EVAN MAKES ACQUAINTANCES
It was still broad daylight when they left the entrance of Holden Hall
and started across the yard, the golden end of a perfect September
day. Down the long sloping hill, beyond the athletic field, the waters
of Lake Matunuxet showed blue between the encircling foliage. Farther
east the river wound its way through marsh and meadow toward the bay,
some three miles distant. The railroad embankment was visible here
and there, and due east the little town of Riverport lay huddled. The
school buildings described a rude crescent, with Holden, the newest of
the three dormitories, at one point and the gymnasium at the other.
Next to Holden stood Second House, with the laboratory tucked in
behind. Then came Academy; then First; then the gymnasium. Behind First
House stood the principal’s cottage, and here the land sloped abruptly
upward in forest, and Mount Graytop raised its bald crown of scarred
and riven granite hundreds of feet above the surrounding country. The
elms in the yard still held green, although here and there a fleck of
russet showed. On the lower slopes of the mountain a well-defined belt
of maples was already turning yellow.
Rob and Evan were not the only boys who had recognized the advisability
of being early on hand at supper in order to choose tables to their
liking. The corridor leading to the dining-hall was pretty thickly
sprinkled with boys of all ages between twelve and eighteen. Rob was
greeted many times, and Evan was introduced to at least a dozen fellows
whose names he didn’t remember five minutes afterward. It was all very
confused and noisy and jolly, and in the middle of it the doors were
flung open, and the waiting throng surged into the dining-hall and made
a decorous but determined rush for the tables.
Evan followed Rob down the room and across to a table under one of the
broad windows. Here, however, a difficulty presented itself. The table
seated eight, and seven of the places were already occupied. Evan,
observing that, hung back, but Rob beckoned him on. At one side of the
vacant seat sat a stout, cherub-faced youth of about Evan’s age. Rob
drew back the vacant chair and fixed his gaze on the stout youth.
“Why,――Jelly,――” he drawled in mock surprise, “what are you doing here?
You’re surely not thinking of sitting with your back to the window in
all this draft, you with your delicate constitution? What would your
parents say, Jelly? No, no, out you go. We can’t have you falling ill;
flowers are too expensive.”
“I got this place, Rob, and I’ve a right to keep it,” answered the
boy. He spoke defiantly enough, but his tones lacked conviction, and
he paused in the operation of unfolding his napkin. Rob patted him
tolerantly on the shoulder.
“It isn’t a question of right, Jelly; it’s a question of what is best
for you. You know you can’t stand a draft; I know it; we all know it.
It’s your welfare we’re considering. Now if you look sharp you can
sneak across and drop into that chair that Hunt Firman has temporarily
vacated; but you want to be quick.”
Jelly was quick. He was out of his chair and around the table on the
instant; and before Firman, who had gone across to a neighboring table
to greet an acquaintance, was aware of it, Jelly had stolen his place.
A contest ensued, Firman trying to oust Jelly without drawing the
attention of the faculty, and Jelly, stable with his one hundred and
forty-odd pounds, paying no attention to threats or blandishments.
“I’ll lick you after supper!” hissed Firman.
“Wonder if we’ll have ham to-night,” remarked Jelly, serenely, to the
table at large.
“Get up, do you hear? That’s my place, you big roly-poly!”
“I smell hot biscuits, anyway. Pass me the butter, Ned.”
“You wait till I get hold of you! Rob, make him give me my seat. It’s
all your fault, anyhow. You might――”
A bell tapped somewhere, and an instant hush fell over the hall. Firman
ran to cover, subsiding in the first unoccupied chair he could find,
leaving Jelly master of the situation. The laughter died into chuckles,
the chuckles to snickers, and the snickers to silence, and from the
head of the hall came the deep voice of the principal, Dr. Farren,
asking grace.
“I’d rather be on this side, anyway,” announced Jelly, as soon as
conversation began again. “It’s too cold over there in winter, Rob.”
“Well, by that time, Jelly,” was the sober reply, “we may have you so
strong and sturdy that you can stand it over here.”
Even Jelly joined in the laugh that ensued. Evan was aware that the six
boys who, with Rob and himself, filled the table were viewing him with
unconcealed interest and was relieved when Rob proceeded to introduce
him.
“Fellow Luculluses,” said Rob, “I take pleasure in introducing to you
my friend Mr. Kingsford. Mr. Kingsford is honoring the school with his
presence for the first time. He hopes to remain with us at least until
the end of the term. Kingsford, on your right you will find Mr. Law,
of the well-known firm of Law and Order. Next, Mr. Pierce. Next, a
gentleman whose acquaintance I haven’t the pleasure――”
“Peterson,” prompted Jelly.
“Mr. Peterson. Next to Mr. Peterson, Mr. George Washington Jell; Mr.
Jell speaking eloquently, as you can see, for the excellence of the
board provided. At the other end of the table you may dimly observe Mr.
Devens. And here we have Mr. Wright, on my right. Now everybody knows
everybody, and Jelly is requested to stop taking all the biscuits, as
there are others here present.”
It was a very jolly meal, with a good deal of laughter and much
fragmentary conversation. The supper was excellent, and Evan was hungry
and did full justice to the hashed chicken on toast, baked potatoes,
cold lamb, hot biscuits, preserves, and cake. He also accepted a second
cup of cocoa at Rob’s suggestion, and then drank a glass of milk just
to make certain of keeping life in his body until morning. And while he
ate, as he took only a small part in the talk, he had opportunity to
look about him.
The dining-hall was large and cheerful and well lighted. It occupied
all one end of Second House, and so had windows on three sides.
Between the windows were pictures, most of them photographs of Roman
and Grecian ruins, while at either side of the door stood pedestals
holding, on one side, a bust of Socrates and, on the other, a bust of
Washington. There were twenty-odd tables, accommodating at present one
hundred and seventy students and the faculty and staff of the school.
Dr. Farren occupied a small table at the head of the hall with the
school secretary, Mr. Holt, and the matron, Mrs. Crane, or, as she was
called, “Mrs. Crow.”
“I don’t know how she got that name,” said Rob, as he pointed out the
dignitaries. “Maybe it’s on account of her black hair. Anyhow, it
isn’t because the fellows don’t like her. She’s a dear. That’s Holt
next to her. He’s secretary. No one knows him very well. And there’s
the Doctor. The rest of the faculty is scattered. The white-haired
chap over at the far table is just ‘Joe’; real name Alden; Greek and
Latin. The slim, youngish fellow over there is ‘Mac,’ who tries his
level best to make me discern the beauties of algebra. He also teaches
history, and it’s a cinch. The big fellow down here on your left is
‘Tommy’ Osgood. Tommy teaches chemistry and is also and likewise
physical director; and he’s a tartar. Mr. Cupples, affectionately known
as ‘Cup,’ is down there by the door. Cup pours French and German into
you. Now you know the faculty. Be kind to them and very patient. After
supper I’ll take you over to Mrs. Crow’s. You’d better get on the right
side of her, because she’s a mighty good sort and can do a lot for you
if she wants to. And I’ll try and see the Doctor and tell him about
your consumption.”
“I never had a cold in my life,” laughed Evan.
“Knock wood. And if the Doctor calls you over to the office, try and
look as delicate as possible. You might cough a little, too. A hacking
cough would help a lot.” Rob turned from Evan and addressed Gus Devens,
a large, ruddy-faced youth. “I say, Gus, what does the foot-ball
situation look like to your practised eye?”
“Like the dickens,” answered Gus, promptly and heartily.
“About the same as usual, then,” suggested Pierce. “Say, fellows, why
doesn’t some one do something?”
“Such as what?” asked Rob.
“Fire Hopkins!” blurted Jelly.
“Oh, Hop means well enough,” said Joe Law.
“Yes, he does!” answered Devens, sarcastically. “I’ll wager I could
pick a better team out of the two lower classes than Hop will get
together this fall. Adams will lick us again as sure as fate. They’ve
got almost all of last year’s team left. Hop may mean well enough――only
I don’t believe it――but he certainly doesn’t _do_ well enough. I’m sick
of seeing the school beaten every year.”
“We won year before last,” said Law.
“Yes, we’ve won once in five years,” said Rob. “I suppose that’s all we
ought to expect. They tell us that defeat is much better for us morally
than victory, victory enlarging the cranium and making us vain and
arrogant and unlovely. Remember ancient Rome.”
“What about ancient Rome?” demanded Jelly.
“Eh? Oh――oh, nothing; just remember it. I heard Mac say that once in
class, and it sounded rather well.” When the laugh had passed, Rob
addressed Devens again: “Are you going out this year?”
“Oh, I suppose so,” answered Devens, disgustedly. “This will make the
third time. But I’m sick of getting knocked around on the second team.
I’m going to tell Hop that if he doesn’t give me a fair show for the
first, I’ll quit, and he can find some one else to do the human stone
wall act for him. Look here, you fellows, you all know, every one of
you, that I can play all around Bert Reid.”
“That’s no joke,” said Wright, and the others concurred.
“Well, then, why can’t I get on? Favoritism, that’s all it is. Every
one knows it, and there’s no harm in saying it. I don’t talk like this
outside of school, of course, but――”
“What we ought to have is a coach,” declared Peterson.
“Of course we ought, and we’ve tried hard enough to get one ever since
I’ve been here,” answered Devens. “One year it’s one reason and the
next year it’s another; anyway, we don’t get him.”
“Hop said last year he’d be mighty glad to have a coach,” said Law.
“Yes, but he wanted a fellow he knew and wouldn’t talk about any one
else. If the Doctor would take a decent interest in things――”
“He always begins to hum and haw about ‘the danger of investing sport
with undue prominence,’” said Pierce, disgustedly.
“Oh, the Doctor means well, too,” protested Rob. “I’ve got an idea in
my head, you chaps, and some day soon I’ll spring it. I’m going to let
it seethe a bit first.”
“Another of your numerous patents?” asked Jelly, with a grin.
“Maybe. Look here, Gus, my friend Kingsford wants to try for the team.
I told him what he was up against, but he has the――the indomitable will
and reckless courage of his forebears, and refuses to be intimidated.
You sort of put him up to the tricks, will you? See that he doesn’t get
into any more trouble than necessary.”
“Glad to,” answered Gus Devens, with a friendly nod to Evan. “Played,
have you, Kingsford?”
“Yes, quite a little.”
“What?”
“Half and quarter; quarter mostly.”
“Whew! we certainly could use a good quarter,” said Wright. “Miller’s
the limit. I hope you get a show, Kingsford.”
“Yes, but don’t expect it,” remarked Jelly, despondently. “Just look at
the way they treated me last year!”
A howl of laughter arose, and Jelly viewed his table-companions
indignantly.
“That’s all right, you fellows, but I did as well as Ward did. He
didn’t get through me very often, I can tell you! You know he didn’t.”
“You did great work, Jelly,” said Rob, soothingly. “They ought to have
kept you on the second. I have an idea that the reason Hop dropped you
was only because he was afraid that sometime you’d fall on the ball and
squash the air out of it.”
“Oh, you run along,” growled Jelly. “I’m going to try again this year,
anyway, and I’m going to make the second for keeps.”
“Why don’t you go out and be the ball?” asked Wright, pleasantly.
Jelly pushed back his chair and walked disgustedly away, and his
departure was the signal for a general exodus. Rob’s progress was
often interrupted, and Evan had to shake hands with many more new
acquaintances, most of whom, as there were a great many new-comers
wandering around the corridors that night, shook hands with him in a
perfunctory way, muttered that they were glad to know him, and paid
him no further attention. But Evan didn’t mind. Although this was
his first experience of boarding-school, he held no romantic notions
of such places and so was not disappointed because so far nothing
romantic had happened. He drew out of the way and waited for Rob to
get through talking, thinking to himself that it would be nice to have
as many acquaintances as his new room-mate had, and making up his mind
that some day the fellows of Riverport School should be as glad to talk
to him as they now were to Rob Langton. While he stood there waiting,
Frank Hopkins passed, talking to the tall youth of whom Evan had asked
his way that afternoon. If they saw him they made no sign.
Presently Rob parted from the last of his acquaintances and, followed
by Evan, reached the door.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he apologized. “Some of those chaps,
though, I wanted to be nice to――for a reason. I’ll tell you why some
day soon. Now let’s cut across to First House and call on Mrs. Crow.”