Summary: When Adam finds himself short of cash, fate and his college buddy come up with an ingenious way to fatten his wallet. Written for the Second Quarter 2025 Chaps and Spurs Challenge.

Rating: G/K

Wordcount: 3,533

THE HERO OF THE CHARLES

“Cartwright!”

Rob Bently’s handsome face wore a wry smile as he ambled toward the corner desk in the library, the one most out of sight from the main desk and nearest the steam heaters, where a tall, very dark young man frowned in absorption over a stack of books, a notebook, assorted pencils, and sheaves of sketches and diagrams.

The tall, slim blond youngster shook his head at his roommate.  Robert Cheswell Bentley and Adam Cartwright were two members of Harvard’s junior class, studying engineering at the college’s Lawrence Scientific School.

“For pity’s sake, man,” he chuckled as his friend didn’t even register him coming up beside him.

Startled, Adam’s head came up, his forehead, previously creased in concentration, smoothing out with a smile for his friend. “Rob… Sorry, I’ve been trying to solve this load bearing ratio issue.”  He sighed and rolled his shoulders, gently stretching.  He glanced at the windows, now darkened with the night sky. “Good lord, what time is it?!”

“It’s nearly eight, O Grindstone,” snorted Rob, perching on the one corner of the library table his friend was using that wasn’t covered in books, papers or notes.

“It can’t be,” Adam breathed, leaning back, aghast… and then blushed in dismay as he realized his friend was right.  “Have I really been here for… for…?“

“Eight hours,” nodded Rob, with a grin.  “Come along, Mr. Cartwright.  You need to eat, you need to walk before your legs forget how, and you need a beer.  All work and no play makes Adam a dull boy.”

Chuckling, Adam shook his head. “Dull is right.  I feel like my head is stuffed with cotton batting.  None of these equations are balancing out.”

“And you’re surprised?  Good lord, man, you’ve barely slept since Tuesday,” scolded Rob, reaching down and neatly, if without method, tapping Adam’s papers together into a pile to be placed into his briefcase.  “I’ll help you bring these reference books back to the clerk and then let’s get some food into you before you keel over.”

Involuntarily, Adam suddenly found himself emitting a jaw-cracking yawn, much to his embarrassment.  “Good grief… sorry…”

“Honestly, how you can sit there expecting yourself to make sense of equations for eight hours straight… one would think you wanted to be an engineer or something…”

Adam laughed and lugged half the pile of books back to the clerk’s desk, while Rob assisted with the other stack.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your assignment done in time. You always do,” Rob said wisely, raising an eyebrow at his friend.  “We’re going to go to the pub tonight, come home early and tuck you in for a good night’s sleep.  Then you’re going to get some exercise somehow tomorrow and come with me to Barbara Collins’ soiree.”

Adam sighed. “Yes, to everything but the soiree.”

“Oh, come now – ”

“Absolutely not.  Those soirees of hers are an abomination. I refuse to be subjected to another night of brainless upper crust drivel without meat or merit.”

“You’re subjected to mine incessantly. You should be used to it.”

“Yours may be upper crust but it isn’t brainless… not usually, anyway.”

“Why, thank you.”

Adam grinned, wrapping his crimson and grey scarf around his neck, and shrugging into his overcoat.  “Seriously, Rob, I can’t.   I need to think about ways to make some money. My best bet is likely trying to find some more tutees in mathematics. That or a job for the short term…”

“Wait, what… you’re short? Already?! Didn’t you just get a bank draft from your father for your birthday?!”

Adam shrugged and frowned as they walked through the library’s big doors and headed down the steps to the quad. “Stupid mistake,” he muttered.

Rob raised an eyebrow.  “You don’t make mistakes,” he said dryly.  “Poor choices? Yes.  Mistakes, no.”

Adam grunted, embarrassment staining his cheekbones.  “Very well, then.  A stupid choice,” he grumbled, hands in his pockets and studying the ground as they walked along.

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Adam.  You didn’t get into another card game with Bishop!”

Adam’s silence was eloquent, and Rob groaned.  “The man’s a mathematics scholar, and he still can’t resist trying to draw to an inside straight…”

“Oh, let me be,” Adam sighed. “I know, you’re right of course.  Someday I’ll learn to play poker and not drink at the same time.  But seriously, I’m going to need to earn something soon.”

“If you must bet, my friend, you need to figure out something that’s a sure win.”

One dark eyebrow rose eloquently over a sardonic hazel eye.  “There’s no such thing,” he intoned, remembering more than one blistering lecture from his father on the subject.

“Sure, there is.  You just have to find the right bet… and the right patsy,” pondered Rob thoughtfully, looking off into the distance.   Then he shook himself and shivered as the wind bit through his coat. “Good gravy, but it’s freezing out here!  Let’s get inside where it’s warm,” he suggested, gesturing toward the pub on the corner.

~-oo0oo-~

“Nothing speaks to civilization more fluently than a hot bowl of stew, a good chunk of bread, and a glass of ale,” pronounced Rob, sitting back and patting his almost overfull stomach.  “God, but that was delicious.”

“It was,” agreed Adam, contentedly.  “Forgetting to eat does whet your appetite.”

Rob chuckled.  “So, thought any more about ways to solve your penury?”

“No,” his friend sighed, glumly.

“Well, c’mon, you’ve got some fuel in you now,” said Rob seriously, rubbing his hands together, “let’s get thinking.   Back home, in that Western Eden of yours, how did you manage to increase the family exchequer?”

Adam made a face. “Oh, for heaven’s sake…”

“Seriously… how did you manage to create a source of revenue while ranching?  I mean, it had to have been lucrative enough for your family to survive on, after all,” insisted Rob, gesturing to the barmaid for another glass of ale for them both.

“Not for me,” his friend said firmly. “This stew cleaned out my wallet.”

“I don’t drink alone, so shaddup.”

“Rob – ”

For a tall, slender, blond twenty-one-year-old, Robert Cheswell Bently, youngest son of a wealthy New York banker and investor, darling of Boston High Society, could manage quite an effective glare.  He was a very bright fellow engineering student, but also one of the kindest, most caring people Adam had met in his three years at college… and a remarkably devious planner…

Within a week of arriving on campus, Adam Cartwright had distinguished himself… though not necessarily in the way he’d have hoped.

The pecking order of a college always started with the seniors and moved on down to the lowly freshers, and that included some privileges that were accorded the upperclassmen.  Those privileges included restricting earning money for tutoring fellow students to the juniors and seniors.  Adam Cartwright, country bumpkin son of a rancher from Western Utah, didn’t know that.  And started making some ‘actual’ from helping his freshmen classmates through some of their mathematics courses.

One fistfight – off campus, of course – had made the seniors begin to rethink their opinion of how to deal with  this ‘graceless collegiate cowboy,’  since clearly, intimidation didn’t work.

Observing these goings on was one of Adam’s own engineering classmates, someone at the top of the social heap, one Robert Cheswell Bently.  A young man who, in his own way, was as iconoclastic as Adam Cartwright.  Rob Bently had been born to money, it was true, but William Henry Bently had been raised to understand work and had taught his four sons – of whom Rob was the youngest –  the same.  “If you’re going to lead men someday, young man, you’d best understand what it feels like to be led, and different ways it’s done.  Some ways work better than others.  Some don’t work at all.  You’ll never know what your employees feel like until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes.”

So, Rob had worked summers from the time he was thirteen years old.  Stable boy, copy boy at a newspaper, errand boy for a business friend of his father’s, warehouse laborer, and his final summer before leaving for Harvard, a few weeks with a bunch of longshoremen on the Hudson.  His slender frame belied a wiry physical strength, and his unusual upbringing had given him a gift of understanding people… all kinds of people.

And that understanding gave him an insight into the nature of one Adam Cartwright.  Within four weeks of classes beginning, Rob had arranged to allow Adam to mentor their fellow freshman – those willing to take the risk of running afoul of the upperclassmen, anyway – in his own rooms on campus.  Those classmates were pleased with the results (as were their professors and tutors!).

“You’re good at this,” Rob had observed one evening, after a particularly hapless fellow student had left the rooms, thrilled that he finally understood his assignment, gushing with thanks to Adam and handing over the modest fee (much less than the upperclassmen charged, but still financially reasonable for Adam’s time and efforts).

 Adam had yawned, stretched and shrugged, tired.  Getting up as early as he needed to in order to walk from his grandfather’s house on Lyn Street all the way to the college, then up late getting his own work done and finding time to tutor was beginning to wear him out.  “Honestly, it helps my homesickness a little,” he’d admitted, shyly.  “I used to help my little brother with his homework every night.  This feels… well, it feels a little like being home again.” 

“You look all in.  Why don’t you sack out for the night in the spare room?”

“I can’t,” Adam had shaken his head, gathering his books and other paraphernalia into his briefcase.  “My grandfather will be expecting me. I’ll be late for supper already and he’ll have a fit as it is.”

Rob had nodded, keeping his counsel.  But within a few months, Robert Bently had proposed Adam share his rooms for the rest of the year. 

“For heaven’s sake, you’re here most of the time anyway,” he’d chuckled, making Adam blush.  “The room is here, unoccupied and already paid for.  And you know as well as I that your studious ways have improved my own marks. Seriously, man… let’s come up with a good list of arguments to offer to your grandfather.”

Captain Abel Stoddard finally gave his permission for Adam to share quarters with Bently from Sunday evenings after dinner with the Captain on Lyn Street until Saturday morning.  But only after exacting some serious promises from the boy about not getting drunk every night and not neglecting his work.  Adam would have to provide proof each weekend from his tutor or professors of his dedication to his schoolwork “and not evidence of being no better than a shipboard lümmel, ready to drift at the first lack of supervision!” 

At first, Adam had balked at this strongly, arguing that he was twenty years old, and fully capable of running his own life.

“You, Mister, are here under your father’s and my sufferance!” the old salt had thundered, making Adam see clearly how this man had held a crew together onboard the Wanderer, and kept as strong a personality as Ben Cartwright in line.  “And you won’t be a man for another year, no matter what you might believe.  Your father has sacrificed a lot for you to be here, and that purpose is to get an education, not to loll about, or sponge off your rich friends!”

“Grandpa, it isn’t like that between me and Rob!” Adam had contested hotly, but his grandfather plowed on as though he’d not uttered a word.

“And while you’re under my watch, boy, you will behave yourself or you’ll find yourself impressed as a working sailor on the first freighter back to San Francisco so fast your head will spin! That smart mouth of yours won’t get you out of a flogging for insubordination, either.”

But in the end, the old man had seen the sense of the proposition and conceded, though he’d miss having his young grandson brightening up his house. Two years later, now in their junior year, the boys were still roommates and best friends.

Now, with Rob’s blue eyes twinkling over the frothy mug extended toward Adam, the dark young man sighed, shifted uncomfortably, and accepted the beer, taking a long pull.

“We didn’t think a lot about cash, Rob,” he conceded, leaning back in his chair.  “What cash we had went to pay the hands, or for supplies.  As I’ve told you, we always plowed back as much of whatever income we made each year into the ranch as we could. And some years, if the weather’s been against us or we’ve suffered a blow with the stock, there’s damned little income to begin with,” said Adam seriously.

Rob nodded, thoughtfully.  A harsh existence. It makes sense that for Adam to survive it, it had made him tough.  What that existence doesn’t explain is his sensitive, artistic nature.  Quite the dichotomy, thought the young banker’s son.  He wondered how he himself would have fared in that environment?  But, no, this is about Adam, not me, he thought, shaking himself a little mentally.  “Well, then.  We need to capitalize on what makes you different, how we can ‘sell’ you…”

Adam’s brows knit together.  “Where are you going with this?” he asked, suspiciously.

“Not sure yet.”

“Oh, good God…:”

~oo0oo-~

The answer came in a rather unexpected way the following day as they were walking along the Charles River for “a stretch of the legs,” as Rob insisted.

“Hurry up, laggard,” chuckled Adam, hunched into his overcoat, the tips of his nose and ears pink with cold above his Harvard scarf. “You’re slower than molasses in January!”

“Any self-respecting molasses is smart enough to remain in a bottle in a nice, warm pantry in this weather,” snorted Rob, good-naturedly, his own nose buried under his scarf.

It was cold, even for November in Cambridge, and the river was moving fast due the rains of the day before. Just as the two young men came alongside a barge messily loading cargo – Pa would have a fit at how they’re leaving their ropes and gear all over the place like that! – there was a sudden splash followed by a shriek, making the boys whirl.

A child had tumbled into the river and his mother was being held back from jumping in after him.  The river was moving too fast, and her skirts would make her drop like a stone.

In a flash, Adam spun again and grabbed one of the ropes near the barge, knotting a lariat as he ran along the riverbank, estimating its weight compared to his rope at home.  He twirled it as he ran while yelling to the child “Catch this!”  The little one was white eyed with terror and cold, but at the same time a little goggle-eyed to see a young man running along the riverbank twirling a rope in a circle above his head as he ran.

The first try missed, and Adam swore angrily under his breath. Out of practice!  He gauged the weight of the river-wet rope and tried again.  This time, the wide circle found the child, dropping around him as though it had eyes.

Adam hauled the child in against the current, wishing to God he’d been wearing gloves, astonished to hear behind him what sounded like the whole City of Cambridge applauding and cheering.  Rob leaned over, his own coat off ready to wrap it around the child as Adam pulled him up from the river onto the bank, howling like a banshee.

“Shh… shh…” soothed Adam, wrapping the little one calmly.  “Your mother will be here in a minute. She has to go up and cross the bridge. Are you hurt anywhere?”

He guessed the child to be about three and remembered his younger brothers Hoss and Little Joe at that age. He figured the child was too shocked, cold and frightened to respond much.

“You did a great job,” he praised the child, gathering the shivering boy up into his arms and trying to wrap the coat around as much of him as possible.

Adam was then astonished to find himself being pounded on the back, having his spare hand shaken in congratulations, young ladies batting their eyes at him, admiringly, grown men applauding his effort and young boys looking up at him with naked hero worship.

~-oo0oo-~

“I now know exactly how you’re going to earn that little extra bit of scratch, my friend,” Rob said, cheerfully poking at the fire in the grate in their rooms.

“Oh?  And how’s that?” asked Adam absently, curled up on the settee in front of the fire, wrapped in a blanket, his eyes focused on his Greek textbook in his hands.

“You’re going to give a lecture, 25¢ per person, on ‘Cowboy Life in the West’ presented by the Hero of the Charles.”

Adam’s head snapped up, and he stared at his friend.  “You’re joking.”

“I’m not. Did you see those people?!  They were amazed by your tossing of that ring that you did.”

“It’s called roping, Rob.”

“There, you see?!” Rob clapped him on the shoulder and smiled triumphantly.  “The lingo, the vernacular, of the cowboy!  That’s what people want to know!  And you’re a natural.  You could even do some demonstrations!”

“Not too many steers in downtown Cambridge,” Adam replied dryly. “I could demonstrate fast draw shooting on you, though.”

“I’m impervious to your slander, my friend.  Besides, I’ve already rented the hall.”

“But… nobody would pay to see that!”

“I’ll bet you my next allowance draft, my friend.  And it will be a better bet than anything you wagered with John Bishop, I can tell you that!”  Rob leaned over and stared into his friend’s dismayed face. “Adam, I guarantee it, you’re going to be in the Cambridge Chronicle for saving that boy.  And if we do word of mouth advertising for your lecture, you’re going to fill the hall!”

Adam groaned and put his head in his hands.

~-oo0oo-~

Two weeks later, Adam sat before a pile of coins and bills, amazed.  His ninety-minute lecture on “Cowboy Life in the West” by the “Collegiate Cowboy, Adam Cartwright” – Adam had cringed at the sight of that sign, all Rob’s doing, complete with a passable drawing of Adam wearing  his Stetson and a bandanna knotted around his neck sketched by a good mutual friend of Adam and Rob’s – had attracted more than two hundred and thirty people, some of whom had been at the rescue or heard about it firsthand. That lecture – and additional donations for ‘bravery’ – had produced enough money to supplement what he needed to get through the rest of the year until Pa’s annual bank draft came through at the end of the semester.

Rob had managed to get the lecture hall rental waived as a gift to the “Hero of the Charles” – “That name is really catching on!” – so everything on the table was Adam’s, free and clear.

“I can’t believe it,” he sighed, shaking his head in wonder. “How on earth am I going to explain this to my grandfather?”

“Honestly, I should hope.”

Adam jumped, whirling around to see the stern visage of his former sea captain grandfather standing there, legs apart, hands on his hips.  Pa does that when he’s angry, too… must be from their days on board ship, to stay steady despite the waves… The young man awkwardly clambered to his feet, suddenly feeling years younger than twenty-two.

Even normally self-possessed Rob stepped back slightly, coming to Adam’s side.  Both young men stood at respectful attention, backs rigid, faces a little pale.

“I… Grandfather, nothing I did or said was deceitful, I promise you,” Adam stammered.

The old man’s glare was icy, and suddenly, the boy was stunned to see the old man’s blue eyes begin to twinkle in mischief and a smile brighten his face, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest.  “I know.  I paid my two bits and attended your talk, youngster!”

Adam’s jaw dropped.

“Read in the Globe about your little feat of lifesaving, Mister, and since you  wouldn’t say anything about it – cheeky brat! – I decided when I heard about this little lecture of yours that I’d come and find out for myself what my grandson gets up to out there in the Wild West.”

Adam grinned, shaking his head.  “I… I don’t know what to say, Grandpa,” he admitted, relieved and grateful. “Thanks for coming.  But that thing at the river…  It really wasn’t anything so special.  I just had a skill that proved to be useful, and I was in the right place at the right time, that’s all.”

Abel Stoddard studied his grandson, shook his head and smiled, gently reaching over and squeezing his grandson’s broad shoulder.  “Your quick thinking saved a child’s life, Mister. I applaud humility, Adam, but that’s taking self-deprecation to a new level.  But then, knowing you, I would expect nothing less from the ‘Hero of the Charles’!”

Adam moaned in embarrassment as the Captain laughed uproariously.  “Wait until your father hears about that nickname!”

THE END

The words for this quarters challenge were:
civilization
abomination
revenue
molasses
naked