Chapter 19

A RARE INTERVIEW

Instantly Will Phelps was overwhelmed with confusion. His face flushed crimson and his knees shook under the excitement which quickly seized upon him. The opprobrious title by which the Greek professor was known among the students and by which he was commonly spoken of by them had slipped from his tongue almost unconsciously. He stood staring stupidly into the professor's face, while visions of expulsion and future difficulty flashed into his troubled mind.

"I beg your pardon, professor," he managed to ejaculate at last. "I did not mean to say that. The word slipped out before I knew it. I am very sorry for it, for I certainly did not intend to be disrespectful in any way."

"You insulted me!" exclaimed the professor in a rage that under other circumstances would have seemed almost ludicrous to Will. It was like the anger of an infuriated canary bird or of some little child.

"Then I want to apologize," said Will quietly. "As I said, I certainly did not intend to do anything of the kind."

"But you did," persisted the outraged teacher. "You most assuredly did."

"Can't you believe me when I say it was not intentional?"

"That does not excuse it, but I fawncy the tendency among the young gentlemen of the college is to bestow appellations upon the various members of the faculty that are not warranted."

"I have heard some of them spoken of in that way, but I don't think the fellows meant either to be disrespectful or unkind," said Will eagerly.

"No, I fawncy it may in part be due to the thoughtlessness of youth and I would not be unduly harsh with you after your ample apology. Then you have been accustomed to hear me myself referred to as Splinter, have you?"

"I--yes--that is--" stammered Will.

"Precisely. Now what in your opinion is the basis upon which the students have added such a derisive epithet to my name?"

Will was silent, though in spite of his efforts the expression of his face betrayed somewhat the feeling of blank amazement which possessed him.

"I fawncy I can trace its derivation," said the professor simply. "Doubtless when I first became a member of the faculty the appellation, or, let me see, is it an appellation or a cognomen, as you commonly have heard it?"

"Yes, sir," Will managed to respond.

"It is, then, as I fawncied, and doubtless was bestowed upon me as indicative of my lack of avoirdupois. And it was not entirely unnatural that they should do so, for at the time when I came to Winthrop I was very slight, very slight indeed. The appellation, or cognomen, was without doubt given in recognition of that fact, a custom not unknown, among the classical nations and one prevalent among the Hebrews and even among the Indians of America. The history of names would provide an exceedingly interesting field of study for you, Mr. Phelps."

Will bowed but did not speak, for he was afraid to interrupt or to divert the childlike man from the channel in which his thoughts appeared to be running.

"Such a name once given," resumed the professor, "would doubtless cling to one long after physical changes had been made that would no longer afford an accurate basis for the nomenclature. But I was very slight, very slight indeed, Mr. Phelps, when I first came here some seventeen years ago, or, to be exact, seventeen years and four months, that is, four months lacking a few days. Why, I believe I weighed only one hundred and seventeen pounds at the time."

Will strove to be duly impressed by the fact, but as he looked at the man who was somewhat above six feet in height and whose body did not give many tokens of having increased materially in breadth or thickness since the time to which the professor referred, he found it extremely difficult to repress the smile that rose to his lips.

"Yes," resumed the professor quickly, "I have increased in weight since that time but the appellation still clings and doubtless will as long as I remain in Winthrop."

"How much do you weigh now, professor?" The moment Will asked the question he regretted it, but the temptation was too strong to be resisted.

"I cannot say exactly," said the professor in some confusion, "but my weight has very materially increased. If I recall aright, the last time when I was weighed I had added two and three-quarters pounds. It is true it was in the winter and doubtless heavier clothing may have slightly modified the result. But still I can safely affirm that I am much heavier than I was at the time when I joined the Winthrop faculty."

"Do you find that you feel better now that you are more corpulent? I have heard it said that addition to the body is subtraction from the brain. Do you think that is so, professor?"

"It is true, most assuredly. All classifical literature confirms the statement you have just made."

"Then you don't believe in athletics, do you, professor?"

"Assuredly not. Most assuredly not."

"But didn't the ancient Greeks have their racecourses? Didn't they believe in running and jumping and boxing and I don't know what all?"

"That is true, but the times were very different then. They had not in the least lost the sense of the poetry of life. They were not so crassly or grossly materialistic as the present age undoubtedly is. Every grove was peopled with divinities, every mountain was the abode of the unseen. Why, Mr. Phelps, the Greeks were the only people that ever lived that looked upon mountains as anything but blots or defects."

"Is that so?" inquired Will in surprise.

"It certainly is. It is true that since the days of the poet Gray there has been a tendency among English-speaking people to affect a veneration for the mountains, but it is, I fawncy, only a faint echo of the old Greek conception and is a purely superficial product of an extremely superficial age and people."

"Didn't the Hebrews have a feeling like the one you tell of? Isn't there a psalm that begins 'I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help'? Didn't they describe the high hills that were round about Jerusalem?"

"Ah, yes. That is true," assented the professor in some confusion. "I had not thought of it in that light precisely. You have given me a new insight to-day, Mr. Phelps. I shall at once go over my data again. I am grateful to you for acceding to my request to remain to-day."

"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 passing 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 amusement 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 passing 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.