Drowsy

by John Ames Mitchell

"I beg your pardon, madam."

Then he turned, put on his cap and walked away.

Again was heard the giggle of the girls. That a person should apologize for being hit on the head with an umbrella was too funny for silence.

Meanwhile, the cost of all this experience and of his pursuit of knowledge fell heaviest on his father. The practical obliteration of his native town and field of work meant financial embarrassment for Dr. Alton. The few remaining inhabitants of the village were now too poor to pay a doctor. To fit Cyrus for college, and keep him there, Dr. Alton exhausted the small capital left him by his father. When that was gone he tried to sell his orchard and the best portions of the farm. But no purchasers appeared. He did sell, however, to a dealer in Boston, some family heirlooms; rare pieces of Colonial furniture and all his Canton china.

To Cyrus, meanwhile, Fate was paying especial attention—with more to come. During his last year in college a surprising change took place in his ways of spending time—surprising, but familiar to biographers. Such transformations, where indifference suddenly changes to ambition, indolence to industry, and where the trifler becomes in earnest, have frequently occurred, as with Julius Cæsar, St. Paul, Henry V of England, William Shakespeare, Mirabeau and many other notables. So there was nothing original in this sudden awakening of Cyrus. During the first three years of his college course he was a "good fellow." When classmates entered his room with "Come along, Drows, old man; chuck the books, and now for the real life," he joyfully obeyed and took chances on recitations: with the usual result that only distant relations were maintained with the upper end of his class. It was the price of popularity and of the joy of living. Toward the end of his last year, however, his more festive companions were horrified by an unexpected miracle. A little book came into his hands. It threw a dazzling light on the possibilities of electricity. It aroused his curiosity and so kindled his imagination that he turned his back on the "real life" and became studious. This sudden thirst for knowledge caused a shock to his festive pals. They were anxious about him. For, indeed, is there not cause for alarm, when a Bully Boy, a Rattling Good Sport and a Live One suddenly loses his grip on "real life" and becomes a Bookworm, a High Brow and a Dead One?

But Cyrus did not weaken. He clung to his new love. Unavailing were such arguments as "Chuck the science, Drowsy. There's time enough for wisdom when you are old!" or, "Don't be a chump, Drows. You can't be young forever. Remember, Youth is short and Science long."

And he felt neither shame nor repentance when his own chum rebuked him. "Drows, old man, you are just a crank. Harvard Students are not giving points to old sharps in science. For God's sake don't be a freak and get musty before your time."

But words were wasted. This new ambition had brought to him a revelation of his real self. He had no suspicion, at the time, that the reading of this little book was to lead to adventures surpassing the wonder tales of his childhood. To his brain came a dazzling light. He began to realize the infinite possibilities of man's power, with the hidden forces of the universe once in his control. A fantastic dream, perhaps, but the more he thought the deeper grew his conviction. He knew—or thought he knew—that he had it in him to open wider the door that hides the secrets of the air. Greater still would have been his confidence had he known that a part of his inheritance was the courage and the genius of the famous Italian scientist who wrote the book. And it appeared from the little portrait of the author that he, too, had slumbrous eyes. It was ordained, however, that their relationship was to remain hidden both from the great discoverer and from his yet more daring grandson.

At the end of the four years at Harvard, Dr. Alton's finances were low, indeed. But Cyrus argued for a course in Chemistry and Physics at the Institute of Technology in Boston. He took the course, and it was clearly understood that it meant bitter economies for both father and son. But the economies were calmly faced. Some of them meant serious sacrifice in personal comfort, not only in the little luxuries of life, but in clothing, food and fuel. Of blows to pride they made no account.