A few minutes later Mr. McKnight said, “I’d like to remind you, Bingham, that an adviser is one who supplies advice. Most fellows think his business is only to get them out of trouble. Well, I’m always glad to do all I can in that way, but you chaps ought to remember that prevention is better than cure and that if you come here for advice you’re not likely to come back later for help. Just bear that in mind, won’t you? And bear in mind that I’ve been through just what you and all the rest of you are going through—and not so long ago, either—and know pretty well what your problems and temptations are. So don’t think I’m no use to you except to advise you about your studies. Studies, school work, are a small part of your life here. The real problems and the biggest worries are likely to concern your relationship with your fellows, your attitude toward the school, your social and athletic interests. Very often the smallest problems are the hardest to solve, Bingham. Well, when you run up against something that you can’t settle to your own satisfaction come and see me and we’ll talk it over. Maybe we’ll find the answer that way, maybe we won’t; but it always helps to talk it over. Sort of blows the fog away. You’ll find me here in the evenings, generally, and always between five and six. And that reminds me: Friday evenings, after study hour, we get together here and have a sort of quiet shindig; talk a good deal, have a little music, maybe, and get acquainted. Not much in the way of excitement, you know, but usually a pleasant time is had by all. Drop in as often as you can, Bingham, and bring a friend with you.” Mr. McKnight glanced at his watch. “You’ve just time to make assembly hall before the fun starts. Good night. Drop in often, Bingham. You don’t have to wait for a Friday evening, you know.”
Traversing the dimly lighted corridor of Middle Hall, past the gloomy caverns of the darkened class rooms, Clif was sensible of a new cheerfulness. The echoes aroused by the brisk tramp of his feet on the old, worn floor sounded almost friendly to him.
CHAPTER IV
A BOY IN A WHEEL CHAIR
To reach the assembly hall, which occupied the entire first floor rear section of East Hall, just as the dining hall occupied the same location on the other side, Clif had to go the length of Middle Hall, pass into the wider corridor of the newer building beyond, turn left and follow the main corridor to the staircase. East Hall, save for a dozen rooms on the third floor, was devoted principally to the use of the Junior School, composed of boys between the ages of eleven and fourteen. Mr. Clendenin, known as “Wim” because of his invariable custom of signing himself “Wm. Clendenin,” was at the head. The Juniors had their own parlor, recreation room, library, reading room, game room and office on the ground floor. They ate, however, in the dining hall in West and shared the class rooms in Middle with the older students. Middle, once containing all there was of the school, had long since been remodeled into class rooms only.
Doctor Wyndham, the Principal, occupied a suite of three rooms and bath on the second floor of East Hall. Other suites, smaller, similar to Mr. McKnight’s, were situate in each of the newer buildings, and accommodated fourteen faculty members.
Clif descended the stairway to the first floor corridor. At the far end the vicinity of the assembly hall entrance was crowded with boys who, waiting outside until the last moment, had now begun to crowd through the wide doorway. Clif concluded that he was the last one to arrive, but he wasn’t, since, as he passed the open door of a room beyond Mr. Clendenin’s office, he was obliged to step quickly aside to avoid collision with a wheel chair which, emerging noiselessly on rubber tires, had given him no warning. The chair was occupied by a boy a year or so Clif’s senior. A dark plaid rug covered the lower part of his body. On a shelf stretched between the chair arms lay a book and a fountain pen. The occupant of the chair propelled it by the wheels, turning it deftly to avoid Clif and directing it along the corridor toward assembly hall. He smiled an apology as he did so. Noting that he was obliged to lean forward slightly to grasp the wheels, or, rather, a rim that projected from them for the purpose of propulsion, Clif said impulsively:
“Let me be chauffeur, won’t you?”
The boy in the chair looked back and smiled again. “Why, thanks. I’m just going to the assembly hall, and it really isn’t hard, but if you don’t mind giving me a shove—”