Half a dozen boys

by Anna Chapin Ray

CHAPTER II.
FRED.

A cold, dreary November rain was driving against the windows, and the heavy, dull drops chased one another down the glass. Within the room all was bright and warm, with a cheerful fire in the grate. The double parlors were richly and tastefully furnished, yet they were far from attractive, for their very elegance made more noticeable their lack of homelike cosiness. No pets were ever allowed to invade their sanctity, no work-basket of mending ever encumbered one of their tables. The very books and papers were always carefully returned to their accustomed places, though they were to be taken up again ten minutes later. The glowing coals shone on only one object in any way suggestive that the room was ever entered except to sweep and dust it.

In the back parlor a low, broad sofa was drawn up before the fire, and on it lay a boy of twelve, so quiet that one coming suddenly into the room might have fancied him sleeping. But with a sudden weary sigh he turned his head on the pillow, and pulled the gay afghan more closely around his shoulders, dropping, as he did so, two or three chocolate creams left from some previous feast.

"Oh, dear!" he said, half aloud, half to himself, "mother'll scold if those get smashed on the carpet." And, slowly getting down on the floor, he felt carefully about, evidently trying to find the missing candy, which lay, plainly visible, near the fender. At last his hand touched it, and, putting it on a table that stood close to the sofa, loaded with fruit, flowers, and candy, he impatiently threw himself down and covered himself again.

He was a handsome boy, with his light brown hair, swarthy skin, and great, dreamy, brown eyes; but his dark skin had no flush of health, and the beautiful eyes had a vacant, blank look, while the boy face wore a fretful, discontented expression, rarely seen in one so young. This was Fred Allen, who, ten months before, had been a leading spirit among the lads of his age. Bright, frank, and full of fun, though rather quick-tempered and imperious, his friends had bowed before him, both for his skill in all the field games so dear to boyish hearts, and for the ease with which he kept at the head of his classes in school. Equally devoted to his baseball bat and his books, petted by his teacher, and adored by his boy friends, Fred was in a fair way to become spoiled and headstrong. Just at this time a prize was offered to his class for the best set of examinations, and Fred worked early and late over his lessons, that the prize might be his. It was a proud and happy moment for him when, after the teacher had announced that the prize was awarded to Frederic Hunter Allen, for general excellence in his studies, a boy voice called out: "Three cheers for Fred Allen," and the cheers were given with a will.

But the boy had overstudied, and within a week or two signs of intense nervousness showed themselves, and soon settled into a severe case of chorea, or, as the cook called it, "Saint Vitus's twitches." For three months the boy was very ill, seeing no one but his parents and Bess Carter, who spent two or three afternoons of each week with him. Then his mother declared that her own nerves were getting so unstrung, and Fred was not gaining any, why not have him go to Boston to a specialist?

So a private car was ordered, and the boy was taken to Boston, where he was left in charge of a noted doctor and a professional nurse of undeniable reputation and heart of iron, who presided over her patients with a clock in one hand and a thermometer in the other, with no allowance made for personal variations.

His mother, in the mean time, was free to recuperate her nervous system by a round of calls, shopping, teas, and theatre-going, to which the illness of her only son had been a serious hinderance. People talked a little, as well they might, but Mrs. Allen spoke so regretfully of her own poor health, and wiped her eyes so daintily when any one asked for Fred, that it was the general opinion that she was more to be pitied than her little son.

As the months passed, and the boy did not return, inquiries for him grew fewer, and to these few Mrs. Allen responded with indifference. Mr. Allen went occasionally to see his son, but he was a cold, proud man, whose chief ambition was that Fred should make a fine appearance in society, as a worthy heir to the fortune that he would one day leave him.