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CHAPTER XX
In which there is another joyful reunion, and Clarence presents an important letter to the Rector of Campion College
“Clarence,” said Father Keenan, “there’s good news.”
“Oh, what is it? Were their lives saved? Were they unhurt?”
“Just forty miles to the East of the accident your father received a telegram. It seems there was some mining trouble in the Southwest, and he was ordered to go there at once. Both your father and mother got off at a junction and so missed the accident.”
“Oh, thank God! thank God! And when shall I see them?”
“Very soon, Clarence. On the very day you arrived here, I sent telegrams to different cities, and had advertisements inserted in the most prominent papers in New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, Cleveland and Cincinnati. The ads. read something like this: Any friends or relations of Clarence Esmond falsely reported drowned are requested to write or call upon the President of Campion College, Prairie du Chien, Wis.”
“Did you really do that, Father?”
“Yes, my boy,” answered the Rector, as the two went up the steps and proceeded in the direction of the infirmary. “And it seems that in New York a member of the firm that sent the telegram to your father read the ad. He at once wired your parents – and – and – ” the Rector paused.
They were standing just outside the parlor, from which came the sound of voices.
“They’re here! They’re here?” cried Clarence, and burst into the parlor.
Father George Keenan considerately waited outside until the first rapture of reunion should have died away; waited and thought with gratitude to God of his part in a romance of the upper Mississippi, a romance of childhood and innocence, and the sure, guiding hand of Divine Providence.
The parlor door opened presently, and Clarence came out.
“Oh, Father Rector, won’t you please come in? Say, Pa, this is the priest who fed me when I was hungry, clothed me when I was naked, took me in when I was abandoned, and treated me as if I was a prince in disguise. Say, Ma, look at him and thank him, if you can. I can’t.” And Clarence blubbered.
“Father Keenan,” said Mr. Esmond with quivering lips, “if I should think of trying to thank you, I should become absolutely dumb. I am helpless; and to think that you should be the member of an Order I’ve been abusing all my life.”
Mrs. Esmond, in turn, took the dismayed Father’s hand, and tried to speak. She failed; but her eyes spoke the gratitude her tongue could not utter.
“Don’t – don’t mention it,” said Father Keenan lamely and with a vivid blush. “I’m happier than I can say to have done anything for as fine and as gifted a boy as I have ever met.”
There came an awkward silence. The Rector was confused beyond measure; Mrs. Esmond had gathered her boy to her arms, and was fondling him as she had done when he was a little child. Mr. Esmond was endeavoring with but ill success to master his burst of emotion.
“Say, Pa,” cried Clarence, breaking away in excitement. “There’s one thing I want to say right off. You said I might choose my religion when I was fourteen. Well, I’ve chosen. I want to be a Catholic.”
“Certainly, my boy, certainly. I never thought of your joining that Faith; but you’ll be in good company.”
“And, Father Rector, may I be baptized?”
“Of course, Clarence, since your father so kindly consents.”
“And, Father, will you do it?”
“Gladly, Clarence.”
“Good! thank you. Come on,” and Clarence seized his hat.
“But what’s your hurry, Clarence?” asked Father Keenan, laying a detaining hand upon the eager neophyte.
“Isn’t this rather sudden, my boy?” inquired Mr. Esmond.
“It’s not at all sudden,” Clarence made answer. “I’ve been thinking about this and preparing for this ever since I met Dora. Do you think I want to go to bed to-night with original sin and all my life’s wickedness on my soul when I can get it off in a few minutes? Of course, I’m in a hurry.”
“Put your hat down, Clarence,” ordered the Rector. “But I promise you this: you’ll be baptized and made a child of God and heir of heaven before you go to bed tonight. And now, Mr. and Mrs. Esmond, I want you to come out and meet Dora, who did so much for Clarence and whom Clarence saved from the gypsies; John Rieler, who rescued Clarence from the river; and Dora’s parents and big brother. For the next hour, we are going to hold a symposium. Clarence will tell his story from the time he left McGregor till he took to the river; John Rieler will take up the theme and tell how he came to make Clarence’s acquaintance; I, myself, will describe the boy’s first appearance at Campion, and with the help of Will Benton will tell the tale of our visit to the gypsy camp and rescue of Dora.”
As everybody following hard upon introduction insisted upon talking at once, Father Keenan experienced no little difficulty in carrying out the proposed program. It was fully an hour before the story – the strange romance of the upper Mississippi – was clearly unfolded to the wondering grown folks.
“I say,” urged Clarence, when the various adventures had been adequately commented on, “isn’t it time for me to be baptized?”
“Oh,” said Dora. “Is it all arranged?”
“Yes, Dora.”
“And – and – may I be your godmother?”
“Delighted!” cried the boy. “Nothing could please me better.”
“You ought to know,” observed John Rieler, “that the Church has erected an impediment between godmother and godson. If you carry out that program, you two can never marry.”
“Marry!” cried Dora, “I’m not to marry. I’m to dedicate my life to Mary.”
“Marry!” remonstrated Clarence. “Who ever thought of such a thing? Dora and I don’t intend to discuss that subject ourselves; and we don’t” – here he looked severely at John – “care about hearing anyone else discuss it.”
“All right, Clarence,” said John, “if that’s the case I want to be godfather.”
After supper, Clarence, alone, went to the boys’ chapel, where for fifteen minutes he prayed and recalled in sorrow all the sins of his life. Then came Dora, John, Will and the two married couples followed by Father Keenan; and in the quiet of the evening Clarence Esmond filled with faith and love received upon his brow the regenerating waters of baptism and became a faithful child of the true Church.
On the next morning the three children and Will Benton attended the six o’clock Mass and together received Holy Communion.
Clarence frequently during that day pronounced it the happiest day of his life.
On Sunday evening Clarence, who had passed most of the time with his parents, entered Father Keenan’s room.
“Why, Clarence! How happy you look.”
“That’s because I’m a hypocrite, Father.”
“Surely, you haven’t come to bid me good-bye?”
“Oh, I should hope not, Father.” Here Clarence fumbled in his pocket. “This is a letter my Pa gave me to bring to you.”
“So you were godfather for Dorcas and her children!”
“Yes, Father Rector, and Dora was godmother. Pa says it was awful good of you to pay the expenses of Ben’s burial and to pay for the board of Dorcas and her little ones; but he’s going to do the rest. He has an interest in the ranch in the Southwest, and they need a woman to feed the men and keep the house. Dorcas gets the position.”
“Can she hold it?” asked the Rector.
“Oh, yes! Dora says that Dorcas cooks nicely and is fine at the needle, and is very neat.”
“I hope she’ll have a chance to go to church,” continued Father Keenan.
“There’s a church ten miles from the ranch; and the foreman is a good Catholic. He is to bring Dorcas every Sunday.”
“Excellent,” said the Rector.
“And did you hear about Pete?” asked Clarence.
“No; how is he?”
“Pa just got word. It took him thirty-six hours to recover from the blow that Will Benton gave him. He was unconscious all that time.”
“Let us hope and pray that God may bring him to repentance,” said the Rector.
“The jail doctor says he’ll never do harm again. And, Father, tomorrow Dorcas goes to Communion; then she’s coming up to bid you good-bye, and then off she starts to her new work.”
“Thank God,” said Father Keenan. “And now, Clarence, sit down while I read your father’s letter.”
And this is what Father Keenan read:
“My dear Father Keenan: I am trying to write what I have found it impossible to say. To borrow the language of my little boy – who, I believe, borrowed from the words of Christ in the New Testament – Clarence was hungry and you fed him, naked and you clothed him, and outcast and you took him in. He was sorrowful and you consoled him; orphaned, and, at the sacrifice of your precious time, you took the place of father and mother. He needed, too, someone to take hold of his complicated situation and you by telegram, telephone, letter and in every conceivable way unravelled the tangle within a few hours; and in doing so brought gladness to sad and suffering hearts; in a few hours, you effected the rescue of his dear little girl friend; and, when we arrived, had everything in the finest condition imaginable and everybody happy. In all this you were aided and abetted by that little saint, Dora – the most wonderful girl I have ever met – by John Rieler, that paragon of good-nature who saved my boy’s life; and by that prince of young men, Strong-Arm Benton, which quick performance at the gypsy camp will never be forgotten by those who hear it told.
“To have my boy the intimate of Will, Dora and Rieler – the most wonderful trio one could bring together – I esteem a rare privilege and an honor. Their friendship is touched with youth, and purity and faith.
“You will be glad to know, Reverend Father, that, in my opinion, Clarence is not altogether unworthy of such splendid companions. At Clermont School in New York, where he attended for three years, he maintained a reputation for cleanness of speech and delicacy of conduct, which, among the faculty, made him a marked boy. He was the center of a group – some seven or eight in number – who had professed and followed out lofty and lovely ideals. God, I know not why, has been singularly good to my boy, and kept him from dangers to morals only too common in these pagan days.
“The duty of thanking you, of showing you my gratitude, will be with me, I trust, a life task. I can never forget how when my little boy – a veritable Dan Cupid up to date – arrived you took him in hand.
“His entrance into the Church pleases me more, the more I think of it. When his mother gave up hope of ever seeing Clarence again, it seemed for a time as though she would lose her mind. She insisted that Clarence had been taken from her untimely because she had not lived up to the Catholic Faith, in which, as a child, she was baptized. It was in vain that I pointed out to her that she had not been brought up a Catholic, that she was raised a Protestant; that she had been in no way responsible. She would not be consoled. Finally, with my full approbation, she promised God that should Clarence be returned to us, she would once more embrace the Faith of her fathers. She intends to go to confession and receive Holy Communion before we bid an unwilling adieu to Campion. She has already called at St. Mary’s Academy and engaged a splendid nun there to give her a course of instructions.
“In a short time – by Christmas at the latest – I am going to join the Church that received Ben and Dorcas with the same arms of welcome as it receives the princes and potentates of the earth. This, my fixed determination, is sudden; but for all that, it is none the less firm. It came to me last night, as I watched the radiant Dora and the reverent John holding my boy, whose face was aflame with zeal and faith as you, Father, poured the water of baptism upon his head.
“And now, Father, I’ve been thinking much of what you did for my boy. There must be other cases like his – cases of boys being thrown upon you – not coming in the guise of Cupid, it is true – but coming to you asking for education, board and books; but without money. In memory, then, of your kindness to my little boy, I enclose you a check for five thousand dollars as a fund for a perpetual scholarship to carry year after year through Campion College some boy whom God has given brains and ambition, but denied money. And if God continues to bless me in my enterprises, this will not be the end, by any means, of my help in that same line.
“And now, one more matter of business. Clarence is bent on going to Campion College. He loves the grounds, the buildings, the boys, and, so far as he knows them, the faculty. His mother and I are almost as anxious that he should attend your school as he is. We intend to stay here for a week or ten days to get better acquainted with our dear little boy – dearer a thousandfold that, having been lost, he is found. We, therefore, beg of you, Father, as a special favor, to register the boy at once; but to allow us his company till we leave. His board and tuition expenses are to begin, of course, from the opening day of school – two weeks back. Before leaving, I will make you a check to cover his expenses for the entire year.
“This is the longest letter I have written since the time I was engaged to her who is now my wife. It is long because I have been endeavoring, with poor success, to express my gratitude. But the task is beyond me. Beyond me, too, is it to express the present happiness of my wife, of Clarence, of Dora and of
“Yours with a heart full of gratitude,“Charles Esmond.”
CHAPTER XXI
In which everybody is happy, Will Benton is jocose, and justifies the title of this Romance of the Upper Mississippi
Some few minutes later, Will Benton, who had been summoned, and Clarence were seated in the Rector’s room. To the two Father Keenan read first the letter of Wilcox.
“He was a good fellow,” said Will. “I like people who are grateful.”
“It was this gift of one hundred dollars,” said Father Keenan, “which made it so easy for me to fit you up, Clarence, and to see that Ben received decent interment. But now listen to this.”
And Father Keenan read the letter of Mr. Charles Esmond.
When he came to the passage describing Clarence as a “veritable Dan Cupid up to date,” Will Benton roared with laughter.
“Why, what’s the matter, Will?” asked the Rector.
“Did you hear it? He’s Cupid. Oh, goodness, that’s the best yet. Clarence, you’re Cupid.” And Will Benton laughed more heartily than ever.
“It isn’t such a bad joke,” said Clarence critically.
The Rector then read on to the end.
“Say,” cried Clarence, “I like that. You do a little kindness to a poor boy, and after many years he sends you money to do some more kindness to other boys. You try it out on me, and then my father gets the same idea and wants you to try it out on somebody else.”
“Kindness is catching,” said Will Benton, the kindest boy in Campion College.
“‘Our echoes roll from soul to soul,’” quoted Clarence, “‘and grow forever and forever.’”
“The next thing for you to do, Clarence, is to go over to the Vice-President’s room and register. Will Benton will take you, and then he’ll bring you over to the small boys and let them know you are one of them. After that you are free to go with your parents so long as they remain.”
“Thank you, Father; I’ve got everything in the world I want, and I’m as happy as a big sunflower.”
On their way to the classroom building there was quite a perceptible stir among the boys, numbers of whom eyed the two with artless interest.
“What’s the matter with those boys?” asked Clarence. “What are they staring about?”
“I really think,” answered Will Benton, “that they’re staring at me. John Rieler made such a fuss about the knockout I gave Pete that he’s got all the little boys crazy. Even a lot of the big boys are stirred up about it. I’ve been keeping to my room as much as possible these few days, because I don’t like people to be making a fuss over me.”
“Say, Will, is this true? I heard that since the fellows heard what you did to Pete ten boys of the senior division have at last asked to join the Sodality, when they wouldn’t do it before.”
“They’d have come in anyhow,” he said.
The Vice-President was in his room, and promptly registered the happy Clarence. Then, Will Benton, very nervous, conducted Clarence over to the small boy’s division.
At his coming, there was great excitement. The boys came flocking towards the two, and, in a moment, had them surrounded.
“Look at his arm” – “Isn’t that a chest for you” – “His Southpaw dished the gypsy for thirty-six hours” – “He did it just like that” – “That’s Strong-Arm for you.” These and a thousand exclamations evinced clearly that Will Benton was still the hero of the hour.
Will blushed. He was frightened.
“Speech, Strong-Arm, speech,” cried a shrill-voiced youth.
“Speech, speech,” volleyed the others.
And then Will Benton, Strong-Arm, Senior, and Prefect of the Sodality, made his maiden speech, and cracked his first and only joke. Like most people who are immensely popular, Will Benton was not given to joking. He was always smiling, always jolly, always quick to laugh at other’s witticisms. But as for himself, he was literal, matter of fact, and serenely serious.
And the joke he got off on this occasion was really such a little joke. It wasn’t even original. But the boys who heard it doubled with laughter, and howled with delight. They thought it was the finest joke they had ever heard. Most of them continue to think so. They repeated it to each other, and wrote home about it. They made it a classic in Campion College, in such wise that it promises to go down to posterity along with the wrench and the blow which made Will Benton famous and immortal. On this one joke, Will Benton’s reputation as a humorist will live.
Here are the speech and joke:
“Boys,” he said, holding up his hands.
All grew silent and eager.
“Permit me to introduce a new student.”
Cheers and joyous yelps split the astounded air for full three minutes. Will Benton held up his hand once more.
Again fell the expectant silence.
“Here he is,” cried Benton, his face breaking into smiles, “CUPID OF CAMPION COLLEGE.”
