RENNEKER EXPLAINS
Leonard was still assimilating that fact when Renneker turned and
recognized him in the light of the corner lamp. “Hello, Grant,” said
the big fellow. There seemed to Leonard a tone of almost friendliness
in that greeting.
“Hello,” he answered. He wanted to add something else, something about
the weather, but it wouldn’t come. It was the other who supplied the
conventional observation.
“Corking night,” said Renneker. “It looks like a fine day for the game
to-morrow.”
They were side by side now. Leonard wondered whether he should go
on, maintaining his own pace, or slow down and suit his steps to
Renneker’s. It was sort of embarrassing, he thought. He agreed about
the weather and Renneker spoke again.
“I suppose you’re trying to walk them off,” he said.
“Walk them off?” echoed Leonard. There seemed nothing to do save fall
in step with the other.
“Nerves,” explained Renneker. “Guess that’s what I’m doing myself.”
“Oh,” said Leonard a bit sheepishly. “Yes, I--I guess I am. At least,
I suppose it’s nerves. Slim wanted me to go to the mass meeting, but I
sort of hated being with that howling mob to-night.”
“Exactly.” They had reached the corner and with one consent turned now
and went slowly along Academy street. “Funny how panicky you can get
the night before a game,” mused Renneker.
Leonard laughed incredulously. “I can’t imagine you ever getting like
that,” he said.
“I do, though,” replied the other in his even voice. “Always have. Of
course, it’s absolute rot, because you know that just as soon as the
whistle blows you’re going to be perfectly all right again.”
“Wish I knew that,” answered Leonard.
“You do, only you can’t remember it.” There was a silence then while
Leonard tried to digest that statement. Then Renneker went on. “It’s
rather absurd for me to be feeling jumpy to-night, for I’m not going to
play. Must be just habit, I suppose. Queer.”
“I wish you were going to play,” said Leonard with such evident
sincerity that Renneker looked down curiously at him.
“You do? I shouldn’t think you would.” He laughed shortly. “You might
be out of it yourself if I did, Grant.”
“I know, but--well, it’s just sort of an accident with me, while you
really belong, Renneker. I don’t suppose that sounds very clear.”
“Oh, yes. Well, I guess you’ll get on all right, Grant. If you do, it
won’t matter much about me. Of course, I am disappointed, hang it!
The whole silly thing is so--so--” He seemed almost on the point of
becoming agitated, which was perhaps why he stopped abruptly. After a
moment he continued with a note of amusement. “Really, Grant, I don’t
know why I’m chattering to you like this. I don’t believe we ever spoke
before yesterday. It must be the nerves!”
“Oh, yes, we have,” answered Leonard. “Spoken, I mean. We came up from
the station together that first day.”
“We did?” Renneker seemed to be searching his memory. “Oh, then you
were that chap in the taxi. I’d forgotten.”
Leonard believed it. “I guess talking sort of does a fellow good,” he
said after a moment. “When he’s jumpy, I mean.”
“I dare say.” There was silence again while they came to the main gate
and passed it unheedingly. Across Academy street the light in Coach
Cade’s front room was turned down. “I suppose he’s at the meeting,”
said Renneker. “Sort of a decent chap, Cade.”
“Yes,” agreed Leonard, “I think so. All the fellows seem to like him.”
“Including me?” asked Renneker dryly.
“Why, I don’t know,” stammered Leonard. “Yes, I guess so. It wasn’t his
fault, after all, was it? I mean I suppose he had to do it.”
“Do what?” asked Renneker, peering down.
“Why,” floundered Leonard, “I mean he had to--to do his duty. Stick to
rules, you know. He wasn’t--”
“Then you think it was Johnny who put me off?”
Leonard pulled up with a start. He wasn’t supposed to know a thing, and
here he had been giving himself away. He sought for a way out. Renneker
broke the silence.
“Look here, Grant, I don’t get this at all. Has Mr. Cade been talking?”
“No, not to me, at any rate.”
“Well, somebody has,” pursued Renneker grimly. “What have you heard,
Grant? I wish you’d tell me.”
After an instant’s hesitation Leonard did so. Renneker listened in
silence. “None of us have breathed a word of it,” concluded the speaker
earnestly. “Only Carnochan, and he was sore because of that scrap.”
“Scrap be blowed,” said Renneker. “There wasn’t any scrap. Those
fellows pushed into us and we had some words, merely joking. Then this
fellow suddenly jumped at Reilly and tried to punch him and I stepped
in the way and got the punch. I told him to behave and he jabbed at me
again. Then I gave him one in the ribs. That’s all there was to it. As
far as we were concerned, the whole thing was a joke, but that crazy
Irishman lost his temper, I guess.”
“Yes,” said Leonard, “I guess, from what Johnny says, that he’s sort of
hot-headed.”
“Decidedly! And his hot-headedness has played the dickens with me,
Grant. Look here, are you in a hurry? Let’s sit down a minute. You’ve
heard part of the story, and I’d like to tell you the rest of it. It’ll
do me good to get it off my chest to some one, I fancy.”
They swung themselves to the top rail of the fence in the shadow
between two lights and Renneker went on.
“This is confidential, Grant. I’d rather you didn’t say anything about
it to any one, if you don’t mind. It might make worse trouble if it
got around. Thanks. Now, let’s see. I think I’d better start at the
beginning. I dare say you’ve heard that I got a bit of a reputation at
Castle City High as a guard. We have pretty good teams there, and we
generally manage to lick about every one we go up against. I don’t
believe I was much better than half a dozen other chaps on our team,
last year or the year before, but it sort of got around that I was good
and the New York papers played me up. There’s a fellow named Cravath
who lives in my town and he went to school here at Alton. Last summer
he got after me. Told me about Alton and how much more of a chance
there was for me here. I liked the high school well enough, but I’d
always had an idea that I’d prefer a prep school. Besides, when it
comes to going to college it’s a help if you go up from a well-known
school like Alton. We haven’t much money; the family I mean. Father
used to be very well off some six or eight years ago, and we grew up
rather free-handed, us kids. Then he lost it. Quite a spectacular
bust-up, Grant, but it wouldn’t interest you. What I’m getting at is
that when it came to a question of coming here for two years the lot of
us had to do some figuring.
“There are three of us; George, who is the oldest--two years older than
me--Grace, who comes in between, and me. George was starting college
this fall, and Grace is in school in New York. So there wasn’t an awful
lot of money for me, you see. Oh, well, that hasn’t much to do with
it. I’m making a beastly long story of this. Anyway, father managed
to get hold of some money and said I could come up here, although he
wasn’t very keen about it, I fancy. And I came. I knew that the reason
Dick Cravath was so anxious to get me here was because I could play
football, and I intended making good. But I haven’t done it. Oh, I’ve
played, but I haven’t played the way I should, or the way I can, Grant.
And I guess the main reason was because this thing’s been hanging over
my head all the time. I’ve been waiting for it to break ever since the
day I came up from New York.”
“Then,” exclaimed Leonard, “you knew that--that Johnny McGrath-- But
you couldn’t have!”
“No, all I knew was what I got from a pimply-faced fellow who sold
papers and magazines on the train. I bought a magazine from him and he
looked me over and winked. ‘Say, I know you, all right,’ he told me.
‘You’re Ralston. I saw you play in a game in New London.’ I told him he
was wrong, but he wouldn’t have it that way. He told me all about the
game. Even knew how much money the club there had paid me for playing
first base. I let him talk, because I wanted to learn what he knew.
When he told me I’d played against a team called the Crescents from
this town I knew I was in for trouble. I was pretty sure that sooner
or later some chap who had played with the Crescents would see me and
recognize me. Well, I fancy that got on my mind, Grant. In fact, I
know it did. I couldn’t seem to play the way I played last year. Of
course, I might have turned around when I got here that day and gone
back, after getting that story from the train-boy, but--oh, well, you
always trust to the off chance. I don’t know now whether I’m sorry or
not that I didn’t turn back. I’m out of football this year, but I like
the school, and I’ve met some nice fellows. I--don’t know.” Renneker’s
voice dwindled into silence.
Nine o’clock struck from a church tower. Leonard sat, none too
comfortably, on the angular rail and puzzled. All through his narrative
his companion had sounded an under note of resentment, as though Fate
had dealt unjustly with him. Of course, it was hard luck to get dropped
from the team as Renneker had, but after all he had no one to blame but
himself. Leonard sought an answer to one of the features of the story
that puzzled him.
“You didn’t know the Crescents came from here, then?” he asked. “I mean
the day you played against them at New London.”
“What? Oh! No, I didn’t know that, Grant, because, you see, I wasn’t
there.”
“You weren’t--where?” inquired Leonard blankly.
“At New London,” replied Renneker calmly.
“Then how--” Leonard blinked at the other in the gloom. “But you’ve
said you were! If you weren’t at New London, how did you play first
base for the--the Maple Leaf nine?”
“I didn’t.”
Leonard laughed flatly. “I guess I’m stupid,” he said.
“I’ve got your promise that this goes no further?” asked Renneker.
Leonard nodded vigorously. “All right. I didn’t play on that team,
Grant. I couldn’t. I’m no good at all at baseball. That was my brother.”
“Your brother!” exclaimed Leonard.
“Yes. He looks like me, a whole lot like me, although if you saw us
together you wouldn’t be fooled long. He’s two years older than I am,
nearly three, and he’s an inch taller but not quite so heavy. His name
is George Ralston Renneker, Ralston after my mother’s folks. That’s
why I knew what was up when the train boy put that name on me. George
is--oh, he’s all right, Grant, but he’s a nut. Sort of crazy about
some things. We’ve always been great pals, but I’ve bawled him out a
thousand times. He hasn’t any idea about the value of money and he
keeps right on spending it just as if we still had it. When he gets
flat and father won’t come across he goes off and plays baseball or
hockey or anything to get some coin. He can do just about anything
fairly well, you see. I suppose it isn’t always just the money,
either, for he’s nuts on all sorts of sports, and he has to keep going
at something or bust. Once he rode in a steeplechase near home and
got thrown and had a couple of ribs broken. There wasn’t any money in
it that time. He just did it for fun, for the adventure. I fancy he’d
jump off the Woolworth Tower with an umbrella if there was enough money
waiting him below! Sometimes he makes quite a lot of money. Once he
drew down a hundred and fifty for a ten-round preliminary bout over in
Philadelphia. He boxes rather better than he does anything, I fancy.
He was the ‘Trenton Kid’ that night. Usually he goes under the name of
George Ralston. He’s a nut, Grant.”
Leonard digested this remarkable information in silence for a moment.
Then: “But if it wasn’t you, Renneker,” he exclaimed, “why did you let
them drop you from the team? I don’t see that.”
“You will in a minute,” answered the other patiently. “George is
at--well, never mind the college; it’s not more than a hundred miles
from here. This is his first year. I dare say it will be his last, too,
for he doesn’t stick long. He went to three schools. But I don’t want
him to get in trouble if I can help it. He’s out for baseball and track
already, and he will probably try hockey, too. If this thing got around
he’d be dished, and it would mean a lot more to him than it did to me.
Of course, you can say that I’m compounding a felony or something, but
I don’t care if you do. I realize that George hasn’t any right to take
part in athletics at his college, but that’s between him and his own
conscience. I’m not going to be the one to queer him. I’ve known all
along that when this thing broke it would be up to me to be the goat.
Well, it did. And I am.”
Leonard shook his head. “It isn’t right, though, Renneker. It puts you
out of football--and everything else, for that matter--this year and
next. Why, even when you go up to college this thing will follow you, I
guess!”
“Well, I’m rather expecting that by next fall I can tell the truth,”
answered Renneker. “It isn’t likely that poor old George will last
more than his freshman year without getting found out. If they have
something else on him one more thing won’t matter, I guess. Anyway, I
mean to keep in training on the chance of it.”
“Does he know about it?” asked Leonard presently. “That you’re taking
the blame for this and have lost your place on the team?”
“Oh, no. What’s the use of worrying him about it? He’d be just idiot
enough to give the snap away and spoil his own fun.”
“Serve him right,” said Leonard indignantly. “I think it’s a rotten
shame that you’ve got to suffer for his--his misdoings!”
“Oh, well, it isn’t as bad as that. I guess I’ve groused a good deal,
Grant, but, after all, I’m glad to do it for the old coot. He’d do
anything in the world for me without batting an eye-lid. Besides, I’m
feeling quite a lot better now that I’ve unburdened my mind to some
one. Talk does help a lot sometimes, and I fancy Providence must have
sent you forth to-night to hear my tale of woe. Much obliged, really,
for being so patient, my dear chap.”
“Don’t be an ass,” begged Leonard. Half an hour before he would have
gasped at the idea of inferring that Renneker was an ass, but just now
it didn’t even occur to him. “I was glad to listen. Just the same,
Renneker, you are acting wrong in this business. I suppose I can’t
convince you--”
“Afraid not, Grant.”
“--but it’s a fact, just the same. Aside from everything else, you owe
something to the team and the School, and you’re letting them both down
when you do this thing. You--you’re endangering to-morrow’s game, and--”
“I’ve thought of all that, Grant, and I don’t agree with you. My own
people come before the School or the team--”
“But, Great Scott,” interrupted Leonard impatiently, “in this case
your own people, your brother, I mean, is in the wrong! You’re helping
him to get away with something that isn’t--”
“Absolutely, but when it _is_ your brother that doesn’t count much with
you.”
“It ought to,” muttered Leonard.
“Possibly, but it doesn’t. As for to-morrow’s game, Grant, I’m
absolutely sincere when I say that I believe you will do just as well
as I’d have done.”
“That’s nonsense,” Leonard protested.
“No, it isn’t, really. I haven’t been playing much of a game this fall.
I’ve just managed to keep my position, and that’s about all. Johnny
Cade has been on the point of dropping me into the subs lots of times.
I’ve seen it and I’ve had to act haughty and pull a bluff to keep him
from doing it.”
“That’s all right,” persisted the younger boy doggedly, “but you say
yourself that was because this business was hanging over you. Well,
it isn’t hanging over you any longer, and there’s no reason why you
shouldn’t play to-morrow as well as you’ve ever played. Now, isn’t that
so?”
“My dear chap,” replied Renneker, smoothly evasive, “you ought to be a
prosecuting attorney or something. I say, what time is it getting to
be? You fellows are supposed to be in hall by nine-thirty.”
“It isn’t that yet,” answered Leonard. But he slid down from the fence
and fell into step beside the other. He tried very hard to think of
something that would persuade Renneker out of this pig-headed, idiotic
course. He grudgingly admired the big fellow for what he had done. It
was chivalrous and generous and all that sort of thing, this business
of being the goat for Brother George, but Leonard didn’t know Brother
George and he couldn’t summon any sympathy for him. When he did speak
again they were well up the broad path to Academy Hall, and what he
said wasn’t at all what he had sought for.
“I do wish you’d think this over to-night, Renneker,” he pleaded.
“My dear chap,” replied the other very patiently and kindly, “you
mustn’t think any more about it. It’s all settled, and there’s no harm
done. If you keep on, you know, you’ll make me sorry I confided in
you.” Renneker laughed softly.
“I don’t care,” persisted Leonard weakly. “It’s a rotten shame!” Then
an idea came to him. “Look here,” he exclaimed, “what’s to keep me from
telling Johnny?”
“Not a thing,” was the cool response, “except your promise not to.”
Leonard growled inarticulately.
In front of Academy they parted, Renneker to seek his room in Upton,
and Leonard to take the other direction. The mass meeting was over and
the fellows were pouring out from Memorial, still noisily enthusiastic.
“Well, I hope I haven’t added to your nerves, Grant,” said Renneker.
“Just remember that when the whistle blows you won’t have any, and that
having them now consequently doesn’t matter one iota. That may help.
I’m in Upton, you know; Number 9. Come in and see me some time, won’t
you? Good night.”
“Good night,” replied Leonard. He had difficulty making his voice sound
disapproving, but he managed it after a fashion. Renneker laughed as he
turned away.
“Try to forget my faults, Grant,” he called back, “and think only of my
many virtues!”
Upstairs in Number 12 Slim was displaying a hurt expression. He had
left the meeting when it was no more than half over to hurry back
and stroke the other’s head, he explained, and here the other was
gallivanting around the campus! Leonard apologized. He did not,
however, mention Renneker. Why, he couldn’t have told.