Chapter XXVII

Philip Thatcher responded to the suggestion made by Huntington and his mother with such conspicuous success that within a fortnight Hamlen accepted his leadership from one experience to another with wonderment and devotion. The fact that the boy was his namesake formed the first bond, and with confidence once established intimacy developed rapidly. Boys to Hamlen had been unknown quantities, creatures to be endured if necessary but avoided if possible, and Philip did much to raise the standard of his genus in the older man's mind. Billy's explosive outbursts startled him for a time, but he learned to understand even these, and accepted them at their true value.

The responsibility came to young Thatcher at just the time when he was best prepared to accept it. During the Easter recess his father suddenly discovered that the boy had become a man, and it was with real gratification that he took him into his confidence. To Philip, the statement of present conditions made impending disaster seem conclusive, and it was with difficulty that Thatcher persuaded him that many things might happen to ease the situation before calamity really overtook him. The boy wanted to leave college at once, and to throw himself into some sphere of business activity so that his income might be added to the family exchequer to keep the wolf from the door! His father, strengthened by the youthful loyalty and enthusiasm, pointed out the value, as a personal asset to himself, of actually possessing a college degree, now so nearly secured, and sent the boy back to Cambridge with a determination to make the most of the few remaining months in preparing himself to rush into the breach and save his family from the threatening malignant specters.

The whole experience was a sobering one to Philip, and resulted in putting him nearer on a plane with Hamlen. To the one, the world had already proved its unreliability; to the other, it was now on trial with every presumption of speedy conviction. Each event in the day took on a new significance in the boy's mind, and Hamlen's dependence made him feel that he was already man-grown, taking his place in the front rank of the battle of life.

Huntington watched these developments with a curious sensation of interest and surprise. The most he had hoped was that Philip might take the man far enough into undergraduate activities to give him by assimilation a fresh viewpoint, but he found his guest largely taken off his hands by one who was accomplishing the desired results far better than he himself could do. Day by day he saw Philip winning a deeper hold upon the affections of his older friend, and he marveled at the changes taking place in Hamlen. For himself, he quietly forced him to meet such of their classmates as were in Boston, preparing them by a brief outline of Hamlen's experiences to extend a fitting welcome; but he left it to Philip to show him what the new Harvard really is.

It was impossible to have all this happen without misgivings and questioning on the part of his guest.

"I appreciate all this," Hamlen said to him one evening; "but don't for a minute think that I take credit for the sudden interest on the part of the fellows who never noticed me when I was in college. That belongs to you. With the position you had then, and which you hold in the Class to-day, the boys would drink healths and sing, 'For he's a jolly good fellow' to a Fiji islander if he happened to be your friend."

"Suppose we grant all that," Huntington answered frankly; "what difference does it make? Didn't you tell me that you owned a piece of land in Oklahoma on which oil was struck?"

"Yes," Hamlen replied; surprised that his friend should so abruptly turn the conversation. "What has that to do with our discussion?"

"How much did you value it before you discovered what it contained?"

"It was a joke; I begrudged even paying the taxes."

"Now you consider it well worth including among your investments?"

"Naturally. It is one of the best things I own."

Huntington smiled at him quietly. "Don't you see the application? It is no reflection on those who walked over that land that they were ignorant of the riches which lay beneath their feet. It is no reflection on the sincerity of your classmates that they like you now and did not know you before. I discovered what you really are, Hamlen, quite as accidentally as you struck oil in that apparently worthless land in Oklahoma. Now I stand simply as the promoter of a property which has proved its worth."

When Hamlen unpacked his trunk at Huntington's house he produced a volume of Milton's "Areopagitica" which he placed in his friend's hand.

"This is the latest issue from the 'Island Press,'" he said. "It was nearly completed before you all came down to Bermuda and disturbed my peace of mind. I put the covers on after you left, but I haven't been able to produce a thing since. I believe this is the last book I shall ever make."

Huntington turned the leaves with great interest. "Exquisite!" he exclaimed. "Quite the best example you have turned out. I love that type of yours, Hamlen, for I feel it is the exemplification of William Morris' definition of the Type Ideal,--'pure in form, severe without needless excrescences, solid without the thickening and thinning of the line, and not compressed laterally.' You have carried out what he set himself to do and failed. How many copies did you print?"

"Only fifty."

"Splendid! But I am selfish enough to wish there was but one, and that I owned it! I never saw finer presswork in my life."

"You may gratify your wish if you like," Hamlen replied indifferently. "I have the whole lot in my trunk up-stairs, and you may destroy the other forty-nine if you choose. They are yours to do with as you will."

"You don't mean it!" Huntington cried, enthusiastically.

He fondled the copy in his hand, and his face was lighted by the pleasure of the moment. Then he laughed.

"It is a frightful temptation, Hamlen! Think of owning the only copy in existence of a book like that! Bibliomania leads one on almost to crime, and it would be nothing less to prevent other collectors from enjoying this wonderful volume. I accept the gift proudly, Hamlen; I will make good use of it."

At the next monthly gathering of his fellow-collectors in their attractive club-house Huntington took Hamlen with him as his guest. He introduced him to his friends, but made no reference to the fact that he was the creator of the productions of the Island Press. They listened to an interesting paper, and then seated themselves at the long supper-table to prove that even bibliomaniacs are human. Here Huntington adroitly turned the conversation upon the subject of Hamlen's work.

Huntington had told his friend that when once he heard the opinions of other collectors the words of praise spoken at Bermuda would seem mild; and the prediction proved true. Hamlen's cheeks burned as he heard his work extolled and himself compared to the master-printers of the past. There could be no doubt of the sincerity of the comment, for no one but Huntington knew his identity; and the pleasure he felt was so intense that it almost overcame him.

As the discussion waned Huntington made his dramatic play. Each member present was handed a copy of the "Areopagitica," on the fly-leaf of which Hamlen had written his autograph.

"A gift from our guest," Huntington explained; "and each copy is inscribed by the master-printer of the Island Press."

The silence which followed heightened the effect of Huntington's _coup_, and Hamlen felt the blood rushing to his face. Huntington watched the proceedings with evident relish, and as comprehension followed surprise in the minds of his fellow-members he held his glass aloft.

"To the health, gentlemen, of Philip Hamlen, our master-printer, an American, thank God, who knows how to preserve that art preservative of all arts!"

It was the first triumph Hamlen had ever tasted, and as Huntington watched his face he feared that in the desire to give him the confidence of approval he had over-estimated his friend's physical strength. But joy never kills, and the first weakness was conquered by the necessity of living up to the position which had been thrust upon him. He responded bravely, and Huntington smiled contentedly as he saw still another barrier broken down between Philip Hamlen and the world he believed to be against him. On their way home no word was spoken in the motor-car, but when safe within the retreat of the library, which Hamlen had learned to love, the pent-up emotion burst forth.

"Then I have done something after all!" he cried. "My life has not been all a mistake! Heaven knows what a mess I've made of it, but at least there is something saved out of the wreck? You think they meant it, don't you, Huntington?" he asked beseechingly, and he found his answer in the beaming countenance of his friend. "I had no idea it would mean so much, that so wonderful an experience as I had to-night could ever come to me. Even now I can't understand it. Those little books are only expressions of myself; I made them merely for personal gratification."

"In doing so, my friend, you gave yourself to us; and more than that no man can do!"

The wonderful weeks went by, filled with a bewildering series of unusual experiences for Hamlen and of continuing satisfaction to Huntington. Philip unfolded to him day by day the various elements which went to make the new Harvard spirit, and Huntington supplemented the boy's efforts by keeping his guest in touch with the graduate activities centered in and reaching their climax in the building of the "Home of the Harvard Club" in Boston, dedicated as "the tomb of Harvard indifference." Hamlen saw the freshmen segregated in their own dormitories, and forced to become acquainted one with another, and he realized what it would have meant to him at a similar time in his life if heads wiser than his own had compelled him to show himself to his classmates. He stood within the massive Stadium, he went to a mass-meeting at the Harvard Union, he followed the crew on the Charles in the launch "John Harvard," proud that Philip, his namesake, had won a place in the boat. He spent many hours at the Harvard Club with Huntington, watching the democracy which means unity, and the unity which means fellowship. For the first time he felt a pride to be a part of it, for the first time his degree stood to him as something more than what he learned from books. Philip was to row against Yale, and he felt that he himself, at last, was to take part in an intercollegiate contest, once the ambition of his life. He was no longer a man without a college, but was one of that great brotherhood which recognizes its heritage, and stands ready to live up to the responsibilities this heritage entails.

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