MEETING AN OLD FRIEND
For some time after leaving the doctor’s office neither Cap nor Bill
spoke. The latter stumbled along, his mind filled with gloomy thoughts,
and as for Cap he was wondering what he could say to take the pain from
his brother’s heart. Wisely he concluded that he could say nothing. At
length Bill spoke.
“Well, what do you think of it?” he asked.
“It might be worse,” replied Cap, as cheerfully as he could.
“Worse!” Bill laughed mirthlessly. “I don’t see it.”
“Why you might be blind, or not able to see to read or get about
without wearing goggles and using a cane. As it is you only needed
specs to read with. And maybe the nerve will get well of itself.”
“Yes, after the season is over, and I lose all chance of playing on
the Varsity. I tell you I want to pitch, Cap. That’s one reason why we
picked out Westfield,—because of the good nines they have here.”
“I know it; but what’s to be done? If you can’t control the balls, and
place them where they ought to be, you know—”
“Yes, I know how it is,” and he spoke bitterly. “I’d be of no use in
the box. Well, I s’pose there’s no help for it,” and Bill picked up a
round stone, and threw it at a telegraph pole. He missed it by a foot,
though usually he was a good shot. He laughed mirthlessly, and turning
to Cap said: “See how it is?”
“Oh, well, don’t take it so hard. That was a nasty blow you got, and
the effects may be a long time wearing away. But I’m sure you’ll be all
right next season, if you’re not this.”
“But a whole season off the diamond!” gasped Bill in dismay.
“Oh, you don’t need to get off. Maybe Windam will play you in the
outfield. You can catch; can’t you?”
“Yes, but I want to be in the box. However if I can’t—I can’t,” and
seeing that he was causing Cap pain by his manner, Bill tried to assume
a more cheerful air.
“Graydon will be cut up over it,” said the elder lad, referring to the
player whose batted ball had been responsible for Bill’s mishap.
“It wasn’t his fault,” declared the pitcher. “I ought to have known
better than to try to stop it at such close range. It was going like a
bullet. I should have passed it.”
“You couldn’t—and be a Smith boy,” exclaimed Cap with a laugh. “We’d
take a chance on anything in the shape of a ball, I guess.”
“Well, I’ll go back in a couple of days, and get the reading glasses,
and maybe they’ll help some,” decided Bill, as they walked on. They
were nearing the college, the many buildings of which could be seen
in the distance above the trees, the red tiled roofs making a pretty
picture seen through the green foliage.
“Hello, something’s going on!” exclaimed Cap, as they swung into the
main road that led up to the grounds. “Look at the crowd.”
“Baseball game?” suggested Bill.
“No, they’re away this side of the diamond. There’s some sort of a
wagon there—a Gypsy van, I guess. Maybe some of the fellows are having
their fortunes told. Come on, we’ll get in the game, and have some fun.”
“Maybe it’s an ambulance, and some one is hurt.”
“Get out! They don’t have ambulances around here.”
The brothers increased their pace, and as they neared the vehicle
something vaguely familiar about it attracted the attention of Bill and
Cap. They looked at each other.
“It can’t be him!” exclaimed Bill.
“It looks like his rig, though,” assented Cap. “But it’s painted a
different color. I wonder—?”
“Hark!” cautioned his brother.
They were close to the throng of students now, but could only see the
top of the wagon, which was a covered one. A voice could be heard
droning away like this:
“Young gentlemen, it is one of the greatest pleasures of my life to
speak to students—to persons of learning, in which class I am so
fortunate as to count myself, though in an humble capacity. Learning, I
may say, extends even to the noble steed which draws my equipage, whose
cognomen is, I may say derived from—”
“That’s all right, old sport, what’s the horse called?” demanded one of
the students, with a laugh.
“Yes, get down to business,” added another.
“Right you are, young gentlemen,” admitted the voice, though Bill and
Cap could not yet see the speaker. They observed their brother Pete
beckoning frantically to them, and they increased their pace. “Right
you are,” resumed the owner of the covered wagon. “The name of my noble
animal is Pactolus, called after, I need not remind you—”
“The river of Lydia in which the King Midas washed himself one Saturday
night, so that he put the golden touch on everything,” interrupted
one of the classical students, and there was a laugh, but it did not
disconcert the traveling vendor, for such Bill and Cap now knew him to
be.
“Exactly,” he admitted. “The river whence ever after the visit of the
king, the sands became golden. Thus I named my horse Pactolus in the
hope that some day he might stumble into a river which, if it did not
turn him to gold might at least make him a steed of silver.
“But, young gentlemen of Westfield, which I understand is the name of
the school in the distance, I did not attract you hither by the magic
of my voice and playing to talk to you on classical subjects. This is
a practical world, and we who live in it must also be practical. Whoa,
there, Pactolus!” This as his steed showed signs of restiveness, due to
the fact that some of the boys were tickling his ears.
“Whoa, Pactolus. Never mind if some of your longer-eared brothers are
whispering to you to entice you away to pastures green—stay you here!”
This reference to donkeys had the effect of causing the mischief loving
lads to hastily draw away from the horse, in some confusion, for there
were snickers at their expense.
“It is a practical world,” resumed the speaker, “and we must recognize
that, and be practical ourselves. Now there is nothing more practical
for the removal of any kind of misery, whether inward or outward, than
my Peerless Permanent Pain Preventative, which is good for both man and
beast, and eradicates all the ills that flesh is heir to, and some that
it is not. Good for man and beast I repeat. See! I use it on myself,”
and suiting the action to the word, the man, who had black flowing
locks, as Bill and Cap could now see, and who wore light trousers, a
red and green striped vest and a red shirt with black polka dots—this
man vigorously rubbed some stuff from a bottle on his big forearm.
“There I had a pain—’twas there, ’tis gone. ’Twas mine, ’tis
yours—for the asking,” and he waved his hand toward the throng of
students who laughed again, and seemed amused by the clatter of the
traveling medicine man.
“Think not it is only for external pain—’tis also for the ills of the
inner organs. See, I take some thusly,” and, tilting back his head the
speaker swallowed a generous potion from the bottle. “Good for man and
beast,” he went on, smacking his lips. “As harmless as a baby, and as
powerful as an electric current. See, Pactolus minds it not, yet it
will take the stiffness from him like magic,” and, leaning forward he
rubbed some of the contents of the bottle on the animal’s flank.
Pactolus merely looked around, waved his ears slowly to and fro, and
seemed to take but a mild interest in the matter under discussion.
Probably he was used to it.
“Now who wants a bottle of this wonderful remedy?” went on the man.
“The regular price is one dollar, but to introduce it among gentlemen
of learning I am selling it for the small sum of twenty-five cents—a
quarter—and it would be cheap at half the price. Or, if you have
no immediate need for this, let me introduce to your favorable
consideration and notice, my Rapid Robust Resolute Resolvent, which
is a cake of soap guaranteed to take out stains on linen, silk, wool,
cotton, velvet, calico and satin, the skin of the hands or face, from
wall paper, newspaper, writing paper or wrapping paper. Positively
nothing like it known to science.
“Or, if you care not for these, I have others. My Spotless Saponifier
is a soap worthy to be used by all the gods that on Olympus dwell,
and it sells for only ten cents a cake. An’ you like that not, let
me introduce to your polite and favorable consideration my Supremely
Sterling Silver Shiner. Nothing like it known for cleaning silver,
gold, brass, copper, pewter, iron, lead, bell-metal, watch chains,
baseball bats, and gloves, and for brightening up a dull intellect it
has no equal, though I despair of selling any for that purpose when I
gaze on the bright, smiling and intelligent faces before me.”
There was a mocking groan from the students at this, and some more
laughter.
“And now,” went on the vendor, “who will be the first to purchase some
of my Peerless Permanent Pain Preventative, my Rapid Robust Resolute
Resolvent, my Spotless Saponifier or the Supremely Sterling Silver
Shiner? Who will be the first?” and the man, who was as gaudily attired
as his wagon was painted, advanced into the crowd.
There was a moment of hesitation, and then Cap, Bill and Pete, who were
standing together, exchanging queer glances, heard Bondy Guilder say in
a low voice to some of his particular cronies in the sporting set:
“I say, fellows, let’s have some fun. Let’s upset his old apple cart,
and spill his Pain Killer and other stuff. He has nerve, trying to do
business so near the school. There ought to be a rule to keep these
peddlers away. Let’s make a rough house for him.”
“Sure! Go ahead! We’re with you!” agreed several. “Come on, we’ll all
make a rush together.”
Cap and his brothers heard. They looked at each other and nodded.
“Here you are, young gentlemen! Here you are!” the voice of the vendor
was murmuring. “You have listened with gratifying attention to the
patter of Professor Theophilus Clatter, and now you may buy his wares.
You need not beware of the wares of Theophilus Clatter!” he declaimed
in a sing-song voice.
“That’s him!” exclaimed Pete.
“Of course,” agreed Bill.
“And they’re going to make a rough house for him,” added Cap. “Shall we
stand for it?” he asked in a low voice.
“How are we going to stop them?” demanded Bill.
“If we say he’s a friend of ours I think they’ll pass it up.”
“Acknowledge him as our friend before this crowd—tell how we traveled
with him and sold patent medicines,” asked Pete. “They’d laugh at us!”
“What of it?” inquired Cap indignantly. “Professor Clatter helped us
when we were in a hole, after we’d run away from home. It’s up to us
to help him now. I’m going to stand up for him. If the boys get going
they’ll demolish the wagon, and everything in it. We can’t have that.”
“I guess not,” agreed Pete and Bill in low tones.
“Come on then,” suggested their elder brother, edging his way through
the throng.
The plan proposed by the rich bully had taken the fancy of his fellows.
The word was passed around and the students got ready for a rush that
would overturn the wagon. Already they were jostling the professor who
was aware of a change in the temper of the students. He looked around
uneasily, and glanced back at his wagon. Quite a throng was now between
him and the vehicle. He turned to retreat, vaguely alarmed, but found
himself cut off.
“My Rapid Robust Resolute Resolvent,” he was saying, “is guaranteed
to—”
“Come on now, fellows, over with the wagon!” cried Guilder.
“Altogether, with a rush! Make a rough house! This faker has no
business here!”
The rush started but before it could get under way, Cap, Pete and Bill
Smith had sprung up on the steps that were let down from the back of
the vehicle. They stood together looking over the crowd of their fellow
students.
“Hold on!” cried Cap calmly, raising his hand for silence.
“What’s up?” demanded Bondy with a sneer.
Professor Clatter, with a look of wonder on his face was staring at the
three Smith boys.
“No rough house here,” said Cap determinedly, noting with relief that
nearly every one in the crowd was a Freshman. Had they been Sophomores,
Juniors or Seniors he would hardly have dared take the stand he did.
“No rough house? Why not?” demanded the rich lad. “Why can’t we have
some fun with this fellow?”
“Because,” went on Cap resolutely, and no one knew what an effort it
was to make the announcement in an exclusive crowd of students, “this
man is a friend of my brothers and myself. If you’re going to make
trouble for him, you’ve got to reckon on us,” and Cap standing there,
with his brothers beside him, looked sturdy enough to put up a pretty
good argument.
“Your friend?” sneered Bondy.
“Our friend,” repeated Cap calmly. “So you’ll please pass him up, as a
matter of class courtesy.”
It was an appeal that could not well be denied.
“Listen to Professor Clatter’s friend!” cried several of Bondy’s
cronies.
“Proud to acknowledge it,” put in Bill in drawling tones, “and so would
you, if you knew the story.”
Professor Clatter was still staring at the three lads on the steps of
his wagon.
“The Smith boys! The Smith boys!” he murmured. “I’d never have believed
it. Whoa, Pactolus! We have unexpected allies,” and he made his way
through the crowd of wondering students to where our three heroes
waited for him on the wagon steps.