“Mrs. Kendall; Grouch’s wife; she’s matron at the Hall. Grouch teaches math.”
They passed out through the little rustic gate, crossed the road and went in between the iron posts and under the iron grilling with its O. P. S. in monogram. The Green, as the space between the gymnasium, the Hall and the school was called, was dotted with boys, while the steps of the Hall held many others. As the company came into sight shouts of welcome reached them from all sides.
“O you West House!”
“O you Hall!” was the answer in unison. Right arms went up at an angle of forty-five degrees and right hands were fluttered with a peculiar motion from the elbow that constituted the Oak Park form of salutation. It wasn’t many days before Cal could do it as well as anyone, but just now he kept his hands in his pockets and tried to ignore the fact that dozens of pairs of eyes were studying him critically. As they followed the path that led around in front of the Hall greetings and banter fell thick.
“There’s Dutch Zoller! Dutch, you’re pretty near fat enough to kill!”
“What do they feed you on, Dutch?”
“O you Fungus! How’s it going, boy?”
“Hello, Sandy, you old chump! Glad to see you.”
“You’re looking mighty pale, Hoop! You ought to see a doctor.”