Hugh reported to Mr. Crowley the next afternoon dressed for play. The second team coach viewed him with an unflattering lack of enthusiasm. “Are you square with the office?” he asked. Hugh assured him that he was. Mr. Crowley glanced doubtfully about the field and then grunted. “All right. Get in there and catch some of those punts.” That was all. Evidently, Hugh reflected, his advent was not a matter of as much importance to Mr. Crowley as it was to him.
His appearance with the squad aroused not a little surprise among his team-mates. In one or two cases, he thought, it aroused resentment as well. He knew few of the fellows save by sight. Neil Ayer, the first-choice quarter-back, was a speaking acquaintance, and so, to a lesser extent, was Hauser, who played left half. But the rest were practically strangers to him. He was relieved to find that his enforced idleness had not cost him what skill he had acquired, and he couldn’t see but that he caught, threw and handled the pigskin generally as well as half the fellows in the squad. Mr. Crowley made him known to Captain Myatt later, and Myatt, who was a big, likable chap, won Hugh’s instant affection by being very nice to him. One would have thought from Myatt’s words that Hugh was doing him the biggest sort of a favor by joining the squad. Hugh didn’t get into signal work, for he didn’t know the code, but he trudged along behind and listened and watched and picked up a good deal of useful knowledge that afternoon. Later, when the second took the field to play two ten-minute periods with the first, Hugh and three others were sent off out of the way with a football and put in the time punting and catching. At supper time, armed with his napkin-ring and a bottle of marmalade, his private property, he joined the training table in Manning.
There were just twenty youths at the long table which was set up in a corner of the big dining hall in the junior dormitory, and Mr. Crowley presided at the head. Hugh felt a bit strange at supper that first evening and was conscious of the puzzled regard of some of his companions. Doubtless they wondered at his sudden advent with the team. There was no ill-feeling in evidence, however, and Hugh got through the meal without much conversation and felt somewhat relieved when chairs were pushed back. At training table, in order that no one should hurry through his meal at the risk of indigestion, it was a rule that all must remain until the coach gave the word. Consequently, if one did bolt his food it profited him nothing since he was obliged to sit there and watch his neighbors finish, and fellows who had the “quick lunch” habit soon got over it. Mr. Crowley made occasional exceptions to the rule, but one had to put forward a pretty convincing plea.
Tonight the team left the table together and Hugh passed down the corridor in the rear of the group. When he reached the entrance several of the second team members had paused just outside the doorway and Hugh’s passage was blocked. After pausing an instant for the others to go on down the steps or move aside, he said: “I beg your pardon,” and edged through. A short, broad-bodied youth glanced around and instantly pulled a companion out of the way.
“Gangway, Charley!” he exclaimed. “Let the British Aristocracy pass. My word, we fawncy ourself a bit, eh, what?”
Hugh recognized the speaker as Brewster Longley, the team’s center. He was broad of shoulder and hip, short-necked and short-limbed, with a round face surmounted by very black hair which, close-cropped, looked like the bristles of a blacking brush. He was called “Brew” Longley and was a very clever center. Hugh’s brief glance expressed surprise as he passed down the steps. He had never spoken to Longley and the latter’s unexpected “ragging” disconcerted him. As he went off along the path he heard an amused laugh from the occupants of the steps and resented it. He had half a mind to turn back. But the next instant his flash of anger left him and he mentally shrugged his shoulders and dismissed the incident.
Bert was not at home when Hugh reached the study, but he came in soon after looking cross and worried. Hugh’s efforts at conversation were not successful, for Bert answered in monosyllables and showed an evident disinclination to talk. Animated by good resolutions regarding study, for he meant to keep his present class standing if it was possible and so follow the earnest advice of Mr. Rumford, Hugh got his books together and seated himself at his table. But it was hard to get his mind on lessons when Bert was wandering aimlessly from bedroom to study and from study back to bedroom. Finally Hugh ventured a good-natured protest and to his bewilderment Bert turned on him angrily.
“Oh, dry up!” he snarled. “If you don’t like my moving around you take your books in your room. I’ve got as much right here as you have.”
“I didn’t say you hadn’t,” replied Hugh, after the first moment of astonishment. “What are you so waxy about? I only asked you not to——”
“Well, I’ll walk around here just as much as I please,” growled the other. “You make me weary, anyhow, you and your airs! I didn’t ask to have a blooming Britisher wished on me, if you care to know it!”