Part 3 (2/2)
CHAPTER IV
QUOTING SCOOP SAWYER'S LETTER
”I didn't raise my Ford to be a -- To run the streets, and stay out late at night!
Who dares to put a jitney sign, upon it-- And send myout for fares to fight?”
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., standing by his open window at 3 P. M. one afternoon a week after his sensational return to Bannister College, with the ”Prodigious Prodigy” in tow, indulged in the soul-satisfying pastime of tw.a.n.ging his banjo, and roaring, in his subterranean voice, a parody on ”I Didn't Raise My Boy to be a Soldier.” It was actually the first Caruso-like outburst of the pestersome youth that year, but his saengerfest brought vociferous howls of protest from campus and dormitories:
”Bow-wow-wow! The Grand Opery season is starting!”
”Sing some records for a talking-machine company, Hicks!”
”Kill that tom-cat! Listen to the back-fence musicale!”
”Say, Hicks--we'll take your word for that noise!”
On the Gym. steps, loafing a few moments before jogging out to Bannister Field for a strenuous scrimmage under the personal supervision of Slave-Driver Corridan, the Gold and Green football squad had gathered. It was from these stalwart gridiron gladiators that the caustic criticism of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s, vocal atrocities emanated, and the imitation of a mournful hound by ”Ichabod,” the skysc.r.a.ping Senior, was indeed phenomenal.
Added to the howls, whistles, jeers, and shouts of the squad, were like condemnations from other collegians, sky-larking on the campus, or in the dorms.
”At that,” grinned Captain Butch Brewster happily, ”it surely makes me feel jubilant to hear Hicks' foghorn voice shattering the echoes, with his banjo strumming disturbing the peace--for which offense it shall soon be arrested. We can truly say that old Bannister is now officially opened for another year, for T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., has performed his annual rite--”
”Right--!” scoffed big Pudge Langdon, indignantly, as he gazed up at the happy-go-lucky youth, at the window of his room on the third-floor, campus side, of Bannister Hall, ”Hicks ought to be tarred and feathered; there isin the way he has acted since his return to college! He struts around like Herman, the Master-Magician, and all the fellows fully expect to see him produce white rabbits from his cap, or make varicolored flags out of his handkerchief.”
”We ought to toss him in a blanket,” stormed Beef McNaughton, in ludicrous rage. ”Ever since he mystified Bannister by going out and corralling a Hercules who is an entire eleven in himself, Hicks has maintained that sphinx-like silence as to how he achieved the feat, and he swaggers around, enshrouded in ! All we know is that 'Thor' is John Thorwald, of Norwegian descent. If we askfor information, that wretch Hicks has him trained to say, 'Ask the little fellow, Hicks!'”
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., in truth, had acted in a most reprehensible manner since that memorable night when he brought ”Thor, the Prodigious Prodigy,”
to the campus. Not that he ceased to be the same sunny-souled, popular and friendly youth. The collegians, happy at finding his room open-house again, flocked to his cozy quarters, Freshmenunder the spell of his generous nature, his Beef-Steak Busts, down at Jerry's were nightly occurrences, and he was the same Hicks as of old. But, after the dramatic manner in which Hicks had mysteriously made good the rash vow uttered at Camp Bannister and had brought to Coach Corridan a blond-haired giant who seemed destined to perform prodigies at full-back, the sunny Senior had evidently labored under the delusion that he was ”Kellar, The Great Magician.”
Instead of relieving the tortured curiosity of the students, wild to know how and where Hicks had unearthed this physical Hercules, who in every way filled the details of Head Coach Corridan's ”blue-prints,” T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., enjoying to the full this novel method of torturing his comrades, made a baffling mystery of the affair, much to the indignation of his friends.
”Just leave it to Hicks,” he would say, when the Bannister youths cajoled, implored, threatened, or argued. ”Thor is eligible to play four years of football at old Bannister. I call him Thor, after the great Norse G.o.d, Thor; he is of Norwegian descent. That is all of the Billion-Dollar Mystery I can disclose; ten thousand dollars offered for the correct solution.”
”Here comes Scoop Sawyer,” said Monty Merriweather, as that Senior, waving his arms in air, catapulted from Bannister Hall, and strode toward the squad on the Gym. steps; his appearance registered wrath, in photo-play parlance, and on reaching his comrades he immediately acquainted them with its cause.
”Listen to that Hicks!” he exploded, gesticulating with a sheaf of papers.
”Hicks, the mocking-bird! He is mocking --with his 'Billion-Dollar Mystery!' Say--here I am writing to Jack Merritt; he played football four years for old Bannister; he was captain of the Gold and Green eleven; last Commencement he graduated, and the last thing he said to me was, 'Scoop, old pal, write to me next fall, tell me everything about the football season; keep me posted as to new material!' Everything--keep him posted as to new material--Bah! If I write that Hicks has brought a fellow he calls 'Thor,' who spreads the regulars over the field, Jack will want to know the details, and--that villainous Hicks won't divulge his dread secret!”
At this moment, Scoop Sawyer, so-called because he was ambitious to be a newspaper reporter, after graduation, and for his humorous articles in the Bannister Weekly, had his intense wrath soothed by that which has ”power to soothe the savage breast”; T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., displaying a wonderful originality by composing, then chanting, his parody, concluded the chorus roaring l.u.s.tily, to a rollicking banjo accompaniment:
”If street car companies gave seats to all patrons The strap-hangers in jitneys would not ride.
There'd be no jits. today If Ford owners would say, I didn't raise my Ford to be a--jitney!”
”That is too much!” raged Captain Butch Brewster, facing his excited colleagues. ”Come on, fellows, we'll invade Hicks' room, read him Scoop's letter to Jack Merritt, andhim solve the Mystery! We're done with diplomacy; now, we'll deliver the ultimatum; when the squad returns from scrimmage, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., will tell us all about Thor, or be tossed in a blanket! Are you with me?”
”We areof you!” howled Roddy Perkins, leading a wild charge for the entrance to Bannister Hall. Following him up the two flights of stairs with thunderous tread came Butch, Beef, Monty, Biff, Hefty, Pudge, Tug, Ichabod, Bunch, Buster, Bus Norton, and several second-team players, Cherub, Chub Chalmers, Don, Skeet, and Scoop Sawyer with his letter. With a terrific, blood-chilling clatter, and hideous howls, the Hicks-quelling Expedition roared down the third corridor of Bannister, and surged into the room of that tantalizing T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.!
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