Right End Emerson

by Ralph Henry Barbour

  CHAPTER XXI

  STICK SELLS OUT

  Stick Patterson was drawing meaningless lines and figures on a sheet ofpaper when Russell opened the door, and he didn’t cease doing it norrelapse from his preoccupied attitude until Russell had drawn his chairnearer the end of the table, from where he could see his companionwithout having to dodge the lamp, and seated himself. Then Stick lookedacross gloomily.

  “I want to talk about--about this,” announced Russell.

  Stick returned his level gaze a moment and then tossed the pencil hehad held aside and thrust his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Sodo I,” he replied with a tone of relief. “Look here, Rus, I’ve beenthinking about it, and I guess I’ve been wrong. I don’t believe itwould be fair to you to sell out to some other chap. You and he mightnot get on together the way we do. I’ve decided to stick it out. Maybelater you’ll have the money. Anyway, I’ll stay with you to the end ofthe school year, or as long as we hold out. Even if we do bust, maybewe’ll save something.”

  “That’s fine, Stick,” replied Russell gratefully. “And it’s very decentof you. You have a perfect right to sell, of course, but if you did itwould put me out of business, I guess.”

  “I don’t see why, Rus. Anyway, I’m not going--”

  “Because Mr. Crocker would see to it, Stick. You don’t really believethat he has any idea of keeping both businesses going?”

  “What’s Crocker got to do with it?” asked Stick.

  “A whole lot if he owned your interest.”

  “But he wouldn’t.” Stick looked genuinely puzzled. “This fellowThrogmorton--”

  “Stick,” interrupted Russell, “did Mr. Crocker stop in at the store aweek ago last Saturday?”

  “What? Why, yes, he did. I didn’t say anything about it because--well,he didn’t want me to, and--Oh, well, I know I ought to have toldyou, but he said he thought he might find some one who would buy myinterest, and that you’d better not know about it until it was settled.It was sort of low-down, Rus, and I’m sorry.”

  “Crocker didn’t offer to buy himself, then?”

  “Crocker? No, he said he wouldn’t take it at any price. Of course Iwouldn’t have sold to him, anyway.”

  “Then you really thought that Throgmorton wanted your interest forhimself?”

  Stick stared. “Of course! Didn’t he? Look here, you don’t mean--”

  “He and Billy Crocker, Mr. Crocker’s son, are together a lot,”answered Russell. “And Mr. Crocker would like to see our place closedup. I can’t prove it, but--”

  “You don’t need to!” cried Stick angrily. “Of course that was the game!You wait until I see that smart Aleck! I’ll--I’ll tell him where hegets off! I’ll kick him across the Green! I’ll--”

  “I wouldn’t say anything about it,” said Russell soothingly. “He onlyhas to deny it. You can’t prove anything, Stick.”

  “That’s all right! I don’t need to do any proving!” Stick, as has beenalready intimated, greatly disliked having anything “put over on him.”“The fat-head! I thought it was funny, his wanting to buy into thebusiness. Why--” Stick paused and dropped his voice several tones. “Isay, Rus, I didn’t suspect that for a minute. I wish you’d believe me.I know it looks funny. But honest--”

  “That’s all right,” replied Russell. “I believe you, Stick. I couldn’tquite believe that you meant to do anything like that.”

  “But wasn’t I the goop?” muttered Stick incredulously. “Never thoughtthat that old shifty-eyed rascal was trying to pull my leg! He was sothunderingly nice and--and sympathetic! You wait till I see the oldfraud! You wait--”

  “Never mind that,” laughed Russell. “After all, the laugh’s on yourside, Stick, for you’ve got them fooled. When you tell Throgmortonyou’ve changed your mind--hold on, though! How can you get out of it?You gave him your promise, didn’t you?”

  “I said he could have it if you didn’t take it by to-morrow,” answeredStick, “but he didn’t tell me he was buying to sell again to Crocker!He can chase himself now!”

  “Still, a promise is a promise,” mused Russell.

  “I’ll tell him you’ve bought it. No, I guess that wouldn’t do, either.”Stick scowled perplexedly. “I’ll tell you--”

  “It’s barely possible I may be able to get the money by twelveto-morrow,” Russell cut in. He told about Jimmy’s plan and Sticklistened impatiently until the end. Then:

  “Austen can’t have it,” he declared vehemently. “No one can have it!I’m going to keep it myself, and we’re going to show that old pirateof a Crocker that he can’t run us out of business! But I will do this,Rus. I’ll take your note now for a hundred and twenty-five dollars andyou can have my interest until noon to-morrow. Then we trade back.Here’s a piece of paper.”

  “What shall I write?” asked Russell.

  “‘One month after date I promise to pay to George Patterson One Hundredand Twenty-five Dollars with interest at six per cent.’ Now date it andsign your name.”

  “But is it legal, Stick?”

  “I guess so. It’s legal enough for me, anyway. I’ve sold out to youand I can tell Throgmorton so without lying. That’s all I want.”

  “I forgot to tell you,” said Russell as Stick folded the piece of paperand thrust it into the drawer on his side of the table, “that there’sa pretty fair chance of our selling to the football team next fall.”He recounted Jimmy’s talk with Tod Tenney. “There’s nothing certain,”he ended, “but I’m going to speak to Mr. Cade some day before he goesaway, and--”

  “Of course we’ll get it!” put in Stick almost impatiently. “We’ll workfor it until we do! Rus, when we get through with old man Crocker he’llbe selling hardware and nothing else, believe me!”

  “All right,” laughed Russell. “Now do you want to go over to thefootball mass meeting?”

  The next morning appeared Jimmy with a tragic countenance. His father’ssecretary had wired him that Mr. Austen was in Boston and would notbe back until to-morrow. “He says,” wailed Jimmy, “that he will bringthe matter to father’s attention immediately on his return, the crazygaloot, but what good will that do? It wouldn’t have hurt him to haveused his bean and sent the money!”

  Russell soothed him with news of Stick’s new attitude, and Jimmy glowedwith delight. Then he chuckled. “I’d like to be there when Pattersontalks to Throgmorton,” he said wistfully.

  “Well, there won’t be any bloodshed,” replied Russell. “Stick usuallycalms down before the battle begins! And Throgmorton, you tell me, isfairly sizable.”

  Jimmy grinned. “That’s so. I guess Patterson is too wise to startanything he can’t finish. Well, I’m awfully glad it’s turned out sowell. I’m sort of sorry, though, that I’m not to get a finger in thepie after all. I believe you and I, Rus, could have made the Sign ofthe Football pay real money.”

  “Yes, Jimmy, I guess we could have, but it’s going to pay real money asit is, I think, for Stick’s as stubborn as a mule, and now that he’sdecided to work instead of growl I believe we’ll make a success of it.”

  “Hope so,” said Jimmy. “You’ve got my best wishes, old son, if they’lldo you any good. By the way, I’m glad you kept me from making a uselesstrip to New York last night. Wouldn’t I have been sore when I got tothe office this morning and found dad wasn’t there? Still, I’ll bet I’dhave dug that money out of some one before I left! Well, so long, Rus.Come over to-night and tell me what happens.”

  Not very much did happen. Stick kept his engagement with Throgmortonat the latter’s room and found Billy Crocker with him. The money wasthere, too, seven nice new twenties and a ten. There was, too, a veryofficial looking paper awaiting Stick’s signature, and Billy Crockerexplained his presence by stating that he was there as a witness. Sticktook the money and counted it slowly, prolonging the agony, as he putit later to Russell. Then he laid it down and shook his head.

  “Anything wrong with it?” demanded Billy.

  “No, it looks all
right,” replied Stick. “May be counterfeit, but Ican’t tell.”

  “Not likely,” said Throgmorton, who was a large and ratherheavy-mannered youth of nineteen. “Put it in your pocket, Patterson,and sign on the dotted line.”

  Stick shook his head and smiled gently. “No, I just dropped around totell you that the deal is off.”

  “Off!” shouted Billy Crocker. “What do you mean, off?”

  “Why, just off; not on,” explained Stick patiently. “O, double-F, off.Meaning nothing doing, Crocker.”

  “Why?” asked Throgmorton darkly.

  “Emerson bought,” replied Stick.

  “That’s a lie,” cried Billy. “See here, you agreed to sell to us--”

  “‘Us’?” Stick’s brows went up.

  “To Throg, here,” corrected Billy. “Now you’re welching, and--”

  “But, my dear fellow,” protested Stick, thoroughly enjoying the other’sdisappointment, “how can I sell what I haven’t got? Be reasonable.”

  “Oh, shut up!” wailed Billy. “You make me sick!”

  “Sorry. Don’t see what business it is of yours, though. If you mustwitness something, Crocker, I’ll sign my name on my cuff for you. Well,I must be getting on. By the way, you might try Emerson. Maybe he’llsell to you. Seems to me he ought to be glad to get into partnershipwith a fine, straightforward man like your father!”

  Stick left them staring at him, looking, as he said to Russell, liketwo sick cat-fish! And that ended that affair for the time and Russellheaved a big sigh of relief. Fortunately he didn’t know then that BillyCrocker was quite as averse as was Stick Patterson to having anythingput over on him, and that, unlike Stick, he didn’t forgive readily.

  Thursday saw the end of the season for the second team, as has beentold, and Thursday night witnessed the second team’s annual banquetin Ford’s Restaurant, in the town. Twenty-two battle-scarred but verycontented youths ate their fill and sang and cheered and listened tospeeches, of which that delivered by Coach Steve Gaston, while thebriefest was the best. Steve told them a lot of nice things about theirplaying and their devotion to the School, and he told them, and withconvincing emphasis, that what he had planned and hoped for had cometrue, that he was standing at that moment in the presence of the finestsecond team in the annals of Alton football! At which the roof of thebuilding must have raised an inch before the cheering ceased!

  They sang their last song at a quarter past ten and tumbled noisilyand hilariously down the stairs to the street and out into the frostysharpness of a starlit night and swung unhurriedly back to the Academy,very happy and very proud and, now that the excitement was over,deliciously tired. Near the end of the walk Russell found himselfbeside Steve Gaston. Steve had taken his season’s task seriously and,in a way, he had taken the celebration seriously. But now he hadrelapsed into a smiling and rather silent content, and it was not untilthey were crossing the Green that he made any lengthy remark. Then:

  “Emerson, you certainly worked hard for me--well, for us, for theSchool. It’s hard to be impersonal always. And, for my part, I thankyou. I needed you like the very dickens when I dug you out that time,and by making good the way you did you just about saved me. You’vegot another year, haven’t you? I thought so. Well, let me tell yousomething. You may know it already, but I don’t believe you do. Nextfall you walk out on the field and tell the coach that you’re going toplay right end. You’ll get it!”

  Russell pondered that on his way upstairs. Of course Steve Gaston oughtto know, but it did seem to him that the coach had let his judgmentslip for once! Further cogitation on the subject was denied him justthen, for as soon as he had stepped into Number 27 he knew thatsomething startling had happened. Stick’s face was enough. Stick hadthrown the door open at the sound of Russell’s steps in the corridorand now he was asking excitedly:

  “Have you heard about it, Rus?”

  “No! What?”

  “Some one broke into the store to-night and beat up Mr. Pulsifer! Theygot him, too. That is, one of him; there were two. I’ve just come backfrom there. The police won’t tell who the fellow is, but every one saysit’s Billy Crocker!”