ‘Just a fair game, I guess. I like to play.”

*“‘T thought if you were any good, I’d take you on sometime. I wonder who is the best player in the school? I want to tackle him.”

“You must be pretty good,” said Grannis.

“Well, I guess I ought to be. My father built a court for me that cost two thousand dollars. I won the championship of our Country Club this summer.”

Grannis looked at him with undisguised interest. He had never before heard a boy boast so freely, frankly, and cheerfully. Todd swept his racket down through the air in the motion of a twist service, and swung it forward again on a long underhand drive. He was engrossed in his technique; of himself he seemed at the moment utterly unconscious.

“It looks to me as if I was n’t in your class at all,” Grannis said; his eyes twinkled. ‘But until you find out who is the best player in the school, maybe I can give you some amusement.”

““Come on; put on your tennis things and we’ll see where the courts are right now, and have a game.”

Grannis liked his enthusiasm, and said, reluctantly: a

“T have n’t any tennis shoes. If there’s a place here where I can buy a pair —”

“Run down and ask Mr. Randolph,” Todd said authoritatively. “‘Of course there must be.”’

Grannis hesitated. He could make his explorations and find the traces of his father’s career at St. Timothy’s at any time; still, he had thought that would be the first thing he would do. But a glance at Todd’s eager, expectant face persuaded him.

“All right,” he said, and he hurried away.

But his inquiry was without avail. The school store, at which tennis shoes were purchasable, would not be opened until the next day, and the tennis-courts were not yet made ready for use. Grannis returned to Todd with this unfavorable report.

“T don’t think much of that,” was Todd’s comment. “‘Well, wait a moment till I put on a collar, and then we’ll go out and see what kind of a place we’ve struck.”

' Grannis would have preferred to make his explorations alone; in the company of another, there would be something perhaps to interrupt the reverent interest with which he would like to pause in places that bore some record of his father. But he could not churlishly refuse Todd’s company, and soon, as they walked together down the road, he found himself enjoying it. Todd was an easy person to strike an acquaintance with; he had so little modesty in talking about himself. He did not in any way veil his appreciation of his abilities; he liked to discourse of them, and his interest in those of his new-found friend was quite perfunctory. Grannis found him more and more entertaining and extraordinary.

- “T can chin myself seventeen times,” Todd remarked, when together they viewed the interior of the Gymnasium. “I wonder if they have a strength-testing machine here? I bet I’m stronger than any fellow of my weight in the school.”

i “They’ve got some rowing-machines, anyway,” said Grannis, peering down the stairs into the basement.

“Rowing? Well, I don’t know whether I’d care for that or not. I’d rather play baseball; I caught on the nine at Lake Minnetonka this summer. We played eight games, and I had only four bases stolen on me.”

“You must have had a good infield,” said Grannis, more for his own amusement than for Todd’s.

“Oh, the infield was good enough. But a catcher has to have a great throwing arm to make a record like that.”

“TI wonder if you could hold my curves?” said Grannis.

Todd looked at him to see if he was joking. Grannis’s face was serious and speculative.

“Are you a pitcher?”’

“T pitched on our school team in Milwaukee.”

Todd looked him over critically. ‘‘You’re so slim, — you look too nervous, — likely to blow up in some inning. I bet I could hold you steady, though. I never had a pitcher go up in the air with me yet. Would n’t it be great if we were the St. Timothy’s battery this year?”

“It would be pretty fine,’ Grannis admitted, “but unlikely. You’re going to try for everything, are n’t you?”

“They ’ve got a medal here for the best all-round’ athlete. I’m going to try for that,” Todd said frankly.

Grannis was beginning already to feel very desirous of seeing such an athlete perform.

It was natural enough that after inspecting the Gymnasium they should ask the way to the athletic field. The path led off from the Laboratory down through a thicket of maples and birches some distance behind the rector’s house; it followed a little stream, and at last crossed it on an old bridge that was a mass of carved names and initials; and then, ascending a slope through the trees, it emerged at one side of a fine large playing-ground. There were a number of tennis-courts; beyond them a green oval encircled by a quarter-mile cinder track; and beyond that a baseball-field. Grannis and ‘Todd walked over the tennis-courts, and pronounced the surface: good; stamped upon the track, and wished that they were in “spikes”? and running-clothes to test it; admired the smooth, green oval, and passing over to the baseball-field, stood, each in turn, upon the home plate.

“Would n’t you like to knock one, with the bases full, clean over into those willows in left field!”? exclaimed Todd. “I made a home run in the last game our team played this summer. I tell you, it feels good when you meet the ball hard like that!’’

They turned their steps to the athletic house, a white building with an Attic portico that presided in dignity over the now silent playingfields. The door was open, and they entered a spacious locker-room; they prowled round, looking at the names on some of the cards; they investigated the showers and dryingrooms; then they climbed the stairs to the trophy hall. Here were panels on which were inscribed the names of victorious teams and crews, old footballs bearing the scores of bygone games, silver cups, prize bats, and oars.

Grannis went round in eager search of the records of his father’s time, and soon stood before a panel that commemorated a football victory. ‘Todd, standing beside him and running down the list of names, suddenly exclaimed: —

“Hello! There’s your name, Grannis! Alfred Grannis! See!”

“Yes. That’s my father. He played left end on the team.”

Grannis’s voice was low; there was a musing look in his eyes as he gazed at the names.

“Are you in mourning for your father?” Todd asked the question in a tone that for him was unwontedly subdued.

“For my father and my mother both. They were killed a month ago in a railway accident.”

“Oh, I’m awfully sorry.” Todd put his arm across Grannis’s shoulders, and Grannis felt a rush of kindly emotion at this evidence of warm-heartedness. The next instant Todd had spoiled it all. ‘‘Where was it? How did it happen?” he asked, unable to disguise his interest in so sensational an event.

“Out West. The rails spread, the train rolled down an embankment. I can’t talk about it.”

Todd, undismayed, pressed for information.

“Were you with them?”

Ves.”

‘And you were n’t hurt?”

FING.”

“It must have been frightful,” said Todd. He paused, in the hope that Grannis might volunteer further details, and when he did not, said, tentatively, “I suppose at the time you hardly realized it?”

Without replying, Grannis moved away. He passed slowly round the room, with Todd following at his elbow, but he saw nothing of the objects at which he looked; his eyes were trying vainly to shut out those horrible, heartrending sights. ‘To have that experience made the subject of morbid questioning was intolerable. He suddenly rushed down the stairs; he heard 'Todd’s surprised shout, “Say, where are you off to? Wait for me!’ But he did not wait, he did not answer, and some understanding must have penetrated ‘Todd’s mind; at any rate, Grannis hurried along the path through the woods unpursued.

He did not feel any resentment against Todd, but he wished he had done what he had first planned — visited all alone the places hallowed for him by his father’s memory. He would lose no more time and take no more chances of too intrusive companionship. The rector had mentioned the schoolroom and the Library; to those places he now turned.

The schoolroom occupied most of the first floor of the building in which Dr. Davenport had his office. It was a large, light room, with long windows on either side that reached almost to the lofty ceiling. It was filled with yellow varnished desks and yellow chairs, arranged with a mathematical exactness, rank upon rank. At the end of the room toward which the desks all faced was a tall clock on which hundreds of weary youths had cast longing eyes, and on which hundreds of others were to gaze. On either side of it stalls were set into the walls; these, so Grannis came later to understand, were for the benefit of the sixth form, those enviable persons who had the privilege of studying in their rooms, and who visited the schoolroom only to hear the morning reports and the weekly marks. At one side of the room was a platform, on which stood the master’s desk. Above it, on the wall, was 26 inscribed in illuminated letters the motto of St. Timothy’s:—

Grannis walked up one aisle and down another, looking at the marble busts in the niches, at the framed engravings, and wondering where was the memorial of which Dr. Davenport had spoken. Halfway down the farther aisle he stopped; there, set in the wall, were three tablets, on which were engraved the names of the Herndon scholars, with the year of each. Near the top of the first tablet, under the year 1881, thename of Alfred Grannis was recorded.

Grannis remembered now the day when his father had told him of winning this honor. It had been only a couple of months ago, and his father had referred to it somewhat lightly as the surprising award made to him by the rector at the close of his sixth-form year. Grannis had asked then what the Herndon Prize was, and his father had taken owt a gold medal from a bureau drawer. “It’s given every year to the sixth-former whose general all-round work makes the best impression on the rector,” he said. “It isn’t wholly a question of marks. I guess when it was given to me it was one of the rector’s mistakes.” Helaughed as he handed the medal over for his son to examine it.