Tom, Dick and Harriet/Chapter 3
CHAPTER III
THE BRAND FROM THE BURNING
“WELL, you old duffer! I thought you were going to meet me at the station for the eleven o’clock.”
“I really meant to, Roy,” answered Chub Eaton, “but my train was nearly an hour late and I got in just four minutes after you’d gone. How are you? Did you have a good time Christmas?”
“Bully,” answered Roy Porter. “Did you?”
“Oh, swell! I wish you’d been out with me.”
“I wanted to go,” answered Roy gravely, “but my folks were afraid I’d get lost in the smoke. I told them that was hard on Pittsburg, but—”
Roy rolled over backward on Sidney Welch’s bed just in time to avoid the slipper which Chub hurled.
“But they said they knew the place, Chub,” he ended.
“You run away and play,” grunted Chub as he returned to the task of unpacking his trunk.
They were in the Junior Dormitory and up and down the two sides of the long room was bustle and excitement and noise. The last train arriving before six o’clock was in and had brought its load of students. Trunks and bags were being unpacked, greetings exchanged and adventures related, and every one was doing his best to get settled before dinner-time. Roy, who had arrived on an earlier train and whose belongings were already stowed away in his locker in the Senior Dormitory on the floor above, had met Chub on the arrival of the coach and had carried one end of the battered steamer trunk up-stairs. Now he was reclining comfortably on Sidney’s bed in direct violation of the dormitory rules, and bothering his chum as much as possible. Sid, by the way, a short, chunky boy of fifteen, was down at the far end of the hall swapping marvelous tales of vacation experiences with Chase; his voice, which was at the changing period, alternately dying away in gruff whispers and soaring shrilly to a squeaky falsetto.
“Just listen to Sid,” chuckled Chub as he rolled a brown sweater up and stuffed it into the locker. “Sounds as though he were knocking up flies with his voice, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” answered Roy. “Say, Chub, did I ever tell you about the man who went to Pittsburg?”
“Oh, you dry up,” answered Chub good-naturedly.
“But it’s a true story, honestly, Chub! Of course the man didn’t go there just for fun; he had to; it was a matter of life or death, I guess. Well, when he got back some one asked him if he’d seen Pittsburg. ‘No,’ says he, ‘but I’ve been there!’”
“Go on,” answered Chub. “Have a good time. I don’t mind. I’d rather live in Pittsburg where you can’t see than in New York where you don’t want to.”
“I guess maybe that’s humor,” said Roy thoughtfully; “but it’s—er—subtle, Chub, awfully subtle. Could you give me a hint? Just tell me what letter the answer begins with!”
“I’ll tell you what letter your name begins with,” laughed Chub. “And it comes between E and G.”
“What am I? A musical note?”
“No, a flat!”
“I suppose you think you’re sharp!”
Chub Eaton groaned loudly as he slammed the lid of his trunk down. He was seventeen years of age, and looked older; was a trifle thick-set, had brown hair that was almost brick-red, alert brown eyes, a good-looking, expressive, good-humored face, and an ease of manner and a self-assurance which his enemies called conceit and which his friends loved him for. He was in his last year at Ferry Hill and consequently in the First Senior Class. The preceding spring he had succeeded himself as captain of the base-ball team. While well-liked by almost every fellow in school, he had not attained to the popularity which his companion commanded.
Roy Porter lacked his chum’s air of self-sufficiency and in looks and manner unconsciously invited friendship. He was the school leader, and reigned supreme with none to dispute his title. Besides that, until the election following Ferry Hill’s defeat of Hammond on the latter’s gridiron, a few weeks ago, he had been captain of the foot-ball team, an honor alone sufficient to turn his head had that appendage not been very stiffly attached. Unlike his predecessor in the office of school leader, one Horace Burlen, who had left school the previous spring and was now playing the precarious rôle of freshman in a near-by college, Roy ruled with a gentle hand and maintained his sway by honest, manly service in behalf of the school and his fellows. The younger boys worshiped him, secretly resolved to be Roy Porters when they grew up, and meanwhile copied his ties and stockings and cocked their hats as he wore his.
Roy also was a First Senior and would graduate in June; and like Chub—whose real name, by the way, was Thomas—was seventeen years old. He was tall, well-built, athletic, with wavy light-brown hair, a frank good-looking face and a pair of attractive gray-blue eyes.
“Say, Chub,” he exclaimed suddenly; “I almost forgot to tell you. What do you suppose Harry’s been up to now?”
“Ask me something easier,” begged Chub.
“Swiping students from Hammond!”
“What!”
“Fact! She was down at the station and told me about it. It’s the funniest thing you ever heard, Chub!” And Roy laid himself back on the bed and laughed consumedly.
“Funny’s no word for it,” said Chub soberly. “I shall die of laughing in a moment.”
“W-wait till I tell you!” gasped Roy.
“I am waiting, you gump! Stop that fuss and tell me! Don’t keep a fellow waiting all day.”
“Well, listen.” And Roy recounted Harry’s meeting with Dick Somes, embellishing the tale as fancy dictated, until Chub too was struggling with his laughter.
“But—but she didn’t land him after all?” asked Chub.
“She doesn’t know yet. She told him he’d have to be here by six o’clock to-night. She pretends she’s sure he’ll be here, but I guess he was just fooling her.”
“Too bad,” said Chub. “Wouldn’t it have been great if he had left Hammond and come here, eh? Wouldn’t we have had a peachy joke on them?”
“And wouldn’t they have hated Mr. Dick Summers, or whatever his name is? But isn’t Harry the limit?”
“She’s plucky, all right,” answered Chub with a grin. “Fancy having the cheek to try and—”
“Pluck a brand from the burning,” suggested Roy.
“Exactly! Suppose we run over to the Cottage and see if he’s shown up?”
“Oh, he hasn’t come,” answered Roy, glancing at his watch. “It’s two minutes of six now.”
“What of it? He might have come half an hour ago and—” Chub, who was facing the dormitory door, stopped and stared over Roy’s shoulder. “Hello!” he ejaculated. Roy turned and followed his gaze.
Just inside the doorway stood a big, broad-shouldered, blond-haired youth of apparently sixteen years of age. He wore a fur cap, a gray sweater and dark knickerbockers, while in one hand was a suit case and in the other a pair of skates. In spite of the fact that the entire hall was observing him silently and curiously he appeared not the least bit embarrassed; in fact his self-possession was then and afterward something to wonder at. After a slow glance about the hall he had turned his gray eyes on Chub and Roy. There was a careless, good-humored smile on his singularly homely and at the same time perplexingly attractive face.
“Where do I live, do you suppose?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” answered Roy, rising to go to him. “But I guess you belong on the next floor. Did the Doctor tell you which dormitory you were to go to?”
“Haven’t seen the Doctor,” was the calm reply. “I just got here. What time is it, anyway?”
“Just six,” answered Roy.
“‘Where do I live, do you suppose?’ he asked”
“That’s all right then.” The newcomer set his bag down and placed his skates on top of it. Then he threw his fur cap and gloves on to the nearest bed and started to get out of his sweater.
But Chub, who had said no word so far, but upon whose countenance a beatific grin had been growing and spreading with each instant, broke the silence explosively.
“Where’d you come from?” he shouted.
“Across the river,” answered the other.
“From Hammond?”
“Yep. From Hammond.”
Chub gave a whoop and hurdled the two intervening beds, landing on top of the suit case, sending the skates clanging across the floor and violently grasping the hand of the astounded youth.
“It’s he, Roy!” he yelled delightedly. “It’s the Brand from the Burning!”
“That’s me,” laughed Dick Somes. “Did she tell you I was coming?”
“She said she expected you,” answered Roy; “but—well—”
“We didn’t think you’d have the cheek to do it,” ended Chub admiringly. “Were they mad? How did you get away from them?”
“Oh, easy enough. I hadn’t entered, you see. So I paid them for two days’ board and lodging, sent my trunk across by sleigh and pulled my suit case after me. It was quick work,—had to be—but the only way I could manage it. It scratched the suit-case up a bit, but that doesn’t matter. I guess I’d better go and see the boss now and get my ticket punched.”
“What ticket?” asked Roy.
“Oh, I mean see the Doctor, take out my papers, register, put my name down, get enrolled, whatever you call it,” explained Dick. “Miss Emery said I’d have to be here by six and I thought I wasn’t going to make it. I lost my bearings skating across and headed away down-stream. That made me late. When do we feed?”
“Right away,” answered Roy. “But you’d better go over to the Cottage first. Chub and I’ll show you the way. This is Chub here; his full name’s Mr. Thomas Eaton. By the way, your name’s Summers, isn’t it?”
“Somes,” was the reply. He shook hands warmly with Chub. “Glad to meet you,” he said. Then he turned to Roy. “You’re Roy; I’ve forgotten your last name, but Miss Emery spoke about you. Hope we’ll be friends.” Then he faced the rest of the fellows who had edged as close as politeness would allow and who had been watching the proceedings with unconcealed interest. “My name’s Dick Somes,” he announced smilingly, “and I’m glad to meet all you chaps. We’ll get acquainted later. Now if you’ll lead the way,” he suggested to Roy, “I’ll get my name down on the pay-roll.”
“Say, Somes,” said Chub, as they clattered down-stairs and across the hall, “I don’t usually welcome strangers in quite such a demonstrative way, you know, but Roy had just been telling me about Harry and you, and it seemed such a blamed good joke that I just had to let out.”
“That’s all right,” Dick laughed. “I’m tickled to death to find some one with what they call human emotions. Why, say, you chaps, I’ve been hibernating over at Hammond for two whole days with a dozen wooden Indians who wouldn’t even say ‘Good Morning’ to me until I shouted it! Talk about your frozen faces! Phew! But you fellows act as though you had blood in your veins! I thought maybe I could stand it over there, but when the push began to drift in this afternoon I saw that I’d either have to get out or do murder. They looked me over as though I was some sort of a dime museum freak until I thought I’d have to eat glass to please ’em. The first bunch feased me; I didn’t wait to see what the rest looked like, but grabbed my pack and hit the trail, and here I am. All I ask is kind treatment and a comfortable home.”
“Well, here we are,” laughed Roy. “I hope the Doctor will let you stay.” “Oh, he will. I’ve got the money right here and a bunch of letters that thick. And if he wants any more references I’ll refer him to Hammond.” Roy rang the bell and in a moment the door was thrown open by Harry.
The imaginary letter
“Hello, Chub!” she cried. But then her eyes wandered past him to Dick Somes and her face lighted up. “Oh, it’s you!” she cried. “Father! He’s here! It’s Dick Somes!”
“The Brand from the Burning,” murmured Dick as he followed the others into the little parlor. Then Harry came dancing back and beckoned him to the Doctor’s study. The door closed and Harry returned alone.
“I told you he would come!” she whispered excitedly to Roy. Roy nodded. Then they sat, the three of them, like a trio of conspirators and waited. Once in a while they exchanged smiles, and Harry and Roy applauded Chub as he read from a blank sheet of paper, with widely fantastic gestures, an imaginary letter recounting Dick’s virtues. Then the door opened and the Doctor and Dick appeared together in the hall.
“Ah, boys,” said the Doctor, “I’m glad to see you again. You spent a pleasant vacation, I hope. Now will you kindly take Somes over to Mr. Cobb and ask him to assign him a bed in the Senior Dormitory? Thank you. Good evening. I will see you here in the morning, Somes.”
They left Harry, jubilant, on the porch and returned through the darkness to Burgess.
“How did it go?” asked Chub.
“All right,” answered Dick soberly. “Say, the Doctor’s fine, isn’t he?” The others concurred and Dick went on:
“He wasn’t going to take me at first; said it wouldn’t be quite fair to the Hammond folks. But I told him it was all off between them and me and that if he wouldn’t take me here I’d go somewhere else. Then I showed my credentials and he said finally that if I was in earnest about it and really wanted to come here to learn and would abide by the rules and all that he’d take me; and I said I would and we shook hands. Then he laughed and said he guessed I’d get on.”
“Good enough,” said Roy. “We’ll find Cobb and then go down to supper. Are you hungry?”
“Hungry! Man, I’m starved! I’ve been living on apple-sauce for forty-eight hours! Why, I only have to close my eyes to imagine myself a Golden Russet!”
“Golden Russet be blowed!” laughed Chub. “You’re a peach!”