Quarter-Back Bates

With an hour remaining before supper time and nothing better to do, he wandered across to where a score of fellows were trotting about the gridiron or kicking and catching at the further end of it. That first uninterrupted sight of Parkinson Field greatly increased his respect for the school, and he paused at a corner of the big grand stand and admired. Nearly twelve acres of level turf stretched before him. There were three gridirons, that of the First Team enclosed by a quarter-mile track, as well as several baseball diamonds and numerous tennis courts, both dirt and grass. A handful of onlookers were scattered over the stand and another handful stood along the side-line. A stout, round-faced man in an old sweater and a pair of frayed trousers had “Trainer” written all over him, and since at the moment he was occupied only in juggling a football from one hand to the other, Dick decided to seek information of him.

“My name’s Bates,” announced Dick, “and I’m going to try for the team, but I understand that I’ve got to take my physical examination first. Is that correct?”

Billy Goode viewed him critically before he answered. Rather to Dick’s surprise the trainer seemed not at all impressed by what he saw. “You can report as soon as you like,” he replied at last, “but you can’t play until you’ve been o. k.’d, my friend. What’s your name?”

“Bates,” answered Dick. He had already given it once, but perhaps the other hadn’t caught it. “I’m from Leonardville High.”

“Uh-huh. Played, have you?”

“Yes.” It seemed to Dick that any live, wide-awake football trainer should have been aware of the fact. “Yes, I’ve played quite a little.”

“Uh-huh. Well, you see the manager; he’s around here somewhere, or he was; he’ll look after you. Chandler! That’ll do for today. Jog the track once and go on in.” Billy Goode turned away to meet the remonstrances of a big, heavily-built youth who had been catching punts and returning them a little further along the field, leaving Dick a trifle ruffled. This was not just the sort of reception he had expected. Of course, it was understandable that the Philadelphia papers didn’t penetrate to Warne, Massachusetts, in which case the trainer wouldn’t have read of him, but it did seem that a fellow who had received offers from fourteen schools and colleges should have been heard of even in this corner of the world! Dick put the trainer down as a person of a low order of mentality.

He went into the stand and sat down there and watched the practice. Evidently most of the fellows at work were last year players, for they handled the ball in a knowing way that precluded their being beginners. No one who looked anything like a coach was on hand, but a dark-haired fellow of eighteen, perhaps, who appeared in command, was probably the captain. And a short, stocky, important-looking youth who had discarded his jacket and was wandering around in a very blue silk shirt was just as probably the manager. Dick didn’t seek him, for there would be plenty of time to do that tomorrow. At intervals the trainer summoned one of the candidates and sent him off, usually prescribing a round of the running track first. Dick was glad he did not have to swallow that medicine today, for the weather was extremely warm and humid. He thought that the candidates averaged both heavier and older than he had expected, and he wondered if by any chance his lack of weight would be against him. One of the quarter-backs out there, chasing a squad about in signal drill, was, however, no bigger than he, and possibly no older. Dick guessed he needn’t trouble about lack of weight. Quarters didn’t have to be big in order to make good. Presently the practice ended and he followed the squad toward the gymnasium and then went back to Sohmer and climbed the slate stairway to the second floor.

He remembered having closed the door of Number 14 on going out, and since it now stood wide open it was fair to assume that the unknown “S. G.” had returned, and Dick entered the study eager, in spite of his seeming indifference, to find out what Fate, in the shape of the school office, had assigned to him as a room-mate.

CHAPTER III

ROOM-MATES

The appearance of the study seemed to have been changed in his absence, and Dick’s second glance showed that the change was in the shape of several pictures on the wall, some books on one of the study tables and a large packing case in the centre of the floor from which emerged the corner of a brilliant blue cushion and the lower half of a boy. While Dick looked the rest of the youth emerged slowly until at last, somewhat flushed of face, he stood entirely revealed, clutching triumphantly a pair of battered running shoes. At that moment his eyes fell on Dick and a surprised and very pleasant smile came to his face. He tossed the shoes to the floor, dusted his hands by a simple expedient of rubbing them on his trousers, and nodded, stepping around a corner of the big box.

“Hello!” he said. “I suppose you’re Bates. My name’s Gard.”

He held out a hand and Dick took it as he answered: “Yes. Glad to meet you. We’re in here together, I take it.”

Gard nodded. “Yes. I got here this noon and helped myself to a desk, but I’m not particular which I have. Same about the beds. We can toss up, if you like.”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Dick replied. “Suppose you take the first choice of a desk and I’ll take the bed I want. That suit?”

“Sure.” Gard was looking at Dick with frank interest, leaning against the packing case, his arms, on which he had rolled up the sleeves of a good-looking shirt, folded. “Yes, that’s fair enough. I took that desk because it happened to be nearest the box, and I’ll keep it.”

Dick laid his hat down and seated himself on the window-seat.

“It’s smaller than I thought it would be,” he said, looking about the study.

“Oh, big enough, isn’t it? It is one of the small ones, though. Some of the rooms on the front are corkers, Bates. I couldn’t afford one of those, though, and this is a lot better than the room I had last year in Goss.”

“Then you – you’re not a new fellow?”

Gard shook his head. “This is my second year. I’m in the Third Class. Are you?”

“Yes. I think I could have passed for the Fourth, but I guess I’d had to work mighty hard to keep up, and I want to play football, you see. So – ”

“Of course! There’s no sense rushing through things too much, Bates. If you’d gone into the Fourth you’d have been through just when you were beginning to like the school. You will like it, I’m sure.”

“I expect to. I had a brother here five or six years ago, and he’s always cracked it up high.”

“That so?” Gard pulled the blue cushion from the box and tossed it across the room. “Put that behind you. Guess I’ll leave the rest of this truck until after supper.” He seated himself in one of the easy chairs and stretched a pair of rather long legs across the carpet. “Let’s get acquainted,” he added, smiling.

Dick liked that smile and answered it. But for a moment neither followed the suggestion. Gard was looking critically at the pictures he had hung, and Dick had a good chance to size him up. His room-mate was a bit taller than Dick, with rather a loose-jointed way of moving. He didn’t look exactly thin, but there certainly wasn’t any excess flesh about him. The running shoes suggested that he was a track athlete, and Dick surmised that he was a good one. You couldn’t call Gard handsome; perhaps he wasn’t even good-looking in the general acceptance of the word; but Dick liked his face none the less. The forehead was high and the lightish hair of a rather indeterminate shade of brown was brushed straight back from it. That happened to be a style of wearing the hair that Dick had always objected to, but he had to own that the fashion suited Gard very well. It emphasised the lean length of the face and added to the sharp, hawk-like appearance produced by a curved beak of a nose, thin and pointed, and the narrow jaws. But if Gard reminded Dick of a hawk, it was a gentle and kindly one, for the mouth was good-natured and the eyes, darkly grey, were soft and honest. Gard wore good clothes with no suggestion of extravagance. In age he was fully seventeen, perhaps a year more. He moved his gaze from the wall and it met Dick’s. Involuntarily both boys smiled. Then each began to speak at once, stopped simultaneously and laughed.

“You say it,” said Gard.

“I was going to ask if you were a runner.”

“I’m a hurdler. I’ve tried the sprints, but I’m only as good as a dozen others. Sometimes I ‘double’ in the broad-jump if we need the points. You look as if you might be fast on the track, Bates. By the way, what’s the rest of your name?”

“Richard C. The C’s for Corliss.”

“That means Dick, doesn’t it?”

“Surely,” laughed the other.

“All right. Mine’s Stanley; usually abbreviated to Stan. Have you ever done any running, Dick?”

“Yes, I’ve done some sprinting. What’s the hundred-yards record here?”

“A fifth. It hasn’t been bettered in years.”

“That’s a fifth better than I can do.”

“Same here. I tried often enough, too, but I only did it once, and that was in practice, with a hard wind at my back. You play football, you said?”

“Yes, do you?”

Stanley shook his head. “Too strenuous for me. I like baseball pretty well, but it interferes with track work. Guess we’re going to have a corking good eleven this year, and I hope you’ll make it, Dick.”

“Thanks. I may. The fellows look a bit older and bigger than I expected they would, though.”

“Well, they say you have a good deal of fun on the Second Team, if you don’t make the first. And next year you’ll probably be a lot heavier. I don’t know many of the football crowd, or I’d take you around and introduce you. I wonder if Blash would do you any good.”

“Who is he?”

“Wallace Blashington’s his full name. He plays tackle on the team; right, I think. He might be a good fellow for you to know if – ” Stanley’s voice trailed into silence.

“If what?” prompted Dick.

“Well, Blash is a queer customer. He’s really a corking chap, but doesn’t take to many fellows. That’s no insult to you, Dick. He – he’s just funny that way. And he’s the sort that won’t do a thing if he thinks you’re trying to pull his leg. Blash hated me – well, no, he didn’t hate me; he didn’t take the trouble to do that; but he certainly had no use for me the first of last year. We get along all right now, though.”

“What happened? To make him change his mind, I mean.”

“That was sort of funny.” Stanley smiled reminiscently. “We had some scrub skating races last winter on the river and Blash and I were entered in the two-mile event. There were about twenty starters altogether, but we had them shaken at the beginning of the last lap and Blash and I hung on to each other all the way up the river to the finish. I just managed to nose him out at the line, and he was a bit peeved, I guess. He didn’t let on, but he was. So, a little while later, when we were watching the other events, he came over where I was and said: ‘I believe I could beat you another time, Gard.’ ‘Well, perhaps you could,’ I answered. ‘Maybe you’ll have a chance to find out.’ I wasn’t cross, but I thought it was a bit unnecessary, if you see what I mean. ‘Wouldn’t care to try it now, I suppose?’ he said. I told him I was tired out, but I’d race him if he liked as soon as the programme was finished. ‘Oh, never mind the rest of it,’ he said. ‘We’re both through. Say we skate down the river a ways and settle the question by ourselves.’ So we did. We went about a mile down, beyond the flag, and Blash said we’d skate a mile down and a mile back, and that we’d turn at the old coal wharf. So we went off together, Blash trying to make me set the pace. But I wouldn’t and so we lagged along abreast for half a mile or so. Then Blash laughed and spurted and I went after him and we had it nip and tuck all the way to the wharf. Coming back there was a wind blowing down on us and we had harder work. Blash was a half-dozen yards ahead and when we came to a turn in the river he stayed along the bank, thinking he’d be more out of the wind. That seemed good sense and I hugged in close behind him. Then, first thing I knew, the ice went crack, and down went Blash. I managed to swerve out and get by, but of course I had to go back and see if he was all right.

“He was about ten feet from shore, flapping around in a little squarish hole he’d made for himself. I asked him if he could break the ice and get ashore and he said he couldn’t, that it was too thick to break with his hands. So I laid down on the ice and crawled over to him, and he got hold of my hands and I had him pretty nearly out when the crazy ice broke again and we were both in there! In fact, I went down so far that I came up under the ice and Blash had to pull me out to the hole. By that time we were both laughing so we could hardly keep our heads out. The water was just over our depth and the ice was too hard to break with our hands, and we didn’t have anything else until I thought of using a skate. That meant getting boot and all off, and Blash sort of held me up while I tried to untie the laces and everything. We were getting pretty stiff with the cold by then, Blash especially, but I finally managed to get one boot off and began hacking at the ice with the skate blade. It was slow work until I had chopped off about a yard. Then we got our toes on the bottom and after that it was easy and we crawled out. I wanted to beat it back to school as fast as I could, but Blash said that we’d catch cold and have pneumonia and die. He said the best thing to do was light a fire. Of course, I thought he was joking, but he pulled out one of those patent water-proof match-safes and if you’ll believe it the matches were perfectly dry!

“But the awful thing was that there were only two matches there! However, we got a lot of wood together and some dry marsh grass and twigs, and all this and that, and I kept the wind off, and we made the second match do the trick. In about two minutes we had a dandy hot fire going, took off our outer things and hung them around and we sat there with our backs to the mud bank and steamed. I don’t believe any fire ever felt as good as that one did, Dick! Well, that’s all of it. Just before dark, we started back and we never told anyone about falling into the river for months afterwards. We never found out which is the best two-mile skater, but we did a lot of chinning and got to know each other, and since then Blash and I have been quite pally.”

“Quite an adventure,” said Dick. “It’s a wonder you didn’t catch cold, though.”

Stanley laughed. “We did! For a week we were both sneezing and snuffling horribly. Tell you what, Dick. If you haven’t got anything better to do, we might go over and see Blash after supper. I guess this truck can wait until tomorrow. Only don’t say anything about football to him. If you do he will think I brought you over on purpose, so as to – well, you see what I mean.”

“Yes, I see. He might think I was swiping,” Dick laughed. “But, look here, Stan, what could he do, anyway? A fellow has got to make his own way, hasn’t he?”

“Why, yes, I suppose so. But it does help – somehow – to know the crowd if you’re going in for football. At least, it does with making the track team. I don’t mean that there’s favouritism, but – oh, I suppose if you happen to know a fellow and know that he’s all right, you just naturally take a bit more interest in him. That’s the way I figure it out, anyway.”

“Yes, but suppose this fellow Blash – er – ”

“Blashington. Quite a mouthful, isn’t it?”

“Suppose he asks me if I play football? Then what?”

“Oh, just say you do and change the subject. By Jupiter, Dick, it’s ten after six! Let’s beat it over and get some supper. Say, if you see the steward tonight maybe you can get at my table, if you’d like to. Tell him you’ve got friends there. It’s Number 9. You can sit there tonight, anyway, for Eaton’s not back yet, and you can have his place. Know where the lavatory is? Got any towels? Here, take one of mine. Your trunk won’t get up until morning, probably. They have so many of them that they can’t begin to handle them all today. If you need anything let me know and I’ll dig it out of the box for you.”

“I’ve got everything I want in my bag, I think. Much obliged just the same, Stan.”

Five minutes later the new friends closed the door of Number 14 and made their way along The Front, as the brick walk leading from side to side of the campus was called. Stanley named the buildings for Dick as they went along: the gymnasium, then Goss Hall, Parkinson, Williams and Alumni. Their journey ended there, but there was still another dormitory nearby, Leonard, and, beyond that, the residence of the Principal. Dick nodded, but it was food he was thinking of just then.

CHAPTER IV

BLASHINGTON

“Of course,” said Stanley, “you can go to ‘Jud’s’ reception if you’d rather, but you’ll have a poor time. You just shake hands with Jud and a bunch of the faculty and Mrs. Jud and stand around until you get tired and go home again.”

“Jud being Doctor Lane?” asked Dick.

“Right! The idea is that you’re to become acquainted with the other fellows and the instructors, but the old boys fight shy of it and the new boys just stand and look at each other, and the faculty always forgets your name the next morning.”

“Well, it doesn’t sound exciting,” acknowledged Dick, “and I’m for cutting it out unless it’s required.”

“It isn’t, it’s elective,” laughed Stanley. “We’ll blow over to Blash’s room presently. He may not be there, but we can try.”

They had finished supper and were strolling along the walk toward the west gate. Windows were open in the dormitories and from the nearer ones came the sound of voices and laughter. Occasionally someone hailed Stanley and they stopped for a moment while the latter held conversation. There were groups of fellows on the turf along The Front, for the evening was warm and still. A bluish haze softened the twilight distances and somewhere toward the centre of the town a church bell was ringing. It was all very peaceful and homey, and Dick felt no regrets for Leonardville. At the gate which led onto the junction of Linden and Apple Streets they paused a moment. A belated arrival climbed tiredly out of a decrepit taxi in front of Williams and staggered up the steps bearing suit-case and golf-bag. Along the streets and less frequently across the campus the lights gathered brightness in the deepening twilight, although westward the sky was still faintly aglow.

“Where does Blashington room?” asked Dick as they turned their steps back the way they had come.

“Goss,” answered Stanley. “He rooms with Sid Crocker, this year’s baseball captain.”

“Goss?” Recollection came to Dick. “I wonder if you know a fellow named Quiggle – no, that’s not his name. I don’t know what his name is, but he rooms in Goss. He’s a tall, lanky chap with a long nose.”

“Where’d you meet him?” asked Stanley, interestedly.

Dick recounted the incident and, since he didn’t happen to look at Stanley’s countenance while doing so, was not aware of the smile that trembled about the hearer’s lips. “He’s going to pay me the rest of that money when I find him,” ended Dick resolutely. “I thought maybe you’d know who he is.”

“Well, the description isn’t very – er – whatyoucallit, Dick,” replied the other gravely. “I dare say the fellow was just having a joke with you.”

“I dare say, but he was too fresh. I felt like an awful fool when the taxi driver called me down for offering him half a dollar instead of seventy-five cents. Well, I suppose I’ll run across him pretty soon.”

“Oh, you will,” Stanley assured him almost eagerly “You’re absolutely certain to, Dick!”

“What’s the joke?”

“Joke?”

“Yes, what are you snickering about?”

“Oh, that? I – I thought I wanted to sneeze. It’s sort of dusty this evening.”

“I hadn’t noticed it,” said Dick suspiciously. But Stanley’s countenance was quite devoid of amusement, and he accepted the explanation. In front of Goss, Stanley backed off onto the grass and looked up to one of the third floor windows.

“There’s a light in his room,” he announced. “Somebody’s in, anyhow. Let’s go up.”

So, Stanley leading the way, they climbed the two flights of worn stairs, for Goss didn’t boast slate and iron stairways, and traversed a length of corridor to where the portal of Number 27 stood partly open. Stanley thumped a couple of times on the door and entered. Someone within said, “Come in, Stan,” and Dick, following his friend, saw a rather short, stockily-made youth stretched on the window-seat at the end of the room. “Excuse me if I don’t rise,” continued the boy. “I happened to look out a minute ago and saw you rubbering up here.” He shook hands with Stanley and then, seeing Dick for the first time, muttered something, and swung his feet to the floor.

“Shake hands with Bates, Sid,” said Stanley. “Dick, this is Mr. Crocker, well-known in athletic circles as a shot-putter of much promise.”

“Shut up,” grumbled Crocker. “Glad to meet you,” he added to Dick. “Sit down, you chaps, if you can find anything to sit on. Blash has got his things all over the shop. Bring up that chair for your friend, Stan. You can sit here, and I’ll put my feet on you. Pardon me if I return to a recumbent position, will you? I’m very weary.”

“Where’s Blash?” asked Stanley. “Gone over to Jud’s, I suppose.”

“Not exactly. He’s down the hall somewhere. He suggested tossing up to see whether he or I should unpack the bags, and he lost. So, of course, he remembered that he had to see a fellow and beat it. He will be back in a few minutes, I guess. This is a fair sample of the way in which he meets his obligations, gentlemen. I’m ashamed of him.”

Sid Crocker sighed, stretched, and deposited his feet in Stanley’s lap. He was a nice looking boy of apparently eighteen years, with light hair and a round, much tanned face. He seemed unnecessarily serious of countenance, Dick thought, but afterwards he found that Sid’s expression of gravity was no indication of mood. Sid caught Dick’s gaze and was reminded of his duties as host.

“I guess I didn’t quite get your name,” he said, politely.

“Bates,” said Stanley. “We’re together over in Sohmer. This is his first year.”

“Bates?” echoed Sid. “Bates! Where have I – Ah! I remember.” He sank back against the cushions again, closing his eyes as though in deep thought. Dick determined to be modest, but it was flattering to find that someone here had heard of him. He waited for Crocker to proceed, and so did Stanley, but instead Sid wriggled off the window-seat. “Just excuse me a minute, will you?” He crossed to a chiffonier, opened a drawer and fumbled within. “Just remembered something. Fellow downstairs wanted me to lend him – er – ” Whatever it was the fellow downstairs required they didn’t learn, for Sid removed something from drawer to pocket and made for the corridor. “While I’m about it,” he added from the doorway, “I’ll find Blash and fetch him back.” Dick got the impression that he was seeking to convey to Stanley more than his words expressed, for he stared very hard at that youth as he spoke and continued to stare for an instant longer before he disappeared.

“Rather a jolly old room,” said Stanley, when they were alone. “These old places fix up nicely, I think.”

Dick agreed. Personally he didn’t care for the idea of sleeping and living in the same room, but the low studding, and the deep window embrasure and the scarred, dark-painted woodwork were somehow very homelike. The walls held dozens of pictures of all sorts: photographs, posters, engravings, etchings, a veritable hodge-podge. Amongst them were strange trophies, too: part of a wooden board bearing the strange legend “TE WAY S PASSING” in two lines, evidently half of a sign that had been sawed in two; a fencing mask; a canoe paddle with a weird landscape painted on the broad end; a cluster of spoons and forks tied together with a brown-and-white ribbon; several tennis rackets; a lacrosse stick; a battered baseball adorned with letters and figures and tacked to the moulding by its torn covering; several faded or tattered pennants, one bearing a big blue K which Dick presumed stood for the rival school of Kenwood. Between the two narrow beds was a good-sized study table littered with books and clothing and odds and ends awaiting Blashington’s return. Two chiffoniers and three chairs about completed the furnishings. The beds held bags, partly unpacked, and two steamer trunks blocked the passages between beds and table.