But his half-formed resolution to make an investigation was not carried out. He heard shouting down the street, and thinking it might be a crowd of Soph.o.m.ores, he decided to continue on to his room.

"They might start a rough-house with me," mused Joe, "and then my ankle would be more on the blink than ever. I'll go home."

He started off, rather excited over the events of the night, and found that even his brief spell of standing still had stiffened him so that he could hardly proceed.

"Wow!" he exclaimed, as a particularly sharp twinge shot through him. He had gone about two blocks when he heard someone coming behind him. He turned in apprehension, but saw only a single figure.

"h.e.l.lo! What's the matter?" asked a young man as he caught up to Joe.

"Twisted my ankle."

"So? What's your name?"

"Matson--I'm a Freshman."

"Oh, yes. I think I saw you at Chapel. Kendall's my name." Joe recognized it as that of one of the Juniors and a member of the 'varsity nine. "How'd it happen?"

"Oh, skylarking. The Sophs. were after us to-night."

"So I heard. You'd better do something for that foot," he went on, as he noticed Joe's limp.

"I'm going to as soon as I get to my room."

"Say, I tell you what," went on Kendall. "My joint's just around the corner, and I've got a prime liniment to rub on. Suppose you come in and I'll give you some."

"Glad to," agreed Joe. "I don't believe I've got a bit at my shack, and the drug stores are all closed."

"Come along then--here, lean on me," and Kendall proffered his arm, for which Joe was grateful.

"Here we are," announced Kendall a little later, as they turned into a building where some of the wealthier students had their rooms. "Sorry it's up a flight."

"Oh, I can make it," said Joe, keeping back an exclamation of pain that was on his lips.

"We'll just have a look at it," continued his new friend. "I've known a strain like that to last a long while if not treated properly. A little rubbing at the right time does a lot of good."

Joe looked in delight at the room of his newly found friend. It was tastefully, and even richly, furnished, but with a quiet atmosphere differing from the usual college apartment.

"You've got a nice place here," he remarked, thinking that, after all, there might be more to Yale life than he had supposed.

"Oh, it'll do. Here's the stuff. Now off with your shoe and we'll have a look at that ankle. I'm a sort of doctor--look after the football lads sometimes. Are you trying for the eleven?"

"No, baseball is my stunt."

"Yes? So's mine."

"You catch, don't you?" asked Joe. "I've heard of 'Shorty' Kendall."

"That's me," came with a laugh. "Oh, that's not so bad," he went on as he looked at Joe's foot. "A little swelled. Here, I'll give it a rub,"

and in spite of Joe's half-hearted protests he proceeded to ma.s.sage the ankle until it felt much better.

"Try to step on it," directed Shorty Kendall.

Joe did so, and found that he could bear his weight on it with less pain.

"I guess you'll do," announced the Junior. "Cut along to your room now--or say--hold on, I can fix you up here for the night. I've got a couch----"

"No, thank you," expostulated Joe. "The boys would worry if I didn't come back."

"You could send word----"

"No, I'll trot along. Much obliged."

"Take that liniment with you," directed Kendall.

"Won't you need it?"

"Not until the diamond season opens, and that's some time off yet. Good night--can you make the stairs?"

"Yes--don't bother to come down," and Joe limped out.

As he reached the first hall he was made aware that someone was coming in the front door. Before he could reach it the portal opened and a student hurried in, making for a room near the main entrance. In the glare of the hall light Joe saw that the youth was Ford Weston.

He also saw something else. On Weston's hand was a red smear--brilliant--scarlet. At first Joe thought it was blood, but a slight odor in the air told him it was paint.

An instant later his eyes met those of the rival pitcher--at least Joe hoped to make him a rival--and Weston started. Then he thrust his smeared hand into his pocket, and, without a word, hurried into his room and slammed the door.

CHAPTER XII

JOE'S SILENCE

"Rather queer," mused Joe, after a moment's silence. "I wonder he didn't say something to me after what happened. So he rooms here? It's a great shack. I suppose if I stay here the full course I'll be in one of these joints. But I don't believe I'm going to stay. If I get a chance on the 'varsity nine next year and make good--then a professional league for mine."

He limped out of the dormitory, and the pain in his ankle made him keenly aware of the fact that if he did not attend to it he might be lame for some time.

"Red paint," he murmured as he let himself out. "I wonder what Weston was doing with it? Could he---- Oh, I guess it's best not to think too much in cases like this."

He reached his rooming place and trod along the hall, his injured foot making an uneven staccato tattoo on the floor.

"Well, what happened to you?"

"Where did you hike to?"

"Were you down to Glory's all by your lonesome?"