THE BIG CALIFORNIAN
Tom saw what was about to happen, and his ready hand fell on his chum's
shoulder.
"Not here! Not now!" he whispered into his ear. "Some other time, Phil.
Think of your sister--of the other girls. A crowd is gathering. Not now!
Not now!"
Phil made a motion as if to shake off the restraining grasp, and then
thought better of it. In the meanwhile, Sid had casually stepped in
front of Langridge. The left half-back motioned to Gerhart to call aside
his chum, and the bully's crony was only too glad to do this, for he was
somewhat of a coward, and he feared lest he, too, be entangled in the
quarrel which seemed imminent.
"Go away, Langridge," advised Sid, in a low voice. "If you want
satisfaction later I'm sure our friend will give it to you. But not
now."
"Yes, come on," urged Gerhart, linking his arm in that of his friend.
He swung him around, and Langridge, with a vindictive look at Phil,
allowed himself to be led away. At the same time Tom, with a forced
laugh, for the benefit of the crowd, walked Phil to one side.
"Say something!" he whispered, hoarsely. "Laugh, Phil, if you don't want
to make it unpleasant for the girls. The people are beginning to ask
questions."
The quarter-back at once rallied to save the situation. He clapped Tom
on the back, and exclaimed:
"That's pretty good, old fellow! Pretty good. You must tell that story
at the next frat. dinner. But it was a great game, wasn't it? Now, come
on, Ruth, and we'll all go and have something to drink. Hot chocolate
wouldn't be bad."
"Most delightful," chimed in Miss Harrison, with a grateful look at Sid
and Tom, as she gallantly threw herself into the breach.
"So good of you," murmured Ruth, smiling, though her paleness belied her
meaningless words, and she was trembling.
The three lads, each walking beside one of the girls--Tom with Ruth,
Phil with Madge Tyler, and Sid with Miss Harrison--strolled toward the
entrance gate of the football field.
"Nobly done, old chap," whispered Tom.
The crowd began to melt away.
"I thought there was going to be a fight," murmured one disappointed
lad, whose "loud" clothes bespoke his sporting proclivities.
"There was," answered a companion, "only something stopped it."
"Who are those three fellows?" asked another lad from Boxer Hall--a
freshman evidently.
"What--don't you know the three inseparables?" inquired the "sport."
"Not to know them argues yourself unknown."
The girls were more at their ease now, and Phil, who had started what
had so nearly been trouble, did not refer to it, to the great relief of
his sister. Really, the interview with Langridge had been unsought on
the part of the girls, and they had done their best to avoid speaking to
him, without being downright insulting.
Miss Tyler and Miss Harrison began a series of gay nothings, and Ruth
was soon drawn into the conversation, to which Tom, Phil and Sid
contributed their share.
"Oh, tell us about the clock and chair mystery, boys," begged Ruth, when
they had left the place where they had partaken of hot chocolate. "Phil
said something about it, but I had to drag it out of him like a lawyer
cross-questioning a reluctant witness."
"My! Listen to Portia!" cried Madge. "But we should dearly love to hear
about the queer happenings."
Thereupon the three young men together and separately, told of the
disappearance of their beloved chair, the missing clock, the appearance
of the mahogany timepiece, and their ineffectual search for clews.
"And if Langridge didn't have a hand in it, I'll eat my hat, saving the
presence of you ladies," declared Tom. "Only I can't get Sid or Phil to
agree with me."
"What about, eating your hat?" demanded the quarter-back. "Don't let us
interfere with that pleasure. Go ahead. If yours isn't enough, you may
have a couple of bites out of mine."
"Oh, you know what I mean," declared Tom, in a little huff.
"If you mean about Langridge, I _don't_ agree with you," put in Sid. "He
never had his finger in this pie."
"Right, Oh!" exclaimed Phil, and then the discussion started all over
again, and lasted until the girls declared that they must return to
Fairview.
"Well, what do you think of it, fellows?" asked Tom, some time later,
when the three chums were on their way back to their rooms. "Think
Langridge will start anything?"
"No," was Sid's opinion. "I guess he'll be glad to let well enough
alone."
"I suppose you think I didn't do exactly right to make the break I
did," ventured Phil, "but I couldn't stand it to see him talking to
Ruth."
"Me, either!" declared Tom, so heartily that the other two laughed, and
the little strained feeling that had manifested itself passed away.
As they strolled down the corridor the three lads nearly ran into a
youth who turned the corner of the hall suddenly.
"I beg your pardon, strangers!" he exclaimed, in a full, rich voice. "I
sure didn't see you coming, nor yet hear you. I guess I'm in the wrong
pew."
Tom and his chums saw confronting them a tall, well-built lad--big would
be the more proper term, for he was big in every way. Six feet if he was
an inch, and broad in proportion. He stood regarding them without a
trace of embarrassment, a stranger in a strange place, evidently.
For a moment Tom had a wild idea that the mystery of the chair and clock
was about to be solved. He had not seen the youth before, and he might
be a clever thief who had sneaked into the college.
"What did you want?" asked Phil, quickly.
"And who are you?" demanded Tom.
"I beg your pardon," went on the stranger. "I've just arrived at
Randall, and Mr. Zane showed me to my room. I left it and went outside,
but when I came in again, either someone took my apartment, or, as I
said, I'm on the wrong front stoop. Simpson is my name, Frank Simpson.
I'm from California, and I've been attending Leland Stanford University,
but father's business called him East permanently, and so I decided to
come to Randall. I've just arrived," he concluded.
"Simpson," murmured Phil, wondering where he had heard the name before.
"With a capital 'S'," put in the strange student, with a whimsical
smile.
"Oh, you're the fellow Jerry Jackson was speaking of," exclaimed Tom,
recalling the Jersey twin's reference to some new students who were due
to arrive at Randall.
"Much obliged to Mr. Jackson, whoever he may be," spoke the tall youth,
"but I haven't the honor of his acquaintance."
"Oh, you'll soon know him," added Sid. "And so you're from California,
eh?"
"Yes, but I think I'm going to like it here," was the response. "They
tell me there was a Freshman football game to-day. Did our boys win?" he
asked, eagerly. "You see, I'm making myself right at home, calling 'em
_our_ boys."
"That's the way to do," declared Tom, who, somehow, felt a sudden liking
for the stranger. "Are you interested in football?"
"I played--some--at Stanford," was the modest reply, "but I suppose
it's too late to get on the team here. You're all made up, I hear."
"Made and unmade," murmured Tom, in a low voice. "Jove!" he added under
his breath, as he took in the proportions of the big Californian, "what
a guard or tackle he'd make!"