Right End Emerson. Barbour Ralph Henry

hundred and twent – But, Stick, you said it would be a hundred and fifty at least!”

      “I didn’t say it positively,” disclaimed the other. “I did think I could put in that much, Rus, but – well, I just can’t do it.” Then, after a short pause, he added in a desire to be strictly truthful: “I mean, I don’t think I ought to, Rus. Of course, it’s my money, and all that, but father doesn’t think very well of the idea, and if he needed money some time he’d expect me to let him have a little, and if I put it all into this I won’t have any left. You see, we don’t know for certain that this thing’s going to be a go. I hope it will be, for I’d hate to lose that money, but there’s nothing sure about it, is there?”

      Russell shook his head. “No, nothing’s sure until it’s happened, Stick, but this thing is bound to go all right. Gee, it’s just got to!”

      “Yes, I know,” Stick agreed without much enthusiasm, “but things don’t always succeed because some one says they’ve got to.”

      Russell sighed. “I wish your grandmother hadn’t married a Scotsman, Stick!”

      “What’s that got to do with – ”

      “You’ll die a poor man, Stick, just on that account,” returned his chum gloomily. “Left to itself, the Irish in you would risk a dollar now and then, but that Scotch blood sets up a howl every time.”

      “It’s all right to take a chance,” said Stick seriously, “but there’s no sense in being risky. I say, with what you have, won’t a hundred and twenty-five do?”

      “It will have to,” answered Russell grimly, “if that’s all you’ll come in with. I’ve gone too far now to back down. I spent a whole day in New York, and every one was mighty decent, and I arranged for a whole raft of stuff to come down the twenty-second. The Proctor-Farnham people even offered me ninety days’ credit. You see, their goods are new in the East, Stick, and they’re making a big try to get them going. They make mighty good stuff, too, and I’m pretty certain we can sell a lot of it once we’re started. Of course we’ll have to carry the other makes, too. Some fellows won’t look at a thing unless they grew up with it! Well, anyway, they were quite enthusiastic about the scheme and would have pretty near stocked us up for nothing if I’d agreed to sell only their stuff. But that wouldn’t do. Not yet, anyhow. They offered to send a man down to arrange a window display, but I had to decline that, for I didn’t want them to know that we hadn’t even found a store yet. They might have thought I was crazy. As it was I did a good deal of bluffing, I guess, and talked as if I had about a million dollars. The other folks were a heap more haughty, although they were willing enough to let us have a fair line of samples. They don’t have to offer inducements to sell their goods, you see. Well, now about the money, Stick. I’ve got a little more than two hundred. That’s three hundred and twenty-five, about three hundred and forty, really. I’d hoped for four hundred at least. It means that we’ll have to be satisfied with a more modest store, for it’s store rent that’s going to be the principal expense for a while. I’ve been pretty well over the town, Stick. There are two places I’d love to have, but they’re both on West street and the rent would be something awful. Then there are a couple of places out on the way to the station. They’d be cheap enough, but I guess we might just as well throw our money away as locate out there. Fellows never get that far from school.”

      “No, we’ve got to be somewhere around Bagdad,” replied Stick. Bagdad was the Academy name for the two blocks on West street lying nearest to the school. Here was established a small shopping district quite distinct from that further in the town, one depending largely, though by no means wholly, on the students for trade. The stores that lined both sides of the street were usually small, but, in the parlance of trade, “select.” One found neckties of a rather more “zippy” coloring here, hats with a more rakish air, shoes with more character, clothing that bordered yet did not infringe on the sporty. And, of course, the stationery store carried the sort of books and blanks and binders and pens that Alton Academy affected, while The Mirror specialized in such highly colored and ultra sweet concoctions of ice cream and syrups, fruits and nuts as are beloved of all preparatory school youths everywhere. Bagdad, in short, provided for so many of the wants of Alton students that only once in a blue moon was it necessary for them to seek further afield.

      “Yes,” Russell agreed, “but I don’t believe we can find anything very close that we can afford to take. There’s one place – ”

      He broke off to look thoughtfully across at Stick.

      “Well?” prompted the latter.

      “It’s upstairs, over The Parisian Tailors, on West street. But I don’t like the idea, Stick. You know yourself that a chap won’t climb a flight of stairs if he can find the same thing by walking a block or two further. And there’s Crocker’s store only five doors beyond. I guess that wouldn’t do.”

      “Let’s go and have another look,” suggested Stick. “There must be some place we can have. We’ve got an hour before we need to eat, Rus. What do you say?”

      “All right, but there’s no use going to Bagdad. We might try River street below West.”

      “Huh, no fellow ever sets foot over there! I say, I’ve got it!”

      “Shoot, then, Stick.”

      “We’ll hire half a store from some one who doesn’t need it!”

      “Why, yes, that might do,” replied Russell slowly, “but where are we going to find it?”

      “I don’t know. Maybe we can’t, but it’s an idea, isn’t it? Something to work on, eh? Let’s go and have a look.”

      CHAPTER III

      A NEW YEAR BEGINS

      The journey of the little red car came to an end in three days instead of four, for Matilda developed distressing symptoms at a place called Bradford, got vastly worse at Mystic and broke down utterly some two miles short of New London. There for the present the three travelers left her and completed the trip by rail, parting one afternoon in the Grand Central Station with assurances of a speedy reunion.

      Four days later, on the twenty-second, which was a Monday, Harley McLeod and Jimmy Austen reached Alton shortly after two o’clock and at half-past three were out on the football field with some sixteen other candidates. To-morrow would bring more, but sixteen wasn’t so bad for a first session, and Martin Proctor, this year’s captain, was plainly elated.

      “Twenty-two fellows had the call,” he said to Harley and Jimmy after they had shaken hands, “and you fellows make sixteen who have shown up. That’s mighty good, isn’t it?”

      “When’s Johnny coming?” asked Harley.

      “Not until Wednesday. He telephoned this morning. He expected to come to-day, but something’s happened. We won’t need him, anyway. We can’t do much more to-day and to-morrow than get the kinks out. Oh, say, Jimmy, that reminds me. You’ll have to put in a lot of time on punting this fall. Keep that in mind, will you? Practice whenever you get a chance, like a good fellow. We’ve got to work up a kicking department with not much to build on. And we play Lorimer in a little over three weeks!”

      “How does it seem to be captain, Mart?” asked Jimmy, grinning.

      Mart Proctor smiled back, shook his head and then looked suddenly grave. “Well, so far, Jimmy, being captain’s been a cinch. Spring practice was short and easy, as you know. And during the summer all I’ve had to do is write about a dozen letters a week, read half a million clippings sent by Johnny Cade – he cuts out everything he sees that relates in the slightest way to football and piles it all on me! – and try to look stern and important; and you know that’s no easy job for a merry wight like me! But since I got here yesterday afternoon I’ve discovered that being captain of the Alton Football Team is about the same as being President of the U. S. of A. That guy Johnson’s been at me every ten minutes with a new problem, Jake’s sitting over there on the wheelbarrow trying to think up a new worry – Oh, gee, here comes Johnson again now!”

      Henry