THE LAST STRAW
Jack marked the first of April a red-letter day in his memory, for on
that day he was taken on to the varsity nine as substitute. The fact
was made known to him after practise when, with the others, he was
dressing himself in the locker-house. The head coach appeared in their
midst with a slip of paper and Jack listened indifferently until he
heard his name spoken. Even then the absurd idea came to him that it
was an April fool.
“Just a moment, please,” said Hanson; and when the hubbub had suddenly
ceased, “the training-table will start in the morning at Pearson’s,”
he announced, “and the following men will report there for breakfast:
King, Knox, Gilberth, Billings, Stiles, Motter, Bissell, Lowe, Northup,
Smith, Griffin, Mears, and Weatherby. Later, about the middle of the
month, more men will be taken on. At present these are all we can
accommodate. Breakfast is at eight prompt, and we want every man to be
there on time. That’s all.”
After he had gone out those of the fellows remaining began an
interested discussion of the announcement. Jack, pulling on his shoes,
listened silently.
“Where were you, Jimmie?” asked King.
“I’m one of the ‘also-rans,’ I guess,” answered Riseman, a substitute
fielder, sadly.
“Beaten by a freshie,” called a fellow across the room. “Fie, fie, for
shame!”
“Who’s the freshie?” called some one else.
“Weatherby,” answered two or three voices. “Weatherby, the brave!”
added another. An admonitory “S--s--s--sh!” arose from Jack’s vicinity,
and King whispered around the corner of the next alley: “Shut up,
you fellows; he’s over here.” And then another voice, one which Jack
instantly recognized as Gilberth’s, drowned King’s warning.
“Do you suppose Hanson expects us to sit at the same table with that
bounder?” he asked loudly.
Jack’s face paled, and he bent his head quickly over the shoe he was
lacing. “He knows I’m here,” he told himself grimly, “and pretends he
doesn’t. If he says ‘Coward,’ I’ll--I’ll--” A lace broke in his hand.
King suddenly began talking very loudly to Riseman about the baseball
news from Robinson, but above that Jack heard Gilberth’s voice again:
“I’d be afraid he’d put poison in my coffee. A fellow that’ll stand
by and see a person drown before his eyes without making a move at
helping him might do anything. For my part-- What? Who is?” There was
an instant’s pause. Then, “Well,” continued the speaker in slightly
lowered tones, “there’s an old proverb about listeners--” The rest
trailed off into silence.
King was still talking volubly and seemingly at random. In spite of
his almost overmastering anger, Jack recognized King’s good-hearted
attempt to spare him pain, and was grateful. His hands trembled so
that he could scarcely tie his broken string, and the tears were very
near the surface; he had to gulp hard once or twice to keep them back.
The temptation to kick off the unlaced shoe, dash recklessly around
the corner, and knock Gilberth down, to fight him until he could no
longer stand, was strong. He kept his head bent and his blazing eyes
on the floor and fought down the impulse. He had promised Anthony to
keep silence; to lose command of himself now would be to waste all
those weeks of self-repression which, he believed, and was right in
believing, had made a favorable impression upon his fellows. He tried
to think of other things, of his luck in being taken on to the varsity,
of how pleased Anthony would be at hearing about it. Presently he
finished lacing his shoes, stood up and calmly donned his coat. Then,
in spite of himself, he hesitated.
The thought of passing through the locker-room under the staring,
antagonistic eyes of a score or so of men, of running the gantlet of
whispers and low laughter, for the moment appalled him. Then, as he
slowly buttoned the last button, he heard a voice at his side.
“Ready, Weatherby? If you don’t mind, I’ll walk back with you.”
He looked around into the pleasant face of King and, after a moment of
surprise, muttered assent. The central aisle was filled with fellows
in various stages of attire and the two had to worm their way through.
Jack went first, doing his level best to look unconcerned and at ease,
and King followed close behind him, talking over his shoulder all
the way. At the door King stepped ahead and threw open the portal,
guiding Jack through with a friendly push on the back. When they had
disappeared, one or two witnesses of the affair exchanged surprised or
amused glances. But only Gilberth commented aloud.
“Very touching!” he laughed. “King to the rescue of Insulted Innocence!”
“Oh, forget it!” growled some one from the depths of a twilit alley.
Outside, on the porch, Jack turned to King with reddened cheeks. “Thank
you,” he said.
“All right,” answered the other carelessly. “Fair play, you know.”
Jack hesitated, waiting for the other to take his departure. King
looked at him quizzically.
“Look here, Weatherby, don’t be so beastly snobbish,” he expostulated
with a touch of impatience. “If you object to my company back to the
Yard, just say so, but don’t look as though I was too low down to
associate with.”
Jack colored and looked distressed.
“I didn’t mean to, honestly!” he protested. “Of course, I don’t object
to your company. I--I only thought----”
“Well, come on, then.” They went down the steps together, just as the
door opened to emit a handful of players. “Don’t get it into your head,
Weatherby, that we’re all cads,” King continued, “just because Gilberth
occasionally acts like one. The fact is, there are plenty of fellows
back there who are quite ready to be decent if you’ll give them half a
chance. The trouble is, though, you look as though you didn’t care a
continental for anybody. Perhaps you don’t; but it isn’t flattering,
you see. I dare say it sounds pretty cheeky for me to talk like this to
you, especially as we’ve never been properly introduced and haven’t
spoken before, but I’ve been here a year longer than you have, and I
know how easy it is to make mistakes. And it seems to me you’re making
one.”
“I don’t think you’re cheeky,” answered Jack quite humbly. “I don’t
mean to have folks think I’m--think I’m indifferent, either.”
“That’s all right, then,” replied King heartily. “They say you’re
coming out as a pitcher,” he went on, changing the subject, to Jack’s
relief. “Bissell was telling me to-day.”
“I’ve been pitching some on the second nine,” answered Jack.
“Where did you play before you came to college?” asked the other. Jack
told him about the high-school nine at Auburn, and the rest of the
way back the talk remained on baseball matters. He parted from his
new acquaintance at the corner of the Yard, and went on alone through
a soft, spring-like twilight to his room. He had gained one more of
the enemy to his side, he reflected, and that alone was a good day’s
work. But besides that he had been taken on to the varsity squad, and
altogether the day was a memorable one. He climbed the stairs happily,
the sting of the incident in the locker-house no longer felt.
Anthony was quite as pleased with his news as Jack had expected him to
be, and the two sat together until late that evening discussing the
unexpected stroke of fortune.
“Wouldn’t be surprised if they let you play in Saturday’s game,” said
Anthony. Jack laughed ruefully.
“I should,” he answered. “But it’s something to sit on the varsity
bench.”
The next morning Jack dressed himself under mild excitement at the
thought of making his appearance at the training-table. He had notified
Mrs. Dorlon the evening before of his departure from her hospitable
board and that lady had sniffed disappointedly at the notion of losing
her only boarder. But Jack had no regrets for the separation. Pearson’s
was only about a block from Mrs. Dorlon’s, but, nevertheless, Jack
reached there several minutes late. The baseball players had been given
the big dining-room on the front of the house in which last fall’s
successful football team, winner of the remarkable 2--0 game with
Robinson, had eaten their way to glory.
When Jack entered, the table at first glance appeared to be filled.
The next moment he saw that there were three empty seats, two at the
farther end of the table and one near at hand, between Gilberth and
Northup. He reflected that it might look cheeky to parade the length
of the room, and so, returning the nods of several of the fellows,
he slipped into the chair beside Gilberth, fervently hoping that the
latter would take no notice of him. Gilberth was busily recounting
an adventure which had befallen him the day before while out in his
automobile--he was the proud possessor of the only motor vehicle in the
town of Centerport--and it is probable that he did not observe Jack’s
entrance.
“It was just at that narrow stretch before you get to the blacksmith’s
shop,” he was saying. “The fellow had a load of bricks. Well, he
stopped, and I stopped, and we looked at each other. Finally, he called
out, ‘Say, you’ll have to back to the corner, I guess. We can’t pass
here.’ ‘Back nothing,’ I said. ‘These things aren’t taught to back.’
‘They ain’t?’ said he. ‘But you don’t expect that I’m going to back
with this load on, do you?’ ‘It’s a good deal to expect,’ I answered,
looking sorry, ‘but if you don’t, we’re likely to stay here until
Christmas.’ You’d ought to have heard him swear! It was as good as a
circus! Well----”
“How are you, Weatherby?” asked Joe Perkins at that moment.
As Jack replied, Gilberth turned and saw him. Stopping short in his
narrative, he silently gathered up his plate, cup, and saucer, and
pushing back his chair, arose and walked around the table to one of the
other empty seats. The talk died out abruptly, and the fellows watched
the proceedings in dead silence. Gilberth’s action had taken Jack
completely by surprise, and for a moment he could only stare amazedly.
Then, as the full force of the insult struck him, the color flooded his
cheeks until they burned like fire. His eyes, avoiding the faces across
the board, fell upon the sympathetic countenance of the captain, and it
was the look of concern he found there that upset him. The tears rushed
into his eyes and the hand on the table trembled. He put it in his
lap, where it clenched its fellow desperately, and stared miserably at
the white cloth. Suddenly upon the uncomfortable silence a voice broke
calmly. Gilberth, having settled himself in his new seat, was going on
with his story, just as though there had been no interruption.
“After he’d called me everything he could think of,” he continued, “he
got down and started to back. It took him ten minutes to get to the
blacksmith shop, and maybe he wasn’t mad! After I got by him, I gave
him a little exhibition, free of charge. I backed the machine all over
the place, and pretty nearly stood it on end. You ought to have seen
his eyes; they almost popped out of his head. And just when he was
beginning to recover his voice, I waved good-by to him, and lit out.
Funniest thing you ever saw!”
One or two of his audience laughed half-heartedly, but the most looked
gravely disgusted.
“You have a wonderfully keen sense of humor,” observed Joe Perkins
dryly. Then the conversation began again, and the waitress brought
Jack’s breakfast. He ate it silently, or as much of it as he could; the
coffee scalded his throat, and the steak very nearly choked him. King,
sitting near-by, spoke to him once, and he answered. But his voice
wasn’t quite steady, and so the other wisely refrained from further
attempts at conversation. One by one the fellows left the room, and as
soon as he dared, Jack followed. He kept his head very high all the way
back to his room; but in each cheek there was a bright disk of crimson
and his eyes stared straight ahead. A tramp slouching along, with hands
in pockets, moved aside to let him pass, but Jack never saw him.
When he had entered the front door, he moved very quietly, mounting the
stairs as though contemplating burglary. Anthony’s door was ajar, and
Jack tiptoed toward it and looked into the bare and shabby room. It was
empty, and the fact seemed to relieve him. Crossing to his own room, he
turned the key in the lock and began feverishly to pack his valise.
The task did not take him long, and when it was completed, and the bag
stood beside the door secured and strapped, he went to the desk and,
seizing a sheet of paper, wrote hurriedly. When the composition was
finished, he read it through.
“DEAR FRIEND [it ran]: There’s no use trying any more. I
thought I could stand it, but I just can’t. After what happened
this morning, there’s only one thing for me to do, and I’m
going to do it. I’m very sorry to go away from you, because you
have been awfully kind to me, and you are the first one I ever
knew who seemed like a chum. But I’m going home, and not coming
back any more, because I can’t stand every one thinking I’m a
coward, and Gilberth treating me like mud. I’m sorry I can’t
keep my promise to you, if it was really a promise, and please
don’t think I haven’t tried, because I have tried very hard.
Please don’t remember it against me. I’m very, very sorry.
Maybe I will meet you again some time.
“Your sincere friend,
“JOHN WEATHERBY.
“P. S. Please keep this charm to remember me by, if you don’t
mind. You wear it on your watch-chain. Good-by. J. W.”
He placed the note and the watch-charm in an envelope, sealed and
addressed it, and crossed with it to Anthony’s room. When he returned
a moment later, he held something concealed in his hand. He unstrapped
his valise, and as he did so a noise in the hall outside caused him to
glance nervously at the door. Quickly opening the bag he dropped the
object he held into it, and again secured it. Going into the hall, he
listened. All was still. Returning, he took up bag and overcoat and
cautiously crept down the stairs and out of the house. Fearful of being
seen, he turned to the left and made his way to the station by Murdoch
Street and the railroad.