BLASH EVENS THE SCORE
While Dick still stared, unable to believe his eyes, the title
whisked itself away and a picture took its place. A sea of upturned
faces surrounded a flag-draped stand on which a large gentleman was
gesticulating. Seated figures flanked him and on every haughty chest
fluttered a ribbon badge. In the background what looked to be a
mile-long factory building stretched. There was an outburst of cheering
and waving from the throng, the speaker smiled benevolently and the
picture faded from sight!
Not until then was Dick aware of the absorbed regard of his companions.
Turning amazedly he looked into the eloquent countenance of Blash. “You
never told us!” exclaimed Blash in an awed and choking voice, and: “Oh,
Dick!” whispered Rusty hoarsely. “Ain’t it grand?”
For one dazed, blank moment Dick stared back into Blash’s strangely
working face. Then the light dawned. He gave a gasp and----
“Stop it, Dick!” gurgled Blash. “We’ll be put out, you s-s-silly ass!
Grab him, Rusty!”
And Rusty grabbed him and, breathing heavily, he was forced back into
his seat.
“Be good!” begged Rusty in a strangled voice. “Remember you’ve g-g-ot a
reputat-repu--_Oh, gosh!_”
“As a public character,” began Blash. “_Quit it!_ There’s an usher
coming, Dick! Be good, won’t you?”
“I--I--I’ll break every bone in your body,” sputtered Dick. “I’----”
“What’s the trouble there?” asked a stern voice from the aisle. “You’ll
have to cut out that noise, fellows, or leave the theatre.”
“It--it’s all right, Usher,” panted Blash. “The--my friend had a slight
attack of--of----”
“Vertigo,” supplied Stanley. “He’s all right now. Feel better, Dick?
Yes, he says he feels better, thanks.”
“You let go me,” growled Dick, writhing in the grasp of Blash and
Rusty. “What do I care about the usher? Let go my arms, you pups!”
“Just keep your eyes closed,” said Rusty soothingly. “You’ll be all
right in a second. I’ve got an aunt who’s just that way. Every time she
goes to the movies----”
“Hang your aunt!” exploded Dick. “I tell you to let go of me!”
The usher flashed a suspicious beam from his pocket-torch on the
convulsed features and muttered doubtfully: “Looks to me like he was
havin’ a fit!”
“Usher! Usher, there’s nothing the matter with him!” exclaimed an
indignant voice from the row behind. “Those boys have been acting up
ever since they came in, and you ought to make them behave. It’s no
pleasure for others to have to be annoyed like this and----”
“Oh, madam!” exclaimed Blash, turning an injured countenance. “How can
you say so? I assure you----”
“You tell your friend to come out of it,” said the usher doggedly.
“Either that or you all get out! That goes, see?”
“Oh, thanks so much,” said Stanley gratefully. “He’s quite all right
now. You’re all right, aren’t you, Dick? Yes, he says he’s feeling ever
so much better. Maybe----”
“O you Bates!” cried a voice from across the darkened house. “O you
famous athlete!” Laughs and chuckles followed. The usher gazed about
him bewilderedly. From the balcony came a further interruption. “What
did you pay for it, Dick?” inquired an earnest voice. Laughter
unrestrained arose from many quarters. A shrill falsetto joined in.
“Regular cheers for Bates, fellows! One, two, three!” Someone accepted
the challenge and, interspersed with laughter, a ragged Parkinson cheer
broke forth: “Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah, rah! Bates!
_Bates!_ BATES!” And, “_Hero!_” added a solitary voice upstairs. Dick
slumped into his seat, all fight gone from him.
Three ushers, reinforced by a stout gentleman from the front, hurried
along the aisles and begged or commanded silence, and gradually the
laughter subsided to chuckles and the chuckles died away. Blash
whispered contritely in Dick’s ear: “Sorry if I’ve made you mad, Dick.
It was just a joke, you know. Thought you’d take it like a good sport.”
“All right,” answered Dick glumly. “Shut up, please.”
The comedy was half finished and Dick tried hard to put his thoughts
on the humours of it but met with scant success. He blamed Stanley
for breaking his promise and telling Blash about that article in
the Leonardville _Sentinel_ and about Sumner White’s letter. For of
course he had told Blash. Otherwise, how could Blash have known
and have concocted that horrible joke? Gradually resentment against
Blash--and Rusty, too, since it was apparent that Rusty had known
beforehand--waned, for, after all, it was nothing to get angry about.
Blash had merely paid him back in his own coin, a little more cleverly.
Dick even found heart to grin once in the darkness and to wonder
how Blash had managed to persuade the movie manager to present the
ridiculous thing! But Stanley--Dick scowled. He wouldn’t forgive Stan
very soon!
Of course he wouldn’t hear the last of it for a long time. Evidently
Parkinson fellows were scattered freely through the house and every
one of them would return to school with a hilarious version of the
incident. Well, that didn’t matter. A fellow had to take jokes as well
as perpetrate them, and after awhile it would be forgotten. But Stanley
had no business to tell. Dick was firm as to that. When the feature
picture came on Dick had recovered his equanimity and was able to
enjoy it, although he took pleasure in letting Blash and Rusty remain
in ignorance of his forgiveness. Afterwards, going out, he had to
play the good sport and meet the laughing gibes of acquaintances with
smiling unconcern, but he was glad when they were in the less brilliant
stretch of School Street. He purposely avoided Stanley and chose Blash
as his companion on the way back to school. Blash was inclined to be
apologetic and remorseful.
“Maybe it wasn’t so pesky smart, after all, Dick,” he said. “I didn’t
think about the other fellows being there. I’m afraid you’ll get a lot
of ragging.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” answered Dick. “You had to when we sprung that one
on you, you know. But how the dickens did you work it, Blash? Honest, I
thought I was seeing things when they flashed that rot on the screen!
Thought my--my mind had given way or something! And I didn’t get onto
it for ages; not until I saw you trying not to explode! How’d you work
it?”
“It wasn’t hard,” said Blash with restored complacency. “I just told
the fellow who runs the theatre, McCready, a very decent sort of chap,
that I wanted to spring a harmless joke on one of the fellows. Let him
in on it enough so’s he’d appreciate the stunt. Then I slipped a couple
of dollars to the guy who operates the machine up there and he faked
up the title and got hold of an old film showing an outdoor meeting of
operatives at some shoe factory or something during a Fourth of July
celebration. And, gee, it went great, didn’t it? That is, it did if
you’re sure you’re not huffed about it, Dick. There’s no fun in a joke
that goes sour, though!”
“I’m not huffy, Blash. It was a bit of a jolt at first, though! Seeing
my name flash out at me like that--was sort of startling! What I don’t
understand, though, is what--is how----”
“Back to your mark! Start over, Dick.”
“Well, then, what put the idea of a--a--where did you get that stuff
about my being a hero and all that?” floundered Dick.
“Oh, one hears things,” Blash chuckled. “Fame has its--ah--penalties!”
“Yes, I guess one does hear things,” said Dick bitterly with a
resentful glance at the dimly seen form of Stanley, ahead.
They dropped Blash at Goss and went on to Sohmer, Rusty choosing the
longest way home for the privilege of enjoying their society, as he
explained. Blash’s joke was further discussed, Rusty declaring with a
reminiscent laugh that he would never forget the expression on Dick’s
face when the title was flashed on the screen! Then Rusty took himself
off across the turf on a shortcut to Maple Street and Dick and Stanley
climbed the stairs in silence to Number 14.
When the light was going Stanley looked questioningly at his chum.
“What’s the matter, Dick?” he asked. “Did that business jar you too
much?”
“No, I didn’t mind it, thanks,” replied Dick, rather stiffly. “Of
course,” he added after a pause, “everyone in school will think me an
awful ass, but I suppose that won’t matter. It won’t to you, anyway!”
“Just what does that mean? Why to me?”
“Well, it won’t, will it?” asked Dick defiantly. “If it had you’d have
kept your mouth shut.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you promised to and you didn’t. You had to go and tell Blash.”
“Oh, that’s it!” Stanley sounded relieved. “Well, let me tell you that
I haven’t spoken a word to Blash or to anyone else about that business.
I thought you had, though.”
“I’d be likely to!” Dick looked incredulous. “If you didn’t, how did
Blash know?”
“Search me, Dick. Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe he just hit on that by
chance.”
“I don’t believe it. Perhaps he saw that thing in the _Sentinel_--But
he couldn’t! Well, I’m sorry I suspected you, Stan.”
“Don’t mention it,” replied the other cheerfully. “And look here, don’t
get worried over the fellows hearing about it. Of course they will,
and of course they’ll rag you a bit, but it’s only a good joke, Dick,
and that’s all they’ll think it. It isn’t a patch on the things some
fellows have had to stand!”
“N-no, I suppose it isn’t. But--did you hear one idiot there tonight
ask how much I paid for it? Maybe they’ll think I did pay for it, Stan?”
“Oh, rot! That guy was just having some fun with you. They all know
it was a joke, and they saw Rusty and Blash with us, and they’ll lay
it to one of them. As a matter of fact, Dick, it’s a pretty good sign
to have something like that sprung on you, because it means that you
_are_ somebody. If fellows don’t like you they don’t trouble to work
practical jokes on you, old top! There’s that satisfaction if you want
it!”