Quarter-Back Bates

“Yes, I’ve done some sprinting. What’s the hundred-yards record here?”

“A fifth. It hasn’t been bettered in years.”

“That’s a fifth better than I can do.”

“Same here. I tried often enough, too, but I only did it once, and that was in practice, with a hard wind at my back. You play football, you said?”

“Yes, do you?”

Stanley shook his head. “Too strenuous for me. I like baseball pretty well, but it interferes with track work. Guess we’re going to have a corking good eleven this year, and I hope you’ll make it, Dick.”

“Thanks. I may. The fellows look a bit older and bigger than I expected they would, though.”

“Well, they say you have a good deal of fun on the Second Team, if you don’t make the first. And next year you’ll probably be a lot heavier. I don’t know many of the football crowd, or I’d take you around and introduce you. I wonder if Blash would do you any good.”

“Who is he?”

“Wallace Blashington’s his full name. He plays tackle on the team; right, I think. He might be a good fellow for you to know if – ” Stanley’s voice trailed into silence.

“If what?” prompted Dick.

“Well, Blash is a queer customer. He’s really a corking chap, but doesn’t take to many fellows. That’s no insult to you, Dick. He – he’s just funny that way. And he’s the sort that won’t do a thing if he thinks you’re trying to pull his leg. Blash hated me – well, no, he didn’t hate me; he didn’t take the trouble to do that; but he certainly had no use for me the first of last year. We get along all right now, though.”

“What happened? To make him change his mind, I mean.”

“That was sort of funny.” Stanley smiled reminiscently. “We had some scrub skating races last winter on the river and Blash and I were entered in the two-mile event. There were about twenty starters altogether, but we had them shaken at the beginning of the last lap and Blash and I hung on to each other all the way up the river to the finish. I just managed to nose him out at the line, and he was a bit peeved, I guess. He didn’t let on, but he was. So, a little while later, when we were watching the other events, he came over where I was and said: ‘I believe I could beat you another time, Gard.’ ‘Well, perhaps you could,’ I answered. ‘Maybe you’ll have a chance to find out.’ I wasn’t cross, but I thought it was a bit unnecessary, if you see what I mean. ‘Wouldn’t care to try it now, I suppose?’ he said. I told him I was tired out, but I’d race him if he liked as soon as the programme was finished. ‘Oh, never mind the rest of it,’ he said. ‘We’re both through. Say we skate down the river a ways and settle the question by ourselves.’ So we did. We went about a mile down, beyond the flag, and Blash said we’d skate a mile down and a mile back, and that we’d turn at the old coal wharf. So we went off together, Blash trying to make me set the pace. But I wouldn’t and so we lagged along abreast for half a mile or so. Then Blash laughed and spurted and I went after him and we had it nip and tuck all the way to the wharf. Coming back there was a wind blowing down on us and we had harder work. Blash was a half-dozen yards ahead and when we came to a turn in the river he stayed along the bank, thinking he’d be more out of the wind. That seemed good sense and I hugged in close behind him. Then, first thing I knew, the ice went crack, and down went Blash. I managed to swerve out and get by, but of course I had to go back and see if he was all right.

“He was about ten feet from shore, flapping around in a little squarish hole he’d made for himself. I asked him if he could break the ice and get ashore and he said he couldn’t, that it was too thick to break with his hands. So I laid down on the ice and crawled over to him, and he got hold of my hands and I had him pretty nearly out when the crazy ice broke again and we were both in there! In fact, I went down so far that I came up under the ice and Blash had to pull me out to the hole. By that time we were both laughing so we could hardly keep our heads out. The water was just over our depth and the ice was too hard to break with our hands, and we didn’t have anything else until I thought of using a skate. That meant getting boot and all off, and Blash sort of held me up while I tried to untie the laces and everything. We were getting pretty stiff with the cold by then, Blash especially, but I finally managed to get one boot off and began hacking at the ice with the skate blade. It was slow work until I had chopped off about a yard. Then we got our toes on the bottom and after that it was easy and we crawled out. I wanted to beat it back to school as fast as I could, but Blash said that we’d catch cold and have pneumonia and die. He said the best thing to do was light a fire. Of course, I thought he was joking, but he pulled out one of those patent water-proof match-safes and if you’ll believe it the matches were perfectly dry!

“But the awful thing was that there were only two matches there! However, we got a lot of wood together and some dry marsh grass and twigs, and all this and that, and I kept the wind off, and we made the second match do the trick. In about two minutes we had a dandy hot fire going, took off our outer things and hung them around and we sat there with our backs to the mud bank and steamed. I don’t believe any fire ever felt as good as that one did, Dick! Well, that’s all of it. Just before dark, we started back and we never told anyone about falling into the river for months afterwards. We never found out which is the best two-mile skater, but we did a lot of chinning and got to know each other, and since then Blash and I have been quite pally.”

“Quite an adventure,” said Dick. “It’s a wonder you didn’t catch cold, though.”

Stanley laughed. “We did! For a week we were both sneezing and snuffling horribly. Tell you what, Dick. If you haven’t got anything better to do, we might go over and see Blash after supper. I guess this truck can wait until tomorrow. Only don’t say anything about football to him. If you do he will think I brought you over on purpose, so as to – well, you see what I mean.”

“Yes, I see. He might think I was swiping,” Dick laughed. “But, look here, Stan, what could he do, anyway? A fellow has got to make his own way, hasn’t he?”

“Why, yes, I suppose so. But it does help – somehow – to know the crowd if you’re going in for football. At least, it does with making the track team. I don’t mean that there’s favouritism, but – oh, I suppose if you happen to know a fellow and know that he’s all right, you just naturally take a bit more interest in him. That’s the way I figure it out, anyway.”

“Yes, but suppose this fellow Blash – er – ”

“Blashington. Quite a mouthful, isn’t it?”

“Suppose he asks me if I play football? Then what?”

“Oh, just say you do and change the subject. By Jupiter, Dick, it’s ten after six! Let’s beat it over and get some supper. Say, if you see the steward tonight maybe you can get at my table, if you’d like to. Tell him you’ve got friends there. It’s Number 9. You can sit there tonight, anyway, for Eaton’s not back yet, and you can have his place. Know where the lavatory is? Got any towels? Here, take one of mine. Your trunk won’t get up until morning, probably. They have so many of them that they can’t begin to handle them all today. If you need anything let me know and I’ll dig it out of the box for you.”

“I’ve got everything I want in my bag, I think. Much obliged just the same, Stan.”

Five minutes later the new friends closed the door of Number 14 and made their way along The Front, as the brick walk leading from side to side of the campus was called. Stanley named the buildings for Dick as they went along: the gymnasium, then Goss Hall, Parkinson, Williams and Alumni. Their journey ended there, but there was still another dormitory nearby, Leonard, and, beyond that, the residence of the Principal. Dick nodded, but it was food he was thinking of just then.

CHAPTER IV

BLASHINGTON

“Of course,” said Stanley, “you can go to ‘Jud’s’ reception if you’d rather, but you’ll have a poor time. You just shake hands with Jud and a bunch of the faculty and Mrs. Jud and stand around until you get tired and go home again.”

“Jud being Doctor Lane?” asked Dick.

“Right! The idea is that you’re to become acquainted with the other fellows and the instructors, but the old boys fight shy of it and the new boys just stand and look at each other, and the faculty always forgets your name the next morning.”

“Well, it doesn’t sound exciting,” acknowledged Dick, “and I’m for cutting it out unless it’s required.”

“It isn’t, it’s elective,” laughed Stanley. “We’ll blow over to Blash’s room presently. He may not be there, but we can try.”

They had finished supper and were strolling along the walk toward the west gate. Windows were open in the dormitories and from the nearer ones came the sound of voices and laughter. Occasionally someone hailed Stanley and they stopped for a moment while the latter held conversation. There were groups of fellows on the turf along The Front, for the evening was warm and still. A bluish haze softened the twilight distances and somewhere toward the centre of the town a church bell was ringing. It was all very peaceful and homey, and Dick felt no regrets for Leonardville. At the gate which led onto the junction of Linden and Apple Streets they paused a moment. A belated arrival climbed tiredly out of a decrepit taxi in front of Williams and staggered up the steps bearing suit-case and golf-bag. Along the streets and less frequently across the campus the lights gathered brightness in the deepening twilight, although westward the sky was still faintly aglow.

“Where does Blashington room?” asked Dick as they turned their steps back the way they had come.

“Goss,” answered Stanley. “He rooms with Sid Crocker, this year’s baseball captain.”

“Goss?” Recollection came to Dick. “I wonder if you know a fellow named Quiggle – no, that’s not his name. I don’t know what his name is, but he rooms in Goss. He’s a tall, lanky chap with a long nose.”

“Where’d you meet him?” asked Stanley, interestedly.

Dick recounted the incident and, since he didn’t happen to look at Stanley’s countenance while doing so, was not aware of the smile that trembled about the hearer’s lips. “He’s going to pay me the rest of that money when I find him,” ended Dick resolutely. “I thought maybe you’d know who he is.”

“Well, the description isn’t very – er – whatyoucallit, Dick,” replied the other gravely. “I dare say the fellow was just having a joke with you.”

“I dare say, but he was too fresh. I felt like an awful fool when the taxi driver called me down for offering him half a dollar instead of seventy-five cents. Well, I suppose I’ll run across him pretty soon.”

“Oh, you will,” Stanley assured him almost eagerly “You’re absolutely certain to, Dick!”

“What’s the joke?”

“Joke?”

“Yes, what are you snickering about?”

“Oh, that? I – I thought I wanted to sneeze. It’s sort of dusty this evening.”

“I hadn’t noticed it,” said Dick suspiciously. But Stanley’s countenance was quite devoid of amusement, and he accepted the explanation. In front of Goss, Stanley backed off onto the grass and looked up to one of the third floor windows.

“There’s a light in his room,” he announced. “Somebody’s in, anyhow. Let’s go up.”

So, Stanley leading the way, they climbed the two flights of worn stairs, for Goss didn’t boast slate and iron stairways, and traversed a length of corridor to where the portal of Number 27 stood partly open. Stanley thumped a couple of times on the door and entered. Someone within said, “Come in, Stan,” and Dick, following his friend, saw a rather short, stockily-made youth stretched on the window-seat at the end of the room. “Excuse me if I don’t rise,” continued the boy. “I happened to look out a minute ago and saw you rubbering up here.” He shook hands with Stanley and then, seeing Dick for the first time, muttered something, and swung his feet to the floor.

“Shake hands with Bates, Sid,” said Stanley. “Dick, this is Mr. Crocker, well-known in athletic circles as a shot-putter of much promise.”