CHAPTER IV
BLASHINGTON
"Of course," said Stanley, "you can go to 'Jud's' reception if you'drather, but you'll have a poor time. You just shake hands with Jud anda bunch of the faculty and Mrs. Jud and stand around until you gettired and go home again."
"Jud being Doctor Lane?" asked Dick.
"Right! The idea is that you're to become acquainted with the otherfellows and the instructors, but the old boys fight shy of it and thenew boys just stand and look at each other, and the faculty alwaysforgets your name the next morning."
"Well, it doesn't sound exciting," acknowledged Dick, "and I'm forcutting it out unless it's required."
"It isn't, it's elective," laughed Stanley. "We'll blow over to Blash'sroom presently. He may not be there, but we can try."
They had finished supper and were strolling along the walk toward thewest gate. Windows were open in the dormitories and from the nearerones came the sound of voices and laughter. Occasionally someonehailed Stanley and they stopped for a moment while the latter heldconversation. There were groups of fellows on the turf along The Front,for the evening was warm and still. A bluish haze softened the twilightdistances and somewhere toward the centre of the town a church bell wasringing. It was all very peaceful and homey, and Dick felt no regretsfor Leonardville. At the gate which led onto the junction of Linden andApple Streets they paused a moment. A belated arrival climbed tiredlyout of a decrepit taxi in front of Williams and staggered up the stepsbearing suit-case and golf-bag. Along the streets and less frequentlyacross the campus the lights gathered brightness in the deepeningtwilight, although westward the sky was still faintly aglow.
"Where does Blashington room?" asked Dick as they turned their stepsback the way they had come.
"Goss," answered Stanley. "He rooms with Sid Crocker, this year'sbaseball captain."
"Goss?" Recollection came to Dick. "I wonder if you know a fellow namedQuiggle--no, that's not his name. I don't know what his name is, but herooms in Goss. He's a tall, lanky chap with a long nose."
"Where'd you meet him?" asked Stanley, interestedly.
Dick recounted the incident and, since he didn't happen to look atStanley's countenance while doing so, was not aware of the smile thattrembled about the hearer's lips. "He's going to pay me the rest ofthat money when I find him," ended Dick resolutely. "I thought maybeyou'd know who he is."
"Well, the description isn't very--er--whatyoucallit, Dick," repliedthe other gravely. "I dare say the fellow was just having a joke withyou."
"I dare say, but he was too fresh. I felt like an awful fool when thetaxi driver called me down for offering him half a dollar instead ofseventy-five cents. Well, I suppose I'll run across him pretty soon."
"Oh, you will," Stanley assured him almost eagerly "You're absolutelycertain to, Dick!"
"What's the joke?"
"Joke?"
"Yes, what are you snickering about?"
"Oh, that? I--I thought I wanted to sneeze. It's sort of dusty thisevening."
"I hadn't noticed it," said Dick suspiciously. But Stanley'scountenance was quite devoid of amusement, and he accepted theexplanation. In front of Goss, Stanley backed off onto the grass andlooked up to one of the third floor windows.
"There's a light in his room," he announced. "Somebody's in, anyhow.Let's go up."
So, Stanley leading the way, they climbed the two flights of wornstairs, for Goss didn't boast slate and iron stairways, and traversed alength of corridor to where the portal of Number 27 stood partly open.Stanley thumped a couple of times on the door and entered. Someonewithin said, "Come in, Stan," and Dick, following his friend, saw arather short, stockily-made youth stretched on the window-seat at theend of the room. "Excuse me if I don't rise," continued the boy. "Ihappened to look out a minute ago and saw you rubbering up here." Heshook hands with Stanley and then, seeing Dick for the first time,muttered something, and swung his feet to the floor.
"Shake hands with Bates, Sid," said Stanley. "Dick, this is Mr.Crocker, well-known in athletic circles as a shot-putter of muchpromise."
"Shut up," grumbled Crocker. "Glad to meet you," he added to Dick. "Sitdown, you chaps, if you can find anything to sit on. Blash has got histhings all over the shop. Bring up that chair for your friend, Stan.You can sit here, and I'll put my feet on you. Pardon me if I returnto a recumbent position, will you? I'm very weary."
"Where's Blash?" asked Stanley. "Gone over to Jud's, I suppose."
"Not exactly. He's down the hall somewhere. He suggested tossing up tosee whether he or I should unpack the bags, and he lost. So, of course,he remembered that he had to see a fellow and beat it. He will be backin a few minutes, I guess. This is a fair sample of the way in which hemeets his obligations, gentlemen. I'm ashamed of him."
Sid Crocker sighed, stretched, and deposited his feet in Stanley's lap.He was a nice looking boy of apparently eighteen years, with lighthair and a round, much tanned face. He seemed unnecessarily seriousof countenance, Dick thought, but afterwards he found that Sid'sexpression of gravity was no indication of mood. Sid caught Dick's gazeand was reminded of his duties as host.
"I guess I didn't quite get your name," he said, politely.
"Bates," said Stanley. "We're together over in Sohmer. This is hisfirst year."
"Bates?" echoed Sid. "Bates! Where have I--Ah! I remember." He sankback against the cushions again, closing his eyes as though in deepthought. Dick determined to be modest, but it was flattering to findthat someone here had heard of him. He waited for Crocker to proceed,and so did Stanley, but instead Sid wriggled off the window-seat."Just excuse me a minute, will you?" He crossed to a chiffonier,opened a drawer and fumbled within. "Just remembered something. Fellowdownstairs wanted me to lend him--er----" Whatever it was the fellowdownstairs required they didn't learn, for Sid removed something fromdrawer to pocket and made for the corridor. "While I'm about it," headded from the doorway, "I'll find Blash and fetch him back." Dick gotthe impression that he was seeking to convey to Stanley more than hiswords expressed, for he stared very hard at that youth as he spoke andcontinued to stare for an instant longer before he disappeared.
"Rather a jolly old room," said Stanley, when they were alone. "Theseold places fix up nicely, I think."
Dick agreed. Personally he didn't care for the idea of sleeping andliving in the same room, but the low studding, and the deep windowembrasure and the scarred, dark-painted woodwork were somehow veryhomelike. The walls held dozens of pictures of all sorts: photographs,posters, engravings, etchings, a veritable hodge-podge. Amongst themwere strange trophies, too: part of a wooden board bearing the strangelegend "TE WAY S PASSING" in two lines, evidently half of a sign thathad been sawed in two; a fencing mask; a canoe paddle with a weirdlandscape painted on the broad end; a cluster of spoons and forks tiedtogether with a brown-and-white ribbon; several tennis rackets; alacrosse stick; a battered baseball adorned with letters and figuresand tacked to the moulding by its torn covering; several faded ortattered pennants, one bearing a big blue K which Dick presumed stoodfor the rival school of Kenwood. Between the two narrow beds was agood-sized study table littered with books and clothing and odds andends awaiting Blashington's return. Two chiffoniers and three chairsabout completed the furnishings. The beds held bags, partly unpacked,and two steamer trunks blocked the passages between beds and table.
"Blash has had this room four years," mused Stanley. "Says he would behomesick if he went anywhere else. The joke about Sid's shot putting,by the way, is that he tried it last fall and Blash got a cannonballthat weighed about thirty pounds, and worked it off on him. Sid almostkilled himself trying to putt it more than twelve feet. Then henoticed that Blash and the others were using another shot, and got ontothe joke. Here they come."
With Sydney Crocker was a tall, thin fellow who, to Dick's utteramazement, wore a long and drooping black moustache. Perhaps thegorgeous luxuriance of that moustache was a surprise to Stanley aswell, for Dick noted that the latter stared at it
fascinatedly for along moment ere he greeted its wearer. Even then he seemed to finddifficulty in speaking. Perhaps the dust was annoying him again. Dickawaited an introduction while the thought that there was somethingwrong with that moustache, grew from a mere suspicion into a certainty.In the first place, no fellow of Blashington's age could grow sucha thing. In the second place he wouldn't be allowed to wear it in apreparatory school. In the third place it was much too good to be true;too long, too black, too--Why, of course, it was a false one stuck on!Dick smiled knowingly as Blashington stepped over a trunk and held outa bony hand.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Bates," said Blashington, heartily. "Anyfriend of Stan's is mine to the extent of ten dollars. Sit down,everyone. Dear me, you haven't got these things put away yet, Sid. Sosorry to have you chaps find the room in such a mess. I don't know whatSid's been doing, I'm sure." Blashington chatted on, but Dick notedthat there was a distinct air of restraint about the others. Indeed,Stanley appeared to be actually suffering from restraint, for his facewas very flushed, and the low sounds that came from him spoke of deeppain.
"You are a new-comer, I understand, Bates," Blashington continued,smiling amiably behind that ridiculous moustache. "I hope you will likeus and spend a pleasant and profitable year in these classic shades."
He said more, but Dick wasn't listening now. "Classic shades!" Wherehad he heard that expression recently, and who had used it? Then memorycame to his aid and he knew! His face stiffened and his cheeks paled.Blashington, reading the symptoms aright, paused in his rhetoricalmeanderings and laughed.
"Bates is on, Stan," he said. "I see the warm light of recollectioncreeping over his face. Further attempts at disguise are futile, notto say idle. The clock strikes twelve. Unmask!" Blashington pulled themoustache from his face and tossed it to the table. "Excuse the littlejest, Bates. It was Sid's thought. Like most of his ideas, it didn'twork."
Stanley and Sid were laughing enjoyably, but Dick couldn't find anyhumour in the trick. He remained silent, while Sid gasped: "Gee, Blash,you did look an awful ass with that thing on!"
"Did I? Well, I seem to have offended Bates. He doesn't look as thoughhe thought I was a bit funny."
"I don't," said Dick, stiffly. "Either now or this afternoon."
"Oh, come, Dick!" protested Stan. "Take a joke, won't you?"
"Dry up, Stan," said Blashington. "Bates has a right to feel peeved ifhe likes to. Look here, Bates, I'm sorry I offended you. When you knowme better you'll understand that I didn't mean to. Will that do for anapology?"
"I think the whole thing is awfully silly," replied Dick coldly, "butit's of no consequence: not enough to talk about."
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Then Stanley saidhurriedly: "That's all right then! You mustn't mind Blash, Dick: nobodydoes."
Blash, whose expression of deep contrition Dick had thoughtsuspiciously emphatic, chuckled. "I thank you, Stan, for them few kindwords. Well, now that the _entente cordial_ has been restored, how areyou and everything? Have a good summer?"
"Oh, yes, bully. Did you?"
"I had a busy one, anyway. I'll tell you about it some time. I supposeyou've heard that Pat isn't coming back this year?"
"No! Why? What's the matter?"
"Gaines told me that he had a letter from Pat about two weeks ago,saying that his father had lost a lot of money and that he was goingto work; Pat, I mean, not his father: although it is likely that Mr.Patterson will work, too. It sounds reasonable, eh? I'm awfully sorry.Pat was a dandy chap. Besides, he's going to leave a big hole to befilled."
"That's right," agreed Sid Crocker. "Patterson was a corkingquarter-back. And he would have played on the nine next spring, I'llbet. He swung a mean bat on the Second last year, and would have made amighty good fielder for us, I guess. Who will get his place, Blash?"
"Stone. Gus isn't bad, but Pat came pretty close to being a marvel.We're talking about our last year's quarter-back, Bates. Do you carefor football?"
Dick felt Stanley's anxious look on him as he answered: "Yes, I likefootball, thanks."
"Do you play?"
"I have played--some."
"That's good. We need talent this year, and you look as if you might beclever." Dick knew, however, that Blash was only being polite.
"Do you play baseball?" asked Sid.
"N--No, not much. Of course I have played it, but I'm not good enough."His manner was still stiff, and he made no effort to remain in theconversation. The others chatted on for some time longer, Stanleyfrequently seeking to get Dick to talk, but not succeeding, and thenthe visitors took their departure.
"Drop in again, Bates," said Blash. "If there's anything I can do tohelp, let me know."
Dick thanked him non-committingly. Outside Stanley shook his head. Hewas smiling, but Dick knew that he wasn't pleased. "I guess that didn'tget us much, Dick," he said.
Dick frowned. "Well, I can't help it!" he said defensively. "He makesme tired. Anyway, if I can't get along in football without his help,I'm quite willing to stay out of it."
"Oh, that won't make much difference, I suppose. I only thought that ifBlash took to you----"
"Well, he didn't: any more than I took to him."
"I suppose I ought to have told you he was the fellow you rode up fromthe station with, but I didn't realise that you were really so peevedwith him. It's sort of too bad you couldn't have taken it as a joke,Dick."
"I'm sorry," answered the other haughtily. "I won't trouble you tointroduce me to any more of your friends, Gard."
"Well, don't be waxy," said Stan, good-naturedly. "There's no harmdone. You may like Blash better when you get to know him, and----"
"I don't think so. And it doesn't matter, does it?"
"N--No, except that it's always nicer to like fellows than not to. Youget more out of--out of life, Dick. Well, never mind Blash. Want to goover to Jud's for a few minutes? It isn't too late."
"I don't know. Yes, I guess I will, but you needn't bother unless youwant to."
"Oh, I'll come along. We don't have to stay. Hope there'll be someeats, though."
When they had turned back and were retracing their steps along TheFront, Dick broke a silence of several minutes' duration.
"Anyway," he said a trifle resentfully, "I noticed one thing."
"What's that?" inquired Stanley.
"Blashington took mighty good care not to say anything about thattwelve cents he owes me!"