“We play baseball,” said Bob.
“That’s out of my line,” Ted replied. “I play a little, but Frank Watson is captain of the nine.”
“Frank Watson!” exclaimed Jerry. “He rooms across the hall from us in Borton.”
“Then you have good rooms, for that dormitory is the newest and best at Boxwood Hall.”
“What sort of fellow is this Watson?” asked Ned, who, in common with his chums, had taken a sudden liking to genial Ted Newton. “The reason I ask is,” went on Ned, “that a little while ago we went across to his room to ask him to put us wise to the ropes, but he didn’t even open his door. Told us to call later, though he, or some of the fellows with him called to us when our trunks were being put in. What sort of boy is he?”
“Well, he’s a queer sort of chap at times,” was the slow answer from the football captain. “He’s quite an athlete, and a good baseball player. Only he’s rather headstrong, and I’m not telling tales out of school, for he admits it himself. Yes, Frank has a will of his own, and it isn’t altogether his fault, either.”
“How’s that?” inquired Bob.
“Well, Frank’s father died when he was a small chap, and his mother was too indulgent with him. I know his folks. His family and mine are distantly related, and we come from the same town. Frank’s mother let him have his own way too much, and as he got older and found out he could have what he wanted by insisting on it, why he insisted, and it wasn’t altogether good for him.
“He got into bad company and was on the road that doesn’t lead to any particular good, though I won’t say that Frank was actually bad. Then his mother married again, and it made all the difference in the world to Frank.”
“How was that?” Jerry inquired.