CHAPTER XI

ANTHONY MAKES A STATEMENT

The morning after Jack’s departure Anthony turned in through the little gate at Mrs. Dorlon’s and strode quickly up the short path. The time was but a quarter before eight. The sun was out, but was hidden behind a low-lying bank of mist, through which it glowed wanly. In the elms along the street the sparrows were chattering and scolding until one would have thought that every family circle was in the midst of domestic strife, possible because of overlate worms or underdone beetles. It was a tepid sort of morning; the bricks in the pavement were wet with the fog and the air was warm. Anthony wore his coat-collar turned up, not to protect his throat, but to hide the fact that there was no other collar beneath. In his hand he carried a can of condensed milk and a little paper bag of coffee. He had been upset by the events of the preceding day and had neglected to replenish his provision cupboard; hence a postprandial journey to Main Street.

As he climbed the stairs and caught sight of the half-opened door of Jack’s room, recollection of that youth returned to him and he sighed as he crossed the little hall and thrust his own door open. Then he stopped short and gave vent to an exclamation of surprise. The condensed milk dropped with a thud and rolled under the cot-bed. Jack, nodding drowsily in the rocker, opened his eyes and jumped to his feet. Then he grinned sheepishly.

“I--I’ve come back,” he muttered.

He partly extended his hand, thinking Anthony would take it. But the latter, after a moment of silent surprise, only said:

“Well! I’m glad to see you.” He crawled awkwardly under the cot and recovered the milk. “Changed your mind, eh?” he asked, as he emerged.

His voice was hearty enough, and he smiled behind his spectacles as though pleased, yet Jack felt a chill of disappointment and answered soberly:

“Yes, I changed my mind. I came back on an early train. You weren’t in and so I sat down to wait for you; I guess I must have come pretty near to falling asleep. Well, I must go to breakfast.”

Anthony fought for a moment against the restraint which gripped him. When he spoke his tones held the old warmth.

“Nonsense, Jack, stay here and have some with me. I haven’t any fatted calf to kill for you, but I can fry a couple of eggs and give you some good coffee, and----”

“I can’t drink coffee,” Jack answered, “but if you really want me to stay, I’ll be glad to. I--I’d rather not go to training-table this morning.”

“Course I want you to,” answered Anthony. “Why can’t you drink coffee, though?”

“Training.”

“What? Why, coffee never hurt any one; best thing in the world, coffee; strengthening, elevating, enlarging; good for body and brain. But tell me all about your vacation.”

And while Anthony bustled about over his little stove, handling pots and pans with a deftness remarkable in a person usually so awkward, Jack recounted his experiences rather shamefacedly.

“Right about the professor, wasn’t I?” interrupted Anthony once.

“Yes, you were. He’s mighty good, Anthony. He treated me as though I was the President; and so did his mother and sister. I had a bully little room with an open fireplace in it and blue roses all over the walls and all sorts of easy chairs made out of rattan stuff; and the sun just flooded in the window this morning. My, but I wish I lived there all the time!”

“Sounds fine,” answered Anthony. “All aboard, now; draw up to the table and wade in. Guess you’ll have to use the rocker, unless you’d rather have this. Here’s the sugar. How about-- Pshaw, you’re not going to drink coffee, are you? Have some water in the toothbrush mug? No? All right. Have an egg; that’s right, just slide it off. These rolls are good; I sprinkle the tops with water and heat ’em up on the stove. Sorry I haven’t more to offer you, though. Well, Jack, I’m glad you ran across White and came back. You’d been sorry--afterward--if you’d gone home; and so would I. And, by the way, what was it that set you going? What happened at the table yesterday morning? Your note was lacking in details.”

Jack told about Gilberth’s behavior and Anthony’s eyes darkened behind his spectacles.

“Ugly brute!” he muttered. “Ought to be spanked. But-- Look here, don’t mind him, Jack; I don’t think he’s going to trouble you much after this. Just keep out of his way.”

“I’ll try to. If--if he was a freshman, or even a soph, I’d fight him; but I can’t fight a senior!”

“Huh! You won’t have to; he’s going to behave himself after this,” said Anthony grimly.

“Well, I don’t know; anyhow, I’m going to stick it out now, no matter what happens,” Jack said stoutly. “That’s my last try at running away. If it hadn’t been for forgetting my money, I guess I’d have gone. Funny how it happened, wasn’t it? The worst of it is, I thought I’d left the money in my trunk, but I’ve looked and it isn’t there; I can’t find it anywhere. It was about all I had. I guess dad will be madder than a hatter when I write home for more.”

“That’s too bad,” said Anthony. “If you want a little--a dollar or two, you know--to go on until you hear from home, I can let you have it as well as not.”

“You’re awfully good,” answered Jack gratefully. “But it would be a nice thing for me to borrow from you, wouldn’t it? Don’t you think I know how hard up you are?”

“Oh, well, you could pay it back, you know. If you’d rather, you could give me a mortgage on your clothes,” he added, smiling.

“Then, if my money didn’t come, you might for-clothes,” laughed Jack.

“Running away from school seems to sharpen your wits,” said Anthony. “Have another egg? Won’t take a minute. Good; I like my guests to have appetites.”

“You’d have one yourself if you’d been hauled out of a nice, soft bed at half-past six!”

“Guess I would; but I wouldn’t make bad puns.”

Presently, while the egg was sputtering in the pan, Jack asked, with a trace of embarrassment:

“Did you--get that watch-charm?”

“Yes; much obliged,” was the answer. “Guess I’d better give it back now. Won’t need it to remember you by if you’re in the same hut with me, eh?”

“I--I’d rather you did keep it, though, and wear it, if you don’t mind. Did you put it on your chain?”

The fork fell into the pan, and Anthony fished it out with much muttering before he answered. Then--

“Why, no, I didn’t, Jack. You see----”

“I know; it isn’t very beautiful; just one I had.”

“That isn’t the reason,” said Anthony without turning around. “Fact is, I’m not wearing my watch just now.”

“Oh, aren’t you? Why--what----”

“Well, a fellow can’t have money to lend and a gold watch at the same time. Just at present I’m a moneylender.”

“Oh, I see,” Jack replied. But, nevertheless, he didn’t look satisfied with the explanation, and when Anthony returned to the breakfast-table with the egg he had been frying the two finished the meal almost in silence.

Thanks to the secrecy of the three persons who alone knew of Jack’s absence from Centerport, his return to the training-table at lunch-time occasioned no surprise. Joe Perkins looked bewildered for a moment, but said nothing. King called across the board and asked Jack where he’d been since the day before, and Jack calmly replied that he’d been home with Professor White overnight. Several pairs of eyebrows went up incredulously, but no one voiced his doubts. Gilberth took absolutely no notice of Jack, and, at least in so far as the latter was concerned, the meal went off pleasantly. He had expected to be called to account by the trainer, but Simson had eyes of his own and said nothing as long as luncheon was in progress. When it was over he questioned the captain. After a moment of hesitation, Joe told the trainer the facts of Jack’s absence as he knew them.

“I think,” he said, “that the best thing to do is to take no notice this time. Weatherby may turn out a good man for us if he can get his mind on his work. But if this badgering continues he won’t be worth a continental; he’s all up in the air. Maybe you can give him a good word now and then, ‘Baldy’; the poor dub needs it all right.”

“Sure, I can,” answered the trainer. “Give the lad a chance; why not? I doubt he’s varsity material, cap, but he’s a decent spoken lad enough.”

Tracy Gilberth walked back to his room after luncheon feeling very dissatisfied with life. He had not yet forgiven Joe for the lecture which the latter had delivered to him the day before. Tracy felt deeply wronged. He really believed that when he had publicly affronted Jack Weatherby that he had been performing a service to the college; that it was his duty to protest against the presence at the university of a fellow who had shown himself to be a coward. Tracy had a rather good opinion of himself and of his importance, and had never doubted that, since others had failed to act in the matter, it was his place to step to the front. The wigging he had received from Joe had surprised as well as disgruntled him, and his vanity still smarted.

And what increased his annoyance was the fact that he had been “called down” by the one fellow of all whom Tracy really held in affection, and who, or so Tracy argued, should have been the very last to oppose him. Never before had the two, whose friendship dated back from their sophomore year, come so near to quarreling as they had yesterday. Differences of opinion they frequently had, but Tracy always retired from whatever position he held at the first sign of displeasure on the part of the other. But yesterday Tracy’s backdown had been incomplete; to-day he was not decided whether to do as Joe wanted him to and leave the obnoxious Weatherby strictly alone or to show his resentment by continuing his righteous persecution of that youth with some more than usually severe affront. In fact, Tracy hovered on the verge of open mutiny when, after climbing the first flight of stairs in Grace Hall, he turned to the left down the broad corridor and kicked open the unlatched door of his study.

“Hello!” he exclaimed.

“Hello!” was the response from the depths of a big leather armchair, and Anthony, who had been reclining with widely stretched legs and reading a magazine, placed the latter back on the mahogany writing-table and calmly faced his host. The two knew each other well enough to nod in passing, but never before had Anthony paid Tracy a visit, and the latter’s evident surprise was natural enough.

“Found your door open,” explained Anthony, “so I came in and waited. Wanted to see you a minute or two, Gilberth.”

“That’s all right; glad you made yourself comfortable,” answered the other.

“Nice rooms you’ve got,” continued the visitor.

“Oh, they do well enough,” Tracy replied carelessly.

As a matter of fact they were the handsomest in college, and he knew it and was proud of it. The study was furnished throughout in mahogany upholstered in light-green leather, a combination of colors at first glance a trifle disconcerting, but which, when viewed in connection with the walls and draperies, was quite harmonious. The walls were covered to the height of five feet with denim of dark green. Above this a mahogany plate-rail ran about the apartment and held a few old pewter platters and tankards, some good pieces of luster-ware and a half-dozen bowls and pitchers of Japanese glaze. Above the shelf, buckram of a dull shade of mahogany red continued to the ceiling, where it gave way to cartridge-paper of a still lighter shade. The draperies at doors and windows were of the prevailing tones. The effect of the whole was one of cheerful dignity. The room was not overcrowded with furniture and the walls held a few pictures, and those of the best. There was a refreshing absence of small photographs and knickknacks. Tracy was proud of his taste in the matter of decoration and furnishing and proud of the result as here shown. Anthony liked the room without understanding it. Perhaps the little whimsical smile that curved his lips was summoned by a mental comparison of the present apartment and his own chamber with its cracked and stained whitewashed walls and povern fittings.

“You wanted to see me, you said?” prompted Tracy.

“Yes,” answered the visitor. “Maybe it will simplify matters if I start out by telling you that Jack Weatherby’s a particular friend of mine.”

“Oh,” said Tracy. “Well?”

“Well, don’t you think you’ve bothered him enough, Gilberth?”

“Look here, Tidball, I don’t like your tone,” said Tracy with asperity.

“Can’t help it,” answered Anthony. “I don’t like the way you’ve been hazing Weatherby. Now we know each other’s grievance.”

“What I’ve done to Weatherby doesn’t concern you,” said Tracy hotly. “And I’m not to be dictated to. The fellow’s a coward and a bounder.”

“Don’t know what bounder is,” answered the other dryly. “Doesn’t sound nice, though. Suppose we stop calling names? I might lose my temper and call you something, and you mightn’t like it, either. But I didn’t come up here to quarrel with you; don’t like to quarrel with a man in his room; doesn’t seem polite, does it? What I came to say is this, Gilberth: leave Weatherby alone or you’ll have me to deal with.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No, I guess not; just a statement of fact.”

“Do you think I’m afraid of you?” demanded Tracy angrily.

“Guess not; keep on tormenting Weatherby and I’ll know you’re not.”

“Now, look here, Tidball, if you want a row, you can have it right off. You don’t need to wait and see what happens to your precious friend. I’ll fight you any time you like. Do you want a fight?”

“No, not particularly,” answered Anthony, with his most exasperating drawl. “Never fought any one in my life. Wouldn’t know how to go about it, I guess. Even----”

“Well, you’ll know all about it mighty soon if you don’t get out of here!”

“Don’t think I shall. Haven’t any intention of fighting.”

“Haven’t you, indeed? Well, what, I’d like to know, are you hinting at?”

“Not hinting at all. You leave Weatherby alone or I’ll catch you in the yard and wallop you with a trunk-strap; but,” he added grimly, “there won’t be any fighting.”

He drew his long length out of the chair and took up his hat. Tracy, pale with anger, eyed him silently a moment. Then he leaped forward and sent him spinning back against the chair with a blow on the shoulder. The next moment he felt himself lifted bodily from his feet, turned head over heels, and deposited in that inglorious position on the broad leather couch. When things stopped revolving he saw Tidball’s calm face bending over him and felt his wrists held tightly together by fingers that grasped them like steel bands. He struggled violently until his opponent placed a bony knee on his chest. Then he subsided.

“Now keep still and listen to me,” said Tidball in quiet, undisturbed tones. “I’m a peaceable fellow, and don’t fight. But if you don’t remember what I’ve told you, I’m going to grab you just like this some day--and it’ll be when there are plenty of men looking on, too--and I’m going to spank you with a trunk-strap. If you don’t believe me,” he added with a slight grin, “I’ll show you the strap!”

“I’ll--I’ll kill----”

“No, you won’t do a thing,” the other interrupted sternly. “You’ll stay just where you are and behave yourself. If you don’t, I’ll lock you up in your bedroom; and that’s a liberty I don’t want to take.”

He released Tracy and stepped back. Tracy leaped to his feet, but something in the look of the eyes behind the steel-bowed spectacles persuaded him to keep his distance. Anthony picked up his hat from the floor, dusted it tenderly with his elbow, and walked to the door.

“Sorry there was any trouble, Gilberth,” he said soberly. “Maybe I lost my temper; it’s a mean one sometimes. Think over what I said.” He closed the door noiselessly behind him, and Tracy, shaking and choking with wrath, groaned futilely.