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  CHAPTER III

  The house across the street from the Carmody place was suddenly sold.People were curious and a little anxious. Every one on that block hadbeen there for a generation or so; there was a sense of permanence aboutthem all--even the Kings.

  "Eastern people," said Mrs. Lorimer. "A mother, rather delicate-looking,and one son, eighteen or nineteen I should say. He's frail-looking, too,and he limps a little. I imagine they're very nice. Everything aboutthem"--her magazine reading had taken her quite reasonably to a frontwindow the day the newcomers' furniture was uncrated and carriedin--"seems very nice." She hoped, if it developed that they really weredesirable that they would be permanent. Los Angeles was coming to havesuch a floating population....

  Honor and Jimsy observed the boy from across the street, a slim, modishperson. "Gee," said Jimsy, "it must be fierce to be lame!--to have yourbody not--not do what you tell it to! I wonder what he does? He can't do_anything_, can he?" His eyes were deep with honest pity.

  "Oh, I suppose he sort of fills in with other things," Honor conceded."I expect, if people can't do the things that count most, they go in forother things. He seems awfully keen about his two cars."

  "They're peaches, both of 'em," said Jimsy without envy.

  "And of course he has time to be a wonder at school, if he wants to be."

  "Yep. Looks as if he might be a shark at it." He grinned. "Slow on hisfeet but fast in the head."

  "Muzzie's going to call on his mother, and then we'd better ask him tosupper, hadn't we? He must be horribly lonesome."

  "I'll float over and see him," the last King suggested, "and sort ofsize him up. Give him the once-over. We don't want to start anythingunless he's O. K. Might as well go now, I guess."

  "All right. Come in afterward and tell me what you think of him."

  He nodded and swung off across the street. It was an hour before he cameback, glowing. "Gee, Skipper, I'm strong for that kid! Name's Van Meter,Carter Van Meter. He's got a head on him, that boy! He's beeneverywhere and seen everything--three times abroad--Canada, Mexico! Youought to hear him talk--not a bit up-stagy, no side at all, butinteresting! I asked him for supper, Sunday night. You'll be crazy abouthim--all the bunch will!" Thus Jimsy King on the day Carter Van Meterlimped into his life; thus Jimsy King through the years which followed,worshiping humbly the things he did not have in himself, belittling hisown gifts, enlarging his own lacks, glorifying his friend. He had neverhad a deeply intimate boy friend before; the team was his friend, thesquad; Honor had sufficed for a nearer tie. It was to be different, now;a sharing. She was to resent a little in the beginning, before she, too,came under the spell of the boy from the East.

  Mrs. Lorimer came smiling back from her call. "_Very_ nice," she toldher husband and her daughter, "really charming. And her things are quitewonderful ... rare rugs ... portraits of ancestors. A widow. Here forher health, and the boy's health; he's never been strong. All she has inthe world ... wrapped up in him. _Very_ Eastern!"--she laughed at thememory. "She said, 'And from what part of the East do you come, Mrs.Lorimer?' When I said I was born here in Los Angeles she almost_gasped_, and then she flushed and said, 'Oh, really? Is it possible?But I met some people on shipboard, once--the time before last when Iwas crossing--who were natives, and they were _quite_ delightful.'"

  "The word 'native' intrigues them," said Stephen, drawing off her long,limp suede gloves and smoothing them. "I daresay she'll be looking forwar whoops and tomahawks. And if it comes to that, we can furnish theformer, especially Sunday night."

  "Muzzie, did you meet the boy?" Honor wanted to know.

  "Yes. He came in for tea with us. A beautifully mannered boy. Very muchat ease. We must have him here, Honor."

  "Yes, Jimsy's already asked him for Sunday night, Muzzie. Jimsy likeshim."

  "Well, he may. He has a something ... I don't know what it is, exactly,but he will be good for all of you."

  "We'll be good for him, too," said her daughter, calmly. "It must befearfully dull for him, not knowing any one, and being lame."

  He came to supper, a trim young glass of fashion, and it was he, thestranger, who was entirely at his ease, and the "bunch," the gay,accustomed bunch, which was a little shy and constrained. Jimsy stoodsponsor for him and Honor was an earnest hostess. He said he enjoyedhimself; certainly he made himself gently agreeable to Mrs. Lorimer, tothe girls. Honor's stepfather observed him with his undying curiosity.He was a plain boy with a look of past pain in his colorless face, ashadowed bitterness in his eyes, a droop at the corners of his mouthwhen he was not speaking. For all his two motor cars and his rare oldrugs and the portraits of ancestors and his idolized only sonship, lifehad clearly withheld from him the things he had wanted most. There was abaffled imperiousness about him, Stephen decided.

  "A clever youngster," he told his wife, watching him from across theroom. "Brains. But I don't like him."

  "Stephen! Why not?"

  He shook his head. "I don't know yet. But I know. I had a curious sense,as he came limping into the room to-night, of '_Enter the villain_.'"

  "My dear,--that poor, frail boy, with his lovely, gentle manners!"

  "I know. It does sound rather piffle. Daresay I'm wrong. The kids willsize him up."

  When Carter Van Meter came to tell his hostess good-by, he smiledwinningly. "This has been very jolly, Mrs. Lorimer. It was good of youto let me come. Mother asked me to say how much she appreciated it.But"--he hesitated--"May I come in some afternoon when--just you andMiss Honor are here?" He looked wistful, and frailer at the end of theevening than he had at the beginning.

  "Of course you may, my dear boy!" Mrs. Lorimer gave him the glory of herspecial smile. "Come soon!"

  He came the next day but one, and as her mother was at a bridgeafternoon it was Honor who entertained him. She had just come home fromHigh School and she wore a middy blouse and a short skirt and lookedless than her years. "Let's sit in the garden, shan't we?--I hate beingindoors a minute more than I can help!" She led the way across thegreen, springy lawn to the little rustic building over which the vividBougainvillaea climbed and swarmed, and he followed at his halted pace."Besides, we can see Jimsy from here when he comes by from footballpractice, and call him in. I just didn't happen to go to watch practiceto-day, and now"--she smiled at him,--"I'm glad I didn't." There wassomething intensely pitiful about this lad to her mothering young heart,for all his poise and pride.

  He waited gravely until she had established herself on a bench beforehe sat. "Tell me about this fellow King. Every one seems very keen abouthim."

  Honor leaned back and took a serge-clad knee between two tanned hands."Well, I don't know how to begin! He's--well, he's just Jimsy King,that's all! But it's more than any other boy in the world."

  "You're great friends, aren't you?"

  "Jimsy and I? I should say we are! We've known each other eversince--well, before we could walk or talk! Our nurses used to take usout together in our buggies. We were born next door--in these twohouses, on the same day. Jimsy's just about an hour older than I am!"

  "I have never had many friends," said Carter Van Meter. "I've beenmoving about so much, traveling ... other things have interfered." Henever referred, directly or indirectly, to his ill health or his limp.

  "Well, you can have all you want now," said Honor, generously. "AndJimsy likes you!" She bestowed that like a decoration. "Honestly, Inever knew him to take such a fancy to any one before in all his life.He likes every one, you know,--I mean, he never dislikes anybody, but henever gets crushes. So, it means something to have him keen about you.If _he's_ for you, _everybody_ will be for you."

  "Why do people like him so?"

  "Can't help it," said Honor, briefly. "Even _teachers_. He's notterribly clever at school, and of course he doesn't have as much time tostudy as some do, but the teachers are all keen about him. They knowwhat he is. I expect that's what counts, don't you? Not what peoplehave, or do, or know; what they _are_. Why, one time I happened to be inthe
Vice-Principal's office about something, and it was a noontime, andthere was a wild rough-house down in the yard. Honestly, you couldn'thear yourself _think_! The Principal--he was a new man, just come--keptlooking out of the window, and getting more and more nervous, andfinally he said, 'Shouldn't we stop that, Mrs. Dalton?' And she lookedout and laughed and said, 'Jimsy King's in it, and he'll stop it beforewe need to notice it!' _That's_ what teachers think of him, and theboys--I believe they'd cut up into inch pieces for him."

  "I suppose it's a good deal on account of his football. He's on theteam, isn't he?" His eyes disdained teams.

  "On the team? He _is_ the team! Captain last year and this,--and next!Wait till you see him play. He's the fastest full back we've ever had,since anybody can remember. There'll be a game Saturday. We playRedlands. Will you come, and sit with Stepper and me?"

  "Thanks. I don't care very much for----" he stopped, held up by thegrowing amaze in her face. "Yes, I'd like very much to go with you andMr. Lorimer. I don't care much about watching games where I don't knowthe people"--he retrieved and amended his earlier sentence--"but you'llexplain everything to me."

  She grinned. "I'm afraid I won't be very nice about talking to you. Iget simply wild, at games. I'm right down there, in it. I've nevergotten over not being a boy! But Jimsy's wonderful about letting me haveas much share in it as I can. You'll hear all sorts of tales about him,when you come to know people,--plays he's made and games he's won, andhow he never, _never_ loses his head or his temper, no matter what theother team does. If we should ever have another war, I expect he'd be agreat general." Her face broke into mirth again at a memory. "Once, wewere playing Pomona--imagine a high school playing a college and_beating_ them!--and somebody was out for a minute, and Jimsy wasstanding waiting, with his arms folded across his chest, and he had ona head guard, and it was very still, and suddenly a girl's voice pipedup--'_Oh, doesn't he look just like Napoleon?_' He's never heard thelast of it; it fusses him awfully. I never knew anybody so modest. Isuppose it's because he's always been the leader, the head of things,ever since he started kindergarten. He's _used_ to it; it seems justnatural to him."

  The new boy shifted his position uneasily.

  Honor thought perhaps he was suffering; his face looked pinched. "Shallwe go in the house? Would you be more comf"--she caught herselfup--"perhaps you're not used to being out of doors all the time? Easternpeople find this glaring sun tiresome sometimes."

  "It's very nice here. You go to Los Angeles High School, too?" He didn'tcare about changing his position but he wanted intensely to change thesubject, even if he had started it by his query. "Odd, isn't it, thatyou don't go to a girls' school?"

  Honor laughed. "That's what Muzzie thinks. She did want me to go, but Ididn't want to, and Stepper--my stepfather, you know,--stood up for me.I never liked girls very much when I was little. I do now, of course.I've two or three girl friends who are _wonders_. I adore them. But Istill like boys best. I suppose"--he saw that her mind came back like aneedle to the pole--"it's on account of Jimsy. Wait till you really knowhim! You will be just the same. Honestly, he's the bravest, gamestperson in the world. Once, a couple of years ago, Stepper noticed thathe was limping, and he made him go to see the doctor. The doctor told usabout it afterwards--he's the doctor who took care of our mothers whenwe were born. Jimsy came in and said, 'Doc, I've got a kind of a soreleg.' And the doctor looked at it and said, 'You've got a broken leg,that's what you've got! Go straight home and I'll come out and put it ina plaster cast.' You see"--she illustrated by putting the tips of hertwo forefingers together--"it was really broken, cracked through, but ithadn't slipped by. Well, the doctor had to stay and finish his officehours, and about an hour later he looked up and there was Jimsy, and hesaid, 'Say, Doc, would you just as soon set this leg to-morrow? You see,I've got a date to take Skipper--he always calls me Skipper--to a danceto-night. I won't dance, but I'll just----' and the doctor just roaredat him and told him to go home that instant, and Jimsy went out, butwhen the doctor got to his house he wasn't there, and he had to waitabout half an hour for him, and he was _furious_--he's got a terribletemper but he's the dearest old thing, really. Pretty soon Jimsy camewandering in with his arms full of books and games and puzzles andthings he'd got to amuse himself while he was laid up! Of course thedoctor expected him to keep perfectly still in bed, but he found hecould make a sort of a raft of two table extension boards and slidedownstairs to his meals. He had an awful time getting up again, but hedidn't care. The first day he was laid up he had exactly nineteen peopleto see him, and he took the bandages off the leg and all the boys andteachers wrote their autographs and sentiments on the cast. He called ithis Social Register and his Guest Book!" Honor was too happily deep inher reminiscences to see that her new friend was a little bored.

  He got suddenly to his feet. "Yes. He must be an unusual fellow. But I'dlike to hear you sing. Won't you come into the house and sing somethingfor me?"

  "All right," said Honor. "I love to sing, but I haven't studied verymuch yet, and I haven't any decent songs. Why doesn't somebody writesome?--Songs _about_ something? Not just maudling along about 'heart'and 'part' and that kind of stuff! Come on! There's Stepper at the pianonow. He'll play for me."

  It was mellow in the long living-room after the brazen afternoon sunoutside, a livable, lovable room. Stephen Lorimer had an open book onthe music rack and he was thumping some rather stirring chords.

  "Stepper," said Honor, "here's Carter Van Meter, and he wants me to singfor him, and I was just saying how I hated all these mushy old songs.Can't you find me something different?"

  "I have," said her stepfather. "I've got the words here and I'm messingabout for some music to go with them."

  Honor looked out as she passed the window on her way to the piano. "Waita minute! Here's Jimsy! I'll call him!" She sped to the door and hailedhim, and he came swiftly in. "Hello! How was practice?"

  "Fair. Burke was better. Tried him on the end. 'Lo, Mr. Lorimer. 'Lo,Carter!"

  "I've got a poem here you'll all like," said Stephen Lorimer. "No, youneedn't shuffle your feet, Jimsy. It's your kind. Sit down, all of you.I'll read it."

  "So long as it hasn't got any 'whate'ers' and yestereves' and'beauteous,'" the last King grinned. "Shoot!"

  "It's an English thing, by Henry Newbolt,--about cricket, but thatdoesn't matter. It's the thing itself. I may not have the wordsexactly,--I read it over there, and copied it down in my diary, frommemory." He looked at the boys and the girl; Honor was waiting eagerly,sure of anything he might bring her; Jimsy King, fresh from the sweatingrealities of the gridiron, was good-humoredly tolerant; Carter Van Meterwas courteously attentive, with his oddly mature air of social poise. Hebegan to read, to recite, rather, his eyes on their faces:

  There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night, Ten to make and the match to win; A bumping pitch and a blinding light, An hour to play and the last man in, And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat Or the selfish hope of a season's fame, But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote-- Play up! Play up! and--Play the Game!

  Jimsy King, who was lolling on the couch, sat up, his eyes kindling."Gee...." he breathed. Honor's cheeks were scarlet and she was breathinghard and fast. Only the new boy was unmoved, his pale face still pale,his shadowed eyes calm. Stephen Lorimer kept that picture of them alwaysin his heart; it was, he came to think, symbol and prophecy. He swunginto the second verse, his voice warming:

  The sand of the desert is sodden red; Red with the wreck of a square that broke; The gatling's jammed and the colonel dead, And the regiment blind with dust and smoke: The River of Death has brimmed his banks; And England's far, and Honor a name, But the voice of a school boy rallies the ranks-- Play up! Play up! and--Play the Game!

  His own voice shook a little on the last line and he was a trifle amusedat his emotionalism. He tried to bring the moment sanely back to thecommonplace. "Corking for a song, Top Step. I'll hamm
er out some chords... doesn't need much." He looked again through the strangely chargedatmosphere of the quiet room, at the three big children. Jimsy King wason his feet, shaken out of the serene insolence of his young stoicism,his hands opening and shutting, swallowing hard, and Honor, theboy-girl, Jimsy's sturdy Skipper, was crying, frankly, unashamed,unaware, the tears welling up out of her wide eyes, rolling down herbright cheeks. Only Carter Van Meter sat as before, a little withdrawn,a little aloof, in the shadow.