“Well, as for that, ma, I dare say boarding-schools have changed some since my day,” responded Mr. Vinton.
But in spite of this assertion Russellville Academy remained to Mr. Vinton a typical boarding-school, and remembering how little he had learned there and, when the rose-tinted glasses were laid aside, how many unhappy moments he had spent there, he was resolved in his own mind that his wife’s decision was a wise one.
In the end Dan had given up all hope of getting to boarding-school, without, however, ceasing to desire it. In June he had graduated high in his class at the grammar school with every prospect of entering the High School in September. But toward the last of July a conversation had occurred at the dinner table which later put a different complexion on things.
“Well, son, what you been doing to-day?” asked Mr. Vinton, absentmindedly tucking his napkin into his collar, yanking it quickly away again and glancing apologetically at his wife.
“Nothing much, sir. I played baseball for awhile and then ‘Chad’ Sleeper and Billy Nourse and Frank Whipple and I went over to Saunders’ Creek and went in bathing.”
Mr. Vinton frowned.
“‘Chad’ Sleeper, eh? Is that old Dillingway Sleeper’s boy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And young Nourse and that Whipple boy, you said, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”