CHAPTER VI
IN DISGRACE
Anthony Tidball confronted Jack with a pewter spoon in one hand and asmall tin coffee-pot in the other. He was in his shirt-sleeves and abath-towel was fastened around his neck, descending in wispy folds tohis knees. On one end of the study table a second towel was laid, andupon it rested a plate of bread, a jar of preserves, a wedge of cheese,a can of condensed milk, a bowl of sugar, and cellars containing saltand pepper. Besides these Jack saw a plate appropriately surrounded byknife, fork, and spoon, and flanked by a cup and saucer. There was aperceptible, and not ungrateful, odor of cooking present. Anthony wavedthe coffee-pot hospitably, but carefully, toward the rocking-chair.
Anthony waved the coffee-pot hospitably.]
"Hello, Weatherby," he said. "Sit down."
"Wha--what are you doing?" gasped Jack.
"Cooking supper. Have some? You're just in time." He took the towelfrom his neck and, going to the gas-stove, used it to remove apie-plate from above a tiny frying-pan.
"Supper?" echoed Jack. "Do you mean that you--cook your own meals?"
"Yes," responded Anthony, calmly. He approached the table with the pan,and from it dexterously transferred six small sausages on to the emptyplate. Then he put a spoonful of milk and two spoonsful of sugar intothe bottom of the cup and filled it to the brim with steaming and veryfragrant coffee. "Yes, I've been my own chef," he continued, "eversince I came here. When Gooch and I were together it was a good dealsimpler. I got breakfast and he got supper; our lunches were just coldthings. You see, Weatherby, we're poor folks, and I couldn't stay incollege three months if I had to pay four dollars a week for meals. Asit is, it's a close haul sometimes."
"Everything looks very nice," murmured Jack, taking the chair andobserving the proceedings with frank curiosity.
"Well, if you don't object, I'll just begin operations while things arehot," said Anthony. He tucked a corner of the bath-towel under his chinand began his repast. "There's nothing sinful in poverty, they say,and of course they're right; but it's pretty hard sometimes not to beashamed of it. I don't tell every one that I cook my meals in my room.It wouldn't do. But you were certain to find it out sooner or later,and it might as well be sooner. I say, would you mind turning off thegas over there? Thanks."
"Do you mean that you can save money this way?" asked Jack as he satdown again.
"You better believe it. When Gooch and I kept house together our foodcost us about one dollar and five cents apiece every week. I guess nowit'll cost me nearer two dollars."
"But even then you're saving two dollars by not going to aboarding-house," said Jack reassuringly.
"Yes, I know," replied Anthony, as he started on his second sausage,"but four dollars a week is my limit. And I'm paying more for this roomthan I did for my half of the other one. I guess I'll have to retrencha while. Dad pays my tuition and I look after the rest myself. I earnenough in the summer taking out fishing parties and the like of that tolast me. Last summer was a poor season, though; fish wouldn't bite andfolks wouldn't go out with me. However, I got a scholarship, and thathelped some. But I'm sailing a good deal nearer the wind than I didlast year. And next week I've got to go over to Robinson, and I guessthat will just about bankrupt me for a while."
"What are you going there for?" Jack inquired.
"Debate."
"Of course!" cried the other. "I remember now! I couldn't think whereI'd heard your name. Why, you're the president of the Lyceum, aren'tyou? and the crack debater? The fellow who won for Erskine last yearwhen every one expected to be beaten?"
"Well, something of that sort," replied the junior. "Anyhow, I've gotto go to Robinson next week. If we're defeated after I've gone and paidfive dollars and eighty cents in railroad fares----!"
Words failed him and he finished the last of the sausages with a wofulshake of his head.
"What are our chances?" asked Jack.
"About the same as last year, I guess. We may and we mayn't. Robinson'sgot a fellow, named Heath, this year that's a wonder, they say. We'velost Browning and Soule, and that leaves us sort of weak."
"I'd like to go," said Jack, "but I don't believe I could afford it."
"Wish you could," Anthony responded heartily. "We need all the supportwe can get. If it was a football game, now, I guess the whole collegewould go along. As it is, I suppose we'll have about two dozen besidethe speakers. Did you ever try condensed milk with raspberry jam?"
Jack had to acknowledge that he never had.
"It's right good," said Anthony, spreading a generous spoonful of themixture on a slice of bread. "If you kind of shut your eyes and don'tthink about it the condensed milk tastes like thick cream."
Jack watched in silence a moment. Then--
"I took your advice," he announced.
"Saw Perkins, you mean? What did he say?"
"Said it was all right; said he was glad to have me."
"That's good."
"And I met Professor White in the yard."
"What happened?" asked Anthony, turning his lean, spectacled facetoward the other in evident interest. Jack recounted the conversationand Anthony grinned.
"Pretty cheeky, though, weren't you?"
"I suppose I was," Jack acknowledged. "But I don't care; he had nobusiness saying I was boorish. He--he's a cad!"
"Easy there! Don't call names, Weatherby; it's a mean way to fight.White's not as bad as he seems to you. He's made a mistake and when hediscovers the fact he'll be the first to acknowledge it. You'll see."
Anthony produced his brier pipe and began to smoke.
"Bother you much to-day, did they?" he asked.
"Some. I can stand it, I suppose."
"They'll get tired pretty soon and forget it," said the other kindly."Keep your hand on the tiller, take a couple of reefs in your temper,and watch out. There's your supper bell."
"Yes, I must wash up. Are you going to be busy to-night?"
"Not to hurt. Come in and bring your knitting."
"I will," said Jack gratefully.
The growing friendship with the new lodger was the one bright featurein Jack's existence at this time, and during the next few weeks hefrequently found himself viewing with something that was almostequanimity the occurrence at the river and its results, since amongthe latter was his acquaintance with Anthony Tidball. Anthony hadhosts of acquaintances, but few friends; friends, he declared, weretoo expensive. But he adopted Jack during the first week of theiracquaintance, and at once became guardian, mentor, and big brother allrolled into one. Jack went to him with his troubles--and he had a goodmany in those days--and listened to his advice, and generally actedupon it. It was a new and delightful experience to the younger boy tohave a chum, and he made the most of it, resorting to Anthony's roomwhenever he wanted society, and interrupting the junior's studying ina way that would have summoned a remonstrance from any one save thegood-hearted victim. Anthony always laid aside his books and pens,filled his pipe, took one foot into his lap, and listened or talkedwith unfailing good nature. And after Jack had taken himself off,Anthony would discard his pipe and buckle down to work in a mightyeffort to make up for lost time, not infrequently sitting with thegas-stove between his knees long after the village clock had strucktwelve, and every one else in the house was fast asleep.
Sometimes they took walks together, for both were fond of beingoutdoors, and it became a common thing to see the tall, awkward juniorstriding alongside the freshman and leaning down near-sightedly tocatch his words. For a while the college world wondered and exclaimed.Tidball was a person of vast importance, a queer, quiet, serious sortof fellow, but a master at study and debate, a man whose counsels wereasked for and hearkened to with deep respect, and in general opiniona person who would be heard from in no uncertain way in the future.Hence, when the college saw that Tidball had taken up Weatherby, thecollege began to suspect that it had very possibly been overhastyin its judgment of the latter youth. Indications of this began to beapparent even to Jack;
fellows were less uneasy when lack of otherseats made it necessary for them to sit beside him at Chapel or atrecitations; several times he was greeted by name, rather shamefacedlyto be sure, by members of his own class; and baseball practise becameless of an ordeal for him, since the candidates generally showed adisposition to recognize his existence and speak him fair. But ifthese condescending ones looked for evidences of gratitude from Jackthey were doomed to disappointment. He returned greetings politely butwithout cordiality, and made not the least move toward grasping thehand of fellowship so hesitatingly and doubtingly advanced.
"If I was not good enough to associate with before," he told himself,"I'm no better now, merely because one man of prominence walks acrossthe yard with me."
He had never accepted Joe Perkins's invitation to call. He was gratefulto the captain for the friendliness the latter had shown him, andcontinued to show him on every occasion. But Perkins believed him acoward, just as the others did. Joe repeated his invitation twice andthen gave it up. Yet the more he saw of Jack the more he was inclinedto doubt the fairness of the general verdict, and so, in spite ofduties that took up practically every minute of his waking hours,he found time to write a letter to his cousin, Billy Cromwell, inAuburn. Eventually he received a reply. There were eight sheets of italtogether, as was natural, considering that Billy hadn't written toJoe previously for something over six months, but only a small portionof the epistle is of interest here.
"I know Jack Weatherby very well [Billy wrote]. His folks and mine areold acquaintances. His father has a farm near here, but never has donevery well with it, I believe. You know what some of our farms hereaboutare; the Weatherby place is like them, only more so. Jack's a smart,plucky youngster; a good sort all through. If you can help him alongyou'll be doing me a favor. And I think you'll like him if you knowhim better. And if you can get him on to the nine you'll be doing wellfor the nine, I promise you. Jack's one of those dependable chaps thatyou meet about once in a thousand years; if he says he'll knock out atwo-bagger, he'll do it. And he isn't afraid of work or anything else.That's about all, I think. You said you wanted to know all I could tellyou about Jack, and I think I've told it. Remember me to him when yousee him."
Joe folded the letter and put it back in the envelope.
"I never knew Billy to get taken in by any one yet," he said tohimself, "and so I fancy we've sized up young Weatherby all wrong. I'llhave another talk with him. Only--how to get hold of him?"