CHAPTER XXI
AN EARLY MORNING CALL
But Jud didn't see Myron in the morning, for the reason that we know of.Only Joe was in Number 17 when the football captain knocked, and Joe wasnot telling all he knew. According to him, Foster was "out just now" andthe time of his return was most uncertain. Joe "had an idea" that hisfriend was dining away from school. Jud said that it didn't matter muchand that he'd see Foster later. Then:
"Maybe you know how bad he's fixed with the Office, Whoa?" he suggested.
"I don't," replied Joe, "for he hasn't said much to me about it. I knowthat it's Latin that's troubling him, though. He's been in wrong withAddicks for a couple of weeks. Fact is, Cap, Myron hasn't been puttingin enough time on study. He falls to sleep at the table there aboutevery other night. Guess he's been getting a bit too much exercise."
"Yes, we've worked him pretty steadily. Too bad, for, between you andme, he was doing mighty well and looked awfully good. I wonder if youcan't find out what the prospects are, Whoa, and let me know. If hecould get a clean slate by a week from Monday, say, he might still be ofsome use to the team. He probably wouldn't start the Kenwood game, butit's a fair bet he'd get in for part of it. Driscoll and I were talkingabout him last night, and I said I thought that maybe you could sort ofjack him up; make him see that it is up to him to get square with theOffice and get back to the team."
"Oh, I'll get him back if it can be done," Joe assured him. "I was goingto, anyway. We need him, Cap."
"We certainly do, Whoa. See what you can do with him. Wouldn't sometutoring help? There's a chap named Merriman in town who's a regularwhale at it."
"I know him. I'll have a talk with Myron when he comes back--in, Imean--and let you know, Cap. You leave him to me!"
Jud Mellen had no more than got out of the building when a fearsomeknock came at the door and Chas Cummins appeared, scowling ferociously."Hello," he said. "Where's Foster?"
"Out just now," replied Joe affably. "Want to leave a message?"
"No--yes--Yes, tell him I say he's to beat it over to my room the minutehe shows up here!"
"All right," said Joe.
Chas clung to the doorknob and continued to scowl, and studied Joespeculatively. Finally: "Isn't it a mess?" he demanded. "Everythinggoing like clock-work, and then, bingo--Officer, call the ambulance!Honest, Whoa, I could kick Foster from here to New York and backcheerfully, drat his hide!"
"I wish you could kick him back," said Joe.
"What do you mean?"
"Close the door, will you? Thanks. Can you keep a secret, Chas?"
"Sometimes. Go on. What's up?"
"Myron's gone. Went last evening."
"_Fired?_"
"No, he just went."
"Left school, you mean? Well, what--do you know--about that?"
"We're trying to get him back before faculty gets on to it, but itdoesn't look good. Merriman's on his trail. Took the nine o'clock trainlast night. I think he'll manage to head him off all right, but Myron'sa cranky, stubborn dog and may refuse to come back."
"Any one suspect so far?" asked Chas with knitted brows.
"Don't think so. Good thing there's no chapel on Sunday, isn't it?"
"Merry Andrew went, you say? Good stuff! If any one can do thepersuasion stunt, Andy can. Hang the beggar, what's he think, anyhow?Doesn't he know he will get fired if faculty hears about it? And whatabout me?"
"You?" asked Joe.
"Well, I mean the team," corrected Chas hurriedly. "He ought to belicked! I'd do it, too, if it would do any good. Honest, Whoa, isn'tthis the very limit?"
"Way past it," agreed Joe. "He's a crazy guy for sure."
"When do you expect Andy back?" asked Chas after a moment.
"He might make it by the five o'clock. Ought to be here by eight,anyway."
"Well, if he doesn't fetch him it'll be good-bye to Foster for keeps!What's wrong with him, anyway? Some one said he was on pro."
"Don't know whether it's out and out probation or not," said Joe."Didn't have much time to talk to him. But he said Doc Lane told him tolet football alone and get hunky with Addicks again."
"Latin, eh? I always said that language ought to be prohibited! It'salways getting folks into trouble. Well, I suppose there isn't anythingI can do. I wish you'd let me know the news when there is any, Whoa."
"I will. Keep this quiet, though, Chas. You and Andy and I are the onlyones who know, and it mustn't get any further. I only told you becauseyou and Myron have some game on and I knew you'd keep quiet."
"Some game on? What makes you think that?" asked Chas.
"Well, I've got eyes and ears," answered the other drily. "I'm notasking questions, though. So long. I'll let you know how it comes out."
"Don't forget. If I'm out leave word with Brown. Just say 'Yes' or 'No.'I'll understand. Gosh, I hope Andy fetches him, though!"
Myron reached New York at a few minutes after ten on Saturday night.He had some supper on the way, crushed into a corner of a crowdeddining-car, but he wasn't hungry and ate little. On arrival, quick workin a taxi-cab got him across town in time for a train to Philadelphiathat landed him there just before midnight. He had a married cousinliving in that city, but he preferred to go to the quiet little hotelat which his mother stayed when on shopping visits. He left an order tobe called at half-past six, luxuriated in a bath and crawled wearily tobed. But sleep was still a long way from him, and until after two he laythere wide-eyed and thought and thought, and twisted and turned.
There may be more dismal places in the world than Philadelphia atsix-thirty on a rainy morning. If so, Myron had fortunately escapedthem. He had left himself barely enough time to dress and reach thestation for the seven-twelve express, and when, aroused by the blatant_buz-z-zz_ of the telephone, he staggered to the window and looked out,he felt that he never could do it. That drab, empty stretch of wetstreet was the last blow to waning courage. Had he rested well and feltnormally fresh he would have charged at his clothes, leaped into a caband made it nicely, but he was in no condition of mind or body for suchhustling methods. Besides, there were later trains, and he was in nohurry to face his folks, and the tumbled bed looked awfully good to him.Three minutes later he was asleep again.
Meanwhile Andrew Merriman was slowly pacing the platform beside theseven-twelve train. He had been there ever since the train had rolledsleepily into the long, gloomy shed. Keeping tabs on the passengers wasno difficult task, for they were few in number and moved with draggingfeet. Andrew had arrived in Philadelphia at half-past five, after aninterminable ride during which he had huddled himself into a seat in aday-coach and slumbered fitfully between stops. It had been a gloriousrelief to leave that leisurely train and stretch his legs again. He hadhad breakfast at a nearby lunch-room, and now, all things considered,was feeling very fit. A glance at his watch showed the time to be twominutes to seven. In fourteen minutes from now he would know his fate.He had already arranged his plans in the event that Myron didn't showup for that train, and he would have three hours in which to carry themout. A portly man with two suit-cases waddled down the long platformand puffed himself up the steps of a car. Even allowing for a disguise,thought Andrew whimsically, that was not Myron. Nor was the nextpassenger, a fussy little man with two small boys strung out behind himwho came so fast that Andrew half expected to see him "snap the whip"any moment and send the tiniest boy hurtling through space. But hedidn't. He herded the children into a car and smiled triumphantly atAndrew. Evidently, he considered that arriving with only five minutesto spare was a reckless proceeding. There were the usual last-momentarrivals and then the train reluctantly pulled out, leaving Andrew aloneon the platform.
Two blocks away was a hotel, and thither he made his way. Capturing atelephone directory, he found a chair by a window and turned to the listof hotels. There was an appalling lot of them and nothing to indicatewhich were of the sort likely to be patronised by Myron. But he hadthree hours before him and plenty of money, and was not discouraged.He took
a piece of paper from a pocket, unscrewed his pen and set towork. Ten minutes later he was ready. The lobby was practically desertedand he had the telephone booths to himself. When he had exhausted allthe nickels he had he crossed to the news-stand and had a dollar billchanged. Then he went on with his campaign. It was slow work, for manyof the hotels were extremely deliberate in answering. The voices thatcame back to him sounded sleepy, and some sounded cross as well.
"Is Myron Foster stopping there?" Andrew would ask.
"Who? Fosdick? How do you spell it? Oh! What are the initials? Hold theline, please." Then, after a wait: "No such party registered."
At any rate, that is the way it went for nearly twenty minutes. Thenluck turned.
Myron was still slumbering when the telephone rang a second time. For amoment he stared at the ceiling, a perfectly strange ceiling that seemedto return his regard coldly, and strove to think where he was. While hewas still struggling the impatient instrument on the table beside thebed buzzed again. Myron reached for it and recollection came to him.
"Yes," he said sleepily. "Hello!"
"Gentleman to see you, Mr. Foster. Shall we send him up?"
"Gentleman to see me!" echoed Myron. Was it possible that his fatherhad learned already of his departure from school and had come up fromPort Foster? He was thoroughly awake now. "What is the name?" he asked.After a moment of silence: "Merriman," said the voice at the other end."Merriman?" thought Myron. "I don't know any Merriman! Except Andy. Whothe dickens----"
"I didn't hear, Mr. Foster," said the clerk politely.
"Oh--er--all right! Ask him to come up, please." Myron put the receiverdown, unlocked the door and returned to bed to hug his knees and stareperplexedly at the footboard. Who the dickens was Merriman? Of course itcouldn't be Andy. This was Philadelphia, and Andy was several hundredmiles away. Well, he would soon know! Then came a tap at the door andMyron said "Come in" in an unnecessarily loud tone and the portalopened. Then it closed again. And Myron, with eyes that looked as bigand as round as butter-chips, whispered: "_Where'd you come from?_"