“Thanks. How much?”
“Fifteen cents, please.”
“That’s not much. Got a dime handy?” Toby made the change and Orson Crowell, draping his trousers over his arm, turned to the door. “You make up your mind to try hockey, Tucker,” he advised again from the portal. “I’ll look for you after vacation. Don’t forget!”
“I won’t, thanks. I’ll see what Deering says. If he really thinks I’d have any chance I’ll have a go at it. Good-night.”
“Good-night. Hope you get your work done in time to get some sleep, Tucker. You look a bit fagged.”
“I guess I am,” muttered Toby as the door closed behind the hockey captain, “but I wouldn’t have thought of it if he hadn’t mentioned it. Well, it’s only a quarter past eight and there’s not much left. Now then, you pesky blue serge, let’s see what your trouble is!”
CHAPTER II
OFF FOR HOME
Yardley Hall School ended its Fall Term that year on the twenty-first of December, after breakfast, and by nine o’clock the hill was deserted and the little station at Wissining presented a crowded and busy appearance as at least three-quarters of the school’s three hundred and odd students strove to purchase tickets, to check baggage and to obtain a vantage point near the edge of the platform from which to pile breathlessly into the express and so make certain of a seat for the ensuing two-hour journey to New York. A few of the fellows, who were to travel in the other direction, were absent, for the east-bound train left nearly an hour later, but they weren’t missed from that seething, noisy crowd. Of course much the same thing happened three times each year, but you wouldn’t have guessed it from the hopeless, helpless manner in which the station officials strove to meet the requirements of the situation. Long after the express, making a special stop at Wissining, whistled warningly down the track, boys were still clamoring at the ticket window and clutching at the frantic baggage master. How every one got onto the train, and how all the luggage, piled on four big trucks, was tossed into the baggage car in something under eighty seconds was a marvel. From the windows of the parlor cars and day coaches wondering countenances peered out at the unusual scene, and as the first inrush of boys invaded the good car Hyacinth a nervous old lady seized her reticule and sat on it, closed her eyes, folded her hands and awaited the worst!