He smiled a little, as though in mild relish of memories he had evoked within himself.
“The football team wasn’t very good, but it wasn’t very bad, either. It meant something to be on the first team, and I turned out to be a fairish tackle. At the start of my junior year, the year I’m talking about, a man by the name of Schaefer was captain—a good fullback though not brilliant, and the recognized leader of the campus.
“Varduk didn’t go in for athletics, or for anything else except a good stiff course of study, mostly in the humanities. He took a room at the end of the hall on the third floor of the men’s dormitory, and kept to himself. You know how a college dorm loves that, you men. Six days after the term started, the Yellow Dogs had him on their list.”
“Who were the Yellow Dogs?” I asked.
“Oh, there’s a bunch like it in every school. Spiritual descendants of the Mohocks that flourished in Queen Anne’s reign; rough and rowdy undergraduates, out for Halloween pranks every night. And any student, particularly any frosh, that stood on his dignity—” He paused and let our imagination finish the potentialities of such a situation.
“So, one noon after lunch at the training-table, Schaefer winked at me and a couple of other choice spirits. We went to our rooms and got out our favorite paddles, carved from barrel-staves and lettered over with fraternity emblems and wisecracks. Then we tramped up to the third floor and knocked loudly at Varduk’s door.
“He didn’t answer. We tried the knob. The lock was on, so Schaefer dug his big shoulder into the panel and smashed his way in.”
Davidson stopped and drew a long breath, as if with it he could win a better ability to describe the things he was telling.
“Varduk lifted those big, deep eyes of his as we appeared among the ruins of his door. No fear, not even surprise. Just a long look, traveling from one of us to another. When he brought his gaze to me, I felt as if somebody was pointing two guns at me, two guns loaded to their muzzles.”
I, listening, felt like saying I knew how he had felt, but I did not interrupt.
“He was sitting comfortably in an armchair,” went on Davidson, rocking on his feet as though nervous with the memory, “and in his slender hands he held a big dark book. His forefinger marked a place between the leaves.
“ ‘Get up, frosh,’ Schaefer said, ‘and salute your superiors.’
“Varduk did not move or speak. He looked, and Schaefer bellowed louder, against a sudden and considerable uneasiness.
“ ‘What are you reading there?’ he demanded of Varduk in his toughest voice.
“ ‘A very interesting work,’ Varduk replied gently. ‘It teaches how to rule people.’
“ ‘Uh-huh?’ Schaefer sneered at him. ‘Let’s have a look at it.’
“ ‘I doubt if you would like it,’ Varduk said, but Schaefer made a grab. The book came open in his hands. He bent, as if to study it.
“Then he took a blind, lumbering step backward. He smacked into the rest of us all bunched behind him, and without us I think he might have fallen down. I couldn’t see his face, but the back of his big bull-neck had turned as white as plaster. He made two efforts to speak before he managed it. Then all he could splutter out was ‘Wh-what—’ ”
Davidson achieved rather well the manner of a strong, simple man gone suddenly shaky with fright.
“ ‘I told you that you probably wouldn’t like it,’ Varduk said, like an adult reminding a child. Then he got up out of his armchair and took the book from Schaefer’s hands. He began to talk again. ‘Schaefer, I want to see you here in this room after you finish your football practise this afternoon.’
“Schaefer didn’t make any answer. All of us edged backward and got out of there.”
Davidson paused, so long that Pursuivant asked, “Is that all?”
“No, it isn’t. In a way, it’s just the beginning. Schaefer made an awful fool of himself five or six times on the field that day. He dropped every one of his passes from center when we ran signals, and five or six times he muffed the ball at dropkick practise. The coach told him in front of everybody that he acted like a high school yokel. When we finished and took our showers, he hung back until I came out, so as to walk to the dormitory with me. He tagged along like a frightened kid brother, and when we got to the front door he started upstairs like an old man. He wanted to turn toward his own room on the second floor; but Varduk’s voice spoke his name, and we both looked up, startled. On the stairs to the third flight stood Varduk, holding that black book open against his chest.
“He spoke to Schaefer. ‘I told you that I wanted to see you.’
“Schaefer tried to swear at him. After all, here was a frail, pale little frosh, who didn’t seem to have an ounce of muscle on his bones, giving orders to a big football husky who weighed more than two hundred pounds. But the swear words sort of strangled in his throat. Varduk laughed. Neither of you have ever heard a sound so soft or merciless.
“ ‘Perhaps you’d like me to come to your room after you,’ Varduk suggested.
“Schaefer turned and came slowly to the stairs and up them. When he got level with Varduk, I didn’t feel much like watching the rest. As I moved away toward my room, I saw Varduk slip his slender arm through Schaefer’s big, thick one and fall into step with him, just as if they were
