Читать книгу Fourth Down! - Ralph Henry Barbour - Страница 5

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The school year began the next morning. Many new faces confronted Toby in the recitation rooms and some familiar ones were missing. Toby’s list of friends had not been a long one last year, although acquaintances had been many. It had been his first year at Yardley Hall, which fact, coupled with a fairly retiring disposition, had left him rather on the outside. It is always a handicap to enter school in a class below your friends, which is what Toby had done. Arnold and Frank, both a year older, had been in the Third, while Toby had gone into the Fourth. Consequently the fellows he had met through Arnold—Frank had not counted greatly as a friend last year—had few interests that were Toby’s. To be sure, in early spring, after he had made a success of hockey, things had been somewhat different. But even then he had remained a pretty insignificant person among the three hundred and odd that made up the student body of Yardley Hall School. Not that Toby cared or thought much about it. He was too busy getting through the year without calling on his father for further financial assistance to pay much attention to the gentle art of acquiring friends.

One friend, however, Toby had had, whether or no. That was Tommy Lingard, a Preparatory Class youngster, pink-cheeked, blue-eyed, shy and, in appearance, the soul of innocence. That he wasn’t as spotless as he looked has nothing to do with this story. Toby had saved Tommy from drowning, and thereafter the younger boy had attached himself to his benefactor like a shadow. It had been very embarrassing at times, for saving a person’s life does not necessarily imply that you want to spend the rest of your life in that person’s company! Toby didn’t like Tommy, for which there was a reason, but he couldn’t be brutal to him, and short of being brutal there had seemed no way of evading Tommy’s doglike devotion and his unwelcome companionship. It had become a joke to Arnold and a few others, but Toby found it far from that. When June had brought the end of the school year Toby couldn’t have told you whether he was more delighted at finishing an Honor Man in his class or at getting rid of Tommy Lingard!

He had returned this fall with a grim determination to be rid of the boy at any cost short of murder, but to-day, glancing uneasily about as he passed from one recitation to another, he was not so sure of himself. Probably, he reflected discouragedly, when Tommy appeared and got those big blue eyes on him he wouldn’t find it in his heart to be unkind to the youngster, and the whole wretched, tiresome program would begin all over again. Therefore when, hurrying from his last morning recitation at twelve, he almost bumped into Tommy on the steps of Oxford, he was at once amazed and relieved when that youth said, “Hello, Toby,” in a most embarrassed voice and sidled past. At the foot of the steps Toby stopped and looked back. Could that be Tommy? Of course it was, but it was a very different Tommy. He had shot up during the summer like a weed. His clothes looked too small for him, too short of leg and sleeve. He was thinner of body and face, the pink-and-white complexion had muddied, the blue eyes were no longer luminous with truth and innocence and the voice had dropped several notes to a ridiculous bass! In short, Tommy had changed very suddenly from a blue-eyed cherub to a commonplace and awkward boy. And Toby was very, very glad, so glad that he went the rest of the way to Whitson whistling at the top of his voice; or should I say at the top of his whistle?

“Just shows,” he reflected as he skipped up the stairs, “that it doesn’t pay to worry about anything that may happen, because maybe it won’t!”

After a two o’clock séance with “Old Tige,” by which name Mr. Gaddis, English instructor, was popularly known, Toby went with Arnold down to the athletic field. September had still a week to run and the afternoon was almost uncomfortably hot. Across the river, the wide expanse of salt marsh was still green in places, and overhead the sky was unflecked by clouds. Fortunately a little westerly breeze mitigated the heat. Most of the tennis courts were occupied, a group of baseball enthusiasts were congregated over by the batting net and on the blue surface of the curving stream a few bright-hued canoes were moving slowly upstream or down. Toby found himself almost wishing that he had chosen a dip in the Sound instead of an hour or more of unexciting observation of some fourscore overheated youths going through football practice. However, the new grandstand, finished during the summer, was roofed, and as soon as Arnold left him to his own devices Toby meant to climb up there into the shade and sprawl in comfort. On the way they passed new boys here and there—it was easy to detect them if only by their too evident desire to seem quite at home—and they agreed gravely, pessimistically that they were a rum looking lot, and wondered what the school was coming to! Old friends and acquaintances hailed them from a distance or stopped to chat. Arnold was rather a popular fellow and knew a bewildering multitude of his schoolmates.

“Seems mighty nice to be back again,” Arnold observed after one such meeting. “Bet you we’re going to have a dandy time this year, T. Tucker.”

“Maybe you will,” answered the other dubiously, “but I don’t expect to unless they drop Latin from the curriclumum—curric—well, whatever you call it.”

“Call it the course, old thing,” laughed Arnold. “It’s easier on the tongue. But I thought you finished strong with Latin last year.”

“I did pretty well in spring term, but it looks tougher this fall. And I’ve got Collins this year, and every one says he’s a heap stricter than Townsend.”

“Well, he is, I suppose, but he’s a mighty good teacher. You get ahead faster with Collins, I think. Anyway, it won’t look so bad when you’ve got into it, Toby. Besides, I dare say I can help you a bit now and then.”

“You,” jeered Toby with a very, very hollow laugh. “You’ll be so full of football for the next two months you won’t know I’m alive! A nice outlook for me, I don’t think! When I’m not bathing you with arsenic—or is it arnica?—or strapping your broken fragments together I’ll have to listen to you yapping about how it was you missed a tackle, or got your signals mixed. Arn, as a companion you’ll be just about as much use as a—a——”

“Don’t overtax that giant intellect of yours, old thing. It’s too hot. Wonder where the crowd is. You don’t suppose those fellows are all that are going to report?”

“It’s not three yet. Probably the rest of them preferred to stay sensibly in the shade while they had the chance. Wish I had! Arn, is that what’s-his-name over there?”

“No, that’s thingumbob. Whom do you mean?”

“The little man in the blue sweater-coat talking to Fanning. See him?”

“Yes. I guess it must be. Isn’t very big, is he? Fan said last night, though, that he talked a heap of sense. I’m going over. Come along and meet him.”

“No, thanks. I’ll wait here.”

Arnold left him by the corner of the old grandstand and made his way toward where the new coach was in conversation with Captain Fanning. Toby saw Fanning introduce Arnold to Mr. Lyle and saw the two shake hands. Then something broad and heavy smote him disconcertingly between his shoulders and he swung around to find Sid Creel’s grinning, moon-like countenance before him.

“Hello, Toby!” greeted Sid, reaching for his hand. “I had a beastly fright. Just when I was lamming you I thought maybe it wasn’t you after all. You’ve sort of thickened up since last year. Rather embarrassing to find you’ve whacked a total stranger on the back, eh? Much obliged to you for being you, Toby. I’ll never forget it. What sort of a summer did you have? You’re looking hard as nails and more beautiful than ever!”

“Same to you, Sid. Are you going out for football?” Toby glanced at the other’s togs.

“No,” replied Sid gravely. “I’m going to tea at the Doctor’s.”

“Well,” laughed Toby, “that was sort of a fool question, but I didn’t know you were a football shark.”

“I’m not; I’m just a minnow. I’m trying for the Second. I always do. I’ve been trying for the Second Team for years and years. If I’m not here they postpone until next day. I should think you’d go in for the game, Toby. Ever tried it?”

“A little. I was out for the Second last fall, but I didn’t stay long.”

“That so? I don’t remember seeing you.”

“Funny, Sid; there were only about eighty of us the first day!”

“Well, I didn’t know you then, Toby. Why don’t you try again? Didn’t you like it?”

“I don’t know. Guess I didn’t have time to find out whether I did or didn’t. They said I was too light and fired me after three or four days.”

“Well, you certainly have enough weight now. Come on and join the goats. It’s lots of fun. You get action, son, and it lets you out of gymnasium work while you’re at it. That’s something! Come on!”

Toby smiled and shook his head. “Guess not, thanks. I never would make a football player.”

“You? You’re just the kind, Toby. You’re quick and you’ve got a good head, and you’re built right, too. Wish I had your build. Only thing I’m good for is center or, maybe, guard. I’m too bulky. It isn’t all fat, though, believe thou me. Feel them here biceps, son, if you doubt my word.”

“I kind of envied you your fat—I mean your muscular bulk, Sid—last winter,” answered Toby. “You could fall flat on the ice without hurting yourself. You just kind of bounced up and down a few times and didn’t mind it. When I fell I felt it!”

“Never mind about me bouncing,” said Sid good-naturedly, with a grin. “I got around the ice a heap faster than some of the chaps at that. But about football, Toby——”

“I haven’t got time for it, Sid; that’s another thing. I’ve got to put my nose to the grindstone, I guess, this year.”

“Well, haven’t I? Rather! But football won’t cut in on studying—much. Anyway, a fellow studies better for being out-of-doors and getting plenty of exercise and——”

“Yes, but I can be outdoors without playing football, Sid.”

“Gee, you’re the original little Excuse-Me! Well so be it. After all, some one’s got to stay out of it and be audience, and from the looks of things right now, Toby, you’re the only fellow left to sit in the grandstand and cheer us on to victory. Look at the gang coming down! There’s a fellow I want to see. So long! Better change your mind, though!”

Arnold came back for a minute and then left in answer to the plaintive squawking of a horn from farther along the side of the field. Fully eighty youths of assorted ages and sizes gathered about the new coach and the hubbub was stilled as the small man in the blue knitted jacket began to speak. Toby could hear an occasional word, but not enough to make sense, and, since it was no concern of his, he turned toward the grandstand and climbed up into the grateful shade. Forty or fifty others had already scattered themselves about the seats in couples or groups, most of them munching peanuts or popcorn bars, ready to be amused if amusement required no exertion on their parts. A lazy way to spend a perfectly good afternoon, reflected Toby. He wished he hadn’t let Arnold persuade him to come, but, being here, he lacked energy for the hot uphill walk back to the dormitory. He would stay awhile, he told himself; at least until the afternoon had cooled a little.

There was a salvo of polite handclapping from the group within sound of the coach’s voice and it broke up. Andy Ryan, the trainer, emptied a canvas bag of trickling footballs and they were pounced on and borne away to various parts of the field. The big group became half a dozen smaller ones. It was only “kindergarten stuff” to-day, even for the veterans; passing and falling and starting; not very interesting from the viewpoint of candidate or audience. Toby located Arnold working with a squad under big Jim Rose. Arn was, as Toby knew, pretty soft after a fairly lazy summer, and the boy in the shade of the big stand smiled unfeelingly as he saw his chum straighten himself slowly in deference to protesting muscles.

“He will be good and sore to-night,” thought Toby. “Sailing a boat all summer doesn’t keep a football man in very good trim, I guess!”

After that he lost interest in the scene before him, and, his somewhat battered straw hat on one knee and the lazy breeze drying his damp hair, let his thoughts carry him back to Greenhaven and the folks in the little white cottage on Harbor Road. It would be very pleasant there to-day on the vine-shaded steps, with the harbor and the white sails before him and the cheery click-clock of the caulking iron and mallet and the busy pip-pup, pip-pup of the gasoline engine sounding across from the boat yard. Better still, though, would it be to lie in the stern of a boat, main-sheet in hand, and slip merrily out past the island to where, even to-day, the white-caps would be dancing on the sunlit surface of the bay. He was getting the least bit homesick when the sound of approaching steps brought his wandering thoughts back. Climbing the aisle was a somewhat thin, carelessly dressed youth. His head was bent and so Toby couldn’t see his face well, but there was something dimly familiar about the figure. Toby wondered why, with several hundred empty seats to choose from, the boy, whoever he was, had to come stamping up here. He sighed and changed his position and was relapsing into his thoughts again when he saw to his annoyance that the approaching youth had stopped at the end of his row, two seats distant. Toby’s gaze lifted curiously to the boy’s face. Perhaps it was more the two strips of rather soiled surgeon’s plaster adorning the chap’s upper lip than the features that led Toby to recognize him. Mentally, Toby groaned. Aloud, trying to make his voice sound decently friendly, he said: “Hello! Well, how’s it going?”