Kitabı oku: «Full-Back Foster», sayfa 11

CHAPTER XXI
AN EARLY MORNING CALL

But Jud didn’t see Myron in the morning, for the reason that we know of. Only Joe was in Number 17 when the football captain knocked, and Joe was not telling all he knew. According to him, Foster was “out just now” and the time of his return was most uncertain. Joe “had an idea” that his friend was dining away from school. Jud said that it didn’t matter much and that he’d see Foster later. Then:

“Maybe you know how bad he’s fixed with the Office, Whoa?” he suggested.

“I don’t,” replied Joe, “for he hasn’t said much to me about it. I know that it’s Latin that’s troubling him, though. He’s been in wrong with Addicks for a couple of weeks. Fact is, Cap, Myron hasn’t been putting in enough time on study. He falls to sleep at the table there about every other night. Guess he’s been getting a bit too much exercise.”

“Yes, we’ve worked him pretty steadily. Too bad, for, between you and me, he was doing mighty well and looked awfully good. I wonder if you can’t find out what the prospects are, Whoa, and let me know. If he could get a clean slate by a week from Monday, say, he might still be of some use to the team. He probably wouldn’t start the Kenwood game, but it’s a fair bet he’d get in for part of it. Driscoll and I were talking about him last night, and I said I thought that maybe you could sort of jack him up; make him see that it is up to him to get square with the Office and get back to the team.”

“Oh, I’ll get him back if it can be done,” Joe assured him. “I was going to, anyway. We need him, Cap.”

“We certainly do, Whoa. See what you can do with him. Wouldn’t some tutoring help? There’s a chap named Merriman in town who’s a regular whale at it.”

“I know him. I’ll have a talk with Myron when he comes back – in, I mean – and let you know, Cap. You leave him to me!”

Jud Mellen had no more than got out of the building when a fearsome knock came at the door and Chas Cummins appeared, scowling ferociously. “Hello,” he said. “Where’s Foster?”

“Out just now,” replied Joe affably. “Want to leave a message?”

“No – yes – Yes, tell him I say he’s to beat it over to my room the minute he shows up here!”

“All right,” said Joe.

Chas clung to the doorknob and continued to scowl, and studied Joe speculatively. Finally: “Isn’t it a mess?” he demanded. “Everything going like clock-work, and then, bingo – Officer, call the ambulance! Honest, Whoa, I could kick Foster from here to New York and back cheerfully, drat his hide!”

“I wish you could kick him back,” said Joe.

“What do you mean?”

“Close the door, will you? Thanks. Can you keep a secret, Chas?”

“Sometimes. Go on. What’s up?”

“Myron’s gone. Went last evening.”

“Fired?”

“No, he just went.”

“Left school, you mean? Well, what – do you know – about that?”

“We’re trying to get him back before faculty gets on to it, but it doesn’t look good. Merriman’s on his trail. Took the nine o’clock train last night. I think he’ll manage to head him off all right, but Myron’s a cranky, stubborn dog and may refuse to come back.”

“Any one suspect so far?” asked Chas with knitted brows.

“Don’t think so. Good thing there’s no chapel on Sunday, isn’t it?”

“Merry Andrew went, you say? Good stuff! If any one can do the persuasion stunt, Andy can. Hang the beggar, what’s he think, anyhow? Doesn’t he know he will get fired if faculty hears about it? And what about me?”

“You?” asked Joe.

“Well, I mean the team,” corrected Chas hurriedly. “He ought to be licked! I’d do it, too, if it would do any good. Honest, Whoa, isn’t this the very limit?”

“Way past it,” agreed Joe. “He’s a crazy guy for sure.”

“When do you expect Andy back?” asked Chas after a moment.

“He might make it by the five o’clock. Ought to be here by eight, anyway.”

“Well, if he doesn’t fetch him it’ll be good-bye to Foster for keeps! What’s wrong with him, anyway? Some one said he was on pro.”

“Don’t know whether it’s out and out probation or not,” said Joe. “Didn’t have much time to talk to him. But he said Doc Lane told him to let football alone and get hunky with Addicks again.”

“Latin, eh? I always said that language ought to be prohibited! It’s always getting folks into trouble. Well, I suppose there isn’t anything I can do. I wish you’d let me know the news when there is any, Whoa.”

“I will. Keep this quiet, though, Chas. You and Andy and I are the only ones who know, and it mustn’t get any further. I only told you because you and Myron have some game on and I knew you’d keep quiet.”

“Some game on? What makes you think that?” asked Chas.

“Well, I’ve got eyes and ears,” answered the other drily. “I’m not asking questions, though. So long. I’ll let you know how it comes out.”

“Don’t forget. If I’m out leave word with Brown. Just say ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’ I’ll understand. Gosh, I hope Andy fetches him, though!”

Myron reached New York at a few minutes after ten on Saturday night. He had some supper on the way, crushed into a corner of a crowded dining-car, but he wasn’t hungry and ate little. On arrival, quick work in a taxi-cab got him across town in time for a train to Philadelphia that landed him there just before midnight. He had a married cousin living in that city, but he preferred to go to the quiet little hotel at which his mother stayed when on shopping visits. He left an order to be called at half-past six, luxuriated in a bath and crawled wearily to bed. But sleep was still a long way from him, and until after two he lay there wide-eyed and thought and thought, and twisted and turned.

There may be more dismal places in the world than Philadelphia at six-thirty on a rainy morning. If so, Myron had fortunately escaped them. He had left himself barely enough time to dress and reach the station for the seven-twelve express, and when, aroused by the blatant buz-z-zz of the telephone, he staggered to the window and looked out, he felt that he never could do it. That drab, empty stretch of wet street was the last blow to waning courage. Had he rested well and felt normally fresh he would have charged at his clothes, leaped into a cab and made it nicely, but he was in no condition of mind or body for such hustling methods. Besides, there were later trains, and he was in no hurry to face his folks, and the tumbled bed looked awfully good to him. Three minutes later he was asleep again.

Meanwhile Andrew Merriman was slowly pacing the platform beside the seven-twelve train. He had been there ever since the train had rolled sleepily into the long, gloomy shed. Keeping tabs on the passengers was no difficult task, for they were few in number and moved with dragging feet. Andrew had arrived in Philadelphia at half-past five, after an interminable ride during which he had huddled himself into a seat in a day-coach and slumbered fitfully between stops. It had been a glorious relief to leave that leisurely train and stretch his legs again. He had had breakfast at a nearby lunch-room, and now, all things considered, was feeling very fit. A glance at his watch showed the time to be two minutes to seven. In fourteen minutes from now he would know his fate. He had already arranged his plans in the event that Myron didn’t show up for that train, and he would have three hours in which to carry them out. A portly man with two suit-cases waddled down the long platform and puffed himself up the steps of a car. Even allowing for a disguise, thought Andrew whimsically, that was not Myron. Nor was the next passenger, a fussy little man with two small boys strung out behind him who came so fast that Andrew half expected to see him “snap the whip” any moment and send the tiniest boy hurtling through space. But he didn’t. He herded the children into a car and smiled triumphantly at Andrew. Evidently, he considered that arriving with only five minutes to spare was a reckless proceeding. There were the usual last-moment arrivals and then the train reluctantly pulled out, leaving Andrew alone on the platform.

Two blocks away was a hotel, and thither he made his way. Capturing a telephone directory, he found a chair by a window and turned to the list of hotels. There was an appalling lot of them and nothing to indicate which were of the sort likely to be patronised by Myron. But he had three hours before him and plenty of money, and was not discouraged. He took a piece of paper from a pocket, unscrewed his pen and set to work. Ten minutes later he was ready. The lobby was practically deserted and he had the telephone booths to himself. When he had exhausted all the nickels he had he crossed to the news-stand and had a dollar bill changed. Then he went on with his campaign. It was slow work, for many of the hotels were extremely deliberate in answering. The voices that came back to him sounded sleepy, and some sounded cross as well.

“Is Myron Foster stopping there?” Andrew would ask.

“Who? Fosdick? How do you spell it? Oh! What are the initials? Hold the line, please.” Then, after a wait: “No such party registered.”

At any rate, that is the way it went for nearly twenty minutes. Then luck turned.

Myron was still slumbering when the telephone rang a second time. For a moment he stared at the ceiling, a perfectly strange ceiling that seemed to return his regard coldly, and strove to think where he was. While he was still struggling the impatient instrument on the table beside the bed buzzed again. Myron reached for it and recollection came to him.

“Yes,” he said sleepily. “Hello!”

“Gentleman to see you, Mr. Foster. Shall we send him up?”

“Gentleman to see me!” echoed Myron. Was it possible that his father had learned already of his departure from school and had come up from Port Foster? He was thoroughly awake now. “What is the name?” he asked. After a moment of silence: “Merriman,” said the voice at the other end. “Merriman?” thought Myron. “I don’t know any Merriman! Except Andy. Who the dickens – ”

“I didn’t hear, Mr. Foster,” said the clerk politely.

“Oh – er – all right! Ask him to come up, please.” Myron put the receiver down, unlocked the door and returned to bed to hug his knees and stare perplexedly at the footboard. Who the dickens was Merriman? Of course it couldn’t be Andy. This was Philadelphia, and Andy was several hundred miles away. Well, he would soon know! Then came a tap at the door and Myron said “Come in” in an unnecessarily loud tone and the portal opened. Then it closed again. And Myron, with eyes that looked as big and as round as butter-chips, whispered: “Where’d you come from?”

CHAPTER XXII
MYRON COMES BACK

“Afraid I’ve spoiled your beauty sleep, Myron,” said the visitor. “Sorry, but I’ve been up so long I forgot how early it was.”

“What – what are you doing over here?” gasped Myron.

“Looking for you, of course,” replied Andrew easily as he seated himself on the bed. “Nice quarters you’ve got. Next time, though, I wish you’d locate further up on the alphabet. It’s a long way to the M’s!”

“Are you crazy or – or am I?” asked Myron helplessly.

“Neither, I hope,” answered the visitor calmly. “You see, I set out to find you on the telephone and had to call up about twenty hotels before I got the right one. I started with the A’s and you, as it happened, were among the M’s.”

“What did you want to find me for? Who sent you?”

“Well, I suppose you might say that Joe sent me. At least, he had the idea first. After that, I sort of sent myself.”

“You might have spared yourself the trouble,” said Myron defiantly. “I’m not going back!”

Apparently Andrew didn’t hear that. “Joe was all fussed up, like a hen who’s hatched out a duck. He came around about half-past eight and loaded me with money and handed me my hat, so to speak. Got in here around five-thirty. You didn’t show up at the station for the seven-twelve, so I changed my money into nickels and proceeded to make the telephone company enormously wealthy. You’ve cost me – or, rather, Joe – a lot of money, Myron.” Andrew shook his head sadly. “And I’m not sure you’re worth it, either.”

“I didn’t ask him to spend money on me,” said Myron sulkily. “He hadn’t any business butting in, anyway. It’s my own affair. If I want to leave school I’ve got a right to, and – ”

“Back up! Who told you that?”

“Told me what?” asked Myron blankly.

“That you had a right to leave school.”

“Why, no one told me! But it’s so!”

“No, sir, it isn’t,” said Andrew emphatically. “You haven’t any more right to leave school than a soldier has to leave his post, or a policeman his beat. Not a bit more, Myron.”

“That isn’t so,” answered the other excitedly. “It isn’t the same at all. Duty is one thing and – and staying where you don’t get a square deal’s another. My folks have a right to take me away from Parkinson whenever they want to!”

“Have they taken you out?”

“No, they don’t know yet. But they will when I ask them to.”

“That’s all right, then. What your folks do is another matter, old man. It’s what you do that I’m talking about. Why do you say you haven’t had a square deal?”

“Because I haven’t! Look at what Jud did to me! First of all, they made me take too many courses, courses I didn’t want to take at all, some of them. Then when I couldn’t keep them up just as – just as they think I ought to, they came down on me! Jud says I can’t play football. Just because Addicks has it in for me. Addicks calls on me twice as often as any other fellow in class. I hate Latin, anyway. I didn’t want to take it this year. Next year would be time enough. Driscoll made me work like a slave, and I didn’t have time enough for all the things I’m supposed to study, and Jud socked it to me. I’d been trying for a month to get on the team, and now, just when I was sure of a place, Jud springs this! Call that a square deal? I don’t!”

“Well, it’s sort of tough luck, old man. How long are you off for?”

“He wouldn’t tell me. Said we’d wait and see, or something. He can wait. I’m through.”

“Still, I don’t see how you’re helping things much by running away,” said Andrew mildly. “If you want to play on the team you’ll have to do it by mail, won’t you?”

“Oh, I’m done wanting to,” answered Myron roughly. “I’m done with the whole rotten place.”

“And Joe and me? I see.”

“I didn’t say I had anything against you and Joe,” retorted Myron indignantly. “Or – or some other fellows. The fellows are all right. It – it’s the school. The way they do things. They don’t give you a chance. They aren’t fair.”

“So you even up by not being fair, too?”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Myron, glowering.

“Why, you get mad because you think faculty has treated you badly, and then you turn around and treat other folks badly.”

“What other folks?” asked Myron.

“Your friends, the football team and, through that, the whole school.”

“How do you make that out?” Myron demanded, frowning.

“Well, take Joe and me, for instance. We’re in the picture. You let us take a liking to you, which we wouldn’t have done if we hadn’t thought you a good, square sort, the sort that does his duty even if it looks hard. Then when duty gets a bit tiresome you kick us in the shins and run away. Same way with the team. You went out for it and the coach and the rest spent time and effort on you. They thought you were a square sort, too. They wouldn’t knowingly make a poor investment any more than Joe and I would. Then, when you hit a snag, you repudiate your debt to them and beat it. You had a chance to make a good player of yourself and win a position on the team and help bring about a victory for the school. Because you get mad with Jud, you tell the school to go to the dickens. In other words, Myron, old man, you’re a quitter.”

“I’m not!” cried the other desperately. “You’re making it out all wrong! Besides, it wouldn’t make any difference to the school if I stayed. I’m out of football.”

“I don’t see it. You’re out of football until you get back your class standing. The right thing to do is to get it back as soon as you can. It’s your fault that you lost it. There’s no use kidding yourself, Myron. You got in trouble with Addicks because you didn’t play fair with him. You got in trouble with Jud for the same reason. Now you won’t play fair with the rest of us. Think it over.”

“It’s not so, Andy! I tell you I didn’t have time to study that beastly Latin! Joe knows I didn’t. I was too tired at night. I couldn’t!”

“If that’s really so you should have told Driscoll to let up on you. But I think the trouble was that you didn’t make the best use of the time you had. You have two hours every morning, to my certain knowledge, when you’ve no classes, and I’ve never heard of you making use of them for study.”

“It’s all well enough for you to preach,” retorted Myron bitterly. “You like the wretched stuff! You don’t have any trouble with it. I do. I – even if I went back I’d never catch up in class.”

“Oh, yes, you would. I’ll guarantee that. I’ll promise you that you’ll be in good standing with Addicks by next Saturday.”

Myron stared, surprised, doubtful. “How?” he asked at length.

“I’ll look after the ‘how,’ old man.”

“You mean you’ll tutor me again?”

Andrew nodded. Myron dropped his gaze to the counterpane. A minute of silence followed during which the ticking of Myron’s watch on the bedside table sounded loudly in the room. Then said Andrew briskly: “There’s a New York train at ten, I think. That’ll give you time for breakfast and let us catch the one-something back. You get your bath and dress and I’ll go down and buy a paper. Don’t know but what I’ll have a bite more myself. My breakfast was a trifle sketchy. How long will you be?”

Myron continued to study the counterpane. Another silence ensued. Finally, though, it was broken by Myron. “Twenty minutes,” he said in a low voice.

It was dark when they stepped off the train at Warne. As they did so a form detached itself from the lamp-lit gloom of the platform and a voice asked cautiously: “That you, Andy?” Then Myron felt a hand tugging at his suit-case, and: “Let me have it, kiddo,” said Joe. “We’ll go over to Andy’s and leave it there until tomorrow. Better not take any risks.”

They skirted the end of the train, avoiding publicity as much as was possible, and made their way toward Mill Street. Only when they were a block from the track was the silence broken again. Then Andy asked: “Everything all right, Joe?”

“I think so. But I’m sure glad you didn’t leave it until the next train. I’d have had nervous prostration long before that! I had the dogs out three times and fed them. There wasn’t anything else to do. Maybe they’ve bust themselves eating, but it can’t be helped. That kid over in Williams – Wynant or something – has a grouch a mile long, Andy. You’ll have to kiss him, I guess, before he will ever smile again! How are you, kiddo?”

“All right, thanks,” answered Myron rather constrainedly.

“That’s good. By the way, I had to give the impression that you were having dinner out somewhere. So if any one mentions it you’d better play up.”

“Who did you tell?” asked Myron.

“I don’t think I exactly told any one, but I let Jud Mellen go away with the idea.”

“Was he looking for me?”

“Yeah, wanted you to hurry up and get back to work,” replied Joe carelessly. “I told him that if you weren’t back inside a week I’d bust every bone in your body.”

“He will be,” said Andrew grimly. “If he isn’t you may bust mine!”

Just before supper time Joe beat a tattoo on the portal of Number 16 Goss. Chas Cummins’ voice bade him enter. Joe, however, only stuck his head into the room, and, nodding to Brown, said in a deep, mysterious whisper: “Yes-s-s!” Then he closed the door and went off down the corridor, chuckling. In Number 16, Brown raised his brows and looked inquiringly at his chum.

“Batty?” he asked.

A day passed before Joe and Myron breathed freely. By Monday evening it seemed quite safe to assume that Myron’s absence had passed undetected. They went across town and brought the suit-case home then, Joe, however, transferring certain articles, such as Myron’s pyjamas, to his pockets in case some inquisitive member of the faculty should insist on looking inside the bag. But none challenged and the suit-case went back to the closet and Myron’s toilet articles to their places, and the episode was closed. The two spoke of it but briefly. That was Sunday night, as they were preparing for bed. Then Joe remarked conversationally: “You’re a crazy loon, kiddo, aren’t you?” After a moment of reflection Myron said “Yes,” quite humbly.

“Sure are,” agreed Joe, tossing his trousers in the general direction of a chair. “Any time any guy accuses you of having sense, you knock him down. I’ll stand by you. Still, you have your uses, and I’m glad to see you in our midst again. How about being here, now that you are!”

“Tickled to death,” owned Myron a bit shamefacedly.

Joe chuckled. “Knew you would be,” he said. “We ain’t – aren’t such a bad lot when you take us, right. Good night, kiddo.”

“Good night, Joe. I – you – I mean, thanks!”