FIRST PRACTICE
The next day Kendall’s school life really began. At half-past seven
there was chapel, at eight breakfast in the big dining-room, or commons
as it was called, on the first floor of Whitson, and at nine came his
first recitation, Latin 3. At half-past nine there was French 3a. Then
came a half hour of freedom from class rooms, a half hour put to good
use in polishing up for the next trial, mathematics 3, at half-past
ten. The mathematics instructor was Mr. McIntyre, a hard taskmaster.
At eleven-thirty there was Physical Culture in the gymnasium. After
that came dinner at one o’clock, and, at two, English 3b. That, so
far as lessons were concerned, finished his day. At a little after
three-thirty observe him making his way toward the athletic field, an
odd-looking figure with his long legs in a pair of old gray trousers,
a faded brown sweater completing his costume. He wore no cap and,
since his sweater was of the “turtle-neck” variety, his hair had been
much disarranged in the struggle with it. For shoes he had put on a
pair of rubber-soled “sneakers.” As he passed along in front of the
dormitories――taking the longest way since he had only a very general
idea where the athletic field lay――he occasioned not a little interest
in beholders. Luckily he was quite unaware of the strangeness of his
attire and so had no ear for the frequent chuckles that followed his
progress.
[Illustration: “An odd-looking figure in a pair of old gray trousers.”]
The curving path took him past the fronts of Whitson and Oxford and
Merle. Below him The Prospect fell away to the green meadows and a
half a mile away was the little railroad station of Wissining where
he had left the train two days before. Beyond the station lay, a blue
ribbon in the afternoon sunlight, the Wissining River, with the town
of Greenburg beginning at its further bank. Behind him, over the tops
of the trees, lay Long Island Sound, blue and hazy, and dotted with
sails and streaked with smoke from distant steamers. Past the Kingdon
Gymnasium he went, and then the path descended toward the river,
between the tennis courts, and he paused for a minute behind one of
the back-stops to watch a game in progress between two white-flanneled
youths whose dexterity with racquet and ball made him wonder. At
his right, a quarter of a mile away, figures moved over the rolling
hillside, now stopping for some mysterious reason and then marching
determinedly away again. Kendall had never seen golf played and the
movements of the fellows in the distance seemed exceedingly strange.
But, for that matter, there was a good deal that was strange to him
here at Yardley. And perhaps the strangest thing of all was being here!
It still seemed more like a dream than a reality, and he was constantly
in fear that he would wake up.
The field was almost empty when he reached it, for it still wanted more
than a quarter of an hour to four o’clock, and many of the upper class
fellows had three o’clock recitations. But a few boys were scattered
around, some on the stands and some, in football regalia, waiting for
work. The gridiron had been freshly marked out and the lime lines
were dazzlingly white against the grass. Kendall wished there was
somebody he might talk to, but so far he had formed no acquaintances
beyond those we know of, and to address any of the careless, laughing
fellows about him without overtures from them was quite beyond him.
So he seated himself in the sun on one of the steps leading into the
grand stand and waited. Behind him and about him there were many
amused glances and whispered remarks, but Kendall never noticed. On
the river a canoe with two boys at the paddles was working slowly
against the current toward Flat Island. Beyond the stream a wide
expanse of marshland was showing the first signs of autumn, stretches
of yellow mingling with the green of rushes and grass. Singly and in
groups of two and three the boys, players and onlookers alike, began to
appear around the corner of the stand. Then came Dan Vinton in earnest
converse with John Payson, the coach. They passed him only a few yards
distant and he wondered whether the captain would recognize him. But he
didn’t, although his eyes rested idly for a moment on his face as he
passed on. Then a little red-haired Irishman appeared with a push-cart
which he wheeled to the front of the grand stand amidst facetious
greetings from the audience:
“Hello, Andy! how’s the boy?”
“The top o’ the morning to ye, Andy!”
“Well, see who’s here!”
“Andy, I believe your hair’s faded!”
The trainer waved a freckled hand toward the seats and began to unload
his cart. There were dozens of gray blankets, a gunny sack full of
footballs, nose guards, pails, sponges, a can of water and numerous
other treasures. Andy inverted the gunny sack and the footballs came
tumbling out and went bobbing about in all directions to be pounced
on by eager hands. A whistle blew and order resolved out of chaos. The
candidates clustered around the coach and captain, Kendall following
the others. He couldn’t hear very well what the coach was saying, since
he was quite on the fringe of the crowd, but he caught occasional
fragments:
“... Necessary to learn the rudiments of the game ... seem like hard
work, but it’s work that pays well in the end.... You can’t build
a house without a foundation and you can’t build a football team
without.... Men who played last year report to Roeder.... New men stay
here.... On the jump, now!”
I don’t intend to weary the reader with a detailed account of Kendall’s
experiences that afternoon. They were uninteresting, or would have
been save for their novelty. Kendall found himself one of a group of
twenty fellows in charge of a quick-spoken, gingery little chap whom
he afterwards discovered to be Holmes, the second-choice quarter-back.
Now and then Payson made his appearance and looked on for a moment,
sometimes dropping criticism or encouragement. The work for the awkward
squad consisted wholly in accustoming themselves to the handling of the
ball. They passed it about in a big circle, passed it at a walk, passed
it at a trot. Then they tried dropping on it as Holmes rolled it along
the ground, and finally they were made to catch it on the bound and to
pick it up on the run as it dribbled along in front of them. Later they
were formed in a line on one of the white marks and taught to start
quickly as the quarter snapped the ball back.
It was tiresome work, although Kendall only discovered that when it was
all over and he was walking back up the hill, walking alone amongst
more than a hundred boys and wistfully wishing that he had someone with
whom to talk over the practice. It seemed to Kendall that he was the
only boy in school who hadn’t friends or acquaintances. He had been
instructed to stop at the gymnasium and have his name entered in the
manager’s book. So he followed the crowd through the big oak doors,
down a flight of broad steps and into the locker-room. The manager
proved to be an harassed-looking youth whom the others addressed as
Cowles or Mister Manag_eer_. It seemed the proper thing to do to
confuse Cowles as much as possible, and the manager was continually
begging mercy.
“Oh, for the love of mud, Jensen, cut out the rough-house, will you?”
he was imploring as Kendall edged up. “I’ve got your old name down here
already.... What’s that, Fogg? I don’t know; ask Payson.... What’s the
name, you fellow?”
“Burtis.”
“Curtis. What class?”
“Not Curtis, if you please; Bur――”
“Shut up, you fellows, can’t you? I can’t hear a word. What’s your
class, Curtis?”
“Third.”
“Where’re you rooming?”
“Twenty-one Clarke Hall.”
“How old?”
“Fifteen; pretty near sixteen.”
“Never mind the pretty near part. Squad D. Report to-morrow to Mr.
Bendix at twelve for examination. Come on, now, I haven’t got all night
to do this!”
Kendall pushed his way through the crowded room toward the door. Most
of the fellows, he noticed, were changing their football clothes for
their usual attire in front of little closets which ran in rows at one
end of the room. Some, already disencumbered of everything save huge
bath towels, were hurrying toward a doorway from beyond which came the
sound of rushing water and eddying clouds of steam. In there, Kendall
surmised, were the shower baths. He had heard of them and would like
to have tried one, but he had neither towel nor locker. He stood
for a moment out of the way and watched the scene. Dan Vinton came
hurrying through the outer door and pushed his way through the throng.
Several fellows tried to detain him, but he kept on to a bench and
rapidly removed his togs, talking as he did so to half a dozen fellows
who had followed and quickly surrounded him. In a minute he was off
to the showers, still replying to questions as he went and eluding
the clutches of friends. Across the room Cowles was still taking
names, although his task was about over. The throng began to lessen
as the baths swallowed their quota. Kendall turning to reach the door
suddenly became aware of a boy who, a yard or two distant, was viewing
him uncertainly. It was the boy to whom Kendall had been introduced
last night in Vinton’s room, but he couldn’t recall his name. He was
in ordinary attire and looked as though he had just entered. When he
caught Kendall’s eye he nodded smilingly and stepped across to him.
“We met last night, but I’ve forgotten your name,” he said.
“I remember,” Kendall replied a trifle shyly. “My name is Burtis.”
“Burtis? I don’t think I’ve ever heard that before. Mine is Pennimore.
How did you get on at practice, Burtis?”
“Not very well, I guess.”
“One doesn’t at first. It’s a bit discouraging. After you’ve got the
hang of it, though, it goes better.” He surveyed the room and finally
called across to the manager. “Cowles, where’s Dan?”
“I haven’t seen him, Gerald,” Cowles replied, waving his book and then
slipping it into his pocket.
“If you mean Mr. Vinton,” said Kendall, “he went into the bathroom
about two or three minutes ago.”
“Did he? I guess I won’t wait then. Coming my way?”
“I――I was going back to my room,” replied Kendall.
“Let’s walk along, then. Well, how do you like it as far as you’ve
got?” Gerald held the door open and Kendall murmured “Thank you,” and
went through.
“I like it very much,” he replied when they were outside on the path.
“It――it’s different, though, from what I expected.”
“Is it? How?”
“Well, everything’s bigger, for one thing,” replied Kendall
hesitatingly. “And――and the fellows are――are different.”
“Don’t you like us?” laughed Gerald.
“Oh, yes! That is, I don’t know anyone yet――except the fellow I room
with, but you all seem very nice. I don’t know that I can explain just
what I mean.”
“Go ahead and try,” Gerald encouraged.
“Well, everyone seems so――so old!”
“Old?”
“Yes, more like fellows in college, you know.”
“Really? I never thought of that.”
“Maybe old isn’t quite the word I want,” said Kendall reflectively.
“No, I don’t guess it is. What I mean is that the fellows are so――so
sort of confident, and――and――oh, I don’t know.”
“I get you now,” replied Gerald. “Yes, I know what you mean. I noticed
that myself when I came. It’s a sort of self-possession, isn’t it? You
soon catch it, Burtis. You see, after all, Yardley is a good deal like
a college. A fellow has to look after himself a good deal. They give us
lots of rope here and you can hang yourself mighty easy, Burtis. Some
fellows don’t understand that when they first come. They think that
because they’re not watched by someone every minute that they can do as
they please and it won’t matter. But it does matter, though. There’s no
one here to say, ‘Now you must study your lessons and be a good boy,’
you see. Only when you _don’t_ study your lessons, and _aren’t_ a good
boy, you get into trouble. A fellow can get along maybe half a term by
faking, but when the exams come there’s a――a rude awakening, as they
say in the stories. And then it’s too late. Out you go! Good night! So
a fellow has to learn to look after himself here; has to realize that
if he’s going to stay here he’s got to do things on his own incentive,
and not wait to be told. If you don’t want to study here at Yardley, no
one’s going to make you. Only some fine day you wake up and find that
your trunk’s packed and that you’ve got your ticket home.”
“I see,” said Kendall thoughtfully. “That accounts for it, I guess.”
Gerald’s discourse had brought them to the doorway of Clarke and now
they climbed the stairs together. Kendall wanted to ask the other boy
to his room, but feared it might be considered “fresh.” Gerald solved
the problem at the head of the stairs.
“Come down to my room and chin awhile,” he said, leading the way along
the hall. “Unless you want to change.”
“No, I’ll wait now,” answered Kendall. Gerald pointed out the easiest
chair to his guest, tossed his cap onto his bed and tossed himself onto
the window seat, stuffing the many-hued pillows behind his back.
“There’s another thing,” said Kendall, returning to the subject.
“Everyone seems to be having such a good time.”
“Why not? That’s what we’re here for!”
“Yes, but――but what about studying and――and learning things?”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Gerald laughed. “We study, Burtis. But we try to
have a good time even doing that. I guess it’s a sort of pose here at
Yardley to seem careless and happy-go-lucky and keep on smiling. Life
isn’t always a joke, not by any means; but we don’t believe in drawing
long faces, Burtis. They say over at Broadwood that a Yardley man never
knows when he’s beaten; and there’s something in that, too. I said a
minute ago that it was a pose. It isn’t, though; it’s a habit. Oh,
you’ll like us better when you learn our ways.”
“I like you now,” replied Kendall with a smile. “Only I didn’t quite
understand. I’m glad you’ve told me.”
“I suppose you don’t know many fellows yet?”
“No, none to speak of.”
“Well, you will in a day or two if you keep on with football. And you
must come over here now and then. Fellows drop in here a good deal, you
know. How do you like Towne?”
“I――it’s pretty soon to judge yet,” replied Kendall evasively. Gerald
laughed.
“Well, don’t judge us all by him,” he begged.
“I guess I looked pretty much of a fool last night,” said Kendall
sheepishly. “About that application blank, I mean.”
“Oh, yes; well, that was a bit green, but I don’t know why you
shouldn’t have believed Towne. We’re all pretty innocent when we get
here first. And, by the way, Burtis, I ought to tell you, I guess, that
we don’t say ‘sir’ to one another here. I noticed last night that you
said it to Dan.”
“Thanks; I’ll remember,” replied Kendall gratefully. “Only he was older
and the football captain and I somehow thought――”
“There was no harm done,” Gerald assured him. “Not a bit. But you
needn’t say ‘sir’ or ‘mister’ to anyone except faculty, you know, and
Mr. Payson. Let’s see, you’re in the Third, aren’t you?”
“Third Class? Yes.”
“Well, any time you want help come over. I’ve been through with it and
I know it’s mighty hard sledding in places. I’m not a ‘grind’ by any
means, but I might be able to help you out of a hole maybe.”
“Thank you. I will. I guess I’ll be going now.”
“All right. Come over and see me sometimes. By the way, ever done any
running?”
“Running?” repeated Kendall.
“Yes, on the track.” Kendall shook his head.
“Well, you’d better come out in the spring and try for the Track Team,”
said Gerald. “With those legs of yours you ought to be able to just eat
up the cinders. Good-by. See you again.”
Kendall found Harold Towne stretched out on his bed, reading.
“Hello!” said Harold, “how did you like――” Then he caught sight of
Kendall’s attire and a broad grin overspread his face. “Well, say,
where on earth did you get that costume?”
“What’s the matter with it?” asked Kendall in surprise.
“What’s the matter with it! You look like a scarecrow! Have you been
out for practice like that?”
“Yes. I hadn’t anything else. Vinton said――”
“Well, I’ll bet you made ’em laugh, Burtis. Say, don’t tell anyone you
room with me, will you?”
“I won’t,” replied Kendall emphatically. Harold stared a moment. There
was something in the tone he didn’t like. Finally,
“Where have you been since practice?” he asked.
“I stopped at the gymnasium for a few minutes and then walked home
with a fellow named Pennimore, and I’ve been in his room.”
“Pennimore! Gerald Pennimore?”
“I think his name’s Gerald,” replied Kendall, squirming out of his
sweater. Harold whistled. Then he chuckled:
“I’d like to have seen you together, you two. The millionaire and the
scarecrow, eh?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” returned Kendall with a scowl.
“I mean you and your friend, Mr. Moneybags. Didn’t you know he’s the
richest fellow in school? And the biggest snob?”
“No.” Kendall shook his head and thought a moment. “I guess this was
another Pennimore,” he said. “He was just like anyone else――only
nicer.”