And this is Rodney Merrill!” exclaimed Mrs. Westcott, beaming upon him as she swept into the parlor with rustling skirts. “I’m so glad to see you! And how nice to get here early! Doctor Farron has told me all about you, my dear, dear boy, and we’re going to make you so happy here at our wonderful school, so very happy!”
And Mrs. Westcott, shaking hands, beamed harder than ever. She was a tall, thin woman with prominent features and a dark blue silk gown that rustled. It was in that order that Rodney noted those particulars. Her face was kindly if not very attractive, and her voice quite pleasant.
“You had a comfortable journey, I hope? Won’t you sit down a moment, Rodney? This is our parlor. We meet here in the evenings[32] and have such pleasant, homelike times. One or two of my boys sing very nicely.” Mrs. Westcott sank rustling into a chair, folded her thin hands in her lap and beamed. “The Doctor said you were fifteen. That is right, I presume? Yes. And you’re to be a First Form boy? Yes. Isn’t that splendid? I hope you will like us all very much. I have such a fine family this year, such dear, dear boys! Perhaps you’d like to go up and see your room? Your trunk and bag came and are awaiting you upstairs. This way, if you please, Rodney.”
And Rodney, who had just seated himself uncomfortably on the edge of a chair, arose and followed. The room, he had to acknowledge to himself, was really rather jolly. It was at the back of the house but had windows on two sides, each of which looked out upon the campus. It was very nearly square and of good size. The furnishings were neither elaborate nor particularly new, but there was a generous study table covered with green baize—interestingly adorned with cabalistic marks and ink stains—a sufficiency of chairs, two single white-enamelled beds, two tall and narrow chiffoniers, and a[33] bench which, evidently of home manufacture, stood under the side window and did duty as a window-seat. The floor was uncarpeted, but rugs, the kind that are woven of old carpets, lay about the floor. Everything was immaculately neat and clean. There was something about Mrs. Westcott that forbade the thought of dust or grime.
The walls were painted a light tan, and the woodwork about the room was of varnished pine. The effect, with the rugs, whose predominant color was brick-red, was decidedly cheerful. There were no pictures—Rodney learned that denizens of the Westcott Cottage were not allowed to hang anything on the walls—but the back of one of the chiffoniers held a number of photographs.
“This will be your side of the room,” announced Mrs. Westcott. “When you have unpacked your trunk I will show you where to put it in the storeroom. In the closet”—Mrs. Westcott swung open the door—“you will use the seven hooks to the left and half the shelf. Clothes that are not in present demand should be kept in your trunk. You will be able to get[34] to it whenever you like. We have no washstands in the room as the boys use the bathroom, which is just across the hall, you see. In the coat-closet downstairs you will find blacking and brushes for shoes. I hope you will keep your shoes looking nice. I am very particular about that. We have a regular bathroom schedule in the morning. Each boy is allowed ten minutes by the clock. Your time will be from seven-twenty to seven-thirty. You will find the schedule on the door. That is all for now.”
Mrs. Westcott, who had delivered the foregoing in the manner of one repeating a well-learned lesson, paused for breath.
“Who’s the other chap in here?” asked Rodney, who, hands in pockets, was still examining his quarters.
“Your roommate,” said Mrs. Westcott, beaming again, “is Phineas Kittson. Such a dear boy! You’ll like him, I know. He is a year older than you, and in the Second Form. I hope you will be great friends. Phineas is—” Mrs. Westcott paused and seemed searching for just the right word. Finally, “so interesting!” she ended triumphantly. “Not exactly like my[35] other boys, you know, rather—rather exceptional. We all expect great things from Phineas some day. He has such a—a remarkable mind! Now perhaps you’d like to unpack and arrange your things. The rest of my boys will be along very shortly. Two have come already, but they’ve gone out. If you want anything, Rodney, you’ll find me downstairs. Make yourself at home, my dear boy.”
When Mrs. Westcott had gone Rodney subsided into a chair and grinned at the empty chiffonier. “She’s going to make me happy if it kills me, isn’t she?” he inquired of the chiffonier. Then, with a chuckle, he arose and again made the circuit of the room, testing the bed by punching it, pulling open the drawers of the chiffonier, and pausing at each window to take in the view.
The window at the rear, just at the foot of his bed, looked over the back yard and across the intersection of two tree-lined streets. Beyond that the foliage cut off his view, although he glimpsed the copper-roofed turret of a building a block or so beyond. From the side window the school buildings in the campus were in plain sight across the street. There were four[36] of them, all of red brick and limestone; a large one in the center of the group with a tower at one end, two others nearer at hand, and a fourth at the farther side of the campus. The middle one Rodney rightly surmised to be the recitation hall and the others dormitories. Maple Hill took care of one hundred and fifteen pupils, of which number but ninety could be accommodated in the dormitories. The newcomers usually had to go to one or other of the half dozen private houses which, while run independently of the Academy, were, as Rodney discovered later, very much under the Head Master’s supervision. From the side window Rodney lounged across to Phineas Kittson’s chiffonier and viewed the collection of photographs there. Finding those but mildly interesting, and having by this time returned to where his trunk and bag reposed upon a rug near the hall door, he bethought him of unpacking. The bag was quickly emptied and then he tackled the trunk. It wasn’t easy to decide which things should remain in it and which should be stowed in his half of the much too small closet. And he was still in the middle of[37] his task when voices and laughter and many footfalls below told him that the rest of the household had arrived. He paused with a Norfolk jacket, which had twice made the journey to the closet and return, in his hand to listen.
“Hello, Mother Westcott! What’s the good word with you? Got anything to eat?”
“That’s so, Mother, we’re starving! Look at my poor thin form! Does it not move you to tears of pity? Say, Mother, got any cake?”
“Shut up, Tad, and get out of Pinkie’s way! That’s my trunk, Pinkie, the one with the lock busted. You know my room. Say, Pete, lend me a half till to-morrow, will you?”
Now and then Mrs. Westcott’s voice was to be heard, but for the most part the boys’ laughter and chatter filled the house. Presently heavy steps on the stairs indicated the ascent of Pinkie with a trunk. Close behind him other steps sounded and a voice called:
“Jack, we’ve a new one! He’s in with Kitty!”
“Shut up! He’ll hear you,” a low voice warned.
“What of it? I haven’t said——” But the rest was drowned in the general noise. There were three other rooms on the floor and the[38] new arrivals distributed themselves therein, still, however, keeping up their conversation.
“We’ve got new curtains, Warren!” announced a triumphant voice.
“Get out! They’ve just been washed. I’ve got a new spread, though. Mother always did love me best!”
“What do you think of that for favoritism! I’m going to kick! It isn’t fair——”
“Tom!”
“Hi?”
“Got my bag in there? Pinkie says he——”
“Heads out, fellows! See who’s coming!”
Rodney could hear the rush to the front windows, followed by applause and cries of “Good old Kitty!” “Breathe deep, Kitty, breathe deep!” “What’s your time, old man?”
Presently the last arrival entered the house and Rodney heard Mrs. Westcott exclaim: “Why, Phineas, how well you look! You dear, dear boy, I’m so glad to see you back again.”
A deeper voice answered, but as the uproar in the other rooms had begun again Rodney heard no more. Desperately he doomed the Norfolk jacket and the trousers that went with[39] it to the trunk again, and began to arrange his shirts in the second drawer of the chiffonier. Rodney was rather proud of his collection of shirts. Most of them had been bought in New York and were things of beauty, especially the negligees, which ran to color combinations of lavender and blue, pink and green and old rose and gray stripes. He was assorting them carefully and approvingly and had for the moment forgotten everything else when footsteps at the doorway caused him to turn his head. What he saw was sufficiently interesting to put the shirts out of mind. Not Mrs. Westcott, who was beaming from the threshold, but the boy who was with her. Rodney, staring wonderingly, thought he had never seen a more remarkable person in his life. And he went right on staring, most impolitely, but quite excusably, until Mrs. Westcott’s voice broke his trance.
“Rodney,” she announced, “this is Phineas Kittson. Phineas, dear, this is Rodney Merrill, your new roommate. I just know you’re going to be such good friends!”
“Great Scott!” thought Rodney.