CHAPTER XVIII
"GOOD-BYE, TIMMY!"
TIM found a dejected and most unsatisfactory chum when he got back tothe room after the Chambers game that Saturday afternoon. All of Tim'sdemands for an explanation of the whole puzzling affair met only withevasion. Don was not only uncommunicative, but a trifle short-tempered,a condition quite unusual for him. All Tim could get from him was thathe "felt perfectly punk" and wasn't going to try to change Mr. Robey'sdecision.
"I'm through," he said. "I don't blame Robey a bit. I'm no use on theteam as I am. He'd be foolish to bother with me."
"Well, all I can say," returned Tim, with a sigh of exasperation, "isthat the whole thing is mighty funny. I guess there's more to it thanyou're telling. You look like thirty cents, all right enough, but I'llwager anything you like that you could go out there and play just asgood a game as ever on Monday if Robey would let you and you cared totry. Now couldn't you!"
"I don't know. What does it matter, anyhow? I tell you I'm all through,and so there's no use chewing it over."
"Oh, all right. Nuff said." Tim walked to the window, his hands thrustdeep in his pockets, and, after a minute's contemplation of thedarkening prospect without, observed haltingly: "Look here, Don. If youhear things you don't like, don't get up on your ear, eh?"
"What sort of things?" demanded the other.
Tim hesitated a long moment before he took the plunge. Then: "Well, someof the fellows don't understand, Don. You can't altogether blame them, Isuppose. I shut two or three of them up, but there's bound to be sometalk, you know. Some fellows always manage to think of the meanestthings possible. But what fellows like that say isn't worth botheringabout. So just you sit snug, old man. They've already found that theycan't say that sort of thing when I'm around."
"Thanks," said Don quietly. "What sort of things do you mean?"
"Oh, anything."
"You mean that they're calling me a quitter?"
"Well, some of them heard Robey get that off and they're repeating itlike a lot of silly parrots. I called Holt down good and hard. Told himI'd punch his ugly face if he talked that way again."
"Don't bother," said Don listlessly. "I guess I do look like a quitter,all right."
"Piffle! And, hang it all, Robey had no business saying that, Don! Hecouldn't really believe it."
"Why couldn't he? On the face of it, Tim, I'd say that I looked a wholelot like a quitter."
"But that's nonsense! Why would you or any fellow want to quit justbefore the Claflin game? Why, all the hard work's done with, man! Only alittle signal practice to go through with now. Why would you want toquit? It's poppycock!"
"Well, some fellows do get cold feet just before the big game. We'veboth known cases of it. Look at----"
"Yes, I know what you're going to say, but that was different. He neverhad any spunk, anyway. Nobody believed in him but Robey, and Robey waswrong, just as he is about you. Anyway, all I'm trying to say is thatthere's no use getting waxy if some idiot shoots off his mouth. Thefellows who really count don't believe you a--a quitter. And the wholebusiness will blow over in a couple of days. Look how they talked aboutTom at first!"
"They didn't call him a quitter, though. They were just mad because he'ddone a fool thing and lost the team. I wouldn't blame anyone forthinking me a--a coward, and I can't resent it if they say it."
"Can't, eh? Well, I can!"
Don smile wanly. "Thought you were telling me not to, Tim."
Tim muttered. There was silence for a minute in the twilit room. ThenTim switched on the lights and rolled up his sleeves preparatory towashing. "The whole thing's perfectly rotten," he growled, "but we'lljust have to make the best of it. Ten years from now----"
"Yes, but it isn't ten years from now that troubles me," interrupted Donthoughtfully. "It--it's right this minute. And tomorrow and the nextday. And the day after that. I've a good mind to----"
"To what?" demanded Tim from behind his sponge.
"Nothing. I was just--thinking."
"Well, stop it, then. You weren't intended to think. You always dosomething silly when you get to thinking. Wash up and come on tosupper."
"I'm not going over tonight," answered Don. "I'm not hungry. And,anyway, I don't feel quite like facing it yet."
"Now, look here," began Tim severely, "if you're going to take it likethat----"
"I'm not, I guess. Only I'd rather not go to supper tonight. I amthrough at the training-table and I funk going back to the other tablejust now. Besides, I'm not the least bit hungry. You run along."
Tim observed him frowningly. "Well, all right. Only if it was me I'dtake the bull by the horns and see it through. Fellows will talk more ifyou let them see that you give a hang."
"They'll talk enough anyway, I dare say. A little more won't matter."
"I just hope Holt gets gay again," said Tim venomously, shying the towelin the general direction of the rack and missing it by a foot. "Want meto bring something over to you?"
"No, thanks. I don't want a thing."
"We-ell, I guess I'll beat it then." Tim loitered uncertainly at thedoor. "I say, Donald, old scout, buck up, eh?"
"Oh, yes, I'll be all right, Timmy. Don't you worry about me. And--andthanks, you know, for--for calling Holt down."
"Oh, that!" Tim chuckled. "Holt wasn't the only one I called downeither." Then, realising that he had not helped the situation any by theremark, he tried to squirm out of it. "Of course, Holt was _the_ one,you know. The others didn't really _say_ anything, or--or meananything----"
Don laughed. "That'll do, Tim. Beat it!"
And Tim, red-faced and confused, "beat it."
For the next five minutes doors in the corridor opened and shut andfootfalls sounded as the fellows hurried off to Wendell. But I doubt ifDon heard the sounds, for he was sunk very low in the chair and his eyeswere fixed intently on space. Presently he drew in his legs, sat up andpulled his watch from his pocket. A moment of speculation followed. Thenhe jumped from the chair as one whose mind is at last made up and wentto his closet. From the recesses he dragged forth his bag and laid itopen on his bed. From the closet hooks he took down a few garments andtossed them beside the bag and then crossed to his dresser and pulledopen the drawers. Don had decided to accept Coach Robey's title. He wasgoing to quit!
There was a train at six-thirty-four and another at seven-one for NewYork. With luck, he could get the first. If he missed that he wascertain of the second. The dormitory was empty, it was quite darkoutside by now and there was scarcely a chance of anyone's seeing him.If he hurried he could be at the station before Tim could return fromsupper. Or, even if he didn't get away until the seven-one train, hewould be clear of the hall before Tim could discover his absence andsurmise the reason for it. To elude Tim was the all-important thing, forTim would never approve and would put all sorts of obstacles in his way.In fact, it would be a lot like Tim to hold him back by main force!Don's heart sank for a moment. It was going to be frightfully hard toleave old Timmy. Perhaps they might meet again at college in a couple ofyears, but they would not be likely to see each other before that time,and even that depended on so many things that it couldn't be confidentlycounted on.
Don paused in his hurried selection of articles from the dresser drawersand dropped into a chair at the table. But, with the pad before him andpen in hand, he shook his head. A note would put Tim wise to what washappening and perhaps allow him to get to the station in time to make afuss. No, it would be better to write to him later; perhaps from NewYork tonight, for Don was pretty sure that he wouldn't be able to get athrough train before morning. So, with another glance at his watch, hebegan to pack again, throwing things in every which-way in his feverishdesire to complete the task and leave the building before Tim got back.He came across a scarf that Tim had admired and laid it back in the topdrawer. It had never been worn and Tim should have it. And as he hurriedback and forth he thought of other things he would like Tim to have.There was his tennis racket, the one Tim always bo
rrowed when Don wasn'tusing it, and a scarf-pin made of a queer, rough nugget of opal matrix.He would tell Tim he was to have those and not to pack them with theother things. The thought of making the gifts almost cheered him forawhile, and, together with the excitement of running away, caused him tohum a little tune under his breath as he jammed the last articles in thebag and snapped it shut.
It was sixteen minutes past now. He would, he acknowledged, never beable to make the six-thirty-four, with that burden to carry. But theseven-one would do quite as well, and he wouldn't have to hurry so. Inthat case, then, why not leave just a few words of good-bye for Tim? Hecould put the note somewhere where Tim wouldn't find it until later;tuck it, for instance, under the bed-clothes so that he would find itwhen he pulled them down. He hesitated a moment and then set his bagdown by the door, dropped his overcoat and umbrella on the bed andseated himself again at the table. Tim was never known to take less thana half-hour for supper and he still had a good ten minutes' leeway:
"Dear Timmy [he wrote hurriedly], I'm off. It's no use sticking around any longer. Fellows aren't going to forget as soon as you said and I can't stay on here and be thought a quitter. So I'm taking the seven-one to New York and will be home day after tomorrow. I wish you would pack my things up for me when you get time. There isn't any great hurry. I've got enough for awhile. You're to keep the racket and the blue and white tie and the opal matrix pin and anything else you like to remember me by. Please do this, Tim. I'll write from home and tell you about sending the trunk. I'm awfully sorry, Tim, and I'm going to miss you like anything, but I shan't ever come back here. Maybe we will get together again at college. I hope so. You try, will you? Good-bye, Tim, old pal. We've had some dandy times together, haven't we? And you've been an A1 chum to me and I wish I wasn't going off without saying good-bye to you decently. But I've got to. So good-bye, Timmy, old man. Think of me now and then like I will of you. Good-bye.
"Your friend always, "DON."
That note took longer to write than he had counted on, and when he gotup from the table and looked at his watch he was alarmed to find that itwas almost half-past six. He folded the paper and tucked it just underthe clothes at the head of Tim's bed, took a last glance about the room,picked up coat and umbrella and turned out the light. Then he strodetoward the door, groping for his bag.
Left Guard Gilbert Page 18
