CHAPTER NINE

An Unwelcome Visitation

“Lucas!” Adam called the following night as he exited the house where the Vultures had met for supper.  “Where are you going?  Alumni Hall is this way.”

“The Statement of Facts?” Lucas asked with a deprecatory shake of his head.  “Not for me!”  With that he turned and walked briskly away.

Marcus frowned in puzzlement as he came up to Adam and Jamie.  “I thought everyone had to join one of the open societies.”

“They’ll sign him up for one or the other, whether he’s there or not,” Jamie said.  “At least, that’s what I heard.”

“Maybe he’s already pledged one,” Marcus suggested.  “I heard you can do that, but I didn’t know which one to pick.”

A light breeze rustled the elm leaves overhead as Adam led the way back toward the college.  “That’s what the Statement of Facts is about, I suppose.  I, for one, prefer to hear what each side has to say and then make my own choice, but I suppose Lucas is probably joining whichever one his brother was in.”

“Pity he didn’t share that with us,” Jamie offered, his shorter legs working hard to keep up with Adam.

Marcus nodded his agreement.  “If he had, I might have pledged early and skipped this.  I could really use the study time!”

“Couldn’t we all?” Adam commiserated.  The day had been packed full, and because the routine was new to the freshmen, they hadn’t moved from one scheduled activity to the next with the same fluid ease as the upperclassmen.  Adam and Jamie had risen and dressed in time to reach the Vultures club for breakfast at 6:30.  Then it was straight to chapel and after that to the first recitation of the day, Latin with Tutor Smith.

By nine o’clock they were back in their rooms, working on their Latin assignment and trying to anticipate what might be required in their mathematics class.  That recitation took place at 11:30 and fortunately turned out to be a review of material both Adam and Jamie had already covered in preparatory school.  As soon as it was over, they went by the post office, so Adam could mail his letter to Pa, and then hustled to make it to lunch at 1 p.m.

Then the friends had three hours to complete their assignment in Euclid’s Geometry and to brush up the next section of The Odyssey, which they had studied the night before.  Arriving early for class, Adam picked up the textbook the Greek professor had offered him, and while he was glad to have a book of his own, he was still more grateful that he had no Greek recitation the next day.  He wasn’t sure when he would have crammed in time to prepare for it on this busy night.  Supper had been directly afterwards and now, still toting the textbook, he and his two friends were heading back to Alumni Hall for a special meeting.  Obviously, his planned letter to Little Joe wasn’t going to get written tonight, but tomorrow was Saturday, and the schedule would be lighter.  He’d make a point of writing something to his youngest brother then.

As they approached Alumni Hall, Adam noticed a group of young men ranging out from the turrets of the red sandstone building, but none of them looked familiar.  “Any of those fellows in your division, Marc?” he asked.

“No,” Marcus said.  “I—uh—don’t think they’re in our class, Adam.”

“Plugs and bangers,” Jamie hissed.  “They’re sophomores!”

If the silk hats and canes didn’t reveal the young men as sophomores, their behavior soon did.  As the freshmen mounted the first step to the hall, hands reached out to shove them from side to side.  “Watch your step, Freshie,” someone called loudly when Marcus fell to one knee.

Adam reached down and pulled his friend to his feet, managing to elbow the offending sophomore as he did.  “Watch your own,” he warned.

“Off with your chapeau, boy,” taunted another sophomore, using his banger to knock off Adam’s hat.  “Don’t they teach you farm boys any manners?”

Adam snatched his new bowler from the step.  “They teach us the difference between a farm and a ranch,” he snorted.

“Adam, let’s get inside,” Jamie pleaded.  He doffed his own hat and dipped his head in acknowledgement of the flourishing bow with which the sophomores ushered him up the three steps into Alumni Hall.

With a gusty exhale Adam, still holding Marcus by the elbow, followed him in.  “Jamie, I know the Good Book says ‘Blessed are the peacemakers,’ but I have just about had enough of those sophomores.”

“So quickly,” Jamie chuckled as they filed into a row of seats.  “They haven’t done anything that bad, Adam.  You’re still put out because they wouldn’t let you join in the songfest at the fence last night.”

When the two roommates had passed the campus after supper the night before, they’d seen students perched on the fence surrounding the yard and heard them singing heartily.  Pausing at the corner of College and Chapel streets, Adam had started to vocalize in harmony with the unfamiliar melody.  The response from the sophomores extending down College Street had been immediate and vociferous.  They’d all shrieked and howled in protest and threatened to come down from the fence and teach “Freshie” his place if he didn’t stop.  “No freshmen allowed,” explained a junior perched on Chapel, close to the corner, “but keep practicing that harmony, youngster.  Your day will come.”

Adam had been close to yanking the nearest sophomore off his exalted rail throne, but the junior’s straightforward words had a calming effect.  Rules were rules and tradition had its place, he supposed, although he personally thought that any rule that excluded any man from the liberating delight of song was ridiculous.

“You’re right,” he conceded, taking a seat.  “They haven’t done anything that bad, but it is beginning to add up.”

“Good thing Lucas isn’t here,” Marcus whispered.  “He’d probably take a poke at those silly sophomores.”

Adam arched an eyebrow.  “I just might join him.”

“Really?” Jamie asked with a beguiling smile.  “I thought you wanted to be here for four years, not just four recitations.”  More seriously, he tapped his friend’s arm.  “They aren’t worth it, Adam.  Let them have their silly fun.  We’ll outlast them, and next year we’ll show them how mature sophomores behave.”

“That we will,” Adam agreed, and for him it was a vow.  If he had anything to do with it, next year no newcomer to campus would suffer indignity or harassment just because he was a year younger.

The juvenile harassment continued even after the meeting began.  Six orators, three from each side, presented arguments in favor of either Linonia or Brothers in Unity, the two societies open to all students.  A speaker from Brothers in Unity had just finished listing illustrious Brothers of earlier years—people like Joel Barlow, called the father of American poetry; Noah Webster of dictionary fame; and President Woolsey himself—when Adam felt something strike his neck.  Then he saw Marcus rubbing his ear and, hearing something plunk at his feet, he bent over to pick it up.  “Beans,” he hissed to Jamie.  “You’d think they were grammar school students, not men with a year of college under their belts.”

“Sophomores,” Jamie said with a shake of his head, as if that explained everything.  For both Adam and Marcus, it did.

Everyone in the audience put up with the pellets striking right and left, for only the speakers themselves seemed off limits to the sophomores’ bombardment.  Somehow, between the beans and the hoots of laughter accompanying them, the trio of freshmen managed to pick up a few remarks of the orators, each touting the virtues of his own society and decrying the failings of the other.

“I don’t see much difference between the two,” Adam admitted as they left the hall, “especially since anyone can attend the meetings of either one.  As long as we join the same one, I’ll be satisfied.”

“Shall we toss a coin?” Marcus suggested.

Adam shrugged.  “Better than tossing beans.  Jamie?”

Jamie smiled a bit wistfully.  “I suppose you’ll think me foolish, but I rather like the idea of having brothers.”

Adam chuckled.  “I wouldn’t say foolish; you’re just displaying the inexperience of an only child.”

“Adam, you know you wouldn’t take the whole Comstock Lode for those little brothers of yours,” Jamie chided.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Adam admitted, “and you and I have always been brothers at heart, Jamie, but if you want it made official, we can join Brothers in Unity.”  He added, as he turned toward Marcus, “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“I don’t mind,” the other freshman said agreeably.  “Their hall is on this side, I believe.”  He pointed toward a staircase.

The trio mounted the steps, without any sophomore blocking their path this time.  Even those certified nuisances, after all, were anxious to have as many freshmen as possible join their society, for the sheer honor of besting Linonia in the membership campaign.  The room the new candidates entered was about fifty feet long and half that wide.  It was elegantly accoutered with frescoed walls and blue hangings, to match the blue upholstery of the sofas and chairs.  A large painting of some august personage hung behind the desk at one end of the room, and a bronze classical figure of a woman with her finger uplifted to heaven sat upon it.

One by one, to the rousing cheers of the established members, those freshmen who had elected to join Brothers in Unity signed their name to the society’s constitution and promised to be “true to its interests and faithful to its secrets.”

“Whatever those may be,” Adam said to Jamie as they walked home.  “It all seemed like ‘much ado about nothing’ to me.”

“And then to lose to Linonia.” Jamie clucked his tongue, amused by the way even he and Adam had gotten caught up in the general moaning that had met that announcement.  “Let’s hope the regular meetings will be better.”

Adam laughed.  “They could scarcely be worse!  It appears to me that Lucas was the only wise one among us tonight.”

“If he spent the evening in preparation for his recitations, I’ll agree.”

Adam clucked his tongue.  “Surely you jest, my new brother.”

Jamie laughed.  “Indeed, brother, I do!”

Adam had the last word—or so he intended.  “You’re definitely adopting the role with ease; your teasing may be a bit more sophisticated, but this is exactly what I remember little brothers being like!”

“Ah, but you forget.  I’m the elder brother—by a good four months,” Jamie declared, “and that’s a relationship you’ve never had to deal with before.  Perhaps this will give you a chance to experience life from the other side, little brother.”

Adam’s eyebrows knit together, an expression which, coupled with his wry smile proved quite inscrutable.

* * * * *

            Rarely had Adam been so grateful to see a weekend arrive.  Of course, he had to be up just as early on Saturday as any other day of the school week, but at least there were only two recitations.  The third would also be omitted on Wednesdays, he learned, but what mattered today was that after lunch he was free to spend the afternoon and evening any way he chose.  He chose to spend the first couple of hours taking a much-needed nap.  The weeks of non-stop travel, the strain of taking his entrance exams and then plunging immediately into classes had taken its toll, and Adam wasn’t ashamed to admit that he was tired.  While he rested, Jamie worked quietly at his desk, studying and writing to his father.

Adam rose refreshed, and even before he started his own studies, he wrote a short letter to Little Joe.  He tried to think of details of his trip and his first week at Yale that a four-year-old might find interesting, and he admitted that he’d been tired enough that day to take a nap, just like the ones his baby brother so often protested.  He thought Little Joe would laugh when that was read to him, and he wished he could be there to hear that welcome sound.

Supper with the Vultures was somewhat later on Saturdays, to give its members a longer afternoon of free time, and it was nearly eight o’clock when Adam and Jamie arrived back at their lodgings.  They sat down at their adjoining desks, which they had moved to meet in front of the side window, so that they might more easily consult on their studies.  Almost immediately, Jamie asked if Adam would help him with a geometry problem.  “I’m afraid I’ll never be as conversant with numbers as I am with words,” he sighed.

“Just think of it as another language,” Adam suggested, “and you’ll soon be chattering away.”

They had worked together for about fifteen minutes when their study session was interrupted by a strong pounding on the door.  “Open that door, Freshie!” came a demanding shout.

“Sophomores,” Jamie groaned.  “How did they track us down here?”

Adam scowled at the closed door.  “I doubt it was that hard, especially since it was a sophomore who first led you to these lodgings.  Ignore them.  Now, as to Euclid’s second proposition . . .”  The two freshmen tried to concentrate on lines and angles, but it became impossible when the hubbub in the hall intensified and the door shook on its hinges.

Jamie cast an anxious glance over his shoulder at the door.  “They’ll break it down, Adam.”

“And we can’t afford to replace it,” Adam muttered through gritted teeth.  “I suppose we’ll have to let them in, but be on your guard.”  Jerking his chair back, he strode to the door and opened it.  “Gentlemen,” he said loudly, “we weren’t expecting callers at this hour.”

“What’s the matter, Freshie?” one asked snidely.  “Past your bedtime?”  He shouldered Adam aside and stepped boldly in.  He was followed by seven others, whose heads were all haloed with rings of cigar smoke.  They stood looking around, and the leader finally nodded in Adam’s direction.  “Decent shebang, youngster.”

“Thanks,” Adam said tartly.

Jamie, ever the peacekeeper, said, “It was one of your class, gentlemen, who directed us here, and we are well content with it.”

The leader smiled, a bit too loftily for Adam’s taste.  “Ah, it’s good to find a grateful freshie—such a rare breed.”

The other sophomores snickered their agreement of that appraisal.  One of them spoke up, addressing Jamie.  “And you’ll have still more reason for gratitude after our visit tonight, youngster.  We’re only here to help you.”  Peals of laughter met this statement, but the sophomore insisted, “No, it’s true.  We remember what those first recitations were like, and we’ve come to offer our assistance.”

“We can manage on our own,” Adam muttered tersely.

“Tsk, tsk,” scolded one of the sophomores.  “This one doesn’t exhibit the proper gratitude at all, does he now?”

“Indeed not!” said the one who had offered help with their studies.  He took a step toward Adam.

Seeing that and fearing the reaction of his more volatile friend, Jamie said quickly, “Oh, but I do!  Please, sir, do give me the benefit of your experience.”

The sophomore eyed the stubborn set of Adam’s jaw, hesitated a moment and then laughed.  “Now, how could I refuse a plea so prettily phrased?”  He moved over to the desk and picked up the open book.  “Ah, Euclid,” he said, examining its cover.  “Offer us your recitation, Freshie, and we’ll see if you can pass the grade.”

The other sophomores, as a group, surged toward Jamie, who backed up a step.

“Now, Freshie, don’t be shy,” his instructor ordered, sweeping everything off the desk.  “Mount up and recite for us.”

“You don’t have to!” Adam shouted.

The eight sophomores turned on Adam, but Jamie quickly mounted the chair and then stepped onto the desk.  “It’s all right, Adam.  I don’t mind reciting; it’ll be good practice for me.”

The sophomores’ attention swerved back to him.  “Good choice, Freshie!” they cheered.  “Good choice!”  The self-appointed instructor began demanding definitions, propositions and postulates.  Jamie fared well for the first few questions, but one followed another so quickly that he had no time to think, and he started to stammer hesitant responses.  The hoots of derision that met each mistake only intensified his insecurity and led to more.

“Not good enough, by half,” the instructor said with a sad shake of his head.

“Smoke him out!” demanded another.  “That’ll clear his foggy brains.”

One man grabbed the blanket off the bed and dragged it over to the desk.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Adam demanded, snagging the man by the shoulder.

Another sophomore pulled him off.  “Stay out of it, Freshie,” he ordered, “unless you wish to join your feeble-minded friend.”

“Feeble-minded!” Adam snorted.  “He’s twice the student any of you are likely to be.”

More howls of laughter met his defense of Jamie.  “Can’t even recite Euclid and he’s twice our worth?  Doubtful, Freshie.”

Two men pulled Jamie down to sit on the desk and threw the blanket over his head.  As the sophomores started puffing vigorously on their cigars, Adam suddenly saw what they intended.  “You can’t,” he protested.  “He has weak lungs.  You’ll make him ill!”

“Want to take his place, Freshie?” the instructor challenged.  “There’s obviously nothing wrong with your lungs.”

Adam’s assessment of the situation took only a moment.  By himself, even at odds of eight to one, he’d have fought.  He’d have taken a beating, of course, but he would have taken one or two of his tormentors down with him.  If he’d been in this situation with Lucas, fighting might have been an option, but frontier boy that he was, Jamie was no fighter, and he was the one most likely to get hurt if a brawl ensued.  Adam wasn’t willing to take the risk.  After only a brief hesitation he declared boldly, “Yes, I’ll take his place.”

Surprise flickered across the faces of the sophomores and was quickly replaced with mild nods of admiration.  “Down you come, youngster,” the instructor said, offering a hand to Jamie.

Jamie seemed rooted in place, staring in shock at his friend.  Then he said stalwartly, although with a quaver in his voice, “I can’t let you do that, Adam.  I’ll be all right; don’t worry about me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Adam said gruffly.  “Get down from there.”

The sophomores gave neither freshman a choice in the matter.  Jamie was pulled down from his perch and Adam shoved toward the desk chair.  As he stepped onto it, one of the tormentors declared, “For one so regal as this high-born freshman, we must have a throne!”  He hoisted the other desk chair to the top of the desk and patted its seat.  “And here it is, your majesty,” he sneered.

Head held as high as if he were truly a king, Adam took the seat, reached down and with an arrogant sneer placed the blanket over his own head.  From beneath the wool he heard laughter from the sophomores and pleas from Jamie, but he ignored both and set his mind to endure without sound or movement what was about to transpire.  He felt the blanket lifted on all sides, and soon the aroma of cigar smoke wafted toward his nostrils.

At first it reminded him of the fragrance of Pa’s pipe back home, but this odor was stronger and nostalgia was not sufficient to distract him from the lurching of his stomach as the fumes strengthened.  His head reeled and bile rose into his throat, but he made no sound, not wanting to give the sophomores the satisfaction of breaking him.  Eventually, however, he could not resist the urge to cough.

“Had enough, your majesty?” someone taunted, from the sound of his voice the one who had offered Adam his “throne.”

Stubbornly, Adam refused to respond.  He wanted more than anything to ride out the abuse, to spoil those sour sophomores’ fun.  More smoke blew his way, and his resolve grew harder to carry out.  He felt like vomiting and dreaded to think what sport the sophomores would make of that.

Suddenly there was a hubbub in the room, and Adam felt the blanket go slack.  No one was holding it any longer; no one was blowing smoke beneath it.  He didn’t assume that his punishment was over, but fearing that the commotion meant the sophomores had turned their attention back to Jamie, he raised the blanket and peered out.

Indeed, the sophomores’ attention was fixed on Jamie, but this time in a more benevolent fashion.  The man posing as instructor had dragged the freshman over to the other window and opened it.  When he noticed Adam, he called, “Open that window behind you, Freshie.  Your chum here’s in trouble.”

Seeing a blue-faced Jamie doubled over in a coughing fit, Adam reacted instantly, though clumsily since his own senses were still dazed.  He turned and flung open the window; then he leaped from the desk top and rushed across the room.  The sophomore was thumping Jamie on the back, encouraging him, “Come on, Freshie.  Deep breaths.  You’ll make it.”  The other sophomores were just standing around, looking awkward.  “Time to clear out,” their leader suggested.  “There’s other fresh fish to fry.”

The room cleared quickly—of sophomores, if not of smoke—until only the one thumping Jamie on the back remained.  “You were serious when you said he had lung problems, were you?” he said, looking apologetic.  “We wouldn’t have carried it so far if we’d known—thought you were just trying to squirm out, you know?”

Adam thrust himself between Jamie and the sophomore.  “As you can see, I told the truth.”

“Well, yes . . . as I said, sorry.”  The sophomore leaned around Adam.  “Better now, Freshie?”

“Y-yes,” Jamie stammered.  “Th-thank y-”—another paroxysm of coughing cut off his final words.

The sophomore stepped toward him, but Adam intervened.  “I’ll take care of him,” he growled.  “Just leave!”

“Yeah, okay,” the sophomore said awkwardly.  Then, as if to recover his eroded dignity, he added, “Just remember to show proper respect for your elders, youngsters.  See you around.”  With a weak wave of his hand, he backed toward the door and disappeared, closing it behind him.

“Are you all right?” Adam asked Jamie anxiously.  “Is there anything more I can do for you?”

“More?” Jamie stared into his friend’s face.  “Oh, Adam!  How—how could you do more?”  Another coughing spell silenced him, but then he sucked in a deep draught of the cool night air and said, “How can I possibly thank you for what you did tonight?”

“It was nothing,” Adam said, thinking that the words were almost literally true, since his grand sacrifice hadn’t spared Jamie, after all.

Jamie shook his head, the only way he could express his disagreement, for he was still too winded to argue with his friend.

Again a loud knock sounded on the door.  Adam and Jamie exchanged a concerned look.  Sophomores again?  They’d seemed contrite enough that neither freshman had expected to see them again that night.  Still, it could be another set, who weren’t aware of the problems their classmates had caused.  Motioning to Jamie to stay by the window, Adam approached the door.  “Who’s there?” he called.

“Open this door at once!” called an irate female voice.

Recognizing the voice of their landlady, Adam exhaled with relief.  “Of course, Mrs. Wiggins.  Come in,” he said politely as he opened the door.

Mrs. Wiggins tromped in.  “What sort of wild goings on have you two been up to in here?” she demanded.  “It sounded like a barn full of draft horses, breaking down their stalls.”  She waved her hand through the haze hanging in the air.  “I told you young gentlemen when you moved in that I keep a quiet house!  And didn’t I say that there was to be no smoking?”

“We haven’t been smoking,” Adam said.  “That was some uninvited guests who just left.”  He explained what had happened.  Jamie tried to confirm his account, but every time he said more than three words together, he started coughing.

“A hazing,” Mrs. Wiggins snuffled with disgust.  “I should have recognized the signs, though it’s been three years since any of my boarders were bothered with such nonsense.”  As Jamie coughed again, a look of motherly concern crossed her face.  “You poor lad,” she cooed.  “What you need’s a hot bowl of steam vapors to breathe in.  I’ll fetch one.”  She headed toward the door, but glanced back over her shoulder and spoke to Adam.  “Strip off those sheets and toss that smoky blanket into the hallway.  I’ll see you have fresh bedding, and as it wasn’t your fault these were sullied, there’ll be no charge for the extra laundry.”

“You’re most kind,” Adam said, “and we thank you.”

Her normally cheerful attitude completely restored, Mrs. Wiggins beamed broadly.  “Such polite young gentlemen.  I knew it was no mistake to rent these rooms to you.”

As soon as she was gone, Adam went to work removing the bed linens.  “Still think sophomores haven’t done anything that bad?” he asked gruffly.

“It was bad,” Jamie admitted hoarsely, “even if it was just mischief.”  He cleared his throat.  “It must have been much worse for you, under that blanket.  I’m sorry if I encouraged them, Adam.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Adam chided.  “They did what they came here to do; it had nothing to do with you.”

Jamie leaned disconsolately against the window jamb.  “I can’t help thinking that I’m a liability to you.”

There had been a moment when Adam had entertained that traitorous thought himself, but hearing it voiced, he knew that it didn’t represent his true feelings.  He came across the room to lay a companionable hand on Jamie’s slim shoulder.  “You are my oldest and dearest friend,” he said.  “And don’t think I didn’t notice how you drew their attention off me and onto yourself.  I could never call someone that brave a liability.”

Jamie shook his head.  “I’m not brave, Adam, not as men generally define bravery.”

Adam disagreed sharply.  “There’s more than one type of bravery, Jamie, and I won’t hear you denigrate yours because it doesn’t involve fisticuffs.”

“You’d have fought, though, if it weren’t for me, wouldn’t you?”

Knowing that Jamie would see through a lie, Adam acknowledged the assessment with a nod.  “And probably have been the worse for it,” he added wryly.

Jamie had to smile.  “You were outnumbered rather badly.”  He sighed then.  “I don’t feel much like it, but I suppose we should try to study.”

“Pointless,” Adam said firmly.  “Neither of us could concentrate.  Let’s just turn in and get a good night’s rest.  Chapel isn’t until 10:30 tomorrow, so we can put in some study time in the morning.”

“On the Sabbath?”

Adam threw bedding and blanket into the hall and turned to face his friend.  “I always thought reading was an appropriate activity for the day of rest,” he said.   “Sometimes, back on the Ponderosa, that was the only time I could get!”

Jamie nodded his agreement.  “I don’t suppose God would mind, especially since we’ll be in chapel twice tomorrow.  After all, He did say the Sabbath was meant for man, not man for the Sabbath.”

“As always, pastor,” Adam said with a chuckle, “you rightly divide the word of truth.”

Mrs. Wiggins returned with a bundle of sheets under one arm and a bowl of steaming water in both hands.  She set the bowl on a desk and ordered Jamie to sit over it and breathe deeply.  Then she and Adam worked together to make the bed afresh.  The treatment did seem to help Jamie breathe more easily, but the night’s experiences had drained both him and Adam, and both fell asleep shortly after crawling between the crisp, clean sheets.

~ ~ Notes ~ ~

The painting of the “august figure” in the Brothers of Unity Hall is that of David Humphreys, one of four founders of the society.  He later served as a colonel in the Revolutionary Army and aide-de-camp and secretary to George Washington.  The bronze figure on the desk is most likely a replica of the Forefather’s Monument in Plymouth.   While not actually erected until 1889, plans were developed as early as 1850, and the Brothers in Unity had contributed largely to the project.