When Dick arrived home long after six o’clock and made a hurried trip to Sohmer to leave his suit-case and prepare sketchily for supper, he found a letter awaiting him. It was from Sumner White, he saw, and he concluded that it could wait until after supper. But, at the last moment, he seized on it as he hurried out of the room and tore the envelope open as he took the stairs three at a time, and skimmed the first page on the way along the Yard to Alumni Hall. At the bottom of the page he came on something that brought him up standing. With a perplexed frown he started back and re-read the beginning.
“I suppose you saw what we did to Norristown (Sumner wrote.) It was a corking game and Sid Nellis got his wrist broken and a lot more of us got pretty well scrapped. The score was 14 to 6, but we sure had to work for it. Jim Cleary played most of the game at full-back and was a wonder, better than Ed ever was. But I guess you read all this. The big news is that three or four of us, maybe more, will be over on the twenty-third to see you play in the Kenwood game. Charlie Stone and Will Meens and Theo Harris and I sure, and maybe Cleary and Townsend. I guess you saw the swell articles in the Sentinel last week. I meant to send you a copy, but it got lost, and anyway I guess your father saw to it. I met him on High Street a couple of days ago and he asked me what I knew about that article and I said nothing and he said it was confounded nonsense, but he acted like he thought it was pretty fine just the same, Dick. We’re coming over on the midnight from Philly and that will get us to Warne about noon Saturday. Lucky we haven’t any Saturday game, isn’t it? We hold last real practice Friday and then only do some signal drills Monday and Tuesday. So we have lots of time. Charlie Stone’s old man is sort of financing the trip, he and Mr. Harris, but we are all paying part. You mustn’t put yourself out on our account, for we know you’ll be awfully tied down that day. But we’ll dig around to your room when we get in and see you for a few minutes. Then maybe after the game we can have a good chin. Great, isn’t it? Gee, I’m crazy about it. Hope you whale Kenwood good. I’ll write again about Wednesday and let you know if any other fellows are going. A lot of them want to only they haven’t got the coin.”
Dick read that remarkable letter over twice and then stuffing it into a pocket, took up his hurried journey again. He didn’t know whether to be pleased or peeved. Of course, it was flattering that his old team-mates should want to come all that way to see him play, and he supposed he really appreciated it, but somehow it made him feel sort of foolish too. It wasn’t as if he was the captain, or even the first-choice quarter. If fellows here in Parkinson heard of it they’d think him beastly conceited and probably laugh like anything. Besides, hang it all, how did he know he would even get in on Saturday? Suppose Stone played the game right through! Of course, the coach would probably let him in for a minute or two at the end, just as he would Cardin, to get his letter, but what a fool he would feel in that case! Folks coming all the way from Leonardville, Pennsylvania, to see him do stunts and he sitting on the bench all the time! Gee, that would be fierce! He wished Sumner White and Charlie and all the others, especially including the editor of the Sentinel, would mind their own business! He was hungry enough for supper to forget the letter in his pocket save at infrequent intervals. When he did recall it the pucker returned to his forehead and he thrust a hand over the offending missive to be sure that it hadn’t got away. It would be awful if he dropped it and someone picked it up and read it!
Stanley and Blash and Rusty and he had arranged for a movie party that night. The idea had been Blash’s and Dick had at first declined to go, pleading that he would be too tired and that, besides, he had a lot of studying that ought to be done. But he had been persuaded to go, and so he got through supper rather hurriedly, knowing that the others would be waiting. He wanted to read that awful letter to Stanley and ask advice and sympathy, but he would have to wait until they got back from the movie house. On the way there he was silent, and Rusty, walking beside him, rallied him on his “pensivity.” Dick was tempted to confide in Rusty, but he resisted, perhaps wisely, and only responded that he was tired. As a matter of truth, he was, for even had he not played a minute, the trip was sufficient to weary one.
“Well, the movies will rest you,” answered Rusty gaily. “They do me, always, Dick. After I’ve studied too hard or anything I can go to a movie house and get rested wonderfully. You see, you have your mind taken from your worries, and you sort of relax your body and there you are! Besides, Dick, it’s a corking good picture tonight. And then there’s the weekly review. I like that about as well as anything, I think. ‘Bath, Maine; Largest schooner afloat is launched from yard of the builders with appropriate ceremonies.’ ‘Miss Mary Ellen Dingbottle, daughter of Senator Hiram Dingbottle, breaks a bottle of tomato catsup over the bow.’ ‘In her native element!’ ‘Los Angeles, Cal., Harold Whosthis, America’s favourite moving picture star, signs contract calling for largest salary ever paid to an actor.’ ‘Tie Siding, Wyoming. Members of Boys’ and Girls’ Hog Club hold annual parade.’ ‘Procession passing in review before Mayor Scrugg and invited guests.’ ‘Little Willie Dingfingle and his prize porker: Willie is at the left of the picture.’ ‘Minneapolis, Minn. Fire destroys million-dollar barber-shop.’ ‘Firemen fighting flames as hundreds of celluloid combs explode.’ ‘New York City. Twelve thousand——’”
“Shut up!” laughed Dick. “That’s awfully like it, though! And the picture of the burning barber-shop is thrown on the screen in red.”
“Always! Just as a picture of the Whirlpool Rapids taken from an airplane is always blue. There are certain laws that can’t be—Well, here we are. Keep your hand out of your pocket, Dick. This is Blash’s treat. When Blash shows the least sign of paying for anything, for the love of mud don’t stop him! I’m all for the encouragement of miracles! Better get ’em reserved, Blash; there’ll be a crowd tonight!” And Rusty winked gravely at Dick.
Blash, however, paid no attention to the disinterested advice, but bought the usual tickets, and the quartette made their way into the darkened theatre and peered about for seats. Fortunately, Rusty’s prophecy proved false and there were plenty of vacancies. There did not, though, appear to be four together, and while Dick suggested sitting in pairs none of the others seemed to like the notion. “Oh, no,” whispered Stanley, “let’s keep together. It’s more fun. There’ll be seats in a minute or two.”
“I see four now,” said Rusty. “On the side there, pretty well front. Come on!”
Dick thought them rather too close to the screen when he was finally seated between Blash and Rusty, with Stanley beyond the latter, but the others declared them to be just right. As Blash was usually a stickler for sitting well back, Dick was slightly puzzled. The first show was almost over and they witnessed the final exploits of Dick’s favourite movie hero through half a reel, pretending not to look. Then the house lighted and a brief intermission ensued.