A RICH MAN’S SON
Gerald Pennimore was fourteen years of age, slight of build and very
fair as to complexion, having hair that was almost corn-color, light
blue eyes and a clear pink and white skin of the kind that doesn’t
readily tan. He was good looking, but seemed far from robust. When he
smiled his face was eminently attractive, but in repose it very often
held an expression of discontent. As he greeted Dan he exhibited some
embarrassment.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello,” answered Dan. “How are you feeling after it?”
“Pretty good, thank you.” He hesitated and seemed trying to get rid
of a lump in his throat. Then, “They say you pulled me out of that
place yesterday and saved my life--and Jack’s,” he said in low tones.
“And--and I’m much obliged!”
Dan had to laugh a little, the thanks sounded so perfunctory. But he
sympathized with Gerald’s embarrassment and answered in an off-hand
way:
“Pshaw, I guess I didn’t do much. You’re welcome, though, of course.
I’m glad you didn’t get burned or--or anything. How’s the dog?”
“He’s as fit as a fiddle,” answered the other eagerly. “You see, he was
lying under the table and didn’t even get scorched! Say, I wouldn’t
have had anything happen to Jack for anything in the world! I’d rather
get burned up myself. You bet I’m glad you got him out!”
“But I didn’t--exactly,” laughed Dan. “I pulled you out and you pulled
the dog out. You had hold of his collar, you see, and when you came he
came, too.”
“Really? Then I did rescue him after all, didn’t I? I’m glad of that
because I told him I would.” Then his face fell. “But I guess it was
you, though, that did it.”
“Well, it doesn’t much matter, does it, as long as someone did it? I’m
glad he wasn’t hurt. But I wouldn’t try that sort of thing again if I
were you.”
“I guess not. Why, I didn’t know the place was so full of smoke. I
thought the flames would leap out and then I’d break in the door with
my axe and rescue Jack. I was making believe I was a fireman, you know.”
Dan nodded. “Well, there wasn’t any harm done as it happened; except
the house. I suppose that burned down.”
“I guess so. That doesn’t matter. I haven’t used it for over a year.
Say, are you a Yardley fellow?”
“Yes,” Dan replied.
“I wish I was! I want father to send me to Yardley but he won’t do it.
I have a beastly old tutor. I don’t learn much, I guess. Did you ever
have a tutor?” Dan shook his head. “Well, don’t you ever have one.
They’re no good. I’d rather go to school.”
“Why won’t your father let you?” inquired Dan.
“Oh, he’s afraid something might happen to me, I guess. You’d think I
was made of glass, the way he fusses about me. I’ve never had any good
times in my life. If I want to do anything I have to have a tutor or
somebody right with me.”
“I didn’t see any tutor around yesterday afternoon,” observed Dan,
dryly.
Gerald grinned.
“He went over to town to buy something. I was supposed to be studying,
but I wasn’t. He got fired this morning,” he added cheerfully.
“That’s a shame!” exclaimed Dan. Gerald looked surprised.
“Why is it?” he asked.
“Because he’s lost his place and it wasn’t his fault.”
“Yes, it was, though. Father told him he wasn’t to leave the place
except after six in the evening. And he disobeyed. It served him right.
I told father, though,” Gerald added magnanimously, “that I didn’t mind
if he stayed. It might as well be Old Faunce as anyone else. But father
said he had to go. He’s upstairs now, packing his things. I won’t have
to do any studying until we get a new one. I hope it will take a long
time to find one.”
“You don’t seem to care much about lessons,” said Dan, smilingly.
Gerald looked doubtful.
“I don’t know. Sometimes I do. Some things I like to study. I like
Latin and French and German and English literature, but I hate
mathematics and about the human body and botany.” Dan stared.
“Do you mean that you study all those things?” he asked.
“Yes, don’t you?”
“No, I have only Latin, French, mathematics and English this year; and
gym work.”
“I’ve got a gymnasium upstairs. Want to see it?”
“I’d like to, but your father said the doctor was coming. And after
that I must go back to school. Perhaps, though, you’ll let me see it
some other time. Your father invited me to come over again, you know.”
“Oh, you’re coming lots of times,” answered Gerald promptly. “And I’ll
show you my gymnasium and the stables and the kennels and my stamp
collection. Do you collect stamps?”
“I used to,” answered Dan, “but I haven’t done much for a year or two.”
“I’ve got over two thousand,” said Gerald, “and some of them are
corkers. I’ve got one that cost eighty dollars!”
“I’d like to see them,” said Dan, politely.
“All right. To-morrow? Will you come over to-morrow? I’ll send Higgins
for you with the car if you will?” But Dan shook his head.
“Not to-morrow, I guess,” he replied. “I’ll have to make up for what I
miss to-day, you see.”
Gerald’s face fell and he kicked disconsolately at the leg of a chair.
“That’s mean,” he said. “I guess, though, you could come if you wanted
to. I suppose I’m too much of a kid.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Dan. “I’d like to come, and I would if I could.
But they’re pretty strict about class-work at Yardley and I don’t want
to get behind. If you’ll let me come Friday I will.”
“All right.” Gerald’s face brightened. “And, say, I’m going to ask
father if he will let me go over to see you some day. I’ve never been
inside the school in my life. If I come will you show me your room and
everything?”
“Glad to, but my room doesn’t amount to much. Do you like football?”
“You bet! Do you play?”
“Some. I was trying for the team until yesterday.”
“Didn’t you make it?”
“No, they kicked me out,” laughed Dan. Gerald looked incredulous.
“Why?” he asked indignantly. “I’ll bet you’re a dandy player! Why don’t
you make them take you on?”
“It can’t be done. There are too many fellows who play a lot better
than I do. What I was going to say, though, was that if your father
will let you come over some day we’ll go down and watch practice if
you’d like to.”
“You bet I would! I’ve seen the fellows playing sometimes from the
road. Maybe I can come Saturday. Would that be all right? Where do you
live?”
“Saturday would be all right. There is a game Saturday. I room in
Clarke Hall, number 28. Can you remember that?”
“Yes, I’ll remember it all right. There’s the doctor. Shall we have him
in here?”
“Wherever you say,” answered Dan.
The doctor’s visit was soon over. Dan’s burns were healing nicely and
Gerald had nothing to show but a contusion on his head and a slight
burn on one wrist. He had stumbled over Jack when he had gone into the
play-house and had struck the edge of the table in falling. The blow
had partially stunned him, and he declared that he didn’t remember a
thing until he found himself outside on the grass. When the doctor had
gone, the big chocolate-brown touring car swung up the drive to the
steps and the two boys climbed in.
“Go around by the station, Higgins,” ordered Gerald. “That’s the
longest way,” he added gleefully, for Dan’s benefit. Dan felt that he
ought to insist on being taken back the quickest and shortest way, but
he didn’t want to offend Gerald, and, besides, the idea of lengthening
the drive was far from distasteful to him. The big car skimmed its way
down the immaculate gravel roadway, past the gardener’s lodge, through
the big stone gateway and out onto the village street. It was the
nearest thing to flying that Dan had ever experienced, never having
tried tobogganing, and he was quite content to lean back against the
yielding cushions and just watch things whizz by. But Gerald demanded
conversation. It was an event in his life to have someone of about his
own age to talk with and he made the most of it. Around the station
they flew, with a musical peal of the chimes, and darted along the
straight stretch of road toward the school. Above the Yardley buildings
dozed in the forenoon sunlight and Dan felt as though he was going
home. Then came the winding ascent and the engine took on a gruffer
tone as the big car charged upward. Then a quick turn to the right at
the top of the hill, a sudden jarring of brakes and the car stood,
quivering and chugging in front of Clarke.
Dan leaped out, shook hands with Gerald, nodded almost gratefully to
the chauffeur, who touched his cap smilingly in response, promised
again faithfully to see Gerald on Friday and then ran up the steps.
As the door closed behind him he heard the automobile taking the hill
again. When he opened the door of his room Tubby looked around from the
window at which he was standing with a sardonic grin.
“I suppose you think you’re a blooming hero,” said Tubby.