REX ARRIVES IN NEW YORK
“I say, Roy, can you lend me three dollars?”
Rex had crossed the hall to his brother’s room some time after the
family had come up stairs.
“Why, where’s all your money gone to, Rex? I thought you were saving up
to get mother a present.”
“So I was, but—but I’ve bought it and now I haven’t got enough left to
take me down to Marley to-morrow night. Just let me have three dollars.
I’ll pay you back when I get my next allowance on Monday,”
“You’ve bought mother’s present!” exclaimed Roy. “What did you get? Let
me see it,”
“No, I want to keep it a secret till I give it to her,” replied Rex
quickly. “Now about that three dollars, can you let me have it, old
fellow?”
“Certainly I can, but be sure to give it back to me Monday, as I
haven’t enough to get the present I have set my heart on. I’ll—but
there, if you won’t tell about yours, I shan’t say anything about mine.
Then we’ll have a grand surprise party all around on the third.”
Roy stepped to his dressing case and took out a two dollar and a one
dollar bill, which he handed to Rex.
“Thanks, ever so much,” murmured the latter. “Good night,” and he
hurried back to his own room.
He had never felt so mean in his life. Not only had he just obtained
money under false pretenses, but he had told two or three falsehoods of
the most unblushing description.
Roy’s very readiness to oblige him added to his weight of remorse.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and began to tuck the money away in
his pocket book. Was he really a criminal? he asked himself.
How horrified they had all been when they thought Mr. Charles Keeler
had been an inmate of jails. Was it any worse to have committed a crime
and have been punished for it, than to commit the crime and not be
found out?
For a moment or two he was—shall I call it tempted?—to go back to his
brother’s room, return the three dollars and confess the whole thing.
Then he thought of New York, of his induction to a college town, of his
promise to Harrington to meet him at the station.
“No; I must go now,” he reflected. “I can call it sowing my wild oats,”
and he undressed as quickly as possible and got into bed, as if fearful
that his repentant tendencies would conquer in spite of him.
He was very quiet the next day. About ten o’clock Harrington came in to
see him. It was the first time he had ever been to the house. Rex had
not asked him, thinking he had no special attractions to offer him.
Mrs. Pell and the girls were out shopping. Roy was down at the office
with Syd. Rex asked Harrington if he would like to come up in his room.
“Of course I would. A fellow’s generally curious about the inside of a
house when he’s been looking on the outside of it half the days of his
life.”
So Rex took him up stairs. He admired the “den,” as he called it,
immensely.
“Wait till you see mine at Yale,” he added, as he struck a match to
light his inveterate cigarette. “I don’t do much fixing up at home
here, I’m here so little. By the way, you don’t mind me smoking, do
you?”
“Oh, no,” replied Rex faintly.
Nevertheless, he was wondering what his mother would say if the odor
still lingered when she came. Sydney did not smoke at all, and the
entire family abominated cigarettes.
Mrs. Pell did come home shortly after Harrington had taken his
departure. She came up to the third floor to put away some flannels she
had bought for the boys.
“Reginald,” she said, as soon as she entered the room, “you have been
smoking.”
Rex was reading by the window, and he turned around in startled
disquiet.
“No, I haven’t, mother,” he replied quickly.
“Where does that smell of cigarette smoke come from, then?” and Mrs.
Pell coughed and then came up close to look her son in the eye.
“Dudley Harrington has been here,” he replied. “He was smoking.”
“You are sure you were not smoking with him?” went on Mrs. Pell, adding
with a sudden bending down over him, “Kiss me.”
Rex complied, glad indeed that this time, at any rate, there was
nothing he wished to conceal.
“Forgive me for doubting you, Reggie,” said his mother, as she lingered
an instant to stroke the hair back from his forehead.
Once more Rex weakened in his purpose, if one can be said to weaken
when he is really stronger for the moment to resist an impulse for
evil. But then he reflected that now he had the money and the
opportunity of getting off to the station without being questioned. The
facts seemed to will that he should go.
And he went, stopping for Harrington at half past four. When they
reached the station he found that he had to pay a dollar extra for the
privilege of riding over to New York in the Chicago Limited.
But it was very select to travel on such a train, and the dinner that
he and Harrington ate en route was one long to be remembered.
In fact there were so many new and novel sensations and impressions
received from this first stage of his trip, that Rex was surprised he
did not derive more solid enjoyment from it.
It was impossible for him to keep out of his mind, however, the fact
that he was now supposed to be at Marley with Scott Bowman. He had come
away without leaving behind him the note he had at first planned to
write.
“You must come to Yale sure, Reggie,” Harrington told him. “Can’t you
get ready to enter next fall? I’ll be a junior then, and can look out
for you, you know.”
“I wish I could,” returned Rex, rather more soberly than the nature of
the subject seemed to warrant.
He was thinking that it would be so much pleasanter to go to New Haven
legitimately than in his present stolen fashion.
When they arrived at New York, Harrington said he would go at once to
the hotel where he was to meet some of “the boys.” Rex wondered whether
they were going to stop at this hotel over night, and if to, how much
it would cost. But he decided he would not ask, but wait and find out.
It was nearly eight when Harrington sent up his card to J. Ashley Stout
in one of the plainer looking hotels on upper Broadway. Word came back
that Mr. Stout was in his room on the fifth floor and would be glad to
have Mr. Harrington come up.
“Come on, Reggie,” said the Philadelphian.
Rex was not sure whether he liked Harrington to call him Reggie.
Sometimes it seemed to place him on a more familiar footing with the
collegian, and at other times he had a suspicion that the name was
employed merely to recall to the younger the fact of the difference in
their ages.
Mr. Stout proved to be a young man with a red face, a very unpleasant
complexion, and an abnormally weak voice. He had neither coat, vest nor
collar on, and his eyes looked as if the bell boy’s knock had awakened
him from a sound sleep.
“Glad to see you, Harri, old boy,” he said, shaking Harrington
vigorously by the hand. “Excuse appearances. Was just taking a snooze
to prepare for the evening.”
“No apologies, Jack. Let me introduce my friend, Reginald Pell. He’s a
neighbor of mine at home. He’s going up to Yale with me to see if he
likes it well enough to be one of us next year.”
“Proud to know any friend of Harri’s, I’m sure,” and Mr. Stout gave Rex
a hand that was so disagreeably clammy that the younger lad could
scarcely resist the impulse to take out his handkerchief and wipe off
the touch of it.
From the conversation that ensued he ascertained that Stout came from
somewhere up in New York State and that for some reason or other he
appeared to be quite a favorite with his classmates. One or two others
were expected in the course of the evening, and the hope that they
might go to the theater was now quenched in Rex’s breast.
Harrington and Stout talked volubly of things in which he was not the
least interested—other college men. New Haven girls, fraternity
affairs, and the like. Rex sat there listening, trying to look as if he
were having a good time, but failing signally. However, this made no
difference, as neither Harrington nor Stout paid any attention to him.
Presently Stout began to complete his dressing, talking all the while.
Although he was not angry, he seemed to find it necessary to interlard
his conversation with some very strong and unpleasant sounding
expressions, and once or twice Harrington followed his example.
In fact the latter did not appear to be the same fellow here in New
York that he was at home. Once in a while he looked at Rex and smiled
as if mutely reminding the latter that he owed the good time he was
having to him. But Rex found it harder and harder to smile back, and he
welcomed a knock that by and by came at the door as signalizing a.
change of some sort.