T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., wonderful to chronicle, was
silent. He was reflecting on the irony of fate;
as Deacon said, now that Thor had awakened, and earnestly
wanted to be a collegian, he had no time to enter
into campus life. Glad at being able to stay at
old Bannister, to keep on with his studies, climbing
steadily toward his goal, and finding a joy in his
new relationship with the students, the ponderous Thorwald
had flung himself into his hustling, as the youths
called working one’s way at college, with zeal.
To the huge Freshman, toil was nothing, and since it
meant that he could keep on with his study, he was
content. The collegians vastly admired his grim
determination; they aided all they could with his
studies, and helped with his work, so he could have
more time for scrimmage, and yet another phase of
the problem came to Hicks.
It seemed unjust that John Thorwald, after his long
years of hard physical toil, and his mental struggles,
often after hours of grinding work, at the very time
when the five thousand dollars from Henry B. Kingsley’s
heirs promised him a chance to study without a body
tortured and exhausted, should be forced again to
take up his stern fight for knowledge. And it
was cruel that Thor, just awakening to the true meaning
of college life, striving to grasp campus tradition,
and eager to serve his Alma Mater in every way, should
have so little time to mingle with his fellows.
He should be with them on the campus, on the athletic
field, in the dorms., the literary society halls,
the Y. M. C. A. He should be realizing the golden
years of college life, the glad comradeship of the
campus. Instead, he must arise in the bitter
cold, gray dawn, and from then until late night toil
and study unceasingly.
“It’s a howling shame!” declared
the serious Hicks, a heart full of sympathy for Thor.
“Just as he wakes up and is trying to understand
things at old Bannister, bang! the </i>Norwhal</i>
is blown up by a stray mine, and down goes his dad’s
money. Why didn’t Mr. Thorwald get the five
thousand transferred to the </i>Valkyrie</i>?
Oh, if that money hadn’t gone down to Davy Jones’
locker, Thor would be awakened and have time for college
life, too!”
Butch Brewster started to speak when the thunderous
tread of John Thorwald sounded in the corridor.
The Prodigious Prodigy seemed approaching at double-quick
time, and the youths stared at each other. However,
when Thor appeared in the doorway, a letter in hand,
they gazed at him in bewilderment, for his face fairly
glowed.
“Read it, fellows, read it!” he breathed,
with what, for him, was almost excitement. “It
just came! Oh, isn’t that good news?
Read it out, Captain Butch. Won’t we wallop
Ballard now!”
Big Butch Brewster, mystified by Thor’s happiness,
and urged on by his equally puzzled comrades, drew
out the letter, and a glad smile coming to his honest
countenance, he read aloud:
“THE NEW YORK-CHRISTIANIA. STEAMSHIP LINE (New York Office)
