HARMON COMES TO TERMS
The prisoner thrust his hands in his pockets and made a frowning
survey of his cell. From the point of view of his captors it appeared
an ideal apartment. There was but one door and that was firmly locked
and plainly invulnerable. The windows were beyond reach and, in any
case, too small to crawl through, and what had once been an opening
admitting to the belfry above had been long since boarded up. He kicked
tentatively at the door and might just as well have kicked at any other
place in the four surrounding walls so far as results were concerned.
There was no furniture, not even a chair. Listening, he heard nothing
save, once, the distant shriek of a locomotive.
After a few minutes of hopeless inspection of the place, Harmon
shrugged his shoulders and seated himself on the floor with his back to
the wall and acted on Joe Myers’ advice to think it over. But thinking
it over didn’t enlighten him much. That his captors really meant
business was evident, but why they had gone to so much trouble was a
mystery. None of the reasons they had given seemed sufficient. That
they had proceeded to such lengths merely to save him from the direful
fate of becoming a Kenly fellow was too improbable. That they seriously
wanted his services on the football team was just as unlikely: or, at
least, it was unlikely that they would value those services highly
enough to indulge in kidnapping as a means of securing them! No, there
was something else, something that didn’t appear. Perhaps Kenly had
once enticed an Alton boy away and Alton was trying to get even. Or
perhaps--
There was a sound beyond the door and Harmon stopped conjecturing and
listened. A voice came to him that was not Joe Myers’.
“I say, Harmon!”
“Hello!” The prisoner tried to keep his tone hostile, but he wasn’t
altogether successful, for he was becoming tired of isolation and
silence.
“Joe sent me up to read something out of the school catalogue to you.
Can you hear all right?”
“Yes, go ahead and read,” answered Harmon scornfully.
And Martin Proctor, sitting on the top step outside, read. He read at
some length, too. He started in with a list of Alton Academy graduates
who had attained national prominence. The list included a Secretary
of State, two Chief Justices, three United States Senators, numerous
congressmen and a wealth of smaller fry. When he had finished Harmon
inquired: “No Presidents or Vice-Presidents?”
“I haven’t graduated yet,” replied Martin cheerfully. “Now I’ll read
you something from the report of the Board of Overseers.”
“What for? What do I care about the Board of Overseers?”
“Joe told me to.”
When that was done Martin paused for comment, got none and began a
flattering description of the Carey Gymnasium. Inside, Harmon leaned
against the wall and grinned. A brief summary of scholarships and a
statement to the effect that the Academy roster of year before last
represented thirty-nine states of the Union, two territories and three
foreign countries completed the programme.
“Joe said I was to ask you if you’d made up your mind,” announced
Martin then.
“You tell him to give you an evening paper to read the next time,”
replied Harmon.
“Say, why don’t you?” asked Martin persuasively. “Honest, Harmon,
you’ll like Alton a heap better than Kenly.”
“You go back and ask Myers what he’s going to say to the faculty when I
get out of here and tell my story!”
“Oh, we’ve got that fixed all right,” chuckled Martin. “Well, I’ve got
to be getting down to supper.”
“Hold on there! When do I eat?”
“I don’t know. You see, if we opened the door to give you anything you
might try to get out!”
“You think so, do you?” asked Harmon grimly. “Well, you’ve got more
sense than I thought you had! How long does supper run?”
“Until seven. It’s ten minutes past six now.”
“Listen, Porter--”
“Proctor’s my name, old chap.”
“Proctor, then. Look here, now. If you’ll open that door and let me out
I’ll keep quiet about this. You can tell the others that--that I asked
to see that catalogue and that you went to hand it in and I knocked you
down.”
“Yes, and they’d believe it, wouldn’t they?” asked Martin scornfully.
“Think of something better, please! Besides, I’m just as much
interested in saving you from your career of crime as they are, Harmon.
Why, I’d never forgive myself if I left one turn unstoned! We’re
trying to save you from yourself, old chap!”
“You’d much better be thinking about saving yourselves,” answered
Harmon, laughing.
“Did you laugh then?” called Martin eagerly.
“Sure. It struck me as funny. You’ll see the joke later.”
“I’ll send Joe up. He said if you sounded like you were in a good
temper--”
The lessening sounds of footsteps hurrying down the stairs finished
the sentence and Harmon chuckled. After all, it _was_ funny, the whole
thing; and he might as well laugh as frown. When it came right down
to brass tacks there was no very good reason why he shouldn’t change
his allegiance to Alton Academy. At the present moment it meant just
as much to him as Kenly did: more in fact, for he had seen Alton and
hadn’t seen Kenly. And he liked what he had seen. It might very well
be that Kenly wasn’t nearly so good a school, even discounting the
biased boastings of his captors. Of course his parents expected him to
go to Kenly, and so did his brother, but the choice had been his and
he saw no reason why he hadn’t a perfectly good right to choose over.
It wasn’t too late, for he had not registered at Kenly and the first
quarter’s tuition was still in his pocket. Possibly his brother would
be slightly peeved--
He paused just there in his cogitating and comprehension slowly
illumined his face. He jumped to his feet, thrust his hands into
his pockets and grinned broadly at space. “That’s it!” he murmured
blissfully. “I’ll bet that’s it!” He withdrew his hands, snapped his
fingers and turned on a heel. After that he gave way to a spasm of
laughter that left him, with streaming eyes, clinging weakly to the
door frame. “Oh, gosh!” he gurgled. “It’s too good! Wait--wait till
they find out--about it!” That thought sent him off again and he
finally subsided on the floor, his laughter dying away in chuckles and
his eyes fairly streaming.
Recovering from his levity, he reviewed the events of the afternoon
from the time of his first meeting with the “Three Guardsmen.” He
recalled Joe Myers’ surprising interest in his name and the fact that
he had attended Schuyler High School, and how insistently the subject
of football had held the conversation. Everything coincided with his
theory. He understood now why the three boys had connived at getting
off the train and keeping him off, why they had gone to so much trouble
to show him about the school and, finally, why they had made him a
prisoner. And he understood why he had been offered a quarter’s tuition
and a place on the team! It was all very simple--and excruciatingly
funny! And he was about to give way to laughter again when footsteps
once more broke the silence. He pulled his face straight and waited. It
was Joe this time.
“Hello, in there! Harmon!”
“Yes?”
“I’ve talked to four or five of the fellows and I guess it’s all right.
We’ll manage to dig up enough so it won’t cost you anything for tuition
the first half of the year. How does that sound?”
“Rotten, Myers. I don’t think I’d care to go to a school where they do
that sort of thing.”
“_What?_ But you were going to Kenly!” sputtered Joe.
“I told you Kenly hadn’t offered me money.”
“Yes, but-- Look here, Harmon, is that straight, man to man?”
“Absolutely.”
“Gosh!” There was a long silence beyond the door. Then: “Well, I don’t
understand,” said Joe helplessly. “How did you happen to decide on
Kenly?”
“I told you once.”
“Yes, that’s so, but I thought you were just--just talking. Well, I
don’t see why you shouldn’t be willing to stay here then, Harmon. If
you aren’t getting anything from them, what’s the big idea? You’re sure
of a place on the team here and--and if you should change your mind you
could have a half-term free of cost. Mind, I’d a heap rather you didn’t
change it, because I don’t like that sort of thing any better than you
say you do. We never have paid any fellow for playing on an Alton team
and I don’t want to begin now. Besides, if faculty ever found out about
it--Zowie!”
“Well, I don’t want any favors, thanks. But suppose I did decide to
stay here, Myers--”
“Sure! That’s the talk!”
“Wait a minute! First thing of all, do I get any supper?”
“You bet you do! Five minutes after you say the word I’ll have you
hitched up to a swell meal!”
“Well, what about a room? I’d want to be decently fixed that way, you
know. Entering late like this I suppose I’d have to take the leavings,
eh?”
“Listen! We’ve got a swell room waiting for you. The fellow that was
going in with Mart isn’t coming at all and I’ve asked the secretary
to hold it open until tomorrow morning. It’s a corking room; nice big
study with three windows and a fine view; on the front of Haylow; big
alcove; furniture nearly new and everything!”
“Sounds pretty fair,” commented Harmon. “Maybe I wouldn’t like this
fellow Proctor, though: or maybe he wouldn’t like me.”
“Rot! Everyone likes Mart, and he’s bound to like you. If he doesn’t
I’ll knock him into the middle of next Sunday! You’ll get on together
great!”
“We-ell,” said Harmon unenthusiastically, “maybe. And it’s certain that
I’m to make the team?”
“You bet it is!” laughed Joe. “Just as long as you can stand on your
feet and play football you’re sure of a job!”
“Suppose I’m not as good as you seem to think I am?”
“I’ll risk that,” chuckled Joe.
“How about the coach, though?”
“Johnny? Don’t worry about him. He will be just as tickled as I am to
get you! What do you say, old man? It’s getting pretty close to seven
o’clock.”
“All right, I’ll agree! Open the door!”
“No tricks? You’re not meaning to get out and then say I misunderstood
you or something?”
“No tricks, Myers, I give you my word!”
The bolt shot back protestingly, the door swung open and Joe’s
delighted countenance was revealed. “Gee, I’m glad, Harmon!” he
exclaimed. “Shake!” Harmon shook. He, too, was smiling, but his smile
was not so guileless.
“You win, Myers,” he said. “Now lead me to that supper!”
“Come on! We’ll feed first and then you can register. I haven’t had
anything myself yet.” They sped down the stairs and across empty,
twilighted corridors and finally to the cool outdoors. “I didn’t tell
any of the fellows where you were,” Joe explained as he guided Harmon
around the building toward Lawrence Hall. “I just said that I was in
touch with you. Here we are. It’s sort of late, but I guess there’s
plenty left. I’ll take you to my table tonight and tomorrow we’ll see
if there’s a place there you can have regularly.”
Both boys were much too hungry to waste breath on conversation, and the
meal proceeded almost in silence. There was plenty to eat and Harmon
did full justice to it. When they had finished Joe took him in tow
again and they went back to Academy Hall and turned to the left on
the first floor and passed through a door whose ground-glass pane bore
the inscription: “Office--Walk In.” What happened was very simple. At
a desk Harmon was introduced to a tall, lean gentleman whose name was
Mr. Wharton. The secretary shook hands politely and scrutinized the
applicant through a pair of strong glasses. Then he gave him a card
and a pen and Harmon wrote on the dotted lines, going to some pains to
conceal the writing from Joe. The latter, however, had no thought of
looking. Then a sum of money changed hands, the secretary filled out a
receipt for it, Harmon produced a certificate from the principal of the
Schuyler High School and the interview ended with a long sigh of relief
from Joe.
“That’s done,” he said as they reached the corridor again. “Now I’ll
take you up to your room.”
Haylow Hall was the last building at the left of the Green. Joe pushed
his way through a group of boys on the stone steps and Harmon followed,
conscious that he was being viewed with a good deal of interest by the
loungers. Joe, too, noticed the fact, for he chuckled, as they started
up the stairs: “Guess some of those fellows recognized you, from the
way they stared!” There, however, Joe was wrong. The interest had
been only such as would have been accorded to any fellow under such
circumstances. For Joe was unaware of the glow of triumph that shone
from his countenance as he guided his companion into the dormitory!
In Number 16 Martin Proctor was unpacking a trunk when Joe and Harmon
entered. Martin looked questioningly from the latter to Joe, a doubtful
grin on his face.
“It’s all right,” announced Joe gayly. “He’s registered, Mart! Where’s
Bob?”
“Over at the room, I guess. He brought the bag and lit out. Say,
Harmon, I’m mighty glad about this. And--and I hope you don’t hold it
against us for what we did. It was sort of rough stuff, but--”
“Not at all,” answered Harmon calmly. “It’s quite all right. Guess I
ought to feel flattered instead of sore, anyway. Myers says I’m to room
here with you.”
“That’s right. It’s a pretty fair room, Harmon. Better than lots of
’em, anyway. You might take your pick of the beds in there. It doesn’t
matter to me which I have.”
“Thanks.” Harmon gravely inspected the curtained alcove and decided on
the left-hand bed. Perhaps the fact that Martin’s pajamas lay there
had something to do with the decision. Martin blinked but stood the
blow heroically and tried to forget that the right-hand bed had a weak
spring. At that moment Harmon caught sight of his kit-bag on the floor
and pointed at it in surprise.
“Isn’t that mine?” he asked. “How did get here?”
“Bob brought it up from the station a few minutes ago,” explained
Martin.
“You fellows must have been pretty certain of having your way!”
marveled the owner of the bag.
Joe nodded soberly. “We had to be,” he said grimly. “Once we had
started, we had to go through with it, Harmon.”
“But suppose I hadn’t given in! Suppose I’d gone to the principal here
and told him that you fellows had kidnapped me and locked me up in a
room?”
Joe smiled gently. “No chance of that, old man. If you hadn’t decided
to stay with us by midnight we’d have taken you back to the station and
put you on the twelve-twenty train.”
“Hm! And I--er--I wouldn’t have had anything to say?”
“No.” Joe shook his head. “There’d have been three of us anyway; maybe
four; and we’d have fixed you so you couldn’t talk much.”
Harmon smiled. “Still, afterwards I could have talked. I could have
come back, or written a letter and spilled the beans.”
“Yes, you could have done that, but we argued that once away from here
you’d get over your grouch and forget it. Besides, a chap doesn’t want
to look foolish.”
“That’s so,” agreed Harmon, and he repeated it more emphatically in
the next breath. “It is uncomfortable, isn’t it?” The arrival of
Bob Newhall made a response by Joe unnecessary, although the latter
wondered just a little over Harmon’s expression and the inflection of
his voice. Bob gave a shout of triumph and joy when he saw Harmon.
“A brand from the burning!” he exclaimed. “This is great! I just knew
you’d see reason, Harmon! Say, I’m tickled to death!”
“Well, don’t upset the table,” warned Martin. “Let’s sit down, fellows.
This has been sort of a strenuous day. Try the big chair, Harmon. By
the way, as we’re going to see a good deal of each other we might as
well get used to real names. Mine’s Martin, but I’m generally called
Mart.”
“But never Smart,” interpolated Bob.
Harmon smiled at the pleasantry. “And I’m usually called Will and never
Way,” he said.
Martin looked puzzled. For that matter, so did the others.
“You mean folks call you Will?” asked Martin, doubtfully.
“Yes. Short for Willard.”
“Oh! Willard’s your middle name. I see. Well--”
“Hold on!” exclaimed Bob. “I thought your middle name was Edward!”
“No, my middle name is Kane. Willard is my first name.” Harmon
explained politely and smilingly. Joe’s jaw began to drop slowly.
“_What!_” cried Bob. “Aren’t you Gordon Harmon, the fellow who played
full-back last year for Schuyler High?”
Harmon shook his head gently. “Oh, no, that’s my brother,” he said.
A deep silence fell. Bob stared at Joe and Joe stared at Martin and all
three stared at Harmon. And the latter met their looks with an amused
smile. When the silence threatened to continue forever Bob gave an
audible gulp and blurted wildly:
“But I saw the name on your bag! It’s there now! ‘Gordon Edward
Harmon!’”
“Oh,” replied Harmon gently, “that isn’t my bag. I borrowed it from my
brother.”