Full-Back Foster
CHAPTER IX
MYRON LOSES HIS TEMPER
The next morning Joe was as cheerful and smiling and good-natured asever, but Myron wasn't yet ready to forget, and his responses to hisroom-mate's overtures were brief and chilling. After breakfast, which onSundays was a half-hour later, Joe suggested that Myron walk over to thevillage with him and visit Merriman and see the puppies. Myron wantedto go, for the day was chill and cloudy and generally depressing, buthis pride wouldn't let him and so he answered shortly that he had seenthe puppies and he guessed they hadn't changed much. When Joe had takenhimself off Myron felt horribly out-of-sorts and was heartily glad whenchurch time came and, immaculately but soberly attired, he could setforth across the campus. Dinner was at one o'clock, a more hearty repastthan most of the fellows needed after a morning spent in comparativeidleness. However, no one skimped it. Myron went right through fromsoup to ice-cream, becoming more and more heavy and gloomy under theeffects of an overloaded stomach. He had been placed at a table near theserving-room doors, and, while some of his companions declared that yougot your things quicker and hotter by being so close to the source ofsupplies, Myron disliked having the doors flap back and forth directlybehind his back and detested the bursts of noise and aroma that issuedforth at such times. Today he resented those annoyances more than everand found the conversation about him more than ordinarily puerile.
There were a good many third class boys at his table, fellows offourteen and fifteen, whose deportment was anything but staid. Theywere much given to playing practical jokes on each other, such assurreptitiously salting a neighbour's milk or sprinkling pepper in hisnapkin. And they were not above flicking pellets of bread when thenearest faculty member was not looking. Each table had a "Head" whoseduty it was to see that proper decorum was observed. In some cases theHead was one of the faculty, in other cases he was an older boy. TheHead at Myron's table was a second class chap named Rogers, a stoutish,easy-going fellow who was generally so busy eating everything he couldlay hands to that he had no time for correcting his charges. It wasunfortunate that young Tinkham, the pink-cheeked, sandy-haired littlecherub who sat almost opposite Myron, should have selected today forhis experiment with the bread pellet. Tinkham had longed for days tosee if he could lodge a pellet against Myron's nose. To Tinkham thatnose looked supercilious and contemptuous and seemed to fairly challengeassault. Until now Tinkham had never been able to summon sufficientcourage to dare the sacrilege, but today there was a demoralisingatmosphere about and so when, having eaten his ice-cream and havingnothing further to live for anyway, he saw Myron's gaze wander towardthe further end of the hall Tinkham drew ammunition from under the edgeof his butter dish and with an accuracy born of long practice let fly.His aim proved perfect. Myron dropped his spoon and sped a hand to hisoutraged nose. Before him, perched on the remains of his ice-cream, wasthe incriminating missile, and of all those who had witnessed the deedonly one remained unsmiling, demure and innocent, and that one was thecherubic, fair-haired Tinkham.
Myron lost his temper instantly and completely. "That was you, Tinkham!I saw you!" The latter statement was hardly truthful, but Tinkhamdidn't challenge it. He only looked surprised and pained. "You try thatagain and I'll box your silly little ears for you! Remember that, too!"Myron flicked the bread pellet disgustedly aside and glowered at theoffender.
"_Boo!_" said one of Tinkham's friends, and the younger elementbecame convulsed with laughter. At that, Rogers, who had been bendingabsorbedly over his dessert, looked up.
"Cut that out, fellows," he remonstrated feebly.
"We're only laughing," giggled one of the boys.
"Wake up, Sam," said Eldredge, who was Rogers' age and had viewed theproceedings with unconcealed amusement. "You're missing all the fun. Ifyou didn't eat so much----"
"If he didn't eat so much he might keep order at the table," said Myron.
Rogers was too surprised to reply, but Eldredge took up the cudgels inhis behalf. "Oh, don't be a grouch, Foster," he sneered. "The kid didn'thurt you. It was only fun."
"I don't like the kind, then," answered Myron haughtily. "After this hecan leave me out of his 'fun.'"
"Oh, piffle! Come back to earth! If I'd been Tinkham I'd have shied thewhole loaf at you. Then you'd have had something to kick about."
"The something would have been you, then," retorted Myron.
"Would it? Is that so?" Eldredge glared angrily across the table. "Thinkyou're man enough to kick me, do you? Why, say----"
"Dry up, Paul!" begged Rogers. "Tasser's got his eye on you."
"I won't dry up," retorted the insulted Eldredge. Nevertheless hedropped his voice beyond the hearing of the neighbouring instructor."If that stuck-up mollycoddle thinks he can talk about kicking meand get away with it he's all wrong, believe me!" The younger boyswere listening in open delight and Tinkham was fairly squirming withexcitement. "Get that, Foster?"
"I heard you," replied Myron indifferently.
"You did, eh? Well, any time you feel like----"
"Rogers, what's wrong at your table?" It was Mr. Tasser's voice, andEldredge stopped suddenly and gulped back the rest of his remark.
"I--I--that is, nothing, sir," stammered the Head. Then, to Eldredge inan imploring whisper: "Shut up, will you?" he begged. "Want to get mein wrong?" Eldredge muttered and shot venomous looks at Myron while theyoungsters sighed their disappointment. Myron folded his napkin andarose leisurely, aware of the unsympathetic regard of his companions,and walked out. In the corridor he waited for a minute or two. He had nodesire to carry matters any further with Paul Eldredge, but he felt thatif he hurried away that youth might misconstrue the action. However,Eldredge didn't appear and so Myron went across to Sohmer, still soreand irritated, to find an empty study. Eldredge's failure to followMyron out of the dining hall had been due entirely to discretion. WithMr. Tasser's penetrant and suspicious gaze on him, he decided that itwould be wise to avoid all seeming interest in Myron.
Joe failed to return to the room, and after trying to do some studyingand finding that he simply couldn't keep his mind on his task, Myronpulled a cap on and sallied forth again. It was misting by then, and achilling suggestion of autumn was in the air. When he had mooned alongthe country road that led toward Cumner for a mile or so without findinganything of interest he turned back toward the town. A hot chocolate ina corner drug store restored his spirits somewhat and, having no betterplace to go, he crossed the railroad and made his way through the drearyquarter that held the residence of Merriman. He didn't suppose Merrimanwould be in, but it was something to do. Recalling former instructions,he didn't bother to ring the bell this time, but opened the door andclimbed the dark stairway to the second floor. That Merriman was inbecame known to him before he had groped his way to the room, for frombeyond the closed portal came the sound of voices. For a moment Myronhesitated. He hadn't bargained on finding visitors there. But theloneliness of Number 17 Sohmer on this Sunday afternoon decided him, andhe knocked. Merriman's voice bade him enter and he opened the door on asurprising scene.
On the decrepit window-seat reclined Joe Dobbins. Close by, in theroom's one armchair, with his feet on a second chair, was Merriman.Between the two was a corner of the deal table, dragged from itsaccustomed place, and on the table was the remains of a meal: somegreasy plates, a coffee pot, cups, bits of bread, about a third ofa pie, a half-eaten banana, a jar of milk. The room, in spite of awide-open window, smelled of sausages. On Joe's chest reposed Tess, theterrier, evidently too full of food and contentment to bark, and inMerriman's lap was a squirming bunch of puppies.
"Come in, Foster," called the host genially. "Pardon me if I don't getup, but just now I am weighted with family cares. Find a chair and drawup to our cosy circle. Have you had food? There's some pie left, and Ican heat some coffee for you in a second."
"I've had dinner, thanks, a good while ago." He carefully lifted a dozenor so books from a chair and took it across to the window. He feltrather intrusive. And there was Joe g
rinning at him from the seat, andhe was supposed to have a grouch against Joe.
"Well, have a piece of pie, won't you?" begged Merriman hospitably."Sure? We were sort of late with our feed. What time is it, anyway?Great Scott, Dobbins, it's nearly four! How long have we been sittinghere?"
"I've been here ever since I worried down that last piece of pie," saidJoe, "and I guess that was about an hour and a half ago. You ought tohave showed up earlier, Foster. You missed a swell feed!"
"Sausages and potatoes and pie," laughed Merriman. "Still, we managedto nearly kill ourselves: at least, I did." Joe groaned and shifted theterrier to a new position. "Been for a walk, Foster?"
"Yes. It's a rotten day, isn't it?"
"Is it?" Merriman glanced through the window in faint surprise. "Ihadn't noticed. Sort of cloudy I see. By the way, I've sold one of theselittle beggars."
"Have you? They've got their eyes open, haven't they?"
"Sort of half open," chuckled Merriman. "Maybe they're too fat to openthem any wider. This is the one that's sold. His name is--what was ityou named him, Dobbins?"
"Zephaniah," answered Joe gravely, "Zephaniah Q. Dobbins."
"What's the Q for?" laughed Merriman.
"Haven't decided yet. I just put that in for the sound. You see, Foster,I'm calling him Zephaniah after an old codger who used to live near usup at Hecker's Falls, Maine. Zephaniah Binney was his name. He used tobe a cook in the logging camps, but he got so fat tasting the things hecooked that he had to quit. After that he used to sit in front of hisshack all day, tilted back in a chair, and look for work."
"Look for work?" laughed Merriman.
"Yeah, he was always on the look-out for a job. 'Most strained his eyeslooking. But somehow he never found one; leastways, he hadn't when I sawhim last. Funny old codger. Warren Wilson, who was postmaster and ranthe store and one thing and another, used to bring the Bangor paper toZeph every day and Zeph would study the advertisements mighty carefully.Guess he knew more about the Bangor labour market than any man alive. 'Iwas readin' where one o' them big dry-goods houses is wantin' a salesmanager,' Zeph would tell you. 'It don't say how much they're willin' topay, though. If I knew that I'd certain'y communicate with 'em, I wouldso. Maybe they'll make mention o' the salary tomorrow. I'll just waitan' see.'"
"And he's still waiting?" chuckled Merriman.
"As far as I know."
"What does he live on?" asked Myron. "Has he got money saved?"
"No, he's got something better; he's got an up-and-coming wife who worksjust as hard as Zeph--looks. She's a wonderful woman, too, Mrs. Binneyis. She's lived with Zeph thirty years or more and she ain't--hasn'tfound him out yet. Or, if she has, she don't let on. If you ask her hasZeph got a job yet she'll tell you, 'No, not yet, but he's considerin'acceptin' a position with a firm o' commission merchants down toBoston.' And all the considering Zeph has done is read an advertisementin the Bangor paper where it says the Boston folks want a few carloadsof potatoes!"
"It's sort of tough on the puppy, though," murmured Myron.
"Well, there's a strong resemblance between him and Zephaniah," saidJoe. "I've been watching him. He doesn't push and shove for his foodlike the rest of them. He just waits, and first thing you know he'sgetting the best there is. If that ain't like Zeph I'll eat my hat."
"Where are you going to keep him?" inquired Myron.
"In my room--when I get it. He won't want any better than I have, Iguess. I don't suppose he's going to kick because there isn't much of aview."
Merriman asked about the new quarters and Joe supplied a drily humorousdescription of them. The room began to grow dark and the boy's facesbecame only lighter blurs in the twilight. Tess went to sleep andsnored loudly. Myron listened more than he talked, conscious of thecomfortable, home-like atmosphere of the queer, illy-furnished room andputting off from minute to minute the return to school. But at last thetown clock struck six and Joe lifted the terrier from his stomach, inspite of protests, and swung his feet to the floor.
"I've got to be going," he announced. "Haven't peeked into a book sinceFriday." He yawned cavernously. "You coming along, Foster?"
"Yes, I guess so." Myron was glad to be asked, but he was careful tokeep any trace of cordiality from his voice.
"Well, come again," said Merriman heartily. "Both of you. Sunday's anoff-day with me and you'll usually find me in about noon."
"Me? I'll be back," declared Joe. "I haven't enjoyed a meal since I lefthome like I enjoyed that dinner. Brother, you sure can cook sausages!"
"I like that guy," said Joe when he and Myron were traversing thepoorly-lighted street that led toward school. "He don't have any tooeasy a time of it, either, Foster."
"No, I guess coaching isn't much fun," Myron agreed.
"Well, he told me he liked it. Maybe he has to. He says he's put himselfclean through school that way. His father and mother are both dead andthe only kin he's got is an old aunt who lives out West somewhere. Hesays she's got a right smart lot of money, but the only thing she everdoes for him is send him six handkerchiefs every Christmas. Says it'sa big help, though, because he doesn't have to buy any. He's a cheerfulguy, all right, and the fellows hit on a swell name for him."
"What's that?" asked Myron.
"Why, his name is Andrew Merriman, you know, and so they call him 'MerryAndrew.' Cute, ain't it? He works hard every summer, too. Last summer hewas a waiter at a hotel and did some tutoring besides. He's a hustler.Doggone it, Foster, you've got to hand it to a guy like that!"
"Yes," Myron agreed. Mentally he wondered that Merriman didn't choose aless menial task than waiting on table. It seemed rather demeaning, hethought. Joe was silent until they had reached the end of School Streetand were entering the campus gate. Then:
"Say, I'd like to do something for him," he said earnestly. "Only Isuppose he wouldn't let me."
"Do something? What do you mean?" asked Myron.
"Well, help him along somehow. Fix it so's he wouldn't have to work allthe time like he does. The guy's got a great bean on him. Bet you heknows more than the Principal and the rest of the faculty put together.A fellow like that ought to be able to go ahead and--and develophimself. See what I mean? He's too--too valuable to waste his timeserving soup and fish in a summer hotel. If I did it it wouldn't hurtnone, but he's different. If I had my way I'd fix him up in a couple ofnice rooms with plenty of books and things and tell him to go to it."
"But I don't just see how you could do anything much for him," saidMyron.
"No, I guess he wouldn't let me."
"Maybe not. Anyway, it would take a good deal of money, wouldn't it?"
"Yeah, I guess so. Well, I'm just talking. No harm in that, eh? I'm notgoing over to supper. I couldn't eat anything more if I was paid for it.See you later, kiddo."
For once Myron failed to resent that form of address. In fact, hescarcely noticed it. Going across to Alumni Hall, he found himselflooking forward with something akin to dismay to the time when Dobbinsshould have left him to the undisputed possession of Number 17!