Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Team-Mates [Illustration: Beside Sandy tripped the Obnoxious Kid, waving triumphantly her red and white banner] Team-Mates By Ralph Henry Barbour Author of âThe Crimson Sweater,â âCaptain Chub,â âHarryâs Island,â etc. With Illustrations By C. M. Relyea [Illustration] New York The Century Co. 1911 Copyright, 1910, 1911, by THE CENTURY CO. _Published September, 1911_ CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. A NEW BOY ARRIVES 3 II. WEST HOUSE SITS IN JUDGMENT 16 III. A VISIT TO THE INQUISITORY 28 IV. NICKNAMES AND MUSIC 51 V. CAL IS CHRISTENED 69 VI. CAL SETTLES DOWN 85 VII. HOMESICKNESS AND GINGERBREAD 102 VIII. NED LAYS DOWN THE LAW 116 IX. THE GHOST IN THE ORCHARD 139 X. THE MYSTERY DEEPENS 160 XI. THE MISSING MONEY 180 XII. THE GIRL NEXT DOOR 193 XIII. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY 217 XIV. CAL MUTINIES 234 XV. MOLLY TAKES A HAND 250 XVI. THE PIPPIN CLUB IS FORMED 267 XVII. CAL BUYS A SUIT 284 XVIII. A FALLING-OUT 302 XIX. THE SECOND GAME 315 XX. RUMORS AND EXCITEMENT 337 XXI. A MYSTERY IS EXPLAINED 354 XXII. MOLLY WAVES A FLAG 366 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE Beside Sandy, tripped the Obnoxious Kid, waving triumphantly her red and white banner _Frontispiece_ âIs this West House?â he asked 23 âGot any other togs in that gripsack of yours?â 35 âMy nameâs John Boland. Whatâs yours?â 41 âYo heave ho! When the wind do blowâââ 67 âPlease donât throw me in,â begged Claire 79 âBut, honest, Cal, they wonât do!â 99 Ned viewed Calâs costume with misgiving 117 âHereâs a place where thereâs a picket off!â 133 Panic seized the company 143 âGood evening. Weââwe came for the applesâ 173 âWell, itâs gone,â said Ned 183 âThese are ghost apples,â said the girl 199 âYouâre a very horrid, rude boy, Calâ 231 He stopped and examined the contents of the bundle 243 Sandy was toiling valiantly, chasing balls on all sides of the court 257 Presently they were all seated 273 Cal buys a new suit of clothes 295 âWeâd better settle this right nowâ 311 Cal had his first baptism by fire 333 âWhy does the W look so rakish?â 349 Cal knelt in front of Nedâs bureau and opened the bottom drawer 361 TEAM-MATES CHAPTER I A NEW BOY ARRIVES âHow far is it to Oak Park School, please?â The policeman on duty at the North Woodfield station turned from watching the train disappear westward along the track and gave his attention to the speaker. What he saw was a rather thin youth of fourteen with deeply tanned face from which a pair of gray eyes looked somewhat anxiously upward. The boy had removed his hat, a dilapidated straw adorned with a faded blue band, not out of deference to the majesty of the law but because the September afternoon was decidedly hot, leaving to view a head of pale brown hair, rumpled and damp, which had evidently been trimmed both recently and poorly. He wore a suit of gray flannel, a white shirt, with a stiff and creaky bosom, a narrow red four-in-hand tie and tan shoes. In spite of the fact that his attire was all of the most inexpensive sort he was quite palpably âdressed upâ and extremely uncomfortable. He had set down his bag, a small and very shiny contrivance of imitation alligator skin, in order to run a new and scratchy handkerchief around inside his collar. âWhat was it you asked?â inquired the officer. âHow far is it to Oak Park School, sir? And which way do I have to go, please?â The officer had started a good many boys on their initial journey to the school and had acquired a method of procedure. âPick up your bag and Iâll show you, my boy. Right through here.â He conducted his charge across the waiting-room and out the further door where, along the asphalt walk, carriage drivers were clamoring for fares. âThe schoolâs about a half a mile up that way. Any of these drivers will take you there.â âBut theyâll charge me, wonât they?â asked the boy. âSure! They ainât doing it for their health. Itâs only a quarter, though. You can stand that, I guess.â âIâd rather walk if youâll tell me how to go.â The officer turned for another survey of the boy before he replied. He had seen a number of Oak Park School boys, but this was the first one who had ever in his experience saved carriage fare. âDonât quite look like he belonged at that school,â he said to himself. Then, ââD rather walk, eh? Well, you cross the common here and take that street over by the hardware store. See? Keep right on that until you get to the school. You canât miss it. Going to the Hall, are you?â âNo, sir; West House.â âWell, thatâs a bit farther, but youâd better go up to the school and then cross over through the park. You might go another way, but itâs longer and a good deal hotter walking, I guess. If I was you, though, Iâd take a carriage. Thereâs a load of the boys going up now. Better go with âem.â âI calâlate Iâd rather walk, thanks. It ainât very far.â He put on his hat and returned his handkerchief to his pocket. âMuch obliged, sir.â âOh, youâre welcome. Better take it easy; itâs a hot day.â âYes, sir, I will.â The officer watched him cross the road, enter the common and strike off toward the other side of the Square. He smiled and then he shook his head. âWonder how he came here,â he muttered. âI guess heâs in for a lot of guying when the rest of âem catch sight of him. Well, heâll live through it.â The boy reached the farther side of the common and started across the street in front of the hardware store. At that moment a three-seated surrey containing the driver, four boys and numerous suit-cases came along and the boy on foot had to retreat hurriedly to keep from being run down. âLook out there, farmer! Most got you that time!â âLook where youâre going, kid!â He had a brief glimpse of laughing, mocking faces and then the surrey, drawn by a pair of sleek bays, dashed around the corner out of sight. He started again across the street, this time looking cautiously to left and right. But the course was clear now. Across from the hardware store was a druggistâs and huge placards told enticingly of âIce Cold Sodaâ and âCollege Ices.â One hand went tentatively into his trousers pocket as the hiss of the soda fountain came to him. But it came out again empty and he turned down the street toward the school. âElm Streetâ said the sign on the corner, but the elms were not in sight. Beyond an occasional maple, too small to throw shade, the street was treeless and the hot sunlight beat remorselessly down on either sidewalk. There had been a fountain in the common and he wished now that he had stopped and had a drink. For a block or two small stores lined the way and he considered entering one of them and asking for water. But they were all shabby and untidy and by the time he had made up his mind to ask he had left them behind, and houses, no more attractive than the stores, had taken their place. He took the policemanâs advice and walked slowly, for in spite of the fact that it wanted but a week to the first of October the day was as hot as an August one and the stiff shirt and the vest, both articles of attire with which he was somewhat unfamiliar, increased his discomfort. He hoped that the policeman hadnât underestimated the distance to the school. The bag, while it wasnât very heavy, didnât make progress any easier. And that awful collar was squeezing his neck like a vise! He had started from home after an early dinner feeling decidedly excited and elated, but the elation was dwindling fast with every step, and the excitement had changed to something that savored both of dismay and homesickness. When, away last Spring, it had been decided in family council that he was to go to boarding school and prepare for college the prospect had filled him with delight. Now he wished himself back in West Bayport. He already missed the sight and smell of the ocean and the wharves and the shipping. It seemed unpleasantly shut in here, and the air was dead and held no tang, and the street was deep in yellowish-gray dust and even the hills in the distance looked hot and wilted under their purple haze. On the whole, he was sorely tempted to retrace his steps and take the next train homeward, abandoning Oak Park and college and all they stood for. But of course he didnât. If he had his name wouldnât have been John William Boland. Moreover, there wouldnât have been any story! No, he kept right along the hot road which presently bore to the left and became gradually shady with spreading elms. The shabby dwellings died away from either side and open lots and then broad fields succeeded them. Once he rested for a good five minutes perched on a stone wall in the grateful shade of a big elm, and while he sat there, hat off, rumpled hair exposed to a little listless breeze, shiny bag at his feet, two carriages filled to the brim with boys, arrivals on a later train, rattled merrily and noisily by him, and he was uncomfortably conscious of the curious looks and the muttered comments proceeding from them. He didnât think he was going to like Oak Park School and regretted that he hadnât held out for one of the institutions which his own choice had fallen upon when the little white cottage at West Bayport had been inundated for weeks with school catalogues. He recalled one in particular, Seaview Academy, an imposing brick building fronting the ocean, backed with a jolly looking forest and adorned on all sides by winding paths sprinkled with boys and strange-shaped flower beds blooming tropically. But Seaview had been quite out of the question with its seven hundred dollar tuition fee, and, like several others which had caught his fancy, had been set aside as something beautiful but impossible. There had been a time when the Bolands were prosperous. That was before Captain Jonathan Boland, master and half-owner of the fishing schooner _Patriot_, had been lost with all hands on the Grand Banks and Mrs. Boland and John and his sister Nan had been left with only the small house overlooking the harbor and a very little money. The disaster had occurred when John was ten and his sister a year younger, and since that time the family had often had hard work to make ends meet. John and Nan attended public school, and in the summer the former found what work he could. The wages werenât large, but they helped. One summer he had obtained a place in a sail-loft, and another year had nailed âflatsâ into boxes at the fish house. But the best summer of all had been the one just past, when he had served as one of the crew of three on the little auxiliary sloop _Emma Boyd_, which sailed or chugged about the harbor selling water to the fishing boats. It was the death of Uncle Thomas that had altered the boyâs prospects. Uncle Thomas had been his motherâs brother, a mysterious, seldom seen old man who had lived in Maine and who, when he decided to die at the respectable age of seventy-odd, had left a legacy of a thousand dollars to his sister. News of it had reached Mrs. Boland in the late winter and not for an instant had there been any doubt in her mind as to the investment of the money. It was to go toward her boyâs education. It wouldnât take him through college, of course, but, with care, it might prepare him for it; and once old enough to find employment at a manâs wages, he could, she was certain, with the Lordâs help, manage the rest himself. Mrs. Boland had always been a firm believer in trusting to the Lord, and so far she had never been disappointed. John was to study hard and prepare himself for college in three years. Neither himself nor his mother nor Sister Nan doubted his ability to do this; Nan least of all, perhaps, for to her John was something just short of super-human. Had the legacy been larger John could have afforded another year at school, but with a thousand dollars only to draw on, and tuition at good schools seldom being less than three hundred a year, you can see that three years was bound to be his limit. So the legacy was placed untouched in the savings bank and the entire family began a systematic study of preparatory schools. In the end Oak Park had won the privilege of enrolling John William Boland among its pupils. The tuition at Oak Park was three hundred dollars a year, a price made possible by endowments from former students. It was only a dollar and twenty cents from West Bayportââyou see the Bolands reckoned distance in terms of carfares!ââand it possessed in addition most of the advantages offered by larger and more expensive schools. I think, though, that it was the phrase in the advertisement alluding to moral character that decided Mrs. Boland. John remembered every word of that advertisement yet; it had been read a dozen times while awaiting the school catalogue. âOak Park School, North Woodfield, Mass. Preparatory School for Boys. Estab. 1876. Ideal equipment for health and study. Twenty-four acres of elevated ground one hour from Boston. Special attention given to boys of fifteen and under. Enrollment limited to sixty and only boys of high moral character accepted. For further information address Dr. Horace Mitchell Webster, Principal.â Johnâs application had been forwarded in June and a month later he had learned that it had been accepted. From that moment he had looked forward to this day. And nowââwhy, now he was dragging unwilling feet along the road and heartily wishing himself back at home! It was extremely unreasonable of him, he knew, but somehow he just couldnât help it. It was not only unreasonable, it was ungrateful besides. And while he was telling himself so, with a terrific frown on his brown forehead, the school suddenly appeared before him. A neat stone wall, flat-topped and half-hidden with ivy, began beside him and went on to an ornamental iron gateway. Beyond the wall was a broad expanse of velvety green turf divided by drives and walks which led to the four buildings in sight. The nearest of these was a low two-story building of buff colored brick and limestone trimming. John guessed it to be the gymnasium, and he was right. It was full of windows, most of which were open, and the red slate roof looked very hot in the sunlight. Near the gymnasium and further from John was a handsome building of three stories, the lower of weathered shingles and the upper two of creamy-hued plaster between beams. There were two entrances, a square porch before each, and on the porches and steps were many boys. Still further away was an old building of red brick, making no pretence of architectural attractiveness and draped in ivy. This was the recitation hall doubtless. And quite a distance beyond the three foremost buildings a fourth peered around the corner of the center one. It too was of shingle and stucco and beams, but it was quite small. Beyond the school grounds there was a fringe of trees, and back of that the country rose and fell in meadows and wooded hillsides. The policeman had said that West House was farther than the school itself and John hesitated at the gate. Then his gaze crossed the road and there was another gate, a rustic one, with the sign âWest Houseâ above it. So he turned his back on the school buildings and went through the smaller gate and followed a neat gravelled path that dipped down to a wooden bridge. Above the bridge was an oval pond half an acre in extent. Under and below it a little brook ran, fern-fringed and murmurous, to disappear in a patch of willows and alders beyond. This was the park from which the school took its name. The path led upward again and wound westward through a grove of oaks. Here and there shrubs and plants, their leaves drooping and wilted, lined the path. With the exception of the Public Gardens in Boston, John had never seen anything as beautiful as that far-reaching expanse of turfed ground with the great wide-spreading oak trees throwing their pools of dark green shadow on the grass. There seemed to be no limits to the park, for as far as he could see his vision was shut in by leaf and branch and trunk. Once he thought he spied the top of a red chimney through the greenery, but he wasnât certain of that. He was certain, however, that Oak Park School exceeded his expectations as far as attractiveness went, and he found so much pleasure in following the path and viewing the new vistas of sun and shade that opened up before him at every turn that he quite forgot his former despondency and was so absorbed that when, quite unexpectedly, the trees stopped and a white cottage with green blinds appeared before him he was quite astounded. CHAPTER II WEST HOUSE SITS IN JUDGMENT âDutch, youâre fatter than ever,â declared The Fungus, digging his fingers affectionately if painfully into the otherâs neck as he joined the group on the steps of West House and lowered himself to a seat between Dutch and Spud Halladay. Otto Zoller turned upon him with indignation faintly visible on his round, good-natured face. âIâm not; Iâm three pounds lighter than last Spring.â âDutch is training down for quarter,â said Fred Sanderson gravely. âHow much do you weigh now, Dutch?â âHundred and thirty-one and a half.â âDutch!â âHonest, Sandy!â âWeâll have to get that half-pound off you,â said Spud. âFat is fatal.â âThatâs cheek,â said Hooper Ross, a tall youth of fifteen with amazingly black eyes and hair. âYou look like a little fat cherub yourself, Spud.â âLittle fat rascal!â grunted The Fungus, whose real name as entered in the school catalogue was Fergus Worthington White. The title of The Fungus suited him very well, for he had the lightest of tow-colored hair and eyes of a pale, washed-out blue. Spud aimed a kick at his insulter, but it fell short and the effort landed him on the next step below with a thud that the other four boys found amusing. âWhereâs the new kid?â asked Sandy with lowered voice. The Fungus grinned. âUp there,â he said, jerking his head vaguely toward the second floor of the cottage. âUnpacking. You ought to see the rafts of stuff heâs brought; silver brushes and a patent necktie holder that goes on the wall and trousers stretcherâââ âTrousers stretcher! Heâs wearing knickers,â said Spud. âYes, but he told me he had some long trousers in his trunk. Says he didnât know which was proper here. Heâs a funny little kid.â âWhatâs his name?â asked Dutch. âParker, Claire Parker.â âClaire? Thatâs a girlâs name, ainât it?â demanded Hoop. âI donât know. He says itâs his. He looks like a girl, too, with those nice little pink cheeks of his. He will be a valuable addition to the House Eleven, I donât think!â âI hope the other chap will be an improvement,â said Sandy. âAbout time for him to show up, seems to me.â âBet you heâs the fellow we saw sitting on the wall,â said The Fungus. âHope so, anyway. Nedâs been rubbing it into me about the youngster. Iâd laugh myself to death if that was the chap.â âGet out!â scoffed Spud. âWhy, he was a regular farmer! Besides, he wouldnât be walking up.â âHe might. Why doesnât Ned come down?â The Fungus pulled himself up, descended the steps and lolled out to the center of the half-moon-shaped lawn that lay between the circling drive and the fence. âO you Ned!â he called, looking toward an upper window. âHello! What?â answered a voice. âCome on down.â âIn a minute. Iâm changing sides.â The Fungus grinned as he strolled back to the group on the steps. âNedâs changing his things over to the other side of the room,â he explained. âThat gives him the bay window.â âHope the new fellow can play football,â mused Sandy. âWe need some more talent this year, now that Means and Carter have gone. The Hallâs going to have a bully team.â âHow long since we won a game?â asked Dutch. âThree years,â answered Spud. âWhat do you know about it? You werenât here,â said Sandy. Sanderson was sixteen and, being the oldest boy in West House, was House Leader and thereby privileged to administer rebuke. Spud grinned. âNeither were you, Sandy,â he replied amiably. âDidnât say I was. And I donât talk as though I knew it all, Spud.â âWell, itâs time we won again,â said Dutch, breaking in on what threatened to develop into one of the periodical disputes between the two. âSounds all right,â said The Fungus, âbut how you going to do it? It isnât fair, anyway. The Hallâs got thirty-eight fellows to pick from and the Houses only have twenty-two. Besides, we get more than our share of Second Juniors nowadays. Hereâs this fellow Parker, and I heard that East House is getting two of them.â âDonât believe that,â said Dutch. âBrad Miller told me they were only getting three new boys altogether.â âThree! Theyâre getting seven!â said Sandy. âAnd weâre getting two and Hallâs getting six. There are fifteen new boys this Fall. Jim told me.â âAnyhow, Hallâs lost Morgan and Chase and Purdy this year,â exulted Hoop, âand thatâll leave them hipped.â âPiffle! Growâs just as good a tackle as Morgan was,â declared Spud. âOnly they wouldnât give him a fair show last year. Andâââ âWhereâs my new fidus?â interrupted Ned Brent, appearing through the doorway with his hands thrust into the pockets of a pair of voluminous homespun trousers and viewing the group severely. âI want to see what I draw.â âHope you draw something awful,â said The Fungus maliciously. âHope he has red hair and a mole on his nose and snores like sixty andââandâââ âHello!â exclaimed Sandy, sotto voce. âSee whoâs here!â Around the corner of the house, from the direction of the park, appeared a fairly tall and slender youth of fourteen from whose sun-browned face a pair of gray eyes looked curiously and embarrassedly at the group. He swung a shiny imitation leather satchel as he advanced along the path. âPipe the tie,â whispered Spud in Hoopâs ear. â_And_ the trousers,â returned Hoop with a grin. The Fungus watched the newcomerâs approach with a broad smile of unholy joy. At the foot of the steps the youth stopped. âIs this West House?â he asked, his eyes travelling from one face to another. There followed intense silence. Sandy, as House Leader, had the right to the first word and Sandy was taking his time. Meanwhile six pairs of eyes were fixed critically on the new boy, ranging from the cheap yellow shoes, very dusty from the journey, over the misfit trousers and the jacket whose sleeves were too long, lingering on the vivid red tie, loose and stringy from much wear, and lighting at last on the battered straw hat with its very blue ribbon. And the new boy, painfully aware of the scrutiny, shifted from one foot to the other and grew red under his dark tan. At last Sandy spoke. âThis,â he drawled, âis Occidental Mansion.â âOh!â said the boy. âThen whereâââ But he understood the next moment and smiled a little. âThen I calâlate this is where I belong,â he said. âYouââ_what_?â asked Sandy. âI calâlateâââ âHeâs a lightning calculator,â explained Spud helpfully. âI saw one once at a circus.â Sandyâs eyes rested frowningly on the bag. âI donât think,â he said, âthat we want to buy anything today.â âWhat have you got?â asked Hoop. âHuh?â âDonât say âhuhâ; say âWhat, sir?ââ directed Sandy severely. âWhat, sir?â âI say what have you got,â repeated Hoop. [Illustration: âIs this West House?â he asked] âGot?â asked the other confusedly. âSure! What are you selling; whatâs in the grip there?â âIâm not selling anything. Iâve got clothes in here.â âAre they like what youâre wearing?â asked Spud innocently. âCut it out, Spud,â growled Ned Brent. âWhatâs your name?â âJohn Boland,â was the answer. âWhere do you live?â asked The Fungus. âWest Bayport.â âHow old are you?â âFourteen.â âWhat class?â âHuh? I mean what, sir?â âWhat class are you going into, Mr. Boland?â âI calâlate Iâm going into the First Junior.â âThatâll be nice for the First Junior, wonât it?â laughed Dutch. âDo you snore?â demanded The Fungus. âI guess not.â âYou mean you calâlate not. Can you play football?â âNo, but Iâd like to try.â The Fungus viewed him pityingly and turned to Sandy. âHeâd like to try, Sandy.â Sandy shook his head sorrowfully. âWhere have I heard that before?â he murmured. âWell, Boland, you room with me, I guess,â said Ned. âCome on in and Iâll call Marm.â John looked gratefully up at his roommate and edged his way between the others. Half way up the steps Hoop stuck a foot out and John completed his ascent hurriedly and ungracefully. At the top he turned with flashing eyes and clenched hand. âDid you do that on purpose?â he demanded of Hoop. âDo what?â inquired Hoop surprisedly. âTrip me up.â âOh, did I trip you up, Mr. Boland?â âYes, you did, and you know it. You did it on purpose.â âWell, supposing I did? Then what, you fresh kid?â John gazed at him wrathfully, and then his eyes went over the other grinning faces and fell. He swallowed hard once and then turned toward the door. Hoop laughed. âHere, hold on, kid! What if I did trip you up?â he asked. John turned at the door and looked back at him. âNothingâânow,â he said quietly, as he entered the house. CHAPTER III A VISIT TO THE INQUISITORY Mrs. Linn, the matron of West House, was a short, ample, motherly woman of some fifty years who had in some miraculous manner preserved both her complexion and her hair. Her cheeks bloomed like roses and her tresses, which she wore wound high at the back of her head in large braids, were hued like the ravenâs wing. She had been born in England, had married an Englishman and had come to this country soon after her wedding. Under the stress of excitement she still lost an occasional H. What had become of Mr. Linn was a matter of conjecture amongst the boys, for while the matron in her infrequent allusions to him assumed the sorrowfully resigned air of a widow, yet his fate was never explained. Mrs. Linn had ruled over West House for nearly fifteen years. She was not a disciplinarian; in the face of revolt she was helpless and tearful; and yet she got along very well. You see, there wasnât much fun in being bad when you knew all the time that Mrs. Linn was sitting in her room downstairs, rocking back and forth in her patent rocker, and shedding silent tears. Chivalry protested. At such times West House sighed for a house master of its own sex whom it could bait to its heartâs content. The fellows liked Mrs. Linn and called her Marmââand poked good-natured fun at her amongst themselves. Conversation was her one weakness. She loved to talk. The boy who listened patiently to her discourse won her heart, a fact well known and taken frequent advantage of. When a special privilege was wanted West House to a man descended to the matronâs room and sat around in respectful and apparently interested attention while she ran on and on. Then, at departure, Sandy or Dutch, both prime favorites, proffered their request in quite the most casual manner in the world and it was almost invariably granted. The arrival of a new boy presented an opportunity for discourse that Mrs. Linn always made the most of and it was a good ten minutes before Ned Brent closed the door behind her with a sigh of relief. John, who had accorded her polite attention every minute, thereby at once gaining a foothold in her affections, now turned to view his surroundings with frank interest. West House accommodated eight boys, two in each of the four rooms of the second floor. Below were Mrs. Linnâs room and the kitchen on one side and the parlor and dining room on the other. Somewhere at the top of the house dwelt Hulda, the maid, who combined the duties of cook, waitress, chambermaid and second-girl. The room in which John found himself was officially known as Number 1, but in house parlance was called the Den. In the same way, Number 2, across the hall, was the Ice Chest, so called because it was at the northwest corner of the house and in winter attained a temperature that would have made an arctic explorer feel right at home. Back of the Ice Chest was the Smellery. The Smellery was over the kitchen and Dutch Zoller and Hoop Ross, who dwelt therein, pretended to be able to tell an hour beforehand what was to be served at the next meal. The Sun Parlor, habitation of The Fungus and his new roommate, was so named because it had the sun almost all day. On the lower floor, Mrs. Linnâs room was called the Throne Room, the kitchen was the Hashery, the dining-room the Gobblery and the parlor the Tomb. They were partial to nicknames at Oak Park. The Den, because it was at once on the front of the house and had the benefit of the sun as well, was accorded the distinction of being the most desirable room. Like the others, it was good-sized, very nearly square and well furnished. On the side was a deep bay with a seat all the way around it under the three broad windows. On the front were two other windows overlooking the lawn and the road and the slope of the wooded hill beyond. There were two beds, two bureaus, two shallow closets, two easy chairs, a washstand and a study table with a straight-backed chair at each side of it. On Nedâs side of the room the walls were lavishly hung with pictures. Straw matting covered the floor and three small rugs were disposed in front of bureaus and washstand. âThis is my side of the room,â announced Ned, seating himself in his own particular easy chair, âand thatâs yours.â Johnâs gaze came back from a survey of the room and he nodded. âThanks. Why do they put all the pictures over there?â âThose are mine,â explained Ned. âYou can hang yours on your own side.â âOh,â said John. âBut, you see, I havenât got any.â âDidnât you bring anything to fix up with?â asked Ned in disgust. John shook his head. âNo, Iââdidnât know I should.â Then he added: âBesides, I havenât any, anyhow.â âWell, you can buy some in the town. Are they bringing your trunk up?â âItâs coming by express. I suppose it wonât get here before tomorrow. It was cheaper to send it that way.â âOh,â said Ned. He observed his new roommate curiously. âYou said your name was Boland, didnât you? Well, mineâs Brent. Hope weâll get on all right. Now youâd better fix up a bit and Iâll take you over to see Horace. Youâre supposed to report to him as soon as you come.â âHorace?â repeated John wonderingly. âYes, the principal. His nameâs Horace, you know.â âI thoughtâââ began John. âHe will ask you a lot of questions and tell you to be good, you know,â continued Ned with a grin. âDonât be saucy to him, Boland.â âI donât calâlate to,â replied John, reflecting the grin. âIâll wash up and brush my hair. It was pretty hot walking up here.â âWhy didnât you take a chariot? Werenât there any?â âYou mean a carriage? Thought Iâd rather save my quarter.â âYou must be an economical duffer,â said Ned with a frown. âI wouldnât do too much of that sort of thing or fellows will think youâre a tight-wad. And, say, got any other togs in that gripsack of yours?â âTogs? You mean clothes?â âWhat else?â âOnly some collars and cuffs and a handkerchief and some socks andâââ âAnother suit?â âNo; why?â âOh, nothing,â replied Ned evasively. âOnly Horace likes the fellows to dress up pretty well when they call. Thought you might have another suit with you.â âGosh, this is the best suit I have!â said John perplexedly. âAinât it good enough for him?â âSure,â answered Ned hurriedly. âButââerââsuppose you put on another tie, old man. Horace hates bright colors. And Iâd leave off the vest, I think. Much too hot for vests.â âYes, I donât often wear a vest,â replied John as he took off his coat. âNor a stiff shirt, either. But mother thought Iâd better sort of spruce up, you see.â Off came the vest, exposing a pair of pink cotton suspenders. Ned shuddered. âGot a belt with you?â âBelt? No, I ainât. Why?â âIâll lend you one. You canât wear suspenders without a vest, of course.â âI usually do,â objected John. âWell, it isnât done here, old man. You do as I tell you and youâll be all right. Letâs see what kind of a tie youâve got in there. Thunder! That wonât do! Havenât you anything that doesnât look like youââyouâd pinched it from a rainbow? Here, Iâll find you one.â [Illustration: âGot any other togs in that gripsack of yours?â] âThe principal must be plaguey particular,â growled John as he poured water into the bowl and began to splash. âHe is; something fierce,â said Ned gravely. âYou want to look just right when you tackle Horace or he will get miffed right away. Here, put this on. And hereâs a belt. Itâs an old one, but I guess itâll do for this time. Got a cap with you?â âWhat sort of a cap?â asked John with signs of a vanishing temper. âCloth cap, of course.â âNever wear them.â âWell, you will here. Youâll have to get one. You can wear one of mine today. Iâve got two or three, if I can find them. If I were you Iâd stick that straw in the furnace.â âWhat for? Whatâs the matter with it?â demanded John, eyeing his new acquaintance aggressively over the edge of the towel. âIt looks like a last yearâs bird nest,â replied Ned firmly. âNow donât get huffy. Iâm telling you things for your own good, old man. You donât want to go around having fellows laugh at you, do you?â âNo, butâââ âWell, they will if you donât tog up like the rest of us. Hereâs the cap. Now stick this belt aroundââ Gee, you havenât any loops on your trousers, have you? Never mind. Pull it tight and itâll be all hunky. Get a move on, Boland; itâs most five.â Ned went to the window and called. âOh, you Fungus!â There was an answering hail from below. âGoing to take him over to Horace now?â continued Ned. ââCause if you are weâll go together. What? All right. In about five minutes.â He turned and surveyed the rehabilitated John with critical and frowning regard. âThatâs better,â he announced, the frowns clearing away. âYou look more like now, old man. Canât be too careful about your togs, you know. As old Shake said, âThe attire doth oft proclaim the man,â or something like that. Let those trousers come down another inch if you can. Thatâs the stuff. Now, then, grab that cap and come ahead.â In the hall they came upon The Fungus and young Parker. The latter was a slim, pink-cheeked, diffident boy of thirteen who was evidently taking his advent at Oak Park very, very seriously and was rather overwhelmed by his sudden plunge into the boarding school world. The four left the house and struck off through the park in the direction of the principalâs residence, the chimney of which John had spied for an instant above the trees. Ned and The Fungus walked together, leaving the two new arrivals to get acquainted in their own fashion. Claire Parker was visibly embarrassed and John was so intent on his own thoughts that it was not until they had left West House well behind that he considered the conversational demands of the situation. Then he turned and found the younger boy observing him with shy and eager brown eyes which were instantly lowered. âI calâlate you and meâd might as well get acquainted,â said John kindly. âMy nameâs John Boland. Whatâs yours?â âClaire Parker,â was the reply. âYou just came, too, didnât you?â âYes. What do you think of the place, Parker?â âOh, I like it immensely,â was the eager response. âDonât you?â âI guess so. Iâve never been to this sort of a school before, you see. Have you?â âNo, I havenât. Iâve never been to any school. Iâve been taught at home. Iâm awfully afraid that itâs going to be hard. I suppose youâve been to school for a long time?â âFour years in grammar school. Where do you live?â âNew York.â âNew York! Gee, thatâs a long way off, ainât it? Werenât there any schools there you could go to?â âWhy, yes, lots of them, but my mother didnât want me to go to school near home, you see.â âDidnât she? Why not?â âWell, she said I needed to learn how to look after myself, and she said the best way to do that was to go a good way off where I couldnât come home all the time and where Iâd have toââto get along by myself.â âOh. Well, I calâlate thatâs a good idea, maybe. I live at West Bayport. Ever been there?â Claire shook his head. âN-no, where is it?â âAbout sixty miles from here, on the coast. Itâs a dandy place. Lots of city folks come there in summer. Thereâs some fine big houses on the Neck. We live in the town. I can look right down on the decks of the schooners from my window.â [Illustration: âMy nameâs John Boland. Whatâs yours?â] âThat must be fine! Iâm crazy about boats and the ocean. I can see some of the North River from our house and I love to watch the boats go up and down. I suppose youâve been to New York?â âNo.â John shook his head. âNo, I ainât ever been thereââyet. Iâm going some day, though. It must be pretty big, ainât it?â âAwfully! Itââitâs almost _too_ big. You see, there are so many people there that you never get to know many of them.â âThatâs funny,â said John. âMaybe it sounds funny, but it isnât. One summer mother and I went to a little place in Connecticut, just a village it was, and after weâd been there two or three days I knew lots of boys, about three or four times as many as I knew at home. I suppose if I went to school Iâd know more fellows.â âI calâlate I know about every fellow in West Bayport,â said John, âand lots of fellows on the Neck, too; fellows that just come there summers.â âThen I guess youâre neverââlonely,â said Claire wistfully. âLonely! Gee, no! I wouldnât be, anyhow; thereâs too much to do and see. Thereâs always boats coming in and going out and tugs skipping around. And then thereâs the big salt ships from Spain and Italy and a revenue cutter now and then; and the lighthouse tender, too. And in summer thereâs most always some of the battleships in the harbor.â âIâd like that place,â said Claire decisively. âWhat did you say the name of it was?â âWest Bayport,â answered John proudly. âI calâlate itâs about as nice a little town as there is. And pretty, too.â âIt must be veryââvery interesting,â said Claire. âPerhaps I can get mother to go there this summer, if we donât go abroad.â âAbroad?â echoed the other. âEver been abroad?â âOh, yes, several times. Iâve been all around over there. But I like this country better, donât you?â âI ainât ever been in any otherââyet,â laughed John. âBut Iâm going some day. Iâm going to England and Turkey and the Holy Land. And maybe Holland. Ever been in Holland?â âNot to stay very long. I liked the South of France best of all. We stayed there all one winter when I was about ten.â âEver been to Turkey or Palestine?â âNo, I never have. I suppose youâre a good deal older than I am, arenât you?â âFourteen last March,â answered John. âI calâlate youâre about twelve, arenât you?â âNo, Iâm thirteen. You seemââolder than fourteen. I guess thatâs Doctor Websterâs house.â They had come to a rustic gate beyond which stood a small brick house with a red slate, many-gabled roof. Virginia creeper almost hid the lower story and shrubs were massed thickly under the windows. There was a lawn in front and a great bed of scarlet sage followed the upper curve of the drive. âHere we are,â said The Fungus as he held the gate open and they passed through under a canopy of lilac branches. âPull down your vests and wipe off your chins, kids, and look respectful.â They crossed the garden and ascended the short flight of stone steps. Under the gabled porch Ned pressed the button and waited. Presently a maid admitted them and they filed into the Inquisitory, as the Doctorâs library was termed. They found four boys ahead of them. When they had been there a few minutes a door into a rear room was opened and a short, elderly man with kindly face and near-sighted eyes that twinkled humorously behind spectacles appeared. âNow, then, whoâs next, please?â he asked. A stout boy and a thin boy arose and stood viewing each other doubtfully. âWell, which is it?â asked the principal. âWe both came in together, sir,â answered the stout youth. âSo? Well, thereâs more of you, my boy, and so Iâll see you first. This way, please.â Johnâs turn came presently and he found himself shaking hands with Doctor Webster and being conducted across the threshold of a little sun-filled room that was dazzlingly bright after the darkened library. The door was closed and the Doctor pointed to a chair at the side of his desk. âSit down, please. Now then, whatâs your name, sir?â âJohn Boland, sir.â âBoland?â The Doctor seated himself in his revolving chair and referred to a book that lay open before him. âAh, yes, from West Bayport; where they make the codfish for our Sunday morning breakfasts. Well, John, Iâm glad to see you. I hope you left yourâââ another glance at the bookâââyour mother well?â âYes, sir.â âShe tells me in her letter that you want to go to college.â âYes, sir.â âWell, thatâs a commendable desire,â said the Doctor heartily. âI suppose you know all about sailing a boat, John?â âI can sail a sloop, sir.â âThen you have that advantage over me. Now I dare say that if you knew little or nothing about sailing and you were put in a sloop at, say, Boston Light and had to make your way to West Bayport you might be able to do it, but it would be difficult work, wouldnât it?â âI calâlate it would, sir.â âYou calculate it would,â said the Doctor with a twinkle behind his glasses. âYes. Well, on the other hand, if you knew how to sail that boat youâd get home safely, easily and quickly. Thatâs what education does, my boy. It teaches you how to set your sail, how to point your craft, how to take advantage of all the varying winds, how to meet squalls and weather storms. Without education you may be able to travel Lifeâs sea, but itâs going to be hard and youâre going to be tossed about more than necessary. But with knowledge itâs a good deal easier. Knowledge is power, whether youâre sailing a sloop over Massachusetts Bay or breasting the waves of Life. See what I mean?â âYes, sir. You mean I ought to study hard and get an education.â âExactly. I observe that you have a practical mind, John. Study hard; thatâs the idea. But donât let study be hard if you can help it. Try and _like_ study, my boy. If you were master of a seining schooner and set out on a trip to The Georges youâd be doing something that would be at once pleasure and duty, wouldnât you?â âYes, sir.â âSurely. Well, see if you canât combine pleasure and duty here, John. Itâs quite possible. Study neednât be drudgery. Keep in mind that learning is like rolling a snowball down hill. It may be slow work at first, but it gets easier every minute, and the bigger the snowball gets the more snow it takes up, until when youâve reached the bottom of the hill maybe itâll be all you can do to look over the top of it. And then, if youâve put your mind on it, perhaps your snowball will be bigger than anybody elseâs snowball. Now, let me see. You want to enter the First Junior Class, I think? And your age is what? Fourteen? Hm. Well, I think you ought to find your place there without much trouble. But weâll attend to that later. Youâre at West House?â âYes, sir.â âThatâs excellent. Mrs. Linn is a very capable woman and you will like her. Who are you to room with?â âNed Brent, sir.â âBrent?â The Doctorâs brows went up and he was silent a moment. Once he frowned and once his hand went forth toward the telephone on the corner of the desk. Finally, however, he nodded his head slowly. âWell, maybe heâs just the boy for you,â he said thoughtfully. âWeâll see later. Ned is rather a favorite of mine, but Iâm not blind to his little weaknesses. Howeverââ Well, thatâs all this time, I think, John. I hope youâll get along nicely with us and will enjoy being here. It isnât all study here, you know; we play football and baseball and all the other games that boys like; and we try to be out of doors all we can. Healthful bodies make healthful minds, you know. The rules arenât hard; we try not to have very many. The principal one is this, John: Be manly, straightforward and diligent. When you find that youâve just got to break one of the regulations, go ahead and break it. Then come over here and tell me about it honestly and weâll try to make the punishment no harder than necessary. We donât expect every boy to behave like a sober old man all the time; boys must rare and tear a bit; all we ask is that they shall be straightforward and honest. Iâll see you at school tomorrow morning, John, and weâll see how much youâve already learned. Good afternoon.â The Doctor shook hands again, the door opened and John was once more in the darkened library. âWho is next, please?â asked the Doctor. CHAPTER IV NICKNAMES AND MUSIC Supper that evening proved a very pleasant affair, although John still felt too strange and ill at ease to take much part in the conversation that might be said to have raged from the instant grace was over to the end of the meal. The dining-room was a home-like apartment, light, roomy, and well furnished. There were many pictures on the wallsâânot a few of them photographs of former inhabitants of West House grouped on the lawn or on the stepsââand a leather couch occupied the bay. A mammoth sideboard hid the door into the parlor, which was never used, and a small serving-table stood between the windows at the back, through which John looked at the edge of the oak grove. The dining-table was long enough to seat twelve quite comfortably, although its capacity was not often tested. Mrs. Linn presided at the head and Fred Sanderson at the foot. At the matronâs right sat Hooper Ross, with Otto Zoller beside him and Ned Brent coming next. At Sandersonâs right was Fergus White. Johnâs place was
{'title': 'Team-Mates by Ralph Henry Barbour', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}