IRA PLANS
Ira escaped that night from the gratitude of those in charge of the
meeting, but he had to face it next day. Fred Lyons was almost tearful
and Gene slapped him on the back repeatedly and Manager Lowell shook
hands with him earnestly on three separate occasions. And at least
three of the class presidents if not all of them--Ira became a bit
confused eventually--congratulated him and told him he had saved the
meeting. Later, between recitations, he was waylaid on the steps of
Parkinson by a youth with glasses and a long, thin nose and asked to
join the Debating Society.
"But I couldn't make a speech to save my life," declared Ira.
"You'd learn very soon, Rowland. Any fellow who can tell a story as
you did last night has the making of a public speaker. In my own
experience--" and the president of the Debating Society managed to give
the impression that he had spent a lifetime on the rostrum--"I have
found it much more difficult to tell a story or anecdote effectively
than to deliver an argument."
Ira managed to escape by agreeing to "think it over" and let the other
know his decision when the football season was done.
For several days he experienced the treatment that falls to one who
becomes suddenly prominent. He had the feeling that fellows looked
after him as he passed and spoke his name in lowered tones. It wasn't
unpleasant, but it made him a little self-conscious, and Ira didn't
exactly like to feel self-conscious. Fellows who usually nodded to him
on campus or gridiron now fell into casual conversations, during which
mention was generally made of the football meeting, if not of his share
in it. At the field, too, there were signs of a new consideration,
or else Ira imagined them. Coach Driscoll, who never referred to the
meeting in Ira's hearing, nevertheless gave more attention to the
substitute guard, and the same was true of Fred Lyons. It seemed to Ira
that one or the other always had an eye on him, was always offering
criticisms or suggestions. It was flattering, no doubt, but it made
him a little nervous at first, and his playing suffered a bit. Even
Billy Goode got the habit of hovering over him like a fussy old Mother
Hen, just as he hovered over such celebrities as Captain Lyons or
"The" Dannis or Billy Wells or numerous others whose welfare might be
considered a matter of importance. Several times Ira was "pulled" from
play merely because he was a little short of breath or had developed a
momentary limp. He usually protested weakly, but Billy never listened
to protests. He was an extremely decided trainer.
Another event traceable to Ira's participation in the football meeting
occurred the Tuesday evening following. Neither Fred nor Gene had so
far accepted Ira's invitation to his room at Maggy's, nor had Mart
Johnston repeated his visit, but on the evening mentioned Fred, Gene,
Mart and Brad turned up, and, as Humphrey was also at home for some
inexplicable reason, the room's seating accommodations were severely
tested. Mart displayed the famous window seat and told humourously of
their bewilderment when, on putting it together, they had discovered
that it formed a right angle. Ira saw that the visitors viewed Humphrey
both curiously and, perhaps, a trifle dubiously at first, but Humphrey
was quite at his best tonight and by the time Gene had disappeared
down the stairs and subsequently returned with a supply of rye bread
sandwiches and hot frankfurter sausages the entente cordial was firmly
established. They had a very merry evening, and talked of more subjects
than could be set down here. Once Gene asked Ira about the story of Old
Bess, and Ira explained that he had heard it told several times in a
lumber camp.
"'Fritzy' Smart used to tell it," he said. "'Fritzy' is about seven
feet tall and all angles, and he talks out of one side of his
mouth--like this." Ira mimicked him. "'Fritzy' could make that story
last a quarter of an hour and used to get up and give an imitation of
Old Bess trotting down the track so you could almost see her. I was
afraid I strung it out too much, although, at that, I left out most of
the details that 'Fritzy' gets in."
"It wasn't a bit too long," said Fred. "You had us sitting on the
edges of our chairs. I guess as a story it doesn't amount to so much,
Rowland, but it was certainly corking the way you told it."
"Half of the fun," chuckled Brad, "was the way he hit off the Down-East
dialect. The fellows around me were doubled up half the time."
"Anyway, it did the business," declared Mart. "It was just the thing
for the moment. I had a nice little speech all framed up myself,
but----"
"You!" scoffed Brad. "You couldn't make a speech if your worthless life
depended on it!"
"Run around! Run around! I taught Cicero and Billy Sunday all they ever
knew! William Jennings Bryan was one of my first pupils!"
"Making a speech is no fun, anyway," sighed Fred. "I made a awful mess
of it the other night, and I knew it all the time and couldn't seem to
help it."
"Well, you did sound a bit sepulchral," agreed Gene. "I wanted to stick
a pin into you or something."
"You made a nice little address," said Mart kindly. "I liked your
speech, Gene. It was so short."
"It would have been shorter if I'd had my way," Gene grumbled. "For
that matter, every fellow that spoke sounded as though he was just back
from a funeral and didn't expect to live long himself! We were a merry
lot!"
"If those slips had been passed around before Rowland here leaped
nimbly into the breeches--I mean the breach--you'd have collected the
munificent sum of nine dollars and thirty-seven cents," said Mart. "I
already had my hand on the seven cents."
"And I'll bet you kept it there," laughed Brad.
"You guess again! I subscribed for such a vast sum that I won't get
square with my allowance until Spring. And it was all your fault,
Rowland. You and your Old Bess! If I run short I'll be around here to
borrow, so keep a little something handy."
"Seen any more of 'Old Earnest,' Rowland?" asked Fred.
Ira replied that he hadn't, and Mart was for inviting him up. "He's a
good old scout, Hicks is, and he'd love to sit in and listen to our
enlightening discourse I should think." But the others vetoed the
proposal and shortly after the party broke up.
Humphrey was somewhat impressed with the visitors, although he
pretended to make fun of them when they had gone. "That fellow Johnston
is a regular village cut-up, isn't he?" he asked. "I guess a fellow
would get fed up with him pretty quick. Does Bradford room with him?"
"Yes, in Goss. They have a corking room. We'll go around some night, if
you like."
"Oh, I haven't time for those 'screamers,' thanks." "Screamers" was
a word evidently of Humphrey's own devising and was used by him to
indicate anyone who "put on side."
"I don't think you can call those chaps 'screamers,'" said Ira mildly.
"They aren't snobs, anyway."
"Lyons acts as if he wanted to be," Humphrey sniffed. Then, after a
few moments of silence, he said: "I don't see how you got acquainted
with that bunch, anyway. I don't. I never meet up with anyone at school
except pills!"
"Want to know the real reason?"
"Yes," answered Humphrey, with a trace of suspicion, however.
"Well, you don't give yourself a chance, Nead. You train with that
bunch of loafers in the town and it takes all your time."
"Loafers! Don't call my friends names, please. They aren't loafers.
Every one of them has a steady, respectable job, Rowland."
"Y-yes, when they work, but it seems to me they're a lot like a fellow
who used to live in my town. He sat in front of the grocery most all
day, or, if it was Winter, he sat inside. He had a steady, respectable
job, too, but he didn't work at it much. He was a maker of wooden
shoes."
"Oh, piffle," grunted Humphrey. "The fellows I know work just as hard
as anyone."
"All right, but they always seem to be able to get away for a game of
pool," answered Ira drily. "If you'll cut loose from them, Nead, and
get acquainted with fellows of your own age and--and class, you'll be a
lot better off. Why, thunderation, you might as well be a day scholar
for all the school life you get!"
"I get all the school life I need," answered Humphrey grumpily. "All
those fellows like Lyons and Johnston and Goodloe talk about is
football and baseball and rot like that. They make me tired."
"No, they don't, and you know it," replied Ira calmly. "You'd be glad
to know a dozen fellows like them. And you're going to, too."
"How am I?"
"Why, you're going to cut down your evenings at the Central Billiard
Palace, or whatever it's called, to two a week, for one thing. And
you're going to keep away from there entirely in the daytime, for
another thing. And you're going to pay a few visits with me for a third
thing."
"Like fun I am!" But Humphrey couldn't disguise the fact that the
programme held attraction for him. "I don't talk their sort of baby
talk," he added sourly.
"You'll learn. It isn't hard. We'll run over tomorrow evening and see
Johnston and Bradford."
Humphrey was silent a minute. Then: "I promised to do something
tomorrow night," he said doubtfully.
"All right, we'll make it Thursday, then. One night's as good as
another for me. By the way, how did it happen you were around here
tonight?"
"Oh, I thought I'd stay at home." Then, after a moment: "Fact is,"
he went on, "I'm broke, and there's no fun going down there and just
looking on."
Ira pushed himself back from the table, crossed his legs and observed
his roommate thoughtfully, drumming gently on his teeth with the pen in
his hand. Humphrey grinned back a trifle defiantly.
"Know what I think?" asked Ira finally. "I think you need a financial
agent, Nead, a sort of guardian to look after your money affairs. How
much do you get a month?"
"Fifteen dollars regularly. If I want more I usually get it. My mother
ponies up now and then and dad is generally good for an extra fiver."
"Then you have at least twenty a month, eh? Seems to me you ought to be
able to scrape along on that."
"It does, does it? Well, it isn't so easy. Food costs a lot, for one
thing."
"But you don't have to pay for your food out of your allowance, do you?"
"Some of it. I get seven a week for board, but eating around at
restaurants costs a lot more than eating in hall or at a boarding
house, you see."
"Then why not go to Alumni or come with me to Trainor's? That's what
you'd better do, I guess. Then, when you get your allowance you hand it
across to me----"
"Help!" laughed Humphrey. "I can see myself doing that!"
"Why not? I'll hand a quarter of it back to you every week. If you
need more than that I'll advance it, but I'll take it out of the next
month's allowance. Then you won't have to write home for extra money
every ten days or two weeks. Yes, I guess that's what we'll have to do,
Nead. I'll put your money in bank with mine and you'll find that it
will last twice as long. Tomorrow you come around to the boarding house
and I'll get you started."
Humphrey stared dubiously. At last: "Oh, well, I'll try it," he said.
"But if I don't like it I don't have to keep it up."
"No, but you will like it. Meanwhile, how much do you need?"