THE “A. R. K. P.” IS FORMED
Few customers patronized the little blue shop on Pine Street between
five and six. Hillman’s discouraged the consumption of sweets so
close to the school supper-hour, and, while there was no rule against
it, the fellows felt themselves more or less on honor to observe the
doctor’s frequently expressed wish. Neighbors ran in at intervals
for a loaf of bread or cake or ten cents’ worth of whipped cream,
but for the most part, as six o’clock approached, the bell tinkled
infrequently. Consequently the conference held this afternoon in the
Widow Deane’s sitting-room, which was also kitchen and dining-room and
parlor, was almost undisturbed. The conference was participated in
by four persons, Polly, Ned, Laurie, and Mae Ferrand. Mae’s presence
had been unforeseen, but as she was Polly’s particular chum and, as
Laurie phrased it, “one of the bunch,” it occasioned no embarrassment.
Mae was about Polly’s age and perhaps a bit prettier, although, to
quote Laurie again, it all depended on whether you liked light hair or
dark. Mae’s hair was pure sunshine, and her skin was milk-white and
rose-pink; and, which aroused Polly’s envy, she never freckled.
As the four had known each other since autumn there was no stiffness
apparent in either speech or action. Ned lolled back in the comfortable
old patent rocker, with his legs over one arm of it, and Laurie swung
his feet from the table, secure in the knowledge that Polly’s mother
was up-stairs. Laurie had a weakness for positions allowing him full
liberty for his feet. Polly was talking. She and Mae, arms entwined,
occupied the couch between the windows. A shining kettle on the stove
hissed cozily, and a big black cat, Towser by name, purred in Ned’s lap
as he scratched her head.
“There’s something wrong with him,” stated Polly convincedly. “I’ve
noticed it for quite a while, more than two weeks. He looks dreadfully
gloomy and unhappy, and he――he’s absent-minded, too. Just this
afternoon he went off without thinking a thing about paying for a
sundae and some cakes he had.”
Ned grinned but said nothing. Laurie winked gravely.
“And that’s another thing,” continued Polly. “It’s perfectly awful
the way he eats sweet things, Laurie. He comes in every day and, if
I’d let him, he’d make himself sick with cream-puffs and tarts and
candy. It just seems as if he didn’t care what happened to him, as if
he was――was _desperate_! Why, he told me to-day that maybe he wouldn’t
play football any more!”
“I guess he was just talking,” said Mae.
“I don’t think so.” Polly shook her head. “He acts funny. Haven’t you
noticed it, Laurie?”
“Yes, but he always did act funny. He’s a nut.”
“No, he isn’t; he’s a real nice boy, and you oughtn’t to talk like
that. He’s unhappy, and we ought to help him.”
“All right,” agreed Laurie cheerfully. “What’ll we do?”
“Well, I suppose that first of all we should find out what’s worrying
him,” answered Polly thoughtfully. “You――you have to know the disease
before you apply the remedy.” Polly was plainly rather pleased with
that statement, and so was Mae. Mae squeezed her friend’s arm in token
of appreciation. Laurie allowed that it was a “wise crack” but wanted
to know how Polly proposed to make the discovery. “Far as I can see,”
he added, “Kewpie’s much the same as usual, if not more so. Although,
to tell the honest gospel truth, I haven’t seen an awful lot of him
just recently. I’ve been sort of keeping out of his way because he’s
after me to see him pitch so’s I can ask Pinky to let him on the
baseball squad.”
“It couldn’t be that, do you think?” asked Polly of the room at large.
“I mean, you don’t suppose he’s hurt because you’ve been avoiding him?
He might think that you’d gone back on him, Laurie, and I guess that
Kewpie has a very sensitive nature.”
Ned snorted. “Kewpie’s nature’s about as sensitive as a――a whale’s!”
“I don’t know anything about whales,” declared Polly with dignity, “but
I do know that very often folks who don’t seem sensitive are actually
the very sensitivest of all. And I am quite sure that if Kewpie thought
Laurie had――had deserted him――”
“Hey, hold hard, Polly! Gee, I haven’t deserted the poor prune. I――I’ve
been busy lately and――and――well, that’s all there is to it. Gosh, I
like Kewpie. He’s all right, isn’t he, Ned?”
“Yes. Look here, Miss Chairwoman and Ladies and Gentlemen of the
Convention, the only thing that’s wrong with Kewpie is that he doesn’t
know what to do with himself. Ever since he stopped playing football
he’s been like a chap who’s lost his job and can’t find another one. Of
course, at first it wasn’t so bad, for Christmas vacation was coming.
But for the last couple of months he’s just sort of mooned around,
getting sore-headed because he couldn’t make the basket-ball team or
the hockey team or anything else. Give the old chap something to do and
he’ll snap out of it. He comes over here and fills up on pastry and
stuff because he hasn’t anything better to do and has a sweet tooth,
anyway. Laurie and I have told him often enough that he ought to cut it
out, but he says he doesn’t care whether he gets on the eleven next
fall or not. That’s just guff, of course. If they had spring football
practice here he’d behave himself, but they don’t. Only trouble with
Kewpie is he’s lost his ambition.”
After that long speech Ned subsided further into the rocker. Mae looked
across at him admiringly. “I’m sure Ned’s quite right, Polly,” she
declared.
“Well, I’m glad if he is,” said Polly with a sigh of relief. “I was
dreadfully afraid that he had some――some secret sorrow in his life,
like――like a cruel stepmother or――or a father who drank or something.
If it’s only what Ned thinks it is, why, everything’s quite easy,
because getting on the baseball team will be just the thing for him.”
“How’s he going to get there?” asked Laurie suspiciously.
“Why, I thought you said he wanted you to help him!”
“I did, but what he wants and what I aim to do――”
“Kewpie couldn’t play baseball, Polly,” said Ned. “Look at him!”
“But I’ve seen stout boys play baseball plenty of times,” Polly
protested. “Two years ago we had a first baseman on the high school
team who was every bit as fat as Kewpie Proudtree. You remember George
Wallen, Mae.”
“But it isn’t only his fatness, or stoutness, or whatever you like
to call it,” insisted Laurie. “He isn’t built right for baseball.
Gee, think of Kewpie trying to beat out a bunt or sliding to second!
Besides, hang it, I couldn’t get him on the team if he really could
pitch! Pinky said positively――”
“Is he a pitcher?” asked Polly eagerly.
“No, but he wants people to think he is.”
“But that would make it lots easier, Laurie! A pitcher doesn’t have to
run much, and――”
“Why doesn’t he? Don’t you think he has to take his turn at the bat
sometimes?”
“But he never hits the ball,” replied Polly triumphantly, “and so he
doesn’t need to run!”
“She had you there, partner,” laughed Ned.
“Well, just the same,” answered Laurie, grinning, “I’ll be hanged if
I’m going to ask Pinky to let Kewpie on the squad just so he won’t be
lonesome. Pinky wouldn’t listen to me, anyway.”
“You don’t know,” said Polly. “And I think you really ought to try.
Yes, I do! Kewpie’s having a miserable time of it, and he’s ruining
himself for football, and it’s our duty to the school to do everything
we can so he won’t!”
“Say that again,” begged Ned, but Polly paid no heed.
“Besides,” she went on warmly, “we all pretend to be his friends, and
I guess a friend ought to be willing to make some sacrifices for you,
and it wouldn’t be very much for Laurie to get him on the baseball team
and――”
“But I tell you I can’t do it!” wailed Laurie.
“You don’t know. You haven’t tried. Don’t you think he ought to try,
Mae?”
“I certainly do,” said that young lady decisively.
“Don’t you, Ned?” persisted Polly earnestly.
“Not a doubt of it in the world,” answered Ned gravely.
Laurie glared indignantly at him, but Ned was looking at Towser. After
a brief silence Laurie sighed gloomily.
“All right,” he said. “But I can tell you right now that it won’t do
any good. Mr. Mulford said he wouldn’t take on any fellow who didn’t
report for early practice, and he means it. Besides, Kewpie’s no more
of a pitcher than――than I am!”
“I know, Laurie,” said Polly persuasively, “but maybe with practice,
and if you showed him――”
Ned chortled. Laurie, although he wanted to smile, kept a straight face.
“Of course,” he agreed, “I might do that. Well, I’ll do it, though I’ll
feel like a perfect ass when I speak to Pinky about it.”
“There,” said Polly in triumph. “I knew we could do something if we all
put our heads together! And I do hope it will be all right. Kewpie’s
really a very dear boy, and he certainly did wonderfully at football
last fall and he’s just got to keep on. I do think, though, that we
should keep this quite to ourselves, don’t you, Ned?”
“Don’t just see how we can. If Kewpie gets on the baseball squad he’s
almost sure to know something about it. He’s not such a fool as he
looks sometimes, Polly.”
Polly stared. “I don’t see――” she began. Then the twinkle in Ned’s
eye explained. “Of course I didn’t mean that, silly! I meant that
Kewpie shouldn’t know that we――that we’d been discussing him and that
we had――well, conspired, Ned. Don’t you see? He might resent it or
something.”
“I get you! We’ll make a secret society out of it, eh? Association for
the Restoration――no, that won’t do.”
“Advancement,” suggested Mae.
“Association for the Reclamation of Kewpie Proudtree!” pronounced Ned.
“And the password――”
“Association for the Degradation of Laurence Turner, you mean,” said
Laurie dejectedly. “And there isn’t any password, because he won’t
pass!”
“All right,” agreed Ned. “But the dues are twenty cents. Here you are,
Polly. You’ve got ‘treasurer’ written all over you.”
“But――but what is it?” asked Polly, refusing to accept the two dimes
that Ned proffered.
“Madam, I am settling the debt of none other than our distinguished
and rattle-brained friend Kewpie. At his request. It seems he――er――he
neglected to settle for the entertainment you provided him this
afternoon, and, torn by remorse――”
“Oh, I knew he forgot!” exclaimed Polly gladly.
“He would,” said Laurie pessimistically. “He has a perfectly remarkable
forgetory. I guess he’s the champion long-distance forgetter――”
“Don’t be horrid,” begged Polly. “With so much on his mind, it’s no
wonder he――”
“On his _what_?” exclaimed Laurie. “Ned, did you get that? Kewpie has
so much on his mind! Honest, Polly, when Kewpie takes his cap off he
hasn’t――”
The kettle caused a diversion by boiling over just then, and the
conference broke up.
Kewpie awaited Laurie in No. 16, and as the twins entered he broke into
speech. “Say, Nod, when――”
“To-morrow morning. Half-past ten. Back of the gym,” replied Laurie
promptly. Kewpie stared, puzzled.
“What?” he demanded suspiciously.
Laurie performed an exaggerated parody of a pitcher winding up and
delivering a ball. Then, assuming the rôle of catcher, he leaped high
off his feet and pulled down a wild one that would undoubtedly have
smashed the upper pane of the further window had it got by him.
“Honest?” cried Kewpie. “Me and you?”
“No, you and me.”
“But――how did you know what I was going to ask?”
Laurie viewed him sadly. “Kewpie,” he replied, “it’s a mighty good
thing you decided to be a pitcher. That’s the only position that
doesn’t call for any brain!”