Football -- Juvenile fiction; Schools -- Juvenile fiction
So, Stanley leading the way, they climbed the two flights of worn
stairs, for Goss didn’t boast slate and iron stairways, and traversed a
length of corridor to where the portal of Number 27 stood partly open.
Stanley thumped a couple of times on the door and entered. Someone
within said, “Come in, Stan,” and Dick, following his friend, saw a
rather short, stockily-made youth stretched on the window-seat at the
end of the room. “Excuse me if I don’t rise,” continued the boy. “I
happened to look out a minute ago and saw you rubbering up here.” He
shook hands with Stanley and then, seeing Dick for the first time,
muttered something, and swung his feet to the floor.
“Shake hands with Bates, Sid,” said Stanley. “Dick, this is Mr.
Crocker, well-known in athletic circles as a shot-putter of much
promise.”
“Shut up,” grumbled Crocker. “Glad to meet you,” he added to Dick. “Sit
down, you chaps, if you can find anything to sit on. Blash has got his
things all over the shop. Bring up that chair for your friend, Stan.
You can sit here, and I’ll put my feet on you. Pardon me if I return
to a recumbent position, will you? I’m very weary.”
“Where’s Blash?” asked Stanley. “Gone over to Jud’s, I suppose.”
“Not exactly. He’s down the hall somewhere. He suggested tossing up to
see whether he or I should unpack the bags, and he lost. So, of course,
he remembered that he had to see a fellow and beat it. He will be back
in a few minutes, I guess. This is a fair sample of the way in which he
meets his obligations, gentlemen. I’m ashamed of him.”
Sid Crocker sighed, stretched, and deposited his feet in Stanley’s lap.
He was a nice looking boy of apparently eighteen years, with light
hair and a round, much tanned face. He seemed unnecessarily serious
of countenance, Dick thought, but afterwards he found that Sid’s
expression of gravity was no indication of mood. Sid caught Dick’s gaze
and was reminded of his duties as host.
“I guess I didn’t quite get your name,” he said, politely.
“Bates,” said Stanley. “We’re together over in Sohmer. This is his
first year.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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