T. Haviland Hicks, Senior

by James Raymond Elderdice

When the splinter-youth had drifted into the Gym., Butch Brewster,
remembering his strange actions, actually managed to transfer his thoughts
for a time from the eleven to the care-free T. Haviland Hicks, Jr. The
behemoth Senior reflected that, to date, the pestiferous Hicks had not
explained his baffling mystery he recalled the day when he had told the
Gold and Green eleven of the loyal Hicks' ambition to please his dad by
winning his B, when he had described the youth's intense college spirit
and had suggested that if Hicks failed to corral his letter the Athletic
Association award him one for his loyalty to old Bannister. And Butch saw
again the bewildering sentences in the letter from Thomas Haviland Hicks,
Sr., to his son.

"Evidently," meditated Butch, literally and figuratively "on the fence,"
"Hicks has failed to summon up enough self-confidence to explain his
mystery; queer, too, for he usually is bubbling with faith in himself. He
has acted like a bashful schoolgirl at frequent times—he starts to tell
me something, then he gets embarrassed, back-fires, and stalls. He and
Theophilus have been sneaking out in the early dawn, too. Wow! What did he
sneak out of the dorm. that way, with a football, for? He looked like a
yeggman working night shift. Why should he skulk out with a football? He
has never explained his dad's letter, or told just what Mr. Hicks meant by
calling him the "Class Kid" of Yale, '96, and saying those members of old
Eli wanted him to star! Oh, he's a tantalizing wretch, and I'd like to
solve his mystery, without his knowledge, so I could—"

At that instant, to the intense indignation and bewilderment of good Butch
Brewster, little Theophilus Opperdyke, the timorous Human Encyclopedia of
old Bannister, exited from Bannister Hall. The Senior boner gave a correct
imitation of the offending Hicks, in that he skulked out, gazing around
him nervously; but he portaged no pigskin, and, unlike the sunny youth, on
periscoping Butch, he seemed relieved.

"Theophilus, come here!" thundered the wrathful football captain,
shifting his tonnage on the Senior Fence. "What's the plot, anyhow? It's
bad enough when T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., sneaks out, bearing a football,
like an amateur cracksman making a getaway; but when you appear, imitating
a Nihilist about to hurl a bomb—say, what's the answer to the puzzle, old
man?"

Little Theophilus, his pathetically frail body trembling with suppressed
excitement, his big-rimmed spectacles tumbling off with ridiculous
regularity, and his solemn eyes peering owlishly at his behemoth classmate,
stood before the startled Butch. It was evident that the 1919 grind
labored under great stress. He was waging a terrific battle with himself,
struggling to make some vast and all-important decision. He strove to
speak, hesitated, choked, coughed apologetically, and acted as fussed as
Hicks had done, until Butch was wild; then, as if resolved to cast the die
and cross the Rubicon, he decided, and plunged desperately ahead.

"It's—it's Hicks, Butch!" he quavered, torn cruelly by conflicting
emotions. "Oh, I don't want to be a traitor—he trusted me with his secret,
and I—I can't betray him, I just can't! But he didn't make me promise not
to tell. He just told me not to. Oh, it's his very last chance, Butch, and
with Thor hurt, old Bannister might need him in the Ballard game."

"What is it, Theophilus, old man?" Butch spoke kindly, for he saw the
solemn little Senior was intensely excited. "Tell me—if our Alma Mater
needs any fellow's services, you know, he should give them freely—since
you did not promise not to tell about Hicks, if Bannister may be able
to use Hicks against Ballard—though I can't, by any stretch of the
imagination, figure how—then it is your duty to tell! I think I glimpse
the dark secret—Hicks possesses some sort of football prowess, goodness
knows what, and he lacks the confidence to tell Coach Corridan! Now, were
it only drop-kicking—"

"It is drop-kicking!" Theophilus burst forth desperately. "Hicks is a
drop-kicker, Butch, and a sure one—inside the thirty-yard line. He almost
never misses a goal, and he kicks them from every angle, too. He isn't
strong enough to kick past the thirty-yard line, but inside that he is
wonderfully accurate. With Thor out of the Ballard game, a drop-kick may
win for Bannister, and Deke Radford is so erratic! Oh, Hicks will be angry
with me for telling; but he just won't tell about himself, after all his
practice, because he fears the fellows will jeer. He is afraid he will fail
in the supreme test. Oh, I've betrayed him, but—"

"T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., a drop-kicker!" exploded the dazed Butch, who
could not have been more astounded had Theophilus announced that the sunny
youth possessed powers of black magic. "Theophilus Opperdyke, Tantalus
himself was never so tantalized as I have been of late. Tell me the whole
story, old man—hurry. Spill it, old top!"

Butch Brewster, by questioning the excited Human Encyclopedia, like a
police official giving the third degree, slowly extracted from Theophilus
the startling story. A year before, just as the Gold and Green practiced
for the Ham game, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., one afternoon, had arrayed his
splinter-structure in a grotesque, nondescript athletic outfit, and had
jogged out on Bannister Field. The gladsome youth's motive had been free
from any torturesome purpose. He intended to round up the Phillyloo Bird,
Shad Weatherby, and other non-athletic collegians, and with them boot the
pigskin, for exercise. However, little Skeet Wigglesworth, beholding him
as he donned the weird regalia of loud sweater, odd basket-ball stockings,
tennis trousers, baseball shoes, and so on, misconstrued his plan, and
believed Hicks intended to torment the squad. Hence, he hurried out,
so that when Hicks appeared in the offing, the football squad and the
spectators in the stands had jeered the happy-go-lucky Junior, and had
good-natured sport at his expense.