Читать книгу Change Signals - Ralph Henry Barbour - Страница 7

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The next day Kendall’s school life really began. At half-past seven there was chapel, at eight breakfast in the big dining-room, or commons as it was called, on the first floor of Whitson, and at nine came his first recitation, Latin 3. At half-past nine there was French 3a. Then came a half hour of freedom from class rooms, a half hour put to good use in polishing up for the next trial, mathematics 3, at half-past ten. The mathematics instructor was Mr. McIntyre, a hard taskmaster. At eleven-thirty there was Physical Culture in the gymnasium. After that came dinner at one o’clock, and, at two, English 3b. That, so far as lessons were concerned, finished his day. At a little after three-thirty observe him making his way toward the athletic field, an odd-looking figure with his long legs in a pair of old gray trousers, a faded brown sweater completing his costume. He wore no cap and, since his sweater was of the “turtle-neck” variety, his hair had been much disarranged in the struggle with it. For shoes he had put on a pair of rubber-soled “sneakers.” As he passed along in front of the dormitories—taking the longest way since he had only a very general idea where the athletic field lay—he occasioned not a little interest in beholders. Luckily he was quite unaware of the strangeness of his attire and so had no ear for the frequent chuckles that followed his progress.

“An odd-looking figure in a pair of old gray trousers.”

The curving path took him past the fronts of Whitson and Oxford and Merle. Below him The Prospect fell away to the green meadows and a half a mile away was the little railroad station of Wissining where he had left the train two days before. Beyond the station lay, a blue ribbon in the afternoon sunlight, the Wissining River, with the town of Greenburg beginning at its further bank. Behind him, over the tops of the trees, lay Long Island Sound, blue and hazy, and dotted with sails and streaked with smoke from distant steamers. Past the Kingdon Gymnasium he went, and then the path descended toward the river, between the tennis courts, and he paused for a minute behind one of the back-stops to watch a game in progress between two white-flanneled youths whose dexterity with racquet and ball made him wonder. At his right, a quarter of a mile away, figures moved over the rolling hillside, now stopping for some mysterious reason and then marching determinedly away again. Kendall had never seen golf played and the movements of the fellows in the distance seemed exceedingly strange. But, for that matter, there was a good deal that was strange to him here at Yardley. And perhaps the strangest thing of all was being here! It still seemed more like a dream than a reality, and he was constantly in fear that he would wake up.

The field was almost empty when he reached it, for it still wanted more than a quarter of an hour to four o’clock, and many of the upper class fellows had three o’clock recitations. But a few boys were scattered around, some on the stands and some, in football regalia, waiting for work. The gridiron had been freshly marked out and the lime lines were dazzlingly white against the grass. Kendall wished there was somebody he might talk to, but so far he had formed no acquaintances beyond those we know of, and to address any of the careless, laughing fellows about him without overtures from them was quite beyond him. So he seated himself in the sun on one of the steps leading into the grand stand and waited. Behind him and about him there were many amused glances and whispered remarks, but Kendall never noticed. On the river a canoe with two boys at the paddles was working slowly against the current toward Flat Island. Beyond the stream a wide expanse of marshland was showing the first signs of autumn, stretches of yellow mingling with the green of rushes and grass. Singly and in groups of two and three the boys, players and onlookers alike, began to appear around the corner of the stand. Then came Dan Vinton in earnest converse with John Payson, the coach. They passed him only a few yards distant and he wondered whether the captain would recognize him. But he didn’t, although his eyes rested idly for a moment on his face as he passed on. Then a little red-haired Irishman appeared with a push-cart which he wheeled to the front of the grand stand amidst facetious greetings from the audience:

“Hello, Andy! how’s the boy?”

“The top o’ the morning to ye, Andy!”

“Well, see who’s here!”

“Andy, I believe your hair’s faded!”

The trainer waved a freckled hand toward the seats and began to unload his cart. There were dozens of gray blankets, a gunny sack full of footballs, nose guards, pails, sponges, a can of water and numerous other treasures. Andy inverted the gunny sack and the footballs came tumbling out and went bobbing about in all directions to be pounced on by eager hands. A whistle blew and order resolved out of chaos. The candidates clustered around the coach and captain, Kendall following the others. He couldn’t hear very well what the coach was saying, since he was quite on the fringe of the crowd, but he caught occasional fragments:

“... Necessary to learn the rudiments of the game ... seem like hard work, but it’s work that pays well in the end.... You can’t build a house without a foundation and you can’t build a football team without.... Men who played last year report to Roeder.... New men stay here.... On the jump, now!”

I don’t intend to weary the reader with a detailed account of Kendall’s experiences that afternoon. They were uninteresting, or would have been save for their novelty. Kendall found himself one of a group of twenty fellows in charge of a quick-spoken, gingery little chap whom he afterwards discovered to be Holmes, the second-choice quarter-back. Now and then Payson made his appearance and looked on for a moment, sometimes dropping criticism or encouragement. The work for the awkward squad consisted wholly in accustoming themselves to the handling of the ball. They passed it about in a big circle, passed it at a walk, passed it at a trot. Then they tried dropping on it as Holmes rolled it along the ground, and finally they were made to catch it on the bound and to pick it up on the run as it dribbled along in front of them. Later they were formed in a line on one of the white marks and taught to start quickly as the quarter snapped the ball back.

It was tiresome work, although Kendall only discovered that when it was all over and he was walking back up the hill, walking alone amongst more than a hundred boys and wistfully wishing that he had someone with whom to talk over the practice. It seemed to Kendall that he was the only boy in school who hadn’t friends or acquaintances. He had been instructed to stop at the gymnasium and have his name entered in the manager’s book. So he followed the crowd through the big oak doors, down a flight of broad steps and into the locker-room. The manager proved to be an harassed-looking youth whom the others addressed as Cowles or Mister Manageer. It seemed the proper thing to do to confuse Cowles as much as possible, and the manager was continually begging mercy.

“Oh, for the love of mud, Jensen, cut out the rough-house, will you?” he was imploring as Kendall edged up. “I’ve got your old name down here already.... What’s that, Fogg? I don’t know; ask Payson.... What’s the name, you fellow?”

“Burtis.”

“Curtis. What class?”

“Not Curtis, if you please; Bur—”

“Shut up, you fellows, can’t you? I can’t hear a word. What’s your class, Curtis?”

“Third.”

“Where’re you rooming?”

“Twenty-one Clarke Hall.”

“How old?”

“Fifteen; pretty near sixteen.”

“Never mind the pretty near part. Squad D. Report to-morrow to Mr. Bendix at twelve for examination. Come on, now, I haven’t got all night to do this!”

Kendall pushed his way through the crowded room toward the door. Most of the fellows, he noticed, were changing their football clothes for their usual attire in front of little closets which ran in rows at one end of the room. Some, already disencumbered of everything save huge bath towels, were hurrying toward a doorway from beyond which came the sound of rushing water and eddying clouds of steam. In there, Kendall surmised, were the shower baths. He had heard of them and would like to have tried one, but he had neither towel nor locker. He stood for a moment out of the way and watched the scene. Dan Vinton came hurrying through the outer door and pushed his way through the throng. Several fellows tried to detain him, but he kept on to a bench and rapidly removed his togs, talking as he did so to half a dozen fellows who had followed and quickly surrounded him. In a minute he was off to the showers, still replying to questions as he went and eluding the clutches of friends. Across the room Cowles was still taking names, although his task was about over. The throng began to lessen as the baths swallowed their quota. Kendall turning to reach the door suddenly became aware of a boy who, a yard or two distant, was viewing him uncertainly. It was the boy to whom Kendall had been introduced last night in Vinton’s room, but he couldn’t recall his name. He was in ordinary attire and looked as though he had just entered. When he caught Kendall’s eye he nodded smilingly and stepped across to him.

“We met last night, but I’ve forgotten your name,” he said.

“I remember,” Kendall replied a trifle shyly. “My name is Burtis.”

“Burtis? I don’t think I’ve ever heard that before. Mine is Pennimore. How did you get on at practice, Burtis?”

“Not very well, I guess.”

“One doesn’t at first. It’s a bit discouraging. After you’ve got the hang of it, though, it goes better.” He surveyed the room and finally called across to the manager. “Cowles, where’s Dan?”

“I haven’t seen him, Gerald,” Cowles replied, waving his book and then slipping it into his pocket.

“If you mean Mr. Vinton,” said Kendall, “he went into the bathroom about two or three minutes ago.”

“Did he? I guess I won’t wait then. Coming my way?”

“I—I was going back to my room,” replied Kendall.

“Let’s walk along, then. Well, how do you like it as far as you’ve got?” Gerald held the door open and Kendall murmured “Thank you,” and went through.

“I like it very much,” he replied when they were outside on the path. “It—it’s different, though, from what I expected.”

“Is it? How?”

“Well, everything’s bigger, for one thing,” replied Kendall hesitatingly. “And—and the fellows are—are different.”

“Don’t you like us?” laughed Gerald.

“Oh, yes! That is, I don’t know anyone yet—except the fellow I room with, but you all seem very nice. I don’t know that I can explain just what I mean.”

“Go ahead and try,” Gerald encouraged.

“Well, everyone seems so—so old!”

“Old?”

“Yes, more like fellows in college, you know.”

“Really? I never thought of that.”

“Maybe old isn’t quite the word I want,” said Kendall reflectively. “No, I don’t guess it is. What I mean is that the fellows are so—so sort of confident, and—and—oh, I don’t know.”

“I get you now,” replied Gerald. “Yes, I know what you mean. I noticed that myself when I came. It’s a sort of self-possession, isn’t it? You soon catch it, Burtis. You see, after all, Yardley is a good deal like a college. A fellow has to look after himself a good deal. They give us lots of rope here and you can hang yourself mighty easy, Burtis. Some fellows don’t understand that when they first come. They think that because they’re not watched by someone every minute that they can do as they please and it won’t matter. But it does matter, though. There’s no one here to say, ‘Now you must study your lessons and be a good boy,’ you see. Only when you don’t study your lessons, and aren’t a good boy, you get into trouble. A fellow can get along maybe half a term by faking, but when the exams come there’s a—a rude awakening, as they say in the stories. And then it’s too late. Out you go! Good night! So a fellow has to learn to look after himself here; has to realize that if he’s going to stay here he’s got to do things on his own incentive, and not wait to be told. If you don’t want to study here at Yardley, no one’s going to make you. Only some fine day you wake up and find that your trunk’s packed and that you’ve got your ticket home.”

“I see,” said Kendall thoughtfully. “That accounts for it, I guess.”

Gerald’s discourse had brought them to the doorway of Clarke and now they climbed the stairs together. Kendall wanted to ask the other boy to his room, but feared it might be considered “fresh.” Gerald solved the problem at the head of the stairs.

“Come down to my room and chin awhile,” he said, leading the way along the hall. “Unless you want to change.”

“No, I’ll wait now,” answered Kendall. Gerald pointed out the easiest chair to his guest, tossed his cap onto his bed and tossed himself onto the window seat, stuffing the many-hued pillows behind his back.

“There’s another thing,” said Kendall, returning to the subject. “Everyone seems to be having such a good time.”

“Why not? That’s what we’re here for!”

“Yes, but—but what about studying and—and learning things?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Gerald laughed. “We study, Burtis. But we try to have a good time even doing that. I guess it’s a sort of pose here at Yardley to seem careless and happy-go-lucky and keep on smiling. Life isn’t always a joke, not by any means; but we don’t believe in drawing long faces, Burtis. They say over at Broadwood that a Yardley man never knows when he’s beaten; and there’s something in that, too. I said a minute ago that it was a pose. It isn’t, though; it’s a habit. Oh, you’ll like us better when you learn our ways.”

“I like you now,” replied Kendall with a smile. “Only I didn’t quite understand. I’m glad you’ve told me.”

“I suppose you don’t know many fellows yet?”

“No, none to speak of.”

“Well, you will in a day or two if you keep on with football. And you must come over here now and then. Fellows drop in here a good deal, you know. How do you like Towne?”

“I—it’s pretty soon to judge yet,” replied Kendall evasively. Gerald laughed.

“Well, don’t judge us all by him,” he begged.

“I guess I looked pretty much of a fool last night,” said Kendall sheepishly. “About that application blank, I mean.”

“Oh, yes; well, that was a bit green, but I don’t know why you shouldn’t have believed Towne. We’re all pretty innocent when we get here first. And, by the way, Burtis, I ought to tell you, I guess, that we don’t say ‘sir’ to one another here. I noticed last night that you said it to Dan.”

“Thanks; I’ll remember,” replied Kendall gratefully. “Only he was older and the football captain and I somehow thought—”

“There was no harm done,” Gerald assured him. “Not a bit. But you needn’t say ‘sir’ or ‘mister’ to anyone except faculty, you know, and Mr. Payson. Let’s see, you’re in the Third, aren’t you?”

“Third Class? Yes.”

“Well, any time you want help come over. I’ve been through with it and I know it’s mighty hard sledding in places. I’m not a ‘grind’ by any means, but I might be able to help you out of a hole maybe.”

“Thank you. I will. I guess I’ll be going now.”

“All right. Come over and see me sometimes. By the way, ever done any running?”

“Running?” repeated Kendall.

“Yes, on the track.” Kendall shook his head.

“Well, you’d better come out in the spring and try for the Track Team,” said Gerald. “With those legs of yours you ought to be able to just eat up the cinders. Good-by. See you again.”

Kendall found Harold Towne stretched out on his bed, reading.

“Hello!” said Harold, “how did you like—” Then he caught sight of Kendall’s attire and a broad grin overspread his face. “Well, say, where on earth did you get that costume?”

“What’s the matter with it?” asked Kendall in surprise.

“What’s the matter with it! You look like a scarecrow! Have you been out for practice like that?”

“Yes. I hadn’t anything else. Vinton said—”

“Well, I’ll bet you made ’em laugh, Burtis. Say, don’t tell anyone you room with me, will you?”

“I won’t,” replied Kendall emphatically. Harold stared a moment. There was something in the tone he didn’t like. Finally,

“Where have you been since practice?” he asked.

“I stopped at the gymnasium for a few minutes and then walked home with a fellow named Pennimore, and I’ve been in his room.”

“Pennimore! Gerald Pennimore?”

“I think his name’s Gerald,” replied Kendall, squirming out of his sweater. Harold whistled. Then he chuckled:

“I’d like to have seen you together, you two. The millionaire and the scarecrow, eh?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” returned Kendall with a scowl.

“I mean you and your friend, Mr. Moneybags. Didn’t you know he’s the richest fellow in school? And the biggest snob?”

“No.” Kendall shook his head and thought a moment. “I guess this was another Pennimore,” he said. “He was just like anyone else—only nicer.”