Gus walked off the field a happy man.
From that afternoon Todd had no excuse for loafing away any halfer. His
services as referee were in demand, not merely as a matter of utility,
but of preference. Taylor, who had watched rather anxiously Todd's
progress, smiled easily at the success of his understudy.
"I say," said Bourne to me, "what's come over Todd? Blessed if that usual
ass didn't handle the Fifth _v_. Sixth to-day simply beautifully.
When you're lynched, Gus will fill your shoes completely. Talks so-so,
too. Who's improving him?"
I acted on Phil's advice, and Todd and I parcelled out the outstanding
fixtures between us. Then Todd became one of the best-known fellows in
the school, and strolled up the hill with Worcester, Acton, Vercoe, and
other heroes as to the manner born. The old, lazy, shallow, shifty,
shiftless Gus was drifting into the background every day.
Then Todd gave us a final shock. I was hurrying down the High when a
constable asked me if I could tell him "where a young gentleman named
Todd lived."
"I'm passing by his house," said I, more than a trifle puzzled as to what
the police might want with Gus. "Hope it isn't house-breaking,
constable?"
"No, sir," said he, laughing. "It is a matter of ice-breakin'."
I expect I looked mystified.
"Mr. Todd, sir, fished out of the water just below the Low Locks a common
ordinary drunk, Robins--a bargee. That was yesterday afternoon, and this
morning the superintendent sends me to see how he is.
Pages:
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116