“Not a mite, sir. You needn’t worry. I’m putting things in shape here so that Stick can take the whole thing on his own shoulders. I’m not going to have anything to do with this shop until we’ve licked Kenly Hall.”
“Good stuff! See you to-morrow, then. Practice at three, Cap, no matter what the weather’s like. I guess a lot of those summer loafers will be the better for losing five or six pounds of fat! And about this Renneker, Cap. If you run across him it might be a good idea to sort of make yourself acquainted and – er – look after him a bit. You know what I mean. Start him off with a good impression of us, and all that.”
Russell chuckled. “It’s a great thing to bring a reputation with you, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Eh?” The coach smiled a trifle sheepishly. “Oh, well, I don’t care what you do with him,” he declared. “Chuck him down the well if you like. No reason why we should toady to him, and that’s a fact. I only thought that – ”
“Right-o!” laughed Russell. “Leave him to me, sir. Can’t sell you a bicycle then?”
“Huh,” answered Mr. Cade, moving toward the door, “if you supply the team with its outfits and stuff this fall I guess you won’t need to sell me a bicycle to show a profit! See you to-morrow, Cap!”
In front of the store, under the gayly-hued escutcheon bearing the legend: Sign of the Football, Mr. Cade paused to shake hands with a tall, thin youth with curly brown hair above gray eyes, a rather large nose and a broad mouth who, subsequent to the football coach’s departure, entered the store hurriedly, announcing as he did so: “They can’t find it, Rus! The blamed thing’s just plain vanished. What’ll we do? Telegraph or what?”
“I’ll write them a letter,” replied Russell calmly. “I dare say the stuff will show up to-morrow.”
“Sure,” agreed Stick Patterson sarcastically. “It’s been turning up to-morrow for three days and it might as well go on turning – What was Johnny after?”
“Just wanted to talk over a few things. Give me a hand with this truck, will you? I want to get in an hour’s practice before supper. Bring some more tags along. Where’s the invoice? Can you see it?”
“Yes, and so could you if you weren’t sitting on it. My, but it’s hot over in that office! I suppose Johnny wasn’t awfully enthused over the outlook, eh?”
“No-o, but he brought some good news, Stick. Ever hear of Gordon Renneker?”
“No, who’s he?”
“He’s a gentleman who played football last year down on Long Island with the Castle City High School team. Won everything in sight, I think.”
“Who did? Runniger?”
“The team did. Renneker played guard; right guard, I guess; and got himself talked about like a moving picture hero. Some player, they say. Anyway, he’s coming here this fall.”
“Oh, joy! I’ll bet you anything you like he’ll turn out a lemon, like that chap Means, or whatever his name was, two years ago. Remember? The school got all het up about him. He was the finest thing that ever happened – until he’d been around here a couple of weeks. After that no one ever heard of him. He didn’t even hold a job with the second!”
“I guess Renneker’s in a different class,” responded Russell. “They put him down on the All-Scholastic last fall, anyway, Stick.”
“All right. Hope he turns out big. But I never saw one of these stars yet that didn’t have something wrong with him. If he really could play, why, he was feeble-minded. Or if he had all his brains working smooth he had something else wrong with him. No stars in mine, thanks! Shove the ink over here. How about dressing the windows? Want me to do it?”
“Sure. Want you to do everything there is to be done, beginning with twelve o’clock midnight to-night. That’s the last. Pile them up and let’s get out of here. It’s after five. If you’ll come over to the field with me for an hour I’ll buy your supper, Stick. And the exercise will do you good!”
CHAPTER II
TWO IN A TAXI
Something over eighteen hours later the morning train from New York pulled up at Alton station and disgorged a tumultuous throng of youths of all sizes and of all ages between twelve and twenty. They piled down from the day coaches and descended more dignifiedly from the two parlor cars to form a jostling, noisy mob along the narrow platform. Suit-cases, kit-bags, valises, tennis rackets, golf clubs were everywhere underfoot. Ahead, from the baggage car, trunks crashed or thudded to the trucks while an impatient conductor glanced frowningly at his watch. Behind the station the brazen clanging of the gongs on the two special trolley cars punctuated the babel, while the drivers of taxicabs and horse-drawn vehicles beckoned invitingly for trade and added their voices to the general pandemonium. Then, even as the train drew on again, the tumult lessened and the throng melted. Some few of the arrivals set forth afoot along Meadow street, having entrusted their hand luggage to friends traveling by vehicle. A great many more stormed the yellow trolley cars, greeting the grinning crews familiarly as Bill or Mike, crowding through the narrow doors and battling good-naturedly for seats. The rest, less than a score of them, patronized the cabs and carriages.
Leonard Grant was of the latter. As this was his first sight of Alton he decided that it would be wise to place the responsibility of delivering himself and a bulging suit-case to Alton Academy on the shoulders of one who knew where the Academy was, even if it was to cost a whole half-dollar! The taxi was small but capable of accommodating four passengers at least, and when Leonard had settled himself therein it became evident that the driver of the vehicle had no intention of leaving until the accommodations were more nearly exhausted. He still gesticulated and shouted, while Leonard, his suit-case up-ended between his knees, looked curiously about and tried to reconcile the sun-smitten view of cheap shops and glaring yellow brick pavement with what he had learned of Alton from the Academy catalogue. Judging solely from what he now saw, he would have concluded that the principal industries of the town were pressing clothes and supplying cheap meals. He was growing sensible of disappointment when a big kit-bag was thrust against his knees and a second passenger followed it into the cab.
“Mind if I share this with you?” asked the new arrival. He had a pleasant voice, and the inquiry was delivered in tones of the most perfect politeness, but something told Leonard that the big fellow who was making the cushion springs creak protestingly really cared not a whit whether Leonard minded or not. Leonard as courteously replied in the negative, and in doing so he had his first glimpse of his companion. He was amazingly good-looking; perhaps fine-looking would be the better term, for it was not only that his features were as regular as those on a Greek coin, but they were strong, and the smooth tanned skin almost flamboyantly proclaimed perfect health. In fact, health and physical strength fairly radiated from the chap. He was tall, wide-shouldered, deep-chested, and yet, in spite of his size, which made Leonard feel rather like a pygmy beside him, you were certain that there wasn’t an ounce of soft flesh anywhere about him. He had dark eyes and, although Leonard couldn’t see it just then, dark hair very carefully brushed down against a well-shaped head. He was dressed expensively but in excellent taste: rough brownish-gray tweed, a linen-colored silk shirt with collar to match, a plain brown bow-tie, a soft straw hat, brown sport shoes and brown silk socks. The watch on his wrist was plainly expensive, as were the gold-and-enamel links in his soft cuffs. What interested Leonard Grant more than these details of attire, however, was the sudden conviction that he knew perfectly well who his companion was – if only he could remember!
Meanwhile, evidently despairing of another fare, the driver climbed to his seat and set forth with loud grinding of frayed gears, cleverly manipulating the rattling cab around the end