CHAPTER EIGHT

First Day

The breeze off Long Island Sound was balmy, the air pleasantly cool, but tingling with excitement, or so it seemed to Adam and Jamie as they passed the Green, headed for their first chapel service.  Although Temple was slightly closer, they had traveled up Church Street this time, so that Adam could deposit his letter to Hoss at the Post Office.  “We should mark this day with stars on our calendar,” Jamie said, referring to the one hanging above their bed at the boardinghouse, which touted the reliability of one William Whitney, local apothecary.

“Oh, and which one of us gets that page for his memorabilia book—when we can afford one?”  Adam laughed.

“That’s a harder question than any on our entrance exams,” Jamie teased back.  “When we can afford one, I mean.”

Adam groaned appreciatively.  “We have got to find a cheaper way to eat, chum.”

“I might be able to help you with that.”

Adam turned and smiled as he recognized the brown-haired wit from the first day of exams.  “We never properly met,” he said as he extended his hand.  “Adam Cartwright.”

“Lucas Cameron,” the other boy said with a hearty pump of Adam’s hand, “and I really might be able to help with your mealtime expenses—if you’re interested in an eating club.”

“Oh, we are!” Jamie exclaimed enthusiastically.  “I’ve heard”—he halted abruptly as the prayer bell began to ring from the chapel steeple.

“You’ve heard the chapel bell, you say?” Lucas jibed.  “That’s just the five-minute bell, though . . . I think.”

“Are you sure?” Jamie asked, for Lucas seemed hesitant.

Lucas chuckled.  “Well, if another rings in two minutes, then that was the five-minute bell.  If not . . . well, we’re doomed.”

“I don’t think we should chance being late to the first chapel,” Jamie insisted, his gaze on Adam, who nodded his agreement.  First impressions were important, and he didn’t intend Yale’s first impression of him to be one of tardiness.

“You’re probably right,” Lucas conceded agreeably.  “Meet me here directly after, and I’ll tell you about the Vultures.”

“We’ll be here,” Adam assured him.  Then all three incoming freshmen dashed for the chapel door.

A boy sporting plug and banger pushed Lucas, who was in the lead, aside.  “Mind your place, Freshie,” he taunted, “and let your betters in before you.”

“Mind your mouth, Sophie,” a red-faced Lucas demanded, drawing back his fist.

“No, please!” Jamie cried, putting himself between the two.  He turned to the sophomore.  “After you, sir, by all means,” he said.  When the other boy, with superior smirk, passed through the door, Jamie whispered to Lucas, “I think it’s tradition.”

“It is,” said another fresh-faced lad coming up to them, “and we sit in the rear of the house or the galleries—at least this time.  That’s tradition, too.”

“The galleries, I say,” Adam suggested.  “A better view, perhaps?”

“Suits me,” Jamie agreed.  “Will you join us, Lucas, and you, too, sir?”

“Don’t call me ‘sir,’” the other boy chuckled.  “I’m a lowly freshman, just like the rest of you.  Introductions can wait.  Let’s get inside!”  That need was emphasized by the ringing of the final chapel bell.  The freshmen hurried through the door and up the stairs to the gallery, where they found an empty wooden pew on the left side, just the right size for four.

The chapel, although austerely furnished, seemed elegant to Adam and Jamie, who were accustomed to the frugality of frontier meetinghouses.  The pews were plain, wooden benches, but the smooth pillars supporting the gallery gave the room a classic sophistication.  A pulpit, which contained a sofa, stood at center front, flanked by double boxes.  Before it was a small parlor table with hair-covered chairs on each side that might just as readily have fit beneath a dining room table.  Two older men, dressed in black greatcoats and black ties, entered the pulpit and sat on the sofa.

Soon one of them, a man of medium height and slender, but wiry build rose and gazed upon the student body with steadfast, discerning eyes.  “Good morning, young gentlemen,” he said warmly.  “It is my privilege and pleasure, as President of Yale College, to welcome you to the beginning of a new term—and for some of you, the beginning of your time at Yale.   Beginnings are always moments of great importance, and whether you are beginning your college education or simply beginning another year of its continuation, you will want to make that beginning an auspicious one.  I can think of no better way to insure that than to heed the instruction of Holy Scripture, which tells us in Proverbs 1:7, ‘The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge.’”

Adam glanced to his left and smiled as he saw Jamie, elbows propped on the balustrade, eyes fixed on the speaker, totally enrapt.  A well-spoken sermon would appeal to the would-be preacher, of course, but the words held Adam’s interest, as well.  Having been brought up in traditional New England fear of the Lord, he figured he had already made the beginning of which President Woolsey spoke; now he was ready to build on the solid foundation that Ben Cartwright had laid.  And knowing what a challenge lay before him, to succeed at such a prestigious school, Adam figured it wouldn’t hurt to invoke a little divine aid each morning.

With a twinkle in his eye, President Woolsey leaned forward, the stance emphasizing the slight stoop of his shoulders.  “There are some, I regret to tell you, even among the select scholars of Yale, who think that a few minutes extra sleep of a morning will profit them more than spending those brief moments inviting the presence of God into their daily studies.  Those students might do well to remember the second half of our text, ‘but fools despise wisdom and instruction.’  They might also do well to remember that each absence from chapel prayers will earn them two demerits and that tardiness results in the same penalty.  Incurring too many too quickly would, indeed, be the mark of a fool.”

He straightened, and his eyes moved across the back of the auditorium and up into the galleries with a kindly affection.  “I am certain, however, that the fresh faces I see before me today are not those of fools, but of wise young men, who will remember where true knowledge begins and who will apply themselves to its cultivation throughout the day.  And now let us hear an appropriate anthem from the choir, ‘Nearer My God To Thee.’”

The choir, seated in front of the tall pipe organ in the center back gallery, rose.  As they began to sing, now it was Adam who leaned forward, engrossed in the most beautiful four-part harmony he had ever heard.  Surely the angels in heaven would bend down to hear such music!  Attendance at morning chapel would be no hardship with music like this to lift the soul.  The song was new to Adam, and he felt a sudden yearning for his guitar, that he might pick out the simple tune and enjoy it in private.  Pa had promised to send the instrument, and maybe in the meantime he could find sheet music for the song.  He shook his head in sudden frustration.  Unless Pa sent along some extra funds with the guitar—and why should he, after all he’d already donated to the cause?—the luxury of sheet music must give way to the necessity of eating—and books!

“Adam?” Jamie whispered.

Adam turned and, seeing the concern in his friend’s eyes, smiled reassuringly.  “I’m fine,” he whispered back, “just caught up in the music.”

Jamie nodded and relaxed into his own enjoyment of the song.

President Woolsey offered a short benediction at the end of the service, which had lasted about fifteen minutes.  Then, beginning with the seniors, he announced when and where each class should meet.  The freshmen were to return to the chapel at 11:30.  That left them with several hours of free time, so the four who had banded together earlier moved out onto the lawn, where the last to join their ranks introduced himself as Marcus Whitmore.  Slight of build, with hair even lighter than Jamie’s, Marcus—or Marc, as he insisted they call him—was the son of an Ohio farmer and, like Jamie and Adam, the first in his family to attend college.

“Let me tell you about the Vultures,” Lucas offered after introductions had been made.  “The food is good and the price reasonable, much cheaper than the Knights of the Knife and Fork.  That’s the only other club I’ve heard about that’s still looking for new members.  They’re a snooty bunch, too.  What they want is gourmet cuisine.”  Lucas thumbed up his nose as he uttered the final two words with an affected hoity-toity accent.

Adam, Jamie and Marcus all laughed.  “Definitely not what we’re looking for,” Adam declared.

“Of course not!”  Lucas’s chin dipped decisively.  “What you want is good hearty food—and plenty of it—at a decent price, and that’s what you’ll get from the Vultures.”

“Count us in, then,” Adam said.

“Well, it’s not as easy as all that,” Lucas admitted.  “You’ve got to be approved by the other members.”  Seeing expressions of dismay cross the faces of his new friends, he added quickly, “I’m sure that won’t be a problem.  They just want to make sure we’ll all get along—and that you’re not the type to skip out on the bill.  That’s very important, since we don’t collect ‘til the end of term.”

“Would—would there be room for me, too, possibly?” Marcus asked shyly.  “I tried to join the Fowl Fiends, but they said they were full up, and the others I’ve looked at charge more than I can afford.”

“How much will the Vultures charge?” Jamie asked.

“Six-fifty a week is what they charged last year,” Lucas told them.

“You were here last year?” Adam queried, looking puzzled.

Lucas hooted.  “No, it’s my first year, same as you, but I had a brother here—graduated last year—and he was a Vulture.  That’s how I got in with them straight off, and it’s how I know there’s room for all of you.  Several of the Vultures graduated with my brother, so they’re in need of fresh blood.”

Adam chuckled.  “Having seen vultures in action back home, I’m not sure I want to be fresh blood for a pack of them.”

Lucas laughed in appreciation of the jest.  “You’ll be safe enough, so long as the table stays well supplied—and it will.  Dinner’s served at 1 p.m.  You all come along with me then and try the food and the company.  I’m sure both will suit you.”

“And we, them, I hope,” Jamie said.  “Well, we’ve some time to kill before the meeting.  Any thoughts?”

Adam pondered only a moment.  “I think I’ll go back to our room and at least start a letter to—”

“Little Joe?” Jamie suggested saucily.

“Pa first, I think,” Adam replied with a grin.  “There’s so much I want to tell him, but if I have time, I’ll put in a short note to Joe, as well.”  His lips puckered in thought.  “No, on second thought, I’d better wait and give him one all to himself.”

“Can’t have the little fellow feeling slighted,” Jamie said with a knowing smile.

“Oh, no,” Adam chuckled, “because if he does, he’ll let everyone know about it—and just who’s to blame!”

* * * * *

            At 11:30 the incoming freshmen met with three faculty members and were assigned their permanent seats in chapel, which were located across the back rows of all three sections of the room.  Adam and Jamie were disappointed at being separated, but the seating was done alphabetically, and “C” and “E” were too far apart to hope for continued togetherness.  Adam was seated next to Lucas, however, causing young Cameron to observe that their meeting the day of entrance exams was not only fortuitous, but a matter of destiny.  “Perhaps so,” Adam chuckled in response, “especially if we turn out to be tablemates, as well.”

“Destiny, my boy,” Lucas declared.  “Our meeting was divinely ordained—an auspicious beginning, as President Woolsey might say.”

The boy in the seat on the other side of Lucas jabbed an elbow in his ribs.  “If so, it was ordained to keep you on the straight and narrow, Cameron.”  He leaned forward to look around Lucas at Adam.  “And God has ordained you, sir, for the challenge of your life.”

Adam laughed softly, not wanting to attract the attention of the faculty, who were still seating freshmen with names appearing late in the alphabet.  “You speak as one who knows.”

“To my unending regret,” the other said with exaggerated, and therefore comical gravity.

“Butler and I went to the same prep school,” Lucas explained, “but don’t be telling old tales out of school, Henry.  I’m a changed man, I tell you!”

“Oh, no doubt.”  Butler favored his old schoolmate with a dubious grin.  “Remember, sir, you’ve been forewarned,” he added to Adam before settling back into his place on the hard wooden bench.

Cocking his head, Adam gave Lucas a quizzical look, but no confessions were forthcoming.  From his expression Lucas might have been a cherub interrupted at his bedtime prayers, and Adam almost laughed out loud, for the expression reminded him so strongly of his baby brother.

Following the placement of the final student, the freshmen were divided into four sections, again according to the alphabet.  The first section extended through “E,” so Jamie was delighted to find that he and Adam would at least attend classes together.  Their new friend Lucas was in the same section, of course.

A middle-aged man, using a cane to assist his halting walk, approached them and introduced himself as James Hadley, Professor of Greek.  “You’ll be studying Homer’s Odyssey with me,” he said, “and your first recitation will be at five this evening.  The room is on the first floor of the Athenaeum, and I would advise you to know the material thoroughly, young gentlemen.  I will require exactness in your translations and understanding of the grammatical relationship of each phrase.”

With that the students were dismissed.  “Old Had himself!” Lucas said and issued a long, drawn-out whistle.

“Who else would teach us Greek but the Professor of Greek?” Adam laughed.

“My boy, you show your ignorance,” Lucas snorted.  “We’re lowly freshmen; it takes a miracle of Biblical proportions for us to sit under anything but a tutor.  But Hadley—he’s tiptop, best in his field—or so I’ve heard.”  Mere academics could obviously not hold his attention for long, however, for he rubbed his hands together jubilantly and announced, “Now for lunch!”

“We need to find Whitmore first,” Jamie reminded him as they filed down the aisle in no particular order.

“Bound to be on the far side, with the last section,” Lucas announced.  “With a name like that, he could scarcely be anywhere else.”

“True,” Jamie said.  “It’s sad we’ll never share a class with him.”

“I’m sure we’ll share many other things,” Adam consoled his friend.

“Like every meal!” Lucas laughed, and the others joined in.

Marc was looking for them, as well, so finding him was an easy task.  “What’s your first recitation, Whitmore?” Lucas asked.

With a shudder Marc replied, “Geometry—and how I dread it.”

“Tutor or professor?” Lucas inquired loftily.

“Tutor—George Nolen.”

“I rest my case,” Lucas said with a bow to Adam.

Adam returned the gesture.  “I bow to your superior familiarity—and, further, I bow to your familiarity with where dinner is to be found.”

“Ah, you have, indeed, come to the right source for that.  Follow me, boys.”

The foursome headed for a house about a block north of the Green, where the Vultures had contracted with a woman for their board.  With the others behind him, Lucas walked into a dining room, where several other young men were already seated around a large oval oak table, and boldly announced, “Here I am, boys, with the answer to your prayers.”

“You’re short two of the answer to all our prayers, Cameron, my lad,” said a tall fellow with black hair, black eyes and a poised manner.  “Still, I’m pleased to see that you’ve taken to heart our need for more Vultures.”  From the head of the table, he nodded to the newcomers.  “Welcome, gentlemen.  I’m Alexander White, the steward of our eating club.  Do take a seat, and we’ll get to know you over the fine meal our cook, Mrs. Swanson, has prepared.”

“Thank you for having us,” Adam replied.  “We are most appreciative of the opportunity of dining with you and hope that you will find us the sort of companions with whom you might wish to share future meals, to our mutual advantage.”

“Here, here,” said a lanky youth with a genial smile, who was sitting at the foot of the table.  “A fine speech, sir, and worthy of a tasty reward.”  He gestured toward the empty chair nearest him and Adam took it.  Lucas, Marc and Jamie found empty seats elsewhere at the table and sat down.

“Introductions are in order,” Alexander said, “but since we also want to hear a bit about each of you, let’s begin the meal and have them over dinner.”

“Hunky,” declared the young man sitting beside Jamie, to the complete mystification of three of the four freshmen.  Only Lucas sported a knowing grin.

“Mrs. Swanson,” the steward called, “we’re ready to begin.”

A middle-aged woman with a full, rosy face emerged from the neighboring kitchen with a large tureen.  “Start with this, then, Mr. White,” she said cheerily, “while I dish up the remainder of the meal.”  Pushing a stray brown curl back beneath her white, ruffled mobcap, she bustled back into the kitchen.  Just that brief glimpse of the cook enhanced Adam’s expectation of good things, for Mrs. Swanson was apparently an enthusiastic connoisseur of her own culinary art, being almost as wide as she was tall.

Alexander White ladled creamy soup into bowls and passed them to the man on each side of him until all had been served.  “Dig in, boys,” he urged.  “You won’t regret it.”

“Clam chowder!” Adam cried.  “Now, there’s a rare treat.”

“Not rare in this part of the country,” laughed the man at the foot of the table.

“You can tell from his accent he’s not from hereabouts,” declared a younger man, sounding somewhat scornful.

“True enough,” Alexander said, “and so long as you’ve become the subject of conversation, lad, we might as well begin introductions with you.”

“I didn’t mean to horn in,” Adam apologized, “but as we must start with one of us, I don’t mind going first.  My name is Adam Cartwright, and if my accent seems unfamiliar to you, I suppose that’s because I’m from Nevada.”

“Well, that explains why clam chowder is rare where you come from,” the man beside him chuckled.  “Is there a single shellfish in the whole territory?”

“Oh, yes,” Adam returned with a smile.  “We grow them in cans.”  As laughter circled the table, he added, “I have occasionally eaten clam chowder in California, where I had my preparatory schooling, but other than that, I don’t think I’ve enjoyed a bowl since we found freshwater clams along the trail west and my stepmother prepared them to perfection, though she’d never heard of clam chowder before that day.”

“You weren’t coming from New England, I take it,” observed the scornful one.

“Actually, I was born in New England,” Adam said, “but my stepmother was not from here, so the dish was new to her.”

“She was Swedish and the dearest lady I ever met,” Jamie put in, a wistful look in his eyes.

“You’re from Nevada, too?” asked a haughty voice.

“No, Missouri,” Jamie said.  “That’s where Adam and I met.  Then he went on west.  We’ve kept in touch for years and attending college together is a long-held dream.”

“And your name, lad?” asked Alexander.

“Oh, sorry.  I’m Jamie Edwards.”

“Jamie?  That’s a boy’s name, not a man’s,” chuckled a young man sitting to Alexander’s right.  In coloring he reminded Adam of Billy Thomas with his red hair and blue eyes, but the resemblance ended there.  Where Billy was thin and wiry, this fellow tended toward plumpness and didn’t look as though he had a spark of mischief in his makeup.

Jamie smiled good naturedly.  “I suppose it is, but I’ve always been Jamie, and frankly, I wouldn’t know how to answer to James.”

“A good thing,” the other laughed, “since that’s my name, and two of us might be confusing.  James Goodman at your service, my boy.”  He leaned forward in semblance of a bow.

“You might as well tell our prospective members a bit about yourself, James,” Alexander suggested.

“Oh.  Well, like Mr. Cartwright here, I didn’t mean to ‘horn in,’ but I’m from Rhode Island, third generation at Yale.  My father’s a lawyer in Providence.”

“And what about the background of these newcomers?” inquired the man beside Jamie.

“My father’s a teacher,” Jamie said.

“At what level?”

“Grammar school,” Jamie admitted.  He wasn’t blind to the look of disdain that crossed the other man’s face.  He’d seen that look on the faces of boys in his St. Louis academy, some of whom had expressed the opinion that no man with any ambition would remain a teacher of grammar school children.  “He considers it a calling,” Jamie added.

“And the way he performs it, it is,” Adam added loyally, for he, too, had sensed the negative reaction of Jamie’s interrogator.  “Mr. Josiah Edwards is due much credit for the fact that I’m at Yale today.”

“He gave you a good beginning, as our President so profoundly advised this morning,” Alexander said so kindly that any disparagement others might have felt immediately vaporized.  “What does your family do in Nevada, Mr. Cartwright?” he inquired.

“What else is there to do?” jibed the man beside Jamie.  “Nothing but miners there—or so I hear.”

Adam bristled.  He’d had about enough of this man’s arrogant attitude.  “Then you haven’t heard enough, sir,” he suggested with forced constraint.  He faced the steward.  “My father owns a cattle ranch, the Ponderosa, and we have some timber interests, as well, which do keep us in association with the mines.”

“Most interesting,” Alexander said with a stern look at the man who had so frequently challenged these newcomers.  “Though we have not yet finished our introductions, perhaps this would be a good time for me to explain a fundamental principle by which the Vultures have always functioned.  You may have wondered why we have members from all four undergraduate classes.”

Adam grinned.  “Actually, sir, this is all so new to us that we wouldn’t have known what to expect.”

Alexander laughed aloud at Adam’s forthrightness.  “Well, I assure you, Mr. Cartwright, it is not the norm.  Most clubs are made up of members from a single class.  The Vultures chose otherwise, from its beginning four years ago.  That makes it one of the most long-lived clubs about campus, incidentally.  Outside the academic life we will meet and mingle with people of different backgrounds and certainly of different ages.  If our college years are to be a preparation for that future, would it be wise to isolate ourselves for four years and socialize only with those exactly like ourselves?  Our founding feathers—if you will permit me a slight witticism—deliberately chose diversity when others elected uniformity.  We believe they chose wisely, and I further believe that we would be continuing that tradition of wisdom by inviting you gentlemen to join our ranks.”

“Here, here!” declared James Goodman.  Others around the table murmured their approval.

Only one voice rose in opposition.  “We don’t even know this one’s name!” the man beside Jamie protested with a brush of his hand toward Marc.

Alexander sighed.  “Warington, you seem determined to be disagreeable today, but you do have a point.  Would you please tell us your name, lad, and where you’re from, something about your family?”

Marc flushed and stammered out his name.  “I’m from Ohio, and my family—well, we’re just farmers.”

“Nothing wrong with that.  Farmers are the backbone of America,” proclaimed the tall, lanky man seated at the foot of the table.

“So they are,” Alexander declared in staunch support, “along with those who pioneer new lands.”  His sweeping gaze took in both Adam and Jamie and defied anyone to contradict him.  “Now, all in favor of admitting these young gentlemen into our company, please raise your hands.”

All hands eventually went up, although that of Warington and one other man rose more slowly than the others.  “Excellent!” exclaimed Alexander.  “Now, on that note let us have the main course served, and while we eat, the rest of us will make ourselves known to you.”

Over plates filled with pork and stewed apples, buttery squash and peas seasoned with mint, the newcomers gradually became acquainted with the other Vultures.  There were two from each level of upperclassmen.  The seniors, Alexander White and Robert Raines, were seated at the head and the foot of the table.  White was the son of a hardware merchant in Hartford, while Raines came from a banking family in New York City.  He could have afforded to dine in the best restaurants, but preferred the camaraderie of a club.  James Goodman was a junior, as was Milton Bradford, who complained good-naturedly about being named for John Milton.

“We have something in common, then,” Adam observed.  “I was named for the character in Milton’s Paradise Lost, of which my mother was especially fond.”

“But at least you got a good, solid first name out of it, my dear boy,” Bradford said, “nothing quite so thoroughly archaic as Milton.”

“And you have a good, solid family name,” Adam suggested.  “Any relation to William Bradford?”

“Yes, although I’m not a direct descendent of our venerated Pilgrim,” Bradford replied.  “Just a side branch of the family.”  His pride in the family name was, nonetheless, apparent.

The two sophomores were Edgar Warington, who had already made himself odious to the freshmen and George Miller, whose only comment thus far had been an expression of his hope that something other than freshmen would be sought to fill the final two places among the Vultures.  “If we’re to maintain our touted diversity,” he added pointedly.

“Agreed,” Alexander said.  “We do have rules, which we’ll go over with you at supper, gentlemen.  Nothing overly stringent, never fear.  Now, I know that you’ll all want to prepare for the first recitation of the year, so we’ll go our separate ways and meet again promptly at six.”

“We need to purchase our textbooks,” Jamie reminded Adam as they met at the door.  “Do you suppose we could share them, to save money?”

“Let’s try it,” Adam agreed.  “If we find later that we each need our own, maybe we’ll have pinched enough pennies elsewhere to manage it.”  His face scrunched in thought.  “Any idea where we find them?”

“I can answer that,” Lucas stated proudly.  “Thirty-four South Middle.  Know the building?”

“Yes,” Jamie said, “but don’t you need to buy yours, as well?”

Lucas shook his head.  “I inherited my brother’s texts.”

“Oh, well, we’ll see you at recitation then.”

Lucas tipped his bowler and took off, whistling, in the opposite direction.

“Now, where do you suppose he’s going?” Jamie asked Adam.

Adam shrugged.  “I don’t know, though I have a feeling he won’t be going near his brother’s textbook.”

“Perhaps he’s already prepared the first lesson, since he had the book,” Jamie suggested.

Adam laughed.  “That’s my saintly pastor, never willing to think ill of any man.  I’m afraid my suspicions about our new friend are less generous.”  He looked toward the shy freshman still with them.  “What about you, Marc?  Will you be going with us to South Middle?”

“Yes, if I may,” Marcus said softly.  “I’m in need of a text—well, several, in fact.”

Adam hooked an arm through each friend’s elbow, and, a modern portrait of the Three Musketeers, they sallied off to the College Bookstore.

* * * * *

            Adam, Jamie, Marc and Lucas met outside the Athenaeum and walked in together.  “My recitation room is on the second floor,” Marc told them, and the others wished him well as he headed for the stairs.

The remaining three loitered in the hall, along with about thirty other young scholars.  Finally, Professor Hadley entered the building, and the ranks parted to let him limp past.  “Come in, gentlemen,” he said.  “Take any seat for now, but I will be seating you alphabetically, so if you’ll approximate your chapel positions, with the first man taking the back corner, you will assist in accomplishing that without waste of time.”

“Here, you take the book,” Adam said, pressing their shared Greek text on Jamie.

“But what if you’re called on to recite?” Jamie whispered back anxiously.  “He may do that alphabetically, too.”

“Cartwright can share mine,” Lucas offered.  “Come on, boy,” he added with a slap of Adam’s shoulder.  “It’s up to the top riser for us.”

As he had indicated, three rows of benches rose, one above the other.  Followed by Adam, Lucas made his way to the top and sat next to his old schoolmate, Henry Butler, while Jamie made his way to the front row.  As Professor Hadley called the roll and verified that everyone was in the correct place, Adam looked around the room.  Blackboards and maps covered the whitewashed walls, with rows of hat hooks lining the one nearest the door.  The only heat came from a cylindrical coal stove behind the professor, and Adam wondered if the heat would reach the back row during the cold days of winter yet to come.

“You will retain these seats throughout the term,” the professor advised them.  “And now, without further delay, let us begin our study of Homer’s great epic.  How many of you have read it in its entirety before?”

Only three or four students raised their hands.  Adam had at first felt embarrassed that he could not raise his until he saw how few of those, even with the advantage of an eastern preparatory education, could either.  Perhaps he and Jamie would be able to hold their own, after all.  They’d both studied the assignment diligently that afternoon, but each had felt a little nervous about his first recitation.  This was, after all, Yale!

Professor Hadley made a few opening remarks about the author and his work.  “You will find that nothing conveys the power and beauty of a work like reading it in its original language,” he stated.  “Hidden shades of meaning will reveal themselves to those who studiously seek them.”

“He should know,” Lucas whispered to Adam.  “Old Had is fluent in about every language there is—even Sanskrit, for the love of mercy.”

Hadley let his learned hand rest upon a small box at his lectern.  “All your names are contained herein.  In order to be completely impartial in the order of recitation, I will draw a name, and that man will read the designated passage.  Then the man whose name I draw next will translate.”

“Heaven preserve me,” Lucas murmured.  “Not the first day.”

Adam rolled his eyes.  What had his friend thought would happen the first day?  Just an introduction?  To be honest, Adam had also thought that might be the case.  Some of his instructors in Sacramento hadn’t done much the first session, but others had hit the ground running, so he hadn’t been so foolish as to come unprepared.  If he, like Lucas, had had the advantage of an older brother to query about how things were done, he certainly wouldn’t have left anything to mere presumption.  A smile played at his lips as he wondered whether either of his little brothers would ever come to him for advice about how to prepare for his first college recitation.  He really couldn’t picture Hoss sitting on one of these benches, but Joe—well, he couldn’t picture Little Joe sitting still anywhere, but time would tell.

He jerked his attention back to the recitation of the first student.  The fellow read reasonably well, though Adam thought he caught a misplaced accent on one word.  Hadley didn’t mention it, though; he merely said, “Satisfactory,” and drew the next name.  After several rounds of reading and translation, Lucas groaned upon hearing his name called.  He stood and stammered through a few lines, slaughtering more than one word along the way.

Hadley frowned throughout the reading, and when Lucas had finished, he made several corrections.  “I would suggest you review that material before proceeding to the next passage, Mr. Cameron,” the professor said soberly.  He drew another name, and that man successfully translated the passage.

Adam gulped as he stood after hearing his own name read from the slip of paper drawn from the box.  Borrowing Lucas’s text, he read the passage, as directed, and then looked hopefully at the professor.

“Your elocution reveals understanding of what you read, Mr. Cartwright,” Hadley said with evident approval.  “Well done.”  He paused.  “I noticed that you borrowed Mr. Cameron’s book for the reading.  Did you leave yours in your room, sir?”

Adam flushed.  “N-no, sir, I didn’t forget it.  I had hoped to share a text with Mr. Edwards, with whom I room, but we hadn’t realized we’d be separated during recitations.”  A titter of laughter started, but was almost instantly quelled by the professor’s dour look at the culprits.  “Mr. Cameron was good enough to loan me his book when you called on me,” Adam finished quickly.

“I see,” Professor Hadley said, and while neither words nor expression conveyed his opinion, Adam thought he caught a sympathetic gleam in the man’s eye.  The professor drew the next name.  “James Brand,” he announced.

Mr. Brand, who looked to be considerably older than the other students, stood and translated the passage Adam had read.  He made a couple of mistakes, which the professor corrected before declaring, “Satisfactory.”  Then, consulting his pocket watch, Hadley said, “Our hour is almost concluded, young scholars.  Those of you who did not recite today will do so tomorrow.”  He gave the next assignment and dismissed the class.

Bursting with energy after their hour-long confinement, the young scholars erupted from the classroom.  On his way to the door, Adam heard his name called.

“Mr. Cartwright?  A word with you, please.”

With some trepidation Adam approached the Professor of Greek.  “Yes, sir?”

“Your attempt to share texts with another student, is that a matter of pecuniary necessity?” Professor Hadley inquired gently.

Adam cast an embarrassed glance back at Jamie, who waited for him by the door.  “Well, we—uh—we thought we might conserve expenses, sir, by sharing, but if that isn’t feasible . . .”

“You should each have your own,” the professor said with a smile.  “Some of your other instructors may insist upon it.”

Adam held himself straight.  “We’ll—we’ll manage then, sir.”

Hadley smiled more broadly.  “To that end, might I offer you the use of an old copy of my own—on loan until you’ve more fully analyzed your assets?”

Adam made a concerted effort to keep his jaw from dropping.  “That’s—that’s very kind of you, sir.  I—I don’t know what to say.”

The professor chuckled.  “I believe ‘thank you’ is the standard response, Mr. Cartwright.”

“Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir!”

“I’ll bring it to recitation tomorrow.  Until then you’ll have to manage sharing—with this young man?”  Hadley nodded toward Jamie.

“Yes, sir—and thank you again, sir.”

“Not at all, my boy,” the professor said with a kindly twinkle in his eye.  “A promising student—and your reading today proclaimed you as such—should not be deprived of so simple an asset as his own textbook.  You might even find mine somewhat beneficial.  I seem to recall scribbling some notes in the margins.  Now, off with you.  Surely, supper awaits you somewhere, and you can scarcely give due attention to your studies if your stomachs are rumbling.”  He looked across the room at Jamie.  “I’ll be looking forward to your recitation tomorrow, young man, if your grasp of Greek is anything to match your friend’s.”

“His is better,” Adam declared loyally.

“Ah!  Then I’ve something to look forward to,” Hadley chuckled.  He clapped his hands smartly.  “Supper, boys, supper!  Run along now.”

“Oh, Adam, how could you?” Jamie chided as soon as they were outside the Athenaeum.  “How could you give me such a reputation to live up to?”

“I only spoke the truth,” Adam insisted as he circled his friend’s slim shoulders with his strong arm.  “And you’ll prove the truth of my words tomorrow, you know you will.”

“If I don’t faint dead away first!” Jamie moaned.

“That’s hunger talking,” Adam laughed, “and my stomach is answering right back.  To the Vultures, my boy, before Lucas—or more likely, those voracious sophomores—gobble it all up!”

~ ~ Notes ~ ~

Henry Butler and James Brand were actual students at Yale during the time of Adam’s fictional sojourn.  All other students are the author’s creation.

Thomas Woolsey was President of Yale College from 1846 to 1871.

The Vultures, Knights of the Knife and Fork and Fowl Fiends were all actual eating clubs at Yale, though not necessarily all in 1861.

George Nolen was actually a tutor in mathematics at Yale during Adam’s tenure there.

James Hadley, affectionately called Old Had, taught Greek at Yale from 1845 to 1872, beginning as a Tutor and later becoming Professor.  He was crippled in an accident at age nine and earlier in his life had walked with crutches.  That he had advanced to the use of a cane by 1861 is the author’s surmise.