Читать книгу First Base Faulkner - Christy Mathewson - Страница 5

Table of Contents

The Recorder was an evening paper and came off the press at half-past three, and for that reason Joe had made it first choice over its morning rival, the Gazette, which was delivered in the early morning. Fortunately, he found the circulation manager still on duty when he reached the office, and although that gentleman, who wore a nervous, harassed look, scowled upon him fiercely at first, the scowl gradually faded as Joe stated his mission. Unknown to him, Joe had timed his application extremely well, since one of the carriers had that very afternoon been given his dismissal, and it didn’t take more than four minutes to secure what he was after. The route was not a long one and paid less than Joe wished it did, but the manager promised to give him something better if he proved satisfactory and the opportunity occurred. Joe was supplied with a list of subscribers on Route 6, told to be on hand promptly next afternoon at three-thirty, and took himself away well satisfied. The work would bring him only three dollars a week, which was much less than he believed himself capable of earning, but the route would take but two hours from the time he left the newspaper office and he would be through well before supper time. Besides, Joe had no intention of delivering papers very long. Sooner or later, he believed, a better chance would offer. Until then, though, Route 6, with its resultant three dollars a week, would be a heap better than nothing.

He told Aunt Sarah about it at the supper table and Aunt Sarah, instead of expressing disapproval, appeared much pleased. Only, she insisted, the work mustn’t be allowed to interfere with his studies. Joe assured her that it wouldn’t, since he would have his evenings free. After supper he went upstairs, opened the mahogany desk and wrote a long letter to his mother. He tried to make it sound very brave and cheerful, but I don’t think Mrs. Faulkner had much difficulty in reading between the lines and reaching the conclusion that Joe was a little bit homesick and lonely and that he missed her a lot. He told about his interview with Mr. Dennison and about the employment he had secured.

“It pays only three dollars,” he wrote, “but it won’t take more than an hour and a half or two hours and I won’t have to work on Sunday because the Recorder doesn’t have any Sunday edition. I’m going to pay two and a half of it to Aunt Sarah every week and so you won’t have to send her very much, will you? I’d give it all to her, but I guess I’d better keep a half-dollar out for pocket-money. Then you won’t have to send me any money. After a while I’m going to get something to do that will pay me more and maybe then you won’t have to send Aunt Sarah a cent. Aunt Sarah looks like she would bite my head off if I brought any dirt into the house on my shoes and she talks mighty crusty, but I guess she’s a pretty good sort after all. She had Amanda cook me a bully apple pudding for dinner today. I’m pretty sure she did it on my account, because she didn’t touch it herself. Amanda is a funny old woman who does the cooking and so on. She’s about sixty, I guess, and hasn’t but three or four teeth and sort of mumbles when she talks. When I say anything to her she looks scared and beats it.

“Mr. Dennison gave me a list of the books I have to have and I’ve got them all but one. I can rent that and it won’t cost much. I’ve still got nearly four dollars of what you gave me and you don’t need to send me any more. I guess I’m going to like this place very much when I get used to it. Aunt Sarah wanted me to get a pair of overshoes and charge them to her, but I didn’t like to, and besides my boots are all right without overshoes. Maybe I’ll get a new pair of rubbers some time. The ones I brought with me are sort of leaky. But I won’t need any other things like clothes or shoes or anything for almost a year, I guess, so you’re not to worry about me.”

He spent all of an hour over that letter and used four sheets of Aunt Sarah’s old-fashioned blue-ruled paper, and when it was finished and ready for the mail his watch told him that the time was half-past nine. He was opening his door to go downstairs and say good-night to Aunt Sarah when he heard her coming up.

“I hope you’ll have enough covers,” she said as she came to the doorway. “If you haven’t you’ll find another comfortable on the closet shelf. Breakfast’s at seven, but if you’re very sleepy tomorrow I guess it won’t matter much if you don’t come down right on time. Amanda can keep something hot for you. ’Twon’t hurt her a bit. I suppose you’ll be wanting a bath every morning, and I haven’t any objection to your having it, only remember the water’s metered and don’t let the plug slip out. It’s awful the way they charge for water nowadays! First thing we know they’ll be putting the air on a meter, too, just as likely as not! Well, I hope you sleep well and get rested, Joseph. Good-night.”

“Good-night, Aunt Sarah.” Joe hadn’t had any intention of doing what he did then, but writing to his mother had left him a little bit lonesome, and—well, acting on the impulse of the moment, he kissed Aunt Sarah on the cheek! I fancy he was almost if not quite as surprised as Aunt Sarah when he had done it. That Aunt Sarah was surprised was very evident. Indeed, something very like consternation was expressed on her countenance.

“Hmph!” she snorted. “Hmph! Well, I declare!”

Joe, embarrassed himself, drew back over the threshold, smiling uncertainly. Aunt Sarah, at a loss for further words, stared a moment, said “Hmph!” again in more thoughtful accents and turned away. But when she had gone a few steps she paused. “I told Amanda to boil you a couple of eggs for breakfast,” she announced, “but maybe you don’t care for eggs. Some folks don’t.”

“Indeed, I do. Thanks.”

“Well, all right, then. I don’t hold with humouring folks with finicky appetites, but if there’s anything you’d rather have than the eggs——”

“There isn’t, really. The eggs will be fine!”

“Humph! Good-night.”

Aunt Sarah’s door closed softly down the hall and Joe smiled as he shut his own.

“I don’t believe she minded it at all,” he murmured. “I guess—I guess she’s never had very many kisses!”

His first day of school passed without special incident. Several fellows spoke to him at recess and satisfied their curiosity about the newcomer, but none of them appealed greatly to Joe and he made no effort to pursue the acquaintances. At half-past three he was on hand at the Recorder office, received his bundle of papers, slung them at his side by a strap which he had bought on the way from school, and started out. His route began nearly a mile from the newspaper building and it would have saved time if he had taken a car on Main Street. But to do that every day would cost him thirty cents, and thirty cents taken from three dollars leaves quite a hole! So he tramped the distance instead. He had already studied his route on a map in a copy of the city directory and so had little difficulty. He did, however, manage to leave out a block and had to go back to it, but that wouldn’t happen the next time. The district was one well over on the west side of town and was inhabited for the most part by factory workers, although there were a few blocks of more prosperous patrons. As a general thing the sidewalks were ill paved and held pools of slush or water, and Joe’s “waterproof” boots belied their reputation by the time he had tossed the last of his papers on the final porch. But damp feet didn’t trouble him greatly and he made up his mind to change to a pair of slippers as soon as he got home. It was quite dark by the time he reached the little house in Brewer Street and Aunt Sarah had begun to be concerned, and when he entered the front door, she appeared quickly from the sitting-room.

“I was beginning to think one of those automobiles had got you,” she said tartly. “It’s ’most six o’clock.”

“I’m sorry to be so late,” replied Joe, “but it took longer today than it will the next time. I missed some houses and had to go back.”

“Well, I suppose I don’t need to get anxious about you, but——” Aunt Sarah paused, her gaze on his feet. “Joseph Faulkner, look at your boots!”

“Yes, they’re sort of damp, aren’t they?”

“Sort of damp! Land sakes, they’re sopping wet! You go right upstairs this very minute and take them off and change your socks and dry your feet and—and don’t you dare come home tomorrow without those overshoes I told you to get yesterday! First thing I know you’ll be down with pneumonia! Tramping around through the slush with nothing on but a pair of fancy shoes!”

“They’re supposed to be waterproof, Aunt,” said Joe meekly.

“Supposed to be! Maybe they are supposed to be, but they ain’t. Now, don’t stand there arguing, but do as I say, Joseph. I may not be your mother, but I guess I know wet shoes when I see them! And I don’t see why you didn’t get those overshoes like I told you to yesterday.”

“I didn’t feel that I could afford them,” said Joe defensively, “and I didn’t just like to take them as a gift.”

“Land sakes, you needn’t be so proud, Joseph Faulkner! I guess I’m your mother’s own half-sister, ain’t I? And if that doesn’t give me the right to buy a pair of overshoes for you—Hmph! I never heard such foolishness. You take those wet shoes off directly and I’ll bring you up a cup of ginger-tea. Fine thing it would be to have you sick on my hands the very first week you’re here!”

Joe went up, smiling to himself, and obeyed directions. Only, when Aunt Sarah passed a steaming cup of ginger-tea in to him he didn’t play quite fair. He gave it a trial, to be sure, but he didn’t like it, and if Aunt Sarah had been listening she might have heard one of the guest room windows cautiously raised. Let us hope that the ginger-tea had no ill effects on Aunt Sarah’s shrubs!

Damp feet did not affect Joe’s appetite, and, watching him eat, Aunt Sarah dared hope that he was not in for a serious illness!

By Saturday he had settled down into his new life. He was relieved to find that the few weeks away from school had not put him far behind and during that first week he proved to his own and Mr. Dennison’s satisfaction that he really belonged in the junior class. He found much to like about the school. For one thing, the building, which was fairly new, was quite a model school structure, with big, broad rooms lighted by an almost continuous row of high windows through which the sunlight fairly streamed. Sunlight in classrooms makes for cheerfulness, and cheerfulness for better work, and better work for more cheerfulness! That, at least, was the way Joe summed it up. The fellows seemed an average lot, some nice, some rather objectionable, some neither one thing nor the other. The same was probably true also of the girls, but Joe, having no sisters of his own, was shy of girls and didn’t attempt to decide as to whether they were nice or otherwise.

At home he and Aunt Sarah settled down into a very pleasant companionship. Although her voice remained as acid as ever, it was evident to Joe that she was prepared to be fond of him, and that, used as he was to affection, was sufficient to make him fond of her. She was sometimes fussily anxious about him, but she didn’t try to govern his movements, and that he appreciated. Aunt Sarah’s bark, he soon decided, was far worse than her bite. The newspaper route occupied his afternoons between school and supper—which was more like dinner, since he had only a light lunch in the middle of the day—and required no great effort. On Monday he collected two dollars and a half for the five days he had worked and handed the amount over to Aunt Sarah. His board and lodging was, he learned, to cost three dollars a week.

“That,” said Aunt Sarah, “was the arrangement your mother made. I told her she didn’t need to pay a cent unless she was set on it, but she wouldn’t let you come unless I’d take some money. So I reckoned that three dollars would be about right. I’ve never taken a boarder and I don’t pretend to know. If that seems too much, though, I’d like you to tell me.”

“It doesn’t seem enough, Aunt,” replied Joe. “I’ll bet I eat more than three dollars’ worth of food, and that doesn’t leave anything for the room.”

“I wasn’t calculating to charge for the room. The room’s there and it might as well be used. I just meant to charge for what you ate, Joseph, and I guess you won’t eat more’n three dollars’ worth of food a week.”

But that was on Monday, and today was only Saturday, and Joe had a whole morning to dispose of as he liked. He had been given a fine new pair of skates Christmas before last and had learned at school that there was fair skating on the river and on one or two ponds around town. After breakfast he got his skating boots and skates out of his trunk and looked them over. The only thing missing was a new lacing, and so he went across to Main Street in search of the article. But the shoe store in which he had purchased the overshoes didn’t have a leather lacing suitable and sent him to Cummings and Wright’s, further down the street. This, he discovered, was the brilliantly-red hardware store he had noticed one day. One side of it was given over to athletic goods and when Joe entered two boys were in conversation across a counter near the door.

“You can’t get to work too early, Sam,” he heard one of them say as he drew near. “Start them going about the middle of February. Of course there isn’t a whole lot to be done in the cage, but you can get in a lot of batting practice, and your pitchers can find themselves, and——”

He broke off and walked along behind the counter to where Joe was standing. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully. “Is there something you want?”

He was a well-built chap of seventeen, with red-brown hair, very blue eyes and a smile that won Joe on the instant.

“I want a lacing for this boot, or a pair of them, please. They told me at Rice and Perry’s that you kept them.”

“We surely do, and you can have one or two, just as you say.” He turned away and pulled a box from the shelves. “There you are. Five cents apiece.”

“I’ll take just the one, I guess.”

“All right. They say the skating’s best at Proctor’s Pond. Have you tried it?”

“No, I haven’t. I was going down to the river, because I thought I could find that. Where is this pond, please?”

“Take a Fair Grounds car at Myrtle Street. Or you can walk it in twenty minutes. You’ll find it better than the river, I guess. You’re a stranger here?”

“I’ve been here just a few days.”

“That so? I thought I’d seen you around somewhere.” He had taken one of the skating boots and, despite Joe’s protest, was replacing the broken lace with the new one. “I know now; I saw you at high school, didn’t I?”

“I guess so. I started there Tuesday. I—I’ve been living in Akron.”

“Akron’s a nice town. You’ll like Amesville, though, when you get acquainted. Have you met many fellows at school yet?”

“N-no, I haven’t. That is, some have spoken to me, but I don’t really know anyone yet.”

“You must, then. Start in by knowing me. My name’s Pollock.” He smiled winningly and reached a hand across. Joe smiled back and clasped it.

“Thanks. Mine is Faulkner.”

“Sam!” called Pollock. The boy at the front of the store, who had been gravely looking out into the street, turned inquiringly. He didn’t resemble the other in build or features, but there was, nevertheless, a similarity between them that Joe couldn’t explain. He wasn’t handsome, but he had a nice pair of gray eyes and a generously wide mouth that, although no smile curved it, somehow seemed to proclaim good nature and kindliness. In build he was heavier than his friend, more sturdy, with a resolute way of planting his feet that seemed to defy anything short of an explosion of dynamite to move him until he was ready to move. He approached in response to Pollock’s hail.

“Sam, I want you to know Mr. Faulkner,” said Pollock. “Faulkner, this is Sam Craig. Sam’s our baseball captain and a gentleman of much wisdom.” The two shook hands, Joe a trifle embarrassedly, Sam Craig with a slight lifting of one corner of his serious mouth and an accompanying lighting of the gray eyes.

“How are you, Faulkner? I’ve seen you around school, I think. Glad to meet you.” The clasp was a very hearty one, almost painfully hearty, and Joe worked his fingers afterwards to see that they were still whole.

“Faulkner,” continued Pollock, completing the lacing of the boot, “is a stranger in our midst, Sam. He’s just come from Akron. He says he hasn’t got acquainted much yet. What’ll we do about it? Our fair city has a world-wide reputation for hospitality, you know, and it mustn’t be marred.”

“I’ve only been here since last Monday,” said Joe. “I guess a fellow can’t expect to make many acquaintances in that time.”

“Going skating?” asked Sam.

“Yes. He says the pond is better than the river.”

“It is. I was there yesterday; the river, I mean. It isn’t safe more than fifty feet from shore. Proctor’s Pond is the best place just now. I’m going down there myself. If you’d like to come along I’ll show you the way.”

“Thanks, yes, I’d be glad to.”

“Do you play hockey?” asked Pollock.

“No. I’ve never tried it.”

“The team’s practising there this morning and I thought that if you played you’d better get Sam to work you in with the scrubs for a try-out.”

“Thanks, but I don’t. I’m not a very good skater, either.”

“That makes no matter. Neither is Sam, but they’ve got him playing goal. That’s the reason, I guess. If Sam lets go of the goal he always falls down.”

Joe smiled politely as he paid for the lacing. Sam paid no attention to the slur.

“Tom wants to sell you a hockey-stick,” he said calmly. “Just the same, if you’d like to try it, now’s the time. We need fellows.”

“I’d like to, but I’d be ashamed to,” laughed Joe. “What I’d have to do first is learn to keep on my feet.”

“Just watch Sam, then,” said Tom Pollock. “If he does a thing one way, you do it the other, and you’ll be all right. I suppose I can’t sell you a pair of gloves or a sweater, Faulkner?”

“No, thanks. Not today, anyway. Maybe another time——”

“Don’t promise anything,” interrupted Sam. “There’s a good store up the street. Shall we start along?”

“I’m all ready. Thanks for putting that lacing in, Pollard.”

“Pollock is the name,” said Tom. “Think of a fish.”

“A fish?” asked Joe vaguely.

“Yes. A pollock’s a fish, you know.”

“And a mighty ugly, mean-looking fish, too,” said Sam with one of his infrequent smiles. “Call him what you like, Faulkner. Anything’s good enough for him. Where’s that stick of mine, Tom?”

“Just where you left it, on top of the case up there. Wish I could go along with you chaps. I haven’t seen you crack the ice this Winter, Sam.”

“I’m getting so I can fall soft now.” He picked a hockey-stick, to which were attached boots, skates and leg-pads, from the showcase and moved toward the door. “See you later, Tom. Come on, Faulkner.”

Joe nodded to Tom Pollock and followed his new acquaintance outside.