CAL SETTLES DOWN
The next morning John William Boland began his life at Oak Park School.
I give him his full title for the last time, for after his immersion
in Willow Lake he was never anything but Cal among his friends, and it
behooves us to follow the fashion.
It was customary for West House to proceed across the park to school
in a body. The bell in School Hall rang warningly at a quarter to
nine, but its tones fell on deaf ears. At ten minutes to nine the boys
gathered their books together and began their search for caps. At five
minutes to nine they raced pell-mell out of the house and through the
park, usually arriving in the corridor of School Hall just as the last
strokes of the second bell died away. But this morning, being the
first day of the term, the eight boys started promptly with the first
bell and passed through the park quite leisurely. Willow Lake didn’t
look at all like the pool in which they had disported themselves last
night. In the moonlight it had seemed to Cal big and mysterious. Today,
with the sunlight pouring down on it and a little breeze rippling the
surface, it resolved itself into a small and quite commonplace pond,
oval in shape, neatly margined with smooth turf and shaded with oaks
and willows, the latter in places dipping their drooping branches into
the water.
“I saw a whopping big trout in her last Spring,” said Spud, leaning
over the bridge and gazing longingly into the channel below. “I’m going
to try for him some day.”
“Better not let anyone catch you,” said Sandy.
“Aren’t you allowed to fish here?” Cal asked.
“No, nor in the Mill Pond back of the Hall. They’re full of fish, too.
Some of the East House fellows fished in the Mill Pond one morning last
Spring and got caught at it. They got fits from Horace. They got up at
about half-past four and thought no one would see them, but Eliza piped
them from her window.”
“Who is Eliza?” asked Cal.
“Mrs. Kendall; Grouch’s wife; she’s matron at the Hall. Grouch teaches
math.”
They passed out through the little rustic gate, crossed the road and
went in between the iron posts and under the iron grilling with its O.
P. S. in monogram. The Green, as the space between the gymnasium, the
Hall and the school was called, was dotted with boys, while the steps
of the Hall held many others. As the company came into sight shouts of
welcome reached them from all sides.
“O you West House!”
“O you Hall!” was the answer in unison. Right arms went up at an angle
of forty-five degrees and right hands were fluttered with a peculiar
motion from the elbow that constituted the Oak Park form of salutation.
It wasn’t many days before Cal could do it as well as anyone, but just
now he kept his hands in his pockets and tried to ignore the fact that
dozens of pairs of eyes were studying him critically. As they followed
the path that led around in front of the Hall greetings and banter fell
thick.
“There’s Dutch Zoller! Dutch, you’re pretty near fat enough to kill!”
“What do they feed you on, Dutch?”
“O you Fungus! How’s it going, boy?”
“Hello, Sandy, you old chump! Glad to see you.”
“You’re looking mighty pale, Hoop! You ought to see a doctor.”
To Cal’s surprise West House kept on its way around the corner of the
Hall, following a path that led slightly downward toward a smaller
building set in a corner of the grounds. There was a brook which flowed
for a little distance into what Cal surmised to be the Mill Pond of
which Sandy had spoken, and the path passed over a tiny rustic bridge.
At the bridge the company stopped.
“Now then,” said Sandy, and――
“O you East House!” they shouted.
Two boys tumbled out on to the porch and waved, and in a moment others
appeared and the hail was answered.
“O you West House!”
Hands went up in friendly salutation and then West House turned and
retraced its steps, turning to the right where the path divided, and
fetching up at the School House steps. By this time the entrance was
alive with boys, boys of all sizes and a variety of ages, but all,
excepting a sprinkling of newcomers like Cal and Clara Parker, looking
excited and merry. Cal had stuck pretty close to Ned Brent and now Ned
introduced him to several fellows whose names he either didn’t catch
or immediately forgot. Presently, finding that no one was paying any
attention to him, a fact which helped to reduce his embarrassment, he
wandered into the building.
There was nothing remarkable about School House. It was the oldest of
all the buildings and the corridor was rather dark and stuffy. Rooms
opened from it at left and right, and peeking into the nearer one, Cal
saw a blackboard-lined apartment with a platform and teacher’s desk at
one end and some forty pupils’ desks occupying the rest of the room.
At one of the boards a middle-aged man with a scowling countenance was
making cabalistic figures with a piece of yellow chalk. Evidently,
thought Cal, that was the mathematics instructor who went by the
unattractive name of Grouch. Suddenly overhead the bell began its last
summons. A sprinkling of boys came in, but most of them continued their
conversation on the steps. Cal found a new object of interest in a
large pine board occupying a space near the door. Beside it hung a pad
of paper and in one corner were dozens of thumb-tacks. On the board
itself were many pieces of paper torn from the pad and impaled with the
tacks. The messages they bore were interesting to the new boy:
“J. W.; meet me at noon at East House. Taffy.”
“Growler Gay; Where’s my French dictionary? Must have it today. E. M.”
“Spud H.; Meet me on steps after morning. Carl.”
“Lost! Tennis racket with initials J. E. L. Return to Lewis, Hall. No
questions asked.”
“West House Baseball. Nine plays East House at 4. All out sharp. White,
cap’t.”
“Class Day programmes in 12 Hall after two on Wednesday.”
“Bandy Jones wants to see Pills Green after morning. Important!”
The notices were evidently survivals of last term. Cal wondered whether
he would ever find his name there with a message that someone wanted to
see him. The bell stopped ringing with a final emphatic clang and there
was a wild rush toward the class rooms. Cal flattened himself against
the notice board to keep from being swept along with the throng and
Ned spied him there.
“Come on, Cal! This way to the fireworks!”
Cal struggled across and followed Ned into a room at the end of the
corridor. They were almost the last in.
“Morning, sir,” said Ned, and Cal turned to find Doctor Webster
standing inside the green leather door.
“Good morning, Brent,” returned the Doctor. “Good morning, Boland. Find
a seat at the back of the room, please.”
The doors were closed, the Doctor mounted the platform and struck a
gong sharply and the room became quiet. Cal found himself in a seat on
the last row, one of many new arrivals. As he looked about him he saw
heads go down, and then heard voices join in the Invocation.
“O Lord, we are gathered again in Thy presence. Help us, we pray, to
make this new day one of earnest endeavor and happy accomplishment. Aid
us to subdue all evil desires and set our faces toward the light. For
Christ’s sake. Amen.”
After a moment’s silence the Doctor seated himself at his big desk and
in brisk and business-like tones set the lessons for the different
classes in Latin and Greek. Afterwards the gong was struck again and
many of the boys went out. Those that remained gave their attention
more or less closely to their books. Then the Doctor called the new
boys to him one by one and put each through an oral examination that
soon settled the question of their disposal. Cal had no trouble in
satisfying the Doctor as to his right to entrance into the First Junior
Class.
“All right, Boland. Report to Mr. James in Room Three, please. Up the
corridor to your right.”
Room 3 was as large a room as the Doctor’s, but contained only some
twenty seats, of which rather more than half were occupied when Cal
pushed the green door open and entered. In front of the first row of
desks were settees used for recitations. At Cal’s appearance one of the
boys in the room began tapping the floor with his foot, and instantly
every other boy followed suit. Mr. James looked around and signalled
Cal to approach the platform. The tapping died away. The instructor
was a youngish man with the appearance of a college athlete rather
than a teacher. To the school he was known as Jim. He taught Natural
Sciences, had charge of physical training and was Athletic Instructor.
He was mightily feared by the younger boys and loved by the older. His
habitual expression was one of severity and he had a way of looking at
a boy that seemed to bore right through. Cal’s embarrassment was so
palpable, however, that Mr. James softened his severity of countenance
with a smile.
“Well?” he asked.
“Doctor Horace sent me, sir.”
A titter of amusement swept over the room but was silenced at a glance
from the instructor.
“Doctor Horace?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know the Doctor very well?”
“Huh? _Sir?_”
“Are you an old friend of the Doctor’s? Known him all your life?”
“No, sir, I never saw him until yesterday.”
“Then don’t you think you’d better call him by his last name instead of
his first? Did anyone tell you to call him Doctor Horace?”
“No, sir――that is, Ned Brent said his name was Horace, sir. I thought it
was Webster.”
“You thought right. Never mind; the mistake was natural.” Mr. James
smiled. “What’s your name?”
“John Boland, sir.”
“Boland?” The instructor wrote on a card. “All right. Peters!”
A youth at the back of the room stood up instantly beside his seat.
“Boland, do you see that boy standing up? Well, that is George Peters.
Peters is one of our stupidest boys, Boland. I think I might say our
stupidest without risking exaggeration. That is so, Peters?”
“Y-yes, sir,” replied Peters cheerfully.
“Thank you. Now, Boland, you take the seat at the left of Peters’.
You look like a smart fellow and I am hoping that perchance that
propinquity may result in contagion for Peters.”
Cal walked down the aisle to the indicated seat.
“You may sit down, Peters,” continued Mr. James. “And, Peters, if you
experience a queer sensation don’t be unduly alarmed. It will probably
be only the germ of industry finding lodgment in you. Should you
experience a strange impulse to glance now and then into your books
don’t combat it; let it grow. You understand?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Peters with a grin.
“Thank you again, Peters. You are very amiable. Am I right in thinking
that you have your book upside-down? I can’t be certain at this
distance.”
Peters glanced at the book and switched it quickly around.
“I was right? I thought so. Try it that way for awhile, Peters; reading
upside-down must be difficult to even a normal intellect, and I don’t
think you ought to attempt it with yours.”
Mr. James allowed his gaze to wander around the class room with the
result that some fourteen smiles vanished abruptly from as many
faces and an equal number of heads bent over books. Cal looked about
him. Most of the boys appeared to be of his own age, although the
unfortunate Peters was plainly a year older. Presently he descried Ned
over in a corner, and, yes, that was Spud Halladay in the next seat but
one. He didn’t feel so lonesome after that. Presently Mr. James came
down with an armful of books.
“Write your name in these, Boland, and be careful of them. We don’t
allow the misuse of text-books here. Peters, do you think that you can
tell Boland what the lessons for today are without unduly taxing your
massive intellect?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Peters.
“Try it, then. Have you pencils and pens, Boland?”
“No, sir.”
“Come to the desk, then, and get what you need.”
Cal followed the instructor up to the platform, received an assortment
of writing implements and returned to where Peters awaited him.
“Ain’t he great?” whispered Peters joyfully as he opened one of the
new books and indicated the day’s lesson. “He’s more fun than a circus
sometimes.”
“Don’t you――don’t you mind his talking like that?” whispered Cal
incredulously.
“Mind it! Gee, no! He don’t mean anything. Jim’s a corker!”
A few minutes later a gong sounded and Cal followed the others to Room
1, where Mr. Spander, known as Charlie, taught French and German. There
was no real work that morning and at twelve o’clock the noon gong
released them. Cal returned to West House with Ned and Spud and found
that his trunk had arrived.
“Get your things out,” counselled Ned. “Dinner isn’t until half-past.”
So Cal unpacked and Ned sat and looked on, his countenance running the
gamut of expressions from surprised distaste to hopeless despair. As a
matter of fact Cal’s wardrobe wasn’t one to elicit admiration. When the
last thing was out Ned sat huddled in speechless disgust. Finally:――
“That’s your closet, Cal,” he said hopelessly. “Put ’em away before
anyone comes in, please.”
Cal viewed him puzzledly.
“Why?”
“Oh, I like the room to look neat.” He got up and went to the window
and stood for a moment frowning out at the green hill beyond the dusty
road. At last, having made up his mind, he turned resolutely.
“Say, Cal, I’m a friend of yours; you know that, don’t you?”
“Why, yes, I cal’late I do,” answered Cal bewilderedly.
“Sure thing, old man. Well, what I’m going to say is for your own good.
I don’t want to hurt your feelings or anything, but――but, honest, Cal,
they won’t do!”
“What won’t do?” asked Cal, pausing on his way to the closet with his
winter overcoat in his hand.
Ned nodded toward the things on the floor.
“Those; the――the togs, you know.”
“Why, what’s the matter with them? Ain’t they――ain’t they good enough?”
“To be quite frank, old man, they are not,” said Ned decisively. Cal
studied a moment, his glance wandering from his roommate to the apparel.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last, “but they’re all I’ve got, Ned.”
“Well, I suppose you could blow yourself to another suit, Cal, couldn’t
you? And a sweater and cap and a few ties that don’t look as though
they were made for a circus clown, and――”
But Cal shook his head decidedly.
“I couldn’t, honest, Ned. You see, I――I ain’t got much money.”
“That straight? Folks hit by the panic, were they?”
[Illustration: “But, honest, Cal, they won’t do!”]
“I don’t know anything about the panic,” replied Cal seriously. “We
ain’t had much money since father was drowned.” Then Cal explained
about the legacy and what miracles were to be performed with it; and
how in summer he was going to find work and make a whole lot of money
toward his college expenses. And Ned listened sympathetically, a little
surprised withal, and was silent when Cal had finished.
“That’s different,” he said at last gravely. “I didn’t know it was like
that with you, old man. Gee, you’re downright plucky, that’s what you
are, Cal! But―― Well, there’s the dinner bell. We’ll have to think this
over. Course you can’t spend a lot of money on clothes; I see that,
all right; but there’s some things you certainly do need, old man, and
we’ll have to find a way of getting them. Come on. How’s your appetite?
Mine’s fine and dandy. Take hold of the rail like this and see if you
can make it in four jumps. That’s Spud’s record. I almost did it once,
but I fell at the bottom and bust the umbrella-stand to smithereens!
Come on! One――two――”