THE DAY BEFORE THE BATTLE
Tom was attiring himself in his Sunday best. It was almost six o'clock
and one of Hoskins' barges was to leave Main Hall at half-past with the
members of the second team, for this was the evening of the banquet in
the village. Tom didn't feel unduly hilarious, however. He was sorry
that the football season was over, for one thing, for he loved the game.
And then existence of late had been fairly wearing and mighty
unsatisfactory. His quarrel with Steve was a tiresome affair and he
didn't see just how it was to end. For his part, in spite of the fact
that his chum had hurt him a good deal by his mean suspicion of him, he
was ready to make up, only--well, he had some pride, after all, and it
did seem as if the first overtures should come from Steve. No, on the
whole, Tom wasn't looking forward to the banquet with any great amount
of enjoyment. If Steve was going to be there, too----
Someone came hurrying down the corridor, the room door flew open and
there stood Steve himself, a radiant and embarrassed look on his face,
his gaze searching the room for Tom. His face fell a little as he found
the room apparently empty, and then lighted again as his glance
discovered Tom at the closet door, Tom half-dressed and with a pair of
trousers dangling over his arm. Out went Steve's hand as he turned.
"I'm sorry, Tom," he said simply. "I was a beast."
Tom took the hand that was offered and squeezed it hard.
"That's all right," he stammered. "So was I."
"No, you were right, Tom," answered Steve convincedly. "I hadn't any
business suspecting you of a thing like that. And--and I want to tell
you first that I knew I was wrong a long time ago, before this happened.
You believe that, don't you?"
"Yes, Steve, but--what is it that's happened?"
"It's all clear as daylight," said Steve, grinning happily as he seated
himself on the bed and tossing his cap toward the table. "It was Sawyer
did it. He put up the whole job. He fessed up when 'Horace' got at him.
Durkin met him coming out and----"
"Hold on!" begged Tom. "I don't quite get you, Steve!"
Steve laughed. "Sort of confused narrative, eh? Well, listen, then. Drop
those trousers and sit down a minute."
"All right, but the barge leaves at half-past----"
"Never you mind the barge, old man! You're not going in it. I'll come to
that later, though."
"Take your time," said Tom, dropping into a chair. "I love to hear your
innocent prattle."
"Shut up! It's like this, Tom. I met Durkin awhile ago and he got to
talking about that shoe-blacking stand. Remember the note he left here
that night?" Tom nodded. "Well, it came out that while he was putting it
under our door Eric Sawyer walked out and fell over him."
"Out of here?"
"Right-o! Sawyer said he'd been waiting to see me. Now you remember I'd
seen him coming out of Daley's room earlier, eh? Well, it seems that
Sawyer saw a chance to put up a game on me. So after I'd gone upstairs
again, he sneaked back to 'Horace's' room, got that confounded blue-book
of Upton's and waited his chance. After we'd left the room he came up
here and slid the thing among some books on the table there. While he
was in here Durkin came along and knocked and Sawyer slipped over and
locked the door. Then he waited until he thought Durkin had gone and
unlocked the door again and came out. But old Durkin had written a note
to us down under the light and come back with it and he was putting it
under the door when Sawyer came out and fell over him. Of course, when
Durkin told me that I had a hunch what had happened and I hot-footed it
to 'Horace.' He confessed that it was Sawyer who had told him he'd seen
me carrying off the book. So he streaked off after Sawyer, found him
somewhere and took him to Durkin's room. Sawyer----"
"Were you there too?" asked Tom excitedly.
"No, he told me to wait in his study for him. He was back in about a
half-hour looking sort of worried. Of course Sawyer had to own up. He
told 'Horace' that he'd just done it for a joke, but 'Horace' didn't
believe him for a cent. And there you are!" Steve ended in breathless
triumph. Tom viewed him round-eyed.
"What--what about Sawyer?" he asked.
"I don't know for certain, but I think Sawyer's on pro. Anyway, Tom, I
know this much: You don't go to any old banquet to-night."
"I don't? Why don't I?"
"Because I met Lawrence downstairs a few minutes ago. He was looking for
you."
"Wh-what for?" asked Tom faintly.
"Robey says you're not to break training, Tom! You're to report at the
'varsity table to-night for supper!" Whereupon Steve, his eyes dancing,
jumped from the bed and pulled Tom to his feet. "What do you say to
that, old Tommikins?" he exulted.
Tom, dazed, smiled weakly. "Do you mean--do you mean they want me to
_play_?" he murmured.
"Oh, no," scoffed Steve, pushing him toward the bed on which he subsided
in a heap. "They want you to carry the footballs and sweep the gridiron!
Of course they want you to play, you old sobersides! Don't you see that
with Sawyer on pro there's a big hole in the line? I suppose they'll
give Churchill the first chance at it, but he won't last the game
through. Think of both you and I making the 'varsity, Tom! How's that
for luck, eh? Not bad for the old Tannersville High School, is it? I
guess we've gone and put Tannersville on the map, Tom!"
"Gee, I'm scared!" muttered Tom, looking up at Steve with wide eyes.
"I--I don't believe I'll do it!"
"You don't, eh? Well, you're going to do it! Get your old duds on and
hurry up. It's after six."
"I'll have to tell Brownell I'm not going to the feast." Tom gazed
fascinatedly at his best trousers draped across the chair back. "Anyway,
I wasn't keen on going--without you," he murmured.
"There's only one drawback," said Steve a few minutes later, when they
were on their way to supper. "And that is that I promised Durkin to buy
a rug from him."
"A rug? We don't need any rug, do we?" asked Tom.
"Not a bit. But this is a genuine Begorra; Durkin says so himself. And I
agreed to buy it if he'd tell 'Horace' about Sawyer. Unless--unless
you'd rather have the shoe-blacking stand, Tom?"
"I would. If we had that, perhaps you'd keep your shoes decent!"
Steve tipped Tom's cap over his eyes. "Rude ruffian!" he growled
affectionately.
There was no practice at Brimfield Friday, for as soon as the last
recitation of the day was over the 'varsity team and substitutes piled
into two of Hoskins' barges in front of Main Hall to be driven over to
Oakdale, some five miles distant. The school assembled to see them off,
and there was much hilarity and noise. Joe Lawrence, note-book in hand,
flustered and anxious, mounted the steps and called the names of the
squad members.
"Benson!"
"Here," responded Benson from where, at the far end of one of the
barges, he sat, crutches in hand, looking a bit disconsolate.
"Churchill, Corcoran, Edwards, Fowler, Gleason, Guild, Hall, Harris,
Innes--Innes?"
"Coming fast!" shouted a voice from the edge of the throng, and the big
centre, suit-case in hand, pushed his way toward the barges.
"Right through!" laughed the fellows. "Hit the line, Innes! A-a-ay!"
"Kendall," continued Lawrence. "Lacey, Marvin, Miller, Milton, McClure,
Norton, Roberts, Still, Thursby, Williams!"
"All present and accounted for," announced a voice in the crowd. "Home,
James!"
Coach Robey and "Boots" appeared. Danny Moore, who with Gus, the rubber,
sat on the driver's seat surrounded with suit-cases, took the bags, Joe
Lawrence and Tracey Black, assistant manager, squeezed into the already
overcrowded barges, Blaisdell, baseball captain, called for a cheer
and, amidst a thunderous farewell, the squad, grinning and waving,
disappeared down the drive, through the gate and out on to the road.
Oakdale was fairly deserted at this time of year. Most of the summer
cottages were closed, but the little hotel kept open the year around,
and when, at four o'clock, the barges pulled up in front of it, fires
were snapping in the open fireplaces and everything was in readiness for
the squad's reception. Followed a very merry and rather boisterous time
while the fellows, bags in hand, sought their rooms to don their togs
and report for light practice on the lawn. There was only signal drill
to-day, and that was brief. Afterwards the centres practised passing and
the kickers limbered up a little, but by five the work was over and the
fellows were free to do what they liked. Some gathered around the two
big fireplaces in the hotel, others went for strolls along the road, and
still others, Steve and Tom amongst the number, sought the little cove
nearby where a diminutive and rather pebbly beach curved from point to
point and a boat-landing stuck out into the quiet water. The trees and
grass went almost to the edge and there were comfortable benches along
the bank from which one might look across the Sound to the Long Island
shore or watch the boats pass. It had been a fair, mild day and the
light still held. Steve and Tom sauntered down to the float and Steve
dipped an inquiring hand into the water.
"Say, that isn't a bit cold," he announced. "What do you say to a swim,
Tom?"
"Fine, only we haven't any suits."
"Maybe they've got some at the hotel. Let's ask." On the way up they met
Norton, Williams and Marvin. "Come on in swimming, fellows," called
Steve.
"Can we?" asked Norton. "Who says so?"
"Why not? We're going to see if we can find some trunks or something."
"All right. You'd better ask the coach, though." This from Marvin. "He's
in the office, I think. If you find any trunks bring some for us,
Edwards."
The clerk was rather dubious at first, but eventually returned with a
miscellaneous collection of bathing togs from which the boys finally
evolved three pairs of trunks and two suits. Meanwhile Mr. Robey had
given hesitant permission.
"If the water's very cold, Edwards, don't try it, please. And, in any
case, don't stay in more than ten minutes. That goes for all of you."
There was a bathing pavilion farther along, reached from the little
beach by a flight of wooden steps, and to this the five boys proceeded,
examining the attire the clerk had provided with much amusement.
"I won't be able to swim a stroke," declared Norton. "I'll just be
doubled up laughing at Hath in that blue-striped thing he has there."
"Huh," growled Williams, "I don't think you'll get any prizes for beauty
yourself!"
By this time the news of their exploit had gone out and other fellows
were hurrying to the hotel to seek bathing suits. A few secured them and
the rest followed down to watch. When they met outside, dressed for the
plunge, the five went off into gales of laughter. Hatherton Williams in
a blue-and-white-striped suit many sizes too small for him cut a
ridiculous figure, while Norton, whose faded red trunks had lost their
gathering string, held his attire frantically with one hand and implored
a pin! Tom's trunks were strained to the bursting point and Steve's were
inches too large for him. Only Marvin had fared well, being dressed in
what he called "a real classy two-piece suit." The two pieces didn't
match in either colour or material, but they nearly fitted and, unlike
Hatherton Williams' regalia, were innocent of holes. Norton declared
that he was extremely glad it was getting dark, since otherwise if the
pin one of the onlookers had supplied him with gave way, he'd have to
stay in the water.
Steve and Marvin led the way to the float and they all plunged in. Tom,
shaking the water from his head, faced Steve accusingly when he had
regained his breath. "Thought you said it wasn't cold!" he shrieked.
"It's freezing! Br-r-r!"
"Move around and get warm," advised Norton, striking out. "It isn't bad
when you get used to it."
But Tom, accustomed to the tempered water of the school tank, groaned
and refused to be optimistic. "Bet it isn't a bit over forty-five," he
muttered.
Steve was already well out in the cove, pursued by Norton. Some of the
boys who had failed to find suits had launched a decrepit rowboat and,
with one broken oar, were splashing about near the float. Far out in the
Sound a big white steamer passed eastward, her lights showing white in
the gathering darkness and the strains from her orchestra coming
faintly across the quiet water. The boys in the rowboat stopped
skylarking to discuss what steamer it was, and Marvin, who had swam up
behind and laid hands on the gunwale, told them that it was the
_Lusitania_ and that if they didn't agree with him he'd tip them over.
Discussion ceased at once. The four mariners instantly declared that he
was right. Churchill even went so far as to say that he had known it was
the _Lusitania_ all the time; that he could always tell her by her
funnels. Innes, who was seated in the stern and filling his position to
the limit, acknowledged that for an instant--oh, the merest fraction of
a second!--he had thought the steamer was the _Ne'er-do-well_, Berlin to
Kansas City, but that he had seen his mistake almost instantly! By which
time, the _Priscilla_, New York to Fall River, had passed out of sight,
and Marvin, merely tipping the boat until the water ran in a bit over
one side, just as a mark of esteem, swam off before Guild could reach
him with the broken oar.
Tom and Williams were paddling about not far off the landing, Tom
floating on his back most of the time and complaining about the
temperature of the water, when Norton swam up, puffing and blowing.
"Where's Steve?" asked Tom. Norton nodded toward the Long Island shore.
"Somewhere out there," he answered. "He was too much for me. I had to
quit. The chump swims like a--a dolphin. I'm going in, fellows. I'm
getting cold."
"I guess we'd all better," agreed Williams. "Hello! What's that?"
"_Help!_" From somewhere beyond the mouth of the little cove the cry
came, sharp, imperative, and was repeated again while they listened.
"It's Edwards," muttered Norton uneasily. "I suppose he's only trying to
get a rise out of us. He can swim like----"
"Must be," agreed Williams. "Can you see him?"
The cove was dim now and the surface of the water beyond held a sheen of
light that confused the vision.
"I'm not sure," muttered Norton. "I thought I did--for a minute."
"Who was that yelling out there?" shouted one of the fellows in the
boat.
"Must be Edwards," answered Williams. "Can you see him?"
"No. Do you suppose----"
"_Help!_ This way!" The cry came again, fainter now, and someone in the
boat seized the broken oar and began to churn the water with it, sending
the crazy craft circling about in its length.
"He's in trouble!" cried Norton. "Cramps, probably. I'm off, Hath. Will
you come? Where's Hall?"
"He started a minute ago," answered Williams, striking out with long
hard sweeps of legs and arms. "There he is, ahead."
"Come on with that boat, you fellows!" shouted Norton. "And hurry it
up!"