CHAPTER XI
THE RED PAINT
Pursuing those who had given them the shampoo, Joe and his chums foundthemselves trailing down a side street in the darkness.
"I wonder what they're up to," ventured Spike.
"Oh, some more monkey business," declared Ricky. "If they try it on anymore Freshmen though, we'll take a hand ourselves; eh?"
"Sure," assented the others.
"There they go--around the corner--and on the run!" suddenly exclaimedSlim Jones. "Get a move on!"
Our friends broke into a trot--that is, all but Joe. He tried to, butstepping on a stone it rolled over with him, and he felt a severe painshoot through his ankle.
"Sprained, by Jove!" he exclaimed. "I'm glad it isn't the baseballseason, for I'm going to be laid up."
He halted, and in those few seconds his companions, eager in the chase,drew ahead of him in the darkness, and disappeared around anothercorner.
"I can't catch up to 'em," decided Joe. "Wonder if I can step on thefoot?"
He tried his weight on it, and to his delight found that it was not abad sprain, rather a severe wrench that, while it lamed him, stillallowed him to walk.
"Guess I'll go back," he murmured. "If there's a row I can't hold up myend, and there's no use being a handicap. I'll go back and turn in. Ican explain later."
He turned about, walking slowly, the pain seeming to increase ratherthan diminish, and he realized that he was in for a bad time.
"If I could see a hack I'd hail it," he thought, but the streets seemeddeserted, no public vehicles being in sight. "I've got to tramp it out,"Joe went on. "Well, I can take it slow."
His progress brought him to Wall street, and he decided to continuealong that to Temple, and thence to the modest side-thoroughfare onwhich the Red Shack was located. But he was not destined to reach itwithout further adventures.
As he came around a corner he heard the murmur of low voices, and, beingcautious by nature, he halted to take an observation.
"If it's my own crowd--all right," he said. "But if it's a lot ofSophs., I don't want to run into 'em."
He listened, and from among those whom he could not see he heard themurmur of voices.
"That's the house over there," said someone.
"Right! Now we'll see if he'll double on me just because I wasn'tprepared. I'll make him walk Spanish!"
"Got plenty of the magoozilum?"
"Sure. We'll daub it on thick."
"They can't be after Freshmen," mused Joe. "I wonder what's up?"
He looked across the street in the direction where, evidently, theunseen ones were directing their attention.
"A lot of the profs. live there," mused Joe. "I have it! Some one'sgoing to play a trick on 'em to get even. I'll just pipe it off!"
He had not long to wait. Out of the shadows stole two figures, and, evenin the dimness he recognized one of them as Ford Weston. The other hedid not know.
"Come on!" hoarsely whispered the 'varsity pitcher to his chum. "I'llspread it on thick and then we'll cut for it. Separate streets. I'll seeyou in the morning, but keep mum, whatever happens."
The two figures ran silently across the street, and paused in front of adetached house. One seemed to be actively engaged at the steps for afew minutes, and then both quickly ran off again, the two separating anddiving down side streets.
"Huh! Whatever it was didn't take them long," thought Joe. "I wonderwhat it was? Guess I'll----"
But his half-formed resolution to make an investigation was not carriedout. He heard shouting down the street, and thinking it might be a crowdof Sophomores, he decided to continue on to his room.
"They might start a rough-house with me," mused Joe, "and then my anklewould be more on the blink than ever. I'll go home."
He started off, rather excited over the events of the night, and foundthat even his brief spell of standing still had stiffened him so that hecould hardly proceed.
"Wow!" he exclaimed, as a particularly sharp twinge shot through him. Hehad gone about two blocks when he heard someone coming behind him. Heturned in apprehension, but saw only a single figure.
"Hello! What's the matter?" asked a young man as he caught up to Joe.
"Twisted my ankle."
"So? What's your name?"
"Matson--I'm a Freshman."
"Oh, yes. I think I saw you at Chapel. Kendall's my name." Joerecognized it as that of one of the Juniors and a member of the 'varsitynine. "How'd it happen?"
"Oh, skylarking. The Sophs. were after us to-night."
"So I heard. You'd better do something for that foot," he went on, as henoticed Joe's limp.
"I'm going to as soon as I get to my room."
"Say, I tell you what," went on Kendall. "My joint's just around thecorner, and I've got a prime liniment to rub on. Suppose you come in andI'll give you some."
"Glad to," agreed Joe. "I don't believe I've got a bit at my shack, andthe drug stores are all closed."
"Come along then--here, lean on me," and Kendall proffered his arm, forwhich Joe was grateful.
"Here we are," announced Kendall a little later, as they turned into abuilding where some of the wealthier students had their rooms. "Sorryit's up a flight."
"Oh, I can make it," said Joe, keeping back an exclamation of pain thatwas on his lips.
"We'll just have a look at it," continued his new friend. "I've known astrain like that to last a long while if not treated properly. A littlerubbing at the right time does a lot of good."
Joe looked in delight at the room of his newly found friend. It wastastefully, and even richly, furnished, but with a quiet atmospherediffering from the usual college apartment.
"You've got a nice place here," he remarked, thinking that, after all,there might be more to Yale life than he had supposed.
"Oh, it'll do. Here's the stuff. Now off with your shoe and we'll have alook at that ankle. I'm a sort of doctor--look after the football ladssometimes. Are you trying for the eleven?"
"No, baseball is my stunt."
"Yes? So's mine."
"You catch, don't you?" asked Joe. "I've heard of 'Shorty' Kendall."
"That's me," came with a laugh. "Oh, that's not so bad," he went on ashe looked at Joe's foot. "A little swelled. Here, I'll give it a rub,"and in spite of Joe's half-hearted protests he proceeded to massage theankle until it felt much better.
"Try to step on it," directed Shorty Kendall.
Joe did so, and found that he could bear his weight on it with lesspain.
"I guess you'll do," announced the Junior. "Cut along to your roomnow--or say--hold on, I can fix you up here for the night. I've got acouch----"
"No, thank you," expostulated Joe. "The boys would worry if I didn'tcome back."
"You could send word----"
"No, I'll trot along. Much obliged."
"Take that liniment with you," directed Kendall.
"Won't you need it?"
"Not until the diamond season opens, and that's some time off yet. Goodnight--can you make the stairs?"
"Yes--don't bother to come down," and Joe limped out.
As he reached the first hall he was made aware that someone was comingin the front door. Before he could reach it the portal opened and astudent hurried in, making for a room near the main entrance. In theglare of the hall light Joe saw that the youth was Ford Weston.
He also saw something else. On Weston's hand was a redsmear--brilliant--scarlet. At first Joe thought it was blood, but aslight odor in the air told him it was paint.
An instant later his eyes met those of the rival pitcher--at least Joehoped to make him a rival--and Weston started. Then he thrust hissmeared hand into his pocket, and, without a word, hurried into his roomand slammed the door.