Dave Porter at Oak Hall. Stratemeyer Edward

like to know what business it is of yours," retorted Dave.

      "Humph! Can't I say what I think?"

      "You say too much."

      "What do you mean by that?"

      "You came over to the farm on an errand for ​your father and you insulted Mr. Potts—said he was a lunatic and all that. I don't like that sort of talk."

      "I only told the truth."

      "Mr. Potts is no more crazy than you are."

      "We have a difference of opinion on that point."

      "It was a mean thing to do, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself for doing it," went on Dave.

      "Look here! I won't have you talking to me in this fashion!" roared Nat. "I'm a gentleman, I am, and I want you to know it!"

      "No gentleman would treat an old man like that."

      Dave had scarcely spoken when Nat Poole stepped forward and caught him by the coat collar.

      "You take care!" he blustered.

      "Let go of me, Nat Poole," was the quiet but firm answer. "Let go, do you hear?"

      "I'll let go when I choose."

      "If you don't let go I'll knock you down."

      Dave's eyes were blazing, and his lips were pressed tightly together. He doubled up his right fist, and Nat Poole released his hold without delay.

      "I won't fight with such a low fellow as you," muttered the rich youth.

      "I am not as low a fellow as you are. I know how to behave myself."

      ​"Humph! You're nothing but a poorhouse boy."

      At these words Dave's face reddened. Only once, years before, had he been insulted like this, but he had never forgotten it. It had made him run away, wild with a grief and a rage that he could not master.

      "You—you——" he began, but did not finish. He might have hit the rich boy, but Nat Poole retreated quickly.

      "Don't you dare to talk to me like that again!" Dave went on, hotly. "Don't you dare! If you do, you'll be sorry as long as you live!" He came after Nat again, but the other youth retreated still further.

      "Guess you don't like the truth," muttered the rich boy, and then left the post office and disappeared.

      One man had heard the quarrel, the postmaster's assistant. He gazed at Dave admiringly.

      "You served him properly," said he. "He ought to have been knocked down."

      "I suppose because he is rich he thinks he can say anything," returned Dave, rather bitterly.

      "Oh, you mustn't mind such cads, Dave. I understand Nat is worrying his old man a good deal. He's wanting spending money all the time, and he blows it in on cigarettes, pool playing, and theaters."

      ​"It's a wonder his father will allow it."

      "Somebody told me he was going to send Nat to a boarding school—some strict place where he would have to toe the chalk mark. It's what that high-flyer needs."

      "Perhaps; but if he gets into a wild set, it may make him wilder than ever."

      "That is true."

      "I am going to a boarding school soon," continued Dave. "It's a fine institution in Massachusetts called Oak Hall."

      "You're in luck. I suppose Mr. Wadsworth is sending you."

      "Yes."

      "He's the most public-spirited man in Crumville. He pays fine wages, and all his employees think the world of him. He has furnished them with a free reading room, and a gymnasium, and lots of other things. I wish we had more men like him," added the postmaster's assistant.

      "Where is Mr. Poole going to send Nat?"

      "I don't know. They had several places in mind, I believe."

      After that the days flew by swiftly. Dave applied himself to his studies, and a week before the time came to depart for Oak Hall, Caspar Potts announced to Mr. Wadsworth that the youth was fully competent to enter the next to the highest class at the academy.

      ​At last came the day when Dave was to leave. His trunk had been packed and sent off the day before, and he had his railroad ticket and ten dollars tucked away in his pocket. Mrs. Wadsworth had presented him with a neat silver watch, and Jessie had added a chain and locket, the latter with his monogram engraved upon it. He wished he had her picture in the locket, but he did not have the courage to ask for it.

      Mr. Wadsworth took him to the depot, accompanied by Caspar Potts, and at the station they fell in with Ben Basswood.

      "I thought I'd come to bid you good-bye," said Ben. "I can tell you, I wish I was going too."

      "You must get to Oak Hall somehow, Ben," returned Dave.

      Now that he was really starting out it must be confessed that Dave felt just a bit queer. Since coming to Crumville he had never been many miles from home, nor among those who were utter strangers to him.

      "I hope you don't get homesick, Dave," said Caspar Potts, kindly. "If you do, fight it off right at the start—don't brood over it."

      "We'll write to you from time to time," added Oliver Wadsworth, "and you must write in return."

      "I'll certainly do that, Mr. Wadsworth."

      ​"I'll write too," added Ben Basswood, "and I want you to tell me just what kind of a school it is, Dave."

      The train soon rolled into the station, and with a handshaking all around, Dave climbed on board. The car was only half filled, so he found a whole seat, and sat down by the open window. Then he waved those on the platform a parting adieu, and the train rolled away.

      "And now for Oak Hall," murmured the boy, and heaved a little sigh, he could not tell exactly why. He felt as if he was entering another world, and so he was—the world of school—with all its ups and downs, its friendships and its enmities, its studies and its sports—a world in which he was to fight a hard battle from start to finish, and one in which certain affairs were to happen which would fill him with perplexity and astonishment.

      ​

      CHAPTER VII

      A STRANGER AND HIS VALISE

       Table of Contents

      Dave had brought with him a magazine to read, but for the present he preferred to look out of the wide-open window at the scenery as it appeared to rush past. Crumville was soon lost in the distance, and they crossed the river running to the Sound, and then began to climb a long hill dotted with farms in a high state of cultivation. Next came a wood, and beyond this was a small town where the train made its next stop.

      The seat across the aisle from the youth was vacant, and presently this was taken by a sleek-looking individual dressed in a suit of gray and wearing a mourning band on his derby hat. The stranger carried a good-sized valise, which he stowed on the seat beside him with care.

      "Rather warm," he remarked, looking at the boy with a smile on his shrewd face.

      "It is," returned Dave, politely. For some reason he did not fancy the appearance of the newcomer.

      "It's hot work carrying a heavy valise," went ​on the stranger. "Had to tramp half around town with it, too."

      To this Dave made no reply, and for several minutes there was silence. The stranger gazed out of the window anxiously, and looking in the direction Dave noticed a white mansion standing on a small rise of ground. The place was well-kept, as if belonging to a family