So Tommy, who felt as though he were lifting a great load from his heart, told him the story, beginning, just as this story began, at the moment he entered the little Wentworth school-house with the circus poster in his hand. How far away it seemed to him now! He could scarcely believe that it had happened so recently. Some parts of the story he did not tell in detail; he did not dwell upon the grime and misery of the mines, nor upon the hard conditions of life in New River valley. Somehow they seemed strangely out of place in this airy, pleasant room, with this boy, who had been reared in luxury, for listener. So he hurried on to the time when he first looked into “Lorna Doone,” and then to the patient work of the two who had taught him and fitted him for Lawrenceville. Let us do him the justice to say that he paid them full tribute.
“Don’t you see,” he concluded, “I can’t disappoint those two people. I’ve just got to succeed. Besides, I can’t go back to the mines now. I’ve seen something of the world outside. It’d kill me to go back.”
Reeves came over and gave him his hand again.
“Right,” he said heartily. “You’re dead right. Say,” he added awkwardly, “let me help you, won’t you? I’d like to. Come up here in the evenings and we’ll tackle the books together. I don’t know very much, but maybe I can help a little. The master will consent, I know.”
“Will you?” cried Tommy. “Oh, will you? That’s just what I want; that’s just what I need! But maybe you’ve other things to do—I don’t want to spoil your evenings.”
“Nonsense!” growled Reeves. “I need the study as bad as you do—worse, I suspect. I’ve been loafing too much anyway, and going over the rudiments again will help me. It’s as much for my own sake as for yours.”
So it was settled, the master did consent, and every night found the two together. How great a help Reeves was to him need hardly be said. Yet I think the other profited as much—perhaps more. He profited in self-denial and in earnestness, and, in his eagerness to help Tommy on, himself devoted much more thought to the work than he would otherwise have done. Word got about that Reeves had taken Tommy’s side of the controversy, and for a time the others wondered. Some of them dropped in of an evening to see for themselves this remarkable sight of Reeves coaching Remington in the first-form work. The example proved a good one, and as time passed some of the other boys forgot their anger toward him, and admitted him again into their friendship. But it was to Reeves he clung closest of all.
“Say, Remington,” said the latter, one Saturday, “I’m going to walk over to Princeton to-morrow after morning service. I’ve got a big brother there in the sophomore class, and maybe he’ll show us around if he’s feeling good. How’d you like to go along?”
“I’d like it,” said Tommy, with conviction, for he had never yet had a glimpse of the great college whose achievements were being constantly dinned into his ears. “But can I get leave?”
“I’ll fix it for you,” answered Reeves, and he did.