Center Rush Rowland

by Ralph Henry Barbour

  CENTER RUSH ROWLAND

  * * * * * *

  _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_

  LEFT END EDWARDS LEFT TACKLE THAYER LEFT GUARD GILBERT

  * * * * * *

  Ira felt the blood pouring into his cheeks as he jumpedto his feet]

  CENTER RUSH ROWLAND

  by

  RALPH HENRY BARBOUR

  Author ofLeft End Edwards,Left Guard Gilbert, etc.

  Illustrated by E. C. Caswell

  Grosset & DunlapPublishers New York

  Copyright, 1917, byDodd, Mead and Company, Inc.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE I ROWLAND ARRIVES 1 II A CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE 17 III GETTING SETTLED 36 IV FOUND--A ROOMMATE 48 V SCHOOL BEGINS 61 VI THE ENEMY CALLS 78 VII THE FIGHT 94 VIII IRA DECLINES AN INVITATION 108 IX AN ULTIMATUM 126 X ON THE FOURTH SQUAD 140 XI IRA RENEWS AN ACQUAINTANCE 157 XII IN THE LINE-UP 169 XIII A CONFERENCE 182 XIV HARD KNOCKS 196 XV PARKINSON HAS A CHANGE OF HEART 211 XVI IRA PLANS 224 XVII THROUGH THE ENEMY'S LINE 234 XVIII "OLD EARNEST" 251 XIX CALLERS 264 XX BEFORE THE GAME 278 XXI PARKINSON SCORES 288 XXII COACH DRISCOLL APOLOGISES 297

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  IRA FELT THE BLOOD POURING INTO HIS CHEEKS AS HE JUMPED TO HIS FEET (Page 304) _Frontispiece_

  FACING PAGE "THE COAT SLIPS OFF RIGHT EASY" 14

  MORE CIRCLING THEN, EACH WATCHING THE OTHER WARILY 98

  "I WANT TO TELL A STORY," HE SAID 220

  CENTER RUSH ROWLAND

  CHAPTER I

  ROWLAND ARRIVES

  "Say, where's this school located?"

  The speaker removed a straw hat, rather the worse for wear, andmopped a damp forehead, while a youngster with a freckled face, whowas engaged in lowering an awning in front of a grocery store, pausedand viewed the inquirer with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.Eventually he jerked a thumb northward. "Two blocks straight ahead," heanswered.

  "All right. Thanks." The other settled his hat on his head againand went on. He was a big, deep-chested, broad-shouldered youth,rugged-looking, bronzed of face and hands. He carried himself atrifle awkwardly, as though conscious of being a bit too large forhis seventeen years. Under the straw hat the hair was warmly brownand a pair of calm dark-grey eyes looked out with level gaze. Hewas good-looking without being handsome, for, while his nose wasexceptionally straight and well made, the mouth, turned up at thecorners in a quiet smile, was too wide for beauty, just as the chin wastoo square.

  The street hereabouts mingled houses and shops, but beyond the nextintersecting thoroughfare, which a sign declared to be Main Street, theshops ceased. On the boy's left was an elm-shaded cemetery filled withslate headstones, mossy and ancient, and beyond it was a wooden churchwith a square, stunted steeple. Burying ground and churchyard continuedfor the next block, while across the tree-lined street, pretentiousdwellings peered over white picket fences or rather straggly lilachedges with an air of strict New England propriety.

  The boy in the straw hat walked slowly, partly because the day wasexcessively warm for the last of September, and partly because he wascurious to see this place that was to be his home for the next ninemonths. So far it was attractive enough and not greatly differentfrom Cheney Falls, which was the little Maine town from which he haddeparted yesterday evening. Of course, one should scarcely expect tofind much difference between towns barely four hundred miles apart,but he had never been so far away from home before and had lookedon Massachusetts as a place quite foreign. He was, perhaps, a trifledisappointed to discover that Warne was only, after all, a bigger andmore ancient appearing Cheney Falls.

  At the next crossing he stopped in the shade of a maple tree and viewedwith interest the scene before him. Across the street--the cornerpost declared it to be Washington Avenue--lay the school grounds. Thecampus, a level expanse of smooth turf intersected by neat gravel walksbetween rows of linden trees, stretched at his left for a distance oftwo blocks. Beyond the campus the school buildings were lined up asthough on parade, with, to aid the simile, a building at either end setin advance of the line--like officers. There were five buildings in therow--no, six, for there was a smaller one peering around a corner likea "rookie" slightly out of position--and all were of red brick withgrey slate roofs save the big and more pretentious one in the centre.This was, as the boy knew from familiarity with the school catalogue,the Recitation Building, Parkinson Hall. It was built of light-huedsandstone, in shape a rotunda flanked by wings. It was two stories inheight, with an imposing dome in the centre. Two curving steps led tothe big doors and the entrance was guarded by copper columns holdingbig ground-glass globes. There were, the observer decided, more windowsthan he had ever seen in one building. On the whole, Parkinson Hall wasreally beautiful, and one didn't have to be a student of architectureto realise it. The boy on the corner felt a thrill of pride as helooked, for this was to be his school after today. He guessed, too, ashe fanned his flushed face with his hat, that he was going to like it.It was a heap more attractive than the pictures in the catalogue hadshown it. But of course, he reflected, the pictures had just been blackand white, while now the scene was full of colour: the blue of thesky above, the warm red of the bricks, the cooler cream-white of thesandstone, the many greens of grass and trees and shrubbery and ivy,the hot, golden-yellow splotches of sunlight and the purplish shadows.

  Facing the campus, on the south side of Washington Street, wereperhaps a dozen residences, beginning beyond the church property,each surrounded by lawns and beds of flowers and shaded by big elmsor maples. Nearby a locust shrilled loudly, making the heat even moreappreciable, and beyond the churchyard a gate opened and closed witha click and a man passed through and approached the corner. He was atall, spare gentleman and wore, in spite of the weather, a long, blackfrock coat and a broad-brimmed, black felt hat. As he drew near the boyobserved a lean, clean-shaven face, kindly, nearsighted eyes behindgold-rimmed glasses and a rather thin mouth set in a friendly smile.The gentleman appeared to be quite sixty years of age, but held himselfvery erect and walked with a firm energy that was a defiance to theheat. He bowed and smiled and would have passed around the corner hadnot the boy spoken.

  "Excuse me, sir, but will you tell me where I should go to register?"

  "Very gladly indeed," was the reply in a thin but pleasant voice. "Thesmall building in the corner of the campus is your destination, youngsir." The gentleman laid a friendly hand on the boy's arm and withgentle pressure turned him about. "That is the Administration Buildingand you will see the office of the secretary on your right as youenter. I am not certain, however, that you will find him in just now."The speaker drew a very large gold watch from his pocket and snappedopen the case. "Hah! You will just get him, I think. It is not as lateas I presumed it to be."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "You are entirely welcome. I should be very glad to accompany you andpresent you to Mr. Hoyt if it were not that I have an engagement inanother part of the town. May I inquire your name?"

  "Ira Rowland, sir."

  "Rowland? A fine old English name. I am Profe
ssor Addicks, of the Greekand Latin Department. We shall doubtless meet again, and, I trust, toour mutual advantage."

  "To mine, I'm sure, sir," replied the boy, with a smile, "but whereyour advantage will come in I'm afraid I don't see!"

  "Why, as to that," responded the Professor, his grey eyes twinklingbehind his glasses, "I shall have the pleasure of your society forseveral hours each week, and, from what I see of you, I judge that anadvantage. Good morning, Mr. Rowland."

  The old gentleman smiled sunnily, bowed again and went on along MapleStreet, and as he proceeded his smile continued and seemed to hold atrace of not unkindly amusement.

  Ira Rowland once more donned his hat and made his way towardthe small, three-story brick building set close to the street.Over the door was a small sign which bore the words, "ParkinsonSchool--Administration Building." Two worn granite steps led to theentrance and as Ira mounted them the screen door was thrust open and arather smartly dressed youth collided with him.

  "I beg your----"

  "All right," said Ira, drawing aside to let the other boy pass on downthe steps. But the other seemed to have got over his hurry and wasobserving Ira with an interest that held both surprise and amusement.However, he spoke before the silence became embarrassing.

  "Are you--are you Parkinson?" he asked.

  "No." Ira shook his head. "My name's Rowland."

  "Oh, I see. But I meant were you a student here."

  "Going to be. I'm looking for the place to register."

  "First door to your right." The other stepped aside and held the dooropen. "You've got a good day for it," he added pleasantly.

  Ira nodded once more, not thinking of any suitable rejoinder to thissomewhat puzzling remark, and went on. The boy at the door lookedafter him until he had passed into the secretary's office, stillholding the screen open. Then he let it shut, whistled softly andexpressively and hurried off, a broad smile wreathing his good-lookingface.

  The office of the secretary was a square, well-lighted and business-likeapartment holding, beside the necessary desks, chairs and filingcabinets, only one settee. A railing divided the room approximately inhalf, and the secretary's desk was set close to it. Two boys finishedtheir business as Ira entered and turned to go out. But at the doorwaythey turned with one accord and looked back at the newcomer, and as theydisappeared their mouths began to curve upwards at the corners.

  Mr. Hoyt, the secretary, was a small, light-complexioned man with anear-sighted scowl and a nervous manner. But experience had taughthim expedition, and before the second hand on the face of the bigclock between the windows had moved sixty times Ira had answered allquestions and was moving away in possession of a copy of the schoolcatalogue and a slip of paper on which was printed a list of privatehouses, approved by the school, offering accommodations.

  Parkinson School had a roster of four hundred and eighty-odd that yearand the four dormitories housed but three hundred and ninety. Since Irahad applied for admittance as late as the preceding June he had notdrawn a room on the campus, and now, leaving the little brick building,he drew the list from between the pages of the catalogue and consultedit. More than two dozen addresses were given, each followed by themystifying letters "R" or "R & B." Fortunately the catalogue containeda map of the town in the vicinity of the school, and by referring tothat he found that most if not all of the addresses were within a fewblocks of the campus. Instead of returning by Maple Street, he entereda gate and went along the gravel walk leading in front of the row ofschool buildings. Being very intent on the matter of locating thefirst entry on the list: "J. D. Anstruther, 29 Linden Street, R & B,"he failed to notice that the steps of the Gymnasium Building towardwhich he was proceeding held a half-dozen youths who were watchinghis approach with poorly concealed amusement. In fact, he would haveturned off on the path leading across the campus to the middle gate onWashington Avenue had not one of the group hailed him.

  "Good morning, stranger! Are you looking for something?"

  Ira stopped and removed his puzzled gaze from the map. After a momentof hesitation he crossed the few yards to the gymnasium steps. "Yes,"he replied, addressing the group in general, "I'm looking for a room.Where's Linden Street, please?"

  "Linden Street? Straight ahead. Follow this path until you come to agate. Open the gate--it isn't necessary to climb over it--and there youare."

  "Thanks." Ira viewed the speaker a trifle doubtfully, however. In spiteof the serious countenance, the reference to the gate had soundedsuspicious. "And will you tell me what 'R' means here; and 'R & B'?"

  "'R'? Oh, that means--er----"

  "'R,'" interrupted a tall, dark-haired chap, stepping forward andtaking the list from Ira's hands, "means 'Rats,' and 'R & B' means'Rats and Bugs.' You see, the faculty is very careful about ourcomfort. Some fellows object to rats and some object to bugs. So theystate here what you're to expect."

  "Rats and bugs!" exclaimed Ira. "You're fooling, aren't you?"

  "Certainly not," replied the other almost indignantly. "Do you mindrats? Or bugs?"

  "Why--" Ira's gaze swept over the group in puzzlement--"I'm notparticularly stuck on either of 'em. Aren't there any places where theydon't have 'em?"

  "No, not in Warne. Warne is noted for its rats. Bugs are scarcer,though. You'll notice that only about half the houses offer bugs withtheir rats."

  "'Offer' 'em," muttered Ira dazedly. Surely these fellows were pokingfun at him. And yet they all looked so serious, so kind and eager tohelp him. He shook his head as he reached for his list. "Do you knowanything about that first place, J. D. Anstruther's?"

  "Not bad," was the answer, "but I've never lived there myself. I'veheard, though, that the rats at Baker's are bigger. Billy, you roomedat Anstruther's, didn't you? How about it?"

  "Good rooms, but rats very inferior," answered a chunky, broad-shoulderedboy in tennis flannels. "And scarcely any bugs at all."

  "There it is, you see," said the dark-haired youth sadly. "Now if youwant some corking big rats you'd better try Baker's. That's on AppleStreet. Or, if you prefer bugs, too, you might go to Smith's. I'veheard Smith's spoken of very highly."

  Ira received this advice in silence. He was thinking. At last: "Well,I'm much obliged to you," he said gratefully. "But I guess I'd rathergo where the rats aren't so big. Of course you fellows are used torats, being together so much, but I've never had much use for them."

  "Just a minute," exclaimed a well-built boy of medium height who held apair of running shoes on his knees. "I didn't quite get that. About ourbeing used to rats, Freckles. Come again, please."

  "I beg your pardon?" said Ira innocently.

  "The gentleman wishes to know," explained the dark-haired boy sweetly,"the meaning of your cryptic utterance. Why, Mr. Johnson, should ourbeing together make us used to rats?"

  "My name is Rowland."

  "Really? Well, then, Mr. Rowland, kindly elucidate."

  "I guess I don't know what you want," said Ira, viewing them blankly.

  "Of course he doesn't," said another member of the group. "He didn'tmean anything. What class are you in, Hayseed?"

  "Who, me? I'm going into the third, I guess."

  "Then you've got another guess," jeered the boy with the running shoes."How were the crops when you left home, Freckles?"

  "Speaking to me? My name's Rowland. First name's Ira."

  "Well, don't take on about it. You can't help it. How's crops?"

  "It's mostly lumbering where I come from. Cheney Falls, Maine, is myhome."

  "Dew tell!" drawled the dark-haired youth. "What were you, a bump?"

  "A bump?" asked Ira.

  "Yes, don't the logs up your way have bumps on them?"

  "Oh, yes!" Ira smiled faintly. "The bumps grow on 'em, though. You--youdon't put 'em on."

  "Oh, you don't? Thought you did. Well, what did you do in the lumberingline, then?"

  "Well, last Winter I worked on the knots. It's hard on your fingers,though." He observed a hand reflectively. "I'm not goin
g to do thatagain," he added.

  "Worked on the knots," repeated the boy with the running shoes. "Whatdo you mean by that?"

  "Why, you see," explained Ira patiently, "you take a pine or a sprucelog and it's got knots in it and it isn't so good for sawing."

  "Well, what was your stunt?"

  "Me? Oh, I untied the knots," replied Ira gravely.

  There was a moment of silence. Then most of the audience chuckled. Butthe boy with the running shoes flushed.

  "You think you're pretty smart, don't you?" he asked irritably. "You'reone of those 'country wits' we read about, eh? Dressed for the part,too! For the love of mud, where'd you get the costume?"

  "Oh, cut it out, Gene," said the dark-haired fellow. "Run along,Rowland, and find your room."

  "Better get a job as a scarecrow," sneered the boy addressed as Gene."Say, those clothes must have cost you as much as six dollars, eh? Ifyou'd had another dollar you might have got them big enough."

  "They're all right for me," responded Ira calmly. "And the coat slipsoff right easy."

  "The coat slips off right easy"]

  "What do you mean by that?" demanded Gene, jumping to his feet.

  "Oh, forget it, Gene!" begged one of the fellows. "Let him alone."

  But Gene pushed his way past the boy's detaining arm and thrust anangry countenance in front of Ira. "What do you mean, eh?" he repeated.

  "What do you take it that I mean?" asked Ira, viewing the otherundismayedly with half-closed grey eyes.

  For answer, Gene Goodloe brought his right hand up quickly from hisside. The boy with dark hair stepped forward to interfere, but he wastoo late. Ira sprang nimbly to the right and ducked, avoiding Gene'sblow, and at the same time shot his own right fist around. It was onlya half-arm jab, but there was enough behind it when it landed on Gene'schin to send him staggering back into the arms of one of the others andto temporarily deprive him of all desire for battle. He stared at hisassailant in a dazed and almost reproachful way as they lowered him tothe turf, and then he closed his eyes wearily.

  "That's a bad place to hit a fellow!" grumbled the dark-haired fellow,regarding Ira uncertainly. "You'd better get out of here before someonecomes."

  "Maybe he will want to go on," suggested Ira mildly.

  "Huh! Maybe he will, but not for awhile! Billy Wells, duck inside andget some water, will you? You, Rowland, or whatever your name is, youget along. If the faculty sees this they'll make trouble for you. Iknow he made the first swipe, but that wouldn't help you much."

  "All right," said Ira. "What's his name?"

  "Goodloe. Why?"

  "I'll let him know where he can find me. Just tell him, will you?"