“WESTCOTT’S”
“And this is Rodney Merrill!” exclaimed Mrs. Westcott, beaming upon
him as she swept into the parlor with rustling skirts. “I’m so glad to
see you! And how nice to get here early! Doctor Farron has told me all
about you, my dear, _dear_ boy, and we’re going to make you so happy
here at our wonderful school, so very happy!”
And Mrs. Westcott, shaking hands, beamed harder than ever. She was a
tall, thin woman with prominent features and a dark blue silk gown that
rustled. It was in that order that Rodney noted those particulars. Her
face was kindly if not very attractive, and her voice quite pleasant.
“You had a comfortable journey, I hope? Won’t you sit down a moment,
Rodney? This is our parlor. We meet here in the evenings and have such
pleasant, homelike times. One or two of my boys sing very nicely.”
Mrs. Westcott sank rustling into a chair, folded her thin hands in
her lap and beamed. “The Doctor said you were fifteen. That is right,
I presume? Yes. And you’re to be a First Form boy? Yes. Isn’t that
splendid? I hope you will like us all very much. I have such a fine
family this year, such dear, _dear_ boys! Perhaps you’d like to go
up and see your room? Your trunk and bag came and are awaiting you
upstairs. This way, if you please, Rodney.”
And Rodney, who had just seated himself uncomfortably on the edge
of a chair, arose and followed. The room, he had to acknowledge to
himself, was really rather jolly. It was at the back of the house but
had windows on two sides, each of which looked out upon the campus. It
was very nearly square and of good size. The furnishings were neither
elaborate nor particularly new, but there was a generous study table
covered with green baize――interestingly adorned with cabalistic marks
and ink stains――a sufficiency of chairs, two single white-enamelled
beds, two tall and narrow chiffoniers, and a bench which, evidently
of home manufacture, stood under the side window and did duty as a
window-seat. The floor was uncarpeted, but rugs, the kind that are
woven of old carpets, lay about the floor. Everything was immaculately
neat and clean. There was something about Mrs. Westcott that forbade
the thought of dust or grime.
The walls were painted a light tan, and the woodwork about the room was
of varnished pine. The effect, with the rugs, whose predominant color
was brick-red, was decidedly cheerful. There were no pictures――Rodney
learned that denizens of the Westcott Cottage were not allowed to hang
anything on the walls――but the back of one of the chiffoniers held a
number of photographs.
“This will be your side of the room,” announced Mrs. Westcott. “When
you have unpacked your trunk I will show you where to put it in the
storeroom. In the closet”――Mrs. Westcott swung open the door――“you will
use the seven hooks to the left and half the shelf. Clothes that are
not in present demand should be kept in your trunk. You will be able to
get to it whenever you like. We have no washstands in the room as the
boys use the bathroom, which is just across the hall, you see. In the
coat-closet downstairs you will find blacking and brushes for shoes. I
hope you will keep your shoes looking nice. I am very particular about
that. We have a regular bathroom schedule in the morning. Each boy is
allowed ten minutes by the clock. Your time will be from seven-twenty
to seven-thirty. You will find the schedule on the door. That is all
for now.”
Mrs. Westcott, who had delivered the foregoing in the manner of one
repeating a well-learned lesson, paused for breath.
“Who’s the other chap in here?” asked Rodney, who, hands in pockets,
was still examining his quarters.
“Your roommate,” said Mrs. Westcott, beaming again, “is Phineas
Kittson. Such a dear boy! You’ll like him, I know. He is a year older
than you, and in the Second Form. I hope you will be great friends.
Phineas is――” Mrs. Westcott paused and seemed searching for just the
right word. Finally, “so _interesting_!” she ended triumphantly. “Not
exactly like my other boys, you know, rather――rather exceptional.
We all expect great things from Phineas some day. He has such a――a
remarkable mind! Now perhaps you’d like to unpack and arrange your
things. The rest of my boys will be along very shortly. Two have come
already, but they’ve gone out. If you want anything, Rodney, you’ll
find me downstairs. Make yourself at home, my dear boy.”
When Mrs. Westcott had gone Rodney subsided into a chair and grinned
at the empty chiffonier. “She’s going to make me happy if it kills
me, isn’t she?” he inquired of the chiffonier. Then, with a chuckle,
he arose and again made the circuit of the room, testing the bed by
punching it, pulling open the drawers of the chiffonier, and pausing at
each window to take in the view.
The window at the rear, just at the foot of his bed, looked over the
back yard and across the intersection of two tree-lined streets.
Beyond that the foliage cut off his view, although he glimpsed the
copper-roofed turret of a building a block or so beyond. From the side
window the school buildings in the campus were in plain sight across
the street. There were four of them, all of red brick and limestone;
a large one in the center of the group with a tower at one end, two
others nearer at hand, and a fourth at the farther side of the campus.
The middle one Rodney rightly surmised to be the recitation hall
and the others dormitories. Maple Hill took care of one hundred and
fifteen pupils, of which number but ninety could be accommodated in
the dormitories. The newcomers usually had to go to one or other of
the half dozen private houses which, while run independently of the
Academy, were, as Rodney discovered later, very much under the Head
Master’s supervision. From the side window Rodney lounged across to
Phineas Kittson’s chiffonier and viewed the collection of photographs
there. Finding those but mildly interesting, and having by this time
returned to where his trunk and bag reposed upon a rug near the hall
door, he bethought him of unpacking. The bag was quickly emptied and
then he tackled the trunk. It wasn’t easy to decide which things should
remain in it and which should be stowed in his half of the much too
small closet. And he was still in the middle of his task when voices
and laughter and many footfalls below told him that the rest of the
household had arrived. He paused with a Norfolk jacket, which had twice
made the journey to the closet and return, in his hand to listen.
“Hello, Mother Westcott! What’s the good word with you? Got anything to
eat?”
“That’s so, Mother, we’re starving! Look at my poor thin form! Does it
not move you to tears of pity? Say, Mother, got any cake?”
“Shut up, Tad, and get out of Pinkie’s way! That’s my trunk, Pinkie,
the one with the lock busted. You know my room. Say, Pete, lend me a
half till to-morrow, will you?”
Now and then Mrs. Westcott’s voice was to be heard, but for the most
part the boys’ laughter and chatter filled the house. Presently heavy
steps on the stairs indicated the ascent of Pinkie with a trunk. Close
behind him other steps sounded and a voice called:
“Jack, we’ve a new one! He’s in with Kitty!”
“Shut up! He’ll hear you,” a low voice warned.
“What of it? I haven’t said――――” But the rest was drowned in the
general noise. There were three other rooms on the floor and the new
arrivals distributed themselves therein, still, however, keeping up
their conversation.
“We’ve got new curtains, Warren!” announced a triumphant voice.
“Get out! They’ve just been washed. I’ve got a new spread, though.
Mother always did love me best!”
“What do you think of that for favoritism! I’m going to kick! It isn’t
fair――――”
“Tom!”
“Hi?”
“Got my bag in there? Pinkie says he――――”
“Heads out, fellows! See who’s coming!”
Rodney could hear the rush to the front windows, followed by applause
and cries of “Good old Kitty!” “Breathe deep, Kitty, breathe deep!”
“What’s your time, old man?”
Presently the last arrival entered the house and Rodney heard Mrs.
Westcott exclaim: “Why, Phineas, how _well_ you look! You dear, _dear_
boy, I’m so glad to see you back again.”
A deeper voice answered, but as the uproar in the other rooms had begun
again Rodney heard no more. Desperately he doomed the Norfolk jacket
and the trousers that went with it to the trunk again, and began to
arrange his shirts in the second drawer of the chiffonier. Rodney was
rather proud of his collection of shirts. Most of them had been bought
in New York and were things of beauty, especially the negligees, which
ran to color combinations of lavender and blue, pink and green and old
rose and gray stripes. He was assorting them carefully and approvingly
and had for the moment forgotten everything else when footsteps at
the doorway caused him to turn his head. What he saw was sufficiently
interesting to put the shirts out of mind. Not Mrs. Westcott, who was
beaming from the threshold, but the boy who was with her. Rodney,
staring wonderingly, thought he had never seen a more remarkable person
in his life. And he went right on staring, most impolitely, but quite
excusably, until Mrs. Westcott’s voice broke his trance.
“Rodney,” she announced, “this is Phineas Kittson. Phineas, dear, this
is Rodney Merrill, your new roommate. I just know you’re going to be
_such_ good friends!”
“Great Scott!” thought Rodney.