Boarding schools -- Juvenile fiction; Football stories; School sports -- Juvenile fiction; Teenage boys -- Juvenile fiction
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?
Presently they selected beds, closets, chiffoniers, window seats and
chairs at the study table, choosing alternately after Clif, at Walter’s
insistence, had spoken first. Then Clif started unpacking, and Walter,
whose trunk had not yet arrived, took himself off to report at the
Office. Twenty minutes sufficed to transfer the contents of trunk and
bag to drawers and closet, and then, since Walter had not returned,
Clif slipped his coat on again and went downstairs. The scene below
had changed since he had last viewed it. Boys congregated thickly
about the Office, wandered in and out of the recreation room, and
liberally sprinkled themselves over the steps outside. Clif went out
and perched himself near the bottom of the flight. It was not so warm
now. He looked at his watch. Twenty minutes to four. His father would
be somewhere about Hartford, he guessed; that is, barring trouble with
that soft tire. He hoped there had been no trouble, for his father
usually left tire changing to him. Clif smiled. He guessed his father
would make pretty hard work of putting on a new tire! Then the smile
faded. He was going to miss his father a good deal, he told himself.
They had been together so much, that it seemed strange to think that he
wasn’t to see him again for a fortnight. He guessed his father would
miss him, too. Maybe it was going to be harder for dad than for him!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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