A VISIT TO NEW YORK
On the following Friday Dan and Gerald, suit-cases in hand and ulsters
on arm, climbed aboard the express at a little before five o’clock and
set out for New York. It was a cloudy afternoon, still and moderately
cold. The river had been frozen for several days, and as the train
crossed the bridge the boys could see the skaters moving about through
the twilight up near Loon Island. They had their supper on the
train--although it was really dinner--and did their level best to eat
some of everything on the menu. In this effort they were not quite
successful, but they managed to consume enough to interfere seriously
with their comfort. Luckily they had a full hour--and it really was a
full one--in which to recover before the train rolled into the Grand
Central Station, by which time they were able to take up their luggage
and traverse the platform without more than an occasional groan.
Mr. Pennimore had half promised to meet them, but when Gerald had
discovered the electric brougham, the driver, a very smart looking
youth in trim livery, reported that Mr. Pennimore had telephoned from
downtown that he wouldn’t be able to reach the station in time, but
would meet the boys at dinner.
“Dinner!” groaned Dan, casting a reproachful look at Gerald. “Why
didn’t you tell me we were to have dinner after we got here?”
“I thought it would be lots more fun to eat on the train,” replied
Gerald. “You can eat at home any time. Besides, we were hungry, Dan.”
“Well, that’s so. But I’m not hungry now, and I know I shan’t be able
to even look at the table.”
They sped softly across town, only the low buzz of the motor and the
occasional jangle of the bell penetrating to the interior of the
carriage. Overhead a light set behind ground glass cast a soft glow
over the rich upholstery. Dan looked and marveled. At his feet an
electric heater gave warmth, in front of him a little silver clock
ticked away the minutes. The seat, upholstered in dark blue leather,
was as comfortable as a bed, and Gerald was making the most of it. But
Dan was too excited to loll back in his corner. Instead, he sat on the
edge of the cushion and peered interestedly out of the window. The
brougham slowed down and turned into Fifth Avenue, then buzzed its way
uptown past a steady stream of southward bound vehicles, automobiles,
hansoms, broughams, taxicabs, electrics, with now and then a smart
delivery wagon. Dan turned in bewilderment.
“Where’s every one going?” he asked.
“Theater, I suppose,” answered Gerald listlessly. “It’s most eight
o’clock.”
“Oh,” said Dan. He had never seen so many carriages before in his life,
nor so many lights, nor so many persons. They were held up for a moment
at an intersecting street, and he watched admiringly the majestic
traffic policeman, and wondered where every one _could_ be going! Then
they went on again and the lights along the sidewalks grew fewer. Shops
gave way to residences, and soon, through the window on Gerald’s side,
he saw the Park. He heaved a sigh.
“Gee, this is a big old place, Gerald,” he said hopelessly.
“I hate it,” answered Gerald, arousing from his drowsiness. “I have
lots more fun at Sound View than I do in New York. I wish father would
live at Sound View all the year. He says he’s going to some day. Here
we are, Dan.”
The brougham rolled slowly up to the curb and stopped with a final peal
of its bell. The door of a white stone residence opened and a man in
livery came out and seized the bags and coats. Dan followed Gerald
into the house, stepped dazedly into a tiny room which turned out to be
an elevator, stepped out again and discovered Mr. Pennimore awaiting
them at the door of a big library, evening paper in hand. After that
events followed each other so quickly that it was all rather hazy to
Dan. There was a moment’s chat in front of a glowing fire, another
excursion in the elevator, a hurried preparation for dinner, followed
by a survey of Gerald’s bedroom and sitting room which adjoined the
apartment assigned to Dan, a descent to the first floor, and--well,
then Dan found himself eating again just as though he hadn’t already
had one hearty dinner that evening!
“What’s the matter, Gerald?” asked Mr. Pennimore presently,
interrupting himself anxiously. “Has coming home spoiled your appetite?”
“No, sir, but we had our dinner on the train.”
“On the train! Well, well, that’s unfortunate! Couldn’t wait, eh? But
do the best you can, boys. When I was your age I could always eat.
Parker, hand the vegetables to Mr. Vinton.”
When dinner was over it was much too late to go anywhere, Mr. Pennimore
decided. Gerald was disappointed, but Dan was secretly glad enough to
sit down in a big, sleepy chair in front of the library fire and just
let the comfort and hominess of the place soak in. Mr. Pennimore found
lots of questions to ask, and it kept the two boys busy answering them.
“You see, son,” said Mr. Pennimore, “your letters are very interesting,
but you’ve got an exasperating way of paying no attention to the
questions I ask in mine. Have you been homesick, Gerald?”
Gerald shot a glance at Dan, but that youth was studying the flames as
though he hadn’t heard the question.
“Some, sir,” answered Gerald, “once or twice.”
“Getting over it now, though, I presume? That’s right; just realize
that Yardley’s to be your home for the next few months and get settled
down. Have you made the acquaintance of any more of the boys?”
“I--I don’t know any of them very well yet, sir.”
“Of course not; all that takes time, I suspect. You spoke of two of the
boys in one of your letters. What were their names?”
“Loring and Dyer,” answered Gerald. “They’re--they’re Second Class
fellows, and so I don’t know them very well.”
“Oh, I gathered from what you wrote that you did.” Gerald looked
uneasily at Dan.
“Well, Loring’s going to give you boxing lessons,” he said. “You know
him well enough for that. Gerald has an idea that fellows don’t care
about him unless they come right out and say so,” Dan explained.
“Boxing lessons, you said?” inquired Mr. Pennimore. “Isn’t boxing
rather--er--strenuous for a boy of your age?” He looked anxiously from
Dan to Gerald.
“Oh, no, sir,” answered Dan promptly. “It isn’t hard at all. It’s one
of the regular exercises in the Second Class. Gerald just thought he’d
like to take it up now, and Alf Loring said he’d show him how. It’s
good exercise, sir.”
Gerald breathed easier. He had pledged Dan to secrecy in regard to his
trouble with Thompson, and Dan’s unthinking reference to boxing had
brought his heart into his mouth.
“Well,” said his father doubtfully, “be careful. Don’t try to learn
everything the first year, son.”
The next forenoon was given over to sight-seeing. Gerald acted as guide
and showed Dan as many of the points of interest as there was time for,
and Dan enjoyed himself hugely. They had luncheon with Mr. Pennimore at
his club. Afterwards he handed them tickets for one of the theaters and
sent them off in a hansom.
“I’m sorry I can’t go with you,” he said, “but I’ve got a great deal
to do this afternoon. We’ll have dinner early and see a show together
to-night.”
That was Dan’s first visit to a real theater, for out in Graystone,
Ohio, where he lived, the local playhouse, known as the Academy of
Music, was little more than a fair-sized hall, and the attractions
which visited it seldom met with the approval of Dan’s parents. To
Gerald, on the contrary, theaters and plays were an old story, and he
found half of his enjoyment in watching Dan and in displaying his own
knowledge and experience of things theatrical. After the final curtain
had fallen Dan didn’t say anything until the boys were out on the
street. Then he drew a long breath, sighed deeply, and exclaimed:
“Gee, that was great!”
“It wasn’t a bad show,” replied Gerald indifferently.
“Bad! It was simply elegant! I’ll bet if I lived in New York I’d be at
the theater every day! I’d like to see that play again to-night!”
But instead he saw another one and voted it even better, and would have
kept Gerald up the rest of the night talking about it if Gerald had
allowed it. Even as it was, it was long past mid-night when they fell
asleep. The next forenoon they went to church with Mr. Pennimore. The
church was a new source of wonderment to Dan. He had never imagined
that a church could be so beautiful as was that one, and if he missed
a great deal of the service, it was only because his eyes and thoughts
were busy with the great altar, the wonderful stained glass windows,
and all the architectural marvels and color before him.
Dinner was at two o’clock on Sunday, a long-drawn-out repast of many
courses. It wasn’t altogether a success to-day, for every one was
rather silent. The impending return to school brought no joy to the
boys, while Mr. Pennimore was saddened by the thought of having to part
with Gerald for several months. At a little before four the electric
brougham rolled up to the curb in front of the house, and good-byes
were said. Mr. Pennimore was to sail early Tuesday morning. Gerald
begged to be allowed to remain in town and see him off, but his father
wouldn’t allow it.
“No, no,” he said smilingly, “that wouldn’t do, son. Why, I might lose
my courage at the last moment and take you with me!”
“I wish you would,” said Gerald dismally, clinging tightly to his
father’s hand.
“What? And take you away from school? Oh, that wouldn’t do at all. No,
we’ll say good-bye now, Gerald. You write me regularly and send your
first letter to the address I gave you, so that I’ll find it when I
get to London. Good-bye, Dan. Take good care of yourself. We three
are going to have some good times this summer, and I want you well and
strong. And keep an eye on this boy here; don’t let him get into too
much mischief. And write me a letter yourself some day and put it in
with Gerald’s. Now, you’ll have to hurry if you’re going to catch that
train. Good-bye, Gerald. Be a good boy, and don’t forget to write to
me. Remember me to the Doctor when you see him. Good-bye, good-bye!”
Then they were rolling away to the station, Gerald rather tearful,
and Dan feeling a little bit blue himself, without being able to
find a good reason for it. But by the time New Haven was reached the
spirits of each had risen considerably, and they were able to take
some interest in the things which the waiter placed before them in the
dining car. Neither had eaten much dinner in New York, and so they
found that they had very fair appetites. It’s wonderful what food will
do in the way of cheering one up! When they tossed their bags into the
carriage at Wissining and climbed in after them they were as merry
as you please. A sprinkle of snow had fallen while they had been on
the train, and there was a jolly feeling of winter in the air. Ahead
of them, on the hill, the windows of the school buildings twinkled a
welcome to them.
“Getting back isn’t so bad, after all, is it?” asked Dan. And Gerald
agreed that it wasn’t.
They hurried to the Office to register their return, and then scampered
up the stairs of Clarke. And when Dan had lighted the drop-light on the
study table and the familiar objects in the room met their gaze, why,
it was quite like getting home!