ASHLEY AGREES TO QUIT

Jerry told Tom that evening of Gus Ashley’s strange behavior in practice. “Looked like he was trying to make it hard for me,” said Jerry, puzzled. “The last time he did it I just couldn’t get the pass, and the ball went clean away from me. Mr. Thorne thought I’d fumbled it, I reckon.”

“I don’t see why Ashley should do anything like that intentionally,” answered Tom. “If it was Purves Jordan I’d understand, because Jordan’s that sort anyway. But it can’t make any difference to Ashley if you play at left half. I guess you imagined it, Jerry.”

Jerry replied that maybe he had, but he didn’t look convinced. On Tuesday the same thing happened again twice. The first time, in spite of the delay, Jerry made the play, a buck at the right of center, go for two yards, but the next time, although he avoided a fumble, he was stopped for a loss. His anxious look at Coach Thorne revealed the coach in a moment of evident perplexity, and instead of the expected “call down” Jerry got only a puzzled glance. It was of Ashley that an explanation was demanded.

“What was your trouble, Right Half?” asked the coach. “You passed to Benson ’way late!”

“He wasn’t ready, I reckon,” answered Ashley. “I can’t pass until he’s ready.”

“Yes, you can. You needn’t concern yourself about him. You do your part and let him look after himself. Don’t let me see that happen again. Benson, you’re supposed to be ready for the ball the minute the play begins. Any more of that nonsense and you’ll both go!”

That was the last that day, but it wasn’t the last of Jerry’s misfortunes. Three minutes later there came a play in which Jerry, carrying the ball, went close off right tackle. In this play quarter back went ahead to engage the opposing tackle, full back followed to clean out the hole, and left half, with the ball, went next. Right Half looked after the end. So the play proceeded on this occasion and Jerry plunged along for well over two yards before a second team back reached him and stopped him. There was a moment of uncertain swaying and confusion, during which Jerry was aware of Ashley’s presence behind him. Then he went down and the whistle piped. As he toppled a clenched fist came swiftly up under his arms that hugged the ball and knocked it loose. There was a cry of “_Ball!_” and a wild scramble. A second team back had it when the pile-up was untangled. Tub Keller indignantly claimed it. “He had the ball when the whistle blew!” cried Tub. “Second stole it, Mr. Referee!” But neither the referee nor any of the officials supported Tub’s contention and Jerry went back to his position in disgrace. He knew quite well what had happened, but none had seen the incident and he couldn’t have proved his charge had he made it, which he had no idea of doing. For some reason Ashley was doing all he could to discredit him and Jerry had no “comeback.”

Jordan finished the game at left half, taking Jerry’s place a minute or two after the apparent fumble. Jerry was sent off to the showers by the lynx-eyed trainer, but he had not left the gymnasium when the others trooped in and he encountered Mr. Thorne at the locker room door. The coach frowned slightly as he stopped, but he spoke mildly enough.

“Benson, you’re doing far too much fumbling,” he said. “What’s the trouble?”

Jerry wanted to explain but he couldn’t. So he said nothing, and after an instant the coach continued. “Maybe you’d better take it easy to-morrow,” he said. “Leave out punting in the morning, my boy. I reckon we’ve been working you pretty hard. Feeling all right?”

“Yes, sir. I――I don’t reckon it’s working too hard, sir.”

“Well, we’ll see. Don’t worry about it.”

“I ain’t aiming to worry none,” said Jerry to himself, as he went on, “but I’m aiming to learn why that feller’s bothering me!”

When Gus Ashley came out of Hall the next morning after chapel Jerry was awaiting him. “I’m wishful to speak a few words with you,” he said quietly. Ashley looked surprised. Then his eyes narrowed. “What’s your trouble, Benson?” he asked, casting an amused glance at Butterfield, who was with him. Jerry looked embarrassed, almost apologetic, as he replied: “I reckon I can’t tell you here,” he said. “I’d like you to walk over yonder, please.”

“Oh, all right.” Ashley laughed and winked at Butterfield. “See you later, Lon. Benson and I’ve got a secret!” He followed Jerry to the beginning of the path that led across to McCrea. There he asked impatiently: “What do you think you’re up to, boy? Trying to start something you can’t finish?”

“I reckon you and me――you and I ought to come to an understanding,” said Jerry calmly. “And I’d like you to step over yonder with me.” He nodded toward the little frame stable close to the further boundary of the school grounds. The narrow space between stable and hedge was sacred to the adjustment of affairs of honor, a fact that Gus Ashley knew far better than Jerry. Ashley’s brows went up and he laughed almost jovially.

“That means a fight, eh? I like your cheek, Benson! What do you want to scrap about?”

“I ain’t aiming to fight none,” returned Jerry gravely, “not unless you ain’t willing to promise to let me be.”

“Let you be?” Ashley pretended ignorance. “What do you mean, you silly ass? Who’s bothering you?”

“I’d like you to come over yonder,” repeated Jerry. His tone was politely earnest and hospitable. Ashley frowned, hesitated, shrugged and started.

“All right, but it’s plumb nonsense! Besides, confound it, Benson, it’s ten minutes to breakfast time!”

“I ain’t aiming to keep you long,” replied Jerry, falling into step as they crossed the turf. “I reckon ten minutes is enough.” There was a grimness in his tone that caused Ashley to cast a quick and uncertain glance at him. But what he saw reassured him. Jerry was more than a year younger, smaller and much lighter. There could be no doubt of the outcome of any unpleasantness that might develop, and Ashley chuckled. “You’re a quaint youth, Benson,” he said. “It will give me a heap of pleasure to hand you a couple of wallops, boy!”

Jerry made no response and they passed around the corner of the stable. Inside, Cicero was grooming the carriage mules and they could hear him singing at his labor. Cicero, however, was slightly deaf and there was no danger of interruption from him.

“You’ve been picking on me,” announced Jerry, when they were out of sight of the school buildings. “You’ve been trying to muss up my playing. I don’t know why you’ve been doing it, but you’ve got to quit.”

“Picking on you, eh?” laughed Ashley. “You sound like a kid! How have I been picking on you?”

“You know how,” said Jerry gravely. “You lied about me to the coach day before yesterday, too. You told him I wasn’t ready for the pass, and I was ready, and you knowed――knew it!”

“Calling me a liar, are you, you tow-haired backwoodsman?” Ashley tried to sound properly resentful and ferocious, but he didn’t succeed.

“I ain’t aiming to call names,” said Jerry. “I’m only telling you what you done. You’ve got to quit it, Ashley.”

“Have I?” Ashley laughed again. Then he scowled impatiently. “Look here, Benson, you might as well understand right now that you’re not wanted on the team. Take my advice and keep out of it. If you don’t, you’re going to meet up with a sight of trouble, boy!”

“Who is it’s not wanting me?”

“What? Why, a lot of us. Hang it, Benson, you haven’t any business butting in and trying to take Jordan’s job away from him! He’s worked hard for that position and you’re a newcomer and you don’t know anything about the game. Thorne’s boosting you, that’s all. If he wasn’t you’d never get a taste of football. You stop trying to swipe Jordan’s place or you’ll get into worse trouble than you have.”

“I ain’t worriting about Jordan,” replied Jerry. He carefully removed his jacket, folded it and laid it on the ground. “I’ve got as good a right to play football as he has, or you, or any other feller. I’m peaceable, Ashley, but I ain’t aiming to let no one walk on me. I reckon you’d better remove your coat.”

“Don’t be a fool, Benson!” exclaimed the other. “I can lick the tar out of you, boy. Have some sense. What good’s it going to do you to get your face all spoiled?”

“You ain’t spoiled it yet,” answered Jerry. “You’d better take your coat off.”

“I certainly will, you silly fool! And I’ll teach you a lesson, Benson! Remember, though, I warned you. Now you’ll take what’s coming to you.”

“I’m waiting on you,” said Jerry.

Ashley undid his wrist watch and tossed it onto his coat. Then he gave a hitch to his trousers and strode forward, his eyes on Jerry’s and a half smile on his good-looking face. “You long-legged, tow-headed little rooster,” he said softly, almost kindly, “I’m going to make you behave!” He shot out a straight right and followed quickly with his left. The right failed to land, but his left fist went under Jerry’s guard and reached his ribs smartly. Then Ashley grunted and fell back, for Jerry, arms whirling like flails, had leaped toward him. Ashley side-stepped, received a light, glancing blow on one cheek and shot out his right as Jerry went past. Jerry staggered, whirled and came back, trying to close with his antagonist but meeting such stiff punishment that he had to give up the attempt. He drew back, an expression of mild surprise on his face.

“You-all’s got a right smart punch,” he panted.

“Better learn to fight before you try it again,” jeered Ashley.

Jerry grinned as he advanced more cautiously. “Reckon I’ll take some learning right now,” he answered. Then he leaped again, got a hard jolt on his jaw that ought to have stopped him but didn’t, and fairly beat down Ashley’s guard. The next thing the larger boy knew, he was on the ground, flat on his back, and Jerry was on top of him raining blows to whatever portion of his body he could reach. Ashley was so surprised that for a painful moment he merely strove to protect his face. Then, with a roar of rage, he arched his back and sent Jerry sprawling.

“What kind of fighting do you call that, you North Carolina wildcat?” he demanded furiously. He strode across and waited for Jerry’s rising. “Don’t you know better than to hit a fellow when he’s down?”

“I put you down,” answered Jerry. He squirmed to one knee, watching, and then, when Ashley failed to strike, jumped up and back lithely. Ashley’s blow missed, but he followed and landed twice before Jerry, accepting punishment gamely, again wrapped his long arms about his opponent.

Ashley stormed and struggled, raining blows on the back of Jerry’s head, but the arms only hugged the tighter. Ashley knew practically nothing of wrestling and so was no match for the enemy. Suddenly Jerry shifted his hold, there was a crash and Ashley again lay prone, most of the breath driven from his lungs. But a smashing blow on one ear brought him back to action. Again he tried to get rid of his enemy, but this time success was slower in coming, and for a long moment blows were given and taken on the ground, Ashley getting more than his share of them. Finally, however, his superior weight told and he managed to topple his adversary aside and to leap to his feet. Then it began again, but now Ashley had learned his lesson, which was to keep Jerry at arm’s length. For awhile they circled each other, panting and feinting, Jerry crouching for an opening and Ashley keeping him at bay. Then again Jerry sprang. Ashley met him squarely with his left and Jerry stopped in midflight and went backward to the earth. That blow had landed on his chin and for an instant Jerry had no interest in the course of events. Ashley stood above him a trifle anxiously.

“You would have it, you crazy fool!” he charged as Jerry blinked his eyes open. “Got enough?”

To his surprise, Jerry’s answer was a series of quick rolls that brought him smack against the stable, from whence he leaped to his feet, albeit a trifle unsteadily. “I ain’t had nigh enough,” he panted doggedly. “I ain’t going to have enough till you promise to let me be!”

“You’re crazy!” sighed the other. “Look here, it’s way after breakfast time and we’re both getting messed up and faculty’ll get on to us as sure as shooting. Have some sense, Benson! You can’t lick me. I’m not so sure that I can lick you as I was, but I can keep on hammering you. Let’s call it a draw. What do you say?”

“I ain’t aiming to quit just yet,” answered Jerry, swinging his long arms as he crept warily forward. “You’ve got to promise to stop pestering me, Ashley.”

“Hang it all, I will then! Great Scott, there’s no use fighting you, Benson. You don’t fight fair and you don’t know when you’re licked!”

“You ain’t licked nobody yet and you know you ain’t! I fight like I been taught to fight, too. You mean you’re going to let me be after this?”

“Yes, I mean just that,” answered Ashley disgustedly. “You’re a――a regular savage! Hang it, I don’t care who has the position, anyway.” He rescued his watch and began to strap it back on his wrist. “If Jordan wants it he can fight his own battles for it after this. I’m through!” He grinned wryly. “I wish he’d fought this one, by Jove! I’ll look like a wreck when I get to breakfast. So will you. I say, we’d better stop in McCrea and get cleaned up a bit before any one sees us!”

Jerry felt gingerly of his chin and caressed the bone under his left eye. “Reckon we’ll both look kind of bad,” he said. “Reckon the faculty’ll say much?”

“Not if we keep quiet and don’t call attention to our――our wounds,” answered Ashley. “Come on. We’ll duck into Jordan’s room in McCrea and patch ourselves up a bit.” They emerged into sight of the Hall most circumspectly and then, assuming an extremely casual appearance, proceeded not too hurriedly toward the nearest house. Fortunately Number 8 was deserted, Hal Mansfield and Purves Jordan both being still at breakfast. Fortunately, too, Ashley discovered several things helpful to persons suffering from contusions: witch-hazel, arnica and talcum. Ashley decided against the arnica as being too suggestive in odor and chose witch-hazel instead. With a clean handkerchief filched from Jordan’s chiffonier drawer he performed first aid on Jerry. Jerry had received rather the worst of the encounter so far as appearances went, at least, though Ashley declared that in numerous places not exposed to public view he was as sore as the dickens! The talcum powder came in very handy as a final application since it somewhat disguised the mottled complexion of Jerry’s chin and cheek and mitigated the excessive redness of Ashley’s left ear. At last they viewed each other dubiously, and Ashley shook his head.

“You don’t look so bad, Benson,” he said, “but no one would gather that you had just returned from Sunday school. Reckon you’d better turn down a side alley when you see a faculty coming! How do I look?”

“Sort of funny,” answered Jerry. “One of your ears is swollen and there’s a place on your neck that ought to have some more of that talcy powder on it. Where’s it?” Jerry dusted liberally, viewed the result and pronounced it satisfactory. Thereupon they made their way forth, Ashley proclaiming somewhat dismayedly that it was twenty-two minutes after breakfast time.

“I reckon we’d better not go in together,” he said. “You go first and I’ll come in a minute later.”

“I ain’t in any hurry,” said Jerry. “I’d just as lief you went first.”

“Neither am I. Say, Benson, I reckon I’m sort of sorry about what I did, and I might as well say so. It was pretty rotten. And, dog my cats, you’re a lot better player than Purves is, anyway! I hope you make it, boy. I’ll make up for that mean trick by helping you any way I can. And――and if you say so I’ll tell Thorne about it.”

Jerry shook his head as they ran up the steps to the Hall. “Ain’t no need of that,” he answered. “Reckon there ain’t anything you can do for me except one thing.”

“What’s that?” asked Ashley.

“Quit calling me Benson. Just Jerry’s good enough.”