“Boxing lessons, you said?” inquired Mr. Pennimore. “Isn’t boxing rather—er—strenuous for a boy of your age?” He looked anxiously from Dan to Gerald.
“Oh, no, sir,” answered Dan promptly. “It isn’t hard at all. It’s one of the regular exercises in the Second Class. Gerald just thought he’d like to take it up now, and Alf Loring said he’d show him how. It’s good exercise, sir.”
Gerald breathed easier. He had pledged Dan to secrecy in regard to his trouble with Thompson, and Dan’s unthinking reference to boxing had brought his heart into his mouth.
“Well,” said his father doubtfully, “be careful. Don’t try to learn everything the first year, son.”
The next forenoon was given over to sight-seeing. Gerald acted as guide and showed Dan as many of the points of interest as there was time for, and Dan enjoyed himself hugely. They had luncheon with Mr. Pennimore at his club. Afterwards he handed them tickets for one of the theaters and sent them off in a hansom.
“I’m sorry I can’t go with you,” he said, “but I’ve got a great deal to do this afternoon. We’ll have dinner early and see a show together to-night.”
That was Dan’s first visit to a real theater, for out in Graystone, Ohio, where he lived, the local playhouse, known as the Academy of Music, was little more than a fair-sized hall, and the attractions which visited it seldom met with the approval of Dan’s parents. To Gerald, on the contrary, theaters and plays were an old story, and he found half of his enjoyment in watching Dan and in displaying his own knowledge and experience of things theatrical. After the final curtain had fallen Dan didn’t say anything until the boys were out on the street. Then he drew a long breath, sighed deeply, and exclaimed:
“Gee, that was great!”
“It wasn’t a bad show,” replied Gerald indifferently.
“Bad! It was simply elegant! I’ll bet if I lived in New York I’d be at the theater every day! I’d like to see that play again to-night!”