The New Boy at Hilltop | Page 2

bad. Maybe, though,
they'll give me another room if I kick. Don't see why I can't have a
room by myself, anyhow. I guess I'll get dad to write and ask for it.
Only maybe a chap in moderate circumstances like me isn't supposed to
have a room all to himself."
He chuckled softly and looked about him.
Number 12 consisted of a small study and a good-sized sleeping room
opening off. The study was well furnished, even if the carpet was worn
bare in spots and the green-topped table was a mass of ink blots. There
were two comfortable armchairs and two straight-backed chairs, the
aforementioned table, two bookcases, one on each side of the window,
a wicker wastebasket and two or three pictures. Also there was an
inviting window seat heaped with faded cushions. On the whole,
Kenneth decided, the study, seen in the soft radiance of the droplight,
had a nice "homey" look. He crossed over and examined the bedroom,
drawing aside the faded brown chenille curtain to let in the light. There
wasn't much to see--two iron beds, two chiffoniers, two chairs, a trunk
bearing the initials "J. A. B." and a washstand. The floor was bare save
for three rugs, one beside each bed and one in front of the washstand.

The two windows had white muslin curtains and a couple of
uninteresting pictures hung on the walls. He dropped the curtain at the
door, placed his suit case on a chair and opened it. For the next few
minutes he was busy distributing its contents. To do this it was
necessary to light the gas in the bedroom and as it flared up, its light
was reflected from the gleaming backs of a set of silver brushes which
he had placed a moment before on the top of the chiffonier. He paused
for a moment and eyed them doubtfully.
"Gee!" he muttered. "I can't have those out. I'll have to buy some
brushes."
He gathered them up and tumbled them back into his suit case. Finally,
with everything put away, he took off coat and vest, collar and, cuffs,
and proceeded to wash up. And while he is doing it let us have a good
look at him.
He was fourteen years of age, but he looked older. Not that he was
large for his age; it was rather the expression of his face that added that
mythical year or so. He looked at once self-reliant and reserved. At first
glance one might have thought him conceited, in which case one would
have done him an injustice. Kenneth had traveled a good deal and had
seen more of the world than has the average boy of his age, and this
had naturally left its impress on his countenance. I can't honestly say
that he was handsome, and I don't think you will be disappointed to
hear it. But he was good-looking, with nice, quiet gray eyes, an aquiline
nose, a fairly broad mouth whose smiles meant more for being
infrequent, and a firm, rather pointed chin of the sort which is popularly
supposed to, and in Kenneth's case really did, denote firmness of
character. His hair was brown and quite guiltless of curl. His body was
well set up and he carried himself with a little backward thrust of the
head and shoulders which might have seemed arrogant, but wasn't, any
more than was his steady, level manner of looking at one.
Presently, having donned his clothes once more, he picked up a book
from the study table, pulled one of the chairs toward the light and set
himself comfortably therein, stretching his legs out and letting his
elbows sink into the padded leather arms. And so he sat when, after

twenty minutes or so, there were sounds outside the building plainly
denoting the arrival of students, sounds followed by steps on the stairs,
shouts, laughter, happy greetings, the thumping of bags, the clinking of
keys. And so he sat when the door of Number 12 was suddenly thrown
wide open and a merry face, flushed with the cold, looked amazedly
upon him from between the high, shaggy, upturned collar of a
voluminous dark gray ulster and the soft visor of a rakishly tilted cap.

II
And while Kenneth looked back, he felt his prejudices melting away.
Surely one couldn't dislike for very long such a jolly,
mischievous-looking youth as this! Of Kenneth's own age was the
newcomer, a little heavier, yellow-haired and blue-eyed, at once
impetuous and good-humored. But at this moment the good-humor was
not greatly in evidence. Merriment gave place to surprise, surprise to
resentment on the boy's countenance.
"Hello!" he challenged.
Kenneth laid the book face down on his knee and smiled politely.
"How do you do?" he responded.
The newcomer