A NEW CHUM
For a moment Joe stood there, his heart pounding away under his ribs,
uncertain what to do--wondering if the Sophomore had recognized him.
Then, as the other gave no sign, but continued on his way, whistling
gaily, Joe breathed easier.
"The cad!" he whispered. "I'd like to--to----" He paused. He remembered
that he was at Yale--that he was a Freshman and that he was supposed to
take the insults of those above him--of the youth who had a year's
advantage over him in point of time.
"Yes, I'm a Freshman," mused Joe, half bitterly. "I'm supposed to take
it all--to grin and bear it--for the good of my soul and conscience, and
so that I won't get a swelled head. Well," he concluded with a whimsical
smile, "I guess there's no danger."
He looked after the retreating figure of the Sophomore, now almost lost
in the dusk that enshrouded the campus, and then he laughed softly.
"After all!" he exclaimed, "it's no more than I've done to the lads at
Excelsior Hall. I thought it was right and proper then, and I suppose
these fellows do here. Only, somehow, it hurts. I--I guess I'm getting
older. I can't appreciate these things as I used to. After all, what is
there to it? There's too much class feeling and exaggerated notion about
one's importance. It isn't a man's game--though it may lead to it. I'd
rather be out--standing on my own feet.
"Yes, out playing the game with men--the real game--I want to get more
action than this," and he looked across at the college buildings, now
almost deserted save for a professor or two, or small groups of students
who were wandering about almost as disconsolately as was Joe himself.
"Oh, well!" he concluded. "I'm here, and I've got to stay at least for
mother's sake, and I'll do the best I can. I'll grin and bear it. It
won't be long until Spring, and then I'll see if I can't make good. I'm
glad Weston didn't recognize me. It might have made it worse. But he's
bound to know, sooner or later, that I'm the fellow he saw pitch that
day, and, if he's like the rest of 'em I suppose he'll have the story
all over college. Well, I can't help it." And with this philosophical
reflection Joe turned and made his way toward his rooming house.
It was a little farther than he had thought, and he was a bit sorry he
had not selected one nearer the college. There were too many students
to permit all of them to dwell in the dormitories proper, and many
sought residences in boarding places and in rooming houses, and dined at
students' clubs.
"I suppose I'll have to hunt up some sort of an eating joint," mused
Joe, as he plodded along. "I'd be glad to get in with some freshmen who
like the baseball game. It'll be more sociable. I'll have to be on the
lookout."
As he rang the bell of the house corresponding in number to the one he
had selected as his rooming place, the door was cautiously opened a
trifle, the rattling of a chain showing that it was secure against
further swinging. A rather husky voice asked:
"Well?"
Joe looked, and saw himself being regarded by a pair of not very
friendly eyes, while a tousled head of hair was visible in the light
from a hall lamp that streamed from behind it.
"I--er--I believe I'm to room here," went on Joe. "Matson is my name.
I'm a Freshman----"
"Oh, that's all right. Come in!" and the tone was friendly at once. "I
thought it was some of those sneaking Sophs., so I had the chain on.
Come in!" and the portal was thrown wide, while Joe's hand was caught in
a firm grip.
"Are you--er--do you run this place?" asked Joe.
"Not yet, but I'm going to do my best at it as soon as I get wise to the
ropes. You can help--you look the right stuff."
"Aren't you the--er--the proprietor?" asked our hero, rather puzzled for
the right word.
"Not exactly," was the reply, "but I'm going to be one of 'em soon.
Hanover is my name--Ricky Hanover they used to call me at Tampa. I'll
allow you the privilege. I'm a Fresh. like yourself. I'm going to room
here. Arrived yesterday. I've got a room on the first floor, near the
door, and it's going to be so fruity for those Sophs. to rout me out
that I got a chain and put it on. The old man said he didn't care."
"The old man?" queried Joe.
"Yes, Hopkins, Hoppy for short--the fellow that owns this place--he and
his wife."
"Oh, yes, the people from whom I engaged my room," spoke Joe
understandingly. "I think I'm on the second floor," he went on.
"Wrong guess--come again," said Ricky Hanover with a grin, as he
carefully replaced the chain. "There's been a wing shift, so Mrs. Hoppy
told me. She's expecting you, but she's put you downstairs, in a big
double room next to mine. Hope you won't mind. Your trunk is there, and
your valise just came--at least I think it's yours--J. M. on it."
"Yes, that's mine."
"I had it put in for you."
"Thanks."
"Come on, and I'll show you the ropes. If those Sophs. come----"
"Are they likely to?" asked Joe, scenting the joy of a battle thus early
in his career.
"They might. Someone tried to rush the door just before you came,
but the chain held and I gave 'em the merry ha-ha! But they'll be
back--we'll get ours and we'll have to take it."
"I suppose so. Well, I don't mind. I've been through it before."
"That so? Where are you from?"
"Excelsior Hall."
"Never heard of it. That's nothing. I don't s'pose you could throw a
stone and hit Tampa School?"
"Probably not," laughed Joe, forming an instinctive liking for this new
chap.
"Right. Tampa hardly knows it's on the map, but it isn't a half bad
place. Ah, here's Mamma Hoppy now. You don't mind if I call you that; do
you?" asked Ricky, as a motherly-looking woman advanced down the hall
toward the two lads.
"Oh, I guess I've been at this long enough not to mind a little thing
like that," she laughed. "You college men can't bother me as long as you
don't do anything worse than that. Let me see, this is----"
"Matson, ma'am," spoke our hero. "Joe Matson. I wrote to you----"
"Oh, yes, I remember. I have quite a number of new boys coming in. I'm
sorry, but the room I thought I could let you have isn't available. The
ceiling fell to-day, so I have transferred you downstairs. It's a double
room, and I may have to put someone in with you. If you think----"
"Oh, that's all right," interrupted Joe good-naturedly, "I don't mind.
I'll be glad to have a room-mate."
"Thank you," said Mrs. Hopkins, in relieved tones. "I can't say just now
who it will be."
"Never mind!" broke in Ricky. "Have you grubbed?"
"No," replied the newcomer. "I was thinking of going to a restaurant."
"Come along then. I'm with you. I haven't fed my face yet. We'll go down
to Glory's place and see the bunch."
Joe recognized the name as that of a famous New Haven resort, much
frequented by the college lads, and, while I have not used the real
designation, and while I shall use fictitious names for other places
connected with the college, those who know their Yale will have no
difficulty in recognizing them.
"Come on to Glory's," went on Ricky. "It's a great joint."
"Wait until I slip on a clean collar," suggested Joe, and a little later
he and Ricky were tramping along the streets, now agleam with electric
lights, on their way to the famous resort.
It was filled with students, from lordly Seniors, who scarcely noticed
those outside of their class, to the timid Freshmen. Joe looked on in
undisguised delight. After all, Yale might be more to him than he had
anticipated.
"Like to go a rabbit?" suggested Ricky.
"A rabbit?" asked Joe. "I didn't know they were in season?"
"The Welsh variety," laughed Ricky. "They're great with a mug of ale,
they say, only I cut out the ale."
"Same here," admitted Joe. "Yes, I'll go one. It's made of cheese, isn't
it?"
"And other stuff. Great for making you dream. Come on, this is the
Freshmen table over here. I was in this morning."
"Do they have tables for each class."
"They don't--I mean the management doesn't, but I guess it would be as
much as your hair was worth to try to buck in where you didn't belong.
Know anybody here?"
"Not a soul--wish I did."
"I didn't when I came this morning, but there are some nice fellows at
the Red Shack."
"Red Shack?" Joe looked puzzled.
"Yes, that's our hang-out. It's painted red."
"Oh, I see."
"There are a couple of 'em now," went on Ricky, who seemed perfectly
at ease in his comparatively new surroundings. He was a lad who made
friends easily, Joe decided. "Hi, Heller, plow over here!" Ricky called
to a tall lad who was working his way through the throng. "Bring Jones
along with you. They're both at our shack," he went on in a low voice to
Joe. "Shake hands with Matson--he's one of us chickens," he continued,
and he presented the newcomers as though he had known them all their
lives.
"You seem at home," remarked Jones, who was somewhat remarkable for his
thinness.
"I am--Slim!" exclaimed Ricky. "I say, you don't mind if I call you
that; do you?" he asked. "That's what the other fellows do; isn't it?"
"Yes. How'd you guess it?" asked Jones, with a laugh.
"Easy. I'm Ricky--Richard by rights, but I don't like it. Call me
Ricky."
"All right, I will," agreed Slim Jones.
"I'm Hank Heller, if you're going in for names," came from the other
youth, while Joe had to admit that his appellation was thus shortened
from Joseph.
"Well, now we know each other let's work our jaws on something besides
words," suggested Ricky. "Here, do we get waited on, Alphonse?" he
called to a passing waiter.
Joe thought he had never been in such a delightful place, nor in such
fine company. It was altogether different from life at Excelsior Hall,
and though there were scenes that were not always decorous from a strict
standpoint, yet Joe realized that he was getting farther out on the sea
of life, and must take things as they came. But he resolved to hold a
proper rein on himself, and, though deep in his heart he had no real
love for college life, he determined to do his best at it.
The meal was a delightful one. New students were constantly coming
in, and the place was blue with smoke from many cigars, pipes and
cigarettes. Ricky smoked, as did Hank Heller, but Slim Jones confessed
that it was a habit he had not yet acquired, in which he was like Joe.
"Say, we're going to have some fun at our joint," declared Ricky on
their way back, at a somewhat late hour. "We'll organize an eating club,
or join one, and we'll have some sport. We'll be able to stand off the
Sophs. better, too, by hanging together. When the Red Shack gets full
we'll do some organizing ourselves. No use letting the Sophs. have
everything."
"That's right," agreed Joe.
As they passed along the now somewhat quiet streets they were
occasionally hailed by parties of hilarious Sophomores with the command:
"Take off your hats, Freshies!"
They obeyed, perforce, for they did not want to get the name of
insurgents thus early in the term.
"Come in and have a talk," invited Ricky, as they entered the rooming
house. "It's early yet."
"Guess I'll turn in," confessed Hank. "I'm tired."
"I'll go you for awhile," agreed Slim.
"How about you, Joe?"
"No, I want to unpack a bit. See you in the morning."
"All right. We'll go to chapel together."
As Joe entered his new room, and turned on the light, he saw a figure in
one of the beds. For a moment he was startled, having forgotten that he
was to share the room with someone. The youth turned over and gazed at
Joe.
"Oh!" he exclaimed with a rather pleasant laugh. "I meant to sit up
until you came back, to explain, but I guess I fell asleep. Mrs. Hopkins
said you had no objections to a partner, and this was the only place
available."
"Not at all!" exclaimed Joe cordially. "Glad you came in. It's lonesome
rooming alone."
"You're Matson; aren't you?" asked the youth in bed.
"Yes."
"My name is Poole--Burton Poole."
Then, for the first time Joe recognized the lad he had seen standing all
alone on the depot platform--the one to whom he had been inclined to
speak--but from which impulse he had held himself back.