"You refer to my friend from Africa? We'll talk about that after dinner.

Gumbo soup and Spanish mackerel if you please. Sharp, now!"

"But, sah"--

"Don't be afflicted, my friend. He's as white as anybody, except on Fridays: this is his black day. Hurry up the soup and fish."

Joe and Fuz were looking as if they were dreadfully ashamed of something; but poor d.i.c.k was sitting up as straight as a ramrod, under the influence of a glance that he had taken at the face of Dab Kinzer.

"I isn't goin' back on him and Ford," he said to himself. "I'd foller dem fellers right fru' dis yer eatin'-house."

Frank Harley seemed to be getting some information. In the country he had lived in nearly all his life, "colored people" were as good as anybody if they were of the right sort; and a man's skin had little to do with the degree of respect paid him, although even there it was an excellent thing to be "white."

As for the mulatto waiter, after a moment more of hesitation, he took Ford's order, and walked dignifiedly away, muttering,--

"Nebber seen de like afore. Reckon I isn't g'wine to tote soup and fish for no n.i.g.g.e.r: I'll see de boss."

That meant an appeal to the lordly and pompous but quite gentlemanly "head waiter," a man as white as Ford Foster. A word or two to him, a finger pointed towards the upper end of the hall, and the keen eyes of the "man in authority" took it all in.

"Six of them,--five white and one black. Well, Gus, do they look as if they could pay their bill before they go?"

"Yes, sah, dey does. De young gen'lman wid de bill ob fare in his han', he's got moah cheek, an' moah tongue, an' moah lip, sah"--

"Well then, Gus, you just tramp right along. If he and the rest don't care, I don't. It'll be time enough for me to make a fool of myself when somebody offers to pay me for it. Give 'em their dinner! Sharp!"

"It's jes' a mons'ous outrage," growled the offended waiter, as he stalked away; but he took good care to obey his orders, for he had a consciousness that the eyes of his "master" were on him. He could hardly have guessed how completely his errand had been understood by the six boys, or how closely Ford Foster had "hit it." Said he, in reply to an angry remark from Dab Kinzer,--

"It's all humbug. They run this concern to make money, and they want some of ours. Mr. Marigold'll be sent right back with our soup."

He was right; but, before they had eaten their way to the pie and pudding, Ford was dignifiedly informed,--

"If you please, sah, my name isn't Mr. Marigold, sah, it is Mr.

Bellerington, sah; an' my first name isn't Coffee, sah, it's Augustus."

"You don't say," replied Ford: "well, Augustus, don't forget the little remark I made about pie and the other things."

It was a capital dinner; and Ford was proud of it, for he had picked out every item of it, from the soup to the macaroons. d.i.c.k Lee had enjoyed it hugely, after he began to feel that his first social victory had been fairly won for him. Still, he had doubts in his own mind as to whether he would ever dare such another undertaking with less than five white boys along to "see him through."

Joe and Fuz ate well; but their spirits were manifestly low, for they were painfully conscious of having forever lost the good opinion of that mulatto waiter.

"But for d.i.c.k Lee's being with us," they thought, "he and everybody else would have known we were gentlemen. We'll never be caught in such a trap again."

It is a very sad matter, no doubt, to lose the intelligent respect of such gentlemen as Mr. Augustus Bellerington, but it sometimes has to be done; that is, unless their good opinion is to be gained by some nice little stroke of sneaking cowardice.

Joe and Fuz stood it out, indeed, mainly because they were in some way more afraid of Dab and Ford and Frank than they were of even Augustus.

That, too, was strange; for they were older than either of the others, and taller than any but Dabney himself.

The dinner was well eaten, and it was well paid for, as Dabney remarked when he paid his share and half of d.i.c.k's; and then they were all in the street again, marching along, and "sight-seeing," towards the Grand Central Railroad Depot.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE FIRST MORNING IN GRANTLEY, AND ANOTHER EXCELLENT JOKE.

Ford Foster was the only one of those six boys who had ever seen the great railway-building, and he confessed that it looked a little large, even to him. Frank Harley freely declared that he had seen nothing like it in India; and d.i.c.k Lee's eyes showed all the white they had to show, before he had seen the whole of it.

Their first errand was to the baggage-room; and they were on their way when Dab Kinzer thoughtfully remarked,--

"Now, Joe, here we've dragged you and Fuz away up here, miles and miles out of your way."

"That's so," said Ford, "but they can take a street-car down. They've got hours of time to spare."

"No hurry," said Joe: "we'll see you off." But Fuz whispered to him,--

"Time's up, Joe. Joke's got to come out now."

It came out at the baggage-room; for there were the trunks of the Hart boys, and they had to go with the others to the ticket-office for their tickets, before they could get their checks.

"Do you mean you're to go right on now, with us?" said Ford in some astonishment. "I thought you were going home first."

"No. We got a letter three days ago, telling us what to do. Our other things'll be sent on by express."

The "joke" was out, and the two jokers were laughing as though it were a remarkably good one in their estimation; but Ford nodded his head approvingly.

"Uncle Joseph is a wise and careful man about his children," he said slowly. "He didn't mean you should make the trip alone. I'm much obliged to him for such an expression of his confidence in me."

The laugh somehow died away, as if a sudden fit of sickness had carried it off, while a broad smile widened on the faces of the other boys, notably including d.i.c.k Lee; but the baggage-checks were to be looked after, and there were seats in the sleeping-car to be secured. The lost joke could hide itself easily in all that hurry and excitement.

"The sleeper'll carry us the best part of the way," said Ford, when at last they took their seats; "but we'll have a doleful little ride on a small railway, early in the morning."

"But that'll take us right up north to Grantley," added Dab, with a long-drawn breath of expectation. The remaining hours of that Friday were largely spent by all six of them in looking out of the windows.

When they were not doing that, it was mostly because Joe or Fuz was telling some yarn or other about Grantley and its academy.

They agreed perfectly in their somewhat extravagant praise of Mrs. Myers and her daughter Almira. "She's such a good, kind-hearted, liberal, motherly woman," said Joe.

"And Almira's a sweet young lady," added Fuz, "only she's a little timid about boys."

"Needn't be afraid of us, I guess," said Ford Foster, with a benevolent and protecting expression on his face; while Dab drew a mental picture of the fair Almira as a sort of up-country copy of Annie Foster. After the darkness came, and the "sleeper" was turned into a great travelling-box full of little shaky bedrooms, there was no more talking to be done, and all the boys were tired enough to go to sleep.

One consequence of their beginning their slumbers so early, however, was, that they felt bright and fresh when the porter aroused them before daylight next morning; and they hurriedly dressed themselves for their ride on what Ford Foster called "the switch."

It was quite a respectable railway, however, and it carried them through scenery so different from any that Dabney or d.i.c.k was accustomed to, that they lost a good deal of what Joe and Fuz were saying about Dr.

Abiram Brandegee, the learned princ.i.p.al of Grantley Academy. It was of less importance, perhaps, because they had heard it all before, and had gathered a curious collection of ideas concerning the man under whose direction they were to get their new stocks of learning.

"Dab," said d.i.c.k, "if it was any fellers but them said it, I'd want to go home."