CHAPTER XI
THE CAPSIZED BOAT
Allan and Pete didn't forget that day for a long time. In retrospect,it was the brightest one between the beginning of the college year andthe Christmas recess. For long afterward Pete would point with pride tohis performance at table on that day, and declare that he believed thatshould he live to be a hundred he could never eat as much again. Dinnerbegan at two o'clock and ended, not because of lack of further viandsbut because of inability on the part of the guests, at half-past four.
The family at Hillcrest consisted of Mr. Guild, his wife, apleasant-faced and sweet-voiced woman several years his junior, and athree-year-old son and heir, who did not make his appearance at tablebut who was afterward ceremoniously introduced in the nursery. Bothhost and hostess appeared to have no other desire in life than to makethe two guests happy and utterly ruin their digestions.
Even Pete had had momentary qualms over appearing at table in theunconventional attire of shooting-coat and flannel shirt, but theirobjections had been politely overruled, and by the time the turkey hadmade its appearance they had both lost sight of the fact that theywere not dressed in the mode. It was while carving the turkey that themorning's episode was recalled.
"This, Mr. Burley," said their host, "is only turkey. Had there beenmore time, we would have had a duck prepared for you."
Allan wondered, while he laughed, whether Mrs. Guild had heard thestory of the duck-hunt. The demure expression about her mouth led himto suspect that she had.
After dinner they adjourned to the library again, and Pete was inducedto smoke a cigar, although, as Allan guessed, he would much ratherhave used his corn-cob pipe. Mrs. Guild disappeared for a while, andPete and Allan stretched themselves luxuriously in front of the fireand listened to their host and did a good deal of talking themselves.Mr. Guild led them to tell of their college life, and displayed suchsympathy with their views and ambitions that at the end of an hour thetwo boys had become his enthusiastic admirers. He knew the West like abook, and Pete became quite excited--for Pete--swapping recollectionsand stories of "out there."
After a while Mrs. Guild appeared again, and they went into thedrawing-room and sat silent and happy in the firelight while sheplayed for them. She apologized for knowing no college songs, but Petegallantly assured her that he preferred "straight music." Still laterthere was a four-handed game of billiards in an upper hall, in whichMrs. Guild and Allan were badly defeated by the host and Pete. Thencame the visit to the pink-hung nursery and the formal introductionsto Master Thomas Guild, Junior. And by that time it was after eighto'clock, and a surrey stood at the door, waiting to bear them back toCenterport.
"You must come out some afternoon," said their host, "and let me showyou around. Both Mrs. Guild and I have enjoyed your visit, and we wantyou again. We don't have so many callers but what a couple more will bewelcome at any time. And when you come, it must be to stay to dinnerwith us."
And Allan and Pete readily agreed, and kept to their agreement. Theyeach voted Mr. Guild a fine fellow, and each lost his heart to thehostess. The dollar was duly paid, and they received a receipt "in fullfor two ducks. Trusting to receive a continuance of your patronage, Iremain, Yours faithfully, Thomas A. Guild." There was another visit toHillcrest the following week, and several more before the occurrenceof the incident which, for a time at least, put thoughts of visitingout of mind.
On the Monday after Thanksgiving and the duck-hunt, the story of whichwas now college property, Pete stamped into Allan's room just beforedinner, kicked the snow from his shoes against the chimney, tossed hissombrero onto the desk, and subsided into the armchair with a mightysigh of triumph.
"_That's_ all right," he announced, heartily but vaguely.
"What?" asked Allan, momentarily abandoning his struggle with Herodotus.
"Club table. I've got my eighth man."
"Not really? Who have you got?"
"Well, there's"--he took a list from his pocket--"there's you, and Hal,and Wolcott, Poor----"
"Pete, you're lying!"
"--and Cooper, Van Sciver, Maitland, and your Uncle Pete."
"But--but how'd you do it, Pete? How'd you get them to join? Offer topay half their board, or--or what?"
"Oh, it just took a little dip-lo-macy, my son; just a littledip-lo-macy. I started out with you and Hal. I got Hal to introducePoor. Then I told Poor I was getting up a representative table, andgot him to promise to join if I secured Maitland and Van Sciver. Heintroduced me to Van Sciver. I told him that you and Hal and Poor hadpromised, and he came right over to the party. You were quite a card,my son. I had no trouble with Cooper when I told him you were one ofour principal sights. And so it went. After I'd got Poor and Cooperand Van Sciver cinched, there was nothing left to do but receive andconsider applications. I could have had twenty, but I set out to makethis table exclusive, and exclusive it's going to be, if I have to getthe Dean--hang him!" Pete frowned a moment in silence. Then, "Wolcottwas the last to join; he agreed ten minutes ago; I just came from hisroom."
"Pete, you surely are a lucky dub!" said Allan. "I don't believethere's another fellow in college that could have got all those chapstogether!"
"There wasn't much luck about it," said Pete, calmly. "It just tookhard work. Why, I haven't studied a lick since Wednesday, and I've cuthalf my recitations. I guess that's why the Dean wants to see me."
"Have you heard from him?"
"Yes. I had a polite postal card from him yesterday, and an impoliteone to-day."
"But why----"
"Well, I didn't have time to call on him yesterday; I was too busyseeing fellows. It seems to have made him some angry."
Allan whistled expressively.
"You ought to have gone, Pete. He'll raise thunder with you now; see ifhe don't."
"Oh, _that's_ all right; he can't do any worse than expel me. And I'mgetting pretty tired of this shop, anyway; there isn't much doing. Andnow that I've got the table made up, all the excitement's over with.I've thought all along I wouldn't be here much after Christmas."
"Oh, shut up that! Who's going to run the table, if you go and getfired? And what do you suppose I'm going to do, you idiot?"
"Oh, I guess you wouldn't care," said Pete, sheepishly. But he seemedrather pleased when Allan threw Fernald's Selections at his head.
"Well, maybe he'll let me off easy this time; just suspend me, perhaps."
"You'd better go and see him right away. But you can't until to-morrow,now."
"Oh, yes; I guess I'll call at his house to-night."
"He doesn't like you to, they say," cautioned Allan. "If I were you,I'd wait until morning."
"No; better have it over with. I'll drop around afterward and tell youabout it. Coming to dinner?"
Allan pleaded study, and Pete took himself off.
As it turned out, the Dean was merciful and Pete was merely placed uponprobation--a fact which appeared to amuse him vastly.
"It's just like old times," he explained to Allan and Hal, the latterhaving come in to recount the wonderful things which had happened tohim during his visit home. "Out in Colorado, I was most always onprobation. Used to feel downright lonesome when I wasn't."
"That's all well enough," said Hal, "but you want to be careful, forold Levett's the very dickens if you get too gay with him. First thingyou know, you won't know anything."
"Don't now," answered Pete, promptly and cheerfully. "But I wouldn't besurprised if something did drop. The fact is--" he hesitated, sigheddolefully, and shook his head, "the fact is, I've been feeling latelythat something unpleasant is going to happen to me. I guess it's a--apremonition."
His tone was quite sad, and Allan and Hal stared at him in silentsurprise. Then--
"What's the matter with you, you idiot?" asked Allan.
"Nothing; I dare say it's just foolishness, but somehow--" He sighedagain. "Well, _that's_ all right," he went on, with an evident effortat cheerfulness. "Have a good time, Hal?"
"You're off y
our feed, that's what's the matter with you," said Hal,severely. "Your liver's out of whack. Better see the doctor."
"What's probation, anyway?" asked Allan, lightly. "It's likely tohappen to any one."
"It isn't that," Pete replied, dolefully. "But I don't want to talk ofmy troubles," he continued, with martyr-like complacency. "Tell us whatyou did, Hal."
"Oh, you're plumb woozy!" exclaimed the latter. Nevertheless, heconsented to tell again of the remarkable events which had transpiredduring his absence, and Pete's melancholy disappeared. It was apeculiar feature of it that during the following week it possessed himonly occasionally. But when it did, he seemed in the uttermost depthsof melancholy--a melancholy quite as mysterious and remarkable to hisfriends as the celerity with which he recovered on each occasion.Hal declared over and over that he was "woozy"--a term of doubtfulsignificance, but quite satisfying to the user--and Tommy hinted atoverstudy. This was among themselves. When Pete was present, theymerely called him a fool, and let it go at that.
It was the first day of December that witnessed the advent upon thescene of a new character in our story. A wagon stopped in front ofMrs. Purdy's in the afternoon and an expressman deposited a smallbox inside Allan's door. He found it there when he returned fromhis last recitation. It had slats nailed across the top, and fromits dark recesses came strange sounds. Allan stared. The soundsresolved themselves into the plaintive mewings of a kitten, and Allanrecollected his request to his mother--a request long since forgottenby him, but evidently well remembered by her. He tore off a couple ofthe slats and lifted out a six-weeks-old kitten.
It was a pathetic little white object, with two black spots on its backand weak-looking pale blue eyes which blinked inquiringly at him. Itsmouth opened, and the appealing cry was repeated. Allan set it down andraced for the kitchen. When he returned, he carried a huge bowl of milk.
The kitten was roaming disconsolately about the floor, but at sightof the milk trotted up, and apparently strove to commit suicide byovereating--an intention frustrated by Allan, who removed the bowlfinally and took the kitten into his lap in front of the fire. Itseemed to have suddenly grown to twice its size, and instead of theheart-rending mews, Allan heard a faint but enthusiastic purring asthe poor little object curled itself up in his arm and blinked itsgratitude. Presently it went fast asleep and, rather than disturb it,Allan sat there for almost an hour, with his books just out of reach.
That evening they named it. Tommy wanted something patriotic: Erskine,he thought, was just the thing. Hal showed the possession of anunsuspected streak of sentiment and clamored for Hortense. Allan,recollecting the fact that the mother's name was Edith Cinnamon, wasin favor of calling the offspring Clove or Nutmeg. But Pete, who hadbeen gravely examining the kitten at arm's length, took his pipe frombetween his lips, and with the stem tapped the two black spots on itsback.
"Two Spot," he said, with finality.
Two Spot it was. And a few days later neither of the others would havechanged the name for any consideration, since, as Tommy sadly expressedit, "Poor old Pete had named her."
That first day of December was memorable not only for the arrival ofTwo Spot, but for the first gathering at Pete's club table. Of thosebeside our friends who composed the table, it is not necessary to speakat any length.
Poor we already know very slightly. Wolcott, Cooper, Van Sciver, andMaitland were average fellows who had gained prestige for one reason oranother, among their companions. It was a fact that Pete had succeededin gathering together what might have been called the pick of thefreshman class. That he had been able to do so was partly because ofhis tact and powers of persuasion and partly because freshman clubtables were so seldom formed at Erskine that the project had the flavorof the unusual.
Dinner was the first meal, and it was a very jolly one. There were oneor two introductions to be made, and these Pete performed with hisusual breeziness. After that the eight members sat down, Pete thumpedthe bell commandingly, and the table began its official existence--anexistence which endured for four college years.
By the time the roast beef and vegetables made their appearance the icewas very thoroughly broken. When the cabinet-pudding and fruit came on,good-fellowship reigned supreme, and long after the last plate had beenpushed aside the members still sat about the table, as though loath toleave. It is doubtful if there was a single one of them who did not,mentally at least, thank Pete Burley for including him in his clubtable.
One gusty winter afternoon, four days later, Pete appeared at Allan'sroom at about three o'clock. He wore his thickest sweater and a pairof woolen gloves.
"I'm going up to see the Guilds. Want to come along?"
"You know plaguey well I can't," said Allan, impatiently. "I've gotall this stuff to do." He indicated the litter of books and papershopelessly. Somehow, of late the Midyears had seemed perilously near.
"Sorry. I'll tell 'em you said 'How.' I think I'll take a boat and rowup."
"You'll what?" gasped Allan. "Why, it's an easy three miles by theriver."
"_That's_ all right; I feel like a little exercise."
"You're a chump if you do," answered the other, irritably. "How'll youget the boat back?"
"I'll let it stay there, maybe. Maybe I'll come back in it afterdinner. It's easy enough to get down-stream."
"Not in the dark. You'll drown your fool self."
"Oh, I guess not. Sorry you can't come along."
"I'm not," muttered Allan, as the door closed. "Pete's a perfect idiotlately."
After dinner the wind increased into a very respectable gale, and Allanfell to wondering whether Pete would be fool enough to attempt the tripback in the boat. At nine o'clock his uneasiness drove him forth. Hefought his way down Main Street to Center, and so around to Pete'slodgings. Lights in the windows reassured him, and he had half a mindto go back to his studies, but after a moment's indecision he decidedto go up for just a moment and tell Pete again what an idiot he hadbeen. So he climbed the stairs and thrust open the door. At the tablestood Tommy.
"Oh!" he said, "I thought you were Pete."
"Isn't he here?" asked Allan.
"No; I don't know where he is."
"I do," Allan replied. Tommy was plainly uneasy when he learned ofPete's trip. The two stayed until almost eleven. Then, as Pete had notreturned, they went home together.
"He's probably decided to stay there all night," said Allan, hopefully."Like as not, they wouldn't let him come back."
"I guess that's it," answered Tommy. "Pete wouldn't be such a fool,anyhow, as to try and come down the river on a night like this."
But despite his words, Allan went to sleep feeling not a littleworried, and awoke the next morning with a feeling of impendingmisfortune. Pete was not in the dining-hall, but it was after eleveno'clock before Allen had an opportunity to make inquiries. When he did,he could find no news of his friend. No one had seen him that morning.Allan cut a recitation and hurried down to Pete's rooms. The bed hadnot been occupied. Allan returned to the yard fighting against fear.
At three he heard the news from Hal, who, white of face, was waitinghim on the porch.
"It's--it's all up with p-poor old Pete," he announced, with his mouthworking tremulously. "They found the boat he had a mile down the river.It--it was capsized!"
Allan felt his own face go pale, but after a moment he muttered:
"Pete could swim like a fish; you know that."
Hal shook his head.
"Then why hasn't he showed up?" he asked, hopelessly. "No, he's agoner. You remember what he said about premonitions and things going tohappen to him? I guess he was right, Allan. Poor old Pete! They--theyfound his hat, too, down by the wharves."