October arrived with the first touch of cooler weather, and the football
candidates, who had panted and perspired under summer conditions for a
fortnight, took heart. Among these was Ned. Laurie, who at first had had
to alternate sympathy and severity in order to keep his brother’s
courage to the sticking-point, now found that his encouragement was no
longer needed. Ned was quite as much in earnest as any fellow who wore
canvas. Probably he was not destined ever to become a mighty player, for
he seemed to lack that quality which coaches, unable to describe, call
football instinct. But he had made progress—surprising progress when it
is considered that he had known virtually nothing of the game two weeks
before.
Laurie, whose afternoons were still absorbed by baseball, viewed Ned’s
efforts as something of a joke, much to the latter’s chagrin, and
continued to do so until a chance conversation with Thurman Kendrick
opened his eyes. Hop had come across one forenoon to borrow some notes
and had tarried a moment to talk. In those days, when Hop talked he
talked of just one subject, and that subject was football, and he
introduced it to-day.
“We’ve got to do better to-morrow than we did last week,” he said
earnestly, “or we’ll get licked hard. Cole’s was fairly easy, but
Highland is a tough customer. Our trouble so far has been slowness, and
Highland’s as fast as they make them. Somehow, Mulford doesn’t seem able
to get any pep into our bunch. The line isn’t so bad, but the back
field’s like cold glue.”
“That’s up to the quarter, isn’t it?” asked Laurie, anxious to prove
himself not absolutely ignorant of the subject.
“Yes, partly; but it’s up to the coach first. If the backs aren’t used
to working fast, the quarter can’t make them. Frank Brattle’s a good
quarter, Nod. I sort of wish he wasn’t so good!”
“Meaning you’d have a better chance of swiping his job?” smiled Laurie.
“Oh, I’ll never do that; but if he wasn’t so good I’d get in more often.
The best I can hope for this year is to get in for maybe a full period
in the Farview game. Anyway, I’ll get my letter, and maybe next year
I’ll land in the position. Frank’s a senior, you know.”
“Is he? I haven’t seen much practice so far. Baseball keeps me pretty
busy.”
“How are you getting on?”
“Slow, I’m afraid. Anyway, you could easily tell Babe Ruth and me
apart!”
“I guess you’re doing better than you let on,” said Hop. “If you’re as
good at baseball as your brother is at football, you’ll do.”
“I guess I am,” laughed Laurie; “just about!”
“Well, Nid is surely coming fast,” replied Hop, gravely. “He’s been
doing some nice work the last few days.”
Laurie stared. “Say, what are you doing, Hop? Stringing me?” he
demanded.
“Stringing you?” Hop looked puzzled. “Why, no. How do you mean?”
“About Ned. Do you mean that he’s really playing football?”
“Why, of course I do. Didn’t you know it?”
Laurie shook his head. “He’s been telling me a lot of stuff, but I
thought he was just talking, the way I’ve been, to sort of keep his
courage up.”
“Nonsense! Nid’s doing mighty well. I don’t know how much experience
he’s had; some ways he acts sort of green; but he’s got Mason worried, I
guess. If he had another fifteen pounds he’d make the team sure. As it
is, I wouldn’t be surprised to see him play a whole lot this fall. You
see, he’s a pretty good punter, Nod, and yesterday he blossomed out as a
drop-kicker, too. Landed the ball over from about the thirty yards and
from a hard angle. Mason doesn’t do any kicking, and it’s no bad thing
to have a fellow in the back field who can help Pope out in a pinch.
It’s his kicking ability that’ll get him on if anything does.”
“I see,” said Laurie, thoughtfully. “Well, I’m mighty glad. To tell the
truth, Hop, Ned hasn’t had an awful lot of experience. He’s had to bluff
a good deal.”
“I suspected something of the sort from seeing him work the first week
or so. And then Kewpie said something that sort of lined up with the
idea. Well, he’s working hard and he’s making good. Much obliged for
these, Nod. I’ll fetch them back in ten minutes.”
When Kendrick had taken his departure Laurie stared thoughtfully for a
minute into space. Finally he shook his head and smiled. “Good old Ned!”
he murmured. “I’m sorry I ragged him so. Gee, I’ll have to buckle down
to my own job or he’ll leave me at the post!”
After practice that afternoon, Laurie and Lee picked up George and Bob
Starling at the tennis-courts, and, after changing into “cits,” went
around to the doctor’s porch and joined a dozen other lads who were
engaged in drinking Miss Tabitha’s weak tea and eating her
soul-satisfying layer-cake. After a half-hour of batting and fielding
practice and a five-inning game between the first team and the scrubs,
Laurie was in a most receptive mood as far as refreshments were
concerned. Miss Tabitha made an ideal hostess, for she left conversation
to the guests and occupied herself in seeing that cups and plates were
kept filled. No one had yet discovered the number of helpings of cake
that constituted Miss Tabitha’s limit of hospitality, and there was a
story of a junior so depressed by homesickness that he had
absent-mindedly consumed six wedges of it and was being urged to a
seventh when some inner voice uttered a saving warning. In spite of very
healthy appetites, none of the quartette sought to compete with that
record, but Laurie and George did allow themselves to be persuaded to
third helpings, declining most politely until they feared to decline any
more. Before they had finished, the doctor joined the group and made
himself very agreeable, telling several funny stories that set every one
laughing and caused a small junior—it was the cherub-faced youth who
sat at Laurie’s table in the dining-hall and whose career thus far had
proved anything but that of a cherub—to swallow a mouthful of mocha
cake the wrong way, with disastrous results. During the ensuing
confusion the quartette took their departure. At the gate Bob Starling
said:
“By the way, fellows, I spoke to Dad about that tennis-court, and he’s
written to the agent for permission. He says there won’t be any trouble;
and if there is, he’ll agree to put the garden back the way we found it
and erect a new arbor.”
“What will it be?” asked George. “Sod or gravel?”
“Oh, gravel. You couldn’t get a sod court in shape under a year, and I
want to use it this fall. I’m going to look around to-morrow for some
one to do the job. Know who does that sort of work here—Lee?”
“No, but I suppose you get a contractor; one of those fellows who build
roads and stone walls and things.”
“I’d ask at the court-house,” said Laurie.
“At the court—oh, that’s a punk one!” jeered Bob. “See you later,
fellows!”
The game with Highland Academy was played across the river at Lookout,
and most of the fellows went. In spite of Hop Kendrick’s pessimistic
prophecy, Hillman’s took command of the situation in the first quarter
and held it undisturbed to the final whistle. The contest was, if not
extremely fast, well played by both teams, and the hosts refused to
acknowledge defeat until the end. Captain Stevenson, at left tackle, was
the bright, particular star of the day, with the redoubtable Pope a good
second.
It was Joe Stevenson’s capture of a fumbled ball in the first five
minutes of play and his amazing run through the enemy ranks that
produced the initial score. Pope kicked an easy goal after Slavin, right
half, had plunged through for a touch-down. Later in the game, Pope had
added three more points by a place-kick from the forty-two yards.
Highland twice reached the Blue’s ten-yard line, the first time losing
the ball on downs, and the next attempting a forward pass that went
astray. Her one opportunity to score by a kick was wrecked by no other
than Kewpie, who, having substituted Holmes at the beginning of the
second half, somehow shot his hundred and seventy pounds through the
defense and met the pigskin with his nose. Kewpie presented a
disreputable appearance for several days, but was given due honor.
Hillman’s returned across the Hudson in the twilight of early October
with exultant cheers and songs.
Ned watched that game from the substitutes’ bench, just as he had
watched the two preceding contests, but a newly awakened _esprit de
corps_ forbade complaining. When Laurie sympathetically observed that he
thought it was time Mulford gave Ned a chance in a real game, Ned
responded with dignity, almost with severity, that he guessed the coach
knew his business.
The first of the month—or, to be exact, the fourth—brought the twins
their monthly allowances, and one of the first things Laurie did was to
go to the little blue shop on Pine Street and pay his bill, which had
reached its prescribed limit several days before. Ned went, too,
although he didn’t display much enthusiasm over the mission. Ned held
that, having created a bill, it was all wrong deliberately to destroy
it. To his mind, a bill was something to cherish and preserve. Laurie,
however, pointed out that, since one was prohibited from further
transactions at the Widow’s, even on a cash basis, as long as one owed
money there, it would be wise to cancel the debts. Ned recognized the
wisdom of the statement and reluctantly parted with ninety-seven cents.
Since it was only a little after two o’clock, the shop was empty when
the twins entered, and Polly and her mother were just finishing their
lunch in the back room. It was Polly who answered the tinkle of the bell
and who, after some frowning and turning of pages in the account-book,
canceled the indebtedness.
“Now,” said Ned, “I guess I’ll have a cream-cake. Want one, Laurie?”
Laurie did, in spite of the fact that it was less than an hour since
dinner. Mrs. Deane appeared at the door, observed the proceeding, and
smiled.
“I’m real glad to see you’re still alive,” she said to Ned. “I guess he
must take very good care of you.”
“Yes’m, I do,” Laurie assured her gravely.
Ned laughed scornfully, or as scornfully as it was possible to laugh
with his mouth full. “You shouldn’t believe everything he tells you,
Mrs. Deane. I have to look after him like a baby. Why, he wouldn’t get
down in time for breakfast if I didn’t put most of his clothes on.”
“That’s no joke, either,” retorted Laurie, “about you putting my clothes
on. You’re wearing one of my collars and my best socks right now,
and—yes, sir, that’s my blue tie!”
“Wait a bit, partner! Where’d you get that shirt you’re wearing?”
“That’s different,” answered Laurie, with dignity. “Mine are all in the
wash. Besides, it’s an old one and you never wear it.”
“I never get a chance to wear it!”
“It must be very convenient for you,” said Mrs. Deane, smilingly, “to be
able to wear each other’s things. Polly, I guess there won’t be any one
else in for a while; maybe they’d like to see your garden.”
Being assured that they would, Polly led the way through the back room,
a pleasant, sunny apartment evidently combining the duties of kitchen
and dining-room, and out to a little back porch shaded by
morning-glories and nasturtiums that fairly ran riot over the green
lattice. There was a braided rug on the floor and a small rocker and a
tiny table on which were books and a magazine or two. The books were
evidently Polly’s school books, for they were held together by a strap.
The twins liked that garden. It wasn’t very large, for when the peculiar
Mr. Coventry had divided the estate he had placed the high board fence
very close to the little frame dwelling; but perhaps its very smallness
made it seem more attractive. Narrow beds encompassed it on three sides,
and a gravel walk followed the beds. In the tiny square inside, a small
rustic arbor, covered with climbing rose-vines, held a seat that, as was
presently proved, accommodated three very comfortably.
But before they were allowed to sit down the boys had to be shown many
things: the hollyhocks against the back fence, the flowering almond that
had been brought all the way from the old home in New Jersey,—and had
never quite made up its mind whether to die of homesickness or go on
living,—the bed of lilies-of-the-valley that just _wouldn’t_ keep out
of the path and many other floral treasures. Nasturtiums and
morning-glories and scarlet sage and crinkly-edged white and lavender
petunias were still blossoming gaily, and there was even a cluster of
white roses on the arbor, for, so far, no frost had come. The twins
admired properly and Polly was all smiles, until suddenly she said,
“O-oh!” and faced them reproachfully.
“You’ve just let me go on and be perfectly ridiculous!” she charged. “I
don’t think it’s a bit nice of you!”
“Why, what—how do you mean?” stammered Ned.
“You have the most wonderful flowers in the world in California, and you
know it!” she replied severely; “and you’ve let me show you these poor
little things as if—as if they were anything at all in comparison! I
forgot you came from California.”
“Maybe we didn’t tell you,” offered Laurie. “Anyway, your flowers—”
“In California they have hedges of geraniums and roses climb right over
the houses, and orange-trees and palms and everything,” interrupted
Polly, breathlessly. “Why, this garden must seem perfectly—perfectly
_awful_ to you!”
“Don’t you believe it!” denied Ned. “Flowers and things do grow bigger,
I suppose, out our way; but they aren’t a bit prettier, are they,
Laurie?”
“Not so pretty,” answered the other, earnestly. “Besides, _I_ never saw
a geranium hedge in my life. Maybe they have them in some places, like
Pasadena, but there isn’t _one_ in Santa Lucia, honest. There isn’t, is
there, Ned?”
“_I_ never saw one. And palms aren’t awfully pretty. They get sort of
scraggly-looking sometimes. Honest, Polly, I never saw a garden any
prettier and cuter than this is. Of course, some are bigger and—and
more magnificent—”
“Who wants a magnificent garden?” demanded Laurie, scornfully. “What
have you got in the box, Polly?”
Comforted, Polly smiled again. “That’s Antoinette,” she said. “Come and
see.”
Antoinette lived in a wooden box in the shelter of the porch, and had
long ears and very blue eyes and a nose that twitched funnily when they
approached. In short, Antoinette was a fluffy smoke-gray rabbit. “She
has a dreadfully long pedigree,” said Polly, as she took Antoinette out
and snuggled her in her arms.
“Has she?” murmured Laurie. “I thought it looked rather short.”
“A pedigree isn’t a _tail_, you idiot,” said Ned, scathingly. “She’s
awfully pretty, Polly. Will she bite?”
“Of course not! At least, not unless you look like a cabbage-leaf.”
“I wouldn’t take a chance,” Laurie advised. “Any one who’s as green as
you are—”
“She _tries_ to eat ’most everything,” said Polly, “but she likes
cabbage and lettuce and carrots best.”
“I wish I had a cabbage,” muttered Laurie, searching his pockets; “or a
carrot. You haven’t a carrot with you, have you, Ned?”
“You’re the silliest boys!” laughed Polly, returning Antoinette to her
box. “Let’s go and sit down a minute.” And when they were on the seat
under the arbor and she had smoothed her skirt and tucked a pair of
rather soiled white canvas shoes from sight, she announced, “There! Now
you can make up a verse about something!”