DAN BEGINS RIGHT
“Well, son,” said Mr. Pennimore, “I guess everything’s all right.
You’ve got a nice, clean, pleasant room here and Dan to keep you from
getting homesick.”
“They don’t put very much in the rooms, do they?” asked Gerald
Pennimore a trifle dubiously.
Supper was over and Mr. Pennimore and the two boys, after a visit to
the Office, had come up to 28 Clarke. Mr. Pennimore was returning to
New York on the nine-thirty-eight train, in spite of the fact that
Doctor Hewitt, the Principal, had pressed him to spend the night at
Yardley.
“Well, I don’t see but what you have everything that you need,” replied
Gerald’s father, adding with a smile, “You must remember, son, that
you’re here to study and work.”
Mr. John T. Pennimore was about fifty-two or -three years of age,
rather under than above average height, a very well-bred looking
gentleman with a kind if somewhat thoughtful face. His eyes were very
black, very bright and keen. His hair was just a little grizzled at
the temples, and he wore a dark beard, trimmed short, and a mustache.
His manners were charming and his voice pleasant. Dan had never seen
Mr. Pennimore when he was not immaculately dressed. He always looked,
to use a familiar expression, as though he had just stepped out of a
band-box.
The resemblance between father and son was not yet very striking. What
there was depended more on tricks of voice, and little mannerisms than
on looks, although when Gerald laughed the resemblance was slightly
apparent. Gerald promised to grow into a larger man than his father,
although just at present he appeared far from robust. He was fourteen
years old, but scarcely looked it. He was slightly built, and his
very blue eyes, pink and white skin, and corn-colored hair gave him
a somewhat girlish appearance which of late had been troubling him a
good deal. For Gerald admired strength and virility, and his greatest
ambition was to make a name for himself on the athletic field, an
ambition that, judging from present indications, seemed scarcely likely
to be attained.
Gerald’s mother had died so soon after his birth that he couldn’t
recall her at all. Since then he had been in charge of nurses and
tutors, had been given well-nigh everything he wanted and had been as
carefully guarded as the heir-apparent of a throne. Mr. Pennimore had
tried hard not to spoil him, but Gerald was an only child and it would
have been strange indeed if Mr. Pennimore had been quite successful in
his effort. Dan and Gerald had known each other only three months but
were already quite close friends. Gerald’s liking for the older boy
was closely akin to hero worship; and the day on which he had learned
that he was to go to Yardley Hall School and room with Dan was one of
the happiest of his life. On the other hand, Dan liked Gerald less for
what he was than for what he believed he was capable of being. The boy
had never had a fair chance, he thought, and it was no wonder that he
was a trifle selfish and self-centered. And as for his flat chest and
weak muscles, why, what could you expect of a boy who had never had any
real playmates and whose most violent exercise consisted of driving in
carriage or automobile or pasting stamps in a stamp book! Dan believed
that a couple of years at Yardley would work a change.
“Oh, I’ll have to study all right,” responded Gerald to his father’s
reminder. “It’s going to be hard, I guess. But I don’t care,” he added
with a shy smile at Dan. “I’d a lot rather be here than at home
studying with one of those silly old tutors.”
Mr. Pennimore smiled.
“If it weren’t for those tutors, Gerald, you wouldn’t be here now.”
Then he turned to Dan. “Now, Dan,” he said, “tell me what you do all
day. When I’m away I shall often be wondering what this boy of mine is
up to. Tell me something about your life here.”
“Well, sir, we get up about seven and go to Chapel at half-past,”
responded Dan. “We have prayers and Old Toby--I mean Doctor Hewitt--reads
a chapter in the Bible and Mr. Collins reads the announcements. Then we
have breakfast at eight. I’m going to try and get Gerald a place at our
table, sir, but I’m afraid there isn’t room.”
“Perhaps one of the fellows will change with me,” suggested Gerald
hopefully. But Dan smiled and shook his head.
“I don’t believe so,” he answered. “It doesn’t matter much which table
you’re at, though; you get mighty good feed everywhere. That’s one
thing Yardley’s good at, Mr. Pennimore, feeding the fellows. They give
us all we want, and it’s good, too. Recitations begin at nine and
continue until twelve. Dinner’s at one, and then, from two to four,
there’s more recitations. At four there’s gymnasium for the Prep and
Fourth Class fellows. After that there’s nothing to do except study
in the evening from eight to nine. Lots of fellows don’t do that; if
you haven’t many recitations during the day you can do most of your
studying then.”
“That sounds a whole lot, doesn’t it?” asked Gerald anxiously of his
father.
“Well, it doesn’t sound like an idle life,” laughed Mr. Pennimore. “But
I dare say it will go smoothly enough after you’ve once got into the
routine, son. Method lightens toil. But there’s plenty of play, I take
it, Dan?”
“Yes, sir, lots. We have a mighty good time. There are two societies,
Cambridge and Oxford. Most every fellow belongs to one or the other.
I’m going to get Gerald into Cambridge; that’s the one I belong to; but
I can’t get him in until May.”
“Are these secret societies?” asked Mr. Pennimore with a trace of
anxiety.
“No, sir, we haven’t any of those. Faculty won’t let us. Our societies
are debating clubs, or, at least, they’re supposed to be, and we do
have debates; there’s one every Saturday night. But they’re more social
than anything else. Both societies have nice rooms where the fellows
can get together and talk or play or read. Then, of course, a fellow
can have lots of fun out of doors. There’s golf and hockey now, and
after awhile there’ll be baseball and tennis and other things. And then
there’s basket-ball, too; a good many fellows go in for that.”
“I’m going to play baseball,” announced Gerald decisively.
“Well, we will see about that,” replied his father. “It’s a long way to
Spring yet. You keep up with your studies for a couple of months and we
will talk about baseball later.”
“You must see Mr. Bendix to-morrow,” said Dan, “and take your physical
examination. He will tell you what sports you can go in for.”
“Does he have the say?” asked Gerald anxiously. Dan nodded.
“You’d better believe he does! If he says you can’t play baseball or
football you can’t, and that’s all there is to it. But he’s square, all
right, is ‘Muscles,’ and you want to do just as he tells you. He’s a
wonder!”
Gerald considered this in silence a moment. Then:
“If a fellow can’t play baseball and things I don’t see any use of
coming here,” he murmured.
Mr. Pennimore laughed.
“So that’s your idea, is it, son? Well, let me tell you that you’re
here to fit yourself for college. You wanted to come here, Gerald, and
you’ve had your way. Now there must be no backing down, my boy. Life
isn’t all play, as you’ll find out when you get older, but you can make
it seem like play by taking an interest in work. You mustn’t think that
because I’ve got money enough for us both that you’re going to sit
down and twiddle your thumbs and watch the procession go by. No, sir!
You’re going to march with the rest, and I want to see you marching
at the head. Work’s one of the best things life has to offer, if we
only realize it, and the man who loves his work is the man who does it
best and gets the most out of life. Well, you’ll think me a tiresome
old codger if I lecture any longer. Just you put the same amount of
enthusiasm into work that you do into play, Gerald, and you won’t have
much trouble. Now I must get down to the station if I’m going to catch
that train.”
“Are you going abroad soon, sir?” asked Dan.
“In about two weeks. Gerald’s coming up to town to see me a day or two
before I sail, and I’d like to have you come along, Dan, if you want
to. I sail on Tuesday. You boys might come up Friday evening and stay
until Sunday. We’ll fix it up later with Doctor Hewitt.”
“Thank you, sir,” answered Dan. “I’d like to come very much if I won’t
be in the way. I’ve never been to New York except just to come into
the station and go out again.”
“Well, we will have to show him some of the sights, eh, son? Take him
to a theater or two.”
“That’ll be fine!” cried Gerald. “Will you go, Dan?”
“You bet I will, if I can get off!”
“I’ll write to the Doctor next week and see,” said Mr. Pennimore. “I
think I can persuade him to let you go. Now get your cap, son, and walk
a little way with me. Good-bye, Dan. I’ll see you in town before I
sail. Keep an eye on this worthless boy of mine and see that he writes
to me twice a week. If he doesn’t I’ll shut down on his allowance. I
guess that will bring him to terms,” laughed Mr. Pennimore.
Dan went with them to the head of the stairs, shook hands again with
Mr. Pennimore and returned to his room. Gerald’s big trunk, which had
arrived an hour before, stood in front of the door. Dan bent over and
unbuckled the strap. It wasn’t an easy task and Dan had to put all his
strength into it. When it was done and he had slipped down the catches
he stood off and ran his fingers through his hair in a way he had when
puzzled. Then he shook his head slowly, fastened the catches again and,
after a deal of hard work, restrapped the trunk, working the buckle
into the last possible hole.
“Might as well begin right,” he murmured as he dropped panting into his
chair and took up a book.