“Dad doesn’t want me to be that, though,” answered Gerald as they climbed the fence and set off up the well-worn path across the meadow slope. “He says I ought to study law but he wants me to go into his office when I finish college.”
“You ought to be glad you’ve got a fine big business all ready and waiting,” said Tom. “By the way, where is that father of yours now, Gerald? I haven’t seen him lately, have I?”
“He’s out West; Chicago, to-day, I think. He’s coming back the middle of next week. You and Alf and Dan are to take dinner with us some night after he comes home.”
“Glad to.” Tom unconsciously looked back across the village to where the stone gables and turrets of Sound View, the summer home of the millionaire Steamship King, arose above the trees. “How long are you going to keep the house open this fall, Gerald?” he asked.
“Until after Thanksgiving, I suppose. Dad will be away a good deal, though. You know he’s combining a lot of steamship lines on the Lakes. It’s keeping him pretty busy.”
“I should think it might,” said Tom dryly. “I guess it would be a good morning’s work for me.”
They climbed The Prospect, as the terrace in front of Oxford Hall is called, and parted company, Tom disappearing around the corner of the old granite building in the direction of his room in Dudley Hall and Gerald following the drive past Merle Hall to the gymnasium. The locker room was pretty well filled with boys when he entered and he fancied that the conversation, which had sounded animated enough through the folding doors, died suddenly at his appearance. He nodded to several of the fellows, among them Arthur Thompson, and crossed to his locker. From the showers came the rush of water and the yelps and groans of youths undergoing what in Yardley parlance was known as the Third Degree. The chatter began again as Gerald slipped out of his running costume and, wrapping his big Turkish towel about him, sought the baths. They were all occupied, however, and he turned back to wait his turn. Arthur Thompson was dressing a few feet away and Gerald seated himself beside him on the bench.
“I’d punch Hiltz’s head,” Thompson growled under his breath.
“What for?” asked Gerald.