THE CHALLENGE
“Come in!”
Starling Meyer turned from the window in Number 17 and faced the door.
Ernest Barnes, Star’s roommate, looked up from his book and glanced
curiously in the same direction as the portal opened briskly to admit
Jimmy Logan. It lacked but a few minutes of study hour and Jimmy, with
the door of the next room slightly ajar, had made certain of Star’s
return before starting on his errand. Beyond the partition――there was a
connecting door between the rooms, but that was never opened――Dud was
dubiously awaiting Jimmy’s report.
“Oh,” said Star eloquently as Jimmy advanced jauntily enough but with a
most sober countenance into the radius of light from the study table.
“Hello, Logan, what do you want?”
Barnes’ greeting was just a nod, civil but not enthusiastic, and having
made it he went back to his book.
“Hello, fellows,” said Jimmy. “Mind if I sit down, Meyer?”
“Help yourself.” Star eyed the caller suspiciously. “This is an
unexpected honor,” he added sarcastically.
Jimmy nodded. “Yes, isn’t it? Fact is, I’m on a painful errand, Meyer.
Mind if I speak before Barnes?”
“Oh, cut the comedy, Logan,” replied Star impatiently. “What nonsense
are you up to, anyway?”
“No nonsense at all, really,” Jimmy assured him earnestly. “It’s like
this, Meyer. I’m here on behalf of my friend, Baker. You see, he isn’t
just satisfied with the way things were left this afternoon. He feels
that――er――the matter ought to be settled more――er――more definitely. See
what I mean?”
“Oh, rot! I’m not going to fight that kid, Logan. He’s too small. Tell
him to forget it. And look here, you!” Star’s voice took on an edge. “I
want you to quit meddling in my affairs, too, Logan. I know what you’ve
been up to. You and that roommate of yours are altogether too fresh.”
“Me?” asked Jimmy innocently. “What have I done, Meyer?”
“You’ve talked a whole lot too much, that’s what you’ve done. And
you’ve egged Baker on to――to make trouble. I want you to stop it, both
of you.”
“Well, I may have talked some,” Jimmy allowed calmly. “Everyone has a
right to talk――――”
“If they’re careful what they say, yes! But――――”
“Anyway, that isn’t what I came to see you about. I’ve talked it over
with Dud and we’ve concluded that you ought to give him satisfaction.
You see, Meyer, slapping a fellow’s face and then refusing to go on
with it looks――well, a bit funny, eh? Now what we propose is that you
and Dud meet, say tomorrow afternoon at half-past five, down at the
Beach, and settle the matter in a quiet, gentlemanly way. What do you
say to that?”
“I say no,” replied Star shortly. “I haven’t any intention of fighting
him. All I will do is slap his face again if he doesn’t let me alone.
He’s been telling it around――or you have――that I’m afraid of him!”
“Um,” said Jimmy thoughtfully. “Well――er――if you don’t fight him won’t
it look as if he was right?”
Star flushed angrily. “Don’t be a fool, Logan! I’d take the two of you
on and lick the tar out of you if it wasn’t beneath me!”
“Oh, I see! Then I’m to tell Dud that you refuse?”
“Tell him anything you like! And now you get out of here or I’ll throw
you out!”
Barnes had displayed a remarkable aloofness up to the present moment,
but now he raised his eyes at last from his book and judicially, even
hopefully, compared the two before him. The result of the comparison,
however, seemed to disappoint him, for he sighed and went back to his
occupation again, apparently dismissing the matter from his mind.
“And what would I be doing?” asked Jimmy brightly. “I’ll tell you
frankly, Meyer, that your attitude is a great surprise to me. It’s a
great disappointment, too. I’d hoped for better things, Meyer. The
fellows are going to be mightily disappointed when they hear about it.”
“So you intend to talk some more, do you?” demanded the other
exasperatedly.
“Me? Oh, my, no! But these things have a way of getting out, you know,
Meyer.” Jimmy shook his head sadly. “This school is a frightfully
gossipy little community.” He got up and turned toward the door. “If
you think better of it, all you’ve got to do is just let me know. I
wish you’d think it over, Meyer.”
“You get out of here!” retorted Star threateningly.
“I’m going. I don’t know what Dud will say, though, when I tell him!”
“I fancy,” sneered Star, “that he will be a good bit relieved!”
“Dud? Oh, dear, no!” responded Jimmy gently. “He’s awfully keen about
it, Dud is. It’ll be a horrible disappointment to him, Meyer. Well, so
long.”
Jimmy passed out with melancholy mien, closing the door softly behind
him and then pausing an instant to chuckle before he opened the next
portal. A moment later his expression of wicked glee changed to one of
utmost decorum, for to his surprise he found that Dud had a visitor and
that the visitor was none other than Mr. Russell. Mr. Russell, better
known as “J. P.,” was the Greek instructor and one of the house masters
in Trow. Jimmy said “Good evening, sir,” in the most deferential tones,
shot a quick, inquiring glance at Dud and then paused uncertainly.
“Am I in the way, Mr. Russell?” he asked.
“Not at all, Logan. I’ve finished my business with Baker. Possibly I’d
better acquaint you with it and enlist your assistance.” Mr. Russell
smiled gently. “We’ve heard that Baker had a quarrel this afternoon
with another boy and was heard to threaten him. As you know, both of
you, fighting is not tolerated here, and I felt it my duty to drop
in and warn Baker against――ah――any infringement of the rules. He has
explained the circumstances and I must acknowledge that he has grounds
for――ah――complaint. But the matter must be settled amicably, boys, and
I shall depend on you, Logan, as an older boy, to see that your friend
here does nothing he will be sorry for. Personally, I believe that
there is something to be said for――ah――a physical encounter under such
circumstances, but rules are rules and we are here to obey them. You
agree with me, Logan?”
“Absolutely, sir,” replied Jimmy emphatically.
“Then I may depend on you to see that nothing occurs which――ah――――”
“You may, sir,” said Jimmy resolutely. “In fact, I’ve already been
talking it over with Dud, Mr. Russell, and I’m certain he doesn’t
intend to make any trouble. You see, just at first he was a bit peeved.
Any fellow would have been if another fellow had slapped his face like
that. But after I’d talked to him a while――――”
Jimmy paused because Dud was grinning and Mr. Russell had emitted what
was an unmistakable chuckle.
“I’m afraid, Logan, your counsel didn’t prevail, after all,” said the
instructor, “for I found Baker in a decidedly uncompromising state of
mind. I think you’d better have another talk with him.” Mr. Russell
arose, still smiling, and moved to the door. “My advice to both you
boys is to be sensible. Good evening.”
“Now what the dickens did he mean by that?” asked Jimmy, frowning
perplexedly after the instructor. Dud laughed.
“He meant that your bluff didn’t fool him a bit, you silly ass, if you
want to know. I told him I meant to fight Meyer the first chance I got.
Then you came in and began talking too much, as usual.”
“Oh!” said Jimmy, grinning. “So that’s it? Well, now what’s to be done?
I put it up to Star and he ab-so-lutely refused the invitation.”
“I guess that ends it,” said Dud. “I certainly don’t intend to have any
scrap with him now when faculty’s on the watch. J. P. says they’d chuck
me if I got caught at it. He’s not a bad sort, J. P.”
“Isn’t it the very dickens!” muttered Jimmy, plunging his hands in
his pockets and viewing his chum forlornly. “Just when everything was
coming around our way, too!”
Dud shrugged philosophically. “I’ll get even with him some time, even
if I can’t fight him now,” he declared grimly. “Don’t you worry.”
“Yes, but that isn’t going to help us much now,” replied Jimmy
perplexedly. “You see, I insisted that you were crazy for a scrap and
Star will think――――”
“Oh, who cares what Star thinks? Who cares what anybody thinks?” asked
Dud impatiently. “I’m sick of the whole business.”
“We’ve got to save our faces, though,” said the other, shaking his
head. “And so I guess――――” His face lighted suddenly. “That’s the
ticket! By Jove, Dud, we’ll get credit out of this yet!”
“What silly scheme are you thinking about now?” asked his chum
dubiously.
“Why, all we’ve got to do is to tell the truth!”
“_All?_” asked Dud sarcastically. “I’d say that was a whole lot for you
to try, Jimmy.”
“Yes, sir, just let it get around that faculty got wind of the thing
and, knowing your reputation as a scrapper, sent J. P. to forbid you to
fight! Great stuff, that!” Jimmy laughed delightedly. “Why, it’s almost
as good as the scrap!”
“Look here, Jimmy, I’m tired of the whole thing, I tell you. Let it
drop, won’t you?”
“Sure! Only we’ve got to have the last word, Dud! Now don’t pester me
any more. I’ve got to dig a bit.”
But if Jimmy really studied, appearances were deceptive, for when,
during the next hour, Dud occasionally glanced across the table, it was
always to behold Jimmy with his hands locked behind his head, his gaze
on the ceiling and a thoughtfully rapturous smile on his face. After
study hour was over he disappeared.
Dud asked no questions the next day. As he had truthfully told Jimmy,
he was tired of the whole affair. He was still deeply resentful toward
Star Meyer, but his anger had cooled and he had no intention of
getting into trouble with the faculty for the scant satisfaction of
being bruised up further by that youth. He was tired, too, of trying
to become “a regular feller,” to use Jimmy’s descriptive phrase. What
the latter liked to call “the campaign” had been, so far as beneficial
results were concerned, a total failure. To be sure, Dud had enlarged
his circle of acquaintances vastly; he was now on nodding or speaking
acquaintance with fully three-fourths of the fellows; but what, as he
asked himself disconsolately, was the good of knowing chaps if they
didn’t like you afterwards? He could still count on the fingers of one
hand the fellows who really showed any disposition to be friendly:
Hugh Ordway, Ben Myatt, Guy Murtha, Roy Dresser and Ed Brooks. He
tried in vain to find a sixth. There was Jimmy, of course, but Jimmy
was understood. Of the friendly ones only Ordway and Dresser could
be called disinterested, he decided. Murtha was friendly because he
wanted Dud to make good as a pitcher, Myatt because he took a sort of
proprietary interest in the younger twirler, and Brooks because it
had fallen to his lot to catch Dud frequently, and there had sprung
up between them a sort of comradeship that, so far, ended with each
day’s work-out. As to Hugh Ordway, Dud suspected that that youth showed
friendliness because he was naturally kind-hearted and had taken pity
on him. So that left only Roy Dresser, and Dresser was much older
than Dud and went with the football crowd and, in the natural course
of events, their paths seldom crossed. It would have been perfectly
feasible for Dud to call on Dresser, but that would have required an
amount of assurance that the younger boy didn’t possess. No, judging by
results, that “campaign” had not been a colossal success!
Just now, however, Dud didn’t care so much whether he was popular or
not. He was very full of baseball and secretly consumed by the ambition
to make good as a pitcher and win a place on the first team. For the
present that provided sufficient interest. He didn’t really believe
that he would succeed in his ambition; at least, not this year; but
one may lack belief and still hope, and Dud was doing a whole lot of
hoping. So far he had done as well as any of the “rookies” without,
however, having distinguished himself in the least. He could flatter
himself that neither Brunswick nor Kelly had been used more often than
he, and he took encouragement from the fact. Sometimes he regretted
that he had taken Ben Myatt’s advice and changed his style. If he
hadn’t, he told himself, he might have showed a lot more by this
time. Generally, though, he recognized the fact that Ben’s advice had
really been very sensible and that eventually, if not this season,
then next, he would find himself better off for having followed it. So
far, though, the improvement that Ben had promised had developed very
slowly, and he had days of discouragement. It seemed that what accuracy
he had possessed before had quite left him. He could show speed and
he could fool four batsmen out of five with his change of pace, but
when the score got to be two-and-two and it was necessary to put them
over he was as likely as not to be as wild as a hawk. Obeying Ben, he
still avoided “hooks,” making up his mind to leave such things quite
alone until he was able to put the straight ones where he wanted them.
Plenty of pitchers will tell you that it is harder to pitch a straight
ball than a curve, and it’s very nearly true. It is, in fact, entirely
true in the case of a young pitcher who has started out pitching curves
to the practical exclusion of straight balls. And Dud, having taught
himself very largely, had begun his pitching career on the erroneous
assumption that a wide knowledge of “hooks” and “curves” and “jumps”
and other freakish things is a pitcher’s best asset. It is not, though,
for the simple reason that no pitcher ever combined a large variety of
deliveries with that most valuable of all assets, control. “Putting
it where you want it” is what counts, and the pitcher who can put a
straight ball just where it will do the most good can dispose of the
batsman in far better style than one whose wide curves and drops and
jumps refuse to break over the plate. All this Dud learned for himself
eventually, but just now he was accepting it on faith, and his faith
often failed him.
The day after Mr. Russell’s visit to Number 19 Dud very carefully
avoided a meeting with Star Meyer. When he left his room he listened to
make sure that his neighbor was not also about to emerge, and in School
Hall he searched the corridors between recitations in order that he
would not find himself embarrassingly confronted by Star. When you have
earnestly vowed to make another fellow fight it is a bit disconcerting
to have to pass him by meekly! Dud’s endeavors met with complete
success until he entered the Field House in the afternoon to get into
his playing togs. Then, as he feared, fortune deserted him. The first
occupant of the room his eyes lighted on was Star, while, oddly enough,
Star glanced across at the doorway at that instant and saw Dud. But
that was all there was to it, for Star removed his gaze without a
flicker of recognition, and Dud went to his own locker, fortunately
the width of the room away from Star’s, and attended strictly to the
matter of making a hurried change of attire. Some of the fellows who
had learned of the encounter between the two the afternoon before
watched them expectantly until Star, ready for work, left the building
with Weston and Milford. Dud avoided the glances of the others as
he pulled his togs on. They knew, he was certain, that he had sworn
revenge against Star and were naturally viewing him disparagingly as a
“quitter.” Had he overheard a whispered conversation in one corner of
the locker-room, however, he wouldn’t have been troubled so much.
“Did you see Star sneak out?” chuckled Jones, a rather stout youth with
ambitions looking toward a position in the first team outfield. “I’ll
bet he’s mighty glad faculty read the riot act to Baker!”
“What was that?” asked Churchill, a third-choice shortstop.
“Didn’t you hear? Why, Star and Baker had a row in here yesterday
and went for each other, and Davy had to separate them. Star was mad
because Baker hit him with the ball when he was at bat. Baker was wild,
they say, and swore he’d get Star the first chance. So Davy pipes off
the faculty and J. P. beats it to Baker’s room and tells him that if he
doesn’t leave Star alone faculty’ll jump him hard. So, of course, Baker
has to promise to behave, but they say he’s hopping mad and will get
Star yet. I thought maybe he’d forget and light into him just now.”
“Oh, peanuts! I guess Star isn’t afraid of that kid. Why, look at him!
Star’s six inches bigger every way!”
“That’s all right,” responded Jones, “but they say Baker’s a regular
terror when he gets started. Got thrown out of one school because he
nearly killed a fellow there.”
“That right?” asked the other incredulously.
“Surest thing you know, old scout! Ned Stiles was telling me. He knows
the fellow Baker beat up.” Jones gazed speculatively and admiringly
at the unconscious Dud and shook his head. “He doesn’t _look_ awfully
scrappy, does he? But, say, I’ll bet he could hand you an awful wallop
with that right of his! They say he’s as clever as anything on his
feet; just dances all around the other fellow and does about as he
likes. You all ready?”
On the way out Churchill, regarding Dud in surreptitious awe,
encountered that youth’s gaze, and, as Dud at the instant happened to
be frowning darkly at his thoughts, Churchill was ever after convinced
that Dud was a fellow to be treated with the utmost respect!