CHAPTER IV

“28 CLARKE”

“Hello,” exclaimed Harry, alias “Tubby” Jones. “Who do you want?”

The tone was decidedly uncivil and Dan would have resented it had he been feeling less strange and lonesome. As it was he smiled ingratiatingly as he set down his bag.

“They told me at the office,” he replied, “that I was to room in 28 Clarke. This is 28, isn’t it? And you’re Jones, aren’t you?”

Tubby gave a growl of disgust.

“Gee, I knew I’d draw a freak,” he muttered. Dan heard and flushed. In momentary confusion he picked up his bag and deposited it on the window-seat at the end of the room. Tubby watched him with no attempt at concealing his disgust. Now, lest you gather the impression that our hero is a most unprepossessing youth, I’ll explain that Tubby Jones would have shown displeasure had his new room-mate been an Apollo in appearance, a Chesterfield in manners, a Beau Brummel in attire and a paragon of all virtues. Tubby, who, by the way, was none of these things himself, was what might be inelegantly called a chronic kicker. Tubby had a ceaseless quarrel with the world at large and things in general. He was a stout youth of sixteen with a round, pasty face on which there was habitually an expression of discontent and usually a scowl of sulky wrath. Tubby always had a grievance; he would have been dreadfully unhappy without one. Oddly enough, he was not unpopular in school, although he had few friends. The fellows never took him seriously--which was itself a grievance--and usually treated him with good-natured tolerance, using him as a butt for their jokes. The fact that Tubby couldn’t take a joke made it all the more fun.

When Tubby intimated that Dan was a freak he was more unflattering than truthful. And Tubby was forced to acknowledge unwillingly that this new room-mate of his was a mighty prepossessing chap; well-made, pleasant-mannered and attractive of face. Which was quite sufficient to make Tubby dislike him cordially. You see, Tubby wasn’t well-made, nor pleasant-mannered, nor attractive to look upon. And envy was at the bottom of many of Tubby’s grievances. Tubby stood with his hands in his pockets and looked aggressively at Dan. What he saw was a boy rather large for his age, fairly tall and “rangey,” with little superfluous flesh on his bones and a quick, alert way of looking and moving. He also saw a pair of steady, quiet brown eyes, a short, straight nose, brown hair and a nice mouth which at the present moment was trying bravely to smile. Perhaps Dan’s attire wasn’t quite the thing judged by Tubby’s standard; the clothes had been bought in Dayton “ready-to-wear” and didn’t fit very well; but the material was good and the color unobtrusive.

“Where do you live?” asked Tubby, as Dan, having unstrapped his bag, looked around for places in which to deposit the contents.

“Graystone, Ohio,” answered Dan. “Is that my bureau over there?”

“Yes, only it’s a chiffonier,” replied Tubby with a grin. “Say, do you reckon I could get a hat like that if I sent the money?”

Dan glanced in surprise at his straw hat on the window-seat. Then he looked doubtfully at Tubby.

“Sorry you don’t like it,” he said. “But I guess it’s pretty near time to call it in, anyhow. Which is my bed?”

“Everything on that side of the room is yours. Who said I didn’t like the hat? It’s a beaut! Did they give it to you when you bought the clothes?”

“No,” answered Dan quietly, “I paid for it.”

“Well, they must be robbers out your way,” laughed Tubby.

Dan made no answer. He was feeling too dejected to even get angry; besides Tubby’s ill-nature was so obvious that it lost its effect. Dan cleared out his bag and put it on the top shelf of his closet. Then he went back to the window-seat, took one knee in his hands and looked about him. The room was on the corner of the building, was some twenty feet long by twelve broad and was well if not luxuriously furnished. There was an iron cot-bed against each of the side walls, a chiffonier at the foot of each bed and a stationary washstand beside it. A broad study table stood under the chandelier, flanked on each side by an arm-chair. The floor was of hard wood and an ingrain “art-square” covered all but a narrow border. Beside the arm-chairs there were two straight-backed chairs, and the shallow bay window held a comfortable window-seat. On the walls, which were painted a light gray, hung four pictures, two on each side. These were part of the furnishings supplied by the school and were all framed alike in neat, dark oak frames. There was a photograph of the ruins of the Forum, an engraving of dogs, after Landseer, one of Napoleon on the deck of the Bellerephon and a cheerful colored print of the Christmas annual sort. There was a rule that forbade the hanging or placing of any other objects on the walls, but above each chiffonier a series of narrow shelves were built and on these the students arranged their photographs and posters.

“It’s a real nice room,” observed Dan sincerely.

Tubby sniffed.

“Glad you think so,” he sneered. “I think the rooms here are the limit. You nearly freeze in cold weather.”

“There’s steam heat, isn’t there?” asked Dan, with a glance at the radiator.

“Supposed to be, but you’d never know it. You’ve got the warmest side of the room.”

“On account of that side window there? I don’t mind the cold. I’ll change if you’d rather.”

“What’s the use? You’re cold anyhow, wherever you are. Are you one of those fresh-air cranks that want all the windows open at night?”

“No, one’s enough, I guess,” answered Dan.

“Well, you see that it’s the one nearest you, and don’t think you’re going to have it open all the way, either. I’m susceptible to cold, I am. I had the grippe last winter.”

“All right. When do we have supper?”

“Half-past six.” Tubby looked at his watch. “It’s twenty minutes after. Say, have you got any kind of a clock?”

Dan shook his head.

“Well, we need one,” continued Tubby. “If you’re thinking of adding anything to the furnishing of this palatial abode a clock’s the thing to get.”

“I see. Are you allowed to have furniture of your own?”

“You can have an easy chair if you like,” said Tubby. “Maybe you’d better get one. I usually use the window-seat and it only holds one comfortably.”

Dan stifled a smile.

“I guess we can take turns at it,” he answered quietly. He began to wash in preparation of supper. Tubby stared scowlingly at his back.

“What class are you in?” he asked presently.

“Don’t know yet; Third, I hope.”

“I’m in that. You’d better keep out. It’s an awful roast. They work you to death.”

“You mean you are in the Third Class this year?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“That’s what I thought you said, but I wondered how you knew so much about it if you were just starting.”

“I know what fellows say,” answered Tubby crossly. “You’d better go in for the Fourth.”

“Maybe I’ll have to,” responded Dan cheerfully. “I’ll tell you more about it this time to-morrow.”

“Huh! You’re one of those smarties who think they know it all, aren’t you?”

“I hope not. If you’re going to supper I wish you’d show me the way, if you don’t mind.”

“All right. Come along. You won’t get much to eat, though, I can tell you that. They simply try to starve you here. Wish I’d gone to Broadwood, like I was going to.”

But Dan found that Tubby’s croakings about the supper were misleading. The food was very good and there was no evident attempt on the part of the waiters to force anyone to leave the table hungry. The dining hall, or commons as it was called, occupied most of the first floor of Whitson Hall, the unlovely granite structure which Dan had passed on his way to his room. There were thirty tables, holding from eight to ten boys each. Some of the tables were presided over by instructors, while in one corner of the hall a small table was occupied by Dr. Hewitt, the Principal; Mrs. Ponder, the Matron; Mr. Collins, the Assistant Principal, and the Secretary, Mr. Forisher.

When Dan and his room-mate reached the hall they found it already well filled and Tubby gazed disgustedly at his watch, comparing it with the big clock over the fire-place. “Ten minutes slow!” he growled. Then he ambled over to a nearby table, leaving Dan to fend for himself. But a waiter came to his assistance, Dan gave his name, it was checked off from a list, and he was conducted down the hall. It was a long trip, for the table at which Dan finally found himself was quite at the other end of the room from where he had entered, and he tried his best neither to jostle the hurrying waiters or run into any of the occupants of the tables. He succeeded in both attempts and sank thankfully into a chair.

He might easily have thought himself in the dining room of a hotel, save for the absence of color lent by women’s dresses. As his eyes ranged about the hall they fell presently on a youth who was seated across the table. It was the boy who had come to his assistance at the station. As Dan’s eyes rested for a moment on him he wished that his acquaintance of the afternoon would look up and speak to him. He was an attractive, jolly looking chap, with brown hair that was slicked down very carefully on either side of his well-shaped head, a slightly aquiline nose, and dark eyes--probably brown, although Dan couldn’t be certain of that--that were frank and merry. Dan liked his looks very much and hoped they would become friends. After Tubby Jones the boy across the table was decidedly refreshing. But Dan was forced at last to withdraw his gaze without having secured a glance of recognition, and turned his regard to the other fellows at the table.

They were of all sorts, it seemed; in age, from fourteen to eighteen; attractive and unattractive, light and dark, sober and merry. But they seemed to Dan to be all much alike in one thing, and that was their air of absolute self-possession. For some reason he felt himself in comparison awkward and rough. No one spoke to him save the fellow on his left, who once asked for the pepper and once for the bread. Dan ate his dinner with a good appetite, glancing now and then across the table at his acquaintance of the afternoon and listening interestedly to the conversation about him. Much of it was unintelligible, abounding as it did in names and terms that were strange. But he learned in the course of it that the boy who had shown him the way to the office was named Alf Loring; for some of the fellows called him Alf and some Loring. Alf, reasoned Dan, was probably short for Alfred. As in the coach coming from the station, the subject of football claimed a good deal of attention, and it was evident from the deference paid to his opinions that Loring was to some extent an authority. By the time his dessert came on many of the fellows had finished their dinners and left the table, and Dan, for very loneliness, turned to his neighbor on the left, who had not quite finished, and ventured an inquiry.

“Are we--” Then he corrected himself; perhaps he had no right to say “we” yet. “Is the school going to have a good football team this year?” he asked.

His neighbor glanced at him curiously, but with nothing of unfriendliness, and shook his head.

“Pretty fair, I guess,” he answered. “We lost a lot of fellows last Spring, though.”

“I see,” said Dan. He couldn’t think of anything more to say at the moment and his informant paid no further attention to him. A chair scraped at the other side of the table and Dan looked across in time to see Loring arise. A moment later their glances met. Loring’s swept by and then returned, while a little pucker of indecision creased his forehead. Then recognition came and he nodded across, pausing with a hand on the back of his chair.

“Hello,” he said. “How’d you get on? All right?”

“Yes, thanks,” answered Dan, feeling a little self-conscious as the remaining boys turned their eyes to him. “They gave me a room in Clarke Hall.”

“You might have done worse,” said Loring. “Who are you with?”

“With?” repeated Dan, puzzled.

“I mean who’s your room-mate?”

“Oh, I beg pardon,” said Dan. “A fellow named Jones.”

“Not Tubby Jones?”

“I think so. He was in the coach with us.”

“That’s Tubby,” answered Loring with a smile. Several of the others laughed outright and a boy at the end of the table remarked as he pushed back his chair: “I wish you joy!” It wasn’t intended for Dan’s ears, but Dan heard it.

“Well, Clarke’s a pretty good dormitory,” said Loring. “You might have had worse luck.” He smiled again in friendly fashion and took his departure. Dan thought that the two or three fellows who remained at the table seemed a trifle more interested in him than they had before, but none of them spoke and presently he left the table himself.

Tubby Jones was not in the room when he got back to Clarke. His trunk was there, however, and for the next hour Dan was too busy unpacking to feel lonesome. But afterwards, when everything had been put away he wished that someone would come in; even Tubby would have been welcome. But no one came and so Dan glanced over the books on Tubby’s side of the table, selected a battered copy of one of Henty’s stories and settled himself in a chair. He made up his mind to get interested in the story and keep his thoughts away from Graystone and the folks there; he had thought at first of writing a letter, but he knew that if he did he would be homesick in a minute. Luckily the book captured his interest before a half-dozen pages had been turned and he was thoroughly absorbed in the startling adventures of the hero when the door flew open and Tubby entered. Behind came a second boy, a sharp contrast to Tubby. He was about the same age, but there all likeness ended, for the stranger was thin and sallow with untidy hair of a nondescript shade of light brown, a mere apology for a nose and a wide, loose mouth that was always smiling in a nervous, ingratiating way just as Tubby’s was forever set in lines of displeasure. His eyes were quite as indecisive as his hair in regard to color and had a shifty look that Dan didn’t find prepossessing. The first thing that Tubby saw was the book in Dan’s hand.

“Hello,” he said with a scowl, “isn’t that my Henty?”

“Why, yes, I guess so,” answered Dan. “I found it on the table!”

“Well, I don’t lend my books,” growled Tubby.

“Oh!” Dan looked at him rather blankly and then at the stranger. The latter was grinning as though in appreciation of his friend’s discourtesy, but tried to straighten his mouth when Dan looked at him.

“Sorry,” said Dan. “I didn’t think you’d mind.” He got up and put the book back in its place. “I don’t think I’ve hurt it,” he added dryly.

“Well, if you’d asked me--” began Tubby a trifle more graciously.

“You weren’t here, you see,” said Dan. He picked up Tubby’s cap, which the latter had just tossed on the desk, and placed it on top of the row of books.

“What’s that for?” asked Tubby suspiciously.

“This is my side of the table,” answered Dan quietly, “and I don’t like things put on it.”

Tubby scowled angrily and muttered to himself. Then he took up the cap and tossed it onto a hook in his closet, closing the door with a vindictive slam. The stranger had seated himself on the edge of Tubby’s bed and was grinning like a catfish; the expression is Dan’s, not mine. The possibility of a quarrel between the room-mates seemed to fill him with the most pleasant anticipations. But, as before, when he caught Dan’s gaze on him he strove to dissemble his enjoyment. Perhaps Dan’s glance had in it something of the instinctive dislike which he felt for the other, for the stranger seemed a little embarrassed and turned to Tubby.

“I say, Tubby, you might introduce me, you know,” he challenged.

“I forgot,” muttered Tubby. “Mr. Hiltz, Mr. Vinton. Jake is in the Third and he will tell you just what I did, it’s a mighty tough job.”

Dan shook hands with Jacob Hiltz, wondering as he did so how Tubby had learned his name; for Tubby had not asked it and Dan had not volunteered it. As a matter of fact, Tubby had paid a visit to the Office after supper and asked Mr. Forisher, a course quite typical of Tubby, who, as Dan learned later on, would much rather obtain his information in a round-about way than ask a straightforward question. Hiltz laughed nervously as he dropped Dan’s hand.

“Yes, it’s a tough class all right,” he corroborated. “They say the Latin is fierce.”

“Yes,” said Tubby. “We have Collins in Latin, and he’s a regular slave-driver.”

“He’s the Assistant Principal, isn’t he?” Dan asked.

“Yes, that’s what they call him, but he really does most of the work. Toby’s a figure-head. All he does is to interfere with things and spoil our fun.”

“Toby?” repeated Dan vaguely.

“Doctor Hewitt,” Jake Hiltz explained. “His first name is Tobias, you know. He’s not a bad old sort.”

“Oh, he makes me tired,” growled Tubby. “Doesn’t do a thing that’s any good and draws a big salary for doing it.”

“How old is he?” Dan asked.

“Oh, pretty near seventy, I guess.”

“Does he teach?”

“Yes, some. You’ll have him in Greek when you get into the First Class. He’s a cinch, though, the fellows say. Wish Collins was like him.”

“Are the exams very stiff?”

“You bet they are,” said Tubby. “That’s why you’d ought to try for the Fourth instead of the Third. You’d be certain to make the Fourth, you see.”

“Well, but if I miss the Third, there’s still the Fourth, isn’t there?”

“Yes.” Tubby shook his head dubiously. “But it’s a bad plan to start out that way; Faculty doesn’t like it. Does it, Jake?”

“Dead against it,” answered Jake promptly and with conviction. “If I were you I’d try the Fourth. Then, if you wanted to you could take two extras next year and maybe skip the Third. Two or three fellows are doing that.”

“Sounds a bit difficult,” mused Dan. “What class are you in?”

“Third,” answered Tubby.

“Oh, then you really don’t know very much about it from experience, do you?” asked Dan carelessly. Jake was at a loss for a moment, but Tubby came to his assistance.

“He’s heard plenty of fellows talk about it, I guess. Jake’s been here two years.”

“I see. Still, maybe you fellows are more scared than you need be. I shall try for the Third, anyway.”

“Well, don’t say we didn’t warn you,” said Tubby irritably.

“No, and I’m much obliged to you.”

“Don’t mention it,” answered Jake sweetly. But Dan didn’t like his tone. They talked for awhile longer desultorily. Dan tried to learn something about football at the school, for he meant to try for the team, but neither Tubby nor Jake seemed to be the least bit interested in the game.

“One thing’s sure, though,” said Tubby, “and that is that we will get licked again this year just as we did last.”

“How’s that?” Dan inquired.

“Rotten coaching,” Tubby growled. “They’ve got a fellow named Payson for Head Coach and he’s no good. A conceited chap who thinks he’s the whole show. He doesn’t know enough about football to coach a girls’ school!”

“Do you play?” asked Dan suspiciously. Tubby shook his head.

“No, not on your life! I know how, all right, but there’s no use trying to make the team here unless you’re a swell or a particular friend of Payson’s.”

“Oh, then you don’t think there’s any use in my trying for the team?” Dan asked.

“You!” Tubby and Jake viewed him derisively. “You’d have about as much show as--as--”

“As I would,” Jake assisted.

Dan looked at Jake’s thin, flat-chested figure and tried not to smile. But he wasn’t wholly successful and Jake flushed.

“Oh, you may have the build all right,” he said, “but it takes more than that to get on the team here. Payson won’t pay any attention to a fellow unless he’s had a lot of experience.”

“Well, I’ve had three or four years of it,” said Dan.

“Oh, Western football doesn’t count,” Tubby sneered. “You’ll find we play a different game here.”

“That so? By the way, who is Loring?”

“Alf Loring?” asked Tubby quickly. “He’s quarter-back on the eleven and he thinks he can play football. Do you know him?” Dan shook his head.

“I sat at table with him to-night,” he said.

“Huh! You ought to feel honored! He’s a cad, he is. There’s lots of them here, and he’s the top-notcher of them all. He makes me sick. Conceited fool! If you want to play football you’d better try for the class team; you’ll be lucky if you make substitute on that!”

“Well, I’m going to bed,” said Jake. “Good night. Glad to have met you, Vinton. I’m in Whitson; Number 7. Get Tubby to bring you over some time. Hope you get through exams O.K. Good night.”

Tubby went off with his friend and Dan went to bed. He had just pulled the covering over him when Tubby returned. Dan feigned sleep and Tubby, after one attempt at conversation, let him alone. Soon the light went out and Dan, lying with wide-open eyes, considered the day’s events. On the whole he wasn’t very well satisfied. He had been at Yardley Hall five hours and had been spoken to by exactly four of the two hundred and seventy boys. And of the four two he already cordially disliked. Of the others, one, his neighbor at table, had neither repelled nor attracted him, while Loring, if he was to accept Tubby’s estimate, was not promising. But he had a suspicion that Tubby’s estimates were not always just, and what little he had seen of Loring he liked. Unfortunately, Loring hadn’t shown any reciprocal sentiments. Dan smiled ruefully as he recalled his father’s advice on the subject of forming friendships. “Don’t make your friendship too cheap,” he had counselled. “If a fellow wants it make him pay your price.” Dan wondered now whether anyone was going to want his friendship at any price whatever! Perhaps, after all, he would have done better to have gone to a western school. At Brewer, for instance, he would have by this time, he was certain, known half the school. Yes, there was undoubtedly a difference between western ways and eastern. It wasn’t that Yardley fellows don’t make friendships, for after supper he had passed boys in Oxford Hall with their arms over each other’s shoulders as chummy as you pleased. Perhaps it was merely that it was harder here to make friends, more difficult to become acquainted. Perhaps after you got to know the fellows you would like them immensely. Only--well, Dan wondered whether he would ever get to know the right sort, for certainly, with Tubby and Jake as examples, he hadn’t made a very brilliant beginning! And still wondering, Dan fell dejectedly to sleep.