If you take the path that leads down the slope toward the river from the gymnasium you will see Yardley Field spread before you; six acres of smooth ground leading with an imperceptible slope toward the river. First come the gravel tennis courts an even dozen of them in the two wire-netted enclosures. [The little red shed is where the nets are stored.] Then you find yourself at the back of the grand stand, which, built in sections of steel frame and wooden seats, can be moved as desired from one part of the grounds to another. The track is a quarter of a mile oval of hard, well-rolled cinders enclosing the gridiron and diamond. If you skirt the track to the left you reach the boat-house, a picturesque little building of weather-stained shingles about which ivy and shrubbery grow.
Now follow the well-worn path along the river to the right until you have reached the other end of the oval. That low expanse of grass and rushes up-stream there, is Flat Island. It’s a joyous loafing place in Spring before the mosquitoes begin business. To the right is the golf links and in front of you is the Third Hole. There are only nine of them and the course doubles back and forth perplexingly for the newcomer. But it’s a pretty good course for all of that. The first tee is up there on the hill, a little way back of the gymnasium and on the edge of the woods; and there is a school legend to the effect that once an “Old Boy,” visiting his son at Yardley, stood up there and drove the ball clean into the river. And—well, I have nothing to say; you can see the distance yourself. But I know that I wouldn’t like to have to do it!
There’s a story at Yardley which tells how Doctor Tobias Hewitt, when he came to this country from England to start a school, had, because of his Oxford predilections, intended settling on the Thames River, and how when he arrived there was a dense fog blowing in from the Sound and he made a mistake in the rivers and didn’t discover his error until it was too late. Then, so the story goes, he tried to have the Wissining called the Thames and the Thames the Wissining; but the State of Connecticut wouldn’t humor him. Of course the story was made up only to illustrate the Doctor’s fondness for things English and, more especially, Oxonian. And true it is that during the early days of the school English customs were followed very closely. The Doctor was Head Master then, the instructors were Masters, the classes were “forms” and the dining hall was the “commons.” It is said that the Doctor even tried to install the “fag” system among the boys and that it went well enough until an unsympathetic youth from the free and enlightened West mutinied. The effects of his mutiny were: item, a disfigured nose for the boy whose fag he was supposed to be, and item, an immediate declaration of independence from all other fags resulting in a death-blow to the system. But all this was thirty years ago and more, and to-day both Doctor Hewitt and his school are American to the backbone, the Doctor rampantly so on occasions. To be sure, Oxford Hall still holds its name and the dining hall is still known as commons; the rival debating clubs clung to their original titles and the school color had never been changed from dark blue. But these things merely served to prove the school’s emancipation from the British yoke; and, as for the school color, Yardley fellows will wither you with a glance if you suggest any similarity in hue between it and the Oxford’s color, informing you crushingly that it is “Yale blue.” Which, as Yardley sends more students to Yale than to any other college, is as it should be.
[CHAPTER VI]
“TUBBY” JONES SURRENDERS
Dan passed his examinations and was admitted to the Third Class, to the very evident disappointment of Tubby. For the first few days, life in 28 Clarke was not altogether peaceful. Study hours were observed from eight to ten in the evenings. After eight no visiting was allowed outside the building except by permission of the instructor in charge and visiting inside the building was discouraged. But Tubby, who did very little studying at best, always felt especially sociable between eight o’clock and bedtime and liked to have his friends, notably Jake Hiltz and another boy named Caspar Lowd, visit him. Hiltz and Lowd appeared to find no more necessity for study than Tubby, and for several nights they turned up at Number 28, together or separately. This wasn’t conducive to concentration of thought on Dan’s part, and Dan was desirous of staying in the Third Class now that he had got there. He stood it for four nights and then mildly called Tubby’s attention to the rules. Tubby was indignant.
“We don’t stop you from studying, do we?” he blustered. “Can’t I have my friends in here if I want them? Is this room any more yours than mine?”
“Of course it isn’t,” Dan answered, “but you know mighty well that I can’t keep my mind on my books when you fellows are talking three feet away from me!”