CHAPTER VI
OFF FOR OAK HALL
It soon became noised around Crumville that Oliver Wadsworth had taken in old Caspar Potts to live with him, and that the rich manufacturer was going to send Dave to a boarding school.
"I must congratulate you on your luck," said Ben Basswood to Dave, when they met. "Going to a first-class school will be fine, and you ought to have lots of fun."
"I'm going to study, not for the fun of it, Ben."
"Oh, you know what I mean. Of course you'll study your lessons. But at such a school they have baseball and football, and a gymnasium, and all that. I wish I was going."
"Why can't you go? I'd like to have somebody there that I knew."
"Can't do it—at least not for the present. But perhaps father will let me go later. And, Dave, they are saying that you were a regular hero, saving Jessie Wadsworth's life at the risk of your own. Didn't you get burnt at all?"
"Got a few blisters on the palm of my hand, that's all. Anybody could have done as much."
"Yes, but everybody wouldn't think to act so quickly. The hired man went for a pail of water, didn't he?"
"Yes."
"And Jessie might have burnt up while he was getting it. I reckon you deserve what you are receiving, Dave," concluded Ben.
The next week was a busy one for Dave, who worked on the farm from sunrise to sunset, getting everything in proper shape for another tenant. In the meantime Caspar Potts packed up his few belongings and had them transferred to the Wadsworth residence. Later on a farmer was found to take the farm, at a yearly rental which was satisfactory to all concerned.
Having been referred to Mr. Wadsworth, Aaron Poole called on the manufacturer for his interest money, and the upshot of the visit was that Oliver Wadsworth took over the mortgage on the farm.
"You won't make anything on that deal, Wadsworth," said Aaron Poole, after the transaction had come to an end.
"I do not expect to make anything," was the quiet answer. "But I fancy Professor Potts will make something, later on."
"Maybe he will and maybe he won't," was Aaron Poole's tart reply, and then, as there was nothing more to say, he withdrew.
At the end of a week a letter and a circular were received from Dr. Hasmer Clay. In the letter the master of Oak Hall stated that he would be pleased to receive Mr. Wadsworth's protégé as a pupil, and the circular told about the institution and the course of study.
"That must certainly be a fine place," was Dave's comment, after reading the circular and looking at the several pictures which it contained.
"What about the courses of study?" asked Oliver Wadsworth of Caspar Potts.
"Excellent, sir. I don't know that they could be improved upon. I fancy Dave will be able to enter the class next to the highest, and if so it will not be long before he will be ready to go to college."
It was decided that Dave needed a little "brushing up" in one or two studies, and as soon as he felt strong enough to do so, Caspar Potts gave him daily instruction. He had always been a good pupil and his progress was, therefore, rapid.
When Dave left the farm he was given a comfortable room on the second story of the Wadsworth mansion. It was prettily furnished, and Jessie made for him a table scarf which he admired greatly. He was also given some clothing and other necessities by Mr. Wadsworth, and when dressed up made as neat and handsome an appearance as any lad in Crumville.
"Now, you are going to be a regular member of the family," said Jessie, as she gave him a warm smile.
"I'm afraid yet that it is all a dream," said Dave, with a little laugh. "I can't really make myself believe that it's all true."
"You'll know it's true when you get to grinding away at your books."
"Oh, that won't bother me," answered Dave, with a smile.
One day when Dave was on an errand to the post office he met Nat Poole, the lordly son of the man who had held the mortgage on the farm. The young fellow was loudly dressed, and was smoking a cigarette.
"Say, you're Dave Porter, ain't you?" questioned Nat Poole, as he strode up to Dave.
"I am, and I believe you are Nat Poole," was the quiet answer.
"You've struck it rich since you moved to Wadsworth's place," sneered Nat Poole.
"I have struck it rich, for which I am thankful."
"Wadsworth must be a softy to take you in."
"I'd like to know what business it is of yours," retorted Dave.
"Humph! Can't I say what I think?"
"You say too much."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You came over to the farm on an errand for your father and you insulted Mr. Potts—said he was a lunatic and all that. I don't like that sort of talk."
"I only told the truth."
"Mr. Potts is no more crazy than you are."
"We have a difference of opinion on that point."
"It was a mean thing to do, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself for doing it," went on Dave.
"Look here! I won't have you talking to me in this fashion!" roared Nat. "I'm a gentleman, I am, and I want you to know it!"
"No gentleman would treat an old man like that."
Dave had scarcely spoken when Nat Poole stepped forward and caught him by the coat collar.
"You take care!" he blustered.
"Let go of me, Nat Poole," was the quiet but firm answer. "Let go, do you hear?"
"I'll let go when I choose."
"If you don't let go I'll knock you down."
Dave's eyes were blazing, and his lips were pressed tightly together. He doubled up his right fist, and Nat Poole released his hold without delay.
"I won't fight with such a low fellow as you," muttered the rich youth.
"I am not as low a fellow as you are. I know how to behave myself."
"Humph! You're nothing but a poorhouse boy."
At these words Dave's face reddened. Only once, years before, had he been insulted like this, but he had never forgotten it. It had made him run away, wild with a grief and a rage that he could not master.
"You—you——" he began, but did not finish. He might have hit the rich boy, but Nat Poole retreated quickly.
"Don't you dare to talk to me like that again!" Dave went on, hotly. "Don't you dare! If you do, you'll be sorry as long as you live!" He came after Nat again, but the other youth retreated still further.
"Guess you don't like the truth," muttered the rich boy, and then left the post office and disappeared.
One man had heard the quarrel, the postmaster's assistant. He gazed at Dave admiringly.
"You served him properly," said he. "He ought to have been knocked down."
"I suppose because he is rich he thinks he can say anything," returned Dave, rather bitterly.
"Oh, you mustn't mind such cads, Dave. I understand Nat is worrying his old man a good deal. He's wanting spending money all the time, and he blows it in on cigarettes, pool playing, and theaters."
"It's a wonder his father will allow it."
"Somebody told me he was going to send Nat to a boarding school—some strict place where he would have to toe the chalk mark. It's what that high-flyer needs."
"Perhaps; but if he gets into a wild set, it may make him wilder than ever."
"That is true."
"I am going to a boarding school soon," continued Dave. "It's a fine institution in Massachusetts called Oak Hall."
"You're in luck. I suppose Mr. Wadsworth is sending you."
"Yes."
"He's the most public-spirited man in Crumville. He pays fine wages, and all his employees think the world of him. He has furnished them with a free reading room, and a gymnasium, and lots of other things. I wish we had more men like him," added the postmaster's assistant.
"Where is Mr. Poole going to send Nat?"
"I don't know. They had several places in mind, I believe."
After that the days flew by swiftly. Dave applied himself to his studies, and a week before the time came to depart for Oak Hall, Caspar Potts announced to Mr. Wadsworth that the youth was fully competent to enter the next to the highest class at the academy.
At last came the day when Dave was to leave. His trunk had been packed and sent off the day before, and he had his railroad ticket and ten dollars tucked away in his pocket. Mrs. Wadsworth had presented him with a neat silver watch, and Jessie had added a chain and locket, the latter with his monogram engraved upon it. He wished he had her picture in the locket, but he did not have the courage to ask for it.
Mr. Wadsworth took him to the depot, accompanied by Caspar Potts, and at the station they fell in with Ben Basswood.
"I thought I'd come to bid you good-bye," said Ben. "I can tell you, I wish I was going too."
"You must get to Oak Hall somehow, Ben," returned Dave.
Now that he was really starting out it must be confessed that Dave felt just a bit queer. Since coming to Crumville he had never been many miles from home, nor among those who were utter strangers to him.
"I hope you don't get homesick, Dave," said Caspar Potts, kindly. "If you do, fight it off right at the start—don't brood over it."
"We'll write to you from time to time," added Oliver Wadsworth, "and you must write in return."
"I'll certainly do that, Mr. Wadsworth."
"I'll write too," added Ben Basswood, "and I want you to tell me just what kind of a school it is, Dave."
The train soon rolled into the station, and with a handshaking all around, Dave climbed on board. The car was only half filled, so he found a whole seat, and sat down by the open window. Then he waved those on the platform a parting adieu, and the train rolled away.
"And now for Oak Hall," murmured the boy, and heaved a little sigh, he could not tell exactly why. He felt as if he was entering another world, and so he was,—the world of school—with all its ups and downs, its friendships and its enmities, its studies and its sports—a world in which he was to fight a hard battle from start to finish, and one in which certain affairs were to happen which would fill him with perplexity and astonishment.