The White Shield Read online

  In Reflected Glory

  Wheels! Wheels! Wheels! The boulevards were full of them, from theglistening up-to-date mount, back to the antiquated '91 model with itshard tires and widely curved handle-bars.

  The sun struck the sheen of nickel and new enamel and sent a thousandlittle needles of light in all directions. Even the '91 model wasbeautiful in the light of the spring day, overtaken though it might beby the swiftly moving procession.

  Wheels! Every man, woman, and child in the city of Chicago who couldbeg, borrow, or rent a bicycle, was speeding westward to the flagstaffat the entrance to the Garfield Park Loop. Every spoke and bar had beenpolished to the limit, and the long asphalt boulevard was a glittering,sparkling avenue of wheels.

  Wheels! It was the day of the great road race, under the auspices ofthe Associated Cycling Clubs. The twenty-five mile course had beensmoothed and measured, the sky was blue and cloudless, and far away inWheeling four hundred eager cyclers awaited the bugle call.

  John Gardner stood at the door of his news-room and watched with awistful eye, the few hundred wheelmen who had chosen to ride on thebusiness street that went past his door. The orange and black of theSouth Shore Club fluttered from many a shining bar, and at the sight ofthe colours the old man's face grew tender. For it was Jack's club thatboasted the orange and black--Jack Gardner of the "Varsity, '98," andhis only son. A touch on his arm made him turn his face within.

  "Father," said a gentle voice, "why don't we go to the doin's?"

  "Land sakes, Mother, who'd take care of the store?"

  "Guess the store ain't goin' to run away, and we ain't been out inyears. Let's go, Father, and see Jack ride!"

  It was John Gardner's way to oppose everything at first, and then togenerously give in. He liked to feel himself master in his own house,so he hesitated.

  But the stronger will was fully settled upon going. "I'm a-goin'Father, even if I have to go alone."

  She vanished into the back part of the store and began to brushcarefully the state gown, the brown silk, made after the quaint fashionof a bygone day. After a few minutes the old man appeared in the door.

  "I reckon we'll go, Hannah," he said, with the air of one granting afavour, "but it do seem wrong to leave the little store!"

  For many a year the little store had been open on all holidays, as wellas weekdays and evenings, for Jack in school and college had neededmoney, and a startling amount of it. Old John Gardner never complained.Hampered, and made ashamed all his life by his lack of "book larnin',"he had vowed that his son should have "a bang-up eddication, the bestthey is a-goin'," if he could get it for him.

  To-day Jack was to ride in the road race, and imbued with solemnimportance Gardner, senior, robed himself for the occasion. They made aqueer picture as they stood on the corner waiting for a car. Hannah'sbrown silk was wrinkled and shabby, but her thin gray hair arranged intiny puffs around her forehead, looked, as her fond mate said, "rightsmart." Twenty years ago, when Jack was a little boy in dresses, hisfather had bought a silk hat to wear to a funeral, and it was thisrelic of past splendour which now adorned his head.

  Once on the car, a new fear presented itself. "Mother," he said,"sposen Jack should see us!"

  For an instant her heart stood still. "He won't," she said bravely; "hewon't see anything but that new bicycle of his'n and we will come homeas soon as it's over."

  "I don't know's we'd ought," said the old man doubtfully. "He might notlike it."

  "Like what?" demanded Hannah sharply.

  "Our goin'!"

  "Hush, Father," she answered, "you know we don't see Jack very often'cause he has to live down where his school is. Lemme see--it's threemonths now since he's been home, ain't it?"

  "Three months yestidy."

  "So what's goin' to hurt if we see him ride to-day? He'll never noticeus among all them folks."

  Two girls who sat opposite were watching the old couple with veryevident amusement. "There's rural simplicity for you," said one.

  "So I see," responded the other. "They appear to be attached to someJack. Wouldn't it be funny if it were Jack Gardner?" They laughed inunison and Hannah looked up into their faces. John's eyes followedhers and neither spoke for a moment. They saw nothing but the joyand happiness of girlhood and something blinded them both. Jack wasforgotten for the moment in the memory of the little girl who lay inthe Silent City beyond the smoke and dust of the town.

  They left the car when the others did and followed the crowd.

  "I don't b'leeve Jack'll see us, Mother," said the old man. "I ain'tgoin' to worry about it no more."

  Twenty-five miles away, Jack Gardner surveyed his wheel complacently.Every screw was tightened, his chains were just right, his tires wereexactly mellow enough and his handle-bars were at the proper pitch. Hewas none the less pleased with his own appearance, for he had writtenhis father that he needed a new suit in the colours worn by the SouthShore Club. He had searched the town for the orange and black andfinally found them. The S.S.C. on his black chest could be seen as faras his wheel could, and he had topped the glaring outfit with a flamingorange cap, with a black tassel to stream in the wind behind.

  "Get on to the oriole!" The champion of a rival club was inclined tobe sportive at Jack's expense. He retorted with a fling at the greencostume of the other, and then the bugle sounded for the flying start.

  Anxious friends and trainers shouted, final directions from behind the"dead line," as Jack called it. Another blare from the bugle, a suddenwhir, a flash of the shining spokes and they were off.

  As the last group flew over the tape the train started back to thecity. A South Shore Club man climbed up on the locomotive to "josh" theengineer. "You'll have to get a move on you, if you catch Gardner," hesaid.

  The engineer laughed and looked fondly at his giant of steel. Perhapsan engineer enamoured of his engine can understand the love of acyclist for his wheel.

  The people around the Garfield Park Loop were beginning to getimpatient. Most of them had stood for two hours holding their bicycles,and even a well behaved bicycle is an awkward possession in a crowd.Pedals scraped the shins of utterly strange riders, handle-bars gottangled in watch-guards, and front wheels got into mischief withunpleasant regularity.

  Close to the course, and on the grassy bank, sat Mr. and Mrs. Gardner.Kindly souls had made way for them until they had at last reached thevery front. The day and the multitude were almost spectacle enough, buta cry from the far north brought them to their feet.

  Yes, there they were--a cloud of dust across the field. How small theriders seemed! Nearer and nearer they came--how the shining wheels flewthrough the sunlight! Tense, strained faces almost on the handle-bars:every man of them was doing his best, and the crowd was cheering likemad. The band played merrily, as on and on they flew,--past the judges'stand, over the tape and down, to the mingled praise and solicitude oftheir friends. The old people were very much disappointed. Jack hadnot ridden after all! Perhaps--but there was another cloud of dust andanother cry from the north. On came another group of riders. They wentby like the whirlwind, but no Jack was there.

  "I sh'd have thought he'd got back somewheres near the front," said theold man. He was hurt to think his son was so far behind.

  Group after group passed by, the old people watching anxiously; thenHannah gripped his arm suddenly.

  See! Down the course, only a faint speck now, shone the orange andblack of the South Shore Club. Perhaps----

  Yes, riding at the head of thirty tired wheelmen, to the stirringstrains of a Sousa march, their Jack, strong, superb, excited, nervinghimself for the final effort.

  Their hearts stopped beating during the instant he was flying by."There," she whispered reassuringly, "I told you he wouldn't see us.My! Wasn't he fine?"

  But John Gardner could not speak, for his eyes were dim with happypride in remembrance of that superb specimen of perfect manhood sixfeet high--his Jack, to whom he had given the "eddication."

  They watched th
e rest of the race with little interest, for the best ofit all had gone by.

  When the last rider crossed the tape, the multitude stirred to go. "Webetter stand right here, Hannah, till some of these folks gets away,"he said. So they stood perfectly still and let the crowd surge aroundthem.

  Then a great huzza went up, the track cleared again, as if by magic,and down the course came a dozen men, shouting in unrestrained joy.Aloft on their shoulders they held--the old people craned their necksto see--yes, Jack--their Jack--looking sheepish and very much ashamed.

  "Why, Mother," the old man cried, "he's won! Our Jack's won the race!Do you hear?"

  Mother's eyes were fixed on the black and orange sweater, for Jack wasonce again in regulation bicycle attire, and her heart was too full totrust itself for speech.

  "Three cheers for Gardner! 'Rah for the South Shore Club!" and thegreat field swelled and swelled again with bursts of applause. Andthen--the crowd parted some way and Jack saw those pathetic facesupturned to him.

  It is said that when a man is drowning, in the flash of a second hiswhole previous life passes in review. Something like this came to himat the crowning moment of his twenty-three years.

  At that minute he knew, as never before, how those hands had toiled forhim, how those lips had prayed for him, and how those honest hearts hadloved him ever since he was born. A sudden lump came into his throat,for he seemingly had withheld the only reward they wanted for it all.

  "Let me down, fellows," he cried, "there's my folks."

  Almost before they knew what had happened, he had rushed up to themwith hands outstretched. "Why, Father! Mother!" he exclaimed; "whydidn't you let me know you wanted to come?"

  Just a minute the old people doubted the wisdom of their course, thenthe gladness in Jack's face set all at rest. The men from the SouthShore Club gathered around and were presented, one by one. They shookhands with the old gentleman and told them how proud they were ofJack, and doffed their caps to Mrs. Gardner, "just z's if I was a finelady," she said afterward.

  Then Jack said everybody was going down to the club for lunch and hisfather and mother must come too.

  "No, no!" gasped Mrs. Gardner in affright; "no! no!"

  "Well, indeed you are coming," said Jack, with a charming air ofproprietorship. "I guess when a fellow wins the race of the year thathis father and mother will go to lunch with him." Then he squeezed herthin wrinkled hand and whispered tenderly: "Dear little mother! Tothink you wanted to come, and I didn't know!"

  The hero of the day turned to those who were with him: "Will some ofyou fellows get a carriage? I don't think I want any more bicycleriding to-day and I'll go down with my father and mother if one of youboys will lead my wheel."

  It was an enchanted journey for the old people to roll down the broadsmooth boulevard in a real carriage, with Jack sitting in front of themtelling them all about the race. The President of the South Shore Club,the son of a man known and honoured throughout Chicago, had asked tobe presented, and said he hoped Jack's father would be willing to behis guest for the day.

  "I told him father would be pleased," concluded Jack, "and he wantedmother too, but I said I guessed not, that I was going to have mylittle mother for my own guest."

  At last, when the carriage stopped before an imposing brown stonehouse, Jack helped them out, and entered the club with the shabbylittle brown figure on his arm. "Just wait here a few minutes," hesaid, "until I make myself presentable."

  He stationed them on a luxurious sofa, and ran off to thedressing-rooms.

  The old man looked after him fondly. "I didn't think Jack would beashamed of us, Mother," he said.

  "No, Father, and he ain't."

  "My, ain't this a grand place?"

  Half awed, they gazed at the rich furnishings in silence. "Seems likeheaven don't it?" he murmured.

  "Makes me think more of the chapter in Solomon," she replied.

  "How's that, Mother?"

  The little old lady looked up at him, her face shining with ineffablehappiness, and repeated softly:

  "'_He led me into his banqueting house, and his banner over me waslove._'"

  The House Beautiful