INTRODUCING DICK HOPE
The sun was almost out of sight as Dick Hope crossed the yard toward
Masters Hall, and the shadows of the buildings, stretching far over the
ground, seemed to harbor many little gusts of icy wind, and looked dark
and dismal in contrast with the broad expanse of golden, sun-bathed
marsh across the river. Dick pulled his coat closer about him, ran up
the old, worn granite steps of the dormitory, and gained the hallway
with a sense of comfort and homecoming.
Securing his key from the matron’s room, he leaped up the first flight
of narrow stairs and, half-way down the corridor, unlocked a dingy
door which bore a big black figure 16, and, below it, a card with the
inscription “Richard Fowler Hope.” The room was filled with the mellow
light of the setting sun, and here and there the rays were caught--by
the glass doors of the bookcase, by the metal top of the inkstand,
or, less sharply, by the silver and pewter mugs ranged along the
mantel--and were thrown back in golden blurs that dazzled the eyes.
Dick laid aside his coat and cap, took off his gloves, and thrusting
his hands into his pocket, surveyed the apartment smilingly. It was
awfully jolly to get back, he thought happily, as his gaze took in
the shabby, comfortable furnishings and the hundred and one objects
about the room so intimately connected with three and a half years
of pleasant school life. An array of worn and soberly bound books
lined an end of the leather-covered study table, and he took one up
and fluttered its pages between his fingers; it was a good deal like
shaking hands with an old friend. With the volume still in his clasp
he moved to the mantel and examined the knickknacks thereon, the cups
and photographs and little china things, all cheap enough viewed from a
money standpoint, yet to Dick priceless from long possession. He felt
a momentary heart-flutter as his eyes fell on one pewter mug ornately
engraved with his name.
As he looked the mantel and wall faded from sight, and he saw a stretch
of cinder track, pecked by the spikes of runners’ shoes; at a little
distance a thin white tape. He saw himself, head back, eyes staring,
struggling desperately for that white thread across the track. Again
he heard the thud and crunch of the St. Eustace runner’s feet almost
beside him; heard, far more dimly, the shouts of excited onlookers, and
again felt his effortful gasps as he gained inch by inch. The captain
of the track team had been the first to reach him as the tape fluttered
to the ground and he turned, half reeling, onto the turf. And he had
thrown an arm about him and lowered him gently to the welcome sod and
had whispered three short words into his ear, words that meant more
than volumes of praise:
“_Good work, Dick!_”
The vision faded and the boy, with a sigh that expressed more happiness
than a laugh could have done, turned away from the mantel. The crimson
silk sash-curtains, drawn to the sides of the two windows, glowed like
fire, but the shafts of sunlight had traveled up the walls to the
ceiling, and the study was growing dim. In the fireplace a pile of wood
and shavings was ready to light, and Dick, scratching a match along the
mantel edge, set it ablaze and drew an easy chair to the hearth. With
the shabby school-book in his hands, he settled comfortably against the
cushions, and, his gaze on the leaping flames, let his thoughts wander
as they willed.
There was plenty to think of. Before him lay five of the busiest,
most important months of his school life, months that would be filled
with plenty of hard work, much pleasure, and probably not a little
worriment, and which might be crowned with a double triumph for him,
for his hopes were set upon graduating at the head of his class and
upon turning out a crew which in the annual boat-race with Hillton’s
well-loved rival, St. Eustace, would flaunt the crimson above the blue
in a decisive victory. To attain the first result many long hours of
the hardest sort of study would be necessary, while the last would
require never-flagging patience, tact, courage, and skill, and would
demand well-nigh every moment of his time not given to lessons. The
outlook did not, however, frighten him. He had returned to school
feeling strong and confident and eager to begin his tasks.
When, the preceding June, after a sorrowful defeat by St. Eustace,
the members of the Hillton crew had met to elect a new captain,
Richard Hope had been chosen because he above all other candidates
possessed the directness of purpose, the gift of leadership, and the
untiring ability for hard work requisite to form a winning eight from
unpromising material; even the defeated candidates for the post,
which at Hillton was the highest and most honorable in the gift of
the school, applauded the choice, and, with a possible exception,
honestly felt the pleasure they expressed. The possible exception was
Roy Taylor, one of the best oarsmen at Hillton. Taylor had striven hard
for the captaincy and had accepted defeat with far less graciousness
than had the other three candidates, though he had tried to hide his
disappointment under a mask of smiling indifference. The recollection
of Roy Taylor was this evening almost the only source of uneasiness to
Dick as he watched the mellow flames leap and glow.
Presently he pushed back his chair, lighted the drop-light on the table
and drew the blinds. It was almost supper time. Throwing aside his
coat, he unpacked his satchel, distributing several presents about the
study. Then, with his toilet articles in hand, he opened the door into
the bedroom and started back in surprise. Between the two narrow iron
bedsteads stood a pile of luggage. A dilapidated tin trunk, painted
in ludicrous imitation of yellow oak, flanked a handsome leather
portmanteau, while upon these was piled a motley array of bundles and
bags; a tennis racquet and two cricket bats were tied together with
three brightly colored neckties; a battered golf bag fairly bristled
with sticks; a pair of once white flannel trousers were tied about
at the ankles with strings, and were doing duty as a repository for
discarded shoes, golf, tennis, and cricket balls, and sundry other
treasures. The improvised bag had fallen open at the larger end and had
disgorged a portion of its contents in the manner of a huge, strangely
formed horn of plenty. Crowning all was a soiled clothes bag, vivid
with purple lilies on a yellow ground, whose contour told plainly that
it held books.
Quickly following his first moment of surprise came to Dick a knowledge
of what the presence of the luggage meant, and his grin of amusement
was succeeded by a frown. The boy who had shared his quarters with
him at the beginning of the year had left the academy in October, and
Dick had held sole possession of the rooms until now. He had been
told that with the commencement of the winter term he would have a
roommate, but until that moment he had forgotten the fact. He wondered
as he spluttered at the wash-stand what sort of a chap his future chum
was, and drew ill augury from the queer collection of luggage. With
towel in hand he walked around the pile and studied the labels and
the initials that adorned trunks and bags. The former were numerous;
plainly the owner of the yellow tin trunk had traveled, for a Cunard
steamship label flanked a red-lettered legend “Wanted,” and the two
were elbowed by the paper disk of a Geneva hotel. The initials “T.
N.” told him nothing, save that the owner’s name was probably Tom.
Well, Tom was a good enough name, he thought, as he applied the brush
vigorously to his brown hair, and as for the rest he would soon learn.
Drawing on his coat and lowering the light, he hurried across to
Warren Hall and supper. The dining-room was well filled, and as he
made his way to his seat at a far table he was obliged to return a
dozen greetings, and had he paused in response to every detaining hand
that was stretched out he would scarcely have reached his seat in
the next half hour. It was pleasant to be back again among all those
good fellows, he thought as he laughingly pulled himself free from
the clutches of his friends, and pleasanter still to know that they
were glad to have him back. His heart beat a little faster than usual,
and his cheeks were a little more flushed as he clapped his nearest
neighbor on the shoulder and sank into his chair, only to leave it
the next moment and detour the table to shake hands with Professor
Longworth, who had bowed to him smilingly across the board.
“Vacation seems to have agreed with you, Hope; you look as hearty as
you please. You must let Mr. Beck see you before the bloom wears off;
he’d rather see one of you boys looking fit than come into a legacy.”
“I’m feeling fine, sir,” laughed Dick, “and I’m so glad to get back
that even trigonometry doesn’t scare me.”
“Hum,” replied the professor grimly. “Just wait until you see what I’ve
got ready for you.”
Dick was soon busy satisfying a huge appetite and listening to the
veritable avalanche of information and inquiry that was launched at him.
“St. Eustace has chosen the negative side in the debate, Hope, and old
Tinker’s tickled to death; says he’s certain we’ll win, because----”
“Dick, come up to my cave Saturday afternoon, will you? Burns isn’t
coming back, and he’s written me to sell his stuff, and we’re going to
have an auction; Smith junior’s going to be auctioneer, and we’re going
to hang a red flag out the window, and----” “Did you hear about that
upper middle chap they call ‘’Is ’Ighness’? He nearly upset the coach
this afternoon, they say, and Professor Wheeler’s going to put him on
probation. Chalmers says he told Wheeler that----” “We’ve got some
dandy hockey games fixed, Hope; Shrewsburg’s coming down Monday next if
the ice holds and St. Eustace about the first of Feb.” “You ought to’ve
been with us, Hope, last Saturday. We went fishing through the ice, and
Jimmy Townsend caught four regular whales; and we cooked them at the
hut on the island and had a fine feast, only the silly things wouldn’t
get quite done through, and tasted rather nasty if you didn’t hold your
nose and swallow quick.” “Say, have you seen Carl Gray? He told me to
tell you that he’d be up to your room after supper; wants to see you
most particular, he says. Don’t forget I told you, ’cause I promised
I would.” “I’m going to try for the boat, Hope. When shall I report?”
“When you make the crew, youngster, I’ll win a scholarship; and that
won’t happen in a thousand years!” “Speaking of the crew, Dick, Roy
Taylor says we’re goners this year.”
Dick helped himself generously to the blackberry jam.
“How’s that?” he asked calmly.
“Says we haven’t got good material.”
“If we had seven other fellows as good as Taylor we’d be all right,”
responded Dick. “And as it is, we’ve turned out cracking fine crews
before this from even less promising stuff. Well, I’m off. Never mind
what Todd says, Jimmy; show up with the others and have a try. I only
wish there were other chaps as plucky!”
And amid mingled groans of reproach and derision Dick pushed back his
chair and left the hall. When he reached the second floor of Masters he
saw that the door of Number 16 was ajar, and that some one had turned
up the light.
“Gray’s waiting, I guess,” he told himself. “Wonder what he wants?” He
pushed the door open, and then paused in surprise on the threshold.
In Dick’s big green leather armchair, his slippered feet to the blaze,
a book in his hands, reclined very much at his ease the youth who had
driven the stage-coach.