Cupid of Campion

“Why not?” asked the Rector.

“I didn’t like the way I was dressed. Bathing suits are all right for the water, but for company – I may be all sorts of an idiot, but I’m not as nervy as the average summer girl. No decent boy is.”

“Oh, Lord!” gasped the Rector.

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Go on, my boy.”

“Well, I got past the city which, I saw on a sign at a boat landing, was Prairie du Chien, and – no, not quite past. A little after swimming under the bridge, I saw a building – a great big building that looked like a college. It was just beyond the railroad tracks, and it had a beautiful grove of trees just below the building itself. Right on the shore was a lot of weeds that had been cut and been lying there long enough to dry. There was nobody in sight, and so I slipped ashore and covered myself up in the weeds, and tried to get warm. I was there a long time; and it was a long time before I began to get anyways warm. Oh, it was delicious that feeling of warmth coming back slowly but surely. Really, I’d have gone to sleep, only something else began to go wrong.”

“Did the jiggers get you?” asked the Brother.

“No; it wasn’t ants or jiggers or bugs of any kind. It was my little ‘tummy.’ The warmer I got, the hungrier I got. If I had a thousand dollars then, I’d have handed it over gladly for a hunk of bread. After a while, I forgot I had ever been cold, but I was famishing. So I threw off the weeds, put on my bathing suit, and started for that building. I was afraid of my life of being seen by women-folks, so I crawled and walked and crawled. It was slow work. Well, anyhow, I got to the fence leading into those grounds and was just climbing over when down from the building came running and dancing a whole raft of little girls!”

“You struck St. Mary’s Academy, a boarding school for girls,” said the Brother, sympathetically. The Rector’s face was buried in his handkerchief. He was not weeping.

“One little devil – Oh, excuse me – one little double-pigtailed, blue-ribboned thing in the lead saw me and let out a yell. That got me going, and I jumped off that fence and sprinted for the river at the rate of one hundred yards in 9-4/5 seconds – at least, that’s what I thought I was doing, and the screams of all those girls behind me helped me to keep up my clip to the end. I’m sure they thought I was a burglar.”

“Anyhow,” said the Rector consolingly, “they won’t know you again.”

“I should say not. After this I intend paying visits in regulation costume. Well, then, I got into the river, clean blown. I was too tired to swim; so I just lay on my back, and paddled now and then with my feet. The cold got me again in a few minutes; my teeth began to chatter. Oh, it was awful. And then – then I swam and afterward began to lose all feeling, and then I lost consciousness and – I got here.”

“Oh, most lame and impotent conclusion,” said the Rector eyeing the boy sharply. “You’ve left something out.”

“So I have, Father, but I don’t think I have any right to tell the last part.”

The Rector looked puzzled.

“Very well,” he said presently. “Even as it is, it is a wonderful story. In fact, it’s a twentieth century romance. What was the last name of that child Dora?”

“Well, I declare!” said the youth. “It never occurred to me to think she had another name. All I know is that she came from near Dayton, Ohio. Oh, what an ass I am.”

“You might sing that opinion of yourself to the air of ‘My Country, ’tis of Thee,’” suggested the Infirmarian. “We call it the Siamese national hymn.” And he warbled slowly and solemnly to the well-known national air, the words, “O Vatana Siam.” “It will do you lots of good when you feel rather foolish.”

Just then, and while Master Clarence began assuring himself in liquid notes of what an awful ass he was, there came a timid knock at the door.

“Come in,” cried the Infirmarian.

“Is Father Rector in there?” came a much agitated voice, as the door opened a few inches without revealing who was without.

“Excuse me,” said the Rector, leaving the two to sing as a duet “O Vatana Siam.” Every note of it and the entire sentiment filled Clarence with pure joy.

Despite their long drawn and pathetic warbling, the two within caught the sounds of earnest voices without. After singing the air with the self-same words nearly a dozen times, and coming at length to the invariable ending “Vatana Siam” in the enunciation of which Clarence succeeded in outdoing all his previous efforts, the door suddenly opened, and the Rector entered, bringing with him, very red and very confused, Master John Rieler.

“Behold!” he cried, “your preserver, Clarence!”

“Whoop!” cried the singer, jumping forward and almost throwing himself into Rieler’s arms. “You’ve told on yourself, have you?”

“I had to,” said John, shaking Clarence’s two hands. “When I got back to class I began to worry. It wasn’t the going out of bounds, and it wasn’t the swim. I guess that finding of you in the water got on my nerves. I wasn’t scared at the time; but the more I got thinking of it afterwards, the more scared I got. It seemed so odd. And then I had a lot to explain to the teacher, and I couldn’t do it. Anyhow, I couldn’t eat any supper.”

“Oh, I say!” protested the Infirmarian, who happened to be well acquainted with Master Rieler’s efficiency as a trencherman.

“It’s so, all the same. Honest to goodness!” protested the youth, his eyes and features expressing depths of astonishment at himself. “I just actually couldn’t eat.” He paused a minute and added wistfully. “I could now.”

The Rector had put on his face of Indian immobility.

“John Rieler,” he said gravely, “there are two things to be considered in your conduct this morning. First, there is your going out of bounds and taking a swim without permission. Secondly, there’s your saving Clarence Esmond from drowning. For the first, you are to be punished.”

“Father Rector,” protested John earnestly. “I’ll not do it again. I’ll never jump bounds any more this year. I missed Holy Communion this morning, and it was a mistake. Right after supper, only a few minutes ago, I went to Confession, and I hope I’ll never miss a single day’s Communion till further notice.”

“Your punishment,” continued the Rector slowly and impressively —

“Oh, Father,” broke in Clarence in great alarm.

“Your punishment,” repeated the Rector, looking severely at Clarence, “will be not to go in swimming on any account, on any pretext, with or without companions, from the first of December till the first of April.”

“All right, Father,” said John, humbly. He was filled with a sense of the terrible penalty exacted of him till he noticed Clarence’s ecstatic grin. Then his mind fell to considering the dates, and he grinned also.

“As for saving Clarence’s life,” the Rector went on, “I don’t see well how I can reward you properly.”

“I’m worth one thousand dollars, cold,” said Clarence.

“Exactly,” said the Rector, “and the fact of your being alive does not depreciate your value entirely.”

“No, not entirely,” assented the Brother, as though yielding a point.

“Anyhow, I should like to reward you, John. Now, is there anything occurs to you I can do for you?”

“I’m awful hungry,” said John modestly.

“Appetite,” observed the Rector, “waits on a good confession. Brother, can’t you set this boy up to something extra?”

“Beefsteak and onions, cornbread, buttered toast?” cried the Infirmarian interrogatively.

Master Rieler had no need to express himself in words. His face showed glad assent.

“Come and join me, Clarence,” begged the hero of the day as he seated himself later to the “spread.”

“Thank you; I’ve had a good meal already,” answered Clarence, “but I’ll take just a little to keep you company.”

His taking “a little” had such an effect upon the Infirmarian that after watching Clarence’s performance for a few minutes he could no longer contain himself.

“Look here, Clarence! If you go on, you’ll swell up and bust.”

“I’m not swelling so’s I can notice it,” returned Clarence cheerfully.

Before leaving, Father Rector said:

“Now, boys, I’m going to my room, and when you have finished your supper, I want you, John, to bring Clarence to see me. You will wait for him outside my door. Then I’m going to see the Prefect of Discipline and have you excused from studies tonight, so you can show Clarence around.”

There came a babble of enthusiasm from both boys.

“And besides, while Clarence is our guest, you, John Rieler, are to be his host.”

“Oh, thank you, Father,” said John.

“Do you mean to say, Father Rector, that I may stay here tonight?” asked Clarence.

“Yes, my boy” – here the Rector’s voice and face, despite himself, gave hint of a great pity; “you are to be my guest till we’ve got everything fixed to see that you are placed in proper care.”

“Isn’t he a trump!” cried Clarence as the Rector left.

“Trump! I should say he is.”

When Clarence was ushered by the proud young host to the Rector’s room, he was bade to sit down.

“Well, Clarence, while you were sleeping, I was quite busy on your case. The hotel-man from McGregor was here and identified you.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, and I’ve sent out for all sorts of information.”

“But, why don’t you wire my father?”

“The trouble is, Clarence, we don’t know where he is.”

“He’s at the Metropole Hotel, Los Angeles,” said Clarence. “The hotel-man could have told you that.”

“No, Clarence,” said the Rector trying to speak casually, “the train did not get there yet.”

“Was it delayed?”

“Yes. In fact, there was a bad wreck. Some of the cars tumbled into the water.”

“And did anything happen to my mother and father?”

“I hope not. The only thing, my boy, we know is that they are missing. Anyhow, they are not listed among the injured or the dead. Here, sit down and look over this account in the paper.”

The Rector discreetly placed himself in such a position that he could not see the boy’s face. Clarence read, and after a few lines could not go on; tears blinded his eyes. For ten minutes, while the Rector busied himself writing letters, the boy wept, although making pretense of reading.

“This is awful, Father,” Clarence at length said.

“Have hope, Clarence. God has taken wonderful care of you today.”

“Indeed, He has.”

“Trust Him, and keep on hoping. As to all details, leave them to me. If there’s anything to be found out, I’ll get hold of it. In the meantime, you are the guest of Campion College. Here’s some change – pocket money. You know, you’ll have to treat John Rieler. And tomorrow you’ll be fitted out with what clothes you need. God bless you, my boy.”

“Father, you’re too good. Say, won’t you bless me – give me a priest’s blessing – the kind I’ve read about in books.”

“Certainly, Clarence.”

The boy fell on his knees, and over him stretched the Rector’s hands in a fervent benediction.

As Clarence went down the stairs with John, he said: “Say, John Rieler, I got some bad news and I felt sick all over. And do you know what happened? The Rector blessed me, and now I could stand anything.”

CHAPTER XV

In which Clarence begins to admire Campion College, and becomes the room-mate of a very remarkable young man, as the sequel will clearly show

“Do you know where you are going to sleep to-night, Clarence?” asked John, as the two boys, after a long walk on the Bridgeport road, were returning to Campion.

“No; where?”

“You’re going to have the finest room in the house.”

“Indeed! Where is it?”

“You see our new classroom building, don’t you?”

“It seems to me I do.”

“Well, they say that’s the finest building of its kind in the West. On the fourth floor there are twenty-one or twenty-two rooms for a few boys in the college department. All of those rooms are reasonably large, but there is one big enough for two. There it is – at the south-eastern corner. It has a window on the east and two looking south. Two brothers live in it, Will and John Benton. John hasn’t come back to school yet; he’s not well – and so Will has it to himself, and to-night you are going to have John’s bed.”

“Is Will Benton all right?”

“All right! Say, he’s in the senior class, and he’s Prefect of the Sodality, and the best all-round athlete, and the best pitcher on the college team. All right! He’s the best boy in the college; and he goes to Communion every day. That’s nothing out of the way here. Lots of our boys do that. But Will Benton keeps it up in vacation time, too.”

“That’s funny,” mused Clarence. “In the last few days I’ve begun to meet Catholics. The first one I met was that little girl, Dora. She began her kidnaping story by telling me she used to go to Communion every day till she fell into the hands of the gypsies. Then you yank me out of the water, and when the Rector says he is going to punish you, up you speak and tell him you’re going to Communion every day. And now, I suppose you’re going to bring me up to introduce me to Will Benton, and he goes to Communion every day.”

“Yes; we’re going up now, for it’s nearly bedtime. Most of us go to Communion every day, you know, to help us keep from sin. And it does, too. A boy who knows he’s going to Communion tomorrow is mighty careful about what he says and what he listens to.”

“I am beginning,” said Clarence, “to be quite pleased with the Catholic Church.”

“I’m sure the Church,” retorted John, “will be proud and happy to know it has gained your approbation.”

“Seriously,” said Clarence, “I’ve changed my ideas completely since I met Dora. If she’s a specimen of the Catholic Church, I want to join.”

“What! Aren’t you a Catholic?”

“No. Who knows but I may be some day?”

“I thought you were a Catholic all along. Here we are,” continued John, as they entered the classroom building. “Let’s go up quietly. The boys are in the study hall now. Say,” he added, gleefully, as they reached the second story, “look in there; just see what I’m missing.”

“What a big hall!” exclaimed Clarence.

“Everything in this building is big,” said John with conscious pride; “the playroom and the dormitory and the classrooms, and the science department – they’re all big.”

“I think,” replied Clarence, “that, from your description, the place will suit me perfectly. In fact, I’ve a mind to buy it. Name your price.”

“For a fellow who arrives at Campion College in a bathing suit and nothing else, you’ve got the most wonderful nerve. Ah! here we are. This is your room for the night.”

“Come in,” said a rumbling voice in answer to John’s knock.

“I’ve brought him, Will. Here’s the boy who came to College down the river, Clarence Esmond.”

“Welcome, Clarence. You’re to be my guest for to-night and so long as you choose the room is yours. I’ve heard something of your story; in fact, everybody knows how you got here. I hope you’ll enjoy every minute of your stay.”

Will was a ruddy-cheeked young man of fully six feet, with tremendous shoulders and chest, and a voice that would compete, not without hope of victory, with a bass drum. His smile alone was enough to win him friends.

“Glad to meet you, Will,” said Clarence. “John here has been telling me all about you. He says you’re Prefect of the Senior Sodality. What does that mean?”

“Aren’t you a Catholic?”

“No.”

“Well, the Sodality is organized to honor the Blessed Mother of God, by getting its members to lead a good Catholic life and by doing good works. The Prefect is the leading officer; and he’s supposed, though it may not be always the case, to have special love for Mary and to show it in his life.”

“By George,” said Clarence, “here it is again. The first Catholic I ever met to talk with was a little girl with the gypsies, and almost as soon as she and I got to talking together, she began telling me about the Blessed Mother and singing her praises.”

“Was the girl a gypsy?” asked Will.

“No; she was captured in Ohio during the flood, last May.”

“Oh; that awful flood!” said Will, his cheerful grin deserting him. “I lost my little sister in that flood, too.”

“Are you from Ohio?”

“Yes, and my sister’s body wasn’t recovered till two weeks after she was drowned. Well, let’s change the subject. I hate to think of it.”

Within an hour Will Benton and Clarence had become fast friends. Within another, the much-wandering youth, satisfied that his adventures were over, had fallen into a dreamless sleep, little suspecting the amazing events that the morrow was destined to bring.

CHAPTER XVI

In which the Bright-eyed Goddess comes to bat again, and promises to win the game

A pillow flung by the accurate arm of Will Benton early the following morning caught the sleeping visitor on the head.

“Eh, what is it?” cried Clarence, sitting up.

“It’s sunrise, boy. Just look out that window and see how beautiful the new-born day can be when it wants to.”

“‘Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain top.’”

And as Clarence quoted the well-known lines, he jumped from bed and slipped quickly into his clothes.

“You read Shakespeare?” asked Benton, rubbing his eyes.

“Of course; I’ve been reading him off and on for the last two years. Say, what comes next?”

“We have morning prayers and Mass in a few minutes. Would you like to attend?”

“I certainly would. Dora explained to me a lot about the Mass.”

“Dora?”

“Yes; that was the little girl’s name.”

“Strange!” murmured Benton. “Well, hurry on now. Here’s a prayer-book with the parts of the Mass marked out. You may use it, if you wish.”

Clarence was profoundly impressed by what he saw in the chapel. The boys – full, in ordinary, of mischief and life – were going about their devotions in earnest.

Clarence was seated next to John Rieler. That youth, when he was not singing lustily with the others, had his face buried in his prayer-book. Religion, Clarence perceived, entered intimately into the lives of nearly all these boys.

He was escorted by Rieler to breakfast, where he inspired much respect among the boys of the particular table at which he sat by his workmanlike way of getting through with the dishes served him.

The morning was devoted to shopping. Attended by the Brother Infirmarian, Clarence went to the city proper of Prairie du Chien, where in the course of an hour he was provided with a complete outfit of shoes and clothing.

After a hearty dinner, John Rieler brought Clarence out upon the campus.

“Say!” the youngster said, admiringly, “you ought to send this campus on east. Lots of our colleges would be willing to buy it. It’s one big level – acres and acres of it – and all you’ve got to do is to walk out of your classroom building, and you’re right on it. At the academy I went to, we used to go around to a good many other schools in the baseball and the football season; but I must say I never saw a campus anything near so good as this, and only one or two as handy.”

“We’re thinking of taking out a patent on it, and we are rather proud of it. The only thing is that we find it quite hard to live up to such a fine campus.”

“Say, this is a funny school,” Clarence remarked. A number of the smaller boys were now gathered about him. They had heard of his tremendous swim down the river and of his escape from the gypsies, and made little attempt to conceal their admiration. In fact – a very unusual thing – they insisted upon being introduced.

“What’s funny about our school?” inquired one of the boys when Clarence had shaken hands with each and all.

“Why, you study here!”

“Study! What did you expect?” asked Rieler. “This isn’t exactly a health resort. All the same, study is no interruption to games. We manage to get a good deal in during each day.”

“This is our half holiday and we’re going to have a game of ball at two,” said a stocky youth with a freckled face and a substantial smile, “and the shortstop on our team is going down town to have his picture taken or some such foolishness. Will you help us out?”

“Delighted,” said Clarence. “I’ve played several positions, but shortstop is my favorite.”

Clarence, from the very outset of the game realized that he was the hero of the hour. Nearly all of the junior division boys not engaged in the game chose to be spectators.

Clarence rose to the occasion. The second batter up of the opposing team sent him a sharp grounder. He captured it on a very ugly bound, whirled it to the second baseman, who in turn threw it to first. It resulted in a pretty double play.

Then the onlooking small boys broke into cheers and yells, making at the same time lively demonstrations with legs and arms.

“Gee!” exclaimed an enthusiast near third base. “I hope he’ll stay here.”

On coming to bat, Clarence sent a liner over second, and reaching first, kept right on while the center fielder was throwing the ball in. When, a moment later, Clarence stole third and came in on an out at first, the storm of applause broke out again.

“Take off your hat,” said Rieler to the run-getter.

“Shucks!” said Clarence. “Say, here comes Will Benton, and he looks excited.”

“Hey, Clarence,” shouted Benton as soon as he was within hailing distance, “Father Rector wants you at once. It’s important and he says you’re to bring John Rieler along, too.”

For the first and only time in his life, Master Clarence surrendered his place in a ball contest willingly. Even Rieler, who next to swimming loved the national game, called with alacrity for a substitute.

“Hang baseball,” he said recklessly, as accompanied by Clarence and Will, he hastened toward the Rector’s room. “We can play that any fine day. But it’s nice to be with you, Clarence Esmond. I’ve a feeling that when I’m with you there’s something going to happen.”

“You may be only half in earnest, Rieler,” said Will Benton; “but the fact is I’ve got the same feeling myself. My firm belief is that Master Clarence’s bright-eyed goddess of adventure hasn’t lost her grip on her young victim yet. She’s got him hoodooed.”

“See here, you fellows,” remonstrated Clarence, “talk about something pleasant. What I want is a quiet life.”

“You’ll get a quiet life – somewhere, some day,” said Benton, “but I’ve a feeling in my bones that you’re not out of the woods yet.”

“I feel just that way, too,” added Rieler.

The Reverend Rector dressed in his street clothes was awaiting them at the entrance to the faculty building.

“Ah, Clarence,” he said, “are you ready for another adventure?”

“Anything but that, Father.”

“Oh yes, you are.”

“Never again, Father.”

“Very well; if that’s the case, we’ll drop it,” and the Rector assumed a look of disappointment.

“Drop what, Father?”

“Nothing much. You know, I’ve had the station agents about the river line to be on the lookout for that gypsy camp. We’ve got them located, or at least we know about where they are.”

“And,” cried Clarence, growing very red, “we’ve got a chance to save Dora?”

“That was my idea,” said Father Keenan. “I thought you were interested in the girl. But of course, if you don’t care for any more adventures – ”

“Oh, Father, I take it back. I’d lose an arm or a leg – I’d lose anything to save that poor little child from the hands of Pete.”

“Ah!” said the Rector, “you really don’t know what you want sometimes. Now, boys, there’s a machine awaiting us at the side of this house, and if you would like to go, Rieler – ”

“Like it! I’d not miss it for ten years of my life,” cried Rieler, ecstatically.

“And you, Will Benton? We may need your strong arm.”

“Father Rector, I consider this invitation the greatest privilege you’ve ever granted me, and goodness knows you’ve been giving me every favor you could since I came to Campion. Clarence has told me a good deal about that little girl-saint, and I’d do anything to save her.”

The four knights-errant had by this time taken their places in the automobile. Father Keenan gave the chauffeur a few words of instruction, and with a speed exceeding the limit allowed in any known State, county, city, or village of the United States the machine shot down Minnesota Avenue.

“Now, listen, boys,” said Father Keenan, as they swept past the Bohemian Catholic Church. “Yesterday, I got the local station agent, who is a very good friend of mine, to make inquiries northward about any gypsies who might be seen. Just a few minutes ago he sent me word that a message had come from Lynxville, to the effect that a party of gypsies had camped three miles below that village.”