BETTY CONFIDES
Twenty minutes later Barry left Dawson Hall and made his way
thoughtfully toward the gate. The quiet usually following a midday
Sunday dinner lay heavily over the campus. In the two dormitories
many windows were open wide to the sun-warmed breeze, and in most of
them youths lolled indolently. A voice now and then and the subdued
_tumpity-tump_ of a banjo alone broke the stillness, until, having
almost reached the gate, Barry heard tones of shrill protest, a laugh,
and the sound of scuffling in the fallen leaves. A few steps farther
along the curving drive he came within view of three boys. Two he
recognized; the third was a stranger. Rusty Waterman, Zo Fessenden’s
violin in one hand, was trying to possess himself of the bow. Zo, the
case hanging open from one hand and the bow in the other, was tugging
back from Rusty’s grip. The third boy stood by, laughing.
“No, please, Waterman!” Zo was pleading. “I don’t like to have folks
use it! You might break it!”
“Come on, come on!” said Rusty, impatiently. “Here, hold the fiddle,
Jack, till I get the rest of it. He thinks I can’t play!” Rusty held
out the violin. His back to Barry, he had not noticed the latter’s
approach. Barry stepped in front of “Jack” and took the violin.
“I’ll look after this,” he said. Rusty wheeled, dropping his grasp of
Zo’s arm.
“Oh!” he said, rather blankly. Then: “It’s Mister Buttinski again, eh?”
he added truculently. “What do _you_ want?”
“Not a thing,” answered Barry. He stepped around Rusty and gave the
violin to Zo. “Better put it away,” he advised. The youth called Jack
had edged aside and with an absolutely neutral expression was watching
developments. Zo smiled gratefully and returned bow and instrument to
their places, snapping the case shut while Rusty still stared peevishly.
“Let’s go,” said Barry.
Rusty found his voice again.
“Say, you think you can get away with anything, Locke, don’t you?” he
sneered. “Let me tell you something. If it wasn’t Sunday I’d teach you
good manners, you fresh dumb-bell!”
“Too bad it’s Sunday, then,” replied Barry, politely. “It ought to be
interesting to see you trying to teach manners, Waterman. To any one,”
he added.
“Is that so? All right, Locke, you’ll be first.” Rusty laughed hoarsely
at what he evidently considered a clever ripost and by a glance invited
his companion to share his amusement. Jack, however, ventured no more
than the faintest of smiles. Rusty’s own grin vanished and a very ugly
scowl took its place.
“I’ll settle with you yet, Locke,” he growled. “I haven’t forgotten,
and I’m not going to. You’ll get yours, I promise you!”
Barry made no reply and he and Zo went through the gate and turned
toward home.
“How did he get your violin?” asked Barry.
“He asked me to let him see it, and when I opened the case he took it
out. I asked him not to. Then he wanted the bow. He said he wanted to
play a jig. I was afraid he might break it, and wouldn’t give it to
him.”
“Does he bother you often, Zo?”
“No-o, not very. Two or three times he has stopped me and――and sort of
teased me.”
“How does he tease you?”
“Oh, makes fun of me and makes me shake hands with him and hurts me a
little. He presses his thumb in here.” Zo indicated the space between
thumb and first finger. “I don’t mind much. Once, just after they
caught me that time,――Pup Night, you remember,――he said he and some
of the others were going to lay for me some night and give me that
ducking. I was sort of scared for a while and used to wait for Mill
or some one to go home with me, but I guess he was only talking. He
doesn’t bother me much.”
“He’s a silly ass,” said Barry, impatiently. “Some one ought to teach
_him_ manners. I don’t suppose I could, but I’d be willing to try. You
ought to have told Peaches or me about him before, Zo.”
“I didn’t want to make――I didn’t want to have you think me such a baby.
I guess I am a baby, though. I don’t know much about fighting, Barry.”
“Well, you ought to know how to protect yourself, Zo, and when I can
find the time――after football’s over――I’ll show you a little about
boxing, if you like.”
“Thanks,” murmured the other, in no very enthusiastic tones. “I don’t
think I could ever be much of a fighter, though.”
Barry laughed.
“I don’t believe you could! But you’ll find that if you know how to use
your fists you’ll not have to use them. Not very often, anyway. Fellows
like Rusty don’t get funny with fellows who look as if they knew a
thing or two. What were you doing with your violin to-day, Zo?”
“I was playing for Mr. Sartier before dinner. He wants to start an
orchestra here. He’s an awfully good pianist, Barry. We tried three or
four things together and got along pretty well, I think.”
“A school orchestra, eh? Sounds like a good scheme, Zo. I hope Frenchy
makes it go. I’d a heap rather hear him play the piano than preside in
French class. By the way, if it does come off I hope you’ll speak a
good word for me, Zo. I’d like to join it.”
Zo smiled doubtfully.
“You don’t play any instrument, do you?” he asked.
“Don’t I! You ought to hear me play the baton!”
Barry’s amusement over his own joke didn’t survive the journey from the
front gate to the house, however, and Betty, in sole occupancy of the
sunlit porch, remarked:
“You must have said something awfully funny to make Zo Fessenden laugh
like that, but you don’t look now as if you’d ever joked in your life!”
Barry sat down on the edge of the porch and smiled weakly.
“I’m always saddest when I smile, Betty,” he answered. “Where’s every
one?”
Betty waved a slim hand vaguely.
“Gone,” she said. “Let’s see. Father’s taking his walk, Mother’s gone
to see Mrs. Travers, Peaches hasn’t shown up since dinner, and I’m
here. Oh, yes――and Toby’s upstairs where he always is.”
“Pinning inoffensive beetles to cigar-boxes, I suppose. He’s been
having a rough time at school lately. Some one let out about the care
and feeding of frogs and Toby’s getting frightfully ragged. Toby says
Mill did it, but Mill declares he didn’t.”
“Of course you don’t know who it was,” observed Betty, demurely.
“Well, if you think it was me, you’re wrong,” said Barry, grinning.
“When I tried to tell a fellow he said he’d already heard it!”
Betty laughed and Barry’s grin turned to a frown.
“I wish Peaches would come,” he said plaintively. “I want to talk to
him about something.”
“You and he are pretty good friends, aren’t you?” said Betty. “I’m
awfully glad. It’s funny, too, for he’s been here with us two years and
he was never chummy with any of the boys before.”
“He says I amuse him.” Barry turned from watching the road in the
direction of school and asked: “Why is it Peaches doesn’t have more
friends, Betty? I mean fellows he goes about with. He knows every one,
it seems, but he doesn’t seem to want to have much to do with any one.”
“I don’t really know, Barry. The first year he was here he started to
go around with two or three fellows in his class. You know them, I
guess: Ellingham and Prentiss.”
“I know Ellingham,” said Barry. “They call him ‘Goof.’ That the one?”
“Yes. And Prentiss is a tall boy with a lot of color in his cheeks, who
dresses a lot. Then there was another――he wasn’t in Peaches’ class,
when I think of it――named Shafter. They all belonged to the rich crowd
in school, you know. Well, Peaches went with them for maybe a month or
two and then all of a sudden he stopped. I never knew what happened,
only Davy said something to Peaches about it one day and Peaches
said, ‘Oh, they got my goat!’ Since then he’s sort of kept to himself,
although all the boys seem to like him a lot, and he always gets more
applause when he goes to bat in the ball games than any one else on the
team!”
“Funny for him to get in with the wealthy crowd,” mused Barry. “Maybe
they found he wasn’t――well, one of them, you know, and dropped him.”
“I guess he wasn’t one of them,” assented Betty, “because he’s so much
of a――a gentleman. Of course the others had lots of money, too, but
they――oh, I don’t know――they weren’t a bit like Peaches.”
“What I meant was that the others probably dropped Peaches because he
wasn’t rich enough for them. That is, his folks weren’t. I guess there
are quite a few snobs here.”
“But, gracious!” said Betty; “they weren’t any of them as wealthy as
Peaches! Why, they couldn’t be! At least, it doesn’t seem as if they
could.”
Barry stared.
“I don’t get you. Are you trying to tell me that――that Peaches’ folks
are well off? wealthy?”
“Well, gracious! aren’t they? I don’t know very much about it myself,
Barry, but Father said once that he guessed Harrington Jones was one of
the four or five richest men in the country. Anyhow, he must be richer
than――”
“Harrington Jones!” exclaimed Barry. “Do you mean that Peaches
is――is――Land of Liberty! I thought he was poor! Are you _sure_?”
“Of course I am!” laughed Betty. “Why, Mr. Jones was up here last
spring! He came for the Hoskins game. He sat right here on this porch
and talked to Mother and me and was perfectly darling. Peaches looks a
lot like him, too, and says things just the funny way his father does.
Why, the idea of thinking him poor! How ever did you get such a funny
notion, Barry?”
“Why――why, I don’t know,” murmured Barry. “He never _said_ anything.
And his room――I mean it doesn’t look like a rich fellow’s; now, does
it? Gee! and I was telling him one day how wealthy Clyde’s father is!
He must think I’m a――a dumb-bell!”
“He never does talk about money, or about his father, either,” said
Betty; “and his room isn’t fixed up much. But haven’t you ever noticed
what nice things he has, Barry? His brushes and toilet things are
lovely. And he has nice clothes, too. Even,” she added with a laugh,
“if he does go around wearing his oldest ones most of the time!”
“That’s so,” acknowledged Barry; “he has got some nice things upstairs.
I noticed his bureau one day, but I didn’t think about his having
silver brushes and photograph frames. Yes, and he has about two dozen
pairs of shoes, too, and I saw them and thought they were old ones and
joked him about it! Gee, Betty, he must be indecently rich!”
“I guess so, but I don’t care if he is; he’s awfully nice. We thought
of course he would go into one of the dormitories last year, but he
didn’t, and he didn’t this year, either; and it was just because he
knew Mother might have trouble renting his room again. I call that
awfully――thoughtful.”
Barry nodded.
“He said something about that. Said the faculty made it sort of hard
for folks who rented to students and he was afraid Mrs. Lyle wouldn’t
fill the room if he got out. Just the same, Betty, I think he likes it
here better than a dormitory.”
“Yes, I think so, too, and that’s just another nice thing about him,”
replied Betty, warmly. “Lots of boys in his circumstances, with all the
money they want, wouldn’t be satisfied unless they had the best room
in Meddill.” There was a pause, and then she asked: “Did he tell you
any more, Barry? I mean about――about my brother Davy?”
“Yes, he did,” Barry confessed a bit awkwardly. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, not a bit, Barry. You see, you’re a good deal like Peaches. I mean
you’re――” Betty hesitated, smiled, and shrugged her slim shoulders
apologetically. “I just mean that I don’t mind your knowing,” she
laughed.
“It was awfully――awfully hard luck,” said Barry. “I guess Mr. Benjy
feels pretty badly about it.”
“He misses Davy,” said Betty. “We all do. But you mustn’t think Father
feels badly, Barry, because, you see, Davy didn’t really do what they
said he did.” She looked down at Barry very straightly, a little
sternly.
“So Peaches said,” he answered. “And with both you and Peaches telling
me the same thing I’m bound to believe it.” He smiled, and Betty’s
severity relaxed.
“Peaches was a dear when it happened,” she said. “He tried very hard to
persuade Davy to stay here and prove his innocence, but Davy wouldn’t.
He was hurt, and a little bit frightened, too, I think, and he wanted
to get away from the talk. He couldn’t have, though, if Peaches hadn’t
helped him. We didn’t have any money in the house that night, and
Peaches went over to the school and got some from Mr. Puffer, the
treasurer, and――well, I don’t know the rest of it, because I never
asked.”
“He didn’t tell me that part of it,” muttered Barry. “Do you hear from
him, Betty? Davy I mean.”
“Oh, yes, he writes pretty regularly. He’s had an awfully hard time,
poor boy. He’s had four or five positions, but he can’t seem to hold
them. They haven’t been the right kind for him, because he doesn’t
really know much except office work, and you can’t get that very
easily without references, and Davy hasn’t any. He sends his letters
to Peaches. We were afraid the police might watch the mail, you see.
Still, they never tried to find him after he left here, so far as we
know, and maybe they’ll let it drop after a while.”
“It wouldn’t be safe for him to come home yet, then?”
Betty shook her head, yet hesitantly, and before she could reply Mrs.
Lyle returned from her visit along the street. After a few minutes
Barry went up to his room and seated himself at the walnut desk,
which, under Betty’s care, was regaining some of its youthful luster.
He didn’t feel in the mood for letter-writing, but this was the day for
it, and after several false starts he managed to finish two pages.
“I’ve about decided to give up football for this year,” he was writing,
when Peaches’ footsteps sounded on the stairs and then approached along
the hall. Barry had left his door open and Peaches entered.
“‘I am studying very hard,’” he dictated as he sank into a chair, “‘and
winning much praise from my dear teachers.’”
Barry laid down his pen and viewed him rather moodily.
“I guess it would be a good thing if I could say that,” he muttered.
“I’m studying hard, all right, but I haven’t heard much praise from my
dear teachers!” Then recollection of Betty’s astounding revelation came
to him and he looked Peaches over from head to toe, with new interest.
Peaches frowned and put a hand to his tie.
“What is it?” he asked anxiously. “Let’s know the worst. If it’s the
tie I’ll change it.”
“You’re Harrington Jones’s son, aren’t you?” said Barry.
Peaches nodded cautiously.
“What are you trying to do? Serve a summons on me?”
“Betty just told me,” answered Barry, darkly.
“Told you what?”
“That you were――are.”
“That I were what? I’m sorry, Barry, but I’m like this on Sundays,
after a hearty dinner: I’m not quick, you know. I have to have the
simplest things explained to me. You’d be surprised!”
“I was,” said Barry. “I thought you were――well, sort of poor. Now I
find you’ve got slathers of coin.”
“Not me,” said Peaches. “Dad has quite a roll, I believe, but I worry
along on a mere pittance. Still, anything up to three or four dollars――”
“I’m not trying to borrow money, you chump!” retorted Barry.
Peaches chuckled.
“Then why all the prologue? You’re wasting a mighty good introduction.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about your folks?” demanded Barry, sternly. “I
thought you were poor. I was talking about rich fellows a while back,
and saying perfectly insulting things, for all I remember, and you
just let me go on and never said a word about being one of them!”
Peaches shrugged.
“Why should I? If you had asked me I’d have confessed the dreadful
truth, but you didn’t. We both agreed that a fellow had no right to
take credit for his parents, didn’t we?”
“Well, but――oh, all right! Just the same, I felt a perfect ass when
Betty spoke about your folks being wealthy. I thought she was crazy.”
“How come I was the subject of discourse?”
“I forget. Oh! I asked where you were and――and we just got talking
about you. Betty was trying to tell me what a wonder you were and, of
course, I couldn’t see it.”
“Humph!” grunted Peaches. “I’d be ashamed to own up to such lack of
discernment. I don’t know where Betty got her idea, but I’m sure it’s
right.”
“Fishing!” laughed Barry. “Well, I’m not going to tell you. She did
say, though, you had been nice about that brother of hers. She told me
all about how you helped him get away too. Gee! if I wanted to go to
the police and tell what I know about you――”
“She hasn’t seen him?” asked Peaches, eagerly.
“Seen him?”
“Well, I thought maybe―― The fact is, he hasn’t written for nearly two
weeks, and I didn’t know but that he had shown up here. You know he
addresses his letters to me and I hand them over to his folks. He’s
crazy to come back here yet, though, I guess.”
“I don’t believe he has,” said Barry. “She didn’t say anything about
that, anyway. Say, where have you been since dinner? I wanted to see
you about something.”
“Oh, I stopped in to see Billy Bassett. What’s on your mind?”
“Well,” began Barry, slowly. Then he stopped and, after a moment, began
again: “I sort of wanted your advice, Peaches.”
Peaches nodded.
“I’m flattered, Barry. About which?”
“Football.”
Peaches looked dubious.
“Well, of course, Barry, football isn’t exactly a subject――”
“About resigning from the team, I mean. Do you think the Major
would――would be willing?”