Center Rush Rowland

by Ralph Henry Barbour

  CHAPTER V

  SCHOOL BEGINS

  It was all settled by the time they had finished breakfast. Perhaps thecheerfulness of the morning, or it may have been Mrs. Magoon's 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 byaccepting the proposition. Ira found himself hoping that he wouldn'tand took the other's hesitation as a good augury, but put aside allregrets the moment Nead made his decision.

  "That's all right, then," he declared. "Now we'll have to make a dickerwith Mrs. Magoon, I guess, for she'll want more for the room if there'stwo in it."

  "I don't see why," objected Nead. "Anyway, we oughtn't to pay more thanfour a week."

  "I think four would be enough," Ira agreed. "And what about breakfasts?She charges a quarter apiece, you know."

  "And they're pretty punk, if this is a sample," said Nead. "Thecoffee's all right, but my chop had seen better days. Still, it'seasier than hunting a restaurant. I thought maybe I'd eat in school.They say you get mighty good feed at Alumni Hall."

  "Well, we'll tell her we'll take two breakfasts for awhile. That willcheer her up, maybe. Shall I make the dicker?"

  "Yes, she doesn't like me. And I don't like her. So that's even. Whatclass are you going into, Rowland?"

  "Third, unless I trip up. What's yours?"

  "Second. Wish we were in the same. It makes it easier if you're with afellow who's taking the same stuff. There's another thing, too; thatbed's fierce. See if she hasn't got a better mattress."

  "I was going to buy one," said Ira. "I guess hers are all about thesame, don't you?"

  "Well, make a stab," said Nead. "She may have one that hasn't beenslept on twenty years. What are the other fellows here like?"

  "Don't know. I've seen only one, the fat fellow across the hall. Theremust be quite a lot of them, because she says she has all the roomsrented, and there are four rooms on each floor."

  "Nine rooms altogether," Nead corrected. "There's one on the groundfloor at the back that she rents. It's behind the spring-water place. Isuppose there are two in some rooms. Must be twelve or fourteen fellowsin this dive, eh?"

  "Maybe," agreed Ira, pushing away from the walnut table on which thebreakfast 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 hetold me about this place. They call it 'Maggy's.' I'd been to aboutsix before that and couldn't find anything I liked. Well, I'll go downand-- Hold on, though! I must write a note first."

  He got a tablet and pulled a chair to the desk, and after wrinkling hisforehead a moment, wrote: "Mr. Eugene Goodloe, Parkinson School, Warne,Mass. Dear Sir: I have a room at Mrs. Magoon's, 200 Main Street, thirdfloor back on the left. A note addressed to me here will find me and Ishall be glad to meet any appointment you care to make. Respectfully,Ira Rowland." Then he enclosed it, stamped the envelope and dropped itin his pocket.

  "That's what I must do, I suppose," remarked Nead. "I told my folks I'dwrite last night, but I forgot it. Guess I'll scribble a note whileyou're talking to the old girl downstairs. Let me use your pen, willyou? Mine's in the trunk."

  "Sorry, Nead," replied Ira, "but that's something I won't do. I'll lendyou about anything but my fountain pen."

  "Oh, all right," said the other haughtily. "I've got a better one of myown. Just didn't want to look for it."

  The interview with Mrs. Magoon was a long-drawn-out ceremony. In thefirst place, she was not eager to have Nead as a tenant. When she hadfinally agreed to it, she held out for four dollars and a half a weekuntil Ira informed her that they would each want breakfasts. Fourdollars a week was at last agreed on. In the matter of mattresses,however, she was adamant. More, she was even insulted. "That mattresshas been on that bed for six years," she said indignantly, "andnobody's ever said anything against it before. Anyhow, I ain't got anybetter one."

  "All right, ma'am. And how about another bed in there?"

  "You can keep that cot, I guess. I ain't got another bed."

  "But the cot's as hard as a board!" exclaimed Ira. "It hasn't anymattress; just a--a sort of pad!"

  "Well, I don't know what I can do," replied the lady. "I can't affordto go and buy a lot of new things. It's all I can do to get along asit is, with rents as low as they are. That room ought to fetch me sixdollars a week, it should so. And I'm only getting four for it. And theprice of everything a body has to buy is going up all the time. I don'tknow what we're coming to!"

  "Suppose I buy a cheap single bed and mattress," suggested Ira. "Willyou take it off my hands when I move out?"

  "I might. It wouldn't be worth full price, though, young man, afterbeing used a year or more."

  "No, that's so. Suppose you pay me half what it costs me? Would thatdo?"

  "Why, yes, I guess 'twould. But don't go and buy an expensive one. Iwouldn't want to put much money into it."

  "Well, I dare say I can get a bed for six dollars and a mattress forten, can't I?"

  "Land sakes! I should hope you could! You can get an iron bed for fourdollars and a half that's plenty good enough and a mattress for six.You go to Levinstein's on Adams Street. That's the cheapest place. Askfor Mr. Levinstein and tell him I sent you. I buy a lot from him.Leastways, I used to. I ain't bought much lately, what with times sohard and rents what they are and everything a body has to have gettingto cost more every day. I mind the time when----"

  But Ira had flown, and Mrs. Magoon's reminiscences were muttered toherself as she made her way down to the mysterious realms of thebasement.

  Nead flatly refused to spend any money for bed or mattress, but agreedto go halves on the furniture that Ira had already purchased and onanything it might be necessary to buy later. "You see," he explained,"it will be your bed, and I won't get anything out of it. Maybe I mightswap mattresses with you if I like yours better, though," he concludedwith 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 thesix-dollar mattresses Ira concluded that there was such a thing asmistaken economy! After leaving Levinstein's he remembered the letterin his pocket and dropped it into a pillar box and then hustled forschool.

  He was somewhat awed by the magnificence of Parkinson Hall as he madehis way up the steps and entered the rotunda. It still lacked tenminutes of first hour, which was nine o'clock, and the entrance andthe 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. Thestone walls held, here and there, Latin inscriptions--Ira tried hishand at one of them and floundered ingloriously--and there were severalstatues placed at intervals. A wide doorway admitted at each side tothe wings, and into one of the corridors he presently ventured. Therewere three doors to his right and as many to his left, each opened andshowing a cheerfully bright and totally empty classroom, and at theend of the corridor was a stairway leading to the floor above. Aboutthat time a gong clanged and, with a hurried and surreptitious glanceat the schedule card in his pocket, Ira began a search for Room L. Asmall youth in short trousers came to his assistance and he found it atthe end of the opposite wing. He had rather hoped to run across MartJohnston, but it was not until he had taken a seat in the recitationroom that he saw that youth several rows nearer the front. Martdidn't see him, however, for he was busily engaged in whispering to agood-looking, dark-complexioned fellow beside him whom Ira surmisedto be "Brad." The whispering, which was general, suddenly died awayand the occupants of the seats, fully a half-hundred in number, Irajudged, arose to their feet and began to clap loudly. Ira followedsuit without knowing the reason for the demonstration until he caughtsight of a tall, thin figure in black making its way up the side aisletoward the platform. Then he clapped louder, for the figure was that ofProfessor Addicks, and
Ira already had a soft spot in his heart for thepleasant-voiced man who had spoken so kindly to him the day before.

  Professor Addicks bowed and smiled, standing very straight on theplatform with one gnarled hand on the top of the desk. "It gives memuch pleasure to see you young gentlemen all back here again and alllooking so well," said he. "I trust you have spent a pleasant Summerand that you have returned eager for work--and play. Someone--was itnot our own Mark Twain?--said that play is what we like to do, workwhat we have to do. But he didn't say that we can't make play of ourwork, young gentlemen. I can think of nothing that would please me morethan to overhear you say a few years from now: 'I had a good time atParkinson. There was football, you know, and baseball and tennis; andthen there was Old Addicks' Greek Class!'"

  A roar of laughter greeted that, laughter in which the Professor joinedgently.

  "Oh, I know what you call me," he went on smilingly. "But I like tothink that the term 'Old' is applied with some degree of--may I sayaffection?"

  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 thingsfrom which we gain knowledge. I am old enough to have had manyexperiences, and I trust that I have gained some slight degree ofknowledge. I make no boast as to that, however. In fact, I find thatI am considerably less certain of my wisdom now than I was when I wasmany years younger. Looking back, I see that the zenith of my eruditionwas 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 morehumble as to my attainments. But, young gentlemen, there is one thingthat I have learned and learned well, and that is this: each of us canmake his work what he pleases, a task or a pleasure. Some of you won'tbelieve that now, but you'll all learn eventually that it is so. And ifyou make your work a task you are putting difficulties in your own way,whereas if you make it a pleasure you are automatically increasing yourpower for work. If it is a pleasure you want to do it, and what we wantto do we do with a will. Therefore, young gentlemen, bring sufficientof the element of play to your studies to make them agreeable. You gothrough hard and difficult exertions for the exercise of your bodiesand call it fun. Why, then, pull a long face when you approach thematter of exercising your minds? If one is play, why not the other? Aword to the wise is sufficient. I have given you many words. Let usconsider the pleasures before us."

  There was no class work that day, and after they had had the morrow'slessons indicated and had listed the books required for the courses inGreek and Latin the fellows departed to gather again in another roombefore another instructor. By noon Ira had faced all his instructors,his head was swimming with a mass of information as to hours, coursesof reading and so on, and he had made quite a formidable list of booksand stationery to be purchased. He returned to Mrs. Magoon's andspent a half-hour filling in a schedule card, and then, as Nead hadn'treturned, set off by himself to The Eggery for dinner. Now that thebig school dining room was open in Alumni Hall, The Eggery was ratherdeserted as to students. The bulk of the patrons today were clerks andshopkeepers.

  After dinner he made various purchases of scratch-pads, blue-books,pencils and similar articles, bought several books at a second-handstore and paid a visit to the First National Bank of Warne. There hemade a deposit of all the money he had with him save enough change tomeet immediate demands, signed his name where the teller pointed andemerged the proud possessor of his first check book. By that time itwas nearly three, and, having nothing especial to interest him, hecrossed the campus, made his way around Parkinson Hall and past thelittle laboratory building and found himself facing the broad expanseof level and still verdant turf known as the Playfield.

  There was some twelve acres here, in shape a rectangle, with one cornercut off by Apple Street, which began at the end of Linden Street andproceeded at a tangent to the Cumner Road, the latter forming thenorthern boundary of the field. Directly in front of Ira were thetennis courts, a dozen in all, of which half were clay and half turf.To the right of the courts was a quarter-mile running track enclosingthe gridiron and beyond that were the baseball diamonds, three innumber. A sizeable grandstand flanked the gridiron and a smaller onestood behind the home-plate of the 'varsity diamond. Already theplayfield was well sprinkled with fellows. Several white-clad youthswere practising flights over the high-hurdles, another was joggingaround the farther turn of the track, the tennis courts were fairlywell occupied and the football candidates were beginning to emerge fromthe nearby gymnasium and gather in front of the stand.

  Ira stopped and watched the tennis for awhile and then gave hisattention to the hurdlers. He had never seen hurdlers in action beforeand he looked on with interest while one after another went springingby with long strides and queer steps; stride, stride, stride, step andover; stride, stride, stride, step and over! Ira wondered what wouldhappen if he ran up to one of those barriers and tried to stick one legacross and double the other one behind him. He chuckled at the mentalpicture he got! One of the hurdlers interested him particularly. Hewas a much shorter and chunkier lad than the others; in age probablyseventeen. There was no useless flesh on him, but he was very solidlybuilt and had more weight than the usual boy of his age. As a hurdlerhe was persevering rather than brilliant. He struck four hurdles out ofthe ten invariably, each time throwing himself out of his stride andjust saving himself from a fall, but he finished through with a fine,dogged patience, rested and went at it again.

  "If," thought Ira, "I was selecting a fellow to win one of these hurdleraces I wouldn't pick him, but if I was choosing a chap to--to hunt forthe South Pole or take on a hard job and finish it I guess he'd be theone!"

  When the hurdlers had picked up their sweaters and gone panting backto the gymnasium Ira turned toward the grandstand. By this time ahalf-hundred boys in football togs were assembled on the field,while twice that number were seated in the stand to watch the firstpractice of the year. Ira found a seat a little removed from thethrong and viewed the gathering. Even as he turned his eyes toward thecandidates their number was increased by the arrival of some eighteenor twenty others accompanied by a man of perhaps thirty years whoseair of authority plainly stamped him as the coach. By his side was astrapping youth with broad shoulders, a slim waist and sturdy legs whowas quite as plainly the captain. He had tawny hair, light eyes anda lean, sun-browned face that, without being handsome, was striking.He looked, Ira decided, like a born leader. And those shoulders andthat deep chest and the powerful legs under the brown-and-whiteringed stockings suggested that he was as capable physically as anyother way. A rotund man in brown denim overalls pushed a wheelbarrowaround the corner of the stand and from it unloaded a surprisingamount of paraphernalia; a canvas bag containing a half-dozen scuffedfootballs, many grey blankets, a water bucket and several shining newtin dippers, head-guards, several pairs of shoes, a bunch of leatherlaces, a nickel-plated horn with a rubber bulb attached and a leathercase whose contents were not divulged that afternoon but which Iralater discovered to hold adhesive tape, bandages, phials and similarfirst-aid requisites.

  A tall, immaculate youth in street attire joined coach and captain.He carried a square of light board to which were held by a clamp anumber of sheets of paper. Ira surmised correctly that he was the teammanager. A short conference ensued between the trio and then thingsawoke to action.

  "First squad down the field," called the coach. "New candidates thisway, please!"

  The knot of players who had accompanied him on the field went offwith a couple of the worn footballs, while the balance of the fellowsgathered around. They represented all ages from fifteen to twenty,although there were but two or three who looked more than eighteen;and were of assorted sizes and of various builds. There were slim boysthere and dumpy boys; undersized boys and overgrown boys; fat boysand lean boys; and boys who weren't anything in particular. All worefootball togs of some description, many new, more old. Here and thereIra caught sight of
a brown sweater with the white P followed by theinsignia "2nd," and here and there a white sweater bearing the letters"P.B.B.C." in brown. But for the most part the candidates, perhapssixty-odd in number, appeared to be tyros. What the coach said to themIra was too far distant to hear, but he spoke for several minutesamidst respectful silence. Then the group broke up and a minute laterthe candidates had formed three groups at different parts of the fieldand were passing balls to each other.

  It wasn't an exciting sight, and after a half-hour Ira pulled himselffrom his sun-smitten plank and made his way homeward across the campus,loitering a little in the grateful shade of the buildings. He passedthree or four groups of fellows studying, or at least making a pretenceof studying, under the lindens, and always he was followed by curiousand faintly amused looks. He didn't know it, however, and wouldn't havebeen troubled if he had known it. It certainly didn't occur to himthat anyone could find anything unusual in his appearance now that hewas wearing his blue serge. He had bought that suit in Bangor and hehad the salesman's word for it that it was absolutely the last cry infashionable attire and that it fitted him perfectly. Perhaps, however,the salesman had been nearsighted. Let us be charitable and think so;for the fact is that that blue serge suit was too short as to trousers,leaving a painful lapse between the edge of each cuff and Ira's lowshoes--a lapse rather startlingly occupied by faded brown socks--andthe coat was ungracefully long and fell away at the back of his neck.Possibly the waistcoat fitted as well as the salesman had asserted, butIra wasn't wearing the waistcoat today. There is no gainsaying that,judged by the standard of the flannel-garbed youths under the trees,Ira's appearance was somewhat unusual at Parkinson.

  As he crossed Washington Avenue from the centre gate and entered SchoolStreet he found himself hoping a trifle wistfully that he would findNead in the room, for he was beginning to feel a bit lonesome andout of it. But he was destined to disappointment, for when he openedthe door the room was quite empty. There were, however, evidences ofrecent occupation, evidences both olfactive and optical. First, therewas a distinct odour of cigarette smoke, and, second, there was a notepropped up against the lamp on the desk.