The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 12 September 1912, Page 5

The Storyteller

THE HOUR OF VICTORY Excitement ran high at Davis Academy, for the names of the pupils fortunate enough to be allowed to enter the contest for the Davis scholarship were to be read to-day. Only those having an average of 80 per cent, for the four. years’ work in the academy were allowed to compete. Mr. Davis, the donor of the scholarship, had made that condition. The scholarship provided not only for four years’ tuition in any college or technical school of the winner’s choosing, but also for necessary living expenses. ' ' ‘Of course, Coulson will get first place he’ll win sure/ said John Hartley, president of the senior class. ‘ I hope I get on the list, though. My folks will be pleased, and it means honorable mention.’ The names were read, beginning with the lowest allowed. John Hartley’s was called, and he could scarcely disguise his delight. He was on the list. ‘ The last average was 85 per cent. Now there is a jump from 85 per cent, to 90 per cent., which is first place.’ All eyes turned to Coulson, And for first place there are two contestants, George Coulson and Joseph Darcy.’ A murmur of surprise went about the room. ‘ Joe Darcy !’ As a possible candidate he might have a chance, but as for his winning first place, no one had dreamed of such a thi%. y Perhaps the least surprised was Joe himself. He knew his own standing, his abilities and his limitations very well, and day by day, year by year he had worked faithfully to obtain this reward. His teachers had noted that Joseph Darcy never failed in any kind of review. But he was slow of • thought and slow of speech, and his classmate, George Coulson,- who was quick to grasp,- often profited from Darcy’s hours of patient labor by suddenly jumping at a conclusion and taking the honor which did not belong to him. Again and again he had done this. Joe never could understand just how. In his heart he knew that Coulson was an adept at bluffing, but the bluff always succeeded. Now, for once, they stood equal. The theme was assigned, * Chivalry,’ and the pupils were allowed three weeks of preparation. Then they were to come into the class without notes and write the . theme under supervision. Five hours were to be allowed I ; for the actual writing. i Good news travels swiftly. As Joe Darcy entered his home his mother met him at the door, her eyes shining proudly. - : ‘ I’m very, very glad, Joe.’

Joe brightened' with pleasure. . :He thanked he? gently, then pressed inside to receive the greetings ? of his brothers and sisters.'

The news had also reached the great mills by the river,^where his father worked. ‘Your boy is giving the Governor’s grandson a run for the. prize,’ said one of his fellow-workmen, and it went from man to man until he was overwhelmed with congratulations. - . ‘Tell the lad to do his best; our good wishes are with him,’ all said. ' . ;

Feeling ran high in the academy. The ‘ Hill Fellows,’ a coterie of boys who lived in the aristocratic Hill section, rallied around George Coulson. Those whose homes were in less pretentious ‘ Milltown ’ favored Joe Darcy. The wise counselled, ‘ Let the best man win,’ and it was generally conceded that the best man was George Coulson. . ' . - The three weeks of fervent preparations were not long in passing. The evening before the Friday appointed for the writing of the theme Joseph > Darcy wearily laid aside his books. ‘lt’s of no use,’ he said dispiritedly. ‘ Unless a miracle happens, Coulson wins. It isn’t in me to do anything brilliant enough to beat him.’

. Cheer up, boy,’ said his father; ‘ the fight hasn’t begun yet. Do your best and you’ll win. Of course, it’s in you,’ lie dared not say how much .he wanted him to win. ’ ' v

His mother placed her hand affectionately on his arm. Don’t be discouraged, Joe? We are all braving for you. Do your best.’ :

Joe sat for a minute with bowed head, then burst forth vehemently: ‘No one can understand how-much I want to win It’s been pinch and grind ever since I can remember, and if I get the opportunity for a technical training it will mean .so much to. you all! I ought to get it. I’ve worked —harder - than Coulson ever dreamed of working, yet he will step in and take the prize. The contemptible snob ! I’d just like the chance to get the better of' him.’ ( f ‘Joe, Joe, don’t talk like that,’ his mother fsaid; It s wrong. Beat him if you can do it honestly, like a man, but if you can’t win, take defeat bravely. . It's the test of courage. Don’t lose your self-respect or selfcontrol. They are better than any prize.’ She trembled with excitement. ; Joe stood shamefaced before her.

‘l’m awfully sorry. I should not have said, so much, but ’ — little defiantly ‘ that’s the way I often feel now.’ : . * This little display of passion strengthened in his mother a vague uneasiness which had been on her of late—that Joe was growing away from her. When the young people had gone to bed she sat brooding over her sewing. She recalled Joe’s face with the flashing eyes, the firm mouth, and the mother heart prophesied; ‘There will be no half-way with Joe.’ Then, as a sudden, sinking fear took possession of her, she whispered ‘ God grant it may be the right way.’ A■■ ‘Unless a miracle happens, George Coulson will win!’ Joe Darcy echoed this remark again the next day as he laboriously strove to express his thoughts on paper, and glancing up for a moment he saw George Coulson writing with that free, graceful sweep of his, ’ When the bell rang Coulson was the first to rise from his place, his theme done. They still had fifteen minutes for finishing touches, but the discipline' was relaxed and conversation was general. Whew, but it’s hot!’ George Coulson exclaimed. He raised the window and stood enjoying the stiff breeze which blew in upon him. Joe, busily fastening his papers, caught this remark: v - • . b ‘ Yes, I had half a mind , not to enter at first, but the folks at home want me to have the honor. I don’t care much either way. I can pay my way through.’ • There was a significant pause, and Joe bit his lip and bent more closely over his work as Coulson’s sneering voice continued: V ' ~ - " ‘ I supposed if I had dropped, out it would have made a big difference to some people—mot mentioning any names.’ , ° Joe’s face burned with an angry flush, but he said nothing. Some of his friends turned from the -speaker

\ id. disgust. Suddenly George gave a hasty exclamation. J He had : been so interested in making his classmate i uncomfortable that he had carelessly left his manuscript on the window-ledge, and a particularly stiff breeze had caught the papers and whirled them away. George dashed down the two flights of stairs after it. Several of his friends followed him, but a diligent search failed to locate the missing manuscript, and the warning bell sounding over the campus sent them scurrying back to their class-room to pass in their papers. George Coulson made his report to the principal, saying that the manuscript was missing and telling the circumstances. - a neat pile of the accumulated manuscript. ‘I hope you can find it. If it is handed in by Monday at 9 a.m., it will be accepted. Good afternoon.’ He bowed to the pupils as he passed out. Joe walked home like one in a dream. ‘ Supposing Coulson did not find the papers!’ The miracle had happened. ; ; That evening as he joined the crowd at the post office waiting for the evening mail a notice was pointed out to him. It read : 25 Dollars Reward. A reward of 25 dollars is herewith offered to the person or persons finding and returning the manuscript written by George Coulson in the contest for the Davis scholarship. ‘He wants it pretty bad, doesn’t he one of the boys remarked. I don t blame him,’ said another. ‘lf my chances were as good as his I’d offer it.’ • Thus they discussed their classmate’s loss, while Joe reflected that it was now Friday evening, that the manuscript had not been found, and that every minute narrowed Coulson’s chances. On Saturday searching parties, stimulated by the offer of the reward, explored every inch of the school grounds and the adjacent places, but the search was unfruitful. Younger brothers of the household brought the news home to Joe, and he could hardly sleep that night. He, with the others, had conceded the palm of victory to George Coulson, but he knew well enough that he came second, and if the papers were still missing he was the prize-winner without a doubt. He arose Sunday morning very happy. It was a feet June day as he walked to church trying not to be too jubilant, but profoundly grateful to' the young people who smiled and wished him well ; and to other people, ;. too, who looked after Jim Darcy’s boy with a fervent ‘ I hope the lad wins.’ Milltown was very proud of its representative. Inside the cool church he was vividly conscious of the beauty of the altar, gleaming with candles and fragrant with flowers in honor of the feast of the Sacred Heart. It was all so in keeping with his mood. Afterward as Father Cotter preached an earnest sermon on the love of the Sacred Heart, his words came home to Joe with a new, deep meaning. He thought of the theme Chivalry,’ and the ballad. of Sir Galahad, which had entered into his composition : O just and faithful knight of God, Ride on, the prize is near.’ * Son, give Me thy heart.’ Father Cotter’s earnest voice repeated the divine words of entreaty. Joe felt the blood stirring within him ; life stretched before him so happily. With trained mind and skilful hands life would open with still fuller, fairer beauty. It was all his to take in a short time. He felt as one of the knights of old as he knelt and vowed it allall he could do in the wonderful future stretching before him, ‘ all for Thee, O Lord.’ It was so easy to promise with the gleaming tapers, the fragrant flowers before him, the earnest words of 5 t e priest in his ears, so easy to kneel and adore. After Mass he returned home slowly, happily. The younger folks danced out to tell him that the manuing P Joe^ Stl missing * * They have S iven U P search-

As he entered the house his mother, hot and flushed in her preparation of the Sunday dinner, called out to him:

• Joe, will you hear Ted’s catechism lessen? I have been so busy I haven’t had time.’ He took up the little book and glanced over the lesson. Ted, a child who seemed all nerves, hopped about delightedly, explaining: This is the last lesson. I have finished the catechism, Joe. I can say the long answer, the last in the book every bit of it. Hear me, Joe,’ and he rattled off glibly. What doth it profit a man if he gain the whole world and suffer the loss of his soul, or what exchange shall a man give for his soul?” etc. Joe tried to keep a sober face as his small brother recited the words, standing on one foot and then on the other, or dancing about, words almost meaningless to him now, but which would perhaps, come back to him some day with strong significance—'What doth it profit a man ?’ -. , , ,

In the afternoon Joe wandered into the woods alone, happy in his bright dreams of the future, outlining plans in his busy brain. The strong, clever hands felt victory within their grasp. As the day wore on the sky grew overcast, but a storm was almost upon him before he noticed the change. ' , r On one side lay Milltown, with the big Davis mills, and on the other side the town proper. On the outskirts of the woods the nearest shelter was the Davis Academy. He hastened his walk, and as he felt the wind rising he broke into a run. The trees groaned and shrieked in the wind; the lightening grew vivid, and the clouds broke into a torrent of rain just as he reached the shelter of the academy portico. . The beautiful old ivy on the wall had already been torn from its hold in places by the violence of the stoim, and the leaves lay thickly scattered where they had been driven in by the wind. He kicked some o them aside, and this motion exposed a piece of white paper He stooped and picked it up. , His heart almost stopped beating; he leaned against the wall-for support for there, where the storm had driven it, was George b Is on s missing manuscript. , i ; 8 , Th + e n bol d handwriting was the owner’s name, and with a feeling of despair he glanced over the sheets. He understood now how it had happened. The wind instead of carrying it downward, had blown it over the portico, where it had lodged in the thick vine. It of a ttat p" s lTty WindoW that n 0 One had bought ■ Mechanically he glanced through the pages. To his distorted imagination the words seemed the most wonderful George Coulson had ever written. His own manuscript beside this piece of work seemed the bungmg of the merest amateur. Despairingly he thought how the finding of it robbed him of his opportunity. Suddenly a thought crept into his brain. - He glanced hatful no one was in sight. Quickly he placed the allowed Si,™ 1 ’ and as : ”■ - ?‘°™ His mood at supper was so different that the va™ uneasmess returned to his mother. As soon as possible ter supper he stole off to his room. He took the manuscript m his hands. It was the : only obstacle be ST “ d the PrfZe - “ d * was power^o

He looked out the window; a slow drizzling rain was falling. Whv had ho nnf laff at ’ rizzlln S ram he had found if ITV • 0t leffc I tlle manuscript where he ctlTretZlt rUm “ befMe look^e™LTapS n be4id uV^," 0 * * *** to longed to him • i,„ Vj P nze ; In all fairness it bega to him, he had earned it. Fate hud SuKg -3 £• feet; he wou,d a “Ss Thus he reasoned as the moments nassor? tt q i his reasoning was fa ho fW V s passed. He knew £ I™;. ■i-Wteia

Then he thought of the morning at Mass, the soft radiance of the candles, the fragrance of the flowers and the words of entreaty, * Son, give Me thy heart.’ He rose to his feet and began to pace the room. Before his mind swept the 7 thought of what it would mean to give up the paper;’ There in the valley lay the mills. If he did not win, the scholarship next month he would go there to work, to commence what to him would be a life of slavery. And for what? That George Coulson, an insufferable snob, who had more than once cheated him of honors, who had mocked him and sneered at him, should have yet one more honor.

M cannot do it, he declared passionately. ‘ I cannot give it up. I will throw it back where I found it in the rain. Let some one else find it in the morning.’ ,;■ . 7 , ■ • _ , , , ...

He put on his rain coat, concealed the manuscript beneath and went down the stairs. His mother was just going fo bed, and she looked at him in surprise. ‘No, mother; the walk will do me good.’ He felt miserably guilty as he walked on. He knew that his mother would wait up for him and he tried to hurry, but a thought which persistently tried to be uppermost in his mind caused his footsteps to slacken. It was the words of little Ted’s catechism lesson: What doth it profit a man,’ it chanted, ‘if he gain the whole world? What doth it profit a man if he gain the whole world and suffer the loss of his soul Over and over again the words repeated themselves. On one side bright dreams of the future, on the other the slavery of the mills. And now the unceasing chant: ‘ What doth it profit a man ?’ ‘There will be no half way with Joe; he will be very good or very bad,’ his mother had prophesied that night over her sewing, and now as she stood by the window she thought of it again, and, unconscious as she was of the struggle going on, she whispered a prayer: ‘ God grant it may be the right way!’ She waited anxiously 'as the moments passed, * What can be keeping him?’ she wondered. At last she heard his welcome footsteps on the stairs, and he stood before her, calm and pale as one who had passed through a terrible struggle. ‘ls your head better, Joe?’ she asked. - * Yes, thank you,’ he replied wearily. The next morning Davis Academy was alive with excitement. George Coulson’s manuscript had been found in the letter box outside the door of his heme when the morning mail was taken in. Of how it came there there was not the slightest clue. All sorts of stories spread about, but it gradually subsided into one of the unsolved mysteries. Perhaps Mrs. Darcy had a slight suspicion of the truth, but she kept her own counsel. And there was no half way with Joseph Darcy. He had made his silent renunciation, and he wasted no time in idle regrets. In the two weeks which intervened before graduation a new manhood grew up within him, which rose superior to George Coulson’s sneers. He put aside that wonderful dream, and with a steady purpose faced the future, dull and drear as it seemed. Graduation day came, and never before had the hall been so crowded. When the diplomas had been -given out Mr. Wilson spoke of the Davis scholarship. He said:

‘ Graduates and friends, it gives me great pleasure to announce that the themes in the contest for the Davis scholarship were all of excellent merit, but the prize goes by unanimous consent to Joseph Darcy.’ * One moment of overwhelming surprise, and then the senior class took possession of the hall. Darcy! Darcy! Darcy!’ echoed on every side. Cheer after cheer rang out, the class president leading the wild tumult. Mr. and Mrs, Darcy stood unashamed of the tears of joy in their eyes as Joe was carried by on the shoulders of his classmates, their delighted cheers attesting the popular choice. ‘ Our Joe’s hour of victory,’ said Mr. Darcy, proudly, but Joe, carried as a hero through the throng, flushed with triumph, knew in his heart that this was not his hour of victory. That

had come on that Sunday evening in the drizzling rain, when he had fought perhaps the greatest temptation of his —and won. —The Magnificat.