The Shagganappi | Page 5

had learned to memorize:

"Is it the clang of the wild geese? Is it the Indian's yell, That lends to
the call of the north wind The tones of a far-off bell?
"The voyageur smiles as he listens To the sound that grows apace. Well
he knows the vesper ringing Of the bells of St. Boniface.
"The bells of the Roman mission-- That call from their turrets twain To
the boatman on the river, To the hunter on the plain."
"To the hunter on the plain," said Shag's thoughts, over and over.
Perhaps 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