“There’s a chap here from St. Eustace,” continued Tom. “His name’s Speede, Dan Speede; ever meet him?” Nelson shook his head. “Of course he isn’t a Hilltonian,” went on Tom with a tone of apology, “but he—he’s rather a nice sort. He’s in our hall; you’ll see him to-night, a big chap with red hair; he played on their second eleven last year. I think you’ll like him—that is, as well as you could like a St. Eustace fellow, of course.”
“I dare say there are just as good fellows go there as come to Hillton,” responded Nelson generously but without much conviction.
Tom howled a protest. “Get out! There may be some decent fellows—like Dan—but— Why, everybody knows what St. Eustace chaps are!”
“I dare say they talk like that about us,” laughed Nelson.
“I’d lu-lu-lu-like tu-tu-to hear ’em!” sputtered Tom indignantly.
Mr. Clinton arose, watch in hand, and announced that it was time for prayers. There was a scrambling and scuffling as the fellows arose from their places on the ground to kneel with heads bent and repeat the Lord’s Prayer. The dying fire crackled softly and its mellow light played upon the motionless forms, while overhead the white stars peered down through the dark branches as though they too were giving thanks to their Creator.
Then good night was said to the Chief and the fellows separated, the younger boys to climb the hill to Spruce Hall and the older to go to their own dormitory. Presently from across the clearing floated the slow sweet notes of the bugle sounding taps, and the lights in the junior hall went out. The seniors, however, still had a half hour before they must be in bed, and they made the most of it in various ways. When Nelson and Tom entered Maple they found three distinct pillow or “sneaker” fights in progress, and the air was full of hurtling missiles. On one bed two youths in pajamas were sitting cross-legged deep in a game of cribbage when a random shoe struck the homemade board with all the devastating effect of a bursting shell, and sent it, together with the quartet of pegs, over three bunks. Whereupon two voices were raised in rage, cards were dropped, and the ranks of the belligerents were swelled by two volunteers.
The senior dormitory was erected on the side of the hill, well off the ground for the sake of dryness, and was a simply but well-built structure some eighty feet long by twenty wide, with enough pitch to its gable roof to shed rain quickly and afford a sort of open attic under the rafters, where bags and wearing apparel were precariously hung from the beams or supported on occasional planks. The effect in the dim light was picturesque if not beautiful. There was a multitude of windows on either side, and at each end large double doors occupied a third of the space. As neither doors nor windows were ever closed, save during a driving rain-storm, the occupants of the narrow bunks ranged along each side of the hall practically slept out-of-doors. A big stove stood in the middle of the building. At the head of each bunk, secured to the wall, was a white-pine locker. Sometimes this was supplemented by a square of matched boards which let down to form a writing-table. Wooden pegs held the every-day attire, and trinkets were disposed along the horizontal joists. The bunks, wooden-framed cots, were guiltless of springs, and were furnished with mattresses, blankets, and pillows. At Chicora sheets were looked down upon as emblems of effeminacy. The fellows slept with their feet toward the walls. From a rafter hung a sheet of wrapping-paper bearing the warning “No Snoring Allowed!” Some one had crossed out the last word and substituted “Aloud.”
Nelson’s bunk was the last but one on the left, and in the opposite corner was Mr. Verder. At the farther end of the dormitory slept Dr. Smith. What light there was was given by two reflector lanterns at either end of the hall, although for purposes of card-playing, reading, or writing the fellows supplemented this dim radiance by lighting one or more of the lanterns which were part of each boy’s outfit. Aided by such extra illumination Nelson’s right-hand neighbor, a curly-haired youth of about sixteen, whose name later transpired to be Hethington, was busily engaged in patching a tennis racket with a piece of string. Near the middle of the hall, a big, good-looking chap with very red hair was entertaining two companions with a narrative that must have been extremely humorous, judging from the suppressed laughter that convulsed them. Nelson had noticed him at table and now concluded that he was Tom’s St. Eustace friend, Dan Speede.