Chapter 20

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 amusement 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 shining. "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 class, 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 class 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.

"Well, I hope he'll get well," said Mr. Schenck with a heavy sigh, "though it does seem as if such things always happened to the brightest boys. I'm going to stay here for a few days till I know he's better or--" The sentence was not completed and for a time there was a tense silence in the room.

At last the men departed, Mr. Schenck to go to his son's room where he was to sleep while he remained in Winthrop, and Mr. Phelps to the station where he was to take the train for his home. Will accompanied his father, but the subject that was uppermost in the mind of each was not referred to for there are times when silence is golden.

In the days that followed, Will Phelps worked as he never had worked before in all his brief life. His distaste for the Greek and dislike of the professor were as strong as before, and at times it almost seemed to him that he could no longer continue the struggle. His sole inspiration was in the thought of his father and in his blind determination not to be mastered.

An additional element of gloom in those days were the reports that came from the infirmary of the condition of Peter John. All the other patients appeared to be doing well, but the daily word from the watchers by Peter John's bedside was that he was worse. A pall seemed to be resting over the entire college. The noisy songs and boisterous shouts were not heard in the dormitories nor upon the campus.

A part of the general anxiety was gone when as the days passed there were no reports of new cases developed, but the fear of what was to be the issue in the case of Peter John was in every heart--even with those who had not exchanged a word with him since he had entered Winthrop.

Will Phelps found himself even wondering how it was that the "old grads" when they returned always spoke in such enthusiastic terms of their own college days. How they laughed and slapped one another on the back as they recalled and recounted their exploits. It was Will's conviction that those days must have been markedly different from those through which he was passing, for he was finding only hard work and much trouble, he dolefully assured himself. He was too inexperienced to understand that one is never able to see clearly the exact condition of present experiences. There is then no perspective, and the good and evil, the large and small, are strangely confused. It is like the figures in a Chinese picture wherein the background and foreground, the little and the big, are much the same in their proportions. Only when a man looks back and beholds the events of the bygone days in their true perspective is he able to form a correct estimate of the relative values. Even Will Phelps would not have believed that there might come a day when the very struggle he was having in mastering his Greek would be looked upon by him as not unpleasant in the larger light in which all his college days would be viewed.

Mr. Schenck still remained in Winthrop, and his face every morning when Will went to inquire about Peter John was a sure indication of the report which was to be made even before a word had been spoken. Steadily lower and lower sank the freshman, who was desperately ill, until at last the crisis came, and with the passing of the day the issue of life or death would be determined.

In the interval between his recitations Will ran to see the suffering man and learn how the issue was going, and when at last the word was received that Peter John, if no relapse occurred, was likely to recover, he felt as if a great load had been lifted from his mind. It was his first experience with the deep tragedy that, like a cloud, rests over all mankind, and in the glimmer of hope that now appeared it seemed to him that all things appeared in a new light. Even his detested Greek was not quite so bad as it previously had been, and in the reaction that came Will bent to his distasteful task with a renewed determination.

When several weeks had elapsed, and the time of the Christmas vacation was near, for the first time Will was permitted to enter the room where Peter John was sitting up in bed. It was difficult for Will to hide the shock that came when he first saw his classmate, his face wasted till it almost seemed as if the bones must protrude, his head shaved, and his general weakness so apparent as to be pathetic.

Striving to conceal his real feelings and to appear bright and cheery, Will extended his hand and said nervously: "I'm mighty glad to see you, Peter John, and so will all the fellows be. I don't think you've taken the best way of getting a vacation."

Peter John smiled in a way that almost brought the tears to Will's eyes, and said, "I'm much obliged to you, Will."

"No, you're not. We're all much obliged to you for getting well. I don't know what the track team would have done without you."

"Guess I won't bother the track team this year. That's what the doctor says."

"Oh, well," said Will hastily, "that won't make any difference. You'll be all right for another year and that will do just as well."

"Say, Will," said Peter after a brief pause:

"What is it?" inquired Will kindly.

"There's something I want to say to you."

"Say it, then," laughed Will.

"I'm never going to touch a drop again."

"That's all right. Of course you won't," assented Will cordially.

"And, Will--"

"Yes?"

"I'm not going to have anything charged up to you any more."

"'Anything charged up to me'? I don't know what you mean."

"I mean those cakes and pies I had charged to you down at Tommie's." "Tommie" was the name by which the proprietor of one of the little restaurants and bakeshops in Winthrop was familiarly called by the college boys.

"I didn't know you had anything charged to me."

"You didn't?"

"No. I haven't had any bill for it, anyway."

"You'll get it. You'll have one," said Peter John nodding his head decidedly. "I don't know what I ever did it for anyway. At first I thought it was a good joke on you. M--some of the fellows said it would be. And then somehow I kept it up."

"Never mind, Peter John. I'll fix it. It'll be all right."

"Did you tell my father?" inquired Peter John anxiously.

"No. I haven't told him anything."

"I'm glad. I lost some money on that trip with the football team, Will."

"How much?"

"Seven dollars and a half. It was all I'd got."

"Do you want--" Will started to take out his pocketbook, but stopped abruptly, for he was not certain just how Peter John might receive his offer. He did not see the light that came for a moment into his classmate's eyes or the look of disappointment that quickly followed it.

"I'm never going to bet any more," remarked Peter John simply.

"Of course not."

"But my money is gone and I sha'n't be able to pay for those things I had charged to you at Tommie's, as I fully meant to."

"Never mind that."

"I'm going to study harder too."

"Not just yet. I shouldn't bother my head about such things now, Peter John. Wait till you are up and around before you do that."

"I'm afraid that'll be a long time."

"No. Oh no, it won't," said Will cheerily. "You'll be all right before you know it."

Peter John shook his head and was about to reply, when Mott entered the room and at the same time the physician also came. The latter glanced keenly at his patient, and then said to the visitors, "That's enough this time, boys. You'd better cut it short now and come again."

Will and Mott at once departed after bidding Peter John good-bye, and when they were out on the sidewalk Mott began to laugh.

"What's struck you? I don't see anything so very funny," said Will irritated by his companion's manner.

"Peter John has made a clean breast of it."

"What of it?"

"Oh, nothing much. Only when the 'devil was sick the devil a monk would be.' You know the words probably. It strikes me as absolutely funny."

"I don't see anything to laugh about," retorted Will warmly.

"You wait and maybe you will later, Phelps. Tra, la, freshman!" and Mott abruptly departed.

His words, however, still lingered in Will's mind, and throughout the evening the jingling rhyme that the sophomore had repeated kept running through his thoughts.