Center Rush Rowland

by Ralph Henry Barbour

  CHAPTER XI

  IRA RENEWS AN ACQUAINTANCE

  Martin Johnston and Dwight Bradford occupied what at Parkinson wasknown as an alcove study. To be correct, it was not the study thatformed an alcove, but the bedroom. There were only a few of suchapartments in Goss Hall and those who had them were consideredfortunate. Number 16 proved to be rather a luxurious place. There wasa good deal of furniture, most of it black-oak, the chairs havingred-leather cushions and the study table being adorned with a squareof the same brilliant material. One side of the room was lined withbookcases to a height of about five feet and the shelves were filledand a row of books overflowed to the top. Many pictures were on thewalls, a deep window seat, covered in red denim, was piled with pillowsand there was a dark-brown wool rug with a red border on the floor. Thealcove, just big enough for two single beds and a night stand between,was partly hidden by red portieres. At first sight, as Ira paused inthe doorway after being bidden to enter, the room was disconcertingly,almost alarmingly, colourful.

  "Evening and everything!" said a voice from beyond the light on thetable, and a chair was pushed back. Then Mart's form emerged from thewhite glare. "Hello!" he said. "How are you, Rowland? Glad to see you.Meet Mr. Bradford, Rowland. Brad, you remember my speaking of Rowland?"

  A second youth, who had been lying on the window seat, arose and cameforward to shake hands. He was a nice-looking fellow of eighteen,broad of shoulder and deep of chest. Ira recognised him as one of thesubstitute ends he had seen in practice. He had a pleasant, deep voice,a jolly smile and a firm, quick way of shaking hands. Ira fell victimto Bradford's charms then and there.

  "Awfully glad to meet you, Rowland. Yes, I remember you said a lotabout this chap, Mart. It was Rowland you landed in Maggy's, wasn't it?"

  "Yes. Sit down, Rowland. How's everything going?"

  "Very well, thanks."

  "That's good. Toss your cap anywhere. Brad won't like it, but nevermind." Mart's words were amiable enough, but it was evident to thecaller that he was not forgiven for his indifference, and so, as hethrust his cap into a pocket, he decided to make an explanation.

  "I guess you thought it was funny I didn't look you up," he began. ButMart waved carelessly.

  "Not a bit! Not a bit, Rowland! I never thought of it."

  Ira, glancing at Bradford to include him in the conversation, saw aflicker of amusement cross that youth's face.

  "I'd like to tell you why," he went on. "It--it makes me out rathera chump, I guess, but--well, anyway, it was like this." And Ira toldabout finding Mart's note and the odour of cigarettes at the same timeand of connecting both with Mart. "Of course," he concluded, "anyfellow has a right to smoke, but I don't believe in it, and I sort ofthought that if--you were that kind--I mean----"

  "Got you!" exclaimed Mart. "Say no more, Rowland! All is understood andall is forgiven! Brad, we're going to like this frank and unspottedchild of nature, aren't we?"

  Brad laughed softly. "I certainly admire Rowland's decision," hereplied. "And his courage in explaining. It's always so much easiernot to explain, Rowland."

  "I'm afraid I haven't done it very well," said Ira doubtfully.

  "You have, old man!" declared Mart. "Beautifully! And you have coveredme with confusion and filled me with remorse. Brad," he added gravely,"from this time forth tempt me not. I'm through with the filthy weed. Ishall empty my cigarette case into the fire. And if you take my adviceyou'll do the same."

  "Oh!" exclaimed Ira. "I didn't know--I'm awfully sorry----"

  But Mart waved again grandly. "Not a word, Rowland! We quiteunderstand. You have convinced me of the error of my way. And Isincerely hope and pray that Brad, too, will see the light."

  But Brad was smiling broadly and Ira concluded relievedly that Mart wasonly joking. "I might have put my foot into it horribly," he said, witha sigh of relief.

  "Well, you didn't, so don't worry," replied Mart. "We don't smoke muchhere. Of course, Brad's a senior and enjoys his pipe after dinner--youdoubtless noticed the odour--and I sometimes puff a cigar in theevening. I find it soothes me and aids digestion. I smoke two onFridays, on account of having fish for dinner. I never could digestfish very well."

  "Oh, dry up, Mart," laughed Brad. "Rowland will believe you. He'slooking shocked."

  "Not he! You can't shock him. I tried it. I say, Rowland, how's thefunny window seat?"

  "It isn't so funny now. I put the desk against one end of it and itlooks quite fine."

  "You spoiled the effect. I'm sorry. What's this fellow like, yourroommate? The one who contaminates the air with cigarette smoke?"

  "Nead? Oh, he's all right. He doesn't do it any more."

  "Really? What did you say to him?"

  "I just--just told him he mustn't. He was very decent about it."

  "I'll bet he was!" laughed Mart. "I can see you." He jumped up, foldedhis arms across his chest and bent a stern look on Ira. "'Smead,this must cease. I cannot have the pure atmosphere of this apartmentpolluted with your vile cigarettes. Do you realise that it is a dirtyand unhealthful habit? Let me beg of you to have done with it. Think ofyour future, Smead, of your unsuspecting family at home, of your ownwelfare, and pause on the brink of destruction. And I may add, Smead,that if you don't pause, I'll knock your block off!' Wasn't that aboutit, Rowland?"

  "Not quite," laughed Ira. "I didn't have to offer to fight him, becausehe was very nice about it."

  "Irrefutably! _But_ if he hadn't been I can guess what would havehappened to Smead," chuckled Mart.

  "His name is Nead," Ira corrected.

  "Need? Well, a friend in Need is a friend indeed. Asterisk. Seefootnote. 'Vide Bartlett's Familiar Quotations.' What are you doing topass the long Winter evenings, Rowland?"

  "I went out for the football team the other day," was the reply.

  "Of course!" exclaimed Brad. "I knew I'd seen you around somewhere,Rowland. If you'd been in togs I'd have recognised you. How is itgoing?"

  "I don't know much about it. They've had me in the awkward squad forseveral days and I guess I'm no more awkward than when I began."

  "That's something," said Mart. "Now Brad here is much worse after threeyears than he was when he started. Aren't you, Brad?"

  "Sometimes I think I am! What are you trying for, Rowland?"

  "Me? Oh, I don't know. Whatever they say, I guess. I wasn't keen aboutdoing it, but Fred Lyons said I ought to try, and so I did. Thingsdon't look very easy for Lyons and the others and I thought that ifthey really could find a use for me I might as well go out."

  "Wish there were more like you," said Brad. "I've been trying to getMart started, but he hasn't your sense of duty."

  "Duty!" scoffed Mart. "That isn't duty, that's Rowland's fine, old NewEngland conscience. He comes from Vermont----"

  "Maine, please," said Ira.

  "I mean Maine, and that's where they make them. I come from New Jersey,you see, and we don't have consciences."

  "Haven't you ever tried it?" asked Ira.

  "Football?" Mart shook his head. "No, I never felt reckless enough.I play a little baseball and some tennis and a bit of hockey and canswing a golf stick, but beyond that I don't participate in athletics."

  "They don't allow us to take part in more than three sports," explainedBrad, "and that's Mart's difficulty. If he went in for football he'dhave to give up either baseball, hockey or tennis. And as he thinks heis needed on those teams he hesitates."

  "I do more than hesitate," replied Mart. "I stand immovable. There areplenty of fellows who can play football. Let them go out and save thecountry. I'm busy."

  "I don't see how you could play football, too," said Ira. "But Iguess there are plenty of fellows who could and won't. I don't knowmuch about things here yet, but it seems a pity to me that the schooldoesn't take more interest in the team."

  "No one can blame you," said Mart flippantly. "Football at Parkinson,Rowland, is one of the lost arts. It's like dragon's blood vasesand--and Tyrian purple and Rembrandt paintings. We live in
the past,as it were. Football vanished from Parkinson about the time the battleof Bunker Hill took place on Breed's Hill. That's a funny thing, bythe way. Why do you suppose they fought the Bunker Hill battle wherethey did? My idea is that Mr. Breed offered them more money and fiftyper cent of the moving picture rights. Mr. Bunker must have beenfrightfully peeved, though, what?"

  "Football is in a bad way here, Rowland, and that's a fact," said Brad,"but it only needs one successful season to put it on its feet again.And I'm hoping hard that this season will do it. We've got a prettyfair start as far as material goes. I mean, we've got quite a bunch oflast year's fellows back. The trouble is we can't seem to get out newmaterial. They just won't come. Fred has fits and talks about callinga mass meeting and all that, but Driscoll says he can build a team ofwhat he's got; that he'd rather have fifty fellows who want to playthan a hundred who don't. And I think Driscoll's dead right."

  "Yes, you think anything Driscoll says or does is right," jeered Mart."If he told you to stand on your head for an hour in the middle of thefield and wave your legs you'd do it."

  "Perhaps. Anyway, he's a good coach. He showed that last year."

  "By letting Kenwood lick us?"

  "By not letting her lick us worse than she did, son. When Driscoll tookhold everything was at sixes and sevens. The other coach had gone offin a huff and half the team were for him and half for the captain andthere was the dickens to pay generally. Well, Driscoll stepped in andpaid no attention to anything that had happened. When the captain triedto tell him about the fuss he just said: 'I don't want to hear anythingabout it. I'm here to turn out a football team. What happened lastweek or yesterday doesn't concern me in the least. I'm beginning today.Now then, let's get at it.'"

  "Well," said Mart, "I hope he justifies your belief in him, old chap.Personally, I don't like the way he brushes his hair. I never yet sawa fellow with a cowlick who amounted to a hill of beans. Did you,Rowland?"

  "I don't think I ever noticed."

  "Well, you study it and you'll find I'm right. Who do you know? Metmany of the fellows yet?"

  "Not a great many. I guess I know twenty or thirty."

  "Twenty or thirty! Geewhillikins! I'd say that was going some. You'rea good mixer, Rowland. I'll bet I didn't know ten when I'd been here amonth."

  "Who were the other nine?" asked Brad, drily. "I was one."

  "You! I didn't count you at all! You said you knew Gene Goodloe, Iremember, Rowland. He's a good sort. And of course you know Fred Lyons."

  "Yes, a little. I've been pretty busy so far and haven't been aroundmuch."

  "Busy? What do you find to do?"

  "Study, for one thing," said Ira smiling.

  "My fault! I forgot you had a conscience. Well, a certain amount ofstudy does help one. That's what I tell Brad, but he won't listen.Advice with Brad is like water on a duck's back, in one ear and out theother."

  "I guess I'd better go back and do some more of it," said Ira, pullinghis cap from his pocket.

  "Walk around! It's early yet. Well, if you must go----"

  "I hope you'll come and see us again," said Brad. "Come some time whenMart's out so we can have a chat."

  "I like that!" cried his chum. "Gee, I never get a word in edgewayswhen you're around. I'll leave it to you, Rowland. Who's done most ofthe talking here this evening?"

  "I'm afraid I have," laughed Ira. "Good night. I--if you'd care to comeand see me some time I'd be glad to have you. My place isn't very much,though. Still, if you'd care to--And I'd like you to meet Nead."

  "Very glad to," replied Brad. "We'll drop around some evening. Goodnight, Rowland. Don't forget your way here."

  "Good night," said Mart. "I'm sorry you must go, Rowland, but at leastI can smoke my cigarette now. Come again and bring your dog!"

  When Ira reached the first landing at Maggy's a sudden glare of lightshot across the dim hall and he saw the tall form of "Old Earnest"silhouetted in his doorway.

  "Do you know--" began a voice.

  "Oh, yes: B.C. 431 to 404," said Ira.

  "Eh? What are you talking about?" exclaimed the voice startledly.

  "Why, the Peloponnesian War!"

  "Pelop--Huh! Who cares about----!"

  The door was slammed irately and Ira stumbled his way up in the gloom,chuckling.