CHAPTER IX
LETTERS AND RHYMES
Dick's home letters became shorter about this time. Life was verybusy for him. He wrote the news, but he no longer indulged his pen indescriptions. Sumner White had written twice from Leonardville, ratherlong letters about the High School Team, with messages from Dick'sformer schoolmates and questions about Parkinson football methods.Sumner's faith in Dick remained unimpaired, although the latter hadstill to announce his acceptance on the Parkinson First Team. "We areall expecting big things from you, Dick old scout," wrote Sumner in hislatest epistle. "Cal Lensen is going to get the Parkinson weekly toexchange with the _Argus_ so he can keep tabs on you. So just rememberthat we're watching you, kid! Every time you make a touchdown forParkinson the old _Argus_ will have a full and graphic account of itin the next number. But you'd better write now and then, besides. Goodluck to you, Dick, and that goes for all the 'gang.'"
It wasn't very easy to answer Sumner's letters because answeringinvolved explaining why he hadn't made the team. But Dick did answerthem. The following Sunday he wrote: "Got your letter Tuesday, butsaved it for today because Sunday's about the only day a fellow hastime here for writing letters. Glad to get the news about everyone,but very sorry to hear of the Chester game. But you fellows mustremember that Chester has the edge on you, anyway. Look at their coachand all the money they spend and all that! Besides, 19-6 isn't as badas we licked them two years ago. I guess you'll have to find someonefor Mercer's place. Ed tries hard, but he isn't scrappy enough forfull-back. You need a fellow who isn't afraid of a stone wall anddoesn't get hurt the way Ed did all last year. What about Cleary? He'sslow, I know, but you might speed him up this year, and he has lotsof fight.... Things here are humming along finely. We played MusketHill yesterday and just walked away with them. I told you I didn'tfancy Driscoll, the coach, but I like him better, and I guess he doesknow how to get the stuff out of a team. Talking about full-backs, Iwish you could see our man here in action. His name's Kirkendall andhe comes from Kentucky. The fellows call him 'K of K.', or just 'K'sometimes. Well, he got started yesterday in the third period on ourforty and Stone (quarter) fed him the ball eight times and he landedit on N. H.'s seven yards, and he'd have taken it over, too, if Stonehadn't acted the silly goat and switched to Warden. It took Warden andGaines both to get it over then, but they did it. Only it seemed toobad not to let K. get the credit for the touchdown after smashing allthe way for fifty yards. Stone doesn't use his head, it seems to me.But he does play a good individual game. For all-round work, though,our captain, Bob Peters, is the star of the team. He plays right end,and he's a wonder at it. Talk about getting down under punts! Gee, Sum,he's under the ball from the minute it's kicked, and he seems to alwaysknow just where it's going, too. But he's just as good on defence, andthe way he handled the opposing tackle yesterday was a marvel. He'sa dandy captain, too, for all the fellows swear by him and would doanything he asked them to, I guess.
"I'm still pegging along on the outside, and maybe I won't make theteam this year. There are nearly five hundred students here and alot of them are corking football players and a fellow has got to bemighty good to even get looked at by the coach. So you mustn't besurprised if you don't see my name in the _Leader_ this year. Of courseit's early yet, and I might have luck, but I'm not counting on itmuch. I'm having a good time, though. Some of the football chaps arecorkers, _big_ fellows, you know. I mean big every way, not only insize. They're big enough in size, though, believe me, Sum. Gee, I wascertainly surprised when I saw how the team stacked up. Why, Newhall,the right guard, must weigh two hundred pounds, and Cupp isn't anylight-weight either. Another thing I was surprised at was the waythey go at football here. Everything's all arranged and cut out sixmonths ahead and it's the most business-like proposition I ever saw.There's an Athletic Committee first, composed of three faculty and twostudents, the football and baseball managers usually. Then there's theHead Coach, and under him the trainer and his assistant. The committeemeets every week and then there's a meeting in the coach's room everynight but Sunday and everything is threshed out and plans made forthe next day. There doesn't seem to be a moment wasted here. Just atfirst I thought it was too professional or something, but I guess it'sjust being efficient. It works all right, anyway. Well, I must stopand go over to see a fellow in the village with Stan. I'll tell youabout that fellow some time. He's a wonder! Remember me to everyone andthink over what I wrote about Leary. I forgot to tell you the scoreyesterday. It was 27-3. Some game, eh?"
Dick might have written a little more truthfully that he wasn'tcounting at all on making the First Team, for at the end of the firstfortnight at Parkinson it was pretty evident to him that he had stillsome distance to go before he would reach the proficiency of fellowslike Peters and Kirkendall and Warden and several more. The fact thathe had loomed up as an uncommonly good quarter-back at LeonardvilleHigh School, and that the town papers had hailed him as a star of thefirst magnitude, didn't mean much to him here. He saw that Parkinsonand Leonardville standards were widely apart. Why, there were fellowson the Second Team here who were better than anything Leonardville hadever seen! But Dick took his disappointment philosophically. He meantto try very hard for a place on the big eleven, no matter how humbleit might be, and so get in line for next year. He wondered sometimesif he wouldn't have shown himself wiser had he gone out for the SecondTeam instead. There was still time for that, for very often candidatesreleased from the First Team squad went to the Second and made good,but somehow he didn't like the idea of trying for the moon and beingsatisfied with a jack-o'-lantern! No, he decided, if he failed at theFirst he would quit for that year and try all the harder next. Rumorsof a first cut were about on the Monday following the Musket Hill game,and Dick prepared for retirement to private life. The cut didn't come,however, until Thursday, and when it did come it passed Dick by. Why,he couldn't make out. Fellows like Macomber and Swift and Teasdaledisappeared and Dick remained. And Macomber and the others were, inDick's estimation, much better players than he. But he accepted hisgood fortune and went on trying very hard to make good, telling himselfall the time that the next cut would take him, certainly.
But if Dick's success at football was in a measure disappointing, hisfaculty for making friends had not deserted him. He had acquired manyby the end of the first fortnight at school. Of course, they were notall close friends, but they were more than mere acquaintances. Amongthe close friends he counted Stanley first. Then came Blash and Sidand Rusty. His liking for Blash--and Blash's for him--seemed to havestarted after the episode of the telephone call. Because Dick hadfooled Blash and Blash had taken it smilingly seemed no good reason foran increase of friendship, but there it was! Blash still threatenedto get even some day, and Dick was certain that he would, but thatonly made the mutual liking stronger. As between Sid Crocker and RustyCrozier, Dick would have had trouble saying which he liked the better.Rusty was far more amusing, but Sid was a dependable sort of chap. Introuble, Dick would have thought first of Sid. Oddly enough, Dick'spopularity was greater amongst fellows older than he. Each of thosewhom he counted real friends was at least a year his senior, and HarryWarden, with whom acquaintanceship was fast warming into friendship,was nearly two years older. But the disparity in age was not greatlyapparent, for Dick had the growth and manners of eighteen rather thanseventeen, and one who didn't know the truth might well have thoughthim as old as either Stanley or Rusty.
Of enemies, so far as he knew, Dick had made but one. Sanford Haldenallowed no opportunity to remind Dick of his enmity to get past him. Hehad been among those dropped from the First Team squad in that firstcut and it appeared that he somehow managed to hold Dick to blamefor that. When they passed in hall or on campus Sandy always had amalevolent scowl for him, and once or twice Dick thought he even heardmutters! All this Dick found mildly amusing. Sandy reminded him of avillain in a cheap melodrama. A few days after the cut Dick heard thatSandy had attached himself to the Second Nine for fall practice.
 
; Football took up a great deal of Dick's time and much of his thought,but he managed to maintain an excellent standing in each of his coursesand thus won the liking of most of the instructors with whom he camein contact. With Mr. Matthews, who was Dick's advisor, he was soon onclose terms of intimacy. The instructor was one of the younger facultymembers, a man with a sympathetic understanding of boys, and tastesthat included most of the things that boys liked. He had a passionfor athletics and was one of the Nine's most unflagging rooters. Butfor all this he was not generally liked. The younger boys, who formedmost of his classes, were suspicious of his fashion of regardingthem individually instead of as a whole. They declared, some of themat least, that he "crowded" them. By which, in school parlance, wasmeant that he tried to be too friendly. They resented his attempts tointerest himself in their doings outside classes. Among the olderboys, however, he was a prime favourite, and his study in Williams wasthe scene of Friday evening "parties" that were always well attended.Anyone was welcome. There was much talk, the subjects ranging from thevalue of the "spitball" in pitching to the influence of Bible studyon literary style. At nine o'clock ginger ale and cookies--the latterespecially made by a woman in the town and transferred each Friday fromher house to the school in a laundry box by Mr. Matthews--were served.Perhaps some of the guests were present more on account of the gingerale and molasses cookies than for any other reason, for the cookies hadlong since gained a wide fame, but none questioned their motives.
Stanley and Dick attended one of the parties the Friday following theMusket Hill game. There were more than a dozen fellows already inthe room when they arrived, most of whom Stanley knew and a few ofwhom were known to Dick. All the usual seating accommodation beingexhausted, the instructor had dragged his bed to the door of theadjoining room, and on the edge of that the newcomers found places,they and a spectacled youth named Timmins completely filling thedoorway. Conversation was still general. Mr. Matthews, dropping aword now and then into the noisy confusion, was at his study tablecutting sheets of paper into quarters with a pair of shears. Hewasn't a bit impressive, being under rather than over medium heightand slight of build. He had light hair that was already thin overthe forehead, bluish eyes and light lashes, all of which gave him asomewhat colourless appearance. But there was an inquiring tilt to theshort nose, a humorous droop at the corners of the mouth and a verydetermined protrusion of the chin that lent interest to the countenance.
The study was a comfortable sort of place. The woodwork was paintedmahogany brown and there was a lightish buff paper on the walls andmany books in the low cases and a few really good engravings above.The furniture was old, rather dilapidated and most friendly. Eventhe chairs whose backs were straightest and whose seats looked mostuncompromising had acquired unsuspected and hospitable curves. Therewas a deep red rug, rather a good rug it was if you knew anything aboutMousuls, and a "saddle-bag" was stretched along the window-seat. Justnow the latter was hidden by four of the guests.
Mr. Matthews dropped the shears and rapped for attention. "Before wesettle the affairs of nations, fellows, as is our weekly custom," heannounced in his pleasant and somewhat precise voice, "I proposethat we spend a half-hour in mere recreation. This particular form ofrecreation is not original with me. I ran across it in the summer.Half a dozen of us were trying to live through the third day of anortheast storm down on the Maine coast. We'd exhausted every knownmeans of staving off imbecility when one of the party, he happenedto be a clergyman, by the way, introduced--should I say 'sprung,'Harris?--sprung this on us. 'There are three things,' he said, 'thatevery man firmly believes he can do. One is run a hotel, another isconduct a newspaper and the third is write poetry.' He proposed that weshould write poetry. We tried, and the results, if not calculated towin us undying fame, were at least amusing. Suppose, then, we try thesame stunt this evening. Here are some pencils and two fountain pens.You are respectfully requested to leave the pens behind when you goout. The pencils I leave to your consciences. And here are some sheetsof paper. Ford, would you mind distributing to those behind you? Andyou, McEwen? Thank you. Now the idea is to choose the surname of oneof the party and write a two-line verse, the first line ending withthe--er--victim's name. Want to try it?"
"Yes, sir!" "We'll try anything once!" "My middle name is Tennyson, Mr.Matthews!"
"All right. And for the one who writes what is voted to be the besteffusion, there is a prize concealed in this drawer here."
Loud applause from the assemblage, and an inquiry from the window-seat:"Please may we see it first, sir?", followed by more applause andlaughter.
"Sorry, Neal, but the prize is not to be seen until won. I want youto really try! To illustrate the style of composition to be followed,I give you this, gentlemen, craving your indulgence. It is one of myattempts on the occasion mentioned. I ran across it the other day andit gave me the idea of trying the game this evening. In explanation Imay say that the gentleman mentioned was a super-excellent golf playerand very, very thin as to body.
'Fore! Fore! Here comes the devastating Felton, To all opponents "The Inhuman Skel'ton"!'
The rhyme is obviously of the licensed sort! But you get the idea,don't you? Now, let's select a name. Which shall we start with?"
"Ford, sir. That's easy," someone suggested.
"Very well. Three minutes is allowed. When the time is up I'll call'Time' and you will at once stop. Ready? Everyone supplied with penciland paper?"
"All set!" "Let 'er go, sir!"
"Now!" said Mr. Matthews, his eyes on his watch. The laughter wasstilled and fifteen pens or pencils were poised over as many sheets ofpaper. Then mutters arose and feet shuffled. "Say, what rhymes with'Ford'?" asked Timmins of Stanley in an audible whisper. Chuckles aroseand De Vitt answered, "'Flivver,' Tim!" Dick was still struggling whenthe time was up and his second line was lacking a rhyme.
"Now we will read the results in turn," said Mr. Matthews. "Suppose youbegin, Harris."
"Not prepared, sir," answered "Tip" Harris.
Three others answered to the same effect and it was Cashin whobashfully produced the first composition, as follows:
"Apollo had nothing on Goody Ford. He's cross-eyed and lantern-jawed."
"Ingenious," commented Mr. Matthews, when the laughter had stopped,"but rather a libel on Ford. You're next, Elders."
"I didn't get mine done, sir. I think your watch was fast!"
"How about you, Gard?"
"Guess you might as well open that drawer, sir!" And Stanley read:
"He seeks no prize, does Goody Ford, For virtue is its own reward."
That won much applause, for Ford, whose appellation of "Goody," derivedfrom his given name of Goodman, was no indication of his behaviour, hadscorned to take part in the competition. Two other verses were readand then a second name was chosen. This time it was Cashin, and nearlyeveryone turned in something. The best of them, if applause was anyindication, was Neal's:
"I sing the praise of our Beau Cashin, The latest cry in mode and fashion."
"That rhyme requires a license, too, Neal," laughed Mr. Matthews. "Imight say, fellows, that it isn't absolutely necessary to 'knock'!"
"No, sir," agreed De Vitt, "but it's easier!"
Which rejoinder brought De Vitt into the limelight, and his name wastried next. Gerald De Vitt was editor-in-chief of the school weekly,_The Leader_, a likable fellow who took himself a bit seriously, whowrote long, sensible and very dull editorials, and who mistakenlyconducted a column of allegedly humorous matter that was the despair ofhis friends. Consequently when Stanley read his production the howl oflaughter that arose held as much applause as amusement.
"Here in our circle frowns the grave De Vitt, Revered as Mentor and deplored as Wit!"
Later someone suggested trying "Matthews" and there were many dismalfailures and just one quasi-success. The latter was Dick's.
"Though anger may assail our Matthews His cheek ne'er shows the sanguine wrath hues."
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In the end it was Stanley's couplet on De Vitt that was voted theprize and Mr. Matthews gravely opened the desk drawer and as gravelypresented the fortunate contestant with a large red apple! It wasquite the largest apple any of them had ever seen, and, while it waspassed around, the instructor explained that it was one of a plate ofprize-winners at the County Fair. At Stanley's request a knife wasproduced and the apple was divided into sixteen pieces and distributed.Mr. Matthews brought out the "spread" and for an hour longer thegathering munched delectable cookies and drank ginger ale andtalked. On the whole, the occasion was a very enjoyable one, and Dickdetermined that hereafter his Friday evenings should be spent in Number2 Williams. And, although he missed a "party" now and then, he keptthat promise to himself fairly well.