INTRODUCES MR. JERRY HINKLEY AND AN IMPROMPTU DINNER
That was a strange meal and an enjoyable one. The menu wasn’t
elaborate, but their appetites were, and not one of the four was
inclined to be critical. What had formerly been the carriage house had
been fitted up with a couple of cot beds, some chairs, a stove, and a
table, into an airy, if not very well-appointed, apartment. The boy in
overalls, whose name during the subsequent conversation transpired to
be Jerry Hinkley, produced a loaf of bread and a pat of butter from a
box, and then disappeared for a minute. When he returned he brought a
battered tin can half full of milk. Eating utensils were scarce, and
the boys had to take turns with the two knives and the two thick china
cups. The table boasted no cloth, and Tom had to sit on an empty box,
but those were mere details.
“I looked to see if I could find a few eggs,” said Jerry, as he poured
out the milk, “but we ain’t got but eight hens and they ain’t been
layin’ much lately.”
“This will do finely,” mumbled Dan, with his mouth full of bread and
butter.
“It’s swell,” said Tom from behind his cup.
The doors were wide open, and the September sunlight streamed in over
the dusty floor. A bedraggled rooster, followed cautiously by a trio
of dejected-looking hens, approached and observed the banquet from the
doorsill, clucking suspiciously. Jerry sat on the edge of one of the
cots and watched proceedings with interest. But he seemed uneasy, and
once or twice he started up only to change his mind with a troubled
frown and return to his seat. Finally he asked awkwardly:
“Say, was you fellows meanin’ to pay anything for your food?”
“Of course,” Bob assured him. “You don’t think we’re going to let you
feed us for nothing?”
“That’s all right, then,” said Jerry, looking vastly relieved. “We got
some bacon and if you say so I’ll fry you some in a jiffy.”
The boys howled approval.
“You see,” continued Jerry, “I was most skeered to give you bacon
’cause dad would have missed it when he got back. Dad ain’t got
much money, an’ I guess he wouldn’t like me to be too free with the
victuals. But if you’re willin’ to pay----”
“Sure, we’ll pay,” said Bob.
So Jerry set a frying pan on top of the stove, touched a match to the
pile of straw and corncobs inside, and produced a strip of bacon from
the larder. Even Bob, who prided himself on his culinary abilities, had
to pay tribute to Jerry’s deftness. In ten minutes the first panful of
crisp bacon was ready and a second lot was sizzling on the stove.
“Talk about your reed birds!” said Dan eloquently.
“Never tasted anything better in my life,” said Nelson. “Is there any
more milk there?”
Ten minutes later the banquet was a thing of the past, and the four sat
back and sighed luxuriously.
“That was sure fine,” said Dan. “My, but I was hungry!”
“Me too,” answered Nelson. “But look here, how about you?” He looked
inquiringly at Jerry. “We haven’t left you a thing.”
“Oh, I had my dinner at twelve,” answered their host, as he cleared the
table. “You see we have our breakfast about six, dad an’ me.”
“You say your father’s away to-day?” asked Bob.
“Yes, gone over to Roslyn to buy some feed for the horse.”
“And you live here all the year, do you?”
“We only come here last April. We used to have a farm down near
Hicksville, but we lost it.”
“That’s too bad. Is there just you and your father?”
Jerry nodded soberly.
“Mother died year ago last May. Me an’ dad’s been kind of helpless
since then. Things don’t seem to go just right nowadays.”
“Do you go to school?” asked Nelson.
“No. I did one year over to Newton. It was a mighty nice school too.
There was three teachers. I learnt a whole lot that winter. I been
intendin’ to go again, but since mother died----”
Jerry’s voice dwindled away into silence while he stared out into the
sunlit stable yard.
“I see,” said Bob sympathetically.
“Mother she taught me a lot at home when I was just a kid,” resumed
Jerry. “Spellin’, ’rithmetic, and all about Scotland. She was born in
Scotland, you see. I guess I know more’n most fellers about Scotland,”
he added proudly.
“I bet you know a heap more about it than I do,” said Bob.
“I guess you’re through school, ain’t you?” asked Jerry.
“I get through this year,” answered Bob. “Then I’m going to college.”
Jerry’s eyes brightened.
“Is that so?” he asked eagerly. “I guess you’re pretty smart. What
college are you going to?”
“Erskine. Ever hear of it?”
“No.” Jerry shook his head apologetically. “You see I don’t know much
about colleges. I--I’d like to see one. I guess Yale must be pretty
fine. I expect it’s bigger’n that boardin’ school over to Garden City?”
“St. Paul’s? Some bigger, yes.”
“Is the school you been going to like St. Paul’s?”
“Not much, but Nelson and Tommy here go to a school a good deal the
same. Hillton. Ever hear of Hillton?”
Again Jerry shook his head.
“What’s it like, your school?” he asked.
For the next quarter of an hour Nelson told about Hillton--Tom
interpolating explanatory footnotes, as it were--and Jerry listened
with shining eyes and open mouth. It was all very wonderful to him,
and he asked question after question. Dan tried to tell him that while
Hillton was good enough in a way, the only school worth boasting about
was St. Eustace. But Tom tipped him out of his chair, and as it is
difficult to uphold the honor of your school with any eloquence from
the hard floor of a carriage house, Dan decided to shut up.
“I guess it costs a good deal to go to a school like that,” said Jerry
regretfully.
“Not so awful much,” answered Nelson. “A fellow can get through the
year on three hundred.”
Jerry nodded gravely.
“I guess that’s kind of reasonable, ain’t it?”
“Yes. Then if a fellow is lucky enough to get a scholarship, it brings
it down to about two hundred, maybe.”
“What’s a scholarship like?” asked Jerry interestedly.
Nelson explained.
“I guess it’s pretty hard to get into one of them schools, ain’t it?”
pursued Jerry.
“Oh, not so very hard.”
“Think I could do it?”
“Well--I don’t know. I think maybe you could if you had some coaching.”
“What’s that like?” asked Jerry.
Nelson glanced appealingly at Bob, and the latter took up the task.
Half an hour later the four decided that it was time for them to be
going. Bob broached the matter of payment.
“How much do we owe, Jerry?”
“I guess about a quarter,” answered Jerry.
“A quarter!” cried Tom. “Get out! That was worth a dollar! It saved my
life.”
“It’s worth fifty cents, anyhow,” said Nelson, “and here’s mine.”
“Well,” said Jerry accepting the coin reluctantly, “but I don’t feel
just right about it. You see, the milk don’t cost nothin’, and the
butter don’t cost nothin’, and the bread was only five cents, and----”
“That bread was worth more than five cents to us,” laughed Dan. “Here,
take the money, and don’t be silly.” Dan held out his half dollar, and
Bob and Tom followed suit. Jerry looked bewildered.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“We’re going to pay fifty cents,” said Dan.
“Yes, but he paid it,” replied Jerry, pointing his thumb at Nelson.
“He paid for himself, that’s all.”
“Gosh! I didn’t mean you was to pay fifty cents apiece!” cried Jerry.
“Fifty cents is more’n enough for the whole of you!”
They laughed derisively, and tried to get him to accept the rest of the
money, but nothing they found to say had any effect.
“I been paid enough,” said Jerry doggedly. “I’m much obliged, but
I can’t take no more. You didn’t eat more’n a quarter’s worth of
victuals.”
In the end they had to let him have his own way. As they were fixing
their packs on to their shoulders Jerry approached Nelson. He held out
a soiled envelope and a stump of pencil.
“Say, would you just write down the name of that school you was tellin’
about?” he asked awkwardly.
“Surely,” answered Nelson.
“‘Hillton Academy, Hillton, New York,’” read Jerry unctuously. “Thanks.
I’m goin’ there some day.”
“That’s fine,” answered Nelson heartily. “You’ll like it, I’m sure.
Maybe you can get up this year while I’m there. I wish you would. I’d
be glad to show you around.”
“This year? No, I couldn’t do that. You see, I’ll have to earn some
money first; three hundred dollars, you said, didn’t you?”
“Oh, you mean you’re going to enter?” asked Nelson.
“Yes, I’m goin’ to school there. You see”--Jerry paused and looked
thoughtfully out into the afternoon sunlight--“you see, mother always
intended me to have an education, an’--an’ I’m agoin’ to have it!” he
added doggedly. “I’m goin’ to get out of here; there ain’t nothin’
here; I’m goin’ to get a place on a farm and earn some money. I guess
one year there would help, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, it would,” answered Nelson earnestly. “And I dare say if you got
through one year, you’d find a way to get through the next. Lots of
fellows pretty near work their way through school. Look here, Jerry,
supposing I wanted to write to you, where could I direct a letter?”
“Dad gets his mail at Bakerville. I guess if you wrote my name and his
name and sent it to Bakerville, I’d get it. I--I’d like first rate to
get a letter from you. I ain’t never got very many letters.”
“Well, I’ll write you one,” said Nelson cheerfully. “I shall want to
know how you’re getting along, so you must answer it. Will you?”
Jerry reddened under his tan.
“I guess so,” he muttered. “But I ain’t much of a writer. You see, I
ain’t never seemed to have much time for writin’.”
“Of course not! But don’t let that trouble you. All ready, you fellows?
Well, good-by, Jerry. We’re awfully much obliged to you. Hope we’ll see
you again. And don’t forget that you’re going to make some money and
enter Hillton.”
Jerry shook hands embarrassedly with each of the four and followed them
down to the road.
“Good-by,” he called. “I wish you’d all come again. You been good to
tell me about them schools. I--I had a mighty good time!”
They walked on in silence for some distance. Then, when the corner of
the hotel had disappeared around a turn of the road, Tom broke out
explosively.
“It’s a mu-mu-mu-mean sh-shame!” he said.
“What is?” they asked in chorus.
“Why, that fellow bu-bu-back there. He’d give his skin to gu-gu-gu-go
to school, and instead of that he’ll have to stay there in that
pu-pu-place all his life!”
“That’s so, Tommy,” said Bob. “It is hard luck. And he’s a good fellow,
too, Jerry is. Take those overalls off him, and put some decent clothes
on him, and he’d be a good-looking chap.”
“Yes, and he’s built well too,” added Dan. “He’d make the varsity
eleven first pop.”
“He’s the sort of chap who’d be popular, I think,” said Nelson. “I
wish----”
“What do you wish?” asked Dan.
“I wish we could help him.”
There was an instant’s silence. Then Tommy fell over a stone and began
to stutter violently.
“Lu-lu-lu-lu-lu--” sputtered Tommy.
“Easy there,” cautioned Dan. “You’ll blow up in a minute.”
“Lu-lu-lu-lu-lu-lu----”
“Shut up, you fellows,” said Dan indignantly, “and hear what he has to
say. It’s going to be great!”
“Lu-lu-lu-let’s!”
“Eh?”
“How’s that, Tommy?”
“Once more, please.”
“Lu-lu-lu-let’s!” repeated Tom, very red of face.
“Oh, of course!”
“Twice that, Tommy!”
“Let’s what?”
“Lu-let’s help him!”
“Oh! I’d forgotten what we were talking about,” said Dan.
“Yes, that was about half a mile back,” said Bob.
“Let’s see if we can’t make up enough to send him to Hillton for a
year,” went on Tommy. “He’d probably get a scholarship, and then if he
found some work there, he’d make out all right the next year.”
“You’ve got a good heart, Tommy,” said Dan. “It’s a shame you don’t go
to a decent school.”
Tom took no notice of the insult.
“Couldn’t we, Bob?” he asked.
“I don’t see how we could do it ourselves,” answered the older boy.
“But we might get some one interested in him.”
“Three hundred isn’t awfully much,” said Nelson thoughtfully. “If we
got our folks to give a fourth----”
“That’s it!” cried Tom. “My dad will give a fourth. Why, it would be
only seventy-five dollars!”
“A mere nothing,” murmured Dan. “One moment, please, and I will draw
a check.” He flourished his hand through the air. “‘Pay to Jerry
seventy-five and no one-hundredths dollars. Daniel H. F. Speede.’ There
you are. Oh, not a word, I beg of you! It is nothing, nothing at all! A
mere trifle!”
“And I think I can promise for my father,” Nelson was saying. “How
about you, Bob?”
“I’ll ask. I think he will give it, although I can’t say sure. He’s had
hard luck lately.”
“You’re in it, aren’t you, Dan?”
“Not a cent will I allow my father to pay to send a chap to Hillton,”
answered Dan indignantly. “If he wants to go to St. Eustace, now,
why----”
“But you see, Dan,” said Tom sweetly, “he wants an education.”
Dan chased Tom down the road and administered proper punishment. When
order was restored the four discussed the matter seriously, and it was
decided that Jerry was to go to Hillton.
“Of course,” said Nelson, “he couldn’t pass the entrance exams as he is
now, but if he has a year’s schooling this year he ought to make it all
right. And if he doesn’t have to work he can go to school. I suppose
there’s a decent school around here somewhere?”
“Plenty of them,” answered Dan indignantly.
“If he needs some coaching next summer,” said Tom, “I’ll see that he
gets it.”
“You might coach him yourself, Tommy,” suggested Dan.
“He said he was sixteen now,” pondered Bob. “That would make him
seventeen when he entered. Rather old for the junior class, eh?”
“What of it?” asked Nelson. “I’ll see that he knows some good fellows,
and I don’t believe any chap’s going to make fun of him when they know
about him. Besides, maybe we can get him into the lower middle class.”
“That’s so,” said Tom. “Anyway, I’ll bet he’s the sort that can learn
fast and remember things. Wish I could.”
“Here’s a romantic-looking well,” said Dan, “and I’m thirsty. That
bacon was a trifle salt. Let’s go in and interview the old oaken
bucket.”
The well stood in front of a little white house, and as they went up
the walk a woman put her head around the corner of the open door. Dan
doffed his cap gallantly.
“May we borrow a drink of water?” he asked politely.
The woman nodded and smiled, and Tom began winding the old-fashioned
windlass. When the bucket--which turned out to be tin instead of
oak--made its appearance the four dipped their cups.
“Fellow tramps,” declaimed Dan, “let us drink a health to Jerry. May he
be a credit to Hillton!”
“May our plans succeed,” added Nelson.
“Here’s to Ju-ju-Jerry!” cried Tom.
“To our _protégé_!” laughed Bob.
“To our _protégé_!” they echoed, and drank merrily.