Full-Back Foster

  CHAPTER XIII

  MYRON CHANGES HIS MIND

  The fact that the incident would never become known and make himlook ridiculous made it much easier for Myron to forgive Joe for thetrick. And the latter's account of the meeting with Eldredge--Myrongot it piecemeal before and after chapel--was so funny that he had tosmile more than once in spite of his determination to be haughty andunrelenting. In the end he said grudgingly: "We-ell, I suppose you meantit all right, Dobbins, but it wasn't fair. Now was it?" And Dobbinsobligingly shook his head very soberly and allowed that it wasn't. Insuch fashion amity was restored and peace prevailed again.

  That afternoon, encountering Harry Cater on the field before practice,Myron regarded that youth keenly, looking for signs of amusement andready to resent them. But Katie's countenance suggested no secretdiversion. Perhaps he regarded Myron with just a fraction more interestthan usual, but it was quite respectful interest. There was a big cutin the football candidates that afternoon and when Coach Driscoll hadsheathed his knife again their number had been reduced to sixty-odd.Myron survived, as he deserved to, and so, naturally, did Joe. Joe wasalready being talked about and more than once had heard his playingdiscussed and praised. Good linemen are always in demand, and this year,at Parkinson, they were more than ever welcome, for graduation haddeprived the eleven of several stars since last fall.

  The squads were reduced to four now, and Myron had slipped into ahalf-back position on the third. There was nothing certain about thatposition. Some days he went into practice at right half and some daysat left, and sometimes he sat on the bench most of the time whenscrimmaging began. He was rather resentful because his work wasn'tgetting recognition. As a matter of fact, however, he was showing up nomore cleverly than half a dozen other candidates for the positions. Hehandled the ball well, remembered signals, ran hard and fast, dodgedfairly and caught punts nicely. So did Meldrum, Brown, Brounker, Vance,Robbins and one or two more. Myron's mistake was in supposing that,because none praised him, his work wasn't appreciated. He had an ideathat neither coach nor captain really knew of his existence, when, asa matter of fact, he was more than once under discussion during thenightly conferences in Mr. Driscoll's quarters.

  "Promising," was the coach's comment one evening when the subject ofhalf-backs was before the meeting. "Plays a nice, clean-cut game. Lacksjudgment, though."

  "Handles punts well," said Captain Mellen. "Made a corking catchyesterday. Remember when Kearns punted down to the twenty yards? Thatwas a peach of a punt, by the way: all of fifty, wasn't it, Ken?"

  "Forty-six," answered Farnsworth.

  "That all? Anyway, this Foster chap made a heady catch, with two endsalmost on him and the ball nearly over his head. He'll round out nicelyfor next year, I guess."

  It was Myron's misfortune that he had elected to try for a half-backposition at a time when there was much excellent half-back material onhand. Probably he didn't realise the fact, for he began to get moredisgruntled by the end of that week and secretly accused Mr. Driscolland Jud Mellen of "playing favourites." Not altogether secretly, either,for he once aired his suspicions for Joe's benefit. "There's no chancefor a chap here unless he's known," he said bitterly. "Maybe if I stayhere two or three years longer Driscoll will discover that I'm alive. Asit is, if it wasn't for Farnsworth keeping tabs on the fellows, I couldcut practice and no one would ever know it."

  "Well, I don't know," answered Joe judicially. "It looks to me likeyou were getting the same treatment the rest of 'em are getting. Someday you'll show 'em what you can do and they'll wake up. I guess yourtrouble is that you're bucking against a lot of good backs. Take fellowslike Brown and Meldrum and Vance, now. They're _good_. You've got tohand it to them, kiddo. Corking halves, all of them. Hard to beat.But that don't mean that you can't beat 'em. Buckle down and go hard,Foster. The season's young yet."

  "I'm not anxious enough," answered Myron, "to kill myself. I dare say Ican get along without playing on the team this year. And next year I'llgo somewhere where they give a fellow a fair chance, by George!"

  "Well, if that's your idea you won't get far," said Joe drily. "If youdon't care yourself no one's going to care for you. A guy's got tohustle and be in earnest to get anywhere in this world. I know that!"

  "You fell into it pretty soft," answered Myron, with a laugh thatsounded none too agreeable. "There's nothing like getting in with theright crowd, eh?"

  Joe regarded him with a frown, started to speak, thought better of itand merely grunted. But after a moment he said dispassionately: "Don'tbe a sore-head, Foster. It don't get you anything but hard looks."

  "I'm no sore-head," laughed the other carelessly. "Gee, it doesn't meananything in my young life to play with their old football team. I'vecaptained a better team than this school will ever turn out!"

  "If I was you," replied Joe earnestly, "I'd forget about being captainof that team, kiddo, and see if I couldn't make a first-class private ofmyself."

  Myron flushed. "It's all well enough for you to--to give advice and saycute things, Dobbins, but you've made yourself solid with the fellowswho have the say in football matters and you're pretty sure of a place.I haven't, and I don't intend to. If Mellen and Cater and some of thosefellows think I'm going to kow-tow to them, they're mightily mistaken."

  "Meaning I got my chance by--what do you call it?--cultivating thosefellows?" asked Joe. "You made that crack before and I let it pass,Foster, but it don't go this time. If I'm playing on the second squadit's because I got out there and worked like a horse, and you know it,Brother!"

  Myron dropped his eyes and a long moment of silence followed. Then hesaid: "I was a rotter, Dobbins. I'm sorry. I guess I am a sore-head,like you said. I guess--I guess I'll just quit and have done with it."

  Joe laughed. "All right, kiddo! We'll start fresh. But why don't you cutout the grouching and just play the game? What's it to you if you don'tget into the lime-light? Ain't it something to do what you're put at anddo it well? Say, there's about sixty guys out there every afternoon,ain't there? Well, how many of them do you suppose will get places onthe first team? Not more than twenty-six, probably. And about twentymore will go into the scrub team. And the others will beat it and tryagain next year, likely. Every one can't be a hero, Foster. Some of ushave got to lug water!"

  "There's no fun in lugging water, though," Myron objected.

  "Who says so? There's fun in doing anything if you set out to like it,kiddo. The guys who miss the fun are those who get it into their headsthat the job isn't good enough for 'em, or that some one's imposing on'em. What sort of a fellow would Merriman be if he got that dope toworking in his bean? He's lugging water, all right, believe me! Livingon a couple of dollars a week and working about sixteen hours a day!But he gets fun out of it, don't he? He's about the happiest guy aroundthese parts, ain't he? Mind you, Foster, I ain't saying that a fellow'sgot to be _satisfied_ with just lugging water. He oughtn't to be. Heought to be thinking about the time when he can chuck the pail and dosomething better. But while he is lugging water he wants to do it welland whistle at it!"

  "All right," laughed Myron, good temper restored, "I'll keep on with thepail a while longer. Say, Dobbins, you ought to prepare for the ministryor the lecture platform. You're going to waste yourself shovellingspruce gum!"

  Joe smiled. "I'm not going to shovel spruce gum, kiddo. I'm going to bea lawyer. How's that hit you?"

  "If I'm ever arrested for murder I'll certainly send for you!" answeredMyron emphatically.

  Two days later Myron received notice that his overdue furniture hadarrived. For some reason he was not nearly so keen about it as he hadbeen a week or more ago. And when, accompanied by Joe--he had felt theneed of a practical mind in the matter of getting the things off thecar and up to the dormitory and had begged Joe's assistance--he sawhow many pieces of furniture there were he was, to use his own word,flabbergasted. For his part, Joe just stared and blinked. Every piecewas carefully and enormously crated, and the staring address on each wasa
horrible challenge. For the things were much larger than he rememberedthem and when he thought of the limited area of Number 17 Sohmer hegasped. The services of the Warne Warehouse Company had been called on,and three husky men were soon emptying the car while Myron and Joe saton a baggage truck and looked on. Myron felt somewhat apologetic andshot occasional inquiring glances at his companion. But Joe was silentand seemingly unmoved after the first survey. Myron ventured at last:

  "I don't see where all the stuff is going, do you?"

  Joe shook his head. "No, I don't. Maybe they'll let you put about halfof it in the corridor."

  "It's nothing to joke about," Myron grumbled. "We won't be able to movewithout barking our shins. I'd like to know how big mother thinks thoserooms are!"

  "I'm not worrying about my shins," said Joe placidly, adding when Myronlooked a question: "I won't be there, you know."

  "Oh!" said the other. Silence again prevailed. The trucks trundled frombox-car to platform and a nearby engine let off steam with disconcertingsuddenness. Finally: "I shouldn't think you'd want to live in that roomif it's like you say it is," observed Myron. "Only one window and--andall."

  "Oh, it ain't so worse. Merriman wants me to go over and take half hisplace, but that part of town's pretty fierce."

  "Great Scott! Why, that's an awful hole he's in!"

  "Well, with something more in it, it wouldn't be bad."

  "I don't see----" Myron paused and was busy for a moment detaching asplinter from beside him. "I don't see," he continued, "why you want tomove anyhow."

  Joe turned slowly and observed him in mild surprise. "Well, consideringthat you invited me to," he answered, "that's a funny crack to make."

  "Maybe they wouldn't let me have the rooms by myself, anyhow," saidMyron. "And I'd rather have you with me than--than some fellow I didn'tknow at all."

  "Thanks, but I guess I'd better light out. I'm sort of backwoodsyfor you, Foster. Maybe the next guy will be more your style, see?Besides----"

  "Besides what?" demanded Myron with a frown.

  Joe chuckled and nodded toward the furniture. "I couldn't live up tothat," he said.

  Myron's gaze followed his companion's and he viewed the cratedmonstrosities distastefully. "I don't see why you need to keep rubbingit in about my--my 'style,'" he said crossly. "Just because I have morethan two suits of clothes you needn't always try to make out that I'ma--a----"

  "I don't," answered Joe calmly. "Besides, I've got four suits myselfnow: and an extra pair of trousers!"

  "Then--then it's just that stuff?" asked Myron, waving toward thefurniture.

  "Oh, I don't know. Maybe. You see, kiddo--I mean Foster----"

  "Oh, dry up," muttered Myron.

  "You see, I've been used to simple things. The old man andme--I--me--whatever it is--lived pretty plain for a long time. Latelywe've stayed in a hotel in Portland most of the time. I ain't used tochiffoniers and enamelled tables and all those gimcracks. I'd feel sortof--of low in my mind if I had to live in a place all dolled up withribbons and lace and mirrors and things."

  "There aren't any ribbons and----"

  "Well, you get my idea," continued Joe untroubledly. "Me, I sort of feelfreer and more contented in a log-cabin. I suppose it's all what you'reused to, eh?"

  Myron made no reply for a minute. They were loading the big moving-vannow and he watched them morosely. He half wished they'd drop thatgrey-enamelled bookcase over the side. At last he said desperately:"Look here, Joe! If I dump all that truck into the warehouse will youstay?"

  It was the first time he had ever called Joe by his first name and thatyouth looked almost startled. "Why--why, you don't want to do that!" hestammered.

  "Yes, I do," replied Myron doggedly. "That's just what I do want. It wasa mistake, sending it. I sort of felt so when mother suggested it, butshe set her heart on it, you know: thought I'd be more comfortable andall if I had my own things. But they'd look awfully silly, all thoselight grey tables and chairs and bookcases, and I don't want them there.So--so I'm going to let these folks store them until spring. There'sno use hurting mother's feelings, and I'll just let her think that I'musing them; unless she asks me. When spring comes I'll ship them back.And you'll stay where you are, won't you?"

  "Gosh! Say, this is so sudden, kiddo! And it sure seems an awful shameto hide all those corking things. But--why, if you really don't wantthem and--and you don't mind me being sort of rough and--and all that,I'll stick around."

  "Honest, Joe?"

  "Sure, kiddo!"

  Myron drew a long breath of relief and turned to the man in charge ofthe job. "I've changed my mind," he said. "Take those things to thewarehouse, will you? And tell them I'll be around tomorrow and fixthings up."