IN 15 BRADLEY
It was getting dark in the study of No. 15 Bradley Hall, and Wayne laid
his book down on the window seat and fell to looking idly out of the
window. The broad expanse of the Hudson River was visible for several
miles, and its quiet surface reflected all the tones of gold and
crimson with which the western sky was aglow. Far to the left a little
dark spot marked the location of the railway station, and the steel
rails, stretching to the southward, caught the sunset glint here and
there and looked like shafts of fire. The meadow and the campus were
still green, and the station road was blotched with the purple shadows
of hedge and tree. To the left a tiny steamer was creeping from sight
beyond the island and the far-stretching marsh across the water was
brightly yellow with autumn grass.
Inside the room the shadows were beginning to gather wherever the glow
from the two windows failed to reach. They had already hidden the
bookcase near the hall door and Don’s armchair was only a formless hulk
in the gloom. The door to the bedroom was ajar and through it the
shadows were silently creeping, for that room was on the back of the
building and its one window gave but scant light at sunset time. The
study was a comfortable-looking den. There was a big green-topped table
in the center, flanked by easy-chairs, and holding a student lamp, an
ornamental inkstand, a number of books, and a miscellaneous litter of
paper, pens, golf balls, gloves, and caps. A lounge, rather humpy from
long and hard usage, disputed a corner of the apartment with a low
bookcase whose top afforded a repository for photographs and a couple
of hideous vases which for years past had “gone with the room.” There
was a fireplace on one side which to-day held no fire. The mantel was
decorated with more photographs and three pewter mugs, Wayne’s trophies
of the cinder track. Some tennis racquets, three broken and repaired
golf sticks, and a riding whip were crossed in a bewildering fashion
above a picture of an English rowing regatta, and on either side hung
framed “shingles” of the Senior Debating Society and the Hillton
Academy Golf Club. Other pictures adorned the walls here and there; two
businesslike straight-backed chairs were placed where they could not
fail to be fallen over in the dark; and a bright-colored but somewhat
threadbare carpet was on the floor. There were two windows, for No.
15 was a corner study, and in each was a comfortable seat generously
furnished with pillows. At this moment both seats were occupied. In
one lounged Wayne; in the other Don was still trying to study by the
fading light. His left foot was perched carefully on a cushion, for
the injured ankle was not yet fully strong, although nearly a week had
elapsed since the cross-country run and his accident. Finally Don, too,
laid aside his book.
“Want to light up, Wayne?”
“No, let’s be lazy; it’s so jolly in the twilight. I like to watch
sunsets, don’t you? They’re sort of mysterious and--and sad.”
“Hello!” laughed Don. “You must be a bit homesick.”
“No, not exactly, though the sunset did look a bit like some we have
down home. I wish you could see a Virginia sunset, Don.”
“Aren’t they a good deal like any other sunset?”
“No, I don’t think so. From our house at home the sun always sets
across a little valley and back of a hill with a lot of dark trees on
it. And there’s always a heap of blue wood smoke in the air and the
woods are kind of hazy, you know. Wish I was there,” he added, with a
tinge of melancholy in his voice.
“Cheer up,” said Don. “You’ll feel better after supper. You’re
homesick. I used to be, my first year. Used to think I’d give most
anything for a sight of the Charles River and the marshes, as they
look from the library window at home. But I got over it. When I began
to feel sad and virtuous I’d go out and swat a football or jump over
things. That’s the best way to get rid of homesickness, Wayne; go in
for athletics and get your blood running right. You don’t have much
chance to think about home when you’re leaping hurdles or trying to
bust your own record for the hundred yards.”
“I should think not,” laughed Wayne. “I know I wasn’t homesick the
other day when I was chasing around country and jumping over those
silly hedges; but I reckon I’d rather be a bit homesick than have my
legs ache and my lungs burst.”
“They won’t when you’re in training,” answered Don. “But you did great
work that day; we were awfully proud of you.”
“So you say, and I suppose it’s all right, only I keep telling you
that I wasn’t trying to win the team race; I was just trying to beat
that blamed St. Eustace chump who laughed at me when I was sitting
comfortably on the ground there. Just as though any fellow mightn’t
fall over those old hedges, hang him!”
“Well, don’t you mind,” answered Don soothingly. “He isn’t laughing
now, you can bet; that laugh cost his school the race.”
Wayne made no reply. He had gathered the pillows in a heap under his
head and was lying on his back nursing his knees. It was almost dark
outdoors and in the room the shadows held full sway. Across from Don’s
window the lights in Masters Hall were coming out and throwing dim
shafts upon the broad gravel path.
“Wayne, I wish you’d go into training for the track team,” continued
Don. “All you need is some good hard practice to make you a dandy
runner. Why don’t you?”
“What’s the good?” asked Wayne carelessly. “I have hard enough work as
it is trying to learn my lessons without losing a lot of time running
around a track. Besides, it’s so tiresome.”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” answered Don. “You have hard work with your
lessons because you won’t study, and you know it. You could do a lot of
training in the time you spend now in loafing. And, look here, Wayne,
if you go in for athletics you can study a lot better; really. I know;
I’ve tried both ways. And besides, you won’t have to run around a track
much until long after winter term begins; hard work doesn’t start until
February. Of course, if you’ve made up your mind to be a duffer, I
won’t say anything more about it. But I’m captain of the track team,
and I know you would make a bully runner and I want you to help me out
if you will. We’re going to have a hard time next spring to find good
men for the mile and half-mile events, and if we don’t win one of them
I’m afraid St. Eustace or Collegiate is sure of first place. I wish old
Hillton might come out on top next year. Think of it, Wayne, this is my
second year as captain, and my last, for I shan’t take it again, and if
we are beaten next spring it will be a nice record to leave behind,
won’t it? Two defeats and no victories! Hang it, we’ve got to win,
Wayne!”
Wayne laughed lazily.
“What’s so funny?” demanded Don rather crossly.
“You--you’re so serious. The idea of caring so much about whether we
get beaten or not next spring. Why, it’s months away yet. If you’ve got
to worry about it, why not wait awhile?”
Don was too vexed to reply and Wayne went on in his careless,
good-natured tones.
“You fellows up North here are so crazy about athletics. Of course,
they’re good enough in their way, I reckon, but seems to me that you
don’t think about much else. I don’t mean that you don’t study--you’re
all awful grinds--but you never have any time for--for----”
“What--loafing?” asked Don sarcastically.
“No, not exactly that, but--but--oh, hunting and riding and being
sociable generally. Do you shoot?”
“Not much; I’ve potted beach birds and plovers once or twice.”
“Well, that’s the kind of sport I like. Down home we shoot quail, you
know; it’s right good fun. And next month the fox hunting begins.”
“I think I should like that,” exclaimed Don eagerly, forgetting his ill
humor. “I’ve never ridden to hounds. Isn’t it hard jumping fences and
things?”
“Hard--on a horse? Shucks! Compared to leaping over hedges on your feet
it’s about the easiest thing in the world. All you have to do is to sit
still.”
“Well, it sounds easy,” answered Don dubiously, “but I should think
sitting still on a horse that was plunging over a rail fence would be
rather difficult; seems to me that the easiest thing would be to fall
off. Did you ever fall?”
“Twice. Once I hurt my shoulder a little. Of course we boys don’t do
any hard riding; dad won’t let me go out very often, and when he does
he always goes along. You see, once I went fox hunting instead of going
to school, and he found out about it.”
“What kind of a school was it you went to?”
“Oh, a little private school kept by an old codger who used to be a
professor at the University. We fellows had a pretty easy time of it;
when we didn’t want to study we didn’t, which was mighty often.”
“Well, you won’t find it so easy here,” said Don.
“Oh, I’ve found that out already,” answered Wayne ruefully. “We have so
many studies here I can’t begin to keep track of them all. I never know
whether I ought to be at a recitation or fussing with dumb-bells in the
gymnasium.”
“Well, you’ll get used to it after a while and like it immensely, and
think that there isn’t another place in the world like Hillton. And
when you do you’ll care more whether we win or get beaten at athletics
and football; and then----”
There came a loud hammering at the door.
“Enter Paddy and David!” cried Don.
Dave Merton alone entered, and closing the door behind him promptly
fell over an armchair.
“Confound you fellows! why can’t you keep your room decent? A chap’s
always breaking his shins when he comes here. Where’s Paddy?”
“What, have you become separated?” cried Don. “Light the gas, Wayne,
and let us view the unaccustomed sight of Dave without Paddy.”
“He said he was coming up here after he dressed. I left him at the
gym.” Dave stumbled against a straight-backed chair, placed it on its
back just inside the door, and groped his way to a seat beside Don.
“Hope he’ll break his shins too, when he comes,” he said grimly.
“What have you two inseparables been up to this afternoon?” asked Don.
“Oh, Paddy’s been doing stunts with a football, and he’s awfully
annoyed over something, and I’ve been tossing a hammer around the
landscape; that’s all.”
“And did you manage to break another goal post?”
“No; couldn’t seem to hit anything to-day, although I _did_ come within
a few yards of Greene.”
Another thunderous knocking was heard, and, without awaiting an
invitation, Paddy came in, and the sound of breaking wood followed as
he landed on the chair.
“I’m afraid I’ve bust something,” he said cheerfully, as he struggled
to his feet. “And serves you right, too. Is Dave here?”
“Haven’t seen him,” answered Wayne.
“Wonder where the silly chump went to. Where are you, you fellows?”
Paddy felt his way around the table and gropingly found a seat between
Don and Dave. “He said he was coming up here before supper.” A faint
chuckle aroused his suspicions and the sound of a struggle followed.
Then Paddy’s voice arose in triumphant tones.
“’Tis you, yer spalpeen. There’s only one ugly nose like that in
school.”
“Ouch!” yelled Dave. “Let go!”
“Is it you?” asked Paddy grimly.
“Yes.”
“Are you a spalpeen?”
“Yes, oh yes. Ouch!”
“All right.” Paddy deposited Dave on the floor and arranged himself
comfortably in the window.
“Dave says you’re annoyed, Paddy. Who’s been ill-treating the poor
little lad?” asked Don, when the laughter had subsided and Dave had
retreated to the other window seat.
“Don, it’s kilt I am intoirely,” answered Paddy. “For thirty mortal
minutes Gardiner had me snapping back the ball to that butter-fingered
Bowles. If he doesn’t put another quarter-back in soon I shall hand in
me resignation. And to make things worse Gardiner stayed up all last
night and thought out a most wonderful new trick play, and to-day he
tried to put us through it. And, oh dear! I wish you could have seen
the backs all tearing around like pigs with a dog after them, bumping
into each other, getting in each other’s way and all striking the line
at different places and asking, please wouldn’t we let them through! Oh
dear! oh dear! And that chap Moore, who plays center on the second, got
me around the neck twice and tried to pull my head off. If he doesn’t
quit that trick I’ll be forced to forget my elegant manners and slug
him.”
“And he’ll wipe the turf up with you, and I hope he does,” said Dave,
rubbing his nose ruefully.
“And the St. Eustace game only two weeks off,” continued Paddy,
heedless of the interruption. “We’re in an awful state, fellows. I wish
we had Remsen back to coach us. Gardiner’s all right in his way, but
he doesn’t begin to know the football that Stephen Remsen does. We’re
goners this year for sure.”
“Oh, cheer up,” answered Don. “You can do lots in two weeks. Look at
the material we’ve got.”
“Yes, look at it,” said Paddy. “There isn’t a man in the line or back
of it that’s played in a big game except Greene and myself.”
“But St. Eustace has a lot of new men this year, too.”
“Don’t you believe it, my boy. That’s what they say, but Gardiner told
me yesterday that St. Eustace has five fellows on the team that played
against us last year.”
“Does the game come off here?” asked Wayne.
“No, it’s at Marshall this year. We’re all going down, aren’t we,
fellows?” asked Dave.
“Of course,” answered Don. “We will go and see Paddy slaughtered. Wayne
will go along and we’ll teach him to sing ‘Hilltonians.’ By the way,
I’ve been trying to persuade him that he ought to take up training for
the track team. He will make a first-class runner. But he’s so terribly
lazy and indifferent that it’s like talking to a football dummy.”
“Of course you ought to, Wayne,” exclaimed Paddy earnestly. “It’s your
duty, my young friend. Every fellow ought to do everything he can for
the success of the school. I’d try for the team if I could run any
faster than I can walk.”
“Oh, well,” said Wayne, “I’ll see about it.”
“You ought to jump at the chance,” said Dave, in disgust. “It isn’t
every chap that gets asked by the captain of the team. And, let me tell
you-- Hello! Six o’clock, fellows. Who’s for supper?”
“Every one,” cried Don, jumping up. “But I’ve got to wash first. Some
one light the gas if they can find the matches.”
“Well, I’m off,” said Paddy.
“So’m I,” echoed Dave. “I say, Don, I’m coming over after supper to see
if you can help me with that trigonometry stuff.”
“All right,” answered Don from the bedroom between splashes. “If you
know less about it than I do I’ll be surprised.”
“Come on,” cried Paddy impatiently from the doorway--
“‘The time has come,’ the Walrus said,
‘To eat of many things;
Of apple sauce and gingerbread,
Of cake and red her_rings_!’”