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where the conversation had taken place and was ruefully watching
his friend as he walked rapidly back to the old bridge.
“Well, Walter, what did Dan say when you told him what your
father was going to do for him?” inquired Mrs. Borden cheerily as
her boy entered his grandfather’s house.
“He said he wouldn’t do it,” replied Walter somewhat tartly.
“What?”
“Yes, mother, that’s exactly what he said.”
“Why did he say that?”
“You can search me! Dan is as obstinate as a pig in a garden. He’s
the most unreasonable fellow I know anywhere.”
“I’m sure you did your part. It was noble of you to want to help
Dan to obtain an education. I said that to your father——”
“What did father say when you told him?” broke in Walter.
“He laughed, and all he said was Dan had fifteen hit-outs in the
game.”
“Strike-outs, I guess you mean, mother.”
“Is there any difference between a strike and a hit? I should think
they meant pretty much the same thing. If you were to strike
another boy you’d be hitting him, wouldn’t you?”
“I might strike at him without hitting him.”
“Yes?” said Mrs. Borden dubiously. “Well, I shouldn’t let it trouble
me, Walter. You were generous, I’m sure. I think it was noble of you
and you made me feel very proud. Probably when your father comes
up for the week-end he’ll be able to persuade Dan, though it does
seem a little strange that one should have to persuade a boy to take
what you are giving him.”
“You don’t know Dan! He’s the most obstinate and unreasonable
boy in seven kingdoms.”
 “Don’t be discouraged, my boy. Your father will find some way. He
always does.”
Whether Walter was “discouraged” or not he did not explain,
though he did not go near Dan’s home before the end of the week
brought the return of Mr. Borden to the old homestead. His first
word to his father, when Walter went in the automobile to meet him
at the station, was, “Dan won’t do it.”
“Won’t he?” inquired Mr. Borden with a smile and not seeming at
all surprised.
“No, sir. He’s as obstinate as an old mule.”
“Perhaps it isn’t quite so bad as that.”
“Yes, it is! I never saw such a fellow as Dan is. He doesn’t say
much, but when he takes his stand you can’t budge him an inch. I
don’t see why he turns down such a chance.”
“It may be that he will change his mind. What did you say when
you told him of the offer?”
“I don’t remember. I didn’t say very much. I just told him what
you had said. Probably I didn’t put it strongly enough.”
Mr. Borden laughed and said, “Never mind, my boy. I’ll have a little
talk with Dan.”
“I wish you would, father! I don’t know that it will do any good,
but there’s no harm in trying anyway.”
“Let me see—how many was it that Dan struck out in the game
with the Benson nine?”
“You know already,” replied Walter a trifle tartly.
“Twenty-six?”
“No, sir. Fifteen.”
“That’s a good record. Well, I’ll see Dan soon.”
 Walter’s eagerness and impatience increased when apparently his
father forgot or ignored his promise. Not a word concerning his
promised interview was said that evening nor on the morning
following. It was late Saturday afternoon when Mr. Borden told his
boy that he was about to go to Dan’s home and that he wished to go
alone.
“You’ll need me,” pleaded Walter. “You don’t know Dan as well as I
do.”
“Not in the same way, is what you mean, Walter.”
“I’d like to go.”
“I’d be glad to have you, but it will be better for you to stay here.
If I have to do more afterward I may call in your help, but I’m sure,
my boy, much as you think of Dan you would hinder more than you
would help if you were to accompany me this time. I am not without
hope that I’ll have a good word for you when I come back. Please
tell me once more, Walter, how many Dan struck out in the Benson
game.”
“You know already.”
“So I do. It was fifteen, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What is the record?”
“For strike-outs?”
“Yes.”
“There have been quite a good many ‘no hit’ games. I don’t know
just what the record for strike-outs is. It might be——”
“Perhaps Dan will make it when he becomes the pitcher of the Tait
School nine,” suggested Mr. Borden good-naturedly. “Don’t give up
too easily, Walter. One never can tell what may come, but in
business I have learned at least one thing which would have been of
help to you if you had known it before your interview with Dan.”
 “What is that?”
“Never give the ‘other fellow’ the chance to say ‘no.’”
“I don’t see how you can help it sometimes.”
“That’s one of the things you have to learn by experience. Now I’ll
go over to see the great ‘strike-out’ pitcher. Let me see now; I must
be sure of my ground. Was it twenty that Dan struck out?”
“I sha’n’t tell you any more that it was fifteen,” replied Walter a
little crossly as he became aware that his father was good-naturedly
making fun of him.
“Where will you be, Walter, when I come back?”
“Right here on the piazza.”
 CHAPTER XII
DAN RECONSIDERS

A n hour had elapsed when Walter, who had not once left the
piazza where he and his mother had been seated, exclaimed
excitedly, “There he comes, mother! I hope he has had good luck.”
“I’m sure your father has induced the foolish boy to accept his
offer. He has a great way of dealing with men, though I must
confess that I haven’t very much sympathy with Dan. It seems to
me that he has been a very foolish boy even to hesitate a moment.
I’m sure he never will have another such opportunity.”
“You don’t know Dan, mother,” said Walter as he arose and ran
down the steps to greet his father. “What luck, father?” he asked
eagerly. “Did you get Dan to say he would go?”
“Yes.”
“Great!” shouted the excited boy. “We’ll make you an honorary
member of the nine! How did you do it? What did Dan say?”
“He didn’t say very much.”
“But he really is going?”
“You’ll find him next September in your room when you go back to
school.”
“Tell me how you did it!”
“I can’t do that just now. Isn’t it enough for you to know that Dan
is to enter the Tait School this fall?”
“Yes, sir; but I’d like to know how you got him to say yes.”
“He won’t tell you.”
“And you won’t, either?”
 “Not just now.”
“When will you tell me?”
“Perhaps at Christmas, perhaps next summer, or it may be that
you never will know.”
“Why not?”
“That’s another thing you may never know, though I don’t mind
telling you that I think you will find out.”
“How? When?”
“You must wait. I have succeeded in getting Dan to go to school
with you. Can’t you be content with that?”
“I’ll have to be,” said Walter, “though I’d like to know the rest. May
I go over then and talk it over with Dan?”
“Of course.”
“Then I’ll go now!” exclaimed Walter as he ran from the piazza.
“John, what did you say to Dan?” inquired Mrs. Borden of her
husband, as he seated himself in a chair beside her.
“Well, I told Dan for one thing that he was not acting wisely in
turning down the chance I gave him. I told him there was a
difference between begging and receiving. That it sometimes was
more gracious to receive than it was to give.”
“I can’t understand you, John,” said Mrs. Borden a little
impatiently. “One would think to hear you that it was Dan conferring
the favor and not you or Walter.”
“That is exactly what I did tell him,” said Mr. Borden quietly.
“You did?”
“I did. I told him that I knew as well as he that Walter was an only
child and spoiled by his mother——”
“I don’t do any more for him than you do, John,” protested Mrs.
Borden.
 “I know that. We both do too much. The boy would be better off if
he did more for himself, but I haven’t the strength of character to do
what I know I ought to do. I didn’t have, when I was a boy, a
fraction of what Walter has. My father made me work for almost
everything I had. I didn’t like it then, but he was a wiser as well as a
better man than I am.”
“There couldn’t be a more generous man than you, John.”
“Couldn’t there?” laughed Mr. Borden. “Well, I told Dan that I
knew as well as he did that Walter is conceited and selfish—he
thinks a good deal more of himself than of anyone else——”
“You didn’t tell him that!”
“I most certainly did. I told him Walter needed some things that
Dan had——”
“What, for example?”
“Oh, Walter doesn’t work, he’s too easily turned aside, he gives up
when he ought to hang on, he is vain as a peacock, and he hasn’t
the remotest idea of the existence of anyone besides himself on this
planet.”
“You didn’t say that about your own boy!”
“Not in those words, but Dan knew what I meant. Then I told him
that he could help Walter, and I felt that if he should get my boy into
a steadier way of working I’d be glad to pay him a good deal more
than the amount his year at the Tait School will cost me. I put it so
strongly that at last Dan agreed to try it a year. If I should not be
satisfied then he is to leave the school and call off the bargain and
he even suggested that he would pay back what I might have
advanced——”
“He couldn’t pay it. He hasn’t any money.”
“Not just now. He’ll have plenty later. Likewise, he struck out
fifteen men in the Benson game!” Mr. Borden added laughingly as he
arose. “Oh, it’s Walter’s chance as well as Dan’s, but I don’t want
you to tell Walter what I have just now told you. It might spoil my
plan.”
“I think Walter is a good boy. I can’t understand you when you
find so much fault with your own flesh and blood.”
“Mother,” said Mr. Borden softly, “sometimes it costs one more to
be true than it does to say or do pleasing things. Ever think of that?”
“Of course I have, but I don’t see what that has to do with
Walter.”
“Trust me—you will see it and more clearly than I do now.”
Meanwhile Walter had gone to Dan’s home, and as he entered the
yard he saw his friend just coming out of the barn. He was carrying
a pail of milk in each hand and his appearance, dressed as he was in
his overalls and without any hat, for the first time impressed his
friend with a vague sense of unfitness. What would Sinclair Bradley
(called “Sin” by his fellows for more reasons than one) say if he
should see Walter’s new roommate in his present garb? Walter
vaguely thought also of the remarks which others of his classmates
might make, but his feeling of vague uneasiness speedily departed
as he ran forward to greet Dan. The thought of fifteen strike-outs
was vastly stronger at the moment than that of the remarks of his
friends over Dan’s somewhat uncouth appearance.
“Hello, Dan!” called Walter lightly as he approached. “I’ve heard
the good news! You’re going to the Tait School with me this fall.”
“Yes,” responded Dan quietly.
“Why don’t you get excited, Dan?” Walter demanded as he walked
beside his friend toward the milk-room, which was an addition to the
old farmhouse, built of stone and provided with ice which Dan and
his brother cut every winter from the mill-pond not far away.
“Perhaps I am, more than you think,” replied Dan.
“That’s all right. You’re as cool when you face the prospect of
rooming with me as you are when you face the heaviest hitter on
the other nine and have three men on bases.”
“Am I?” Dan spoke quietly, and Walter, in his own feeling of
elation, perhaps failed to look beneath the surface.
“Yes. You wouldn’t be, if you knew what you are going into.”
“I guess you’re right,” said Dan soberly.
“Of course I am!” exclaimed Walter, enthusiastic once more in the
company of his friend. “You’ll like the fellows immensely. Right
across the hall from us will be Owen Pease and Sin Bradley’s room.
You’ll like both of them. Owen plays in the field on the nine. He’s
about ten feet long and two inches wide.”
“I should think he’d go with Barnum. I never saw a man built on
that plan.”
“Oh, well, I’ve put it a little strong,” laughed Walter. “But he’s
length without breadth or thickness. Honestly, Dan, he’s the thinnest
person you ever saw.”
“But I never saw him.”
“You will, soon. Thinner than anyone I ever saw then; put it that
way if you want to. When we were playing the Colt nine this spring
Owen was scared, at least he said he was, to face the pitcher. He did
throw a wicked ball, Dan, there’s no mistake about that. I felt a little
nervous myself when I faced him. But Owen made such a time over
it and said he was afraid of being hit that Sin took a bat and stuck it
up on the ground right in front of Owen and said, ‘Here, old man,
you just hide behind that and you’ll be safe.’”
“Did he get all his ten feet behind one bat?”
“He might as far as his thickness was concerned. Owen is the
thinnest chap I ever saw, just as I told you, but he’s made of wire
and steel.”
“Who is this ‘Sin’ you speak of?”
“Sin Bradley.”
 “Why do you call him ‘Sin’?”
“His full name is Sinclair,” laughed Walter, “but I guess the name
fits him all right just as it is. You never saw such a fellow in all your
life, Dan. He’s up to more tricks than you can dream of. One day
there was a fellow on the campus who was begging, pretending he
was a deaf-mute——”
“How do you know he was ‘pretending’?”
“That’s what I’m telling you. Sin saw through his game before the
beggar could get a chance. He just walked up to him and jumped on
his toes. I’m telling you, Dan, that he wasn’t ‘mute’ for a spell there.
He called Sin all kinds of names in about a thousand different
languages.”
“He must have been pretty well educated to use as many different
languages as that.”
“Oh, well, probably it wasn’t quite a thousand,” laughed Walter.
“But the air was full of owskis and oskis there for about five
minutes.”
“What did Sin do?”
“He went up to the beggar, sober as a judge, and begged his
pardon. He told him how deeply he regretted the ‘accident’ and then
said, ‘I feel worse about it because you are deaf and dumb. How
long have you had this trouble?’
“‘More as dree year,’ muttered the fellow, caught off his guard. You
ought to have heard the fellows yell.”
“What did the deaf-and-dumb man do?”
“Started for some vast wilderness, I guess. We heard about him
afterward, though. He got on a street-car in the city the next day
and he still had his big card placard on, ‘Please help a poor man who
is deaf and dumb.’ There were some good people on the car and one
of them suggested that they chip in and help the fellow. This man
was a minister and he said it was a great pity that one who was so
young should suffer from such a terrible affliction. The deaf-mute
kept mum, pretending that he didn’t hear any of the talk, but just
before they turned the money over to him a big fat man got on the
car and when it started it threw him against the beggar and he
brought one of his big feet down hard on the mute’s left foot. ‘Ouch!’
yelled the beggar. ‘You old fat porcupine; can’t you look where
you’re going?’”
“What happened to the poor fellow then?” inquired Dan with a
smile.
“Oh, the good people hurried him off to the police court. Sin said
he would have walked a thousand miles just to see the fellow when
he was brought up before the magistrate.”
“How far?” said Dan quizzically.
“You’re too literal, Dan,” laughed Walter.
“Tell me about the teachers,” said Dan after he and his friend had
joined Mrs. Richards and Tom on the piazza.
“Oh, they are the finest ever!” declared Walter. “Of course they try
to make you ‘grind’——”
“Grind what?” inquired Mrs. Richards.
“Oh, grind at your books,” said Walter lightly. “Some of them are
all right, though. There’s young Samson for example——”
“Is that his real name?” asked Tom.
“It is among the fellows. On the catalogue his name is Richard Lee
Thomas, I believe. He was captain of the football team at college
two years ago. He’s the strongest fellow you ever set eyes on.”
“What does he teach?” inquired Mrs. Richards.
“He coaches mostly, though he has charge of the gym work too.”
“I don’t understand,” said Mrs. Richards simply.
“He looks after the teams and the ‘physical welfare of the pupils,’
the catalogue says. Then there’s Kaiser; he has charge of the
German and French. He’s a fine old boy. Soc too is good.”
“Soc?” asked Dan.
“Short for Socrates,” explained Walter. “He has the Latin and
Greek. His real name is Jones, but the fellows all call him ‘Soc’ for
short. ‘Trig’ has the mathematics. His name, I suppose, is Ephraim
Jeremiah Paine, but the fellows had pity for him and changed his
name to ‘Trig.’ Oh, they’re all fine old boys. You’ll have the time of
your young life, Dan!”
 CHAPTER XIII
ENTERING SCHOOL

T he summer days passed rapidly and Walter spent many of them

in the company of Dan. One day while they were fishing on Six
Town Pond the great snake was seen again and after a struggle was
killed, though just why either of the boys wanted to kill the harmless
reptile neither could have explained. “He had no business to be born
a snake if he wanted to stay here,” Dan said with cheerful assurance
and as if his explanation was sufficient.
There were days when the fishing was excellent and other times
when the efforts of the boys apparently were without avail in
tempting the pickerel which hid among the weeds and refused to
leave their shelter.
The return game with the Benson nine provided another day of
interest and Walter greatly enjoyed the experience. Rodman and
Benson both made a gala day of the occasion, and when Walter rode
with the Rodman nine in the huge band-wagon which the Rodman
Cornet Band kindly lent the defenders of the local name, he was
deeply interested in the long line of vehicles which followed the
heroes on their way to the rival village, absorbing dust and loyalty all
the way.
The game itself was more or less of a repetition of the preceding
game. Dan’s cunning did not fail him, and exactly the same number
of hitters fell victims to his curves as had struck out in the former
game. Walter’s father had been in town on the great day and, at his
boy’s eager request, had ridden in his automobile to the scene of the
contest. He was quizzically warm in his words of praise after the
game, for Walter had played a better game than in the previous
match, but it was his boy’s enthusiasm over the youthful pitcher’s
“great work” that called forth Mr. Borden’s deeper interest. Upon his
invitation both Walter and Dan rode with him back to Rodman. Silas,
the harness-maker, upon Mr. Borden’s suggestion also occupied a
seat in the car, and his continued praises caused Mr. Borden to enjoy
his presence.
“I’m tellin’ ye,” roared Silas, “that Dan ought to have the New
Yorks up here for one game anyway. That boy is a credit to Rodman
an’ everybody what lives here! He can pitch th’ legs off a brass
monkey! I never see such a ball-player.”
“He plays a very good game,” remarked Mr. Borden smiling
pleasantly at Dan as he spoke. “Aren’t you afraid, Silas, that you’ll
spoil him with your flattering words?”
“Not a bit! Ye can’t spoil Dan. I hear ye’re goin’ off t’ school with
this Borden boy, Dan.”
“Yes,” said Dan quietly.
“Well, education’s a great thing. I wish I had some o’ it.”
“You have,” remarked Mr. Borden.
“Who? You mean me? I may be a fool ’bout some things, but I
guess I ain’t such a fool as t’ not know that I don’t know nothin’.”
“One of the wisest men that ever lived once said that he thought
the men who didn’t know and knew enough to know that they didn’t
know were very wise.”
“Shucks!” sniffed Silas, his round freckled face nevertheless
betraying his deep pleasure. “I guess I c’n make a harness that can
stan’ the strain o’ five ton, but when ye’ve said that ye’ve said th’
whole thing. Now, here’s Walter. Th’ other day I see in th’ Rodman
‘Reflector’ some newfangled words. If I rec’lect aright they was ‘sick
transum glory Monday’——”
“Sic transit gloria mundi,” interrupted Walter laughingly.
“That’s jes’ exackly what I said,” declared Silas. “I didn’t know no
more what they mean than ’s if they been words that Julius Cæsar
spoke.”
“Perhaps he did,” said Walter. “They are Latin words.”
“Ye don’t tell me. Well, Mr. Borden, I couldn’t make head nor tail t’
’em. A ‘sick transum’ an’ ‘Monday’ was all th’ sense there was. But
that boy o’ yourn he come ’long an’, sir, he read ’em jes’ ’s easy ’s if
he was fallin’ off a log. Yes, sir. Now, ye see, he had th’ education
and I had none.”
“What did Walter say the words meant?” inquired Mr. Borden
dryly.
“I disremember, but it was something ’bout glory.”
“Do you think Walter or Dan could mend a horse-collar?”
“Dan might; I’m not so sure o’ your boy, that is, jes’ at th’ present
time. Course he could learn.”
“Then he’d be better educated after he had learned.”
“Sewin’ horse-collars isn’t education!” sniffed Silas.
“I think it is or may be.”
“How d’ye make that out? I never went t’ school much. I c’n make
out th’ scores in th’ Rodman ‘Reflector’ an’ I c’n chalk up th’ charge
for fixin’ Deacon Stillman’s horse-collar, but I never went t’ school
none whatever.”
“Going to school does not necessarily mean obtaining an
education.”
“Go on! I guess ye’re tryin’ t’ stuff me.”
“Suppose a boy should go to school and not learn?”
“His teachers will give him th’ learnin’.”
“Unfortunately that is one of the things no teacher can give—at
least he can’t give it unless a boy takes it.”
“I guess th’ may be somethin’ in that, same’s ye c’n lead a hoss up
t’ th’ water but if he takes a notion he won’t drink, then th’ whole o’
jumpin’ creation can’t make him swallow a cupful.”
“Precisely. And a boy can be sent to the best school, but if he
won’t learn there’s no education or power for him. I used to know
some of the boys when I was in school who thought they were
getting the better of their teachers when they cheated in exams, or
dodged a lesson. The foolish fellows! They didn’t know enough to
know that they themselves were the only ones that were cheated. A
school or college is a place where a boy learns, or rather can learn if
he tries, how to use his brains. If he doesn’t do the work then he
doesn’t learn—at least he doesn’t learn there.”
Walter was somewhat uncomfortable at the turn the conversation
had taken and interrupting, he said to Silas, “Don’t you think Dan
will make a good pitcher for the Tait School nine?”
“‘Good?’” retorted Silas instantly diverted. “‘Good?’ There’s none
better. If th’ New Yorks onct got a chance t’ see him work then
’twould be good-day for your school. I’m told that some o’ them
players get as much as ten dollars a game. D’ye s’pose that can be
true?”
Walter laughed as he said, “Silas, some of them get four or five
times as much as that.”
“Well, Dan’ll get it then.”
“I believe he will do well whatever he tries to do,” said Mr. Borden
quietly.
“Ye’re right he will. I charged Tim Long two shillin’ for fixin’ his
tugs this mornin’ an’ it took me ’most two hours. If I had Dan’s
chance I’d be makin’ four times that, I guess.”
Dan, who had been the subject of much of the conversation on
the way back to Rodman, seldom spoke. There was an air of
seriousness about the thoughtful boy that was marked. Mr. Borden
occasionally glanced at him, and there was always a quiet smile of
approval whenever he did so. Whatever Walter’s hopes and plans for
his friend were, it was manifest that his father also had thoughts of
his own, though he did not once refer to them in the presence of his
boy.

At last the day arrived when Walter was to depart from Rodman.
In two weeks the Tait School was to reopen and there were many
things to be done in the city before he went.
Before the family left for home, Mrs. Borden was seated one
evening on the piazza alone with her husband and broached a
subject which had long been in her mind. “Don’t you think it would
be a good thing to take Dan back home with us for a few days
before he enters school? You know he——”
As Mrs. Borden hesitated a moment her husband said, “You mean
to teach him a few things?”
“Yes, that’s just what I mean. You know Dan has not been
accustomed to some things that Walter has.”
“Yes, I know. What, for example?”
“Well, he hasn’t had any training, at least such as Walter has had,
in his table manners. Of course his mother is a good woman, but
——”
“He doesn’t use his knife and fork properly?”
“Yes, though that’s only one thing.”
“What else?”
“He needs some clothes.”
“What’s the matter with those he wears?”
“You know what I mean.”
“They aren’t cut like Walter’s?”
“That’s it. If I do say it, Walter always wears his clothes well.”
“They ought to wear well. They cost me enough. His bill at the
tailor’s this spring——”
 “I am not talking about the quality of his clothing.”
“Oh.”
“You know perfectly well what I mean.”
“Perhaps I do. You’re a little afraid that when Dan finds himself
among a lot of boys who have been brought up in wealthy homes
and who have doting mothers and perhaps very foolish fathers that
he will mortify Walter by some of the things he does. I think I
understand you.”
“I’m thinking of Dan just as much or more than I am of Walter,”
protested Mrs. Borden. “He will be mortified by some things he’ll do
for which he is not at all to blame.”
“Whose fault will it be?”
“Why—I should say not of anyone exactly. It is just that he’ll have
to meet new conditions, that’s all. I am sure I haven’t any foolish
pride. I don’t want Dan to suffer too much just because he doesn’t
understand some things.”
“How much do you want him to suffer? You say you don’t want
him to suffer too much. Where do you draw the line?”
“I can quietly save him a good deal.”
“Of course you can.”
“Do you agree to his going home with us?”
“Personally I like Dan. I should be glad to have him come home
with us and I am sure he would pick up and use a good many of the
very useful lessons you would teach him in your own quiet way. But
I’m afraid it can’t be done just now. We can arrange for him to come
in some vacation.”
“That will be too late I’m afraid. Why can’t he come now?”
“The work on the farm for one thing. He will want to do all he can
to help Tom with the fall work before he leaves.”
“You might hire a helper for Tom.”
 “Yes, I might, but for Dan’s sake I don’t want to. Dan must not
think he is to do any less for his brother. Then too, Dan will not be
slow in finding out what he ought to do in the school. He has eyes
as well as brains. He has something better than either eyes or brains
too.”
“What is that?”
“Character. He won’t say ‘no’ and then wobble. He knows just
what the two little Saxon words ‘yes’ and ‘no’ mean. I wish Walter
did too, and it is the hope that Dan will help teach him that more
than anything else that is making me send him to the Tait School.
I’m glad to have him room with Walter.”
“You don’t think he is a brighter boy than Walter, do you?”
“No, but he has learned some things that Walter doesn’t know,
and if he doesn’t learn them soon he never will. No, mother, I
honestly believe it will be better for Walter to let Dan go straight to
the school. If he meets the new conditions, as I believe he will, the
effect on our boy will be all the better.”
“I don’t see; but if you think it is better for Walter, then I’m sure
I’ll not say another word. I was thinking it would be a little easier
perhaps for both of them if I had Dan home with me a few days.”
“It would be easier, but perhaps not better.”
Two weeks later Dan arrived at the Tait School. Walter already had
been on the ground two days, and when his friend at last was
directed to the room he was to occupy, he came with a heavy
canvas bag in his hand and found himself face to face with Walter
and another boy, who was introduced to him as Sin Bradley.
 CHAPTER XIV
NEW ACQUAINTANCES

“H ello—o—o, Dan!” Walter had exclaimed as he first caught sight

of his friend in the doorway. “Come right in! I’m mighty glad
to see you!” The impulsive Walter had leaped from the chair in which
he was seated and darting to the door seized Dan by the hand, then
grasped his canvas bag which he hurriedly took into the little
bedroom which Dan was to occupy. Turning quickly about he said to
Sinclair: “Sin, this is the new fellow I was telling you about. Stand up
and do yourself proud to shake hands with Dan Richards. He’s going
to be the new pitcher on the Tait School nine and he’ll make our
opponents work some!”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Sin drawlingly, as he shook hands with
the new boy. The contrast between the two for the first time struck
Walter almost with the force of a blow: one easy and self-possessed
in his manner, dressed in the latest fashion, and having the
confidence that is the result of the possession of wealth and all that
money implies; the other quiet, but still somewhat self-conscious.
His clothing manifestly was not made by a fashionable tailor, and his
face and hands showed the effect of his toil in the fields. For a
moment Walter almost felt as if Dan must be painfully aware of his
own deficiencies. But if the newcomer was abashed in the presence
of Sinclair Bradley, his manner at least failed to betray it.
“I was late,” said Dan simply as he responded to Sin’s greeting,
and then in response to Walter’s suggestion seated himself in one of
the large easy chairs in the room. “I guess I’m not very much of a
traveler, for I stood still in the depot at Lee Junction and let my train
pull out and leave me.”
 “You’ll learn,” laughed Walter a trifle noisily. “How long did you
have to wait?”
“Two hours.”
“That’s too bad. You’ll know better next time.”
“How did you leave all the old folks at home?” asked Sin with a
drawl.
“They were well when I left,” replied Dan quietly.
“Good. How is Silas?”
“Silas who?”
“I don’t know the particular individual. Just Silas, I fancy.”
“Silas, the harness-maker, is in good health.”
“How are the crops?”
“Pretty fair.”
“Do you raise much hay?”
“Not a great deal.”
“What do you do with the hay-seed?”
“We don’t raise any.”
“Is that so? I fancied you did. Don’t all farmers raise hay-seed?”
“No,” replied Dan quietly, looking calmly at Sin as he spoke.
“I confess my ignorance. You must forgive me.”
Dan glanced at Walter as if he was somehow puzzled, but his dark
eyes and bronzed face did not change their expression. “If you don’t
get into the country very often of course you have forgotten some
things,” he said to Sinclair. “I remember only last summer there was
a family that came to Rodman to spend a few days. I didn’t know
them, but it seems their father was raised in our town; he went
down to the city and made a lot of money. This man Silas you asked
me about knew them all, though, and he explained everything to
them, told them how he had helped take their grandfather to the
town poorhouse and got up a donation party for the children. He
described the first mule their father bought—for it seems he made
his first money as a horse-trader before he began to buy hogs.”
“No wonder they forgot,” said Sinclair a little foolishly as he arose.
“So long, Walter,” he added lightly. “I’ll see you again,” he said to
Dan and at once departed from the room.
“You were enough for him, Dan,” laughed Walter.
“‘Enough for him’? I don’t know that I understand.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Walter, what does this fellow Sinclair’s father do for a living?”
“I understand that he is a brewer,” replied Walter a trifle uneasily.
“Is he?”
“So I hear. Why?”
“Oh, nothing in particular. How shall I get my trunk up here? Can I
borrow a wheelbarrow somewhere about the school?”
“Not on your life!”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“The expressman will bring it up for you. Didn’t you give your
trunk check to the man at the station?”
“What man? There were a good many men there.”
“The expressman.”
“I didn’t see any. I can bring it up myself.”
“Let me have your check,” said Walter harshly. Dan handed his
roommate his baggage check and as he did so two boys noisily
entered the room and greeted Walter with a shout. “Hello, old man!”
exclaimed one of them as he seized Walter’s hand and shook it. The
other followed his companion’s example, Dan meanwhile quietly
observing the two boys and feeling drawn at once to the one who
had first greeted his roommate. Even before he was introduced Dan
became aware that the boy was known as “Priz,” though what the
name implied he did not know. The boy was a sturdy fellow,
manifestly possessed of great physical strength, and his actions were
so quick that they were almost catlike. The other boy was tall and
slender and much more refined in his bearing. His name, or at least
his nickname, Dan learned was “Chesty,” though why such a slender
delicate fellow should receive such a cognomen he could not at the
time conjecture.
“This is my new roommate,” said Walter after a brief delay, as he
presented Dan. “‘Priz’ is the name that Ned Davis goes by,” he
explained with a laugh. “You want to keep on good terms with him.”
“I am sure I want to,” said Dan with a smile.
“He’s the best boxer in the Tait School,” Walter explained. “‘Priz’ is
short for prize—prize-fighter, if you want the whole thing. We call
him that for short. Priz,” he added, “I guess you’ll have more to do
with Dan than any of the rest of us. Dan’s the fellow I wrote you
about this summer—striking out fifteen men, you know.”
“Is that so? Well, I’m one of the catchers of the nine here and I
guess you and I will come to see a good deal of each other. I hope
so, anyway. I’m mighty glad you came here. It’s the best school in
the country.”
Dan quietly acknowledged the cordial greeting and at once felt
that he would like Ned Davis, for the boy was genuinely cordial and
his interest in the possibility of a new “find” for the pitcher’s box was
genuine.
“Chesty is short for Lord Chesterfield,” Walter continued as he
laughingly turned to the other newcomer. “In the catalogue his name
appears as Frank Harwood Hoblit, Jr., but that’s too much of a
mouthful, so we cut it short to ‘Chesty.’ If you ever want to know
what color your necktie ought to be to match your socks, or what
the proper attitude is when you are addressing the President of the
United States, why Chesty is the boy to give you points. He is up on
all the fine points of etiquette. He is little Lord Chesterfield, just
called ‘Chesty’ for short.”
“We’re not quite so bad as Walter makes us out,” laughed Ned. “I
never was in a fight in my life——”
“All the same you want to be good to him,” broke in Walter. “He’s
the kind of a chap you let have the whole sidewalk and never say a
word to if you happen to meet him some dark night.”
“He’s never out at night,” said Frank. “You never saw such a fellow
to sleep. He’s usually in bed before the warning bell rings. I’ve
thought sometimes I might just as well be rooming with a mummy
as with him.”
“I have had the same feeling,” retorted Ned, “only I spelled my
‘mummy’ with a ‘d.’”
“You’re lucky to be able to spell it any way,” declared Frank. “He
wrote me this summer, and what do you think? He had the nerve to
spell my middle name Hardwood.”
“I was thinking of Soc’s efforts in your behalf,” laughed Ned.
“Are all the fellows back?” he added turning to Walter. “Chesty and
I just came in and we made a bee-line for your room. Seems like
away back in the Dark Ages since we parted. What have you been
doing all summer?”
“I’ve been up at Rodman most of the time, on my grandfather’s
farm,” replied Walter.
“Buried alive?”
“No, sir; not buried alive. Dan and I fished and played ball—that’s
how I made my find. Dan is the best pitcher for a fellow of his age I
ever saw. Moulton has been training him all summer——”
“What Moulton?” interrupted Ned quickly.
“Moulton of Princeton,” said Walter, trying to speak unconcernedly.
“He says Dan is the most promising young pitcher he has found.”
 Plainly impressed by what Walter said, Ned looked at Dan with
renewed interest. He noted the long arm, the wiry form, the evident
power and endurance, and his enthusiasm at once was aroused.
“I’m glad you’re here, Dan,” he said simply. “Of course there isn’t
much baseball in the fall—everything goes to football then. But we
have some interform games; they’re mostly to keep up the spirit of
the thing and try out the new fellows. We’ll give you a chance to
show your mettle——”
“I’m wondering if I shall have any time for baseball,” said Dan
simply. “I’ll probably have to work so hard at my books to keep up
with you——”
“You won’t have to work very hard to keep up with Chesty,” broke
in Ned with a laugh. “It’s nip and tuck between him and Walter here,
and me, to see who’ll lead the class if you turn it wrong end to. And
yet I’m improving some,” declared Ned. “I was down on the shore of
Long Island this summer and took to riding a wheel. One day I was
coasting down a small hill and coming at a pretty good clip, when
my wheel struck a pocket of sand and I took a header before I could
say Jack Robinson. A gentle, antique, old farmer and his boy
happened to be passing in a farm-wagon at the time, and they both
got off to see if I was hurt. ‘Hurt ye much?’ the old man asked me.
When I told him I was all right he wanted to know how it happened,
and with my exam in physics fresh in my mind I told him. I said,
‘When I came down that incline and my front cylindrical means of
propulsion struck that pocket of disintegrated igneous rock my
velocity was such that I lost my center of gravity and was
precipitated upon the hard road of asphalt.’”
“What did the old boy say?” laughed Walter.
“‘Say’! For a moment that ancient and antiquated tiller of the soil
was speechless. He hadn’t expected to hear such nice words as I
gave him. Finally the old chap turned to his boy and gently
remarked, ‘Come on, bub, I guess th’ fellow is one o’ them tarnal
foreign chaps what can’t talk United States.’”
 “You ought not to excoriate the venerable husbandman after your
providential escape,” said Frank.
“Now, I wasn’t excoriating him. I’m no cannibal!” declared Ned.
“What has a cannibal to do with it?”
“Don’t you know what a cannibal is?”
“I sure do. He is a chap that devours another.”
“Course he is. Well, if a fellow bites another fellow’s back—a sort
of backbiter, so to speak—I’d like to know if he doesn’t at least
belong to the cannibal tribe, though I confess I don’t know whether
they begin their shocking repast at the back or not.”
“You are brilliant to-day, Ned,” laughed Walter. “How do you
account for it?”
“I don’t account for it. Maybe I sharpened my wits up a bit this
summer with all my ‘wading.’”
“Wading?”
“That’s what I said, didn’t I? Wading! W-a-d-ing! No, hold on, that
isn’t the way to spell it. W-a-d-d-ing! That’s right, isn’t it?”
“Depends on whether you mean wading or wadding.”
“I mean wading, all right. I waded all summer long——”
“Get wet?”
“Not a drop.”
“How is that?”
“I was wading with the accompaniment of a tutor through some of
the dryest books a man ever tackled.”
“You’re the same old Ned,” laughed Walter.
“I’m afraid that’s the worst of it,” said Ned somewhat ruefully.
“Dan,” he added abruptly, turning to the new boy, “when will you
come down to the diamond and give your mighty right arm a chance
to show what it can do?”
 CHAPTER XV
WALTER’S SUGGESTIONS

“I’ ll come any time you say,” replied Dan.

“All right,” said Ned cheerily. “We’ll fix it up in a day or two.
We ought to start right in on our inter-form games and find out what
material we can count on for the spring.”
Several other boys dropped in and the two visitors departed.
There were continued greetings among the noisy, light-hearted boys,
and in spite of the fact that the work of the new year was about to
begin it was manifest that most of them were glad to be back in
school once more.
To Dan the entire scene was so filled with novelty that he was an
interested spectator, taking but little part in the conversations that
occurred whenever the boys came to his room or hailed one another
on the campus. In the dining-hall, which was in a large central
building to which all the boys and many of the teachers came for
their meals, his interest became still more marked, for here for the
first time he saw the boys who were to be his leaders in his new life.
It was dusk when the boys filed out of the dining-hall, and Dan
dropped behind his roommate to walk with Ned.
“I’m glad you came with Walter,” Ned was saying. “We’re in great
need of a new pitcher. ‘Red’ Chandler finished his work here this
spring and has gone up to Harvard. He’ll make the college nine first
thing, you see if he doesn’t. He’s a born ball-player and he had the
finest assortment of curves that the Tait School ever saw. He pitched
a one-hit game against the Yale freshman team in June. Never made
a hit, never got a ball outside the diamond until the ninth inning,
and that was a scratch. The third-baseman of the freshman team let
the ball hit his bat. I don’t believe he ever struck at it at all. If you
can come anywhere near ‘Red’ you can own the whole school.”
Dan listened as Ned rattled on in his noisy boyish way, but he
seldom replied except to certain direct questions.
“Can you pitch a drop?” Ned asked.
“Moulton said I could.”
“Good. He ought to know. Red had a ‘jump’ that was simply fierce.
We always saved it for the third strike. And the beauty of it all was
that I did not have to signal for it, so the other fellows never caught
on. No signal just meant the ‘jump.’ You see, I had caught Red two
years and we became almost like a machine.”
“The boys”—Dan started to say fellows but corrected himself
—“must be sorry to lose him.”
“They are. Last summer when we shut up shop we all felt as if we
had lost our best friend when Red left us. He certainly was a
wonder! But if you can measure up to him or come anywhere near,
you’ll wear diamonds here till you graduate—and forever after, for
that matter.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Why—you’ll be all right. Sometimes you know a fellow gets a
name for doing wonders in the place he comes from, but he finds
out after he has been here a spell that—well, that the conditions
aren’t just exactly the same. See, don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Dan quietly.
“It’s just this way—you’ve got nothing to lose and everything to
gain. If you can make good——”
“I’m afraid Walter has talked me up more than I deserve,” broke in
Dan. “He’s a good friend——”
“How long have you known him?”
 “Ever since we were little fellows. He has been spending his
summers on his grandfather’s farm, and our farm was close by, so
Walter and I naturally were together a good deal. This summer he
hired me to take him fishing.”
Ned’s keen glance of surprise was not lost upon his companion,
but as he did not speak Dan too became silent as the two boys
followed Walter and Chesty, who were not far in advance. In the
silence suddenly the words of the latter to Walter became plain to
Dan and Ned. “Where did you pick up your bucolic?” Chesty was
saying.
“Picked him up in the hayfield,” Walter laughingly replied.
“His hair is full of hayseed.”
“Well, what of it?”
“Oh, nothing. If that is the sort of thing you like, then you like just
the sort of thing you’ve got, that’s all.”
“He can pitch like a fiend.”
“What of it?”
“He’ll own the whole school pretty soon if he can measure up to
Red Chandler!”
“Red Chandler!” retorted Chesty scornfully. “He was just another
such fellow as your friend from the hayfield. He didn’t know how to
act like a gentleman. He was just a great, rough——”
“He’s the best pitcher the Tait School nine ever had!”
“What of that? He used to say, ‘I done it.’ He never had a suit of
clothes that fitted him. He was not and never could be a gentleman.”
It was too dark to permit Ned to see Dan’s face and yet he was
aware that his companion must have heard Chesty’s words.
Impulsively he turned to Dan and said, “Don’t pay any attention to
what that Chesty has been saying. He doesn’t know anything except
what a tailor can tell him. He doesn’t know what he is here for. He