KENDALL EXPLAINS
Dan slept for two hours and might have slept longer had it not been
that a little cool breeze began to find its way through the wide-open
windows. It was after half-past three then, and he went downstairs and
wrote a letter home. And finally, at a little before five, there was a
terrific honking in the distance, followed presently by the appearance
of a cloud of dust down the road and eventually by the arrival of the
Pennimore car and the three conspirators.
“Get in,” Gerald commanded. “We’re going for a ride before supper.”
So Dan went up and got into his coat and soon they were off along the
twilight road. That was a ride to remember. They were gone one hour
and covered forty-three miles by the speedometer. And if there were
four hungrier lads in the length and breadth of the land than those
four when they sat down to supper, I envy them! After supper they went
upstairs to what a white-enameled plate on the door informed them was
the Ladies’ Parlor and Ned strummed tunes on the old yellow-keyed
piano and they all sang and made as much noise as they pleased. Still
later they donned sweaters or coats and went down to the porch and put
chairs along the railing and sat there with their feet as high as their
heads and talked. The breeze had subsided and the night was still and
quite warm for the sixteenth of November. A big lob-sided moon climbed
up over the tops of the naked elms and flooded the porch with light.
They talked of many, many things; almost everything, in fact, except
football. To have listened to them one might have thought that there
was never such a thing as football. Finally Gerald said:
“It was a night a good deal like this, Dan, that we paid our call on
Broadwood last spring.”
And then, Ned urging, Dan, with Gerald interpolating at intervals, told
the story of the famous joke on Broadwood perpetrated by the S. P. M.
(“Society of Predatory Marauders,” explained Gerald.) And Kendall, who
had never heard of the affair before, listened with open ears. And when
Dan had finished Kendall burst out with:
“Then that’s why they tried to paint the flagpole!”
“Who? What do you mean?” exclaimed the others.
“Oh! Nothing! That is――!”
“Who tried to paint the flagpole?” Dan demanded. “What do you know
about that, Burtis?”
“I――I thought maybe they did,” stammered Kendall.
“Broadwood? I never thought of that.” This from Dan.
“Nobody ever found out who did do that stunt,” said Ned thoughtfully.
There was a moment’s silence. Then Ned asked suddenly:
“Wasn’t it about that time you went on pro, Curt?”
“It――it was a day or so afterwards,” replied Kendall.
“Hm. Nice weather we’re having.”
“What’s the point, Tooker?” asked Dan.
“Ask our friend, Mr. Bendall Kurtis.”
“All right, Burtis, you’ve got the floor. If there’s a story, let’s
have it.”
“There isn’t; at least, there’s nothing I can tell,” replied Kendall.
“Oh, I thought you knew something.”
“What did you mean, Tooker?” asked Gerald. “Out with it.”
Ned’s chair came down with a crash on the porch and he pointed an
accusing finger at Kendall. “There,” he declared dramatically, “is the
one man who can explain the Mystery of the Paint on the Flagpole!”
“Burtis? Nonsense!” Dan laughed. “Kick him, Burtis.”
“Then,” said Ned, folding his arms with dignity, “then ask him to
explain why he was put on probation the next day.”
“Consider yourself asked, Burtis,” Gerald laughed.
“Answer!” commanded Ned. “We are all friends together and our motto is
‘Discretion.’”
“Why――why――” Kendall stammered. “It isn’t my secret. You see―― Well,
I do know about it, but I oughtn’t to tell. I refused to tell Mr.
Collins, and that’s why he put me on probation. I didn’t want them to
get into trouble.”
“Didn’t want who to get into trouble?” asked Ned with the manner of a
Grand Inquisitor.
“Those fellows.”
“What fellows?”
“The fellows who――who did it.”
“You mean the Broadwood fellows?” asked Dan quietly.
“Yes――no――”
“Then Broadwood _did_ do it!” exclaimed Ned triumphantly. “I knew it!
Now tell us all about it. We all swear secrecy, Curt. By yon gleaming
orb we pledge ourselves to never divulge what we are about to hear!
Proceed!”
And finally Kendall proceeded and told the whole story from the time he
had overheard the conversation between the Broadwood boys in the drug
store until he had gone out of the Office in disgrace. And he talked to
three deeply interested hearers.
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” exclaimed Dan when Kendall had finished.
“I’ll be double jiggered,” Ned declared. “Do you mean to tell me, Curt,
that you were chump enough to let Collins put you on pro just to save
those idiots?”
“I was afraid he would make trouble for them,” said Kendall.
“What of it? Don’t you know that Broadwood is our hereditary foe?”
“Shut up, Tooker,” said Dan. “He was quite right. Only I guess
his――what-do-you-call-it?――martyrdom was unnecessary. I don’t believe
Collins would have taken it up with Broadwood’s faculty. Old Toby might
have, but not Collins.”
“And that’s why you gave up football!” marveled Gerald.
“Yes; he said I couldn’t play any longer,” replied Kendall regretfully.
Ned arose and brushed an imaginary tear from his eye. “Curt,” he
said in a voice that trembled with emotion, “you’re a hero!” He shook
Kendall’s hand. “You’re a――a martyr to a principal! Get that, fellows?
Principal with an ‘al.’ Good, what?”
“Punk,” laughed Dan. “Well, Burtis, I’m glad I got you back on the
Second Team. I didn’t know why the dickens I was doing it at the time,
but I see now that my instincts prompted.”
“I think Collins ought to know the truth of it,” exclaimed Gerald.
“Someone ought to tell him. I will if no one else does.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” said Dan. “No use opening old sores. Collins did
what he thought was fair; the evidence was all against Burtis. It’s
over with now and nobody’s any the worse for it.”
“That’s right,” Ned agreed. “Let deeping slogs lie. I do wish I’d known
you then, Curt; I surely would have liked to have been there when you
flashed the torch on them! We needn’t say anything to Collins about it,
fellows, but it’s too good a joke on Broadwood to keep to ourselves,
that is, if Curt doesn’t mind having it known.”
Kendall said he didn’t care about that, and he was quite sure he didn’t
want to bother Mr. Collins with the affair. “He――he was awfully nice
about it. And he’s been very kind ever since.”
“Collins,” said Ned with conviction, “is one fine man.”
And the others gravely agreed.
At nine o’clock they went yawning up to their rooms, and at ten nothing
was to be heard therein but evidences of healthy slumber.
Mr. Payson had forbidden Dan to return before eleven, but Gerald was
forced to be on hand fairly early, since the cross-country race with
Broadwood――Nordham had declined Goodyear’s invitation to enter the
contest――was due to start at ten-thirty, and so it was agreed that
they should all return at half-past nine. They were up early and had
breakfast at a quarter to eight. The morning had fulfilled the promise
of the preceding day. It was an Indian Summer day if ever there was
one. Dan had slept like a log, he asserted, and never felt better in
his life.
“I’ll bet, though,” he said ruefully, “that I’ve taken on six or seven
pounds. I can feel it just as plain!”
“Don’t worry,” said Gerald. “You can stand it. Besides,” he added with
a grin, “it will be all gone by four this afternoon.”
There seemed no good reason for continuing the taboo on the subject of
the game, and during the rest of breakfast they discussed it without
ceasing. Afterwards Gerald scouted out for a morning paper and finally
found one and Dan read the football news it contained aloud to the
others as they sat on the steps and waited for the time to start.
“‘Broadwood,’” read Dan, “‘is a slight favorite in to-day’s battle with
Yardley Hall at Wissining. Her victories have been woefully few of
late and there is a prevalent feeling that her turn has come. Although
handicapped at the beginning of the season by injuries to three of her
best men, Broadwood hit her stride in the game with Stamford College
two weeks ago and has been coming ever since. She has in Reid, Raynor
and Rhodes――the Three R’s, as Broadwood calls them――an exceptionally
good back-field trio. They have plenty of weight, are exceptionally
quick and have so far proved extremely hard to stop. The only occurring
criticism of the Broadwood back-field that will start the Yardley Hall
game is that, composed, as it is, of players whose strong point is
plunging, it can afford but little variety of offense. Broadwood has
not developed the running game this year to any great extent, and, with
the exception of Saunders, who is as yet an almost unknown quantity at
quarter, and who may possess possibilities in this line that he has not
yet shown, what end-running talent she has lies with her second-string
backs.’
“That,” observed Dan, interrupting himself, “is rot. Raynor never made
a yard at straight line-bucking in his life. He’s a typical dodging
back, and he cut off about seventy yards in the Nordham game on runs
outside tackle. That’s just a sample of the sort of stuff they send
out in the hope of misleading the opponent. Just as though we hadn’t
watched their team all the fall!”
“What other untruths does the Broadwood correspondent indulge in?”
asked Ned, who was boring an extra hole in his leather belt with the
file-blade of his knife. “Go on, Vinton.”
“‘In the line,’” Dan continued, “‘Broadwood is more than averagely
strong. O’Brien, at center, although light, is undoubtedly one of the
cleverest players in his position on any preparatory school team.’
(“That’s a fact,” interpolated Dan.) ‘O’Brien was a substitute last
year, but played part of the Yardley Hall game. The guards are new
men this year, but have proved excellent on the defense. The same may
be said of the tackles, one of whom, Weldon, played his position last
season. At the ends Broadwood has Captain Bishop and Furniss, with
Thurston and Donnelly as substitutes. Captain Bishop is an ideal end
player, while Furniss has shown so far more promise than fulfillment.
By an odd coincidence Captain Bishop will play opposite Yardley Hall’s
captain, Vinton, and a battle royal is looked for between the rival
leaders.
“‘There is a feeling here at Broadwood that if any fault can be found
with the development of this year’s team it must be on the score that
in perfecting what appears to be a remarkably strong defense the
coaches have failed to produce an offense of more than ordinary value.
Granting then what seems to be the case, that Broadwood’s defense is
fully equal if not superior to Yardley Hall’s, the outcome of the
struggle will depend on which team can show the strongest attack. A
tie score is by no means beyond the realm of possibility, but here at
Broadwood coaches and players alike agree that if the Green doesn’t
come out of the fray victor by the margin of at least one touchdown
they will be greatly surprised.’”
“Business of looking surprised by Broadwood coaches,” murmured Ned,
snapping his knife shut and worming his belt back into place. “That’s
all right for their side of the thing, Vinton. Now, prithee, sweet
youth, what says Yardley?”
“Yardley doesn’t say anything,” replied Dan, searching the page with a
frown. “Who’s our correspondent? Anyone know?”
“Chambers used to be,” said Gerald. “I don’t know who is now.”
“Hold on! Here’s something,” announced Dan. “‘Wissining, Conn.,
November 16. Yardley Hall School and Broadwood Academy will meet
to-morrow on the Yardley gridiron for their annual championship battle.
Yardley is expected to repeat her victories of the last two years,
although a piece of eleventh-hour ill-luck may spoil her chances.
Yardley’s captain and left end, Dan Vinton, may not be able to enter
the game. Captain Vinton has been ill for about a week and on Thursday,
obeying doctor’s orders, left school and has not been heard of since.
Whether he will return in time for the game to-morrow, or whether,
if he does return, he will be able to take part in it, is not known.
Vinton’s leadership and his work at the left end of the Yardley line
will be greatly missed.’”
“What do you think of that?” ejaculated Gerald.
Dan laughed. “I guess I’d better go back and show myself,” he said. “I
wonder who started that story.”
“The fellow who wrote it for the paper,” replied Ned. “Plenty of
fellows knew that you had just gone off to rest up until this morning,
although I guess none of them knew where you’d gone. What time is it?
Let’s get a move on!”