Read Ebook: Harper's Round Table August 20 1895 by Various

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PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, AUGUST 20, 1895. FIVE CENTS A COPY.

BRADDY'S BROTHER.

BY JULIANA CONOVER.

t was the ending of the ninth inning; the score stood 8 to 7 in Princeton's favor, but Harvard had only one man out, and the bases were full.

Was it any wonder that the Freshmen couldn't keep their seats, and that the very air seemed to hold its breath while Bradfield, '98, twisted the ball?

In the centre of the grand stand, where the orange and black was thickest, but the enthusiasm more controlled, stood a boy, his whole body quivering with nervous excitement, his eyes glued--as were all others--to the pitcher's box.

"Come in, now! look out! lead off!" the Harvard coach was saying, as the umpire's "one strike, two balls, two strikes, three balls," raised and dashed again the hopes of Princeton. Then came a moment of horrible nerve-destroying suspense, and then the umpire's calm and judicial--"striker out."

Above the cheers, which literally tore the air, the shrill discordant note of the boy's voice could be heard, yelling like mad for Princeton and '98.

"Who is that little fellow?" said a girl, just behind him to her companion. The boy turned like a flash.

The girl smiled, and an upper classman, who was next to him, patted him on the back.

"It's a proud day for Braddy's brother," he said, "and for '98 and Princeton, that is, if Harvard doesn't--" For a moment it looked as if Harvard would, for the regular thud of the ball against the catcher's glove was interrupted by the ominous crack of the bat, and the men on bases ran for their lives on the bare chance of a hit, or possibly an error.

But '98 was not going to let a hard-earned victory slip between her fingers like that; the short-stop fielded the swift grounder beautifully, and the runner was out at first.

There was a short cheer, then a long wordless, formless burst of triumph swelling out from a hundred throats. The crowd swarmed on the diamond, the Freshman nine was picked up and carried off the field, "Braddy" riding on the crest of a dangerous-looking wave which was formed by a seething, howling mob.

"Well," said the Senior, turning to his small neighbor, "how does 'Braddy's brother' feel now?"

But "Braddy's brother's" feelings were too deep for utterance; besides, he was trying to remember just how many times the Princeton Freshmen had won from Harvard in the last six years.

"Hullo, Dave! Dave Hunter!" called Bradfield, as a small boy passed near the group on the front campus. "Don't you want to take my brother off for a little while, and show him the town?"

Dave came up blushing with pleasure at having the man who had just pitched a winning game single him out.

"This is Dave Hunter, a special friend of mine, Bing," Braddy continued, turning to the little chap who was lying stretched out on the grass beside him, and who felt by this time as if he owned the whole campus and all the college buildings, for hadn't he been in the athletic club-house, the cage, and the 'gym.'? and wasn't he actually going to eat at a Freshman club, and sleep up in a college room? It was the greatest day of his life, his first taste of independence; and the glory of being "Braddy's brother" seemed to him beyond compare.

"Don't keep him too long, Dave," said Bradfield, as the two boys started off; "we'll have to get through dinner early if we want to hear the Seniors sing."

Young Bingham Bradfield nodded and blushed and smiled all the way down to the gate, as men in the different groups which they passed called out:

"They're going to have a fire to-night," Dave said, as they walked up Nassau Street. "I heard some of the Freshmen say that they would begin and collect the wood as soon as it was dark."

"Where do they get it?" asked Bingham.

"Oh, just take it," Dave answered, carelessly. "They take fences and gates, and boards and barrels, and, oh, anything they can find. That would be a dandy one," pointing to a half-broken-down rail fence which divided an orchard from a newly opened road.

"It wouldn't let any cows or horses out, you see. They stole our barn gate once, and the horses got loose on the front lawn and tore up all the grass. We didn't mind, though," with true college spirit, "for we'd beaten Yale."

"Yale Freshmen?" eagerly.

"No," with great scorn: "the 'Varsity. Nobody's much stuck on Freshmen in Princeton," he continued, "except, of course, your brother. He's great; he'll make the 'Varsity next year, sure."

They grew very chummy, the two boys, and Braddy's brother had learned a great deal about college life by the time he was brought back to the campus.

It was in the middle of Senior singing, when the shadows from the tall old elms were being swallowed up in the gathering darkness, and the groups in white duck trousers scattered about the grass were beginning to be indistinguishable, that slim figures were seen hurrying mysteriously to and fro, and the peace of the evening was rudely broken into by the preparations for a "Freshman fire."

The victory had already been celebrated on Old North steps, for had not Bingo himself heard the Seniors sing, as an encore to a favorite solo, these never-to-be-forgotten lines, composed for the occasion:

That brought even a finer glow to the boy's cheek than when the familiar "Bingo! Bingo! Bingo!--'way down on the Bingo farm!" had drawn the attention of his brother's friends to him, and made him feel for a moment as though he were a college hero.

The singing had ceased with "Old Nassau," and the campus was alive now with hurrying groups. The usual night cries filled the air: "Hullo, Billy Appleton!" "Hullo, Benny Butler!" "Come over here!" "See you later," etc., and the Freshmen were shouting and rushing wildly about. "Where's Porter?" "Where's Tommy?" "Where's Dad?" was heard on all sides. "'98 this way, '98 this way!"

"Stick to me, Bing," said Braddy, as he started over to his room in Witherspoon; "stick close to me, or you'll surely get lost."

"We haven't half enough wood, Park," said a '98 man, coming up to the class president, who was standing near Bradfield; "it won't make any sort of a fire."

"Can't you get more? We must have a good one," answered Porter, "Get a fence, or a house--any old thing will do. I've got to find Runt and Bunny now, and see about a wagon for the nine. Will meet you later."

"Come on, Bingo," said Braddy.

He, Braddy, ought not to stay round and hear all the arrangements for a celebration which was to be in his honor. The nine was supposed to keep modestly out of the way, and know nothing whatever about it.

"Come on, Bing!"

"Hullo! where you going?"

It was a full hour later, and the Freshmen were crowding about the old cannon, round which a pile of boards, fence rails, barrels, etc., were stacked, all ready to light. The resources of the town had been about exhausted, and the raiders were returned "bringing their sheaves with them." Roman candles and fire-crackers still went off at intervals in different parts of the campus, but they were only a side issue, the fire was the real business of the evening. The college was there almost to a man, and the cheering for and by '98 was "frequent and painful and free," or would be to one whose nerves were below par; to a healthy enthusiast it was soul-stirring and exhilarating.

Even the upper classmen added their thunder from well-trained iron lungs when the old wagon containing the victorious nine came up, dragged by a lot of wild, reckless, muscular Freshmen. Only true heroes could so calmly have imperilled their lives, for these bold young spirits were actually standing up and singing, as the wagon lurched and pitched and wobbled over curbstones, and down into gutters, and up again. But fortune favors the brave, and they reached the fire without a single accident, and were halted at the cannon's mouth in the front row. Everything was ready, yet there seemed to be some hitch. The crowd began to get impatient.

"What's the matter?" they cried. "Why don't you light her up?"

"We're waiting for Braddy," came back the answer.

"Where is he?"

"Give it up."

"He's hunting his brother," said one. "He's down on the Bingo farm," cried another.

This was rather "fresh," but there was a general laugh, which turned into a cheer as Braddy, wearing a worried look, pushed his way through the crowd.

"I can't find the kid," he said, anxiously.

"Oh, he will turn up all right," said the others; "he's sure to come to the fire. Brace up and light her, Jennings."

Just then there was a shout from behind, and the closely packed mass opened up to let a fence come in, which two small flushed and panting boys were dragging after them.

"Great Scott, it's Braddy's brother!" said the Senior who had sat next to him at the game. "Where in the world did you get all that fence, and how did you manage to drag it here?"

Bingo was far too breathless to answer, but Dave spoke up.

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