The Crimson Sweater Page 3

  CHAPTER II

  ROY MAKES AN ENEMY AND A FRIEND

  A few minutes later Roy found himself acting as quarter-back on one ofthe two squads made up of last season's first and second. The boy infront of him, playing center, was a big youth who had a half hour beforeinsulted his precious sweater and who Roy now discovered to be HoraceBurlen. Burlen hadn't shown himself especially delighted at Roy'sadvent, but so far had refrained from addressing him. For a time thework went well enough. Each squad, since there were not enough playerspresent to make up two full elevens, held nine men, five in the line andfour behind it, and the work consisted of snapping the ball back bycenter and handing it to one of the backs by quarter. No signals wereused and the passing was slow, the idea being merely to accustom theplayers to handling the ball. Roy was instructed in the holding of thepigskin and in passing and the backs in receiving the ball and placingit against the body. Roy showed an aptitude for the work which more thanvindicated Mr. Cobb's judgment and for ten minutes or so, during whichtime Roy's squad traversed the length of the field, there were fewfumbles and few mistakes. But presently, when Mr. Cobb had taken himselfoff to the other squad, the cry of "Ball!" went up and Roy was on hisstomach snuggling the oval in his arms. The backs took their placesagain and the ball went back to center. This time there was no hitch,and full-back, followed by left and right halves, trotted through theline between guard and tackle. But on the next play the erratic pigskinagain eluded Roy's hands, and after that fumbles and the cry of "Ball!Ball!" became so frequent that Mr. Cobb's attention was attracted and hecame over.

  "What's the trouble here? Who's doing all that fumbling?" he demanded.

  "My fault, sir," answered Roy.

  "What's the matter?"

  "I can't seem to get my hands on to it, sir. I don't think--I don'tthink it is coming back very well."

  Horace Burlen turned wrathfully.

  "You're no good, that's what's the trouble with you!" he exclaimed. "I'msending that ball back same as I always do."

  "Well, try it again," said the coach.

  Strange to tell there were no more fumbles as long as Mr. Cobb was by,but almost as soon as his back was turned the trouble began again.Fumbles, perhaps, were not so frequent, but almost always there wasdelay in getting the ball from center to back. Finally Horace Burlenstood up and faced Roy disgustedly.

  "Say, kid, can't you learn to handle that ball?" he asked. "Haven't youever seen a football before?"

  Roy strove to keep his temper, which was already at boiling point.

  "I'll do my part if you'll do yours," he said. "You're trying to see howpoorly you can pass."

  "Oh, get out! I played football when you were in the nursery! Maybe ifyou'd take that red rag off you'd be able to use your arms."

  Somebody behind him chuckled and Roy had to shut his lips resolutely tokeep back the angry words. Finally,

  "Ball to left half, through left tackle," he called. Horace grunted andstooped again over the pigskin. Again the ball came back, this timetrickling slowly along on the turf. The next time it came back high andto the left and was fumbled. Roy said nothing as he recovered it andpushed it back to center, but it was plain that the fellows, whisperingamongst themselves, were losing interest in the work. Roy, withoutturning his head, became aware of the presence of a newcomer behind him.He supposed it was Mr. Cobb and hoped the coach would notice the mannerin which Burlen was snapping back. This time the ball was deliberatelysent back to Roy as hard as Horace could send it with the result that itbounded from his hands before he could close his fingers about it andwent wiggling off across the turf. Roy, arising to go after it, almostran into a tall, good-looking youth of apparently eighteen, a youthwith clean-cut features and snapping grey eyes.

  "That will do, Horace," said the newcomer dryly. "You can rest awhile.You're pretty bad."

  The center, facing around with a start of mingled surprise and dismay,met the unsmiling eyes of the captain with an attempt at bravado.

  "Hello, Jack," he said. "It's about time you came. They've given us theworst apology for a quarter you ever saw. Why, he can't hold the ball!"

  "Yes, I noticed it," replied Jack Rogers. "And I noticed that you seemedto have an idea that this practice is just for fun. You'd better take acouple of turns around the track and go in. O Ed! Ed Whitcomb! Come overhere and play center. Fernald, you take Ed's place on the other squad."

  The changes were made in a trice. After a muttered protest that thecaptain paid no heed to and a threatening look at Roy, Horace Burlentook himself off. The captain went into the left of the line andpractice was taken up again. After that there was no more trouble.Presently Mr. Cobb called a halt and the candidates were put at puntingand catching, which, followed by a trot twice around the quarter-milecinder track, completed the afternoon's work.

  "'That will do, Horace,' said the newcomer. 'You can restawhile.'"]

  Roy had worked rather hard and, as a result, he found himself prettywell out of breath when the second lap was half over. He had graduallydropped back to last place in the straggling procession and when theend of the run was in sight he was practically alone on the track,almost all of the others having turned in through the gate and made forthe gym. Roy had just finished the turn at an easy jog when he heardcries of distress from the direction of the stables behind him.

  "Spot, drop it! Oh, you bad, wicked cat! John! John! Where are you,John? Spot! _Spot! O-o-oh!_" The exclamations ended in a wild,long-drawn wail of feminine anguish.

  "A girl," thought Roy. "Wonder what's up. Guess I'd better go see."

  Turning, he struck off from the track at a run, crossed a triangle ofturf and found himself confronted by the wide hedge. But he could seeover it, and what he saw was an odd little enclosure formed by one endof the barn and two walls of packing cases and boxes piled one uponanother. In the center of the enclosure stood a girl with the bluest ofblue eyes, the reddest of red hair and the most despairing of freckledfaces. At first glance she seemed to be surrounded by dogs and cats andpigeons; afterwards Roy found that the animals were not so numerous ashad first appeared. The girl saw Roy quite as soon as he saw her.

  "Oh, quick, _quick_!" she commanded, pointing toward the roof of a lowshed nearby. "Spot has got one of the babies and he's killing it! Can'tyou hurry, boy?"

  Roy looked doubtfully at the broad hedge. Then he retreated a few steps,took a running jump, landing three-quarters way across the top andwriggled himself to the ground on the other side in a confusion ofcircling pigeons.

  "Where?" he gasped when he had gathered himself up.

  "There!" shrieked the girl, still pointing tragically. "Can't you climbup and get it away from him? Can't you do anything, you--you stupidsilly?"

  At last Roy saw the reason for her fright. On the edge of the shed roof,lashing his tail in ludicrous ferocity, crouched a half-grown cat, andunder his claws lay a tiny young white rabbit. Roy looked hurriedlyabout for a stick, but nothing of the description lay at hand. Meanwhilethe red-haired girl taunted him to action, interspersing wails ofdespair with pleas for help and sprinkling the whole withuncomplimentary reflections on his courage and celerity.

  "Aren't you going to do _anything_?" she wailed. "Are you going to standthere all night? Oh, please, _please_ rescue him!"

  The reflection on Roy's celerity weren't at all merited, for scarcely aquarter of a minute had passed since his advent. But if "the baby" wasto be rescued there was no time to lose. The cat, apparently notunderstanding what all the noise and excitement was about, still heldhis captive and looked down wonderingly from the edge of the roof. Royhesitated for just an instant longer. Then he seized the firstapparently empty box that came to hand, turned it upside-down at thecorner of the shed, and, amidst more despairing shrieks than ever,leaped onto it. Perhaps he was scared by the sudden appearance of Roy'shead over the edge of the roof, perhaps by the renewed and moreappalling clamor; at all events the cat abandoned his prey on theinstant and took off along the roof. Roy managed to
save the rabbit froma bad fall by catching it in one hand just as it rolled over the edgeand in another moment was holding it forth, a very badly frightenedlittle mass of white fur and pink eyes, to its distressed mistress. Butstrange to say the mistress seemed more anguished than ever. What shewas saying Roy couldn't for the life of him make out, but it wasevidently something uncomplimentary to him. In another moment themystery was explained. Following the excited gestures of the red-hairedgirl, Roy turned just in time to see the box upon which he had stoodtopple and fall. Whereupon from out of it stalked a highly insulted redand green parrot, quite the largest Roy had ever seen. The bird emergedwith ruffled plumage and wrathful eyes, cocked his head on one side andremarked fretfully in a shrill voice:

  "Well, I never did! Naughty Poll! Naughty Poll!"

  Then he chuckled wickedly and rearranged his feathers with a formidablebeak. After that he turned and viewed Roy with a glittering, beady eye,and,

  "Stop your swearing! Stop your swearing! Stop your swearing!" heshrieked at the top of his voice.

  This outburst was so unexpected and excruciating that Roy gave backbefore it. But as though satisfied with the dismay he had caused theparrot broke out into a shrill burst of laughter and waddled toward thegirl, who had now transferred her attention to the rescued rabbit.

  "I--I didn't know he was in the box," stammered Roy.

  "No, I don't suppose you did," answered the girl grudgingly. "Boys areso stupid! You might have killed him! Come here, Methuselah, and tell meall about it. Did the wicked boy frighten you most to death? Did he?Well, he was a wicked thing, so he was."

  The parrot closed his beak carefully about one of her fingers and waslifted to her arm, where he sat in ruffled dignity and stared at Roywith malevolent gaze. The rescued rabbit lay meanwhile, a palpitatingbunch of white, in the girl's other hand. Presently, having examined himcarefully for damages and found none, she stepped to one of the boxesand deposited him on a litter of straw and cabbage leaves.

  "I've had such horrid luck with the babies," she said confidently, herindignation apparently forgotten. "There were three at first. Then onedied of rheumatism--at least, I'm almost sure it was rheumatism,--andone was killed by a rat and now only poor little Angel is left. I callhim Angel," she explained, turning to her audience, "because he is sowhite. Don't you think it is a very appropriate name?"

  Roy nodded silently. Like the parrot, he had had his temper a bitruffled; the girl's remarks had not been especially complimentary. Ifshe guessed his feelings she showed no signs of it. Instead,

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

  "Yes," answered Roy.

  "What's your name?"

  "Roy Porter."

  "Mine's Harry--I mean Harriet Emery; they call me Harry. Harriet's abeast of a name, isn't it?"

  Roy hesitated, somewhat taken back.

  "Oh, you needn't mind being polite," continued the girl. "I hate politepeople--I mean the kind that say things they don't mean just to be niceto you. Harriet is a beast of a name; I don't care if I was named forAunt Harriet Beverly. I hate it, don't you? Oh, I forgot! You're one ofthe polite sort!"

  "No, I'm not," answered Roy, laughing. "I don't like Harriet any betterthan you do. But I like Harry."

  "Do you?" she asked eagerly. "Honest? Hope to die?"

  "Hope to die," echoed Roy gravely.

  "Then you may call me Harry."

  "Thanks. Is Doctor Emery your father?"

  "Yes. Only they don't call him Doctor Emery--the boys, I mean."

  "Don't they? What do they call him?"

  "Emmy," answered Harry with a giggle. "It's such a funny name for papa!And mamma they call 'Mrs. Em.'"

  "And they call you Harry?" said Roy for want of something better to say.Harry's head went up on the instant and her blue eyes flashed.

  "You'd better believe they don't! That is, not many of them. They callme _Miss_ Harry."

  "Oh, excuse me," Roy apologized. "_Miss_ Harry."

  Harry hesitated. Then,

  "Those that I like call me Harry," she said. "And you--you rescued thebaby. So--you may call me Harry, without the Miss, you know."

  "I'll try to deserve the honor," replied Roy very gravely.

  Harry observed him suspiciously.

  "There you go being polite and nasty," she said crossly. Then, with asudden change of manner, she advanced toward him with one very brown andsomewhat dirty little hand stretched forth and a ludicrous smirk on herface. "I forgot you were a new boy," she said. "I hope your stay with uswill be both pleasant and profitable."

  Roy accepted the proffered hand bewilderedly.

  "There," she said, with a little shake of her shoulders and a quickabandonment of the funny stilted tone and manner, "there, that's done.Mamma makes me do that, you know. It's awfully silly, isn't it?"

  Methuselah, who, during the conversation, had remained perched silentlyon the girl's shoulder, now decided to take part in the proceedings.

  "Well, I never did!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "Can't you be quiet? NaughtyPoll! Stop your swearing! Stop your swearing!"

  This resulted in his banishment, Roy, at Harry's request, returning theborrowed box to its place, and the parrot being placed therein withstrict injunctions to remain there.

  "Doesn't he ever get away?" asked Roy.

  "Oh, yes, sometimes. Once he got into the stable and went to sleep onthe head of John's bed. John's the gardener, you know. And when he camein and saw Methuselah sitting there he thought it was an evil spirit anddidn't stop running until he reached the cottage. My, he was scared!"And Harry giggled mischievously at the recollection.

  Then Roy was formally introduced to the numerous residents of theenclosure. Snip, a fox terrier, had already made friends. Lady Grey, amaltese Angora cat, who lay curled up contentedly in one of the lowertier of boxes, received Roy's caresses with well-bred condescension.Joe, one of her kittens, and a brother of the disgraced Spot, showedmore interest and clawed Roy's hand in quite a friendly way. In otherboxes were a squirrel called "Teety," two white guinea pigs, a family ofrabbits, six white mice and a bantam hen who resented Roy's advent witha very sharp beak. And all about fluttered grey pigeons and whitepigeons, fan-tails and pouters and many more the names of which Royquickly forgot. And while the exhibition was going on Roy observed theexhibitor with not a little interest.

  Harriet--begging her pardon! Harry--Emery was fourteen years old, fairlytall for her age, not overburdened with flesh and somewhat of a tomboy.Considering the fact that she had been born and had lived all her shortlife at a boys' school the latter fact is not unnatural. I might almostsay that she had been a trifle spoiled. That, however, would be ratherunkind, for it was just that little spice of spoiling that had madeHarry so natural and unaffected. The boys called Harry "a good fellow,"and to Harry no praise could have been sweeter. As might have beenexpected, she had grown up with a fondness for boys' sports andinterests, and could skate as well if not better than any pupil FerryHill had ever known, could play tennis well, could handle a pair of oarsknowingly and wasn't _very_ much afraid of a swiftly-thrown baseball.Her muscles were hard and illness was something she had long sinceforgotten about. But in spite of her addiction for boys' ways there wasstill a good deal of the girl about her, and she was capable of a dozendifferent emotions in as many minutes.

  Roy decided that she was rather pretty. Her hair was luridly red, butmany persons would have called it beautiful. Her eyes were very blue andhad a way of looking at you that was almost disconcerting in its frankdirectness. Her face was brown with sunburn, but there was color in thecheeks. A short, somewhat pugnacious little nose, not guiltless offreckles, went well with the red-lipped, mischievous mouth beneath. Forthe rest, Harry was a wholesome, lovable little minx with the kindestheart that ever beat under a mussy white shirt-waist and the quickesttemper that ever went with red hair.

  Roy's examination of his new acquaintance was suddenly interrupted bythe subject, who swung around upon him with an expression of greatseve
rity.

  "Do you know," she asked, "that the boys aren't allowed in here withoutpermission and that if papa finds it out you'll be punished?"

  Roy shook his head in bewilderment.

  "And," continued Harry impressively, "that John is coming along thelane, and that if he sees you here he'll have to report you, and--"

  "What shall I do?" asked Roy, looking about for an avenue of escape.

  "Why," said Harry, laughing enjoyably at his discomfiture, "just staywhere you are. I'm the one who gives permission!"