PHINEAS KITTSON
Phineas Kittson, or Kitty, as he was called, was sixteen years of age,
but looked a year older. He was large――perhaps bulky would be the
better word――very broad shouldered, very deep chested. His legs were
short and so were his arms, giving him the appearance of being all
body. He had a large, round face, somewhat sallow, but not unhealthy,
of which the principal features were his eyes and his mouth. The eyes
were of the palest green and unusually prominent and caused him to look
as though he had just made a most astounding, stupendous discovery and
was on the point of breaking into excited announcement of it. He wore a
pair of rubber-rimmed spectacles with big round lenses, which magnified
his eyes to an uncanny extent. His mouth was wide and very serious,
turning down at the corners as though in gentle disapproval of the
world. His nose was not remarkable, but appeared to belong on someone
else, being small and narrow and seemingly quite lost on such a broad
expanse. His hair was dark brown and stood in need of trimming. It also
appeared to stand in need of brushing, but later Rodney found that
brushing had little effect on Phineas Kittson’s hair. Its constantly
touseled appearance was due to the fact that it had never decided in
which direction to grow and so was trying them all. There was a tuft
over his left eye that grew straight, a tuft over his other eye that
grew down, a patch on the top of his head that curled to the right,
and a patch over one ear that shot straight out. And there were other
patches that were still experimenting.
Phineas wore a suit of some indescribable shade of grayish green which
looked as though he had slept in it, and carried in one hand a much
worn suitcase and in the other a brown straw helmet with a green-lined
brim and a metal peak on top for ventilation. Afterward Rodney made the
discovery that his hands were very small, as were his feet, and that of
the latter the left one was encased in a dusty black Oxford and the
right one in a low-cut Blucher that had at one time been tan.
“How are you,” said Phineas, advancing and shaking hands. “Glad to know
you.” He had a deep, pleasant voice and spoke slowly, pronouncing each
word very distinctly. When he had shaken hands he looked Rodney over
attentively with his startled eyes and asked, “Ever try inhaling?”
“I don’t smoke,” replied Rodney disapprovingly. The green eyes blinked.
“Not smoke, air. Fresh air. Try it. Fine for the lungs. Take long walks
and inhale. Expand. Nothing like it, Merriwell.”
“Merrill,” corrected Rodney, amused.
“Beg pardon. I don’t remember names.” He placed his hat on the table,
sat down, got up, saw that Mrs. Westcott had gone, and sat down again
with a sigh. “Twelve minutes, twenty-eight and two fifths,” he said.
“Indeed?” asked Rodney politely.
Kitty nodded gravely. “I’ve done better than that by nearly two
minutes. In the winter. Air’s better then. Lungs work better. It
follows, of course.” He seemed to demand an answer and Rodney nodded
gravely, too.
“Naturally,” he agreed. “What the dickens are you talking about?”
Kitty viewed him thoughtfully. “My fault,” he said after a moment.
“Thought you knew. Walking up the hill, you know. Station to house.
Twelve minutes, twenty-eight and two-fifths.” He pulled a stop-watch
from his pocket and studied it. Apparently satisfied, he clicked the
hands back into place again. “Warm to-day. Heat enervates the air.
There’s a difference. You’ve noticed it, I guess.”
“I can’t say I ever have,” replied Rodney, turning again to his shirts.
“Must be quite a climb up that hill, though. Did you lug that bag with
you?”
“Yes. Forgot I had it. That counted against me, of course.” He looked
for a moment at the suitcase. Then, “Funny about my trunk,” he
meditated aloud.
“What’s wrong with it?” asked Rodney indifferently.
“Left it in New York. Ferry station. Forgot to recheck it. Got any
collars?”
“What size do you wear?”
“Oh, thirteen or fourteen, I think. I’ll borrow a couple. Thanks,
Morrill.”
“You’re welcome,” replied Rodney dryly. “It’s Merrill, though.”
“Of course. Beg pardon. What time is it? I forgot to wind my watch
yesterday.”
Before Rodney could oblige him with the desired information there was
a sound of approaching footsteps and voices in the hall, and in a
moment half a dozen boys whose ages varied from fourteen to seventeen
years flocked in. In deference to the stranger their entrance was quite
decorous. One boy, a youth of Rodney’s own age, was grinning broadly,
but the rest were politely serious.
“Thought we’d come in and get acquainted,” announced the eldest of the
six, a tall, nice-looking chap of seventeen, who was evidently the
leader at Westcott’s.
“Hello,” responded Kitty. “Funny about my trunk――――”
“Never mind about your trunk,” laughed another visitor. “We’ve heard
all about it, Kitty. I wonder you didn’t forget to bring yourself!”
The others chuckled, and Rodney, a trifle embarrassed, smiled. The boys
seated themselves here and there about the room and there was a painful
silence. Kitty, viewing them absently, was apparently deep in thought.
Finally, with a laugh:
“Come on, Kitty,” said the eldest youth. “Introduce your friend.”
“Eh?” Kitty looked vaguely around the room until his eyes encountered
Rodney, still standing at the chiffonier. “Oh, yes. Beg pardon. This
chap’s name is――er――” Kitty paused at a loss and turned inquiringly to
Rodney. “What is it, now?”
“The same as it was a few minutes ago,” laughed Rodney. “It’s Merrill,
Rodney Merrill.”
“Glad to know you,” replied the older boy. “My name’s Billings. This
grinning ape is Mudge. Mr. Greenough is the thoughtful gentleman at
your left. Over there are Hoyt, Trainor and Trowbridge. There’s no use
waiting for Kitty to introduce. He’d fall into a trance in the middle
of it.”
Kitty smiled untroubledly. The others, having nodded, or, if near
enough, shaken hands, laughed. The irrepressible Mudge――Tad, for short;
Theodore Middlewich for long――removed the last vestige of restraint.
“Welcome, Merrill, to our happy little home,” said Tad. “Hope you’ll
like us and our quaint ways. Pete, get up and give Merrill a seat, you
impolite loafer.”
“Thanks, but I don’t want to sit down,” replied Rodney. “I was putting
my things away.”
“Don’t let Kitty impose on you,” advised Tom Trainor, a slender,
light-complexioned chap. “If you don’t watch him he will have his
things all over the place. Sometimes he forgets which is his own bed
and goes to sleep in the other one. You got here early, Merrill.”
“I came on the boat from New York. It was very nice.”
“It’s nice enough once――or even a couple of times――” said Hoyt, a
short chap with a snub nose and a bored expression. “After that it’s
monotonous.”
“I’d hate to be world weary as you are, Warren,” said Jack Billings,
dryly. “Well, we’re having early supper to-night, fellows, so
we’d better move along. Come in and see us, Merrill, when you get
straightened out. By the way, it’s Faculty Reception to-night; about
seven-thirty; better come along and meet the tyrants. We’re all
going――all except Kitty.”
Kitty looked across in greater surprise than ever and blinked. “Thought
I’d go,” he said.
“You think so, but you’ll forget it,” laughed Jack.
After the visitors had dispersed to their own rooms, Phineas turned
to Rodney and said, “I haven’t a very good memory for some things.
Sometimes I forget. They like to joke about it. I don’t mind, of
course. It amuses them, Maynard.”
“I see.” Rodney didn’t correct him this time. What was the use?