The Freshman (Holman)/Chapter 14
As Harold hustled along the lobby his heart was approximately light for the first time that evening. Peggy was fond of him. He had a new and, presumably, unrippable tuxedo on. He had rid himself of Grace Beach. The world was fairly all right.
But as he neared Peggy's cloakroom, he stopped and stared. Coats on their hooks were bobbing about in a strangely agitated manner. Several felt hats fell to the floor. A struggle was going on. Harold sprang quickly in the direction of the commotion as he heard a little feminine cry. It sounded like Peggy!
Rushing through the coats and canes, he came upon a sight that made the blood rush into his head. Peggy was fighting a losing battle against Dan Sheldon, who, his arms locked around her, was trying furiously to press his red face against hers. Peggy was writhing and battling with all the strength of her healthy little body, pounding his chest vainly with her small fists. With a final wrench, Dan pinned her wrists and bent her backward at the waist.
Then a pile-driver smote the ambitious Sophomore squarely on the chin. He dropped to the floor like a log. A whole constellation of stars rainbowed from his brain. It was a full minute before his senses returned and his eyes could focus upon anything but a blur. Then he saw Harold Lamb, panting, and with fists still clenched, standing menacingly over him.
Having delivered the blow, Harold was for an instant frightened at the havoc his fist had wrought. He thought he had severely hurt Dan. He was relieved to see the Sophomoric eyes open again. Harold stood, an arm protectingly around the trembling shoulders of Peggy, ready to leap to the fray again if Dan threatened. But the Sophomore was all out of physical fight for that evening. Harold's blow had drained the energy out of him.
But as Sheldon struggled to his feet, his face was livid with rage. To be thwarted, to be knocked down by "Speedy" of all people. "Speedy" the rube, the butt, the goat. Dan lost all his suaveness, his pretense of friendship for the Freshman. His real wasplike nature asserted itself with a rush. His lips were set in an ugly line. He glared malignantly out of misty eyes at Peggy and Harold as the red welt on his chin slowly spread.
"Just for that, you little fool," hurled Dan at "Speedy," "I'm going to tell you what this bunch really thinks of you."
Peggy raised her head and made a helpless little gesture to stop him. "No, no, Dan," she begged in a whisper.
But Dan went remorselessly on. "You think you're a regular fellow, don't you?" he sneered. "Why, you're nothing but the college boob!"
Harold's face clouded. He looked uncomprehendingly at Dan. Hurt. Astonished. Peggy, sympathy streaming from her face, peered anxiously at Harold.
But the angry Dan was not yet through. He fairly shouted, "Ever since you came to college, we've just been kidding you—look—"
Dan swept his arm in toward the ballroom. It was the intermission in the dancing. The orchestra had adjourned to side tables for their refreshments. The dancers were in the center of the floor waiting for the waiters to push out the tables and bring the food. Evidently everybody thought their host had departed for good and it was the time to be natural about him, to enjoy the long pent-up laugh at his expense.
In spite of himself, Harold looked. Surrounded by a group of admirers of his mimicry, Garrity was executing the celebrated jig step of Lester Laurel and "Speedy" Lamb, finishing with the absurd posture and the cocky invitation, "I'm just a regular fellow. Step right up and call me 'Speedy.'" Flappers screamed with delight. Students guffawed. Other collegians in various corners of the room mimicked the "Speedy" step. The room was filled with jiggers and laughter. Somebody started singing "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow," but the song broke up in sarcastic merriment before the first stanza was ended. Another group shouted 'Speedy' Lamb is a good old soul," and were answered by a gathering from the other side of the room yelling "Sure, he's the boob that pays the toll!"
Then "Speedy," silent and shocked, saw Chester Trask walk out to the center of the floor and talk with some of the ring-leaders of the scandalous mirthfulness. Chester was grave-faced and was evidently protesting.
But Harold did not wait to see any more. He turned helplessly to Dan Sheldon, who walked by him with an air of sneering triumph and on out to the dance floor. Harold's stricken eyes followed his tormentor. Then they turned reluctantly to Peggy. She was regarding him with a look of infinite pity. She loved this poor, misguided boy even more than her own heart knew. She wished she could shield him, protect him forever. There was the look of both a mother and a sweetheart in her soft eyes. And there was a suggestion of tears too.
She pitied him. She was terribly anxious to know how he would take Dan's words. She was fearful that the Freshman's sensitive heart and his high spirit were broken.
Harold, still looking at her, tossed his head as if to rid himself of an irksome burden. He forced a smile into his white face. Then he tried to say jauntily, "It doesn't bother me a bit, really, Peggy. A fellow has to expect these things, you know. Every man who has amounted to anything has been misunderstood like this. It's—nothing."
But as he continued to stare at her, his eyes slowly filled with tears. His lips twitched. His body seemed to be crumbling. And suddenly, with a choked sob, he flung himself at Peggy's feet. She sank into a chair, his head in her arms. And she let him sob as if his heart would break, while she gently stroked his tousled black hair—as his mother used to do. For a moment his body was racked and tortured by his tears. Then he shivered, pulled himself together, raised his tearstained face to hers and tried again to smile. At last he succeeded and forced himself to his feet.
The memory of her warm arms around him was still in his mind and helped him to recover and feel strong again. Peggy's eyes, regarding him earnestly, showed relief as he straightened and looked at her. Her face became bright with the look of a crusader.
"Harold, you haven't been true to yourself," she told him frankly. "You've been pretending to be what you thought they wanted you to be."
Harold smarted a little at this revelation. But he had to admit it was true. He made as if to speak, but thought better of it and was silent.
Peggy clenched small fists, narrowed her eyes and thrust out her small, smooth chin as if she too were about to attack some lurking Dan Sheldon.
"Stop pretending, Harold!" she cried. "Be yourself! Get out and make them like you for what you really are and what you can do!"
Harold was as deeply stirred by the grim vehemence of her words as by their import. The same fiery spirit that gripped her adorable body assailed his too. He had never loved her so much as now. He would willingly die for her. Die for her if it would show her and Tate that he had the stuff in him that heroes are made of! No task would be too great, no risk too dangerous!
His body stiffened and he clenched his fists too. His blue eyes were alight with battle.
He cried, "There's just one chance left—if I ever get into that big game with Union State, I'll show them!"
"I know you will!" was Peggy's ringing answer and she patted him confidently, tenderly upon the back. She believed in her Freshman with all her heart. She kissed him impulsively and then she said, more subdued, "But I think you've had enough Frolic for to-night, Harold. You'd better find Grace Beach and take her home."
"Oh, do I have to do that?" he asked, dismayed.
"Well, you're her escort and you ought to act like a gentleman. If she's already left with somebody else—you will have done your duty anyway."
"I suppose so," he said reluctantly. He hesitated. "I'll see you in the morning, Peggy," he promised. He stepped over timidly and kissed her cheek and was off.
He rather hoped that Grace had induced Joe Bartlett or somebody else to take her home. He resolved to make his search for her a rather cursory one, influenced somewhat by the fact that he didn't want to face the eyes of his guests just at that particular time. When they looked at him next, he wanted to have something real to show them, something that would make them hail "Speedy" Lamb as another Chester Trask!
The music had temporarily stopped. It occurred to Harold that the most likely place to find Grace was in one of the many alcoves opening out from the ballroom. They were retreats where the dancers retired to rest, smoke and chat. He accordingly walked around the lobby and approached the dance floor from a side entrance. He looked into the first of the little alcoves, pushing aside the fancy screen that assured its privacy, and found it unoccupied. He went on to the next one and was about to take hold of its screen when familiar voices reached his ear from the other side of the barrier. He caught the import of what one of the voices was saying and he took his hand from the screen and paused to listen. He had no desire to eavesdrop; he would have preferred to walk in and ask Grace Beach if his services as an escort were any longer required. But somehow he conceived it his duty to stay his steps a moment.
Joe Bartlett's nasal twang was saying merrily, "If you and Delphine like each other so much, Leonard, why don't you give a real kick to this dance by going off and getting married?"
"What—to-night?" he heard Grace giggle.
"Sure."
"Oh, how romantic!" Grace sighed.
"I tell you what, Len," Joe went on, "I'll bet you five hundred bucks you and Delphine haven't got the nerve to elope."
Leonard Trask's voice now cut in a little besitantly, but defiantly, "What do you say, Delphine? Are you game? Shall we show this smart young man up? Are you willing?"
"Dr. Mitchell, up at Ridgefield, three miles from here, will marry you," Grace offered excitedly. "They call him the 'marrying parson.'"
"Sure he will," chimed in Leonard, thoroughly aroused now and a little out of his head.
"Will you, Delphine?"
Delphine giggled. She sighed, "Oh, Leonard, are you sure you love me?"
"Yes, I'm crazy about you. Let's go. Let's elope."
"Imagine—my own cousin and a guest at my house!" murmured Grace. "I never heard of anything so romantic."
"Come on then. Let's get going," warned Leonard.
Harold was dumbstruck. He couldn't believe Leonard Trask was himself. The son of the famous John Trask and the brother of Chester marrying that silly little Delphine! He couldn't love her. Leonard must be just carried away with the excitement and frivolity of the dance, that crazy bet of Joe's and the urgings of the girls. Harold felt, as the only sensible person present, he ought to do something. Golly, he would do something!
He turned and hurried toward the ballroom, regardless of the looks of the dancers directed his way. He could not find the object of his search in the ballroom. Nor in the alcoves around. Nor in the lobby. Near the swinging door of the Hotel Tate entrance he located him, his hat on and his overcoat on his arm.
Chester Trask looked somewhat worried and Harold suspected Leonard was the cause of it.
The Freshman approached Chester quietly. "Captain Trask, will you come with me?" he requested pointedly. "It's about your brother."
Chester paled a little and followed the Freshman without a word. Harold led the way back to the screen behind which he had eavesdropped. He put his hand on Chester and held the college hero back an instant.
"All right then, it's settled, Delphine," came the voice of Leonard briskly. "We'll all take Joe's car and ride to Ridgefield and Delphine and I will officially elope. You and Grace can be witnesses, Joe."
The screen was pushed to one side and the quartet stepped hurriedly out, to confront Chester and Harold.
Chester took his brother's arm at once. "Say good night to your friends, Leonard," the football captain snapped. "You're coming home with me."
The girls squealed in surprise. Joe Bartlett looked a little frightened. Leonard attempted to get his arm free, to oppose his brother.
"Let me go, Chester," he cried angrily. "I'm old enough to take care of myself." But he could not hold the pose. He was afraid of his older brother. Moreover, reason was beginning to dawn upon him. He was not nearly so keen for the elopement now as he had been a moment previous.
Before he could protest further, Chester was propelling him toward the lobby of the hotel, Joe Bartlett and Harold following. The girls were left behind.
Out through the swinging door at the entrance the four hastened. Attaining the sidewalk, Chester swept the street with his eyes, but could not discern any conveyance.
At that moment "Fat" Jack McLane, the college cop, stepped out of the shadows near the entrance to the Tate and looked at them suspiciously. Jack had been lurking there to nab the anti-Volsteadians. Recognizing Captain Trask, he stepped up to him.
"It's perfectly all right, Jack," Chester explained. "We're all sober as judges."
"I know you are," Jack grinned. "I just wanted to know if you happened to have any extra tickets to the Union State game."
"Sure," Chester replied with relief. "I'll send you two to-morrow."
"Thanks, Cap," said the policeman and returned to his post.
"My car is just around the corner," Joe Bartlett now offered in a greatly subdued voice. He felt himself largely responsible for Leonard's plight and was eager to pacify Chester.
They found Joe's car and piled into it. Harold sat beside Bartlett, who was at the wheel, and Chester and Leonard, conversing in low voices, took the rumble seat behind.
In ten minutes they were in the elaborate suite of rooms in Maury's Private Dorm occupied by Leonard, Bartlett and Don Haddon.
"I'm all right now, Chester," Leonard assured his brother shyly. "I realize what a fool I almost was. I'll see you in the morning." He held out his hand to his brother. "And—thanks. You're peach. Chester. You're always getting me out of trouble."
Chester shook hands with his brother. He patted the younger boy on the shoulder. Then, turning to Harold, he said crisply, "Let's go."
He looked at Harold Lamb curiously as if he were really seeing him for the first time. Here, thought Chester Trask, was surely not the foolish Freshman who had acted as Cavendish's tackling dummy, who had sat for long, dreary hours on the bench at Tate Field and was even now regarded as the joke of the squad. Why, this Freshman had brains, initiative. He was a real man.
"I'll walk over to your room with you, Lamb," Chester offered. "I need a little air—after this."
"That would be fine," said Harold, delighted and a little awed.
He walked proudly down University Street at half past two in the morning with the handsome, brawny football captain. It was a shame, he thought, that the streets were empty.
Trask was silent for a long time, and then he said with some embarrassment, "I can't begin to thank you. Lamb, for what you've done to-night. It was a fine job. You've saved my brother and me a lot of trouble. I don't doubt but what this Delphine is a perfectly nice girl for some chap. But my family has other plans for Leonard. If he had married this girl and left college, they would have been all cut up. And he would have regretted it, and so probably would she. Leonard's just an impulsive kid. He means well and he'll acquire stability some day."
Chester seemed loathe to discuss the frustrated elopement of Leonard any further.
Instead the captain asked abruptly, "How are you getting along with football, Lamb?"
Harold faced the captain with bright, exalted eyes. "I'd give anything in the world to get into that game with Union State, Captain Trask. I have to get in it!"
Trask turned to him in surprise, struck with the vehemence of the Freshman's words. Was this joke player really in earnest? Chester had had one evidence that Harold Lamb was wiser, more resourceful in a pinch than one would ever have dreamed. Perhaps—
"You're as keen as that to play against State' are you?" questioned Trask.
"I'll work my head off! I'll make any sacrifice just for a chance! Then I'll show 'em!" declared Harold, clenching his fists.
Chester Trask was impressed. This Freshman certainly had the proper fighting spirit. He, Chester, owed Lamb something for what he had done to-night. By Jove—and Captaia Trask made a quick, generous resolution.
"Could you come down to the field every day at one o'clock instead of two?" he suddenly asked Harold.
"Yes, my classes are over at twelve thirty."
"All right. You report to me personally dressed for practice to-morrow and every day after that at one o'clock. I'm going to do all I can to make it possible for you to get into that game against Union State."
Harold was thrilled, grateful beyond words.
"I'll be there," he cried. "I'll work my head off for you!"
"Did you ever have any quarterback experience?" asked Chester.
"That's the position I played on Sanford High School."
"Good. Your most likely chance to play against Union State is as a quarterback. We'll point you for that."
As they parted at Clark Street, the captain took the Freshman's hand. "I'm not going to try and thank you, old man. I think you understand." He pressed Harold's paw and looked his gratitude.
"I understand," said Harold, and walked down Clark Street exultantly on air.
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