Winning His "W" Part 27

"But, professor," persisted Will, "what about my work in Greek? I've had a tutor ever since you told me to get one and I've been working hard too. Today I didn't do very well, but I was so excited about the fever, for Peter John--I mean Schenck--is one of the fellows to come down with it, you know, and we've been telephoning and telegraphing home--"

"Ah, yes. But you heard my remarks to-day concerning the necessity of increased work in Greek as a preventive, did you not?"

"I did. But, professor, I'm willing to work. If I'm to be shut out of the exam--I mean the examination--as you seem to think I will, anyway, I don't see any use in my trying any more."

The expression on the professor's face became instantly harder as he said, "I fawncy the effort to curry favor with the various members of the faculty is not very popular with the student body."

"Do you think I'm trying to 'boot-lick'?" demanded Will quickly.

"I look upon that term as somewhat objectionable, but I fawncy in the vernacular of college life it is one that is quite expressive."

"I'm not trying to boot-lick you or any other professor!" retorted Will, now feeling angry and insulted as well. "I didn't stay here to-day because I wanted to. You yourself asked me to do it. And I asked you a perfectly fair question. I knew I hadn't been doing very well, but after I saw you I've been trying, honestly trying, to do better. And all the encouragement you give me is to say that if I work harder I may almost come up to the pa.s.sing mark."

"Pardon me, Mr. Phelps, but you are the one to change your record, not I. All I do is merely to jot down what you have been doing. I do not do the work--I merely record it."

For a moment Will Phelps was almost speechless with anger. He felt outraged and insulted in every fibre of his being. He hastily bade the professor good-morning, and, seizing his cap, rushed for his room, a great fear being upon him that unless he instantly departed he would say or do something for which he would have a lifelong regret.

As he burst into his room he found Foster already there, and, flinging his books savagely across the room, Will seated himself in his easy-chair and glared at his room-mate.

"Why? What's wrong? What's happened, Will?" demanded Foster, in astonishment.

"Oh, I've just had another delightful interview with old Splinter. He's the worst I ever struck yet!"

"Did you strike him, Will?" inquired Foster, a smile of amus.e.m.e.nt appearing on his face.

"No, but I'd like to! His soul would get lost in the eye of a needle!

He's the smallest specimen I have ever run up against. He may know Greek, but he doesn't know anything else. I never in all my life saw--"

"Tell me about it, Will," interrupted Foster.

Thus bidden, Will related the story of his interview with his professor of Greek. When Foster laughed as he told of Splinter's description of his marvelously increased corpulence, Will did not join, for the ludicrous side now was all swallowed up in his anger. And when his room-mate scowled as he heard of the professor's insinuation that the young freshman was trying to "boot-lick," Will's anger broke forth afresh. "What's the use in my trying, I'd like to know?" he demanded.

"I've never tried harder in my life than I have for the last three or four weeks. And what does old Splinter have to say about it? 'Oh, I'm doing better and if I keep on I'll _almost_ come up to the pa.s.sing mark!' I tell you, it isn't fair! It isn't right! He's just determined to put me out!"

"Perhaps he thinks he's bound to stick to the marks he's given you before."

"Yes, that's it. But think of it, Foster. Here I am doing better and putting in my best work. And the old fellow acknowledges it too, for he says so himself. But what does it all amount to? He doesn't give me any credit for what I've been doing lately. No, he's just tied up to the marks I got at the beginning of the year. What fairness is there in that, I'd like to know? That's the way they do in State's prison, but I didn't suppose old Winthrop was built exactly on that plan. I thought the great point here was to wake a man up and inspire him to try to do better and all that sort of thing. And I _am_ doing better, and I know it, and so does he, but his soul is so dried up and withered that he can't think of anything but ancient history. He hasn't the least idea of what's going on here to-day. I'll bet the old fellow, when he has the toothache, groans in dactylic hexameters and calls for his breakfast in the Ionic dialect. Bah! What's all the stuff good for anyway? I haven't any reason for trying any more."

"Yes, you have."

"I have? Well, what is it?"

"Your father, if nothing else."

Will instantly became silent, for Foster's words only seemed to call up before him the vision of his father's face. He was the best man that had ever lived, Will declared to himself, and his conviction had been strengthened as he had seen the relations between many of his college mates and their fathers. How he would be grieved over it all. And yet Will knew that never an unkind word would be spoken. It was almost more than he could bear, he thought, and his eyes were glistening when he arose from his seat to respond to a knock on the door. As he opened it he saw standing before him his own father and the father of Peter John Schenck, and with a yell of delight he grasped his father's outstretched hand and pulled him hastily into the room.

CHAPTER XX

A CRISIS

In response to Will's eager questions, Mr. Phelps explained that he had come to Winthrop to satisfy himself as to the exact status as to the fever that had broken out. Before he had come up to Will's room he had consulted the college officials and now felt that he was in a position to decide calmly what must be done by his son.

"And what's the verdict?" inquired Will.

"It will not be necessary for you to return. I think everything is being done that ought to be and though we shall be anxious, still I am not unduly alarmed. I have confidence in you, Will, and I am sure you will not be careless in a time like this. The president informs me that there have not been any new cases since the first outbreak, and he is of the opinion that all these cases were due to one cause and that was found outside of the village."

"Then you don't want me to go home with you?" inquired Will quizzically.

"What I might 'want' and what is best are two different matters," said his father with a smile, "Just at present what I want and what you need happen to be one and the same thing."

"What's that?"

"Your Greek."

Will's face clouded and then unmindful of the others who were in the room he told his father of his recent interview with his professor of Greek. The smile of amus.e.m.e.nt on the face of Mr. Phelps when Will began soon gave way to an expression of deep concern. To Will, who understood him so thoroughly, it was evident that his father was angry as well as disappointed, and for a moment there was a feeling of exultation in his own heart. Now something would be done, he felt confident, and the injustice under which he was laboring and suffering would be done away.

"Your other work is all right, Will?" inquired his father after a brief silence.

"Oh, yes! Fine! If old Splinter was only half the man that Professor Sinclair is, there wouldn't be a bit of trouble. Why the recitation in Latin never seems to be more than fifteen minutes long. But the Greek--bah! The hour is like a week of Sundays!"

"Still, Will, there is only one way out of it for you."

"I suppose so," responded Will, his heart sinking as he spoke.

"Yes, it must be faced. I know it's hard, but you can't get around it, Will, and I'm sure you don't want to run from it. As I told you, it isn't as if your Greek professor was the only one of his kind you will meet in life, for his name is legion and you will find him everywhere.

The only thing for you to do is to keep on with your tutor and prove yourself to be the master. If you do that, the experience, hard as it is, may prove to be one of the best that could come to you."

Will was silent for a moment before he spoke, and then he said impulsively, "Well, pop, I suppose you are right. I'll do my best."

"Of course you will," responded his father quietly, though his eyes were s.h.i.+ning. "It isn't so hard for you as it is for Mr. Schenck."

"Is Peter John worse?" inquired Will quickly.

"Yes."

"Isn't there something we can do?" said Will eagerly.

"No, nothing," said Mr. Schenck. "My boy is very sick, but all we can do is to wait. He is having good care. The only comfort I have is what they tell me about him and what he has been doing since he came to college."

Both boys looked up quickly, but neither spoke and Mr. Schenck continued. "Yes, there's a young man I have met since I've been here who has told me many things about my boy that comfort me now very much."

"Was it Mott?" interrupted Will.

"Yes, that was his name. You know him too, I see. He seems to be a very fine young man. He told me that Peter was one of the leaders in his cla.s.s, and that everybody in the college knew him. He said too, that he had won his numerals--though I don't just understand what that means."

"It means that he has the right to wear the number of his cla.s.s on his cap or sweater," said Will. "That's more than I've won." He had not the heart to undeceive the unhappy man, though both he and Foster were aware that Mott had been overstating the facts in his desire to comfort Peter John's father.