Spencer's Mountain (24 page)

Miss Montrose scanned the letter. “What is your boy's name,” she asked.

“Clay-Boy Spencer,” replied Clay. “Junior,” he added.

“Please have a seat,” she said. She went into a door behind her and in her absence Clay walked around the small reception room. He looked from one distinguished scholarly old face in the portraits to the other and while they looked smart enough to Clay he could not get rid of the feeling that none of them had ever done a decent day's work in his life.

“Mr. Spencer, would you come this way, please?”

Clay turned and asked, “Where you taken me?”

“In to see Dean Beck,” said Miss Montrose. “He just happened to be in this morning. He wants to talk to you.”

Clay followed her into a book-lined room where he half-expected to meet a face similar to those whose pictures lined the walls of the waiting room. He was pleasantly surprised. The man who rose to meet him was a pudgy, round-faced
man who extended his hand in a friendly way; after a quick appraising glance at Clay, his face broke into an unexpectedly merry smile.

“Delighted to meet you, Neighbor Spencer,” said the round little man, who called everybody “neighbor,” from the janitor to the president of the college. “I'm Dean of Men here, and I understand from Miss Montrose you want to discuss your son. Have a seat.”

Clay sat in a big, old leather chair worn thin by the uncomfortable seats of countless college students. Clay himself had grown somewhat uncomfortable because he did not know quite what to make of Dean Beck.

“Now sir,” Dean Beck said, “what can I do for you?”

“Well sir, since you put it that way,” said Clay, “what you can do for me is to give my boy another chance at that scholarship.”

“Neighbor Spencer, I'm sure you appreciate the fact that only a limited number of scholarships are available here. Each applicant is considered most thoroughly, and the awards must be granted to the young men we feel are best qualified, who have not only the strength of character and the drive and the will and whatever mysterious thing it is that makes for an inquiring mind, but also the preparation, the tools he needs for implementing these things once he begins a course of study.”

“Yes sir,” said Clay, who understood in a general way what the man was saying.

“I happen to sit on the Scholarship Committee and I remember your son's application especially. His scholastic record was impressive. His outside interests were commendable and he seemed on the whole to be a perfect candidate for a scholarship. I assure you he would have been awarded the scholarship except for one insurmountable deficiency. He had no Latin.”

“I don't rightly know what that is,” said Clay.

Dean Beck was shocked, but at the same time he was disarmed by Clay's frank admission of ignorance.

“Latin,” he explained, “is one of the ancient languages; the knowledge of Latin is almost totally necessary for any
real study of other language. In other words, your son would not have had the necessary background to have made the most of an opportunity to study here.”

“How long does it take to learn this Latin?” asked Clay.

“Most of our freshmen have at least one high school semester, or the equivalent in some language.”

“Like what?” asked Clay.

“French, German, or Spanish.”

“Nobody talks that up in New Dominion,” said Clay. “I reckon we'll just have to make it Latin.”

“I don't follow you,” said Dean Beck.

“What I'm aimen to do is find somebody to teach him up on that Latin. After that, if you could see your way clear to give him a second chance I would be mighty obliged to you.”

“Friend Spencer,” said Dean Beck, “may I say that if he doesn't get the scholarship, would you try not to be too disappointed? And may I remind you that some of the greatest men in our country never graduated from college.”

“You can tell me that, sir,” said Clay, “but I don't think that it would mean much to tell it to my boy. He's got his heart set on comen here. Only it's more than that. It's somethen I don't understand. Lord God Almighty, I never went to school more than five or six days myself and I've near about broke my back just to keep all of my kids in school. But I never let one of them quit and never will till they graduate from high school. Their mama feels the same way.”

“I am sure that if your son wants badly enough to be a minister he won't let this set-back stand in his way.”

“I didn't quite understand you, sir,” said Clay.

“I said I'm sure that if your son's passion to preach the gospel is strong enough he'll find some way to prepare himself,” said Dean Beck.

“That boy don't want to be no preacher,” said Clay. “He just wants a college education.”

The dean consulted the application in front of him. “But he's applied here for a ministerial scholarship,” he insisted.

That Clay-Boy could have done so terrible a thing seemed inconceivable to Clay. He could only conclude that
a monstrous error had been made, that someone had failed to read the small print or that the wrong kind of application had been sent to Clay-Boy in the first place.

“Friend Beck,” said Clay, “somebody has got things screwed up somethen royal. I'd rather see that boy of mine a jailbird than a Baptist preacher.”

“What have you got against Baptist preachers?” asked the dean.

“Well, it ain't a thing against the preacher. That one we got up at New Dominion seems to be one hundred per cent. It's the Baptists that galls me. I don't know what kind you got down here, but where I live we got the Hard Shells. They don't allow smoken, drinken, card-playen, dancen, cussen, kissen, huggen or loven in any shape, form or size. They're against lipstick, face powder, rouge, and frizzled hair. I know what I'm talken about, Mr. Beck. I'm married to a Baptist and she might bring my children up Christian, but I'll be damned if I'll have a Baptist preacher in the family.”

“I'm certain that if your son knows your feelings on the matter, then this application was in error,” said Dean Beck.

“He ought to know,” Clay said. “And I'll make double-sure he knows when I get home. Now, let me get somethen straight. You teach anythen else down here beside the preachen business?”

“Yes,” said Dean Beck, “we have courses of instruction in business administration, the social sciences, the arts, and medicine and law.”

“Well, Clay-Boy ought to find somethen he'd like out of one of them,” said Clay. “Now, let me ask you another thing. If that boy of mine learned himself a little Latin between now and the time this college opens up again, would you take him in?”

Dean Beck considered for a moment. Fathers had tried to bully, to coax, to bribe or to beg him to accept their sons. None of them had been so direct or so determined as the man who now confronted him.

“Suppose I were to say
no
to you, Neighbor Spencer?” asked Dean Beck. “What would you do?”

“This ain't the only goldurned college in the country,” said Clay. “I'd find another one.”

“I don't think that will be necessary,” said Dean Beck. “Bring young Clay back when he's completed one high school semester of Latin. If the boy's anything like his father I believe he'll be an asset to all of us.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Clay sincerely.

“However, it is too late for a scholarship this year. Perhaps that will come later, but the first semester, if he proves himself acceptable that is, he will have to pay the regular college fees. You'll find them all listed in this catalogue.”

“Thank you, Dean,” said Clay accepting the catalogue. The two men rose and shook hands. “If you're ever up in Nelson County,” said Clay, “I hope you'll drop by and pay us a visit.”

“I will indeed,” Dean Beck promised.

After Clay had gone Miss Montrose went to the dean's office, opened the door and said, “Bravo!”

Dean Beck was leaning back in his big leather chair. He was smiling a satisfied smile while he bit on his pipe.

“What else was I to do, Miss Montrose?” he laughed. “He's right. This ain't the only goldurned college in the country.”

Darkness was falling when Clay arrived back in New Dominion. He was hungry and he knew that supper would be ready, but before going home he decided to report the day's happenings to Miss Parker. Miss Parker boarded with a family over in the section of New Dominion called Riverside Drive. Clay found her sitting alone in the porch swing reading in the fading light of day from
The Complete Works of William Shakespeare
.

“Miss Parker,” said Clay, “I've been down to the University of Richmond. I found out why they turned Clay-Boy down.”

“I would be most curious to know,” said Miss Parker.

“Seems to go to college you got to know the subject of Latin, and Clay-Boy never took it up,” said Clay.

“I knew it had to be something of that kind,” said Miss Parker, “He was so qualified in every other way. If I'd only known I could have found some way for Clay-Boy to have studied Latin.”

“I talked to a real nice feller down there, name of Beck…”

“The Dean!” Miss Parker exclaimed.

“That's what he said he was,” continued Clay. “And I found out somethen else, Miss Parker. That boy had signed the wrong kind of paper or somethen, because they got the fool idea from somewhere that Clay-Boy wanted to be a Baptist preacher.”

“They got that fool idea from me, Mr. Spencer,” said Miss Parker. “If the blame rests anywhere it must be on me because I was the one who talked Mr. Goodson, your wife and Clay-Boy into the idea in the first place.”

“Miss Parker,” said Clay, “I always took you for a lady.”

“Then you were mistaken, Mr. Spencer,” said Miss Parker. “I'm only an old-maid school teacher who selfishly wanted to see just one of her children make something of himself.”

“Maybe you still will, Miss Parker,” said Clay. “I got the preachen business all straightened out. He'll take some other kind of trade at the College.”

“You don't mean there's still a chance?” exclaimed Miss Parker.

“If Clay-Boy can get one high school semester of Latin here there's still a chance,” answered Clay.

“Then we will get it for him by all means,” said Miss Parker. She had been depressed ever since Clay-Boy's scholarship had been turned down. Now that there was a new opportunity for the boy, a new light came into her eyes and a quiver of excitement sounded in her voice.

“There's not a soul in New Dominion who knows Latin,” she said. “That's why we've never taught it. Perhaps in Charlottesville we could find someone to tutor him.”

“That wouldn't be much help, Miss Parker,” objected Clay. “I've got no way to get him over there.”

“That's the least of our worries,” said Miss Parker. “I'll see that he gets there. The first thing we'll have to do is find him a teacher.”

***

When Clay reached home he walked into the kitchen and looked sternly at Olivia for a moment.

“What's the matter with you, you crazy thing?” she demanded.

“Thought you'd put one over on me, didn't you?” he said.

“I don't know what you're talken about.”

Hearing his father's voice, Clay-Boy walked from the living room into the kitchen.

“Howdy, preacher,” said Clay in a sugary voice.

Clay-Boy stared at his father sheepishly but could not speak.

“What is the subject you are goen to talk on down there at the Baptist church in the mornen?” asked Clay. “Maybe you ought to talk about the sin of conniven against your daddy, and maybe your mama and Preacher Goodson and Miss Parker can all sit up on the front row so they can hear real good.”

Clay-Boy could not tell if his father's anger were real or if it were pretended, but he began to suspect that Clay was not as disturbed as he seemed to be and that his father might even be enjoying the role he was playing.

“Daddy,” he said, “it didn't mean I had to become a preacher. It just meant I could have become one if I wanted to after I graduated.”

“Boy,” said Clay, “as near as I can make out, it would have been the same as apprenticen as a plumber and then taken up the electrical trade. Now I've been down yonder in Richmond all day long and I've got this thing straightened out. They're goen to give you another chance and this time you can take your pick of anythen they're offeren.”

“How come they're given him another chance, Clay?” asked Olivia.

“Well, there's somethen he's got to do first,” answered Clay. “He's got to learn some kind of foreign language named Latin.”

“There's a Latin grammar down at the library,” said Clay-Boy. “Maybe I could teach it to myself.”

“Well, you go ahead and try it,” said Clay, “but I've already talked it over with Miss Parker and she seems to think she can find somebody over in Charlottesville that can teach it to you.”

***

As it turned out, a teacher was found much closer to home than Charlottesville. When Mr. Goodson heard from
Miss Parker the reason the scholarship was not awarded to Clay-Boy, he came immediately to the Spencer home.

Clay had been up on the mountain working on his house, but he arrived home soon after darkness had fallen. He found Olivia feeding the children at the kitchen table.

“Clay,” she said, “go on in the liven room. Mr. Goodson's in there and he wants to see you.”

“I've been wanten to see that ripstaver myself,” said Clay. “Just to warn him never again to try to make a preacher out of my boy.”

“Clay,” admonished Olivia, “don't you say a word about that unless he brings it up. Now go on in there. He's been waiten a long time.”