Ned ate almost no breakfast, and Laurie noted the fact, but, after a glance at his brother’s face, said nothing. After all, he reflected, there were probably others of the squad who were displaying no more appetite this morning. Afterward, on the way to School Hall for their only recitation of the day, he asked off-handedly: “How are you feeling, Neddie?”
Ned didn’t answer at once. When he did, he only replied laconically: “Rotten!”
“How do you mean, rotten?” Laurie disguised anxiety under flippancy. “Tummy out of whack? Or is it a case of ingrowing signals?”
“I don’t know what the trouble is,” answered Ned seriously. “I feel perfectly punk. And I—I’m scared, Laurie. I’d give a million dollars if I didn’t have to go to the field this afternoon. I wish to goodness I could duck somehow. Say, feel my forehead. Isn’t it hot?”
Laurie felt, and shook his head. “Cool as a cucumber, you old fakir. Buck up, Neddie! You’ll feel better after a while. Did you sleep all right?”
“I guess so,” replied the other dispiritedly. “I dreamed a lot. Dreamed I was kicking goals over a bar as high as a mountain. And the ball was as big as a hogshead. And there were about a million folks watching me, and Mr. Cornish was beating a bass-drum.”
Laurie laughed. “Some dream, Neddie! Tell you what. After we get out of here, we’ll take a nice, long hike. Mulford wants the players to stay outdoors, doesn’t he? Didn’t you tell me he said you were to walk or something?”
Ned nodded. “I’m too tired to walk, though, Laurie. Guess I’ll get a book and go over to the park. Or go down and jump in the river!”
“Fine idea!” scoffed Laurie. “What have you got against the river? It never did anything to you, did it?”
Ned, however, refused to smile. “You don’t need to come along,” he said. “I—I guess I’d rather be alone, Laurie.”
“You will be, if you’re going to jump in the river, partner! The water’s a heap too cold to appeal to me. Well, cheer up. See you when we come out.”
There was a holiday feeling in the air this morning that didn’t promise well for recitations, and Mr. Brock’s chemistry class was a sore trial to that gentleman. Yet, although he frowned often and sighed many despairing sighs, he made allowance for the prevailing mood of restlessness andexhibited unusual patience. And finally it was over and the class trooped out.
“You stay here,” said Laurie, “and I’ll run over and get a couple of books from the room. What do you want?”
“I don’t care—anything,” answered Ned, listlessly.
When Laurie went off, Ned seated himself on a step and gazed forlornly around him. Groups of boys stood on the walks in animated conversation. Near at hand, a half-dozen juniors were discussing the game avidly, drawing comforting conclusions from a comparison of the season’s performances of Hillman’s and Farview. Suddenly the prospect of sitting on a park bench with Laurie became utterly distasteful to Ned, and, with a hurried glance in the direction of East Hall, he arose and made his way along the drive and into Summit Street. There he turned to the left and walked quickly to the corner. At Washington Street another look behind showed that he had made his escape, and he heaved a sigh of relief and went on past the library and into Cumber Street, heading unconsciously toward the open country eastward of town.
When Laurie returned to School Hall with a book for Ned and a magazine for himself, he sat down and waited a few minutes, supposing that Ned would be back. When he didn’t come, Laurie went over to School Park, thinking thathe had perhaps grown tired of waiting in the yard. But no Ned was to be seen, and, puzzled but untroubled, Laurie dawdled into Pine Street. The white-and-red sign above the Widow Deane’s little store shone bravely in the sunlight. For an hour Laurie enjoyed the society of Polly and Antoinette in the sunny garden, where, against the board fence, a clump of hardy chrysanthemums made a cheery showing of yellow and lavender. Antoinette had retired to winter quarters, which means that a gunny-sack and a length of old red carpet had been draped over her box. But just now the drapery was lifted, and Antoinette was doing great things to a very large cabbage-leaf. Towser had established himself in the sunshine atop the porch roof and gazed down benignly at the pair below.
Laurie and Polly talked, of course, about the game. He and George were again to act as escorts to the two girls, a fact that had eaten a large hole in Laurie’s remaining allowance. About ten o’clock he took himself away, reminding Polly to be ready at half-past one, since it took a good ten minutes to walk to the field, and because, wisely, he realized that to Polly “half-past one” would mean a quarter or two. Climbing the fence into Bob’s yard, he discovered that young man with a new crowbar about to begin an attack on the remaining posts of the arbor. So he removed his sweater, moistened his handsin the time-honored and only efficacious manner, and joined the assault. After the posts were added to the pile beside the fence, the two boys went indoors and refreshed the inner man with piping-hot ginger cookies. Thus it was that it was nearly noon when Laurie got back to Number 16, to find, to his uneasiness, that Ned was not there. Nor, as far as any evidences showed, had he been there since before breakfast.
Laurie threw himself on the window-seat and tried to apply himself to the magazine that he had carried all morning. But he began to be really worried about Ned. He didn’t understand where he could be. Even if he had gone off by himself, mooning along the roads, which was what Laurie suspected he had done, he should have been home before this, for, as Laurie knew, the players were to go to lunch at twelve. Presently he dropped the magazine and strode across the corridor to Number 15. Kewpie was not in, but Hop was there—a more than ordinarily serious-faced Hop, who replied to Laurie’s inquiry in an absent-minded manner suggesting that some one had placed him in a trance and gone away without awakening him. Hop hadn’t seen Nid all morning. Kewpie had just gone over to West Hall. He hoped there wouldn’t be any wind this afternoon. Farview had a punter that could do fifty yards easily, and a wind wouldlengthen his kicks frightfully. Did Nod think those clouds meant wind?
Laurie withdrew without venturing an opinion in the matter. Football, he reflected, was a far more dangerous pastime than folks generally realized, when it could affect a fellow’s brains like that! Downstairs, he searched the little group about the dining-hall door, and finally made inquiry of Dave Murray. Dave was worried and excited and a bit short-tempered.
“Nid Turner? No, I haven’t seen him. He’ll be here pretty quick, though. We eat at twelve.”
He left Laurie, to push his way toward the entrance to accost Mr. Mulford, who was coming in; and Laurie went out and sat down on the step and watched. Kewpie came striding across from West Hall, smiling and evidently very fit. But when Laurie questioned him the smile faded.
“Nid? No, I haven’t set eyes on him. Isn’t he here? Are you sure? Say, you don’t suppose the silly guy has bolted? He was in mean shape last night, Nod. But he wouldn’t do that! He’s no quitter. He’ll be here in a minute or two.”
“Suppose—suppose he isn’t?” asked Laurie, anxiously. “Would it matter much?”
“Matter?” Kewpie shrugged, one eye on the dining-hall door, through which his team-mates were beginning to pass. “It wouldn’t matter to the game, I guess. I was only trying to cheer him up last night. You understand. It isn’t likelyPinky will use him. But it would be a bad thing for him, Nod. It would be an awful black eye, in fact, if he cut the game. Guess Pinky would just about can him for all time! I say, I’ve got to hustle in there. Why don’t you have a look around for him? Maybe he’s in the library, or over in West, or—or somewhere. See you later, Nod!”
Kewpie disappeared into the dining-hall, and a moment later the door was closed. Laurie acted on Kewpie’s suggestion, and made a thorough search of School Hall and the other dormitory, and even poked his head into the gymnasium, where only an empty floor met his gaze. After that there seemed nothing to do but wait. Ned had already missed his lunch, for the fellows were coming out into the corridor when Laurie returned to East Hall. Murray nailed him as he tried to pass unnoticed to the stairs.
“Say, Nod, where’s that brother of yours?” he demanded indignantly. “Didn’t he know that lunch was at twelve? Where is he, anyway?”
“I don’t know, Dave,” Laurie answered, miserably. “He went for a walk this morning, and I haven’t seen him since. I guess he went too far and couldn’t get back in time. I’ve been looking all over for him.”
“That’s fine!” said the manager, bitterly. “Mulford asked for him, and I said I’d look him up. You’d better find him mighty quick,Nod. Tell him to get something to eat somewhere and be at the gym not later than one. There’s a floor drill then. I’ll make it all right with Mulford, somehow. But there’ll be the dickens and all to pay if he doesn’t show up!”
Hoping against hope, Laurie hurried up to the room. But there was no Ned. One o’clock came and passed. Time and again Laurie went to the gate and looked up and down the street, but without result. Ned had disappeared utterly, it seemed, and the unwelcome conclusion grew in Laurie’s mind that Ned had shown the white feather and had deliberately absented himself. Laurie didn’t like to think that, and there were moments when he couldn’t. But here it was nearly half-past one, and Ned hadn’t come, and facts are facts! It looked, he thought sadly, like a bad day for the honor of the Turners!
At half-past one he found George Watson in his room, and handed over one of his tickets. “I can’t go to the field with you,” he said, “but I’ll find you over there. Try to keep a seat for me, will you?”
“What’s the big idea?” asked George, blankly. “Why can’t you go with us? That’s a fine game to play!”
“I’ll tell you later. I—I’ve got something to do. Be a good fellow, George, won’t you? And tell Polly how it is, will you?”
“How the dickens can I tell Polly how it is whenI don’t know how it is myself?” asked George, indignantly. “Oh, all right! But you want to get there pretty quick, Nod. It’s hard to hold seats when there aren’t enough of them in the first place. There’s a regular mob going out there already!”
Disconsolately Laurie hurried out and stationed himself at the dormitory entrance. Presently the players emerged from the gymnasium in their togs and passed through the little gate to Washington Street. Laurie watched them file past, hoping hard that Ned would be among them. But, although all the rest were there, twenty-one in all, there was no Ned.
From Washington Street and Summit Street came a steady tramping of feet, accompanied by a swishing sound as the pedestrians brushed through the fallen leaves. Occasionally an automobile went by with a warning honk of its horn at the corner. Looking over the withered hedge, Laurie could see the colors of Hillman’s and Farview marching past, banners of dark blue bearing the white Old English H, maroon-and-white flags adorned with the letters “F. A.” Laughter and the merry, excited chatter of many voices came to him. The yard was empty, except for a boy hurrying down the steps of West Hall, and he too quickly disappeared through the gate.
Presently Laurie looked at his watch. The time was eighteen minutes to two. He left EastHall and turned toward the gymnasium. Out of the shelter of the dormitory a little breeze fanned his face, and he remembered Hop Kendrick’s dread of a wind that would put more power into the toe of the Farview punter. It might be, he reflected, that Hop was due for disappointment; but the matter didn’t seem very important to him. The locker-room in the gymnasium was empty. Over the benches lay the discarded underclothing of the players, and sometimes the outer clothing as well, suggesting that excitement on this occasion had prevailed over orderliness. Laurie made his way to Ned’s locker. It was closed, and behind the unfastened door hung his togs.
Walking felt good to Ned that morning. The air, brisk in spite of the sunshine and the day’s stillness, cleared his head of the queer cloudiness that had been there since awakening, and, turning into the country road that led eastward toward the higher hills, he strode along briskly. He had, he reflected, played rather a low-down trick on Laurie; but that could be explained later, and Laurie wouldn’t mind when he understood. When he had gone the better part of a mile into the country, and the road had begun to steepen perceptibly, the sound of a motor behind warned him to one side. But, instead of passing in a cloud of dust, the automobile slowed down as it reached the pedestrian, and the driver, a genial-looking man of middle age, hailed.
“Going my way?” he asked. “Get in if you like.”
Ned hesitated, and then climbed in beside the solitary occupant of the car. The prospect of speeding through the sunlit morning world appealed to him, and he thanked the driver and snuggled into the other corner of the front seat.
“That’s all right, my boy,” answered the man, genially. “Glad to have company. How far are you going?”
“Just—just up the road a ways,” replied Ned, vaguely. “I was out for a walk, only this seemed better.”
“Well, it’s quicker, though it doesn’t give you quite so much exercise,” was the response. “You sing out when you’ve had enough. Maybe you can get a lift going back, if you’re not in too much of a hurry. Still, there isn’t much travel on this road. Most folks go around by Little Windsor. It’s longer, but the road’s a sight better. I go this way because I can do it quicker. There are some fierce bumps, though. Yell if you drop out!”
The car was a heavy one with good springs, and as long as Ned remained in it the bad bumps didn’t materialize. His companion evidently liked to talk, and Ned learned a good deal about him and his business, without, however, finding it very interesting. The man asked few questions, and so Ned merely supplied the information that he was from Hillman’s School and that he liked to walk and that he had all the morning to get back in. The car kept up an even, effortless speed of twenty-seven or -eight miles an hour, and it was finding himself booming up the straight grade over Candle Mountain that brought Ned to a sudden realization that if he meant to getback to school by twelve o’clock without undue effort he had best part company with his chatty acquaintance. So, at the summit of the hill, he said good-by, repeated his thanks, and got out.
“Guess you’re about six miles from Orstead,” said the man. “It won’t take you long to get back there, though, if you find a lift. Don’t hesitate to stop any one you see; they’ll be glad to take you in. Good-by!”
The gray automobile went on and was speedily dropping from sight beyond the nearly leafless forest. Ned watched it disappear, and then set his face toward home. The ride had certainly done him good, he told himself. The prospect of being called on to kick a dozen goals wouldn’t have dismayed him a mite at that moment. In fact, he suddenly realized that he was going to be horribly disappointed if the chance to attempt at least one goal from the field did not come to him, and he wondered why he had felt so craven last night.
After a mile or so a small, dust-covered car overhauled him and went by without a challenge from him. It was still only ten o’clock, and he had two hours yet, and he had no intention of begging a ride. Taken leisurely, the remaining miles would be covered without weariness and in plenty of time. When he had accomplished, as he reckoned, about half the distance to Orstead, his watch said seventeen minutes to eleven. The forenoonhad grown appreciably warmer, and so had Ned. Beside the road was a little knoll carpeted with ashy-brown beech-leaves. Only a stone wall, bordered with blackberry briars, intervened.
Ned climbed across the wall and seated himself on the slope of the knoll. The land descended gently before him toward the river and the town, but neither was in sight. Presently, removing his cap, he stretched himself on his back and linked his fingers under his head. And presently, because the blue, sunlit, almost cloudless sky was too dazzling to gaze at long, he closed his eyes. And as he did so a strange, delicious languor descended upon him. He sighed luxuriously and stretched his legs into a more comfortable position. It was odd that he should feel sleepy at this time of day, he thought, and it wouldn’t do to stay here too long. He wished, though, that he didn’t have to get anywhere at any especial time. It would be great to just lie here like this and feel the sun on his face and—
At about that moment he stopped thinking at all and went sound asleep.
When he awoke he was in shadow, for the sun had traveled around and past the elbow of a near-by old and knotted oak whose brown-pink leaves still clung to the twisted branches. Ned looked around him in puzzlement, and it was a long moment before he could account for his surroundings. When he had, he sat up very quickly andgave a startled look at his watch. The thing was crazy! It said twenty-one minutes past two! Of course it couldn’t be that late, he told himself indignantly. But even as he said it he was oppressed by a conviction that it was. And a look at the sun removed any lingering doubt!
He sprang to his feet, seized his cap, and stumbled across the wall, and, again on the road, set out at a run toward home. But after a moment he slowed up. “Was there any use in hurrying now? The game was already in progress—had been going on for twenty minutes. The first quarter was probably nearly over. What would they say to him, the fellows and Coach Mulford and—Laurie? Somehow, what Laurie would think appeared far more important than what any of the others might. He would have such a poor excuse, he reflected ruefully! Went for a walk, and fell asleep by the road! Gee, he couldn’t tell them that! He might tell Laurie; but the others—”
He was jogging on as he thought things over. Even if he ran all the way, and he couldn’t do that, of course, he wouldn’t get to school before three. And then he would have to change into his togs and reach the field. And by that time the second half would have started. Wouldn’t it be far better to remain away altogether? He might easily reach his room unseen, and then, when Laurie returned, he could pretend illness. Hemight not fool Laurie; but the others, Coach Mulford and Dave Murray and the fellows, would have to believe him.
If a fellow was ill, he couldn’t be expected to play football. He even got as far as wondering what particular and peculiar malady he could assume, when he put the idea aside.
“No use lying about it,” he muttered. “Got to face the music, Ned! It was your own fault. Maybe Mulford will let me down easy. I wouldn’t like to queer myself for next year. Gee, though, what’ll the school think?” And Ned groaned aloud.
While he had slept, five vehicles had passed him, and as many persons had seen him lying there asleep in the sun and idly conjectured about him. But now, when he needed help to conquer the interminable three miles that stretched between him and the town, and although he constantly turned his head to gaze hopefully back along the dusty road, not a conveyance appeared. Before long, since he had unwisely started at too great a speed, he was forced to sit down on a rock and rest. He was very nearly out of breath and the perspiration was trickling down beneath his cloth cap. A light breeze had sprung up since he had dropped asleep, and it felt very grateful as it caressed his damp hair and flushed face.
Perhaps those three miles were nearer four, because when, tired, dusty, and heart-sick, he descriedthe tower of the Congregational church above the leafless elms and maples of the village, the gilded hands pointed to twelve minutes past three. Even had he arrived in time, he reflected miserably, he would never have been able to serve his team-mates and his school, for he was scarcely able to drag one foot behind the other as he finally turned into the yard.
The place appeared deserted, grounds and buildings alike, as Ned unhesitatingly made his way across to the gymnasium. He had long since decided on his course of action. No matter whether he had failed his coach and his schoolmates, his duty was still plain. As late as it was, he would get into his togs and report at the field. But when, in the empty locker-room, he paused before where his football togs should have been, he found only empty hooks. The locker, save for towels, was empty!
At first he accepted the fact as conclusive evidence of his disgrace—thought that coach or manager or an infuriated student body had removed his clothes as a signal of degradation! Then the unlikelihood of the conclusion came, and he wondered whether they had really been there. But of course they had! He remembered perfectly hanging them up, as usual, yesterday afternoon. Perhaps some one had borrowed them, then. The locker had been unfastened, probably, for half the time he forgot to turn the key in it. Wondering,he made his way out of the building, undecided now what to do. But as he reached the corner a burst of cheers floated to him from the play-field. His head came up. It was still his duty to report, togs or no togs! Resolutely he set out on Summit Street, the sounds of battle momentarily growing nearer as he limped along.
By the entrances many automobiles and some carriages lined the road. Above the stand the backs of the spectators in the top row of seats looked strangely agitated, and blue flags waved and snapped. A fainter cheer came to him, the slogan of Farview, from the farther side of the field. He heard the piping of signals, and a dull thud of leather against leather, then cries and a whistle shrilling; and then a great and triumphant burst of cheering from the Blue side.
He hurried his steps, leaped the low fence beside the road, and came to a group of spectators standing at the nearer end of the long, low grand stand. He could see the gridiron now, and the battling teams in mid-field. And the scoreboard at the farther end! And, seeing that, his heart sank. “Hillman’s 7—Visitors 9” was the story! He tugged the sleeve of a man beside him, a youngish man in a chauffeur’s livery.
“What period is it?” he asked.
“Fourth,” was the answer. The man turned a good-natured look on the boy’s anxious face.
“Been going about four minutes. You just get here?”
Ned nodded. “How did they get their nine?” he asked.
“Farview? Worked a forward pass in the second quarter for about thirty yards, and smashed over for a touch-down. They failed at goal, though. That made ’em six, and they got three more in the last quarter. Hillman’s fumbled about on their thirty, and that bandy-legged full-back of Farview’s kicked a corking goal from field. Gee—say, it was some kick!”
“Placement or drop?”
“Drop. Almost forty yards, I guess. There they go again!” The chauffeur tiptoed to see over a neighbor’s head. Ned, past his shoulder, had an uncertain glimpse of the Maroon and White breaking through the Blue’s left side. When the down was signaled, he spoke again.
“How did Hillman’s score?” he asked.
“Huh? Oh, she got started right off at the beginning of the game and just ate those red-legs up. Rushed the ball from the middle of the field, five and six yards at a whack, and landed it on the other fellow’s door-sill. Farview sort of pulled together then and made a fight; but that big chap, Pope, the full-back, smashed through finally, right square between the posts. After that he kicked the goal. Guess the red-legs had stage-fright then, but they got over it, and our fellowshaven’t had a chance to score since. Pope had to lay off last quarter. They played him to a standstill. Mason’s mighty good, but he can’t make the gains Pope did. First down again! Say, they aren’t doing a thing but eating us up!”
Ned wormed himself to the front of the group, and came to anchor at the side of a tall policeman, close to the rope that stretched from the end of the stand well past the zone line. By craning his neck he could look down the length of the field. White-sweatered, armed with big blue megaphones, Brewster and Whipple and two others, cheer leaders, were working mightily, although the resulting cheers sounded weak where Ned stood. The teams were coming down the field slowly but surely, the Blue contesting every yard, but yielding after every play. The lines faced each other close to the thirty now. Across the gridiron, Farview’s pæans were joyful and confident, and the maroon-and-white flags gyrated in air. Well back toward his threatened goal, Hop Kendrick, white-faced and anxious, called hoarse encouragement. Ned clenched his hands and hoped and feared.
A line attack turned into an unexpected forward pass, and a tall Farview end came streaking down just inside the boundary. Hop was after him like a shot; but Deering, who had taken Pope’s place, ran him out at the fifteen-yard line. The Maroon and White went wild withjoy. The teams trooped in on the heels of the diminutive referee, and the ball was down just inside Hillman’s fifteen. Ned looked the Blue team over. Save for Corson and White, the line was made up of first-string men, but the back field was, with the single exception of Mason, all substitutes: Kendrick, Boessel, and Deering.
A plunge straight at the center gave Farview two more precious yards, Kewpie, apparently pretty well played out, yielding before the desperate attack. Three more yards were gained between Emerson and Stevenson on the left. Third down now, and five to go! Evidently Farview was determined on a touch-down, for on the nine yards, with an excellent chance for a field goal, she elected to rush again. But this time the Blue’s center held, and the Farview left half, when friend and foe was pulled from above him, held the pigskin scarcely a foot in advance of its former position. It was Hillman’s turn to cheer, and cheer she did. Ned added a wild shout of triumph to the din about him.
Fourth down, and still five yards to gain! Now Farview must either kick or try a forward, and realizing this the Blue’s secondary defense dropped back and out. A Farview substitute came speeding on, a new left tackle. Then, amid a sudden hush, the quarter sang his signals: “Kick formation! 73—61—29—” The big full-back stretched his arms out. “12—17—9!”Back sped the ball, straight and breast-high. The Blue line plunged gallantly. The stand became a pandemonium. The full-back swung a long right leg, but the ball didn’t drop from his hands. Two steps to the left, and he was poising it for a forward pass! Then he threw, well over the up-stretched hands of a Hillman’s player who had broken through, and to the left. A Maroon and White end awaited the ball, for the instant all alone on the Blue’s goal-line. Ned, seeing, groaned dismally. Then from somewhere a pair of blue-clad arms flashed into sight, a slim body leaped high, and from the Hillman’s side of the field came a veritable thunder of relief and exultation. For the blue arms had the ball, and the blue player was dodging and worming toward the farther side-line! Captain Stevenson it was who cleared the path for him at the last moment, bowling over a Farview player whose arms were already stretched to grapple, and, in a shorter time than the telling takes, Hop Kendrick was racing toward the distant goal!
Afterward Ned realized that during the ensuing ten or twelve seconds he had tried desperately to shin up the tall policeman; but at the time he had not known it, nor, or so it appeared, had the policeman, for the latter was shouting his lungs out! Past the middle of the field sped Hop, running as fleetly as a hare, and behind him pounded a solitary Farview end. These twoleft the rest of the field farther and farther back at every stride. For a moment it seemed that Hop would win that desperate race; but at last, near the thirty-five yards, he faltered, and the gap between him and his pursuer closed to a matter of three or four strides, and after that it was only a question of how close to the goal the Blue runner would get before he was overtaken and dragged down. The end came between the fifteen- and twenty-yard streaks. Then, no more than a stride behind, the Farview player sprang. His arms wrapped themselves around Hop’s knees, and the runner crashed to earth.
For a long minute the babel of shouting continued, for that eighty-yard sprint had changed the complexion of the game in a handful of seconds. Hillman’s was no longer the besieged, fighting in her last trench to stave off defeat, but stood now on the threshold of victory, herself the besieger!
Farview called for time. Two substitutes came in to strengthen her line. Hop, evidently no worse for his effort, was on his feet again, thumping his players on the backs, imploring, entreating, and confident. On the seventeen yards lay the brown oval, almost in front of the right-hand goal-post. A field goal would put the home team one point to the good, and, with only a few minutes left to play, win the game almost beyond a doubt, and none on the Blue’s side of thefield doubted that a try at goal would follow. Even when the first play came from ordinary formation and Deering smashed into the left of Farview’s line for a scant yard, the audience was not fooled. Of course, it was wise to gain what ground they might with three downs to waste, for there was always the chance that a runner might get free and that luck would bring a touch-down instead.
Yet again Hop signaled a line attack. This time it was Mason who carried the ball, and he squirmed through for two yards outside left tackle, edging the pigskin nearer the center of the goal. Then came a shout that started near the Blue team’s bench and traveled right along the stand. A slight youngster was pulling off his sweater in front of the bench, a boy with red-brown hair and a pale, set face. Then he had covered the red-brown hair with a leather helmet and was trotting into the field with upraised hand.
Ned stared and stared. Then he closed his eyes for an instant, opened them, and stared again. After that he pinched himself hard to make certain that he was awake and not still dreaming on the knoll beside the road. The substitute was speaking to the referee now, and Deering was walking away from the group in the direction of the bench. The cheering began, the leaders waving their arms in unison along the length of the Hillman’s stand:
“’Rah, ’rah, ’rah! ’Rah, ’rah, ’rah! ’Rah, ’rah, ’rah! Deering!”
And then again, a second later: “’Rah, ’rah, ’rah! ’Rah, ’rah, ’rah! ’Rah, ’rah, ’rah! Turner!”
Ned turned imploringly to the tall policeman. “What—who was that last fellow they cheered?” he faltered.
The policeman looked down impatiently.
“Turner. Guess he’s going to kick a goal for ’em.”
“Block that kick! Block that kick! Block that kick!” chanted Farview imploringly, from across the trampled field.
Yet above the hoarse entreaty came Hop Kendrick’s confident voice: “All right, Hillman’s! Make it go! Here’s where we win it! Kick formation! Turner back!” And then: “25—78—26—194! 12—31—9—”
But it was Hop himself who dashed straight forward and squirmed ahead over one white line before the whistle blew.
“Fourth down!” called the referee. “About four and a half!”
“Come on!” cried Hop. “Make it go this time! Hard, fellows, hard! We’ve got ’em going!” He threw an arm over the shoulder of the new substitute. Those near by saw the latter shake his head, saw Hop draw back and stare as if aghast at the insubordination. Farview protested to the referee against the delay, and the latter called warningly. Hop nodded, and raised his voice again:
“Kick formation! Turner back!”
Then he walked back to where the substitute stood and dropped to his knees.
“Place-kick!” grunted a man at Ned’s elbow. “Can’t miss it from there if the line holds!”
Ned, in a perfect agony of suspense, waited. Hop was calling his signals. There was a pause. Then: “16—32—7—”
Back came the ball on a long pass from Kewpie. It was high, but Hop got it, pulled it down, and pointed it. Ned saw the kicker step forward. Then he closed his eyes.
There was a wild outburst from all around him, and he opened them again. The ball was not in sight, but a frantic little man in a gray sweater was waving his arms like a semaphore behind the farther goal. Along the space between stand and side-line a quartette of youths leaped crazily, flourishing great blue megaphones or throwing them in air. Above the stand blue banners waved and caps tossed about. On the scoreboard at the far end of the field the legend read: “Hillman’s 10—Visitors 9.”
A moment later, a boy with a wide grin on his tired face and nerves that were still jangling made his way along Summit Street in the direction of school. Behind him the cheers and shouts still broke forth at intervals, for there yet remained some three minutes of playing time. Once, in the sudden stillness between cheers, he heard plainly the hollow thump of a punted ball.More shouts then, indeterminate, dying away suddenly. The boy walked quickly, for he had a reason for wanting to gain the security of his room before the crowd flowed back from the field. At last, at the school gate, he paused and looked back and listened. From the distant scene of battle came a faint surge of sound that rose and fell and rose again and went on unceasingly as long as he could hear.
Back in Number 16, Ned threw his cap aside and dropped into the nearest chair. There was much that he understood, yet much more that was still a mystery to him. One thing, however, he dared hope, and that was that the disgrace of having failed his fellows had passed him miraculously by! As to the rest, he pondered and speculated vainly. He felt horribly limp and weary while he waited for Laurie to come. And after a while he heard cheering, and arose and went to a window. There could no longer be any doubt as to the final outcome of the game. Between the sidewalk throngs, dancing from side to side of the street with linked arms, came Hillman’s, triumphant!
“Turner. Guess he’s going to kick a goal for ’em.”“Turner. Guess he’s going to kick a goal for ’em.”
And here and there, borne on the shoulders of joyous comrades, bobbed a captured player. There were more than a dozen of them, some taking the proceeding philosophically, others squirming and fighting for freedom. Now and then one succeeded in getting free, but recapture was invariably his fate. At least, this was true with a single exception while Ned watched. The exception was a boy with red-brown hair, who, having managed to slip from his enthusiastic friends, dashed through the throng on the sidewalk, leaped a fence, cut across a corner, and presently sped through the gate on Washington Street, pursuit defeated. A minute later, flushed and breathless, he flung open the door of Number 16.
At sight of Ned, Laurie’s expression of joyous satisfaction faded. He halted inside the door and closed it slowly behind him. At last, “Hello,” he said, listlessly.
“Hello,” answered Ned. Then there was a long silence. Outside, in front of the gymnasium, they were cheering the victorious team, player by player. At last, “We won, didn’t we?” asked Ned.
Laurie nodded as if the thing were a matter of total indifference. He still wore football togs, and he frowningly viewed a great hole in one blue stocking as he seated himself on his bed.
“Well,” he said, finally, “what happened to you?”
Ned told him, at first haltingly, and then with more assurance as he saw the look of relief creep into Laurie’s face. As he ended his story, Laurie’s countenance expressed only a great and joyous amusement.
“Neddie,” he chuckled, “you’ll be the deathof me yet! You came pretty near to it to-day, too, partner!” He sobered as his thoughts went back to a moment some fifteen minutes before, and he shook his head. “Partner, this thing of understudying a football hero is mighty wearing. I’m through for all time. After this, Ned, you’ll have to provide your own substitute! I’m done!”
“How—why—how did you happen to think of it?” asked Ned, rather humbly. “Weren’t you—scared?”
“Scared? Have a heart! I was frightened to death every minute I sat on the bench. And then, when Mulford yelped at me, I—well, I simply passed away altogether! I’m at least ten years older than I was this morning, Neddie, and I’ll bet I’ve got gray hairs all over my poor old head. You see, Murray as much as said that it was all day with you if you didn’t show up. Kewpie was a bit down-hearted about it, too. I waited around until half-past one or after, thinking every moment that you’d turn up—hoping you would, anyhow; although, to be right honest, Neddie, I had a sort of hunch, after the way you acted and talked, that maybe you’d gone off on purpose. Anyhow, about one o’clock I got to thinking, and the more I thought the more I got into the notion that something had to be done if the honor of the Turners was to be—be upheld. And the only thing I could think of was putting on your togsand bluffing it through. Kewpie owned up that he’d been talking rot last night—that he didn’t really think you’d be called on to-day. And I decided to take a chance. Of course, if I’d known what was going to happen I guess I wouldn’t have had the courage; but I didn’t know. I thought all I’d have to do was sit on the bench and watch.
“So I went over to the gym and got your togs on, and streaked out to the field, I guess I looked as much like you as you do, for none of the fellows knew that I wasn’t you. I was careful not to talk much. Mr. Mulford gave me thunder, and so did Murray, and Joe Stevenson looked pretty black. I just said I was sorry, and there wasn’t much time to explain, anyway, because the game was starting about the time I got there. Once, in the third period, when Slavin was hurt, Mulford looked along the bench and stopped when he got to me, and I thought my time had come. But I guess he wanted to punish me for being late. Anyway, Boessel got the job. When the blow did fall, Neddie, I was sick clean through. My tummy sort of folded up and my spine was about as stiff as—as a drink of water! I wanted to run, or crawl under the bench or something. ‘You’ve pleased yourself so far to-day, Turner,’ said Mulford. ‘Now suppose you do something for the school. Kendrick will call for a kick. You see that it gets over, or I’ll have somethingto say to you later. Remember this, though: not a word to any one but the referee until after the next play. Now get out there andwin this game!’
“Nice thing to say to a chap who’d never kicked a football in his life except around the street! But, gee, Neddie, what could I do? I’d started the thing, and I had to see it through. Of course I thought that maybe I’d ought to fess up that I wasn’t me—or, rather, you—and let some one else kick. But I knew there wasn’t any one else they could depend on, and I decided that if some one had to miss the goal, it might as well be me—or you. Besides, there was the honor of the Turners! So I sneaked out, with my heart in my boots,—your boots, I mean,—and Hop called for a line play, and then another one, and I thought maybe I was going to get off without making a fool of myself. But no such luck. ‘Take all the time you want, Nid,’ said Hop. ‘We’ll hold ’em for you. Drop it over, for the love of mud! We’ve got to have this game!’ ‘Drop it?’ said I. ‘Not on your life, Hop! Make it a place-kick or I’ll never have a chance!’ ‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘I mean I can’t drop-kick to-day.’ I guess something in my voice or the way I said it put him on, for he looked at me pretty sharp. Still, maybe he didn’t guess the truth, either, for he let me have my way and let me kick.
“After that”—Laurie half closed his eyes and shook his head slowly—“after that I don’t really know what did happen. I have a sort of a hazy recollection of Hop shouting some signals that didn’t mean a thing in my young life, and kneeling on the ground a couple of yards ahead of me. I didn’t dare look at the goal, though I knew it was ahead of me and about twenty yards away. Then there was a brown streak, and things began to move, and I moved with them. I suppose I swung my foot,-probably my right one, though it may have been my left,—and then I closed my eyes tight and waited for some one to kill me. Next thing I knew, I was being killed—or I thought I thought I was, for a second. It turned out, though, that the fellows weren’t really killing me; they were just beating me black and blue to show they were pleased.
“Of course, it was all the biggest piece of luck that ever happened, Ned. Hop aimed the ball just right, and somehow or other I managed to kick it. Maybe any one would have done just as well, because I guess it was an easy goal. Anyway, the honor of the Turners was safe!”
“You’re a regular brick,” said Ned, a bit huskily. “What—what happened afterward? I didn’t stay.”
“Afterward Hop looked at me kind of queer and said, ‘I guess that’ll do for you, Turner,’ and I beat it away from there as fast as I knewhow, and Mulford sent in some other poor unfortunate. There were only half a dozen plays after that, and we kicked whenever we got the ball.”
“Do you think any one but Hop found out?” asked Ned, anxiously.
“Not a one. And I’m not sure, mind you, that Hop did. You see, he didn’tsayanything. Only, he did call me ‘Nid’ at first, and then ‘Turner’ the next time. I haven’t seen him since. I guess I never will know, unless I ask him. One thing’s sure, though, Ned, and that is that Hop won’t talk.”
“You don’t think I’d ought to fess up?” asked Ned.
“I do not,” replied Laurie stoutly. “What’s the good? It wasn’t your fault if you went to sleep out in the country. If any one’s to blame, it’s me. I oughtn’t to have hoaxed them. No, sir; if Mulford or any one says anything, just you tell them you fell asleep and couldn’t help getting there late. But I don’t believe any one will ask questions now. They’re all too pleased and excited. But, gee, Neddie! I certainly am glad I made that goal instead of missing it. I’d be a pretty mean feeling pup to-night if I hadn’t!”
“It was wonderful,” mused Ned. “You putting it over, I mean. With all that crowd looking on, and Farview shouting—”
“Shouting? I didn’t hear them. I didn’tknow whether there was any one around just then! I had troubles of my own, partner! Know something? Well, I think there’s the chap who kicked that goal.” Laurie raised his right foot and displayed one of Ned’s scuffed football shoes. “I guess I just sort of left things to him and he did the business. Good old Mister Shoe!”
Ned jumped to his feet and pulled Laurie from the bed. “For the love of lemons,” he cried, “get those togs off before any one comes in!”
“Gee, that’s so!” Laurie worked feverishly, while Ned stumbled over a chair and turned the key in the lock.
“A fine pair of idiots we are!” exclaimed Ned, as he ripped Laurie’s shirt off for him. “Suppose Hop or Kewpie had come in while we were sitting here!”
Hillman’s spent the rest of the evening in celebration. In the dining-hall the appearance of any member of the squad was the signal for hand-clapping and cheers, and when Ned entered, followed by Laurie, the applause was deafening. Ned showed himself to be a very modest and retiring hero, for he fairly scuttled to his seat, and kept his head bent over his plate long after the applause had died away. Then, stealing an unhappy glance at Laurie, he found that youth grinning broadly, and was the recipient of a most meaningful wink. After supper, in the corridor, the twins ran squarely into Hop Kendrick. Nedtried to pull aside, but Laurie stood his ground. Hop was plainly a very happy youth to-night, although even when happiest he never entirely lost his look of earnest gravity.
“Well, we did it, Nid!” he said joyfully, clapping that youth on the shoulder. “That was a corking kick of yours, son!”
Ned stammered something utterly unintelligible, but Laurie came to the rescue: “Ned says it was the way you pointed the ball that won that goal, Hop,” he said casually. “He’s mighty modest about it.”
Hop shot a quick glance at the speaker, and Ned declared afterward that there was a smile behind it. But all he said was: “Oh, well, pointing isn’t everything, Nod.Some one’sgot to kick it!”
When he had gone on, Ned and Laurie viewed each other questioningly. “Think he knows?” asked Ned. Laurie shook his head frowningly. “You’ve got me, partner!” he answered.
And, because neither asked Hop Kendrick outright, neither ever did know!
There were songs and speeches and a general jollification after supper, ending in a parade of cheering, singing youths who marched through the town from end to end, and at last drew up outside Doctor Hillman’s porch and shouted until that gentleman appeared and responded. The Doctor’s words were few, but they hit the spot,and when there had been another long cheer for him, and another long cheer for the team, and a final mighty cheer for the school, the happy boys called it a day and sought the dormitories.
Ned was just dropping off to sleep that night when Laurie’s voice reached him through the darkness.
“Ned!” called Laurie.
“Huh?”
“Are you awake?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Listen. It’s a fortunate thing to be a twin.”
There was a long moment of silence. Then Ned’s voice came sleepily:
“’Cause if one twin can’t the other twin kin!”
The week or so succeeding the Farview game seemed like an anticlimax. The bottom had sort of dropped out of things and there was no immediate excitement to look forward to. The weather became as miserable as weather possibly could, the slight snowfall that followed the rain of Thanksgiving Day lasting only long enough to be seen by the early risers. Perhaps it was well that lack of events and inclement weather ruled, for Ned and a good many other boys in school were no worse for an opportunity to apply themselves undisturbedly to their studies. Basketball candidates were called the first Monday in December, and the twins held a serious conference on the question of reporting. Ned, who felt rather flat since there was no more football, was half inclined to go in for the game, and would have had Laurie insisted. But Laurie voted that for the present the Turners had done sufficient in the athletic line, that the honor of the family demanded no further sacrifices on the altar of duty. So Ned abandoned the idea and talked of trying for the crew in the spring.
When December was a week old, the fellows set their gaze on the Christmas recess, which this year began on Wednesday, three days before Christmas, and lasted until the 2d of January. Eleven days are not sufficient to make a trip across the continent and back advisable, although the twins figured that, with the best of fortune, they would be able to reach Santa Lucia in time for dinner Christmas night. On the other hand, the missing of one connection would delay their arrival until the following afternoon, and, as Laurie pointed out, they were fairly certain to be held up somewhere on the way, and a sleeping-car wasn’t exactly an ideal place in which to spend the holiday! Besides, there was a noticeable lack of encouragement from home. It had been accepted beforehand that the boys were to remain at the school during the recess, and nothing in Mr. Turner’s fortnightly letters hinted that he had changed his mind.
“I’d just as lief stay here, anyway,” declared Ned. “We can have a lot more fun. Maybe there’ll be a bunch of snow, and I’m dying to try skiing.”
“You bet! And skating, too! And then there’s that other scheme. Mustn’t forget that, Neddie.”
“You mean—”
“Yes. Didn’t you say we’d do it during vacation?”
“Sure! It—it’ll take quite a lot of money, though, Laurie. And we’ll have presents to buy for Dad and Aunt Emmie and the cousins—”
“The cousins get Christmas cards, and that’s all they do get,” interrupted Laurie, decisively. “That’s all they ever give us, and I’d rather spend my money on something that’ll really—really benefit some one. I guess Dad’ll send us some more money, too, for Christmas. We can do it, all right. I’ve got nearly seven dollars right now. I haven’t spent hardly any money this month.”
“All right. Some day soon we’ll go downtown and find out how much it’s going to cost and what we’ll need and everything. I say, we can get Bob to help us, too!”
“Rather! And three or four other fellows, I guess. Every one likes the Widow, and George says there will be five or six fellows here during recess. He was here last year, and he says he had a dandy time.”
“Let’s get George this afternoon and get the thing started. We can find out the—the area and ask the man how much we’ll need.”
“Sure! And we can buy it and store it at Bob’s. Then all we’ll have to do will be carry it over the fence. I’ll go down and see if I can find him. Look here, Neddie. Why don’t we do it before Christmas and make it a sort of Christmaspresent? Say we worked hard all day Thursday and Friday—”
“Great! Only if it snowed—”
Laurie’s face fell. “Gee, that’s so! I suppose we couldn’t do it if it snowed. Or rained. Or if it was frightfully cold.”
“They say it doesn’t get real cold here until after New Year’s,” said Ned, reassuringly. “But of course it might snow or rain. Well, we’ll do it in time for Christmas if we can. If we can’t, we’ll do it for New Year’s. I’ll bet she’ll be tickled to death. I say, though! We never found out about the color!”
“I did,” answered Laurie modestly. “I asked Polly. She said white.”
“White! Geewhillikins, Laurie, that makes it harder, doesn’t it? We’d have to put on two coats!”
“Think so?” Laurie frowned. “I guess we would. That would take twice as long, eh? Look here; maybe—maybe I can get Polly to change her mind!”
“That’s likely, you chump!” Ned scowled thoughtfully. Finally, “I tell you what,” he said. “Suppose we went around there sometime, and talked with Mrs. Deane, and told her how nice we think blue looks and how sort of—of distinctive! Gee, it wouldn’t be any trick at all to make it blue; but white—” He shook his head despondently.
“Cheer up!” said Laurie. “I’ve got the dope, partner! Listen. We’ll tell them that it ought to be blue because blue’s the school color and all that. Mrs. Deane thinks a heap of Hillman’s, and she’ll fall for it as sure as shooting. So’ll Polly! Come on! Let’s find George and get the thing started!”
“Better get Bob to go with us, too. He said something about wanting to pay his share of it, so we’d better let him in right from the start. After all, we don’t want to hog it, Laurie!”
A fortnight later the exodus came. Of the four-score lads who lived at Hillman’s, all but eight took their departure that Wednesday morning, and Ned and Laurie and George watched the last group drive off for the station with feelings of genuine satisfaction. Life at school during the eleven days of recess promised to be busy and enjoyable, and they were eager to see the decks cleared, so to speak, and to start the new way of living. Ned and Laurie had had plenty of invitations for Christmas week. Both Kewpie and Lee Murdock had earnestly desired their society at their respective homes, and there had been others less insistent but possibly quite as cordial invitations. But neither one had weakened. George half promised one of the boys to visit him for a few days after Christmas, but later he canceled his acceptance.
Besides George and the twins, there remainedat school five other fellows who, because they lived at a distance and railway fares were high, or for other reasons, found it expedient to accept Doctor Hillman’s hospitality. None of the five, two juniors, one lower middler, and two upper middlers, were known to the twins more than casually when recess began; but eating together three times a day and being thrown in one another’s society at other times soon made the acquaintance much closer, and all proved to be decent, likable chaps.
Meals were served at a corner table in West Hall, and during recess there were seldom fewer than three of the faculty present. That may sound depressing, but in vacation-time an instructor becomes quite a human, jovial person, and the scant dozen around the table enjoyed themselves hugely. In the evening Doctor Hillman held open house, and Miss Tabitha showed a genius for providing methods of entertainment. Sometimes they popped corn in the fireplace in the cozy living-room, sometimes they roasted apples. Once it was chestnuts that jumped on the hearth. Then, too, Miss Tabitha was a past mistress in the art of making fudge, and on two occasions Mr. Barrett, the mathematics instructor, displayed such a sweet tooth that the boys lost the last of their awe and “ragged” him without mercy. Several times the Doctor read aloud, choosing, to the boys’ surprise, a corking detectivenovel that had them squirming on the edges of their chairs. Toward the last of the vacation, Laurie confided to Ned and George that he wished recess was just beginning.
To Ned’s and Laurie’s great disappointment, neither snow nor ice appeared and the weather remained merely briskly cold, with sometimes a day like Indian summer. But I am getting ahead of my story, which really comes to an end on Christmas Day.
More than a week before the closing of school, the four conspirators had finished their preparations for the task that was to provide the Widow Deane with a novel Christmas present. In Bob’s cellar were many cans containing blue paint, white paint, linseed oil, and turpentine. There were brushes there, too, and a scraper, and a roll of cotton rags provided by Polly. For, in the end, it had become necessary to acquaint Polly with the project. Against Bob’s back fence reposed all the ladders, of varying lengths, that the neighborhood afforded. Wednesday evening Ned and Laurie and George herded the other boys into George’s room, and explained the scheme and asked for volunteers. They got five most enthusiastic ones.
Nine o’clock the next morning was set as the time for the beginning of the work, and at that hour nine rather disreputably-attired youths appeared in Mrs. Deane’s yard, arriving by way ofthe back fence, and began their assault. The first the Widow knew of what was happening was when, being then occupied with the task of tidying up the sleeping-room on the second floor, she was startled to see the head and shoulders of a boy appear outside her window. Her exclamation of alarm gave place to murmurs of bewilderment as the supposed burglar contented himself with lifting the two shutters from their hinges and passing them down the ladder to some unseen accomplice. Mrs. Deane looked forth. In the garden was what at first glimpse looked like a convention of tramps. They were armed with ladders and brushes and pots of paint, and they were already very busy. Across two trestles set on the grass plot, the stolen shutters were laid as fast as they were taken down. One boy, flourishing a broad-bladed implement, scraped the rough surfaces. A second plied a big round brush, dusting diligently. Numbers three and four, as soon as the first two operatives retired, attacked with brushes dripping with white paint. In almost no time at all the first shutter was off the trestles and leaning, fresh and spotless, against the fence. Every instant another shutter appeared. Mrs. Deane gazed in fascinated amazement. One after another, she recognized the miscreants: the two Turner boys, George Watson, Mr. Starling’s son, Hal Goring, the Stanton boy, and the rest; but, although recognition brought reassurance, bewildermentremained, and she hurried downstairs as fast as ever she could go.
Polly was on the back porch, a very disturbed and somewhat indignant Towser in her arms, evidently a party to the undertaking, and to her Mrs. Deane breathlessly appealed.
“Polly! What are they doing?” she gasped.
“You’ll have to ask the boys, Mama.” Polly’s eyes were dancing. “Nid, here’s Mama, and she wants to know what you’re doing!”
Nid hurried up, a dripping brush in one hand and a smear of white paint across one cheek, followed by Laurie. The others paused at their various tasks to watch smilingly.
“Painting the house, Mrs. Deane!”
“Painting the house! My house? Why—why—what—who—”
“Yes’m. There’s the blue paint. It’s as near like the old as we could find. You don’t think it’s too dark, do you?”
“But I don’t understand, Nid Turner!” said Mrs. Deane helplessly. “Who told you to? Who’s going to pay for it?”
“It’s all paid for, ma’am. It—it’s a sort of Christmas present from us—from the school. You—you don’t mind, do you?”
“Well, I never did!” Mrs. Deane looked from Ned to Laurie, her mouth quivering. “I—I don’t know what to say. I guess I’ll—I’ll go see if any one’s—in the shop, Polly. Did you thinkyou—heard the bell?” Mrs. Deane’s eyes were frankly wet as she turned hurriedly away and disappeared inside. Ned viewed Polly anxiously.
“Do you think she—doesn’t like it?” he half whispered.
Polly shook her head and laughed softly, although her own eyes were not quite dry. “Of course she likes it, you stupid boy! She just didn’t know what to say. She’ll be back pretty soon, after she’s had a little cry.”
“Oh!” said Ned and Laurie in chorus, their faces brightening; and Laurie added apologetically: “Gee, we didn’t want to make her cry, Polly!”
“That sort of a cry doesn’t hurt,” said Polly.
Afterward Mrs. Deane said a great deal, and said it very sweetly, and the boys got more or less embarrassed, and were heartily glad when she drew Ned to her and kissed him, much to that youth’s distress, and the incident ended in laughter. By noon the shutters were done, and nine industrious amateur painters were swarming over the back of the little house. I’m not going to tell you that the job was done as perfectly as Sprague and Currie, Painters and Paper-hangers, would have done it, but you’re to believe that it was done much quicker and at a far greater saving of money! And when it was finished no one except a professional would ever have known the difference. Perhaps there wasmore blue and white paint scattered around the landscape than was absolutely necessary, and it always remained a mystery how Antoinette managed to get her right ear looking like a bit of Italian sky, for every one professed ignorance and Antoinette was apparently well protected from spatters. (It took Polly more than a week to restore the rabbit to her original appearance.)
When the early winter twilight fell and it became necessary to knock off work for the day, the blue painting was more than half done and, unless weather prevented, it was certain that the entire task would be finished by to-morrow evening. Mrs. Deane served five-o’clock tea,—only it happened to be four-o’clock tea instead,—and nine very, very hungry lads did full justice to the repast, and the little room behind the store held a merry party. Perhaps the prevailing odor of paint detracted somewhat from Mrs. Deane’s and Polly’s enjoyment of the refreshments, but you may be certain they made no mention of the fact.
That night the boys viewed the cloudy sky apprehensively. Laurie, who knew little about it, declared dubiously that it smelt like snow. But when morning came, although the cloudiness persisted most of the day, the weather remained kindly, with just enough frost in the air to chill feet and nip idle fingers and to give an added zest to labor. Very little time was wasted on luncheon, and at two o’clock the last slap of blue paint hadbeen applied and the more difficult work of doing the white trim began. Fortunately, there were only eleven windows and two doors, and although “drawing” the sashes was slow and finicking work, with nine willing hands hard at it the end came shortly after dusk, when, watched by eight impatient companions, young Haskell, one of the junior class boys, with trembling fingers drew his brush along the last few inches of a front window, and then, because he was quite keyed up and because it was much too dark to see well, celebrated the culmination of his efforts by putting a foot squarely into a can of white paint!
When first-aid methods had been applied, he was allowed, on promise to put only one foot to the floor, to accompany the rest inside and announce to a delighted and slightly tremulous Mrs. Deane that the work was completed. There was a real celebration then, with more piping-hot tea and lots of perfectly scrumptious cream-puffs,—besides less enticing bread-and-butter sandwiches,—and Mrs. Deane tried hard to thank the boys and couldn’t quite do it, and Polly failed almost as dismally, and Laurie made a wonderful speech that no one understood very well, except for the general meaning, and nine flushed and very happy youths cheered long and loudly for Mrs. Deane, and finally departed merrily into the winter twilight, calling back many a “Merry Christmas” as they went.