"What have you to say further?I thought you were in a hurry."Burgess did not really mean a taunt in the last words.
"I have this to say."Victor Burleigh's voice had a menace in its depth and power."You have done this infamous thing,not because I deserve it,but because you hate me on account of a girl--Elinor Wream.""Stop!"Vincent Burgess commanded.
I forbid you to mention her name.You,who come in here from some barren,poverty-stricken prairie home,where good breeding is unknown.
You,to presume to think of such a girl as Dr.Fenneben's beautiful niece,whose reputation was barely saved by old Bond Saxon on the stormy night after the holiday.You,who are forced for some reason to care for an unknown child.You,whose true character will soon be fully known here--if this is what you have to say,you may go,"he added with an imperious wave of the hand.
The meanness of anger is in its mastery.Burgess had meant only to discipline Burleigh,but it was too late for that now.
The rotunda was very quiet.Everybody was down on the field waiting impatiently for the game to begin.Burgess was also impatient.
There was a seat waiting for him beside Elinor Wream.
"I'm not quite ready to go"--Vic's fierce voice filled the rotunda--"because you are going to write my credentials for this game,and you'll do it quick,or beg for mercy.""I refuse to consider a word you say."Burgess was furious now,and the white face and burning eyes of his opponent were unbearable.
"I will not grant you any credentials,you low-born prize-fighter--"A sudden grip of steel held him fast as Vic towered over him.
The softened light of the dome of the rotunda,where the Kansas motto,"Ad Astra per Aspera."adorned the stained glass panes,had never fallen on such a scene as this.
"See here,Burleigh,you'll repent this unwarranted attack,"Burgess cried,trying to free himself."Brute force will win only among brutes.""That's the only place I expect to use it,"Vic retorted,tightening his grip."No time for words now.
The honor of Sunrise as well as my honor is at stake,and it's my right to play in this game,because I have broken no laws.
I may have no culture except that of a prairie claim;and I may be poor,and,therefore,presumptuous in daring to mention Elinor Wream's name to you.But"--the brown eyes were a blazing fire--"nobody can tell me that any man must rescue a girl from me to save her reputation,nor that any dishonor belongs to me because of little Bug Buler.Uncultured,as I am,I have the culture of a courage that guards the helpless;and ill-bred,as I may be,I have a gentleman's honor wherever a woman's need calls for my protection."Vic's face was ashy,for his anger matched his love,and both were parallel to his wonderful physique and endurance.
In his fury,the temptation to throttle the man who had wronged him was gaining the mastery.
"Vic,oh,Vic,they're waiting for you.Turn on!
Don't hurt him,Vic."Bug Buler's pleading little voice broke the momentary stillness.
Vic's hand fell nerveless,and Burgess staggered back.
"Was n't you dood to Vic?He would n't hurted you.He never hurted me."The innocent face and gentle words held a strange power over each passion-fired man before him.
Five minutes later,Vic Burleigh walked across the gridiron with full credentials for his place on the team.
The last man to enter the grounds was evidently a tramp,whose slouched hat half-concealed a dark bearded face.
As Vic Burleigh,with Bug clinging to his finger,hurried by the ticket window,the crippled student who sold tickets inside the little roofed box called out:
"Come,stay with me,Bug,till I can go in,too,and I'll buy you peanuts."Bug studied a moment.Then with a comfortable little "Umph-humph,"puffing out his pudgy cheeks with tightly tucked-in lips,he let go of Vic's finger and trotted over to the ticket box.
The boy let him inside and turned to the window to see the face of the tramp close to it.The man paid for a ticket,then,leaning forward,stared eagerly at the open money box.
At the same time,the cripple caught sight of a revolver handle in a belt under the shabby coat.Trust a college boy for headwork.
Instantly he seized little Bug by the shoulders and set him up on the shelf between the window and the money box.
Bug's hair was a mop of soft ringlets,and his brown eyes and innocent baby face were appealing.The stranger stared hard at the child,and with a sort of frightened expression,shot through the gate and mingled with the crowd.
"Great protection for a cripple,"the student thought,as he locked the money box."How strong a baby's hand may be sometimes!
Vic Burleigh's beef can win the game out there,but Bug has saved the day at this end of the line.That tramp seemed scared at the sight of him.""Funny folks turns to dames,"Bug observed.
"Yes,Buggie,the last one in before you came was a young woman with gray hair,and she had a big dog with her.
They don't let in dogs,so he's waiting outside somewhere."The last man who did not go in was Bond Saxon,who came late and found the gates deserted.But lying watchful in the open way,was a Great Dane dog.Old Bond hesitated.
It was his lifetime fault to hesitate.Then he trotted back home.
And,behold,a bottle of whisky was beside his doorstep.
But to his credit for once,he resisted and smashed the bottle to bits on the stone step.
The day was made for such a game.There was no wind.
The glare of the sun was tempered by a gray mist creeping up the afternoon skies.The air was crisp enough to prevent languor.
