THE ENEMY CALLS
The note proved to be from Mart Johnston.
"Where do you keep yourself? [he read] Come over to 16 Goss about five
and play with us. Eternally and indestructibly yours, M. J."
Ira smiled over the message as he crumpled it up and dropped it into a
waste basket. The temptation to accept Mart's invitation was strong,
but he knew that he ought to at least get acquainted with some of the
books piled there beside him. It wouldn't do to leave all the studying
until evening. Anyhow, five o'clock was still three-quarters of an hour
away, and----
And just then the odour of stale cigarette smoke assailed his nostrils
again and he frowned. Of course, if Mart wanted to smoke cigarettes it
was no one's business; at least, not Ira Rowland's; but Ira didn't hold
with smoking for boys and he guessed he and Mart weren't destined to
continue that acquaintance after all. He wasn't afraid that Mart would
corrupt him, of course, but he didn't see any advantage to be gained by
becoming intimate with fellows who smoked. Doubtless Mart was one of
the "smart class" at Parkinson, and Ira wasn't "smart" and didn't want
to be. No, on the whole he guessed he'd let Mart Johnston slide. He was
a little bit sorry, for the gay-hearted chap with his queer phrases and
ready laughter was certainly likable, and an existence containing only
Nead as an intimate didn't look enticing. He didn't even know Nead's
first name yet, he reflected--as he settled himself for study--and,
in any case, he didn't believe that he could ever grow fond of that
rather unpleasant youth. He supposed, though, that he'd get acquainted
with other fellows after awhile. Amongst nearly five hundred there were
surely some to become friendly with! After which encouraging conclusion
he opened his Greek Reader, settled his elbows on the desk and his chin
in his hands and resolutely began his task.
Ten minutes later footsteps sounded outside and a knock came at the
door. Ira marked his place with a finger and called "Come in!" For a
moment Ira failed to recognize the boy who entered, although he knew
that he had seen him. He was a finely built chap of eighteen or so,
of middle height and with rather an engaging countenance. It wasn't
until the visitor had nodded smilingly, closed the door behind him and
greeted Ira with a careless "Hello!" that the latter recognised him as
Eugene Goodloe. Today he was wearing tennis flannels and carrying a
racket in his hand. Ira arose from his chair a trifle warily.
"How do you do?" he responded gravely.
"Better than when you saw me last," answered the caller, his smile
deepening. "Mind if I sit down? I've had three sets of tennis and I've
been leading a lazy life of late. I'm about all in, Rowland."
"Of course! Have a chair!" said Ira, trying not to sound surprised.
"I--er--Did you get my note?"
"Yes, a little while ago. That's why I'm here. I thought I might as
well drop around and talk things over. Say, where did you learn to
punch like that, Rowland? You nearly broke my jaw!"
"Why, in the woods, I guess. Sorry if I hurt you much. Maybe I hit
harder than I needed to, Goodloe."
"Oh, that's all right. I had it coming to me. What do you mean by the
woods, though? Oh, I know! You said you lived in a lumber camp, didn't
you?"
"Not exactly," replied Ira, seating himself on a corner of the desk.
"I don't live in a lumber camp, but I've spent some time in them. The
lumbermen are mostly pretty handy with their fists. You sort of pick up
fighting when you're around with the drive."
"Guess I'd better spend a few months in the Maine woods," said Gene
Goodloe ruefully. "Well, what's your idea, Rowland? Want to try it
again?"
"Any time you say, thanks."
"Suits me. We'd better not advertise, though. Faculty's a bit down on
scraps. I don't see why you and I can't just take a walk, say, tomorrow
morning early, eh? Do you know where the brick-yards are, over across
Apple Street? They aren't used nowadays and the fellows generally pull
off their scraps there."
"I don't know where you mean," said Ira, "but I can find the place all
right."
"Sure! Or you might meet me at the West Gate. It's on our way. Any time
you say after six-thirty."
"Six-thirty will suit me. The West Gate's the one over that way, to the
left, isn't it?"
"Yes. Of course, if you'd rather bring some fellow with you, I don't
mind. I'll do the same, if you like. Only I don't see any use in
having a crowd, what?"
"N-no; and I don't think I know anyone who would go with me." He did
think of Nead, but somehow Nead didn't appeal to him in the rôle of
second. "We can get along without help, I guess," he added.
"Sure! You may have to carry me home, or I may have to lug you back,"
chuckled Goodloe, "and I hope it'll be the latter way. No use in
fighting rounds, is there? Just dig in and keep at it until we've had
enough, what?"
"I think so."
"Good! And now that that's settled," said Goodloe, "I'd like to say
that--well, I guess I want to apologise, Rowland, for anything I said
yesterday that wasn't decent. I had a sort of a grouch, I guess."
"All right," assented Ira. "Maybe I was sort of flarey, too."
"No, you weren't," Goodloe laughed. "You were about as cool as they
make 'em. Do you ever lose your head and get rattled?"
Ira smiled slowly. "I guess so--sometimes. I did yesterday."
"No one would have known it! Rather jolly room you've got here. All
alone? Oh, I see you're not."
"No, there's a fellow named Nead in with me."
"Nead? Don't know him, I guess. But I thought you said you didn't know
any fellow who'd act as second for you."
"Well, I did think of Nead, but--he doesn't--" Ira hesitated and his
visitor laughed understandingly.
"Not the sort you want in a pinch, eh? Well, we won't Nead him. Rotten
pun, wasn't it? So long, Rowland. I must be getting back to hall. Much
obliged for that note, you know. Glad we got together so nicely, too.
I guess there won't be any hard feelings, no matter who pulls down the
purse! Six-thirty at the West Gate then. I'll be there."
Gene Goodloe nodded affably and took his departure, leaving Ira looking
perplexedly at the door that had closed behind him.
"I wonder," thought Ira, "what there is to fight for? He says he was
in the wrong and has apologised. I'm certainly satisfied. Then what do
we scrap about in the morning?" But there was no satisfactory answer
to that conundrum and he went back to his books. When, just before six
o'clock, Nead came in, he had conquered his Greek lesson and had dipped
into Algebra.
Nead viewed him contemptuously as he skimmed his hat across the room to
his bed. "Gee," he said in disgust, "I hope you're not going to be a
'grind,' Rowland. That would be the limit."
"Hope not myself," replied Ira. "By the way, Nead, what's your other
name, if you have one?"
"Humphrey."
"Thanks. Mine's Ira."
"There's not much choice between them, is there?" laughed Nead. "I was
named for an uncle, my Mother's brother. How did yours happen?"
"I don't know, I'm sure. I guess Father or Mother liked the name. I
confess I'm not fond of it, but it might be worse. What have you been
doing this afternoon?"
"Oh, moseying around. It's rather a dull hole. Played some pool over on
Green Street with a fellow, for one thing."
"Who was he?" asked Ira.
"Search me. I ran across him there and he wanted to play and I took
him on. He was a shark, too. I only got three games out of ten. Had
perfectly rotten luck."
"One of the school fellows, was he?"
"Great Scott, no! He was a real player. Guess I could handle any of
the school chaps at pool without much trouble. Say, there's a reception
or something tonight at the Principal's. Sort of a shindig for the new
chaps. You going?"
"I think so. One of the instructors said we ought to. By the way, who's
your adviser?"
"Hale, Physics man. He looks like a pill. I've got a date with him at
seven-thirty. Who's yours?"
"Mr. McCreedy, the Mathematics instructor. I'm to confer tomorrow at
eleven-thirty. Where do we eat tonight?"
"Let's try the Owl Grill. This guy I played pool with says it's swell."
"Where is it?"
"A block this side of the station, on Maple Street. Want to start along
pretty soon? I'm starved."
"I'm ready now," responded Ira, marking his place and closing his book.
"Done any studying yet?"
"Me? No, I'll take a fall out of it tonight. It looks like a cinch. The
Algebra's review stuff. I've had it already. And the Latin's easy, too.
Guess German's the only thing I'll mind much. How about you?"
"Looks stiff," acknowledged Ira. "I didn't expect to have to take
French until next year. Languages were always hard for me. I've elected
Greek instead of German. I don't see why a fellow needs much German, do
you?"
"I don't see why he needs any. Or French, either, for that matter.
Latin's enough, I think."
"Really? But French is different from German. I mean, it's a sort of
universal language----"
"Sure. I know. But why not learn it in college? That's time enough. My
idea is that they try to teach you too blamed much at these big prep
schools."
"A good many fellows don't go to college," said Ira. "I'm not certain
that I shall."
"Gee, I wouldn't miss it! If it wasn't for going to college I wouldn't
ever waste time at a prep school, believe me. College is fun, old man.
You take my advice and go. Get a move on and let's start along. I could
eat bent nails!"
The food at the Owl Grill proved excellent, but the prices were
dismayingly high and the atmosphere of the place didn't please Ira.
They ate in one of the little booths that lined the walls of the
restaurant, which was a bright and attractive place of many lights
and black-oak panelling and cheerful pictures of hunting and coaching
scenes. But after the room had filled up Ira had an uncomfortable
feeling of being in the wrong place. His modest order brought an
expression of disdain to the waiter's face, and when he glanced
out into the room and saw what most of the diners were surrounding
themselves with he understood it. Humphrey Nead ordered as if quite
familiar with that style of restaurant and bought far more food than he
was able to eat and paid his check later with a lordly air.
"Some place for a one-horse town like this, eh?" he asked, looking
approvingly around. "I guess it beats eating in hall, what? Sometime
I'm going to have one of those planked steaks like the fat guy over
there has. Bet they cost about two dollars. They ought to have music
here, though. We've got a place in Buffalo you ought to see, Rowland.
It's got this beat a mile. Going to drink anything?"
"I guess not. I don't like tea much, and coffee at night keeps me
awake."
"Gee, you're a greenie!" jeered Nead. "I meant a real drink, a glass of
beer or something."
"I don't drink beer," replied Ira shortly. "And if you take my advice
you won't, either."
"Piffle! I often have a glass of beer with my dinner. Don't be a pill!"
"What you do at home is different, Nead. You're not allowed to do it
here, and if faculty found it out----"
"What faculty doesn't know won't hurt it," returned Nead flippantly.
But Ira observed that he didn't order the beer. When they had finished,
Nead wanted to sit there awhile and talk, but Ira wasn't comfortable
and Nead grumblingly consented to leave. When Ira handed the waiter
fifteen cents, which was the change from the dollar he had placed
on his check, Nead looked even more disgusted than the waiter and
ostentatiously tossed a fifty-cent piece on the cloth.
"Did you see his look when you slipped him that tip?" he asked as they
passed out. "It was a study. It doesn't do to be a piker in a place
like that, Rowland. They remember it, and the next time you go there
you don't get any sort of attention. It pays to loosen up sometimes."
"There won't be any next time for me," answered the other untroubledly.
"I don't like the place. And, anyway, I wouldn't have tipped him more
than fifteen cents. That's more than enough."
"Oh, sure! You don't _have_ to give anything, but they expect it, you
know, and they think you're a tightwad if you don't come across."
"What that waiter thinks of me doesn't worry me a bit," replied Ira,
smiling. "It isn't a patch on what I think of him!"
"Oh, he didn't do so badly," said the other carelessly. "I think it's
a pretty decent dive for a town like this. They do know how to charge,
though. A fellow couldn't eat there more than a couple of times a week,
I guess."
"I couldn't. Suppose we look around and find a good boarding house,
Nead?"
"Not on your tintype! No boarding house for yours truly! Guess I'll
go to Alumni after a week or so. I'll be busted by that time," he
chuckled, "and you can chalk it up at Alumni until the end of the term.
It's nearly seven-thirty and I'll have to hustle over to Goss and keep
that date with Hale. See you at the party, eh?"
"All right. I'll be there about a quarter past eight. Bye!"
Humphrey Nead turned into School Street in the direction of the campus
and Ira kept on until he reached Number 200. As usual, the little
tailor was hard at work under a flaring gas jet as Ira pushed open the
outer door, and was humming a queer tune as he trundled the steaming
goose up and down the pressing board. Ira fumbled his way up the dark
staircase to the floor above and then went along the hall with more
certainty in the dim radiance of the single bracket. As he passed the
door of a room on the front of the house it opened suddenly and a tall
form in a blanket dressing gown stood revealed in the light.
"The Peloponnesian War was 430, wasn't it? Or was it 431?"
Ira, already startled by the sudden apparition, drew back in surprise.
"I--What did you say?" he gasped.
"The Peloponnesian War," repeated the stranger in the doorway
impatiently. "What was the date?"
"I'm afraid I don't remember," replied Ira apologetically. "But it was
somewhere around there."
"Rather indefinite," said the other drily. "Thought you might know.
Much obliged." He was gone and the door was closed before Ira could
reply, leaving the dim impression of a thin, earnest face and a pair of
big spectacles. Ira smiled as he climbed the next stairway. From the
room across the corridor came the muffled strains of "Boola" punctuated
by a sound that suggested the beating of a book with a ruler. Ira's
smile became a grin. Evidently "Maggy's" was inhabited by some queer
characters, he thought.
There was barely time for a letter before eight o'clock and he lighted
the gas and set to work. But after writing "Dear Dad" at the top of the
sheet he leaned back and began to think of that encounter with Goodloe
in the morning. He found that he entertained a sentiment of cordiality
toward Goodloe and the idea of standing up to him and trying to flatten
his nose for him seemed somewhat ridiculous. "If only he hadn't come
around and called," thought Ira. "He seemed such a decent chap, and
apologised so nicely! Wonder why he wants to fight. I'm sure I don't.
Well, I suppose I'll have to go through with it. I guess I can lick
him, all right, but I haven't got much enthusiasm for it. Still, if I
don't make a fight of it he will probably mess me up considerable. I
guess he's the sort that'll bore in and take a lot of punishment, too.
Bother him, I wish he was in Halifax!"
After that there was not time left for the home letter, and he spruced
up a bit and trudged through School Street and then along Washington
Avenue, in front of what was known as Faculty Row, and found the
Principal's residence, at the corner of the grounds, quite gay with
lights within and coloured lanterns without. A thin stream of more
or less embarrassed First Class fellows was ascending the steps and
edging in to be greeted by Dr. and Mrs. Lane at the door of the big
library. Ira liked Dr. Lane's looks and his hearty handshake and his
deep and pleasant voice. The Principal was a man still slightly under
thirty, of medium height and build, clean-shaven, with rather more
of the executive than the pedagog in his appearance. He held Ira in
conversation a few moments and then passed him over to Mrs. Lane, a
rotund, cheerful little woman who invited him to tea on Friday next at
half-past four and asked him what church he attended. Ira was afterward
in doubt whether he had accepted the invitation or not, but concluded
that it didn't matter. He met Professor Addicks a minute later and was
flattered to discover that the professor remembered him. The professor,
although Ira didn't know it, always remembered everyone and everything.
After that he met many other members of the faculty, many of whose
names he promptly forgot, and talked, without being introduced, to a
number of lonesome looking fellows whom he found standing around in
corners or flattened against walls. Most of the guests were, of course,
first year students, and Ira and some eight or nine others were the
only older boys there. One small chap of fourteen whom Ira discovered
in a niche between a door and a mantel in a back room mistook him for
an instructor or something official, a misapprehension flattering but
embarrassing. He caught sight of Nead once for a moment, but that
youth was hobnobbing with a freshman in the hall and didn't see him.
Refreshments were served in the garden at nine, and after demolishing
a helping of ice cream and a slice of cake Ira slipped quietly away.
It wouldn't do to stay up very late, since he had an important
engagement at half-past six at the West Gate, and he had still to do
some studying. What time Nead returned he didn't know, for he was fast
asleep at half-past ten.