"Rattleton? Is Mr. Rattleton here?" called a messenger boy walking along the front of the long stand.

"Hullo, here. What's wanted?" answered Jack.

"Telegram for you, sir," said the boy. Rattleton did not take his eyes from the game while he tore open the envelope. Having opened it, he glanced hurriedly at the message, then jumped to his feet with a whistle. He had read:

"Come to Ma.s.sachusetts General Hospital immediately when back from game.

"VARNUM."

"When does the next train leave for Boston?" he asked the boy.

"There is one in a few minutes," was the answer.

"Whoop it up for me, children," he said to the others, "I've got to leave. Come along, Blathers."

"Why, Jack, what's up?"

"I don't know. Varnum wants me," and he jumped to the ground, pulling the dog after him. "The poor devil may be dying for all I know," he added to himself, as he made for the gate; "but there is no need of spoiling their fun by telling 'em."

He stretched his long legs for the station at a rate that made his four-footed chum gallop to keep up with him. The train was just starting. As he jumped aboard, he heard, from the direction of Hampden Park, the distant roar of ten thousand throats. "Hear that?" he exclaimed to the brakeman, "either the game is over or Yale has scored."

Not a very enlightening conclusion.

There was a dining-car on the train, and the sight of it reminded Jack that he had had no lunch. He did not need to be reminded that he was extremely thirsty also, and actually a little worn by the afternoon's excitement. He entered the moving restaurant, and with one of his accustomed happy thoughts at such moments, was about to order an attractive lunch and a pint of champagne. Suddenly it occurred to him that if that noise had gone up from the wrong side of Hampden Park, he had just twenty-five dollars to carry him over the Christmas vacation and through January. "Furthermore," he reflected, with a knowledge born of bitter experience, "if that is the Eli yell, there won't be a mother's son in Cambridge, that I know well enough to borrow from, who will have any thing to lend,--except perhaps old father Hol. I suppose he will step into the breach as usual and pay our car-fares, but he can't support the whole gang. Hang it, I wish I was on an allowance again; then the governor would pay my bills at Christmas and give me a blowing up. This being my own paymaster isn't what I expected when I was a Soph."

He concluded that a sandwich would support life until he got to Boston, where he could find a precarious credit. He also decided that beer was an excellent beverage, at any rate until he learned the result of the game. After this unusually prudent repast he pulled a cigar out of his pocket, and smoked it carefully in the thought that he might not have another like it for some time--at his own expense. However, he remembered consolingly that his half-colored meerschaum needed attention.

The moment Jack arrived in Boston he jumped into a herdic and drove straight to the hospital. He inquired for Varnum, and, after a little red tape had been untied, was shown into one of the public wards.

At the end of a long room on a narrow bed was Varnum, looking very white, his eyes closed. He opened them as Rattleton and the nurse approached softly, and his face seemed to light up a little when he saw Jack.

"How was the game?" he asked, faintly.

"Splendid. Harvard four, Yale nothing," answered Jack, promptly. He did not think it worth while to mention that he had left before the end.

"Good," murmured Varnum. "Bowled over by a wagon. Awfully sorry to bring you here, Rattleton, but they thought at first I might be done for, and I don't know any one----"

"Yes, I know, old man; cut all that," broke in Jack. "Don't tire yourself talking. Is there anything I can do for you right away?"

"Yes. There is a sick boy at 62 Sloven Street. Tenement house. Jimmy Haggerty. I promised to see him. There is a can of wine-jelly and a book. They must have brought them here when they picked me up. Will you take them to him and tell him that I am laid up? It is not exactly in your line, Rattleton," he added, with a smile, "but it won't give you much trouble."

"Not a bit," declared Jack, cheerfully. "Great play for Phil. XI., you know. I can make a special report on the Sloven Street district, and it ought to pull me through the course."

"You mustn't talk to him too long, sir," said the nurse.

"All right, I'll go right off. 62 Sloven St.--Haggerty. You make yourself easy, old man, I'll look after all your indigent kids for you, and I'll tell the other fellows you are here. I'll be back soon."

In answer to Rattleton's inquiries, the nurse told him how Varnum had been knocked down and run over by a runaway team in a narrow street. He had been brought to the hospital, and the doctors had at first thought his injuries fatal. Subsequent examination, however, had proved that his condition was not so serious. At his request the telegram had been sent to Rattleton. Jack left directions to have Varnum put in a private room when he could be moved, and every comfort given him. "And, by the way,"

he added, "don't let him know that there is any expense about it. If he objects, tell him the public wards are chuck-full; tell him there is small-pox in 'em; tell him any good lie that occurs to you. Send the bill to me."

The jelly and the book had not been brought in the ambulance, and no one knew anything about them. So Rattleton, stopping at the hospital office for Blathers, who had been there deposited, went first to a hotel, for all the shops were closed. From the restaurant he replaced the wine-jelly, and added some cake and a bottle of champagne. "I don't know much about what a sick boy ought to have," he thought, "but fizz is always good."

At the newspaper-stand he bought all the picture papers, and found a colored edition of nursery rhymes, which he concluded would be just the thing. "Now we are all right," he said, "come along, Blathers."

Jack had been very ready and cheerful about his mission when talking to Varnum, but he had misgivings about it as he took his way to Sloven Street, in the heart of the poorest tenement-house district. "I suppose it is easy enough just to leave this stuff and come away," he thought; "but I am sure to make some fool break." He knew there were lots of men in college who "went in for that sort of thing"; but he had had no experience of that kind himself, and Varnum was the only man he knew well, who had. He had a vague idea that Varnum held prayer-meetings among the poor, and preached as well as ministered, and he feared he might be called upon to do something of the kind himself.

It was quite dark, so he heard only one or two requests to shoot the dude, as he was pa.s.sing lamp-lights, and to his infinite relief nothing was thrown at Blathers. He had expected certainly to have a row on the dog's account. In front of 62 Sloven Street he found a small boy smoking a cigarette, and inquired from him whether Jimmy Haggerty lived within.

"Sure!" a.s.sented the youngster, removing the cigarette from his lips and holding the lighted end for Blathers to smell. "Is you one o' de Ha'vards?" "Ye-es," acknowledged Jack, doubtfully, feeling that he was deceiving the little man; for he suspected that he was not exactly the kind of "a Ha'vard" that was expected in those quarters.

"Well say, how did de game come out? I ain't seen de bulletin-boards."

Jack's heart leaped towards the boy at once; he discovered that there was a bond of sympathy between them after all.

"I don't know," he answered; "I came away before the end. It was four to nothing in our favor then."

"Chamesy Haggerty lives on de tird floor. I'll show ye up." Jack followed his pilot up the dark, smelly stairs, answering questions all the way as to the foot-ball game.

"A-ah, ye can't do notin' widout Jarvis," commented the youngster, upon hearing of the half-back's injury.

"Dat's a nice lookin' purp yer got," he said, eyeing Blathers, as they arrived at the third floor. "Guess he's a good 'un to fight, ain't he?

Le 'me take care of him for yer, while you're inside."

Jack did not accept this kind offer. His guide, pointing to a door, said: "Well, dat's Chimmie's. I ain't goin' in, 'cause he's got scarlet fever."

"The devil he has!" exclaimed Jack.

"Yare; leastways dat's what dey all say. Wait till I get down-stairs 'fore yer open de door." And with a vain whistle to Blathers he disappeared down-stairs.

Rattleton knocked at the door indicated as "Chimmie's," and opened it in response to a voice within. The small room was pretty well lighted by a lamp, the first thing that Jack's eye fell on. It was Varnum's student-lamp; Jack knew it at once from a caricature he had himself drawn on the shade. A hard-faced, slovenly old woman was sitting near a stove, and looked at him in surprise as he entered.

"Is this Mrs. Haggerty?" he asked.

"I am," she answered; "what do you want?"

"Mr. Varnum sent these things," replied Rattleton. "He couldn't come himself because he has been hurt, and is in the hospital."

"Is that so? Sure, I'm sorry to hear that," said the woman with real regret in her tone. "Mr. Varnum has been kind to us, I tell you. He's helped me with my boy Jimmy here ever since he's been sick."

"Dat's too bad," complained a thin voice from the corner. On the other side of the lamp was a bed, from under the dirty quilt of which protruded a little pale face. "Ain't he coming to read to me? What's de matter wid him?"

Jack explained, with an accompaniment of sympathetic "tut-tuts" from the woman and more forcible expressions from the sick boy.

"I'm obliged to him for the things," said the former, as Rattleton handed her his burden. She looked at the bottle with a puzzled and half-frightened air.

"That's the first time ever Mr. Varnum give us anythin' like that. The poor young feller must be dizzed, by the hurt of him. I'll hide that."

And to Rattleton's horror she shoved the bottle of Irroy under the stove.

"Would you do me a bit of a favor, sir," she asked, "like Mr. Varnum would do?"