Читать книгу Weatherby's Inning: A Story of College Life and Baseball - Barbour Ralph Henry - Страница 3

The caller looked to be about twenty-one or two years of age. He was tall, thin, and angular, and carried himself awkwardly. His shoulders had the stoop that tells of much poring over books. His hands and feet were large, the former knotted and ungainly. His face was lean, the cheeks somewhat sunken; the nose was large and well-shapen and the mouth, altogether too broad, looked good-natured and humorous. He wore steel-rimmed spectacles, behind which twinkled a pair of small, pale-blue eyes, kindly and shrewd. His clothes seemed at first sight to belong to some one very much larger; the trousers hung in baggy folds about his legs and his coat went down behind his neck exposing at least an inch of checkered gingham shirt.

And yet, despite the incongruity of his appearance, he impressed Jack as being a person of importance, a man who knew things and who was capable of turning his knowledge to good account. Tidball? Where had he heard the name of Tidball? As he thought of it now, the name seemed strangely familiar. Recollecting his duties as host, Jack pushed forward the patent rocker.

“Won’t you sit down?” he asked.

The visitor sank into the chair, bringing one big foot, loosely encased in a frayed leather slipper, on to one knee, and clasping it with both knotted hands quite as though he feared it might walk off when he wasn’t looking.

“Queer sort of weather we’re having,” he drawled. He talked through his nose with a twang that proclaimed him a native of the coast. Jack concurred, sitting uncomfortably on the edge of the cot and wondering whether Tidball recognized him.

“Mrs. Thingamabob down-stairs said you were from Maine. Maine’s my State. I come from Jonesboro; ever hear of Jonesboro?”

“No, I don’t believe so.” The visitor chuckled.

“Never met any one who had. Guess I’m about the only resident of that metropolis who ever strayed out of it. There’s one fellow in our town, though, who went down to Portland once about forty years back. He’s looked on as quite a traveler in Jonesboro.”

Jack smiled. “My folks live near Auburn,” he said.

“Nice place, Auburn. By the way, my name’s Tidball – Anthony Z. Z stands for Zeno; guess I’m a sort of a Stoic myself.” The remark was lost on Jack, whose acquaintance with the Greek philosophers was still limited.

“My name’s Weatherby,” he returned. “My first name’s Jack; I haven’t any middle name.”

“You’re lucky,” answered the other. “They might have called you Xenophanes, you see.” Jack didn’t see, but he smiled doubtfully, and the visitor went on. “Well, now we know each other. We’re the only fellows in the hut and we might as well get together, eh? Guess I saw you this afternoon down at the river, didn’t I?”

Jack flushed and nodded.

“Thought so.” There was a moment’s silence, during which the visitor’s shrewd eyes studied Jack openly and calmly and during which all the old misery, forgotten for the moment, came back to the boy. Then —

“Guess you can’t swim, eh?” asked the other.

“No, not a stroke,” muttered Jack.

“Thought so,” reiterated Tidball. There was another silence. Then Jack said, with an uneasy laugh:

“There’s no doubt but that you can, though.”

“Me? Yes, I can swim like a shark. Down in Jonesboro we learn when we’re a year old. Comes natural to us coasters.”

“It was lucky you were there this afternoon,” said Jack.

“Oh, some one else would have gone in, I guess!”

“He – he didn’t – he wasn’t drowned, was he?”

“The kid? No, but plaguy near it. He’s all right now, I guess. Teach him a lesson.”

“Did the bridge go?” asked Jack after a moment, merely to break another silence.

“No, water was going down when I left. Guess I’m in the way, though, ain’t I?”

“In the way?”

“Yes; weren’t you doing something when I came in? Packing a trunk or something?”

“Oh, it – it doesn’t matter; there’s no hurry.”

“Going home over Sunday?”

“Y – yes.”

“You’re lucky; wish I was. But don’t let me interrupt; go ahead and I’ll just sit here out of the way, if you don’t mind my staying.”

“Not at all; I – I’m glad to have you.” And the odd thing about it, as Jack realized the next moment, was that he meant what he said. The visitor drew a little brier pipe from one pocket and a pouch from another.

“Smoke?” he asked.

“No,” answered Jack.

“Mind if I do?”

“Not a bit.” Tidball stuffed the bowl with tobacco and was soon sending long clouds of rankly smelling smoke into the air.

“Don’t begin,” he advised. “It’s a mean habit; wastes time and money and doesn’t do you any good after all. Wish I didn’t.”

“But couldn’t you break yourself of it?” asked Jack.

Tidball chuckled again and blew a great mouthful of gray smoke toward the gaslight.

“Don’t want to,” he answered.

“Oh!” said Jack, puzzled.

“Going to take your trunk?” asked the other, waving his pipe toward it.

“No, just a bag. I’ll send for the trunk later.” Then, as he realized his mistake, the blood rushed into his cheeks. He looked up at Tidball and found that person eying him quizzically. “I – I mean – that – ”

“No harm done,” interrupted the visitor. “Thought when I came in you meant to cut and run. Why?”

“Because – because I can’t stay,” answered Jack defiantly. “You – you were there and you saw it. Everybody thinks I’m a coward! Professor White said – said – ” He choked and looked down miserably at his twisting fingers.

“Well, you aren’t, are you?”

Jack glanced up startledly.

“Why – why – no, I’m not a coward!” he cried.

“Didn’t think you were. You don’t look it.”

Jack experienced a grateful warmth at the heart and looked shyly and thankfully at the queer, lean face across the room.

“But – but they all think I am,” he muttered.

“I wouldn’t prove them right, then, if I were you.”

“Prove – What do you mean?”

“Mean I wouldn’t run away; mean I’d stay and fight it out. Any one can run; takes a brave man to stand and fight.”

“Oh!” Jack stared wonderingly at Tidball. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“’Tisn’t too late.”

“N – no,” answered Jack doubtfully. “You – think I ought to stay?”

“Yes, I honestly do, Weatherby. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of; ’twouldn’t have done any good if you’d gone into the river; guess you’d been drowned – ’tother chap, too. White jumped at conclusions and landed wrong. Can’t much blame him, though. You see, the fellows here at Erskine come from the country, or the coast, or some small town, and swimming’s as natural as eating, and I guess it didn’t occur to them that maybe you couldn’t swim. But when they learn the truth of the matter – ”

“But they won’t know,” said Jack.

“Bound to. I’ll see White myself, and I’ll tell all the chaps I know; ’twon’t take long for the facts to get around.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, if you don’t mind,” said Jack. “It’s awfully kind of you – ”

“Didn’t what?”

“See Professor White.”

“Well – of course, I know you’re feeling kind of sore at him, Weatherby, and I don’t much blame you; still, there’s no use in allowing the misunderstanding to continue when a word or two will set things right.”

“I don’t care what he thinks,” said Jack, bitterly.

“All right,” replied Tidball calmly. “How about the others?”

Jack studied his hands in silence for a minute. Then he threw back his shoulders and got up.

“You’re mighty kind,” he said, “to want to take all this trouble on my account, and I’m awfully much obliged to you, but – if you don’t mind – I’d rather you didn’t say anything to anybody.”

Tidball frowned.

“Then you mean to run away?” he asked disappointedly.

“No, I’ll stay and – and fight! Let them think me a coward if they like; only some day I’ll show them I’m not!”

“That’s the stuff,” said the other approvingly. “I guess you’re making a mistake by not explaining, but – maybe you’ll change your mind. If you do, let me know.”

“Thanks,” answered Jack, “but I sha’n’t.” He took up his valise and holding it upside down emptied the contents on to the cot. “I wish you’d tell me one thing,” he said.

“All right.”

“Did you – I mean – Well, did you just happen to come in, or – did you know I was – The Coward?”

“Well,” drawled the other, smiling gently at a cloud of smoke, “Mrs. Thingamabob told me yesterday when I engaged that room that she had a very nice young man, a freshman named Weatherby, living with her. The name isn’t common, I guess, and so when I heard it again down at the wharf I remembered. And I just thought I’d come in and see what silly thing you’d decided to do. Kind of cheeky, I guess, but that’s my way. Hope you’re not offended?”

“No, I’m awfully glad. If you hadn’t come I’d have gone away, sure as anything.”

“Glad I came. Hope we’ll be friends. You must come over and see me. You won’t find things very palatial in my place, but there’s an extra chair, I think. I don’t go in much for luxuries. I was rooming in a place on Main Street until to-day; very comfortable place it was, too: folding-bed, lounge, rocking-chair, and a study desk with real drawers that locked – at least, some of them did. My roommate was a fellow named Gooch, from up my way. His father died a week or so ago, and yesterday I got a letter from him saying he’d have to leave college and buckle down to work. Couldn’t afford to keep the room alone, so I looked round and found this. Well, I must be going.”

He pulled his long length out of the chair, and, producing from a chamois pouch a handsome big gold watch, oddly at variance with his shabby attire, held it nearsightedly to the dim light.

“Don’t be in a hurry,” begged Jack. And then, “That’s a dandy watch you have,” he added. “May I see it?”

“Yes,” answered Tidball, holding it forth at the length of its chain, “it’s the only swell thing I own. It’s a present.”

“Oh!” said Jack. “Well, it’s a beauty. And it’s got a split-second attachment, too, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, and when you press this thing here it strikes the time; hear it? Guess it cost a heap of money.”

“It must have. Was it a prize?”

“Something like that. A New York fellow gave it to me summer before last. He came up to Jonesboro in a steam-yacht about a thousand feet long. Well, I’ve got a lot of studying to do yet.” He moved toward the door.

“But why did he give it to you?” asked Jack. “But maybe I’m asking impertinent questions?”

“Oh, no; there’s no secret about it, only – Well, you see, this steam-yacht man had his son with him, a kid of about eleven or twelve, I guess, and one day the kid fell out of the naphtha-launch. There was a good sea running, and they couldn’t get the launch about very well. I happened to be near there in a dory, and so I picked the youngster up. His daddy seemed a good deal tickled about it, and after he got home he sent this to me. That’s all. Some people seem to have money to burn. Well, good night. Glad to have met you. Come over and call as soon as you can.”

And Anthony Z. Tidball nodded, blew a parting cloud of smoke in Jack’s direction, and went out, closing the door softly behind him.