CHAPTER 4
"I met a hundred men on the road to Delhi, and they were all my brothers."--Old Proverb.
THE REBEL FLUNKS IN A COURSE ON HOW TO GET ON IN LIFE
Part 1
It would be easy to overemphasize Jeff's intellectual difficulties atthe expense of the deep delight he found in many phases of his studentlife. The daily routine of the library, the tennis courts, and the jollytable talk brought out the boy in him that had been submerged.
There developed in him a vagabond streak that took him into the woodsand the hills for days at a time. About the middle of his Sophomore yearhe discovered Whitman. While camping alone at night under the stars heused to shout out,
"Strong and content, I travel the open road," or
"Allons! The road is before us!
"It is safe--I have tried it--my own feet have tried it well."
Through Stevenson's essay on Whitman Jeff came to know the Scotchwriter, and from the first paragraph of him was a sealed follower of R.L. S. In different ways both of these poets ministered to a certain loveof freedom, of beauty, of outdoor spaces that was ineradicably a part ofhis nature. The essence of vagabondage is the spirit of romance. One maytour every corner of the earth and still be a respectable Pharisee. Onemay never move a dozen miles from the village of his birth and yet beof the happy company of romantics. Jeff could find in a sunset, ina stretch of windswept plain, in the sight of water through leaflesstrees, something that filled his heart with emotion.
Perhaps the very freedom of these vacation excursions helped to feed hisgrowing discontent. The yeast of rebellion was forever stirring inhim. He wanted to come to life with open mind. He was possessed of aninsatiable curiosity about it. This took him to the slums of Verden, tothe redlight district, to Socialist meetings, to a striking coal campnear the city where he narrowly escaped being killed as a scab. He knewthat something was wrong with our social life. Inextricably blended withsuccess and happiness he saw everywhere pain, defeat, and confusion. Whymust such things be? Why poverty at all?
But when he flung his questions at Pearson, who had charge of the workin sociology, the explanations of the professor seemed to him pitifullyweak.
In the ethics class he met the same experience. A chance reference toDrummond's "Natural Law in the Spiritual world" introduced him to thatstimulating book. All one night he sat up and read it--drank it in withevery fiber of his thirsty being.
The fire in his stove went out. He slipped into his overcoat. Graymorning found him still reading. He walked out with dazed eyes intoa world that had been baptized anew during the night to a miraculousrebirth.
But when he took his discovery to the lecture room Dawson was not onlycold but hostile. Drummond was not sound. There was about him a speciouscharm very likely to attract young minds. Better let such books alonefor the present. In the meantime the class would take up with him thediscussion of predeterminism as outlined in Tuesday's work.
There were members of the faculty big enough to have understood the boyand tolerant enough to have sympathized with his crude revolt, but Jeffwas diffident and never came in touch with them.
His connection with the college ended abruptly during the Spring term ofhis Sophomore year.
A celebrated revivalist was imported to quicken the spiritual lifeof the University. Under his exhortations the institution underwent areligious ferment. An extraordinary excitement was astir on the campus.Class prayer meetings were held every afternoon, and at midday smallergroups met for devotional exercises. At these latter those who had madeno profession of religion were petitioned for by name. James Farnum wasswept into the movement and distinguished himself by his zeal. It wasunderstood that he desired the prayers of friends for that relative whohad not yet cast away the burden of his sins.
It became a point of honor with his cousin's circle to win Jeff for thecause. There was no difficulty in getting him to attend the meetings ofthe revivalist. But he sat motionless through the emotional climax thatbrought to an end each meeting. To him it seemed that this was not inany vital sense religion, but he was careful not to suggest his feelingby so much as a word.
One or two of his companions invited him to come to Jesus. Hedisconcerted them by showing an unexpected familiarity with theScriptures as a weapon of offense against them.
James invited him to his rooms and labored with him. Jeff resorted tothe Socratic method. From what sins was he to be saved? And when wouldhe know he had found salvation?
His cousin uneasily explained the formula. "You must believe in Christand Him crucified. You must surrender your will to His. Shall we praytogether?"
"I'd rather not, J. K. First, I want to get some points clear. Do youmean that I'm to believe in what Jesus said and to try to live as hesuggested?"
"Yes."
Jeff picked up his cousin's Bible and read a passage. "'We know that wehave passed from death unto life, BECAUSE WE LOVE THE BRETHREN. He thatloveth not his brother abideth in death.' That's the test, isn't it?"
"Well, you have to be converted," James said dubiously.
"Isn't that conversion--loving your brother? And if a man is willingto live in plenty while his brother is in poverty, if he exploits thoseweaker than himself to help him get along, then he can't be reallyconverted, can he?"
"Now see here, Jeff, you've got the wrong idea. Christ didn't come intothe world to reform it, but to save it from its sins. He wasn't merely aman, but the Divine Son of God."
"I don't understand the dual nature of Jesus. But when one reads Hislife it is easy to believe in His divinity." After a moment the youngman added: "In one way we're all divine sons of God, aren't we?"
James was shocked. "Where do you get such notions? None of our peoplewere infidels."
"Am I one?"
"You ought to take advantage of this chance. It's not right to set youropinion up against those that know better."
"And that's what I'm doing, isn't it?" Jeff smiled. "Can't help it. Ireckon I can't be saved by my emotions. It's going to be a life job."
James gave him up, but he sent another Senior to make a last attempt.The young man was Thurston Thomas and he had never exchanged sixsentences with Jeff in his life. The unrepentant sinner sent him to theright about sharply.
"What the devil do you mean by running about officiously and botheringabout other people's souls? Better look out for your own."
Thomas, a scion of one of the best families in Verden, looked as if hehad been slapped in the face.
"Why Farnum, I--I spoke for your good."
"No, you didn't," contradicted Jeff flatly. "You don't care a hang aboutme. You've never noticed me before. We're not friends. You've alwaysdisliked me. But you want the credit of bringing me into the fold. It'sdamned impertinent of you."
The Senior retired with a white face. He was furious, but he thought itdue himself to turn the other cheek by saying nothing. He reported hisversion to a circle of friends, and from them it spread like grass seedin the wind. Soon it was generally known that Jeff Farnum had grosslyinsulted with blasphemy a man who had tried to save his soul.
Two days later Miller met Jeff at the door of Frome 15.
"You're in bad! Jeff. What the deuce did you do to Sissy Thomas?"
"Gave him some good advice."
Miller grinned. "I'll bet you did. The little cad has been poisoning thewells against you. Look there."
A young woman of their class had passed into the room. Her glance hadfallen upon Farnum and been quickly averted.
"That's the first time Bessie Vroom ever cut you," Sam continuedangrily. "Thomas is responsible. I've heard the story a dozen timesalready."
"I only told him to mind his own business."
"He can't. He's a born meddler. Now he's queered you with the wholeplace."
"Can't help it. I wasn't going to let him get away with his impudence.Why should I?"
Miller shrugged. "Policy, my boy. Better take the advice of Cousin Jamesand crawl into your shell till th
e storm has pelted past."
Half an hour later Jeff met his cousin near the chapel and was taken totask.
"What's this I hear about your insulting Thomas?"
"You have it wrong. He insulted me," Jeff corrected with a smile.
"Tommyrot! Why couldn't you treat him right?"
"Didn't like to throw him through the window on account of littering upthe lawn with broken glass."
James K.'s handsome square-cut face did not relax to a smile. "You maythink this a joke, but I don't. I've heard the Chancellor is going tocall you on the carpet."
"If he does he'll learn what I think."
The upper classman's anger boiled over. "You might think of me alittle."
"Didn't know you were in this, J. K."
"They know I'm your cousin. It's hurting my reputation."
A faint ironic smile touched Jeff's face. "No, James, I'm helping it.Ever notice how blondes and brunettes chum together. Value of contrasts,you see. I'm a moral brunette. You're a shining example of all a manshould be. I simply emphasize your greatness."
"That's not the way it works," his cousin grumbled.
"That's just how it works. Best thing that could happen to you would befor me to get expelled. Shall I?"
Jeff offered his suggestion debonairly.
"Of course not."
"It would give you just the touch of halo you need to finish thepicture. Think of it: your noble head bowed in grief because of theunworthy relative you had labored so hard to save; the sympathy of thefaculty, the respect of the fellows, the shy adoration of the co-eds.Great Brutus bowed by the sorrow of a strong man's unrepining emotion.By Jove, I ought to give you the chance. You'd look the part toadmiration."
For a moment James saw himself in the role and coveted it. Jeff read histhought, and his laughter brought his cousin back to earth. He had theirritated sense of having been caught.
"It's not an occasion for talking nonsense," he said coldly.
Jeff sensed his disgrace in the stiff politeness of the professors andin the embarrassed aloofness of his classmates. Some of the men franklygave him a wide berth as if he had been a moral pervert.
His temperament was sensitive to slights and he fell into one of hisrare depressions. One afternoon he took the car for the city. He wantedto get away from himself and from his environment.
A chill mist was in the air. Drawn by the bright lights, Jeff entereda saloon and sat down in an alcove with his arms on the table. Why didthey hammer him so because he told the truth as he saw it? Why must hetoady to the ideas of Bland as everybody else at the University seemedto do? He was not respectable enough for them. That was the trouble.They were pushing him back into the gutter whence he had emerged. Wildfragmentary thoughts chased themselves across the record of his brain.
Almost before he knew it he had ordered and drunk a highball.Immediately his horizon lightened. With the second glass his depressionvanished. He felt equal to anything.
It was past nine o'clock when he took the University car. As chance hadit Professor Perkins and he were the only passengers. The teacher ofEconomics bowed to the flushed youth and buried himself in a book. Itwas not till they both rose to leave at the University station that henoticed the condition of Farnum. Even then he stood in momentary doubt.
With a maudlin laugh Jeff quieted any possible explanation of sickness.
"Been havin' little spree down town, Profeshor. Good deal like oneev'body been havin' out here. Yours shpiritual; mine shpirituous. Joke,see! Play on wor'd. Shpiritual--shpirituous."
"You're intoxicated, sir," Perkin's told him sternly.
"Betcherlife I am, old cock! Ever get shp--shp--shpiflicated yourself?"
"Go home and go to bed, sir!"
"Whaffor? 'S early yet. 'S reasonable man I ask whaffor?"
The professor turned away, but Jeff caught at his sleeve.
"Lesh not go to bed. Lesh talk economicsh."
"Release me at once, sir."
"Jush's you shay. Shancellor wants see me. I'll go now."
He did. What occurred at that interview had better be omitted. Jeff wasvery cordial and friendly, ready to make up any differences there mightbe between them. An ice statue would have been warm compared to theChancellor.
Next day Jeff was publicly expelled. At the time it did not trouble himin the least. He had brought a bottle home with him from town, and whenthe notice was posted he lay among the bushes in a sodden sleep half amile from the campus.
Part 2
From a great distance there seemed to come to Jeff vaguely the soundof young rippling laughter and eager girlish voices. Drawn from heavysleep, he was not yet fully awake. This merriment might be the musicof fairy bells, such stuff as dreams are made of. He lay incurious,drowsiness still heavy on his eyelids.
"Oh, Virgie, here's another bunch! Oh, girls, fields of them!"
There was a little rush to the place, and with it a rustle of skirtsthat sounded authentic. Jeff began to believe that his nymphs were notborn of fancy. He opened his eyes languidly to examine a strange worldupon which he had not yet focused his mind.
Out of the ferns a dryad was coming toward him, lance straight, slender,buoyantly youthful in the light tread and in the poise of the goldenhead.
At sight of him she paused, held in her tracks, eyes grown big withsolicitude.
"You are ill."
Before he could answer she had dropped the anemones she carried, was onher knees beside him, and had his head cushioned against her arm.
"Tell me! What can I do for you? What is the matter?"
Jeff groaned. His head was aching as if it would blow up, but thatwas not the cause of the wave of pain which had swept over him. Arealization had come to him of what was the matter with him. His eyesfell from hers. He made as if to get up, but her hand restrained himwith a gentle firmness.
"Don't! You mustn't." Then aloud, she cried: "Girls--girls--there's asick man here. Run and get help. Quick."
"No--no! I--I'm not sick."
A flood of shame and embarrassment drenched him. He could not escapeher tender hands without actual force and his poignant shyness made thatimpossible. She was like a fairy tale, a creature of dreams. He darednot meet her frank pitiful eyes, though he was intensely aware of them.The odor of violets brings to him even to this day a vision of girlishcharm and daintiness, together with a memory of the abased reverencethat filled him.
They came running, her companions, eager with question and suggestion.And hard upon their heels a teamster from the road broke throughthe thicket, summoned by their calls for help. He stooped to pick upsomething that his foot had struck. It was a bottle. He looked at it andthen at Jeff.
"Nothing the matter with him, Miss, but just plain drunk," the man saidwith a grin. "He's been sleeping it off."
Jeff felt the quiver run through her. She rose, trembling, and with onefrightened sidelong look at him walked quickly away. He had seen a woundin her eyes he would not soon forget. It was as if he had struck herdown while she was holding out hands to help him.