LAURIE TALKS TOO MUCH
But Laurie didn’t have to telephone to Bob. Bob was waiting in No. 16
when the twins returned from supper. There had been no opportunity to
take Ned into his confidence in dining-hall, and, since Laurie wouldn’t
have thought of embarking on even the most inconsequential enterprise
without his brother’s aid, the first step, as he now saw it, was to put
Ned in possession of the facts. So, closing and locking the door in the
manner of a conspirator, Laurie faced the eager Bob and the mystified
Ned and began the recital of the pathetic story of Miss Comfort.
And, as Laurie told it, it certainly was pathetic. Having found, as
he believed, a way of making good his boast to Bob the day before,
he set out determinedly to win his hearers to the cause. He not only
wanted moral aid and counsel but pecuniary assistance in the matter of
that telegram to Sioux City! So he made a very moving story of it,
picturing Miss Comfort as a penniless and hard-working little woman
battling heroically against the tides of adversity with unfaltering
courage, Mr. Goupil as a monster of cruelty, and Mr. Goupil’s lawyer
as a fiend in human form. Miss Comfort’s age was now given as “over
eighty,” an estimate that caused Bob to gasp. Laurie even attempted
to dwell on the horrors of existence for a well bred lady like Miss
Comfort on the poor-farm. But, never having had close acquaintance
with such an institution, he had to confine himself to generalities
and dark insinuations, and, discovering that his audience was not as
much impressed as he meant them to be, he wisely switched back to
Miss Comfort herself and told how in the winter, too poverty-stricken
to buy coal for the furnace, she lived in the kitchen, while her
brother-in-law, rolling in riches, gave her no thought.
Ned, who, at the beginning of the narrative, had worn a smile of
careless, tolerant amusement, was soon frowning troubledly. Then
indignation swelled within him, and he glowered darkly upon Laurie
as though the latter was all to blame for Miss Comfort’s plight. Bob
appeared moved almost to tears. As an orator Laurie did himself proud
on that occasion. By the time he had finished he was almost as much
moved as his hearers.
There had been, of course, interruptions, but they had been few,
and Laurie had waved them aside. Now, at the end, both Ned and Bob
wanted many things explained to them. Thanks, however, to his talk
that afternoon with Mrs. Deane and, later, with Polly, Laurie was in
a position to answer all questions promptly and lucidly. When, as
infrequently occurred, his knowledge was insufficient, he answered just
the same. He grudgingly struck off ten years from Miss Comfort’s age at
Bob’s behest, but to all other statements he clung tenaciously.
“Another thing I don’t understand,” said Ned, “is why some of the
folks she knows don’t give her a home. There must be lots of people in
Orstead who would be glad to take her in.”
“What good would that do?” asked Laurie. “They might give her a room
to sleep in, but how would she live? You know perfectly well that they
wouldn’t be willing to let her use their kitchen to make her cakes and
things in. And if she doesn’t make cake and sell it she can’t buy food
or clothes――”
Laurie paused, suddenly remembering that he had neglected to mention
the pathetic fact that Miss Comfort had worn the same dress for years
and years. He wished he hadn’t forgotten that, and he wondered if it
was too late now to bring it in.
“Well, I’ll say it’s mighty hard luck for the poor woman,” said Ned
finally, “but I’m blessed if I can see what any of _us_ can do. If
you’ve got any silly idea in your head that Bob and I are going to buy
a house for Miss Comfort to spend the rest of her days in――”
“Don’t be an ass,” begged Laurie.
“All right, but why the locked door, then? And why all the――the talk
about it?”
“Nod’s got a scheme,” said Bob, and he beamed trustfully at Laurie.
Ned grunted suspiciously. “Bet you it calls for money,” he said.
“It doesn’t,” replied Laurie. “At least, only a few pennies. The price
of a telegram to Sioux City, Iowa, and, divided among the three of us,
that won’t amount to anything, I guess.”
“Sioux City, Iowa?” exclaimed Ned. “What for? Why not send it to New
York? It wouldn’t cost nearly so much.”
“Because, you blithering idiot,” responded Laurie, “this Goop fellow
doesn’t live in New York. He lives in Sioux City.”
“Mean you’re going to telegraph to him?” asked Bob excitedly. “What are
you going to say?”
“Count me out,” said Ned. “This isn’t our affair at all, and you’ll get
yourself in trouble if you butt in on it.”
Laurie viewed his brother disappointedly and sighed. Now he would have
to start all over again! “Gee,” he said sadly, “I thought you had a
heart, Ned.”
“I have,” answered Ned. “And I’ve got some common sense, too.”
“Sure, but now listen, will you? I talked it all over with Mrs. Deane
and Polly, and they agreed that――well, Mrs. Deane did, anyhow――that if
Miss Comfort wouldn’t write to her brother-in-law some one ought to do
it for her. And――”
“Glad Polly had some sense, if you hadn’t,” said Ned.
“Polly wasn’t there then. Now, listen, will you?”
“Yes, let him tell you, Ned,” begged Bob.
“Gosh, I _am_ listening! But I don’t hear anything but piffle, and――”
“It isn’t piffle, you stubborn chump. _Some one’s_ got to do something,
haven’t they? You don’t want to see that poor old lady dumped right out
on the sidewalk, do you? At her age? Nearly――” Laurie stifled “ninety”
and substituted “eighty.” “Gee, I supposed you’d be _glad_ to help,
instead of――of throwing obstacles in the way. Gee, supposing she was
your aunt or――or something――”
“She isn’t,” said Ned briefly.
“Well, she might be. If she was――”
“I guess she’s _somebody’s_ aunt,” said Bob feelingly.
“Oh, shut up! I’d like to help her, of course, you idiots, but I don’t
see where we have any right to butt in and――”
“That’s what I’m trying to explain to you,” interrupted Laurie. “If
you’ll just listen a minute――”
Ten minutes later Ned capitulated. Two minutes after that the three
boys were busy concocting a telegram to send to Mr. Goupil in Sioux
City, Iowa. It was decided that each should compose what he considered
the proper message and that they would subsequently write a fourth
draft comprised of the best points of each. So they each set to work
with pencil and paper and furrowed brows, and for several minutes
all was very still in No. 16, East Hall. Having given the matter
some previous thought, Laurie naturally finished first. Then Bob’s
composition was laid on the desk, and finally, considerably later,
Ned’s.
Laurie read them aloud, Bob’s first. Bob’s was as follows:
“A. G. Goupil,
“Goupil Machinery Co.,
“Sioux City, Iowa.
“What’s the big idea turning your sister-in-law into street at
her age? You ought to be ashamed.”
“Gee,” laughed Laurie, “you don’t mind how many words you use, do you?”
“You do it in less,” challenged Bob indignantly.
“I have. Here’s Ned’s:
“Sister-in-law to be turned out of home unless you come to
rescue immediately.”
“Sounds as though you meant your own sister-in-law,” commented Laurie.
“That’s not bad, though.”
“Sounds all right to me,” said Ned. “Let’s hear yours.”
“Is Miss Comfort being evicted from house by your order? Public
opinion in arms. Answer.”
“Huh,” said Ned, “public opinion can’t be ‘in arms,’ you silly chump.”
“That’s only two words less than mine,” said Bob.
“Well, we’ll see if we can’t get it into ten,” replied Laurie
untroubledly. “Now then!” He took up his pencil again. “We might
say ‘Comfort’ instead of ‘Miss Comfort,’ but it doesn’t sound quite
respectful.”
“Leave out ‘from house,’” suggested Bob. “He will understand that she
isn’t being evicted from the stable!”
“That’s so! ‘Is Miss Comfort being evicted by your order? Public
opinion――er――’”
“‘Against it,’” offered Ned.
“‘Opposed,’” said Bob.
“I’ve got it!” exclaimed Laurie, erasing and starting a new draft.
“How’s this? ‘Have you authorized eviction aged sister-in-law? Orstead
indignant. Answer immediately.’ That ought to fetch him! Only ten
words, too!”
“How about sister-in-law?” asked Bob. “Will they call it one word or
three?”
“One, of course. Or ‘aged relative’ might do just as well. ‘Orstead
indignant’ will give him a jolt, I’ll bet!”
“What are you going to sign it?” asked Ned anxiously.
Laurie hadn’t thought of that. Bob suggested “Friend,” but Ned reminded
him that if they expected to get a reply they’d have to give more of an
address than that. Laurie took a deep breath and leaped the Rubicon. He
signed “Laurence S. Turner” boldly and drew a heavy mark under it for
emphasis. Ned shook his head doubtfully, but Bob was thrilled.
“He will probably think you’re one of the town’s leading citizens,” he
chuckled.
“Well, so I am,” answered Laurie, “in this affair. Now we’ll go down
and get it off at night-rates.”
“Say,” said Ned, “we’re a set of dumb-bells! We could have sent a
night-letter of fifty words for the same price.”
“That’s so,” admitted Laurie. “I think a night-letter costs a little
more, though, doesn’t it? Anyway, this is more――more succinct. It
sounds more businesslike. What do you think?”
They agreed that it did, and presently, a fresh copy of the message in
his pocket, Laurie led the way from the room, followed by the others.
The languid youth who accepted the telegram at the office appeared
to hesitate over “sister-in-law,” but he made no objection to its
inclusion as one word, and he brightened perceptibly as the sense of
the message percolated in his mind. He looked curiously at the three
boys, re-read the message, and then shook his head incredulously.
“Sick ’em, Prince,” he murmured.
The cost of the telegram was less than Laurie had dared hope it would
be, and in the first moment of relief he magnanimously offered to pay
a full half. Fortunately for his purse, though, the others insisted
on sharing equally, and, the second moment having now arrived, Laurie
allowed them to do it.
Returning to school, Ned was preyed on by doubts. Now that the telegram
was an accomplished fact, he spoke dismally of the laws concerning
libel. When Laurie refused to be concerned he wanted to know what
they were to do if Mr. Goupil wired back that he had authorized Miss
Comfort’s eviction. Laurie wasn’t prepared to answer that question.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he replied with dignity.
As a matter of fact, Laurie didn’t intend to do anything in such a
case. He had saved his face, and that was sufficient. After this
he meant to refrain from too much talking and keep out of affairs
that didn’t concern him. Unfortunately, as he was to discover, it
is frequently easier to start than it is to stop, and to make good
resolutions than to follow them!
As he secretly considered the episode ended, Laurie would have put Miss
Comfort and Mr. A. G. Goupil completely out of his mind for the rest
of the evening if Ned hadn’t insisted on speculating as to the effect
of the telegram on the addressee. Ned just couldn’t seem to let the
subject alone. Laurie became very much bored, and when Ned, later, came
out with the brilliant suggestion of having Miss Comfort added to the
school faculty as professor of pastry Laurie threw a book at him.
The following morning Kewpie was absolutely exasperating when they met
beside the gymnasium. He had brought his precious book with him and
insisted on pausing between pitches to study diagrams and directions,
occasioning long waits and leaving Laurie with nothing to do save
indulge in feeble sarcasms that affected Kewpie no whit. Kewpie was
struggling with what he earnestly told Laurie was an out-drop. Laurie
sarcastically replied that Kewpie was at liberty to call it anything
he pleased, out-drop, floater, in-shoot, or fade-away; they all looked
the same to him when Kewpie pitched ’em! Kewpie looked almost hurt, and
Laurie recalled Polly’s injunction not to discourage the aspirant for
pitching honors, and so presently told Kewpie that one of his offerings
“looked pretty good.” After that Kewpie cheered up a lot and pitched a
ball high over the back-stop.
All that day Laurie looked for a telegram. It was, he thought,
inconceivable that the Goop guy, as he privately called Mr. A. G.
Goupil, should delay in answering such a communication, and when, after
school was over for the day, no telegram had been delivered at East
Hall, he hurried down to the telegraph office and made inquiries. The
man in charge, who was not the one who had been on duty the evening
before, went to a deal of trouble before informing Laurie that no
message had been received. Going back, Laurie pondered. It might mean
that Mr. Goupil had chosen to communicate with his lawyer instead
of him, Laurie. Or it might mean that Mr. Goupil was taking time to
consider the matter. Laurie dismissed the business from his mind, and,
although well ahead of time, went over to the gymnasium and leisurely
donned his baseball togs. There had been talk of getting out on the
field to-day, but the turf was still a little too soft.
In the baseball cage four other early arrivals were on hand; Nate
Beedle, Hillman’s first-choice pitcher, Captain Dave Brewster, third
baseman, Gordon Simkins, in-field candidate, and Elkins Thurston. The
last two were passing, while Beedle and Brewster sat on the floor with
their backs against the wire.
“Hello, Nod!” greeted Nate. “Hear you’ve started a kindergarten for
pitchers, sonny.”
Nate was a nice chap, and Nod didn’t mind being “ragged” by him a bit.
“Yes, that’s so,” Laurie agreed. “Want to join?”
The others laughed; all save Elk. Elk, tossing the ball back to
Simkins, sneered, “The way I got it, Proudtree’s trying to teach Turner
how to catch!”
“Fact is,” replied Laurie, “it’s sort of mutual. Kewpie’s improving his
pitching, and I’m improving my catching.”
“Can he pitch at all?” asked Dave Brewster.
“Kewpie? Well, he hasn’t much just now, but――”
“But you’re teaching him the trick, eh?” jeered Elk. “Say, Nate, you’d
better watch out or you’ll lose your job.”
Nate laughed good-naturedly. “That’s right. I’ll say one thing, though.
If Kewpie could pitch the way he can play center I’d be worried. Does
he think he can get on the squad, Nod?”
“Guess he’d like to.”
“He’s got a swell chance,” said Elk.
“Oh, I don’t know,” answered Laurie. “They took you on.”
“Is that so? Don’t get fresh, youngster. I suppose you think you’ve got
such a pull with Pinky that he’ll take on any fellow you recommend.
Say, Nate, can’t you just see Proudtree running bases?” And Elk laughed
vociferously.
Laurie, just at present inclined to resent anything that Elk said,
merely on general principles, found cause for added resentment now.
Kewpie was both friend and pupil, and consequently disparagement of
Kewpie was disparagement of him. Simkins’s remark that Kewpie had shown
pretty good speed on the football field was cut into by Laurie with:
“He isn’t out to become a sprinter, Elk. He’s going to be a pitcher.
You don’t expect a pitcher to be much of a hand on the bases. As for
his chance of getting on the squad, well, when I get through with him I
guess he can have a place if he wants it.”
“When you―― Oh, my sainted aunt!” cried Elk. “When you get through
with him! What do you know about pitching, I’d like to know? You’re a
swell teacher, you are! You never caught behind the plate until two or
three weeks ago.”
“What of it? That doesn’t prevent me from knowing a natural-born
pitcher when I see him. And if――”
“Natural-born pitcher! Kewpie Proudtree? Don’t make me laugh! I’ll bet
he can’t pitch a straight ball!”
“Can’t, eh? Listen, Elk. Kewpie’s a better pitcher right now than you
are a catcher. If he wasn’t I wouldn’t bother with him.”
“Oh, piffle! He can’t pitch and you can’t teach him, kid. And as
for catching, if I dropped every ball that comes over I wouldn’t be
shooting my mouth off, you fresh guy!”
“I get my glove on ’em, and that’s more than you do, Elk, old son.
And if you think I don’t know what I’m talking about when I say that
Kewpie’s got the making of a pitcher, why, you just keep your eyes
open.”
“Sure! You’re going to have him on the squad next week, I suppose!”
“No, not next week, but I’ll tell you one thing. He will be pitching
for this team before the season’s over!”
“_What!_” It was a chorus of blank incredulity. Then there was
laughter, through which struggled Nate’s voice saying, “Nod, you’re
as crazy as a coot!” The burst of merriment acted on Laurie somewhat
like a wet sponge on the face of a sleeper. He awoke suddenly to the
enormity of his assertion, and caution urged him to prompt retraction,
or, at least, compromise. But there was Elk Thurston grinning and
sneering, his very attitude a challenge. Laurie swallowed hard and
summoned a smile of careless ease to his countenance.
“You heard what I said,” he remarked calmly.
Then Coach Mulford came in, and the die was cast. Laurie waved a
nonchalant hand to Dave Brewster. In appearance he looked as care-free
and untroubled as any person there, but to himself he was saying
bitterly, “There, you poor fish, you’ve been and gone and done it
again!”