T. Haviland Hicks, Senior

by James Raymond Elderdice

When the Gold and Green eleven, half of which, to judge by size, was
Thor, had gone with Coach Corridan into the room across from that of the
blithesome Hicks, the sunny-souled Senior tried to resume his perusal of
"Treasure Island," but somehow the spell had been broken by the invasion of
his cozy quarters. So, after vainly essaying to take up the thread of the
story again, Hicks arose and stood by the window, gazing across the campus
to Bannister Field, deserted, since the football team rested for the game
of the morrow. As he stood there, the gladsome Hicks reflected seriously.
He thought of "Thor," and decided sorrowfully that the problem of awakening
that stolid Colossus to a full understanding of campus life was as unsolved
as ever.

"But I won't give it up!" declared Hicks, determinedly. "I have always
been good at math, and I won't let this problem baffle me."

Since the night, two weeks back, when T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., had made his
memorable speech, explaining to his fellow-students the "Billon-Dollar
Mystery," and arousing in them a vast admiration for the slow-minded,
plodding John Thorwald, every collegian had done his best to befriend the
big Freshman. Upperclassmen helped him with his studies. Despite his almost
rude refusal to meet any advances, the collegians always had a cheery
greeting for him, and his class-mates, in fear and trembling, invaded
his den at times, to show him they were his friends. Yet, despite these
whole-hearted efforts, only two of old Bannister did the silent Thor
seem to desire as comrades: the festive Hicks, for reasons known,
and—remarkable to chronicle—little Theophilus Opperdyke, the timorous,
studious "Human Encyclopedia."

"Colossus and Lilliputian!" the Phillyloo Bird quaintly observed once when
this strangely assorted duo appeared on the campus. "Say, fellows—some
time Thor will accidentally sit on Theophilus, and we'll have another
mystery, the disappearance of our boner!"

The generous Hicks, longing for Thor's awakening to come, was not in the
least jealous of his loyal little friend, Theophilus. In fact, he was
sincerely delighted that the unemotional Hercules desired the comradeship
of the grind, and he urged the Human Encyclopedia to strive constantly to
arouse in Thor a realization of college existence, and a true knowledge of
its meaning. At least one thing, Theophilus reported, had been achieved by
Hicks' defense of Thorwald, and the subsequent attitude of the collegians—
the colossal Freshman was puzzled, quite naturally. When over three hundred
youths criticized, condemned, and berated him one night, and the next, even
before he reconsidered his decision about football, came under his window
and cheered him, no wonder the young Norwegian was bewildered.

On the football field, with his dogged determination, his bulldog way of
hanging on to things until he mastered them, big Thor progressed slowly,
and surely; the past Saturday, against the heavy Alton eleven, the blond
Freshman had been sent in for the second half, and, to quote an overjoyed
student, he had "busted things all up!" It seemed simply impossible to stop
that terrible rush of his huge body. Time after time he plowed through the
line for yards, and old Bannister, visioning Thor distributing Hamilton and
Ballard over the field, in the big games, literally hugged itself.

And yet, despite Thorwald's invincible prowess, despite the vast joy of
old Bannister at the chances of the Championship, some intangible
shadow hovered over the campus. It brooded over the training-table, the
shower-rooms after scrimmage, on Bannister Field during practice; as yet,
no one had dared to give it form, by voicing his thought, but though no
youth dared admit it, something was wrong, there was a defective cog in the
machinery of that marvelous machine, the Gold and Green eleven.

"'Oh, just leave it to Hicks," quoth that sunny youth, at length, turning
from the window; "I'll solve the problem, or what is more probable,
Theophilus may stir that sodden hulk of humanity, after awhile. I won't
worry about it, for that gets me nothing, and it will all come out O.K.,
I'm positive!"

At this moment, just as T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., picked up "Treasure Island"
again, he heard drifting across the corridor from the room opposite, in
Butch Brewster's familiar voice:

"—Yes, I'll win three more Bs'—one each in football, baseball and track;
next spring, I'll annex my last B at old Bannister, fellows—"