“I don’t wonder that you fellows are happy here,” was the way in which he began the conversation.
“Yes, I suppose we see as much pleasure as falls to the lot of most people,” answered Arthur, “but we have any amount of hard work as well.”
“That’s because you are not acquainted with us or our ways. I drilled until after ten o’clock last night, and spent this forenoon in working in the garden and wrestling with my geometry; getting ready for next term you know.”
“Do you study and work during vacation?” exclaimed Tom, who had never heard of such a piece of foolishness before.
“I’m glad that I haven’t such parents as you seem to have,” said Tom, rudely.
“Our parents have nothing whatever to do with it. It’s the rule of the company.”
“That you shall work during vacation?” cried Tom.
“That we shall keep busy at something—yes. We are told that an idle brain is the workshop of a certain old chap who shall be nameless, but we go further, and hold that there is no such thing as an idle brain. It is at work all the time during our waking hours, and sometimes when we are asleep—dreams, you know—and if it is not busy with good things, it is ready to take in bad ones. Have you seen any boys loafing around the corners since you have been here? Then you can bet your bottom dollar that they didn’t belong to us.”
“Well, when I get to be a member of the company, I shall vote down all such rules as that,” said Tom to himself. “A fellow needs a little time to be lazy, and I shall take it, too, without asking any body’s consent.” Then aloud he asked, as if the thought had just occurred to him: “By the way, when do you hold your next meeting?”
“Well, take in our names, will you? Mine and my cousins’.”
“I should be glad to oblige you, but I can’t do it.”
“You can’t do it?” said Tom, who was angry in an instant. “Why not, I’d like to know?”
“There are two reasons. In the first place, you have not been here long enough—we don’t know any thing about you.”
“If that isn’t a little ahead of any thing I ever heard of I wouldn’t say so!” exclaimed Tom, as soon as his rage would permit him to speak. “My father is—”
“We don’t care who or what your father is; we must know what _you_ are. In the second place, our membership is limited, and the boys’ roster is full.”