CHAPTER VILAURIE TALKS TOO MUCH
But Laurie didn’t have to telephone to Bob. Bob was waiting in No. 16 when the twins returned from supper. There had been no opportunity to take Ned into his confidence in dining-hall, and, since Laurie wouldn’t have thought of embarking on even the most inconsequential enterprise without his brother’s aid, the first step, as he now saw it, was to put Ned in possession of the facts. So, closing and locking the door in the manner of a conspirator, Laurie faced the eager Bob and the mystified Ned and began the recital of the pathetic story of Miss Comfort. And, as Laurie told it, it certainly was pathetic. Having found, as he believed, a way of making good his boast to Bob the day before, he set out determinedly to win his hearers to the cause. He not only wanted moral aid and counsel but pecuniary assistance in the matter of that telegram to Sioux City! So he made a very moving story ofit, picturing Miss Comfort as a penniless and hard-working little woman battling heroically against the tides of adversity with unfaltering courage, Mr. Goupil as a monster of cruelty, and Mr. Goupil’s lawyer as a fiend in human form. Miss Comfort’s age was now given as “over eighty,” an estimate that caused Bob to gasp. Laurie even attempted to dwell on the horrors of existence for a well bred lady like Miss Comfort on the poor-farm. But, never having had close acquaintance with such an institution, he had to confine himself to generalities and dark insinuations, and, discovering that his audience was not as much impressed as he meant them to be, he wisely switched back to Miss Comfort herself and told how in the winter, too poverty-stricken to buy coal for the furnace, she lived in the kitchen, while her brother-in-law, rolling in riches, gave her no thought.
Ned, who, at the beginning of the narrative, had worn a smile of careless, tolerant amusement, was soon frowning troubledly. Then indignation swelled within him, and he glowered darkly upon Laurie as though the latter was all to blame for Miss Comfort’s plight. Bob appeared moved almostto tears. As an orator Laurie did himself proud on that occasion. By the time he had finished he was almost as much moved as his hearers.
There had been, of course, interruptions, but they had been few, and Laurie had waved them aside. Now, at the end, both Ned and Bob wanted many things explained to them. Thanks, however, to his talk that afternoon with Mrs. Deane and, later, with Polly, Laurie was in a position to answer all questions promptly and lucidly. When, as infrequently occurred, his knowledge was insufficient, he answered just the same. He grudgingly struck off ten years from Miss Comfort’s age at Bob’s behest, but to all other statements he clung tenaciously.
“Another thing I don’t understand,” said Ned, “is why some of the folks she knows don’t give her a home. There must be lots of people in Orstead who would be glad to take her in.”
“What good would that do?” asked Laurie. “They might give her a room to sleep in, but how would she live? You know perfectly well that they wouldn’t be willing to let her use their kitchen to make her cakes and things in. And ifshe doesn’t make cake and sell it she can’t buy food or clothes—”
Laurie paused, suddenly remembering that he had neglected to mention the pathetic fact that Miss Comfort had worn the same dress for years and years. He wished he hadn’t forgotten that, and he wondered if it was too late now to bring it in.
“Well, I’ll say it’s mighty hard luck for the poor woman,” said Ned finally, “but I’m blessed if I can see what any ofuscan do. If you’ve got any silly idea in your head that Bob and I are going to buy a house for Miss Comfort to spend the rest of her days in—”
“Don’t be an ass,” begged Laurie.
“All right, but why the locked door, then? And why all the—the talk about it?”
“Nod’s got a scheme,” said Bob, and he beamed trustfully at Laurie.
Ned grunted suspiciously. “Bet you it calls for money,” he said.
“It doesn’t,” replied Laurie. “At least, only a few pennies. The price of a telegram to Sioux City, Iowa, and, divided among the three of us, that won’t amount to anything, I guess.”
“Sioux City, Iowa?” exclaimed Ned. “What for? Why not send it to New York? It wouldn’t cost nearly so much.”
“Because, you blithering idiot,” responded Laurie, “this Goop fellow doesn’t live in New York. He lives in Sioux City.”
“Mean you’re going to telegraph to him?” asked Bob excitedly. “What are you going to say?”
“Count me out,” said Ned. “This isn’t our affair at all, and you’ll get yourself in trouble if you butt in on it.”
Laurie viewed his brother disappointedly and sighed. Now he would have to start all over again! “Gee,” he said sadly, “I thought you had a heart, Ned.”
“I have,” answered Ned. “And I’ve got some common sense, too.”
“Sure, but now listen, will you? I talked it all over with Mrs. Deane and Polly, and they agreed that—well, Mrs. Deane did, anyhow—that if Miss Comfort wouldn’t write to her brother-in-law some one ought to do it for her. And—”
“Glad Polly had some sense, if you hadn’t,” said Ned.
“Polly wasn’t there then. Now, listen, will you?”
“Yes, let him tell you, Ned,” begged Bob.
“Gosh, Iamlistening! But I don’t hear anything but piffle, and—”
“It isn’t piffle, you stubborn chump.Some one’sgot to do something, haven’t they? You don’t want to see that poor old lady dumped right out on the sidewalk, do you? At her age? Nearly—” Laurie stifled “ninety” and substituted “eighty.” “Gee, I supposed you’d begladto help, instead of—of throwing obstacles in the way. Gee, supposing she was your aunt or—or something—”
“She isn’t,” said Ned briefly.
“Well, she might be. If she was—”
“I guess she’ssomebody’saunt,” said Bob feelingly.
“Oh, shut up! I’d like to help her, of course, you idiots, but I don’t see where we have any right to butt in and—”
“That’s what I’m trying to explain to you,” interrupted Laurie. “If you’ll just listen a minute—”
Ten minutes later Ned capitulated. Two minutesafter that the three boys were busy concocting a telegram to send to Mr. Goupil in Sioux City, Iowa. It was decided that each should compose what he considered the proper message and that they would subsequently write a fourth draft comprised of the best points of each. So they each set to work with pencil and paper and furrowed brows, and for several minutes all was very still in No. 16, East Hall. Having given the matter some previous thought, Laurie naturally finished first. Then Bob’s composition was laid on the desk, and finally, considerably later, Ned’s.
Laurie read them aloud, Bob’s first. Bob’s was as follows:
“A. G. Goupil,“Goupil Machinery Co.,“Sioux City, Iowa.“What’s the big idea turning your sister-in-law into street at her age? You ought to be ashamed.”
“A. G. Goupil,“Goupil Machinery Co.,“Sioux City, Iowa.
“What’s the big idea turning your sister-in-law into street at her age? You ought to be ashamed.”
“Gee,” laughed Laurie, “you don’t mind how many words you use, do you?”
“You do it in less,” challenged Bob indignantly.
“I have. Here’s Ned’s:
“Sister-in-law to be turned out of home unless you come to rescue immediately.”
“Sister-in-law to be turned out of home unless you come to rescue immediately.”
“Sounds as though you meant your own sister-in-law,” commented Laurie. “That’s not bad, though.”
“Sounds all right to me,” said Ned. “Let’s hear yours.”
“Is Miss Comfort being evicted from house by your order? Public opinion in arms. Answer.”
“Is Miss Comfort being evicted from house by your order? Public opinion in arms. Answer.”
“Huh,” said Ned, “public opinion can’t be ‘in arms,’ you silly chump.”
“That’s only two words less than mine,” said Bob.
“Well, we’ll see if we can’t get it into ten,” replied Laurie untroubledly. “Now then!” He took up his pencil again. “We might say ‘Comfort’ instead of ‘Miss Comfort,’ but it doesn’t sound quite respectful.”
“Leave out ‘from house,’” suggested Bob. “He will understand that she isn’t being evicted from the stable!”
“That’s so! ‘Is Miss Comfort being evictedby your order? Public opinion—er—’”
“‘Against it,’” offered Ned.
“‘Opposed,’” said Bob.
“I’ve got it!” exclaimed Laurie, erasing and starting a new draft. “How’s this? ‘Have you authorized eviction aged sister-in-law? Orstead indignant. Answer immediately.’ That ought to fetch him! Only ten words, too!”
“How about sister-in-law?” asked Bob. “Will they call it one word or three?”
“One, of course. Or ‘aged relative’ might do just as well. ‘Orstead indignant’ will give him a jolt, I’ll bet!”
“What are you going to sign it?” asked Ned anxiously.
Laurie hadn’t thought of that. Bob suggested “Friend,” but Ned reminded him that if they expected to get a reply they’d have to give more of an address than that. Laurie took a deep breath and leaped the Rubicon. He signed “Laurence S. Turner” boldly and drew a heavy mark under it for emphasis. Ned shook his head doubtfully, but Bob was thrilled.
“He will probably think you’re one of the town’s leading citizens,” he chuckled.
“Well, so I am,” answered Laurie, “in this affair. Now we’ll go down and get it off at night-rates.”
“Say,” said Ned, “we’re a set of dumb-bells! We could have sent a night-letter of fifty words for the same price.”
“That’s so,” admitted Laurie. “I think a night-letter costs a little more, though, doesn’t it? Anyway, this is more—more succinct. It sounds more businesslike. What do you think?”
They agreed that it did, and presently, a fresh copy of the message in his pocket, Laurie led the way from the room, followed by the others. The languid youth who accepted the telegram at the office appeared to hesitate over “sister-in-law,” but he made no objection to its inclusion as one word, and he brightened perceptibly as the sense of the message percolated in his mind. He looked curiously at the three boys, re-read the message, and then shook his head incredulously.
“Sick ’em, Prince,” he murmured.
The cost of the telegram was less than Laurie had dared hope it would be, and in the first moment of relief he magnanimously offered to pay afull half. Fortunately for his purse, though, the others insisted on sharing equally, and, the second moment having now arrived, Laurie allowed them to do it.
Returning to school, Ned was preyed on by doubts. Now that the telegram was an accomplished fact, he spoke dismally of the laws concerning libel. When Laurie refused to be concerned he wanted to know what they were to do if Mr. Goupil wired back that he had authorized Miss Comfort’s eviction. Laurie wasn’t prepared to answer that question. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he replied with dignity.
As a matter of fact, Laurie didn’t intend to do anything in such a case. He had saved his face, and that was sufficient. After this he meant to refrain from too much talking and keep out of affairs that didn’t concern him. Unfortunately, as he was to discover, it is frequently easier to start than it is to stop, and to make good resolutions than to follow them!
As he secretly considered the episode ended, Laurie would have put Miss Comfort and Mr. A. G. Goupil completely out of his mind for the restof the evening if Ned hadn’t insisted on speculating as to the effect of the telegram on the addressee. Ned just couldn’t seem to let the subject alone. Laurie became very much bored, and when Ned, later, came out with the brilliant suggestion of having Miss Comfort added to the school faculty as professor of pastry Laurie threw a book at him.
The following morning Kewpie was absolutely exasperating when they met beside the gymnasium. He had brought his precious book with him and insisted on pausing between pitches to study diagrams and directions, occasioning long waits and leaving Laurie with nothing to do save indulge in feeble sarcasms that affected Kewpie no whit. Kewpie was struggling with what he earnestly told Laurie was an out-drop. Laurie sarcastically replied that Kewpie was at liberty to call it anything he pleased, out-drop, floater, in-shoot, or fade-away; they all looked the same to him when Kewpie pitched ’em! Kewpie looked almost hurt, and Laurie recalled Polly’s injunction not to discourage the aspirant for pitching honors, and so presently told Kewpie that one of his offerings “looked pretty good.”After that Kewpie cheered up a lot and pitched a ball high over the back-stop.
All that day Laurie looked for a telegram. It was, he thought, inconceivable that the Goop guy, as he privately called Mr. A. G. Goupil, should delay in answering such a communication, and when, after school was over for the day, no telegram had been delivered at East Hall, he hurried down to the telegraph office and made inquiries. The man in charge, who was not the one who had been on duty the evening before, went to a deal of trouble before informing Laurie that no message had been received. Going back, Laurie pondered. It might mean that Mr. Goupil had chosen to communicate with his lawyer instead of him, Laurie. Or it might mean that Mr. Goupil was taking time to consider the matter. Laurie dismissed the business from his mind, and, although well ahead of time, went over to the gymnasium and leisurely donned his baseball togs. There had been talk of getting out on the field to-day, but the turf was still a little too soft.
In the baseball cage four other early arrivals were on hand; Nate Beedle, Hillman’s first-choice pitcher, Captain Dave Brewster, third baseman,Gordon Simkins, in-field candidate, and Elkins Thurston. The last two were passing, while Beedle and Brewster sat on the floor with their backs against the wire.
“Hello, Nod!” greeted Nate. “Hear you’ve started a kindergarten for pitchers, sonny.”
Nate was a nice chap, and Nod didn’t mind being “ragged” by him a bit. “Yes, that’s so,” Laurie agreed. “Want to join?”
The others laughed; all save Elk. Elk, tossing the ball back to Simkins, sneered, “The way I got it, Proudtree’s trying to teach Turner how to catch!”
“Fact is,” replied Laurie, “it’s sort of mutual. Kewpie’s improving his pitching, and I’m improving my catching.”
“Can he pitch at all?” asked Dave Brewster.
“Kewpie? Well, he hasn’t much just now, but—”
“But you’re teaching him the trick, eh?” jeered Elk. “Say, Nate, you’d better watch out or you’ll lose your job.”
Nate laughed good-naturedly. “That’s right. I’ll say one thing, though. If Kewpie could pitch the way he can play center I’d be worried.Does he think he can get on the squad, Nod?”
“Guess he’d like to.”
“He’s got a swell chance,” said Elk.
“Oh, I don’t know,” answered Laurie. “They took you on.”
“Is that so? Don’t get fresh, youngster. I suppose you think you’ve got such a pull with Pinky that he’ll take on any fellow you recommend. Say, Nate, can’t you just see Proudtree running bases?” And Elk laughed vociferously.
Laurie, just at present inclined to resent anything that Elk said, merely on general principles, found cause for added resentment now. Kewpie was both friend and pupil, and consequently disparagement of Kewpie was disparagement of him. Simkins’s remark that Kewpie had shown pretty good speed on the football field was cut into by Laurie with:
“He isn’t out to become a sprinter, Elk. He’s going to be a pitcher. You don’t expect a pitcher to be much of a hand on the bases. As for his chance of getting on the squad, well, when I get through with him I guess he can have a place if he wants it.”
“When you— Oh, my sainted aunt!” criedElk. “When you get through with him! What do you know about pitching, I’d like to know? You’re a swell teacher, you are! You never caught behind the plate until two or three weeks ago.”
“What of it? That doesn’t prevent me from knowing a natural-born pitcher when I see him. And if—”
“Natural-born pitcher! Kewpie Proudtree? Don’t make me laugh! I’ll bet he can’t pitch a straight ball!”
“Can’t, eh? Listen, Elk. Kewpie’s a better pitcher right now than you are a catcher. If he wasn’t I wouldn’t bother with him.”
“Oh, piffle! He can’t pitch and you can’t teach him, kid. And as for catching, if I dropped every ball that comes over I wouldn’t be shooting my mouth off, you fresh guy!”
“I get my glove on ’em, and that’s more than you do, Elk, old son. And if you think I don’t know what I’m talking about when I say that Kewpie’s got the making of a pitcher, why, you just keep your eyes open.”
“Sure! You’re going to have him on the squad next week, I suppose!”
“No, not next week, but I’ll tell you one thing. He will be pitching for this team before the season’s over!”
“What!” It was a chorus of blank incredulity. Then there was laughter, through which struggled Nate’s voice saying, “Nod, you’re as crazy as a coot!” The burst of merriment acted on Laurie somewhat like a wet sponge on the face of a sleeper. He awoke suddenly to the enormity of his assertion, and caution urged him to prompt retraction, or, at least, compromise. But there was Elk Thurston grinning and sneering, his very attitude a challenge. Laurie swallowed hard and summoned a smile of careless ease to his countenance.
“You heard what I said,” he remarked calmly.
Then Coach Mulford came in, and the die was cast. Laurie waved a nonchalant hand to Dave Brewster. In appearance he looked as care-free and untroubled as any person there, but to himself he was saying bitterly, “There, you poor fish, you’ve been and gone and done it again!”