CHAPTER XXI

WATTLES INTERVENES

Returning from Cotterville, Tom alone of the four occupants of the car was downcast. Loring had discounted the defeat, Mr. Cooper accepted it with cheerful philosophy and Wattles maintained a thoughtful silence that, unnoted by the others, was at moments slightly perturbed, even anxious. He listened to the discussion, which lasted most of the way to Freeburg, but volunteered speech only once. Then he inquired of Loring: “If Mr. Tom had taken part, sir, we might have won, do you think?”

Loring said “Yes,” and Tom grunted. “I might have been worse than any of them,” he said. “You can’t tell. One fellow slips up and then the whole infield goes on the blink. It’s catching!”

“Just the same,” replied Loring, “I wish you were going to be in there to-morrow!”

After the school had been reached, Wattles attended to Loring’s comfort and then with a cough said: “If you’ll not be needing me for a short time, sir, there’s a small matter I’d like to attend to.”

Loring, studying the score he had kept of the afternoon’s game, nodded absently. “I’m all right. Don’t hurry back, Wattles.”

“Thank you, sir.” Wattles set his black derby very carefully in place and departed.

Mr. Connover lived in Number 21 West Hall, and thither Wattles made his way. His knock on the door brought a faint invitation to enter, and when he had done so a voice proceeding from the bathroom called, “Make yourself at home. I’ll be out in a minute.” Wattles sat down in a chair, placed his derby crosswise on his knees and placed a hand on each end of the brim, quite as though he feared a strong gust of wind might whisk the precious hat away. The minute became several minutes, and then the baseball coach emerged from the bedroom, tying the cords of his bath-robe and looking very clean and cheerful.

“Ah, it’s Wattles,” he said.

“Yes, sir.” Wattles arose to make the admission.

“Well, sit down. What can I do for you? Or, I suppose, Mr. Deane.”

“I took the liberty of coming on my own account, sir,” replied Wattles a trifle nervously.

“Oh! Well, glad to see you. Just what――ah――”

“Mr. Connover, I witnessed the game this afternoon, and I saw how things are going. Our infield, sir, is not――” Wattles hesitated and shook his head gently――“is not what it should be.”

Steve looked distinctly surprised. “I didn’t know you were a fan, Wattles. However, what you say is absolutely true. Our infield leaves much to be desired. Or it did this afternoon.”

“Yes, sir, and that’s why I took the liberty of coming. I’d like to speak to you about Mr. Tom, sir.”

“Who’s Mr. Tom, Wattles?”

“Mr. Kemble, sir, I should say.”

“Oh, I see. Well, frankly, Wattles, I wouldn’t bother. That incident is closed. I don’t think there is anything you could say that would help Kemble to get his position back, and that, I imagine, is what you are here for. I appreciate your interest, Wattles, but really it’s no good.”

“Very well, sir. Then may I tell you what I learned about the young gentleman simply as a――simply as a matter of interest? That is, sir, if I’m not taking your time from more important affairs.”

“That part’s all right. I’ve nothing to do until supper time, but―― Oh, all right, Wattles, shoot!”

So Wattles shot. He made rather a long story of it, choosing his words very carefully as was proper when conversing with a member of the faculty. And when he had finally finished Mr. Connover asked: “Wattles, are you quite sure you’ve got that right?”

“Oh, absolutely, sir. I was in Mr. Loring’s room when Mr. Tom told about it. The facts are just as I’ve stated them, sir.”

“Hm.” Mr. Connover shook his head in smiling exasperation. “It would have been a lot simpler if you hadn’t told me this, Wattles. Of course, I didn’t know that Kemble had taken up arms on my account, and I’ll not deny that it makes a difference in my personal feelings toward the boy. But, Wattles, it doesn’t affect the fact that Kemble disobeyed the regulations flagrantly. I was obliged to discipline him, and even so I let him off a good deal easier than I might have――possibly should have! The deuce of it is that, having learned this, I’m bound to feel rather a blighter for having punished him!”

“Well, sir, you didn’t know,” reminded Wattles.

“No, and now that I do know I’m afraid it can’t alter things any. You understand that, Wattles?”

“Well, sir, asking your pardon,” replied Wattles, “I’d like to say that, as I understand it, the law recognizes mitigating circumstances. I’ve been reading a bit of law, sir, this winter,” he added apologetically.

“Granted, but the judge should also be unswayed by personal――er――feelings. The fact that Kemble disobeyed the rules out of――well, let us say loyalty to me, Wattles, ought not to affect my decision.”

“Oh, absolutely not, sir!”

“Well, then, there we are.” Mr. Connover smiled gently.

“Quite so, sir. When I suggested mitigating circumstances I had in mind the fact that Mr. Tom had the――the quarrel forced on him, Mr. Connover. He refused to engage with the other gentleman at that time and place, sir. It was not until the other young gentleman insisted and struck him, sir, that Mr. Tom――er――consented.”

“Oh,” said Mr. Connover, and then: “Oh, I see,” he added thoughtfully. “Hm. Yes, there’s that, isn’t there?” And, after another pause: “Look here, Wattles, if I were you I’d keep on reading law,” he said. “I honestly would!”

“Thank you, sir. I’ve been considering the study of it.”

“Fine! Now suppose you go on with the case. Suppose you were in my place, Wattles, eh?”

“It’s very kind of you, sir, to give――to receive my――”

“Not at all. What is your idea of the situation that exists at present? Frankly, after what you’ve told me I’d be mighty glad to reverse my decision if I could see an honest way to do it.”

“Well, Mr. Connover, as I look at it, it’s the other young gentleman who should bear the――the brunt of the punishment.”

“Well, yes, it does look that way. In other words, I should have excused Kemble for the day and dropped Coles from the squad. I’m afraid I didn’t give either of them a fair chance to explain what had occurred. Not, however, that Coles appeared anxious to do any explaining. Of course, if I did drop Coles now it would look a bit――well, odd. Belated justice, eh?”

“Yes, sir. And to-morrow being the last day of school, sir――”

“True.” Mr. Connover’s eyes twinkled, and he seemed to be enjoying himself hugely. “On the other hand, Wattles, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t, considering the mitigating circumstances, reduce the sentence inflicted on Kemble, which I now see was excessive, to――well, to forty-eight hours――or thereabouts. Does that sound correct?”

“Oh, absolutely, sir,” replied Wattles gravely.

“Then,” went on the coach, pursuing his thoughts, “with both Kemble and Coles in good standing on the team it only remains to determine which of the two in my humble opinion is likely to best fill the position of second baseman. Wattles, you have cleared up a difficult position beautifully, and if we should be fortunate enough to win to-morrow you may take a large share of the credit to yourself. In fact, Wattles, to use an expression current about the campus, I’ve got to hand it to you!”

Mr. Connover arose and held out his hand. Wattles, seriously embarrassed, took it.

After supper the Triumvirate met as usual, and, as usual, Mr. Cooper joined the gathering before long. Clif arrived still depressed, although a hearty supper had somewhat leavened his woe. Before long he was taking a far less tragic view of his guilt, for Tom and Loring went to some pains to prove that, even if he had erred, he was not chargeable with the loss of the game.

“Suppose you’d caught the ball,” said Loring. “That would have made only the second out, and one of those runs would have crossed in any case; probably both of them, for those guys reached the plate only about four yards apart. But even if your throw-in had nabbed the second, Wolcott would still have beaten us by one run.”

“As far as that goes,” declared Tom, “if the infield hadn’t gone flooey those runners would never have been on bases! You should worry over dropping a fly after three infield errors had been chalked up!”

“Still, it was an awful thing to do,” said Clif rather more cheerfully. “I――I don’t know yet how it happened. I _caught_ the ball all right, but, gee, somehow――”

“You were too anxious to make the throw,” said Tom. “I’ve seen the same thing happen lots of times. Forget it, old son, and make up for it to-morrow.”

“I will if I get the chance,” sighed Clif, “but I guess Steve isn’t likely to let me play to-morrow.”

“Oh, I don’t know. He needs hitters, Clif, and you’re certainly hitting better than Al Greene.”

“I didn’t do much yesterday except for that one single.”

“Say, how do you get that way?” demanded Tom. “My Sainted Aunt Jerusha, didn’t that hit send in two runs? You’re cuckoo!”

Wattles, who was already sorting out Loring’s wardrobe for packing on the morrow, said no word when, later, Tom remarked dolefully: “Heck, I wish I were going to be in that rumpus to-morrow. I’ll just bet I could knock the tar out of that Osterman guy! I’ll bet I’ve got his number all right now!”

There was no study hour these evenings, and the conclave in Loring’s room continued almost to bedtime, and as often as the talk wandered away from the final game with Wolcott just so often it switched back again before many minutes. That game was the principal subject of debate that evening all through the school, and even the enthralling occupation of packing up for departure Thursday morning was everywhere interrupted while the question of whether Steve would pitch Ogden or Frost or whether Cobham would be back of the plate was thrashed out.

While Wattles was massaging Loring that night the latter emerged from a period of silent abstraction to say: “Wattles, you said once you were pretty sure you had seen Mr. Cooper before. Remember?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, did you ever happen to remember about it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You did! Well, why the dickens didn’t you tell me?”

“Possibly the opportunity didn’t occur, Mr. Loring.”

“Opportunity my eye! You’ve had heaps of opportunities. I say, don’t bear down so plaguy hard! Where was it you saw him, Wattles, and how’d you happen to remember?”

“It came to me one evening, sir, when I was cleaning some of your cravats. Mr. Cooper said he wasn’t an American, if you’ll remember, but an Englishman.”

“Sure, I remember that, and how surprised I was.”

“Yes, sir, so was I, for if I may say so the gentleman wouldn’t strike one as a Britisher, doubtless owning to his having been away from England so much, sir. It was when he said that that I remembered the occasion of our former――that is to say, the occasion when I had seen him before.”

“Really?” asked Loring interestedly. “Go on, Wattles. Shoot the works.”

“I beg pardon, sir?” said Wattles startledly.

“Meaning tell the whole story,” laughed Loring.

“Very good, sir, though there’s not much to tell. I may not have mentioned it to you before, Mr. Loring, but the reason I came to this country was the War.”

“The War! No, you never told me that, Wattles.”

“Yes, sir. You see, they wouldn’t have me on account of my eyes. Myopia they called it. I tried to get in twice, Mr. Loring, but I couldn’t wangle it. I don’t think folks were so unreasonable on this side, sir, but over there in England they made it frightfully uncomfortable for chaps like me. Slackers they called us, and worse than that, Mr. Loring. I couldn’t stand it after a bit, and I came over here. But that’s got nothing to do with what I started to tell you. After I’d been here about three years I happened down the avenue in New York, sir, and there was a gentleman, a British officer in uniform, making a speech from a platform. In Madison Square it was, I believe. Well, sir, I listened to him for quite a while. He spoke well. Told about what the Tommies and the others had to go through in the trenches, and put it fairly strong, sir. You understand, Mr. Loring, he was speaking for one of the Liberty Bond drives, as they called them. Well, sir, he put it over nicely, and there was a lot that heard him that dug right down on the spot. I remember there was a placard behind him that said ‘Give Till It Hurts!’ and he turned to it and said, ‘That’s the idea, men! Give till it hurts! Not you, mind! It’s not you it will hurt! It’s the enemy! Every dollar you loan to your Government hurts him! And you’ve got to go on hurting him until he can’t stand it any longer! Give till it hurts!’ Well, sir, maybe those weren’t his exact words, but they’re like what he said, and they hit hard, Mr. Loring. I’d bought two bonds, but I stepped up and I took another one, sir!”

“And that was Mr. Cooper!” exclaimed Loring.

“Yes, sir, that was him. A fine looking soldier he looked, too, Mr. Loring, and not till he’d finished his speech did I see that he had to use a crutch to walk back to the chair, sir.”

“He’d been wounded, eh? Gee, that’s interesting! And I’m sort of relieved, Wattles, because I rather gathered from the way you spoke that when you saw him before he wasn’t――well, that there was something a bit off-color about him.”

“Yes, Mr. Loring, I felt that way about it myself; rather as if the gentleman was connected with some unpleasant incident. Memory’s a very odd thing, sir. You see, I didn’t want to buy that bond; leastways, I did and I didn’t, Mr. Loring, if you understand me. I thought I couldn’t afford it, sir, but then, talking like he did, I couldn’t help buying it. Maybe I had that in my mind, do you see? Not wanting to buy that bond and him just making me! Likely, Mr. Loring, that was where the unpleasantness――er――came into it!”

“Wattles,” chuckled Loring, “you’re a scream.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Wattles. “The other leg, please, sir.”