[CHAPTER III]
KENDALL MAKES A CALL
Tom Roeder had taken himself away to Dudley, pretending alarm at the reception awaiting him at the hands of Wallace Hammel, his roommate, and the two occupants of Number 28 were left alone. Dan Vinton, having discarded coat and vest, stretched himself on his bed, pillowed his head on his clasped hands and smiled across at his chum. Dan was seventeen years old, and a trifle large for his age. Long of limb, tall, lithe, with a sun-browned skin and not a flabby muscle in his whole body, he looked, as he lay there, just what he was; a healthy, wide-awake American boy, kind-hearted, good-tempered, honest and fearless, a born leader of his fellows. He had steady brown eyes, a straight nose that was a little too short for beauty, brown hair and a good mouth. He was a member of the First Class and captain of the Football Team, an honor well deserved.
The boy who smiled back at him from the depths of the Morris chair was a year beneath him in age and class. Gerald Pennimore was a vivid contrast to his roommate in physical appearance. Several inches shorter than Dan, he lacked the latter’s even development of body. Rather slender, with hair that was almost yellow, the bluest of blue eyes and a skin much too fair to take kindly to sunburn, he looked, in contrast to Dan, almost delicate. But his appearance belied him to some extent, for Gerald had proved himself a good distance runner, and while it was not likely that he would ever grow into the rugged sort, it was probable that a year or two would find him a very well set-up youth. He was a good-looking youngster, with an eager, alert face that was irresistibly attractive when it smiled.
Gerald’s home was right here in Wissining, only a short distance from the school, but since his father, whom rumor credited with being a millionaire several times over, was more often away from his home than in it, Gerald had lived here in Number 28 Clarke during his two years at Yardley. There was, too, a town house in New York, but save at the Christmas recesses Gerald had seen little of that of late; while Gerald’s father when in this part of the world was far more likely to open up Sound View for a week or so than occupy the Fifth Avenue residence. Gerald had found at first that being the son of the Steamship King, as Mr. Pennimore was called, was something of a handicap. There had been those who called Gerald a “money-snob,” and for the first month or two he had had a rather hard time. But that sort of thing was long since over now, for Gerald had proved that one can be at the same time a gentleman and the heir to millions. Gerald’s mother was dead and he had neither brothers nor sisters, and under those circumstances it was almost a miracle that he hadn’t been utterly spoiled. Dan firmly believed that only coming to Yardley Hall had saved him from that fate.
“Back again in the old diggings,” murmured Dan, stretching himself luxuriously on the bed. “And for the last year,” he added with a note of wonder in his voice. “I can hardly believe that, Gerald. Seems now as though I’d always be here; at least, for years and years yet. I wonder how Alf and Tom feel. I’ll bet they miss this place. I suppose we’ll get a line from them some day soon.”
“They said they’d come over and see us,” answered Gerald.
“I know.” Dan nodded wisely. “But I guess they’ll be too busy to do that for awhile. I hope Alf makes the freshman team.”
“Oh, he will make it all right. I wouldn’t wonder if he got the captaincy.”
“Maybe. I don’t envy him it, though. Gerald, sometimes I feel as though I’d give a hundred dollars—if I had it—to wake up and find I wasn’t captain after all! I get scared stiff whenever I stop and think what’s ahead of me the next two months. Just suppose we get beaten!”