: Full-Back Foster by Barbour Ralph Henry Caswell Edward C Illustrator - Schools Juvenile fiction; Football Juvenile fiction

@FreeBooksWed 07 Jun, 2023

Posted in: #FreeBooks #FreeBooksIndia #FreeBooksApp #gg

Vote Up Vote Down

other buildings very effectually he could hear the patter of feet on gravel and steps, voices in shouts or laughter and, from somewhere, the tuning of a banjo. As he looked down, leaning from the sill, two lads came across the grass and paused a little further along under a window. They were in flannels, and one carried a racket. They tilted their heads and hailed:

"O Jimmy! Jimmy Lynde! He-e-ey, Jimmy! Jimmy-y-y!"

After a moment a voice answered from a neighbouring window: "Hello, Gus, you old rascal! 'Lo, Petey! How's everything?"

"Lovely. Come and have a game. Channing's over there, and he and Pete'll play you and me. Huh? Oh, forget it! There's oodles of time for that. All right, hustle along. We'll go on over. Get a move on!"

The two waved and turned toward the gymnasium. Myron felt a trifle lonesome when they had gone, for it came to him that he was a stranger in a strange land. He wondered how long it would be before fellows stopped under his window and called to him. It probably didn't take long to get acquainted, he decided, but still he sort of wished he knew at least one of his school-fellows as a starter. Perhaps, after all, it would have been nicer to have had a room-mate. Personally, he hadn't cared much one way or the other, but his mother had exclaimed in horror at the idea of his sharing his room with a strange boy. "Why, you can't tell what sort of a person he might be, Myron dear," she had protested. "Of course we know that Parkinson is one of the nicest schools and that some of the very best people send their sons there, but nowadays it's quite impossible to keep the wrong sort out of anywhere. It would be awful if you found yourself with some dreadful low kind of boy." So Myron had said, "Oh, all right, Mater," and dismissed the notion. And maybe she was right, too, for it would be a frightful bore to have to live in such close quarters with some "roughneck." On the whole he guessed he was better off alone, even if he did feel rather lonely for a few days.

Myron pulled the portal open. Framed in the doorway stood a veritable giant of a boy, a battered valise in each hand, a ragged-edged stiff straw hat tilted far back from his perspiring countenance and a none too clean handkerchief dangling from inside a wilted collar.

"Atta boy!" said the stranger genially, and then, to Myron's amazement, he piled into the study, fairly sweeping the other aside, dropped his bags with mighty thuds on the floor and mopped his broad face with the dangling handkerchief. "Geewhillikins, but that's some tote, kiddo!" he observed with an all-encompassing grin. "I'm sweating like a horse!"

"It is warm," replied Myron in a voice that was quite otherwise. "But haven't you--er--made a mistake?"

"Watyer mean, mistake?" asked the other, puzzled.

"In the room. This is seventeen."

"Sure! That's all right. I just came from the Office. That Hoyt guy said seventeen. And, say, kiddo, it's some swell dive, ain't it? Guess you and I are lucky guys, all right, to get it, eh?"

SO DOES JOE DOBBINS

Free books android app tbrJar TBR JAR Read Free books online gutenberg

Login to post a comment!