Left End Edwards Part 27

"What's up, Jack?" he asked of the centre. Innes shrugged his big shoulders.

"Oh, just a sc.r.a.p. Run along, you fellows. It's all over."

"It isn't over!" declared Steve, still trying to detach himself from the big fellow's grasp. "He's got to take it back! He's got to take it back or fight!"

"Cut it out, Edwards!" said Miller sternly. "Don't act like a kid.

What's the trouble, Eric, anyway?"

"Oh, this kid got fresh with me," replied Eric with a malevolent glare at Steve. "Said I had piano legs----" There was an audible snicker from some of the audience--"and I told him to shut up and he made a swipe at me and I shoved him away. That's all."

"He said I cheated!" raged Steve.

"So you did. You stole Upton's French comp. out of Daley's room and he found it on your table."

"That's a lie! I don't know how that book got there. Mr. Daley will tell you----"

"Cut it, Edwards! I saw you carry the book out of the room myself! Now what do you say?"

"I say you lie! I say----"

"Stop that, Edwards!" Miller turned to Eric. "You've got no right to say things like that, Eric, and you know it. I don't believe he did anything of the sort. If he had, Mr. Daley would have had him expelled. Now you two fellows stop squabbling. You've been at it all the fall. If you don't, I'll see that you both lose your positions. And that goes!"

"Then tell him to let me alone," replied Eric with a shrug.

"Oh, forget it, Sawyer," exclaimed a voice down the pa.s.sage. "You're twice as big as he is. Let the kid alone."

"Sure, I'll let him alone," growled Eric with an angry glare in the direction of the speaker. "Only he's got to stop getting fresh with me.

I've warned him half-a-dozen times."

"And you'll have to warn me half-a-dozen more times," responded Steve grimly, "if you think I'm going to stand around and be called names. If I were as big as you are, you wouldn't dare----"

"That'll be about all from both of you," said Andy Miller. "Now beat it.

If I hear of any more trouble from either of you while the season lasts, I'll have you both out of the game in a wink. If you've got to row, do it after we've beaten Claflin. Move on now! Get off the corner, all of yez!" And Andy good-naturedly pushed the fellows before him down the pa.s.sage. Innes released Steve, but stepped between him and Eric.

"Come on, Edwards," he said with a laugh. "Be good and get your clothes on. Cap will do just what he says he will, too. You take my advice, kid, and bury the hatchet."

Steve went back to his locker, and with trembling hands dressed himself.

Harry Westcott and Tom joined him and asked in low voices about the trouble. But Steve was non-communicative. He was wondering how much of Eric Sawyer's charge the fellows who had heard it were believing.

Finally,

"No swimming to-day?" asked Tom.

Steve shook his head. "No," he answered. "Tell the fellows, will you?

I'm--I'm too tired. I'm sorry."

"It's pretty late, anyway," murmured Harry. Together the three crossed the room toward the door. Already, as it seemed to Steve, fellows were regarding him suspiciously. Eric was not in sight, having gone on to his bath, for which two at least of the trio were thankful. Harry left them at the corner of Torrence, and Steve and Tom went on in silence to their room. Somehow it seemed difficult nowadays for them to find things to talk about. Steve resolutely sat himself down and drew his books toward him, while Tom, after fidgetting around for a few minutes, announced that he was going over to the office to see if there was any mail, and went out again. Steve was glad when he had gone, for he was relieved then of further pretence of studying. He couldn't get his mind on his books. The encounter with Eric Sawyer had left him irritable and restless, and he couldn't help wondering whether the fellows believed what Eric had said. He was grateful to Andy Miller for the latter's support, but it was doubtful if Andy's words had convinced anyone. And the charge was an ugly one. Steve winced when he considered it. It had seemed to him as he had left the locker room that already the fellows there had looked at him differently. He could imagine them talking about him and weighing Eric's story. Further reflections were interrupted by the reappearance of Tom, an open letter in hand and several newspapers sticking from a pocket.

"Nothing for you but a couple of papers," he said. "What do you suppose those silly fathers of ours are doing now?"

"Fighting a duel?" asked Steve with an attempt at humour.

"Not quite," Tom answered, "but they're getting ready for a law-suit."

"What about?"

"I can't make out," replied the other disgustedly, scanning the letter again. "It's something about some contract for building supplies, though. Gee, they make me tired! Always squabbling!"

"Who's bringing the suit, your father or mine?" asked Steve.

"Mine," said Tom hesitantly.

"Then I don't see that you need to blame my dad for it," retorted Steve.

"It takes two to make a quarrel, though," answered Tom sagely. "I don't believe my father would start anything like that unless--unless there was some reason for it."

"Oh, I suppose my father beat him out on a contract and he got sore,"

said Steve, with a short laugh. Tom looked across in surprise and puzzlement. The tone was unlike Steve, while never before had they taken sides in their fathers' disagreements. Tom opened his mouth to reply, thought better of it and slowly returned the letter to its envelope.

"I guess it'll blow over," he said finally. "I hope so."

Steve shrugged his shoulders. "Let them fight it out," he said. "It may do them good."

The next day it was soon evident to Steve that Eric Sawyer's story of the purloined blue-book was school property. Fellows whom he knew but slightly or not at all observed him doubtfully, others greeted him more stiffly--or so Steve thought--while even in the manners of such close friends as Roy and Harry and one or two more he fancied that he could detect a difference. Much of this was probably only imagination on Steve's part, but on the other hand there were doubtless many fellows who for one reason or another chose to believe the story true. Steve was popular amongst a small circle of acquaintances and well enough liked by others who knew him only to speak to, but, naturally enough, there were fellows in school who envied him for his success at football or took exception to a certain self-sufficient air that Steve was often enough guilty of. These, together with a small number who owed allegiance to Eric Sawyer, found the story quite to their liking and doubtless told and retold it and enlarged upon it at every telling. At all events, Steve knew that gossip was busy with him. More than once conversation died suddenly away at his approach, and he told himself bitterly that the school had judged him and found him guilty. He pa.s.sed Andy Miller in the corridor between recitations, and Andy, being in a hurry and having a good many things on his mind at that moment, said, "Hi, Edwards!" in a perfunctory sort of way and went by with only a glance. Steve concluded that even Andy was against him now, in spite of his defence yesterday.

In the afternoon it seemed that there was a difference in the att.i.tudes of his team-mates on the second, and, so inflamed had his imagination become by this time, he even imagined he detected a contemptuous tone in "Boots'" speech to him! The result was that Steve "froze up solid," to use Roy's phrase, and, secretly hurt and angry, presented a scowling countenance to the world that was sufficient to discourage those who wanted and tried to let him see that they didn't believe Eric's story.

When he got back to his room after the swimming lesson that afternoon, he found Tom nursing a very red and enlarged nose. He had a wet towel in his hand and was gingerly applying it to the inflamed feature.

"What--where----" began Steve.

"Sc.r.a.p with Telford," replied Tom briefly.

"What about?" demanded Steve.

"Nothing much."

"Let's see your nose."

Tom removed the towel and Steve viewed it. "He must have given you a peach," he said critically. "What did you do?"

Tom smiled reminiscently. "Nothing much," he answered.

"Huh! Let's see your knuckles. 'Nothing much,' eh? They look it! Did faculty get on to it?"

Tom shook his head. "No, it was back of the gym. Just the two of us. It didn't last long."

"Who got the worst of it?"

"That depends on what you call the worst," answered Tom judicially. "I got this and he got one like it _and_ a black eye. At least I suppose it's black by this time. It looked promising."