CHRISTMAS DAYS
Arnold had his wish that Christmas, for when Toby awoke on the morning
of the twenty-fifth in his little room under the eaves he found that
a miracle had occurred while he slept. In fact the miracle was still
occurring! Greenhaven was smothered in snow, and big, lazy flakes were
still falling from a leaden, misty void. Harbor Street, as it wound
northward, showed a single line of footprints, and those were fast
being obliterated. The boat yard, across the road, was covered with a
white mantle. Beyond, the Cove was dimly discernible, gray-green. The
stern of a coal-scow peered through the white mist from the end of
Rollinson’s Wharf and a little black fishing boat swung at moorings
near by. It was a white, silent and, to Toby, very wonderful world that
met the sight that Christmas morning. But Toby didn’t linger long at
his window, for the room was cold. Instead, wondering whether Arnold
had discovered the snow yet, and deciding, with a chuckle, that he
hadn’t, since it was only seven and Arnold was not a very early riser
when at home, he hurried into his clothes and was presently on his way
down the creaky staircase.
Appetizing odors came from the kitchen, but the dining-room was
deserted save for Mr. Murphy. Mr. Murphy’s greeting was a strident
“Hello, dearie! Won’t you come in and take off your bonnet?” After
which he sidled lumbersomely along his perch, put his head coyly on one
side and chuckled.
“Hello, you old scoundrel,” said Toby. “Merry Christmas to you.” He
rubbed the parrot’s head with a finger and Mr. Murphy closed his beady
eyes and enjoyed it. Toby was glad there was no one there, for it gave
him an opportunity to place the packages he had brought around the
table. Others, he saw, had been ahead of him, for already each plate
held its quota of mysterious parcels tied with red ribbon. Then Phebe
came in from the kitchen and Mr. Tucker stamped in from outdoors and
Christmas greetings mingled, while Mr. Murphy, who loved excitement,
bobbed about on his perch and cried “All hands stand by!” and “Come to
breakfast! Come to breakfast! Come to breakfast!” And in the middle of
the hubbub appeared Toby’s mother bearing a big platter, and a minute
later they were all seated at the table.
That was a very merry meal. One after another the packages were
undone and the contents exclaimed upon and passed from hand to hand
to be admired and every one quite forgot to eat anything until all
the presents had been opened. Mr. Tucker was very much pleased with
his shaving set, and Phebe, who was thirteen and fast becoming a very
pretty young lady, wound the blue-and-white silk scarf Toby had given
her round her throat and refused to be parted from it. Toby’s gift
to his mother was a pair of gloves which Mrs. Tucker declared very
much too fine for her. The fact that they were a full size too small
was not divulged. Toby’s own presents were simple and practical;
a dressing-gown and handkerchiefs from his mother and sister, a
five-dollar gold piece from his father, a pair of woolen mittens from
Long Tim and a watch-fob of braided leather from Shorty Joe. Tim and
Joe worked in Mr. Tucker’s boat yard. When, later in the day, Billy
Plank, the postman, plowed up to the door, there was another gift
for Toby. Of course he guessed right away who it was from, and his
guess proved right. There was a card on top of the little blue box
which read: “Merry Christmas to Toby from Arnold.” When the layer of
cotton had been removed, as well as much white tissue paper, the gift
resolved itself into a pair of gold cuff-links with the letters T.
T. intertwined on them. Of course, as Toby said, they were much too
expensive for his use, but they pleased him immensely and he carried
them around in his pocket all day and viewed them proudly at intervals.
By comparison, his gift to Arnold, an inexpensive little leather case
for pins and studs, looked rather mean, but he was much too sensible to
be worried over it.
After breakfast he set out to visit Long Tim and Shorty Joe and deliver
the presents he had brought them, two ties of most remarkable hues
which, judged solely as color effects, had been stupendously cheap at
thirty-seven cents apiece! Fortunately, as Toby well knew, both Joe
and Tim were fond of bright colors, and his gifts were received with
open-eyed admiration. It was almost noon when he at last got away
from Shorty Joe, who had much to tell him of happenings during his
three months’ absence from Greenhaven. They weren’t very important
happenings, but they were of interest to Toby. Dinner was at two
o’clock, and Toby’s Uncle Benedict and Aunt Sarah, from Good Ground,
arrived a few minutes before, Aunt Sarah bringing him a pair of worsted
gloves which she had knitted. Toby was sorry that he had neglected to
provide a gift for her, but Aunt Sarah didn’t appear to notice the
omission. Dinner was a very jolly and very hearty affair, and after it
was over, Toby, resisting a desire to go to sleep, persuaded Phebe to
don her new muffler and go for a walk with him. It was getting well
along toward dusk by that time and the snow, which had fallen steadily
since before midnight, had almost stopped. They took the road through
the town and then turned up the hill behind the little village from
which a wonderful view of Spanish Harbor and the bay lay before them.
They had lots to talk about and Phebe was full of questions regarding
Toby’s school adventures. On the way back they met two of Toby’s
friends, Billy Conners and Gus Whalen, and the quartette went on to
the little white cottage around the end of the Cove and satisfied
surprisingly vigorous hungers with slices of cold turkey and cranberry
tarts.
Toby returned to New York Monday afternoon and spent a glorious four
days with Arnold. They went twice to theaters, had several sleigh rides
far out into the country, patronized the “movies” two afternoons,
explored the Park, lunched one day with Arnold’s father at a sumptuous
club and, in short, were busy every moment and went to bed each night
so tired that they fell asleep the instant their heads touched the
pillows.
On Friday Arnold went back to Greenhaven with Toby and shared the
latter’s none too generous bed, since a guest chamber was something the
little house didn’t boast, until Sunday. A sharp breeze Friday night
provided fair skating on the marsh and it was on Saturday that Toby
received his first instruction in the duties of a hockey player. They
had no hockey sticks and so they used two lengths of wood that Long
Tim cut for them in the boat shed and a block of mahogany. Toby found
that while he could out-skate his chum in a straight-away race, the
latter could out-maneuver him with ease. Arnold could stop and turn
and dodge with the quickness of a cat! Toby’s efforts to emulate him
resulted in many laughable and sometimes jarring upsets. Perhaps that
lesson didn’t increase his knowledge beyond showing him what a lot
he had to learn, but it provided a heap of fun. Sunday morning they
tramped over to the Head, through a biting easterly gale, and Arnold,
who had provided himself with the key of his father’s summer house
there, rummaged through the dark rooms for an elusive baseman’s glove.
Eventually it came to light, but not before the two boys were pretty
well chilled through. They tried to light a fire in the kitchen range
to warm themselves by before setting out on the return journey, but the
range absolutely refused to draw and they had finally to flee, choking
and coughing from the smoke that billowed through the cracks. Half-way
back Arnold suddenly began to laugh and in answer to Toby’s concerned
inquiries explained that the reason the stove hadn’t drawn was because
the chimney-tops were carefully covered, a fact which he had forgotten
until the moment!
Arnold went home in the afternoon, Toby and Phebe accompanying him
as far as the station at Riverport. After that the remainder of the
Christmas vacation simply melted away, much as the snow did on Monday
when the easterly gale swept around to the south and a radiant sun
smiled down on the dripping world. It didn’t seem to Toby that he had
been away from Yardley Hall more than a half-dozen days, but here it
was Tuesday and he was on his way back again! But going back wasn’t
unpleasant. On the contrary, if anything had happened to prevent his
going back he would have been a most unhappy youth. There was lots to
look forward to, hockey, amongst other things, for Toby had by now
decided that it was his bounden duty to go to the aid of the School in
its commendable endeavor to turn out a winning seven. As there was a
whole hour and a quarter to spend before he was to meet Arnold at the
station, he set out, not without trepidation, to purchase one of those
invaluable little blue-covered books which tell you how to perform
every sort of athletic stunt from swinging Indian clubs to throwing
a fifty-six-pound weight. Of course Toby wasn’t interested in clubs
or weights just now. What he was after was a handbook on hockey, and
after some searching up and down and across the town, with one eye on
the clock, so to speak, he found it. You may be sure that Toby’s scant
funds lay at the bottom of his most inaccessible pocket. Had he so much
as sighted a brown overcoat he would have run! When Arnold found him he
was sitting in a seat in the waiting-room, his feet on his old yellow
valise and his eyes glued to page 19 of “How to Play Hockey.”
They boarded the ten-forty train and were soon gliding through the long
tunnel on their way back to school and duties. But they didn’t sit in a
parlor car this time. Toby would have none of such luxury, and rather
than be parted from him Arnold shared his seat in a day coach. There
were some twenty or thirty other Yardley fellows on board and the time
went swiftly, and almost before they knew it they were crossing the
little bridge and the school buildings were smiling down welcomingly
from the hill and the trainman was calling “Wissining! Wissining!” at
the top of his voice.
Well, it was good to be back again, Toby thought as, spurning carriages
and valiantly lugging their bags, they set off along the road to
school. Oxford Hall, imposing and a bit grim by reason of its gray
granite walls, met their sight first as they left the tiny village and
started up the hill. At the top of the tall pole in front the flag was
snapping in the brisk breeze. Merle Hall, the home of the Preparatory
Class boys, peered around the corner of Oxford, almost frivolous by
comparison with its red brick and limestone trimming. A moment later,
following the road to the right at the beginning of its wide swing
around the base of the Prospect, as the plateau was called, other
buildings came into sight: Whitson, like Oxford, of granite; Clarke, a
replica of Merle; and, just showing between the other buildings, Dudley
Hall, the exclusive residence of the graduating class. The buildings at
Yardley follow the curve of the Prospect, forming a somewhat stunted
letter J, with the Kingdon Gymnasium, out of sight from the road, doing
duty as the tip of the curve and Dudley set in back like a misplaced
dot. From the gymnasium the ground slopes gently back to the river, and
there is the playing field and the boat house and landing and, further
beyond, a fair nine-hole golf course. Across the river from the field
lies a wide expanse of salt meadow known as Meeker’s Marsh. A little
way upstream is Flat Island and a little further downstream is Loon
Island. And not far from Loon Island is the footbridge that connects
Wissining with Greenburg and the railway bridge across which trains
dash or trundle at almost every hour of the day or night. From the
bridges the little river runs fairly straight to the Sound, a mile or
so away.
But we have got far from the two boys who, bags swinging――and beginning
to feel extremely heavy by now――are breasting the last slope of the
well-kept roadway. The old gray granite front of Whitson greets them
and Arnold, followed by Toby, seeks the portal and climbs the worn
stairs to the second floor. There, while Arnold unpacks his bag, Toby
lodges himself on the window-seat and, hugging his knees, talks and
gazes off over the tops of the trees to the sparkling waters of the
Sound and feels for the moment very glad to be back there and very
determined to study hard all through this new term. And presently Homer
Wilkins bangs the door open and comes in dragging a big kit-bag and
conversation becomes ejaculatory and somewhat noisy, and questions and
answers tumble over each other. Wilkins, who shares Number 12 with
Arnold, is a big, jolly looking chap of seventeen, a third class boy
who should be in the second but who never has time enough to do the
necessary amount of studying. Another train reaches the station and
another influx of returning students comes up the hill, and Arnold and
Toby and Homer squeeze their bodies half out the window and hail them.
And soon after Toby takes up his bag again and climbs the last flight
and finds himself once more in his little room under the slates, with
the frayed armchair and the wardrobe whose doors won’t stay shut unless
wedged and the old worn-out rug and――yes, a distinct odor of benzine!