CHAPTER X

GRAY GOES INTO BUSINESS

The end of the fall term at Hillton is a busy time. The examinations occur then, and the award of scholarships is made on the last day of school. The less said about Wayne’s performance at the examinations the better for any good opinion the reader may entertain of that youth. He struggled through; let that suffice. The highest scholarship for the upper middle class, the Goodwin, went to “Charles Fitzgerald Breen, New York city,” and Paddy, blushing like a veritable junior, awkwardly bowed his thanks and received a salvo of most flattering applause. Don came in for the Carmichael scholarship, the next in importance, and Wayne cheered loudly, until kicked into silence by his chum. Dave’s name was not mentioned, but he declared cheerfully that Paddy’s success was “glory enough for all,” and displayed neither disappointment nor envy. Wayne, you may be sure, expected no honors, and so was not one of the many youths who took their way out of the school hall in deep dejection.

Wayne was to spend the winter vacation with Don at the latter’s home in Boston; Paddy’s holidays were to be observed in New York; and Dave, alone of the four, was to remain at school during the recess. Dave’s only near relatives--for his father and mother were both dead--lived in California, and a visit to them was out of the question. Both Don and Paddy extended invitations, but Dave was shy of strange people and houses and preferred to eat his Christmas dinner in the academy dining hall; and so one bright and cold morning he said good-by to his three friends at the station, waved a golf club cheerfully after the receding train, and loitered back to Hampton House, whistling bravely but feeling very lonesome.

The winter vacation lasted two weeks, and Don and Wayne enjoyed every instant of it, and returned to Hillton when the new year was already a week old, refreshed in body and mind, Don full of plans for the track team and a victory for the crimson, and Wayne with his head crowded with admirable resolutions regarding study. Acting upon the suggestion of the principal, he had paid several visits to Professor Durkee, whose rooms were on the first floor of Bradley Hall, and the result had been most encouraging. The professor of English was a lean and wrinkled little man, well past middle age, whose crabbed manner and stern enforcement of discipline had gained for him the dislike of many pupils and the sobriquet of “Turkey.” He was a hard taskmaster but a just one, and many a boy could have told a tale of leniency and kindness in which the little professor would have figured well. Wayne found him goodness itself under his crusty exterior, and a most patient and lucid instructor in the studies that bothered the boy most. And even after Wayne no longer needed the professor’s assistance he continued his occasional visits to the quiet study, and the two became firm friends.

Adhering to his resolves, Wayne spent more time at lessons, threatening to become, according to Paddy, a regular “grind.” Paddy professed to feel the wildest alarm over Wayne’s conduct, and suggested the infirmary as a suitable residence for a while; but Wayne didn’t mind, and before long even Don was forced to acknowledge that his roommate was exhibiting a most commendable studiousness. Alone in the study one afternoon, before a comfortable fire, and doggedly struggling with Greek, Wayne was interrupted by the entrance of Carl Gray. Ever since the latter had accepted Wayne’s loan he had punctually appeared each week with the promised fifty-cent payment, and a certain intimacy had sprung up between the two as a result of the visits. To-day he accepted the chair that Wayne shoved forward and put his wet shoes up to the blaze. But, contrary to custom, he did not at once bring forth his half dollar, and his host thought he detected signs of embarrassment on the younger boy’s countenance and in his manner. They talked for a few minutes about school topics and the prospects for skating on the river. Then Gray edged uncomfortably forward in his chair and cleared his throat.

“‘Wheels’ told me, that day you were in the office, Gordon, that when you have an explanation to make the best way is to go at it straight.” He paused and seemed to be looking for inspiration in the glowing fire.

“Hang it, Gray,” exclaimed Wayne, “I don’t know what you’re driving at; but if you’re trying to tell me that you haven’t--that it isn’t convenient for you to pay that old money to-day--why, cut it out! I’ve told you already that I don’t need it. How many more times do you want me to tell you?”

“Well, that’s it,” responded Carl Gray, breathing easier and looking grateful for the assistance. “But I’d like to explain about it. When I promised to pay you fifty cents a week I wanted to do it and meant to, and I still want to. I shan’t forget the--the kindness----”

“Cut it,” warned the other.

“Well, but I couldn’t know that--the fact is, Gordon, that I didn’t get any allowance this week, and, what’s more, I don’t think I’ll get any next week. My mother writes that she has had to spend a lot of money on--on something she hadn’t foreseen. And she says she knows I won’t mind very much, since I have probably got a little saved from what she has sent before.” The boy paused and sighed. “I--I never told her, you know.”

“Of course not,” said Wayne cheerfully. “But don’t bother about my little old fifty cents, Gray. Tell your mother that you have gobs of money--just rolling in it; and if you don’t mind taking a loan----”

“No,” cried Gray sharply. “I’m not going to borrow any more money. But it’s awfully good of you--indeed it is. I don’t need any money--much; at any rate, I’m not going to take any more from you. But I wanted to tell you how it was, so that you’d understand that the reason I didn’t pay you anything this week was because I didn’t have it.”

“All right. Only don’t bother about it. Are you lower middle fellows in the Anabasis?”

“Yes, the first book. But there is something else I wanted to--to ask you about, Gordon. You see you’re almost the only chap in the upper classes that I know; in fact, I don’t know very many fellows, anyhow; and I thought that if you could help me you would.”

“Of course I will,” answered Wayne heartily. “What is it?”

“I want to earn some money. Not for myself exactly, but I’d like to pay you, and I’d like to send a little to my mother. I guess it would be a lot easier for me to send her money than it is for her to send it to me. I was hoping I’d get a master’s scholarship, Gordon, but I suppose that affair of Porter’s bill spoiled that; it would have been awfully nice.”

“Yes, it would. But how can you earn any money, Gray?”

“I’m not sure, but I think I might make a little in this way. Do you play golf?” Wayne shook his head. “Well, fellows that do play have to give about thirty cents for balls; they’re expensive little things, and after they have been used a bit they’re likely to be dented and out of shape. Then they need to be remolded. Of course, remolded balls are never quite as good as new ones, but they’re all right for ordinary use and good enough for lots of the fellows here.”

Wayne had jumped up and now returned to the fireside with a handful of damaged golf balls, collected from various parts of the room.

“Are those the things?” he asked.

“Yes,” answered Gray. “I can remold those. I learned how last year. A fellow I know has loaned me his press and I have everything else necessary. I thought that perhaps you wouldn’t mind speaking to the fellows you know, just telling them that I’ll remold their old balls for ten cents apiece, and do it well. Then, if they had any for me I could call and get them. Don’t you think that would be all right?”

“You bet,” said Wayne. “That’s a jolly good idea. I’ll get lots of balls for you to fuss with. And you can take these along with you now. Let’s see--two, four, six, nine of ’em in all. They’ll do to practice on.”

“But, I say, Gordon, they’re not yours, are they?”

“Mine? Great Jupiter, no! What would I be doing with the silly things? They’re Don Cunningham’s.”

“But will he want them remolded?” asked Gray doubtfully.

“Of course he will, when I explain it to him. Here, put ’em in your pockets. And to-morrow, Gray, come around here about this time and I’ll let you know what can be done. I think it’s a jolly good scheme, and there are so many fellows here that play golf that we ought to be able to find heaps of old balls. If we could get hold of, say, a hundred, that would mean ten dollars, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, only it wouldn’t be all profit, you know. Gutta percha costs quite a bit and so does paint. But it would be a lot of money, just the same; though if I could get fifty balls I’d be satisfied, Gordon.”

“Fifty? Pooh!” said Wayne. “We’ll get lots more than that. Just you wait and see.”

“You’re very good to help me; it will be a bother, I know; and you are so busy with your lessons, too.”

“Oh, I’ll find time between recitations, you know,” replied Wayne. “Come up about this time to-morrow. So long.”

“Good-by,” answered Gray, “and--and thanks awfully, Gordon.” Wayne scowled.

“Say, Gray, I wish you weren’t so full of ‘thank you’s.’ You just tire me to death with them.” Gray smiled from the doorway.

“All right; I’ll try to remember. Good-by.” He closed the door behind him, and Wayne turned back to his book. “I’ll bet Dave’s got a lot of old golf balls,” he muttered as he found his place. “I’ll speak to him to-night if I see him.”

But Dave didn’t turn up that evening, and the next afternoon, as soon as the last recitation was over, Wayne took a pad of paper and a pencil and started out to drum up trade. His first visit was to Hampton House, where he discovered both Dave and Paddy writing fast and furiously at the table, an atmosphere of excitement about them. Paddy stopped long enough to explain what was up.

“We’re going to have a grand spectacular skating carnival on the river next Wednesday. All the fellows are going in for it. Wallace and Greene and I are the committee, and----”

“What committee?” asked Wayne.

“Oh, just a committee, you know, to get up the programme and arrange for the prizes and all that. We’re going to have a lot of races, handicap, novice, class, and a hurdle race. Say, will you enter the novice?”

“I reckon so.--Are you going to try, Dave?”

“Yep,” answered Dave, looking up for a moment from his work. “I’m down for everything.”

“But how do you know that there’ll be any ice by Wednesday, Paddy?” asked Wayne. Paddy nodded gleefully toward the front window.

“Look at the thermometer, my lad; it was only twenty above a minute ago, and it’s been going down steadily since noon. Oh, don’t you worry about the ice. _That’s_ all right.”

“Well, just as you say, Paddy.--Dave, have you got any old golf balls?”

“Yep, somewhere. Why?”

“I want ’em.”

“Well, look about the place. There’s one or two in that mug over there.” Wayne searched the mantel and what drawers he came across, and soon had seven badly battered little globes before him. He shook his head.

“Those aren’t nearly enough,” he muttered. He looked around and his eyes lighted on Dave’s closet. The boys at the table were too busy to heed him as he opened the door and brought out a box containing eight brand-new Silvertowns. At the hearth he laid his find down and picked up the fire shovel. Placing one of the immaculate white balls on the hearth he proceeded to knock dents in it. It was hard work, but he at last managed to disfigure six of the eight and was hammering at the seventh when a glancing blow sent the little ball whizzing into the air to the table where it landed with a bang under Dave’s nose.

“What in thunder?” he cried, staring at Wayne.

“Beg pardon, Dave,” said that youth, as he attacked the last ball with the fire shovel.

“But what--what are you doing, you idiot?” shrieked Dave.

“Why, you see, I could only find seven old ones, Dave, and I had to have lots more than that.” Then he explained about Carl Gray, and Paddy forgot the skating carnival, for laughing at Dave’s dismay at sight of his new balls. But the latter was soon won round to what Wayne called a proper view of it, and consented to pay ten cents apiece to have the fifteen balls remolded, and Wayne took himself off with his pockets bulging out as though each had the toothache. In the next hour he paid innumerable calls on his acquaintances--he was surprised to find how many he had--and at five o’clock returned to Bradley with a list which ran thus:

Cooper, 25 Masters, 3.

Benson, 36 Turner, doesn’t know how many.

Moore, 30 Masters, 6.

Duane, 8 Bradley, 2.

Harrington, Goodrich’s house, lots of balls.

Greene, 17 Warren, 10. Wants to know if you can mend a club; told him thought you could. Call at noon.

Bradford, 4 Turner, 6. Call after chapel.

There were as many more entries on the list, and Gray was delighted and full of gratitude to Wayne. When he saw some of the fifteen balls that Wayne produced from his overcoat pockets he examined them curiously.

“These eight are awfully queer-looking balls,” he said. “Look as though they’d been kicked about in a coal bin.”

“Oh, you can’t tell what Dave may have been doing with them,” Wayne answered. “I dare say he’s been trying to burn them in the grate. But don’t you care; take ’em along and fix ’em up, and if they’re harder to do than the others, why, charge fifteen cents for them.”

“They won’t be,” said Gray, laughing. “There isn’t much wrong with them, and a coat of paint will do for several. And I’ll take the list around to-morrow and get the balls. I think I can fix that club of Greene’s; perhaps I could find others to mend. Really, Gordon, I’m awfully much ob----”

“Get out of here!” shrieked Wayne savagely. Gray got out, but in the hall he stopped.

“O Gordon!” he shouted.

“What?”

“Thank you.”

Then he scuttled downstairs.