The woods had given way to open fields, and they could follow with their eyes the course of the road ahead as it turned to the left and ran, almost parallel to the railroad, past where a pair of stone gate-posts guarded the entrance to the Academy. From the gate a drive went winding upward, hidden now and then by trees and shrubs, to where, at the crest of a hill, a half-dozen buildings looked down upon them with numberless windows.
"That's Main Hall," said Tom, "the big one in the centre. I remember it in the catalogue."
"And that's the gym at this end," added Steve. "It's a pretty good looking place, isn't it? What's the building where the tall chimney is, driver?"
"Torrence. There's rooms upstairs and a dining-room on the first floor. That chimney's from the kitchen at the back. Then the building in the middle's Main Hall, as they call it. That was the original building. I remember when there wasn't any others. The one to the left of it's HenseyHall. The fellows that lives there are called 'Chickens,'" chuckled the man. "Then there's Billings beyond Hensey, and The Cottage, where Mr. Fernald lives, is just around the corner, like. You can see the porch of it if you look."
But they couldn't, for at that moment the carriage turned to enter the gate and their view was cut off by a group of yellowing beeches.
Presently the carriage stopped in front of a broad flight of stone steps and the boys climbed out.
"Fifty cents, gentlemen," said the driver as he lifted the bags out. "Thank you, sir. Thankyou, sir! I'll have your trunks up first thing in the morning. Just walk right in through the door and you'll find the office on your right. They'll look after you there. Much obliged, gentlemen. Any time you want a rig or anything you telephone to Jimmy Hoskins. That's me. Good-night, gentlemen, and good luck to you!"
Steve had contributed an extra quarter, which doubtless accounted for Mr. Hoskins' extreme affability. Bags in hand they climbed the well-worn granite steps and entered a dim, unlighted corridor. An open door on the right revealed a room divided by a railing, in front of which were a half-dozen wooden chairs and beyond which were twodesks, some filing cabinets, a book-case, a letter-press, some chairs and one small, middle-aged man with a shining bald head which was raised inquiringly as Steve led the way to the railing.
"How do you do, boys," greeted the sole occupant of the office in a thin, high voice. "What are the names, please?" As he spoke he took a card from a pile in front of him and dipped a pen in the ink-well.
"Stephen D. Edwards, sir."
"Full name, please."
"Stephen Dana."
"Very good. Place of residence?"
"Tannersville, Pennsylvania."
"A wonderful state, Pennsylvania. Parents' names, please."
"Charles L. Edwards. My mother isn't living."
"Tut, tut, tut!" said the school secretary regretfully and sympathetically. "A great misfortune, Edwards. Now, you are entering by certificate?"
"Yes, sir, from the Tannersville High School."
"And your age?"
"Fifteen; sixteen in——"
"Fifteen will do, thank you." He drew out a drawer in a small cabinet set at the left of thebroad-topped desk and ran his fingers over the indexed cards within it, finally extracting one and laying it very exactly above the one on which he had been setting down the information supplied by Steve. For a moment he silently compared the two. Then he nodded with much satisfaction. "Quite so, quite so," he said. "You will room in Billings Hall, Number 12, Edwards. You are provided with linen and other articles required?"
"Yes, sir, but my trunk hasn't got here yet."
"Quite so. One moment." He drew a telephone toward him, pressed a button on a little black board set at one end of the desk, glanced at the clock between the two broad windows and spoke into the transmitter: "Mrs. Calder? Edwards, 12 Billings, hasn't his trunk yet. Will you have his room made up, please? Eh? Quite so! Yes, 12 Billings. Just a moment." He turned to Steve. "May I ask whether the young gentleman with you is your room-mate, Hall?"
"Yes, sir."
"And his trunk, too, is missing?"
"Yes, sir."
"Quite so. Yes, Mrs. Calder, both beds, please. Thank you." He hung up the receiver and pushed the instrument aside. "That is all, Edwards. I trust you will like the school. Shouldyou want anything you may come to me here or you will find your Hall Master, Mr. Daley, in Number 8 Billings. Now, if you please, Hall."
Tom, in turn, answered the little man's interrogations and at last they were free to seek their room.
"Billings is the last dormitory to your right as you leave this building," said the secretary, "and you will find Number 12 on the second floor at the further end. Supper is served at six o'clock in the dining-room in Wendell, which is the last building in the other direction. As we have very few students with us yet, the supper hour is shortened and it will greatly assist if you will be prompt."
The boys thanked him and sought their room. A broad flagstone walk ran the length of the row of six buildings and along this they strode past the first building, which was Hensey, to the one beyond. The dormitories were uniform in material and style of architecture, each being three stories in height, the first story of stone and the others of red brick. The entrance was reached by a single stone step, above which hung an electric light just beginning to glow wanly in the early twilight. Inside, two slate steps led to the first floorlevel and here a fireproof door divided the staircase well from the corridor. A flight of stone stairs took them to the second floor. "Rooms 11 to 20" was inscribed on the door and Steve pushed it open and led the way down to a very clean, well-lighted corridor to Number 12. There could be no mistake about it, for the figures were very plainly printed on the white door. Under the room number was a little metal frame which they afterwards discovered was for the purpose of holding a card bearing the names of the occupants. Steve pushed the door open and, followed by Tom, entered.
There was still enough light from the one broad window to see by, but Steve found a switch near the doorway and turned on the electricity. It was a pretty forlorn looking place at first glance, but doubtless the fact that the two beds were unmade, that the window-seat was empty of cushions and that the two slim chiffoniers and the desk-table were bare had a good deal to do with that first impression. The boys set their bags down and looked about them rather dejectedly. Finally,
"I suppose when we get our things around it'll look different," murmured Tom.
Steve grunted and tried a bed. "That feels pretty good," he said. "I hope Mrs. Thingamabob won't forget to make it. Which side do you want?"
"I don't care," replied Tom. "There isn't any difference, I guess."
There didn't appear to be. The door was at the right as you entered, and beside it was a good-sized closet. The room was about fifteen feet long, from closet to window, by some twelve feet wide. A brown grass rug filled most of the floor space. The wainscoting, of clean white pine, ascended four feet and ended in a narrow ledge or shelf, devised, as they afterwards discovered, to hold photographs or small pictures which the rules prohibited them from placing on the walls. The walls were painted a light buff. The furniture consisted of two single-width beds, two chiffoniers, a study table and two straight-backed chairs. The beds were against the opposite walls, the table in the geometrical centre of the rug, the chiffoniers occupied a portion of the remaining wall space on each side and the two chairs were set between beds and bureaus. The window was in a slight bay and there was a six-foot seat below it. The room was lighted by a two-lamp electrolier above the table, but from one socket depended a green cord, suggesting that a previous occupant had used a drop light.
"I wonder," said Steve, "where we are supposed to wash."
"Let's look for the bathroom," suggested Tom. So they returned to the silent corridor and presently discovered a commodious bath and wash-room at the farther end. There were six set bowls and four tubs there, and Tom thought it was pretty fine. Steve, however, was in a mood to find fault and he objected to the bathroom on several different counts. For one thing, it was too far away. Then, too, he didn't see how twenty fellows were going to wash at six bowls. Tom, however, promptly demonstrated how one fellow could do it by returning to Number 12 and bringing back his wash-cloth. In his absence Steve had been experimenting with the liquid soap apparatus with which each bowl was supplied, and by the time Tom got back was able to tell him why he didn't approve of them! By the time they had both cleaned up it was time to find the dining-hall, and so, leaving the light burning in brazen disregard of a notice under the switch, they clattered downstairs again and set off for the other end of the Row, as the line of buildings was called.
Two or three boys were standing on the steps of Wendell when they reached it and they wereaware of their frankly curious gaze as they passed them. The dining-hall wasn't hard to find, for its double doors faced them as they entered the building. They left their caps on one of the big racks outside and rather consciously stepped inside the doorway. It was a huge room, seemingly occupying the entire first floor of the building, and held what appeared to be hundreds of tables. Only four of them were occupied now, two across the hall from the door and two at one end. A boy of about seventeen or eighteen, wearing an apron and carrying a tray of dishes, saw them, and, setting down his burden, conducted them to one of the tables nearby. There were already five boys at the board and they each and all stared silently while Steve and Tom slid into their chairs. The newcomers surmised that they, too, were new boys, for, unlike the fellows at the next table beyond, who were laughing and chatting quite light-heartedly, they applied themselves grimly and silently to their food and seemed to view each other with deep distrust.
Steve and Tom, striving against the embarrassment that held them, conversed together in whispers. "It's a whaling big room," said Steve. "Just like a hotel, isn't it? Wonder what we get to eat."
"Bet you I'll eat it, whatever it is," replied Tom. "I'm as hungry as a bear!"
They weren't left long in doubt, for a second waiter appeared very promptly and set their repast before them. There was cold roast beef, a baked potato apiece, toasted muffins, milk and cocoa, preserves and cookies. By the time they were half through their supper most of the others had finished and hurried away, removing much of the embarrassment of the situation. Steve ventured to stretch his legs comfortably under the table and turn his head to regard the occupants of the tables at the far end of the hall.
"I guess some of those are teachers," he said. "Gee, but I'd like some more meat. Would you ask for it?"
"I don't know. No one else did. These muffins are bully, only there aren't enough of them. I wonder if we'll sit here regularly."
"I don't suppose so. We'll probably be shoved to one of those tables over there by the wall. What time do you suppose they have breakfast? We'll have to ask someone, I guess. Didn't he say something about a Hall Master?"
"Yes, in Number 8. We'll stop and ask him when we go back." There was a scraping of chairs at the end of the room and several olderboys and two or three men came down the room toward the door. Steve and Tom turned to look and suddenly Tom seized his companion's arm.
"It's him!" he exclaimed.
"Who?" asked Steve.
"Or—anyway it looks lots like him," continued Tom breathlessly.
"Who looks like what?" demanded the other impatiently.
"Why, the tall fellow just going out now! See him? He—he looks just like the fellow in the station, the fellow who took your bag! The confidence-man!"
"The confidence-man?" asked Steve incredulously. "Oh, you run away and play, Tom! What would he be doing here? Don't be a silly goat!"
"Well, I suppose it isn't he, but—but he certainly looked just like him."
"Pshaw, I saw him too, didn't I? Well, that chap doesn't look anything like him."
"Then you didn't look at the fellow I meant," returned Tom doggedly. "I—I believe it was he, Steve!"
"Oh, sure," said Steve sarcastically, "and the fellow behind him is a famous second-story burglar and the man with the flannel trousers on, who looks like a teacher, is a popular murderer. He escaped from Sing Sing this morning. And the little man with the grey moustache——"
"That's all right," replied Tom earnestly, "but you'll find I'm right. It—it was he, I tell you! There couldn't be two people as much alike!"
"You'd better follow him then," laughed Steve, "and ask him for my suit-case. Tell him I want my pajamas, will you?"
But Tom refused to treat the matter so lightly. He was evidently quite convinced that he was really on the trail of the thief, and all Steve's ridicule failed to move him from that conviction. He was too anxious to begin the search for the "confidence-man" to do justice to the rest of his supper, and when, at last, they were once more outside the building he gazed up and down the Row eagerly and was disappointed to find that neither his quarry nor anyone else was visible in the half-darkness. As they passed Torrence Hall, however, an open window on the first floor sent a flood of light across the walk, and Tom, crossing the narrow strip of turf that divided building from pavement, raised himself on his tiptoes and looked into the room. The next instant a face appeared with disconcerting suddenness within a foot of his own and the occupant of the room, who had been reclining on the window-seat, enquiring abruptly:
"Well, fresh, what do you want?"
"N-Nothing, thanks," stammered Tom, withdrawing quickly.
"Keep your head out of my window then," wasthe indignant response, "or I'll come out there and teach you manners!"
Tom hurried away into the friendly darkness and joined Steve, who was chuckling audibly.
"Did you find him, Tom?"
"No." And then, as Steve continued to be amused, Tom said with spirit; "I should think you'd be enough interested to help a fellow instead of giggling like a silly goat!"
"Oh, I'm not a Sherlock Holmes," replied Steve airily. "Detecting isn't in my line."
"I should think you'd want to get your bag back, though. I tell you that was really the fellow, Steve. Don't you believe me?"
"Oh, yes!"
"You don't, though," said Tom bitterly. "All right, then. You find your own bag. I'm through."
"Oh, don't say that!" begged Steve. "You were doing so nicely. Look, there's a lighted window up there, Tom. If you get a ladder now——"
"Aw, cut it!" growled Tom.
Mr. Daley was in when they rapped at the door of Number 8, on the first floor of Billings, and, accepting his invitation to enter, they found themselves in a very cosy, lamp-lighted, nicely furnished study, from which a smaller room, evidently a bedroom, opened. Mr. Horace Daley was a young man with an embarrassed manner and a desire to appear quite at ease. He shook hands heartily, stumbled through a few words of welcome and arranged chairs for them. He asked a good many questions, invariably remarking "Fine!" with deep enthusiasm after every answer and smiled jovially at all times. But the boys saw that he was much more embarrassed than they were and were secretly pleased and amused. When at last the instructor had finished the usual questions and was searching around in his mind for more, Steve began asking for information. Breakfast, responded Mr. Daley, was at seven-thirty and ran half an hour. Chapel was at eight-fifteen usually, although there would be none to-morrow, as school did not officially begin until noon. The first recitation hour was nine o'clock. Dinner ran from twelve-thirty to one-thirty. Recitations began again at two and lasted until half-past three. Supper was at six. Between seven and eight the students were required to remain in their rooms and study, although on permission of the House Master one could study in the library instead. All lights were supposed to be out at ten-thirty. And Mr. Daley hoped theboys would get on swimmingly and become very fond of Brimfield.
"I—ah—I want you to feel that I am ready and anxious to help you at any time, fellows. I—ah—want you to look on me as—ah—as a big brother and come to me in your—ah—perplexities and troubles, should you have any, and of course there are bound to be—ah—little worries at first. One has to accustom oneself to any—ah—new environment. Don't hesitate to call on me for advice or assistance. Sometimes an older head—ah—you see what I mean?"
Steve replied that they did and thanked him and, with Tom crowding at his heels, withdrew.
"He's a funny dub," confided Steve, as they made their way up to the next floor. "Guess he must be new here. What does he teach, Tom?"
"Modern languages, I think the catalogue said. His first name is Horace."
"Horace!" Steve chuckled. "It ought to be Percy. Hello, they've fixed the beds up."
The room looked far more habitable when Steve had switched the light on. Tom sighed luxuriously as he stretched himself out on one of the beds. "Bet you I'm going to do a tall line of sleeping to-night, Steve," he said. "This bed isn't half bad, either."
"Well, don't put your feet all over the spread," replied Steve. "Get up out of that and unpack your bag, you lazy duffer."
"I will in a minute. I'm tired. Say, what do you think of this place, anyway, Steve?"
"The school? Oh, I guess it'll do. You can't tell much about it yet, I suppose. I'm going to snoop around to-morrow after breakfast and see the sights. I suppose things will be a lot different when the crowd comes. I guess we're the only fellows in this dormitory to-night."
"Scared?" asked Tom, with a grin. "Remember Horace is downstairs to protect you."
"Huh! Bet you he'd crawl under the bed if he saw a burglar! I wonder if the rest of the faculty is like him."
"Oh, I dare say he's all right when you get to know him," said Tom, with a yawn. "Say, pull down that window, Steve. It's getting chilly in here."
"Get up and move around and you won't feel chilly," replied Steve unsympathetically. "Gee, I wish I had my pajamas and things."
"You might have had them by this time if you'd helped me look for that fellow," said Tom. "I'm just as certain as I am that I'm lying herethat the fellow we saw in the dining-hall was the fellow who swiped your suit-case!"
"Oh, forget that," said Steve disgustedly. "Common-sense ought to tell you that a sneak thief you saw in New York wouldn't be having his supper here at Brimfield!"
"He was, though," replied the other stubbornly.
"Oh, run away! Don't you suppose there are two people who look alike in this world?"
"Not as much alike as those two."
"Why, you didn't even get a good look at the fellow in the dining-hall. He had his back turned to you."
"Not when I saw him first, he didn't," answered Tom with a vigorous shake of his head. "I saw his face before he turned at the doorway andit was him!"
"You mean it was he, you ignoramus. All right, Tom, have your own way about it. Only someone ought to warn the principal about him. Why, he might run off with a couple of the buildings some night!"
"Enjoy yourself," murmured Tom. "But you'll find I was right some day, you old pig-headed chump!"
"When I do I—I'll make you a present," answered Steve, with a grin.
"Any present you'd give me wouldn't cut much figure, I guess," said the boy on the bed contemptuously.
"Is that so? Say, what'll I do with this bag?" Steve laid the suit-case in question on his bed and threw open the lid. "The pajamas look clean, anyway," he continued as he viewed them. "I suppose I'll have to wear them." He drew the cap out and set it on his head. "Wonder what the B stands for, Tom."
"What bee?" asked Tom lazily.
"The B on this cap," replied the other, studying it.
Tom suddenly sat up on the bed. "Why, Brimfield, of course!" he exclaimed in triumph. "There now! Was I right or wasn't I?"
"Shucks! It might stand for anything: Brown, Brooklyn, beans, brownbread, basketball——"
"Yes, and Brimfield! And aren't the Brimfield colours maroon-and-grey, and isn't that cap grey, and isn't that B maroon?"
"It's red."
"So is maroon, a brownish-red." Tom had deserted his bed and was turning the cap about eagerly. "This belongs to some fellow here who haswon his letter, Steve," he said with deep conviction.
"Some fellow who haslosthis letter, you mean," replied Steve with a laugh. "All right; it will save me from buying a cap when I make the football team. How does it look on me?"
"It's too big," said Tom. "It's about a seven, I guess. That's what that fellow would wear, I think." Tom frowned thoughtfully. "Are there any more clues?" he asked, dropping the cap and seizing the pajamas excitedly.
"Sure! There are brushes in the case and they mean that the fellow has hair on his head, Tom. So there's no use looking for a bald-headed man, eh? That's what they call 'the process of elimination,' isn't it? Say, what are you trying to do with those things? Ruin them? Please remember that I've got to wear them to-night."
"Looking for laundry marks," replied Tom. "But there aren't any. I guess they're new ones." He dropped the pajamas regretfully and turned his attention to the other objects in the bag. "A magazine," he muttered.
"'Fine'!—as Horace would say. The man can read. Therefore he is not blind. Elimination again! At this rate we'll know all about him in a minute, Tom. Gee, but you're a wise guy.Have a look at the collar and tell me the fellow's name. Go on!"
"It begins with an M, anyway," muttered Tom, studying the object in question.
"Ha!" exclaimed Steve melodramatically. "The net is closing! He has hair on his head, is not blind, wears purple pajamas and spells his name with an M! The rest is easy, Tom. Put your hat on and we'll go out and get him."
"Oh, shut up, you silly goat!" Tom had the magazine in his hands again and was glancing through it. Suddenly, with an exclamation, he thrust it into Steve's hands. "There! Hold it up and let it fall open itself, Steve!"
"All right. What about it?"
"Look where it opened!"
"Page 64."
"Yes, but what's there?"
"'Men Who Have Made Football History, by——'"
"There you are! Don't you see! That's what he was reading. He's a football man and that B is his football letter!"
"Oh! But, say, Tom, you're forgetting that this suit-case is supposed to have been stolen from someone else. Then what?"
"We don't know that it was. We just thoughtso. It looks now as if it really belonged to the fellow."
"And he went and swapped it for mine? What would he do that for?"
"Maybe he thought yours might have something valuable in it," faltered Tom. "Maybe—say, Steve, perhaps he got yours by mistake!"
"Sure!" replied the other sarcastically. "Reached down and dragged it from under your feet, thinking all the while it was his. Sounds very probable—I don't think!"
"Well, you can see for yourself——"
"What was that?" interrupted Steve.
"What was what?"
"I thought I heard a knock at the door." They listened. It sounded again. Steve hustled the things back into the bag and slammed the lid shut in a twinkling. Then, "Come in!" he called.
The door opened and a tall youth stepped inside. He carried a suit-case in one hand. Tom gasped. It was the "confidence-man"!
"Hi," greeted the visitor, with a smile, as he slid the suit-case across the floor and faced the two boys. "Want to swap bags?"
"That—that's mine!" exploded Steve. "Where'd you get it?"
The visitor pulled a chair out from the wall and seated himself nonchalantly. "And that," he responded, nodding at the bag on the bed, "is mine. I didn't think thepajamaswould fit you and I was mighty sure yours wouldn't fit me. So I dropped around to make an exchange."
"You're the fellow in the station!" exclaimed Tom accusingly.
"Right-o! I'm the 'sneak-thief.'"
"I knew it!" declared Tom triumphantly. "I saw you in the dining-hall and told Steve it was you and he wouldn't believe it!"
"Wouldn't he?" laughed the visitor.
"I suppose it's some sort of a silly joke," said Steve bewilderedly. "Would you mind telling me why you—why you took my bag?"
"Glad to, Edwards. YouareEdwards, aren't you? I thought so. And this chap's Hall? Well, my name's Miller. So now we know each other. Would you mind sitting down, you fellows?"
Steve sank on to the bed and Tom retreated to the unoccupied chair, from where he viewed Miller with fascinated attention.
"It was this way, you fellows," explained Miller. "I may be a bit thin-skinned, but I don't like being called a sneak-thief. Edwards here told you, Hall, to look after your bags because there were sneak-thieves around. And then he looked at me very impolitely. After he went away I saw that you really did suspect me of being something of the sort and it occurred to me that it might be amusing to teach you chaps not to pass compliments."
"I didn't mean you to hear me," said Steve confusedly.
"I couldn't help it, as you spoke right out," replied Miller drily. "Well, so when Hall changed his seat I went along and tried to talk to him. But he was foxy, Hall was. He wasn't going to be fooled! When it got to be train time I spun him a yarn about a harmless old man across the room and got him to look at him. Then I changed the bags. I thought you fellows would take the sametrain and I meant to give you back your bag then. But you weren't on it and so I suppose you were looking around the station for me. Was that it?"
"I didn't get back in time," said Steve. "We didn't find out about the bags until the train had gone. Then we did look around, and we told a policeman, and——"
Miller put his head back and laughed delightedly. "Bully!" he cried. "You chaps are wonders!"
"Well, what would you have done?" asked Tom indignantly. "How were we to know that it was a joke?"
"Oh, I'd have done the same thing, of course," answered the other soothingly. "Only the idea of the New York police department being on the lookout for me struck me as a bit humorous."
"Tom says you asked him about Tannersville," said Steve. "How did you know he was from there?"
"Not difficult," chuckled Miller. "It's on the end of his bag. And I knew he was coming to Brimfield because there was a tag on the handle. I couldn't make out your names, but I could see 'Brimfield, N. Y.' all right."
Steve and Tom smiled foolishly. "I neverthought of that," murmured Tom. "We—we thought you were a confidence-man!"
"So I thought you thought," laughed Miller. "Well, here's your property, Edwards. I dare say it was rather a mean joke to play on you, but you sort of invited it, you see."
"I don't care now that I've got it back," responded Steve philosophically. "Tom was certain you were the fellow who took my bag when he saw you in dining-hall and he was all heated up about it. Wanted to arrest you at once, I guess."
"Well, I was right, though, wasn't I?" demanded Tom. "You said it couldn't be the same chap. But Iknew!"
"Yes, you're some sleuth," agreed Steve. "You were right and I was wrong, as you always are."
"How about that present you were to give me?" inquired Tom.
"You'll get it, all right; just before Christmas." Then, to Miller: "We—I had your things out of your bag," he said apologetically. "I thought I'd have to wear those pajamas."
"They'd have been a bit large, I guess," laughed Miller. "Still, they are brand-clean and you could have wrapped them around you a few times and turned them up at the feet and hands.Well, how have you chaps found everything? All right?"
"Yes, thanks," said Steve. "We forgot to check our trunks at the Grand Central Station, though, and so we're sort of hard-up for things to wear."
"Too bad." Miller smiled. "I guess you chaps haven't travelled around much, eh?"
"Not much. This is the first time we've ever been so far east."
"Well, I don't blame you for getting a bit confused in New York. It's a tough old place to get around in unless you know the ropes. If you need collars or anything maybe I can help you out. I suppose, though, mine wouldn't fit."
"We'll get on all right, thanks," replied Steve. "Our trunks will surely be along in the morning. The man who drove us up here had the agent telegraph back for them and said he'd fetch them as soon as they came."
"Jimmy Horse? He will if he doesn't forget."
"This fellow said his name was Hoskins, I think," said Tom.
"Yes, we call him Jimmy Horse. He will probably be along with them before noon. Just depends on whether he remembers them and how busy he is. Still, not many fellows get here before the eleven o'clock train and so he ought to find time to bring the trunks. If he doesn't show up soon after breakfast you'd better telephone to him. The booth's in Main Hall, around the corner from the office. I suppose you saw old 'Quite So'?"
"Who?" asked Steve.
"Mr. Brooke, the secretary. We call him 'Quite So' because he's always saying that. Didn't you notice?"
"I did," said Tom. "I thought maybe he was Mr. Fernald, though."
"No, you won't see Josh much. He lives around the corner there in The Cottage. You'll be lucky if you don't see him, too. When you call on Josh it's usually because you've been and gone and done something. He will be at Faculty Reception to-morrow evening, though. That's in Upper Hall at eight o'clock. Better go, fellows; everyone does. Have you met your Hall Master, Mr. Daley?"
"Yes, we stopped in at his room after supper," answered Steve. "Is he——" He hesitated.
Miller laughed. "Go on and say it, Edwards! Is he what?"
"I was going to ask if he was liked."
"Oh, yes, Daley's all right. Rather shy, buthe's young yet. This is only his second year. You'll like him better when you've known him awhile. What form are you fellows in?"
"Fourth. At least, we hope we are."
"Oh, you'll make it. They'll put you in, anyway, and then drop you back if you don't keep up. That's a pleasant little trick of theirs here. You'll have Daley in French and German. Take my advice and don't have fun with him just because you can. Most of the new fellows try to make life a burden to him because he gets kind of rattled and tries to swallow his tongue when he talks. But they're generally sorry for it later. He stands about so much and then—bing! Off you go to Josh! And here's another tip, fellows. Always be dead serious with 'Uncle Sim.' That's Mr. Simkins, Greek instructor. If you can look as if you'd lost all your friends and bitten your tongue you'll make a big hit with him. He doesn't know a joke even when it's labelled and can't stand any flippancy. I made a pun in class once; I've forgotten what it was, but it was a bright and scintillant little effort; and Uncle Sim told me I'd end on the gallows. He's never forgotten that and still views me with deep suspicion."
"We will try to remember," laughed Steve. "I suppose you are in the Sixth Form?"
"Yes, this is my last year here. I ought to have been out last year, but I slipped a cog when I first came and got dropped a form. You see, I made the mistake of thinking that the principal branches were Football, Baseball and Hockey. When I'd woke up to the fact that a little attention to mathematics and languages and such foolishness was required it was too late, and—plop!—sound of falling!"
Steve recalled a similar warning of his father's and silently made up his mind then and there to not make Miller's mistake.
"Do you play football?" asked Tom. "I mean, are you on the team?"
"Yes, I—I'm on the team." Miller's smile had an odd quality that puzzled Tom at the moment. "You chaps know the game?"
"Steve has played more than I have," replied Tom. "He was on our high school team at left end last year. He's pretty good, Steve is. I didn't make the 'Varsity, but I played a couple of years with the scrubs."
"Tom plays a good game," said Steve. "I suppose it's pretty hard to get on the team here."
"About the same as anywhere," answered Miller. "If you show the goods you're all right." He viewed Steve speculatively and then turned anappraising gaze on Tom. "You chaps look pretty fit for this time of year. What do you weigh, Edwards?"
Steve slipped on the tiling and fell sidewise into the waterSteve slipped on the tiling and fell sidewise into the water
"About a hundred and thirty-eight."
"You look solid, too," said Miller approvingly. "You chaps show up in togs day after to-morrow at four. Look me up and I'll see that you get a good chance to show what you can do. Where have you played, Hall?"
"At tackle, mostly. I played half a little last fall."
"You look rather likely, I think. Don't be disappointed if you don't make the first or second this year, fellows. Keep going. There's your hall team. Try for that. You'll get lots of good fun and experience. I tell you this not to discourage you but because we've kept a lot of last year's fellows and it's going to be harder than usual to break into the first team, I guess. And that means that a good many of the second team fellows will be disappointed and will have to stay where they are. Hard on them, but lucky for the school. I don't know whether you chaps understand the football situation with us?"
"I don't believe so," replied Steve.
"Well, it's like this. When I came here four years ago there wasn't any team. Before that,five or six years before, they'd played, but about that time football got into disfavour and the faculty stopped it. I believe they allowed the hall teams to play, but that didn't last long. My second year here they lifted the ban and we started a team. Of course it didn't amount to much that first year and we got licked right and left. The next year, though, we did a good deal better, and last year we turned out a mighty good team. We lost only two games out of nine and tied one. Unfortunately, though, one of the games we lost was the game with Claflin, which is our big game of the year. Claflin has beaten us three years running now and this year we're out for revenge with a rolling R. Considering that we've played only three seasons, we've got a pretty good start. Our coach is a dandy, a chap named Robey; played with Brown the year they downed Pennsy; and he's been building up this year's team ever since he started in. At first we didn't have more than forty candidates to choose from. Last year about sixty fellows turned out and this fall I guess we'll have nearer eighty. Robey started the hall teams up again year before last and that helped a lot. The best of the hall team chaps went into the second last year, and now, this year, we've got fellows with three years' experience behind them.So, you see, Edwards, we haven't got much football history at Brimfield and our system is still pretty new, but we're getting on! And this fall if we don't lick Claflin—well, if we don't, I'll have missed my guess."
Miller's lean, good-looking face had lighted up with enthusiasm during his recital, and, when he had ended, as though impatient to begin the campaign which was to end in the rout of the enemy, he got up and took a turn the length of the room. He didn't look the least bit in the world like a confidence-man to-night and the two boys marvelled at their earlier suspicions. Miller was tall, lean with the leanness of muscles unhampered by useless flesh, and lithe. He had very clear brown eyes, a straight nose and high cheek bones that somehow reminded Steve of the engraved portrait of John C. Calhoun that hung in the library at home. Altogether, from the top of his well-shaped head to the soles of his rubber-shod feet, he was good to look at, clean-cut, well-groomed, healthy and very much alive. Steve found himself wishing that some day he might find himself playing shoulder to shoulder with Miller. He hated to think what would happen to the enemy in such a case!
Miller paused at the table, thrust his hands intohis pockets and smiled a trifle apologetically. "Well, that's the way it is, you chaps," he went on. "So, whether you make the first or the second or neither, you keep on playing and trying. There's another year coming for you fellows; two of them, in fact. Keep that in mind, and if you don't get what you want this year keep plugging. And don't fail to come out Wednesday and do your best. You'll get a fair show and if you can play the game well enough you'll get places. Now I must run along with my bag. I'm glad to have met you chaps. If I can help you in any way don't fail to call on me. You'll find me in 7 Hensey. Come and see me anyway. Miller's the name. And, by the way, I'm glad you chaps took my little joke so decently and didn't get waxy about it. If you had, I'd probably have told it around and you'd have got a lot of joshing. As it is, no one knows it and no one will. Good-night."
And Miller, his suit-case in hand, smiled, nodded and went out. They could hear him whistling merrily until the landing door had closed behind him.
"I meant to ask him what position he played," said Steve regretfully. "I'll bet he's a corker, though!"
"I'll bet you he is," agreed Tom warmly.
"And he seemed a rattling good sort, too, didn't he?"
"Yes. And I'm glad I lost my bag. If I hadn't we mightn't have known him, seeing that he's a Sixth Form fellow."
"I guess he's sort of prominent," mused Tom. "He gives you the idea of being someone, doesn't he?"
"Oh, he's someone, all right! Do you think he really wants us to call on him, Tom? Or—or was he just being polite?"
"Both, I guess. I don't suppose we'd better call unless he asks us again. We don't want to act fresh, you know. Besides," and Tom smiled mischievously, "I'm not sure we ought to associate with him."
"Why not?" asked Steve incredulously.
"Well, seeing that he's a confidence-man——"
After breakfast the next morning, a breakfast eaten with excellent appetites, the two boys set out on a sightseeing tour about the school. They went first to the gymnasium. The big front door was locked, but Steve was not to be denied and eventually gained entrance through a little door at the rear which led into the boiler-room and from there found their way into the main basement where were situated the big swimming tank, a commodious baseball cage and a bowling alley. On the floor above they found themselves in a square hall, entered from the front door, from which other doors led to the gymnasium, the locker and bathrooms and a small office bearing the sign "Physical Director." From the hall a fireproof stairway ascended with a turn to the running-track and a large room which was evidently used as a meeting hall. Settees were neatly arranged in front of a platform, a row of low windows admitted a flood of morning sunshine and against the walls hung many photographs of athletic teams. Most of them showed groups of track and field men, although a few were of hockey sevens and there were three football teams in evidence. The explorers paid more attention to these photographs than the others, and Steve, whose patriotism was already strong, read the inscriptions on the lower margins with disfavour.
"Huh!" he grumbled. "'Brimfield 0; Claflin 12'; 'Brimfield 3; Claflin 11'; 'Brimfield 6; Claflin 9.' Bet you next time it'll be some different, Tom!"
"Rather!" said Tom stoutly. "Let's go on down and see the gym."
They tried the chest-weights and tested the bars and experimented with about everything they found down there, and then went into the adjoining compartment and peered into the shower-baths and passed on the merits of the steel lockers.
"The fellow who built this gym knew what he was doing," declared Steve approvingly. "Some of these lockers have got things in them," he continued, peeping into one. "There's a bat in here, and a towel and some clothes."
Tom had wandered through a doorway at the end of the locker compartment and now summoned Steve to join him. There was a high table in the centre of the small room and a set of metal shelvesalongside which held numerous bottles and boxes. "It's the rubbing room," said Steve. "Here, get busy, Tom!" And he hoisted himself to the table and stretched out on his back.
"Yes, sir," said Tom. "Where's it hurt you? This the spot?"
And Tom began such an enthusiastic manipulation of Steve's ribs that the latter set up a howl and precipitately tumbled off the table. It was at that moment that an unpleasant voice startled them.
"Beat it, you fresh kids! You've got no business in here!"
The speaker was a heavy-set youth of perhaps nineteen years of age. He had closely-cropped ashy-brown hair over a round face from which a pair of pale-blue eyes glowered upon them. He was standing in the doorway and his hands were thrust into the pockets of a pair of very wide-hipped knickerbockers. Somehow, standing there with his sturdy, golf-stockinged legs well apart and his loose trousers pulled out at the sides, he reminded Tom of a clown at a circus, and Tom made the mistake of grinning. The big youth caught sight of the grin and stepped into the rubbing room with a deepening scowl on his face.
"Wipe it off!" he said threateningly.
Steve and Tom looked at the table.
"Wipe what off?" asked Tom, at a loss.
"Wipe that grin off your ugly face," answered the other. "And get out of here, both of you, and stay out. If you don't, I'll throw you out!"
This somewhat astounding threat caused an exchange of surprised glances between the culprits. Neither Steve nor Tom were quarrelsome, nor had they had more than a boy's usual share of fist battles, but the bullying speech and attitude of the round-faced youth was so uncalled for and exasperating that Steve's temper got the better of him for the moment.
"We weren't doing any harm here," he declared indignantly. "And we'll get out, but we're not afraid of you, even if you have got piano legs!"
The big fellow pulled his hands from his pockets with an angry growl and, clenching his fists, strode toward the boys. But at that instant footsteps sounded in the locker room, and the bully's hands dropped and he turned his head toward the door just as a small, red-haired and freckle-faced little Irishman came into sight.
"Hello, Eric the Red," he said jovially. "An' what might you be doin' down here, me boy?"
"I'm telling these fresh kids to get out of here," replied the youth. "Any objections?"
The little Irishman seemed surprised, and he smiled, but the boys noted that his small and rather greenish eyes narrowed.
"None at all, at all, me boy. If I had I'd very soon tell you, d'ye see? But what harm are they doin'? Sure, if I don't mind them bein' here, why would you?"
"They haven't any business in this room, and you know it, Danny. They're too fresh, anyway."
"Well, that's what we all are at some time. Let the boys be. Was you wantin' anything, boys?"
"No, we were just looking around the place. This door was open and we came in. We didn't know there was any harm in it," concluded Steve.
"No more there was," said Danny soothingly.
"They were rough-housing all over the place," growled the big fellow. "If you can stand it I can, though. Only"—and he turned a wrathful gaze on Steve—"if you ever get fresh with me again you'll get the licking that's coming to you, kid." He turned away toward the locker room. "Say, Danny, got a key to my locker? I've lost mine and I want to get into it a minute."
"I have not," replied Danny cheerfully. "You'll have to have one fitted, me boy."
"Hasn't anyone a master-key?" demanded the other.
"They have not. Find Patsy; he'll fit one for you in ten minutes."
"That's a funny state of things," grumbled the big fellow. "They ought to have duplicates on hand. Somebody's always losing a key, and——"
The rest was lost as the youth disappeared into the further room. Danny winked gravely at the two boys.
"Who is he?" asked Steve curiously.
"Him? His name's Sawyer, Eric Sawyer. He is sufferin' from a terrible complaint, boys, an' it makes him that cross a bear would run away from him, I'm thinkin'!"
"What's the trouble with him?"
"He has what the doctors do be callin' an ingrowin' grouch," replied Danny soberly. "'Tis due to over-exposure of the ego, they tell me, resultin' in an inflamed condition of the amoor proper, that same bein' French an' maybe beyond your comprehension."
The boys laughed and Danny swung himself to the table and patted it invitingly. "Sit down,boys, an' tell me all about it," he said. "Who may you be, now?"
"His name is Hall and mine is Edwards," replied Steve, as he and Tom followed Danny's example and swung their feet from the table. "We're new boys."
"I suspected as much," replied Danny drily. "An' where might be your place of residence?"
"Tannersville, Pennsylvania."
"Think o' that now!" marvelled Danny. "Sure, you're a long ways from home. Is this place you say anywhere near Philadelphia?"
"Oh, no, it's a long ways from there. It's out in the western part of the state."
"I was in Philadelphia once to see the games at the college over there," pursued Danny. "It's a fine town."
"Would you mind—telling us who you are?" asked Tom.
"I would not. I have no unseemly pride. My name is Mister Daniel Parnell Moore, and I have the extraordinary honour of bein' the trainer at this institution o' learnin' and Fine Arts, the Fine Arts bein' athletics, football, baseball, hockeyan'tinnis. An' now you know!"
"Thank you," said Tom politely. "I hope you didn't mind my asking you."
"Not a bit! You may ask me anything you like, Jim."
"My name isn't Jim," replied Tom, with a smile.
"It ain't?" The trainer seemed surprised. "Sure, he said your last name was Hall, didn't he? An' I never seen a Hall whose front name wasn't Jim."
"I'm sorry," laughed Tom, "but mine isn't; it's Tom."
Danny Moore shook his head sadly. "An' you," he said, turning to Steve, "maybe you'll be tellin' me next your name ain't Sam?"
"It's Steve."
"It might be," agreed Danny doubtfully. "But all the Edwardses I ever knew was Sams. But I'm not disputin' your word, d'ye mind! 'Tis likely you know, me boy. An' what do you think o' this rural paradise o' knowledge?"
"I guess we like it pretty well, what we've seen of it," answered Steve. "Have you been here long?"
"Two years; this is my third. It's a nice schools, as schools go. I never had much use for them, though. In the Old Country we never held with them much when I was a lad. I dare say youboys'll be tryin' to play football like all the rest of them?"
"We're going out for the team," said Steve, "although I guess, from what a fellow told us last night, we don't stand much show. He said that most of the last year's players were back this fall."
"That's so. We lost but four by graduation. They were some o' the best in the bunch, though. 'Tis queer how the ones that is gone is always the best, ain't it? Who was this feller you was talkin' to?"
"His name is Miller. Do you know him? I suppose you must, though."
"Miller? Do you mean Andy Miller?"
"I don't know. He didn't tell us his other name."
"The initials were A. L. M., though," reminded Tom.
"That's right. Is he a pretty good player?"
"He does fairly well," answered Danny Moore carelessly. "Not that I pay much heed to him, though. I see him around sometimes. I wouldn't think much of what he tells you, though. I don't. If you see him I'd be obliged if you'd tell him that."
But there was a twinkle in Danny's eye and Steve resolved to tell Miller no such thing. "What position does he play?" he asked.
Danny frowned thoughtfully. "It might be end, right or left. I forget. I pay no heed to the likes o' him. He's only the captain, d'ye see?"
"Captain!" exclaimed the two boys startledly, eyeing each other in amazement.
"Sure," said Danny. "An' why not?"
"Er—there's no reason," replied Steve, "only—he didn't say anything about being captain."
"And why would he be after incriminating himself?" Danny demanded.
The boys digested this news in silence for a moment. Then,
"Does that fellow who was just in here play?" asked Tom.
"He does. He plays right guard, and he plays it well. I'll say that for him. Well, it's catchin' no fish I am sittin' here gassin' with you fellers. Make yourselves to home. I must be gettin' on."
"I guess we'll go, too," said Steve.
They followed the trainer up the stairway to the hall above. There he pulled a bunch of keys from his pocket and unlocked the big front doorfor them. "Now, look at that, will you?" he exclaimed in amazement as he turned a small key over between his fingers. "I wouldn't be surprised if that key would fit them lockers down there. Ain't that a pity, an' him wantin' it all the time?"
The boys smiled and agreed gravely that it was. Danny sighed, shook his head and dropped the keys back into his pocket. "If you have trouble with him," he said to Steve, "hit for his head, boy, for you'll make no impression on the body of him."
"Thanks, but I don't expect he will bother me again."
"I know. I'm only tellin' you. A word to the wise, d'ye mind? Good luck to you, boys."
"Thanks. We're much obliged to you, Mr. Moore."
"Mr. Moore! Help! Listen." And Danny bent confidentially. "I won't be mindin' if you call me Mister Moore when we're by ourselves, d'ye see; but don't be doin' it in the presence of others. Them as didn't know might think I was one of the faculty, d'ye see. Call me Danny an' save me self-respect!"
When the door had closed behind them on thegrinning countenance of Danny, Steve looked at his watch and exclaimed startledly.
"Nearly ten o'clock!" he said. "And we promised to telegraph to the folks this morning. Let's see if the trunks have come and then hustle to the telegraph office."
Brimfield Academy was in full swing. The term was a day old and one hundred and fifty-three youths of various ages from twelve to twenty had settled down, more or less earnestly, to the school routine. In 12 Billings trunks had been unpacked and the room had taken on a look of comfort and coziness, although several things were yet lacking to complete its livableness. For instance, an easy-chair of some sort was a crying necessity, a drop-light would help a lot, and a cushion and some pillows on the window-seat were much needed. Tom argued that if the window-seat was furnished they would not require an easy-chair, but Steve held out for the added luxury.
Both boys, Steve by a narrower margin than he suspected, had made the Fourth Form, and this afternoon, as they expeditiously changed into football togs, their glances more than once stole to the imposing piles of books on the study table, books which hinted at many future hours of hard work. Steve, pulling on a pair of much worn anddiscoloured canvas trousers, sighed as his eye measured again the discouraging height of his pile. It was almost enough to spoil in advance the pleasure he looked forward to on the gridiron!
The athletic field lay behind the school buildings and was a fine level expanse of green turf some twelve acres in extent. There were three gridirons, a baseball diamond, a quarter-mile running-track and a round dozen of tennis courts there. A well-built iron-framed stand, erected in sections, and mounted on small wide-tread wheels could be moved about as occasion required, and at present was standing in the middle of the south side of the football field. On the whole Brimfield had reason to be proud of her athletic equipment, field and gymnasium, as well as of her other advantages.
The scene along the Row as the two friends clattered out of Billings was vastly different from that presented the afternoon of their arrival. Now the walk was alive with boys, heads protruded from open casements and wandering couples could be seen lounging along the gate drive or over the sloping lawn that descended to the road. First practice had been called for four o'clock and the big dial in the ivy-draped tower of Main Hall pointed its hands to three-forty whenSteve and Tom turned into the path between Torrence and Wendell leading to the gymnasium and the field beyond. Already, however, the fellows were turning their steps that way, some in playing togs but more in ordinary attire, the latter, yielding to the lure of a warm September afternoon, bent on finding an hour's entertainment stretched comfortably at ease along a side line or perched on the stand.
"That's pretty, isn't it?" asked Tom, as they looked across the nearer turf to where the broad expanse of playing ground, bordered on its further side by a wooded slope, stretched before them. The early frosts had already slightly touched the trees over there, and hints of russet-yellow and brick-red showed amongst the green. Nearer than that, more colour was supplied by an occasional dark red sweater amongst the groups loitering about the edge of the gridiron.
"It surely is pretty," agreed Steve. "I wonder if Miller's there yet. He told us to look him up, you know."
"Maybe he will give us a send-off to the coach," suggested Tom. "He could, you know, since he is captain. I guess it won't do us any harm—me, anyway—to have someone speak a word for us, eh?"
"Wonder what the coach is like," said Steve, nodding agreement. "Miller seemed to think he was pretty good. That's a dandy turf there, Tom; level as a table. They haven't marked the gridiron out yet, though."
"I suppose they don't need it for a day or two," replied the other, trying not to feel self-conscious as he neared the crowd already on hand. "I don't see Miller, do you?"
Steve shook his head, after a glance about him, and, rolling his hands in the folds of his sweater, not because the weather was cold but because that was a habit of his, seated himself at the bottom of the stand. Tom followed him and they looked about them and conversed in low voices while the throng grew with every minute. So far neither had made any acquaintances save that of Andy Miller—unless Eric Sawyer could be called such!—and they felt a little bit out of it as they saw other boys joyously hailing each other, stopping to shake hands or exchange affectionate blows, or waving greetings from a distance. They had made the discovery, by the way, that the proper word of salutation at Brimfield was "Hi"! It was invariably "Hi, Billy"! "Hi, Joe"! and the usual "Hello" was never heard. Eventually Steve and Tom became properly addicted to the"Hi"! habit, but it was some time before they were able to keep from showing their newness by "Helloing" each other.
The stand became sprinkled with youths and the turf along the edge of the gridiron held many more. A man of apparently thirty years of age, wearing a grey Norfolk suit and a cap to match, appeared at the corner of the stand just as the bell in Main Hall struck four sonorous peals. He was accompanied by three boys in togs, one of them Captain Miller. The coach was a clean-cut chap with a nice face and a medium-sized, wiry figure. He had sandy hair and eyebrows that were almost white, and his sharp blue eyes sparkled from a deeply tanned face upon which, at the moment, a very pleasant smile played. But even as Steve and Tom watched him the smile died abruptly and he pulled a black leather memorandum book from a pocket and fluttered its leaves in a businesslike way.
Miller had predicted that this fall some eighty candidates would appear, but he had evidently been over-sanguine. Sixty seemed nearer the correct number than eighty. But even sixty-odd looked a good many as they gradually gathered nearer the coach. Steve and Tom slipped from their places and joined the throng.
"Last year's first and second team players take the east end of the field," directed Mr. Robey. "All others remain here. I'm going to tell you right now, fellows, that there's going to be a whole lot of hard work this fall, and any of you who don't like hard work had better keep away. This is a good time to quit. You'll save your time and mine too. All right now! Take some balls with you, Milton, and warm up until I get down there. Now, then, you new men, give me your names. Where's Lawrence? Not here yet? All right. What's your name and what experience have you had, my boy?"
One by one the candidates answered the coach's questions and then trotted into the field where Eric Sawyer was in command. Andy Miller and Danny Moore stood at the coach's elbow during this ceremony, and when, toward the last, Steve and Tom edged up, they were greeted by both.
"Here's the fine lad," said Danny, who caught sight of Steve before Miller did. "Mr. Sam Edwards, Coach, a particular friend of mine."
Steve, rather embarrassed, started to say that his name was not Sam, but Miller interrupted him.
"So here you are, Edwards? Glad to see you again. I've been looking for you and Hall to drop in on me. How are you, Hall? Robey, these twohave had some experience on their high school team and I think they'll bear watching. Shake hands with Mr. Robey, Edwards."
"Glad to know you," said the coach. "What's your position, Edwards?"
"I've been playing end, sir."
"End, eh? You look fast, too. We'll see what you can do, my boy. And you,—er——"
"Jim Hall," supplied Danny. "Another close friend o' me boyhood, sir, an' a fine lad, too, be-dad!"
"Tackle, sir, mostly," replied Tom.
"It's a relief to find a couple who aren't bent on being backs," said the coach with a smile to Miller. "All right, fellows. We'll give you all the chance in the world. Report to Sawyer now."
Steve and Tom, with the parting benediction of a portentious wink from Danny Moore, joined the thirty-odd candidates of many ages and sizes who, formed in two rings, were passing footballs under the stern and frowning regard of Eric Sawyer. They edged their way into one of the circles and were soon earnestly catching and tossing with the rest. If Sawyer recognised them as the boys who had aroused his ire in the rubbing room the day before, he showed no sign of it. It is probable, though, that their football attire served as a sufficient disguise. Sawyer apparently took his temporary position as assistant coach very seriously and bore himself with frowning dignity. But it was not at all beneath his dignity to call erring candidates to order or to indulge in a good deal of heavy satire at the expense of those whose inexperience made them awkward. Neither Steve nor Tom, however, fell under the ban of his displeasure.
Falling on the ball followed the passing, and, in turn, gave place to starting and sprinting. For this they were formed in line and Sawyer, leaning over a ball at one end of the line, snapped it away as a signal for them to leap forward. By that time the warmth of the day and the exertion had tuckered a good many of them out and Sawyer found much fault with the performances.
"Oh, get moving, you chap in the black shirt there! Watch the ball and dig when I snap it! That's it! Go it!Hard!All right for you, but about a dozen of you other chaps got left entirely. Now get down there and throw your weight forward. Haven't any of you ever practised starts before? Anyone would think your feet were glued down! Get in line again. Ready now! Go, you flock of ice-wagons!"
Fortunately for the softer members of the awkward squad, practice was soon over to-day, and Steve and Tom somewhat wearily tramped back with the rest across to the gymnasium, determined to have the luxury of a shower-bath even if they would have to get back into their togs again after it.
"We'd better see about getting lockers," said Steve. "I wonder where you go."
"They cost a dollar a year," answered Tom, who knew the contents of the school catalogue by heart, "and if we don't make the team we won't need the lockers."
"Sure we will. If we use the swimming pool we'll need a place to keep our clothes. And even if we don't make the big teams we'll play with the Hall, probably. Wish we had them now and didn't have to go back to the room to change. I'm tired, if you care to know it!"
"So am I," panted Tom. "Sawyer worked us hard for a warm day."
"Yes, and did you notice that fat fellow? There he is ahead there, with the striped stockings. He was just about all in and puffing like a locomotive."
"He was probably tender," said Tom.
"Yes, he—Tender! That'll do for you!" said Steve indignantly, aiming a blow at Tom's ribswhich was skilfully evaded. "Let's stop at the office in here and see if we can get lockers."
They could. Moreover, Mr. Conklin, the physical director, informed them, to their deep satisfaction, that the charge of one dollar each would be placed on their term bill if they wished. They wished with instant enthusiasm and departed, keys in hand, to find their lockers. They found the room thronged with fellows in various stages of undressing, while from the baths came deep groans and shrill shrieks and the hiss and splash of water. Their lockers were side by side at the farther end of the last aisle; and, after making certain that the keys fitted them, they began to get out of their clothes, only to make the discovery when partly disrobed that they had no towels.