Part 9

"Just this," answered Gray, "that your Dulcinea is a fool. Any true woman would appreciate a man's best efforts, even if unsuccessful. I claim that such Dulcineas are the exception and not the rule. Point two. Your young knight is also a fool if he allows himself to become nothing but a mere bruiser and cut-throat. He ought not to forget that he is a gentleman as well as a fighting man. He can pay some attention to the graces of life and fight none the worse for it. You say he knows the old songs,--those are the best always--and he can pick up the new ones in spare moments. It makes no difference how he dresses, so long as he has a good excuse for dressing badly, and doesn't forget how to dress well. As for your point about his personal appearance, that doesn't amount to a row of pins. It certainly can't trouble him, and it wouldn't trouble Dulcinea if she had any sense. I don't believe any woman objects to honorable scars in a man."

"Every woman doesn't throw poetry around them as you do. Honorable scars received in commonplace everyday scrapping don't count."

"This has not been a fair fight," declared Holworthy. "I can see through this man Stoughton, now, and understand it all. He has prepared all this harangue, and is trying to pass it off here as impromptu. Now, I am going to give him away. I was with him the other evening at a dinner. There was a girl there who had been abroad for the first time. She had spent the last season in London, for the expenses of which her governor probably had to do double work at home. She had quite naturally, fallen completely in love with all those great big, splendid-looking chaps who float about London in long coats all day during the season. A handsome leisure class. Some of the biggest and best dressed of them, by-the-way, are quite apt to be her own humdrum countrymen on a vacation, but she hadn't found that out yet, and it has nothing to do with the present discussion, anyway. I heard her remark to Dick during dinner that Englishmen were so much better looking and more agreeable than American men. That is an undeniable fact, in daily life, but Dick was fool enough to get a little mad over the observation. He couldn't think of any brilliant repartee at the time, but came home and slept over it. Next time he meets that girl, or one like her, he will be loaded for bear, but he wants to rehearse a little, first, so he has brought his mediaeval metaphor here to try it on the dog. He knew that our hair-trigger poet, with a little joggling, would be morally certain to shoot off something about love and lances; that was just the opening he wanted. Keep it for your next dinner-party, Dick. It doesn't mean anything but it may make you feel clever and entertaining. I hold that Brother Gray has thrown you and your Dulcinea down hard."

"It is perfectly true to life, anyway," said Dick, with a conscious grin; "but you are wrong in accusing me of worrying about it. I don't mind the prospect in the least, as I said before, and am only warning you snobs who think you are something pretty nice. You can't carry your poetry out of college. Your 'graces of life' as you call 'em, either mental or physical, won't raise your salary in an office, and your hard work in the office won't help you to figure in a ballroom. If you get to the top before you are thirty, Dulcinea may smile on you; but you are not likely to do anything of the kind. You will probably spoil all your other chances with her in the attempt."

"Listen to our man of the world, you fellows," said Burleigh. "Jack Rattleton, stop playing with that ugly pup and improve your advantages. Uncle Richard, here, aged two and twenty, has upon half a dozen occasions made the exertion of going to a party in Boston, where he has talked foot-ball with some _debutante_ and been floored on Esoteric Buddhism by an elderly lady who had it. He has spent all the rest of his time smoking a villanous pipe in Cambridge. He is now giving us, from his wealth of experience, a few opinions and straight tips on the nature of woman."

"I don't pretend to know anything about 'em," protested Dick, stoutly, "and care less. But this I do know, that, among most men, success counts for more than endeavor, and I am willing to bet that it is four times as much so with women."

"And I know this," said Hudson, "that you, on your own confession, don't know what you are talking about, and are in a beastly humor. You need exercise; come on over to Fresh Pond and go skating."

"Yes, do take him off," sighed Rattleton; "when he and Hol and Gray get theorizing it gives everybody a headache. They'll go around to the Pud. and keep it up there if you don't take them skating."

Stoughton replied to this by kicking the hind legs of Rattleton's carefully balanced chair, and upsetting him on top of the dog Blathers. After which exchange of courtesies the party adjourned, arranging to meet and go to Fresh Pond at three.

Holworthy did not join the skating party; he had promised to go for a walk with his chum Rivers. Gray also had some engagement. As the others were starting out with their skates, they met the latter little gentleman arrayed in his best. He tried to pretend that he didn't see them. They promptly set up a cheer and began ostentatiously making snow-balls.

"Didn't you say something at lunch about men in New York who made impertinent remarks about your clothes," demanded Gray of Stoughton.

"This isn't New York," answered Stoughton. "When a man puts on all his feathers and paint on a week day in Cambridge, we know he is on the war-path."

"Dog his trail, dog his trail," yelled Hudson. "Let's see what wigwam it leads to."

"Doesn't he look pretty?" shouted Burleigh. "Only his coat doesn't fit in the back."

"Look at that smooch on his collar," exclaimed Randolph.

"I hope you children will grow up sometime," grumbled Gray, as he hurried on.

An hour or two afterwards Gray was walking into Boston in very good company. The new Harvard Bridge was not then built, and the two (yes, only one other) were passing through one of the more lonely streets of Cambridgeport that lead to the Cottage Farms bridge. A hard-looking citizen turned a corner ahead of them, and on catching sight of the pair stopped with some insulting remark. Gray's blood boiled into his face, but he had sense enough to cross to the other side of the street with his convoy. The man, evidently in liquor, promptly did the same, and showed that he meant to give trouble.

"Run back as fast as you can to Main Street," said Gray to his companion, upon which advice she wisely and quickly acted.

The rough started forward, and Gray placed himself in the middle of the path.

"Hold on," he commanded. "Don't come a step nearer."

"Get out of my way, you little dude, before I eat you up," answered the other.

The little dude naturally did not get out of the way. He dropped his stick and squared himself for the enemy. Then, contrary to the generally accepted pleasant idea, the burly ruffian proceeded to "eat up" the slender thoroughbred.

The light-weight met his adversary's rush handsomely, but utterly failed to stop it. The tough closed, "back-heeling," and at the same time landing his right with a door key in it, used as brass knuckles, thereby cutting Gray's face open. As the latter tripped and went down under the blow, the tough kicked him. Gray jumped to his feet again, however, and managed to fasten on the rough's back as he went by. They went down together, the rough on top with his knee on Gray's stomach. This knocked the wind out of the little fellow terribly, still he clung to his adversary. The latter struggled to free one of his hands, with the amiable purpose of choking, or of gouging the eye of the youth under him, when a shout made him look up. He managed to tear himself away, and sprang to his feet. Holworthy and his chum, Charles Rivers, who was No. 4 in the 'Varsity crew, were tearing down the street.

The second battle was quite as unequal as the first, for there was as much difference between the big college oarsman in the pink of condition, and the rum-soaked Port tough, as there had been between the latter and the plucky little stripling. It is only justice to the tough, however, to say that no idea of flight entered his mind; he was quite as ready to fight the big dude as the little one.

His hand went to his hip-pocket, but evidently the weapon was not there. Then he gathered himself and made a spring at the new-comer. As a result he ran his face into a big fist at the end of a long, straight, stiffened left-arm. At the other end of that arm were a hundred and ninety pounds of hard-trained muscle. As he staggered back from this concussion, he got the hundred and ninety pounds again, concentrated in a right hander on his fifth rib. That doubled him up, and then it was River's turn to rush. He knew enough not to close, for the brute, though practically knocked out, could still use his teeth if he got a chance. Holding him up by the throat with his left hand, with his right Rivers pounded the ruffian on the jaw, then threw him senseless on the ground.

"There, that will do. He'll come to after awhile," he remarked, "but he will do no more mischief at present. You chivalrous little jackass," he continued, turning to Gray, who was wiping the blood from his face, "I saw you throw away your stick when we first caught sight of you. It's lucky you weren't killed. Of course you couldn't help fighting under these circumstances, but if you ever get caught with a beast like that again, don't ever try fair prize-ring methods with him. It is only in books that the nice young man thrashes two or three toughs bigger than himself in a square fight. These chaps know how to fight just as well as you; what is more, they know how to fight foul, and always do if they get a chance. Just remember, now, if you ever have to tackle this kind of cattle again, cut him right over with your stick. Paste him under the ear for keeps."

"If this isn't just my luck!" said Gray, looking ruefully at the blood on his handkerchief. "Here have I been longing and praying for this sort of an opportunity, and when it comes, by Jove, I get a thundering licking and another fellow comes along and saves me and the girl both. Hang it, Charlie, I could have held on to him until she got away."

"Too bad," laughed Rivers, "I beg your pardon. I didn't think. I ought to have let you get killed or gouged for her and glory, oughtn't I? Come, cheer up, old man, you did a great deal more than I, and deserve all the favors. Let's go back and see her."

They walked back to Holworthy and the fair _casus belli_. The latter had paused in her flight on the arrival of the reinforcements, and with natural curiosity and anxiety had watched the fray from a distance. As her rescued rescuer and his rescuer came up, she held out her hand to Rivers, and uttered her gratitude in nervous broken sentences.

She expressed much sympathy for Gray.

SERIOUS SITUATIONS IN BURLEIGH'S ROOM.[1]

[Footnote 1: This farce is printed by the kind permission of the Hasty Pudding Club for which it was originally written.]

SCENE:--Room of Hudson, Burleigh, and Co. (Co. being Topsy, the terrier).

Burleigh seated in easy chair, legs stretched towards fire, back to table, dog in lap, reading and smoking long pipe.

_Hudson_ [_from his bedroom_]. Oh, Ned!

_Burleigh._ Hullo?

_Hud._ Aren't you going to the Assembly to-night?

[_Enter Hudson from bedroom putting on evening coat._]

_Burl._ [_without looking up_]. Did you ever know me to go to more than one Harvard Assembly? Don't ask foolish questions.

_Hud._ Well, don't you be such a lazy lummox. [_Going to looking-glass._] Really, Ned, you ought to go out more among decent people.

_Burl._ Yes. I have such a good time when I do. At the last and only party in Boston to which I ever went, I knew just one girl, and spilled ice-cream on her dress. After holding up the wall for an hour and a half, and finding it impossible to get you or any one else to come back to Cambridge with me, I started home alone in Riley's cab. Mr. Riley felt in a sporting mood as usual, and insisted on racing an electric car. We broke down at Central Square. It was snowing hard and the walk home in patent leathers was lovely. When I got home, of course, I found that my keys were chained to my other trousers, and I busted the bags I had on in climbing through the ventilator over the door. I dropped on the rocking-chair and the pup both at once, and then found there was nothing to drink in the book-case. Oh, I enjoyed the last Assembly thoroughly. I think it would be fun to go again. Ugh!

_Hud._ Very few ever go to a party for pleasure, my dear boy. It is a duty that you owe to yourself. If you never go to balls, you will never know how to behave in a ballroom. When you have learned to do that, why then you needn't go to balls.

_Burl._ That is logical.

_Hud._ It is also a duty that you owe society.

_Burl._ Society can have my share of the supper, and call it square.

_Hud._ Well, now look here, Ned, I want you to go in to the Assembly to-night for a particular reason, besides your own civilization.

_Burl._ I won't go. What is your reason?

_Hud._ My mother and sister have come on to Boston and are going to be at the ball to-night, and I want you to meet them.

_Burl._ Why didn't you say that in the first place? But, Steve, aren't you going to have them out here pretty soon? I can meet them then.

_Hud._ [_emphatically_]. No, sir. Not if I know it, until I can be sure of keeping out all the duns and sporting gentry who are apt to call unexpectedly. Numerous acquaintances, whom I do not care to have my good mother meet, might drop in to a little five o'clock tea. I shall probably get my quarter's allowance before long, and then I can chain up the Furies for a while, and have my family out here with an easy mind. That bull mick Shreedy is gunning for me just at present, and if my mother knew I owed money to a prize-fighter she would never get over it.

_Burl._ Well, won't it do if I go in to-morrow and call?

_Hud._ No, I promised them that you would be there to-night, and they will be awfully disappointed if you're not. They are naturally anxious to know my chum as soon as possible.

_Burl._ Then they will be awfully disappointed if I _am_ there. You know perfectly well, when I talk to a girl at a party, what a painful ordeal it is for both of us. You ought not to spring me on your sister under such conditions. It's unfair to me and a poor joke on her.

_Hud._ Oh, don't be such a bashful ass. You can do well enough if you try. My sister knows that you hate parties, and will appreciate your coming. Now, do promise me, there is a good fellow.

_Burl._ Well, I suppose I shall have to. But, Steve, I haven't time to dress for this thing to-night.

_Hud._ Nonsense. You have plenty of time to dress. How long does that operation generally take you?

_Burl._ Three quarters of an hour to dress, and an hour and three quarters to tie my cravat. I think I shall have to get one of those nice store cravats that come all tied, and strap on with a buckle.

_Hud._ Yes, get a pretty satin one with pink rose-buds on it. Oh, I shouldn't be surprised to see you turn up in anything. [_Putting on hat and overcoat._] I tell you what it is, Ned, if you continue to shun all feminine society you will soon become an unmitigated boor.

_Burl._ I am at college, thanks, and prefer it. I shall have plenty of time to take up feminine society, as you call it, after I graduate.

_Hud._ You will be a cub, and society won't take _you_ up. Now, old man, it is awfully good of you to come in on my account to-night, so don't back out,--and make yourself look as much like a gentleman as you can. Come in as early as possible. [_Exit Hudson._]

_Burl._ [_sol._]. Why the deuce does a fellow want to go chasing into Boston, when he has only four years of this sort of thing. Steve does not half appreciate college. However, I suppose if his family [_Taking photograph from table_] is going to be there, I ought to go in. It is only decent. [_To photograph._] So, Miss Hudson, you and I are going to meet, eh? Oh, what a fool you will think me! Now, if I could only look at you without trying to talk. Steve is right, though; I ought to cure myself of this fool shyness and awkwardness before the other sex, or I deserve to be called an ill-bred cub.

[_Knock at hall door._]

Come in! [_Puts down photograph hastily._]

[_Enter Jack Randolph in long coat and rubber boots._]

_Randolph._ Hullo, Ned! Did I leave my umbrella in here the other day?

_Burl._ It is a pretty good one, isn't it? No, I guess I haven't seen it.

_Rand._ [_Taking a cross-handled umbrella from beside fireplace._] Lucky you haven't.

_Burl._ Oh, while I think of it, here is that X I owe you [_pulling bill out of pocket_].

_Rand._ Good man! Marvellous memory! Remembered the wrong end of a debt. I am glad you did, for I am devilish hard up just at present. [_Taking cigar from mantel-piece._]

_Burl._ So is everybody at this time of year. This is a great sacrifice on my part.

_Rand._ Don't give it to me now. Keep it until to-morrow, won't you? [_Lights cigar._]

_Burl._ Better take it while you can get it. I shall have spent it next time we meet. Why don't you want it now?

_Rand._ Well, I will take it, just to relieve you. I haven't anything on but this ulster, which is not a good thing to put money in. You see, I am going round to a dress rehearsal at the Pudding.

_Burl._ Oh, that is why you are all bundled up on this clear night. Let us see your dress.

_Rand._ No, you will see it soon enough at the show to-morrow night. Where is Steve?

_Burl._ Gone in town to trip in the mazy.

_Rand._ The habitual dude! Oh, of course, the first Harvard Assembly comes off to-night. If it was not for this rehearsal I would go in and do the butterfly myself. What would hire you to go there, Charlie?

_Burl._ Give me back that ten dollars and I will go.

_Rand._ I don't believe you would; but I'd give you the ten dollars if I could be there to see you.

_Burl._ Well, if it will please you to know it, I _am_ going in.

_Rand._ What! You going to a party! What has happened?

_Burl._ [_with dignity_]. Nothing. It is a duty that I owe to myself and society. If a man never goes to balls he will never know how to behave in a ballroom.

_Rand._ [_with derisive laughter_]. That is pretty good from you. Steve has evidently been giving you a lecture. Come now, Ned, choke that off and tell me honestly what is up.

_Burl._ Nothing, I tell you. If a man shuns all polite society, he will become an unmitigated boor.

_Rand._ If you don't drop that second-hand stuff of Hudson's, and tell me who the girl is, by Jove, I'll tell every man in college about it, and it shall be a very amusing story before I get through with it, I promise you.

_Burl._ Well, you see--er--Steve's mother is going to be there and he wants me to meet her.

_Rand._ Oho! That is it, is it? Steve's _mother_ is going to be there. Ha-ha-ha, that is pretty weak, old fox. I suppose, of course, there is no chance of _Miss_ Hudson being there too. Well, if she is half as pretty as her photograph, I don't blame you for going in. Egad, though, Ned, I would like to see you talking to her.

_Burl._ I have no doubt you would, sweet me child, but you won't. That is just where the best point of this funny joke comes in. While I am talking to Miss Hudson, you will be out here, at the rehearsal, getting sworn at. "Go over that chorus again." "Randolph, you're out of step."

_Rand._ Damn the rehearsal. Never mind, Miss Hudson will probably be on here for some time, and I shall get another chance of meeting her. When I do, I will make a particular point of cutting you out. You won't be in it, even if you are her brother's chum.

_Burl._ [_getting up_]. You are talking too much. Come now, run along. I have got to dress.

_Rand._ I wish I had time to watch you do it. I don't believe you have put on a claw-hammer coat since you've been up here, except for club dinners.

_Burl._ Oh, go round to your rehearsal. You will be late.

_Rand._ [_going to hall door_]. If it doesn't begin on time, I'll come back here and help you untangle your neck-tie. Don't make yourself too pretty. Leave me some chance with Miss H. [_Exit._]

_Burl._ Jack is too fresh to-night. Come, pup. [_Picks up Topsy and exits into bedroom._]

[_Enter a certain Prof. Shreedy (unattached to the University.) He softly closes door after him, and knocks on inside_].

_Burl._ [_from bedroom_]. Come in.

_Shreedy_ [_aside_]. I will. [_Calls_] Is Mr. Hudson in, I dunno?

_Burl._ [_putting his head out of his bedroom_]. Hullo, is that you, Shreedy? No, Mr. Hudson is not in, and he won't take any sparring lesson to-night any way.

_Shreedy_. Well, I just come to see him about a little matter of business, see? Maybe you might----

_Burl._ No I mightn't. There is not a dollar in the firm, Shreedy, anywhere. Hudson has gone in town. I can't give you a cent, and if you don't get out of here pretty quickly, I may have to borrow a car fare from you. Call again next week. Good evening, and get out. [_Slams door._]

_Shr._ Ain't he getting pretty flip? The lippy dude! Maybe he thinks he can put me off that way. Hudson gone in town, ah, rats! What an old gag. I'll wait round awhile, 'cause I got to have that money to-night. I'll lay for him in this other room, that's what I'll do, and nab him when he comes in. [_Helps himself to two or three cigars and goes into Hudson's bedroom._]

[_A soft knock on door, then enter Mrs. and Miss Hudson._]

_Mrs. Hudson._ Well, this is strange, I should think Steve would have taken more care to meet us here.

_Miss Hudson._ Perhaps he has just gone out for a minute.

_Mrs. H._ He ought to have been on the lookout for the carriage, and not compelled us to come up here after waiting twenty minutes at the door.

_Miss. H._ He may not have received your telegram.

_Mrs. H._ And has gone in town to meet us there? Good gracious! I hope not. Well, we will wait a little while and see. But it is rather awkward for two ladies to be visiting a college room in the evening in this way, even if I am the mother of the occupant.

_Miss H._ I think it is lots of fun. What a jolly room he has. I wish I were a boy.

_Mrs. H._ Under the present circumstances, my dear, I wish so too. He _has_ arranged his room pretty well for a man.

_Miss H._ Now, let us look at all his things. We will begin with the mantel-piece.

[_They both turn toward mantel, backs to room._]

[_Enter Burleigh from his bedroom in evening trousers, no coat or waistcoat, and four or five white cravats in his hand. Without seeing the visitors, he crosses the room to the looking-glass, which hangs on the wall opposite the fireplace, where the visitors are standing._]

_Burl._ [_to himself_]. Now for the great agony. Oh, life is very short for this sort of thing. If Steve's family could only see me tying my cravat, they would realize what devotion--[_Suddenly sees women in the glass and starts._] Good Lord! [_Turns head slowly and looks at Mrs. and Miss H. whose backs are still turned._] Oh, what in Heaven's name shall I do? I can't get back to my room. Ha! the screen! [_Dives behind a tall screen near the glass._]

_Miss H._ Look at all these pipes! And what a horrid smell of tobacco!

_Mrs. H._ I see that Steve's chum, Mr. Burleigh, smokes.

_Burl._ [_aside over screen_]. And Jack Randolph just made the horrid smell with one of Steve's weeds.

_Miss H._ [_finding on the mantel-piece a champagne bottle marked "aetat 21"_]. Oh, look at this!

_Burl._ [_aside over screen_]. Now she has got hold of the memento of Steve's birthday. What next?

_Mrs. H._ [_putting on glasses and taking bottle_]. Hm! I suppose that Mr. Burleigh also drinks. I hope my son does all in his power to restrain his comrade.