Barry Locke, half-back

After a moment’s silence Peaches asked soberly: “What’s happened?”

Barry looked out of the window.

“I just decided I’d better quit,” he replied, elaborately casual. “It’s pretty strenuous, for one thing; and then I’m not doing awfully well with Latin and—well, I just thought it would be the wisest thing, Peaches.”

“I see. And you want to know if Loring will let you do it, eh? Well, I can tell you that he won’t. Not for any reason you’ve told me, Barry.” Their eyes met. Barry’s fell and he shuffled his feet.

“I don’t see how he can make me play if I don’t want to,” he muttered.

“If you don’t want to play,” replied the other, dryly, “I don’t think he will try to make you.”

“Well, then—”

“But the fact that Allen doesn’t want you to wouldn’t matter so much to him.”

“Allen?” Barry tried to sound puzzled. “I didn’t say anything about Clyde,” he protested.

“You don’t have to, young Ananias. I happen to have been in Billy Bassett’s window when you came out of Dawson about an hour ago. So you’d better come clean and tell me just what it’s all about.”

Barry considered a moment. Then he grinned sheepishly.

“Think you’re a regular Sherlock Holmes, don’t you?” he asked.

“Never mind about that,” returned the other, soberly. “Just tell me one thing, Barry. Does Clyde know where you hid the body?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know well enough what I mean,” answered Peaches, viewing the other severely. “He’s got something on you. I don’t have to be a detec-a-tive to know that. You’re afraid to turn around without being sure beforehand that Allen approves of it. I’m no more curious than the next guy, but—gosh!—this has got my goat! I’ve been wanting for weeks to ask you, only I didn’t have the nerve. Now you’ve got to come across with the whole dastardly tale. What claim has Allen got on you?”

“I don’t suppose,” answered Barry, slowly, “you’d call it a claim exactly. It’s only that—well, you see, Peaches, I’m under a big obligation to him, and that’s why I kinda feel that it’s up to me to—to oblige him when I can.”

“What sort of an obligation?” demanded Peaches.

“Well, he—he saved my life.”

“Saved your life!” Peaches whistled his surprise. “Allen did? What do you know about that? How did he do it, for Pete’s sake?”

“It was summer before last, in Maine. His folks and mine have cottages at Orchard Bluff. We were in swimming one day and I got sort of far out. The tide’s kind of tricky there sometimes. There’s a current that sets along the beach and swings out around Frenchman’s Head. I didn’t realize I was so far from the beach at first, and when I did and started back I couldn’t make much headway. I guess I got sort of scared and nervous, and probably I didn’t get much of a stroke. Anyway, I wasn’t making shore at all; just going down toward the Head. Clyde and two other chaps were there, near the beach, and Clyde happened to miss me and saw what was happening. So he swam out and—and helped me in.”

“I see,” said Peaches. “Allen must be a good swimmer. Better than you, is he?”

“Why, I don’t know. I—I guess we’re about alike. Only, you see, I was more tired that time.”

“Couldn’t have kept afloat much longer? Ready to give up when he arrived?”

“Oh, no, but—I know what you’re getting at, Peaches. Of course I mightn’t have drowned. I might have floated and worked my way in around the Head. But I was sort of nervous, and when you’re nervous—”

“You get over it if you’re any kind of a swimmer. Come on, tell the truth. If Allen hadn’t ‘rescued’ you you’d have got ashore farther along the beach. Only, he thought he was saving your life and you didn’t like to tell him he wasn’t. Isn’t that about it?”

Barry looked pathetically uncomfortable.

“Maybe he didn’t actually save me from drowning,” he acknowledged, “but he did come to my rescue, and he thought I was drowning, and it would have been just the same if I had been!”

“Oh, I’m not trying to detract from Allen’s stunt. What he did was plucky, all right. But the main point, if you’ll only see it, is that he didn’t save your life, no matter what he thinks; and if he didn’t you certainly don’t owe him a blamed thing!”

“Well, but—don’t you see—”

“Of course I do! He thinks he rescued you from death and takes good care you don’t forget it. And you were too soft-hearted to tell him then and—you never have. But if I were you I’d get rid of the notion that I owed my life to him. I’d use my own judgment about things instead of his. And if I wanted to play football, I’d play football!”

Barry sat silent but unconvinced. Finally: “You said yourself I couldn’t tell Clyde the—the truth,” he protested. “And he thinks I owe him something, naturally, so I’ve just got to show some gratitude!”

“All right,” answered Peaches, grimly. “But you’re not going to get out of football to please him, my bucko, and you may take my word for it. If you go to Major Loring with any cock-and-bull story like you tried on me I’ll see him myself and tell him the facts.”

“That’s not fair,” Barry protested.

“Fair enough for me. If it comes to that, no one’s being fair. Allen isn’t, and that’s a cinch! And you’re not, if you let the team down now when it needs you. No, sir! you tell Allen that there’s nothing doing. I suppose he’s afraid some of his swell friends will give him the raspberry if he doesn’t get on the team. I hope they do. He’s trying to train with a lot of sap-heads, anyway. I know the bunch. I started in with them the first year I was here. They made me so sick I had to quit. It would be the best thing in the world for Allen if they gave him the shake. And you might tell him that, too.”

“He didn’t used to be so—so—” Barry sought unsuccessfully for a word.

“He’s been ‘so—so’ ever since I first knew him,” said Peaches, harshly. “He’s been trying to make ‘society’ here right along. He and that side-kick of his, Stearns. Either of ’em would lick my boot if I’d asked ’em home for a week-end!” Barry looked decidedly shocked and shook his head in remonstrance. “Let me tell you something,” pursued Peaches. “The day you landed here and I saw you were under Allen’s thumb I made up my mind to—well, get you out. You seemed a decent chap and worth saving. That’s why I sort of haunted you for a day or two. I could see that you didn’t quite approve of me and wondered why I didn’t mind my own business.”

“I didn’t, really!” said Barry, earnestly. “I mean I didn’t wonder.”

“Anyway, you were perfectly polite,” chuckled Peaches. “Not that it would have mattered to me if you hadn’t been. I’d have persisted in my—may I say crusade? There were times when I was discouraged. I acknowledge it. There were times when it seemed that Allen’s—let’s see—domination was too much for me. And then the Major kidnapped you for football and I could see a rift in the clouds. Several times after that you showed a disposition—oh, faint, I own!—to act on your own initiative and think for yourself. I began to have hopes for you, Barry; I really did. But now—well, now you’re trying to have a relapse.”

“It was very nice of you to interest yourself in me,” said Barry, rather stiffly. Apparently he had not heard much of the latter part of the discourse. “I’m afraid you’ve been badly bored at times.”

Peaches regarded him questioningly. Then, however, he smiled.

“Oh, well, I see what you mean, Barry. But you’re quite mistaken, and I guess you know it. If you must have it, Mister Hoity-Toity, I have long since fallen victim to your manly charms and—er—sterling character.”

“Shut up!” growled Barry. But he grinned, too. Then, hurriedly: “That’s all right,” he went on, “but what am I going to do? I told Clyde I’d see the Major and try—try to resign!”

“See him, then,” said Peaches. “Only, my young friend, don’t lie to him.”

Barry sighed. “I don’t want to lie, Peaches, only—well—gee!—what can I say?”

Peaches shrugged.

“Tell him you’ve decided to quit. If he asks you why, say it’s none of his business.”

“Thanks,” muttered Barry, with deep sarcasm. Then, after a moment’s silence: “Look here; how’d you know Clyde wanted me to quit? I didn’t tell you that.”

Peaches viewed him pityingly.

“By the simple process of putting a couple of twos together. For a fortnight I’ve seen it coming. You’ve been traveling fast and Allen’s been standing still. The whole school knows that Major Loring’s training you for the big event. Allen having the strangle-hold on you that he has, I knew it wouldn’t be long before he’d begin to use it. I’ve been looking for your tongue to protrude for several days. A while ago I saw you coming out of Dawson looking like a pinch-hitter who has just struck out. Then you tell me that owing to the failure of the Canadian wheat crop or something, you’ve decided to quit playing. I may have a slanting forehead and a weak chin, Barry, but somewhere a faint spark of intelligence still glows.”

“Well—well, will you come with me to see the Major?”

Peaches reflected. Then he nodded.

“Yes,” he assented, “I’ll do that much for you. You shall have my moral support in your hour of tribulation. Shall we go now? I think we’ll find him in. This is the hour of the day he sharpens his knives and heats his jolly vat of oil for the entertainment of innocent youths desiring to resign from the football team.”

“I thought maybe I’d see him this evening,” said Barry, a trifle faintly.

“Never put off until evening what you can do in the afternoon,” replied Peaches. “That has been my guiding rule through life and to its strict observance I attribute much of my success.” He arose with what seemed to his companion indecent eagerness. “Take one last look at the dear, familiar scene, Barry, and let us be gone. ‘And so, whate’er befalls me, I go where duty calls me! Farewell, farewe-e-e—’”

Peaches’ vocalization ended abruptly as he dodged the waste-basket.