The Jester of St. Timothy's Part 11

As the days went on, the sense of his isolation in the School became more oppressive. He had thought that if only the fellows would let him alone, he would be contented; he found that was not so. They let him alone now entirely; he envied those masters who were popular-whom boys liked to visit on Sunday evenings, who were consulted about contributions to the _Mirror_, the school paper, who were invited to meetings of the Stylus, the literary society, who coached the football elevens or went into the Gymnasium and did "stunts" with the boys on the flying rings.

One day when he was walking down to the athletic field with Mr. Barclay, he said something that hinted his wistful and unhappy state of mind.

Barclay had suspected it and had been waiting for such an opportunity.

"Why don't you make some interest for yourself which would put you on a footing with the boys-outside of the cla.s.s-room and the dormitory?" he asked.

"I wish I could. But how?"

"You ought to be able to work up an interest of some sort," said Barclay vaguely.

"I don't know anything about athletics; I'm not musical, I don't seem to be able to be entertaining and talk to the boys. I guess I'm just a grind. I shall never be of much use as a teacher; it's bad enough to feel that you're not up to your job. It's worse when it makes you feel that you're even less up to the job that you hoped to prepare for."

"How's that?"

"I meant to study law; I'd like to be a lawyer. But what's the use? If I can't learn to handle boys, how can I ever hope to handle men?-and that's what a lawyer has to do, I suppose."

"Look here," said Barclay. "You're still young; if you've learned what's the matter with you-and you seem to have-you've learned more than most fellows of your age. It's less than a month that you've been here, and you've never had any experience before in dealing with boys. Why should you expect to know it all at once?"

"I suppose there's something in that. But I feel that I haven't it in me ever to get on with them."

"You're doing better now than you did at first; they don't look on you entirely as a joke now, do they?"

"Perhaps not.-Oh," Irving broke out, "I know what the trouble is-I want to be liked-and I suppose I'm not the likeable kind."

Barclay did not at once dispute this statement, and Irving was beginning to feel hurt.

"The point is," said Barclay at last, "that to be liked by boys you've got to like them. If you hold off from them and distrust them and try to wrap yourself up in a cloak of dignity or mystery, they won't like you because they won't know you. If you show an interest in them and their interests, you can be as stern with them as justice demands, and they won't lay it up against you. But if you don't show an interest-why, you can't expect them to have an interest in you."

They turned a bend in the road; the athletic field lay spread out before them. In different parts of it half a dozen football elevens were engaged in practice; on the tennis courts near the athletic house boys in white trousers and sweaters were playing; on the track encircling the football field other boys more lightly clad were sprinting or jogging round in practice for long-distance runs; a few sauntered about as spectators, with hands in their overcoat pockets.

"There," said Barclay, indicating a group of these idle observers, "you can at least do that."

"But what's the use?"

"Make yourself a critic; pick out eight or ten fellows to watch especially. In football or tennis or running. It doesn't much matter. If they find you're taking an intelligent interest in what they're doing, they'll be pleased. Westby, for instance, is running; he's entered for the hundred yards in the fall games,-likely to win it, too. Westby's your greatest trial, isn't he? Then why don't you make a point of watching him?-Not too obviously, of course. Come round with me; I'm coaching some of the runners for the next half-hour, and then Collingwood wants me to give his ends a little instruction."

"Dear me! If I'd only been an athlete instead of a student in college!"

sighed Irving whimsically.

"You don't need to be much of an athlete to coach; I never was so very much," confided Barclay. "But there are things you can learn by looking on." They had reached the edge of the track; Barclay clapped his hands.

"No, no, Roberts!" The boy who was practising the start for a sprint looked up. "You mustn't reel all over the track that way when you start; you'd make a foul. Keep your elbows in, and run straight."

Irving followed Barclay round and tried to grasp the significance of his comments. Dennison came by at a trot.

"Longer stride, Dennison! Your running's choppy! Lengthen out, lengthen out! That's better.-I have it!"

Barclay turned suddenly to Irving.

"What?"

"The thing for you to do. We'll make you an official at the track games next week. That will give you a standing at once-show everybody that you are really a keen follower of sport-or want to be."

"But what can I do? I suppose an official has to do something."

"You can be starter. That will put you right in touch with the fellows that are entered."

"Would I have a revolver? I've never fired a gun off in my life."

"Then it's time you did. Of course you'll have a revolver. And you'll be the noisiest, most important man on the field. That's what you need to make yourself; wake the fellows up to what you really are!-Now I must be off to my football men; you'd better hang round here and pick up what you can about running. And remember-you're to act as starter."

"If you'll see me through."

"I'll see you through."

Barclay waved his hand and swung off across the field.

CHAPTER VI

THE PENALTY FOR A FOUL

How it was managed Irving did not know, but on the morning of the day when the fall handicap track games were held Scarborough lingered after the Sixth Form Geometry cla.s.s. Scarborough was president of the Athletic a.s.sociation.

"We want somebody to act as starter for the races this afternoon, Mr.

Upton," said Scarborough. "I wondered if you would help us out."

"I should be delighted," said Irving. "I've not had much experience-"

"Oh, it's easy enough; Mr. Barclay, I guess, can tell you all that has to be done. Thank you very much."

It was quite as if Irving was the one who was conferring the favor; he liked Scarborough for the way in which the boy had made the suggestion.

He always had liked him, for Scarborough had never given any trouble; he seemed more mature than most of the boys, more mature even than Louis Collingwood. He was not so popular, because he maintained a certain dignity and reserve; even Westby seemed to stand somewhat in awe of Scarborough. He was, as Irving understood, the best oarsman in the school, captain of the school crew, besides being the crack shot-putter and hammer-thrower; if he and Collingwood had together chosen to throw their influence against a new master, life would indeed have been hard.

But Scarborough's att.i.tude had been one of entire indifference; he would stand by and smile sometimes when Westby was engaged in chaffing Irving, and then, as if tired of it, he would turn his back and walk away.

Irving visited Barclay at his house during the noon recess, borrowed his revolver, and received the last simple instructions.

"Make sure always that they're all properly 'set' before you fire. If there's any fouling at the start, you can call them back and penalize the fellow that fouled-a yard to five yards, according to your discretion. But there's not likely to be any fouling; in most of the events the fellows are pretty well separated by their handicaps."

"I'll be careful," said Irving. He inspected the revolver. "It's all loaded?"

"Yes-and there are some blank cartridges. Now, you're all equipped. If any questions come up-I'll be down at the field; I'm to be one of the judges and you can call on me."

At luncheon Irving entered into the talk about the sports to come, without giving any intimation as to the part which he was to play.

"They've given Heath only thirty yards over Lou Collingwood," complained Westby.