The twins stared silently and suspiciously for an instant. Then Ned made
cautious response.
“Hello,” he said, with what must have seemed to the visitor a lamentable
lack of cordiality.
The latter pushed the door shut behind him by the kick of one stockinged
foot, and grinned jovially. “My name’s Proudtree,” he announced.
“You can’t blame us,” replied Laurie, coldly.
Proudtree laughed amiably. “It is a rotten name, isn’t it? I live across
the corridor, you know. Thought I’d drop in and get acquainted, seeing
you’re new fellows; extend the hand of friendship and all that. You
understand. By Jove, Pringle was right, too!”
“That’s fine,” said Ned, with more than a trace of sarcasm. “What
about?”
“Why,” answered Proudtree, easing his generous bulk into a chair, “he
said you fellows were twins.”
“Not only were,” said Laurie, gently, “but are. Don’t mind, do you?”
“Oh, come off your horse,” begged the visitor. “Don’t be so cocky. Who’s
said anything? I just wanted to have a look. Never saw any twins
before—grown-up twins, I mean. You understand.”
“Thought you said you came to extend the hand of friendship,” retorted
Ned, sarcastically. “Well, have a good look, partner. There’s no
charge!”
Proudtree grinned and accepted the invitation. Ned fumed silently under
the inspection, but Laurie’s sense of humor came to his aid. Proudtree
appeared to be getting a lot of entertainment from his silent comparison
of his hosts, and presently, when Ned’s exasperation had just about
reached the explosive point, he chuckled.
“I’ve got it,” he said.
“Got what?” Laurie asked.
“The—the clue! I know how to tell you apart! His eyes are different
from yours; more blue. Yours are sort of gray. But, geewhillikins, it
must be a heap of fun! Being twins, I mean. And fooling people. You
understand.”
“Well, if you’re quite through,” snapped Ned, “maybe you’ll call it a
day. We’ve got things to do.”
“Meaning you’d like me to beat it?” asked the visitor, good-temperedly.
“Just that!”
“Oh, come, Ned,” Laurie protested, soothingly, “he’s all right. I dare
say we are sort of freakish and—”
“Sure,” agreed Proudtree, eagerly, “that’s what I meant. But say, I
didn’t mean to hurt any one’s feelings. Geewhillikins, if I got waxy
every time the fellows josh me about being fat—” Words failed him and
he sighed deeply.
Laurie laughed. “We might start a side-show, the three of us, and make a
bit of money. ‘Only ten cents! One dime! This way to the Siamese Twins
and the Fat Boy! Walk up! Walk up!’”
Proudtree smiled wanly. “I only weigh a hundred and seventy-eight and
three quarters, too,” he said dolorously. “If I was a couple of inches
taller it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“I don’t think it’s bad as it is,” said Laurie, kindly. “You don’t look
really _fat_; you just look sort of—of—”
“Amplitudinous,” supplied Ned, with evident satisfaction.
Proudtree viewed him doubtfully. Then he smiled. “Well, I’ve got to get
rid of nearly fifteen pounds in the next two weeks,” he said, with a
shake of his head, “and that’s going to take some doing.”
“What for?” Laurie asked. “Why destroy your symmetry?”
“Football. I’m trying for center. I nearly made it last year, but
Wiggins beat me out. He’s gone now, though, and Mulford as good as said
last spring that I could make it this fall if I could get down to a
hundred and sixty-five.”
“Who’s Mulford?” inquired Ned. “A fortune-teller?”
Proudtree ignored the sarcasm. “Mulford’s our coach. He’s all right,
too. The trouble with me is, I’m awfully fond of sweet things, and
I—I’ve been eating a lot of ’em lately. But I guess I can drop fourteen
pounds if I cut out pies and candy and things. Don’t you think so?”
Proudtree appealed to Laurie almost pathetically.
“Don’t let any one tell you anything different,” replied Laurie,
reassuringly. Ned, evidently recovered from his peevishness, asked:
“What sort of football do they play here?”
“Corking!” answered Proudtree.
“I mean, Rugby or the other?”
“Rugby!” exclaimed Proudtree, scornfully. “I guess not! We play regular
football. Nobody plays Rugby around these parts. Are you fellows going
out?”
“Not just yet,” replied Ned.
“He means are we going to try for the football team,” explained Laurie.
“Yes, we are, Proudtree; at least, one of us is.”
“You?”
“We haven’t decided yet. You see, we’ve never played your kind of
football. Back home, at high school, we played American Rugby, and it’s
quite different. But we decided that one of us had better go in for
football and the other for baseball, if only to do our duty by the
school.”
Proudtree looked puzzled. “How are you going to decide?” he asked.
“Oh, we’ll toss up or draw lots or something, I suppose. Maybe, though,
Ned had better play football, because I know more baseball than he does.
Still, I’m not particular.”
“That’s the limit!” chuckled the visitor. “Say, what are your names? I
didn’t see any cards on the door.”
“Turner. His is Laurie and mine’s Ned,” answered the latter. “Do we put
our names on the door?”
“It’s the best way,” answered Proudtree. “Well, I’ve got to be moving. I
started to take a shower and got side-tracked. You chaps come on over
and see me and I’ll get some of the other fellows in. You want to meet
the right sort, you know. What’s your class?”
“Lower middle, I reckon,” said Ned. “That’s what we expect.”
“Too bad you can’t make upper. That’s mine. We’ve got a corking bunch of
fellows this year. Well, see you later. Try for Mr. Barrett’s table when
you go down. That’s the best. Maybe they’ll put you there if you bluff
it out. You understand. So long, fellows.”
Proudtree withdrew with considerable dignity in view of his bulk, waving
a benedictory hand ere the door closed behind him. Ned shook his head.
“Sort of a fresh hombre,” he said.
“Oh, he only meant to be friendly, I reckon,” said Laurie. “You
understand.”
Ned laughed. “I’ll bet they’ve got a wonderful football team here if he
plays on it! By the way, maybe we’d better settle which of us is to be
the football star. I suppose they begin to practise pretty soon. I’ll be
the goat, if you like; though you had better luck with that book you
bought in Chicago. I couldn’t make head or tail of it. I never saw so
many rules for playing one game in my life!”
“It _was_ sort of difficult,” agreed Laurie. “I dare say, though, that
you pick up the rules quick enough when you start to play. If you don’t
really mind, I think you’d better go in for football, and I’ll do the
baseball stunt. I’ve played it more than you have, you know, even if I’m
no wonder.”
“All right!” Ned sighed. “We’ll get a bottle of arnica to-morrow.
Nothing like being prepared. How about going to see Mr. What’s-his-name
before supper about courses?”
“Might as well, and have it over with. I’d like to know whether we’re
going to make the lower middle.”
“Don’t see what else we can make. They can’t stick us in the junior
class. Where’s my coat? For the love of lemons, Laurie, can’t you find
anything else to sit on? Gosh, look at the wrinkles!”
“Those aren’t wrinkles; they’re just creases. Come on!”
Half an hour later they closed the door of Mr. Cornish’s study on the
floor below, in a chastened mood. Each carried a little buff card
whereon the instructor had tabulated an amazing number and variety of
study periods. Back in Number 16, Ned cast himself into a chair, thrust
his legs forth, and gazed disconsolately at the card.
“I don’t see where a fellow finds time for anything but work here,” he
complained. “Sixteen, eighteen, twenty-one hours a week! What do you
know about that?”
“Well, don’t be so proud of it. I’ve got the same, haven’t I? I wonder
how many hours he thinks there are in a day?”
“I tell you what I think,” said Ned, after a moment’s thought. “I think
he got it into his head that we’re very ambitious and want to graduate
next spring!”
“Maybe that’s it,” agreed Laurie, gravely. “Shall we go back and tell
him he’s wrong?”
“N-no, let’s not. He seemed a well-meaning old codger, and I wouldn’t
want to hurt his feelings—if he has any. Let’s go down and see what
they’ve got for supper.”
Ned’s blandishments failed with the waitress, and they were established
at a table presided over by a tall and very thin gentleman, whose name,
as they learned presently, was Mr. Brock. There were four tables in the
room, each accommodating ten boys and a member of the faculty.
Diagonally across the dining-hall, the twins descried the ample Mr.
Proudtree. Another table was in charge of a pleasant-faced woman who
proved to be the school matron, Mrs. Wyman. Mr. Cornish, the hall
master, and Mr. Barrett sat at the heads of the remaining boards.
The room was very attractive, with a fine big stone fireplace at the
farther end, and broad windows on two sides. The food proved plain, but
it was served in generous quantities; and notwithstanding that the twins
were a bit self-conscious, they managed a very satisfactory meal.
Their fellow-students seemed to be a very decent lot. Their ages
appeared to average about sixteen, and they had the clean, healthy look
of boys who spent much of their time outdoors. At the table at which the
twins sat, four of the boys were evidently seniors, and one was as
evidently a junior. The latter looked hardly more than thirteen, though
he was in reality a year older than that, and had the features and
expression of a cherub. The twins concluded that he was a new boy and
felt a little sorry for him. He looked much too young and innocent to
face the world alone.
No one made any special effort to engage either Ned or Laurie in
conversation, perhaps because the returning youths had so much to talk
about among themselves. Mr. Brock ate his supper in silence, save when
one of the older boys addressed him, and had a far-away and abstracted
air. Laurie saw him sweeten his tea three times, and then frown in
annoyance when he finally tasted it.
The boy who had guessed their awful secret at luncheon sat at the next
table, and more than once Ned caught him looking across with a
half-bewildered, half-frightened expression that somehow managed to
convey the intelligence that, in spite of temptation, he had kept the
faith. Ned finally rewarded him with a significant wink, and the youth
retired in confusion behind the milk-pitcher.
When the meal was over the twins went outside and, following the example
set by others, made themselves comfortable on the grass beyond the walk.
Near by, two older boys were conversing earnestly, and Ned and Laurie,
having exhausted their own subjects of conversation, found themselves
listening.
“We’ve got to do it,” the larger of the two was saying. “Dave’s going to
call a meeting of the school for Friday evening, and Mr. Wells is going
to talk to them. I’ll talk too. Maybe you’d better, Frank. You can tell
them a funny story and get them feeling generous.”
“Nothing doing, Joe. Leave me out of it. I never could talk from a
platform. Anyway, it’s the fellows’ duty to provide money. If they
don’t, they won’t have a team. They understand that—or they will when
you tell them. There’s another thing, though, Joe, that we’ve got to
have besides money, and that’s material. We’ve _got_ to get more fellows
out.”
“I know. I’ll tell them that, too. I’m going to put a notice up in
School Hall in the morning. Mr. Cummins says there are eight new fellows
entering the middle classes this year. Maybe some of them are
football-players.”
“Bound to be. Did you see the twins?”
“No, but Billy Emerson was telling me about them. What do they look
like?”
“Not bad. Rather light-weight, though, and sort of slow. They’re from
Arizona or somewhere out that way, I think. You can’t tell them apart,
Joe.”
“Think they’re football stuff?”
“Search me. Might be. They’re light, though. Here comes Kewpie. Gosh,
he’s fatter than ever! Hi, Kewpie! Come over here!”
It was Proudtree who answered the hail, descended the steps, and
approached. “Hello, Joe! Hello, Frank! Well, here we are again, eh?
Great to be back, isn’t it? Have a good summer, Joe?”
“Fine! You?”
“Corking! I was on Dad’s yacht all through August. Saw the races and
everything. Bully eats, too. You understand.”
“Yes,” Joe Stevenson replied, “and I understand why you’re about twenty
pounds overweight, Kewpie! You ought to be kicked around the yard, you
fat loafer. Thought you wanted to play center this fall.”
“I’m going to! Listen, Joe, I’m only fourteen pounds over and I’ll drop
that in no time. Honest, I will. You see! Besides, it isn’t all fat,
either. A lot of it’s good, hard muscle.”
“Yes, it is! I can see you getting muscle lying around on your father’s
yacht! I’m off you, Kewpie. You haven’t acted square. You knew mighty
well that you were supposed to keep yourself fit this summer, and now
look at you! You’re a big fat lump!”
“Aw, say, Joe! Listen, will you?” Proudtree’s gaze wandered in search of
inspiration and fell on the twins. His face lighted. “Hello, you chaps!”
he said. Then he leaned over and spoke to Joe. “Say, have you met the
Turner brothers, Joe? One of ’em’s a swell player. Played out in North
Dakota or somewhere.”
“Which one?” asked Joe, surreptitiously eying the twins. “Why, the—I
forget: they look so much alike, you know. I think it’s the one this
way. Or maybe it’s the other. Anyway, I’ll fetch them over, eh?”
“All right, Kewpie.”
Kewpie started away, paused, and spoke again. “They’re—they’re awfully
modest chaps, Joe. You’d think from hearing them talk that they didn’t
know much about the game, but don’t you be fooled. That’s just their
way. You understand.”
“Oh, sure, Kewpie!” And when the latter had gone on his errand Joe
smiled and, lowering his voice, said to Frank Brattle: “Kewpie’s trying
to put something over. I wonder what.”
“Proudtree tells me one of you fellows plays football,” said Joe, a
minute later, when introductions had been performed and Ned and Laurie
had seated themselves. “We need good players this fall. Of course, I
hope you’ll both come out.”
“Ned’s the football chap,” said Laurie. “Baseball’s my line.”
“I don’t know—” began Ned, but Laurie pinched him warningly, and he
gulped and, to Kewpie’s evident relief, made a fresh start. “I’m not
much of a player,” he said modestly, “but I’m willing to have a try at
it.”
Kewpie darted an “I-told-you-so” glance at Joe and Frank.
“Where do you come from, Turner?” Joe asked politely.
“Santa Lucia, California. I was in the high school there two years.
Everything’s quite—quite different here.” Ned spoke hurriedly, as
though anxious to switch the conversation from football, and Laurie
smiled in wicked enjoyment. “The climate’s different, you know,” Ned
went on desperately, “and the country and—and everything.”
“I suppose so,” said Frank Brattle. “What’s your position, Turner?”
“Position?”
“Yes; I mean, where did you play? Behind the line, I suppose, or maybe
end.”
“Oh, yes, yes, behind the line. You see, I—I—”
“There aren’t many fellows can play half-back the way Ned can,” said
Laurie, gravely. “He won’t tell you so, but if you ever meet any one who
saw him play against Weedon School last year—”
“Shut up!” begged Ned, almost tearfully.
Kewpie was grinning delightedly. Joe Stevenson viewed Ned with absolute
affection. “Half-back, eh? Well, we can use another good half, Turner,
and I hope you’re the fellow. I don’t know whether Kewpie told you that
I’m captain this year, but I am, and I’m going to try mighty hard to
captain a winning team. You look a bit light, but I dare say you’re
fast, and, for my part, I like them that way. Besides, we’ve got Mason
and Boessel if we want the heavy sort. Practice starts to-morrow at
four, by the way. How about your brother? Glad to have him come out,
too. Even if he hasn’t played, he might learn the trick. And there’s
next year to think of, you know.”
“I think not, thanks,” answered Laurie. “One football star is enough in
the family.”
“Well, if you change your mind, come on and have a try. Glad to have met
you. See you to-morrow—er—Turner. I want to find Dave, Frank. Coming
along?”
The two older boys made off toward West Hall, and as soon as they were
out of hearing Ned turned indignantly on Laurie.
“You’re a nice one!” he hissed. “Look at the hole you’ve got me in!
‘Half-back’! ‘Played against Weedon School’! What did you want to talk
that way for? Why, those fellows think I know football!”
“Cheer up,” answered his brother, grinning. “All you’ve got to do is
bluff it through. Besides, Proudtree asked us not to let on we didn’t
know a football from a doughnut, and I had to say something! You acted
as if you were tongue-tied!”
“Yes; that’s so—you started it!” Ned turned belligerently around. “Said
it would be a favor to you—” He stopped, discovering that Proudtree had
silently disappeared and that he was wasting his protests on the empty
air. “Huh!” he resumed after a moment of surprise, “it’s a good thing he
did beat it! Look here, Laurie, I’m in a beast of a mess. Yow know I
can’t face that captain chap to-morrow. Suppose he handed me a football
and told me to kick it!”
“He won’t. I’ve watched football practice back home. You’ll stand around
in a circle—”
“How the dickens can I stand in a circle?” objected Ned.
“And pass a football for a while. Then you’ll try starting, and maybe
fall on the ball a few times, until you’re nice and lame, and after that
you’ll run around the track half a dozen times—”
“Oh, shut up! You make me sick! I won’t do it. I’m through. I’d look
fine, wouldn’t I? I guess not, partner!”
“You’ve got to, Ned,” replied Laurie calmly. “You can’t back down now.
The honor of the Turners is at stake! Come on up and I’ll read that
rules book to you. Maybe some of it’ll seep in!”
After a moment of indecision Ned arose and followed silently.