What puzzled Kendall was why Ned Tooker had gone out of his way to be nice to him. Of course it was plainly to be seen that Ned was a creature of impulse, one who did about what came into his head, but, allowing all that, it wasn’t quite explained. Kendall was not impulsive himself, and while he had a strong capacity for affection, it was not his way to form friendships very readily. This made Ned Tooker’s behavior all the more strange to Kendall. Perhaps it had been just an evening’s prank, a means to pass an hour before bedtime, and perhaps Ned would have forgotten all about it to-morrow. But there was the promise to teach him golf, and, still more tangible evidence, there was one of Kendall’s lamentably few clean collars curled about the mirror-post and bearing the scrawling legend in the blackest of soft pencil marks, “2 Dudley.” Kendall put aside the problem for the moment with a sigh of despair and got ready for bed. But he hoped that Ned had[128] been sincere, for the older boy had quite won Kendall’s heart. If Kendall had known of a conversation which passed in Mr. Collins’s study that evening Ned’s sudden attachment would have been more understandable. Mr. Collins had asked Ned to come early as he had something to say to him, and Ned had arrived ten minutes before any of the others. Mr. Collins was standing in front of the little coal fire and Ned had shaken hands with him ceremoniously, a performance he always went through with on such occasions.
“Good evening, sir,” said Ned. “I trust I find you in good health.”
Mr. Collins replied that he was in the best of condition. Then Ned proceeded to hand an imaginary cane to an imaginary servant, draw off two imaginary gloves which in imagination followed the cane, remove an imaginary top hat with an air and finally, with a hitch of his shoulders, allowed the imaginary servant to remove an imaginary Inverness cape. It was a very clever bit of pantomime and never failed of applause. To-night Mr. Collins laughed appreciatively, laid a hand on Ned’s shoulder and drew him to the fire:
“Well, everything all right, Tooker? The Optimist Society making converts?”
[129]
“Turning ’em away, sir, at every performance.”
“Good. I’ve got a new recruit for you, or perhaps it would be better to say a new subject for you.”
“All right, sir. Who is it?”
“A fellow named Burtis, a new boy this fall. He rooms upstairs here in Number 21. I think you’ll like him. I do. He seems to have more than the usual amount of common sense, for one thing. And he has principles. I believe, Tooker, that he’s the sort we like, you and I; the sort that becomes a credit to the school. But he needs a little help right now. I can’t go into particulars, but Burtis hasn’t been altogether fortunate since he came. I think he’s a bit down-in-the-mouth just now and he needs some fellow to chum up to him a bit. I’ve asked him here this evening and I want you to look him over and, if you possibly can, get acquainted with him and tide him over the next month or so. You’re the man for the job, Tooker. Will you take it?”
“Why, of course, sir. You’ll see us to-morrow wandering away to the woods arm in arm, to carve our initials on the tree trunks. Fever near, sir!”
“I won’t,” replied Mr. Collins with a smile. “I’ll leave him to you, Tooker. By the way, I neglected to say that Burtis is not yet—er—what[130] we might call a tasteful dresser. There remains about him a strong suggestion of the—er—bucolic.”
Ned shook his head. “I’ve never had that, sir.”
“Had what?”
“The bucolic. Is it catching?”
“I don’t think so,” Mr. Collins laughed. “And, anyhow, Tooker, I don’t believe it could ever catch you!”
And so during the evening Ned had been studying Kendall most of the time, even when it seemed that he hadn’t a thought beyond creating a laugh. And what he had seen he had liked. He hadn’t been surprised, for he had found that Mr. Collins’s judgment in such matters usually coincided with his. Ned’s verdict by the time the group broke up was something like this: “Rather homely in a nice way. Good eyes and looks straight at you. Well-behaved. Rather shy. Doesn’t butt in. Sees a joke before it knocks him down. Has a good voice. Dresses like a farmer and needs a hair-cut and a manicure, but looks as though he knew the use of bath-tubs. On the whole an interesting subject. Get busy.”
And he had got busy, with what results we know. If there was some measure of duplicity in Ned’s first evidences of interest and friendship,[131] the duplicity was in a good cause. Before he had taken himself away, however, Ned had ceased to play a part, and his disconcerting “Do you know, Burtis, I like you!” had been very genuine. But on the way back to his room Ned had owned to himself that it might not prove an easy task to convert the outward appearance of his new protégé to Yardley standards.
“He must have some other clothes,” murmured Ned as he crossed the Yard to Dudley. “And first of all he must have his hair cut. The hair-cut won’t be difficult, but it’s a mighty delicate matter to tell a chap that his clothes aren’t right. Well, I’ll go at it gently. Tact, Ned, tact and diplomacy!”
“I wonder,” he reflected after he was in bed and listening to the musical efforts of his slumbering roommate, “I wonder what the dickens that kid did to get probation! He doesn’t strike you as much of a cut-up. I can’t just see him putting a tack in Bertie’s chair!” (Bertie was Mr. Albert Von Groll, Instructor in Modern Languages.) “Besides, he said the secret concerned others. I suppose that’s what Collins meant when he said the chap hadn’t been altogether fortunate since he came. I should say not! It’s going some to get on probation within three weeks of the opening of school! Well, I’ll look him up again[132] to-morrow. I simply must know why he’s on pro!”
Yardley played her third football game the next afternoon. Her opponent was Forest Hill School. Forest Hill was not considered very dangerous and there was a rumor that Payson meant to put in a team of substitutes in the last two periods. Ned Tooker reached the field only a few minutes before the time of starting the game and the two teams were already running through signals and punting. As he turned the corner and walked along in front of the crowded stand many hails reached him:
“Ned, come on up; here’s a seat!”
“Oh you Took! Come and sit in my lap, Ned!”
But Ned only waved and smiled and went on, searching the stand with his gaze. It was not until the whistle had sounded and Sandy Fogg had lifted the ball from the tee with the toe of his shoe that Ned found whom he was looking for. Then he climbed the stairs, nodding and eluding the detaining hands thrust toward him, and crowded his way along one of the seats until he reached Kendall. The latter, absorbed in the game—the Forest Hill left half-back was charging back up the field with the pigskin nestled in his arm—hadn’t seen Ned’s approach, and when the latter crowded down beside him and Kendall[133] turned to see who it was the smile that came into his face was well worth seeing.
“Hello!” he said rather shyly.
“Hello, Bendall Kurtis,” replied Ned. “How are you to-day? Who’s going to win the game? You’re a football sharp, aren’t you?”
“Why, we are, of course,” returned Kendall confidently. “But I wish you had seen that Forest Hill fellow run that ball back. He must have made twenty yards!”
“Good stuff! Who’s playing for us?”
“Most of the regulars. Fogg’s at center, Ridge and Merriwell are the guards, Jensen and Mitchell tackles, Vinton and Norton ends, Roeder and Stearns half-backs, Simms quarter, and the full-back I don’t know.”
“That’s Marion. What’s the matter with Hammel, I wonder? That isn’t Jensen at right tackle, though, Curt; that’s Stark.”
“Is it? But it looks like Jensen. No, he’s got dark hair, hasn’t he? And there’s Jensen on the bench down there; next to Holmes.”
“Jensen’s hair, by the way, is about the same color as yours, Curt. I don’t like to see them wear it as long as that, though. Nowadays, when headguards are the fashion it isn’t necessary.” Ned glanced at Kendall’s hair and displayed much embarrassment. “I didn’t mean— Honest, Curt, I[134] hadn’t— You wear yours long, too, don’t you?” he ended lamely.
“Me? Why, no; at least, not like Jensen’s. I guess mine needs trimming.” Kendall laughed. “Mother’s always after me to have my hair cut, and now that I’m away from home I guess it’ll be down on my shoulders if I don’t watch out. It grows awfully fast.”
“Then you don’t wear it long because you’re a footballist?” asked Ned. “I’m glad of it, because you’ll look better when it’s trimmed a little. I’ve got to have mine done, too. We might go through the agony together next week, eh? Hello, look at that for a punt!”
“A dandy!” sighed Kendall. “Simms has got it. No! Missed it! Got it again, though. He’s down!”
“Now let’s see what our chaps can do with the ball,” said Ned. “Here we go! Good work, Roeder! Five yards easy! And right through the center! Watch that Forest Hill left end, Curt. He was off-side about a yard that time. There he goes again. I thought so! Penalty for you, Mr. Man!”
The whistle had blown and now the umpire was carrying the ball five yards nearer the Forest Hill goal.
“Now will you behave?” murmured Ned.[135] “This is a fake. Marion can’t punt. I thought so. Stearns outside tackle for three yards. That was very neat. Hello! What’s wrong?”
“Stearns fumbled,” said Kendall sadly. “It’s Forest Hill’s ball.”
“And rather too near our goal to be comfortable. About the thirty-five yard line, isn’t it?”
“I think so,” answered Kendall, sitting forward on the edge of his seat. Three cheer leaders jumped from their places and called for “A regular cheer, fellows, and get into it!”
And then, while the cheer was crashing forth, a brown-clad youth hurled himself against the Yardley line, broke through, eluding player after player, and circled toward the center of the field and the Yardley goal. The watchers leaped to their feet. Pandemonium reigned. Then Simms dived for him and brought him fiercely to earth on the twenty yards.
But it was first down again and only four white lines separated the eager opponents from a touchdown. The cheering began again, the leaders, their commands drowned in the noise, waving their arms in frantic encouragement. From around Kendall and Ned cries of “Hold ’em! Hold ’em!” arose and gathered rhythm and volume. The Forest Hill quarter, hand to mouth, was bellowing his signals. Then back went the[136] ball, confusion reigned for a moment and another scant two yards had been conquered.
“Right through Stark that time,” said Ned. “I guess they’d better bring Jensen on. Second down and eight to gain. Hold ’em, Yardley!”
But Yardley couldn’t, it seemed. What looked like another plunge at the line resolved itself into a delayed pass to left half, who tore along behind the line, squirmed past Mitchell and got away around the end for a good twelve yards. It was first down again then, and Forest Hill, despite the frenzied implorations of the Yardley supporters and the best efforts of Yardley’s players, gained the three yard line in two plays and crashed through and over for the final distance and a touchdown amidst the ecstatic cheers of some twenty Forest Hill rooters. Unluckily for the visitors they had secured their touchdown near the side of the field and the subsequent punt-out was lost. But five points looked pretty big at that stage of the game and pessimists amongst the audience were already predicting defeat for the home team.
The first period ended after four more plays and the teams donned blankets and rested. Then the whistle blew again and the game went on. Yardley pulled herself together then and manage............