“I’m mighty glad,” said Anthony quietly. “Jack’s had sort of a hard time of it, take it all ’round. I’m glad things look better for next year.”
“Oh, he can have pretty near anything he wants after this,” laughed the professor. “I’m quite as well pleased as you are, Tidball. There’s one thing, however—” He hesitated. “We can’t get around the fact that Weatherby’s been largely to blame for his own unhappiness, Tidball. We’re both friends of his, and we can afford to recognize the truth. It was his duty, to himself and more especially to others, to put himself right. He should have explained why he apparently made no effort to go to the rescue of that boy in the river. It looked bad; I saw the whole thing, and to all appearances it was just a case of cowardice. I was mistaken; and I said what was in my mind, which was a still greater mistake. But don’t you see, Tidball, he should have spoken up and said that he couldn’t swim. None would have blamed him then. He had no right to allow others to misjudge him. Then, too, his attitude wasn’t of the kind to attract friends to him. From what I can make out he appears to have taken umbrage because the fellows didn’t seek him and make his acquaintance when he first came, and subsequently repelled every advance by his apparent indifference and self-sufficiency. It was—unfortunate.”
“Yes, I guess you’re right. But I can’t altogether blame Jack, for I know just how sensitive he is. Sometime he’ll get over it, but it’s something you can’t change at once. Wasn’t that the whistle?”
“I didn’t hear anything, but if you like we’ll sprint a bit.”
And they did, reaching the station just as the train rolled in, and the victorious baseball team and attendants descended into the dense throng of students to an accompaniment of wild cheers. For a moment the players were swallowed from sight. Then they came into view again on the shoulders of privileged friends, and were borne to the three hacks that were to take them in triumph up to the college. Jack caught a brief glimpse of Anthony’s tall form as he was borne, swaying and bobbing, across the platform, and waved a hand to him. Then, with the cheering crowd jostling and shoving about the carriages, the journey was begun.
Jack found himself in the second of the hacks, sandwiched between Billings and Knox. Facing them, on the front seat, sat King, Motter, and Showell. As they turned into the Square, the horses prancing excitedly because of the crowd and the noise, Jack caught a glimpse of the carriage ahead and of Joe Perkins leaning out to shake hands with the nearest of his admirers. There was no attempt at conversation between Jack and his companions. Even had the tumult allowed it they were all too sleepy and tired to talk much.
Training had ended for the season with the ending of the game. They had remained in Collegetown as Robinson’s guests, and had been dined, and, later, had attended a performance at the little Opera House in company with their hosts. After that they had returned to the hotel, assembled in Joe’s room, and chosen a new captain. The honor had fallen to King. There had been no dissenting voice. King, although only a junior next year, was already a veteran player, having captained his school team before coming to Erskine, and having played two years with the varsity. Jack was pleased. He liked King better than any of the fellows who would be eligible for the next year’s nine. And King, he believed, liked him.
Jack forgot the cheers and the singing and the enthusiastic throngs that filled the sidewalks and almost surrounded the carriage, and closing his eyes, leaned back and gave himself over to thought. In three days the term would come to an end, and he would go home for the summer, a summer which promised to be one of the pleasantest of his life. Anthony was to visit him in July for a week, and later, if all went well, he was to spend a few days in Jonesboro, and finish his natational education with surf bathing. Then, in September, Erskine once more. But what a difference there would be! He would return to college to find fellows not merely willing but eager to claim his acquaintance, to call him friend. The stigma of cowardice would no longer be placed upon him; rather he would be looked upon as a hero, as the one who had saved the college from defeat.
Already he had tasted the intoxicating draft of popularity. Ever since the crowd had poured on to the field the day before he had never for an instant been allowed to forget that the college looked upon him as one whom it was a pleasure to honor. The time when he had read “Coward!” in each averted face seemed very dim and far. And yet the vindication of which he had dreamed then, a vindication of his physical courage, had not come. Well, perhaps next year——
He came to earth with a start. King had leaped to his feet, and was staring excitedly down the street. The tumult had changed from joyous cheers to cries of alarm. The crowd about the carriage was frantically struggling toward the sidewalks and above its voice sounded the pounding of hoofs on the hard road. Jack turned and looked. Behind them, sweeping down the narrow street between the fleeing throngs, swayed the third hack, the horses, frightened beyond control, plunging forward with outstretched heads. On the box the driver tugged vainly at the lines and shouted warnings to the crowd. A moment or two and a collision was inevitable.