CHAPTER XV
CAPTAIN PETERS ENTERTAINS
Dick received his meed of praise for his part in securing Parkinson'svictory over Phillipsburg, but naturally the greater credit went toFindley, as it should have. Dick found, however, on the followingMonday that he had become of a little more importance on the gridiron.Billy Goode was most solicitous as to his condition and Coach Driscollwas a little bit "fussy" over him. He saw plenty of hard work, however,for Gus Stone and Cardin, together with several others, were excusedfrom practice that afternoon. Dick and Pryne were kept busy and whenthe Second Team came over for a scrimmage it was Dick to whom fell thehonour of generaling the First. The team made hard sledding that day,and the Second put over a touchdown and a safety in the first half andmade her opponent hustle in the second half to win. The substitutesacted stale and were slower than cold molasses, to use Gaines'metaphor, and even Dick, who had certainly not been overworked onSaturday, found it hard to put snap into his play. Perhaps the weatherhad something to do with it, for the day was mild and misty and eventhe ball felt heavy.
After practice Dick went back to the gymnasium with lagging feet,paying little heed to the talk of the fellows about him. Somehow,nothing was vastly interesting today, and the thought of supper heldno attraction. A cold shower braced him somewhat, however, and asit was still short of five o'clock--for practice had been slightlyshorter than usual--he turned his steps back to the field where theTrack Team candidates were still at work. The high hurdles were beingset and Stanley and five other boys were waiting at the head of thestraight-way. Dick spoke to several of the group and seated himself ona stone roller beside the cinders. Billy Goode was in charge and Billycalled to Dick remonstratingly.
"Bates, you oughtn't to be sitting around here like that," he said."Put a sweater over your shoulders. Take one of those on the benchthere."
"I'm as warm as toast, Billy," answered Dick.
"You do as I tell you," said Billy in a very ferocious voice. And soDick got up and crossed the track and picked up a sweater from amongthe half-dozen tossed on the bench. Stanley, overhearing the colloquy,left his place near the starting line and joined Dick on the roller."Hello, what are you doing here, Dick?" he asked.
"Just came over to see you fellows at your play."
"Play, eh? Son, this isn't play, this is har-r-rd work. I've donefour sprints and I've got a kink in my calf--" he rubbed his left legruefully--"and now Billy says we've got to do time-trials. How didfootball go?"
"Rotten, I guess. The Second scored nine on us."
"What? For the love of Pete! What did you do?"
"Oh, we got eleven, finally. But everyone was dopey today and Driscollwas peevish and nobody loved us. Who's the elongated chap with thepipe-stem legs, Stan?"
"Arends. He's a corking hurdler, though the low's his best game. Thelittle chap, Mason, is good, too. Doesn't look like a hurdler, does he?Well, here's where I suffer. Wait around and I'll go back with you."
"Maybe," answered Dick, doubtfully.
"Maybe! How do you get that way? You talk like an expiring clam! I'llbe back here in a minute, you chump."
"All right. Go to it, Stan. Beat 'em, son!"
"Beat 'em nothing! I tell you I've got a kink in my left leg that's nojoke. But I'll do my bestest for you, Dickie."
Stanley pranced back to the start and Dick watched while the firstthree, Stanley, Arends and another, got on the mark and awaited thepistol. There was one false start and then they were off, three lithe,white-clad bodies, speeding down the straight-way over the cinders.Arends reached his first barrier a half stride ahead of his team-mates,skimmed above it with never an inch to spare, and took his strideagain. Then the other two flashed up and down in unison, and after thatfrom Dick's post of observation it was anyone's race. Arends upsethis fourth hurdle, and the third boy, whose name Dick didn't know,had trouble with them all without knocking any down, and ultimatelyfinished a good five yards behind the winners, for Stanley and Arendsran a dead-heat. While the other three hurdlers were preparing fortheir turn and Dick awaited Stanley, Sandy Halden arrived at the benchacross the track and fumbled at the sweaters there. Dick noted the factwithout interest. After a moment Sandy moved across to where Dick sat,and:
"That your sweater you've got?" he asked.
"What did you say?" asked Dick.
"I said, is that your sweater you're wearing?"
"My sweater? Oh, this! No, I found it over there on the bench. Is ityours?" He untied the sleeves from around his neck and held it out.
"It certainly is," answered Sandy indignantly as he snatched it away."And I'll thank you to leave my things alone, Bates!"
Now Dick happened to be in a poor sort of mood just then, and Sandy'sunreasonable displeasure accorded illy with it.
"If I'd known it was yours I wouldn't have touched it with a ten-footpole," he replied angrily, "much less worn it!"
"Well, you did touch it, and you'd no business to. Wear your own thingsafter this and let mine alone."
"Oh, for-_get_ it!" cried Dick, jumping up impatiently.
Perhaps Sandy misunderstood that move, for, dropping the sweater to thesod, he stepped forward and sent a blow straight at Dick's face. Thelatter, seeing it coming, ducked at the last instant and then, as Sandyfollowed the delivery, brought him up short with a blow on the chin.After that there was a merry scrap while it lasted, which wasn't long,for Billy Goode, who had an instant before sent the hurdlers away, andseveral of the fellows about the starting line, dashed in between.
"Here! Here!" cried the trainer. "What do you boys think you're doing?Behave now, the both of you! Suppose someone had seen you! Right hereon the field! Are you crazy?"
"He started it," panted Sandy.
"Never mind who started it," replied Billy severely. "I'm stoppingit. You beat it in, Halden. You've no business loafing around hereanyway. Didn't Jimmy tell you to go to the showers? You'd be betteroff somewhere else, too, Bates, and not coming around here startingructions!"
"I didn't start any," growled Dick. "He tried to slam me one and I gaveit back to him." Then, wiping his knuckles on his trousers, to thedetriment of that garment, he managed a grin. "I'm sorry, Billy," hesaid. "Maybe it was my fault, although I didn't hit first."
"Well," grumbled the trainer, mollified a trifle, "don't take chanceslike that again. It's my duty to report the both of you, but maybe I'llforget it if I don't see you around."
Sandy Halden had already gone off and now Stanley arrived, his eyesround with curiosity, and hauled Dick away in his wake. "What thedickens was the matter?" he demanded. "First thing I saw was you andStanley dancing around like a couple of trained bears. I thought it wasfun until I saw you land one. What did he do?"
Dick thought a moment. "Nothing, I guess. Nothing much, anyway. Hefound me wearing his sweater over my shoulders and told me to leave histhings alone, and I lost my temper and got up to go away, and I guesshe thought I was going at him and tried to land on my nose."
"Hm, looks as if he'd landed on your cheek," said Stanley. "Hope youdidn't let him get away with that."
"I don't think so, not from the way my hand aches," responded Dickgrimly. "I suppose if Billy told faculty I'd get the dickens, eh?"
"You would, my misguided friend. You'd get about a month's probation.But Billy won't tell. He's never told anything yet, and he's had lotsof chances. If you have to scrap here, Dick, go over to the brickyard.That's where all the best things are pulled off. It's funny about that,too," continued Stanley musingly. "Faculty usually knows what's goingon, but in my time there have been at least two dozen fights in thebrickyard and nothing's ever been said or done about them. Looks asif Jud sort of winked at it, doesn't it? Maybe he has a hunch that asquare fight is the best medicine sometimes."
"Well, if Sandy wants to go on with it I'll meet him there."
"Sandy? Oh, he won't, I guess. He likes to scrap sometimes, but he'smost all bluster. Guess he's the sort that has to get good and madbefore he can get his courag
e up. I'll doctor that face of yours beforewe go to supper so Cooper or Wolan won't ask embarrassing questions.Cooper's a hound for scenting scraps. Not that he'd do anything,though, except look wise and say, 'Hm, you don't tell me, Bates? Mostint'sting!'"
Dick laughed at Stanley's mimicry of the instructor's pronunciation. "Ilike Cooper, though," he said. "And I don't like Wolan."
"Nobody does--except Wolan! By the way, I told Bob Peters I'd comearound tonight and bring you along. He's giving a soiree."
"A--a what?" asked Dick as they entered the dormitory.
"A soiree," laughed Stanley. "That means eats, son. Bob's soireesare famous. He's got an uncle or something in the hotel business inSpringfield--or maybe it's Hartford: somewhere, anyhow--who sends him abox of chow about every two or three months. Then Bob invites a crowdin and there's a feast."
"Sure he asked me along?"
"Absotively! He was quite particular about you. 'Be sure and fetchBates,' he said. So, if you know your business, you'll go light onsupper."
"I shall anyway," replied Dick. "I'm not hungry--much. Say, if you showany chance of making the team in earnest, Stan, they take you on one ofthe training tables, don't they?"
"Yes, of course, but that needn't worry you. Some fellows don't get onuntil the season's half over."
"It's half over now," said Dick thoughtfully. "There are only four moregames."
"Is that right? Well, I wouldn't be surprised if we lost your charmingsociety very soon, Dick. Now let's have a look at the--er--abrasions.Say, he certainly handed you something, didn't he? Good it didn't landa couple of inches further to the left. If it had it would have closedone of your cute little peepers. Wait till I get some water and stuff.Did you see a bottle of witch-hazel--I've got it! I'll be back in ajiffy."
Dick critically observed his countenance during Stanley's trip to thelavatory. There was a fine big lump over the right cheek-bone thatmade him look curiously lop-sided. He heartily wished he had kepthis temper. The swelling would be there until morning at least andit wouldn't require a giant intellect to guess the reason for it. Ofcourse, he could say he had done it in football, only if he had got thecontusion in that way Billy Goode or one of the assistants would havehad it dressed with arnica long ago. Stanley came back with a mug ofwater and administered quite professionally, and a few minutes laterDick went across to supper redolent of witch hazel and very puffy asto his right cheek. Facetious remarks were many and Dick's unsmilingexplanation that he had "got it on the field" didn't appear to deceiveany of his table companions. The subsequent sight of Sandy Halden witha roseate blush around his right eye somewhat consoled Dick. By morningthe rosy tinge would have changed to green and yellow, shading topurple.
There were eight fellows in Bob Peters' room in Leonard Hall when Dickand Stanley arrived, and the eight didn't include the host himself,for, as Sid Crocker explained, Bob had gone to the village to get somelemons. Dick met three or four fellows not previously known to him,one of them the spindle-shanked Arends he had noticed on the trackearlier. At intervals other fellows arrived and, before Bob Petersreturned, the two rooms, for Bob shared a study and bedroom with "Babe"Upton, were filled almost to capacity. Leonard was the newest of theParkinson dormitories and, in comparison with such as Williams andGoss, was most luxurious. There was a real, "sure-enough" fireplace inthe big study and in it this evening a cannel-coal fire was burning inspite of the fact that the windows were open. A folding card-table wasset against the wall and a blue-and-white checked cloth hid enticingmysteries. Jerry Wendell aroused laughter by edging up to the table andwith elaborate carelessness lifting a corner of the cloth. What he saw,however, he refused to divulge. Presently, into a babel of talk andlaughter, hurried Bob with a bag of lemons.
"Hello, everybody!" he shouted. "Glad to see you. Babe, stick these onthe bed in there. I bought a knife, too. Catch! How many lemons doesone need for a dozen cans of sardines, Sid? I got two dozen. That oughtto do, what?"
"I'd say so," laughed Sid. "What's your idea? Serve a sardine on everylemon? A half-dozen would have been enough, you chump."
"Would? Well, I asked the Greek at the fruit store and he said twodozen. I thought maybe he was deceiving me. Hello, Fat!"
Arends smiled genially at the ironic appellation and hunched hiselongated person into a smaller compass on the window-seat to make roomfor new arrivals. Most of the fellows there were football players,and all, it seemed, were connected with some sport. Sid, beside whomDick found a seat on a leather couch, pointed out several celebrities:Colgan, the hockey star; Cheever, Parkinson's crack two-miler, whoalso did satisfactory stunts with the hammer; Lewis, the tall andkeen-eyed first baseman, and one or two more. Everyone's mood appearedto be peculiarly happy, even flippant, and if football or baseballor any other form of "shop" was mentioned someone immediately howledthe speaker down. Two or three of the guests had brought musicalinstruments and soon there came the sound of tuning and then someonebegan to hum under the babel of talk and someone else joined, andpresently conversation had ceased and everyone was singing. Betweensongs the talk went on. Bob demanded "How We Love Our Faculty" and theelongated Arends obediently stood up and was joined by a short, plumpand red-cheeked youth with a guitar. Arends was preternaturallysolemn and the plump chap who pressed against him and looked up intohis face as he strummed the strings had the expression of a melancholyowl. Everyone ceased talking and waited, smiling broadly. The plumpyouth struck a chord and Arends began in a whining voice:
"There's old Jud Lane, our Principal, You know him? We know him! He is a dear old, grand old pal. You know him? We know him! I hope no harm will e'er befall This dear old, grand old Principal, And if into the drink he'd fall We'd pull him out, one and all. Now would we? Well, would we?"
The responses were made in chorus by the rest of the crowd, and thefinal "Well, would we?" had a peculiar suggestion of sarcasm! Then camethe refrain, measured and sonorous:
"Oh, how we love our Faculty, our Faculty, our Faculty! Oh, how we love our Faculty!"
"_How we love our Faculty!_"]
(Ensued a silence in which Dick saw every mouth forming words that werenot uttered, and then a final outburst, long-drawn-out, like a solemnbenediction:)
"Our Fac-ul-ty!"
More verses followed in which various lesser lights were celebrated,and through it all Arends preserved his solemn countenance and theaccompanist gazed soulfully up into it. Everyone seemed to enjoy thesong immensely. Dick, by watching Sid's lips, discovered that theunuttered sentiment was "We hope the blame things choke!"
Then "Babe" Upton twanged a banjo and improvised the verses of a songwhose refrain ran:
"Up and down and all around, that's the way we find 'em! Two for five and three for ten, and here's a string to bind 'em!"
Dick thought Babe's faculty for making rhymes quite marvelous untilhe noticed that he used only three or four in the course of a dozenverses. Before he had finished, half of those present had been sungabout. The verses weren't remarkable for sense of rhythm, but theyalways won laughter and applause. Cheever came in for the following:
"Here's big Jim Cheever, looking fine. He always does when he's out to dine. You couldn't keep Jim away to-night, For he's right there with his appetite!"
And even Dick didn't escape, for Babe turned his grinning face towardthe couch and twanged the strings and sang:
"A fellow named Bates is here to-night And his face it is an awful sight! Maybe he fell against the wall, But I'll bet he didn't get it a-playing football!"
"Up and down and all around, that's the way we find 'em! Two for five and three for ten, and here's a string to bind 'em!"
Jerry Wendell gave imitations, one of Mr. Addicks, the Greek and Latininstructor, being especially clever. Wendell leaned over the back of achair and drew his face into long lines. "Young gentlemen," he began ina slow, precise and kindly voice, "the trees are budding this beautifulm
orning and the little birds are chirping to one another and there's afeeling of spring in the air. You may have noticed it, young gentlemen?As Juvenal so poetically phrases it, 'Sic transit gloria mundi, Velutiin speculum Sunday.' Are there any amongst you this bright morning whoknow who Juvenal was? Is there one? No, I feared as much. Warden, wouldit inconvenience you to open your eyes and give me your attention? Ah,I thank you. Yes, young gentlemen, spring is upon us. Especially is itupon you. I have but to gaze on your rapt, intelligent countenances,your bright and eager faces, to realize how thoroughly you are imbuedwith the Spirit of the Spring. If Townsend will drag his legs out ofthe aisle--I thank you. Spring is a wonderful season, young gentlemen,a beautiful season, the vernal equinox, as a poet has so well phrasedit. The Greeks, as you doubtless recall, celebrated the coming ofspring with appropriate observances. And yet it may be that the facthas escaped many of you. A pity, a great pity! Suppose, therefore, thatyou refresh your memories on the subject and be prepared tomorrow totell me in what way the Greeks welcomed the advent of spring. And wewill have tomorrow what the spring has prevented us from having today,and also the next two pages. Young gentlemen, the class is dismissed.Will some one of you kindly awaken Peters as you pass out?"
Then the host flicked away the cloth from the table and there was anoutburst of applause for what lay revealed. Sandwiches of many sorts,potted delectations, cakes and pastries, biscuits and cheese and muchginger ale. After that came a half-hour of earnest endeavour on thepart of each and every one to ruin digestion, with Bob maintaining asharp and yet lenient watch on the football fellows, to whom pastry wastaboo. Bob's "soiree" ended in a final burst of song that brought anapologetic warning from a proctor. Afterwards Dick and Stanley walkedacross to Sohmer humming the tune of Babe's absurd jingle, Stanleybreaking into words as they climbed the dormitory stairs:
"I've got a lot of math to do, But I don't think I will; would you? I'm so full of cake and pie I'd rather just lie down and die!"
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