Around the End E-Book

Ralph Henry Barbour

• Herausgeber: Librorium Editions
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

"This way, everyone!”
Coach Payson sent the call to each end of the field and then, swinging his small blue megaphone in his hand, waited for the panting players to gather about him in front of the bench. They came running in from all parts of the gridiron, a motley gathering of football aspirants; seasoned veterans of last year’s Yardley Varsity, Second Team men, substitutes, new boys; big, little, fat, thin, all sizes and conditions. Andy Ryan, the little red-haired trainer, stood over his pile of blankets and his water pail, back of the side-line, and viewed the sixty-odd candidates with a pessimistic shake of his head. John Payson, turning at the moment, saw it and smiled.
“What’s the matter, Andy? Don’t they look good?” he asked.

Leseprobe

AROUND THE END

By

RALPH HENRY BARBOUR

1913

© 2022 Librorium Editions

ISBN : 9782383836155

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I.

The First Scrimmage

II.

The Rabbit and the Duke

III.

Cotton Tries Football

IV.

At Sound View

V.

Lost in the Fog

VI.

The Rescue

VII.

Gerald Maps a Campaign

VIII.

Cotton Makes a Wager

IX.

Harry Scents a Mystery

X.

The Spy

XI.

Broadwood is Foiled

XII.

Cotton Meets a Friend

XIII.

The Duke Starts Something

XIV.

Kirk Exacts a Promise

XV.

The News Predicts Defeat

XVI.

Cotton Writes a Letter

XVII.

A Fumble

XVIII.

Kendall Goes Back

XIX.

9-6

XX.

Harry Remembers

XXI.

Kendall Makes a Speech

XXII.

Two Sheets of Buff Paper

XXIII.

“No Goal!”

XXIV.

Around the End

XXV.

Kendall is Mistaken

XXVI.

Gerald is Surprised

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

“To the right, off the port bow of the launch, a hulking shadow took shape.” Frontispiece

“The boy dropped to the floor and squirmed quickly from sight.”

“‘Hello! Hello! This is Mr. Gibson.... What say?’”

“Something crashed against him, driving the remaining breath from his body.”

AROUND THE END

CHAPTER I THE FIRST SCRIMMAGE

“T

his way, everyone!”

Coach Payson sent the call to each end of the field and then, swinging his small blue megaphone in his hand, waited for the panting players to gather about him in front of the bench. They came running in from all parts of the gridiron, a motley gathering of football aspirants; seasoned veterans of last year’s Yardley Varsity, Second Team men, substitutes, new boys; big, little, fat, thin, all sizes and conditions. Andy Ryan, the little red-haired trainer, stood over his pile of blankets and his water pail, back of the side-line, and viewed the sixty-odd candidates with a pessimistic shake of his head. John Payson, turning at the moment, saw it and smiled.

“What’s the matter, Andy? Don’t they look good?” he asked.

“I’ve seen some funny bunches in my day,” replied the trainer, “but never anything like them!”

“That’s what you say every year,” scoffed Payson good-naturedly. “I guess this lot will average about the same.” He turned to the breathless fellows gathering about him and pulled a little red book from his pocket. “All right, now. First scrimmage to-day, fellows. First squad: Cousins, Plant, Fales, Girard, Merriwell, Stark, Metz, Holmes, Greene, Fayette, Marion. Second squad: Fox, Steger, Keene, Johnson, McKesson, Fenwick, Adler, Simms, Crandall, Burtis, Brinspool. First squad take the south goal and kick off to the second. Men not playing get into blankets. On the run now. We’ll have two ten-minute periods. Get a couple of fellows to take the chains, will you, Andy?”

The two teams trotted to their positions, Andy tossed a horn to Davis, the manager, and summoned two blue-blanketed figures from the bench to act as linesmen, and in a moment the ball was hurtling from Merriwell’s toe.

Behind the benches, scattered over the grand stand, a hundred or more watchers who, during the preliminary practice, had lolled comfortably on the sunny seats, sat up and gave their attention to the scrimmage. Simms gathered in the long kick and, behind a quickly-formed interference, ran the ball back a good twenty yards before the first squad smothered him. Murmurs of applause arose from the audience.

“That was a dandy run, wasn’t it?” observed Harry Merrow, who, seated beside Gerald Pennimore halfway up the stand, was eating peanuts as though his life depended on it. Gerald nodded.

“I wonder why Payson put Simms on the second and Holmes on the first,” he said. “Holmes only got into the Broadwood game last year for a few minutes at the end.”

“He played all through the Nordham game, though, didn’t he? I think he’s every bit as good as Simms.”

“He’s just as good a player maybe, Harry, but he isn’t half the general Al is. I see Burtis is playing right half on the second. I wonder if he will make the team this year. Of course he will get into the games now and then if only to kick goals, but I guess he’s got a lot of football to learn yet.”

“Gee, they ought to make him a present of his position on the First Team,” responded Harry, flicking a peanut shell at a group of boys below. “Any fellow who will go into a Broadwood game without any experience and win for us by a goal from the field ought to have anything he wants.”

“Well, I guess Payson will take him on all right. I hope so. I like Burtis. Do you know him?”

“I met him once in your room last Spring. It was the day of the baseball game with Broadwood. He seemed a quiet sort of chap.”

“Yes, he’s a bit shy at first,” Gerald chuckled, and then, in response to his friend’s look of inquiry, continued: “I’ll never forget the night last year he came into our room and told Dan quite seriously that he ‘would like to play on the football team, please.’ Harold Towne put him up to it. Burtis was a pretty green lad then.”

“Towne always was a pup,” remarked Harry cheerfully. “There he goes now!”

“Who? Towne?”

“Burtis; he’s got the ball. Made a peach of a catch and— Oh, good work, Burtis! Gee, Gerald, he must have made fifteen easily. Say, he can run with the ball, can’t he? Did you see him slip away from Fayette?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t be surprised if he made good this year. Goodness knows we need a couple of half-backs! We’re going to miss Tom Roeder and Stearns and Hammel like anything.”

“We’re going to miss a whole lot of fellows. We’ll never have an end as good as Dan Vinton, nor a guard like Ridge. Did you hear Payson say at the meeting the other night that only once before since he’s been coaching have we had so few veterans to build the team around?”

“Yes. So, too, I guess. Simms and Merriwell are really the only members of last year’s team we have; Holmes was more of a second-string man than anything else. Still, there’s good material out there; Marion for full, Stark for tackle, two good quarters, Fayette and Crandall and Greene for halfs; we’ll get along, I guess.”

“I wonder what sort of a captain Merriwell will make,” mused Harry. “He’s a good player, but——”

“And a good fellow, and well liked, don’t you think? I don’t believe he’s the leader that Dan was, though.”

“I should say not! You must miss Dan a whole lot, Gerald.”

“It’s something fierce! Lonely’s no name for it! I had a letter from him yesterday. He’s out for the Yale Freshman Team, of course.”

“I dare say they’ll make him captain,” asserted Harry loyally.

But Gerald shook his head. “Not much chance of that, I guess. They made Alf Loring captain last year, and it isn’t likely they’d give the captaincy to Yardley fellows two years running. First’s going to score, Harry. Who’s playing center for them? Girard? He’s a whopping big brute, isn’t he? Pshaw! He’d better learn to pass back better than that. Blocked! Ball, you idiots! Who’s got it! First, I think. No, second. Who? Burtis? It does look like him, but—no, it’s—It is Burtis, for a fact! How the dickens did he manage to get around that end? If he doesn’t watch out Payson will have him on the First Team.”

“Then he’s not likely to watch out,” laughed Harry. “Time’s up.”

They watched the players return to the bench and don their blankets while Andy ladled out the water sparingly. Payson studied his memorandum book, talking the while with Percy Davis, the manager. Captain Merriwell, trailing his blanket behind him, joined them. Then the coach turned to the line of players.

“All right, Plant, Girard, Stark, Marion, Steger, Johnson, McKesson, Fenwick and Brinspool,” he called. “Once around the field on the trot and run in. And don’t forget to weigh.”

Nine blankets were tossed aside and the released players started their jog around the side-lines. Mr. Payson filled their places in the line-up, and a few minutes later the second half of the scrimmage began. Up on the stand, Harry Merrow, having finished the last of the peanuts, blew up the bag and demolished it with a loud report that made the audience jump in their seats. When his amusement had subsided he turned to Gerald again.

“I wish I’d gone in for football,” he sighed.

“You’re too light, you silly chump,” replied Gerald. “Besides, you can’t do cross-country work and play football. That’s what kept me out of football; that and the fact that Dan wouldn’t let me on!”

“When are we going to start work?” asked Harry.

“In about two weeks. Andy wants the weather to get a bit colder. Where did you finish last year? Eighth, wasn’t it?”

“Ninth. Holder beat me out at the line. We ought to have an easy time with Broadwood this year, Gerald. Most of their best men last year were seniors.”

“I hope not. I don’t want any runaway race. There’s no fun in that. Look, second’s going to try a goal from field. There goes Burtis back. I hope he makes it.”

“Where is it? About the twenty yards? He ought to make it, if they don’t get through on him. There it goes! Over, wasn’t it?”

“I think so, but it was pretty far to the left. Yes, it’s a goal. That chap’s playing half the game for the second squad to-day. I’ll bet they’ll have him in the first to-morrow.”

“I’ll bet they won’t.”

“Why?”

“Because to-morrow’s Sunday,” replied Harry with a chuckle. Gerald pulled Harry’s cap over his face, rumpled his hair and ran an elbow into his ribs.

“You’re a smart little joker, aren’t you?” he laughed. “Sit up and watch the kick-off; and behave yourself; or, as Ned Tooker used to say, hebave yourself.”

“He was a silly ass,” said Harry, smoothing his hair and adjusting his cap.

“Ned? Don’t you believe it, Harry. He was a dandy, Ned was. I’ll bet he has a better time than any other three fellows I know. That’s a punk kick-off. Fenwick’s got it. Go it, you slowpoke! They’ve got him. He ran the wrong way, the chump. Funny how easy it is to play the game from the grand stand, Harry.”

“Yes, I guess you and I would do some brilliant little stunts if we had to go out there,” agreed Harry, nodding his head toward the field. “If I had the ball and one of those big chaps like Girard came at me I’d drop it like a hot potato and never stop running until I was in 20 Whitson with the door locked behind me! Oh, I’d be a brave little football player!”

“Every man to his trade,” laughed Gerald. “Your trade—and mine—is running, Harry.”

“That’s so. Then I guess I’d get to my room ahead of Girard, wouldn’t I? Hello, time’s up. Let’s get back. I’m getting goose-flesh all over me. It certainly gets cold when the sun quits business. Did you have a good time this summer?”

“Dandy! Dad and I went across for two months; England, France, Switzerland, Holland, Germany and a little bit of Italy. It was great.”

“It must have been,” sighed Harry. “Wish my father owned all the steamship lines in the world! I spent the summer down on the Jersey coast with the mosquitoes. Had a good time, though. Used to get into my bathing suit at eleven and keep it on until ’most dinner time. You ought to see my back. It’s like—like mahogany.”

“Your face is bad enough. I didn’t know you that day you yelled to me from the window. Thought you were a colored gentleman!”

They made their way down the stand and on to the field. Ahead of them the players, their blankets flapping grotesquely behind them, were racing up the path toward the gymnasium. Two or three, however, still lingered where coach, manager and trainer were in consultation. As Gerald and Harry reached the end of the field, one of these passed them at a trot, turned to look and stopped.

“Hello, Pennimore,” he said. “I guess you remember me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, Burtis. Glad to see you again. How are you?” They shook hands. “You know Merrow?”

“I—think so. We met last year, didn’t we?” asked Kendall Burtis, as he shook hands again. Harry said yes, and Gerald asked:

“Are you in Clarke again this year, Burtis?”

“Yes, same place. I’m alone so far. My roommate, Towne, hasn’t shown up yet.”

“That so? What’s the matter with him?” asked Gerald as they went on.

“I don’t know. I asked at the Office the other day and the secretary there said they were expecting him.”

“It would be a terrible loss to the school if he didn’t come back,” observed Gerald gravely. Kendall shot a glance at him and smiled.

“Hope he stays away,” said Harry. “You played some football to-day, Burtis.”

“Much obliged. I had pretty good luck.”

“Luck didn’t kick that goal, did it?” laughed Gerald.

“Well, there’s always a lot of luck in trying for goal,” replied Kendall seriously. “Sometimes, just when you’re getting the ball away something happens, like a forward breaking through, and you get sort of rattled. Then there’s the pass, too. If that doesn’t come right you’re likely to miss. There’s a lot of luck in it. Well, I must be getting on. Glad to have seen you again, Pennimore. You, too, Merrow.”

“Thanks. What are you doing this evening, Burtis? Mind if I drop in for a minute?”

“I wish you would. I haven’t anything to do. I—I’ll look for you.” He nodded and trotted ahead.

“Funny about him,” mused Harry. “He’s as homely as a mud-fence until he smiles, and then blessed if he isn’t almost good-looking! What do you know about that, old Gerald?”

CHAPTER II THE RABBIT AND THE DUKE

H

arry Merrow’s remark was quite true, true in what it said and in what it implied. When he smiled Kendall Burtis was a different looking chap entirely, but he didn’t often smile, and when he didn’t it was no exaggeration to call him homely. He was sixteen years of age, of average height, with a figure that seemed to have more than the usual allowance of corners. He had the rugged appearance of a boy who has lived out of doors, and worked there, too. He had ashy-brown hair, dark gray eyes, a nose which was almost a pug, and a broad mouth. Add plenty of brown freckles to a face well tanned, and you have a fair idea of Kendall’s physiognomy. But the mouth was kindly, the nose suggested a sense of humor, and the gray eyes were clear and honest, and somehow, in spite of its homeliness, the face was attractive.

He sat at the table in 21 Clarke Hall after supper that evening, with his books open before him and a lead pencil protruding from a corner of his mouth. And as he conned his lesson, muttering to himself at times, the pencil wobbled about ludicrously. The room was on the second floor and at the back of the building. It was plainly furnished and had a somewhat threadbare look. What few pictures adorned the walls were mostly on one side of the room, the side sacred to the roommate who had not yet returned.

There was a knock on the door and in response to Kendall’s invitation Gerald Pennimore entered. “You know you said I might call, Burtis,” he announced, “but if you’re busy——”

“I’m not, Pennimore. I was just having a go at Latin. Sit down, won’t you?” And Kendall arose and pushed forward a chair with eager shyness. “This is Harold’s; I don’t own anything as comfortable.”

Gerald seated himself in the Morris chair and looked about him. He was a decided contrast to his host. Rather tall, slim and lithe, with a graceful carriage and easy manners, fair-haired, blue-eyed, eager and alert, he was quite different from the almost delicate youngster who had entered Yardley Hall School three years before. To-day, in his senior year, he was Class President, captain of the Cross-Country Team, a valuable member of the Track Team, a hockey player of some ability and a power in the school. In age he was a year older than Kendall.

“Towne hasn’t shown up yet?” he asked.

“Not yet. They say at the Office that he is expected, but I have a notion he isn’t coming back.”

“You’ll be heart-broken about it, of course,” said Gerald, sympathetically. But there was a smile in his blue eyes.

Kendall looked across gravely. “Well, I got sort of used to him,” he answered. “Maybe they’d put some other fellow in I wouldn’t get along with as well. I suppose you miss Vinton a good deal, Pennimore. He was an awfully fine chap, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. Yes, I miss him a lot. You see, we were together three years here in school and we spent some of our vacations together, too. I’ve traveled with older fellows ever since I came here and now they’re about all gone. I suppose it’s a mistake not to pick your friends from your own class, but I couldn’t very well help myself. I had rather a hard time of it when I first struck this place.” Gerald smiled reminiscently. “You see, Burtis, I was handicapped by having a father so wealthy that everyone knew about him. Then, too, I’ve lived in the summer right here within a mile of the school. So when I came a lot of the fellows were down on me. They used to call me ‘Miss Nancy’ and ‘Money-bags’ and things like that, and I was pretty miserable for a while. If it hadn’t been for Dan and two or three other fellows, fellows like Alf Loring and Tom Dyer, I’d have given it up, I guess. Well, I’m glad I didn’t. How are the football prospects this year, Burtis? Are we going to do the usual thing to Broadwood?”

“I don’t know much about them. I hear that we’ve only got two or three first-string men left from last year, though.”

“Yes, but we’ve got a lot of good subs and fellows from last year’s Second. I suppose you’re fairly certain of a place, Burtis.”

“I don’t know,” replied Kendall slowly. “I haven’t had much experience, you see.”

“Experience! Great Scott, you had experience enough to go in in the last minute and land a goal from the forty-yard line!”

“That wasn’t hard. You see, Fogg made a fine pass and Simms aimed the ball just right, and all I had to do was kick it.”

“Yes, with the whole crazy Broadwood team charging through on you like a lot of madmen! Sure, it was dead easy—I don’t think!” Gerald laughed. “I saw you to-day, too, Burtis, and all I’ve got to say is that if you can kick as well as you did last year and run as well as you did to-day they’ll have an awfully hard time keeping you off the First Team! Of course, I’m not a football player—never had time for it except with a scrub team one year—but you can’t live with a fellow who has football on the brain for three years without getting the critical eye. And I’m going to tell you something that Dan said last Spring. Maybe I oughtn’t to, but I guess you’re not the sort to get a swelled head. Dan said, ‘That fellow Burtis is a born football player, and if he had got started earlier he’d have most of us looking like amateurs. They’ll make him captain before he gets through, see if they don’t!’”

Kendall colored with pleasure and embarrassment. “That’s—that’s awfully kind of Vinton,” he murmured, “but—but I guess he was mistaken——”

“Yes, he was always making mistakes about football things,” replied Gerald dryly. “Dan is stupid like a fox. Anyway, I hope he’s right, Burtis.”

“Thank you. Maybe if I had gone to a school where they played football before I came here I’d know more about it. There’s—there’s a lot to learn, you see.”

“You’ll learn it,” affirmed Gerald heartily. “Well, you’ve got studying to do and I guess a little of it won’t hurt me any, so I’ll run along. Hold on, though! I very nearly forgot what I came for. I applied for a room in Dudley last Spring; you know, I guess, that Seniors have the privilege of rooming there if they want to; and I got my room—Number 14; I was to share it with a fellow named Kirk.”

“George Kirk? Captain of the Golf Team? I know him.”

“That’s the fellow. I’ve nothing against Kirk; rather like him, in fact; what I know of him, which isn’t very much; but afterwards I sort of hated the idea of giving up my old room here, and when I got back the other day and saw it I hiked around to the Office and begged Mr. Forisher to let me keep it. He kicked a lot, but finally said I might. Seems he had a couple of fellows down for it and had to switch them somewhere else. So, as it is, I’m alone in 28. Now, what I was going to suggest was this—why—hello!”

Gerald stopped and listened. In the hall above there was a slamming of doors and a scurry of feet. “They’d better cut that before they get downstairs or Collins will nab them!” The clamor increased. Through the partly open door they could hear someone taking the stairs at bounds, while above there was the clamor as of a pursuing mob. The quarry, whoever he was, reached the bottom of the flight with a final jump, and then, in a twinkling, the room door crashed wide open and a tall, lank youth plunged in. He was out of breath and the smile he summoned was too agitated to seem genuine.

“Say, let me hide here a minute, will you?” he whispered to Gerald hoarsely.

Gerald motioned to the further bed. “Slide under there,” he said quietly. The boy flew around the table, dropped to the floor and squirmed quickly from sight. Gerald stepped to the door to close it, but the pursuit was already at the bottom of the stairs, laughing and calling. Gerald left the door ajar, scurried back to his chair and, thrusting his hands into his pockets, leaned carelessly back.

“The boy dropped to the floor and squirmed quickly from sight.”

“Yes, when it came to doing it, Burtis, I just couldn’t give up the old place. You get terribly fond of a room after——”

There was a hurried knock and the door was pushed open, revealing a half-dozen laughing faces beyond.

“Hello, Pennimore! Is he in here?” The spokesman was a big fellow named Johnson, a Second Class boy, who roomed on the floor above.

“Hello,” returned Gerald with a display of mild curiosity. “Is who here?”

“The Rabbit! Cotton-Tail! Didn’t he slide in here?” Johnson looked suspiciously around.

“Of course he did,” cried another of the crowd. “He didn’t go downstairs and this is the only door that’s open! Where is he, Pennimore? We’ve got to have him! We need him in our business!”

“I don’t know the gentleman,” replied Gerald with a smile.

“Well, he’s in here just the same,” declared Johnson.

“Oh, sure! I’ve got him in my pocket!”

“He’s in a closet,” whispered another fellow audibly.

“Under a bed, probably,” growled a third. “Say, whose room is this, anyway?”

“This room belongs to my friend, Mr. Burtis,” returned Gerald amiably. “If you ask him nicely he will probably allow you to come in and search it to your heart’s content. Mind if this committee of thugs looks around, Burtis?”

“N-no, I suppose not,” answered Kendall. “But I don’t see why they should.”

“I don’t see any reason myself,” agreed Gerald, carefully avoiding a glance toward the further bed. “Johnson, on the whole, I guess you’d better run away. And you might close the door after you.”

“Then he isn’t here?” asked Johnson doubtfully.

“Who isn’t here?” demanded Gerald with a fine show of irritability. “Can’t you see he isn’t here? Who the dickens do you want, anyhow?”

“Maybe he did sneak downstairs, after all,” someone suggested. “We’ll get him when he comes back, fellows.”

“All right,” said Johnson. “Abject apologies for disturbing you, Pennimore, but the law must be enforced, you know.”

“Oh, certainly,” replied Gerald carelessly. “Go as far as you like, but close the door after you.”

The door closed and the footfalls died away up the stairs. After a minute:

“Come out, Mr. Rabbit,” said Gerald softly. “The hounds have gone.”

There was a scuffling under Kendall’s bed and, feet first, the quarry emerged. “Much obliged,” he panted. “Are you sure they’ve gone?”

“Mm; fairly sure. I’ll lock the door, anyhow. Sit down and recover your savoir faire, whatever that is. You must be a newcomer, Mr. Rabbit. I don’t recall your features.”

“Yes, I—I came last week,” replied the other, seating himself on the foot of the bed and brushing the dust from his clothes. He had eyes that, for want of a better word, might be called hazel, and the rims were inflamed; Gerald decided, however, that the redness was not from too much poring over text-books, for the youth didn’t look like that sort. He was lanky, ungainly and none too attractive. His mouth was unpleasant and his face didn’t look quite clean. And the red-rimmed eyes had a sly look in them very unlike a rabbit’s. In age he seemed about seventeen.

“May I ask,” continued Gerald, “why the gentlemen were so eager to discover you?”

The boy’s eyes shifted and dropped. “They—they were hazing me,” he muttered.

“Hazing you! Oh, surely not! Hazing isn’t indulged in here. Mister—er—what did you say the name was? Rabbit?”

“My name’s Cotton. I don’t care what you call it, but they were trying to make me hold my head in a basin of water.”

“In a basin of water? What an odd thing to do! Why, Mr. Cotton?”

“They said”—Cotton gulped angrily—“they said they wanted to see if I was absorbent.”

“Absorbent? Oh, I see; absorbent cotton.” Gerald laughed and even Kendall had to smile a little. “Well, were you?”

“I got away from them,” he growled.

“Oh, well, that wouldn’t have hurt you any, you know. In fact”—and Gerald smiled slightly—“in fact a little water might be beneficial, Cotton.”

Cotton scowled. “Well, they needn’t think they can do that sort of thing to me. I’m too old a bird. I’ve been to school before. And if they try any more of their funny stunts, someone will get hurt!”

“I don’t like your attitude,” said Gerald coldly. “A little fun doesn’t hurt anyone, and as you’re a newcomer, Cotton, you must expect a certain amount of ragging. I think you’ll find the coast clear now.”

“Besides,” went on Cotton aggrievedly, disdaining the hint, “they wanted to put ink in the water.”

“You should have reminded them that you were not blotting-paper; merely absorbent cotton,” replied Gerald with a smile.

There was a knock on the door and Gerald looked inquiringly at Kendall. Cotton slipped to the floor, prepared to again seek the refuge of the bed.

“Who is there?” asked Kendall.

“Wellington. May I come in a moment?”

“It’s all right, I guess,” said Gerald. “It’s The Duke.” He arose and unlocked the door and the newcomer slipped in. He had a round, merry face above which a tousled head of red-brown hair glinted in the light like copper. He was about Gerald’s age, but heavier, rounder, softer. He grinned at Gerald as he closed the door softly behind him, and then observed the other two boys.

“Trouble’s over, Cotton,” he announced. “The enemy is dispersed. Keep quiet and you can make it all right. Lock the door if you want to. Better start along, though, before they get together again.”

Cotton moved doubtfully toward the door. “They’d better not touch me,” he threatened, “or——”

“Son,” said The Duke sternly, “you take my advice and don’t make any foolish remarks. I don’t care much whether they drown you in a basin. Rather wish they would. Beat it, Cotton!”

And Cotton “beat it,” only pausing long enough to cast a scowl at The Duke.

The latter watched him go and, when the door was closed behind him, turned with a comical look of despair to Gerald.

“Say, honest, Gerald, what would you do if you had a thing like that wished on you?”

“You don’t mean he’s rooming with you?” exclaimed Gerald.