Peering about Bertie couldn’t tell which of the shadowy beings was speaking. Not that it made a great deal of difference.
“I’m Crimmins, Bertie Crimmins,” Bertie said companionably, “Class of ’39. Are you boys here for the game tomorrow?”
“We are here,” the toneless voice replied, “to do your bidding.”
“Very nice of you,” Bertie said warmly, “but I don’t need anything just now. If I do I’ll be glad to throw the business your way.”
There was no answer from the darkness. Peering about Bertie saw that the circle of eyes had disappeared and that the formless dark shapes had likewise vanished. He also noticed that the annoying odor of brimstone and sulphur had faded away.
“Well, well,” he said. “Neat trick, what?”
He stepped over and flicked on the light switch. Everything in the room seemed quite normal. It was unoccupied and the covers of the bed were turned down invitingly.
So Bertie undressed and went to bed.
He was just dozing off when a hazy fragment of thought brushed his mind, driving sleep away. Where had those strange dark creatures come from? Who and what were they?
These were the thoughts that buzzed about in his head like gadflies. They obviously weren’t college students or star boarders. The more he toyed with the problem the more interesting it became.
He tossed from one side to the other, tangling the covers about his neck. It must have been fully five minutes before the light dawned on Bertie.
When it did he almost chuckled out loud in relief.
The things — the vague black shapes — were obviously creatures such as described in the ancient leather bound book he had found on his brother’s desk. That was the first step of his reasoning. The second was simplicity itself. In his reading from the leather-bound book he had apparently called these creatures to his side. One of the mysterious incantations must have done the trick.
“Kind of a nasty stunt to pull on them,” he said thoughtfully. “But,” he decided philosophically, “it can’t be helped now. Whatever they are — demons, ghosts or ghouls — they’re here and they’ll just have to make the best of it.”
With a relieved sigh he snuggled down into the covers. Now he could sleep. With his little mystery logically explained he could close his eyes peacefully. He even felt somewhat superior about the matter. It wasn’t everyone who could whistle up a roomful of demons. No sir!
He slept like a babe.
The next morning he awoke, cheerful and refreshed and after a brisk shower trotted downstairs whistling enthusiastically.
His brother’s housekeeper met him at the foot of the stairs.
“Morning,” Bertie said brightly. “What’s sizzling for breakfast?”
“Breakfast was over two hours ago,” the housekeeper answered. It was apparent that this fact gave her a good deal of satisfaction.
“Oh,” Bertie said, his spirit wilting at the prospect of a breakfastless morning. “Well, is the big brain up yet?”
“If you are referring to your brother, he left some time ago. I believe he intended to meet the president of the college on a very important matter.”
“Oh,” Bertie said again.
Looking at his brother’s housekeeper’s grim jaw he decided that the prospects of wangling a spot of breakfast from her were extremely slim.
So, he decided to take his famished frame off to the local hotel, where he could also arrange for tickets for the day’s game between Mosswood and State and phone Ann.
With a stiff bow to the housekeeper he wrapped his injured dignity about him like a cloak and left the house.
The hotel lobby was a swarming mass of pennant-waving alumni and sharp looking bookmakers who were taking and giving bets on the game.
Bertie made for the hotel dining room and he was halfway through a plate of bacon and eggs when a disquieting thought struck him.
He signaled a waiter.
“I say,” he said, “I just remembered that I haven’t got tickets for today’s game yet. Can’t imagine how it slipped my mind. Will you pick me up a couple and bring them here like a fine fellow.” The waiter looked at him in slight astonishment.
“You can’t be serious, sir. Surely you must know that this game has been sold out for weeks. Why yesterday the scalpers were getting sixty dollars a pair for tickets. But now there are none available at any price.”
“Hmmmmm,” Bertie said thoughtfully. This was a pretty kettle of fish. Ann had her heart set on seeing the game. So, as a matter of fact, had Bertie. It would be more than tragic to miss it.
“Nothing you can do at all?” he asked the waiter.
“Not a thing, sir.”
“Very good. Thank you.”
“Yes sir.” The waiter moved away, leaving Bertie to his solitary gloom.
He speared a piece of bacon with unwonted savagery.
“I wish I had a ticket,” he muttered. “No, I wish I had two. There’s Ann to think of. I wish I had a hundred, a thousand of them.”
There was a faint rustle beside him. It was a sound like dry leaves scraping over hard, cold earth. Bertie hardly noticed it. He was so engrossed in his own misery that he didn’t hear the soft, toneless voice whisper,
“As you wish, Master!”
He went on eating, wondering what he could possibly use as an explanation to Ann. At last he was forced to the realization that nothing he could tell her would help things. She would consider this just another cotton-headed lapse on his part.
He was walking away from the table when the waiter’s voice called after him.
“Just a moment, sir. You’re forgetting your package.”
Bertie turned and saw that the waiter was lifting a small package from the table he had just left. The package was wrapped in brown paper and was about eight inches square.
“Is that mine?” he asked blankly.
“It must be,” the waiter said. “I know it wasn’t here when you arrived. I had just cleared the table and I remember distinctly.”
Bertie took the package in his hand. It wasn’t very heavy. He tried to remember whether or not he had had a package with him when he entered the hotel. The effort was a failure. He couldn’t. It might be his at that.”
“Thanks,” he said, “silly of me to forget it.”
He sauntered toward the lobby carelessly removing the outside wrappings from the package. After all if it belonged to him he had a right to know what it was, didn’t he?
As he reached the entrance of the lobby he had finished ripping the paper from the object. Only then did he glance down to see what it was he had been carrying about with him.
His knees almost failed him at the sight.
For the package contained three neat stacks of tickets to the game between Mosswood and State. There must have been at least a thousand tickets and all of them were for locations from the forty to the forty yard line.
He was still standing, staring dumbly at the stacks of ducats when a heavy set, florid faced man bumped into him.
“Watch where you’re going,” the man growled. He started to pass on, but then his eye dropped to the bundle of tickets Bertie was holding in his hands. His eyes lighted excitedly.
“Are those for today’s game?” he demanded tensely.
“Why, yes,” Bertie said. “I guess they are.”
“For sale?” the man snapped.
The idea hadn’t occurred to Bertie, but now he examined it and found it an excellent one.
“All but two,” he answered.
The florid-faced man pulled out a well-padded wallet.
“I’ll give you fifty for a pair,” he said. “Okay?”
“That seems a fair price,” Bertie said thoughtfully.
The man paid him, and Bertie gave him two tickets on the fifty yard line.
“Tell your friends,” Bertie said genially. “Plenty left.”