Part 4

When he entered the Latin room that morning and took his seat beside Jack, he felt rather than perceived that a change of some kind had come over his companion. It was nothing that Jack said, nor was it clearly apparent in his manner, and yet there was an indefinable something about him that led Ward to think that a change of some kind had come. For the first time Ward's heart misgave him. Perhaps he had been too bold after all. Could he afford to incur the loss of Jack's friendship for the sake of a little fellow whom he had never met until a few days before this time?

His thoughts, however, were soon recalled, and he was giving his entire attention to the work of the class. His own lesson had been thoroughly prepared and when he took his seat after Mr. Crane had called upon him to recite he felt that he had done well.

Mr. Crane, however, made no comment, and there was no change in the quiet manner with which he conducted his recitation. Ward was a trifle disappointed, as he felt that such work as he was doing was entitled to a little more recognition than he had received. However, he gave his attention to the lesson, and when the class rose to leave the room he turned to Jack and said:

"It's this afternoon the nine practises, isn't it?"

"Yes," replied Jack evasively.

The conversation ceased abruptly, and as Ward passed with the class out to Dr. Gray's recitation room, he several times perceived that he himself was the subject of conversation among the boys.

Striving hard not to appear to notice it, and yet with a sinking heart realizing that somehow the boys appeared to avoid him, he apparently was taking his last glimpse at his lesson before entering the recitation room. And yet his thoughts were not of the lesson. Even Jack he noticed was walking by the side of Berry--Luscious Berry--and if one might judge from his manner the conversation was highly interesting. With a heavy heart Ward entered the room, and as soon as the recitation was ended departed alone for his room in West Hall. Once there, he seated himself and in a kind of dull misery began to think over his situation. The fellows were "cutting" him, there was no doubt of that, he thought, and even the new boys were looking at him with suspicion. And yet it was possible for him even now to win back all he had lost; all he would have to do would be to go in with the "Tangs" again and enter heartily into their sports and pranks and he would soon have his position restored.

But what would that position be? One which would prevent him from doing good work, first of all, and that was something he was eager to do, at least for the present. Soon he would forfeit the good opinion of Mr. Crane and Dr. Gray, and his steps would begin to slide. He might win a certain amount of popularity from such fellows as Tim, but what would it all amount to?

Then why should he feel called upon to defend Little Pond? He had been compelled to fight his own battles when he had entered the school and it had done him good, or at least so Ward thought. Little Pond would soon learn to take his own part, and meanwhile a little attention from Tim might not do him any real harm.

Ward Hill was seriously troubled. He did not fully realize it, but the greatest pain in his own heart was over the loss of his popularity among his fellows.

For this his heart hungered, and as his struggle went on, more than once his decision wavered. He was now at the dividing of the ways. He had been traveling along a road thus far which, while uneven, had been for the most part unbroken. Now the road forked, and if he went on he must choose either the one branch or the other.

That afternoon was to be the first day of practice for the school nine. A notice to that effect had been posted upon the bulletin board, and while no personal invitation had been given him to come, Ward decided to go. He must learn the exact condition of affairs, both for his own sake and to know how to meet the boys, and there would be no better place than on the ballground.

Accordingly, when the study hour was over, he closed his books and started for the place, from which as he approached he could hear already the shouts of the fellows in the game.

*CHAPTER VI*

*THE BEGINNING OF THE STRUGGLE*

A single glance as he came within sight of the field at once showed Ward that the nine were already in their places, and were playing against a scrub team. Henry was guarding first base, Jack was on second, and his own position in left field was held by the new boy, Ripley.

Ward understood it all now; it was the intention of Tim Pickard and his friends to "freeze him out."

He thought for a moment bitterly of the success he had had in the game with the Burrs in the preceding year, and how in their enthusiasm after the game was ended, his mates had carried him about on their shoulders, and the cheers for Ward Hill had been given with a will.

And it had all been sweet to Ward too. Vanity seemed to have been intended as a part of the original make-up of every son of Adam, and while many times it becomes a source of weakness, more frequently it is an element of power. Almost every boy is prone to look upon his own father, for example, with a confidence and admiration he gives no other man, and rightly too. The belief in one's own ability to do things is no slight element in the possible success which he may achieve. But out of proportion, or not in its proper place, or when permitted to become a controlling power, vanity never fails to become a source of weakness.

This had been as true with Ward Hill as it had been with Big Smith, although the manner in which it became manifest was so different. To measure one's self justly, to decide honestly what can be done and what cannot, is ever an element of power, and one of the very best lessons, as it is almost the first of the necessary ones, to be gained as a boy goes out from his own home, where his good qualities have frequently been exaggerated and his poorer ones ignored; and to learn that there are other boys as bright as he, is a difficult but necessary process. A school is the most thoroughly and the most honestly democratic place in all this world, and if a boy finds that there he is not popular with his mates, instead of blaming them he needs very carefully and honestly to look within himself to discover the causes. It is frequently said that the source of Caesar's success was his ability to discover what he could not do and to govern himself accordingly; while the cause of Napoleon's downfall is said to have been his inability to perceive what Caesar saw. But Ward Hill that afternoon was not thinking either of Caesar or Napoleon. He was troubled most of all about Ward Hill and the fact that he had been left off the Weston nine.

His mortification was not diminished when he discovered that both Henry and Jack were in their regular positions. Now he understood the meaning of the change in Jack's manner. While he was angry he was not inclined to blame him, for he understood clearly the disposition of the light-hearted lad, and knew that he was never one to stand long against an appeal of almost any kind.

But Henry's action troubled him. He had professed so warm a friendship, and apparently had been so eager to have their former relations restored, that he could not understand now why he should not have spoken to him before of the change in the nine. Perhaps Ward's bitterness was a little more intense from the consciousness he had that there was no better player in the Weston school than he knew himself to be. That, however, did not alter the fact that he had been left out, and doubtless intentionally too.

Ward's first impulse was to turn quickly and leave, before his presence had been discovered. Suddenly changing his decision, he quietly turned about and striving to appear unconcerned advanced and joined the line of boys who were watching the game. He tried desperately to ignore the glances which were cast at him from the boys in the line, but he could not entirely succeed. Nor could he fail to hear some of the words which were spoken to some of the new boys concerning himself.

Just then the side was out, and as the members of the nine came slowly in from the field Tim Pickard spied him. His face lighted up with a malicious smile as he turned to his companions and said: "Here's Ward Hill, fellows. He used to be a decent sort of a player. Can't we find a place for him on the scrubs? The nine needs all the practice it can get, and he'll help us out."

"I don't care to play to-day," said Ward quietly, although he felt his cheeks flush as he spoke.

His mortification was not diminished when he saw a sardonic grin appear upon Tim's face and the brutal boy turn and wink meaningly at his fellows.

Ward stood his ground boldly, however, although in his heart he felt that he was something of a martyr. It was not just clear to him what the cause of his suffering was, but his disappointment and mortification, with which was mingled a feeling of anger, were uppermost. Not yet did he clearly see that he was reaping the harvest of the seed he had sown in the preceding year. All that came to him now was the consciousness that he was being treated unjustly, and his whole soul rebelled, although he felt entirely powerless to change the condition of affairs.

"Never you mind, Ward," said Jack consolingly, as he sought his friend's side as soon as the game was resumed, "it's all going to come out right in the end."

Ward smiled a little bitterly, but made no other reply.

"Tim's got backing enough to keep you off from the nine now, but it won't last long. We've just got to have you when it comes to the game with the Burrs, and that's all there is about it. Tim knows that as well as any one, and if he wants to he can't keep the fellows back then."

"Perhaps he can't, but it takes two to make a bargain. Maybe I sha'n't be so eager as you seem to think I will. I can't do as some of the fellows do, be just the same to everybody, no matter how they act toward me."

"I know it," said Jack quietly as he picked up a bat, having heard his name called, and advanced to face the pitcher.

"It's a shame, Ward!" said Henry who now came up to him. "It's a shame, that's what it is! I didn't know anything about it till I came down on the field. I supposed of course you were to have your regular place on the nine. If there's no place for you, there's no place for me either. Tim Pickard might as well understand that now as at any other time."

Ward's feelings were somewhat soothed by Henry's words, and he deeply regretted the manner in which he had just spoken to Jack.

It was too late then to recall his words, and he turned to his chum and said: "No, old fellow, you're not going to leave the nine on my account. That would make it all the worse for me, don't you see? You keep on for a while, anyway. I'm going up to see Mr. Crane now. I think I've had all the exercise I want, at least for to-day."

Henry said nothing more, though he was strongly inclined to leave with Ward. He understood thoroughly the sensitive nature of his friend and appreciated fully the suffering which he must be undergoing now. But somehow he felt powerless to aid him, and after watching him until he disappeared from sight he turned with a sigh and waited for his turn to bat to come.

Ward walked proudly away from the field. He was determined to permit no one to witness his shame, for he felt humiliated and angry. How was it, he thought, that such fellows as Tim Pickard could hold and wield such an influence on the boys? He was not liked, of that he was certain, and yet in spite of that fact no one in the school apparently had more followers. Why had Dr. Gray permitted such a fellow to re-enter the school? He had been expelled once; why should he not have been kept away entirely? The school certainly would be the better for his absence.

Ward Hill had yet to learn that "Tim Pickards" were not confined to the Weston school, but that in every place and condition some one stands who apparently blocks our way and prevents us from being our best and truest selves.

However, Ward was honest enough to feel the force of the thought which immediately followed. Perhaps if Dr. Gray had been only just, more boys than Tim Pickard might have been prevented from coming back to the Weston school. Where would he himself be but for Dr. Gray's kindness?

The thought did not tend to lessen his own bitterness, however, and when at last he entered East Hall and rapped upon the door of Mr. Crane's room the lad felt utterly wretched. It did seem as if all things were working together for bad, as far as he was concerned.

Mr. Crane quickly opened the door, and if he read the expression of misery upon Ward's face he was too wise to mention it. He greeted him cordially, and as Ward took the proffered seat, he at once began to talk cheerfully of the life and work of the school.

He spoke quietly--for Mr. Crane was never one to bestow praise cheaply--concerning the work which Ward was doing, and succeeded in drawing from the troubled lad so many of his opinions on matters pertaining to his home life and experiences in Rockford, that in spite of himself Ward felt his anger and mortification disappearing for the time, and was soon feeling quite at his ease.

As soon as he perceived that the cloud had passed, Mr. Crane led the conversation on to the subjects which he knew were in Ward's mind, and although he did not speak one word directly of them, Ward found himself wondering how much and what the teacher really knew of his troubles. He seemed to understand boys almost instinctively, and as Ward listened, his admiration for the quiet, self-possessed man increased each moment.

"In school life," said Mr. Crane, "there are always two forces which mostly aid a fellow when he is in trouble, or is trying to build himself up after a fall. One of these is to feel that there is some one looking up to him and perhaps depending upon him in many ways. Dr. Arnold was accustomed to say that the tone of the school life at Rugby was always largely determined by the older boys themselves. What they were and what they did became the standards for the younger fellows. I think the great teacher was exactly right. I have seen many a fellow here who was careless, and perhaps worse, when he was in the lower classes, completely changed when he became a senior. The very fact that he knew the younger boys were looking up to him, as he himself had looked up to those who had been above him when he first entered the school, has served to draw out his very best qualities. Yes, I am convinced that there is nothing which so helps a boy to become a man as to feel that he is responsible for some one besides himself."

Ward sat silent as Mr. Crane talked, wondering all the while whether he had learned anything directly concerning him. Certainly he was describing the very condition which had appealed very strongly to Ward after Little Pond's conversation with him a few nights before this time.

"What was the other thing which helped a fellow, Mr. Crane?" said Ward at last, looking up at his teacher as he spoke. "You said there were two."

"Yes, there's another great help, and that is his anger."

"His anger? I don't think I understand you, Mr. Crane."

"What I mean is this. At times the only force which will rouse one and compel him to do his level best is to be aroused by some strong feeling of anger."

"But I thought that was something which was wrong," replied Ward. "I never heard any one speak like that before."

"Perhaps not," said Mr. Crane quietly, yet smiling as he spoke. "And yet I firmly believe no boy, or man either for that matter, ever yet did a great thing without having a feeling of strong anger at the time. I'm not talking of your irritable men, nor of bad-tempered men. But there are some things which thoroughly arouse a good man, and the better he is the more will he be aroused. One who evidently knew of what he was speaking boldly encouraged us all to 'abhor that which is evil.' The picture of the peaceful Man of Nazareth in the temple with a scourge in his hands often comes up before me. Do you know, Hill, I have never cared much for the faces some men have painted as being that of that wonderful Man. For myself, I should like to see just how he looked, that quiet, dignified, gentle soul, when he was aroused as he was in the temple. It would be an inspiration to me, I know, in some of the conflicts that go on within me at times."

As Ward still sat silent, Mr. Crane after glancing quietly and keenly at him, went on. "Yes, Hill, that's exactly what I mean. No man does his level best until he is thoroughly aroused, and nothing rouses him like a just anger. Why, think of Washington at Monmouth, when he first discovered the cowardice or treachery of Lee. His anger must have been as terrible as it was sublime, and what a wonderful effort he made then and there. Or you can think of Martin Luther in his anger. What would he ever have accomplished if he had not been roused almost to madness by the sight and knowledge of what was going on about him? It is true of every great man and of every good man too, for when you sum it all up no one ever becomes a good man--I don't mean 'goody-goody,' but I do mean a good man--without being at the same time a great man too."

"Do you mean a fellow is to be angry at what he sees inside of himself or what he sees going on around him?" asked Ward quickly.

"In a sense I mean both," replied Mr. Crane. "There isn't one of us who doesn't do things, or is tempted at least to do them, for which he despises himself, and in my opinion he never rises much above them till he comes to have this feeling of anger of which I've just been speaking."

"I think I understand what you mean, Mr. Crane," said Ward rising from his chair. "I never looked at it so before, but you've helped me, helped me more than I can tell you. I think it was just to hear you say what you have been saying to me that I must have come here, Mr. Crane."

"Come again then, Hill. Come whenever you wish. I shall always be pleased to see you."

Ward, as he walked slowly on toward West Hall, of course could not see the smile on Mr. Crane's face as he stood by the window in his room and watched the departing lad, nor perhaps would he have understood it if he had seen it. But Mr. Crane apparently was not displeased at the effect of his words on his pupil, and soon resumed the work which had been interrupted by his entrance.

Ward was thinking deeply as he walked along the path. A new and unusual expression was upon his face, and as he ran up the stairs and stopped before his door, he took the key from his pocket, and said aloud to himself, "Ward Hill--the senior." Just what he meant by the expression he did not explain, perhaps he did not know.

He unlocked the door and started to open it. There was a slight resistance, and leaning against it he pushed the harder.

The door then flew open, but the opening was followed by a crash which might have been heard throughout the building. Chairs, tables, pitchers, lamps, and all the various belongings of the room, had been piled against the door and fallen in a confused mass all about. The room was in complete disorder. The carpet had been torn up, and even the curtains taken from the windows. The bedding was in the middle of the room, and the water from the pitchers had been poured over it. Even the beds had been taken apart and the pieces were scattered about over the floor.

*CHAPTER VII*

*THE TROUBLES ARE INCREASED*

For a moment Ward was speechless as he gazed at the scene of confusion before him. Whoever had done the work had done it thoroughly, for not an article of furniture nor a picture on the wall had been left in its proper place. It was confusion worse confounded upon which he gazed.

Quickly recovering himself, Ward pushed his way into the room and closed the door behind him. As he examined the heaps and piles before him more carefully, he became more and more angry. It was such a senseless, malicious trick to play on him, that Ward felt the indignity the more. It was true he had known of such things having been done before in the rooms of other boys, and he had not thought much about it at the time, or had only laughed good-naturedly when he had heard of the deed; but it was an entirely different affair when it came home to himself.

"I think even Mr. Crane would be satisfied that I am angry enough now," Ward thought, smiling bitterly; "but I don't see that it is going to help me very much. If the fellow who did it was here, why then I might turn my anger to advantage."

But even then Mr. Crane's lesson came home to him. "I'll do as he suggested," thought Ward, "and I'll just turn in and set these things aright before I have time to get over it."

Angry as Ward was he realized that the mischief must be repaired, and that he must be the one to repair it.

But first of all he began to investigate the manner in which the mischief-maker had entered the room. The outside windows were fastened on the inner side, and no one could have entered through them, even if he had had the hardihood to make the attempt. The door had been locked when he had returned, but he soon satisfied himself that some one must have had a key and used it in his absence.

Naturally his first thought was of Tim Pickard, but Tim was down on the ballground and must have been there long before Ward had gone. Tim himself then could not have done it. Who was it? Ward thought over the boys who would have been most likely to be the guilty ones, but he could not arrive at any satisfactory conclusion. So many of the boys now were against him that it might have been any one of twenty whom he could name.

It was impossible for Ward to banish the thought of Tim Pickard as having been the prime instigator, however. He would be too shrewd to be directly implicated in the matter, Ward was well aware of that, but Tim could work indirectly. There were too many of the boys who were willing to curry favor with him by any means for him not to be able to find some one to "pull his chestnuts out of the fire for him," as Ward expressed it.

Satisfied that he must wait for a solution of the mystery, Ward took off his coat and resolutely set to work to restore the room to something like its former state. He quickly moved the furniture, and then after spreading out the carpet began to tack it to the floor.

He worked on steadily and as quietly as possible, for he had no desire to be disturbed in his labors or enter into any explanations which a visitor might desire to have made. Several times some one rapped upon his door, but Ward did not heed the interruption. He paused in his work long enough to satisfy himself that the visitor had departed, and then resumed his labor.

Never before had he worked so hard or so rapidly. He grimly thought of what Mr. Crane had said concerning anger as a motive for exerting one's self, and certainly, he thought, in the present case it was working remarkably well. In much less time than he had deemed it possible the carpet had been tacked to the floor, and then Ward at once began to restore the furniture to its proper place. This last was an easy task, and as Ward glanced at his watch he was surprised to see that he had been working but little more than an hour. No one would suspect now from the appearance of the room that it had been "stacked," to use the Weston term for the upsetting of a boy's room. He then spread out the bedding in such a manner as to permit it to become dry, and just as he turned to enter the study room again, some one knocked on the door.