“What room are you going to have?” inquired Max, as he brought up the rear of the procession, with Harry’s bag in his hand.
“Number fifteen, of course,” said Harry, as he turned down a side hall. “It’s the largest of the double rooms and I spoke for it long ago; didn’t you know that? I shall take Leon in with me for a term, anyway. Then, if he gets sick of me, he’s welcome to change. Come in, all of you, and I’ll have the provisions out in a jiffy.”
While the boys were delaying below, the trunks had been brought up-stairs, and now stood conveniently planted in the middle of the floor. Harry and Leon each fell upon one of them, tugging at the straps and impressively jingling their large bunches of keys, most of which, it must be explained, were slipped on the rings for effect, since they and their locks had long ago parted company, never to meet again. In the meantime, their guests proceeded to seat themselves as their tastes suggested, perching on any lofty point that presented itself. Jack Howard arranged himself on the footboard of the bed, with his long legs curled up until his knees nearly touched his chin; Louis and Max each took a chair-back, while Paul Lincoln, a slender, brown-eyed, rosy-cheeked fellow of seventeen, settled himself in the high window-seat, with his feet on the table near by.
“Glad you’re going to have this room,” remarked Louis, as he passed a caressing hand over the strap adorning his shoulder. “Max and I are right across the hall. We couldn’t imagine who was coming in here, when we saw the room was engaged. Nobody thought of you, for we supposed you were booked for a single room.”
“So I was,” responded Harry, as he succeeded in opening his trunk and tossed a pile of clothing out upon the floor; “but early in July father decided to send Leon here, so I wrote to the doctor, and he said that the Vernons weren’t coming back and we could have fifteen. Where are you now? Oh, here you are!”
This apostrophe was addressed to a box of goodly proportions that soon came to light, and was opened amid the admiring murmurs of the boys who had learned, in past terms, to know and appreciate the boxes packed by Mrs. Arnold.
“Your mother is a trump, Hal!” said Max, diving into the box to seize a piece of cake in one hand and a chicken wing in the other. “I just wish she’d show herself here. We fellows would make her our best bow, wouldn’t we, Stan?” he continued, turning to a boy of fourteen who had not yet spoken, though his rapidly changing expressions had shown him no uninterested listener to the conversation.
While the boy addressed nodded in answer to the question, Harry interrupted,—
“Now tell me all the news. Who is back of the old boys? Who is there that’s new? Didn’t you say there was a new teacher?”
At the last question, Max rolled up his eyes and groaned. It was Jack who answered,—