“I’M ORDWAY”
Bert, for one, found himself at a loose end the next morning. He
lingered as long as possible over breakfast, but the day promised to be
even hotter than the one before, and his appetite was soon satisfied.
He and Nick sat for a while in the shade of the trees near the middle
gate, but the heat soon drove them indoors, and Bert climbed up to
Number 29 and unenthusiastically wrenched the lid from the packing case
there and set about the distribution of the contents. The few pictures
were deposited against a wall, since it was best to see what his
roommate was bringing before deciding as to the disposition of them.
His books he found place for and he laid some extra clothing in the
dresser drawers in the bedroom on the right. He had selected that room
in preference to the one on the other side since Lothrop stood at right
angles to the other buildings in the row and from “29b” one had an
uninterrupted view along the fronts of Trow, School and Manning. Only
the gymnasium, hiding behind the shoulder of the last dormitory, was
out of sight. From the other bedroom, “29a,” much of this view was cut
off by a corner of Trow, and Bert acted on the basis of “first come,
first served.”
The study was a good-sized square room, lighted by two windows
set in a dormer, beneath which was a wide and comfortable seat. A
bright-hued rug occupied the center of the floor and the walls were
papered attractively to the height of the picture molding in tones of
golden-brown. Above the molding was a foot of white plaster, and two
plastered beams ran the length of the ceiling. The furniture was of
brown mission; two study desks, a table in the center of the room, a
Morris chair upholstered in brown leather beside it, two armchairs, two
sidechairs, and a settle. The desks were supplied with green-shaded
droplights.
The bedrooms were identical. Each had a single dormer window. Blue
two-tone paper covered the walls and a rug flanked the single white
iron bed. A dresser, a washstand and a chair completed the furnishings.
There was generous closet room.
Bert was glad when Nick came in at eleven and gave him an excuse for
stopping his half-hearted labors. Nick was down to a pair of soiled
flannel trousers, supported by a most disreputable leather strap that
scarcely deserved the name of belt, a white tennis shirt, open at the
throat, and a pair of brown canvas “sneakers.” And he looked as though
he thought he still had far too much on as he stretched himself out on
the window-seat, sprawled one foot over the edge, and hung the other
across the sill.
“Four or five fellows came a while ago,” he announced. “Leddy and Ayer
and some others. Hairwig, too. Hairwig looks like he’d been sitting in
the sun all summer. Tanned to beat the band.”
Hairwig’s real name was Helwig, and he was instructor in physics and
chemistry. Being a German, the boys had at first called him Herr
Helwig, and later had shortened it to Hairwig. The news of his advent
didn’t, however, greatly interest Bert, who inquired:
“Any of our masters shown up?”
“Haven’t seen any. I told you, didn’t I, that I ran across Smiles in
New York one day? He was all dolled up. Said he was going out west
somewhere to teach at a summer school. He seemed real glad to see me,
too. Smiles is a good old sport.”
“He isn’t old.”
“N-no, but Latin instructors always seem old. They know so plaguey
much! Who do you think will be proctor up here this year?”
“Cathcart, I suppose. He’s the only senior on the floor. Wonder if
we’re going to have a big junior class.”
“Whopping, I heard; eighty-something. Know anyone coming up?”
Bert shook his head. “No, and I’m glad I don’t. You always have to look
after them, and they’re nuisances.”
“You’ll have to do the guide and mentor act for your friend Ordway,”
reminded Nick, with a malicious grin. “Did you say he was an upper
middler?”
“Yes.”
“I’d hate to enter a school in the middle like that,” reflected Nick.
“I should think it would be hard.”
“I don’t see why.”
“Well, you don’t know anyone, in the first place. It would take most
of the year to get acquainted, and then you’d only have one year left.
Going to put him up for Lit?”
“I suppose so, if he wants me to. You have to do that much for a
roommate, I guess.”
“When’s he coming?”
“Don’t know and don’t care. Want to buy a good racket?”
“How much?”
“Dollar and a half.”
Nick accepted the proffered article and viewed it dubiously.
“I’d have to have it restrung.”
“Why would you? There’s only one string gone. Take it along and try it.”
“Give you a dollar.”
“I guess you would! It cost seven. Hand it over here, you Shylock.”
“Dollar and a quarter, then.”
“Cash?”
“Dollar down and the balance――――”
“Some time?”
“No, next month; honest.”
“All right, but you’re getting it dirt cheap. Where’s the dollar?”
“Downstairs. You don’t think I carry all that money around with me, do
you?”
“All right, but we’ll stop in for it before you forget it. Are you
really going over to the Junction to meet Guy?”
“Surest thing you know! Want to come along?”
“I wouldn’t make the trip on that hot, dusty old train for a thousand
dollars!”
“You ought to, though. You ought to go over and meet your new chum.”
Bert grunted. “I’m likely to! I’ve been wondering if he will bring any
pictures and truck like that. I hope, if he does, he won’t have the
usual rot. This is too good a study to fill up with chromos. Something
tells me, Nick, that I’m an awful idiot to go in with some fellow I’ve
never seen. Bet you anything he will be a fresh kid.”
Nick chuckled. “I decline the wager, Bert. Also, I agree with you that
you’re taking a chance. Still, you can’t tell. Where does he come from?”
“Somewhere in Maryland.”
“Baltimore? I knew a fellow who lived in Baltimore, and he was a
crackajack.”
“No, some place I never heard of. I forget it now. I suppose that makes
him a Southerner, doesn’t it?”
“Of course. Anything against Southerners?”
“No, only they’re a bit stuck up. If he tries it with me I’ll shut him
up mighty quick!”
“Bert, your disposition is entirely ruined. I guess it’s the weather.
I’m glad I’m not What’s-his-name, Ordway.”
“If you’d had the decency to come in with me――――”
“Don’t blame me, old scout. Write to dad about it. I wanted to, all
right. Put something on and let’s do something.”
“What is there to do?”
“I’ll play you a set of tennis. It won’t be bad if we take it easily.”
“Tennis! I see myself racing around a court a day like this! How hot is
it, anyway?”
“About two hundred in the shade. Then why stay in the shade? Say, Bert,
what sort of a captain is Ted going to make?”
“Good.”
“I wonder!”
“Don’t see why not. He’s popular, and he’s a good player――――”
“Yes, but he isn’t awfully――oh, you know what I mean; he isn’t exactly
brilliant, eh?”
“He doesn’t need to be. Bonner will look after that part of it.”
“Well, I never saw any sparks flying from Bonner, for that matter,”
returned Nick dryly.
“What’s the good of being brilliant, as you call it? In football, I
mean. It’s knowledge of the game that does the business. And Bonner
certainly knows football; and so does Ted.”
“Yes, that’s so. All right. We’ll hope for the best. Come on down and
I’ll find that old dollar. Then we’ll go over and see Leddy. He’s
probably trying to unpack, and he oughtn’t to do it in this weather.”
They managed to kill time until luncheon was served in Manning, and
after that they joined a crowd in the common room there and remained
until it was time for Nick to go to the station to take the train for
Needham Junction. Mr. Russell, Greek instructor, having arrived, Bert
went over to Trow to consult him about his new work. Greek had been
hard sledding for Bert the year before and he viewed the first four
books of Hellenica with misgiving. The consultation in the master’s
study in Trow took up the better part of a half hour, for “J. P.,” as
Mr. Russell was called, was not to be hurried. When he finally got away
Bert climbed up to Pop Driver’s room on the floor above and found Ted
Trafford and Roy Dresser in possession. Roy was Pop’s roommate. Pop, he
explained, had gone to the village to buy some lemons. They had drawn
lots and Pop had lost. If he didn’t die of sunstroke before he got back
there was going to be a lemonade of magnificence. Bert decided to wait
around.
But Pop tarried and after awhile Ted discovered that it was after four
o’clock and hurried out. They could hear him taking the stairs three
at a time. Bert abandoned hope of that lemonade and followed Ted, Roy
Dresser apologizing for Pop and adding that if Bert would keep his ears
open he, Roy, would yell across when the lemons arrived.
It seemed a trifle cooler in the campus and the shadow of Lothrop
stretched far along the red brick walk that ran, the main artery of
travel, along the fronts of the buildings. A locomotive shrieked
despairingly a mile or so away and Bert knew that the first of the two
trains on which the bulk of the returning students would arrive was
nearing the station. Again his thoughts reverted to Ordway and again he
wondered pessimistically what sort of a youth fate was going to impose
upon him. Ordway might not come until six-thirty, however; many fellows
didn’t; and Bert rather hoped he would be of their number. He was
disposed to postpone the inevitable.
The rooms in Lothrop had been thrown open, doors and windows alike,
and the corridors were far cooler than they had been since he had
taken possession of Number 29. Quite a draft of air was blowing down
the staircase well. In the study, he put away the last few belongings,
placed the packing-case outside for removal to the store-room, and
finally, lowering the shades at the windows through which the afternoon
sun was shining hotly, took up his schedule and, stretching himself
on the window-seat, studied it dubiously. Mathematics 4, Greek 3,
English 4, French 1, History 3a; eighteen hours altogether, aside
from Physical Training. From the latter, however, he was exempt so
long as he was in training with the football team. Eighteen hours was
the least required for the third year, and he was expected to select
another study. He mentally pondered the respective merits of physics
and chemistry. Physics was known as a “snap course,” but Bert was in
favor of leaving it for his senior year. The same with chemistry. He
rather leaned toward German, but Mr. Teschner, or “Jules,” as he was
usually called, was a hard taskmaster and his classes were not viewed
with much enthusiasm. Still, unless he took physics or chemistry it
would have to be German, and after a few minutes of cogitation he wrote
German 1 on the card in his hand. The schedule had yet to be approved
and he wondered whether he would be allowed to go in so heavily for
languages. The schedule was a bit top-heavy in that way, with thirteen
hours of the twenty-one given to Greek, German, and French. Probably
they would make him substitute physics for German. He slipped the
card in his pocket, with a sigh for the vexations of life, and became
aware that Lothrop Hall was at last inhabited. Steps scuffed on the
stairs, voices sounded, bags and trunks thumped. The invasion had
begun in earnest. Half inclined to go down and see if Guy Murtha had
arrived, he nevertheless found himself too lazy to stir and so when, a
few moments later, footsteps drew near the open door he was still
sprawled on his back.
“This must be it, Bowles,” said a voice. “Yes, twenty-nine. Oh, I beg
your pardon!”
Bert sat up and slid his feet to the floor. In the doorway stood a
slim, pleasant-faced youth, and behind him a very serious-looking
man held an extremely large kit-bag, an umbrella, and a folded gray
overcoat. The youth advanced toward Bert, smiling and removing a gray
glove.
“I fancy you are Winslow,” he said. “I’m Ordway. I believe we share
these quarters, eh?”
[Illustration: “‘I’m Ordway.’”]
Bert shook hands. “Glad to know you,” he replied. “Beastly hot, isn’t
it? That’s your room over there.” He glanced inquiringly at the second
arrival who, still holding his burdens, had paused just inside the
door. But if he looked for an introduction none was forthcoming.
Ordway, who had now removed both gloves and tossed them nonchalantly to
the table, evidently had no thought of making his companion known.
“Ripping view from here,” he said, glancing from the window. Then,
turning: “In there, Bowles,” he directed, and nodded toward the open
door of the bedroom. “Just dump them, will you? I’ll look after them
myself.”
Bag and coat and umbrella disappeared, Bert’s gaze following their
bearer curiously. Ordway had thrust his hands in his pockets and was
leisurely examining the study. His manner was a queer mixture of quiet
assurance and diffidence. When he had shaken hands he had reddened
perceptibly, but now he was looking the place over just as though, as
Bert silently told himself, he had ordered the whole thing. “I like
this,” he said, after a moment. “Rather jolly, isn’t it?”
Bert was spared a reply, for just then the mysterious Bowles appeared
in the bedroom doorway. “Shan’t I unpack the bag, sir?” he asked.
“No, never mind it, thanks.” Ordway consulted a watch. “I fancy you’d
better beat it, Bowles. Your train leaves in fifteen minutes, you know.”
“Yes, sir, but there’s another one, sir, a bit later.”
“Are you sure of that?” Ordway glanced inquiringly at Bert. “He’s
wrong, eh?”
“Yes, the next one doesn’t go until seven-five. If he wants to get
this one he will have to hustle. It’s a good ten minutes’ walk to the
station.”
“Thanks. This gentleman’s right, Bowles. You’d better start along. You
know your way, eh? Tell mother I’m quite all right; everything’s very
jolly.” The boy walked to the door with the man and pulled a leather
purse from his pocket. “Better treat yourself to a bit of a jinks when
you get to town. You’ll have four hours to wait, you know. Good-by,
Bowles.”
“Thank you, Master Hugh. Good-by, sir. I hung the coat in the closet,
sir, and the keys are on the dresser.”
“Right, Bowles. Now beat it or you’ll miss that train. Good-by.”
Ordway sauntered back to the study, smiling. “Bowles always gets
time-tables twisted,” he chuckled. “Rum chap that way. Bet you anything
you like he will miss that train.”
“He’s got twelve minutes,” said Bert. “Is he a――a servant?”
“Bowles? Yes, he’s been looking after me ever since I was out of the
nursery. He’s a little bit of all right, Bowles.” Ordway seated himself
on the farther end of the seat, looked interestedly about the campus,
no longer silent and empty, and finally turned his gaze to Bert.
Again the color crept into his cheeks and he said diffidently, almost
stammeringly:
“I say, Winslow, I hope you’re going to like me, you know.”