CLEM DELIVERS A LETTER
Tuesday and Wednesday rushed by. Thursday lagged. Friday stood still,
quite as though Time had stopped doing business. Saturday--
Practice had been secret since the Tuesday following the New Falmouth
game. That is to say, patriotic lower class fellows had daily, between
the hours of three and five, patrolled the outskirts of Alton Field,
warning away inquisitive townsfolk and intrusive small boys. Since it
was quite possible to stand on Meadow street and see from a distance
the players moving about on the gridiron, the word secret in relation
to practice was an exaggeration. Also, any resident of senior or
freshman dormitory whose window looked westward could, had he wished,
have solved the most puzzling of the plays in which the Gray-and-Gold
team was seeking to perfect itself. However, protracted occupancy of
dormitory windows overlooking the field was frowned upon during the
latter part of the season, and, on the whole, Coach Cade was well
enough satisfied with the concealment allowed him and his works. Since
the same conditions had prevailed so long as football had been played
at Alton and no precious secret had ever reached the enemy the coach’s
confidence seemed well founded.
Tuesday and Wednesday saw long sessions for the squad, the emphasis
being laid on precision and smoothness. Tuesday evening it was rumored
that the first team had scored four times on the scrub, and the school
found new cause for enthusiasm. Thursday witnessed a let-up in the
work. Individual instruction occupied much of the time. Later there
was a period of formation drill, a long practice for the kickers and,
finally, a short tussle with the second team in which no effort was
made to run up the score. There was, so report had it, much aerial
football that day. Practice was over early and some thirty youths,
unaccustomed to finding themselves foot-loose at half-past four,
wondered what to do with themselves. Of course the usual evening
sessions--“bean-tests” the players called them--were continued right up
to and including Friday.
Friday was, from the football man’s point of view, a day without rime
or reason. Save that the players reported in togs at four o’clock and
trotted around a while in signal drill, what time the rest of the
school looked on and practiced cheers and songs, there was nothing
to do and too much time to do it. The second team made its final
appearance and staged a ten-minute scrimmage with an eleven composed
of its own substitutes and a few first team third-stringers. Then
it performed the sacred rites incident to disbanding, cheered and
was cheered, marched in solemn file around a pile of discarded--and
incidentally worthless--apparel and at last, followed by the audience,
still noisy, cavorted back to the gymnasium.
With nothing to do save await the morrow and what it might bring, Jim,
like most of the other players, felt suddenly let-down. Although not
of a nervous temperament, he found it extremely difficult to sit still
and even more difficult to fix his thoughts on any one subject for
more than a half-minute at a time. Supper was hectic, marked by sudden
outbursts of laughter and equally sudden lapses to silence. Every one
made a great pretense of hunger, but only a few of the veterans ate
normally. Coach Cade seemed more quiet and thoughtful than usual.
At Jim’s end of the long table Lowell Woodruff, ably aided by Billy
Frost, managed to keep things enlivened, but even so Jim was relieved
when he could push back his chair and return to Number 15. Pending the
“bean-test,” he tried to study and failed, tried to write a letter to
Webb Todd and again failed. Perhaps had he been able to find the letter
that Webb had written to him, enclosing the two-dollar bill, he might
have obtained sufficient inspiration, but that letter had mysteriously
disappeared. At seven-thirty he went around to the gymnasium, but even
Coach Cade failed him to some extent, for the Coach had little to
say about plays and a good deal about playing and sent them away at
eight with instructions to keep their minds off football and go to bed
promptly at ten o’clock; advice far easier to give than to act on.
Jim, realizing how futile was the effort to think of anything save
football, got his rules book and began to turn the well-thumbed leaves.
If there was anything contained therein that he didn’t know by heart
and couldn’t have recited almost word for word he failed to find it,
and he was very glad when Clem’s hurried steps sounded in the corridor
and the door flew open before him. Any sort of companionship, even
unharmonious, was welcome to-night.
Clem closed the door behind him and gave a triumphant grunt that
sounded like “_Huh!_” Jim, looking up inquiringly, thought that his
room-mate looked awfully funny. By funny, Jim, of course, meant
strange. Still keeping what amounted to an accusing glare on Jim, Clem
advanced in a peculiarly remorseless manner to his side of the table,
threw one leg over his chair, lowered himself into place and folded his
elbows on the table edge. Then:
“You’re a fine piece of cheese, aren’t you?” he demanded.
There was no insult in the words as Clem said them. On the contrary
they seemed to have an undertone of affection, and Jim was more puzzled
than ever, and found the other’s gaze increasingly disconcerting. The
fact must have shown on his countenance, for Clem went on triumphantly:
“No wonder you look guilty, you--you blamed old fraud!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” grumbled Jim, uncomfortable
from the fact that he knew he was looking guilty in spite of a clear
conscience.
“I’ll soon tell you,” announced Clem. “I went over to Art’s after
supper; Art Landorf, you know. Woodie was there. When I was coming away
he asked me to give you a piece of paper. Said Johnny Cade had given
it to him a week ago to hand to you. Something you’d left at Johnny’s
one night. I asked him what it was and he said he didn’t know, but he
pulled it out of a mess of other truck in a pocket and handed it to me.”
Jim flushed a little. “What was it?” he asked uneasily.
“I guess you know what it was, you poor prune. It was a letter from
that yegg friend of yours, Webb Todd.”
“Oh!” murmured Jim.
“Yes, ‘oh’!” mimicked Clem unfeelingly. “It had some sort of a crazy
cubist drawing on one side and I naturally opened it. Of course when I
saw it was a letter I tried not to read it, but I had to read some of
it because my eyes lighted right on it.” Clem looked so defiant as to
appear almost threatening. Jim nodded.
“That’s all right,” he muttered.
“You bet it’s all right!” Clem was getting truculent. “And now I’m
going to read the whole of it, and you’re going to sit still and listen
to it!” He drew the somewhat soiled rectangular object from his pocket
and shook it challengingly at the other.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” objected Jim weakly.
Clem’s laugh was derisive. “You go to thunder! Anyway, I read the part
that matters, so--” He hesitated and tossed the letter across the
table. Jim picked it up without more than a glance and buried it under
a blue book. “He says there ‘I wasn’t meaning to swipe that money, like
I told you, kid, and I’m sorry I done it. I ain’t a thief--’ and a lot
more guff. Now, then, what about it?”
“Well, _what_ about it?” asked Jim with returning spirit. “I told you,
but you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Yes, I know,” acknowledged Clem somewhat shamefacedly. “Gosh, I
wanted to, Jim, but it looked awfully fishy. And I asked Old Tarbox if
a stranger had been up here that afternoon and he didn’t remember one.
He said he might have got by without his noticing, but it didn’t seem
to me that any one could fail to notice that queer-looking guy! But,
hang it, why didn’t you show me that letter when you got it? Think I’ve
had a jolly time with you treating me like dirt? Why--”
“Isn’t that the way you treated me?” asked Jim, smiling faintly.
“No, sir, I treated you decently! Anyway, I tried to, but you wouldn’t
let me, confound you. Didn’t you intend to show me that letter at all,
Jim?”
Jim shook his head.
“Well,” exclaimed Clem in outraged tones, “then all I can say is that
you’re the doggonedest, meanest, false-pridest--”
“You’re another!” Jim was grinning now, suddenly feeling very warm
and happy, and somewhat foolish. Clem grinned back. Then he laughed
uncertainly.
“You blamed old idiot!” he said affectionately.
Jim blinked. “Guess I was to blame, Clem,” he said reflectively. “Maybe
I’d ought to have made you believe me; licked you until you did
or--or something. But it didn’t seem right you should think I was a
thief, even if it did look like I was, and so I--I got sort of uppity
and--and--”
“Don’t blame you,” growled Clem. “Ought to have punched my head. Wish
you had. I don’t know what made me so rotten mean. Anyhow, I’m mighty
sorry and--and I beg your pardon, old son.”
“Aw, shut up,” said Jim. “Guess we both acted loony. Let’s forget it.”
Clem nodded. “Hope you will. I wouldn’t care to think that you were
holding it in for me, Jim. Funny thing is,” he went on in tones that
held embarrassment, “I don’t know whether I got to thinking you
didn’t--didn’t do it or whether I got to not caring whether you did or
didn’t, but I’d have called quits long ago, two or three days after, I
guess, if you’d given me a chance.”
“Well, as long as you were thinking me a thief--”
“But I could see how most any fellow might make a foozle like that,”
interrupted Clem eagerly. “I said that here was that fellow you’d known
and been fond of nagging you for money, and you not having any, and
there was that money in the suit-case which you knew mighty well I’d
give you if you asked for it--”
“I suppose you’d do it yourself?” inquired Jim innocently.
“Sure! That is--” Then Clem found Jim grinning broadly. “Well, I
might. How do I know? How does any one know what he will do when faced
by--er--by sudden temptation and all that sort of thing?”
“No, you wouldn’t,” answered Jim. “Neither would I. Webb could have
starved. But, just the same, and I think it’s sort of funny, too, I
didn’t think anything about lying! Seems like stealing and lying aren’t
much different, don’t it?”
“Well, yes, but, gosh, a fellow’s got to tell a whopper sometimes to
protect a friend, hasn’t he? And that’s what you did.”
“I guess a lie’s a lie, just the same,” responded Jim regretfully, “and
I didn’t feel right about telling that one to the police captain that
time. Only, I didn’t want Webb to go to jail. Gee, I don’t know!”
“You needn’t have told him you gave the money to Webb, as far as that
goes. They couldn’t have proved it on him if I hadn’t said I’d lost it.”
“Gee, I never thought of that, Clem! But it was all so sort of sudden
that I didn’t have much time to think. Lying comes mighty easy, don’t
it?”
Well, it was just like old times in Number 15 that evening. There was a
lot to be said, things that ought to have been said days and days ago
and things that had been unthought of before, and almost before Jim
knew that it was as late as nine the ten o’clock bell rang. Even after
they were in bed the talk kept on, as:
“Say, Jim, it’s a shame to keep you awake, but--”
“Gee, I ain’t sleepy. I’d rather talk than not.”
“Well, about Janus. You know we were speaking of it a while back.
You’ll join, eh?”
“I don’t know, Clem. I ain’t--I’m not much for society doings. Gee, I
don’t even own a dress-suit!”
“You don’t need a dress-suit, you gump! I’m going to put you through
next week, and there’s an end to it.”
“Well, if you want me to, all right. Father got rid of some timberland
the other day that he’s been trying to sell for three or four years. He
didn’t get quite all he wanted, but he did pretty well. So I guess I
can afford this Janus thing.”
Still later: “Jim, you asleep?”
“Yes. What’ll you have?”
“Listen. About Mart coming back--”
“I know. That’s all right.”
“How do you mean, all right?”
“Why, you fellows can have this room or I’ll find some one else to come
in here. Just as long as I don’t have to pay the whole rent--”
“You make me sick! I never had any notion of going in with Mart. He
doesn’t expect me to. I just said that because you made me mad, you
silly ass!”
“Oh! Well, I didn’t--understand. Still, you mustn’t feel like you’ve
got to turn Mart down, Clem.”
“I don’t. I’m not turning him down because he hasn’t even suggested it.
If you can’t talk sense you’d better go to sleep.”
“All right,” chuckled Jim. “Good night.”
Some time later Clem awoke in the darkness to find groans and
heart-breaking gasps coming from Jim’s bed. After a moment of sleepy
concern Clem went across and shook his chum into consciousness. “Hey,
wake up! What’s the matter, old son? Got the nightmare?”
“Gee!” muttered Jim. “That you, Clem? Was I making a row?”
“Were you! Well, rather! What--”
“Gee, it was awful! Sam threw the ball to me and I was all set for it
when the crazy thing began running around my head in circles and making
a noise like--like an automobile and I couldn’t catch it! Every time
I’d make a grab it would dodge out of the way! And about a hundred
fellows with big white mittens on stood and laughed at me. Gee, it was
fierce!”
“White mittens?” chuckled Clem. “Well, you did have the Willies for
fair! Calm yourself, old son, and nuzzle down again. It must be mighty
close to daylight.”