CHAPTER II
SO DOES JOE DOBBINS
Myron didn't know who "that Hoyt guy" might be, but he was sure thathe or some one else had made a horrible mistake. Why, this big,good-natured, badly-dressed boy was the roughest sort of a "roughneck,"the identical type, doubtless, that his mother had spoken of sodistastefully! Myron viewed him during a moment of silence, at a lossfor words. The newcomer had removed his tattered hat and was nowstruggling with a jacket that, far too tight in the sleeves, partedreluctantly from the moist garments beneath. But it came off finally andthe boy tossed it carelessly to a chair and stretched a pair of longarms luxuriously ere he sank onto it. "That train was like a furnace allthe way, and the ice-water gave out at Hartford," he said. "Well, herewe are, though. What's your name? Mine's Dobbins; Joe Dobbins, only theygenerally call me 'Whoa.'"
"My name is Foster," replied Myron rather weakly.
"Foster, eh? That's all right. I know a fellow at home name of Foster.Drives for Gandell and Frye. They're the big dry-goods folks. He's anall-right guy, too, Sam is. He and I used to be pretty thick before Icame away. Were you here last year, Foster?"
"No, I--this is my first year."
"What class?"
"Third, I expect."
"Same here. I'm new, too. I was at St. Michael's last year, until April.I beat it then. Got in wrong with faculty, you know." He smiled andwinked. "Great little school, St. Michael's, but sort of narrow. My oldman said he guessed I needed more elbow-room. So I thought I'd try thisplace. Looks all right so far; sort of pretty: plenty of trees. I liketrees. Grew up with 'em. Maybe that's why. Dad made his money out oftrees."
"Indeed?" responded Myron, coldly polite. "Lumber, I suppose."
"Wrong, kiddo. Spruce gum."
"Oh!"
"Maybe you've heard of him: Tom Dobbins: the Spruce Gum King, some callhim."
Myron shook his head. For some absurd reason he felt slightlyapologetic, and was angry with himself for it.
"No? Well, I guess you don't come from my part of the country. Portland,Maine's my home. We've been living there six or seven years. I missedthe woods at first a heap, let me tell you. Why, we used to live rightin 'em: big trees all around: no town nearer than six miles. I was bornthere, in a log house. So were my three sisters. Them was the happydays, as the guy says."
"Very--very interesting, I'm sure," said Myron, "but about this room,Dobbins: You're quite certain that they told you Number 17?"
"Sure! Why not? What's wrong with it?" Dobbins gazed questioningly aboutthe study and then leaned forward to peer through the open door of thebedroom. "Looks all right. Plumbing out o' order, or something? Any onehad smallpox here? What's the idea?"
"The idea," replied Myron a bit haughtily, "is that I am supposed tohave this suite to myself. I particularly asked for a single suite. Infact, I am paying for one. So I presume that either you or I have made amistake."
Dobbins whistled. Then he laughed enjoyably. Myron thought it was aparticularly unpleasant laugh. "Say, that's rich, ain't it?" askedDobbins finally. "No wonder you were sort of stand-offish, kiddo! Gee,it's a wonder you didn't biff me a couple and throw me out on my bean!I'll say it is! Butting in on your--er--privacy, like, eh? Say, I'm surethat Hoyt guy said seventeen, but he may have got his wires crossed.I'll mosey over and----"
"Don't bother. I haven't registered yet. I'll straighten it out. Maybehe meant one of the other halls."
"Might be," said Dobbins doubtfully, "but he sure said Sohmer. This _is_Sohmer, ain't it?"
"Yes. Well, I'll find out about it. Meanwhile you might just--er--wait."
"Got you, kiddo. I'll come along, though, if you say so. I don't mind.I'm fine and cool now. Maybe I'd better, eh?"
"No, no," replied Myron quickly. "You stay here." He repressed a shudderat the thought of being seen walking into the Administration Buildingwith Dobbins! For fear that the latter would insist on accompanying him,he seized his hat and fairly bolted, leaving the intruder in possessionof the disputed premises.
The Administration Building was but a few rods away, and Myron, nursinghis indignation, was soon there. But it was evident that he would haveto wait a considerable time, for the space outside the railing thatdivided the secretary's office in half was well filled with returningstudents. There was nothing for Myron to do save take his place in theline that wound from the secretary's desk across the room and backagain. But the official, in spite of a nervous manner, handled theregistrations efficiently, and after fifteen minutes or so, duringwhich he was annoyedly aware of the amused stares and whisperings of acouple of fourth class youngsters, Myron's turn came. He gave his nameand answered the questions and then, when the secretary waved him on,"There's been a mistake made about my room, sir," he said. "I engageda single suite nearly two months ago and you wrote that I was to haveNumber 17 Sohmer. Now I find that you've put another fellow in with me,a fellow named Dobbin or Dobbins."
The secretary rescued the card that he had a moment before consignedto the index at his elbow and glanced quickly over it. "Oh, yes," heanswered. "I recall it now. But I wrote to your father several days agoexplaining that owing to the unexpectedly large number of students thisyear we'd be unable to give you a study to yourself. Possibly you leftbefore the letter reached your home in--ah, yes,--Port Foster, Delaware.The school catalogue states distinctly that rooms are rented singly onlywhen circumstances permit. The suite assigned you is a double one and wehave had to fill it. Very sorry, Mr. Foster, but perhaps you will findit an advantage to have a companion with you."
"But my father is paying for a single room----"
"That has been arranged. One-half of the first term rental has beenrefunded. That is all, Mr. Foster?"
"Why--why, I suppose so, but I don't like it, sir. You agreed to give mea room to myself. If I had known how it was to be, I--I think I'd havegone somewhere else!"
"Well, we'd be sorry to lose you, of course," replied the secretarypolitely, "but unfortunately there is no way of giving you theaccommodations you want. If you care to communicate with your father bywire we will hold your registration open until the morning. Now I shallhave to ask you to let the next young gentleman----"
"I guess you'd better do that," replied Myron haughtily. "I'll telegraphmy father right away."
The secretary nodded, already busy with the next youth, and Myronmade his way out. As he went down the worn stone steps he saw the twofourth class boys adorning the top rail of the fence that borderedMaple Street, and as he passed them he heard a snicker and a voiceasking "Isn't he a _dur-ream_?" His first angry impulse was to turnback and scold, but second thoughts sent him on with an expressionof contemptuous indifference. But the incident did not sweeten hisdisposition any, and when he strode into Number 17 again it needed onlythe sight that met him to set him off. Joe Dobbins, minus coat and vest,his suspenders hanging, was sitting in the room's one easy chair withhis stockinged feet on the table. Myron, closing the door behind him,glared for an instant. Then:
"What do you think this is, Dobbin?" he demanded angrily. "A--a stable?"
Dobbins' jaw dropped and he viewed Myron with ludicrous surprise. "Howdo you mean, a stable?" he asked.
"I mean that if you're going to stay here with me tonight you've got toact like a--a gentleman! Sitting around with your suspenders down andyour shoes off and your feet on the table----"
"Oh!" said Joe, in vast relief. "That's it! I thought maybe you weregoing to crack some joke about me being a horse, on account of my name.Don't gentlemen put their feet on the table and let their galluses down?"
"No, they don't!" snapped Myron. "And as long as you're rooming withme--which I hope won't be long--I'll ask you to cut out that 'roughneck'stuff."
"Sure," grinned Joe. "Anything to oblige, Foster." He had alreadydropped his feet, and now he drew his suspenders over his shouldersagain and slipped his feet back into his shoes. "Don't guess I'll everget on to the ways of the best circles, Foster. I'm what you call anUnspoiled Child of Nature. Well, wh
at did the guy in the Office say? I'mbetting I was right, kiddo."
"And don't call me 'kiddo'! You know my name. Use it."
"Gosh-all-hemlock!" murmured the other. "Say, you must have one of thosefiery Southern temperaments I've read about. Now I know how the CivilWar happened. I'll bet you're a direct descendant of General Lee!"
"I'm not a Southerner," answered Myron. "Just where do you thinkDelaware is?"
"Well, I didn't know you hailed from there," replied Joe untroubledly,"but I'd say Delaware was sort of Southern. Ain't it?"
"No more than Maine. Look here, Dobbin----"
"Dobbins, please; with an S."
"Dobbins, then," continued Myron impatiently. "That fellow over theresays the school's so full I can't have a room to myself. They promisedme I could two months ago, and we've paid for one. Well, I'm goingto get out and go somewhere where--where they know how to treat you.But--but I can't leave until tomorrow, so we'll have to share this placetonight."
"That'll be all right," replied Joe affably. "I don't mind."
Myron stared. "I didn't suppose _you_ did," he said.
"Meaning _you_ do, eh?" Joe laughed good-naturedly. "That it?"
"I'm not used to sharing my room with others," answered Myron stiffly."And I'm afraid you and I haven't very much in common. So I guess we'llget on better if--if we keep to ourselves."
"All right, kiddo--I mean Foster. Anything for a quiet life! Suppose wedraw a line down the middle of the room, eh? Got a piece of chalk orsomething?"
"I've taken the chiffonier nearest the window," said Myron, disregardingthe levity. "But I'll have my things out in the morning, in case youprefer it to the other."
"Chiff--Oh, you mean the skinny bureau? Doesn't make any difference tome which I have, ki--Foster. Say, you don't really mean that you'regoing to leave Parkinson just because you can't have a room to yourself,do you?"
"I do. I'm going out now to send a wire to my father."
"Gee, I wouldn't do that, honest! Why, say, maybe I can find a roomsomewhere else. I don't mind. This place is too elegant for me, anyway.Better let me have a talk with that guy over there before you doanything rash, Foster. I'm sorry I upset your arrangements like this,but it isn't really my fault; now is it?"
"I suppose not," replied Myron grudgingly. "But I don't believe you cando anything with him. Still, if you don't mind trying, I'll put offsending that telegram until you get back."
"Atta boy! Where's my coat? Just you sit tight till I tell that guywhere he gets off. Be right back, kiddo!"
Joe Dobbins banged the door behind him and stamped away down thecorridor. Pending his return, Myron found a piece of paper, drew hissilver pencil from his pocket and frowningly set about the compositionof that telegram. Possibly, he thought, it would be better to address itto his mother. Of the two, she was more likely to recognise the enormityof the offence committed by the school. Still, she would see it in anycase if he addressed it to the house and not to the office. When it wasdone, after several erasures, it read:
"Mr. John W. Foster, Warrenton Hall, Port Foster, Del.
"Arrived safely, but find that I cannot have room to myself as was agreed. Must share suite with impossible fellow named Dobbins. Prefer some other school. Not too late if you wire tonight. Love. MYRON."
Putting Dobbins' name into the message was, he considered, quite amasterly stroke. He imagined his mother's expression when she read it!