He produced an envelope from his pocket and took forth a single sheet of twice-folded paper and handed it to Leonard. “Read it,” he said. Leonard opened it and saw, at the top, the name, in none too modest characters, of a New York hotel. Then he read:
“Dear Gordie:
“Well, we’re off again, old timer. Came down last night and leave in about twenty minutes for Louisiana. Saved the faculty the trouble of bouncing me. It was only an innocent childish prank, but you know how faculties are. Four of our crowd didn’t like the show at the theatre and quit it cold after the first act. There was a car outside that looked good, and the fellow who belonged to it hadn’t anchored it or locked it or anything. So we thought we’d take a little spin and come back before the show was over. How, I ask you, were we to know that the owner couldn’t stand the show either? Well, he came out and couldn’t find his bus and squealed to the police and they telephoned all around and a cop on a motor cycle pulled us in about six miles out and took us back to the station. If the guy had been the right sort it would have been O.K., but he was a sour-faced pill without an ounce of compassion and insisted on making a charge against us. We got bail all right, and yesterday morning the trifling matter was settled on a money basis, but the dickens of it was that faculty got hep and we had our rather and chose to resign instead of getting fired. Townsend’s father has a rice farm or plantation or something in Louisiana and he’s going to get me a job. There’ll be lots of riding, he says, and I guess it’ll keep me going until I can look around. We’re starting down there at eleven-thirty. I’ll write when I reach the place and send the address. I’ve forgotten the name of the town and Jim’s out getting tickets. I’ve written to Dad, but you might drop him a line, too, old timer. You know what to say, you were always the diplomat of the family. I’ll be fixed for coin, so he won’t have to worry about that. Hope everything is hunky with you, dear old pal.
“Your aff. brother,
“George.”
Leonard returned the epistle, staring at Renneker blankly. The latter laughed. “I might have known he couldn’t stick,” he said. “It’s just like the crazy coot to have it happen a week too late, too. If he’d skipped Thursday before last instead of this Thursday—” Renneker shook his head in comic resignation.
“But—but—but,” stammered Leonard, “you can play to-day, can’t you? All you’ve got to do is tell Mr. Cade!”
“My dear chap,” remonstrated the other, “one doesn’t upset the arrangements at the last moment. Oh, I did consider it, but, pshaw, what would be the good? Everything’s fixed and if I butted in I’d just muddle things horribly. Besides, I really haven’t the courage to try to explain it all in the brief time remaining. But, honest, Grant, it is a sort of a ghastly joke, isn’t it? Why don’t you laugh, you sober-face? I thought it would amuse you!”
Leonard viewed him scathingly. “Honest, Renneker,” he replied with slow and painstaking enunciation, “you give me an acute pain!”
Renneker smiled more broadly. “Good boy! Speak your mind! However, if you’ll stop being peeved and think a minute you’ll see that it wouldn’t do to upset Johnny’s apple-cart at this late hour. Besides, I haven’t brought my togs, and couldn’t play decently if I had. Why, I haven’t practiced for a week, Grant.”
“You don’t need practice,” responded Leonard earnestly. “A fellow like you—”