CHAPTER II
A CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE
"Not what you'd call a very good beginning," thought Ira, ruefully,as, followed by the somewhat puzzled looks of the group in front ofthe gymnasium, he made his way across the campus. "It was his fault,though. There wasn't any call for me to stand around idle and getjabbed in the nose. Just the same, it would have been better if I'dgone on about my business instead of trying to get a rise out of them.Guess what you need to do, son, is keep your hands in your pockets andyour mouth shut!"
For the following hour he was very busy. Mrs. Anstruther regretfullyinformed him that all her rooms were engaged, and the same announcementawaited him at Baker's. It was at the latter house that the mysterioussymbols were satisfactorily explained. "R," he was told, meant that thehouse offered rooms only, while "R & B" stood for room and board. Iramentally called himself an idiot for not having guessed as much. At alittle past one he gave up the search long enough to perch himself at acounter in a lunch-room on School Street. A sign over the doorway heldthe inscription "The Eggery," and, judging from the fact that fullyhalf the patrons in sight were boys of ages from fourteen to twenty,it was the favourite resort for hungry Parkinsonians. There were manysmall tables at the back, but all were occupied, and Ira finally foundan empty stool in front of the long counter. The school colours,brown and white, were lavishly displayed, and there were many framedphotographs of school teams and numerous unframed posters on the walls.These, however, interested Ira less than the neat sign which proclaimedthe restaurant's offerings, for he had eaten his breakfast on alightingfrom the Portland train in Boston, and that had been quite early, andhe was now extremely hungry in spite of the warmth of the day.
While the electric fans overhead spun dizzily and the clatter ofcrockery and the babel of a hundred voices made a cheerful pandemonium,he thoughtfully contemplated the signs. One thing he knew he was goingto have, and that was iced tea, but beyond that he was open-minded.Corn-beef hash sounded too warm. The same was true of roast beef andlamb stew with dumplings. Eggs didn't sound appealing, although theywere offered in more styles than he had ever heard of. He was stillundecided when a voice said: "Try the cold ham and potato salad. Itisn't bad."
Ira looked around to find the boy with whom he had collided at the doorof the Administration Building sitting beside him.
"All right," said Ira. "I guess I will. It looks good."
"It's too hot to eat today," went on his neighbour, "but you sort ofget the habit. This iced coffee is the best thing I've found. Do youlike it?"
"I never tried it. I thought I'd have some iced tea."
"No one can blame you. I saw you over at Ad, didn't I?"
"'Ad'?"
"Administration. What's your class?"
"Third."
"Mine, too. Here's Alphonse. Tell him what you're risking."
"Alphonse" proved to be a sandy-haired waiter who grinned at thespeaker as he ran a towel over the counter. "Sure, take a chance," hesaid cheerfully. "What's it going to be, sir?"
"Some of the cold ham and potato salad and a glass of iced tea,"replied Ira. "Got any lemon?"
"I don't know. I'll see," was the sober response. "We did have one lastweek." Then, applying his mouth to a tube: "One-cold-ham-potato-salad!"he called. "Ice-tea-with-lemon!"
"Do you eat here regularly?" asked Ira of his neighbour.
"Dear, no! I eat in hall, but they don't start until supper tonight.Lots of the fellows don't come until afternoon, you see. Them as doeshas to eat where they can, and this is as good a joint as any. How doyou like the place, as far as you've got?"
"All right. I haven't seen much of it, though. I've been trampingaround looking for a room most of the time."
"Any luck?"
Ira shook his head. "There was one at--" he refreshed his memory byglancing at the slip--"at Parent's, but it was pretty small and awfullyhot."
"Keep away from that dive," advised the other. "You'd freeze to deathin Winter there. Besides, we come to school to get away from them."
"To get away from----"
"Parents," chuckled the other. "Asterisk. See footnote. Joke intended.Have you tried Maggy's?"
"No. I don't think it's on my list."
"Let's see. Yes, here it is: 'D. A. Magoon, 200 Main Street.'"
"Oh! I thought you said----"
"Maggy's? Yes, they call her that for short. She's got some good rooms,but you have to more than half furnish them. About all Maggy gives youis a carpet and a bed. If you like I'll go around there with you whenyou're through."
"Why, thanks, that's very kind, but I don't want to trouble you."
"You don't. I haven't a thing to do until the boat comes in."
"Boat?" ejaculated Ira.
"Figure of speech, meaning that the afternoon stretches before medevoid of--of--Say, what do I call you?"
"Rowland's my name."
"Mine's Johnston. There's a t in it to make it harder to say. Here'syour grub. Guess I'll have a piece of pie, Jimmy."
"What kind?" asked the waiter as he slid Ira's repast before him.
"Why the airs? You know you've only got apple."
Jimmy grinned. "Got you this time, Johnston! There's cream andcocoanut, too."
"Make it cream, Jimmy, and tell the Pie Specialist downstairs to lethis hand slip a little."
"Do they give board at this place you spoke of?" asked Ira when he hadsampled his dinner.
"No, they don't. You can eat in hall, though, or you can get your mealsaround. There are four or five places like this and a lot of boardinghouses. The way I did my first year was live at the restaurants andquick-lunch joints for the first term and then, when I was sick todeath of them, go to a regular boarding house. Smith's is pretty fair.A lot of fellows eat there."
"They give you pretty good meals at the school dining hall, don't they?"
"Y-yes, but they charge for them." Johnston shot a swift, appraisingglance over Ira. "If you can stand six dollars a week, all right. Somefellows can't." Jimmy presented his slice of pie at that moment andJohnston observed it gloomily. "That fellow's got perfect control,hasn't he, Jimmy?"
"Oh, they cut the pies with a machine," replied the waiter airily."Want some more coffee?"
"Walk around! Think I'm a millionaire? Make it a glass of waterinstead." Then, addressing Ira again: "What are you going in for?" heasked.
"Going in where?"
"My fault! I mean what are you going to do with your spare time?Football? Tennis? Golf? What's your line?"
"Oh! I don't know. I've never played anything except a little baseball.I guess I won't try any of those things yet."
"You look as though you'd make a football player," said Johnston. "Ifyou don't intend to try it you'd better keep out of sight. If Driscollsees you he will get you sure."
"Is he the captain?" asked Ira.
"Coach. Ever played it?"
"Football? No." Ira shook his head. "I never thought I'd care to. I sawa game once at Lewiston."
"Where's that?"
"Maine. I live in Cheney Falls."
"No one can blame you. How's the grub?"
"Fine, thanks. Who is Goodloe?"
"Gene Goodloe? Track Team captain. Know him?"
"Not very well. I--I sort of met him awhile back."
"You'll like him, I guess. Most of us do. He's a corking runner. Goodfellow to know, Rowland. Better cultivate him. Meet all the fellows youcan, old man. The more the merrier. You can't know too many at school,especially if you're a new boy. I had a perfectly miserable time of ithere my first year. I was horribly shy, you see. Yes, I got over it!"He laughed as he caught Ira's quick glance of surprise. "Had to. I usedto get red clear around to the back of my face if anyone spoke to me.The second year I realised that it wouldn't do and I made up my mindto get cured. How do you think I did it? I got up one morning and wentout and spoke to every fellow I met, whether I'd ever seen him beforeor not. It nearly killed me at first and I got all sorts of snubs andfunny looks, but it c
ured me. Now I--I'd slap Jud himself on the backif it would do me any good."
"Jud?" asked Ira.
"Otherwise Doctor Judson Lane, principal of this here school. Allthrough? Going to have desert? No? Come along then. There's yourcheck. Might as well pay it if you've got the money. They have a nastyway of going out on the street after you and bringing you back if youget absent-minded."
They slid off their stools and made their way to the cashier's desk,Johnston hailing many acquaintances on the way and once pausing inresponse to the invitation of one. Ira had an uncomfortable suspicionthat he was the subject of the short, whispered dialogue that ensued."It's probably these clothes," he thought. "They _are_ different fromother fellows'. I'll have to get some new ones, I guess."
Outside, Johnston chatted merrily as he conducted his companion aroundthe corner of Main Street and finally brought up before a three-storyhouse set close to the sidewalk. It showed evidences of past grandeur,but the buff paint was peeling away from the narrow porch and storeshad been built close to it on either side. The first floor wasoccupied by a tailor's establishment on the right and by the agencyof a spring-water company on the left. Johnston gaily pointed out theconvenience of having your trousers pressed on the premises as theywaited in the hallway. Presently, in response to the tinkling of afaraway bell, footsteps creaked on the stairs and a tall and angularwoman came into sight.
"Good afternoon and everything," greeted Johnston. "You don't rememberme, Mrs. Magoon, but we were very dear friends once. I used to comehere to call on Dan Phillips a couple of years ago."
"I remember you very well," was the reply in a dry voice. "You're theyoung man that broke the newel post one time when you was sliding downthe----"
"My fault! I see you do remember me, after all. I feared you didn't.Now----"
"It wasn't ever paid for, either, although you said time and again----"
"You're perfectly right, ma'am. It just somehow slipped my memory. I'mglad you mentioned it. Everybody ought to pay his just debts, I shouldthink. I've brought you a lodger, Mrs. Magoon. This is Mr. Rowland, Mr.Thomas Chesterfield Rowland, of Cheerup Falls, Maine, a very personalfriend of mine. He was about to take a room over on Linden Street, butI prevailed on him to come to you. I told him that you had just theroom for him. You have, haven't you?" Johnston beamed ingratiatingly.
"Well, I dunno," said Mrs. Magoon, folding her hands in a blue checkedapron and looking doubtfully from one boy to the other. "Everything'spretty well taken now. There was a young man in here not ten minutesago to look at the only room I've got left. I dunno will he be back,though. He said he would, but they always say that. If you'd care tolook at it, sir----"
"He would," declared Johnston. "He would indeed. After you, Rowland.One flight and turn to your left."
"Two flights and turn to your right, if you please," corrected thelandlady. "All the second floor rooms are taken." She toiled upstairsat their heels and directed the way to a large, scantily furnishedroom at the back of the house. "It's a nice, cheerful room," she saidpantingly. "Two good windows and a fine view. There's a washstand goesin here yet."
The fine view consisted of several backyards, the roof of a shed anda high board fence in the immediate foreground, but beyond the fencelay the trim, green lawn of a residence on Washington Avenue, while,by stretching his neck a little, Ira could see a few gravestones inthe cemetery around the corner of the next-door building. Just now thefoliage hid the school, but Mrs. Magoon predicted that in the Winterhe would have a fine view of it. There were two big windows on the backof the room, a sizable closet, a fireplace with a dingy, white-marblemantel and a rusted grate and a few oddments of furniture all much theworse for wear. Ira tested the bed and shuddered inwardly. It was likea board. There was a green plush rocking-chair, a battered walnut tablewith an ink-stained top, a bureau of similar material and condition,two straight-backed chairs and an ornate black walnut bookcase with oneglass door missing. A faded, brown ingrain carpet covered the centre ofthe floor, the wide expanse of boards surrounding it having at some fardistant time been painted slate-grey.
Johnston expatiated warmly, even with enthusiasm, on the room'sattractions. "How's that for a fireplace, old man?" he asked. "It'sreal, mind you. No stage fireplace, with a red lantern in it, but thegenuine thing. Lots of room here, too. Must be twenty feet each way,eh? Of course, you'll need a few more things. A window seat wouldhelp. And another easy-chair, maybe. Then, with the family portraitson the walls and a fire crackling cheerily--what ho! 'Blow, wintrywinds! What care we?' Or words to that general effect. You say there'sa washstand, too, Mrs. Magoon? Fine! Imagine a washstand over therein the corner, Rowland. Sort of--sort of finishes it off, eh? Usefullittle affairs, washstands. No home should be-- How about the bathroom,Mrs. Magoon? Adjacent or thereabouts, I presume?"
"One flight below, sir. It's a very nice bathroom, with an enamelledtub, sir. If you'd care to look at it----"
"By all means, ma'am, as we descend. You said the rent was----"
"Four a week, sir."
"Oh, no, indeed! For the school year, Mrs. Magoon."
"I said four a week, sir."
"And I said--Oh, I see! Four dollars a week! You will have your joke,eh? The lady has a sense of humour, Rowland. You can't deny it."
"It doesn't seem to me that it's worth that much," said Ira dubiously.
"Bless us, no!" said Johnston. "That was only her joke. Now, Mrs.Magoon, seriously, what do you ask by the month for this palatialapartment?"
"It's four dollars a week, young man, whether you pay weekly ormonthly; although I have to insist on the bills not running no longerthan a month."
"No one can blame you. But you'll find my friend here very prompt,ma'am, in such matters. I have never known him to let a bill run longerthan a month. You might almost call him finicky in money matters.Considering that, now, suppose we say three dollars a week, with--" heshot a questioning glance at Ira--"two weeks paid in advance?"
"I couldn't do it, sir," replied the landlady firmly, arms akimbo."Three-seventy-five is my lowest figure, and nothing you could say----"
"I don't think I want the room, thanks," interrupted Ira. "I'd have tobuy a good many things for it to make it comfortable. Much obliged,ma'am."
"Don't be hasty, old man. Think well. Rooms are scarce, as Mrs. Magoonwill tell you, and at three and a half----"
"Three-seventy-five," corrected the landlady.
"You couldn't do better. I'll take you to a place where you can getanything you need for half of nothing and pay when you like. Withanother chair and a couch and a few pictures--why, you wouldn't knowthe place! He wouldn't know the place, would he, ma'am?"
"'Twould look better, no doubt. There's the washstand yet, sir, and ithelps to fill up, so to speak."
"We-ell," began Ira, doubtfully.
"That's decided, then!" exclaimed Johnston gaily. "Have the room allready in an hour, Mrs. Magoon. If you've got seven dollars where youcan put your hand on it, Rowland, you might bind the bargain, eh?"
"If the lady wants to let me have it at three dollars and a half----"
"She does! Hasn't she said so? You said three and a half, didn't you,Mrs. Magoon?"
"I did not!"
"No? My fault! But you're going to, eh? Rather than lose a tenant?"Mrs. Magoon wavered. "Here it is the last day, ma'am. School beginstomorrow. I guess everyone's settled by this time. You wouldn't wantthe room to stay empty, now would you? Of course not! A bird in thehand, and all that, eh? Well, that's settled, what?"
Mrs. Magoon nodded without enthusiasm. "It's less than I ever tookfor it before," she said sadly. Then, brightening: "Maybe the youngman would want his breakfasts in?" she asked hopefully. "Many of themdoes."
Johnston was shaking his head violently, but neither the landlady norIra saw it.
"Why, thanks, I--How much are breakfasts?" said Ira.
"Twenty-five cents, sir. Coffee and toast and two eggs or a bit ofmeat."
"Perhaps it would be more con
venient than going out," mused Ira. "Allright, ma'am, I'll take breakfasts."
"Fine! Come along, Rowland. Remember that Doctor Lane was veryparticular about having you let him know what you decided on. He willbe anxious. Back in an hour, Mrs. Magoon."
"If you'd care to see the bathroom--" began Mrs. Magoon as theydescended.
"Not now," said Johnston, shoving Ira along toward the next flight."I'm sure it's absolutely perfect, ma'am." When they were once moreon the street he turned sorrowfully to Ira. "You shouldn't have letyourself in for the breakfasts, old man," he said. "They're fierce. Itried to give you the sign, but you wouldn't look. Still, you can cutthem out after a week or so. They all do."
"I dare say the room will look better when there's more in it," saidIra.
"Rather! You'll be crazy about it, old man."
"Or in it," said Ira drily. Johnston preferred not to notice the remark.
"And three-fifty isn't bad these days, either."
"I guess I'd rather pay her what she asked, Johnston. She says shenever let it for so little, and----"
"Yes, but her memory's failing her. Johnny Grew had that room two yearsago, and I happen to remember that he paid exactly three and a half forit. Besides, she'll make it up on the breakfasts. Now let's run aroundto Jacobs' and see what we can pick up. Better leave the buying to me,old man, for in spite of being a Maine Yankee, you're a mighty poorbargainer!"
"I'm taking up a lot of your time," Ira demurred.
"I like it. Besides, I've got nothing on until the five-twelve getsin." He was silent for a full minute, something so unusual that Iraviewed him in surprise. Then, with an odd lack of assurance, he said:"About that newel post now, Rowland. I--you see----"
"All right," said Ira. "I understand."
"Eh?" asked the other startledly. "Hold on, though! No, you don't, oldman."
"All right. I don't care, anyway."
"But you mustn't think I took you around there on that account. Factis, I'd quite forgotten about it." Johnston chuckled. "Guess if I'dremembered it I'd have stayed away. But when she sprang it on me,why--why, then I thought I might as well square myself." He lookeduncertainly at Ira. "See what I mean?"
"Oh, yes."
"Well--well--Oh, hang it, Rowland! Now, look here. You don't need totake that room if you'd rather not. I guess I did sort of force yourhand. We'll go back now and get the money and tell her it's off. Comeon! I'd feel a lot better. Then we'll look somewhere else. Hang it, itwas only a dollar, and I'm switched if I want to look like a piker forjust a little old dollar! Come on back!"
But Ira shook his head. "When you know me better, Johnston," he saidwith a smile, "you'll find that it's awfully hard to make me doanything I don't want to. If I hadn't thought the room would answerI'd never have taken it, no matter what you might have said. I don'tthink it's palatial, but I do think it will do well enough, and if Mrs.Magoon lets you off about the newel post on my account I'm glad of it.I owe you that much, anyhow, for all your trouble. Just the same, I'mglad you didn't--didn't take me around there on purpose."
"I didn't, honestly, old man. I'd forgotten all about it. But you'requite sure it's all right, eh? Sure you really want to take the room?"
"Certain sure."
"Well, you're a brick. I guess I'll drop around and pay Maggy hermoney, just the same. Any fellow ought to, I should think. I'll do itthis afternoon while I've got it. Well, that's settled. And here's theemporium of our friend Jacobs.
"'Open the door and tinkle the bell: You want to buy and I want to sell!'"