[“But, honest, Cal, they won’t do!”]
“I don’t know anything about the panic,” replied Cal seriously. “We ain’t had much money since father was drowned.” Then Cal explained about the legacy and what miracles were to be performed with it; and how in summer he was going to find work and make a whole lot of money toward his college expenses. And Ned listened sympathetically, a little surprised withal, and was silent when Cal had finished.
“That’s different,” he said at last gravely. “I didn’t know it was like that with you, old man. Gee, you’re downright plucky, that’s what you are, Cal! But— Well, there’s the dinner bell. We’ll have to think this over. Course you can’t spend a lot of money on clothes; I see that, all right; but there’s some things you certainly do need, old man, and we’ll have to find a way of getting them. Come on. How’s your appetite? Mine’s fine and dandy. Take hold of the rail like this and see if you can make it in four jumps. That’s Spud’s record. I almost did it once, but I fell at the bottom and bust the umbrella-stand to smithereens! Come on! One—two—”
[CHAPTER VII]
HOMESICKNESS AND GINGERBREAD
That afternoon Cal experienced his first and last touch of homesickness. School began at half-past one and lasted until three-thirty. For Cal the last half-hour was spent in the gymnasium, where he was introduced to dumb-bells and chest-weights and taught to lie on his back on a mattress and perform a number of interesting and picturesque—and, at first, extremely difficult—exercises. Each class had three sessions a week in the gymnasium. Cal followed the others into the dressing-room after the class was dismissed and made the acquaintance of a shower-bath. He liked that so much and stayed under it so long that he was one of the last fellows to get dressed, and when he reached the Green Ned and all the other West House boys had disappeared. They were not very far away, as it happened, having only strolled down to the athletic field below the gymnasium. But Cal didn’t know that. Nor was he likely to discover it, since the gymnasium hid the field from sight. He stood around for a few minutes, hoping that someone he knew would appear, and at last crossed the road and returned to West House. So far there had been no time to feel lonesome, but now that sensation began to envelop him. At the bridge he stopped and leaned over the railing and let his gaze wander around the little lake. It came to him suddenly that he ought not to have come to Oak Park; that he wasn’t like the other boys; that he couldn’t dress well enough, was rough and uncultivated beside them, and that they would never like him. Why, even his roommate was ashamed of the clothes he wore! He took his elbows from the rustic railing and went on along the path.