Left Tackle Thayer | Page 6

drop in on
Jack Innes?"
"Suppose we do," replied Clint cheerfully. "Who is he?"
"Football captain, you ignoramus. Maybe if you don't act fresh and he
takes a liking to you he will resign and let you be captain."
"Won't it look--well, sort of funny?" asked Clint doubtfully as they

passed along the Bow.
"What? You being captain?"
"No, our going--I mean my going to see him, Won't he think I'm trying
to--to swipe?"
"Poppycock! Jack's a particular friend of mine. You don't have to tell
him you want a place on the team, do you? Besides, there'll likely be
half a dozen others there. Here we are; one flight."
They turned in the first entrance of Hensey and climbed the stairs.
Innes's room, like Clint's, faced the stair-well, being also Number 14,
and from behind the closed door came a babel of voices.
"Full house tonight," observed Amy, knocking thunderously. But the
knocking wasn't heard inside and, after a moment, Amy turned the
knob and walked in, followed by Clint. Nearly a dozen boys were
crowded in the room and each of the two small beds sagged
dangerously under the weight it held.
"We knocked," said Amy, "but you hoodlums are making so much
noise that--"
"Hi, Amy! How's the boy?" called a youth whose position facing the
door allowed him to discover the newcomers. Heads turned and other
greetings followed. It was evident to Clint that his room-mate was a
popular chap, for everyone seemed thoroughly glad to see him.
"Come here, Amy," called a big fellow who was sprawled in a Morris
chair. Amy good-naturedly obeyed the summons and the big fellow
pulled up a leg of the other boy's trousers. "They're grey, fellows," he
announced sorrowfully. "Someone's gone and died, and Amy's in
mourning!"
"Grey!" exclaimed another. "Never. Amy, tell me it isn't true!"
"Shut up! I want to interdoodle my most bosom friend, Mr. Clinton

Thayer, of Vay-gin-yah, sah! Clint, take off your hat."
The merriment ceased and the occupants of the room got to their feet as
best they might and those within reach shook hands.
"That large lump over there," indicated Amy, "is Innes. He's one of
your hosts. The other one is Mr. Still; in the corner of the bed; the
intelligent-looking youth. The others don't matter."
"Glad to know you, Thayer," said Jack Innes in a deep, jovial voice.
"Hope you can find a place to sit down. I guess that bed near you will
hold one more without giving way."
Clint somewhat embarrassedly crowded on to a corner of the bed and
Amy perched himself on an arm of the Morris chair. A smallish,
clever-looking fellow across the room said: "You're a punk introducer,
Amy. Thayer, my name's Marvin, and this chap is Hall and the next one
is Edwards, and Still you know, and then comes Ruddie, and Black--"
"Red and Black," interpolated Amy.
"And next to Innes is Landers--"
"Oh, forget it, Marvin," advised Still. "Thayer won't remember. Names
don't matter, anyway."
"Some names," retorted Marvin, "have little significance, yours
amongst them. I did the best I could for you, Thayer. Remember that.
What's the good word, Amy?"
"I have no news to relate," was the grave response, "save that Jordan
obtruded his shining cranium as we came in and requested me to
inform you fellows that unless there was less noise up here--"
Jeers greeted that fiction. "I love your phrases, Amy," said Marvin.
"'Shining cranium' is great"
"Oh, Amy is one fine little phraser," said Innes. "Remember his theme
last year, fellows? How did it go, Amy? Let me see. Oh! 'The

westerning sun sank slowly into the purple void of twilight, a burnished
copper disk beyond the earth's horizon!'"
"I never!" cried Amy indignantly.
"He loves to call a football an 'illusive spheroid,'" chuckled another
chap.
"So it is," asserted Amy vehemently. "I know, because I tried to play
with one once!"
"I'll bet a great little football player was lost when you forsook the
gridiron for the--the field of scholarly endeavour," said Tom Hall.
"He's caught it, too!" groaned the youth beside him, Steve Edwards.
"Guess I'll take him home."
"You're not talking that way yet, are you, Thayer?" asked Jack Innes
solicitously.
"I don't think so," replied Clint with a smile.
"You will sooner or later, though. The fellow who roomed with Amy
last year got so he couldn't make himself understood in this country and
had to go to Japan."
"China," corrected Amy, "China, the Land of the Chink and the
chop-stick."
"There he goes!" moaned Still.
"What I haven't heard explained yet," said Steve Edwards, "is what's
happened to Amy's glad socks. Why the sobriety, Amy?"
"Wouldst hear the sweet, sad story?"
"Wouldst."
"Then give me your kind attention and I willst a tale