Bought em myself, said Ira.
Bought them! But they look second-hand!
N-no, I dont guess so. Third-hand, maybe, or fourth, but hardly second, Nead. Still, theyre all right, arent they? How do you like the window seat?
Window seat? Is that what you call it? Nead laughed. Say, whats the matter with it? Why does it shoot out like that?
It used to be straight, answered Ira soberly, but its rather old and has rheumatism. That explains the crook in it.
Huh! It looks mighty silly. If you expect me to buy this trash off you youve got another guess coming.
I dont, thanks. Its not for sale. Especially the window seat. Im sort of fond of that. He chuckled. Its so so foolish looking!
Nead viewed him in puzzlement. Well, if you like foolish things, all right, he said finally, dipping into his bag for his pyjamas. I dont, though. Say, where do you come from?
Maine. How about you?
Buffalo.
Dakota? inquired Ira blandly.
Dakota! Of course not, you idiot! There isnt any Buffalo in Dakota. New York, of course.
There used to be. Maybe theyre all killed now, though. Buffalos quite a big place, I suppose.
Its big enough, anyway. And its the best city in the country.
Sort of like this place, then, I guess.
What!
Well, you said it was a city in the country, didnt you? asked the other innocently. And thats what this is. Id call it that, at least.
You go and see Buffalo some time, advised Nead disgustedly. I guess you live in the country, all right. He grinned at the nightgown that Ira was getting into. Dont they have pyjamas up in Maine?
Not many. Theres a few raccoons left, though.
Oh, gee, youre a smart guy, arent you? Well, Im going to turn in. Hope youll find that cot comfortable, but it doesnt look it!
Oh, youre taking the bed, are you?
Sure, chuckled Nead. Its mine, isnt it?
Its yours for tonight, was the answer. If I have the nightmare, just yell. I usually wake up. Good night.
Ira slept soundly in spite of the discomforts of that wobbly, creaking cot, and when he awoke the early sunlight was slanting in at the windows behind the new curtains. Across the room Nead was still asleep. Reference to his watch showed the time to be but a few minutes past six. Ira turned over stiffly and tried to slumber again, but after ten minutes of unsuccessful effort he gave it up, rolled over on his back, put his arms over his head, fixed his gaze on an interesting crack that travelled from one side of the ceiling to the other with as many ramifications as a trunk-line railway and faced the problem presented by the unconscious form on the bed.
There was a freshness and coolness in the morning air that made for well-being, and Ira felt extremely kindly toward the world, even including Nead and the pugnacious Gene Goodloe. He wondered whether the latter would see fit to follow up the little affair of yesterday, and remembered that he hadnt sent him word of his whereabouts. He would write Goodloe a note as soon as he got dressed. As far as he was personally concerned, he was ready to call quits. It was much too wonderful a day for fighting! Then he speculated about Mart Johnston and wondered whether Mart would look him up. He didnt care a whole lot. Mart was a cheerful sort of idiot, but he wasnt exactly restful! And Mart had so many friends, besides that chap Brad, that it wasnt likely he would recall the existence of the boy who was thinking of him except, perhaps, to laugh at him. And, finally, there was Nead.
Nead was a problem, and Ira scowled at the crack in the ceiling and tried to solve it. Perhaps, after all, Nead did have a good claim on that room. Ira tried to see the affair from Neads point of view. It was rather puzzling. He didnt quite know what he ought to do. Of course, he might follow Neads idea and leave the decision to the faculty, but it seemed a trivial affair to bring to its attention. Or he might
He brought his gaze suddenly from the ceiling and stared blankly at the window for a moment. Then he turned and regarded the sleeping countenance of the boy across the room. In slumber Nead didnt look so unpleasant, he thought. And living alone would be, perhaps, rather lonesome. Certainly, could he have his choice of roommates the choice wouldnt fall of Nead, but he couldnt. And maybe Nead would improve on acquaintance. Ira had already discovered that first impressions are frequently erroneous. There was, too, the advantage of having someone share the expense, although Ira wasnt greatly concerned about that. He weighed the question for some time, lying in bed there, and finally made up his mind. He would make the proposition to Nead. If Nead wasnt agreeable, why, Nead could find another room. Ira considered that he would then have done all that was required of him. He plunged out of bed and, gathering up towel and sponge and soap, made his descent on the bathroom.
CHAPTER V
SCHOOL BEGINS
It was all settled by the time they had finished breakfast. Perhaps the cheerfulness of the morning, or it may have been Mrs. Magoons coffee, worked its effect on Nead, for that youth was far more amiable, and, while he did hesitate and seem a bit dubious for a moment, he ended by accepting the proposition. Ira found himself hoping that he wouldnt and took the others hesitation as a good augury, but put aside all regrets the moment Nead made his decision.
Thats all right, then, he declared. Now well have to make a dicker with Mrs. Magoon, I guess, for shell want more for the room if theres two in it.
I dont see why, objected Nead. Anyway, we oughtnt to pay more than four a week.
I think four would be enough, Ira agreed. And what about breakfasts? She charges a quarter apiece, you know.
And theyre pretty punk, if this is a sample, said Nead. The coffees all right, but my chop had seen better days. Still, its easier than hunting a restaurant. I thought maybe Id eat in school. They say you get mighty good feed at Alumni Hall.
Well, well tell her well take two breakfasts for awhile. That will cheer her up, maybe. Shall I make the dicker?
Yes, she doesnt like me. And I dont like her. So thats even. What class are you going into, Rowland?
Third, unless I trip up. Whats yours?
Second. Wish we were in the same. It makes it easier if youre with a fellow whos taking the same stuff. Theres another thing, too; that beds fierce. See if she hasnt got a better mattress.
I was going to buy one, said Ira. I guess hers are all about the same, dont you?
Well, make a stab, said Nead. She may have one that hasnt been slept on twenty years. What are the other fellows here like?
Dont know. Ive seen only one, the fat fellow across the hall. There must be quite a lot of them, because she says she has all the rooms rented, and there are four rooms on each floor.
Nine rooms altogether, Nead corrected. Theres one on the ground floor at the back that she rents. Its behind the spring-water place. I suppose there are two in some rooms. Must be twelve or fourteen fellows in this dive, eh?
Maybe, agreed Ira, pushing away from the walnut table on which the breakfast tray had been placed. Do you know any fellows in school?
No, do you?
Maybe, agreed Ira, pushing away from the walnut table on which the breakfast tray had been placed. Do you know any fellows in school?
No, do you?
Only one, a fellow named Johnston. I ran across him yesterday and he told me about this place. They call it Maggys. Id been to about six before that and couldnt find anything I liked. Well, Ill go down and Hold on, though! I must write a note first.
He got a tablet and pulled a chair to the desk, and after wrinkling his forehead a moment, wrote: Mr. Eugene Goodloe, Parkinson School, Warne, Mass. Dear Sir: I have a room at Mrs. Magoons, 200 Main Street, third floor back on the left. A note addressed to me here will find me and I shall be glad to meet any appointment you care to make. Respectfully, Ira Rowland. Then he enclosed it, stamped the envelope and dropped it in his pocket.
Thats what I must do, I suppose, remarked Nead. I told my folks Id write last night, but I forgot it. Guess Ill scribble a note while youre talking to the old girl downstairs. Let me use your pen, will you? Mines in the trunk.
Sorry, Nead, replied Ira, but thats something I wont do. Ill lend you about anything but my fountain pen.
Oh, all right, said the other haughtily. Ive got a better one of my own. Just didnt want to look for it.
The interview with Mrs. Magoon was a long-drawn-out ceremony. In the first place, she was not eager to have Nead as a tenant. When she had finally agreed to it, she held out for four dollars and a half a week until Ira informed her that they would each want breakfasts. Four dollars a week was at last agreed on. In the matter of mattresses, however, she was adamant. More, she was even insulted. That mattress has been on that bed for six years, she said indignantly, and nobodys ever said anything against it before. Anyhow, I aint got any better one.
All right, maam. And how about another bed in there?
You can keep that cot, I guess. I aint got another bed.
But the cots as hard as a board! exclaimed Ira. It hasnt any mattress; just a a sort of pad!
Well, I dont know what I can do, replied the lady. I cant afford to go and buy a lot of new things. Its all I can do to get along as it is, with rents as low as they are. That room ought to fetch me six dollars a week, it should so. And Im only getting four for it. And the price of everything a body has to buy is going up all the time. I dont know what were coming to!
Suppose I buy a cheap single bed and mattress, suggested Ira. Will you take it off my hands when I move out?
I might. It wouldnt be worth full price, though, young man, after being used a year or more.
No, thats so. Suppose you pay me half what it costs me? Would that do?
Why, yes, I guess twould. But dont go and buy an expensive one. I wouldnt want to put much money into it.
Well, I dare say I can get a bed for six dollars and a mattress for ten, cant I?
Land sakes! I should hope you could! You can get an iron bed for four dollars and a half thats plenty good enough and a mattress for six. You go to Levinsteins on Adams Street. Thats the cheapest place. Ask for Mr. Levinstein and tell him I sent you. I buy a lot from him. Leastways, I used to. I aint bought much lately, what with times so hard and rents what they are and everything a body has to have getting to cost more every day. I mind the time when
But Ira had flown, and Mrs. Magoons reminiscences were muttered to herself as she made her way down to the mysterious realms of the basement.
Nead flatly refused to spend any money for bed or mattress, but agreed to go halves on the furniture that Ira had already purchased and on anything it might be necessary to buy later. You see, he explained, it will be your bed, and I wont get anything out of it. Maybe I might swap mattresses with you if I like yours better, though, he concluded with a laugh.
You just try it! said Ira grimly.
He purchased the bed and mattress before first recitation hour, paying, however, more than Mrs. Magoon had advised. After testing the six-dollar mattresses Ira concluded that there was such a thing as mistaken economy! After leaving Levinsteins he remembered the letter in his pocket and dropped it into a pillar box and then hustled for school.
He was somewhat awed by the magnificence of Parkinson Hall as he made his way up the steps and entered the rotunda. It still lacked ten minutes of first hour, which was nine oclock, and the entrance and the big, glass-domed hall were filled with groups of waiting fellows. He found a place out of the way and looked about him interestedly. The rotunda was a chamber of spaciousness and soft, white light. The stone walls held, here and there, Latin inscriptions Ira tried his hand at one of them and floundered ingloriously and there were several statues placed at intervals. A wide doorway admitted at each side to the wings, and into one of the corridors he presently ventured. There were three doors to his right and as many to his left, each opened and showing a cheerfully bright and totally empty classroom, and at the end of the corridor was a stairway leading to the floor above. About that time a gong clanged and, with a hurried and surreptitious glance at the schedule card in his pocket, Ira began a search for Room L. A small youth in short trousers came to his assistance and he found it at the end of the opposite wing. He had rather hoped to run across Mart Johnston, but it was not until he had taken a seat in the recitation room that he saw that youth several rows nearer the front. Mart didnt see him, however, for he was busily engaged in whispering to a good-looking, dark-complexioned fellow beside him whom Ira surmised to be Brad. The whispering, which was general, suddenly died away and the occupants of the seats, fully a half-hundred in number, Ira judged, arose to their feet and began to clap loudly. Ira followed suit without knowing the reason for the demonstration until he caught sight of a tall, thin figure in black making its way up the side aisle toward the platform. Then he clapped louder, for the figure was that of Professor Addicks, and Ira already had a soft spot in his heart for the pleasant-voiced man who had spoken so kindly to him the day before.
Professor Addicks bowed and smiled, standing very straight on the platform with one gnarled hand on the top of the desk. It gives me much pleasure to see you young gentlemen all back here again and all looking so well, said he. I trust you have spent a pleasant Summer and that you have returned eager for work and play. Someone was it not our own Mark Twain? said that play is what we like to do, work what we have to do. But he didnt say that we cant make play of our work, young gentlemen. I can think of nothing that would please me more than to overhear you say a few years from now: I had a good time at Parkinson. There was football, you know, and baseball and tennis; and then there was Old Addicks Greek Class!
A roar of laughter greeted that, laughter in which the Professor joined gently.
Oh, I know what you call me, he went on smilingly. But I like to think that the term Old is applied with some degree of may I say affection?
Clapping then, and cries of Yes, sir!
Age, young gentlemen, has its advantages as well as its disadvantages, and amongst them is the accumulation of experiences, which are things from which we gain knowledge. I am old enough to have had many experiences, and I trust that I have gained some slight degree of knowledge. I make no boast as to that, however. In fact, I find that I am considerably less certain of my wisdom now than I was when I was many years younger. Looking back, I see that the zenith of my erudition was reached shortly after I had attained the age of the oldest of you, that is, at about the age of twenty-one years. Today I am far more humble as to my attainments. But, young gentlemen, there is one thing that I have learned and learned well, and that is this: each of us can make his work what he pleases, a task or a pleasure. Some of you wont believe that now, but youll all learn eventually that it is so. And if you make your work a task you are putting difficulties in your own way, whereas if you make it a pleasure you are automatically increasing your power for work. If it is a pleasure you want to do it, and what we want to do we do with a will. Therefore, young gentlemen, bring sufficient of the element of play to your studies to make them agreeable. You go through hard and difficult exertions for the exercise of your bodies and call it fun. Why, then, pull a long face when you approach the matter of exercising your minds? If one is play, why not the other? A word to the wise is sufficient. I have given you many words. Let us consider the pleasures before us.