Bolax Part 23

Mrs. Allen and the whole family held a consultation as to what should be done with Bolax while they were in Florida.

"I want to board at St. Thomas', Papa; the boys have such fun, I know I'd have a good time there; I was the youngest day scholar last year and all the seniors liked me."

"My dear child," said his father, "if fun be all your aim in boarding at a college, you can have all you want of that at home at less cost. I fear there is too much of your 'fun' going on in our colleges and very little solid education."

"That's just what I've been thinking," observed Mrs. Allen, "and I've made up my mind to send Bolax to my uncle, who is President of the College at L'Islet, Canada; that is, my dear, if you don't object."

"I do most emphatically object to having my son go so far from home."

"But," argued Mrs. Allen, "the boy will be better cared for under the patronage of a relative than he would be in the most expensive of our Colleges here. My uncle has frequently written to me, telling of the excellent methods and strict discipline of his school, which he has placed under the care of Christian Brothers."

As they were speaking, Dr. Carroll and Lucy came into the room.

"What would you advise about our boy, Doctor?" asked Mr. Allen.

"On what subject?" said the Doctor.

"We are thinking of placing Bolax at college, and his mother wants to send him to her uncle in Canada."

"Canada is very far away," objected Aunt Lucy, "why not let him remain with us, as we are to live in your house during your absence."

"Now, Lucy, you ought to think it high time that a boy nearly thirteen years of age should be above coddling," remarked the Doctor, "that is what you and Hetty have done all his life and it is time to stop it. The boy is not working up to his ability here. Composition and music are the only branches in which he receives a high average, these require little or no exertion on his part, but in all other studies his average is low.

I really feel a change would benefit him, we might make the trial, should it prove unsatisfactory, it will be easy to take him home again."

After debating for and against the Canadian project, Mr. Allen was at last persuaded to give his consent, and preparations were made for Bo's trip to Canada. Boy-like he was elated at the idea of traveling, especially when he heard he was to undertake the journey alone. When he told his companions about it, they opened their eyes in amazement, and some of their mothers wondered how such a harum-scarum could be trusted so far on the trains.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BOLAX WHEN HE WENT TO COLLEGE.]

"Mamma, can't I give a farewell spread for my chums?" "Yes, dear; have them all here on Friday evening. I will get up a nice supper, and Uncle Carroll will show his magic lantern with moving pictures." "Oh, bully for you Ma, dear." "Bully! What did I say about slang, my child?" "Oh, Ma, dear, all the fellows at St. Thomas' use those words, you've got to have something to say when you are pleased, or mad, or surprised--one dear old priest up there says 'Thunder and mud!' when a boy gives a particularly stupid answer at a recitation."

"Oh, well, my son, that is just a funny expression. I don't mind your adopting it, since as you say, you must have some 'expressions.'"

The last evening at home had come. Bo's trunk was packed and the family had a.s.sembled in the dining room to have a nice old-fas.h.i.+oned supper.

Their boy was going away, but the grand harmony of the evening was not destroyed. Uncle Carroll sang merry songs, Aunt Lucy played on her guitar, Bolax gave his best pieces on the piano, in fact, they had a regular concert.

Somehow, Bolax felt that he had never loved his parents as he did now; he thought his mother's face so matronly, yet so gentle, was the sweetest face he ever saw. He bid "good-night" quite bravely, but found it hard to suppress his sobs as he clung to his mother's neck, for our light-hearted boy was tender and loving as a girl.

Early next morning the house was astir. Hetty packed a basket of lunch filled with everything she knew the boy liked. Farewells were spoken, the carriage drove up and Mr. Allen accompanied his son to New York, where he placed him on the train bound for Quebec.

L'ISLET, P. Q., CANADA, September 15th.

_My Dear Papa_: I hope you are well, and that business will soon steer towards prosperity. When you left me in the car, I had to wait about three minutes, then I felt the train start.

As it gained speed, we darted through about fifty little tunnels, and between stone walls.

When we got into Connecticut, we pa.s.sed a series of little bays, which I afterwards found out were the inlets of the sound. We made our first stop at Meriden, where a crowd of New England girls got on the train; they wore neat golf suits and carried golf sticks. I thought how nice Cousin Madge would look in such clothes. None of them were pretty, but all were as neat as new pins. All along the railroad was to be seen "ads" of pills, bicycles, soap and sarsaparilla.

As we pulled into Hartford, we pa.s.sed the Pope Manufacturing Company, but it does not resemble the fine pictures they have in their "ads."

I only got out of the seat you put me into once, and that was to get a drink. When I got into Springfield, that baggage man was nowhere to be found, neither was the conductor, so I gave the brakeman the cigars you left for them.

The brakeman then took me to the conductor of the Pullman car; this fellow looked the image of me, only taller, and he greeted me heartily when he found that I was to be in his charge.

I bought sandwiches here, and it's lucky I did, as the roast chicken Mamma put up for me, only did for one meal; it was so good, I couldn't stop eating once I began it.

When I got on the train, it was made up of one baggage, two day and three sleeping coaches, but when I awoke in the morning, or really in the night, to my surprise I found that we had changed from the middle to the end of the train. Now, for the incidents of the night. About 9.30 P.

M. I got Billy, the porter, to make up my berth and I went to sleep after a hard tussle with the rough sheets and blanket. At one o'clock, I was dreaming of home and of mother, as the song says, when all of a sudden I heard our village fire whistle blow--I jumped out of bed, and then found to my disappointment that I was five hundred miles from home in a Pullman sleeper that had b.u.mped into something, and every one was making a racket enough to wake the dead. We got another engine after twenty minutes solo, and continued our journey through the high mountains of Vermont. I dozed again and when I awoke, daylight was just peeping out from the east; the frost was on every blade of gra.s.s and on every rail and tie; the trees seemed to draw the steam from the engine with their leaves, and then it became a thin veil of frost; thus while standing on the back platform at 4.50 A. M., I could see our route for miles and miles, winding and meandering through the forests of the Pine Tree State.

We pa.s.sed beautiful lakes by the half dozen, flew over high trestle bridges, that look as if scarcely able to bear the weight of the train.

I saw cow-protectors at several crossings, these when the cow tries to cross the rails, split its hoof and she has to "back."

When we reached Sherbrook, I amused myself standing on the back platform, pretending I was "Bryan" and posing for the admiration of a crowd of boys who were at the station. When we were starting again, there was a b.u.mp and a crash; I looked out, but all I could see was a smashed tool box and tools scattered in every direction.

The porter was in the baggage car when they opened trunks, he told the Inspector I was going to school and to let my trunks pa.s.s, which he did.

As we neared the end of our journey, I was the only pa.s.senger in the Pullman car, so the conductor and the brakeman took me into a little station to get breakfast. My, but it was good! It was composed of tender beefsteak, fine coffee, the kind only French people know how to make, potatoes, bread and b.u.t.ter. I handed the waiter fifty cents, which was the price, and cheap at that, to my surprise, he gave me back a quarter.

It appears the little French conductor told the proprietor I was his brother, then he shook hands with me, and if I hadn't laughed, he might have believed the conductor and given me back the other quarter.

When the train started again, the Frenchman, who had charge of me, called me "old boy" (he didn't mean the devil, of course), and he asked me if I wanted to ride on the engine, I accepted his offer and rode a hundred miles on it.

I arrived safely at Levis (as my telegram stated) after pa.s.sing under several long snow sheds.

The train pulled up slowly and I had a splendid view of the grand old fort of Quebec. It reminds me of the pictures I see of the rock of Gibraltar, only that it has a wall with holes in it for cannon. I pa.s.sed out into snow sheds again, which brought me to L'Islet, where a Christian Brother met me with a team; he got my trunk, which had faithfully followed me all the way. We then started for the College, which is about two miles from the station.

My studies so far are English, Latin, French, Commercial Arithmetic, "The Duties of a Christian Towards G.o.d." This is a book used as a reader. Our pleasures at this season are football (played with feet only), baseball, tennis, and those games I mentioned in my letter to Mamma.

I have had only one fight, and I was brave, as you told me to be, so I licked the fellow. I have made ten good friends and two enemies, but the enemies are big "Nits," they can hit hard, but don't know how to "guard."

I am glad Dr. Carroll gave me boxing lessons last winter; they will be useful to me now.

I go to Ma.s.s every morning. Tell this to Mamma. Give my love to the following friends:

Professor Rinaldi, Mrs. Carpenter and family, especially Mr. Charlie and Sam; Hetty and Pat, all the seven boys who were my chums--Elmer Mullen, and the Priests at St. Thomas' College, Colonel O'Brian, Darling Mamma, Aunt Lucy, Uncles d.i.c.k and Carroll, and all the friends I have left in dear old Midville.

Excuse writing; I have spent two hours on this letter and I'm dead tired of it.

Your loving son,

BOLAX ALLEN.

Answer to Bolax's first letter:

SEPTEMBER.

_My Dear Son_: Your letter is most interesting, those of our friends who do not know that composition is your forte, were inclined to believe it was the production of your teachers. Mr. Thornton published it in his journal, of which I send you a copy. He predicts you will be an editor some day. I tell you this to encourage you; praise is due to him who honestly deserves it.