BEFORE THE BATTLE
The squad, thirty-one in all, including coaches, managers, trainer and
rubbers, left Alton the next forenoon at a little after ten o’clock.
About every one else around the academy took the train that left at
twelve-eight, partaking of an early and hurried dinner at half-past
eleven. As very few were at all concerned with food just then, being
much too excited, no one missed the train.
Unexpectedly, Leonard had slept exceedingly sound and for a full eight
hours and a half. He had lain awake no later than eleven, while Slim,
though more of a veteran, had heard midnight strike, as he aggrievedly
proclaimed in the morning. Possibly it was that conversation with
Gordon Renneker that was to be credited with Leonard’s early and sound
slumber, for Renneker’s affairs had driven all thoughts of Leonard’s
from the latter’s mind, and instead of being nervous and jumpy he had
been merely impatient and indignant--and sometimes admiring--and had
made himself sleepy trying to think up some way of inducing Renneker to
stop being a Don Quixote and act like a rational human being. He hadn’t
solved his problem, but he had sent himself to sleep.
Renneker, having worked hard if briefly at coaching the linemen, went
along with the squad. So, too, did Mr. Fadden, who, having wrestled
with the problem of the second team for some five weeks, was now in
position to act, in an advisory capacity, as Mr. Cade’s assistant. In
the hustle for seats in the special car that had been tacked onto the
long train for the accommodation of the team, Leonard and his suit-case
got tucked into a corner of a seat near the rear door, escape, had he
desired it, being prevented by the generous bulk of Jim Newton. He
and Jim talked a little, but the center had supplied himself with a
New York morning paper at the station and was soon deep in a frowning
perusal of the football news. That Renneker would change his mind, make
a clean breast of everything and come back into the fold was something
Leonard had hoped for up to the last moment of leaving school. But he
hadn’t done anything of the sort. That was proved by the fact that he
carried no bag. You couldn’t quite vision Gordon Renneker facing Kenly
Hall on the football gridiron in an immaculate suit of blue serge, a
pale yellow shirt and black-and-white sport shoes! So Leonard’s hopes
went glimmering, and when Renneker, passing him on the platform,
nodded and said, “Hi, old chap!” Leonard just grunted and scowled his
disappointment.
The day was a lot colder than the evening had presaged, but it was
fair and there were few clouds in the very blue sky. The car, like most
railway cars, was incapable of compromise in the matter of temperature.
Since it was not freezing cold it was tropically hot. Squeezed in
there by the steam pipes, with Jim Newton overflowing on him, Leonard
suffered as long as possible and then forced a way past the grunting
Newton and sought the water tank. Of course the water was close to the
temperature of the car, but that was to be expected. At least, it was
wet. After two drinks from the razor-like edge of a paper cup that
was enough to make one long for the unhygienic days of old, he went
forward, resisting the blandishments of those who would have detained
him, and passed into the car ahead. There were plenty of seats here,
and, although that may have been just his imagination, the car seemed
cooler by several degrees. It wasn’t until he had slammed the door
behind him that he saw Gordon Renneker in the first seat at the left.
Renneker looked up, nodded and moved slightly closer to the window. Of
course, Leonard reflected, he thinks I saw him come in here and have
followed him on purpose. Well, I’ll show him!
“Hello,” he said aloud, taking the seat after a moment of seeming
indecision, “I didn’t know you were in here. It got so hot back there
that I had to get out.”
“I came in here,” replied Renneker, “because Mr. Fadden insisted on
telling me how much better football was played in his day. It seems,
Grant, that ten or twenty years ago every team consisted of eleven
Olympians. Every man Jack was a star of the first magnitude and a
Prince among fellows. Fadden says so. Why, every blessed one of the
chaps who played on his team in college is to-day either President of
the United States or president of one of the big railroad systems.
Every one, that is, except Fadden. I don’t know what happened to him.
He seems to have been the only mediocre chap in the bunch. I must ask
him about that some time,” Renneker ended musingly.
Leonard laughed in spite of himself. He hadn’t wanted to laugh. He
had wanted to make Renneker understand clearly that he was still as
strongly disapproving of his conduct as ever. But Renneker was sort
of different to-day. He was lighter-hearted and even facetious, it
appeared. Leonard had to thaw. They talked about the game for a few
minutes, but neither introduced the subject of last evening’s talk
until, as though suddenly reminded, Renneker said: “By the way, Grant,
remember what we were talking about last night? What I was, that is!”
He laughed gently and put a hand into a pocket of his coat. “Well, I
want you to read this. It’s rather a joke on me, and you’ll probably
enjoy it hugely. This came by this morning’s mail.”
He produced an envelope from his pocket and took forth a single sheet
of twice-folded paper and handed it to Leonard. “Read it,” he said.
Leonard opened it and saw, at the top, the name, in none too modest
characters, of a New York hotel. Then he read:
“DEAR GORDIE:
“Well, we’re off again, old timer. Came down last night and
leave in about twenty minutes for Louisiana. Saved the faculty
the trouble of bouncing me. It was only an innocent childish
prank, but you know how faculties are. Four of our crowd didn’t
like the show at the theatre and quit it cold after the first
act. There was a car outside that looked good, and the fellow
who belonged to it hadn’t anchored it or locked it or anything.
So we thought we’d take a little spin and come back before the
show was over. How, I ask you, were we to know that the owner
couldn’t stand the show either? Well, he came out and couldn’t
find his bus and squealed to the police and they telephoned all
around and a cop on a motor cycle pulled us in about six miles
out and took us back to the station. If the guy had been the
right sort it would have been O.K., but he was a sour-faced
pill without an ounce of compassion and insisted on making a
charge against us. We got bail all right, and yesterday morning
the trifling matter was settled on a money basis, but the
dickens of it was that faculty got hep and we had our rather
and chose to resign instead of getting fired. Townsend’s father
has a rice farm or plantation or something in Louisiana and
he’s going to get me a job. There’ll be lots of riding, he
says, and I guess it’ll keep me going until I can look around.
We’re starting down there at eleven-thirty. I’ll write when I
reach the place and send the address. I’ve forgotten the name
of the town and Jim’s out getting tickets. I’ve written to Dad,
but you might drop him a line, too, old timer. You know what to
say, you were always the diplomat of the family. I’ll be fixed
for coin, so he won’t have to worry about that. Hope everything
is hunky with you, dear old pal.
“Your aff. brother,
“GEORGE.”
Leonard returned the epistle, staring at Renneker blankly. The latter
laughed. “I might have known he couldn’t stick,” he said. “It’s just
like the crazy coot to have it happen a week too late, too. If he’d
skipped Thursday before last instead of this Thursday--” Renneker shook
his head in comic resignation.
“But--but--but,” stammered Leonard, “you can play to-day, can’t you?
All you’ve got to do is tell Mr. Cade!”
“My dear chap,” remonstrated the other, “one doesn’t upset the
arrangements at the last moment. Oh, I did consider it, but, pshaw,
what would be the good? Everything’s fixed and if I butted in I’d just
muddle things horribly. Besides, I really haven’t the courage to try
to explain it all in the brief time remaining. But, honest, Grant,
it is a sort of a ghastly joke, isn’t it? Why don’t you laugh, you
sober-face? I thought it would amuse you!”
Leonard viewed him scathingly. “Honest, Renneker,” he replied with slow
and painstaking enunciation, “you give me an acute pain!”
Renneker smiled more broadly. “Good boy! Speak your mind! However, if
you’ll stop being peeved and think a minute you’ll see that it wouldn’t
do to upset Johnny’s apple-cart at this late hour. Besides, I haven’t
brought my togs, and couldn’t play decently if I had. Why, I haven’t
practiced for a week, Grant.”
“You don’t need practice,” responded Leonard earnestly. “A fellow like
you--”
“The dickens I don’t!” scoffed Renneker. “I’m as stiff as a crutch. Be
a good fellow, Grant, and stop scolding.” Renneker looked at the letter
in his hand, returned it to its envelope and placed it back in his
pocket with a smile of resignation. “Just plain nut,” he said. “That’s
what he is.”
Leonard, watching, was suddenly realizing that this new acquaintance
of his was a very likeable chap and that, although he did feel
thoroughly out of patience with him just now, he was getting to have
a sort of affection for him. Of course he wouldn’t have had Renneker
suspect the fact for an instant, but there it was! The big fellow’s
story seemed to explain a good deal, such as, for instance, that the
calm superiority affected by him had really been a blind to conceal
the fact that he was secretly in a state of nervous apprehension, in
short a colossal bluff that not even Coach Cade had had the nerve to
call! It must have been, Leonard reflected sympathetically, rather a
job to play good football and know that at any moment exposure might
occur. And, after all, that letter of George Renneker’s had rather won
Leonard. Of course the fellow was an irresponsible, hair-brained ass,
but, nevertheless, the reader had seemed to find something likeable in
the writer of that amazing epistle, and he understood somewhat better
why Gordon had felt it worth while to protect George even at the cost
of his own undoing. He wasn’t frowning any longer when Renneker looked
back from a momentary inspection of the flying landscape beyond the car
window. Renneker must have noted the change, for he asked:
“Decided to overlook my transgressions?”
Leonard nodded, smiling faintly. “Yes, although I still think you’re
all wrong. Let me tell you one thing, too. If--if”--he stumbled a
little there--“if you’re doing this because you think I’d be--be
disappointed about not playing, Renneker, you can just quit it right
now. I never expected to play in this game--anyhow, I haven’t for a
good while--and it won’t mean a thing to me if I don’t. So if that’s
it, or if that has anything to do with it--”
“My dear chap,” replied Renneker soothingly, “when you know me better
you’ll realize that I’m not a Sir Launcelot or a--a Galahad. Rest quite
easy.”
It wasn’t, though, a positive denial, and Leonard was by no means
convinced. He looked doubtfully, even suspiciously at the somewhat
quizzical countenance of the other and subsided. And then a trainman
banged open a door and shouted “La-a-akeville! Lakeville!” and Leonard
hurried back for his suit-case.
They went to the hotel for luncheon, walking up from the station and
pretending they didn’t know that they were objects of interest all
the way along the five blocks. There remained the better part of an
hour before the meal was to be served, and after depositing their
bags in the room that was to serve them for dressing purposes, most
of the party descended again to the street and set off to see the
town. Slim claimed Leonard as his companion, but Leonard begged off
rather mysteriously and Slim set out a trifle huffily in company with
Appel and Menge. Leonard then set out to find Mr. Cade, and after
several unsuccessful inquiries had failed to discover that gentleman,
Tod Tenney came skipping down the stairs and, his escape blocked by
Leonard, revealed the fact that Mr. Cade and Mr. Fadden were in Room
17. Leonard, likewise scorning the snail-like elevator, climbed the
stairs and found the room. Mr. Cade’s voice answered his knock. The
coach and his associate were sitting in straight-back chairs in front
of a long window, their feet on the sill and pipes going busily. Mr.
Fadden looked around, waving the smoke clouds from before him with the
newspaper he held, and said sotto voce: “One of the boys, Cade.”
“Can I speak to you a moment, sir?” asked Leonard.
Mr. Cade’s feet came down from the sill with a bang and he swung
around. “Oh, hello, Grant! Why, certainly. Anything wrong?”
“No, sir. It’s about--” He hesitated and glanced dubiously at Mr.
Fadden.
“Oh, that’s all right,” laughed Mr. Cade. “You can speak before Mr.
Fadden. Pull up that chair and sit down first.”
Leonard obeyed, occupying, however, only some six inches of the chair’s
surface. “It’s about Gordon Renneker, sir,” he began again.
“Renneker?” The coach looked interested at once. “What about Renneker,
Grant?”
“Well--” Leonard stopped and started anew: “Wouldn’t it help us a lot,
Mr. Cade, if he played to-day?”
“Probably, but I thought it was understood that Renneker was--er--out
of football. What’s on your mind?”
“I can’t explain it very well,” answered Leonard, “because I promised
not to speak about--about part of it. That makes it--difficult.” He
looked at Mr. Cade and then at Mr. Fadden as though seeking assistance.
Mr. Cade frowned perplexedly.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you, Grant, for I don’t know what you’re
trying to get at. If you’re troubled about Renneker not playing, why,
I’ll have to tell you that there isn’t anything you can do about that.
We’re looking for you to see to it that he isn’t missed, Grant. And we
think you can do it.”
Leonard shook his head. “That isn’t it, sir. I know something that
I can’t tell, because I promised not to.” He stopped and strove to
arrange matters in his mind. He wished he had composed a statement
before coming. Regarding all that Renneker had revealed to him last
evening his lips were sealed. It was only about what had transpired
this morning that he was not sworn to silence. It was, though, hard to
keep the two apart, and he didn’t want to break his promise. Mr. Cade,
watching him intently, waited in patience. Mr. Fadden puffed hard at
his pipe, silently friendly. Leonard rushed the hurdle.
“If you’ll tell Renneker that you want to read a letter he received
this morning, sir,” he blurted, “you’ll understand.”
“Tell him I want to read a letter he received?” repeated the coach in
puzzled tones. “But why should I, Grant?”
“Why, because when you do read it, and Renneker has explained it,
you--he--why, sir, he can play this afternoon!”
“Oh!” said Mr. Cade thoughtfully. After an instant he said: “Look here,
Grant, you must know a whole lot about this business of Renneker’s.”
Leonard nodded. “Yes, sir, I know all about it. I--I knew about it
before you did.”
The coach gazed at him curiously, opened his lips as if to speak,
closed them again and glanced questioningly at Mr. Fadden.
“Better see Renneker and get it cleared up,” said the second team coach
oracularly. “Where there’s so much smoke there must be some fire. Let’s
get at it.”
“All right.” He turned to Leonard again. “I suppose you realize that if
Renneker plays right guard to-day you don’t, Grant. At least, not long,
probably.”
“Yes, sir, but Renneker’s a lot better than I am, and if he can play it
doesn’t matter about me, does it?”
“H’m, no, I suppose it doesn’t. Well, I’m much obliged to you, my boy.
Whether anything comes of this or doesn’t, I quite understand that
you’ve tried to help us. Do you know where Renneker is just now?”
“No, sir, not exactly. He went out right after we reached the hotel.
I--I guess I could find him.”
“Do it, will you? Tell him--tell him whatever you think best. You know
more about this mystery than we do. Only see that he gets here right
away. Thanks, Grant.”
“Could I tell him that you and Mr. Fadden want to see him to talk to
him about the game?” asked Leonard. “If he suspected anything he might
not want to come.”
“The mystery deepens!” sighed Mr. Cade. “But tell him that by all
means. It’s totally and literally true. Just see that he comes
a-running!”
Lakeville was in gala attire. Cherry-and-black pennants and bunting
adorned the store windows, and beyond the casement of the town’s
principal haberdasher the appropriate colors were massed in a
display of neckties and mufflers. Here and there the rival hues of
gray-and-gold were shown, but it was not until the arrival of the
Alton rooters that Lakeville became noticeably leavened with the
brighter tints. Leonard encountered Billy Wells and Sam Butler just
outside the hotel, but neither of them had seen Gordon Renneker lately,
and Leonard went on up the busy street on his quest. He discovered Slim
and three others admiring the contents of a bake shop window and bore
Slim away with him.
“We’ve got to find Renneker,” he announced anxiously.
“I don’t see why,” objected Slim. “I’m going to be just as happy,
General, if I never set eyes on him again.”
“Dry up and come on. Mr. Cade wants him right off.”
“Mr. Cade has strange fancies,” murmured Slim, but he accelerated his
steps. “Been over to the school grounds?”
“No, I haven’t had time. Isn’t that--no, it isn’t. It did look like
him, back-to.”
“It looks like him front-to,” replied Slim, “except that this guy is
about forty-five and has different features and has lost some of his
hair and wears glasses--”
“Oh, for the love of mud, shut up, Slim! And do look around, can’t you?
I tell you this is important.”
“I do wish I could feel it so,” said Slim exasperatingly, “but I
just can’t get up any enthusiasm for the chase. Besides, it’s getting
perilously close to chow time, and we’re going in the wrong direction
and--”
“There he is!” Leonard left Slim abruptly and darted across the
street, narrowly escaping the ignominy of being run down by a rattling
flivver adorned with cherry-and-black pennants. Gordon Renneker had
just emerged from a doorway above which hung a black-and-gold sign
announcing “Olympic Lunch Room--Good Eats,” and still held in one hand
the larger part of a cheese sandwich.
“Say, what the--” Renneker stared in amazement from Leonard to the
sandwich now lying in unappetizing fragments on the sidewalk.
“Awfully sorry,” panted Leonard, “but you’re wanted at the hotel right
away. Room 17.”
“I’m wanted? What for?” Leonard saw suspicion creeping into Renneker’s
eyes.
“Mr. Cade and Mr. Fadden,” he answered quickly and glibly. “They told
me to tell you they wanted to see you about the game right away.”
“Flattering,” said Renneker. “Oh, all right. Wait till I get another
sandwich--”
“You mustn’t,” declared Leonard. “It’s almost lunch time, and they’re
waiting for you, and they’ll be mad if you don’t come quick!” He
pulled Renneker away from the lunch room doorway and guided him rapidly
toward the hotel. From across the street a perplexed and insulted Slim
watched them disappear.
“Abandoned!” he muttered. “Adrift in a strange and cruel city! Heaven
help me!”