Cupid of Campion

  CHAPTER XII

  _In which Clarence relieves the reader of all possible doubts concerning his ability as a trencherman, and the Reverend Rector of Campion reads disastrous news._

  Throwing up the window-shades, the President hurried over to the boy,who had arisen at his entrance, and took a sharp look at the blue lipsand the pallid face.

  “Sit down,” he said, “and wait till I come back.”

  Father Keenan, who at that time happened to be President of CampionCollege, bolted from the room—a most undignified thing for a Rector todo. On his way out, he detected hanging on a chair in the obscurestcorner of the parlor the dripping “trunks” which were still puzzling thegood porter. That much-perturbed man was standing outside inanticipation of further orders.

  “Brother, go to the refectory and tell the refectorian to get up a quickbreakfast for a hungry boy. Then go to the clothes-keeper and get acomplete outfit of clothes for a fourteen-year-old and have them in theparlor inside of ten minutes. If the clothes-keeper says he hasn’t any,tell him to steal them.”

  The words were not well out of Father Keenan’s mouth when he was dashingalong the corridor. The infirmary was close at hand, and the infirmarianin his office.

  “Here quick, drink this down,” cried the Rector a moment later, puttingto the young Indian’s mouth a small glass of cognac.

  Clarence swallowed it at a gulp, whereupon while he coughed and chokedand sputtered, the Rector, a veritable Good Samaritan, threw a heavyovercoat, which he had brought with him, over the flaming table cover.

  “Does it burn?” asked the Rector, referring not to the coat but thecognac.

  “I—I’m not a regular drinker,” said the youth wrapping the coat abouthim and breaking into the ghost of his old smile.

  “This way, now,” continued Father Keenan, catching the boy’s arm; and heled him into the corridor.

  The boy’s steps were faltering, and the Rector at once, noticing hisweakness, caught him about the waist much as John Rieler had done, andbundled him into the refectory.

  “This way, Father,” said the refectorian, trying to look as though hewere accustomed to feeding bare-legged boys attired in table-covers andwinter overcoats in summer-time; and the “Squire,” as he was popularlyknown among the students of Campion, pointed to a seat in front of whichwaited a plate of toast, a juicy bit of beefsteak and a huge slice ofcornbread.

  At sight of the food, Clarence slipped from the Rector’s grasp and fellunbidden into the seat.

  For the next five minutes he showed that in the matter of eating he wasperfectly able to take care of himself.

  The Rector and the Squire interrupted their observation of the muchoccupied youth by gazing at each other now and then and exchangingsmiles of wonder and admiration.

  “If you’re thinking of coming to school here, my boy,” observed theRector, when Clarence had disposed of all the beefsteak and most of thetoast and three-fourths of the cornbread, “I fancy we’ll have to boardyou on the European plan.”

  Clarence lifted his eyes and smiled in his old way.

  “Excuse haste and an empty stomach,” he said.

  The Rector laughed in a manner most undignified. In fact, he was soundignified, be it said, that everybody respected him.

  “What makes you so hungry?” he asked.

  “Because I’ve eaten nothing since ten o’clock yesterday morning.”

  “Where on earth have you been?”

  “I was with gypsies till yesterday evening; but I left without taking mysupper.”

  “Who in the world are you?”

  “My name is Clarence Esmond. About a week ago I was over at McGregor—”

  “Halloa!” cried the Rector. “Why, they’re dragging the river for you.”

  “They might as well stop; it’s no use,” said Clarence, taking the lastpiece of toast and looking regretfully at the empty beefsteak dish.

  “My, but this is an adventure!” exclaimed the President. “So you’re nota moist corpse after all.”

  The Squire’s eyes were sticking out of his head.

  “If you were only dead,” he said to Clarence, “you’d be worth a thousanddollars to me.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t please everybody,” said the youth, taking up the lastslab of cornbread. “Am I expected to apologize for being alive?”

  “Did you sleep last night?” continued the Rector.

  “How could I? I was in the river most of the time.”

  “But the river,” said the Rector, “has a very fine bed.”

  Clarence broke into laughter.

  “Thank you so much, sir,” he said, “I never, never, never enjoyed a mealso much in all my born days.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Father Keenan. He turned to the wide-eyed squire,adjuring that thoroughly excited young man to go see whether thecomplete outfit of clothing were awaiting Clarence in the parlor. Theirtalk was brief; but when Father Keenan turned to address Clarence, thelad’s head was sunk upon his breast. He was sound asleep.

  “Never mind about those clothes, Squire; or, rather, have them sent overto the infirmary.” Saying which, Father Keenan took Clarence, includingtable-cover and coat, in his arms, and conveyed him to the infirmary,where, warmly wrapped in a comfortable bed, he slept unbrokenly tillafter five o’clock in the afternoon.

  Returning to his room, the Rector took up the morning paper. Inexamining the mail, he had, when Clarence’s arrival interrupted him,noticed the large headlines announcing a dreadful railroad wreck in thewest; a broken bridge, a Pullman sleeper and a passenger car immersed ina flooded river. Suddenly, as his eyes ran down the list of the missing,he gasped.

  For there in black type were the names of Mr. Charles Esmond, miningexpert, and wife.