CHAPTER XIV
Thankful was Fred for the Baxter tradition that gave to members of the First Form precedence in walking about the building and grounds, for because of it, he was enabled to let Sandow and Hal go upstairs alone. In fact, he tarried longer than necessary in the basement, because he felt in no mood for the comments and glances he knew would be bestowed upon him, both on account of his having been instrumental in the election of his rival to the captaincy and his decision to give up football.
"Oh, I wish father would let me quit school and go to work," he said to himself. "I believe it would be easier than to give up the team—especially, when all the fellows are calling me a traitor to the school."
As he gave voice to his feelings, Fred had reached the hall, which, to his relief, he found free from his schoolmates.
But he was not so much alone as he thought.
"Who says you're a traitor?" demanded a voice solicitously.
In surprise, Fred turned quickly.
"Alice—you here?" he gasped. "I—I must have been thinking out loud. I supposed every one was in class."
"I understand," said the girl, "and I'm sorry. Oh, so sorry, for you, Fred. But you mustn't mind what the others say. They don't mean anything—really. They're just thoughtless. They've never had any trouble or—or sorrow—and so they don't realize. I think your action, in giving the captaincy to my brother, was simply fine. Everybody's saying so. Indeed, you're quite the hero of the school."
But the girl's attempt at merry raillery of her schoolmate failed.
"You would never say that if you'd heard what the fellows said when I told them I couldn't play this year," returned Fred bitterly. "It's hard enough, goodness knows, to give up the team. But when they call you a traitor, it's almost more than a fellow can stand."
"Never mind, they only said it in the bitterness of their disappointment at your decision. When they have had time to think it over, they'll see the matter in its true light."
"I wish I could think so."
"Well, you can—and must. It's nice to be a football star, of course, but there are much finer things in life."
"Bearing the taunt of traitor resignedly, for instance."
"Doing what you think is right, and sticking to it, no matter how much suffering it entails—you mean," corrected the girl.
Under her friendly persistency, even Fred's self-pity could not long stand.
"By Jove, Alice! You're the best cure for the blues I ever knew!" he exclaimed impulsively. "If it hadn't been for you, I'd probably have gone round for a week or so thinking myself a regular martyr."
"I'm glad I'm some use to somebody," laughed the girl, a wistfulness in her tone. "Any time you feel the martyr attack coming on, let me know."
"I will; don't worry. By George! but we'll be late for class. Come on."
"I don't think I'll stay this morning," returned Alice. "I've a headache. But you go in. Good-bye—and remember to let me know when you feel the blues coming on."
In silence, Fred watched the girl pass down the steps of the school entrance and along the shady walk.
"She's a brick!" he declared emphatically, adding, "if she only didn't have a brother. But that's not her fault—and I shouldn't wonder if there wasn't any love lost between them."
In this surmise, Fred was nearer the truth than he realized. Of the three Montgomery children, Bart and Mary were as alike as two peas, arrogant and snobbish. In striking contrast, Alice was quick of sympathy and considerate of her fellows. And in consequence of this wide difference in their natures, Bart and Mary made their sister's life miserable with their bullying. With all her heart, Mary entered into her brother's hatred of his rival, while Alice never lost the opportunity of speaking a good word for Fred—a fact that did not tend to lessen the breach between them. But this hostility to her Alice took such pains to hide that even her mother and father were in ignorance of it, attributing her frequent headaches, her aloofness and her melancholy to ill-health.
"A girl like that can't be happy with a brother and sister like Bart and Mary," mused Fred, as he watched her disappear down the walk. "I'll bet she's lonesome. Now I think of it, I never see her round with any of the fellows and girls. I'll speak to Marg about her the first time I get a chance. If I can do anything for her in return for what she's done for me, I'll be only too glad."
And, with this resolve, the boy entered the classroom. With a hurried glance at Margie, given from long custom, he dropped into his seat in the front row. But all through the morning Alice's face, with its wistful expression, danced before his eyes as he tried to study.
At recess, he sought out Margie and poured out to her his thoughts about Alice, concluding with the request that she be more friendly with her and make her one of their intimates. But to his surprise, Margie did not enthuse over the project, instead receiving the suggestion with evident displeasure, and for the first time in their friendship they parted in anger at one another.
During the afternoon and for the next two days, Fred strove to propitiate the girl, but she kept aloof from him so persistently that he finally gave up the attempt.
To the sorely-tried boy, this action on Margie's part seemed the last straw to his burden, and he kept to himself entirely, repulsing the awkward attempts at sympathy essayed by Buttons, Soda and Grace, and only becoming his usual cheery self when in the presence of his mother.
When this self-imposed isolation had continued for a month, including absence from two meetings of the supper club, as an excuse for which he pleaded study, Buttons called Sandow and Soda into consultation.
"I don't know what it is, but something is eating the heart out of poor old Cotton-Top," he declared when the three were securely ensconced in his room.
"He's simply crazy over that science scholarship; that's all," vouchsafed Soda. "If he prefers books to his friends, why, I'm willing he should have 'em, for my part."
"But it isn't study, I tell you," asserted Buttons. "It's something else."
"How do you know?"
"Because he's getting worse and worse in science every recitation. Honestly, it's painful to hear him stumble through the lessons. He's queering his chance for the scholarship every day."
"Well, what do you propose to do about it?" demanded Soda, after a silence of several minutes.
"If I knew, do you suppose I'd ask you?" snapped Buttons. "It's so we could talk things over, I got you and Sandow to come over."
"Then suppose you give me a chance to speak," suggested the leader of the First Form.
"Fire away," exclaimed the Seconds, in unison.
"There are several things, I reckon, that are the cause of Cotton-Top's actions. In the first place, he's worried about money; in the second, he feels all broken up over not being able to play on the team, and the remarks you Seconds made when he told you—like a man—why he couldn't play, cut him way down deep."
"But itisa low-down trick to throw the team the only time we have a chance against Landon," grumbled Soda. "I——"
"Careful there, what you say," cautioned Sandow, interrupting. "If one of you fellows who are talking traitor had half the pluck Fred Markham has, you'd be more decent. For your own special benefit, I'll tell you something—but understand, it's not to go any further. Fred's father asked him to try for the scholarship so his mother could have the money."
In shamed amazement, the Seconds heard this statement.
"How do you know?" finally blurted Soda.
"Because Fred told me, after he elected Bart captain. I'll also tell you it almost broke his heart to give up the team, meaning the loss of the captaincy of the School Team next year, as it does, for he could have been captain of the Second, if he desired."
"Poor old Cotton-Top! And here we, his best friends, have only been making things harder for him," murmured Buttons contritely.
"Glad you're waking up to yourselves," returned Sandow. "I've been so busy with the team I didn't know, until Sallie told me this noon, quite how bad things were. When I did learn, I wanted to take you both by the necks and knock your heads together."
"Instead of which, you accept an invitation to meet us peacefully—for which we thank you," interposed Soda.
"Now, don't try to get funny. This is no joking matter, and I never was more in earnest in my life. Fred is so sensitive that a little more of the treatment you Seconds have been handing him, and he'll be down sick. Then he'll surely lose the scholarship—to say nothing of the expense."
"Well, since you're so wise, what do you want us to do?" snapped Soda, whose very petulance showed that the straight-from-the-shoulder talk of the school leader had produced the intended effect.
"Make him forget himself, of course."
"How?"
"Ask him to go to the campus to give Buttons points on playing left half."
"But he wouldn't come."
"Have you asked him?"
"No."
"Then you don't know he won't. Put it to him he owes it to Baxter and to Buttons, as his friend, to lend a hand."
"Don't believe he knows I'm playing left half," declared Buttons.
"Then tell him—and ask him to coach you."
"But how'll we get round the month we've hardly spoken to him?" inquired Soda.
"Forget it. Just go to Cotton-Top and talk to him as though nothing had happened. Then, Buttons, you and Grace get at Margie. It seems Fred thinks Alice is lonesome, and so he asked Margie to take her into our crowd, and, like a silly fool, Margie got on her high horse, instead of realizing Fred only suggested the idea out of kindness."
"By Jove! I have it!" cried Buttons. "Why not have an extra meeting of the supper club round at Fred's to-night?"
"Too much of a tax on Mrs. Markham," returned Sandow.
"We can get around that, by having the girls bring baskets and telling Mrs. Markham we only decided after school to have the meeting."
"All right, fix it up. Only be sure to talk to Margie first, so she won't sulk," advised Sandow.
"That's pretty fine for you two, but where do I come in?" demanded Soda. "Here you bid me to a consultation, and then decide upon a plan to be pulled off at a meeting of a club of which I'm not a member."
"That is sort of tough," chuckled Buttons. "Guess we'll have to invite you. You can come as my guest. So long as we're going to take our suppers, an extra won't make any difference."
"But I'll want a girl," protested Soda. "I don't want to sit around and watch you all."
"All right. I'll have Grace ask Betty Brewer."
This proposal met with the approval of Soda, and the consultation ended with Sandow's admonition to inform the girls without delay.
Eagerly the suggestion was accepted by all the members of the club, though Margie demurred until Buttons told her Sandow had called her silly—discreetly omitting the fool—and while the girls bustled about their preparations, Buttons sought Bronson.
Fred was in his room studying when the boys and girls arrived.
"I'll call him," said Mrs. Markham.
"No; let me," pleaded Margie, and, amid the banter of the others, she vanished from the room, returning in due course with Fred.
At the sight of his friends, the boy flushed, but Sandow and Sallie diplomatically smoothed out any awkwardness, and under the spell of their hearty cordiality, Fred became the merry companion of old.
But his cup of happiness was not yet filled.
While the girls were putting on their wraps, Bronson called Fred to one side.
"Will you give me your father's address?" he asked.
"Why, yes, if you want it," replied the boy, his surprise at the request evident in his face.
"I do. That is—my father does. Your father consulted him about some matter and left without giving his address. Father wishes to write him that he has changed his mind and will take his case."