CHAPTER XXI
TWO SCRAPS OF PAPER
Time seemed to fly that next week. Sunday vanished almost before Dickknew it was there, and he scarcely found time to write his letters,one to his father and one to Sumner White. The latter was rather adifficult missive, for he couldn't manage to get all the cordialityinto it that he thought Sumner would expect to find. The words lookedall right, but they sounded insincere. Then Monday fled quickly,the afternoon occupied with much hard work on the gridiron for thesecond-string players and a light warming-up for those who had bornethe brunt of the battle against Chancellor. Tuesday brought everyoneback into strenuous practice and the afternoon was given over to tryingout five new plays against the Second and to a grilling signal drill.The evening sessions continued as well. Mass meetings became almostnightly occurrences and Parkinson sang and yelled and became daily moreenthusiastic and more filled with football spirit. Every line of newsor rumour from Kenwood was avidly read and discussed and the tide ofpatriotism ran high. Wednesday noon brought another epistle from SumnerWhite, a brief and rather chaotic note which was as follows:
"Don't pay any attention to the Whitworth game. We weren't out to winand we saved our best men for Thursday. At that the score wasn't badand Whitworth wouldn't have scored the second touchdown if we hadn'thad most of our subs in. Well, it's all settled for next Friday.Charlie and Will and Jim are coming, and one other. That's five ofus. Theo can't go. His mother's sick. Went to the hospital today. AndTownsend's backed out. Some of the girls are crazy to go, but of coursethey can't. Everything lovely here. We're going to win on Thanksgiving,that's final, Dick. Well, see you Saturday, old scout. So long. Sum."
Dick wondered who the "one other" might be and why Sumner hadn't told,but the question didn't occupy his thoughts long. He read that letterto Stanley, watching ferociously for any sign of levity, and was a bitdisappointed when he saw none. He was in a mood to have welcomed ascrap!
That afternoon he and Stone alternated at driving the big team againstthe Second in the last scrimmage before the final game, and it provedto be the hardest and most blood-thirsty encounter of the season.The Second, with nothing to lose, was resolved to finish in a blazeof glory, and the way they went at the enemy was a marvel. Beforescrimmage and after it they might be friends and well-wishers, butwhile the battle was on friendship was at an end and they fought likewild-cats. They scored in the first ten minutes, pushing straightthrough the First's line for a clean touchdown and kicking a goalafterwards, and they scored again from the field within twenty secondsof the final whistle. And the best the First could do in retaliationwas to get two touchdowns without goals. So the score at the end was12-10 and the Second viewed the result as a nominal victory and endedthe training season in a condition of wild triumph, parading aroundthe field, singing and cheering, to their own delight and the amusedapproval of the school at large.
Dick emerged from the fracas with a damaged nose and several painfulbut unimportant contusions, and scarcely anyone else fared much better.The Second Team players were tattered and disfigured and gloried intheir wounds. Altogether, it was a disreputable and motley bunch ofvagabonds that gathered in the locker room after the trouble was over,and, having buried the hatchet, discussed the late unpleasantness inall its details and speculated as to its bearing on the big game.The coaches, for Mr. Driscoll had been assisted by two and sometimesthree enthusiastic graduates during the past week, wore expressionsof satisfaction, just such expressions, as "Short" Davis, confidedto Dick, as the spectators doubtless wore in ancient Rome after aparticularly gory entertainment in the arena! Dick accidentally heardone of the assistant coaches confide to another that "whether thosechaps can lick Kenwood or not, Perry, they sure can fight!"
Perhaps some of the fighting mood remained with Dick after he hadwashed away the stains of battle and was on his way across to Sohmerin the deepening twilight. At all events, the theory serves as anexplanation of what happened when, just outside the hall, Sandy Haldenand another fellow encountered the returning gladiator.
"Behold the world-famed athlete!" declaimed Sandy, adding a laughthat was far more annoying than the words. His companion laughed,too, but somewhat embarrassedly. Dick scowled and pushed past towardthe steps. But Sandy wasn't through. "Hicksville's Hero!" he went ongrandiloquently. "He says so himself!"
What happened then was performed so quickly that Dick was nearly assurprised as Sandy. Sandy was prone on the grass well beyond the edgeof the walk, his companion was a dozen yards away in flight and Dickwas standing supreme on the first step at the entrance. PresumablyDick had pitched Sandy where he lay, but Dick had little recollectionof having done so. Or of having regained the steps afterward. He hadgiven way to a sudden and overmastering anger and had acted withoutconscious thought. Now, however, the anger was gone and in its placewas a wholesome amusement.
"Better get off the grass, Halden," he volunteered cheerfully. "That'sjust been seeded there."
Halden got off, but he didn't resent the attack. Instead, he brushedhimself silently and unnecessarily, avoiding a glance at Dick untilhe straightened up again. Then with a look so malevolent that Dickwondered at it, he said in a low voice that shook with passion: "Allright, Bates! That settles you!"
Dick laughed, but not with much amusement. Somehow, the threat conveyedin the other's tone precluded amusement, even though, as Dick reasoneda moment later, Halden had no power to harm him. Sandy turned andrejoined his waiting but discreet companion and went his way withoutfurther notice of his assailant. Dick, already ashamed of his fit oftemper, went on upstairs. Fortunately, perhaps, none had seen the swiftincident, and he was very glad of it. He didn't say anything aboutit to Stanley although that youth was doubled up on the window-seatreading.
Dick had heard a good many gibes, generally good-natured, about his"heroism" and athletic fame, for the story of the happening at themovie house Saturday night had swiftly gone the rounds of the school,and had shown no resentment until Sandy Halden's taunt. He had meantto keep his temper under any provocation, for the best way to banishridicule is to laugh at it, but Sandy had somehow managed to touch himon the raw. Perhaps had he been less tired and less sore he would havetreated Sandy's taunt with the same smiling insouciance with which hehad accepted others. For some undefined reason the incident botheredhim all the rest of the evening, even during the blackboard lecture inthe Trophy Room when his thoughts ought to have been given entirely toCoach Driscoll's expositions. Afterwards he viewed that uneasiness as apremonition.
It was at eleven on Thursday that the blow fell. A hurry call led himfrom a Latin recitation to Coach Driscoll in the gymnasium office. Thecoach looked unusually solemn, Dick thought, as he pushed open the doorand entered. Mr. Tasser, the physical director, was there as well, buthe went out immediately, leaving his room to the coach and Dick.
"Sit down, Bates," began Mr. Driscoll. "I've got rather an unpleasantmatter to discuss, my boy." He took a long white envelope from a pocketand from it produced two pieces of paper which he handed to Dick. "Eversee those before, Bates?" he asked.
Dick accepted them wonderingly. One was a fragment of letter paper,much creased, the other the lower right hand corner of an envelope,roughly matching the scrap of letter paper in shape, suggesting thatthe latter had been in the envelope when torn and that both hadsubsequently been crumpled up together. The fragment of envelope borethe words:
ood Academy, Kenwood, Mass.
The envelope had been torn in such manner that the name of theaddressee was lacking. Dick studied the two fragments in puzzlement.Then he handed them back.
"I've seen this before, sir," he answered. "It's the corner of a letterI wrote and didn't send. This piece of envelope doesn't belong with it.The writing is not mine and I never saw it before."
Mr. Driscoll shot a sharp glance at the boy which Dick metunflinchingly. "You're quite certain of that, Bates?" he asked.
"Quite, sir."
Mr. Driscoll looked thoughtfully at th
e fragments in his hand. "Thesehave every appearance of belonging together," he objected. "You say,however, that this is not your writing on the envelope."
"No, sir, it isn't," answered Dick positively. "You can see thedifference yourself."
"Perhaps, but frequently one unconsciously alters the appearance ofhis writing when addressing a letter. One uses rather more care in aneffort toward legibility, Bates. At least, the two writings are muchalike, aren't they?"
"Yes, sir, in a general way. But I never make a capital K like that. Idon't think I could. And the A isn't much like mine either."
"I see. Now in this letter, Bates, there seems to have been a good dealabout football. At the bottom here I read: 'call this the Two-Overand use it only when other fellow is playing his backs well out.' Thatrefers, I presume, to the tackle-and-half-over play that we've beenusing in practice lately."
"Yes, sir."
"Who were you writing to Bates?"
"Sumner White, sir. He's captain of our high school team at home."
"And home is somewhere in Pennsylvania?"
"Leonardville. You see----"
"One moment, please, Bates. Have you been in the habit of writing tothis fellow White about our plays?"
"No, sir, not exactly. He asked me when I came away to tell him aboutanything new that he could use. There wasn't much, though. I explainedour defence for the 'big shift' and told him about a lateral pass andabout this 'two-over.' I guess that's all, sir. I suppose I shouldn'thave done it, but it never occurred to me that there was any harm init. You see, Mr. Driscoll, the coach at home isn't much. He doesn'tknow about new stuff, and he just pegs away at the things folks usedfive years ago. And the teams we play--I mean that the High Schoolplays--are pretty up-to-date. So I tried to help the fellows bytelling them about anything I learned here that might be useful. I--Iguess I oughtn't to have, though."
"No, you ought not to have done that, Bates," agreed the coach gravely."You see, you never can tell where a secret is going to land. It wouldseem safe to say that Kenwood would pay no attention to anything goingon in a place like Leonardville, away off in Pennsylvania; would neverhear of it. But suppose, for instance, some fellow in your town had afriend at Kenwood and wrote him that the local high school had a prettynifty play and sent him a diagram of it."
"I'm pretty sure there isn't any fellow in Leonardville, though, likethat, Mr. Driscoll."
"I'm not saying there is. I'm only giving you an example of the waysecrets get around. There are other ways in which that 'two-over'play might reach Kenwood. A newspaper writer might explain it in anaccount of a game, for instance. It isn't safe to even write about suchthings in your letters home, Bates. I didn't caution you or any of theplayers, for I supposed you'd realise that what goes on in practice isa secret and not to be spoken of off the field. When was this letterwritten?"
Dick thought hard a moment. "About two weeks ago, sir."
"And it wasn't sent. Why?"
"I hadn't finished when it came time to go to a recitation and Islipped it in a book and couldn't find it later. So I wrote another.And then, a couple of days afterward, I came across this one in thebook and tore it up and threw it away."
"Where did you throw it?"
"I don't remember, sir. I think, though, I dropped it in one of thepaper barrels on the Front; maybe the one at this side of Parkinson."
"Anyone see you do it?"
"I suppose so. I guess there were fellows around."
"Hm. Who do you know at Kenwood, Bates?"
"No one, sir."
"Positive? I understand that you have corresponded with someone therequite regularly since you came here."
"That's not so, Mr. Driscoll. I've never written a letter to KenwoodAcademy in my life and I don't know anyone who goes there. I supposewhat happened is that the piece of my letter and the piece of envelopehappened to be found together. Who found them, sir?"
Mr. Driscoll shook his head. "I agreed not to bring him into it, Bates.There's no reason why I should. He has, I guess, no wish to appear inthe role of a spy. He found this evidence and handed it over to me asit was his duty to. I wish----" He fell silent, frowning at the twoscraps of paper. Then: "Are you a rapid writer, Bates?" he asked.
"Not very, I guess."
The coach took a pad of paper from the desk beside him and a fountainpen from his pocket. "Suppose you write what I tell you to on that,"he said. Dick laid the pad on his knee and waited. "Ready? Write'Massachusetts Academy Kenwood,' please."
Dick wrote and the coach accepted the result and viewed it intently.Then he shook his head. "Your K and your A aren't like the others,Bates, but there's a certain similarity. Honestly, I don't know whatto think. I want to believe you, my boy, but this--this evidence israther convincing. Look here, can you prove to my satisfaction thatthis letter was intended for this friend in Loganville and not meantfor someone at Kenwood?"
"Leonardville, sir. I don't know. I can get Sumner to write to you andsay that I sent him a letter containing what you read there, althoughworded differently, probably, and some other letters like I've toldyou. Would that do?"
"It would certainly help. Hang it, Bates, you must see yourself thatthe thing looks bad!"
"Yes, sir, I guess it does," agreed Dick dispiritedly. "All I cansay is that it was done thoughtlessly and that I've never had anycorrespondence with Kenwood. Why should I want to give away our playsto Kenwood, Mr. Driscoll?"
"I don't know, Bates. You've worked hard and made good and I don'tbelieve you're the sort of fellow that would do a dishonourable act.You have been careless and thoughtless, but I'd like mightily tobelieve that your account of it is right. If you'll wire to this fellowWhite----"
"Why, he's coming here Saturday, sir! I just remembered! Would it do ifwe waited and--and talked to him?"
"Coming here? Of course it would! That's fine! But how does it happenthat he's coming to Warne?"
Dick somewhat shamefacedly explained and the coach smiled at hisembarrassment. "Well, it seems that you're more of a hero than Isuspected, Bates," he said quite in his usual manner. "I had heardsomething about it, too, of late." He added that with a twinkle, andDick smiled ruefully.
"That was a beastly joke of Wallace Blashington's sir. He--he heardsomehow about--about this and thought he'd have some fun with me."
"I see. Well, now, Bates, let's see where we stand. You produce thisWhite chap Saturday before the game and if he can put a quietus on thisstory I'll be satisfied. No one has heard anything about this matterexcept--the fellow who found these pieces of paper and I. And no onewill hear. I guess I'm pretty well convinced already, my boy! Now don'tlet this bother you. It will come out all right, I'm sure. And if itdoes--as it's going to--we're going to need your best work the dayafter tomorrow. Come and see me Saturday, Bates, and---- By the way,what time do you expect this Mr. White?"
"I think he will be in on that train that gets here at twelve-ten, sir."
"Hm, rather late! But that can't be helped. You switch him over here tome as soon as he arrives and we'll nail this thing right away. That'sall, Bates. Sorry this had to come up, but as it has I'm glad we'regoing to clear it up so nicely." Mr. Driscoll offered his hand and Dickshook it and went out.