CHAPTER NINETEEN

Class Warfare

On Tuesday morning tree trunks at Yale again budded with posters of red and blue, announcing the meetings of Linonia and the Brothers in Unity.  To Adam, they were another welcome sign that he was returning to a routine he loved.  As he hurried toward the chapel, he wondered if even the exhilaration of that new job this summer would compare to the emotion that welled within him just with a simple walk through the college campus.  Oh, of course, it would, he decided as he found his place in the choir loft.  No doubt New York City would soon become familiar to him and by summer’s end would elicit the same feelings.

His entrance into the gymnasium with Lucas after the morning recitation returned the same thoughts to his mind.  He’d only started back into that routine the previous morning, but it had felt so good to stretch his muscles and work out all the kinks from protracted study that he had vowed he wouldn’t miss a day of exercise.

A trio of sophomores roughly pushed them aside.  “Oh, Freshie, don’t block the doorway,” one scolded.

“Oh, Sophie,” Lucas snorted, “don’t fret your feeble little brains to find a way around.”

“Watch your step, Freshie,” the sophomore warned.  “Don’t trip over your own feeble wit.”

“Watch your own, Sophie,” Lucas called after the upperclassmen.

Adam snagged his arm.  “Will you stop?” he demanded.

“Why?” Lucas demanded.  “Do you think those addle-pates merit respect?”

“No, but what use is there in antagonizing them?”  Adam pulled him toward the horizontal ladders, across the room from where the sophomores were gathered.

Lucas jumped up and began to swing from one rung to the next.  “I’m not afraid of them,” he snapped down at Adam.

Adam swung up behind his friend.  “You think I am?”

“Actions say so.”  Lucas missed a rung and dropped to the floor.

Adam let go and dropped beside him.  “It’s not fear; it’s common sense.  I wouldn’t mind taking any one of them on in a fair fight, if we could keep the faculty from finding out, but I won’t risk expulsion over a few meaningless taunts.  It’s only a couple dozen bullies—the ones who do the really bad hazing, I mean—not the entire sophomore class, but you invite trouble, even from the peaceable ones.”

Arms akimbo, Lucas stared Adam down.  “The ‘peaceable ones,’ as you call them, don’t oppose the hazing; they just turn a blind eye.”

“True enough,” Adam admitted, “but if you keep it up, they’ll probably join together, out of class loyalty, and put you in your place, Freshie.”

Lucas groaned.  “Oh, don’t you start it now.”

“Come on,” Adam said with a jovial punch to his friend’s shoulder.  “Let’s start across that ladder again . . . and pay attention this time.”

* * * * *

            “I’m worried about him,” Adam confided to Jamie that afternoon during their study session.  “It’s like he’s itching for a fight.”

“He may get one,” Jamie agreed, looking up from Euclid, the bane of his collegiate existence, “but I don’t think the sophomores would do him any serious harm.  I haven’t seen anything worse than what we went through during initiation into Sigma Ep, and isn’t that what Freshman year is, a sort of initiation?”

“I suppose.”  Chin cupped in his hand, Adam mulled the idea over for a minute.  Except for that initial smoking out, Jamie was right: nothing worse than an initiation.  “It isn’t what the sophomores will do to him that matters,” he concluded.  “It’s what the faculty would do if they found out.  You know how many demerits that boy already has racked up!”

Jamie nodded grimly.  “And expulsion is not outside the limits of what they might dictate for a serious infraction, like a major brawl.”

“Would Lucas settle for any other kind?”

Jamie closed his geometry text.  “Do you want me to talk to him?”

Adam snuffled.  “Do you think it would do any good?”

“No,” Jamie said with blunt honesty.  “Not if he doesn’t listen to you.”

Adam laughed gruffly.  “No, he turns a deaf ear to me, too, so I guess all we can do is wait for disaster to happen and pick up the pieces as best we can . . . assuming the sophomores leave some.”

“Time we headed for the Vultures’ Nest, isn’t it?”  Jamie stood up and took his jacket from the back of the chair.  Thrusting his arms into the sleeves, he said, “I’ll pray for him tonight.  Sure you don’t want to come with me?”

“To the class prayer meeting?”  Grinning, Adam shook his head.  “No, thanks.  I find the ancient geography of India so fascinating that I just can’t tear myself away.”

* * * * *

            The weather Wednesday seemed determined to prove its changeableness.  While the sun shone brightly early that morning, by the time the students left chapel a slowly thickening fog blanketed the college yard.  When they met at the Elm of Assembly after first recitation, coal-dark clouds hovered overhead, and soon soft, warm rain splattered the rooftops.  Before the day ended, snow clouds formed, and a light powder dusted Adam’s hat as he made his way to rehearsal with the Beethoven Society.  During the hour he spent indoors, the snow turned to hail, and just when he’d decided that he’d have to either risk getting his head bashed or go without supper, the hail stopped and the snow returned.  He made a dash across the yard, hearing the blinds on the windows of the college dorms clatter a rhythmic percussion to the storm’s symphony and dodging a shower of loose window glass that rained to the pavement.

“What did you expect?” Lucas grumbled when Adam complained over the evening meal.  “It’s just typical New Haven weather.  Or hadn’t you noticed that it rains every day at 5 p.m.?”

Adam’s nose wrinkled.  “Just when we’re free for the day, you mean?”

“Exactly!”

“Saturday was pleasant, though,” Jamie observed.  “More free time then, anyway.”

“An excellent point,” Lucas agreed, “and I propose we take appropriate advantage of the cooperation of the weather this Saturday.”

“How do you define ‘appropriate’?” Adam inquired, wary, as always, of any proposal by Lucas.

“A skating party!” Lucas announced with enthusiasm.

“Oh, that sounds like fun,” Marcus put in.

“But I don’t know how to skate,” Jamie moaned.

“Neither do I,” Adam admitted, “but it’s time we learned.”  He gave his friend a light poke in the ribs with his elbow.  “Dr. Cartwright prescribes this for your health and wellbeing, young man.”

A cunning look entered Jamie’s usually guileless blue eyes.  “All right,” he said slowly.  “I’ll follow your prescription on Saturday if you’ll follow mine Sunday afternoon.”

Adam looked up from slicing his roast beef.  “That, sir, has the suspicious clank of a trap about it.”

“No trap,” Jamie insisted, spearing several green beans with his fork.  “A simple bargain.  I go skating with you, and you—all of you—come to the mission with me the next day.”

“I’ll be glad to do both,” Marcus assured his best friend and earned an appreciative smile in response.

Adam scowled, for while he considered himself a believer in God, daily chapel more than satisfied his desire for religious duties.  Before he could say anything in protest, however, Lucas inserted earnestly, “Why, of course, we’ll help at the mission!  You should have asked us sooner, my little preacher friend.”

Adam’s eyebrow arched as he stared in wide-eyed skepticism at Lucas.  Luke volunteering for mission work?  This definitely demanded investigation.  “What’s in it for you?” he demanded.

Lucas slammed his chest with his open palm.  “You suspect my motives?  You doubt the sincerity of my desire to teach little townie children to read?”

Adam propped his chin in his cupped hand and continued to give the other boy an appraising scrutiny.  “In a word . . . yes.  I repeat: what’s in it for you?”

“Girls,” Edgar Warington muttered from across the table.

“What else?” sneered George Miller, the other sophomore.  “They are freshies, after all.”  The way he said it sounded like an accusation of something as heinous as rape, pillage and murder by invading barbarians.

“What do you insinuate, Sophie?” Lucas demanded, rising from his seat.

“Mind your tongue, Freshie,” Miller growled ominously.

The sound of a knife tapping against a water glass interrupted them.  “Take your seats, please, gentlemen,” Alexander White said with calm control.  “I would remind you that our rules allow no exhibitions of class rivalry at the table.”

Miller bowed stiffly to the steward.  “My apologies, sir.”  He took his seat.

Lucas balked for a moment and then sat down, muttering, “Sorry, White,” while he still glared across the table at the irritating members of the class just above him.

Every man turned his attention to his plate until another subject for conversation was offered by one of the juniors.  As they left the Vultures’ Nest, however, Adam snagged Lucas’s arm.  “All right, ‘fess up,” he demanded.  “Is it girls that are inspiring your sudden philanthropic attitude?”

“Of course,” Lucas readily admitted to his friend.  “I’ve heard some rather lovely young ladies devote themselves to that particular ministry.”

Adam laughed.  “And you believe the virtues of righteousness should be instantly rewarded, is that it?”

Lucas shrugged.  “Better sooner than later, I always say.”

“You are irredeemable,” Jamie offered with a shake of his head.

“Oh, I am, too,” Adam declared with a teasing grin, “and since you surely don’t want such disreputable volunteers for your mission work . . .”

Jamie smiled like a man in complete control of a rebellion.  “You don’t get off that easily.  I will take anyone I can get, and I don’t care in the slightest how self-centered your motives may be.”  He folded his arms and stared them down.  “The bargain remains the same: my skating for your volunteering.  Take it or leave it.”

“Girls, Adam,” Lucas reminded him.  “As a fellow prisoner of all-male Yale, can you afford to let an opportunity like that pass?”

“Definitely not,” Adam decided.  He wagged a finger under Jamie’s nose.  “However, if they turn out to be anything less than lovely . . .”

“You’ll find that righteousness is its own reward,” Jamie finished with an irritating smile.

* * * * *

            “Are you sure the ice is thick enough?” Jamie asked nervously as Marcus laced his skates for him.

“You saw the red ball hanging at State and Chapel,” said Lucas, who had generously rented skates for all of them.  “That means the ponds are safe for skating.”  He wagged his head at the other boy.  “Quit looking for excuses, preacher boy.”

“I’m not,” Jamie began, but the protest died in a sheepish grimace.  “Well, all right, I am.  I admit I’m scared.”

“Worst that can happen is you fall on your—uh, dignity, shall we call it?” Lucas laughed.

“I won’t let you fall,” Marcus promised as he pulled Jamie to his feet.  “If I can help it,” he added at Lucas’s skeptical look.

“Do I get the same promise out of you?” Adam asked Lucas with a grin.

“Falls are inevitable,” Lucas said, “but I’ll stick with you until you’re steady on your blades.”

Immediately after dinner that Saturday, they had walked from the Vultures’ Nest to Hamilton Park, about a mile and a half from the Green.  To Adam, the weather seemed perfect for skating: crisp and cold, with no ominous storm clouds hanging low on the horizon.  Once again their free afternoon had been blessed with a clear day, favorable to an outing, and the four friends, along with a crowd of other young people, planned to pack the afternoon brim full of fun.

Marcus led Jamie onto the ice, the student sliding after the teacher with slow, cautious strokes.  On the other hand, Lucas seemed to prefer a teaching technique that Adam later told him was akin to being tossed into a creek and told to sink or swim.  Fortunately, Adam’s innate sense of balance and athletic agility kept him mostly on his feet, and while he did fall three times in the first half hour, he got up again each time and kept trying until Lucas declared him proficient enough to strike out on his own.

With each turn around the pond, Adam gained confidence—and speed.  Soon he was whizzing around, exhilarated by the rush of cold air on his ruddy cheeks.  Then, suddenly, he hit a slick spot.  Though he windmilled his arms, struggling for balance, his feet flew out in front of him, and he went careening down the ice until he collided with another set of skates and knocked the person wearing them to the ice.  “I’m sorry,” a chagrinned Adam said as he untangled his feet from the other skater’s sweeping skirt.  “Here, let me help you up.”

He scrambled to his feet, but as he took the young lady’s hand and started to assist her, his feet slipped again and he crashed to his knees, his hands hitting the ice on both sides of the girl’s prone figure.  “I am so sorry,” he babbled again, but then fell silent, his gaze riveted on the darkest blue eyes he’d ever seen.  Inger—and Hoss had inherited them—had had eyes the color of an alpine lake; in fact, most blue-eyed people he’d met, Jamie among them, tended toward that shade, but these eyes, now snapping with irritation, were as deep a blue as a lagoon—well, what he imagined a lagoon would look like, anyway.  He’d never seen one of those, any more than he’d seen an alpine lake, except with imagination’s eye.  “I’m sorry,” he said once more.  “Let me help . . .”—the look in those deep blue eyes kept him from finishing the offer.

“Please don’t!” she declared.  “I’d rather not have you land on top of me!”

By this time they were surrounded by helping hands, and soon both skaters were again on their feet.  With a flounce of her auburn ringlets, the young lady skated off, leaving Adam staring after her, mouth agape.

“If it were summer, you’d catch flies,” Lucas snickered, knuckling Adam’s chin  up to close his mouth.

“Did you see her?” Adam asked.

“Yeah.”  Lucas started to lift a nonchalant shoulder, but then favored his friend with a wicked wink, instead.  “Not as closely as you did, of course.  I thought it was tomorrow we planned to find you a lovely lady.”

Adam flushed and, to cover his embarrassment, snorted, “I don’t need the likes of you to find me a lovely lady.”

“Evidently not!” Lucas laughed.  “You’re still honor bound to help at the mission tomorrow, though.”  At the sour twist of Adam’s mouth, he added, “Plenty of time left for fun before we face that.  Race you to the far end of the lake!”  He took off, and Adam struck out after him, moving more slowly this time.  He’d lose the race, of course, but staying on his feet—and keeping other people on theirs—seemed more important on this first skating adventure.

* * * * *

            “Hard to believe such a normally kind-hearted person could be so devoid of pity when it’s most needed, isn’t it?” Adam observed as the four freshmen walked from afternoon chapel toward Dwight Street.  “To force a man to work when every movement is unadulterated pain.”

“Oh, quit complaining,” Jamie chided.  “You’re scarcely more bruised and achy than I am!”

Adam shook his head.  “I beg to differ.  You had Marcus—kind, gentle Marcus—as your instructor, while I was committed to Luke’s tender mercies . . . if I may be forgiven such a bald-faced lie as to call them that.”

“Got too big for his britches and raced around the pond like a madman, he means,” Lucas cackled.

“It’s that poor young lady who deserves our pity,” Marcus put forth shyly.  He rarely joked, but by common consent Adam was fair game today.

“Amen!” Lucas agreed heartily.  “She probably sports bruises that will dwarf yours into insignificance.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Adam moaned.  “The first pretty girl I meet in six months, and I have to ruin all hope of winning her favor.”

“Seek ye first the kingdom of God and His righteousness—at the mission, that is,” Jamie intoned solemnly with a twinkle in his eye, “and all these things shall be added unto you.”

“If only they would!” Adam laughed.  “But I’m afraid it’ll be as you said before: I’ll have to settle for righteousness being its own reward.”

“Settle,” Jamie, who truly believed that principle, scoffed.

Teasing one another about the worth of their various motives, the group entered the small frame building on Dwight St. and joined the handful of other workers, who were trying to curb the lively spirits of the youngsters jostling their way into the mission.  Lucas proved especially helpful in that department, for being prone to high jinks himself, he instinctively knew how to redirect that energy.

Adam herded the group he’d been assigned to corral into the designated corner.  Once they were seated on the backless benches, he turned to greet his assistant for the day’s lesson, and his eyes widened in shock—as did the young lady’s lagoon blue eyes.  “You!” she cried.

“Y-you,” he sputtered.

“Is everything all right, Elizabeth?” another young lady called, having heard the cry.

Elizabeth turned away briefly and said, “Yes, Mary, I’m fine.”  Then she spun back to face Adam.  “Are you following me, sir?”

“No!” Adam protested.  “Certainly not, Miss . . . Elizabeth.”  His expression softened.  “Elizabeth . . . that was my mother’s name.”

“Oh, really,” Elizabeth scoffed with a roll of her beautiful eyes.  “And I suppose her maiden name was Allen,” she added scornfully.

Adam looked puzzled.  “No . . . Stoddard.”

Her breath caught in a short gasp.  “Well, that’s original, at least.”

“It’s the truth,” Adam hissed through gritted teeth.

The two stared each other down until a little girl with a front row seat for this confrontation snickered, “Teachers fighting, they is.”

“They are,” both Adam and Elizabeth corrected simultaneously, and when they realized what they’d done, both burst out laughing.

“Less levity and more lessons, please,” suggested the minister in charge of the mission.

“Yes, Reverend Walters,” Elizabeth said.  She smiled demurely at Adam.  “Truce for now?”

“Truce for always,” he said.

The two young people worked well together, and the time seemed to fly.  When the small scholars were released, Elizabeth smiled warmly at Adam.  “You’re an excellent teacher, Mr. Cartwright,” she said, having learned his name when he introduced himself to the children.

“Thank you,” Adam replied.  He’d been surprised to find that he enjoyed the role of teacher, and to be told that he’d done well was meaningful in the light of that discovery.  “If I have any ability, I suppose it comes from helping my younger brothers with their studies . . . well, mostly the older one.  Little Joe’s only four, so he can’t do more than print his letters, rather tipsily at that.”

Elizabeth laughed.  “Now, confess: it’s really your mother who teaches the little ones.”

Adam pressed his lips together and his gaze dropped.

“Did I say something wrong?” Elizabeth asked.

Adam looked up.  “No, of course not.  You couldn’t have known.  It’s just that . . . my mother is deceased.”  All of them, he might have said, but felt uncomfortable relating such personal information to a complete stranger.

“I’m so sorry,” Elizabeth said with chagrin.  “Recently?”

“Yes,” Adam said and then abruptly, “No.”

Frowning, Elizabeth cocked her head.  “Well, which is it?”

Adam gave her a wry smile.  “Both.”  When her frown deepened, he said, “It’s a complicated situation.  My own mother died in childbirth, but my stepmother died a few months ago.”  He felt disloyal for omitting Inger, who was equally his mother, but he felt uneasy with sharing the full family history yet.

Elizabeth gently touched his hand.  “How very sad.”

Uncomfortable with displaying his emotions, Adam barely nodded.

Sensing his discomfort, Elizabeth asked, “Do you plan to teach here every Sunday, Mr. Cartwright?  I do hope so.”  Then, fearing he might think her forward, she added quickly, “There’s such a need for good teachers, I mean.”

“Yes, I think I might,” Adam said, daring to look into her eyes, “if I might hope to have your excellent help.”

Elizabeth’s dark lashes swept her cheeks.  “I think you might.”

“Might I see you home today . . . if I promise to steer well away from ice ponds?” Adam requested, lip quirking upward.

Elizabeth tittered lightly as she again said, “I think you might.”

* * * * *

            As the freshmen walked to chapel the next morning, Adam was, of course, thoroughly twitted for insuring his own reward for the righteousness of teaching.  “I do assume the charms of the lovely Miss Allen are sufficient reward,” Lucas probed.

Adam refused to be baited.  “Sufficient to entice me back next Sunday.”  He winked at Jamie.  “Provided you still don’t concern yourself with the motives of your helpers.”

Jamie laid his palm across his heart.  “I stand by my word.”

“I must say, I find this western way of winning a lady’s favor quite interesting,” Lucas observed.  “To literally knock a woman off her feet is simply not done here in the East, sir.”

Marcus laughed.  “I still can’t believe she let you walk her home after that!”

“I can’t either,” Adam admitted, “especially as prickly as she was when she first realized we’d be working together yesterday afternoon.”

“Saepe creat molles aspera spina rosas,” Jamie somehow managed to state with a straight face.

Adam’s nostrils flared.  “I’ll show you how often prickly thorns produce tender roses!”  He had no opportunity to carry out his threat, however, for the first chapel bell rang, and as a member of the choir, that was his signal to take his place in the loft.

* * * * *

            Long arms stretched above his head, Adam swung easily from rung to rung in the gymnasium.  A smattering of half-hearted applause greeted him as he dropped to the floor at the end of the horizontal ladder.  He stiffened when he saw a quartet of sophomores.  “Well done, Freshie,” said one.

Adam bowed slightly in their direction in a gesture that avoided being deferential, while still maintaining the show of respect the upperclassmen craved.

“You, however,” the sophomore then said to Lucas, still on the bars, “in common with most freshies, lack a certain grace.”

“All the more reason to exercise,” Adam inserted quickly before Lucas could shoot off his mouth.

“Granted,” the sophomore conceded, “but not when your betters require the equipment.  Run along now, both of you.”

“Find a game of hopscotch or tiddlywinks,” another suggested.  “Much more in keeping with freshie abilities.”

Reaching the end of the ladder, Lucas performed a twisting turnaround and started back the way he’d come.

“Drop down, Freshie,” came a stern order.

“When I’m ready, Sophie,” Lucas returned with a sneer of disdain.

The two sophomore spokesmen took hold of his legs and hauled him down from the ladder.  Seeing Lucas hit the floor hard, Adam sprang forward, but the other two sophomores just as quickly grabbed him and pulled his arms back.  “Stay out of it, Freshie,” they advised him.

Adam struggled in their grasp.  “Leave him be, then!”

“Take him off and we will,” said one man, thrusting Lucas toward Adam.

At the same moment Adam was released, just in time to grasp the arm Lucas was drawing back while closing his fist.  “Come on,” he urged.  “I fancy a game of ten pins, anyway.”

Lucas let himself be dragged off.  “Why do you give in to their bullying?” he demanded.

“You can’t fight here,” Adam argued as they moved down the stairs to the basement.  “The gymnastics instructor would see and report you.  Besides, they have as much right to that equipment as we do.”

“I don’t mind sharing the equipment,” Lucas grunted, “but the way they demand it is insolent.”

Adam chuckled.  “The way you refuse is, too.  Will you, at least, try to get along?”

Lucas shrugged.  “Maybe, but I promise you that these particular prickly thorns will never produce tender roses.”

Adam’s nose wrinkled in distaste.  “And I promise you that if you use that analogy once more, I shall be forced to punch you in your prickly snoot.”

Clucking his tongue, Lucas wagged his finger beneath Adam’s nose.  “Tsk, tsk, wouldn’t want the gymnastics instructor to see that, would you?”

“Uh . . . no,” Adam agreed as he selected a bowling ball.  “Best two out of three?”

“Yeah, we’ve got time for two games,” Lucas said with a cocky jut of his chin.

Adam scowled at the suggestion that Luke could defeat him that easily.  If only it were false boasting!  All too often, however, their bowling matches played out exactly that way.  Someday, my friend, he promised himself, the shoe will be on the other foot.

* * * * *

            Adam had just exited the chapel after that week’s rehearsal of the Beethoven Society when he spotted someone waving at him.  He walked over to the upperclassman, curious as to what he could want, since freshmen rarely had contact with those above them in the college ranks.  As he approached, he recognized the man who had served as his escort to the Sigma Epsilon initiation.  “Mr. Demmings,” he said in greeting.  “I saw your article in the Lit.  Admirably phrased, I thought.”

“Thank you,” Demmings said, but his sober expression gave no hint of pleasure in the compliment.  “Might I have a word with you, Cartwright?”

“I was just on my way to supper,” Adam said.

“Obviously, I think this is important or I wouldn’t be here, delaying my own,” Demmings said sharply.

Adam’s eyebrows came together in a straight, brooding line.  “Is there a problem, sir?”

Demmings seemed to relax.  “With you, no . . . never.  Your friend Cameron, on the other hand . . . well, I fear retribution awaits him.”

Adam drew himself up and demanded fiercely, “Is that a threat?”

“No.”  Demmings spread his hands in an imprecating gesture.  “It’s a warning, Cartwright, a sincerely intended one.  I don’t approve of serious hazing myself.”

“Didn’t seem to bother you the night you came to smoke us out,” Adam pointed out.

Demmings frowned.  “I’m not above putting you freshmen in your place at the beginning of the year, but even you should admit that we weren’t rough with you.”

Adam nodded in basic, though not enthusiastic, agreement.  The experience had been unpleasant, of course, but not unbearable, and as a result of what he’d learned that night, Demmings had insured that Jamie’s initiation had gone smoothly.  Worth the price, in Adam’s view.

“However,” Demmings continued, “there is talk among certain of my classmates of Cameron’s needing a lesson in humility.”

“What sort of lesson?” Adam demanded.

Demmings shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I’m not part of it; most of the class isn’t, in fact, so I can’t give you details.  I just know that if Cameron doesn’t change his attitude—and soon—there will be some sort of disciplinary action taken, probably of a rather rough nature.  Can’t you speak to him, suggest he keep his impertinent opinions to himself?”

“I’ve tried,” Adam admitted.  “I honestly don’t know what more I could say.  He doesn’t see any need to kowtow to a man, just because he’s a year older.”

Demmings looked puzzled.  “Kowtow?”  The word even felt odd on his tongue.

Adam smiled ruefully.  “Sorry.  A term borrowed from my Chinese cook back home, meaning to show deference.  Frankly, I don’t disagree with Luke’s opinion, and I don’t disagree with his right to express it.  We are still guaranteed freedom of speech in America.  You might remind your friends of that.”

Demmings’ nose crinkled in distaste.  “They aren’t my friends or I would.  You make a good point, Cartwright, but I doubt it’ll carry the day if Cameron persists in flouting tradition.  Please speak to him.”

“I’ll try . . . again,” Adam said.  “Thank you for the warning, Demmings.  I’m sure it was kindly intended.”

Demmings nodded and extended his hand.  “A few more months . . . when you’re sophomores and we’re juniors . . . and this nonsense will be behind us.  I welcome the day when we can meet on equal footing without anyone’s raising an eyebrow.  I think you’re a fine man, Cartwright, and a loyal friend.  Hopefully, one day I can call you mine.”

Adam took the other man’s hand and pressed it warmly.  “As far as I’m concerned, Mr. Demmings, you already can.”

* * * * *

            “Good debate,” Adam said, shaking hands with a man who had just participated in one of the Brothers in Unity’s weekly encounters.  “I thought your points were well stated and convincing.”

“Thanks, Cartwright,” the man responded.  “If you want to hear really strong debating, though, I’d recommend that you attend tomorrow night.  Williams and Borden are superior debaters.”

Knowing that the man was referring to the sophomore prize debate, which had been announced at every meeting since the beginning of the term, Adam said, “Yes, I’ve heard that, and I’m looking forward to hearing them.”

“Not me,” Lucas announced loudly, coming down the steps in time to hear the exchange.  “I refuse to attend anything featuring the accursed sophomores.”

“Luke,” Adam growled a warning under his breath.  Not only was the man he’d been speaking to a sophomore, but there was a whole gaggle of them hovering nearby.  The debater shook his head in disgust and moved toward his own circle of friends.

“You shouldn’t call any man accursed,” Jamie scolded.  “It’s against Scripture.”

Lucas stared at the prospective preacher and exhaled gustily, “Oh, all right, but how you can compliment one of the creatures, Adam, is beyond me.”

“Because he deserved it,” Adam returned simply.  “Good work should be acknowledged, whoever does it.”

“Lofty ideals,” Lucas scoffed.

Adam punched him in the shoulder.  “Something you should aim for, spoopsey.”

Lucas stroked his chin in apparent contemplation.  “No,” he decided conclusively.  “Lofty ideals and sophomores simply don’t go together.  Never will.  Basic Greek teaches you that.”

Comprehending at once what he meant, Adam and Jamie both groaned.  Marcus, however, looked puzzled.

“From the Greek,” Lucas explained, adjusting an imaginary pair of professorial spectacles.  “Sophos meaning wise and moros, meaning foolish.”  He laughed suddenly.  “Not that I’ve ever seen any indication of the wise half of the equation in the sophomores of Yale!”

“Will you stop?” Adam demanded, hauling Luke further from a group of glowering sophomores.  “You’re the one acting like a moron tonight.”

“No faculty around.  What are you worried—or scared—about?” Lucas sneered.

“I’m not scared,” Adam retorted, “except for you.  I’ve had a warning that you’re asking for trouble and may soon get it.”

Lucas pulled away angrily.  “If I do, I’ll handle it!  Mind your own business, Adam.”  He turned on Jamie and Marcus, who had followed the other two away from the building.  “And the same goes for both of you!”  He shoved Adam away and stalked off.

“Oh, Luke,” Jamie cried after him.  “Don’t go off mad.  We only . . .”  Realizing that he was speaking to the air, he broke off.

“There’s no talking to him when he’s like this,” Marcus said softly.

“Not tonight,” Adam admitted.  “I’ll try again tomorrow, when he’s cooled down some.”

“Does he ever, where sophomores are concerned?” Jamie asked with a troubled frown.

Adam shook his head and winced at the thought that he’d probably get it bitten off again tomorrow.

* * * * *

            The next night Adam, Jamie and Marcus again clattered down the steps of Alumni Hall.  “That was so good, better than I have ever hope of being,” Jamie sighed.

“That’s not so,” Marcus declared loyally, for in his eyes Jamie could do no wrong nor suffer by comparison with anyone.

“Here, here,” Adam chimed in, though not quite as enthusiastically.  Jamie was a good debater, but would have stood little chance against the top men tonight.  About as much as me, Adam admitted ruefully.  He certainly wasn’t convinced that he could perform as well as had Williams and Borden, who had placed first and second, just as the sophomore yesterday had predicted.

“You shouldn’t judge yourself by men with a year’s more experience,” Marcus argued.

Adam chuckled.  “Marcus, you may make the best debater of the bunch.”

Shy Marcus flushed at the compliment.  “I learned a lot tonight—about debating and the question itself.”

“Yes, the speakers brought out a number of points I hadn’t considered,” Adam agreed.  The question—ought the liberty of the press to be restricted in time of war?—was timely, in light of the current conflict, and thought-provoking.  The speakers, too, had been so excellent that he hadn’t envied the judges, Law Professor Henry Dutton, an outside lawyer and Professor William Norton of the Civil Engineering department.  “I just wish that Luke had come,” Adam added.  “He let his prejudice against sophomores deprive him of an exceptional evening.”

“At least, he seemed on good terms with us again today,” Jamie pointed out.

Adam nodded.  “That’s Luke.  Quick to flare up, quick to forgive.”

“Except sophomores,” Marcus snickered.

“Except sophomores,” Adam and Jamie repeated simultaneously, making them all laugh.

* * * * *

            Adam and Jamie had almost reached their lodgings when they heard footsteps running up behind them.  Turning, Adam recognized Percival Demmings, but his smile of greeting faded when he saw the serious look on the other man’s face.

Demmings motioned them into the shadows of a nearby building.  “Cartwright, might I recommend a little exercise before retiring, as an inducement to sound sleep?”

Perceiving that the sophomore was speaking in some sort of code, Adam’s brow furrowed.  “What sort of exercise?” he probed.

“Perhaps a long walk,” Demmings suggested.  “Have you seen East Rock in the moonlight?”

The notion of a two-mile walk at this hour of the night was so ridiculous that Adam again realized that there was some purpose beyond the simple meaning of the words.  “Why, no, I haven’t,” he said slowly.  “Is it a memorable sight?”

Demmings nodded gravely.  “Not to be missed—especially tonight.”

Adam’s face hardened.  “What are they planning?” he demanded, only substituting the last word for ‘plotting’ out of respect for Demmings.

“I don’t know,” Demmings replied.  “I overheard Cameron’s name and East Rock, but that’s all.  Hopefully, it’s only mischief, but if he were my friend, I’d hoof it there as fast as I could.”  His gaze dropped under Adam’s steady scrutiny.  “I can’t interfere,” he mumbled.  “Right or wrong, they are my classmates.”

“All right,” Adam said quietly.  “Thank you for the warning.”

“I only recommended exercise, remember?”

Adam nodded his willingness to keep the other man’s secret, and Demmings slipped quickly away.  Adam at once turned to Jamie.  “I’ve got to go.”

“I’m going with you,” Jamie stated stoutly.

“No,” Adam argued.  “It’s late and cold.”

“And I am not a conservatory plant!” Jamie hissed.  “He’s my friend, too.  Now, let’s go.”

“All right,” Adam agreed, “but I’m going to run ahead.  Catch up when you can.”

Snow crunched underfoot as he rounded the corner and charged down State Street.  Breathing hard, he ignored the icy air prickling his nasal passages and larynx.  Unpleasant as a run on a frigid night was for him, he worried more about Jamie, being left further and further behind.  He’d promised Josiah to look after his boy, but that was the problem.  Jamie wasn’t a boy; he was a man, same as Adam, and had every right to make his own decisions and take his own risks in a worthy cause.  For Adam, reaching Lucas before the sophomores did him any harm was as worthy a battle as he’d faced in months.

He had to slow down when the ground began to rise outside town.  Even at the slower pace the path was treacherous., strewn with debris of rocks and dead foliage.  Twice he slipped and fell to his knees, but he scrambled up again and plunged on.  Nearing the summit, he heard loud, exultant shouts and screams of outrage and poured his remaining energy into the final ascent.

What he saw at the top shocked him to a dead standstill.  A circle of black-hooded sophomores surrounded Lucas, who had been stripped to his under drawers, his arms bound behind him.  He was yelling and kicking at his tormentors as several pinioned his head while another snipped his hair with blunt scissors and tossed the locks into the small campfire they’d built.  “Stop it!” Adam bellowed and, lowering his head, bulled his way into the circle.

A wild melee ensued, the outcome of which was mathematically predictable from the start.  The freshmen were badly outnumbered, even when Jamie finally arrived and threw himself into the futile fray.  Soon Adam felt his arms pulled painfully behind him.  Looking to his right, he saw Jamie being treated in the same manner, while Lucas lay at his feet, trussed up with ropes, knees drawn up to protect his belly.  One of the sophomores plucked a branch from the fire and, bringing it over, held it beneath Adam’s face.  “It’s Cartwright,” he said.

“No business to interfere,” another shouted.

“He’s my friend!” Adam declared.

The sophomore with the torch chuckled.  “You should choose your friends more wisely, Cartwright, but I can’t fault you for defending him, worthless wretch that he is.”  He moved toward Jamie.  “Edwards?”  He sounded surprised and then said with obvious approval.  “Well done, lad, but I’m afraid you’ll find there’s a price to pay, even for valor.”

“Then I’ll pay it,” Jamie said, though the tremble in his voice deflated the force of the stalwart words.

“No,” Lucas moaned from the ground.  “If there’s fault to be found, it’s in me; let them go.”

“At least, he’s brave,” one of the sophomores grudgingly admitted.

“And bravery deserves its reward,” the torchbearer decided.  “We won’t shear you like a lamb, then, Cameron, and we won’t do all we planned.  We will, however, leave you with one final gift to remember us by.”

“All three of them!” one of the more belligerent sophomores yelled.

“All three,” the leader agreed.

The three freshmen were pushed to the ground together and before any of them could move, a bucket of freezing water was poured over them.  The sophomores shouted with glee.  “You can go home now, Freshies,” the leader said, “and be sure to be at chapel bright and early tomorrow.  Wouldn’t want you getting demerits, now would we?”  With shouts of laughter and a chorus of similar admonishments, the sophomores departed, leaving the drenched trio behind.

With a shiver Adam sat up.  He looked first at Jamie.  “You all right?”

“Just wet,” Jamie said.  “See to Luke.”

Lucas was wriggling like an earthworm, trying to get up.  “I’m all right,” he said.  Together, Adam and Jamie hauled him up, and Adam began to work on the damp rope binding Luke’s wrists.  “Thanks,” Luke said.  “How’d you know about this?”

“Can’t say,” Adam responded quickly, lest his other friend inadvertently reveal Demming’s name.  “See if you can find his clothes,” he suggested to Jamie.

Jamie got to his feet and began searching the nearby bushes.  “Here they are!” he cried.

Adam untied the final knot and tossed the rope aside.  Standing, he pulled Lucas to his feet.  “Come over by the fire.  You, too, Jamie.”

As the three huddled over the small campfire, Jamie reached for Luke’s hands and examined his wrists.  “Rope burns,” he said.  “You should let us bathe and bandage them.”

“I’ve had enough bathing for one night,” Lucas snorted.

Glad to hear that his friend hadn’t lost his sense of humor, Adam uttered a short laugh.  “And it’s not even Saturday night,” he teased.  “Seriously, though, you should come back to our place.  Mrs. Wiggins won’t mind, and you—uh—sort of need a hair cut.”

“Already had one,” Lucas grunted.

“Half of one,” Jamie pointed out, stating the literal truth, for only one side of Luke’s head showed evidence of the sophomores’ work.

They dried out as best they could from the scant warmth of the small fire, Lucas quickest of all because his outer clothes hadn’t been doused.  Then they started back toward town after carefully putting out the fire and scattering the ashes.  They all felt achy from the pummeling they’d taken at the hands of the sophomores, Lucas worse than the others, of course.  Adam worried more about Jamie, however.  A two-mile hike in the bitter cold was bad enough, but to make the same journey in still-damp clothes was worse, especially for someone whose constitution had never been particularly sturdy.  He’s braver than I am, to knowingly risk pneumonia for a friend, Adam thought as they made their way down from the summit of East Rock.

No one felt like running, but they kept a steady pace, each feeling the urgency of getting to shelter and dry clothes.  Only a light breeze blew that night, but it might as well have been an arctic blast for the effect it had on the three boys.  Adam—and he assumed, Jamie—could feel his clothes freezing on his body, although constant movement slowed the process.  Still, by the time they reached George Street and crept quietly into the house, to avoid disturbing Mrs. Wiggins, all their teeth were chattering.  The room, when they reached it, was stone cold, for the roommates never wasted fuel when they were out for the evening.  “Price of coal be hanged,” Adam muttered as he dumped a fresh scoop into the stove.  “I’m sleeping warm tonight.”

Even before the chill had been knocked off the room, they stripped out of their stiff garments and into nightshirts.  Being the closest in size to Lucas, Adam loaned him the use of his spare and insisted that he and Jamie should share the bed.  “I know where Mrs. Wiggins stores the blankets,” he said to close down their protests, “so I’ll just get several and make a thick pallet by the stove.  I’ll probably sleep warmer than either of you.”

“Probably,” said Jamie, who knew an overly generous offer when he heard one, but also knew how impossibly stubborn Adam could be.  Tonight, he was too cold and too tired to indulge in futile argument.  While Adam went to fetch extra blankets from the storage closet and make up his pallet, Jamie tried to repair the damage to Luke’s hair.  “I can’t get it even without cutting the other side down to the nub, too,” he moaned.

“Whack away, then,” Lucas grunted.

When the amateur barber finished his work, Adam inspected the result, cocking his head first one way and then the other.  “Not bad,” he said, adding with a wicked grin, “though perhaps a bit breezy for this time of year.”

Lucas demanded a mirror and when shown to the small one hanging on the wall, frowned at his reflection.  “Those rowdies will pay for this outrage.”

“Do you know who they were?” Adam asked.  “They were wearing hoods when we got there.”

“They were sophomores,” Lucas replied bluntly.  “That’s all I need to know.  They hang together.”

Remembering Demmings, who had given them warning but hadn’t actively opposed his classmates, Adam nodded.

Jamie, on the other hand, urged Lucas to reconsider.  “Let it go,” he said.  “‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.’”

“Don’t preach at me tonight,” Lucas growled.

“Speaking of preaching,” Adam broke in hastily, “we will find it hard to get up for chapel if we don’t get to bed now.  Those sophomores were right about one thing: we don’t want to earn demerits as a result of this night’s nonsense.”  He didn’t think it was possible for either him or Jamie to earn enough demerits to miss matriculation, but Lucas was already perilously close to the fatal sixteen.

They all saw the wisdom of that suggestion, so Jamie and Lucas crawled into the bed and Adam snuggled into his thick pallet.  It had been a long and trying night; so, thoroughly exhausted, they all soon fell asleep.

* * * * *

            The floor having made a hard bed, Adam was the first to wake.  He sat up, working out the stiffness in his shoulders, and then rose and began to quietly fold his blankets.  By the time he’d finished, Lucas had cracked an eyelid.  “Morning already?” he asked gruffly.

Adam turned toward him.  “Morning,” he said, “and if you intend to go back to your place for fresh clothes, you’d better rise and shine.”

Rising up on one elbow, Lucas scowled.  “What would be the point?  Even if I were disposed to hide what the beasts did, this would tell all.”  He grabbed at his short, shaggy brown kinks.

“I suppose,” Adam admitted.  “You’re welcome to anything of mine, if it’ll help.”

Lucas sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.  “Thanks, but I’ll just wait until after first recitation and change then.  If Smith wants to give me a demerit for a wrinkled, dirty coat, so be it.”

“Luke,” Adam chided, drawing out the name.

“I mean it, Adam!” Lucas cried.  “I just don’t care.”

“You will later,” Jamie said quietly, rolling over to lie facing the others.

“Preaching again?” Lucas asked with a sneer of disdain.

“No,” Jamie said calmly.  “Just being a friend who cares.”

Lucas swiveled to face the other boy and his face relaxed.  “Yeah.  You were certainly that to me last night.  Sorry I’m such a grump bear this morning.”

Jamie reached out to rub the shorn head.  “You had cause.”

“We all have cause,” Adam said, stretching his sore arms, which now sported discolored marks left by the sophomores’ tight grip.  “We also have more important concerns.”

“Like breakfast?” Jamie suggested with a smile.

“Let’s splurge on a real restaurant breakfast this morning,” Lucas said.  “I’ll buy.  Least I can do after what you chaps did for me.”

Jamie started to protest that he owed them nothing, but Adam, having perceived that Lucas was reluctant to display his new look to the Vultures, interrupted to accept the offer.  “That’ll be a real treat.  Thanks, Luke.”

Lucas looked relieved and immediately got out of bed.  “Let’s get going, then!”

* * * * *

            By the end of first recitation the next day, the entire student body knew what had happened.  Luke’s appearance invited questions, of course, and when asked, both he and Adam answered honestly—Adam without embellishment and Lucas with dramatic flair worthy of the New York stage.  Marcus had learned of the hazing during chapel and had promptly spread the news to the men in his division.  How the third division found out, no one knew, but the gymnasium, where Adam went at the end of that first class, was buzzing with the latest gossip, and several men approached him to get the details directly.

Rancor seemed to grow throughout the morning, and with it came calls for retaliation against the sophomores.  “Luke, please let it go,” Jamie pleaded hoarsely when they met before second recitation.  “It’ll only make things worse.”

Lucas was freshly washed and neatly dressed now, but his attitude obviously hadn’t changed.  “No one’s asking you to get involved!”

“Involved in what?” Adam demanded.

Lucas just shrugged, but the glint in his eye told Adam that something was brewing.

At the Vultures’ Nest that noon, the two sophomore members couldn’t resist snickering at the freshman’s closely cropped curls, but Alexander White quickly brought them to order and then expressed his opinion that those who resorted to this sort of hazing only exhibited their own intolerance and immaturity.  Being a senior, he was respected, and no one offered any opposing view.  Miller and Warington stumbled over themselves in their eagerness to assure their tablemates that they’d had no part in “the sorry business.”  Adam smiled his appreciation at the steward, who had chosen precisely the right tone, making his feelings clear without expressing maudlin sympathy for the man abused.

Adam and Jamie spent the afternoon studying in their room, but Adam found it hard to concentrate.  Between wondering what Lucas had up his sleeve and worrying about Jamie’s intermittent coughing, ancient geography and Greek didn’t stand a chance of holding his attention.  When it was time to leave for the last class of the day, Adam looked gravely at his friend.  “You could cut class, you know.  It won’t hurt your standing, and you can certainly survive one demerit.”

Jamie shook his head decisively.  “No, I don’t want to miss unless I have to.”  He looked up miserably.  “I’m afraid I might have to miss some classes later if this cold gets any worse.”

“You might ward it off if you stay in,” Adam pointed out.

Jamie rubbed his throat.  “Too late, I think.  Come on; let’s get to class.  I promise I’ll go to bed straight after supper, Dr. Cartwright.”

“Indeed, you will,” Adam said as he reached for his coat.

They walked to the college yard in silence, Jamie because he was fixed on just getting there and Adam because he was brooding with rising anger.  How dare those sophomores have so little regard for another human being that they would jeopardize his health?  Any fool should have had better sense than to dump cold water on a man on a snowy night, especially when they had no way of knowing the state of his physique.  For that matter, the sophomores couldn’t claim ignorance of Jamie’s bodily limitations.  That message had been communicated clearly enough to spare him a rough initiation into Sigma Ep, so at least half the class had to know.

His mood didn’t improve during Greek recitation, when Adam found himself contemplating the Greek derivation of the word ‘sophomore,’ instead of Homer’s Odyssey.  A wise fool, as Lucas had earlier pointed out.  Adam nodded grimly, totally agreeing with the assessment that all sophomores were fools, wise only in their own eyes.  As the hour progressed, he increasingly forgot that the men he’d dealt with the night before didn’t represent the entire sophomore class.  They were brutes, and if the others didn’t have the gumption to oppose them, they deserved to share in the freshmen’s revenge, being discussed in whispers as the lesson went on.

When Adam was called on to recite, he stumbled through the passage, making several uncharacteristic mistakes.  Professor Hadley frowned, but offered calm correction and went on to the next student.  When the five o’clock recitation ended, however, it was Lucas, who hadn’t recited at all that day, whom the professor asked to remain after class.  Concerned for their friend, Adam, Jamie and Marcus waited for him, huddled outside the doorway to the Athenaeum.  “Was it about . . . what happened?” Adam asked anxiously when Lucas joined them.

“Yeah,” Lucas shrugged.

“Well?” Adam demanded.

“Old Had’s the best,” Lucas said with feeling.  “Didn’t scold; didn’t demand names or ask about any plans to retaliate, as I was afraid he would; just wanted to make sure I was all right.  Said his door was always open, if I needed to talk.”

“He is the best,” Adam agreed.

“Plans to retaliate?” Jamie asked with an anxious look.  “Are there any?”

“Oh, yeah,” Marcus, having just come from his mathematics class, responded.  Although no one appeared to be close enough to overhear them, he lowered his voice to a whisper.  “There’s talk of a rush.”

“Good,” Lucas said.

“Oh, no,” Jamie moaned.  He turned his head and coughed, covering his mouth with his hand.

“No one’s asking you to join in,” Lucas said irritably.  Then, taking note of the other boy’s bleary eyes and red nose, he relaxed.  “In fact, you’ve no business joining in anything except a hot toddy and an early night.”

“I don’t drink,” Jamie pointed out.

Lucas rolled his eyes.  “All right, Saint James.  A hot supper and bed, then.  On to the Vultures’ Nest, eh?”

Adam and Marcus agreed at once, but Jamie said that he was going back to the room.

“You need to eat,” Adam chided.

Jamie smiled wanly at the motherly tone of his friend.  “I’ll ask Mrs. Wiggins for a cup of broth or something.  Sounds better than a solid meal tonight.”

“Probably just what you need,” Adam agreed, “and she’ll be happy to do that, I’m sure.  See you back at the room.”

“Don’t do anything foolish,” Jamie urged as they parted.

“I won’t,” Adam promised, though in his mind there was nothing foolish about giving the sophomores a hearty thrashing.  If anything, it seemed more like an act of self-preservation.

* * * * *

            Adam opened the door of the pot-bellied stove and threw in another scoop of coal.

“Oh, Adam, don’t,” Jamie protested.  “It’s so”—his voice cracked with a raspy trio of coughs—“expensive.”

“And worth every penny,” Adam said as he sat on the edge of the bed.  He laid a hand across his friend’s forehead, frowning at the warmth.  “Maybe—just maybe—if you take proper care of yourself, we can avoid the expense of a doctor.”

“I’m trying, aren’t I?”  Jamie’s head rolled irritably on his pillow.

“Are you?” Adam asked with a shake of his head.  “You went out in that cold wind this morning, didn’t you?”

Jamie rose up on his elbows.  “I told you before: I won’t miss class unless I have to.”

“And I told you before: you can spare a demerit or two.”

Jamie fell back on the pillow, clearly too exhausted to argue.  “I just hope they don’t fine me for missing tonight’s meeting,” he groaned.

“I’m sure they won’t,” Adam assured him.  Attendance at the meetings of Sigma Epsilon was required, of course, but the society did recognize extenuating circumstances such as illness.  In fact, as Adam well knew, the membership would be only too happy to excuse Jamie from tonight’s proceedings.  A sick man was no asset to the evening’s amended agenda.

Lucas had leaned close to whisper the news to him during Latin recitation that morning.  “It’s on.  Rush tonight—after the meeting.”  Then he’d added, “Don’t tell Saint James.”

Adam had concurred with that advice.  Jamie probably would have refused to participate, anyway, but especially in light of his illness, it was wiser to leave him completely in the dark.  If he knew, he’d spend the night in worry, when what he needed most was untroubled rest.

After the noon meal Adam had changed into his country clothes—for comfort, he told Jamie.  Fortunately, he’d done that on occasion before, so Jamie didn’t suspect the real reason this time: Adam didn’t want to risk his good clothing in the rough and tumble of a rush on the sophomores.

He made his way through the snowy streets to the Brewster Building at the southeast corner of State and Chapel.  The meeting hall was buzzing with anticipation of the coming fray, and as he entered, he was greeted with a shout.  As one of the men whose abuse had triggered the quest for revenge, he, along with Lucas, was something of a celebrity tonight.  He spotted Luke’s cropped head across the room and waved at him, but first he approached the president of the society and gave Jamie’s regrets.  “He’s really too ill to be out,” Adam explained, “and hopes you’ll excuse his absence.”

“Consider it excused,” the president said gravely.  “He was obviously ill when I saw him this morning.  No need for him to endanger his health with tonight’s business.  He’s already proven his loyalty to the class.”

Adam could have pointed out that Jamie’s loyalty on the night in question had been to his friend Lucas, not the freshman class, but seeing no reason to share that, he merely nodded and made his way over to Lucas.

Soon the president called the meeting to order and announced, “Out of fairness to those originally scheduled to orate or debate tonight, we will postpone their participation until next week, so that we may give them our full attention as we would be unable to do now.  You all know that tonight the foul and fetid sophomores will meet their comeuppance.”

Shouts of “That’s right!” and “We’ll show them!” punctuated the hall until the president gestured for silence.  “Show them, we will,” he reiterated, “but before our agreed-upon confrontation at ten this evening let us rehearse our reasons.  We will have order, gentlemen, but each man in turn may state his grievances against our ancient foe, and to sustain us as we discuss the matter . . . bring on the peanuts!”

Cries of satisfaction met this announcement, and as at the earlier peanut bum, a bag of the nuts was dumped onto the floor and everyone dug in.  While they cracked open the shells and munched the nutmeats, one after another of the freshmen rose to expound on the ill treatment he had personally received or witnessed from the sophomores.

With his fine sense of the dramatic, Lucas held back, allowing the rancor against their adversaries to swell.  When he finally rose to his feet, uncovering his shorn head, the audience was primed and ready to react to this most atrocious example of sophomore barbarity.  Luke’s description of that night on East Rock proved that he had fine skills as an orator, when the topic excited him.  “And all this in payment for refusal to bow to their supposed superiority,” he scoffed in conclusion.  He waited for the uproar at that statement to die down and then continued, his voice soft, but his face flinty.  “Yet I don’t demand retribution for my ill treatment.  I’m sturdy enough to withstand it, as is my friend Cartwright.  One of us, however, lies tonight in a sickbed because of the brutish behavior of those ‘superior’ sophomores, and that I will not tolerate.  In the name of Jamie Edwards, I call for revenge!”

The freshmen jumped to their feet and screeched their agreement, Adam loudest of all, for Lucas had hit on the one thing that made all this personal for him.  Somewhere at the back of his mind was the niggling knowledge that Jamie would be appalled to be used as instigation for vengeance, but he pushed it down.  It was the defenseless in any society who needed protection, and the strong who must provide it.

Along with his classmates Adam charged out of the Brewster Building and down State Street.  They merged with the Delta Kaps, the other major freshman society, and together they marched toward the arranged place of confrontation.  The sophomores were already there, ranged along one side of the street, so the freshmen took the opposite side.  Adam and Lucas again placed themselves in the front rank.  For a few moments the two forces stared each other down, hurling the typical insults of one class toward another.  Adam caught a glimpse of Percival Demmings on the other side and made a personal pledge to strike no blow against that man.  On the other hand, Warington and Miller, whom he also spotted, were fair game and eminently deserving of whatever they got, even if they were fellow Vultures.

With a mighty yell the freshmen rushed forward, and shouting back, the sophomores stormed across the street.  They met in the middle: pushing, shoving, punching and pummeling.  The first rush of the year had been a sporting match, but this was a blood feud.  Tonight the atmosphere was charged with animosity, and fists flew with fury.  Blood spurted from noses, men were knocked to the ground and left to dodge the tangle of tramping legs as best they could.  Accustomed to the rough-and-tumble of western scuffles, Adam held his own better than most, but someone’s fist opened a cut above his right eye that left him literally seeing red.

Then, as before, came the shout of “Faculty!” and the flight for safety.  Adam swiped the blood from his face, but before he could determine which way to run, someone grabbed his collar and shouted his name.  Through the red haze he looked up into the face of Wilder Smith.  “Stop at once!” commanded the Latin tutor.  All along the street similar confrontations were taking place, for the faculty, forewarned of impending trouble, was out in force and determined to catch all they could into the dragnet for disciplinary action.

The captured were herded into a ring, with faculty surrounding them.  A stern-faced tutor acted as spokesman.  “Line up, gentlemen, and give your names to Mr. Gilman.  Each of you will be assessed four demerits for your part in this night’s disturbance of the peace.”  He narrowed his eyes.  “I would strongly advise you to spend your free time this weekend in diligent study, as your names will be distributed to all of your instructors with the recommendation that you each be called upon to recite and held to the highest standards of performance with the maximum penalty levied for the slightest failure.”

Adam moved into line and waited his turn to give his name to the college librarian.  He felt embarrassed, but not concerned, at least not for himself.  He could afford the four demerits, so long as he didn’t add to their total, and he always held himself to ‘the highest standards of performance’ in recitations, so he wasn’t worried about that, either.  He was, rather, concerned for his friends and leaned out of line to search both ahead and behind to see if either Lucas or Marcus had been caught in the roundup.  He didn’t see Marcus, but with a groan he spotted Lucas about a dozen men behind him.  Four demerits put him at sixteen, which meant he wouldn’t matriculate.

Red-faced, Adam gave his name to Daniel Gilman and waited for Lucas just down the street.  Luke saw him and trotted over after giving his name.  “Well, that does it,” he said with a shrug.

“I’m sorry, Luke,” Adam said with a shake of his head.  “You can still matriculate later, of course.”

“Of course,” Lucas said lightly.  “Nothing to worry about.”

Adam exhaled in a sputtering gust.  “There will be if you don’t change your ways.”

“I will,” Lucas promised.  He leaned closer, as if concerned about being overheard, even though the crowd was dispersing quietly.  “Did you see Marc?”

Adam shook his head.  “I think he got away.”

“Thank goodness for that!”  Lucas laid a hand on Adam’s shoulder.  “Sorry to lead you astray, chum.”

With his other hand Adam clasped the one on his shoulder.  “Doesn’t matter.  I have demerits to squander.”  He peered anxiously into his friend’s face.  “They’ll send a letter home about this, won’t they, now that you’ve reached sixteen demerits?  Will that make more trouble for you?”

“With pater?” Lucas chuckled.  “Oh, he’ll growl like a bear, but he doesn’t bite.”

One corner of Adam’s mouth lifted wryly.  “Better you than me, then.  I can assure you that Ben Cartwright does bite.”  With a shiver he pictured his father’s reaction had a letter from Yale arrived at the Ponderosa, detailing his son’s misbehavior.  He pushed the gruesome image from his mind.  “Want to come by our place to clean up?” he offered gently, tapping his friend’s battered face, his fingers coming away sticky.

Pursing his lips, Lucas shook his head.  “Don’t want to disturb Saint James,” he said.  “I’m afraid, spoopsey, that we’re both going to be a sad disappointment to him.”

“Yeah.”  Adam had to smile, though, at the realization that being a disappointment to Jamie actually mattered to slaphappy Lucas.  Two more different friends he couldn’t have found; nor, he concluded, two more valued ones.  “See you tomorrow,” he said in farewell, adding a stern admonition, “Don’t be late to chapel.”

“Count on it,” Lucas said.  “I’m going to be so angelic the rest of the term that soon you’ll be calling me Saint Luke.”

Grinning, Adam shook his head.  That would be the day!

* * * * *

            Adam winced with the effort to keep from groaning aloud as he rolled onto his left side and slowly sat up.  He instinctively put his hands to his face, to scrub the sleep from his eyes and gasped as his fingers touched the tender flesh.  He stumbled to the mirror, scowled at the livid bruises reflected there and shook his head in disgust.  Even if he hadn’t been caught, there’d be no hiding his participation in last night’s fray now, either from the faculty . . . or from Jamie, whom he could hear stirring behind him.

“Good morning, Adam,” Jamie called from his pillow.  “I hope I didn’t keep you awake with my coughing.”

“No,” Adam said, although that wasn’t the truth.  Between his own aching muscles and Jamie’s intermittent coughing, he hadn’t had much sleep that night.  “You’d—uh—better get up, if we’re going to make chapel on time,” he suggested, still with his back turned.  “I’d really rather not be late this morning.”

“I think I may skip it,” Jamie said reluctantly.  “I know it’s a demerit, but I really don’t feel very well, Adam.”

Adam spun around.  “Are you worse?” he asked anxiously.

But catching sight of Adam’s bruised face drove all thoughts of his own health from Jamie’s mind.  “What happened?” he cried.  He started to clamber out of bed, but Adam forestalled him by sitting on its edge.

“Rush . . . last night,” Adam answered laconically.

Even with so few words, Jamie needed no further explanation.  “Oh, Adam,” he moaned.  His eyes narrowed.  “Did you know before you left,” he asked in sudden enlightenment.  “You did, didn’t you?  That’s why you changed into your oldest clothes.  Oh, Adam!”

“I know, I know,” Adam muttered.  “I’m an idiot . . . with the demerits to prove it.”

“Oh, Adam.”  Jamie’s groan was one of commiseration, not condemnation.  Then his brow furrowed with concern.  “Luke?” he asked.  “Marc?”

Adam sighed.  “Luke was caught.  I think Marc got away, but I’m not sure it’ll matter.”  He pointed to his face.  “There’s evidence, you see, of who was there and who was not.”  He reached over to pat Jamie’s shoulder.  “Which is why, my friend, you had better get to chapel this morning and show your angelic, unbattered face, unless you’re ill enough to need a doctor.  We guilty souls have already been told that we’ll be given extra scrutiny in recitations.”

Jamie coughed, but shook his head sturdily.  “No, not that ill,” he said at once, “and as you say, we need to be on time.  Tardiness earns the same demerits as absence, and you can no longer afford them.”

“I’m still in good shape,” Adam insisted.  “I just don’t want to incur any more this quickly with that extra scrutiny looming over my head.”

“Oh,” Jamie groaned again.  “Poor Luke.”

“Poor us, you mean,” Adam said with a scowl.  “We’ll have to ride him harder than ever now.”

~ ~ ~ ~ Notes ~ ~ ~ ~

Ah, the catalog!  These are actually available online for the years of Adam’s tenure at Yale in this story and have been an invaluable asset for term schedules, faculty members, student lists, courses studied each term and fees for various services.

The poem, “The Muster of the North, A Ballad of ’61,” was printed in the New York Times on January 1, 1862.

Williams and Borden won the sophomore prize debate of the Brothers in Unity in January, 1862