The Pennimore country place, Sound View, lies within a half mile of the school buildings and adjoins the school property on the west. Taking the path across The Prospect, as the terrace of lawn in front of Oxford Hall was called, descending a flight of steps, crossing the curving drive and continuing the path again beyond, you come to a rustic bridge which surmounts a twenty-foot cut. Through this the railroad runs almost due east and west, in the latter direction ultimately reaching, like so many of the boys who graduate in sight of the cut, the city of New Haven. Eastward, at a nearly corresponding distance, lies Newport. But Kendall was thinking of neither New Haven nor Newport, as, shortly after morning church the next day, he crossed the bridge and entered the woods. He was taking the shortest route to Sound View and he was wondering whether the suit of clothes he had put on in honor of the occasion really looked as well as it had seemed to him. He had brushed and rebrushed for a quarter of an hour, and had worked with soap and water and a corner of a towel for as much longer in an attempt to eradicate stains from the jacket. The latter effort had not been altogether successful, but he flattered himself that if you didn’t look very close you couldn’t see the obnoxious spots. At the dividing of the path he chose the right-hand way and in a minute or two came within sight of the high fence which divided the school grounds from Mr. Pennimore’s land. It was a warm but cloudy afternoon, with a little gusty breeze coming in off the Sound and lazily moving the leaves. Presently he reached a narrow gate set in the fence. There was a round hole in it and he put his hand through and lifted a latch on the further side. Then he stepped in, wound by a broad bed of shrubbery, following a well-trodden path, and found himself finally on the seaward side of the big stone house with a wide expanse of lawn and flower-beds and borders of shrubs near at hand, and the Sound, looking rather green and sullen to-day, stretching away into the distance beyond. A big white steam yacht swung idly at her moorings off the mouth of the river and near a long steel and granite wharf. A sudden barking of dogs brought Kendall’s gaze back to the direction of the house just in time for him to see Gerald vault over the low wall of the terrace and start to meet him. An instant later a wire-haired terrier rushed down the steps, frantic with excitement, followed more leisurely by a red setter.

“Hello,” called Gerald. “I thought you’d missed your way! Why didn’t you come earlier?”

“Well, you said to come for dinner,” replied Kendall, stooping to pat the setter who was wagging him a welcome. “I thought half-past twelve was early enough. What’s his name, Gerald?”

“The setter’s? His name is Jack. I’ve had him for years. The other little duffer, who wants to sample your trousers, but doesn’t quite dare to, is Three Foot, so called because when he is very anxious to get anywhere he picks up one foot and travels on the other three. Come on up and sit down. Warm, isn’t it? Dad had to go down to New York last night and hasn’t got back yet. I sent the car over to meet the eleven-thirty train, but he wasn’t on it. He will be sorry not to be here to meet you. You’ve never met the Dad, have you?”

“Once for a minute or two last Spring, over at Broadwood. But I guess he wouldn’t remember me.”

“Don’t you believe it! Dad never forgets anything. Sit down and get cool. Have some water or a glass of ginger ale or something?”

Kendall declined as he sank into a long rattan chair and fanned himself with his hat. “Is that your yacht?” he asked.

“Yes—that is, it’s Dad’s. Mine is a bit smaller.” Gerald smiled. “About a hundred and twenty-five feet shorter. We’ll try her after dinner. I asked Harry Merrow to go along. Don’t mind, do you?”

“Not a bit. I like Merrow, although I don’t know him very well. He spoke to me the other day after mathematics and we had a talk.”

“He’s a very decent kid. I suppose,” Gerald added with a laugh, “he’s only a year younger than I am, but he’s always seemed a lot younger to me.”

“I guess he’s about sixteen. You’re seventeen, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I’ll be eighteen next Fall when I get to Yale. I suppose that’s early enough, but I’d have made it this year if Dad hadn’t kept me on a diet of tutors for so long. It was funny the way I happened to go to Yardley. Jack was mixed up in it, weren’t you, old doggums?”

Jack, stretched on the stones at Gerald’s feet, thumped his tail affirmatively.

“How did it happen?” asked Kendall.

“Well, over there near where you came through the gate I used to have a playhouse when I was a kid. Once somebody gave me a fireman’s uniform as a present; you know, red blouse and helmet and a brass trumpet and so on. So one day I thought it would be a bright idea to have a real fire and do a rescue stunt. So I put on my fireman’s outfit, got an ax from the stable, shut Jack in the playhouse and set fire to it.”

“Thunder!” exclaimed Kendall.

“Also lightning,” agreed Gerald. “It was a fool thing to do and Jack might have been burned to a crisp because I locked the door and threw the key away for some unknown reason. And the first thing I knew the place was burning like a bonfire. Not that I was troubling much, however. I’d brought along a couple of those chemical extinguishers from the house and my plan was to break open the door, rescue Jack heroically, just like a sure-enough fire-fighter, and then put out the flames with the extinguishers. Poor old Jack was howling like a good one, and I was telling him to keep his courage up or something like that when a fellow sang out from the other side of the fence and wanted to know what I was doing. I told him and invited him over to help. I think he called me a silly little fool, which was impolite but dreadfully true. Then he jumped over, grabbed the ax away from me and beat in the door. The place was just a mass of flames inside and Jack was stretched out like dead. I guess the poor old fellow was scared stiff. So then there was nothing to do but go in and get him. The trouble was that after I reached Jack I was too choked up with smoke and too frightened to get out again, and if the other chap hadn’t lugged us both out—well, you wouldn’t be sitting here; and neither would I, nor Jack. We all got scorched a little and we boys were put to bed and had to be dosed and fixed up by the doctor, and there was a big old fuss.”

“What an awful thing to do!” said Kendall. “Why, you might have been burned horribly. Who was the other boy?”

“Dan Vinton. And that’s how I happened to go to Yardley to school. I’d had about half a dozen tutors and none of them would stay very long because I was a mean little brat and made their lives a burden to them, I guess. Dad sort of fell in love with Dan, just as I did, and after a while, when I insisted that I wouldn’t be happy if I couldn’t go to Yardley, Dad let me go on the understanding that Dan was to take charge of me. You see, Dad was away a good deal more then than he is now. So I went to room with Dan, and he made me toe the mark, too. I was like a kid with three nurses, for when Dan wasn’t looking after me then Alf Loring or Tom Dyer was! Well, I had my troubles for a while, but I got through with them. It did me a lot of good, I tell you, Kendall, for I was in a fair way to become a conceited, puny little idiot. Why, I didn’t know what it was to be hungry until I went to Yardley and played football and lived out of doors! I tell you, the fellow that doesn’t go to a school where he can mix with other fellows and be thrown on his own resources and fight his own battles is mighty unfortunate.”

“I suppose so,” agreed Kendall, “but it must be pretty hard on some fellows. Take chaps who are shy and have been made a lot of at home, Gerald; I guess they get pretty unhappy sometimes at boarding school.”

“Rather! I was so homesick and—and miserable that I ran away once and went home to New York. And Dan came after me and lugged me back. Oh, I know what it is about as well as any fellow. And that’s why I always try to be friendly with the youngsters that come to school looking as though they were walking into a den of lions. You come across them every day at this time of year, trailing around by themselves and looking sort of red about the eyes and doleful all over. I know about how they feel; homesick and scared of the other fellows and scared of faculty and scared of their lessons. It’s bad while it lasts, but it doesn’t last long. Some morning you wake up with an appetite for breakfast that almost makes you ache; and some fellow says, ‘Hello, kid,’ to you as you go downstairs, and smiles at you or maybe claps you on the back, and you eat a big breakfast and sort of look around and think how jolly everything looks and how friendly the fellows seem all of a sudden. And you wake up to the fact that you belong, that you’re one of the crowd, that you’re a Yardley Hall fellow. And you walk out of commons with a bit of a swagger and begin to try and decide whether to be captain of the football team or a First Honors man!”

Kendall smiled appreciatively. He had been through it himself and it was just as Gerald had described it. And he believed he knew a little better now why Gerald had picked him for a roommate!

“Another thing,” continued Gerald, rubbing Jack’s ribs with one foot, “that sort of thing has to come some time, anyway. I mean that—that stage-fright or whatever you want to call it. If you don’t go through with it at prep school you’ll have to face it later; perhaps when you go to college or perhaps when you go into business. Every fellow has to face it some time. It’s a good deal like being tossed into the water and told to swim. You swim after a fashion—because you have to to keep afloat, but you’re scared to death at first. After a bit you like it and they can’t keep you out of the water unless they tie you up!”

“That’s something I can’t do,” said Kendall, “swim.”

“You can’t?” asked Gerald incredulously. “It’s high time you learned then. Where have you been all your life?”

“On a farm,” laughed Kendall. “I’m a hayseed.”

“Aren’t afraid of the water, are you?”

“N-no, I think not. I rather like it, only I’ve never tried to swim in it.”

“That’s good. Just as long as you aren’t scared at the outset you’ll get on all right. You want to keep in your mind the fact that the Lord gave you air to breathe in, ground to walk on and water to swim in, and that you’re just about as safe one place as another. I’ll have to take you in hand some day soon and teach you to swim.”

“I wish you would. I’ve always wanted to know how.”

A minute later they went in to dinner, followed by the two dogs, and sat at opposite sides of a round table and were attended by a serious-faced butler. Kendall held the butler in a good deal of awe and marveled at the casual, almost disrespectful way in which his host addressed that functionary. Once or twice he almost held his breath for fear that the butler, whose name appeared to be Murdock at times and at other times Scout, would take umbrage at the way in which Gerald bossed him around. And when, finally, Gerald said carelessly, “That’s all, Murdock, for a while. Just beat it, will you?” Kendall was quite sure that Murdock would immediately pack his trunk and leave. But he didn’t, for when it was time for the dessert Gerald pressed a button and Murdock noiselessly reappeared, just as though nothing had happened. That dinner was one to remember and dream about, and both boys, though more especially Kendall, enjoyed it heartily from the funny little disks of toast covered with some sort of paste that tasted like fish, and which, following Gerald’s lead, Kendall anointed with lemon-juice, to the black coffee served in cups so frail that Kendall almost feared to lift one.

Afterwards they went upstairs to Gerald’s room and saw his treasures of various kinds and sat in a broad window-seat that overlooked the Sound. And at about three a maid announced the arrival of Harry Merrow, and they arose with sighs and returned to the terrace.

Harry Merrow didn’t look to be sixteen by a full year. He was small of build and slim of body, with a somewhat thin face that lacked color. He had nice eyes, which were the saving of an otherwise rather featureless face. He jumped out of a chair as the other boys emerged from the house and came to meet them.

“It’s all right,” he announced merrily. “I’ve insured my life for its full value, Gerald, and now where’s the boat?”

“I guess you didn’t have to pay a very heavy premium,” Gerald laughed. “Come inside and let’s get some sweaters. It may be cold on the water, even if it isn’t here.”

The dogs accompanied them down to the pier, barking excitedly, but there Gerald sent them sternly back to the house. The launch, which rocked gently at the side of the float, won loud praise from Harry.

“Say, Gerald, she’s a beauty! When did you get her? This summer? How fast can she go? My wordy, look at all the brass on her! Glad I don’t have to keep her polished.”

The Dart was eighteen feet over all, with a six foot beam. She had a cruising cabin with two bunks and a tiny galley. Her hull was of white cedar painted light gray, with a gold line, while the inboard finish was mahogany. She was a handsome little craft, and even Kendall, whose knowledge of boats was limited, knew that she was a launch to be proud of. The boys sprang aboard and looked her all over from stem to stern. Harry had to stretch out on a bunk before he was satisfied, and insisted on having the small stove lighted so he could see just how it worked. Finally, returning to the cockpit, Gerald started the engine, Harry, under his directions, cast off the moorings, and The Dart headed out to sea.