The train from the west that bore Bert Bryant to New York was two
hours late, for all the way from Clinton, Ohio, where Bert lived, the
snow had been from four inches to a foot in depth. Consequently he had
missed the one o’clock train for Mt. Pleasant and had spent an hour
with his face glued to a waiting-room window watching the bustle and
confusion of New York. Now, at four o’clock, he was seated in a sleigh,
his suit-case between his feet, winding up the long, snowy road to Mt.
Pleasant Academy. In the front seat was the fur-clad driver and beside
him was Bert’s small trunk.
It was very cold and fast growing dark. It seemed to Bert that they
had been driving for miles and miles, and he wanted to ask the driver
how much farther they had to go. But the man in the old bearskin coat
was cross and taciturn, and so Bert buried his hands still deeper in
his pockets and wondered whether his nose and ears were getting white.
And just when he had decided that they were the sleigh left the main
road with a sudden lurch, that almost toppled the trunk off, and turned
through a gate and up a curving drive lined with snow-laden evergreens.
Then the academy came into view, a rambling, comfortable-looking
building with many cheerfully lighted windows looking out in welcome.
At one of the windows two faces appeared in response to the warning
of the sleigh bells and peered curiously down. The sleigh pulled up
in front of a broad stone step and Bert clambered out, bag in hand.
The driver lifted the trunk, opened the big oak door without ceremony,
deposited his burden just inside and growled: “Fifty cents.”
Bert paid him, the door closed, the bells jingled diminishingly down
the drive and Bert looked around. He was in a big hall from which a
broad stairway ascended and from which doors opened on all sides.
Through one of them he caught sight of four tables already set for
supper. The hall was evidently a living-room as well, for a wood fire
crackled in a big fireplace and easy chairs and couches were all
around, while the floor was spread with a number of rugs of varying
sizes whose deep colors added warmth to the room. Bert waited, drawing
off his coat and gloves. Presently, as no one appeared, he went to the
fireplace and held his numbed feet to the blaze. Somehow the place
didn’t look like any school he had ever seen and he began to wonder
whether by mistake he had stumbled into some one’s private house. But
from above came unmistakable sounds; boys’ voices in laughter and the
scurrying of feet. Bert began to study the many closed doors, intending
presently, if no one came, to knock at one of them. But before he had
made a choice some one did come.
A door behind him opened suddenly and a girl of about fourteen burst
in, caught sight of the newcomer and paused in surprise. Bert turned
and for a moment the two observed each other in frank curiosity.
What Bert saw was a girl in a sailor suit of some dark blue material,
a girl with a pretty, animated face, blue eyes and golden-brown hair
which at the back descended to her waist in a long braid. What the
girl saw was a good-looking boy of her own age with a sturdy figure,
a pleasant countenance, brown eyes and hair and a good supply of
freckles.
“Hello,” she said finally.
“How do you do?” responded Bert.
“You’re the new junior, aren’t you?” she went on. “I forget your name.
Mine’s Nan. Doctor Merton’s my father.”
“My name is Albert Bryant. I didn’t see anyone about――――”
“Daddy’s talking with Mr. Crane in the office, mamma’s in the village
and Mr. Folsom hasn’t come back yet. I’m all there is, you see, and so
you’ll have to put up with me until daddy’s ready for you. I guess it
was pretty cold driving up from the station, wasn’t it?”
“It was, rather,” acknowledged Bert, rubbing his fingers together. “My
train was late in New York and I missed the train I was expecting to
get.”
Nan nodded. “Lots of the boys were late. Two of them haven’t got here
yet; Mr. Folsom, too. He lives in Syracuse and there’s been heaps of
snow up that way. I like snow, though, don’t you? We’ve got a dandy
toboggan slide. Do you like to toboggan?”
“I never tried it,” answered Bert. “I should think, though, it would be
good fun.”
“It’s grand! Did the Pirate bring you up?”
“The Pirate?”
“Mr. Higgins. The boys call him the Pirate because he looks like one. I
know he did, though, because he’s put your trunk as near the door as he
could. He says he doesn’t get paid to handle trunks inside the house.
Did you say your name was Albert?”
“Yes; Bert, though, usually.”
“I like that better,” she responded, seating herself on the arm of a
chair and continuing to examine him calmly. “I shall call you Bert,
though I suppose the boys will find a nickname for you pretty soon.
Funny you came after Christmas recess. Why didn’t you come in the fall?”
“I was going to, but I got sick in September, and when I was well again
it was too late. And mother thought I’d better wait and get quite well.”
“You don’t look sick now,” she said critically.
“I’m not. I never was sick before, not really sick, that is.”
“You’re to room with Ben Holden. I hope he will like you. He’s a
senior.”
“Why don’t you hope I’ll like him?” laughed Bert.
Nan Merton raised her eyebrows. “Oh, that isn’t so important. You see,
if Ben shouldn’t like you he might make your life a veritable burden.”
(Bert soon discovered that Nan was fond of using queer phrases which
she got out of the stories she read.) “He――he’s that sort, you know.”
“Is he? Well, I shouldn’t like to have my life a burden,” replied Bert
with a smile. “How old is this chap?”
“Ben? He’s seventeen, I think. He’s one of the big boys. We have twelve
here in the house, four seniors, two upper middlers, two lower middlers
and three juniors; no, four now you’ve come. You see, the juniors sort
of do what the seniors and upper middlers tell them to.”
“Oh! Well, suppose they didn’t?” asked Bert.
“Why――why――” But such a supposition seemed beyond Nan’s imagination.
“They _have_ to,” she said. There was the sound of a closing door
somewhere. “Mr. Crane’s gone. Come on and I’ll take you to daddy.”
She led the way through the door by which she had entered, past a
somewhat formal room furnished as a parlor, and down a hallway. This,
as Bert guessed correctly, was the family’s part of the house. The
office door was open and Bert followed Nan inside.
“Here’s the new boy, daddy,” she announced in businesslike tones.
A middle-aged gentleman, grizzled of hair and comfortably stout,
arose from his desk chair and turned to Bert with a kindly smile and
outstretched hand.
“Glad to see you, Bryant. You had a pleasant journey, I hope. That was
quite a trip for a boy of your age to make alone. Let me see, now,
you’re fifteen, is it?”
“Fourteen, sir.”
“Ah, yes. And you’re going into the junior class. I remember. Well,
Mrs. Merton is absent and so I’ll ask――hm, I forgot. I’ll show you your
room myself. Later we’ll have a talk together. Come this way, Bryant.”
Bert rescued his bag, coat and cap in the hall and followed the Doctor
up the stairs. In front of a partly opened door the Doctor paused and
knocked.
“Come in!” called a voice gaily. When they entered Bert saw five boys
lounging about the room. At sight of the Doctor, however, they sprang
respectfully to their feet.
“Ben,” announced the Doctor, “this is your new room-mate, Albert
Bryant. Bryant, this is Benson Holden. And here is Lovell, and
Perkins and Pierce and Waters.” Bert shook hands all around somewhat
embarrassedly. “Make Bryant at home, boys,” continued the Doctor. “One
of you might give him a hand with his trunk, if you will. Everything
all right, Ben?”
“Yes, sir, thank you.”
The Doctor withdrew and Bert was left facing the curious and critical
glances of the older boys. It was Benson Holden who first broke the
ensuing silence. Ben dropped on the bed, threw out his hands in utter
despair and nodded at Bert.
“Look!” he wailed. “Look what the cat’s brought in!”