Stover at Yale | Page 7

giving way to his laughter. And then, a little apologetically,
but with a certain twinkle of humor, he added: "Don't worry, boys;
there was no one in that crowd who'll do you any harm. However, I
might just as well chaperon you to your eating-joint."
"Le Baron is going to take me out with him," said Stover, as they rose
to go.

"Hugh Le Baron?" said Rogers, with a new interest.
"Yes, sir."
"I didn't get your name."
"Stover"
"Oh! -- Captain down at Lawrenceville, weren't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, wish you good luck," said Rogers, with a more appraising eye.
"You've got an opening this year. Drop in and see me sometime, will
you? I mean it."
"See you later, Stover," said Hunter, resting his hand on his shoulder
with a little friendly touch.
"Bully you're with us," said Stone.
"Come in and chin a little later," said Logan.
Saunders gave him a duck of the head, with unconcealed admiration in
his embarrassed manner.
McCarthy went with them. Stover, left alone, measured the length of
the room, smiling to himself. It was all quite amusing, especially when
his was the fixed point of view.
In a few moments Le Baron arrived. Together they went across the
campus, now swarming like ant runs. At every step Le Baron was
halted by a greeting. Recognition was in the air, turbulent, boyish,
exaggerated, rising to the pitch of a scream or accomplished a bear
dance; and through it all was the same vibrant, minor note of the
ceaseless activity.
It was the air Stover loved. He waited respectfully, while Le Baron
shook a score of hands, impatient for the moment to begin and the

opportunity to have his name "told from lip to lip.
"I'm going to be captain at Yale," he said to himself, fantastic,
grandiloquent fury. "I will if it's in me."
"We'll rundown to Heub's," said Le Baron, free at last, "get a good last
meal before going into training. You look in pretty fit shape."
"I've kept so all summer."
"Who's over in your house?"
Stover named them.
"They weren't my crowd at Andover, but they're good fellows," said Le
Baron, listening critically. "Hunter especially. Here we are."
A minute later they had found a table in the restaurant crowded with
upper classmen, and Le Baron was glancing down the menu.
"An oyster cocktail, a planked steak -- rare; order the rest later." He
turned to Stover. "Guess we'd better cut out the drinks. We'll stand the
gaff better to-morrow."
There was in his voice a quiet possession, as if he had already assumed
the reins of Stover's career.
Are you out for the eleven again?" said Stover respectfully.
"Yes. I'll never do any better than a sub, but that's what counts. We're
up against an awfully stiff proposition this year. The team's got to be
built out of nothing. There's Dana, the captain, now, over at the table in
the corner."
"Where?" said Stover, fired at the thought.
Le Baron pointed out the table, detailing to him the names of some of
the coaches who were grouped there.

When Stover had dared to gaze for the first time on the face of the
majestic leader, he experienced a certain shock. The group of past
heroes about him were laughing, exchanging reminiscences of past
combats; but the face of Dana was set in seriousness, too sensitive to
the responsibility that lay heavier than the honor on his young
shoulders. Stover had not thought of his leader so.
"I guess it's going to be a bad season," he said.
"Yes; we may have to take our medicine this year."
Several friends of Le Baron's stopped to shake hands, greeting Stover
always with that appraising glance which had amused him in Reynolds
who had first sat in inquisition.
He began to be conscious of an ever-widening gulf separating him and
Le Baron, imposed by all the subtle, still uncomprehended incidents of
the night, which gradually made him see that he had found, not a friend,
but a protector. A certain natural impulsiveness left him; he answered
in short sentences, resenting a little this sudden, not yet defined sense
of subjection.
But the hum of diners was about him, the unknown intoxication of
lights, the prevailing note of joy, the free concourse of men, the vibrant
note of good fellowship, good cheer, and the eager seizing of the zest of
the hour. The men he saw were the men who had succeeded -- a
success which unmistakably surrounded them. He, too, wished for
success acutely, almost with a throbbing, gluttonous feeling, sitting
there unknown.
All at once Dana, passing across the room, stopped for a handshake and
a word of greeting to Le Baron. Stover was introduced, rising
precipitately, to the imminent danger of