Forward Pass: A Story of the "New Football"

by Ralph Henry Barbour

But Dan assured him that he was still capable of lifting himself up, and proved it. The man put the pillows behind him and then in a most surprising way swung the top of the stand around over the bed so that the tray was right under Dan’s nose. By this time, having got his eyes fully open, Dan saw that the man wore a swallow-tail coat and showed a vivid expanse of white shirt-front. Perhaps he wasn’t a servant, after all, Dan reflected.

“If there’s anything you want, sir, just ring the bell,” said the man. The bell, a little silver affair, stood on the tray. “One of the maids is in the hall, sir, and will hear it.”

“Thank you,” said Dan. “Are you the butler?”

“No, sir, I’m the second man.”

“Oh,” said Dan vaguely. “Thank you.” Then he took up his spoon and set to work and the servant left the room with noiseless tread. As he ate, Dan looked about him and sighed comfortably. There were lights on all sides of the big room but the pink silk shades subdued them so that the room was filled with a soft, roseate glow. On the big dresser the silver toilet articles and cut glass bottles caught the light and glimmered richly. The big roses on the walls were repeated in the draperies at the windows and looked so fresh and natural that Dan was almost convinced that he could pick them off were he able to reach them. Over the footboard of the gleaming brass bedstead lay a silk quilt, and that too, was a mass of pink roses. This, he concluded, was the guest chamber. He recalled the guest chamber at home. It had always seemed to him a very magnificent apartment until now. Then he recollected the fact that his soup was getting cold and that he was very hungry.

Ten minutes later that repast was only a memory and not a crumb was left to tell the tale. And he was still hungry. He wondered what would happen if he rang the bell and demanded a sirloin steak and a baked potato. Probably he would get it, but a sirloin steak in that room would seem a desecration, and he resisted the temptation. He found that he had only to swing the tray around to get it out of the way. That was interesting, and he amused himself for a minute in swinging it back and forth. Then he thumped the pillows and settled down in bed again. His burns smarted a good deal, but he told himself that it was worth a little pain to be installed in the midst of such luxury and be waited on by the second man. Presently he became sleepy again and dozed and awoke and dozed again and felt very comfortable and contented. Once, just what time it was he didn’t know, he got quite widely awake and found that tray and stand had disappeared and that all the lights were out save one. That, thought Dan sleepily, meant that it was bedtime. So he did the sensible thing and went to sleep in a business-like way and didn’t wake up again until the sunlight was streaming in at the two big east windows.

Breakfast appeared after awhile and Dan learned that he was free to get up and make his toilet and dress himself. The breakfast was as generous as the dinner had been frugal, and after he had finished it Dan was doubtful of his ability to get up. But a quarter of an hour later he was dressed and a maid knocked on the door and brought a message that Mr. Pennimore would like to see him downstairs. So Dan slicked his hair down again, glanced ruefully at his burnt coat and trousers and found the maid waiting for him outside. Dan was heartily glad of her assistance, for he was certain that he would never have reached Mr. Pennimore alone because the house was like a hotel, and doors and passages and stairways turned up everywhere. Mr. Pennimore was in the library, a big high-ceilinged apartment whose walls were hidden behind book-cases and tapestries. There was a cracking log fire in an immense stone fireplace half way down one side of the room, and in front of this Mr. Pennimore was standing reading some letters as the maid held aside the curtains at the door and Dan entered. Mr. Pennimore looked up and came forward to meet him.

“Well, my boy,” he said, “how do you feel?”

“All right, sir, thanks,” answered Dan as he shook hands. Mr. Pennimore led him to a big leather chair in front of the fire and pushed him gently into it. Then he laid the letters he held on the high stone mantel and took his stand on the hearth rug. What bothered Dan about Mr. Pennimore was the fact that he didn’t look at all as one would imagine a Steamship King ought to. There was nothing nautical in Mr. Pennimore’s appearance. Instead he looked like a retired banker. He was rather a small man, very trim, scrupulously attentive to details of attire, with a thoughtful face and a pair of black eyes that were kindly and shrewd. In age he appeared to be between fifty and fifty-five and his dark hair, grizzled a little at the temples, had not retreated very far from the forehead. He wore a mustache and a short beard and had, Dan soon noticed, a habit of tugging gently at the latter with thumb and forefinger. He was doing it now while Dan waited for him to speak.

“Well, Vinton, my boy has told me what happened yesterday and I quite agree with your estimate of him. He is a silly kid, as you remarked.” Mr. Pennimore smiled. Dan colored up.