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Frank Merriwell at Yale, a novel by Burt L. Standish |
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Chapter 23. The Yale Spirit |
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_ CHAPTER XXIII. THE YALE SPIRIT Frank went to his room with his head in a whirl. He had dreamed of working hard to secure a place on the freshman team, but he had not dreamed there was a possibility that he would be given a trial in the regular Yale nine during his first year in college. Merriwell knew well enough that Phillips men were given the preference in everything at Yale as a rule, for they had friends to pull them through, while the fellows who had been prepared by private tutors lacked such an advantage. But Frank had likewise discovered that in most cases a man was judged fairly at Yale, and he could become whatever he chose to make himself, in case he had the ability. The Phillips man might have the advantage at the start, but he could not hold the advantage unless he proved himself worthy. If the unknown student had nerve and determination he could win his way for all of the wire pulling of the friends of some rival who was not so capable. Frank had heard the cry which had been raised at that time that the old spirit of democracy was dying out at Yale, and that great changes had taken place there. He had heard that Yale was getting to be more like another college, where the swell set are strongly in evidence and the senior likely to be very exclusive, having but a small circle of speaking acquaintances. It was said that in the old days the Yale junior or senior knew everybody worth knowing. But this had changed. The blue-blooded aristocrat had appeared at Yale, and he had chosen his circle of acquaintances with great care. To all outward appearances, this man believed that outside his limited circle there was nobody at Yale worth knowing. Professor Scotch, Frank's guardian, had read this in certain newspaper articles relating to Yale, and had expressed his regret that such should be the case. After coming to Yale Frank kept his eyes open to see to what extent such a state of affairs obtained. At first it had seemed that the newspapers were right, but he came to see that his position as freshman did not give him the proper opportunity to judge. In the course of time Frank came to believe that the old spirit was still powerful at Yale. There were a limited number of young gentlemen who plainly considered themselves superior beings, and who positively refused to make acquaintances outside a certain limit; but those men held no positions in athletics, were seldom of prominence in the societies, and were regarded as cads by the men most worth knowing. They were to be pitied, not envied. At Yale the old democratic spirit still prevailed. The young men were drawn from different social conditions, and in their homes they kept to their own set; but they seemed to leave this aside, and they mingled and submerged their natural differences under that one broad generalization, "the Yale man." And Merriwell was to find that this extended even to their social life, their dances, their secret societies, where all who showed themselves to have the proper dispositions and qualifications were admitted without distinction of previous condition or rank in their own homes. Each class associated with itself, it is true, the members making no close friendships with members of other classes, with the possible exception of the juniors and seniors, where class feeling did not seem to run so high. A man might know men of other classes, but he never took them for chums. The democratic spirit at Yale came mainly from athletics, as Frank soon discovered. Every class had half a dozen teams--tennis, baseball, football, the crew and so on. Everybody, even the "greasy" grinds, seemed interested in the something, and so one or more of these organization had some sort of a claim on everybody. Besides this, there was the general work in the gymnasium, almost every member of every class appearing there at some time or other, taking exercise as a pastime or a necessity. The 'Varsity athletic organization drew men from every class, not excepting the professional and graduate schools, and, counting the trials and everything, brought together hundreds of men. In athletics strength and skill win, regardless of money or family; so it happened that the poorest man in the university stood a show of becoming the lion and idol of the whole body of young men. Compulsory chapel every morning brought together the entire college, and had its effect in making everybody acquainted with everybody else. A great fosterer of the democratic spirit was the old Yale fence, over the departure of which "old grads" are forever shedding bitter tears. The student who had not known the old fence was inclined to smile wearily over the expressions of regret at its loss, but still the "old grad" continued to insist that the fence was one of the crowning beauties of Yale, and that nothing can ever replace it. On the old fence men read the newspapers, crammed for recitation, gossiped, told stories, talked athletics, sung songs, flirted with passing girls, and got acquainted. Oh, yes, it was a great fosterer of the democratic spirit. In the promotion of this spirit the drinking places at Yale are important factors. At Harvard the men drink in their clubs, the most of which are very expensive places, and in the Boston cafes. The Yale men drink at Morey's, and Traeger's, and Billy's. Traeger's, where from a score to fifty students may be seen any afternoon or evening, is furnished in exact imitation of German students' drinking places. In the back room is heavy furniture, quaint paintings, and woodwork and carvings. It had a sort of subdued cathedral light, which fell softly on the mugs which decorated the shelves and mantel. Frank had proven that it was not necessary for a man to drink at Yale in order to be esteemed as a good fellow. Frank was a total abstainer, and his friends had found that nothing would induce him to drink or smoke. At first they ridiculed him, but they came to secretly admire him, and it is certain that his example was productive of no small amount of good. Frank's acquaintances declared he had a mighty nerve, for he was able to travel with a crowd that drank and smoked, and still refrained from doing either. That was something difficult for them to understand. It was apparent to everybody that Merriwell's popularity did not depend on his ability to absorb beer or his generosity in opening fizz. It came from his sterling qualities, his ability as an athlete, his natural magnetism, and his genial, sunny nature. Although he was refined and gentlemanly, there was not the least suggestion of anything soft or effeminate about him. It is not strange that Merriwell could scarcely believe it possible that Paul Pierson had been in earnest. Such a thing seemed altogether too good to be true. "If it's a jolly, he'll not have the satisfaction of knowing that I spread it," Frank decided. "Mum is the word with me, and I'll keep right on working for a place with the freshmen. Oh, if we can win the race at Saltonstall!" Frank knew that he stood well with Old Put, who was to manage the freshman team in the spring. If the freshman crew could defeat the sophs, Put would have more confidence than ever in Merriwell. Frank was thinking these things over, when Harry came in with a rush, slamming the door and tripping over a rug in his haste. "Say! say! say!" he spluttered, staring at Frank. "Well, what is it?" "Is it true?" "Is what true?" "I heard Paul Pierson was seen talking to you on the campus." "Well, what of that?" "Then it is true?" "Yes." "Gracious! Pierson was never known to thing a do--er--do a thing like that before!" "Is that so?" "Is it so! Why, you know it is so! Think of Pierson--the great and only Pierson--talking to a freshman on the campus in the middle of the day! Wow!" "You are excited, Harry. Sit down and cool off." "I'll sit down, but you must tell me what he was saying to you." "Must I?" "Must you? I should say yes! I am dying to know what he could be saying to a freshman!" Frank was troubled, for he saw his roommate's curiosity was aroused to the highest notch, and he knew it would be no easy thing to satisfy Harry without telling the truth. "Go ahead," urged Rattleton. "What did Pierson say to you?" "Oh, he said a number of things," replied Frank, awkwardly. Harry lifted his eyebrows. "Haven't a doubt of it," he returned; "but what are they?" Frank hesitated, and a cloud came to his friend's face. "You see, it is a private matter," Merriwell explained. "Oh!" There was infinite sarcasm in that ejaculation. "You know I would tell you if I could, Harry," said Frank, rising; "but this is a matter which I--" "Oh, you needn't trouble yourself!" Rattleton cut in, sharply. "I'll live just as long and be just as happy." "Now don't be angry, old man; that is foolish. You know I would tell you if I could do so without--" "Oh, I don't know about that! You are getting so you have secrets lately, and you don't seem to trust me. Say, if you think I am a sneak and a tattler, say so, for I want to know it. I don't care to room with any fellow who doesn't trust me." Harry was angry, and Frank felt very sorry. "Old man," said Merriwell, meeting Rattleton's sullen glance with a frank, open look, "I do trust you, and you should know it. There is no fellow in college I would as soon room with. Still, you should know there are some things a man cannot honorably tell even his chum." Harry was silent. "Perhaps there are some things about yourself or some friend that you would not care to tell me," Frank went on. "I am not going to be offended at that. It is your right to tell what you like and keep what you like to yourself. A thing like that should not create feeling between us." "But this seems different." "Does it? Well, I will explain that I told Pierson I would say nothing of the matter to anybody. I do not believe in lying. Do you want me to break my word in this case?" "No!" cried Harry. "You are all right again, Frank! You are always right! Don't you mind me when I get cranky. I'm a fundering thool--I mean a thundering fool! But I do hope Pierson is not working a jolly on you." "He may have tried to work a jolly on me, but he is not succeeding," smiled Frank, whose face had cleared. "And the quieter I keep the smaller will be the chance of success, if that is his little game." _ |
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