[CHAPTER VIII]
POKE USES TACT
Jim kept his promise; in fact, he was given no choice in the matter, for Poke was waiting for him on the steps of Academy Hall when he emerged from his algebra recitation the next afternoon. Jeffrey had agreed to accompany them to the field, but as he didn’t show up they started along without him. It was Jim’s first visit to the field, although he had often viewed it from afar. Their way took them past the front of Memorial Hall, a small building of Grecian architecture presented to the school by graduates in honor of four Croftonians who had lost their lives in the war with Spain. Crofton was proud of those men and the bronze tablet beside the doorway was one of the first objects exhibited to visitors. The building held the dining-hall and kitchen, and if some humorists alluded to it as Prunorial Hall no disrespect was intended.
The river, a few rods away, was alive with craft this afternoon, for this early October day was warm and still, with just enough hint of autumn in the air to make the blood course quickly and put the joy of adventure in the heart. Half way between Memorial and the gymnasium the two boys turned at the sound of a hail from the river. In a canoe sat Jeffrey and Gil, the latter snuggled comfortably in the bow and the former dexterously dipping the paddle in the stern. Gil waved his hand nonchalantly.
“Where are you going?” cried Poke enviously. “Do you know what time it is?”
“I am the Queen of Sheba,” replied Gil, “and this is my royal barge. We are on the way to the gym.”
“Well, of all the lazy Its!” exclaimed Poke. “Say, Senator, take me back after practice?”
Gil howled derisively. “Get out! I’ve engaged Jeff for the rest of the day. Proceed, slave!”
Jeffrey, smiling broadly, dipped his paddle again and the canoe went on along the stream to the swimming float. The others walked down to meet them.