Chapter 12

ELDREDGE REJECTS A SUBSTITUTE

Joe made his leisurely way along the lane, his feet rustling the leaves that littered the grassy path. There had been a frost during the night and in shaded places it still glistened. When he had left the lane and was making his way between the old tumbledown shed with its piles of crumbling bricks and one of the clay pits he saw that there was a skim of ice on the water below him. It was a morning that induced a fine feeling of well-being, that made the blood course quickly and would have put a song on Joe’s lips had he been able to sing a note. As it was, he whistled instead.

Ahead of him was a smallish shed, perhaps at one time the office. Some rusted barrows and pieces of machinery lay about it. As it presented the only place of concealment in sight, Joe concluded that it was the place of appointment. Eldredge, however, had not arrived. Joe made sure of that by looking on all sides of the building and peering into the interior through a paneless window. So he seated himself in the sunlight and philosophically waited.

Some ten minutes passed and then he heard footsteps and presently around the corner appeared Paul Eldredge and Sam Rogers. Joe frowned. Eldredge shouldn’t have brought a second fellow without telling Myron of his intention. The newcomers stopped in surprise when they saw Joe, and after an instant Eldredge said: “Hello! Have you seen—Is Foster here?”

“Hello,” replied Joe. “Foster? No, he isn’t coming.”

“Isn’t coming!” exclaimed Eldredge. Then he laughed. “What do you know about that? What did I tell you, Sam?”

Rogers nodded. “I know. You said he wouldn’t.”

“Fact is,” said Joe, “he can’t.”

“Can’t, eh? I suppose he’s sick,” sneered Eldredge.

Joe shook his head gently and pulled himself to his feet. “No, he ain’t sick, he’s—he’s confined to his bed.” He chuckled, much to the mystification of the others. Eldredge scowled.

“What is this, a silly joke?” he demanded peevishly.

“No, oh, no, it ain’t any joke,” answered Joe gravely. “It’s this way, Eldredge. Foster’s no scrapper. Doesn’t know the first thing about it. Of course you didn’t know that when you arranged this party. You wanted a nice little fight. Foster couldn’t give it to you. Why, he doesn’t know how to even block. You wouldn’t have had any sport at all. It would have been all over in a wag of a duck’s tail. I told him that, but he wouldn’t see it. I said: ‘This guy Eldredge wants a scrap, kiddo. He doesn’t want to get up at that time of day just to see you topple over every time he reaches out. Give him a chance,’ I said. ‘You stay in bed and I’ll take the job off your hands.’ Course, I’m no professional, Eldredge, but I know enough to give you a bit of fun. But Foster wouldn’t see it. Insisted that he had to come himself.”

“Say, for the love of Mike,” broke in Eldredge, “are you crazy?”

“Me? No, I don’t believe so,” answered Joe mildly. “Anyway, I couldn’t get him to look at it right, and so this morning I just woke up a bit early and tied him up in bed.” He chuckled. “I’ll bet he’s spouting blue murder right now!”

“That’s a likely yarn!” sneered Eldredge. “Tied up in bed! Yes, he is—not! He got you to come and tell that story to save his face!”

“Well, I sort of came to save his face,” answered Joe genially, “but not just the way you mean: and he didn’t have anything to do with it. He’s tied right down to his bed this minute.”

“If he is,” said Rogers, “he helped do it.”

“No.” Joe shook his head patiently. “He was asleep. I’d like you guys to believe that. It always sort of disgruntles me when folks don’t believe what I tell ’em, and I’m likely to get real mad.”

Rogers blinked. “Well—well, then there’s nothing doing, Paul,” he said very mildly.

“Nothing doing?” echoed Joe in surprise. “What do you mean, nothing doing? Ain’t I here? Sure, there’s something doing. Him and me—I mean he and I are going to have a real good time.”

“We are not,” replied Eldredge disgustedly. “It’s the plainest sort of a frame-up, Sam. I knew all along Foster didn’t have any sand. I told you he’d duck.”

“Say, you must have got me wrong,” said Joe earnestly. “Foster wanted to come, but I wouldn’t let him. It wasn’t fair to him or you, kiddo. Don’t you see? He’d have got all messed up and you’d have been downright disappointed. That’s why I took it over. You and me are about of a size and weight and I’ll bet we can have a right good scrap.”

“I don’t care to fight you,” said Eldredge disdainfully. “Why should I? I don’t even know you!”

“Well, I don’t know you, either,” replied Joe calmly. “So we’re all-square there, eh? Listen, Brother: if you’re holding back on my account, don’t do it. I don’t mind a scrap. Fact is, I’d be mighty disappointed if I didn’t have it, after coming away over here like this. And so would you, of course. You’re like me; get sort of low-spirited if you don’t have a little set-to now and then. Ain’t that right?”

Eldredge was viewing Joe in mingled astonishment and uneasiness. This big, raw-boned chap didn’t look good to him as an opponent. His arms were discouragingly long and the shoulders hinted at a muscular development quite unusual. Also, there was a quiet gleam in the greenish-grey eyes that made Eldredge feel a bit creepy along his spine. He laughed nervously.

“Don’t be a chump,” he begged. “Of course I’m not going to fight you. I had a row with Foster, but if you say he doesn’t know how to fight, why, all right. We’ll call it off. I don’t want to fight any fellow that’s no match for me——”

“That’s just what I told him,” said Joe delightedly. “I said, ‘That guy’s going to be tickled to death when I show up instead of you.’”

“Come on,” said Rogers, tugging at his friend’s sleeve.

“Of course,” went on Eldredge, “if Foster wants to go on with it later, I’m ready for him, but—but as far as I’m concerned I’m willing to call quits.”

“Atta boy!” said Joe approvingly. “Well, now that’s settled and you and me can go ahead.” Joe began to peel off his sweater. Eldredge frowned and shot an anxious look at Rogers.

“I’ve told you I wouldn’t fight you,” he said, “and I won’t.”

“Why not?” demanded Joe. “Ain’t I good enough for you? Trying to insult me, eh?” he scowled darkly. “Is that it?”

“Of course not! I haven’t any row with you. Besides, it’s nearly time for chapel and I don’t intend to get in wrong at the Office just to please you!”

“That don’t go, kiddo. I’ve offered to fight you and you’ve insulted me by refusing. That’s enough. Now you pull that coat off and stand up here.”

“You’re crazy! I won’t be forced into a fight like this. You haven’t any right to——”

Joe gave a howl. “Haven’t any rights, haven’t I? We’ll see. No guy can tell me I haven’t any rights and not fight! Now then, come on!”

“I said you hadn’t any right to make me fight,” protested Eldredge. “You’re just——”

“I heard you!” answered Joe ominously. “Don’t repeat it! It’s something no guy can say to me and not answer for! By jiminy, you’ve got a cheek! No rights, eh? Ain’t I a free-born American citizen?” Joe slung his sweater aside, slipped his suspenders down and knotted them about his waist and advanced on the embarrassed enemy. “What about the Declaration of Independence?” he demanded wrathfully.

“You know well enough what I mean,” declared Eldredge somewhat shrilly. “I refuse to fight you! I haven’t——”

“Insulted again!” roared Joe fearsomely. “Put up your fists!”

Eldredge was backing away toward the corner of the shed, Rogers a good two yards in the lead. “I won’t! I’ve told you! You can’t bully me into fighting when—when I’ve got nothing to fight about!”

“Call me a bully now, do you?” growled Joe in ominous calm. He cast an outraged look to the heavens. “Brother, you’ve gone the limit. Look out for yourself!” He swung his right arm up and out. The blow, had it connected, would have lifted Eldredge off his feet and deposited him yards away. But it was woefully short, suggesting that Joe was a poor judge of distance. Nevertheless it so alarmed Eldredge that he trod on his friend’s toes in his hurried retreat, and a wail of pain and protest arose from Rogers, a wail that, mingling with peals of laughter that seemed to come from overhead, made a weird confusion of sound. The group on the ground abruptly paused in their careers and bewilderedly searched the sky for that Jovian laughter. They hadn’t far to seek. Atop the shed roof, their convulsed countenances showing above the peak, were stretched Leighton Keith and Harry Cater.

Joe, after a surprised recognition, grinned and unknotted his suspenders. Eldredge grew red where he had been inclined to pallor and looked unutterably foolish. Rogers smiled in a sickly fashion and dug embarrassed hands into his pockets. On the roof the unsuspected guests conquered their laughter, and Keith said to Joe: “Sorry if we—spoiled your—fun—Dobbins, but we couldn’t—hold in any longer!”

“Well, I didn’t know I was amusing an audience,” replied Joe, “but it don’t matter.” He picked up his sweater as Keith and Cater slid to the edge and dropped over. “Guess we’ll have to postpone this, Eldredge,” he continued. “Too many folks around, eh? I’ll fix another date with you.”

Katie chuckled. “I fancy Eldredge is satisfied,” he said. “Eh, Paul?”

Eldredge glowered. “I didn’t have any quarrel with him,” he muttered. “He—he’s crazy!”

Katie and Keith seemed to find this most amusing, but after a moment of laughter Keith recovered his gravity and said: “I guess you can be trusted to keep this business quiet, Eldredge. How about you, Rogers?” Rogers nodded, his countenance expressing a relief equal to Eldredge’s. “Good. I know Dobbins won’t talk, and neither will we. So there’s no reason why the thing should get out. In a way, it’s a pity to keep it to ourselves, for the fellows would certainly enjoy it, but some jokes are too good to be told. If you want to lead a happy life hereafter, Eldredge, you’d better keep mum! And, by the way, if I ever hear of you scrapping any more I’ll be tempted to tell what happened this morning. You’re much too blood-thirsty, Eldredge, you really are. Restrain yourself, my boy, restrain yourself.” Eldredge muttered something as he moved away. “What was that?” asked Keith sharply. “Did I hear a bad word?”

“No,” replied Eldredge aggrievedly, “you didn’t. I said, ‘All right.’”

“Hm: I’ll try to believe you: but you’d better beat it before I begin to have doubts!”

Rogers had already melted around the corner of the shed and Eldredge, pausing only long enough to send a last vindictive glance at Joe, followed. Alone, the three looked at each other in amused silence. Then Katie helped Joe into his sweater and together they turned toward school. It was only when the forms of Eldredge and Rogers were seen hurrying into the lane that Keith’s risibilities again got the better of him and he began to chuckle. Whereupon Joe and Katie joined.

It was getting dangerously close to chapel time when Myron, smouldering with anger, heard the study door open and the heavy tread of Joe approaching. When the latter appeared Myron was more than ready for him.

“You—you——” he stammered, “you big—big——”

It was maddening! His nicely arranged flow of invective, his long list of insulting adjectives were gone! He couldn’t get his tongue around a single word that satisfied his requirements. All he could do was glare and sputter and strain at his bonds. And Joe stood at the foot of the bed and viewed him mildly and patiently.

“You let me loose!” cried Myron. “You untie me this minute! You’ll see what’ll happen to you, you big—big boob!” Myron groaned at the utter inadequacy of that appellation and gave up the attempt to do justice to his feelings. Joe blinked.

“Got to have your promise not to start any ructions first,” he announced. “It’s pretty near chapel time, Foster, and if you try scrapping with me you’ll be late. So’ll I. Better dress quietly and let me explain things.”

“I’m going to punch your ugly face!” fumed Myron. “I don’t care a hang who’s late to what! You can’t spring your silly tricks on me like this, Dobbins! You can’t——”

“Then I’ll have to let you stay where you are,” said Joe regretfully.

“You let me up!”

“You let me up!”

“Promise not to start anything?”

“No!”

“Then you don’t get up. You stay right here until I tell you all about it.” Joe seated himself at the foot of the bed and glanced at the clock on the chiffonier. “You see, Foster, it was like this.”

“I don’t want to hear it! I want to get up!”

“Then give me your word to behave.”

Myron studied Joe’s unperturbed face, hesitated and gave in. “All right,” he growled. “But I’ll—I’ll get even with you yet.”

“Sure! Now then we’ll do some hustling.” For two minutes Joe was very busy with knots. “Hope these things didn’t hurt,” he said apologetically. “I tried to fix ’em so you’d be comfortable.”

“Thanks, I’m sure,” said Myron in deep sarcasm. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your thoughtfulness!”

Joe grinned. “Well, anyway, I didn’t wake you up, kiddo, did I? Didn’t do you out of any sleep, eh? Say, the Sleeping Quince, or whatever the guy in the fairy story was called, hasn’t a thing on you, Foster. You’re the soundest little slumberer that ever pounded an ear! There you are. Now, then, slip into some duds and let’s beat it. We’ve just got time.”