Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1889-09-23
DEAN NATIONS RESOLVE:
THE STORY OF A COLLEGE LIVING.

! ly shut out war whoop that rang up the
| staircase to summon Turner to one OF his
indignant undergraduate masters.
The Dean picked up his book, made his
tea, and resumed his reverie; but Turner's
entrance had given his thoughts new d.
reetion. His memory cast back to his boy
hood, to his hopes and ambitions as grow
| ing lad, to the work he had set himself to
! accomplish and to the life, devoid Of pleas
ure and almost of recreation, that he had
led till within the last few years, when his
mode of living had become sterotyped, and
| his nervousness in society confirmed. He
saw himself once more a little boy in the
house of his father, who had been a small
tradesman in the town; and it was almost
with shock that he remembered how IN
those far-awav days he had actually
looked up to his shiitless gyp Turner,
and had listened with awe ana reverence
to the stories Of dons and undergrads that
| his playfellow used to retail. Five-and-
twenty years ago Turner's father had lived
! next door to the Nations, and the Turner's
| held their heads high, for Turner was gyp,
and his wife bedmaker at St. Martins; and
they considered themselves as belonging to
| the university; whereas old Nation and his
| wife only belonged to the town. He re-
| membered how he had envied young Turner
! his intimacy with the ways and traditions
| of college and university life, and with
what absorbing eagerness he had swallowed
| all the accounts of the respect with which
the Master and Fellows of St. Martins
asked for and followed the advice of their
gvp and bedmaker. and how he had always
| considered old Turner as virtual ruler
of ST. Martins; and as person
age to whom even the the great
vice chancellor himself owed no small por-
ton of his glory In his mind he ran over
his entrance with Turner at the grammar
school, how he had worked and slaved even
as a lower schoOlboy, with the hope of
being able to win a scholarship, and see
that glorious university life at first hand
and with his own eyes; and how the idleness
and mischievous tricks of young Turner had
been the despair of the masters and the ad-
miration of his schoolfellows.
The intimacy between the two had natur-
ally lessened when Turner was taken from
school and sent for two years as boots
to London hotel, before joining his
father as sort Of assistant gyp
at st. Martins. In London, Turner had
further studied the art of giving the maxi
mum of Importance to minimum of work;
while Nation had been rising steadily to
the head of the school, and had succeeded
in persuading his father that he was not q
useless dreamer after all. The Dean smiled
little sadly when he recalled the over
whelming rapture with which his election
to a school exhibition had filled him, and
his hopes and fears as he entered for scholar
ships at several colleges, finally becoming
senior classical scholar of his year at st.
Martins. Old Turner had been the
first to bring him the news
of his election, and the Dean well
remembered the haIfpatronizing, half
deferential manner with which the old
man had congratulated him. He could
have wished that his success had been
gained at some other college, for the Tur-
ners were inclined to presume on old ac-
quaintance and to be unpleasantly familiar
with the new scholar; but as they all be-
came more used to their respective positions
this feeling of awkwardness wore away, and
there remained only so much friendship
between them as could be expected to exist
between a university man and gyp.
Then another figure crossed the field of
the Deans recollections, the figure of the
girl who had prompted the idea of mar
riage in country rectory. Mary Andrews
had been the only girl the Dean had ever
so much as thought of admiring; she had
been the Chloe and the Della of his school
and college compositions, and on her shrine
he had secretly heaped all the worn and
exaggerated compliments that are the stock
in trade Of lyric and elegiac verse. He
had been very fond of her. or rather of the
ideal he had created from her, in his quiet
subdued way. but he could not help con-
Tossing to himself that Turner, with his i'm.
pudent assurance and fund of anecdote, had
been more in her good graces than
ever he had been. 1t was with a sort of
guilty feeling that he remembered that he
had not even seen his Chloe for 10 or 12
years, and that by now the little short
frocked maiden, with the laughing blue
eyes and tangled golden hair, must be a
full-grown woman of 25 or 26, if she were not
long since married.
The Dean excused his remissness to him
self by the reflection that he had ALWAYS
been too busy to think OF love-making. He
remembered how hard be had worked as an
undergraduate in order to become Seventh
Classic, and to get place low down among
the Senior Optimes; and since then how his
duties as Fellow, Classical Lecturer and
Dean had taken up all histime and thought.
Anyhow, if she were still unmarried.
26 was very good age for a clergyman's
wife, especially Tor one who would have
to support the responsibilities which a coun
try rectory entails. The Deans mind was
easier; he would accept the living of Will
bury if it were offered to him, and with that
as a wedding gift, would go in search of a
wife. Thereupon, he reused himself. made
his tea, resumed his studies, and finally
went to bed determined to sleep upon the
matter
When the Dean awoke next morning his
resolution was mistaken. The project
seemed as excellent by daylight as by
candlelight. He shaved himself, and con-
Quoted morning service in the college
chapel to a strange undercurrent of thought
that perhaps he had only a few more
weeks in the dear old place. The idea filled
him with subdued sadness; but when he
returned to his rooms he noticed for the first
time how dull a solitary breakfast is. He
was not in love with Mary Andrews. he
knew; he had not seen her since she was
grown up; but he thought of the pretty
little girl who had been the object of his
silent boyish admiration, and determined
that he would be married rector without
delay.
Turner seemed possessed with a spirit of
uneasiness that morning while clearing
away the breakfast; he banged the things
about beyond his wont, and was more than
usually reckless with the massive stoneware
cups with which the Dean had in self-de- |
fense provided himself The Dean mar
veled at this agitation, but held his peace |
Old Turner had now been dead |
some years, and his son had. |
chiefly through the Deans influence,
been given the staircase. on which the |
widow still continued as bedmaker. When |
everything had been hurled into the gyp-
room, Turner approached his master and |
LII