Tom Fairfield's Schooldays: or, The Chums of Elmwood Hall. Chapman Allen
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me if I went to a cracker-jack school like Elmwood Hall, and had a runabout like that.”
“Me either,” added Dick.
“Well, you never can tell,” spoke Tom, as he thought of the sad look on the senior’s face – a look that had returned several times during the talk, in spite of the frequent smiles. “He seems like a nice sort of chap.”
“Did he say what his trouble was?” asked Will.
“No, and I didn’t ask him. Said some man had it in for him. Look out where you’re steering, Dick.”
“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Dick, who had requested Tom to let him take the wheel for a time.
“There’s a big rock somewhere out here,” went on the owner of the motorboat. “I must mark it with a buoy, or I’ll hit it myself some night. Keep more to the left.”
Dick spun the wheel over, and the boys rode on, talking of many things.
“Where do you think you’ll go to school this fall?” asked Will of Tom.
“Oh, back to the Academy, I suppose.”
“Why, you graduated from there in June!”
“I know I did, but there’s going to be a post-graduate class formed, I hear. Going to take up first year college work, and dad talks of sending me. I wish I could go to Elmwood Hall, though, or some place like that.”
“So do I!” cried Will.
“Boarding school’s the place!” affirmed Dick, with energy. “I’d like to go to one.”
They had reached the other side of the river now and Dick Jones, who had been sent by his father to take a message to a lumberman, started off on his errand, Will and Tom promising to wait for him in the motorboat. When Dick returned on the run, Tom yielded to the request of the two lads, and took them for a run up the stream.
“That is, unless you have something to do, Tom,” spoke Will.
“No, I’m going to have all the fun I can before school opens, that’s all. And it will do the engine good to run a bit and get rid of the oil that chump Dent let run in.”
The boys were out in the motorboat for about two hours, and, on nearing the dock on the return trip, Dick remarked:
“That fellow’s auto is gone.”
“Is my boat there?” asked Tom, who was tinkering with the motor of his craft.
“Yes,” replied Will, who was steering.
“All right; I guess that fellow got tired of rowing, or maybe he thought of a way out of his troubles, and came in.”
When Tom had made fast his motorboat, he went to the rowing craft to see if it was in good condition. He saw a piece of paper on one of the seats, held down by a little stone. Picking it up he read:
“Many thanks for the use of your boat. I had a fine row, and I feel better, though I’m as much up a tree as ever. I hope to see you again, sometime. If ever you are near Elmwood Hall, look me up.
“That was nice of him,” remarked Will, as Tom showed him the note.
“And he didn’t damage your boat any,” spoke Dick.
“No, he knows how to handle ’em – he rows on the Elmwood Hall crew,” said Tom. “Well, so long, fellows. I’m going for a long run to-morrow, if you’d like to come.”
“Sure!” they chorused.
But Tom was not destined to take that long run on the morrow, for, when he reached his home, not far from the river, he heard strange tidings, that made quite a difference in his plans.
As Tom entered the house he saw his father holding a letter, that he had evidently been reading to his wife, and discussing with her. There was a look of concern on the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Brokaw Fairfield.
“What’s the matter?” asked Tom, quickly. “Any bad news?”
“No, not exactly bad news, Tom,” replied his father. “But it is news, and it’s going to make quite a difference to us – to you also.”
“What is it?”
“You remember that property in Australia, Tom, which was left to me by an uncle; don’t you?” asked Mr. Fairfield.
“Yes,” replied our hero, for he had often heard the inheritance mentioned. “What about it?”
“Well, I’ve been trying to dispose of it, and have the money from the sale sent to me here, but it seems that some trouble has arisen, and I’ve got to go there to straighten it out. I tried to do it by correspondence, but I have just received a letter from a lawyer in Sydney, saying that my personal presence is needed, or I may lose it all. So – ”
“Your father and I have decided to go to Australia!” suddenly broke in Mrs. Fairfield, anxious to get the worst over. “Oh, Tom, I don’t want to go at all, and leave you behind, but I’ve got to!”
“What!” cried Tom. “Can’t I go? You two going to Australia, and leaving me alone here? Oh, say, now – ”
“Wait, Tom,” cautioned his father with a smile, “we’re not going to leave you alone, exactly. Besides, there is your education to think of, and we may be gone for many months.”
“Oh, but I say – ” began Tom again.
“Now, dear son,” began his mother in a gentle voice, “we have it all planned out for you. You are to go to boarding school while we are away.”
“Boarding school!” Tom’s eyes began to sparkle. After all, this might be as good as going to Australia.
“Yes,” said his father, “and we have picked out – ”
“Elmwood Hall!” broke in Mrs. Fairfield, unable to let her husband tell all the news.
“Elmwood Hall!” cried Tom, thinking of the note in his pocket from Bruce Bennington.
“Yes,” spoke Mr. Fairfield, “though if you’d rather go to some other place it may be arranged. But your mother and I picked out Elmwood Hall, and – ”
“Elmwood Hall!” cried Tom again. “Say, that’s all right. I’m satisfied! That beats Australia. When are you going? When can I start for Elmwood? Have you got a catalog from there? Say, I’ve got something to tell you!” and Tom, overcoming a desire to stand on his head, pulled out the note Bruce had left in his boat.
“Elmwood Hall!” exclaimed Tom again. “This is the best ever!”
CHAPTER II
THE DRIFTING BOAT
“What makes you so enthusiastic about Elmwood Hall, Tom?” asked Mr. Fairfield, when his son had somewhat calmed down. “I didn’t know you knew much about it.”
“I don’t except what I’ve heard and read, but it just happens that I met a fellow from there to-day.” And Tom told of his talk with Bruce Bennington, showing his parents the letter.
“Hum, that is rather odd,” spoke Mr. Fairfield. “I wonder what his trouble could have been? Bennington – Bennington. I’ve heard that name before. Oh, I know; Mr. Bennington is a millionaire manufacturer. That must be his son, though if he’s in trouble I should think Mr. Bennington would help him out.”
“Maybe it isn’t money,” spoke Tom. “But, anyhow, I’m glad I’m going to Elmwood, and maybe I’ll get chummy with Bruce Bennington, though there’s not much chance, for he’s a Senior, and I’ll be a Freshman.”
“I hope, if you can, that you’ll help him,” said Mrs. Fairfield. “And oh, Tom, do you think they’ll haze you?”
“If they do, I guess I can stand it,” replied her son. “Everyone has to be hazed. I won’t mind. But now tell me something about going to Australia.”
“It’s