“Er—er—what have you got?”
The clerk waved a hand toward the wall. “There they are,” he said with an air of long-suffering and a wink at a tall boy who was gathering up four glasses of college ice. Kendall’s gaze swept the list unseeingly.
“Vanilla, please,” he said meekly.
The tall boy pushed past him with an amused look and Kendall saw that he bore his purchases to one of the small tables at the other side of the store where three other youths sat awaiting him. When Kendall’s own glass was handed to him, a long-handled spoon sticking out from the top and a paper napkin thrust into the handle, he drew aside and looked for a place to enjoy it at his leisure. At that moment a small table in a far corner was vacated and Kendall made his way to it. A tired-looking rubber plant drooped dejectedly above it and its surface was littered with empty glasses and crumpled napkins. But Kendall pushed these aside, placed his own delectable concoction before him and seated himself.
It was awfully good, that ice cream, cold and sweet and fragrant with vanilla, and just “sting-y” enough with the soda. The first spoonful brought content and the second joy. After that he decided to make it last as long as possible, and so he leaned back in the little chair and looked about him. At the next table, only a scant yard away, was the tall youth and his three companions. Kendall supposed at first that they were Yardley fellows, but their conversation was of things quite foreign to his knowledge and when, presently, he saw that one of the quartette wore a dark green cloth cap with a white B on it he realized that he was looking for the first time on the enemy.
Broadwood Academy, Yardley’s rival, was situated about two miles from Greenburg in the opposite direction. Although slightly smaller than Yardley in point of enrollment, it was counted among the foremost preparatory schools of the East. Of course, at Yardley they made fun of it; called it a “fresh water school” because it stood inland, and pretended that it was a joke. But for all of that Broadwood Academy had long proved herself a worthy rival to the older school. Unlike Yardley, Broadwood prohibited her students from going to Greenburg on all days save Saturdays, unless by special permission, and as a consequence Saturday afternoon found the main street well sprinkled with wearers of the green.
Kendall viewed the four with new interest. They seemed rather nice-looking fellows, he thought. But already the Yardley fealty was beginning to take hold of him and he added to himself that they lacked something that Yardley boys had. As though to offer evidence, two Yardley fellows entered just then and called for sodas. Kendall knew them both by sight and one by name. The taller of the pair was Arthur Thompson, a First Class boy, captain of the Track Team and a pole-vaulter of some reputation. He was trying for the Football Team, too, for Kendall had seen him at practice several times. The other boy was considerably younger; younger even than Kendall; later the latter was to learn that his name was Harry Merrow. There was a difference between these two and the Broadwood quartette, although Kendall couldn’t have indicated it very clearly, and the difference, Kendall stoutly held, was in favor of the Yardlians. They consumed their beverages at the counter and presently passed out again to the street. They had not gone unnoticed by the Broadwood fellows, however; Kendall heard the latter discussing them in low voices.
“That’s Thompson,” said one, “the tall fellow. He’s their crack pole-vaulter. He was in wrong with the Office last year and couldn’t vault, but he will show us a thing or two next spring. They say he’s about the best prep school chap in his line, and I heard that two or three colleges have been making love to him.”
“He’s a rangy looking customer,” said another. “I hope we don’t run up against a bunch like him to-night. I like fun, but I’m not looking for slaughter.”
“Don’t shout,” counseled a third in a low voice.