THE FAVORS OF FORTUNE
When Donald Peck greeted the elder Moon next morning, there was
considerable coolness in the reply; Clarence's suspicions had revived
over night. Later in the day Duncan got hold of Reggie, and succeeded
in extracting from him the confidence that Clarence still nourished the
absurd idea that the Pecks might have stacked the room themselves.
"It's all rot, of course," said the lad, looking trustingly up into
Duncan's face. "I know you wouldn't do a thing like that, and so does
he, but he's so wild about it he can't think straight. I told him that
if you were the ones you wouldn't have come around as you did, and
helped us out."
Duncan glanced away and felt uncomfortable.
"I hate to have him act so," went on the boy; "it seems so much worse
since you were so good about it. He'll get over it in a day or two. I
hope you won't mind."
Duncan answered cordially that he shouldn't, and, putting an abrupt
end to the conversation, went home to upbraid his brother for getting
both into the scrape. Donald jeered at his scruples, averred that it
was all for the Moons' real good, and charged him with entering into
the scheme without raising objections, and then crawling. Duncan flung
back this charge with indignation, and a high-pitched, virulent, and
illogical argument followed, wherein all the disastrous enterprises
in which the pair had ever engaged were reconsidered and the blame
properly apportioned. This scene of mutual recrimination ended only
when the inhabitants of the room above fell to thumping on the floor
and emitting catcalls and dog yelps; and Payner, who happened to be
passing, actually had the effrontery to knock at the door to inquire if
any one was hurt.
The instant effect of this last interruption was to divert the angry
feelings of the brothers from their former course and combine them
against Payner. He was the cause of all the trouble; without him
and his outrageous interference, the Moons would never have had a
suspicion. He should be punished; his room should be ripped up, and
ripped up thoroughly. The discussion of a plan reinfused in the twins
the old spirit of unity and harmony.
But Payner was not so easily caught as the heedless Moons. The twins
obtained a schedule of his recitations and laboratory hours, which they
agreed afforded the only safe occasions to work. At some of these hours
they were themselves employed; at others, when they tried his door, it
proved to be securely locked.
Once, indeed, during a laboratory period, they found the door ajar, and
pushing it open went boldly in to make the most of their opportunity.
Donald was in the van, his eyes eagerly sweeping the walls of the room
in search of material suited to his purpose. Duncan, close behind
him, glanced over the table, and perceived a bristly head of hair
just appearing above the table edge. Before they could draw back, the
bristling scalp rose higher, and two savage little eyes looked straight
into Donald's face. It was Payner himself, who had been sent back from
the laboratory for the note-book which he had neglected to bring with
him.
Donald sprang back speechless. Duncan came forward pulling out his
watch.
"Well?" said Payner. He was not given to long speeches, but he could
put much vigor into short ones.
"Have you the right time about you?" Duncan asked with a certain degree
of composure. "We saw your door open and thought we'd come in."
"So I see," remarked Payner. "He"--jerking his head toward
Donald--"seemed rather surprised to find me in."
"It's enough to surprise any one to have a fellow pop up like a
jack-in-the-box from behind a table!"
"Jack-in-the-box!" repeated Payner, angrily.
"Well, anything you like," said Duncan, smiling. "Did you say you had
the right time?"
"No, I haven't; my time is always wrong."
"Thanks," returned Duncan; "then we won't trouble you any longer. Come
on, Don, let's try Owen."
The brothers turned to go. "The next time you come you'd better knock
first," shouted Payner. "It'll save your nerves!"
"We'll try to remember," said Donald, who had regained his composure.
It was his only part in the interview.
The brothers crept back to their room and there chuckled mightily
over their escape. Payner listened to see whether they really did
visit Owen, and then locking his door carefully, walked over to the
laboratory, far more disturbed by the problem of the Pecks' presence in
his room than by any difficulty which an experiment in physics might
offer. And Payner did not shine in physics.
After this Payner's door was always locked, and, mischievous as the
twins were, they had no heart for breaking and entering. Weeks flew by;
Christmas came, bringing the long recess. Owen and Carle both returned
to Terryville for the holidays, the latter especially elated. He had
got his scholarship. His work in the classroom had flagged a little
toward the end of the term, as the seductive influence of popularity
made itself felt, but his honest efforts in the first two months had
given him a good margin, as well as impressed his teachers. He knew a
lot of fellows, was already patronized by a certain conspicuous set,
and enjoyed, as far as it was possible to anticipate the credit of
great deeds as yet unperformed, the glory of being the master pitcher
who was to win the Hillbury game. It was possible, of course, that
these anticipations might prove unwarranted; that Carle's glory, like
the great Kuropatkin's military reputation before the battles of
Laioyang and Mukden, might not survive the actual test. But at least he
had every prospect of being the school pitcher, and this was in itself
a definite honor.
Owen had not fared as well. He had worked faithfully, had won fair
rank, had made a few good friends; his teachers spoke of him as
steady but slow. He had developed no striking qualities to impress
his boy acquaintances; he was not witty like Rogers, nor literary
like Ware, nor a wonderful scholar like Salter, nor a football hero
like Laughlin or Lindsay, nor a track athlete with a record like
Strong, nor a musician like Truslow, nor clever with a pencil like
Fox, nor a ladies' man like Richmond, nor even a jolly idiot like
Kleinschmidt. To be a candidate for the nine, with the possibility of
becoming substitute catcher if luck served, was not in itself and at
this early day a sufficient ground for distinction. So Rob had few
successes to report to his family on his return. Mr. Owen was satisfied
that the boy had honestly endeavored to do his duty in school, and
follow the principles laid down in the parental code. In the father's
eyes the discouraging outlook for baseball was rather a cause for
congratulation. Mrs. Owen was wholly pleased to have her son at home
again, and to find him a little bigger and a little stronger and a
little more manly than before, but just as fond of his home as ever,
and just as interested in all that concerned it. Except for two things,
Rob himself was completely happy. One was the disappointment about
baseball, which he could not forget; the other, the constant reminder
of his inferiority to Carle. When Carle confessed on the train, with a
certain imposing air of one whose honors were burdensome, that he had
been asked to join the Omega-Omicron fraternity, Rob was smitten hard
with jealousy, but he threw off this feeling in an instant and spoke
eagerly.
"That's an honor, isn't it! Are you going to join?"
"I haven't decided yet," replied Carle, negligently.
"Aren't they rather a rich set?" asked Rob, as he ran over the list of
several who were reputed to be members. He had picked up a good deal
of information during his first term about many things which did not
immediately concern him.
"Most of 'em have money, but they don't insist that every one else
should."
"I should think that it would be hard all the same," returned Rob,
thoughtfully. "You see, there'll be a lot of things these fellows do
that you can't afford. You won't want to refuse if you're with them,
and you can't stand the pace they set. That makes it awkward for you."
"Oh, they make a way for a fellow who hasn't much," Carle replied. "You
see they like to get in fellows that are well known, specially the
athletic men. It's to their interest to sacrifice something, if they
want the important fellows."
"I'm thinking of you, not of the fraternity," said Owen, resisting
another attack of jealousy. It grated on him to hear Carle speak so
confidently of his assured athletic position. "It'll be harder for you
to study and keep your place in the class, if you're going with those
fellows all the time; and then there'll be a temptation to spend more
than you can afford."
At this argument, which was certainly worthy of consideration, Carle's
face clouded and he burst out savagely: "It's mighty mean to be always
kept tied down to figuring on pennies, and have to slave to get a
scholarship, when other fellows who haven't anything to make them
popular can throw money around and loaf, and float along on the top
wave. It isn't right!"
Rob looked at him in surprise. "You don't have to spend money to be
popular. There's Laughlin; he hasn't a cent that he doesn't earn, and
fellows like Poole and Lindsay and Cutting don't make any show of money
if they have it. And who thinks anything of Bowers with all his dough?"
"They have all they need, at least," returned Carle, "and I haven't.
Laughlin's different, but there aren't many like him. All I say is that
it's mighty tough to send a fellow to school, and not give him money
enough to keep him there decently."
Rob listened without knowing what reply to make. He recalled the
eagerness with which Ned had forced his plan upon his parents, his
declaration that he would not let himself be a burden to them, and his
promise to be content with what they could afford to give him, and
rely upon himself for all other needs. Why should he speak as if he
had been sent to school against his will and there neglected, when he
had besought his parents to let him go at his own risk? And why should
he complain at all when he had apparently had complete success, earned
a scholarship, and had such prospects of an important place in school
life?
Ned's successes were soon known in Terryville. Mr. Carle repeated
often and proudly the tale of his son's high rank in his school, and
of the great popularity which he enjoyed among his school-fellows.
Ned added the information that he should probably do the bulk of the
pitching on the school nine; he was to begin pitching practice with the
regular school catcher after the holidays. When people questioned Rob
concerning these statements, as many did, he readily confirmed them;
when they asked him further, as some did, why he had not succeeded as
well, and why he wasn't "good enough to catch Carle," he laughingly
declared his inferiority. When he was safe from observation, however,
and the questions returned to him, he had no heart to laugh. The fact
that he was "outclassed," as Ned calmly explained it, or better that
he had been quietly put aside on the assumption that he wasn't the
equal of Borland, while Carle was taken at his own highest valuation
and given in advance the honors of achievement--this was indeed an
unpleasant subject for reflection. But Rob, though lacking the worldly
experience which might have taught him that in the general sifting
and settling of life, undeserved elevation usually leads to deserved
humiliation, still was fortunate in possessing a modest self-esteem
and reasonably good sense. That he envied Carle's rapid rise cannot be
denied; but that he in any way wished his friend ill on account of it,
or would have liked to pull Carle down that the difference between them
should be less manifest,--this feeling, I am pleased to say, was wholly
absent from his mind. Rob Owen was no cad.
[Illustration: A Corner of the Yard.]