dan vinton returned to yardley after the christmas vacation on an afternoon of one of those bright, warm days which sometimes happen along in the middle of winter. as the train rumbled over the bridge, dan caught a fleeting glimpse of long island sound sparkling in the sunlight and pricked out here and there with a white sail. on his way up the winding road to the school—he had the station carriage to himself save for the unobtrusive presence of a homesick preparatory class boy—he saw clean russet meadows aglow in the mellow light, and, farther inland and across the little river, meeker’s marsh a broad expanse of reeds and grass and rushes shading from green-gold to coppery red. so far, although it was the third of january, there had been no snow storm worthy of the name in the vicinity of wissining, and, save that the trees were bare of leaves, one might have thought himself[2] in autumn. it was as though a careless, laughing october day had lost its place in the procession and now, after a two months’ truancy, had squirmed and crowded itself back into line again. dan cast a glance toward the athletic field, half expecting to see the brown footballs hurtling up against the sky.
the carriage skirted the prospect and began the steep ascent which ends with the plateau on which the school buildings stand. a freight train rumbled by through the cut a few rods below and dan watched the white steam as it wreathed upward until a movement by the boy in the farther corner of the carriage drew his attention. the lad was digging a gloved knuckle into his eye, his head averted in an effort to hide the threatening tears. dan smiled. but the next moment, as he recalled how near to tears he had himself been on more than one occasion only some four months previous, the smile disappeared and he leaned forward.
“well, kid, glad to get back?” he asked kindly.
the lad—he looked to be no more than twelve years of age—turned and glanced at the questioner shyly, bravely trying to summon a smile as he shook his head.
“oh, well, you will be in a day or two,” responded dan heartily. “what’s your name?”
[3]
“merrow, sir.”
“well, buck up, merrow; and never mind the ‘sir.’ i dare say you chaps are pretty comfortable in merle, aren’t you?”
“yes, s—, yes, mr. vinton.”
“oh, so you know me, do you?” laughed dan. the boy nodded and smiled bashfully.
“i guess every fellow knows you,” he murmured.
“well, don’t call me mister, please. where do you live when you’re at home?”
“germantown, pennsylvania, s—, i mean—”
“well, that isn’t very far away, is it?” asked dan cheerfully.
“n—no, not so very,” replied the other doubtfully.
“i should say not. i dare say you left home only three or four hours ago, eh?”
“twelve o’clock.”
“well, i started yesterday afternoon,” said dan. “i had to come all the way from ohio. that beats you, doesn’t it?”
the younger boy nodded. then:
“we have a fellow in our house who comes from california,” he announced proudly.
“and that beats me,” laughed dan. “well, here we are.” he took up his bag and clambered out. “come over and see me this evening,[4] merrow, if you get too lonesome; 28 clarke’s my room. cheer up.”
he left his bag on the steps of oxford while he sought the office to register.
“back early,” said mr. forisher, the secretary.
“yes, sir,” answered dan. “we’ve got some dandy snow out our way and i thought i’d better start early in case the trains got tied up. not many fellows back yet, are there?”
“only a few. the next train will bring most of them. nice weather we’re having.”
dan agreed that it was and turned toward the door. but:
“by the way, vinton,” said the secretary, “you have a new roommate with you this term, i believe?”
“yes, sir, gerald pennimore.”
“exactly. well—er—we want to make young pennimore’s stay with us as pleasant as possible, vinton, and so—anything you can do to—er—smooth the way for him will be—er—appreciated at the office.”
“yes, sir. i’m going to try and look out for him, sir.”
“that’s right. i suppose he will be along pretty soon.”
“he and his father are coming on the six[5] o’clock, sir. i had a letter from him a couple of days ago.”
“ah, that reminds me, vinton! mr. collins left word that you were to join mr. pennimore and his son at the doctor’s table this evening. he thought that would make it pleasant for the boy.”
dan smiled as he closed the office door behind him.
“it pays to be a millionaire,” he thought. “i rather wish, though, for gerald’s sake, that his father wasn’t coming along. the sooner the fellows forget that gerald’s john t’s son the better it’s going to be for gerald.”
he rescued his bag and made his way to clarke hall where he climbed two flights of well-worn stairs and let himself into a corner room on the front of the building. there he sat down his bag, threw off his hat and coat and, crossing to the windows, sent them screeching upward. the sun had passed from the front of the building but a thin shaft of amber light entered the side window and fell upon the bare top of the chiffonier nearby. dan thrust his hands into his pockets and looked about him. then he shook his head.
“it’s going to be funny here at first without tubby,” he muttered. “tubby wasn’t what you’d call an ideal roommate, but i was sort of[6] getting used to him. i suppose a fellow misses even a boil if he has it long enough!”
twenty-eight clarke was a large room, well lighted and airy. it was comfortably if plainly furnished. each side of the room held its bed, chiffonier, washstand and chair. an ingrain carpet covered most of the floor and the shallow bay window was fitted with a window-seat piled with cushions. in the center of the room stood a broad-topped study table and a comfortable arm-chair flanked it at either side. on the clean gray-tinted walls hung a few good pictures. there was a good-sized closet on each side of the door. being in a corner room there was an end window as well as the bay in front.
dan hung his gray overcoat and derby hat in the closet, swung his bag to the table and began to unpack it. and while he is engaged let us have a good look at him.
dan vinton was fifteen years of age, rather tall, lithe, and long of limb. he had a quickness and certainty of movement—exhibited even in the way in which he stowed his things away—that impressed the observer at once. alertness was a prominent characteristic of dan’s; he never shilly-shallied, nor, on the other hand, was he especially impulsive. he had the faculty of making up his mind quickly, and, his decision once[7] reached, he acted promptly and with little loss of effort. dan’s course between two points was always a straight line. all this may have had something to do with the fact that he played an extremely good game of football at the end of the line.
i don’t want to give the impression that dan was one of the thin and nervous sort; on the contrary he was well-built, if a trifle large for his fifteen years, while his limbs were not all bone even if they were long. and nerves were things that never bothered him. he was good-looking, with steady brown eyes, a short, straight nose, brown hair, and a pleasant mouth which hinted of good temper. dan had entered yardley hall school the preceding fall and was in the third class. he had won a place for himself on the football eleven and had scored the winning touchdown in the final contest against yardley’s rival, broadwood academy. one cannot ordinarily do a thing like that without becoming pretty well known in a school of some two hundred and seventy students or without gaining some degree of popularity, and dan was no exception. he had received enough praise and adulation to have turned a less well-balanced head. to dan the school’s homage had brought pleasure but not pride. he had many acquaintances but only a[8] handful of friends. but the friends were worth having and the friendship was real.
having emptied the bag he tossed it onto the closet shelf and wandered to the window, glancing at his watch on the way.
“ten minutes to five,” he murmured. “that train ought to be in.” at that moment there was a shriek from a locomotive whistle and dan threw open one of the front windows and craned his head and shoulders out. it was just possible to see the corner of the station, nearly a half-mile away, and there was the big engine puffing black smoke clouds from its diminutive stack. a moment later it had taken up its journey again and dan watched it and the ten cars slip across the open track and plunge into the long cut through the school grounds below the prospect. it would be ten minutes at least before the carriages would arrive, and dan settled himself in his arm-chair and took up a book. but the arrival of his trunk from the station interrupted him a moment later, and after the porter had gone he decided to do his unpacking now and get it over with. the trunk was only a small one and didn’t keep him busy very long, but before he had finished the carriages had begun to unload their noisy passengers at the front of oxford hall and dan decided to finish his task before seeking his[9] friends. so it was nearly a quarter of an hour later that he set his cap onto the back of his head and ran down the stairs. the station carriages were making their second trips and the front of oxford was sprinkled with fellows. dan returned salutations here and there without stopping as he cut around the corner of clarke and made his way to dudley.
