RODNEY JOINS THE SQUAD
“Well, Stanley used to tell wonderful yarns about this place,” said
Rodney as they reached the lower hall, “but I didn’t believe quite all
he said then. I do now. It’s certainly a fine building. Still――――”
“Still what?” asked Tad jealously.
“Well, I don’t see what the idea is in putting so much expense into a
gymnasium, Tad.”
“Why not?”
“We-ell, it seems to me that a building that is used so little――――”
“Used so little! Say, you want to come over here some evening next week
and see the gymnastic class at work! And pretty soon they’ll begin
the regular gym work. I guess, Rod, this place is as much used as any
building here. Why, I’ve seen this dressing-room so full in spring that
you couldn’t move around without treading on some fellow’s toes!”
Tad secured a locker for Rodney and the latter changed to his football
garb. The trousers were a bit too tight at the waist, but by lacing
them not quite close they answered very well. The jacket fitted better.
As for jersey and shoes, Rodney furnished those himself. Before he
was dressed the other candidates began pouring into the room, and the
place, which had been almost deserted when the two boys arrived, hummed
like a beehive. Guy Watson nodded to Rodney as he took a seat on a
neighboring bench, and to Rodney’s surprise the nod seemed to express
toleration rather than dislike. Captain Doyle came up and said a few
words, and Stacey Trowbridge smiled gravely across at him. A big chap
with a good-natured round face that broke into a dozen creases when he
laughed was Pounder, who played center. “‘Two Hundred Pounder,’ the
fellows used to call him,” explained Tad, “although he only weighs a
hundred and seventy or so. He’s a dandy center. The fellow with the
bandage on his head is Roger Tyson, left half. He’s a wonder. If we had
ten other fellows like old Roger we’d beat everything of our size in
the country.”
“What’s the matter with his head?” asked Rodney.
“Hurt it yesterday. Got an awful crack, they say. It was after you
went. He was down and out for five minutes. Are you all fixed? Let’s
start along, then.”
“I’m going to put you with the kindergarteners to-day, Merrill,”
announced Mr. Cotting when Rodney reported. “I guess you won’t stay
there long. Don’t try to overdo it to-day. Save your muscles. Gordon,
will you take charge of Merrill, please? By the way, you might give me
your name and so on first.” And the coach drew out his memorandum book
and Rodney supplied answers to the questions he put. Then he trailed
off with Gordon, who was fullback on the first team, and joined a group
of tyros at the further side of the field. Most of them were Fourth
Form boys, although there were three or four older youths in the squad.
Gordon was extremely patient, but it wasn’t difficult to see that he
didn’t love his task. Teaching the rudiments to a group of beginners
is rather uninteresting work. Rodney passed the ball, caught it, fell
on it, practised starts, and went through the usual programme that
afternoon. In comparison with the performance of the others in the
squad his efforts were almost brilliant and Gordon viewed him with
hopeful interest. Once when the ball had eluded him and dribbled its
way to the sideline, Rodney, rescuing it, heard his name spoken, and
looked up to discover the twins standing nearby.
“You’re doing beautifully!” called Matty with enthusiasm. “We’re
awfully proud of you, Rodney, aren’t we, May?”
“Awfully,” agreed May, calmly emphatic. “And we were sure all the time
that you could play, Rodney!”
“This isn’t playing,” scoffed Rodney. “Anyone can do this sort of
thing!”
He was glad when it was finally over and he could retire to a bench
under one of the stands, draw a blanket around him, and watch the first
and second squads trot about the field in signal work. On the other
side the twins were still looking on, Tad Mudge and Warren Hoyt in
attendance. The twins were not the only representatives of their sex
present, for amongst the spectators from outside the school Rodney saw
quite a number of girls. Later Rodney joined the twins and Tad――Warren
Hoyt had taken himself off――and walked to the gymnasium steps with them.
“How did it go?” asked Tad with a grin.
Rodney shrugged. “All right. I’ve been through it before. I’m sort of
weak in the knees, though.”
“We thought you played very nicely indeed,” said Matty. “We watched you
all the time. You did much better than those other boys.”
“I should think I might,” laughed Rodney. “They were all beginners, I
guess.”
“They want us to play croquet,” announced Tad. “I said I would if you
would. Want to?”
“Why yes, if there’s time. Won’t it be pretty late?”
“Not if you get a move on,” answered Tad. “We’ll go ahead. You hurry up
and come over. Matty and I will stand you and May. I’m a fierce player,
but it’s good fun.”
It _was_ good fun, although there was only time before supper for two
hard-fought games, both of which were won by Tad and Matty. It was
Matty, however, who really won, for Tad was even weaker than Rodney
with a croquet mallet. Matty, playing rover, came back and nursed
Tad’s ball through the wickets, and while May later performed the same
service for Rodney, the luck was against them and they had to accept
defeat. On the way across to the cottage Tad observed:
“I didn’t know you knew the Binner twins. Where’d you run across them?”
Rodney explained and Tad laughed at the picture of the girls seated
atop the fence posts. “They’re funny kids. They’re good-hearted,
though, and lots of fun. Rather pretty, too, eh?”
“I suppose so,” Rodney replied indifferently. “Have they a father? I
never hear them speak of him.”
“No, he died a long time ago I think. And Mrs. Binner is a sort of an
invalid, never goes out much, except to drive in a carriage. They say
she’s awfully nice, but I’ve never seen her. The kids go to high school
and are so smart that they jump a class every year, I guess.”
“They ought to be through pretty soon, then,” laughed Rodney. “If
they’re as clever in school as they are at croquet I can understand it.”
“Say, can’t they play?” asked Tad admiringly. “Of course, it’s only a
girl’s game, but――hang it, it makes a fellow sort of mad to have those
kids beat him every time! And they can play a pretty decent game of
tennis, too. There’s a neighborhood court over on Dunn Street. Some
time we’ll take the twins and have a four-handed set. By the way, we
didn’t get our game this morning. I forgot it, did you?”
“Yes, until about noon. I’ll play you to-morrow, if you like.”
“To-morrow’s Sunday, you idiot.”
“Well, we’ll try it some other time. I hope we have something good for
supper. I’m starved!”
Rodney’s first Sunday at school passed quietly and uneventfully.
There was church in the morning for everyone, the boys walking to and
from their chosen place of worship with one of the submasters. Tad
confided to Rodney that there were more Episcopalians than any other
denomination in school because the pews in the Episcopal church had
higher backs and you didn’t have to sit up all the time. In spite of
that attraction, however, Rodney joined the group of fellows who, in
charge of Mr. Cooper, attended service at the little white Methodist
church down by the river. It was a long way down there and a longer way
back, and when Rodney gained the cottage once more he was quite ready
for the Sunday dinner, which at Mrs. Westcott’s was a very elaborate
meal. Rodney topped off with two dishes of ice cream and two slices of
cocoanut layer cake and then went upstairs and tried to write a letter
home. But it was a wonderful, warm September day and the outdoors
called him. So, after a brief struggle, he took his tablet and fountain
pen downstairs and found a shady spot under a pear tree at the side
of the house. Before he had written more than “Dear Mother and Dad,”
however, he was joined by Tom Trainor and Pete Greenough. A few minutes
later Tad added himself to the group, and Rodney laid his letter
aside. For an hour and more they lay on their backs on the grass and
talked, discussing idly and lazily all the hundred and one subjects
of interest to boys, from the incidents of church going to the college
football situation, including the catching of black bass and the best
way to get money from parents.
“I used to write that I wanted to get my hair cut,” confided Tad
reminiscently, staring up into the branches. “That did pretty well when
I was a youngster――――”
“What are you now?” asked Pete Greenough slightingly.
“Shut up! Finally, though, mother wrote me that she had been keeping a
record and that I’d had exactly fifteen haircuts in four months, and
she was afraid my hair might get discouraged and then I’d be bald. So I
had to think up something else.”
“What?” asked Tom Trainor interestedly.
“Subscriptions to school societies and things. At Christmas vacation
father asked me how many societies I belonged to, and I forgot and said
one. That spoiled that.”
“You know you were lying,” said Pete severely.
“Ye-es, I suppose I was, in a way. But I didn’t think of it then,
honest. I don’t do it any more. Now when I want extra money I write
and tell the truth.”
“What do you say?” asked Rodney.
“I tell them that Pete has borrowed all I had!”
“What do you think of that?” asked Pete indignantly. “I only owe you
seventy-five cents. And I’ll pay you the first money I get, you fresh
kid!”
“Please don’t Pete!” begged Tad. “If you do, I’ll have to think up
something else.”
“Just lend it to me instead,” suggested Tom helpfully. “I don’t mind.”
“That wouldn’t be lending,” replied Tad. “That would be giving it.”
That letter of Rodney’s didn’t get written until evening.