The day after the Forest Hill defeat was warm and languid, more like a November day. Gerald had gone to Sound View the evening before, as was his custom when his father was at home, and Kendall, having attended church in the forenoon and eaten a dinner at the training table for which he had had little appetite, was at a loss how to spend his afternoon. There were fellows whom he might look up and who would doubtless be glad to see him, but somehow he didn’t feel very sociable. For one thing, he had been through forty-eight minutes of hard play the day before and felt lame and battered, although there were no scars to show. Perhaps, too, the weather induced a feeling of apathy; it was too warm. He wrote his Sunday letter, taking a good deal of time over it, and managing to fill six pages. But after that was sealed and addressed there seemed nothing left to do. Gerald had suggested that he might come up after dinner and take him to ride in the automobile,[161] but evidently Gerald had changed his mind. The dormitory was quiet and probably pretty well deserted, for it was no sort of a day to stay indoors. Kendall finally reached that conclusion himself and, pulling a cap on to the back of his head, he sauntered along the hall and down the stairs and so out into the afternoon world, wincing now and then when his sore muscles protested and dimly oppressed with the emptiness of existence. Kendall’s condition of mind was, had he but known it, no uncommon one for the football player the day after a hard game and a defeat. One cares very little for bruises and weariness after a victory, but a defeat takes all the glory from them. There was a handful of fellows on the steps as he came out and he spoke to them, but had no wish to join them. There were other groups in front of Whitson and Oxford, and several boys were lolling on the grass near the flag-pole on The Prospect. One or two had books, but it was a noticeable fact that none was reading. Even the effort of holding a book was too much on such a day. Kendall nodded now and then, refused an invitation to join the group on the grass and skirted Oxford with a dim idea of walking down to the river. But back of Merle he heard a hail and, turning, saw The Duke waving to him[162] across the yard. The Duke was resplendent to-day. There was a suit of blue-gray flannel, a vividly pink shirt, dark blue socks, tan shoes and a green tie. And The Duke seemed in high feather. Kendall sat down on the step of Merle and waited for the gorgeous one to join him. He had not seen The Duke since shortly after the game the day before and now he wondered whether that youth had got into difficulties over the affair of Mr. Gibson. He certainly didn’t have the appearance of a fellow in trouble! One would have thought, seeing him coming along the path, hands in pockets, whistling cheerfully, that he hadn’t a care in the world.
“Greetings, O doughty warrior!” saluted The Duke.
“Hello,” replied Kendall apathetically. “Where’s the party?”
“Party? Oh, you refer to my chaste get-up.” The Duke viewed his apparel approvingly. “Some togs, what?” He seated himself beside Kendall. “There’s no party, Sir Knight. I have merely dressed myself according to my mood. My mood to-day is one of triumph and joy. Where’s Gerald?”
“Home,” replied Kendall moodily.
“He’s a lucky chap to have a home around the corner. Be it never so humble there’s no place[163] like home. What’s the matter with you to-day? Got the dumps?”
“N-no.”
“Meaning ye-es? Perk up! Observe the cerulean sky and the waving tree tops, the bright sun and the—the——”
“It’s a beast of a day.”
“What? It’s a wonderful day! What do you want? Rain? Snow? Hail? Well, if the things I’ve mentioned don’t cheer you, look at my shirt! That ought to drive away any case of blues!”
“It looks sort of pink,” said Kendall, smiling with an effort.
“Sort of pink! Sort of pink! Man alive, it’s the quintessence of pink! It’s the pinkest thing that ever happened. That’s why I bought it. Got it cheap, too. They’d had it in the store for years and years. No one would buy it. No one had the courage to. But pink suits me, you know. Goes well with my shell-tint complexion.”
“But why the green tie?”
“A happy conceit of mine own, O Youth of the Festive Toe! I am impersonating a carnation. The dash of green represents the leaves. Get me? Pretty thought, what?”
“Very. And the rest of the—the things? Blue socks——”
“Contrast, dear boy, contrast! Also variety.[164] Also gladness and joy and triumph. Come on!” The Duke jumped up gayly.
“Where?” asked Kendall with no enthusiasm.
“Where? Anywhere! Who knows? Let us start out in search of adventure. This is no day to mope and pine. I am consumed by a desire to start something!”
“You started something yesterday, didn’t you? How did you come out? Did Collins get after you?”
“Oh, that?” The Duke smiled carelessly and brushed an imaginary speck from his sleeve. “That is too trifling to speak of.”
“What did he say?”
“Say? What was there he could say? I had merely to explain the circumstances to him, Burtis. After all, he is reasonable—for a faculty. Or mayhap I spoke convincingly. In any case”—The Duke waved a hand magnificently—“we parted with sentiments of mutual respect and esteem. If you will join me in a stroll toward yon purling stream I will regale your ears with a brief narration of the event.”
“All right.” Kendall pulled himself up with a sigh and they moved on.
“We met by appointment,” continued The Duke gayly. “Collins made the appointment. In his study. He suggested eight o’clock as a time convenient[165] to him and, as I am noted for my good nature, I agreed. Also, as I have ever held punctuality to be the soul of wit or the thief of time or the shortest way home or something—I forget the exact quotation—I was there on the stroke.”
“I’ll bet you were!” agreed Kendall grimly. The Duke smiled.
“On the very dot, O Wisdom Personified. And then—we talked. At first he did most of it. It seems”—The Duke interrupted the narrative to chuckle—“it seems that our friend Gibson had the brilliant thought to call up Central and tell his troubles. Central thereupon called up Collins. I could speak harshly to Central about that, but as it has all turned out satisfactorily I won’t. Well, Collins formed himself into a rescue party and trailed over to Oxford. Having liberated our prisoner they passed the time of day and in the course of the conversation Mr. Gibson, let us hope inadvertently, gave a description of my physical appearance and Collins, being a great friend of mine, recognized the portrait, or thought he did. Hence the appointment. Of course I don’t know just what those two said to each other, but I have a strong hunch that Collins wormed out of Mr. Gibson the fact that he was a Broadwood unfortunate and surmised the fact[166] that he was, to put it courteously, over here to rubber at our splendid team of football heroes.”
“What time is it?” asked Kendall.
“Time? I don’t know,” replied The Duke, fumbling at his watch-fob. “Why? Got something on?”
“No, I was only thinking that if you didn’t get started pretty soon it would be supper time.”
“Oh!” The Duke laughed. “You have a dry wit, my friend, a dry wit and a ready. Well, to cut out the non-essentials and the rhetorical effects, Burtis, Collins asked me if I had enticed Mr. Gibson to the ’phone. Of course I ’lowed as how I had. Then he asked me why. ‘Because,’ quoth I, ‘he was over here to spy on the team and Payson wanted to try out some of the new plays for the Broadwood game.’ ‘But you told him that he was wanted at the telephone,’ says Collins. ‘Wasn’t that a lie, Wellington?’ ‘No, sir,’ I retorted, ‘not at all. We wanted him at the telephone so he wouldn’t see what was going on at the field.’ Whereupon Collins said ‘Um’ in two or three different tones, and looked kind of funny at me. Of course I was looking as nearly like an innocent little George Washington as I knew how. ‘But still, Wellington, hardly truthful, eh?’ he asked. I considered. ‘Perhaps not strictly, sir,’ I said, ‘but we had to do something,[167] and what else was there?’ Well, I had him stumped there! He opened his mouth a couple of times, but he couldn’t answer. There wasn’t anything else, was there? Of course not. Collins saw it, too, after a minute, but he wouldn’t say so. He hemmed a few hems and hawed a few haws and smiled in his funny dry way. And finally he said, ‘Wellington, if you applied some of your ingenuity to mastering your studies you’d be better off.’ I said, ‘Yes, sir.’ Then he frowned and waved his hand, you know, like that. ‘You may go,’ he said. And I thanked him and went. Only when I got to the door he stopped me. ‘Mind you,’ said he, ‘you’re not to think that I approve of what you did, Wellington, because I don’t. It smacks too much of deceit. It would have been better had you gone to a telephone and really called him up!’ ‘I never thought of that!’ I said. Then he grinned a little, and I grinned and came out!”
Kendall laughed. “The next time we’d better consult Collins, I guess! I suspect he was just as pleased as we were that Gibson got left.”
“Probably. Aside from being a member of faculty he’s fairly human. Anyhow, I got off easy. Hence my mood of triumph. Let’s go for a paddle.”
[168]
They had reached the boathouse. The porch and float were well sprinkled with fellows and the river as far as they could see was dotted with canoes and skiffs.
“I don’t know how to row,” Kendall demurred.
“Who wants to row? Can you paddle?”
“Less than I can row.”
“Well, you go as ballast then. I’ve got a canoe in here somewhere if it hasn’t fallen to pieces. Haven’t been in it since Spring. Come on.”
Kendall followed the other into the boathouse and helped him lift a battered green canvas canoe from ............