He took the street car that ran to the academy, and sat wrapt in interest at noting the fine homes, the well-kept lawns, the excellent public buildings. People were doing things here that were worth while, said Sam to himself. And he, in his way, was going to be a part of it. Perhaps he could stay in the Academy till he was graduated—with honors, maybe—and then he would stay on at Rutherford, and become a part of its busy, stirring life. He would have a home like the one he was passing, with tall windows, and the light streaming in through beautiful trees, and a porch like that, with his family sitting out on it in the open, and not hiding away in the shadow. Then there would be bright flowers, like those in that yard, and friends coming and going the way they were from that house. And they would be laughing—Annie Laurie loved to laugh—and sometimes they would eat on the lawn. But he drew himself up with a flush. What had Annie Laurie to do with it all? A girl like that—would she care seriously for one of the queer, shiftless tribe of Disbrow? Sam hit his knee angrily. Let him attend to what was before him and stop thinking nonsense.
He reached the Academy, and walked along under its wonderful white oaks to the Ballenger dormitories, where he knew Heller stayed. Perhaps Heller could get him a room near his own. It was rather a trick to get in the Ballenger dormitories and the fellows who succeeded were considered lucky. But perhaps Heller could manage it for him somehow—they always had been good friends.
He was directed along the corridors, hung with their many pictures, and decorated with plaster casts, to a corner room on the third story.
He knocked expectantly.
“Come!” commanded Heller’s voice.
Sam threw open the door.
“Dick!” he cried, “I’ve come on to school. What do you think of that?”
He dropped his suit case and hastened toward Richard with outstretched hand.
Dick took it silently. His eyes, that used to be so cordial in their glances, turned upon Sam with a scrutinizing look. They searched his drooping face sharply. Then something like the old expression returned. Sam was not slow. He saw that something was quite wrong—that Dick had been thinking evil of him in some way, and that now that he had met him face to face, he was finding it difficult to sustain the suspicion.
“What’s the matter, man?” Sam cried. “What are you looking at me like that for? Why don’t you speak?”