WALKING PAPERS
The Triumvirate were seated under the maples on the lawn. It was Sunday
afternoon, and the hot weather continued, although there was rather
more life in the air than there had been yesterday. Clif and Tom had
discarded coats, an example set them by numerous other youths who
dotted the shaded expanse beyond East Hall. Mr. Cooper, strolling over
from the Inn, found them there and joined the small circle. Loring and
Clif were attempting to arrange a meeting in France or Switzerland
in the summer, and Mr. Cooper, having seated himself on the grass,
leisurely filled his pipe and listened, with only an occasional word of
comment. Loring’s family would be abroad all summer, while Clif and his
father had only some six weeks to spend on the other side; facts which
made it difficult for the two boys to agree on a place and time of
meeting. Tom had nothing to say until, presently, Mr. Cooper remarked:
“I fancy you’d like a bit of that, Tom.”
Tom shrugged. “Oh, no, I’d hate it! I couldn’t be happy outside the
dear old State of New Jersey.”
“You’re out of it now,” said Clif.
“And no better off,” answered Tom. “New Jersey――Connecticut――what’s the
diff?”
“I wish you could be over there, too,” said Loring with evident
sincerity. “Say, wouldn’t we have a corking time, the three of us?”
“The Triumvirate in the Alps,” mused Clif. “Sounds like a story,
doesn’t it? Gee, I wish you could make it, too, Tom. No hope, I
suppose? I mean you couldn’t possibly persuade Mr. Whatshisname that he
needs a vacation?”
“If I could he’d take it at Asbury Park,” replied Tom disconsolately.
“Heck, I don’t believe he even knows there _is_ such a place as Europe!”
“You might try the ‘old will power,’” suggested Mr. Cooper. “After what
it’s done here, you know, eh?”
“I’d like to see any one will that guardian of mine to do anything he
didn’t want to!” said Tom bitterly. “Anyway, I’ve about decided that
that psychology stuff is the bunk. I don’t believe it had anything to
do with our making the first team, and I don’t believe Clif thinks it
did, either.”
“Well, I do think so,” declared Clif stoutly. “Why, look here, Tom,
when I started out I had just about as much chance of making the nine
as――as I have of finding my name down in the First Ten to-morrow! And
then, all of a sudden, Steve grabs me! If it wasn’t because we fellows
kept thinking and willing, what was it because of?”
Tom laughed jeeringly. “Don’t credit me with any of it, Clif, for I
haven’t done a nickel’s worth of willing for more than a week. I just
haven’t had time to think about it. Sorry, old chap, but you might as
well have the truth. I’ve been too busy to put my mind on your affairs.
Now let’s hear from Loring.”
“I’m going to disappoint you,” said Loring. “I haven’t quit, Tom. The
old will power’s still working sixteen hours a day. One for all, you
know, and all for one!”
“Well, I sort of forgot,” muttered Tom. “You fellows must have done it
single――no, double-handed.”
“It’s sort of funny about that,” confessed Clif. “Fact is, I don’t
believe I’ve done much――much concentrating myself lately. That is, not
consciously. I suppose what happened was that I’d got sort of in the
habit of doing it and――and just did it without realizing.”
Tom sniffed skeptically, but Loring said gravely, “That must be it,
Clif.” He had not told Clif of that talk with the coach and the
subsequent “scouting,” nor did he tell him about it until many weeks
later. Mr. Cooper broke in on the momentary silence.
“If I were you, Tom,” he said, “I’d keep it up. The will power stuff,
I mean; concentration and all that, eh? No harm in trying, you know.
Wouldn’t be a bit surprised to run across the whole lot of you over
there later on.”
“Well, _I’d_ be surprised if you did, mightily surprised!” retorted
Tom. “Unless ‘over there’ means Asbury Park!”
“Oh, no,” replied Mr. Cooper seriously, “Switzerland. You never can
tell.”
Tom looked at him incredulously, opened his lips to speak, thought
better of it and subsided.
“Gosh,” sighed Clif, “it’s hard to realize that we’ll be all through
here Wednesday! That I’ll be having lunch at home the next day! And
taking in a ball game in the afternoon, maybe, and going to a movie in
the evening!”
“I suppose you’ve got through finals all right, Loring,” said Tom. “It
must be funny not to have to worry any about them.”
“Yes, I’m fairly certain of passing,” replied Loring. “How about you?”
“Me? Oh, I’ll get by,” answered Tom doggedly. “Somehow. I can’t just
figure it out, but I have a hunch that I’ll make it. Got to if I want
to come back next year.”
Tom’s hunch proved correct, thanks to a fortunate and, to him, quite
inexplicable _B_ in Hygiene. Loring’s name was on the list in the
First Ten of the third class, and Clif barely failed of winning that
distinction. Although Tom had professed his certainty of passing, the
news that he had scraped through appeared to bring him a vast relief
and a noticeable elevation of spirits. He felt so good all the forenoon
that it required earnest efforts on the part of Clif and Billy Desmond
to keep him from breaking a window as a testimonial of joy. Dissuaded
from this course, he set out for the Inn to announce the glad tidings
to Mr. Cooper. The latter seemed quite as pleased as Tom.
“Of course,” Tom acknowledged, “I haven’t got much to boast of. If
‘Cocky’ hadn’t given me that _B_ in Hygiene I’d have failed. The
only thing I’m afraid of is that he made a mistake and will find it
out before Wednesday! Alick was pretty good to me, too; better than
I thought he would be. I’ve been a good deal of a trial to him all
year, and he might have socked me an awful wallop if he’d wanted to.
He’s a pretty square old guy, Alick! I guess Mr. Winslow will cut up
a bit when he sees my marks, but he can’t say I didn’t pass.” Tom was
frowningly thoughtful a moment. “Something tells me he’s going to be
disappointed. I have an idea he’d be glad of an excuse to take me away
from here. He’s always reminding me of how much it costs. Well, I
fooled him this time!”
“Can’t you stay and have lunch with me?” asked Mr. Cooper a few minutes
later.
“Thanks, but I can’t, sir. You see, I’m at training table now, and
Steve makes us all toe the mark. Sorry, sir. I’d like to.”
Practice was called for two-thirty, since there were no more classes,
and, having nothing particular to do after dinner, Tom went over to the
gymnasium at a few minutes before two. He had lost track of Clif and
expected to find him in the locker room. Whether Clif was there Tom
didn’t discover, for, he didn’t reach the locker room until very much
later. Fate ordained that he should encounter Coles just short of the
entrance, and in ordaining that Fate played a scurvy trick on Tom.
Ever since he had been deposed from second base by Tom, Wink Coles had
nursed a grievance. He hadn’t shown the fact to any extent, and the
friendly relations between the two had not been noticeably affected.
They had never been very close, even in the fall, when both had played
on the Fighting Scrub, as last season’s second eleven had been dubbed.
Wink had fully expected to play second base throughout the spring,
and he had been sadly disappointed when Tom had been elevated from
the scrub nine and he, Wink, had been relegated to the position of an
infield substitute. Only a few hours before the encounter with Tom he
had learned that in two studies in which he had fully expected _B’s_ he
had been awarded _C’s_. He had passed, but he had done it by a margin
not very much wider than Tom’s, and he was still disgruntled. In short,
Wink Coles was in a state of mind hardly to be classed as genial, and
it was unfortunate that Tom, still in an expansive mood, should have
chosen that particular opportunity to be affable.
“Hello, Wink!” he greeted, refusing to be satisfied with the nod and
grunt they usually exchanged on meeting. “How’d you come out?”
“All right,” replied Wink gloomily, continuing to lean against the wall
and stare into the sunlit distance. “How’d you?”
It was plainly to be understood that he didn’t care a continental about
Tom’s fate, but Tom was not critical of tones. He answered smilingly
and flippantly.
“Great! In the First Ten――counting from the bottom! I’m still wondering
how it happened.”
“You’re a lucky dub, anyhow,” replied Wink unflatteringly.
“I was lucky this time,” agreed Tom, with what may have seemed to
the other a distinctly irritating laugh. That would have ended the
conversation if Tom hadn’t remembered that he had lots of time on his
hands. He didn’t particularly care for Wink, but he wanted to talk to
some one and, failing another, Wink would answer. “They say it’s better
to be born lucky than rich,” Tom went on.
“I guess it is,” said Wink. “And I’ll say you’re sure lucky!” At last
it dawned on Tom that the other was not in absolute sympathy. In fact,
Wink’s tone of voice had been a trifle――well, a trifle mean! Tom became
inquiring in look and speech.
“Sounds like a nasty crack, Wink,” he said less genially. “What’s on
your mind?”
“Well,” answered Wink, eying him coldly, “I guess you were pretty lucky
to land on the nine, weren’t you?”
“Oh! That’s what’s eating you, eh? Yes, I guess there was some luck in
that, but I wouldn’t say it was all luck. Sorry I crowded you, Wink,
but I couldn’t help it, you know. Fortunes of war, and all that, eh?”
“Oh, sure!” replied Wink sarcastically. “Fortunes of war and a lot of
luck, Kemble.”
Tom frowned. “Heck, what are you so sore about? You didn’t own that
position, did you? Anyway, why don’t you tell your stuff to Steve?
What’s the idea of blaming it all on me?”
“Who said I was blaming you?” asked Wink. “And I guess you’re right,
at that. Luck’s pretty good, but standing in with the coach is a blame
sight better, I guess.”
“Is that _so_?” inquired Tom. “Meaning I swiped for that job, eh?
You’ve got a crust!”
“Oh, I’m not saying you swiped.” Wink laughed annoyingly. “You didn’t
have to, I guess. Steve has his friends, and ever since last fall
you’ve been one of them. Lots of fellows thought it was mighty funny
when he jumped you from the scrub, Kemble.”
Tom smiled. If Wink had known him a good deal better he would have
recognized that particular kind of a smile as a danger signal. “Coles,”
said Tom gently, “those cracks about me don’t bother me a mite,
but when you say that Steve Connover isn’t straight you’ve started
something. Listen to this, and get it. You’re a dirty pup.”
Wink struck swiftly, but Tom was ready. He stepped back quickly and
held up a hand. “Cut it out!” he said. “I’m not going to be fired on
account of you. I’ll fight you all right, but we’ll fight regularly
to-morrow morning.”
“You’ll fight now!” gasped Wink. “You called me a pup, you――you rotten
swiper!” He struck again and landed glancingly on Tom’s neck. Tom
backed away, shooting a hasty glance about. Fortunately, although there
were a score or more of fellows over on the scrub diamond, no one was
apparently looking toward the gymnasium steps. Wink was following,
eloquent on the subject of Tom’s character. Tom shrugged.
“All right,” he said grimly. “I’ll fight now, but not here. Come around
the corner.”
“You bet you’ll fight!” raged Wink Coles, following the other. “You’ll
fight or I’ll chase you all over the lot!”
“Save your breath,” advised Tom, and went down the steps, slipping out
of his coat as he went.
Five minutes later a scandalized first classman hurried over from the
tennis courts, followed by a squad of interested schoolmates, and
hurled the combatants apart. Even Wink realized authority when he met
it, and if he hadn’t there were enough assistant peace-makers to quell
him. The first classman delivered a scorching oration, declared that it
was his duty to report the offenders at once, made it plain that he had
no intention of doing any such thing and finally calmed down enough to
offer advice.
“You fellows cut in there before any one else sees you and get Dan to
fix you up. You’re disgusting, both of you! You ought to know better
than pull this stuff. Shut up!” This to Wink, attempting a defense
through one side――the unbattered side――of his mouth. “I don’t want to
hear anything about it! Get in there, I tell you. And if you want my
advice I’ll tell you you’d better keep away from the faculty the rest
of the day!”
Some fifteen minutes later Mr. Connover stopped in front of Wink Coles
and gazed at him in surprise. Wink looked extremely disreputable. Steve
hesitated, walked on, turned back and spoke. “Who did that to you,
Coles?” he asked. Wink looked away, encountered the amused faces of
his mates and muttered unintelligibly. Steve frowned. As a member of
the faculty it was his duty to report for discipline any infraction
of the rules, and there was a stern injunction against fighting save
at a certain place and under established regulations. The regulations
provided that an affair of honor must be laid before a member of
the upper class whose duty it was to inquire thoroughly into the
merits of the matter and, if in his judgment a meeting was advisable,
appoint a referee and set the time of the combat. Then, each principal
having selected a second, the affair was pulled off with as little
publicity as possible and under prize-ring rules behind the stable.
These meetings were held in the early morning, and Mr. Connover had
only to view Wink’s countenance to know that its unlovely appearance
was of short standing. Still, members of the faculty were permitted
discretion, and sometimes it was considered unwise to pursue researches
too far. Mr. Connover viewed the embarrassed Wink a moment longer, as
though lending full consideration to that muttered explanation, and
then said briefly: “You’re excused for the day, Coles.”
And that was that. And just when the incident was losing savor for
the players, and Dan, the trainer, was emptying the baseballs out on
the turf, a new sensation arrived in the person of Tom. If Wink was
disreputable, Tom was unfit for publication! And he knew it. Hurrying
so as not to be late, he yet tried very hard to reach his goal without
notice, and with the latter desire uppermost in his mind, he skirted
the first base stand and attempted to slip into the throng as modestly
as possible. But when you have two areas of plaster decorating your
face and a strip of the same glaring material across the knuckles of
one hand your chance of attaining obscurity is slim. There arose a
delighted if restrained cheer from his teammates as Tom, affecting
nonchalance, stepped into the shadow of Cobham and tried the experiment
of fitting a left-hand glove over a painful right. Having recognized
the futility of that attempt, Tom picked up a trickling ball, turned
his back toward the coach and wandered down the line. Surreptitious
remarks greeted him, but Tom appeared too intent on duty for mere
persiflage. He didn’t really have much hope of escaping the vigilant
eye of Mr. Connover, but at least he could postpone the evil moment he
thought. If only the coach would send the first team into the field――
“Kemble!”
Tom stopped as though shot, hesitated and turned innocently toward
the speaker. The coach had trailed him along the base line, almost to
first, and he looked very angry. Tom’s heart sank, but he attempted a
blithe smile, which hurt him considerably, and responded: “Yeth, thir?”
“So you’ve been fighting again, have you?” demanded Steve in a voice
that reminded Tom of a blue chisel. “Getting to be rather a habit with
you, isn’t it?”
“Yeth――_no_, thir!” Tom wished he didn’t have to lisp like that. It
sounded so silly! But the inside of his mouth was very sore, and
his cheek and his tongue and his lower lip got in each other’s way
horribly. He was well aware that he presented a lamentable, even a
humorous appearance, and he looked hopefully at the coach, thinking
that either sympathy or amusement would break the glacial set of
the latter’s features. But Mr. Connover had been presented with one
too many incapacitated players this afternoon, and neither pity nor
amusement swayed him.
“I’ve sent Coles off for the day,” said the coach, “and you may go,
too. Only you needn’t come back, Kemble. I shan’t need you any more
this season.”
Tom was stunned. There was one awful instant of silence and then he
broke into protests. “Honeth, Mither Connover, ’twath’nt my fault! I――I
didn’t mean――”
“You got into a fight at Greenville,” said the coach coldly. “I let
that go. But this time I’m through. I’m forced to the conclusion that
you’re simply a trouble-maker, Kemble. I don’t want your sort on the
nine. I ought to report you at the Office. That is my duty as a faculty
member. But I’m going to deal with you merely as a coach. Possibly the
loss of your place on the team will be enough to show you――”
“I with you’d let me tell you, pleathe, thir! Honeth, I didn’t thtart
it, thir. You thee――”
“That will do, Kemble. I don’t want your excuses. You’ve been fighting
with Coles, contrary to school regulations, and I’m letting you off
pretty easy with the loss of your place on the squad. There’s no more
to be said. I want you to leave the field this instant.”
“Yeth, thir.” Tom attained a certain dignity then, not an easy thing to
do under the circumstances. “I’m thorry, Mither Connover.”
“So am I, Kemble.” The tone was not quite so hard, but Tom didn’t make
the mistake of thinking that it presaged relenting. “Mither Connover”
turned away and strode back to his duties, and Tom, trying hard to keep
his eyes clear of tears, went straight for the gymnasium. Before he
had reached it self-pity gave way to anger against Coles. He would, he
concluded, get his togs off and go in search of Wink. And when he found
him he would start where he had left off and finish the job! No, sir,
it didn’t make a bit of difference to him whether he got fired or not
now. If he couldn’t play any more baseball what use was there sticking
around the rotten hole? Something had told him long ago that he wasn’t
going to like Wyndham, and now he hated it!
He wondered where Wink Coles could be found. Probably in his room. Tom
managed a crooked smile at the thought of how that room would look
when he was through with Wink. Then the smile faded before a look of
exasperation, for he couldn’t for the life of him remember where Wink
roomed! Well, he could find out. Loring had a catalogue. He had seen
it on the lower shelf of the bookcase only last evening. And Loring
would be out, for Tom had glimpsed him at the far end of the bench
when he had slipped past the end of the stand. Yes, and Mr. Cooper had
been there, too; sitting back of third base; seeing the whole rotten
business. That was tough! He wished Mr. Cooper hadn’t witnessed his
degradation. Mr. Cooper was――well, Tom thought a good deal of Mr.
Cooper and valued his respect. And that reminded him that Mr. Cooper
had wanted so much to have him pass, and had shown such pleasure
just that morning when he had heard the news. And now, Tom reflected
uneasily, he was going to get himself fired out of school, and Mr.
Cooper would be horribly disappointed in him. Somehow the idea of
beating up Wink Coles some more lost its appeal. Besides, come to think
of it, Wink had done a lot more beating up than he had! Wink was a year
older and about twelve pounds heavier and no dumb-bell when it came to
the wallops! Tom acknowledged a grudging respect for Wink. Still, that
didn’t cut any ice. Even if he got licked good and plenty, he would
manage to make Wink look a lot worse than he did now before he was
through! Only there was Mr. Cooper, and Mr. Cooper was a corking chap,
and――
And just then Tom reached the silent locker room, and there was Wink,
sitting on a bench, his legs sprawled before him and his gaze fixed
disconsolately on space. But he looked around when Tom clumped in on
his spikes, and the two stared at each other for a brief moment without
speech. Then each averted his gaze and Tom pulled open the door of his
locker and began to unlace a shoe. Silence was heavy. Tom wondered why
he didn’t go across and challenge the foe to a renewal of hostilities.
They’d probably have the place to themselves long enough to reach a
decision. It wasn’t that he was afraid――although, to be quite frank,
the passing thought of having to hit anything with his bruised hand
again was distinctly unpleasant――but the savor seemed to have gone out
of the project. Tom kicked the first shoe off and started on the other.
Then Wink’s voice sounded hollowly in the room.
“Think he will let us back to-morrow?” asked Wink.
“You,” growled Tom. “Not me. I’m fired. For keeps.”
There was a long moment of silence. Then:
“How does he get that way?” demanded Wink indignantly. “He didn’t tell
me I was fired. He just said I was excused for to-day. How come he
socks you like that?”
Tom gave up trying to undo an obdurate knot and faced his recent
antagonist. “Says I’m a trouble-maker. I had a bit of a rumpus with
a guy over in Greenville the day we played there, and Steve got onto
it and was mighty decent. Then, to-day――oh, I suppose he couldn’t help
thinking I was a rough-neck. Said fighting was a habit with me and he
didn’t want any of my kind on the team.”
Another silence broken finally with: “That’s not fair, Tom. It was my
fault. You didn’t want to fight me then. I made you.”
“Oh, well.” Tom shrugged. “I didn’t have to, I guess.”
“Sure, you had to! Say, you needn’t believe it if you don’t want to,
but I’m mighty sorry. Tell you what I’ll do――”
“You’ll do nothing,” replied Tom emphatically. “One of us is enough.
Oh, heck, I guess I deserve what I got. It was a fool stunt!”
“Sure was,” agreed Wink sadly.
“Well, what in time did you go and start it for?” demanded Tom with
pardonable asperity. “I don’t see yet what you had to get so blamed
nasty about!”
“I know,” acknowledged Wink humbly. “It was pretty rotten. I was sore,
that’s all. About losing my place on the team, and not getting better
marks after I’d worked like the dickens all spring; and you being so
thundering pleased with yourself and――and everything! I sort of went
flooey. I’m awfully sorry, Tom. Honest!”
“All right,” answered the other hurriedly. “Guess I know how you felt.
Just rotten luck, that’s all. Forget it, Wink.”
“I wish you’d let me tell Steve just what happened; how it started and
all.”
“Swell scheme!” jeered Tom. “Tell him you said he was playing
favorites, eh? You’d make a hit with him!”
“I wouldn’t care,” muttered Wink. “Besides, I was only talking. I know
Steve’s square just as well as you do.”
“You do!” Tom stared in amazement. “Well, I’ll be switched! Then
why――what――”
Wink shrugged disconsolately. “I just wanted to make you mad, I
suppose.”
“Huh! Well, you did it! But you keep away from Steve!”