Part 3 (1/2)
They left the gymnasium, and walked down the street together. Hooker had conceived a sudden, singular interest in Rackliff.
”I always wondered how you happened to come to school here at Oakdale,”
he confessed.
”Have a cigarette,” invited Herbert, extending an open, gold-mounted morocco case.
”Don't like 'em, thank you,” declined Roy.
The other boy lighted a fresh one from the stub of the last.
”So you've been speculating as to the cause of my choosing this serene, rural seat of knowledge, have you? Well, I'll own up that it wasn't my choice. I'm not very eager about burying myself alive, and if ever there was a cemetery, it's the town of Oakdale. My pater was the guilty party.”
”Oh, your father sent you here?”
”Correct. I would have chosen Wyndham, but Newbert's old man sent him down there, and my governor thought we should be kept apart in future.”
”Newbert? Who's Newbert?”
”You'll hear from him later, I fancy. _He's_ a chap who can really pitch baseball. He's my partner in crime.”
”Your what?”
”My chum. We hit it off together pretty well for the last year or so; for Dade--that's his name--is a corker. Never mind the details, and the facts concerning the precise nature of our little difficulty wouldn't interest you; but we got into a high old sc.r.a.pe, and were both expelled from school. When I found Dade's old man was going to send him to Wyndham, I put it up to my sire to let me go there also, but he got wise and chose this corner of the map for mine. You know, he came from here originally.”
”I didn't know it.”
”Yes, moved out of this tomb nearly thirty years ago. But he knew what it was like, and I presume he fancied I'd be good and safe down here, where there's absolutely nothing doing. Hence, here I am. Pity my woes.”
”Oh, well, perhaps you might stir up something around here, if you tried hard enough,” said Hooker. ”If you took an interest in baseball----”
”What good would that do me, with your dearly-beloved friend, Roger Eliot, choosing his favorites for the team? Besides, I don't think I'd care to play if I could with a bunch that had a cow-puncher for a slab artist.”
”You've got a grudge against Grant. You don't like him.”
”Great discernment,” laughed Rackliff, with a hollow cough that sent little puffs of smoke belching from his lips. ”Confidentially, I'll own up that I'm not stuck on him.”
”I'm with you. I don't go around blowing about it, but I haven't any use for that specimen from the cow country.”
”He seems to be very popular, especially with the girls,” murmured Rackliff. ”Now there's only one girl in this town that strikes me as something outside the milkmaid cla.s.s. Lela Barker is it--in italics.
Still, I'm going to admit that I don't think her taste and discernment is all it should be. Of course, she's naturally grateful to Grant for that bath he took on her account, but that's no reason why she should hand me the frosty.”
”Oh, I begin to see,” muttered Hooker, grinning a bit for the first time. ”Jealous.”
”Don't make me laugh; I might crack my face. Jealous of a cattle puncher! Excuse me! All the same, it's a bit provoking to see people s...o...b..ring over him, especially the girls, the same as if he's made of the stuff found in heroes of fiction.”
”I think,” said Hooker, ”there's a bond of sympathy between us.”
CHAPTER IV.