TOM FANNING, OPTIMIST
Only Horace Ramsey was at home when Toby entered Number 31. Ramsey
appeared very glad to see the visitor, and he was quite fussed-up
during the process of getting Toby comfortably seated. The room was
one of the better ones on the third floor, and one of the occupants,
probably Ramsey, had added to the scanty equipment supplied by the
school. Although the evening had turned decidedly cool, both windows
were wide open, and it was not until Toby had glanced at them a bit
uneasily several times that Ramsey took the hint.
“It is sort of cold in here, I guess,” he said, as he closed the
windows. “I’m used to a cold room, though. Plenty of fresh air is what
I like. Mr. Bendix says you can’t have too much of it. George doesn’t
like it much, though, and we scrap a good deal about having the windows
open.”
“George? Oh, you mean Tubb. How are you and he getting on now? Hitting
it off any better?”
Horace Ramsey smiled. “Oh, yes, we get on all right. He’s a cranky
chap, though. I have to handle him carefully. He gets the most awful
grouches you ever saw. Gets positively ugly and hates himself. Still,
he’s been some better the last few days.” Ramsey chuckled. “Guess I
have, too. At first I used to let go of my temper and――well, you found
us at it one night. Remember? Now I just let him growl and he gets over
it after a bit. He’s really not a bad sort when you get to know him.”
“I thought I might find him in,” explained Toby. Then a faint
expression of disappointment on the other’s face made him add: “And
then I wanted to see how you were getting on, too, Ramsey. You’re
looking pretty fit. Been playing much tennis?”
“Every day. A fellow named Lingard, a Fourth Class fellow, and I have
been at it a lot. Don’t know if you know him, Tucker. Sort of a lanky
chap, with――――”
“Yes, I know Tommy. Didn’t know he was a tennis player, though.”
“He isn’t,” laughed Ramsey. “At least, not much of one. But neither
am I just now, and I sort of like to play with a chap I can lick now
and then. Maybe it isn’t good practice, though. There’s a fellow
named Colcord who gave me a couple of sets this afternoon. He’s pretty
good at it. Beat me both sets, 6 to 3. I’d like to take you on again,
Tucker. I guess I could give you a better fight now that I’ve had some
practice. Mr. Bendix says it’ll take several weeks to get my muscles
loosened up.”
“I dare say. Had much trouble with your heart lately?”
“N-no, very little. I get out of breath pretty easily, but Mr. Bendix
says that’s because I’m carrying too much weight. Maybe my heart’s all
right after all, just as he says it is. He sort of――what I mean is, you
can’t help believing what he says, can you? He’s supposed to know a
lot about physical training and――and all that, isn’t he?” Toby nodded
assent. “I like him a lot, anyway, and I’m doing just what he tells me,
even to nearly freezing in here with the windows open.”
Toby laughed. “Thought you said you were used to cold rooms, Ramsey!”
“Well, I――I meant I was getting used to them,” answered the other,
grinning.
“Tubb is still with the Second Team, I hear,” said Toby.
“Yes. That reminds me! He was quite excited this afternoon because you
weren’t on the field. Don’t know what business it is of his, but he
kept chewing the rag about it.”
“No, I――I cut practice to-day. Fact is, I――――” Then he stopped. He had
been about to add that he was through with football for the season, but
he suddenly realized that it wasn’t true, that to-morrow would find him
back again. “How’s Tubb getting on?” he asked instead.
“Oh, pretty well, I guess. He hasn’t said so, but when he doesn’t growl
about a thing I know it’s all right. Last week he kept telling how hard
they made him work and saying he was going to quit, but he’s shut up
about it lately.”
A few minutes afterward, going down to the floor below, Toby shook
his head dubiously. “It’s funny the way I make up my mind to things
lately without knowing it. When I went upstairs I thought I was going
to be firm with Beech and stay out of it. Then, first thing I knew, I’d
decided to keep on! Wonder if there’s something wrong with my bean!”
Back in Number 12, Toby found a scrawl from Arnold bidding him follow
to Frank’s room in Clarke, but he crumpled it up and, after a moment’s
reflection, dropped it in the waste-basket and settled himself at
the table. He got in some good licks of study that evening and was
annoyingly superior and virtuous when Arnold returned at bedtime.
The next afternoon Toby took his togs back to the gymnasium.
Fortunately, although he had given up his locker, no one had secured
it. If Coach Burtis knew of his defection the day before he made no
sign. Grover Beech, however, nodded commendingly, and, or so Toby
thought, Roy Frick, at present the most promising of the quarter-backs,
viewed his return with a noticeable lack of cordiality. For several
afternoons Toby toiled and drudged willingly and contentedly. Mr.
Burtis was allowing but three scrimmages a week, and in none of them
did Toby appear. The fact puzzled the boy considerably, but he kept
his puzzlement to himself. Even Bird, who could not be considered
first-class quarter-back material by any stretch of imagination, got
in for a few minutes in each practice game. Toby invariably retired
to the bench when the line-up came and, blanket-swathed, watched and
wondered throughout the ten or fifteen minute periods. On one such
occasion he found a seat beside George Tubb. He and George had met
and spoken before, but only briefly. To-day Toby viewed George with
real surprise. Seen at close quarters, the younger fellow showed the
results of a week of football work very plainly. He had a much better
color, looked several pounds thinner――and considerably harder――and had
lost some of the discontent usually so eloquently expressed by his
countenance. But there was plenty of the old George W. Tubb left, as
Toby soon discovered.
“They’ve got me playing end,” said George. “It’s a rotten position. I
told that big guy with the swelled head that I wanted――――”
“Meaning the coach?” asked Toby.
“Sure! I told him I was a half-back, but he thinks he knows it all.”
“Too bad,” commented Toby innocently, “because, of course, a fellow
can’t do good work out of his right position. I suppose you’re making
rather a mess of end, Tubb.”
“Who says that?” demanded George, with a scowl.
“Why, no one. I just thought, from what you said――――”
“Well, I guess I’m doing as well as Connell; and he’s been playing two
years at it. But this business doesn’t get a fellow anywhere. What’s it
amount to, anyway? They say we’ll play a couple of dozen games with
the First and run up against two or three bum teams around here, and
then it’s all over, and the First Team gets the glory. Maybe I’ll stick
it out awhile longer, but life’s too short to spend a month and a half
at this sort of stuff.”
He glanced sidewise at Toby as he finished, and Toby caught the glance
and understood. George had no intention of quitting, and never had had
since the first day! What he wanted was Toby to ask him not to! Toby
suppressed a smile.
“I wouldn’t do that, Tubb,” he said earnestly. “I――I wish you wouldn’t.
You see, I have a hunch that you’ve got in you to make a pretty good
player, and――well, I wish you’d give yourself a fair chance. As a favor
to me, Tubb, I wish you’d try to stick it out.”
George growled and scowled, but Toby didn’t miss the look of
satisfaction that flickered for an instant in his eyes. After a moment
of weighty hesitation George sighed wearily. “Well, I guess another
week or two won’t hurt me,” he said ungraciously. “I’ll stick around
until I get Connell’s number, anyway. You got me into this, Tucker,
and――――” George stopped abruptly, leaped to his feet and dropped his
blanket. “I’ve got to go in! See you later!”
Then he legged it to where Coach Burtis was beckoning, leaving Toby
grinning broadly. “He’s just the biggest kind of a kid,” thought Toby.
“Wants friendship and hasn’t the slightest idea how to get it!”
But if Toby was allowed no opportunity to achieve glory that week,
at least none begrudged him hard work. He was allowed to labor to
his heart’s content. Nay, he was urged to! Coach Burtis seemed to be
distinctly unhappy if Toby happened on a moment’s idleness during
practice time, and he or Captain Beech was forever at hand to suggest
a new activity. Toby got to hate the tackling dummy with a deep and
bitter hatred. He told Arnold he couldn’t enjoy his meals any longer
because his mouth was always filled with dirt. Arnold advised him to
close his mouth when he did his tackling.
For the First Team, on which Arnold was alternating with Bates at
right half-back, life had become real and earnest. Coach Lyle had made
a wholesale cut in the squad and fellows who were “up” in football
affairs professed themselves already able to tell you what the line-up
would be in the final game of the season with Broadwood. And a good
many did tell――if you’d listen. Frank Lamson was also trying for a
half-back position, but Frank’s chances were not considered brilliant.
At least, though, he survived the cut, and when, on Saturday, the team
played its second game, with Tyron School, Frank displaced Roover in
the last quarter and sent his stock up tremendously by a slashing
fourteen-yard run that netted Yardley’s last score. Toby saw the final
half of the game from the bleachers and yelled like a Comanche when
Frank fairly smashed his way through the Tyron backs and went over the
line near the corner of the field with two of the enemy clinging to
him like limpets. Yardley’s work showed the effect of a week’s hard
practice and some indication of promise. Teamwork was totally lacking,
however, and it was individual brilliancy that ran the score up to 29
points. Curran, at quarter-back, and Noyes, who substituted for him,
handled the team well. On the whole, although Tyron had managed to
secure 6 points by two easy field-goals, Yardley Hall was satisfied
with her team’s showing, and felt that there was reason to expect a
successful season. As, however, October was still but a few days old,
the conclusion may have been a trifle premature.
Captain Fanning, naturally optimistic, viewed the future very
cheerfully indeed that evening. He was a tall, fine-looking chap, was
Tom, and immensely popular. If he had any discernible fault it was
that popularity meant a little too much to him, that he was a bit too
dependent on the goodwill of his fellows. Criticism didn’t agree with
Tom. It didn’t make him angry, but it hurt his feelings. On the other
hand, praise was meat and drink to him, and if you wanted to hear him
purr you had only to stroke him. But every one liked him, the juniors
in Merle Hall, the First Class fellows in Dudley and the faculty
members as well. And he was a really remarkable football player, as
he had proved last season. His more ardent admirers went so far as to
believe that so long as Tom Fanning played left tackle it didn’t matter
much who else was on that side of center. Like most brilliant players,
though, he was better offensively than defensively. As a captain Tom
had yet to be proved, for neither personal popularity nor individual
ability necessarily insures leadership. Tom believed very thoroughly in
himself, however, and if any one held doubts as to his fitness for the
captaincy that person was not Tom.
To-night, tilted back in a chair against Toby’s bed, his long legs
stretched before him, his hands in his trousers pockets, and a
contented smile on his good-looking countenance, Tom was doing his own
stroking. “Really, Arnold,” he was saying, “we’ve got a ripping lot
of fellows this year, now haven’t we? Take the line from end to end,
you can’t beat it! I don’t care whether Candee or Orlie Simpson plays
center or whether Jim Rose or Twining plays left guard. Any way you
look at it it’s a corking line. That’s the beauty of having really good
substitutes. As for the back-field, why, with you and Larry and Roover
and Curran――or Noyes, for that matter――there won’t be a better one in
this corner of the world this fall!”
“Say, Tom, how do you get that way?” asked Arnold, who was struggling
into a clean collar. “The team’s all right, old dear, but we haven’t
won the Broadwood game quite yet. To listen to you a fellow would think
we’d just hung the ball in the Trophy Room!”
Tom laughed good-naturedly. “Well, I’ve picked out a place for it, Arn!
Oh, we’ll have our little setbacks and we’ll lose a game or two one way
or another, but that isn’t troubling me any. Why――――”
“All right, but don’t talk like that so the fellows can hear you,”
protested Arnold, more than half serious. “The worst thing that can
happen to a team is for it to get the happy, confident feeling.
Just as soon as it does it gets a silly grin on its face――or faces,
rather――and dies in its tracks. I’d like it better if you’d cultivate a
fine grouch, Tom.”
“Maybe I shall later, but you can’t make me grouchy to-night. I tell
you, Arn, we showed what we had to-day. Take the team as it played this
afternoon and teach it to work together and you’ve got a real machine,
son. And Broadwood’ll know it some day!”
“I know. We have got some good players, and that’s no dream, but just
at present it’s too much of an all-star aggregation to make a hit with
me. There’s a heap of work ahead of us, old dear, before we get to be a
real football team, and don’t you forget that for a little minute!”
“Oh, you’re a regular Calamity Jane,” jeered Tom. “Come on, or we’ll be
late. Where’s Tucker? Isn’t he coming?”
“Yes, he will be here in a minute, I guess. And Frank’s going, too.”
“Lamson?” Tom’s brow clouded for an instant. “Say, Arn, he made a nifty
touchdown to-day, didn’t he?”
“I thought so. But you needn’t cry about it.”
“I’m not. I was only wondering――You know, to my mind, Morris Roover’s
the right chap there, Arn. Now suppose Lamson keeps on as he did this
afternoon, eh?”
“Why, he will get the place, won’t he? You want the best man there,
don’t you?”
“Rather! But Roover’s tried pretty hard for it. I mean, I’d be sorry
if he lost out. He had hard luck last fall, you know. Got sick in the
middle of the season and didn’t even get his letter. I suppose he’s
hoping to make good this year.”
“What of it? He’s got another year after this. The trouble with you,
Tom, is that you can’t forget your friendships on the gridiron. It
won’t do, believe me. Friendship ceases at three-fifteen, or it ought
to, when you’re captain. If it wasn’t for Mr. Lyle you’d have Sim
Clarke playing end and Snow at guard and――and all the rest of your
cronies――including me――on the team, and it would be a bum outfit.
Friendship’s no good when it comes to picking a team, Tom.”
“Nonsense!” retorted the other. He didn’t seem displeased, though. “Of
course I’d like to have my friends on the team; any fellow would; but
they won’t get any favoritism from me.”
“Oh, no, none at all!” answered Arnold, buttoning his vest. “Look
here, old dear, if I ever suspect that you’re trying to put me across
because I’m a friend I’ll quit the team cold!”
“Oh, rot! You know perfectly well that you and Bates are the best we
have for the position, and as far as I’m concerned I don’t care which
of you gets it.”
“Stick to that and all will be well! What time have you got? I wonder
what’s happened to Frank and――――”
Toby’s appearance interrupted him and a minute later they were on their
way, picking up Frank Lamson outside. They were going to the movies in
Greenburg, the larger town across the river. There was a small moving
picture theater in Wissining, no more than half a mile from school,
that was well patronized by Yardley, but in Greenburg there were three
of them to choose from, and to-night the boys had secured leave for the
whole evening and so had plenty of time to make the longer journey.
Besides, at Greenburg you got two pictures and listened to real music
from an organ, while at the local house your entertainment was over in
an hour and the piano was very tin-panny. Tom Fanning ranged beside
Toby on the way down the hill and Arnold and Frank followed. Tom was
still full of football and optimism, and Toby heard a good deal about
the team’s wonderful prospects and didn’t have to do any of the
talking. By the time the bridge was reached, however, Tom had worked
off some of his enthusiasm and inquired about Toby’s fortunes.
“Arn says he finally persuaded you to try for the Second,” he said.
“Like it?”
“Yes, I like it very well,” answered Toby. “Only I can’t seem to take
it as seriously as most of the fellows. Ought I to, Fanning? What I
mean is, just how important is playing football on the Second Team? I
wanted to quit last week and Arnold had a fit and Grover Beech read the
riot act to me. I thought football, especially Second Team football,
was a lark, but I’m beginning to think that it’s not!”
“Well, I suppose we do take football rather too seriously,” replied Tom
leniently. “But, hang it, Tucker, if you’re going to do a thing why not
do it well? Why not put your whole heart into it? Of course, the Second
Team isn’t as important as the First, but it’s just as well for the
fellows who play on it to think it is. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t
work so hard and we wouldn’t turn out such a good Second Team. And,
after all, a good Second is important, because it gives us practice.”
“When do you begin playing us?” asked Toby.
“Next week. Tuesday, probably. What are you trying for?”
“Quarter. Sounds conceited, doesn’t it?”
“Not a bit! Why? A quarter-back isn’t any better than a guard or an
end, is he? It takes just as much ability to play one position well as
it does another.”
“Y-yes, I suppose so, but――it seems to me a fellow’s got to know a
whole lot in order to run the team right.”
“Oh, yes, he has. But it comes down to knowing a few plays and when
to call for them, and remembering your signals. After all, it’s the
captain that’s the general. Half the time a quarter doesn’t get much
chance to boss the thing. The coach maps the game out beforehand, the
captain holds the reins and the quarter-back does the yelling.” Tom
laughed. “Anyway, that’s pretty close to it, Tucker.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Toby said in relieved tones. “I was sort
of scared, you see; thought I might have to run the whole business if
I happened to get put in some time. I’d make rather a mess of it if I
did, I guess!”
“Not you, Tucker. You’re rather the type to make good, I’d say. I hope
you get the place.”
“Thanks,” answered Toby, dubiously. “You mean kindly, no doubt, but I
guess I’d just as lief some one else got it. Frick has it now and I
dare say he will keep it. He will so far as I’m concerned!”
“You don’t seem to have a very high notion of your ability,” laughed
Tom. “Don’t be too humble, Tucker, or folks will begin to think the way
you talk. And, look here, there’ll be a chance for you on the First
next year, for both Curran and Noyes will be gone, and the rest of the
lot aren’t very promising. So just you keep going, Tucker.”
“Oh, I’ll keep going all right,” replied Toby sadly. “They won’t let me
do anything else. They’re always picking on me.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Burtis and Beech. They sit up together until daylight finding
stunts for me to do the next day!”
“Sounds to me,” said Tom thoughtfully, “as if you were better than you
make yourself out, old man. Or else you imagine things.”
“Let’s say the last guess is right,” laughed Toby.
They visited two theaters before they found one whose bill promised
the sort of entertainment they wanted, and found seats just before the
house darkened. During the announcement of coming attractions some one
tapped Toby on the shoulder and he looked around in the half-gloom and
saw Horace Ramsey seated behind him in company with George Tubb. Horace
was evidently pleased when Toby recognized him and spoke to him, but
George’s only response to Toby’s whispered greeting was a nod and a
scowl.
Going homeward, two hours later, the quartet grew to a round dozen
as other Yardley boys joined it, and Arnold observed that maybe it
was just as well there were plenty of them as the “town thugs,” as he
called them, had been getting “fresh” lately. “Casement and another
chap were coming back the other night and got into a fine old scrap
with a gang of the toughs,” he explained. “They had to beat it finally.
Loring got a beautiful black eye out of it. He says there were four of
them against him and the other chap. Hence the retreat.”
“That’s something new, isn’t it?” asked a boy on the other side of
Arnold. “We never used to have any trouble with the town fellows.”
“They’re chaps from the new mill they built last year, I believe.
Rather a tough lot, I guess. They’ll get all they want, though, if they
keep on. Wouldn’t be a bad thing for some of them to turn up now and
try to start something,” Arnold chuckled. “They won’t, though, when
they see the size of our party.” And, although their progress out of
Greenburg was anything but quiet, none disputed their way.