CHAPTER XII
ON THE RIVER
As was to be expected, Dave found life at Oak Hall rather strange for the first week after his arrival. Coming from the farm and from such a quiet home as that of Oliver Wadsworth, the bustle and excitement were at the start confusing, and more than once he took a quiet walk by himself, to settle his nerves and think the situation over. Yet with it all he "found his feet" rapidly, and if he was green, he tried his best to hide it.
From the start, Roger was his own particular chum, and it was simply wonderful how well the country lad and the senator's son got along together. They had many tastes in common, and one seldom wanted to do a thing but that the other was perfectly willing to take part.
Much to Dave's gratification, he had little or no trouble with his studies, and Roger was likewise an excellent pupil. Each wished to come out at the top of the class, or near it, and both often worked over their lessons while the other students were at play.
Dave had been asked only a few questions concerning his family connections and it was only Roger who, at first, learned the truth. The senator's son was deeply interested in the story of how the country boy had been found near Crumville and taken to the poorhouse.
"I should think you would want to know all about yourself, Dave," said he. "For all you know, you may be the son of some rich person and a fortune may be awaiting you."
"No such luck for me, Roger," answered Dave, with a smile. "I am a poor boy, and that is all there is to it. Just the same, I'd like to know something about my parents, and whether or not they are alive."
"I'll help you look into the case some day," said the senator's son, little dreaming of what the future held in store on that point.
By the other boys it was imagined that Dave must be some relative of Oliver Wadsworth, and that the rich manufacturer was his guardian. Boy fashion, the majority asked no questions at all, but took Dave for "what he was worth," as it is commonly expressed.
There was one youth, however, who seemed to take a particular dislike to Dave at the very start, and this dislike increased as the days went by. This boy was Gus Plum, already mentioned as the bully of Oak Hall. Plum was the son of a millionaire patent-medicine manufacturer, and in his younger years had been allowed to do largely as he pleased, besides having more spending-money than was good for him. But at home he had grown so wild that his father had sent him to Oak Hall to be put in training. Here he gathered around him a number of the boys, who helped him to spend his cash, and who did all sorts of mean and sneaking tasks for him.
Gus Plum's principal tool was Chip Macklin. He was a small lad, with a shock of red hair and eyes that squinted. Hardly any of the other students liked Macklin, but he and Gus Plum got along remarkably well together. Each knew the other's secrets, and neither dreamed of exposing his friend.
After Dave had been at the Hall a week, he wrote long letters to Mr. Wadsworth and to Caspar Potts, telling them of the place and of how he was getting along. These communications were read with interest, and Caspar Potts especially was gratified to learn that the youth was doing so well in his studies.
"Dave says everything seems easy to him," said the old professor. "It is wonderful how quick he is to learn."
"He is the sort that deserves a good education," returned the manufacturer. "I am glad I sent him to Oak Hall, and he shall certainly go to college later on."
Dave also sent a letter to Ben Basswood, and in return got word that Ben was doing his best to get his folks to let him come to Oak Hall.
"I hope he comes," said the country lad to Roger. "I know the others will like him."
It was a warm, clear day in September, and school had been dismissed a quarter of an hour before. The pupils had two hours for recreation, and some were in the "gym.," some on the playground, and others on the river or down to the boathouse.
"What do you say if we go for a row on the river?" asked Roger of Dave, as he threw down a Latin book he had been studying.
"Just the thing!" cried Dave, laying down an algebra. "I've been wanting to row on the river ever since I got here. Can we get a boat?"
"I think so. Each class has four boats, and I don't think many of our class are out on the river to-day. Most of them went off to the gym."
The two boys were soon out of the academy and on their way to the boathouse, a pretty affair, standing partly on the bank and partly over the water. At one end of the house was a general meeting room, with lockers for rowing suits, and at the other were the boats and shells used by the students. A short distance from the boathouse were a row of bathing houses, and here over a dozen pupils were in swimming.
As Dave and Roger hurried to the boathouse they passed Gus Plum and Chip Macklin. The big youth scowled at Dave, and the sneak squinted at Roger.
"What a pair!" said the boy from the country. "All the money in the world will never make Gus Plum a gentleman."
"I wish he and Macklin were out of the school," was Roger's quick comment. "Both of them always act as if they were just waiting for a chance to do one an injury."
"Plum is certainly not honorable. When Mr. Haskers asked us to stand up for talking he never budged. I wouldn't be so mean."
"I don't believe Gus Plum knows the meaning of honor, Dave. He is thoroughly selfish and willing to do anything to gratify his own wishes. I suppose he laughed at you and the others who stood up for exposing yourselves."
"I don't care if he did. I know I did what was fair."
In the meantime Gus Plum and Chip Macklin stopped in their walk, and turning around, watched Dave and Roger closely.
"Maybe you'll get a chance at 'em to-day, Gus," said Macklin.
"I wish I could, Chip. Wonder where they are going?"
"Out for a row most likely."
"Let us go out on the river, too."
"Oh, it's too warm to row," said the sneak of the school.
"You mean you are too lazy, you little beggar!" answered the bully, with a laugh. "But you needn't row. Rasmer said he would hire out that gasoline launch of his. Come on up and get that."
"Do you know how to run it?"
"To be sure I do. Didn't I have a launch of my own at home? Come ahead." And off the two boys started to a boating establishment run by a man named Ike Rasmer.
Reaching the boathouse, Roger managed to get a fair-sized rowboat without trouble, and also two pairs of oars. He and Dave were just entering the craft when Phil Lawrence hailed them.
"Want anybody along?"
"To be sure, Phil!" cried Roger.
"Yes, come ahead," added Dave, and soon Phil was in the stern, and ready to do the steering with a little paddle he picked up for that purpose.
"I don't know much about rowing," said Dave, after they had pushed off. "Roger has promised to give me some pointers."
"Well, Roger can do it," answered the big boy of the school. "He can handle a rowboat as well as any of us."
They decided to turn down the river, and were soon gliding along in capital style. Despite what he had said, Dave could handle his oars fairly well, and after a little coaching from the senator's son got along without much trouble.
"All you need is practice," said Roger. "You have the idea."
"I'd like to be a good oarsman and get into some race," said Dave. "I think I'd like that better than any sport, outside of baseball."
"Well, you'll have chance enough, this fall and next spring," came from Phil. "Now, as for me, give me baseball or football every time."
They passed half a dozen other boats, including one containing Shadow Hamilton and Sam Day. The former was doing the rowing, while the latter was sprawled on the stern seat, half asleep.
"Talk about taking things easy!" cried Phil. "Just look at Lazy!"
"Wait till I wake him up," said Roger, and taking up his dripping oar, he allowed some of the water to drop directly on Sam Day's upturned face. There was a splutter, and Sam Day leaped up wildly.
"Wha—what's the matter?" he stammered.
"It's raining!" cried Dave. "Put up your umbrella!"
"Humph! Don't you do that again, Roger Morr, or I'll sprinkle you good!"
"Why don't you row, Lazy?"
"It's too much like work. Shadow wanted me to come along and keep him company," and Sam Day gave a deep yawn.
"I told him one of my best stories, just to keep him awake, but it didn't work," came from Shadow. "It was a story about a Dutchman who——"
"Say, don't tell it again, please," burst in Sam Day. "I heard it once."
"You didn't act as if you heard it, and, anyway, the others weren't here," went on Shadow, calmly. "This Dutchman was taking a vacation along the shore of a chain of lakes. One day he went out for a row, and while he was in the middle of one of the lakes his boat began to leak. 'Maybe I got trowned alretty, ain't it!' said he to himself, and put for an island in the middle of the lake. He stayed on the island all that day and that night, until he was half starved. Then he began to yell for help, and by and by some men came along in a boat. 'What's the matter with you?' asked one of the men. 'Mine poat is busted an' I canno get me py der shore again!' said the Dutchman. 'I canno schwim!' 'Then why don't you walk to shore,' said one of the men. 'The water is only two feet deep!' 'Py chiminy! Two feets, und I vos so hungry like neffer vos!' groaned the Dutchman, and tore his hair out by the roots."
There was a short laugh, and then Dave looked serious.
"Was that Dutchman's name Schwitzer?" he asked, innocently.
"Schwitzer? I don't know."
"Did he come from Holland?"
"Of course he must have come from Holland. I——"
"What part of Holland?" went on Dave, calmly.
"Why—er—what has that got to do with it, Porter?"
"Did he come from The Hague, or Amsterdam, or Rotterdam, or——"
"I—I don't know where he came from."
"Are you dead-sure he was a Dutchman? Mightn't he have been a German, or a Swede, or a Norwegian, or——"
"Say, you're poking fun at me!" roared Shadow Hamilton.
"When you tell a tale like that, you ought to be able to verify your statements," continued Dave. "Now about that lake. What latitude and longitude was it located in, and whom was it named after, supposing it had a name? And as to the depth of the water, was it precisely two feet, or two feet and one in——"
"I'll two feet you!" shouted Shadow, and made a pass with one of his oars, but Dave ducked, and soon the two rowboats drifted apart, while all of the lads in both crafts laughed heartily over the way the story had been turned on Hamilton.
"That was all right," said Phil, with a broad smile. "Shadow didn't know where he was at."
"We've got to do something to stop that flow of yarns," answered Dave. "If we don't they'll get like weeds in an onion bed—worse and worse every day."