Football -- Juvenile fiction; Schools -- Juvenile fiction
At the top he paused for an instant to glance behind. The policeman
was trying to do two things at once and succeeding. He was peering
undecidedly after the trespasser and holding back the pursuit. With
an unsteady laugh Leonard tried the knob of the door in front of him,
from behind which came the sounds of a merry party. It did not yield.
Leonard tried again and put his weight against the portal. From below
came the hoarse voice of the officer.
“Hey, youse, come down out of that before I comes up and gets you!”
Leonard beat a tattoo on the door. The policeman started slowly and
heavily and remorselessly up the carpeted steps. Behind him the doorway
was crowded with faces. Leonard kicked until the door shook.
“Let me in, Sophs! This is Grant!” he shouted.
“Come away from that now!” ordered the policeman gruffly. He was almost
at the top, and Leonard’s brief glance told him that his good-nature
was no longer to be relied on.
“I’ve got a right in here,” panted Leonard, still pounding and kicking.
“I’m--I’m one of the party!”
“Your party’s down below,” answered the officer grimly, and, topping
the last step, stretched out a massive hand. Leonard, backed against
the door now, waved weakly at the menace and tried to find words. Then,
just when the Law was about to clutch him, the door behind him opened
suddenly and unexpectedly and Leonard arrived on the scene of the
Sophomore Dinner in most undignified manner!
The door closed as quickly as it had opened, leaving a surprised
policeman to scratch his head and, finally, to retrace his steps to
the sidewalk, where his appearance empty-handed summoned a groan of
disappointment from the waiting throng. That disappointment was the
last straw, and, after a rather half-hearted cheer for themselves, the
freshmen wended their way back to school.
Upstairs, Leonard was finishing his sixth and final oyster.
CHAPTER XIX
NOT ELIGIBLE
After a day like yesterday only one thing could be expected of the
weather, and so here was a rainy Sunday. After church came dinner,
and after dinner--well, nothing, it seemed, but a long and sleepy
afternoon. Leonard and Slim found reading matter and settled down, Slim
on the window-seat because he managed to reach it first, and Leonard
on his bed, with his own and Slim’s pillows under his head. Outside
the November afternoon was dark with lead-gray clouds and a fine,
persistent rain challenged Leonard’s optimistic prediction of clearing
weather by four o’clock. Slim grunted gloomily and hunched himself
more comfortably against the cushions. “It’s days like this,” he said,
“that account for the startling prevalence of crime during the month of
November in American preparatory schools.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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