The Crimson Sweater Page 2

  CHAPTER I

  THE CRIMSON SWEATER'S FIRST APPEARANCE

  "Hello, Lobster!"

  The boy in the crimson sweater raised a pair of blue eyes to thespeaker's face and a little frown crept into the sun-burned forehead;but there was no answer.

  "Where'd you get that sweater?"

  The older boy, a tall, broad-shouldered, deep-chested youth of nineteen,with a dark, not altogether pleasant face, paused on his way down thegymnasium steps and put the question sneeringly. Below, on the gravelledpath leading to the athletic field, a little group of fellows had turnedand were watching expectantly; Horace Burlen had a way of taking conceitout of new boys that was always interesting. To be sure, in the presentcase the new boy didn't look especially conceited--unless it is conceitto appear for football practice in a dandy crimson sweater which musthave cost well up in two figures--but you never could tell, and, anyway,Horace Burlen was the school leader and had a right to do what hepleased. Just at present it pleased him to scowl fiercely, for the newboy was displaying a most annoying deliberation. Horace examined theother with awakening interest. He was a fairly tall youth, sixteen yearsof age, well set up with good chest and shoulders and rather wide hips.Like Horace, the younger boy was in football togs, only his sweaterinstead of being brown was crimson and in place of the letters "F H"sported by Horace the front of his garment showed where the inscription"H 2nd" had been ripped away. But the difference between the two boysdidn't end there; Horace Burlen was tall and big and dark; Roy Porterwas several inches shorter, not so wide of shoulder nor so deep ofchest; and whereas Horace's hair was straight and black, Roy's waslight, almost sandy, and was inclined to be curly. Under the hair was agood-looking sun-browned face, with a short, well-built nose, a goodmouth and a pair of nice grey-blue eyes which at this moment wereregarding Horace calmly. The older boy scowled threateningly.

  "Say, kid, at this school we teach 'em to answer when they're spoken to;see? Where'd you get that silly red sweater?"

  "It was given to me," answered Roy coolly.

  "Think you'll ever grow enough to fill it?"

  "I guess so."

  "Who gave it to you?"

  "Seems to me they're a bit inquisitive at this school. But if you mustknow, my brother gave it to me."

  "Too big for him, wasn't it?"

  Roy smiled.

  "Not to speak of. He got a better one."

  "Hope he changed the color," said Horace with a sneer.

  "Why, yes, he did, as it happened. His new one is black with a crimsonH."

  Horace started and shot a quick glance up and down the form confrontinghim.

  "Is your brother Porter of the Harvard eleven?" he asked with a trace ofunwilling respect in his voice. Roy nodded.

  "I suppose you think you can play the game because he can, eh? What'syour name?"

  "Porter," answered Roy sweetly.

  "Don't get fresh," admonished the other angrily. "What's your firstname?"

  "I guess it will do if you just call me Porter," was the reply. Therewas a sudden darkening of the blue eyes and in spite of the fact thatthe lips still smiled serenely Horace saw the danger signal andrespected it.

  "You're a pretty fresh young kid at present, but you'll get some of ittaken out of you before you're here long," said the school leaderturning away. "And I'd advise you to take off that red rag; it's toomuch like the Hammond color to be popular here."

  "Fresh, am I?" mused Roy, watching the other join the group below andcross the lawn toward the field. "I wonder what he thinks he is? If heever asks me I'll mighty soon tell him! Red rag! I'll make him takethat back some day, see if I don't."

  Roy's angry musings were interrupted by the sudden outward swing of thebig oak door behind him. A dozen or so of Ferry Hill boys in footballattire trooped out in company with Mr. Cobb, an instructor who hadcharge of the football and baseball coaching. Roy fell in behind thegroup, crossed the lawn, passed through the gate in the well-trimmedhedge and found himself on the edge of the cinder track. The gridironhad just been freshly marked out for this first practice of the year andthe white lines gleamed brightly in the afternoon sunlight. Half a dozenfootballs were produced from a canvas bag and were speedily bobbingcrazily across the turf or arching up against the blue sky. Roy,however, remained on the side-line and looked about him.

  Beyond the field was a border of trees and an occasional telegraph polemarking the road over which he had journeyed the evening before from theSilver Cove station, where he had left the train from New York--andhome. That word home sounded unusually pleasant to-day. Not that he wasexactly homesick, in spite of the fact that this was his firstexperience of boarding school life; he would have been rather indignant,I fancy, at the suggestion; but he had made the mistake of reachingFerry Hill School a day too early, had spent the night in a deserteddormitory and had killed time since then in arranging his possessions inthe scanty cupboard assigned to him and in watching the arrival of hisfuture companions. It had been a dull time and he may, I think, bepardoned if his thoughts turned for an instant a bit wistfully towardhome. Brother Laurence had given him a good deal of advice--probablyvery excellent advice--before taking himself away to Cambridge, fallpractice and glory, and part of it was this:

  "Keep a stiff upper lip, Roy, mind your own affairs and when you're downon your luck or up against a bigger man grin just as hard as you cangrin."

  That was the Harvard way, although Roy didn't know it then. But now herecalled the advice--and grinned. Then he began again the examination ofhis surroundings. Very beautiful surroundings they were, too. To hisleft, beyond the turn of the track, were the tennis courts all freshlylimed. Beyond those the trees began and sloped gently upward and away ina forest of swaying branches. Turning, he saw, below the courts, anddivided from them by a stone wall, a good-sized orchard across which theapple and pear trees marched as straightly and evenly as a regiment ofsoldiers. Below the orchard lay the vegetable garden, filled with theblue-green of late cabbages and the yellower hues of waving corn. Then,facing still further about, until the field was at his back, he couldlook over the level top of the wide hedge and so down the slope of thecampus. To his right were the two white barns and clustering outhouseswith the tower of School Hall rising beyond them. Further to the leftwas the red brick, vine-draped "Cottage," residence of the Principal,Doctor Emery, and his family. Then, further away down the sloping turf,stood Burgess Hall, the dormitory and dining room, while here, close by,was the handsome new gymnasium. Beyond the campus the "Grove," a smallplantation of beech and oaks, shaded the path which led to the river andthe boat house at its margin. A long expanse of the Hudson was in sightfrom where he stood, its broad, rippled surface aglint in the Septembersunshine. At the far side of the stream, a group of red buildingshuddled under giant elms, stood Hammond Academy, Ferry Hill's life-longrival. In the far distance loomed the blue summits of the nearermountains. Yes, it was all very beautiful and picturesque, and Royadmitted the fact ungrudgingly; he was very anxious to discover meritsand lovable qualities in the place which was to be his home for thebetter part of the next two years.

  "This way, everybody!" called Mr. Cobb, and Roy turned and joined thegroup of candidates. There were forty-three students at Ferry Hill thatyear, and at first glance it seemed that every last one of them haddecided to try for the football team. But a second look would have founda handful of juniors whose size or age made them ineligible watchingproceedings from the side-line. And there were one or two older boys,too, among the spectators, and Roy wondered whether they werecrippled or ill! Surely no healthy boy could be content to watch fromthe side-line!

  Roy Porter]

  "Fellows who played in the varsity or second last year," directed Mr.Cobb, "take the other end of the field and practice passing for a while.I'll be down presently. Captain Rogers won't be out until half-pastfour. The rest of you chaps get a couple of balls and come over thisway. That's it. Make a circle and pass the balls around. Stand nearertogether than that, you fellows
over there. That's better."

  Roy found himself between a short, stout youth of apparently fourteenand an older boy whose age might have been anywhere from sixteen toeighteen. He reminded Roy of a weed which had spent all its time growingupward and had forgotten to fill out at the sides. He wore a faded brownsweater with crossed oars dividing the letters F H. Roy experienced atouch of respect for him as a member of the crew quite out of keepingwith the feeling of amusement aroused by his lanky body, unkempt hairand unpleasant beady brown eyes. Roy liked the little chunky youth onhis other side better. He was evidently a new hand and was in acontinual funk for fear he would drop the ball when Roy passed it tohim. For this reason Roy took some pains to put it to him easily andwhere he could best catch it, a piece of thoughtfulness that more thanonce brought a shy glance of gratitude from the youngster's big, roundeyes. But if Roy gave courtesies he received none. The lanky youthseemed to be trying to slam the ball at Roy as hard as he knew how andonce Roy caught a gleam of malicious amusement from the squinting eyes.

  "Just you wait a minute, my friend," he muttered.

  Despite the tall boy's best endeavors he was unable to make Roy fumble.No matter where he shot the ball nor how hard he sent it, Roy's handsgripped themselves about it. After one especially difficult handling ofthe pigskin Roy looked up to find Mr. Cobb watching him with evidentapproval. The big fellow who had taken exception to the crimson sweaterwas not in the squad and Roy concluded that he was one of the last yearteam. Presently the order came to reverse and the balls began going theother way. Here was Roy's chance for revenge and he didn't let it slip.The first two balls he passed to his tall neighbor quite nicely, butwhen the third one reached him he caught it in front of him and withoutturning his body sped it on swift and straight for the tall one's chest.The tall one wasn't expecting it quite so soon and Roy looked properlyregretful when the ball went bobbing away into the center of the circleand the shaggy-haired youth went sprawling after it, only to miss it atthe first try and have to crawl along on elbows and knees until he hadit snuggled under his body. The tall one rewarded Roy with a scowl whenhe got back to his place, but Roy met the scowl with a look of cherubicinnocence, and only Mr. Cobb, watching from outside the circle, smiledas he turned away. After that Roy kept the tall one guessing, but therewere no more fumbles. Presently Mr. Cobb called a halt.

  "That'll do, fellows. I want to get your names now, so keep your placesa moment."

  Out came a note book and pencil and one by one the candidates' nameswere entered. Roy looked on while he awaited his turn and thought thathe was going to like Mr. Cobb. The instructor was rather small, a triflebald-headed and apparently a bunch of muscles. His scarcity of haircould hardly have been due to advanced age for he didn't look a bit overthirty. In his time he had been a good quarter-back on his collegeeleven and one of the best shortstops of his day.

  The small youth at Roy's right, after darting several diffident looks inhis direction, at length summoned courage to address him.

  "You're a new boy, aren't you?" he asked.

  "Brand new," answered Roy smilingly. "How about you?"

  "Oh, I've been here two years." The knowledge lent a degree of assuranceand he went on with less embarrassment. "I was a junior last year andcouldn't play. You know, they won't let the juniors play football here.Mighty mean, I think, don't you?"

  "Well, I don't know," answered Roy. "I played when I was twelve, but Iguess it's pretty risky for a kid of that age to do it. How old areyou?"

  "Fourteen. Do you think I'll stand any show to get on the team?"

  "Why not? You look pretty solid. Can you run?"

  "Not very fast. Ferris said I wouldn't have any show at all and so Ithought I'd ask you; you seemed to know about football."

  "Did I? How could you tell?" asked Roy surprisedly.

  "Oh, by the way you--went at it," answered the other vaguely.

  "Oh, I see. Who's Ferris?"

  "S-sh!" The small youth lowered his voice. "That's he next to you; OttoFerris. He's trying for half-back. He almost made it last year."

  "Is he on the crew?" asked Roy.

  "Yes, Number Three. He's a particular chum of Burlen's."

  "You don't say? And who's Burlen?"

  The other's features expressed surprise and something very much likepain.

  "Don't you know who Burlen is?" he asked incredulously. "Why, he's--"

  But Roy's curiosity had to go unsatisfied for the moment, for Mr. Cobbappeared with his book.

  "Well, Sidney, you're out for the team at last, eh?"

  "Yes, sir; do you think I can make it, sir?"

  "Who knows? You'll have to get rid of some of that fat, though, my boy."Mr. Cobb turned to Roy.

  "Let's see, I met you last evening, didn't I?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I thought so; and the name was--er--Brown wasn't it?"

  "Porter, sir."

  "Oh, Porter; I remember now. How old are you?"

  "Sixteen, sir."

  "Played before, haven't you?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Where abouts?"

  "In New York, on my grammar school eleven."

  "What position?"

  "Quarter, first; then left half."

  "Which was the best?"

  "Quarter, I think, sir."

  "What class are you in?"

  "Second senior."

  "Thank you; that's all."

  The coach passed on and Sidney claimed Roy's attention again.

  "Do you think I'm very fat?" he asked anxiously.

  "I should say you had about ten or twelve pounds that might as well comeoff," answered Roy.

  "Does drinking vinegar help?"

  "I never tried it," laughed Roy. "But exercise is a heap surer."

  "All right, fellows," called the coach. "Ferris, you take charge of thesquad until I come back. Let them fall on the ball a while. I wantGallup and Rogers to come with me."

  A sturdily-built youth stepped out of the group and Mr. Cobb lookedaround a trifle impatiently.

  "Rogers!"

  There was no answer. Roy thought the coach was looking at him, butcouldn't think why he should. Then he heard Sidney's voice at his elbow.

  "He means you! He never remembers names. You'd better go."

  Doubtfully Roy stepped forward.

  "Oh, there you are!" exclaimed Mr. Cobb. "What's the trouble with yourears? Not deaf, are you?"

  "No, sir," answered Roy meekly.

  "That's good. You must keep your ears open here and step lively whenyou're called. I'm going to give you two a try on the first squad. Comeon."

  And Mr. Cobb strode briskly off down the field.