"Yea, And His Own Life Also"

V

"YEA, AND HIS OWN LIFE ALSO"

It was one of November's rare days. The kindly air, vital with the
breath of the north wind and mellow with the genial sun, was full of
purple haze; the grass, still vividly green, gave no hint of the coming
winter; the trees, bony and bare but for a few rags of summer dress,
russet-brown and gold, stood softened of all their harshness in the
purple haze and slanting, yellow light of the autumn afternoon. Nature
wore a face of content. She had fulfilled her course for another year,
and, satisfied with her achievement, was obviously thinking of settling
herself into her winter's sleep.

It was a good day to be alive. The tingle in the air somehow got into
the blood.

So it felt to a young girl who danced out from under the trees on the
west boundary of the University campus.

"Oh!" she cried to her statelier, taller sister, who with a young man
followed more sedately into the open. "Oh, what a day! What a picture!"

She was a bonny maid just out of her teens, and, with her brown gown,
brown hair and eyes, red cheeks, and wholesome, happy face, she fitted
well into the picture she herself looked upon.

"Dear old 'Varsity," said her sister in a voice quiet, but thrilling
with intense feeling. "There is nothing so lovely in all this city of
Toronto."

"Toronto!" exclaimed the young man at her side. "Well, I should say!
Don't you know that a distinguished American art critic declares this
building the most symmetrical, the most harmonious, the most perfectly
proportioned bit of architecture on the American continent. And that is
something, from a citizen of the 'biggest nation on dry land.'"

They walked slowly and silently along the border of the matchless
velvety lawn, noting the many features of beauty in the old grey face
of the University building--the harmonious variety of lines and curves
in curious gargoyles, dragons, and gryphons that adorned the cornices
and the lintels, pausing long to admire the wonderful carved entrance
with its massive tower above.

"Great, isn't it?" said Lloyd. "The whole thing, I mean--park, lawn,
and the dear old, grey stones."

At this moment some men in football garb came running out of the
pillared portico.

"Oh, here's the team!" cried Betty, the younger sister, ecstatically.
"Are they going to play?"

"No, I think not," said Lloyd. "Campbell would not risk any scrimmaging
or tackling this evening, with McGill men even now in town thirsting
for their blood. He's got them out for a run to limber up their wind
and things for to-morrow."

The sisters were football enthusiasts. For the past four years the
beautiful Rosedale home of the Fairbanks had been the rendezvous for
students, and, as many of these had been football men, the young ladies
had become as devoted to the game and almost as expert in its fine
points as any of its champions.

"Don't they look well and fit," exclaimed Betty as the string of
runners went past.

"Yes, and fit they are every man," replied Lloyd. "There's Campbell!
He's a truly great captain, knows his men, and gets out of them all
that is possible."

"Yes, and there's Brown; and McNab, isn't it? Aren't they the
quarters?" asked Betty excitedly.

Lloyd nodded. "And yonder goes `Shock,' the great Shock."

"Oh, where?" cried Betty. "Yes, yes. Now, do you know I think he is
just as mean as he can be. Here I have been bowing and smiling my best
and sweetest for four years, and though he knows a lot of the men we
know he is just as much a stranger as ever," and Betty pouted in a
manner that would have brought deep satisfaction to Shock had he seen
her.

"Here are the three halves, aren't they?" inquired Helen, the elder
sister.

"Yes," replied Lloyd. "There's Martin and Bate. Fine fellow,
Bate--and--"

"Oh!" broke in Betty, "there's the 'The Don.' do wish they would look.
They needn't pretend they don't see us, the horrid things."

"Of course they see you," answered Lloyd, "but they are engaged in
serious business. You surely don't expect to divert their attention
from the pursuit of their noble art. Why, who, or what do you conceive
yourself to be?"

But Betty only smiled serenely, and shook her curls back saucily.

"Oh, I know," replied Lloyd, "I know what you are saying. `Some day,
some day they will grovel.' Alas, only too soon! And, indeed, here
comes The Don on his second round. I'll ask him what he means."

"If you dare!" cried Betty.

"Mr. Lloyd!" said Helen haughtily, and Mr. Lloyd thought better of it.

But "The Don" did not even glance toward the group.

"Look at that, now," said Lloyd disgustedly.

"Did anyone ever see such besotted devotion to a barbarous vocation."

"He did not see us at all," insisted Betty. "But why is Mr. Balfour
called 'The Don'?"

"Obviously, I should say, from his Don-like appearance, bearing,
carriage, etc. But I am not an authority. Ask little Brown, your
special slave. He knows all about both Shock and The Don."

"What absurd names you have," exclaimed Betty. "Now, what is the reason
for Shock's name? Is it the shock of his charge in the scrimmage?"

"Not bad, that. I rather fear, however, it has to do with his most
striking feature, if feature it be, for, when you pull him feet first
out of a scrimmage, a method not infrequently adopted, his head is a
sight to behold. But, as I said before, ask Brown."

"I will to-night. He's coming over after tea. You are coming, too, are
you not?"

Lloyd bowed. "I shall be delighted"

True to her word Betty greeted Brown, on his appearance in the cosy,
homelike parlour of the Fairbanks' that evening, with the question,
"How did 'The Don' come by his nickname?"

"Oh, did you never know that? Most fellows put it down to his style,
but it's not that. He got it from his blood. You know, his father was
one of those West India, sea-captains that one used to find strewn
thick through Halifax society, who made fortunes in rum and lost them
pretty much the same way. Well, the old captain married a Spanish girl.
I have seen her portrait, and she was a beauty, a `high-bred Spanish
lady,' sure enough. Lived somewhere in the islands. Came home with the
Captain, and died in Halifax, leaving her seven year old boy in charge
of an aunt. Father died soon afterwards. Grief, I believe, and drink.
Even then his people called the 'the little Don.' He had a little money
left him to start with, but that has long since vanished. At any rate,
for the last five or six years he has had to fend for himself."

"Quite a romance," said Lloyd.

"Isn't it?" exclaimed Betty. "And he never told a word."

"Well, The Don's not a publisher."

"But then he told you."

"Yes, he told me and Shock one night. He likes us, you see."

"'De gustibus non disputandum,'" murmured Lloyd, and in answer to
Betty's inquiring look added, "as the old woman said when she kissed
her cow."

"Now then, what about Shock's name?" continued Betty.

"Hair," said Brown laconically. "You have seen him come out of a
scrimmage like a crab?"

"Yes. Isn't he just lovely then?" exclaimed Betty.

"Lovely? Oh, woman, woman! A ghastly, bloody, fearsome spectacle.
Lovely! But it was ever thus. 'Butchered to make a Roman holiday,'"
replied Lloyd.

"Well, he is rather bloody. Bleeds easily, you; know, but it doesn't
hurt at all," said Brown. "He never really enjoys himself till the
blood flows."

"Disgusting old Berserker!" exclaimed Lloyd.

"But I think he is just a dear," went on Betty enthusiastically. "The
way he puts his head right down into a crowd of men, and lets them jump
on him and maul him!"

"Yes," replied her sister, who had taken little part in the
conversation, "and comes out smiling. That is what I like."

"And bloody," added Lloyd. "That's what Miss Betty likes."

"I want to know about him," cried Betty impatiently. "Tell me about
him," she insisted. "Where does he live? Who are his people?"

Brown hesitated.

"Well, you see, Shock's shy. Does not go in for the sort of thing that
Lloyd, for instance, revels and glitters in--teas, functions, social
routs, and all that, you know. He has only his mother, a dear old
Highland lady, poor, proud, and independent. She lives in a quaint
little house out on the Commons away behind the college, and lives for,
in, with, by, and around Shock, and he vice versa. He shares everything
with her, his work down in the mission--"

"Mission!" interrupted Betty.

"Yes. Runs a mission down in St. John's ward. Gives her all his
experiences with the denizens of that precinct, keeps her in touch with
his college work, and even with his football. You ought to see him lay
a out the big matches before her on the tea table with plates, cups,
salt cellars, knives, spoons, and you ought to see her excitement and
hear her criticisms. Oh, she's a great sport!"

"Go on," said Helen, her fine eyes beginning to glow. "Go on. Tell
us more about her."

But Brown shut up abruptly, as if he had been taking a liberty with the
privacy of his friend's home.

"Oh," he said lightly, "there's nothing more to tell. They live a very
quiet, very simple, but, I think, a very beautiful life."

"And she's fond of football?" inquired Betty.

"Devoted to it."

"And has she never seen a game? Has she never seen Shock play?"
inquired Helen.

"Never."

"Would she be afraid?"

"Would you insult the widow of a Sutherland Highlander whose picture in
warlike regalia regards her daily from her cottage wall?"

"Well, I am going to see her," exclaimed Betty.

Brown looked annoyed.

"What for?"

"Why, I am going to call."

Brown laughed a little scornfully. "Yes, and be sure to leave three
cards--is it?--and tell her your day."

"What do you mean?" exclaimed Betty indignantly. "You are not very
polite."

"Oh, I am sorry, really. But I imagined the old lady looking at you and
wondering what was your particular business, and then I thought of your
difficulty in making it quite clear to her."

"Why! does she not call on anyone?"

"No. She takes her knitting and visits."

"Well, I'm going anyway, somehow. I'll ask Shock to take me."

"Oh, Betty, you could not do that," said Helen. "No man would like
exhibiting his home, much less his mother."

But Betty shook her head decidedly, saying, "I'll find some way. Tell
me, what does she like?"

"Shock."

"But I mean what amusement and pleasure has she?"

"Amusement! Shades of the mighty past! Why, Miss Betty," Brown's tone
is sad and severe, "in my young days young people never thought of
amusement. We had no time for such follies."

"Oh, nonsense!" exclaimed Betty impatiently. "Has she no other interest
in life than Shock?"

"None. Her church,--she would regard your prelacy with horror,--and
Shock, and Shock's doings and goings--and football, of course, as I
have said. Shock plays, you see."

"Then I have an idea," cried Helen. "We'll--"

"Do go on," appealed Brown.

"Better give it to him," said Lloyd. "An idea, you know, is to some