LEON’S FIRST DAY AT FLEMMING.
“SAY, Hal, how does it look?” asked Leon eagerly.
It was early the next morning, so early that Harry was still dozing
between the sheets; but Leon stood before the square mirror, trying in
vain to get a glimpse of his own back and legs which, for the first
time, were clothed in cadet gray. The suit he had worn the day before
was tossed carelessly across the foot of his bed, and for half an hour
he had been devoting all his attention to his toilet, then turning and
twisting himself before the glass, to assure himself that the new
uniform was to his liking. The change of costume was becoming to the
lad. He already looked more the man and the soldier than he had done the
evening before, and thanks to Harry’s persevering efforts during the
summer, he carried himself with the ease of an old cadet, rather than
the conscious awkwardness of the raw recruit, first donning his
regimentals. But after he had inspected himself in every possible
position, and gone through a sort of rudimentary drill of salutes and
facings, he began to wish for the admiration of some disinterested
person, so he remorselessly waked up his brother. At the third call,
Harry rolled over sleepily.
“Ha-um!” he remarked, with a vigorous yawn.
“Wake up, Hal!” Leon implored him. “I want you to see if I’m all right.”
“Guess so.” And Harry turned back and composed himself to sleep once
more, without bestowing a glance on his brother.
Leon crossed the room and shook him, for he felt that this was the time,
if ever, when he had a right to demand fraternal advice and approval;
but Harry only pulled the blanket over his head and sleepily murmured,—
“Go ’way.”
“Won’t you?” said Leon. “Well, we’ll see about it.” And filling a bath
sponge with water, he cautiously approached the bed, with one hand
suddenly twitched away the blanket and with the other dropped the sponge
directly into Harry’s face. This time his efforts were crowned with
success. Harry sat up spluttering and wrathful.
“Confound you, Leon!” he shouted, as he hurled the dripping sponge
straight at his brother, who dodged just in time to let it drop
harmlessly on the floor behind him. “Why can’t you let a fellow sleep?
What are you waking me up for, in the middle of the night?”
“’Tisn’t; it’s morning,” returned Leon coolly; “and besides, I wanted
you to see whether I’d put on my rig the way it ought to go. I knew
you’d hate to have me appear with my coat on hind side before. Just cast
your eye over me and see if I’m all here.”
“Did you get up at this time in the morning, just for this?” And Harry
surveyed his brother with a scorn which soon changed to ill-concealed
approval, as his eye rested on the trim, straight figure before him.
“You do carry it off better than most of the new fellows, Leon; that’s a
fact. You must button your coat, though, and just pull up your left cuff
a little, for it shows too much. There, that’s all right.”
“Then I do look well?” asked Leon, blushing like a girl at his own
vanity.
“Yes, you’re O.K., only don’t let your finery make a Miss Nancy of you.
Now, do let me go to sleep. It’s a good hour to breakfast time.”
“All right; I’m going out to explore.” And catching up his cap, he
departed, leaving Harry to resume his nap.
Fifteen minutes were enough to show him the grounds and the outside of
the buildings. On his way back to Old Flemming he met Stanley and Alex,
who were just starting for a walk.
“You’re early, young Arnold,” Alex called, as he drew near. “If you’ve
nothing better to do, come with us.”
“Where are you bound?” asked Leon, secretly longing to accept the
invitation, but afraid he might be intruding.
“Only just to the village and back,” answered Stanley, pushing back his
cap to let the cool morning air strike his forehead. “Come on.”
Leon accepted this repeated invitation, and the three boys tramped away
up the road, which stretched along between two stone walls overgrown
with blackberry vines and the dainty sprays of the Virginia creeper.
“What do you do here, Sundays?” asked Leon, stooping to break off a
top-heavy spray of golden-rod that was lazily supporting itself against
a rock.
“A little of everything,” answered Stanley. “Sunday is an off day and we
aren’t kept nearly so close. We don’t really begin work till to-morrow
morning, anyway.”
“When does drill begin?” inquired Leon.
“You new fellows will be put right at it,” Alex replied. “You’ll be
divided up into squads and put in charge of the sergeants till you can
salute and march and manage a gun without knocking the next fellow’s
head off. After that, you can drill with the battalion.”
“It’s no end of fun to see the new fellows on drill, for they make such
work of the ‘military goose-step,’ and when they first get their rifles,
they’re all the time dropping them on their own toes, in _parade rest_
and _order arms_,” added Stanley. “We used to go over to watch them, but
it rattled them so badly that Lieutenant Wilde made us stop.”
“What is he?” asked Leon. “What’s his rank, I mean?”
“He ranks lieutenant in the army,” said Alex; “but here he’s commandant
and major of our battalion. You’ll get on to the ranking soon,” he added
encouragingly.
“Oh, Hal’s told me some of it, and he’s given me ever so much drill this
summer, so he said that, after a day or two, I could go right into
battalion drill, with the other fellows of my class.”
“Good thing you have a brother,” said Stanley. “Most of us have to learn
it all after we get here, and precious slow work it is, too.”
“Hullo, what’s this?” exclaimed Leon suddenly, as he glanced up the road
ahead of them. “This thing coming looks like a scarecrow out for a
morning stroll.”
“That’s one of Hilton’s characters,” answered Alex. “He’s kind of a
half-witted fellow that lives in the woods north of the village. You
must go to see him some day, for he’s delighted to have us boys call on
him, and his cabin, where he lives all alone, is well worth the seeing.
Just bow to him when you meet him; it pleases him immensely.”
The subject of the conversation was hurrying along towards them, with a
curiously uncertain, rocking gait. The huge felt hat that covered his
head and rested on his shoulders behind, was pushed off from his
forehead, showing long, lank wisps of yellowish white hair; and the
ragged gray coat whose tatters were fluttering airily in the morning
breeze, made him look so much like what Leon had called him, “A
scarecrow out for a morning stroll,” that one felt moved to peep under
his coat for the supporting cross-sticks and straw which went to make up
his body. Trudging along by his side was a mite of a boy with a bushy
thatch of tousled flaxen hair, and dressed in a jacket and trousers of
blue checked gingham. The strange pair seemed to be well-tried friends,
for the urchin was chattering earnestly to his venerable companion who
looked down at him with a simpering, vacant expression, as if only half
understanding the simple talk of his little comrade.
“Who’s the boy?” asked Leon, after watching them for a moment, in amused
silence.
“Cappy Toomsen, short for Caspar,” said Alex. “It isn’t a cheerful name,
I confess; but it doesn’t seem to worry Master Cappy, for a more jolly
little imp never lived. He is a great admirer of old Jerry, and the two
are off somewhere together, almost every day.”
“How do? Fi’ day. New boy. Who he?” remarked Jerry, planting himself in
their path at this moment, and pointing at Leon who flushed under his
broad stare.
“Hullo, Jerry!” responded Stanley, nodding good-naturedly to the old
man. “This is Leon Arnold, a new boy at Flemming.”
“Arno’, Leon Arno’,” said the old fellow, bobbing his head wisely.
“Jerry likes Flemming boy!”
“Well he may,” remarked Stanley, as he went on. “He gets many an old
coat and bit of money out of them.”
“The Hilton people call him Flemming’s ragbag,” added Alex. “He goes
round, most of the time, dressed in our cast-off uniforms. Jerry always
insists on being introduced to every new boy that comes to Flemming, and
he has an endless memory for names and faces, so he’ll never forget you,
you may be sure.”
Quarter of an hour later, the boys went in to breakfast. At the
dining-room door, Leon was waylaid by his brother.
“Where in the world have you been, Leon?” he said eagerly. “I’ve been
looking all round for you, to tell you that word just came up from the
doctor’s that we’re to dine there to-night. Isn’t that jolly? It’s
because you’re a new fellow, with a brother among the old boys. He
always invites them.”
At breakfast, the new seats for the term were assigned, and Leon found
himself between Stanley Campbell and Mr. Boniface, with Max opposite
him. Farther down the table were Alex and Louis, while Harry was across
the room, next to Lieutenant Wilde. As the boys took their seats, Max
introduced Leon to still another table-companion, George Winslow by
name, who glanced up long enough to nod indifferently, then began to eat
his breakfast with a perfect unconcern. Leon watched him with an
instinctive feeling of repulsion, for he formed a complete contrast to
the genial good-nature of the other boys around him; and his low, square
head with its cold, steel-gray eyes and heavy under jaw, was as little
agreeable as was his habit of taking in his food in stolid silence, and
with an utter disregard for the needs of those about him. He was still
deliberately turning over the pile of muffins, to select the brownest
and lightest, when he caught Leon’s stare of amused astonishment. He
paused long enough to give back one look of defiance which made Leon
hastily drop his eyes, while his face flushed as if he had been struck a
blow. That one look told Leon, plainly as words, that here he had found
an enemy. When he glanced up again, Stanley was giving an account of
their meeting with Jerry.
“Jerry’s a rare specimen,” commented Max, as with a fine
unconsciousness, he slipped his hand under that of George Winslow, and
brought away the last muffin on the plate. “Oh, beg your pardon; were
you after that?” he asked innocently, then continued, “You just wait
till you get inside the church this morning, you’ll see more odd people
there than you ever supposed were in the world.”
When the long line of boys was marshalled into the little church, Leon
was forcibly reminded of the remark which Max had made at breakfast for,
accustomed as he was to the city and its ways, the place and people
filled him with amazement. The church itself was a low, square room in
which only the middle seats faced the minister, while along each side of
the room were rows of pews slightly raised and facing each other, thus
giving their occupants a fine opportunity to see everything that
concerned the congregation. The warm September sun streamed in at the
unshaded windows, making the two tall stoves with their long stretches
of rusty pipe seem quite unnecessary. Huddled together in the corner,
around the wheezy little organ, sat the half-dozen singers, while at the
foot of the low pulpit lay a shaggy yellow dog with one eye, who had
followed the minister up the aisle and taken his place with an air of
calm assurance which told, as plainly as words could have done, that his
appearance at church was as regular as the coming of Sunday itself. The
congregation, except for the Flemming boys, was limited to a few women
whose pleasant, gentle faces looked strangely overpowered by their vast
and top-heavy bonnets, while here and there was a subdued-looking farmer
in his ill-fitting suit of Sunday clothes, or a freckled, sun-burned
child. The boys of the school occupied the seats along the left side of
the room; and from his seat between Harry and Louis, Leon glanced about,
now at the tin basins hung by wires underneath the joints in the
stove-pipe, now at old Jerry who, from his seat by the door, was lending
a vacant attention to all that was passing, now at the dog who seemed
impressed with the solemn nature of his surroundings, and lay quiet,
only scratching his head, now and again, with a deprecating, apologetic
air.
“I seen them boys laughin’ at Bose, ma,” he heard a sharp-faced child
say to her portly companion, as they were coming out of church.
“More shame to ’em, Sairy, to hev their thoughts on sech carnal things!
But,” added the good dame severely, as she glared down at her little
daughter, “ef your own eyes had ’a’ b’en where they’d ought to be, you
wouldn’t ’a’ seen it.”
“That dog is another of Hilton’s characters,” Louis was explaining, as
the boys walked away down the road. “He was brought up from his
puppyhood to go to church, and he behaves better than most of the
children.”
“He has the advantage over the kids though,” put in Max from behind,
where he was walking with Harry. “Bose can go to sleep when the sermon
gets too dry, and they aren’t allowed to. I saw old Mrs. Wilson wake up
her little girl six and a half times to-day, Wing.”
“Which was the half-time?” asked Leon.
“The time she poked her and she didn’t wake up,” responded Max promptly,
while the boys laughed at his mathematics.
So the nonsense ran on until the boys reached the steps of Old Flemming.
There they separated, Harry, Stanley and Louis going to their rooms to
write their home letters before the hour for dinner, while Alex, with
Max and Leon, sat down on the steps in the sunshine.
“Come take a walk, Max?” asked a gay voice behind them.
Max sprang up at once, exclaiming,—
“Hullo, Frank; where’ve you been all the morning?”
“In my room; I didn’t feel just right, so I cut church. Now I want to
stretch myself a little. Come on.” And as the two boys walked away, Leon
heard the new-comer ask,—
“Who’s the new fellow?”
“Hal Arnold’s brother.”
“Any good?”
By this time, they were too far away for Leon to catch their words, but
he sat staring after them, as if dazzled by the rich, dark beauty of the
stranger. When they were out of sight, he turned back to Alex.
“Who’s that?” he asked eagerly.
Alex, too, had been watching the boys, while something like a frown
gathered on his face.
“That’s Frank Osborn,” he answered. “I don’t see what makes Max so wild
to be with him.”
“Why not?” inquired Leon, surprised at his change of tone.
“Because he’s the worst friend Max can have,” said Alex abruptly. “He’s
a Southerner with plenty of money and brains; but he’s no dig and he
gets Max into scrapes the whole time. He’s not really bad, only a little
fast, and getting worse; but he laughs at Max for being slow and makes
him think it’s manly to just steer clear of being expelled. He’s not
ugly, though, like Winslow, the fellow you saw at breakfast. He’s
nothing but a bully, and you don’t want to have much to do with him. But
you have Hal to look out for you, and he’s steady as a deacon, so you’re
all right.”
The shadows were stretching out in long lines from the western hills, as
Leon turned away from the mirror after a prolonged season of prinking,
and rather nervously followed his brother down the stairs, out of the
house and down the hill to the doctor’s door. In spite of Harry’s
delight at the invitation, Leon was dreading the prospect of dining with
the master of Flemming. However, such an invitation was not to be
refused, and he was soon being ushered into a cosy parlor, where a
little girl of six was sitting alone in front of a crackling fire. She
was a dainty maiden, with a tangle of long brown curls and a pair of
roguish brown eyes that shone with excitement, as she came bounding
forward to meet Harry, with a patient-looking gray cat so doubled up
over her arm that its lank tail and pointed ears met below.
“Hullo, Gyp!” exclaimed Harry, catching her up, as she reached him.
“Hullo!” she answered, returning his caress as a matter of course. “Papa
told me to stay here till you came, so I could call him d’reckly. I kept
Mouse for company, you see.”
“Is this the same old Mouse?” inquired Harry, laughing. “I thought the
rats ate her up, long ago.”
“No, course not,” responded Gyp, in a tone of contempt for Harry’s
mistaken idea. “Mouse _āted_ all the rats up; that’s the way ’twas. Now
I’ll call papa.” And she vanished, carrying the long-suffering Mouse
head downward in her arms.
“Gyp is a great institution,” laughed Harry. “She and Mouse make no end
of fun for us, and she’s as bright as Mouse is stupid. That cat must
have been damaged in her infancy, I know.”
At this point, Gyp reappeared, triumphantly leading by the hand a
gentleman whom she introduced as “papa.” Dr. Flemming might have been
forty or forty-five years old, and though his tall, slight figure and
thin face with its silky, yellow moustache and deep-set blue eyes,
suggested delicate health, yet, there was no air of languor in either
his words or manner. He welcomed both boys cordially, and at once set
about entertaining them in a pleasant, friendly way that delighted Leon
as much as did the quaint, dry wit which came into almost every remark
he made. A few moments later, Mrs. Flemming entered the room, and Leon
found her a bright, motherly little woman with a delightfully long
memory for the different boys of the school, and the pet hobbies of each
one of them.
After an informal dinner and an evening of pleasant talk, the boys
reluctantly rose, to say good night. Dr. Flemming rose, too, and, taking
Leon’s hand in both his own firm, slender ones and looking down into the
lad’s eyes so keenly that Leon felt he could see into the very depths of
his soul, he said kindly,—
“Arnold, you are just starting out into a new life, and I say to you
what I say to all the boys when they come here. You will miss your home
in many ways; you will find many things here that are new and strange.
Do the very best you can in everything, whether it is work or play. Be
generous and manly and, above all else, be true, true to yourself and
true to the hopes of your parents in sending you to us, and we shall all
be satisfied. And one more word: at the first, when you choose your
friends, remember that, in a school the size of this, there are all
sorts of boys, and choose those that will be a help to you, instead of a
pull-back. Boys can’t be too careful about their friends, for with them
it is just as it is with anything else. If you handle something black, a
little of the color is likely to rub off on you. Look for the best and
truest boys and, for your share, try to be as good for them as they are
for you. Then your life at Flemming will be a pleasant and a happy one.
And now, good night.” And he dismissed them, with a friendly smile.
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