COWAN BECOMES INDIGNANT
Breakfast at the training-table that morning was a strange meal, to
which the fellows loitered in at whatever hour best pleased them. Many
showed signs of restless slumber, and the trainer was as watchful as an
old hen with a brood of chickens. For some there were Saturday morning
recitations; those who were free were sent out to the field at ten
o'clock and were put through a twenty-minute signal practise. Among
these were Neil and Paul. A trot four times around the gridiron ended
the morning's work, and they were dismissed with orders to report at
twelve o'clock for lunch.
Neil, Paul, and Foster walked back together, and it was the last that
suggested going down to the depot to see the arrival of the Robinson
players. So they turned down Poplar Street to Main and made their way
along in front of the row of stores there. The village already showed
symptoms of excitement. The windows were dressed in royal purple, with
here and there a touch of the brown of Robinson, and the sidewalk
already held many visitors, while others were invading the college
grounds across the street. Farther on the trio passed the bicycle
repair-shop. In front of the door, astride an empty box, sat the
proprietor, sunning himself and keeping a careful watch on the village
happenings. With a laugh Neil left his companions and ran across
the street.
"Good-morning," he said. The little man on the box looked up inquiringly
but failed to recognize his tormentor.
"Mornin'," he grunted suspiciously.
"I wanted to tell you," said Neil gravely, "that your diagnosis was
correct, after all."
"Hey?" asked the little man querulously.
"Yes, it _was_ a cold-chisel that did it," said Neil. "You remember you
said it was."
"Cold-chisel? Say, what you talkin'--" Then a light of recognition
sprang into his weazened features. "You're the feller that owes me a
quarter!" he cried shrilly, scrambling to his feet.
Neil was off on the instant. As the three went on toward the station the
little man's denunciations followed them:
"You come back here an' pay me that quarter! If I knew yer name I'd have
ther law on yer! But I know yer face, an' I'll--"
"His name's Legion," called Ted Foster over his shoulder.
"Hey? What?" shrieked the repair man.
"Legion!"
"I don't know what you say, but I'll report that feller ter th'
authorities!"
Then a long whistle broke in upon the discussion, and the three rushed
for the station platform.
From the vantage-point of a baggage-truck they watched the Robinson
players and the accompanying contingent descend from the train. There
were twenty-eight of the former, heavily built, strapping-looking
fellows, and with them a small army of coaches, trainers, and
supporters. Neil dug his elbow against Paul.
"Look," he said, "there's your friend Brill."
And sure enough, there was the Robinson coach who had visited the two at
Hillton a year before and tried to get them to go to the rival college.
"If you'd like to make arrangements for next year, Paul," Neil whispered
mischievously, "now's your time."
But Paul grinned and shook his head.
The players and most of the coaches tumbled into carriages and were
taken out to Erskine Field for a short practise, and the balance of the
arrivals started on foot toward the hotel. The three friends retraced
their steps. Luckily, the proprietor of the bicycle repair-shop was so
busy looking over the strangers that they passed unseen in the little
stream. There remained the better part of an hour before lunch-time, and
they found themselves at a loss for a way to spend the time. Foster
finally went off to his room, as he explained airily, "to dash off a
letter on his typewriter," a statement that was greeted with howls of
derision from the others, who, for want of a better place, went into
Butler's bookstore and aimlessly looked over the magazines and papers.
It was while thus engaged that Paul heard his name spoken, and turned to
find Mr. Brill smilingly holding out his hand.
"I thought I wasn't mistaken," the Robinson coach said as they shook
hands. "And isn't that your friend Fletcher over there?"
Neil heard and came over, and the three stood and talked for a few
minutes. Mr. Brill seemed well pleased with the football outlook.
"I'll wager you gentlemen will regret not coming to us after to-day's
game is over," he laughed. "I hear you've got something up your sleeve."
"We have," said Neil.
"So I heard. What's the nature of it?"
"It's muscle," answered Neil gravely.
The coach laughed. "Of course, if it's a secret, I don't want to hear
it. But I think you're safe to get beaten, secret or no secret, eh?"
"Nonsense!" said Paul. "You won't know what struck you when we get
through with you."
Mr. Brill laughed good-naturedly but didn't look alarmed.
"By the way," he said, "I saw one of your players a while
ago--Cowan--the fellow we protested. He seemed rather sore."
"Where was he?" asked Paul eagerly.
"In a drug-store down there toward the next corner. Have your coaches
found a good man for his place?"
"Oh, yes, it wasn't hard to fill," answered Neil. "Witter's got it."
"Witter? I don't think I've heard of him."
"No, he's not famous--yet; you'll know him better later on."
Paul was plainly anxious to go in search of Cowan, and so they bade the
Robinson coach good-by. Out on the sidewalk Neil turned a troubled face
toward his friend.
"Say, Paul, Cowan knows all about the 'antidote,' doesn't he?"
"Why, yes, I suppose so; he's seen it played."
"And he knows the signals, too, eh?"
"Of course. Why?"
"Well, I've been wondering whether--You heard what Brill said--that
Cowan was feeling sore? Well, do you suppose he'd be mean enough
to--to--"
"By thunder!" muttered Paul. Then: "No, I don't believe that Cowan would
do a thing like that. I don't think he's a--a traitor!"
"Well, you know him better than I do," said Neil, "and I dare say you're
right. Only--only I wish we could be certain."
"I'll find him," answered Paul determinedly. "You wait here for me; or,
no, I may have to hunt; I'll see you at lunch. I'll find out all right."
He was off on the instant. As he had told Neil, he didn't believe that
Cowan would reveal secrets to Brill or any other of the Robinson people;
but--well, he realized that Cowan was feeling very much aggrieved, and
that he might in his present state of mind do what in a saner moment he
would not consider. At the drug-store he was told that Cowan had left a
few minutes before. The only place that Paul could think of where Cowan
was likely to be was his room, so thither he went. He found the deposed
guard engaged in replacing certain of his pictures and ornaments which
had been taken down.
"Hello!" he said. "Thought you'd cut my acquaintance too."
"Nonsense," answered Paul, "I've been trying to find you ever since last
night. Where've you been?"
"Oh, just knocking around. I got back late last night."
"I was afraid you had left college. You know you said you might."
"I know. Well, I've changed my mind. I guess I'll stay on until recess
anyway; maybe until summer. What's the use going anywhere else? If I
went to Robinson I couldn't play; Erskine would protest me. I wish to
goodness I'd had sense enough to let that academy team go hang! Only I
needed some money, and it seemed a good way to make it. After all, there
wasn't anything dishonest about it!"
"N--no," said Paul.
"Well, was there?" Cowan demanded, turning upon him fiercely. Paul shook
his head.
"No, there wasn't. Only, of course, you'd ought to have remembered that
it disqualified you here." Cowan looked surprised.
"My, but you're getting squeamish!" he said. "The first thing you know
you'll be as bad as Fletcher." There was a moment's silence. "What does
he say about it?" Cowan asked carelessly.
"Who, Neil? Oh, he--he sympathizes with you," answered Paul vaguely.
"Says it's awfully hard lines, but doesn't think the committee could do
anything else."
"Humph!"
"By the way," said Paul, recollecting his errand, "I met Brill of
Robinson a while ago. He said he'd seen you."
"Yes," grunted Cowan. "I'd like to punch him. Made believe he was all
cut up over my being put off. Why--why it was he that knew about that
academy business! Last September he tried to get me to go to Robinson;
offered me anything I wanted, and I refused. After all a--a fellow's got
some loyalty! He asked all sorts of questions as to whether I was
eligible or not, and I--I don't know what made me, but I told him about
taking that money for playing tackle on that old academy team. He said
that wouldn't matter any. But after I decided not to go to Robinson he
changed his tune; said he wasn't sure but that I was ineligible!"
"He's a cad," said Paul."
"And then to-day he tried to get sympathetic, but I shut him up mighty
quick. I told him I knew well enough he was the one who had started the
protest, and offered to punch his nose if he'd come over back of the
stores; but he wouldn't," added Cowan aggrievedly.
"You--you didn't let out anything to him that would--er--help them in
the game, did you?" asked Paul, studying the floor with great attention.
"Let out anything?" asked Cowan in puzzled tones. "What do you--" He put
down the picture he held and faced Paul, the blood dying his face. "Look
here, Paul, what do you mean by that?"
"Why, why--"
"You want to know if I turned traitor? If I gave away our signals or
something like that, eh?" There was honest indignation in his voice and
a trace of pain, and Paul regretted his suspicions on the instant.
"Oh, come now, old man," he began, "what I meant--"
"Now let me tell you something, Gale," said Cowan. "I may not be so nice
as you and Fletcher and Devoe and a lot more of your sort, but I'm not
an out-and-out rascal and traitor! And I didn't think you'd put that on
me, by Jove! I've no love for some of the fellows in this college, nor
for Mills, and I wouldn't care if we got beaten--" He paused. "Yes, I
would, too; I want Robinson to get done up so hard that they'll throw
that cheat Brill out of there. But I want you to understand right here
and now that I'm not cad enough to sell signals."
"I beg your pardon, Tom," said Paul earnestly. "I didn't think it of
you. Only, when Brill said he'd seen you and that you were feeling
sore, we--I--"
"Oh, so it was Fletcher that suspected it, was it?" demanded Cowan.
"No more than I," answered Paul stoutly. "We neither of us really
thought you'd turn traitor, but I was afraid that, feeling the way you
naturally would, you might thoughtlessly say something that Brill could
make use of. That's all"
Cowan looked doubtful for a moment, then he sniffed.
"Well, all right," he said finally. "Forget it."
"You're going out to the game, aren't you?" Paul asked.
"Yes, I guess so. What's Fletcher think of being laid off?"
"Well, he doesn't seem to mind it as I thought he would. I--I don't know
quite what to make of him. It almost seems that he's--well, glad of it!"
"Huh! You've got another guess, my friend."
"How's that? What do you mean?"
"Nothing much; only I guess I've got better eyes than you," responded
Cowan with a grin. After a pause during which he rearranged the objects
on the mantel-shelf to his satisfaction, he turned to Paul again:
"Say, do you think Fletcher and I could get on together if--well, if we
knew each other better?"
"I'm sure you could," answered Paul eagerly.
"Well, I think I'd like to try it. He--he's not a bad sort of a chap.
Only maybe he wouldn't care to--er--"
"Oh, yes, he would," answered Paul. "You'll see, Tom."
"Well, maybe so. Going? Good luck to you. I'll see you on the field."
Paul hurried around the long curve of Elm Street toward Pearson's
boarding-house, where the players were already gathering for luncheon.
He found Neil on the steps and dragged him off and down to the gate.
"It's all right," he said. "I found him and asked him, and I wish I
hadn't. He was awfully cut up about it; seemed hurt to think I could
suspect such a thing. Though, really, I didn't quite suspect, you know."
"I'm sorry we hurt his feelings," said Neil. "It was a bit mean of me to
suggest it."
"He's going to stay for a while," went on Paul. "And--and--Look here,
chum, don't you think that if--er--you tried you could get to like him
better? From something he said to-day I found out that he thinks you're
a good sort and he'd like to get on with you. Maybe if we kind of looked
after him we could--oh, I don't know! But you see what I mean?"
"Yes, I see what you mean," replied Neil thoughtfully. "And maybe we'd
get on better if we tried again. Anyhow, Paul, you ask him down to the
room some night and--and we'll see."
"Thanks," said Paul gratefully. "And now let's get busy with the funeral
baked beans--I mean meats. Gee, I've got about as much appetite as a
fly! I--I wish the game was over with!"
"So do I," answered Neil, as with a sigh he listlessly followed his chum
into the house.