GETTING ACQUAINTED
Harold Case mounted the stairs of his boarding house to the little hall
room that he had called home for the last five months. It had been his
first time away from home and he was lonesome and maybe just a little
homesick, for he had come all the way from California to attend school
at Lowell. Though he was a poor boy, he had never had to look out for
himself before.
Perhaps his room--there was only one small one--helped to make him
lonesome. It was comfortably furnished and the meals which Mrs. Malcolm
served her student boarder were good, but this was Harold’s first white
winter. He had lived all of his eighteen years in the balmy climate of
the Golden State, and he missed the warm sun and the bright green of
the orange leaves and the yellow fruit which he had been used to back
home, and he hadn’t become accustomed to wearing overcoat and rubbers
yet as they did every day here in the East.
He had just come in from class. His feet were wet and he was cold and
the register which was supposed to heat his room was cold; for the
weather was beginning to get mild for Eastern folks, and they had let
the furnace fire get low. But it was still too cold and chilly for this
boy from the far West, and he was wishing he were back among the fruit
groves near his home.
He was lonesome, too, because he missed the chums back home. He had not
been fortunate in making friends during his few months at college. Boys
are apt to make friends through the games they play together and Harold
was not familiar with the boys’ sports that are indulged in during the
cold New England winters.
[Illustration: “He was lonesome.”]
He had never had a pair of skates on in his life and didn’t know what
it was to skim over the smooth ice with a pair of sharp steel blades
fastened to his shoes. He had never enjoyed the sensation of coasting
or hitching on to bob-sleds, nor had he ever seen snow before coming to
Lowell.
Think of living eighteen years, and going to school two-thirds that
long, and never being mixed up in a snowball fight!
So you see the fact that it was winter and only winter sports were
indulged in put Harold out of it for the time being, and because he
wasn’t used to the climate, and didn’t know what fun winter sports
would provide, he rather felt that he didn’t care for them, and the
other fellows paid little attention to him, and he had not made any
friends.
This was hard luck of course, and if the other boys had thought about
it at all, they would no doubt have encouraged him to join them, but
they were not particularly interested at the moment in anyone who
didn’t like the things they liked.
As a matter of fact, Harold, as they called him back home, was a really
good fellow. He was very boyish looking for his eighteen years. He was
a well built fellow, but modest and somewhat backward about pushing
himself forward. His hair was brown and his features were good although
no one would call him handsome. His eyes were light blue and clear, his
mouth was firm, and if the other fellows only knew it, he was as quick
as a flash in any game he was familiar with, and he was as graceful as
a deer in motion. He could run almost as fast as a deer, too.
His parents were not in easy circumstances and it was harder than
Harold knew for Mr. Case to spare the money which he did to send him to
Lowell. Harold would perhaps have been just as well pleased to attend
a college in California (just now when he thought of the cold Eastern
winter he wished to goodness that he had), but his father had been a
Lowell man, having been graduated with the class of 18--, and while it
was a little hard on him financially to do so, he had always wanted
Harold to be a Lowell man, and he was willing to work a little more
out there in California to do what he wanted for his son. He felt sure
Harold would make his mark in the world and he also had an idea that
his boy would add something to the fame of Lowell one way or the other.
At the same time the understanding was that after he got out of school
and began to earn money, Harold was to pay back this college money, and
so while there was enough to be fairly comfortable for his first year,
the young fellow always kept in mind the fact that he was in a way
living on borrowed money, and that the less he spent the smaller the
amount would be to be paid back.
For this reason, he had secured a room in a somewhat cheaper and
quieter part of town, some distance away from the campus, instead of
taking up his quarters in one of the Students’ Halls, and this fact
also, and because he was in a house with no other students, served to
keep him from making friends as easily as he might. If he had been
living where there were a lot of other fellows he would not have been
so lonesome, and the boys at Lowell would have known sooner what a
grand fellow he was.
Harold looked at his watch to see how long it would be to dinner time,
for he had a good appetite even if he was cold, and just then the
dinner gong sounded. He went down to the dining room where he found
Mrs. Malcolm and her young son, a lad of twelve, already seated at
table. The dinner was good, and Harold noticed a more cheerful air in
Mrs. Malcolm’s conversation. This was rather a surprise as there had
been a noticeable lack of laughter in the house lately, at least so he
had been thinking.
Mrs. Malcolm was a widow and had come to the college town, thinking
she could add something to the small income left her by her husband
by establishing herself in the boarding-house business. She had three
other rooms to rent, but up to this time Harold had been the only
boarder she was lucky enough to get, and lately she had been a little
bit discouraged. With a larger house than she needed for herself and
son and only one boarder, the increased expense was more than Harold
was paying her, so she was losing money on her idea.
This evening, however, she was more cheerful, and she soon gave the
reason. She had secured two other students as boarders that day. One
was to come that evening, and had taken the room next to Harold’s on
the same floor, and the other had taken the little room over his on the
third floor, but this fellow only rented the room with the privilege of
taking his meals where he pleased.
“The young man who is coming to-night is a freshman like yourself,”
said Mrs. Malcolm. “His home is in Texas; I think you will like him and
it will be real nice for you to have some one else in the house. His
name is Hagner.”
When dinner was over Harold went up to his room to do some studying.
“I feel as though I could be chums with a Mexican greaser to-night,”
thought Harold, “and I certainly will be glad to meet him.”
Shortly afterward the door bell rang and Harold heard an expressman
bringing a trunk up the stairs, followed by the footsteps of a young
man and also a lighter step, no doubt that of Mrs. Malcolm. After a
few moments there was a knock at his door, and when he opened it Mrs.
Malcolm asked him if she might introduce him to the new boarder, Mr.
Hagner.
Harold found a big, raw-boned, awkward-looking German, a young fellow
about six feet tall, weighing fully 175 pounds. He was heavy set,
bow-legged, and had massive shoulders and long arms, but when he moved
around there was a wonderful ease and grace apparent in his movements,
which was a surprise.
Mrs. Malcolm soon went out and left the two together in Hagner’s room.
Harold started to leave, too, saying that he would come in after Hagner
had unpacked.
“Don’t need to go for that reason,” said Hagner, as he opened his
trunk, ready to unpack.
“All right, if you don’t mind,” said Harold. “I’m kind of lonesome
to-night, anyhow.”
“What’s the matter?” asked the other, “anything gone wrong?”
“No,” said Harold, “but you see I’m from California and I don’t like
this blamed snow and cold. I’d rather be back where it’s warm every day
like I’m used to.”
“How long have you been here?” asked Hagner. “This must be your first
year, too?”
“It is. I’ve been here five months and it’s been mighty cold for three
months of that time. When did you come?”
“I just got in yesterday,” said Hagner, starting to unpack. “Never saw
snow before in my life. I am from Texas myself and we don’t have it
down there either. It’s wet, ain’t it? Don’t like it much myself. Guess
I’ll have to stand it, though. Don’t expect to see Texas again for a
couple of years, anyhow.”
Harold began to feel more cheerful. Here was a fellow to whom he could
tell about college. Compared with Hagner, Harold was an old timer, and
he began to feel good. Hagner kept on taking things out of his trunk.
He was having a hard time, getting something out that seemed to be laid
in crosswise between the clothes. Harold looked, and just then out it
came, and there stood Hagner with an old baseball bat in his hand. He
reached in with his left and pulled out an old fielder’s mitt, which
had a big hole right through the middle.
[Illustration: “Just then out it came and there stood Hagner with an
old baseball bat in his hand.”]
Harold’s eyes bulged. “Do you play ball?” he asked.
“A little,” said the other; “used to play around the back lots down
home. Had to play hookey from Sunday school to get a chance. Had to
work week days after school. You play?”
“Some,” said Harold.
“What position?”
“Pitcher,” said Harold, falling into the other’s way of talking.
“What’s your place?”
“Short,” said Hagner.
“Going to try for the team?” asked Harold.
“Will if they want me. You?”
“I’m going to make them want me. The best pitcher they had last year is
gone and they need some one.”
“Better try for something else. Everybody thinks he can pitch. Only a
few know how.”
“Well, I’m a Southpaw pitcher, and I was pretty good on the High School
team out home. Southpaws are scarce.”
“Left handed, eh! You look quick, too. Think you might make a first
baseman.”
“I’d rather pitch,” said Harold.
“All right, sir,” said Hagner. “You can pitch if you want to and if
they want you, but if they give me a chance any place, I think I can
stop them all right, and if I miss one occasionally, I think I can hold
the job with my bat. What’s your first name? Mine’s John, but you can
call me Hagner.”
“My first name is Harold, but you had better call me by my last name,
too.”
And so they talked baseball until long after midnight, and their
enthusiasm for the great American game made them friends at once, and
Harold went to bed feeling that the world was bright and warm and that
spring would be coming pretty soon, and he made up his mind right there
not to get homesick any more, but to dig more into his studies so that
his marks wouldn’t interfere with the amount of time he wanted to give
to baseball when practice started.