“If he needs some coaching next summer,” said Tom, “I’ll see that he gets it.”
“You might coach him yourself, Tommy,” suggested Dan.
“He said he was sixteen now,” pondered Bob. “That would make him seventeen when he entered. Rather old for the junior class, eh?”
“What of it?” asked Nelson. “I’ll see that he knows some good fellows, and I don’t believe any chap’s going to make fun of him when they know about him. Besides, maybe we can get him into the lower middle class.”
“That’s so,” said Tom. “Anyway, I’ll bet he’s the sort that can learn fast and remember things. Wish I could.”
“Here’s a romantic-looking well,” said Dan, “and I’m thirsty. That bacon was a trifle salt. Let’s go in and interview the old oaken bucket.”
The well stood in front of a little white house, and as they went up the walk a woman put her head around the corner of the open door. Dan doffed his cap gallantly.
“May we borrow a drink of water?” he asked politely.
The woman nodded and smiled, and Tom began winding the old-fashioned windlass. When the bucket--which turned out to be tin instead of oak--made its appearance the four dipped their cups.
“Fellow tramps,” declaimed Dan, “let us drink a health to Jerry. May he be a credit to Hillton!”
“To our _protégé_!” they echoed, and drank merrily.
INTRODUCES MR. WILLIAM HOOPER AND AN IMPROMPTU SUPPER
By the time they had regained the Jericho road they had walked nearly twelve miles, and it was close to six o’clock. It had been slow going for the last two hours, for the distance had begun to tell on them, especially on Dan and Tom. Nelson and Bob, who had been at Camp Chicora for ten weeks, were in pretty good training, but even they were tired.
“Now what?” asked Dan, as they paused at the junction of the two roads.
“Well, Jericho’s a good mile and a half back, according to the map,” answered Bob. “Suppose we find Bill Hooper’s place and see if he will give us some supper. After that we can go on to Jericho and find a place to sleep.”
“All right, but are you sure there’s a hotel at Jericho?” said Nelson.
So they turned to the right and made toward the nearest farmhouse, a half mile distant. It proved on nearer acquaintance to be a prosperous-looking, well-kept place, with acres and acres of land to it and a big white house flanked by a much bigger red barn. They made their way up a lane under the branches of spreading elm trees, and knocked at the front door. Presently footsteps sounded inside and the portal swung open, revealing a thickset elderly man, whose morose, suspicious face was surrounded by a fringe of grizzled beard and whiskers.