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diff --git a/old/64150-h/64150-h.htm b/old/64150-h/64150-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 0f67d70..0000000 --- a/old/64150-h/64150-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10327 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - - <title> - Danforth Plays The Game, by Ralph Henry Barbour—A Project Gutenberg eBook - </title> - - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -/* DACSoft styles */ - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -/* General headers */ -h1 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - page-break-before: always; - clear: both; -} - -/* Chapter headers */ -h2 { - text-align: center; - font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5em; -} - -/* Section headers */ -h3 { - text-align: center; 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- clear: both; -} - -.works { - font-size: .75em; - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - -/* Advertisement formatting. */ -.adpage { - margin-left: 20%; - margin-right: 20%; -} - -@media handheld { - .adpage { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - } -} - -.adauthor { - font-size: 1.25em; - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - -/* Hanging indent. */ -.hang { - text-indent: -2em; - padding-left: 3em; -} - - </style> - </head> -<body> -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold;'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Danforth Plays the Game, by Ralph Henry Barbour</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Danforth Plays the Game</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Stories for Boys Little and Big</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Ralph Henry Barbour</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: John A. Coughlin</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December 27, 2020 [eBook #64150]</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Books project.)</div> -<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DANFORTH PLAYS THE GAME ***</div> - - -<div class="figcenter" id="cover"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="cover" title="cover" /> -</div> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<!-- No page break since cover image is hidden in .epub & .mobi --> -<p class="noi title">DANFORTH PLAYS<br /> -THE GAME</p> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="noi subtitle">By Ralph Henry Barbour</p> -</div> - -<div class="adpage"> -<hr class="r20" /> - -<p class="noic smcap">The Purple Pennant Series</p> - -<ul> -<li>The Purple Pennant (<i>in prep.</i>)</li> -<li>The Secret Play</li> -<li>The Lucky Seventh</li> -</ul> - -<p class="noic smcap">Yardley Hall Series</p> - -<ul> -<li>Winning his “Y”</li> -<li>For Yardley</li> -<li>Around the End</li> -<li>Double Play</li> -<li>Change Signals</li> -<li>Forward Pass</li> -</ul> - -<p class="noic smcap">Maple Hill Series</p> - -<ul> -<li>The Brother of a Hero</li> -<li>Finkler’s Field</li> -</ul> - -<p class="noic smcap">The Big Four Series</p> - -<ul> -<li>Four Afloat</li> -<li>Four Afoot</li> -<li>Four in Camp</li> -</ul> - -<hr class="r20" /> - -<ul> -<li>The Half Back</li> -<li>For the Honor of the School</li> -<li>The Captain of the Crew</li> -<li>Behind the Line</li> -<li>Weatherby’s Inning</li> -<li>The Spirit of the School</li> -<li>The New Boy at Hill Top</li> -<li>The Junior Trophy</li> -<li>Benton’s Venture</li> -<li>On Your Mark!</li> -</ul> -</div> - -<p class="noic">D. APPLETON AND COMPANY = Publishers = New York</p> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter" id="i_frontis"> - <img src="images/i_frontis.jpg" alt="" title="" /> - <br /> - <div class="caption"><a href="#Page_217">“Tommy hit the ball smartly with his instep ... and -said, ‘Og!’”</a></div> -</div> -</div> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h1>DANFORTH<br /> -PLAYS THE GAME</h1> - -<p class="noi subtitle">STORIES FOR BOYS<br /> -LITTLE AND BIG</p> - -<p class="p2 noic">BY</p> - -<p class="noi author">RALPH HENRY BARBOUR</p> - -<p class="noi works">AUTHOR OF “THE HALF-BACK,” “FOR<br /> -THE HONOR OF THE SCHOOL,”<br /> -“DOUBLE PLAY,” ETC.</p> - -<div class="pad4"> -<div class="logocenter" id="logo"> - <img src="images/logo.jpg" alt="logo" title="logo" /> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noic">ILLUSTRATED BY<br /> -JOHN A. COUGHLIN</p> - -<p class="p2 noi adauthor">NEW YORK AND LONDON<br /> -D. APPLETON AND COMPANY<br /> -1915</p> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="noic smcap">Copyright, 1915, by</p> - -<p class="noic">D. APPLETON AND COMPANY</p> - -<p class="noi works">Copyright, 1914, by the Sprague Publishing Company.<br /> -Copyright, 1913, 1914, by The Century Company.<br /> -Copyright, 1915, by Doubleday, Page & Company.</p> - -<p class="p4 noic">Printed in the United States of America</p> -</div> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - - -<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> -<col style="width: 90%;" /> -<col style="width: 10%;" /> -<tr> - <th class="tdl"></th> - <th class="smfontr">PAGE</th> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#DPTG">Danforth Plays the Game</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">3</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#BOB">“Black-on-Blue”</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">105</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#JUHI">Jonesie Uses His Influence</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">143</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#TMF">The Magic Football</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">183</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#SA">Sportsmen All</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">221</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#TETM">The Embassy to Mearsville</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">255</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#JATA">Jonesie and the All-Stars</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">287</td> -</tr> -</table> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> -</div> - - -<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations"> -<col style="width: 90%;" /> -<col style="width: 10%;" /> -<tr> - <td class="tdl hang"><a href="#i_frontis">“Tommy hit the ball smartly with his -instep ... and said, ‘Og!’”</a></td> - <td class="tdrb"><i>Frontispiece</i></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <th> </th> - <th class="smfontr">FACING PAGE</th> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl hang"><a href="#i_fp100">“Harry ... catching the well-aimed pass -coolly, romped unmolested over the line”</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">100</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl hang"><a href="#i_fp242">“‘There they go! Sick ’em, pup! Go after -’em, you fool dog!’”</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">242</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl hang"><a href="#i_fp328">“Jonesie didn’t pretend to catch them”</a></td> - <td class="tdrb">328</td> -</tr> -</table> - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_1"></a>[1]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="DPTG">DANFORTH PLAYS THE GAME</h2> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2"></a>[2]</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[3]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">I</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">“Oh, see the pretty little boy! Is the -pretty little boy going to play football? -The pretty little boy is going to -play football—<em>per-haps</em>!”</p> - -<p>The speaker, one of four youths seated on the -grass near the side line, chuckled as the subject -of his humor turned inquiringly.</p> - -<p>“What will happen to the pretty little boy -and his nice clean trousers and his beautiful -red jersey?” continued another of the quartette, -adopting the first speaker’s sing-song -style. “Oh, please, teacher, I’d rather not say! -It will be a perfect shame, will it not?”</p> - -<p>“<em>It will not!</em>” responded a third youth -promptly and emphatically. The boys laughed -enjoyably, unaffected by the fact that the -“pretty little boy” was viewing them doubtfully, -uncomfortably from the distance of a -dozen yards away.</p> - -<p>It was hardly fair to call him pretty, although<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4"></a>[4]</span> -his fresh complexion, yellow-brown hair and -rather finely cut features made him strikingly -good-looking. He was fairly tall for his age, -which was fifteen, well made and carried himself -with a lithe grace emphasized by the new -suit of football togs he wore. The khaki trousers -were quite immaculate, and so were the red -stockings, and so was the red jersey. Even -his shoes were unscuffed, and altogether he -looked very much as though he had but a moment -before stepped from the pictured advertisement -of some dealer in athletic supplies. -Possibly it was the fashion-plate suggestion -that had prompted the group near by to ridicule.</p> - -<p>At first Harry Danforth had not associated -the remarks with himself and had looked -around out of sheer curiosity. When he understood -that he was the butt of their humor the -blood flooded into his cheeks and he faced hurriedly -away. Like many boys with fair complexions, -he blushed on slight provocation, and -he was always ashamed of it. He walked slowly -away in an effort to evade his tormentors, but -their voices still reached him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5"></a>[5]</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, see the blush of modesty upon the face -of the pretty little boy! How beautiful is modesty!”</p> - -<p>There was more, but Harry didn’t hear it. -Taking refuge at the edge of a group of waiting -candidates, he sought to forget his burning -cheeks. But as, at his advent, many of the fellows -turned to observe him, his embarrassment -continued.</p> - -<p>“See the study in red,” whispered one youth -laughingly to his companion, and although he -had not meant the strange boy to hear him, the -latter did hear, and felt the blood surging -harder than before into his face. He was heartily -glad when, at that instant, the coach summoned -them on to the field.</p> - -<p>There were fully sixty candidates on hand -that first afternoon of football practice at Barnstead -Academy. Some few of them were members -of the last season’s eleven, more were second-string -players of the year before, and the -balance were, like Harry, new candidates. Mr. -Worden, the head coach, a finely built, pleasant-faced -man of about thirty, took the names of all -who had reported. In this task he was assisted<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6"></a>[6]</span> -by a boy of eighteen or so whose name Harry -later learned was Phillips. Phillips was manager -of the team. Harry gave his name, age, -class, weight and details of former football -experience to Phillips and was promptly sent -to the awkward squad, or Squad Z, as the school -facetiously termed it. There he was one of a -group of some twenty youths whose ages -ranged from thirteen to sixteen and who, in the -course of the hour’s instruction that followed, -exhibited every phase of football inexperience. -The awkward squad was in charge of a large -boy whom the coach addressed as Barrett. Barrett -looked to be about seventeen and wore a -vastly bored expression all the time that he labored -with the beginners. If his features -lighted at all during that period it was when -Harry showed by his handling of the pigskin -that he at least might possibly have the makings -of a player. Barrett watched him speculatively, -almost interestedly, at intervals, and -once even vouchsafed a grunt of satisfaction -as Harry fell neatly on a wabbling ball and -snuggled it under his chest.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the more advanced candidates<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7"></a>[7]</span> -were punting and catching or trotting about -the field behind a shrill-voiced quarterback. -Harry, in the intervals between his own duties, -had time to watch, and what he saw he found a -little bit discouraging. Where he had come -from, quite a ways beyond the New England -hills that closed this pleasant valley at the west, -he had been looked on as something of a player. -On his high school team he had made a reputation -for himself that was quite remarkable considering -his age, and when, in the Spring, he -had announced his impending departure for -preparatory school his schoolmates had set up -a veritable howl of despair. Once reconciled, -however, they had pictured in gorgeous colors -Harry’s football future. Of course he would -make the school team at Barnstead at once, -would do wonderful things there and then go -up to college far-famed and glorious. Pete Wilkinson, -avid reader of romance, had drawn -Harry aside and begged him not to accept the -first offer he received from college scouts.</p> - -<p>“Just hold back on them and they’ll give you -anything you want, Harry. Wait till you get -all the offers and then choose the best. Why,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8"></a>[8]</span> -the big colleges will do most anything for fellows -who can play the game the way you can!”</p> - -<p>Harry had gravely promised to be discreet -in the matter, not considering it worth while to -point out to the sanguine Pete that even if the -colleges clamored and fought for him, which he -didn’t in the least consider likely, he had already -made up his mind where to go and that -all the bribes in the world would not change his -mind. But while he was a person of some note -at Hillston High School, he felt himself a very -small and unimportant atom here at Barnstead. -He had come quite unheralded and his fame -had not preceded him. Here he was just one -more kid to be hammered into shape or, found -wanting, to be tossed aside with the other discards -in the yearly game of making a football -team. And watching the play of the experienced -fellows, Harry saw that there was quite -a difference between Hillston standards and -Barnstead! The team here was evidently made -up of fellows much older than he, for one thing. -His roommate, a chap named Colgan, whose -athletic interests stopped at an occasional set -of tennis, had told him that Coach Worden<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span> -showed a partiality for the younger candidates -and that Harry’s youthfulness would not be a -disadvantage if he could play the game. But -this afternoon, with so many older fellows in -sight, Harry felt that if he made the school -team inside the next two years he would be -lucky. But in spite of discouraging thoughts -he paid flattering attention to Barrett’s instructions, -performed as well as he knew how and -proved a shining example to the other members -of Squad Z.</p> - -<p>After an hour of rather wearisome instruction -in the a, b, c’s of the game the awkward -squad was dismissed. Harry imagined he could -hear Barrett’s sigh of relief! Donning his -sweater, Harry trotted in the wake of the -others across the end of the field, through the -gate and up the hill to the gymnasium. As he -knew none of his companions, and as the work -had left them too tired to want to be sociable, -he spoke to no one until, having had his shower -and dressed himself, he was walking across the -campus toward his room in Temple Hall. And -even then the conversation was none of his -choosing!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10"></a>[10]</span></p> - -<p>“Why, if it isn’t our friend the football -hero!” exclaimed a voice. Harry was passing a -group of half a dozen boys on the main path -across the campus. Resisting the impulse to -turn, he kept on his way until a second youth -called to him.</p> - -<p>“Hi, kid! Why so haughty?”</p> - -<p>“I beg pardon?” Harry paused and faced -them then. They were all rather older than he, -one, a dark-complexioned fellow of seventeen or -eighteen, evidently being the leader of the -party.</p> - -<p>“Don’t apologize,” he begged. “You don’t -mind our speaking to you, do you?”</p> - -<p>“No,” replied Harry quietly, feeling the -blood creeping into his cheeks and hating himself -for it. “What did you want, please?”</p> - -<p>“Why—er—suspecting that you were a -stranger to our—to these classic shades we -wouldst make thee welcome,” replied the dark -chap with a grin. “Wouldst impart to us thy -cognomen?”</p> - -<p>“My name’s Danforth,” answered Harry -shortly, facing the smiling faces about him with -a frown.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span></p> - -<p>“’Tis a fair name, my boy. Why blush for -it?”</p> - -<p>“I’m not.”</p> - -<p>“You’re not!” gibed another boy. “What do -you call it? Say, kid, you’re as red as a beet. -What are you ashamed of?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing. Is that all you want?”</p> - -<p>“Leave us not in anger,” begged the first -speaker. “Tell us, rather, of your doughty -deeds upon yon trampled field of battle. Didst -lay about thee mightily? Didst slay the first -team with thine own good right hand?”</p> - -<p>“No,” replied Harry, biting his lip to keep -down the anger that was beginning to boil inside -him.</p> - -<p>“No? And what didst thou do, O Ensanguined -Knight?”</p> - -<p>“I minded my own business, for one thing,” -answered the other shortly, turning to go on.</p> - -<p>But some one seized his arm and spun him -around again.</p> - -<p>“Is that so?” asked the dark-complexioned -youth threateningly. “Say, you’re a sort of a -fresh kid, aren’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Not when I’m left alone.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span></p> - -<p>“Well, suppose I don’t choose to let you -alone?” The bully stepped close to Harry and -stuck his face down with an ugly leer on it. -“What would you do then, Fresh?”</p> - -<p>“Let him be, Perry,” said one of the group. -“He’s only a kid.”</p> - -<p>“He’s a pretty fresh kid, though,” replied -Perry. “You are, aren’t you?” He laid a -hand on Harry’s shoulder and gripped it -hard.</p> - -<p>“If you don’t like my—my ways, let me -alone,” answered Harry between set teeth.</p> - -<p>“Sure I’ll let you alone!” Perry thrust his -right foot forward, and with a sudden push -sent the other stumbling backward. When -Harry brought up he was seated under a bush -at the side of the path and Perry and several -of the others were laughing heartily. But one -of the group had sprung forward, and now he -was helping Harry to his feet.</p> - -<p>“Don’t mind him, kid,” he said in a low voice. -“Run along now. No harm done.” He brushed -some leaves from the boy’s back and gave him -a good-natured shove in the direction of the -dormitory. But Harry, his face white now and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span> -his body trembling, strode across to the group -and faced the chief tormentor.</p> - -<p>“You’re a big bully, that’s what you are!” -he declared hotly. “Leave your crowd and -come over here with me! I dare you to!”</p> - -<p>Perry growled something and lifted his hand, -but the others intervened.</p> - -<p>“Cut it, Perry! Let the kid alone.”</p> - -<p>“That’s right; no scrapping, Perry. He’s -too small for you.”</p> - -<p>“I—I’ll punch his pretty little face for -him!” snarled Perry, striving to push by his -friends.</p> - -<p>“You touch me and I’ll show you something -you won’t like,” said Harry, standing his -ground.</p> - -<p>“You shut up, kid, and run along home,” advised -one of the crowd. “There’s going to be -no scrapping to-day. So cut it out.”</p> - -<p>The boy who had helped Harry to his feet -laid a hand on his arm and pulled him away. -“That’ll be about all, kid. Come along.”</p> - -<p>“All right,” answered Harry, resisting for -a moment. “But he can’t do that sort of thing -and get away with it. I’ll get even with him<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span> -before I’m through. And I’ll fight him whenever -he likes.”</p> - -<p>“You’d put up a grand little fight, wouldn’t -you?” sneered Perry across the shoulder of -one of his crowd. “Say, Fresh, you just keep -away from me or you’ll get hurt, and hurt -badly. Do you hear?”</p> - -<p>“I hear you <em>talk</em>,” scoffed Harry. “That’s -all bullies can do!”</p> - -<p>Then his rescuer dragged him away just as a -second group of boys came up demanding to -know what the row was about. Harry accompanied -his new friend for some distance in silence. -Finally, moved to defense by the other’s -unspoken censure, “Well,” he muttered, “you -wouldn’t like it yourself, I guess.” His companion -smiled. Then,</p> - -<p>“Kid,” he said gravely, “you’ll find a lot of -things you won’t like before you get through -here.”</p> - - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">II</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">A week later the awkward squad ceased -to exist. Some few of the members, -discouraged by the sheer irksomeness -of the labor, voluntarily resigned; others, who -showed no football possibilities, were dismissed, -and the rest, perhaps ten in all, went to -Squad C. Among the latter was Harry. Hugh -Barrett, the big left guard, who had reigned -over the awkward ones, had taken a sort of -professional interest in Harry, an interest -evinced by muttered words or grunts of commendation -at first and by sharp criticisms later. -Once he asked the younger boy:</p> - -<p>“You fellow in the red shirt! Where’d you -learn to catch a ball that way?”</p> - -<p>“At home. I played on my high school -team three years,” answered Harry. Barrett -grunted.</p> - -<p>“Three years, eh? How old are you now?”</p> - -<p>“Fifteen.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span></p> - -<p>“Must have started young,” muttered Barrett. -“What’s your name?”</p> - -<p>“Danforth.”</p> - -<p>“Well, take charge here, Danforth, till I get -back. Keep ’em passing.”</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Harry had settled down into his -groove at school. Lessons were proving a bit -harder than expected, but, thanks to a summer -of coaching at the hands of one of the high -school instructors, he was keeping up his end. -Tracey Colgan, with whom Harry roomed in -Number 16 Temple Hall, was turning out to be -a much more companionable and likable fellow -than Harry had at first hoped for. Tracey -came from some small town in the vicinity of -Boston and possessed all the frigidity of manner -popularly associated with New Englanders. -But underneath the icy coating was a warm -heart and a liveliness of temperament quite unsuspected. -After Harry got to know him better—and -you can’t room with a chap very long -without getting to know him—he liked him very -much. He was rather tall and thin, good-looking -in a way—nice-looking would be a better -word for it—and excruciatingly clean and neat.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span> -It seemed to Harry that Tracey was forever -bathing or scrubbing, while as for his attire a -badly tied scarf made him positively wretched -and he consumed more time in dressing than -Harry took for his entire morning preparations! -Tracey was rather a grind, which, perhaps, -was fortunate, since just at this time -Harry needed some one to set him an example -in studiousness. Not that Harry didn’t want -to study, for he did. He had no mistaken notions -of what he was at Barnstead for. But -football is a hard taskmaster, he was an enthusiastic -lover of it, and previous success had -made him ambitious to win further honors. In -short, during those first two months of school -he was inclined to spend a little too much time -and energy on football and not enough on his -lessons.</p> - -<p>Perry Vose, for Tracey had easily supplied -the name of the boy when Harry had recounted -his adventure, had so far not troubled Harry -again. Once or twice, on the field or in School -Hall, they had passed, but there had been no -display of hostility other than a scowl. After -he had cooled off Harry had been a little<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span> -ashamed and regretful of his loss of temper. -As Tracey had pointed out, a new fellow was -liable to a good deal of kidding and even some -roughing-up at the hands of the older boys. It -was all a part of getting settled down. Tracey -thought his chum had escaped rather easily, -and to prove it narrated some fairly hair-raising -hazing exploits that he knew of. As for -the chap who had befriended him that day, -Harry had only glimpsed him once or twice -from a distance, not a surprising fact when it -is considered that Barnstead Academy boasted -of some two hundred and forty pupils.</p> - -<p>Of course life wasn’t quite all football for -Harry. Recitations averaged four hours a day -for the Lower Middle Class, of which he was a -member, and the evenings were largely given -over to study. And several times he and Tracey -met on the tennis court in the morning after a -hurried breakfast and played a set or more -before the bell summoned them to first recitation. -And Sundays were in the nature of holidays. -There was church in the forenoon in the -school chapel, but after that the rest of the day -was theirs for whatever orderly recreation they<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span> -chose. Tracey was fond of walking and he -and Harry and Joe Phillips, the football manager, -often took long, wandering trips about -the autumn country. The discovery of chestnut -trees was one of their delights. The burs -had not yet begun to open, but the boys set -down the location of the trees in their minds -and bided their time. As the days went by -Harry’s circle of acquaintances increased in a -haphazard and natural way. You sat next to a -fellow in class and spoke to him about some -trivial matter. Then you nodded to him when -you passed him on the campus. And finally -you dropped into his room by invitation, or he -dropped into yours. And in dining-hall, of -course, it took but one or two days to get on -speaking terms, at least, with the fellows at -your table. At the end of his first fortnight -Harry was surprised to discover how large a -circle of speaking acquaintances he had. Of -real friends he had so far but one, Tracey. -Friendships aren’t made in a day even at preparatory -school. Next to Tracey, Joe Phillips -was the fellow he knew best. Joe, however, -was several years older than Harry and, while<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span> -he was a fine chap in every way, Harry experienced -no affection for him. Perhaps Harry -made acquaintances more easily than the average -boy. He was eminently attractive to look -at, had a winning smile, could listen as well as -talk, and was, in short, thoroughly companionable.</p> - -<p>On Squad C Harry performed creditably for -a week. Work at the dummy had begun and a -provisional eleven had been made up. The first -game was but a few days away. Harry had -been placed with the halfbacks, a position for -which his experience recommended him. Squad -C began to thin out as the first contest drew -near. Some of the fellows went to the first team -as third substitutes, others went to Squad B, -which had now developed into the second team, -in like capacities, and a few fell out of the race. -Just before the Belton game Harry was taken -on to the second and a few days later Squad C, -like Squad Z, ceased to exist. By that time the -number of candidates had dwindled from sixty-odd -to about forty, and most of those who remained -were certain to last the season out -either on the school team or the second, barring<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span> -accidents. Harry was glad to get into the second -team fold, but he had no intention of remaining -there.</p> - -<p>The Belton game, looked on beforehand as -not much more than a good practice, proved a -tough contest and Barnstead won out eventually -by the slim margin of a kicked goal, the -final score being 7–6. That was on a Saturday, -the last Saturday but one in September, and -on the following Monday Coach Worden made -a number of changes in the line-up of the first -team. Several substitutes were given opportunities -to show what they could do, while -Jones, who had exhibited remarkably poor generalship -as quarter in Saturday’s game, gave -place to Bob Peel, a small, freckle-faced youth -with red hair and any amount of vim. Unfortunately, -however, Peel, while a good director, -was only a mediocre player in the backfield, -and that Monday afternoon a fumble by him of -a long punt paved the way for a touchdown by -the second and a subsequent victory. Harry -got in that day at left halfback for a full ten-minute -period, and after the scrimmage was -over the school was relishing the knowledge of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span> -a discovery. For in ten minutes Harry, using -every bit of the daring, reckless courage that -had brought him fame at Hillston, and all the -knowledge he had gained since, dashed through -the first team’s defense or around its drawn-in -ends for long gains time after time and opened -Coach Worden’s eyes to the fact that here was -a youngster worth watching and cultivating. -Hugh Barrett, even when a play with Harry -hugging the ball went through his position, -grunted commendation and nodded his head -knowingly. He had, he told himself, seen from -the first that Danforth had something in him. -So Barnstead Academy took a sensation with -it up the hill and back to the dormitories, and -the sensation was the sudden appearance on -the football horizon of a new star whose name -was Danforth!</p> - -<p>Barnstead met Cruger’s School and Thurston -Polytechnic on succeeding Saturdays—there -were no mid-week games—and scored one victory -and met one defeat. The victory was overwhelming -and the defeat, at the hands of Thurston, -a heavier and far more experienced team, -was honorable. Barnstead reached the middle<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span> -of the season hopeful and determined. Harry -was still on the second team and was still making -good. Of course he had much to learn, but -he was learning it fast. And the school at -large, having enjoyed its sensation, settled -down to a hearty admiration of “the kid halfback,” -as they called him and looked for great -things from him. Some criticism was aired because -Worden did not at once move Harry from -the second to the first. There were plenty of -critics who declared that “young Danforth -could play rings around Norman.” Norman -was the present first choice for left half, a hard-working -but not especially brilliant youth who -had already had two seasons on the team. But -Worden, if he heard the criticisms, paid them -no heed. Harry needed training and experience -in fast company before he was ready for -the School Team, and the coach meant that he -should have it. The second eleven worked prodigiously -those days and the first had all it -could do to register anything like a decisive victory. -To be sure, the second had its slumps, -as when, the Tuesday after the Thurston game, -it allowed the first to tally four touchdowns<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span> -and only saved itself from a shut-out by lifting -the ball over the cross-bar for a field goal. To -even matters, however, the first team itself was -only human and sometimes let down in its play -and allowed the second to tie or, infrequently, -to win.</p> - -<p>Four games remained on the schedule when -October was half gone: Carver Academy, -Pleasanton High, Norwich Academy and St. -Matthew’s. St. Matthew’s was Barnstead’s -dearly hated rival in every sport and the victor -in most. The Blue triumphed almost yearly -on the track and won more than her share of -the baseball contests. It was only in hockey -and football that the records of the two schools -came anywhere near balancing. At hockey -Barnstead, aided by better ice facilities, was -the master, while at football the Brown had -almost, if not quite, as many wins to her credit -as the Blue. This year, having met defeat last -November, the Brown considered it her turn -to triumph and meant to do so. And to this -end the school worked as one.</p> - -<p>And yet there was an exception after all, and -that exception was Perry Vose. Perry was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span> -eighteen years of age, strongly built, good-looking -in a dark and somewhat surly way and -what the fellows who had seen him perform -called a corking player. But in spite of his -ability Perry was not on the team this year. -Why this was so Harry learned from Tracey.</p> - -<p>“He played in the line two years,” said Tracey. -“Left guard, I think. Maybe he was -right. Anyhow, he has a beast of a temper -and can’t hold on to it. In almost every game -he was cautioned for slugging or rough work -of some sort, and several times he was put off. -Worden stood a lot from him because he was -such a dandy player. But last year in the -Pleasanton game he mixed it up with the chap -who played opposite him, the umpire or the referee -caught him, the other chap got a cut lip -and Perry was put off. After the game Worden -told him he needn’t report again until he could -play decently and like a gentleman. Perry -‘sassed’ him for fair, they say; I didn’t hear -it; and Worden told him then that he needn’t -report again for football as long as he was -coaching because he wouldn’t have him. Faculty -heard about it and Perry came mighty<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span> -near being expelled. He had to apologize to -Worden and went on probation for two months. -That didn’t make him care any more for the -coach, and he still hates him like anything. -Mention Worden to Perry and he will foam at -the mouth!”</p> - -<p>And Tracey smiled reminiscently.</p> - -<p>“He seems to have a good many friends, -though,” said Harry.</p> - -<p>“Oh, he isn’t such a bad sort when he behaves. -Lots of fellows like him, or pretend to, -because his folks are pretty well fixed and -Perry always has a lot of money to spend. And -he spends it. Still, maybe it isn’t only that. I -dare say lots of fellows like him just for—for -himself. He can be very decent if he wants -to. It’s his old temper that plays hob with -him. You and he had any more trouble?”</p> - -<p>“No, he’s let me alone and I’ve let him -alone.”</p> - -<p>“Good scheme, chum. He’s a bad man in a -mix-up.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not afraid of him,” replied Harry -stoutly. “But I don’t see that there’s any use -in having a fuss. I said I’d get even with him<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span> -some day, and I intend to, but I don’t want to -lose my place on the second on his account. -And it might come to that if we had a row and -faculty heard of it.”</p> - -<p>“You’re wise. Keep away from him. And if -he tries to start anything, run. It would be -like him to get you into a rumpus just so -faculty would hear of it and, maybe, put you -on pro. He’d like that because it would lose -Worden a good player.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t mean Vose would want to see us -beaten just because he dislikes Mr. Worden!”</p> - -<p>“Hm; not exactly, perhaps. Still, I wouldn’t -wager much on it! If he could get even with -Worden I dare say he wouldn’t care a continental -whether we won or lost at football!”</p> - -<p>“He’s a dandy!” said Harry indignantly. -“If that’s the way it is you can bet I’ll keep -away from him. I’ll even run if necessary! -But if ever I do run from him I’ll run back -again when the football’s over! And then he -will learn something!”</p> - -<p>“Easy!” laughed Tracey. “Perry Vose is -three inches taller than you are and three years -older—almost.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span></p> - -<p>“He’s a bully, and I never saw a bully yet -who wasn’t a coward at heart.”</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t count too much on that, Harry. -He may be a bully, but you’ll find he’s no coward. -And he’s a mean chap in a fight. Take -my advice and let him alone.”</p> - -<p>“I mean to—at present,” replied Harry. “I -can’t afford to take any chances. I want to -make the first before the season’s over. Think -I will, Tracey?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t see how you can help it. I’m not -much of a football fan, but I hear what the fellows -say, and they all seem to think that you -are some wonder. Guess I’ll have to wander -down to the field and see you in action some -day.”</p> - -<p>“It’s quite a sight,” laughed Harry.</p> - -<p>“I suppose so.” Tracey was silent a moment. -Then, with a smile, “Funny how my -stock’s gone up lately,” he added.</p> - -<p>“How do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Why, since the fellows discovered that you -were a star football player I am treated with -much more respect. You see, I happen to be -your roommate. Case of reflected glory.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, shut up,” said Harry.</p> - -<p>“Fact, though. Wouldn’t be surprised if I -went down to posterity as the fellow who -roomed with Harry Danforth at prep school! -Say, don’t turn me out next year, will you? -Think how I’d feel!”</p> - -<p>“You make me sick,” grumbled Harry. -“You’re twice as popular and—and important -as I am.”</p> - -<p>“I used to be,” sighed Tracey, “but now I’m -just Danforth’s roommate. Still, fame is fame, -and——”</p> - -<p>But just there Harry shied a book at him, and -in the scuffle that followed fame was forgotten.</p> - -<p>In the Carver game Harry had his first try -on the School Eleven. Worden put him in at -the beginning of the third quarter at left half, -displacing Norman. Harry did good work -against a team that averaged several pounds -lighter and established himself more firmly than -ever in the affection and admiration of his fellows. -And yet when the fourth period began -it was Norman who went in at the left of quarter -and Harry retired to a blanket and the -bench. Just why this was he couldn’t see, since<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span> -he was conscious of having played well, better, -he honestly believed, than Norman. But facts -were facts, and he saw the last ten minutes of -a rather listless combat from the substitutes’ -bench. Barnstead had no trouble rolling up -twenty-seven points and was only scored on -when Jones, who took Bob Peel’s place in the -last period, fumbled the ball on Barnstead’s -thirty yards and a quick-witted and long-legged -Carver forward got it and tumbled through a -broken field for a touchdown. Poor Jones, -whose fortunes were trembling in the balance -before, was a sad-faced youth as the players -trotted back to the gymnasium after the game, -and Harry pitied him. From thence on Jones -was frankly a second-string quarter and Bob -Peel ruled the roost. Football, like life, is a -case of the survival of the fittest, and the boy -who makes good in the first more often than -not makes good in the latter. And the lessons -learned on the gridiron, lessons of obedience to -authority, confidence, unselfishness and self-control, -are lessons that stand one in good -stead in the bigger game to follow. Harry, with -some dim notion of this in his mind, mentally<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span> -compared Jones’ conduct under discipline to -Perry Vose’s. Jones probably had a bad hour -or two with himself, but the next Monday he -turned up smiling and cheerful, and all the rest -of the season he worked hard when work was -given him, served patiently with the waiters on -the bench and never once gave voice to a disgruntled -expression. Jones was a good loser, -which is scarcer than a good winner. And -Harry, looking on, learned a lesson from Jones.</p> - -<p>The team had its troubles that week. Plaisted, -the best guard the school had, and, with the -possible exception of Captain Ted Corson, at -fullback, the best player of all, wrenched his -knee in practice on Tuesday and went off for -what the doctor predicted would be a full week. -Parrett, first substitute, took his place at the -right of center and filled it fairly satisfactorily, -but Plaisted was missed. I think that if ever -Worden was tempted to retract his words and -offer Perry Vose his old position it was then. -But he didn’t. Nor did he show any sign of -yielding when, a week later, Plaisted returned -to work, hobbled around rather uselessly and -was finally retired for good with a bad case of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span> -water on the knee. By that time Pleasanton -High had come and gone with trailing banners -and Barnstead had scored another victory. But -the Pleasanton game, although it had been won -decisively, 15 to 3, proved to Coach Worden -that Parrett was not another Plaisted and that -the right of the line was now its weak place. -Several experiments were tried during the first -of the week, but it was not until Captain Corson -was changed from fullback to right guard that -the difficulty seemed to be solved. Ted Corson -had played guard two years before and so was -no novice in the line. To fill Corson’s place, -Carstairs, right half, was pulled back to full, -and Harry Danforth at last became a member -of the School Team. Norman was moved across -to the other side and Harry went in at left half. -And the school applauded.</p> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">III</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">As the Norwich Academy game drew near -the school rose rapidly toward the -zenith of football enthusiasm. Studies -suffered, as they always do at such times, and -the faculty, made wise by experience, was as -lenient as possible. It was less the players and -substitutes themselves who made sorry showings -in the classrooms than the school at large. -It was the non-combatants whose minds refused -to mix football with study, to the detriment of -study. They not only had to watch and speculate -upon the local football situation, but must -keep close tab on the progress of the college -teams as well. Nearly every preparatory -schoolboy is for one reason or another an enthusiastic -partisan of one or other of the universities. -Usually he has selected his college -by the end of his first year at school and from -then on, or until he changes his inclination, he -follows the fortunes of the football heroes representing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span> -his future alma mater with breathless -interest. So it can readily be seen that the -months of October and November constitute a -busy season for the schoolboy, with the interest -and excitement drawing to a breathless crisis -about the middle of November. Barnstead -Academy talked football, read football and -dreamed football. It had football for breakfast, -dinner and supper, and nibbled on it between -meals! City newspapers with accounts -of the college and big school gridiron doings -were at a premium, while illustrated weeklies, -picturing and describing recent contests, were -passed around from room to room and read -and re-read until torn and tattered.</p> - -<p>Tracey Colgan, who had heretofore been as -little enthusiastic about football as anyone in -school, became so deeply interested that he -journeyed day after day to the field to watch the -play of Harry and, incidentally, the rest of the -team. One can’t room with a football player -and listen to his talk without eventually becoming -at least mildly enthusiastic. Harry was -very glad of his chum’s new-found interest, -since it gave him someone to talk things over<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span> -with, someone sympathetic. And Harry was -grateful for sympathy just then, for things -weren’t going any too well and there were many -hours of discouragement. But while sympathetic, -Tracey was also sane.</p> - -<p>“Look here,” he would say, “what’s the use -of getting yourself all stirred up about it? Supposing -you don’t keep your place until the St. -Matthew’s game. What’s it going to matter a -year or two from now? There’s no use getting -white hairs and wrinkles over it as far as I can -see.”</p> - -<p>“That’s because you’ve never played,” replied -Harry mournfully. “If you had you’d—you’d -understand.”</p> - -<p>“I understand that you football chaps are a -lot of crazy idiots for two months every year,” -answered Tracey. “Great Scott, anyone would -think that your blessed lives depended on your -making the first team! Suppose you just stop -a bit and consider the fact that there are about -two hundred fellows here who never looked a -football in the lacings!”</p> - -<p>“There aren’t; there are only two hundred -and forty fellows in school and I guess half<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span> -of them have played football at some time or -other.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I was speaking—er—approximately,” -replied Tracey, undisturbed. “What I’m trying -to make you see is that you and the rest of -your tribe are taking the whole thing much too -seriously and that the world’s going to keep -right on humming around whether you get a -black eye in the St. Matthew’s game or look on -from the grandstand.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all well enough for you,” objected -Harry, “but you don’t see it the way we do. -If you——”</p> - -<p>“Or <em>you</em> don’t see it the way the rest of us -do,” laughed Tracey. “All right. Go ahead -and have your conniption fits. But if you keep -on worrying the way you’re worrying nowadays -you’ll not only lose your place on the -team, but you’ll fill an early grave. And flowers -are expensive this time of year.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not worrying,” replied Harry a trifle -resentfully.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, not at all! You’ve been sitting there -with that book in front of you for forty-five -minutes and you haven’t looked into it once.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span> -Bet you don’t even know whether it’s an algebra -or a French dictionary!”</p> - -<p>“I do, too! It’s”—Harry stole a glance at -it—“it’s Cicero.”</p> - -<p>“Good stuff! Emulate our old friend then. -Bet you Cicero never lost his head over football.”</p> - -<p>“He never lost his head over anything,” -grumbled Harry, “except his silly old orations.”</p> - -<p>“He was a wise old party,” returned Tracey, -who had taken a volume of Shakespeare’s -Works and was hunting through the pages. -“And I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew something -about football, either. Here it is. Listen -to this. Mr. Cicero is speaking to Casca. -‘Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time; but men -may construe things after their fashion, clean -from the purpose of the things themselves.’ -Yes, sir, I guess they played football where -Cicero went to school!”</p> - -<p>“That’s nonsense. Besides, Cicero didn’t -say that; Shakespeare said it.”</p> - -<p>“Makes it more probable, then, that the remark -refers to football,” replied Tracey untroubledly.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span> -“For, if I remember right, they -played football in William’s time.”</p> - -<p>“You ought to join the Debating Society,” -grunted Harry. “Shut up now, will you, and -let me study.”</p> - -<p>Harry’s uneasiness was due to the fact that -a youth named Dyker, familiarly known as -Dutch, was pressing him closely for the position -of left halfback. Dyker had played two -years on the second and had won promotion -that Fall to the first team as substitute. Just -at present Harry and Dyker were alternating -in the coveted position and Harry’s heart was -filled with fear. Dyker had the advantage of -years, being seventeen, and, besides, was a -rather clever punter, something which Harry -made no claim to be. Harry used to dream -about this time that he had sprained an ankle -or broken an arm and that Dyker had ousted -him for the rest of the season, and groan so -loudly in his sleep that Tracey would shy a pillow -across at him and beg him to turn over.</p> - -<p>For my part I think that many of Harry’s -fears were groundless and that in pitting the -two boys against each other Worden was only<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span> -trying to develop each to the utmost. Harry’s -dashing brilliancy in a broken field kept him -head and shoulders above his rival, who, even -if he could punt well and might be needed in -the big game for that accomplishment, was only -a fair ground-gainer after all. But Harry -didn’t realize that and there were moments, -when, as it seemed to him, Dyker was pressing -him closely for his place, that Harry could almost -find it in his heart to wish that Dutch -would bust something and retire from the struggle.</p> - -<p>Work grew very strenuous that last fortnight. -The dummy was resurrected and hung -again on his twenty-foot railway, and for three -days the first team fellows went back to first -principles, throwing themselves upon the -stuffed and headless figure at the end of the -chain, falling on wabbling, elusive balls and -chasing them across the turf to catch them on -their erratic bounds. And with this primary -instruction went final polishing in signal work -and the development of the attack. And almost -before anyone realized it, it was Saturday and -the day of the Norwich contest, beyond which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span> -lay but four days of practice before the final -struggle of the football season.</p> - -<p>Barnstead turned out to a boy that afternoon, -in spite of a drizzling rain, and practiced -the songs that were to be sung at the St. -Matthew’s game and cheered on the slightest -provocation at the behest of eight tireless, merciless -cheer leaders who, armed with brown -megaphones, waved their arms and shook their -fists and demanded “A regular cheer, fellows, -and make it good!” on the slightest provocation. -Norwich sent over a small but determinedly -noisy group of youths, who answered -every vocal challenge from across the wet -field.</p> - -<p>Harry started the game at left half, and provided -the first sensation when, two minutes -after the kick-off, he stole a forward pass and -dodged and squirmed his way through the ruck -of players and sped across seven white lines for -the first score of the game. When, having -placed the pigskin squarely back of the posts -with practically no opposition, he scrambled to -his feet, eight discarded brown megaphones -were tumbling about the turf in front of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span> -stand and eight red-faced cheer leaders were -leaping and gesticulating, while from some two -hundred eager throats a vast and deafening -roar of sound was sweeping across the field.</p> - -<p>Later, in the second twelve-minute period, -Harry again brought the stand to its feet when, -from a double pass behind the line, he got safely -away around his own right end and reeled off -almost thirty yards before he was pulled down -into a puddle. But the most encouraging feature -of that game was the work of Captain Corson -at right guard and of Carstairs at fullback. -Corson was as steady as a wall against the -strong attack of Norwich, while Carstairs, in a -position he had played but a few days, shone -brilliantly. The first half ended with the score -7 to 6, Norwich having failed to kick goal after -her touchdown in the second period.</p> - -<p>Worden made several changes in the line-up -when the second half began. A new left tackle -went in, a substitute center was tried, Jones -took Peel’s place at quarter and both halfbacks -were fresh men. Harry viewed Dyker’s substitution -with misgiving as he drew a blanket -about him and settled down to watch the contest<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span> -from the bench. He was a little bit angry -with the coach and looked so glum that Bob -Peel, squeezing himself into a seat between -Harry and a substitute end, ventured consolation.</p> - -<p>“Cheer up, Danforth,” said the quarter, kicking -him good-naturedly on the ankle. “You -don’t know when you’re well off. All we have -to do is sit here and see those poor chaps work. -It’s fine!”</p> - -<p>Harry smiled faintly. “That’s all right for -you, Peel. You’re sure of your place. I’m not. -Just when I get going fairly well Worden yanks -me out and puts in Dyker.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I guess he wants Dyker to help with -the punting. It’s up to Carstairs, and it won’t -do to work him too hard to-day. As for being -sure of your place”—Peel shrugged his shoulders—“there’s -no such thing, Danforth. Any -of us may wrench a knee or an ankle or something, -and then where are we? Why, it’s the -uncertainty that makes half the fun!”</p> - -<p>“Is it?” muttered Harry without enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>“Sure. What the dickens is Carstairs doing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span> -off there? He’s way out of position if that’s a -delayed pass. Thought so! Lost a yard! I -suppose I ought to be sort of pleased when -Jones slips up like that, but I’m not. He’s a -good old sort, Jones. That’s better! Right -through left guard for three! If Dyker would -put his head down and forget to slow up every -time he strikes the line he’d do a heap better. -Let’s see how he boots this. Not bad. Nearly -forty yards, I guess. Seems to me if Worden -took him in hand he could make a real punter -out of Dutch. He’s got another year, hasn’t -he?”</p> - -<p>“I think so,” answered Harry. “He does -punt well, doesn’t he? Gets them off quickly, -too.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, if he could plunge as well as he can -kick he’d get a place. As it is I guess you’re -pretty certain to start the game next week. -Here comes that delayed pass again. That’s a -lot better. We ought to have a score coming -to us pretty soon.”</p> - -<p>Barnstead was down on Norwich’s thirty-three -yards, and it was first down again. Carstairs -swept around the left of the Norwich<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span> -line for six yards or so, made two through center -and then fell back as though to try a drop-kick. -But the ball went to Simmons, who was -playing right half, and Simmons wormed past -left tackle for the necessary gain. From the -twenty-two-yard line the home team carried -the pigskin to the threshold of a score, only to -lose it a yard from the last line. Norwich held -beautifully. After kicking from behind its goal -line the visiting eleven got the ball on a fumble -near mid-field and started toward Barnstead’s -goal. The Brown’s defense was pretty thoroughly -tested during the ensuing five or six -minutes and Norwich made the thirty yards -without losing possession of the pigskin once. -There, however, the Brown stiffened and, after -two tries that netted but five yards, Norwich -made a forward pass that worked finely and -took the ball half the distance to the goal. But -the Brown line was pretty tight now, and after -being thrice repulsed Norwich tried a desperate -place kick from a difficult angle and missed. -With the ball back in mid-field the quarter -ended.</p> - -<p>“I wonder,” mused Bob Peel, “if Worden’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span> -going to be satisfied with what we’ve got. It’s -taking chances, I say.”</p> - -<p>Apparently the coach had determined to play -on the defensive for the remainder of the game -and made no change in the line-up. Harry, who -had hoped to get in again, scowled at Coach -Worden’s back as the latter strolled past the -bench. Peel, seeing, laughed.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t he the mean old thing, Danforth?” he -asked. “Good thing, though, he didn’t turn -around just then and see your expression. He -might have sacked you for calling him names!”</p> - -<p>“I wasn’t,” answered Harry, grinning in -spite of himself.</p> - -<p>“Thinking names, then. It’s the same -thing.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I do think he might let me play,” said -the other. “You, too.”</p> - -<p>“Me? Oh, I don’t mind. You see, Danforth, -he’s keeping us out of it because we’re too -precious to take chances with. Looking at it in -that way, you see, it’s a fine old compliment to -our worth and abilities.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t look at it that way,” murmured -Harry.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span></p> - -<p>“Might as well. Hello! Look at that!”</p> - -<p>A Norwich back, the ball tucked into the corner -of his left arm, was streaking down the -field, evading player after player of the opposing -team and crossing one white line after another, -while the stands broke into wild, unintelligible -tumult! Only Jones, playing well -back, stood between the Norwich runner and -the goal, and hundreds of voices died into silence -as the two forms, one speeding desperately -and one advancing alertly and cautiously, -drew near. Then a great shout of triumph and -relief from the supporters of the home team -broke forth, and Peel murmured: “Good old -Jonesy! Tackled like a man!”</p> - -<p>For Jones had brought down the runner on -the twenty-four-yard line with as pretty a -tackle as had been seen all season, and Norwich’s -hope of winning the game died a sudden -death. Coach Worden hurried a new end into -the field in place of Shallcross, and the teams -lined up on the twenty-four yards. But Norwich’s -bolt had been sped. Three attempts at -the tackles gained but six yards, and when the -left half fell back to kicking position and held<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span> -his hands for the ball nearly half the Barnstead -forwards came rushing through upon him and -the ball, striking a leaping figure, went bounding -back up the field. The substitute end fell -on it near the forty yards, and Dyker punted -down the field and out of bounds at Norwich’s -thirty-yard line. Three minutes later the game -was over, and Barnstead had won by the narrow -margin of one point. Harry, trotting back -to the gymnasium in the wake of the players, -forgot his enmity against the coach in the satisfaction -of victory.</p> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">IV</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">Barnstead celebrated that evening. -Not that the school was unduly elated -because of the victory over Norwich, -nor that the score was anything to be especially -proud of, but merely because football enthusiasm -was rampant and the afternoon’s success, -slight as it was, provided an excuse. As soon -as supper was over the fellows congregated in -front of School Hall and began cheering. Songs -followed the cheers, and then a voice cried: -“We want to march!” The suggestion won -immediate favor, and in almost less time than -it takes to tell it the fellows were falling into -line four abreast, two hundred throats were -singing the school anthem and the march had -begun. Shouting, cheering, singing, pushing -and jostling, the long column swung around the -corner and began the circuit of the campus.</p> - -<p>Harry found himself between Tracey, who -had been with him when the celebration began,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span> -and a substitute tackle named Cummings. Linking -arms, they followed on, adding their quota -to the noise and hilarity. The procession -paused at each dormitory to cheer the resident -instructor, and wound four blocks out of bounds -to reach Mr. Worden’s rooms in a little white -clapboarded cottage. The noise soon brought -the coach to the doorway and, when the throng -had quieted down, he made a short speech that -rekindled the waning enthusiasm. After that -the procession headed back to the campus, paid -a visit to the principal’s residence and finally -disbanded in front of School Hall. As it was a -Saturday night there was no imperative need -of studying, and so Harry and Tracey followed -a discordant group of revelers across to Hutchins -Hall and spent an hour with Joe Phillips -and his roommate, Bert Means, talking football -and predicting an overwhelming victory -over St. Matthew’s.</p> - -<p>The Sunday morning mail—one called for it -at the office between breakfast and chapel—brought -a letter to Harry from Pete Wilkinson, -back home. Pete had written once before -during the Fall, and as his letters, while rambling,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span> -held a deal of home news, Harry was always -glad to get them. The present epistle, -four full pages in length, detailed the doings -of mutual acquaintances since his last report -and brought the chronicles of the Hillston High -School Football Team down to date. Toward -the end Pete wrote:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Fellows think it funny we don’t see more about you in -the papers. We read most everything from around there -and haven’t seen your name in them but once some time -ago. Aren’t you on the team for regular? I see your -name down at left half sometimes and sometimes I see a -fellow named Dyker down. Tom Rawlins told George -High the other day that he’d heard you weren’t making -good and George told him he didn’t know what he was talking -about. And I guess he don’t. Write me how you are -getting on, Harry, and tell me all about everything. Do you -like the school and how many fellows are there there? Who -is your coach? Are you going to try for the hockey team -this winter? I hear that Barnstead is a great place for -hockey. I wish my father would let me go there next year, -but he says it costs too much. How much does it cost, -Harry? Are you coming home at Christmas? Answer soon. -All the fellows want to be remembered to you. Good luck, -Harry, and I hope you do fine a week from to-morrow. -All the fellows say the same. Your friend, Pete.</p></div> - -<p>Harry replied that afternoon and answered -Pete’s numerous questions to the best of his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span> -ability. The effect of writing this letter and -a less lengthy one to his father and mother was -to make Harry a little bit homesick, and, after -he had mailed the two epistles, he went off alone -for a long walk through a gray mist that added -very little to his spirits.</p> - -<p>But Monday dawned fair and crisp, and the -qualm of homesickness was gone and forgotten. -Practice that afternoon was as hard as any during -the year. Coach Worden was not satisfied -with the team’s defense, and so for the better -part of an hour the second was given the ball -time and time again, on the first team’s thirty -yards, on its twenty and, finally, on its five, and -told to put it over. It did so at last, from the five-yard -line, but not until the first team forwards -were battered and tired out. There was signal -work on the floor of the gymnasium that evening -and on the two evenings following, but the final -hard practice out of doors came on Tuesday. -After that the team were given only enough -work to keep them in shape. There was a fifteen-minute -scrimmage on Wednesday and a -good deal of punting and catching and some -signal practice. All the week it was Harry who<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span> -had the call for left half and Dyker got into -the play but once, for a brief ten minutes or so -on Tuesday. Thursday it rained hard all day, -and the short work at signals planned to take -place on the field was held in the basement of -the gymnasium. In the evening there was a -chalk talk upstairs, during which the players -underwent a pretty stiff examination as to their -familiarity with the plays to be used against -St. Matthew’s. The second team disbanded -Thursday afternoon and had its annual feast in -the visitors’ dining-room. Afterward it moved -in a body to the auditorium at the top of School -Hall and helped make the mass meeting a howling -success. Most of the first team fellows -joined the assemblage after Coach Worden released -them, arriving late, but receiving each -one a deafening cheer as he tried to slip unostentatiously -into a seat at the back of the hall. -All the songs which had ever been sung at previous -games and many new ones were rehearsed, -with the aid of the school Musical Club, and -every player got his share of applause. There -were speeches, too, and it was well toward ten -o’clock when, after singing the school anthem,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span> -the crowd, still joyously noisy, made its way -down the stairs.</p> - -<p>Harry, who had arrived at the mass meeting -late and had done his best to reach a seat undetected -and had failed, met Joe Phillips on -the way downstairs and paused at the entrance -to talk to him. Joe had made a speech and -was feeling exhilarated and communicative. -Consequently when Harry started off alone -across the campus for his room most of the fellows -had disappeared. Overhead there were -still a good many heavy, dark clouds floating, -but here and there a frosty star twinkled, and -over the top of Noyes Hall the moon was trying -bravely to make a showing. As Harry -reached the corner of his dormitory he became -aware of three boys ahead of him on the flag -walk. They had almost reached the entrance -when he saw them and the dim light above the -doorway threw their forms into relief without -revealing their faces. They had stopped just -short of the entrance, and as Harry approached, -his rubber-soled shoes making almost no sound -on the flags, one of the three raised an arm and -appeared to throw something at a window.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span> -Startledly, Harry listened for the resultant -crash of breaking glass. But there was no -sound save the scrape of feet as the trio dashed -up the steps and disappeared through the entrance. -Then Harry saw that the window, -which was one of those in Mr. Adams’ bedroom, -was raised at the bottom. The room was dark. -Wondering what mischief the three boys had -been up to, Harry reached the entrance almost -on their heels, just in time to see the -last of the trio, apparently one of the older boys -and rather heavily built, disappear around the -turn of the stairs. There was only time to -note the general build of the youth and the fact -that he wore a dark-brown sweater, at the back -of which, an inch or two above the hem, gleamed -a small white tag. Then they were gone and a -faint snicker of laughter floated down from -above through the empty hall. At that moment -the door of Number 2 opened quickly and -Harry, one foot on the first step, turned to find -Mr. Adams confronting him, Mr. Adams pulling -a faded red dressing-gown about his gaunt form -and scowling angrily.</p> - -<p>“You, Danforth?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span></p> - -<p>The resident instructor’s voice held both surprise -and wrath and Harry, equally surprised -and a trifle disconcerted, replied a bit uncertainly:</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Adams held out a thin arm, from which -the sleeve of his sleeping garment fell away, -and opened his outstretched hand. In it lay a -squashy brown mass. Harry viewed it doubtfully.</p> - -<p>“What—what is it, sir?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“You know perfectly what it is,” replied the -instructor, his voice shaking with anger. “It -is an apple, a rotten apple! Your aim was so -good, sir, that it landed against my face! A -rotten apple! Outrageous, Danforth, outrageous, -I say!”</p> - -<p>“But—but, Mr. Adams——”</p> - -<p>“If that is your idea of a joke, Danforth, I -fear we shall have to tame your humor, sir. It’s -insulting, sir, insulting!”</p> - -<p>“But I didn’t, sir!”</p> - -<p>“You didn’t! Oh, certainly not!”</p> - -<p>“I was just coming in when you opened your -door and——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span></p> - -<p>“But I asked you and you confessed!” replied -Mr. Adams triumphantly. He was growing -calmer, but the crimson spots on his thin -cheeks told plainly that his anger still held. -“Don’t make matters worse by lying, Danforth.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not, sir. I didn’t throw it, word of -honor, Mr. Adams!”</p> - -<p>“A likely story! Who did, then? This—this -unspeakable abomination”—the instructor’s -long nose seemed to quiver with disgust as he -viewed the object in his hand—“was thrown -into my room, right on to my pillow as I lay in -bed, against my very cheek, sir! Faugh!” He -made as if to hurl the apple through the doorway, -but thought better of it. “I jump from -bed, Danforth, open my door and find you here, -guilt stamped eloquently upon your face! And -now you have the—the brazen effrontery to tell -me you didn’t do it! I shall see that you are -severely punished, sir, and the fact that you -have added lying to your—your gutter-snipe act -will make me no more lenient, sir!”</p> - -<p>“But I tell you, sir,” protested Harry, flushing -resentfully, “that I did not do it! You’ve<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span> -got to believe me, sir! I know that appearances -seem against me, but I was halfway between -your window and the corner of the building -when the apple was thrown, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed?” sneered Mr. Adams. “Then you -saw it done, did you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir—that is——”</p> - -<p>“Well? Well? Did you or did you not? Go -on with your story. Let’s see how fertile your -imagination is, Danforth. You didn’t do it -yourself, but you saw it done. Very well; pray -proceed!”</p> - -<p>“I—I saw someone in front of the window, -sir, as I came along. They—he ran away and -I came in here and you opened your door and -called my name, and I said, ‘Yes, sir.’ That’s -all I know about it.”</p> - -<p>“Really?” Mr. Adams smiled sourly. “And -the boy you saw in front of the window? What -became of him, Danforth?”</p> - -<p>“He—he ran away,” faltered Harry; -“quickly.”</p> - -<p>“Very quickly indeed! So quickly that, although -I fairly bounded to the window, there -was no one in sight when I reached it; no one,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span> -I should say, but you. Sounds a likely story, -Danforth, doesn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“I can’t help it, sir,” replied Harry doggedly. -“It’s the truth.”</p> - -<p>“Which way did this—this figment of your -imagination run, sir?”</p> - -<p>Harry glanced toward the stairs. Not a -sound came from the upper floors. Mr. Adams -tapped impatiently on the floor with one slippered -foot.</p> - -<p>“I—I can’t say, sir,” answered Harry finally.</p> - -<p>“You can’t say! You don’t know whether he -entered this dormitory or not?”</p> - -<p>“I——” Again Harry hesitated. Even if -he told what he knew it was unlikely that the -boys could be detected now. “I think they -came in here, sir.”</p> - -<p>“You think! Don’t you know whether they—— -Look here, you said before that there -was but one boy! Now how many were there? -Careful, Danforth! You’re getting mixed!”</p> - -<p>“There was more than one; I think three. -They came in here, sir. That’s all I can say.”</p> - -<p>“You saw them enter this dormitory?” pursued -Mr. Adams relentlessly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span></p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Did they turn to the right or to the left? -Or did they go upstairs?”</p> - -<p>“I can’t tell you, sir. They—they came in -ahead of me.”</p> - -<p>“That will do, my boy. Go on to your room. -You’ll hear more of this—this pleasant little -escapade, this gentlemanly trick—in the morning.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t—don’t you believe me, sir?” asked -Harry desperately.</p> - -<p>Mr. Adams smiled sarcastically. “Oh, perfectly, -Danforth, perfectly! You tell a most -convincing story, I assure you. Dear me, yes, -most convincing. Let us hope, Danforth, that -you’ll be able to do as well before the Principal -in the morning. But don’t try to embroider -it any more, Danforth. It’s quite elaborate -enough as it is.” The instructor smiled broadly -but disagreeably. “I shall—ah—preserve this -odoriferous memento of my pleasant experience, -this slight token of your respect and regard, -Danforth, as Exhibit A. I’ve no doubt your -Principal will view it with interest. Good -night!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span></p> - -<p>Mr. Adams’ door closed with dignity, but as -it had shut upon a corner of the dressing-gown -and had to be reopened, the effect was somewhat -marred. Harry, smarting with the injustice -of the instructor’s conviction, apprehensive -of what would follow and generally discouraged, -sought his room. The light was -turned low and Tracey was sleeping audibly. -After a moment of indecision, for he wanted -very much to tell his story and get sympathy, -Harry undressed as noiselessly as possible and -tumbled into bed without arousing his chum. -But sleep didn’t come easily that night. Disturbing -thoughts of what might lie in store for -him kept him wakeful, and when, long after -eleven had struck, he fell into slumber, equally -disturbing visions haunted his sleep.</p> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">V</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">“You haven’t much to go on,” said Tracey -the next morning. “You don’t -know whether the fellows stopped on -this floor or went on to the third. And as for -the brown sweater, why, there are at least a -hundred in school. You might look for a -sweater with a white tag on it, I suppose. I -don’t understand the tag business. Sweaters -don’t have tags on them except when you buy -them, do they? Did it look like a new one?”</p> - -<p>“I couldn’t tell,” replied Harry. “It was -dark on the stairs and I only saw the chap for -a second.”</p> - -<p>“Adams is a pig-headed old codger, anyway,” -said Tracey disgustedly. “You couldn’t -convince him that you didn’t do it unless you -had the fellow who did do it and go and make -an affidavit before a notary! You’re up against -it, chum, I guess. Perhaps, though, Dobs”—the -Principal was called Dobs for short—“will<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span> -believe you. He isn’t a bad sort, Dobs. Neither -is Adams, for that matter, except that he’s as -stubborn as a mule and as full of dignity as a—a -camel!” At any other time Harry might have -protested at the simile, but this morning he was -too down in the mouth to care. “I suppose,” -went on Tracey, “that Adams didn’t mind being -hit with the apple much, but the fact that -it was rotten offended his blessed dignity. If -you’d only chucked a green apple——”</p> - -<p>“I tell you I didn’t!” cried Harry exasperatedly. -“I don’t know anything about it! -I——”</p> - -<p>“I know! I meant to say it was a pity the -fellow who did it didn’t throw a green one,” answered -Tracey soothingly. Harry grunted. -After a moment’s thought: “I suppose that -even if you found out who the fellow was,” continued -Tracey, “it wouldn’t do you much good. -I don’t suppose he’d ’fess up to it.”</p> - -<p>“He’d have to if I knew him,” replied the -other grimly. “Why, confound it, Tracey, if -Dobs thinks I’m lying he will—will——” -Harry choked. Tracey nodded sympathetically.</p> - -<p>“Pro,” he answered. “I know. Off goes<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span> -your head! No more football. It’s—it’s a -shame, old man!”</p> - -<p>“And Adams will tell his story and I won’t -have a show at all,” mourned Harry. “If—if -he says I can’t play any more I won’t stay here, -Tracey! I—I’ll leave!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I wouldn’t do that, chum. After all, -you know, things like this are likely to happen -to a fellow occasionally. And as for football, -why, there’s another year coming, and——”</p> - -<p>“You make me tired! Another year coming! -Just when I’ve beaten Dyker out for my position, -and the St. Matthew’s game comes to-morrow! -No, sir, if he says I can’t play to-morrow -I’ll quit, Tracey! It isn’t fair! I didn’t do -anything and they’ve no right to punish me for -something I didn’t do! You—you just wait and -see!”</p> - -<p>“You’ll think differently later, I guess,” said -Tracey sympathetically. He put an arm -through Harry’s. “Come on and have some -breakfast. You’ll feel better after that.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want any breakfast,” sighed Harry. -But he allowed the other to draw him to the -door and down the stairs and across to the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span> -dining-room. And afterward, had he thought -about it, he would have had to confess that -Tracey’s prediction had been a true one. For -he did feel better, a whole lot better, and even -began to look forward to his visit to the office -with more assurance. After all, he had done -nothing, and Dobs would just have to believe -him!</p> - -<p>But, sad to state, Dobs didn’t, although I -really think he wanted to and tried his best to. -Circumstantial evidence was overwhelmingly -against Harry and Mr. Adams had told his side -of the story convincingly. Moreover, Harry’s -desire to shield the real perpetrators led to -complications. He owned to having seen three -boys at the instructor’s window and the Principal -wanted to know directly why he had not -stated that number to Mr. Adams last night. -Harry had difficulty in explaining that satisfactorily, -and, while it was a small matter, it -caused the Principal to entertain doubts of -Harry’s candidness. In the end the Principal, -regretfully, as even Harry could see, gave the -only verdict possible: Guilty! Harry was sentenced -to a month’s probation, which meant<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span> -many hardships of which but one affected him -seriously. Boys on probation were not allowed -to represent the school on any athletic team.</p> - -<p>“I’m very sorry, Danforth,” said the Principal -gently. “Let this be a lesson to you, my -boy. Take your punishment like a man, and -play the game! Remember that it is adversity -that is the real test of us all!”</p> - -<p>Harry made no audible reply, but walked out -of the office mutinous and defiant. He would -not stay there a single hour longer, he told himself -hotly. Everyone was unjust and unfair. -He hated the whole school and everyone and -everything connected with it! He would go -back to his room, pack his bag and leave immediately! -But the next moment recollection of -the folks at home, of what they would think of -his conduct, came to him. His parents wouldn’t -understand, of course. They might even—yes, -he greatly feared they’d insist on his coming -back! Plainly, home was not the place to go to -if—if he did shake the dust of Barnstead from -his shoes. And if he didn’t go home where was -he to go? He had a little money, about eight -dollars, but that wouldn’t last long; in fact,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span> -when he stopped to think about it, it wouldn’t -much more than take him home! And home—Harry -shook his head and sighed—home didn’t -look very good to him. He could imagine just -the way his father would frown and click his -lips impatiently. Mr. Danforth had never -played football, had hardly, in fact, even seen -a game, and Harry was pretty certain that he -would never understand the motives prompting -his son to give up a school career in the middle -of the first term! And besides, he had, he reflected, -grown rather fond of the school and—and -some of the fellows. And, after all, Dobs -wasn’t really a bad sort; and Dobs had told -him to “play the game.” Running away -wouldn’t be playing the game, and so—so—well, -he guessed he’d stay!</p> - -<p>The Principal rendered his verdict just before -ten o’clock. By eleven, so quickly does -news circulate at school, it was very generally -known that young Danforth was on probation -for something he had done to offend Old -Adams. School sentiment was divided. Some -fellows condemned Harry unheard for risking -his place on the team and thereby putting the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span> -morrow’s game in jeopardy. Others, and these -were mostly fellows who had at some time or -other run foul of Mr. Adams in study hall, declared -that the instructor was always looking -for trouble and that it was a fair wager that -whatever Danforth had done he did not deserve -the punishment meted out to him. But of course -it was to Coach Worden and Captain Corson -that the tidings brought the most dismay. To -lose a first-string halfback on the very eve of -the Big Game was a misfortune to try their patience -and fortitude. But as there was no help -for it Mr. Worden promptly drew a line through -Danforth and wrote Dyker after it. And presently, -having discussed and mourned the loss -of the left half to its heart’s content, the school -at large accepted the situation, perked up and -again set its gaze confidently on the morrow.</p> - -<p>The mass meeting that night was the biggest -and most enthusiastic of any. Coach Worden -addressed the fellows, as did Captain Corson -and several members of the faculty. Neither -Harry nor Tracey attended. Harry for the -reason that probation confined him to his room -after supper, and Tracey because he didn’t<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span> -want to leave his chum to moon there alone. -But I fancy that these two boys were the only -absent ones that evening, and they were probably -not greatly missed. Certainly the two hundred -and odd occupants of the hall managed to -make plenty of noise without them! After they -had cheered and sung to their heart’s content -indoors they piled downstairs and out on to the -campus and began all over again. Tracey went -to the window and watched them massed in -front of School Hall, but Harry remained at -the table where, for an hour past, he had been -making a weak pretense of studying. It had -not been a very cheerful evening for Tracey, -for Harry was far too downhearted to be good -company and conversation had languished -early.</p> - -<p>“There goes Mr. Warren after them,” announced -Tracey with a chuckle. “He will break -that up quick time.”</p> - -<p>“Hope he does,” grunted Harry. “How’s a -fellow going to study with that beastly noise -going on?”</p> - -<p>Tracey’s prediction proved correct. The -cheers died suddenly away at the instructor’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span> -advent across the yard and the crowd broke -into small fragments and dissolved quietly. Yet -not altogether quietly, either. For presently, -from the upper end of the campus, came one -shrill and defiant cheer:</p> - -<p>“<em>Rah, rah, rah! Warren!</em>”</p> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">VI</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">The day of the St. Matthew’s game -dawned fair and crisp. There was a -little breeze blowing out of the northwest, -but it was not of sufficient strength to -have any influence on the play, unless, as -seemed improbable, it increased by afternoon. -The team piled into a coach and were driven -over to the neighboring village of Turner, -where they were to have their luncheon at the -little hotel, returning afterward just in time to -warm up before the contest. St. Matthew’s began -to put in an appearance about eleven, with -the arrival of the first eastbound express. The -village, bedecked with brown flags and bunting, -began to show specks of blue. The game was -to start at two o’clock, and by one the first of -the invaders appeared in the persons of two -small and enthusiastic youths, who carried blue -flags, wore blue arm bands and who marched -the length of the campus before proceeding to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span> -the field, critically viewing the buildings and -being greeted with loud and ironic cheers from -various windows. After that the stream from -the village set in in earnest and the blue flags -fluttered into the field by the dozens. But for -every blue one there were at least twenty -brown, and later, when St. Matthew’s started -the cheering, the heroic efforts of her supports -were drowned by the deafening response that -swept across the field.</p> - -<p>Harry and Tracey reached the field early and -were lucky enough to find seats at the end of -the third row in the stand. There were plenty -of empty seats toward the top, but the boys -wanted to be as near the play as possible. At -twenty minutes to two the St. Matthew’s players, -first-string men and substitutes, some -thirty in all, trotted through the end gate to the -cheers of the blue contingent across the white-streaked -turf. Five minutes later the brown-clad -warriors appeared, Corson in the lead, and -eight earnest, imploring cheer leaders seized -their megaphones and summoned such an outburst -that the players, doffing their blankets on -the side line, viewed the sloping, brown-flecked<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span> -bank in surprise. Then came a cheer for St. -Matthew’s, and then St. Matthew’s answered -it with one for Barnstead. The local band -struck up a march, flags fluttered and waved, -late comers crowded the aisles and the rival -teams went through their warming-up practice. -Brown ovals arched against a cloudless blue -November sky and the thud of leather against -leather punctuated the shrill cries of the quarterbacks -as they trotted their squads over the -field.</p> - -<p>In the midst of it all Harry glanced up to see -a group of three fellows pushing their way up -the aisle past his seat. They were laughing -merrily and paying not too much attention to -the comfort of those in front of them, being -evidently determined to get seats at any cost -of politeness. One of the boys, daring the conventions, -wore only a brown woolen sweater -over his vest, and as on such an occasion, when -parents and friends attended who could, Barnstead -was very particular to look her best, -Harry looked again and a trifle disapprovingly -at the big youth. The latter turned just then -to make a laughing remark to one of his companions<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span> -and Harry saw his face. He was Perry -Vose. That in a measure explained the costume, -for Perry was known to take delight in -defying school conventions. As Harry’s gaze -left Perry’s countenance there was a momentary -rift in the ascending file, and the -younger boy’s eyes fell on a tiny square of -white just above the bottom of the brown -sweater at the back. Instantly he was on his -feet, Tracey viewing him curiously. One by one -the throng in the aisle found accommodations -at left or right, but the three boys kept on, -doubtless seeking places together. Harry -watched, his heart thumping against his ribs, -and ascended two or three steps in order to see -better. Tracey was anxiously demanding what -was up, but Harry paid no heed to him. Then -suddenly he had a clear, unobstructed view of -Perry Vose climbing the stand above him. -There was the brown sweater with the white -tag just as he had glimpsed it the other night -at the turn of the dormitory stairs. And there -was the rather heavy, thick-set body he had -seen. The last doubt fled and Harry started -impetuously after Perry. But a few tiers beyond<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span> -he stopped and reconsidered. Then, descending -again to his place, he spoke softly to -Tracey.</p> - -<p>“You know Perry Vose, don’t you?” he -asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes, pretty well. Why?” Tracey viewed -his chum’s excited face uneasily.</p> - -<p>“I want you to go up there—I’ll show you -where he is—and tell him someone wants to -speak to him at the gate. Don’t say who it is. -Tell him you don’t know. Tell him any old -thing, only get him down to the gate, and do it -quick!”</p> - -<p>“Well, but what——”</p> - -<p>“Don’t ask questions, Tracey; just do what -I say, like a good pal, won’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Why—why, yes, I suppose so. But look -here, Harry, don’t get into any fuss with Perry. -What do you want to see him about?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you later. Go on, please. I’ll wait -down at the gate. Hurry up; there goes the -whistle!”</p> - -<p>Doubtfully Tracey left his seat and Harry -pointed out where Perry Vose sat near the top -of the grandstand between his two companions.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span> -Then Tracey climbed the aisle and Harry -sought the gate.</p> - -<p>On the gridiron St. Matthew’s was just kicking -off to the Brown. Harry heard the thud -of the blue-jerseyed youth’s shoe against the -pigskin and saw the ball arch into low flight -down the field. Then the crowd about the entrance -hid the rest from him. Minutes sped -and Vose didn’t appear. Thrice the whistle -shrilled beyond the barrier of spectators and -Harry incuriously wondered what was happening. -Then a brown sweater came into sight -around the corner and Perry Vose, an impatient -frown on his face, was searching for the -person who had sent for him. Back of Perry, -hovering anxiously about the corner of the -stand, Harry spied Tracey.</p> - -<p>“Vose!”</p> - -<p>Perry found the voice and stared doubtfully -as Harry strode up to him.</p> - -<p>“Hello,” he said. “What do you want, -kid?”</p> - -<p>“I want to speak to you a minute. Come -outside here, will you?”</p> - -<p>“Haven’t time. I’m looking for someone.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span></p> - -<p>“That’s all right,” answered Harry. -“You’re looking for me.”</p> - -<p>“The dickens I am!” Perry stared blackly. -“Do you mean you had the cheek to send and -get me down here?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. I’ve got a few words for you, Vose. -Will you come outside, please?”</p> - -<p>“If I do I’ll give you what for!” declared -Perry angrily. But he followed the younger -boy through the gate and around to the back -of the stand. “Now, what is it?” he demanded -shortly.</p> - -<p>“I guess,” began Harry, “that you heard I -was put on probation and so lost my place on -the team.”</p> - -<p>Perry nodded, a gleam of understanding in -his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Well, I worked hard for that place, Vose, -and I want to play. And what’s more, I mean -to.”</p> - -<p>“Fine! Go ahead, kid. I don’t object,” -laughed Perry.</p> - -<p>“I can’t unless you go with me to Mr. Adams -or the Principal and tell the truth.”</p> - -<p>“Tell the truth? Say, what the dickens are<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span> -you talking about? I haven’t got time to stay -here and hear your silly troubles. I want to -see the game, kid.” And Perry moved away.</p> - -<p>“Hold on, Vose!” Perry stopped uncertainly. -“Either you do what I say or—or you -fight!”</p> - -<p>Perry stared in amazement. The other boy’s -eyes, however, stared back just as hard and unfalteringly. -Perry tried bluster.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about, -kid. You must be plumb crazy! What have -I got to do with your playing on the team? -Say, you make me tired. I ought to punch -your silly head for you, that’s what I ought to -do! And I’ll do it, too, if you bother me any -more!”</p> - -<p>“That’s all right. You may have a chance -to try. But what you’ve got to do is go with -me to Mr. Adams——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, forget it! What would I do that for?”</p> - -<p>“To tell him you shied that apple at him,” replied -Harry quietly. “I’m being punished for -what you did and it isn’t fair, Vose.”</p> - -<p>“Shied—— Say, what are you talking -about?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span></p> - -<p>“You know very well. You threw that rotten -apple into his room the other night. I saw you -do it. He thought it was me and told Dobs. -Now——”</p> - -<p>“Poppycock! I never saw your old apple!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you did. And either you own up and -let me out or you fight.”</p> - -<p>“Fight, eh?” Perry scowled fiercely down -at Harry. “Then I guess I’ll fight, kid. And -if I do you’ll be an awful messy-looking youngster -when I get through.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you may be able to lick me——”</p> - -<p>“I’ll half kill you,” growled Perry.</p> - -<p>“And then again you may not,” continued -Harry. “Anyway, I’ll make a bargain with -you. If you lick me I’ll keep still and won’t -tell. If I lick you you’ll go with me to Mr. -Adams and own up. What do you say?”</p> - -<p>Perry laughed ironically, but his gaze swept -the lithe, clean-cut figure before him, and there -was a hint of grudging admiration in his tones -when he answered.</p> - -<p>“Sure, that’s a bargain! You meet me here -right after the game, kid, and I’ll give you -what’s coming to you!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span></p> - -<p>“After the game won’t do,” replied Harry -firmly. “It’s got to be right now.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense, kid! I want to see what’s going -on, and——”</p> - -<p>“You’ll fight right now, behind the gym, -Vose; that is, if you’re not afraid to!”</p> - -<p>“Afraid! Afraid of you!” Perry flushed -angrily. “Why, you—you——” He paused, -cast a longing look toward the gate, from beyond -which a thunderous cheer broke onto the -air at the moment, and then turned curtly on -his heel. “Come on,” he said.</p> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">VII</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">Confidence is a fine thing. The only -danger of it is that it is likely to get -too ripe; in which case it becomes overconfidence -and loses battles. And in spite of -the late-season loss of Parrett and the eleventh-hour -loss of Danforth, Barnstead went on to -the field that Saturday afternoon overconfident. -Why, it would be difficult to say. There seemed -no really good reason for it, for it was well -known that St. Matthew’s had more than an -average team this year, with, besides, the prestige -of more victories than defeats to her credit. -Facts are facts, however, explainable or not, -and the fact in this case is that the Brown faced -its opponent at the kick-off with far too good -an idea of its own ability. And when the awakening -came it left Barnstead for the moment -dismayed and disorganized.</p> - -<p>Perhaps it was lucky that the awakening arrived -early, in short at the end of the third minute<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span> -of the play. Bob Peel had taken the kick-off -and had run it in fifteen yards. Then two -plunges at the Blue line and a dash around the -left end had netted but seven yards and Carstairs -had punted well into St. Matthew’s territory. -Treat, the Brown’s left end, was on the -back the moment the ball fell into the latter’s -arm and tackled so hard that a fumble resulted. -Norman picked up the pigskin on the run and -was not stopped until the Blue’s quarterback -brought him to earth near the twenty-yard line.</p> - -<p>There was great rejoicing on the Barnstead -stand and Bob Peel hurried his men into place -and threw Carstairs at the middle of the Blue -line. But although the fullback gained three -yards then and two more on left tackle, it was -plain that the St. Matthew’s line was stronger -on defense than it had been credited with being. -A forward pass failed and Peel chose to kick -from the seventeen yards. What happened -then was one of those sudden reversals of fortune -that make football the uncertain and exciting -game it is.</p> - -<p>Surber passed low, Carstairs was consequently -slow in getting the ball away and half<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span> -the Blue line came charging through. The ball -struck someone and bounded back up the field. -A blue-legged forward took it on the bound, -eluded the frantic tackle of Dyker, and tore off -up the gridiron. For the first twenty or thirty -yards it seemed certain that he would be pulled -down from behind, for at least four Barnstead -players were hot upon his heels. But when he -had passed the middle of the field he was virtually -alone, and although friend and foe alike -trailed after him over one white line after another, -he was never headed and so went stumbling, -breathless and tuckered, between the -Brown’s goal posts for a touchdown.</p> - -<p>It had all happened so quickly, so unexpectedly -that for a moment Barnstead supporters -merely stared at each other, while from across -the field came wild pæans of joy from where -blue flags waved and tossed ecstatically. St. -Matthew’s could hardly fail of kicking the goal -and in another minute the scoreboard proclaimed: -Barnstead, 0; Visitor, 7.</p> - -<p>If the effect on the Brown’s supporters was -numbing the effect on the home team itself -was, for a few minutes, paralyzing. Surber<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span> -messed the kick-off and the ball went to the -Blue on her thirty-eight yards, from where, -playing like streaks of lightning, and using a -quick shift that left Barnstead hopelessly at a -loss how to meet it, she tore off gain after gain -until suddenly the Brown was well back in her -own territory, literally digging her toes in the -turf in a vain endeavor to stop the triumphant -rush of the oncoming adversary. Down near -the twenty-five-yard line Barnstead did finally -find herself long enough to momentarily stay -the Blue. But, finding the opposing line -strengthening, St. Matthew’s swept past Shallcross’s -end and made its first down on the -twenty yards. Three plunges netted short -gains and then a long forward pass across the -field gave the Blue the rest of her distance. -Barnstead made her final stand on her twelve-yard -line. The fight she put up then brought -back hope to the breasts of her friends. Thrice -the Blue was hurled back for less than two -yards of total gain and St. Matthew’s was -forced to try a field goal. Her kicker went back -to the twenty-five yards and dropped the ball -easily over the cross-bar for another three<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span> -points. And the scoreboard changed its legend -to Barnstead, 0; Visitor, 10.</p> - -<p>On the kick-off Surber sent a long one that -let the Brown’s ends down the field, and when -St. Matthew’s lined up it was on her twenty-two -yards. The stand she had made almost -under the shadow of her goal had given the -Brown courage again, and now the Blue’s efforts -were less availing. But nevertheless the -battle swayed back up the field, even if slowly. -It was taking St. Matthew’s the full four downs -now to make her distance, and she was using -every play she had, every ounce of strength -and every bit of cunning in the endeavor to -strike again while her adversary was weak, arguing, -no doubt, that with a sixteen or seventeen -point lead she would not have to do much -later but play on the defensive. But the quarter -ended with the ball near the middle of the -field and gave the demoralized Brown warriors -a few moments in which to confer and get their -bearings. Coach Worden sped in a substitute -for Shallcross, who was having very much of -an off-day, and the substitute doubtless bore -instructions from the general on the side line,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span> -for the blanketed team crowded around him -when he came on.</p> - -<p>The second quarter showed a vast improvement -in the Brown. She had apparently found -herself again. The line played lower and closer -and, although bunching the backs up to the line -gave St. Matthew’s a better opportunity for -forward passes, that opportunity was taken advantage -of but once. Two minutes after the -whistle piped Barnstead had gained the ball on -downs and the brown flags waved triumphantly. -Five minutes later still Barnstead was knocking -importunately at St. Matthew’s portal. But -the door didn’t open, and so, to continue the -metaphor, the Brown entered by way of the -window, Norman dropping a pretty field goal -from a difficult angle and placing a 3 on the -scoreboard where a moment before an obnoxious -0 had been. But that ended the scoring in -that half for either team. The battle raged -fiercely from one thirty-five yards to another, -each team showing the strain, St. Matthew’s -punting on the slightest provocation and Barnstead -hurling her backs at the line in an effort -to wear down her adversary. The whistle put<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span> -an end to her hopes, however, with the ball in -the Brown’s possession on St. Matthew’s thirty-eight -yards. Had the period lasted five minutes -longer the wearied Blue line must have -given way. With fifteen minutes in which to recuperate, -however, there was no telling what the -final outcome would be.</p> - -<p>It was almost at the instant that the whistle -terminated the first half that the door bell -tinkled at the Principal’s house. The Principal, -kept away from the first part of the game by a -press of business, was drawing on his coat in -the hallway when the maid opened the door, revealing -two boys.</p> - -<p>“Is the Doctor at home, please?” asked a -voice.</p> - -<p>The maid turned inquiringly and the Principal -nodded. “Tell them to come in,” he said. -Discarding his coat, he led the way to his study, -the callers following.</p> - -<p>“Sit down, please,” said the Principal. -“Now, then—— Hello, young gentlemen; -what’s this? Has there been an accident?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir,” answered the younger, who was -by far the more self-possessed of the two. “I—we—that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span> -is, sir, we had—had a slight misunderstanding -and——” His voice trailed into -silence while the Principal gazed from one disfigured -countenance to the other. I think the -Principal’s sense of humor—a sense popularly -supposed not to belong to a Principal—saved -the day for the boys. A slight smile trembled -about the Principal’s mouth and he said dryly:</p> - -<p>“A <em>slight</em> misunderstanding, eh? How fortunate -it was not a serious one! What is your -name, my boy? Vose I have the honor of knowing.”</p> - -<p>“Danforth, sir. Could I—would you please -let me tell you about it? We tried to find Mr. -Adams, but he was not in, and so we came to -you.”</p> - -<p>“Explain by all means,” replied the Principal, -settling himself in the big leather chair -with a sigh of resignation. “But please be as -brief as possible, Danforth.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. This is the way -it all came about, sir. You see——”</p> - -<p>“Really, my boy, I’m afraid I haven’t time -to hear any family histories. Suppose you -come and see me this evening after supper.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span></p> - -<p>“But that will be too late, sir! I want to get -to the field and——”</p> - -<p>“That’s just what I want,” replied the Principal -with a smile. “So——”</p> - -<p>“There isn’t much to tell, sir,” interrupted -Perry doggedly. “I threw that rotten apple -at Old—at Mr. Adams, and he thought Danforth -did it, and you put him on pro and he lost -his place on the team——”</p> - -<p>“Succinct, indeed, Vose!” said the Principal -approvingly. “And now you come to tell me so -I’ll let Danforth get into the game, I presume? -But what about this—this slight misunderstanding? -I presume that you are both of -you aware that fighting is not countenanced -here?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” replied Harry eagerly, “but there -wasn’t anything else to do! And we thought -you’d understand it if we came to you and told -you all about it, sir. He—he didn’t want to -own up to it, and so I—we decided we’d have a—just -a small, harmless sort of a scrap, sir, -and if I won it he was to come with me and put -me right, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Hm; and I presume, although your appearances<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span> -might leave me in doubt, that you—er—won, -Danforth?”</p> - -<p>“Why—why, yes, sir. But he put up a dandy—I -mean it was very close.”</p> - -<p>“He’s too quick for me,” growled Vose. “He -won all right.” And he felt gingerly of his -nose, which had a reddened and swollen look.</p> - -<p>The Principal glanced at the clock on his -desk. “Well, one thing is certain, boys. None -of us will see that game if we stay here much -longer.” He pressed a button and a bell tinkled -somewhere at the back of the house. “Minnie -will take you to the bathroom. I’d advise you -to bathe your faces before returning to society. -Here she is. Run along now.”</p> - -<p>“And—and may I play, sir?” asked Harry -anxiously.</p> - -<p>“I suppose so. You’d both better come back -Monday morning and we’ll look into this a little -more closely. For the present the matter -stands. Go ahead and play, Danforth, if they -need you. We’ll thresh all this out another -time.”</p> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">VIII</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">The scoreboard still told the same tale, -and the third period was half gone. -Down near the St. Matthew’s thirty-yard -line the Brown was charging desperately, -and one white streak after another was passing -slowly, but, as it seemed, surely, under the -grinding feet of the two teams. St. Matthew’s -was on the defensive indeed, for the intermission -had failed to bring back more than a little -of the power and snap of their early performance. -It was with them now only a question of -keeping the Brown at bay, but the Brown was -becoming more difficult every minute. What -Coach Worden had said to them in the gymnasium -between the halves will probably always -remain a secret, but the result was plain to all. -At last Barnstead was playing as she could -play, as she might have played from the first. -But the Fates were still against her. Over-eagerness -had thrice brought penalties for off-side,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span> -and once she had lost a down by the -merest fraction of an inch on the tape measure. -But, undismayed, she was fighting royally, -pressing the Blue before her, determined on -crossing that last white line. Bob Peel, disdaining -the points a field goal might bring, continued -to hurl his backs against the Blue line, -which gave way grudgingly, fighting over every -foot of yielded territory. Carstairs piled -through left guard for four, Dyker made a scant -yard off tackle, Norman hurled himself past -left guard for two, Peel got four more around -his own right end. The pigskin was over the -twenty-yard line now and the Barnstead cohorts -were shouting themselves hoarse, the -cheer leaders waving and leaping, purple-faced, -perspiring, almost voiceless. Coach Worden, -squatting near the thirty yards, felt a hand on -his arm and looked around. The boy beside -him had already addressed him twice without -result.</p> - -<p>“Hello, Danforth! What is it?”</p> - -<p>“I’m off probation, Mr. Worden. Please may -I play, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Eh? Off probation? Why—I don’t know,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span> -Danforth. Yes, I guess we can use you pretty -soon. You’re sure you’re all right with the -Office?” Mr. Worden observed him sharply. -There had been trouble one year when a player -had allowed his desire to play to get the better -of veracity.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir, I’ve just come from Dobs, sir. He -said I might.”</p> - -<p>“It looks to me as though you’d been playing -already. What under the sun have you been -doing to your face? You ought to have something -on that eye, my boy, or it will be a sight -by suppertime.” His glance fell to the hand -which rested on the canvas knee beside him. -“Hm; I see; been mixing it up with someone, -eh? Think you can do anything if I let you go -in?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir! I’m all right. Just give me a -chance, Mr. Worden.”</p> - -<p>The coach nodded. “All right. Warm up a -bit. I guess Dyker’s about all in.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Worden turned again to the game, and -Harry, shedding his sweater even more quickly -than he had wormed into it at the gymnasium -five minutes before, began to limber up.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span></p> - -<p>Barnstead had thrust her way onward to the -Blue’s eight yards in three plays and a touchdown -was imminent. The St. Matthew’s captain -entreated his men to hold, to throw them -back. But the Blue was weary and sore and -when, on the next play, Carstairs hit the center -of the line it bent inward like cardboard, and -he went sprawling through it and over the last -line for a touchdown. How Barnstead shouted! -The players turned and went leaping back up -the field, patting and thumping each other, -turning handsprings in their delight. But two -minutes later, when the blue-stockinged players -had ranged themselves along their goal line -and Norman’s toe had sent the ball away from -under Peel’s finger, the joy sensibly diminished, -for the pigskin floated yards from its -course and passed to the left of the further upright. -St. Matthew’s was still a point to the -good and the blue flags across the field waved -valiantly.</p> - -<p>The quarter ended after the kick-off had been -received and Norman had bounded back up the -field some twenty yards. Behind the further -stand the sun had dipped long since, and a mellow<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span> -glow held the world. The ball was taken -to its new location at the other end of the field, -the teams, blanketed, panting, slowly following. -Captain Corson was looking inquiringly, anxiously -toward the side line. Then his unspoken -question was answered. Three figures scuttled -on to the gridiron; Shallcross was coming back -at left end, Jones was succeeding Bob Peel at -quarter and Danforth was relieving Dyker. -Harry’s appearance caused only mild surprise. -Corson and his players had other things to interest -them than the vagaries of the faculty. -All Corson said was:</p> - -<p>“Good work, Danforth! Who’s out? Dyker? -All right. Show us how you do it, kid! Any -instructions?”</p> - -<p>“Jones has them,” replied Harry, running -on to report to the officials. The whistle summoned -the teams again. Jones, his face alight -with the inspiration given him by the coach -the moment before, sang out his signals -cheerily.</p> - -<p>“Now, then, Barnstead! Every fellow into -it hard! We’ve got the game for the asking! -Second formation! Get up there, Jimmy!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span></p> - -<p>“Ready, St. Matthew’s? Ready, Barnstead?”</p> - -<p>“All right, sir!” The whistle shrilled. “Second -formation! 21—54—76—98! 21—54——”</p> - -<p>Carstairs had the ball and was sliding off -right tackle.</p> - -<p>“Second down! Six to go!” called the referee.</p> - -<p>Past the center of the field Barnstead worked -her way, Carstairs, Norman and Harry hitting -the line or slanting off the tackles for short and -certain gains, and Jones twice making his way -on wide end runs. It seemed that St. Matthew’s -was always on the point of going to pieces, and -yet time and again she responded to the hoarse -commands and implorations of her quarter or -captain and held her adversary to short gains. -But that march down the field took time. St. -Matthew’s used up the moments as best she -could with injuries and substitutions. She had -almost a new team in the field when the last -period was half gone, but the new men, if -fresher, were less skillful.</p> - -<p>On the forty yards Norman fumbled on the -third down and Carstairs was forced to punt.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span> -St. Matthew’s made a fair catch, taking no risks -now, tried an end run and failed, gained a few -yards on a forward pass and then kicked to the -middle of the field. There Harry, playing back, -caught the punt and wormed his way along past -three white marks before he was thrown. Then -the advance began again. Only seven minutes -remained now and the ball was a long ways -from the Blue’s goal. On the forty yards an -off-side penalty set Barnstead back again, and -a groan went up from the stand. Then a wide -end run from a fake forward pass regained the -penalty distance and four yards besides. Norman -was hurt and went off, and Belding took -his place. A new center went in at the same -time, Surber, who had played a wonderful -game, being relieved by White.</p> - -<p>Belding’s first try at the line resulted in a -fumble, and although Jones fell on the ball -Barnstead had lost seven yards. Carstairs, -who was weakening noticeably now, failed at -a skin-tackle play, and it was fourth down with -six to go. Corson looked discouraged, and went -back to confer with Jones, while the panting St. -Matthew’s players gibed. Whatever it was that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span> -Corson suggested Jones shook his head at. It -was the quarter himself who made the required -distance, running twenty yards across the field -to do it and only finding his opening at the last -moment, when Harry, forming his interference, -bowled over an opposing end.</p> - -<p>Then the line-smashing began again. Past -the thirty yards went the Brown, past the -twenty-five, past the twenty. There were -three minutes left. Corson wanted to try a -field goal, but Jones again resisted. Harry -got through between left guard and tackle -and made three yards before he was smothered. -Belding redeemed himself by making -four outside of right tackle. Carstairs gained -a scant yard at center. With two to go on -the fourth down, the ball close to the ten-yard -line, Jones himself cut through for the -distance. They had to use the tape again, but -the verdict went to the Brown. Two minutes, -said the timekeeper. St. Matthew’s called for -time. A guard had his hand rebandaged and -a new fullback, primed with advice from the St. -Matthew’s coach, loped on. Then the teams -lined up again for the final effort.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span></p> - -<p>Carstairs was called on to get past left tackle, -but he was caught back of the line for a yard’s -loss. Then Jones noticed something. With the -advent of the new fullback the Blue was drawing -her line closer and the fullback and the two -halves were playing up behind it. Jones did -some quick thinking then. The ball was almost -on the ten-yard line, it was second down and -there was eleven to gain. And less than a -minute and a half of playing time remained. -He might hammer his way through as before -for a touchdown, he might try a field goal, he -might attempt a forward pass. Any of these -would be looked for by the enemy. Of the three -the forward pass promised to succeed best since -the Blue was playing her backfield up close to -the line. But there was one play that had not -been used during the game. It had been devised -for use around the middle of the field, but -Jones, scanning its possibilities, couldn’t see -why it should not do as well here under the -shadow of the goal. At least it had the merit -of unexpectedness, and the enemy’s present -formation on defense promised success. At all -events, he decided, he would try the line once<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span> -more. So, calling for Third Formation, which -put both tackles at the left of the line and placed -the left halfback at the end of the rush line on -the right, the end falling in and back, he sent -Carstairs plunging at right tackle. The play -netted three yards. The timekeeper was slowly -walking nearer, watch in hand and eyes on the -dial. Then:</p> - -<p>“Same formation!” called Jones. “37—39—164—28!” -A puzzled glance from Captain -Corson rewarded him, and Belding cried “Signals!” -in a panicky voice. Jones whispered to -him, shot a reassuring look at Corson and repeated:</p> - -<p>“37—39—164—28! 37—39—164——”</p> - -<p>Carstairs dropped back a good twelve yards -behind center, Jones stepped back mid-way between -him and the line and the ball shot to Carstairs. -As it settled into his hands he poised it -as though to throw it forward and to the left. -The St. Matthew’s line had concentrated on its -right, and now it struggled to break through, -while the backfield started around to intercept -the pass. The Blue’s left end plunged straight -across, dodging the opposing end, and made for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span> -the fullback. Just as he leaped forward, however, -Carstairs sidestepped, passed the ball at -a quick toss to Jones, who had run back to take -it, and threw himself in front of the Blue’s end. -They went down together. Jones, the ball -tucked under his arm, wheeled across the field -for a dozen yards, and then, pausing suddenly, -raised the ball and sent it hurtling further out -to where, some fifteen feet from the side line, -Harry awaited it. Too late the St. Matthew’s -players saw the trick. Yards separated their -nearest player from <a href="#i_fp100">Harry</a> as the latter, <a href="#i_fp100">catching -the well-aimed pass coolly, romped unmolested -over the line</a> in three strides and, dodging -a blue-legged enemy, placed it fairly between -the posts!</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="i_fp100"> - <img src="images/i_fp100.jpg" alt="" title="" /> - <br /> - <div class="caption"><a href="#Page_100">“Harry ... catching the well-aimed pass coolly, romped -unmolested over the line.”</a></div> -</div> - -<p>Two minutes later, after Corson had attempted -the goal and failed and after the scoreboard -had changed its figures to 15 to 10, and -after the final whistle had shrilled, a delirious -mob took possession of Barnstead Field. -Brown flags snapped and waved, caps flew into -air and rained earthward and hundreds of -hoarse throats cheered and shouted. And -Harry, swaying rather dizzily about on the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span> -shoulders of two enthusiastic admirers, following -the confused line that wound its way around -the gridiron, caught sight of a grinning face in -the throng beside him and waved a hand.</p> - -<p>Perry Vose’s grin broadened.</p> - -<p>“Who gave you the black eye, kid?” he -called.</p> - -<p>“Oh, a friend of mine,” laughed Harry. -“Who spoiled your nose for you?”</p> - -<p>“A friend of mine!” chuckled Perry. Then, -thrusting his way forward, “Here,” he said to -one of Harry’s bearers, “let me get there. -You’re too small for this job. Why, you’ve got -the biggest fellow in school there! Didn’t you -know that? Vamoose, I tell you!”</p> - -<p>And the youth, looking doubtfully into -Perry’s grinning countenance, with its battered -nose and swollen lip, finally yielded his place. -It didn’t do to make Perry Vose angry!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="BOB">“BLACK-ON-BLUE”</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">I</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">“Willard!”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Morris’s rebuke sounded -only half-hearted, and she shot an -apologetic glance at Willard’s father. But for -once Mr. Morris, the sternest of disciplinarians, -chose to be deaf. After all, the boy’s disappointment -was keen, and so his criticism of -Grandma Pierson elicited only the perfunctory -warning from his mother. The boy’s disappointment -was shared to a scarcely lesser extent -by his parents, but they had learned to bear -disappointment in silence. Willard, waiting for -his father’s reprimand, sat with downcast eyes -fixed on his untasted breakfast. Finally, however, -as the storm did not break, Willard took -courage and went on, but with more caution.</p> - -<p>“Well, I can’t help it,” he insisted, with a -gulp. “She’d ought never to have promised if -she didn’t mean to keep it!”</p> - -<p>“I’m certain, Will,” responded Mrs. Morris<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span> -soothingly, “that your Grandma Pierson fully -meant to keep it. Mother was never the sort to -say a thing and not mean it.”</p> - -<p>“If she hadn’t died, she’d have done just as -she said she’d do,” said Mr. Morris. “I guess -she expected to live a good many years yet. -Eighty-one isn’t very old; leastways, it wasn’t -for her; she was such an active old lady. When -were we out there before this time, mother?”</p> - -<p>“Three years ago Christmas. That was when -she made the promise. I sort of wish she -hadn’t, seeing it’s turned out as it has.”</p> - -<p>“She might have known she’d have to die -sometime,” said Willard rebelliously. “Seems -as though she might have made a new will after -she promised what she did.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe she put it off, thinking there’d be -more money later,” replied Mr. Morris. “Cousin -Joe writes that the whole estate won’t -amount to much more than five thousand dollars; -and some of that’s in a mortgage that’ll -take a lot of handling to realize on. Fact is, -mother, I don’t just see where she expected to -get the money for Will, anyway, do you?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Morris shook her head thoughtfully.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span> -“Perhaps she thought that by the time Will was -ready for college she’d have the money. She -certainly meant to do something for him, -George. She’d always been especially fond of -Will.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, she meant it, I’m sure. She asked me -how much it would take to see him through college, -and I told her two thousand. It was her -own idea. There wasn’t anything actually said -to that effect, mother, but I think it was sort of -understood that Will was to have that money -and that we weren’t to expect anything more. -And there wasn’t any reason why we should. -She’d have done quite enough for us if—if -she’d done that. As it is, Clara and Alice get -it all.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose that’s my fault, George. You see, -I always wanted her to think we had—had -plenty. Mother was always pretty hard on -folks that couldn’t get along. And then Clara -and Alice both marrying men that couldn’t support -them——”</p> - -<p>“I know. I’m glad you did. And I’m not begrudging -the money to your sisters. They need -it more’n we do, even if—— Anyway, we’ve<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span> -always managed to get along pretty fair so -far, haven’t we? Maybe we haven’t had many -luxuries, Jenny, but we’ve managed, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Of course we have. You and I don’t need -luxuries. I’ve always had everything I really -wanted, George. I’d have liked Will to go to -college, seeing he’s set his heart on it, but -maybe this is for the best, too. Maybe he will -be more help to you in the shop.”</p> - -<p>Willard, staring distastefully at his plate, -frowned impatiently. “That’s fine, isn’t it?” -he demanded. “Here I’ve been telling all the -fellows that I was going to college in the fall; -and I’ve gone and taken the college course, too; -and Mr. Chase has been helping me with my -Greek! And now—now I can’t go after all! I -think it’s”—he gulped—“too bad!”</p> - -<p>“Maybe you’ll get there, son, although I -don’t see much chance of it next fall. Maybe, -though, if business picks up——”</p> - -<p>He stopped with a hopeless shake of his head. -Willard scowled.</p> - -<p>“I’ve heard that before,” he muttered, -“about business picking up. It never has, and -I guess it never will.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span></p> - -<p>“Son, you’ve said about enough,” replied his -father sternly. “If I can find the money to -send you to college, you’ll go. If I can’t, you’ll -have to buckle down at the shop. There’s -plenty of men doing well who never went to college. -I wanted you should go, but maybe it -wasn’t intended so.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m going, sir! When I get through -high school next Spring I’m going to find some -work and make enough money to start, anyway! -If I can make good on the football team this -year maybe I’ll get an offer and college won’t -cost me anything.”</p> - -<p>“You let me hear of you doing anything like -that,” said Mr. Morris grimly, “and I’ll take -you out in the shed as I used to and just about -take the hide off you. You ain’t too big yet, -my boy!”</p> - -<p>“He wouldn’t do a thing like that, father. He -was just fooling, weren’t you, Will?”</p> - -<p>“Lots of fellows do it,” muttered Willard.</p> - -<p>“But you’re not to be one of them,” returned -his father decisively. “Here, let me see those -envelopes.”</p> - -<p>Willard passed the packet across to him and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span> -watched glumly while his father slid off the -faded blue ribbon that held the envelopes together. -One by one Mr. Morris held them up -and peered into them for the third or fourth -time.</p> - -<p>“Unless she meant to put some money or a -check in one of these,” he murmured, “I can’t -understand it.” He laid the six envelopes in a -row on the cloth and shook his head over them. -Then he took up the papers which, with the -strange and disappointing legacy, had arrived -from the West by the morning’s mail, but they -told him nothing new. Grandmother Pierson’s -will, a copy of which Cousin Joe had sent, was -short and definite. There was a legacy of some -personal trinkets and a small sum of money to -an old family servant, and “To my grandson, -Willard Morris, the contents of the packet inscribed -with his name, which will be found in -the mahogany workbox on the table in my bedchamber.” -The rest of the estate, real and personal, -was bequeathed in equal shares to Mrs. -Morris’s two sisters. Cousin Joe’s letter was -brief. In pursuance of his duties as executor of -the estate, he was forwarding the legacy mentioned<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span> -in the will; also a copy of the instrument -in case they had forgotten its provisions. -Willard was to sign the accompanying -receipt; and Cousin Joe hoped they were all -well.</p> - -<p>The package had been done up in a piece of -brown paper and tied with a white string—what -Grandma Pierson would have called “tie -yarn.” On the outside, in the old lady’s shaky -writing, was the legend, “For my Grandson, -Willard Morris.” Inside they had found six -envelopes which, once white, had yellowed with -age. The inscription on each was the same: -“Miss Ellen Hilliard, Fayle’s Court House, -Virginia,” and the postmarks showed various -dates in the years 1850 and 1851. In the upper -right-hand corner of each envelope was a stamp -quite unlike any Mr. Morris had ever seen. -Five were buff and one was blue. Each was -round and about the size of a silver half dollar. -They were printed in faded black. A circlet of -stars ran around the outer edge and inside was -the inscription, “Postoffice, Alexandria.” In -the center was the word “Paid,” and under it a -figure “5.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span></p> - -<p>“You say these were your father’s love letters, -Jenny?” asked Mr. Morris.</p> - -<p>“Yes. I have seen them many times. Mother -read me parts of them, too, sometimes. He -wrote beautifully, father did. Mother always -kept those letters in that old workbox with the -green velvet lining; the one the will speaks -about. It was her treasure box, and it was always -kept locked. I remember there were three -or four daguerreotypes there, and some clippings -from newspapers and such things.”</p> - -<p>“She was careful to take the letters out,” -mused Mr. Morris.</p> - -<p>“Maybe she had a feeling that she wouldn’t -get well. I suppose she destroyed the letters. -She wouldn’t want anyone reading them afterward, -you see, mother wouldn’t. Of course, it -might be that her mind wandered a little toward -the end and she thought she was really doing -something for Will when she put his name on -the package.”</p> - -<p>“But Cousin Joe says the will was made almost -a year before she died,” objected Mr. -Morris. “I guess her mind was all right then. -Well, it’s plumb funny.” He arose from the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span> -table with a sigh. “That’s what it is, plumb -funny.” He pulled out a big silver watch and -looked at it. “Son, I guess it’s time we were -hiking along.”</p> - -<p>Willard pushed his chair back disconsolately -and arose. He was seventeen, rather tall for -his age, and had strong, broad shoulders like -his father’s, or as his father’s had been before -constant bending over desk and bench had -stooped them. The boy had a good-looking, -frank face and nice eyes, but just at present -the brown eyes were gloomy and the face expressed -discontent.</p> - -<p>“Better take those envelopes before they get -lost, Will,” counseled his mother. He regarded -them with a scowl of contempt.</p> - -<p>“I don’t want the old things,” he muttered -as he left the room. Mr. Morris, looking after -him, frowned and then sighed. Mrs. Morris -echoed the sigh.</p> - -<p>“I guess this settles it, Jenny,” said Mr. -Morris, tucking the Audelsville <cite>Morning Times</cite> -in his pocket. “If I could get hold of the -money any way, he should have it, but I don’t -know where to turn for it, and that’s a fact.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span></p> - -<p>“Never mind, dear,” said Mrs. Morris as her -husband stooped over her chair to kiss her. -“There’s almost a year yet and something may -turn up. You never can tell.”</p> - -<p>“Well, might as well look on the bright side, -I suppose,” returned Mr. Morris, “although -things haven’t been turning up my way much -of late, Jenny.”</p> - -<p>His gaze encountered the envelopes again, -and he stared at them a moment. Then, with -a puzzled shake of his head, he passed out.</p> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">II</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">It was a fortnight later that Willard, returning -from practice with the high school -football team, and passing in front of Mrs. -Parson’s boarding-house, heard his name called -and looked up to see Mr. Chase at the open window -of his room.</p> - -<p>“Come up and pay me a visit, Will,” said the -Assistant Principal.</p> - -<p>Willard hesitated a moment. He had been -rather avoiding Mr. Chase for the last two -weeks. Now, however, he waved his hand and, -turning in at the gate, entered the house and -climbed the stairs to the teacher’s room. Mr. -Chase was seated at a small table by the window.</p> - -<p>“Pardon me if I don’t get up, Will,” he said. -“I’ve only got two more of these things to -paste, and I want to get them in before the light -goes. Well, how are you getting on at football?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span></p> - -<p>“Pretty fair, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Find it more interesting than our old friend -Homer, eh? You know we haven’t had a Greek -lesson for a long time, Will.”</p> - -<p>“No, sir, and I—I guess there isn’t any use -having any more.”</p> - -<p>“Why, how’s that? Think you know enough -to get by those exams, do you?”</p> - -<p>“I’m not going to take them, sir. I—I’m not -going to college, after all.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Chase looked up in surprise. “Not going!” -he exclaimed. “Why, Will, I thought -that was all settled. What’s changed your -mind?”</p> - -<p>Willard very nearly replied that Grandma -Pierson had changed his mind, but he didn’t. -Instead, “Father can’t afford it, sir,” he answered.</p> - -<p>“Dear, dear, I’m sorry! Is it—quite settled? -Isn’t there any hope, Will?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir, I don’t think so. Not unless I earn -the money somehow, and I guess I couldn’t do -that!”</p> - -<p>“It would take some time,” Mr. Chase agreed -dubiously. “You’d need pretty nearly three<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span> -hundred a year, Will, although you might -scale that down a little. I’m sorry, awfully -sorry.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir, so’m I.”</p> - -<p>There was silence for a moment. Then Mr. -Chase asked: “And you don’t think you want -to go on with the Greek, eh? Suppose you -found next Fall that you could go after all, my -boy. You’d have hard work passing, I’m -afraid.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe there’s any hope of it, -sir.”</p> - -<p>“Still, the unexpected sometimes happens, -doesn’t it? You wouldn’t want to lose your -chance for the want of a little Greek, now, -would you?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir, but——”</p> - -<p>“Then don’t you think we’d better go on -with our Friday evenings, Will? I do. Even -if you shouldn’t get to college, my boy, a working -knowledge of Greek isn’t going to be a bad -thing to have. Now suppose you drop in on -Friday after supper?”</p> - -<p>“Very well, sir, I guess I might as well. I—I -haven’t studied much lately, though.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span></p> - -<p>“Better look it over a bit before Friday then. -There, that’s done! Now we’ll light up and -have a chat.”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t know you collected stamps, Mr. -Chase,” said Willard as the teacher closed the -window and lighted the study lamp on the big -table.</p> - -<p>“Haven’t I ever shown you my books?” -asked Mr. Chase. “Yes, I’m a ‘stamp fiend,’ -Will. It’s not a bad hobby. Expensive, though. -I couldn’t afford it if I was married. I suppose,” -he added ruefully, “I oughtn’t to afford -it now.”</p> - -<p>“I started to collect stamps when I was a -little kid,” confided Willard as he took the chair -Mr. Chase pushed forward, “but I didn’t get -very far. I don’t know what ever became of my -stamps. I guess they’re in the attic, though.”</p> - -<p>“Yes? Did you have many?” asked Mr. -Chase as he washed the mucilage from his fingers -at the stand.</p> - -<p>“Only about a hundred, I guess. I had a -Cape of Good Hope, though.”</p> - -<p>“Did you?” Mr. Chase inquired. “Which -one was it?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span></p> - -<p>“I don’t remember. Is there more than -one!”</p> - -<p>“Quite a few,” Mr. Chase laughed. “And -they differ considerably in value. You must -show me your collection sometime.”</p> - -<p>“I guess it isn’t worth showing,” murmured -Willard. “I guess all my stamps are just common -ones. There was one, though, I paid a dollar -for. I forget what it was. I suppose you -have an awful lot?”</p> - -<p>“About twelve hundred only, I believe, but -some of them are rather good. When I stop -to consider what those stamps have cost me, -though, I have to shudder. Still, stamps—rare -ones, I mean, aren’t a bad investment. You -know the good ones increase in value right -along.”</p> - -<p>“Twelve hundred!” exclaimed Willard. -“Why, I didn’t know there were so many -stamps in the world!”</p> - -<p>“There are a good many more than twelve -hundred,” replied the teacher with a smile. -“And I don’t go in for ‘freaks’ much, either; -nor revenues. Revenues in themselves would -keep a man busy.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120"></a>[120]</span></p> - -<p>“What do you mean by freaks?” asked Willard.</p> - -<p>“Oh, ‘splits’ and ‘blanks’ and surcharges -and such. Of course, though, I have a few surcharges.”</p> - -<p>“And what is a split, Mr. Chase?”</p> - -<p>“A split is a stamp of, say, two-cent denomination -cut diagonally across. Each half equals -in value a one-cent stamp. Some time ago when -an office ran out of one-cent stamps it would -cut up a lot of twos. Sometimes a ten-cent -stamp was split to make two fives, and in one -case three-cent stamps were cut in such a way -that two-thirds of them did duty for a two-cent -stamp. Later, when the government ran out of -a certain issue they merely took a stamp of a -lower denomination and surcharged it, that is, -printed over it the larger denomination. I -have a friend who makes a specialty of provisional -stamps, such as ‘splits’ and ‘postmasters.’ -He pays no attention to anything else, -and has two full books already, I believe.”</p> - -<p>“Some stamps cost a lot, don’t they?” Willard -asked.</p> - -<p>“Unfortunately, a good many of them do,”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span> -Mr. Chase chuckled. “There’s a rumor that -someone paid seventeen thousand dollars not so -long ago for a pair of Mauritius postoffice -stamps, one-penny and two-penny. Those are -mighty rare and I’ve never seen them. Then -there’s the British Guiana one-cent and the -Niger Coast Protectorate; one of the latter—I -forget its list number—is perhaps the rarest -stamp in the world, since only one of its kind -was ever printed.”</p> - -<p>“My!” said Willard. “That must be worth -a lot!”</p> - -<p>“So much that it’s never had a price put on -it, I guess. Some of our own stamps are worth -quite a lot, too. Take some of the Postmasters’ -Provisionals, for instance. Only one copy is -known of an issue from Boscawen, New Hampshire, -and whoever has that surely has a prize.”</p> - -<p>“What is a Postmasters’ Pro—what you -said?”</p> - -<p>“Provisional?” laughed Mr. Chase. “I’ll -show you.” He reached under the table and -pulled out a big square album, and Willard -moved his chair nearer. “Provisional stamps -were made and issued by postmasters in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span> -days before we had a national postage stamp -system. Here’s one issued in Trenton, New -Jersey, and here’s one from Portland, Maine. -See? Some of them are pretty simple; just the -name of the office and the words ‘Paid—5.’ -They’re interesting, though, and, as I say, some -of them bring a lot of money.”</p> - -<p>“How—how much did those cost?” asked -Willard eagerly.</p> - -<p>“These? Oh, not much. This one was -twelve and—let me see—that was eight, I -think, and——”</p> - -<p>“Eight cents!”</p> - -<p>“Hardly! Eight dollars, my boy.”</p> - -<p>“Well—well, if they came from some other -place would they be worth that much?” stammered -Willard.</p> - -<p>“Depends on how many there are; how rare -they happen to be. It’s scarcity that fixes the -prices on stamps—and most other things.”</p> - -<p>“Supposing they were from Alexandria, Virginia,” -Willard pursued rather breathlessly.</p> - -<p>Mr. Chase closed the book and replaced it -under the table.</p> - -<p>“If they came from Alexandria and were genuine,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span> -they’d be worth quite as much as these, -perhaps more. Why do you ask? You don’t -happen to have one in your collection, do you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir! That is, not in my collection, but -I’ve got some that—that my grandmother sent -me.”</p> - -<p>“What! Postmaster Provisionals of Alexandria, -Virginia? Are you certain? What are -they like? What are they?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Chase was plainly interested.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know whether they’re Postmaster -Provisionals,” replied Willard, “but they’re a -good deal like those in your book. They’re -round and sort of yellowish-brown——”</p> - -<p>“Yes, buff; go on!”</p> - -<p>“And they have some stars around the edge -and the name and ‘Paid—5’ in the middle, just -like those of yours.”</p> - -<p>“You say your grandmother gave them to -you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.” And thereupon Willard told -about the legacy and Mr. Chase learned the real -reason why the college career had been abandoned. -And when he had finished Mr. Chase -strode to a bookshelf and returned with a catalogue.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span> -After some excited turning of pages he -paused and read silently. “That’s right,” he -said finally. “Your description tallies with -Scott’s. Where are those envelopes, Will? -Can you let me see them?”</p> - -<p>“I guess they’re at home. I haven’t seen -them since that day. I—I hope mother didn’t -throw them away!”</p> - -<p>“Throw them away!” Mr. Chase slammed -the book shut, tossed it aside and seized Willard’s -cap from the couch. “Put this on,” he -exclaimed, “and scoot home! Find those envelopes -and bring them over here! If your -mother <em>has</em> thrown them away you’re out sixty -or seventy dollars at least!”</p> - -<p>“Where are those envelopes, mother?” asked -Willard five minutes later, bursting into the -kitchen where Mrs. Morris was in the act of -sliding a pan of hot biscuits from the oven. The -pan almost fell to the floor and Mrs. Morris -straightened up to remonstrate against -“scaring a body to death,” but the words died -away when she saw Willard’s face.</p> - -<p>“What envelopes do you mean, Will?” she -gasped.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span></p> - -<p>“The ones Grandma Pierson sent! Mr. -Chase says those stamps may be worth seventy -dollars!”</p> - -<p>“Sakes alive, Willard Morris! You don’t -mean it? Why—why—what did I do with -them? Haven’t you seen them around?”</p> - -<p>“No, I haven’t seen them since the day they -came. Don’t you know what you did with them, -mother?”</p> - -<p>“Why—why,” faltered Mrs. Morris, “it -doesn’t seem as if I did anything with them, -Will! I don’t recollect seeing them after you -and your father went off. Will, you don’t suppose”—her -voice became scarcely more than a -whisper—“you don’t suppose I threw them -away, do you?”</p> - -<p>“You wouldn’t be likely to, would you?” he -asked anxiously. “Won’t you please try and -think?”</p> - -<p>“I am trying, Will, but—but I can’t remember -seeing them again.” She hurried to the -dining-room, which was also the sitting-room, -and began a feverish search. Willard followed -behind her and looked wherever she did, and -in two minutes the room had the appearance<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span> -of having been devastated by a cyclone. And in -the midst of the confusion Mr. Morris entered. -Being excitedly informed of what was going -on, he, too, took a hand in the hunt. But ten -minutes later they all had to acknowledge that -the envelopes were not in the room.</p> - -<p>“I don’t see what I could have done with -them,” reiterated Willard’s mother for the -twentieth time.</p> - -<p>“Maybe you shook ’em out the door when -you shook the cloth,” suggested Mr. Morris. -And his wife had to own that such a thing was -quite possible, adding, however, “Only I’d been -almost certain to have seen them when I cleared -the dishes off. Are you sure you didn’t take -them, Will?”</p> - -<p>“I know he didn’t,” said Mr. Morris. “I -remember seeing them lying right here when I -left the room.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then I did something with them, that’s -certain,” murmured Mrs. Morris, looking -dazedly about, “but I don’t see what!”</p> - -<p>“I guess we’d better have supper,” said Willard’s -father. “We can have another look afterward.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span></p> - -<p>So Mrs. Morris returned to her duties, while -Willard, preparing hastily for the meal, returned -to the room and continued the search. -At the table he ate very little, and as soon as -supper was over he began rummaging again. -The search ultimately led from the dining-room -to the parlor, from the parlor to the kitchen, -from the kitchen to the hall closet and from -there to the bedrooms upstairs. And at eight -o’clock Mrs. Morris, lamp in hand, was peering -about in the attic! At half past eight Willard -went to the telephone and, calling Mr. -Chase up, acknowledged defeat.</p> - -<p>“You can’t find them?” came the teacher’s -voice. “That’s too bad. Are you—er—are you -quite sure you had them, Will?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir, I am,” replied Willard a trifle -shortly. “If you don’t believe me you can ask -father.”</p> - -<p>“Have you looked in the waste baskets and -the ash can and—and those places?”</p> - -<p>“We’ve looked everywhere. I guess what -happened was that my mother shook the tablecloth -at the back door and they were in it and -fell out.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span></p> - -<p>“Well, I’d have another look to-morrow by -daylight,” advised Mr. Chase in disappointed -tones. “Don’t give up yet, Will. You may -find them tucked away where you least expect -to. I’m awfully sorry. Good-night.”</p> - -<p>Willard hung up the receiver. “Of course he -doesn’t care,” he muttered resentfully. “Gee, -if I could find those envelopes and get seventy -dollars for the stamps, I’d have to earn only -about a hundred and eighty to have enough for -the first year. He says it’ll take ’most three -hundred, but I’m sure I could do it on two hundred -and fifty. And if I could get through the -first year they’d have a whole lot of trouble -keeping me away the second!”</p> - -<p>In the morning, after a sleep badly disturbed -by dreams, Willard was up early and, after the -kitchen fire was started, was out in the back -yard searching around the kitchen doorway, -amongst the currant bushes and along the -picket fence. But he found no trace of the envelopes. -That was Tuesday and hope didn’t -actually fail him until Thursday. On that day -Mr. Morris put his foot down.</p> - -<p>“They’re gone for good, mother, and there<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span> -isn’t any use fretting about ’em. So you just -stop pulling the house to pieces and settle down -again. When a thing’s so, it’s so, and you can’t -make it any other way, no matter how much -you worry about it. You haven’t taken time -to eat a decent meal since the pesky things were -lost. Now I say let ’em go and have an end -of it!”</p> - -<p>That evening Willard found his old stamp -book in the attic and took it over to Mr. Chase. -But although the latter went through it carefully, -he found no prizes there. The entire contents -wouldn’t have brought a dollar at a stamp -dealer’s. When he was leaving Mr. Chase reminded -him that they were to begin the Greek -lessons again the next evening. Willard hesitated -and then promised half-heartedly to -come. What was the good of knowing Greek if -he couldn’t get to college?</p> - -<p>But at seventeen no disappointment is big -enough to last forever, and Friday was a wonderful -Autumn day with just the right amount -of tingle in the air, and at football practice -Willard played so well that the coach promised -to let him start the game against Shrevesport<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span> -High the next afternoon, and—well, after a -good supper eaten with a healthy appetite, Willard -had quite forgotten about Grandma Pierson’s -legacy! And at half past seven he found -his Iliad—it wasn’t an easy task, either, because -since the search for the lost envelopes -scarcely anything was where it used to be!—and -set out for Mrs. Parson’s with a light heart.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t have a chance to study this any,” -said Willard as he seated himself across the -table from Mr. Chase. “I’ve been too busy -looking for those envelopes, you see. So you’ll -have to excuse me if it comes slow.”</p> - -<p>“All right, Will, I’ll forgive you this time. -Do you remember where we left off? Wasn’t it -where Ulysses and Diomede are setting out to -spy on the enemy’s camp?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir, we were way past that. I’ve got -the place marked. I think——”</p> - -<p>“Hello, what’s wrong?” exclaimed Mr. -Chase.</p> - -<p>“Why—why—here they are! They were in -this book!”</p> - -<p>“Eh? What were in——”</p> - -<p>“Those envelopes, sir! Look!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span></p> - -<p>And there they were, sure enough; all together -and with the bit of faded blue ribbon -about them! Mr. Chase, beaming, held out his -hand for them. Willard, still exclaiming, -hazarding theories as to how they got into his -Iliad, followed around the table while Mr. Chase -carefully slid off the band of ribbon and looked -them over.</p> - -<p>“‘Alexandria,’” he muttered, “‘Paid—5,’ -They’re the real thing, Will! By Jove, what -a find! Perfect condition, too! Not a tear on -one of them! And no—<em>hello, what’s this</em>?”</p> - -<p>“What, sir?” asked Willard.</p> - -<p>Mr. Chase was staring at the last envelope -as though he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Why—why, -it’s <em>blue</em>!” he almost shouted.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir, I—I forgot that one was blue. -There were five of them brown and one blue. -Isn’t—isn’t it any good?”</p> - -<p>“Any good!” exclaimed Mr. Chase. “Any -good? It—it’s——”</p> - -<p>Over went his chair and he had seized the -catalogue from the shelf. “Any good!” he -muttered as he turned the pages quickly. “Any -good! Any——” His voice died out and Willard,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span> -wondering, watched his lips move as he -read silently. Then the teacher studied the envelope -again. “‘Ditto,’ he murmured, ‘on -blue.’” Then he closed the catalogue slowly -and decisively and laid it on the table. Willard -watched him fascinatedly. He had never -seen Mr. Chase look so excited, so wild-eyed as -this! Was it possible that the Assistant Principal -had suddenly lost his mind?</p> - -<p>“Will,” said Mr. Chase slowly and solemnly, -“I—I can’t be sure—I’m afraid to be sure—but -if this stamp is genuine it’s worth——” -He stopped and shook his head. When he continued -it was to himself rather than to Willard. -“There may be a mistake. Perhaps the catalogue’s -wrong. We’ll wait and see.”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean,” asked Willard eagerly, -“that the blue one is worth more than the -others?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Chase laid the envelope on the table and -was silent a moment. When he answered he -was quite himself again.</p> - -<p>“It looks so, Will. Yes, I think I may safely -say that the blue stamp is worth quite a little -money. You see, there are two or three dozen<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span> -of the buff ones known of, but so far only one -or two blues have ever shown up. But I may -be mistaken; don’t get your hopes up until -we’ve had it examined, my boy.”</p> - -<p>“How much is it worth if—if it is—what you -think?” asked Willard.</p> - -<p>Mr. Chase shook his head. “Let’s not talk -about that now. I—there’s the possibility that -I may be mistaken. Will you let me have these -for a week or so? I’d like to send them to the -city and get expert advice.”</p> - -<p>“Of course. You do anything you like with -them, sir. Only if you care for it I’d like you -to have one of them, Mr. Chase.”</p> - -<p>“That’s nice of you, Will, but I couldn’t take -one as a gift. I’ll gladly buy one if I can afford -it. Or—wait a bit! If this blue one is -worth what I think it is, I’ll accept one of the -buff stamps as a present. How will that do?”</p> - -<p>“I’d like you to have one anyhow, sir. Do -you think the blue stamp is worth—worth a -hundred dollars?” asked Willard.</p> - -<p>“Will, I don’t dare to say. Yes, perhaps a -hundred; perhaps more, much more—unless -I’m making a bad mistake somehow. I’ll mail<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span> -these to-morrow and we ought to hear inside a -week. Now—now let’s get back to the lesson.”</p> - -<p>But Willard didn’t make much progress that -evening.</p> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">III</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">Of course Mrs. Morris remembered when -Willard told her.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it funny?” she asked beamingly. -“It all comes back to me now. When I -went to clear off the table those envelopes were -there and I thought to myself, ‘Those are Will’s -and he may want them after all, and I’ll just -tuck them in his Greek book.’ It was lying on -the side table there. And then I forgot all -about it! I’m so sorry, Will!”</p> - -<p>“It doesn’t matter a bit now,” Willard declared. -“How much do you suppose that blue -stamp will be worth, mother?”</p> - -<p>But Mrs. Morris shook her head. “Goodness -knows, Will! But maybe it’ll bring enough to -buy you a nice suit of clothes and——”</p> - -<p>“Clothes!” scoffed Willard. “That money -is going to put me in college. If there isn’t -enough of it I’ll get a job somewhere next summer -and earn the difference. I heard of a fellow<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span> -who made nearly three hundred dollars one -summer just selling books!”</p> - -<p>“It’s my opinion,” declared Mr. Morris, -“that that stamp is worth a whole lot of money -and that your grandma knew it.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see how she could, sir,” Willard -objected. “Why, even Mr. Chase isn’t certain -about it yet.”</p> - -<p>“Mother was a great one to read the papers,” -said Mrs. Morris, “and I wouldn’t be -surprised if she saw sometime that stamps like -that were valuable. She was forever cutting -things out of newspapers and saving them.”</p> - -<p>“We’ll wait and see,” said Mr. Morris. -“You’ll find I’m right, son. And if I am I’ll be -mighty pleased!”</p> - -<p>Waiting, though, was hard work for Willard. -For a week he managed to be fairly patient, -but at the end of that period he began to be uneasy. -“You don’t think they got lost in the -mail, do you?” he asked Mr. Chase.</p> - -<p>“They couldn’t because I didn’t send them -by mail. I was afraid to. I sent them by express -and put—well, a good big valuation on -them. So, even if they should be lost, Will,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span> -you’ll have a lot of money coming to you from -the express company.”</p> - -<p>That was comforting, anyhow, and there -were times when Willard hoped devoutly that -the express company had mislaid the package. -But it hadn’t. Four days later Willard was -called to the telephone at suppertime.</p> - -<p>“Will, can you come over here after supper?” -It was Mr. Chase’s voice.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir! Have you heard——”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I’ve got a letter. You come over——”</p> - -<p>“Is it all right, sir? About the blue stamp, -I mean.”</p> - -<p>“Hm; well, you come over and I’ll tell you.” -Something that sounded like a chuckle reached -Willard. “Good-by!”</p> - -<p>“I’m going over to Mr. Chase’s,” he announced. -“He’s heard about the stamp. I -don’t want any more supper!”</p> - -<p>“What about it, Will?” his father asked -eagerly. “How much’s it worth?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know yet. He wouldn’t tell me. -Where’s my cap? Anyone seen—— Here it -is! I’ll come back right away—if it’s all -right!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span></p> - -<p>“Hello, Will!” greeted Mr. Chase. “Nice -evening, isn’t it?” There was a perceptible -twinkle in his eye and Willard grinned.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir, it’s a fine evening,” he answered -with a gulp.</p> - -<p>“Yes, we’re having wonderful weather for -the time of year. I got a reply from that fellow -in New York. What did I do with it?” -Mr. Chase pretended to have mislaid it and -dipped into one pocket after another. Willard -squirmed in his chair. “Ah, here it is,” said -the teacher finally, drawing the letter from his -inside pocket. “Now, let’s see.” He opened -it with tantalizing deliberation. “I asked him -to examine those envelopes and give me an estimate -of their value. I didn’t tell him we had -four more of them, by the way.”</p> - -<p>“No, sir,” murmured Willard.</p> - -<p>“Well, he says he will buy the buff one -for twelve dollars. That’s less than I hoped -to get for them and maybe we might do a little -better somewhere else. What do you -think?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir; I mean—I don’t know!” blurted -Willard.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span></p> - -<p>“Now in regard to the blue one——” Mr. -Chase paused and looked across at the boy. -What he saw seemed to please him, for he -smiled. “I’ll read you what Watkins says -about the blue one, Will. Let—me—see; here -we are! ‘Of course you know you’ve got the -prize of the year in the “black-on-blue.” I’ll -take it off your hands if you want me to, but -you’d probably do better at auction. The stamp -is in perfect condition and, being on the original -envelope, ought to fetch top price. There’s -a big auction in December and you’d better let -me list it for that if you want to sell it. Your -letter doesn’t state whether you do or don’t. -I’m keeping the stamps until I hear further. -The last Alexandria Postmaster black-on-blue -sold two years ago in this city to John Thayer -Williams of Philadelphia. It was without envelope -and slightly soiled. The price paid was -twenty-six hundred. Your stamp ought to -bring a couple of hundred more at least. Awaiting -your instructions, respectfully yours, W. -L. Watkins.’”</p> - -<p>Mr. Chase folded the letter and smiled across -at the boy.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span></p> - -<p>“Well, what do you think of that, Will?” he -asked.</p> - -<p>Willard returned the smile rather tremulously.</p> - -<p>“I think,” he began. Then he stopped, -cleared his throat and began over again. “I -think,” he said huskily, “that Grandma Pierson -is going to send me to college after all, -just as she promised!”</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="JUHI">JONESIE USES HIS INFLUENCE</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">I</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">Daniel Webster Jones, Jr., sauntered -along the aisle, his trim young -body accommodating itself gracefully -to the erratic swaying of the day coach. I -speak of Daniel Webster Jones, Jr., as being -trim, but you are not to picture him as slender. -On the contrary, without being fat, he had in -his fourteen years and some months of existence -managed to cushion his frame with enough -flesh to give him a comfortably well-rounded -appearance. It seemed probable that later on -the cushion would increase in depth and that -the term trim would no longer be applicable. -In fact, Daniel Webster Jones’s father—you -saw his likeness on the cartoons holding his -justly celebrated Creamette Biscuits—was quite -abundantly upholstered. But at present, what -with an easy and graceful carriage and a careful -attention to the niceties of attire, Daniel -Webster Jones, Jr., presented a most pleasing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span> -appearance. Under a straw hat which was absolutely -the latest cry in masculine fashions, -the boy’s copper-brown hair was brushed -sleekly back from a well-shaped forehead. -Grayish blue eyes, a nose rather too button-like -to be called classical, a cherubic mouth, a -nice, firm chin with a dimple in it, all these features -set in a round, healthy, rosy-cheeked face -combined to make Daniel Webster Jones, Jr., -thoroughly attractive. Yet it was, I think, the -qualities of mind and character illumining the -ingenuous countenance that won folks to him. -The gray-blue eyes seemed veritable pools of -truthfulness, the button-like nose proclaimed -uncompromising integrity, the cherub lips appeared -formed for the utterance of pure and -beautiful thoughts, and when Daniel Webster -Jones, Jr., smiled, one felt oh, so glad that such -innocence and candor existed in a deceitful -world!</p> - -<p>The boy’s progress through the car was -neither unnoticed nor unheralded. Small and -admiring juniors looked appealingly upward -and sought recognition with a wistful “How -d’ye do, Jones,” while upper-class fellows,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span> -rousing from the lethargy induced by a two-hour -journey on a hot September afternoon, observed -his advent with something of the same -relief with which a traveler on the desert might -catch sight of an oasis and hailed him hopefully -with a “Hi, Jonesie!” But Daniel Webster -Jones, Jr., merely nodded with just the -correct amount of superciliousness to the juniors—one -had to keep the kids in their place—and -returned the greetings of the others with -preoccupied gravity. Oddly enough this had -the effect of causing smirks and winks and -nudges amongst the older fellows and one felt -glad that Daniel Webster Jones, Jr., was unconscious -of the levity. One felt certain that -it would have wounded him.</p> - -<p>The car was filled almost to its capacity, yet -here and there a seat held but one occupant. -At such a seat, near the front of the coach, -Jonesie—for after all why should we accord -him the dignity of his full title when no one -else did?—Jonesie, then, paused indecisively -and caught the shy upward glance of the seat’s -only occupant, a boy of perhaps thirteen years -of age.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span></p> - -<p>“Mind if I sit here?” asked Jonesie most politely. -“Sorry to bother you, but everything’s -pretty well filled up.”</p> - -<p>“Not—not at all!” stammered the other -boy. He tugged frantically at a fat suitcase -bearing the inscription “J. A. W.” on the end -and squeezed toward the window. Jonesie murmured -his thanks and seated himself with a -sigh, folding his arms and staring ahead of -him with a thoughtful frown. The train swayed -onward in a cloud of gray dust. After a moment -the original occupant of the seat took courage -and studied his neighbor out of the corners -of his eyes. He liked what he saw and -wondered sympathetically what weighty care -was clouding the brow under the stunning -straw. At that moment Jonesie unclasped his -arms and began to study a purple blister at the -base of the second finger on his right palm. The -other boy, interested, looked, too. It was a -most promising blister. He speculated as to the -cause of it and considered its future treatment -rather enviously. And at that moment the -proud possessor of the blister looked up and -caught his glance embarrassingly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span></p> - -<p>“Played thirty-six holes yesterday,” said -Jonesie. “Hadn’t golfed before all summer.” -He frowned at the blister, wiggling his finger -experimentally. “Beastly bother,” he added -disgustedly.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” agreed the other, almost with enthusiasm. -The sympathy seemed to draw Jonesie’s -attention to his companion for the first -time and he turned and shot a brief and speculative -glance at him. Then,</p> - -<p>“Randall’s?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I—I’m just entering.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” Jonesie beamed with a sudden -friendly interest. “That’s fine. Lower Middle, -I suppose?”</p> - -<p>“N-no, just Junior,” returned the other apologetically.</p> - -<p>Jonesie nodded. “Should have thought you’d -enter Lower Middle. You look it.” The new -boy flushed with pleasure at the implied tribute -to his age, wisdom and experience. “I’m in -the Lower Middle myself,” continued Jonesie, -crossing one smartly clad leg over the other -and assuming an attitude promising confidential -discourse. “Hope you will like the school.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span></p> - -<p>“I—I think so, thank you,” murmured the -other. “I don’t know much about boarding -schools, though. I suppose it will be—be sort -of strange at first.”</p> - -<p>“Probably,” replied Jonesie sympathetically. -“Of course a new boy has quite a lot -to learn, but you’ll get on to things after a bit. -It isn’t a bad school, Randall’s. I dare say you -know some of the fellows?”</p> - -<p>“No.” The other shook his head a trifle dejectedly. -“I guess I don’t know a soul there.”</p> - -<p>Jonesie frowned. “That makes it harder,” -he acknowledged. “But you’ll find friends after -a bit,” he added hopefully. “Sooner the better, -too, for there’s nothing like having an older -fellow to—er—sort of give you a hand over the -rough places.” Jonesie regulated carefully the -expanse of violet and gray cuff showing beyond -his coat sleeve. “At least, that was my -experience. Take the matter of athletics, for -instance—— But perhaps you don’t go in for -that sort of thing?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes!” replied the other eagerly, “that -is, I hope to. I—I’m very fond of football.”</p> - -<p>“Fine game, football,” commended Jonesie.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span> -“And that’s a—er—a case in point. Of course -you’ll want to make the School Team; every -fellow does.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I wouldn’t expect to do that! Not the—the -first year!”</p> - -<p>“Why not? Fellows have done it. Don’t -know why you shouldn’t if you buckle down to -it. I dare say I had a close shave from getting -on the School myself the first year. Unfortunately -illness—er”—Jonesie’s gaze wandered -along the bell rope—“illness prevented. Quite -a blow to the Coach.”</p> - -<p>“You—you are on the Team now?” asked -the other eagerly.</p> - -<p>Jonesie shook his head regretfully. “No, I -never got into football after that. Doctor’s orders. -Perhaps next year—I’m so much better——” -He sighed and then smiled brightly, -bravely. “Well, it doesn’t matter, I guess.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, but if you’re really fond of the game,” -exclaimed the other boy feelingly, “it must be—be -an awful disappointment! I—I’m sorry!”</p> - -<p>“Thanks. Yes, of course it <em>is</em> a disappointment, -but”—Jonesie shrugged his shoulders—“life -is full of disappointments and one soon<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span> -learns to—er—accept them philosophically. -Now take your case—er—— You didn’t tell -me your name, did you?”</p> - -<p>“No. It’s Wigman.”</p> - -<p>“Mine’s Jones, D. W. Jones. Well, as I was -saying, Wigman, take your case. You may have -to—to accept disappointment, too. You see, -there’ll be piles of fellows trying for the Team, -and some of them may show up as well as you -will, although I will say”—and here Jonesie -turned to scrutinize Wigman carefully and approvingly—“that -from your looks you ought to -have the making of a dandy player.” Wigman -flushed under the compliment. “But there you -are! Merit isn’t everything. You might play -as well as another chap and yet he’d get the -call just because he had—er—friends to speak -for him. Do you see?”</p> - -<p>“But—but that’s hardly fair, is it?” asked -Wigman. “I thought Randall’s was a school -where you—where every fellow had the same -chance as every other fellow. I—I’ve heard -so.”</p> - -<p>“Sure! That’s so, to a certain extent. Still, -you know yourself, Wigman, that if you were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span> -captain of the Team—as you will be some day, -or I miss my guess!—you couldn’t help favoring -the fellow you knew, supposing he played -as well as the other fellow, whom you didn’t -know. It’s human nature, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>Wigman allowed that it was.</p> - -<p>“Of course! There you are, then! So what -you want to do is to make friends, Wigman; -get acquainted right away and, if you can do -it, find a fellow who’s close to Bing.”</p> - -<p>“Bing?” faltered Wigman.</p> - -<p>“Yes, Carey Bingham. He’s captain this -year. His chums call him Bing for short. Nice -chap, Bing. I’ve just been having a chat with -him in the smoker. Bing has a queer idea that -I’m a judge of football material. Maybe he -isn’t so far wrong, either; I’ve picked more -than one green player and seen him develop -into a wonder. And I don’t believe I’ve picked -a bad ’un yet. We were talking over this year’s -prospects. Bing’s inclined to be a bit discouraged -and—er—pessimistic, but I told him that -to my mind we had as good an outlook as ever -we’d had. Quite cheered up, he was, when I -left him. Wanted me to stay and go over the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span> -schedule with him, but I couldn’t stand the -smoke any longer. Well, here’s the bridge. -We’ll be at Chester Hill in five minutes. I -must get my things together. Awfully glad -to have met you, Wigman, and if there’s anything -I can do for you just let me know, will -you?”</p> - -<p>“Th—thank you,” said the other boy gratefully. -“But I wouldn’t think of bothering -you.”</p> - -<p>“No bother at all. Tell you what I’ll do, Wigman.” -Jonesie drew forth a silver card case, -abstracted an oblong slip of thin cardboard -bearing his name and home address in ornate -Old English letters and scrawled a line on it -with a silver pencil. “There’s where I hang -out—18 Hawthorne. Look me up as soon as -you get settled or let me know where to find -you and I’ll drop in. Maybe I can put you on to -the ropes a bit, eh? Very glad to do anything I -can for a new fellow. Know what it means to -be dumped down here with a couple of hundred -strangers. Makes you feel sort of lost and all -that for a bit. I know! Glad to have met you, -Wigman. See you again soon, I hope.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span></p> - -<p>Jonesie smiled his best and sweetest smile, -shook hands and sauntered off, leaving James -Andrew Wigman filled with gratitude and admiration. -Halfway along the aisle an imperious -hand shot out and seized on Jonesie. -Jonesie, after a vain attempt to elude his captor, -faced him innocently.</p> - -<p>“Hello, Carpenter,” he said sweetly. -“How’s the boy?”</p> - -<p>“What have you been up to, Jonesie?” inquired -Carpenter, a big Senior, sternly.</p> - -<p>“Me?” Jonesie’s candid countenance expressed -surprise. “Why, nothing!”</p> - -<p>“What kind of a yarn have you been stringing -to that poor Fresh down there?” persisted -Carpenter.</p> - -<p>“You make me tired! Can’t a fellow be decent -to a new boy, I’d like to know? I’ve been -cheering him up a bit, that’s all. Found him -terribly down in the dumps, poor chap. You -Upper Class fellows never think of trying to -make things a bit easier for new boys.” Jonesie -mingled regret with indignation. Carpenter -blinked. “Seems to me you fellows ought to remember -how you felt yourselves when you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span> -struck school and didn’t know anyone! It—it’s -mighty lonesome business, Carpenter!”</p> - -<p>“Is that so, Jonesie? Well, you’d better -write to the <cite>Weekly</cite> about it. A fat lot of comforting -you were doing, I’ll bet!” But after -Jonesie had gone on, Carpenter glanced inquiringly -at Gus Peasley, who occupied the seat -with him. “Maybe Jonesie is right about it, -too,” said Carpenter. “I dare say it would be -a decent thing if some of us Upper Classmen -sort of looked after the new boys a little. I -remember myself——”</p> - -<p>“Piffle!” This was Peasley, grinning. -“Jonesie doesn’t care a hang whether a new -boy is homesick! Bet you a dollar, Billy, he’s -been up to some more of his deviltry!”</p> - -<p>“Think so?” asked Carpenter doubtfully. -“Maybe. I wouldn’t trust him. Just the same, -Gus, there’s something in what he said.”</p> - -<p>Peasley yawned as he got up to rescue his -suitcase from the rack above.</p> - -<p>“Jonesie could talk tears out of a brick, -Billy,” he replied. “He’s the biggest little -faker in school. Some day, if he doesn’t get -hung first, he’ll be President!”</p> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">II</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">The Fall Term was three days old when -James Andrew Wigman availed himself -of Jonesie’s invitation. Jonesie -returned to his room that afternoon in a condition -of utter boredom. It had rained all day, -there was no promise of clearing, and Jonesie, -unfortunately susceptible to weather conditions, -was as near having a case of the blues as -is possible for a healthy boy of fourteen. After -slamming the door and skimming his wet cap -across the study in the general direction of the -window seat he thrust his hands into his trousers -pockets and stared disgustedly at his roommate. -“Sparrow” Bowles, deep in the pages of -a paper-covered romance, never even turned his -head. Sparrow was fifteen, long, lank, dark-complexioned -and lazy. Fate had thrown them -together at the commencement of their Junior -Year and Jonesie had never yet quite forgiven -Fate. Finally, discovering that his scowling<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span> -regard was having no impression, he observed -challengingly:</p> - -<p>“Crazy old bookworm!”</p> - -<p>Sparrow looked up and blinked.</p> - -<p>“What’s eating you?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>Jonesie grunted and sank into a chair. “Find -out,” he said affably. Sparrow shrugged his -narrow shoulders and turned back to his book. -Jonesie continued to glower upon him. At -length:</p> - -<p>“You’ll turn into a book some day,” he -sneered.</p> - -<p>“You’ll turn into a jug of vinegar some -day,” replied the other, without looking up. -But the cleverness of the retort brought a -smirk to his face. Seeing it, Jonesie reached -a foot forward and dexterously sent the paper-covered -volume hurtling across the room.</p> - -<p>“Fresh!” he muttered.</p> - -<p>Sparrow viewed him angrily through the -round lenses of his rubber-rimmed spectacles.</p> - -<p>“You pick that up!” he demanded.</p> - -<p>Jonesie smiled cheerfully. “Yes, I will!” he -responded. But the tone of voice rather contradicted -the statement. Sparrow glared indecisively<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span> -from his companion to the book. -Sparrow was not afraid of Jonesie, but he -was far too lazy to engage in combat unless -absolutely driven to it. Finally, with a -shrug:</p> - -<p>“It’ll stay there, then,” he said.</p> - -<p>“For all of me,” agreed Jonesie.</p> - -<p>Followed a silence. Sparrow blinked at the -falling rain and the dripping trees on the -campus. Jonesie gazed speculatively at Sparrow. -But the scrap, as brief as it had been, -had in a measure relieved his feelings, and at -the end of five minutes he asked:</p> - -<p>“What do you know?”</p> - -<p>Sparrow scowled and shrugged his shoulders -again.</p> - -<p>“I know you make me sick,” he answered -ungraciously.</p> - -<p>“You make me a heap sicker,” responded -Jonesie. “Anyone been in?”</p> - -<p>“No—yes, there was a fellow in here half -an hour ago asking for you.”</p> - -<p>“Who was he?”</p> - -<p>“Search me.”</p> - -<p>“What did he say?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span></p> - -<p>“Nothing much. Left a note on the table, -I think.”</p> - -<p>“You <em>think</em>! Don’t you ever <em>know</em> anything?” -Jonesie got up and found the note. -“It wouldn’t have hurt you a whole lot to have -said something about this when I came in, you -lazy chump!” He glanced at it and thrust it -into a pocket. “It’s important, too,” he added -severely. “You’re a wonder, Sparrow!”</p> - -<p>“I forgot it,” said Sparrow untroubledly. -“What’s it about?”</p> - -<p>“None of your business.” Jonesie rescued -his cap from the floor, borrowed Sparrow’s -umbrella from the closet and hurried out.</p> - -<p>“Come back with that brulla!” shouted Sparrow.</p> - -<p>As this produced no result, he shrugged his -shoulders, picked up his book and started reading -again.</p> - -<p>The note was signed “James A. Wigman,” -and informed Jonesie that he was rooming at -Mrs. Sproule’s on Center Street, adding that -if Jonesie had time to drop around he’d take -it as a great favor. Now Jonesie was not the -least bit in the world interested in young Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span> -Wigman. He had scraped acquaintance with -him on the train for no other reason than he -had exhausted all other means of entertainment. -It had amused him to impose upon the -new boy with an assumption of influence which -he by no means possessed, and, once started, -it was Jonesie’s artistic temperament which -had led him to round off the incident with the -presentation of a visiting card and an avowal -of friendly interest. To-day, had there been -anything else to occupy Jonesie’s talents, young -Mr. Wigman’s appeal would probably have -gone forever unanswered. But Jonesie was -bored and a call on the new boy offered at least -some slight variation of the monotony of life.</p> - -<p>Wigman had a room to himself at Sproule’s, -a dormer-windowed cell on the third floor. Pictures, -rugs, pillows and knick-knacks had, however, -lent an air of comfort to the white-walled -apartment, and Jonesie, having been gratefully -welcomed by Wigman and escorted to the only -comfortable chair, affably commended the -quarters.</p> - -<p>“It isn’t bad, is it?” asked Wigman. “I -brought quite a lot of truck from home.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span></p> - -<p>“One has to,” replied Jonesie. “Well, how’s -it going, Wigman?”</p> - -<p>“Very well so far, thank you. I haven’t got -my courses quite straightened out yet. I find -I’ve got to take French or German, and I didn’t -expect that.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, one of ’em’s required. You won’t mind -’em, though. Better take French. I did. It’s -more use to you. I discovered that abroad. If -you know French you can get around anywhere, -even in Germany. How are you getting -on with football?”</p> - -<p>“Why—why, that’s what I wanted to talk to -you about,” said Wigman. “I went out -Wednesday, of course. I suppose I got along -all right. They put me in D Squad. But I -heard to-day that Mr. Cutler is going to let -some of the fellows go Monday.”</p> - -<p>Jonesie nodded. “He would, you know.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and—I wondered——” Wigman hesitated -and sought for the right words. “I -thought that perhaps, after what you said on -the train the other day, Jones, that perhaps -you wouldn’t mind—that is—wouldn’t mind—saying -a word for me!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span></p> - -<p>“Hm,” mused Jonesie.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” Wigman hastened to add, “I -don’t want any favors, you understand! And—and -I don’t want you to do it if you’d rather -not, Jones. Only I thought—that if you just -said a word to the Captain he might give me a -chance, you see; let me stay on a little longer. -I’m pretty sure I can make good, but I’m stale -and I’m afraid they’ll let me go Monday.”</p> - -<p>“I see.” Jonesie considered thoughtfully. -“Of course,” he went on presently, “there’s -always the Class Team to fall back on. You’d -make that, I guess, without much trouble.”</p> - -<p>Wigman’s face fell. “Y-yes, but—but after -what you said the other day, Jones, I—I sort of -want to make the School Team—or the Second, -anyway! You know you said first-year fellows -had done it.”</p> - -<p>“Did I? Yes, of course I did! Quite right, -too. By the way, what position are you trying -for?”</p> - -<p>“Quarter.”</p> - -<p>“Gee!” murmured Jonesie. “That—er—complicates -it, doesn’t it?” In response to -Wigman’s unspoken question he went on. “I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span> -mean that there’s only one quarterback position -to fill and so, of course, it’s harder. You -see that, eh? Now, if you were trying for end -or tackle or guard or half you’d stand just -twice the chance. Still——”</p> - -<p>“I’ve always played quarter,” said Wigman. -“I suppose I might try for half, though.”</p> - -<p>“Well, there’s no hurry about that,” replied -Jonesie. “I’ll speak to Bing about you. Of -course I can’t promise anything. Bing’s a most -conscientious chap and, while, of course, he’d -do anything in reason for me, he might—er—there -might be some reason why he couldn’t do -this. There’s Cutler, for instance. Awfully -opinionated cuss, that Coach. Hard to work -with. Bing says so himself. Still, you sit tight, -Wigman, and I’ll see what can be done.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, thank you a thousand times, Jones!”</p> - -<p>“Better not thank me until we see how it -turns out,” warned Jonesie. “I may fall down, -you see.”</p> - -<p>“Even if you do I—I’ll feel mighty grateful -to you, just the same. And—and I hope you -don’t mind my asking you?”</p> - -<p>“Not a bit! Glad to do anything I can, Wigman.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span> -What’s the good of having influence if -you don’t make use of it for your friends? I -say, that’s a peach of a racket you have!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, it isn’t bad. I have another one over -there.” Wigman took down the Smith Special -and handed it across for Jonesie’s examination. -“I haven’t used it but once or twice. It’s -a little too heavy for me, I find. I do better -with the other one. Do you play?”</p> - -<p>“Not very much. I’m fond of the game, -though. Used to do fairly well before the doctors -butted in.”</p> - -<p>“I forgot about that,” murmured Wigman -sympathetically.</p> - -<p>Jonesie weighed the racket in his hand, felt -the grip of it, swung it experimentally to and -fro and tapped the mesh approvingly.</p> - -<p>“Some racket that, Wigman. Don’t know -when I’ve run across one I liked as well. -Thanks.” He handed it back. Wigman accepted -it, but did not return it to its place over -the narrow mantel. Instead, he swung it nervously -back and forth behind him, opened his -mouth, closed it and exhibited all the signs of -embarrassment. If Jonesie saw he pretended<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span> -not to. He picked his cap up and lounged across -to the bureau, bending over the row of photographs -displayed.</p> - -<p>“This your father, Wigman? Fine-looking -chap, by Jove! You take after him a lot, don’t -you?”</p> - -<p>“Do you think so?” asked Wigman in permissible -surprise. “Folks usually think I look -a good deal more like my mother. That’s her -picture at the end there.”</p> - -<p>Jonesie observed it critically, shot a look at -Wigman and shook his head.</p> - -<p>“N-no, I don’t think so. Of course there’s a -strong likeness there, too, but it’s your dad -you resemble most, I’d say. Well, I must be -getting along. Sorry I wasn’t in when you -called, Wigman. Try again, will you? I’d like -you to meet my chum, Bowles. Fine fellow, -Bowles. A bit studious for a lazy duffer like -me”—Jonesie’s smile made a joke of that!—“but -we get on first chop. Come over soon, -Wigman. I wish you would.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks, I—I’d like to. And I’m ever so -much obliged about this—this other business. -It’s frightfully decent of you, Jones!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span></p> - -<p>“Piffle,” answered Jonesie deprecatingly.</p> - -<p>“It is, though,” Wigman went on earnestly. -“And—and about this thing.” He brought the -racket back into view. “I never use it, Jones, -and I have another one, anyway; and it’s a lot -too heavy for me, besides. And so—so”—Wigman -was making hard work of it, stammering -and blushing—“so I wish you’d take it, -Jones!”</p> - -<p>“Take it?” echoed Jonesie uncomprehendingly.</p> - -<p>“As a gift, you know. I suppose it’s cheeky -on my part, but——”</p> - -<p>“My dear fellow!” Jonesie smiled sweetly, -protestingly. “It’s certainly fine and dandy of -you, but I couldn’t think of it! Positively I -couldn’t, Wigman!”</p> - -<p>“Well—of course——” The hand holding -the racket fell limply. “I wish you might, -though.”</p> - -<p>“It’s fine of you, but—er—hang it, Wigman, -it looks almost like a bribe!”</p> - -<p>Wigman colored furiously. “Oh, I didn’t -mean it that way. Honest I didn’t, Jones! -You—you believe me, don’t you?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span></p> - -<p>“Of course I do! I know better, but others -might think—well, you know what fellows are!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but they needn’t know, need they? I -wouldn’t tell. You—you’ve been so awfully -kind to me, Jones, and I don’t know any fellows -yet, and—and I’d just like you to have it! -It would be awfully good of you if you would!”</p> - -<p>Jonesie was affected by this appeal. He hesitated -on the very verge of another refusal. -Wigman, seeing it, renewed his appeal.</p> - -<p>“It isn’t as though I didn’t have another perfectly -good one, Jones, because I have. I do -wish you would!”</p> - -<p>“Why—why, if you put it that way,” murmured -Jonesie, vacillating. “But, I say, Wigman, -it’s worth five or six dollars, you know!”</p> - -<p>“Seven,” answered Wigman, “but that’s got -nothing to do with it. I—I’d just like you to -have it. Won’t you, please?”</p> - -<p>“Well, if you really want me to——” Jonesie -hesitated still, but Wigman thrust the racket -into his hand. Jonesie, discovering it there, -viewed it with surprise. Then, “Thanks, Wigman, -it’s awfully decent of you, old man. I -really haven’t done anything to deserve this,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span> -you know, but I’ll accept it in—er—the spirit -it is offered in. And, I say, let’s have a set -some day, will you?”</p> - -<p>“I’d love to!” exclaimed Wigman.</p> - -<p>“Good!” Jonesie changed the racket to the -other hand and offered the first to Wigman. -“We’ll do it. Good luck, Wigman. Sit tight -and leave everything to me! So long!”</p> - -<p>Swinging the racket appreciatively as he entered -the campus, Jonesie almost collided with -a tall, broad-shouldered Upper Classman.</p> - -<p>“Hi, kid, look where you’re going,” ejaculated -the latter good-naturedly. Jonesie -stepped out of the way into a puddle.</p> - -<p>“Beg pardon, Bingham,” he said humbly.</p> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">III</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">All that happened on Friday. Saturday -was a wonderful sunny day, and -Jonesie, who had no recitation after -half past ten in the morning, was very, very -busy. There was nine holes of golf with -“Pinky” Trainor before dinner, a visit to the -village with Pinky in the afternoon and a lovely -rough-house evening of it in Steve Cook’s room. -Steve lived at Mrs. Sharp’s in Walnut Place, -and as Walnut Place was a good half mile from -the nearest dormitory and Mrs. Sharp good-naturedly -lenient it was, in Pinky’s words, some -party! Jonesie, Pinky and two other campus -dwellers left at a quarter past ten by way of a -window and a shed roof, skulking back to school -by dark and devious ways. Consequently it -was not until Sunday morning, always a sober -period to Jonesie, that recollection of Wigman -returned to him. The Smith Special reposed -on the mantel and ever and anon as Jonesie<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span> -wandered about the study donning one garment -after another, his glance fell upon it troubledly. -Naturally Sparrow had been curious about the -tennis racket and Jonesie’s easy statement that -he had “bought it off a fellow” only aroused -Sparrow’s incredulity.</p> - -<p>“<em>Bought</em> it! Yes, you did! Bet you stole -it!” jeered Sparrow. Which unjust charge so -outraged Jonesie that he refused further enlightenment.</p> - -<p>All during church, or more especially during -the sermon—for Jonesie solved some of his -most momentous problems while the preacher’s -drone filled the quiet church—he considered -Wigman. Something would have to be done, -but he couldn’t see what. He sincerely wished -he had never encountered Wigman. The whole -thing was a nuisance! Of course he had hedged -enough so that if Wigman was dropped from -the football squad to-morrow Wigman couldn’t -hold him to blame. Still, there was that racket. -Jonesie loved that racket and didn’t want to -give it up, which, he supposed, he’d have—well, -<em>ought</em>—to do in case Wigman suffered in the -morrow’s cut. Jonesie frowned and scowled<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span> -and cudgeled his brain, but discovered no solution. -During the rest of the day—especially -what time Jonesie sat and suffered in the composition -of his weekly home letter—the Smith -Special looked down upon him accusingly, reproachfully, -until finally the boy arose and -wrathfully cast it into the closet.</p> - -<p>By Monday morning he had forgotten the -Wigman problem. Nor did it occur to him -again until, returning at dusk from an afternoon -on the river in a canoe with Pinky, Sparrow -growlingly indicated a note on the table. -Jonesie’s first glance was at the signature, -and when he read Wigman his heart sank -uncomfortably. Then, taking a long breath, -he moved his gaze to the top of the sheet and -read:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">Friend Jones</span>:</p> - -<p>I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done. As you -probably saw by the notice they’ve kept me on and to-day -Captain Bingham put me into B Squad. He was awfully -nice, too. Told me I was doing well, and that if I stuck to -it and worked hard I’d make a good quarter. Of course I -knew it was all your doing, and so I didn’t feel too stuck up -about it. I’m terribly much obliged and I hope some time -I’ll have a chance to do something for you. If the time ever<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span> -comes I’ll do it like a streak. I haven’t forgotten your invitation -to call, and I’m going to come over some evening if -you don’t mind.</p> - -<p class="noic">Yours, etc.,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">James A. Wigman</span>.</p> -</div> - -<p>Jonesie folded the note up with a broad smile. -Then, whistling softly, he went to the closet -and rescued the tennis racket. When it was -once more on the mantel he had a sudden -thought and his gaze darted across to where -Sparrow sat under the drop light, reading. -There was something far too good to be true -in Sparrow’s preoccupation and Jonesie -scowled. At length:</p> - -<p>“Anything about this note you’d like to have -explained?” he asked sarcastically.</p> - -<p>Sparrow looked up, blinking. Then he shook -his head slowly.</p> - -<p>“N-no, I guess not. It’s none of my business, -Jonesie.”</p> - -<p>“Then what did you open it for?” Jonesie -exploded.</p> - -<p>“Why, it was sort of dark in here and I -thought it was for me,” explained Sparrow -calmly. “Of course, when I saw it wasn’t——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span></p> - -<p>“You read it through! After this you leave -my notes alone. Do you hear?”</p> - -<p>“Sure! I don’t want to read your old notes.”</p> - -<p>“Then don’t do it,” growled Jonesie.</p> - -<p>“All right. That fellow Wigman must be an -awful fool, though.”</p> - -<p>“Why?” challenged the other.</p> - -<p>“Why, to give you that racket! I don’t know -what he thinks you did for him, Jonesie, but I’m -mighty sure you didn’t do it!”</p> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">IV</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">A fortnight later all Randall’s was -talking about the new football find. -His name was Wigman, he was a Junior, -he was only thirteen years old and he was -turning out to be the finest little quarterback in -years! Why, only the other day he had taken -Rice’s place in the last two periods against -Mercer High and driven the team like a veteran! -To say nothing of having himself scored -on one of the most daring and brilliant end -runs ever seen on Randall’s Field!</p> - -<p>When Jonesie heard this he smiled superiorly. -“I knew that a month ago,” he said. -“Wigman and I are old friends. In fact, it was -largely due to my—my encouragement that he -held on and made good. Had an idea when he -got here that things went by favoritism and -was all for giving up right at the start. ‘Don’t -you do it,’ I said to him. ‘You peg along, old -man, and show ’em what you can do. If you’ve<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span> -got the stuff in you Bingham and Cutler will -pull you right along. Why,’ said I, ‘a fellow -who can play the way you can ought to be Captain -some day!’ My very words. You ask -Wigman if you don’t believe me.”</p> - -<p>“But how did you know he could play?” inquired -an incredulous hearer. “Did you know -him before he came up?”</p> - -<p>“Never set eyes on him,” declared Jonesie -truthfully, “but you can’t fool me on football -players. I can size ’em up just by looking at -’em. And one little glance at Wigman was -enough for yours truly. He hasn’t surprised -<em>me</em> any. I <em>knew</em>!”</p> - -<p>Wigman had fulfilled his promise to call on -Jonesie, but the latter had been out. And as -Jonesie had never returned the visit the acquaintanceship -had not flourished. Jonesie considered -himself well out of his difficulty and was -fearful that Wigman might again request him -to use his influence with Captain Bingham. -But, as it happened, the new quarterback -needed no one’s assistance. He was making -good on his own account, and by the time the -Big Game was a fortnight away it had become<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span> -a question whether Rice, the last year’s general, -could retain his position. And that question -was solved a week later. In the game with -Lakeshore School Wigman started at quarter, -and it was not until the game was safely “on -ice” in the fourth period that the disgruntled -Rice succeeded to the position. That, of course, -was on the Saturday succeeding the final contest -of the year, and the next afternoon, while -Jonesie was chewing the end of his penholder -and scowling at the Smith Special for inspiration -in the composition of his weekly missive, -there was an apologetic knock and in walked -James Andrew Wigman.</p> - -<p>Even Jonesie could not help but notice the -change in the boy. He seemed to have grown -taller and broader and a lot more certain of -himself. Shaking hands, Jonesie was thankful -that Sparrow was out of the way, for Wigman’s -countenance proclaimed that he had come on -weighty matters. “If,” said Jonesie to himself, -“he wants me to ask any more favors of -Bingham I’ll just have to refuse. This thing’s -gone far enough!”</p> - -<p>Wigman took a chair.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span></p> - -<p>“I’m sorry to bother you, Jones,” he began -soberly.</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” murmured his host uneasily.</p> - -<p>“I suppose you’ve heard that they’ve given -me Rice’s place on the School Team?”</p> - -<p>Jonesie nodded. “Glad to hear it,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Well, of course it’s mighty hard on Rice. -He’s an awfully fine fellow and he had the place -cinched until I—I butted in.”</p> - -<p>“Fortunes of war,” said Jonesie.</p> - -<p>“Maybe, and I wouldn’t care if—if I wasn’t -afraid that I—well, had sort of come by my -good luck unfairly.”</p> - -<p>“Eh?” ejaculated Jonesie.</p> - -<p>“You know what I mean.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t say I do, Wigman.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you can’t deny, I suppose, that if it -hadn’t been for you I wouldn’t have got the -chance to show what I could do. Because it’s -dollars to doughnuts, Jones, that Cutler meant -to drop me the second week of practice. You -remember?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, oh, yes,” answered the other hurriedly. -“Still——”</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s what’s bothering me. Sometimes<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span> -I think I ought to drop out and give Rice -a fair show. I don’t mean that I got my place -by favoritism, exactly, but I guess there’s no -use pretending that if it wasn’t for your interceding -for me with Bingham, Rice would still -be first-string quarter.”</p> - -<p>“Hm,” said Jonesie judicially.</p> - -<p>“And—and that brings me to another thing. -Yesterday after the game I got to thinking -about all this and I thought I’d go to Bingham -and have a frank talk with him. So——”</p> - -<p>“Good Lord!” groaned Jonesie.</p> - -<p>“Pardon? I thought you spoke. So I did. -I told him that I was afraid it was scarcely fair -to Rice and—and suggested that maybe I ought -to—to sort of drop out for this season.”</p> - -<p>“What—what did he say?” asked Jonesie -faintly.</p> - -<p>“Why, that’s the funny part of it. He said -he didn’t know anything about it! At first he -even pretended he didn’t know who you were!”</p> - -<p>“Good Old Bing!” exclaimed Jonesie, slapping -his leg and grinning. “If that isn’t just -like the boy!”</p> - -<p>Wigman looked puzzled. “But he said——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span></p> - -<p>“Wait!” Jonesie held up a hand. “I’ll tell -you just what he said, Wigman. First off he -pretended he didn’t know what you were talking -about. Didn’t he?” Wigman nodded. -“Then he made believe he didn’t know who I -was. When you explained he said, ‘Oh, Jonesie, -you mean. Ha, ha!’ Just like that. Then he -probably told you straight out that I’d had -nothing to do with the thing, that I’d never -mentioned your name to him and that, even if -I had, it wouldn’t have made a bit of difference. -Didn’t he? Isn’t that about what happened, -Wigman?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, pretty nearly exactly. And he said -that the reason they’d put me in place of Rice -was because I was playing a better all-around -game and that nothing else had anything to do -with it.”</p> - -<p>“And there you are!” exclaimed Jonesie triumphantly.</p> - -<p>“But—but why should he say he didn’t know -you, Jones? He does, of course, and you have -spoken to him for me, haven’t you?”</p> - -<p>Jonesie smiled wisely. “He says not, doesn’t -he?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span></p> - -<p>“Yes, but——”</p> - -<p>“And he ought to know.” Jonesie winked -meaningly. Vague comprehension illumined -Wigman’s countenance.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” he said doubtfully. “You mean he -doesn’t want to acknowledge even to me——”</p> - -<p>“Wigman, there’s a whole lot more politics -in a school like this than you dream of,” responded -Jonesie gravely. “Bing has his reason. -Let it go at that. Don’t inquire too—er—closely.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! Then you think——”</p> - -<p>“Sure!”</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“Why, that you ought to take what you’ve -got and ask no questions,” said Jonesie -promptly. “Get me?”</p> - -<p>“But if they have—have been easier with me -than with other fellows——”</p> - -<p>“It’s because you deserved it. Wigman, Cutler -and Bing and I have—er—done what was -wisest and best for you and the School. Remember, -Wigman, there’s the School to think -of, too. The greatest good to the greatest number, -you know. Got to think of that, Wigman.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span> -It may seem a bit tough on Rice, but don’t let -that worry you. Just tell yourself that we -have our reasons, Wigman, reasons which -neither Bing nor I are ashamed of. If it was -necessary we’d tell ’em to the School right out. -But it isn’t. You go ahead and keep your mouth -shut, Wigman, that’s all you need do.”</p> - -<p>“And—and,” asked Wigman, visibly impressed, -“you don’t think I’m taking any unfair -advantage of Rice?”</p> - -<p>“Not a bit. Take my word for it. Besides, -Bing told you the same thing, didn’t he?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“There you are then! Don’t you trouble. If -there’s any worrying to be done”—Jonesie -arose and patted Wigman reassuringly on the -shoulder—“if there’s any of that to be done -you just leave it to me and Bing!”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="TMF">THE MAGIC FOOTBALL<br /> -<small>A FAIRY TALE OF TO-DAY</small></h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">I</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">“I wish,” murmured Tommy Piper, “they’d -let <em>me</em> play!”</p> - -<p>It was a chill, cloudy November afternoon, -and Tommy, sprawled in the big armchair -in front of the library fire, was very unhappy. -Things hadn’t gone well to-day at -school, where the teachers had been horribly -unjust to him, nor at home, where he had been -scolded for arriving late for dinner; Billy Blue, -his most particular chum, was confined to the -house with double mumps, and, to add to the -burden of his woes, or to remind him of the -principal one, half a dozen fellows, togged and -sweatered, carrying a battle-scarred football -and dangling their head guards, had just passed -the window on their way to the field to practice -for the final and all-important game of -the year, that with Meadowville.</p> - -<p>Usually Tommy went along, envious but interested, -to watch the luckier boys at work, but<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span> -to-day he was at outs with the world. What -was most awfully wrong was that George Marquis, -captain of the Hillside eleven, refused to -perceive in Tommy the qualities desired in a -member of that gallant band of gridiron warriors. -George said that Tommy was much too -light for either line or backfield, while grudgingly -acknowledging that he <em>could</em> kick and <em>was</em> -fast on his toes. Consequently, Tommy, who -all summer long had looked forward almost -breathlessly to securing a position at the end -of the line or as a back, had been—and still was—horribly -disappointed. Of course he realized -that he was pretty light—he was only thirteen, -you see, and by no means large for his age—but -he was quite convinced that he was -clever enough at punting and drop-kicking -and carrying the ball to atone for his lack of -weight. But Captain Marquis didn’t think so, -and Tommy was out of it for another year at -least.</p> - -<p>He had been trying to read a story that was -all about school life and football, but he didn’t -want his fun at second-hand to-day. He wanted -to make history himself! The book toppled unnoticed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span> -to the hearth rug and Tommy went off -into a wonderful daydream, his round eyes -fixed entrancedly on the glowing coals in the -grate. He saw himself playing right halfback -for Hillside in the Thanksgiving Day game with -Meadowville, making sensational rushes, kicking -marvelous goals from the field, cheered and -applauded, a veritable football hero if ever -there was one! When, after an hour of desperate -battle, Hillside had conquered, and Tommy, -on the shoulders of admiring comrades, was being -carried from the field, he woke from his -daydream with a sigh.</p> - -<p>“I wish,” he said longingly, addressing no -one in particular, since there was no one there, -but gazing very intently at the gloomy corner -of the room where lounge and bookcase met -and formed a cavern of shadow, “I wish I could -do all that! Gee, but I do wish I could!”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said a small, gruff voice that made -Tommy sit up suddenly very straight and surprised -in his chair, “you were long enough -about it!”</p> - -<p>From the dark corner there emerged into the -fire light the most astonishing person Tommy<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span> -had ever seen or dreamed of. He was scarcely -higher than the boy’s knee and he was lamentably -thin; and his head was quite out of proportion -to any other part of him. But the queerest -thing of all was his face, which was just as -round as—as, well, as a basket ball and very -much the same color. From the middle of it -protruded a long and very pointed nose. His -eyes were small and sharp and bright and his -mouth was thin and reached almost from one -perfectly huge ear to the other. He was dressed -in rusty black, with pointed shoes that were ridiculously -like his nose, and a sugar-loaf cap, -from which dangled dejectedly a long green -feather. And under one pipestem of an arm, -clutched with long brown fingers, was a football -almost as large as he was!</p> - -<p>Tommy stared and stared and thought he -must be dreaming. But the strange visitor -quickly put that notion out of his head.</p> - -<p>“Well! Well!” he said crossly. “Can’t you -speak?”</p> - -<p>“Y-yes, sir,” stammered Tommy. “But—I—I -don’t think I heard wh-what you said!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you did! You didn’t understand.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span> -Boys are all stupid. I said you were long -enough about it.”</p> - -<p>The visitor advanced to the hearth and took -up his position on the rug, his back to the fire -and his beady eyes blinking sharply at the boy.</p> - -<p>“About—about what?” asked Tommy apologetically.</p> - -<p>“About wishing, of course! Don’t you know -fairies can’t grant a wish until it has been made -three times? You wished once and then you -kept me waiting. I don’t like to be kept waiting. -I’m a very busy person. Nowadays, with -everyone wishing for all sorts of silly things -that they don’t need and oughtn’t to have, a -fairy’s life isn’t worth living.”</p> - -<p>“I’m very sorry,” murmured Tommy apologetically. -“I—I didn’t know you were there.”</p> - -<p>“‘Didn’t know! Didn’t know!’ That’s what -every stupid person says. You should have -known. If you didn’t expect me why did you -wish three times?”</p> - -<p>“Why, I—I don’t know,” said Tommy. “I -was just—just wishing.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, then maybe you don’t want your wish?” -asked the other eagerly. “If that’s it, just say<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span> -so. Don’t waste my time. I’ve an appointment -in Meadowville in—in——” He took off his -funny sugar-loaf hat, rested the end of the -feather on the bridge of his long nose and spun -the cap around. “One—two—three—four——” -The cap stopped spinning and he replaced -it on his head. “In four minutes,” he ended -sternly.</p> - -<p>“Th-that’s a funny way to tell time,” said -Tommy.</p> - -<p>“I never tell time,” replied the stranger -shortly. “Time tells me. Now, then, what do -you say?”</p> - -<p>“Th-thank you,” said Tommy hurriedly, remembering -his manners.</p> - -<p>“No, no, no, no, no, no!” exclaimed the other -exasperatedly. “What about your wish? Do -you or isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Why—why, if it isn’t too much trouble,” -stammered Tommy, “I’d like to have it very, -very much.”</p> - -<p>“Of course it’s trouble,” said the fairy -sharply. “Don’t be any stupider than you have -to be. But everything’s trouble; my life is full -of trouble; that’s what comes of being a D. A.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span></p> - -<p>“If you please,” asked Tommy politely, -“what does D. A. mean?”</p> - -<p>“Director of Athletics, of course. It couldn’t -mean anything else, could it? Really, you do -ask more silly questions! Now then, now then, -look alive!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir, but—but how?” asked Tommy -anxiously.</p> - -<p>“Repeat the incan., of course.”</p> - -<p>“The—the incan——?”</p> - -<p>“Tation! Don’t tell me you don’t know it!” -The fairy was almost tearful and Tommy naturally -felt awfully ashamed of his ignorance. -But he had to acknowledge that he didn’t, and, -casting his eyes toward the ceiling in protest, -the fairy rattled off the following so rapidly -that it was all Tommy could do to follow him:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“I wish this once,</div> - <div class="verse indent3">I wish this twice!</div> - <div class="verse indent1">Grant me the wish</div> - <div class="verse indent3">That I wish thrice!”</div> - </div> -</div> - -<p>“Repeat, if you please!” said the fairy. -Tommy did so, stumblingly.</p> - -<p>The fairy grunted. “Stupid!” he muttered. -“Didn’t know the incan. What are we coming<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span> -to? What are we coming to? In the old days -boys didn’t have to be told such things. Modern -education—puh!” And the fairy fairly -glared at Tommy.</p> - -<p>“I’m awfully sorry, Mr. Fairy,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Hm, at least you have manners,” said the -fairy, his ill temper vanishing. “Well, here it -is.” He tapped the football he held with the -claw-like fingers of his other hand.</p> - -<p>“But—but I didn’t wish for a football,” faltered -Tommy disappointedly.</p> - -<p>“Of course you didn’t! Who said you did? -You wished you might play in Thursday’s football -game and be a hero and win the game for -your team, didn’t you? Or, if you didn’t, how -much? Or, other things being as stated, -when?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir, I did! And could I—could you -really give me my wish?”</p> - -<p>“Drat the boy! What am I here for? Wasting -my time! Wasting my time! Fiddledunk!”</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon?”</p> - -<p>“I said fiddledunk. I always say fiddledunk -when angry. What do you say?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span></p> - -<p>“I say—I say——” Tommy had the grace to -blush.</p> - -<p>“I know!” exclaimed the fairy triumphantly. -“You say jerriwhizzum! You shouldn’t! It’s -almost swearing! You’re a very bad boy, and -I don’t know that you ought to have your -wish!”</p> - -<p>“But I don’t!” gasped Tommy. “I never -said jerriwhizzum in my life.”</p> - -<p>“You just said it! Don’t tell me! Don’t tell -me! Guilty or not guilty? Guilty! Remove -the prisoner!” And the fairy grinned gleefully -and maliciously at Tommy.</p> - -<p>“But—but I meant I never said it before, -sir!”</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you say what you mean?” demanded -the other evidently disappointed. -“Are you or for what purpose did you not? -Answer yes or no immediately. No answer. -Discharged! Now then, what do you say?”</p> - -<p>“Thank you very much,” said Tommy -promptly. The fairy smiled.</p> - -<p>“Not at all! Not at all! Glad to be of service. -You have excellent manners—for a boy. -Perhaps in time you’ll get over being so stupid.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span> -I did. I used to be awfully stupid. You -wouldn’t believe it now, would you?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, indeed,” cried Tommy. The fairy -actually beamed.</p> - -<p>“I took a correspondence course, you see.”</p> - -<p>“A correspondence course?” murmured -Tommy questioningly.</p> - -<p>“In Non-Stupidity. Try it.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, I—I might some time.”</p> - -<p>“Time!” exclaimed the fairy, twirling his -hat again on the tip of the feather and counting -the spins; “dear me! Dear me! I’m—seven—eight—nine—nine -minutes late! Did -you ever? I really must go, I really must. Here -is the Magic Football——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, is it a magic football?” exclaimed -Tommy in surprise.</p> - -<p>“Of course it is! There you go again with -your silly questions! Taking up my time! -Didn’t I just tell you that I was—— How many -minutes late did I say?”</p> - -<p>“Nine, I think.”</p> - -<p>“‘You think’! You ought to know. Now I’ll -have to do it again.” He spun the hat and it -stopped at six. “I thought you were wrong,”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>[193]</span> -he said in triumph. “You said it was nine! -Stupid!”</p> - -<p>Tommy thought it best not to argue with him. -“What—what do I do with the football?” he -asked.</p> - -<p>“Play with it, of course. Didn’t think it was -to eat, did you?”</p> - -<p>“N-no, but——”</p> - -<p>“This football will do everything you want -it to. If you want it to come to you, you say, -‘Come’; if you want it to go, you say——”</p> - -<p>“Go!” murmured Tommy.</p> - -<p>“Not at all!” exclaimed the fairy testily. “I -wish you wouldn’t jump to conclusions. If you -want it to go you say ‘Og!’”</p> - -<p>“Og?” faltered Tommy.</p> - -<p>“Of course. When the ball comes to you it -comes forward. When it goes away from you -it must go backward. And ‘go,’ backward, is -‘og.’ I never saw anyone so stupid!”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” murmured the boy. “But suppose I -kick the ball?”</p> - -<p>“Say ‘Og.’ But you’d better not kick it very -hard, because if you do it might not like it. -Magic footballs have very tender feelings.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194"></a>[194]</span></p> - -<p>“But suppose I wanted to kick it a long, long -distance?”</p> - -<p>“Then say ‘Og’ several times. You’ll have -to try it for yourself and learn the ography of -it. Now call it.”</p> - -<p>“Come,” said Tommy doubtfully.</p> - -<p>The next instant the football was rolling into -the fireplace, having jumped from the fairy’s -arms, collided violently with Tommy’s nose and -bounced to the floor again.</p> - -<p>“Save it!” shrieked the fairy, jumping excitedly -about on the rug.</p> - -<p>But Tommy’s eyes were full of tears, produced -by the blow on his nose, and by the time -he had leaped to the rescue the ball was lodged -between grate and chimney and the fairy, still -jumping and shrieking, was quite beside himself -with alarm. Tommy pulled the football -out before it had begun to scorch, however, and -the fairy’s excitement subsided as suddenly as -it had begun.</p> - -<p>“Stupid!” he said severely. “You almost -made me ill. The odor of burning leather always -upsets me. It was most unfeeling of -you.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195"></a>[195]</span></p> - -<p>“But I didn’t know,” replied Tommy with -spirit, rubbing his nose gingerly, “it was going -to come so hard!”</p> - -<p>“You should have known. Seems to me, for -a boy who goes to school, you are very deficient -in ography and comeology.”</p> - -<p>“I never studied them. We don’t have them.”</p> - -<p>The fairy sighed painfully. “What are we -coming to? What are we coming to? Never -studied ography or comeology or non-stupidity! -Oh dear! Oh my!” His long, thin, pointed -nose twitched up and down and sideways under -the stress of his emotion. “Well, well, there -isn’t time to give you a lesson now. You’ll -have to do the best you can. I’m very late. By -the way, when you’re through with the football -just say ‘Og!’ seven times and it will come -back to me. But be careful not to say it seven -times if you don’t want to lose it. Thank you -for a very pleasant evening.” The fairy made -a ridiculous bow, hat in hand, and backed away -toward the dark corner of the room. Tommy -started to remind him that it wasn’t evening, -but concluded that it would only offend him, -and so he didn’t. Instead,</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196"></a>[196]</span></p> - -<p>“Thank you very much for the football,” he -said. “Would you mind telling me who it is -you are going to call on in Meadowville?”</p> - -<p>“The name is—the name is——” The fairy -lifted one foot and peered at the sole of a -pointed shoe. “The name is Frank Lester. -Do you know him?”</p> - -<p>“N-no, but I know who he is,” answered -Tommy anxiously. “He’s captain of the Meadowville -Grammar School Football Team, and -I’ll just bet he’s going to wish they’ll win the -game!”</p> - -<p>The fairy frowned with annoyance. “I can’t -have that,” he said, shaking his head rapidly. -“Besides, all the magic footballs are out. He -will have to wish for something else.”</p> - -<p>“But—but suppose he doesn’t?”</p> - -<p>“‘Suppose!’ ‘Suppose!’ I’d just like to -know,” exclaimed the fairy, “how many supposes -you’ve supposed! You’re the most suppositionary -boy I ever did see!”</p> - -<p>“But if he <em>did</em> wish that,” pursued Tommy, -“you’d have to give him his wish, wouldn’t -you?”</p> - -<p>The fairy grinned slyly and put a long finger<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197"></a>[197]</span> -beside his nose. “If wishes were fishes,” he -said, “beggars would ride.”</p> - -<p>“I—I don’t think that’s just the way it -goes,” said Tommy.</p> - -<p>“Then don’t ask me,” replied the other indignantly. -“Besides, you have kept me here -until I am awfully late for my appointment. I -must be—I must be——”</p> - -<p>The fairy caught off his hat and began twirling -it about on the tip of the feather.</p> - -<p>“One—two—three——!” he began to count.</p> - -<p>The hat twirled like a top and Tommy, watching -it, felt his head swim and his eyes grow -heavy.</p> - -<p>“Twelve—thirteen—fourteen—twenty-eight——” -came the voice of the fairy as though -from a long ways off. Tommy wanted to tell -him that twenty-eight didn’t follow fourteen, -but he was too sleepy to speak.</p> - -<p>“Thirty-three—thirty-six—thirty-two—fifteen——”</p> - -<p>It was just a whisper now, away off in the -hazy distance....</p> - -<p>Tommy sat up suddenly and stared. The -fairy was gone. He rubbed his eyes. After all,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198"></a>[198]</span> -then, it was just a dream! But as he stirred -something rolled from his lap to the floor and -went bouncing away under the couch. It was -the magic football.</p> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199"></a>[199]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">II</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">All that happened on Saturday afternoon. -Monday morning Tommy -sought George Marquis at recess and -asked him to let him play on the football team. -“If you do,” he said earnestly, “I’ll win the -game for you.”</p> - -<p>George laughed amusedly. “How’ll you do -it, kid?” he asked, with a wink at Harold Newman, -the quarterback.</p> - -<p>Tommy flushed. “I—I can’t tell you that,” -he stammered. “It—it’s a secret. But I can -do it, George; honest and truly, black and -bluely! Just let me show you, won’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, shucks,” said the captain, “if you know -how to win the game you can tell me about it, -can’t you? Anyway, I guess we can win it without -you and your secrets, Tommy.”</p> - -<p>But Tommy looked so disappointed that -George, who was kind-hearted after all, said -soothingly: “I tell you what I will do, Tommy.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200"></a>[200]</span> -If we’re ahead at the end of the third period, -I’ll let you go in at half. How’s that?”</p> - -<p>“You won’t be,” replied Tommy glumly. -“If you really want to lick Meadowville, -George, you’d better let me play. If you don’t -you’ll be sorry for it. I can win that game for -you, and I don’t believe anyone else can.”</p> - -<p>George’s good nature took flight. “Oh, you -run away, kid!” he said impatiently. “Anyone -to hear you talk would think you were a regular -wonder! You’re too fresh!”</p> - -<p>“That’s all right,” said Tommy to himself -as George went off scowling, “but you’ll have -to let me play whether you want to or not! Unless,” -he added doubtfully, “that fairy is just -a—a fakir after all!”</p> - -<p>But that didn’t seem probable, for there was -the magic football, and the magic football did -just as the fairy had said it would. That afternoon -when he was let out of school half an -hour late—Tommy’s head was so filled with -football these days that there was almost no -room in it for lessons and he was kept after -school as a result—he hurried home, unlocked -the closet door in his bedroom and took the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201"></a>[201]</span> -magic football down from the shelf. It looked -just like any other football. There was the -name of a well-known maker stamped on the -clean leather and no one would have ever suspected -that there was anything unusual about -it. But there certainly was, as Tommy proceeded -to prove when, the ball under his arm, -he reached the vacant lot behind the dye works -in the next street. The dye works had no windows -on the back, there was a tumble-down -board fence around the other three sides of the -lot and Tommy was safe from observation.</p> - -<p>When he had crawled through a hole in the -fence he placed the football on the ground, -swung his leg gently and said, “Og!” softly as -his foot struck the ball. He hardly more than -touched it with the toe of his scuffed shoe, but -the ball flew up and away as straight as an -arrow and bounced away from the fence at the -further end of the lot. Tommy looked carefully -about him. No one was within sight, and -so he said, “Come!” very softly, and the ball began -rolling toward him along the ground. That -was too slow, and so Tommy said, “Come!” -once more and a little louder. Whereupon the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202"></a>[202]</span> -ball left the ground and arched itself toward -him. Tommy held out his hands, and the ball -settled into them.</p> - -<p>That day and every afternoon until Thursday -Tommy continued his practice with the -magic football until finally he was able to judge -just how to address it to get the results he -wanted. For a short kick or pass one “Og,” -not very loud, was enough. For a longer kick -a single “Og” spoken loudly accomplished the -purpose. For a very long kick, say thirty or -thirty-five yards, beyond which Tommy had -never tried to kick a ball, three “Og’s” were -sufficient. And the same rule worked when he -wanted the ball to come to him. He could make -it just trickle toward him slowly across the -turf or he could make it come slam-banging -to him so hard that as often as not he jumped -out of its way so it would not knock him down. -When he did that the ball, instead of going -past, stopped short in the air and dropped to -the ground. In fact, Tommy learned what the -fairy had called “ography” and “comeology.”</p> - -<p>A funny thing happened the next day. When -he got home after school—he wasn’t kept in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203"></a>[203]</span> -that afternoon, for there was a teacher’s council -in the Superintendent’s office—it occurred to -him that perhaps it wasn’t necessary for him -to go up and get the ball, even though it was -in the closet with the door locked. At all events, -he thought, there was no harm in trying it. -So he said “Come!” very loudly and waited -halfway up the front path. But nothing happened; -not even when he said “Come!” again, -very much louder. But when, for the third -time, he said “Come! Come!” almost at the -top of his lungs, something did happen. There -was a frightful noise at the top of the house, a -scream from Tilda, the maid, and a grunt from -Tommy himself! When Tommy picked himself -up, gasping for breath, he was six feet nearer -the front gate and the football was bobbing up -and down in front of him. It had taken him -squarely in the stomach!</p> - -<p>When he went into the house Tilda was sitting -halfway up the stairs having hysterics, an -overturned pail beside her and a flood of soapy -water trickling down the steps. Something, declared -Tilda, when she had been calmed by the -use of smelling salts and other restoratives,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204"></a>[204]</span> -something had flown at her as she was going -upstairs and clean knocked the feet from under -her! Just what the something was Tilda -couldn’t say, but she was sure that it had been -“as big as a washtub, mum, and kind of yellow, -with two big glaring eyes!” Tommy, hiding -the magic football behind him, crept up to -his room. In the top of the closet door was a -big jagged hole and the floor was littered with -splinters!</p> - -<p>Tommy looked and gasped. Then he stared -at the magic football. “I guess,” he muttered, -“I won’t try that again!”</p> - -<p>On Wednesday he went out to see practice. -What he saw didn’t impress him greatly. Hillside -didn’t play like a team that was going to -win on the morrow. The scrub eleven held the -School Team to one touchdown and a very lucky -field goal, and, when practice was over, the supporters -of the home team came back looking -very dejected. Tommy waited for George Marquis -at the gate.</p> - -<p>“George,” he said, twitching the captain’s -sleeve, “don’t forget what I told you!”</p> - -<p>Captain Marquis pulled his arm away and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205"></a>[205]</span> -scowled angrily at the youngster. “Oh, dry up, -Tommy,” he muttered. “You make me tired! -I’ve got enough troubles without having to listen -to your nonsense!”</p> - -<p>Tommy went home and wondered for the -hundredth time whether that fairy was putting -up a game on him. Suppose, after all, the fairy -had just been poking fun at him! If George -didn’t let him play how was he ever going to -win the game for Hillside? It was all well -enough to have a magic football that would -come or go just as you wanted it to and that -would break its way through closet doors and -scare folks into hysterics, but if you didn’t get -into the game what good were a dozen such -things? Tommy was sad and doubtful and -pessimistic that evening.</p> - -<p>But the next morning he felt more hopeful. -To reassure himself he went over to the vacant -lot with the football and put it through its -paces to his entire satisfaction. And then, -since it was Thanksgiving Day and the big -game was to start at half past ten, he tucked -the magic football in the hollow of his arm and -joined the crowd that was wending its way to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206"></a>[206]</span> -the field. He passed Billy Blue’s house on the -way, and, in answer to his whistle, Billy appeared -at an upstairs window with his face -swathed in cotton batting and linen and waved -to him sadly.</p> - -<p>“Where’d you get the football?” mumbled -Billy enviously.</p> - -<p>“A fair—a fellow gave it to me,” answered -Tommy. “Or maybe he just loaned it to me. -It—it’s a wonder!”</p> - -<p>“Going to the game?”</p> - -<p>“Yep. Wish you were, Billy.”</p> - -<p>“So do I! We’ll get licked, though.”</p> - -<p>“Bet you we don’t! Bet you we win!”</p> - -<p>Billy tried to say “Yah!” but it hurt too -much and so he contented himself with shaking -his head and looking sarcastic. “Yes, we -will!” he mumbled. “Like fun!”</p> - -<p>“We will, though, and, Billy——” Tommy -sank his voice so the passers wouldn’t hear. -“Want me to tell you something nobody else -knows?”</p> - -<p>Billy nodded.</p> - -<p>“I’m going to win it for ’em!” confided -Tommy in a stage whisper. Then, with a magnificent<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207"></a>[207]</span> -wave of his hand, he went on, pursued -by Billy’s cruel and incredulous, if much -smothered, laughter.</p> - -<p>We needn’t dwell on that first thirty minutes -of the game. From the point of view of -Hillside it was a sad affair. Meadowville outrushed, -outpunted, outgeneraled her opponent. -The Hillside line couldn’t hold against the -swift, hard attack of the visitors, and the Hillside -ends were no match for the fast backs of -the Meadowville team. When the first fifteen-minute -period was at an end the score was 6 -to 0. When the half was over and the rival -teams trotted off the gridiron, the score stood -Meadowville, 17; Hillside, 0!</p> - -<p>Tommy, hunched up on a seat in the grandstand, -the magic football clasped to his breast, -watched and worried and almost wept. The -fairy’s promise wasn’t coming true after all! -He wasn’t to have his wish! All his lessons -in “ography” and “comeology” were to be -wasted! The magic football might just as well -be back on the closet shelf, or, for that matter, -back in Fairyland! Tommy felt very sorry -for himself, very disappointed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208"></a>[208]</span></p> - -<p>But he made one last, final appeal before -yielding to the inevitable. He left his seat and -squirmed through the crowd to the home team’s -bench when Captain Marquis and his players -came back, blankets and spirits both trailing. -He got George’s attention for a minute finally, -and reminded him of his promise. George was -cross and impatient. “You again?” he exclaimed. -“Promise? What promise? Oh, -that? Well, I said if we were ahead, didn’t I? -We aren’t ahead, so that settles that. Now get -off the field, Tommy.”</p> - -<p>Tommy didn’t, though. He carried his football -to the bench and seated himself on it, unchallenged, -among the substitutes. They were -all too discouraged to care what Tommy did. -Then the whistle sounded again and the game -went on. The pigskin floated in air, was caught -by a fleet-footed Meadowville player and -brought back for many yards, the Hillside ends -failing lamentably to stop the runner. A plunge -at the line and another five-yard mark was -passed. A wide end run and two more were -traversed. Meadowville was literally eating up -the ground, while from across the field came<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209"></a>[209]</span> -the triumphant shouting of her supporters. -And then, not three minutes after the third -quarter began, a strange thing happened.</p> - -<p>The football in use, a perfectly good, brand-new -football, supplied by the home team at a -vast expense, began to become deflated. A halt -was called and the lacings were undone and -they tried to blow it up again. But the air -wouldn’t stay in it! It was most perplexing -and most annoying. No one had ever seen a -football act so before. But there was only one -thing to do, and that was to find another ball. -Of course, Hillside ought to have had another -one, but she didn’t; at least, not at the field. -There was an old football at George’s house, -but George’s house was a good mile and a half -away. So it devolved on Meadowville to loan -her practice ball and the Meadowville captain, -after sarcastically stating what he thought of -the stinginess of Hillside, consented to have -the ball used. But when they went to look for -it, it couldn’t be found! It had been there a -half hour before; they were all quite certain -of that; but it wasn’t there now. Boys searched -everywhere, even behind the stand, but to no<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210"></a>[210]</span> -avail. And then, just when Captain Marquis -concluded that he would have to dispatch a messenger -to his house for the old football, someone -brought word that Tommy Piper had a football -and that he was sitting on the bench at that -moment. Over hurried George.</p> - -<p>“Let’s take your ball, Tommy,” he said -genially. “Ours is busted.”</p> - -<p>Tommy smiled and shook his head. George -blustered.</p> - -<p>“Come on! We’ll pay you for it, if you -won’t lend it! Don’t be a meany!”</p> - -<p>“I’ll lend it to you for nothing if you’ll let -me play left halfback,” said Tommy. A howl -of derision went up from the players and substitutes. -George scowled angrily.</p> - -<p>“What’s the use of being a hog?” he demanded. -“Come on, let’s have it!”</p> - -<p>But Tommy shook his head. George grabbed -the ball and tried to tug it away. Tommy said -“Come!” very softly under his breath and, although -Harold Newman and Bert Jones and -Gus Neely all helped their captain, not an inch -would that ball budge! They had to give it up.</p> - -<p>“Oh, let him play,” said Harold, very much<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211"></a>[211]</span> -out of breath. “It won’t matter, George. -We’re beaten anyway.”</p> - -<p>George, very angry, hesitated and finally -yielded. “All right,” he said gruffly. “You -can play. Give us the ball. Gus, you’re off.”</p> - -<p>Tommy, the recipient of a look of deadly -hatred from the deposed Gus, trotted joyfully -into the field and took his place. Harold whispered -the signal code into his ear. “You won’t -be able to remember it,” he added, “but you -won’t get the ball, so that doesn’t matter!”</p> - -<p>Then the game began again. Meadowville -was on her second down, with four yards to go. -The quarterback called his signals, the two lines -heaved together and——</p> - -<p>“Ball! Ball!” shouted half the players. The -Meadowville quarter had fumbled and, strange -to say, it was Tommy who dropped to the turf -and snuggled the ball to him. For almost the -first time the Hillside supports had something -to cheer about and they made good use of the -chance. And half the Hillside team patted -Tommy on the back as he was pulled to his feet. -Of course, it was only an accident, but Tommy -deserved credit just the same!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212"></a>[212]</span></p> - -<p>Hillside was on her forty-yard line when she -got the pigskin and Harold Newman elected to -have Bert Jones, the big fullback, take it for -a try through right tackle. And so he called -the signals, and the players crouched in their -places and the ball was snapped. And then, as -Bert leaped forward to take the pass from -quarter, Tommy whispered, “Come!”</p> - -<p>Such a befuddled-looking backfield as that -was for an instant! Bert, expecting the pigskin, -clasped empty air to his stomach and hove -himself at the line. The other backs stood and -stared; all, that is, save Tommy. Tommy was -very busy. Already, with the ball snuggled in -the bend of his arm, he had crossed two white -lines and he was very intent on crossing the -rest of them. That he didn’t was only because -the opposing quarterback outguessed him and -brought him to earth.</p> - -<p>But twenty-five yards was not to be sneezed -at, especially when theretofore the most that -Hillside had made in one try was a scant six! -George Marquis stopped scolding Harold and -hugged Tommy instead. Harold, too, thumped -him delightedly on the back, but the quarter<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213"></a>[213]</span> -had a dazed look on his face. He could have -sworn that he had tossed the ball toward Bert -Jones!</p> - -<p>Slightly demoralized, Meadowville lined up -again in front of her foe. This time she -watched Tommy as a cat watches a mouse, but -when Tommy, disregarding the play, scuttled -yards across the field, the rival backs decided -that he was faking an end run and paid scant -attention to him. A moment after they saw -their mistake, for the ball went to Tommy on -one of the prettiest passes ever seen, and -Tommy, almost unopposed, streaked straight -for the Meadowville goal line! Only an end -came near him and Tommy eluded the end -deftly. Tommy was really a clever runner, say -what you like. The opposing quarter tried desperately -to intercept Tommy before he reached -the goal line, but he failed and the best he could -do was to tackle him behind and prevent him -from centering the ball.</p> - -<p>You can imagine how Hillside cheered then! -It was deafening, terrific! Even staid and serious-minded -elderly gentlemen shouted and -thumped the stand with their gold-headed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214"></a>[214]</span> -sticks. Girls screamed their pretty throats -hoarse and boys—well, boys threw their hats in -air and behaved like joyous lunatics! As for -the Hillside players, they turned handsprings -and tripped each other up and behaved quite -ridiculously. All save Tommy. Tommy, a little -breathless, but wearing his honors modestly, -yielded the ball and trotted back up the field -amid a shower of congratulations. And not until -Bert Jones was directing the pointing of the -pigskin did it occur to George Marquis to demand -of Harold why he had signaled one thing -and done another! And poor Harold, looking -very white and worried, could only shake his -head and gaze fascinatedly at Tommy!</p> - -<p>But why go into further details of that last -half? At the end of the third quarter Hillside -was two points ahead of Meadowville, and -Tommy Piper had only to turn his head or lift -his hand to have the Hillside stand rise to its -feet and cheer itself hoarse! Such runs as -Tommy made! Ten yards, twenty, even once a -full thirty-five! Never was such brilliant running -and dodging seen before! Tommy could -have played that whole game alone had he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215"></a>[215]</span> -wished it, but he didn’t. With the assurance -that his team would emerge victor in the end, -Tommy let the other backs have their chances. -And when they were stopped in their tracks or -pushed back for a loss, then the ball went to -the infallible Thomas Piper and said Thomas -reeled off a dozen yards, or two dozen, perchance; -and everything was lovely.</p> - -<p>When the last quarter began Meadowville -was showing the strain. So was the Hillside -quarterback! Poor Harold was beginning to -think that he had gone crazy. Time after time -when he tried to pass the ball to one of the -other backs or even carry it himself, he found -that, for some strange reason, without wanting -to do it, he had thrown it to Tommy. Of course, -Tommy always gained and that made it all -right. Only—well, Harold was certainly worried!</p> - -<p>A run the entire length of the field, barring -ten yards, was Tommy’s heart-stirring contribution -at the beginning of the final period, and -from that time on until, within only a minute -to spare and the ball on Hillside’s thirty-two -yards, he ended the game in a final blaze of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216"></a>[216]</span> -glory, Tommy performed like a—well, like a -magician. I can think of no better word!</p> - -<p>But the last feat of all was the most astounding. -It went down in history, I can tell you! -Even yet no other player has ever come within -at the least twenty yards of duplicating Tommy’s -performance. The score was 36 to 17 -when the final sixty seconds began to tick themselves -away. Hillside had the game safe, and -it didn’t matter very much what happened then. -So when Tommy said to Harold: “Let me try -a field goal from here, Harold,” the quarterback -only stared and didn’t tell him he was -crazy. He only grinned. And then, since they -all owed the victory to Tommy, he consented. -What did it matter how the contest ended? As -well one way as another. And he’d be pleasing -the redoubtable Tommy. So Tommy walked -back to near the twenty-five-yard line and held -out his hands, and everyone stared in surprise. -For why, with everything her own way, should -Hillside punt and lose possession of the ball?</p> - -<p>Tommy was ambitious to outdo all his previous -feats, and he could think of but one way -to gain that end, and that was to make a wonderful<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217"></a>[217]</span> -field goal. But when, with poised arms, -he awaited the ball and looked far down the -field at the distant goal posts he began to have -doubts. Perhaps the magic football couldn’t go -so far. It was an appalling distance. But just -then the ball was snapped and Tommy said, -“Come!” Straight and true it sped into his -hands. <a href="#i_frontis">Tommy</a> measured distance and direction -again, dropped the ball and, as it bounded, -<a href="#i_frontis">hit it smartly with his instep. And</a> as he did -so he <a href="#i_frontis">said, “Og!”</a> very loudly, and then, to -make very certain, he said, “Og!” again and -again and many times, and kept on saying it -until the enemy came swarming down on him -and sent him sprawling on his back.</p> - -<p>But he was up again in a second, watching -the flight of the ball, and, lest it might falter -on its journey, he said, “Og!” once more, or, -perhaps, the fifteenth time.</p> - -<p>Friend and foe alike turned and watched the -football. Everyone held his breath. Surely it -would never travel so far! And yet it kept on -going, getting higher and higher until, by the -time it reached the end of the field, it was yards -and yards and yards above the goal posts. A<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218"></a>[218]</span> -great awe hushed the field. You could have -heard a pin drop. And then a great cry of -amazement started and spread, for the magic -football kept on going up and up and up and -getting smaller and smaller and smaller until, -at last, it was just a speck against the blue and -then—why, then it wasn’t anything at all! It -had just floated out of sight like a runaway toy -balloon!</p> - -<p>But everyone agreed that it had passed exactly -over the center of the Meadowville goal, -and so what did it matter if the ball was lost?</p> - -<p>Tommy, being borne off the field on the shoulders -of enthusiastic admirers, cheered and -waved at, smiled modestly. But under that -smile was a sorrow. The magic football was -lost to him!</p> - -<p>“I guess,” said Tommy, sadly, to himself, “I -must have said ‘Og!’ seven times!”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219"></a>[219]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="SA">SPORTSMEN ALL</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220"></a>[220]</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221"></a>[221]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">I</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">“Want to buy him?” asked the stableman, -including both boys in his -glance, but appealing more particularly -to Jonesie, a healthy, rosy-cheeked -youth of fourteen with a countenance that -fairly radiated candor and innocence. Jonesie -viewed the man with polite indifference.</p> - -<p>“What for?” he asked. The stableman, -tipped back in his chair by the door marked -“Office,” shrugged his shoulders and gave the -straw between his teeth a new tilt.</p> - -<p>“Thought maybe you’d like a good sporting -animal,” he responded. “In my time it was -considered very swell for young gentlemen to -keep dogs.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean ‘sporting animal’?” inquired -Jonesie coldly. “Can he hunt?”</p> - -<p>“Can he! Say, son, that dog’s the finest pup -on—on rabbits and coons and—and——”</p> - -<p>“Bears,” suggested Pinky helpfully. He<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222"></a>[222]</span> -was a slim youth with a freckled face and carroty -hair.</p> - -<p>“Huh!” Jonesie refused to be impressed. -“Any old dog can hunt. Question is, can he -catch anything except fleas.”</p> - -<p>“What are you talking about?” asked the -man with a show of anger. “Have a look at -that coat on him, son. If you can find a -flea——”</p> - -<p>At that moment the dog, who had been sitting -in the doorway interestedly following the -conversation, turned his head suddenly and began -a hurried and very earnest search along -the inch and a half of tail that the dictates of -fashion had left to him. Jonesie chuckled.</p> - -<p>“No use my looking,” he said. “<em>He’ll</em> catch -’em.”</p> - -<p>The stableman refused to notice the dog’s occupation. -He also passed over Jonesie’s remark. -“He’s got a skin just like a baby’s, that -dog has. Three months old, and a few days -over, gentlemen, and a ten-spot takes him! -What do you say, now? There ain’t a finer-bred -fox terrier in town. He’s got a pedigree -as long as his tail!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223"></a>[223]</span></p> - -<p>“I guess that’s right,” replied Jonesie.</p> - -<p>“What’s the good of a rabbit dog when there -aren’t any rabbits?” asked Pinky. “Nor coons, -neither. If you’ve got a dog that can kill -rats——”</p> - -<p>“Rats? <em>Rats!</em>” The stableman almost -choked in his excitement. “Now you’re talking, -son! You wouldn’t believe it, I guess, if I -told you how many rats that dog killed yesterday -afternoon inside of an hour and a half, -right here in this stable.”</p> - -<p>“Right-O!” said Jonesie. “We wouldn’t. -So go ahead.”</p> - -<p>The stableman fixed him with a glittering -eye. “Fourteen,” he said impressively. “And -one got away.”</p> - -<p>Pinky brightened. Jonesie looked coldly incredulous. -The terrier, having failed in his -hunt, sighed and returned to his rôle of interested -audience. He was really a nice little dog. -Clean him up, thought Jonesie, and he’d look -fine. He was all white except for a dark-brown -patch over his left eye and ear, which gave him -a peculiarly philosophical expression. His yellow-brown -eyes were bright and intelligent, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224"></a>[224]</span> -the occasional wag of that pathetic button that -had once been a perfectly good tail showed -friendliness. Jonesie was melting, but you’d -never have suspected it. Pinky stooped and -snapped his fingers and said, “Here, pup,” in -a coaxing voice. The dog wagged the remains -of his tail frantically, but moved not an inch. -Jonesie frowned.</p> - -<p>“Shucks, he don’t even come when he’s -called!” he said.</p> - -<p>“Not to strangers, he don’t,” replied the stableman -triumphantly. “He’s got to know you -first. Sign of a good dog, that is. He won’t -never know but one master.” Then, with a -quick glance at Pinky, “Leastway, two,” he -added hurriedly.</p> - -<p>“Let’s buy him,” urged Pinky, sotto voce.</p> - -<p>“What’s the use? They won’t let you have -dogs in dormitories. Besides, he isn’t worth -any ten dollars.”</p> - -<p>“We could keep him here at the stable,” said -Pinky eagerly. “You’d board him for us, -wouldn’t you?” he asked the stableman. The -latter nodded hesitantly.</p> - -<p>“I guess so. I’ve got a stall he could have.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225"></a>[225]</span></p> - -<p>The boys went over and patted the dog, and -the dog licked their hands and strove to reach -their faces with his eager pink tongue. “Nice -dogums,” said Pinky. “Didums want to belong -to us?”</p> - -<p>The dog replied to the best of his ability that -he did, becoming quite wrought up about it.</p> - -<p>“What’s his name?” asked Jonesie.</p> - -<p>“Well, I call him Teddy. He ain’t rightly -got a name yet.”</p> - -<p>“How much would you keep him for if we -took him?”</p> - -<p>“Well, feed’s high nowadays,” replied the -man thoughtfully. “But—say a dollar and a -half a week.”</p> - -<p>Pinky whistled and looked doubtfully at his -friend. Jonesie smiled compassionately on the -owner of the dog.</p> - -<p>“We weren’t thinking of having him fed on -steak and mushrooms,” he explained patiently. -“Just dog biscuit and a bone now and then -would do, I guess.”</p> - -<p>“Well, say a dollar, then.”</p> - -<p>“Say four dollars a month,” returned -Jonesie, “and we pay the end of the month.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226"></a>[226]</span></p> - -<p>“All right, son. What might your name happen -to be?”</p> - -<p>“Jones.”</p> - -<p>“That so? Thought likely it was Isaacs.”</p> - -<p>“You’re a punk thinker, then. How much -will you take for the flea-trap?”</p> - -<p>“Meaning the dog? Not a cent less’n ten -dollars, son.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I thought you wanted to sell him.” -Jonesie, hands in pockets, lounged back to the -sidewalk. Pinky regretfully followed. “If I -had ten dollars for a dog,” continued Jonesie -sarcastically, “I’d buy a good one.”</p> - -<p>“You couldn’t find a better in this town,” -drawled the man indifferently, keeping, however, -a watchful eye on the countenance of the -boy.</p> - -<p>“Bet I could buy as good a one as that for -two and a half,” replied Jonesie contemptuously. -The dog watched the boys anxiously -from the doorway. Pinky, observing, felt his -heart melting within him. He tugged at Jonesie’s -sleeve.</p> - -<p>“Offer him five,” he whispered. Jonesie -shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227"></a>[227]</span></p> - -<p>“Offer it to him yourself,” he said aloud, -moving away, “I don’t want him for any five -dollars.”</p> - -<p>“Tell you what I will do,” announced the -stableman, “I’ll split the difference and call it -seven-fifty. There, that’s a fair offer, ain’t it?”</p> - -<p>Pinky looked undecided. Jonesie, having apparently -lost all interest in the matter, was gazing -off up the village street and whistling -softly.</p> - -<p>“Would you?” whispered Pinky.</p> - -<p>“No,” replied Jonesie from the corner of his -mouth. “He’ll take five in a minute. Don’t let -on you want him.” Then, aloud and impatiently: -“Oh, come on, Pinky! He doesn’t -want to sell; he just wants to talk!”</p> - -<p>“Sure I want to sell,” answered the stableman -indignantly. “But I don’t want to make -any presents! Talk sense now. What’ll you -give me?”</p> - -<p>“Five dollars,” exploded Pinky. Jonesie -stared at him incredulously.</p> - -<p>“Don’t count me in at that price, Pinky,” he -warned. “You come with me and I’ll find you -a dog for half the money.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228"></a>[228]</span></p> - -<p>“Five dollars!” ejaculated the man. “Well, -what do you know about that! Five dollars for -a three months’ old fox terrier as can trace his -pedigree back to two champions!” Words appeared -to fail him there and Pinky was beginning -to look utterly ashamed of himself when -the stableman found his voice again and inquired: -“Cash down?”</p> - -<p>“Why—why, not—not all of it!” stammered -Pinky. He looked appealingly at Jonesie. -“How much you got?” he asked in a hoarse -aside. Jonesie nonchalantly pulled out a pigskin -coin purse and studied its depths.</p> - -<p>“I can lend you a dollar and a quarter,” he -replied. Pinky brightened again.</p> - -<p>“And I’ve got two,” he said. “Three and a -quarter down now and the rest next week.” He -watched the stableman anxiously. The latter -nodded.</p> - -<p>“All right, son. But the dog stays here until -you pay the rest of it.”</p> - -<p>“But we don’t pay board for him until he -belongs to us,” responded Jonesie firmly.</p> - -<p>“Ho!” The stableman looked at him sourly. -“Thought you was out o’ this.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229"></a>[229]</span></p> - -<p>“No, I’ll go halves with my friend,” replied -Jonesie generously. “We’ll come down and see -the dog every day, and if he ain’t a lot fatter -than he is now, we’ll take him away.” -The stableman viewed Jonesie resentfully but -said nothing until the money was in hand. -Then,</p> - -<p>“If you expect an active dog like that to get -fat on a dollar a week you’d better take him -right along with you,” he said with deep sarcasm. -“I’ve raised a lot of dogs but I ain’t -never seen no miracles!”</p> - -<p>After seeing the dog conducted to the empty -stall that was to be his quarters while he remained -at the stable, and after petting him -awhile, the boys hurried off to school. On the -way up Main Street Pinky said:</p> - -<p>“I wonder if he really can catch rats, -Jonesie.”</p> - -<p>“Search me! I guess so, though. If he can -we’d ought to charge Perkins something for the -use of him!”</p> - -<p>Pinky laughed. “We got him cheap, though, -didn’t we?”</p> - -<p>“You mean I did,” corrected Jonesie.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230"></a>[230]</span> -“You’d have gone and taken him at ten dollars -if you’d had your way.”</p> - -<p>“That’s right,” agreed Pinky humbly. -“When he looked at me that way——”</p> - -<p>“Perkins?”</p> - -<p>“No, the dog, you silly chump! Say, what’ll -we call him?”</p> - -<p>“Spot?” asked Jonesie doubtfully. Pinky -shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Every dog is named Spot—or Teddy. He’s -too good a dog to have a name like that. Let’s -think up something decent.”</p> - -<p>For the rest of the way there was silence.</p> - -<p>A quarter of an hour later Mr. Broadley interrupted -Sparrow Bowles with upraised hand.</p> - -<p>“That’s fairly correct, Bowles,” he said. -“But pardon me a moment. Trainor!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir?”</p> - -<p>“You may hand that to me, if you please.”</p> - -<p>“What, sir?” asked Pinky innocently from -the back of the room.</p> - -<p>“That note that Jones just passed you. -Hurry, please.”</p> - -<p>Pinky dragged himself from his seat, spilling -a Latin book on the floor, and, under the amused<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231"></a>[231]</span> -regard of the rest of the class, walked to the -platform.</p> - -<p>“You are both aware,” went on the instructor -as he accepted the piece of paper, “that -passing notes is strictly prohibited at recitations. -You will each do a page of Latin and -bring it to me this evening.”</p> - -<p>Thereupon Mr. Broadley unfolded the paper -and read:</p> - -<p>“Ace, you old fool. He’s got only one spot.”</p> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232"></a>[232]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">II</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">“We might have it here,” said Jonesie, -“only it would make a beast of a noise and -The Terror would be sure to hear it.”</p> - -<p>“There’ll be no rat-killings in this study,” -said Sparrow decisively. “You fellows can -jolly well go somewhere else.”</p> - -<p>Sparrow Bowles was Jonesie’s roommate -and naturally had some rights.</p> - -<p>“It wouldn’t do, anyway,” responded Jonesie, -addressing Pinky, who was perched in dangerous -proximity to the ink-well on the study -table. “If we let the rats out here Sparrow’d -eat ’em himself.”</p> - -<p>“Is that so?” demanded Sparrow angrily. -“Anyway, I’ll bet I’d catch more of them than -that mongrel pup of yours!”</p> - -<p>“Mongrel nothing!” exclaimed Pinky indignantly, -up in arms at once. “You haven’t seen -Ace.”</p> - -<p>“Besides,” said Jonesie sweetly, “the mere<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233"></a>[233]</span> -fact—if it is a fact, Sparrow,—that you’re better -bred than the other dog doesn’t mean that -you can catch more rats. Now, does it?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, chase yourself!” growled Sparrow inelegantly.</p> - -<p>“Anyway, we’d better have it somewhere -else,” said Jonesie, winking at Pinky as he returned -to the original subject. “I tell you -what! Let’s have it at Steve’s!”</p> - -<p>“Sure thing!” agreed Pinky. “Steve’ll be -tickled to death. And Mrs. Sharp doesn’t mind -how much rough-house her fellows make. Let’s -go and tell him about it.”</p> - -<p>“Where you going to get your rats?” asked -Sparrow, who was deeply interested in the -project in spite of his attitude.</p> - -<p>“Catch ’em,” answered Jonesie. “Perkins -has four traps set under his stable now. And -we tied Ace up so he wouldn’t butt in. Oh, -we’ll have rats enough in a day or two! Don’t -you say anything about it, Sparrow. If you do -you won’t be there! Also, we’ll knock your -block off!”</p> - -<p>“Like to see you do it,” growled Sparrow. -“Or a dozen fellows like you! Domineering<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234"></a>[234]</span> -kid!” he added as the door closed behind the -others. He picked up the paper-covered novel -he had been reading, replaced his feet on the -radiator and scowled darkly. “Good mind to -put faculty on,” he muttered resentfully. A -grin overspread his thin face. “My word,” he -chuckled, “that <em>would</em> be a lark!”</p> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235"></a>[235]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">III</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">Dear Reader, have you ever personally conducted -five active and anxious rats across a -campus inhabited by hostile faculties at nine -o’clock at night? If so, you will properly appreciate -the difficulties that beset Jonesie, -Pinky and Tubby Bumstead. Unfortunately -Perkins’s stable lay to the west of the school -and Steve Cook was domiciled directly to the -east and the campus lay between. To have -made a detour would have added some eight or -nine blocks to the journey. Hence it was decided -that in this case a straight line between -two points was not only the shortest but wisest -course. With the rats confined in two wire -cages, which were in turn wrapped in oat bags, -and Ace wriggling excitedly in Jonesie’s arms, -only partly hidden by another sack, the three -conspirators crossed the campus, keeping to the -darker paths and avoiding buildings as far as -possible. They walked hurriedly but yet cautiously,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236"></a>[236]</span> -and as they proceeded strange sounds -escaped from beneath the enfolding bags, -sounds that, had they been heard by a faculty -member, would undoubtedly have occasioned -curiosity. Now it is a well-known fact that -faculties are the most curious persons in the -wide, wide world; always introducing their -noses into other people’s affairs, always athirst -for knowledge that can profit them but little. -Consequently the three boys were extremely -desirous, not to say anxious, that their progress -should go unnoticed. So much so, in fact, -that more than once the sight of a suspicious -figure across the yard caused them to pause in -the shadow of a tree or building and, in a silence -broken only by the agitated squeals of the -rats and the excited and stertorous breathing -of Ace, await the disappearance of the dim and -uncertain form. There were many anxious -moments during that passage of the enemy’s -country, but in the end sheer audacity won and -they climbed the further fence—there were obvious -reasons why gateways were to be avoided—and -hurried across into the gloom of a side -street. From there on it was plainer sailing.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237"></a>[237]</span> -One or two townsfolk, having passed the trio, -turned to peer suspiciously after them, but no -one challenged. At Mrs. Sharp’s luck again -befriended them. When they opened the front -door the hall was empty and six leaps took them -up the stairs, from the summit of which they -gained Steve’s room without detection.</p> - -<p>The apartment presented a strangely altered -appearance. The furniture had been moved -against the walls, leaving the center of the -room carpeted with a worn and stained straw-matting, -clear and unobstructed. Occupying -points of vantage atop the desk and the bureau -and strung out along the window-seat, was the -audience. The audience, representative patrons -of sport from the Upper and Lower Middle -classes of Randall’s School, greeted the arrival -of the trio with unrestrained delight, so -unrestrained that Jonesie harshly instructed -them to “cut it out!”</p> - -<p>“Let’s see ’em,” begged Steve and Chick -Allen, and the audience climbed down from -their reserved seats and clustered about while -Pinky and Tubby proudly removed the wrappings -and exhibited five badly frightened rats.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238"></a>[238]</span></p> - -<p>“Gee,” said Pill Farnham dubiously, “they -aren’t very big, are they? I thought——”</p> - -<p>“You thought they were racoons,” interrupted -Jonesie scathingly. “They’re big -enough; don’t you worry. Look at that old -gray fellow. Bet you he will put up a peach of -a fight!”</p> - -<p>“Your dog doesn’t seem awfully interested -in ’em,” remarked Pigeon Brown. Which was -a fact, since Ace, having been liberated, was -dodging in and out of the displaced furniture, -sniffing and wagging the stump of his tail, but -apparently quite unaware of the presence of -the rats. Jonesie scowled upon him and demanded -his attention, but the terrier was too -much interested in the contents of the waste-basket -to heed the summons. After a brief but -interesting chase, Pinky dragged Ace from under -the bureau, to which place he had retired -with a banana peel. Ace, confronted with the -rats, put his head on one side, pricked up his -ears when the rodents squealed at sight of him -and wagged his tail amiably. After that he -gazed trustingly and inquiringly at Jonesie and -seemed to be asking permission to continue his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239"></a>[239]</span> -interesting investigation of the premises. -Pinky’s firm grip on his collar denied him, however, -and Pill Farnham chuckled.</p> - -<p>“Bet you he never saw a rat before in his -life, fellows!” said Pill.</p> - -<p>Jonesie faced him indignantly. “Didn’t -he?” he inquired with deep irony. “He’s -killed more rats than you ever dreamed of.” -Pill tried to state that he was not accustomed -to dreaming of rats, but Jonesie went on with -growing indignation. “You don’t expect a dog -that’s seen as many rats as he has to throw a -fit, do you? You wait till we let ’em out! Then -you’ll see whether he can kill rats or not! Only -thing I’m bothering about is whether we -oughtn’t to let ’em all out at once. I dare -say one or two at a time won’t be any fun for -him.”</p> - -<p>“It’ll be more fun for us, though,” responded -Steve, climbing back to the top of the -table and carefully removing his feet from -proximity to the floor. “Let her go, Jonesie!”</p> - -<p>“Are we all here?” asked Jonesie, looking -about. “Where’s Sparrow?”</p> - -<p>“Isn’t coming,” answered young Fletcher.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240"></a>[240]</span> -“Said he had a headache. Told me to tell -you.”</p> - -<p>“Headache!” jeered Jonesie. “Too lazy to -walk, I guess! All right, fellows. Get out of -the way now. Which trap shall we open first, -Pinky?”</p> - -<p>“This one,” replied Pinky, pushing forward -the cage which held two rats.</p> - -<p>“We-ell.” Jonesie studied the scene of combat. -“Now when I open the thing you let Ace -loose. Where are you going?”</p> - -<p>“Just—just over here,” murmured Pinky, -reaching behind him for the bureau.</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t be such a coward! A rat won’t -hurt you. Now, then, all ready? Say, for the -love of Mike, turn him toward the cage, can’t -you? Here, Ace? Sick ’em, sick ’em, sir!”</p> - -<p>“How many are you going to let out?” asked -Chick from the safe altitude of the window seat.</p> - -<p>“Just one this time,” replied Jonesie, struggling -with the door of the cage. “All ready -now, Pinky!”</p> - -<p>But Jonesie was mistaken. With the door -open the rats showed a strange disinclination -to leave their prison and face the enemy, even<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241"></a>[241]</span> -though the enemy was showing not the slightest -degree of animosity—or even animation!</p> - -<p>“Get ’em out!” commanded Jonesie.</p> - -<p>“Sick ’em!” cried the patrons of sport in -unison.</p> - -<p>Ace looked inquiringly at Jonesie and then -about the room. Pinky shoved him forward. -This Ace took to be an invitation to play, and -immediately dashed at Pinky and licked his -nose, thereby upsetting Pinky’s balance. At -the moment when Pinky’s feet were furthest -from the floor and Ace was dancing about his -struggling form, the rats agreed on a sortie and -dashed from the cage together.</p> - -<p><a href="#i_fp242">“There they go!”</a> shrieked the excited audience. -<a href="#i_fp242">“Sick ’em, pup! Go after ’em, you fool -dog!”</a></p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="i_fp242"> - <img src="images/i_fp242.jpg" alt="" title="" /> - <br /> - <div class="caption"><a href="#Page_241">“‘There they go! Sick ’em, pup! Go after ’em, you -fool dog!’”</a></div> -</div> - -<p>But Ace was having such a fine time jumping -upon Pinky, who was vainly trying to get his -feet under him again, that he neither saw the -rats nor heard the commands. It was only -when Jonesie reached down and delivered a -sounding slap on his brown spot that Ace awoke -to the fact that possibly he had made a mistake. -By that time the rats were gone from<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242"></a>[242]</span> -sight. Jeers and laughter emanated from the -audience. Pinky, arising, red of face and annoyed, -was confronted by an indignant Jonesie.</p> - -<p>“You old fool, you!” cried Jonesie. “Why -didn’t you pay attention? Didn’t I tell you -they were coming?”</p> - -<p>“Well, didn’t you see your fool dog knocked -me over?” inquired Pinky wrathfully. “Why -didn’t you keep them in for a second?”</p> - -<p>“How could I keep them in when I’d opened -the door? If you can’t do your share of this -decently, why, say so!”</p> - -<p>“Quit your jawing,” advised Steve, “and -catch the rats. It won’t be any fun now, though, -because we won’t be able to see him kill ’em.”</p> - -<p>“Kill ’em!” jeered Pill. “That pup couldn’t -kill a straw hat! If I was you, Jonesie, I’d put -him in the closet. If a rat got at him he might -get hurt.”</p> - -<p>“Is that so?” responded Jonesie heatedly. -“You’ll get hurt if you give me any more of -your lip! Which—which way did they go, fellows?”</p> - -<p>The replies were confusing. Every member -of the audience insisted on a different locality<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243"></a>[243]</span> -as harboring the rats. Jonesie looked disgusted.</p> - -<p>“Seems to me you fellows might have -watched them and seen which way they went,” -he said. “Got an umbrella, Steve?”</p> - -<p>By moving the table slightly young Fletcher, -who was the smallest there, was able to slide -through into the closet. After that the hunt -began. Jonesie used the umbrella, and the rest -of the audience armed themselves with whatever -they could find: tennis rackets, hockey -sticks, even a ruler. Under chairs, table, bureau -the weapons were poked and flourished. -Ace, recovering from the shock of chastisement, -lent eager assistance. The noise became deafening. -Once one of the rats appeared for a -brief moment on top the bureau, left it just -ahead of a racket hurriedly aimed by Pigeon, -landed on the mantelpiece and disappeared -again behind the Morris chair. The only fatality -was a photograph frame. Out came the -Morris chair, there was a squeal and the rat -whisked behind the bureau. Out came the bureau -then, Ace barking frantically and wagging -his stumpy tail in a veritable paroxysm of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244"></a>[244]</span> -delight. This was a real game! Confusion -reigned supreme. All thought of secrecy had -flown. The excitement of the chase gripped -them all. Shouts and cheers rent the air, Ace -yelped and barked shrilly, sticks banged at -chair legs, furniture was whisked about on -grumbling casters and ten excited patrons of -sport pursued the prey with relentless vigor -and enthusiasm. The waste basket spread its -varied contents across the floor, and even the -pictures on the walls became imbued with the -contagion and danced themselves askew.</p> - -<p>At this moment there was a shrill and resentful -expression of grief from Ace, who, all but -the stump of his tail hidden from sight beneath -the Morris chair, had encountered one -of the rats behind the radiator. A cornered -rat will fight, and it was this discovery that -brought the yelp of pain from the terrier. The -alacrity with which he backed out from under -the chair was remarkable. Doubtless his sole -desire was to remove himself from the vicinity -of the painful indignity and consider his -wounded nose. It is not presumable that he entertained -any designs on Tubby Bumstead.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245"></a>[245]</span> -What followed must be laid to Chance. In retreating -from beneath the chair Ace unfortunately -obtruded his hind quarters in the path -of Tubby, who, armed with a hockey stick, was -in full cry. Tubby, being, as his nickname -suggests, somewhat obese, was not able to recover -from the collision with the grace and -celerity of a lither youth. To save himself -Tubby dropped his weapon and grabbed at the -arm of the Morris chair. Now it so happened -that a few moments before someone had -thoughtfully transferred the unopened cage -containing the three rats in reserve from the -floor to that particular arm of the chair. It -would be, perhaps, interesting to pause here -and speculate as to the thoughts and emotions -which possessed those three rats as, elevated -to a position of unrestricted view, they watched -the scene before them. But there is no time. -Tubby’s frantic reach for the support of the -chair dislodged the cage. The cage, in falling, -struck the already nervous Ace on top of the -head. Ace, now thoroughly undone, yielded to -blind, unreasoning terror, a terror which became -absolute panic when the cage, rebounding<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246"></a>[246]</span> -from head to floor, threw open its door and delivered -into the confusion its three prisoners. -That was too much for Ace. With one wild -and piercing howl he fled. As it was not possible -for him to flee in a straight line, he fled -in a circle. For one brief but highly colored -moment life became a kaleidoscopic nightmare -of flying rats, dogs and boys. To be sure, there -was but one dog, but he rotated so rapidly that -it was difficult to believe that he was not in -reality a revolving procession of dogs. And -ever as he went he howled. And ever as he -howled he collided with someone’s legs, and the -owner of the legs toppled ungracefully to earth. -A Futurist could have won immortal fame by -transferring that scene to canvas! And then, -at the zenith of the glorious orgy of movement -and sound, the room door opened and The Terror -stood revealed in all his majesty and severity!</p> - -<p>Now Ace, as it happened, had reached a position -in his orbit about midway between window -seat and door when the latter opened. There -was no hesitation on the part of the revolving -body. Leaving its path at a tangent it hurled<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247"></a>[247]</span> -itself at the doorway. It was not Ace’s fault -that Mr. Williams, Instructor in Modern Languages, -was stationed midway between lintel -and lintel. Doubtless Ace tried his best to pass -to one side of The Terror’s none too sturdy -legs. That he did not succeed is not surprising -when we consider the speed at which he was -going and the fact that he had been deprived -of all save a scant two inches of his rudder. -Mr. Williams crumpled against the banisters -across the narrow hall with a loud and expressive -grunt and Ace, rounding the post, hurled -himself down the stairs. Mrs. Sharp, nervously -eavesdropping halfway up the flight, had a momentary -vision of a white streak plunging down -upon her, shrieked hysterically and rolled -slowly and, because of her well-padded condition, -not uncomfortably to the bottom. Ace disappeared -into the night.</p> - -<p>The Terror recovered his feet and his dignity -and regained his position in the doorway. Before -him ten boys and five rats maintained silence -and frozen attitudes. The five rats were -not in sight. Nor was one of the ten boys. A -long moment of portentous stillness reigned.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248"></a>[248]</span> -Then The Terror, somewhat pale as yet, pronounced -the names of the nine visible patrons -of sport in a voice which, while still a trifle -shaky, was as icy cold as a blast from the Pole.</p> - -<p>“You will all,” concluded The Terror, “report -at the Office to-morrow morning. And -now return to your rooms at once.”</p> - -<p>One by one they recovered their caps from -the confusion and filed past him and down the -stairs and into the night. Only Steve remained -in view. Then, with a final glare, Mr. Williams -followed. Simultaneously from behind -the bureau appeared a cautious head.</p> - -<p>“Gone?” asked Jonesie hoarsely.</p> - -<p>Steve nodded gloomily.</p> - -<p>Jonesie extracted himself from concealment -and crawled out of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">débris</i>. In one hand he -held by the tail a large gray rat, quite dead.</p> - -<p>“Where’d you get it?” asked Steve with a -brief flash of interest.</p> - -<p>“Back there.” Jonesie nodded toward the -bureau. “I fell on him when I dived in.”</p> - -<p>“Somewhere,” responded Steve bitterly, -“there are four more of the things, and I’ve got -to sleep here with ’em!”</p> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249"></a>[249]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">IV</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">A week has passed. It is a Saturday -morning and Jonesie, immaculately -clad and whistling blithely, is on his -way to the village to make purchases. He has -quite a number of commissions to fill, for nine -of his particular friends and cronies are suffering -probation, a condition which prevents them -from leaving the confines of the school, while -another is recovering slowly from bodily injuries -inflicted by Jonesie with the whole-hearted, -enthusiastic assistance of the nine. Jonesie is -in very good spirits. The sun is warm and the -sky is blue, before him lie the marts of trade -stocked with delectables that appeal to hungry -boyhood, and, while others languish in durance -vile, liberty is his! He is sorry for those others—when -he thinks of them—but his grief is not -deep enough to darken his life.</p> - -<p>As he approaches Perkins’s Livery and Sales -Stable a rotund man whittling a stick and chewing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250"></a>[250]</span> -a straw in front of the office door observes -him with interest. The whittling ceases and the -chair, which has been tilted back against the -stable, comes down on all four legs.</p> - -<p>“Hello,” greets the liveryman. “Haven’t -forgot about that dog of yours, have you? You -ain’t been around to see him lately.”</p> - -<p>“Dog?” asks Jonesie, wrinkling his innocent -young brow. “What dog?”</p> - -<p>The liveryman stares.</p> - -<p>“<em>What</em> dog! Why, the dog you bought off -me ’most two weeks ago! Ain’t forgotten him, -have you?”</p> - -<p>Jonesie shakes his head helplessly. “I -fancy,” he responds distantly, “you’ve made a -mistake. I don’t own any dog.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t own any—— Say, didn’t you and -that friend of yours buy my fox terrier a while -back and pay me five dollars for him and agree -to pay me four dollars a month for boarding -of him? Didn’t you and he——”</p> - -<p>Jonesie shakes his head gently and passes by.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know anything about any dog,” he -says. “Must have been someone else.”</p> - -<p>“Ain’t your name Jones?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251"></a>[251]</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, but it’s quite a common name.”</p> - -<p>“But—but didn’t you buy my dog? You and -that other feller?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly not!” replied Jonesie in pained -protest. “We are not allowed to keep dogs at -Randall’s. I wouldn’t think of transgressing -the rules of the school, you know.”</p> - -<p>The liveryman studies Jonesie’s guileless -countenance for a moment, and his mouth -slowly falls open. Jonesie looks dreamily up -the street.</p> - -<p>“Of course if you <em>have</em> a dog, though, I’d -advise you to keep him away from rats,” he -says kindly. “They might bite him.”</p> - -<p>Then, whistling blithely, Jonesie passes on.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252"></a>[252]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253"></a>[253]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="TETM">THE EMBASSY TO MEARSVILLE</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254"></a>[254]</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255"></a>[255]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">I</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">We had beaten Yale hands-down the -year before, and this year, when we -started practice, we had eight out -of eleven of last season’s men, and in spite of -the fact that they had instituted a new system -over in New Haven, had a new coach at the -helm and were reported to have the best material -in years, we couldn’t see how the Elis had -even a show-in. There was nothing to it, any -way you figured it. We weren’t even going to -miss the three we had lost, for we had at least -two good candidates for each of them. There -wasn’t anything could stop us from winning -the Eastern Championship again. That’s the -way it was right up to the first week in October. -Then things began to happen.</p> - -<p>I guess we established the hard-luck record -that Fall. Kendall went first. He was left -tackle, and a corker. He fell down in exams. -Then Penniwell, first-string quarter, got hurt -in the Bates game and developed water on the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256"></a>[256]</span> -knee. Next Hanson, fullback, pulled a tendon -in practice. Of course, he would be out only a -couple of weeks, but on top of everything else -it made us feel a bit sick. It reminded one of -the nursery rhyme of the Ten Little Indians. -“One got charley-horse and then there were -nine.” Only it didn’t stop at nine, not by a -long shot. Stearns, our best halfback, fell down -three dinky steps coming out of a recitation hall -and broke an arm. Joe Leverett said he hoped -it would be a warning to him and teach him to -keep away from recitations. You’d think we’d -about reached the limit then, wouldn’t you? -We thought so, anyway. We tackled Amherst -with just four of last year’s team in the line-up -and barely escaped a licking. The Amherst -game was the third on the schedule, and after -that we had the big teams to meet. Of course -by that time some of the earlier invalids were -getting back into shape, and we figured that if -we could stall through the next two games we’d -be in pretty good shape for Princeton and Yale. -But Fate wasn’t through with us. On the Tuesday -following the Amherst scare they hurried -Tom Shawl off to the Infirmary at eleven in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257"></a>[257]</span> -morning and operated on him for appendicitis -at four <span class="allsmcap">P. M.</span> Good-night!</p> - -<p>Of course you remember Shawl, all-America -halfback two years running, the hardest line -plunger in the country and a wizard at kicking. -One of the New York papers the year -before said that “yesterday, at New Haven, -Tom Shawl, assisted by the Harvard eleven, defeated -Yale 17 to 0.” The paper wasn’t so far -off, either. Anyway, you can imagine what it -meant to us to lose Shawl. There was some -vague talk of his getting around in time to play -against Yale, but no one believed in it. We -just about threw up our hands then. I’ll never -forget the conference we had in Pete Haskell’s -room that evening. I was manager that year. -There were five of us there: the Head Coach, -Porter; Jewell, who had the linemen in charge; -the trainer; Pete and myself. We were a sick -and sober lot, I can tell you. We talked and -talked and snarled at each other for two solid -hours and nothing much came of it. The only -thing we decided was that Hackett, right end, -would have to go into the backfield. He had -played half before they’d made an end of him,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258"></a>[258]</span> -and he was a good one. But that meant we’d -have to find a corking good man for right end, -and there wasn’t one in sight. There were -plenty of candidates, but not one showed the -real stuff. We talked them all over. Finally -Jewell said:</p> - -<p>“Where’s that chap Perrin, who played left -end on the Freshman team last Fall? Isn’t he -back this year?”</p> - -<p>Porter sat up. “He’s our man!” he cried. -“He will have to come out!”</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with him?” asked Jewell.</p> - -<p>“Folks won’t let him play,” said Pete. “He -got hurt in the Yale Freshman game last year. -It wasn’t anything serious, but his folks got -scared, I guess.”</p> - -<p>“Piffle!” said Jewell. “Get him out. We -need him.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll see him to-morrow,” said Porter. -“Glad you thought of him, Walt.”</p> - -<p>We talked some more, and about ten o’clock -life looked a bit brighter. With Perrin at right -end and Hackett at left half, we might get by. -Of course, losing Shawl’s goal-kicking meant<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259"></a>[259]</span> -that we’d have to reorganize the whole campaign -against Yale, and that there was just -about three months of hard work to do in six -weeks, but we were all a bit more hopeful when -we said good-night. I stayed behind after the -others went. Billy Sawyer, who roomed with -Pete and played fullback on the Second, came -in just then and we three chewed it all over -again. Billy shook his head over Perrin, -though.</p> - -<p>“You won’t get him,” he said. “I know him -pretty well. We were at Milton together. He’s -that sort.”</p> - -<p>“What sort?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Well, the sort who keeps a promise.”</p> - -<p>“You mean he promised his folks not to -play?”</p> - -<p>“Yep. He broke a bone in his hand last year -in the game with the Yale freshies and his -parents got cold feet. He told me about -it. Said he’d promised to keep out of it. -Sort of broke up, too, he was. Too bad, for -you know the sort of a game he put up last -Fall.”</p> - -<p>We nodded gloomily.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260"></a>[260]</span></p> - -<p>“Still,” said I, “he might get his folks to -let him off.”</p> - -<p>Billy screwed his mouth up and shook his -head.</p> - -<p>“Don’t think so. He’s that sort, you see.”</p> - -<p>“Bother your ‘sorts’! When Porter tells -him we need him like everything and reads the -riot act to him I’ll bet he will squirm out of it -somehow. You’ll see. Besides, a fellow’s parents -haven’t any right to keep a chap off the team -when—when the college simply has to have -him!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, rot!” said Billy. “Parents aren’t -bothering about who wins the Yale game, Gus. -Besides, they have got some rights, say what -you want. My dad’s paying a good stiff price -to get me an education and if he told me I must -quit playing football I’d do it. So would you. -So would any fellow.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe, Billy, but any sensible parent -wouldn’t do it!”</p> - -<p>“Why not? What’s the sense of spending a -pile of money on a chap if he’s going to break -his neck or come out of college with two or -three important bones missing just where<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261"></a>[261]</span> -they’ll show the most? No, Bob, Perrin’s folks -have got the right idea. Merely as an investment——”</p> - -<p>“Money isn’t everything,” I said. “There’s -such a thing as loyalty and duty to your college, -Billy.”</p> - -<p>“You’re talking about Bob; I’m talking about -his folks. They don’t owe any duty to your old -college, do they?”</p> - -<p>“Just the same——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, forget it,” said Pete. “Get out of here, -Gus. I’m going to bed. It’s up to Porter, anyway. -I hope he gets him, that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“So do I,” said Billy, “but he won’t.”</p> - -<p>And he didn’t. Perrin was awfully sorry -about it, but he had made a promise to his -parents and he meant to keep it. Porter told -him he’d have to get his parents to let him off. -Perrin said he wouldn’t ask it; said it wouldn’t -be fair. Porter raved at him and pleaded, but -Perrin just kept on saying how badly he felt -about it and how much he would like to play, -but——</p> - -<p>Porter was sore that afternoon. “He’s a -mule,” he said. “A stubborn mule.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262"></a>[262]</span></p> - -<p>“So we don’t get him?” asked the trainer.</p> - -<p>Porter closed his eyes in a way he had and -set his mouth. “We get him, all right,” he -answered grimly. “We’ve simply got to -have him. Someone’s got to go and read -the riot act to those folks of his. They live -in Mearsville. Who knows him? Do you, -Pete?”</p> - -<p>Pete shook his head. “Only to speak to. -Billy Sawyer does, though. He went to prep -with him.”</p> - -<p>“Sawyer of the Second?” asked the coach. -“He’ll do. You take Sawyer and Gus to-morrow -and go out to Mearsville and see them, -Pete. I’d go myself, but with all this mix-up -on my hands I can’t miss practice. I’ll see -Wynant and get him to let Sawyer off. You -have a car, haven’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. How far is Mearsville, and where is -it?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, about a hundred miles; out beyond -Worcester somewhere. Look it up on the map. -It’s a small place, and you’ll have no trouble -finding them, I guess. Come around to-night, -the three of you, and we’ll dope out a line of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263"></a>[263]</span> -talk. Don’t let Perrin hear about it, though. -He might try to queer us. He’s a mule.”</p> - -<p>We left the Square the next day right after -lunch in Pete’s car. It had only one seat, and -Billy Sawyer sat on the floor with his feet on -the running-board and his knees hunched up -under his chin. We made good time, for Pete’s -boat is some goer, and we got to Mearsville -about four o’clock. On the way we went over -our argument. Porter had told us what we -were to say and Billy was to do most of the -talking. He was a peach at talking, Billy was. -He’d been on three debating teams and knew all -the tricks. Funny about him, too. You’d think -with his gift for that sort of stuff that he’d -have turned into a lawyer or a statesman or -something, but he didn’t. Billy’s adding up -figures in his father’s factory to-day. Just -shows that you never can tell, doesn’t it?</p> - -<p>It was a pretty country around Mearsville, -and we made the trip on one of those peachy -Indian summer days that sometimes happen -along in October. We had a pretty good time, -too. We almost ran through Mearsville without -knowing it, because there wasn’t much in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264"></a>[264]</span> -sight except a post-office and a store. We asked -at the post-office where Mr. Perrin lived, and -the postmaster came out and showed us how -to go.</p> - -<p>“Wonder,” said Billy, as we went on, “what -sort his father is. If we knew that it might -help us.”</p> - -<p>“What’s his business?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Don’t know. Don’t know a thing except -that Bob’s an only child. He seems to have -plenty of money, so I suppose his old man’s -fairly well fixed. If he’s one of the crabbed -kind we might as well turn around right now -and go back.”</p> - -<p>“Buck up,” said Pete. “When you turn -that line of talk on him, Billy, he’ll just wilt -before our eyes.”</p> - -<p>“Huh,” said Billy. “Wish you had it to -do. Don’t see what I let them rope me into -this for, anyway. It’s not my funeral.”</p> - -<p>“It’s what you get for knowing the chap,” -said I. “Bet you that’s the place now, the stone -gate ahead of us.”</p> - -<p>It had solid comfort written all over it. There -was an old-style white house that rambled<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265"></a>[265]</span> -around behind a lot of trees and some lawn and -nearly fooled you into thinking it was a genuine -antique. When you got near it, though, -you saw it was a reproduction. It looked like -a compromise between a gentleman’s estate and -a nice little place out of town. Everything -was neat and well groomed, and we felt like -vandals for mussing up the newly dusted gravel -drive with the automobile tracks. Pete was -whistling “This is the Life” softly as we drew -up to the door. A trim-looking maid showed -us into a living-room with about a million long -French windows and a thousand dollars’ worth -of white and yellow chrysanthemums standing -around in tall vases. Billy cleared his throat -and Pete sneaked away to the further side of -the room, pretending he wanted to see the view -from a window. I started to follow, but Billy -grabbed me.</p> - -<p>Mr. Perrin came in the next instant. I don’t -know what sort of a man the others had pictured, -but I know he didn’t look at all like what -I’d expected. If I’d seen him, say, in a club -without knowing who he was, and anyone had -asked me to guess, I wouldn’t have thought<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266"></a>[266]</span> -twice. “Noted explorer just back from successful -rummage in Peru,” I’d have answered. -As Billy would say, he was that sort. He had -a rather long, lean face with a lot of lines, a -wide mouth, a thin nose and a pair of faded -blue eyes that were deep set and looked lighter -than they were because his skin was as brown -as a saddle. He was tall and straight and lean -and looked about as fit as any man I ever saw. -I warmed up to him right away. Couldn’t help -it. There was something about that mouth and -those pale blue eyes that was awfully friendly. -And when he shook hands he did it quick and -hard, and you could feel that his muscles were -like little steel wires. It was up to me to introduce -myself and the others, which I did, and -as soon as I said “football” I saw by a little -gleam in his eyes that he was dead on to our -game. But he told us in a nice deep voice that -he was glad to see us, got us seated in big comfortable -chairs, offered cigars and made us feel -right at home. Then he waited, smiling, for us -to shoot. So Billy stuck his hands in his pockets -and opened up.</p> - -<p>Billy did himself proud. I wish I could remember<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267"></a>[267]</span> -just what he said, but, then, it was -more the way he put it over than anything else. -Porter had tipped us to be dead sober. “Make -him understand that the situation is big and -serious. Don’t smile except to be polite, and -then do it as if it hurt your face.” So Billy -started out as grave as a minister. He began -by outlining the condition the team was in because -of injuries and such, dwelt on the hopeless -position in which the coaches found themselves -and predicted ruin and disaster unless -new material could be found to prop the tottering -structure, or words to that effect. And all -the time he spoke in low, fateful tones like a -doctor breaking the news to the family after -a consultation. If he had kept it up two minutes -longer I’d have been in tears.</p> - -<p>“I gathered from the papers,” said Mr. Perrin -just as gravely, “that things were in pretty -bad shape at Cambridge. I’m very sorry, Mr. -Sawyer.”</p> - -<p>Then he waited again, looking appropriately -funereal. But there was a little flicker in those -blue eyes of his that told me he wasn’t as concerned -as he pretended.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268"></a>[268]</span></p> - -<p>Billy took a fresh start and began on Bob -Perrin. He allowed you to understand by the -tone of his voice that there was a ray of hope, -after all, but that you weren’t by any means -to think the patient out of danger. He told -about the fine work done by Bob last year on -the Freshman team and how if he would spring -into the breach all might yet be well. Billy -said so many nice things about Bob that I -couldn’t see how his father could help looking -a bit proud. He didn’t, though. He just kept -his eyes on Billy and waited. It seemed as if -his watchful waiting game was getting on Billy’s -nerves, for Billy stumbled once or twice -and his voice began to flatten out a little. He -took the ground that in such a stupendous crisis -as then confronted the college—the college we -all loved—Billy’s voice sort of took on a -tremolo effect there—all selfish thoughts and -desires should be brushed aside. At such a -time it was the duty of all loyal sons of Harvard -to—to put their shoulders to the wheel, -to banish prejudices, to forget self and—er—strive -as one man to avert the disaster that -threatened to engulf their glorious Alma Mater.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269"></a>[269]</span></p> - -<p>Said Mr. Perrin: “Did Bob send you out -here?”</p> - -<p>“No, Mr. Perrin, your son does not know of -our visit. Mr. Porter, our Head Coach, tried -to persuade him to play, but he replied that he -was bound by a promise to you and that it -would not be fair for him to ask to be released -from it. It was then that Mr. Porter decided -to see you himself, feeling certain, as he said, -that when you once realized the gravity of the -situation you would eagerly and gladly give -your consent to Bob’s playing.”</p> - -<p>“Ah.” Mr. Perrin glanced at Pete and then -at me. “But neither of these gentlemen is Mr. -Porter, I believe?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir. Mr. Haskell is Captain of the -Varsity and Mr. Kirke is Manager. Mr. Porter -was unable to come since his presence at -practice is indispensable just now. We represent -him, sir, and I have tried to bring you his -message just as he delivered it to me. Were -he here he could undoubtedly speak more convincingly, -sir, but——”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” said Mr. Perrin. “You do yourself -an injustice. He could not, I am certain,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270"></a>[270]</span> -have dispatched a more capable and eloquent -emissary.” He paused and looked toward the -windows. “Gentlemen, I am going to suggest -that we go outdoors. This is much too fine a -day to be inside. You will, I hope, stay to dinner -with us.”</p> - -<p>We all said we wouldn’t think of it, but he -didn’t pay much attention to that.</p> - -<p>“Let me have my way, please,” he went on. -“Both Mrs. Perrin and I shall be most pleased -to have you. We don’t have many opportunities -to entertain, and you really must humor us. -Besides, I want you to meet her, and just now -she is unable to appear. Now let us take a walk. -I want to show you my place. You know we -folks who live in the country always drag our -visitors around the grounds the first thing.”</p> - -<p>We went out on the porch. Mr. Perrin -dropped behind to get his cap and stick, and -the three of us looked at each other questioningly. -Billy was frowning and Pete looked -blank. I remember I shook my head. Mr. Perrin -joined us then, and we set out around the -house. He showed us his stable and barn and -greenhouses and piggery and a cellar where he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271"></a>[271]</span> -raised mushrooms, and a lot of things like that. -Pete got full of enthusiasm right away and -asked a lot of questions. Pete subscribes to -<cite>Country Life</cite> and draws plans of model farms -at lectures. Somehow, out of doors we all -forgot to be gloomy, and the first thing we -knew we were laughing at the colts in the paddock -and chatting away just as if there wasn’t -any Stupendous Crisis. After we’d seen everything -Mr. Perrin led the way across a meadow -to a little hill that had pine trees clumped on -top of it and brown needles underneath. It was -when we were climbing the hill that Mr. Perrin -said:</p> - -<p>“You must forgive me for being a bit -slow. This leg of mine isn’t as spry on the -grades.”</p> - -<p>I noticed then for the first time that he -limped a little and bore pretty heavily on his -stick. I slowed down with him and asked: “Accident, -sir?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said. “I broke it in football.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said I. I couldn’t think of anything -else to say just then.</p> - -<p>“It was in a game with Pennsylvania a good<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_272"></a>[272]</span> -many years ago now,” he went on. “We used -to play on Jarvis Field in those days.”</p> - -<p>“Where the tennis courts are now?” I asked. -“Were you—were you on the Varsity, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. I was captain that year. This break -kept me out of the Yale game, and I remember -that I felt pretty badly about it.”</p> - -<p>“It was pretty tough luck,” I muttered. I -did a whole lot of thinking the rest of the way -up the hill.</p> - -<p>When we got to the top we sat down on the -pine needles in the sunlight, and Mr. Perrin -filled a pipe. “Perhaps,” he said as he started -to light it, “I shouldn’t do this, as you chaps -are in training.” Billy and Pete told him it -didn’t matter any to them. It didn’t to me because -I didn’t smoke. I’d promised my folks -not to until I was twenty-one. There was a fine -view from where we sat, and the country was -as pretty as a picture, with the sun getting low -and sending long shafts of golden light across -the fields. It was quiet, too, so quiet you could -hear a cowbell tinkling half a mile away. Billy -put his hands under his head and stretched -himself out on his back with a sigh. Pete<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_273"></a>[273]</span> -hugged his knees and looked blissful. I suppose -he was thinking of the place he meant to -have when he was through college. There -was a rock near me with moss growing all -over it, and I settled my back against it and -blinked at the sun. After a minute Mr. Perrin -said:</p> - -<p>“It always seems easier to me to think and -talk out of doors. I suppose it’s because I’ve -spent a good deal of my life there.” And then, -speaking quietly and sort of lazily, he told us -some things he’d seen and that had happened -to him. He wasn’t an explorer, after all. He -was an engineer and he had spent most of his -life in the West and Southwest building irrigating -dams and canals and things. I’ll bet -they were good ones. He was that sort, as -Billy would say. Some of the yarns he told -were corkers, and he told them in such a smiling, -matter-of-fact way that they sounded bully -and made you want to pack up and hike out -there where such things happened. He had had -adventures, all right! And he had us laughing -one minute and sitting still and gripping our -hands the next and hardly daring to breathe!<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_274"></a>[274]</span> -Gee, if I could tell a story the way he could, I’d -never do another thing!</p> - -<p>“It’s a big country out there,” he said -finally, “with lots of things to be done.”</p> - -<p>“I should think,” said Pete, “you’d find it -rather tame back here, Mr. Perrin.”</p> - -<p>“Tame? Not at all. I like this best. But -then, I’m getting along toward where the quiet -life begins to look pretty good, boys. I find -now when I go back out there that saddles are -harder than they used to be and ponchos aren’t -as soft to sleep on as hair mattresses. But I’m -always glad to get there again—and always -glad to come back. In two or three years more -I won’t have to make the trip very often, I -guess. Bob will do that for me. He’s going -to have a man’s job on his hands when he’s -ready for it.”</p> - -<p>“Is he going to take up engineering too, sir?” -I asked.</p> - -<p>“No, that won’t be necessary. That part of -it is done. Of course it’s best for him to know -something of it, and so he and I go out there -in the summers and I show him the why and -the how. I dare say he learns as well that way<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_275"></a>[275]</span> -as he would if he took a course at the Scientific -School. Bob’s work will be to manage what -I’ve built. It will be his after a while, you see. -Bob’s the only one we have and there won’t be -any others now. It’s a good deal like putting -all your eggs in one basket, you see. When -you do that you’re liable to be mighty careful -of the basket.”</p> - -<p>He filled his pipe again, looking off across -the field toward where the smoke was going up -straight from the chimneys of the house. We -didn’t say anything. After a minute:</p> - -<p>“It’s a fine, comforting thing to know that -there’s someone coming after you to carry -things along,” he said thoughtfully. “It makes -what’s ahead of you look pretty trifling. I always -feel a deep pity for men who haven’t sons. -It seems to me that they’ve failed in what God -sent ’em here to do. I guess your fathers know -what I mean, and you will know it, too, some -day—I hope. I hate to think what it must be -like for men who haven’t any children when the -shadows begin to deepen. Maybe all fathers -don’t feel the way I do about it, but I guess they -must. Four of the finest words I know of are<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_276"></a>[276]</span> -these: ‘From father to son.’ Well, well, I’m -boring you with all this stuff. And it’s getting -a little chilly now. We’ll walk back and get -ready for dinner. We dine early out here. I -hope you won’t mind.”</p> - -<p>When we got back he took us upstairs to a -fine big room, and it took just a glance to show -that it was Bob’s. There were all sorts of photographs -stuck around: school nines and elevens -and track teams, you know, with Bob’s face -peering out from some of them. There was a -bookcase in one corner with all Bob’s old school -books and story books on the shelves. And -there were some pewter cups on the mantel and -some pennants on the walls and a split baseball -bat and a canoe paddle with things written -on it and a plaited hair bridle and a pair of -wicked-looking Mexican spurs. It was just a -regular boy’s room with all the things a fellow -accumulates and hates to throw away even as -he grows older. Mr. Perrin took up some of the -photographs and pointed out Bob in them; Bob, -a little kid in knickerbockers; Bob in track -togs, with his fingers tight over his grips; Bob -holding a football in the center of a group; Bob<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_277"></a>[277]</span> -wearing chaps and a big sombrero and seated -on a cow pony. Then he went out and left us, -and we washed up. No one said very much, -and we all hurried.</p> - -<p>Downstairs we met Mrs. Perrin. I guess -you’d call her homely, but she was the sort of -homely that looks good to a fellow. She was -small and looked not very strong, but she was -all right. You knew she could do one thing to -the King’s taste, and that was to be a mother. -We had a bully dinner. Nothing fluffy, but regular -food that went right to the spot and stuck. -We were all of us hungry, too, all of us except, -maybe, Mrs. Perrin. I don’t think she ate -much, but she surely saw to it that we did. -Billy made a great hit with her because he had -been at Milton with Bob. She didn’t talk a -whole lot about Bob, but you could see that she -was pretty proud of him just the same. There -wasn’t a word said about why we were there. -We were just friends or college mates of Bob’s, -and that was enough. Mrs. Perrin was full of -fun in a quiet way, and it was dandy to see how -she and Mr. Perrin played up to each other. -She prompted him to tell this story or that, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_278"></a>[278]</span> -he came back at her the same way. About -the middle of dinner we felt as if we’d known -those folks for years! We sure had a dandy -time.</p> - -<p>We didn’t stay at the table after Mrs. Perrin -went because we weren’t smoking, and Mr. -Perrin pretended he didn’t want to. So we -went back to the library, and the first thing I -knew Pete was over at the piano with Mrs. Perrin -pulling the music about for him. Pete’s a -wonder at the ivories, and he played and we -all sang; Mr. Perrin, too, when he knew the -song; and had a regular merry-merry for about -an hour. Then we had to mosey back to Cambridge, -and Mr. Perrin sent out and had Pete’s -car brought around from the stable. They -made us take sweaters and coats, for we hadn’t -brought any, and it was getting chilly. We -were to leave them with Bob. We said good-night -to Mrs. Perrin in the library, and she -made us all promise to come again, which -wasn’t hard to do, for we were dead eager to. -Mr. Perrin went out to the car with us and -stood around while we lighted up and packed -ourselves in. Pete started the engine the first<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_279"></a>[279]</span> -time and tried not to look surprised, and we -all shook hands and Mr. Perrin said we mustn’t -forget our promise to come again, and we said -he wasn’t to worry about that! But then he -didn’t move away, and we saw he had something -to say and Pete throttled down his engine.</p> - -<p>“There’s one thing I’d like to know,” he said -earnestly, “and it’s this. I want Harvard to -win this year, boys, perhaps every bit as much -as you do. I’m afraid I haven’t appeared very -sympathetic this evening, but I do sympathize -with you in your trouble. I’ve been through -with something of the same sort myself, and I -haven’t forgotten. And I’m not going to tell -you that whether we win or lose the world’s going -to keep on whirling. I know it didn’t seem -so to me in the old days, and it doesn’t seem so -to you. I don’t believe there’s an old player -who follows the fortunes of the Team any more -closely than I do, boys. I’ve ridden eighty -miles at night to learn the result of a Yale -game. I’m telling you this because I don’t want -you to think that I’ve outgrown my devotion to -the college, my loyalty to the Team.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_280"></a>[280]</span></p> - -<p>He paused and Pete pretended to tinker with -the switch.</p> - -<p>“And now one thing more,” said Mr. Perrin. -“Two things, rather; for I want to tell you that -I appreciate the fine way in which you have refrained -from showing impatience or criticism -of my attitude in regard to Bob. It may be -that you secretly look on me as a selfish, pig-headed -old codger——”</p> - -<p>Billy started to say something, but Mr. Perrin -continued:</p> - -<p>“And perhaps I am. But partly because you -have acted like three of God’s gentlemen and -partly because—well, because an old player can -never quite forget, I’m going to leave it in your -hands. If you think the Team needs Bob more -than I do, you tell him that he is to go in there -and play his level best! Good-night, boys!”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Mearsville was ten miles behind before anyone -said anything. Then it was Billy, and, since -we had a hard road and the engine purred no -louder than a kitten, we heard him even though -he only muttered. “Fellows <em>do</em> get hurt,” he -growled. “You can’t deny that. Look at the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_281"></a>[281]</span> -list of them just in our own time: Choate and -Riley and ‘Fan’ Tanner and a whole bunch, -to say nothing of this year’s list.”</p> - -<p>A mile further on, I said: “I suppose a fellow -with a busted leg wouldn’t be much use out -there on that job.”</p> - -<p>Going into Worcester, Pete said: “There’s -that chap Nelson.”</p> - -<p>“Did well at Exeter,” said Billy.</p> - -<p>“With six weeks to work on him,” I murmured, -“seems to me——”</p> - -<p>Later Pete broke out with: “Hang him, he -had no business saying that we thought him -selfish and pig-headed!”</p> - -<p>“Still, we did, you know,” I reminded, “before.”</p> - -<p>“Before, yes, but not after! Anyway, I -didn’t.”</p> - -<p>“Mean to say I did?” demanded Billy somewhat -hotly.</p> - -<p>“Shut up! What we’ve got to decide is -this,” I said. “What are we going to tell Porter -to-morrow?”</p> - -<p>“Tell him?” grunted Pete, taking a corner -on two wheels. “Tell him nothing doing!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_282"></a>[282]</span></p> - -<p>I showed this to Pete, who went in heavy for -English Composition and can talk you deaf, -dumb and blind about characterization, climax, -crisis, suspense and <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">dénouement</i>, and he says I -finished my story at the last paragraph and -that if I write any more I’ll be pulling an anti-climax. -Maybe he’s right, but I know that if I -was reading this yarn I’d want to know who -won the Yale game. And so I’m going to tell -you. And if you think the way Pete does, why, -you can stop up there where it says “nothing -doing.” That’s all right, isn’t it?</p> - -<p>Well, Bob Perrin didn’t come out for the -team. Porter fumed and kicked for a while, -and then yanked Nelson off the bench and -sicked half a dozen assistant coaches on him. -He had a pretty tough time of it for about five -weeks. No matter which way he turned there -was always one or more coaches waiting to -grab him. I’m not sure they didn’t read him -to sleep out of the rules book and camp outside -his door at night. But they did what they set -out to do, believe me! They made an All-America -end of him, even if they almost killed him -in the operation. And, although we lost to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_283"></a>[283]</span> -Brown, and although Princeton swamped us, we -came right back on the twenty-fourth of November -and put it over the Elis, 7 to 3.</p> - -<p>As Billy would say, we were that sort!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_284"></a>[284]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_285"></a>[285]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="JATA">JONESIE AND THE ALL-STARS</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_286"></a>[286]</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_287"></a>[287]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">I</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">Joe Tyson, playing third on the Randall’s -School first team, pegged the ball across -in the general direction of first base. -Steve Cook stabbed the air with a gloved hand -and the ball continued blithely on its way, disappearing -behind the grandstand. Four blue-stockinged -youths raced home, the fourth registering -the tenth tally for Popham Academy.</p> - -<p>Daniel Webster Jones, Jr., seated cross-legged -in front of the bench on the home side -of the field, score book on knees, credited the -enemy with four runs and added a black dot -under the “E” column and opposite the name -of Tyson.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” murmured Jonesie reflectively, -“in order to throw to first you’ve got to know -more than the ball.”</p> - -<p>Of the three occupants of the bench, weary -and disgruntled with waiting, none replied to -the sagacious observation. Jonesie, however,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_288"></a>[288]</span> -hadn’t expected any reply. He didn’t care. -When there was no one to talk to, Jonesie -talked to himself. That was much better than -keeping still. Jonesie had a horror of being -bored, and nothing bored him quicker than inactivity, -either of body or tongue. That was -the reason why, on a perfectly glorious afternoon -in early June, he was to be found seated -Turk-fashion here keeping score for the Team.</p> - -<p>Art Simpson, the manager, whose duty it was -to preside over the official score book, was in -the infirmary with a delightful case of double -mumps, and Billy Carpenter, baseball captain, -had, so to speak, drafted Jonesie from a comfortable -seat in the stand, thrust a black-covered -book and a leaky fountain pen upon him -and bade him keep the score. Jonesie knew -how to do that after a fashion, but his fashion -was not Art Simpson’s, and he soon found the -intricacies too many for him. After Jimmy -Buell had been caught flat-footed off second and -chased down between that station and third by -exactly six-ninths of the opposing team, Jonesie -gave it up in despair. The only redeeming feature -of his task was the fact that it allowed him<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_289"></a>[289]</span> -to square accounts to some extent with one or -two fellows he had grudges against. Thus Carpenter -himself, for imposing such a task on -Jonesie, had been credited with two errors -when, as a matter of fact, Billy had so far -played his position faultlessly. Jimmy Buell, -too, had erred, according to the book, not once, -but three times, and even Steve Cook, who was -a particular friend of Jonesie’s, had a neat -period set opposite his name in the error column. -Jonesie had chuckled when he set that -down. It was always fun getting a rise out of -Steve!</p> - -<p>Daniel Webster Jones, Jr., was a cherub-faced -youth of fifteen with coppery brown hair -brushed sleekly back, gray-blue eyes that were -pools of truth and innocence, a somewhat button-like -nose that attested to good nature, and -a general appearance of physical and mental -well-being. Folks generally, and nice elderly -ladies in particular, fell in love with Jonesie at -first sight. They simply couldn’t help it. Such -candor and truthfulness and innocence shone -from his countenance it did one good merely to -look upon it. For the rest, he was comfortably<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_290"></a>[290]</span> -rounded as to figure, a fact which perhaps -increased his likeness to a cherub, dressed very -carefully—Jonesie was always a little in advance -of the fashions—and carried himself with -an air.</p> - -<p>After much searching the ball was back in -the pitcher’s hands. (For no especial reason -Jonesie credited Gordon, who had thrown it in, -with an assist!) Carey Bingham, football captain, -who was umpiring, was evidently getting -tired of standing out there in the sun, for he -called three strikes on the Popham batsman in -succession—Proudfoot, the Randall’s slab artist, -had never been known to pitch three good -ones in succession before!—and then ruled the -next man out at first in spite of the fact that -Steve Cook had quite failed to tag him. But -Popham had a comfortable lead of eight runs, -it was getting late and Carey wanted to get on -the river before suppertime. Popham objected -only half-heartedly to the decision, being -doubtless quite willing to hurry the battle -through.</p> - -<p>The bench filled as the perspiring players -trotted in from the field. Billy Carpenter,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_291"></a>[291]</span> -squeezing in behind Jonesie, glanced at the -score.</p> - -<p>“Ten to two, isn’t it?” he asked wearily.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” replied Jonesie. “Gordon up! -Proudfoot on deck! Billings in the hold!”</p> - -<p>“What’s the inning, Jonesie?” inquired Joe -Tyson from further along the bench.</p> - -<p>“Last of the ninth,” answered Jonesie -promptly.</p> - -<p>“Get out! It’s the eighth!” declared Billy -Carpenter. “Let’s see. Of course it’s the -eighth, you idiot!”</p> - -<p>“Is it?” murmured the non-official scorer. -“All right. I just said ninth so as you fellows -would get off easier.”</p> - -<p>“Is that so?” said Billy unamiably. “Never -you mind about us. Just you—— Here, what -the dickens are those things over there in my -column?”</p> - -<p>“Those?” asked Jonesie innocently. “Oh, -those are errors.”</p> - -<p>“Errors! When did I make an error, you -lunkhead?”</p> - -<p>“I forget; third, I guess; maybe it was the -fourth.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_292"></a>[292]</span></p> - -<p>“You’re dippy! I haven’t made an error to-day! -You rub those out, Jonesie, or I’ll kick -you back to school!”</p> - -<p>“My mistake,” replied Jonesie untroubledly, -canceling the dots. “Say, Billy, why don’t you -have a good team?”</p> - -<p>“The team’s all right,” answered the captain, -mollified as the untruthful periods disappeared. -“We’ve had perfectly rotten luck to-day.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, sure!” Jonesie’s tone was maddeningly -sarcastic. “Blame it on the luck, Billy. -Say, honest, Billy——”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you be so fresh with your ‘Billys,’ -kid,” advised the other, prodding Jonesie’s -spine with the toe of his shoe. Billy was a -senior, and at Randall’s seniors exacted proper -respect from lower-class fellows.</p> - -<p>“My mistake, Mr. Carpenter,” corrected -Jonesie sweetly. “I was going to say—Proudfoot -up! Billings on deck!—going to say that I -could make up a team of lower-class fellows -that would beat you all around the block, Bil—er—Carpenter.”</p> - -<p>“You could do wonders,” responded the captain<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_293"></a>[293]</span> -derisively. “Suppose, though, you credit -that Popham first base with a put-out if you’re -not too busy talking nonsense.”</p> - -<p>“No trouble at all,” murmured Jonesie, -placing a period in the wrong space and so -adding to the glory of the Popham left-fielder. -“The trouble with this bunch of yours is that -they can’t bat, can’t field and can’t handle the -ball. Aside from that, though, Billy, they’re -certainly a fine lot. Who threw that to first?”</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you watch the game and find -out?” snarled Billy.</p> - -<p>“Call this a game? It—it’s a farce, that’s -what it is, a blooming farce!” Jonesie gave -the assist to the shortstop on a chance and chattered -on. “You see, Bil—that is, Mr. Carpenter—in -order to play baseball you’ve got to -know more than the ball.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, cut it out,” growled Billy. “A fat lot -you know about it!”</p> - -<p>“If you mean baseball, I know a great deal. -I don’t pretend that I invented the game, Billy, -but I certainly organized the Nile Valley -League and——”</p> - -<p>“Say, you bum scorer, who’s up?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_294"></a>[294]</span></p> - -<p>“You are, you talented right-fielder!”</p> - -<p>“What on earth is the Nile Valley League?” -inquired Billy, who had never heard of that -mythical aggregation. Jonesie glanced around -with a look of pitying surprise.</p> - -<p>“And you’re captain of a ball team!” he exclaimed. -He shook his head gently. “Honest, -Billy, I look at you in wonder! You’re on deck, -by the way.”</p> - -<p>Billy got up and selected a bat with much -care. Jonesie watched him pessimistically.</p> - -<p>“Say, Cap, in order to use that you’ve got -to know more than the bat,” he volunteered -helpfully. Billy scowled.</p> - -<p>Randall’s failed to add to her score and Popham -came in. With a man on first the second -batsman lined a hot one at Billy, and Billy -watched it travel into center field while he -wrung a bunch of aching fingers. Jonesie -smiled and restored one of the canceled errors -opposite the captain’s name.</p> - -<p>“Prophetic,” he murmured. “That’s what -it was, prophetic!”</p> - -<p>Popham added another run to her tally in -that first of the ninth, but Jonesie didn’t trouble<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_295"></a>[295]</span> -to score it. He was too busy drawing a picture -of Steve Cook at first on the margin of the -page. It wasn’t a good likeness, but it showed -a lot of action, and it pleased Jonesie. So enthralled -was he with his artistic endeavors that -the teams had changed sides before he realized -it, and he hurriedly set down several assists, -put-outs and errors wherever they looked best.</p> - -<p>Billy was disgruntled when he got back -to the bench, and he was rather rude in the -way in which he thrust Jonesie aside to get his -seat.</p> - -<p>“Ah,” observed Jonesie, looking about with -a gratified air, “the heroes are back again! In -order to catch a ball, Billy, you’ve got to know——” -But a muscular hand closed about -Jonesie’s throat from behind and the remark -was not concluded. Instead, “Buell at bat!” -he announced huskily. “Gordon on deck! -Proudfoot in the hold!”</p> - -<p>Jonesie remained silent while Jimmy Buell -fell victim to the puzzling slants of the Popham -pitcher. But he felt communicative to-day, and -after Buell had disconsolately reseated himself -Jonesie went on brightly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_296"></a>[296]</span></p> - -<p>“Honest, Carpenter,” he said, “I wasn’t -joshing about that.”</p> - -<p>“About what?” growled Billy, working the -fingers of his right hand experimentally to see -if they were broken or merely dislocated.</p> - -<p>“About making up a team from the lower-class -fellows and showing your bunch a few of -the rudiments of baseball. You see, Billy, it -isn’t so much that your fellows <em>can’t</em> play; I -think they could if they knew how; but no one -has ever shown them, do you see? Now, I think—what? -yes, you’re on deck, Billings!—I think -that if you could only play a game or two with -a team that knew a little about it, do you -see——?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll wring your neck for you in a minute,” -returned Billy angrily. Jonesie silently considered -the chances of Billy’s carrying out the -threat. It was Billy himself who made the next -remark.</p> - -<p>“I’d like to see the bunch of players you’d -get together, Jonesie,” he said. “They’d be -wonders.” He laughed most disagreeably. -“Bring ’em along some day and give us some -sport, Jonesie. We need practice——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_297"></a>[297]</span></p> - -<p>“You sure do! You need more than that, -though, old top; you need to learn what to do -on a ball field. For instance, now, if someone -explained to Proudfoot that a bat is made to -swat the ball with and not to hang over his -right shoulder, he might do something besides -posing like one of those Roman gladiators at -the circus. Yes, sir, Billy, you fellows certainly -ought to have a little instruction.”</p> - -<p>Captain Carpenter opened his mouth to reply -hastily and angrily. But he closed it again. -After all, it was only Jonesie talking! Jonesie -indicated on the score book that Proudfoot had -been hit by a pitched ball and had taken his -base and then credited the Popham pitcher with -a put-out on the ground that anyone who inflicted -pain on Proudfoot was a public benefactor -and deserving of reward! Then, after another -moment, Jonesie spoke again.</p> - -<p>“What day will it be convenient to play us, -Billy?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Play who?” inquired Billy, wondering -whether it was worth while to relieve Steve -Cook in the coacher’s box and try to get Proudfoot -around for a run.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_298"></a>[298]</span></p> - -<p>“This team I’m going to get up,” answered -Jonesie. “Any day next week will suit us.”</p> - -<p>Billy laughed derisively. “Cut out the comedy, -Jonesie,” he begged.</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t much blame you,” was the reply. -“It would look bad to be beaten by a lot -of lower-class fellows. I guess you’re right to -back down, Billy.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, dry up, Jonesie! And credit Billings -with a two-bagger, why don’t you? Say, what -sort of a score is that you’re keeping, anyway?”</p> - -<p>“This? This is the finest little score you -ever saw. What did you say Billings made?”</p> - -<p>“I said—— <em>Good work, Charlie!</em> Guess I’d -better go out and take a hand.” The bases were -filled and Billy’s good nature was restored by -the prospect of adding a few runs to their -meager score.</p> - -<p>“Then you mean you won’t play us?” insisted -Jonesie as the older boy pushed by him.</p> - -<p>“Play you? Yes, we’ll play you, Jonesie.” -Billy laughed. “Bring on your team!”</p> - -<p>“Next—next Thursday?” yelled Jonesie.</p> - -<p>“Sure thing!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_299"></a>[299]</span></p> - -<p>Jonesie whistled softly to himself, not at all -melodiously, and scrawled strange forms on -the margins of the score sheet. He was thinking. -When Jonesie thought it was safe to assume -that sooner or later, and probably at no -very distant time, something of interest would -happen at Randall’s!</p> - -<p>His preoccupation was rudely dispelled by -the sound of a bat striking a ball and the frenzied -shouts of the few onlookers who had survived -eight wearisome innings. Jonesie looked -up to see Steve Cook legging it to first, the Popham -center-fielder racing back toward the distant -fence and the bases emptying. Behind first -base Billy Carpenter was waving and shouting. -Behind third Jimmy Buell was doing likewise. -Jonesie sighed. More work for the scorer!</p> - -<p>And then a flat silence fell. Away out in center -field a blue-stockinged youth had, after a desperate -race, put up a hand and pulled down the -ball. Steve had flied out! The game was over! -Popham had won, 11 to 2! or was it 10 to 2?</p> - -<p>Jonesie added an error to Billy’s column on -general principles and closed the book with a -vindictive slam.</p> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_300"></a>[300]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">II</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">“Sparrow,” asked Jonesie that evening, -“did you ever play ball?”</p> - -<p>It was Saturday and so, of course, -Sparrow Bowles, who was a tall and lanky -youth and, in spite of being Jonesie’s roommate, -was much disliked by that young gentleman, -had a perfect right to spend his time over -one of Dumas’ most exciting romances. It -might be added, however, that Sparrow would -have done just what he was doing had it been -Monday or Friday or any other day of the -week. I refuse to even insinuate a virtue that -Sparrow didn’t possess. Sparrow looked up -regretfully from the book.</p> - -<p>“No,” he muttered. “What for?”</p> - -<p>“Then you’re the chap I want,” replied -Jonesie cheerfully. “I’ll put you down——” -He frowned intently for a moment at the list -before him and poised a pencil above it—“I’ll -put you down for third base.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_301"></a>[301]</span></p> - -<p>“You can put me down for—for batter, if -you like,” jeered Sparrow, thus showing -the depths of his ignorance of the National -Game, “but you don’t get me to break my -fingers!”</p> - -<p>Jonesie didn’t even glance up. “That just -about finishes it,” he murmured. “I think, -though, I’ll put Pinky at first instead of Wigman. -Pinky says if he doesn’t play there he -won’t play at all.”</p> - -<p>“Say, what are you talking about?” demanded -Sparrow, curiosity getting the better of -an inherent contempt for any of Jonesie’s -plans.</p> - -<p>“I’m talking,” answered Jonesie with dignity, -folding his list and returning it to a -pocket, “about the All-Stars Baseball Team. -You see, I’m getting up a team to give Billy -Carpenter’s bunch of amateurs a little practice. -We play them Thursday.”</p> - -<p>“Play the School Team!” Sparrow turned -Dumas’ face down on his knees and stared -blankly at his roommate. “Say, are you funny -in your head? Why—why, they’d lick the stuffing -out of any team you could make up!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_302"></a>[302]</span></p> - -<p>“That’s what Billy thinks,” chuckled -Jonesie.</p> - -<p>“Should think he might!”</p> - -<p>“But this team I’m getting up, Sparrow, is -something a little bit out of the ordinary. Listen -to this.” Jonesie found his list again and -read it for Sparrow’s benefit. “Bumstead, -pitcher; Jones, catcher; Trainor, first base; -Hoyt, second base; Bowles, third base; Wigman, -shortstop; Clint Wrenn, right field; -George Wrenn, center field; Nash, left field. -What do you think of that, Sparrow?”</p> - -<p>“I think you’re crazy,” replied Sparrow -with enthusiasm. “I’ll bet there isn’t a fellow -in the lot ever played baseball!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, there is,” rejoined Jonesie with a grin. -“Both those Wrenns have played a lot. I -thought first I wouldn’t have them, but I -couldn’t get anyone else. You see, I told Billy -I’d make up the team from the lower classes. -But I put the Wrenns in the outfield where they -won’t be able to do much harm.”</p> - -<p>“If they can play why don’t you let them?” -asked Sparrow puzzledly.</p> - -<p>“‘A little learning is a dangerous thing,’”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_303"></a>[303]</span> -quoted Jonesie. “I’ve tried to get fellows -who never have played, because I can teach -them. You can’t teach a fellow who thinks he -knows the whole thing to start with. Do you -see?”</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t see,” said Sparrow bluntly. “I -suppose it’s another of your silly jokes, but you -don’t get me into it!”</p> - -<p>“Joke!” exclaimed Jonesie indignantly. -“There’s no joke about this. It’s a perfectly—er—sincere -attempt to help the School Team. -Didn’t you hear what happened to them to-day? -Got licked by Popham! Ten to two—or eleven -to two; there’s some doubt about the exact figures, -I think! And what’s Popham? A little -old one-horse school up back there in the woods! -Don’t you see that the Team needs to go up -against a bunch that can give them a few pointers -on how the game ought to be played? Why, -Billy was almost tearful when I agreed to get -a nine up, and——”</p> - -<p>“Aw, piffle!” interrupted Sparrow inelegantly. -Sparrow was somewhat addicted to -inelegant speech. I trust he did not learn it -from Dumas. “Why, there isn’t a fellow on<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_304"></a>[304]</span> -that list who knows what a ball looks like! -Maybe the Wrenns do, but the rest——”</p> - -<p>“You forget that we have three days to practice,” -answered Jonesie patiently. “I shall -teach them——”</p> - -<p>Sparrow laughed immoderately. “You! -Bet you never played baseball in your life!”</p> - -<p>“Right-o; at least, not much. But I’ve -watched a lot of it and I’ve got a pretty good -notion of the way it ought to be played, old -Sparrow Hawk.” Jonesie found his cap, settled -it on the extreme back of his head and -moved toward the door. “First practice is at -three on Monday, Sparrow.”</p> - -<p>“Me! You won’t get me into it,” declared -Sparrow warmly. “I won’t have anything to -do with your old team!”</p> - -<p>Jonesie observed him in a pained way. “I’m -afraid I’ll have to insist, Sparrow,” he said -gently but firmly. “You wouldn’t like it generally -known how Faculty found out about that -little party at Steve Cook’s. You know, Sparrow, -I’ve never told anyone about that—yet. -But if you don’t play on the All-Stars I’ll be so -dreadfully disappointed that I may get sort of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_305"></a>[305]</span> -loose-tongued. Disappointment affects me that -way. Queer, isn’t it? Three o’clock, Sparrow. -Ta-ta!”</p> - -<p>Jonesie closed the door behind him, and Sparrow -could hear him tramping down the corridor, -whistling blithely; Sparrow frowned -darkly at the book on his knees.</p> - -<p>“And I never caught a ball in my life!” he -groaned.</p> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_306"></a>[306]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">III</h3> -</div> - - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="noic">SCHOOL TEAM VS. ALL-STARS!</p> - -<p><span class="allsmcap">THERE WILL BE A GAME OF BASEBALL BETWEEN THE SCHOOL -TEAM AND JONES’S ALL-STARS ON THE PLAYING FIELD AT -THREE O’CLOCK THURSDAY. THIS IS THE ATHLETIC EVENT OF -THE SEASON, AND IT IS HOPED THAT THE SCHOOL WILL SHOW -ITS APPRECIATION OF THE EFFORTS OF THE ALL-STARS TO PROVIDE -INSTRUCTION FOR THE SCHOOL TEAM BY TURNING OUT IN -FORCE. SPECIAL TRAINS WILL BE RUN, AND A RATE OF ONE -AND A HALF THE REGULAR FARE WILL BE CHARGED.</span></p> - -<p class="noic">COME ONE, COME ALL!</p> -</div> - -<p>This notice appeared on the bulletin board on -Monday morning and provided a deal of amusement -and much speculation at Randall’s. -Jonesie was overwhelmed with requests for further -particulars and offers of skilled assistance. -In every case Jonesie referred the inquirer to -the notice and informed him that the team was -already made up. Billy Carpenter cornered -him in the corridor between recitations and demanded<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_307"></a>[307]</span> -to know what he meant by such tomfoolery. -Jonesie was surprised and pained.</p> - -<p>“Didn’t you agree to play my team on Thursday?” -he demanded.</p> - -<p>“I was only in fun, you little idiot! A fine -lot of ball players you’ll get! You take that notice -down, Jonesie. If you don’t, I will!”</p> - -<p>“Seems to me it’s a funny thing to back down -now,” replied Jonesie, more in sorrow than in -anger, “after I’ve made the team up and we’re -to begin practice this afternoon. Still, of -course, if you are really afraid to play us——”</p> - -<p>“Who’s on your team?” asked Billy.</p> - -<p>Jonesie enumerated the members of the All-Stars -and Billy grinned.</p> - -<p>“Who’s going to pitch?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Tubby Bumstead.”</p> - -<p>Billy’s grin broadened and he clapped -Jonesie on the shoulder. “All right,” he said -gaily, “we’ll play you four innings, Jonesie, -if you last that long. It’ll be funny, anyhow, -eh?”</p> - -<p>“Funny!” said Jonesie indignantly, even a -little bitterly. “You think it’s funny when I go -to all this trouble to help you fellows out! I’ve<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_308"></a>[308]</span> -a good mind not to do it! I’ve a good mind to -just let you fellows go on the way you’re going -and get licked by every little whippersnapper -team that comes along, Billy! Funny! Huh! -You won’t think it’s so funny when we lick -you!”</p> - -<p>“All right, Jonesie,” Billy laughed. “We’ll -play you. Who do you want for an umpire?”</p> - -<p>Jonesie shrugged his shoulders. “Any fellow -you like. How about Gus Peasley?”</p> - -<p>“Has he ever umpired a game?” asked Billy -doubtfully.</p> - -<p>“I’ll find out. If you don’t want Gus, -though——”</p> - -<p>“Sure, Gus will do. Let’s make it as funny -as we can, eh?”</p> - -<p>And Billy went off chuckling, leaving Jonesie -apparently silent with indignation.</p> - -<p>At noon he sought out Gus Peasley. Gus was -an Upper Middler and so, in a way, might be -considered impartial. “Ever umpire a ball -game, Gus?” asked Jonesie.</p> - -<p>Gus shook his head. “I was kicked by a mule -once, though,” he said with apparent irrelevancy.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_309"></a>[309]</span></p> - -<p>“You’re the fellow we want, then,” said -Jonesie with deep conviction, “to umpire the -game on Thursday.”</p> - -<p>“Say, are you really going to play the School -Team?” asked the other eagerly. “Why didn’t -you give me a show, Jonesie?”</p> - -<p>“I agreed to play only lower-classers, Gus. -But Billy and I both want you to umpire.”</p> - -<p>“Shucks, I never umpired a game in my life! -I’d look fine, wouldn’t I?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll lend you a book of rules, Gus, and you -can study it a bit. The game’s on Thursday -at three. Don’t forget.”</p> - -<p>“But—— Here! Hold on, you silly idiot! -I’m not going to umpire for you! Don’t be a -chump, Jonesie!”</p> - -<p>“Why not, when we both want you to? It -isn’t anything to do and it’ll be heaps of fun, -Gus.”</p> - -<p>“Heaps of fun!” muttered Gus. “Someone’ll -bump me on the head with a bat, I suppose! -Well, all right. If you can stand it I -can. Don’t forget those rules, though. Does -that book tell when a foul ball is a strike and -all that sort of thing?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_310"></a>[310]</span></p> - -<p>“Surest thing you know! You’ll have it all -down pat by Thursday, Gus. Thanks awfully.”</p> - -<p>On Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons -the All-Stars were supposed to hold practice, -and about three-fourths of the school went -down to the field to enjoy the spectacle. But -the All-Stars were not to be found on any of -the afternoons mentioned. That Jonesie and -Pinky Trainor and Tubby Bumstead and all -the other members of the team were busy somewhere -seemed probable since none of them was -visible around the school, but they certainly -were not on the playing field, and some six -score youths were correspondingly disappointed.</p> - -<p>But had any of them penetrated to the Games -Room situated on the upper floor of the Recitation -Hall they would have been at once surprised -and interested. There, behind locked -doors, the All-Stars were practicing. The practice -was novel, however. Instead of batting and -fielding and sliding to bases, the All-Stars sat -in chairs or along the edge of the billiard table -and not a bat nor a ball was to be seen. But -Jonesie was coaching.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_311"></a>[311]</span></p> - -<p>“Now, then, take Jimmy Buell. He will play -left field for them, I suppose. Who knows anything -about Jimmy?”</p> - -<p>No one did, apparently, until young George -Wrenn hazarded: “He’s sort of crazy about -golf, isn’t he?”</p> - -<p>“That’s so,” agreed Tubby Bumstead. -“He’s trying for the team, or he was in the -Fall.”</p> - -<p>“That may do,” said Jonesie thoughtfully, -making a note on the sheet of paper beside him. -“We may be able to work that up. Anything -else?”</p> - -<p>Evidently that exhausted Buell and after a -moment Jonesie went on.</p> - -<p>“The next fellow is Gordon,” he announced.</p> - -<p>Several of the All-Stars chuckled, and -Jonesie smiled demurely himself.</p> - -<p>“Onions!” said Pinky explosively, and the -room rang with laughter.</p> - -<p>“Onions,” agreed Jonesie. “That’ll do for -Gordon, I guess! And that leaves only Proudfoot, -and——”</p> - -<p>“‘Quentin Durward,’” proclaimed Ernest -Hoyt, “‘is probably the most popular work of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_312"></a>[312]</span> -the great novelist, William Makepeace Thackeray.’”</p> - -<p>The All-Stars chuckled and giggled.</p> - -<p>“‘A lambkin,’” contributed Sparrow Bowles, -“‘is a fleece-bearing quadruped closely related -to the domestic lamb or sheep.’”</p> - -<p>“Don’t believe he ever wrote that one,” -laughed Tubby.</p> - -<p>“Yes, he did, too. Sumner Hayes heard Old -Fury read it in class last year.”</p> - -<p>“It’s great, anyway,” applauded Jonesie, -scribbling feverishly on his paper. “Lambkin -for Proudfoot’s! There, that’s the lot of ’em. -I’ll have copies of this ready for you fellows -to-morrow and then, next day, we’ll have a quiz. -Practice is over!”</p> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_313"></a>[313]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">IV</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">“Bumstead at bat, Trainor on deck!” -proclaimed Arthur Simpson, who, released -from the infirmary, was once -more on hand. Not, however, that Simpson was -according this contest with the All-Stars the -honor of a score.</p> - -<p>“Now then, Tubby,” called Captain Jonesie -from the visitors’ bench, “remember the lesson!”</p> - -<p>Tubby, a little embarrassed because of the -fact that he had never played ball before so -large an audience, grinned as he stepped into -the box. The audience cheered madly. Tubby -dared a glance at the crowded stand and Proudfoot -sent over a perfectly good strike. Gus -Peasley, however, more ill at ease than anyone -else there, proclaimed it a ball. Rufe Brown, -the School Team’s catcher, howled dismally.</p> - -<p>“Say, Peasley, do you know a strike when -you see it?” he demanded.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_314"></a>[314]</span></p> - -<p>“A strike,” replied Gus, half closing his eyes -as an aid to memory, “is a ball passing over -any part of the plate and between the batter’s -shoulder and knees.”</p> - -<p>“Well, didn’t that?” asked Rufe menacingly.</p> - -<p>“I dare say, but the batsman wasn’t ready -for it,” replied Gus quite calmly. He might be -frightened, but he didn’t intend anyone should -know it! “Play ball!”</p> - -<p>Grumblingly the catcher threw the sphere -back to pitcher and said uncomplimentary -things about Gus as he knelt to give his signal. -Proudfoot’s next attempt was so palpably -poor that Gus merely grunted. Then came -a second strike, which Gus called by its right -name, thereby slightly mollifying the disgusted -Rufe. But Proudfoot was unable to add a third -and eventually Tubby Bumstead, after some -urging on the part of his teammates and the -audience, trotted to first, and Jonesie promptly -stationed himself near by to coach. The stand -howled and laughed and whistled, Pinky -Trainor picked up a borrowed bat and faced -the pitcher, and Jonesie began to coach the runner.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_315"></a>[315]</span></p> - -<p>“Now then, Tubby, don’t forget the lesson! -Take a lead; that’s it! Oh, let him throw if he -wants to. Take another yard. Whoa! Why, -Steve, you really caught it! Fellows, did you -see Steve Cook catch the ball? Do it again, -Steve, will you please? They didn’t see it. All -right, Tubby! On your toes again! Ready to -steal on the second ball, you know! Don’t forget -the lesson!”</p> - -<p>Pinky, following instructions, declined to -offer at any of the balls offered him, and was -finally called out. Clint Wrenn, however, actually -had the effrontery to wallop one of Proudfoot’s -best out-shoots and send it safely between -second and third, while Tubby romped -to the next station.</p> - -<p>“Well done, Clint!” applauded Jonesie as -he strode to the plate. “Oh, very nicely managed, -sir. Ah, Mr. Proudfoot, salutations to -you! And how is your throwing arm to-day?”</p> - -<p>Proudfoot smiled and whipped a quick one -over to first. Unfortunately Steve Cook was -so busy listening to Jonesie that the ball went -past him and Tubby legged it home, while Clint -went on to second, sliding to the bag, not because<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_316"></a>[316]</span> -there was any actual danger of being -thrown out, but because he wanted to do the -thing thoroughly. The spectators applauded -generously this gratuitous performance, and -then gleefully welcomed Tubby across the plate. -Billy Carpenter, looking both puzzled and disgusted, -viewed Jonesie with suspicion.</p> - -<p>“Strike him out, Proud,” he directed. “He -can’t hit!”</p> - -<p>“Ay, so do!” chanted Jonesie, circling his bat -wildly about his head and dancing a sort of -Highland fling at the plate. “Be neither pitiful -nor kind, Mr. Proudfoot! Dispose of me -quickly, I pray! Who am I to stand here and -dare your Jove-like bolts? Ah, Mr. Proudfoot——”</p> - -<p>“Ball!” quoth Gus.</p> - -<p>“Get off the plate, Jonesie,” directed Rufe -Brown. “Want to get one in the ribs?”</p> - -<p>“Not I, forsooth! See, I retreat. Mr. Umpire, -I request you to observe that most -promptly I retreat! With all my heart——”</p> - -<p>“Str—— Ball two,” said the umpire.</p> - -<p>“<em>What?</em> Say, you cross-eyed chump, what -do you think you’re doing here? Are you umpiring<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_317"></a>[317]</span> -or—or——” Rufe choked with emotion. -Proudfoot rolled his eyes to heaven and crossed -his arms to express his contempt for the decision. -Whereupon Clint Wrenn started -abruptly for third base and——</p> - -<p>“Look out!” bawled the pitcher.</p> - -<p>“Third! Third!” shouted Billy Carpenter -frantically.</p> - -<p>“Out of my way!” yelled Rufe, stepping forward -with the ball.</p> - -<p>“Where are you coming?” inquired Jonesie -anxiously, stepping in front of him.</p> - -<p>“Throw it!” implored the third baseman. -Rufe pushed Jonesie ungently aside and threw -it. But the ball struck in front of the base and, -although Joe Tyson made a heroic effort to stop -it, went rolling on into left field, while Clint -romped home into the outstretched arms of -Jonesie. Up hurried Pitcher Proudfoot and -Captain Carpenter and First Baseman Cook, -each sputtering with wrath.</p> - -<p>“Say, you—you——?” began Proudfoot, indicating -Gus Peasley with a clenched fist.</p> - -<p>“Put him back on third,” demanded Billy -irately. “Jonesie got in Rufe’s way deliberately!<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_318"></a>[318]</span> -If you can’t umpire decently——”</p> - -<p>“This isn’t baseball, anyway,” declared -Steve bitterly, still smarting from the incident -of the throw that went by first. “It’s a -farce!”</p> - -<p>“Did you see what he did to me?” asked -Jonesie in hurt tones. “He pushed me aside—violently! -He said to me, ‘Look out!’ and I -said, ‘Where are you coming?’ and then he distinctly -pushed me! The umpire saw it, didn’t -you, Gus? And you’re perfectly <em>disgusted</em>, -aren’t you? Considering, Billy, that we are -your—er—guests here to-day, I don’t think -we should be pushed and shoved about! I -really don’t! Anyway, not with violence, -Billy!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, cut it out! If you fellows want to play -ball, why, play ball, but don’t try any baby -tricks. This isn’t a—a circus!” And Billy -eyed Jonesie and Umpire Peasley with distinct -displeasure.</p> - -<p>“Of course we want to play ball!” responded -Jonesie indignantly. “That’s what we’re here -for, isn’t it? That’s what we practiced for all -these days! Go on and play; we’re ready. We<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_319"></a>[319]</span> -didn’t stop the game, did we? Honest, Billy, -you surprise me, you do really!”</p> - -<p>“Do they get that last run?” demanded -Proudfoot truculently.</p> - -<p>“Sure,” answered Gus. “The runner scored, -didn’t he?”</p> - -<p>“Jones got in Rufe’s way, though, and the -ball went into the outfield——”</p> - -<p>“In order to throw to third, Mr. Proudfoot,” -declared Jonesie authoritatively, -“you’ve got to know more than the ball.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, give them the run,” said Steve. “We’ll -lick ’em to a standstill. Come on, fellows.”</p> - -<p>They went, lingeringly, filled to the brim with -remarks they wanted to offer, but didn’t. After -all, as Steve Cook said, it was only a farce, a -parody. Only—and Billy Carpenter picked up -a pebble and hurled it away with unnecessary -violence—Jonesie did make a fellow so mad!</p> - -<p>Jonesie struck out miserably, and Hoyt, rolling -a slow one to Proudfoot, followed him to the -bench. Then the School Team came in and the -All-Stars distributed themselves about the field, -many in really original locations. For instance, -Nash, playing in left, took up a position some<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_320"></a>[320]</span> -twenty yards behind third base and Wigman -seemed unable to tear himself away from close -proximity to the second bag. Tubby Bumstead, -who had once pitched two games for a -grammar school team, strode to the box with -all the nonchalance of a Mathewson, picked up -the ball and promptly threw it over Jonesie’s -head.</p> - -<p>“That’s the stuff, Tubby!” cried Jonesie, -trotting after the sphere. “That’s pitching, -old top! You got it with you to-day! Now, -then, first man, Tubby! Don’t forget the lesson! -Bingham likes ’em high. Give him one, -Tubby.”</p> - -<p>Tubby’s attempt was not successful, and Gus -droned, “One ball!”</p> - -<p>“That’s the way, Tubby! Now another one -a little bit higher. Bingham doesn’t like to -reach for ’em, do you, Bing?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you be so fresh!” growled Bingham, -who was a senior and properly mindful of the -respect due him from lower-class fellows.</p> - -<p>“A thousand pardons, Bing! Here it comes -now! Bang it, Bing! Bing it, Bang! Bang——”</p> - -<p>Bingham swung at a wide one and missed,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_321"></a>[321]</span> -and Jonesie, who had never before tried to -catch behind a swinging bat, turned his back -and dexterously stopped the ball. The audience -approved wildly. Bingham scowled. -Tubby, recovering some of his lost science, sent -a nice straight ball across, and Bingham, trying -to shut his ears to Jonesie’s artless prattle and -not succeeding, struck too late. Jonesie stepped -nimbly aside and ducked, and the ball collided -with Gus Peasley. Gus said “Ugh!” in disgusted -tones and doubled up. However, as he -was properly guarded by a body protector, no -harm was done, and Jonesie sent back the ball -and followed it with a flood of conversation.</p> - -<p>“That was a dandy, Tubby! Sort of a fade-away, -what? Say, you’ve got it with you to-day, -all right! That’s pitching ’em, Tubby! -He couldn’t even see it. His sight isn’t what -it was since he blew up the laboratory!”</p> - -<p>“Say!” Bingham turned threateningly upon -Jonesie. “You cut that out or I’ll beat you, -you fresh kid!”</p> - -<p>“No offense, Bing——”</p> - -<p>“And don’t call me ‘Bing’!”</p> - -<p>“Just as you say, old top! I only mentioned<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_322"></a>[322]</span> -that laboratory experiment of yours because——”</p> - -<p>“You say that again and——”</p> - -<p>“How was it?” demanded Jonesie as the ball -settled into his mitt.</p> - -<p>“Strike three!” replied Gus promptly.</p> - -<p>“<em>What?</em> You—you robber!” shrieked Bingham. -“I’ve a good mind to—to——” He -started toward Gus, but Jonesie interposed.</p> - -<p>“Don’t lose your temper,” he pleaded. “It -<em>was</em> a strike, Bing, honest it was! Right over -the middle——”</p> - -<p>“You, too,” interrupted Bingham angrily. -“You tried to queer me! I wasn’t looking at -the ball——”</p> - -<p>“What’s the row?” demanded Carpenter, -pushing his way in to the agitated group. Bingham -explained a trifle incoherently. Billy listened -and took him by the arm.</p> - -<p>“All right. Come on,” he said wearily. -“You got caught, Bing. No use kicking. Hit -it out, Rieger.”</p> - -<p>And Rieger did hit it out. He sent a fine long -fly into left field. Young Nash, hands in pockets, -turned and watched it descend to earth<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_323"></a>[323]</span> -some two hundred feet beyond him while the -spectators laughed and howled with glee. It -was George Wrenn who fielded the ball to second -in time to hold Rieger at that bag. Jonesie, -mask in hand, stepped authoritatively in front -of the plate.</p> - -<p>“Nash,” he called, “play back another foot -or two!”</p> - -<p>Joe Tyson went to first to coach and Buell -lolled over behind third. On second Rieger -seemed strangely inattentive to his duties as a -base runner. Hoyt and Wigman stood close by, -and from all indications the trio were engaged -in conversation. In fact, it was possible to -catch snatches of it even in the stand:</p> - -<p>“I’m not saying you did, am I? Every fellow -knows, though——”</p> - -<p>“... Again and I’ll....”</p> - -<p>“Don’t rile him, Wigman! Let bygones be -bygones——”</p> - -<p>“Come on!” bawled Tyson exasperatedly. -“Get off that base!”</p> - -<p>“Hey! Rieger! What’s the matter with -you? Are you glued there? Come on!” And -Jimmy Buell, back of third, waved frantically.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_324"></a>[324]</span></p> - -<p>“... Just once more,” threatened Rieger -wildly, “and I’ll come over there and——”</p> - -<p>“... Sore subject,” piped Hoyt. “As far -as I’m concerned ... as long as he owns up -to a thing....”</p> - -<p>Steve Cook let one delivery go by and then -landed on the next. By some miracle Pinky -Trainor, at first, managed to get in front of the -ball and, although it bounded away from him, -he picked it up and raced across the bag the -fraction of a second ahead of Steve. The stand -applauded warmly and hilariously and Rieger -went on to third. Joe Tyson, grinning, tapped -the plate with a bat and winked at Tubby.</p> - -<p>“A low one for Joseph,” called Jonesie. -“He eats ’em alive, Tubby. Now then, one -right down here! That suit you, Joe?”</p> - -<p>Joe shook his head. The umpire called -“Ball!” doubtfully, and Jonesie rewarded him -with a grieved look.</p> - -<p>“He didn’t like that one, Tubby. Try again. -Here, Joe, show him where you want it.” And -Joe obligingly indicated the locality with his -bat. “Get that, Tubby?” asked Jonesie anxiously. -“Now try and give him one like that.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_325"></a>[325]</span> -We strive to please, Joe. That’s our motto. -Right over, Tubby, and just where the gentleman -wants it! Here she comes, Joe! Whack -it! Whack it! Whack——”</p> - -<p>“Strike!” proclaimed Gus.</p> - -<p>Joe grinned at Jonesie. “Say, that was all -right,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Glad you liked it. If you don’t get what -you want, ask for it, Joseph. Send him another -of those, Tubby. He likes ’em. Here we -go! Here we go! Don’t hit him, Tubby! One -more now!”</p> - -<p>“Two balls!” said the umpire.</p> - -<p>“That’s pitching, Tubby, that’s pitching! -But don’t make him reach for ’em. He’s a -friend of mine. What’s the matter with your -neck, Joe?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing.”</p> - -<p>“You ought to have it looked at. All right, -Tubby! I knew a fellow who had one of those -things on his neck and—— Make it good, -Tubby! Sort of low, you know!—and didn’t -look after it, Joe——”</p> - -<p>“Strike two!” announced Gus.</p> - -<p>“Say!” bawled Joe, turning wrathfully.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_326"></a>[326]</span> -“Keep your mouth closed for a minute, will -you? You’re worse than a phonograph! -There’s nothing the matter with my neck!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, all right!” Jonesie tossed the ball back. -“Better hit at this one, Joe. Tubby always -makes the fourth one good. I don’t want to -alarm you about your neck, but if I had it I’d -certainly have it attended to before it got any -worse. If you let it go very long they’ll have to -operate and——”</p> - -<p>Against his better judgment Joe put a hand -tentatively to the back of his neck. Tubby -wound up quickly and pitched. Joe’s hand -came down suddenly and grabbed at his bat, -and the bat swung wildly.</p> - -<p>“You’re out!” cried Gus.</p> - -<p>Joe leaned on his bat and looked disgustedly -at Jonesie.</p> - -<p>“You wait until this game’s over,” he said -dispassionately. “I’ll see you later, Jonesie!”</p> - -<p>Jonesie smiled sweetly and sorrowfully.</p> - -<p>The School Team took the field and the All-Stars -came to bat in the first of the second inning. -But although George Wrenn found -Proudfoot for a hit that landed him on first,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_327"></a>[327]</span> -and although Jonesie coached him superbly and -incessantly, the next three batters went out ignobly.</p> - -<p>Billy Carpenter started things going for the -School Team with a long hit into center and -reached second. Jimmy Buell swaggered to the -plate, tapped it knowingly and waited.</p> - -<p>“What does he want?” asked Tubby.</p> - -<p>“Ah, to be sure! What sort of a ball would -you like, James?” Jonesie inquired solicitously. -Jimmy laughed.</p> - -<p>“Any old thing, Jonesie, as long as I can -reach it.”</p> - -<p>“The gentleman is not particular, Tubby. -Try a few of those ‘floaters’ right over the tee. -James is using a niblick this shot.”</p> - -<p>Jimmy stirred and muttered.</p> - -<p>“One ball,” said Gus.</p> - -<p>“Try again, Tubby! Careful of this one, -James, and keep your eye on the ball. Don’t -forget the carry-through, old top. Going to -try a full swing?”</p> - -<p>“Aw, cut it out!” growled Jimmy.</p> - -<p>“Let’s see, James, you didn’t make the team -last Fall, did you? It’s simply awful the way<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_328"></a>[328]</span> -favoritism rules in athletics here! Keep your -eye on the ball, James! Careful now!”</p> - -<p>“Strike one!”</p> - -<p>“Maybe you’d better try a brassie, old man. -You want distance this time, you know. If you -get bunkered——”</p> - -<p>“Keep it up! You’re not bothering me a bit, -Jonesie.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll bet you’ll make the Golf Team yet, -James. Any fellow with an eye like yours and -a—er—physical development——”</p> - -<p>Jimmy let the next one pass, and Gus -promptly announced another strike. Jimmy -wanted to argue about it, but Jonesie returned -the ball without delay, and Jimmy had to content -himself with a few well-chosen remarks -which, owing to the fact that he umpired from -a place well removed from danger, Gus probably -never heard.</p> - -<p>“I suppose,” continued Jonesie, “it’s awfully -hard to hit a golf ball, James. They’re -so small, aren’t they? Regular little pills! Did -you ever hit one, James?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll hit you if you don’t close your mouth!”</p> - -<p>“Fie, James! You’re losing your temper!<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_329"></a>[329]</span> -If you do that you’ll never make the Golf Team, -I know. Now then, James! Hit behind the -ball; you topped that last one, you know; and -follow through, James, follow——”</p> - -<p>Jimmy followed through all right, but the -ball whacked against Jonesie’s protector—<a href="#i_fp328">Jonesie -didn’t pretend to catch them</a> when -struck at—and Gus crooned, “Striker’s out!” -Tubby, running up, got the ball in time to hold -Billy Carpenter at second. Jimmy Buell retired -to the bench with dragging bat, talking -all the way. Gordon, the next batsman, played -his position in right field better than he batted. -But on this occasion he found what he wanted -in the first ball pitched, and swung hard. Unfortunately -the ball started straight down the -third-base line, and although Billy Carpenter -bounded frantically to the left to get out of its -way, it bounded off him and rolled toward second. -Billy walked disgustedly to the bench, -rubbing his leg, and Gordon proudly perched -himself on first.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="i_fp328"> - <img src="images/i_fp328.jpg" alt="" title="" /> - <div class="caption"><a href="#Page_329">“Jonesie didn’t pretend to catch them.”</a></div> -</div> - -<p>“Two gone!” called Jonesie cheerfully. -“Play for the batter, fellows! And don’t forget -the lesson!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_330"></a>[330]</span></p> - -<p>“Say, what’s this old lesson you’re always -talking about?” asked Proudfoot as he squared -himself to the plate.</p> - -<p>“Never you mind, Horace Erasmus,” replied -Jonesie. Proudfoot, who was not at all proud -of his name as set down in the school catalogue, -frowned.</p> - -<p>“And never you mind about my name,” he -rejoined shortly.</p> - -<p>“Well, it <em>is</em> your name, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“That’s none of your business. You’re too -fresh. You——” Proudfoot’s further remarks -were halted by the strange behavior of -the All-Stars. One by one they were edging -toward the left of the field. As they went they -held their noses and looked accusingly toward -first base, where Pinky Trainor was elaborately -binding a handkerchief about his face. -Even Tubby showed signs of uneasiness. -Jonesie’s voice rang out sharply.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with you fellows?” he -asked irately. “What are you all doing?”</p> - -<p>“We can’t stand it, Cap,” called Hoyt from -out in short left field.</p> - -<p>“Stand it! Stand what?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_331"></a>[331]</span></p> - -<p>“The—the odor!”</p> - -<p>“What odor?”</p> - -<p>“Onions!”</p> - -<p>There was a brief moment of silence, and -then the fellows in the stand behaved most remarkably. -They rocked to and fro in their -seats, clung to each other desperately and even -rolled into the aisles, all the while emitting -choking, gurgling sounds that might later -evolve into laughter, but which at present more -closely resembled the painful gasps of a person -lately rescued from drowning! And the same -or similar effects might be noted on the field -and on the School Team’s bench. In fact, -everyone appeared to be on the verge of apoplexy -save only Mr. Gordon. Gordon, with -clenched fists and crimson cheeks, faced the -world desperately. Then, while the stand still -choked and sputtered, his eyes fell on Pinky -Trainor beside him, Pinky swaying dizzily as -one about to pass into unconsciousness, Pinky -with his nose tightly bound with a none too -clean handkerchief. With a roar of rage Gordon -sprang and Pinky went down. But Billy -Carpenter, red of face and making odd gurgling<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_332"></a>[332]</span> -noises in his throat, leaped weakly to the rescue -and the writhing forms were torn apart. And -then—and only a few witnessed it—Tubby, who -had apparently run to the aid of his fallen teammate, -suddenly dug a hand holding a baseball -into Gordon’s ribs and Gus Peasley, with a -feeble wave of his hand, gasped:</p> - -<p>“Out—at—first! <em>Oh, help!</em>”</p> - -<p>The latter part of the remark seemed addressed -to no one in particular, and Gus sat -down on the turf and held his sides very tightly, -rocking to and fro, which, you must acknowledge, -was a most undignified proceeding for an -umpire.</p> - -<div class="section"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_333"></a>[333]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">V</h3> -</div> - - -<p class="cap">The All-Stars met in Jonesie’s room -that evening and disbanded. But first -Jonesie addressed them from the -study table most eloquently.</p> - -<p>“As long,” declared Jonesie magnificently, -“as the annals of Randall’s School survive the -fame and glory of the All-Stars will—er—illuminate -the pages of history! We have to-day -performed a deathless, imperishable deed. -Summoned from—er—the humble walks of life, -like the Minute Men of old or What’s-his-name -from the plow, we sprang into the breach and—er—battled -nobly and valiantly. Victory was -ours! For two hard-fought innings we held -the School Team at bay and finally triumphed -by valor and science!”</p> - -<p>Young Nash snickered. Jonesie shot a reproving -glance at him and went on.</p> - -<p>“Handicapped by ignorance, by lack of practice, -by youthfulness and want of experience,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_334"></a>[334]</span> -we stood shoulder to shoulder upon the trampled -field and——”</p> - -<p>“Joe Tyson says we didn’t win,” interrupted -Tubby. “Says the game didn’t go four and a -half innings.”</p> - -<p>“Who cares what he says? Who cares what -any of them say? They refused to continue. -They forfeited the game. The umpire said so. -We won a noble victory with the aid of courage, -science and——”</p> - -<p>“Onions,” murmured Pinky.</p> - - -<p class="p4 noic">THE END</p> - - - - -<hr class="chapv" /> -<div class="tnote"> -<p class="noi tntitle">Transcriber’s Notes:</p> - -<p class="smfont">Except for the frontispiece, illustrations have been moved to - follow the text that they illustrate, so the page number of - the illustration may not match the page number in the List of - Illustrations.</p> - -<p class="smfont">Printer’s, punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently - corrected.</p> - -<p class="smfont">Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.</p> - -<p class="smfont">Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.</p> -</div> - -<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DANFORTH PLAYS THE GAME ***</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 64150-h.htm or 64150-h.zip</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/6/4/1/5/64150/</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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