Читать книгу Buddy in School - Howard R Garis - Страница 3

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Come, Buddy! Wake up! Don’t be late!”

Mrs. Martyne gently shook the bed in which the boy was sleeping. He slowly opened his eyes and smiled at her.

“Come, Buddy! Hurry!” said his mother.

“Oh, is it time to go water my pumpkin or gather the eggs?” asked Buddy and he suddenly sat up and blinked his eyes for the sun was brightly shining in his room.

“There aren’t any pumpkins or eggs to think about now, Buddy,” his mother answered with a smile. “You aren’t down on Grandpa’s farm. You are home and in bed, but unless you get up quickly, and dress, you may be late for school. Hurry, Buddy!”

“Oh, school!” exclaimed Buddy. “School?”

“Yes, surely, school!” laughed Mrs. Martyne. “Have you forgotten, Buddy, that school begins today! You have been having so much fun this vacation that, I suppose, you haven’t thought of school.”

“Oh, yes! I want to go to school!” cried Buddy. “I was dreaming I was back on the farm,” he said with a laugh, “and a Gypsy boy was trying to take my pumpkin. Oh, I’m glad I’m going back to school! I’ll have a lot of fun!”

Buddy ran into the bathroom and was soon splashing in the water, while his mother went downstairs to see that Lola Wagg, the cook, had started to get breakfast. Sometimes Lola was a bit slow, and Mrs. Martyne did not want Buddy to be late on the first day of the new term of school.

“But even if I was late,” said Buddy, as he ate his breakfast, “I could get there on time.”

“How could you?” asked his father who was hurrying to get to his law office. “How, Buddy?”

“I could go fast on my new roller skates.”

“No, don’t take your skates to school the first day,” his mother said. “You will be going into a new class and a different room than Miss Borden’s, where you were in the spring, and your skates would only be in the way.”

“Yes, I guess they would,” Buddy agreed. “Well, then, I’ll run.”

“Oh, you have plenty of time,” his father said, looking at his watch. “Don’t get too excited.”

But Buddy couldn’t help being excited. He was that kind of a boy, always eager to do things whether it was to go to school or come home to have fun with his chums. Buddy was always very much in earnest about everything.

He finished his breakfast, ran upstairs to clean his teeth, came sliding down the banister railing, singing and whistling by turns, and then dashed out of the house.

“Don’t forget your books, Buddy!” his mother called to him. “Take your books!”

“I won’t need the books I had last term,” he answered, pausing at the front gate.

“No matter. You must take your old books back before you can get the new ones. Here they are!”

She hurried to the door with the strap of books which were the same ones Buddy had tossed up into a tree that last day of school in June.

“Throw ’em here, Mother! I’ll catch ’em!” called Buddy.

“Are you sure?” asked Mrs. Martyne.

“Sure!” Buddy answered. “Don’t I play on the ball nine? Throw the books to me!”

So Mrs. Martyne, standing on the stoop, tossed the strap of books to her son and he caught them, easily, and then ran off down the street, swinging the books in the leather strap and whistling a gay little tune.

“Taking care of a prize pumpkin on Grandpa’s farm was fun,” said Buddy to himself as he hurried along the street, “and so is going back to school. Hurray! Everything is fun!”

And so it seemed to the jolly red-haired and blue-eyed boy who was called “Buddy” by everyone though his real name was Dick.

As he hurried along, Buddy looked around now and then, and glanced down each side street as he passed a corner, thinking he might see some of his chums. But no other boys or girls appeared to be in sight.

“Either I’m early or they’re late,” thought Buddy as he caught sight of none of his playmates. “I wonder if our clock was wrong!”

But as he passed Mr. Trapp’s jewelry store he looked in the window and saw, by a big clock, that it was only half past eight. Buddy was quite early since school did not begin until nine o’clock and he did not have far to go.

“We’d have time for a game of marbles or leap frog if I could see some of the boys,” said Buddy to himself as he began skipping along. Walking was too slow on such a fine, crisp September morning as this. Buddy felt that he ought to skip, run or jump all the way.

However, he saw none of his chums and he was wondering about this and he was thinking about the new class he would go in, and he was wishing he could have a little fun before he had to go to school when on the sidewalk, just ahead of him, he saw a large, tin can.

“I’ll make believe it’s a football and kick it!” said Buddy to himself. “I’ll kick it all the way to school. It will make a dandy noise.”

Buddy liked to hear his fun as well as see it and he knew, from having kicked old tin cans before, that they made a fine racket as they rolled along the pavement.

Slinging his strap of books over his shoulder, Buddy took a little run to get a good start and then aimed a kick at the empty can which stood on end. Once it had held tomatoes, as Buddy could tell from part of the picture label still on the tin.

“Plunk!” His shoe hit the can squarely and sent it bounding and rolling down the street! What a fine rattling noise it made!

“Whoop!” yelled Buddy jumping up in the air and clicking his heels together twice. “If I was playing football that would have been a field goal!”

Buddy had a little trick of jumping up and clicking his heels together whenever anything pleased him. He had learned the trick from his Uncle Henry.

There had been a time when Buddy could only click his heels together once as he jumped up. But by long practice he had learned to do it twice. Uncle Henry could click his heels three times and when he grew a little older and bigger Buddy hoped to be able to do the same thing. But twice was pretty good for a small boy.

“Now for another kick!” cried Buddy as he raced after the can which was still bounding along the pavement. It had rolled quite straight and did not curve off into the gutter or against the sides of the buildings as it might have done.

The can came to a stop in front of Mr. Rudolph’s toy store. Buddy paused a moment to look in the window and he saw some more of the same kind of rubber-wheeled roller skates that he had bought a few days before.

Just as Buddy raised his foot to send the can spinning down the sidewalk once more, a boy, whose hands and face were tanned as brown as those of an Indian, came shuffling around the corner. For a moment Buddy thought the strange lad might be an Indian. He was bigger and older than Buddy.

“Hey, let that can alone!” gruffly called the dark boy as Buddy drew back his foot for a kick.

“What’s that?” asked Buddy in surprise. “What’d you say?”

“I said let that can alone!” replied the other and he did not smile.

“Pooh! You can’t make me let this can alone!” said Buddy who was a sturdy little chap. “It’s mine!”

“Yours? Hu! I guess not! That can is mine!” growled the other boy and, really, his voice was angry. “You let it alone!”

“I will not!” said Buddy. “I found that can away back there,” and he pointed behind him. “I kicked it here and I’m going to kick it some more.”

“You are not!” The other boy’s voice was louder now and he shuffled toward Buddy. “That’s my can and I want it!”

“Well, let’s see you get it!” cried Buddy and with that he gave an extra hard kick and the can went sailing down the street, rolling, bumping, clanging and tinkling; making a great racket.

“I’ll fix you for that!” cried the dark boy and he started for Buddy. But Buddy did not wait. On down the street he ran after the can. But after him came the other lad, his long legs going much faster than could Buddy’s short ones.

“I—I guess he’ll catch me!” panted Buddy as he raced along. “But that’s my can and I can kick it as much as I like!”