Crofton Chums

By

Ralph Henry Barbour

Author of “The Crimson Sweater,” “Captain Chub,” “Team-Mates,” etc.

With Illustrations

By C. M. Relyea

New York The Century Co. 1912

Copyright, 1911, 1912, by The Century Co.

Published, September, 1912

To G. R. O. Who Helped

[vii]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

[1]

CROFTON CHUMS

[2]

[3]

CHAPTER I BACK TO SCHOOL

“In the good old football time, In the good old football time!”

sang “Poke” Endicott, as he pulled a nice new pair of fawn-hued football pants from his trunk and reverently strove to smooth the creases from them. “Aren’t those some pants, Gil?” he demanded.

His room-mate turned from the window as the “mole-skins” were held up for inspection.

“Rather! You must have spent a year’s allowance on those, Poke.”

“Huh!” Poke folded them carefully and then tossed them in the general direction of the closet. “I’d hate to tell you, Gil, what they stood me. But they’re good for ten years; anyhow, that’s what the tailor man said. Those[4] trousers, Gil, will descend from generation to generation, down through the ages, like—like—”

“A mortgage,” suggested Gil Benton, helpfully, as he turned again to the view of autumn landscape framed by the open casement. Just under the window, beyond the graveled path, the smooth turf descended gently to the rim of the little river which curved placidly along below the school buildings barely a stone’s throw away. (Joe Cosgrove, baseball captain, had once engaged, on a wager, to place a baseball across it from the steps of Academy Hall, and had succeeded at the third attempt. As Academy stands farthest from the stream of any of the buildings, Joe’s throw was something of a feat, and many a perfectly good baseball had been sacrificed since by ambitious youths set on duplicating his performance.) The Academy side of the river was clear of vegetation, but along the farther bank graceful weeping willows dipped their trailing branches in the water and threw cool green shadows across the surface. Beyond, the willows gave place to alders and swamp-oaks and basswood, and then, as the ground rose to the rolling hills, maples, already

showing the first light frosts, clustered thick.[5] Here and there the white trunks of paper-birches showed against the hillside.

Gil—his full name was Gilbert, but no one ever called him that—viewed the familiar scene with eager pleasure and satisfaction. To-morrow began his third year at Crofton Academy, and he had grown very fond of the school; how fond he had scarcely realized until this minute. To the left, a quarter of a mile away, the old covered bridge was in sight, its central pier emerging from a wilderness of bush on Bridge Island. To his right, a little distance down-stream, lay Biscuit Island, a tiny round mound of moss-covered rock with here and there a patch of grass, and, in the middle, a group of four white birches asway in the westerly breeze. Opposite the island was the brown-stained boat-house and the long float, the latter as yet empty of the canoes and skiffs and tubs that would later gather there. By bending forward a little, Gil could catch a glimpse of a corner of the athletic field and the roofed portico of Apthorpe Gymnasium, the last of the buildings that formed a crescent along the curve of the river.

He smiled companionably at the blue and green world, sighed once—why, he couldn’t have told you—and breathed in a lungful of[6] the warm, scented air. It was good to be back again; awfully good! He wondered—

Footsteps crunched the gravel beneath the window, and Gil leaned out. Then he turned and called to his chum:

“Say, Poke, come and see ‘Brownie.’ He’s got a suit of ‘ice-cream’ clothes on, and a Panama hat! Me, oh, my! Who’d ever think Brownie could be so frivolous?”

Poke stumbled over a pile of clothing and hurried across to the casement, leaning out beside Gil. Almost directly below was a tall man of thirty-odd years, attired modishly in light home-spun. When, in answer to Poke’s “Hello, Mr. Brown!” he looked up at the window, his face was seen to carry a rich coating of tan from which his very light blue eyes twinkled with startling effect. He waved his hand to them.

“Hello, Endicott! Hello, Benton! You’re back early, it seems.”

“Couldn’t stay away, sir,” replied Poke laughingly. “Missed Greek awfully, sir!”

“Not the first time you’ve missed it—awfully,” retorted the instructor with a broad smile. The boys chuckled. “Don’t forget the meeting to-morrow evening, fellows.”

“No, sir; we’ll be there,” said Gil.

[7]

“He’s a dandy chap,” he added heartily, as the instructor passed on toward his room in the next dormitory. Poke nodded.

“One of the best. That’s why Plato’s the best society in school. What time is it?”

“Nearly one,” replied Gil, with a yawn.

“Don’t suppose we can get anything to eat here, eh?”

“Not likely. We might try, but as we’re not supposed to come until after dinner, I guess it would look pretty cheeky.”

“Right-O! Besides, it will be more fun eating in the village. Aren’t you going to unpack?”

“Yes, but there’s no hurry. Let’s get dinner now, Poke. We’ll go to Reddy’s; he has the best eats.”

“Got you! But wait until I get some of this mess picked up. How’s that for a swell suit of glad rags, Gil?” Poke held up the jacket for inspection. It was perceptibly green in color and decidedly “loud” in style. Gil grunted.

“If you had a gray silk hat you could march in the minstrel parade with that, Poke. Bet you sent your measurements by mail with a ten-dollar bill.”

Poke looked highly offended, and draped the[8] garment over the back of a chair. Then he drew away and admired it silently.

“That,” he announced finally, “was made by one of the best tailors in New York.”

Gil grunted again. “We wouldn’t wear a thing like that in Providence,” he said.

Poke laughed rudely as he hung the coat up. “Providence! I believe you, Gil! Providence never saw anything like that.”

“That’s no joke,” replied the other. “Get a move on, Poke, I’m hungry.”

“All right. Put that in the drawer for me, will you? No, the table drawer, you idiot! Where’s my hat? Come on now. I could eat an ox!”

They closed the door of Number 12 behind them, scuttled down a flight of well-worn stairs, and emerged on the granite steps of Weston Hall. They looked along the fronts of the buildings, but not a soul was in sight. Gil chuckled.

“Bet you we’re the first fellows back, Poke.”

“Sure. They won’t begin to get here until that two-twenty train.”

They turned to the right, passed between Weston and Rogers, traversed a few rods of[9] turf, and took a path leading downwards through a grove of maples and beeches. The path turned and twisted to accommodate itself to the descent. Gil walked ahead, hat in hand, since it was close and warm here in the woods, and Poke lounged along behind, hands in pockets and his merry, good-humored face alight with anticipation of the good things awaiting him at Reddy’s lunch counter. Poke’s real name was Perry Oldham Kirkland Endicott, and the nickname had been the natural result of the first view of the initials on the end of his suitcase. In age he was sixteen, one year his companion’s junior. He was well set-up, with a good pair of shoulders and a depth of chest that told of athletic training. He had brown hair and brown eyes, a good-looking sunburned face, and a general air of care-free jollity. Like Gil Benton, Poke was a member of the Upper Middle Class, and consequently had two more years to spend at Crofton.

Gilbert Benton, seventeen years old, was a good two inches taller than his chum, and somewhat slimmer. But the slimness showed wiry muscles and a healthy body. Gil’s hair was darker than Poke’s, and his eyes were gray.[10] His face spoke of determination and fearlessness. Seeing the two boys, you would have said that Gil was the sort to lead bravely a forlorn hope, and Poke the sort to shrug his shoulders, laugh—and follow. Gil’s home was in Providence, Rhode Island, and Poke’s in New York City. The latter had taken an early train and Gil had joined him at Providence, and the two had reached the station at Crofton well before noon. To arrive at school early and get settled before their fellows arrived had struck them as something of a lark.

The woods ceased and the path led them out onto Academy Road, where Hill Street turned off and where the village residences began. Hereabouts most of the trim white-walled structures were used as boarding- and rooming-houses for the Crofton students who were unable to secure accommodations in the school dormitories. At the corner was Mrs. Hooper’s; across the road from it, Jones’s; farther up Academy Road toward the school, Mrs. Sanger’s. To their left as they leaped the tumble-down stone wall was a comfortable-looking residence whose outbuildings nestled in the edge of the woods.

[11]

[12- 13]

“Wonder who has the Timberlake place this year,” said Gil. “I see it’s rented.”

“Why did she give it up?” asked Poke idly.

“Went out West to live with her son, I believe. I don’t believe the old lady ever made much money here.”

“Well, what do you think of that!” ejaculated Poke, stopping in his tracks and staring at the house in question. Perched on a short ladder was a boy of about Poke’s age, nailing a sign over the front steps. A girl in a white dress and with a long braid of yellow hair aglint in the sunshine was steadying the ladder. As the boys stopped to look, the last screw went home and the sign stood forth for all to see:

SUNNYWOOD COTTAGE

The boy descended from the ladder, and he and the girl stepped a little distance down the short walk toward the gate to admire the result of their labors. Gil and Poke went on, the latter chuckling.

“‘Sunnywood Cottage,’” he murmured.[14] “Guess there wasn’t anything very sunny about the place when Mrs. Timberlake had it. I wonder who the girl is?”

“Miss Sunnywood,” replied Gil instantly.

“Thanks,” said Poke, turning to steal another look at the young lady. “You’re a veritable mine of information, Gil. The house is looking rather nice, isn’t it? Must have painted it, I guess.”

“Yes, and her hair is very pretty,” laughed Gil.

“Oh, you run away,” Poke retorted. “Wonder who the chap is?”

“You seem mighty interested in the family. Like to call there on the way back?”

“That’s not a bad idea! We might make believe we wanted to rent a room.”

“We might,” Gil laughed. He, too, turned for a glance at the cottage. “Guess a fellow could be pretty comfy at Sunnywood. Funny, isn’t it, how some houses look homey and comfy and others sort of give you the creeps. Look at Jones’s; wouldn’t live there for a hundred dollars a month!”

“I wonder if a fellow has more fun living in the village,” mused Poke. “Of course it’s nice being in hall when you know there are loads of[15] chaps envying you your room, but, after all, we don’t have much chance for larks, what with study hour, and being in at ten, and all that. I believe I’d like to try a house next year, Gil.”

“Sunnywood?” asked Gil slyly.

Poke grinned and nodded. “I wouldn’t mind. That corner room in front on this side ought to be pretty nice. You’d get lots of sun and light—and that’s more than we get in Number 12.”

“Well, never mind about sun and light now. Let’s hit it up, Poke. What I need is food and drink. Thank goodness we’re nearly there! It’s pretty hot for September, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know how hot it is for September,” replied Poke with a grin, as they turned into Main Street, “but it’s uncomfortably hot for Poke!”

[16]

CHAPTER II SUNNYWOOD COTTAGE

“It’s a perfectly jimmy sign!” declared the girl delightedly.

The boy turned with an amused smile. “What’s a ‘jimmy’ sign, Hope? One made by Jim?”

“N-no, not exactly. Jimmy means awfully nice—something very—very pleasing—quite darling! See?”

“Of course,” answered her brother. “It’s as plain as the nose on your face.”

“My nose isn’t plain,” was the retort. “It’s a real Hazard nose, just like yours and Lady’s.”

“Sort of a jimmy nose,” laughed the boy. “Sis, if you keep on coining words, you’ll have to publish a vocabulary or no one will be able to understand you. What was it you called the back room upstairs yesterday?”

“Snudgy,” replied Hope Hazard gravely. “And that’s just what it is; small and hot and—and[17] snudgy! It’s the snudgiest room I ever saw, Jim.”

“Well, don’t let Jane hear you call it snudgy. She might leave. But, say, that’s a pretty good-looking sign, isn’t it? I don’t believe any one could tell it was home-made, eh?”

“N-no, not unless they looked real close. I guess that Y is a little bit wipsy, though, Jim.”

Jim Hazard frowned intently for a moment at the letter in question. “Well, maybe it is kind of out of plumb with the others,” he acknowledged. “Just the same, I think I’m a pretty good sign painter, sis. Now what’s to do?”

“Curtains in the front room upstairs; the rented one,” replied Hope promptly.

“Oh, hang the curtains!” grumbled Jim.

“That’s what I meant,” laughed Hope. “Never mind, they’re the last ones. And we really must get them up because our star boarder may come any moment.”

“All right,” he answered resignedly, “but I’ve got to cool off first.” He seated himself on the top step and Hope perched herself beside him. Jim fanned himself with the screw-driver, and they both laughed. Then the boy’s[18] smile died away, and his forehead puckered itself into lines of worry.

“Hope, we’ve got to do better than this or Sunnywood will be vacant again. Four rooms to rent and only one taken! Didn’t you think from what Mr. Gordon said that we’d get all the fellows we wanted?”

“Yes, but maybe they don’t look for rooms until they get here,” she answered cheerfully. “And you know they don’t begin to come until this afternoon.”

“I don’t believe that,” he answered. “Fellows wouldn’t come and not know where they were going to live. I don’t think Mr. Gordon has treated us fairly, Hope. That lady over there—”

“Mrs. Sanger.”

“Took the sign out of her window this morning. I guess that means that her rooms are all taken. I’ll bet Mr. Gordon has been sending the fellows to the other houses and leaving us out of it.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t do that,” Hope protested, “after all the nice things he said to mama.”

“You can’t tell. Besides, we don’t know just what nice things he did say. You know very well that if a person doesn’t actually call Lady[19] names she thinks they’ve been as nice as pie to her. Wish I had her gift of thinking the very best of everything and everybody. Well, if something doesn’t happen pretty soon, I’m going to see Mr. Gordon and tell him what I think about it. One thing we do know is that he wrote Lady that if she took the house she wouldn’t have any trouble in renting the rooms.”

“Well, let’s hope for the best, Jim,” said his sister, laying a small brown hand on his shoulder and giving him a reassuring pinch.

“That’s you all over,” he muttered. “Guess they knew what they were about when they named you Hope.”

“Well, they didn’t name you Despair,” she laughed, “so don’t try and play they did. It’s most time Lady was back, isn’t it?”

Jim nodded and looked down the street toward the village a half-mile away. “That’s her now, I guess; away down by the big elm; see?”

“Yes, it is. Let’s go and meet her, Jim. She’s probably got a lot of things to carry.”

“All right!” Jim laid down the screw-driver and pushed the ladder aside. “You’d better put a hat on, though.”

[20]

“Nonsense! The sun won’t hurt me. Come on.”

They went out of the gate together, and walked briskly down the sidewalk. Jim was half a head taller than his sister, rather thin, a bit raw-boned, in fact, but strong looking, and good looking, too, in spite of a smudge of dirt across his forehead and a generally begrimed appearance due to the fact that he had been sign-painting, carpentering, and house-cleaning all the forenoon. Besides this, he wore the very oldest clothes he owned, and that he managed to look prepossessing in spite of these handicaps speaks rather well for him. He had brown hair and brown eyes, but the hair was light, extremely light in places, as though it had been faded by sun and weather, and the eyes were very dark. Hope had told him once that he had perfectly lovely eyes, they looked so much like sweet chocolate! For the rest, Jim was tanned and hardy-looking, with more often than not a little puckery frown on his forehead, for at sixteen years of age he had already been head of the family for three years.

Hope Hazard isn’t quite so easily described, and I’d flunk the task if I might. She was fourteen, slender, golden-haired, gray-eyed, light-hearted.[21] As Jim had said, she had been well named, for hopefulness was the key-note of her nature, and Jim, who was somewhat prone to borrow trouble if he had none of his own, called her frivolous in moments of exasperation. But Hope came honestly by her sunny optimism, for her mother had always been the most hopeful, cheerful soul in the world, and even Mr. Hazard’s death and the immediate collapse of the family fortunes had failed to change her.

Mother and daughter looked much alike. Mrs. Hazard was quite tall, still young looking, and still pretty. She had gray eyes, like Hope’s, and if they were a trifle more faded, they still twinkled brightly at the slightest provocation. Jim was more like his father, a little more serious, with something of New England granite showing in his face, a heritage from a race of coast-dwelling Hazards. The Hazard nose, which Hope fondly believed she had inherited, and which was a straight and stern appendage, well shaped but uncompromising, was his, while Mrs. Hazard’s nose was an undignified, even flippant affair that looked for all the world as though, had it had proper encouragement at an early stage, it would have become[22] tip-tilted. Truth compels the admission that in Hope’s case the Hazard nose was more a matter of anticipation than realization, in spite of the fact that she religiously pulled it and pinched it in the attempt to make it conform to Hazard requirements. Perhaps it is a mean thing to say, but Hope’s nose was more remarkable for

the cluster of three big freckles on the end of it than for beauty of contour.

Mrs. Hazard yielded her packages to the children and gave an account of her shopping expedition. “It’s lots of fun buying things in Crofton, my dears; quite exciting. You never know when you ask for a thing what you are going to get. I tried to buy some scrim to make curtains for Jane’s room, and what do you suppose I got? Why, some muslin for a next summer dress for Hope! It was really very sweet and pretty.”

“And I suppose,” said Jim, with a smile, “that when Hope isn’t wearing it, Jane can hang it up at her window.”

“I think you’ll have to do the shopping, Jim,” continued Mrs. Hazard. “They don’t take me seriously, I’m afraid. If I want a wash-board, they smile at me humoringly and sell me a nutmeg grater! And two or three things I meant to get, I forgot all about!”

[23]

“Did you get the blankets, Lady?” asked Jim anxiously.

“Oh, yes; and the toweling, and the mat for the front door. But I forgot bluing and soap and meat for supper.”

“Well, if we don’t rent some rooms we won’t be able to afford supper,” replied Jim grimly. “I don’t think Mr. Gordon has been treating us decently, Lady.”

“Oh, I’m sure he has done all he could, dear. I can’t doubt that after the nice way he talked.”