CHAPTER XIII

A RICH MAN’S SON

Gerald Pennimore was fourteen years of age, slight of build and very fair as to complexion, having hair that was almost corn-color, light blue eyes and a clear pink and white skin of the kind that doesn’t readily tan. He was good looking, but seemed far from robust. When he smiled his face was eminently attractive, but in repose it very often held an expression of discontent. As he greeted Dan he exhibited some embarrassment.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” answered Dan. “How are you feeling after it?”

“Pretty good, thank you.” He hesitated and seemed trying to get rid of a lump in his throat. Then, “They say you pulled me out of that place yesterday and saved my life--and Jack’s,” he said in low tones. “And--and I’m much obliged!”

Dan had to laugh a little, the thanks sounded so perfunctory. But he sympathized with Gerald’s embarrassment and answered in an off-hand way:

“Pshaw, I guess I didn’t do much. You’re welcome, though, of course. I’m glad you didn’t get burned or--or anything. How’s the dog?”

“He’s as fit as a fiddle,” answered the other eagerly. “You see, he was lying under the table and didn’t even get scorched! Say, I wouldn’t have had anything happen to Jack for anything in the world! I’d rather get burned up myself. You bet I’m glad you got him out!”

“But I didn’t--exactly,” laughed Dan. “I pulled you out and you pulled the dog out. You had hold of his collar, you see, and when you came he came, too.”

“Really? Then I did rescue him after all, didn’t I? I’m glad of that because I told him I would.” Then his face fell. “But I guess it was you, though, that did it.”

“Well, it doesn’t much matter, does it, as long as someone did it? I’m glad he wasn’t hurt. But I wouldn’t try that sort of thing again if I were you.”

“I guess not. Why, I didn’t know the place was so full of smoke. I thought the flames would leap out and then I’d break in the door with my axe and rescue Jack. I was making believe I was a fireman, you know.”

Dan nodded. “Well, there wasn’t any harm done as it happened; except the house. I suppose that burned down.”

“I guess so. That doesn’t matter. I haven’t used it for over a year. Say, are you a Yardley fellow?”

“Yes,” Dan replied.

“I wish I was! I want father to send me to Yardley but he won’t do it. I have a beastly old tutor. I don’t learn much, I guess. Did you ever have a tutor?” Dan shook his head. “Well, don’t you ever have one. They’re no good. I’d rather go to school.”

“Why won’t your father let you?” inquired Dan.

“Oh, he’s afraid something might happen to me, I guess. You’d think I was made of glass, the way he fusses about me. I’ve never had any good times in my life. If I want to do anything I have to have a tutor or somebody right with me.”

“I didn’t see any tutor around yesterday afternoon,” observed Dan, dryly.

Gerald grinned.

“He went over to town to buy something. I was supposed to be studying, but I wasn’t. He got fired this morning,” he added cheerfully.

“That’s a shame!” exclaimed Dan. Gerald looked surprised.

“Why is it?” he asked.

“Because he’s lost his place and it wasn’t his fault.”

“Yes, it was, though. Father told him he wasn’t to leave the place except after six in the evening. And he disobeyed. It served him right. I told father, though,” Gerald added magnanimously, “that I didn’t mind if he stayed. It might as well be Old Faunce as anyone else. But father said he had to go. He’s upstairs now, packing his things. I won’t have to do any studying until we get a new one. I hope it will take a long time to find one.”

“You don’t seem to care much about lessons,” said Dan, smilingly. Gerald looked doubtful.

“I don’t know. Sometimes I do. Some things I like to study. I like Latin and French and German and English literature, but I hate mathematics and about the human body and botany.” Dan stared.

“Do you mean that you study all those things?” he asked.

“Yes, don’t you?”

“No, I have only Latin, French, mathematics and English this year; and gym work.”

“I’ve got a gymnasium upstairs. Want to see it?”

“I’d like to, but your father said the doctor was coming. And after that I must go back to school. Perhaps, though, you’ll let me see it some other time. Your father invited me to come over again, you know.”

“Oh, you’re coming lots of times,” answered Gerald promptly. “And I’ll show you my gymnasium and the stables and the kennels and my stamp collection. Do you collect stamps?”

“I used to,” answered Dan, “but I haven’t done much for a year or two.”

“I’ve got over two thousand,” said Gerald, “and some of them are corkers. I’ve got one that cost eighty dollars!”

“I’d like to see them,” said Dan, politely.

“All right. To-morrow? Will you come over to-morrow? I’ll send Higgins for you with the car if you will?” But Dan shook his head.

“Not to-morrow, I guess,” he replied. “I’ll have to make up for what I miss to-day, you see.”

Gerald’s face fell and he kicked disconsolately at the leg of a chair.

“That’s mean,” he said. “I guess, though, you could come if you wanted to. I suppose I’m too much of a kid.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Dan. “I’d like to come, and I would if I could. But they’re pretty strict about class-work at Yardley and I don’t want to get behind. If you’ll let me come Friday I will.”

“All right.” Gerald’s face brightened. “And, say, I’m going to ask father if he will let me go over to see you some day. I’ve never been inside the school in my life. If I come will you show me your room and everything?”

“Glad to, but my room doesn’t amount to much. Do you like football?”

“You bet! Do you play?”

“Some. I was trying for the team until yesterday.”

“Didn’t you make it?”

“No, they kicked me out,” laughed Dan. Gerald looked incredulous.

“Why?” he asked indignantly. “I’ll bet you’re a dandy player! Why don’t you make them take you on?”

“It can’t be done. There are too many fellows who play a lot better than I do. What I was going to say, though, was that if your father will let you come over some day we’ll go down and watch practice if you’d like to.”

“You bet I would! I’ve seen the fellows playing sometimes from the road. Maybe I can come Saturday. Would that be all right? Where do you live?”

“Saturday would be all right. There is a game Saturday. I room in Clarke Hall, number 28. Can you remember that?”

“Yes, I’ll remember it all right. There’s the doctor. Shall we have him in here?”

“Wherever you say,” answered Dan.

The doctor’s visit was soon over. Dan’s burns were healing nicely and Gerald had nothing to show but a contusion on his head and a slight burn on one wrist. He had stumbled over Jack when he had gone into the play-house and had struck the edge of the table in falling. The blow had partially stunned him, and he declared that he didn’t remember a thing until he found himself outside on the grass. When the doctor had gone, the big chocolate-brown touring car swung up the drive to the steps and the two boys climbed in.

“Go around by the station, Higgins,” ordered Gerald. “That’s the longest way,” he added gleefully, for Dan’s benefit. Dan felt that he ought to insist on being taken back the quickest and shortest way, but he didn’t want to offend Gerald, and, besides, the idea of lengthening the drive was far from distasteful to him. The big car skimmed its way down the immaculate gravel roadway, past the gardener’s lodge, through the big stone gateway and out onto the village street. It was the nearest thing to flying that Dan had ever experienced, never having tried tobogganing, and he was quite content to lean back against the yielding cushions and just watch things whizz by. But Gerald demanded conversation. It was an event in his life to have someone of about his own age to talk with and he made the most of it. Around the station they flew, with a musical peal of the chimes, and darted along the straight stretch of road toward the school. Above the Yardley buildings dozed in the forenoon sunlight and Dan felt as though he was going home. Then came the winding ascent and the engine took on a gruffer tone as the big car charged upward. Then a quick turn to the right at the top of the hill, a sudden jarring of brakes and the car stood, quivering and chugging in front of Clarke.

Dan leaped out, shook hands with Gerald, nodded almost gratefully to the chauffeur, who touched his cap smilingly in response, promised again faithfully to see Gerald on Friday and then ran up the steps. As the door closed behind him he heard the automobile taking the hill again. When he opened the door of his room Tubby looked around from the window at which he was standing with a sardonic grin.

“I suppose you think you’re a blooming hero,” said Tubby.