The Challengers (7 page)

Of course, his sister Melissa was a pretty girl. He had always been proud of her looks. He was yet. He loved to take Melissa places, though she really was only a kid, a freshman at college, and he a senior. Yes, Melissa was a dear kid and pretty as a peach, and she never used lipstick. Mother wouldn't let her. But she was a different type, and perhaps even she, when she was older----Mother was apt to be a trifle Victorian. It didn't do any harm to be that way. Sort of protected his kid sister, he supposed. But Sylvia was another type. Sylvia was--

Stephen left that sentence unfinished and gave his entire attention to his needle, which had come unthreaded for the sixth time since he sat down to sew.

Gosh! Now he had stuck the blamed thing into his thumb! How did women manage to sew so much anyway? Well, he was doing his best, but somehow the hole looked all puckered around the edge. Would a good pressing take that out and make it seem all right? he wondered.

Steps sounded along the hall, long strides.

"Telegram!" a voice called. "Ho, everybody!"

Stephen's heart lost a beat. He dropped his sewing regardless of an unthreaded needle and went into the hall. Then his folks had come through after all! They would have likely perhaps sent a new suit by airmail! Or, no, they would likely be telegraphing money.

"Telegram for me?" he called out eagerly, appearing in his doorway.

"Naw, not for you. Telegram for Elicott Brender. Where is he?"

Stephen answered shortly that he did not know and returned to his sewing, slamming his door sharply.

When he had retrieved his needle from under the bed where it had inexplicably slithered out of sight and coaxed again the too-heavy thread into its aperture, he began to reflect on life bitterly. Why did men in school with all the responsibilities of education and graduation on their shoulders, especially fellows that were so noble as to offer to work their way through their very most important last year, have to have things like this happen to them?

He began to think perplexing thoughts about his family. His letter had had plenty of time to reach Mother. Why hadn't she done something about it? It was not like Mother not to do something right off the bat, the minute she knew a need. Of course, he had undertaken to care for himself this year, and that was all right, but the family would surely be glad to help him out to the extent of a new suit. They would want him to look decent. And he hadn't quite made it as bad in his letter as the state of his wardrobe really was. He was almost ashamed to let them know just how low he had let his stock of garments get. Of course, if he hadn't ordered the most expensive class ring, the one with the real stone in it, he would have had plenty to get the new suit, which would be good enough. But it hadn't seemed good economy to get just a cheap plated class ring with no stone in it. One had only one college graduating class ring in a lifetime, and it ought to be good. Sometime he might want to let a girl wear it, and he would be ashamed of just a common ring. Then of course he had got the new racket. He really couldn't do his best with the old one, and this was his last chance to make a record at the spring tournament. Yes, and of course he had had to get the new raincoat on account of having left his old one on the train the time he went up with the football team in the fall.

Thus reasoning, he drove his needle into his thumb again, and flinging his trousers far into the corner, he put his thumb into his mouth and danced around the room with the pain and the state of his nerves.

"Hang it all," he said, pulling his thumb out of his mouth and speaking aloud, "I b'lieve I'll call 'em up. I can charge the call and pay it at the end of term, and then Mother can wire the money and get it here before the store down in the village closes at five o'clock. That suit down there would do. Of course, it's fifteen bucks more then she would pay in the city, but Caesar! I've gotta have that suit tonight, no two ways about it."

So Stephen Challenger put his conscience in his pocket and went downstairs to the office.

"I want long distance, Buck," he said to the young man behind the desk, "and I want it charged to my account."

"Okay with me," said Buck. "Take booth number two; I got a call ta N'Y'rk coming in on number one."

Stephen caught Phyllis just as she was going out to look up a cheap room somewhere. He had some trouble getting the call through because service had been discontinued the week before on account of a long-overdue bill, but he persuaded the operator that his was an emergency call and he would be personally responsible for that bill, and she put it through.

"Hello, Mater," he called joyously, "is that you?"

"Oh Steve!" answered Phyllis. "Is that you?" There was a note of apprehension in her voice. "What's the matter?"

"I want to speak to Mother, kid; call her quick!"

"She isn't here, Steve. She went out almost an hour ago, and I don't know when she'll be back. You'll have to tell me, I guess."

Stephen considered. Phyllis was often apt to be too practical. Still, what else could he do?

"Did Mother get my letter?"

"Yes, just before she left."

"Oh." A dismal pause. "Then she's gone out to order me a suit, I suppose."

"Oh, no, she hasn't, Steve!"

"That's good," said the brother with relief in his voice, "because I'll have to get it here after all. I've got to use it tonight. It'll cost a little more, but it can't be helped. Can you get hold of Mother in the next half hour and tell her to wire me fifty dollars before three o'clock? I simply must have it."

"She can't, Steve; she hasn't got it." Phyllis's voice was full of distress.

"Well, but she can get it somewhere, surely. Tell her I
must
have it. I'll pay it back with interest as soon as the term is over. You're sure she hasn't gone to order the suit and charge it somewhere?"

"Yes, I'm sure, Stephen. We haven't any charge accounts anywhere anymore. They won't let us charge anything because we can't pay our back bills. And Mother doesn't know anywhere to borrow a cent. We've been having an awful time. I think they ought to have let you know long ago, but Mother didn't want you bothered while you are studying so hard. But, Steve, dear, we haven't any money to send you. Not
any
."

"But listen, kid"--Steve's tone was a bit lofty and annoyed--"I'd pay it back in a few days, and I'm in a
hole
."

"So are we!" said Phyllis with a sob in her voice.

"But not like this, sister. Listen. I'm supposed to take a girl to a dance tonight, and my only good trousers have given out. I've tried to mend them, but they look something terrible."

Phyllis was silent an instant trying to keep the sob out of her voice.

"No, not like that!" she burst forth bitterly. "We're not thinking of taking a girl to a dance, but--" She choked on the words. "Stephen Challenger, do you know that we almost got put out on the street last night because we couldn't pay last month's rent? Do you know that Lissa and I had nothing to eat yesterday all day long till eight o'clock at night, and Mother nothing but a cup of weak tea and she fainted dead away twice after she got back from the hospital? Hasn't anybody told you that the bank where all Father's ready money was kept failed two months ago, and the bank where he kept a couple of bonds in a safe-deposit box has closed its doors and we can't get them, and we're absolutely up against it? If it hadn't been for a kind butcher last night who gave Bob a beefsteak, we'd have starved or died of weakness; and if it hadn't been for that same butcher who paid our rent, Mother and all of us would have been turned out on the street in the rain last night after a tirade of the most insulting language I ever heard a woman utter! Steve, I've just got back from selling everything we have that's out of storage, except our beds and a few necessities, to get money enough to feed us tonight. Now, do you understand why Mother can't get you a new suit or send you money?"

Phyllis had poured forth the truth in a torrent, and now she paused for breath, and the poor self-centered boy at the other end of the wire fairly gasped, for he loved his family.

"Gosh!" he said limply when she let him speak. "Gosh! No, I didn't know that. How was I to know? Nobody gave me even a hint! I oughtta been told. Gosh! I'll come right home t'night."

"Mercy, no you won't! I don't know where we'd put you if you did. We're moving just as soon as we can find a room, one room to hold us all. You stay where you are. At least you've got a bed and something to eat, which is more than we're likely to have. You stay and take your girl to a dance and have a good time. Wear your old clothes! Wear patched trousers! Anything! Or wear your pajamas! But for pity's sake, don't ask Mother for any money now! Oh, I'm sorry to talk so, Steve, but--it's been--awful!"

"You poor kid! Gosh, I'm sorry. Gosh, I've got to do something. How about Dad? Does he know?"

"No, he doesn't know, and don't you write to him about it, either. He's better, and the doctor says we can take him into the country to rest for a year in about ten days or two weeks. You don't know any fine country place that's going a begging, do you? That's about killed Mother, for she doesn't know where we can find a place for him. If only Uncle Timothy were alive now, or if all Father's friends hadn't gone to Europe for their sabbatic year, we might hope for something. But there, Steve, don't you worry. You just graduate and come home, and then everything will be all right. But Mother's main anxiety is for you not to be worried till your college course is over, and now I suppose she'll give me ballyhoo for telling you; only, Steve, I
had
to tell somebody or
bust
. But we're coming through; I can see we are. I just sold our old davenport for three seventy-five. Had to work hard to get the seventy-five instead of fifty. Now Bob'll have to sleep on the cot, but we've got enough to buy supper and breakfast tomorrow morning, with some left over for lunch."

"Gosh, you poor kid. I feel like a beast!"

"No, you're not, brother; you're doing just what is right for you, only it did get under my skin for a minute to hear you talk about taking a girl to a dance when we were starving. But that's part of your life, I suppose, and you go ahead and get all the fun you can, for I can see there's hard work ahead of you. Only for heaven's sake, don't get engaged or anything."

"Of course not!" growled Stephen.

"Now hang up quick. You'll have an awful bill. Good-bye, and don't you dare come back till your course is finished!" And Phyllis hung up for him, because she knew he would not.

Stephen Challenger came out of the long-distance telephone booth and walked slowly, thoughtfully, up to his room. The things his sister had told him cut deep into his soul. He was not a naturally selfish person, though, being the oldest son, he had been badly spoiled. But now he was appalled.

Starving! A Challenger starving! It seemed incredible! Prunes, they had at college, and he hated them. Fish balls! Baked beans! Stewed tomatoes! A lot of cheap nourishing things that he disliked and made a terrible fuss over, together with the rest of his college mates, but they never starved. And there was always the pie shop downtown to which even a "scholarship" man working his way by waiting on tables might resort at times. He had never known what it meant to starve even for one meal.

Mother! Starving! Melissa, delicate-faced little Melissa faint with hunger. Phyllis, and Rosalie and Bob! How awful! He dropped down on the edge of his bed in his room and dropped his elbows to his knees, his face in his hands, and thought about it, and in that moment of unprecedented thought he almost grew up.

Then came the vision of Sylvia to interrupt, willowy Sylvia in her floating chiffons with her little red mouth pursed. He must do something about Sylvia. It was almost five o'clock. The store would be closed before he could possibly get there even if he had the money, or any credit, which he did not. Besides, he had manliness enough not to be willing to go into debt to get a new suit to go to a dance when his family was penniless and hungry. He had lost all desire to take Sylvia to that dance. He only wanted now to find a good excuse to get out of it. Of course, she would never have anything to do with him again, but she probably wouldn't anyway. Sam de Small would be back next week, and he had her all dated up for the commencement week anyway. Why waste any more time running after the moon? Nevertheless, he must retire from the field in a respectable way, and the best excuse he could possibly give was that he was starting home at once because there was trouble and his mother needed him. His father's illness gave plenty of excuse for a hazy explanation. There wouldn't be any trouble about that. But he must go at once and call off the dance. It was almost time for Sylvia to be getting dressed. He must hurry.

He cast about in his apartment for the most suitable clothes he owned to appear before her for the last time, for he knew in his soul that he was going home, that that was where he ought to have been all the time anyway, and that once there, of course, he could do something to help out the fortunes of the family, in spite of what his sister had said.

He examined the bungled darn in the blue trousers and decided it would never get by without observation. At last he donned his old tweed knickers and flannel shirt and hurried away. He would tell her he had no time to dress.

He looked up the address she had given him and started out with a heavy heart, trying to plan just what to do. His graduation was the least of all his troubles, he decided. He knew he had fairly good marks in all his studies, for being a Challenger studying came easily, and it was now so near to the end of the spring term that he could probably get his examinations in by mail and get his diploma. The college would arrange that for him on Dad's account. Just now he was more concerned about standing up the girl he had tried all winter to get than about his academic standing. But, gosh! Mother and the kids hungry! That was awful!

Stephen was surprised and somewhat crestfallen to find that his paragon of a girl lived in quite the lower part of the town and in a messy little street with crowded rows of common houses. It was half past five in the afternoon, and he found his lady standing on the unkempt front porch of her home in a very short dress of a former season's vintage and an old sweater, calling silly nothings across two porches to the corner where a youth two or three years younger than himself and altogether tough looking was engaged in nailing up a broken window blind. Before she recognized Stephen, he noticed that she was using the same coquettish airs and graces with him that she employed with her college friends.