[CHAPTER IV]
NICKNAMES AND MUSIC
Supper that evening proved a very pleasant affair, although John still felt too strange and ill at ease to take much part in the conversation that might be said to have raged from the instant grace was over to the end of the meal. The dining-room was a home-like apartment, light, roomy, and well furnished. There were many pictures on the walls—not a few of them photographs of former inhabitants of West House grouped on the lawn or on the steps—and a leather couch occupied the bay. A mammoth sideboard hid the door into the parlor, which was never used, and a small serving-table stood between the windows at the back, through which John looked at the edge of the oak grove. The dining-table was long enough to seat twelve quite comfortably, although its capacity was not often tested. Mrs. Linn presided at the head and Fred Sanderson at the foot. At the matron’s right sat Hooper Ross, with Otto Zoller beside him and Ned Brent coming next. At Sanderson’s right was Fergus White. John’s place was next and his right-hand neighbor was Claire Parker. Beyond Parker, Mason Halladay completed the company. Hulda, red of face and always good-natured, waited on table and Mrs. Linn served. The food was plain, well-cooked and attractively served; and there was plenty of it. For supper there was cold meat, a plain omelet, baked potatoes, graham and white bread, preserved peaches and one of Mrs. Linn’s big white-roofed pound cakes. And each end of the table held a big blue-and-white pitcher of milk which had usually to be refilled before the meal was over.
It was quite like a family party, and everyone talked when he pleased, to whom he pleased and as much as he pleased, and sometimes it became quite deafening and Mrs. Linn placed her hands over her ears and looked appealingly down the length of the table at Fred Sanderson; and Sandy served rebukes right and left until order was restored. Tonight everyone save the two new members of the household had lots to say, for they had been making history during the three months of summer vacation and had to tell about it. Even Mrs. Linn was more excited and voluble than usual, being very glad to get her boys back again, and contributed her full share to the conversation. John contented himself with satisfying a very healthy appetite and trying to learn something about his companions. For a while it was exceedingly difficult, for the boys talked in a language filled with strange and unfamiliar words.
“Another slice of the cold, if you please, Marm,” said Ned Brent. “Pass along, Dutch.”
“Any more bakes in the bowl, Marm? They’re the slickest I’ve had since Com.”
“Easy there, Dutch! You’re training, you know, and bakes are very fattening.”
“Yes, and go light on the heavy sweet, Dutch. I’ll eat your wedge for you.”
And it took some time for John to get the fellows sorted out by names. The round-faced, good-natured Dutch he identified easily, and he knew that the boy who had tripped him on the steps was called Hoop, but for a while it wasn’t apparent whether Spud was the chubby smiling youth sitting beyond Parker or the tall, older boy at the foot of the table. But at last he had the names all fitted; Hoop, Dutch, Ned, Sandy, The Fungus and Spud. Everyone, it seemed, was known by a nickname save Ned Brent. He was just Ned, or, on rare occasions, Old Ned. John wondered whether they would find a nickname for him. He wasn’t long in doubt.
After supper the fellows congregated in the Ice Chest, the room occupied by Sandy and Spud Halladay, John being conducted thither by Ned. The Ice Chest had only the regular allowance of chairs and so several of the visitors perched themselves on the beds. John and Claire as new arrivals were honored with chairs, however. As school did not begin until tomorrow, there was no study tonight and until bedtime at ten o’clock West House might do as it pleased. It pleased to discuss the football situation and eat marshmallows and salted peanuts, the former supplied by Ned and the latter by Dutch Zoller.