THE SECOND SKIRMISH
There was a second meeting called about this time to raise additional
funds for the support of the football team. The sum already subscribed
was not enough for the traveling expenses, guarantees to visiting teams
and clothing, and where the ninety dollars to pay Billy Cameron’s
tuition for the winter and spring terms was coming from was causing
Harry Folsom a good deal of bother. And when the meeting had assembled
he said as much. There was a very slim attendance, and a spirit of
levity prevailed. Phin and Hansel were there, as was Spring, but they
took no part in the proceedings, greatly, I think, to Harry’s relief.
The football men were conspicuously absent.
“You fellows want a good team,” said Harry, “and you want it to lick
everything that comes along. But you aren’t willing, it seems, to pay
for it. You’ve pledged three hundred and eighty-eight dollars, and
that isn’t nearly enough, and you know it as well as we do. We need
at least two hundred and fifty dollars more. Last year we managed to
scrape along on about four hundred and fifty dollars, but we were able
to do it because the field had been put in fine shape the year before,
and we didn’t have that to pay for. But this fall, as anyone knows who
has been down there, there’s a lot of work got to be done; the place
is in bad shape. The Fairview game is played here this fall, and we’ve
got to have the field fixed up and the stands attended to. It has been
estimated that it will take over a hundred dollars to put the stands in
shape for the Fairview game.
“Now we can’t do that and pay traveling expenses, and pay guaranties
to visiting teams on any little old three hundred and eighty-eight
dollars. You fellows know that when a team comes here to play us we
have to guarantee them a decent sum of money. If we don’t they won’t
come. We don’t offer big guaranties, because we’ve never been able to
afford to; if we could do that, we could get some of the best teams
in this part of the country to come here. As it is, we have to pay out
from twenty to seventy-five dollars at every minor game because we
can’t get a decent attendance. And that soon counts up. This year we
have five home games beside Fairview, and only one of those games is
likely to pay for itself; that’s the Warren game. Every other team that
comes here goes away with a little wad of our money in their pocket.
“Then there’s the item of uniforms. We aren’t swell dressers here, and
we don’t buy the best suits on the market. But even so, a little over
nine dollars is the best we can do; and the fellows supply their own
sweaters. Besides these expenses which I have mentioned, maintenance
of ground, traveling expenses, guaranties, clothing, there are others,
such as tickets for the Fairview game, advertising in the papers and
by posters, footballs, blankets, stationery, stamps, and dozens of
incidental expenses. You can do a little figuring yourselves and see
how much of that three hundred and eighty-eight dollars is likely to be
left at the end of the season. I’ll tell you one thing; there aren’t
going to be any dividends declared!”
“How about ‘team expenses’?” called some one. There was a snicker.
Harry smiled.
“Well, I didn’t mention that because you fellows seem to be developing
a finicky attitude of late, and I didn’t want to shock you. But since
you’ve mentioned the matter yourselves, I’ll just say that there
remains ninety dollars of ‘team expenses’ to be paid. And it’s got to
be paid, no matter what anyone says, for the very good reason that we
have given our word that we will pay it. And a certain fellow will be
in a pretty mean fix if we don’t pay it. He will wonder, I guess, what
the word of Ferry Hill students is worth.”
There was a mild clatter of applause.
“Now, fellows,” went on Harry, “we’ve got to have at least another two
hundred and fifty. And I want you to pledge it to-night. Every one of
you who hasn’t given already ought to be good for five dollars. And
those of you who have already given--well, we don’t refuse a second
contribution; we aren’t fussy that way; and it won’t hurt you a bit.
After the Fairview game is over you’ll be mighty glad and proud that
you helped to bring about a victory.”
“Suppose we get beaten?” piped a voice from the back of the hall where
the younger and more mischievous youths were congregated.
“We won’t!” declared Harry promptly. “I tell you what I’ll do, fellows;
if you’ll make up the sum to six hundred and fifty dollars, I’ll
guarantee that we’ll lick Fairview! There! That’s fair, isn’t it?”
“A fair view of the situation, Mr. Manager!” called a voice. Harry
joined in the laugh that went up.
“I’m not joking, fellows,” he continued. “I mean what I say. Here’s
your chance now; a victory over Fairview for the small sum of six
hundred and fifty dollars! Doesn’t that strike you as cheap?”
“What security?” asked a boy down front.
“My word!” answered Harry boldly. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
“You bet it is, Harry!”
Phin and Hansel joined in the applause and laughter.
“All right, then,” said Harry. “Now I’m going to send the slips
around. Any fellow who hasn’t got a pencil can get one if he will speak
up. And if any of you can’t write I’ll do it for you, and you’ll only
have to make your mark. I’m going to ask--” Harry’s eyes traveled about
the hall and at last rested, with a twinkle, on Hansel and Phin. “I’m
going to ask the assistant manager, Phin Dorr, and the best end Ferry
Hill has had for many a day, Hansel Dana, to pass the slips.”
There was a clapping of hands and some laughter at Harry’s announcement.
Phin and Hansel viewed each other questioningly.
“I’m not going to do it,” whispered Hansel. But he chanced to catch
sight of Harry’s quizzical look and changed his mind. Phin was already
crowding his way along the row of chairs. Hansel accepted Harry’s
challenge and followed Phin. They took the slips of white paper and
passed through the hall distributing them. Some of the youngsters near
the door showed a disposition to retire from the scene, but a few words
from Harry brought them back.
“I’d like to say,” he remarked dryly, “that neither Dorr nor Dana has
time to follow you fellows to your rooms, and so if you’ll kindly keep
your seats you will be rendering valuable assistance.”
The slips were collected and returned to the platform. Phin helped
Harry count up the amounts, and the meeting broke up, although most of
those present waited to hear the result.
“I hope they don’t get it,” said Spring to Hansel. “And I don’t believe
they will. I want the team to have all the money it can use, but I
don’t like the idea of paying Cameron’s tuition out of the fund. I’m
with you fellows there, Dana, good and hard.”
“The trouble is, though,” answered Hansel, “that they’ve already paid
his fall tuition, and he’s bound to stay and play football this season.”
“Yes, but there’s another year coming, and if Cameron doesn’t get his
tuition paid for the rest of this year, he’s not going to stay here.
That’s certain.”
“The amount pledged this evening,” announced Harry, “is seventy-four
dollars. It isn’t enough, and I’m disappointed in you fellows. But I’ve
told you how things stand and it’s up to you.” He paused, seemed about
to continue, evidently thought better of it, and turned to Phin.
“Will you move adjournment?” he asked.
Phin was a pretty busy fellow these days. He got out of bed every
morning at five o’clock and attended to five furnaces, in as many
different houses throughout the village. By seven he was back home for
breakfast, and after that meal he attended to a few chores about the
house. At eight he had his first recitation, and from that time on was
busy with lessons, either studying or reciting, until two o’clock, save
for an hour at noon, and two days a week had recitations at three. From
half-past three to five he was on the football field attending to his
duties as assistant manager. And yet, in spite of all this, he found
moments now and then to do odd jobs for the villagers or students. It
was no uncommon sight to see Phin beating a carpet in some one’s back
yard long after it was too dark to see the stick he wielded. He had all
the work he could attend to, for there was nothing he could not do, and
his personality pleased his patrons so much that one customer led to
others. He mended fences, fitted keys, whitewashed walls, now and
then tried his hand at a small job of painting, cleaned yards, and had
soon grown into a village necessity, without whom the housewives would
have been at their wits’ end. But no matter how much work was called
for, Phin couldn’t neglect his school duties, for he was trying for a
scholarship, and on his success depended his continuance at Beechcroft.
Harry tried to get him to put up a shelf for him, but Phin, scenting
charity, refused to do it.
“You don’t need a shelf,” he declared. “It would spoil the looks of
your wall. But if you insist, I’ll put it up for you the first chance I
have, and take just what the materials cost.”
“You’re a suspicious dub,” said Harry sorrowfully. “I’ve been pining
for a shelf over there for years and years, but if you choose to assign
base motives to my request, I shall continue to go shelfless. I won’t
take favors from a chap who accuses me of duplicity.”
The intimacy between Phin and Hansel grew with every passing day.
Hansel was grateful for the friendship, for matters in 22 Prince
weren’t in very good shape those days. He and Bert passed the time of
day, as the saying is, and that was about all. As for the new friends
and acquaintances which Hansel had made through Phin, he cultivated
them carefully, and found pleasure in so doing, but as he was beginning
to be looked upon as “queer,” or, as Harry put it, “peculiar,” those
friends didn’t turn into chums. Phin and Harry were his warmest
friends, and that Phin finally led in his affections was probably
because of the bond of interest existing between them in the form of
what Harry called the “crusade.”
[Illustration: “He was beginning to be looked upon as ‘queer.’”]