Barry Locke, half-back

To Barry’s palpable disappointment, the Major was at home. He occupied two rooms in Mr. Banks’s residence, directly across the road from the school grounds, and Mrs. Banks, who answered the bell, smilingly admitted the two boys and indicated the door on the left. Barry’s knock was timorously soft, yet the ogre heard it, and called, “Come in!” with a heartiness that brought to the mind of one of the visitors a vision of boiling oil.

Major Loring had the front room and the one behind it, the latter displaying through a broad arch a Spartan simplicity. In it there were a cot bed covered with brown army blankets, a chiffonier, a wash-stand, two chairs, and a trunk. But the front room was almost luxurious, with a big couch and several deep leather-covered chairs, a round mahogany table littered with books and papers and magazines and smoking articles, some bookcases across one wall, and a cheerful rug of golden-brown hues. Although the afternoon was far from cold, some hickory chunks burned in the fireplace, and it was from an arm-chair in front of the hearth that the host arose, book in one hand and pipe in the other, to welcome the callers.

“Hello, you chaps!” he exclaimed. “Glad to see you. The more so as I was bored stiff with this.” He tossed the book on the table and pulled a chair toward the hearth. “Bring that other one along, Jones. Sit down, Locke. That fire isn’t really needed to-day, but I’m sort of an old granny about fires. I love to sit and toast my shins. Well, Jones, how’s life treating you?”

“Almost as well as I deserve, sir.”

Major Loring chuckled.

“You leave me to draw my own conclusions, eh? Oh, well! I dare say you aren’t getting many hard knocks. You look chipper enough. Of the two of you I’d say Locke is the one who’s discovered a crumpled rose-leaf. No ill effects from yesterday’s argument, I hope?”

“No, sir,” answered Barry, trying to smile as naturally as his companion.

“That’s good. Did you see the game, Jones? Our chaps showed a little more class, don’t you think? Oh, we’ve got some way to travel yet, but it looks as if we’d got started! Locke, here, did a pretty good job, by the way. There’s a fellow who told me only three weeks ago that he didn’t care for football!”

The coach laughed and Barry managed to grin.

“I thought our team played pretty good football, sir,” said Peaches. “Looks to me as if we’d round out all right by the end of the season. Some of the new fellows are showing up pretty well, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are. We’ve got a lot of clever substitutes, Jones; and, take my word for it, nothing makes a coach feel more snug than plenty of good second-string material. He has next year in mind as well as this, you know. And the year after that, too. I’d like to keep twice as many fellows going as I do, but there’d be no use in that, as I couldn’t look after them. I’ll have some help after this week. Graham and Jonah Mears are coming up to help out. Graham will take over the third squad and give us some real practice games. You remember him, Jones. He was here last fall.”

“Very well, sir. Little wiry chap. Mr. Mears, too, although he was up only a few days, I think.”

“Yes, but he’s going to give us two full weeks this time. He’s a corking good hand with the backs.”

The football talk continued. Barry, perched on the edge of a big chair, listened, smiled perfunctorily when the Major glanced his way, and wished himself back at home. How would he ever manage to do what he had come to do? Football finally became exhausted as a topic and the conversation turned to baseball and the Major and Peaches discussed plans for the spring. The fire crackled and hissed softly and the sunlight became ruddy outside the open windows. Finally Peaches looked at his watch and, “Hello!” he said, glancing at Barry. “’Most six! We’ll have to be traveling.”

Barry took a long breath.

“Major, I—” Perhaps he hadn’t really spoken out loud, for the Major evidently hadn’t heard.

“Well,” the latter was saying, “I’m glad you dropped in, Jones. You, 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!”