A Master's Degree [57]
living is this brother's son, young Victor Burleigh, junior in Sunrise College. He knows nothing of his Uncle Victor, my brother-in-law--nor of money that he might claim. He belongs to the soil out here. Nobody has any claims on him, nor has he any ambition for a chair in Harvard, nor any promise to marry and provide for a beautiful girl who looks upon him as her future guardian."
Vincent Burgess suddenly ceased speaking and looked at Dennie.
"I cannot break an old man's heart. He implores me not to reveal all this, but I had to tell somebody, and you are the best friend a man could ever have, Dennie Saxon, so I come to you," he added presently.
"When did this Dr. Wream find out about Vic?" Dennie asked.
"A month ago. Some strange-looking tramp of a fellow brought him proofs that are incontestable," Burgess replied.
"And it is for an old man's peace you would keep this secret?" Dennie questioned.
"For him and for Elinor--and for myself. Don't hate me, Dennie. Elinor looks upon me as her future husband. I have promised to provide for her with the comforts denied her by her father, and I have lived in the ambition of holding that Harvard chair--Oh, it is all a hopeless tangle. I could never go to Victor Burleigh now. He would not believe that I had been ignorant of his claim all this time. He was never wrapped up in the pursuit of a career--Oh, Dennie, Dennie, what shall I do?"
He rose to his feet and Dennie stood up before him. He gently rested his hands on her shoulders and looked down at her.
"What shall you do?" Dennie repeated, slowly. "Whisky, Money, Ambition-- the appetite that destroys! Vincent Burgess, if you want to win a Master's Degree, win to the Mastery of Manhood first. The sins of the fathers, yours and mine, we cannot undo. But you can be a man."
She had put her dimpled hands on his arms as they stood there, and the brave courage of her upturned face called back again the rainy May night, and the face of Victor Burleigh beside Bug Buler's cot, and his low voice as he said:
"I cannot play in tomorrow's game and be a man."
CHAPTER XII
THE SILVER PITCHER
_A picket frozen on duty-- A mother starved for her brood-- Socrates drinking the hemlock, And Jesus on the rood. And millions who, humble and nameless, The straight hard pathway trod-- Some call it Consecration, And others call it God_. --WILLIAM HERBERT CARRUTH
"DR. FENNEBEN, I should like much to dismiss my classes for the afternoon," Professor Burgess said to the Dean in his study the next day.
"Very well, Professor, I am afraid you are overworked with all my duties added to yours here. But you don't look it," Fenneben said, smiling.
Burgess was growing almost stalwart in this gracious climate.
"I am very well, Doctor. What a beautiful view this is." He was looking intently now at the Empire that had failed to interest him once.
"Yes; it is my inspiration. `Each man's chimney is his golden milestone,' " Fenneben quoted. "I've watched the smoke from many chimneys up and down the Walnut Valley during my years here, and later I've hunted out the people of each hearthstone and made friends with them. So when I look away from my work here I see friendly tokens of those I know out there." He waved his hand toward the whole valley. "And maybe, when they look up here and see the dome by day, or catch our beacon light by night, they think of `Funnybone,' too. It is well to live close to the folks of your valley always."
"You are a wonderful man, Doctor," Burgess said.
"There are two `milestones' I've never reached," the Doctor went on. "One is that place by the bend in the river. See the pigeons rising above it now. I wonder if that strange white-haired woman ever came back again. Elinor said she left Lagonda Ledge last summer."
"Where's the other place?" Burgess would change the subject.
"It i's a little shaft of blue smoke from a wood fire rising above those rocky places across the river. I've seen it so often, at irregular times, that I've
Vincent Burgess suddenly ceased speaking and looked at Dennie.
"I cannot break an old man's heart. He implores me not to reveal all this, but I had to tell somebody, and you are the best friend a man could ever have, Dennie Saxon, so I come to you," he added presently.
"When did this Dr. Wream find out about Vic?" Dennie asked.
"A month ago. Some strange-looking tramp of a fellow brought him proofs that are incontestable," Burgess replied.
"And it is for an old man's peace you would keep this secret?" Dennie questioned.
"For him and for Elinor--and for myself. Don't hate me, Dennie. Elinor looks upon me as her future husband. I have promised to provide for her with the comforts denied her by her father, and I have lived in the ambition of holding that Harvard chair--Oh, it is all a hopeless tangle. I could never go to Victor Burleigh now. He would not believe that I had been ignorant of his claim all this time. He was never wrapped up in the pursuit of a career--Oh, Dennie, Dennie, what shall I do?"
He rose to his feet and Dennie stood up before him. He gently rested his hands on her shoulders and looked down at her.
"What shall you do?" Dennie repeated, slowly. "Whisky, Money, Ambition-- the appetite that destroys! Vincent Burgess, if you want to win a Master's Degree, win to the Mastery of Manhood first. The sins of the fathers, yours and mine, we cannot undo. But you can be a man."
She had put her dimpled hands on his arms as they stood there, and the brave courage of her upturned face called back again the rainy May night, and the face of Victor Burleigh beside Bug Buler's cot, and his low voice as he said:
"I cannot play in tomorrow's game and be a man."
CHAPTER XII
THE SILVER PITCHER
_A picket frozen on duty-- A mother starved for her brood-- Socrates drinking the hemlock, And Jesus on the rood. And millions who, humble and nameless, The straight hard pathway trod-- Some call it Consecration, And others call it God_. --WILLIAM HERBERT CARRUTH
"DR. FENNEBEN, I should like much to dismiss my classes for the afternoon," Professor Burgess said to the Dean in his study the next day.
"Very well, Professor, I am afraid you are overworked with all my duties added to yours here. But you don't look it," Fenneben said, smiling.
Burgess was growing almost stalwart in this gracious climate.
"I am very well, Doctor. What a beautiful view this is." He was looking intently now at the Empire that had failed to interest him once.
"Yes; it is my inspiration. `Each man's chimney is his golden milestone,' " Fenneben quoted. "I've watched the smoke from many chimneys up and down the Walnut Valley during my years here, and later I've hunted out the people of each hearthstone and made friends with them. So when I look away from my work here I see friendly tokens of those I know out there." He waved his hand toward the whole valley. "And maybe, when they look up here and see the dome by day, or catch our beacon light by night, they think of `Funnybone,' too. It is well to live close to the folks of your valley always."
"You are a wonderful man, Doctor," Burgess said.
"There are two `milestones' I've never reached," the Doctor went on. "One is that place by the bend in the river. See the pigeons rising above it now. I wonder if that strange white-haired woman ever came back again. Elinor said she left Lagonda Ledge last summer."
"Where's the other place?" Burgess would change the subject.
"It i's a little shaft of blue smoke from a wood fire rising above those rocky places across the river. I've seen it so often, at irregular times, that I've