CHAPTER XIX
FRIENDS FALL OUT
TIM didn't enjoy supper very much that evening. The game had left himpretty weary of body and mind, and on top of that was Don and histrouble, and try as he might he couldn't get them out of his thoughts.Mr. Robey was not at table; someone said he had gone to New York forover Sunday; and so Tim didn't have to make a pretence of eating morethan he wanted. And he wanted very little. A slice of cold roast beef,rather too rare to please him, about an eighth of one of the inevitablebaked potatoes, a few sips of milk and a corner of a slice of toast ashard as a shingle, and Tim was more than satisfied. Tonight he was notespecially interested in the talk, which, as usual after a game, was allfootball, and didn't see any good reason for sitting there after he hadfinished and listening to it. All during his brief meal he was on thealert for any mention of Don's name, and more than once he glared,almost encouragingly, at Holt. But Holt had already learned his lessonand was doing very little talking, and none at all about Don. Nor wasthe absent player's name mentioned by anyone at that table, althoughwhat might be being said of him at the other Tim had no way of knowing.He stayed on a few minutes after he had finished, eyeing the apple-sauceand graham crackers coldly, and then asked Steve Edwards to excuse him.
"Off his feed," remarked Carmine as Tim passed down the dining hall onhis way out. "First time I ever saw old Tim have nerves."
"It's Don Gilbert, probably," said Clint Thayer. "They're great pals.Tim's worried about him, I guess."
"What do you make of it, Steve?" asked Crewe, helping himself to a thirdslice of meat.
"What is there to make of it?" asked Steve carelessly. "The chap's allout of shape, I suppose. I don't know what his trouble is, but I guesshe's a goner for this year."
"It's awfully funny, isn't it?" asked Rollins. "Gilbert always struck meas an awfully plucky player."
"Has anyone said he isn't?" inquired Clint quietly.
"N-no, no, of course not!" Rollins flushed. "I didn't mean anything likethat, Clint. Only I don't see----"
"He hasn't been looking very fit lately," offered Harry Walton. "Inoticed it two or three days ago. Too bad!"
"Yes, you're feeling perfectly wretched about it, I guess," said bigThursby drily, causing a smile around the table. Walton shrugged andrewarded the speaker with one of his smiles that were alwaysunfortunately like leers.
"Oh, I can feel sorry for him," said Walton, "even if I do get hisplace. Gilbert gave me an awfully good fight for it."
"Oh, was there a fight?" asked Thursby innocently. "I didn't noticeany."
Thursby got a real laugh this time and Harry Walton joined in to savehis face, but with no very good grace.
"If anyone has an idea that Don Gilbert is scared and quit for thatreason," observed St. Clair, "he'd better keep it to himself. Or,anyhow, he'd better not air it when Tim is about. He nearly bit my headoff in the gym because I said that Don was a chump to give up like thisa week before the Claflin game. Tim flared up like--like a gasolinetorch and wanted to fight! I didn't mean a thing by my innocent remark,but I had the dickens of a time trying to prove it to Tim! And he almostjumped into you, too, didn't he, Holt?"
"Yes, he did, the touchy beggar! You all heard what Robey said, and----"
"I didn't hear," interrupted Steve, "and----"
"Why, he said----"
"And, as I was about to remark, Holt, I don't want to. And it will bejust as decent for those who did hear to forget. Robey says lots ofthings he doesn't mean or believe. Perhaps that was one of them. I'm forDon. If he says he's sick, he is sick. You've all seen him play for twoyears and you ought to know that there isn't a bit of yellow anywhere inhis make-up."
"That's so," agreed several, and others nodded, Holt amongst them.
"I didn't say he was a quitter, Steve. I was only repeating what Robeysaid, and Tim happened to hear me. Gee, I like Don as well as any ofyou. Gee, didn't I play a whole year with him on the second?"
"Gee, you did indeed!" replied Crewe, and, laughing, the fellows pushedback their chairs and left the table.
Tim didn't hurry on his way along the walk to Billings, for he wasearnestly trying to think of some scheme that would take Don's mind offhis trouble that evening. Perhaps he could get Don to take a good, longwalk. Walking always worked wonders in his own case when, as veryinfrequently happened, he had a fit of the blues. Yes, he would proposea walk, he told himself. And then he groaned at the thought of it, forhe was very tired and he ached in a large number of places!
Only a few windows were lighted in Billings as he approached it, formost of the fellows were still in dining hall and the rule requiring theturning out of lights during absence from rooms was strictly enforced.Only the masters were exempted, and Tim noticed as he passed Mr. Daley'sstudy that the droplight was turned low by one of those cunning dimmingattachments which Tim had always envied the instructor the possessionof. Tim would have had one of those long ago could he have put it to anypractical use. He passed through the doorway and down the dimly lightedcorridor, the rubber-soled shoes which he affected in all seasons makinglittle sound. He was surprised to see that no light showed through thetransom of Number 6, and he paused outside the door a moment. PerhapsDon was asleep. In that case, it would be just as well to not disturbhim. But, on the other hand, he might be just sitting there in the darkbeing miserable. Tim turned the knob and pushed the door open.
The light from the corridor and the fact that Don had stopped startledlyat the sound of the turning knob prevented an actual collision betweenthem. Tim, pushing the door slowly shut behind him, viewed Donquestioningly. "Hello," he said, "where are you going?"
"For a walk," replied Don.
"Why the coat and umbrella? And--oh, I see!" Tim's glance took in thebag and comprehension dawned. "So that's it, eh?"
There was an instant of silence during which Tim closed the door andleaned against it, hands in pockets and a thoughtful scowl on his face.Finally:
"Yes, that's it," said Don defiantly. "I'm off for home."
"What's the big idea?"
"You know well enough, Tim. I--I'm not going to stay here and be--bepointed out as a quitter. I'm----"
"Wait a sec! What are you doing now but quitting, you several sorts of ablind mule? Think you're helping things any by--by running away? Don'tbe a chump, Donald."
"That's all well enough for you. It isn't your funeral. I don't carewhat they say about me if I don't have to hear it. I'm sorry, Tim,but--but I've just got to do it. I--there's a note for you in your bed.I didn't expect you'd be back before I left."
"I'll bet you didn't, son!" said Tim grimly. "Now let me tell yousomething, Don. You're acting like a baby, that's what you're doing!It's all fine enough to say that you don't care what fellows say as longas you don't hear it, but you don't mean it, Don. You would care. And sowould I. If you don't want them to think you a quitter, for the love ofmud don't run away like--like one!"
"I've thought of all that, Tim, but it's the only thing to do."
"The only thing to do, your grandmother! The thing to do is to stickaround and show folks that you're _not_ a quitter. Don't you see thatgetting out is the one thing that'll make them believe Robey was right?"
"Oh, I dare say, but I've made up my mind, Tim. I'm going to get thatseven-one train, old man, and I'll have to beat it. If you want to walkalong to the station with me----"
"And carry your bag?" asked Tim sweetly. He turned the key in the lockand then dropped it in his pocket. Don took a stride forward, but wasmet by Tim's challenging frown. "There's no seven-one train for youtonight, Donald," said Tim quietly, "nor any other night. Put your bagdown, old dear, and hang your overcoat back in the closet."
"Will you unlock that door?" Demanded Don angrily]
"Don't act like a silly ass," begged Don. "Put that key back and let meout, Tim!"
"Yes, I will--like fun! The only way you'll get that key will be bytaking it out of my pocket, and by the time you do that the seven-onetrain will be half-way
to the city."
"Please, Tim! You're not acting like a good chum! Just you think----"
"That's just what I am acting like," returned Tim, stepping past theother and switching on the lights. "And you'll acknowledge it tomorrow.Just now you're sort of crazy in the head. I'll humour you as much aspossible, Donald, but not to the extent of letting you make a perfectchump of yourself. Sit down and behave."
"Tim, I want that key," said Don sternly.
Tim shrugged. "Can't have it, Don, unless you fight for it. And I'm notsure you'd get it then. Now look here----"
"You've no right to keep me here!"
"I don't give a hang whether I've got the right or not. You're going tostay here."
"There are other trains," said Don coldly. "You can't keep that doorlocked forever."
"I don't intend to try, but it'll stay locked until the last traintonight has whistled for the crossing back there. Make up your mind tothat, son!"
Don looked irresolutely from Tim to the door and back again. He didn'twant to fight Tim the least bit in the world. He wasn't so sure now thathe wanted to get that train, either. But, having stated his purpose, hefelt it encumbent on him to carry it out. Then his gaze fell on thewindows and he darted toward them.
But Tim had already thought of that way of escape and before Don hadtraversed half the distance from door to windows Tim had planted himselfresolutely in the way. "No you don't, Donald," he said calmly. "You'llhave to lick me first, boy, and I'm feeling quite some scrappy!"
"I don't want to lick you," said Don irritably, "but I mean to get thattrain. You'd better either give up that key or stand out of my way,Tim."
"Neither, thanks. And, look here, if we get to scrapping Horace willhear us and then you won't get away in any case. Be sensible, Don, andgive it up. It can't be done, old man."
"Will you unlock that door?" demanded Don angrily.
"No, confound you, I won't!"
"Then I'm going out by the window!"
"And I say you're not." Tim swiftly peeled off his coat. "Anyway, not intime to get that train."
Don dropped his bag to the floor and tossed overcoat and umbrella on hisbed. "I've given you fair warning, Tim," he said in a low voice. "Idon't want to hurt you, but you'd better stand aside."
"I don't want to get hurt, Don," replied the other quietly, "but if youinsist, all right. I'm doing what I'd want you to do, Don, if I wentcrazy in the head. You may not like it now, but some day you'll tell meI did right."
"You're acting like a fool," answered Don hotly. "It's no business ofyours if I want to get out of here. Now you let me pass, or it'll be theworse for you!"
"Don, will you listen to reason? Sit down calmly for five minutes andlet's talk this thing over. Will you do that?"
"No! And I won't be dictated to by you, Tim Otis! Now get out of theway!"
"You'll have to put me out," answered Tim with set jaw. "And you'regoing to find that hard work, Donald. We're both going to get horriblymussed up, and----"
But Tim didn't finish his remark, for at that instant Don rushed him.Tim met the onslaught squarely and in a second they were strugglingsilently. No blows were struck. Don was bent only on getting the otherout of the way and making his escape through the open window there,while Tim was equally resolved that he should do nothing of the sort. Inspite of Don's superior weight, the two boys were fairly equallymatched, and for a minute or two they strained and tussled withoutadvantage to either. Then Tim, his arms wrapped around Don's body likeiron bands, forced the latter back a step and against a chair which wentcrashing to the floor. Don tore at the encircling arms, panting.
"I don't--want to--hurt you," he muttered, "but--I will--if youdon't--let go!"
There was no answer from Tim, but the grip didn't relax. Don worked ahand under the other's chin and tried to force his head back. Tim gave alittle and they collided with the window-seat, stumbled and slidtogether to the floor, Don on top. For a moment they writhed andthrashed and then Don worked his right arm loose, slowly tore Tim'sleft hand away and held it down to the floor.
"Let go or I'll punch you, Tim," he panted.
"Punch--ahead!"
Don strained until he felt Tim's other hand giving, and then, with asudden fling of his body, rolled clear and jumped to his feet. But Timwas only an instant behind him and, panting and dishevelled, the twoboys confronted each other, silent.
"I'm going out there," said Don after a moment.
Tim only shook his head and smiled crookedly.
"I am, Tim, and--and you mustn't try to stop me this time!"
"I've--got to, Don!"
"I'm giving you fair warning!"
"I know."
Don took a deeper breath and stepped forward. "Don't touch me!" hewarned. But Tim was once more in his path, hands stretched to clutch andhold. "Out of my way, Tim! Fair warning!" Don's face was white and hiseyes blazing.
"No!" whispered Tim, and crouched.
Then Don went on again. Tim threw himself in the way, a fist shot outand Tim, with a grunt, went back against the pillows and slippedheavily to the floor.
Don's hands fell to his sides and he stared bewilderedly. Then, with agroan, he dropped to his knees and raised Tim's head from the floor."Gee, but I'm sorry, Timmy!" he stammered. "I didn't mean to do it,honest! I was crazy, I guess! Timmy, are you all right!"
Tim's eyes, half-closed, fluttered, he drew a deep breath and his headrolled over against Don's arm.
"Timmy!" cried Don anxiously. "_Timmy!_ Don't you hear me! I didn't hityou awfully hard, Timmy!"
Tim sighed. "What--time is it?" he murmured.
"Time? Never mind the time. Are you all right, Tim?"
Tim opened his eyes and grinned weakly. "Hear the birdies sing, Don! Itwas a lovely punch! Help me up, will you?"
Don lifted him to the window-seat. "I'm horribly sorry, Tim," he saidabjectedly. "I--I didn't know what I was doing, chum! I wish--I wishyou'd hand me one, Tim! Go on, will you?"
Tim laughed weakly. "It's all right, Donald. Just give me a minute toget my breath. Gee, things certainly spun around there for a second!"
"Where'd I hit you?"
"Right on the point of the jaw." Tim felt of the place gingerly. "Noharm done, though. It just sort of--jarred me a bit. What time is it?"
Don glanced at the tin alarm clock on his dresser. "Ten of seven," heanswered. "What's that got to do with it?"
"Well, you can't make the seven-one now, Donald, unless you fly all theway, can you?"
"Oh!" said Don, rather blankly. "I--I'd forgotten!"
"Good thing," muttered Tim. "Wish you'd forgotten before! If anyone evertells you you're a nice good-natured, even-tempered chap, Don, don't youbelieve him. You send 'em to me!"
"I didn't know I could lose my temper like that," replied the othershamefacedly. "Timmy, I'm most awfully sorry about it. You believe that,don't you?"
"Sure!" Tim laughed. "But I'll bet you're not half as sorry as you wouldhave been tomorrow if I'd let you go! Don, you're an awful ass, nowaren't you?"
Don nodded. "I guess I am, Timmy. And you're a--a brick, old man!"
"Huh! Any more trains to New York tonight?"
"There's one at twelve-something," answered Don, with a grin.
"Thinking of catching it?"
"Not a bit!"
"All right then." Tim dug in his pocket and then tossed the door-keybeside him on the cushion. "Better unpack your bag, you silly ass. Thenwe'll go out and get some air. I sort of need it!"
Some three hours later Tim, tossing back his bed-clothes, exclaimed:"Hello! What have we here?"
"That's just a note I wrote you," said Don hurriedly. "Hand it here,Tim."
"I should say not! I'm going to read it!"
"No, please, Tim! It's just about two or three things I was going toleave you! Hand it over, like a good chap!"
"Something you were going to leave me?" said Tim as he let Don wrest thesheet of paper from him. "Oh, I see. Well,"--he felt carefully of thelump
on his chin--"I guess you left me enough as it is, dearie!"