Full-Back Foster

  CHAPTER VI

  "A. T. MERRIMAN"

  The next forenoon Myron set off in a spare hour to find the tutor whoseaddress Mr. Morgan had given him. If he had cherished the notion ofpossibly getting along without coaching in Latin his experiences thatmorning had banished it. Mr. Addicks, or Old Addie, as he was called,was a likable sort and popular with the students, but he was capable ofa gentle sarcasm that was horribly effective with any one whose skinwas less thick than that of a rhinoceros, and an hour or so ago he hadcaused Myron to heartily wish himself small enough to creep into a floorcrack and pull some dust over him! No use talking, Myron told himself ashe set forth for Mill Street, he'd have to find this chap and get rightto work. He wouldn't face that horrible Addicks again until he had putin a solid week of being tutored. It would get him in bad at the Office,maybe, if the instructor called on him very often in that week, for hewould just say "Not prepared," but anything was to be preferred tostanding up there like a jay and letting Addicks make fun of him!

  When he reached the head of School Street he pulled the slip of paperagain from his pocket and made sure of the address. "A. T. Merriman, 109Mill Street," was what was written there. He asked his way at the nextcorner and was directed across the railroad. "Mill Street runs at rightangles to the track," said the citizen who was directing him. "You'llsee a granite building after you pass the crossing. That's Whitwell'sMill. The street you want runs along the farther side of it." Myronthanked him and went on down School Street. The obliging citizen gazedafter him in mingled surprise and admiration.

  "Well, he's certainly a dressy boy," he murmured. "Must be Old John W.Croesus's son!"

  Mill Street wasn't far and 109 was soon found, but the character of thedistrict wasn't at all to Myron's liking. Ragged and dirty childrenoverflowed the sidewalks and played in the cobbled roadway, slatternlywomen gossiped from open windows, dejected-looking men lounged at thecorners, stray cats rummaged the gutters. The houses, frame structureswhose dingy clapboards were flush with the street, had apparently seenfar better days. Now dust and grime lay thick on them and many a windowwas wanting a pane of glass. The prospect of penetrating to such a placeevery day was revolting, and, having found the numerals "109" above asagging porch, Myron was strongly inclined to turn back. But he didn't,and a tinkle that followed his pull at the rusty knob beside the doorbrought a stout and frowsy woman who wiped her hands on her apron as shepulled the portal open.

  "Mr. Merriman?" inquired Myron.

  "I don't know is he in, sir. One flight up and you'll see his name onthe door. If you come again, sir, just you step right in. The door ain'tnever locked in the daytime."

  Myron mounted a creaky stairway guiltless of carpet and found himselfin a narrow hall from which four doors opened. In spite of dinginessand want of repairs, the interior of 109 was, he had to acknowledge,astonishingly clean. One of the doors did present a card to theinquiring gaze, but in the gloom its inscription was not decipherableand so Myron chanced it and knocked. A voice answered from beyond theportal and nearly simultaneously a dog barked sharply. Myron entered.

  The room was large and well lighted from two sides. It was alsoparticularly devoid of furniture, or so it looked to the visitor. Alarge deal table strewn with papers and piled with books stood nearthe centre of the apartment where the cross light from the two pairsof windows fell on it. The floor was carpetless, but two scraps ofstraw matting saved it from utter bareness. There was a bench underthe windows on one side and a flattened cushion and two faded pillowsadorned it. What seemed to Myron the narrowest bed in the whole wideworld, an unlovely thing of black iron rails, was pushed into acorner, and beside it was a box from which overflowed a grey blanket.Three chairs, one a decrepit armchair from whose leather coveringthe horsehair stuffing protruded in many places, stood about. Therewas also a bureau and a washstand. On the end of the former stood asmall gas-stove and various pans and cooking utensils. Books, mostlysober-sided, dry-looking volumes, lay everywhere, on table, bureau,window-seat, chair and even on the floor. Between the several articlesof furniture lay broad and arid expanses of unpainted flooring.

  At first glance the room appeared to be inhabited only by a tall, thinbut prepossessing youth of perhaps twenty years and a Scottish terrierwhose age was a matter for conjecture since her countenance was fairlywell hidden by sandy hair. The youth was seated at the deal table andthe terrier was halfway between box and door, growling inquiringly atthe intruder. At Myron's entry Merriman tilted back in his chair, thrusthis hands into his trousers pockets and said "Good morning" in a deep,pleasant voice. Then he added mildly: "Shut up, Tess, or I'll murderyou." The terrier gave a last growl and retired to the box. As shesettled down in it a series of astonishing squeaks emerged. Myron lookedacross startledly and Merriman laughed.

  "Puppies," he explained. "Six of them. That's why she's so ferocious.Seems to think every one who comes upstairs is a kidnapper. I tell herthe silly things are too ugly to tempt any one, but she doesn't believeme."

  "Will she let me see them?" asked Myron eagerly.

  "Oh, yes." Merriman drew his long length from the chair and led the wayto the box. "Now then, old lady, pile out of here and let the gentlemanhave a look at your ugly ducklings."

  The terrier made no objection to being removed, but the puppies crieddismally at the parting. Myron chuckled. "Funny things!" he exclaimed."Why, they haven't got their eyes open yet!"

  "No, they're only six days old. How's this one for a butter-ball? Isn'the a fat rascal? All right, Tess, we won't hurt them. I vouch for thegentleman. He never stole a puppy in all his innocent young life."

  "I never did," Myron corroborated, "but I'd like to start right now!"

  "Like dogs, eh?" asked the host.

  "Yes, indeed. Funny thing is, though, that I've never owned one."

  "No? How does that happen?"

  "I don't know. My mother thinks they're rather a nuisance around thehouse. Still, I dare say she'd have let me kept one if I'd insisted. Idon't suppose you--you'd care to sell one of those?"

  "Oh, yes, I would. I'll have to either sell them or give them: unless Isend them off to the happy hunting ground."

  "Really? How much would they be?"

  "The lot?" asked Merriman, a twinkle in his eye.

  "Gee, no! One!"

  "Five dollars. Tess is good stock, and the father is a thoroughbredbelonging to Terrill, the stableman on Centre Street. Got a place tokeep him?"

  "I'd forgot about that," owned Myron. "I'm afraid not. They wouldn'tlet me have him in Sohmer, would they?"

  "Scarcely!" laughed the other. "All right, old lady, back you go. Sitdown--ah--What's the name, please?"

  "Foster. Mr. Morgan gave me your address. I want some tutoring in Latin,and he said he thought you could take me on."

  "Possibly. Just dump those books on the seat there. What hours do youhave free, Foster?"

  "This hour in the morning and any time in the evening."

  "What about afternoon?"

  "I'm trying for the football team and that doesn't leave me much timeafternoons. Still, I guess we're usually through by five."

  Merriman shook his head. "I'd rather not waste my time and yours,Foster. Football practice doesn't leave a fellow in very good trim fortutoring. Better say the evening, I guess. How would seven to nine do?"

  "Two hours?" asked Myron startledly.

  "Yes, you can't accomplish much in less. I can't, anyhow."

  "Very well. Seven to nine. Shall I come here or----"

  "I'll come to you. What's the number in Sohmer? Seventeen? All right.We'll begin tomorrow. My terms are a dollar an hour. You pay for thetime it takes me to get to you, usually about ten minutes. Can youarrange with your room-mate to let us have the place to ourselves atthat time?"

  "Oh, yes," replied Myron confidently.

  "Good. Now pull your chair over here, please, and we'll see what the jobis."

  Merriman had a lean face from which two dark brown eyes looked keenlyforth. His
mouth was broad and his nose straight and long. A highforehead, a deep upper lip and a firmly pointed chin added to thegeneral effect of length. You couldn't have called him handsome, byany stretch of the imagination, but there was something attractive inhis homeliness. Perhaps it was the expression of the eyes or perhapsthe smile that hovered continuously about the wide mouth. He dressed,Myron reflected, as wretchedly as Joe Dobbins: more wretchedly, in fact,for Joe's clothes were at least new and good of their kind, whereasMerriman's things were old, frayed, ill-fitting. His trousers, whichbagged so at the knees that they made Merriman look crooked, had been apositive shock to the visitor. But in spite of attire and surroundings,Myron liked this new acquaintance. Above all, he liked his voice. Itwas deep without being gruff and had a kind of--of pleasant kindlinessin it, he thought. After all, it was no fault to be poor if youcouldn't help it, he supposed; and he had known fellows back home--notintimately, of course, but well enough to talk to--who, while poor, werereally splendid chaps.

  Presently Merriman finished his questions and finished jotting downlittle lines and twirls and pot-hooks on a scrap of paper. Myron ratherwished he knew shorthand too. It looked ridiculously easy the wayMerriman did it. "All right, thanks," said the latter as he laid hispencil down. "I think I know what we've got ahead of us. Frankly, Idon't see how they let you into the third with so little Latin, Foster.But we'll correct that. How are you at learning, by the way? Does itcome easy or do you have to grind hard?"

  "Why, I think I learn things fairly easily," replied Myron doubtfully."Of course, Latin looks hard to me because I've never had much of it,but I think--I hope you won't find me too stupid." Afterwards, recallingthe visit, it struck him as odd that he should have said that. Usuallyhe didn't trouble greatly about whether folks found him one way oranother. He was Myron Foster, take him or leave him!

  "I shan't," answered Merriman. "I've had all sorts and I always manageto get results."

  "Do you do much tutoring?" Myron asked.

  "A good deal. Not so much now as later. Spring's my busy time."

  "I shouldn't think you'd have time for your own studies."

  "I'm not taking much this year. Only four courses. I could have finishedlast spring, but I wasn't quite ready for college then. By the way, ifyou hear of any one wanting a nice puppy I wish you'd send them to me. Ican't keep all that litter and I'd hate to kill the poor little tykes."

  "I will," Myron assured him. "And--and I'm not sure I shan't buy onemyself. I suppose I could find some one to keep him for me."

  "I think so. Well, good morning. Say good-bye to the gentleman, Tess."

  The terrier barked twice as Myron closed the door behind him.