in the morning dan was glad to find that gerald had evidently quite recovered and was himself again.
“alf and tom were sorry you didn’t go over last night,” said dan. “alf says you’re not to forget your boxing lesson saturday. he says with about two more lessons he will fix you so you can go and knock spots out of kilts.”
gerald smiled.
“i won’t forget,” he said. “maybe, though, i’ll give up boxing. i don’t believe there’s going to be—be any necessity for knowing how.”
“well, i’m glad you’ve decided to call it off with thompson,” said dan. “i guess he means to behave himself now.”
“i’m going to call it off with other folks, too,” remarked gerald; with which cryptic utterance he went off to breakfast.
dan looked puzzled.
“now, what did he mean by that?” he asked,[89] half aloud. “i wonder if he has some new foolishness in his mind.”
to-day, as it happened, dan’s recitations kept him away from the room all the morning, except for a half-hour between eleven and eleven-thirty, at which time, as he knew, gerald had latin with mr. collins, and so it was not until after twelve o’clock that the first suspicion reached him. then, in front of oxford, he ran across joe chambers. joe was one of the sub-editors of the school weekly, the scholiast, a third class fellow who wore glasses, looked cultured to the best of his ability, and was always on the watch for news for his paper. he buttonholed dan at once.
“say, vinton, what’s up with pennimore?”
“nothing that will make ‘copy’ for you, chambers. he got into trouble in class yesterday, and faculty put him on probation. how did you hear of it?”
chambers looked puzzled.
“i didn’t hear of it at all,” he replied. “i didn’t mean that. but i met him this morning with a big bag, and asked him where he was going, and he said ‘home.’ i thought maybe there was something up, you know; somebody sick or something of that sort. is there?”
for a moment dan didn’t answer. he was thinking hard. then:
[90]
“no, there’s nothing wrong at home. what he meant was that he was going down to sound view. he took a lot of things over there to get them out of the way. the closets in clarke are so tiny that there isn’t room for much of anything. well, i must be getting on. of course, you needn’t say anything about gerald’s being on probation. he’s sort of thin-skinned, you know.”
“i won’t mention it,” answered chambers earnestly. “much obliged.” dan nodded and chambers hurried away.
for a moment dan stood there at a loss. he had not the least doubt that gerald had left school. he recalled his manner before breakfast, that mysterious remark of his. but he could easily make certain. he hurried across to clarke and raced up the stairs. the top of gerald’s chiffonier was clear of toilet articles, many of his shirts and undergarments were missing from the drawers, his suit-case was gone from the closet shelf. dan looked at his watch, went to his top drawer and took out a little japanned tin box which he unlocked with a key on his watch chain. from the box he took a little roll of money. placing this carefully in a vest pocket, he made his way downstairs again. once outside he walked slowly and loiteringly to the prospect and turned into the path leading across the railroad[91] track and through the woods. but once out of sight of the school he broke into a trot. where the wood paths diverged he kept to the right, and was soon hurrying along beside a high rustic fence which marked the boundary of the pennimore estate. presently he reached a spot where a number of the palings had been torn away. in the fall gerald and he had used this route to and from the school as it was much shorter than the way which led around by the roads. dan squirmed through the hole and sped across the turf. presently he was on the drive and the big stone residence was in front of him. the curtains were down at all the windows and the place looked utterly deserted, but he crossed the terrace and rang the bell beside the wide door. after a while the door opened and a wrinkled caretaker put her head out.
“i’m looking for gerald,” dan explained. “i thought maybe he was here: is he?”
“no, sir, he ain’t here. i ain’t seen him since last week.”
“you—you’re sure?” asked dan anxiously.
“yes, sir. he couldn’t get in without my knowing it, sir. there ain’t nothin’ happened to him, sir, has there?”
“no, no, but i couldn’t find him, and one of the fellows said he’d seen him coming this way. i’m[92] much obliged.” and dan turned toward the main drive which led to the lodge and the gates, and so to the village road. at the lodge he asked again, but the gardener’s wife declared that gerald hadn’t entered the gates that day.
“well, if you should see him, i wish you’d tell him that i want to see him on a very important matter. i’m his roommate at school, you know.”
“yes, sir, very well, sir, i’ll be sure and tell him.”
dan hurried through the gates and along the road which leads to the station. he had not expected to find gerald at sound view, and so was not disappointed. he looked at his watch and increased his pace. some distance away the noon express whistled for the station. dan reached the train just as the conductor raised his hand in signal to the engineer. he sank into a seat in one of the day coaches and got his breath back. when the conductor came through dan paid his fare, and asked when the train was due in new york.
“three-thirty,” was the reply.
it would be quick work, thought dan. he must get to gerald’s house, persuade gerald to return, and then reach the station in time for the five o’clock train back to wissining. that would bring them to the school at about a quarter before eight and if all went well there was no reason why[93] any one should suspect their absence. but to take a later train would be to court disaster, since they would reach the school long after ten o’clock, and would be almost certain to be discovered. an hour and a half was mighty little time, dan thought anxiously, in which to reach the pennimore house, show gerald the error of his ways, and return to the station. but he believed he could do it. if only the train was on time! dan pulled out the rest of his money and counted it over. there wasn’t a great deal of it, but it ought to do. he was good and hungry by now, and the waiter’s announcement of “dinner now ready in the dining car!” found at least one sympathetic listener. but dinner in the dining car meant parting from a whole dollar, and dan’s finances wouldn’t stand that. at new haven, however, he jumped out and bought a cup of coffee, a sandwich and three bananas. he managed to get through with the coffee and sandwich while the train waited, but the bananas were taken on board and lasted for several miles. after that he felt more cheerful and looked forward quite optimistically to his task ahead. he squandered another ten cents on a magazine and managed to pass the rest of the journey without difficulty. the train rolled into the big station just on time, and dan was off it and racing up the platform before it[94] had come to a stop. there was no time to lose.
his plans were all made, and it only remained to carry them out. during his visit to the city with gerald he had made the acquaintance of taxicabs, and now he climbed into one with a nonchalant air, and gave the driver the address. but, although he lolled back in the seat as though taxicabs were an everyday occurrence with him, he kept an anxious eye on the meter as they sped uptown. it was simply scandalous the way that thing acted! every time he turned his head away for a moment it added another ten cents to his indebtedness! but he made the trip for a dollar and twenty cents, not including the ten cents he gave the driver, and was delighted to find that it was still only ten minutes to four when he rang the door-bell.
“will you ask gerald if i can see him, please?”
the man, who remembered dan, smiled discreetly and conducted him into the little reception room. then he went away, and dan, left to the depressing silence of the house, tried to nerve himself for the encounter.
gerald was upstairs in the library trying to write a letter to his father. he had been home three hours, had lunched all alone in the big dining room, had unpacked his bag, and was now far from happy. it promised to be very lonely[95] there, with only the servants to talk to. there were moments when he heartily wished himself back at school, but he had no intention of returning. his pride wouldn’t allow that. just now he was trying, in his half-written letter, to persuade his father to let him join him abroad, something he was quite certain his father would not do. he had written a truthful, if somewhat biased, account of the events leading to his flight from school, and all the time he was wondering uneasily what his father would think of him. he was pretty sure his father wouldn’t insist on his returning to yardley, and he didn’t quite know whether to be glad of this or sorry. if he didn’t go back to school and didn’t join his father abroad, what was to become of him? it wasn’t at all likely that he would be allowed to remain alone here with the servants. the only alternative gerald could think of was a visit to some distant relations in virginia. and that—why, that would be worse than school.
he wondered whether dan had discovered his absence yet; wondered what he would think and do; whether he would be sorry. gerald accused dan of being tired of him, and he almost meant it, but he knew well enough that dan would feel badly about his leaving. probably there would be a letter from dan in the morning, thought gerald,[96] brightening up a little. that was something to look forward to. he was mighty fond of dan, and if dan had only not deserted him for loring and tom dyer— but that was all over with now. he had tried to write a note to dan before leaving, but it had proved a difficult task, and he had finally abandoned it. but he would write this evening. he began to consider what he would say. he would be very dignified in it. dan must understand that he was no longer a baby, and that when he once made up his mind he stuck to it. perhaps he would begin the letter “dear vinton,” just to show dan that all was at an end between them. perhaps, however, dan might not like that, and would get huffy and not come to see him any more! on second thoughts, he guessed he wouldn’t start it that way. but he would let dan understand that it would be quite useless for the latter to try and persuade him to return to yardley. of course, if dan cared to write to him now and then, gerald would be glad to hear what was going on at school, and would reply and tell dan about the fine times he was having in new york.
gerald paused there in his thoughts and looked out of the two great, heavily-draped windows. it was a gray afternoon, hinting of snow, and the view of the roofs and chimneys was cheerless and dispiriting. it suddenly came over him that he[97] hated new york and everything in it, and—and yes, he did! he wished like anything that he was back at yardley!
“mr. vinton to see you, mr. gerald.”
“what?” cried gerald, amazed and delighted. “who, thomas?”
“mr. vinton, sir; mr. dan; the young gentleman who—”
gerald leaped from his chair and started toward the door. then he remembered. he stopped and went back to his seat at the big, broad-topped table.
“ask mr. vinton to come up here, thomas,” he said with great dignity.
“very good, sir,” replied thomas impassively. but outside in the hall he grinned.
gerald waited with fast-beating heart. dan had come after him! why had he done that unless—unless he did care, after all? perhaps, though, the faculty had sent him to bring him back. gerald hardened his heart again. he heard the elevator door open and then quick steps came along the corridor. thomas held aside the curtains.
“mr. vinton,” he murmured.
“hello, dan,” greeted gerald. he tried to speak carelessly, but his voice trembled in spite of his efforts. he got up leisurely from his chair[98] and leaned against the table, smiling, awaiting dan.
dan crossed the room briskly, his watch in his hand. the time was five minutes to four.
“hello,” he replied in business-like tones. “have you unpacked your things yet?”
“why, yes.”
dan turned. thomas, who had lingered discreetly at the door, was just disappearing.
“wait a bit,” called dan. “what’s his name?” he asked gerald.
“thomas,” replied gerald in surprise.
“thomas, will you please pack mr. gerald’s suit-case again as soon as you can? he’s going back with me on the five o’clock train.”
“‘he’s going back with me on the five o’clock train.’”
“yes, sir,” replied thomas.
“and is there anything we could have to take us to the station, thomas?”
“there’s the electric, sir. shall i telephone for that? about twenty minutes of five, sir?” thomas looked inquiringly from dan to gerald. but it was dan who was giving the orders. gerald’s presence of mind seemed to have deserted him.
“please do,” answered dan. “better say twenty-five minutes of, though, thomas. thank you.”
thomas gave another doubtful glance at gerald[99] and disappeared. the curtains fell behind him. dan turned to gerald.
“there’s plenty of time to get that train,” he said briskly. “it will get us in wissining at seven-thirty, and we can be back at school by a quarter to eight. no one will know we’ve been away unless we tell them.”
“i’m not going back,” said gerald sullenly.
dan paid no heed.
“what did you do such a stupid thing for, gerald?” he asked gently. “you might have got into all sorts of trouble.”
“trouble!” sneered gerald. “i guess i’ve had trouble, haven’t i? i guess a little more won’t matter. besides, they can’t do anything to me here. i’ve left school.”
“oh, no, you haven’t. you can’t leave school just by running away. faculty can bring you back, gerald, if it wants to. until your father withdraws you from yardley, you are a yardley student and under the control of the faculty. of course i don’t know that they will want to bring you back. they’ll probably just expel you. but that won’t do. you don’t want them to do that. your father would be awfully broken up about it. if you really must leave, the better way is to go back now before they find it out, and then write to your father to withdraw you. it will take a couple[100] of weeks, but i guess you can wait that long, can’t you?”
“i’m not going back,” reiterated gerald stubbornly. dan made a gesture of impatience.
“you are going back,” he replied. “i’m going to take you back. you’re going back if i have to carry you all the way, and if it takes from now till sunday.”
the two boys looked at each other a moment. then gerald’s eyes dropped. there was silence for a moment. then:
“they’ll know i ran away,” he muttered.
“no, they won’t; not if we go back on the five o’clock train. joe chambers saw you, you know, but i told him you were just going to sound view. he will forget all about it. even if he suspects he will never say anything. you’ll have to explain missing recitations but you can do that all right.”
there was another silence. gerald dug holes with the pen in the blotter. finally:
“faculty didn’t send you after me?” he asked.
“great scott, no!” answered dan impatiently. “i came as soon as i found out. i went to sound view first to make sure you weren’t there. then i caught the noon train.”
“i don’t see—” began gerald.
“you don’t see what?” asked dan as he paused.
[101]
“i don’t see why you take so much trouble,” said gerald.
“why shouldn’t i?” asked dan. “wouldn’t you do as much for me? if you thought i was making a mighty big mistake and getting myself into a heap of trouble and disappointing my folks, wouldn’t you take a little trouble, gerald?”
“yes, but—”
“but nothing! it’s all settled. it’s almost half-past, and i’m as hungry as a bear. do you suppose there’s anything to eat downstairs? i didn’t have much money on hand and couldn’t afford dinner on the train.”
“of course there is,” cried gerald. “i’ll tell thomas to get something. how much time is there?”
“about twelve minutes before we need to start. here’s thomas now.”
“the bag’s all ready, mr. gerald. i took it down,” announced thomas.
“that’s all right,” said gerald eagerly. “and, thomas, dan didn’t have any luncheon. see if you can find something, and bring it up here right away. there’s only about ten minutes.”
“very good, sir. some cold meat, sir, and a glass of milk and some fruit? shall i have them make tea or coffee?”
“no, thanks,” replied dan. “a slice of meat[102] and some bread and butter will be fine; and the milk. much obliged, thomas.”
“yes, sir. i telephoned to the garage, sir, and the brougham will be here at twenty-five minutes of. but, begging pardon, sir, it won’t take more than twelve minutes to get to the station.”
thomas hurried noiselessly away.
“have you got any money, gerald?” asked dan.
gerald took out his purse and examined the contents.
“only eight dollars,” he said.
“that’s plenty,” replied dan. “i’ve only got about three, and we’ll have to have supper on the train.”
“that’ll be dandy!” cried gerald. “remember the bully feed we had going home the last time, dan?”
“yes, and i remember that we both ate too much. you’d better finish that letter, gerald, and get thomas to post it.”
gerald hesitated a moment. then he sat down again, seized the pen and added three hurried lines to his epistle.
“dan just came, and wants me to go back. he says no one will know anything about it. so i’m going. i guess i was a fool. lovingly, gerald.”
