# A Princetonian/Chapter 12

CHAPTER XII.
A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION.
At first Hart refused the invitation, but Bliss was so bent on having him come that in the end he accepted. Elliott and Franklin both urged his going when he spoke to them about it.
So after the last recitation on Saturday morning, Bliss and Pop Hart hurried to the station. As they passed by East College there were two big figures standing at the corner, and one of them, a heavy mustached man with the stamp of Great Britain upon him, turned and spoke as if he felt it incumbent upon himself to say something.
"Now don't heat any sweets and be back in time for an 'ard practice on Monday."
Hart grinned.
"All right, Mr. Robinson," he said, and Bliss put in:
​"I'll take good care of him, Jim, and send him to bed early."
The trainer turned and spoke to the burly figure at his side.
"He's goin' to make a good 'un some day, when I get through with him."
Matthew Goldie, the proctor, shrugged his heavy shoulders.
"I thought he was a pretty good 'un when he got hold of me," he grunted.
The story of the struggle in L. Putney Betts's room was abroad, even if it had not been discussed at a faculty meeting—officially.
Ned Bliss lived in Orange, his father being a well-to-do business man who had travelled untold thousands of miles in the aggregate between New York and the New Jersey suburb and had never missed a train.
"It's Saturday and we may meet the governor at the station," said Ned, as he and Hart settled themselves in their seat, "and that means that there'll be a family driving party.—Care much for driving?"
"I've never done much of it for pleasure," Hart responded, "but I like a good horse.—Does your father raise them?"
​"Not exactly," Bliss answered; "he just keeps them,—keeps them longer than anybody else would, most likely."
To show that the junior and the president of the freshman class were on very good terms, it is only necessary to state that most of the trip between the junction and Newark was made in silence, Bliss reading a novel, and Hart occupied by looking over his notes on English and gazing thoughtfully out of the window.
When they arrived at their destination, which was one of the many Orange stations—which one it doesn't much matter,—Hart found himself wishing that he had not come; not that he was shy, but knowing that Miss Bliss was a friend of Miss Hollingsworth, he positively began to fear that he might have to meet the latter, and this made him nervous. At last he plucked up courage enough to ask a question:
"Will Miss Hollingsworth be at your house?" he inquired.
"Don't know,—maybe," Bliss returned carelessly. "She and my sister are very thick. I think Miss H. is a corker,—don't you?"
As this adjective did not exactly describe the young lady to Hart's mind, he did not ​answer, and soon the train pulled up at the platform. A short, thick-set man, with iron-gray whiskers, and bright sparkling eyes behind gold-rimmed eye-glasses, greeted the young men as they stepped from the train.
"Ah, Neddy, my boy; glad to see you. And, Mr. Hart, how d' ye do? Heard my daughter speak of you. We've got the horses here,—what do you say for a drive? Mary is over there waiting."
He nodded his head in the direction of the street, where an un-English-looking coachman in a derby hat was driving a pair of healthy, long-tailed horses leisurely up and down. In the back seat sat Miss Bliss. She waved her hand, and the carriage was drawn up close to the snorting engine that the horses regarded in a very friendly fashion. The coachman, who answered familiarly to the name of "Tom," was left in charge of the luggage.
Ned took the front seat beside his father, and Hart sat down beside Miss Bliss. Her very first words caused him a mingled feeling of relief and disappointment.
"I had hoped that Madge Hollingsworth was going to be with us," she said, extending a ​little gloved hand, "but at the last moment she said she couldn't come. But she's here in town with the Blakes however. Aren't you disappointed?"
Hart mumbled something.
"Oh, anybody would be," replied Miss Bliss, as if she caught his meaning. "She's just immense, isn't she?"
"She's a very nice young lady," returned Mr. Hart, "and very pretty."
Then Miss Bliss began to cross-question him anent the football team.
They took quite a long drive and Mr. Bliss's chief pleasure seemed to be in turning around and saying over his shoulder:
"That's where Mr. So-and-so lives. This is the residence of Mr. Somebody-else,"—to all of which Hart responded, although why it should be of great interest to the old gentleman, he could not see.
When they returned to the Blisses' house, which was a very neat wooden dwelling, with a slate mansard roof, Hart was shown to a little back room all blue chintz and white furniture. The surroundings were very odd, but it gave him an indescribable pleasure. To his surprise ​he found his bag at least Congreve's bag, he had borrowed it for the occasion—had been unpacked, and Franklin's dress-suit was laid out on the bed.
Before he began to dress Hart looked out of the window. Tom, the coachman, was rubbing down one of the contented-looking horses in front of a diminutive stable at the end of the neat driveway.
Hart sat for some time watching him. He was not filled with envy at all this luxury, yet he thought how fine a thing it must be to be rich—for he imagined that Mr. Bliss must be a nabob and nothing else, to possess all these comforts. How different it was from Oakland. What a strange break had been made in his life!—and yet suddenly he checked himself. Was not this sort of thing going to make him discontented and unhappy? Could he ever go back to the smell of ham and nails, or to sitting again in his shirt sleeves in the front room over the store, where he could imagine Mabel pouring over the pages of The Lady's Journal, her hair neatly frizzed, and, alas and alas! her pretty jaws working contentedly and thoughtfully on a bit of fragrant chewing gum?
​Somehow this picture gave him a shock. Would it not have been better if he had never come, or would it not be best for him to return before further discouragements and the attendant heartaches would grow upon him?
All these complex feelings Hart charged up to his own account—as if they arose entirely through some fault of his own, and as if they should not be harbored or dwelt upon.
With a sigh he arose at last and dressed himself and went down stairs. No one else had appeared and he entered the drawing-room alone. But no sooner had he sat down in a chair to wait than he jumped to his feet—there was a picture of Madge Hollingsworth smiling at him from a silver frame on the mantelpiece. He picked it up and looked at it. A half-frightened sensation went over him. For an instant he wished that he were going to see her, and then a moment later he felt relieved because he was not. Hearing some one come down the stairs, he seated himself in a chair again, as Mrs. Bliss entered. The little lady was very curious concerning her guest, and this was the first opportunity that she had had for asking questions.
​"Do you intend to go out West again, Mr. Hart?" she began,—"after your graduation, I mean, of course."
"I've been thinking that I would never be graduated at all," was the return.
"Goodness me!" exclaimed Mrs. Bliss, raising her eyebrows, "why this determination?"
Hart paused before replying.
"I 've been going over it all," he said at last, "and I think I may be happier if I go back right away."
"You must have some strong reason," Mrs. Bliss suggested, becoming intensely interested.
"Yes, perhaps I have. I don't mean 'perhaps'—I have a strong reason."
For an instant Hart was tempted to unbosom himself, and tell all about Mabel, but he was deterred from this by the entrance of the rest of the family, and they went in to dinner.
The glimpse of the delightful home surroundings and the affection that the Bliss family had for one another was comforting to Hart, and the way they received him into their circle put him at his ease. The conversation at dessert took a turn, however, that threw him into a peculiar mood. They were talking of some ​member of the junior class, who was known to all of them, and Mrs. Bliss made this observation,—"I don't think it pays," she said, "for an engaged man to come to college."
"Why?" asked Miss Bliss, eagerly, for speeches of this kind interest young girls especially.
"Mother is right," put in Ned, from the bottom of the table. "An engagement is a sort of a millstone,—a dead-weight for a man to carry for four years."
"Oh, how wise we are becoming!" smiled his sister.
"Well, take Clarkson, for example," Ned went on, "He'll never be happy with his wife, that is, if he ever marries her. I met her once, a silly toy of a girl, and upon my word I could not help feeling as if Clarky had outgrown her, so to speak."
"A man never knows his own mind until he's thirty," remarked Mr. Bliss, thoughtfully.
"But don't you think it is rather hard on the girl?" said Miss Bliss. Then she turned to Hart,—"Don't you agree with me?" she asked.
"It is hard on the girl."
Hart winced.
​"I should think it would be," he replied. And then he fell to thinking.
Would his engagement to Mabel, that he felt in honor bound to fulfil, ever become a millstone, a dead-weight, for him to carry! The thought of it made him shudder, and then and there he came to a decision, and the right way out of it all, and the only way, he saw plainly. He should leave college and go back to Oakland, marry, and take up his life as it had begun. He was very silent all the rest of the evening.
Ned and his sister sang duets, while he listened, and Mr. and Mrs. Bliss played dummy whist in the corner, until good-night time came.
During the morning hours Hart tossed uneasily, but his frame of mind did not alter. The next morning, at breakfast, his appearance caused Mrs. Bliss some uneasiness.
"I'm afraid you've been training too hard, Mr. Hart," she observed. "All that doesn't pay."
Ned tried to nudge his mother, but Hart replied:
"Perhaps I have, ma'am. Mr. Robinson said that I had grown a trifle stale."
​At this Mrs. Bliss recommended a tonic, which had done her worlds of good when she "felt that way" herself, whereat everyone laughed.
As it was Sunday they went to church. No sooner had they entered the pew, than Miss Bliss leaned over and spoke to her brother.
"Why, there 's Madge," she said.
Hart started. Three seats in front of him he recognized Miss Hollingsworth. He could see nothing but the back of her head, and occasionally the side of her face, as she turned a little, but he could not keep his eyes off her. Oh, the wild thoughts and fancies that filled his mind! He almost wished something would happen,—the roof fall in, a fire break out, in order that he might do something for her, save her if possible from some danger! From all this, it is easy to perceive that Hart was given to imagining at times.
As they went out of church, he did not have a chance to speak to the tall beauty, although he received a kindly nod and smile of recognition. But as soon as he reached the house he inquired if there was not an afternoon train by which he could return to Princeton, and pleaded some excuse to account for his hurry.
​Bliss, seeing he was so earnest, got out a time-table and agreed to go back with him.
After the good-byes, when they were once on the train, Hart turned and laid a hand on his friend's knee.
"See here," he observed earnestly, "I've been going over everything, and have concluded to go back West [he did not say 'home'] next week."
To his surprise, Bliss's answer was a burst of angry remonstrance.
"You can't do it," he said, "and leave us in the lurch that way! There's no one to play right guard, you know it well! and the college wouldn't stand it. If you're going to be an idiot, and prove yourself a non-compos by destroying your life, wait until after the Yale game anyhow."
He opened his novel, then flung it at the back of the seat in front of him and glared at his companion in silence. Hart gazed out of the window.
"All right," he said; "I'll stay until after the Yale game."
This was somewhat appeasing, and Bliss's frown relaxed.
​"You're nutty on something. What's eating you anyhow?" he asked inelegantly.
"Oh, nothing," replied Hart, who felt his anger rising. "I've just been thinking things over, I tell you."
Bliss picked up his book again and made himself comfortable.
"Too bad about Clarkson!" he said with a sigh. "Oh, I forgot that you didn't know him."
"I don't see that it's any one else's business," muttered Hart.
The young men did not indulge in much conversation during the rest of the trip. A constrained feeling had grown up between them. They parted at the steps leading up to campus, but before they had done so, they shook hands and Hart thanked Bliss for the pleasure he had had, at which Ned poked him on the shoulder, and said laughingly:
"Oh, pshaw, you must come again, good-bye, old boy!"
But on the way up to his room Ned ran across Buck Franklin.
"I know what's the matter with Pop Hart," he said, speaking confidentially. "He's not stale at all; he's just got a girl on his mind."
​"Oh, ho!" returned Franklin. "That's the row, is it? Now it's as clear as mud."
In the Monday practice game, Hart did wonderful things. The two scrubbies that were placed opposite to him found him all shoulder and elbow and he stopped four of the full-back's kicks and made three touch-downs. His class had learned to cheer by this time and they kept up a prideful howling in which even the sophomores joined. Trainer Jim Robinson observed:
"I knew wot was the matter with 'm. 'E just needed a Sunday off;—"which shows all Mr. Robinson knew about the matter.