“Nothing—now,” he said quietly, as he entered the house.
[CHAPTER III]
A VISIT TO THE INQUISITORY
Mrs. Linn, the matron of West House, was a short, ample, motherly woman of some fifty years who had in some miraculous manner preserved both her complexion and her hair. Her cheeks bloomed like roses and her tresses, which she wore wound high at the back of her head in large braids, were hued like the raven’s wing. She had been born in England, had married an Englishman and had come to this country soon after her wedding. Under the stress of excitement she still lost an occasional H. What had become of Mr. Linn was a matter of conjecture amongst the boys, for while the matron in her infrequent allusions to him assumed the sorrowfully resigned air of a widow, yet his fate was never explained. Mrs. Linn had ruled over West House for nearly fifteen years. She was not a disciplinarian; in the face of revolt she was helpless and tearful; and yet she got along very well. You see, there wasn’t much fun in being bad when you knew all the time that Mrs. Linn was sitting in her room downstairs, rocking back and forth in her patent rocker, and shedding silent tears. Chivalry protested. At such times West House sighed for a house master of its own sex whom it could bait to its heart’s content.
The fellows liked Mrs. Linn and called her Marm—and poked good-natured fun at her amongst themselves. Conversation was her one weakness. She loved to talk. The boy who listened patiently to her discourse won her heart, a fact well known and taken frequent advantage of. When a special privilege was wanted West House to a man descended to the matron’s room and sat around in respectful and apparently interested attention while she ran on and on. Then, at departure, Sandy or Dutch, both prime favorites, proffered their request in quite the most casual manner in the world and it was almost invariably granted.
The arrival of a new boy presented an opportunity for discourse that Mrs. Linn always made the most of and it was a good ten minutes before Ned Brent closed the door behind her with a sigh of relief. John, who had accorded her polite attention every minute, thereby at once gaining a foothold in her affections, now turned to view his surroundings with frank interest.
West House accommodated eight boys, two in each of the four rooms of the second floor. Below were Mrs. Linn’s room and the kitchen on one side and the parlor and dining room on the other. Somewhere at the top of the house dwelt Hulda, the maid, who combined the duties of cook, waitress, chambermaid and second-girl. The room in which John found himself was officially known as Number 1, but in house parlance was called the Den. In the same way, Number 2, across the hall, was the Ice Chest, so called because it was at the northwest corner of the house and in winter attained a temperature that would have made an arctic explorer feel right at home. Back of the Ice Chest was the Smellery. The Smellery was over the kitchen and Dutch Zoller and Hoop Ross, who dwelt therein, pretended to be able to tell an hour beforehand what was to be served at the next meal. The Sun Parlor, habitation of The Fungus and his new roommate, was so named because it had the sun almost all day. On the lower floor, Mrs. Linn’s room was called the Throne Room, the kitchen was the Hashery, the dining-room the Gobblery and the parlor the Tomb. They were partial to nicknames at Oak Park.
The Den, because it was at once on the front of the house and had the benefit of the sun as well, was accorded the distinction of being the most desirable room. Like the others, it was good-sized, very nearly square and well furnished. On the side was a deep bay with a seat all the way around it under the three broad windows. On the front were two other windows overlooking the lawn and the road and the slope of the wooded hill beyond. There were two beds, two bureaus, two shallow closets, two easy chairs, a washstand and a study table with a straight-backed chair at each side of it. On Ned’s side of the room the walls were lavishly hung with pictures. Straw matting covered the floor and three small rugs were disposed in front of bureaus and washstand.
“This is my side of the room,” announced Ned, seating himself in his own particular easy chair, “and that’s yours.”