THE STRANGER ON THE TRAIN

Jerry Benson reached Washington, on his way back to North Bank School, two days late. This was not the fault of the railroad, as one who has traveled from Huckinsburg, North Carolina, to Washington might readily suspect, but was entirely due to the fact that Jerry had left home forty-eight hours after he should have. “Pap” Huckins, who was Jerry’s foster-father――his parents had died when he was a baby――had been poorly all summer and there had been no one to take his place in the little store when it had come time for Jerry to leave. So Jerry had stayed on until Pap had been able to hobble over, with the aid of his old holly-wood cane, and take command of the situation again. Just to be quite on the safe side, Jerry had dispatched a few lines to Mr. Ledyard, the school secretary, explaining everything, and so, when he climbed aboard the electric train that was to take him on the next leg of his journey, he had a clear conscience and an untroubled mind. Also, having dined well if not extravagantly in a white-tiled cafeteria, he was blessed with a fine sense of repletion and well-being. He had purchased a magazine with a vivid cover and contents to match, and now, his ancient valise safely between his feet and the train proceeding sedately through the squalid environs of the Capital, he settled back to a comfortable perusal of the startling adventures of the hero of “The Pearl Poachers of Bamba Strait.”

Jerry’s taste in literature was catholic to a degree. Last spring he had quite appalled Tom Hartley, his chum and roommate, by devouring everything in the way of American history he could lay his hands on, just as though, as Tom said ruefully, there wasn’t enough of it to be found in the school curriculum! And between whiles Jerry had been found digging tentatively into a sheepskin-bound volume entitled _Jemmison on Jurisprudence_. All of which, however, did not keep Jerry from devouring the stories and serials in Tom’s _Saturday Evening Post_. The pearl poachers were a bold, bad lot, and Jerry found their doings most interesting, and yet, right in the middle of the story, he found his attention faltering until, in obedience to some compelling force, his gaze wandered from the page and crossed the swaying car to where it encountered another. Jerry understood then why he had looked away from the magazine. The intent regard of the broad-shouldered stranger across the aisle would have penetrated the preoccupation of any one. They were very bright eyes that met Jerry’s, and very keen ones, and, ere they moved leisurely past him, they expressed a more than casual interest. The man was large in a lean, well-muscled way and his face was at once grave and pleasant. Although where his straw hat had been pushed slightly back from his forehead――the weather was warm for mid-September――the man’s hair was well grizzled with white, Jerry judged him to be no more than thirty. Jerry, returning to his story, chuckled to himself.

“He’s right nice looking,” he thought, “but, golly, if I’d robbed a bank or something I’d sure hate to find him watching me!”

After that he thought no more of the man across the aisle, and in course of time Naval Academy Junction was reached and Jerry took up his valise and made his way outside to the platform. Disdainfully the train sped on toward Baltimore, leaving Jerry and a handful of others to seek the shade and await the Annapolis train. Among those others was the broad-shouldered, brown-faced man he had caught looking at him. He took a seat on a bench, placed his suitcase between his feet and spread a Washington paper before him. Jerry studied him, conscious of an interest that he couldn’t explain. He had never seen the stranger before and would probably never see him again. Nor was there anything unusual about him to claim attention. Yet half a dozen times, having forcibly removed his gaze from the man, Jerry found his eyes returning to him. After all, there was not much to look at at the Junction: just four tracks running away to as many points of the compass, a station, a store, a switch-tower, all sizzling in the heat; and he may be excused for making the most of what seemed the more interesting. The other passengers, enduring the wait with what patience they could find, offered no interest at all to Jerry: a tired-looking woman with a restless baby and many bundles, a drummer with a sample-case, three inoffensive and colorless men of varying ages and four khaki-clad “doughboys” from the nearby camp. It was the latter, however, who eventually created a diversion that drew Jerry’s attention from the interesting stranger.

The soldiers had paid a visit to the store and had each returned with a bottle of strawberry-hued concoction which, it seemed, they had already lost their taste for. Further along the platform was a rudely-fashioned crate which stood, with two or three trunks――Jerry’s among them――on a truck. In the crate was a nondescript dog, one of the sort which, for want of a better name, is generally referred to as a rabbit dog. The weather was pretty hot and the traveler wasn’t very happy in his confined quarters, and Jerry, who had a weakness for dogs, had noticed the fact and had felt sorry for him. Now, wandering along the platform, the khaki-clad quartet discovered a source of mild amusement in the animal. One of them who wore a sergeant’s chevron――none of the four appeared more than twenty――conceived the idea of trying the tonic on the dog. The latter wagged a feeble tail and lapped eagerly enough at the mouth of the bottle, thrust through the slats of the crate. That moved the soldiers to laughter, and it was then that Jerry, willing to be amused, sauntered nearer and looked on.

“Say, he likes it all right,” said one of the doughboys. “Give him mine, Pete. Don’t spill it, you fool! Gee, he’s some thirsty, that mutt!”

“Likes it ’cause it’s sweet, I guess,” said another. “What’s he got in the tin dish there?”

“Looks like water,” answered the sergeant.

“Pour the tonic in there. He’d rather have it. Give him a good time, Pete. Looks like he’d die if he saw a square meal, don’t he?”

“Say ‘bone’ to him and he’d fall in a faint,” agreed the sergeant as he prepared to empty the contents of one of the bottles into the shallow tin dish.

“Reckon I wouldn’t do that,” said a drawling Southern voice at his elbow. “He’s going to need that water a heap before he gets where he’s going, and that sweet stuff will just make him thirstier.”

The sergeant looked around and ran his gaze derisively over the person of the intruder. He saw a tow-haired youth of seventeen with a plain but likable countenance from which, under light lashes, two pale-blue eyes looked placidly and good-humoredly forth. The boy was fairly tall for his age, a bit raw-boned and loose-jointed and not too well supplied with flesh. He wore a neat but inexpensive suit of blue serge and a yellowed straw hat, and no one would have made the mistake of supposing that either was purchased on Fifth Avenue. The sergeant grunted as he straightened up, the bottle in his hand dribbling its brilliantly colored contents to the platform.

“What’s troublin’ you, sonny?” he asked disdainfully.

Jerry smiled placatingly and blinked his blue eyes. “I was saying if you-all pour that stuff in his drinking dish he’s going to be powerful unhappy mighty soon. ’Tain’t going to satisfy his thirst like water does.”

“Is he your dog?” demanded one of the men.

“No, he ain’t mine, but――――”

“Chase yourself then, kid!” returned the sergeant. “This pup’s a whale for tonic; just laps it up! Here, Fido, have some more.”

“I wouldn’t do it,” reiterated Jerry earnestly as the sergeant again prepared to add the contents of the bottle to the dish. “He’s going to be right thirsty without any water.”

“Aw, shut up!” was the answer. “What are you butting in here for, anyway, you country jay? What business is it of yours?”

The tonic gurgled into the drinking dish as Jerry replied mildly: “I was just tellin’ you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just telling you to beat it before I hand you a wallop,” snarled the sergeant. Jerry blinked again, but he didn’t look alarmed. Neither did he accept the advice. He stood silently by while the dog lapped half-heartedly at the mixture of tonic and water and then, turning away from it, looked in friendly inquiry at the strangers.

“Go on and drink it,” said one of the soldiers. “That stuff costs money, dog!” But the dog only wagged his tail.

“Guess he’s looking for the meat course,” chuckled another. There was a shrill whistle from up the track and the electric train bore down on the station. The sergeant tossed the empty bottle aside and the quartet turned away. Jerry looked speculatively from the approaching train to his satchel and from that to the empty bottle. Then he looked at the dog and made up his mind.

“There’ll be another one in an hour, I reckon,” he muttered. He picked up the bottle and hurried into the station with it. Filling it was slow and difficult work, and when he returned to the platform the train was alongside. As he made his way quickly back to the baggage truck he saw that the man with the broad shoulders and sun-browned face was standing before the crate, and as he drew near the stranger spoke crisply.

“Give me the water,” he said, “and grab your bag. They’ll be pulling out in a second.”

The man had reached into the crate and emptied the dish. Jerry obediently relinquished the bottle and sped back along the platform just as the conductor shouted his warning. A moment later he and the stranger were hustling together through the car door, the train already moving.

“A close call,” laughed the man as he swung his suitcase to a rack.

“Yes, sir,” answered Jerry. “I’m much obliged.”

“So’s the dog, I guess!” The man nodded in friendly fashion and took the empty half of a seat and Jerry went on up the aisle to crowd himself apologetically alongside a stout lady who greeted his advent with a sniff of annoyance. Some twenty minutes later the train reached Annapolis and at the West Street Station many of the passengers alighted. Jerry’s quondam acquaintance, however, remained aboard, and was still in his place when the boy left the car at Church Circle. He looked up as Jerry pushed past with his bag and nodded again.

From the post office corner to the Short Line station was but a few steps and five minutes later Jerry was off again. The two-car train rattled and swayed its way across the Severn. The broad river was aglow in the afternoon sunlight and, eastward, the Naval Academy buildings stood out majestically against an unclouded sky. A bright blue canoe floated downstream at a little distance and Jerry thought he recognized the boy who reposed lazily in the bow. It was a good two miles and a half from the school to the railroad bridge, but some of the hardier mariners thought little of the distance. Jerry, born amongst the North Carolina hills, had had little experience with boats or canoes and was inclined to look askance at water for other than drinking or bathing purposes. But to-day, watching the blue craft slip gracefully along, he half promised himself to test the delights of canoeing this fall.

He was the only passenger to alight at North Bank Station, and, since he had not apprised Mr. Ledyard as to the hour of his arrival, the school carriage, drawn by two black mules and driven by the equally black Cicero, was not there. So he set his valise on one shoulder and started off along the dusty, red-clay road. Now and then he caught a fleeting glimpse of the river, but for most of the way the road was lined with woods, with, here and there, a clearing that gave a view of a summer residence set between highway and river. Occasionally a carriage or automobile jounced past, and at such times Jerry sidled well away to escape the choking clouds of dust. At last, whistling softly a monotonous tune, he came in sight of a privet hedge on his right and the tune died away on his lips. The well-trimmed hedge formed the boundary of the Laurence place, and Major Laurence was a friend of Jerry’s, had been ever since the spring, when, to earn money for his baseball uniform, Jerry had clipped that same hedge and dug the flowerbeds. The Major was a lawyer, and the chance acquaintance had directed Jerry’s ambition in the direction of that profession. It had been the Major who had suggested the reading of history, but the incursion into jurisprudence had been the boy’s idea. Once in sight of the comfortable, rambling house, Jerry looked eagerly for sight of his friend, but, although the Major’s automobile stood before the door, the Major himself was not to be seen.

Jerry had lowered his satchel to one hand now and settled his hat in orderly fashion. A row of tall poplars ran from the hedge to the river and divided the Major’s land from the grounds of the school, and not until Jerry had passed the end of their soldierly rank were the school buildings in sight. Then they met his view all at once: Founders’ Hall with its white cupola, the four dormitories half circling it toward the road, the gymnasium with its greenish glass roof, even the little stable at the far side of the wide expanse of turf. Only the boathouse that lay below the bank of the river was beyond vision. Just across the hedge was the ball field, with its weathered bleachers, and, beyond it, the running track and the gridiron and the long, low grandstand above which the roof of Follen House peered. On the more distant tennis courts white-clad forms ran or darted in the sunlight. Jerry, though, found more interest nearer at hand, for, from beyond the stand that marched with the hedge, came sharp cries and hollow thuds, and at intervals brown objects hurtled into the air.

“Football,” he murmured. “Reckon there ain’t any hurry. I’ll see what they’re doing.” He looked cautiously up and down the road and then as cautiously over the hedge. Although many were in sight beyond the barrier, none was paying heed to him, and he tossed his valise across the hedge and then followed it, landing, since he had not jumped quite high enough, on all fours. Rising, he caught sight, between the tiers of seats, of hurrying forms, varicolored yet running mostly to khaki and the light blue of North Bank. He picked up his valise and made his way around to the nearer end of the stand.

From there it seemed to Jerry that the entire student body, which usually numbered some two hundred, was engaged in football, for, no matter in which direction he looked, youths were trotting or plunging or sprawling about! However, a second estimate reduced their number very considerably. Perhaps, he reflected, there were nearer eighty there than two hundred, although, like the pig in the story, some of them ran around so fast you couldn’t count them! Near the center of the stand a score or so of boys lolled in the seats and looked on, while, along the nearer side line, a few more stood about in critical survey. Jerry, observing the mysterious doings of the players in a frankly puzzled way, moved slowly along toward the spectators. Near by a group of a dozen or so boys in khaki pants and faded blue jerseys with strange leather pads on the shoulders were going through a series of evolutions that seemed to Jerry to possess neither rhyme nor reason. One boy――Jerry recognized him as Don Sears, who had pitched for the scrubs in the spring――was evidently in command. Sears grabbed a football from between the outspread legs of a heavy youth in front of him and, having rattled off in a shrill voice what sounded like an arithmetic problem, tossed the ball to another youth, just which one didn’t appear to matter in the least, and gave him a violent shove. Thereupon the entire group dashed forward, helter-skelter, as though they meant to race at breakneck speed to the other end of the field, every one in every one else’s way――or so it looked――only to pause abruptly a dozen yards further along, place the ball again on the ground and once more become set and tense. Jerry shook his head, at a loss, and then, aware that his wandering along the line had brought him close to one of the onlookers, he sought enlightenment.

“What-all are they doing?” he asked.

The boy beside him turned, and: “Hello, Benson!” he exclaimed. “When did you arrive?” A hand was thrust forth and Jerry shifted his valise and took it.

“Hello,” he answered. “I just got here.”

“Good work! Some one was saying that you weren’t coming back.”

“I couldn’t get here any sooner, Naughton. Say, what-all are they doing?” Jerry nodded at the group whose actions had puzzled him so.

“Who? Those fellows? Why, practicing formations. Haven’t you ever seen football played?”

Jerry shook his head. “I wasn’t here last fall,” he said. “Reckon Sears isn’t telling them what to do right. Every time they start off they have to stop and do it over again.”

Perry Naughton laughed. “It isn’t that bad, Benson! They’re doing what they set out to――after a fashion! Those are mostly new fellows. The first squad’s over yonder. Are you and Hartley together again this year?”

“Yes, and I reckon I’d better be getting on. I don’t know what they’ll be saying to me for being two days late. I heard the goings-on in here and stopped to see what-all was happening. I’m right pleased to know those fellers are doing like they ought, because I thought maybe they were crazy!” Jerry smiled and nodded and went on, pausing several times, though, to return the shouted greetings of friends on the stand. But he kept his goal in mind and a few minutes later he turned in at the doorway of Baldwin House and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Then, a few paces along the hall, he turned the knob of Number 7.