VI
The day of the St. Matthew’s game dawned fair and crisp. There was a little breeze blowing out of the northwest, but it was not of sufficient strength to have any influence on the play, unless, as seemed improbable, it increased by afternoon. The team piled into a coach and were driven over to the neighboring village of Turner, where they were to have their luncheon at the little hotel, returning afterward just in time to warm up before the contest. St. Matthew’s began to put in an appearance about eleven, with the arrival of the first eastbound express. The village, bedecked with brown flags and bunting, began to show specks of blue. The game was to start at two o’clock, and by one the first of the invaders appeared in the persons of two small and enthusiastic youths, who carried blue flags, wore blue arm bands and who marched the length of the campus before proceeding tothe field, critically viewing the buildings and being greeted with loud and ironic cheers from various windows. After that the stream from the village set in in earnest and the blue flags fluttered into the field by the dozens. But for every blue one there were at least twenty brown, and later, when St. Matthew’s started the cheering, the heroic efforts of her supports were drowned by the deafening response that swept across the field.
Harry and Tracey reached the field early and were lucky enough to find seats at the end of the third row in the stand. There were plenty of empty seats toward the top, but the boys wanted to be as near the play as possible. At twenty minutes to two the St. Matthew’s players, first-string men and substitutes, some thirty in all, trotted through the end gate to the cheers of the blue contingent across the white-streaked turf. Five minutes later the brown-clad warriors appeared, Corson in the lead, and eight earnest, imploring cheer leaders seized their megaphones and summoned such an outburst that the players, doffing their blankets on the side line, viewed the sloping, brown-fleckedbank in surprise. Then came a cheer for St. Matthew’s, and then St. Matthew’s answered it with one for Barnstead. The local band struck up a march, flags fluttered and waved, late comers crowded the aisles and the rival teams went through their warming-up practice. Brown ovals arched against a cloudless blue November sky and the thud of leather against leather punctuated the shrill cries of the quarterbacks as they trotted their squads over the field.
In the midst of it all Harry glanced up to see a group of three fellows pushing their way up the aisle past his seat. They were laughing merrily and paying not too much attention to the comfort of those in front of them, being evidently determined to get seats at any cost of politeness. One of the boys, daring the conventions, wore only a brown woolen sweater over his vest, and as on such an occasion, when parents and friends attended who could, Barnstead was very particular to look her best, Harry looked again and a trifle disapprovingly at the big youth. The latter turned just then to make a laughing remark to one of his companionsand Harry saw his face. He was Perry Vose. That in a measure explained the costume, for Perry was known to take delight in defying school conventions. As Harry’s gaze left Perry’s countenance there was a momentary rift in the ascending file, and the younger boy’s eyes fell on a tiny square of white just above the bottom of the brown sweater at the back. Instantly he was on his feet, Tracey viewing him curiously. One by one the throng in the aisle found accommodations at left or right, but the three boys kept on, doubtless seeking places together. Harry watched, his heart thumping against his ribs, and ascended two or three steps in order to see better. Tracey was anxiously demanding what was up, but Harry paid no heed to him. Then suddenly he had a clear, unobstructed view of Perry Vose climbing the stand above him. There was the brown sweater with the white tag just as he had glimpsed it the other night at the turn of the dormitory stairs. And there was the rather heavy, thick-set body he had seen. The last doubt fled and Harry started impetuously after Perry. But a few tiers beyondhe stopped and reconsidered. Then, descending again to his place, he spoke softly to Tracey.
“You know Perry Vose, don’t you?” he asked.
“Yes, pretty well. Why?” Tracey viewed his chum’s excited face uneasily.
“I want you to go up there—I’ll show you where he is—and tell him someone wants to speak to him at the gate. Don’t say who it is. Tell him you don’t know. Tell him any old thing, only get him down to the gate, and do it quick!”
“Well, but what——”
“Don’t ask questions, Tracey; just do what I say, like a good pal, won’t you?”
“Why—why, yes, I suppose so. But look here, Harry, don’t get into any fuss with Perry. What do you want to see him about?”
“I’ll tell you later. Go on, please. I’ll wait down at the gate. Hurry up; there goes the whistle!”
Doubtfully Tracey left his seat and Harry pointed out where Perry Vose sat near the top of the grandstand between his two companions.Then Tracey climbed the aisle and Harry sought the gate.
On the gridiron St. Matthew’s was just kicking off to the Brown. Harry heard the thud of the blue-jerseyed youth’s shoe against the pigskin and saw the ball arch into low flight down the field. Then the crowd about the entrance hid the rest from him. Minutes sped and Vose didn’t appear. Thrice the whistle shrilled beyond the barrier of spectators and Harry incuriously wondered what was happening. Then a brown sweater came into sight around the corner and Perry Vose, an impatient frown on his face, was searching for the person who had sent for him. Back of Perry, hovering anxiously about the corner of the stand, Harry spied Tracey.
“Vose!”
Perry found the voice and stared doubtfully as Harry strode up to him.
“Hello,” he said. “What do you want, kid?”
“I want to speak to you a minute. Come outside here, will you?”
“Haven’t time. I’m looking for someone.”
“That’s all right,” answered Harry. “You’re looking for me.”
“The dickens I am!” Perry stared blackly. “Do you mean you had the cheek to send and get me down here?”
“Yes. I’ve got a few words for you, Vose. Will you come outside, please?”
“If I do I’ll give you what for!” declared Perry angrily. But he followed the younger boy through the gate and around to the back of the stand. “Now, what is it?” he demanded shortly.
“I guess,” began Harry, “that you heard I was put on probation and so lost my place on the team.”
Perry nodded, a gleam of understanding in his eyes.
“Well, I worked hard for that place, Vose, and I want to play. And what’s more, I mean to.”
“Fine! Go ahead, kid. I don’t object,” laughed Perry.
“I can’t unless you go with me to Mr. Adams or the Principal and tell the truth.”
“Tell the truth? Say, what the dickens areyou talking about? I haven’t got time to stay here and hear your silly troubles. I want to see the game, kid.” And Perry moved away.
“Hold on, Vose!” Perry stopped uncertainly. “Either you do what I say or—or you fight!”
Perry stared in amazement. The other boy’s eyes, however, stared back just as hard and unfalteringly. Perry tried bluster.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, kid. You must be plumb crazy! What have I got to do with your playing on the team? Say, you make me tired. I ought to punch your silly head for you, that’s what I ought to do! And I’ll do it, too, if you bother me any more!”
“That’s all right. You may have a chance to try. But what you’ve got to do is go with me to Mr. Adams——”
“Oh, forget it! What would I do that for?”
“To tell him you shied that apple at him,” replied Harry quietly. “I’m being punished for what you did and it isn’t fair, Vose.”
“Shied—— Say, what are you talking about?”
“You know very well. You threw that rotten apple into his room the other night. I saw you do it. He thought it was me and told Dobs. Now——”
“Poppycock! I never saw your old apple!”
“Yes, you did. And either you own up and let me out or you fight.”
“Fight, eh?” Perry scowled fiercely down at Harry. “Then I guess I’ll fight, kid. And if I do you’ll be an awful messy-looking youngster when I get through.”
“Oh, you may be able to lick me——”
“I’ll half kill you,” growled Perry.
“And then again you may not,” continued Harry. “Anyway, I’ll make a bargain with you. If you lick me I’ll keep still and won’t tell. If I lick you you’ll go with me to Mr. Adams and own up. What do you say?”
Perry laughed ironically, but his gaze swept the lithe, clean-cut figure before him, and there was a hint of grudging admiration in his tones when he answered.
“Sure, that’s a bargain! You meet me here right after the game, kid, and I’ll give you what’s coming to you!”
“After the game won’t do,” replied Harry firmly. “It’s got to be right now.”
“Nonsense, kid! I want to see what’s going on, and——”
“You’ll fight right now, behind the gym, Vose; that is, if you’re not afraid to!”
“Afraid! Afraid of you!” Perry flushed angrily. “Why, you—you——” He paused, cast a longing look toward the gate, from beyond which a thunderous cheer broke onto the air at the moment, and then turned curtly on his heel. “Come on,” he said.