From Range to Rostrum, I

From Range to Rostrum. BY LELLA MARLER HOGGAN. I.—Chafing Under Restraint. "Sizzelin' buffaloes! Walt, I'm afraid I'll have to cash in. I hate to pull out of the game now, too. But I'll never be able to stand forty weeks o' this. Why, I'd be ready for a padded cell by spring." And big Phil Sherwood shrugged his shoulders dubiously and planted his hands deep down in his pockets. Walter Whitney looked up from his books inquiringly. "You don't mean you're going to quit school, do you, Phil?" "Yes," he said doggedly, "guess I'll have to." "What's the matter?" asked Walt. "Nothin'; only it's more'n lean stand for, that's all." "What do you mean? The town or the school or the studies?" Walter's eyes were on his book again to hide an amused smile from his room-mate. Phil's eyes looked out across the arid autumn hills and then into the glowing fire before him. "The hull thing, Walt," he said gloomily. He stretched himself vigorously and began pacing the floor. Phil had several things to say, and he could talk better when he walked. "You know how 'tis with me, Walt. I reckon you understand better'n I do. I've been used to the range all my life, nearly. Mother helped me along a little winters, and I've read a good deal; but I've spent most of my time out doors where 1 was

FROM RANGE TO ROSTRUM. 905 free to think and talk and act as I pleased. Of course, I knew she'd want me to come to school some day, and she always counted on it more or less. But, gad! Walt, if I'd a known what I was a comin' into I'd never 'a' landed, you can bet on that. Gee! I ain't been here two weeks yet, and I feel like I'd served sixty days already." "You're a little discouraged, Phil," said Walter quietly. "You'll feel better in a few weeks, when you get accustomed to it all." "Yes, when I do!" retorted Phil. "How long do you think 'twould take that old spotted steer of dad's to get accustomed to livin' in a parlor on ice cream and cake?" The twinkle in Walter's eyes developed into a broad grin at this. "Pshaw! It's not that bad, Phil. Your mother is a cultured woman, and you have been somewhat of a student ever since I have known you." "Yes; but I've never been trapped in this fashion before. Why, a feller can't even think straight ahead, Walt, without bangin' into some rule or other. You can't drink, you can't smoke, you can't go out nights, and you can't leave town without an order from the big chief. At school you have to keep rather shady, as if there was a cop in every corner. Then, besides my regular work, I'll have to learn to talk a new language. Some o' them guys can't understand you if you don't talk straight out of a grammar." Phil was dreadfully in earnest. It was almost pathetic to see such a great, big, broad-shouldered fellow so completely undone over what seemed mere trifles to Walter Whitney, who was finishing his fourth year in high school. "Something must be done to brighten Phil up," he mused, "or his school career is ended." Walter recognized the fact, but he scarcely knew how to meet the situation. Phil had given up his range life to please his mother, and had entered school at the stake academy, hopeful and fearless, full of the love of liberty and the independence of manhood. But the confining work and the moral discipline of the school irritated him. It repressed his physical activity to such an extent that he felt

906 IMPROVEMENT ERA. like a caged bird, and he chafed under the irritation. This big, whole-souled fellow had been nurtured in an atmosphere of happy freedom, and he could not at once surrender his nativity to the refining influence of civilization, without a struggle. His father, a man of the range, had realized something of the struggle Philip would have to undergo, and that was why he arranged to have him with Walter Whitney. He knew Walter could help Phil over the hard places. "He ain't used to the reins," the old man had told Walter, "don't let 'em hold hiin in too tight at first, Walt. He'll be all right after he gets used to the harness and the pace they're travelin'." Walter knew some of the tender places in Philip's nature, and he began his attack accordingly. "Your mother will be very much disappointed, Phil, if you should give up your work now. For her sake, I would stay with it if I could, if I were you." "I know how she'll feel," said Phil gloomily. "It's been the dream of her life to get me in school. But I don't see how I'm agoin' to stick it out, Walt. Even if I git around them rules I'm afraid I can't deliver the goods when the round-up comes off. Of course, my mother always thought I would make something of myself, and I thought I could do things, too, till I came here. Everything looks different now. I guess I've run loose too many years, Walt; I'm afraid I'll never be anything but a cowpuncher." "I know how you feel, Phil; I've been there," said Walter consolingly. "It isn't each day's work that staggers you, it is the work of four years. You look at the work ahead of ycu, and it is more than you can comprehend, and you become discouraged. You should not do that. Prepare the work of each day, and the future will take care of itself. You will find that each day is a preparation for the day following. And the fourth year's work is as easy as the first year, if you have done your work well as you went along. You will find that all the dreadful apparitions of the future will dissolve themselves into shadows and sunshine, as you approach them. Ar.d for every stumbling-block you come across, you will find that you are supplied with tools to crush it or to remove it from your path."

FROM RANGE TO ROSTRUM. 907 "Maybe that's right, Walt. I guess I had ought to play out the hand, bein' it's my deal," he ejaculated. "But there's one thing I won't stand for, Walt, and that's this holin' up at nights. After I've been caged up all day a lookin' at books and blackboards, and a steppin' around to the motion of a clock and a gong, I've got to get out in the open fer a little while,and have a breath o' fresh air and a change o' scenery." "Where do you want to go in the evenings?" questioned Walter. "That's just it!" he said, desperately. "There's no place a feller can go. They kick if we go into a saloon or a bowlingalley. And there ain't a place of amusement in town, 'ceptin' a movin' picture show, and that gets about as tiresome as them blackboard drills, after you've been there a few nights." "Oh, well," explained Walter, "it will be different after you are acquainted. There are chss parties and socials occasionally, and later we shall have some good lectures and concerts." "Well, Walt, I guess I'll try it a little longer and see what turns up." II.—The Invitation. A few days after this conversation took place, Philip Sherwood was seated in the study room, late in the afternoon, reading and trying to concentrate his thoughts on his lesson in English; but somehow his eyes kept wandering from his book, and his thoughts followed his vision. A member of the graduating class entered the room quietly and walked over to the magazine rack. There was a flutter of confusion in Philip's being as he tried to assume an unconscious air. He attempted to glue his eyes to the page, but time and again he shifted his gaze to the girl across the room. Finally he shrugged his shoulders and shaded his eyes with his hands, as if to shut out the vision. "What a fool I am, anyway," he mused to himself. "She wouldn't even wipe her feet on me; but every time I see her I get all befuddled. I feel just like an escaped jail-bird comin' face to face with a sheriff. Holy smoke! She's headin' straight fer this table. What'll I do?" Lottie Carey, one of the leading students of the school, stepped quietly over to the table where Phil sat. He was the

908 IMPROVEMENT ERA. only student seated at the table, so he knew she desired to speak to him, but he did not look up. "Mr. Sherwood," she whispered, "you will pardon me for introducing myself. I am Miss Carey, and our class is giving a little social at my home next Friday evening, and we would like you to come. We are inviting several of the students because we want to get acquainted with them. Mr. Whitney knows where we live, and he will be coming to the party." And then she smiled sweetly, handed him a little scented envelope and passed out of the room. Philip sat stunned, gazing after her. Then, collecting himself, he slipped the note into his pocket and again bent over his book, apparently deep in study. But he did not see the words on the printed page—all he could see was a pretty little woman standing before him smiling at him. He made several fruitless attempts to finish his lesson, then frowning savagely he muttered, "Buncoed!" and gathering up his books he started for his room. The next few days that followed were glad days for Philip Sherwood. He had been lifted into a new atmosphere, and his hopes and ambitions ran riot. In his inside coat pocket he carried the little scented invitation, which he read whenever opportunity presented itself. And he thought of Lottie so often during the day, that he dreamed of her by night. He could scarcely wait for Friday night to arrive. When Walter asked him about the party, however, he pretended to have but little interest in the affair, and when Walt twitted him about the pretty little Miss Carey taking a special interest in him, he replied dryly, "I reckon she's a pretty fancy brand of goods, all right, Walt, but she's on a different shelf from me, and cheap salt bacon ain't got no business worryin' 'bout gilt-edged herrin'." III.—Why Phil Missed the Party. The athletic association had been organized, and Friday afternoon the students were to meet on the campus for the first school sports of the year. Phil was in high spirits, for his father had arrived and would attend the sports with him. "It sure seems good to see you again, father," Phil said for the third time, as they neared the campus.

FROM RANGE TO ROSTRUM. 909 "You wasn't homesick, was you, Phil?" asked Mr. Sherwood. "Homesick!" and Phil heaved a deep sigh. "Ask Walt. I reckon the brindle heifer'd 'a' been a good sight to my eyes last week, all right." His father chuckled a little, and Phil proceeded to explain the game of basket ball that had started just as they reached the grounds. That was a game that the old man long remembered. More than once during the play he became so excited that he swung his hat above his head and cheered lustily. On their way home he was jubilant. "Why, Phil,"he said, "It was better'n a round up. Some of them fellers couldn't rope a steer if it was made o' wood and posed for 'em. I thought I'd bust when that lanky, big-headed feller made a dive at that fish-net. Law! that ball flew clear over the top o' that pole right into that fat man's hands, and he tossed it over into the fish-net, just as if it was a rotten tater he'd flipped out of his way." Phil laughed heartily, but shortly afterward he became serious, and was somewhat quiet the rest of the evening. Some of the high school girls had passed out of the front gates just behind Phil and his father. One of them had remarked in a sneering tone, "I suppose the old fellow will be there, too." "I don't know," Lottie Carey had replied. "If he is, he will furnish fun for the crowd, I suppose." And Phil had heard the remarks. "Aren't you going to the party?" asked Walter, in surprise, coming in later in the evening and finding Phil and his father playing a game of checkers. "I'm late," continued Walter, "and I feared you would be gone." "I'm not goin'," said Phil decidedly. Walter urged him to go, and invited his father to accompany them. For it was Walt who had persuaded the girls to include Phil in their invitations, and he felt responsible for that young man's appearance at the social. But all his persuasions were in vain. "No," said Phil, "father and me's goin' down to the picture show; he'll enjoy it more'n he will the party."

910 IMPRO VEMEN T ERA. "Why didn't you go to the party last night, Phil?" asked Walter the next morning. "I didn't want to bunch with 'em, that's all. They don't need to think they kin 'can' dad and keep me on their list." Then he told Walter of the incident of the day before. "Henry Owens was there looking after your pretty little Miss Carey," said Walter jokingly. "Don't tell me anything about that cad, Walt. I ain't got any more use fer him than I have fer so much spoilt meat!'' ejaculated Phil peevishly. "I did not know you were acquainted with him," said Walter. "Well, I am, and again I ain't. I ain't never stood face to face with him, and bowed and shook hands and said I was pleased to meet him—which God knows would be a lie—but I reckon I know him better'n you do. He was up on Horse Creek range last summer, and camped near us for about two months. The cowpunchers all knew him, and they ain't none of 'em a pinin' fer a lock of his hair or one of his pictures fer their lockets." "Well," said Walter, "I'm sorry to hear that. We all thought Owens was a pretty nice chap." "He's slick enough on the outside, all right," consented Phil. "But his actions don't match very good with his clothes." IV.—Phil's First Triumph. Shortly after the organization of the athletic club, Phil came home one night in a rage. "Well, Walt, what do you think they're tryin' to do now?" "I'm sure I couldn't say, Phil. What is it?" "Blab us, by jingo! like so many suckin' calves, and put us out on the front porch in a high chair, so they can put a catalogue on the table, telling folks where to find us if any one happens to come in lookin' fer us." "Now., now, Phil!" chided Walter. "I'm afraid you do not understand that petition. I'm sure the girls meant well when they brought it to the Principal for his approval. And he consented to its circulation." The petition consisted of several rules which the students desired to inaugurate in the school discipline by the consent of the

FROM RANGE TO ROSTRUM. 911 school. It had been written and was being championed by the high school girls of the graduating class. Two of the rules to which Phil made such strenuous objections were, first, that any student caught using profanity or vulgar slang in or about the building should be fined according to the offense, and that all fines should be turned into the library fund. Second, that each student's time during the day should be catalogued on a separate card, and that these cards should be alphabetically arranged on a little table in the hall, so that any person desiring to find a student during the day, by referring to the card, could tell where he was and what he was doing during any given hour. "Well," retorted Phil, '"whether the Principal liked it or not, I don't care. I don't like the proposition, and I'm goin' to fight it. Might just as well be a Jack-in-the-box, and bob out every time any one pushes the button, as to fasten yourself to a scrap o' pasteboard, and g») through the same antics at the same time every day, so as to match the card. As for the slang—law! I ain't got words enough left now to explain a little problem in arithmetic. If they cut out many more I'll be on the dumb list.'' Phil stayed by his convictions, and fought the measure with all the tenacity of a bull pup. He did not make any display, but went about quietly among the younger students airing his opinions. His big, honest face and his original phraseology had already won for him many friends, who gladly took up his arguments and carried them on to others. The result was that the petition did not receive a sufficient number of signers to be brought before the faculty. It was a dead measure, and the high school girls were not long in finding out who had dealt the death blow. Some of them said some pretty hard things about Phil, which he didn't happen to hear. He was gloating himself in the sunshine of his success. For the first time in his school career he realized that he could make himself a power for good or evil in the school. He knew that his weight had been felt. The pretty little woman would now have to recognize him as a full-fledged student. He could have hugged himself for very joy. He had never before felt so encouraged in his work. He had made his first campaign and had won out. He could conquer anything now. It was noon time, and he in company with several other stu-