Part 20 (1/2)

”You don't?” Mr. Simkins seemed both pained and surprised. ”But I a.s.sure you they are there, Edwards, few in number perchance, but really to be found. Perhaps--hm--perhaps it would be a pleasant, at all events a profitable, occupation for you to make an earnest search for them. If you will see me after cla.s.s, Edwards, I shall esteem it a pleasure to indicate a few pages of chaff for you to winnow. Thank you. Pray be seated.”

That was why Steve was in anything but an enviable frame of mind that Friday evening. Mr. Simkins had pointed out exactly four pages of chaff for his winnowing, and the winnowing was to be done with pen and ink and the ”occasional golden kernels” indicated by Steve on the margin of his paper. Steve was angry and depressed.

”What's the use of trying to get along with him?” he demanded of Tom.

”He has it in for me, and even if I had every lesson down pat he'd be after me all the time just the same. If it wasn't for--for the team I'd quit right now.”

”Don't be a chump,” replied Tom good-naturedly. ”You know yourself, Steve, you haven't been studying lately.”

”Well, where's a fellow to get time to study?” asked Steve. ”Look at what I have to do this evening!”

”You won't do it if you don't sit down and get started,” said his chum soothingly. ”You tackle the other stuff and then I'll help you with that Latin. I guess we can get through it together.”

”It'll take me an hour to do those six pages,” grumbled Steve. ”I wish Simkins would choke!”

Steve got by on Sat.u.r.day, with difficulty, but had a hard time of it when the instructor requested him to give his reasons for selecting certain pa.s.sages of the immortal Cicero as being worthy of especial commendation. The rest of the cla.s.s found it very amusing, but Steve failed to discern any humour in the proceedings. Fortunately, Mr.

Simkins was merciful and Steve's martyrdom was of short duration. After that, for a few days at least, Steve's Latin was much better, if not the best.

The game with Cherry Valley deserves only pa.s.sing mention. Viewed beforehand as a severe test of the Brimfield team's defence, the contest proved a walkover for the Maroon-and-Grey, the final score standing 27 to 6. Cherry Valley was weak in all departments of the game, and her single score, a touchdown made in the fourth period, was hammered out when all but two of the Brimfield players were first and second subst.i.tutes. Of Brimfield's tallies two were due to the skill of Hatherton Williams, who twice placed the pigskin over the bar for field-goals, once from the twenty-five yards and once from near the forty. The Brimfield backs showed up better than at any time in the season, and Norton and Kendall gained almost at will. There was still much to criticise and Mr. Robey was far from satisfied with the work of the eleven as a whole, but the school in general was vastly pleased.

Coming a week after that disappointing 0 to 0 game with the military academy, the Cherry Hill game was decidedly encouraging.

So far Erie Sawyer had treated both Steve and Tom with silent contempt whenever he encountered them, although his scowls told them that they were by no means forgiven. Naturally, since Eric was on the 'varsity and the two chums on the second, they saw each other practically every afternoon on the field or in the gymnasium. But it wasn't difficult to avoid a real meeting where so many others were about. Roy Draper pretended to think that Eric was only biding his time, waiting for an opportunity to murder the two in cold blood, and delighted to draw gruesome pictures of the ultimate fate of his friends.

”I guess what he will really do,” he said on the Sunday afternoon following the Cherry Valley game when he and Harry Westcott were in Number 12 Billings, ”is to decoy you both over to the Sound some fine day and drown you.”

”Just how will he manage it?” asked Tom, who was tumbling everything in the room about in his search for a mislaid book.

”He will probably tie heavy weights to your necks and drop you into a deep hole in the ocean,” replied Roy promptly. ”Then you will be eaten by sharks.”

”And what would we be doing all the time he was tying the weights to us?” asked Steve sarcastically.

”Nothing, because he'd chloroform you first,” returned Roy triumphantly, much pleased with his readiness. ”You'd be insensible.”

”Meaning without sense,” murmured Harry. ”It wouldn't take much chloroform.”

”Huh! Don't you talk!” said Steve. ”You'll never have brain-fever!”

”Ha!” scoffed Harry. ”Sarcasm, the refuge of small intellects!”

”Come on,” said Tom. ”It's nearly three-thirty. Bother Sawyer, anyway.

He's not troubling me any.”

”That's all right,” replied Roy, as he got up from the window-seat, ”but when you wake up some fine morning and find yourself bathed in your own life's blood you'll wish you'd listened to me.”

”I can't help listening to you. You talk all the time. Besides, I shouldn't call it a fine morning if I woke up dead. I--I'd think it was a very disagreeable day! Are you coming, Steve?”

”I suppose so,” replied Steve with a groan. ”I wish practice was in Halifax, though. I'm tired to-day.” He got up from his bed, on which he had been lying in defiance of the rules, and stretched himself with a yawn.

”You'll be tireder when the first gets through with us,” said Tom grimly. ”Robey will sick all his subs on us to-day, I guess; and subs always think they have to kill you just to show how good they are.”