NID AND NOD

BY RALPH HENRY BARBOUR

Author of “The Crimson Sweater,” “Harry’s Island,” “Team-Mates,” “The Turner Twins,” etc.

ILLUSTRATED BY C. M. RELYEA

THE CENTURY CO. New York and London 1923

Copyright, 1923, by The Century Co.

PRINTED IN U. S. A.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

[1]

NID AND NOD

[2]

[3]

CHAPTER I AT THE LITTLE BLUE SHOP

A bell tinkled as the door of the little blue shop opened and closed, and continued to tinkle, although decreasingly, as the stout youth who had entered turned unhesitatingly but with a kind of impressive dignity toward where in the dimmer light of the store a recently installed soda-fountain, modest of size but brave with white marble and nickel, gleamed a welcome.

In response to the summons of the bell a girl came through the door that led to the rear of the little building. As she came she fastened a long apron over the dark blue dress and sent an inquiring hand upward to the smooth brown hair. Evidently reassured, she said, “Hello,” in a friendly voice and, having established herself behind the counter, looked questioningly at the customer.

[4]

“Hello,” responded the boy. “Give me a chocolate sundae with walnuts and a slice of pineapple, please. And you might put a couple of cherries on top. Seen Nod this afternoon?”

The girl shook her head as she deposited a portion of ice-cream in a dish and pressed the nickeled disk marked “Chocolate.” “I’ve just this minute got back from school,” she replied. “Aren’t you out early to-day?”

“No recitation last hour,” the youth explained as his eyes followed her movements fascinatedly. “That all the chopped walnuts I get, Polly?”

“It certainly is when you ask for pineapple and cherries, too,” answered the girl firmly. She tucked a small spoon on the side of the alarming concoction, laid a paper napkin in front of the customer, and placed the dish beside it. “Would you like a glass of water?”

The youth paused in raising the first spoonful to his mouth and looked to see if she spoke with sarcasm. Apparently, however, she did not, and so he said, “Yes, please,” or most of it; the last of it was decidedly unintelligible, proceeding as it did from behind a mouthful of ice-cream, chocolate[5] syrup, and cherry. When the glass of water had been added to the array before him and he had swallowed three spoonfuls of the satisfying medley, the stout youth sighed deeply, and his gaze went roaming to an appealing display of pastry beyond the girl.

“Guess I’ll have a cream-cake,” he announced. “And one of those tarts, please. What’s in ’em, Polly?”

“Raspberry jam.”

“Uh-huh. All right. Better make it two, then.”

Polly Deane eyed him severely. “Kewpie Proudtree,” she exclaimed, “you know you oughtn’t to eat all this sweet stuff!”

“Oh, what’s the difference?” demanded the youth morosely. “Gee, a fellow can’t starve all the time! Maybe I won’t go in for football next year, anyway. It’s a dog’s life. No desserts you can eat, no candy, no—”

“Well, I think that’s a very funny way for you to talk,” interrupted Polly indignantly. “After the way you played in the Farview game and everything! Why, every one said you were just wonderful, Kewpie!”

[6]

Kewpie’s gloom was momentarily dissipated, giving place to an expression of gratification. He hastily elevated a portion of ice-cream to his mouth and murmured deprecatingly, “Oh, well, but—”

“And you know perfectly well,” continued the girl, “that pastry and sweets make you fat, and Mr. Mulford won’t like it a bit, and—”

It was Kewpie’s turn to interrupt, and he did it vigorously. “What of it?” he demanded. “I don’t have to stay fat, do I? I’ve got all summer to train down again, haven’t I? Gee, Polly, what’s the use of starving all the winter and spring just to play football for a couple of months next fall? Other fellows don’t do it.”

“Why, Kewpie, you know very well that most of them do! You don’t see Ned and Laurie eating pastry here every afternoon.”

“Huh, that’s a lot different. Nod’s out for baseball, and Nid’s scared to do anything Nod doesn’t do. Why, gee, if one of those twins broke his leg the other’d go and bust his! I never saw anything so—so disgusting. Say, don’t I get those tarts?”

“Well, you certainly won’t if you talk like that[7] about your best friends,” answered Polly crisply.

“Oh, well, I didn’t say anything,” muttered Kewpie, grinning. “Those fellows are different, and you know it. Gee, if I was on the baseball team I’d let pastry alone, too, I guess. It stands to reason. You understand. But it doesn’t make any difference to any one what I do. They wouldn’t let me play basket-ball, and when I wanted to try for goal-tend on the hockey-team Scoville said it wouldn’t be fair to the other teams to hide the net entirely. Smart Aleck! Besides, I’m only a hundred and sixty-one pounds right now.”

“That’s more than you were in the fall, I’m certain,” said Polly severely.

“Sure,” agreed Kewpie. “Gee, when I came out of the Farview game I was down to a hundred and fifty-one and a half! I guess my normal weight’s about a hundred and sixty-five,” he added comfortably. “What about those tarts and the cream-cake?”

“You may have the cream-cake and one tart, and that’s all. I oughtn’t to let you have either. Laurie says—”

“Huh, he says a lot of things,” grunted[8] Kewpie, setting his teeth into the crisp flakiness of the tart. “And I notice that what he says is mighty important around here, too.” Kewpie smiled slyly, and Polly’s cheeks warmed slightly. “Anything Nod says or does is all right, I suppose.”

“What Laurie says is certainly a lot more important than what you say, Mr. Proudtree,” replied Polly warmly, “and—”

“Now, say,” begged Kewpie, “I didn’t mean to be fresh, honest Polly! Gee, if you’re going to call me ‘Mister Proudtree’ I won’t ever—ever—”

He couldn’t seem to decide what it was he wouldn’t ever do, and so he thrust the last of the tart into his mouth and looked hurt and reproachful. When Kewpie looked that way no one, least of all the soft-hearted Polly, could remain offended. Polly’s haughtiness vanished, and she smiled. Finally she laughed merrily, and Kewpie’s face cleared instantly.

“Kewpie,” said Polly, “you’re perfectly silly.”

“Oh, I’m just a nut,” agreed the boy cheerfully. “Well, I guess I’ll go over to the field[9] and see what’s doing. If you see Nod tell him I’m looking for him, will you?”

Polly looked after him concernedly. Something was wrong with Kewpie. He seemed gloomy and almost—almost reckless! Of late he had rioted in sweets and the stickiest of fountain mixtures, which was not like him. She wondered if he had a secret sorrow, and decided to speak to Laurie and Ned about him.

Polly Deane was rather pretty, with an oval face not guiltless of freckles, brown hair and brown eyes and a nice smile. She was not quite sixteen years old. Polly’s mother—known to the boys of Hillman’s School as the “Widow”—kept the little blue-painted shop, and Polly, when not attending the Orstead High School, helped her. The shop occupied the front room on the ground floor. Behind it was a combined kitchen, dining and living room, and up-stairs were two sleeping chambers. Mrs. Deane could have afforded a more luxurious home, but she liked her modest business and often declared that she didn’t know where she’d find a place more comfortable.

Polly was aroused from her concern over the recent customer by the abrupt realization that[10] he had forgotten to pay for his entertainment. She sighed. Kewpie already owed more than the school rules allowed. Just then the door opened to admit a slim, round-faced boy of about Polly’s age. He had red-brown hair under his blue school cap, an impertinent nose, and very blue eyes. He wore a suit of gray, with a dark-blue sweater beneath the coat. He wore, also, a cheerful and contagious smile.

“Hello, Polly,” was his greeting. “Laurie been in yet?”

“No, no one but Kewpie, Ned. He was looking for Laurie, too. He’s just gone.”

“Well, I don’t know where the silly hombre’s got to,” said the new-comer. “He was in class five minutes ago, and then he disappeared. Thought he’d be over here. I’d like a chocolate ice-cream soda, please. Say, don’t you hate this kind of weather? No ice and the ground too wet to do anything on. Funny weather you folks have here in the East.”

“Oh, it won’t be this way long,” answered Polly as she filled his order. “The ground will be dry in a day or two, if it doesn’t rain—or snow again.”

[11]

“Snow again!” exclaimed the other. “Gee-all-whillikens, does it snow all summer here?”

“Well, sometimes we have a snow in April, Ned, and this is only the twenty-first of March. But when spring does come it’s beautiful. I just love the spring, don’t you?”

“Reckon so. I like our springs back home, but I don’t know what your Eastern springs are like yet.” He dipped into his soda and nodded approvingly. “Say, Polly, you certainly can mix ’em. Congreve’s has got nothing on you. Talking about spring, back in California—”

He was interrupted by the opening of the door. The new arrival was a slim, round-faced youth of about Polly’s age. He had reddish-brown hair under the funny little blue cap he wore, a somewhat impertinent nose, and very blue eyes. He wore a suit of gray knickers with coat to match and a dark blue sweater beneath the coat. Also, he wore a most cheerful smile. The first arrival turned and, with spoon suspended, viewed him sternly.

“I bid you say where you have been,” he demanded.

The new-comer threw forth his right hand, palm[12] upward, and poised himself on the toes of his wet shoes like a ballet-dancer.

“In search of you, my noble twin,” he answered promptly. “Hello, Polly!”

“Punk!” growled Ned Turner. “‘Been’ and ‘twin’! My eye!”

“Perfectly allowable rime, old son. What are you having?”

“Chocolate ice-cream soda. Say, what became of you after school? I looked all over for you.”

“Ran up to the room a minute. Thought you’d wait, you dumb-bell.”

“I did wait. Then I thought you’d started over here. Whose wheel is that you’ve got out there?”

“Search me. Elk Thurston’s, I guess. I found it doing nothing in front of West. I’ll take a pineapple and strawberry, please, Polly.”

“Well, you had a nerve! Elk will scalp you.”

Laurie shrugged and accepted his refreshment. “I only borrowed it,” he explained carelessly. “Here comes the mob.”

The afternoon influx of Hillman’s boys was begun by two tousled-haired juniors demanding “Vanilla sundaes with chopped walnuts, please,[13] Miss Polly!” and after them the stream became steady for several minutes. Further sustained conversation with Polly being no longer possible, Ned and Laurie took their glasses to the other side of the shop, where Laurie perched himself on the counter and watched the confusion. Ned’s eyes presently strayed to the array of pastry behind the further counter, and he sighed wistfully. But as Laurie, who was in training for baseball, might not partake of such things, Ned resolutely removed his gaze from that part of the shop, not without a second sigh, and, turning it to the door, nudged Laurie in the ribs with an elbow.

“Thurston,” he breathed.

Laurie looked calmly at the big upper-middle boy who was entering. “Seems put out about something,” he murmured.

“Say,” demanded “Elk” Thurston in a voice that dominated the noise of talk and laughter and the almost continuous hiss of the soda-fountain, “what smart guy swiped my bicycle and rode it over here?”

Elkins Thurston was seventeen, big, dark-complexioned, and domineering, and as the chatter died into comparative silence the smaller boys[14] questioned each other with uneasy glances. No one, however, confessed, and Elk, pushing his way roughly toward the fountain, complained bitterly. “Well, some fresh Aleck did, and I’ll find out who he was, too, and when I do I’ll teach him to let my things alone!”

“What’s the trouble, Elk?” asked Laurie politely. Ned, nudging him to keep still, found Elk observing him suspiciously.

“You heard, I guess,” answered Elk. “Did you have it?”

“Me?” said Ned. “No, I didn’t have it.”

“I don’t mean you; I mean him.” Elk pointed an accusing finger at Laurie.

“Me?” asked Laurie. “What was it you lost?”

“Shut up,” whispered Ned. “He’ll come over and—”

“My bicycle, that’s what! I’ll bet you swiped it, you fresh kid.”

“What’s it look like?” inquired Laurie interestedly.

“Never you mind.” Elk strode across, fixing Laurie with angry eyes. “Say, you took it, didn’t you?”

[15]

“Must have,” said Laurie cheerfully. “Did you want it?”

“Did I—did I want— Say, for two pins I’d—”

“But, my dear old chap, how was I to know that you’d be wanting to ride it?” asked Laurie earnestly. “There it was, leaning against the steps, not earning its keep, and you hadn’t said a thing to me about wanting it, and so I just simply borrowed it. Honest, Elk, if you’d so much as hinted to me, never so delicately, that—”

There were titters from the younger members of the much interested audience and even unconcealed laughter from the older boys, and Elk’s dark countenance took on a deeper and more angry red as he thrust it close to Laurie’s.

“That’ll be about all for you,” he growled. “You’re one of these funny guys, aren’t you? Must have your little joke, eh? Well, see how you like this one!”

Elk raised his right hand, unclenched but formidable. An expectant hush filled the little store. Polly, with troubled eyes fixed on the drama, deluged a pineapple ice-cream with soda until it dripped on the counter below. Laurie continued to smile.

[16]

CHAPTER II KEWPIE STATES HIS CASE

“Whatever’s going on?” asked a pleasant voice from the doorway that led into the room behind the shop. “Is—is anything wrong, Polly? Dear me, child, you’re running that all over the counter!”

More than two dozen pairs of eyes turned to where Mrs. Deane looked perplexedly about her. She was a sweet-faced little woman whose white hair was contradicted by a plump, unlined countenance and rosy cheeks. Elk’s uplifted arm dropped slowly back. For a short moment the silence continued. Then a veritable Babel of voices arose. “Hello, Mrs. Deane!” “Say, Mrs. Deane, don’t you remember me paying you ten cents last Friday? Miss Polly says I still owe—” “Mrs. Deane, when are you going to have some more of those twirly things with the cream filling?” “Mrs. Deane, will you wait on[17] me, please? I want—” “Aw, I was ahead of him—”

The Widow Deane beamed and made her way to the rear of the counter, greeting the boys by name. She was fond of all boys, but those of Hillman’s School she looked on as peculiarly her own, and she knew the names of nearly every one of them and, to a remarkable extent, their taste in the matter of pastry and beverages. “I couldn’t imagine what had happened,” she was explaining to Cas Bennett as she filled his order for two apple turnovers. “All of a sudden everything became so still in here! What was it?”

Cas grinned. “Oh, just some of Nod Turner’s foolishness,” he replied evasively. “He and Thurston were—were talking.”

They were still talking, for that matter, although their fickle audience no longer heeded. The interruption had quite spoiled Elk’s great scene, and after lowering his arm he had not raised it again. Even he realized that you couldn’t start anything when Mrs. Deane was present. But he was still angry and was explaining to Laurie none too elegantly that vengeance was merely postponed and not canceled. Ned,[18] maintaining outward neutrality, watched Elk very closely. Ned had an idea, perhaps a mistaken one, that when it came to fistic encounters it was his bounden duty to substitute for Laurie, and he had been on the point of substituting when Mrs. Deane’s appearance had called a halt.

Laurie’s smile gave place to sudden gravity as he interrupted Elk’s flow of eloquence. “That will do,” he said. “I’m not afraid of you, Thurston, but it’s silly to get so upset over a trifle. Of course I shouldn’t have taken your wheel, but I didn’t hurt it any, and you’ve bawled me out quite enough, don’t you think? I’ll apologize, if you like, and—”

“I don’t want your apology,” growled Elk. “You’re too blamed fresh, Turner, and you talk too much. After this you let everything of mine alone. If you don’t, I’ll do what I was going to do when the old lady came in. Understand?”

“Perfectly,” replied Laurie soberly. “Have a soda?”

“Not with you, you little shrimp!” Elk strode away, fuming, to elbow his way to the fountain.

“What did you have to say that for?” asked Ned. “You had him pretty nearly calmed down,[19] and then you had to spoil it all by offering him a drink. When he said you talk too much he was dead right!”

“Oh, well, what’s he want to kick up such a fuss for?” asked Laurie cheerfully. “Come on. I’ve got to beat it to gym for practice.”

They waved a farewell to Polly over the heads and shoulders of the throng about the fountain, but that young lady demanded speech with them and left her duties for a hasty word nearer the door. “I’ve just got to see you boys about Kewpie,” she announced. “It’s very important. Can’t you come back a minute before supper, Ned?”

“Kewpie?” asked Laurie. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I want to talk about. There isn’t time now.”

“All right, we’ll be back about five thirty,” agreed Ned. “By. See you later.”

“Wonder what’s up,” said Laurie when, having reached School Park, they turned their steps briskly over the slushy pavements toward Hillman’s. “Looked perfectly normal last time I saw him.”

[20]

“Kewpie? Sure, all except his size. That’s not normal. By the way, he was looking for you, Polly said. Matter of life or death.”

“Huh, I know what he wants. He’s got it into that crazy head of his that he can pitch, and he wants me to give him a try-out. I sort of half promised I would.”

“Mean he wants to pitch for the nine?” asked Ned incredulously.

“Well, he wants to get on the squad, anyway. Thinks that if I tell Mr. Mulford he’s sort of good, Pinky will take him on.”

“Would he?”

Laurie shrugged. “I don’t believe. Mulford warned the fellows two weeks back that if they didn’t report for indoor work he didn’t want them later. And he generally keeps his word, Pinky does.”

“Why didn’t Kewpie think of it before?” asked Ned.

“Search me, old dear. What’s troubling me is that he’s thought of it now. He’s been pestering the life out of me for a week.”

“What’s he want you to look him over for? Why doesn’t he ask Cas Bennett or some[21] one who knows something about pitching?”

“Reckon he knows they wouldn’t bother with him. Thinks because Pinky’s got it into his old bean that he can make a catcher of me that I can spot a Mathewson or a Mays with my eyes shut. I appreciate his faith in me and all that, Ned, and it wounds me sorely that my own kith and kin—meaning you, old dear—haven’t the same—er—boundless trust in my ability, but, just between the two of us, I don’t know a curve from a drop yet, and if I can stop one with my mitt I’m as pleased as anything and don’t care a continental whether the silly thing stays in said mitt or doesn’t. Frankly, I’m plumb convinced that Pinky had a brain-storm when he dragged me in from the outfield and stuck me behind a wire bird-cage!”