In the shrubbery along the farther side of the courtyard a gang of noisy sparrows were chasing each other about, plump, truculent roisterers who squabbled and fought for no apparent reason. Beyond them the ivy along the lower wall of the three-story stone building was still green and varnished looking. Some of the ambitious tendrils were well above the second line of windows over there. Clif’s gaze wandered toward the front of the building and was captured by a moving flash of color at an open window. It was a bit of yellow silk curtain that swayed beyond the frame in the stirring of a languid breeze. Clif was viewing that window at an angle, but the room beyond was flooded by sunlight and so much of it as was within his range of vision was visible in detail. He could see the end of a couch tapestried in blue and brown, the corner of a bookcase, a picture on a wall. But what interested him far more was the object that occupied most of the foreground.
That object was his late adversary, Kemble. Even across the width of the courtyard Clif read in attitude and countenance dejection and perplexity. It wasn’t difficult for the observer to complete the scene from imagination. Kemble was seated at one side of a table. Across from him, wearing, doubtless, a look of stern yet patient displeasure, sat the Mr. Wyatt of whom he had so feelingly spoken. In short, Clif was viewing his enemy in the throes of an inquiry into his knowledge of English!
For the moment Clif’s emotion was one of unmixed delight. Retribution had overtaken the hated foe! Then, however, his feeling of triumph waned—gave way before a faint stirring of sympathy. Even if the fellow was a blighter he deserved some pity under such conditions, and, besides, simple esprit de corps demanded that Clif should align himself on the side of the oppressed fellow student rather than with that enemy body the Faculty! For a minute longer he looked and then turned away. To-morrow, he told himself, he would hold Kemble to strict accountability, but meanwhile he was “rooting” hard for that suffering youth and for the confusion of the tyrant.
Away from the window, he gave his attention to the room and its possibilities. It was furnished with two metal beds, two fumed-oak chiffoniers, four chairs, of which two were straight-backed and two of the variety known as morris, and a good-sized study table. There was, besides, a cushioned bench under each window. The prevailing color was brown. The furniture was dark brown, the walls were light brown and a heavy brown linoleum covered the floor. On the latter were spread three medium brown rugs with dark blue borders. Only the ceiling of creamy white and the bedspreads of a chalkier hue offered relief from the general scheme. Even the side curtains at the windows and the corduroy of the seat cushions were brown. On the whole, though, the room was rather pleasing, save for the single exception of lack of light, and, when Clif had switched the electricity on, even that failing disappeared. The two closets, one at each side of the door, were of generous size and held such conveniences as a shelf for shoes, a rod for hangers and a trousers rack on the door. Oh, he guessed it wasn’t so bad, after all!
And at the moment of reaching this conclusion there was a commotion at the front of the building, telling him that the first wholesale influx of students had begun. There was the sound of voices, the chug chugging of motors, the thud of bags. Then came the shuffle of feet on the stone stairs, and laughter and whistling. Clif turned off the illumination, wondering if Walter Harrison Treat had arrived with the present contingent. Naturally, he felt some curiosity about Mr. Treat. There were voices in the corridor now, and doors opened and banged shut. Clif retreated to a window seat, took one foot in his hands—noting approvingly that the brown leather shoe chimed in harmoniously with the surroundings—and waited. Then the door of Number 17 opened, swinging inward leisurely and with a certain dignity, and the end of an immaculate black suit case came into sight.
CHAPTER II
GETTING ACQUAINTED
A boy of seventeen followed the suit case, and the first occupant of Number 17 sighed with relief. Walter Harrison Treat looked more than possible as a roommate. He was fairly tall, rather thin, wore excellent but unobtrusive clothes and observed Clif with sober inquiry through a pair of spectacles. Being made with a very light gold frame, the spectacles were not especially apparent, and a second relieved sigh escaped Clif. It would have been a horrible thing had Treat worn those staring, tortoise-shell contraptions. Clif was certain he could never live through the school year with a pair of mandarin spectacles!
They shook hands, Clif with warmth, Walter with a polite reserve that the other soon learned to be natural with him. Then they talked, carefully avoiding apparent interest in each other’s affairs. Even so, however, certain facts regarding Walter were laid bare. He lived in Boston. Well, not exactly in Boston, you understand, but just outside; West Newton, to be exact. This was his third year here. He had entered as a Junior. Last year he had roomed in East Hall. He thought he might like this better, as it seemed quieter. Over there, the Juniors had the first and second floors and were a noisy lot. He was a third classman this year. By rights he should be in the second class, but he had begun school late, owing to illness when he was thirteen. What did Clif think of the school?