Chapter 22 — Frozen Out
T
he school, which Sam Reed had left in March, bare, brown, muddy, with windrows of grayish snow beside the paths, was a different place when he came back in April. The mud had dried up; grass was showing new green, the frost gone, and Mrs. Floyd’s crocuses bloomed brilliant yellow, blue, and white under the windows of Chelsea House. Although the sun was warm, the southerly wind carried the chill of cold salt water far up the river. Sam noticed the weather only on the edge of his consciousness. He felt wretched. Down for early admission to Darthurst, a letter which brought disappointment but not despair, he had written the Director of Admissions at the suggestion of Mr. Hallberg, to express his disappointment and to re-iterate that Darthurst was still his first choice, that he would enroll if accepted. He had received a pleasant but non-committal reply. His subsequent applications to Yale, Princeton, Williams, Bowdoin, Mt. Adams, and two colleges in western New York State had brought nothing but formal acknowledgements. Mr. Hallberg said not to worry. He would hear in April. The first thing he did, before he went to his room, was to look in his post office box. Letters from Williams and Princeton, disappointingly thin. No matter how a director of admissions tries to soften the blow, no is no. Three days later Yale had said no. Mr. Hallberg hadn’t seemed concerned. “Must be the low SAT verbal score,” he had said. “But with B’s in Math and Physics you ought to look good. And Bowdoin doesn’t pay any attention to scores at all – so they say. Sit tight and wait ‘em out.” But April 15 came, the magic day. It seemed every senior was jubilant – accepted at Mt. Adams, accepted at Yale, accepted at Haverford, accepted at Harcourt. “I’m playing football for the Big Pink at Vassar,” exulted Jeff with a bit of a wry smile. “Where did you get in, Sam?” “Still waiting,” said Sam. But he wasn’t still waiting. He was out, rejected everywhere. Joe, his roommate, tried to cheer him up. “It will be OK Sam. You’ll make it somewhere. The school will take care of you. Old Uncle Seth is a sharp guy.” But Joe was into Mt. Adams and on the waiting list at the Great University. He was no great comfort. Gus Cunningham dropped in to find Sam sitting on the edge of his bed glowering at his shoes. Gus knew. He had been pulled through the same knothole only four years ago. He had a constructive suggestion. “Bad news all the way, Sam?” “Yes Sir.” “No waiting list?” “No. “Know anybody at any good college?” “No.” “Well, maybe I can help. My sister is on the Admissions Committee at Van Buren in New Jersey. Want me to write her? It’s a good little college. I should be able to wiggle you in there. I’ll write tonight.” The Headmaster, Mr. Sawyer, stopped him outside the dining room. “Bad news, Sam?” “All the way, Sir.” “That’s tough to take. Still, it happens once in a while. Go see Mr. Hallberg. He is likely to have an idea. We have seen this happen before and we have never failed anyone yet. ‘Courage, mon bràve,’ as they 100
