Cupid of Campion

A boat-landing, projecting quite a distance into the river, the property of the Jesuit Fathers at Campion, was awaiting the daring youth from which to dive.

He was at the further end of it in a trice, kicked off his shoes and stockings, and with the amazing rapidity of small boys when so inclined, was disrobed in almost the time it takes to tell it. With the slight delay of making a hurried but fervent sign of the cross, John took a header, rose, struck out vigorously, and having reached a distance midway between the landing and Campion Island, threw himself contentedly on his back and floated in an ecstasy of satisfaction.

“Ah!” he sighed, “how I wish I could stay right here till dinner time.”

Presently he turned over quietly, and as his ears rose above the water, he thought he heard a splash a little above him. Beating with hands and feet, he raised himself as high as he could out of the water and looked in the direction whence the sound came.

Was that a hand – two hands – was it the head of a swimmer? John was puzzled. Even as he looked, the supposed head seemed to disappear. John swam towards the spot. As he drew near – there could be no mistake that time – a human head rose to the surface and almost at once disappeared again! Frantically John swam forward. As he came close to the place where the head disappeared, a slight bubbling on the water’s surface caught his eye. Throwing himself forward with one almost super-human stroke, John reached down with his foremost hand – the right – and caught an arm. Up there came to the surface the face of a boy, lips ghastly blue, face deathly pale, corn-flower blue eyes that opened for a moment and, even as the tongue gasped out, “Help me, for God’s sake,” closed again.

Putting his hand under the body of the unresisting boy, John Rieler made for the shore. It was an easy rescue. The boy on his arm was unconscious and John Rieler was as much at home in the water as it is possible for any creature short of the amphibious to be.

On getting the boy to land, he lifted him upon the wooden platform of the pier, turned him on his back, raised him up by the feet, and satisfied that the strangers lungs were not filled with water, rolled him over face upward and caught him vigorously on both sides between the ribs.

“Stop your tickling, Jock,” came a weak voice. Eyes of blue, much bluer than the swimming suit of their owner, opened and shut again.

“Say, you’re not dead, are you?”

“Of course, I’m dead,” replied the blue-eyed one sitting up. “If I weren’t, do you think I’d be talking to you?”

“I – I – thought you were drowned.”

“Well, I’m not. How did I get here?”

“I fished you out. You were bobbing up and down there, and I just managed to get you as you went under for the last time, I suppose. How do you feel now?”

“Hungry,” said the other, arising.

“Who are you anyhow?”

“I’m Clarence Esmond. Say, I’m starving!” And Clarence took a few steps with some difficulty.

John Rieler thought quickly, dressing rapidly as he did so.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said earnestly. “You come with me till we get to Campion College. I’d like to bring you in myself; but I don’t see how I can do it without getting into trouble. Come on now; you’re cold, aren’t you?”

“Numb to the bone.”

“Here take my coat till we get to the College. There – that’ll warm you up some. Can you run?”

“I can try.”

“That’ll warm you some more.” With this John Rieler put his arm about Clarence and swept him up the shore.

Clarence was exhausted; but the strong arm of the boy held him securely and so the twain made their way at a brisk trot.

“Now, look here,” said Rieler as they reached the end of the street, and stood within a few feet of the Campion faculty residence, “you give me that coat; I’m going in by the back way. You walk straight on to where you see those steps. You go up those steps and ring the bell. The Brother will come, and you just tell him you’re hungry and you want to see the Rector. Good-bye. Don’t tell anyone you saw me. My name’s John Rieler. Now be sure and do just what I tell you and keep mum.”

“Thank you. I – I can’t talk. Good-bye.”

When the Brother-porter came to the door in response to the bell a moment later, he jumped back at sight of the apparition in the blue swimming suit.

“Ach Himmel!” he exclaimed, clasping his hands. The Brother was not an Irishman.

“Please, sir, I’m hungry and I want to see the Rector.”

“Come – this way.”

Following his startled and disturbed guide, Clarence was escorted into the parlor.

“Sit down while I go for the Rector,” and saying something that sounded like “Grosser Gott,” the Brother left Clarence shivering in a chair and surveying his new surroundings.

“Oh, Father Rector,” cried the porter as he opened the President’s door, “there’s a boy in the parlor who’s hungry and wants to see you.”

The Reverend Rector, busy with the morning’s mail, raised his head and said:

“A new pupil, I suppose.”

“I – I – think not,” answered the Brother, fidgeting upon his feet.

“Why, what are you so excited about?”

“He – he’s dressed only in a swimming suit. It’s blue.”

“Oh, he is. Well, at any rate,” said the Rector, inscrutable of face, “he’s brought his trunks along.”

“No, Father, he’s brought nothing but his swimming suit.”

“Exactly; he’s brought his trunks along. Think about it, Brother, and you’ll see I’m right.”

The good Brother has thought about it many a time since that day. He does not see it yet.

When, a few moments later, the President of Campion College stepped into the parlor, he, too, prepared though he had been, was startled beyond measure. He did not, however, manifest any sign of his feelings. Long experience in boarding schools had given him the power of preserving stoical immobility under circumstances no matter how extraordinary.

It was not, as he had expected, a boy in a bathing suit that confronted his gaze, but a creature wrapped from head to foot, Indian-like, in a table covering, predominantly red, appropriated, as was evident, from the center-table of the parlor.

CHAPTER XII

In which Clarence relieves the reader of all possible doubts concerning his ability as a trencherman, and the Reverend Rector of Campion reads disastrous news

Throwing up the window-shades, the President hurried over to the boy, who had arisen at his entrance, and took a sharp look at the blue lips and the pallid face.

“Sit down,” he said, “and wait till I come back.”

Father Keenan, who at that time happened to be President of Campion College, bolted from the room – a most undignified thing for a Rector to do. On his way out, he detected hanging on a chair in the obscurest corner of the parlor the dripping “trunks” which were still puzzling the good porter. That much-perturbed man was standing outside in anticipation of further orders.

“Brother, go to the refectory and tell the refectorian to get up a quick breakfast for a hungry boy. Then go to the clothes-keeper and get a complete outfit of clothes for a fourteen-year-old and have them in the parlor inside of ten minutes. If the clothes-keeper says he hasn’t any, tell him to steal them.”

The words were not well out of Father Keenan’s mouth when he was dashing along the corridor. The infirmary was close at hand, and the infirmarian in his office.

“Here quick, drink this down,” cried the Rector a moment later, putting to the young Indian’s mouth a small glass of cognac.

Clarence swallowed it at a gulp, whereupon while he coughed and choked and sputtered, the Rector, a veritable Good Samaritan, threw a heavy overcoat, which he had brought with him, over the flaming table cover.

“Does it burn?” asked the Rector, referring not to the coat but the cognac.

“I – I’m not a regular drinker,” said the youth wrapping the coat about him and breaking into the ghost of his old smile.

“This way, now,” continued Father Keenan, catching the boy’s arm; and he led him into the corridor.

The boy’s steps were faltering, and the Rector at once, noticing his weakness, caught him about the waist much as John Rieler had done, and bundled him into the refectory.

“This way, Father,” said the refectorian, trying to look as though he were accustomed to feeding bare-legged boys attired in table-covers and winter overcoats in summer-time; and the “Squire,” as he was popularly known among the students of Campion, pointed to a seat in front of which waited a plate of toast, a juicy bit of beefsteak and a huge slice of cornbread.

At sight of the food, Clarence slipped from the Rector’s grasp and fell unbidden into the seat.

For the next five minutes he showed that in the matter of eating he was perfectly able to take care of himself.

The Rector and the Squire interrupted their observation of the much occupied youth by gazing at each other now and then and exchanging smiles of wonder and admiration.

“If you’re thinking of coming to school here, my boy,” observed the Rector, when Clarence had disposed of all the beefsteak and most of the toast and three-fourths of the cornbread, “I fancy we’ll have to board you on the European plan.”

Clarence lifted his eyes and smiled in his old way.

“Excuse haste and an empty stomach,” he said.

The Rector laughed in a manner most undignified. In fact, he was so undignified, be it said, that everybody respected him.

“What makes you so hungry?” he asked.

“Because I’ve eaten nothing since ten o’clock yesterday morning.”

“Where on earth have you been?”

“I was with gypsies till yesterday evening; but I left without taking my supper.”

“Who in the world are you?”

“My name is Clarence Esmond. About a week ago I was over at McGregor – ”

“Halloa!” cried the Rector. “Why, they’re dragging the river for you.”

“They might as well stop; it’s no use,” said Clarence, taking the last piece of toast and looking regretfully at the empty beefsteak dish.

“My, but this is an adventure!” exclaimed the President. “So you’re not a moist corpse after all.”

The Squire’s eyes were sticking out of his head.

“If you were only dead,” he said to Clarence, “you’d be worth a thousand dollars to me.”

“I’m sorry I can’t please everybody,” said the youth, taking up the last slab of cornbread. “Am I expected to apologize for being alive?”

“Did you sleep last night?” continued the Rector.

“How could I? I was in the river most of the time.”

“But the river,” said the Rector, “has a very fine bed.”

Clarence broke into laughter.

“Thank you so much, sir,” he said, “I never, never, never enjoyed a meal so much in all my born days.”

“You’re welcome,” said Father Keenan. He turned to the wide-eyed squire, adjuring that thoroughly excited young man to go see whether the complete outfit of clothing were awaiting Clarence in the parlor. Their talk was brief; but when Father Keenan turned to address Clarence, the lad’s head was sunk upon his breast. He was sound asleep.

“Never mind about those clothes, Squire; or, rather, have them sent over to the infirmary.” Saying which, Father Keenan took Clarence, including table-cover and coat, in his arms, and conveyed him to the infirmary, where, warmly wrapped in a comfortable bed, he slept unbrokenly till after five o’clock in the afternoon.

Returning to his room, the Rector took up the morning paper. In examining the mail, he had, when Clarence’s arrival interrupted him, noticed the large headlines announcing a dreadful railroad wreck in the west; a broken bridge, a Pullman sleeper and a passenger car immersed in a flooded river. Suddenly, as his eyes ran down the list of the missing, he gasped.

For there in black type were the names of Mr. Charles Esmond, mining expert, and wife.

CHAPTER XIII

In which Clarence as the guest of Campion College makes an ineffectual effort to bow out the Bright-eyed Goddess of Adventure

Father George Keenan, while Clarence slept, was an unusually busy man. He telephoned, he wrote letters, he sent telegrams. All the machinery of communication was put into requisition. Within an hour the work of dragging the water near Pictured Rocks was discontinued; by noontime a telegram arrived saying that Mr. and Mrs. Esmond were still missing and were in all probability drowned or burned to death; and early in the afternoon the proprietor of a hotel in McGregor arrived in person. The Esmonds had been at his place and had gone, leaving as their address “The Metropole,” Los Angeles, California. But alas, they had not reached their proposed destination.

The hotel man was conducted by the Rector into the infirmary and brought to the side of the sleeping boy. He was breathing softly, the roses had returned to his cheeks and his head was pillowed in his right hand.

“That’s him, all right,” said the hotel keeper after a brief survey. “I’d know him anywheres. There ain’t many boys around here got such rosy cheeks and such fair complexions. There ain’t many boys who’ve got such bright, fluffy hair, and I don’t know a single one who’s got his hair bobbed the way he has.”

On returning to his room, Father Keenan opened a special drawer in his desk and sorted out from a bundle of papers an envelope with a post-mark indicating that it had reached him several days before. He took out the letter and read it again.

“Dear Father Keenan: Probably you don’t remember me. I was a boy with you at St. Maure’s College – and a very poor boy at that. Other fellows had pocket money; I had none – most of the time. I hadn’t been there long when you ‘caught on,’ as we used to say. During the five months we were together you seemed to know when I needed a nickel or a dime, and, in a way that was yours, you managed to keep me supplied. I say it was your way, for you got me to take the money as though I were doing you a favor. The amount you gave me must have been six or seven dollars, all told; and I really don’t think I had sense enough at the time to understand how really kind you were. Many years have passed, and the older I get, the more grateful I feel. Up to a few years ago, I had lost track of you completely. I didn’t know even that you had become a Jesuit. Well, Father George, I happened to see in our Catholic paper last week that you were Rector of Campion College, a boarding school. If you are one-tenth as kind to the boys under your care as you were to me, you’ll be just the sort of President needed in such a place. The memory of our days in St. Maure’s has helped me to live a good life and to practice my faith, surrounded though I be with enemies of the Church. There are three Catholic families here in a population of three thousand. God has blessed me in my business. I have my own home, a loving wife and five of the nicest children in the State of Missouri. Also, to speak of things more material, a grain store and a comfortable bank account.

“I am sending you with this a check for one hundred dollars, payment on your loans of pocket money with compound interest, and then some. Of course, you may do with the money as you please. But if I may make a suggestion – don’t think me sentimental – it would please me if you were to put aside forty or fifty dollars of it to help out some poor boy in the way of clothes, books, and pocket money.

“In sending you this I do not wish you to consider our account closed. So long as God continues to bless and prosper me, I intend sending you from time to time – every quarter, I trust – a like donation. May the money I send do as much good as you did me.

“I still remember the old boys of our day affectionately. Nearly all of them were kind to me. One in particular, a black-haired, dark-complexioned, mischievous little fellow, who was full of heart, I can never forget. I never met him but he sent me off supplied with candy. His name was Tom Playfair. What’s become of him?

“Pray for me, dear Father George, and especially for my wife, who is an angel, and our children, who promise to be worthy of their mother. My love and my gratitude go with this letter.

“Sincerely and gratefully,“John S. Wilcox.”

“Strange!” meditated the Rector. “I just remember Wilcox; but I do not remember ever having given him a cent. Anyhow, I see my way to spend that fifty dollars as he suggests. Poor Esmond is an orphan, I fear. Well, the money goes to him.”

On getting word at half-past five o’clock that Master Esmond was awake and calling for food, Father Keenan hastened to the infirmary.

Clarence, fully dressed in a “purloined” set of clothes, was seated at a table and vigorously attacking a large slab of cornbread, a dish of hash, and a plate of pancakes. In the attack, executed with neatness and dispatch, and in which the youth played no favorites, Clarence had already aroused the amused admiration of the Brother Infirmarian.

“How do you do, Father Rector?” cried the boy, rising and bowing. “I feel able now to tell you that I’m grateful to you beyond words for your kindness. Your breakfast was the best breakfast ever served, that bed I slept on the softest, this supper the finest I could get, and the Brother, who’s been waiting on me as though I were the Prodigal Son is as kind and hospitable as though he took me for an angel.”

“Nobody would take you for an angel who saw you eating,” said the big Brother with a chuckle.

“How do you feel, my boy?” asked the Rector, as, catching Clarence by the shoulders, he forced him back into his seat.

“Feel? I feel like a morning star. I feel like a fighting-cock.”

“Ready, I suppose, for any sort of adventure?”

Clarence laid down his knife and fork once more.

“Adventure! Excuse me. I’ve got over that period of my life for good. No more adventures for me. Only a few days ago I came down the street of McGregor just crazy for adventure. I called her the bright-eyed goddess. I actually invoked her. I begged her to get out her finest assortment of adventures and show me. Well, she did. She got hold of me, and she didn’t let go till I got to bed here this morning. Oh, no. No more bright-eyed goddess for me. If I were to see her coming along the street, I’d duck into a back alley. I’m through with her ladyship for the rest of my natural life.”

“Indeed?” said the Rector.

Clarence was mistaken. The bright-eyed goddess was not done with him yet.

CHAPTER XIV

In which Clarence tells his story and gets the Reverend Rector to take a hand against the Bright-eyed Goddess

“Suppose,” suggested the College President, as Clarence with a sigh of satisfaction came to an end of his meal, “you tell us your story.”

“It is a long one.”

“Wait till I come back,” implored the Infirmarian. “I want to hear it. I’ve been infirmarian in boarding college a great many years, but I’ve never yet seen any sick boy quite so healthy and with such an appetite as Clarence.”

“Thank you for the compliment, Brother. I often feel like apologizing for that appetite of mine.”

“Clarence,” said the Rector as the Infirmarian went off with the empty dishes, “have you any relations, besides your father and mother, living?”

“Just stacks of them, sir.”

“Where are they?”

“There are some in England; a lot of them, on my mother’s side, in Ireland – and oh, yes, I’ve a cousin and his family in New York.”

“Do you know the address of any of them?”

“I really don’t. You know I’ve been at Clermont Academy, a boarding school in New York State, since I was eleven, and I’ve lost track of all of them pretty much.”

“What about your cousin in New York City?”

“I do not even know where he lives. You see, he just came to this country from Ireland a month ago. He brought his family along, and they were still looking for a house when I last saw them three weeks ago.”

“Anyhow, they’re in New York City?”

“I think that’s pretty certain.”

“Very good,” said the Rector, taking out a small memorandum book and making a note.

“Well, let’s have that story,” cried the big Infirmarian, as he re-entered. He was eager as a small boy waiting his turn for the pie to come down the table.

Clarence began with his departure from McGregor, the climb up and beyond Pictured Rocks, his long ride on the river, his encounter with the gypsies, his friendship for Ben, his long talks and walks with Dora, his troubles with Pete and his shrewish wife, his frequent swims in the river.

“And,” he continued, “when I made up my mind to get away somehow or other, I was hard as nails; I could swim for any length of time, it seemed to me, without losing my wind or my strength; and I could eat like a horse.”

“We all know that,” said the Infirmarian.

“And how did you manage to escape?”

“It came about just the way I wanted. Yesterday afternoon we pitched camp at a place right opposite a long island. I went in swimming and began to brag purposely to Ezra about what I could do. I let him know that I thought I could beat him. As a matter of fact, I really think I can. Ezra bit. He challenged me to race him to the island. That was just what I wanted. The old hag, Pete’s wife, came over and cursed me, just before Ben gave us the signal to go. But I didn’t mind that. Curses, like chickens, come home to roost, you know.

“Well, at Ben’s word we plunged into the water, and I kept under till I thought I’d burst. When I came up, I was some distance down stream; and all the way over I kept drifting down. Of course, it looked as if it were not done on purpose – at least I think it did. By the time Ezra was within a few yards of the island almost straight across from where he had started, I was away down near the end of the island, almost or quite half a mile away. Then I began to pretend I was trying to swim upstream and couldn’t do it. When within five yards or so of the very end of the island where there were lots of willows and bushes, I started to splashing wildly as though I had lost my head. I turned towards the shore, gave one last look, and shouted, ‘Help! help!’ I’ll never forget what I saw in that moment. In front of the tent, Pete’s wife was standing with her hands – clawlike old talons – stretched out, palms down, as though she were trying to force me under water; near the edge of the river, Dora, in her white dress, was kneeling, and I could guess she was praying for me.”

Clarence paused a moment.

“Do you know,” he said gravely, “I feel now as I felt all last night, as though her prayers kept with me like an army of little angels. Tennyson says, ‘More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.’ I knew the line over a year ago. Now I know the meaning. Anyhow, after giving that yell for help, I let myself sink and then, under the water, I got to those willows which I forgot to tell you were partly under water. It seemed to me as I felt my way from trunk to trunk that I’d explode if I didn’t get air. I’ve stayed under water many a time; but I never stayed under so long before. When I did come to the surface, I came up cautiously, came face upward, so as to get just my eyes, my mouth, and, because I couldn’t help it, my nose out of water. It was all right. Between me and the gypsies was that clump of willows and I was in a little bay surrounded on three sides by trees and bushes. I lay on my back just long enough to get my breath, and kicked myself down till I came near the end of the inlet. Then I took a deep breath, and dived so as to get out beyond the island in the main current. The dive was a success. When I came up, I lay on my back with only my nose sticking out of the water and let the current carry me along until it grew dark.”

“What were the gypsies doing?” asked the Brother Infirmarian.

“I don’t know. I suppose they took it for granted I was drowned. You see, I wasn’t such a bad actor, and I did my part all right; and besides, they are very superstitious and believe that Pete’s wife has all kinds of power. She told them I was to drown, and that made it doubly certain to them. From what I know of them, I guess Ben came over and searched for my body half the night.”

“And what did you do when the dark came on?” asked the Rector.

“I reversed myself and began swimming. After a while I got awful chilly; so I went to the bank and went through all sorts of Delsarte movements to get warm. This took me from fifteen minutes to half an hour. Then I went in again and swam and floated till I felt I was freezing. I took to the shore again, and ran and jumped as long as I could, and that’s the way it went on the whole night. It was the longest night ever. Every minute got me hungrier and chillier. I didn’t notice the hunger so much; but it seems to me that I’d never, never be warm again. Oh, wasn’t I glad when the dawn came, and didn’t I pray for a hot sun. When the sun did rise, I saw that I was getting near a big town, and I looked about for some place to land. Somehow, I couldn’t quite make up my mind.”