Left End Edwards
by Ralph Henry Barbour · English · Gutenberg #20650 · 445,411 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Left End Edwards
Author: Ralph Henry Barbour
Illustrator: C. M. Relyea
Release date: February 24, 2007 [eBook #20650]
Most recently updated: January 1, 2021
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20650
Credits: Produced by Suzanne Shell, Emmy and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEFT END EDWARDS ***
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Emmy and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
LEFT END EDWARDS
[Illustration: The "Forward Pass"]
LEFT END EDWARDS
BY
RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
AUTHOR OF
THE HALF-BACK, ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
CHARLES M. RELYEA
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Made in the United States of America
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I FATHERS AND SONS 3
II OFF TO SCHOOL 13
III STOP THIEF! 24
IV OUT FOR BRIMFIELD! 40
V NUMBER 12 BILLINGS 51
VI CLUES! 62
VII THE CONFIDENCE-MAN 73
VIII IN THE RUBBING ROOK 86
IX BACK IN TOGS 98
X "CHEAP FOR CASH" 112
XI "HOLD 'EM, THIRD!" 125
XII CANTERBURY ROMPS ON--AND OFF 142
XIII SAWYER VOWS VENGEANCE 157
XIV A LESSON IN TACKLING 170
XV STEVE WINNOWS SOME CHAFF 182
XVI MR. DALEY IS OUT 202
XVII THE BLUE-BOOK 212
XVIII B PLUS AND D MINUS 225
XIX THE SECOND PUTS IT OVER 235
XX BLOWS ARE STRUCK 251
XXI FRIENDS FALL OUT 267
XXII STEVE GETS A SURPRISE 285
XXIII DURKIN SHEDS LIGHT 297
XXIV THE DAY BEFORE THE BATTLE 309
XXV TOM TO THE RESCUE 323
XXVI AT THE END OF THE FIRST HALF 334
XXVII STEVE SMILES 346
XXVIII THE CHUMS READ A TELEGRAM 360
ILLUSTRATIONS
The "Forward Pass" _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
Steve slipped on the tiling and fell sidewise into the water
(page 166) 80
"Lift!" instructed the quarter-back. "Lift me up and yank my
feet out from under me! Use your weight and throw me back!" 178
It was Steve, Steve on his back, with only his head and
shoulders above the water 324
LEFT END EDWARDS
CHAPTER I
FATHERS AND SONS
"Dad, what does 'Mens sana in corpore sano' mean?"
Mr. Edwards slightly lowered his Sunday paper and over the top of it
frowned abstractedly at the boy on the window-seat. "Eh?" he asked.
"What was that?"
"'Mens sana in corpore sano,' sir."
"Oh!" Mr. Edwards blinked through his reading glasses and rustled the
paper. Finally, "For a boy who has studied as much Latin as you have,"
he said disapprovingly, "the question is extraordinary, to say the
least. I'd advise you to--hm--find your dictionary, Steve." And Mr.
Edwards again retired from sight.
Steve, cross-legged on the broad seat that filled the library bay, a
seat which commanded an uninterrupted view up and down the street,
smiled into the open pamphlet he held.
"He doesn't know," he said to himself with a chuckle. "It's something
about your mind and your body, though. Never mind." He idly fluttered
the leaves of the pamphlet and glanced out into the street to see if any
friends were in sight. But it was Sunday afternoon, and rainy, and the
wide, maple-bordered street, its neat artificial stone sidewalks
shimmering with moisture, was quite deserted. With a sigh Steve went
back to the pamphlet. It bore the inscription on the outer cover:
"Brimfield Academy," and, below, in parenthesis, "William Torrence
Foundation."
"What does 'William Torrence Foundation' mean, dad?" asked the boy.
Again Mr. Edwards lowered his paper, with a sigh. "It means, as you will
discover for yourself if you will take the trouble to read the
catalogue, that a man named William Torrence gave the money to establish
the school. Now, for goodness sake, Steve, let me read in peace for a
minute!"
"Yes, sir. Thank you." Steve turned the pages, glanced again at the
"View of Main Building from the Lawn" and began to read. "In 1878
William Torrence, Esq., of New York City, visited his native town of
Brimfield and interested the citizens in a plan to establish a school on
a large tract of land at the edge of the town which had been in the
Torrence family for many generations. Two years later the school was
built and, under the title of Torrence Seminary, began a successful
career which has lasted for thirty-two years. Under the principalship of
Dr. Andrew Morey, the institution increased rapidly in usefulness, and
in 1892 it was found necessary to add two wings to the original
structure at a cost of $34,000, also the gift of the founder. Dr.
Morey's connection with the school ended four years later, when the
services of the present head, Mr. Joshua Fernald, A.M., were secured.
The death of Mr. Torrence in 1897, after a long and honoured career,
removed the school's greatest friend and benefactor, but, by the terms
of his will, placed it beyond the reach of want for many years. With new
buildings and improvements made possible by the generous provisions of
the testament the school soon took its place amongst the foremost
institutions of its kind. In 1908 the charter name was changed to
Brimfield Academy--William Torrence Foundation, the course was
lengthened from four years to six and the present era of well-deserved
prosperity was entered on. Brimfield Academy now has accommodations for
260 boys, its faculty consists of 19 members and its buildings number 8.
Situated as it is----"
Steve yawned frankly, viewed again the somnolent street and idly turned
the pages. There were several pictures, but he had seen them all many
times and only the one labelled "'Varsity Athletic Field--Gymnasium
Beyond" claimed his interest for a moment. At last,
"They've got a peach of an athletic field, dad," he observed
approvingly. "I can see six goals, and that means three gridirons. And
there's a baseball field besides. The catalogue says that 'provision is
also made for tennis, boating and swimming,' but I don't see any tennis
courts in the picture."
"All right," grunted his father from behind the paper.
"I wonder," continued Steve musingly, "where you get your boating and
swimming. It says that Long Island Sound is two and a half miles
distant. That's a long old ways to go for a swim, isn't it?"
Mr. Edwards laid the paper across his knees and regarded the boy
severely. "Steve," he said, "about the only thing I've heard from you
since that catalogue arrived is the athletic field and the gymnasium.
I'd like to refresh your mind on one point, my son."
"Yes, sir?" said Steve without much eagerness.
"I'd like to remind you that you are not going to Brimfield Academy to
play football or baseball, or to swim. You're going there to study and
learn! I don't propose to spend four hundred and fifty dollars a year,
besides a whole lot for extras, to have you taught how to kick a
football or make a home-hit. And----"
"A home-run, sir," corrected Steve humbly.
"Or whatever it is, then. I expect you to buckle down when you get there
and learn. Remember that you've got just two years in which to prepare
yourself for college. If you aren't ready then, you don't go. That's
flat, my boy, and I want you to understand it. So, if you have any idea
of football and tennis as your--er--principal courses you want to get it
right out of your head. Now, for a change, suppose you have a look at
the studies in front of you, and don't let me hear anything more about
the gymnasium or the--the what-do-you-call-it field."
"All right, sir." Steve obediently turned the pages back. "Just the
same," he said to himself, "he didn't know what 'mens sana in corpore
sano' meant any better than I did! Bet you _he_ didn't kill himself
studying when _he_ went to school!" With a sigh he found the "Courses of
Study" and read: "Form IV. Classical. Latin: Vergil's Aeneid, IV--XII,
Cicero and Ovid at sight, Composition (5). Greek: Xenophon's Hellenica,
Selections, Iliad and Odyssey, Selections, Sight Reading, Reviews,
Composition (5). German (optional) (4). French: Advanced Grammar and
Composition, Le Siege de Paris, Le Barbier de Saville----"
At that moment a shrill whistle sounded outside the library window and
Steve's eyes fled from the pamphlet to the grinning face of Tom Hall set
between two of the fence pickets. The Catalogue of Brimfield Academy was
tossed to the further end of the seat, and Steve, nodding vigorously
through the window, jumped to his feet.
"I'm going for a walk with Tom, sir," he announced half-way to the hall
door. Mr. Edwards, smothering a sigh of relief, glanced at the weather.
"Very well," he said. "Don't get your feet wet. And--er--be back before
it's dark."
Steve disappeared into the dim hallway and Mr. Edwards gave honest
expression to his sense of relief by elevating his feet to the seat of a
neighbouring chair, dropping the newspaper and, with a luxurious sigh,
composing himself for his Sunday afternoon nap. But peace was not yet
his, for a minute or two later Steve came hurrying in again. Mr. Edwards
opened his eyes with a frown.
"Sorry, sir," said Steve, "but Tom wants to see the catalogue."
His father nodded drowsily and Steve, securing the pamphlet, stole out
again with creaking Sunday shoes. Very quietly the front door went shut
and peace at last pervaded the house. In the library, Mr. Edwards,
dropping into slumber, was dimly conscious of a last disturbing thought.
It was that he was going to miss that boy of his a whole lot after next
week!
"It's all right," declared Tom Hall as he took the catalogue from Steve
with eager fingers. "At least, I'm pretty sure it is. He said at dinner
that he'd think it over, and when he says that it means--that it's all
right. What do you say, eh?"
"_Bully!_" That was what Steve said. And he said it not only once but
several times and with varying degrees of enthusiasm and volume. And, as
though fearing his chum would doubt his satisfaction, he accompanied
each "_Bully!_" with an emphatic thump on Tom's back. Tom, choking and
coughing, squirmed out of the way.
"Here! Ho-ho-hold on, you silly chump! You don't have to kill a fellow!"
"Won't it be dandy!" exclaimed Steve, beaming. "We can room together!
And--and----"
"You bet! And we can have a bully time on the train, too. Gee, I never
travelled as far as that alone!"
"I have! It's lots of fun! You eat your meals in a dining-car and
there's a smoking-room where you can sit and chin as late as you want to
and you get off at the stations and walk up and down the platform and
you tip the negro porters and----"
"Wouldn't it be great if we both made the football team, Steve? Of
course, you'll make it anyway, and I might if I had a little luck.
Townsend said last year I didn't do so badly, you know, and if----"
"Of course you'll make it! We both will; next year anyway. I'll bet
they've got lots of fellows on the team no better than you are, Tom.
Wait till I show you the athletic field. It's a corker!" And Steve's
fingers turned the pages of the school catalogue eagerly. "How's that?"
he demanded at last in triumph.
They paused under a dripping tree while Tom viewed the picture, Steve
looking over his shoulder.
"It's fine!" sighed Tom at last. "Gee, I hope--I hope he lets me!"
"Let's go over there now so you can show him this," suggested Steve.
But Tom shook his head wisely.
"Not now," he said. "He don't like to be disturbed Sunday afternoons.
He--he sort of has a nap, you see."
"Just like dad," replied Steve. "Bet you when I get as old as that I
won't stick around the house and go to sleep. Say, Tom, what does 'Mens
sana in corpore sano' mean?"
"A sound mind in a sound body," replied Tom promptly. "Why?"
"It's in here and I asked dad and he didn't know." Steve chuckled. "He
made believe he was peevish with me, so's he wouldn't have to fess up.
Dad's foxy, all right!"
"Well, you ought to have known, Steve," said Tom severely.
"Sure," agreed Steve untroubledly. "That's what he said. Let's take that
a minute. I want to show you the picture of the campus."
"Let's sit down somewhere and look it over," said Tom. "I told father
that it was a school where they were terribly strict with the fellows
and you had to study awfully hard all the time. I wonder if it is."
"I don't believe so," answered Steve. "They say so much about football
and baseball and things like that you can tell they aren't cranky about
studying. And look at the pictures of the different teams in here.
There's the baseball nine, see? Pretty husky looking bunch, aren't they?
And--turn over--there you are--there's the football team. Some of those
chaps aren't any bigger than I am, or you, either. Good looking
uniforms, aren't they? Say, dad gave me a lecture on not thinking I was
going there to just play football. Fathers are awfully funny sometimes!"
"You bet! I wonder--I wonder--would you mind if we tore out a couple of
these pictures before he sees it? I'm afraid he might think there was
too much in it about athletics."
"No, tear away! Here, I'll do it. We'll take the pictures of the teams
out. How about the athletic field? Better tear that out too, do you
think?"
"Well, maybe, just to be on the safe side, you know. Don't throw 'em
away, though. We might want to look at them again. Let's go over to the
library where we can talk, Steve."
CHAPTER II
OFF TO SCHOOL
Possibly you are wondering why two boys, each of whom was possessed of a
perfectly good home of his own, should select the Tannersville Public
Library as a place in which to converse. The answer is that Steve's
father and Tom's father were in the same line of trade, wholesale
lumber, and had a few years before fallen out over some business matter.
Since that time the two men had been at daggers drawn during office
hours and only coldly civil at other times. Steve was forbidden to set
foot in Tom's house and Tom was as strictly prohibited from entering
Steve's. Had the fathers had their way at the beginning of the quarrel
the boys would have ceased then and there to have anything to do with
each other. But they had been close friends ever since primary school
days and, while they reluctantly respected the dictum as to visiting at
each other's residences, they had firmly refused to give up the
friendship, and their fathers had finally been forced to sanction what
they could not prevent.
At the time this story opens, the quarrel between the two men, each a
prominent and well-to-do member of the community, still continued, but
its edge had been dulled by time. Both Mr. Edwards and Mr. Hall took
active parts in municipal affairs and so were forced to meet often and
to even serve together on various committees. They almost invariably
took opposite sides on every question, but they did not allow their
personal quarrel to interfere with their public duties.
The boys had at first found the condition of affairs very irksome, but
had eventually got used to it. It was hard not to be able to run in and
out of each other's houses as they had done when they had first known
each other, but there were plenty of opportunities to be together away
from home and they made the most of them and were well-nigh inseparable.
Mr. Edwards had declared, when announcing the fact in the preceding
spring, that Steve was to go to boarding school, that he was sending the
boy away to remove him from the questionable association of Tom Hall.
But Steve gave little credence to that statement, for he knew that
secretly his father thought very well of Tom. The real reason was that
Steve had not been making good progress at high school, owing
principally to the fact that he gave too much time to athletics and not
enough to study. Mr. Edwards concluded that at a boarding school Steve
would be under a stricter discipline and would profit by it. Steve's
mother had died many years before, and his father, while perfectly able
to command a large army of employees, was rather helpless when it came
to exercising a proper authority over one sixteen-year-old boy!
Naturally enough, Tom, when he had learned of his chum's impending
departure in the fall for boarding school, began a vigorous campaign to
secure parental permission to accompany him. Mrs. Hall had soon yielded,
but Mr. Hall had held out stubbornly until almost the last moment. "I
guess," he had said more than once, "you see enough of that Edwards boy
without going off to the same boarding school with him! If you want to
go to some other school I'll consider it, Tom, but I'm blessed if I'll
have you tagging after Steve Edwards the way you propose!" But in the
end he, too, capitulated, though with ill-grace, and for a week there
were not two busier persons in all Tannersville than Steve and Tom.
Steve had taken time by the forelock and had accumulated most of the
necessary outfit, but Tom had to attend to all his wants in six
weekdays, and there was much scurrying around the shops by the two
lads, much hurry and worry and bustle in the Hall mansion. You had to
take with you such a lot of silly truck, you see! Or, at least, that is
the way Tom put it. The catalogue informed them that they must provide
their own sheets, pillow-cases, spreads, towels, napkins and laundry
bags, as well as take with them a knife, fork and spoon each. Steve
sarcastically wondered if the school gave them beds to sleep in! The
situation was further complicated by the eleventh-hour discovery on the
part of Mrs. Hall that Tom's clothing, while quite good enough for
Tannersville, would never do for Brimfield Academy, and poor Tom had to
be fitted to new suits of clothes and shoes and hats and various other
articles of apparel.
They were to leave early Monday morning, for in that way they could
reach Brimfield before dark. Both boys, who had set their hearts on a
night in a sleeping-car, with all its exciting possibilities, begged to
be allowed to make their start Monday evening, which would allow them to
arrive at school Tuesday forenoon in plenty of time. But neither Steve's
father nor Tom's would listen to the suggestion.
"Then I'll get there a whole day before school opens," grumbled Tom,
"and have to stay there all alone Monday night."
"It won't hurt you a bit," replied Mr. Hall. "And the catalogue says
that students will be received any time after Monday noon. I'm not going
to have you two reckless youngsters travelling around the country
together at night."
Tom, recognising the inevitable, said no more.
There was a somewhat awkward ten minutes at the station, for both Mr.
Edwards and Mr. Hall, the latter accompanied by his wife, went down to
see the boys off. The men nodded coldly to each other and then the odd
situation of two boys who were to travel together side by side taking
leave of their parents at opposite ends of the same car developed.
Tannersville is not a large town and those who were on the platform that
morning when the New York express pulled in understood the dilemma and
smiled over it. Steve and Tom were both rather relieved when the
good-byes were over and the train was pulling out of the station.
"Blamed foolishness," muttered Steve as he met Tom where their bags were
piled on one of the seats.
"Yes, don't they make you tired?" agreed the other. "Say, how much did
you get?"
Steve thrust his fingers into a waistcoat pocket and drew out a
carefully folded and very crisp ten-dollar bill, and Tom whistled.
"I only got seven," he said; "five from father and two from mother. I
guess that will do, though. The only things we have to pay for are
dinner and getting across New York. Got your ticket safe?"
Ensued then a breathless, panicky minute while Steve searched pocket
after pocket for the envelope which contained his transportation to
Brimfield, New York. The perspiration began to stand out on his
forehead, his eyes grew large and round and his gaze set, Tom fidgetted
mightily and persons in nearby seats, sensing the tragedy, grinned in
heartless amusement. Then, at last, the precious envelope came to light
from the depths of the very first pocket in which he had searched and,
with sighs of vast relief, the two boys subsided into the seat. By that
time Tannersville was left behind and the great adventure had begun!
There are lots of worse things in life than starting off to school for
the first time when you have someone with you to share your pleasant
anticipations and direful forebodings. It is an exciting experience, I
can tell you! The feeling of being cast on your own resources is at once
blissfully uplifting and breathtakingly fearsome. Suppose they lost
their way in New York? Suppose they were robbed of their tickets or
their pocket money? You were always hearing about folks being robbed on
trains, while, as for New York, why, every fellow knew that it was
simply a den of iniquity! Or suppose the train was wrecked? It was Tom
who supplied most of these direful contingencies and Steve who
carelessly--or so it seemed--disposed of them.
"If we lost our way we'd ask a policeman," he said. "And if anyone
pinched our money or our tickets we'd just telegraph home to the folks
and wait until we heard from them."
"Where'd we wait?" asked Tom with great interest.
"Hotel."
"They wouldn't let us in unless we had money, would they?" Tom objected.
"Maybe we could find the United States consul."
"That's only when you're abroad," corrected Steve scathingly. "There
aren't any United States consuls in the United States, you silly chump!"
"I should think there ought to be," Tom replied uneasily. "What time do
we get to New York?"
"Two thirty-five, if we're on time. We ought to be. This is a peach of a
train; one of the best on the road. Bet you she's making a mile a minute
right now."
"Bet you she isn't!"
"Bet you she is! I'll ask the conductor."
That gentleman was approaching, and as they yielded their tickets to be
punched Steve put the question. The conductor leaned down and took a
glance at the flying landscape. "About forty-five miles an hour, I
guess. That fast enough for you, boys?"
"Sure," replied Tom. "But he said we were going a mile a minute."
"No, we don't make better than fifty anywhere. You in a hurry, are you?"
"Only for dinner," laughed Steve. "Where do we get dinner, sir?"
"There's a dining-car on now," was the reply. "Or you can get out at
Phillipsburg at twelve-twenty-three and get something at the lunch
counter. We stop there five minutes."
"Me for the dining-car," declared Steve when the conductor had moved on.
"What time is it now, I wonder."
It was only a very few minutes after eight, the discovery of which fact
occasioned both surprise and dismay. "Seems as though it ought to be
pretty nearly noon, doesn't it?" asked Tom.
"Yes. What time did you have breakfast? I had mine at half-past six."
"Me too. Let's go through the train and see if we can find some apples
or popcorn or something."
The trainboy was discovered in a corner of the smoking-car and they
purchased apples, chocolate caramels and salted peanuts, as well as two
humorous weeklies, and found a seat in the car and settled down to
business. They were both frightfully hungry, since excitement had
prevented full justice to breakfasts. It was horribly smoky in that car,
but Steve declared that he liked it, and Tom, although his eyes were
soon smarting painfully, pretended that he did too.
"I suppose we'll have to smoke at school," said Tom without enthusiasm.
Steve considered the question a moment. "I don't believe we will unless
we want to," he replied at last. "We can say it's because we're in
training, you know. They don't allow you to smoke when you're trying for
the football team or anything like that."
Tom sighed his relief. "It makes me horribly squirmy," he said. "I
thought, though, that if all the fellows did it, you know, I'd better,
too. In all the stories about boarding schools I've ever read, the
fellows smoke on the sly and get found out. Don't see much fun in that,
though, do you?"
"No." Steve devoured the last of his apple and started on the peanuts.
"I don't believe those stories very well, anyway. There's always a
goody-goody hero that gets suspected of something he didn't do and knows
who really did it all the time and won't tell. And then he saves another
fellow from drowning or something and it turns out that it was that
fellow who did it, you know, and he goes and fesses up to the principal
and the principal asks the hero's pardon in class and the captain of the
football team comes to him and begs him to play quarter-back or
something, which he does, and the school wins its big game because the
hero gets the ball and runs the length of the field with it and scores a
touchdown. I guess boarding school isn't really very much like that,
Tom. I guess there's a heap more hard work to it than those fellows who
write the stories tell you about. Anyway, we'll soon find out."
"Still, I guess some of those things do happen sometimes," said Tom a
trifle wistfully, unwilling to relinquish the story-book romance.
"Fellows do get wrongly accused of--of things, and they do rescue other
fellows from drowning--sometimes, and fellows do win football games. I'd
like to do that and be a hero!"
"Sure! So would I. Bet you, though, there won't be any of that kind of
stuff at Brimfield. I dare say we'll wish ourselves out of it long
before Christmas! If anyone wrongly accuses me of anything you can bet
I'll make a kick. You won't see me getting punished for what some other
fellow's done. That's all right in stories, but not for yours truly! Not
a bit of it, Tom!"
CHAPTER III
STOP THIEF!
They descended on the dining-car at twelve o'clock promptly, being
unable to remain away any longer, and gave an excellent imitation of a
visitation of locusts performing their well-known devastating act. If
any two travellers by land or sea ever received their money's worth in
food it was Steve and Tom. They took the menu card and briskly demanded
everything in order, and when, having finished their dessert, they made
the discovery that a criminally careless waiter had deprived them of
pineapple sherbert, they immediately and indignantly saw to it that the
omission was corrected. Afterwards, groaning with happiness and
repletion, they dragged themselves back to their own car and subsided on
the seat in beatific silence.
An hour later they came out of their stupor to stare eagerly, excitedly
out at the indications of the approaching metropolis. Meadows strung
with enormous and glaring signboards gave place to towns and presently
there came a pause at a station where other trains whisked in and out
with amazing frequency. Then on again, and they were suddenly dipping
into a tunnel, conscious of an unpleasant pressure against their
eardrums. Tom's expression of bewildered alarm moved a kind-hearted
neighbour across the car aisle to lean over and explain smilingly that
the train was now running under the river, a piece of information but
little calculated to remove Tom's fears had he given the slightest
credence to it, which he didn't.
"I guess," he muttered resentfully close to Steve's ear, "he thinks
we're a couple of 'greenies' for fair! Going under a river!"
And then, almost before Tom's indignation had given way again to alarm,
the tunnel was left behind and they were in New York at last, a
dimly-lighted, subterranean New York filled with hurrying crowds,
bustle, noise, confusion and importunate porters. Even though the two
boys emerged to the platform in a somewhat dazed condition, they had no
intention of wasting perfectly good pocket money having their bags
carried for them, and so started out to find the office of the baggage
transfer company quite bravely. For a minute they had only to follow the
hurrying throng of fellow-passengers, but soon this throng divided and
went separate ways and Steve and Tom, resting their arms by depositing
their hand luggage on the lower step of an apparently interminable
flight of broad stairs, looked about for someone to question. But
everyone seemed in a terrible hurry, and when, at last, Steve ventured
to put a query to a benevolent-looking elderly gentleman who clutched a
tightly-rolled umbrella in one hand and an afternoon paper in the other,
he almost had his head bitten off! In the end, they proceeded up the
stairway and at last came upon a returning porter who gave them their
direction. By the time they had reached the transfer company's office
they had walked so far that Tom wondered whether most of the city was
not contained inside the station!
Presently, though, he saw that it wasn't. For they found themselves
standing outside the terminal on a street that stretched, apparently,
for millions of miles in each direction! They had received detailed
advice from the man in the transfer company's office as to the best
method of reaching the Grand Central Station, and the directions had
sounded quite easy to follow. But now the feat didn't look so simple,
for the man had told them to take a car going in a certain direction and
there wasn't a car in sight! Moreover, when Tom came to look for
car-tracks there weren't any! He pointed out the fact to Steve, and
Steve, at first a bit dismayed, at last shrugged his shoulders and
observed his chum pityingly.
"You don't suppose all the cars in this town run on tracks, do you?" he
asked.
"What do they run on then?"
"Why--er--you wait and see!"
"That's all right, but it's almost three o'clock and our train goes from
the other station at a quarter-past, and----"
"Well, we'll ask someone," said Steve. But, oddly enough, there was no
one to ask. For a town as large as New York that block of street was
strangely deserted. A team or two passed and an elderly woman crept by
on the opposite sidewalk, but no one came near them. Finally Steve
muttered:
"Looks to me as if we were on the wrong street. Maybe there are two
doors to this old station, Tom."
"Of course there are! Let's walk down to that corner. There goes a car
now!" And Tom, as though his future happiness depended on catching that
particular car, seized his bag and started down the street at a run.
Steve followed more leisurely, and when he reached the corner Tom was
talking to a policeman. It was all very simple. They had made the
mistake of leaving the terminal by a wrong exit and had emerged on to a
cross-town street. After that it was easy. A car lumbered up, the
policeman stopped it for them, they climbed aboard, were hurled half the
length of the aisle and fell into seats. A few minutes later they
transferred to a cross-town line without misadventure.
"They certainly make you step lively in this town," panted Tom,
clutching a strap and narrowly avoiding a seat in the lap of a very
stout lady. "Glad I don't have to live here!"
Steve, however, whose eyes were darting hither and thither in a
desperate effort to lose none of the sights, was more favourably
disposed toward the city. Even when, owing to a blockade at one of the
street intersections, it became evident that they could not possibly
make the three-fifteen train to Brimfield, Steve refused to be troubled.
"Maybe," he said, "we'll have time to walk around a bit and see
something. Say we do it, anyway, Tom?"
"No, sir, this place is too blamed big! First thing we'd know we'd be
lost for fair and never would get to Brimfield. When I get to that
station I'm going to sit down and stay there!"
When they did reach it the three-fifteen train had been gone nearly ten
minutes, and inquiry at a window labelled "Information" elicited the
announcement that the next train available for them would not leave
until three-fifty-eight, since Brimfield, it seemed, was not a
sufficiently important station to be served by all the trains.
"That gives us half an hour," said Steve eagerly. "Let's check our bags
somewhere and go out and look around."
"Yes, and get lost! No, sir, not for mine!"
"Oh, don't be such a scarecrow! Come on!"
But Tom was obdurate. "You go if you want to," he said, "but I'm going
to sit down right here and wait. You can leave your bag and I'll look
after it. Only, if you don't get back by a quarter to four I'm going to
the train, and I'll take your bag with me."
"All right. I just want to go out front awhile. I'll be back in ten
minutes. You stay here. And keep your eye on the bags, Tom. I guess
there's a lot of sneak-thieves around here." And Steve looked about him
suspiciously, his glance finally falling on Tom's left-hand neighbour, a
youth of perhaps nineteen years upon whose good-looking face rested an
amused smile. Instantly, however, the paper he was holding was raised to
hide his face, and Steve frowned. The fellow was, thought Steve,
altogether too well-dressed and slick-looking to be honest, and that
smile disturbed him. He leaned down and whispered in Tom's ear:
"Look out for the fellow next to you! I think he's a crook!"
Tom turned an alarmed glance to his left and a disturbed one on Steve.
"I--I guess," he said with elaborate carelessness, "I'll sit over there
where it's lighter." Whereupon he gathered the bags up and literally
fled across the waiting-room, Steve at his heels. In his new location,
out of sight of the suspected youth, he said hoarsely: "I reckon he was
a pickpocket, don't you?"
"You can't tell," responded Steve, shaking his head knowingly. "Anyway,
you want to keep an eye on those bags every minute. I'll be right back,
though. Want to see my paper?" And Steve handed an _Evening Sun_,
purchased on the car, to his chum and wound his way through the throng
toward the entrance.
Left to himself, Tom looked at the clock and saw that the hour was
three-thirty-two, glanced apprehensively about him in search of possible
malefactors, dragged the bags closer to his feet and unfolded the paper.
But he couldn't find much to interest him in it. Besides, he had to look
at the clock every few minutes, and whenever a man in a uniform
appeared with a megaphone and announced the impending departure of a
train Tom had heart disease, seized both bags and crouched ready for
instant flight until he was assured that the word "Brimfield" was not
among the list of stations enunciated through the trumpet. It was after
he had sunk back with a sigh of relief on finding that a train for
"Pittsburgh, Chicago and the West" was not his that he discovered that
an empty seat at his right had been occupied during his strained
interest in the announcer. Glancing around he saw that the occupant was
the well-dressed, good-looking youth who had been seated next to him
before. The youth seemed very interested in the paper he was reading,
his gaze being apparently fixed on a column headed "Tiger's Football
Players Report," but Tom refused to be deceived. Only the fact that a
grey-coated station policeman was standing within hail kept him from a
second flight. Steve, he reflected nervously while he wound both feet
around the bags, would return in a minute or two and then they could go
to the train. Tom devoutly wished himself and the bags there now. Once
he was conscious of the fact that the youth beside him was glancing his
way, but he pretended not to be aware of it. Then his neighbour spoke.
"Princeton ought to have a pretty good team this year," he observed
genially. Tom, his heart in his mouth, nodded.
"Y-yes," he said.
"Interested in football?" went on the other. Tom dared a quick glance at
the smiling face and shook his head.
"No, thank you. I mean--yes, a little." He didn't want to talk because
he had read that confidence men always engaged their victims in
conversation before selling them counterfeit money or leading them to
gamble away their savings. Tom's eyes darted anxiously about in search
of Steve and he wondered how soon the smooth-voiced stranger would call
him by name or ask after the folks in Tannersville. He hadn't long to
wait!
"It's a great game," pursued the other. Then, after a short pause: "Say,
I've met you before, haven't I? Your face looks familiar."
"No," answered Tom shortly, digging his feet convulsively against the
bulging sides of the bags on the floor.
"My mistake, then. I thought perhaps you were from Tannersville,
Pennsylvania."
Tom almost jumped, although he had been expecting some such remark. It
was, he reflected agitatedly, absolutely marvellous the way these
fellows learned things! In a moment the fellow would tell him his name!
The fellow didn't, though. He only said:
"Tannersville is a fine town. Ever been there?"
Tom shook his head energetically. "Never!" he fibbed.
"Oh!" The confidence-man--for Tom had fully decided that such he
was--seemed disappointed. But he wasn't discouraged. "Which way are you
travelling?" he asked.
Tom did a lot of thinking then in a fragment of a minute.
"Philadelphia," he blurted.
"Philadelphia! Why, say, you're in the wrong station. You ought to go to
the Pennsylvania Terminal. I guess you're a stranger here, eh? Tell you
what I'll do. You come with me and I'll put you on a car that'll take
you right there."
"I--I've got to wait for a friend," muttered Tom desperately, sending an
appealing glance toward the policeman who had now begun to saunter
slowly away.
"That so? Well----" The other got up with a glance at the clock and
reached down for his suit-case. Tom's gaze followed the direction of
that hand closely. It was, he thought, odd that a confidence-man should
carry a suit-case, but that might be only an attempt to avert suspicion.
The bag held the inscription "A. L. M., Orange, N. J." Probably the bag
had been stolen. Tom fixed that inscription firmly in his mind. "I'll
have to be going," said "A. L. M." "Sorry I can't be of assistance to
you, kid. I thought that maybe if you were going my way, out to
Brimfield, I could give you a hand with your bags."
Tom gasped! How did he know about Brimfield?
"Thanks," he muttered. "I--I'll get on all right." Standing there in
front of him "A. L. M." looked very youthful to be such a deep-dyed
villain and Tom felt a bit sorry for him. But the villain was smiling
broadly and, as it seemed to Tom, a trifle mockingly.
"Better keep a sharp lookout for crooks," advised the other. "There are
lots of 'em about here. See that old chap over there with the basket of
fruit in his lap?" The stranger moderated his voice and leaned toward
Tom. Tom, turning his head a trifle to follow the other's gaze, felt one
of the bags between his feet move and made a grab toward it. But the
stranger had not, apparently, touched it, unless with a foot. "That," he
was saying, "is Four-Fingered Phillips, one of the cleverest
confidence-men in New York. Well, so long!"
The other moved away, walking nonchalantly past the station policeman
who had now wandered back to his post. Tom held his breath. But the
policeman, although he undoubtedly followed the youth with his gaze for
a moment, failed to act, and Tom was not a little relieved. Even if the
fellow was a crook he seemed an awfully decent sort and Tom was glad he
hadn't been arrested.
It was getting perilously near a quarter to four now and still Steve had
not returned. Tom watched the long hand crawl toward the figure IX, saw
it reach it and pass. He would, he decided then, give Steve another five
minutes. His gaze fell on "Four-Fingered Phillips" and he viewed that
gentleman perplexedly. He didn't look in the least like a
confidence-man. He appeared to be about sixty years of age, eminently
respectable and slightly infirm. He clutched a basket of fruit and an
ivory-headed cane and seemed quite oblivious to everything about him.
New York, reflected Tom, with something like a shudder, must be a
terribly wicked place! And then, while he was still striving to discern
signs of depravity under the gentle and kindly exterior of the elderly
confidence-man, a young woman, leading a little boy of some three or
four years of age and bearing many bundles, hurried up to "Four-Fingered
Phillips," spoke, helped him to his feet and guided him away toward the
train-shed. Tom sighed. It was too much for him! Of course he had read
of female accomplices, but it didn't seem that a four-year-old child
could be a part of the game! For the first time he wondered whether "A.
L. M.," perhaps chagrined at his failure to decoy Tom to some secret
lair, had deceived him about "Four-Fingered Phillips"!
Then it was ten minutes to four, good measure, and Tom, in a sudden
panic, seized his bags, gazed about him despairingly and made for the
train-shed. He had given Steve fair warning, he told himself, and now he
could just fend for himself. But his steps got slower and slower as he
approached the gate and when he reached it he set the bags down, got his
ticket out and waited. After all, it would be a pretty mean trick to
leave Steve. At least, he'd wait there until the last moment. The
minutes passed and the hands on the clock further along the barrier
crept nearer and nearer to the time set for the departure of the
Brimfield accommodation. Tom wondered when the next train after this one
would leave.
"Going on this train, son?" asked the gateman.
"Yes," answered Tom, and took a step toward the gate. Then he stopped
and shook his head. "No, I guess not," he muttered. "When does the next
one go, sir?"
"Where to?" asked the gateman, punching the ticket of a late arrival.
"Brimfield."
"Four-twelve." The gate closed and the matter was irrevocably settled.
Tom took his bags and hurried back to the waiting-room and found his
place again. No Steve was in sight!
"I'll give him ten minutes," said Tom savagely. "Then I'll go. And--and
I won't come back the next time!"
And then, just as the clock announced the hour Steve appeared, a little
flushed and breathless, but smiling broadly.
"Gee, you ought to have been with me, Tom!" he said excitedly. "There
was a peach of a fire just around in the next street! Seven engines and
a hook-and-ladder and hundreds of hose-carts and one of those
water-towers! And most of the engines were automobiles, Tom! It was
corking!"
"Maybe it was," replied Tom coldly. "I'm going to Brimfield on the
four-twelve. What you going to do? Find another fire?"
"Why, no. When I saw I'd lost that other train I thought I might as
well wait and see the fire out. There's lots of time, anyway. We'll have
plenty of school before we get through with it, Tom."
"That's all right," responded Tom bitterly, "but you're way off if you
think it's any fun for me sitting around here and waiting for you while
you have a good time going to fires!"
"You said you didn't want to go----"
"Well, what if I did?" demanded Tom, working himself into a very
respectable fit of anger. "I _didn't_ want to go. But that's no reason
why you should leave me alone for the rest of the day to--to stave off
robbers and thieves and confidence-men and--and all!"
"Oh, well, come on," said Steve. "We haven't done anything but lose a
train----"
"We've lost two trains!"
"And the man says there's another at twelve minutes after."
"And we'll lose that if you stand here talking much longer," declared
Tom peevishly. "Take up your bag and come along. There's only six or
seven minutes."
"Where is it? Haven't you got it?"
"Got what?"
"My bag," said Steve crossly.
"Isn't it staring you in the face?" asked Tom disgustedly, indicating
the suit-case against the seat. "Are you blind?"
"That? That isn't mine. Where----" Steve looked at the bag in Tom's hand
and then around the floor. "_Where's mine?_"
"What!" Tom was gazing in stupefied amazement at the bag between them.
On the end appeared the legend: "A. L. M., Orange, N. J."
CHAPTER IV
OUT FOR BRIMFIELD!
Just as the conductor, snapping his watch shut, waved his hand to the
engineer of the four-twelve two boys hurried down the platform and, with
the assistance of a negro porter, climbed to the last platform of the
moving train. From there, much out of breath, they entered the car,
pushed aside a curtain and sank on to the seats of the smoking
compartment. And as he did so each set a suit-case between his legs and
the front of the seat in a way that suggested that only over his dead
body could that bag be removed!
The first of the two, the one with his back to the engine, was a
nice-looking youth of fifteen--almost sixteen, to be quite
accurate--with a broad-shouldered, slim-hipped body that spoke of the
best of physical condition. He had a pair of light-brown eyes, a short
straight nose, a nice mouth and a rather sharp chin. His face was
tanned, and slightly freckled as well, and he was tall for his age. His
full name was Stephen Dana Edwards.
His companion was an inch shorter, a little heavier in build, although
quite as well-conditioned physically, and was lighter in colouring. His
hair was several shades less dark than his friend's, although it, too,
was brown, his eyes were grey and under the sunburn his skin was quite
fair. His full name was Thomas Perrin Hall.
Good, healthy, frank-looking youths both of them under normal
conditions, but at this present moment very far from appearing at their
best. Each face held an expression of gloom and resentment; on Mr.
Stephen Edwards' countenance sat what might well be termed a scowl. And,
after a minute, by which time the train had plunged into the tunnel and
the travellers had somewhat recovered their breaths, the latter young
gentleman gave voice to a remark which went well with his expression.
"I like the way you looked after it," he said with deep sarcasm. Mr.
Thomas Hall, returning the other's scowl, drummed with his heels on the
suit-case.
"Why didn't you stay and look after it yourself?" he asked angrily. "It
isn't my fault that you went off chasing after fire-engines."
"I didn't chase after fire-engines. You said you'd watch my bag and----"
"I did watch it!"
"Oh, yes, fine! Let someone pinch it right under your eyes! I notice you
managed to keep your own bag all right!"
"Oh, dry up!" growled Tom.
Silence ensued until a conductor appeared and demanded tickets. Yielding
their transportation, the boys were informed that they were in a parlour
car and must pay twenty-five cents apiece to ride to Brimfield. Tom laid
hold of his bag with a sigh, but Steve unemotionally produced a quarter
and so Tom followed suit. When the conductor had disappeared again
through the curtain Steve said:
"Why didn't they tell us this was a parlour car? How were we to know?"
"They just wanted our money, I suppose," replied Tom bitterly.
"Everybody in this place is after your money. I wish I was home!"
"So do I," agreed Steve gloomily. More silence then, until,
"I don't see how he ever did it," remarked Tom. "I had both bags between
my feet. He was certainly slick. I suppose when he told me to look at
'Four-Fingered Phillips' I sort of turned around and switched my legs
away from the bags. But he must have been mighty quick."
"Of course he was quick," said Steve contemptuously. "I warned you
against that fellow."
"That's all right, but I'll bet he'd have played the same trick if it
had been you instead of me," replied Tom warmly.
"I'll bet he wouldn't!"
"All right!" Tom shrugged his shoulders and looked out the window. They
had the compartment to themselves, which, in view of the remarks which
were passed, was fortunate.
"It isn't all right, though," pursued Steve. "That bag had all my things
in it: pajamas, brushes and comb and collars and handkerchiefs and--and
everything! I'd like to know what I'm going to sleep in!"
"I dare say we'll get our trunks to-night," said Tom soothingly. "If we
don't you can have my pajamas."
"What'll you wear?" asked Steve more graciously.
"Anything. I don't mind. I say, Steve, let's see what's in the bag he
left!"
"Would you?" asked Steve doubtfully.
"Why not? He's got yours, hasn't he?"
Steve lifted the suit-case to the seat beside him and tried the catch.
It was not locked and opened readily. There wasn't a great deal in it: a
pair of lavender pajamas at which Steve sniffed sarcastically, a
travelling case fitted with inexpensive brushes and things and marked
"A. L. M.," a pair of slippers, a magazine, a soiled collar, one clean
handkerchief and a grey flannel cap with a red B sewed on the front
above the visor.
"Wonder whose they are," mused Tom, as Steve spread the trousers of the
pajamas out and viewed them dubiously. They were several sizes two large
for Steve, but they might do if his trunk didn't come in time. "I
suppose that fellow swiped this bag, found there wasn't anything
valuable in it and thought he'd swap it for another."
"Maybe there was something valuable in it when he got it," said Steve.
He tossed the things back and closed it again. "It's a pretty good
suit-case; better than mine. Do you suppose it would do any good to
advertise?"
"I don't suppose so. Besides, that cop said that he'd have them search
the pawnshops. If the police don't find it I guess an advertisement
wouldn't do any good, Steve."
"Well, I suppose there's no use crying over spilled milk," replied the
other, setting the suit-case back in its place. "After all I can buy new
things for five dollars or so and I guess father will send me the money
when I tell him about it."
Tom frowned thoughtfully. Finally, "Say, Steve, if you won't tell him
how it happened I'll pay for what you lost myself."
"What for?"
"I--I'd rather he didn't know, that's all."
"Oh! Well, I won't tell him you had anything to do with it, Tom. You
didn't, either," he added after a moment. "It wasn't your fault, Tom.
It--it would have happened to me just the same way, I'll bet."
"You could just say that the bag was stolen, couldn't you?" asked Tom
more cheerfully. "I mean you needn't go into particulars, you know. It
doesn't really matter _how_ it happened as long as it _did_ happen."
"No, of course not. I'll just say it was stolen while we were waiting
for the train. I guess five dollars will be enough. Let's see. Pajamas
cost two and a half, brushes----"
"You getting off at Brimfield, gentlemen?" asked the porter, putting his
head through the curtains and waving a brush at them.
"Yes. Are we there?" asked Tom startledly.
"Pretty near, sir. Want me to brush you off, sir?"
"I guess so." By the time that ceremony had been impressively performed
and two dimes had changed places from the boys' pockets to the porter's,
the train was slowing down for the station. A moment later they had
alighted and were looking about them.
The station was small and attractive, being of stone and almost covered
with vines, and beyond it, across the platform, several carriages were
receiving passengers. A man in a long and shabby coat accosted them.
"Carriage, boys? Going up to the school?"
"Yes," replied Steve. "How much?"
"Twenty-five cents apiece. Any trunks?"
"Two. Can you take them up with us?"
"I'll have 'em up there in half an hour. Just you give me the checks."
"The checks," murmured Steve, a look of uneasiness coming to his face.
"Haven't you got them?" asked Tom anxiously.
Steve nodded. "I've got them all right," he said grimly, "but these are
the transfer company's checks. We--we forgot to get new ones at the
station!"
"Thunder!" said Tom disgustedly. "Now what'll we do?"
"I'll look after it, gentlemen," said the driver comfortingly. "I'll
have the agent telegraph the numbers back and they'll send 'em right
along. It'll cost about half a dollar."
"Will we get them to-night?" asked Steve.
"You might. I wouldn't like to promise, though. Anyway, they'll be along
first thing in the morning. Thank you, sir. Right this way to the
carriage. I'll look after the bags."
"Not mine, you won't," replied Tom grimly, tightening his clasp on it.
"I wouldn't trust the President of the United States with this bag.
Anyway," he added as he followed Steve and the driver across the
platform to a ricketty conveyance, "not if he lived in New York!"
By that time all the other carriages had rolled away, and while they
waited for their driver to arrange with the station agent about the
trunks they examined their surroundings. There wasn't much to see. The
station was at the end of a well-shaded street, and beyond, across the
right of way, the country seemed to begin. There were one or two houses
within sight, set back amidst trees, and at the summit of a low hill the
wheel of a windmill was clattering merrily. There were many hills in
sight, all prettily wooded, and, on the whole, Brimfield looked
attractive. They searched vainly for a glimpse of the school buildings,
and the driver, returning just then, explained in reply to their
inquiry, that the school was nearly a mile away.
"You could have seen it from the train if you'd been looking," he added.
"It's about a quarter of a mile from the track on the further side
there. Get-ap, Abe Lincoln!"
Their way led down the straight and shaded street which presently began
to show houses on either side, houses set in small gardens still aflame
with autumn flowers and divided from the road by neat hedges or
vine-clad fences. Then there were a few stores clustering about the
intersection of the present street and one running at right angles with
it, and a post-office and a fire-house and a diminutive town hall. The
old horse turned to the right here and ambled westward.
"You boys are sort of late," observed the driver conversationally.
"Why, school doesn't begin until to-morrow, does it?" asked Tom.
"No. I meant you was late for to-day. About twenty boys came this
afternoon, most of 'em on the train before this one. There was Prouty
and Newhall and Miller and a lot of 'em. You're new boys, though, ain't
you?"
They acknowledged it and the driver nodded.
"Thought I didn't remember your faces. I got a good memory for faces, I
have. Well, you're coming to a fine school, boys, a fine school! I guess
there ain't another like it in the country. I been driving back and
forth for nigh on twelve years and I know it pretty well now. Know lots
o' the boys, too. Nice fellers, they be. Always have a good word for me.
Generous, they be, too. Always handin' me a tip and thinkin' nothing of
it."
Steve nudged Tom with his elbow. "That's fine," he said. "You must be
pretty rich by now."
"Rich? Me rich?" The driver shook his head sorrowfully. "No, sir, there
ain't much chance o' gettin' rich at this business, what with the high
cost of feed and all. No, gentlemen, I'm a poor man and I don't never
expect to be aught else. Get-ap, Abe Lincoln!"
The village, or what there was of it, had been left behind now and the
road was winding slightly uphill through woodland. The sun was slanting
into their faces, casting long shadows. Now and then a gate and the
beginning of a well-kept driveway suggested houses set out of sight on
the wooded knolls about them. The carriage crossed the railroad track
and the driver pointed ahead of him with his whip.
"There's the school," he said; and the boys craned forward to see.
"Gee, but ain't it big!" muttered Steve.
CHAPTER V
NUMBER 12 BILLINGS
The woods had given way to open fields, and they could follow with their
eyes the course of the road ahead as it turned to the left and ran,
almost parallel to the railroad, past where a pair of stone gate-posts
guarded the entrance to the Academy. From the gate a drive went winding
upward, hidden now and then by trees and shrubs, to where, at the crest
of a hill, a half-dozen buildings looked down upon them with numberless
windows.
"That's Main Hall," said Tom, "the big one in the centre. I remember it
in the catalogue."
"And that's the gym at this end," added Steve. "It's a pretty good
looking place, isn't it? What's the building where the tall chimney is,
driver?"
"Torrence. There's rooms upstairs and a dining-room on the first floor.
That chimney's from the kitchen at the back. Then the building in the
middle's Main Hall, as they call it. That was the original building. I
remember when there wasn't any others. The one to the left of it's
Hensey Hall. The fellows that lives there are called 'Chickens,'"
chuckled the man. "Then there's Billings beyond Hensey, and The Cottage,
where Mr. Fernald lives, is just around the corner, like. You can see
the porch of it if you look."
But they couldn't, for at that moment the carriage turned to enter the
gate and their view was cut off by a group of yellowing beeches.
Presently the carriage stopped in front of a broad flight of stone steps
and the boys climbed out.
"Fifty cents, gentlemen," said the driver as he lifted the bags out.
"Thank you, sir. Thank _you_, sir! I'll have your trunks up first thing
in the morning. Just walk right in through the door and you'll find the
office on your right. They'll look after you there. Much obliged,
gentlemen. Any time you want a rig or anything you telephone to Jimmy
Hoskins. That's me. Good-night, gentlemen, and good luck to you!"
Steve had contributed an extra quarter, which doubtless accounted for
Mr. Hoskins' extreme affability. Bags in hand they climbed the well-worn
granite steps and entered a dim, unlighted corridor. An open door on the
right revealed a room divided by a railing, in front of which were a
half-dozen wooden chairs and beyond which were two desks, some filing
cabinets, a book-case, a letter-press, some chairs and one small,
middle-aged man with a shining bald head which was raised inquiringly as
Steve led the way to the railing.
"How do you do, boys," greeted the sole occupant of the office in a
thin, high voice. "What are the names, please?" As he spoke he took a
card from a pile in front of him and dipped a pen in the ink-well.
"Stephen D. Edwards, sir."
"Full name, please."
"Stephen Dana."
"Very good. Place of residence?"
"Tannersville, Pennsylvania."
"A wonderful state, Pennsylvania. Parents' names, please."
"Charles L. Edwards. My mother isn't living."
"Tut, tut, tut!" said the school secretary regretfully and
sympathetically. "A great misfortune, Edwards. Now, you are entering by
certificate?"
"Yes, sir, from the Tannersville High School."
"And your age?"
"Fifteen; sixteen in----"
"Fifteen will do, thank you." He drew out a drawer in a small cabinet
set at the left of the broad-topped desk and ran his fingers over the
indexed cards within it, finally extracting one and laying it very
exactly above the one on which he had been setting down the information
supplied by Steve. For a moment he silently compared the two. Then he
nodded with much satisfaction. "Quite so, quite so," he said. "You will
room in Billings Hall, Number 12, Edwards. You are provided with linen
and other articles required?"
"Yes, sir, but my trunk hasn't got here yet."
"Quite so. One moment." He drew a telephone toward him, pressed a button
on a little black board set at one end of the desk, glanced at the clock
between the two broad windows and spoke into the transmitter: "Mrs.
Calder? Edwards, 12 Billings, hasn't his trunk yet. Will you have his
room made up, please? Eh? Quite so! Yes, 12 Billings. Just a moment." He
turned to Steve. "May I ask whether the young gentleman with you is your
room-mate, Hall?"
"Yes, sir."
"And his trunk, too, is missing?"
"Yes, sir."
"Quite so. Yes, Mrs. Calder, both beds, please. Thank you." He hung up
the receiver and pushed the instrument aside. "That is all, Edwards. I
trust you will like the school. Should you want anything you may come
to me here or you will find your Hall Master, Mr. Daley, in Number 8
Billings. Now, if you please, Hall."
Tom, in turn, answered the little man's interrogations and at last they
were free to seek their room.
"Billings is the last dormitory to your right as you leave this
building," said the secretary, "and you will find Number 12 on the
second floor at the further end. Supper is served at six o'clock in the
dining-room in Wendell, which is the last building in the other
direction. As we have very few students with us yet, the supper hour is
shortened and it will greatly assist if you will be prompt."
The boys thanked him and sought their room. A broad flagstone walk ran
the length of the row of six buildings and along this they strode past
the first building, which was Hensey, to the one beyond. The dormitories
were uniform in material and style of architecture, each being three
stories in height, the first story of stone and the others of red brick.
The entrance was reached by a single stone step, above which hung an
electric light just beginning to glow wanly in the early twilight.
Inside, two slate steps led to the first floor level and here a
fireproof door divided the staircase well from the corridor. A flight of
stone stairs took them to the second floor. "Rooms 11 to 20" was
inscribed on the door and Steve pushed it open and led the way down to a
very clean, well-lighted corridor to Number 12. There could be no
mistake about it, for the figures were very plainly printed on the white
door. Under the room number was a little metal frame which they
afterwards discovered was for the purpose of holding a card bearing the
names of the occupants. Steve pushed the door open and, followed by Tom,
entered.
There was still enough light from the one broad window to see by, but
Steve found a switch near the doorway and turned on the electricity. It
was a pretty forlorn looking place at first glance, but doubtless the
fact that the two beds were unmade, that the window-seat was empty of
cushions and that the two slim chiffoniers and the desk-table were bare
had a good deal to do with that first impression. The boys set their
bags down and looked about them rather dejectedly. Finally,
"I suppose when we get our things around it'll look different," murmured
Tom.
Steve grunted and tried a bed. "That feels pretty good," he said. "I
hope Mrs. Thingamabob won't forget to make it. Which side do you want?"
"I don't care," replied Tom. "There isn't any difference, I guess."
There didn't appear to be. The door was at the right as you entered, and
beside it was a good-sized closet. The room was about fifteen feet long,
from closet to window, by some twelve feet wide. A brown grass rug
filled most of the floor space. The wainscoting, of clean white pine,
ascended four feet and ended in a narrow ledge or shelf, devised, as
they afterwards discovered, to hold photographs or small pictures which
the rules prohibited them from placing on the walls. The walls were
painted a light buff. The furniture consisted of two single-width beds,
two chiffoniers, a study table and two straight-backed chairs. The beds
were against the opposite walls, the table in the geometrical centre of
the rug, the chiffoniers occupied a portion of the remaining wall space
on each side and the two chairs were set between beds and bureaus. The
window was in a slight bay and there was a six-foot seat below it. The
room was lighted by a two-lamp electrolier above the table, but from one
socket depended a green cord, suggesting that a previous occupant had
used a drop light.
"I wonder," said Steve, "where we are supposed to wash."
"Let's look for the bathroom," suggested Tom. So they returned to the
silent corridor and presently discovered a commodious bath and wash-room
at the farther end. There were six set bowls and four tubs there, and
Tom thought it was pretty fine. Steve, however, was in a mood to find
fault and he objected to the bathroom on several different counts. For
one thing, it was too far away. Then, too, he didn't see how twenty
fellows were going to wash at six bowls. Tom, however, promptly
demonstrated how one fellow could do it by returning to Number 12 and
bringing back his wash-cloth. In his absence Steve had been
experimenting with the liquid soap apparatus with which each bowl was
supplied, and by the time Tom got back was able to tell him why he
didn't approve of them! By the time they had both cleaned up it was time
to find the dining-hall, and so, leaving the light burning in brazen
disregard of a notice under the switch, they clattered downstairs again
and set off for the other end of the Row, as the line of buildings was
called.
Two or three boys were standing on the steps of Wendell when they
reached it and they were aware of their frankly curious gaze as they
passed them. The dining-hall wasn't hard to find, for its double doors
faced them as they entered the building. They left their caps on one of
the big racks outside and rather consciously stepped inside the doorway.
It was a huge room, seemingly occupying the entire first floor of the
building, and held what appeared to be hundreds of tables. Only four of
them were occupied now, two across the hall from the door and two at one
end. A boy of about seventeen or eighteen, wearing an apron and carrying
a tray of dishes, saw them, and, setting down his burden, conducted them
to one of the tables nearby. There were already five boys at the board
and they each and all stared silently while Steve and Tom slid into
their chairs. The newcomers surmised that they, too, were new boys, for,
unlike the fellows at the next table beyond, who were laughing and
chatting quite light-heartedly, they applied themselves grimly and
silently to their food and seemed to view each other with deep distrust.
Steve and Tom, striving against the embarrassment that held them,
conversed together in whispers. "It's a whaling big room," said Steve.
"Just like a hotel, isn't it? Wonder what we get to eat."
"Bet you I'll eat it, whatever it is," replied Tom. "I'm as hungry as a
bear!"
They weren't left long in doubt, for a second waiter appeared very
promptly and set their repast before them. There was cold roast beef, a
baked potato apiece, toasted muffins, milk and cocoa, preserves and
cookies. By the time they were half through their supper most of the
others had finished and hurried away, removing much of the embarrassment
of the situation. Steve ventured to stretch his legs comfortably under
the table and turn his head to regard the occupants of the tables at the
far end of the hall.
"I guess some of those are teachers," he said. "Gee, but I'd like some
more meat. Would you ask for it?"
"I don't know. No one else did. These muffins are bully, only there
aren't enough of them. I wonder if we'll sit here regularly."
"I don't suppose so. We'll probably be shoved to one of those tables
over there by the wall. What time do you suppose they have breakfast?
We'll have to ask someone, I guess. Didn't he say something about a Hall
Master?"
"Yes, in Number 8. We'll stop and ask him when we go back." There was a
scraping of chairs at the end of the room and several older boys and
two or three men came down the room toward the door. Steve and Tom
turned to look and suddenly Tom seized his companion's arm.
"It's him!" he exclaimed.
"Who?" asked Steve.
"Or--anyway it looks lots like him," continued Tom breathlessly.
"Who looks like what?" demanded the other impatiently.
"Why, the tall fellow just going out now! See him? He--he looks just
like the fellow in the station, the fellow who took your bag! The
confidence-man!"
CHAPTER VI
CLUES!
"The confidence-man?" asked Steve incredulously. "Oh, you run away and
play, Tom! What would he be doing here? Don't be a silly goat!"
"Well, I suppose it isn't he, but--but he certainly looked just like
him."
"Pshaw, I saw him too, didn't I? Well, that chap doesn't look anything
like him."
"Then you didn't look at the fellow I meant," returned Tom doggedly.
"I--I believe it was he, Steve!"
"Oh, sure," said Steve sarcastically, "and the fellow behind him is a
famous second-story burglar and the man with the flannel trousers on,
who looks like a teacher, is a popular murderer. He escaped from Sing
Sing this morning. And the little man with the grey moustache----"
"That's all right," replied Tom earnestly, "but you'll find I'm right.
It--it was he, I tell you! There couldn't be two people as much alike!"
"You'd better follow him then," laughed Steve, "and ask him for my
suit-case. Tell him I want my pajamas, will you?"
But Tom refused to treat the matter so lightly. He was evidently quite
convinced that he was really on the trail of the thief, and all Steve's
ridicule failed to move him from that conviction. He was too anxious to
begin the search for the "confidence-man" to do justice to the rest of
his supper, and when, at last, they were once more outside the building
he gazed up and down the Row eagerly and was disappointed to find that
neither his quarry nor anyone else was visible in the half-darkness. As
they passed Torrence Hall, however, an open window on the first floor
sent a flood of light across the walk, and Tom, crossing the narrow
strip of turf that divided building from pavement, raised himself on his
tiptoes and looked into the room. The next instant a face appeared with
disconcerting suddenness within a foot of his own and the occupant of
the room, who had been reclining on the window-seat, enquiring abruptly:
"Well, fresh, what do you want?"
"N-Nothing, thanks," stammered Tom, withdrawing quickly.
"Keep your head out of my window then," was the indignant response, "or
I'll come out there and teach you manners!"
Tom hurried away into the friendly darkness and joined Steve, who was
chuckling audibly.
"Did you find him, Tom?"
"No." And then, as Steve continued to be amused, Tom said with spirit;
"I should think you'd be enough interested to help a fellow instead of
giggling like a silly goat!"
"Oh, I'm not a Sherlock Holmes," replied Steve airily. "Detecting isn't
in my line."
"I should think you'd want to get your bag back, though. I tell you that
was really the fellow, Steve. Don't you believe me?"
"Oh, yes!"
"You don't, though," said Tom bitterly. "All right, then. You find your
own bag. I'm through."
"Oh, don't say that!" begged Steve. "You were doing so nicely. Look,
there's a lighted window up there, Tom. If you get a ladder now----"
"Aw, cut it!" growled Tom.
Mr. Daley was in when they rapped at the door of Number 8, on the first
floor of Billings, and, accepting his invitation to enter, they found
themselves in a very cosy, lamp-lighted, nicely furnished study, from
which a smaller room, evidently a bedroom, opened. Mr. Horace Daley was
a young man with an embarrassed manner and a desire to appear quite at
ease. He shook hands heartily, stumbled through a few words of welcome
and arranged chairs for them. He asked a good many questions, invariably
remarking "Fine!" with deep enthusiasm after every answer and smiled
jovially at all times. But the boys saw that he was much more
embarrassed than they were and were secretly pleased and amused. When at
last the instructor had finished the usual questions and was searching
around in his mind for more, Steve began asking for information.
Breakfast, responded Mr. Daley, was at seven-thirty and ran half an
hour. Chapel was at eight-fifteen usually, although there would be none
to-morrow, as school did not officially begin until noon. The first
recitation hour was nine o'clock. Dinner ran from twelve-thirty to
one-thirty. Recitations began again at two and lasted until half-past
three. Supper was at six. Between seven and eight the students were
required to remain in their rooms and study, although on permission of
the House Master one could study in the library instead. All lights were
supposed to be out at ten-thirty. And Mr. Daley hoped the boys would
get on swimmingly and become very fond of Brimfield.
"I--ah--I want you to feel that I am ready and anxious to help you at
any time, fellows. I--ah--want you to look on me as--ah--as a big
brother and come to me in your--ah--perplexities and troubles, should
you have any, and of course there are bound to be--ah--little worries at
first. One has to accustom oneself to any--ah--new environment. Don't
hesitate to call on me for advice or assistance. Sometimes an older
head--ah--you see what I mean?"
Steve replied that they did and thanked him and, with Tom crowding at
his heels, withdrew.
"He's a funny dub," confided Steve, as they made their way up to the
next floor. "Guess he must be new here. What does he teach, Tom?"
"Modern languages, I think the catalogue said. His first name is
Horace."
"Horace!" Steve chuckled. "It ought to be Percy. Hello, they've fixed
the beds up."
The room looked far more habitable when Steve had switched the light on.
Tom sighed luxuriously as he stretched himself out on one of the beds.
"Bet you I'm going to do a tall line of sleeping to-night, Steve," he
said. "This bed isn't half bad, either."
"Well, don't put your feet all over the spread," replied Steve. "Get up
out of that and unpack your bag, you lazy duffer."
"I will in a minute. I'm tired. Say, what do you think of this place,
anyway, Steve?"
"The school? Oh, I guess it'll do. You can't tell much about it yet, I
suppose. I'm going to snoop around to-morrow after breakfast and see the
sights. I suppose things will be a lot different when the crowd comes. I
guess we're the only fellows in this dormitory to-night."
"Scared?" asked Tom, with a grin. "Remember Horace is downstairs to
protect you."
"Huh! Bet you he'd crawl under the bed if he saw a burglar! I wonder if
the rest of the faculty is like him."
"Oh, I dare say he's all right when you get to know him," said Tom, with
a yawn. "Say, pull down that window, Steve. It's getting chilly in
here."
"Get up and move around and you won't feel chilly," replied Steve
unsympathetically. "Gee, I wish I had my pajamas and things."
"You might have had them by this time if you'd helped me look for that
fellow," said Tom. "I'm just as certain as I am that I'm lying here
that the fellow we saw in the dining-hall was the fellow who swiped your
suit-case!"
"Oh, forget that," said Steve disgustedly. "Common-sense ought to tell
you that a sneak thief you saw in New York wouldn't be having his supper
here at Brimfield!"
"He was, though," replied the other stubbornly.
"Oh, run away! Don't you suppose there are two people who look alike in
this world?"
"Not as much alike as those two."
"Why, you didn't even get a good look at the fellow in the dining-hall.
He had his back turned to you."
"Not when I saw him first, he didn't," answered Tom with a vigorous
shake of his head. "I saw his face before he turned at the doorway and
_it was him_!"
"You mean it was he, you ignoramus. All right, Tom, have your own way
about it. Only someone ought to warn the principal about him. Why, he
might run off with a couple of the buildings some night!"
"Enjoy yourself," murmured Tom. "But you'll find I was right some day,
you old pig-headed chump!"
"When I do I--I'll make you a present," answered Steve, with a grin.
"Any present you'd give me wouldn't cut much figure, I guess," said the
boy on the bed contemptuously.
"Is that so? Say, what'll I do with this bag?" Steve laid the suit-case
in question on his bed and threw open the lid. "The pajamas look clean,
anyway," he continued as he viewed them. "I suppose I'll have to wear
them." He drew the cap out and set it on his head. "Wonder what the B
stands for, Tom."
"What bee?" asked Tom lazily.
"The B on this cap," replied the other, studying it.
Tom suddenly sat up on the bed. "Why, Brimfield, of course!" he
exclaimed in triumph. "There now! Was I right or wasn't I?"
"Shucks! It might stand for anything: Brown, Brooklyn, beans,
brownbread, basketball----"
"Yes, and Brimfield! And aren't the Brimfield colours maroon-and-grey,
and isn't that cap grey, and isn't that B maroon?"
"It's red."
"So is maroon, a brownish-red." Tom had deserted his bed and was turning
the cap about eagerly. "This belongs to some fellow here who has won
his letter, Steve," he said with deep conviction.
"Some fellow who has _lost_ his letter, you mean," replied Steve with a
laugh. "All right; it will save me from buying a cap when I make the
football team. How does it look on me?"
"It's too big," said Tom. "It's about a seven, I guess. That's what that
fellow would wear, I think." Tom frowned thoughtfully. "Are there any
more clues?" he asked, dropping the cap and seizing the pajamas
excitedly.
"Sure! There are brushes in the case and they mean that the fellow has
hair on his head, Tom. So there's no use looking for a bald-headed man,
eh? That's what they call 'the process of elimination,' isn't it? Say,
what are you trying to do with those things? Ruin them? Please remember
that I've got to wear them to-night."
"Looking for laundry marks," replied Tom. "But there aren't any. I guess
they're new ones." He dropped the pajamas regretfully and turned his
attention to the other objects in the bag. "A magazine," he muttered.
"'Fine'!--as Horace would say. The man can read. Therefore he is not
blind. Elimination again! At this rate we'll know all about him in a
minute, Tom. Gee, but you're a wise guy. Have a look at the collar and
tell me the fellow's name. Go on!"
"It begins with an M, anyway," muttered Tom, studying the object in
question.
"Ha!" exclaimed Steve melodramatically. "The net is closing! He has hair
on his head, is not blind, wears purple pajamas and spells his name with
an M! The rest is easy, Tom. Put your hat on and we'll go out and get
him."
"Oh, shut up, you silly goat!" Tom had the magazine in his hands again
and was glancing through it. Suddenly, with an exclamation, he thrust it
into Steve's hands. "There! Hold it up and let it fall open itself,
Steve!"
"All right. What about it?"
"Look where it opened!"
"Page 64."
"Yes, but what's there?"
"'Men Who Have Made Football History, by----'"
"There you are! Don't you see! That's what he was reading. He's a
football man and that B is his football letter!"
"Oh! But, say, Tom, you're forgetting that this suit-case is supposed to
have been stolen from someone else. Then what?"
"We don't know that it was. We just thought so. It looks now as if it
really belonged to the fellow."
"And he went and swapped it for mine? What would he do that for?"
"Maybe he thought yours might have something valuable in it," faltered
Tom. "Maybe--say, Steve, perhaps he got yours by mistake!"
"Sure!" replied the other sarcastically. "Reached down and dragged it
from under your feet, thinking all the while it was his. Sounds very
probable--I don't think!"
"Well, you can see for yourself----"
"What was that?" interrupted Steve.
"What was what?"
"I thought I heard a knock at the door." They listened. It sounded
again. Steve hustled the things back into the bag and slammed the lid
shut in a twinkling. Then, "Come in!" he called.
The door opened and a tall youth stepped inside. He carried a suit-case
in one hand. Tom gasped. It was the "confidence-man"!
CHAPTER VII
THE CONFIDENCE-MAN
"Hi," greeted the visitor, with a smile, as he slid the suit-case across
the floor and faced the two boys. "Want to swap bags?"
"That--that's mine!" exploded Steve. "Where'd you get it?"
The visitor pulled a chair out from the wall and seated himself
nonchalantly. "And that," he responded, nodding at the bag on the bed,
"is mine. I didn't think the pajamas would fit you and I was mighty sure
yours wouldn't fit me. So I dropped around to make an exchange."
"You're the fellow in the station!" exclaimed Tom accusingly.
"Right-o! I'm the 'sneak-thief.'"
"I knew it!" declared Tom triumphantly. "I saw you in the dining-hall
and told Steve it was you and he wouldn't believe it!"
"Wouldn't he?" laughed the visitor.
"I suppose it's some sort of a silly joke," said Steve bewilderedly.
"Would you mind telling me why you--why you took my bag?"
"Glad to, Edwards. You _are_ Edwards, aren't you? I thought so. And this
chap's Hall? Well, my name's Miller. So now we know each other. Would
you mind sitting down, you fellows?"
Steve sank on to the bed and Tom retreated to the unoccupied chair, from
where he viewed Miller with fascinated attention.
"It was this way, you fellows," explained Miller. "I may be a bit
thin-skinned, but I don't like being called a sneak-thief. Edwards here
told you, Hall, to look after your bags because there were sneak-thieves
around. And then he looked at me very impolitely. After he went away I
saw that you really did suspect me of being something of the sort and it
occurred to me that it might be amusing to teach you chaps not to pass
compliments."
"I didn't mean you to hear me," said Steve confusedly.
"I couldn't help it, as you spoke right out," replied Miller drily.
"Well, so when Hall changed his seat I went along and tried to talk to
him. But he was foxy, Hall was. He wasn't going to be fooled! When it
got to be train time I spun him a yarn about a harmless old man across
the room and got him to look at him. Then I changed the bags. I thought
you fellows would take the same train and I meant to give you back your
bag then. But you weren't on it and so I suppose you were looking around
the station for me. Was that it?"
"I didn't get back in time," said Steve. "We didn't find out about the
bags until the train had gone. Then we did look around, and we told a
policeman, and----"
Miller put his head back and laughed delightedly. "Bully!" he cried.
"You chaps are wonders!"
"Well, what would you have done?" asked Tom indignantly. "How were we to
know that it was a joke?"
"Oh, I'd have done the same thing, of course," answered the other
soothingly. "Only the idea of the New York police department being on
the lookout for me struck me as a bit humorous."
"Tom says you asked him about Tannersville," said Steve. "How did you
know he was from there?"
"Not difficult," chuckled Miller. "It's on the end of his bag. And I
knew he was coming to Brimfield because there was a tag on the handle. I
couldn't make out your names, but I could see 'Brimfield, N. Y.' all
right."
Steve and Tom smiled foolishly. "I never thought of that," murmured
Tom. "We--we thought you were a confidence-man!"
"So I thought you thought," laughed Miller. "Well, here's your property,
Edwards. I dare say it was rather a mean joke to play on you, but you
sort of invited it, you see."
"I don't care now that I've got it back," responded Steve
philosophically. "Tom was certain you were the fellow who took my bag
when he saw you in dining-hall and he was all heated up about it. Wanted
to arrest you at once, I guess."
"Well, I was right, though, wasn't I?" demanded Tom. "You said it
couldn't be the same chap. But I _knew_!"
"Yes, you're some sleuth," agreed Steve. "You were right and I was
wrong, as you always are."
"How about that present you were to give me?" inquired Tom.
"You'll get it, all right; just before Christmas." Then, to Miller:
"We--I had your things out of your bag," he said apologetically. "I
thought I'd have to wear those pajamas."
"They'd have been a bit large, I guess," laughed Miller. "Still, they
are brand-clean and you could have wrapped them around you a few times
and turned them up at the feet and hands. Well, how have you chaps
found everything? All right?"
"Yes, thanks," said Steve. "We forgot to check our trunks at the Grand
Central Station, though, and so we're sort of hard-up for things to
wear."
"Too bad." Miller smiled. "I guess you chaps haven't travelled around
much, eh?"
"Not much. This is the first time we've ever been so far east."
"Well, I don't blame you for getting a bit confused in New York. It's a
tough old place to get around in unless you know the ropes. If you need
collars or anything maybe I can help you out. I suppose, though, mine
wouldn't fit."
"We'll get on all right, thanks," replied Steve. "Our trunks will surely
be along in the morning. The man who drove us up here had the agent
telegraph back for them and said he'd fetch them as soon as they came."
"Jimmy Horse? He will if he doesn't forget."
"This fellow said his name was Hoskins, I think," said Tom.
"Yes, we call him Jimmy Horse. He will probably be along with them
before noon. Just depends on whether he remembers them and how busy he
is. Still, not many fellows get here before the eleven o'clock train
and so he ought to find time to bring the trunks. If he doesn't show up
soon after breakfast you'd better telephone to him. The booth's in Main
Hall, around the corner from the office. I suppose you saw old 'Quite
So'?"
"Who?" asked Steve.
"Mr. Brooke, the secretary. We call him 'Quite So' because he's always
saying that. Didn't you notice?"
"I did," said Tom. "I thought maybe he was Mr. Fernald, though."
"No, you won't see Josh much. He lives around the corner there in The
Cottage. You'll be lucky if you don't see him, too. When you call on
Josh it's usually because you've been and gone and done something. He
will be at Faculty Reception to-morrow evening, though. That's in Upper
Hall at eight o'clock. Better go, fellows; everyone does. Have you met
your Hall Master, Mr. Daley?"
"Yes, we stopped in at his room after supper," answered Steve. "Is
he----" He hesitated.
Miller laughed. "Go on and say it, Edwards! Is he what?"
"I was going to ask if he was liked."
"Oh, yes, Daley's all right. Rather shy, but he's young yet. This is
only his second year. You'll like him better when you've known him
awhile. What form are you fellows in?"
"Fourth. At least, we hope we are."
"Oh, you'll make it. They'll put you in, anyway, and then drop you back
if you don't keep up. That's a pleasant little trick of theirs here.
You'll have Daley in French and German. Take my advice and don't have
fun with him just because you can. Most of the new fellows try to make
life a burden to him because he gets kind of rattled and tries to
swallow his tongue when he talks. But they're generally sorry for it
later. He stands about so much and then--bing! Off you go to Josh! And
here's another tip, fellows. Always be dead serious with 'Uncle Sim.'
That's Mr. Simkins, Greek instructor. If you can look as if you'd lost
all your friends and bitten your tongue you'll make a big hit with him.
He doesn't know a joke even when it's labelled and can't stand any
flippancy. I made a pun in class once; I've forgotten what it was, but
it was a bright and scintillant little effort; and Uncle Sim told me I'd
end on the gallows. He's never forgotten that and still views me with
deep suspicion."
"We will try to remember," laughed Steve. "I suppose you are in the
Sixth Form?"
"Yes, this is my last year here. I ought to have been out last year, but
I slipped a cog when I first came and got dropped a form. You see, I
made the mistake of thinking that the principal branches were Football,
Baseball and Hockey. When I'd woke up to the fact that a little
attention to mathematics and languages and such foolishness was required
it was too late, and--plop!--sound of falling!"
Steve recalled a similar warning of his father's and silently made up
his mind then and there to not make Miller's mistake.
"Do you play football?" asked Tom. "I mean, are you on the team?"
"Yes, I--I'm on the team." Miller's smile had an odd quality that
puzzled Tom at the moment. "You chaps know the game?"
"Steve has played more than I have," replied Tom. "He was on our high
school team at left end last year. He's pretty good, Steve is. I didn't
make the 'Varsity, but I played a couple of years with the scrubs."
"Tom plays a good game," said Steve. "I suppose it's pretty hard to get
on the team here."
"About the same as anywhere," answered Miller. "If you show the goods
you're all right." He viewed Steve speculatively and then turned an
appraising gaze on Tom. "You chaps look pretty fit for this time of
year. What do you weigh, Edwards?"
[Illustration: Steve slipped on the tiling and fell sidewise into the
water]
"About a hundred and thirty-eight."
"You look solid, too," said Miller approvingly. "You chaps show up in
togs day after to-morrow at four. Look me up and I'll see that you get a
good chance to show what you can do. Where have you played, Hall?"
"At tackle, mostly. I played half a little last fall."
"You look rather likely, I think. Don't be disappointed if you don't
make the first or second this year, fellows. Keep going. There's your
hall team. Try for that. You'll get lots of good fun and experience. I
tell you this not to discourage you but because we've kept a lot of last
year's fellows and it's going to be harder than usual to break into the
first team, I guess. And that means that a good many of the second team
fellows will be disappointed and will have to stay where they are. Hard
on them, but lucky for the school. I don't know whether you chaps
understand the football situation with us?"
"I don't believe so," replied Steve.
"Well, it's like this. When I came here four years ago there wasn't any
team. Before that, five or six years before, they'd played, but about
that time football got into disfavour and the faculty stopped it. I
believe they allowed the hall teams to play, but that didn't last long.
My second year here they lifted the ban and we started a team. Of course
it didn't amount to much that first year and we got licked right and
left. The next year, though, we did a good deal better, and last year we
turned out a mighty good team. We lost only two games out of nine and
tied one. Unfortunately, though, one of the games we lost was the game
with Claflin, which is our big game of the year. Claflin has beaten us
three years running now and this year we're out for revenge with a
rolling R. Considering that we've played only three seasons, we've got a
pretty good start. Our coach is a dandy, a chap named Robey; played with
Brown the year they downed Pennsy; and he's been building up this year's
team ever since he started in. At first we didn't have more than forty
candidates to choose from. Last year about sixty fellows turned out and
this fall I guess we'll have nearer eighty. Robey started the hall teams
up again year before last and that helped a lot. The best of the hall
team chaps went into the second last year, and now, this year, we've got
fellows with three years' experience behind them. So, you see, Edwards,
we haven't got much football history at Brimfield and our system is
still pretty new, but we're getting on! And this fall if we don't lick
Claflin--well, if we don't, I'll have missed my guess."
Miller's lean, good-looking face had lighted up with enthusiasm during
his recital, and, when he had ended, as though impatient to begin the
campaign which was to end in the rout of the enemy, he got up and took a
turn the length of the room. He didn't look the least bit in the world
like a confidence-man to-night and the two boys marvelled at their
earlier suspicions. Miller was tall, lean with the leanness of muscles
unhampered by useless flesh, and lithe. He had very clear brown eyes, a
straight nose and high cheek bones that somehow reminded Steve of the
engraved portrait of John C. Calhoun that hung in the library at home.
Altogether, from the top of his well-shaped head to the soles of his
rubber-shod feet, he was good to look at, clean-cut, well-groomed,
healthy and very much alive. Steve found himself wishing that some day
he might find himself playing shoulder to shoulder with Miller. He hated
to think what would happen to the enemy in such a case!
Miller paused at the table, thrust his hands into his pockets and
smiled a trifle apologetically. "Well, that's the way it is, you chaps,"
he went on. "So, whether you make the first or the second or neither,
you keep on playing and trying. There's another year coming for you
fellows; two of them, in fact. Keep that in mind, and if you don't get
what you want this year keep plugging. And don't fail to come out
Wednesday and do your best. You'll get a fair show and if you can play
the game well enough you'll get places. Now I must run along with my
bag. I'm glad to have met you chaps. If I can help you in any way don't
fail to call on me. You'll find me in 7 Hensey. Come and see me anyway.
Miller's the name. And, by the way, I'm glad you chaps took my little
joke so decently and didn't get waxy about it. If you had, I'd probably
have told it around and you'd have got a lot of joshing. As it is, no
one knows it and no one will. Good-night."
And Miller, his suit-case in hand, smiled, nodded and went out. They
could hear him whistling merrily until the landing door had closed
behind him.
"I meant to ask him what position he played," said Steve regretfully.
"I'll bet he's a corker, though!"
"I'll bet you he is," agreed Tom warmly.
"And he seemed a rattling good sort, too, didn't he?"
"Yes. And I'm glad I lost my bag. If I hadn't we mightn't have known
him, seeing that he's a Sixth Form fellow."
"I guess he's sort of prominent," mused Tom. "He gives you the idea of
being someone, doesn't he?"
"Oh, he's someone, all right! Do you think he really wants us to call on
him, Tom? Or--or was he just being polite?"
"Both, I guess. I don't suppose we'd better call unless he asks us
again. We don't want to act fresh, you know. Besides," and Tom smiled
mischievously, "I'm not sure we ought to associate with him."
"Why not?" asked Steve incredulously.
"Well, seeing that he's a confidence-man----"
CHAPTER VIII
IN THE RUBBING ROOM
After breakfast the next morning, a breakfast eaten with excellent
appetites, the two boys set out on a sightseeing tour about the school.
They went first to the gymnasium. The big front door was locked, but
Steve was not to be denied and eventually gained entrance through a
little door at the rear which led into the boiler-room and from there
found their way into the main basement where were situated the big
swimming tank, a commodious baseball cage and a bowling alley. On the
floor above they found themselves in a square hall, entered from the
front door, from which other doors led to the gymnasium, the locker and
bathrooms and a small office bearing the sign "Physical Director." From
the hall a fireproof stairway ascended with a turn to the running-track
and a large room which was evidently used as a meeting hall. Settees
were neatly arranged in front of a platform, a row of low windows
admitted a flood of morning sunshine and against the walls hung many
photographs of athletic teams. Most of them showed groups of track and
field men, although a few were of hockey sevens and there were three
football teams in evidence. The explorers paid more attention to these
photographs than the others, and Steve, whose patriotism was already
strong, read the inscriptions on the lower margins with disfavour.
"Huh!" he grumbled. "'Brimfield 0; Claflin 12'; 'Brimfield 3; Claflin
11'; 'Brimfield 6; Claflin 9.' Bet you next time it'll be some
different, Tom!"
"Rather!" said Tom stoutly. "Let's go on down and see the gym."
They tried the chest-weights and tested the bars and experimented with
about everything they found down there, and then went into the adjoining
compartment and peered into the shower-baths and passed on the merits of
the steel lockers.
"The fellow who built this gym knew what he was doing," declared Steve
approvingly. "Some of these lockers have got things in them," he
continued, peeping into one. "There's a bat in here, and a towel and
some clothes."
Tom had wandered through a doorway at the end of the locker compartment
and now summoned Steve to join him. There was a high table in the centre
of the small room and a set of metal shelves alongside which held
numerous bottles and boxes. "It's the rubbing room," said Steve. "Here,
get busy, Tom!" And he hoisted himself to the table and stretched out on
his back.
"Yes, sir," said Tom. "Where's it hurt you? This the spot?"
And Tom began such an enthusiastic manipulation of Steve's ribs that the
latter set up a howl and precipitately tumbled off the table. It was at
that moment that an unpleasant voice startled them.
"Beat it, you fresh kids! You've got no business in here!"
The speaker was a heavy-set youth of perhaps nineteen years of age. He
had closely-cropped ashy-brown hair over a round face from which a pair
of pale-blue eyes glowered upon them. He was standing in the doorway and
his hands were thrust into the pockets of a pair of very wide-hipped
knickerbockers. Somehow, standing there with his sturdy, golf-stockinged
legs well apart and his loose trousers pulled out at the sides, he
reminded Tom of a clown at a circus, and Tom made the mistake of
grinning. The big youth caught sight of the grin and stepped into the
rubbing room with a deepening scowl on his face.
"Wipe it off!" he said threateningly.
Steve and Tom looked at the table.
"Wipe what off?" asked Tom, at a loss.
"Wipe that grin off your ugly face," answered the other. "And get out of
here, both of you, and stay out. If you don't, I'll throw you out!"
This somewhat astounding threat caused an exchange of surprised glances
between the culprits. Neither Steve nor Tom were quarrelsome, nor had
they had more than a boy's usual share of fist battles, but the bullying
speech and attitude of the round-faced youth was so uncalled for and
exasperating that Steve's temper got the better of him for the moment.
"We weren't doing any harm here," he declared indignantly. "And we'll
get out, but we're not afraid of you, even if you have got piano legs!"
The big fellow pulled his hands from his pockets with an angry growl
and, clenching his fists, strode toward the boys. But at that instant
footsteps sounded in the locker room, and the bully's hands dropped and
he turned his head toward the door just as a small, red-haired and
freckle-faced little Irishman came into sight.
"Hello, Eric the Red," he said jovially. "An' what might you be doin'
down here, me boy?"
"I'm telling these fresh kids to get out of here," replied the youth.
"Any objections?"
The little Irishman seemed surprised, and he smiled, but the boys noted
that his small and rather greenish eyes narrowed.
"None at all, at all, me boy. If I had I'd very soon tell you, d'ye see?
But what harm are they doin'? Sure, if I don't mind them bein' here, why
would you?"
"They haven't any business in this room, and you know it, Danny. They're
too fresh, anyway."
"Well, that's what we all are at some time. Let the boys be. Was you
wantin' anything, boys?"
"No, we were just looking around the place. This door was open and we
came in. We didn't know there was any harm in it," concluded Steve.
"No more there was," said Danny soothingly.
"They were rough-housing all over the place," growled the big fellow.
"If you can stand it I can, though. Only"--and he turned a wrathful gaze
on Steve--"if you ever get fresh with me again you'll get the licking
that's coming to you, kid." He turned away toward the locker room. "Say,
Danny, got a key to my locker? I've lost mine and I want to get into it
a minute."
"I have not," replied Danny cheerfully. "You'll have to have one fitted,
me boy."
"Hasn't anyone a master-key?" demanded the other.
"They have not. Find Patsy; he'll fit one for you in ten minutes."
"That's a funny state of things," grumbled the big fellow. "They ought
to have duplicates on hand. Somebody's always losing a key, and----"
The rest was lost as the youth disappeared into the further room. Danny
winked gravely at the two boys.
"Who is he?" asked Steve curiously.
"Him? His name's Sawyer, Eric Sawyer. He is sufferin' from a terrible
complaint, boys, an' it makes him that cross a bear would run away from
him, I'm thinkin'!"
"What's the trouble with him?"
"He has what the doctors do be callin' an ingrowin' grouch," replied
Danny soberly. "'Tis due to over-exposure of the ego, they tell me,
resultin' in an inflamed condition of the amoor proper, that same bein'
French an' maybe beyond your comprehension."
The boys laughed and Danny swung himself to the table and patted it
invitingly. "Sit down, boys, an' tell me all about it," he said. "Who
may you be, now?"
"His name is Hall and mine is Edwards," replied Steve, as he and Tom
followed Danny's example and swung their feet from the table. "We're new
boys."
"I suspected as much," replied Danny drily. "An' where might be your
place of residence?"
"Tannersville, Pennsylvania."
"Think o' that now!" marvelled Danny. "Sure, you're a long ways from
home. Is this place you say anywhere near Philadelphia?"
"Oh, no, it's a long ways from there. It's out in the western part of
the state."
"I was in Philadelphia once to see the games at the college over there,"
pursued Danny. "It's a fine town."
"Would you mind--telling us who you are?" asked Tom.
"I would not. I have no unseemly pride. My name is Mister Daniel Parnell
Moore, and I have the extraordinary honour of bein' the trainer at this
institution o' learnin' and Fine Arts, the Fine Arts bein' athletics,
football, baseball, hockey _an'_ tinnis. An' now you know!"
"Thank you," said Tom politely. "I hope you didn't mind my asking you."
"Not a bit! You may ask me anything you like, Jim."
"My name isn't Jim," replied Tom, with a smile.
"It ain't?" The trainer seemed surprised. "Sure, he said your last name
was Hall, didn't he? An' I never seen a Hall whose front name wasn't
Jim."
"I'm sorry," laughed Tom, "but mine isn't; it's Tom."
Danny Moore shook his head sadly. "An' you," he said, turning to Steve,
"maybe you'll be tellin' me next your name ain't Sam?"
"It's Steve."
"It might be," agreed Danny doubtfully. "But all the Edwardses I ever
knew was Sams. But I'm not disputin' your word, d'ye mind! 'Tis likely
you know, me boy. An' what do you think o' this rural paradise o'
knowledge?"
"I guess we like it pretty well, what we've seen of it," answered Steve.
"Have you been here long?"
"Two years; this is my third. It's a nice schools, as schools go. I
never had much use for them, though. In the Old Country we never held
with them much when I was a lad. I dare say you boys'll be tryin' to
play football like all the rest of them?"
"We're going out for the team," said Steve, "although I guess, from what
a fellow told us last night, we don't stand much show. He said that most
of the last year's players were back this fall."
"That's so. We lost but four by graduation. They were some o' the best
in the bunch, though. 'Tis queer how the ones that is gone is always the
best, ain't it? Who was this feller you was talkin' to?"
"His name is Miller. Do you know him? I suppose you must, though."
"Miller? Do you mean Andy Miller?"
"I don't know. He didn't tell us his other name."
"The initials were A. L. M., though," reminded Tom.
"That's right. Is he a pretty good player?"
"He does fairly well," answered Danny Moore carelessly. "Not that I pay
much heed to him, though. I see him around sometimes. I wouldn't think
much of what he tells you, though. I don't. If you see him I'd be
obliged if you'd tell him that."
But there was a twinkle in Danny's eye and Steve resolved to tell Miller
no such thing. "What position does he play?" he asked.
Danny frowned thoughtfully. "It might be end, right or left. I forget. I
pay no heed to the likes o' him. He's only the captain, d'ye see?"
"Captain!" exclaimed the two boys startledly, eyeing each other in
amazement.
"Sure," said Danny. "An' why not?"
"Er--there's no reason," replied Steve, "only--he didn't say anything
about being captain."
"And why would he be after incriminating himself?" Danny demanded.
The boys digested this news in silence for a moment. Then,
"Does that fellow who was just in here play?" asked Tom.
"He does. He plays right guard, and he plays it well. I'll say that for
him. Well, it's catchin' no fish I am sittin' here gassin' with you
fellers. Make yourselves to home. I must be gettin' on."
"I guess we'll go, too," said Steve.
They followed the trainer up the stairway to the hall above. There he
pulled a bunch of keys from his pocket and unlocked the big front door
for them. "Now, look at that, will you?" he exclaimed in amazement as he
turned a small key over between his fingers. "I wouldn't be surprised if
that key would fit them lockers down there. Ain't that a pity, an' him
wantin' it all the time?"
The boys smiled and agreed gravely that it was. Danny sighed, shook his
head and dropped the keys back into his pocket. "If you have trouble
with him," he said to Steve, "hit for his head, boy, for you'll make no
impression on the body of him."
"Thanks, but I don't expect he will bother me again."
"I know. I'm only tellin' you. A word to the wise, d'ye mind? Good luck
to you, boys."
"Thanks. We're much obliged to you, Mr. Moore."
"Mr. Moore! Help! Listen." And Danny bent confidentially. "I won't be
mindin' if you call me Mister Moore when we're by ourselves, d'ye see;
but don't be doin' it in the presence of others. Them as didn't know
might think I was one of the faculty, d'ye see. Call me Danny an' save
me self-respect!"
When the door had closed behind them on the grinning countenance of
Danny, Steve looked at his watch and exclaimed startledly.
"Nearly ten o'clock!" he said. "And we promised to telegraph to the
folks this morning. Let's see if the trunks have come and then hustle to
the telegraph office."
CHAPTER IX
BACK IN TOGS
Brimfield Academy was in full swing. The term was a day old and one
hundred and fifty-three youths of various ages from twelve to twenty had
settled down, more or less earnestly, to the school routine. In 12
Billings trunks had been unpacked and the room had taken on a look of
comfort and coziness, although several things were yet lacking to
complete its livableness. For instance, an easy-chair of some sort was a
crying necessity, a drop-light would help a lot, and a cushion and some
pillows on the window-seat were much needed. Tom argued that if the
window-seat was furnished they would not require an easy-chair, but
Steve held out for the added luxury.
Both boys, Steve by a narrower margin than he suspected, had made the
Fourth Form, and this afternoon, as they expeditiously changed into
football togs, their glances more than once stole to the imposing piles
of books on the study table, books which hinted at many future hours of
hard work. Steve, pulling on a pair of much worn and discoloured canvas
trousers, sighed as his eye measured again the discouraging height of
his pile. It was almost enough to spoil in advance the pleasure he
looked forward to on the gridiron!
The athletic field lay behind the school buildings and was a fine level
expanse of green turf some twelve acres in extent. There were three
gridirons, a baseball diamond, a quarter-mile running-track and a round
dozen of tennis courts there. A well-built iron-framed stand, erected in
sections, and mounted on small wide-tread wheels could be moved about as
occasion required, and at present was standing in the middle of the
south side of the football field. On the whole Brimfield had reason to
be proud of her athletic equipment, field and gymnasium, as well as of
her other advantages.
The scene along the Row as the two friends clattered out of Billings was
vastly different from that presented the afternoon of their arrival. Now
the walk was alive with boys, heads protruded from open casements and
wandering couples could be seen lounging along the gate drive or over
the sloping lawn that descended to the road. First practice had been
called for four o'clock and the big dial in the ivy-draped tower of Main
Hall pointed its hands to three-forty when Steve and Tom turned into
the path between Torrence and Wendell leading to the gymnasium and the
field beyond. Already, however, the fellows were turning their steps
that way, some in playing togs but more in ordinary attire, the latter,
yielding to the lure of a warm September afternoon, bent on finding an
hour's entertainment stretched comfortably at ease along a side line or
perched on the stand.
"That's pretty, isn't it?" asked Tom, as they looked across the nearer
turf to where the broad expanse of playing ground, bordered on its
further side by a wooded slope, stretched before them. The early frosts
had already slightly touched the trees over there, and hints of
russet-yellow and brick-red showed amongst the green. Nearer than that,
more colour was supplied by an occasional dark red sweater amongst the
groups loitering about the edge of the gridiron.
"It surely is pretty," agreed Steve. "I wonder if Miller's there yet. He
told us to look him up, you know."
"Maybe he will give us a send-off to the coach," suggested Tom. "He
could, you know, since he is captain. I guess it won't do us any
harm--me, anyway--to have someone speak a word for us, eh?"
"Wonder what the coach is like," said Steve, nodding agreement. "Miller
seemed to think he was pretty good. That's a dandy turf there, Tom;
level as a table. They haven't marked the gridiron out yet, though."
"I suppose they don't need it for a day or two," replied the other,
trying not to feel self-conscious as he neared the crowd already on
hand. "I don't see Miller, do you?"
Steve shook his head, after a glance about him, and, rolling his hands
in the folds of his sweater, not because the weather was cold but
because that was a habit of his, seated himself at the bottom of the
stand. Tom followed him and they looked about them and conversed in low
voices while the throng grew with every minute. So far neither had made
any acquaintances save that of Andy Miller--unless Eric Sawyer could be
called such!--and they felt a little bit out of it as they saw other
boys joyously hailing each other, stopping to shake hands or exchange
affectionate blows, or waving greetings from a distance. They had made
the discovery, by the way, that the proper word of salutation at
Brimfield was "Hi"! It was invariably "Hi, Billy"! "Hi, Joe"! and the
usual "Hello" was never heard. Eventually Steve and Tom became properly
addicted to the "Hi"! habit, but it was some time before they were able
to keep from showing their newness by "Helloing" each other.
The stand became sprinkled with youths and the turf along the edge of
the gridiron held many more. A man of apparently thirty years of age,
wearing a grey Norfolk suit and a cap to match, appeared at the corner
of the stand just as the bell in Main Hall struck four sonorous peals.
He was accompanied by three boys in togs, one of them Captain Miller.
The coach was a clean-cut chap with a nice face and a medium-sized, wiry
figure. He had sandy hair and eyebrows that were almost white, and his
sharp blue eyes sparkled from a deeply tanned face upon which, at the
moment, a very pleasant smile played. But even as Steve and Tom watched
him the smile died abruptly and he pulled a black leather memorandum
book from a pocket and fluttered its leaves in a businesslike way.
Miller had predicted that this fall some eighty candidates would appear,
but he had evidently been over-sanguine. Sixty seemed nearer the correct
number than eighty. But even sixty-odd looked a good many as they
gradually gathered nearer the coach. Steve and Tom slipped from their
places and joined the throng.
"Last year's first and second team players take the east end of the
field," directed Mr. Robey. "All others remain here. I'm going to tell
you right now, fellows, that there's going to be a whole lot of hard
work this fall, and any of you who don't like hard work had better keep
away. This is a good time to quit. You'll save your time and mine too.
All right now! Take some balls with you, Milton, and warm up until I get
down there. Now, then, you new men, give me your names. Where's
Lawrence? Not here yet? All right. What's your name and what experience
have you had, my boy?"
One by one the candidates answered the coach's questions and then
trotted into the field where Eric Sawyer was in command. Andy Miller and
Danny Moore stood at the coach's elbow during this ceremony, and when,
toward the last, Steve and Tom edged up, they were greeted by both.
"Here's the fine lad," said Danny, who caught sight of Steve before
Miller did. "Mr. Sam Edwards, Coach, a particular friend of mine."
Steve, rather embarrassed, started to say that his name was not Sam, but
Miller interrupted him.
"So here you are, Edwards? Glad to see you again. I've been looking for
you and Hall to drop in on me. How are you, Hall? Robey, these two have
had some experience on their high school team and I think they'll bear
watching. Shake hands with Mr. Robey, Edwards."
"Glad to know you," said the coach. "What's your position, Edwards?"
"I've been playing end, sir."
"End, eh? You look fast, too. We'll see what you can do, my boy. And
you,--er----"
"Jim Hall," supplied Danny. "Another close friend o' me boyhood, sir,
an' a fine lad, too, be-dad!"
"Tackle, sir, mostly," replied Tom.
"It's a relief to find a couple who aren't bent on being backs," said
the coach with a smile to Miller. "All right, fellows. We'll give you
all the chance in the world. Report to Sawyer now."
Steve and Tom, with the parting benediction of a portentious wink from
Danny Moore, joined the thirty-odd candidates of many ages and sizes
who, formed in two rings, were passing footballs under the stern and
frowning regard of Eric Sawyer. They edged their way into one of the
circles and were soon earnestly catching and tossing with the rest. If
Sawyer recognised them as the boys who had aroused his ire in the
rubbing room the day before, he showed no sign of it. It is probable,
though, that their football attire served as a sufficient disguise.
Sawyer apparently took his temporary position as assistant coach very
seriously and bore himself with frowning dignity. But it was not at all
beneath his dignity to call erring candidates to order or to indulge in
a good deal of heavy satire at the expense of those whose inexperience
made them awkward. Neither Steve nor Tom, however, fell under the ban of
his displeasure.
Falling on the ball followed the passing, and, in turn, gave place to
starting and sprinting. For this they were formed in line and Sawyer,
leaning over a ball at one end of the line, snapped it away as a signal
for them to leap forward. By that time the warmth of the day and the
exertion had tuckered a good many of them out and Sawyer found much
fault with the performances.
"Oh, get moving, you chap in the black shirt there! Watch the ball and
dig when I snap it! That's it! Go it! _Hard!_ All right for you, but
about a dozen of you other chaps got left entirely. Now get down there
and throw your weight forward. Haven't any of you ever practised starts
before? Anyone would think your feet were glued down! Get in line again.
Ready now! Go, you flock of ice-wagons!"
Fortunately for the softer members of the awkward squad, practice was
soon over to-day, and Steve and Tom somewhat wearily tramped back with
the rest across to the gymnasium, determined to have the luxury of a
shower-bath even if they would have to get back into their togs again
after it.
"We'd better see about getting lockers," said Steve. "I wonder where you
go."
"They cost a dollar a year," answered Tom, who knew the contents of the
school catalogue by heart, "and if we don't make the team we won't need
the lockers."
"Sure we will. If we use the swimming pool we'll need a place to keep
our clothes. And even if we don't make the big teams we'll play with the
Hall, probably. Wish we had them now and didn't have to go back to the
room to change. I'm tired, if you care to know it!"
"So am I," panted Tom. "Sawyer worked us hard for a warm day."
"Yes, and did you notice that fat fellow? There he is ahead there, with
the striped stockings. He was just about all in and puffing like a
locomotive."
"He was probably tender," said Tom.
"Yes, he--Tender! That'll do for you!" said Steve indignantly, aiming a
blow at Tom's ribs which was skilfully evaded. "Let's stop at the
office in here and see if we can get lockers."
They could. Moreover, Mr. Conklin, the physical director, informed them,
to their deep satisfaction, that the charge of one dollar each would be
placed on their term bill if they wished. They wished with instant
enthusiasm and departed, keys in hand, to find their lockers. They found
the room thronged with fellows in various stages of undressing, while
from the baths came deep groans and shrill shrieks and the hiss and
splash of water. Their lockers were side by side at the farther end of
the last aisle; and, after making certain that the keys fitted them,
they began to get out of their clothes, only to make the discovery when
partly disrobed that they had no towels.
"I'm going to ask someone to lend me one," said Steve. "You can use an
end of it if I get it. I'm going to have that shower or bust."
A cheerful-faced youth draped in a frayed bathrobe came up at that
moment and Steve sought counsel of him.
"Towel? I'd lend you one in a minute, but mine are all soiled. You can
see for yourself." He nodded toward the open door of his locker on the
floor of which lay a pile of what were evidently bath towels. "I forgot
to send them to the wash before I went away in the spring. If you ask
Danny he might let you have one. I guess he's around somewhere."
Steve found the trainer leaning against the doorway of the rubbing room.
"'Tis Sam Edwards!" greeted Danny. "An' how did it go to-day, me boy?"
"Pretty good, thanks. Could you lend me a couple of towels,
Mister--er--Danny?"
"I doubt have I got any, but I'll look an' see," and Danny disappeared
into the room behind him.
"Here you are, Sam," he said in a moment. "They're small but select.
Fetch 'em back when you're through with 'em, if you please. They're
school property, d'ye mind, and it's me that's answerable for them."
Steve promised faithfully to restore them and bore them back in triumph
to where Tom had paused in his undressing to await the result of the
errand. A minute later they were puffing and blowing in adjoining baths,
with the icy-cold water raining down on their glowing bodies. A brisk
drying with the borrowed towels, a return to their uninviting togs and
they were ready to be off. Steve couldn't find Danny, but he left the
towels on the table in the rubbing room and he and Tom climbed the
stairs again. In the hall above there was a large notice board and Tom
stopped to glance at some of the announcements pinned against it.
"Here a minute, Steve," he said. "Look at this." He laid a finger on a
square of paper which bore in almost illegible writing this remarkable
notice: "What Will You Give? Dirt Cheap! Terms Cash! One fine oak Morris
chair, good as new. Three cushions, very pretty. One pair of skates.
Eight phonograph records. Large assortment of bric-a-brac. Any fair
offer takes them! Call early and avoid disappointment. Durkin, 13
Torrence."
"Is it a joke?" asked Steve doubtfully.
"No, there are lots of them, see." Sure enough, the board held fully a
dozen similar announcements, although the others were not couched in
such breezy language. There were chairs, cushions, tables, pictures,
golf clubs, rugs and all sorts of things advertised for sale, while one
chap sought a purchaser for "a stuffed white owl, mounted on a branch,
slightly moth-eaten. Cash or exchange for books."
Steve laughed. "What do you know about that?" he asked. "Say, why don't
we look at some of the things, Tom? Maybe we could save money. Let's
call on Mr. Durkin and look at his Morris chair, eh?"
"All right. Come ahead. Anything else we want?"
"I don't suppose we could pick up a cushion that would fit our
window-seat, but we might. I'll write down some of the names and rooms."
"We might buy the white owl, Steve. Ever think you'd like a white owl?"
"Not with moths in it, thanks," replied Steve. There was pen and ink on
the ledge outside the window of the physical director's office and Steve
secured paper by tearing a corner from one of the notices. When he had
scribbled down the addresses that sounded promising they set off for
Torrence Hall. Number 13 was on the second floor, and as they drew near
it their ears were afflicted by most dismal sounds.
"Wha-what's that?" asked Tom in alarm.
"Fiddle," laughed Steve. "Wonder if it's Mr. Durkin."
The wailing sounds ceased as Steve knocked and a voice called "Come in!"
When they entered they saw a tall, lank youth standing in front of a
music-rack close to the window. He held a violin to his chin and waved
his bow in greeting.
"Hi!" he said. "Sit down and I'll be right with you. I've got one bit
here that's been bothering me for an hour." He turned back to his music,
waved his bow in the air, laid it across the strings and drew forth
sounds that made the visitors squirm in the chairs they had taken. One
excruciating wail after another came from the tortured instrument, the
lank youth bending absorbedly over the notes in the failing light and
apparently quite oblivious to the presence of the others. Finally, with
a sigh of satisfaction, he laid his bow on the ledge of the stand, stood
his violin in a corner of the window-seat and turned to the visitors.
He was an odd-looking chap, tall and thin, with a long, lean face under
a mop of black hair that was badly in need of trimming. His near-sighted
eyes blinked from behind the round lenses of a pair of rubber-rimmed
spectacles and his rather nondescript clothes seemed on the point of
falling off of him.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said politely, "but it's getting dark
and I did want to get that thing before I quit. Want to buy something?"
CHAPTER X
"CHEAP FOR CASH"
"Yes, we saw that you had a Morris chair," replied Steve. He glanced
perplexedly around the room. There was no Morris chair in sight, nor
were any of the other articles advertised to be seen. "That is, if
you're Durkin."
"That's me. The chair is downstairs in the storeroom. It's a corking
chair, all right, and you're sure to want it. I'm sorry, though, you
didn't get around before it got so dark, because the light down there
isn't very good."
"Well, we could come again in the morning," said Steve. "There's no
hurry."
"I think you'd better see it now," said Durkin with decision. "It is a
bargain and if you waited someone might get ahead of you. We'll go
down."
"Er--well, how much is it?"
"All cash?"
"Why, yes, I suppose so."
"It makes a difference. Sometimes fellows want to pay part cash and part
promise, and sometimes they want to trade. If you pay cash you get it
cheaper, of course."
"All right. How much for it?"
Durkin looked the customers over appraisingly. "Let's have a look at it
before we talk about the price," he said. "If I said five dollars now,
when you haven't seen it, you might think I was asking too much."
"I surely would," replied Steve firmly. "If that's what you want for it
I guess there's no use going down to see it."
"I didn't say that was the price," answered Durkin. "I'll make the price
all right. You fellows come and see it." And he led the way out into the
corridor. Steve glanced questioningly at Tom, and Tom smiled and
shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, all right," said Steve. "Let's see it."
Durkin led the way to the lower hall and then down a pair of dark and
very steep stairs to the basement. "You wait there," he instructed,
"until I switch the light on. Now then, this way."
Durkin took a key from a nail and unlocked the door of a room
partitioned off in a corner of the basement. The boys waited, and
Durkin, having disappeared into the gloom of the storeroom, presently
reappeared, dragging after him a very dusty brown-oak chair with a slat
back, broad arms and a much-worn leather seat.
"There you are," he said triumphantly, pushing the object into the faint
gleam of light which reached them from the foot of the stairs. "There's
a chair that'll last for years."
"But you said it was a Morris chair," exclaimed Tom. "That's no Morris
chair!"
"Oh, yes, it is," Durkin assured them earnestly. "I bought it from him
myself last June."
"Bought it from whom?" asked Steve derisively.
"From Spencer Morris, of course. Paid a lot for it, too. Have a look at
it. It's just as good as it ever was. The leather's a little bit worn at
the edges, but you can fix that all right. It wouldn't cost more than
half a dollar, I suppose, to put a new piece on there."
"Look here," said Steve disgustedly, "you're a fakir! What do you
suppose we want with a relic like that? You said you had a Morris chair
and now you pull this thing out to show us. Is that all you've got?"
"Oh, no, I've got a lot of good things in there," answered Durkin
cheerfully, peering into the gloomy recesses of the storeroom. "How
about some pictures, or a pair of fine vases, or----"
"Have you another arm-chair?" asked Steve impatiently.
"No, this is the only one. I've got some dandy cushions, though, for a
window-seat. Let me show you those." And Durkin was back again before
Steve could stop him. Tom was grinning when Steve turned an indignant
look upon him.
"Morris chair!" growled Steve. "Silly chump!"
"Here you are!" Durkin came proudly forth, heralded by a cloud of
pungent dust, and tossed three cushions into the chair. "Look at those
for bargains, will you? Fifty cents apiece and dirt cheap."
"We don't want cushions," growled Steve disgustedly. But Tom was
examining them and presently he looked across at his chum. "We might buy
these, Steve. They're not so bad."
Steve grudgingly looked them over. Finally, "We'll give you twenty-five
cents apiece for them," he said.
"Twenty-five! Why, they're worth a dollar!"
"All right, you keep them."
Durkin hesitated and sighed. Finally, as the boys showed a strong
inclination to seek the stairway, "Give me a dollar for the lot," he
said. Steve questioned Tom with his eyes and Tom nodded.
"All right," said Tom, "but it's more than they're worth."
"You'd have to pay a dollar and a half if you bought them new," said
Durkin. "Honest! Now, about that chair----"
"Nothing doing!" interrupted Steve decisively.
"It's a good chair, and comfortable--say, sit down and just try it, will
you?" Durkin removed the cushions and Steve, with a shrug, seated
himself. When he got out Tom took his place. It _was_ comfortable.
"How much?" asked Steve carelessly.
"Three-fifty, and dirt----"
"Give you a dollar and a half."
Durkin looked so pained that Tom quite pitied him. But he only said
patiently: "You don't want to buy, you fellows; you're looking for
gifts. That chair at three dollars is a real, genuine bargain, and----"
"You said three and a half before," Tom corrected.
"Did I? Well, it ought to be three and a half, but you may have it for
three, even if I lose money on it."
"No fear," grunted Steve. "We'll split the difference and call it two."
"Make it two-fifty and it's yours."
"Couldn't do it. Two or nothing."
"All right," said Durkin placidly. "Take it along. Now let me show
you----"
"No, sir!" laughed Steve. "You don't show us another thing, Durkin. Pile
the cushions on here, Tom, and take hold."
"Wait till I lock this door and I'll give you a lift," said Durkin.
Between them they got the chair upstairs and outdoors. Then Steve paid
three dollars to Durkin and the transaction was completed.
"Thank you," said Durkin. "And, say, if you want anything else, you come
and see me. I've got a lot of good stuff down there. And if you want to
sell anything any time I'm your man. I'll pay you good prices, fellows.
So long."
The two boys felt rather conscious as they carried the chair along the
Row, but although they passed a good many fellows on the way, no one
viewed their performance with more than mild interest. As they were
about to lift their burden through the entrance of Billings, however,
the door opened from inside and a tall boy with a 'varsity football cap
on the back of his head almost ran into them. Drawing aside to avoid
them, his eyes fell on the chair and he stopped short.
"Back again!" he exclaimed delightedly. "Good old article. Where'd you
find it, fellows?"
"Bought it from a fellow named Durkin, in Torrence," replied Steve.
"So 'Penny' had it?" The chap lifted the cushions heaped on the seat of
the chair and viewed it interestedly. "Well, you got a chair with a
history," he said. "That belonged to me three years ago. I bought it
from a fellow named Lansing, and he got it second-hand from a shop in
White Plains. I sold it to Spencer Morris and I suppose Penny got it
from him. And the old article looks 'most as good as new! Do you mind
telling me how much you paid for it?"
"Two dollars," said Steve. "He wanted three at first."
The tall chap laughed. "Two dollars! What do you know about that? I paid
a dollar and a half for it and sold it to Morris for a dollar. I'll bet
Penny didn't give Spencer more than fifty cents for it. He's a wonder,
he is! Those cushions aren't bad. I'll give you a half for the red one."
"We don't want to sell, thanks," said Steve.
"Well, if you do, let me know. I'm in 4. My name's Fowler." And he
nodded and went on. Up in their room, when they had set the arm-chair
down and placed it to their liking, Steve said:
"Think of that long-haired idiot getting two dollars out of us for this
thing. I've a good mind to go back and tell him what I think of him."
"What's the difference?" asked Tom. "It's a perfectly good chair, and if
we hadn't met that Fowler chap we'd never known we'd been stung. It's
worth two dollars, anyway, no matter what Durkin paid for it."
"I suppose it is," granted Steve. "And it _is_ comfortable. Look here;
we'll have to have another one now, or we'll be scrapping to see who
gets this!"
"Not if we can find a cushion for the window-seat," said Tom. "We might
see some more of those fellows you have on your list."
"To-morrow," said Steve. "It's almost supper time. I guess we didn't do
so badly for three dollars. Wasn't it funny, though, we should have run
into a fellow who used to own it? Wonder who Fowler is."
"I saw him at the field this afternoon," replied Tom. "I guess he's on
the first team. We could have made sixteen cents if we'd sold him the
cushion he wanted."
"You're as bad as Durkin!" laughed Steve. "Wonder why he called him
'Penny,' by the way. The fellow had a regular second-hand shop down
there, didn't he? Do you suppose all that truck in there belonged to
him?"
"I don't know. I know one thing, though, and that is that I'm mighty
glad I don't room with Durkin and have to listen to that fiddling of
his!"
"That's not much worse than your snoring," replied Steve unkindly.
The next day further search revealed a cushion which just fitted the
window-seat, not surprising in view of the fact that the window-seats
throughout the dormitories were fairly uniform in size. The cushion cost
them two dollars. It was covered with faded green corduroy and in places
was pretty well flattened out by much service. But it answered their
purpose and really looked quite fine when in place. Tom cast doubts on
the positive assertion of the seller that it was filled with genuine
hair, but Steve said that didn't matter as long as it was comfortable.
They piled their three pillows on it and stretched themselves out on it,
one at a time, and voted it good enough for anyone. There was a good
deal of dust in it, but, as Steve said, if they were careful about
getting up and down they wouldn't disturb it! By this time Number 12
began to look quite sumptuous. They had placed several framed pictures
and many photographs and trinkets against the walls and had draped the
tops of the chiffoniers with towels. They had also made up a list of
things to bring back with them after the Christmas holidays, a list that
included all sorts of articles from a waste-basket to an electric
drop-light. The latter they had not been able to find in their
bargain-hunting and could not purchase in the village even if they had
sufficient money. Their pocketbooks were pretty lean by the time they
had been there a week, for, beside the expenditures for furnishings,
they had, between them, paid two dollars for a year's subscription to
the school monthly, and had made quite an outlay for stationery. Tom, in
fact, was practically bankrupt and had sent an "S. O. S.," as he called
it, to his father.
Meanwhile, every afternoon save Sunday they donned their togs and toiled
on the gridiron. Mr. Robey was already bringing order out of chaos and
the sixty-odd candidates now formed a first, second and third squad.
Steve and Tom both remained in the latter for the present, nor did Tom
entertain much hope of getting out of it until he was dropped for good.
Steve had made something of a reputation as a player at home, and his
former team-mates there firmly expected to hear that he had made the
Brimfield 'varsity without difficulty and was showing the preparatory
school fellows how the game ought to be played. Tom, too, expected no
less for him, and perhaps, if the truth were known, Steve entertained
some such expectations himself! But Tom wasn't deceived as to his own
football ability and was already wondering whether, when he was dropped
from the 'varsity squad, he would be so fortunate as to make his hall
team.
But there was a surprise in store for both of them. The first cut came
about ten days after the opening of school, and the candidates dwindled
from sixty-odd to a scant fifty. Steve's surprise lay in the fact that
he was not promoted to the second squad, Tom's to the even more
startling circumstance that he survived the cut!
Eric Sawyer had been relieved from his superintendence of the awkward
squad and had gone to his old position of right guard on the first team.
The third squad was now under the care of a youth named Marvin, a
substitute quarter-back on last year's second team. He was a cheerful,
hardworking little chap and the "rookies" took to him at once. He was
quick to find fault, but equally quick to applaud good work, and under
his charge the third squad, composed now of some fourteen candidates,
began to smooth out. A half-hour session with the tackling dummy was now
part of the daily routine and many a fellow who had thought rather well
of himself suffered humiliation in the pit. Steve was one of these.
Tackling proved to be a weak point with him. Even Tom got better results
than he did, and every afternoon Steve would scramble to his feet and
wipe the earth from his face to hear Marvin's patient voice saying: "Not
a bit like it, Edwards. Don't shut your eyes when you jump. Keep them
open and see what you're doing. Once more, now; and tackle below the
knees." And then, when the stuffed figure had been drawn, swaying
crazily, across the square of spaded turf once more, and Steve had
leaped upon it and twisted his arms desperately and convulsively about
it, "That's a little better," Marvin might say, "but you'd never stop
your man that way."
Steve was getting discouraged about his tackling and a little bit
incensed with Marvin. "He takes it out on me every time," he confided to
Tom one afternoon after practice. "Lots of the fellows don't do it a bit
better and he just says 'Fair, Jones' or 'That's better, Freer,' and
that's all there is to it. When it comes my turn, he just makes up his
mind I'm not going to do it right and then rags me. Didn't I do it just
as well as you did to-day, Tom?"
Tom, intensely loyal though he was, had to shake his head. "Maybe you
did, Steve; I don't do it very well myself, but you--you don't seem to
get the hang of it yet. You will, of course, in a day or two. I don't
believe Marvin means to rag you, though; he's an awfully decent fellow."
But Tom's day or two stretched into a week or two, and one by one
fellows disappeared from the awkward squad, some to the private walks of
life and the consolation of hall football and some, fewer in number
these, to the squad ahead. Brimfield played its first game of the year
one Saturday afternoon with Thacher School, and came through with flying
colours. But Thacher presented a line-up considerably younger and
lighter than Brimfield's, and the victory brought no great glory to the
Maroon-and-Grey. Steve and Tom watched that contest from the side-line,
Tom with absorbed interest and Steve rather disgruntedly. His visions
had not included any such situation as this!
That evening Steve made his first big mistake.
CHAPTER XI
"HOLD 'EM, THIRD!"
The term was a fortnight old when Thacher went down in defeat, 10 to 3,
and by that time both Steve and Tom had made acquaintances here and
there, and so when, after study hour that Saturday night, Steve
announced carelessly that he was "going around to Hensey to see a
fellow," Tom took it for granted that his chum was off to look up some
new friend. Perhaps, since they usually made calls together, he wondered
a little that Steve didn't ask him along, but he didn't mind being left
out on this particular occasion since he was having a good deal of
trouble just then with trigonometry and wanted to put in more time on
Monday's lesson.
When Steve entered Hensey he passed into the first corridor and knocked
on the door of Number 7. The card there held the names: "Andrew Loring
Miller--Hatherton Williams." A voice bade him enter and Steve walked in.
Andy Miller and his room-mate were both in, Andy sprawled on the
window-seat, which was much too short for his long body, and Williams
seated at the study table. Andy jumped up as the visitor entered.
"Glad to see you, Edwards," he said cordially. "Shake hands with
Williams. Hat, this is Edwards of the fourth. Sit down, won't you?"
Williams, who was a heavy, dark-complexioned youth of eighteen with a
flat nose and a broad mouth, shook hands politely, murmuring something
that Steve took to mean that he was pleased to meet him, and sank back
to his seat. Steve took the easy-chair that Andy pushed forward.
"Well, how are you?" asked the football captain genially. "Haven't run
across any more confidence-men, I hope."
Steve smiled none too heartily and cast a glance toward Williams. But
the latter's blank expression showed that the allusion meant nothing to
him and proved that, as far as Williams was concerned, Miller had kept
his promise of secrecy.
"No, not yet," answered Steve. "I thought I'd just drop in a minute and
call."
"Of course. Glad you did. How's your friend?"
"Tom! He's fine, thanks. I--he wasn't through studying, so I didn't wait
for him."
"And how's football going?" asked Andy. "Getting on pretty well?"
"I think so. Not so very well, though. I--I don't seem to please Marvin
very well with tackling."
"Oh, you'll get onto that all right," said Andy cheerfully. "Fact is, I
don't think a fellow ever really learns much at the dummy. It's dumping
a chap in real playing that shows you what's wanted. Don't you think so,
Hat?"
"Dummy practice is a good thing," answered Williams morosely.
He sat tilted back on the chair, hands in pockets, staring at the floor.
He seemed a gloomy sort of fellow, Steve thought, and was relieved when
Williams added: "Guess I'll run over to Johnny's for a minute," and,
muttering something about being glad to have met the visitor, found a
cap and wandered out.
"I suppose," said Steve, when the door had closed, "it's necessary for a
fellow to learn how to tackle, but it seems to me that if you aren't
awfully good at it you might get a chance to show what you can do
besides that."
"I guess I don't quite understand what you mean," responded Andy.
"I mean that if I can't tackle the dummy well enough to please Marvin,"
answered Steve a trifle bitterly, "I do as well as lots of other
fellows, and--and it doesn't seem fair to keep me back just for that.
Lots of fellows have been taken on to the second squad that can't play
as well as I can, Miller."
"Oh! I see." Andy's eyes narrowed a little and he looked at Steve more
intently. "You mean that you aren't getting a fair show, Edwards?"
"It doesn't seem so to me. I played with my high school team for two
years at left end and--and did pretty well. Of course, I don't say that
I'm as good as some of the fellows here, but I do think that I'm as good
as--as a lot of them; and a heap better than three or four that have
gone to the second squad lately. I don't get a chance to show what I can
do where I am now, Miller. Marvin doesn't even let me into signal drill
more than half the time, and then he puts me at half or tackle and I've
never played either of those places. And when I told him so the other
day he just laughed and said that one place was as good as another on
the third! And he rags me every day about my tackling and--and I don't
think it's fair! If he will give me a chance I'll pick up tackling all
right. You say yourself that a fellow learns it more from playing than
from dummy work."
"So I did," said Andy thoughtfully. Then, after a moment: "Look here,
Edwards, I think you've got a wrong idea in your head. If Marvin isn't
satisfied with your tackling, it's because you don't do it right.
Marvin's a good man and he knows football. Now, if you expect to play
end you ought to know how to tackle, Edwards. What's the good of getting
down the field, no matter how fast you may be, if you can't stop the man
with the ball when you get there?"
"I can stop him! I've played for two years and----"
"What you've done before, Edwards, isn't any criterion with us. You may
have been a regular wonder in--what's the place? Tannerstown----"
"Tannersville. I don't say I was a wonder, but----"
"Just a minute! You may have been a star on your high school team and
yet not worth a copper cent to us, Edwards. I never saw your team play,
but it's pretty likely that their brand of football and ours are
different."
"I think we play as good football as you fellows played to-day," said
Steve.
"Maybe. I'm not especially proud of the game we put up this afternoon.
But that isn't the sort of football we play in mid-season, my friend.
I'm sorry you think you aren't getting a fair deal, Edwards, but you
mustn't expect me to interfere with Marvin. I couldn't do it. The most I
can do is give you a little piece of advice which you won't care for
probably. It's this: Do as you're told to do, Edwards, and do it as hard
as you know how! Just as soon as you show Marvin that you are ready to
go into the second squad, you'll get there. And don't get it into your
head that Marvin has it in for you or doesn't know what he is doing.
Marvin's a particularly bright young man. If he wasn't he wouldn't have
the third squad to weed out, for that's a job that requires a whole lot
more patience and brains than any other job I know of on a football
field."
Andy paused, and Steve, who was gloomily regarding a scarred knuckle,
made no reply.
"Use your head, man," continued the captain in a lighter tone. "You
don't suppose, do you, that we are letting anything good get by us as
long as we've got eyes to see with? Not much! You probably have an idea
that Marvin is keeping you off the second. He isn't. You're keeping
yourself off. Mull that over, Edwards. And don't--don't do this again."
Steve looked a question.
"I mean don't come to me or to Mr. Robey with any hard-luck stories. It
isn't done. If I didn't know you a little, Edwards, I'd think you were
pretty poor stuff. But I guess you didn't stop to consider how it would
look. As you have done it, I'm glad you came to me instead of Mr. Robey.
He wouldn't have liked it a bit." After a pause: "How's Hall getting
on?"
"Pretty well, I guess," replied Steve. He stood up and frowned at the
green globe of the reading lamp for a moment. Then, "I'm sorry I said
anything, Miller," he remarked. "I guess it wasn't quite a fair thing to
do. Only I thought--maybe----"
"You thought," said Andy cheerfully, "that perhaps I'd give you a lift.
Didn't you, Edwards?"
"I suppose so."
"In other words, you wanted me to advance you over the next man on the
strength of our acquaintance. Sounds as though you had rather a punk
impression of me, Edwards."
"I haven't! I--I suppose, though, I didn't stop to figure it out much.
It seemed to me that Marvin wasn't giving me a fair show, and here it is
the last of September already, and I'm just where I started----"
"That's your fault, not Marvin's," responded Andy with a smile. He
walked over and laid a hand on the younger boy's shoulder. "Brace up,
Edwards," he said kindly. "Don't waste your time looking for favours.
Don't want them. Buckle down and grit your teeth and just show Marvin
and the rest of us that you're so good he can't keep you on the third!
That's your line, old man. And now, just as a bit of encouragement, I'll
tell you that Robey and I have noticed your work in the field and we've
liked it. You carry yourself like a veteran and you follow the ball
well, and we both expect big things from you some day. Perhaps you won't
make good this year, but there's next year and the year after. Put your
nose back on the grindstone, Edwards, grin hard and tell Marvin to turn
faster!"
"All right," laughed Steve. "Thanks. I guess you're right. And--and I'm
not sorry now I came."
"Good! Now sit down again and let's have a chin. How do you like the
school? Have you met many of the fellows yet?"
"You're making the same mistake, Edwards," said Marvin the next Monday
afternoon. He spoke a trifle wearily. "Get your body in _front_ of the
runner and not at one side. Bind his legs together with your arms, then
block him with your body and lift him back. If you do that he's _got_
to stop, and when he falls he will fall towards his own goal and not
yours. Try it over now."
And when Steve had tried it over, Marvin glanced at him sharply. It
seemed to him that for almost the first time the candidate had really
tried! He hadn't made a clean tackle, but he had profited by the
instruction that had been heaped upon him for two weeks, and little
Marvin mentally patted himself on the back and was very pleased with
himself, for Marvin, although he would probably never play through a big
game, and knew it, was as unselfishly devoted to the interests of the
team as any fellow there.
"That's a heap better, Edwards," he said eagerly. "Now see if you can't
do it just right the next time."
After that it seemed to Marvin that Steve tried harder and it seemed to
Steve that the little quarter-back was more appreciative. On Tuesday, as
the squad jogged away from the tackling pit, Marvin said:
"Edwards, let me see you after practice, will you?"
Steve, assenting, examined Marvin's face doubtfully. A week ago he would
have expected trouble from such a request, but to-day Marvin's face held
only good-will and a sort of eager friendliness, and while Steve
wondered more than once during the remainder of practice what Marvin
wanted of him he had no unpleasant forebodings.
There was to be a game on the morrow, the only mid-week contest of the
season, and the first squad was released early. That gave Coach Robey a
chance to give undivided attention to the second and third and he made
the most of it. He and Andy Miller, the latter trailing a grey blanket
after him, joined the third squad when the first team and substitutes
had trotted away to the gymnasium and at once displayed a flattering but
embarrassing interest. The Third was practising signals, eleven men in
the line-up and two or three more following and watching. Marvin was
driving them from a position at the rear, occasionally darting into the
line, to correct a fault or illustrate a play. Unfortunately, Carmine,
who was at quarter, noticed the coach's advent and immediately got
flustered. When two plays had gone wrong Mr. Robey said:
"Marvin, you get in there and play quarter for a minute and give that
man a chance to remember his signals. You come back here and look on,
son."
After that the squad ran through plays with vim and snap. Now and then
there was a mix-up, but the signals went pretty well. After each play
the coach or Captain Miller, or sometimes both, criticised and
explained. The plays were few and simple; straight plunges by the backs
with an occasional forward pass; but almost every time the critics found
some fault to correct. Steve was playing at left tackle, fighting
valiantly against an imaginary opponent, and once, trotting back to his
position after a short charge over the turf, he caught the eyes of Andy
and Mr. Robey fixed on him speculatively. He hoped as he settled down
again and listened for the signals that Captain Miller had not told the
coach of that visit on Saturday night! He wanted to forget that himself
and he wanted Andy Miller to forget it.
"That'll be all, Marvin," said Mr. Robey presently. He clapped his
hands. "Everyone in, please!" he called. The players flocked to the
bench and picked up sweaters and blankets, while Mr. Robey and Andy
conversed over the coach's little black book. Finally: "We'll have a
short scrimmage, fellows," he announced. "Second squad take the east
goal and kick off to the third. Pick out your men, Brownell. You too,
Marvin. Who do you want to start?"
It was the first scrimmage for the third squad fellows and they raced on
eagerly. Steve was sent in as left tackle again and Tom beside him at
guard. The pigskin soared away from the toe of a second squad forward,
was gathered in by a third squad half-back near the twenty-yard line and
was down five yards further on. "Line up, Third!" piped Carmine shrilly.
"Give it to 'em hard now!"
There wasn't the finished skill displayed by the 'varsity team, but
there was enough enthusiasm to almost make up for the lack of science.
Back came the ball, the forwards sprang together, a half darted past
right tackle, spinning like a top, faltered, went on, was stopped short
by the Second's backs and borne back, grunting "Down! Down!" with all
the breath left in his body.
"Second down!" proclaimed Joe Lawrence, the manager, jumping into the
mêlée. "Six to go."
Mr. Robey and Andy Miller followed the teams closely, watching and
shouting directions, the coach on the third squad side and Andy behind
the second.
"Good work, you fellow!" applauded Andy, darting up to slap the half on
the back and send him back to his place breathless but grinning. "That's
the way to do it! Now, then, once more. You've got six to go. Let me see
you get it. Play lower, you fellows in the line! Get down there! Lift
'em and throw 'em back! That's the ticket!"
But the gain was scant and Carmine walked back to kick.
"Get through and block this!" panted the second's quarter, dodging back
and forth for a likely opening.
"You fellow on the end there!" cried Andy. "Play back further and stop
that tackle!"
"Watch for a forward pass!" warned a second squad back. "Spread out,
Billy!"
"Hold 'em!" shouted Carmine.
Then came the signals, back sped the ball--a poor pass--the second came
tearing through, Carmine dropped the ball and swung his leg and away it
floated. A second squad back caught it near the side-line, tucked it
under his arm and started back. The third squad's right end had been
blocked and now, eager to make up for lost time, he overran and missed
his tackle entirely and the second's back came speeding up the field
near the side-line, a hastily-formed interference guarding him well. Ten
yards, fifteen, twenty, and then Carmine wormed through and brought the
runner to earth.
"That's one on you, right end," said Andy sternly. "You got boxed to
the king's taste that time. Now, third, see what you can do on the
defence."
"Draw your line in, Carmine," called Marvin. "Look where you are, man!
The ball's almost on the twenty yards! Peters, close up there! Now push
'em back, third!"
"Who's that right end, Dick?" asked Andy of Marvin.
"Chap named Holt. He isn't very good."
"How would it do to try Edwards there? He looks clever."
"That's his position, Andy, but the kid can't tackle. I'll give him a
try, though. That's rotten, third! Blaisdell, where were you then? For
the love of mud, man, watch the ball! Five yards right through you! Now
get back there and stop them!"
"Second down, five to go," called Lawrence. "You left end on the second,
you were off-side then. Next time I'll penalise you. Watch out for it."
"Same formation!" piped the second's quarter. "Make it good, fellows!
Let's score now!"
"Hold 'em, third! Don't give 'em an inch. Get down there, Peters!"
"Third down!" called Lawrence a moment later. "You've got three and a
half to go, second!"
"That's the stuff!" cried Carmine jubilantly, dealing blows of approval
on the bent backs of the forwards. "That's the way to stop 'em! Now once
more, third!"
Then, "Fourth down and a yard and a half to go," announced Lawrence.
"Kick formation!" called the attacking quarter. "Simmons back!"
"Block this! Block it! Get through now, fellows!"
"Hold hard there, second!" There was a moment of silence. Then the ball
shot back. Simmons caught it waist-high, dropped it, kicked and went
down under the charge of the desperate second squad players. But the
ball sailed over the cross-bar and the second had scored.
"That'll do, Holt," said Marvin. "Edwards, you play right end.
Saunders!" A substitute struggled out of his sweater and came racing on.
"Go in at left tackle, Saunders. Pearse, you'd better kick off."
The game went on, the second squad bringing the pigskin back twelve
yards on the kick-off and then hammering through for fifteen more before
the third forced them to punt. Carmine caught on his thirty-five yards,
made a short gain and was downed. Twice the third got through for a yard
or two and then Carmine again fell back to kick. This time the pass was
a good one and Carmine got off an excellent punt that went over the head
of the opposing quarter-back and bobbed along toward the goal. The left
half scuttled to his assistance and, when the ball was in the quarter's
arms, threw himself in front of the first of the foe. But that
particular adversary was canny. He twisted aside, leaped over the
stumbling half and dived for the runner. It was a poor tackle and the
man with the ball struggled on for three yards after he was caught, but
the ball was down on the second's twenty-seven yards, and Steve, picking
himself up from the recumbent enemy, heard Marvin shouting: "A rotten
tackle, Edwards, but fine work down the field!" And, "Good stuff, you
end!" approved the coach, while Tom, beaming, patted him ungently on the
back.
The scrimmage was over a minute later, and, although the second had
triumphed by that goal from the field, the third trotted back to the
gymnasium feeling very well pleased with themselves. They had had their
baptism by fire and had acquitted themselves well. Steve and Tom,
panting but happy, had almost reached the gymnasium when Steve
recollected his engagement with Marvin.
"I've got to go back," he said in dismay. "I promised Marvin to see him
after practice."
"There he comes now," said Tom, nodding toward where the little quarter
was approaching with Mr. Robey and Andy Miller. Steve stopped beside the
path and Tom fell back to wait for him.
"I forgot you wanted me to wait, Marvin," said Steve apologetically, as
the trio came up.
"Oh, that's all right, Edwards. I forgot myself. Another day will do
just as well. I didn't know we were to have scrimmage to-day."
"You keep up that stuff you showed to-day, Edwards," said Mr. Robey,
"and we'll have you on the second the first thing you know." Then his
glance passed Steve to Tom. "You too, Hall. I watched you. You're doing
well. Keep it up."
The three went on, and Steve and Tom silently followed. Neither spoke
until they reached the steps. Then,
"I'm awfully glad," said Tom.
"So am I," replied Steve heartily. "Bet you you'll make the second
before the week is out."
"I meant about you, Steve," said Tom simply.
CHAPTER XII
CANTERBURY ROMPS ON--AND OFF
But existence at Brimfield Academy wasn't all football, by any means,
nor all fun. There was a lot of hard work mixed up with the play, and
both Steve and Tom found that an immense amount of study was required of
them. They each had thirty recitations a week, and in both Greek and
Latin their preparation at high school had, not unnaturally, been
deficient. That meant hard sledding for a while. Tom realised the fact
before Steve would, and so spared himself some trouble. Steve resented
the extra study necessary and for the first fortnight or so trusted to
luck to get him through. And for a time luck stood by him. He had a way
of looking wise in class that imposed for a while on "Uncle Sim," as Mr.
Simkins was called, but after Steve had fallen down three or four times
the instructor scented the truth of the matter and then Steve's life
became a burden to him. Mr. Simkins took delight, it seemed, in calling
on him at the most unexpected moments until, one day, in sheer
desperation, Steve gave utterance to the answer "not prepared." That
was to Uncle Sim what a red rag is to a bull! There was a scathing
dressing-down then and there, followed by a visit that evening from Mr.
Daley. Steve was secretly uneasy, for more than one story of summary
justice on the part of the Greek and Latin instructor had reached him,
but he presented a careless front to the Hall Master. Mr. Daley was
plainly eager to help, but, as usual, he was embarrassed and nervous,
and Steve, who had taken a mild dislike to him, resented his
interference.
"The stuff's too hard," he said in answer to Mr. Daley's inquiries.
"Look at the lesson we had to-day, sir; all that and this, over to here;
sight reading, too. And two compositions so far this week! I just didn't
have time for it last night, and so when he called on me to-day I told
him I wasn't prepared. And then he--he ragged me in front of the class
and gave me a page and a half to write, beside to-morrow's lesson. I
can't do it, and that's all there is to it!"
"Er--yes, yes, I see. I'm sorry, Edwards. Now, let us have a look at
this. Yes, there's quite a lot of it. You--ah--you didn't have much
Latin before you came here, I take it?"
"Had enough," growled Steve, "but nothing like this. I've had Cæsar and
some Cicero. I never had any luck with Latin, anyway." And Steve viewed
the open book with distaste.
"It's the quantity, then, you find--ah--difficult," said Mr. Daley. "As
far as grammar is concerned, I take it you are--ah--well grounded,
Edwards?"
"I suppose so. But look at the length of the lesson we have!"
"Yes. Very true. But, of course, to complete a certain amount of work in
the year it is--ah--necessary to do quite a good deal every day. Now
maybe you--ah--haven't been really setting your mind on this. I know in
my own case that I very often find myself--ah--skimping, so to speak; I
mean going over a thing without really getting the--ah--the meat out of
it. I'm almost certain that if you really settled your mind on this,
Edwards, that you'd get along very well with it. Suppose now that you
give twice as much time to it to-night as you usually do. If some other
study must suffer, why, let it be your French and I will let you by
to-morrow if you aren't well prepared. And--ah--I wish when you've been
over this you'd come down and let me--ah--go over it with you lightly. I
think--I think that would be an excellent idea, Edwards."
"Oh, I'll try it," grumbled Steve, "but it isn't any use. And look at
what I've got to translate for him!"
"Yes, yes, I see. Well--ah--bring your book down after awhile and we'll
see what can be done. How are you getting on, Hall?"
"Pretty well, sir. I find it a bit stiff, too, but maybe after awhile
I'll get the hang of it."
"That's the way to talk!" exclaimed the instructor approvingly.
"That--ah--that is the right attitude, Hall. Make up your mind that it
will come and it _will_ come. We all have our--our problems, and the
only way to do is to--ah--face them and ride straight at them. So often,
when we reach them, we find them--ah--we find them so very much more
trivial than we had supposed. They're like--like hills seen from a
distance that look terrifically steep. When we--ah--reach them we find
them easy grades after all. You see what I mean? Yes, yes. Well, I shall
expect you in my study later, Edwards. I want you--both of you, that
is--to realise that I am very eager to be of assistance at any time.
Possibly I can't help very much,--but--ah--I am most willing, boys."
"Silly chump," growled Steve when the door had closed behind Mr. Daley.
"I wish--ah--he'd--ah--mind his own--ah--business!"
But Tom didn't smile. "I think the chap means to be awfully decent,
Steve," he said thoughtfully. "The trouble is, I guess, he's scared to
death of the fellows. You can see that in class."
"He's a regular granny," replied Steve. "Wish he had this stuff to do. I
guess he wouldn't be so light and airy about it!"
"You'll go down and let him help you, though, won't you?" asked Tom
anxiously.
"Oh, I suppose so. He can do the whole thing if he wants to. Where is my
dictionary?"
With Mr. Daley's help, freely offered and grudgingly accepted, Steve
weathered that crisis. And secretly he was grateful to the Hall Master,
though he still pretended to believe and possibly did half believe that
the latter was a sort of mollycoddle. Tom told him indignantly once that
since Mr. Daley had been so awfully decent to him he ought to stop
poking fun at him. To which Steve cheerfully made answer that even a
mollycoddle could be decent at times!
Brimfield played Canterbury High School on a Wednesday afternoon in
early October and had a good deal of a scare. Canterbury romped on to
the field like a bunch of young colts, and continued to romp for the
best part of three ten-minute periods, long after Brimfield had decided
that romping was no longer in good taste! Led by a small, wiry,
red-headed quarter-back, who was likewise captain, and directed from the
side-line by a coach who looked scarcely older than the big youth who
played centre for them, the Canterbury team took the most astounding
liberties with football precedents. They didn't transgress the rules,
but they put such original interpretations on some of them that Mr.
Conklin, who was refereeing, and Mr. Jordan, instructor in mathematics,
who was umpiring, had their heads over the rules-book nearly half the
time! Now and then they would march to the side-line and consult the
Canterbury coach. "Where do you get your authority for that play?" Mr.
Conklin would ask a trifle irritably. Thereupon, silently but with a
twinkle in his eye, the coach would gravely take the book, flip the
pages, lay a finger on a section and return it.
"Hm," Mr. Conklin would say. "Hm; but that seems to be in direct
contradiction of another rule over here!"
"Quite likely," the coach would reply indifferently. "There are quite a
few contradictions there. Of course, you may accept either rule you
like, gentlemen."
Disarmed in such wise, the officials invariably decided the play to be
legal, and Quarter-back Milton, of Brimfield, would protest volubly and
get very, very red in the face in his attempt to carry his point and, at
the same time, omit none of the respect due a faculty member! It was
hard on Milton, that game, and several times he nearly had apoplexy.
Then, too, Canterbury did the most unexpected things at the most
inopportune moments. When Brimfield expected her to rush the ball she
was just as likely to get off a kick from close formation. When the
circumstances indicated an attack on the short side of the field
Canterbury's backs swung around the other end. When a close formation
was to be looked for she swung her line half across the field, so
confusing the opponents that they acted as though hypnotised. The
forward pass was to Canterbury a play that afforded her infinite
amusement. She used it in the most unheard of locations; in midfield,
under the shadow of her own goal, anywhere, everywhere and almost always
when least expected. At the end of the second period Brimfield trotted
away to the gymnasium dazed and tired of brain, with the score 7 to 0
against her.
The surprising thing about the visitors was that they played as though
they were just having an afternoon of good fun. They romped, like boys
playing leap-frog or follow-my-leader. They romped up the field and they
romped down the field and, incidentally, over and through and around
their opponents. And the more care-free and happy Canterbury became, the
more anxious and laboured grew Brimfield. The Maroon-and-Grey reminded
one of a very staid and serious middle-aged party with a grave duty to
perform trying to restrain the spirited antics of a small boy with no
sense of decorum!
When the second half began, Canterbury added insult to injury. Instead
of booting the pigskin down the field in an honest and earnest endeavour
to obtain distance, she deliberately and with malice aforethought,
dribbled it on the bias, so to speak, toward the side-line. Benson,
right end, should certainly have got it, but he was so perplexed that he
never thought of picking it up until a Canterbury forward had performed
the task for him and had raced nearly twenty yards down the field! It
was an unprecedented thing to do, or, at least, unprecedented at
Brimfield, and the audience voiced its disapproval strongly. But as the
ball had gone the required ten yards there was nothing to do but
smile--a trifle foolishly, perhaps--and accept the situation. And the
situation was this: Canterbury had kicked off and gained over thirty
yards without losing possession of the ball! But in one way that play
was ill-advised. Brimfield had stood all sorts of jokes and pranks from
the enemy with fairly good grace, but this enormity was too much.
Brimfield was peeved! More than that, she was really angry! And, being
angry, she forgot that for twenty minutes she had been outplayed and
started in then and there to administer a licking to the obstreperous
small boy.
Even then, however, Canterbury continued to romp and enjoy herself. She
found hard sledding, but she worked down to Brimfield's eight-yard line
before she was finally halted. Then her right half romped back for a try
at goal and joyously booted the ball. But, to the enormous relief of the
onlookers, the ball went under the bar instead of over, and Canterbury
romped back again. That third period was very evenly contested,
Brimfield, smarting under a sense of wounded dignity, playing well
together and allowing Canterbury no more opportunities to attempt
scores. The visitors, still untamed, sprang strange and weird
formations and attacks. A favourite trick was to start a play without
signals, while one of her men was ostensibly tying a shoe-lace yards
away or requesting a new head-guard near a side-line. It invariably
happened, though, that the shoe-lace was tied in time to allow the youth
to get the ball on a pass and attempt a joyous romp around the
opponent's end. There was no scoring in the third period, but the
whistle blew with the pigskin down on Canterbury's twenty-five yards and
Brimfield with four to go on third down.
As there was no practice that afternoon, Steve and Tom saw the game from
the grand stand, with two cronies named Draper and Westcott. Draper's
first name was Leroy and he was called Roy. He was a tow-haired
youngster of fifteen with very bright blue eyes and a tip-tilted nose
that gave him a humorously impertinent look. He, like Steve and Tom, was
a Fourth Former. His home was in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, and, while
Pittsburg was a good hundred miles from Tannersville, the fact that they
were citizens of the same glorious commonwealth had drawn he and Steve
together. Harry Westcott was a year older and came from a small town in
Connecticut. He was Roy's room-mate in Torrence. He had a slim,
small-boned body and a good-looking face with an aquiline nose and a
pair of very large soft-brown eyes. His dark hair was brushed straight
back from his forehead and was always very slick. Harry was what Roy
called "a fussy dresser" and affected knickerbockers and golf-stockings,
negligée shirts of soft and delicate hues of lavender or green or blue
and, to quote his disrespectful room-mate once more, "symphonic ties."
Harry was the embodiment of aristocratic ease and always lent a "tone"
to any gathering. He maintained an air of what he probably considered
well-bred composure and tabooed enthusiasm. Harry never declared that a
thing was "bully" or "fine and dandy"; he mildly observed that it was
"not half bad." This pose amused him, doubtless, and entertained his
friends, and underneath it all he was a very normal, likable chap. It
was Roy Draper who broke the strained silence that had endured until the
whistle put an end to the third period.
"I wouldn't give a cent for Canterbury's chances in the next period," he
said. "Look at Andy's face, fellows. It has the 'blood-lust' on it. When
Andy looks that way something has just got to happen!"
"He looks annoyed," assented Harry.
"You'd be annoyed if you had your lip cut the way his is," chuckled Roy.
"Do you think we'll beat them?" asked Tom anxiously.
"Nothing can save them," replied Roy conclusively. "Andy has his dander
up."
"It took him long enough to get it up," grumbled Steve. "He let those
fellows run rings around us in the first half."
"That's his foxy way. Now he's got them all tired out and we'll go in
and rip 'em up. You watch!"
"There's Marvin going in for Milton," announced Tom. "Say, those chaps
haven't made a change in their line-up yet."
"One," corrected Harry. "They put in a new right guard last period.
They're a funny lot, seems to me. You'd think they were having the time
of their lives."
"I like that, though," said Roy. "After all, you know, this thing of
playing football is supposed to be amusement."
"It's a heap more like hard work, though," replied Harry. "Not that I
ever played it much."
"Did you ever play at all?" asked Roy.
"Once or twice at grammar school. It was too fatiguing, though."
"I'll bet it was," chuckled Roy. "I'd like to see you playing, old
thing."
"I did, though; played right half-back. A fellow stuck his elbow into my
face and I knocked him flat. Captain said it was part of the game, you
know, and I shouldn't have done it. I said that any fellow who bumped my
nose would have to look for trouble. Then the umpire put me off and the
game lost a real star."
"Here we go," said Steve. "Now let's see if they can carry it over."
They didn't, however, just then. Canterbury held finely in the shadow of
her goal and Marvin's forward pass to Captain Miller went out at the
twelve-yards. But Canterbury was forced to punt a moment later, and
Brimfield took up the march again. On the adversary's thirty-yard line,
with six to go on the third down, Norton, full-back, attempted an
impossible drop-kick--he was standing over forty yards from the
cross-bar--and made it good.
"What did I tell you?" demanded Roy, digging Steve with his elbow.
"That's only three points, though," answered Steve doubtfully. "We
couldn't make a touchdown."
"It isn't over yet," said Roy confidently. "We're getting better all the
time."
Canterbury gave the ball to Brimfield for the kick-off and Fowler booted
it down to the opponent's fifteen yards. Andy Miller was under it all
the way and upset an ambitious Canterbury back before he was well
started. Canterbury tried two plunges and then punted from her
twenty-five-yard line to Brimfield's fifty. Marvin caught and brought
the stand to its feet by reeling off twelve yards across the field
before he was downed. Then Brimfield found herself and went down the
gridiron by steady plunges, plugging the Canterbury line for good gains
from tackle to tackle. Norton, at full-back, was the hero of that
period. Time after time he took the pigskin and landed it for a gain.
Marvin, cool and heady, ran the team beautifully, and when four minutes
of playing time remained, Brimfield was again knocking at Canterbury's
door, the pigskin on the latter's eighteen yards.
"First down!" proclaimed Roy triumphantly. "Here's where she goes over,
old thing!"
"Let her go," replied Harry. "I'm watching."
"I hope they don't try another silly field-goal," muttered Steve.
"Not on first down, they won't. Bully work, Norton! Did you see it?
Three yards easily!"
Then Marvin himself cut loose for four around left end and the
Canterbury coach hustled three substitutes on. But Brimfield was not to
be denied now. It was first down on Canterbury's seven yards, and, with
the spectators yelling like Indians, Kendall, right half, took the ball
on a delayed pass, found an opening outside right tackle and slipped
through and over the line for six more points.
Captain Miller kicked goal and the score stood 10 to 7. Another minute
of play followed, with Brimfield again pushing the high school team
before her, and then the game was over and the quartette on the stand
thumped each other elatedly--all save Harry--and ambled down to join the
throng that spread over the field on its homeward way.
"What did I tell you?" asked Roy. "You can't fool your uncle!"
"You hate yourself, don't you?" drawled Harry. "Come on over to the
room, you fellows."
Canterbury, having cheered the victor wholeheartedly, romped home.
CHAPTER XIII
SAWYER VOWS VENGEANCE
Miter Hill School followed Canterbury the next Saturday and was an
unexpectedly weak opponent. The contest was slow and lifeless and
dragged its weary length along until almost twilight. Miter Hill's
players were in poor physical condition and, since the afternoon was
warm and close, made a poor showing. The weather affected Brimfield,
too, although she was not as susceptible to injury as the other team.
Miter Hill was forever getting hurt, it seemed, and the audience which
had braved a remorseless sun and a horde of blood-thirsty midges soon
began to grumble.
The game was further slowed down in the last two periods by the
substitution of half the members of the second and third squads for the
Maroon-and-Grey. Even Tom had a three or four-minute experience on the
'varsity, something which he had long ceased hoping for, while Steve
played nearly all of the fourth period at right end. He did very well,
there, although Miter Hill was too weak in all departments of the game
to afford any of her opponents a fair test. Toward the last the contest
degenerated into more or less of a farce, Miter Hill tuckered and played
out, and Brimfield, with a line-up of third and fourth substitutes,
fumbling and mixing signals and running around like a hen with her head
off!
By that time those who had remained so long began to view the game as
what it really was, a comedy of errors, and got lots of fun out of it.
When Peters, at centre, passed the ball at least two feet above the
upstretched hands of Harris, who wanted to punt, and at least nine
youths raced back up the field in pursuit of it, shoving, tripping,
falling, rolling, and when it was Peters himself who finally dropped his
one hundred and seventy-odd pounds on it, the onlookers rocked in their
seats and applauded wildly. Later on another dash of humour was supplied
when Carmine poised the ball for a forward pass only to discover that no
one of his side was in position to take it. The quarter-back shouted
imploringly, running back and across the field, dodging two or three of
the enemy and by some miracle holding the ball out of harm's way all the
while. When, at last, thoroughly desperate, he heard someone shout from
across the field to throw the ball, he threw it, and not until the
catcher had reeled off twenty yards or more toward Brimfield's goal did
Carmine discover that he had been cruelly deceived by the Miter Hill
right end! Even Mr. Robey, who had been viewing the game rather grimly,
had to swing on his heel to hide a smile at that fiasco. But, if the
subs didn't do much in the way of attack, they at least held the enemy
from crossing their line, and the weird contest at last came to a close
with the one-sided score of 26 to 0.
On Monday there was a fine shake-up, for the Miter Hill game, if it had
not held any thrills, had at least shown up many faults, individual and
otherwise. Several second squad men went to the first as substitutes,
Fowler was shifted from left tackle to left guard on the first and two
members of the third squad were advanced to the second. These latter
were Freer, half-back, and Hall, guard. Tom was both surprised and
delighted, while seriously doubting the coach's wisdom. Later, when he
found that Steve had not secured promotion as well, most of his delight
vanished.
"I don't see why they put me on the second," he said, "and left you on
the third. I don't play half the game you do, Steve."
Steve tried hard to be gracious, but only partly succeeded. "I dare say
they want guards and don't want ends," he replied. "Of course you've
been doing good work, Tom, and deserve promotion and I'm awfully glad
you've got it, but, just the same, I don't think I'm getting a square
deal."
"I don't either! I wish they'd left me alone and taken you on. Peters
says Robey will be disbanding the third squad in a week or so, too. Of
course they'll put you on the second before that, though."
"I don't believe they will," replied Steve morosely. "I dare say I'll be
dropped entirely. I thought I was getting on pretty well, but Marvin
evidently doesn't think so. I'm getting kind of sick of it, anyway, Tom.
I wish I'd stayed at home. I could have if I'd made a good hard kick."
That was a hard week for the 'varsity, for Coach Robey had every man on
the team, with the possible exceptions of Miller and Innes, guessing.
Men came in from the second squad, were tried out and usually let go
again. All sorts of shifts in the line and back-field were tried. On
Wednesday, Eric Sawyer, who had been looked on as a fixture at right
guard, found himself ousted by Gafferty, from the second, and a member
of the "bench brigade." Sawyer didn't like that at all. It was a
terrific blow to his pride and self-esteem, and for many days he was
like a bear with a sore head. As a matter of fact, although Sawyer
didn't suspect it, his deposal was in the nature of a taste of
discipline. Sawyer had been too certain of his place and had grown
careless. At the end of a week he went back again, with the warning that
he would have to show more than he had been showing if he was to stay
there. It was while he was still decorating the bench, however, that
Steve again fell foul of him.
The unseasonably warm weather held well into the middle of October, and
it was one evening a day or two after Sawyer's removal from the regular
line-up that Steve and Tom, rather fagged from an hour's study in a
close room, picked up Roy and Harry and went over to the gymnasium for a
dip in the tank. The swimming tank was a favourite resort of the younger
fellows between eight and ten at night, but, for some reason, the older
boys seldom appeared there in the evenings. To-night, though, when the
quartette, having changed into swimming trunks, reached the tank they
found five upper-class fellows swinging their bare legs from the side of
the pool and amusing themselves by criticising the antics of the
youngsters. There was Eric Sawyer, Jay Fowler and three others whom
neither Steve nor Tom knew save by sight. The tank was well populated,
for the warmth of the evening made the thought of cool water very
agreeable, and there was much noise and splashing going on.
Steve and Harry went in from the spring-board at the deeper end of the
pool, while Tom and Roy dived from the floor. A couple of tennis balls
were flying around in the tank and the newcomers were soon taking their
parts in the fun. Presently the group of older fellows, having grown
tired of guying the "kids," dived into the water. Getting possession of
one of the balls, they tried to keep it to themselves, and soon there
was a merry and good-natured battle on between the five big chaps on one
side and the younger occupants of the tank on the other. The echoing
room rang with laughter and excited cries as the contending sides swam
and floundered for the possession of the tennis ball. The big chaps had
their hands full, for they were outnumbered four to one, but age and
strength counted for them and not infrequently a youngster, rather than
undergo a ducking at ungentle hands, yielded the ball and swam away with
squeaks of terror. But there were others who fought valiantly enough,
taking punishment laughingly when it came and pressing the older
fellows closely. Steve was one of the more daring of the enemy and never
hesitated to dispute the possession of the ball with anyone. Once when
it came skipping along half the length of the tank, he went after it
hand over hand, only to miss it when Eric Sawyer reached it an instant
ahead of him. Sawyer, grinning, drew back the hand holding the tennis
ball.
"Want it, kid?" he asked.
Steve, guessing what was coming, dived, but he was not quick enough and
the ball landed with a round smack on his right ear. A wet tennis ball,
thrown from the distance of a few feet, is capable of hurting
considerably, and Steve, dashing the water from his face, felt very much
as though he had been kicked by a mule and had difficulty in keeping the
tears from his eyes.
"Get it?" laughed Sawyer.
"Yes, and so will you," gasped Steve. The ball lay bobbing about a yard
away and he grabbed it. Sawyer turned and struck out across the tank,
only his head above water. Steve, thoroughly angry, aimed at him,
changed his mind and swam after him, to the awed delight of the others.
Sawyer, thinking he had removed himself from danger, turned at the side
of the tank to look back. The next thing he knew the ball struck him
fairly on the nose, and, with a howl of pain and surprise, he
disappeared under the water.
"Swim, Edwards!" shrieked the youngsters. "He'll get you!"
Steve did turn away, but it seemed too much like running and so he
paused, treading water there, while the angry face of Sawyer popped into
view again. The ball had bounded away and been captured by one of the
youngsters, but Sawyer didn't look for it. With a leap he started toward
Steve. The latter realised that Sawyer meant to wreak vengeance, and
that the matter had got past the stage of fun. Here, it seemed, was a
time when discretion was the better part of valour, and Steve dived.
Fortunately, he was a good swimmer. Turning quickly under water, he
raced toward the far end of the tank. Dimly he heard shouts and laughter
above, but he didn't come to the surface until twenty long strokes had
taken him far away from where Sawyer, at a loss, was casting about the
middle of the tank for him. His reappearance was heralded by shouts of
applause from the younger fellows, many of whom, scenting real trouble,
had scrambled out of the water. Sawyer, warned of Steve's whereabouts,
looked down the tank, saw him and started pell-mell after him. Again
Steve went under, swam cautiously toward the side until he could see the
white tiles within reach and then edged back the way he had come. He
tried to reach the shallow end of the tank before taking breath, but the
effort was too great, and when he stuck his head out for an instant he
found that those at the edge of the tank had been following his
under-water progress and were shouting and laughing down at him from
above. More than that, however, their interest had appraised Sawyer of
his whereabouts, and even as Steve, blinking the water from his eyes and
replenishing his lungs, looked about him, his pursuer almost reached
him.
Scorning concealment now, Steve made straight for the shallow end of the
pool. Swimming like his was a revelation to many of those who saw it and
a hearty burst of applause followed him all the way to the ladder, which
he gained several yards in advance of Sawyer. Steve darted up the rungs
and ran to the side of the tank, the fellows scattering out of his path.
Sawyer pulled himself out of the water and followed, puffing with anger
and exertion.
"Oh, let him go, Eric," advised Fowler. "You can't catch him."
"Yes, forget it," advised others.
But Sawyer had no idea of forgetting it. "I'll break his silly head for
him," he growled as he followed Steve around the edge. Then began a
chase that was both exciting and amusing. Egged on by the laughing
spectators the two boys raced around the pool, Steve managing to keep
always one lap ahead, slowing down when Sawyer showed signs of faltering
and sprinting when the older boy, gathering fresh energy, went on again.
It was a stern chase with a vengeance and might have lasted all night or
until one or the other dropped in his tracks had not one of Sawyer's
comrades taken a hand in the game.
Steve, breathing hard but good for many more circuits of the track, came
trotting along one side of the pool where the youth in question stood
with Fowler. There was a clear space of three feet between him and the
edge, but just as Steve drew abreast the older chap stepped forward in
his path, and Steve, trying to dodge around him, slipped on the tiling
and fell sidewise into the water. Sawyer, with a grunt of triumph,
plunged in from the opposite edge and was on Steve in a twinkling.
"Now, you fresh kid," exclaimed Sawyer angrily, seizing Steve's neck in
a big hand as soon as his head came up, "you're going to get what's
coming to you!"
Steve, battling for breath, gasping and gurgling, tried to wrench away,
but the clasp on his neck was too strong for his efforts and down he
went, squirming and struggling, until his head was under water. He
managed to reach around and get a grip of Sawyer's bathing trunks, but
that was small advantage. The big fellow had him at his mercy. Steve's
head was throbbing when at last he was allowed to lift it out of the
water again, gasping for breath. But the grip on his neck didn't relax.
He was conscious that the laughter had died away, conscious of Sawyer's
grinning face beside him, and then down he was plunged again without
warning, just managing to draw a little breath into his aching lungs
before the water closed over him. It seemed that his tormentor held him
down longer this time, and when, at last, he found the lights in his
eyes again and could breathe once more, he was ready to give up the
struggle. He had long since released his hold on Sawyer's trunks, and
now his hands were clasped desperately about the other boy's wrists. And
yet when Sawyer's growling voice said in his ear, "Had enough, kid? Beg
my pardon?" Steve managed to shake his head.
"Want more, eh?" asked Sawyer. "All right, kid!" The clasp on his neck
tightened again and he felt himself being once more thrust downward. And
then, suddenly, he was free, and when, fighting his way back to the
surface, he looked dazedly, there was Tom clinging to Sawyer's neck,
thrashing and squirming.
"You let him be, you big bully!" Tom was saying. "You let him be!"
"Let go of my neck, you silly little fool!" gasped Sawyer, striving to
break the boy's hold.
"You let him be!" gurgled Tom, half-drowned but clinging like a limpet.
"You let him be, you big bully!"
Then the two went under and Steve, recovering his breath, wrenched them
apart somehow and pulled poor Tom to the side of the tank. Sawyer,
breathing with difficulty after Tom's choking grasp about his neck,
floundered to the edge, got a sustaining grip on the rim of the tank and
glared angrily at the two boys.
"I'll get you for this, you smart Alecks," he declared chokingly.
"You're too fresh, both of you. Don't you know better than to grab a
fellow around the neck in the water, you fool kid?"
But Tom was too far gone to answer. "That's what you did, isn't it?"
Steve demanded. "That's a funny way to talk!"
"It is, is it?" sneered Sawyer. "I'll show you something that is funny
some time, and don't you forget it!"
Still growling, he swam away toward the nearer ladder, while Steve, with
Roy and Harry and others helping, lifted Tom out of the tank and then
followed himself. Tom was very, very sick there for a minute and the
younger fellows were properly sympathetic and indignant. Presently they
half carried Tom back to the locker room and helped him into his
clothes, and then, Roy and Harry in attendance, Steve conveyed him back
to Billings and laid him on his bed, a very weak but now quite cheerful
Tom.
"He nearly drowned me, didn't he?" he asked with a grin. "But I choked
him good, you bet! Bet you his old neck will be sore for a week,
fellows!"
"You want to keep away from him for awhile," said Harry with a direful
shake of his head. "He's a mean chap when he's mad."
"Huh!" grunted Tom. "So'm I!"
CHAPTER XIV
A LESSON IN TACKLING
One direct result of that affair in the tank was that Steve found
himself something of a school celebrity because of his swimming prowess.
Within a few days he had good-naturedly agreed to give instruction to
some half-dozen acquaintances and might have taken on a half-dozen more
had he had the time for it. But there was only an odd hour or two during
the day for swimming and he soon found that, although he got a good deal
of fun out of instructing the others, it was taking too much of his
time. It was Roy's suggestion--Roy being one of the most enthusiastic
pupils--that those who wanted instruction should be on hand at a given
hour each day. The suggestion was adopted, and Edwards's Swimming Class
soon became a recognised institution. Five o'clock was the hour set, at
which time the tank was not much used, and Steve, having returned from
football practice, donned swimming trunks and repaired to the pool where
he usually found from four to a dozen boys awaiting him, since, by
attending to them all at once, he could look after a dozen as easily as
a few. Most of the pupils were boys of from thirteen to seventeen,
although there were two older fellows in the class, Jay Fowler and
Hatherton Williams. Both were Sixth Formers and both were football men.
Mr. Conklin, the physical director, gave enthusiastic endorsement and
encouragement. Brimfield had never supplied instruction in swimming,
something which the director had long regretted, and Mr. Conklin, could
he have had his way, would have made attendance at Steve's swimming
class compulsory for the younger boys and so have instituted a new
feature in the course of physical instruction. But Steve, willing to
teach a few fellows who could already swim the finer points of the
science, balked at teaching the rudiments to a half-hundred water-shy
youths who would have to be coaxed and coddled. Mr. Conklin tried his
best to persuade him, but Steve refused firmly.
They had a whole lot of fun during that swimming hour. Fowler and a
younger chap named Toll were the more accomplished performers in the
class, barring Steve himself, and every session ended with several very
earnest races in which Fowler, allowing Toll a five-yard handicap,
usually nosed out the younger boy in a contest of four times the length
of the tank. Then there was generally a free-for-all, the fellows lining
up on the edge of the pool, diving at the word from Steve and swimming
to the further end, where, after touching the wall, they turned and
hustled back to the start. Sometimes when football practice had been
more than usually gruelling, Steve stayed out of the water and
instructed from the floor, but more often he went in with the others and
followed them in their practice swims. Naturally it was the fancy diving
and the racing strokes that most of the fellows wanted to learn, but
Steve, who had never in his life before tried to teach anyone anything,
displayed a good deal of hard common-sense as an instructor and insisted
that each of his pupils should master one thing thoroughly before taking
up another. The result was that, barring one or two fellows who would
probably in any case have failed to become expert swimmers, the class
made really remarkable progress, and there came a time, although it was
considerably later in the school year, when both Jay Fowler and
Hatherton Williams could equal most of Steve's feats.
Tom started with the class, wisely deciding after his experience with
Eric Sawyer that the ability to keep one's head out of water was a fine
thing to have. But Tom was not cut out for a human fish and soon gave it
up. Roy Draper learned fairly well. He tried to induce Harry to join the
class, but Harry preferred to stay with Tom and look on from the floor.
When winter set in, Steve's class increased in numbers until in January
he was conducting the natatory education of more than two dozen fellows.
It was Mr. Conklin who arranged for an exhibition the latter part of the
winter and Steve was very proud of his pupils' work on that occasion. It
was held one Saturday afternoon and everyone attended, including even
"Josh," more formally known as Mr. Joshua Fernald, the principal. There
was fancy diving and swimming, a short game of water polo and all kinds
of races, beside which Steve showed some six or eight different strokes,
swam the length of the tank under water and performed other quite
startling feats to the delight of his audience. Mr. Fernald shook hands
with him afterwards and said several very nice things. But all this is
far beyond my story, and I am only telling of it because it led the
following autumn to the installation of a swimming instructor at
Brimfield and the addition of swimming to the list of "required studies"
for the boys of the four lower forms. The instructor came to the school
twice a week and put in two very busy hours there. So you see that
fracas between Steve and Eric Sawyer that evening strangely enough
resulted in important consequences and, since a knowledge of swimming is
a most useful one, worked for good.
But there were other consequences of that fracas as well, and I must get
back to those. Larchville Academy followed Miter Hill on Brimfield's
schedule and administered the first defeat of the season to the
Maroon-and-Grey. It wasn't so much that Brimfield played poorly as that
Larchville played unusually well. The visitors presented an aggregation
of big, well-trained youths who, most of them having been on their team
the previous year, were far in advance of Brimfield in the matter of
season development. Larchville's performance was what one might expect
in November, but scarcely looked for in the second week of October. Her
men played together all the time and her team-work stood out in strong
contrast to that of Brimfield, who had scarcely begun as yet to develop
such a thing. The final score was 17 to 3, and the only consolation was
found in the fact that Larchville's end of it might well have been much
larger. Brimfield's three points came as the result of one really
brilliant advance for half the length of the field followed by a neat
place-kick by Williams. The rest of the game was very much Larchville,
and Brimfield was on the defence most of the time.
And, to give credit where it belongs, it was Eric Sawyer who, back in
his position at right guard, held his side of the line firm on two
anxious occasions when Larchville was striving to hammer out touchdowns
under the shadow of her opponent's goal. On the whole, Brimfield played
good football that day and no one justly came in for adverse criticism.
Captain Miller, at left end, was spectacular under punts and played his
usual hard, steady game. Innes at centre was impregnable until the final
period. Williams, if a trifle weaker than his opponent, made up for it
by scoring the three points for his side. Benson, at right end, was less
successful than Captain Miller, but was good on the defence. The
back-field, although inclined to go it "every man for himself," showed
up well, especially when the enemy was in possession of the ball.
Milton, the first-choice quarter-back, ran the team like a general,
while Norton, the big full-back, proved the only consistent gainer
through the line. In spite of the fact that she had met with defeat,
Brimfield found encouragement in that contest, and, after the first few
minutes of regrets, spent the rest of the day unstintedly praising her
warriors.
There was only light practice the following Monday for those who had
taken part in the Saturday game, a fact which once more allowed Coach
Robey to give a good deal of attention to the second and third squads.
Steve was playing right end regularly now on the third, and Tom was
alternating at left guard on the second. The third squad was now down to
only eleven members, and when, after a hard hour of signal work and
fundamentals, the second and third were lined up for a ten-minute
scrimmage, Marvin had to borrow substitutes as needed from the second.
There was no scoring that day, but there was an awful lot of hard work.
Steve made one or two good plays down the field, but, as usual, was weak
on stopping the runner when he reached him. After they were dismissed,
Marvin stopped him as he was trotting off with the others.
"I say, Edwards, are you very tired?" he asked.
"N-no, I guess not," Steve replied.
"Then I wish you'd stay out a few minutes and let me try to show you
about tackling." Steve glanced distastefully at the dummy and doubtfully
at Marvin. But the latter smiled and shook his head. "Never mind the
dummy, Edwards," he said. "We'll have our fun right here. I'm going to
be the dummy and you're to stop me. Did they take all the balls away?
Never mind, we'll imagine the ball. Now, first of all I'm going to show
you how I'd handle you if you were the runner. Stand where you are,
please."
Marvin dropped in front of Steve and threw his arms about his legs just
above the knees. "There's your position, Edwards," he explained. "You
see I have my body in front of you. You've not only got to work against
my grip around your legs but you've got to push against my weight and
resistance. Try it."
Steve did try it, but he could only shuffle an inch or two.
"See?" asked Marvin. "Now, then, having tackled you, it's up to me to
put you down. If I let you come forward of your own impetus you'll fall
toward my goal, and by stretching out your arms you'll put the ball two
yards nearer the goal than where you stand. Of course you wouldn't risk
holding the ball at arms' length unless there was a possibility of
getting it across a goal-line by doing it. But even if you hold the ball
at your stomach you'll gain a yard by falling forward. Now my play is
to throw you the other way--like this!"
With a heave Marvin sent Steve toppling backward, much to that youth's
surprise. Marvin jumped lightly to his feet, held out a hand to the
other and pulled him up.
"See how it's done?" he asked cheerfully. "Now you try it. Never mind
diving; just drop where you are on your hip. That's it! Swing your arms
around tight! Higher up, though. Remember if you're playing end the
rules prohibit you from tackling a runner below the knees. That's
better. Now, then, over wit
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