HARRY GETS REVENGE
An evening in the company of his roommate didn’t appeal to Arthur, and
so after supper that night he went across to Clarke and climbed the
stairs to 28. Gerald was alone, for Alf and Paul Rand had called a few
minutes before and lugged Dan away to Cambridge Society. He didn’t
look to be oppressed by loneliness, however, for Arthur discovered
him sprawled comfortably in an arm-chair with the last issue of _The
Scholiast_ in his hands. He tossed this aside, however, when the guest
appeared.
“Hello,” he said, “what’s the matter with you, Arthur? You look pretty
mad about something.”
Arthur smiled dejectedly as he seated himself on the window-seat and
nursed his knee. “Not mad,” he replied. “Merely disgusted. If it
weren’t for the calendar I’d say this was Friday the thirteenth.” And
Arthur enumerated the buffets dealt him by fate that day, ending up
with an account of his quarrel with Harry.
“Well, you have had a time of it,” said Gerald, sympathetically, when
he had finished. “And I’m sorry about that pole. It was a dandy, wasn’t
it?”
“I’ll never get another one like it,” responded Arthur, gloomily. “It
was one Danforth gave me. He used it two years against Broadwood and
got first each time. He made his record of ten feet ten and a half with
that pole. He gave it to me because he thought it was getting too light
for him. I’m not exactly――what do you call it?――superstitious, but I
don’t like breaking that stick; I believe it means bad luck in the
Duals.”
“Oh, nonsense! Besides, one pole more or less won’t matter,” added
Gerald, with a smile. “Chambers has it all doped out here in _The
Scholiast_ for us to win easily.”
“Yes, Chambers is a wonder at prophecy, I don’t think. He’s never
guessed anything right yet. And then that little chump Harry made me
red hot――――”
“He’s getting to be a regular little beast,” said Gerald.
“You bet he is. Sometimes I almost wish we’d let him stay in the pond
that time!”
“Is he as bad as that?” laughed Gerald. “But what did he mean by
getting even with you?”
“Just bluff,” answered Arthur, indifferently. “I dare say he’d like to
do me something mean, though. Well, I’m sick of thinking about him.
If he doesn’t behave I’ll grab him some day and just about shake the
breath out of him. What’s Chambers say about the meet?”
Arthur picked up _The Scholiast_ again.
“Lots; about two columns. He gives us about everything in the sprints,
the mile, the pole vault, and the weights. According to his figuring,
which, he says, is extremely conservative, Yardley is certain of
seventy-two points.”
“Seventy-two? That leaves sixty for Broadwood. Well, I guess that is
conservative. I’d say we’d get nearer eighty. Still, you never can tell
what is going to happen at a track meet. Some one has cramps, and some
one else turns his ankle, and the chap you expect the most from gets
off his feed and runs himself out in the first lap, and――and there you
are!”
“And where are you? Still, I can’t see how we can fail to win. I’ve
been figuring myself. Chambers gives us only two points in the high
jump, and only three in the half-mile. We can do better than that,
can’t we?”
“I don’t know about the half-mile,” answered Arthur, “but if we get
two in the high jump we’ll be doing well. They’ve got some peaches over
at Broadwood. What about the broad?”
“Yardley 5, Broadwood 6,” replied Arthur, referring to the paper.
“I’d like to know how he figures that,” said Arthur. “Roeder ought to
get first and Whitten second, to my thinking. How does he figure the
pole?”
“Says you’ll get first and Myers and Cowles should get four points
between them. He gives us nine.”
“Eight will be nearer, I guess. How did you get on to-day?”
“All right. Did a mile and a quarter. Don’t know what my time was,
but I’ll bet Andy does, for I saw him look at his watch as I started
and afterward he pulled it out again when I finished the fourth lap.
I think, though, I made pretty good time. I was dying to ask him, but
I knew he’d sit on me if I did. It’s only a couple of weeks to the
twenty-third, Arthur, and it doesn’t look as though I was going to get
let off, does it?”
“Why don’t you make a break at Collins? Ask him how much longer he
intends to keep you on. I would.”
“I guess I’ll have to pretty soon,” mused Gerald. “Did you see this
joke on Durfee?”
“No, what is it?”
Gerald found the “School Notes” column in _The Scholiast_ and read:
“‘Mr. Gaddis (in English II)――“And where does this scene take place?”
Cap――“On page 61, sir.”’”
“I could laugh myself sick over that,” said Arthur, solemnly. “Any more
scintillations there?”
“Um; here’s one on somebody. Who’s ‘Mr. H.’ do you suppose?”
“I don’t know. What’s the yarn?”
“‘Mr. Mellin (in German IV)――“What are the possessive pronouns in
German?” Mr. H. (right off the bat)――“Oh, ich bin, du bist――” (Great
applause.)’”
“Sounds like Jake Hiltz,” laughed Arthur. “Read me some more, please.”
“That’s about all in the humorous line. Here’s some news though. ‘The
shower baths are in excellent shape this year and the new rubber mats
recently put in place are much appreciated by the fellows.’
“‘The handsome photograph of the Colosseum at Rome, recently hung in
the main corridor of Oxford Hall, is the gift of Mrs. R. C. Hadlock,
Mr. Tracy Hadlock’s mother. The gift is greatly appreciated by the
student body.’”
“Gee, we’re an appreciative lot, according to _The Scholiast_,” grunted
Arthur. “Is there anything there about the Wissining River being very
wet this year and much appreciated by canoers?”
“No,” Gerald laughed. “Has somebody gone in?”
“Rather! Lowd and a chap named Peeble. Lowd was showing Peeble a few
fancy racing strokes and over went Mister Canoe. I didn’t see it, but
Norcross was telling about it. He says the canoe capsized square in
the middle of the river and that when the fellows came up, Lowd struck
out for one bank and Peeble for the other, and the canoe floated
downstream. Then they stood on the bank and called each other names for
not rescuing it.”
“Did they get it again?”
“Oh, yes, some one went after it for them. But Lowd had to swim across
from the other side, because no one would fetch him over. Norcross said
he was jumping mad about it. Well, I guess I’ll go home and do a line
or two of studying, if Harry will let me. I suppose, though, he will
want to talk it all over again. See you to-morrow, Gerald.”
To Arthur’s surprise it was an extremely silent roommate that he
found on his return to Whitson. Arthur, who had recovered his temper
long since and could afford to let by-gones be by-gones, greeted Harry
casually on entering. Harry looked up for just an instant from the
book he was reading, muttered a reply, and became at once apparently
absorbed again. When bedtime came his manner rather puzzled Arthur.
He seemed to have forgotten his grievance and yet had nothing to say,
and appeared anxious to avoid even looking at his roommate. Arthur,
however, didn’t trouble about it. He concluded that Harry was ashamed
of the way he had behaved, and had made up his mind to take his
punishment like a man. Once, when the lights were out, and Arthur was
just on the verge of slumber, he thought he heard sobs from across the
room, but when he called over softly to ask what the trouble was, there
was no reply, and he concluded that he had imagined them. Then he went
to sleep and slept like a log until morning, something he would not
have done, I fancy, had he known what the morrow was to bring forth.
For at chapel Mr. Collins announced, among other things, that the
presence of Thompson was requested at the Office after breakfast, and
the erstwhile members of the S. P. M. sought each other out with
apprehensive glances. There was no especial reason for associating
Arthur’s summons with the occurrences of the thirty-first of March,
but conscience makes cowards of us all, and Dan and Alf and the others
waited anxiously until mid-morning to learn what was up. Then Arthur
went over to 7 Dudley, where Dan and Alf were awaiting him, tossed his
Latin book despondently on to the table, and threw himself into a chair.
“Well?” asked Alf after a moment.
“Probation,” replied Arthur.
“Broadwood?”
“Yep.”