IN THE RUBBING ROOM
After breakfast the next morning, a breakfast eaten with excellent
appetites, the two boys set out on a sightseeing tour about the school.
They went first to the gymnasium. The big front door was locked, but
Steve was not to be denied and eventually gained entrance through a
little door at the rear which led into the boiler-room and from there
found their way into the main basement where were situated the big
swimming tank, a commodious baseball cage and a bowling alley. On the
floor above they found themselves in a square hall, entered from the
front door, from which other doors led to the gymnasium, the locker and
bathrooms and a small office bearing the sign "Physical Director." From
the hall a fireproof stairway ascended with a turn to the running-track
and a large room which was evidently used as a meeting hall. Settees
were neatly arranged in front of a platform, a row of low windows
admitted a flood of morning sunshine and against the walls hung many
photographs of athletic teams. Most of them showed groups of track and
field men, although a few were of hockey sevens and there were three
football teams in evidence. The explorers paid more attention to these
photographs than the others, and Steve, whose patriotism was already
strong, read the inscriptions on the lower margins with disfavour.
"Huh!" he grumbled. "'Brimfield 0; Claflin 12'; 'Brimfield 3; Claflin
11'; 'Brimfield 6; Claflin 9.' Bet you next time it'll be some
different, Tom!"
"Rather!" said Tom stoutly. "Let's go on down and see the gym."
They tried the chest-weights and tested the bars and experimented with
about everything they found down there, and then went into the adjoining
compartment and peered into the shower-baths and passed on the merits of
the steel lockers.
"The fellow who built this gym knew what he was doing," declared Steve
approvingly. "Some of these lockers have got things in them," he
continued, peeping into one. "There's a bat in here, and a towel and
some clothes."
Tom had wandered through a doorway at the end of the locker compartment
and now summoned Steve to join him. There was a high table in the centre
of the small room and a set of metal shelves alongside which held
numerous bottles and boxes. "It's the rubbing room," said Steve. "Here,
get busy, Tom!" And he hoisted himself to the table and stretched out on
his back.
"Yes, sir," said Tom. "Where's it hurt you? This the spot?"
And Tom began such an enthusiastic manipulation of Steve's ribs that the
latter set up a howl and precipitately tumbled off the table. It was at
that moment that an unpleasant voice startled them.
"Beat it, you fresh kids! You've got no business in here!"
The speaker was a heavy-set youth of perhaps nineteen years of age. He
had closely-cropped ashy-brown hair over a round face from which a pair
of pale-blue eyes glowered upon them. He was standing in the doorway and
his hands were thrust into the pockets of a pair of very wide-hipped
knickerbockers. Somehow, standing there with his sturdy, golf-stockinged
legs well apart and his loose trousers pulled out at the sides, he
reminded Tom of a clown at a circus, and Tom made the mistake of
grinning. The big youth caught sight of the grin and stepped into the
rubbing room with a deepening scowl on his face.
"Wipe it off!" he said threateningly.
Steve and Tom looked at the table.
"Wipe what off?" asked Tom, at a loss.
"Wipe that grin off your ugly face," answered the other. "And get out of
here, both of you, and stay out. If you don't, I'll throw you out!"
This somewhat astounding threat caused an exchange of surprised glances
between the culprits. Neither Steve nor Tom were quarrelsome, nor had
they had more than a boy's usual share of fist battles, but the bullying
speech and attitude of the round-faced youth was so uncalled for and
exasperating that Steve's temper got the better of him for the moment.
"We weren't doing any harm here," he declared indignantly. "And we'll
get out, but we're not afraid of you, even if you have got piano legs!"
The big fellow pulled his hands from his pockets with an angry growl
and, clenching his fists, strode toward the boys. But at that instant
footsteps sounded in the locker room, and the bully's hands dropped and
he turned his head toward the door just as a small, red-haired and
freckle-faced little Irishman came into sight.
"Hello, Eric the Red," he said jovially. "An' what might you be doin'
down here, me boy?"
"I'm telling these fresh kids to get out of here," replied the youth.
"Any objections?"
The little Irishman seemed surprised, and he smiled, but the boys noted
that his small and rather greenish eyes narrowed.
"None at all, at all, me boy. If I had I'd very soon tell you, d'ye see?
But what harm are they doin'? Sure, if I don't mind them bein' here, why
would you?"
"They haven't any business in this room, and you know it, Danny. They're
too fresh, anyway."
"Well, that's what we all are at some time. Let the boys be. Was you
wantin' anything, boys?"
"No, we were just looking around the place. This door was open and we
came in. We didn't know there was any harm in it," concluded Steve.
"No more there was," said Danny soothingly.
"They were rough-housing all over the place," growled the big fellow.
"If you can stand it I can, though. Only"--and he turned a wrathful gaze
on Steve--"if you ever get fresh with me again you'll get the licking
that's coming to you, kid." He turned away toward the locker room. "Say,
Danny, got a key to my locker? I've lost mine and I want to get into it
a minute."
"I have not," replied Danny cheerfully. "You'll have to have one fitted,
me boy."
"Hasn't anyone a master-key?" demanded the other.
"They have not. Find Patsy; he'll fit one for you in ten minutes."
"That's a funny state of things," grumbled the big fellow. "They ought
to have duplicates on hand. Somebody's always losing a key, and----"
The rest was lost as the youth disappeared into the further room. Danny
winked gravely at the two boys.
"Who is he?" asked Steve curiously.
"Him? His name's Sawyer, Eric Sawyer. He is sufferin' from a terrible
complaint, boys, an' it makes him that cross a bear would run away from
him, I'm thinkin'!"
"What's the trouble with him?"
"He has what the doctors do be callin' an ingrowin' grouch," replied
Danny soberly. "'Tis due to over-exposure of the ego, they tell me,
resultin' in an inflamed condition of the amoor proper, that same bein'
French an' maybe beyond your comprehension."
The boys laughed and Danny swung himself to the table and patted it
invitingly. "Sit down, boys, an' tell me all about it," he said. "Who
may you be, now?"
"His name is Hall and mine is Edwards," replied Steve, as he and Tom
followed Danny's example and swung their feet from the table. "We're new
boys."
"I suspected as much," replied Danny drily. "An' where might be your
place of residence?"
"Tannersville, Pennsylvania."
"Think o' that now!" marvelled Danny. "Sure, you're a long ways from
home. Is this place you say anywhere near Philadelphia?"
"Oh, no, it's a long ways from there. It's out in the western part of
the state."
"I was in Philadelphia once to see the games at the college over there,"
pursued Danny. "It's a fine town."
"Would you mind--telling us who you are?" asked Tom.
"I would not. I have no unseemly pride. My name is Mister Daniel Parnell
Moore, and I have the extraordinary honour of bein' the trainer at this
institution o' learnin' and Fine Arts, the Fine Arts bein' athletics,
football, baseball, hockey _an'_ tinnis. An' now you know!"
"Thank you," said Tom politely. "I hope you didn't mind my asking you."
"Not a bit! You may ask me anything you like, Jim."
"My name isn't Jim," replied Tom, with a smile.
"It ain't?" The trainer seemed surprised. "Sure, he said your last name
was Hall, didn't he? An' I never seen a Hall whose front name wasn't
Jim."
"I'm sorry," laughed Tom, "but mine isn't; it's Tom."
Danny Moore shook his head sadly. "An' you," he said, turning to Steve,
"maybe you'll be tellin' me next your name ain't Sam?"
"It's Steve."
"It might be," agreed Danny doubtfully. "But all the Edwardses I ever
knew was Sams. But I'm not disputin' your word, d'ye mind! 'Tis likely
you know, me boy. An' what do you think o' this rural paradise o'
knowledge?"
"I guess we like it pretty well, what we've seen of it," answered Steve.
"Have you been here long?"
"Two years; this is my third. It's a nice schools, as schools go. I
never had much use for them, though. In the Old Country we never held
with them much when I was a lad. I dare say you boys'll be tryin' to
play football like all the rest of them?"
"We're going out for the team," said Steve, "although I guess, from what
a fellow told us last night, we don't stand much show. He said that most
of the last year's players were back this fall."
"That's so. We lost but four by graduation. They were some o' the best
in the bunch, though. 'Tis queer how the ones that is gone is always the
best, ain't it? Who was this feller you was talkin' to?"
"His name is Miller. Do you know him? I suppose you must, though."
"Miller? Do you mean Andy Miller?"
"I don't know. He didn't tell us his other name."
"The initials were A. L. M., though," reminded Tom.
"That's right. Is he a pretty good player?"
"He does fairly well," answered Danny Moore carelessly. "Not that I pay
much heed to him, though. I see him around sometimes. I wouldn't think
much of what he tells you, though. I don't. If you see him I'd be
obliged if you'd tell him that."
But there was a twinkle in Danny's eye and Steve resolved to tell Miller
no such thing. "What position does he play?" he asked.
Danny frowned thoughtfully. "It might be end, right or left. I forget. I
pay no heed to the likes o' him. He's only the captain, d'ye see?"
"Captain!" exclaimed the two boys startledly, eyeing each other in
amazement.
"Sure," said Danny. "An' why not?"
"Er--there's no reason," replied Steve, "only--he didn't say anything
about being captain."
"And why would he be after incriminating himself?" Danny demanded.
The boys digested this news in silence for a moment. Then,
"Does that fellow who was just in here play?" asked Tom.
"He does. He plays right guard, and he plays it well. I'll say that for
him. Well, it's catchin' no fish I am sittin' here gassin' with you
fellers. Make yourselves to home. I must be gettin' on."
"I guess we'll go, too," said Steve.
They followed the trainer up the stairway to the hall above. There he
pulled a bunch of keys from his pocket and unlocked the big front door
for them. "Now, look at that, will you?" he exclaimed in amazement as he
turned a small key over between his fingers. "I wouldn't be surprised if
that key would fit them lockers down there. Ain't that a pity, an' him
wantin' it all the time?"
The boys smiled and agreed gravely that it was. Danny sighed, shook his
head and dropped the keys back into his pocket. "If you have trouble
with him," he said to Steve, "hit for his head, boy, for you'll make no
impression on the body of him."
"Thanks, but I don't expect he will bother me again."
"I know. I'm only tellin' you. A word to the wise, d'ye mind? Good luck
to you, boys."
"Thanks. We're much obliged to you, Mr. Moore."
"Mr. Moore! Help! Listen." And Danny bent confidentially. "I won't be
mindin' if you call me Mister Moore when we're by ourselves, d'ye see;
but don't be doin' it in the presence of others. Them as didn't know
might think I was one of the faculty, d'ye see. Call me Danny an' save
me self-respect!"
When the door had closed behind them on the grinning countenance of
Danny, Steve looked at his watch and exclaimed startledly.
"Nearly ten o'clock!" he said. "And we promised to telegraph to the
folks this morning. Let's see if the trunks have come and then hustle to
the telegraph office."