Say, you’ll think we’re soft ... but there’s something wet comes into our eyes as we look and Dill expresses how we feel when he says, kind of embarrassed, “Gee, guys, when we wanted water we couldn’t get it and now....”
Crabby?... Naw—no one calls him that any more. Resolutions? Well, the way he’s lived up to the ones we made out for him has made us sort of ashamed of the resolutions we’ve been trying to keep!
THE SKI BATTLE
To begin with, Reed Markham of the Georgia Markhams, had never seen it snow until his Pappy sent him north to a finishing school. He came of what has been described as “warm Southern blood” which perhaps partially explained his feeling that northern schoolmates at Seldon Prep were “cold” to him.
“No wonder you people have to have steam radiators in your homes!” he had been reported as saying once, when provoked at Yankee coolness.
But if Reed, fresh from a land rich in the lore of good old-fashioned hospitality, had felt his sensitive nature react to the more reserved attitudes of those new to him, he had only to remain long enough for cold weather to set in to know that the climate was even icier than the people.
“Brrr!” he murmured, teeth chattering, on the first stinging day of fall. “Why did Pop ever send me to this part of the country? This is terrible! I suppose I’ll have to go out and get some heavy underwear and a ... what’s that word?... yes—a winter overcoat!”
Soft spoken, soft acting, with soft brown eyes and softer black hair, Reed Markham had slid softly into Seldon at the start of the school term. A naturally diffident youth, possessing none too much inclination to make advances, Reed had resented the failure of fellow schoolmates to approach him. On the few occasions that they had, his white teeth had shown, the soft eyes had warmed with a grateful smile and he had done his best to make friends. But a certain self-conscious something—a feeling that he was among fellows who thought differently and acted differently than himself—had always erected a barrier. Sadly, more often bewilderedly, Reed had realized, even as he was speaking to a northern schoolmate, that the youth was not opening up to him. He wondered not a little about this Mason and Dixon line business. Why should fellows be humanly different just because they lived in different parts of the country? Weren’t they all Americans? Reed controlled a hot-tempered tongue with difficulty. His softness was a matter of breeding; his temper a matter of inheritance. A fellow must be the gentleman at all times—according to the best traditions of the Markham family. What Reed unfortunately could not know was that his Southern drawl and his obvious culture had been mistaken by his new acquaintances for a sense of superiority.
“Thinks he’s too good for us!” Sam Hartley, star athlete of the school had declared, after sizing Reed up. “If this is a sample of Georgia crackers...!”
But Reed had merely felt, in his retiring way, that he—a stranger—should be welcomed by the residents of the north and made to feel at home. Down South, these same fellows would be greeted with unmistakable signs of hospitality, having only to reflect this warmth in return to be accepted in the community. For him, however, to make the first advances in this northern atmosphere, would be a breach of ... well ... call it ‘etiquette’...!