Dick was a hero. Every one said so; and “every one” certainly ought to have known. His advent at chapel the morning following the fire was the signal for an outburst of applause, a token of approval the like of which had not occurred at Hillton since that far-famed half-back, Joel March, was a student there and had rescued a lad from drowning in the river. Yes, Dick was a hero. Professor Wheeler sent for him and said all kinds of nice things, and the resident instructor, Professor Tompkins, waylaid him in the lower hall of Masters and beamed on him over his glasses, and other members of the Faculty shook hands with him warmly and quoted appropriate things in Greek and Latin, and the students played the part of a monotonous chorus and whispered when he passed.

But if Dick was a hero, his conception of the role was all wrong, judged by the accepted standard. Instead of wearing an expression of modest pride, instead of receiving the tributes of an admiring public with blushes and murmured expostulations as, of course, every hero has done since the time of Adam, he mooned around out-of-the-way[215] corners like a bear with a sore head, while his most gracious response to the admiring public was a muttered “Oh, dry up, will you?” delivered in something between a growl and a groan.

“You’re absolutely the most disappointing hero I ever heard of!” said Trevor in disgust. “Why, if I’d done a thing like that I’d be strutting around the yard with my head back and my thumbs in my waistcoat pockets! A chap would think you were grouchy about it!” Whereupon Dick turned angrily:

“Trevor, if you don’t shut up I’ll pound you good and hard! Now, I mean what I say!”

“Some are born to greatness,” murmured Trevor, “some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them—and are exceeding wroth. I have spoken!” And having spoken, he bolted out the door a fraction of a second ahead of a German dictionary thrown with much vigor and precision.

But, despite Dick’s displeasure, there was both truth and justice in Trevor’s charge. Dick was disappointing. And the school at large marveled, and finding that their admiration for the plucky rescue was not wanted, thereafter refrained from further mention of the matter in Dick’s presence. And that youth kept to his room a good deal, where, instead of delving in his books, he sat glowering into space, or walked restlessly around like a caged lion. He became extremely taciturn, and even rowing affairs[216] failed to arouse any but the most indifferent replies. Trevor wondered and grew alarmed.

By the burning of Coolidge’s house—due to the upsetting and subsequent explosion of a patent non-explosive lamp—seven boys found themselves homeless and less about everything save the scanty wardrobes in which they had made their escapes. Coolidge’s was a mere pile of ashes and charred timbers. For the family charity was unnecessary, since the house and contents had been well insured, but for the boys who had lost almost everything a scheme was speedily set on foot. A meeting was held in Society House, and the president of the senior class, Wallace Osgood, made a stirring address, which every one applauded, and then asked for suggestions as to a means of raising money to reimburse, to some extent at least, the victims of the fire. There was no response until Malcolm Kirk, who, with several members of the Faculty, presided on the stage, moved that an amateur performance, the exact character of which was to be later decided upon, be given in the Town Hall. He was sure, he said, that there was enough talent in the school to afford an interesting program, and believed that enough tickets could be sold at the academy and in the village to more than fill the hall. The plan met with instant favor; Professor Wheeler indorsed it, and moved that Mr. Kirk be asked to assume charge of it; Mr. Kirk assented and moved, in turn, that committees to work with him be appointed from the four[217] classes; the classes made their appointments on the spot; a Saturday night some two weeks distant was chosen as the date of the entertainment, and the meeting broke up with great enthusiasm.

Boys hurried to their rooms, and brought down dusty banjos, guitars, and mandolins, and for nights afterward the dormitories were made hideous with chromatic scales and strange, weird chords. Dick found himself one of the senior committee, and throwing aside some of his lethargy worked busily with the rest. The first meeting of the joint committee of arrangements was held in Kirk’s room the following evening, and he outlined his plan. There was not, he thought, sufficient time before the date agreed upon in which to find performers for and rehearse anything in the way of a play. Instead, he would suggest that scenes from some well-known book be presented, each carrying only enough dialogue to make themselves clear. For instance, there was Tom Brown at Rugby; that afforded numerous opportunities for interesting stage pictures; there was Tom’s leave-taking with his father at the inn, in which the father’s excellent advice would, he thought, appeal to the risibilities of the audience. And then there was the fight with “Slogger” Williams, the hazing scene before the fireplace, and so on through the book. For the first part of the entertainment he suggested that the musical talent of the school could be levied upon; some of the fellows could undoubtedly sing; many could perform on some instrument or[218] other; perhaps some could give recitations; and no doubt the band would do its share. For a further attraction, to constitute a third part of the program, Kirk suggested a series of representations of various sports, each to be pictured by a single person in appropriate costume—as Football, Baseball, Bowing, Lacrosse, Cricket, Hockey, Basketball, Skating, Tobogganing, Snow-shoeing, Tennis, and so on, all to be grouped together on the stage afterward for a final tableau.

The plan was adopted, and for the next two weeks every one was very busy, Kirk and Dick especially, since rowing affairs claimed more and more of their attention every day. May had brought fine, clear weather and sunny skies, under which it was a pleasure to work. The little chilling breezes that had been ruffling the blue waters of the Hudson had crept away in the track of winter, and the valley was green with fresh verdure and warm with the spring sunshine. Each day brought fresh hope to those who were interested in the success of the crew. The eight members of the varsity worked together with something approaching accord, and even Taylor’s continued absence from the boat was no longer a reason for constant dismay; for Jones, by dint of eternal vigilance and much tongue-lashing, had at last made of himself a fairly acceptable Number 7. Taylor was still laid up, for the fire and his efforts to fight his way from the building before Dick’s arrival had set back his recovery at least a fortnight.

[219]

Many times ............