Full-Back Foster

  FULL-BACK FOSTER

  _He felt that he was being discussed_]

  FULL-BACK FOSTER

  by

  RALPH HENRY BARBOUR

  Author ofLeft End Edwards,Left Guard Gilbert, etc.

  Illustrated by E. C. Caswell

  Grosset & DunlapPublishers New York

  Copyright, 1919by Dodd, Mead and Company, Inc.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE I MYRON ARRIVES 1 II SO DOES JOE DOBBINS 13 III THE "IMPOSSIBLE FELLOW" 24 IV MYRON DECIDES TO STAY 36 V ON THE GRIDIRON 48 VI "A. T. MERRIMAN" 60 VII WITH THE AWKWARD SQUAD 70 VIII JOE TALKS SENSE 82 IX MYRON LOSES HIS TEMPER 96 X THE CHALLENGE 110 XI MYRON MISSES AN ENGAGEMENT 121 XII ELDREDGE REJECTS A SUBSTITUTE 132 XIII MYRON CHANGES HIS MIND 145 XIV "CHAS" 157 XV THE PLAN 173 XVI CONSPIRACY 184 XVII A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 196 XVIII MYRON GETS HIS CHANCE 211 XIX DOCTOR LANE INTERVENES 226 XX ANDY TAKES A JOURNEY 236 XXI AN EARLY MORNING CALL 249 XXII MYRON COMES BACK 259 XXIII REINSTATED 269 XXIV EDDIE APPLIES THE BRAKE 279 XXV FALSE COLOURS 293 XXVI BEHIND THE STAND 305 XXVII FULL-BACK FOSTER 317

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  He felt that he was being discussed _Frontispiece_

  FACING PAGE

  "You let me up!" 142

  The stranger was treated to quite a fund of information 200

  Straight across the last white line to victory 324

  FULL-BACK FOSTER

  CHAPTER I

  MYRON ARRIVES

  His name was Myron Warrenton Foster, and he came from Port Foster,Delaware. In age he was seventeen, but he looked more. He was largefor his years, but, since he was well proportioned, the fact was notimmediately apparent. What did strike you at once were good looks,good health and an air of well-being. The pleasing impression made bythe boy's features was, however, somewhat marred by an expression ofself-satisfaction, and it may be that the straight, well-knit figurecarried itself with an air of surety that was almost complacent. So, atleast, thought one who witnessed Myron's descent from the New York trainthat September afternoon.

  "There's a promising-looking chap," said Jud Mellen, "but he somehowgives you the impression that he's bought Warne and has come down tolook the town over."

  Harry Cater laughed as he picked his trunk check from a handful ofcoins. "Lots of 'em look that way when they first arrive, Jud. I'm notsure you didn't yourself," he added slyly.

  "If I did, I soon got over it." The football captain smiled drily, hisgaze following the subject of their remarks. "Just as I suspected," hecontinued. "It's a taxi for his. Four blocks is too far for the poorfrail lad."

  "Oh, come, Jud, be fair. Maybe he doesn't know whether the school's fourblocks or forty. Besides, he's much too beautifully got up to tramp it.He might get dust on that corking suit of his."

  "It is rather a good-looking outfit, and that's a fact. Maybe if I wasdolled up like that I'd want to ride, too. Well, come on, Katie, andlet's get up there. Practice is at three, and you've got only aboutforty minutes to find yourself in."

  Harry Cater, or "Katie," as he was known at Parkinson School, had beenmore charitable than correct in assuming that the new boy was uncertainof the distance between station and school, for the catalogue haddefinitely said four blocks. But had the distance been two short blocksinstead of four long ones it is unlikely that Myron Foster would havewalked. Not that he had anything against walking; he recognised it asa healthful and beneficial form of exercise, as well as a pleasantoccupation under some circumstances; but he was used to patronisingautomobiles when it was necessary to get from one place to another. Athome there were two cars usually at his service, and when he was awayfrom home a taxi-cab served as well. He couldn't remember when walkinghad been a necessity, for prior to the autos there had been carriages,and before the carriages--which had included a pony-cart for hisespecial use--there had been an English perambulator with easy springsand shining varnished leather top; and beyond that his memory didn't go.

  The vehicle that Myron found himself in brought a smile of amuseddisdain to his face. It was cheap and small and none too clean, and itmade more noise as it whisked over the cobbles than a boiler works.However, when it crossed Adams Street and reached the asphalt it quieteddown considerably and its occupant was able to obtain a rather moredistinct impression of the little town that was to have the honour ofbeing his place of residence for the ensuing nine months. He ratherliked what he could see of it, especially when, having bumped acrossthe trolley tracks on Main Street, he found himself in what wasevidently the residential part of Warne. The shops had given way toneat, sometimes rather showy, dwellings on his right, set behind picketfences or lilac hedges, the latter looking sere and frowsy after a hotsummer. On his left was a quaint, century-old burying ground in whichmossy slate slabs leaned precariously under the cool, deep shadows ofgiant elms and maples. The church beyond, with its unlovely squaresteeple, peered through the trees in friendly fashion at the newcomer.At the next intersection the boy caught a glimpse of the inscription"Washington Ave." on a signboard, and in the next moment had his firstview of the school. To his left the campus stretched for two longblocks, a level oblong of green turf intersected by gravel paths andshaded by linden trees. Beyond the campus the school buildings ran ina straight line, or, to be exact, five of them did; there were severalothers out of position, so to speak, among them that to which he wasbeing whisked. From Maple Street the taxi bounded on two wheels arounda corner into a gravelled avenue, past the little brick AdministrationBuilding, turned again by the gymnasium and a moment later brought upwith a squeaking of brakes in front of Sohmer Hall.

  Sohmer was the most recent addition to the dormitories, and the mostluxurious. Although it followed the architectural style of the othersand, at first glance, looked quite as old and quite as New England, itnevertheless possessed modifications that stood for a convenience andcomfort that the other dormitories lacked. The driver of the taxi, asandy-haired, gum-chewing young man with the cheap air of a village"sport," looked disdain as Myron pointed to the brown leather kit-bagand remarked carelessly: "You might just fetch that along."

  "Sure!" jeered the driver, pushing back a battered straw imitation of aPanama hat from his heated brow and grinning widely. "And maybe you'dlike me to unpack it for you, kid, and hang up your things? I ain't gotnothing else to do, and a quarter's a lot of money, and----"

  "I haven't asked you what I owed yet, have I?" said Myron. "If carryingthat bag is worth another quarter why not carry it and get the money? Idare say I can scrape up a half somehow!"

  "Oh, whyn't you say so?" muttered the other. "How'd I know you was JohnD. Vanderbilt? Where's it going?"

  "Number 17, wherever that is. Second floor, I think."

  "Most of you guys," continued the driver affably as he led the wayup the slate stairway, "expects us to lug trunks and everything anddon't want to slip us anything extra. Nothing doing! I'm willing to beobliging, see, but I ain't in business for my health, mister. Here youare, sir. Number 17, you said? Door's unlocked. Gee, some room, ain'tit? What about your trunk, sir? Want me
to fetch it for you?"

  "No, it's coming by express. That's all, thanks. Here you are. There's aquarter for the ride, a quarter for the bag and a quarter for a tip. Allright?"

  "Sure! You're a real gentleman, mister. Say, any time you want a taxior--or anything, see, you send for me. Name's Eddie Moses. Telephone toBenton's cigar store and they'll give me the call."

  "All right, Eddie. All doors open out."

  "That so? Oh, all right. You can be sassy with me any time you like fora quarter!" And Mr. Eddie Moses, chuckling at his wit, took himselfaway, leaving Myron at leisure to look around his quarters.

  Number 17 Sohmer consisted of two rooms, a good-sized square studyand a sleeping room off it. The study windows--there were two ofthem--overlooked the campus, although this afternoon, since thelindens still held their leaves, the view was restricted to so much ofthe campus as lay between the hall and the path that stretched fromthe gymnasium to the main gate on Washington Avenue. The bedroom alsohad a window with a similar outlook. This apartment was only largeenough to hold the two single beds, the two chiffoniers and the twostraight-backed chairs constituting its furnishing, and Myron soonturned back from the doorway and removed his gaze to the study again.There were, he decided, possibilities in the study. Of course he wouldget rid of the present junk, but it must serve until his furniture camefrom home, which ought to be in another three or four days. It had beenhis mother's idea to ship the things from his grey and yellow room atWarrenton Hall. She thought Myron would be less homesick if surroundedby the familiar objects of home. Myron's own idea had been to purchasea new outfit in Philadelphia, but when he had seen how set his motherhad been on her plan he had not insisted. The only thing that troubledhim now was that, recalling the number and generous proportions of thearticles on the way, he feared the study would be far too small to holdthem! Why, his couch alone would take up almost all of the end of theroom where the windows were! Well, he would just have to use what hecould and store the other things somewhere: or send them home again.

  He had tossed his hat on the stained table that occupied the centre ofthe study--in shape that hat was not unlike the one worn by Eddie Moses,but all similarity ended right there--and now he removed his jacketof steel-grey, serge-like material, rolled up the sleeves of a paleyellow silk shirt and passed into the bedroom to wash. It may be wellto state in passing that Myron affected grey and yellow, both in hisroom furnishings and in his attire. It was a conceit of Mrs. Foster's.She was fond of colour combinations and, could she have had her way,would have prescribed for every member of her household. But Myron wasthe only one who consented to be guided by her taste. He didn't care arap whether his wallpaper was grey with yellow stripes or purple withpink daisies, only, having been told that grey-and-yellow suited himwonderfully he accepted it as a fact, said that it "looked all right, hesupposed," and was soon a willing slave to the grey-and-yellow habit.Mrs. Foster's attempt to persuade her husband to pin his taste tobrown-and-lilac, however, was a wretched failure. Mr. Foster snorteddisgustedly and went right on buying green and magenta neckties andsocks that made his wife shudder.

  Having washed his hands and face and dried them on a handkerchief--asoft, pure-linen affair with a monogram worked in one corner in greyand yellow--Myron opened his kit-bag and unpacked, stowing the thingsneatly and systematically in one of the chiffoniers. He would, hereflected, get them to take the other chiffonier and the other bed out.As he was to occupy Number 17 alone there was no need of them. When thebag was unpacked and set in a corner of the closet he donned his jacketagain and strolled to a window. The campus was livening up. Althoughthe foliage hid the other buildings very effectually he could hear thepatter of feet on gravel and steps, voices in shouts or laughter and,from somewhere, the tuning of a banjo. As he looked down, leaning fromthe sill, two lads came across the grass and paused a little furtheralong under a window. They were in flannels, and one carried a racket.They tilted their heads and hailed:

  "O Jimmy! Jimmy Lynde! He-e-ey, Jimmy! Jimmy-y-y!"

  After a moment a voice answered from a neighbouring window: "Hello, Gus,you old rascal! 'Lo, Petey! How's everything?"

  "Lovely. Come and have a game. Channing's over there, and he and Pete'llplay you and me. Huh? Oh, forget it! There's oodles of time for that.All right, hustle along. We'll go on over. Get a move on!"

  The two waved and turned toward the gymnasium. Myron felt a triflelonesome when they had gone, for it came to him that he was a strangerin a strange land. He wondered how long it would be before fellowsstopped under his window and called to him. It probably didn't take longto get acquainted, he decided, but still he sort of wished he knew atleast one of his school-fellows as a starter. Perhaps, after all, itwould have been nicer to have had a room-mate. Personally, he hadn'tcared much one way or the other, but his mother had exclaimed in horrorat the idea of his sharing his room with a strange boy. "Why, you can'ttell what sort of a person he might be, Myron dear," she had protested."Of course we know that Parkinson is one of the nicest schools and thatsome of the very best people send their sons there, but nowadays it'squite impossible to keep the wrong sort out of anywhere. It would beawful if you found yourself with some dreadful low kind of boy." SoMyron had said, "Oh, all right, Mater," and dismissed the notion. Andmaybe she was right, too, for it would be a frightful bore to have tolive in such close quarters with some "roughneck." On the whole heguessed he was better off alone, even if he did feel rather lonely fora few days.

  He recalled the fact that he hadn't yet registered at the Office, orwherever you did register, but he had until six to do that, and a glanceat a handsome thin-case gold watch showed that the time was still shortof three. But it was dull up here, and stuffy, too, and he guessed he'dgo down and look the place over. As he turned from his window he becameaware of the fact that the dormitory was no longer quiet. Doors openedand closed, feet shuffled on the stairs and there were sounds of talkingand singing and whistling. It certainly sounded more cheerful, hethought. The taxi driver had closed the door behind him, and now Myronstarted across the study to open it. Maybe if it was open some one mightsee him and drop in. He put his hat back on the table, deciding not togo out just yet. As he reached his hand toward the doorknob there weresounds of heavy footsteps outside. Then something thumped against thedoor, a voice muttered----

  Myron pulled the portal open. Framed in the doorway stood a veritablegiant of a boy, a battered valise in each hand, a ragged-edged stiffstraw hat tilted far back from his perspiring countenance and a none tooclean handkerchief dangling from inside a wilted collar.

  "Atta boy!" said the stranger genially, and then, to Myron's amazement,he piled into the study, fairly sweeping the other aside, dropped hisbags with mighty thuds on the floor and mopped his broad face with thedangling handkerchief. "Geewhillikins, but that's some tote, kiddo!" heobserved with an all-encompassing grin. "I'm sweating like a horse!"

  "It is warm," replied Myron in a voice that was quite otherwise. "Buthaven't you--er--made a mistake?"

  "Watyer mean, mistake?" asked the other, puzzled.

  "In the room. This is seventeen."

  "Sure! That's all right. I just came from the Office. That Hoyt guy saidseventeen. And, say, kiddo, it's some swell dive, ain't it? Guess youand I are lucky guys, all right, to get it, eh?"