Full-Back Foster

“Isn’t coming!” exclaimed Eldredge. Then he laughed. “What do you know about that? What did I tell you, Sam?”

Rogers nodded. “I know. You said he wouldn’t.”

“Fact is,” said Joe, “he can’t.”

“Can’t, eh? I suppose he’s sick,” sneered Eldredge.

Joe shook his head gently and pulled himself to his feet. “No, he ain’t sick, he’s – he’s confined to his bed.” He chuckled, much to the mystification of the others. Eldredge scowled.

“What is this, a silly joke?” he demanded peevishly.

“No, oh, no, it ain’t any joke,” answered Joe gravely. “It’s this way, Eldredge. Foster’s no scrapper. Doesn’t know the first thing about it. Of course you didn’t know that when you arranged this party. You wanted a nice little fight. Foster couldn’t give it to you. Why, he doesn’t know how to even block. You wouldn’t have had any sport at all. It would have been all over in a wag of a duck’s tail. I told him that, but he wouldn’t see it. I said: ‘This guy Eldredge wants a scrap, kiddo. He doesn’t want to get up at that time of day just to see you topple over every time he reaches out. Give him a chance,’ I said. ‘You stay in bed and I’ll take the job off your hands.’ Course, I’m no professional, Eldredge, but I know enough to give you a bit of fun. But Foster wouldn’t see it. Insisted that he had to come himself.”

“Say, for the love of Mike,” broke in Eldredge, “are you crazy?”

“Me? No, I don’t believe so,” answered Joe mildly. “Anyway, I couldn’t get him to look at it right, and so this morning I just woke up a bit early and tied him up in bed.” He chuckled. “I’ll bet he’s spouting blue murder right now!”

“That’s a likely yarn!” sneered Eldredge. “Tied up in bed! Yes, he is – not! He got you to come and tell that story to save his face!”

“Well, I sort of came to save his face,” answered Joe genially, “but not just the way you mean: and he didn’t have anything to do with it. He’s tied right down to his bed this minute.”

“If he is,” said Rogers, “he helped do it.”

“No.” Joe shook his head patiently. “He was asleep. I’d like you guys to believe that. It always sort of disgruntles me when folks don’t believe what I tell ’em, and I’m likely to get real mad.”

Rogers blinked. “Well – well, then there’s nothing doing, Paul,” he said very mildly.

“Nothing doing?” echoed Joe in surprise. “What do you mean, nothing doing? Ain’t I here? Sure, there’s something doing. Him and me – I mean he and I are going to have a real good time.”

“We are not,” replied Eldredge disgustedly. “It’s the plainest sort of a frame-up, Sam. I knew all along Foster didn’t have any sand. I told you he’d duck.”

“Say, you must have got me wrong,” said Joe earnestly. “Foster wanted to come, but I wouldn’t let him. It wasn’t fair to him or you, kiddo. Don’t you see? He’d have got all messed up and you’d have been downright disappointed. That’s why I took it over. You and me are about of a size and weight and I’ll bet we can have a right good scrap.”

“I don’t care to fight you,” said Eldredge disdainfully. “Why should I? I don’t even know you!”

“Well, I don’t know you, either,” replied Joe calmly. “So we’re all-square there, eh? Listen, Brother: if you’re holding back on my account, don’t do it. I don’t mind a scrap. Fact is, I’d be mighty disappointed if I didn’t have it, after coming away over here like this. And so would you, of course. You’re like me; get sort of low-spirited if you don’t have a little set-to now and then. Ain’t that right?”

Eldredge was viewing Joe in mingled astonishment and uneasiness. This big, raw-boned chap didn’t look good to him as an opponent. His arms were discouragingly long and the shoulders hinted at a muscular development quite unusual. Also, there was a quiet gleam in the greenish-grey eyes that made Eldredge feel a bit creepy along his spine. He laughed nervously.

“Don’t be a chump,” he begged. “Of course I’m not going to fight you. I had a row with Foster, but if you say he doesn’t know how to fight, why, all right. We’ll call it off. I don’t want to fight any fellow that’s no match for me – ”

“That’s just what I told him,” said Joe delightedly. “I said, ‘That guy’s going to be tickled to death when I show up instead of you.’”

“Come on,” said Rogers, tugging at his friend’s sleeve.

“Of course,” went on Eldredge, “if Foster wants to go on with it later, I’m ready for him, but – but as far as I’m concerned I’m willing to call quits.”

“Atta boy!” said Joe approvingly. “Well, now that’s settled and you and me can go ahead.” Joe began to peel off his sweater. Eldredge frowned and shot an anxious look at Rogers.

“I’ve told you I wouldn’t fight you,” he said, “and I won’t.”

“Why not?” demanded Joe. “Ain’t I good enough for you? Trying to insult me, eh?” he scowled darkly. “Is that it?”

“Of course not! I haven’t any row with you. Besides, it’s nearly time for chapel and I don’t intend to get in wrong at the Office just to please you!”

“That don’t go, kiddo. I’ve offered to fight you and you’ve insulted me by refusing. That’s enough. Now you pull that coat off and stand up here.”

“You’re crazy! I won’t be forced into a fight like this. You haven’t any right to – ”

Joe gave a howl. “Haven’t any rights, haven’t I? We’ll see. No guy can tell me I haven’t any rights and not fight! Now then, come on!”

“I said you hadn’t any right to make me fight,” protested Eldredge. “You’re just – ”

“I heard you!” answered Joe ominously. “Don’t repeat it! It’s something no guy can say to me and not answer for! By jiminy, you’ve got a cheek! No rights, eh? Ain’t I a free-born American citizen?” Joe slung his sweater aside, slipped his suspenders down and knotted them about his waist and advanced on the embarrassed enemy. “What about the Declaration of Independence?” he demanded wrathfully.

“You know well enough what I mean,” declared Eldredge somewhat shrilly. “I refuse to fight you! I haven’t – ”

“Insulted again!” roared Joe fearsomely. “Put up your fists!”

Eldredge was backing away toward the corner of the shed, Rogers a good two yards in the lead. “I won’t! I’ve told you! You can’t bully me into fighting when – when I’ve got nothing to fight about!”

“Call me a bully now, do you?” growled Joe in ominous calm. He cast an outraged look to the heavens. “Brother, you’ve gone the limit. Look out for yourself!” He swung his right arm up and out. The blow, had it connected, would have lifted Eldredge off his feet and deposited him yards away. But it was woefully short, suggesting that Joe was a poor judge of distance. Nevertheless it so alarmed Eldredge that he trod on his friend’s toes in his hurried retreat, and a wail of pain and protest arose from Rogers, a wail that, mingling with peals of laughter that seemed to come from overhead, made a weird confusion of sound. The group on the ground abruptly paused in their careers and bewilderedly searched the sky for that Jovian laughter. They hadn’t far to seek. Atop the shed roof, their convulsed countenances showing above the peak, were stretched Leighton Keith and Harry Cater.

Joe, after a surprised recognition, grinned and unknotted his suspenders. Eldredge grew red where he had been inclined to pallor and looked unutterably foolish. Rogers smiled in a sickly fashion and dug embarrassed hands into his pockets. On the roof the unsuspected guests conquered their laughter, and Keith said to Joe: “Sorry if we – spoiled your – fun – Dobbins, but we couldn’t – hold in any longer!”

“Well, I didn’t know I was amusing an audience,” replied Joe, “but it don’t matter.” He picked up his sweater as Keith and Cater slid to the edge and dropped over. “Guess we’ll have to postpone this, Eldredge,” he continued. “Too many folks around, eh? I’ll fix another date with you.”

Katie chuckled. “I fancy Eldredge is satisfied,” he said. “Eh, Paul?”

Eldredge glowered. “I didn’t have any quarrel with him,” he muttered. “He – he’s crazy!”

Katie and Keith seemed to find this most amusing, but after a moment of laughter Keith recovered his gravity and said: “I guess you can be trusted to keep this business quiet, Eldredge. How about you, Rogers?” Rogers nodded, his countenance expressing a relief equal to Eldredge’s. “Good. I know Dobbins won’t talk, and neither will we. So there’s no reason why the thing should get out. In a way, it’s a pity to keep it to ourselves, for the fellows would certainly enjoy it, but some jokes are too good to be told. If you want to lead a happy life hereafter, Eldredge, you’d better keep mum! And, by the way, if I ever hear of you scrapping any more I’ll be tempted to tell what happened this morning. You’re much too blood-thirsty, Eldredge, you really are. Restrain yourself, my boy, restrain yourself.” Eldredge muttered something as he moved away. “What was that?” asked Keith sharply. “Did I hear a bad word?”

“No,” replied Eldredge aggrievedly, “you didn’t. I said, ‘All right.’”

“Hm: I’ll try to believe you: but you’d better beat it before I begin to have doubts!”

Rogers had already melted around the corner of the shed and Eldredge, pausing only long enough to send a last vindictive glance at Joe, followed. Alone, the three looked at each other in amused silence. Then Katie helped Joe into his sweater and together they turned toward school. It was only when the forms of Eldredge and Rogers were seen hurrying into the lane that Keith’s risibilities again got the better of him and he began to chuckle. Whereupon Joe and Katie joined.

It was getting dangerously close to chapel time when Myron, smouldering with anger, heard the study door open and the heavy tread of Joe approaching. When the latter appeared Myron was more than ready for him.

“You – you – ” he stammered, “you big – big – ”

It was maddening! His nicely arranged flow of invective, his long list of insulting adjectives were gone! He couldn’t get his tongue around a single word that satisfied his requirements. All he could do was glare and sputter and strain at his bonds. And Joe stood at the foot of the bed and viewed him mildly and patiently.

“You let me loose!” cried Myron. “You untie me this minute! You’ll see what’ll happen to you, you big – big boob!” Myron groaned at the utter inadequacy of that appellation and gave up the attempt to do justice to his feelings. Joe blinked.

“Got to have your promise not to start any ructions first,” he announced. “It’s pretty near chapel time, Foster, and if you try scrapping with me you’ll be late. So’ll I. Better dress quietly and let me explain things.”

“I’m going to punch your ugly face!” fumed Myron. “I don’t care a hang who’s late to what! You can’t spring your silly tricks on me like this, Dobbins! You can’t – ”

“Then I’ll have to let you stay where you are,” said Joe regretfully.

“You let me up!”

“Promise not to start anything?”

“No!”

“Then you don’t get up. You stay right here until I tell you all about it.” Joe seated himself at the foot of the bed and glanced at the clock on the chiffonier. “You see, Foster, it was like this.”

“I don’t want to hear it! I want to get up!”

“Then give me your word to behave.”

Myron studied Joe’s unperturbed face, hesitated and gave in. “All right,” he growled. “But I’ll – I’ll get even with you yet.”

“Sure! Now then we’ll do some hustling.” For two minutes Joe was very busy with knots. “Hope these things didn’t hurt,” he said apologetically. “I tried to fix ’em so you’d be comfortable.”

“Thanks, I’m sure,” said Myron in deep sarcasm. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your thoughtfulness!”

Joe grinned. “Well, anyway, I didn’t wake you up, kiddo, did I? Didn’t do you out of any sleep, eh? Say, the Sleeping Quince, or whatever the guy in the fairy story was called, hasn’t a thing on you, Foster. You’re the soundest little slumberer that ever pounded an ear! There you are. Now, then, slip into some duds and let’s beat it. We’ve just got time.”

CHAPTER XIII

MYRON CHANGES HIS MIND

The fact that the incident would never become known and make him look ridiculous made it much easier for Myron to forgive Joe for the trick. And the latter’s account of the meeting with Eldredge – Myron got it piecemeal before and after chapel – was so funny that he had to smile more than once in spite of his determination to be haughty and unrelenting. In the end he said grudgingly: “We-ell, I suppose you meant it all right, Dobbins, but it wasn’t fair. Now was it?” And Dobbins obligingly shook his head very soberly and allowed that it wasn’t. In such fashion amity was restored and peace prevailed again.

That afternoon, encountering Harry Cater on the field before practice, Myron regarded that youth keenly, looking for signs of amusement and ready to resent them. But Katie’s countenance suggested no secret diversion. Perhaps he regarded Myron with just a fraction more interest than usual, but it was quite respectful interest. There was a big cut in the football candidates that afternoon and when Coach Driscoll had sheathed his knife again their number had been reduced to sixty-odd. Myron survived, as he deserved to, and so, naturally, did Joe. Joe was already being talked about and more than once had heard his playing discussed and praised. Good linemen are always in demand, and this year, at Parkinson, they were more than ever welcome, for graduation had deprived the eleven of several stars since last fall.

The squads were reduced to four now, and Myron had slipped into a half-back position on the third. There was nothing certain about that position. Some days he went into practice at right half and some days at left, and sometimes he sat on the bench most of the time when scrimmaging began. He was rather resentful because his work wasn’t getting recognition. As a matter of fact, however, he was showing up no more cleverly than half a dozen other candidates for the positions. He handled the ball well, remembered signals, ran hard and fast, dodged fairly and caught punts nicely. So did Meldrum, Brown, Brounker, Vance, Robbins and one or two more. Myron’s mistake was in supposing that, because none praised him, his work wasn’t appreciated. He had an idea that neither coach nor captain really knew of his existence, when, as a matter of fact, he was more than once under discussion during the nightly conferences in Mr. Driscoll’s quarters.

“Promising,” was the coach’s comment one evening when the subject of half-backs was before the meeting. “Plays a nice, clean-cut game. Lacks judgment, though.”

“Handles punts well,” said Captain Mellen. “Made a corking catch yesterday. Remember when Kearns punted down to the twenty yards? That was a peach of a punt, by the way: all of fifty, wasn’t it, Ken?”

“Forty-six,” answered Farnsworth.

“That all? Anyway, this Foster chap made a heady catch, with two ends almost on him and the ball nearly over his head. He’ll round out nicely for next year, I guess.”

It was Myron’s misfortune that he had elected to try for a half-back position at a time when there was much excellent half-back material on hand. Probably he didn’t realise the fact, for he began to get more disgruntled by the end of that week and secretly accused Mr. Driscoll and Jud Mellen of “playing favourites.” Not altogether secretly, either, for he once aired his suspicions for Joe’s benefit. “There’s no chance for a chap here unless he’s known,” he said bitterly. “Maybe if I stay here two or three years longer Driscoll will discover that I’m alive. As it is, if it wasn’t for Farnsworth keeping tabs on the fellows, I could cut practice and no one would ever know it.”

“Well, I don’t know,” answered Joe judicially. “It looks to me like you were getting the same treatment the rest of ’em are getting. Some day you’ll show ’em what you can do and they’ll wake up. I guess your trouble is that you’re bucking against a lot of good backs. Take fellows like Brown and Meldrum and Vance, now. They’re good. You’ve got to hand it to them, kiddo. Corking halves, all of them. Hard to beat. But that don’t mean that you can’t beat ’em. Buckle down and go hard, Foster. The season’s young yet.”

“I’m not anxious enough,” answered Myron, “to kill myself. I dare say I can get along without playing on the team this year. And next year I’ll go somewhere where they give a fellow a fair chance, by George!”

“Well, if that’s your idea you won’t get far,” said Joe drily. “If you don’t care yourself no one’s going to care for you. A guy’s got to hustle and be in earnest to get anywhere in this world. I know that!”

“You fell into it pretty soft,” answered Myron, with a laugh that sounded none too agreeable. “There’s nothing like getting in with the right crowd, eh?”

Joe regarded him with a frown, started to speak, thought better of it and merely grunted. But after a moment he said dispassionately: “Don’t be a sore-head, Foster. It don’t get you anything but hard looks.”

“I’m no sore-head,” laughed the other carelessly. “Gee, it doesn’t mean anything in my young life to play with their old football team. I’ve captained a better team than this school will ever turn out!”

“If I was you,” replied Joe earnestly, “I’d forget about being captain of that team, kiddo, and see if I couldn’t make a first-class private of myself.”

Myron flushed. “It’s all well enough for you to – to give advice and say cute things, Dobbins, but you’ve made yourself solid with the fellows who have the say in football matters and you’re pretty sure of a place. I haven’t, and I don’t intend to. If Mellen and Cater and some of those fellows think I’m going to kow-tow to them, they’re mightily mistaken.”

“Meaning I got my chance by – what do you call it? – cultivating those fellows?” asked Joe. “You made that crack before and I let it pass, Foster, but it don’t go this time. If I’m playing on the second squad it’s because I got out there and worked like a horse, and you know it, Brother!”

Myron dropped his eyes and a long moment of silence followed. Then he said: “I was a rotter, Dobbins. I’m sorry. I guess I am a sore-head, like you said. I guess – I guess I’ll just quit and have done with it.”

Joe laughed. “All right, kiddo! We’ll start fresh. But why don’t you cut out the grouching and just play the game? What’s it to you if you don’t get into the lime-light? Ain’t it something to do what you’re put at and do it well? Say, there’s about sixty guys out there every afternoon, ain’t there? Well, how many of them do you suppose will get places on the first team? Not more than twenty-six, probably. And about twenty more will go into the scrub team. And the others will beat it and try again next year, likely. Every one can’t be a hero, Foster. Some of us have got to lug water!”

“There’s no fun in lugging water, though,” Myron objected.

“Who says so? There’s fun in doing anything if you set out to like it, kiddo. The guys who miss the fun are those who get it into their heads that the job isn’t good enough for ’em, or that some one’s imposing on ’em. What sort of a fellow would Merriman be if he got that dope to working in his bean? He’s lugging water, all right, believe me! Living on a couple of dollars a week and working about sixteen hours a day! But he gets fun out of it, don’t he? He’s about the happiest guy around these parts, ain’t he? Mind you, Foster, I ain’t saying that a fellow’s got to be satisfied with just lugging water. He oughtn’t to be. He ought to be thinking about the time when he can chuck the pail and do something better. But while he is lugging water he wants to do it well and whistle at it!”

“All right,” laughed Myron, good temper restored, “I’ll keep on with the pail a while longer. Say, Dobbins, you ought to prepare for the ministry or the lecture platform. You’re going to waste yourself shovelling spruce gum!”

Joe smiled. “I’m not going to shovel spruce gum, kiddo. I’m going to be a lawyer. How’s that hit you?”

“If I’m ever arrested for murder I’ll certainly send for you!” answered Myron emphatically.

Two days later Myron received notice that his overdue furniture had arrived. For some reason he was not nearly so keen about it as he had been a week or more ago. And when, accompanied by Joe – he had felt the need of a practical mind in the matter of getting the things off the car and up to the dormitory and had begged Joe’s assistance – he saw how many pieces of furniture there were he was, to use his own word, flabbergasted. For his part, Joe just stared and blinked. Every piece was carefully and enormously crated, and the staring address on each was a horrible challenge. For the things were much larger than he remembered them and when he thought of the limited area of Number 17 Sohmer he gasped. The services of the Warne Warehouse Company had been called on, and three husky men were soon emptying the car while Myron and Joe sat on a baggage truck and looked on. Myron felt somewhat apologetic and shot occasional inquiring glances at his companion. But Joe was silent and seemingly unmoved after the first survey. Myron ventured at last:

“I don’t see where all the stuff is going, do you?”

Joe shook his head. “No, I don’t. Maybe they’ll let you put about half of it in the corridor.”

“It’s nothing to joke about,” Myron grumbled. “We won’t be able to move without barking our shins. I’d like to know how big mother thinks those rooms are!”

“I’m not worrying about my shins,” said Joe placidly, adding when Myron looked a question: “I won’t be there, you know.”

“Oh!” said the other. Silence again prevailed. The trucks trundled from box-car to platform and a nearby engine let off steam with disconcerting suddenness. Finally: “I shouldn’t think you’d want to live in that room if it’s like you say it is,” observed Myron. “Only one window and – and all.”

“Oh, it ain’t so worse. Merriman wants me to go over and take half his place, but that part of town’s pretty fierce.”

“Great Scott! Why, that’s an awful hole he’s in!”

“Well, with something more in it, it wouldn’t be bad.”

“I don’t see – ” Myron paused and was busy for a moment detaching a splinter from beside him. “I don’t see,” he continued, “why you want to move anyhow.”

Joe turned slowly and observed him in mild surprise. “Well, considering that you invited me to,” he answered, “that’s a funny crack to make.”

“Maybe they wouldn’t let me have the rooms by myself, anyhow,” said Myron. “And I’d rather have you with me than – than some fellow I didn’t know at all.”

“Thanks, but I guess I’d better light out. I’m sort of backwoodsy for you, Foster. Maybe the next guy will be more your style, see? Besides – ”

“Besides what?” demanded Myron with a frown.

Joe chuckled and nodded toward the furniture. “I couldn’t live up to that,” he said.

Myron’s gaze followed his companion’s and he viewed the crated monstrosities distastefully. “I don’t see why you need to keep rubbing it in about my – my ‘style,’” he said crossly. “Just because I have more than two suits of clothes you needn’t always try to make out that I’m a – a – ”

“I don’t,” answered Joe calmly. “Besides, I’ve got four suits myself now: and an extra pair of trousers!”

“Then – then it’s just that stuff?” asked Myron, waving toward the furniture.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe. You see, kiddo – I mean Foster – ”

“Oh, dry up,” muttered Myron.

“You see, I’ve been used to simple things. The old man and me – I – me – whatever it is – lived pretty plain for a long time. Lately we’ve stayed in a hotel in Portland most of the time. I ain’t used to chiffoniers and enamelled tables and all those gimcracks. I’d feel sort of – of low in my mind if I had to live in a place all dolled up with ribbons and lace and mirrors and things.”

“There aren’t any ribbons and – ”

“Well, you get my idea,” continued Joe untroubledly. “Me, I sort of feel freer and more contented in a log-cabin. I suppose it’s all what you’re used to, eh?”

Myron made no reply for a minute. They were loading the big moving-van now and he watched them morosely. He half wished they’d drop that grey-enamelled bookcase over the side. At last he said desperately: “Look here, Joe! If I dump all that truck into the warehouse will you stay?”

It was the first time he had ever called Joe by his first name and that youth looked almost startled. “Why – why, you don’t want to do that!” he stammered.

“Yes, I do,” replied Myron doggedly. “That’s just what I do want. It was a mistake, sending it. I sort of felt so when mother suggested it, but she set her heart on it, you know: thought I’d be more comfortable and all if I had my own things. But they’d look awfully silly, all those light grey tables and chairs and bookcases, and I don’t want them there. So – so I’m going to let these folks store them until spring. There’s no use hurting mother’s feelings, and I’ll just let her think that I’m using them; unless she asks me. When spring comes I’ll ship them back. And you’ll stay where you are, won’t you?”