“WASHINGTON P. QUIGGLE”
Stuart had instructed him so thoroughly that Dick knew just which way
to turn in order to find a conveyance to carry him to the school, but
Stuart had spoken of carriages and Dick found nothing but chugging
“flivvers” manned by eager and noisy youths to whom he hesitated to
entrust his life. Automobiles, he presumed, had arrived since Stuart’s
time. Dick remained so long in doubt that, almost before he knew
it, all but one of the throbbing taxies had found their loads and
gone rattling off over the cobbles. He made his way to the remaining
conveyance quickly then, but not so quickly as to reach it first. A boy
a year or so older already had a hand on the door when Dick arrived.
“Goss, Eddie,” Dick heard the boy say. “And don’t spare the horses!”
But Eddie, who Dick had earlier decided was the least attractive of the
half-dozen drivers, was not losing any chances.
“Yes, sir! Parkinson School? Step right in. The gentleman inside won’t
mind. What building, sir?”
“Sohmer,” answered Dick. And then, to the occupant: “Mind if I go
along?” he asked. “This seems to be the only taxi left.”
“Not a bit. The more the merrier! Besides,” he continued as the car
shot away from the platform with a jerk, wheeled suddenly to the left
and dashed headlong over the cobbles, “it makes for economy. They put
the fare up last spring. It would have cost me a half if I’d gone
alone. By the way, are you in a great hurry?”
“Why, no,” answered Dick.
“Well, I am.” He leaned toward the open window in front. “Take me to
Goss first, Eddie,” he directed.
He was a tall, rather thin and very long-legged youth with a nose that
matched the other specifications, and a pair of blue-grey eyes that,
in spite of their owner’s grave and serious expression, seemed to hold
a twinkle of amusement or perhaps of mischief. He had placed a very
battered suit-case before him on the floor of the car and now put his
feet on it, settled to the small of his back and turned a look of
polite inquiry on Dick.
“My name’s Quiggle,” he said, “Washington P. Quiggle.” He made a feeble
motion toward a pocket. “I haven’t a card with me, I fear. I have,
believe me, no desire to thrust my acquaintance on you, but since Fate
has thrown us together like this----” He paused apologetically.
“That’s all right,” said Dick. “Very glad to meet you. My name is
Bates.” He smiled. Rather to his surprise Washington Quiggle didn’t
smile back. Instead, he put his head a bit on one side and seemed to
regard Dick speculatingly.
“Showing the teeth slightly,” he murmured. At least, that’s what Dick
thought he said, but as there was no sense in the remark, perhaps he
was mistaken.
“I beg pardon?”
“Oh, did I speak?” asked Quiggle. “A lamentable habit of mine, Mr.
Bates, unconsciously giving utterance to my thoughts. A habit inherited
from my grandfather on my mother’s side. Most annoying at times and
likely to lead to an erroneous impression of my mentality. And speaking
of my grandfather, a most worthy and respected citizen in spite of the
misfortune that overtook him in his later years: I refer, of course,
to the loss of his mind, accompanied, or should I say superseded, by
homicidal mania; speaking of him, then, suppose I relieve myself of my
portion of the expenses of this placid journey, thus.” He dug a hand
into a trousers pocket and produced a twenty-five cent piece which he
handed to Dick. “It will save time and--I was about to say money--and
trouble if you will settle with Edward for us both. I thank you.”
“Of course,” murmured Dick. By now he was rather hoping that Goss Hall
would be reached before his companion’s perfectly evident insanity took
a violent turn! For there was no doubt in Dick’s mind but that Mr.
Washington P. Quiggle was what in the everyday language of Leonardville
was known as a “nut.” Quiggle had closed his eyes and appeared to be on
the verge of slumber, and after a moment’s concerned observation of him
Dick turned his gaze to the town through which the car was speeding.
The cobbles had given place to asphalt and while Quiggle’s choice of
the word “placid” was not entirely justified, at least the car was
running much more quietly and far more smoothly. There were some decent
looking shops on each side of the street and a fairly imposing office
building occupied one corner of the street into which the taxi suddenly
and disconcertingly turned. The lurch may have brought momentary
consciousness back to Quiggle, for his eyes opened and closed and he
remarked quite distinctly:
“Hard a lee! Man the water-butt! Aye, aye, sir!”
A pleasant wide thoroughfare opened to view right and left at the end
of a block, and Dick caught sight of attractive houses set back from
the street and lawns and gardens between. Then, without diminishing
it’s twenty-five-miles-an-hour speed, the taxi dashed between two
stone gate posts and scurried up a gravelled road bisecting a wide
expanse of level turf. Trees grew on each side, but between them Dick
had occasional glimpses of the school buildings which, for the most
part, were spaced along the further side of the campus. Parkinson
Hall he recognised readily from the picture in the school catalogue,
a white marble edifice surmounted by a glassed dome, but which was
Sohmer he wasn’t certain. Having crossed the width of the campus, the
taxi swerved perilously to the right in front of Parkinson and dashed
on until, with a sudden and unexpected application of the brakes, the
driver brought it to a tottering stand-still before the entrance of a
brick building. The jar aroused Quiggle and he sat up.
“Ah! Home again as we perceive! Back to the classic shades of our dear
old Alma Mater!” he exclaimed as he opened the door on his side by the
pressure of one bony knee against the handle and seized his bag. “Mr.
Bates, I sincerely trust that we shall meet again. Should you care to
pursue the acquaintance so--so--dare I say--fortunately brought about,
you have but to inquire of any resident of this palatial dwelling in
order to learn of my place of abode. I’d tell you the number of my room
were it not that, owing to an inherited weakness of memory, I cannot
at the moment recall it. Eddie, the gentleman within will pay your
outrageous charge.”
“Yeah, I know, but----”
“Edward,” interrupted Quiggle sternly, “the gentleman has my fare and
will deliver it to you with his own. Drive on!”
After a moment of indecision and muttering, Edward drove on. Looking
back through the rear window of the car, Dick saw Quiggle wave grandly,
beneficently ere, bag in hand, he disappeared into Goss.
There was another turn, again to the right, and once more the car
stopped. “Here you are, sir,” announced the driver. “Sohmer Hall.
You’ll excuse me if I don’t take your bag in for you, but we ain’t
allowed to leave the car.”
“That’s all right,” said Dick, emerging. “Here you are.” He held forth
a half-dollar. The driver observed it coldly and made no effort to
take it. “Quit your kiddin’,” he said.
“Well, that’s all you’ll get,” replied Dick warmly. “That’s the legal
fare.”
“It is, eh? Say, where do you get that stuff? Listen, kid. The fare’s
fifty cents a person, seventy-five for two. Get me?”
“What! Why, that other fellow said it was--Anyway, he gave me a quarter
for his share of it!”
The driver nodded wearily. “Sure he would! That’s him all over. You’re
lucky he didn’t stick you for the whole racket. Come across with
another quarter, young feller!”
Grudgingly, Dick did so. “If you knew Quiggle was that sort----” he
began aggrievedly.
“Who?” asked the driver, a grin growing about his mouth.
“Quiggle. The fellow you left at Goss Hall. I say, if you knew----”
“His name ain’t Quiggle,” jeered the driver. “Gee, that’s a peach!
Quiggle! What do you know about that?”
“What is his name then?” demanded Dick haughtily.
“His name’s--Well, it ought to be Slippery Simpson, but it ain’t!”
Whereupon there was a deafening grinding of gears, a snort, and the
“flivver” swung about on two wheels and went charging off.
Dick looked after it disgustedly and then, taking up his suit-case,
mounted the steps of Sohmer.
“I’ll Quiggle him when I catch him!” he muttered. “Fresh chump!”
In consequence of the episode, Dick reached his room on the second
floor decidedly out of sorts. He didn’t mind being cheated out of
twelve or thirteen cents, but it disgruntled him to be made a fool of.
He wasn’t used to it. At home no one would have though of attempting
such a silly trick on him. He experienced, for the first time since
leaving Leonardville, a qualm of apprehension. If Quiggle, or whatever
his silly name really was, was a fair sample of the fellows he was to
meet at Parkinson, the outlook for being treated with the respect that
he was accustomed to was not at all satisfactory. Unconsciously he had
journeyed to Warne under the impression that his appearance at school
would be hailed with, if not excited acclaim, at least with measurable
satisfaction. And here the first fellow he had run across had played a
perfectly rotten joke on him! Dick’s dignity was considerably ruffled.
Number 14 proved to be a corner study, but not on the front. It wasn’t
a bad room, Dick decided a bit patronisingly, and the view from the
windows was satisfactory. On one side he looked across a bit of the
campus and over to the wide street that was lined with gardens and
lawns: Faculty Row it was called, although Dick didn’t know it then.
From the other window he saw a tree-shaded, asphalt-paved road and one
or two old-fashioned white dwellings beyond, and a corner of a square
brick building set at a little distance just inside the grounds. That,
unless he was mistaken, was the Administration Building, and he must go
there shortly and register.
Dick turned to the alcove bedroom divided from the study by curtains.
There were two single beds there, two dressers and two chairs, and
a single window gave light. Also, on one of the beds was an open
suit-case, its contents tumbling over onto the white counterpane.
One battered end showed the initials “S. G.” Dick wondered if the
S stood for Sam. Approaching footsteps in the corridor turned his
eyes toward the door, but the steps stopped at a room across the
way. There followed the sound of a bag dropped to the floor and then
the opposite door banged shut. Dick, back in the study, viewed it
without enthusiasm. It was smaller than he liked and the furniture,
while there was plenty of it--two small study tables, each under
its own side-light, what he mentally dubbed a “near-leather” couch,
two easy-chairs and two straight-backed chairs--was very evidently
far from new. There was a faded blue carpet-rug on the floor and a
short window-seat occupied the embrasure that held the end window.
The original colour-scheme had been brown and blue, but the deep tan
cartridge paper had faded, as had the alcove curtains and the rug. Here
and there, on the walls, a square or oblong of a deeper shade showed
where a picture had hung.
Dick had left the hall door ajar and now he was aware of much noise and
bustle throughout the building. Doors in the various corridors opened
and shut, voices called, someone further along the hall was singing,
while, outside, a taxi chugged before the entrance. Dick put his hat on
and went out, passing several new arrivals on the way and exchanging
with them swiftly appraising glances. The Administration Building
stood only a few rods away and Dick’s business was soon attended to,
for only a half-dozen or so were before him. Having paid his term bill
and inscribed his name on a card that was handed him, he was given a
booklet containing the school regulations and general information,
a receipt for his money and a ruled card on which to schedule his
recitations. Beside the door was a bulletin board and he paused to
read some of the notices posted there. There was a reception to new
students that evening at the Principal’s residence, a half-year course
in geometrical drawing would be conducted by Mr. McCreedy for First and
Second Class students and those wishing to sign on should notify him by
Saturday, Mr. Nolan would not be able to see students in his advisory
capacity until Thursday, subscriptions to _The Leader_ could be left at
the office here or at the room of the publication, and so on. But the
notice that interested Dick most ran as follows:
“Candidates for the First Football Team should report on the
field, dressed to play, not later than Wednesday. Attention is
called to the school regulation requiring the candidate to pass
a satisfactory physical examination before joining the squad.
“Stearns Whipple, Mgr.”
Outside, Dick pulled the booklet from his pocket and sought information
regarding physical examinations. He found a whole page on the subject.
It was necessary, it appeared, to go to the Physical Director’s office
in the gymnasium and make application for an appointment. Students
failing to keep appointments promptly were required to make new ones.
There was much more, but that was sufficient for the present, and Dick
made his way back along the road to the gymnasium. Inside, he had to
take his place in a line of nearly a dozen boys, and progress toward
the wicket, behind which a youth not much older than Dick supplied
information or made out appointment cards, was slow. Eventually,
though, Dick reached the window, made known his wants and was given a
slip of pasteboard which informed him that the Physical Director would
see him at five-fifteen on Wednesday. That was the day after tomorrow.
It looked to Dick as if he could not report for football until he
had been passed by the Physical Director and could not be passed by
the director until it was too late to report for football! Perhaps,
however, that notice in the Administration Building didn’t mean quite
what it said. He would ask someone when he found the chance.
With an hour remaining before supper time and nothing better to do, he
wandered across to where a score of fellows were trotting about the
gridiron or kicking and catching at the further end of it. That first
uninterrupted sight of Parkinson Field greatly increased his respect
for the school, and he paused at a corner of the big grand stand and
admired. Nearly twelve acres of level turf stretched before him. There
were three gridirons, that of the First Team enclosed by a quarter-mile
track, as well as several baseball diamonds and numerous tennis
courts, both dirt and grass. A handful of onlookers were scattered
over the stand and another handful stood along the side-line. A stout,
round-faced man in an old sweater and a pair of frayed trousers had
“Trainer” written all over him, and since at the moment he was occupied
only in juggling a football from one hand to the other, Dick decided to
seek information of him.
“My name’s Bates,” announced Dick, “and I’m going to try for the team,
but I understand that I’ve got to take my physical examination first.
Is that correct?”
Billy Goode viewed him critically before he answered. Rather to Dick’s
surprise the trainer seemed not at all impressed by what he saw. “You
can report as soon as you like,” he replied at last, “but you can’t
play until you’ve been o. k.’d, my friend. What’s your name?”
“Bates,” answered Dick. He had already given it once, but perhaps the
other hadn’t caught it. “I’m from Leonardville High.”
“Uh-huh. Played, have you?”
“Yes.” It seemed to Dick that any live, wide-awake football trainer
should have been aware of the fact. “Yes, I’ve played quite a little.”
“Uh-huh. Well, you see the manager; he’s around here somewhere, or
he was; he’ll look after you. Chandler! That’ll do for today. Jog
the track once and go on in.” Billy Goode turned away to meet the
remonstrances of a big, heavily-built youth who had been catching
punts and returning them a little further along the field, leaving
Dick a trifle ruffled. This was not just the sort of reception he
had expected. Of course, it was understandable that the Philadelphia
papers didn’t penetrate to Warne, Massachusetts, in which case the
trainer wouldn’t have read of him, but it did seem that a fellow who
had received offers from fourteen schools and colleges should have been
heard of even in this corner of the world! Dick put the trainer down as
a person of a low order of mentality.
He went into the stand and sat down there and watched the practice.
Evidently most of the fellows at work were last year players, for they
handled the ball in a knowing way that precluded their being beginners.
No one who looked anything like a coach was on hand, but a dark-haired
fellow of eighteen, perhaps, who appeared in command, was probably the
captain. And a short, stocky, important-looking youth who had discarded
his jacket and was wandering around in a very blue silk shirt was just
as probably the manager. Dick didn’t seek him, for there would be
plenty of time to do that tomorrow. At intervals the trainer summoned
one of the candidates and sent him off, usually prescribing a round
of the running track first. Dick was glad he did not have to swallow
that medicine today, for the weather was extremely warm and humid. He
thought that the candidates averaged both heavier and older than he had
expected, and he wondered if by any chance his lack of weight would
be against him. One of the quarter-backs out there, chasing a squad
about in signal drill, was, however, no bigger than he, and possibly no
older. Dick guessed he needn’t trouble about lack of weight. Quarters
didn’t have to be big in order to make good. Presently the practice
ended and he followed the squad toward the gymnasium and then went back
to Sohmer and climbed the slate stairway to the second floor.
He remembered having closed the door of Number 14 on going out, and
since it now stood wide open it was fair to assume that the unknown
“S. G.” had returned, and Dick entered the study eager, in spite of his
seeming indifference, to find out what Fate, in the shape of the school
office, had assigned to him as a room-mate.