CHAPTER XI
THE FIRST DEFEAT
When October was a week old Willard had become as much a part andparcel of Alton Academy as if he had spent a year there instead of ascant three weeks. For a time he had wondered whether he had made amistake in substituting it for Kenly Hall, but as he became more andmore at home that speculation ceased to trouble him. Even if he hadmade a mistake, and had known it, the bewildered letter he had receivedfrom his mother would have reconciled him to the fact. That letter hadamused him for days. For the joke of it, he had carefully abstainedfrom explanations and had merely written: "Here I am at Alton Academy,everything unpacked and quite settled. I think I am going to like itimmensely." Of course there had been much more, but he had describedthe school in such a matter-of-fact way that his mother and father, onreading the letter, had almost doubted their memories.
"Your father," wrote Mrs. Harmon, "says that we may have misunderstood,but I am very, _very_ certain you meant to go to Kenly School. Youtalked about it so frequently that I'm sure I couldn't be mistaken.Kenly School is at Lakeville, for I've looked it up in a magazine, andyour letter was posted at Alton, and your father says the two placesare fully ten miles apart. I do hope everything is all right, but Isimply can't understand why you didn't explain more fully in yourletter. Do let me hear from you right away, dear, and tell me just whathappened."
Of course Willard had answered the appeal promptly and explained fully,emphasizing the real or imaginary advantages of Alton over Kenly,and had received a second letter from home that was not nearly sosympathetic as it might have been. It was his father who wrote thistime, and Mr. Harmon dwelt, at what Willard thought was undue length,on the latter's Lamentable Lack of Serious Purpose, pointing out thatattaining an education was not a pursuit to be governed by levity. Thatepistle had the effect of making Willard rather more devoted to hisstudies for awhile at least and so was not written in vain.
His studies, though, promised to cause him scant worry, for he had comewell prepared for the Alton junior year. Greek, which he had elected tomake up the required number of hours, was new to him and so presentedsome difficulties, but he was consoled with the knowledge that bytaking the course this year he could, if he wished, drop it the lasthalf of his senior year. Martin, who had left Greek severely alone, hismotto being "Don't Look for Trouble," told Willard that he was a chumpand dwelt at length on the merits of Science 4 as a "snap course." Towhich Willard virtuously replied that he was attending the Academyto acquire an education and not to spend his time in slothfulness.Whereupon Martin upset him onto the bed, placed a pillow over his headand sat on it.
About this time Martin was making Bob Newhall's life a burden to himby solicitous inquiries regarding his health. Martin had a way ofobserving Bob anxiously and attempting to feel his pulse that thelatter found very trying. Of course Bob could refuse to have his heartaction investigated, and could--and did--decline to put out his tonguefor Martin to inspect, but he couldn't prevent Martin from eyeing himnarrowly on all occasions and shaking his head sorrowfully over what hepretended to believe were the ravages of disease. "I don't like thosedeep circles under your eyes, Bob," Martin would say gravely. "Sleeppretty well, do you?"
"About nine hours, thanks," Bob would reply shortly.
"I was afraid of that! That's one of the unmistakable symptoms. Feeltired in the morning? Sort of worried and oppressed without knowingwhy?"
"Not until I run across you! And then I know why blamed well!"
"Irritable, too! Dear, dear! Bob, why don't you drop in at the doctor'ssome day and just let him look you over? Of course there may be nothingserious, nothing that can't be remedied if taken in time, but I'd feela lot easier about you if you saw someone, honest I would!"
"You'll feel easier if I hand you a wallop," growled Bob. "Say, if youplayed guard half as hard as you work that silly tongue of yours youmight amount to something!"
Martin spent a whole hour in the library one morning and emerged witha fine fund of information regarding the sleeping sickness and theravages of the tse-tse fly, and after that he became doubly obnoxiousto Bob. Martin may or may not have been correct in connecting the biteof the tse-tse with the sleeping sickness, but the way in which hedrove the flies away from Bob's vicinity proved that he meant to takeno chances. Strangely, the object of his solicitous care resented thismanifestation of it more than any other, and Martin had only to fix apiercing gaze on the tip of Bob's nose and begin a cautious approachwith uplifted hand to throw Bob into a paroxysm of lamentable anger.Martin, repulsed, would explain in hurt tones that never having seenthe tse-tse fly he couldn't be supposed to know it from the common orhouse-fly, and that he consequently was using only excusable caution.Naturally enough, Willard and Joe enjoyed the nonsense and egged Martinon, but when the latter began flooding Bob's mail with patent medicinecirculars and stories of miraculous cures clipped from the newspapers,Bob's patience became exhausted and he vowed revenge.
"I'm going to get good and even with you, Mart," he declared oneafternoon when Martin had drawn his attention to an advertisementextolling the merits of a net to be worn over the head to the utterconfusion of mosquitoes and flies. "When I get through with you, myhumorous young friend, you won't know there's such a word as 'fly' inthe English language. And you'll be good and sick yourself, believe me!"
Martin, however, professed to believe the threat only the empty ravingsof a mind affected by disease, and was quite interested by what hedeclared was an unusual manifestation of the malady. But Bob lookedunusually grim and exhibited such unaccustomed patience that Martinconfided to Willard later that he "guessed he had got old Bob's goat atlast."
"You'd better watch out that he doesn't get yours," laughed Willard. "Ibelieve he means to try it."
"It's the last stage before the final breakdown," replied Martingravely. "He won't last much longer, I'm afraid!"
That pessimistic prophecy was made on Friday night, and the nextafternoon Alton traveled to Warren and played Mt. Millard School. Someeighty or ninety fellows accompanied the team and were present at theWaterloo. Willard watched the game from the bench, dressed for play,and saw his chance of getting into it dwindle into nothingness as Mt.Millard piled up her score. It is the historian's privilege to avoidsuch events as he may consider unworthy of inclusion in his narrative,and the present historian gladly avails himself of that privilege.Suffice it to say that Mt. Millard out-rushed, out-punted andout-generaled Alton and won a lopsided contest by a score of 19--0. JoeMyers summed it all up on the way home when he said briefly: "Funeralfrom the late residence. No flowers."
Later that game was looked on as extremely good medicine, for it provedone or two things most conclusively; as, for instance, that a backfieldwanting the services of a good plunging full-back was a far fromcomplete institution, and that the forward line of a football team,like a chain, was as strong as its weakest unit, and no stronger. Atfull-back in that Mt. Millard game, Steve Browne had proved himself afailure. Nor had Linthicum, who had taken his place at the beginning ofthe third period, done any better. The following week saw the searchfor a likely successor to Browne take on new ardor. The substitutebench was combed carefully without satisfactory results and Greenwoodwas brought over from the second team and given a try-out. Greenwooddid his level best to please, but that he failed was apparent from thefact that he was back on the second three days later. Of course CoachCade tried the old game of switching, but Bob Newhall, Leroy, whoplayed left tackle none too well, Lake and Mawson all fell down. EvenMartin was considered and passed over, and on Thursday the full-backproblem was no nearer a solution than at any time that fall.
The left end of the line was causing trouble, too. Leroy, at tackle,appeared to be miscast badly, and Sanford, at end, was no match forhis opponents at any time. Putney and Rhame, the most promising tackleand end substitutes, were far from satisfactory. That week was a weekof experiments and confusion, and Coach Cade had a worried look quiteforeign to his countenance. Three days of wretched
weather added to thedifficulties, for Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday were each cold andrainy, and by the last day the gridiron was not much better than a bog.Under these circumstances the team would scarcely be expected to makemuch progress, nor did it. Joe Myers was extremely peevish most of theweek and Don Harris, visiting Number 16 Haylow one evening, remarkedfeelingly that he would be mighty glad when football was over for theseason.
It was the miserable weather on Thursday that sent Willard over toUpton Hall. There had been an hour of indoor practice in the gymnasium,but the slippery ground and relentless downpour of rain had prohibitedany use of the field, and at half-past four Willard found himself at aloose end. Martin had gone up to one of the society rooms in AcademyHall to play pool, and, although he had asked Willard to go with him,the latter, not being a member, had thought it best to decline. On theporch of the gymnasium he watched the swishing rain and the inundatedpaths and wondered what to do with himself. The answer came when hisdisconsolate gaze, roaming the cheerless world, lighted on Upton Hall.Recollection of Felix McNatt and his invitation came to him and,turning up his collar, he plunged into the deluge. He didn't rememberthe number of McNatt's room, but he could find it, he supposed. On thesecond floor, he knocked on a nearby door and obtained the informationfrom a surprised occupant. Number 49 proved to be on the third floor,and Willard's knock elicited a muffled "Come in!" As the door waslocked, however, Willard did not immediately accept the invitation."Wait a moment, please," came McNatt's voice from within. Then a chairwas overturned, footsteps approached and the door was thrown open.
"Oh, hello!" greeted McNatt cordially. "Come in. Sorry to keep youwaiting, but this thing's out of order somewhere." He leaned down toexamine a bolt on the door frame, and then followed with his eyesa wire that proceeded from the bolt to the ceiling and across thelatter, through a number of screw-eyes, to a point above the studytable in the middle of the room. From there it descended to withinconvenient reach of a person seated at the table, terminating in awooden knob. Willard viewed it with amused interest.
"Quite a scheme," he said. "Your invention, McNatt?"
"Yes, it saves time, you see. Trouble is, though, it will get out oforder. Ought to have small wheels for it to run on instead of thoseeyes. Let's see now." He pulled the knob down and the bolt slippedobediently from its socket with a business-like _click_. McNattshrugged expressively. "All right now, you see. It binds somewhere, Iguess. Sit down, Harmon." He indicated a Morris chair in need of repairand Willard seated himself and looked around. The rooms in Upton wereslightly larger, it seemed, than those in the newer dormitories, andWillard considered it a most fortunate circumstance, since a smallerroom would never have accommodated all the articles that met his gaze.Besides the ordinary furnishings, there were two bookcases, a set ofbook shelves that hung on a wall and several boxes up-ended to serve asauxiliary tables. McNatt was telling Willard of his failure to findinformation regarding the use of the diving-rod in the location ofmetals and saying some bitter things about the reference department ofthe Academy library, but Willard was too much interested in the room topay much heed.
The place looked like a compromise between a museum and a laboratory.Stuffed birds and small animals peered down with glassy eyes fromall sides, a badly mounted pickerel on a board presented a hungrymouth, a snake skin depended from the corner of a framed picture thatshowed, in colors, what was probably a quiet Sunday afternoon in theGarden of Eden. It was an engaging picture, and Willard studied itcuriously before his gaze went past. All the animals of which he hadever heard were depicted in it, and all were grouped about in peace andfriendliness, even the lions in the foreground smiling on the beholderwith truly benevolent countenances.
Methods of saving time or labor were apparent on every hand in theshape of mechanical appliances. A complicated arrangement of cordsallowed of the lowering or raising of the window shades withoutapproaching the windows; although Willard could not see that it was anyfarther from the table to the windows than it was to the side of theroom where the cords hung! On the chair in which he sat a home-madebookholder was attached to one arm, while, by reaching underneath,one could pull forth an extension that accommodated one's legs andfeet, though probably not very comfortably. Later he discovered thata switch attached to the wall beside the head of McNatt's bed in thealcove allowed that ingenious youth to put on or off the electric lightwithout arising.
The bookcases held all sorts of things except books, although therewere plenty of the latter distributed about in such unusual places asthe window-seat and the tops of the two chiffoniers. Indeed, a set ofencyclopedias of ancient vintage found lodgment along the baseboard onthe floor. The bookcases had been consecrated to Science, it appeared,for in the nearer one dozens and dozens of birds' eggs peered forthfrom cotton-batting nests and in the other McNatt's collection ofminerals was installed. The study table overflowed with a motleydebris of books, papers, a microscope, pieces of wire, bits of wood, ablowpipe, a specimen-jar half filled with a dark-brown liquid that fromits appearance and odor was plainly "working," a mouse-trap--empty,as Willard was relieved to discover--and so many other things that itwould be useless to attempt an enumeration of them. Willard was stilllooking about when McNatt interrupted his inspection.
"Would you like to see my minerals?" he asked.
Willard politely replied that he would and McNatt opened the doorsof the case and thereupon held forth for some ten minutes, duringwhich time Willard pretended interest in various specimens and said"Really?", "Is that so?" and "Indeed!" dozens of times. When it cameto the birds' eggs he had the courage to say that he wasn't very muchinterested, and McNatt passed them by. "I'm thinking of getting rid ofthem," he announced. "I need the space for other things. If you hear ofanyone who'd like a nice collection I wish you'd let me know." Willardagreed and was shown some choice things in cocoons, an extensivecollection of butterflies and moths which occupied the two lowerdrawers of McNatt's chiffonier, several specimens of tree-fungus, acigar-box full of shells gathered along the river, a pair of chameleonsin a shoe-box, a number of small phials filled with liquids of varioushues which McNatt assured him were vegetable dyes, another phial ofwhitish powder that its exhibitor called kaolin, and numerous otherwonders. McNatt was quite impressive about the kaolin.
"I guess I'm the only one who knows about it," he said, lowering hisvoice and looking guardedly toward the door. "It's immensely valuable,you know."
"Is it?" asked Willard.
"Oh, yes. It's what they make porcelain from. China clay they call itsometimes. There's a big deposit of it where I found this, and maybesome day I'll buy the land and develop it. Meanwhile, of course, I'mkeeping very quiet about it."
"Of course," murmured Willard.
"And here's another thing," continued McNatt. "Take these vegetabledyes. There isn't one of those you couldn't make just as well as I did,Harmon!"
"You don't say?"
"Yes, sir! And every one is made of something that grows right besideyour door, as you might say. Now take this." He shook a phial untilthe sediment at the bottom turned the liquid to a muddy purple asseen against the light. "Nothing but poke-berry! I don't mind lettingyou in on that because lots of people know about getting color frompoke-berry. But here's one, by ginger, you won't often see!" He held upa second bottle and Willard gazed on a quite gorgeous crimson. "How'sthat for color?" asked McNatt. "You don't find anything finer thanthat, I'll bet!"
"Mighty pretty," responded Willard. "What's that made from?"
McNatt chuckled, winked portentously and shook his head. "That's asecret. I'd tell you only I might want to go into the business someday, Harmon. Not as a life-work, you understand, but-- Know anythingabout mycology?"
"No, what is it?"
"The study of mushrooms and fungi. Awfully interesting. I'm just takingit up. Some of them make wonderful dyes, and that's what started me.I've found thirteen varieties of mushrooms already, and I've been outonly four times." He looked approvingly out at the rain. "There'll be
lots of them tomorrow, I guess. I found a giant puff-ball over nearwhere I met you that day, only it was rotten. They're delicious eating.Some day when I find one that's in good condition I'll let you knowand we'll have a feast. I've got a little alcohol stove in there thatyou can cook almost anything on. I had a few the other night and theywere mighty good. Winfred--Winfred Fuller, you know; he rooms here withme--Winfred said they made him feel sort of sick, but I guess it wasmore likely something he had for dinner."
"Still, some mushrooms are poisonous, aren't they?" inquired Willarddoubtfully.
"Lots of them, but it isn't difficult to tell them from the others, youknow. I've got a book that tells all about it. Where is it?" McNattlooked rather hopelessly about him. "I don't see it just now. Winfred'smixed my things up again, I dare say. He's a very decent fellow, but hehasn't any idea of orderliness. Next time you come it will probably bearound."
Their travels had brought them back to the corridor end of the room andWillard's attention was attracted by a small bottle hanging by a stringfrom a thumb-tack beneath the electric light switch. "What's that for?"he asked.
"Eh? Oh, that?" McNatt removed it as he spoke. "That's no good anymore. I had a glow-worm and a firefly in there, but the firefly atethe glow-worm, or maybe it was the other way around: I forget now; andthen the one who'd eaten the other one died, too." He took the stopperfrom the bottle and inverted it, allowing the dried remains of somesmall occupant to fall out. "Besides," he added, "you can buy littledinkuses made of radium that'll do the same thing now."
"Well, but--but what was it they did?" asked Willard.
"Oh, they glowed, you know, in the dark, and showed where the switchwas." McNatt tossed the empty bottle to the table. "Trouble was theydidn't always glow when you wanted them to and sometimes you had tostand around and wait quite a while."
Seated again, McNatt tilted back in his chair and observed Willardthoughtfully for a moment. Then: "Returning to the subject we werediscussing the other day, Harmon," he announced, "I've been sort ofoutlining a system along the lines we spoke of. I haven't gone into itthoroughly, of course, but I've estimated that the number of possiblesituations in a football game approximate one hundred and sixty. Imay be slightly in error, of course, for I haven't played recentlyand there have been several alterations in the rules, but I'm notfar out of the way. That number includes situations occurring bothin attack and defense. I've got a rough summary here somewhere." Hebegan to rummage over the table. "It's a piece of yellow paper. Isit on your side anywhere? Now I wonder what I did with it. Well,never mind, it'll show up again some day. Anyway, my idea would beto--ah--catalogue them, as one might say, according to their locationson the field of play. I'd divide the gridiron into, say, ten zoneslongitudinally and three zones laterally, giving thirty areas in all.Numbering--perhaps lettering would be better, though: lettering sucharea-- Have you got to go?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so," replied Willard. "I--it's getting along towardsix o'clock. I'd like to hear about it some other time, though, McNatt.I say, why don't you come over to my room some evening and let MartProctor hear it? He'd be awfully interested, I'm sure. Mart's on theteam, too, you know; plays guard. I wish you would."
"Why, I don't visit around much," answered the other hesitantly, as hereached for the knob that unbolted the door. "I don't have time, yousee, and just now I'm most interested in mycology, Harmon. By the way,don't forget about that mushroom supper we're going to have!"