CHAPTER VI

CELEBRATION

There was not much conversation on the way back to The Magic Lantern. Rudy, riding with Mr. Bland in the front seat, could find little to say as the car bucketed over the uncertain roads. Sport, with her father's objections temporarily stayed, was quiet with Molly in the back seat.

At the resort, Mr. Bland pulled the car up with a roar of exhaust. The long building was darkened, its pale windows contrasting eerily with the somber darkness of the surrounding walls. The parked cars were gone, and the night seemed doubly silent because of its present variation from the scene which it had presented not long before.

"Well, here we are again," Sport observed in an attempt at lightness. "But too late to do anything but go home. What say, Rudy?"

"It's about time, I guess," Rudy agreed. He climbed from the car, and as Sport assisted Molly down, the girl came to him impulsively. "I just want to thank you again, Rudy," she said. "That was about the nicest, craziest thing I ever saw--and I want you to know that I appreciate it."

"It wasn't anything," Rudy protested.

"Boy, you're wrong!" Sport cried. "But let's be on our way. Mr. Bland wants to close up."

In truth, the squat proprietor seemed to wish to make some sort of speech of gratitude for what Rudy had attempted to do for him. But a natural inarticulateness hampered him, and he apparently was ready to let the praise of the others speak for him, too. He contented himself with, "Come and see us any time you feel like it, Mr. O'Malley," and tramped off in the direction of his office.

Sport bid Molly a brief good-night, and the two young men turned toward Sport's car. Thus the incident evidently was brought to a close. But both knew that it was the cornerstone of a friendship that was to gain an increasing value as time brought them more definitely together.

When the lights of the University lay ahead of them, Sport said: "I got my grades after I left you this afternoon, Rudy. No, I didn't roll out--but I came mighty close to it." He hesitated, as if loath to be seen in any but his usual, care-free frame of mind. "It's sort of brought me up short, seeing you flunk. It doesn't seem fair--you being expelled just because you wanted to do something that was beyond you--and me staying in when I've given hardly a thought to anything but whoopee-making."

Rudy slumped down on the base of his spine, his eyes looking straight down the road. "Maybe it's brought me up short, too, Sport. It's made me see that a chap who wants to succeed has got to work hard--harder than he ever thought of doing. Oh, I put in a lot of time on Ted Grant's course. But I haven't put in enough, that's obvious. I don't know of anything I want in this world quite so much as to be a top-notch musician--and I'm going to be one!"

"That's the boy!" Sport exclaimed enthusiastically. "You keep up that spirit, and I don't see how I can keep you off my band at home this summer."

"Do you mean that, Sport? That you'll give me a chance?"

"Give you a chance? I'll say I will!" They were trundling rapidly down the sacred precincts of Fraternity Row, past house after house of the great national organizations. Some showed splotches of light, betokening the studious; others were spectacular with the lights of late dances.

By University ruling, The Magic Lantern was forced to close at an earlier hour than that designated by the authorities as stopping time for the school affairs. On this last night of the college year, even this ban had been removed. Now, at close to one o'clock, several dances still were in progress.

"Want to crash one?" Sport asked carelessly.

Rudy shook his head. His characteristic shyness alarmed him at the idea which came to Sport with such little difficulty. "I guess I better be making for the hay," he said. "You go ahead, Sport, if you want to. I don't mind walking the rest of the way over to my dorm."

"Say, what do you take me for? Us separate on your last night in school? I should say not! I tell you, though," he went on; "so long as we're not dressed for any hop, let's go on over to my house and see if any of the dear brothers are still about looking for fun."

Rudy smiled. It was distressingly apparent that trying to curb Sport's eager spirit was like trying to put a check on a gushing, hilariously youthful waterfall. For an instant he was prompted to insist on going home to bed. But then he remembered that this was his last night as a member of the State University. With this single remaining bit of evening all that was left to him of the happy time toward which he had looked for so long, the idea of bed suddenly seemed obnoxious.

"A grand idea," he said. "I guess we've got it coming to us."

"That's talking!" Sport stepped on the accelerator, and soon they were drawing up in front of a large Colonial mansion set among a gracious grove of trees. "Here we are! Out you go!"

A wry smile twisted Rudy's lips as he followed Sport up the walk to the fraternity house. It struck him as rather cruelly funny that on his last night at the University he should be visiting one of its envied organizations for the first time.

In the living room they found two young men sitting on a long divan. As Sport and Rudy entered they glanced about. Then one of them once more lowered his face into his hands. The newcomers noted that it was reddened and pulpy with weeping. The second boy patted one of his rumpled shoulders. "'S all right, Mort. 'S all right. It's got to happen sometime--to everyone. Come on, kid, buck up!"

"What's the matter, Morton?" Sport asked. "You fellas know Rudy Bronson? Bill Morton, Fenwick Forbes," he introduced them. "My pal, Rudy Bronson."

Morton's handkerchief went to his nose. He bobbed his head at Rudy. "Sorry to be like this," he said with an effort at self-control. "But I flunked out today----

"Whoops," said Sport, "that puts you and Rudy here in the same boat."

The other youth on the divan fished a crumpled packet of cigarettes from his coat. "I was just telling him he ought to be yelping with joy," he commented. "No more books, nor teachers' dirty looks. Hot dog!"

"Aw," Morton again used his handkerchief, "that's just the trouble with you, Fen. Nothing means anything to you. You just live in a world of your own, and that satisfies you. But I'm different. If I like something I stay liking it. And I've got _attached_," a sob broke from him to mingle wretchedly with the ascending cigarette smoke, "I've got _attached_ to the fellas and the University and everything. And I don't want to leave them. Any more than I'll bet Bronson there does!"

Sobs shuddered anew from the pillow in which he buried his face. Terrible sounds--a boy-man in pain.

"I know how he feels," Rudy said quietly.

Forbes and Sport did their best to console the unhappy Morton, but their efforts were of little avail. He rapidly was working himself into something close to hysteria. Suddenly Sport got to his feet and ran up the stairs to the floor above. In a few minutes he returned, a bottle in his hand.

"Up and at 'em, Mort, my son. Here is relief in a concentrated form." He held the cool glass against Morton's flushed face. "Imprisoned laughter of the maidens of Louisville. Now who's got a corkscrew?"

Morton grasped at the bottle. "How----?"

"Emery's trunk. Can you imagine it, he left his keys on his dresser--and after telephoning to his bootlegger in that bull-fiddle voice of his. He'll howl his head off----"

"Let him howl," Forbes said briefly. "I spent twenty bucks pledging that bimbo. Got a corkscrew, Mort?"

"No. Knock it out with the flat of your hand on the bottom of the bottle."

"Nothing stirring," said Sport. "The last time I did that the bottle broke and I nearly cut off my hand. Look at the scar."

"Tough--but come on. Bite the top off if you can't do anything else. If Emery comes in----"

"Let him come!"

Suddenly the cork yielded to the prying of Sport's penknife. Forbes ran out into the kitchen, to return with a quartet of glasses. "Why'nt you bring some clean ones?" Sport demanded. "What'll Rudy think of us?"

"Aw, you don't care about a little thing like that, do you, Rudy? Don't be an old woman, Sport."

"Say, talk nice to me or I won't play in your backyard!"

"No offence, Mr. O'Malley."

"'Pology accepted, Mr. Forbes."

"Come on, you guys," said Morton thirstily. It was apparent that the clever Sport successfully had diverted the boy's mind from himself and his troubles. Looking at Rudy, Sport wondered if he had been as successful there. But, Rudy, standing quietly with his glass in his hand and a slight smile on his handsome face, was as inscrutable and difficult for him to judge as ever. An odd one, this Rudy Bronson. But what a boy!

"Well, here's how!" Sport cried.

"Mud in your eye."

They took down their drinks, and exchanged water-dimmed glances, their mouths wryly puckered.

"Yow! Gimme a chaser of nitric acid!"

"You know," said Forbes bitterly. "I always was sorry I spent that twenty bucks on that egg Emery. Now I'm certain I am. Imagine buying such stuff."

Dubiously Sport inspected the label. "I wonder if he had another bottle of this. I haven't seen him around to-day, have you?"

"No, and I don't want to!"

"Oh, well----"

"All right, but let's get it down fast."

Rudy refused the second drink. "I haven't got this one finished yet," he protested.

"I don't blame you for hedging," Sport told him. "This stuff feels like a wildcat clawing down your throat. The only thing to do, though, is to get them down fast."

"To the sheepskin, Mr. Bronson," said Morton cheerfully. "To the sacred skin of the sheep for which we fought and bled and died countless deaths--only to get gypped and lose them."

"To the skins of our particular sheep, Mr. Morton," Rudy answered his toast.

"I stand corrected. Corrected as I can be. You know, fellas," he said. "This is just what I needed. My mind is beginning to expand. I quicken to life. I breathe. I expand."

They applauded him vigorously. He looked at them in surprise. "Do I sound silly? Am I getting tight?"

"Go right ahead," Rudy told him. "It's just what you needed."

"This is a swell kid, Sport," said Morton. "Where'd you get him? He's a philosopher. I like philosophers. The blinders are beginning to drop from my eyes. I see that before us lies--not the end--but the beginning. Do you see that, too, Rudy?"

"Yes," Rudy answered, "I see that, too. If you want a thing badly enough, there never is any end. You just keep going on, seeking, until you get it. And then you go on some more."

Suddenly Morton collapsed. "That's what I think, all right," he muttered. "Good egg, Rudy----"

Sport and Forbes lifted him, half carrying him, toward the stairs. "Poor kid's had a tough day, Rudy. We better take him up to bed."

"Fair enough," Rudy said. "I've got to get my things together if I'm leaving in the morning. You coming with me, Sport?"

"I'll say I am. I'll be ready when you come around. 'Night."

"'Night, Sport," Rudy said. "'Night, Forbes."

He went down the steps and out the walk. When he reached the sidewalk it behaved strangely. Objects passed in a blur. The little he had had to drink, coupled with his fatigue and excitement from the fight, had been enough to affect him.

Down the street he passed. He heard sounds of life going on about him, but was unable to attribute them to any definite source. It was all rather peculiar, and he paused to rid himself of the odd sensation.

Painfully his mental processes retraced their giddy path. The fraternity house, with its warm spirit of comradeship, the fight, The Magic Lantern, seeing Jean Whitehall----

Jean Whitehall. At thought of that magic name a sudden consciousness was borne to Rudy of the major reason why he had attempted to prevent any injury to the love of Molly and Sport. It was because he mentally had replaced Molly with Jean, and Sport with himself; and the idea of any danger coming to an event for which he wished so devoutly had been nothing short of insupportable.

A delicate tendril of music came to him, and looking about he saw that he was standing near the corner which held the local chapter house of one of the oldest and finest of national sororities. Jean's house!

Inside a dance was in progress. Across the lighted windows figures drifted as if under the influence of some deeply potent spell. He saw Jean pass by in the arms of the captain of the varsity. And as she did so, he caught a familiar melody from the orchestra.

Tempted by the curious aptness of the lyric, he waited until he thought Jean must be near the window again. Then, in a voice of gentle and persuasive loveliness, he began to sing:

"I love you, believe me, I love you, This theme is the dream of my heart. I need you, believe me, I need you, I'll be blue when we two are apart-- You'll be my one inspiration, You've changed my whole life from the start. I love you, believe me, I love you,-- This theme is the dream of my heart!"

Then, not pausing to discover if he had been heard, Rudy broke into a run in the direction of his dormitory. His heart was high with a fierce and almost overwhelming delight. He had sung a love song to Jean--even though she had not heard!

But she had heard. Yet when she reached the window, there was no one in the street below.

"Just some punk freshman," the football captain told her.

Jean shook her head slowly. "Don't say that, Larry. I thought it was beautiful."