TWO PAIRS OF SKATES
He didn’t set out for the Morrises house until nearly eight o’clock.
They had been busier than usual in the store and had not got rid of the
last customer until almost a quarter-past six. Then, although Tom spent
no unnecessary time on his supper, it was way after seven by the time
he hurried around to his room to change his clothes. It would never do,
he assured himself, to make a call in his every-day suit! As he was
far more particular in dressing than he had ever been before in his
life, he made slow work of it and was horrified to find that his watch
proclaimed the time to be twelve minutes of eight! In something of a
panic then, he dashed downstairs and along Locust Street, the bundle
of skates under his arm. He had meant to walk to the Morrises, but now
it was necessary to spend a nickel and ride there by trolley car. Why,
they might be getting ready for bed by the time he got there!
He was a good deal excited. Also, he was a good deal nervous. He
remembered reading somewhere once that when calling you were supposed
to present your visiting card to the maid or the butler or whoever
it was that opened the door to you. Tom had no visiting card, very
naturally, and he wondered whether the lack of it would matter very
much. He might explain to the maid that he had accidentally left his
cards at home in his other suit. Then he reflected that when you
carried visiting cards you were presumed to have more than two suits,
and that it would be better to say that he had left the cards on his
bureau. Then, having apologised in such fashion, he would give his name
and ask to see Mrs. Morris. He guessed that would be all right. He
rather hoped, though, it would be a man instead of a maid who answered
the door. He could make his explanation more easily to a man.
He wondered whether Sidney Morris would mind his coming. He hoped
Sidney wouldn’t think he had suggested the visit. He wouldn’t think
for a moment of forcing his acquaintance on a chap like Sidney Morris,
who was one of the most popular and sought-after fellows in school!
And besides, Tom reflected, the Morrises must be very well-off, and
it didn’t seem likely that Sidney would care to have much to do with
a fellow who worked in a store. Of course it was perfectly bully of
Mrs. Morris to want him to know her son, but he feared that Mrs. Morris
hadn’t stopped to consider the difference in their positions.
The car seemed to crawl through town, and Tom, in a fever of impatience
lest his visit be timed too late, glanced at his watch every two or
three blocks. Finally, though, the conductor called Alameda Avenue and
Tom descended. It wasn’t hard to find the Morris residence, for the
number of the house was plainly in view on each of the round electric
globes that flanked the gate. A short path led to a stone-pillared
porch. The house was not so grand and impressive as he had feared it
might be. It was of stone as to the lower story and shingles above
and had many dormers of different sizes. But Tom didn’t have time to
receive more than a fleeting impression of its outward appearance then,
for a dozen strides took him to the door. There he paused a moment, in
the soft glow of an overhead light, to rehearse his speech to the maid
or the butler. Finally he pressed the button beside the wide doorway
and waited. An inner door opened and Tom saw disappointedly through
a meshed curtain that it was a woman who was answering his summons.
But when the outer door gave way it was Mrs. Morris herself who stood
there. In the background a maid in cap and apron hovered uncertainly
for a minute and disappeared. Tom, in his surprise, almost recited his
piece about the visiting cards to Mrs. Morris, and would have doubtless
had not that lady held out her hand and taken the conduct of affairs
at once. Before he knew it, Tom was inside, fumbling with his hat and
holding out his bundle insistently.
“I brought the skates,” he said.
“That’s very nice of you. And we’ll take them upstairs in just a
moment. First, though, I want you to meet my husband. I’ve told him
about you.”
Tom followed her across a soft-piled rug and through a wide doorway
into a room all warmth and colour and leather chairs and book-lined
walls and low lights. A very tall man with grey moustaches and a deep,
pleasant voice shook hands with him, spoke of the cold weather, thanked
him for coming, and, as Tom backed away, colliding with a table, said
he hoped he’d see him again. Tom was glad when he was safely through
the library doors once more, and Mrs. Morris, chatting gaily to put him
at his ease, led the way up a wide, carpeted stairway so gradual of
ascent that one hardly realised one was climbing. Another broad hall,
with silvery walls hung with many unobtrusive pictures and furnished
with easy-chairs and couches in cretonne, received him, and across this
he followed to a doorway.
“Here he is, Sid,” said Mrs. Morris. She stood aside to let Tom enter
first. “You see,” she went on, “I can’t announce you by name because I
don’t know what your name is.”
“It’s Tom Pollock, ma’am,” stammered Tom.
“Well, then, this is Tom, Sidney. And he’s brought the skates for you
to look at. Tom, this is my son, Sidney.”
The boy in the easy-chair held out his left hand. “Don’t mind my not
getting up, do you?” he asked. “They won’t let me move around much yet.
Glad to meet you. I think I’ve seen you over at school.”
Mrs. Morris pushed forward a chair and Tom sat down, holding his hat
very firmly and finding nothing to say just then. Sidney was already
undoing the package, frankly eager. Mrs. Morris leaned above him
smilingly. Tom’s eyes wandered about the room. It was certainly jolly.
He had never seen anything at all like it, had never even imagined that
such a room could exist. There were two recessed windows with wide,
comfortable seats beneath them and low book-cases at each side. (Just
the place, Tom thought, to curl up and read.) The walls were papered in
grey and the big rug that not quite covered the floor was grey, too,
with a broad border of dark blue. The bed, on which the clothes were
neatly and invitingly turned down, was a sort of a grey as well, and
the silken coverlid that lay across the foot was grey and blue. Even
the furniture and the window curtains repeated the colours. A small
desk near the chair in which the occupant of the splendid apartment was
seated held books and papers and writing materials and a green-shaded
electric light that could be twisted about in any direction and to
any height. On the walls hung a few plainly-framed pictures, while
above the fireplace, in which a coal fire glowed cosily, were two
gaily-hued posters, a pair of fencing foils, crossed under a mask, and
a yard-long photograph of a football game in progress. Beneath that, on
the mantel, was a long row of photographs. Tom’s examination, a little
envious by now, was interrupted by Sidney.
“I say, Mumsie, they’re peaches! Gee, I don’t know which pair I want.
What do you say, Tom?”
“I--I guess I wouldn’t know which to take if it was me,” answered Tom
shyly. “They’re both dandy, aren’t they?”
“Know anything about these tubular ones?” asked Sidney. “I don’t think
I’ve ever seen a pair before.”
“They’re new,” said Tom. “They look pretty strong, though.”
“They’ve got a dandy edge. I sort of think I’ll take these, Mumsie.
Gee, I wish I could try them to-morrow! You skate, don’t you, Tom?”
“Not very well.”
“Ever play hockey?”
Tom shook his head. “Not real hockey, I guess. We kids used to knock
a hard rubber ball or a hunk of wood around on the ice. We had goal
posts, too, but I suppose real hockey is--is scientific, isn’t it?”
Sidney replied with enthusiasm that it certainly was. When Sidney
was enthusiastic his brown eyes sparkled and his lean, good-looking
face lighted up from the firm, pointed chin to the dark hair brushed
smoothly back from the forehead. Sidney was sixteen, small-boned, and
as lithe as a greyhound. As right end on the school eleven he had won
laurels all season until an accident to the shoulder, that was still
immovably bandaged, had laid him off. In baseball, too, in hockey, and,
in fact, in all games and athletic endeavours he excelled by reason
of a natural ability. He was the sort of boy who, if thrown into the
water, will strike out and swim as inherently as a puppy; who if handed
a baseball bat will swing it as knowingly as an experienced player.
Lean, supple, and graceful, his muscles were as responsive to demands
upon them as--well, as a kitten’s! And anyone who has watched a kitten
at play will appreciate the simile. He had a temperament to match.
He was ardent, impulsive, and at times quick-tempered. He possessed
good judgment, but was liable to be biassed by his sympathies. He was
extremely popular at school and something of a leader in the sophomore
class. Being an only child, it was a good deal of a miracle that he had
not been spoiled. Most of the credit was due to Mr. Morris, but much to
Sidney himself.
While Sidney was still explaining hockey, Mrs. Morris left the room.
Only Tom saw her go, for Sidney was much too interested in his subject.
“I’m going out for the team,” he explained. “Why don’t you try it? Even
if you don’t make it, you’ll have a lot of fun. Why don’t you!”
“I wouldn’t have time,” said Tom regretfully. “I work in Cummings and
Wright’s after school every day.”
“I forgot that. Do you like it?”
“Yes, pretty well. They’re awfully nice to me there and I guess I was
lucky to get a job with them. Of course, though, I’d like mighty well
to--to play hockey and football and things, you see.”
“That’s tough, isn’t it?” said Sidney sympathetically. “I suppose--I
mean--well, you _have_ to do it, don’t you?”
“Yes,” returned Tom. “It pays for my room. I live down on Locust
Street, by the railroad.” He said this with just a trace of defiance
and watched to see how Sidney would take it. Probably he wouldn’t be
very anxious to pursue the acquaintance of a fellow who lived in such
an unfashionable part of town. But if Sidney was shocked or surprised
he certainly didn’t show it.
“That must be pretty good fun,” he said, “living all by yourself like
that. You don’t have to tell anyone where you’re going or anything, do
you? And you can stay out as late as you like, too! I’d like to be able
to do that. Say, I think you’re a plucky kid to work like you do and
earn money. I wonder if I could if I had to?” He was silent a moment,
turning the matter over in his mind and frowning a little. “I don’t
believe so,” he said finally. “I guess I’d just starve to death if it
came to earning my living!”
Tom had no views on the subject and so asked about Sidney’s injury.
“Doc says I can go out in three or four days. He’s a bit of an old
granny, I think. I wish _he_ had to sit around here with his shoulder
done up in a vise! And after I get out I’m not to use that arm for
nearly two weeks. Hang it, by the time I can do anything they’ll have
the hockey team all made up!” And he kicked disgustedly at the wrapping
paper which had fallen from his knees. “A fellow was in here this
afternoon and he said the ice was bully. Say, do you folks keep hockey
sticks?”
“No, just skates,” said Tom.
“I should think you would. You’d sell a lot of them. The only place
where you can get them is Merrill’s. Why don’t you get Cummings and
Wright to keep them?”
“I’ll speak to Mr. Cummings about it,” said Tom. “We got a lot of
dandy--dandy--what are those things you slide down the snow on? The
things that are like sleds without any runners?”
“Toboggans? By jiminy, that’s what I’ll ask the folks to get me for
Christmas! Some day I’ll come down and have a look at them. Are you
generally there after school?”
“Yes, unless they send me on an errand. I have to trot around a good
deal.” Tom arose, still tightly clutching his hat. “I guess I’d better
be going now,” he added.
“Oh, hold on! Don’t go yet. It isn’t late, is it?”
“It’s after nine,” said Tom.
“That’s early. And you don’t have to get home until you want to.”
“I--I’ve got some studying to do,” responded Tom. He really wanted to
stay, but feared Mrs. Morris would think he was overdoing it.
“Well,” said Sidney regretfully, “if you have to! Will you take this
other pair back or shall I send them to-morrow?”
“I’ll take them,” said Tom. “It’s no bother.”
“All right. Tell them to charge the other pair to my father, please.
Thanks for bringing them. And say, what are you doing to-morrow night?”
“Doing? Just--just nothing particular, I guess.”
“Well, can’t you drop in for awhile? I’ll do as much for you if you get
laid up,” laughed Sidney. “I wish you would, honest! You don’t know how
tired a fellow gets of just reading. I’ve got my lessons up to next
week some time, I guess, and I’ve read every book in sight. Some of the
fellows come in now and then, but they don’t want to stay more than a
minute. I don’t blame them, though; there’s too much doing.”
“I’d like to very much,” answered Tom, “if--if your mother thinks I
ought to.”
“Of course she does! Don’t you, Mumsie?” Mrs. Morris entered at that
moment. “Don’t you think he ought to come around to-morrow evening and
see me!” explained Sidney.
“I think we’d all be very glad if he would,” responded Mrs. Morris
kindly. “Perhaps, though, he has too much to do, dear.”
“No’m, I haven’t, and I’d like to come very much.”
“That’s the ticket! Come early and we’ll have a fine long chin. Say,
Mumsie, what do you suppose he does? Works in Cummings and Wright’s and
makes money to pay for his room and board! What do you know about that?”
“I think it’s very creditable, don’t you, Sid?”
“Rather! Wish I could get out and do something like that! It would be
jolly, I should think.”
Mrs. Morris smiled and patted his shoulder.
“I don’t earn enough for my board, too,” corrected Tom. “Just for my
lodging. They don’t pay me very much because I’m not there very long,
you see. I saved up some money last summer and the summer before. My
board comes out of that.”
“Bet they don’t pay you enough,” said Sidney convincedly. “I know old
man Wright. He’s Billy Wright’s father, you know, Mumsie. He’s a bit of
a tightwad, I guess.”
“That’s awful slang, Sid,” Mrs. Morris reproved smilingly. “I’m sure
you don’t use slang, Tom, do you?”
Tom grinned embarrassedly and Sidney chuckled. “I--I’m afraid so,
ma’am, sometimes,” owned Tom.
“I’ll bet you do! Why, say, Mumsie uses slang herself, Tom!”
“Sidney!”
“Yes, you do! The other day you said something was ‘the limit.’”
“It was the butter we got from the new man,” laughed Mrs. Morris. “And
it was the limit, too! Are you going to take this pair of skates, dear?”
“Yes’m; and he’s going to lug the other back. I guess you’ll have to
wrap them up, Tom. I’m not much good yet.”
Tom had to lay his hat aside to do it and somehow losing hold of his
hat seemed to increase his embarrassment. When the skates were back in
the paper, it was with vast relief that he seized his hat once more. He
had been aware during the operation that Mrs. Morris and her son had
been talking together in low tones and now, when he stood up to leave,
Sidney said:
“I say, Tom, Mumsie says----”
“No, Sid!”
“Well, anyway----” He paused and looked appealingly at his mother. “You
say it, Mumsie, please.”
“Very well,” replied Mrs. Morris with her pleasant laugh. “Sid and I,
Tom, want you to keep those other skates for yourself. They’re a sort
of Christmas present from the Morris family. It’s very near Christmas,
you know.”
“He doesn’t have to wait until Christmas to use them, though, does he?”
said Sidney. “And, I say, Mumsie, maybe he’d rather have a pair like
mine.”
“Would you?” asked Mrs. Morris.
“No’m. I mean--I--I’m awfully much obliged--and thank you very
much--but I guess I’d rather not,” stammered Tom in an ecstasy of
embarrassment.
“Don’t be a chump!” begged Sidney. “Of course you’ll take them. Why
not? After coming all the way out here to-night and----”
“That was part of my work, anyway,” said Tom. “And I wanted to come----”
“But that isn’t the reason we want you to have them,” said Mrs. Morris
sweetly. “It’s just because you’re--oh, just because you’re a nice boy
and we like you. We do, don’t we, Sid?”
“Sure,” laughed Sidney. “Say, Tom, you keep them and some day we’ll go
out to the pond and I’ll show you how to use a hockey stick.”
“Why--why, I suppose--if you really want me to have them----”
“We really do, Tom,” said Mrs. Morris.
“They’re pretty expensive, though,” Tom demurred anxiously. “And I’ve
got a pair already.”
“Are they as good as those?” asked Sidney.
“Oh, no; they’re just a pair of wooden strap skates. They--they do very
well, though.”
“Pshaw, a fellow can’t skate with straps around his foot,” said Sidney
contemptuously. “You just see how much better you’ll get along with
those. If you’d rather have a pair like these, though, you can have
them; can’t he, Mumsie?”
“I’d rather keep these,” said Tom shyly, “because--because they’re the
ones you give--gave me.” And he looked gratefully at Mrs. Morris.
She clapped her hands softly. “Oh, we do like you, Tom!” she cried.
“That was a perfect thing to say, wasn’t it, Sid?”
Sidney grinned. “He’s gone on you, Mumsie.”
“Sidney!”
“He is, though.” He laughed across at Tom. “All the fellows fall in
love with my mother, Tom. You can’t help it.”
Tom blushed hotly, and Mrs. Morris said reprovingly: “Sid, you
shouldn’t say such awful things, dear. Tom may not understand your fun.”
“I can understand what--what he said,” muttered Tom boldly, and Sidney
applauded by rattling the skates he held. Mrs. Morris blushed a little
herself then.
“You’re both rather awful,” she said. “And it’s about time for you to
be thinking of bed, Sid. Come, Tom, we’ll leave him to consider his
sins. I’ll be up again, Sid, in a few minutes.”
Tom said good night to Sidney, repeating his promise to return
to-morrow evening, and followed Mrs. Morris downstairs. At the door she
held out her hand to him and Tom took it awkwardly.
“Good night, Tom,” she said. “Thanks for coming. Sidney enjoyed your
visit very much. And so did I. And don’t forget to come again.”
“No’m, thanks. Good night, Mrs. Morris.”
“Good night. And, Tom!” Tom was outside now and the door was slowly
closing. “_Please_ don’t worry about your hair!”