CHAPTER IX
AN ULTIMATUM
Several days passed without incidents worth recording here. Life atParkinson settled down into the groove that it was to follow forthe next nine months and Ira found that his studies looked far lessformidable on close acquaintance than they had at first. Ira haddeclared that he was not a brilliant fellow at studying, and he wasn't,but he had the gift of application and an excellent memory, which,combined, are half the battle. The courses he had feared most, Greekand French, were proving easier than English, which he had not troubledabout. But third year English at Parkinson was a stiff course and Ira'sgrammar school preparation had not been very thorough. Greek he tookto avidly, possibly because Professor Addicks was a very sympatheticteacher and managed to make his courses interesting. Mathematics cameeasily to him and his other studies--he was taking nineteen hours inall--were not troublesome. On the whole, he felt himself quite able tocope with his work, and wondered if he was not in duty bound to go outand save the destinies of the football team. Of course, putting it thatway he had to smile, for he couldn't imagine himself of any more use onthe gridiron than nothing at all! Only, he reflected, if it would giveCaptain Lyons any satisfaction to have him there, perhaps, since itseemed quite possible to play football without flunking at recitations,he ought to put in an appearance. At all events, he would, he decided,wait a few days longer. There was no hurry.
For want of a better confidant, he put the case up to Humphrey Neadone evening. Humphrey told him he was silly not to grab the chance. "Iwish," he said, "they'd beg me to come out for the football team. Youcouldn't see me, for dust! You're in luck, Rowly."
"Rowly" was Nead's compromise between "Say!" and "Rowland" at thistime. Ira didn't like it overmuch as a nickname, but entered noprotest. He was determined to make the best of Humphrey Nead as aroommate, and during the first week was careful to make no criticisms.When, however, he did criticise he did it effectively. The occasion wasjust a week after that first chance meeting with Nead. The latter hadformed a habit of eating his dinners in the evenings downtown in thecompany of various "Jimmies" and "Billies" whose last names Ira neverheard, or, hearing, forgot. Usually Humphrey didn't return to the roomuntil nearly ten o'clock. Sometimes it was nearer midnight, although,to do him justice, those occasions were few. On this particularevening, Ira, returning at half-past seven from Mrs. Trainor's boardinghouse, where he had lately become a "regular" for dinners and suppers,found Humphrey stretched out on his bed, a book face-open on his chestand a dead cigarette between the fingers of a hand that hung over theedge. He was asleep. Although both windows were open the tobacco smokestill lingered. Ira frowned thoughtfully as he hung up his cap in thecloset. Then, after a moment's indecision, he walked across to the bedand shook the sleeper awake.
"Eh? Hello!" muttered Humphrey. "Must have fallen asleep." He yawnedwidely, blinked and stretched himself. "What time is it? Had yourdinner?"
"I've had my supper," answered Ira.
"Oh, the dickens! I was going to get you to stand me a feed."
"Sorry. Look here, Nead, you'll have to stop that."
"Stop what?" asked the other blankly.
Ira pointed to the cigarette still clutched in Humphrey's fingers.Humphrey brought his hand up and looked. A brief expression of dismaychanged to a grin.
"Caught in the act, eh? 'Flagrante--' What's the Latin of it, Rowly?"
"Never mind the Latin," replied Ira grimly. "The English of it is thatyou've got to quit it in this room."
"Who says so?" demanded Humphrey, scowling.
"I say so. Faculty says so, too."
"Oh, piffle! Look here, faculty says you can smoke in your room ifyou're a fourth year man. If a fourth year man can smoke, I can. It'smy own affair."
"Faculty allows fourth year fellows to smoke pipes in their rooms ifthey have the written consent of their parents. You're not a fourthyear fellow, you haven't the consent of your parents and that isn't apipe; it's a cigarette."
"Well, don't lecture about it. There's no harm in a cigarette now andthen. Half the fellows in school smoke on the sly."
"I don't believe it," denied Ira stoutly. "I don't know one who doesit."
"Huh! You don't know very many, anyhow, do you? And you're such a nice,proper sort of chump that they wouldn't do it when you were around, Iguess."
"Never mind that, Nead. This is as much my room as it is yours, andI don't like cigarettes and won't stand for them. We might as wellunderstand each other now. Then there won't be any further rowing."
"Suppose I choose to smoke?" drawled Humphrey.
"Then you'll have to find another room."
"Yes, I will! Like fun! I suppose you'd go and tell faculty, eh?"
"I might, if I couldn't stop it any other way," returned Ira calmly."But I don't think it would be necessary."
He viewed Humphrey very steadily and the latter, after an instant ofdefiant glaring, dropped his gaze uncertainly.
"Rough-stuff, eh?" he sneered. "Well, you're a heap bigger than I am,and I guess you could get away with it. Anyway, I don't care enoughabout smoking to fight."
"Then I think I'd quit," said Ira. "What's the idea, anyway, Nead?"
"Oh, just for fun," answered the other airily. "Haven't you ever doneit?"
"Once," said Ira, with a fleeting and reminiscent smile. "I guess everyfellow tries it once. I didn't like it, though."
"Of course not. You have to keep at it." Humphrey laughed. "Gee, I wasa wreck after my first attempt!"
"Seems to me that anything that has that effect on you can't beespecially good for you," said Ira.
"Oh, a fellow doesn't want to just do the things that are good for him.There's no fun in that. Smoking cigarettes is like--like playing hookeywhen you're a kid. You do it because it--it's a sort of adventure, eh?"
"I suppose so," agreed Ira. "Well, you've had your adventure, haven'tyou? You've got all the fun out of it. What's the use of keeping it up?"
Humphrey gazed at Ira thoughtfully. "Gee, that's a new idea," hechuckled. "Never thought of that! Maybe you're right, old scout. GuessI'll quit cigarettes and try something else. Burglary or--or murder,maybe."
"Well, don't practise at home," laughed Ira. Then soberly: "I wishyou'd agree to call it off on the cigarettes, though, Nead."
"Oh, when you ask me nicely like that," answered the other, "I don'tmind, I guess. But I won't stand being bullied." He blustered a bit."You can't scare me into doing things, Rowland, and you might as welllearn that first as last."
"I don't want to scare you or bully you," answered Ira. "Sorry if Iwent at it wrong."
"Well, you did," grumbled the other. He sat up and ran a hand throughhis rumpled hair. Then: "Tell you how you can square yourself, Rowly,"he said. "Lend me a quarter, like a good chap, will you? I'm stony."
"Of course. But you don't mean, really, that you've got no money?"
"Sorry to say I mean that exactly," replied Humphrey with a grin.
"But--but you've been here only a week! What have you done----"
"With my wealth?" prompted Humphrey as the other hesitated. "WellI've dropped about six dollars playing pool with those sharks down atthe Central, and I've bought a lot of food and I've paid for a year'ssubscription to the 'Leader'--didn't want the silly paper, but a fellowcornered me--, and I've--oh, I don't know! Money never sticks aroundme very long. But you needn't worry about your quarter, because I'vewritten home for more. I told mother I was taking an extra course inpoolology and it was expensive!" He chuckled. "She'll understand andcome across."
"I wasn't worrying about my quarter," answered Ira. "I was wonderingwhat you expected to do for meals until the letter comes."
"Well, I sort of intended going around to Mrs. Thingamabob's with youtonight and signing on there until--for awhile. But you didn't show upand I fell asleep."
"Unless you arrange for regular board," said Ira, "Mrs. Trainor willmake you pay at every meal. You'd better let me lend you enough to seeyou through until you hear fro
m your folks. How much will it take?"
Humphrey looked vastly surprised and a trifle embarrassed. "Why,that's mighty decent of you, old scout!" he exclaimed. "But can you--Imean----"
"I can let you have five dollars," said Ira, "if that will do."
"Honest? It won't make you short? But I'll give it back to you bySaturday. I wrote yesterday."
"I can't do it tonight," said Ira. "I'll have to get it out of thebank. But here's thirty-five cents you can have."
"Right-o! Thanks awfully, Rowly! You're a brick. Sorry if I talkednasty." He got up from the bed, viewing the cigarette stub whimsically.Then he scratched a match, lighted the cigarette and exhaled a cloudof smoke into the room. "Good-bye forever!" he exclaimed tremulously,and, turning to the window, flicked the cigarette out into the night."Now for burglary!" Whereupon he picked up the coins Ira had put on thetable, planted his cap rakishly over one ear, winked expressively andhurried out.
Ira, arranging his books for study, wished somewhat ruefully that hehadn't jumped to conclusions by connecting the cigarette odour withMart Johnston that time. He had met Mart two days before and that youthhad passed him with a very cool and careless nod, evidently resentfulbecause Ira had not accepted the invitation to call.
"I guess, though," thought Ira, as he seated himself at the desk andsucked the end of a pencil, "he doesn't care very much."
Gene Goodloe he saw every day, sometimes only long enough to exchangegreetings with, sometimes long enough for a chat. But he hadn't beenback to Number 30 Williams yet, nor had Gene, in spite of promises,called at "Maggy's." Captain Lyons and Raymond White were always genialwhen he met them, but it didn't look much as if the acquaintances withthose fellows were likely to expand. Several times Ira watched footballpractice, and, while he failed to discover anything about the gameto captivate him, he viewed it with more interest since meeting FredLyons and learning what a difficult task the latter was undertaking.That Lyons had not exaggerated the attitude of the school towardthe football team was made plain to Ira by the comments he heard atpractice. It seemed the popular thing to speak with laughing contemptof the team and the football situation. The "Forlorn Hopes" was afavourite name for the players, while it seemed to be a generallyaccepted conclusion that Parkinson would go down in defeat again inNovember. All this made Coach Driscoll's efforts to get additionalcandidates doubly difficult. Some fellows did go out, from a sense ofduty, and at the end of the first week of school there were nearlyeighty candidates on the field. That number looked large to Ira untilhe overheard one of the instructors remark to another one afternoon:"A most discouraging situation, isn't it? Why, four years ago we usedto turn out a hundred and twenty to a hundred and fifty boys, I'mafraid it will be the same old story again this Fall!"
The first game took place Saturday afternoon and Ira paid his quarterand went to see it. It wasn't much of a contest, and even he, asignorant of the game as he was, could discern that neither team covereditself with glory during those two twenty-minute halves. It seemed tohim that had all the Parkinson players done as well as Captain Lyons orthe fellow who played full-back or the one who was at quarter duringthe first half the story might have been different. But those threestood out as bright, particular stars, and the rest didn't average upto them by a long shot. Ira, by the way, was interested to find thatthe quarter-back--inquiry divulged his name to be Dannis--was noneother than the youth who had so earnestly and unsuccessfully practisedhurdling that day. Dannis ran the team in much the same spirit, butwith far more success. He was not very big, and he looked rather heavy,but he had a remarkable head on his shoulders, and was quite lightenough to make several startling runs and was a live-wire all the timethat he remained in the contest. When, in the second half, anothercandidate for the position took his place the difference was at oncediscernible in the slowing down of the game.
While most of the fellows turned out to look on, enthusiasm, whenthere was any, was distinctly perfunctory. Still, that might havebeen laid to the game itself, for interesting features were few andfar between. Dannis got away several times for good gains and showedhimself a remarkably elusive object in a broken field, but as nothingmuch depended on his success or non-success there was scant reason toenthuse. Mapleton was outclassed from the first and that Parkinson didnot score more than the twenty points that made up her final total wasless to Mapleton's credit than to the home team's discredit. A gamein which one contestant takes the lead in the first five minutes ofplay and is never headed is not very exciting at best, and Ira walkedback to the campus after the game with his estimate of football as adiversion not a bit enhanced.
If Parkinson deserved any credit for winning from her adversary by ascore of 20 to 0, she certainly didn't get it. "Just the way we startedoff last year," Ira heard a fellow remark on the way back to the yard."Ran up about half as many points as we should have on Cumner HighSchool and then played worse every game for the rest of the season."
"We ought to have scored forty on that team today," replied hiscompanion. "A team with any sort of an attack could have torn our lineto fragments. Why, as it was our centre just fell apart every timeanyone looked at it!"
"Lyons didn't do so badly," said the other. "And neither did Wirt. But'The' Dannis was the whole shooting match, pretty nearly. I don't seewhy they wanted to put Basker in in the last half. He isn't a patch on'The.'"
"I suppose Driscoll wants to bring him around for second-string man.You'll see all sorts of combinations tried out for the next month. Andthey'll all be about equally punk, too, I guess. What the dickens isthe matter with the team nowadays, anyway? Is it the coaching or theleading or what, Steve?"
"Search me! All I know is that it's rotten. Has been for three years.I don't think it's the coaching. This chap Driscoll looks like a goodone. Everyone says that. And Fred Lyons is all right, too. There isn'ta fellow in school that can boss a job better than Lyons. I guess it'sa plain case of chronic slump!"
Ira wanted very much to speak out and tell them that possibly someof the fault for the team's lack of success was due to them. "If," hesaid to himself as he watched the two boys turn off toward Sohmer Hall,"you'd stop thinking the team was poor maybe it wouldn't be. No team,I guess, can do much if no one believes in it. What is needed hereis a change of heart! I suppose every fellow connected with the teamrealises that the school is laughing at him, and I guess that doesn'thelp much. Seems to me there ought to be a way to change things, to getthe fellows back of the team again. But--I wonder how!"