The Jester of St. Timothys | Page 4

seek a university education. The two boys were proud,
eager to free themselves from dependence on the uncle and aunt who,
after their father's death, had given them a home. Irving had worked his
way through college, hardly ever asking for help; he had been a capable
scholar and the faculty had found for him backward students in need of
tutoring.

Meanwhile, Mr. Upton had been busily engaged in developing and
increasing his farm; that he was beginning to be prosperous Irving was
aware; that he did not more earnestly insist upon helping his nephews
stimulated their spirit of independence. They knew that they had been
left penniless; Irving sometimes suspected his uncle of parsimony, yet
this was a trait so incongruous with Mr. Upton's genial nature that
Irving never communicated the suspicion to his brother. Irving felt, too,
that his uncle cared less for him than for Lawrence. Well, that was
natural; Irving was humble there.
When the dean of the college had said that it would be inadvisable for
Lawrence to make a start unless he had at least three hundred dollars at
command, it had seemed to Irving a little narrow on his uncle's part not
to have come forward at once with that sum. Instead he had merely
given Lawrence the opportunity to work harder in the hay-field and so
increase his small bank account. And it had soon become apparent to
Irving that unless he and Lawrence could between them raise the
money, they need not look to their uncle for help beyond that which he
was already giving. Therefore Irving went into Mr. Beasley's store, and
hoped daily for the letter which at last had come.
Day after day the two brothers worked together. Irving, quick,
impatient, sometimes losing his temper; Lawrence, slow, calm, turning
the edge of the teacher's sarcasm sometimes with a laugh, sometimes
with a quiet appeal. Irving always felt ashamed after these outbreaks
and uneasily conscious that Lawrence conducted himself with greater
dignity. And Lawrence forgot Irving's irritations in gratitude to him for
his help. "It must be a trial to teach such a numskull," Lawrence
thought; and at the end of one particularly hard day he undertook to
console his brother by saying, "Never mind, Irv; it won't be long now
before you have pupils who aren't country bumpkins and don't need to
have things pounded into their heads with an axe."
It had been a rather savage remark that had called this out; Irving threw
down his book and perching on the arm of his brother's chair, put his
arm around his neck and begged his forgiveness.
"As if I could ever like to teach anybody else as much as I like to teach

you!" he exclaimed. "I'm sorry, Lawrence; I'll try to keep a little better
grip on myself."
Sometimes it seemed to Irving odd that Lawrence should be so slow at
his books; Irving did not fail to realize that with the neighbors or with
strangers, in any gathering whatsoever, Lawrence was always quick,
sympathetic, interested; he himself was the one who seemed dull and
immature.
It had been so with him at college; he had been merely the student of
books. Social life he had had none, and only now, with the difference
between his brother and himself enforcing a clearer vision, had he
become aware of some deficiency in his education. In silence he envied
Lawrence and wished that he too possessed such winning and engaging
traits.
He realized the contrast with especial keenness on the afternoon when
he and Lawrence began their eastward journey. There was a party
assembled at the station to see them off,--to see Lawrence off, as Irving
reflected, for never on his own previous departures had he occasioned
any such demonstration.
Lawrence was presented on the platform with various farewell gifts--a
pair of knit slippers from Sally Buxton, who was the prettiest girl in the
valley and who tried to slip them into his hand when no one else was
looking, and blushed when Nora Carson unfeelingly called attention to
her shy attempt; a pair of mittens from old Mrs. Fitch; a pocket comb
and mirror from the Uptons' hired man; a paper bag of doughnuts from
Mrs. Brumby.
There were no gifts for Irving; indeed, he had never cared or thought
much, one way or the other, about any of these people clustered on the
platform. Only this summer, seeing them so frequently in Mr. Beasley's
store, he had felt the first stirrings of interest in them; now for the first
time he was aware of a wistfulness because they did not care for him as
they did for Lawrence.
Mr. Beasley came up to him. "So you're off--both of you. Funny

thing--I guess from the looks of you two, if