Full-Back Foster

  CHAPTER XIV

  "CHAS"

  Only one thing troubled Joe, which was that he couldn't have Zephaniahwith him. Faculty strongly disapproved of dogs, even very young andvery small dogs, in the dormitories. So he made arrangements with agood-hearted stableman to look after the puppy and himself rigged up ahome for it in an unused stall behind a litter of brooms and old harnessand buckets. Puppy biscuit, which Merriman sternly decreed was to beits only food, was laid in lavishly, a china drinking bowl was suppliedand Zephaniah, very unhappy at parting from his brothers and sistersand mother, was duly _installed_. The pun is not mine, but Myron's. Joevisited the stable at least once a day and was to be seen stalking alongthe streets accompanied by a silly, frisking little atom at the end ofa magnificent leather leash. Once away from the busy thoroughfares, thepuppy was set free and had a glorious time. Frequently Myron went alongon these excursions and the two boys often laughed themselves sick overthe ridiculous antics of Zephaniah Q. Dobbins. Several times Merrimanalso joined them and took along Tess and her two remaining offspring,and at such times life was chock full of excitement and merriment. Theweather was wonderful that autumn and those strolls about the outskirtsof the town were events that remained in Myron's memory long afterwards.They led to an ever-increasing intimacy between the three boys and Myronbegan to find existence at Parkinson really enjoyable. No one could failto like Joe Dobbins or to admire his big-heartedness and sturdy honestyof purpose and deed, and Myron least of all. He saw now the kindnessthat had underlaid the indignity Joe had practised on him when he hadbeen forcibly kept from meeting Paul Eldredge, and was grateful. He sawmany other thoughtful and kindly acts as well. Joe's rough ways, orways that had seemed rough at first, were now only things to smile at.Myron was learning that there were many things less to be desired ina friend and room-mate than uncouthness. New clothes, too, had made adifference in Joe. Under Myron's guiding hand he had purchased two plainbut well-fitting suits--as well as the extra pair of trousers that Myronhad advised and that Joe was now so proud of--and, in a way, he wasliving up to those suits. He had been good-naturedly guyed by many ofhis friends and acquaintances, of which he had dozens a week after thebeginning of school, for the change wrought in his appearance had beenwell-nigh startling, but he hadn't minded a bit: it took more than thatto upset Joe's equanimity. It was about the time that he first appearedin classroom in his new clothes that some fellow fell on the quiteobvious nickname of "Whoa," to which Joe was already accustomed, andfrom that time on he was "Whoa" Dobbins to the whole school. Only Myronand Andrew Merriman stuck to "Joe."

  Merriman required more knowing than Joe Dobbins. Although Myron hadliked him at first acquaintance and grew to like him more as time wenton, he never felt that he knew him as thoroughly as he knew the other."Merry Andrew" at first meeting seemed perfectly understandable. At thesecond meeting you realised that most of him was below the surface. Atsubsequent meetings you despaired of ever knowing him thoroughly. Hewas the happiest, cheerfulest fellow Myron had ever encountered, and noone would have suspected that there was such a thing as a care in hislife. And perhaps there weren't many, either, for a care doesn't becomea care until you let it, and Merriman's policy was not to let it. Offriends, at least close friends, beyond Joe and Andrew, Myron had noneso far. He knew various fellows, most of them football chaps, but onlycasually. He didn't make friends easily. It is only fair to acknowledgethat there was something in Myron's attitude, although he didn't realiseit, that warned fellows away. Popularity such as Joe might attain wouldnever fall to his share.

  So a fortnight passed and Parkinson played her second football gameand began to find her stride. Cumner High School proved less of anadversary than expected and went down to defeat, 12 to 0. Myron didn'tget into action: didn't expect to, for that matter: and neither did Joe.Joe, however, expected to, and was a little disappointed and decidedlyrestive while he and Myron watched from the bench. Inaction didn'tsuit Joe a bit. Garrison, who had played the position last season onthe scrub eleven, stayed in at right guard until the last quarter andthen Mills, a recent discovery of Coach Driscoll's, was given a chance.Mills, a big, yellow-haired infant of seventeen, proved willing andhard-working, but he was woefully inexperienced, and only the fact thatCumner had already shot her bolt and was playing a strictly defensivegame kept him in until the final whistle.

  Joe's hero on the team was Leighton Keith, who played right tackle. Joeexpatiated for whole minutes at a time on Keith's work and rather boredMyron. "Honest, Joe," he protested, "I think he plays perfectly goodball and all that, but I don't see where he has anything on Mellen, oreven Flay."

  Joe shook his head. "You aren't watching him, Myron. You've got to knowthe position, too. I've played tackle, kiddo, and I know what a guy's upagainst. I'll tell you about Keith and Mellen. Mellen's a fair, averagetackle, a heap better on attack than defence, I guess, but Keith's morethan that. He--look here, it's like this. Know those dollar 'turnips'?Well, they keep right good time, don't they?"

  "Some of them," agreed Myron.

  "Most of them, Brother. Well, Mellen's like a dollar watch. Looks goodoutside and works all right inside. Dependable and all that. All right!Now did you ever cast your eye over a nice hundred and fifty dollarwatch all dotted over inside with jewels and all glisteny with littlewheels and dudads? Sure! That's Keith. He works just like the innardsof that watch, kiddo. Every move's exact. He never misses a tick.He's smooth-running and guaranteed. He--he's an artist! I'd just aslief see Keith play tackle as see old Josh Reynolds paint one of hismillion-dollar portraits."

  "Reynolds is dead," laughed Myron.

  "All the more reason then," replied Joe calmly. "Keith isn't!"

  "All right," said Myron, "you cheer for Keith. To my mind the bestplayer in that brown bunch is Cater."

  "Yeah, he's good, too," owned Joe. "I call him a nice little quarter.Nice fellow, too, Cater. So's Steve Kearns. Know him?"

  "Playing full-back? No, only to nod to. I don't think he's as good afull-back as Williams, though."

  "Both of them will stand improving," said Joe drily. "Gee, I wishDriscoll would let me in on this!"

  But, as has been said, he didn't, and when the game was over Joe andMyron trotted back to the gymnasium with a host of others equallyunfortunate. After showers and a return to citizen's clothing they tookZephaniah Q. Dobbins for a walk. Or, it would be more exact to say, aromp.

  The Latin coaching ended the last of the next week, by which timeAndrew Merriman declared Myron up with the class. Myron wasn't socertain of it and would have continued the tutoring if Andrew hadn'trefused. "You're discharged," said Andrew. "You know about as much asOld Addie himself now, and a lot more than I. All you have got to do isstudy."

  "Is that all?" asked Myron ironically. "It isn't anything if you say itquick, is it?"

  But Andrew proved right about it, and Myron found that as much workapplied to Latin as to other studies kept him on good terms with OldAddie.

  There was one thorn in Myron's side at this time, and its name wasCharles Cummins. Cummins was a riddle to Myron. Ever since the timehe had spent that unpleasant half-hour in Cummins' awkward squad thefreckle-faced, shock-haired giant had never let an opportunity pass toaccost him. There was no harm in that, of course; the trouble was thatCummins always made himself so disagreeable! It seemed to Myron that thechap deliberately sought him out in order to rile him. And it wasn't somuch what Cummins said as the way he said it. It got so that Myron onlyhad to see the other approaching to feel huffy. Long before Cummins gotwithin speaking distance Myron had his back up, and Cummins, knowingit, seemed to take delight in it.

  Cummins was generally known as "Chas," from his habit of signing himself"Chas. L. Cummins." He declared that Charles was far too long to spellout. He played left guard and played it well if erratically. In a way,he was difficult to get along with, for he considered himself a lawunto himself, and it was no unusual thing for him to veto a coach'sinstructions, which, up to a certain point, the coach stood
for. Theothers were at outs with him half the time, but liked him through all.Oddly enough, even the timidest youngster he ever bullied and brow-beatin practice was strong for him afterwards. It was no secret that hewas holding his position on the first team by little more than aneyelash, for Brodhead was hot on his trail and Coach Driscoll had put upwith more of Cummins' calm insurrection than was agreeable to him. Inappearance "Chas" was a broad, heavily-built giant with much red-brownhair that never was known to lie straight, eyes that nearly matched thehair and a round, freckled face that was seldom neutral. It was eitherscowling savagely or grinning broadly. For his part, Myron preferredCummins' scowls to his smiles, for the smiles generally held mischief.Usually the two encountered each other only on the playfield in theafternoon, but one morning a few days after the Cumner game Myron,walking back to the room after a chemistry class, sighted Cummins comingout of Goss Hall.

  "Gee, there's that pest!" he muttered, and, contrary to schoolregulations, started on a short cut across the grass in the hope ofavoiding him. But it was not to be. Cummins had sighted his prey.

  "O Foster!" he called.

  Myron nodded and kept on.

  "Tarry, I prithee! I wouldst a word with thee, fair youth!"

  "Go to thunder!" murmured Myron. But Cummins headed him off withoutdifficulty.

  "S'pose you know," he said, "that we can both be shot at sunrise forwalking cross-lots like this. Where do you room?"

  "Sohmer," answered Myron briefly.

  "Ho, with the swells, eh? Lead on, Reginald! I would visit thy fairabode in yon palace!"

  "Not receiving today, thanks," said Myron. "I've got some work to do."

  "Work? Didn't suppose you silk-stocking bunch in Sohmer ever had towork! Thought you had slaves to do that sort of thing. How little onehalf the school knows how t'other half lives! To think of you soilingyour lily-white hands and getting calloused with labour! What sort ofwork are you going to do? Clip coupons?"

  "Oh, dry up!" exploded Myron. "I'm sick to death of your chatter! AndI'm sick of being guyed all the time, too! Lay off, can't you?"

  To his surprise, "Chas" chuckled and thumped him on the back. "A-a-ay!"he applauded. "That's the stuff, old chap! I was beginning to think youdidn't have any pep in you. There's always hope for a fellow who can getmad!"

  "That isn't hard when you're around," answered Myron, unappeased. "Don'tbang me on the back, either. I don't like it."

  "All right," answered Chas, sobering. "I'll behave. Mind if I come upfor a few minutes?"

  Myron looked at him suspiciously, but for once Cummins was neitherscowling nor grinning. "I guess not," he answered ungraciously.

  "Fine! But don't embarrass me with your welcome, old chap," chuckledChas as they mounted the steps. "Some dive this, isn't it? Don't believeI ever hoped to get in here." Joe was not in and when Chas had lookedaround the study--a trifle disappointedly, Myron thought--and seen theview from the window he seated himself on the window-seat, took one kneeinto his hands and viewed his host reflectively. Myron, at the table,fussed with his books and fumed inwardly and wished Cummins would getout. Finally the latter said: "Foster, you and I ought to be great pals."

  Myron looked every bit of the astonishment he felt, and his guestchuckled again. "Because we're as unlike as three peas, and the onlythings that can be more unlike than three peas is four peas. You've gotcoin and I'm the poor but proud scion of a fine old chap who made hisliving laying bricks. You're a swell and I'm a--well, I'm not. You'rea sort of touch-me-not and I'd make friends with any one. Probably wedon't think alike on any two subjects under the sun. So we ought to hitit off great. Get the idea?"

  "I'm afraid I don't," owned the other, interested and puzzled.

  "It's the old law of the attraction of opposites, or whatever it'scalled. Now I took a shine to you right off"--Myron sniffed, but Chasonly smiled and went on--"Oh, I don't always hug a chap I take a fancyto. That's not my way. I try 'em out first. I tried you out, Foster, oldchap."

  "Did you? Well, much obliged, but----"

  "You'd rather I minded my own business, you mean? That's what I likeabout you, Foster, that stand-offishness. I like the way you sort ofturn your nose up and look haughty. You see, I'm not like that. If astranger says 'Howdy' to me I either say 'Glad to know you' or I biffhim one and pass on. I couldn't freeze him with a glance as you can tosave my precious life."

  "I didn't know I was as bad as that," said Myron, a trifleuncomfortable. "I don't think I mean to be."

  "Course you don't. That's the beauty of it. It comes natural to you,just like liking artichokes and olives. I'll bet you anything you wereeating olives when you were four, and I haven't got to really like thepesky things yet!"

  "You talk a lot of nonsense," said Myron, smiling in spite of himself."Just what are you getting at?"

  "Well, I'm not after a loan, anyway," laughed Chas. "I was telling youthat I tried you out. So I did. 'He looks like he was a nice sort underthe shell,' says I to me. 'A terrapin isn't awfully jolly and friendlywhen he sticks his head out at you and hisses, but they tell me thatwhen you get under the shell he's mighty good eating.' So, thinks I----"

  "The idea being that I've got to be dead to be nice?" asked Myron drily.

  "No, not a bit. The--the simile was unfortunate. No, but I thought I'dget a peek under the shell and see what you were really like. So I setout to make you mad. If a fellow can't get mad he's no good. Anyway,he's no good to me. And he's no good for football. I was just aboutgiving you up, old chap. You frowned and grumbled and sputtered once ortwice and looked haughty as anything, but you wouldn't get your danderup. Not until today."

  "Well," said Myron, "now that I have got mad, what's the big idea?"

  "Why, now we can be pals," answered Chas unhesitatingly. "How does thatstrike you?"

  "Why--why, I don't know!" Myron faltered. "It sounds like some sort of asilly joke to me, Cummins."

  "No joke at all." Chas unclasped his hands and leaned back, his big,freckled face wreathed in smiles. "No hurry, though. Think it over.Anyway, there's something more important just now. I've watched you onthe field, Foster, ever since they dumped you on me that day. I've seenyou play and I can tell you what I think of you, if you like."

  It's human to like flattery in moderation, and so Myron said "Go ahead,"and prepared to look modest.

  "I think you're rotten," said Chas.

  "Wh-what?" gasped Myron.

  "Rotten, with a large capital R, Foster."

  "Thanks!"

  "Don't get huffy, old chap. I don't say you can't play good football.I think you can. But you're not doing it now. If I didn't think youcould play the game according to the Old Masters I wouldn't be talkingabout it to you. You play like a fellow who doesn't care. You don't tryhard enough. You don't deliver the goods. You're soldiering. Ever see aman laying a shingle roof? Well, he could do the whole thing in a day,maybe, if he worked hard. But he belongs to the union and the unionwon't let him lay more than just so many shingles. So he has to slowdown. That's like you. Say, what union do you belong to?"

  "I guess the trouble is that I _don't_ belong," said Myron. "I'm anoutsider, and so I don't get a chance."

  "Tell that to the Marines! Look here, old chap, you can make a realfootball player of yourself if you want to. I've watched you and I know.I've seen what you could have done lots of times when you didn't do it.Now, just what is the row?"

  So Myron told him his version of it and Chas listened silently and evensympathetically. But at the end he shook his head. "You're all wrong,Foster," he said. "I've been here two years now and I know how thingsgo. The trouble with you, I guess, is that you came here with the ideathat folks were going to fall all over themselves to shake hands withyou and pull you into the football team. Isn't that pretty near so?"

  It was, and Myron for the first time realised it, but he couldn't quiteget himself to acknowledge it to Cummins. He tried to look hurt and madeno answer.

  "Sure!" said Chas. "And when the coach and the captai
n didn't give adinner in your honour and ask you to accept a place on the team andgive them the benefit of your advice as to running same you got peeved.That's just what I'd have done if I'd been you, you see, so I know. Ifit was me I'd have either gone to the coach and made a big kick andtold him how good I was or else I'd have gone out and played so hardthat they'd have either had to take me on or chuck me to save the livesof the others! But you, being Haughty Harold, just froze them with aglance--which same they didn't happen to see--and went your way. Andit's a rotten way, too. Because it won't get you anywhere. Driscollwon't fall for you until you show something and you won't show anythinguntil Driscoll pats you on the back. Say, I'm talking a whole lot! Whattime is it? And you've got some digging to do! I'll beat it. Think overmy words of wisdom, Foster, and drop around tonight and hear more.I've got a plan, old chap. I'm in 16 Goss; first floor, on the right.Bye-bye!"

  And before Myron could agree or refuse the invitation Cummins hadhurried to the door and was clattering downstairs. Myron went to thewindow and, in somewhat of a daze, watched Cummins emerge below anddisappear under the trees. Then he sat himself down on the window-seat,plunged both hands into trousers pockets and frowned intently at hisshoes. He didn't get much studying done that hour.