LORING TAKES COMMAND
The chess game was never finished. Ten o’clock arrived with nothing
much left to be said, and with scant lessening of the general gloom.
Loring insisted that by trying hard Tom could get that theme handed in
by the designated time, that he could make up the other stuff easily,
and that, if he really set his mind on it, he could keep his English
work up to the required standard. But even Loring realized that a
little over two weeks was scant time in which to convince a sceptical
instructor of one’s reform, and that, with the best of luck, Tom could
scarcely hope for reinstatement early enough to be of much further use
to the Scrub. Clif’s best suggestion was that Tom see his adviser the
first thing in the morning, and ask him to intercede. Tom agreed to do
this, but plainly he was not hopeful. Mr. Parks and he had not taken
to each other greatly, and Tom’s secret conviction was that “Cheese”
wouldn’t be likely to go to much trouble in the matter. Finally they
parted, Clif accompanying Tom to the door of Number 34 and leaving him
with a lugubrious “Oh, well, cheer up, Tom. Maybe it won’t be so bad.”
At breakfast Tom was strangely cheerful and ate a hearty repast. Yet
nothing had happened to better the situation, and Clif was puzzled.
Of course if Tom had decided to accept conditions philosophically, and
make the best of them, Clif was pleased, but there was something in the
other’s manner, a sort of under surface excitement, that prevented Clif
from being quite satisfied with that explanation. And then, too, Tom
was so casual when Clif detained him in the corridor after breakfast.
His replies to the other boy’s questions were brief and vague. Yes, he
was going to see “Cheese” right now. And “Cocky” afterward. That theme?
Well, yes, he might have a go at that later. When Clif called “Good
luck!” after him as he turned down the corridor he said: “Thanks, old
son,” and waved a hand almost gayly.
The interview with Mr. Parks was not disappointing only because Tom
had not hoped that anything would come of it. The French instructor
firmly refused to interfere in the matter, and even managed to make
Tom feel that he had committed a breach of ethics in proposing such a
course. Not, however, that Tom troubled about it. He thanked “Cheese”
most courteously――so courteously, in fact, that the instructor frowned
suspiciously――and withdrew. Several times during the forenoon Clif
ran across him in the corridors, and at two recitations they occupied
adjacent seats, and Clif’s puzzlement increased rather than diminished.
Tom neither looked nor acted his part. Clif confided the fact to
Loring, adding uneasily: “He’s up to something, and I’ll bet it’s
something crazy. I wish I knew what.”
The Scrub did not choose a new captain. There was the chance that Tom
would square himself with the Office and return to his duties, and so
the Scrub sent word to Tom to appoint a temporary leader and Tom’s
choice was Johnny Thayer, the fullback. That afternoon the First had
very little trouble with the Scrub, and scored three times, holding its
own goal-line inviolate. Tom’s absence, both as halfback and captain,
was felt. With a game against Minster High School two days off the
Scrub’s showing that Thursday afternoon wasn’t encouraging.
Loring returned to East after the day’s practice was over, a little
disappointed. Not because of the Scrub’s rather sorry exhibition, but
because he had hoped that Mr. Babcock would try out his forward-pass
play in practice, and Mr. Babcock hadn’t done it. Loring supposed that
Tom’s absence from the team had prevented, and concluded that he would
have to wait until next season for a test of the play.
Loring was still eating supper when Clif, looking much disturbed, was
admitted by Wattles. “He wasn’t in dining hall,” announced the visitor,
“and I’ve looked all over the place for him! He hasn’t been here, has
he?”
“Tom? No, I haven’t seen him since noon. He’s around somewhere, though,
of course!”
“Yes,” agreed Clif but without conviction. “Just the same, it’s not
like him to miss a meal. He’s never done it before.”
“Have you tried the library? You know, he might be working on that
theme.”
“I’ve looked everywhere I could think of except at ‘J. W.’s,’ and he
was still at supper a few minutes ago. I don’t see where he can be!
Unless――gee, he may be in my room! I’ll go and see.”
He hurried out, but five minutes later he was back. “He wasn’t there,”
he said in reply to Loring’s mute question, “but I found this. It was
on the table.” He drew an envelope from a pocket, and, with an uneasy
glance at Wattles, laid it on Loring’s tray.
“You needn’t mind Wattles,” said Loring. He drew the single sheet of
paper from the envelope, and, with Clif leaning over his shoulder, read
the message it bore: “Dear old Clif, I’m pulling out in half an hour.
Something told me a long while back that I wasn’t going to like this
place, and the hunch was dead right. I’m going home to-night, and I
guess I’ll be back on the old High School Team by next week. Tell Billy
to give you the bundle wrapped in blue paper in my top drawer. It’s
those golf hose you always liked, the ones with the green and yellow
tops. I’m going to miss you, old son, but we’ll get together somehow at
Christmas if it can be managed. Keep this mum until to-morrow. I’ve got
to see the guardian before he gets word from the School. Well, old son,
here’s luck, and I hope we win from Wolcott even if I don’t see it.
Give my best to Loring. And tell Wattles Cheer-io! Yours to the last
whistle, T.A.K.――P.S. I’ll write you in a day or two. If old Winslow’s
nasty I’ll probably hike out somewhere on my own. I’ll let you know so
you can drop me a line sometimes, and tell me how things are going. T.”
Loring slid the sheet back into the envelope, and returned it to Clif
in silence. Clif as silently thrust the note back into a pocket. Then:
“Wattles, you might take this tray, please,” said Loring, and, when
Wattles had reached the door with his burden, “I say, get hold of a
time-table and fetch it back with you.”
“That’s no good,” said Clif as the door closed. “He got the
six-thirty-four train, and it’s twelve minutes to seven now.”
“When’s the next one south?”
“I don’t know exactly. About nine, I think.”
“Does the six-thirty-something go through to New York?”
“I don’t think so. I guess you have to change at Danbury. There are
only two through trains, I think; the eleven in the morning, and the
two-something in the afternoon. Even suppose he has to lie over at
Danbury, though, he’d be gone before we could get there. And neither of
us could go, anyhow!”
“We’ll have a look at the time-table first,” said Loring. “Tom’s done
a perfectly idiotic thing, Clif, and he oughtn’t to be allowed to get
away with it. He’s probably sorry already. Anyway, he will be in the
morning, and the morning will be too late. We’ve got to get him back
here to-night――somehow!”
“I wish we could,” agreed Clif desperately, “but I don’t believe
there’s a train back from Danbury before morning, even if I got there
before he’d left. Besides, if he didn’t want to come back with me I
couldn’t _make_ him, could I? He’s beastly stubborn. And I’d have to
cut study hour, and if faculty found it out we’d _both_ be in wrong.”
“No, you couldn’t go,” said Loring. “There’d be no sense in you getting
into trouble, too. And, as you say, you couldn’t make him come back
if he didn’t want to. And even if he really wanted to, he probably
wouldn’t. He’d be ashamed to quit and turn back, I guess. No, you
wouldn’t do, Clif.”
“Then who――what――”
But just then Wattles returned with the time-table, and Loring eagerly
spread it open before him. “Get a pencil, Clif, and stand by, will you?
All set? Leave Freeburg 6:34. Arrive Danbury 9:07. That’s a slow old
train! Leave Danbury for New York――wait a minute. Yes, that’s right.
Leave Danbury 9:52. Arrive New York 11:35. Got it? Now let’s see about
the next one. Leave Freeburg――leave Freeburg――leave―― Here we are!
Leave Freeburg 8:54. Arrive Danbury 11:02. Hm, that’s an hour and ten
minutes too late. No use trying to catch him by train, Wattles.”
“No, sir,” agreed Wattles impassively.
“No, it can’t be done. Are we broke, Wattles?”
“Oh, no, sir, I believe there’s something like forty dollars in the
trunk, and I have a small sum on me, sir.”
“Say, fifty altogether? That may do. You might see just what we _have_
got.”
“I have three or four dollars,” said Clif eagerly.
“With you?”
“No, but――”
“Don’t bother. We’ve probably enough. What do you say, Wattles?”
“Fifty-five, sir, and a bit of change.”
“Plenty! All right. You know what to do, Wattles. Bring him back.”
“Yes, sir, but if the young gentleman shouldn’t care to return?”
“I’d use persuasion, Wattles; any kind.”
“Look here,” exclaimed Clif, “do you mean you’re going to send Wattles?”
“Unless you can suggest some one better,” answered Loring. “I’d make
certain first of all that he really got off on that six-thirty-four. He
might have missed it, although he probably didn’t. Perhaps the agent
will remember him. After that――well, Danbury’s around sixty miles, I
believe, and it oughtn’t to take you more than an hour and a half at
this time of night. It’s now seven-nine, so you ought to fetch there
by――let’s see; allowing for delays in getting started, by nine or a
few minutes later. So you’ll probably get to Danbury about the same
time that he does. That’ll allow you about forty-five minutes to make
him see sense. Tell him we sent word that if he comes back with you no
one will know he ever went off. I’ll leave this window here wide open,
Wattles, and he ought to be able to get to his room without being
seen. Better stop the car well down the street. Don’t try to get back
before midnight, either. Better give folks here a chance to get to
sleep. And, Wattles.”
“Yes, sir.” Wattles had taken an overcoat from the closet, and now,
his black derby in hand, he stood rigidly at attention, his long
countenance even more than usually solemn.
“It will be worth five dollars extra to the man who drives you if he
forgets all about it by to-morrow.”
“So I was thinking, Mister Loring. There’s a fellow works in the
garage who has a car of his own, sir, and as we’ve struck up a bit
of an acquaintance, sir, I fancy he would be quite the chap for
the――er――undertaking.”
“Good! Better put this memorandum of the trains in your pocket. Got the
money?”
Wattles tapped the inside pocket of his coat.
“Then go to it! I’ll expect you back about midnight. Good luck,
Wattles!”
“Thank you, sir.” Wattles reached the door and paused, a hand on
the knob. “You understand, Mister Loring, I am doing this with the
understanding you’re not to leave the chair until I get back, sir.”
“Oh, absolutely, Wattles! Cross my heart. You’ll find me right here. I
may be asleep, but I’ll stick to the jolly old chair!”
“Thank you, sir,” said Wattles again. Then the door closed behind him,
and Loring, chuckling, looked at his watch.
“Eleven minutes past,” said Loring. “Fifteen minutes to get to the
village and find his man. Five minutes to get started. Five minutes
more at the station. Barring accidents, Clif, he ought to roll into
Danbury by nine-ten.”
“I dare say,” Clif agreed, “but if Tom is still set on going home I
guess Wattles won’t be able to do much.”
“Oh, Wattles will fetch him,” said Loring confidently. “Now it’s up
to us to fix things at this end. What about his absence from supper?
Suppose it was noticed?”
“Why, yes, but that doesn’t matter. If a fellow doesn’t want to come to
his meals he doesn’t have to. No one’s going to bother about that, but
if he’s missed from assembly hall it’s good night! I wonder who’s in
charge to-night!”
“That’s so. I’d forgotten about study hour.” Loring thoughtfully
thumbed the pages of the time-table. Finally; “Say, is it hard to get
permission to cut study hour, Clif?”
“Gee, I don’t know. I never tried it. Why?”
“I was thinking that if Tom got permission to stay away, because of
illness or something, he might get by.”
“Of course, but how can he get excused if he isn’t here to ask?”
“Couldn’t you do it for him?”
The two boys observed each other in thoughtful silence for a moment.
Then Clif’s eyes lighted. “Gee, I might!” he exclaimed. “Only――well,
I’d sort of hate to have to lie, Loring.”
“Don’t do it. Listen. Here’s how you work it.” Loring’s voice dropped a
tone and Clif hitched his chair closer.