ANDY TAKES A JOURNEY
At a few minutes past eight that evening Joe clattered hurriedly up the
stairs of the house in Mill Street and thumped imperatively at Andrew's
door. Just why he thumped didn't appear, since he threw the door open
without waiting for permission. Andrew looked up inquiringly from his
book in the yellow radius of light around the table.
"Hello," he greeted. "Slide under the bed and maybe they won't find you."
"It's that idiot, Myron," announced Joe breathlessly, and sank into a
chair.
"What's he done now?" asked Andrew interestedly.
"Bolted!"
"Bolted?"
"Beat it--vamoosed--lit out--gone!"
"Where? What for?"
"I don't know where, but he's gone. I suppose he's headed home. He's
in wrong at the Office over Latin, and this morning Doc Lane told him
to quit football. He was to have gone along with us to play Day and
Robins, you know, and was all keyed up about it. I didn't get many of
the details: only saw him for about three minutes just before we left:
but he was talking then about firing himself and hiring out to Kenwood
for the rest of the year."
Andrew frowned. "A sweet thought," he murmured sarcastically.
"Oh, he wouldn't do it," said Joe. "He likes to talk like that, but he's
all right behind his mouth."
"I hope so. Where--when did he go?"
"Search me. I know he was gone when I got back at six, or a little
before. I thought, of course, that he was around somewhere; probably at
Alumni. But he wasn't at dinner and he didn't show up afterwards, and I
remembered his line of talk this morning and got to snooping around and
found his suit-case gone and some of his things; brushes and sponge and
the like of those."
"Maybe he got leave to go home over Sunday."
"I thought of that and found out from Mr. Hoyt. Had to be careful so
he wouldn't get suspicious, but I got away with it, I guess. He hasn't
asked for leave; and wouldn't have got it anyway, I guess. No, he's just
plain beat it."
Andrew whistled softly and expressively.
"That fixes him," he said regretfully. "On top of probation----"
"That's the point," urged Joe. "He's dished for fair if faculty gets
wind of it. That's why I came. _I_ can't go. I asked Driscoll and he
said nothing doing. So it's up to you, Andy."
"Up to me? Go? Where?"
"Go after him and bring him back," answered Joe. "I looked up trains. He
probably waited until after dark, because he wouldn't have risked being
seen with a suit-case, and if he did he must have taken the six-eighteen
for New York. There's no train for Port Foster out of Philadelphia until
seven-twelve tomorrow morning. He might stay in New York overnight or
go on to Philadelphia, so the best way'll be to go right through to
Philadelphia and watch the Port Foster trains."
Andrew stared amazedly. "Look here, Joe," he said, "are you suggesting
that I go to Philadelphia after Myron?"
"Sure," answered Joe impatiently. "What did you suppose? And you'll
have to get a hustle on, too: it's about eight-fifteen now and your
train goes at nine-five. I'd go in a minute, but I'm in training and the
rule's strict, and if I got caught--fare thee well!"
To Joe's surprise, Andrew began to laugh. "Well, you're a wonder, Joe,"
he gasped. "Why, man alive, I can't go traipsing all over the United
States like that! I'm beastly sorry for Myron, but----"
"Why can't you?" demanded Joe, scowling. "Some one's got to, and that's
flat. If he's caught away from school without permission they'll chuck
him as sure as shooting. Why do you say you can't go, Andy?"
"Why--why, for one reason, I can't afford it, you idiot! How much do you
think it'll cost to go to Philadelphia and back? I'm no millionaire!
Why----"
"I thought of that." Joe pulled a roll of bills from his trousers pocket
and flung it on the table. "There's twenty-five, all I have right now.
It's enough, I guess."
Andrew stared at the money in surprise. "Well--but--look here, I've got
an engagement in the morning. And how do you know I can get leave?"
"Take it! No one'll know you're away," said Joe. "Gosh, we've got to
risk something!"
"_We_ have? You mean _I_ have, don't you?"
"Oh, what's the difference? Myron's a friend, ain't he, and we can't let
him go and kill himself off like this without making a try, can we?
Besides, the team needs him bad. If he'd hung on a bit longer he'd have
been full-back and--and everything! I--I'd like to wring his silly neck!"
Andrew smiled. Then he stared thoughtfully at the table. At last he
seized the roll of money, thrust it in his pocket and pushed back his
chair. "Guess you're right, Joe," he said. "What time did you say the
train goes?"
"Nine-five." Joe jerked out his watch. "You've got forty minutes. Better
pack a toothbrush and a night-shirt, kiddo."
"Pack nothing," replied Andrew. "A toothbrush and a comb will see me
through, and those go in my pocket. I want that brown book, though, and
some sheets of paper. Better have my fountain pen, too. You'll have
to take a message to Wynant, 29 Williams, for me, Joe. Better do it
tonight. Tell him I'm called away and can't be around in the morning.
I'll see him when I get back. Now, what about the dogs? Mind coming
around in the morning and letting them out and feeding them? Good! We're
off, then."
Andrew turned out the light and they fumbled their way to the door.
Outside, Andrew gave the key to Joe. "Don't forget the dogs, Joe,"
he reminded. "Now, then, tell me again about these trains. It's
Philadelphia I'm going to, is it?"
Joe explained carefully as they hurried through the illy-lighted streets
toward the station. "Better get to Philadelphia by the first train you
can make, Andy. You can sleep on the way, some. The first Sunday train
for Port Foster leaves Philadelphia at twelve minutes past seven. There
isn't another until ten-something. He may wait for that. You'll have to
watch for him on the platform. For the love of mud, Andy, don't miss
him!"
"I won't!" answered the other grimly as they entered the station. "Wait
here a minute. I'm going to call up the Office."
"The Office!" exclaimed Joe aghast. "What for?"
"To get permission."
"But----"
"I know. I won't. Here, you buy the ticket. Get it to Philadelphia and
return if you can. I'll be right with you."
Andrew was as good as his word. Joe viewed him anxiously. "Did you get
it?" he asked.
Andrew nodded. "Yes. I told Mr. Hoyt I had to be away overnight on
important matters. He hemmed a bit at first, but finally came around.
So that's all right. I feel rather better for having faculty's blessing,
Joe." Ten minutes later the long train rolled in and Andrew climbed
aboard. He was going into a day coach, but Joe pulled him back and
hurried him down the platform, past a hundred lighted windows and
hustled him into a parlour-car. "Might as well be as comfortable as
you can," he explained. "You can get a pretty fair nap in one of those
chairs if you don't mind waking up with a broken neck! Good-bye and good
luck, Andy!"
"Good-bye. See you tomorrow afternoon or evening. Don't forget Tess and
the puppies!"
Then the train pulled out and Joe heaved a sigh of relief and made his
way back to the campus and Williams Hall and the indignant Mr. Wynant.
About the same time Coach Driscoll and Captain Mellen were talking
things over in the former's lodgings. Parkinson had played smooth, hard
football that afternoon, bringing encouragement to both, and their
countenances still reflected satisfaction. "Looks as though we had
struck our gait at last, Cap," said Mr. Driscoll, puffing comfortably at
his pipe.
"It does look so," agreed Jud. "It's time, too, with only two more games
before Kenwood."
"Well, I'd rather see a team come slowly and not reach the peak too
early in the season. I'm more afraid of slumps than the smallpox,
Mellen. Remember year before last's experience?"
Jud nodded. "If we can hold it where it is, Coach, we'll be all right,
I guess. Some of the fellows certainly played themselves proud today:
Keith and Meldrum and Norris----"
"And Mellen," suggested Mr. Driscoll, smiling through the smoke.
"I guess I didn't do so badly," Jud allowed. "But that Dobbins was the
corker, when you come right down to brass tacks, don't you think so?"
"Dobbins played as remarkable a game as I've seen in a long, long
time," was the reply. "The way he opened holes in the D. and R. line
was pretty. They weren't holes, either, they were--were nice, broad
boulevards! A stick of dynamite wouldn't have made more of a mess of
their centre!"
"And he's all there on defence, too," said Jud. "Steady as a concrete
wall. He and Keith work like twins."
"Pretty," agreed Mr. Driscoll. "I guess there's no question as to who'll
play right guard against Kenwood. I wish, though, I knew who was going
to play full-back." Mr. Driscoll frowned. "You're sure Foster's out of
it?"
"Fairly. I only know what you know. I haven't seen him. I'm not
surprised, though. He was beginning to show a good deal of side and
you know yourself that when a fellow gets his head swelled he comes a
cropper one way or another."
"I know. Still, we mustn't be too hard on the boy, for we've paid him a
good deal of attention and that's likely to turn a chap's head unless
it's screwed on pretty tightly. And we've worked him hard, too. Maybe he
hasn't had time to do enough studying."
"Well, he's out of it, anyway. It's hard luck, for I thought he was
coming along finely. I guess it will have to be Kearns, after all."
The coach nodded. "I haven't lost hope of Kearns yet, Cap. He's got it
in him to play good football. I was wondering, though, if we could spare
Brounker for the position. He's a good half, but we may not need him
there, and perhaps with some coaching between now and three weeks from
now he'd be better than Kearns."
"I suppose there's a chance of Foster getting clear before the Kenwood
game," said Jud doubtfully, "but he wouldn't be much use to us."
"Mighty little," replied the coach. "Of course, if he was off only a
week it would be different. In that case we could take him back and have
him handy in case Kearns went bad. But I don't know----"
"I guess I'd better see him in the morning and find out what the
prospects are. If he will saw wood and get rid of his conditions, or
whatever his trouble is, by a week from Monday----"
"Yes, tell him that. Brow-beat him a bit. Get him on his mettle. I'll
see him, if you think it would be better."
"I'll take a fall out of him first," said Jud. "By the way, he and
Dobbins room together. It might be a good scheme to get Dobbins after
him. I guess they're pretty close from what I hear, and maybe he'd
listen to Dobbins when he wouldn't to me. Well, anyway, I think we can
lick Kenwood this year even without a full-back," he ended.
Mr. Driscoll smiled and shook his head. "Let's not be too sure, Mellen,"
he said. "Wait until the Sunday papers come. Six to six sounds pretty
good for Phillipsburg, but we don't know yet how many of her subs
Kenwood used. That coach of hers is a foxy chap, and it may be that he
was satisfied to get away with a tie and leave us guessing. Perhaps he
thought we had scouts over there today, looking them over."
"I sort of wish we had had," said Jud. "Oh, I know your idea on the
subject, Coach, and I'm not saying you aren't right, but, just the same,
it's a handicap. Kenwood sends fellows to watch our playing and gets
lots of useful information, I'll bet, and we have to depend on what the
papers tell us. And most of that guff is written by fellows friendly to
Kenwood. If the Kenwood coach wants the news to go out that the team
is rotten, it goes out, and we have to swallow it. I'd give a hundred
dollars to see her play Montrose next Saturday!"
"That's high pay for acting the spy," replied the coach gravely. "See
here, Jud Mellen, you're a fair and square, decent sort, from all I've
seen of you, and I've known you for three years. You wouldn't pick a
pocket or lie, and I've never yet seen you doing any dirty work in a
game. Then just how would you explain it to your conscience if you
went over to Kenwood next Saturday with the idea of seeing how much
information you could get hold of regarding Kenwood's plays and signals
and so on?"
"But, gosh ding it, Mr. Driscoll, I wouldn't wear a false moustache and
all that! I wouldn't sneak in, I'd go openly. There's no reason why I
shouldn't see Kenwood play a game of football just because I happen to
play with Parkinson!"
"Not if just being entertained was what you were there for, Cap,"
answered the other. "But it wouldn't be. You'd be a spy, and you know
it, old son. That's what I object to. When the time comes that it is an
understood and mutually agreed on thing that members of one football
team are welcome to see another team play, why, then I won't make a yip.
But you know how we love to get word here from the gate that a Kenwood
scout has gone in! We cut out new plays and try to look worse than we
are."
"You mean we would if you'd let us," laughed Jud.
"You do it, anyhow," said the coach, smiling. "I've watched you too
often. The last time we had visitors I asked Cater why he didn't use a
certain play in front of the other fellow's goal and get a score and he
looked innocent and said he'd forgot it. No, we'll get along without
that sort of stuff, Mellen, while I'm here. I don't like it a bit."
"Well, I said you were right," Jud laughed. "I just had to have my
little kick. Hello, nearly ten! I must leg it. I'll see Foster in the
morning; Dobbins, too; and let you know what I learn. Good night,
Coach."