Kendall returned to his room a half hour before supper time in a condition of mental amazement. He had practically agreed to “go out” for the Scholiast after Christmas recess and had made the startling discovery that an editorship on the school weekly was just what he wanted! Whitehall had kindly and almost apologetically explained that at first, “just for a while, you know,” Kendall would have to do reporting so as to learn the ropes. But none of the group on the island had seemed to doubt for a moment that Kendall would ultimately succeed to the position of editor-in-chief! When he had spoken modestly of his lack of experience the fellows had waved the thing aside as of no consequence. “That will be all right,” Davis had declared. “It won’t take you any time to get the hang of it.” And there had been a most flattering emphasis on the “you.”
Only Jim Hough had seemed unenthusiastic.[178] Jim had expressed doubt that a fellow could be on the Scholiast and give the proper amount of time and attention to football. Whereupon had ensued an argument between Jim and Whitehall as to the comparative importance of football and journalism, the latter making the absolutely absurd claim that journalism was the greater pursuit of the two! In the end they had appealed to Kendall for his opinion and he had put an end to the dispute by smilingly suggesting that they allow him to defer judgment until he knew more about journalism, a suggestion that seemed to impress everyone with its marvelous wisdom. Or everyone save The Duke. The Duke had grinned like the Cheshire cat all the time and had more than once favored Kendall with a surreptitious and knowing wink, thereby adding to Kendall’s embarrassment.
For it was embarrassing. To discover suddenly that instead of the nonentity one supposes oneself to be one is in reality a public character, a person of prominence, in short a quasi-hero, is bound to be both embarrassing and disturbing. But once having had his eyes opened, Kendall could not doubt that The Duke had spoken truly. He had only to observe how attentively the others listened to what he said, how eager they seemed to have him express opinions, how stoutly[179] they believed in his ability to make the Scholiast and succeed at the work. But it was pleasant, almost intoxicatingly pleasant, and Kendall went back to Clarke Hall in a mood far different from that in which he had left. The world no longer seemed dull or empty. It was, indeed, a very wonderful world, filled with many likable people and teeming with possibilities! Kendall’s feelings were reflected so plainly in his countenance when he entered Number 28 that Gerald, who had unexpectedly returned for supper and was entertaining George Kirk, viewed him in surprise.
“Hello,” he exclaimed, “what’s happened to you, Kendall? Anybody left you a fortune?”
“Not that I know of,” replied Kendall after greeting Kirk. “I—I’ve been on the river with The Duke. We had a bully time.”
“With The Duke? What the dickens did you do?”
“Oh, nothing much. Just paddled up to the island and sat there. Some fellows came along and we talked.”
“And that’s your idea of a bully time!” marveled Gerald. “George, observe our young friend and take a lesson from him. Forget that Broadwood beat you yesterday. Paddle on the river and cheer up!”
“Did they really beat us?” asked Kendall.
[180]
Kirk nodded gloomily. “They simply slaughtered us.”
“Don’t get him on the subject again, Kendall,” begged Gerald. “I found him moping on the steps and brought him along to brighten him up. He’s wailed and bewailed for half an hour and I can stand no more of it. Let’s find a cheerful subject of conversation, such as supper.”
“I’m awfully sorry,” said Kendall sympathetically.
“Let it go at that, then,” said Gerald. “You’ll start him off again if you aren’t careful. What lovely weather we’re having, George!”
Kirk laughed. “Well, we’ll get back at them in the Spring,” he said hopefully. “I wish you’d try for the team, Burtis.”
“I don’t think I’d ever make a golfer,” replied Kendall. “You know I tried last year, Kirk.”
“I know you did. And did mighty well, too. All you need is practice. I wish you’d think it over. It’s so hard to get good fellows for the team!”
“Maybe I will, if you want me to,” said Kendall. “I like golf very much, only I don’t believe I’d ever become much of a player.”
“I think you would,” replied Kirk earnestly. “Any fellow who can do as well in football as you’re doing, and has such a dandy sense of[181] directions and distance as you must have to kick those goals, ought to make a good golfer.”
Kendall smiled, and, seeing the inquiring look on Kirk’s face, explained. “I was thinking of something Ned Tooker said last year. Ned said that a good football player couldn’t be a good golf player; that the one spoiled him for the other; I forget just why.”
Kirk laughed. “Well, Ned was the best golfer we’ve ever had here, but he didn’t know everything. And, besides, Ned was fond of saying things just for the sound of them!”
“A common failing,” grieved Gerald as he splashed and gurgled at the stand. “Alas, how”—gurgle—“few of us”—sniff! splash!—“consider the sense”—sniff! sniff!—“of our utterances! Where’s that towel?”
“Then it’s a promise, is it, Burtis?” asked the golf captain eagerly.
“Why—er—yes, if you like. At least, I’ll give it a fair try, Kirk.”
“Good stuff! We’ll have some games together after the Broadwood game’s over. Well, I’ll run along. ’Bye, Gerald.”
“’Bye,” answered Gerald from behind a towel. “Call again, Georgie.”
“Perhaps I will some day. By the way!” Kirk stopped at the door. “What sort of a chap[182] is that Cotton? I mean the fellow who rooms with The Duke. All right, is he?”
“All right?” echoed Gerald. “I’d say he was pretty much all wrong. There’s no harm in him, though, I guess. Ask Kendall. He’s a great chum of Kendall’s. Thick as thieves, they are!”
“Oh, well, I guess he’s all right, then,” said Kirk. “I asked because——” He stopped, looked thoughtfully puzzled a moment and then, nodding, went out.
“Wonder what Cotton’s done to him,” said Gerald cheerfully. “If I were a punster I’d say it was evident Kirk doesn’t cotton to him. But I’m not, and so I won’t. Did I hear you murmur your thanks?”
“Eh?” asked Kendall blankly.
“Well, where have you been? Still thinking of what a wonderful time you had on the river?” Gerald seemed a little disgruntled over that.
“No, I was just—just thinking.”
What he had been thinking was that if he succeeded in making the Scholiast and the Golf Team, he would be a pretty busy chap the rest of the year!
Just how the trick played on Gibson of Broadwood got out is not known. Neither Gerald nor Kendall divulged it, and The Duke refused to own to having spoken of the matter. But get out[183] it did, for by Monday the whole school knew about it and was laughing delightedly. Even the Scholiast, most dignified of school publications, could not forebear a fling and the next issue contained at the bottom of a page this brief note:
“The Broadwood Academy Press announces for early publication ‘Personal Recollections of Booth’; by Gibson.”
Football practice on Monday was hard and long. Several second string players were temporarily promoted to the First Team, for a number of the regulars were still showing the effects of Saturday’s game. ............