Left End Edwards

R >> Ralph Henry Barbour >> Left End Edwards

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"What bee?" asked Tom lazily.

"The B on this cap," replied the other, studying it.

Tom suddenly sat up on the bed. "Why, Brimfield, of course!" he
exclaimed in triumph. "There now! Was I right or wasn't I?"

"Shucks! It might stand for anything: Brown, Brooklyn, beans,
brownbread, basketball----"

"Yes, and Brimfield! And aren't the Brimfield colours maroon-and-grey,
and isn't that cap grey, and isn't that B maroon?"

"It's red."

"So is maroon, a brownish-red." Tom had deserted his bed and was turning
the cap about eagerly. "This belongs to some fellow here who has won
his letter, Steve," he said with deep conviction.

"Some fellow who has _lost_ his letter, you mean," replied Steve with a
laugh. "All right; it will save me from buying a cap when I make the
football team. How does it look on me?"

"It's too big," said Tom. "It's about a seven, I guess. That's what that
fellow would wear, I think." Tom frowned thoughtfully. "Are there any
more clues?" he asked, dropping the cap and seizing the pajamas
excitedly.

"Sure! There are brushes in the case and they mean that the fellow has
hair on his head, Tom. So there's no use looking for a bald-headed man,
eh? That's what they call 'the process of elimination,' isn't it? Say,
what are you trying to do with those things? Ruin them? Please remember
that I've got to wear them to-night."

"Looking for laundry marks," replied Tom. "But there aren't any. I guess
they're new ones." He dropped the pajamas regretfully and turned his
attention to the other objects in the bag. "A magazine," he muttered.

"'Fine'!--as Horace would say. The man can read. Therefore he is not
blind. Elimination again! At this rate we'll know all about him in a
minute, Tom. Gee, but you're a wise guy. Have a look at the collar and
tell me the fellow's name. Go on!"

"It begins with an M, anyway," muttered Tom, studying the object in
question.

"Ha!" exclaimed Steve melodramatically. "The net is closing! He has hair
on his head, is not blind, wears purple pajamas and spells his name with
an M! The rest is easy, Tom. Put your hat on and we'll go out and get
him."

"Oh, shut up, you silly goat!" Tom had the magazine in his hands again
and was glancing through it. Suddenly, with an exclamation, he thrust it
into Steve's hands. "There! Hold it up and let it fall open itself,
Steve!"

"All right. What about it?"

"Look where it opened!"

"Page 64."

"Yes, but what's there?"

"'Men Who Have Made Football History, by----'"

"There you are! Don't you see! That's what he was reading. He's a
football man and that B is his football letter!"

"Oh! But, say, Tom, you're forgetting that this suit-case is supposed to
have been stolen from someone else. Then what?"

"We don't know that it was. We just thought so. It looks now as if it
really belonged to the fellow."

"And he went and swapped it for mine? What would he do that for?"

"Maybe he thought yours might have something valuable in it," faltered
Tom. "Maybe--say, Steve, perhaps he got yours by mistake!"

"Sure!" replied the other sarcastically. "Reached down and dragged it
from under your feet, thinking all the while it was his. Sounds very
probable--I don't think!"

"Well, you can see for yourself----"

"What was that?" interrupted Steve.

"What was what?"

"I thought I heard a knock at the door." They listened. It sounded
again. Steve hustled the things back into the bag and slammed the lid
shut in a twinkling. Then, "Come in!" he called.

The door opened and a tall youth stepped inside. He carried a suit-case
in one hand. Tom gasped. It was the "confidence-man"!

CHAPTER VII

THE CONFIDENCE-MAN

"Hi," greeted the visitor, with a smile, as he slid the suit-case across
the floor and faced the two boys. "Want to swap bags?"

"That--that's mine!" exploded Steve. "Where'd you get it?"

The visitor pulled a chair out from the wall and seated himself
nonchalantly. "And that," he responded, nodding at the bag on the bed,
"is mine. I didn't think the pajamas would fit you and I was mighty sure
yours wouldn't fit me. So I dropped around to make an exchange."

"You're the fellow in the station!" exclaimed Tom accusingly.

"Right-o! I'm the 'sneak-thief.'"

"I knew it!" declared Tom triumphantly. "I saw you in the dining-hall
and told Steve it was you and he wouldn't believe it!"

"Wouldn't he?" laughed the visitor.

"I suppose it's some sort of a silly joke," said Steve bewilderedly.
"Would you mind telling me why you--why you took my bag?"

"Glad to, Edwards. You _are_ Edwards, aren't you? I thought so. And this
chap's Hall? Well, my name's Miller. So now we know each other. Would
you mind sitting down, you fellows?"

Steve sank on to the bed and Tom retreated to the unoccupied chair, from
where he viewed Miller with fascinated attention.

"It was this way, you fellows," explained Miller. "I may be a bit
thin-skinned, but I don't like being called a sneak-thief. Edwards here
told you, Hall, to look after your bags because there were sneak-thieves
around. And then he looked at me very impolitely. After he went away I
saw that you really did suspect me of being something of the sort and it
occurred to me that it might be amusing to teach you chaps not to pass
compliments."

"I didn't mean you to hear me," said Steve confusedly.

"I couldn't help it, as you spoke right out," replied Miller drily.
"Well, so when Hall changed his seat I went along and tried to talk to
him. But he was foxy, Hall was. He wasn't going to be fooled! When it
got to be train time I spun him a yarn about a harmless old man across
the room and got him to look at him. Then I changed the bags. I thought
you fellows would take the same train and I meant to give you back your
bag then. But you weren't on it and so I suppose you were looking around
the station for me. Was that it?"

"I didn't get back in time," said Steve. "We didn't find out about the
bags until the train had gone. Then we did look around, and we told a
policeman, and----"

Miller put his head back and laughed delightedly. "Bully!" he cried.
"You chaps are wonders!"

"Well, what would you have done?" asked Tom indignantly. "How were we to
know that it was a joke?"

"Oh, I'd have done the same thing, of course," answered the other
soothingly. "Only the idea of the New York police department being on
the lookout for me struck me as a bit humorous."

"Tom says you asked him about Tannersville," said Steve. "How did you
know he was from there?"

"Not difficult," chuckled Miller. "It's on the end of his bag. And I
knew he was coming to Brimfield because there was a tag on the handle. I
couldn't make out your names, but I could see 'Brimfield, N. Y.' all
right."

Steve and Tom smiled foolishly. "I never thought of that," murmured
Tom. "We--we thought you were a confidence-man!"

"So I thought you thought," laughed Miller. "Well, here's your property,
Edwards. I dare say it was rather a mean joke to play on you, but you
sort of invited it, you see."

"I don't care now that I've got it back," responded Steve
philosophically. "Tom was certain you were the fellow who took my bag
when he saw you in dining-hall and he was all heated up about it. Wanted
to arrest you at once, I guess."

"Well, I was right, though, wasn't I?" demanded Tom. "You said it
couldn't be the same chap. But I _knew_!"

"Yes, you're some sleuth," agreed Steve. "You were right and I was
wrong, as you always are."

"How about that present you were to give me?" inquired Tom.

"You'll get it, all right; just before Christmas." Then, to Miller:
"We--I had your things out of your bag," he said apologetically. "I
thought I'd have to wear those pajamas."

"They'd have been a bit large, I guess," laughed Miller. "Still, they
are brand-clean and you could have wrapped them around you a few times
and turned them up at the feet and hands. Well, how have you chaps
found everything? All right?"

"Yes, thanks," said Steve. "We forgot to check our trunks at the Grand
Central Station, though, and so we're sort of hard-up for things to
wear."

"Too bad." Miller smiled. "I guess you chaps haven't travelled around
much, eh?"

"Not much. This is the first time we've ever been so far east."

"Well, I don't blame you for getting a bit confused in New York. It's a
tough old place to get around in unless you know the ropes. If you need
collars or anything maybe I can help you out. I suppose, though, mine
wouldn't fit."

"We'll get on all right, thanks," replied Steve. "Our trunks will surely
be along in the morning. The man who drove us up here had the agent
telegraph back for them and said he'd fetch them as soon as they came."

"Jimmy Horse? He will if he doesn't forget."

"This fellow said his name was Hoskins, I think," said Tom.

"Yes, we call him Jimmy Horse. He will probably be along with them
before noon. Just depends on whether he remembers them and how busy he
is. Still, not many fellows get here before the eleven o'clock train
and so he ought to find time to bring the trunks. If he doesn't show up
soon after breakfast you'd better telephone to him. The booth's in Main
Hall, around the corner from the office. I suppose you saw old 'Quite
So'?"

"Who?" asked Steve.

"Mr. Brooke, the secretary. We call him 'Quite So' because he's always
saying that. Didn't you notice?"

"I did," said Tom. "I thought maybe he was Mr. Fernald, though."

"No, you won't see Josh much. He lives around the corner there in The
Cottage. You'll be lucky if you don't see him, too. When you call on
Josh it's usually because you've been and gone and done something. He
will be at Faculty Reception to-morrow evening, though. That's in Upper
Hall at eight o'clock. Better go, fellows; everyone does. Have you met
your Hall Master, Mr. Daley?"

"Yes, we stopped in at his room after supper," answered Steve. "Is
he----" He hesitated.

Miller laughed. "Go on and say it, Edwards! Is he what?"

"I was going to ask if he was liked."

"Oh, yes, Daley's all right. Rather shy, but he's young yet. This is
only his second year. You'll like him better when you've known him
awhile. What form are you fellows in?"

"Fourth. At least, we hope we are."

"Oh, you'll make it. They'll put you in, anyway, and then drop you back
if you don't keep up. That's a pleasant little trick of theirs here.
You'll have Daley in French and German. Take my advice and don't have
fun with him just because you can. Most of the new fellows try to make
life a burden to him because he gets kind of rattled and tries to
swallow his tongue when he talks. But they're generally sorry for it
later. He stands about so much and then--bing! Off you go to Josh! And
here's another tip, fellows. Always be dead serious with 'Uncle Sim.'
That's Mr. Simkins, Greek instructor. If you can look as if you'd lost
all your friends and bitten your tongue you'll make a big hit with him.
He doesn't know a joke even when it's labelled and can't stand any
flippancy. I made a pun in class once; I've forgotten what it was, but
it was a bright and scintillant little effort; and Uncle Sim told me I'd
end on the gallows. He's never forgotten that and still views me with
deep suspicion."

"We will try to remember," laughed Steve. "I suppose you are in the
Sixth Form?"

"Yes, this is my last year here. I ought to have been out last year, but
I slipped a cog when I first came and got dropped a form. You see, I
made the mistake of thinking that the principal branches were Football,
Baseball and Hockey. When I'd woke up to the fact that a little
attention to mathematics and languages and such foolishness was required
it was too late, and--plop!--sound of falling!"

Steve recalled a similar warning of his father's and silently made up
his mind then and there to not make Miller's mistake.

"Do you play football?" asked Tom. "I mean, are you on the team?"

"Yes, I--I'm on the team." Miller's smile had an odd quality that
puzzled Tom at the moment. "You chaps know the game?"

"Steve has played more than I have," replied Tom. "He was on our high
school team at left end last year. He's pretty good, Steve is. I didn't
make the 'Varsity, but I played a couple of years with the scrubs."

"Tom plays a good game," said Steve. "I suppose it's pretty hard to get
on the team here."

"About the same as anywhere," answered Miller. "If you show the goods
you're all right." He viewed Steve speculatively and then turned an
appraising gaze on Tom. "You chaps look pretty fit for this time of
year. What do you weigh, Edwards?"

[Illustration: Steve slipped on the tiling and fell sidewise into the
water]

"About a hundred and thirty-eight."

"You look solid, too," said Miller approvingly. "You chaps show up in
togs day after to-morrow at four. Look me up and I'll see that you get a
good chance to show what you can do. Where have you played, Hall?"

"At tackle, mostly. I played half a little last fall."

"You look rather likely, I think. Don't be disappointed if you don't
make the first or second this year, fellows. Keep going. There's your
hall team. Try for that. You'll get lots of good fun and experience. I
tell you this not to discourage you but because we've kept a lot of last
year's fellows and it's going to be harder than usual to break into the
first team, I guess. And that means that a good many of the second team
fellows will be disappointed and will have to stay where they are. Hard
on them, but lucky for the school. I don't know whether you chaps
understand the football situation with us?"

"I don't believe so," replied Steve.

"Well, it's like this. When I came here four years ago there wasn't any
team. Before that, five or six years before, they'd played, but about
that time football got into disfavour and the faculty stopped it. I
believe they allowed the hall teams to play, but that didn't last long.
My second year here they lifted the ban and we started a team. Of course
it didn't amount to much that first year and we got licked right and
left. The next year, though, we did a good deal better, and last year we
turned out a mighty good team. We lost only two games out of nine and
tied one. Unfortunately, though, one of the games we lost was the game
with Claflin, which is our big game of the year. Claflin has beaten us
three years running now and this year we're out for revenge with a
rolling R. Considering that we've played only three seasons, we've got a
pretty good start. Our coach is a dandy, a chap named Robey; played with
Brown the year they downed Pennsy; and he's been building up this year's
team ever since he started in. At first we didn't have more than forty
candidates to choose from. Last year about sixty fellows turned out and
this fall I guess we'll have nearer eighty. Robey started the hall teams
up again year before last and that helped a lot. The best of the hall
team chaps went into the second last year, and now, this year, we've got
fellows with three years' experience behind them. So, you see, Edwards,
we haven't got much football history at Brimfield and our system is
still pretty new, but we're getting on! And this fall if we don't lick
Claflin--well, if we don't, I'll have missed my guess."

Miller's lean, good-looking face had lighted up with enthusiasm during
his recital, and, when he had ended, as though impatient to begin the
campaign which was to end in the rout of the enemy, he got up and took a
turn the length of the room. He didn't look the least bit in the world
like a confidence-man to-night and the two boys marvelled at their
earlier suspicions. Miller was tall, lean with the leanness of muscles
unhampered by useless flesh, and lithe. He had very clear brown eyes, a
straight nose and high cheek bones that somehow reminded Steve of the
engraved portrait of John C. Calhoun that hung in the library at home.
Altogether, from the top of his well-shaped head to the soles of his
rubber-shod feet, he was good to look at, clean-cut, well-groomed,
healthy and very much alive. Steve found himself wishing that some day
he might find himself playing shoulder to shoulder with Miller. He hated
to think what would happen to the enemy in such a case!

Miller paused at the table, thrust his hands into his pockets and
smiled a trifle apologetically. "Well, that's the way it is, you chaps,"
he went on. "So, whether you make the first or the second or neither,
you keep on playing and trying. There's another year coming for you
fellows; two of them, in fact. Keep that in mind, and if you don't get
what you want this year keep plugging. And don't fail to come out
Wednesday and do your best. You'll get a fair show and if you can play
the game well enough you'll get places. Now I must run along with my
bag. I'm glad to have met you chaps. If I can help you in any way don't
fail to call on me. You'll find me in 7 Hensey. Come and see me anyway.
Miller's the name. And, by the way, I'm glad you chaps took my little
joke so decently and didn't get waxy about it. If you had, I'd probably
have told it around and you'd have got a lot of joshing. As it is, no
one knows it and no one will. Good-night."

And Miller, his suit-case in hand, smiled, nodded and went out. They
could hear him whistling merrily until the landing door had closed
behind him.

"I meant to ask him what position he played," said Steve regretfully.
"I'll bet he's a corker, though!"

"I'll bet you he is," agreed Tom warmly.

"And he seemed a rattling good sort, too, didn't he?"

"Yes. And I'm glad I lost my bag. If I hadn't we mightn't have known
him, seeing that he's a Sixth Form fellow."

"I guess he's sort of prominent," mused Tom. "He gives you the idea of
being someone, doesn't he?"

"Oh, he's someone, all right! Do you think he really wants us to call on
him, Tom? Or--or was he just being polite?"

"Both, I guess. I don't suppose we'd better call unless he asks us
again. We don't want to act fresh, you know. Besides," and Tom smiled
mischievously, "I'm not sure we ought to associate with him."

"Why not?" asked Steve incredulously.

"Well, seeing that he's a confidence-man----"

CHAPTER VIII

IN THE RUBBING ROOM

After breakfast the next morning, a breakfast eaten with excellent
appetites, the two boys set out on a sightseeing tour about the school.
They went first to the gymnasium. The big front door was locked, but
Steve was not to be denied and eventually gained entrance through a
little door at the rear which led into the boiler-room and from there
found their way into the main basement where were situated the big
swimming tank, a commodious baseball cage and a bowling alley. On the
floor above they found themselves in a square hall, entered from the
front door, from which other doors led to the gymnasium, the locker and
bathrooms and a small office bearing the sign "Physical Director." From
the hall a fireproof stairway ascended with a turn to the running-track
and a large room which was evidently used as a meeting hall. Settees
were neatly arranged in front of a platform, a row of low windows
admitted a flood of morning sunshine and against the walls hung many
photographs of athletic teams. Most of them showed groups of track and
field men, although a few were of hockey sevens and there were three
football teams in evidence. The explorers paid more attention to these
photographs than the others, and Steve, whose patriotism was already
strong, read the inscriptions on the lower margins with disfavour.

"Huh!" he grumbled. "'Brimfield 0; Claflin 12'; 'Brimfield 3; Claflin
11'; 'Brimfield 6; Claflin 9.' Bet you next time it'll be some
different, Tom!"

"Rather!" said Tom stoutly. "Let's go on down and see the gym."

They tried the chest-weights and tested the bars and experimented with
about everything they found down there, and then went into the adjoining
compartment and peered into the shower-baths and passed on the merits of
the steel lockers.

"The fellow who built this gym knew what he was doing," declared Steve
approvingly. "Some of these lockers have got things in them," he
continued, peeping into one. "There's a bat in here, and a towel and
some clothes."

Tom had wandered through a doorway at the end of the locker compartment
and now summoned Steve to join him. There was a high table in the centre
of the small room and a set of metal shelves alongside which held
numerous bottles and boxes. "It's the rubbing room," said Steve. "Here,
get busy, Tom!" And he hoisted himself to the table and stretched out on
his back.

"Yes, sir," said Tom. "Where's it hurt you? This the spot?"

And Tom began such an enthusiastic manipulation of Steve's ribs that the
latter set up a howl and precipitately tumbled off the table. It was at
that moment that an unpleasant voice startled them.

"Beat it, you fresh kids! You've got no business in here!"

The speaker was a heavy-set youth of perhaps nineteen years of age. He
had closely-cropped ashy-brown hair over a round face from which a pair
of pale-blue eyes glowered upon them. He was standing in the doorway and
his hands were thrust into the pockets of a pair of very wide-hipped
knickerbockers. Somehow, standing there with his sturdy, golf-stockinged
legs well apart and his loose trousers pulled out at the sides, he
reminded Tom of a clown at a circus, and Tom made the mistake of
grinning. The big youth caught sight of the grin and stepped into the
rubbing room with a deepening scowl on his face.

"Wipe it off!" he said threateningly.

Steve and Tom looked at the table.

"Wipe what off?" asked Tom, at a loss.

"Wipe that grin off your ugly face," answered the other. "And get out of
here, both of you, and stay out. If you don't, I'll throw you out!"

This somewhat astounding threat caused an exchange of surprised glances
between the culprits. Neither Steve nor Tom were quarrelsome, nor had
they had more than a boy's usual share of fist battles, but the bullying
speech and attitude of the round-faced youth was so uncalled for and
exasperating that Steve's temper got the better of him for the moment.

"We weren't doing any harm here," he declared indignantly. "And we'll
get out, but we're not afraid of you, even if you have got piano legs!"

The big fellow pulled his hands from his pockets with an angry growl
and, clenching his fists, strode toward the boys. But at that instant
footsteps sounded in the locker room, and the bully's hands dropped and
he turned his head toward the door just as a small, red-haired and
freckle-faced little Irishman came into sight.

"Hello, Eric the Red," he said jovially. "An' what might you be doin'
down here, me boy?"

"I'm telling these fresh kids to get out of here," replied the youth.
"Any objections?"

The little Irishman seemed surprised, and he smiled, but the boys noted
that his small and rather greenish eyes narrowed.

"None at all, at all, me boy. If I had I'd very soon tell you, d'ye see?
But what harm are they doin'? Sure, if I don't mind them bein' here, why
would you?"

"They haven't any business in this room, and you know it, Danny. They're
too fresh, anyway."

"Well, that's what we all are at some time. Let the boys be. Was you
wantin' anything, boys?"

"No, we were just looking around the place. This door was open and we
came in. We didn't know there was any harm in it," concluded Steve.

"No more there was," said Danny soothingly.

"They were rough-housing all over the place," growled the big fellow.
"If you can stand it I can, though. Only"--and he turned a wrathful gaze
on Steve--"if you ever get fresh with me again you'll get the licking
that's coming to you, kid." He turned away toward the locker room. "Say,
Danny, got a key to my locker? I've lost mine and I want to get into it
a minute."

"I have not," replied Danny cheerfully. "You'll have to have one fitted,
me boy."

"Hasn't anyone a master-key?" demanded the other.

"They have not. Find Patsy; he'll fit one for you in ten minutes."

"That's a funny state of things," grumbled the big fellow. "They ought
to have duplicates on hand. Somebody's always losing a key, and----"

The rest was lost as the youth disappeared into the further room. Danny
winked gravely at the two boys.

"Who is he?" asked Steve curiously.

"Him? His name's Sawyer, Eric Sawyer. He is sufferin' from a terrible
complaint, boys, an' it makes him that cross a bear would run away from
him, I'm thinkin'!"

"What's the trouble with him?"

"He has what the doctors do be callin' an ingrowin' grouch," replied
Danny soberly. "'Tis due to over-exposure of the ego, they tell me,
resultin' in an inflamed condition of the amoor proper, that same bein'
French an' maybe beyond your comprehension."

The boys laughed and Danny swung himself to the table and patted it
invitingly. "Sit down, boys, an' tell me all about it," he said. "Who
may you be, now?"

"His name is Hall and mine is Edwards," replied Steve, as he and Tom
followed Danny's example and swung their feet from the table. "We're new
boys."

"I suspected as much," replied Danny drily. "An' where might be your
place of residence?"

"Tannersville, Pennsylvania."

"Think o' that now!" marvelled Danny. "Sure, you're a long ways from
home. Is this place you say anywhere near Philadelphia?"

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