“I’m afraid I showed up pretty poorly,” said Russell. “I had no idea a fellow could go stale so soon, Gaston.”
“I know.” Gaston nodded. “You were all right, though. Get some one to work out the kinks in your muscles to-night. A good hot bath will help, if you get right into bed afterwards. I’ll let you off easy to-morrow. How did the team strike you?”
Russell hesitated, for it hadn’t occurred to him before to consider that subject. “Pretty fair,” he said at last. “It’s early yet.”
“It’s never early when it comes to getting a team in shape,” responded the coach. “I’ve got the stuff there, Emerson, but I don’t get it out. I will, though, by ginger! I’m going to make that bunch deliver the goods. Well, good night. Take care of yourself.”
[CHAPTER XIII]
THE NEW ASSISTANT
“If I only had a tin dinner-pail!” reflected Jimmy regretfully as he turned into West street the next morning and caught sight of the gay sign above the doorway of Number 112. His enthusiasm had brought him there at a minute after half-past eight and to his surprise the store was still locked. But Russell had provided him with a key and Jimmy thrust it into the lock with an important air and swung open the creaking door. The place exhaled a stale odor of withered flowers, and Jimmy traversed the long aisle and threw open the rear door as well. From the unwillingness displayed by the bolts he judged that that portal was seldom disturbed. He looked out. There was a diminutive yard there surrounded by a sagging board fence and littered with boxes and rubbish. A gate gave onto a narrow alley beyond which was another fence above whose rim could be seen the trees and white gables and red chimney-tops of the residences on State street. Jimmy went back into the store and looked about him. Through the front door came the morning sunlight, displaying to his disapproving gaze a very dirty floor.
“Might as well do the thing right,” said Jimmy to himself. In a dark corner stood a dilapidated broom. In the back yard he had noted a box half-full of sawdust. Jimmy removed his coat, folded it, placed it beneath the counter alongside the cigar box that did duty as a money drawer for the Sign of the Football, and went to work. A small sink at the back of the store provided water, and Jimmy moistened the sawdust thoroughly and then, starting at the front of the place, sprinkled it lavishly. After that, whistling blithely, he went to work. Now and then he paused to observe a passer or to watch hopefully some one who had paused outside the window. But no one infringed on his solitude; no one, that is, until Jimmy had the sawdust swept nearly to the back door. Then it was Mr. J. Warren Pulsifer who appeared.
He showed no surprise at Jimmy’s presence. Perhaps he had overheard the arrangements being made yesterday. But he did show a concern that almost amounted to disapproval. “H’m,” he said sadly, viewing the thick windrow of dirty sawdust in front of the boy’s broom. “H’m.”