“Tom,” said Billy, shaking his head, “you’re a great little know-it-all. You come around and tell me all that again in a couple of months and maybe I’ll believe it. There’s the gong, Bingham. Better beat it. Good night. See you again soon, I hope.”
CHAPTER V
OUT FOR THE TEAM
Despite Tom’s forebodings the interview with Mr. Frost went off quite pleasantly the next morning. The Principal’s assistant was rather bald and wore thick-lensed spectacles, but he was quite a young man and did not strive to appear otherwise. He seemed more amused than pained by the explanation of the visit.
“Tough luck, boys, to buck the rules the first night of the term!” he commented. “Of course you knew you shouldn’t do it?”
Clif assured him he hadn’t known it, and Mr. Frost—“Homer” the school called him, that being his given name—turned to a page in a blue-covered booklet, placed a finger half-way down it and invited Clif to read. It was there, as plain as daylight, and Clif, who had perused that volume thoroughly, as he thought, couldn’t understand how he had missed it. As for Tom, the latter explained cheerfully that he had only looked at the pictures! Mr. Frost gravely presented each of them with a copy of the booklet, advising them to become better acquainted with the school regulations, and dismissed them smilingly.
Returning to West Hall, Clif made fun of his companion for having been so pessimistic last evening. Tom grinned. “There’s something wrong with that fellow,” he answered. “He won’t be here long. You mark my words, Clif. He’s too easy!”
That first day was devoted principally to preparing for future labor. He and Tom visited several class rooms and listened to instructions and made notes. They bought books and stationery. They also visited Mr. Babcock, the Physical Director, in the gymnasium, which stood a few rods back of East Hall, and underwent tests. Since there were at least a dozen other fellows waiting, “Cocky” put them through expeditiously, handed each a small card bearing his name and a lot of figures and dismissed them. Then came dinner, followed by another visit to Middle where, in Room H, they listened while Mr. Waltman explained what a beautiful thing was the Science of Mathematics and how much pleasure could be derived from the study of it, if they would but realize it. “The Turk” also dwelt at some length on the results that might accrue to them if they didn’t realize it! Tom, who had taken a dislike to the instructor since last evening, made sarcastic comments under his breath and caricatured “The Turk” on the back of a blue book. Finally, having obediently taken note of to-morrow’s lesson, they were released. Going out, Clif glimpsed the wheel chair and its occupant rolling along the corridor toward East Hall. He had encountered them several times before during the day. Evidently, he concluded, the fellow was Third Class, too. He spoke to Tom about it.
“I don’t know what class he is,” said Tom, “but his name’s Deane. I heard a chap call him that this morning. Get your togs and wait for me down front. I won’t be more than a minute.”