The Shagganappi | Page 5

the hunter was his trapper father, who with noiseless step and wary eye was this very moment stalking some precious fur-bearing animal, whose pelt would bring a good price at the great Hudson's Bay trading-post; a price that would go toward keeping his son at this Eastern college for many terms. Shag's grey-brown eyes grew dreamy. He saw the vast prairies sweeping away into the West, and his father, a mere speck on the horizon, the ever-present "gun," the silent moccasin, the scarlet sash, the muffled step, all proclaiming "the hunter on the plain."
The prayers were ended and Shag found that he was not really watching his father coming up some prairie trail, but that before him was a different type of man, Professor Warwick, whose studious eyes now required glasses to see through, and whose hand was white and silken in its touch--how hopelessly lost this little man would be should circumstances turn him forth to gain his livelihood at hunting and trapping. Old Larocque himself would hardly be more incongruous teaching in this college. It was this thought that made Shag smile as he rose from his knees, with the echoes of the bells of St. Boniface haunting his heart.
Then the chapel emptied, each boy on breakfast bent. "Cop" Billings still remained at the Indian's elbow, but at the door one or two of the masters stopped to greet the new arrival, and a tall, remarkably handsome lad waited, apparently to speak. He was a boy that anyone would pick from a crowd of fifty--straight, well-built, with fine, strong, thin hands, and a face with contradictory eyes, for they twinkled and danced as if nothing so serious as thoughtfulness ever disturbed them. As the two boys approached him he stepped impulsively forward, extending his hand to Shag with the words, "May I shake hands with you and say hello?"
"Thank you;" replied Shag; "the way you boys are treating me makes me feel less strange."
"Oh, no one feels strange here," laughed the handsome boy. "You must try and like us. So you're from Manitoba, are you?"
"Yes, Red River," answered Shag.
"Father's been up there, and grandfather, too," said the other, falling in step with the two boys on their way to the dining-room. "Come up to my ranch some time soon--to-night if you like. Cop will bring you," he added with a parting nod, as he left them for his own table at the other side of the room.
Cop stared hard at his companion. "Thunderation!" he blurted, "but you're the lucky kid!"
"Yes?" questioned Shag. "Never mind the luck, but tell me who that chap is; he's very nice; I like him."
"Like him!" almost yelled Cop; "I should think you would like him! Why, he's the 'Pop!'"
"'Pop?' What's that?" said Shag, with a puzzled air.
"Popular, the most popular boy in college--head in everything--clubs, classes, sports. Everybody is dippy over him from the Head right down to 'Infant' Innis, that little geezer in shorts across the table, who is only eleven last birthday. Even Dirty Dick, the gardener, is batty about him; and here he's put himself out to shake your fin, and ask you up to his room--thing he's only done twice since he entered college. You are lucky, kid!"
"Does he think a lot of himself?" asked Shag with some suspicion.
"He? Not much! Just the bulliest old pal in the world. Why, he wouldn't be the 'pop' if he threw on side," asserted Cop loyally.
"You haven't told me who he is yet," said Shag.
"Oh, I forgot," apologized Cop. "It seems so funny that everybody shouldn't know. Why, he's Harry Bennington. You must have heard of Sir George Bennington, big railroad man. Queen Victoria knighted him for some big scoop he made for Canada or the Colonies or something. Well, Hal's his son; but do you suppose that his dad's title makes any difference to Hal? Not much! But Hal's handshake will make a big difference to you in this college, I'll tell you that, Shag. You're made, that's what you are--just made; even Lord Mortimer back of you couldn't give you the place among the crowd here that Hal Bennington's grip did to-day."
Shag did not reply; he was looking across the room at Sir George Bennington's son. He knew the name of the wealthy man whom Queen Victoria had honored, knew it well. His father, Trapper Larocque, had met Sir George in the old pioneer days of the railroad in the North-West. There was a little story about Sir George, well-known in the Red River Valley; Trapper Larocque knew it, the Hudson's Bay Company knew it, Shag knew it, and was asking himself if Hal knew it. Then the boy from Manitoba took the story and locked it within his heart, sealed his lips above it, and said to his soul,