The Houses celebrated that night. There was no telling what might happen a week hence and it was well to make the most of the opportunity. There was a bonfire down in the corner of the field, a place sacred to such occasions, and West House and East House cheered themselves hoarse, while Hall, standing apart, jeered and tried to drown the sounds of triumph. Heroes had been made that day and their names were William L. M’Crae and Otto Zoller. Brooks made a speech. He said he didn’t want to throw cold water on the joyous occasion but wanted to remind them that there was another game coming. “Cheer and shout all you want to, fellows, but while you’re doing it make up your minds to go into the next game and do a whole lot better. If you do we’ll have a celebration here next Saturday night that will make this look[338] like a flash in the pan. Remember that there’s something hanging in the living-room at the Hall that must come down from there. Play for the Silver Shield, fellows, and the Houses!”
Even after West House was home again nobody was able to quiet down, and when bedtime came the boys went down in a body and secured an extension of time from Mrs. Linn. “Just a half-hour more, Marm,” pleaded Sandy. “You know we don’t win every day, and I dare say we won’t again for a while.”
“Well,” said Marm. “But I declare I don’t know what the Doctor would say!”
“If you behave very nicely, Marm, we’ll never tell him,” Spud assured her.
So they went back to the Ice Chest and talked it all over again for the twentieth time and were very excited and jubilant. And Cal, who had played in his first game, was football-mad and couldn’t hear enough of it. And the next day, even had they been ready to talk of something else, which they were not, Molly wouldn’t have let them. The Pippin Club met in the club house on Apple Avenue after dinner and Molly had to hear the personal experiences of each of the players.
[339]
“And, oh, Dutch,” she exclaimed rapturously, “how did you ever manage to get that ball so wonderfully.”
Dutch shrugged his shoulders and grinned.
“I didn’t,” he said. “The ball was bobbing around on the ground there and someone came along and gave me a shove that sent me sprawling on my nose. Then I happened to see Mr. Ball rolling along near-by and a Hall chap trying to snuggle up to it. So I reached out and got it just in time. He didn’t want to let go, but I pulled it away somehow and worked it under me. Then they began falling on my head and back and I didn’t know much more until they turned me over.”
“Modest youth!” murmured Spud admiringly.
“Anyhow, you saved the day,” insisted Molly beamingly. “And Ned made a beautiful run, didn’t he?”
“I’d have made it beautifuller,” grunted Ned, “if I hadn’t turned my ankle when I started. That lost time, you see.”
“It was a very good run,” said Spud judicially. “I’ll say that, Ned. But you all realize, of course, that it was only made possible by my excellent assistance.”
[340]
“Why, Spud,” said Molly, “I didn’t know you helped.”
“You didn’t? Why, I was the interference. It was this way, Molly. ‘Spud,’ said Brooksie, ‘what shall we do now?’ ‘Give the ball to Ned,’ said I, ‘for an end run. I’ll look after him.’ ‘Good stuff,’ said Brooksie. ‘I wish you would.’ So Ned took the ball. ‘This way, Ned,’ I called, and started off around the end. ‘Just a moment,’ said Ned. ‘I’ve turned my ankle.’ ‘Well, I wouldn’t stop too long,’ I told him, ‘for I think I see the enemy in the offing.’ So Ned rubbed his ankle a bit and then we started off again. ‘Bear to the right, Ned,’ I called, and Ned bore. About that time a few of the Hall team sauntered madly up. The first one I gave the straight-arm to and he turned over twice—no, thrice. It was thrice, wasn’t it, Ned?”
“Oh, dry up,” laughed Ned. “How about the apple crop, Molly?”
“Ned,” went on Spud, getting warmed up to his narrative, “was now running strong at my heels. The enemy surrounded us. One—two—three! I pushed them aside. ‘Come on!’ I shouted in a clarion voice. ‘Never say die!’ So Ned came on. The enemy fell about[341] us like ten-pins. We crossed the thirty yard-line, the twenty-five. The goal was in sight. But poor Ned’s strength was ebbing fast. Finally he called to me faintly. ‘I can go no further—farther!’ Did you say further or farther, Ned? Anyway, defeat stared us in the face. The hungry horde of Hall desperadoes snapped at our heels. What to do? There was not a minute to spare. Seizing Ned in my arms I staggered on and fell fainting across the goal-line. The day was won!”
“I don’t see,” laughed Ned, “that there was anyone on that team but you and I, Spud.”
“They didn’t count,” said Spud. “Who said apples?”
“I’ve got something lots nicer,” said Molly. “Do you like cookies? I got cook to make a whole panful yesterday. Shall I get them?”
“Shall you get them!” cried Hoop. “What an absurd question.”
“Cookies for mine,” said Spud, smacking his lips. “What kind of cookies are they, Molly? Have they got sugar sprinkled on top of them?”
“Of course. Cookies always have sugar on them. I’ll get them. And there are plenty of apples if you want them.”
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“I think,” said Sandy, as Molly disappeared, “that the—the cuisine at our club is very satisfactory, fellows.”
“Yes,” drawled Spud, “the new French chef is doing very well. I think the house committee should be complimented. Oh, see who’s here!”
Molly returned with a big yellow bowl filled with golden brown cookies and passed them around.
“I can smell the granilla,” said Spud. “Granilla’s my favorite scent. Say, they’re simply swell, Molly. You tell that cook that she’s the best cookie cook I ever listened to.”
“Cut it out, Spud,” commanded Sandy. “You talk too much.”
“All right. You talk for a while. I’m going to be too busy.”
The club continued in session until the last cookie had vanished and the afternoon shadows were slanting across the lawn outside. Then West House, surfeited with cakes and apples, said good-by to their hostess and went home to supper!
Neither Cal nor Ned were very demonstrative and so their reconciliation was a seemingly matter-of-course event attended by no outward[343] manifestations of satisfaction. Boys of their age haven’t much use for what they call “gush,” and the nearest approach to this occurred on Sunday night when, returning to their room after the usual Sunday night concert in the Tomb, Ned “squared off” at Cal, feinted and then landed a vigorous punch on his chest that sent him reeling backward on to his bed.
“You old chump,” said Ned affectionately.
But the next instant he evidently concluded that even that might be construed as “gush” and so thrust his hands into his pockets, turned his back and whistled carelessly. Cal grinned and picked himself up.
“Remember the night you woke me up, Ned, and I thought you were a robber?” he asked.
“Yes, you nearly killed me. Bet you knew it was me all the time!”
There was no lack of conversation nowadays, and instead of avoiding each other they seemed hardly satisfied out of each other’s sight. West House saw and marvelled.
“They’re like the Siamese Twins,” commented Spud, “sort of stuck on each other, what?”
But if they hadn’t much to say about their quarrel or their renewal of friendship the mystery[344] of the missing money was often discussed. Monday night they went to work systematically and ransacked the Den from end to end. But they found nothing; or, at least, nothing they were searching for. They did discover what Ned called “a disgraceful state of affairs.” In his lower bureau drawer, under a top covering of underwear, lay about a half-bushel of apples of which many were in the last stages of decay.
“Gee,” said Ned, “I’d forgotten all about them. Don’t they ............