OFF TO COLLEGETOWN
Ere Professor White had finished Anthony was on his feet with hands
stretching forth for the paper. The look of delight which he had
flashed across at Jack and which still illumined his face caused that
youth much wonderment.
“Guess it’s mine, all right,” Anthony cried. The professor yielded the
paper, and Anthony read the article through in silence. When he handed
it back his eyes were dancing behind the lenses of his spectacles.
“It’s mine, sir; no doubt about it! The paper says all I need do is
prove my ownership, and I can do that easily enough, for I have the
number of the watch!”
“But, Anthony,” Jack objected, “you said that you’d----”
“I’ll go over to Gerrydale in the morning,” Anthony interrupted
hurriedly, shooting a warning glance at his friend. “I’m much obliged
to you, sir; if you hadn’t seen that and told me I don’t believe I’d
ever have got it back; I don’t read the papers very often myself.”
“Well, I’m glad I saw it, Tidball. When was it stolen?”
“About a month ago,” answered Anthony somewhat vaguely. “I left it in
my room, and when I came back for it it was gone. Of course I never
knew who’d taken it. But--I’m plaguy glad to find it again.”
“Of course, especially since it was presented to you. What is the
story, Tidball?”
So Anthony told the professor about the rescue at Jonesboro, making it
sound very casual and far from thrilling. But neither of his hearers
was deceived, and insistent questioning and cross-examining finally
gave the incident a different aspect.
“Well, yes,” Anthony acknowledged, “there was quite a sea running--
Danger? Nothing to speak of if you knew how to manage a dory-- The kid?
Oh, he came round all right after a while; pretty near thing, though;
another second or two would have finished him, likely. Father of the
boy wanted me to take some money, but I wouldn’t; a fellow doesn’t take
money for saving a life. So after he got home he sent me the watch.
That’s all. Good deal of fuss about it.”
After the professor had taken his departure, insisting, for some
reason, on shaking hands with the tall, ungainly junior, Jack turned
upon Anthony and began his questions.
“I didn’t come right out, Jack, and say I’d pawned the watch,” Anthony
explained, “but I gave you to understand that. The fact is I didn’t
know what had become of it, and there wasn’t any use saying it had been
stolen as long as I wasn’t certain about it. I left it in the room one
morning when I went to recitation. I missed it in class, and came back,
and couldn’t find it. I guess the tramp found the door open and walked
in.”
“When was it?” asked Jack.
“Oh, well, about a month ago.”
Jack looked thoughtful, and Anthony eyed him uneasily. At last Jack
brought one fist into the palm of his other hand and jumped up.
“Anthony! Was it the morning I went off?”
Anthony hesitated; but the boy’s face showed that he had no suspicion
that Anthony had for a while connected him with the missing article.
“Why, yes, it was,” replied Anthony.
“I thought so!” Jack cried. “I remember now that I saw a
trampish-looking fellow on the street when I came from breakfast. I
passed him. I didn’t pay much attention, though, because I was--feeling
sort of knocked out. But once I heard a noise in the entry here while
I was packing. I’ll bet it was the tramp. And I remember seeing your
watch on the table in your room, Anthony, when I took that note in
there, and--why, come to think of it, I put the note under the watch!”
“He followed you in, I guess,” said Anthony.
“That’s just what he did. And when I went out he was in your room, I’ll
bet. And--and he took my money, too, don’t you suppose? I must have
left it out somewhere!”
“That’s about what happened,” Anthony replied, grinning jovially. “I
wish you could get your money back; but I guess that’s too much to hope
for.”
“I suppose so. Oh, I don’t care now. But I am glad you’re going to
recover your watch, Anthony. Wouldn’t it have been funny if I’d gone
back into your room again and found him there?”
“Yes, but you might have got laid out!”
“Laid out nothing! I’ll bet I could have whipped that chap. And I would
have saved your watch, and----”
“Missed your train!”
“Yes, so I would have. I wonder if it would have made any difference? I
fancy it’s best the way it all happened.” He considered the subject for
a moment in silence. Anthony beamed across at him happily. He was glad
he was to get his watch back, but gladder still that the last doubt as
to Jack’s honesty was dispelled; and, oh, so very glad that Jack knew
nothing of his idiotic suspicions!
“There’s something I ought to tell you, Anthony,” said Jack suddenly.
He looked rather ashamed and apologetic and very serious. “I’ve thought
of owning up several times, but--I never did,” he continued.
“Owning up? Well--what is it, Jack? Murder?”
“No, it’s--it’s robbery!” Anthony stared.
“That morning I went away,” he continued, “I--I took something of yours
with me. It wasn’t much, but I shouldn’t have taken it.”
“Why, what was it?” Anthony asked wonderingly. “I haven’t missed
anything.”
“No; but then, I put it back afterward. It was a pencil.”
“A pencil!”
“Yes, the green one with the rubber tip; the one you used to have
on your desk. I--I wanted something to remember you by,” he added
shamefacedly. “And so I took that. I thought you wouldn’t care. I was
going to write and tell you when I got home.”
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” exclaimed Anthony. “I missed that pencil for
two or three days, and then one morning it turned up again on the desk.
But, hang it, Jack, you were welcome to the old thing, of course! I’m
glad you took it--glad you cared to remember such a silly old codger as
I! Why, that was nothing; not worth mentioning. Besides, you gave me
that charm, and fair exchange is no robbery!”
“I’m glad you don’t mind now that you know,” said Jack simply. And,
after a moment: “When you get your watch back again you can wear that
bean, can’t you?” he asked.
“Well, I should say so!” replied Anthony with much decision. “And
what’s more, Jack, I’ll wear it as long as the chain holds together!”
There was no difficulty the next day in recovering the watch. Anthony
gave a detailed description of it, and explained the circumstances of
the robbery, and his property was handed over to him at once. But it
is needless to say that Jack’s roll of money was not among the objects
recovered from the pawn-shop, nor was it found on the prisoner. Anthony
was told that it might become necessary for him to attend the trial and
give evidence. But he begged off very eloquently, and in the end the
police decided that perhaps there would be evidence enough to convict
the thief without calling upon Anthony. And, as it turned out, the
decision was correct.
Jack never learned that Anthony had for a while suspected him of
the theft of the watch; and it was better so. For while Anthony’s
suspicions were certainly justified by circumstances, yet Jack could
never have seen the matter in the same light, and would have been
greatly hurt had he ever learned of it.
In the second week of June two things began simultaneously, final
examinations and morning baseball practise. Naturally, the first
seriously interfered with the second, and it was only by the most
complicated arrangement on the part of Hanson that the players were
able to report at the nets during the forenoons for batting practise.
Three assistant coaches had put in appearance in response to his
telegrams, among them the captain of the unsuccessful nine of the year
before. Higgins was a good player and turned out to be as good a coach.
His heart was set on witnessing a victory over the Brown and he worked
enthusiastically and tirelessly. Afternoon practise began every day
at three-thirty, and never let up as long as there was a ray of light
left. The slump was a thing of the past, and every man responded well
to the demands of the coaches. Stiles gradually recovered his form,
and in the last game before the final contest--played on Thursday with
Harwich Academy--he superseded Jack at second, and Jack, his hopes
dead, sat on the bench and tried to be philosophic.
That Thursday game attracted the biggest audience of any thus far
played; not because the Academy team was strong enough to promise a
hard-fought battle, but for the reason that it was given out that the
Erskine nine was to play just as it would in the game at Collegetown
the next day but one. The batting list was as follows:
Perkins, catcher.
Gilberth, pitcher.
Motter, first base.
Bissell, center-field.
Stiles, second base.
Knox, shortstop.
Billings, third base.
King, left-field.
Northup, right-field.
Allowing for the fact that every man had been worked hard all the week
up to the very beginning of the game, and that examinations were in
progress, the exhibition of ball-playing made by them was decidedly
encouraging. The cheering was a notable part of the contest. Led by the
senior class president and five assistants, the stands did heroic work,
and cheers and songs thundered forth unceasingly.
Jack, sitting forlornly on the bench, wedged in between other
substitutes quite as forlorn, found balm for his disappointed hopes in
the fact that the song that went the best of any, and the one which was
most often sung, was his. The way in which the throng emphasized the
“Poor old Robinson!” was good to hear.
When the game was at an end--it was almost dark by then--the spectators
marched back down William Street to the college, cheering and singing
all the way. Jack, trotting over to the locker-house in the wake of
the other players, heard from down the street the refrain arising
splendidly to the summer sky:
“Purple is the color of the stalwart and the brave;
Purple are the banners that the conq’ring heroes wave;
Purple are the violets above the lonely grave
Of poor old Robinson!
Glory, glory to the Purple!
Glory, glory to the Purple!
Glory, glory to the Purple!
And down with Robinson!”
The enthusiasm didn’t cease until late at night. After dinner the
fellows thronged the yard in front of Walton and the cheers and songs
were gone through with again and again.
There was little work the following day for the players. Morning
practise was omitted, and in the afternoon a little running and
throwing to bases constituted the program. In the evening there was
a reception to the nine and substitutes in Brown Hall, and again
enthusiasm was rampant. The Glee Club sang, the college band played,
the fellows cheered, the dean and Professor Nast and the coaches and
Captain Joseph Perkins made speeches, and there was a grand hullabaloo
until half past nine.
Jack bade good-by to Anthony that night, for the nine and substitutes
were to go to Collegetown in the morning on a train that left at half
past six. The supporters were to follow on a later train, but Anthony
was not to be among them.
“I wish I were going,” he said, “but I just can’t afford it, Jack. But
I’ll be down on the street in the afternoon, and while you’re knocking
base runs and such things you’ll know that I’m flinging my cap for you
here at home.”
“It’s little chance I’ve got,” said Jack sadly. “But I may get on for a
while, Anthony. Anyhow, I wish you were going along.”
“So do I. Good night, Jack, and good luck to you and the nine and old
Erskine. You’ll play, of course; they can’t win without you, Jack! Good
night!”