Left Tackle Thayer | Page 3

his room, and thrice he
had failed to keep his promise. He wondered who his room-mate was to
be and whether that youth had yet arrived, but his curiosity was not
strong enough to get him up. Now, however, the mower was again
traversing the opposite end of the field, and again approaching the
further corner, and once more he made the agreement with himself,
really meaning to live up to it. But, as events proved, he was not
destined to keep faith.

From around the corner of the stand furthest from the Row appeared a
boy in a suit of light grey flannels. The coat, hanging open, displayed a
soft shirt of no uncertain shade of heliotrope. A bow-tie of
lemon-yellow with purple dots nestled under his chin and between the
cuffs of his trousers and the rubber-soled tan shoes a four-inch expanse
of heliotrope silk stockings showed. A straw hat with a particularly
narrow brim was adorned with a ribbon of alternating bars of maroon
and grey. He was indeed a cheerful and colourful youth, his
cheerfulness being further evidenced by the jaunty swinging of a stick
which he had apparently cut from a willow and by the gay whistling of
a tune. On sight of Clint, however, the stick stopped swinging and the
whistling came to an end in the middle of a note.
"Hi!" said the youth in surprised tones.
"Hello," answered Clint politely.
The newcomer paused and viewed the boy on the stand with frank
curiosity. Then his gaze wandered across to the mower, which was at
the instant making the turn at the further corner, over by the tennis
courts. Finally,
"Bossing the job?" he asked, nodding toward the mower.
Clint smiled and shook his head. "No, just--just loafing."
"Hot, isn't it?" The other pushed the gaily-ribboned hat to the back of
his head and drew a pale lavender handkerchief across his forehead.
"Been moseying around over there in the woods," he continued when
Clint had murmured agreement. "Studying Nature in her manifold
moods. Nature is some warm today. There's a sort of a breeze here,
though, isn't there?"
Clint agreed again, more doubtfully, and the boy who had been
studying Nature seated himself sidewise on a seat below, drawing his
feet up and clasping his hands about his knees. He was a good-looking,
merry-faced chap of seventeen, with dark-brown eyes, a short nose
liberally freckled under the tan and a rather prominent chin with a deep

dimple in it. His position revealed a full ten inches of the startling hose;
and, since they were almost under his nose, Clint gazed at them
fascinatedly.
"Some socks, are they not?" inquired the youth.
Clint, already a little embarrassed by the other's friendliness, removed
his gaze hurriedly.
"They're very--nice," he murmured.
The other elevated one ankle and viewed it approvingly. "Saw them in
a window in New York yesterday and fell for them at once. I've got
another pair that are sort of pinky-grey, ashes of roses, I guess. Watch
for them. They'll gladden your heart. You're new, aren't you?"
"Yes, I got here this morning," replied Clint. "I suppose you're--you're
not."
"No, this is my third year. I'm in the Fifth Form. What's yours?"
"I don't know yet. I reckon they'll put me in the Fourth."
"I see. How's everything below the Line?"
"Below the line?" repeated Clint.
"Yes, Mason and Dixon's. You're from the South, aren't you?"
"Oh! Yes, I come from Virginia; Cedar Run."
The other chuckled. "What state did you say?" he asked.
"Virginia," responded Clint innocently. "Great! 'Vay-gin-ya.'" He
shook his head. "No, I can't get it."
It dawned on Clint that the other was trying to mimic his pronunciation
of the word, and he felt resentful until a look at the boy's face showed
that he intended no impertinence.

"I love to hear a Southerner talk," he went on. "There was a chap here
named Broland year before last; came from Alabama, I think. He was
fine! Red-hot he was, too. You could always get a fall out of Bud
Broland by mentioning Grant or Sherman. He used to fly right off the
handle and wave the Stars-and-Bars fit to kill! We used to tell him that
the war was over, but he wouldn't believe it."
Clint smiled doubtfully. "Is he here now?" he asked.
"Broland? No, he only stayed a little while. Couldn't get used to our
ways. Found school life too--too confining. He used to take trips, and
Faculty didn't approve."
"Trips?" asked Clint.
The other nodded. "Yes, he used to put a clean collar in his pocket and
run down to New York for week-ends. Faculty was sort of
narrow-minded and regretfully packed him off home to Alabam'. Bud
was a good sort, but--well, he needed a larger scope for