III
All that happened on Friday. Saturday was a wonderful sunny day, and Jonesie, who had no recitation after half past ten in the morning, was very, very busy. There was nine holes of golf with “Pinky” Trainor before dinner, a visit to the village with Pinky in the afternoon and a lovely rough-house evening of it in Steve Cook’s room. Steve lived at Mrs. Sharp’s in Walnut Place, and as Walnut Place was a good half mile from the nearest dormitory and Mrs. Sharp good-naturedly lenient it was, in Pinky’s words, some party! Jonesie, Pinky and two other campus dwellers left at a quarter past ten by way of a window and a shed roof, skulking back to school by dark and devious ways. Consequently it was not until Sunday morning, always a sober period to Jonesie, that recollection of Wigman returned to him. The Smith Special reposed on the mantel and ever and anon as Jonesiewandered about the study donning one garment after another, his glance fell upon it troubledly. Naturally Sparrow had been curious about the tennis racket and Jonesie’s easy statement that he had “bought it off a fellow” only aroused Sparrow’s incredulity.
“Boughtit! Yes, you did! Bet you stole it!” jeered Sparrow. Which unjust charge so outraged Jonesie that he refused further enlightenment.
All during church, or more especially during the sermon—for Jonesie solved some of his most momentous problems while the preacher’s drone filled the quiet church—he considered Wigman. Something would have to be done, but he couldn’t see what. He sincerely wished he had never encountered Wigman. The whole thing was a nuisance! Of course he had hedged enough so that if Wigman was dropped from the football squad to-morrow Wigman couldn’t hold him to blame. Still, there was that racket. Jonesie loved that racket and didn’t want to give it up, which, he supposed, he’d have—well,ought—to do in case Wigman suffered in the morrow’s cut. Jonesie frowned and scowledand cudgeled his brain, but discovered no solution. During the rest of the day—especially what time Jonesie sat and suffered in the composition of his weekly home letter—the Smith Special looked down upon him accusingly, reproachfully, until finally the boy arose and wrathfully cast it into the closet.
By Monday morning he had forgotten the Wigman problem. Nor did it occur to him again until, returning at dusk from an afternoon on the river in a canoe with Pinky, Sparrow growlingly indicated a note on the table. Jonesie’s first glance was at the signature, and when he read Wigman his heart sank uncomfortably. Then, taking a long breath, he moved his gaze to the top of the sheet and read:
Friend Jones:I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done. As you probably saw by the notice they’ve kept me on and to-day Captain Bingham put me into B Squad. He was awfully nice, too. Told me I was doing well, and that if I stuck to it and worked hard I’d make a good quarter. Of course I knew it was all your doing, and so I didn’t feel too stuck up about it. I’m terribly much obliged and I hope some time I’ll have a chance to do something for you. If the time evercomes I’ll do it like a streak. I haven’t forgotten your invitation to call, and I’m going to come over some evening if you don’t mind.Yours, etc.,James A. Wigman.
Friend Jones:
I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done. As you probably saw by the notice they’ve kept me on and to-day Captain Bingham put me into B Squad. He was awfully nice, too. Told me I was doing well, and that if I stuck to it and worked hard I’d make a good quarter. Of course I knew it was all your doing, and so I didn’t feel too stuck up about it. I’m terribly much obliged and I hope some time I’ll have a chance to do something for you. If the time evercomes I’ll do it like a streak. I haven’t forgotten your invitation to call, and I’m going to come over some evening if you don’t mind.
Yours, etc.,
James A. Wigman.
Jonesie folded the note up with a broad smile. Then, whistling softly, he went to the closet and rescued the tennis racket. When it was once more on the mantel he had a sudden thought and his gaze darted across to where Sparrow sat under the drop light, reading. There was something far too good to be true in Sparrow’s preoccupation and Jonesie scowled. At length:
“Anything about this note you’d like to have explained?” he asked sarcastically.
Sparrow looked up, blinking. Then he shook his head slowly.
“N-no, I guess not. It’s none of my business, Jonesie.”
“Then what did you open it for?” Jonesie exploded.
“Why, it was sort of dark in here and I thought it was for me,” explained Sparrow calmly. “Of course, when I saw it wasn’t——”
“You read it through! After this you leave my notes alone. Do you hear?”
“Sure! I don’t want to read your old notes.”
“Then don’t do it,” growled Jonesie.
“All right. That fellow Wigman must be an awful fool, though.”
“Why?” challenged the other.
“Why, to give you that racket! I don’t know what he thinks you did for him, Jonesie, but I’m mighty sure you didn’t do it!”