Barry Locke, half-back
too, Locke. Do it again, will you?”
“Major!” Barry jumped at the sound of his own voice, and the coach,
too, seemed startled. But Barry hurried on: “Major, I’ve been wondering
if I――if I wouldn’t be more use next year.”
“More use? Oh――to the team, you mean. Why, yes, I hope so, Locke.
Yes, you’re coming along very well. By next year you ought to be able
to give a pretty good account of yourself. But I rather think we’re
going to find use for you this year, my boy. If you keep coming at
your present speed you can count on at least one game at right half.
I told you when you joined up that I couldn’t promise you anything,
you’ll remember, so you mustn’t be disappointed if you don’t get into
all the games. You’re doing first rate, Locke, and I’m not forgetting
you. Don’t get discouraged just because things don’t come your way
all at once. You’re doing your share, even if you don’t get into the
front trenches very often. And you never know when the reserves will be
called up.”
The coach laid an encouraging hand on Barry’s shoulder. It didn’t seem
to Barry that the host exerted sufficient pressure to persuade him to
the door, yet that was where he found himself; with Peaches already on
the threshold, grinning widely. Barry gulped, sought for words in which
to frame his question, failed, and echoed Peaches’ “Good-by, sir.”
Then they were outside, the gate had closed behind them, and they were
striding down the road!
For several moments Barry looked straight ahead and the silence was
abysmal. Finally he stole a glance at Peaches. Peaches was as solemn
as a stone image, so solemn that Barry had the pleasing conviction
that it hurt. A dozen steps farther and a slight choking sound was
heard. Barry’s own lips twitched, but he didn’t turn. Not until, a
moment later, he found himself alone. A few paces behind, Peaches clung
saggingly to the trunk of a maple, helpless, his shoulders shaking
under the emotion that had overcome him. Barry stared indignantly for
as long as he could. He even managed an outraged “Huh!” But after that
he gave up.
Yet his amusement was less hearty than his companion’s and he recovered
first.
“You think it’s fu-funny,” he gasped. “I hope you ch-choke! What shall
I tell Clyde? Go-gosh! I can’t say I didn’t ask him!”
Peaches beat the air weakly a few times with his hands, opened his
mouth and closed it convulsively, and reminded Barry so much of a dying
fish that the latter mentioned the fact scathingly. Perhaps the insult
was just what Peaches needed, for after a final gurgle he regained the
power of speech.
“That――that was great!” he said, wiping his eyes. “The expression, on
your face, Barry, when he patted you on the back and told you not to
be――be discouraged! _Oh, gosh!_”
He was plainly threatened with a relapse, and Barry spoke sternly:
“Come on, you blithering idiot! Let’s get home. It’s all well enough
for you to laugh about it, but what am I going to tell Clyde?”
Peaches made a superhuman effort and controlled himself.
“Tell him,” he answered, “that you tried to hand in your resignation,
but the Major wouldn’t listen. That’s so near the truth that the
difference needn’t worry you. Goodness knows you _did_ try, Barry!”
“I’ll just have to tell him how it was,” said the other, resignedly.
“And he’ll say I didn’t try at all.”
“Tell him,” advised Peaches, impatiently, “to sit on a tack! You don’t
owe him a blamed thing, Barry; only you can’t seem to get it into your
bean. Why, in the name of common sense, _should_ you resign?”
“Well, we’ve been friends a long time, Peaches, and――and I’ve always
liked him. I know you don’t think much of him, but he’s really not half
as――as bad as you make out. It’s only since he came here that he’s
been acting so silly. It’s going to be a frightful disappointment to
him if he doesn’t make good on the team, and I hate like anything to be
the――the cause of it. I dare say that sounds foolish, but that’s the
way it is.”
“No, it doesn’t sound foolish,” replied Peaches, a grave, warm note
in his voice. “It sounds pretty fine, Barry. Only I rather wish Allen
would show himself half as white as you are. I’ll take your word for it
about him. I haven’t had a chance to know him very well. Anyway, I’ll
lay off him.”
“That part’s all right,” Barry responded. “I guess you haven’t said
anything about him that isn’t true. Anyway, when I like people,
what other people say about them doesn’t――doesn’t seem to make much
difference.”
“Are you feeling perfectly well?” asked Peaches, anxiously.
“Why?”
“Nothing, except that the good and noble usually die quite young,
Barry.”
* * * * *
Barry found that interview with Clyde extremely unpleasant. Clyde
showed incredulity and Hal Stearns expressed it.
“Tell it to Sweeney!” jeered Hal. “I’ll bet you haven’t been near the
Major!”
“If you don’t believe me,” answered Barry, warmly, “ask Crawford Jones.
He was with me!”
“Oh, he was, eh?” exclaimed Clyde. “He’d be a big help――I don’t think!
How’d you happen to lug him along?”
“Well, I just didn’t have the pluck to go there alone, Clyde. You know
Major Loring. He’s a corker, of course, but――but he can look awfully
fierce sometimes. And I knew I oughtn’t to ask what I was going to――”
“Yes, I guess you didn’t have much idea of asking, at any time,”
interrupted Clyde. “After all I’ve done for you, Barry, you might have
gone through with this, I’ll say!”
“I tried my best to,” said Barry. “Honest, I did, Clyde! He wouldn’t
have let me off, anyway. I’m sure of it.”
“Of course not,” agreed Hal, ironically. “Why, you’re the mainstay of
the team, Locke! Without you where’d we be, eh?”
“All right,” said Clyde, angrily. “But I’ll tell you one thing, Barry.
You aren’t going to double-cross me and get away with it. I’ll see that
you don’t last very long, kid. I’ll fix it somehow so you’ll wish
you’d kept out of this. You’ve got about as much chance to get into the
Hoskins game as――as――”
“As I have,” supplied Hal, bitterly.
Barry stared unbelievingly.
“Why, Clyde!” he faltered.
“Well, you heard me,” muttered Clyde. “I mean it, too. I wish to
goodness I’d let you drown that time, you little shrimp!”
“Clyde,” asked Barry, rather white now, “did it ever occur to you that
you might be taking too much credit for that――that rescue?”
“Just what do you mean?” asked the other, staring.
“I mean that if you had let me alone I’d have been perfectly safe. I’m
as good a swimmer as you, and you know perfectly well that you wouldn’t
have drowned that day if you’d been in my place. I’ve never said this
before――”
Clyde’s laughter broke in.
“No, and you’ve got a lot of cheek to be saying it now! You never have
shown much gratitude, but this is the limit! Did you hear that, Hal?
Why, he was ready to give up when I got to him! I didn’t save you from
drowning, eh? Like fun I didn’t! Queer it’s never occurred to you
before! I’ll bet your folks don’t think your way. Oh, you make me ill!”
“Sorry,” said Barry, dryly. “I tried to do what you wanted me to,
Clyde, and I couldn’t. I’m sorry about that, too. And I wish we hadn’t
quarreled.”
“Oh, go sell your papers!” sneered Clyde. “And don’t look to me for any
more help. I’m through. You don’t know the meaning of gratitude! Lying
about me saving your life! You’re――you’re sickening!”
So Barry closed the door behind him and went hurriedly downstairs and
out of the building, not very far from tears. But the frosty night air
worked an instant miracle. He shouldn’t have said what he had about
the life-saving incident. He hadn’t meant to. Of course Clyde hadn’t
believed him. He never would. Clyde had been unjust and had said
perfectly uncalled-for things, but he had been horribly disappointed,
and Hal had egged him on; and then he, Barry, had gone and made things
worse by saying that Clyde hadn’t saved his life!
By the time he reached the road Barry had thought up enough mitigating
circumstances to make Clyde’s conduct almost reasonable. He still felt
hurt, but of course Clyde hadn’t really meant all he had said and would
be sorry to-morrow. As for his threat of hurting Barry’s chances on
the team, why, that had been just talk. Clyde would never do anything
dirty; not even now, when he had changed so much from the Clyde that
Barry used to know.
Barry didn’t go into details in his report to Peaches. He just said
that Clyde had been disappointed and rather peeved. But Peaches,
discerning in the other’s countenance traces of a recent mental
disturbance, drew his own conclusions. All he said was:
“Well, that’s off your mind, Barry. Now you can buckle down and
give yourself unreservedly to the task of saving our dear old Alma
Mater――Heaven help her!”
CHAPTER XVI
MR. BENJY LOSES INTEREST
Barry awoke the next morning in a rather depressed mood, for which
the weather was not wholly to blame. Outside the window the rain was
pouring in torrents. The brick path to the gate was plastered with
drowned leaves, and in the narrow beds at each side the bare stalks
of the salvias arose from a tangle of withered nasturtium vines like
soldiers tottering in a last stand against the enemy. The little pits
from which Mrs. Lyle had lifted her geraniums had become muddy pools
against the surface of which the big drops splashed ceaselessly. The
gutters ran like mountain brooks, and, across the road, a spout at one
corner of the Anderson house poured a veritable Niagara upon the sodden
lawn below. In the dim gray light the falling water looked like liquid
silver.
Not a cheerful beginning for a new week, Barry reflected as he donned
a crackling slicker. A minute or two later, as from the shelter of the
porch he and Peaches viewed the drenched world, preparatory to the
dash to chapel, Peaches murmured: “Now I know exactly how the dove felt
when he left the ark!”
There was no outdoor practice for the football players that afternoon;
only an hour of what they called “bean-drill” in the half gloom of the
gymnasium. The chalk lines and emblems that Major Loring scrawled on
the blackboard were no more than gray under the rain-pelted skylights.
Barry was relieved, though not surprised, when Clyde nodded to him.
There wasn’t much warmth in that greeting, but, rightly or wrongly,
Barry detected a hint of apology in the brief glance that accompanied
it. He felt a little more cheerful after that, and would have spoken to
Clyde had the chance offered. But it didn’t.
He overtook Zo on the way back to the house, Zo swinging his
violin-case and whistling a football song gayly as he splashed through
the rain and the puddles. Recalling the recent attentions of Rusty
Waterman to the younger boy, Barry asked:
“How are you and Waterman getting on, Zo? Has he been bothering you
lately?”
“No, I don’t think he’s even noticed me since that time he tried to get
my violin.”
“Hardly polite, I’d say, but perhaps you don’t mind.”
Zo smiled his shy smile and shook his head.
“I’m perfectly satisfied,” he answered.
It was still raining Tuesday morning, but by noon it had stopped and
at half-past three the football squad was assembled on a soggy field.
There was no scrimmage that day. In fact, the session was cut almost in
half. Barry gained a lot of experience in the handling of a wet pigskin
and marveled at how heavy and erratic it could be when well saturated.
Passing Hal Stearns in pursuit of an escaped ball, Barry chose not to
see him, but Hal refused to be invisible.
“Well, how’s the great half-back to-day?” he called in tones of extreme
deference. Barry pretended deafness as well as blindness. He was ready
to forgive and forget where Clyde was concerned, but Hal had no claims