CHAPTER IV
An Awkward Encounter
The tall thin gentleman had been struck squarely in the face.
The shock and the hurt must have been considerable. But apart from this, insult was added to injury by the mud on the ball that spattered over the man's immaculate shirt front and vest.
Garry, in dismay at what he had unintentionally done, ran swiftly across the field in pursuit of the offending pigskin, intent upon making his peace with the victim of the accident.
Peace, however, was the last thing in the thoughts of the stranger, who had taken out his handkerchief and was busily engaged in wiping the mud from his face and clothes.
He stared angrily at Garry when the boy approached, out of breath and full of apologies.
"I didn't see you coming," Garry panted, genuinely penitent. "I'm awfully sorry, sir. I hope it didn't hurt you much. It was only an accident."
"Accident!" sneered the man in a voice trembling with rage. "Quite an unfortunate accident, young man. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
"I'm dreadfully sorry," repeated Garry. "I wouldn't have done it for the world!"
"I suppose it was an accident, too," the stranger went on, as though Garry had not spoken, "that you happen to be playing football in a vacant lot close to a fairly populous thoroughfare. Any passerby is in danger of being assaulted as I have been."
Garry stared at the man helplessly, hardly knowing what answer to make to the stilted, pedantic speech.
"Perhaps you had better come into our house," the boy suggested, still anxious to make amends. "You can wash there and have your clothes cleaned."
"I'm not in need of any suggestions from you," replied the man, giving Garry a look out of his cold gray eyes that made the lad think of a snake. "All you can do is to make me an abject apology."
"I've already said that I am sorry," replied Garry, growing a bit red in the face at the stranger's implacable tone, "and I am—very sorry."
"People don't usually cross this lot," Nick broke in, coming to Garry's relief; "and you came around that corner so suddenly that we didn't see you till after the punt was made."
"I was taking a short cut to Mr. Elliny's house," the man rejoined, turning his cold gaze from Garry to Nick. "Not that I feel called on to offer an explanation, since the lot was not fenced in," he added loftily. "It's an outrage for you boys to practice with that filthy football within the town limits," with a glance of distaste at his muddy waistcoat. "I ought to report this affair to the authorities."
With this the outraged stranger swept the group with an icy stare, scowled fiercely at Garry, and continued on his way with a dignity that refused to be marred by the consciousness that his immaculate clothes had suffered sadly.
Nick whistled softly.
"Going to Mr. Elliny's house," he repeated thoughtfully. "Isn't Elliny the head of the Board of Education?"
"Great Scott! So he is," cried Garry, beginning to see whither Nick's question led. "I bet that tall, thin guy is a teacher!"
"Well, you did it that time, Garry!" crowed Rooster. "Sure, that old boy is a teacher. You could tell it by the look of him."
"By the look in his eyes he'll never forgive you, Garry," predicted Nick. "You hurt his dignity."
"Anyway you got some dirt off der ball," said Carl Zukor, who had not yet shaken off his German accent.
"Yeah. Think of that and cheer up, old boy," said elephantine Sloppy Hume, clapping Garry on the shoulder. "It wasn't your fault, anyway. Don't let it faze you."
"Just the same, I'm mighty sorry it happened," replied Garry, as he resumed his position in the field. "I don't suppose it's any fun to have a muddy football smack into you. You can't blame the man for feeling sore."
"You can't blame him for being an old crab, either," said Nick cheerfully. "But you don't exactly love him for it. If he'd been a regular fellow, he'd have accepted your apology and let it go at that."
"Well, come on, play ball," called Garry, and in a few moments practice was in full swing again.
But though he entered heartily into the sport, Garry could not shake off a feeling of regret that the accident had occurred. There had been a look of bitter animosity in the look the man had turned on him, and he had a feeling that he would hear of the matter further.
The afternoon wore on, and the boys were at length forced to call an end to the practice. As they reluctantly dispersed to their homes Garry carefully deposited his precious football in the barn "gym" and entered the house.
There he found that his mother had an errand for him that must be attended to at once.
Garry was muddy and hot and needed a bath badly. Nevertheless, he started off without protest, thinking that perhaps he could work in a shower when he returned.
At the first corner, as luck would have it, he ran into his sister Ella with two of her girl chums. One was Jane Danter, Nick Danter's pretty sister, and the other an out-of-town girl whom Garry did not know.
Since Ella rarely missed an opportunity to tease her brother, she could not resist the opportunity his rather unkempt appearance gave her.
"Garry Grayson! who's been throwing mud at you? Or have you been making mud pies? Of all things! I shouldn't have recognized you if it weren't for your walk. You look like something the cat dragged in."
"Is zat so?" was the only retort Garry in his confusion was capable of making. He felt it was not a very effective one, and his peace of mind was not increased by the sound of the girls' giggles as he passed on with what dignity he could muster.
He realized ruefully that he ought to have taken a moment to wash himself and brush off his clothes. Handling a muddy football during an afternoon of hard practice was not conducive to a good appearance.
"I sure look like a tramp," he thought to himself. "I suppose I'll run into every one I know just because I've got mud all over me."
The first person he saw when he entered the store on his mother's errand was Sandy Podder, who looked Garry over disdainfully from head to foot.
After the first look that passed between them, Garry ignored Sandy and stood with his back toward him while he waited for his order to be filled.
But Sandy was evidently in no mood to be ignored. He started a conversation with the storekeeper in a loud tone that was clearly intended to reach Garry's ears.
"Lot of fellows I know entering Lenox High this fall," remarked Sandy.
"That so?" inquired the storekeeper, without a great deal of interest.
"Sure," continued Sandy. "Some crack football players too, from Webster and Cherry Street schools."
"Some from Hill Street too, if what I hear is true," remarked the man, giving Garry a friendly wink.
"Oh, that bunch! They think they're players, of course." Sandy Podder's scorn was immense. "But they won't have a chance against such fellows as Pete Maddern and Tom Allison. Those two are what I call real football players."
Thinking that Sandy had not recognized Garry as the former captain of the Hill Street team, the well disposed storekeeper tried to give him a hint.
He pointed towards Garry's still averted back and said in a low tone:
"Gently! Gently! That's Garry Grayson himself."
"Well, what of it?" Sandy laughed and snapped his fingers flippantly. "Do you think I'm afraid of him?"
"You bet your life you are!" Garry whirled on him so swiftly that Sandy, though much the bigger of the two, shrank back in alarm. "You stow that kind of talk, Sandy Podder, if you know what's good for you."
Sandy recovered himself enough to bluster:
"Who's going to make me, I'd like to know?"
Garry took a step forward, his eyes blazing. But here the storekeeper intervened.
"Easy, boys, easy," he admonished. "Don't let's have any trouble in here."
Garry drew back at the words and Sandy sneered openly, thinking that he had an ally, if only a negative one.
"You think you're going to make the team at Lenox High, I suppose," continued the trouble-maker. "Well, let me tell you that you haven't the ghost of a chance with Allison and Maddern in the field against you."
Garry was holding himself in with a great effort. When he spoke it was in a deceptively quiet voice.
"You seem to forget that as captain of the Hill Street team I've met both Pete Maddern and Tom Allison—"
"And licked them too," interposed the storekeeper, rubbing his hands with enjoyment. "My boy was there at both those games, and he said they were the prettiest he ever saw."
"Just luck!" sneered Sandy again with that offensive snap of his fingers. "I was there—and I know."
"Oh, you know, do you?" Garry's voice was still calm, but there was something in it that warned Sandy Podder he had gone too far. "Since you know so much, perhaps you can tell me what became of that money that Mr. Long gave you for your father and that your father never got?"