MR. BENJY LOSES INTEREST
Barry awoke the next morning in a rather depressed mood, for which
the weather was not wholly to blame. Outside the window the rain was
pouring in torrents. The brick path to the gate was plastered with
drowned leaves, and in the narrow beds at each side the bare stalks
of the salvias arose from a tangle of withered nasturtium vines like
soldiers tottering in a last stand against the enemy. The little pits
from which Mrs. Lyle had lifted her geraniums had become muddy pools
against the surface of which the big drops splashed ceaselessly. The
gutters ran like mountain brooks, and, across the road, a spout at one
corner of the Anderson house poured a veritable Niagara upon the sodden
lawn below. In the dim gray light the falling water looked like liquid
silver.
Not a cheerful beginning for a new week, Barry reflected as he donned
a crackling slicker. A minute or two later, as from the shelter of the
porch he and Peaches viewed the drenched world, preparatory to the
dash to chapel, Peaches murmured: “Now I know exactly how the dove felt
when he left the ark!”
There was no outdoor practice for the football players that afternoon;
only an hour of what they called “bean-drill” in the half gloom of the
gymnasium. The chalk lines and emblems that Major Loring scrawled on
the blackboard were no more than gray under the rain-pelted skylights.
Barry was relieved, though not surprised, when Clyde nodded to him.
There wasn’t much warmth in that greeting, but, rightly or wrongly,
Barry detected a hint of apology in the brief glance that accompanied
it. He felt a little more cheerful after that, and would have spoken to
Clyde had the chance offered. But it didn’t.
He overtook Zo on the way back to the house, Zo swinging his
violin-case and whistling a football song gayly as he splashed through
the rain and the puddles. Recalling the recent attentions of Rusty
Waterman to the younger boy, Barry asked:
“How are you and Waterman getting on, Zo? Has he been bothering you
lately?”
“No, I don’t think he’s even noticed me since that time he tried to get
my violin.”
“Hardly polite, I’d say, but perhaps you don’t mind.”
Zo smiled his shy smile and shook his head.
“I’m perfectly satisfied,” he answered.
It was still raining Tuesday morning, but by noon it had stopped and
at half-past three the football squad was assembled on a soggy field.
There was no scrimmage that day. In fact, the session was cut almost in
half. Barry gained a lot of experience in the handling of a wet pigskin
and marveled at how heavy and erratic it could be when well saturated.
Passing Hal Stearns in pursuit of an escaped ball, Barry chose not to
see him, but Hal refused to be invisible.
“Well, how’s the great half-back to-day?” he called in tones of extreme
deference. Barry pretended deafness as well as blindness. He was ready
to forgive and forget where Clyde was concerned, but Hal had no claims
of friendship, and Barry, who had never succeeded in liking him, now
detested him heartily.
Later, returning to the bench, Barry saw Hal and Rusty Waterman with
heads close, and although they gave him but the shortest glance as
he approached, he was uncomfortably certain that he had been under
discussion. Clyde looked extremely morose that afternoon, and Barry’s
friendly “Hello!” received only a nod and a grunt. If, thought Barry,
Clyde had felt self-reproach the day before, he had quite recovered.
Clear skies and cold weather made practice snappy enough to satisfy
even the Major. Barry played right half-back on the second or
substitute squad, and, while he performed no remarkable deeds, got
along very well. Sometimes he yielded his head-guard to Noble and
sometimes to Clyde. His punting-drills had ceased now. He had made
excellent progress, and, save that he lacked the others’ experience,
and showed it, was kicking as well as Tip Cartright. Tip could still
beat him by an average of five yards, but Barry displayed an ability to
place his punts that made up for yardage.
The cold days and the rapid approach of the Big Game awoke the school
to its annual football enthusiasm. Success or failure in the battle
with Hoskins, now scarcely more than a fortnight distant, was the
universal subject of conversation. An epidemic of football songs burst
forth, and on Thursday night the first big mass meeting was held. As
the members of the squad were not encouraged by Major Loring to attend
these demonstrations Barry spent the evenings in Mill’s room, listening
to the radio. Disturbed by the faint strains of the football pæans
which floated in through a lowered window, Mill observed severely that
it was too bad decent folks couldn’t listen to a radio program without
having their fun spoiled by rowdies!
The Purple-and-Gray played Tollington High School on Saturday and gave
an excellent account of itself, winning by 27 to 6. Barry started the
final period and although only one punt was asked of him, played a good
game. He accounted for several gains outside tackles, one of seven
yards, and was quick and sure on defense. However, his performance was
undoubtedly due in part to the fact that the foe was pretty weary in
that last quarter!
Mr. Benjy didn’t take his usual afternoon ramble on Sunday afternoon.
The Monday before he had got thoroughly wet, walking to the station,
and had returned in the evening with a cold. It had remained with him
until Friday, getting neither better nor worse. But on Friday he had
left his work shortly after noon and crawled home to bed, a sick man.
The doctor called it congestion of the lungs and to Mr. Benjy’s dismay,
intimated that a prolonged vacation was in order. Saturday saw no
improvement, nor did Sunday. On Monday it was known to the boys that
Mr. Benjy was very ill indeed. The doctor came twice during the day
and again late that evening.
The house became very still, the boys tiptoeing up- and down-stairs and
about their rooms for fear of disturbing Mr. Benjy’s fitful slumbers.
Both Barry and Peaches offered their services, but Mrs. Lyle and Betty
were equal to the requirements, and beyond an occasional errand to the
village drug store there seemed nothing any one else could do. The
doctor remained encouraging. The patient did not have pneumonia, and,
while he was not responding to treatment as well as might have been
expected, there was no cause for immediate alarm. The trouble, as Betty
explained to Barry and Peaches, was that Mr. Benjy’s heart was weak;
“tired” the doctor called it; and most of the danger lay there.
“He’s sort of lost his grip, I think,” she added. “He doesn’t seem
to care now whether he gets well or not. And he troubles a good deal
about――things.”
“Davy?” asked Peaches.
Betty nodded.
“Yes, and the money he owes the factory people, and――and things like
that. When his fever is worst he wants to get up and go to work, and we
have a hard time quieting him. Last night it was the mortgage money.”
Betty smiled wanly. “You might as well know. Father has never yet been
able to pay wholly for this place, and now that he thinks――thinks he
isn’t going to get well, it worries him.”
“Is the interest due now?” asked Peaches.
“Not for days, but he’s sort of lost track and thinks it’s due, and he
doesn’t pay any attention when we tell him it isn’t.”
“He oughtn’t to be allowed to worry about that,” said Peaches. “You
ask your mother, Betty, to let me know when the payment is due and how
much it is. I’m kind of fond of Mr. Benjy, you know, and I’d like to do
some little thing besides bringing fruit he can’t eat and flowers he
probably doesn’t notice.”
“Oh, but he does!” exclaimed Betty. “He always notices everything, and
loves the flowers.”
“Well, you and your mother had better let me look after the mortgage
and things like that until he’s on his feet again,” continued Peaches,
persuasively. “She will have enough to think about, and so will you.”
“I’ll ask her,” replied Betty. “It’s dear of you to want to do it,
Peaches, but I’m afraid she won’t listen to it.”
“I don’t see why,” said Peaches, placidly. “I’m not trying to give the
money. I’m just loaning it until Mr. Benjy can pay it back.”
That was on Tuesday, and Wednesday afternoon Peaches came back from
school and found Betty and Toby on the porch. Betty looked rather
woebegone and her eyes were suspiciously red.
“She’s been crying,” Toby announced indignantly, viewing Peaches as
though he thought the latter to blame in the matter.
“I haven’t,” said Betty. “I mean I didn’t mean to.” She managed to
smile. “I guess I’m tired.”
“Been to school to-day?” asked Peaches, seating himself.
“No, I haven’t been since Monday. There’s so much to do here that I
thought I’d better not.”
“How is he to-day?”
Betty sighed.
“The doctor said this morning that he was ‘getting on,’ but goodness
knows what that means! He doesn’t seem any worse, and he slept a good
deal last night and this morning. But this afternoon he’s in such
low spirits that――that――” Tears threatened again and Betty left the
sentence unfinished. Toby shuffled his feet uncomfortably, glancing
from Betty to Peaches, seemed to decide that the situation no longer
demanded his presence, and betook himself upstairs, rather noisily
because of his desperate efforts to be quiet. Betty smiled again as he
disappeared.
“He was so funny,” she said, with a little sniff. “He came down to
the dining-room for a drink of water and found me there. Of course
he wanted to know what the trouble was――I was crying a little――and I
said, ‘Nothing, Toby,’ and he began walking around the table, looking
so fierce and muttering to himself! Then he stopped in front of me and
said:
“‘Nothing my blind aunt! You come along with me!’ Then he almost
dragged me out here and plumped me down and shook his finger at me.
‘You stop that!’ he said. ‘Stop this minute!’ Well, I was so surprised
that I did!”
“Sort of a cave-man comforter,” commented Peaches, with a grin. “I
suppose if you hadn’t stopped he’d have dropped a cunning little newt
or a couple of grasshoppers down your back.”
“He might have,” agreed Betty. Then, after a moment, she said: “I spoke
to Mamma about the mortgage, Peaches, and she didn’t make any objection
at all, but just said she was terribly much obliged. I’ll give you the
memoranda. It――it’s a good deal of money, though, Peaches; seventy
dollars. I don’t think you ought to do it.”
“I do, Betty. When’s it due?”
“Next Monday. If you haven’t got so much, I think Mr. Tanner would take
less if we explained how it was.”
“As a matter of fact, I haven’t got so much, but I’ve got some coming
to me and I’ll have it here in plenty of time. The next time Mr. Benjy
gets to worrying about that, you tell him it’s paid.”
“He hasn’t said so much about it the last day or two. It’s Davy he
talks of now. He――he wants to see him so badly, Peaches! I really
believe that if he could see him for a few minutes he’d try――he’d
_want_ to get well. And the doctor says that one reason he doesn’t is
just that he doesn’t care!”
“Well,” said Peaches, after a short silence, “if seeing Davy’s going to
get him well again, he’d better do it, hadn’t he?”
Betty’s eyes grew round.
“Peaches!” she whispered. “Do you think――”
Peaches shrugged.
“Might be some risk in it, of course, but if it was done right we ought
to get away with it. The main difficulty is that we don’t know where to
look for him, Betty.”
Betty sighed despondently.
“That’s so. His last letter said he was leaving town and didn’t say
where he was going. And letters take so long, too!”
“Yes, it couldn’t be done that way,” reflected Peaches. “Some one would
have to go and fetch him. What’s to-day? Wednesday, eh? To-morrow I
have English Lit. at ten-thirty and math, at two.” Peaches looked at
his watch. “Three-forty-six. There’s a train north at four-twenty. That
gives me thirty-five minutes to get permission from the office and
reach the station.”
“Peaches, you’re not going to――to――”
“Watch me!” said Peaches.