CHAPTER III
A NEW YEAR BEGINS
The journey of the little red car came to an end in three days insteadof four, for Matilda developed distressing symptoms at a place calledBradford, got vastly worse at Mystic and broke down utterly some twomiles short of New London. There for the present the three travelersleft her and completed the trip by rail, parting one afternoon in theGrand Central Station with assurances of a speedy reunion.
Four days later, on the twenty-second, which was a Monday, HarleyMcLeod and Jimmy Austen reached Alton shortly after two o’clock and athalf-past three were out on the football field with some sixteen othercandidates. To-morrow would bring more, but sixteen wasn’t so bad fora first session, and Martin Proctor, this year’s captain, was plainlyelated.
“Twenty-two fellows had the call,” he said to Harley and Jimmy afterthey had shaken hands, “and you fellows make sixteen who have shown up.That’s mighty good, isn’t it?”
“When’s Johnny coming?” asked Harley.
“Not until Wednesday. He telephoned this morning. He expected to cometo-day, but something’s happened. We won’t need him, anyway. We can’tdo much more to-day and to-morrow than get the kinks out. Oh, say,Jimmy, that reminds me. You’ll have to put in a lot of time on puntingthis fall. Keep that in mind, will you? Practice whenever you get achance, like a good fellow. We’ve got to work up a kicking departmentwith not much to build on. And we play Lorimer in a little over threeweeks!”
“How does it seem to be captain, Mart?” asked Jimmy, grinning.
Mart Proctor smiled back, shook his head and then looked suddenlygrave. “Well, so far, Jimmy, being captain’s been a cinch. Springpractice was short and easy, as you know. And during the summer allI’ve had to do is write about a dozen letters a week, read half amillion clippings sent by Johnny Cade--he cuts out everything he seesthat relates in the slightest way to football and piles it all onme!--and try to look stern and important; and you know that’s no easyjob for a merry wight like me! But since I got here yesterday afternoonI’ve discovered that being captain of the Alton Football Team is aboutthe same as being President of the U. S. of A. That guy Johnson’s beenat me every ten minutes with a new problem, Jake’s sitting over thereon the wheelbarrow trying to think up a new worry-- Oh, gee, here comesJohnson again now!”
Henry Johnson, the football manager, was a short, rotund and veryearnest-seeming youth. His forehead, above the big spectacles thatadorned his short nose, was creased into many deep furrows as hegreeted Harley and Jimmy warmly but hurriedly and turned to Mart.
“Peter says he can’t get the lines marked out to-morrow, Mart,” heannounced agitatedly. “Says he hasn’t enough lime. Says he ordered itand it hasn’t come, and--”
“We can get on without lines,” replied Mart calmly but a triflewearily. “Can’t you find anything better than that to bother about,Hen? You ought to leave that small stuff to your helper.”
The manager’s frown relaxed slightly. “Tod hasn’t come yet.” Thefurrows came back. “He promised to get here to-day. He ought to behere, too. Some one’s got to look after the weighing, and I don’tsee how I can do it, Mart. I’ve got that letter to get into the fiveo’clock mail--”
“Let the weighing go until to-morrow,” said Mart. “We’re all oldstagers and don’t need watching yet. You attend to the letter. Tod maycome on the four-twenty, for that matter. Well, let’s go, fellows! Oh,Brand! Brand Harmon! Take a bunch of the backs out and throw around,will you? You’re in that, Jimmy. Mac, you’d better come with me andwe’ll try some starts. You’ve got six or eight pounds that you don’tneed, and so have I. Throw out some balls, Jake, will you?”
Jakin, the trainer, opened the mouth of the big canvas bag andtrickled three scarred and battered footballs across the turf. NedRichards, quarter-back candidate, pounced on one and slammed it hardat Paul Nichols, last season’s center, and Nichols caught it againsthis stomach, doubled his heavy body over it and gave a high-steppingimitation of a back getting under way.
“Mawson off on a one-yard dash,” he laughed.
“Shut up, Paul! Show respect to your betters!” And Mawson quicklyknocked the ball from his grasp, caught it as it bounded and hurled itsmartly against the back of the center rush’s head.
“You’re likely to break the ball if you do that,” warned Ned Richards.“Hit him in the tummy instead.”
There was an hour and a half of rather easy work, which, because theSeptember afternoon was warm and still, reduced most of the candidates,veterans though most of them were, to perspiring, panting wrecks offormer jauntiness. Two laps about the track at a slow jog did nothingto restore their freshness!
Harley McLeod and Jimmy Austen plodded back to the gymnasium together,Harley wiping his streaked face with one gray-clad arm. “I didn’tknow I was so soft,” he sighed. “Bet you I dropped four pounds thisafternoon, Jimmy.”
“Soft living plays the dickens with a fellow,” granted Jimmy. “I feellike a pulp myself. I guess if we weighed in this afternoon I’d be sixpounds over. Gee, but it’s good to be back again, Mac. The old fieldfelt mighty fine underfoot, what? What’s on for a week from Saturday?High School, I suppose.”
“Yes. They scored on us last year, too. Remember?”
“Yes, Gil Tarver missed an easy tackle that day. I didn’t get into thegame. Did you?”
“No, Macon played right end. Banning scored on us, too, last fall.Maybe it’s a good plan to get a couple of kicks in the shins in theearly season. Wakes you up, maybe. Anyway, we came back and beat Kenlyto the king’s taste!”
“Hope we do it again, but I guess it’s her turn this year.”
“That’s the wrong thought, Jimmy. Kenly ain’t got no turn. Hold that,son. Say, maybe that shower isn’t going to feel swell! Oh, boy!”
“Some fine moment, I’ll remark! By the way, where are we eating?”
“Down town. Lawrence doesn’t open until Wednesday morning. We’ll getMart and Rowly and some of the others and go to the Plaza. You can geta pretty good steak there.”
“Yes,” agreed Jimmy as they entered the building, “but I don’t likethose unclothed tables, Mac.”
“Well, you don’t have to eat ’em! Wonder what’s at the movie theaterto-night. Want to go? My treat.”
“Sure! Under such unusual circumstances--”
But Harley had hurried away to his locker.
Stanley Hassell, who roomed with Jimmy in Upton Hall, arrived earlyon Wednesday, registered at the office, unpacked and bestowed hisbelongings in their accustomed places to a running fire of commentand information from Jimmy and then accompanied the latter to thefield and looked on while the now greatly augmented company offootball candidates went through a long practice under a hot autumnsun and the darting eyes of Coach Cade. “Johnny,” as he was generallycalled--though not to his face--was a short, compactly-built man ofsome twenty-eight years with a countenance rather too large for therest of him on which various small features were set; such features asa button-like nose, two extraordinarily sharp eyes, a somewhat largemouth and a very square chin. Mr. Cade had rather a fierce appearance,in spite of his lack of height, but this was largely owing to a greatdeal of thick black hair that stood up bristle-like and defeated allattempts to make it lie down. Add to these items an extremely mild andpleasant voice and you have the Alton Academy football coach as heappeared to the many new candidates that afternoon.
Recitations began on Thursday morning, and the four hundred and oddyouths of various ages from twelve to nineteen who composed thisyear’s roster took up scholastic duties again. When the nine o’clockbell pealed in Academy Hall the dormitories began to discharge theirquotas. Young gentlemen, armed for the first fray of the term withtext-books and note-books and pencils and pens, set their faces towardthe vine-clad and venerable Academy Hall, along the flagged walk onwhich the morning sunlight, dripping through the trees, cast goldenpools amongst the cool shadows. From Haylow, on the left of the row,from Lykes, beside it, from Bor
den at the extreme right and fromUpton that was next, the youths trickled into the two streams thatflowed briskly toward their confluence, the entrance to the big brickrecitation hall. There were all sorts and conditions of boys in thatlarger stream that eddied through the wide doorway; short boys and tallboys, stout boys and thin boys, boys who swaggered and boys who wentwith the diffidence of the stranger, boys with sunburned faces andboys with cheeks too pallid, boys in short trousers and boys in longtrousers, boys with straw hats, boys with soft caps and boys with bareheads, high-spirited boys and home-sick boys, eager boys and boys whosefeet lagged on the steps; all kinds, all descriptions of boys; justsuch a medley as is always found when the bell summons to the firstrecitation on a late September morning.
In a month, even in so short a time as a week, maybe, the sorts willbe fewer, the difference between this boy and that less apparent.Already the influences that in the end mold all toward a certainpattern will have been felt, and Jack will have begun to model hisconduct and speech and attire after those of Tom, who, impressed withthe stamp of one or more years at the school, already tends toward theultimate pattern. That pattern varies with different schools, yet it ismuch the same in essentials, and, on the whole, it is a good pattern,being founded on a wise discipline and builded of cleanliness of mindand healthfulness of body, of self-respect and self-control and,always, the love of fair-play.
To-day there was the genial warmth of a still New England early autumnmorning over the scene. The elms and maples that bordered the streetsstill held their verdant leaves and the grass that grew between thegraveled roads and paths that intersected the School Green was stillunchanged. The Green extended along the west side of Academy street fortwo blocks and from that quiet thoroughfare arose at an easy grade forthe width of another block to the line of brick and limestone buildingsthat spanned it. Yet, following the center path, one passed twostructures ere the wide steps of Academy Hall were met: on the right,near River street, Memorial Hall, containing library and auditoriumand a few class rooms, and on the left, close to Meadow street, andpartly hidden by trees, the modest and attractive residence of thePrincipal, Doctor Maitland McPherson, known to the School more simply,yet quite respectfully as “Mac.” Behind the main row of buildings stoodtwo others, the Carey Gymnasium, a recently built, up-to-the-minutestructure, and, to its left and directly back of Academy Hall,Lawrence, where Alton boys flocked thrice a day and performed certainrites at many long, white-draped tables. Having passed Lawrence andCarey, one passed a cluster of tennis courts and saw, spread out beforehim, several acres of fine turf whereon, close at hand, were set manysteel-framed stands between whose tiered seats appeared the blue-grayribbon of the running track and the gleaming white lines of the firstteam gridiron. To the left was the diamond, and ere the furtherconfines of the tract stayed the wandering gaze a second baseball fieldand a second gridiron met the sight. Far away was a faint glint thattold of the river, though the stream was hidden for most of its wayby trees that, beyond its winding course, marshaled themselves into aforest and marched westward over the low hills toward the sunset.
But we have wandered far afield. Let us retrace our steps as far asUpton and climb the first flight of stairs. Half way along the corridorto the right is a door numbered 27, and under the numerals two cardsare secured with thumb-tacks. These bear the following inscriptions,in the first case written, in a rather round hand, with pen and ink,in the second case imprinted by the engraver’s art: Russell WilcoxEmerson--George Patterson.
Beyond the now closed door only one of the young gentlemen named is tobe found. Russell, seated in front of the study table in the center ofthe small yet pleasant room, bends over a sheet of paper that looksvery much like a bill of goods. At the top in fat black letters appearsthe legend: The Proctor-Farnham Sporting Goods Company. Follows aBroadway, New York, address, and then come many typewritten lines, eachending in figures that form a column down the right-hand margin of thesheet. With pencil in hand, Russell reads, frowns and lightly checksthe items, and finally, having reached the bottom of the paper, heleans back in his chair, taps the pencil against his teeth and staresdubiously across to the open window. During the last few days it hasbecome more and more apparent that the merchant who starts in businesswith insufficient capital must expect anxious moments. Removing hisgaze from the window, Russell opens the small drawer at the right andtakes out a very new bank book. Reference to the first--and so faronly--item set down therein fails, however, to lift the frown from hisbrow, and, sighing, he looks once more at the appalling total beneaththe column of figures on the bill, shakes his head, returns the smallbank book to the drawer and glances at his watch. Although the nineo’clock bell had held no summons to him, it will be different when teno’clock comes, and it is already very close to that hour. So he placesthe troubling bill in the drawer, drops several other documents upon itand hides them all from sight with a slightly vindicative _bang_. But,had you been there to look over his shoulder, your gaze would doubtlesshave fallen on the topmost document and you would have perhaps wonderedat the presence of what was at first glance a florist’s bill. Then,however, looking further, you would have beheld beneath the printedinscription--“J. Warren Pulsifer, Florist, 112 West Street”--thescrawled legend:
“Received of Russell W. Emerson Twenty-two Dollars and Fifty Cents ($22.50) for one month’s rent of premises.
“J. WARREN PULSIFER.”