[illustration: fred was apparently in no great distress. _page _] fred fenton on the track or the athletes of riverport school by allen chapman author of "fred fenton the pitcher," "tom fairfield series," "boys of pluck series," "the darewell chums series," etc. illustrated new york cupples & leon company publishers books for boys by allen chapman =fred fenton athletic series= mo. cloth. illustrated. price per volume, cents, postpaid. fred fenton the pitcher fred fenton in the line fred fenton on the crew fred fenton on the track =tom fairfield series= mo. cloth. illustrated. price per volume, cents, postpaid. tom fairfield's schooldays tom fairfield at sea tom fairfield in camp tom fairfield's pluck and luck =the darewell chums series= mo. cloth. illustrated. price per volume, cents, postpaid. the darewell chums the darewell chums in the city the darewell chums in the woods the darewell chums on a cruise the darewell chums in a winter camp =boys of pluck series= mo. cloth. illustrated. price per volume, cents, postpaid. the young express agent two boy publishers mail order frank a business boy's pluck the young land agent cupples & leon co. publishers, new york copyrighted , by cupples & leon company fred fenton on the track contents chapter page i. the cross country runners ii. a strange sound from a well iii. out of the depths iv. fred gets a shock v. how good sprang from evil vi. the news corney brought vii. where is colon? viii. a clue in the ditch ix. the covered wagon x. the ambush xi. the haunted mill xii. a broken door xiii. how gabe made good xiv. practice for the race xv. the accident xvi. a gloomy prospect xvii. an unexpected ally xviii. forced to lend a hand xix. glorious news xx. a welcome guest xxi. the athletic meet xxii. fred on the track xxiii. a close count xxiv. the lone runner xxv. the alaska claim fred fenton on the track chapter i the cross-country runners "i see you're limping again, fred." "that's right, bristles. i stubbed my toe at the very start of this cross-country run, and that lost me all chance of coming in ahead. that's why i fell back, and have been loafing for a stretch." "and let me catch up with you; eh? well, i reckon long-legged colon will have a cinch in this race, fred." "seems that way. he can get over ground for a certain time like a deer, you know." "huh! more like a kangaroo, i call it; because it always seems to me he takes big jumps every chance he gets." both boys laughed heartily at the picture drawn by andy carpenter, who was known all through the country around the town of riverport as "bristles," on account of the odd way in which his heavy hair stood up. his companion, fred fenton, had assumed a leading place in school athletic sports since coming to the town on the mohunk something like a year previous to the early fall day when we meet them taking part in this cross-country run. that fred was a pretty fine fellow, as boys go, nearly everybody seemed agreed. he was modest, and yet could stand up for his rights when imposed upon; and at the same time he was always ready to lend a helping hand to a companion in trouble. fred had himself occasion to know what it meant to lie awake nights, and wonder if fortune would ever take a turn for the better. his father had been left a valuable property away up in alaska, by a brother who had died; but there was a lot of red tape connected with the settlement; and a powerful syndicate of capitalists had an eye on the mine, which was really essential to their interests, as it rounded out property they already owned. a certain man, hiram masterson by name, who had been in alaska for years, and who had come back to the states to visit an uncle, sparks lemington, living in riverport, had at first been inclined to side with the syndicate. later on he changed his mind, and determined to give evidence for the fentons which would, in all probability, cause the claim to be handed over to them. how this change came about in the mind of hiram masterson, through an obligation which he found himself under to fred fenton, has already been told at length in the first volume of this series, called: "fred fenton, the pitcher; or, the rivals of riverport school." then it turned out that hiram suddenly and mysteriously disappeared; and those who were so deeply interested in his remaining in riverport learned that he had really been carried off by agents of the rich association of mine owners, of whom sparks lemington was one. how the search for the missing witness was carried on, as well as an account of interesting matters connected with the football struggles in the three towns bordering the mohunk, will be found in the second book in the series, entitled "fred fenton in the line; or, the football boys of riverport school." once again when hope ran high in the breasts of the fentons they were doomed to disappointment, and long waiting. a brief letter was received from hiram, written from hong kong, telling them that he was on the way home by slow stages, and would doubtless appear under another name, to avoid recognition by his uncle, sparks lemington. what new expectations this letter raised in the humble fenton home; together with the story of the boat races on the mohunk, has been related at length in the third volume, just preceding this, and issued under the name of "fred fenton on the crew; or, the young oarsman of riverport school." but now several months had passed, and as yet hiram had not come. this was telling heavily on fred, who counted the days as they dragged past, and kept wondering if, after all, the missing witness had died abroad, and they would never get the benefit of his evidence. he knew his father was once more falling back into his old condition of mental distress, and he saw the lines gather on the usually smooth forehead of his mother. but fred was by nature a light-hearted lad, who tried to look on the brighter side of things. he put these dismal thoughts resolutely aside as much as he could and took his part in the various pleasures that the young people of the town enjoyed. those who were at his side in all sorts of athletic rivalries never suspected that the boy often worried. and even pretty flo temple, the doctor's daughter, whom fred always took to picnics, and on boat rides on moonlight nights, as well as to singing school and choir meetings, if she thought him a trifle more serious than seemed necessary, did not know what an effort it required for fred to hide his anxieties. of course both bristles and fred were in running costume, in that they wore as scanty an outfit of clothes as possible. they were jogging along leisurely, and this allowed plenty of time for talk between them. bristles was one of fred's best chums. not a great while back he had fallen into what he called a "peck of trouble, with the pot boiling over," and fred had been of great help to him. in fact, had it not been for him the mystery of who was taking some of miss muster's opals might never have been cleared up; and the elderly spinster, who was bristles' mother's aunt, must have always believed that her grand-nephew was the guilty one. but fred had proved otherwise. he had even been smart enough to have the rich old maid on the spot when gabe larkins, the butcher's hired boy, was secreting his last bit of plunder. in her gratitude at finding that the culprit was not her own nephew, miss muster had even forgiven gabe, who had promised to turn over a new leaf. somehow the thoughts of bristles seemed to go back to several things which had happened to himself and fred not a great while previous. "that was a great time we had, fred," he went on to say, as they fell into a walk, with a hill to climb; "i mean when we worked in double harness, and ran up against so many queer adventures last summer, in boat-racing time. remember how we managed to rescue little billy lemington when he fell out of his brother's canoe; and how he begged us not to tell a single soul, because his father would whip him for disobeying?" "do you think buck ever knew the truth of that canoe business?" remarked fred. "i recollect your telling me he accused you of taking his canoe, and using it, because some fellow saw us putting it back in the place he kept it, and reported to buck. and he was some mad, too, threatening all sorts of things if ever we touched his boat again." "say, d'ye know, between you and me and the henhouse, fred, i don't believe he's ever heard the truth about that little affair to this day!" exclaimed bristles, earnestly. "want to know why i say that, do you? well, just yesterday he threw it at me. we were with some fellows on the school campus, when the talk turned to canoes, and i happened to say i knew mighty little about the cranky things, as i'd had no experience in one." "oh! i can see how ready buck would be to take advantage of that opening, and give you one of his sneering stabs with his tongue," observed fred, quickly. "just what he did, fred," asserted the other, frowning; "he turned on me like a flash, and remarked that he guessed i forgot a certain occasion when i had enjoyed _one_ canoe ride, anyhow, if it was in a stolen boat. i came mighty near telling the whole thing, how we had saved his little brother from drowning, or at least how you had, while i helped get you both ashore. but i stopped myself just in time, and let it pass by." "well," fred went on to say, looking around at the dusty road they had just reached; "here's where we draw in close again to riverport, to strike off again on the second leg of the run after we pass the hitchen hotel at the crossroads. i suppose i ought not to keep on, with my toe hurting as it does; but you know i just hate to give up anything i start. perhaps i'll be game enough to hold out to the end; and, besides, the pain seems to be passing off lately. i could even sprint a little, if i had to." "too late now to dream of heading off colon, who has kept on the jump right along, while we took things easy. but i always like to be with you, fred. you're a cheery sort of a feller, you know; and i feel better every time i chat with you." poor fred,--who was secretly nursing deep anxiety to his heart, not willing to confide in even his best friends, lest in some way squire lemington get wind of the fact that they had heard from hiram masterson,--winced, and then smiled. well, if he could put on a cheerful front, in spite of all that tried to weigh his spirits down, so much the better. "we must turn at the crossroads, bristles," he remarked. "the course heads into the northwest from there, up to afton's pond; then due east two miles to watch hill; where we turn again and follow the turnpike home again." "oh! i guess i can stand for it, if you keep me company all the way, fred; though i never was built for a runner, i reckon. but listen to all that shouting; would you? some feller is excited, it sounds like. there, just what i expected was the matter; there's a horse taken the bit between his teeth, and is running away. i can see a boy sprinting after him, and that's his voice we get. now, i wonder what it's up to us to do; step aside and let the runaway nag pass by; or try something to stop him? what say, fred; can we block the road, and make him hold up, without taking too much risk?" chapter ii a strange sound from a well "hi! there! stop that horse! head him off!" the excited boy who was chasing wildly along in the rear of the runaway shouted these words as he waved his arms to the two lads coming so suddenly on the scene. "why, it's gabe larkins, as sure as you live!" ejaculated bristles, recognizing the boy who drove the butcher's cart, and who had been concerned in the affair of miss muster's vanishing opals. "never mind who the boy is!" fred called out; "if we want to head that runaway off we've got to be moving. stand over there, wave your arms and shout 'whoa!' as loud as you can. i'll try to cover this side of the road and do the same. the beast has just taken a notion to bolt home, that's all, and isn't badly frightened. we may be able to stop him right here." "how far do we go, fred?" cried bristles, who was always ready and willing to do his share of any exciting business. "be careful, and keep ready to jump aside if he refuses to let up on his speed, bristles." "all right; i'm on, fred!" and with that bristles started to make as great and hostile a demonstration with arms and voice as he was capable of exhibiting. his chum was doing likewise; so that between them they seemed to entirely block the road. the runaway horse was, as fred had said, not worked up to the frantic stage where nothing would stay his progress. indeed, seeing that these determined figures in running costume acted as though they meant to keep him from passing, the beast gradually slackened his pace. the butcher's cart came to a standstill not twenty feet away from the boys; and the animal even started to back up into a fence corner, when the driver arrived on the scene, and took hold of the trailing lines. after that he soon gained the mastery over the horse. "got the slip on you that time, did he, gabe?" remarked fred, pleasantly; for he had been given to understand by miss muster, who was keeping track of the boy, that gabe larkins was doing what he could to make good; and fred believed in extending a helping hand to every fellow who wanted to better his ways. "oh! he's a slick one, i tell you, fellers!" declared the panting and angered boy, as he reined in the animal that had given him such a scare and a race. "nine times out of ten i tie him when i go to deliver meat. he knows when i forget, and this is the fourth time he's run away on me. smashed a wheel once, and nigh 'bout scraped all the paint off'n one side of the pesky cart another time. old bangs says as how he means to fire me if it ever happens again." "well, we're right glad, then, gabe, that we've been able to keep you from losing your job," fred went on to say. "but that horse has a trick of going off if he isn't tied. i've heard about him before, and the trouble he gave the boy who was ahead of you. if i was driving him i'd never leave him unfastened." "and i ain't a-goin' to no more, you just make sure of that!" gabe declared, as no doubt he had done after every previous accident, only to grow careless again. "but it was nice in you fellers to shoo him that way. i sure thought he'd run right over you, but he didn't. must 'a knowed from the way you talked to him you didn't mean to hurt him any." "well, we must be going on, gabe, as we're in the cross-country run," said bristles, who had been trying to study the face of the butcher's boy. "say, i'd like to be along with you, sure i would," remarked gabe, wistfully. "used to be some runner myself; but don't get no chanct nowadays. but i reckon it's all right, 'cause she says i'm a-doin' fine. mebbe some day i can have a little fun like the rest of the fellers. i'm a heap 'bliged to both of you for holdin' up the hoss. g'lang, rube!" swish! came the whip down on the withers of the late frisky runaway, and gabe went helter-skelter down the road, headed for his next stopping place. during the late summer the public spirited citizens of riverport, led by judge colon, had started to raise funds in order to equip a much needed gymnasium with the latest appliances required by those who would train their muscles, and make themselves healthier by judicious exercise. mechanicsburg, up the river three miles, had done that for her school; and riverport was trying to at least equal the generous spirit of the business men of the other town. "oh! the gym's just booming right along," declared bristles, enthusiastically. "you know they've already got a long lease on the big rink where they used to have roller skating years ago. a cinder path has been laid around the whole of the circuit, equal to any outdoor track going. great times we're going to have this winter, i tell you, fred!" "and, bristles, how about the money for all the outfit--punching bags, parallel bars, boxing gloves, basketball stuff, and all the other things needed in an up-to-date gym?" "heard last night," said the other, joyfully, "that it had all been subscribed, and the order sent on. we'll soon be in the swim for keeps. but, while the good weather lasts let's keep outdoors. we can practice all sorts of stunts, so as to be ready to contest with those mechanicsburg boys in an athletic meet. great times ahead of us yet, old fellow! hope we manage to snatch some of the prizes away from our old rivals; though they say it's just wonderful how clever they're sprinting and jumping up-river." "we heard that sort of talk about football, and then when the boat race was planned didn't they say mechanicsburg had a crew that was just a wonder?" fred remarked, with a pleasant and cheery laugh. "you're right, they did, fred; and yet we licked the spots out of 'em both times. and we can do it some more, if we keep on practicing our stunts as brad wants us to. ten to one now they haven't got as fast a sprinter as our long legged colon in their whole school. and when it comes to long-distance racing they'll have to look pretty far to find anybody who can hold out like fred fenton." "oh! let up on that kind of talk, bristles; perhaps i might hold up my end of the log; and again there's a chance they've got a better man up there. i remember some of their fellows got around the bases like fun; and could carry the ball across the gridiron once they got hold of it. you never can tell what the best runner might be up against in a long race. look at me to-day, stubbing my toe at the start; if this had been the big occasion that would have put me out of the procession in a hurry." "let's start on a little sprint again, now that we're getting close to the cross-road tavern. i can see it yonder through the trees. old adam will think we're handicap runners, catching up on the leaders. here we go, fred!" reaching the tavern at the spot where the roads crossed, they halted to get a cool drink, and ask a few questions. somehow they saw nothing of any of the other runners, though the proprietor of the place told them several had come and gone. they found the names of colon, dave hendricks and corney shays on the official pad that had been left at this important point, in order that each contestant might place his signature on it when he arrived, proving that he had fully covered the requirements of the run. once more the two lads started on their way at a good pace, since their short rest had refreshed them considerably. "look at the gray squirrel!" exclaimed bristles, who was beginning to get winded after a mile of this jogging work, because he had not yet learned never to open his mouth while running, if it could be avoided. "he's laying in his store of shagbark hickories for the winter," declared fred; "and you better believe he picks only the good ones. i never yet found a bad nut in any store laid away by a squirrel. they know what's juicy and sweet, all right." "hold on!" said bristles, coming to a stop. "what's the matter now; hear any more runaways?" asked fred, laughing; but at the same time coming to a walk in order to accommodate his panting chum. "no, but there's an old farmhouse through the trees there, and i can see a fine well. makes me feel dry again just to glimpse it. come on, let's have a drink," and bristles led the way between the trees toward the lonely looking place. "a queer spot, fred," he remarked. "looks like it's deserted; and yet there's smoke coming out of the chimney; and i saw a pig run around the corner of that little stable. here's our well; draw a bucket while i get my wind. oh! did you hear that, fred? it sounded just for all the world like a groan; and, as sure as anything, it came right out of this same well!" chapter iii out of the depths the two boys turned to look at one another; and if they showed signs of alarm it was hardly to be wondered at. "oh! there it is again, fred!" whispered bristles, as a second sound, that was certainly very like a groan, came from the well. fred caught his breath. it was an unpleasant experience, to be sure; and might have tried the nerves of much older persons than two half-grown lads; but, after all, why should they be afraid? "somebody may have fallen down the well, and can't get out again," fred remarked, with just the least tremor to his usually steady voice. "say, that's so," bristles hastened to admit, as he cast a quick glance at the almost ropeless wooden windlass; "don't you see the bucket's away down? whoever it is, fred, they just can't climb up again. it takes you to get on the inside track of things, fred." "if that's so, it might account for the fact that nobody seems to be around the place," fred went on to say. "p'raps an old man lives here all alone, and he tripped over these stones when he went to lift the bucket of water out, and fell in himself. gee! fred, then it's up to us to get him out!" the other stepped directly up to the edge of the old well. he saw that the coping was uneven, some of the stones being loose. it looked very much as if what bristles had suggested might be the truth, and that some person, when striving to raise a heavy bucket, had lost his balance, slipped on the treacherous footing, and toppled into the well. and, even as fred fenton bent down, he was thrilled to hear a third groan come out of the depths. nevertheless, instead of starting back, he bent over further, as though hoping to look down and discover the truth. "can you see him?" asked bristles, very white in the face, but bent on sticking it out as long as his chum did. "sorry to say i can't," replied the other, calmly now, and with an air of business about him that inspired bristles to conquer his own weakness. "my eyes have been so used to the sun that it looks as black as a pocket down in this well. but perhaps he might answer a call." "give the poor fellow a hail, then, fred, please. just think how he must have suffered, hollering all this time, with nobody to help him out," and bristles, who really had a very tender heart himself, leaned over the curbing of the well. "be careful not to push one of these big stones in, or you'll finish the poor fellow," warned fred; and then bending low he called out very loudly: "hello! down there! we want to help you get out. are you badly hurt?" "oh! i don't know, but i'm so cold. please hurry, or i'll die!" came in a faint voice from far below. "good gracious!" gasped bristles; "did you hear that, fred?" "i certainly did," replied the other. "but--the voice; it was a woman's or a girl's!" continued the amazed bristles. "just what i thought; and that makes it all the more necessary that something be done in a hurry to get her out. that rope looks pretty sound; doesn't it, bristles?" "what do you mean to do now, fred; go down there?" and the boy shuddered as he looked at the gaping hole. "somebody's got to, and what's the matter with my doing it?" fred demanded. "i'll tell you what to do while i'm sliding down the rope; just carefully take away all these loose stones, so none of 'em can drop on top of me. and, bristles, when i give the word, buckle down to turn that windlass for all you're worth!" "i'll do it, fred. gosh! if it don't take you to think of things that wouldn't come to me in a thousand years. say, he's gone, as quick as that! i guess i'll get busy with these stones." fred was indeed already slipping carefully down the rope. he believed it was fairly new, and could easily sustain the weight of himself, and another as well, if only the stout bristles could turn the handle of the windlass long enough to bring them to the top. once below the region of sunlight his eyes began to grow more accustomed to the surrounding gloom. he could make out the rough stones all about him that went to form the well itself. then he stopped, wondering if he must not be pretty nearly down to the water. the rope still went on, and he could hear what seemed like heavy breathing not far away. bristles was working like a beaver above, taking away the loose stones, but exercising great care so that not even a bit of loose earth, or mortar, should fall down the shaft to alarm his chum. "hello! where are you, below?" "close by you now. oh! do you think you can get me up again, mister?" came in a quavering voice. fred let himself slip down a little further, inch by inch as it were. he was afraid of striking the one who must be clinging to the rope below, undoubtedly chilled to the bone, and sick with fear. even at that moment the boy was filled with amazement, and could not imagine how a girl could have gotten into such a strange situation. but his first duty was to get her out. ten seconds later and he could feel her beside him. "don't be afraid, we'll get you on dry land in a jiffy," he said, as cheerfully as possible. "can you hold on to the rope if my friend turns the windlass? i'll do all i can to help you. if only the bucket could be used for you to stand on! it's the only way to work it, i guess." "yes, yes, anything you say, i'll do, mister. oh! what if they have hurt him, and me such a coward as to run away like i did and hide. but pop made me, he just said i must. he'll tell you that same, mister, if so be he's alive yet." the girl said this in broken sentences. she was almost in a state of complete collapse, and fred knew that unless he hurried to get her up where she could obtain warmth, she would be a dead weight on his hands. "hello! bristles!" he called out. "yes; what d'ye want, fred? shall i begin to wind up?" came from above, accompanied by the musical clank of the iron brake falling over the cogs that were intended to hold it firmly, and prevent a slip, should the one at the handle let go suddenly. "go slow, bristles, and stop when you hear me shout!" "o. k. fred; slow she is! are you coming now?" fred had felt the rope slip through his hands inch by inch. he was feeling with his dangling feet for the bucket, and presently discovered it. "hold on till i tilt the bucket, and empty out the water; we have to use it to stand on as you pull us up!" he shouted. with more or less difficulty he managed to accomplish this task. it would relieve bristles considerably; and even as it was, the straining boy up there would have a tremendous task ahead of him, raising two persons at a time. fred threw his arm around the girl, whom he could just dimly make out. she clung wildly to him, as though realizing that all her hopes of getting out of this strange prison rested in the boy who had come down the rope so daringly. "now once again, old fellow, and do your level best!" fred sang out. so they went up, foot by foot. he held the girl in a tight clasp, and kept hoping the rope would not break, or any other accident happen. bristles was tugging wildly away at the handle of the windlass, doubtless with his teeth set hard together, and every muscle of his body in play. now they were close to the top, and fred called out, to caution his chum to slacken his violent efforts. so once again fred's eyes came above the curbing of the old well, and he found bristles, panting for breath, but eager to assist still further in the work of rescue. "reach down," fred said, quietly, wishing to calm the other; "and get your arms around her, if you can; then lift for all you're worth! she isn't heavy, only her clothes are soaked with water. there you are, and well done, old chap!" bristles had actually plucked the girl from the grasp of the boy who had to cling to the rope with one hand; she was already placed upon the ground, while he turned to assist fred, starting to climb out unaided. but the girl had not fainted, as fred suspected. she was now on her knees, and trying to get upon her feet. "oh! what can have happened to him?" she muttered. "who is it you are talking about?" asked bristles. "my poor sick father," she replied. "they came in on us, and made me get a meal. then they began to hunt all over the house for money, just as if we ever had any such thing hidden. oh! the terrible threats they made; father was afraid for me, and ordered me to watch out for the first chance to run away, to go to the nearest neighbor for help; but he lives two miles away. i was afraid to leave the place, because i thought they might set the house on fire. so i tried to hide just below the curbing of the well; but the brake wasn't set, and i went down with the bucket. i might have drowned, only i held on all these hours, hoping and fearing. oh! i wonder if he is still alive!" "who was it came and did these things?" asked fred, indignantly. "three tramps; and they were bad men, too," she replied, starting toward the old farmhouse, where the door stood open. a few whiffs of smoke curled up from the chimney, yet there was no sign of life. and, wondering what they would find there, the two boys strode along beside her, ready to catch her should she show signs of falling. but a great hope seemed to sustain the girl they had rescued from the well. chapter iv fred gets a shock "shall we follow, fred?" asked bristles, a little dubiously it must be confessed. the girl had darted eagerly through the open doorway. "that's the program," replied the leading boy; and with these words he immediately crossed the doorsill. the interior of the cottage was not any too well lighted, for the shades of the windows were partly down. fred saw at a glance, however, that a hurried and thorough search had been made by the three tramps, when they thought to find something of value in the lonely farmhouse. all manner of articles had been thrown recklessly about, drawers emptied, and even chairs overturned as they sought to turn up the edges of the scanty carpet, under the old belief that family treasures are generally secreted either there or between the mattresses of the bed. voices in an adjoining room gave fred a reassuring sensation. then the sick man had not passed away, as his daughter seemed to have feared; for while one of the voices was undoubtedly that of the girl, the other belonged to a man. it was weak and complaining, however, as might be expected, under the circumstances. so fred, again followed by bristles, lost no time in passing through the first room, and entering the adjoining one. a glance showed him a bed upon which a thin-faced man was lying. the girl was gently stroking his forehead with considerable affection, murmuring endearing terms. at the entrance of the two boys, however, the sick man started half up in bed. he stared at them in utter amazement, nor could fred blame him. after the experience through which he had recently passed, the sick man must almost believe he was losing his senses, to see two lads in running costume burst in upon him. "what! who are these, daughter?" he exclaimed. "i sent you for help, to get our german neighbor, johann swain, and you come back after all these hours bringing freaks from a circus. but at least they do not look as bad as those terrible tramps." bristles laughed outright at this. "i hope not, sir," he could not help saying, before fred could utter a word; "you see, we're only a couple of boys from riverport, engaged in a cross-country run; and we're mightily glad to be on hand in time to help you and--your girl." "but what makes your dress so wet, child; and you are shivering like a leaf? don't tell me that you fell into the river?" the sick man asked, turning his attention upon his daughter once more, now that he realized there was nothing to be feared from the two strangers. "no," she replied, soothingly; "when you sent me away i could not leave you alone with those dreadful men; so, meaning to hide just below the curbing of the well, i took hold of the rope; but the windlass was free, and i fell in." "and you have been there all this time!" cried the man, reproachfully; "while i lay here, recovering my strength, and expecting you to come every minute with help. oh! if i had but heard you call, nothing could have prevented me from crawling out to rescue you, child. and did these boys get you out?" "yes, and we owe them more than we can ever pay, father," she replied, warmly; "for i could not have held on much longer; and the water was deep enough to drown a helpless girl." "oh! sarah, child! what a blessing that they came!" exclaimed the man, thrusting a weak and trembling hand out, first toward fred, whom he saw was wet, and somehow guessed must have borne the brunt of the rescue; and then repeating the act with regard to bristles. the sick man asked fred a number of questions. as a rule these concerned his daughter, and in what condition they had found the poor girl at the bottom of the well; but he also seemed anxious as to whether they had seen anything of the three tramps. "one of them was terribly enraged when they failed to find even a dollar for their pains, and i assured him i did not have such a thing to my name," the aged man said, almost pathetically, fred thought. "he would have struck me with the poker, as he threatened to do, only his companions held his arm. i have been in mortal fear that he might return." "no danger of that sir," fred went on to say; and already in his mind he was determined that some of the good people of riverport should quickly know about the sick man and his devoted daughter, who lived in such a lonely place, and were almost at the point of starvation. "i used to have a man who worked on shares with me," the other continued, as though he thought some explanation was due to account for the situation; "but he changed his mind suddenly this summer past, and left me alone. i might have managed, only for this sickness. sarah has tried to do everything, but, poor child, she was unable to take care of me and the farm too. so it has come to this, and my heart is nearly broken worrying about her." "never mind, it will be all right, sir," fred continued to assure him. "we are from riverport, and we know a lot of good people there who will be only too glad to do everything they can for you. it is not charity, you see, but just what one neighbor ought to be ready to do for another." for his years, fred was wise; he realized that this man undoubtedly had more or less pride, and might hesitate to accept assistance when he had no means of returning favors. to his surprise the other started, and looked keenly at him. "riverport, you say, young man?" he muttered. "i don't seem to know you. might i ask your name, please?" "fred fenton, sir. but as we only came to the place a year ago last spring, of course you wouldn't be apt to know me." "no, i haven't been in riverport for quite a number of years. we do what little trading we have in grafton, which is just as near, though not so large a town. but you spoke of interesting some people in our condition. for her sake i would even sink my pride and accept their help. but you must make me one promise, boy!" "as many as you like, sir; what might this particular one be?" asked fred, cheerfully. "don't, under any circumstances, let sparks lemington have anything to do with the assistance you bring me; or i would utterly refuse to touch the slightest thing, even if we both starved for it!" was the astonishing reply of the sick man, as a look of anger showed in his face, and he shut his jaws hard. evidently, then, he had some good cause for detesting the rich and unscrupulous squire lemington. well, fred found reason to believe there were a good many others besides this farmer who felt the same. "oh! fred, come out here!" called bristles, just then, before fred could ask any further questions. believing that his chum might be having some difficulty in finding things, and wanted help, fred hurried into the adjoining room, which was the kitchen. there was also a dining room next, which they had entered first, and apparently a couple of sleeping rooms up stairs, for the girl had gone above. bristles was busily engaged. he had succeeded in getting a fire started, and was rummaging through a cupboard, looking for eatables. accustomed to seeing a well stocked larder in his own home, bristles was shocked at the lack of everything a hungry boy would think ought to be found in a kitchen pantry. "shucks, fred," he remarked, in a low voice, for the door between the rooms was open a trifle. "there isn't enough stuff here to feed a canary bird, let alone two human beings. why, whatever do they live on? they must be as poor as job's turkey. i can't just place that man, somehow; seems as if i must have known him once; but he's changed a heap. help me skirmish around for some grub; won't you?" fred was perfectly willing, and proceeded to search until he had discovered part of a loaf of home-made bread, and the coffee that was so necessary to warm the poor girl. there was a strip of bacon a few inches thick, some flour, grits--and these were about all. just then bristles came over to where he was putting the coffee in the pot. "i've just remembered who that sick man is, fred!" he said, in a low tone, but with a vein of satisfaction in it, for he had been racking his memory all the while. "who is he, then?" fred asked, a bit eagerly. "why," bristles went on, "you see, his name is masterson!" chapter v how good sprang from evil "masterson, did you say, bristles?" fred asked, hurriedly, as he closed the communicating door between the two rooms, and came back to the side of his chum. "yep, that's it," replied the other, briskly, proud of having solved what promised to be a puzzle. "he used to live in riverport years ago, when i was a kid; he and his girl sarah." "is he any relation to squire lemington, do you know?" asked fred. "sure, that's a fact, he is; a nephew, i reckon," answered bristles, thoughtfully. "i remember there was some sort of talk about this arnold masterson; i kind of think he got in a fuss with the squire, and there was a lawsuit. but shucks, that don't matter to us, fred, not a whit. these people are up against it, hard as nails, and we've just _got_ to do something for 'em when we get back." "that's right, we will," asserted fred. he was thinking hard as he said this. was it not a strange thing that he should in this way place another masterson under heavy obligations? he had done hiram a good turn that won the gratitude of the man from alaska; and now here it was a brother and a niece who had cause for thanking him. perhaps there was something more than accident in this. if hiram ever did return, which fred was almost ready to doubt, he would be apt to hear about what had happened at the lonely farmhouse; and if he cared at all for his folks, his debt must be doubled by the kind deed of the fenton boy. "and believe me," bristles went on, not noticing the way fred was pondering over the intelligence he had just communicated; "we just can't get busy collecting some grub for this poor family any too soon. why, they're cleaned out, that's what! never knew anybody could live from hand to mouth like this. why couldn't they get that german farmer, who lives a mile or two away, to haul some stuff from grafton, if the girl couldn't walk there?" "you forget that the man said he didn't have even a dollar, when those tramps threatened to torture him, to make him tell where he had his treasure; and bristles, it takes cold cash to buy things these days. old dog trust is dead, the merchants say. but hurry that coffee along. hello! here's a part of a can of condensed milk, and some sugar. that's good!" fred went into the other room about that time; for hearing voices, he imagined the girl must have put on some dry clothes hurriedly, and once more descended to be with her sick father. she looked better, fred thought, and there was even a slight color in her cheeks. he was afraid, however, of what the long exposure might bring, and determined that doctor temple must hear of the case. a little care right then might be the means of warding off a severe illness. "please go in the kitchen, and stand near the stove all you can, miss," he said. "but i am not cold any longer," she replied, giving him a smile that told of the gratitude in her heart. "you need all the warmth you can get," he insisted. "as soon as the coffee is ready, you must swallow a cup or two of it, piping hot. and i think it would do your father good, too." accordingly, as there seemed to be a vein of authority in his voice, the girl complied. she found that the coffee was already beginning to simmer, and send out a fragrant smell; for bristles had made a furious fire, regardless of consequences. "hope i don't burn your house down, sarah," he said. "excuse me, but i used to know you a long time ago, when you lived in riverport. my name is bris--that is, at home they call me andy carpenter." "oh! i do remember you now," she replied, quickly; "but it is so long ago. father never mentions riverport any more; he seems to hate the name. i think some one wronged him there, and it must have been my uncle, because every time i happened to speak of him, he would grow angry, and finally told me never to mention that name again. but you have made this coffee very strong, andy." "fred told me to; he said you both needed it," answered the boy. "and i wouldn't worry if i was you, because i used up all there is. we're going to see that more comes along this way, and that before night." "oh! it makes me feel ashamed to think that we are going to be objects of charity," the girl commenced to say, when bristles stopped her. "now, that isn't it at all, sarah!" he declared, with vehemence; "your pa is a sick man, and unless he gets a doctor soon you may lose him. so i'd just pocket that pride of yours, and let the neighbors do what they want. and if you've been fleeced by that shark of a squire lemington, why, there are a lot of others in the same fix. i'd like to see them run him out of town; but he owns a heap of property around riverport, and that would be hard to do, i suppose. say, don't that coffee smell good though; you know the kind to get, seems like." "johann swain brought that over the last time he came," she replied, somewhat confused on account of having to make the confession that they were already indebted to another for favors. when the coffee was done fred came out and secured a cup of it for the sick man; while sarah sat down at the kitchen table to drink her portion. bristles was almost famishing for a taste, but he would not have accepted the first drop, had it smelled twice as good. after making the two as comfortable as possible, the two boys once more prepared to start on their run toward home. of course they must expect to come in the very last of all, owing to all these delays; but it was little they cared. "expect company before long," sang out bristles, as, having shaken hands with the sick man and sarah, they turned to wave farewell to the girl, standing in the open door, and with something approaching a smile on her wan face. fred made a proposition before they had gone more than fifty yards. "what's the use of our finishing, bristles?" he remarked. "we're hopelessly beaten right now. suppose we head for home, and get busy going around to speak to a few of our friends about these people here. i want doc. temple to come out; and i know flo will insist on it when she hears about that poor girl." "three to one she comes with him; and that the buggy is crammed full of all the good things they've got at home," asserted bristles; "because there never was a girl with a bigger heart than flo." fred was of the same opinion himself, though he only nodded, and smiled. "you see your father, and then drop in to talk it over with several others," he went on to say. "leave judge colon for me. i want to ask him a few questions about what happened between arnold masterson and his rich uncle, to make sarah's father hate him so, and avoid riverport in the bargain." when they arrived home the boys quickly changed their clothes, and then started in to tell the story of their recent remarkable experience. fred, first of all, enlisted the good will of his own mother, who hurried over to another neighbor to start the ball rolling, with the idea of having a wagon with supplies sent out to the masterson farm that very afternoon. his visit to the temple home was a pleasant affair with fred. just as he had expected, flo was immediately concerned about the family, and asked numerous questions while they were waiting for the genial old doctor to come in at noon from his morning round of sick calls. then the doctor drove up, and as soon as he entered the house heard fred's amazing story. he was quite concerned about it. "of course i'll go out there the first thing after lunch, and bring them both through, if i can," he declared, just as fred had expected would be the case. "those tramps ought to be followed up, and caged; they're getting bolder every day. i expect that some fine morning we'll find our bank broken open, or else somebody kidnapped, and held for a ransom." "and i'm going along with you, daddy," said miss temple, with an air that announced the fact that she usually had her own way with her parent. "did you know this arnold masterson, sir; and is he a nephew of the squire?" asked the boy. "yes, to both of your questions, fred," replied the doctor. "years back there was a quarrel between them, and a lawsuit that went against arnold, who disappeared soon afterward. i did not know he still lived within five miles of riverport, because he is never seen on the streets here. but he was an honest man, which is more than some people think can be said of his rich uncle." that was all fred wanted to know, and he took his departure, well satisfied with the way fortune had treated him that morning. later on he heard that the people of riverport had carried enough supplies out to the masterson farm to last until christmas. and doctor temple reported that not only would sarah escape any ill results from her experience in the cold waters of the well, but the sick man was going to come around, in time, all right. chapter vi the news corney brought the big roller-skating rink had been turned into a splendid gymnasium for the boys and girls of riverport school; for certain days were to be set aside when the latter should have their turn at basketball and kindred athletic exercises, calculated to make them healthier, and better fitted for their studies. the headmaster of the school, professor brierley, was very much delighted with the way things had gone. he was an advocate of all healthful sports, when not carried to excess. and this spirit which had been awakened in riverport, was bound, he believed, to make for the betterment of the town in every way. "perhaps there'll be less work for dr. temple," he remarked, at a meeting of the best citizens, when the gymnasium was handed over to the school trustees; "because there'll be far less sickness among our young people. though possibly a few accidents, as the result of indiscretion in exercising too violently, may make amends to our physicians." meanwhile the young athletes belonging to riverport school had been as busy as the proverbial bee. saturdays were devoted to all sorts of work, each class being represented by aspiring claimants for honors. and when the really deserving ones had finally been selected to do their best for the honor of the school, everyone watched their work with pride, and the hope that they might make the highest pole vault, the longest running jump, the quickest time in the hundred yards, quarter-mile, half mile and five mile races known to amateur athletic meets in that part of the country at least. merchants talked with their customers about the coming tournament; and the mildest looking women, whom no one would suspect of knowing the least thing about such affairs, surprised others with their store of knowledge. the bookstore in town where sporting goods were kept did a land-office business during those days, and had to duplicate their orders to wholesalers frequently. stout business men were buying exercisers to fasten to the bathroom doors; or perhaps dumb-bells and indian clubs, calculated to take off a certain number of pounds of fat. others boasted of how deftly they were beginning to hit the punching bag; and how much enjoyment the exercise, followed by a cold shower bath, gave them. representatives from mechanicsburg, who wandered down to get a few points that might be calculated to give their athletes renewed confidence, took back tales of the spirit that had swept over the other town on the mohunk. and they even said that paulding was striving with might and main to get in line with the other two places. her boys expressed a hope that when the favors were handed around, steady old paulding might not be left entirely out of the running. there were even broad hints that some people were going to get the surprise of their lives when the great day arrived. paulding always had been a difficult crowd to beat, and would never confess to defeat until the last word had been said. it was the day just preceding that on which the athletic meet was slated to be held. as before, luck seemed to dwell with riverport, since the drawing of lots decided that the tournament must be held on her grounds, outside of town. and it seemed about right that this should be the case, since riverport lay between her two rivals on the mohunk, one being three, the other seven miles away. nothing else was talked of those days, after school, but the proposed meet. on the field itself there gathered crowds of boys and girls who hovered in groups while the various candidates went through their work; and either praised, or criticised; for it is always easy to do the latter. so on this morning of the day preceding the great event, whenever boys ran across each other on the street, it was always with questions concerning the condition of those upon whom riverport depended to win the most points in the tournament. at no time in the past had the state of health of these lads interested more than a very small portion of the community. now everybody heaved a sigh of satisfaction upon learning that colon was said to be in better trim than ever before in all his life, or that sid wells, fred fenton and bristles carpenter were just feeling "fine." whenever one of those who were expected to take part made his appearance on the street he had a regular following, all hanging on every word he spoke, "just as if he might be an oracle," as bristles humorously remarked. "wait till sunday morning, and then see if some balloons haven't busted," he went on to remark, as several fellows gathered around him that bright autumn morning, when there had been a sharp tang of frost in the air; "a lot of us will fail to score a beat, and then see how quick they drop us. some will even be cruel enough to say they always knew that bristles carpenter was a big fake; and that when it came right down to business he never was able to hold up his end; and they never could see why the committee put him on the roll of would-be heroes." "sure! and the next day it rained!" called back little semi-colon, whose size debarred him from taking any part in the athletic contests, a fact he deplored many times, for he had the spirit of a warrior in his small body. "anyhow, sunday will be a good day to rest, and stay indoors, to avoid all the cruel things that will be fired at a fellow monday," grinned bristles. "say, don't talk like that, old man," remarked another of the group; "seems like you might be getting all ready for a funeral. i don't like it. better do some boasting, and give us a chance to feel we're going to carry mechanicsburg right off her feet." "oh! i'm only taking out a little extra insurance, that's all," remarked bristles. "they all do it, you know. never knew a feller to get licked but he began to explain how it happened; and tell how if his foot had been all right, or that stitch in his side hadn't caught him, he'd have swept up the ground with all his rivals. i'm wondering what i'd better mention right now as troubling me." "but you just said you felt as fit as a fiddle?" protested semi-colon. "so i do," answered bristles; "but that don't matter. a feller may feel fit, and yet have a sore toe; can't he? but, boys, if i get beaten you're not going to hear me put up a whine. it'll only be because the other feller is the better man." "bully for you, bristles;" remarked a tall student, vigorously; "i always knew you'd stand up and be counted. and just you make up your mind you're going to bring home the bacon. we want every point we can get, to beat mechanicsburg out." "nobody seems to take poor old paulding seriously," remarked fred, who was one of the noisy, enthusiastic group on the way to the recreation field for a spell of warming up exercise; for school had been dismissed on thursday afternoon, giving this friday preceding the meet as a holiday for the scholars, owing to the great interest taken in the affair, the trustees said, and also the fact that the other towns had decided upon the same thing. "well, you never can tell," declared dick hendricks, who had come up just in time to catch the last remark. "i've got private information from below, and let me warn every fellow not to be cocksure about paulding. that fellow they've got coaching them is no slouch. he was a college grad. just the same as our mr. shays; and they say he coached princeton for several years, away back." "oh! he's an old man, and a back number," observed bristles, contemptuously. "i heard he hasn't kept up with the procession, and that his methods are altogether slow compared with the more modern ones." "well, i believe in never underestimating an enemy," fred went on; "and if all of us feel that we've got to do our level best in order to win, even against paulding, that ends the matter." "who's seen colon this morning?" asked dick hendricks. "not me," replied bristles, "and it's kind of queer too, because he said he'd drop in for me at eight this morning, and now it's half-past. reckon he forgot, and went on with another bunch. there's always a lot of boys trailing after colon nowadays, you know. they just hang around his door, his mother told mine only yesterday, like a pack of hounds, calling for him to show himself." "well, i guess colon is the best card in our pack," declared fred, stoutly. "you see, he's slated to run in all the shorter sprints, and we expect him to leave the other fellows at the post, for he's as fleet as a deer--bristles says kangaroo, because of that queer jump he has. they haven't got a ghost of a show in any race colon takes part in; and i guess they know it up at mechanicsburg." "i was talking with a boy from there the other day," spoke up the tall student. "i think he was sent down here as a sort of spy, to see just what we were doing, and get tabs on our men. he owned up to me that if colon could do that well in a regular race it would be a procession, because nobody could head him. they'd just run on in the hope he might be taken with cramps, or something." "who's that hollering back there; looks like corney shays?" remarked semi-colon just then, so sharply that the entire group paused to look back. "it is corney, late as usual, and with his nerve along; because he wants us all to stop and wait for him," declared dick hendricks. "come along boys, and let him catch up if he can." "but he acts mighty queer," said fred. "you're right he does," added bristles, taking the alarm at once. "look at him waving his arms. say, fellers, something's gone wrong, bet you a cooky. i just feel it in my bones. oh! what if colon's been taken sick right now the day before?" they stood there, silent and expectant, until the running corney had drawn near. "what ails you, corney?" demanded dick. "it's colon!" gasped the other, almost out of breath, and much excited in the bargain, they could see, for his eyes seemed ready to pop out of his head. "don't tell us he's sick!" cried bristles, in real horror. "disappeared--never slept in his bed last night, his ma says! gone in the queerest way ever, and just when riverport depended on him to win the prize to-morrow!" was what the almost breathless corney gasped. chapter vii where is colon? "oh! what d'ye think of that, now?" cried bristles. "how could colon ever do it; and all riverport depending on him so?" exclaimed the tall student, henry clifford by name, who was always deeply interested in the field sports of his mates, though too delicate himself to take any part in them. "why, what d'ye think he's done?" demanded bristles, aggressively, turning on him. "perhaps he just got so nervous over this business that he couldn't stand the push, and thought he'd better skip out," replied the other, weakly. "rats! tell that to your grandmother, will you, clifford!" burst out semi-colon, quick to rally to the defense of his cousin. "nobody ever knew him to flinch when it came to the test; ain't that so, fellers?" "sure it is," cried bristles, sturdily; "and when i saw him last night he was just feeling as if he had a walkover ahead. no, if colon has disappeared there's some other reason besides a sudden fear of being beaten. he never went of his own account." "tell us some more about it, corney," said fred, himself considerably shaken by the stunning news brought by the runner. corney had by now succeeded in regaining his breath. "well, he's gone, that's a dead sure thing," he began. "i went around to his house to get him to come. found several other fellows sitting there on the bank outside the fence. they didn't have the nerve to go in and ask for colon, you see. but i walked up to the door, and knocked. mrs. colon came out, and smiled to see the mob there, like she might be feeling proud that her boy was so well thought of." "oh! cut it short!" growled dick hendricks. "get down to facts. what did she say?" "that she was letting chris sleep longer this morning, because he was working so hard these days; but would go and wake him up. a minute later i heard her call out, and then i ran in, fearing that something had happened to our chum. she was there in his room, wringing her hands, and carryin' on like everything. then i saw that the bed hadn't been slept in. fellers, it gave me a cold creep, because you see, i just _knew_ something terrible must have happened to poor old colon." fred tried to keep his head about him in this trying moment. he knew that this peculiar disappearance of colon could not be an accident; nor had the long-legged sprinter gone away of his own accord. there must be more about the matter than appeared on the surface. "one thing i think we can be sure of, right at the start," he remarked, seriously; and it was wonderful how eagerly the others listened to what he was about to say, as if they had more than ordinary confidence in fred fenton's judgment. "what is that, fred?" asked dick hendricks. "colon never went off willingly," the other declared. "sure he didn't; but who could have done it, fred?" demanded bristles, clenching his fists aggressively, and looking ready for a fight, if only he knew on whom to vent his anger. "that's where we're all up a tree, and we'd better turn back right now," fred declared. "no use practicing this morning, with colon lost to us. who'd have any heart to do his best?" "just what i was going to say, boys," spoke up corney. "come along back to his home with me. there's getting to be the biggest excitement in old riverport that you ever heard tell of. even when i chased after you they were running about in the streets, talkin' about the latest sensation. women was gatherin' in knots on the corners, and discussin' it from all sides. they had sent for the chief of our police force, and i saw him headin' that way as i came along, with a whole mob of the fellers at his heels." "whew! ain't this a stunner, though?" gasped the tall student, hurrying to keep up with the excited little bunch of schoolboys as they headed back toward the town. just as corney had declared, they found the place buzzing with excitement. all thought of business seemed to have been utterly abandoned for the time being; and merchants, as well as clerks, gathered outside the stores, engaged in discussing the news that had burst upon them. fred, bristles and the rest were soon at colon's home. "gee! look at the crowd; would you?" ejaculated corney, as they came in sight of some scores of men, women and the younger element, who jostled each other in front of the house. "ain't it funny how a thing like this spreads? talk to me about wildfire--excitin' news has got it beat a mile. why, they're still comin' in flocks and droves. the whole town will be around here before long." "can you blame them?" remarked dick hendricks; "look at us right now, heading for the hub of the wheel for all we're worth. but there's one of the constables keeping 'em out of the gate. wonder if he'll let us in?" "he's just got to," said corney. "i'll tell him mrs. colon sent me out to get the whole bunch, and he'll pass us all right." several did get in with the bold corney, among them fred and bristles; but the main part of the group had to content themselves with kicking their heels against the fence, and waiting to get any additional news when their comrades came out. inside they found judge colon, looking very much flushed. the missing boy was his nephew, and he was taking more than usual interest in the matter. just now he seemed to be trying to comfort the alarmed mother, who, being a widow, with her only boy taken away in this mysterious manner, was much in need of sympathy and advice. "depend upon it, matilda," the judge was saying; "it will prove to be only some wild prank on the part of his mates; christopher will turn up presently, safe and sound. you say he went out last night; do you happen to know where?" "he was over to my house, judge," spoke up bristles, boldly, wishing to give all the information in his power. "ah! yes, it's you, andrew, is it?" the gentleman remarked, looking around. "and about what time did he start away for home, may i ask?" "it couldn't have been much after ten, sir," replied the other. "we were playing cribbage, and he got the odd game. yes, i remember, now, he said his mother would be in bed anyway when he got home." "and i did retire about nine, as i usually do," remarked mrs. colon, upon whose face the marks of tears could be plainly seen. "i didn't hear christopher come in, because i slept unusually well the early part of the night. then came that cruel shock this morning, when i saw his bed all made up, and knew he hadn't come home at all." "you went to the door with him; didn't you, andrew?" the judge went on, with the persistence a lawyer might be expected to show when he had a willing witness on the stand, and was bent on getting every fact, however slight, from him. "yes, sir, i even went out to our gate; and we stood there for nearly five minutes, i guess, talkin' about athletic matters. then he said good-night, and walked down the road. there was a moon in the west, and i could see colon swinging along in that sturdy way he has. then i turned around and went up to bed." "when you stood there at the gate did anybody pass by?" asked the judge. "no sir, not a living soul," responded bristles, after a few seconds of thought. "and you didn't hear any suspicious sounds, like boys laughing partly under their breath; did you, andrew?" "not a chuckle, sir," replied the other. "it was just a fine night, i noticed, and looked like we'd have good weather right along for the meet. but if you think there are any fellers in this town mean enough to kidnap colon, just to give us a black eye to-morrow, i must say i can't understand it, sir." "well, i believe i have known of a certain lot of young fellows who happen to hold forth around riverport, and who would not be above doing a thing like that, given just half a cause," the judge replied, meaningly; and every one knew whom he had in mind, for their thoughts immediately flew to buck lemington and his cronies. "but perhaps it wasn't any prank of boys at all," bristles went on, eagerly; "colon said the night was so bright he had half a notion to take a two mile dash out over the grafton road, just to wind up his big day. i advised him not to think of it, but he only laughed. but he's awful set in his ways, sir, once he makes up his mind." "he said that; did he?" asked the judge, apparently thinking that there might be something worth while taking note of in this latest assertion. "yes, sir, he certainly did," the boy answered. "colon's a queer fish anyhow, and does heaps of things nobody else'd ever think of. now, what if he did start on that run; why, something might have happened to him--perhaps he tripped, and fell, and broke a leg, so he couldn't even crawl home." the mother started to cry again as she pictured her boy suffering all through the night as bristles described so recklessly. and so the judge moved aside with several of the boys, the better to talk unheard by colon's mother. "things are beginning to take on shape, i see," he remarked, grimly. "possibly the boy did foolishly start on that late run by moonlight, and met with trouble. some people with whom i talked on the way here were of the opinion he had been kidnapped by tramps, and was being held for a ransom, just as if this might be sicily or greece." "i don't think that way, judge colon," said fred, speaking for the first time. "i'm pleased to hear that you have another idea, my boy; let us know its nature," said the lawyer, who had always been favorably impressed with the sterling worth of mr. fenton's son, and now hoped he had struck on a plausible explanation of the odd mystery. "my idea is," fred began, modestly, yet firmly, "that colon has been abducted by some of those mechanicsburg fellows, who know they haven't a ghost of a chance to win the three shorter running events on the schedule, with him in line. they've got a college man for a coach, you see, sir, and like as not he's been telling them of the tricks that are played among all the big universities; so they've just thought to spoil our game for us by holding our best man a prisoner till after the meet." chapter viii a clue in the ditch judge colon looked keenly at fred as he made this suggestion. "i don't suppose now, my boy," the gentleman remarked, "you have any reason to suppose that what you say is the actual fact; that is, proof positive?" "no sir, i haven't," replied fred. "it is only an idea that came into my mind." "based upon what, might i ask?" the judge continued. "well, i've known that a good many mechanicsburg boys have been down here lately, curious to see what sort of a showing riverport would make in the meet." "yes, quite natural that they should want to know; because these must be anxious and trying times for the young people of the three towns," the judge remarked. "and," fred went on, "of course they've heard a lot about our sprinter; for riverport boys are like all other boys, and like to brag, especially when they've really got a phenomenon of a runner, like our colon, to boast about." the judge smiled at that; for was not that same wonder a member of his family--a colon? "and you think then, fred, some of those up-river boys, convinced that if christopher ran in the meet he would easily capture all the prizes in his class, made up their minds that something must be done to prevent such a wholesale delivery? you suspect, fred, that they got up a bold little scheme to actually abduct the boy on one of the two nights preceding the tournament?" "do you believe it impossible, judge?" asked the boy, quickly. "well, to be frank with you, i don't," answered the gentleman, gravely. "indeed, while my knowledge of boy nature is not so extensive as that of some persons, i've got one myself who can think up more schemes in a minute than i could solve in an hour. and, fred, i should be pleased if your supposition turned out to be true. it would at least relieve my mind with regard to graver things; however unpleasant the absence of christopher might prove to the school that believes in him." "but he may be found in time!" declared corney shays, who had listened to all this talk with bated breath, and wide open eyes. "he will, if a pack of hounds like the boys of riverport school are worth their salt!" avowed bristles. "that has the right sort of ring to it," remarked the judge, with kindling eyes. "and in order to induce men, as well as boys, to take part in the hunt for your missing comrade, i'm going to offer a reward of one hundred dollars for his return inside of twenty-four hours, uninjured. i'll have half a dozen cards posted in the public places of the town, so that every person will know of my offer." "hurrah for the judge!" burst out the impetuous corney. "then the sooner we get to work, fellows," said fred, impressively, "the better." "yes, spread the news as fast as you can," observed the judge; "tell it to that crowd of boys outside the fence, and get them to scatter with it all over town. scour the whole territory, looking in every barn and woodshed to see whether they may have kept him a prisoner there. boys sometimes can be more or less thoughtless, and even cruel when engaged in what they term sport. as the old saying has it, 'this is often fun for the boy, but death to the frog.' be off, boys; and success to you!" apparently the judge was not quite so much concerned as before fred had made his suggestion. the unpleasant idea of lawless tramps having caught colon, to hold him for ransom, had begun to lose plausibility in the mind of the reasoning lawyer. "come along, fellows!" cried bristles, who scented the pleasures of action, with something of the delight that an old war-horse does the smoke of battle. they hurried out of the house, leaving to the judge the task of explaining to mrs. colon how the situation had improved. there was an immediate scattering of the clans. boys ran this way and that, telling the astonishing news to every one they met. housewives stood in doorways and anxiously inquired as to the very latest theory to account for the mysterious disappearance of a riverport lad. such a thing had never happened before, save when little rupert whiting wandered off in search of butterflies, and was found two days later, living on the blueberries that grew so abundantly in the woods. and when the latest suggestion, connected with the boys of mechanicsburg, began to be current it created no end of unfavorable comment. meanwhile fred and several of his chums had started in to see what they could do toward finding colon. as usual they looked to fred to do pretty much all the planning. somehow, in times like this, when boys are called upon to meet a sudden emergency, they naturally turn toward the strongest spirit. in this case it happened to be fred. "now, in the beginning, fellows," he remarked, when he found that only corney, sid wells, bristles, and semi-colon were gathered around him; "we've got to go into this thing with some show of system." "that's right," admitted corney. "too many already just prancing around," observed bristles, scornfully; "up one road, and down another, peekin' into barns, and asking questions of every farmer around. all that's what we call 'wasted endeavor,' at school. fred, system is the thing. but just where do we make a proper start, so as to cover the field, and not go over the same ground twice?" "that's just it," replied the other; "we want to map out our course beforehand, and then stick to it. now, to begin with, bristles, let's decide which way colon would have gone from your house, if he had really made up his mind that he must have a last two mile practice spin before he went home, and to bed." "say, i can tell you that right off the reel," declared bristles, officiously. "then get busy," remarked corney. "why, you see," said bristles, "when he talked of doing that little stunt, he said he'd a good notion to run up to the graveyard and back, which would make an even two miles." "but you didn't say anything about that before?" fred objected. "clean slipped my mind," his chum admitted, frankly; "fact is, i never thought it made the least difference what colon _said_. the main thing seemed to be he was gone, like the ground had opened and swallowed him. but if he took that run, fred, make up your mind it was up there." corney gave a little whistle. "gee! the loneliest old road inside of ten miles around riverport, too. i guess old colon must have been wanting to give them fellers the best chance ever. if he'd been offered a prize to accommodate 'em, he couldn't have hit the bulls-eye better." "then that's the road we want to take," said fred, decisively. "don't mention it to anybody, but come along. somebody who knows all the quirks of that road better than i do, lead off. and every fellow keep on the lookout, right and left, for signs." so they hurried away toward the house where the carpenters lived. bristles showed them just where he stood when, in the moonlight, he saw the last of his tall chum, turning to wave a hand at him. with that they started off. little talking was indulged in, for all of them understood that they had a serious matter on their hands. with colon gone, their hopes of landing a majority of the prizes offered for the various events of the athletic meet would begin to grow dim indeed. it would take the heart out of other contestants on the part of riverport, and in all probability accomplish just the end those who had abducted colon had in view. after they had passed along for some little distance, eagerly scanning every object in sight, their hopes fell a trifle. boylike, they had imagined that as soon as they started out upon this promising theory they would find plenty of evidence calculated to prove its truth. "ain't seen a sign of him yet!" grumbled corney; "and we're nigh half-way to the old graveyard, too." "wait!" said fred, as he suddenly drew up, and the others followed suit; though none of them could imagine what had caused their leader to stop his quick walk. "seen something; have you, fred?" asked bristles, eagerly. "why, i was wondering," fred remarked, quietly, and with a twinkle in his eye, "if they grew things like that around here on bushes, instead of blueberries!" he pointed down as he spoke. alongside the road at this point lay a ditch that was a couple of feet lower than the surface of the pike. straggly bushes partly over-ran the watercourse; and caught on the twigs of these was some sort of object that had attracted the attention of the observant boy. "say, it's a cap!" ejaculated corney. "and a good cap, too; not an old cast-off thing!" sid declared. "hold on, let me take it up out of there with this stick," said fred. "no use getting our feet wet; and besides, it's easier this way." so saying, while the others clustered around, he reached down, and deftly thrusting the end of the stick under the cap, drew it to him. immediately bristles uttered a loud cry of astonishment, not unmixed with joy. "you recognize the cap, then; do you?" asked fred. "sure thing," answered bristles, promptly. "it's colon's cap." chapter ix the covered wagon "what makes you so sure it belonged to him?" fred asked. "oh! i know it as well as i do my own cap," replied bristles. "it's a queer mixture, you can see; and here's the place where colon shot that arrow through it one day, when he asked me to throw it up in the air for him." "and i ought to know it too, fred," remarked the short legged cousin of the missing boy. "because i bought it for chris. you see, i lost his other for him, and i had to spend some of my hard-earned cash to get him a new one. i found that at snyder's emporium; and i thought he'd kick like fun because it was so odd; but say, he just thought it the best thing ever! that's colon's headgear, all right." "then we'll consider that point settled," fred went on to say. "the next thing on the program to decide is, how does it happen to be lying here in this ditch? as i remember it, there wasn't much of a wind last night when i went to bed, and it doesn't seem then that it could have blown off his head when he was running." "there wasn't a ripple in the leaves of the trees," declared bristles. "and if it did blow off, wouldn't he have stopped to look for it in the moonlight?" remarked sid wells. "colon is too careful of his things not to make a hunt for his cap," came from semi-colon, who ought to know if any one did, about the peculiarities of his own cousin. "well, the cap was here," fred said; "and we found it; now why was it lying in the ditch as if it had been thrown there, or knocked off in a scuffle?" "wow! now perhaps we ain't gettin' down to brass tacks!" ejaculated bristles. fred bent over to examine the road, along the edge of the ditch. "looks like somethin' might have been going on here," corney suggested. "you're right," sid added, excitedly. "why, anybody with one eye could see there'd been a scramble around here. look at the scrapings in the dust; would you? just like a pack of fellows had set on one; and the bunch were jumping around him, trying to get away, and the others holding on. fred, here's where it must have happened, sure!" "i think so myself," returned the leader of the five boys, gravely surveying the tell-tale marks in the dust of the road. "eureka! ain't we the handy boys, though, to get on the track of the kidnappers so quick?" exclaimed bristles, proudly. "go slow," advised fred; "we've only made a start as yet. even if it happened here we don't know who jumped on colon, and captured him. it might have been those mechanicsburg fellows; or the three tramps who searched the masterson farmhouse; and then again, why, perhaps some of our own riverport boys may have been having a little fun, as they would call it, giving the rest of us a bad scare, just to have the laugh on us." "say, do you think buck lemington and his bunch would get down as low as that?" demanded bristles. "i didn't mention his name," replied fred; "but you all knew what was on my mind. well, from what i've seen of buck, it strikes me he'd never stop one minute if the idea once came into his mind. perhaps some of you noticed that he wasn't running around like the rest of the fellows. buck was watching the row, and i thought once i saw him grin as if he might be enjoying something." "and fred," spoke up corney just then, "you just ought to have seen the ugly look he gave you when you happened to pass. buck's never gotten over it because when you dropped into riverport his star began to set. it's been going lower all the time, and he keeps nursing his ugly feeling for you. some fine day he means to get you when you're not thinking, and even up all scores. look out for him, fred." "i used to think buck hated me about as bad as he could anybody," remarked sid; "but lately i've changed my mind. i never gave him one-half the cause to feel ugly that fred has." "you don't say," remarked the one mentioned, looking surprised; "what have i done to buck that is so dreadful? i've tried to mind my own business, and never went out of my way a single step to bother with him." "but it just _happened_," ventured sid, "that your way was buck's own road in some cases. now, time was, and every fellow here will bear me out in what i say, when buck used to take a certain pretty girl to lots of places. they squabbled more or less; but buck wouldn't allow any other fellow to be flo's escort. all that is changed these days. she cuts him dead; and every time she turns him down he grins and grits his teeth, and i reckon thinks of you kindly--not." "oh! well, that's ancient history," remarked fred, smiling. "and it cuts no figure in what we're trying to find out now. if colon was waylaid here, and made a prisoner, how can we discover who did the job?" as he spoke he once more threw himself down on hands and knees as if bent upon closely examining the dusty road. "i can see a plain footprint here, that has a mark i'd know again," he presently exclaimed. "do any of you happen to know whether colon is wearing a shoe with plain patch on the sole running diagonally across about half way down?" bristles spoke up immediately. "he wasn't last night, and that's a cinch. because he had on his running shoes, and they were new this season. i know, for he showed me where he meant to have a little extra sewing done on each shoe to-day, for fear something might happen in the races, and he has only the one pair. i handled both, and the soles didn't have a sign of a patch, fred." "then that settles one thing," remarked the other; "we've got a clue to the first of his enemies, whoever he proves to be. and wherever we go we'll keep a sharp lookout for that shoe with the patch on the sole. get down here, fellows, and take the measure of it right now." while they were doing this fred was looking around; and no sooner had his four chums regained their feet than he was ready with a new proposition. "there's a house over yonder," he said; "now, it's possible we might learn something if we asked questions. no harm trying it, anyway, so come along, boys." a woman stood in the doorway. she seemed to be a farmer's wife, and she had been watching the actions of the five boys, puzzled to account for their queer behavior. thinking that the quickest way to enlist her sympathy would be to relate what a peculiar thing had happened on the preceding night, fred politely accosted her, and as quickly as he could find words to do so, told the story of colon's vanishing. "now, you see, ma'am," he went on, after he had aroused her interest in this way, "we've reason to believe that they jumped on our chum right over where you noticed us examining the ground. and seeing you standing here, with your house so near the place, i thought that perhaps you might have heard something last night." "well, that's just what i did," the farmer's wife replied, thrilling the boys who had clustered around the doorway where she stood. "do you happen to know about what time it might have been?" asked fred. "along about half after ten, i should say," she answered. fred looked at his chums, inquiringly. "just to the dot," declared bristles, "mebbe you remember that i said it was some time after ten when colon broke away. then we stood talkin' at the gate a little bit; and when he got this far on his mile dash up to the graveyard, it must have been close to the half hour. that tallies fine, fred." "what was it you heard, ma'am?" fred continued, after the talkative bristles had had his say, and subsided again. "why, i'd gone to bed long before. my man is as deaf as a post, and never hears a thing. i thought i caught a shout, like a boy whooping. we've got a few trees of fine baldwin apples back here, and twice now, boys from riverport have raided the orchard; so i'm on the watch to fire a gun out of the window to give 'em a scare." "and you thought they were in your trees again; did you?" asked fred, when the woman paused. "that's what struck me at first," she went on; "but as soon as i got up i knew better; because all the noise came from up the road there. i stayed by the window listening and heard a lot of shouting. then it was all still, and pretty soon a covered wagon went past the house." "which way; toward riverport or in the other direction?" fred inquired. "oh!" the woman replied, "it was going up toward the graveyard; but then i didn't think that so strange, because i've seen that same limpy white horse, and the covered wagon, go by here lots of times for years now." "that is, you knew it, and could even tell it in the moonlight?" the boy asked. "it belongs to old toby scroggins," she replied. "the hoss limps, and you can always hear toby saying 'gad-up! gad-up!' every ten feet, right along." "i know him, and what she says is so," remarked sid. "why, years ago he had the same old crowbait of a horse, and the boys mocked him when he'd keep using the whip, and telling the beast to get along." "did you hear toby talking to his limping nag last night, ma'am?" asked fred. "why, lands! no, i didn't, now you mention it," she answered; "but then sometimes he goes to sleep on his wagon, returning from market, where he buys corn for his hogs, 'stead of raisin' it like the rest of us. and he lives a long way up the road, you see." fred turned upon his companions. "what do you think, fellows," he asked; "was that wagon filled with corn last night, or had it a lot of boys under the cover when it passed here, one of them being our missing chum, colon?" "i reckon you've struck pay dirt, fred," declared corney. "my opinion too!" echoed semi-colon. "count me in on that, and make it unanimous!" bristles remarked. "and what about you, sid?" asked fred, turning on his nearest chum. "h'm! i not only agree to all you say, fred, but i reckon i know right now where they've got colon shut up. he's in the haunted mill, boys!" chapter x the ambush several of the other boys had uttered exclamations when sid made this statement. fred, however, did not seem to be very much impressed. "a haunted mill!" he repeated; "that's something new to me. i thought i'd heard about everything queer around riverport; but i didn't know you had ghosts hanging out here. where's it at, sid; and why do you call it haunted?" "oh! i'd almost forgotten all about that place," the other replied; "you see none of the boys ever go up any more to the mill-pond swimming, since dub jasper from over in mechanicsburg way, got caught in that sucker hole, and near drowned. folks said it was too dangerous for us there. but i thought i'd told you about the old mill, and how it hadn't been used for years now." "but is it haunted; did anybody ever see a ghost there?" asked fred, determined to get at the truth. "shucks! no," bristles broke in with; "the boys just started to call it that because it looks so gloomy like, standin' there deserted. we used to play around it. i've slid over on the big wheel myself, lots of times, and gone all the way around, under water as well. but i guess there's no real ghost about it, fred." "all the same," continued sid, "it would make a great place to keep a fellow so nobody could find him. i understand that the owner closed it up, boarded the windows, and locked the doors, after we quit going there." "how far away is it from here?" fred next inquired. "all of three miles, i should say," the woman remarked; for she had been listening to what the boys were saying, with more or less interest. "and about as far from mechanicsburg," sid went on. "you see, it's on a road that runs into this some ways up. and old toby, he lives about half a mile further on. now, i wonder how they ever got his limpy horse? perhaps they hired it for the time; or else just sneaked it out of his barn, to come down here with." "just now," remarked fred, "we don't care much about how they did it. what we want to do is to start right off, and get up there to that same region of the mill. are you good for the hike, fellows?" "are we?" echoed bristles; "why, if you say the word we'll give you a run for your money, fred, and put you in practice for to-morrow." "let's start right now," suggested corney. when the second mile had been covered, semi-colon was gasping for breath, but sticking to it gamely. he was a most persistent little fellow, and had always played a good game of ball, despite his lack of stature. fred eased up a bit. there was no great need for haste, after all. the day was before them, and they must by now be getting up in the region where the mill spoken of was to be found. he kept a bright lookout ahead, but trees concealed much of the view, so that he could hardly have made any discovery. besides, upon asking sid, he learned that the deserted mill was not upon this road at all; but down a private lane, that was almost wholly overgrown with briars and bushes, not having been used for teams in nearly twenty years. they had met very few persons on the road--a haywagon headed for riverport to supply some of the local demand; a farmer making his way slowly homeward after an early visit to the market with produce--these two going in opposite directions made up about the sum total. in these days it had become such a common sight to meet groups of boys clad in running togs, and sprinting along the country roads, that neither driver paid much attention to the bunch that loped easily onward. "there's where the mechanicsburg road joins this one," sid had said, as they passed the junction point; but there was no reason why they should stop; though fred did find himself wondering whether, if he examined the ground very carefully around on that other turnpike, he would discover such a thing as a footprint, with the sole patched. "if it was done by mechanicsburg fellows," he remarked, "i reckon they'd have come out here then, and gone along the road to borrow toby's white horse with the covered wagon. it must have been that last which drew them; because, you see, they could hide inside, and nobody would think they were carrying off a fellow." "we're getting pretty close now, fred," remarked sid; "suppose you slacken up, and give semi-colon a chance to get his wind. he's nearly done for." "ain't neither!" snapped the game little fellow, stubbornly; "c'd keep it up--all morning--if i--had to." but fred immediately stopped running, falling back into a walk. he was looking ahead along the road. "there's a boy just passing that opening yonder, and coming this way," he remarked; "and strikes me he doesn't look like a regular buck-wheat farmer's boy." "where?" demanded sid, eagerly, and immediately adding; "ginger! if it ain't that wagner, the mechanicsburg fellow who always puts up such a stiff fight in baseball, football and the rowing contest. now whatever in the wide world d'ye think he can be doing here, three miles and more from home?" "oh!" said fred, drily, "perhaps they've heard the news up there, and some of their boys have started out to see about earning that hundred dollars reward. it might have been telephoned up, you know." "but all the same you don't believe that, fred!" corney exclaimed. "it looks mighty suspicious, in my eyes, with that deserted mill so near by, and us believin' they've got our chum held up there," bristles remarked, mysteriously. "i don't think he saw us, do you, fred?" asked sid. "to tell the truth i don't; because he seemed to be looking the other way," answered the one spoken to. "and perhaps it might be just as well for us, boys, to make ourselves scarce right now. here's some bushes where we can hide." "what do you mean to do, fred; jump out and grab wagner, and make him own up?" demanded corney, as the five boys started to conceal themselves back of the bush patch. "well, we ought to know what he's doing over here, and right now of all times. you said we were close to the old lane that leads to the mill, didn't you, sid?" asked fred. "it lies just a stone's throw further along the road than the spot where you saw wagner through that opening in the trees," the other remarked. "h'st! he's a-comin', fellers; you want to lie low, and stop gabblin'," warned bristles, who happened to have chosen a position where he had a clearer view along the road than his mates. so they relapsed into silence, waiting for the other boy to get opposite, when it was expected that fred would give a signal for them to spring out and surround wagner. they could hear him whistling, as if perfectly care-free. fred was reminded of gabe larkins, the butcher's boy, who used to have such a tremendous whistle, as though by this means he would defy anyone to even suspect that he could be guilty of wrong doing. another thing fred noticed, as he peered out at the advancing boy; wagner was not in running costume, which would go to prove that a desire to practice could hardly have taken him away over here, three miles from home. it looked suspicious, to say the least. bristles was moving uneasily, as though he began to fear that fred might want to let the other pass by; such a course would be very unpleasant to bristles, impatient of restraint. he hoped that they would make a prisoner of the boy from mechanicsburg, and force him by dire threats to confess to what he and his comrades had done with the crack riverport sprinter, colon. wagner, besides being the captain of the athletic track team that expected to compete with the other schools, happened to be the best short distance runner in mechanicsburg. thus it would be most of all to his interest to have colon fail to take part in the meet. fred bore this in mind when trying to figure out whether the problem could be solved in this way. meanwhile wagner came on, still whistling merrily. he did not look like a guilty conspirator, fred thought; but then it is not always safe to figure on appearances in such a matter. now the boy was almost directly opposite the place where fred and his four chums lay concealed. if they expected to surround him, there was no more time to be lost. "hello! wagner!" with the words fred jumped out from the sheltering bushes. the others were just as spry, and almost before wagner knew it they had formed a complete cordon around him. had he thought of running, it was now too late, for retreat was cut off. but wagner just stood there and stared at them, his face showing signs of either real or cleverly assumed wonder. chapter xi the haunted mill "well, this is a surprise!" remarked felix wagner, as he continued to stare at the five riverport fellows who had leaped out so suddenly from the brush alongside the road, and completely surrounded him. fred was keeping his eyes on the other's face. he had expected to see felix appear confused; but, strange to say, he was nothing of the sort. "you just believe me, it is a surprise, all right!" exclaimed bristles, half elevating one of his clenched hands menacingly. wagner observed the threatening gesture. he looked from bristles to the rest of the group by which he was encircled. then a grim smile broke over his face. "hello!" he said, briskly; "seems to be catching don't it? our new doctor over in mechanicsburg says one disease can be cured by a dose of the same sort of trouble. he's different from the old fashioned kind of doctors. i heard about what happened to your friend, colon; a man in a car that i knew, stopped me about a mile up the road and asked me if i'd seen anything of him. then he told me about how he had disappeared in the queerest way ever. and now it looks like you wanted to put me in the cooler, so there wouldn't be any sprinting at all to-morrow. well, you've got me, boys. now, what do you want?" "sounds pretty nice, felix, but it won't wash," grunted corney, shaking his head as if to indicate that he did not believe one word of what he heard. "own up, wagner, that it was all your doings!" said sid, coaxingly. "yes, what have you done with my cousin? it'll go easier with you if you turn in and help us find him!" exclaimed little semi-colon. fred said nothing. he was still watching the varied emotions that fairly flew across the expressive face of felix wagner. gradually he found himself believing more than ever that the mechanicsburg fellow was innocent. what he had seen of felix in the various games played between the boys of the rival schools had inclined him to look on the other as a pretty decent sort of chap. "well, i declare, is that what ails you?" burst out wagner, presently, as he looked around the circle of angry faces. "just what it is," replied sid. "we've traced you all the way up here, and we're bound to rescue our chum, or know the reason why," bristles declared. "you thought that old covered wagon of toby's, and his limping white horse, would be a smart dodge; but we found you out," corney threw at the boy at bay. then the comical side of the affair seemed to strike wagner. he threw back his head and laughed heartily. "oh! yes, it looks funny to you, perhaps!" cried little semi-colon; "but just think of what his poor mother suffered when she went into his room this morning, and found that colon hadn't slept in his bed all night, and that he couldn't be found anywhere. now, laugh again, hang you!" wagner instantly sobered up. "i don't blame you one little bit for feeling sore at me, if you think i had any hand in such a low-down business," he said, earnestly. "why, i can prove it by mr. ketcham, the gentleman in the car i told you about, who gave me the news, that i was hot under the collar, and said, over and over again, that it was a mighty small way to win games." "oh! you said that, did you, felix?" mumbled bristles, eyeing the other suspiciously; for he was slow to change his mind, once it was set on a thing. "more than that," continued wagner, stoutly; "i told him plainly, and he's on the committee of arrangements for your town too, that i'd never run in a race when my worst rival had been spirited away just to throw the game, either to us or paulding." "gee! that sounds straight!" muttered sid. "stop and think a minute, sid wells," the accused lad went on; "you've known me a long time, and we've been rivals from the days when we were knee high to grasshoppers; but did you ever know me to attempt a dirty trick? haven't i always played the game for all it was worth, but square through and through?" "that's right, felix, you have," assented sid, heartily. even bristles found himself compelled to nod his head, as if ready to say the same thing if asked. "all right then," wagner went on, "i give you fellows my sacred word of honor that i never dreamed such a thing had been thought of or attempted, until mr. ketcham told me, a little while ago." "but what are you doing away out here, wagner?" asked corney. "not taking a practice spin, because you haven't got on your running clothes," semi-colon declared, meaningly. "sure i haven't, because i promised my mother i'd only run this afternoon. she's afraid i'm going it too strong, and that i'll break down under the strain to-morrow. and besides, i'm in apple-pie shape for the race right now. as to my being here, why i went over early this morning to tenafly with my father's lawyer, mr. goodenough, to attend to some business for my dad. ask him if it isn't so?" "oh! was that it?" remarked bristles; "why, didn't he go himself, felix; tell us that?" "we had to have the doctor over last night to see dad; he had another attack of lumbago, and can't move this morning. and, as this matter had to be looked into to-day, he asked me to go with his lawyer, and bring back the papers. i've got 'em right here." wagner flourished some legal-looking documents as he said this. they settled the matter, so far as fred was concerned. "wagner, you'll have to excuse the way we jumped out on you," he said, smilingly. "you couldn't blame us. we've tracked that covered wagon right up here. we happen to know that it belonged to farmer toby; and a woman heard the struggle on the road when colon was captured. and you see, some of the boys are dead sure our chum is being kept hidden in what they call the old haunted mill, right beyond us." "whew!" ejaculated felix, apparently now deeply interested. "where could a better hiding place be found for keeping a fellow, i'd like to know? and boys, if you're going to rescue colon, count me in the game. now don't say a word, because i won't take no for an answer." "that's mighty nice of you, wagner," said sid, thrusting out his hand with his usual impulsiveness; "but perhaps you'd better think twice before you make up your mind to join in with us." "say, why should i hold back?" demanded the other, aggressively; "i don't think i'm any more of a coward than the rest of the bunch. here, let me get a club, like the one bristles carpenter has." "but hold on, felix; perhaps you might not like to use it?" suggested fred. "think so?" cried the other; "then you've got another guess coming, fenton. just why mightn't i want to get in a few whacks at the cowardly curs that kidnapped chris colon?" "well, they might turn out to be some of your best chums," replied fred. "wantin' to do you what they thought a good turn," added corney. "by cutting out the fellow you had to fear most of all, my cousin chris," semi-colon continued. "oh! that's the way the land lies, does it!" observed wagner, grimly. "you believe this job was the work of mechanicsburg boys; do you? well, i think differently, that's all. but if it turned out to be my best chum i'd just as lief thump him as not. i'd be ashamed to own a chum who would be guilty of such a trick. i'd never look at a prize won under such conditions, without turning red, and feeling foolish." "but see here, how'd you get over to tenafly, wagner; and why didn't you go back the same way?" demanded bristles. "we went over on the seven-ten train this morning. the agent will tell you so, for he sold us tickets, and was chatting with both of us. mr. goodenough met a friend over there who invited him to stay to dinner. so i said, rather than wait until noon, i'd just pump it on foot for home. i thought it might be a good way to tune up for the afternoon whirl, without breaking my word to mother. that's all." "and it's enough," said fred. "fall in, wagner, and come along with us. we might be glad to have another fellow along, if it happens that after all tramps carried colon off, as some people say." "all right, fellows, i'm with you," remarked felix. "and i declare, if here isn't just the stick i'm looking for, sound enough to send in a home run with. must have been waiting for me." with these words wagner joined the little group that hurried along the road. as they reached a certain place sid, who was in the lead, suddenly turned aside. it was what had once been a serviceable lane, but which was now overgrown with weeds and underbrush. "wait a minute," fred remarked, in a low voice. they saw him looking closely at the ground, and almost immediately he raised a smiling face toward the balance of the group. "we made a center-shot when we guessed about this old mill, boys," he observed, nodding; "because here are the plain tracks of a wagon; it came in lately too, and went out again. the tracks show that it was here since that last little shower, which was two nights back. now for the mill, sid." gripping their cudgels tightly in their hands; and with compressed lips, as well as determined-looking faces, the little bunch of boys followed the sunken lane as it left the main road, and ran into a wilderness of woodland. then suddenly they realized that there was a musical sound of dripping water close by. it seemed to thrill every nerve, and make six boyish hearts beat at a double pace. two minutes later, on emerging from the tangle, they saw the ruined old mill before them. and it certainly did look just as "spooky" as sid had declared, when he suggested that they might find their missing comrade hidden there. chapter xii a broken door fred took charge of the combined forces. somehow the others appeared to look to him to do this. "seems to be all boarded up across the windows," he remarked. "i told you i'd heard the owner did that a long time ago," said sid, at his elbow. "and the doors look like they might be locked tight, too," fred continued. "oh! we can bust one in; that's easy," chuckled bristles, who was always ready to proceed to extreme methods; where fred might think to try strategy, he would attempt force. "but they must have found some way to get in; and unless we made sure to guard that point, they'd have a way to escape handy," the leader went on. "say, wouldn't that be hard luck, though?" corney exclaimed; "for us to rush in one door, and have the bunch of kidnappers pop out another." "i'd be half sick if i didn't get a chance to see who they are," ventured little semi-colon. "and me, if i lost a splendid opportunity to use this lovely club," bristles remarked, swinging the article in question around his head, until it fairly whistled through the air. "is there any hole they might get out of, sid?" asked fred. "well," replied the other, speedily; "if i was in there, and heard some hot-headed fellows banging on the door with all sorts of clubs, i think i'd make a break for the old wheel, and take my chances climbing down. if one of the rotten paddles broke, it'd mean a ducking in the pond below; but i'd risk that." "all right," fred said, quickly; "we'll try to stop up that leak, corney." "that's me," replied the other, stepping out of the line. "you and semi-colon guard the wheel; and if anybody tries to escape that way, i don't need to tell you what to do." "and we'll do it, all right; won't we, semi?" corney boasted, immediately swinging around, and heading toward the spot where the moss-covered wheel of the deserted mill could be seen, with little streams of water trickling over it from the broken sluiceway above. "the rest of us will tackle one of the doors, and break it in, if it's fast," fred went on to say. "and don't let's be all day about it, either," remarked the impatient bristles, who was fretting all the while because he could not be doing something. "come on!" said fred. he headed straight for the nearest door as he spoke, with three anxious followers at his heels. felix wagner was looking particularly well pleased. he had not anticipated such a treat when deciding to walk all the way back from tenafly that morning. and he felt that things were all coming in his direction at a furious rate. "fast; eh, fred?" asked sid, as he saw the other make a vain attempt to open the door of the mill; through which doubtless the office had been reached in times past, when the neighboring farmers all came here daily to have their grist ground, and to carry home their flour. "it sure is; i can't seem to budge it," came the reply. "wonder if they went in here?" hazarded bristles, himself giving a fierce though ineffective push. "we can settle that easy enough," remarked fred; "by seeing if there are any signs of new footprints here before this door." "well, you do take the cake thinkin' up things," muttered bristles, as he dropped down to examine the soil. "they're here, all right, fred!" he announced quickly, in a thrilling whisper. "perhaps you even see that shoe print that shows the patch?" asked fred. "right you are," bristles immediately announced; "just what you told us to watch for. boys, we've tracked the abductors of our chum to their lair; and now to smash in the door, and jump 'em!" "but however in the wide world do you think they got in here, if the old door is locked?" demanded wagner, curiously, and wondering if fred could give an answer to that question as easily as he seemed to solve other mysteries. "i think a key has been used here lately," replied the other. "i can see marks around the keyhole to tell that. chances are, they had one made to fit the door. a smart fellow could take an impression of the lock with wax, or something, and a locksmith would make him a key that would answer. "but, perhaps, if two or three of us could get our shoulders against the old thing we might manage to force it. the chances are it's pretty punk, being so old; and the lock must be rusty, too." "then let's make a try; and me to be one of the pushers," bristles said, as he began to get his sturdy frame locked in an attitude where he could exert the most force. fred and wagner took their places alongside, managing to crowd in; while even sid put his stick against the upper part of the door, as though meaning to add to the united pressure as well as he could. "ready?" asked fred. "yep!" came from bristles; while felix grunted his assent. "then all together, now!" exclaimed the leader. "she moved then, fred!" gasped the pleased bristles. "once more, fellows, and all together, give it to her!" fred continued; and the three exerted themselves to their utmost to break the door's fastenings, or hinges, by a combination of their strength, which was considerable. "listen to her squeak, would you?" called out bristles. "again, fellows, for the honor of old riverport! together with a will!" "yo-heave-o!" cried wagner, for the time being willing to be classed as one of the riverport crowd, since he was working hand in glove with them. the door cracked more than ever under this strain. "she's giving way!" declared bristles. "we're doing the business all right, boys!" "keep moving!" called out sid, encouragingly, and wishing one of the workers might back out, so that he could find a chance to exercise his muscles on the job. one, two, three more tremendous pushes and there was a crash as the door gave way before the united efforts of the three determined lads. either the rusty lock had been unable to hold out longer, or else the hinges were in a state of complete collapse. indeed, so suddenly did the result occur that bristles was unable to keep on his feet. his support being withdrawn, he went plunging headlong with the falling door. "ouch!" they heard him cry out, as he struggled there on the floor amid a whirl of dust. "are you hurt?" asked fred, anxiously; for the other had come down pretty hard. "n-no, not much, i guess," bristles replied, as he began to struggle once more to his feet, aided by fred's ready hand; but as the breath had been pretty well knocked out of him by the concussion, bristles, for once, lacked words to explain his feelings. the balance seemed to be waiting for the dust to settle, or their companion to get possession of his war-club again, before advancing into the mill. "let me head the crowd, fred, because i know every inch of the place," sid insisted, as he pushed through the now open door. "wait, and let's give a call," suggested felix. "if colon's in here he might be up in the loft, or down in the pit, goodness knows where. tune up, fellows, and see what's what!" they all shouted together, and the result was such a medley of sounds that it was doubtful if even their chum could have recognized familiar voices among the lot making up the chorus. "i heard something like a cry!" declared sid, immediately after the echo of their shout had died away in the empty mill. "you're right," added wagner, "for i caught the same thing. and, sid, i reckon it came from off yonder in the machinery room, where we used to play, long ago, you remember." "it's mighty dingy in here," complained bristles, finding his voice again. indeed, the interior of the deserted mill did look as though it might harbor all sorts of strange things, such as bats and owls, that could find a way in and out through broken window panes, or holes in the siding. and bristles, to tell the truth, although he would never have admitted the fact to one of his chums, did secretly feel just a _little_ belief in supernatural things. a graveyard was a place nothing could tempt him to visit after dark, at least alone. fred waited no longer. he had managed to get his bearings now, and believed he could find his way about, though after coming from the brightness of the sunshine outside, one's eyes had to get accustomed to the half-gloom of the cob-web-festooned mill interior. "come on!" he simply said, as he started quickly for the door leading out of the office into the main part of the mill. and even while he was thus moving, he, too, caught a plain, unmistakable movement beyond, that told of the mill being occupied by others besides themselves. in this anxious, yet determined, frame of mind, then, fred fenton led his three chums past the portal of the door, and into the mill proper. chapter xiii how gabe made good "good gracious!" sid wells called out the boys had pushed into the main part of the mill, with their nerves all on edge, and their muscles set in readiness for a struggle. whether they would meet the three tramps who were creating no end of excitement around the vicinity by their bold robbery of hen-roosts, and even houses; or some desperate boys ready to fight when caught in a trap, none of them knew. they expected trouble of some sort, at least; bristles was even counting on it, and would be very much disappointed if it failed to come to pass. but instead of a group of lads at bay, and ready to give as good as they received, they discovered what seemed to be just two figures on the floor of the mill. one of these jumped up, and faced them defiantly, whirling a piece of flooring in a circle above his head. "keep back, you!" he cried, hoarsely. "why, if it ain't gabe larkins!" exclaimed the astounded bristles, as he managed to get a look at the face of the other. fred was himself astonished, for he had recognized the butcher's boy about the same time bristles did. gabe here, and apparently concerned in this abduction of colon! it raised up a host of wild conjectures. could he be in the pay of those reckless mechanicsburg fellows; or possibly connected with buck lemington's crowd? even a more sensational theory flashed through fred's mind, connected with the men who were looked upon as thieves. was gabe in league with these desperate persons? "down him!" exclaimed bristles, making a forward move, as though ready to throw himself upon the taller boy without regard for what would follow when gabe brought that piece of floor board into play. the rest were starting to follow his example, as it seemed to be the only proper course, when to their astonishment there was a movement to the figure lying on the floor, a kicking of a pair of long legs; and immediately the well known voice of their chum, colon, sounded: "hold up, boys, don't tackle gabe; i tell you he's done me a good turn!" of course, at that, even the impulsive bristles held his hand. perhaps he was not wholly sorry to declare a temporary truce, pending negotiations for surrender; because that board had an ugly look, and gabe was waving it back and forth just as some players do their bat when waiting to gauge the delivery of a new pitcher. "oh! it's you, fellers, eh?" gabe remarked, as, bending forward, he peered at the newcomers who had broken in upon him so suddenly; "call it off, and we'll say quits. i haven't got any fuss with you." he thereupon threw the piece of board down, as though that finished the matter, so far as he was concerned. "got a knife, somebody?" sang out the struggling colon, who was trying to gain a sitting position, but seemed unable to control his limbs. "they got me spliced up tight as anything here; and gabe he didn't have anything to cut me loose with, so he was chawing the knots to beat the band when you showed up. we thought it was them fellers come back, and it gave us both a little scare." fred was already at the side of the bound boy. he always kept the blades of his knife as keen as possible; and once he found where to cut it did not take him long to set colon free from the pieces of old rope with which the unfortunate youth was bound. "ow! it pinches like hot cakes!" grunted the late prisoner, as he was helped to his feet, and doubtless found part of his limbs benumbed or "asleep," as boys say. "tell us first of all, colon, did they hurt you so you can't run to-morrow?" demanded bristles, angrily. "oh! i reckon it isn't nothin' much," came the reassuring reply. "give a feller a little chance to limber up; won't you? i'll feel all right in a short time. but it was sure a rough deal for me, and some surprise too, let me tell you, fellers. i never had the least bit of idea they'd jump out on me like they did; and would you believe me, the whole bunch had red handkerchiefs over their faces, so i couldn't tell who they might be." "but you heard 'em talk; sure you must; and recognized 'em by their voices?" declared bristles, eagerly. but colon shook his head in the negative. "they were cunning about that, too," he declared; "and when they talked any, it was so low i just couldn't get on to who they were." "but how about gabe here, looks funny to see him around. haven't been delivering meat to anybody away up here; have you?" asked sid, with a strong vein of suspicion in his voice. "why, he told me the boss had sent him up here to get a calf that a farmer had for sale," remarked colon, who was limping around, and exercising both arms and legs so as to bring about a return of circulation in his veins. "a calf!" echoed bristles; "well, what next, i wonder? but then they say a poor excuse is better than none." "hold on," interrupted felix wagner; "you fellows looked at me like nothing'd convince you i didn't have a hand in this business. but you found out that the talk i gave you was straight, after all. say, perhaps what he tells is all to the good, too. didn't colon say the fellow was trying to set him free by gnawing at the knots, because he didn't have a knife along? suppose you ask him some more questions, fred." "just what i meant to do, felix," returned the other; "because, for my part, i believe every word gabe has said," and turning on the butcher's boy, he continued: "where did you leave your cart, gabe; for you must have had it along if you expected to take the calf back with you?" "it's over at the farmer's right now," replied the other, frankly. "they said he was in tenafly, and wouldn't be back short of a hour or more. and as my boss told me not to come home without the veal, i tied up the hoss. used to come over here to the old place when i was a kid, along with the rest, but i ain't never been up here for years now. thought, seein' i was so clost, i'd just take a walk over to find out how she looked, to pass the time away." "oh! i see," fred broke in; "and when you got here you heard somebody calling inside the mill, did you?" "i heard a queer sound, more like a groan than anything else," admitted the boy. "that was me, all right," chuckled colon. "yelled till i got tired, and i was so husky i just couldn't let out another peep. and as i kept on tryin' to slip an arm out, i reckon i did some gruntin'. i was mad all through; because, you see, i'd guessed what it was all about, and that they didn't want me to run to-morrow." "say, when you heard that groan, didn't you feel like skipping out?" asked bristles, with a vein of secret admiration in his voice now. "me? well, i guess not," replied the other, pugnaciously. "i just reckoned there was somebody inside there that was sick; and when i couldn't open any door, i crawled up the wheel, and slid in through the hole, just like we used to do long ago, sid wells, when we came up here to swim and fish." "that's all there is to it," declared colon. "i heard somebody coming along, and called out, so he found me lying here, tied up like a turkey used to be when they cooked him on the old time spit. and while gabe chawed away at the knots we did some chinning, believe me. but boys, i'm right glad to see you. what's the latest news from home?" "why, the whole town's in an uproar about the way you went off without so much as saying good-bye," bristles said; which of course, caused colon to chuckle; for any boy would feel good to know that, for once, his worth was appreciated. possibly some of those same good people who were now so much concerned about his welfare had many times in the past referred to him as "that long-legged imp who ought to be taught better manners at home;" for colon as a younger boy had been rather inclined to be saucy. hearing the sound of voices, corney and semi-colon had by now entered the mill, and were working the arm of their newly-found chum like a pump handle. "but one thing makes me sore," said bristles; "and that is, we don't know any more'n we did before who did this business. they were boys, you said, colon; but how can we tell whether they hailed from riverport or mechanicsburg?" "i give you my word----" began felix wagner; when colon interrupted him. "say, there might be a way to tell," he remarked, jubilantly. "as how?" demanded the eager bristles. "why, you see, when they jumped me i gave 'em all i knew how, and kicked and hit as hard as i could," the tall boy went on. "think you marked any of 'em for keeps, colon?" asked bristles, feverishly. "i'm dead sure," colon continued; "that once i landed a straight from the shoulder jab square in the eye of a feller; because i heard him yell out like it hurt. and say, perhaps if you look around, you might find somebody with a black and blue eye." bristles gave a whoop that echoed through the dusty, cobwebbed mill. "you got him, all right, sure you did, colon!" he cried. "and it was a peach of a hit, too. it was buck and his crowd that played this mean trick on you. how do i know? why right now one of his fellers, oscar jones, is nursing a bruised left eye. heard him tellin' how he got up last night, thinkin' he heard the fire bell ring, and run plumb into the corner of the bureau. oh! there ain't any more suspicion restin' on your team-mates, felix. we all ask you to forget it." "and let's be getting out of this, boys," colon spoke up. "i've seen all i ever want to of the old mill. never catch me coming up here again, i tell you." and so they trooped out into the cheery october sunlight. the broken door was propped up the best they could manage. no one was caring much, anyway. they had accomplished their main object in the morning jaunt; colon had been found, and he declared that he was as fit as ever to run, despite his long condition of helplessness, and his hungry state. what more could they ask? and as gabe, the butcher's boy, made a move as if to leave them at the end of the winding, overgrown lane, fred insisted on every fellow shaking his hand heartily. "you've sure made good, gabe," declared bristles, remembering what he had thought of the other when his aunt's opals were taken by the thoughtless butcher's boy; "and i'm proud to shake hands with you." chapter xiv practice for the race "about time you started on your five mile run, isn't it, fred? because the afternoon's slipping away," said dick hanshaw, as he came over to the little group of boys who were chatting on the green of the field, which later on would be the scene of the gathering crowds coming to witness the athletic meet of the three rival schools. dozens of the lads were in their "working togs," as they called them. indeed, all around was a scene of great activity. men were hammering away at a tremendous rate, putting up the last series of raised seats intended to accommodate the spectators on the next day, many of whom would be willing to pay for good seats. and here and there, all over the field, boys were running, jumping, vaulting with poles, and doing all sorts of stunts connected with athletics. colon had not come out at all. it had been decided that after his adventure he must take more rest, in order to be fit for the events of the morrow. he was at home, playing dominoes with one of his chums. others came and went as though he might be holding a reception. and the news concerning his condition was eagerly sought with the appearance of every new bunch of schoolboys arriving on the field. fred was in his usual running costume, for he meant to make a last try to beat his record, so as to know how he would stand when the final test came. there was a string of good fellows ranged against him in that five mile race; and fred did not pretend to be without doubts concerning his ability to head the procession. "i was just thinking that myself, dick," he replied as he stooped down to tie his shoes over again, in preparation for a start. "the four entries from riverport are getting impatient to start; but brad is holding back for some reason or other." "here he comes this way now, and perhaps we'll know what it means," remarked dick; who had intended to be one of the long distance squad himself, but straining a tendon in his foot that very morning had made him give up the idea. brad morton came bustling along. fred saw that he looked worried, and wondered what could have gone wrong now. with colon safe it did not seem as if anybody connected with the riverport school should be anxious. "do we start soon, brad?" he asked, as the captain of the track team reached convenient talking distance. "the rest do; but the committee have decided to make a change about your running, fred," were the surprising words he heard. "oh! that's all right," fred replied, smiling; "i'm ready to give up to some better man, if that's what you mean." "what?" gasped dick hendricks. "oh! rats!" cried brad. "there's no better man in this matter at all, fred. fact is, you're the only one in our string who stands a good chance of beating that speedy boggs in to-morrow's race. i've heard some talk among a lot of mechanicsburg fellows. they're trying to get a line on your kind of running, fred; which shows that they know right well you're the only one they need fear." "oh! well, they've seen me run lots of times when we played baseball and fought it out on the gridiron," remarked fred, naturally flushing a little under the kind words of praise. "yes, that's so; but it's got out that you've picked up a new kink in the way of getting over ground. they kept harping on that all the time. and i got the notion they've some of their crowd posted along the course to-day to take notes and compare time, so they can spot what you do. if you've got a weak point, climbing hills for instance, they'll report, and that's where boggs will pass you." "well, you've got something up your sleeve, brad, when you tell me this; so out with it," fred observed, reading the other's face cleverly. "it's this," the track captain went on; "when the rest of the string start you drop out, and disappear like fog. then they'll have their trouble for their pains." "that sounds nice, but tell me where does my needed exercise come in?" remarked fred; "and i'd like to get a line myself on what i can do." "see here, don't you know of some other five mile course you could take on the sly, without anybody being the wiser for it?" asked brad. "why, yes, i do, only it happens to be a harder run all told, than the course mapped out by the committee," replied fred, promptly. "that oughtn't to make much difference," the other went on, with a sigh of relief; "you'll know right well that if you can make it in the same time you've done the regular course, it'll be all the better." "is this really necessary, brad?" asked dick; "lots of us expected to get a line on fred ourselves; and if he sneaks off unbeknown, how're we going to know what to expect to-morrow?" "we talked it over, and that's what we settled on," came the reply. "so just hold your horses, dick, till to-morrow. fred's going to show you something then that he's keeping up his sleeve. you mark me." "don't take any stock in what brad says," declared fred. "i haven't anything so wonderful, only a little notion that came to me, and which i really believe does help me get over the ground a little bit faster, with less fatigue. but wait and see what to-morrow brings along. now, brad, suppose you arrange things so that i can be close to those bushes over yonder when the pistol sounds for the start. once i get in there, i'll drop down, and let the rest pass me. after that i'll find a way to leave without being seen; and start off on my own hook over another five mile course." "and fred, when you come back, go straight home without showing up here. i'll let it be known that by my orders you didn't start in the regular run, for reasons that were sufficient for the committee to give the order; and that you went off on a little turn of your own." "say, i can see the face of the fellow who comes in ahead, and learns that nothing's been seen of fred fenton," remarked dick, with a wide smile. "won't he be just patting himself on the back as a world-beater though, up to the time he learns fred never started at all!" with the crack of the pistol the long line of young athletes surged forward, amid loud cries from the crowd that had gathered to witness the start. many eyed fred hopefully; for the word had gone around that upon him riverport must depend to wrest victory from the grasp of that tall runner, boggs, who was said to be a tremendous "stayer," and as speedy almost as colon himself. fred was following out his little scheme for vanishing. he struck the edge of the bush patch, and was on the extreme end of the line, so that he believed he could drop out of the race, and no one be the wiser. by the time the runners reached the road over which they were to go for two and a half miles, they would be so far away from the crowd that no one could be certain which runner might be fred, and whether he was pace-maker to the squad or not. it all worked like a charm too. fred watched his chance, and falling back, so that he had nobody behind him, suddenly dropped down flat. shortly after, he started to crawl to one side. here he was able to take advantage of some trees; and one way or another managed to get out of range of the vision of those on the field. after that, chuckling at the success of his little plan, fred started for the place which was to be the beginning of his five mile run. it was some distance from the athletic field; and would take him in an entirely different direction from that covered by the balance of the contestants. it surely did take him over peculiar territory. now he was following a fair kind of a country road; presently he cut across a stretch of woodland, jumping fallen trees, and vaulting stone fences with all the vigor of healthy youth. two miles, and fred felt satisfied that he was doing uncommonly well. he believed that his muscles had never before responded so splendidly to his demands. when he reached that two mile mark, made by himself when he used to modestly practice in private, not wishing to be watched, because he was not known as a runner in those days, fred believed he had his best time shortened more than a few seconds. and that over rough ground, such as he would find in no part of the regular race. now he had reached the worst part of all, and which he wished he were well over with. this was an old limestone quarry, that had not been worked for years. there were pits scattered here and there, some of them partly concealed by the friendly bushes that grew here and there to the edge. fred knew he must be careful until he had placed this region behind. once before he had come close to slipping down into one of those deep holes, from which he understood the limestone had been taken, as it was found in spots. he did not want to be caught napping a second time. "to have colon missing was bad enough," he said to himself, as he jumped nimbly to the right, and then to the left, in order to avoid suspicious spots; "but if i disappeared, and couldn't be found, i just guess the whole town would take a fit. but i'll take mighty good care it doesn't happen. whew, come near doing it right then, on the left. i must sheer off more the other way!" and then, ten seconds later, as he thought he saw a break in the bushes that seemed to mark one of the treacherous holes, fred sprang to the right, to find his feet passing through blank space, and his body shooting downward. after all his precautions, he had made a mistake, and had plunged into one of the numerous pits with which the level track of the old quarry was spotted. chapter xv the accident when fred felt himself falling he immediately relaxed every muscle in his body. that is a trick known to athletes the world over. the ordinary person would on the contrary contract his muscles; so that on striking he must suffer violently in consequence. a baby will frequently fall several stories, and seem to have received no injury at all, where a grown man would have been killed. the secret is in its unconsciousness of peril, and consequently it lands like a bag of salt, instead of a hard rock. it seemed as though he must have dropped many feet before fred struck bottom. he lay there a few seconds, wondering whether he had really sustained any damage. "might as well know the worst," he finally muttered, struggling to his knees, and finally to his feet; when he stretched his arms, bent his body, and then gave a little chuckle. "well, talk about your luck," he remarked to himself; "if this don't just beat all. don't believe i've so much as strained the tendon of a finger. and yet it must have been a twelve or fifteen foot drop. whew!" he turned his gaze upward. there was the mouth of the pit plainly seen, for the blue october sky lay beyond. he could also make out where he had torn through the weeds and green brush that had so artfully hidden the mouth of the hole from even his watchful eyes. "well," he continued to remark; "this is a fine business, i must say. it ends my time-taking for to-day, sure. even if i manage to crawl up out of here, enough of my precious minutes will have gone glimmering to upset all my calculations. but i'm not out of the scrape yet. now to see about that same climb." up to the time he set to work with this object in view, fred had not the least idea he would find it a very difficult job. he was soon undeceived in that particular. "say, the sides of this pit are as hard as flint, and slippery as glass. i don't seem able to dig my toes in worth a cent," he presently remarked, stopping to get his breath after a violent exertion, which had netted no result in progress. for the first time fred began to feel a trifle bothered. he had escaped injury in a way that seemed little short of miraculous; but if he had to stay there all night it would prove no joke. he made another desperate effort to climb the straight wall, selecting a spot that seemed to offer more advantages than the rest. five minutes later he had to confess himself worsted in the attempt. somehow he could not make the least impression on the rocky wall. if he did manage to get several feet up, it was only to lose his slight grip, and fall back again. while he was once more recovering his wind, fred began to take stock of the situation, to see where he stood. "if i only had a good knife now," he told himself, "perhaps i might manage to dig toe-holds in the old wall; but since a fellow doesn't carry such a thing in his running togs, here i am left high and dry. and i declare, it feels rather chilly already down here, with next to nothing on. i wonder if i can stand a night of it. not much chance of me taking part in that road race tomorrow. well, this has got past the joke stage, for a fact!" it certainly had. he no longer laughed when he fell back after losing his grip on some slight projection in the wall. it was getting more serious all the time; and the longer fred considered the matter, the worse his plight became. he had taken a course that was really next to unknown to any of his chums. they would not be able to guess where to look for him, even if he did happen to be missed. "and just to think," he went on bitterly, as he exercised his arms to keep his chilling blood in circulation, "brad even had to tell me not to show up again on the field after i'd made my five miles. so not a fellow will miss me. at home perhaps they'll just believe i've stopped with sid, as i often do. they may even go to bed with the idea that i'll be along later. wow! that would mean all night for me in this miserable hole." how about morning, when riverport would awaken to the fact that for the second time one of their promising young school athletes had mysteriously disappeared? "say, won't there be some high jinks though?" fred exclaimed, for, somehow, it did not seem quite so lonely when he could hear the sound of his own voice. "i can just shut my eyes, and see the whole place boiling like a kettle, with the fellows running back and forth, and everybody just wild. i wonder now, will they give buck the credit of this business, too? it seems to be pretty well known that he is suspected of being at the head of the crowd that carried colon off. well, for once then, buck will be unjustly accused. but i guess they'll make life miserable for him." the thought of the bully being treated to a ride on a fence rail with his legs tied underneath, amid a jeering mob of riverport schoolboys, amused fred for just about a minute. then the necessity of trying to think up some plan by which he might escape from the pit caused him to put buck out of his mind. the boys had always said that fred was the most ingenious fellow they had ever known. he could invent schemes that often made some of the duller-witted chaps fairly gasp, and declare he must be a wizard. if ever he had need of that faculty it was now. if wishing could give him a pair of wings, or bring a convenient rope into his hands, the other end of which was tied to a neighboring tree, fred was ready to devote himself heart and soul to the task. outside of his short running trunks, a light, close-fitting shirt, and the socks and running shoes which were on his feet, fred did not have another particle of clothing along. he was bareheaded. without even a bit of string, a pocket knife, or even a match on his person, what chance then did he have to escape from that lime quarry pit? and it was very damp there in the bargain. water oozed across one corner of the hole. if he had to stay there twelve hours, the chances were he would take a severe cold that might prove serious. really, the more he looked the situation in the face the more it appalled him. try as he might he could think of no new plan that gave the slightest promise of results. if he kept on endeavoring to climb that slippery wall until he fell utterly exhausted, what would that avail him? better to go slow and reserve at least a small portion of his energies, in case, later on, he did think up some scheme that had a faint show of success. how about shouting for help? colon had tried that game, and it had not worked, simply because there happened to be no one near the old mill at the time. later on, however, his simple groans and grunts attracted the attention of the prowling gabe, and led to what would have been his rescue, even had not fred and the others arrived on the scene. but here, in this quarry where no one ever came, so far as he knew, what chance was there of his shouts being heard? fred thought about one in a thousand. still, there was no choice for him. and perhaps that one little chance might pan out; he had known of stranger things happening, in his own experience. so he lifted up his voice and called: "help! help! oh! help!" it was a cry that must thrill anyone who heard it, welling up out of that deep pit. waiting a minute or more, fred started in again, and shouted louder than ever. listening, he could hear the afternoon breeze sighing among the branches of the trees that grew almost over the gap in the quarry. even that died out, as if it meant to pass with the day, which must now be very near its close. it seemed so utterly foolish to waste his breath in this vain calling that fred changed his plans for a short time, and once more tried to scale the straight wall. this time he succeeded in making about four feet, and then had a tumble that quite jarred him. "that ought to let me know, all right, that i'll never make the top in a year of sundays, as corney always says," he remarked, rubbing his elbow where he had barked it on a stone, so that it smarted. to amuse himself while he tried to think up some new scheme, fred fell to shouting again. he had a good, strong voice, but down in that confined space it seemed muffled, and he would never have recognized it himself. once he stopped and listened eagerly, his heart jumping with sudden hope. oh! was it possible that he had really caught what seemed to be a distant voice calling? if only it might not be some scolding bluejay; or perhaps a gossipy crow, perched on a neighboring dead tree. it did not come again; and so fred hurriedly started to shout once more, straining his lungs in order to make the sound carry further. so much depended on help coming to him before the night set in. if he had to spend many hours there he might suffer in the form of rheumatism for a long time afterwards, on account of the exposure in such a damp and cold place. then he stopped to listen again, holding his very breath in suspense. what a thrill it gave him when he distinctly heard some one bawl out: "hello! yourself! where under the sun are you; and what's the matter?" that was no crow or bluejay, he knew for a certainty; and accordingly fred made haste to answer: "i'm down in one of the lime pits here. can't get out. please come and give me a hand. this way! i'll keep calling to guide you; but don't leave me whatever you do." every few seconds thereafter he would give a shout, to be answered by the unknown, who was evidently getting warmer and warmer on the scent. never could fred remember when a human voice had sounded so sweet to him; simply because it meant rescue and safety, and a chance to run in the great race upon which his heart was set. now he could actually hear the other moving above, and so he gave a last little whoop. the bushes were thrust aside as he called; "down here; i see you;" and then a human head was thrust into view. and fred felt a chill that was not induced by the dampness of the lime pit, when he made out that face in the light of the setting sun. for he found himself staring at the grinning countenance of the last person in all the world he would have hoped to see--buck lemington! chapter xvi a gloomy prospect "so, it's you yelping for help, eh?" buck was looking more or less surprised even when making this remark. fred had an idea he could see something like growing satisfaction, almost glee, creeping over the face of the other. the prospect evidently began to please buck. "yes, it's me," the boy below replied, trying hard to appear to look at it all in the light of a huge joke, just as he might, had it been sid wells or bristles carpenter who had discovered his ridiculous plight. "huh! and however did you come in this old limestone pit?" demanded buck. "well, to tell you the truth, buck," he said, in a conciliatory tone; "brad morton, as track captain, ordered me to slip out of the bunch he sent over the regular roads laid out for the race. he wanted me to take the last five mile run in secret, you see; and long ago i had this little course mapped out, when i used to practice without anybody knowing i could run fairly well." "oh! you don't say?" sneered buck. "and what was his reason, d'ye know?" fred knew that it was best to be frank with the other, who really had him so absolutely in his power. he would confide wholly in buck, come what might. "well, i didn't take much stock in the thing myself, but brad insisted, and as he was the captain of the team, i had to do what he said, you see, buck. he had been told that mechanicsburg had spies posted all along the course, to time the runners, and get points on their weak places. and somehow brad got the idea in his head that they were more anxious to watch me run than any of the others. so he thought he'd surprise them by having me disappear, and get my practice alone." buck laughed at that, and it was a very disagreeable laugh, too. "my! what an important person you've become, fred fenton," he observed, with the sneer more marked in his voice than ever. "have to have a private course of your own because your running is attracting so much attention! no wonder your head has begun to swell. no wonder you look down on small worms, who only run up against hard knocks whenever they try to even up the score." "but you're going to help me out of this, i hope, buck?" fred went on, pleasantly, almost pleadingly, for he had much at stake. "oh! am i? you don't say!" mocked the other. "now, how d'ye suppose i c'n reach down seven feet or more, and give you the friendly hand? think my arms stretch that far? perhaps, now, you imagine i'll just drop in like the poor old goat did in the fable, to let the smart fox jump up on his back, and then out? if you do you've got another guess coming; see?" "but there's an easy way to do it, buck; and because riverport needs every little help she can get to win out to-morrow, i'm going to ask you to do it for me." "sounds big; don't it?" the other went on, in his sneering way. "you're the great muck-a-muck, and will carry off the prize for the long distance run, i suppose you mean? well, with the great luck you have, perhaps you will--if you're there when the pistol cracks for the start. now, go on and tell me what you mean, and how could i get you out of this hole--if i took the notion to try?" "i suppose you've got your knife with you, buck?" fred went on. "that's where you've got another guess coming, fenton; fact is, i broke the last blade in it yesterday, and threw it away," buck answered. "well, then, that seems to make it harder to carry out my plan," fred remarked, disappointment in his tone. "wait," said buck; "perhaps, after all, i might get a knife from the feller along with me, here." he disappeared, and fred, straining his ears, could hear him talking in a low tone with some one else. he was filled with a deep curiosity to know whatever brought buck lemington here to the old limestone quarry; just as the day was passing. the last thing fred had heard in connection with buck was the fact that his suspected connection with the desperate attempt to spoil the calculations of riverport school with regard to winning the laurels of the athletic meet by kidnapping their best sprinter, colon, had met with universal condemnation among the good people of the town. there was even talk of a committee going to complain to his father. perhaps buck had in some way gotten wind of that expected coming of the townspeople, and he might even now be on his way to some haven of refuge, to remain practically in hiding until the storm blew over. a minute later, and once again the face of the grinning bully protruded beyond the edge of the pit above. "i've got the knife all right, fenton," he observed, curiously; "now, what d'ye expect me to do with it? a knife alone won't pull you up; and i reckon clotheslines don't grow around this region." "no, but i think there's a fine stout vine close to your hand, buck; and if you'd be so kind as to cut that off, and let one end of it down to me, with only a little help i'd be out of this hole in a jiffy--and mighty thankful in the bargain." "well now, that is a bright idea," remarked buck, with exasperating slowness; "they always said you had a brain in your head, fenton. it's a good, strong vine too, and even a sharp knife hacks into it pretty hard. oh! no doubt about it holding a fellow of your nimbleness, when you manage to get a grip on the same!" fred did not exactly like the way he said this. somehow he seemed to feel that the other was working himself up into a condition where he would finally refuse to lend a helping hand to his old-time rival, now that the only chance for fred to get free seemed to rest with buck. as he cut away, the bully continued to talk. he was evidently enjoying the unique situation keenly. "reckon you'd feel some chilly if you had to stay in that damp hole all night; eh, fenton?" he went on. "i sure would," replied fred, trying to give a little laugh; "and it was mighty lucky for me that you and your friend happened along here just at such a time. now, i wouldn't have supposed that anybody would come this way in a year; and when i hollered for help i didn't think there was a chance in a thousand anybody'd hear." "well, you'd win, because it was a chance in a thousand, fenton," buck went on to say, as he whittled away at the trailing vine. "fact is, the people down in riverport sent a committee of old fogies up to my governor to complain. said i'd been guilty of a bad piece of business; that i'd engineered the scheme for carrying colon off to that mill, and leaving him there, so's to knock riverport's chances to-morrow. perhaps you heard something about that, fenton?" "oh! i believe one of the boys did mention that there was some talk about it being done; but honestly now, buck, i didn't know they had gone over to your house to interview your father," fred answered, candidly enough. "well, they did, all right," growled the other, cutting more furiously, as his feelings began to work upon him. "and when the old man called me in, i saw he was some mad. reckon he'd had bad news just about then, because i saw a letter with a foreign postmark on it, lying open on his desk; and i know the signs of a storm under our roof." he paused to give a last cut, and the vine came free; then he began to slice off a few trailing side roots, so as to make a pretty fair rope out of it. after which he started to speak again. "he was awful mad, fenton, i give you my word. never saw him in such a temper. and the way he hauled me over the coals was scandalous, too. said he'd think up what he'd have to do with me for punishment, over night. also said everything was going crooked with him at once. well, i just made up my mind i wouldn't stay around home, any longer; but skip out till the breeze blew over. and i also thought up a bully good scheme to bring the old man to terms. huh! you ain't the only one that's got brains, fenton, if you do think so." again he paused, as if to give emphasis to his words. fred was waiting anxiously, to learn what buck had decided to do. if only he would lower that vine, he felt sure he could pull himself out in ten seconds. "i happened to remember that we had a relative somewhere up in this region; and so i just made up my mind to disappear for a little while myself. it's in the air you see, even you've got the fever. and i'd play a winning card on the governor by taking with me something he set considerable store on. a day or two'd bring him to terms; and i reckoned he'd promise to let up on me, in order to get back--there, how d'ye think that'll answer, fenton?" he held up the stout vine. fred could see it plainly, for the bright sky was beyond. it seemed to be at least ten feet in length, and as thick as one's wrist. "that ought to do the trick finely, buck," he remarked, pleasantly, just as if he did not have the slightest doubt in the world but that the other fully intended pulling him out of the hole. "do you think you can hold on?" asked buck, beginning to lower away with tantalizing slowness, as though he enjoyed keeping fred on the anxious seat. "sure i can, once i get a good grip. just a foot or so more, buck, and then i will be able to reach it. and let me tell you, it's good of you to help a fellow like this. they'll say so in town when they hear about it, buck." "think so, do you?" went on the other, as he suddenly allowed the vine to drop until it touched the hands extended, when it was instantly withdrawn again. "oh! don't you wish you could grab it, fenton?" mocked the grinning bully. chapter xvii an unexpected ally fred felt a bitter sense of disappointment when he found that the bully did not have the slightest intention of helping him get out of the limestone pit. when buck snatched the vine away, he understood plainly enough that all of his slow work in cutting the trailer had been a farce. the cunning bully had done it just to work up his old-time rival with false hopes. "you don't seem so mighty glad to get a helping hand, fenton?" sneered buck, as he failed to get a "rise" to repeated false casts. "i'd take it quick enough, if i thought you meant to help me out, buck," fred observed, grimly. "well, i like that, now," tormented the other. "here, look at me borrowin' a knife, and going to all that trouble to trim that vine off; and now he just throws it up to me that he don't put any faith in me. seems like they all look on poor old buck lemington with suspicion. everything that goes crooked in the old village they blame on him, too. it's a shame, that's what; and d'ye know, fred fenton, i somehow feel like you're to blame for most of my troubles." "i don't see how you make that out, buck," remarked fred. "up to the time you blew in here things sorter worked pretty nice with me. the fellers never gave me much trouble; and flo temple, she used to be glad to have me take her to places. but all that changed when fred fenton struck town. since then i've had the toughest luck ever. and sure, i just ought to love you for all you done for me; but i don't happen to be built that way; see?" fred made no answer. what was the use of his appealing to a fellow who had hardened his heart to every decent feeling? plainly buck only talked for the sake of hearing his enemy plead; and fred was determined he would not lower himself any more, to ask favors of this vindictive boy. "now, i didn't have anything to do with you getting caught in such a pretty trap, and you know it just as well as i do, fenton. if they say so in town, you'd better set 'em straight. there are a few things happens that buck lemington ain't responsible for, and this here's one of the same." he waited, as if expecting a reply, but fred had his lips grimly set, and would not utter one word; so presently buck went on: "now, seein' that i didn't do you this sweet trick, i'm not responsible if you stay there all night; am i? think i want to take the chances of bein' pulled in, when you try to climb out? huh! bad enough for one to be in that lovely trap, without a second guy dropping over. guess not. i'll just be goin' on my way. if i happen to run across any of the boys, which ain't likely, i might whisper to 'em that their new chum, fred fenton, wants help the worst kind." he actually threw the vine into the hole, as though to show that his mind was made up. fred lost all hope. he must face the unpleasant prospect of remaining all night in that cold place, shivering, as drowsiness threatened to overtake him, and trying to keep warm by exercising every little while. he shivered now at the very prospect. however would he pass that terribly long night, when minutes would drag, and seem to be hours? "here, keep back, you!" buck suddenly roared; and fred started, although he immediately realized that the other must be addressing his remark to the comrade he had spoken of as having accompanied him. "want to slip, and drop down into the old hole along with this silly? and then i'd just _have_ to get him out, before he'd let me save you. keep back, i tell you!" "buck, you'll be sorry you did this," fred broke his silence to make one last appeal, though he was determined not to demean himself, and "crawl" as buck himself would call it. "hey! what's this? are you really threatenin' me?" demanded the other, hotly. "i didn't mean it that way," fred answered. "what i wanted to say, was that you'd be sorry later on you didn't try to pull me out. you see i haven't hardly any clothes on; and it's cold and damp down here. chances are, that if i stay here through the whole night i'll get my death of cold." "well, what's that to me?" said the other, gruffly; though fred thought he saw him hesitate a little, as if appalled at the prospect. "i didn't throw you down there, did i? can't shove any of that blame on me, eh? if i hadn't just happened to stroll this way, i'd never even knowed you was in such a fix." "but you do know it," said fred, "and everybody will say it was up to you to help me out, after you found me here. that makes you responsible, buck, in the eye of the law. i've heard judge colon say as much. a knowledge of the fact makes you a party to it, he told a man he was talking to. i'm going to ask you once more to take hold of this vine when i hold it up, and let me pull myself out." he did raise the rope substitute, but buck declined to accept his end of it. "i don't see why i ought to give you a hand, fenton," he remarked, coldly. "i've stood a lot from you, and as i said before, since you came to town things have all gone wrong with me, so i never do have a good time any more. i blame you for it. yes, and right now it's you more'n any other feller that's got me kicked out of my own home." "now i don't understand what you mean there, buck?" remonstrated fred, still holding the end of the vine upward invitingly, though with small hope that the other would take hold. "all right, i'll just tell you, then," buck replied, almost savagely. "who led the party that found colon? you did. who found a track of a shoe, with a patch across the sole, on the spot where colon said he was nabbed by a bunch of fellers with red cloth over part of their faces? why, freddy again, to be sure. and hang it all, my shoe did have just such a patch! that's what they told my dad; and brought it all home to me." fred was silent again. he saw that things were working against him once more. if buck felt this way about it, all his endeavors to induce the other to lend his aid were bound to be useless. "now, here's a right fine chance for me to get even with you, fenton, without taking any risk myself; because i didn't have anything to do with knocking you into this hole. you took care of that part yourself; and let me tell you now, you did me the greatest favor in the world when you slipped, and dropped through these bushes and weeds into the pit." "buck! oh, buck!" said a trembling voice from somewhere back of the bully. "you dry up!" exclaimed buck. "you've got no say in this game, let me tell you! good-bye, fenton; i reckon i'll be going now. hope you can keep exercisin' right hearty all through the night; it'll be some chilly if you let up, i'd think. and if i happen to see any of your chums, an' they ask questions, why, i might let 'em know i heard _somebody_ yelping away up this way--thought it was kids playin', but it _might_ be you calling for help." "then you're going to desert me; are you, buck?" asked fred, beginning to himself feel angry at the base intentions of the other. "i wouldn't put it that way," jeered buck; "i'm just mindin' my own business, you see. not long ago you told me never to poke my nose in your affairs again. i ain't a-goin' to; i'm follerin' out your own instructions, fenton. nobody c'n blame me for doin' that; can they?" "but you mustn't leave him there, brother buck!" cried a voice at that juncture, and fred suddenly realized that the partner of the bully's flight, and through whom he hoped to bring his angry father to terms, was little billy, his younger brother, for whom it was said buck felt more affection than he did for any other person on the face of the earth. "well," buck went on to say, "i'm going to do that same, no matter what you or anybody else says; and so you'd just better be getting along out of this, billy. it ain't none of your business what happens to fred fenton, i guess." "but it is some of my business," insisted the smaller boy, who had by degrees pushed his way forward, in spite of his big brother's warning, until fred could see his head projecting beyond the rim of the pit. "what's fred fenton to you?" demanded buck, savagely. "he's my friend, that's what!" declared billy stoutly. "oh! you want to make a friend out of the worst enemy your own brother's got; do you?" the bully sneered. "well, why shouldn't i leave him here to suck his thumb all night, tell me that?" "because it'd be wicked," cried the excited boy. "because if it hadn't 'a been for fred fenton you wouldn't be havin' no brother billy right now!" "what d'ye mean, billy?" roared the astonished bully. "remember when your canoe got home without you goin' for it, buck? that was the time. it throwed me out in the middle of the river, and i'd 'a drownded sure, only fred, he swum out and saved me. and that's why i say you ain't goin' to leave him here to freeze and shiver all night. 'cause he's my friend, that's why!" and buck lemington knelt there, for the minute unable to utter a single word, so great was his amazement. chapter xviii forced to lend a hand "is that right, fenton?" the bully finally demanded, turning to look at the dimly seen face of the boy deep down in the hole. "did you haul my brother out of the mohunk waters?" "that's just what happened, buck," fred replied, a warm feeling once more taking possession of his heart; for somehow he seemed to know that the coming of this unlooked-for ally would turn the scales in his favor; and, after all, he would not have to spend a horrible night in that damp hole. "don't seem likely you'd do such a thing, and never throw it up at me some time, when i was naggin' you," went on the other, doubtfully. "oh! i felt like doing that same more'n a few times, believe me," said fred. "then why didn't you?" asked buck. "he didn't just because i asked him as a favor to me not to say a word to a single soul," broke in the eager billy, just then. "you know, buck, father told me he'd whip me if ever he heard of my tryin' that cranky canoe of yours. and i was afraid he'd do it, too, if he heard how near i was to bein' drownded." "well, that sure just gets me!" muttered buck, who found it hard to understand how a fellow could hide his light under a bushel, and not "blow his own horn," when he had jumped into the river, and pulled out a drowning boy. "say, is that so too, fenton; did you keep mum just because billy here asked you to?" "that was the only reason," replied fred; "but you must give some of the credit to bristles carpenter, who couldn't swim much then; but he waded in, and helped to get us ashore. and he pulled the canoe in, too. then we took it down to the place you keep it; while billy played by himself in the warm sun till his clothes got dry; didn't you, billy?" "just what i did," said the small boy, cheerfully. "and not a person ever knowed i'd been in the water. oh! i've always thought it was mighty nice in fred; and it used to make me feel so bad when i heard you talkin' about him the way you did, buck. more'n a few times i just wanted to tell you all about it, to show you he couldn't be the mean boy you said; but i dassent; i was scared you'd think you had to tell father on me." as he knelt there buck was fighting an inward battle; and the enemy with which he grappled was his own baser nature. fred did not have a single fear as to how it was bound to come out. he knew that buck could not deny the obligation that had been so unexpectedly forced upon him. then buck suddenly reached down. he had made up his mind, and was even then groping for the end of the vine which fred was reaching up to him. once he got this firmly in his hands, he simply said: "now, climb away, fenton!" fred waited for no second invitation. he was not foolish enough to decline a favor that came within reach. possibly buck's new resolution might cool off more or less, if given time; and fred dared not take the risk. so he immediately began the task of drawing himself up the short distance that lay between his eager hands and the rim of the pit. and buck, having braced himself firmly, with his foot against a solid spur of rock, held through the trying ordeal. fred in a short time was clambering over the brink, delighted beyond measure at the chance to once more find himself on the outside of that miserable hole. he had hardly half raised himself to his knees, when he felt a warm little hand clasp his, while the voice of billy sounded in his ears. "oh! ain't i glad i was along with brother buck right now, fred," the boy cried; "i'm afraid he'd a left you there if he'd been alone. but then, you see, buck never knowed what a good friend you'd been to me that time. and it was mighty kind of you never to peach on me. but i guess you'n buck ain't a-goin' to be fightin' each other after this. you had ought to be friends right along." fred looked at the bully. he even half thrust out a hand, as though to signify that he was ready to bridge the chasm that had always existed between them, if the other would come the rest of the way to meet him. but buck obstinately kept his hand down at his side. he was not going to forget all his troubles of the past, many of which he believed he could lay at the door of the boy who had refused to knuckle down to him, as most of the riverport lads had done in the past. but fred was not caring in the least. things had worked almost like a miracle in his favor. that these two, perhaps heading across lots for the humble home of arnold masterson, to hide from the wrath of the squire, should happen within earshot of his cries for help, was in the nature of a chance in a thousand. "you won't shake hands, buck, and be friends, then?" fred asked. "what, me?" exclaimed the other, once more showing signs of anger, and drawing billy away from fred as if the sight of them close together was unpleasant to him; "not in a thousand years. that would mean i'd have to knuckle down, and crawl before the mighty fred fenton, like some of the other ninnies do. you go your way, and i'll go mine. we've always been enemies, and that's what we'll be to the end of the chapter." the old vindictive part in buck's nature had apparently still a firm grip on him. fred no longer offered his hand. if the other chose to call it square, he must be satisfied, and accept things as they came. "all the same," he said, positively; "i'm obliged to you, buck, for helping me out. you've saved me from a bad time. and i'm going to tell about it too, whether you want me to or not. some of the good people in riverport will believe they've been wrong when they thought you wouldn't lift a hand to do a single decent thing." "oh! rats, don't give me any of that sort of taffy, fenton!" exclaimed the other in a disgusted voice. "and i'll see to it that they don't believe i'm working the reformed son racket, either. i did this--well--just because i had to, that's all, and not because i wanted to. if billy hadn't been along, and told what he did, you'd 'a spent your night in that hole, for all of me; understand?" "well, just as you will, buck. have it as you want. billy, i'm obliged to you for standing up for me like you did. it was a lucky day for me, as well as for you, when i chanced to get you out of the mohunk." "oh! come along, billy," buck called out, pulling at the sleeve of his younger brother; "we've got no more time to waste here, jawing. right now i'm some twisted in my bearings, and we might have a tough time gettin' to that farmhouse." fred took it for granted that buck was heading in a roundabout way for the home of arnold masterson; the same place where he and bristles had saved sarah, the sick farmer's daughter, from the well, into which she had fallen when trying to hide from the three rough tramps. he was on the point of directing buck, so that the other might reach his destination, when something within seemed to bid him hold his tongue. arnold masterson was not friendly with his rich uncle, squire lemington. he had been worsted by the latter in some land deal, and would not even come to riverport to trade. perhaps buck knew something about this, and it may have influenced him when running away from home, with billy in his company. he saw the two go off, buck talking in low tones to his brother. once billy insisted on turning, and waving his hand toward fred; though buck immediately gave him a rough whirl, as though to make him understand that he would not allow of any more friendly feelings between his younger brother and the fellow he chose to look upon as his worst enemy. "well, it's too bad buck feels that way," fred said to himself, as he turned his back on the hole that had given him such an unpleasant half hour. "but just as he says, the score is even now, and the slate cleaned off. we can start fresh; and chances are, he'll find a way of trying to get a dig at me before many suns. but i'm lucky to get out of that scrape as i did. whew! what if i just had to stay there? makes me shiver to think of it." he started on a run, to get up a circulation; for, despite all his labor while in the pit, his blood seemed to have become fairly chilled. at first he thought he would head straight home, as he was only a couple of miles or so away from riverport. then suddenly he found his thoughts going out in the direction of arnold masterson and his daughter, sarah. he had not been to see them for several days now, since the man was able to leave his bed and hobble about the house, in fact. a sudden notion to drop in on them, and explain about buck's coming, seized upon fred, though he never was able to tell why he should give way to such a strange resolution. but changing his course he headed toward the masterson farm. chapter xix glorious news the more fred thought of it the stronger became his conviction that buck and billy would be a long time in finding the lonely masterson farmhouse, that was off the main road. they had left him going in a direction that was really at right angles to the shortest way there. but then possibly buck knew of another route. and after all it was none of his business. evening had now settled down in earnest. there would be a moon later; but darkness was beginning to shut out the last expiring gleams of daylight. fred was feeling pretty "chipper" as he himself expressed it. so far as he could ascertain no serious result had accompanied his fall into that hole, and the exposure that followed the mishap. his muscles having come back to their old condition, he was running as easily as ever before; and he believed himself to be in splendid condition. this sudden determination to drop in on arnold masterson and his daughter was going to take him a considerable distance out of his way; but what are a few miles to an aspiring young athlete, in training for a hard road race on the morrow? it would really do him good to have the exercise, he believed. fred had managed to have a good talk with the mastersons the last time he was over. he had taken both father and daughter into his confidence, and told them how squire lemington, in connection with the powerful syndicate, was trying to swindle his folks out of the rich alaska claim, which they truly believed belonged to them, and not to the capitalists. of course fred had met with ready sympathy from the occupants of the arnold masterson house. they themselves had suffered too recently from the grasping methods of the old squire not to sympathize with new victims. and fred had a double object in telling the story of the missing witness, whose evidence, if it could ever be procured, would settle the lawsuit in favor of the fentons and against squire lemington. somehow, he believed that if hiram masterson did manage to make his way back to the neighborhood of riverport, bent on righting a great wrong, as he had written in that strange note from hong kong, he would be apt to hunt up his brother, whom he had evidently not seen on his last visit. now he was at the cross-roads tavern, known as hitchen's, and running easily. he did not neglect to follow out the instructions which he had received from the old college graduate and coach, mr. shays, about breathing through his nose, and holding himself fairly erect. only in the mad dash of the last stretch could a well trained athlete be forgiven for neglecting these precautions; since so much depends on their being constantly employed in order to insure staying qualities. presently fred found himself in familiar regions. he vividly remembered the cross-country run, when he and bristles came upon the well under the apple tree, and were startled at sounds of groans issuing forth from that place. now he could just make it out in the gathering gloom; but really he gave it only a passing glance, for his attention was directed toward the farmhouse, where in a lower window he could see a lamp burning. fred did not mean to be inquisitive, and would not have thought of going a foot out of his way in order to peer in at that window; but as he had to pass it by on his way to the door, he naturally glanced in. then he stopped to look again. evidently the mastersons had company, for there were three at the supper table, upon which a bountiful array of enticingly cooked food could be seen; for the good people of riverport had brought out enough provisions to last them half way through the coming winter. this might make some difference with fred's plans. "perhaps i ought not to break in on them if they have company," he was saying to himself, as he continued to look through the window. "but i've come so far now, i kind of hate to give over the idea of saying something to mr. masterson. perhaps he'll come to the door if i knock. i could tell him about buck, to begin with; and might get a chance to speak of his letting us know if anything happened that he thought would interest the fenton family. yes, i'll try it." before turning away he took another passing glance at the stranger, who seemed to be an elderly man with gray hair and a beard of the same color. whatever he was saying, both mr. masterson and sarah seemed to be hanging on his words as if they were deeply interested. fred gave a sigh. he was secretly disappointed, to tell the truth. perhaps he had conceived a faint expectation that something about the man might seem familiar; for he had not forgotten how the returned alaska miner, hiram masterson, had looked when he rode about in squire lemington's carriage. but there was not the least resemblance so far as he could note between this elderly person and the gay-looking young miner. "i was foolish to ever think that," fred said to himself, as he again started in the direction of the farmhouse door. in this mood, then he reached the door, and knocked. the sound echoed through the house, for fred had laid his knuckles rather heavily on the upper panel of the double dutch door. he heard a scuffling sound, to indicate that chairs had been hurriedly pushed back. apparently, then, his knock had created something of a little panic within, though fred could hardly understand why that should be so. after waiting a reasonable time, without either sarah or her father coming to the door, fred again gave a knock. "mr. masterson!" fred called out, in the hope that his voice might happen to be recognized, so as to allay their fears. then he saw that someone was coming in answer to his second summons. under the door appeared a thin thread of light. this announced that the door between had been opened, and a lamp was being carried into the front room. fred wondered just at that moment whether it would be sarah or her father who might open the door. he knew mr. masterson was recovering his strength; but still he must be more or less weak, after a spell of sickness. and in that event sarah was apt to be the one to come. well, he would ask to see her father then, so as to get a few minutes conversation with the other. sarah would be surprised to see him, of course, at this queer hour, and in his running costume. fred almost wished now he had changed his mind, and turned away before giving that knock. but it was too late. he could hear someone drawing back the bolt by which the door was fastened. the mastersons had gone through one unpleasant experience, and they did not want another, if such a small thing as a new bolt on the door would ward it off. now the door had begun to open, and fred allowed a smile to come upon his face in anticipation of the look of surprise he felt sure would welcome him. as it happened, however, the surprise was pretty much the other way. the door suddenly flew open, at least the upper half of it did, and arnold masterson thrust the muzzle of a double-barrel shotgun through the opening, at the same time exclaiming: "now be off with you, or i'll give you a dose of buck shot that you won't like!" he had just managed to say this when he stared at the figure standing there. of course fred had been startled when so suddenly confronted by the armed and angry farmer; but he immediately recovered. "hold on, mr. masterson, don't you know me? it's fred fenton!" he exclaimed. the farmer seemed too surprised for words. but he did hasten to unfasten the remaining part of the dutch door, and seize hold of the boy by the short sleeve of his running tunic. "fred fenton, of all things, and right now too, when we were just talking about your folks. come in, my boy, come in. this is a piece of great luck now. whatever brings you away up here just at the time we wanted to see you most? great news for you, fred! he's come home again, and is right in there. sarah wanted him to hide, because she thought it was one of my uncle's spies hanging around; but i said no, that they'd never believe it was him, not in a year of sundays." "who?" gasped fred, feeling weak; but with a great expectation that caused him to tremble all over. the farmer patted him on the back as he went on to say, joyfully: "it's my brother hiram, come back to right the wrong he helped do your people; and defy uncle sparks to his face. this is going to be a happy night for you, fred; a happy night, my boy!" chapter xx a welcome guest "hiram come back!" that was about all fred could say. after all these dreary months, with hope so long deferred, it was hard to understand that the splendid news could be true. oh! what joy it would bring in his home, when he arrived to tell the story! in imagination even at that first moment, fred could see the tired face of his mother light up with thankfulness; and his father taking her in his arms, to shelter her head on his broad shoulder. for the return of hiram meant that the truth must be told about that false claim the powerful syndicate had put in for the property left to mr. fenton by his brother fred, up in alaska; and which had seemed so necessary to the working of the mines really owned by the big company that they had been willing to do almost anything to get possession of the same. "yes, that's him in yonder; but nobody'd ever know it, he's got himself up so smart," the farmer said, proudly, as he closed and bolted the doors again, ere leading the way into the other room. fred saw the supposed old man stare hard at him as he followed mr. masterson into the room; but of course sarah immediately recognized him. "why, i declare if it isn't fred fenton himself; and he's been practicing for the road race to-morrow!" she exclaimed. "you remember, uncle, i was telling you he meant to take part in it. do you know who this is, fred? has father told you?" "yes, and i'm mighty glad to see him here," said fred, as he accepted the brown and calloused hand which the man, who had been kidnapped by orders of the combine, thrust out toward him, to wince under the hearty pressure on his fingers. "i tell you, fred," remarked hiram, with a broad smile, "i'm just as glad to be here again, after all i've gone through with, as you can be to see me. they certainly did keep me hustling, from one captain to another. i've been in the harbors of half the countries of the world, i reckon, since they took me away." "and you see," spoke up sarah, eager to have a hand in the telling; "the captains of the different boats that were in the pay of this big company had the word passed along to them. they gave it out that he was weak in his head. so whenever uncle tried to tell his story, the sailors used to pretend to be interested, but wink at each other, as if to say: 'there he goes ranting about being carried off, just like the captain said he would.' so he never could get to mail a letter till in hong kong, when he managed to escape. even then they chased him; and he says he only got away in the end by jumping into the bay, and pretending to stay under the water." "but couldn't you manage to escape when the ship put in at some port?" fred asked, being very curious. "they always looked out for that," replied hiram, with a sad shake of his head. "sometimes i was accused of starting a mutiny, and put in irons, as well as shut up in the lazerette. more'n a few times they gave me a dose that took away my senses, and i didn't know even my name until we'd made the open sea again. it was all managed in the smartest way you ever heard about; and i'm shaking hands with myself right now to know that in the end i managed to upset their plans." fred suddenly remembered something that buck had let fall when speaking about the conditions existing at his home. "i guess someone must have been sending word to mr. lemington about your getting away," he remarked. "what makes you say that?" asked hiram, looking uneasy. fred, in as few words as possible related what had happened up in the deserted limestone quarry, when buck and his little brother billy found him caught in a trap. "he said his father was already in a bad humor," fred went on, "and that he must have had news that upset him; because there was an open letter that had a foreign stamp on it, on the library table. perhaps that letter was from hong kong or somewhere else, and told the delayed story of your escape." "now that sounds reasonable, hiram," remarked the farmer; "and if sparks lemington knows you're on your way home, to upset all his nice calculations, p'raps he might even have this house watched so as to get you again before you did any damage, by swearing to your story before judge colon and witnesses." "and i believe buck is leading his little brother right here now," fred went on to remark. "he wants to give his father a scare by having billy gone, and expects in that way he may escape punishment for his tricks. you know they think a heap of little billy over there." "and only for you he might have been drowned," said sarah. "seems to me you do nothing else but go around, helping get unlucky people out of trouble. i was telling uncle what you did for me." "and he'll never have cause to regret it, mark my words," said hiram, resolutely. "i've come back to let light in on them rascally land pirates' doings. soon's they learn that i've sworn to my story before the judge, you'll see how quick they'll open up communications with your dad, and be offerin' him a tremendous sum to sell out; because they just need that property the worst you ever saw." "but if buck comes here he might smell a rat, and let his father know," remarked arnold masterson, nervously. "it's bad enough to be worrying about tramps, without expecting to have your house raided by spies in the pay of a combine of shrewd business men. i've got a good notion to make out nobody's at home, if the boys get here. then they'd just have to move on, and find another place to stay." "i rather think they'd camp out in your barn then, mr. masterson," remarked fred. "what makes you think that?" asked the farmer, looking keenly at the boy. "well," fred continued, "in the first place, little billy will be so tired out after his long tramp, he never could get any further. then buck wants to hide for a while, and he'll make up his mind that if you are gone away, you'll be back to-morrow morning. why, he's that bold, he might try to break in, if he thinks the house is empty." "i tell you what we'd better do," said hiram, who had evidently been doing considerable deep thinking meanwhile. "as what?" questioned his brother. "let the boys come on in when they get here; they won't find anybody besides you and sarah home," the returned wanderer declared, smiling broadly. "where will you be, uncle hiram; asleep in the hay out in the barn?" asked the girl. "me? not much," returned the other. "because i'm of a mind to go home with fred here, and have the whole thing over with this same night." "oh! i wish you would; but it's a pretty long walk for you, to riverport," declared the boy, with considerable enthusiasm. "oh! as to that, i reckon brother arnold here knows of a farmer not a great ways off, he could send a note to by you and me," hiram went on to say; "i've got plenty of hard cash in my jeans, and we'll hire the rig to take us to riverport. perhaps we might let him think, you see, that fred got hurt running, and ought to be taken back home in a buggy. how about it, arnold?" "a pretty good scheme, i must say," replied the other. "did you have enough supper, hiram; and are you ready to take the bull by the horns right now?" "strike while the iron is hot; that's always been my motto," replied the returned miner, as he reached for his slouch hat; and took up the overcoat he had worn, which had a high collar that could be used to muffle his face if necessary. "and as the night air is sharp and frosty, i'll lend fred some clothes to keep him warm," said the farmer. in ten minutes all this was done, and fred led the way along the road in the direction he supposed buck and his little brother would come. he was listening all the while, even while conversing with hiram in low tones. presently, when they had gone about half a mile, he heard the growling voice of buck lemington not far away. "keep a-goin' billy; we're not far away from there now; and i guess they won't refuse to let us in, and give us some grub. here, take hold of my hand, and i'll help you along all i can. it was mighty nice for you to come with me, billy, and i won't forget it; because i never saw the governor so mad before, never!" so while fred and hiram hid in the bushes, the two figures passed by. fred realized that if there was one spark of good left in the bully of riverport, it consisted in his affection for that smaller brother. soon afterward they came to the farm where the horse and buggy were to be secured. there was no trouble whatever. "this is something like," remarked hiram, gleefully, as they sped over the road in the direction of the town, the lights of which could be seen glimmering in the distance, whenever the travelers happened to be crossing a rise. no doubt fred was the happiest fellow in all riverport when he finally drove up in front of his humble home, and, with hiram, jumped out. as he looked in through the window he could see his father and mother, and his three small sisters, josie, rebecca and ruth, all seated at the supper table, with one chair vacant. fred opened the door and walked in. all of them looked up, to smile at seeing how strange the boy appeared in the odd garments loaned by the farmer. "father, and mother," said fred, trying to control his shaky voice; "i've brought you company." then he closed the door, walked over, and pulled down the shades, and turning again went on to say: "here's somebody who's come from the other side of the world to see you all. yes, mother, it's hiram, and he's bound that this very night will see his sworn testimony taken by judge colon in the presence of reliable witnesses, so that the great alaska claim will be settled for good. hurrah!" chapter xxi the athletic meet "this beats any crowd ever seen along the mohunk!" that seemed to be the opinion of almost everybody, as they looked at the densely packed grandstand, at the throng in the extra tiers of seats raised to accommodate those who would pay a bonus in order to insure comfort; and finally the thousands who crowded the spaces back of the protecting ropes, all along the oval running track that, twice around, made exactly a quarter of a mile. it was a glorious october day; in fact many declared that "the clerk of the weather had given riverport the glad hand this time, for sure," since not a cloud broke the blue dome overhead, and the sun was just pleasantly warm. in the grandstand a group of girls and boys belonging to riverport had gathered early, having seats adjacent. and how merrily the tongues did clatter as cissy anderson called attention to the clever way in which sid wells carried himself, which remark would of course reach the boy's ears in good time, as his sister, mame, who felt almost like crying because she could not be in line with these bold athletes, was present, and heard everything. flo temple cast admiring eyes toward the spot where fred, clad in his running trunks and sleeveless white shirt, talked with the track captain, brad morton. for deep down in her girlish heart, flo felt certain that ere the day had come to a close fred was sure to win new glory for riverport school. the arrangements for the athletic meet had been carefully worked out. in the first place there was a director of the games, in whose hands every important question was placed for disposal. a gentleman residing in paulding of late, who had gained considerable fame himself as an athlete in college, had been chosen director. his name was de camp, and he was said to be a member of the wonderful family who have figured so prominently in college athletics in the past. then there was a referee, really the most important of all officers, whose decision was to settle every close match. the starter was to have charge of each competition, measuring distances accurately, so that there should be no reason for dissatisfaction. a number of gentlemen had been asked to serve as inspectors, to assist the referee, especially in the running matches, and the five mile road competition in particular, being stationed at certain points along the course to observe how the numerous contestants behaved, and penalize those who broke the rules. of course there were the usual official scorers, timers, three judges for finishes, and an equal number for the field events. these judges were to measure each performance, and give to the scorer the exact distance covered. according to the rules they had no power to disqualify or penalize a contestant; but they could make alterations in the program, so as to excuse a contestant from his field event in order to appear in his track contest, and allow him to take his missing turn after he had had a reasonable rest. the hour had now come for the first event on the long program to be carried out, and the field was cleared of all persons, whether contestants or their admiring clusters of friends, who had gathered to give a last good word. when the master of ceremonies stepped out, the waves of sound gradually died away. "silence! silence! let mr. de camp talk!" was heard here and there; and even the most gossipy girls dared not exchange words after that. the director, in a few happily chosen remarks, told of the great benefit to be derived from school athletics, when properly conducted. he also declared that the right sort of friendly competition or rivalry between neighboring schools, bent upon excelling in various channels of athletics, was calculated to inspire a proper ambition to win. and above all, he observed that in such friendly contests the best of good will should prevail, so that the vanquished might feel the sting of defeat as little as possible. "be true sportsmen, boys," he finished by saying; "remember in the flush of your victory that there is another fellow who was just as eager to win as you were, who is feeding on the husks of defeat. give him a hearty cheer for his pluck. it can only add to your own glory, and speaks well for your heart. that is all i want to say. the announcer will now tell you the character of the first competition." mechanicsburg showed up in a formidable way early in the program. bristles carpenter for riverport, and ogden for paulding, brought out a round of applause when they cleared the bar in the high jump; but after it had been raised several notches above their best record, angus smith, who used to play such a clever game out in left for mechanicsburg, easily crossed over, amid deafening cheers. so the first event fell to the town up the river. "oh! that's only a taste!" boasted a mechanicsburg boy, close to the bevy of now rather subdued riverport girls; "we've got plenty of that kind. just wait, and you'll be greatly surprised, girls. mechanicsburg has been keeping quiet; but oh! you riverport! this is a day you'll never, never forget! it spells waterloo for yours!" "we've heard that sort of talk before, tody guffey," remarked mame wells, defiantly; "and when the end came where was mechanicsburg? why, in the gravy, of course. we never yet started out well. riverport needs something to stir her blood, in order to make her boys do their best. now watch, and see what happens." however, mame, splendid "rooter" for the home squad that she was, could not claim much glory as a prophet; for the next event was also captured by the hustling school team from the up-river town. it was a standing jump, and again did the long-legged smith show his wonderful superiority as an athlete, by beating the best the other boys could put up. of course the cheers that rose were at first mostly those of the visitors. visions of a grand victory that would wipe out the string of many a previous defeat, began to float before the minds of those who shouted, and waved hats, flags and scarfs. the whole assemblage seemed to be for mechanicsburg, in fact; but then the same thing would be apt to show when either of the other schools made a win. at such times enthusiasm goes wild, and those who are enjoying the contests are ready to cheer anything, so long as they can make a noise. "now we'll see a change, i guess," laughingly remarked mame, when it was announced that the next event would be a quarter mile sprint, with just three entries, one from each school. "oh! you colon!" shouted scores of riverport boys as the tall athlete came forward with his customary slouching gait, that seemed a part of his nature; though he could straighten up when he wanted, well enough. they were off like rabbits as the pistol sounded, and the greatest racket broke forth as they went flying around the track. colon kept just behind the other two. he was craftily watching their work, and coolly calculating just when it would be necessary for him to "put his best foot forward." once they went around, with paulding leading slightly, but mechanicsburg going strong, and riverport just "loafing in the rear," as one of the boys expressed it. but those who were experienced could see that the wonderful colon was just toying with his rivals. "right now he could dig circles around them both!" yelled little semi-colon, who had the utmost faith in his cousin's ability to accomplish every task set for him. "now they're three quarters done, and at the other end of the track;" said flo temple; "oh! please, please, don't delay too long, colon!" "let out a link, colon!" shrieked a megaphone holder. "look at him, would you; he heard you shout, all right, sandy!" cried one boy. "he's got wings! he's sure flying!" whooped another. "say jumping like a big kangaroo! call that running? they'll disqualify him, you mark me, riverport!" shrieked a disappointed mechanicsburg rooter, as he saw the local sprinter shoot past both the others as though they were standing still; and come toward the finish. "riverport wins!" was the shout that arose on all sides. "wait!" answered the backers of the up-river school; "we didn't have our best man, wagner, in that sprint; we're saving him for the next, when your wonder will be winded more or less. and the third sprint will be a walkover. oh! shout while you have the chance, riverport; but all the same your cake is going to be dough. we've taken your number, and the count is two against one, so far. mechanicsburg! all together now; three more cheers, boys!" chapter xxii fred on the track fred fenton was in the throng that welcomed the victorious colon. he had heard that remark of a mechanicsburg lad about the plan arranged to wear colon down by putting a fresh man in against him with the second sprint, this time for half a mile. and it set fred thinking. he had himself been entered for the second and third sprint; but because the five mile road race was of such vast importance, the track captain had prevailed upon fred not to make either of the others, leaving them to the marvelous colon to take care of. several more events were pulled off in rapid succession, showing how well organized the tournament seemed to be, in the hands of competent men. one of these happenings was a sack race, which afforded great amusement to the crowd, and gave paulding her first score, to the uproarious delight of everybody. "paulding can _crawl_ to victory, anyhow!" shouted the megaphone boy, derisively. "that's better than crawling after getting licked!" answered a resolute backer of the town down the river, "that never gave up until the last man was down." when the basket ball game of the girls, between paulding and mechanicsburg first, and then riverport against the victor of the first round, was called, everybody sat up and took notice. it was a spirited game, and paulding girls proved themselves superior to those of the rival town, for they finally won. then their team was patched up with a couple to replace those who were tired out; after which they started to show riverport what they knew about basketball. and sure enough, in the end they did carry the paulding colors to victory; though it was a close decision; and if the balance of the home team could have shown the same class that little mame wells put into her playing, it would have been a walkover for riverport. colon came to the scratch, smiling and confident, when the half mile run over the track was called. so did that fellow up the river, who had always been such a hard player to down, when riverport tackled her rival in baseball, or on the gridiron--felix wagner, the best all-round athlete of which mechanicsburg boasted. it was seen that colon did not mean to follow the same tactics in this sprint of the half mile. he knew that he was up against a different sort of man now, than in the first event of his class. and when the three competitors passed for the third time the grandstand, they were pretty evenly bunched, each jealously watching lest one of the others get an advantage. amid a din of cheering they reached the other end of the track, all going strong. "now watch colon hump himself!" shouted the megaphone boy. "there he goes! ain't he the kangaroo though?" bawled another. "but keep your eye on wagner, will you? he's flying like the wind. better believe your wonder will have to do his prettiest right now, with that hurricane at his heels. go it, felix; you can win it! wagner! wagner! he's going to do it! hoop-la! me-chan-icsburg forever!" wagner was coming like a bird, and his flying feet seemed hardly to touch the ground. the paulding contestant appeared to be so far outclassed that some people imagined he must be almost standing still; but he was doing his best, poor fellow. apparently colon heard the sound of wagner close at his shoulder as the other made a last spurt, meaning to pass him. colon had just one more "kink" to let loose, and as he did so he bounded ahead, passing the string some five feet in front of the second entry. the roar of cheers that arose suddenly died out. "look at colon! something happened to him! that last spurt must have ruptured a blood vessel! that settles the third race, because wagner will have it easy!" the marshal and his many assistants had some difficulty in keeping order while a crowd of athletes gathered around colon, who had fallen headlong after breasting the tape, and lay there on the ground. presently the director appeared, and waved his hand for silence, remarking: "i regret to say that the winner of the last half mile sprint sprained his ankle just as he clinched his victory, and will be utterly unable to take part in any other contest to-day. we are glad it is no more serious injury; and one and all extend to him our sympathy, as well as our admiration for the game fight he has put up!" brad morton helped colon to a seat, where he could have his swollen ankle properly attended to, and at the same time watch the progress of the tournament; for colon stubbornly refused to let them take him home. the face of the track captain was marked with uneasiness. mechanicsburg was evidently in this thing to win, and meant to make every point count. right then the two schools seemed to be moving along, neck and neck, each having seven points in their favor, with several events coming that were altogether uncertain. hence, that third half mile run over the track might eventually prove to be the turning point, upon which final victory or defeat would hinge. with colon, the unbeaten sprinter, down, who was there to take his place against that fleet-footed wagner, who would be fairly recovered by the time the last sprint was called? rapidly did brad run over in his mind his available entries, and putting each in competition with wagner, he shook his head. sid wells could not be depended on to keep his head in a final pinch. he usually did well in the beginning of a hot race, but when there was a call for held-back energies, sid could not "deliver the goods," as brad knew. besides, there was corney shays, a speedy runner for short distances, but with poor wind. half a mile was too much for corney; had it been a quarter, now, brad would have felt tempted to try him against wagner. he looked anxiously toward fred, and the other smiled. an odd three-legged race was taking place at the time, each school having an entry; and amid uproarious shouts the contestants were falling down, getting mixed in their partners, and exciting all sorts of comments. "i'm willing to make the try if you say so, brad," fred remarked, for he could easily read what was in the mind of the anxious brad. "if only i was sure that it wouldn't interfere with your work in the five mile run, i'd be tempted to let you go into it," the track captain declared; "but you know that short marathon has been thought so important that it was given three points, to one for all other events. we've just _got_ to win that, or we're gone. do you really and truly think you could stand both, fred?" "i sure do," replied the other, confidently; "and besides, you can get the field judges to put the five mile off until the very last, so as to give me time to recover. nobody can object to that." "how about having the third sprint moved up in line; that would widen the gap between your two entries, fred?" remarked brad, the gloom beginning to leave his face, as he saw a way out of the trouble. "never do in the wide world," replied fred; "because that would shorten wagner's time for recovery after his last race. and lots of fellows would say it was done purposely to give us a winning chance. no, my plan is the better, brad." other events were being run off in succession. the shot-put came to riverport, dave hanshaw proving himself superior at this sort of game to any of those entered in competition. jumping the hurdles went to the steady-pulling up-river town. and when the third sprint was called, once again were mechanicsburg and riverport tied for points. when fred toed the scratch alongside felix wagner and the new paulding sprinter, he did not underestimate either of his antagonists. and after they were off like greyhounds let free from the leash, he adopted the tactics that had won so handily for colon in the first race, lagging just behind the others, and observing how they ran, while making the circuit of the track three times. thus he knew to a fraction just what resources wagner had left when the critical stage was reached for the final spurt. felix was already beginning to feel his previous race. that heart-breaking finish against colon had told on him more than he had expected it would. and fred believed he would have no great difficulty in displacing him, when the time came. on the way to the finish all of them increased their already fast pace, until they were fairly skimming along the level track as though they had wings. but fred proved to have considerably more reserve powers than either of his competitors. well had he gauged the distance; and when just about one hundred yards from the finish he was seen to pass both wagner and the paulding runner, coming in an easy winner, amid the terrific cheers of the excited throng, everybody being upon his or her feet, waving flags, hats, handkerchiefs, and shouting themselves fairly hoarse to indicate what they thought of the clever tactics of the riverport boy. and when the pleased brad clapped fred on the back he remarked: "elegantly done, my boy; only i do hope it won't tell on you in the biggest event of the meet; the five mile run. for they're pressing us hard, and we'll need every one of those three points, fred; remember that!" chapter xxiii a close count "you're doing yourself proud to-day, fred," remarked bristles carpenter, as he dropped down beside the other, who had donned his sweater-jacket, so that he might not take cold, and thus stiffen his muscles before being called upon to toe the mark again, toward the end of the meet, for the road race. "well, i feel just like a bird, and that's a fact, bristles," replied fred, as he turned smilingly upon his chum. "everything seems to be coming my way, outside of this athletic meet, you know." "i heard colon tell how you and your father came over to his uncle's last night, bringing a stranger along with you; and that he turned out to be the witness you've been looking for so long--hiram masterson. say, that was the name of that farmer and his girl we helped that time; wasn't it, fred?" "sure," answered the other, for he felt that so faithful a friend as bristles ought to be taken into his confidence, now that all danger was over. "he and hiram are brothers, and both of 'em are nephews of squire lemington." "and by the way, i don't see buck's face around; what d'ye reckon happened to him to keep him away, when he's so set on athletics?" so fred, seeing his chance, explained in a few sentences all that had happened on the preceding afternoon. great was the astonishment of bristles. "talk to me about luck, there never was anything to equal yours, fred!" he declared, as he shook hands warmly. "and so hiram gave all his evidence under oath, and in the presence of witnesses, so there's no chance of his being kidnapped again, i guess. that'll knock the old syndicate silly; eh?" "it has already, they tell me," fred went on, composedly. "word must have been sent to squire lemington, for early this morning he was down at the telegraph office wiring his chief, and getting an answer. my father has received a message from the squire saying that he and the president of the big company would be glad to make an appointment with him, for the purpose of talking over business matters. and he also said that he felt sure they could come to some agreement that would be satisfactory to both sides, and so avoid the expense and delay of a lawsuit." "bully! bully, all around; that must mean a hundred thousand or two for your folks. but i hope you keep your eye out for that tricky squire, fred. if there's any loop-hole for treachery he'll find it, mark me." "oh! we're in the hands of judge colon now; and you can catch a weasel asleep sooner than he could be found napping. rest easy, bristles, the game's already won, and the fun over, all but the shouting." "isn't it great, though? and all these months you've been going around with a cheery smile on your face, fred, when you carried a heavy load of worry. you don't care if i mention these things to my folks; do you?" "not a bit of it," answered the other, briskly. "we've had to keep things quiet long enough; and now that the tide's turned our way we want everybody to know the facts. tell it as often as you please; only don't be too personal about the share squire lemington had in the carrying off of hiram. we've got no actual proof, you know, about that." "there goes our dave at it again, throwing the discus," remarked bristles; "it's a dead sure thing we win this event. and if i hadn't fallen down in my turn, riverport would be just two points more ahead of her closest rivals. but i'm going to take up training next time. i've learned my weak point, and i hope to cure it." "there's a happy boy, if there's one here," said fred, nodding his head in the direction of a rather sturdily-set young chap, who stood watching the throwing of the weight; and whose presence in running trunks and sleeveless shirt announced that he expected to make one of the races. "why, it's gabe larkins, for a fact; i didn't know he was in this thing at all," bristles ventured. "yes, you may remember that he used to say he was fond of all outdoor sports; but never had time to take part in them," fred went on to remark. "well, brad found that he was a clever runner, and he coaxed him to practice a little on the sly. he used to be a riverport schoolboy, you see, before he was taken out to go to work; so he was eligible for entry. and i really believe he's going to prove a valuable find yet." "talking about training, i heard mr. de camp say he didn't believe in too much of that sort of thing for boys," bristles volunteered. "yes, i heard him say that, and he explained it too," fred went on with. "you see, a boy is in the process of the making. he can stand just so much, and if he exceeds his powers he may work irreparable ruin to his system. he said that a boy ought never to be trained as grown athletes are. his training ought to be just play. he must be shown how to do things properly, and then allowed to go about it in his own way. give him an example of how the thing should be done, and then let him play his own game." a wild burst of cheering stopped their conference, and bristles jumped up to ascertain what caused it. "of course dave just beat his own high water mark," he called out; "and neither of the others is in the same class, just what i said would happen. another point for us. but the next lot look dangerous, i'm afraid." they proved to be more than that, for two points went to the up-river town as the wrestling match, and the three-standing jump contest were decided in their favor by the impartial judges. as yet there had not been heard the least criticism of the way these gentlemen conducted their part of the affair. while in several close decisions there may have been many disappointed lads, still it was fully believed that the judges were working squarely to give each contestant a fair deal, and favor no one at the expense of others. a comical potato race next sent the crowds into convulsions of laughter. and of course paulding had to win that. how the others did rub it into the advocates of the down-river school; but they only grinned, and accepted the gibes with becoming modesty. "oh! we're strong on all the games that go to make up the real thing," one of the baseball squad remarked, grinning amiably at the chaff of his friends. "you see, potatoes go to make up life for a big part of the human race; and we're after 'em, good and hard. and our girls are helping us out handsomely. we take off our hats to the fair sex. paulding is all right, if a little slow sometimes." in that spirit the various contests were being carried out. small danger of any serious trouble arising between the three schools when their young people showed such true sportsmanlike qualities in their competitions, keen-set though they were to win a victory. the afternoon was wearing on, and the enthusiasm did not seem to wane in the slightest degree. true, a lot of the boys were getting quite hoarse from constant shouting; but others took up the refrain, while they contented themselves with making frantic gestures, and throwing up cushions, hats, and canes whenever they felt the spirit to create a disturbance rioting within them. brad morton kept hovering near fred as the contest went on, and it began to look more and more like a tie between the two schools, when the great and concluding five mile road race was called. he asked many times how fred felt, and if there was anything like rubbing down he needed, in order to limber up some muscle that might not feel just right. "not a thing, brad," the other remarked, waving his hand toward the grandstand as he saw flo temple flaunting her flag at him meaningly. "i tell you i never felt in better trim than i do right now--as fine as silk. and unless something unexpected happens to me on the road, i'm going to bring those three tallies home for riverport, or know the reason why. after all that's happened lately to make me happy, i just don't see how i could lose. quit worrying, brad." and under this inspiring kind of talk the track captain did brace up, so that he even allowed a smile to creep over his grim face. "well, you're the one to give a fellow tone, and make him feel good, fred," he remarked. "i reckon you feel confident without being too sure; and that's the way a fellow competing against others ought to feel. he's just got to believe in himself up to the last second; and in lots of cases that same confidence wins out. but i wish you hadn't had to take part in that half-mile sprint. it might have done something that you'll find out after you get well into the long race." "oh! let up, won't you, brad?" urged fred. "i tell you i'm in perfect condition. and i'll prove it pretty soon, you see; for it's getting near the time for my run right now." throughout the grandstand they were already talking of that long five mile run, which was bound to excite more interest than any other event of this glorious day of sports. "they say fenton strained a tendon in his foot, and limps already," one of the up-river fellows remarked, with a wink toward his comrades; for he knew how quickly mame wells would take up cudgels for her colors. "oh! he has; eh?" she exclaimed derisively; "very well, mort cambridge, just you step out and tell your runners they'd better be straining some of _their_ tendons, because they'll need everything that fred fenton's got, if they want to be in sight when he comes romping home. a strained tendon, humph! look at him walking across the field right now; did you ever see anybody have a more springy step than that? isn't it so, flo?" and there was a shout, as the doctor's daughter, with a flushed face but with sparkling eyes, nodded her head defiantly. "how does the score stand?" asked someone, breathlessly. "eleven for mechanicsburg, to thirteen for riverport, and five for paulding." "and only the road race left on the calendar, which counts three points. then it will settle the championship; for the side that comes in ahead there will win in number of points, mechanicsburg just nosing over, while we'd have five to the good." "and here's the director going to announce the race, while the other man will name all the contestants entered to take part. my! what a big bunch there are; and how exciting it promises to be. but i'm pinning my faith on fred fenton to win." and pretty flo temple gave the speaker a grateful look, because he voiced her sentiments exactly. chapter xxiv the lone runner "they're off!" was the cry. with the crack of the pistol the long string of runners left the line. most of them had been crouching in some favorite attitude that allowed a quick start. the course was to take them from the field over to the road, and then along this for exactly two and a half miles, until a turning point was reached, when the return trip would begin. inspectors were stationed at various distances along the course; and judges stood guard at the turning stake, to make sure that every contestant went the full limit before heading for home. in the three schools there were eleven contestants in all--four for riverport, the same number for her up-river rival, and three belonging to paulding. each boy had a large number fastened on his back and chest, so that he could be plainly recognized by this for some little distance. fred was number seven, while the crack long-distance runner of mechanicsburg, the wonderful boggs, had been given number one. and there were many persons who believed firmly that the race was destined to be between these two boys, champions of their respective schools. in such a long race the interest does not get fully awakened until several miles have been passed over. and in order that those on the athletic field might not be wholly without some shreds of information while the runners were far away, the managers had influenced some of the boys to arrange a code of signals, to be worked by operators at the other end of the two and a half mile turn. there was a hill in plain sight of both beginning and turn. on this a pine tree had been stripped of its branches; and a clothes line stretched to a pulley near its top. when the first runner turned the half-way stake a boy right on the ground would wave a certain flag, so that the lads up on the hill could see it. on their part they were to run up a flag of a similar color to tell the waiting throng which school was in the lead at the half-way post. then, when a second contestant came along, his advent would also be recorded. red meant that mechanicsburg was in the lead; blue that riverport had the advantage; while green stood for paulding. there was a cluster of runners well up in the lead when they began to vanish from the view of the spectators. then the others were strung out; until last of all a riverport fellow jogged along, as though he saw no reason for haste so early in the game. still, there could be no telling just where that same laggard might be when the runners turned and headed for the home stake. he might be playing the waiting game that so often proves fruitful in such races. while the contestants were out of sight the crowd enjoyed itself by sending all sorts of shouts back and forth. sometimes loud outbursts of laughter greeted some happy remark from a bright schoolboy or girl. "ought to be seeing something right soon now," remarked one of the crowd, as he looked anxiously toward the signal station on the top of the hill two miles away. "that's right." "i've been timing 'em," said another; "and you're just right; they ought to be about there by now." "hi! look! there goes a flag up the mast!" shrieked a voice. "it's green too!" howled a frantic paulding backer. "oh! come off! can't you tell a red flag when you see it? mechanicsburg's turned the half-way stake in the lead! didn't we say boggs was there with the goods?" "and a yard wide too!" "there goes a second flag up, showing that he isn't far ahead, anyway!" "what's that color? the sun hurts my eyes, and i can't just make it out?" "green! green! this time you can't say it isn't! hurrah! paulding is close on the heels of the leader. the great boggs may trip up yet, boys." "oh! where is your great wonder, riverport? what's happened to fred fenton, do you suppose?" "there he goes around the stake now; and the three leaders are pretty well bunched. it looks like anybody's battle yet, fellows. and may the best man win!" it was true that the blue flag had followed close upon the green one; indeed, there was not a minute's difference between the entire three, showing that some of the runners must have kept very close to each other during the first half of the race. but now would come the supreme test. everybody seemed to draw a long breath, as they kept their eyes on that point of the distant road where the first runner would make his appearance, turn aside, and head across the field for the final tapeline. "isn't it just too exciting for anything, flo?" asked mame wells, putting her arm around her chum, whom she found actually quivering with nervous hope and fear. "don't speak to me, mame; i just can't bear to listen," replied the other. "i'm waiting to see who comes in sight first, and hoping i won't be disappointed. be still, please, and let me alone." indeed, by degrees, all noise seemed to be dying out. a strange silence fell upon the vast throng. thousands of eyes were fastened upon that clump of trees, back of which they had seen the last runner vanish some time before. here the leader would presently show up; and they had not the slightest way of knowing whether it would be boggs, fenton, or collins from paulding. much could have happened since the three leaders turned the stake. another runner might have advanced from behind, and taken the head of the procession. some of those in the big road race were really unknown quantities; and among these was gabe larkins, for no one had ever really seen him run, the riverport lad who lagged behind in the start. seconds seemed minutes, and these latter hours, as they waited for what was to come. it was hard to believe that somewhere behind that screen a crowd of boys were speeding along at their level best, seeking to win honors for the school of their choice. several false alarms were given, as is usually the case, when some nervous persons think they can see a moving object. but finally a tremendous shout arose, that gained volume with each passing second. everybody joined in that welcoming roar, regardless of who the leader might turn out to be. "here they come!" a lone runner had suddenly burst out from behind the trees, and was heading for the field, passing swiftly over the ground, and with an easy, though powerful, foot movement, that quite won the hearts of all those present who had in days past been more or less interested in college athletics. "it's boggs!" shrieked one. "yes, i can see his number plain, and it's one, all right. oh! you dandy, how you do cover the ground, though! nobody ever saw such running; and he's got the rest beat a mile. why, look, not a single one in sight yet, and boggs, he's nearly a third of the way here from the turn in the course." almost sick at heart, and with trembling hands pretty flo temple managed to raise the field glasses she had with her. she really hated to level them just to see the face of the winning boggs. instantly she uttered a loud shriek. "oh! you're all wrong!" she cried. "it isn't boggs at all! instead of number one, that is number seven!" "it's fred fenton!" whooped the fellow with the megaphone, so that everybody was able to hear. "fenton wins! hurrah for fred!" brad morton, the track captain, caught hold of bristles, and the two of them danced around, hugging each other as though they had really taken leave of their senses. "fenton! oh! where is boggs? fenton! riverport wins the championship!" so the shouts were going around, and the frantic lads leaped and waltzed about. meanwhile the lone runner was swiftly approaching. they could all see now that it was seven upon his chest, which at first had been mistaken for the one. fred was apparently in no great distress. he seemed able to continue for another round, had such a thing been necessary. only once he turned to glance over his shoulder. this was when, arriving close enough to the outskirts of the crowd to hear some of the loud talk, he caught a cry that the nearest of his competitors had been sighted. and fred could well afford to smile when he saw that boggs was not in it at all, for the second runner was number eleven, which stood for gabe larkins. he was coming furiously, and had he been better coached at the start he might have even given the winner a run for the goal. the crowd thronged over the field as soon as fred breasted the tape, and was declared the winner of the long distance event. and with the words of the director still fresh in their minds the victors made sure to rally around the cheer captain, and send out a roar again and again for the plucky fight made by mechanicsburg and paulding. such things go far toward softening the pangs of bitter defeat, and draw late rivals closer together in the bonds of good fellowship. but although everybody was showering fred fenton with praises for his wonderful home-coming, and thanking him times over because he had made it possible for riverport to win the victory over both her competitors; he counted none of these things as worth one half as much as that walk home, after he had dressed, in the company with flo temple; and to see the proud way in which she took possession of him, as though, in wearing the little bud she had given him, he had really been running that fine race for _her_, rather than the school to which they both belonged. chapter xxv the alaska claim after all the excitement attending the great athletic tournament, riverport took the rest those who lived within her borders really needed. school duties had been somewhat neglected while there was so much going on; and professor brierley saw to it that the brakes were put on, and the sport element eliminated for the time being. and yet he knew that the new spirit of athletic training in schools was really working wonders among those who had heretofore been sadly backward about strengthening their lungs, and developing their systems along proper lines. the governing committee were so well pleased with the many advantages which they had reaped from the tournament, that it was unanimously decided to repeat it every fall. and during the winter season the new gymnasiums, with their modern apparatus for developing chests, strengthening muscles, and encouraging weakly boys and girls to become strong and healthy, would supply all the exercise needed. fred fenton, of course, became the idol of his set. he was a clear-headed boy, it happened, and he discouraged all this sort of hero worship possible; making light of what he had done, and declaring that when the next took place gabe larkins was going to carry off every running prize. fred was at any rate the happiest boy in riverport; and he believed he had ample reason for declaring himself such. in the first place the alaska claim had been finally settled, and to the complete satisfaction of the fenton family. under the wise guidance and counsel of judge colon, affairs had been so managed that the head of the powerful syndicate, accompanied by squire lemington, had several meetings with mr. fenton. the upshot of the whole matter was that an offer being finally made, and refused, a second was presented that enlarged the sum first mentioned. that was also turned down by the sagacious judge, who had received pointers from hiram concerning the necessity of the syndicate possessing the disputed claim. in the end an agreement was struck, the whole large sum paid over, and the transfer of all claims made. just what that amount was few people ever knew. some said it must have been as high as three hundred thousand dollars; others declared it was only a single hundred thousand; but the chances are it came midway between the two extremes. no matter what the sum, wisely invested as it was by the new owner, it placed the fenton family beyond the reach of want as long as they lived. fred could now dream his dreams of some time going to college, when he had arrived at the topmost round of the ladder as represented in the riverport school course. and there were a host of other things that seemed much closer to his hand now than they had ever been before. as they had become dearly attached to their little cottage home, the fentons, instead of moving into a larger and more comfortable house, simply purchased the one they lived in. after certain improvements had been completed they had as fine a house as any one in all riverport, and with a location on the bank of the pretty mohunk second to none. hiram was uneasy away from the mining camps, and after a while said good-bye to his riverport friends. he had made over to his brother arnold certain property he had accumulated; so that both sarah and her father felt that they would never again experience the pinch of poverty. these two friends of fred were always delighted whenever he and any of his chums took a notion to run up, and pay them a little visit. and many times did the girl speak of that dreadful day when her calls from the bottom of the well reached the ears of the cross-country runners, bringing aid to herself and her sick parent. they would never forget what fred and bristles had done for them. gabe larkins was a different boy from what he had been in the past. everybody thought well of him now; and his mother, no longer fearing that the change in his character indicated a fatal sickness, became very proud of her boy. and gabe has a good word to say for fred fenton, and bristles carpenter as well; for he knows just how much those two boys had to do with influencing miss muster to forgive his taking of her opals, before he saw the new light. for several days buck lemington was not seen about riverport. only a few knew that he was up at arnold masterson's farm, really in hiding until his father's wrath blew over; and that he had taken his little brother along in order to the better bring the "governor" to terms. when the alaska claims business had been finally adjusted in a satisfactory manner, and squire lemington could once more remember that he had not seen either of his boys for some days, he became quite alarmed. and it was at this time that the artful buck sent a note by a special messenger, offering to bring billy home if his father would forget all about the punishment he had threatened. of course he won his point, and in a short time was just the same bully about riverport as of yore; because it is next to impossible for such a fellow to reform. of course while winter held the country round about the three river towns in its grasp, the frozen waters of the pretty mohunk furnished plenty of sport, both vigorous and healthful. and it goes without saying that the intense rivalry existing between the schools kept pace with the seasons. there were skating matches, challenges between the proud owners of new bobsleds, and even class spreads, with possibly a dance in some distant barn, to which the girls were conveyed by their attendants in all manner of sleighs, and with an elderly lady to add dignity to occasion. in all of these events we may be sure that fred fenton took his part with the same manly spirit that, as has been shown in these stories of the school struggles, actuated his behavior at all times. he was not always victor, and more than once tasted the sting of defeat; but fred could give and take; and he knew that others deserved to win as well as he did himself. but he was satisfied to enjoy the keen rivalry that accompanies clean sport, and the very first to give the winner a shout of congratulation. in the early spring some of the boys made their way up to the haunted mill; for they remembered that the pond used to hold some gamey bass in those days of old when they regularly played around that section. they found that during a winter's storm the old building had finally yielded to the war of the elements. it was lying in ruins; and thus another old landmark disappeared from the region of the mohunk. colon recalled his strange experience at the time he was kidnapped, and carried away to the old mill by several disguised boys. of course every one knew now that these fellows had been buck and several of his cronies; and that their object had been simply a desire to cripple the riverport athletic track team, because the committee had concluded that none of them was a fit subject for entry. and they had come very nearly doing it too. only for the energy which fred fenton had shown in following up the slender clues left behind, colon might have been detained there, his whereabouts unknown, until the meet was a thing of the past, and the victory gone to mechanicsburg. judge colon was as good as his word, and, even though the kidnapping had been only a boyish prank, he said fred and the others had done such good work, that the reward of one hundred dollars he offered should go to them. they took it, turning it into an athletic fund, so that after all the taking away of colon resulted in some good. while this story finishes the present series of tales devoted to the school life and athletic doings of fred fenton, it is possible that the reader may once more be given the pleasure and privilege of meeting fred and his friends in some other future field of spirited rivalry. but at any rate it is a satisfaction to all of us, who have been more or less interested in his fortunes, that the last glimpse we have of fred he seems to be enjoying the friendship of nearly every one of his comrades, boys and girls alike; and bids fair to hold their regard to the end of his term at riverport school. the end the tom fairfield series by allen chapman author of the "fred fenton athletic series," "the boys of pluck series," and "the darewell chums series." mo. cloth. illustrated. price per volume, cents, postpaid. * * * * * tom fairfield is a typical american lad, full of life and energy, a boy who believes in doing things. to know tom is to love him. * * * * * [illustration] tom fairfield's schooldays or the chums of elmwood hall tells of how tom started for school, of the mystery surrounding one of the hall seniors, and of how the hero went to the rescue. the first book in a line that is bound to become decidedly popular. tom fairfield at sea or the wreck of the silver star tom's parents had gone to australia and then been cast away somewhere in the pacific. tom set out to find them and was himself cast away. a thrilling picture of the perils of the deep. tom fairfield in camp or the secret of the old mill the boys decided to go camping, and located near an old mill. a wild man resided there and he made it decidedly lively for tom and his chums. the secret of the old mill adds to the interest of the volume. tom fairfield's luck and pluck or working to clear his name while tom was back at school some of his enemies tried to get him into trouble. then something unusual occurred and tom was suspected of a crime. how he set to work to clear his name is told in a manner to interest all young readers. * * * * * cupples & leon co. publishers new york _the darewell chums series_ _by allen chapman_ =cloth. mo. illustrated. cents each, postpaid.= =the darewell chums= _or, the heroes of the school_ a bright, lively story for boys, telling of the doings of four chums, at school and elsewhere. there is a strong holding plot, and several characters who are highly amusing. any youth getting this book will consider it a prize and tell all his friends about it. =the darewell chums in the city= _or, the disappearance of ned wilding_ from a country town the scene is changed to a great city. one of the chums has disappeared in an extraordinary manner, and the others institute a hunt for him. the youths befriend a city waif, who in turn makes a revelation which clears up the mystery. =the darewell chums in the woods= _or, frank roscoe's secret_ the boys had planned for a grand outing when something happened of which none of them had dreamed. they thought one of their number had done a great wrong--at least it looked so. but they could not really believe the accusations made, so they set to work to help frank all they could. all went camping some miles from home, and when not hunting and fishing spent their time in learning the truth of what had occurred. [illustration] =the darewell chums on a cruise= _or, fenn masterson's odd discovery_ a tale of the great lakes. the boys run across some canadian smugglers and stumble on the secret of a valuable mine. =the darewell chums in a winter camp= _or, bart keene's best shot_ here is a lively tale of ice and snow, of jolly good times in a winter camp, hunting and trapping, and of taking it easy around a roaring campfire. * * * * * =cupples & leon co., publishers, new york= _boys of pluck series_ _by allen chapman_ =illustrated. mo. cloth. cents per volume= =the young express agent= _or, bart stirling's road success_ bart's father was the express agent in a country town. when an explosion of fireworks rendered him unfit for work, the boy took it upon himself to run the express office. the tale gives a good idea of the express business in general. =two boy publishers= _or, from typecase to editor's chair_ this tale will appear strongly to all lads who wish to know how a newspaper is printed and published. the two boy publishers work their way up, step by step, from a tiny printing office to the ownership of a town paper. =mail order frank= _or, a smart boy and his chances_ here we have a story covering an absolutely new field--that of the mail-order business. how frank started in a small way and gradually worked his way up to a business figure of considerable importance is told in a fascinating manner. =a business boy's pluck= _or, winning success_ this relates the ups and downs of a young storekeeper. he has some keen rivals, but "wins out" in more ways than one. all youths who wish to go into business will want this volume. =the young land agent= _or, the secret of the borden estate_ the young land agent had several rivals, and they did all possible to bring his schemes of selling town lots to naught. but nat persevered, showed up his rivals in their true light, and not only made a success of the business but likewise cleared up his mother's claim to some valuable real estate. =cupples & leon co., publishers, new york= the saddle boys series by captain james carson mo. cloth. illustrated. price per volume, cents, postpaid. * * * * * all lads who love life in the open air and a good steed, will want to peruse these books. captain carson knows his subject thoroughly, and his stories are as pleasing as they are healthful and instructive. * * * * * [illustration] the saddle boys of the rockies or lost on thunder mountain telling how the lads started out to solve the mystery of a great noise in the mountains--how they got lost--and of the things they discovered. the saddle boys in the grand canyon or the hermit of the cave a weird and wonderful story of the grand canyon of the colorado, told in a most absorbing manner. the saddle boys are to the front in a manner to please all young readers. the saddle boys on the plains or after a treasure of gold in this story the scene is shifted to the great plains of the southwest and then to the mexican border. there is a stirring struggle for gold, told as only captain carson can tell it. the saddle boys at circle ranch or in at the grand round-up here we have lively times at the ranch, and likewise the particulars of a grand round-up of cattle and encounters with wild animals and also cattle thieves. a story that breathes the very air of the plains. * * * * * cupples & leon co. publishers new york the speedwell boys series by roy rockwood author of "the dave dashaway series," "great marvel series," etc. mo. cloth. illustrated. price per volume, cents, postpaid * * * * * all boys who love to be on the go will welcome the speedwell boys. they are clean cut and loyal to the core--youths well worth knowing. * * * * * [illustration] the speedwell boys on motor cycles or the mystery of a great conflagration the lads were poor, but they did a rich man a great service and he presented them with their motor cycles. what a great fire led to is exceedingly well told. the speedwell boys and their racing auto or a run for the golden cup a tale of automobiling and of intense rivalry on the road. there was an endurance run and the boys entered the contest. on the run they rounded up some men who were wanted by the law. the speedwell boys and their power launch or to the rescue of the castaways here is a water story of unusual interest. there was a wreck and the lads, in their power launch, set out to the rescue. a vivid picture of a great storm adds to the interest of the tale. the speedwell boys in a submarine or the lost treasure of rocky cove an old sailor knows of a treasure lost under water because of a cliff falling into the sea. the boys get a chance to go out in a submarine and they make a hunt for the treasure. life under the water is well described. * * * * * cupples & leon co. publishers new york the dave dashaway series by roy rockwood author of the "speedwell boys series" and the "great marvel series." mo. cloth. illustrated. price per volume, cents, postpaid. * * * * * never was there a more clever young aviator than dave dashaway, and all up-to-date lads will surely wish to make his acquaintance. * * * * * [illustration] dave dashaway the young aviator or in the clouds for fame and fortune this initial volume tells how the hero ran away from his miserly guardian, fell in with a successful airman, and became a young aviator of note. dave dashaway and his hydroplane or daring adventures over the great lakes showing how dave continued his career as a birdman and had many adventures over the great lakes, and he likewise foiled the plans of some canadian smugglers. dave dashaway and his giant airship or a marvellous trip across the atlantic how the giant airship was constructed and how the daring young aviator and his friends made the hazard journey through the clouds from the new world to the old, is told in a way to hold the reader spellbound. dave dashaway around the world or a young yankee aviator among many nations an absorbing tale of a great air flight around the world, of hairbreadth adventures in alaska, siberia and elsewhere. a true to life picture of what may be accomplished in the near future. * * * * * cupples & leon co. publishers new york * * * * * transcriber's notes: obvious punctuation errors repaired. page , "stubbled" changed to "stubbed" (i stubbed my) page , "mightly" changed to "mightily" (we're mightily glad) page , "neccessary" changed to "necessary" (was so necessary) page , "fanishing" changed to "famishing" (was almost famishing) page , "be" changed to "he" (he did start) page , "w've" changed to "we've" (we've got to go) page , "he" changed to "be" (there be some) page , "must" changed to "most" (for most of my) page , "vicitorious" changed to "victorious" (the victorious colon) page , "uproarous" changed to "uproarious" (uproarious delight to) page , "uproarous" changed to "uproarious" (amid uproarious shouts) dave dashaway and his giant airship ad, "gaint" changed to "giant" (the giant airship) dave dashaway around the world ad, "hairbreath" changed to "hairbreadth" (hairbreadth adventures in) team (http://www.fadedpage.net) betty lee, sophomore by harriet pyne grove the world syndicate publishing co. cleveland, ohio ---- new york city copyright, by the world syndicate publishing co. printed in the united states of america table of contents - chapter i: "gypsy" - chapter ii: carolyn arrives - chapter iii: the great surprise - chapter iv: betty meets the countess - chapter v: a real sophomore at last - chapter vi: doing her best for lucia - chapter vii: little adjustments - chapter viii: the g. a. a. breakfast hike - chapter ix: with lucia and mathilde - chapter x: a startling situation - chapter xi: hallowe'en surprises - chapter xii: beating the juniors with lucia - chapter xiii: light on the sorority question - chapter xiv: the decision - chapter xv: class championship games - chapter xvi: a party and a real "date" - chapter xvii: "just like a fish" - chapter xviii: the countess entertains chapter i: "gypsy" "why, kathryn, i think you're _awfully_ pretty!" betty lee exclaimed in some surprise. "and i'm not saying that just to console you, either. why, the _idea_!" "well, betty, you needn't go that far. i don't have to be pretty to be happy, you know; but it did hurt to have her tell me that peggy said it." "in the first place, kathryn, i don't believe peggy ever said it. you know what people say goes with their _characters_. and peggy isn't like that." "n-no," replied kathryn, doubtfully. "peggy has always seemed to like me." "i think that it was just a hateful twisting of something peggy did say, or maybe it was just made up. what sort of a girl is this mathilde finn anyway? and how is it that i haven't met her if she goes to lyon high?" "oh, she was out last year, at a private school, but she is coming back. they have plenty of money and mathilde thinks that she is everybody, you know. she was abroad this summer and was somewhere with peggy last week. they came back earlier than they intended. somebody was sick. the girls used to call her 'finny' and i imagine that she will hear the same nickname this year, though she hates it." betty laughed. "if she only knew it, she's given you a pretty nice nickname at that. why shouldn't you _like_ to be called gypsy? why, kathryn, i know a perfectly _darling_ girl, only a grown-up one, that everybody calls gypsy; and she likes it and signs her letters gypsy!" kathryn shook her head. "to be told that i looked like a horrid old gypsy!" "you couldn't look horrid if you tried, kitten. i've seen you this summer in your worst old clothes, haven't i now?" "you certainly have," laughed kathryn, her black eyes sparkling and her vivid face all alive amusement at the thought of some of the performances in which she and betty had taken part. "and do you remember that week when cousin lil was here and you did dress up as a gypsy in your attic?" kathryn nodded. "i always meant to tell you that you made the prettiest gypsy in the world, the nice, romantic _romany_ kind, you know, with a handsome lover and everything as spuzzy as gypsies could have." "you're the kind of a friend to have, betty lee," laughingly kathryn remarked; "but i always wanted to have golden hair, like yours, and be a goddess-like creature, all pink and white." "isn't it funny--and ever since i read a story about a beautiful creature with black, black hair and flashy dark eyes--i longed to look like that, so entrancingly fascinating!" "probably that is the way girls are, want to look like something else. well, i don't know that i'd mind being called gypsy. it _is_ a cute nickname. oh, did you know that carolyn is coming back today or tomorrow?" "gypsy"--and betty looked wickedly at kathryn as she used the term. "gypsy," betty repeated, "i have had just one letter from carolyn all this summer. i answered it and wrote _pages_; but not one word more have i had. if you have had a late letter i'm terribly jealous." "good!" returned kathryn. then her face grew a little sober. "no, betty, i've not heard from carolyn either, except a card at the first of the summer. but i may as well confess one more secret. i've been telling you everything i know all summer, you know." at this point a slender brown hand and slim brown arm reached over after betty's almost equally tanned head. "it's this and i'm ashamed of it, too. i've been worrying for fear when carolyn comes we can't be such friends as we have been this summer." "why not, kathryn allen!" betty squeezed the hand which had slipped inside of her grasp and sat a little closer on the step of the porch. "is that why you said 'good,' when i said i'd be jealous?" "yes. because i'm jealous myself." "jealousy is a very bad--um--quality." "yes; i know it. but i do hate to have you like carolyn best!" as betty looked now seriously into kathryn's face so near her, she saw that kathryn was in earnest and that tears were springing into her eyes. "why, kitty!" she exclaimed softly. "i didn't know you liked me as much as that. i'm rather glad to know it, though it's very silly, 'cause i'm not worth it." "yes you are, betty lee. i'm not an old silly softy, betty. you know that. i don't go around having crushes and all that. but i like to be with you. and when carolyn comes--" kathryn could not finish her sentence. betty's arm was around kathryn now. "listen, kathryn--i'm glad you told me this, because if you hadn't and had gone on and felt bad, when there wasn't any need of it, it would have been horrid. but you know i do like carolyn a lot, and will you feel bad if i show it? that would make it pretty hard for me, too. there isn't any 'best' about it. i never thought about it at all. you know how wonderful carolyn and peggy have been to me, ever since i came to the high school as a scared little freshman, almost a year ago." "yes; they're my friends, too." "i'm not sure but i know you a little better than either of them now, after this queer summer and all our being together and having so much fun. why, i shall look at you even in class when i think of something funny. and if you cast those gypsy eyes in my direction with that look of yours, when i'm reciting latin or math or something----" betty stopped to laugh, and kathryn gave an answering chuckle. tension was lessening. the idea of kathryn's feeling that way! well, surprises were always happening. "i like to have friends, kathryn; and you have ever so many." "yes, betty, and i have sense enough to know that a girl like you will always have a great many, just like carolyn." "i can't see that either of us have more than you have. but that isn't important, after all. let me tell you what mother said one time when the twins were fussing and dick said that mother liked doris best. mother pretty nearly said that there wasn't any best about it. she said that she loved all her children to pieces, whatever they did; that each child had his own place in her heart, and that she didn't even love them all together in a lump, just separately and a great deal. no child could take the place of another and she couldn't even be happy in heaven unless we all were along!" "your mother must be a dear. well, i know she is, from what i saw of her last year. mother says that she wants to know her better, judging from what she has seen of you this summer." "why, how nice! gypsy, you'll spoil me." "no i won't. you're unspoilable! but i'd like to be friends with you forever. honestly, betty, i'm not going to be crabby about your being with carolyn, or peggy, or anybody." "it wouldn't be like you, kathryn; and let's make a sure-bond of friendship, to tell each other things the way we have this summer. and you can count on me, kathryn, not to say mean things about you; so if mathilde or anybody says things, please come straight to me about it, will you?" "yes, i will, but i couldn't believe that you could say mean things; you don't say them about anybody." "oh, dear, i'm afraid i do criticize sometimes!" "i never heard you say a mean thing--so live up to what i think of you, betty lee!" kathryn was grinning at betty now. "i'll try to," laughed betty. "it's good of you to think i'm nice. wait till i bring you another piece of fudge." betty dashed into the house, to return with the fudge pan, which they placed between them. that fudge _was_ good. it was in just the right stage, a little soft, but firm enough to hold in pieces. it certainly did melt in one's mouth. "is the back door locked?" asked kathryn. "yes, indeedy. we must go in pretty soon, for father will be driving out early. he said he was going to take us to a chicken dinner at rockmont, a real country dinner. i hope they'll have corn on the cob!" "yum-yum!" "oh, i'm _so_ happy over your spending this week with me, kathryn, and i think it so wonderful of your mother to let you do it!" -------- this was toward the close of betty lee's odd, but interesting summer, after her freshman year in lyon high. the summer months had been very hot at times, but the city was still new to betty, with much left to be seen and all its summer forms of entertainment to be investigated. as she had written more than once to her mother, "i'd rather be here than _anywhere_, mother. you needn't feel sorry for me. it's absolutely nothing to look after the house, and father takes me out to dinner so often that he will be bankrupt, i'm afraid." it had been the lee custom since "time immemorial," as betty had told kathryn allen, for mrs. lee to take the children to her mother's for most of the summer. there, at "grandma's," in the country, they had become acquainted with all the pleasure and some of the lighter work, indeed, that the big farm afforded. but this year grandma was not so well. the first plan had been for dick to accompany his mother and small amy lou, for dick was to "work," at least to have certain duties, in looking after the stock, particularly the horses, of which he was especially fond, and the chickens, for this branch of farm life had been developed into quite a plant. betty was to "keep house for papa," and doris was to be with her part of the time, at least. but this arrangement did not work well. doris was disappointed and not very sweet about it. she resented betty's authority, yet was too young to have as much judgment as betty. accordingly, doris was bundled off to the farm by her father and mrs. lee's worries over betty's being alone through so much of the day commenced. this was when kathryn began to come over so often, spending whole days with betty. to be sure, there were other people in the house, the two who lived in the upper part of the house. but sometimes mr. lee was delayed, or there would be some evening conference, which made the safe disposition of betty necessary to be considered; and betty began to have visitors. she always declared that her real knowledge of the art of cooking began the summer she "kept house for father," and had, "one after another," her "sisters and her cousins and her aunts" come to visit her. "i couldn't let them do all the cooking, could i? and we had three meals a day. my, it was good when father took us out for dinner!" but the "sisters and cousins and aunts" amounted to only one young cousin, lilian lee, bright girl of about seventeen years, and an older one, related to her mother. she enjoyed being escorted around the city by betty, who added to her own knowledge at the same time. the only drawback during the three weeks of this visit was that cousin eunice was so afraid of burglars. betty privately informed her father that she "most smothered" every night, because her cousin was afraid to have the windows up enough. then there was one unexpected guest whom betty enjoyed, a former school chum of her mother's with her daughter, a girl about betty's age. they were motoring through and expected to find mrs. lee at home. but they were persuaded to stay a few days when it was found that mr. lee was obliged to make a trip away. their coming was "providential," betty declared. so the summer had flown by on wings, with a little practicing on the precious violin, much less than anticipated, but with much coming and going, rides about the city, visits to the little resorts near by and several excursions on the river boats. it was characteristic of betty, who usually forgot the unpleasant features, that she should write to her mother of "one continuous picnic," which she declared the summer to have furnished. "of course," she added, "there have been some funny times, and i burnt up toast and scorched some soup, and things like that, but it's all been very exciting!" mrs. lee thought that very likely some of it had been too exciting to be safe; but she did not spoil betty's morale by too many cautions, other than the general rules she had established before she left. and now, while the girls talked of intimate matters in the late afternoon on the lee porch, here came a big car that stopped before the house and someone leaned out, waving excitedly. chapter ii: carolyn arrives "carolyn!" exclaimed betty and kathryn in one breath. both girls jumped up and ran toward the pavement where carolyn, trim and pretty, and still in her traveling suit, was lightly and quickly leaving the car, looking back for a word or two with its occupants and then, smilingly, coming to meet her two friends. "am i still on your list of friends?" she asked, holding betty off after an embrace. "kathryn, i don't deserve to have such a nice welcome and i know it! will you girls ever _forgive_ me for not writing?" it was the old carolyn. my, but she was sweet. betty knew why, "all over again," as she said to herself--why she loved carolyn gwynne. "do you have to do anything for ten minutes or so?" continued carolyn, walking between the girls to the porch and being escorted, not to the steps, but to a hanging swing in which they all could sit. "not a thing," betty assured her, "and for more than ten minutes, i hope, if you are mentioning how long you can stay." "they'll be back for me," said carolyn. "we came most of the way by train, but were met, and i asked to drive around this way in case i should see anything of betty, to make my peace with her--and here are both of you. i'm positively afraid to meet peggy pollard. i owe her two letters, and i don't owe you girls but one! and oh, i've the grandest plan for next summer. positively, you've both got to begin planning now to come to our camp with me. even if i didn't write, i thought of you--every time i went in swimming, betty--or almost, to be real truthful--i could see you in your bathing suit, cutting the 'dashing waves' or rolling in the sand with me." "i'd love 'rolling in the sand' with you, carolyn," laughed betty, "but i've had a perfectly delicious summer at home. i am, of course, _very much offended_ at you for not having answered my letter; but i'm afraid i can't keep it up because there's so much to talk about. kathryn, can you stay mad at carolyn?" "never could," smiled kathryn. "carolyn gets away with a lot of things she forgets because she is so nice about remembering some more important things." "there!" exclaimed carolyn. "you're a friend worth having, kathryn!" and carolyn wondered at the affectionate glance, full of meaning, that betty gave kathryn. it was generous of kathryn to praise carolyn, in view of her acknowledged bit of jealousy. "betty, i laughed and laughed over that letter. it was too clever for words. and the funny things that happened to you! how do people ever keep house and remember all the things that they have to be careful about? i suppose it's nothing unusual to have somebody at the back door, a ring at the front door, the ice man coming and all while a body is talking at the telephone and trying to get an important message, but you certainly made it funny. 'hello, hello--yes, father--i don't quite get that--where did you say to meet you?--mercy, there is the ice man and somebody else is knocking, too and the door-bell is ringing--what'll i do?--you can't hold the 'phone?'--something like that, kathryn. and you _must_ have been scared the time you forgot to keep the screen door fastened and that agent walked right in." "yes," laughed betty. "i thought he was taking a gun from his pocket and i backed toward the front room door, ready to run, while he fixed me with his awful eye, and then asked me if i wanted to buy whatever he had. i didn't even look at it. i gasped out, 'no, sir,' and then i heard what i had on the gas stove boiling over and knew it would put out the gas; so i turned and fled, and when i came back the man was gone and nothing was missing!" "how soon can you girls come out? i'll be unpacking tomorrow and the house will be upset while things are getting back into shape again, but the day after that--oh, have you heard about louise madison, and ted dorrance?" carolyn's manner was so impressive as she asked this question that betty's heart gave a little leap. what could be the matter! an accident? "what about them?" asked kathryn, "married?" "not a bit of it. just the other way. my sister heard all about it. somebody wrote to her from the same summer resort where the dorrances and the madisons _happened_ to be together. somebody that goes to the university was there, too, and paid a lot of attention to louise; and she liked it--and him, of course--and you may imagine what ted thought about it. so all at once ted left and went somewhere else, with some boys from here, and the girl that wrote to sister claims that louise is engaged to the other man, though we don't believe it. louise is only a freshman in college!" "you never can tell, carolyn," wisely returned kathryn. "louise is sort of flirty anyhow. and, for that matter, ted is pretty nice to all the girls, only since he has been taking louise around there's been nobody else." "it seems too bad," remarked betty, pondering. "they are both so nice. i thought it so romantic last year." "i never thought it could last," said carolyn, "from what my sister said then. you see, louise is older than ted and a year ahead of him in school; and it doesn't stand to reason that when she is with all these university people next year, in the same classes, and the boys liking louise the way they always do--that ted would have much of a chance." "but ted is a very unusual boy," betty insisted. "ted _is_ one of those boys that everybody likes," carolyn assented. "well, we'll let him look after himself. kathryn, did you hear that finny is coming back to join her more democratic sisters in the sophomore class?" "yes. i was just telling betty about her. do you know why she decided to come back to high school?" "i wouldn't say anything about it except to you two and peggy, because it wouldn't be fair to mathilde not to let her have a chance to make her own reputation in high school; but i'm pretty sure, from all the really mean things i heard said about her, that even 'discounting' the truth of some of them, as the person that repeated the most said to me, the school where she was didn't exactly appreciate her. besides, she failed in several branches and had to make up what she could this summer. but she'll be a sophomore all right. now, please don't tell a word of this. i wouldn't want it to come from me, or be mean to mathilde, though i'm going _very slowly_ in that direction!" this from kind carolyn was a good deal, as betty knew. still, in the excitement of the return and news telling, girls were likely to say too much. "we'll say nothing," replied kathryn. "at least i can promise for myself, and you know betty." "oh, how did violin practice go, betty? you didn't say a word about it in your letter. it didn't 'harmonize,' to be very musical in my speech--with washing dishes and cooking and having company did it?" "not so very well, carolyn, but i really did a little bit every day and i played for father and he liked it. he would, you know, because i was doing it, though i will say that father couldn't stand a discord or a rasping bow. jazz makes him nearly crazy when the discord lasts too long, you know. he took cousin lil and me to a movie and got up and left, asking me if i'd mind first. i whispered that he could stop his ears while the jazz lasted, but he shook his head; and when we got outside there was father waiting to take us into where we could get a sundae. he said he had accomplished several errands." "think you will get into the orchestra?" "that is another thing. i did want to, you know. but i found out that i couldn't be a real member until i was a junior, unless i was a genius or something so wonderful that they had to have me. i was told that this summer, so my energy lagged in the hot weather. father said he was sorry because i 'lacked an incentive,' but i don't know. i like violin anyhow, and maybe it's just as well not to feel hurried and lose all your dreams." "now isn't that like you, betty! that's one reason i like you," carolyn declared, "because you do have 'dreams.'" carolyn looked at kathryn as if for confirmation of her speech and kathryn nodded with a wide smile. "i'm very practical, though, girls. i'm not sure that having dreams is altogether good, either." "first you say one thing and then you say another," kathryn accused her. "it's as bad as saying it the way mr. simcox answers our questions: 'well, _yes_; and _no!_'" kathryn had so nearly presented their teacher's voice and intonation that carolyn and betty answered with giggles. but kathryn went on to say, with real seriousness underlying her fun, "what we should say about betty is that she is hitching her wagon to a star and it makes everybody else want to hitch up, too." "'inspiration,' then," said carolyn. "what'll i hitch up with? i couldn't play a violin." "_as_piration," chuckled betty. "pick out your brightest dream, 'caro,' and put on the harness!" "she calls me 'caro.' what kind of syrup do you like best, betty?" "'scuse me, carolyn. i felt affectionate and had to make up a nickname." "you are excused. really, we might have made some little names of our own to call each other by. wouldn't it be fun?" betty looked mischievously at kathryn. "we were talking of nicknames this afternoon, kathryn and i." "betty!" carolyn looked from one to another. "you have some secret. that is mean, to leave out your old and tried friend carolyn." "oh, it wasn't anything, carolyn, only i'm joking kathryn about a nickname she doesn't like." "i'm not so sure now but i _do_ like it," kathryn replied, taking up betty's half explanation. "tell carolyn if you want to." "not all of it?" "yes, what peggy is supposed to have said." upon this permission from kathryn, betty explained that a speech of peggy's had been repeated by mathilde to kathryn and how the gypsy reference had been interpreted. "do you think that peggy pollard would be likely to say anything unkind about kathryn?" betty asked in concluding. "i can't imagine it. kathryn, notice how peggy acts when you see her and if i were you i'd feel around with some reference to something of the sort. i'll wager you'll find peggy as ignorant as can be of even what you mean. you'll find out that peggy pollard is all right. and by the way, i hear that they are having little sororities in spite of the rules. if it is all right, and the authorities allow it, why not? there's one in our class started! the question is who started it, and why, and how, and if so, can we make it, and do we want to make it----" carolyn was obliged to stop for breath. "hum," said kathryn. "yes, i've heard about it, but i didn't tell betty. i heard betty's father say that he was glad there weren't any sororities in high school!" "poor mr. lee!" exclaimed carolyn. "betty, do you know what you're going in for this year--swimming, i suppose?" "oh, yes. but no, i haven't thought about it. i took everything with such seriousness last year; but if i want to, i'll sign up for a number of things this year. they don't meet often, and you can always stop if you can't keep on, and i'd love to be on some team, if there'd be no trouble about it." "there's always trouble about making a team. there are too many that want to be on it." "but you can try out, and if you stand better than somebody else, you get it and she doesn't. that _oughtn't_ to make trouble." "why don't you try out for the hockey team in the fall and the basketball in the winter?" "perhaps i will. wait till the time comes. oh, there's your car, carolyn. what a shame!" "yes, and i haven't made a date with you at all." "there's always the telephone," betty reminded her. "it was lovely of you to stop, carolyn. see you soon. come back as soon as you can. 'bye!" chapter iii: the great surprise betty lee had not forgotten that, in the nature of a reward, she was to have a surprise at the end of the summer; but nothing had been said about it by her father and betty felt a delicacy about reminding him of it. now only two weeks remained before the opening of school. betty was eager to begin, strange as it may seem; but boys and girls, even those not particularly keen about their studies, do look forward to the companionship, the gay plans, the activities that school brings them. one week more would bring the twins, dick and doris, little amy lou and, best of all, mother! perhaps the surprise would not occur until the family was together again. poor daddy! how hard he had been working--not even a chance to drive up to the farm over a week-end; for it was a long drive, and it was not thought best to try it while grandmother was so miserable and nervous. accordingly, everybody tried to make the best of the separation, dick had written, "we can hoop (whoop) and holler outdoors, but believe me we're quiet in the house. even amy lou has stopped whining." then, on sunday morning, when betty and her father were driving home from church, he asked her, "are your clothes in proper shape for a trip to new york with me tomorrow?" mr. lee looked a little guilty, for it had been a letter from his wife that had reminded him of the comparative importance of clothes, and he had not thought about it. "why--father! do you mean it?" cried betty, who sat beside her father and looked at his smiling face, turned straight ahead to watch traffic, for many machines were whirling along at the close of the various church services. "oh, i know! is that the surprise?" mr. lee nodded assent. "i meant to tell you before, but we had so much doing yesterday that i forgot it--well, to tell the truth, i was not sure that i could get away at all. there was some talk of sending another man. but murchison thought that i'd had more experience with this sort of a job; and moreover, he wants me to meet his sister and a niece who has been at school in switzerland." "oh!" softly cried betty again. "murchison" was the big man in the business, the man who had offered her father the opportunity in the company. although betty had visited the office occasionally, she had never seen the "big bug," as dick called him. there was silence for a little. cars passed and mr. lee stopped once to pick up a man he knew and take him on to his residence. "missed you coming out," said mr. lee, and the two men talked while betty tried to digest the great news. betty had never been to new york. she had never spent a night on the train. it would be _glorious_! of _course_ she had clothes ready. oh, that was what mother meant when she told betty always to have her suit and accompanying garments ready. at the time, betty had thought that her mother feared a call of everybody to the farm, if grandma continued to "go down." dear me, she had had such a good time, as things had turned out, with the girls staying with her, or other company, that she didn't need any other reward. still, betty knew that she had worked hard at times. even with the woman who came occasionally to clean, things would get "so messy," though betty was learning now not to make work for herself by carelessness. she was glad that she had planned a nice sunday dinner for the two of them at home today. and father had said, "do not invite anybody for this week, betty." this was what he had in mind, and would not tell her for fear of some disappointment. that was it, she knew, more than his "forgetting." "oh, father, i'm so excited," she exclaimed, as they left the car in front of the house, ready for a drive, if they should feel like it. "i'm all mixed up and you'll have to watch me or i'll burn up the dinner or something!" "i thought that you'd like the plan, betty; but i was a little afraid that something would happen to upset it. it was understood long ago that i was to go to new york in the fall. this meeting the countess is a new proposition, however. do you think we are equal to it?" "'the countess!'" "yes; at least i think it is a countess. i will have her name in full, however, before we go to the ship after her." mr. lee's eyes were twinkling, and betty, after one look at him began to laugh. "you're breaking it to me by degrees, aren't you? well, i guess i can stand it. i'm awfully hungry right now, aren't you? seems to me the sermon was longer than usual. wait till i put on the potatoes and then please tell me everything!" "i will, child, and i'll not tease you a bit. i'll help you with the dinner. didn't you say you had a 't-bone' steak for the two of us? just watch me broil that steak!" "oh, goody! we'll have a lot of fun. i'm going to heat some canned asparagus tips for our other veg'table, and throw together a fruit salad, on head lettuce, and i bought a grand pie at the exchange yesterday. will that be enough?" "indeed it will, and i have the dearest little cook in three counties. i presume you'll have bread and butter, however; and suppose we have an iced drink instead of coffee." "oh, yes, by all means. you fix the ice, daddy, and i'll squeeze about two oranges and two lemons, i think--right away, so it'll be cold!" a happy girl worked with a capable father, who took off his coat, tied an apron around his waist and had as much fun as betty, especially when the time came to cook the steak. appetite did not lack when dinner was ready and before there was any thought of dish washing, mr. lee sent betty to hunt up her over-night bag and looked up his own grip. "put in a dress that you can wear to dinner in a hotel, betty," said he, "and don't forget the fixings." "oh, daddy, my chiffon dress won't muss a bit and i mustn't forget my shoes that go with it!" betty forgot all of her duties as a housekeeper, as she laid out on the bed the array of what she wanted to take with her to new york--_new york!_ "how long are we going to stay, father?" she called from her bedroom. "just two or three days--have to be back to meet mother and the children, you know." "how long does it take to get there?" "about a night and half a day," replied mr. lee, who was preparing another small surprise for betty. she was so absorbed that she did not realize how time flew until she ran back into the dining room and found that her father had cleared the table and was washing the last dish. "how awful! father, i'm just as sorry as i can be! i never saw you washing dishes before!" "i have, daughter, in dire emergencies, but this time it was for fun. are all the gew-gaws, or doo-dads, ready?" "i've got everything i ought to have, i think, 'cept washing out some silk stockings. do you think it would be wicked if i'd do it tonight?" "that is, indeed, a serious matter," grinned mr. lee, looking like dick. "but since it is my fault and not yours, and they will have to get dry to be packed, we might consider it. and matters of necessity are different, though we'd not make a point of saving our stockings to be washed on the sabbath, would we?" "oh, father, you are just killing! what time tomorrow do we start?" "not until night. we get right on the sleeper and go to bed." "hurrah. then i've plenty of time." "and the muted question can be put off for decision until some other time?" "yes. mother says if we begin to do weekday things on sunday, we're likely to keep on." "your mother is always right, and the oldest daughter has to be an example." "i never can tell when you are joking and when you aren't! i'm no example, father! oh, i'm just almost crazy with delight. wait till i call up kathryn and carolyn and peggy to tell them what the surprise was! and, oh, i have to leave the house in order!" in such a fashion the great surprise was inaugurated. a very demure and well-mannered young girl of nearly sixteen years accompanied a dignified but wide-awake business man to the train monday night. betty was concerned with the mysteries of a berth in a sleeping car and was glad of her father's clear directions. she would not for "worlds" appear ignorant of what to do, though she might well be excused for not knowing. but betty was sensitive, quick to learn what was proper and polite, and a little too proud not to be unduly mortified at any mistake. at the station mr. murchison met them, talking for a little with mr. lee about business which betty did not understand, and in which she was only slightly interested. he had met betty courteously but was preoccupied with plans with her father. as the train was called, however, he turned to betty. "you are just about the age of my niece, i judge. her mother is to make the experiment of placing my niece in the public schools. it may be that you will be in the same school. if so, i shall be glad to have her know you, for you can be of great help to her, doubtless. it is unfortunate that she does not want to come to america." "i shall be very glad if i can be of any service to your niece," returned betty, a bit stiffly, for mr. murchison's keen eyes rather disconcerted her. betty was not sure that she liked him "a bit." but of course she had to, for her father's sake. who was that foolish girl that didn't want to come to america? of course mr. murchison's sister was one of those american girls who had married a titled foreigner. so her father had said. but betty smiled at mr. murchison and prettily said her farewell. how funny the pullman looked, all green curtains already down, berths all made up. as it had suddenly turned cold, betty's father asked the porter for extra blankets, showed betty where to put her things and advised her to know which berth was hers when she came back from the dressing room. but betty decided to mark hers in some way and finally tucked up the curtain in a certain fashion before she explored the dressing room. it was more private, she decided, to undress in her berth. also, she would wear her silk kimona all night! it was cold enough. for a long time betty could not sleep, but finally nature overcame unaccustomed nerves and she fell into a sound sleep, not to waken till her father called her. she decided that she liked traveling and would like to go into a "diner" often, to eat the sort of pancakes that were brought on in covered silver dishes, and to help her father decide what would make a good breakfast. the scenery was interesting. it was new to pass through the different states. she would never forget it. and new york! was this really betty lee, riding in a taxi up broadway and along fifth avenue? owing to her father's different errands, which he accomplished by taxi for the most part, to expedite matters, betty was taken to various parts of the city, even to the docks. they crossed the hudson on a ferry boat without getting out of their taxi. birds flew about. different kinds of crafts floated upon the river. a great liner was just entering a space between piers. "will mr. murchison's sister come in on a boat like that?" asked betty. "something like that," answered mr. lee. "how do you like this incidental sight-seeing?" "ever so much, especially since you bought me the map. i look it all up, and i'm glad to go over the same streets more than once, especially fifth avenue and broadway. i know madison square park and the city hall square already." betty had one rather lonesome day at the hotel when her father could not let her accompany him, but after that he took her on regular sight-seeing trips, during which she saw more than most strangers because of her father's familiarity with the city. she decided that she could find her way by herself, but her father preferred not to have her attempt any "solo flights," he said. business was completed in comparatively short order. mr. lee sent telegrams to his firm; but then they were held, as betty, at least, could not regret, by the non-arrival of the expected countess. day by day the reports of the incoming ships were changed somewhat. there had been storms and fog. sea traffic was held up, said betty, and her father said that if the ships all came in safely they would do well. at the same time, he was rather restless. it did not look as if they would be able to carry out their plans. "oh, what if we can't get there before mother?" betty asked. "in that case, i shall merely telegraph her. the key is with the people upstairs, you know. your mother will understand. but i'd rather meet my own wife than any countess!" "and i'll be a day late at school, if the ship puts off coming in much longer! but father, i can't be sorry to have these great days in new york. what shall we do today?" "we shall see. wait till i telephone the steamship company at the pier again." then came a telegram from home. a cablegram had been received stating that the countess and her daughter had sailed on a different ship from the one she had written her brother to meet. it was the _statendam_, holland-american line, due saturday. that settled it. mother could not be met. mr. lee telegraphed to mr. murchison that he would meet the _statendam_. to the farm and to the home, in case there was some delay in the country, word went that mr. lee and betty were unavoidably detained in new york. betty was rather worried about missing school monday, as was most likely, but she enjoyed the excitement and the extra expeditions due to the delay. it was an ill wind that didn't blow _anybody_ any good, she remarked. "can we leave as soon as the ship comes?" "that, betty, is in the hands of a very uncertain woman, i judge," smiled mr. lee. "it will be necessary to do whatever mr. murchison himself would be obliged to do. i shall handle the matter as well as i can." "are you scared because she is a countess?" "scarcely. but be as polite and helpful as you can, betty. having you will make it all easier, i think. privately, betty, i gathered that miss murchison was very badly spoiled as a girl. people exist to do her pleasure. see?" "and we pretend that we like it?" "no--it is not necessary to pretend anything. we really want to help them, do we not?" "oh, yes; but i _dee-spise_ being patronized." "of course. a true lady, however, does not show it--indeed, it is almost impossible to patronize a true lady." "hum. that is all very well in theory, my precious father, but--well, i suppose i'm not a true lady inside!" the _statendam_, due on saturday, arrived on sunday, and betty with her father, was somewhat annoyed as they crossed on the ferry, to see the tall smoke stacks and funnels of the liner already at the pier. "stars!" cried betty. "now we're late, and no knowing what has happened to the countess!" chapter iv: betty meets the countess "we shall not worry about being late, betty. they have to get through customs first and it is doubtful if all the baggage is off the vessel as yet. it can not have been in long." nevertheless betty could see that her father was uneasy. the taxi lost no time in speeding from the ferry to the pier where the great ship stood. such a coming and going of cars and buses, in and out of a great entrance! other cars and taxies waited their turn outside. their taxi found a place to stop and deliver its passengers, but mr. lee had to steer betty carefully through the throng of people and cars. next came the art of finding their friends. mr. lee had cards which entitled them to enter customs. "my, i hope we find them!" said betty for the third or fourth time. "and oh, how do you speak to a countess? shall we call her 'la countessa'? or just countess coletti? and what is the daughter of a countess called--anything at all? or could i call her 'signorina?'?" betty had been reading an italian story. "i'm sure i don't know, betty, but it would be sensible, i think, to keep to english, especially as the countess is an american. i shall not get away from 'countess coletti' and perhaps we shall not have to address the daughter particularly. 'miss coletti' does sound like a funny combination, doesn't it! try out 'la signorina' if you like. i don't know that we are of any special importance anyway." they were climbing the stairs now and betty's father gave her arm a little squeeze as he spoke, looking laughingly down into her face. "yes, we _are_," said betty, "and we can _learn_ how to do it _properly_!" fortunately the countess and her daughter had not yet finished with customs. when mr. lee and betty found the proper place and stood looking about, they had little difficulty in selecting the two whom they thought were the countess and her daughter. "we ought to have arranged to wear a red rose or a white gardenia or something," said betty. "but that is the countess, i'm sure. look, she has a maid with a lot of little baggage, and everybody is doing things for her. wait a minute, daddy. she's having an argument with the customs officer, i guess--isn't she?" mr. lee did wait. though anxious to serve the lady, he did not care to sponsor her declaration in regard to duty payable to uncle sam, and it must be said that the countess looked perfectly able to take care of her own interests. but the affair seemed to be adjusted amicably. a great quantity of baggage, it seemed, was hastily examined, and as mr. lee saw that they would soon be ready for departure, he approached, with betty. "is this the countess coletti?" he inquired politely, though by this time he had noted the name upon one of the trunks. "your brother, mr. murchison----" "oh, did lem send you to meet me?" vivaciously the countess interrupted, "that is good. i was just wondering if any one was here. where's lem?" mr. lee had had no opportunity to mention who he was, but he explained that her brother was not able to leave affairs and that he would make any arrangements for her and her daughter. "my name is lee, countess coletti, and this is my daughter, betty." "oh, yes," brightly answered the countess, "i am very happy to met you--and miss betty. this is my daughter lucia, mr. lee--and miss lee. now if we can arrange to have all this baggage sent to whatever station my brother said, and get us to a hotel for the night, i shall be very much obliged. i want to go right on through tomorrow; but lucia is very much upset and so am i, for that matter. it was a horribly rough passage. this customs business is always so trying!" "i am sorry to have been late," said mr. lee, "but the hour told me over the telephone was much later." "oh, yes. you never can tell. it wouldn't have made any difference. they were very good about getting all my baggage off early, as i made quite a point of it. there were mobs on this boat, from first class down. suppose we get out of here." "i have a taxi waiting, madam," said mr. lee, starting to escort the countess down to where his taxi driver had said he would be waiting inside. by this time it was very likely that he had been able to enter. betty and a very unresponsive girl of about her own height and age followed. my, but the countess was pretty! and if she had any foreign airs they were laid aside for the present. but the daughter was cool, and though polite, most uninterested in the two people whom she had just met. "poor thing," thought betty, "she is worn out and half sick; but i wish i'd had her chance of crossing the ocean, even if it was so rough." both the countess and her daughter were quietly and suitably dressed for the occasion of leaving the ship. but oh, how evidently expensive everything they wore must have been. the maids were carrying two beautiful warm coats, which had obviously just been laid aside when the cold sea breezes were past and they were no longer necessary. "send the maids and the personal baggage in a separate taxi, please," directed the countess. "we want to be alone." whether that was a hint for mr. lee and betty not to accompany them or not, mr. lee did not know, but as he had had no least intention to accompany them, it did not matter. he had expected, however, that the maids might be wanted. pleasantly he assisted the two ladies into the taxi, one chosen for its superior appearance, and directed the driver to the hotel, the hotel selected by mr. murchison, who requested that mr. lee and betty stay at the same one. it was not hard to find a second taxi for the maids, from the numbers of empty taxis whose drivers were anxious for remunerative passengers. "now, betty," said mr. lee, "for the baggage. you stay in one spot, right here, where i can find you, while i see about having that lot sent to the station. let us hope that nothing is missed! but the countess told me the number of pieces, all marked with her name, she said." "oh, please let me come with you, father! it's scary here, and it's such fun to go around. i see where lu-_chee_-a and i become intimate friends, don't you?" mr. lee laughed. "the poor child has been seasick," he replied. "but i fancy that she has been a very unwilling migrant this time. she looked not only sick but cross." "did you notice it, too? but she was real polite to you, father, and decent to me. she isn't as good-looking as her mother. i don't blame count coletti for falling in love with her. probably lucia looks like her father." "he is a very handsome man, i understand," returned mr. lee. "i thought lucia coletti rather attractive." "yes, but not as much so as her mother. still, it may be just her disposition that was sticking out tonight!" "why, betty! that isn't like you." "i guess i'm tired and cross, too. i will wait for you, right here by the stairs." betty had quite a wait of it, but at last her father appeared and they took a taxi back to the hotel. there her father inquired if the countess, daughter and maids had arrived and were occupying the suite reserved for them. they had arrived, found everything to their satisfaction, and dinner had been sent up to them. betty thought that a little more respect for her father was in the voice of the man at the desk since the arrival of the countess, for whose comfort mr. lee appeared to be responsible. glad that everything had gone successfully for her father, betty took the elevator to her room to dress for dinner at the hotel. they did not always dine there, but would tonight, her father said. it seemed a pity to "waste" their last night in new york by staying in the hotel, but mr. lee had to arrange for pullman reservations as well as he could at the last minute, for he had not had the slightest notion whether the countess would want to stay several days in new york--or a month--so far as he knew, or whether she would want to go on home, to her people. he thought, however, that very likely the decision would be for home. mr. murchison had not intimated any trouble, but mr. lee very strongly suspected that there was some likelihood of a disagreement between the countess and her husband and a possible separation. this he did not express to betty. fortunately mr. lee had no trouble in obtaining reservations on the train whose time of leaving and of arrival seemed most suitable. a drawing room for the countess and her daughter, berths for the maids, and berths for himself and betty were soon engaged by telephone, and on monday morning mr. lee went to the station to see that everything was straight. this was all very interesting to betty, whose ideas of how to manage these matters had been very hazy. the reservation for mr. lee and betty were in another car, which was just as well, betty thought, though if the younger countess--that is, if she is one, thought betty--had been friendly, it would have been fun to talk with her about her school in switzerland and what she studied and all. the trip home, however, proved more interesting than betty anticipated. perhaps countess coletti had suggested to her daughter that she ought to pay a little attention to betty, who did not see either of them on monday until the uniformed and meticulous "door-keeper" of the hotel, as betty called him, put them all into their separate taxis for the station. lucia favored betty with a smile, which betty returned; and when they waited for the train to be called, lucia asked betty to be sure to come for a visit with her on the way. "it will be so stupid this afternoon," said lucia. "i'm too tired to read." betty promised, but she waited until she thought lucia might have reached the state of being bored. so far as betty was concerned, there was nothing to tire her, and the scenery was too interesting; guessing what the rivers were, asking her father, noting the stops and admiring the suburbs of philadelphia in particular, furnished her with considerable entertainment. "i think pennsylvania is the loveliest yet," she confided to her father. "let's move to philadelphia some time!" "haven't you had enough of a move already?" asked mr. lee. "i think i like adventure, father," brightly answered betty. "i suppose so," rather wearily her father remarked. "but remember, my lass, that there is a certain safety in being located. did you say that the 'younger countess' asked you to call? i think i should do it, betty." "all right, i will. how do i get there?" "their car is only one or two in front of ours. shall i take you?" "mercy, no! i can get there after skipping through so many to get to the dining car on the way to new york. your daughter considers herself quite a traveler by this time." so betty, rather dreading the coming interview, departed to be pleasantly surprised. she had no trouble in finding her new acquaintances and discovered that they were really quite interested in finding out all betty could tell them about school. "i am going to hate it," said lucia, who spoke with a decided italian accent, but used many americanisms, probably caught from her mother. "but just the same, if i have to, i have to; and will you help me when i come out to the school the first time?" "certainly i will. but are you sure that you will come to lyon high?" "oh, that can be arranged," carelessly returned lucia, who was used to having things "arranged" for her. "i've heard so much about that high school and if i have to go, i want to go there. there were some american girls in my school in lausanne, so i know a little bit about how they do. do you like it?" "very much. i'd love to hear you tell about the school in switzerland, though." lucia was in a favorable mood. for the next hour she and betty talked, while betty heard about life in foreign countries and what lucia had studied in her different schools there. she was advanced in some lines, betty found, behind in others, but betty told her that it all sounded as if she would be a sophomore. "will you use any title?" betty rather timidly asked, for she thought that if lucia was a "countess or something" herself, it would not go so well in school. countess coletti heard the question and replied herself. "lucia is going to try democracy, betty lee. she will be called lucia coletti or miss coletti everywhere. i want her to have a little american training. to be sure, i was taught in private schools myself, and lucia may in time return to them. but not until she has done some _good work_ in high school." what was back of countess coletti's determined tones betty did not know. but there was some strong feeling there; that was certain. lucia did not speak of her father, but when betty said that it was all fascinating to hear about and asked her where her real home had been, lucia after a slight hesitation, waxed almost enthusiastic over an italian villa where she "loved to live" best. every now and then lucia would use an italian expression, which betty thought very impressive, though she could not help thinking of some less fortunate italian girls in school and she wondered how lucia would treat them, in case she were thrown into classes with them. but here came father with the suggestion that it was an appropriate time to go for dinner. accordingly, he escorted the countess through the cars, while betty and lucia followed. betty, who always declared that she thought of too many funny things, wondered about the maids. but when they were all established at a table, with an obsequious waiter taking the order from the countess first, betty saw the two maids at an inconspicuous table some distance from them. probably her father had arranged it. then they had a most "scrumptious" meal, by betty's report at home. she gave her father an inquiring glance before she decided upon her own order and he smiled upon her; suggesting that she order a good meal, for the dining car would be taken off and their breakfast would be delayed. "we shall probably, all of us, breakfast at home. mr. murchison will meet the countess, betty, and we shall take a taxi straight home." so betty grasped the fact that her father wasn't "caring for expenses," as the girls were accustomed to express such recklessness, and modeled her own order after lucia's. comfortably filled, she watched her father pay the bill and leave what seemed to her an enormous tip for the waiter. but sakes alive, weren't they dining with a countess? chapter v: a real sophomore at last "hello, betty lee! where in the world have you been?" betty was just coming from the office where she had been "signing up" for her sophomore year's work and obtaining her schedule of studies, her home room assignment and various points of information. she was very much interested in seeing to what teachers she would recite, but looked up smiling at the boy who addressed her. classes were passing for the fifth period, the one before lunch, she supposed. it was tuesday, but betty had not been able to get to school till after the taxi ride home with her father, the exciting reunion of the family, the good breakfast and many little delays. dick and doris had gone to school on time; but betty tarried with her mother and could scarcely stop talking long enough to scrub up and dress suitably for school. "why, chauncey allen, howdy! i haven't seen you all summer! where's kathryn?" "wondering why you didn't show up at school yesterday, i imagine. we heard nothing else last night at dinner." "mother could have told if she'd telephoned. we were just detained at new york because the _statendam_ didn't get in on time--just got home this morning about breakfast time." "have a good time?" "grand!" "how was the countess?" chauncey was grinning widely now. "all right," smiled betty. but chauncey, seeing several girls headed in betty's direction, threw up his hands as if to say, "help, see who's coming," and with a comical glance at betty, hurried off to join another boy. "oh, _here_ you are!" exclaimed peggy pollard, kissing betty warmly, while betty held out her hands to selma rardon and dotty bradshaw. "i didn't think i'd be missed," said betty, "for you all would be so busy on opening day; but we can't talk now, can we?" "no; come on. are you signed up for miss heath's class?" "yes. i was so scared for fear i'd get put in another section." "good; we'll all be together, then." scampering down the halls in order to be on time to class in the limited time between classes, the girls arrived breathless, betty to exchange nods and smiles with girls and boys who were slipping into class room seats, and to catch a pleasant, welcoming smile from miss heath, who presently, in attending to the roll, gave betty a chance to present her card. how different it was from the year before! now she knew what to do and she began the year with a group of dear friends among the girls, to say nothing of the jolly boys. there was no lunch in the lunch room on these first days, but the usual early dismissal occurred. however, a group of betty's friends sat for a little while in a grassy spot on the grounds, to discuss important affairs, as well as to see betty and each other. "i hated to leave camp," said selma, "but isn't it good to be back? say, betty, try out for the hockey team. we need a lot of good material besides just the regular team." "maybe," said betty. "tell us what you saw in new york, betty," suggested dotty bradshaw, cute little dotty, as "big as a minute" and so serious about some things. "it would take too long," replied betty. "oh, just mention a few things." "like fifth avenue and broadway, for instance? well, the parks and the tombs with the 'bridge of sighs' across from the criminal court----" betty adopted a hollow tone here, but went on more cheerfully--"and tammany hall, another wicked place, i suppose, and the skyscrapers and the hudson river and of course the statue of 'liberty enlightening the world.' we took a little trip up the hudson and crossed on the ferries, and rode out riverside drive, and went into the big stores, and i spent all my money, of course; and we had delicious things to eat at different places, and museums and art galleries and the battery. father gave me a good time. it was said to be a reward of virtue for keeping house for him. but i've had a fine time all summer." "how many art museums did you eat, betty?" asked peggy. betty looked blank for a moment, then laughed. "i did mention the museums and art galleries along with things to eat, didn't i? but don't begin on english now, peggy. i'll get enough of that pretty soon." "so will we all," returned peggy pollard, pretending to groan. "_shall_, peggy," corrected carolyn, and peggy reached over to tweak the curve on an ear that showed among curling locks. carolyn had acquired a new style of hair dressing during the summer, and betty privately determined to copy it. it was becoming to carolyn and she _thought_ it would be to her. she would try it anyway, and see. "did your father meet the countess, betty?" carolyn inquired; but just then two girls sauntered up. they were mathilde finn and kathryn allen. kathryn was making funny signs to betty behind mathilde's back, but peggy welcomed them both. "'lo, finny," said she, "have a seat on the 'over-stuffed' furniture. it's been so dry that we're perfectly safe on the grass now. how's everything signing up and starting in?" "perfectly terrible," returned mathilde cheerfully, as she plumped down beside betty. kathryn managed to squeeze in beside betty and whispered, "you see how friendly peggy and mathilde are?" "m-hm," replied betty, linking arms with kathryn. "you'll slide down this slope the first thing you know." "who said something about a countess?" asked selma. "i did," answered carolyn. "i asked betty if her father met the countess." mathilde gave betty a glance full of interest. "introduce me, peggy," she whispered. "oh, yes. betty, i want you to meet a new sophomore, mathilde finn. mathilde, this is betty lee." betty smiled and acknowledged the introduction with a little nod, as mathilde and peggy were some little distance away. "i hope you will enjoy being a sophomore," she said. "i have been one at another school," mathilde remarked rather airily. "but there is such a difference in courses, you know." kathryn nudged betty, who kept countenance and acknowledged that there was, a great difference. betty recalled carolyn's question, but thought that she would not answer it unless some one insisted. curiosity, however, had been aroused. "well," said selma, "how about the 'countess,' betty?" "oh," said betty. "mr. murchison asked father to meet his sister, countess coletti, and her daughter. they came over on the _statendam_. that was why i couldn't get home till today. first the ship was to arrive on--thursday, i think. then the new york _times_ said friday and the next day it was saturday. it really came in on sunday; so, of course, we had to wait till we could meet them." "did you meet them, too?" asked selma, a little impressed with betty's opportunity. "yes, i went with father to the boat. he thought it would be better, since miss coletti was coming, too." "what is the girl called, betty?" asked peggy. "lucia." "i didn't mean that. hasn't she any title, too?" "i don't know what they call her over in italy, or at the school in switzerland that she has been attending. but her mother say that she is to be lucia coletti, or miss coletti at school. she wants to come to lyon high; but i don't suppose they will hurry about it." "are they really going to send her to a _public_ school?" asked mathilde in a shocked tone. "that shows what you really think of the public school, mathilde finn," said dotty, not unpleasantly, but with firmness. "suppose i _do_," returned mathilde, a question in her tone, as well as a bit of resentment. "well," said dotty, "all i have to say is that there are _some_ who would call that _snobbish_!" "all right, if you think that, dotty bradshaw, think away!" this was getting a little too warm for comfort and betty spoke again. "i think we must all be nice to lucia, for she will not know what to do, she says, and besides, she will be terribly homesick. when i first saw her she was both seasick, or just getting over it, and homesick, too. but her mother says that lucia is going to have a taste of american democracy." "she will probably get all she wants of it here," sarcastically said mathilde. "but betty lee is right--we must all be friendly." kathryn nudged betty again. "_she_ will, all right," kathryn whispered, "the little snob!" betty gave a sideway smile at kathryn and whispered, "tut-tut!" but kathryn's eyes were twinkling and her expression not as unpleasant as her words. "my mother was at school with miss murchison, i think," mathilde continued. "she will probably call upon the countess." "and you ought to go with her, mathilde," wickedly added kathryn. at this betty jumped up. it would be better not to say anything more about her trip with the countess and her daughter and maids. betty had learned since coming to the city that telling all you know, with perfect frankness, was not always wise. there were some understanding people, but also many others who were critical, or at least not at all appreciative. it was sometimes best not to satisfy curiosity or place yourself open to misunderstanding or criticism. it was a courteous betty who said to mathilde that she hoped she would enjoy being a sophomore "with the rest of us," and to the rest she said she had too much to do at home to stay any longer. "i'm suffering from an aching void, girls," declared dotty. "it's past lunch time for me!" "come on home with me, betty," begged kathryn. "no, both you come with me," said carolyn. "i have an arrangement with cook for a special lunch of something i adore." "thank you, girls; i must get back to mother, besides having a lot of things to see to. just think, i haven't seen my mother all summer, except just a little while this morning. i have to hear all about how my grandmother is, and dick and doris have actually _grown_ this summer. i can _see_ it, to say nothing of amy lou, who is peachier than ever." "you do love your family, don't you, betty lee?" said carolyn. "i should think so!" "well, come along, kathryn. take pity on me and let's have a good old visit together. peggy, can't you come, too?" peggy accepted, and kathryn gave betty a meaning look as they separated, taking different cars. "maybe i'll call you up tonight, betty," she said. "do it, gypsy," replied betty. chapter vi: doing her best for lucia no message came from kathryn, and betty had scarcely time to think of whether "gypsy" had had an opportunity to find out anything further about peggy's reported speech. how wonderful it was to have mother at home again! betty had missed her presence and advice and help so many times, fun though it was to take the helm herself. still, it hadn't always been so _much_ fun. now clothes for school, countless little errands, decisions, and the work of settling into the routine again engaged mrs. lee and the rest of them. jelly and fruit canned at the farm was a great asset for the coming season. grandma was ever so much better; but a good stout woman was now installed in the old home. dick had really been of great help and doris had learned to do many things. amy lou had been a "lamb" and had learned to read with grandma. she was "five years old and reading in a primer!" to tell the truth, betty thought doris was very cross at present, but then she might still be resentful about her little flare-up at the last of her stay with betty. betty had apologized for her own share in it, but the fact was that doris had been most to blame. they had parted friends, but betty felt that her sister had certain reserves with her and was not warmly affectionate, though she had seemed glad enough to see her on first arrival. however, doris would probably get over it. betty thought that she'd better not pay any attention to any grumblings or cross speeches. dear me--it was hard enough to keep patience over things at times. how did mother ever do it? she must put most of her time and thought on having the family machinery run smoothly. and betty was quite right, though a great purpose for one's children helps any father and mother through. a telephone message from countess coletti to betty that evening was one feature of affairs. "hello--oh--yes'm, this is betty." betty was wishing that she had not said "hello" _quite_ as if she were answering a call from kathryn. betty flushed with embarrassment as she listened to the first few words from countess coletti. "i am wondering, miss betty, if we stop for you with the car tomorrow morning, you will be willing to go with lucia and me to interview the principal of lyon high a little before school begins. i should like to have you go around with lucia and i think i could get you excused from your classes." betty had her doubts about that, but she did not express them. perhaps mr. murchison's sister could manage it, but the public schools were not like that. they went on regardless of countesses and influential people in general, so far as the daily schedule was concerned; and betty had had reason to know how particular her principal was about the regular program of every student. still, as it was a little unusual--it would be fun to take lucia in charge. betty could imagine how eyebrows would lift at her and demure glances of her friends in classes of her own would meet her. all these thoughts rapidly ran through her mind as she listened to what further countess coletti had to say. oh, then lucia's credits were already in the hands of the principal. "i see, countess coletti," betty's clear voice made reply. "i shall be very glad to do anything--oh, yes, i shall be ready to go with you early. certainly. i'll find out everything as soon as i see lucia's schedule, and meet her at lunch and--oh, well, that is as the principal says, i suppose. yes, countess coletti. good-bye." "my me!" betty turned from the telephone to see dick's grin. "what do you have to do now, betty, act as nursemaid to the countess' daughter?" "just about, dick! no, i needn't say that, either. i imagine that lucia has a lot of grit herself; though that wasn't my first impression. but anybody would feel lost in such a big school. i did, and i hadn't been to private school all my life, either." betty went on into the living room and dining room from the hall where she had been using the telephone. doris was busy with her lessons there at the big table, which was usually cleared of anything else for school books and papers. any one who wanted real privacy could go to bedroom or den, as the case might be. dick had a small set of shelves in his den, and the girls had a similar set in their bedroom. doris did not look up as betty sat down by her and took up her geometry, though betty knew that she must have heard the conversation, or betty's part of it, since the wide doors between dining room and the front room were open, as well as the hall entrance, never closed, for the good reason that it could not be. dick was calling up one of the boys now, to make sure of an assignment. presently he, too, was back at the table. "we're in high society now, dorry," said he. "didja hear betty talking to the countess?" "ye-ah," drawled doris. "i think my mother is better than any countess, so we needn't get worked up about it." betty drew a figure on her sheet of paper. little dory was jealous! it _was_ a shame. here she had been to new york and had had all the fun! but betty need not have felt self-reproachful. she had earned her trip to new york by her own pleasant spirit, much real effort that to some girls would have been very trying, and by overcoming some loneliness in times when company was lacking. doris would have her turn, in a family where fairness was characteristic of its parents. but it was just as well for betty to be thinking about her sister now, instead of herself. morning came, and with it the new excitement. dick, frankly interested, kept an eye out for the murchison car, a beautiful thing in dark wine-color. "gee!" cried dick in a tone discreetly low, "that's a beauty! i'm going to have one just like it some day. there's your colored chauffeur, sis, in uniform. say, i didn't know that dad was hobnobbing with the aristocrats!" "hush, dick," said mrs. lee, annoyed. "mr. murchison is a very wealthy gentleman and lives in accordance with his means. are you ready, betty? please answer the bell, dick. it is the chauffeur." "give me an apron and cap, mom," remarked the irrepressible dick, "for the maid must answer the door." "you're wrong. dick," said doris, who was gathering up her books. "the butler should be at the door. see how elegant you can be, though i'm afraid they will think you rather young." but the bell had rung, and dick ran, rather too hurriedly for dignity in his role of butler, if that suggestion by doris was to be taken seriously. she was listening as dick threw open the front door. "is you-all ready foh goin' to school with miss lucy an' loosha?" "i'll call betty," said dick. "yes, she is ready." so the girl betty called "lu-_chee_-a," the chauffeur called _"loosha_." "miss lucy said that she wanted to take _all_ the children to school, foh she thought there was some o' them that went to the junior high school." "please thank the countess," said dick, as properly as if it had been his father. "we shall be very glad to come and we can be out as soon as we can gather up our books." the chauffeur went back to the car, while dick hastily called betty and doris, though doris had been curious enough to stay within hearing, and if the truth were told, doris had taken extra care with her toilet that morning, in case she should happen within sight of countess coletti and lucia, her daughter. "she wants us all to come, mother," excitedly she reported. "shall we?" "certainly. it would be impolite to refuse. yes, better wear your coat, though it is so warm this morning." "shall you go out to the car and meet them, mother?" asked betty, doubtfully, though that is what would have happened in their old home, if any friend had driven up, or strangers, indeed, with such an invitation to the children. "no," replied mrs. lee. "had the countess appeared, or asked to see me, i might; but they are all in a hurry. don't waste a moment. it is very thoughtful for the countess to include you and doris, dick. just be appreciative, polite and quiet. i can trust all of you to be that, i'm sure." but countess coletti might be trusted also, to make the children feel comfortable. she was smiling at the three with their books, a necessary accompaniment, alas, as doris thought. "good morning, betty," she said, while lucia smiled and nodded, leaving conversation to her mother. "you are good not to keep us waiting. these are your brother and sister, i'm sure. this is my daughter, lucia coletti. now you may sit here, betty, your sister there and the brother, too. ready, horace." horace did not look around, but started the car and off they went in the fresh september morning, bright and clear. "it is dick and doris, countess coletti," said betty, thinking that the names of the twins should be mentioned. the term "discretion" did not do justice to the attitude of the twins, almost too sober, betty thought, but they _were_ dear children! yet the experienced countess led the conversation, telling them of lucia's troubles in arranging her schedule, some of them to be discussed with the principal that morning, and chatting of how pleasantly lucia was impressed with her mother's old home and how good "the old town" looked to one who had been away as many years as she herself had passed abroad. "we never could seem to find a time," said she, "when it was convenient to come, though my brother and his family were over often." betty wondered what family mr. murchison had. her father probably did not know or he would have mentioned it. the handsome car and its occupants caused some notice among the early arrivals at the school. the chauffeur drove in and parked the car behind the building on one of the drives there. betty showed the party how to reach the nearest entrance and led them up the stairs and through the halls to the office of the principal. he was affable but business-like. he hesitated when countess coletti asked that betty be permitted to show lucia about, though she asked most prettily and with no assumption that it must be done for her. "it would be such a favor," said she, "if betty will not miss anything important." "everything is important, countess coletti," smiled the principal, "but i think we shall arrange it for your daughter not to be lost. here, betty, is the schedule we have made out for miss coletti. see if you have any classes together?" with the principal, betty, feeling rather important for a modest body like herself, worked out a program for the day. she would take lucia to her first class, introduce her to the teacher and leave her there, stopping for her at the close of the period without losing much time, since the recitation rooms happened to be near. they had the same home room, which made it easy to begin the day together. betty herself had not been there on the opening morning and had been forced to see her home room teacher later in the day, to find out many things. there were practically no recitations of any length, and periods were shortened for an assembly. lunch, fortunately, would be prepared in the lunch rooms and the full day's schedule carried out, an unusual proceeding even for the third day, why, betty did not know. "your daughter, madam, need not worry at all. in case she becomes confused, there is always the office. we are ready to rescue any pupil, and without reproof in these opening days. i hope that miss lucia will enjoy the new experience." with this the interview closed. betty showed the countess how to reach her car, but with the ringing of the gongs, she and lucia went to find their home room and report. it was a home room of girls, to be sure, but betty felt a little self-conscious as she accompanied lucia to the desk and introduced her to their home room teacher, not the dear miss heath, but a teacher to whom betty had not happened to recite in her freshman year. keen eyes appraised her and lucia, who was not at all embarrassed. lucia was accustomed to being stared at and to traveling around. as long as betty kept her from being lost about places and duties, it was all right. what difference did it make to her what impression she was making? "lucia coletti," the teacher repeated, taking the card from lucia and pronouncing the name correctly, as betty had given it. she made a few notes on a paper at hand. "is she a friend of yours, betty lee?" "yes'm. that is, i'm showing her around because she is new to everything. she just came to new york on the _statendam_ and has been to school in switzerland." miss orme, who was accustomed to meet many italian children in the city schools, revised her first impression made by the name, and looked again at this easily poised girl who had been to school in switzerland. lucia met her gaze without interest, politely waiting directions. "lucia is the daughter of----" "count coletti, of milan," suddenly said lucia, to betty's surprise. betty had not intended to tell the teacher who lucia was, then thought perhaps she'd better, for lucia's sake, for her relatives, the murchisons, were well-known in the city and it would be better, too, for miss orme to place the girl at once in her mind. but why did lucia forestall the introduction as her mother's daughter? perhaps that was it. was there some idea of loyalty to her father, or was she just proud of it? "oh, yes," laconically replied miss orme, who had, unfortunately, a rooted distaste for american women that married foreigners. "i think i have heard of your mother. betty, there is a vacant seat across from you on the back row. too bad you are both so late, but you can get from the other girls what has already been said about many of the details. show lucia to her seat, betty." as betty went down the aisle ahead of lucia, peggy pollard caught her eye and coughed discreetly. selma grinned up at her and kathryn widened her big eyes purposely. this home room of sophomore girls was the limit! chapter vii: little adjustments the next morning selma joined betty on the walk from the street-car to the school building. "betty," said she, "i'm really in earnest about your being on the hockey team. i'm afraid not enough of the girls are going to take an interest. i mean the kind of girls that count. you are so quick and graceful about your swimming and good at everything you do, and i saw you play hockey once last year." "i haven't a quarter about me, i'm afraid," said betty, very soberly, looking in her small purse. "a quarter--what for?" asked selma before she sensed what betty meant. "oh, that's all right. you needn't pay me for the compliments, and i'm not saying it just to get you to be on the team. miss fox has charge of the hockey this year and she asked me to keep an eye out for good material. the team is pretty well made up, i guess, and she says that i should be captain, but that is as it may be, betty. please don't mention my speaking of it to you." "but i want a second team to play against, and a good one at that. i'd give a lot for the sophomores to beat the other classes at hockey." "hurrah for the sophomores," remarked betty. "i can't get used to our being sophomores, selma, but isn't it nice not to be freshmen any longer?" "yes, though we _were_ such unusually fine ones!" selma chuckled. "we're a good deal of a mob yet, but not like the freshman bunch. were we really like that last year?" "i suppose so. well, selma, i don't know what to say about the hockey proposition. i'm pretty sure that mother thinks hockey too rough. perhaps not exactly that, either; and i did like to play last year occasionally, just on the side. possibly, if it is just as a sort of substitute, i might do it. i'm a full-fledged g. a. a. and ought to help out where i can, oughtn't i?" "it's your duty to be a good sophomore, too." "i remember how seriously i took everything last year," said betty, "and it was sensible. but i'm going to join anything i like this year; and if it doesn't work, all you have to do is to stop." "not to break up a team, though, betty." "oh, no. i didn't mean that, and i like to do anything pretty thoroughly, too. all right, i'll see about it." "'lo, betty," said some one else. selma and betty were mounting the steps of the school now, near the entrance, where pupils were going in and groups of others stood about. this was mathilde finn, who detached herself from one of the groups and came toward the two girls. "bye," immediately said selma, whisking into the building as some one pushed open the heavy doors before her. "going to wait for lucia coletti?" asked mathilde. "no; she knows how to get to the home room now," answered betty. "anything i can do for you?" betty smiled pleasantly, though she intended to be a little reserved with mathilde. from all she had heard, she did not have the greatest confidence in mathilde's sincerity. but betty was always glad to be on a friendly footing with other girls. she did "hate" disagreeable undercurrents, though one could not always avoid them. "you are a bit new yourself, aren't you?" betty continued. "oh, yes, but not like lucia, and my work was all fixed up in plenty of time. i do feel strange in a public school and i can't say that i like it now; but if lucia can stand it, i think i can. you don't have to know everybody, of course. some of the boys and girls are too common--for words!" that speech grated on betty. "perhaps so," she answered, "but a lot of them are as fine as can be. besides, we have to live in the world with everybody, don't we? and i haven't seen anybody here that wasn't nice--well, hardly. but the boys and girls that won't work or keep the rules get sent out." "oh, i suppose they all behave well enough," carelessly replied mathilde. "they have to. but look at their clothes, and the way they talk!" "i never dress up much for school myself," said betty, who had a sound suspicion that the reason mathilde was attaching herself to her this morning was her relation to lucia coletti. "and when it comes to language, do you know, some of the worst i've heard came from girls out of wealthy homes. so far as i'm concerned, give me the good old public schools, though i'd love to go to boarding school some time, just for the fun of it. why, there's lucia now!" betty and mathilde stopped in the middle of the big hall as lucia coletti came out of the principal's office. her face lit up as she saw betty and she hurried toward the girls. "this is--what you call luck--betty. good morning--and i think i met you, yesterday, miss ----?" "it is mathilde finn, lucia," said betty, as lucia looked doubtfully at mathilde. "she has been at a private school, too, and is coming back to us now--a sophomore like the rest of us." betty spoke cordially, as betty would, and together the three made their way to their home room. but mathilde's manner to lucia amused her and when lunch time came and dotty bradshaw fell in with her, just behind lucia, whom mathilde had in tow, she could not help smiling at dotty's comments. "ha!" said dotty in a dramatic whisper. "finny is rushing the countess, i see. look out, betty. she'll cut you out with royalty." "why should i mind, dotty?" laughed betty. "i like lucia and i think that she's going to take hold of things as you'd scarcely expect a girl that's been used to everything to do. she's got a lot of those old romans in her, i imagine, to say nothing of what she gets of good american pep, if not so old! oh, dotty, i've got such _loads_ to do i haven't time to think about whether i get cut out with _anybody_!" "lessons getting on your nerves?" "somewhatly!" "that's always the way at first. cheer up. you're not interested, then, in hearing about the new sorority?" "well, i might have a little _natural curiosity_." "i'll say! i'll tell you everything i know at the first chance." this was while the crowd was mounting the stairs to the lunch room. at the top of the stairs betty saw mathilde usher lucia inside of the lunch room, though lucia turned and looked inquiringly at betty. betty smiled and waved her hand, nodding approvingly as if to say "it's all right with me," and just then kathryn appeared in the line behind betty, having hurried to catch up. dotty was by several girls beyond her in the line that was forming for the cafeteria procession; and kathryn, having betty's ear in spite of the rattle of dishes and the buzz, or more appropriately "roar" of conversation, pitched above other sounds, informed her that she had "a lot to tell her." "tell it now," urged betty. "fat chance, as chauncey says. i'll see you somewhere. skip along, honey. i hope they've got plenty of good things left. i always prefer being called to first lunch." "how strange!" laughed betty. "i certainly hate it when we are last to be called and all the best desserts and salads are gone. but can't you give me an _idea_?" kathryn shook her head in the negative, concerned now with looking ahead to choose what she would have for lunch. betty with a full tray looked around for lucia and saw that she and mathilde were together at a table which was rapidly filling up. carolyn at another table waved at betty and kathryn, who hurried there to join her. but the hungry girls were most interested in the business at hand and carolyn, after the first pangs of hunger was relieved, was started on athletics, lamenting the loss of the senior football men and relating what material she had heard was available for the year's team. betty saw for the first time ted dorrance, who was not acting at all as a senior whose heart was broken should act. with a group of senior boys he was laughing and talking at a table not far away. betty wondered how it happened that they had had lunch at the same time, and while her eyes were turned in that direction, ted saw her and gave her a gay salute. poor boy, perhaps he was just putting on all that fun and was really feeling terrible about louise. no--perhaps they had made up! lessons, lessons, lessons! how hard these first assignments seemed! some of their teachers "had a heart," as dotty said, and others hadn't the sign of one. again they had to carry all their books around until lockers were assigned. mathilde complained constantly, betty thought; but lucia, with a neat brief-case of leather, kept all her paraphernalia together and carried them around without a word. "lucia coletti is a good sport," said dotty bradshaw. finally, toward the end of the week, kathryn had a good opportunity to talk to betty. it was on the street-car, but they had a back seat together and could talk in ordinary tones without being overheard. both had errands down town, as it happened, and were to go down right after school to meet their mothers. "here you've kept me in suspense all week, kathryn," betty accused her friend. "i suppose you've laid awake nights over it, betty." "oh, yes, of course. my dear, i _have_ laid awake a while over a lesson or two!" "i've had reason enough to, but not i. when my head strikes the pillow not even anything mathilde or anybody could say, to say nothing of mere lessons, could keep me awake!" "by the way, is it clothes you're going to see about this afternoon, kathryn?" "yes. i'm going to get a hat and a dress, and _look_ at coats." "here, too, kathryn, but i'll wait to buy a coat till i see what you get, i think." upon this there followed a discussion of styles and materials quite interesting to betty, who did want to look like the rest but had had little experience so far in city shopping. kathryn advised her a little about the best places to shop, where "things were expensive" and where one could get good values for a reasonable sum. they concluded to get the mothers together at some store and arranged the meeting place before any school matter was touched upon again. then kathryn began. "i could have told you that everything is all right about peggy, but some way i wanted to have a good chance all by ourselves before i did. you know how we went out to carolyn's that time. we had a good deal of fun over that lunch, and peggy was just as much fun as she always is and i never acted any different from the way i always do. i just thought, if peggy didn't like me and talked about me, i couldn't help it anyhow and there was no use in acting 'sore' about it. that is what my brother always says, betty." "you needn't apologize, gypsy. i have a brother, too." kathryn laughed. "it's very convenient when you want to use slang to quote from your brother, isn't it?" "very." "well, it seems that peggy had overheard you call me gypsy, though how i don't know." "oh, i'm sorry, kathryn. i meant that for our little secret!" "i know it, but really i don't care. i rather like it now. you remember that we told carolyn about it, at your house." "yes." "carolyn told me afterwards that she had it in mind when she asked us for lunch; and didn't peggy call me 'gypsy' as she passed me the sandwiches?" "no! why, what did you think when she did that?" "i was startled, of course. she said, 'gypsy, _have_ another sandwich!' and i looked up at her in amazement, though not a bit offended, you know, and she laughed. 'who started that name for you?' she asked. 'you're looking so surprised that maybe you don't like it,' she went on. 'i just heard betty lee call you that one time and i thought it cute. i told mathilde finn just the other day that you looked like a gypsy queen or something awfully romantic.' "there it was, betty, just the sweet way you thought about it and not the way mathilde told me. you were right. i don't believe peggy pollard _would_ say mean things about a girl she knows as well as she does me, and maybe not about anybody, though you are _too_ trustful of your friends, betty!" "am i?" "yes, i'm afraid so; but i think it's a good fault and i'm going to cultivate it." kathryn slipped her hand through betty's arm as she spoke. "well, just then carolyn spoke up. 'mathilde finn didn't say it that way when she repeated it to kathryn,' she said." "'what do you mean, carolyn?' peggy asked. she looked just as surprised as could be. then she whirled around to me. 'kathryn, _what_ did mathilde tell you?' "i sort of hesitated, you know. a body would. and peggy asked me again. 'from what carolyn says, i imagine that mathilde has said something horrid,' she said. "well, i just got the impression, peggy, that you were criticising my looks and while i'm not posing as a beauty, it wasn't awfully pleasant to think that you would say what mathilde said you did." "'kathryn!' peggy said. she looked sort of helpless, you know, as if she didn't know what to say and probably thought i wouldn't believe her. then, i don't remember how it all came around, but carolyn helped out and quoted what peggy had just said and asked me to believe peggy and i said i would and peggy said a lot of things and i hated to have them think i wanted to be thought pretty and so i said so and i told just exactly what mathilde had said and peggy told as nearly as she could remember just exactly what she had said, and the girls all said that they didn't think me sensitive about my looks and knew that i just cared about having peggy like me. so it turned out all right and it was carolyn that did it after all. you can like carolyn better than me any time, betty!" betty laughed and squeezed the arm in hers. "how we do change," said she. "but i told you all about how i feel about my dear friends. and you said '_all_ the girls.' was any one there beside you and peggy and carolyn?" "sure enough--i didn't tell you. i think from what carolyn said she did mean to have just peggy and me--and you, of course, if you could have come. but then, not being sure about peggy after all, she thought perhaps she'd ask somebody else in your place. so on the car there were dotty bradshaw and mary emma rowland and she asked them to come. they accepted after a little hesitation on account of being expected at home. but carolyn said that they could telephone home from her house and that she would herself to let them know that it was all right, if they wanted her to. you know how hospitable carolyn is, and her mother lets her do these things. i imagine that they knew it was the first of school and she would be wanting to see some of us. anyhow, there was a special lunch for us, outdoors on the big porch. i'm sorry you missed it." "so am i. but under the circumstances i couldn't. and now that is all over and you haven't a worry have you?" "no. i'd a little rather dotty hadn't heard what mathilde said to me, for she almost despises mathilde anyhow. but it can't be helped and everybody said they wouldn't say a word and would treat mathilde 'the same as ever.' and you would have laughed to hear dotty, when carolyn used that expression." "'the same as ever?' she asked. 'then that doesn't bind me except about this little trick of hers. _sure_ i'll treat mathilde the same as ever!'" kathryn was laughing now. betty looked thoughtfully at kathryn. "dotty speaks too quickly and sharply, i'm afraid. i felt real uncomfortable when she had that passage at arms with mathilde that day. but dotty is a sincere person and she may have some reason of her own about mathilde." "i haven't a doubt. but i thought about you, betty, when i said to the girls i'd rather not have it make any difference with the way they treated mathilde. you're always so fair to everybody, and this wasn't so much after all." "it was the spirit it showed or you _thought_ it showed on peggy's part that worried you, and that is important when it comes to a nice friend like peggy; but i think you were wonderfully nice about it, and--thank you for your opinion of me. that's another thing for me to live up to!" "i don't think you need worry about that, betty lee. but to change the subject, you're going to go on the g. a. a. hike a week from saturday, aren't you?" "why, i don't know, kathryn. i hadn't thought about it much. there's so much to do at home, and saturday is the only day there, that i'm not sure i can. i ought to help mother, for with three of us to get ready for fall and winter in school, to say nothing of amy louise, and meals now for everybody, mother is just as rushed with work as _we_ imagine _we_ are in school." "we really are," insisted kathryn. "i think your mother will want you to have some outdoors on saturdays, and i know that you help some every day. so do you mind if i ask her about it, if we manage to have the mothers see each other down town?" "i don't mind a bit, and i think the g. a. a. hike will be great fun. suppose lucia coletti will want to go?" betty looked roguishly at kathryn as she spoke. "and if lucia, then our friend mathilde, to be sure. well, anyhow we must be sure to ask lucia. she'll probably want to be a g. a. a. if she lives in italy, she probably will know how to swim, and don't they walk and hike a lot in switzerland?" betty asked kathryn why she was sure lucia could swim if she lived in italy and kathryn replied that she might live on a hill-top for all she knew, but that rich foreigners always took trips to the water, "and isn't the mediterranean right there?" betty could not answer that it was not and so they dropped this subject, not forgetting the g. a. a. hike in prospect. chapter viii: the g. a. a. breakfast hike dear me--the hosts of things to be decided during these first weeks of school! but wasn't it interesting? there was talk of a new sorority. there was the revelation of some that had existed before, _sub rosa_. indeed everything was secret and the way the rules were substantially avoided without breaking the letter of the law was another astonishing feature. betty lee did not quite understand that yet. the sorority fever had not struck the little group of her especial friends in their freshman year. there had been some of the girls who were what the rest called "snooty" or "high hat," the terms in common parlance for a species of snobbery. but as "little freshmen" their assumptions made small impression on their associates of the freshman class. prominent juniors had been paying some attention to lucia coletti and incidentally to betty and mathilde and carolyn. peggy and kathryn seemed to be left out. nothing had been said so far, but notice had been taken, no doubt. betty was thoughtful. she had been thrown with lucia first because she could be of service to her. now no delicate withdrawal was possible because lucia, naturally depending upon betty for much information and liking betty very much, a fact that betty did not realize, turned to her for companionship whenever their work made it possible. betty saw that her first impression of lucia had not been entirely correct. to be sure, lucia had been spoiled, as an independent american girl would view her upon first acquaintance, adding the feeling of rank to that of the superiority of wealth and opportunity. but in some respects lucia was timid, and betty had some idea now of how she had dreaded the new environment. any timidity was hidden, however, behind a reserve which had a little dignity and which betty told herself was a bit of the count coletti. then again lucia would be impulsive and in high spirits with betty's friends and tell them little things about her old schools abroad, for she had been in several, owing to the travel of her parents. this was all very interesting and betty was becoming fond of lucia, though she was sure that carolyn, kathryn, and peggy would always stand first. but betty liked "lots of friends." how high school affairs were impressing themselves upon lucia coletti she did not say and the girls did not ask, though they could see that she was interested. she spoke english very well indeed and made excellent recitations in her different studies. to every one she was uniformly polite, but not even betty was invited to her confidence, though it must be said that betty, absorbed in putting through her own work, did not notice it. among other things difficult to get started early, the g. a. a. hike was numbered. the heavy work of the opening weeks hindered the teachers who were in charge of athletics. then _jupiter pluvius_ took a hand and there was a week of almost steady rain. but warm days in october with bright sunshine came along and at nearly the end of the month the day was "actually appointed," said peggy. "it's a shame that we couldn't have had it when it was so nice and warm," said mathilde, who was privately intending to offer lucia a ride to the spot chosen for the breakfast. "but it would have been too warm for the hike," answered lucia herself, who was a member of the girls' athletic association by this time and on one of the committees. "i think that i shall enjoy that." "won't it be too far for you?" asked mathilde, who was lazy, and only "going in" for the easiest form of athletics she could find, though she was fond of games, which saved the day for her, and she liked the interpretive dancing, in which she was quite graceful. "only five miles?" asked lucia. "why, we think nothing of that in----" lucia broke off, for her mother had warned her not to compare anything to her life abroad. she made an excuse of speaking to miss fox, who had this expedition in charge, and moved away from mathilde quite naturally. lucia, however, was quite friendly with mathilde. what girl would not like another who was flatteringly attentive and evidently impressed with her? moreover, mathilde was a fair, prettily-dressed girl, attractive enough when she chose to be. "listen, finny," said dotty bradshaw, coming up to mathilde. "you can be on the soup committee if you like and ride out with us." "'soup committee!' i hope you are not going to have soup for breakfast!" "don't be so literal, finny. of course we are not going to have soup or anything like it. can you cook wieners?" "i should _say not_!" mathilde started away in disgust. "besides, i want to take the hike and get credit for it." "haw, haw, haw," said dotty in low tones to her friend selma, who knew mathilde almost as well as dotty did. "when i get outdoors i shall indulge in 'laffcher,' i think. but wouldn't i have been sold if she had taken me up? it would just about have spoiled the fun the committee is going to have!" "dotty, dotty, dotty!" reproved selma; but a smile and dancing eyes showed that she did not blame the irrepressible dotty too severely. this took place at a meeting of various committees on the friday before the breakfast hike. betty had been persuaded to be on the committee for refreshments, though she, too, would have liked to take the entire hike and earn the points for it. but it would be fun. kathryn said that any girl who had really done any cooking was capable of bossing the entire affair and if betty would be chairman of the committee, she would impart all her own valuable knowledge of what to cook and how on picnics. "kathryn allen, i've never been to a camp and all you other girls have. i simply can't be chairman!" this was betty, in the corner of the big room where the refreshment committee was getting together to discuss arrangements. "listen, betty. the chairman _bosses_ the rest. _they_ do the work!" betty laughed. "on that basis, then, gypsy, i don't care, but i think one of you ought to be chairman just the same. will miss fox know how much of everything we ought to have?" "of course she will. she's got the names of everybody that signed up to go. i don't know whether we ought to allow for girls coming at the last minute, or bringing company, or allow the other way for those that think they'll go and won't." "always better to have too much, than not enough," said betty, thinking of one or two tight squeezes when her mother had had the missionary society and more came than usual. "yet that is very wasteful, betty." "yes, dotty, it is. i think _you_ ought to be chairman." "no, thanks. some time i'll tell you how narrowly we escaped having another member on this committee." "you are a case, dotty bradshaw. what have you been doing now?" "nothing much, kathryn. somebody call this meeting to order." "all right. betty, you're chairman." "honestly, i wasn't named chairman, girl. ask miss fox whom she intended for chairman--_please_, gypsy." "all right--to settle it." kathryn dashed across the room, stopping behind miss fox and waiting for an opportunity to speak to her. there was a brief conference and kathryn returned to tell betty triumphantly that she was chairman. "yes, of course," returned betty. "i saw you fix it up with her. did you tell her that i would be deeply disappointed if i didn't have the honor?" "something like that," laughed kathryn. "now let's get down to business." -------- the morning of the hike was clear and sunny, when the sun finally decided to get up. fifty girls were up first, getting ready. the "bunch" who hiked were to meet at the school, but the committee on refreshments was to drive with their supplies. miss fox had accepted the offer of kathryn's brother to drive the allen car out for them and to help arrange their temporary camp. lucia coletti, interested and anxious to help, had begged her uncle for the use of his car. "it will be ready for you to go to business," she said, "for it is only to take out boxes of food and perhaps a few rugs." "why turn my car into a grocery delivery wagon?" teasingly mr. murchison asked lucia. "because the groceries will not deliver the things for us." "very well, then, lucia, if you can make your peace with the chauffeur." "oh, horace! he will do anything! but i will tell him to come back immediately." "will there be no one to come back, nothing to bring?" "oh, no--no--no, we all hike back, even those who ride out to do the breakfast." "i see; and the food will have been disposed of. see, lucy, sister, how american your daughter is becoming? she talks of hikes and things." "i am only part american, uncle," said lucia, soberly and with emphasis. "i am also the daughter of count coletti!" chauncey allen, understanding that only kathryn and betty would be in their car, asked two of his friends to accompany him. when they appeared at the allen house kathryn wanted to know "how come," as chauncey reported to chet dorrance later on. "i have to have somebody, don't i, to keep me in countenance before all those girls. moreover, i want help in making the fires." "we girls are perfectly capable of making the fires." "honestly, kit, don't you like it?" "yes, i really do, but i don't know whether it's proper or not, or whether miss fox will like it or not." "she knows i'm going to drive, don't she?" "doesn't she, you mean. yes. oh, i suppose it's all right, if we can get all the things in." "wait till you see us fix 'em!" thus kathryn and betty had three escorts and a goodly amount of supplies. it was cold riding in the early morning, but the girls wore warm knickers and sweaters and drew over the blankets which the car was furnished. it was a jolly ride. betty had scarcely seen all summer these boys with whom she had become acquainted at the freshman parties and other meetings of her first year at lyon high. kathryn's brother had been at a boys' camp. chet had been away with his mother and brother, ted, of the romantic disaster. the other boy was "mickey" carlin, whom betty did not know so well; but mickey was full of fun and contributed his share of life to the occasion. the five miles were quickly covered by machine and as the spot chosen was a picnic resort on the river, it was not difficult to dispose of the supplies which they had brought. they arrived at about the same time as miss fox and more of the committee in two other cars, and while they were unloading, here came the murchison car and its colored chauffeur in uniform. miss fox was not only not annoyed at the presence of the boys but was glad to accept their services. "we need some camp-boys," said she laughingly. "it isn't going to take our hikers so long to cover five miles, though i told them to take their time and see whatever there was to see on the way." "don't worry, miss fox," said chauncey with a chuckle. "they'll wait till they hike back to see things, and believe me they'll have an appetite for breakfast!" "all right, chauncey. i shouldn't be surprised but you're right. by the way, you are invited for breakfast with the other boys, and you might just consider yourselves added to the refreshment committee. yes, girls, all the milk and stuff can be carried to those picnic tables under the shelter house. we'll mix the cocoa there and open up the buns. careful to wipe off the tables and put papers under everything, girls. if we eat our peck o' dirt we'll do it without germs, i hope." pans, stacks of buns, paper plates, pickles (so appropriate for a breakfast, dotty said), eggs to be scrambled, bacon to be cooked, and great sacks of apples and bananas were sorted and arranged under the direction of betty, who sprang to the fore when she saw that miss fox was going to leave it to her. betty had learned that summer that orderly arrangement was half the battle in getting a meal. quickly, from her little note-book, in which she had carefully written the names of the committee assigned to the various tasks, she told each one her duty and divided the supplies accordingly. fun was held in abeyance for a little, till things were fairly started. oh, it would work out all right, betty told herself. the girls would select each a plate and visit "each pot and pan," in due order. the sun was up and it grew hot near the fires, but sweaters could be thrown aside. the cooks were adorned with a pointed head-dress of white with g. a. a. in blue letters printed upon it. dotty called it the g. a. a. crown and fastened one around betty's locks, saying that she was chief cook and bottle-washer and must have one whether she really cooked or not. "i'm floor-walker, dotty, but i'm going to oversee the scrambled egg business, because if we have 'em at all they want to be good. i've practiced at home several days under mother, so i'm going to do the mixing up. gracious, did we bring the salt!" for a minute betty looked blank, while dotty consolingly remarked that the bacon would be salty enough anyhow. but the salt was discovered in one of the cars, a whole container of it, and betty's moment of panic was over. this was to be a real breakfast, dotty declared, and several little squirrels dashing up and down the trees nearby were doubtless hoping that they would be invited. chapter ix: with lucia and mathilde meanwhile the hikers were having a good time of it. scattered in little groups of two or three or more, they were steadily advancing over hill and dale in the beautiful country surrounding the city, striking through in a direction not so closely built up in suburbs, for the high school was one in an outlying suburb, where beautiful homes and large estates were the rule as soon as one passed beyond its center. the country was in its handsomest fall attire. leaves of all colors attracted the girls who were interested in trees and learning to know them by their leaves, as well as those who, with no knowledge of this sort at all, could still appreciate the beauty of color with which the woods were alive. this hike, naturally, was not confined to sophomores, though that class had been charged with the duty of serving the breakfast this time; and a good breakfast it should be, thought the sophomores. lucia coletti had fallen into conversation with carolyn gwynn before the start and asked if she might walk along with her and peggy pollard, who was with carolyn. "indeed you may," said cordial carolyn, looking admiringly at lucia, for she was a slender, pretty figure in a costume that had seen use in switzerland, it was evident, and was different from what the other girls wore in the style of its short coat, the knickers, stockings and strong shoes. she carried, moreover, an alpenstock, for which she apologized when she saw that the other girls did not carry them. "i should not have brought this, i think," she said, her dark eyes very serious. "why not?" asked carolyn. "i think that's great." "but you girls do not carry them. i suppose the hills are not very steep, but it seemed hilly when we were driving with my uncle." "it is. sometimes we girls cut sticks to use on hikes or when we are camping in the mountains. mother uses one all the time in the summer at our camp. we go to the mountains, you know." "so do we," said lucia, apparently relieved over the idea of being different. she was beginning to care now. these were fine girls and this was a good school. mathilde, late, came hurrying up from a car which had deposited her at the school. "oh, here you are, lucia. how charming you look! do you do any mountain climbing in the alps?" "some," answered lucia, more annoyed than pleased with the compliment. already she sensed that these girls were not warmly attached to mathilde. what was the trouble? it must be that mathilde was too proud with them. she herself must not be so. other girls noticed lucia, though she was not known to them. she swung along gracefully and easily, accustomed to such trips, that is, to walking and climbing. her alpenstock was brought into play in more than one little leap over the hilly way with its ravines, now more or less slippery with its damp leaves. the other girls who had thought to take lucia more or less under their wing, were put to it to keep up with her, and carolyn frankly laughed over that fact, when lucia waited for them at the top of one high hill. "we thought that we'd be so good to you, lucia, and show the stranger the way and help her over the worst places. now here you are the champion hiker of us all!" "oh, i ought not to do it, i think! do you care? i forget, and i like to see how quickly i can reach a certain place." "of course we do not care!" but there was one who did. poor mathilde had been quite forgotten by lucia in her quick advance. now, as the girls sat down to rest for five minutes or more, mathilde came toiling up the hill, almost exhausted. within she was cross at the girls, lucia included. it certainly wasn't nice of them to leave her behind! and the girls were unconscious of offense, for they had started in a large group, many of whom had fallen behind or gone in a different direction to reach a given point. "i'm all out of practice walking," gasped mathilde as she threw herself on the ground, "and i'm a little lost right here. i'm so used to the car, you know. i suppose we must be nearly there now." "no, indeed," said peggy, who had her opinion of mathilde but was sorry for her at this juncture. "we have come about half way, mathilde; but there is an easier way, without so much climbing, if you'd rather take it. see that little dirt road down there? well, if you'll follow that, it skirts the hills and you can't miss the way. besides, there were several girls that wanted to come that haven't been well and can't climb the hills or aren't supposed to. you'll have company, i'm sure, for it is a bit longer, and i think they would walk more slowly." mathilde, who had groaned aloud at the statement that they were only half way there, now glanced where peggy pointed and felt that it was probably the only possible thing to do. perhaps some car would come along, dirt road though it was. somebody with a ford would live on it. her feet were nearly killing her and she knew they were blistered! she looked at lucia, to find her looking off at the pretty view, uninterested in mathilde's decision. but now she turned her head and looked at mathilde kindly. "i would, if i were you, mathilde. there's no use suffering when you haven't been walking much. you ought to take it more gradually. you might injure yourself if you overdo." mathilde felt better at that speech. "you ought to know, lucia, with all your experience in mountain climbing. i will take your advice, i think, and see you at the breakfast." with this mathilde stiffly rose and looked at the thickets between her and the little road which wound below. "can you make it, do you think?" asked peggy. "take it on the bias, mathilde. don't try to go straight down." "there isn't any good trail, peggy, but it's no worse than some we've been through already. going on yourself now?" mathilde was thinking that she would not start first. they'd watch her go down, of course. "yes. we might as well." carolyn answered mathilde, rising as she spoke, though without the effort which had characterized mathilde's movement. carolyn had been in many trails that summer, though that was because of opportunity as well as because of her own volition. "come on, mathilde. i'll go down half way with you. i know how hard it is to start after a body hasn't been hiking. after i was sick a while last summer--a year ago, i mean, i thought i'd never get limbered up." "thanks, carolyn," airily replied mathilde. "i think i can go _down_ hill, at least!" and off she started, to be tripped by a treacherous root and fall ignominiously, rolling into some bushes which checked further descent. "mercy, how she'll hate that!" exclaimed peggy, starting toward mathilde with both carolyn and lucia. lucia reached mathilde first and reached a hand to her as mathilde, flushed and annoyed, sat up and brushed away leaves and dirt from hands and face. "no, i didn't bruise my face at all," she said in answer to lucia's question. "my foot caught in a trailing vine, i think. that's what it felt like." "i'll just go down with you," said lucia. "you need my old stock, mathilde. it will swing us over bad places. go ahead, girls, i'll join you around the next hill. you said over there, didn't you?" lucia was pointing as she spoke. "yes, lucia," answered carolyn, noting how mathilde's face brightened. "all right, you go down with mathilde and see if some of the other girls are coming along. don't get lost yourself, though. we'll saunter along and you won't have much woods to get through over there." the girls watched lucia and mathilde as the light-footed italian girl took mathilde's arm and with a laugh started down hill, instinctively choosing the easiest descent. "this was a mean hill, carolyn," said peggy, "but how mathilde hates it not to appear 'it' in any way. have you noticed how she's really studying some and getting her lessons now?" "yes," thoughtfully replied carolyn. "maybe she really does like lucia and it isn't just wanting to stand in with a title. that was good of lucia, wasn't it? she seemed so indifferent at first, but now she's interested in things." "mathilde doesn't 'really like' lucia much, carolyn; but she ought to now. isn't this the prettiest part of the trail--don't you think, so wild and lovely? you can't even see a house from here. look at those girls across there. this was the best way to come. they're having a great time getting across that little branch of the run. maybe the rain carried away that big log we used to cross on." lucia appeared at the appointed place without her alpenstock. she had a few blossoms to show the girls and asked them what they were. "we have ever so many of the same trees and flowers that you do," she said, "but there are some of these fall wild flowers that i never heard of." the girls discussed the flowers and then asked for mathilde. "oh, mathilde's in a good humor now," smiled lucia. "a truck came along with two girls sitting behind and dangling over the rear. i left mathilde sitting beside them, but as she seemed to like my cane, i let her take it. it will help her when she walks again. the truck was going only a little way. the girls were laughing and having a great time of it." the rest of the trip was made in good time by the three girls, joined by others at different points; and when they came into the temporary camp, with its fires and moving figures of the committee and boys, to say nothing of the fresh arrivals--though carolyn, peggy and lucia were among the first, oh, what enticing odors of cocoa and of bacon frying met them. betty, wearing her cotton crown with its "g. a. a." came running up for a moment or two with the girls, answering their questions with, "oh, everything is going off wonderfully. as soon as the girls all get here we'll scramble the eggs and be ready. no, there isn't a thing for anybody to do, only to see that no girl is too timid to get all she ought to have to eat. carolyn, you're great on looking up the girls with a timidity complex, so do your stuff, as dick would say." "note how betty keeps on quoting from her brother," laughed peggy. "it's very convenient," laughed betty. "by the way, have you seen our boys? do take lucia over to where they are sometime when it seems appropriate, or drag them over to her, to meet her." "so your boys have to be dragged to meet me?" queried lucia, but with a smile and a comical lifting of her brows. "i'm not so sure," said betty, "but they are keeping in the background at present, for fear that miss fox's cordiality will wax cool." "i see. well, don't let us keep you, betty, but do come and sit by me when you eat your breakfast," said lucia. "if any," added betty. "i'm going to see that the great sophomore class of lyon high serves enough to make this hike something to be remembered!" "hear, hear!" cried peggy. "it smells like a million dollars, betty!" but it was not long before the fifty and a few more of the guest hikers were seated here and there and everywhere it was convenient or attractive. mathilde was in good humor as she sat with a full plate right next to lucia, contemplating with satisfaction her own new elk-skin shoes, laced high, in contrast with lucia's similar footgear, much the worse for wear. lucia did look pretty and romantic, she thought; but her own outfit was much more in the latest style, which for mathilde was the criterion of worth, along with the impression of expense. "oh, it wasn't any trouble to finish the hike," said she. "my fall only jolted me and the rest on that funny truck fixed me all right. and your alpenstock was a great help, lucia. i shall have one myself if we go abroad next summer." "you could probably get the same thing in this country," said lucia. had peggy been there she would have rolled her eyes at carolyn, perhaps, at mathilde's mention of going abroad, but peggy was at some distance with another group and this was one of older girls for the most part, girls who had their eye on lucia for their sorority. when carolyn and peggy saw the move on the part of the older girls, they withdrew, though it might not have been necessary, and were sitting on an uneven log with dotty bradshaw, mary emma howland and selma rardon. they, too, noted the junior girls with mathilde and lucia, but made no comment. "say, carolyn," said dotty in a low tone, "did you notice louise madison and a lot of the university girls at the little skit and pep meeting of the dramatic club the other night? i heard louise say they came over to help root for old lyon high. and there was ted dorrance, big as life, joking with them in the hall before it began. have he and louise made up, do you think? i heard that they had a terrible break-up this summer." "oh, a body can hear 'most anything, dotty. i'm glad louise and the other girls haven't forgotten high school days. she's only a freshman at the university, of course; and that isn't as thrilling, i imagine, as being a senior at lyon high." "it wouldn't be, would it?" thoughtfully returned dotty, while peggy, who was more interested than she would admit in ted and louise, considered dotty's bit of news. but here came betty with her plate piled full. "is the last egg scrambled, betty?" asked dotty. "come on, we've saved room enough for you on this log. we spread out, kind of, to keep it. it isn't as soft as the ground, but easier to sit on with a plate. i considered getting down with my plate and a cup full of chocolate and gave it up." "i will, too," assented betty, carefully balancing her plate as she cautiously sat down on the big log and the others adjusted themselves after their move. "i'm lucky to have such a good place. you must have reserved your seat early." "we did. look at lucia with the juniors, kiddie." "i noticed. i looked for her because she spoke of wanting to be with us." betty said "us" instead of "me." "it is good for lucia to get acquainted," she added, but betty pursed up her lips as she made that remark. "q. e. d. sororities," said peggy apropos of the geometry which the sophomores were just beginning. "yes," said carolyn, "but the less said about them right now the better. by the way, louise madison is being rushed by the kappa--oh, now i've forgotten the rest of it, but it's one of the best in the university." "well, ask what louise thinks of sororities," said betty, "if you ever see her. doesn't she come to see your sister, carolyn?" "yes." "did louise belong to a high school sorority, carolyn?" asked dotty. "no, she didn't but i never dared ask her why." "she _must_ have been asked," said betty, "because she was so prominent in everything." "that isn't a sign. look at that silly rose--i can't think of her name right now. she wasn't in anything, but she was the high mogul in her sorority." "social stuff," said peggy pollard. "that is a good line, betty. don't think that scholarship is the only thing." betty looked at peggy to see if she were serious or joking, but saw that peggy was serious. "maybe you're right, peggy. perhaps doing the things you are expected to do in school isn't all there is. still, i have a prejudice in favor of getting your lessons, or rather for girls that do it or do something else at any rate." "social stuff keeps them very busy, betty," said peggy, laughing now. "and if you want to get married--well, just watch that kind of a girl." "peggy's getting too sophisticated," said carolyn. "that is what my sister would call it. but i'd like to combine the 'social line' with good sense and 'doing something' as betty means it. about louise, remember that with possibly one or two exceptions, sororities are new in lyon high. of course, i don't really know how many may have flourished without anybody's knowing a thing about it. there always are little cliques, i guess. but let's talk about hallowe'en. how about a sophomore party that night, or a smaller one anyway?" "that would be great, carolyn," said dotty, "though i'm afraid we haven't time to get up a class party. betty, can i get you another bun?" "no thanks. i've eaten two." "that is nothing. the rest of us had three. i insist. hand me your plate, please. no one shall say that the chairman of the sophomore refreshment committee didn't have enough to eat. there are loads left and i see that chet dorrance is cooking some more bacon, just in time for betty's last sandwich!" without protest betty handed her plate to dotty. she was tired and "ought to have strength for the hike back," as peggy suggested. and when dotty came back, didn't the three boys come with her, to stand in front of the five upon the log and suggest a sophomore class yell. "it's too much mixed up, chet," said carolyn, "and we'll let the others tell how good the sophomore committee was. aren't you a reporter for the lyon paper, chet? write up betty as chairman." "i will. betty, may i hike home with the chairman and her friends?" "of course, unless chauncey wants you in the car." "what chauncey wants is not the question, ladies, and there are almost no supplies to go back. i speak for a hot dog to eat on the way." "make as many 'hot dogs' as you want, chet," laughed betty, taking a good bite from her own sandwich just brought. "you boys ought to have all you want for helping us out. please see that miss fox is looked after." "miss fox has had every attention, and we hope that this is not the last time we go on a oust--i mean a picnic--with the g. a. a. girls." "hear, hear," said dotty, widely grinning. chapter x: a startling situation in a number of g. a. a. girls as large as this it was natural that betty lee should have contact with a good many outside of her own class. lucia looked her up and her new satellite, mathilde, was not far from lucia; but one junior and one senior girl remained in lucia's neighborhood at the start of the hike home. mathilde's fall and incidents of the hike out had been related to betty while she ate her luncheon and were enlivened by dotty's comments. betty, however, was not disturbed by any of the little undercurrents. she wasn't jealous of anybody, didn't hate anybody, the sophomore part of the hike had been a success and the whole thing was great fun. mathilde still carried lucia's alpenstock on the way back and used it with great effect. she seemed in a happy mood and the only remark which might have been considered to carry a sting was one made when betty waxed enthusiastic over hearing a meadow lark. "oh, listen!" cried betty. "the birds aren't all gone yet by any means, and if there isn't a dear old meadow lark singing in the sunshine!" lucia looked interested and followed betty's glance, trying to find the bird. but mathilde laughed. "oh, yes. betty lee's from the country and knows the birds!" betty said nothing, but a junior girl remarked, "well, then, let me stick to betty on this hike. we study those things in the girl reserve camp. are you a 'girl reserve,' betty?" "oh, yes. i joined last year, but i don't belong to the same group in high school that you do, of course." "no. we've been watching the fall migration and gathering some of the fall wild flowers for botany class, too." "i'd like to do that," said lucia. mathilde tossed her head and looked disgusted, saying something about there being such a "fad for nature study." "it's more than a fad," said lucia. "it's good for you to get outdoors more, and then it helps your country to look after the birds and wild flowers. i don't know much about your american birds and flowers and trees, but i could learn, perhaps." "oh, that would be lovely, lucia!" cried betty. "i don't know much, but i can tell you a little when we take the hikes. you'd soon get ahead of my small knowledge, though." "girls," said the junior, "i'm going to have a party hallowe'en night and i'd love to have you come. i'm getting it up rather suddenly, but there are a few sophomore girls that i want. will you be one of them?" "thank you," said lucia. "i will ask mother." "i'd be delighted," said mathilde. "it's so good of you," smiled betty. "i think i can come. some of the girls were talking about a sophomore party, but i don't see how we could get up such a big affair on short notice." "i wouldn't try a class affair," pleasantly advised the junior. "i'll call you up, perhaps; but if i don't you will understand, i hope. i'm sending out some funny invitations and suppose you just give me your addresses now, though i _could_ look it up in the directory, of course." addresses were scribbled on scraps of paper, which was all any of them could muster, it seemed. the invited guests were naturally wondering what they would be expected to wear, though hallowe'en customs gave them a pretty good idea. "what sort of a party is it?" asked mathilde, "a costume party?" "yes. wear anything you happen to have, and a mask, of course. we'll do the usual things, indoors and out if it isn't too freezing cold by that time. we've an attic and a basement and i'm going to use both for stunts." "how jolly!" betty's face brightened with her happiest enthusiasm, and the junior, marcella waite, was glad that she had invited her, privately thinking betty a "dear." betty was wondering if marcella was one of those who wanted lucia in a sorority, according to the ideas of dotty and the rest. oh, wasn't life nice with so many mysteries and good friends and everything and plenty of things to do! she would probably meet a number of the older girls at this party. it would have been more than human not to be pleased at notice from the juniors. but of course it was probably on account of lucia. she needn't plume _herself_ upon it. they had played a few games before starting back, but to walk back five miles and arrive in time for lunch, even a late one, precluded a long stay at the picnic grounds. besides this was a _hike_. it was about ten-thirty when betty received her invitation. the girls strolled along, not caring much whether they made any "record time" or not. this would be their last hike, they supposed, while the country was still so pretty. chet, who had asked the privilege of "seeing betty home" with much fun and nonsense, had gotten separated from her group and was seen in the distance with carolyn and peggy. kathryn was nowhere in sight. and now they had reached that wild stretch through which the early hikers had come and where carolyn, peggy, lucia and mathilde had rested, on one of the hills. that one they avoided but crossed the little stream on stones recently provided by the hikers. lightly they jumped from one to the other, balancing uncertainly on the log which was left by former waters, turned from its proper position, as marcella said. "there must have been a big current here," said marcella, "to move that old thing that's been here for years!" "there ought to be some flowers along the little stream, ought there not?" asked lucia, whose english was often a bit formal. "i think those frosts were pretty bad on the wild flowers, lucia," replied marcella. but lucia was strolling up stream along a low bank lined with bushes, and the other girls followed her. betty heard another meadow lark and turned to follow with her eyes the course of a hawk that flew from a dead tree back from the stream. "that's a marsh hawk," she said, turning to lucia, only to find lucia rising with an exclamation from where she had been stooping close to betty. she held up her hand, looking at it. "i've been bitten!" she exclaimed. "what sort of snakes do you have here, betty?" "oh--a lot of them, most of them harmless!" said betty, startled, but not wanting to frighten lucia, who was white, yet with her lips pressed together in perfect self-control. she whipped out her handkerchief hastily. "we must make a tourniquet at once. let me wipe this off--and i'll suck out the poison, lucia. i did once when doris was bitten." betty's memory went back to one awful experience alone in the woods with doris. "you will not," firmly replied lucia. "it is dangerous for you might have some broken spot in your mouth. reach in my pocket, betty. i carry stuff for this sort of thing. mother told me to bring it." as she talked, lucia, though white and trembling, was squeezing the wound, now bleeding a little, while betty shakily was tying the handkerchief about lucia's wrist, just above the scars and stooped for a stick to draw it tightly. marcella, meantime, was at hand without a word and reached in lucia's pocket instead of betty. "look out!" cried lucia as when betty stooped there was a rustle in the grass and something long and slim darted across the little path between the thickly lined stream and other bushes at this point. it all happened almost too quickly to describe. betty recoiled, marcella snatching the little stick from her hand and not losing a minute in tightening the bandage or tourniquet. "lucia--i saw it! i think it's only a garter snake!" betty gave one quick glance at lucia, seeing that lucia herself was pouring something from a tiny vial into the wound. the snake was lying under the fallen leaves, betty thought, where a maple tree had been shedding its brown and golden foliage. there was a stone of good size at the very foot of the tree and this betty seized, standing a moment to locate the snake if she could. she thought that she detected a slight movement under a pile of leaves and launched the stone, stepping back immediately after to pick up a branch, thick and broken, that also lay fairly near. but the stick was not needed then. the stone, to betty's own surprise, had hit the mark. there was a great whipping of leaves for a few moments. in spite of weeds and other growth betty could see the pattern on the little snake, not so long after all--oh, thanks be--it was a garter snake! betty had dreaded its being either a rattler or a copperhead. there were what the boys called vipers, too, she had heard. how sensible of lucia to have come prepared! "you've got it, betty," said marcella with excitement. "it's only a garter snake, lucia--i'm sure. how do you feel?" "all right," said lucia, though her pale face did not bear testimony to her words. "i ought to have used my knife to open up the place a little. you do it, marcella! no, you'd hate to hurt me, wouldn't you?" bracing up with her words, lucia drew a little pearl-handled knife from her other pocket and carefully enlarged the punctures made by the snake. she paid not a bit of attention to betty or the struggles of the snake caught by the stone. betty, who had seen dick kill snakes but had always felt rather sorry for the snake and had never killed one herself, was bracing herself to finish what she had begun. but when she cleared away the leaves with her stick and could see the results of her throw, she saw that the stone had crushed the snake's head and that the demise would not take long. nothing more was necessary and she turned from the painful sight to lucia, who had succeeded in what she had attempted. my, but lucia was brave! "i can't be sure, girls, that that was the snake that bit me," said lucia, "so i'll just do everything, just as if it were something very poisonous. there isn't any of the venom that's very good to get into your system, i imagine. can we sit down somewhere?" the girls helped lucia to a spot safe and clear where the hill began to rise. none of the others were in sight, though it had been only a few minutes since they had separated from several of them. mathilde, to be sure, was there, but useless. "you feel all wobbly, i know, lucia," said betty, her arm around lucia, who sat without a word, though her brows were drawn together in a frown. "yes, yes. it is painful. betty, you could loosen the tourniquet now, i'm sure, and suppose you tie it again a little higher up." "oh, i wish we had some way of getting you home," said marcella. "i'll watch and hail somebody. lean over on betty, lucia." marcella was afraid that lucia was going to faint. but that did not happen. "i do feel a bit sick, marcella, but i never fainted in my life and i'll not begin now. i can walk home. it isn't so much, but not being sure what sort of a bite it is, i've had to hurt myself more, you see. i'd rather look for flowers and birds, betty, than for snakes. i thought i saw a flower under the leaves and stooped for it--and found a snake instead!" "oh, it's just too bad--your first hike and everything!" betty was loosening the tourniquet and making ready to put it on again. marcella had run around the hill. presently two girls made their appearance and marcella came back. "we'll make our way over to the road, lucia. i've got a guard stationed to stop any automobile that looks as if it were being driven by anybody safe--nobody that would kidnap us for ransom, i mean. come on, if you think you can walk as far as the road." "i could walk all the way home, marcella," said lucia, smiling for the first time. "there is nothing the matter with me but a scare. wait till i take a look at that snake!" by this time betty dared push the stone off the snake's head, and they all regarded it. they all agreed that it was a "big garter snake," though lucia remarked that she could tell better about its belonging to the dangerous group if she could have seen the shape of the head. "but it's shapeless now, poor thing," said betty. "you did a bad thing for yourself, snakey, when you bit lucia!" "it was only protecting itself," said lucia. "what was that medicine, lucia?" "i don't know how mother fixed it, but i heard her ask uncle if he kept any permanganate of potash crystals, and when he said no, she sent to the drug store. she wrapped this bottle in cotton and told me not to lose it. i had full instructions what to do if i got bitten by a--rattler, i believe. mother makes a lot of fuss over me!" lucia closed her remark rather apologetically, but the other girls were far from any critical thought. the countess coletti had "fussed" to some purpose this time. if it had been a diamond-backed rattlesnake! and perhaps it wasn't the garter snake that had bitten lucia. mathilde now kept bringing that up with little sympathetic remarks like, "it is such a shame, lucia! i do hope that it will prove to be nothing serious. i don't think that it _could_ have been a rattlesnake, do you, betty?" mathilde had screamed and run to a safe distance before she knew what it was all about. cautiously she had approached to see what had happened and ran again as betty started after the snake. again she had tried to come up and be sympathetic, but could not stand it to see the wound. "i faint so easily, girls," she had said, weakly, when the knife came out. "i'll have to go away." "well if there's any fainting to be done," marcella had said, "don't do it here!" but the girls scarcely thought of mathilde at all until it was all over and she sat down by lucia on the hillside. alas for mathilde, and she had wanted to join the sorority to which marcella belonged! yet mathilde had not been trained to courage or helpfulness and was not altogether to blame for her inefficiency on this occasion. it had been a difficult situation, when speed was a necessary element and knowing what to do another. "i looked out for the stick," said mathilde, handing the alpenstock to lucia, who took it with a smile. "i'm glad you did," she replied courteously. "no, betty, with this i'll need no help. i'm getting along famously now and don't feel sick any more. come on." they made their way to the little dirt road and walked slowly toward the city, relieving the guard, as marcella put it. the other girls hurried on, promising to send back any conveyance that they might come across, provided it were possible to engage it. "don't take the trouble," urged lucia. but when they had walked about a mile further, lucia was not sorry when the allen car with chauncey and kathryn came speeding toward them. without a word lucia climbed in, smiling her welcome. marcella, mathilde and betty followed, betty asking kathryn how it happened. "one of the girls went to a house and telephoned," replied kathryn. "chauncey had just gotten home after taking the things miss fox wanted brought back to wherever she wanted 'em. he picked me up on the way--some of us were just getting into town, and so we're here. now tell me, are you all right, lucia?" "yes; just tired from being scared. i wonder why the girl didn't telephone for our car." "afraid of scaring your mother, she said," kathryn replied. "we'll take you right up home." "i want betty, too, please," said lucia. "will you come?" "of course i'll come," said betty, though wondering how she would get a chance to telephone her mother. it was betty's first near look at the beautiful murchison place when chauncey drove in and stopped at its impressive front, but betty had other thoughts and dreaded the coming interview with the countess. perhaps she would not be at home, however, and that would be worse. a butler admitted the two girls, though lucia did not ring and hurried through the hall and up the stairs. "i need you as a shock absorber," said lucia in a low tone, a half smile twisting her lips, and betty made a low response. but betty thought that she would not enjoy being a shock absorber and felt none too comfortable. still, she thought to herself, the important thing was to make sure that lucia was "all right." it was an uncomfortable few minutes for sober betty when lucia entered a large and beautifully furnished sitting-room upstairs and found the countess there. briefly lucia told countess coletti what had happened and said that she had followed directions. "the girls were lovely, mother, and i brought betty along to tell you better how the snake looked." the countess rose in some excitement and went directly to a low table on which the telephone apparatus stood. she tapped her foot impatiently while she waited for the operator to put her in touch with a doctor, whose presence was requested and the reason told him. then there followed a busy few minutes of directions to lucia and maids or persons of some sort, and when lucia was ordered to her room, betty rose from her chair to go. "mother, can't betty stay to lunch with me?" asked lucia, protesting. "i asked her to." "oh, but," began betty, but the countess turned to betty, whom she had scarcely noticed, with a charming smile. "another time, lucia. thank you, betty lee, for everything. now i must see to lucia," and betty understood that she was dismissed. that smile would make everything seem all right, thought betty, as she was courteously bowed out by a solemn butler. "i imagine that countess coletti tries that on the count times when she is having her own way! but she can certainly do things!" so ran betty's thoughts, for betty was learning to be an observing little person, though ashamed of herself when her observations were the least unfriendly. no car but the street-car waited for betty, but she took one after quite a walk and went home to tell her mother and the rest all about the "latest excitement" and to enjoy a delayed lunch. chapter xi: hallowe'en surprises it was hallowe'en, so much more thrilling in the city than in the small place which betty lee formerly called home. in the different suburbs, like villages themselves, children were already appearing on the street in costumes and masks, although it was scarcely dark. many of them carried baskets, for in gypsy fashion, perhaps, they were accustomed to receive contributions from the persons whose bells they rang. mrs. lee did not like the custom and would not allow dick or doris to "beg," as she called it. "have all the fun you want in costume," she said, "but don't ask for charity!" mr. lee made no mention of the fact that he intended to trail the children a little to see that they were not carried away by the freedom of the night, but he told his wife that policeman leary would be "on the job" and that he was an easy-going soul when children were concerned. mrs. lee was not so sure that easy-going would do on hallowe'en, but her husband explained. "he will not stand for any destruction of property, particularly in this neighborhood, but he's not likely to arrest children or be hard on them." from the standpoint of dick, doris and betty, everything was lovely. even little amy lou was permitted to dress up and as she made an adorable little gypsy, with a fetching mask balanced on her small nose, doris was rather proud to lead her forth. "we'll bring you right back if you get fussy, though," warned dick, "and i have to go with the boys pretty soon." "oh, dickie, i won't fuss, honest! and dorry will take care of me, won't you dorry?" "yes, for a while, anyhow, as long as you ought to stay out. i wish you were going to be at home, betty!" "i don't," frankly replied betty, who was in front of the mirror seeing how she looked in the small black mask, from whose openings her eyes twinkled. "but you will have lots of fun, and if you give amy lou a grand little outing, she'll be angelic when she comes in; for mother's going to have a little hallowe'en party for her, all by herself, with a great surprise!" as betty spoke, she looked down at the tiny gypsy, very solemn and important now. amy lou smiled up, however, with a smile much like that with which her older sister was regarding her. "give me a name, betty! give me a name!" she demanded, "a gypsy name!" "oh, you're the queen of the gypsies, the princess maria sophia cleopatra amy lou." "all right," shouted amy lou, running out of the bedroom to follow doris, who was ready to start. betty's costume was not one as hastily fabricated as those of the other children for her mother, realizing that she was to mingle with other boys and girls who would be well costumed, had gone to considerable trouble to make her "little girl" pretty. betty was titania of the fairies and was airily dressed in white with "spangles" appropriately attached, roman pearls around her young neck, several tinkling bracelets on her arms and a few tiny silver bells so disposed that they sounded a little as she walked. and now her mother brought a warm wrap for her shoulders and the long, shrouding domino that she was to wear over all. what fun! there followed the ride to the party in mr. lee's car and a merry good-bye to him as she joined the company of shrouded figures or funnily costumed ones that were descending from automobiles, or entering the gates, or being ushered in at the door of the house. my, it was going to be a large party, but marcella had told her at school that she had decided not to have it confined to juniors at all. "i owe such a lot of the girls, and so i'm going to have--everybody!" it was not quite that, to be sure, but the upstairs rooms were full where wraps were being laid aside. how funny not to know a soul to speak to! but carolyn had told her what her costume would be and she had confided what hers would be. perhaps carolyn knew about some of the others. "oh, aren't you sweet!" squealed somebody in a high, assumed voice. "look, girls, here's the queen of the fairies. now, who is she? gilt hair, cute chin and a dimple or two!" betty laughed at the description. so she had gilt hair, had she? that hair had been arranged as she never wore it before. she did hope that she wouldn't be found out right away; yet this girl was a tall one and nobody she knew, she imagined. but she picked up her fairy wand, laid aside while she removed her wraps, and waved it regally toward the speaker. she, too, tried to disguise her voice as she said, "the fairy queen bestows honors and gifts for tonight!" at that a slim little person in a gay gypsy costume ran up, holding out her palm. "cross my palm with a nickel, titania, and i'll tell you a fortune, for even the fairies don't know everything!" the gypsy's voice was pitched low and rang a little hollow; but surely betty knew that hand and arm, all covered with rings, beads and glittering gold or brass! "oh, it's you, gypsy, isn't it?" she whispered in the gypsy's ear. "i might know that you would be a real gypsy tonight! you look darling!" "then i didn't fool you a little bit! i hope i have better luck with other people. was it my voice?" "no, your hand, gypsy. and did you know me right off?" "no, honey, not till you said 'gypsy' just now. nobody else calls me that much--yet." "yet is a good word, kathryn. after tonight you may be called that more. let's go around together, then, the gypsy queen and the fairy queen, that is, i'm _supposed_ to be it." together kathryn allen and betty lee descended the stairs where their feet sank into a soft carpet. below, on either side of the hall, large rooms stretched out, opening in to the hall with its pillars and draperies. "what a lovely home," said betty. "yes, isn't it. i've never been here before. and aren't the hallowe'en decorations cute?" arm in arm the girls entered at the right, where a sort of receiving line seemed to be. and there was marcella, without her mask, yet covered with a domino which concealed her costume. "hello, girls," she greeted them. "i'm sorry not to be able to speak your names, but i think you need no introduction for i can guess what you are without any trouble. titania, greetings. by what name shall i call your friend?" "allow me to present the gypsy queen, miss waite," said betty with mock formality. "happy to meet you. titania, let me introduce the sultan of turkey and the pirate of penzance." two tall lads stood just beyond marcella. betty shook hands with a richly dressed "sultan" and a wildly equipped pirate, who looked very handsome and bent over betty's hand like some cavalier of old. betty wondered if these boys were guests or just on a sort of receiving committee. if the pirate were one of the boys in school, he must be a senior or one of the older junior boys she was sure. two boys, who had been chatting with some others, turned back to be introduced to betty and kathryn by the pirate and betty understood that they, too, properly belonged in the receiving line. all were masked except marcella, who wanted to meet her guests in her proper person. "the thing to do next," said one of the girls, "is to go through the main rooms, see the decorations, visit the tent and have your fortune told, go and bob for apples or do some of the other stunts, whatever you can get in before the masked dancing begins. we're going to have the old-fashioned square dances just as soon as everybody is here. but of course, you're to talk to the other girls and boys and try to find out who they are--oh, you'll see what to do. marcella has somebody to tell you." kathryn and betty, however, did not feel like fortunes yet. they looked all around for carolyn, who evidently had not arrived, and had an amusing conversation with a rollicking clown, who turned out to be, so they thought, chet dorrance; but he would not acknowledge it when kathryn said that she "guessed it was chet." betty hoped that ted was there among some of the tall figures. he probably knew marcella. "it's a good thing we've been having the funny old dances in 'gym,' isn't it?" asked kathryn. "do you suppose the boys know 'em?" "they can learn. i imagine we'll all be told what to do. besides, nobody has to dance that doesn't want to." carolyn came and found the girls, though she was claimed almost immediately by another clown, very spotty as to his ruffled and bulging suit and wearing at first a mask which covered his entire face, but that proved too hot. he had an ordinary mask in his pocket, he told carolyn, who encouraged him to put it on. "get into a corner and whisk off that hot mask," she advised. "i'll turn my back to you and hand you the little one." "you won't give me away if you happen to see?" "of course not. i will _keep your secret_ till we unmask!" she added, in lofty tones, then giggled. meantime, betty decided that she would have her fortune told. kathryn said that she would do it, too, and see what the other gypsy looked like. the tent was a flimsy affair, as one put up in a drawing room would necessarily be. the fortune-teller was one of the older girls, who did it very cleverly. her costume was not like kathryn's, but very gay with sashes and ribbons, beads and jewelry of all sorts. her long earrings glittered and the wide gold bracelets that she wore jingled as they were struck by other loose narrow ones. "i see that you will have to make a great choice," she said to betty, as betty stretched forth her capable little hand and the gypsy pored over it, or looked at as much of betty's face as she could see. "you have gifts. you might have a career. you are musical and there are some practical lines in your hand, too. your life line is good--yes, i see a long life for you. you are rather creative." "what is the great choice?" asked betty. "oh, yes. it's the usual choice between marriage and a career." "couldn't i have both?" "it doesn't work," laughed the gypsy, forgetting her pose. "i mean to say that you may have several serious love affairs and you may choose to marry. when you take your mirror tonight and your candle and look in the mirror, repeat this charm; for it will drive away the goblins and witches and other evil spirits and you may really see the one you are to love best!" the gypsy handed betty a piece of paper, cut from a gay hallowe'en strip of some sort. it was folded and the gypsy warned her not to open it until just before she "performed the fatal rite." "it will lose its power if you do," said she. "no, friend gypsy, let me see what the fates have for you. oh, yes. that's a nice hand, good lines, some mentality, not too much, some gifts; you will marry and there will be several, one, two, three children, a long life--but beware a dark woman who will try to come between you and the man you love!" "she isn't so good," laughed kathryn after she and betty left the tent, "but she was jolly all right. if it is a dark woman, it can't be you, betty, so we'll remain friends, i see." "i suppose there's some arrangements for the mirror stunt," said betty. "oh, there's the music--let's see where it is. why, gypsy, marcella has a real orchestra--or a number of the pieces anyhow. listen! they're tuning up!" the fun of the old-fashioned dances began. the pirate of penzance made straight for betty, who wondered more than ever who he could be. he was evidently speaking in his natural voice, but she had never heard it before, at least it was not at all familiar. marcella must know him very well, betty thought, for she noticed a private confab between the two. her pirate was very graceful, she thought, and his costume, with its dark red and dark blue, and gay sash with its array of knives, was a good one. the knives he laid aside for the dances, but assumed them again when it was announced that the company would now proceed to the basement where witches and goblins were holding their annual frolic. "be very careful," announced the pirate of penzance, "and the witches will be friendly." down the stairs to the large basement with its concrete floor, tripped the company. except for the part devoted to the furnaces, the place was decorated and the only light came from large pumpkins, amusingly cut and containing the customary candles. a hollow-voiced witch in a long black robe stood at the door and odd little goblins and black cats and other appropriate hallowe'en figures hung from the low ceiling of the cellars. betty had not seen the place to bob for apples, mentioned by the girl of the receiving line, but here she found it, and groups of boys and girls separated to perform the various hallowe'en stunts provided. the pirate of penzance had held betty's arm coming down stairs, but now, with the girl she thought was marcella--indeed it _must_ be--he was guiding this one or that one and helping to start the fun. _could_ it be ted dorrance? he was tall enough, but no; he was good-looking but his chin was different and his mouth firmer some way; and if it were ted, he had stained his skin darker, that was all. but betty had little time to think. she was doing things with the rest, with boys and girls whose identity she did not know. neither kathryn nor carolyn were in sight, though the light was dim enough in this spooky place, and they might be around. and now her turn came to go into the "hole in the wall," a jog of some sort in the solid masonry, before which a black curtain fell. by the light from a widely grinning pumpkin betty read the charm which was supposed to keep her from baleful influences: "o witches and goblins, by this little light, please send me the face of my true love tonight!" "say it out loud," prompted a voice behind betty. the black witch stood there. "all right. do i light my candle first?" "yes." the witch, who wanted to laugh herself and chuckled a little now over something betty wondered about, held out a match. betty scratched the match on the rough stone of the basement's big partition. it went out and so did a second one. there was a little draught somewhere, that made the curtain shake a little. "don't let the third one go out," warned the witch, now solemn and speaking with a deep voice. "when the third one fails, the bad luck hails!" "how awful!" cried betty, giggling as she struck the third match. but she held her hand so that the little flame was sheltered from the draught and the candle was lit successfully. "better watch the flame while you go behind the curtain," suggested the witch in almost human tones, "and don't set anything on fire. here's the mirror." darkness met betty as she passed beyond the curtain. she felt like examining the place, especially when she heard a door softly close. it seemed right by her--oh, her candle went out! oh, but it was spooky. well, she'd brace up, say her little charm and pretend when she went out that it had been all right. "o witches and goblins, by this little light, please send me the face of my true love tonight!" betty's voice was a little unsteady. it wasn't any fun to be in this unknown spot all in the dark. that thick curtain behind her didn't let in a bit of light. she'd wait just the appropriate moment when she would be supposed to look in the mirror and then _wouldn't_ she skip out! but in that little moment a match struck close by her and while she could not help a low exclamation, her candle was lit for her and a voice whispered, "good work. you didn't squeal or anything. i was here just for fun, but i didn't blow your candle out. i shut the door that had sprung open. see?" "oh!" gasped betty, looking at the brown hands that lit the candle. "now you shall see somebody, if it isn't your own true love," whispered the voice. "look in your mirror, titania!" betty looked. she saw the dark costume of the pirate of penzance, whose amused face, _without the mask_, smiled at her from the mirror. "oh!" she gasped again. "now let me see _you_ without the mask," whispered the lips in the mirror. betty handed her candle to the pirate and obediently took off her mask, smiling up with confidence into the "nice face" that the supposed pirate carried. "thanks," said he, "good-bye." the pirate blew out the candle this time and betty heard the door near at hand softly close. he had gone, and betty lost no time in appearing beyond the curtain. the witch looked suspiciously at her and betty was glad that the light was dim in the basement. she kept away from the rays of the pumpkin. "didn't your light go out?" asked the witch. "i was talking to the next masker but i saw no light for a moment through the crack by the curtain." "yes, but--there was a match there--so i--well, i looked in the mirror all right and, of course, i saw my true love!" "fine," said the girl to test her luck next. "hurry up and give me a match, please. that whole bunch that's bobbing for apples is coming here next." betty was glad that there was opportunity for no more questioning, such as "where did the match come from?" why, what a funny time! the pirate of penzance was nobody she had ever seen before. he must be some friend of marcella's who knew all about the place, basement and all. and wasn't it nice of him to do that? he was quite clear that he wasn't her "true love," though he looked older, older than ted even, and perhaps he was engaged to somebody. of course! he was some university student, engaged to some senior who was here. no, if she had been here, he wouldn't have paid so much attention to betty and danced with her so much. well, then, he was just helping marcella with her party and having a lot of fun on the side. by this time betty was used to mingling with the unknown, guessing at who they were and joking with any one at all as it happened. she thought she knew a few of the juniors, whom she had known as sophomores last year. then there was some of her own class she was pretty sure, boys that would be invited to equalize the numbers of boys and girls, and she knew what girls of her class had been invited. size, however, was no help, for even if juniors were supposed to be older and to be still "growing," some of the juniors were shorter than some of the sophomores. carolyn gwynne was going up from the basement as betty reached the stairs. "oh, betty, i mean titania," she cried, lowering her voice. "i guess nobody heard that. excuse me. did you go in to look in the mirror and did they have the big mirror up then?" "no. i mean i went in to see my true love in a glass, but i was given a little hand mirror." "well, when i went in they had a square mirror propped on a sort of ledge in front of me. but the next girl had just gotten inside when she dropped her candle and squealed terribly and i suppose she reached out to grab something and down came the mirror and smashed like everything! "she came out all scared to pieces and the witch started to tell her it was bad luck all in fun, but the girl cried and marcella came running to tell her that the mirror didn't matter and there wasn't any such thing as good and bad luck really." "which girl was it?" "she took off her mask, but i didn't know her. it was some junior girl, i think. marcella took her upstairs. why, she is in a colonial costume, martha washington or dolly madison or something like that." "i don't believe martha and dolly would dress alike, carolyn," laughed betty. "let's go and sit down somewhere. i think the orchestra's going to play again. so many of the crowd have come up from 'witchdom' now. it was sort of spooky downstairs, but such fun." "wasn't it. did you see anything in your mirror, betty?" "oh, of course," laughed betty, who wasn't going to tell. not even carolyn, or kathryn were to know about that little interchange between titania, queen of the fairies, and a pirate of penzance! betty was conscious of some inward excitement later, when the little orchestra played familiar and lively tunes and the invitation to supper was given. what exclamations and little squeals and giggles and happy laughter there were when the unmasking took place at the tables. "i knew all the time it was you!" "oh, you fooled me perfectly! i hadn't an idea!" "i thought it was you, and then you had changed your voice so that i was not sure." "you gave yourself away when you used that funny expression about jean. i'd heard you say that before." "yes, and when you wrinkled up your forehead i knew _you_!" such were some of the merry expressions. betty was quite impressed; but she looked all around, as best she could without seeming to look, to see if she could see the pirate of penzance. but he was nowhere to be seen and much else engrossed her attention, her pretty place card, the little hallowe'en souvenir at each plate, the good supper, light but savory, and the general jollity. betty had scarcely given a thought to lucia, except to wonder if a pretty italian peasant could be lucia. but she found herself at the same table with lucia, who was in a beautiful costume as the queen of sheba. real jewels flashed on her neck and arms and betty wondered how she dared wear them. "are you all over your being bitten by the snake, lucia?" someone asked. "oh, yes. i want to forget it. it didn't make me sick at all, though mother kept me at home from school for several days. she wasn't sure what sort of a snake it was, you see, so she had everything attended to. i'm going on hikes and everything just the same, though i'll not try to pick a flower without looking. that serpent ought to have been in winter quarters and wasn't." "are you going in for athletics?" "some of it. i'm going to swim, like betty lee, and then i ride, though i may not enter their course here. i play hockey on the ice, but i don't know about it here. you have regular class teams, don't you, and have to be elected in some way before you can be on one?" "yes, in a way you're chosen." "well, i'm not an applicant for anything." lucia smiled but tossed her head up a little proudly, and a look was exchanged between two of the sophomores. if lucia played hockey in switzerland, she might not be a bad person to have on the team. perhaps she could be persuaded to "try out" for it. they would get her to play on a "scrub team" some time for fun. but what was that junior saying? "what is a mere hockey team to the queen of sheba?" chapter xii: beating the juniors with lucia life went on in such a rush! it always did, but that was half the fun now, betty thought. at home little was demanded of her except the regular little duties, given to each of the children and expected more by their father than their mother, though for her benefit. athletics started off with a boom, pep meetings, the new football team on the platform, the organization of the girls' teams, all sorts of try-outs and some scheming. alas, the seniors who had been on last year's champion football team left such a hole that it was hard to fill with material good enough to make a winning team. and oh, how sad it was when a series of defeats made the championship out of the question for lyon high. at least they must beat the eagles, and the coach tried to prepare them for that almost final game. but no! betty, who sat beside louise madison, loyal enough to see the great game of the year by her beloved high school, and they shook their heads sadly at each other as the time passed first with no score at all on either side for the first half, then with the lions unable to "hold them" and the eagles scoring both by forward passes and "straight football." it was awful, louise said, but "maybe the lions have it coming to them," said louise. "and it isn't good for a high school to get too cocky. we've got about all the cups there are--so let the eagle scream this time!" it was so romantic! here was ted again, coming around to talk to louise, and louise, more flirtatious and self-conscious than she had been before university days, being just as charming as she could. but ted paid just as much attention to betty and was as gallant as ever to both of the girls. lucia, also, came in for her share of attention, as she sat next to betty in the big stadium and heard all the comments with the greatest interest or amusement as the case may be. "oh, your football is so exciting," she said. "it makes me think of the bull fights in spain!" "yes, and you used to have thumbs down in your roman theatres, too," mischievously added ted. "we have a big picture of the coliseum at home," said peggy, behind lucia, and lucia turned to give peggy a glance of amusement. "we had lions, then," she added. "lions, rah!" said ted dorrance, but the tiresome last plays were on now. time was nearly up and there was no hope for the lions, even if they should score. lyon high rooters began to rise, wearily, and gather up rugs, cushions or newspapers to take their departure. this game took place just a week before the final hockey matches between the classes. lucia and mathilde had "made" the hockey team. betty had been hurt a little in the try-out, and peggy insisted that mathilde did it on purpose, but betty refused to believe it and played happily on what they themselves called the "scrub team," the team which played with its own team to prepare them for the contest, also to have able material on hand in case it was necessary or best to put in substitutes. betty was always keen about whatever game she played, but she really cared for excellence in its proper sense only in swimming. "don't worry, kathryn," she said to gypsy. "whether mathilde intended that or not doesn't matter, i'll watch after this and somebody has to be on the second team, so why shouldn't it be i? moreover, i had everything to learn about hockey, after all, and i think mathilde has played." "she said she has, but i don't believe it. there's favoritism. mathilde for some reason stands in with one of the athletic teachers and i saw her talking with the others that day. i'm not going to tell you who she is, though. do you mind?" "i'd rather not know, though of course i'm curious. tell me after the match!" but all things considered, betty began to want to do well. "let's beat the first team, girls," she said to her girls just before the last practice game, and beat the first team they did, though scolded for it. "now don't let the fact that the second team beat you discourage you at all, girls," said the athletic teacher who had watched the game. "it was a close game and let it make you all the more careful against the other teams in your class contest. i'm not favoring one team more than another; but i want to encourage every one to do its very best." "the freshman team hasn't had enough practice," said carolyn in the gym before the games. the girls were putting on their customary equipment and donning sweaters, for it was cold though clear outside, with the ground hard, yet free from snow. unless it rained, the climate in which lyon high rejoiced was good for outdoor sports almost until christmas. "so i think that the freshmen will be out of it and the juniors and sophomores play against each other at the last. the seniors are too sure and they have some weak material. i've been watching their practice games." carolyn was not playing, but "terribly interested," she said. many sophomore rooters were on hand when the games were played, and sure enough, it was the juniors against the sophomores at the last. mathilde was hit by one of the hockey sticks early in the games and betty took her place, much to mathilde's discomfiture. her "hated rival" played along with the daughter of a countess, whose friendship mathilde so much wanted to have for herself, and only for herself. "good, betty," said lucia, when betty was put in. "i'm sorry for mathilde, but she makes so many wild plays and isn't quick enough. now let's beat the juniors all to pieces, as you girls say!" fast and furiously went the game. the juniors expected to win, yet they were never taken unaware. it was a fair and excellent game, the athletic directors said, yet the sophomores did win and lucia threw her arms around betty after it was over. "i'm going to tell my uncle how you played, betty!" she exclaimed. "i wanted mother to come and see me do something, but she wouldn't. she only hoped i wouldn't get hurt and it wouldn't turn out like the hike! how's that for a mother that came over here on purpose to make an american out of me?" "did she, honestly, lucia," asked betty, hugging lucia in return. "of course she did and i like it now, only i shall always want my father, too." "well, you write him that you were 'the noblest roman of them all,' according to me, and i _know_!" "i will, betty," and lucia's smile was a happy one. "come on," said she, "let's go and comfort poor mathilde." "that is dear of you, lucia, and i would, only it would look too much like crowing over her because i was put in in her place. besides, she'd be happier anyway for you to think of her--by yourself." lucia's dark eyes surveyed betty thoughtfully. "you always think of everything, betty. how do you do it? i like you, betty lee!" and lucia turned to find mathilde, who was limping away with a small group of sophomores. "you're pretty nice, yourself, lucia," betty sent after her, and lucia waved a deprecatory hand. chapter xiii: light on the sorority question betty had to decide what she would do about "sororities." she had discussed them frankly with a few of the girls, those she knew well, perfectly sincere girls and her good friends. outside of that little circle she had been careful what she said. she had been included with lucia, mathilde, carolyn and peggy in attentions from the juniors of the kappa upsilons. that there was a small addition to that "chapter" in process of being made among the sophomores she knew. if the other girls joined, especially carolyn, would it make a difference in their friendship? yet kathryn, while she had been invited to marcella's party, that glorious hallowe'en party, had received no further attention. perhaps it was a matter of numbers. now marcella had come right out and asked her what she thought of kappa upsilon and whether she had any objection to a high school sorority that "really complied with the rules you know." fortunately the question came at the close of school when betty was rushing home to let her mother go somewhere without amy louise. betty was going to get the dinner that night. "why, marcella, i think anything that you belong to would have to be all right," she answered. "i've got to _rush_, marcella, to catch that car!" and betty scampered as fast as she could, noting from marcella's smile and nod that she understood. more than one important conversation was sometimes interrupted because one of the participants had to hurry to orchestra practice or a dramatic club meeting or a meeting of the _lions' roar_ reporters or editors, or merely to catch a car home, as in the present instance. all the way home, the people in the car were as shadows to betty as she sat squeezed in between a fat lady and one of the senior girls until the car reached her stop. she vaguely recalled answering a few remarks from the senior girl, whom she did not know, but her mind was chiefly concerned about what she should do. she nearly put sugar instead of salt into the potatoes when she mashed them, and when she finally took up the supper and was sitting in her mother's place, fixing amy lou's milk, she answered a question from her father, with such a blank, "what, sir?" that dick looked up from his plate to say rudely, "what's eating you betty?" and doris said "are you mad at anybody?" betty waked up immediately and came back to the present scene. "oh, no, doris! i've just been thinking about something." "betty has great powers of concentration," said mr. lee, with a twinkle in his eyes, "but look out; it's dangerously near absent-mindedness." "so it is, daddy. i've got a funny little problem to solve, that's all. i'm sorry i was so absorbed. but the twins were telling you all about their affairs anyhow----" "when last you heard anything," laughed dick. "we hadn't said a word for at least a full minute and a half!" "it was amy lou, then," suggested betty. "i didn't do anything," said amy lou, getting ready to put up an injured lip. "mercy no, darling. you're all right. it's old betty that isn't much good as a mother substitute. isn't that so?" but amy lou was drinking her milk now and when she put down her tumbler she said, rather gaspingly, "i love mother and i love betty, too. she made the dessert just like grandma." after dinner doris and dick did the dishes, by previous arrangement, and betty went to her lessons, while mr. lee had his customary little visit with his youngest daughter before her bedtime. that was to be a little later than usual this time. but betty could not study very well. it was hard to settle to anything someway and when amy lou's father was putting her to bed, the telephone rang. dick answered it and called betty, who had been alone back in her bedroom. it was carolyn gwynne. "'lo, betty. betty i've got a problem i can't answer." "have you, what is it?" "i had an invitation this afternoon and i sort of suspect you had, too. did you?" "why--i don't know. i'm not sure just what you mean. perhaps i would have had one if i hadn't had to rush for a car and get home. mother was invited out for dinner and i cooked ours." "oh, did you? i wish i knew how! well, i just have to see you some way. could you leave for just a little while if i drove over for you!" "i'll ask. i've lessons well enough up, i suppose. i got most of them at school, and if you're thinking of the same thing i am, i'd surely like to talk it over with you. hold the wire a moment." betty tiptoed back, hoping that amy lou hadn't gotten to the stage when it was best not to rouse her from her sleepiness. but she heard her childish conversation with her father and went near the door. "father, excuse me, but carolyn wants to know if i can drive over with her if she comes for me. we have--something to decide and it's--important." "is she driving, this late?" "oh, no. she wouldn't be allowed. she will be driven." "very well, then, but do not stay late." "no. i have my lessons pretty well, father." betty reported the favorable answer and it was not long before she and carolyn were in secret conference in carolyn's pretty room. carolyn put betty in the gay _chaise lounge_ that was her own, drew up a big chair for herself and established a little "end table" between them. on this reposed a box of taffies and a plate of apples. "my, such preparations!" laughed betty. "don't you like 'em?" twinkled carolyn. "indeed i do! i'm so thankful to be invited over, for i couldn't study or do anything else," and betty gave carolyn a history of her preoccupation while she tried to cook dinner and serve it. "tell me why you were preoccupied, betty," urged carolyn. "oh, _you_ tell what your problem is." "_please_," said carolyn, and betty "weakly yielded," as she announced before she told. "it's just because you're nicer than i am," said carolyn, "but i have a reason." "you may not think what i have to tell you is much, but it was marcella's manner and i saw that she wanted to talk to me," said betty, who went on to give an account of what marcella had said. carolyn listened with interest. "yes, that was it. it was one of the other girls that talked to me, though. but she told me that some of my special friends were being asked, or would be asked to join the kappa upsilons. it _would_ be fun, betty!" "yes, it would; but there's a lot of things to be considered. in the first place it _is_, really, a high school sorority. the girls don't even pretend that it isn't, or practically the same thing. how do they get around it, carolyn?" "by having people outside of high school belong to it and claiming that it is just a society and not a high school affair." "i see. i've been trying out mother and father on high school sororities and all i can get out of them is surprise that i should mention it at all. 'how can they have sororities if they are forbidden?' asks my dear mother!" "yes--my father the same--but mother knows. she just laughs. i didn't tell her i'd been bid today. well, now, listen, betty. we agree that it would be fun. so it would. that's that. it sounds well to be a kappa upsilon and we can go around if we like and be as snooty as any of them. but they've dropped kathryn since the party, for one thing. she did not mention it, though of course she has noticed it, but when i asked her about something that i was in on she didn't know a thing about it and looked at me as _funny_--i don't think it was nice of them, to pay attention and then drop a person like a hot cake." "no. that isn't like marcella waite, though." "marcella is a fine girl, but there are two or three that are different. oh, they're nice enough. a body could have them for friends, but they take up little things. kathryn may have said something that wasn't according to their notion. kathryn is pretty independent, you know." "so am i," said betty. "yes, but with a little difference, and then you are prominent now in athletics. they all expect you to win something in the girls' swimming meet and you are going to make the basketball team." "am i?" laughed betty, "how nice!" carolyn laughed too, but went on. "so you are as good as asked, betty. now the question is, what are we going to do about it? i want to and i don't want to--and oh, i must tell you what louise madison says. she is over here once in a while, you know, and i was talking to her about sororities. "she said, 'why don't you wait till you go to the university and join some sororities that amount to something and are real sororities, national and all that?' "then my sister said that the girls were afraid that they might not get bid to one in the university, that a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush and that some of them thought a girl was more likely to be asked into a sonority in the university if she had belonged to a high school sorority." "does louise belong to a sorority over there?" "yes, and my sister, too, but they were talking about some of their friends that didn't get in and how unhappy they were. that's the worst of it. louise was asked by my sister's sorority." "was louise in a high school sorority?" "no--she said that she wouldn't be. there wasn't any one started that she wanted to join when she was a freshman or sophomore and then she got into so much responsibility in the g. a. a. and cared for athletics so much more, i guess. but louise didn't say a word about herself. i got all about her through letty. letitia didn't go to high school much. she was sick some and it was better for her to go to private school. my dad's the one that insisted on _my_ going to lyon high." "i'm certainly glad that you did," said betty, with emphasis. "i'm glad to hear all this, carolyn, and louise's idea. there's another thing. i can't see that it makes much difference on our 'social position,' outside of just a few girls that we like, like marcella, because there's such a _mob_ of folks in this big high school. the sororities _can't_ have so much influence, outside of their own little group, and we could just as easily have our own friends. there are such _loads_ of nice girls in the girl reserves, for instance, and in the swimming and games who cares what sorority a girl belongs to, or knows, for that matter!" "oh, they work for their own, betty. you'd be surprised at the things _some_ of the girls will do to be represented in prominent affairs." "does it get them anywhere?" "sometimes." betty thoughtfully tapped her fingers on the arms of the _chaise lounge_ and carolyn offered the box of taffies. "do you know who are going in with the kappa upsilons?" asked betty, talking off the oiled paper from her candy. "carolyn," she said, by way of parenthesis, "if i eat this, i'll not be able to talk!" "that's all right," said carolyn, removing the paper from her piece. "perhaps we need to do some _thinking_!" "yes--but i've thought and thought. what i need to do is deciding." "help me decide, too." "i wouldn't dare take the responsibility." "it makes a lot of difference what _you_ do, betty. i'll not care so much to be in it unless you are." "oh, carolyn!" "it's so, betty lee! but you asked me who were being asked or who were going in, which isn't quite the same thing. i think peggy pollard will, and lucia has said she would. they are crazy to get her into it--the daughter of a count and countess!" "yes, but lucia is good enough to be asked on her own account, and she can be pardoned, perhaps, for being 'snooty' in social matters." "i don't see why!" "i mean because of the way she has been brought up. don't you suppose if you'd had family and wealth drilled into you and all that way of living it would make you different?" "yes--i imagine it would. lucia's been everywhere." it was, indeed, difficult to talk now, since the taffies were being more than sampled. but by degrees a few more thoughts on sororities were exchanged. "suppose we sleep over it," suggested betty. "i've got to make a list, i think, of arguments for and against. the biggest argument _for_ is marcella and how good it is of them to want us. a person hates to refuse and seem not to appreciate being asked. and then you run the chance of their unfriendliness, too." "yes," said carolyn, with a frown; "but i don't believe marcella waite would be that way. do you think so?" "i hope not. i had the best time at her party!" "so did i. oh, by the way, mathilde is invited and there isn't any chance of her not accepting. julia--i may as well tell you who asked me--julia hickok said that mathilde is so fond of lucia coletti and that they think she, mathilde, will make a very loyal sorority sister." betty gave carolyn a sober glance. "lucia could handle mathilde, if necessary," she replied. "lucia is a girl of some force, father says. but on which side of the arguments for and against shall we put mathilde's being in the sorority?" carolyn smiled. "it wouldn't make so much difference to me. i could get along with 'finney'--i'm not like dotty." "i think you could get along with anybody, carolyn, you are such a dear. but there it is. i think 'getting along' with sorority sisters that one did not choose for intimate friends would hinder me in my 'great ambitions' in other lines. but i've simply got to sleep on it, carolyn." "probably i'd better, too, but we haven't much time, betty. i told julia i'd tell her in the morning. i had to ask what mother and father thought. she laughed at me for a goose, then told me that i mustn't make that an excuse. i told her that i thought they would let me do what i wanted to do, but that i ought to tell them at least. i hope that she didn't take that as a promise. away from julia and talking it over with you makes me not so enthusiastic. call me up in the morning, betty, if you've decided before you go to school." "i will have decided all right," said betty. "it's a thing you can't put off. i'll decide, if i have to draw cuts!" chapter xiv: the decision carolyn rode home in the gwynne car with betty, but they talked of other things, especially the coming season of basketball. betty declared that she did not play a good game and carolyn said that she played as well as the other sophomores and that moreover she was swift and graceful about everything just as she was in swimming. "go in for it, betty; please do." "i'll think about it," promised betty. "it's so that most of our hockey team want to play basketball, too." taffies, no matter how toothsome, are not the best preparation for a sound night's sleep; but betty was too sleepy to give sororities any further thought that night and the only effect of the taffy was in giving her a dream in which she and carolyn were being initiated into kappa upsilon, while kathryn stood by watching them. in the morning she woke with a pretty good idea of what she was going to do. it was not necessary to marshal the arguments for and against. "i'm not going into a thing that leaves out a lot of my special friends," she said to herself as she dressed. "lyon high is too big for it to make any difference to me. the question of sororities in college can wait. i may go away to school or be in the university here. carolyn's so sweet it won't make any difference if she does go into it; and i like kathryn so much; and if peggy changes, i can't help it." peggy, however, was a big pull toward the sorority for carolyn, she knew. she almost wished she did not have to call up carolyn. she didn't want to use any influence with her. it wouldn't be fair. perhaps by this time carolyn wanted awfully to do it and her decision would be a sort of wet blanket. still, she had promised to tell her before they went to school. betty hurried with her dressing and breakfast, helping a little as usual and to her relief, while she was still at the table, the telephone rang. carolyn was calling her, she thought. doris answered it this time, but she called betty. "it's carolyn," she said. "it must be something important for her to call you at breakfast time." betty only smiled as she hopped up and ran to the front hall. "yes, carolyn?" "betty, peggy called up last night and she is going to join and is crazy to have me do it!" "well, carolyn, why not, if you want to?" "i told old peggy that i was trying to make up my mind but i didn't mention you at all. i thought you'd rather not. she did, though, and said they wanted to have you. lucia, too, had asked them if they had asked you, with the idea that it would be a lot more attractive to her if they did!" "that was very nice of lucia." "well, betty--have you decided?" "yes, carolyn." "that doesn't sound as if you were going to do it. if i know you, you would have said something enthusiastic about peggy and lucia. dare i ask you _what_ you have decided?" betty's little chuckle went over the wires to carolyn. "i am putting off telling you till the last minute, you see, _because_ of what you are saying about peggy and lucia and how you may feel yourself about it. please don't be influenced by what i do or don't do. that sounds conceited, doesn't it? but really i'm not a bit about it. you just consulted me and seemed to care what i thought about it, you know!" "for pity's sake, betty, don't apologize! and i can't wait a minute longer to know!" "all right, then," said betty, with no chuckle this time. "i knew when i woke up that i wasn't going to join. all the reasons against it win, carolyn." "well, i just about knew how you would decide. i've got to think it over between now and the time i get to school. i didn't know at all when i woke up what i was going to do. peggy's enthusiasm last night shook me." "why shouldn't it? you've known peggy for a long time. and don't think that your belonging to any sorority will make me think any less of you. that will be just _one little organization_ that we aren't in together. there are plenty of societies in lyon high, carolyn." "yes. all right, betty. i've got to think it out myself, just like you. see you at lunch." receivers were hung up. the discussion was over. now betty was to think of her own relation to these girls, particularly of what she should say to marcella. it was not likely that carolyn would mention her knowledge of betty's decision. but betty was glad to put off the evil hour and when she met kathryn as she descended from the street car and walked up to the school entrance with her, she knew that she was safe, though she saw marcella in the hall, gave her a smiling bow and saw marcella thoughtfully regard her and kathryn. but the kappa upsilons were having quite a time with their "pledges." it wasn't possible to invite all of any little group of friends. it must be said that betty's thoughts outside of lessons that day were more concerned with basketball than with sorority. carolyn's ideas started that line of thought. but mathilde would work against her--oh well, things would turn out as they would. it was after school when marcella waite spoke again to betty. "just a minute, betty lee. are you rushing off to catch a car this time?" "no, indeed. i've all the time in the world--not even anything of the g. a. a. this afternoon." "then perhaps you can come along with me and some of the other girls and have dinner down town. lucia is going, and perhaps we can get carolyn and peggy." "i couldn't do that, marcella, but thank you so much for asking me. i have to go home." "oh, i could take you home to dress. the car is out here this time. but i'll not urge you if you have other things on hand for tonight. i think you know what i want to see you about. you said something sweet about kappa upsilon yesterday, so i've been hoping that you would be quite ready to say yes about joining us. what do you think?" "do you mean that you are asking me to join?" "just that." "it is so good of you, marcella. i did think about it for i thought that you would scarcely have said that to me if you hadn't meant something of the kind. and it would look so good to be in anything that you are in. i've enjoyed knowing you so much!" betty was sober and earnest, with her eyes somewhat troubled as she looked straight at marcella, standing aside from the walk a little, away from the hurrying pupils. "but when it comes to joining any high school sorority you know that there are a lot of things to think about." "not so important as you think. it is just a lot of fun for the most part." "i know, and that part of it is lovely. but i decided this morning that it wasn't best and if i _should_ be asked by any of them not to do it." "that is final, then?" asked marcella, more business-like than offended. "yes. it has to be, though i can't tell you how i appreciate it to be chosen by the kappa upsilons." "that is all right, betty lee. i'm sorry, though, and i think you'll regret it--not that we'll do anything to make you regret it, you understand." "my, no! i can't imagine _your_ doing anything mean, marcella." "thanks for your good opinion. by the way, my brother was home the other day and asked what had become of the little girl that was titania at my hallowe'en party." "did i meet him? your brother?" "why, of course, but--that's so--perhaps you didn't know who he was. he had to make a train and could not stay for the unmasking or the refreshments, except to eat something back in the kitchen! he was the 'pirate of penzance.'" "oh!" exclaimed betty, rather overwhelmed. she certainly did remember the "pirate of penzance!" what a pity that she had not known before! no, her decision would have been the same! "doesn't your brother live at home?" she asked. "oh yes; but he is at college in the east. he just happened to be at home, unexpectedly, so i worked him in to help out and i thought he looked splendid in that costume i got up for him." "he surely did." "it was a pity you shouldn't have seen him unmasked, though. he's quite handsome at times, though i'm probably prejudiced." "i don't think you should say that. besides, it's a good thing to be proud of your brothers and sisters." "i have two brothers," said marcella, "and this one is the younger one. he's a sophomore this year. well, betty, i'm sorry. but don't feel uncomfortable about it. i see that you do, and sororities don't like to be turned down, either. but it isn't so bad if you have just decided against high school sororities. i suppose your parents have had some influence against them most likely--i must run!" marcella hurried away, to betty's relief this time. she had meant to make it easy for betty, though, and betty was grateful. marcella was a fine girl. and oh, the pirate of penzance, whose memories had some glamour of romance, was her brother! how silly it had been of her not to find that out before. but betty lee, while not lacking in initiative, was timid about some things. she had not wanted to seem curious or too much interested in any boy. she had asked, indeed, if carolyn knew who the pirate of penzance could have been, but carolyn had not known. kathryn had joked her about his choosing her for a partner, but kathryn had wondered who he was, and to ask marcella was a thing betty would not do. so it happened that until this moment betty had no least idea of whom she had met in that dark "hole in the wall." so it was a pity that she had not seen him unmasked? very vividly that smiling face in the mirror, lit only by the dim candle-light, kept betty company in her thoughts on the way home. evening was not quite so good a time for courage as morning. betty suffered the natural reaction from a decision which definitely cut off any prospect of being in tempting sorority atmosphere, so heralded by girls of some schools; and any secret society has fascinations of its own. she knew that she had been sensible, but she had no word from carolyn and felt a sinking at her heart when she thought that carolyn, influenced by peggy's joining and the sweet urging of marcella, had probably gone into the kappa upsilon sorority. when she thought of mathilde, however, she had a different feeling. imagine being intimate with a girl like that! mathilde was not only spoiled but rough at times, physically, if not in language, in spite of all her airs and superior assumptions. but kappa upsilons might not find that out. it did make more of a difference than she thought it would about carolyn, but--oh well--it was done. she would probably do the same thing if she still had to decide. her father asked her to play with doris a simple melody arranged for the violin, whose piano accompaniment doris managed very nicely, betty thought; and with the violin tucked under her chin she felt comforted. there were "lots of happy times" that had nothing to do with school or sororities or being on teams or keeping on the honor roll--even! but doris, who, like the rest of the junior high girls, was interested in lyon high doings and heard plenty of gossip about sorority affairs and the rushing recently done, asked betty outright if she had been asked to join any of the sororities. betty hesitated, as she looked through some sheet music and put something new before doris to try. "we don't talk about those things, doris," she said. "why not?" "just--because." "you could tell at home, if you'd been asked and were going to join." "if i were going to join," repeated betty, soberly. "what is this?" asked their father. "the high school students are not allowed to have sororities, doris." "they have 'em just the same, papa. i'm going to join one, that is if i get asked." "indeed?" and mr. lee lifted his brows. "you're not likely to be asked," said betty, "if you're that frank about wanting to get in." doris paid no attention to betty's remark, but addressed her father. "oh, now, papa, they get around it all right! i've heard all about it." "how you know more than i did is a wonder, doris," said betty. "there must be some one of your friends that knows the ins and outs." "there is. she has a sister who is a senior." "how about it, betty?" asked mr. lee, interested. "have you been approached on the subject?" "yes, sir. i was asked to join a good one, nice girls anyhow, but i decided not to go into any. i'll wait till i get into college, if i go, and if anybody wants me." mr. lee gave a nod of satisfaction and turned back to his book. "there is a reason for there being no sororities in high schools," said he. "in the smaller schools particularly it makes trouble." but doris was at once alive with interest. "_tell_ me, betty! which one?" "really, dorry, i'd like to tell you; but it wouldn't be nice to do it now. you might forget and say something about it. will you be satisfied if i say that i will tell you some time?" "i suppose i'll have to be." "aw, she'd be saying, 'my sister was asked to join one of the sororities!'" dick's tone was as much like a girl's as a boy whose voice was beginning to change could manage. "i _will not_!" vehemently doris asserted. "that will do, children," said mrs. lee. "this is betty's affair. she probably feels uncomfortable enough to refuse an attractive invitation." mother knew, bless her! perhaps she had been through the same thing. then there came a ring at the telephone and betty flew. "somebody's calling up betty!" said doris, rather pettishly, though she did not close her ears to betty's side of the conversation. "oh, carolyn!" said betty, and then there was a silence on her part for a little. "you 'almost did?' maybe you should have done it, carolyn. sure you'll be happy over it?" another long silence on betty's part. "it is good of you to tell me all about it. yes, marcella is the greatest attraction. i hope--what is that? yes." "marcella waite, dick," said doris in a low tone. "it's the kappa upsilons! i knew it!" "doris," said mrs. lee, pleasantly but firmly, "whatever you may know or guess, i trust your sense of what is fitting to keep your ideas to yourself." "all right, mamma--but i can't help hearing what the other kids talk about." "the other children, you mean." "yes'm." mrs. lee sighed, laying aside some mending for a magazine. this school-grounds language! but perhaps, if they heard correct and cultured speech at home it would do some good. chapter xv: class championship games school went on the next day much as usual. betty met marcella in the hall and received a friendly smile, though marcella was preoccupied. as the next few weeks went by, betty almost forgot how important the sorority matter had seemed. they did not see as much of peggy, that was all. and it was probable that carolyn and betty did not confide such intimate affairs to peggy as before. it made a difference to feel things might be passed on to others with whom peggy was now intimate. the girls wondered how she "stood" mathilde, but peggy never mentioned mathilde. the weeks sped on with the customary tests and the welcome holiday season. betty did not see anything of her old friends, janet and sue, who could not visit her at any time suggested. but they all went to the farm on christmas, for grandma was well and longing for them to come once more. there was plenty of snow there and hills for sledding. dick tried to make some skis, without remarkable success, but doris and betty enjoyed trying them. the spread of white, snow-covered fields, the freedom from the city's noise and traffic and the great open fires of the old farmhouse were a joy to everybody. but mr. lee made plans about how a furnace could be put in for grandmother, since she refused to leave the home place. that should be done before another winter. the children had brought their various reports to show grandmother, who asked betty, "still on the honor roll in spite of athletics?" "yes'm," said betty, with an engaging smile. "you see, hikes and swimming and practice games are in the nature of recreation. i go home and rest and eat good meals and then i can get my lessons all right." "aw, betty is just smart, grandma," said dick. "couldn't all of them do it." and betty, surprised at this brotherly tribute, made dick a sweeping bow. betty was on the regular class basketball team now. there were about two hundred girls who had "gone out" for basketball on the call for the inter-class contest teams, though the contest would not start until february. but the teams were organized before christmas and betty was chosen captain. how that had happened she claimed not to know and was really surprised, for she thought that one of the athletic teachers had been influenced by mathilde and did not like her. but betty had played good hockey and in basketball practice games she was light, active, showed powers of leadership, and best of all, could make baskets, an important ability in basketball, it would seem! in consequence she found herself in command of the sophomore jumping-jacks, a name for which betty was not responsible. but some one had watched them and declared that several of the girls were "regular jumping-jacks" when it came to lifting the ball to and through a basket. some one who overheard called them the jumping-jacks and the name stuck till the girls considered it "cute" enough to be adopted. the "squad" was a large one, with a number of girls who played nearly as well as those on what was considered the "team." there were a few jealousies to be handled, as betty well knew. how she had made the position of captain she scarcely knew yet. carolyn told her that she was the "dark horse," as she said her father called it in politics. "sort of a compromise?" queried betty, who had not even sought to be captain and dreaded it. "yes. everybody knew you weren't after it, and there was such a mess this time, sorting out for the first and second team. so you're it. now see that we beat everybody. i'm only playing basketball on your account, betty." "don't you really like it?" "yes, but i don't enjoy a big contest. i'll do my best, though, to make my part of the second team so good that i'll get called in to help out the first squad." "good for you. if i have anything to say, you'll get a chance to play with me!" kathryn was on the first team and a good player. she was as quick as betty and with her practiced on the floor to make long shots from different angles. "it sometimes saves the day betty," said kathryn. "do you remember last year how freddy fisher had a chance to put the ball through that basket from 'way across the floor! we certainly have missed freddy this year, haven't we? but ted dorrance is playing basketball and he's good." "is that so? he wasn't on the football squad." "no. his mother draws a line on football and said she'd take him out of school, or send him away somewhere to school if he played. but he's grand in basketball. didn't you see that write-up of him in the _roar_ last week?" "i missed getting that number, kathryn. have you a copy?" "yes. i'll show it to you." "what is his speciality?" asked betty, thinking of the tall boy she admired so much. "well, in the first game he made some under the basket shots that were just in time to make the score. it beat the other team. it's a shame you didn't see the account of the game. it's all in the paper." "all i knew was that we beat," said betty. "i didn't even see the evening paper at home. that was the night i was studying for a test and forgot everything else. it was my only chance, for we were doing things all day saturday." "ted has a new girl, betty, they say." "really--who?" "oh, one of the junior girls that he is taking all around to the parties and everything. he had her out here at the school for the minstrel show the other night. that was real funny. did you go?" "no. i can't go to everything and i just _have_ to go to the musical things. mother and i went to the symphony concert the last time." "it's funny chet didn't ask you. he's been hanging around so much of late, betty." kathryn gave betty a roguish glance as she decided that they had practiced enough and sat down to change her shoes, donning the ones fit for the street. betty, too, took off her gym shoes for the same purpose. the gym was almost empty now, for it was after school hours. "oh, mother wouldn't let me go out at night with the boys yet," answered betty. "it's all right for parties and picnics and things like that, it seems, but not for shows and things. mothers are funny; but i have a very nice one and i suppose she knows why she lets me do some things and says no about others." "my mother says that she hasn't the least idea what to do with me about anything in 'these days,' but she hopes to take care of me, if she has my 'co-operation.'" betty laughed at this. "our poor mothers! well, i rather guess it's up to us to co-operate then. why, if you won't tell, chet did ask me and i couldn't go with him, but he wasn't mad at all. mother just told me to put the blame on her, so i did, explaining, you know. then i felt as i told you about choosing the things i can go to myself." "chet is a pretty good sort of a boy, of course. chauncey said the other day he thought he'd cut him out with you, betty, and i told him to go and do it." kathryn slipped a foot into a shoe and stood up laughing. "i'd like you real well as a sister, though i didn't go so far as to say that to chauncey." "i should _hope not_!" said betty, with emphasis. "it's none of it as serious as all that, kathryn, but i don't mind being liked and being invited, do you?" "what girl does? but i don't want a real 'case' yet." "mercy, no! and mother says i mustn't accept invitations from boys that i don't know anything about, no matter how nice they seem here. there are some drawbacks to numbers after all." "yes, but you can usually tell about boys and girls, too, and it's easy enough to find out about them. dad says that he is a 'social democrat,' but i notice that he is terribly particular about my company." "we have such a lot of things going on at school that it is easy enough to make friends and be with boys and girls you like without bothering about dates any more important than meeting your 'boy friend,' as dick calls it, at the picnic or at the ball game. carolyn's parties are always such fun. i want to have one the spring vacation, though that seems a long way off, doesn't it!" "i'm having one in two weeks, on friday night, betty, so save that date, please. i'll have a time getting ready for it during school, so please come early and help me, will you?" "of course i will. it will be fun. what do you want me to do?" "i'll tell you in plenty of time. i want it a _real_ party and i'm going to invite lucia, of course, so it must make a good impression on our lady from the italian nobility." "lucia won't be critical, kathryn. she said that she liked you. you were 'so sincere.'" "did she? i like lucia, too, though some things made me a little tired at first." "just think of the handicap, kathryn, of not being born an american!" betty was grinning, but she really felt that lucia had not had a fair chance to be like a girl who was born in the "land of the free." this was a phase that had crept out with lucia a time or two in her contact with other girls and had amused that daughter of the caesars as much as a few of her ways amused the american girls. but they were meeting on common ground in the school room and in the case of the few girls of whom lucia was becoming fond, friendly adjustments were easy to make. the matter of being acquainted with boys was natural enough in a large high school, and a large residence district as good as that from which lyon high drew most of its attendance supplied children of some of the city's best citizens. it was not very likely that boys attracted to betty and kathryn would not have a good background, to say the least. many of them they had known all through their freshman year. what betty did not know was that chet dorrance was at present going out of his way just to pass betty in the hall, whether he had an opportunity to speak to her or not. in a class or two in which both recited, he never stared directly at her, but one corner of his eye knew where betty was and what she was doing. it was his first attack and very acute, ted would have said. chet, however, was good at concealing his feelings and would not have had the boys guess how much he liked betty. of course, they teased him a little for "hanging around," but chet, with apparent candor, said that he liked "that bunch of girls" and didn't care who knew it. "you have to have a little social life," said he. "it's a poor sophomore that can't take a girl out once in a while." if it had been ted, chet's brother, now, betty might have been thrilled a little at the frequent meetings and all the excuses that chet made to speak to her about this or that. but betty was demurely responsive, or pleasant, interested in what chet had to say, but not including him in any of her dreams. chet wasn't the prince charming by any means. yet chet would be that to some one, doubtless, one of these days. the names of the basketball squads were posted, that of the freshmen having more extras than those of the other classes. the sophomores now had only a few more than the two "teams." betty found that she was a good deal more excited over the coming contests than she had expected to be, since so much responsibility for whipping the sophomore team into shape rested upon her. dates of games to be played in the girls' gym were also posted, another spur to excellence. kathryn postponed her party because of the necessity for strenuous practice, but said that she would have one to celebrate, when the sophomores "beat the championship game." betty told her that too much confidence was a "hoo-doo," but kathryn told her that determination to beat was "one of the greatest assets" a team could have. betty, kathryn and carolyn had a front seat at the first game of the contest, played between the seniors and freshmen. it would have been hard to say which were the more excited, the busy players or the rooters who were girls expecting to meet the two classes they were watching, in a future game. "watch that freshman guarding, betty. she's rough. we'll look out for her and see that nothing is done that isn't seen! say--that was a good play! did you _see that_?" betty was watching too closely to say a word. if she could get the tactics, provided there were any special ones, or the important characteristics of the senior girls, it would help, she thought. she early dismissed the freshmen as opponents. they were playing a good game in the main, but not a winning game. they needed practice and more "team-work." this game was on a tuesday afternoon, after school. the next day the seniors were to play against the juniors, and the girls of all the teams, as far as possible, were urged by their captains to be present. the score of seniors versus freshmen was only eleven to six and the freshmen were jubilant over having kept the seniors from scoring as heavily as they had expected. but betty saw that senior mistakes would be corrected. she still thought that her greatest effort would be in the game against the seniors. still, some had said that the juniors were playing excellent games. on wednesday the gym was again full of interested girls who gave their class cheers and cheered for the enemy. the sophomores rooted chiefly for the seniors, but to their great surprise, the juniors won! "well!" cried betty. "i'm not a prophet, and that is that!" "i'm glad we don't meet the juniors or seniors first," said lucia coletti, who sat next to betty this time. lucia was not playing basketball, but she was interested sufficiently to identify herself with her class and attend the games. "tomorrow we play against the freshmen, don't we?" she asked. "yes, and what did miss orme do but give us a test, a last hour test, mind you, just before the game. i told her, but she looked at me in perfect disgust. 'do you think we should dismiss school on account of the games?' she asked." betty sighed. "oh, well, you'll be less excited for something else to think about. perhaps it will not be hard." "and perhaps it will, lucia. be glad you aren't in her class. but that is a good idea about thinking of something else. i'm gone if i worry. and i've been getting that work so far. i'll just take it all as sport. but i do want my team to play well." "they'll beat the freshmen, i think, though those freshmen aren't to be despised." "indeed they aren't." betty was pretty well keyed up before her first game of the class competition, but betty never lost her self-control. she set her lips and went through the rather difficult written test as well as she could. the air grew close, and it was with a thrill of actually joyous expectation that betty hurried to the gym as the time approached, and joked with the freshman captain whom she met on the way. she could breathe in the gym! "we're going to 'lick' the sophomores," jovially the freshman captain informed her. "don't be too sure. we're out to win," cheerily answered betty. she gathered her girls together and told them of some points she had noted about the freshman playing and they entered the game with confidence, though warned not to be too sure. the "rough" freshman was taken out after some too apparent fouls due to her performances, and the final score was eighteen to three in favor of the sophomores. they had won their first game at least, betty said. "now send up the score, girls, as high as you can with every game. no telling what we can do if we try!" the inter-class games continued, with some intervals due to other important school events, for three weeks. classes were given more than one opportunity to better their score against other classes. but finally it narrowed down to a contest between the juniors and sophomores, betty finding the sophomore record making her "famous," as kathryn said. senior luck held part of the time only, but that class never had done as well in basketball as in other things, carolyn told betty. the championship game was to be played in the boys' gym, which was larger, and the boys were allowed to attend. betty, her cheeks pink from excitement, saw that her mother with amy lou had a good seat. "look out, amy lou, and don't get hit with the ball!" and betty left them to disappear into the regions of the girls' gym, where the teams were getting ready. dick and doris were there and all the girls of the g. a. a. who could come, to say nothing of various boys, particularly those of the sophomore and junior classes. "forget the crowd, girls, and whether your nose gets shiny or not," advised betty. "you're a graceful lot anyhow and usually succeed in avoiding a terrible scramble. but remember that we _have to beat_ those juniors!" betty was distrustful of mathilde, who had gotten on the first team by no wish of hers. she would be playing against marcella and the other juniors of kappa upsilon and betty thought, though she could not be sure, that she surprised a message between mathilde and one of the junior players at the other game they played with that class. mathilde's play had been a failure. could it have been that she _wanted_ to give the game to the junior captain, her sorority sister? betty told her worries to no one but kathryn. she did not want to worry carolyn, who could not imagine that any one would be as mean as that and was too unsuspicious to see anything but the most flagrant acts. "i'll keep an eye out, betty," said kathryn. "mathilde doesn't care for the sophomores or anything but that old sorority, and she doesn't like your being captain, though i hate to tell you that." "don't worry. i know it. we'll just keep awake and i'm glad to say that it's miss fox who's keeping an eye out this time, besides the referee. but it's going to be a fast game and no telling what may happen." first with applause, then with silence, the little audience in the gym greeted the two teams as they came out, without the preliminary stunts that sometimes marked school affairs, and started right in. amy louise stood straight up when she saw for the first time the big ball, tossed from one to another, going across the floor, in the hands of betty's girls, to be popped into the proper basket. that was after the "tip-off," as a freshman girl told mrs. lee. she knew few of the correct expressions, but enough to indicate results. "the point is to put the ball through their own basket, mrs. lee and they 'make the goal' and 'score.'" but there was little opportunity to explain. as had been predicted, the game was a fast one. the sophomores had the advantage at the first and scored several times. then the juniors succeeded in keeping the sophomores from scoring, put up a clever defense of their own, carried the ball with bewildering speed from one to another and passed the score of the sophomores with their own. the sophomores came back with a series of successful plays after disaster temporarily visited the juniors; and kathryn covered herself with glory by making the long shot, for which she had been practicing, and saved the day in a bad situation which had occurred. advantage now on this side and now on that, the first two quarters ended with an equal score. "if we can do that, betty," whispered kathryn, "we stand a good chance to beat." but betty was too engrossed to heed. miss fox was talking to mathilde, who was answering loudly. the referee was called to the conference. then miss fox came to betty, who was watching. "i--we--are taking mathilde out, betty. she is not guilty of any foul, but we think that she purposely lost an advantage. i'm not going to risk it. put in mary emma howland for the rest of the game. if the juniors beat us they want to do it fairly." mary emma was only too glad to play. the other girls wondered a little, but the game was too engrossing, when again they were in the midst of it, to care who was playing. betty gave mary emma a few instructions, but mary emma was one of the best on the second team and had been hoping for a chance to play the championship game. mathilde was very angry, as betty could see. she came up to betty and said, "you put foxy up to that, i know!" "i didn't even see what you did, or didn't do, mathilde," replied betty, but she turned away. it would not do to get into a discussion now. again the contest waxed hard and fast, each side to put the ball through their own basket, each side to keep the other from doing the like. it took quick thinking and quick action and keeping the rules. betty had an opportunity at showing what she could do in scoring, getting away from her guard and making two beautiful "shots" from unfavorable angles. the juniors felt that it would be a disgrace to let the sophomores beat the contest and began to grow excited. betty never was more cool within, though physically she was warm from the action. it wouldn't be so terrible to be beaten by juniors--but oh, how good to beat them--even marcella, who was playing a good game. but personal relations were forgotten on the floor. marcella was kept from sending the ball through the junior basket and mary emma starred as guard in that occasion. the quarters,--the halves--passed, and the pistol shot rang out for the close of the game with the score even. no one was satisfied, of course, but many were the compliments for the playing of both teams. few fouls, clean playing, fast playing, enough baskets, the comments declared. "it's so stupid when nobody can score," said one. "these girls managed to do it some way in spite of good interference." twenty-five to twenty-five the score stood, said marcella caught up with betty as they went back to the girls' gym to change costumes again. "the _idea_ that you beat us, betty," said marcella with a smile. "i just declared that you never would!" "why, we didn't beat you!" cried betty. "you might as well. we couldn't beat _you_, anyhow, which was terrible! i think we were a little better in our guarding, but you overcame that disadvantage by those long shots that we did not dream you could make. you and kathryn are stars, betty. i'm sorry we did not get you in kappa upsilon. what was the trouble with mathilde, betty?" "i don't know, marcella. you'll have to ask miss fox or the referee. i didn't see anything." "i imagine you have an idea, though," said marcella. "well all hail to the jingery jumping jacks! the lucky leapers are forced to give them credit, though we don't want to do it." "aren't you a great jollier, marcella waite! i'm glad it's over, but i'd rather somebody would beat. still, there are things to be said in favor of a tie, provided a body couldn't win the championship outright. oh, do you suppose they'll make us play another game?" "let _us_ have another chance, you mean," winked marcella. "no, the big excitement is over and they'll not do it, though i'd love to." "the sophomore team will be ready," said betty, "though just now i'm for a good dip in the pool and a square meal at home!" "sensible idea. you make me hungry at the thought. oh, mathilde! wait!" betty watched marcella follow mathilde, who neither turned around nor waited, but hurried into the other gym. chapter xvi: a party and a real "date" it was early in march when the inter-class basketball contests ended with the championship game that resulted in a tie. kathryn's party was given on a friday night, when a western blizzard had occurred and the rest of the country was surprised by a heavy snow. memories of the bob-sleds at the dorrance home during their freshman year came back to more than betty lee of the "old crowd." chet dorrance had the best of excuses to make arrangements with betty for a snow date, as he called it, and she promised to go with him and the rest on the next day after school. "make it a regular date, betty," said he, "for we'll have something doing whenever we have enough snow." betty was delighted with the snow, but made no "long distance" engagements. there had not been "a decent snow all winter," everybody claimed, and great was the enthusiasm. great drifts edged the walks at kathryn's and betty came early to help, as she had promised. she, chauncey and kathryn had a brilliant idea and made a big snow man on the front porch, where he would be well lit up by the porch light at the arrival of the company. "we'll have to have something or other outdoors," declared chauncey, who went around behind the house to reconnoiter. kathryn and betty, who were flying around inside, tried to think as they filled pretty little dishes with bonbons and finished the decorations. "it's chauncey's birthday," said kathryn, "but he wouldn't let me tell a soul. i don't think the other boys know. they surely would wash his face for him in the snow if they did!" "i'll not betray him," laughed betty. "but why not have a snow fight? listen, gypsy. those high piles of snow along the walk you know, why not use them and make a fort or two?" chauncey came in with the same idea, except that he thought the best place was in the back where snow had drifted in certain hollows. "it'll spoil everybody's good clothes, though," said he. "do you suppose the girls will come in those thin things they wear?" "not tonight, chauncey, because i told some of them that we'd probably do something outdoors, and the rest will have a pretty good suspicion that we will." kathryn's party included some of the older boys and girls to whom she was indebted. lucia, as the stranger in their midst and a good friend, was invited. marcella and peggy were the only other representatives of the kappa upsilons. ted dorrance was there and the junior girl to whom he was supposed to have transferred his affections since louise madison began to have social relations with the university men. "hello, betty lee," said he. "i haven't seen you except at a distance for some time. congratulations for not letting the junior team beat you in basketball. those girls ought to feel crushed." "but don't," added betty. "congratulations yourself on your own basketball record. i was so surprised when i heard you were on the team. i haven't missed a game that was played here if i could help it. you've become a star." "according to the _lyon's roar_," answered ted, in derision. "they're hard up for somebody to write up as a star if they have to take me!" "your modesty is very becoming," demurely remarked betty, as an older girl might have done, and ted looked again. this was a cute girl, this little sophomore. he remembered her coming to lyon high for the first last year. chet had her in his crowd. how would it do to take her somewhere some time? in consequence of these impulsive thoughts, in the course of the evening's fun betty found ted dorrance beside her several times and once he asked her if she "had a date" for the next symphony concert. "why, no, though mother and i go to some of them," said betty, not dreaming that ted meant to ask her. but she was mortified at the thought of what she considered her "dumbness," when he asked her to go with him on that coming saturday night. "oh!" she said. "why--mother never lets me go to anything down in the city with anybody; but i think she would let me go with you." "i hope she will," smiled ted. "let me know, betty." "i will tomorrow," said betty, feeling uncomfortable, as girls do, for fear the boys will think them too childish. but betty had confidence in her mother and she knew well that the ban would be off when she grew older. oh, how _wonderful_ to be going somewhere with ted dorrance! she looked so happy, though full of fun, as she helped kathryn serve, that more than one boy looked her way and thought that betty lee was a "pretty girl." then they all put on wraps and as a final spurt of fun went out for a battle of _soft_ snowballs, by the girls' direction. no fort was made, for it was too late when the indoor fun was finished, but great plans were made for the following afternoon and evening, to take advantage of the winter's one great opportunity. and the snow man remained, to melt in a day or two into a messy heap on the porch; and an early robin cocked his head at the sight, as he stopped for the crumbs from the cake kathryn had stuffed in the gaping mouth of the snow man. "let's give him a cooky," kathryn had said, as she and betty laughed at chauncey's last artistic efforts. indeed, the birds were arriving all through march and april. it was baseball now, not basketball, though betty did not play. she was devoted to the swimming in particular and was getting ready to take part in the events of a girls' high school swimming meet, in which the swimmers from the different high schools would compete for excellence and points. "no," she said to miss fox. "hockey and basketball were enough. i'm out for swimming, and that is all i can do, miss fox, if i get my lessons. oh, of course hikes and all the points i can make when i'm not needed at home." "i like to hear you say that, betty. too many girls don't want to help at all at home." "i don't do enough," betty replied--"but i have a dear family and we go out together in the machine a lot." going out with ted was a great event, for mrs. lee said that she might, "though this is not to be taken as a regular break in our ideas," betty's mother was careful to add. "i don't care, mother," said betty, "only i wish i didn't have to say that my mother doesn't like to have me do it." "you can make your own excuses, betty." "of course. but if the boys think you don't want to go with them it makes them mad and you won't get asked again." "and that would be terrible," laughed her mother, who had little fear but that betty would have enough "dates" to keep her happy. "yes, it would," betty answered, but a little smile crept about her lips. "how would it do just to say that you are allowed very few engagements, especially at night?" "i might work out something else. you should have seen--or heard--how _dumb_ it sounded, what i said to ted!" "there he is, my daughter," said mrs. lee as the bell rang. betty looked in the glass, patted a refractory lock, and walked sedately through the hall and into the front room, where ted, all correct, in a new top-coat, and carrying hat and gloves, waited, having been admitted by dick. ted rose and shook hands, as betty entered, but said that he was late and that if she would put on her wraps he "thought they'd better start." mrs. lee came in then and betty ran back for her wraps, thankful that they were new, this year, and that her gloves were everything that could be desired. she had worn her prettiest dress and hoped that ted, who was accustomed to taking out girls, would find nothing lacking in her _ensemble_. "betty's beginning rather young," said mr. lee thoughtfully, coming in from the garage where he had been putting in his car. "that is a good car young dorrance is driving. do you suppose it is his own?" "very likely, though i do not know, either." "there were some others, so i imagine it is a 'theatre party.'" "all the better--but i'd like to keep betty from all that till she is older. i shall, too. she is obedient and sensible. we shall have this the exception rather than the rule." "i'm glad to leave it to you, mother," replied mr. lee. "i'll warrant," laughed his wife. betty need not have worried about ted's superior knowledge of the ways of society. he was only a high school boy after all, and though mrs. dorrance had been left a widow with plenty of means, she was a woman of culture and of a certain both practical and realistic sense when it came to social affairs. real things that mattered and not foolish forms of convention governed her and provided for her boys a certain freedom, while asking of them the ordinary courtesies and consideration of gentlemen. another senior boy and a senior girl were in the car, betty found, and she was glad to settle beside the senior girl in the back seat while ted and his old friend harry sat in front. the "theatre party" was a very modest one, for betty was not led to a box. but they had good seats, well in front in the balcony, and betty enjoyed all the little attentions that ted knew so well how to give, though as a matter of course. the playing of the orchestra happened to be just what betty liked best, not so much of the musical fireworks, but the lovelier selections from the classics. even ted was forgotten during one number till as she leaned back with a little sigh after it was over he said, "you liked that as much as i did, didn't you? do you do much with your violin now?" "scarcely a bit," she whispered, "but i love to hear it. how did you know i played?" "a little bird told me," said ted. chapter xvii: "just like a fish" "look at betty!" cried kathryn, who was not taking part in the swimming meet, but was a part of the audience. "isn't she graceful? what a dive! betty's a regular fish for the water!" "she went into the water like a bird _catching_ a fish," replied carolyn, who had memories of a northern lake in summer. "yes; but she says she likes the water and feels at home in it. she is a natural swimmer, i suppose, if there is such a thing." the seats around the pool were full of spectators, some mothers as well as girls from the different high schools concerned in the meet. others leaned forward, all interest, from the balcony above, among them mrs. lee and amy lou. betty had located her mother before the meet proper began and welcomed her with a smiling salute from a distance. to amy lou, who waved wildly at her older sister, she gave a separate salute, and blew her a kiss. betty looked happy and unworried, a trim little figure in her tight, dark blue bathing suit. a group of sophomore girls were equipped with lyon high banners and sat together on one side of the pool, ready to root for their own school and their own class swimmers as well. when betty came out for the diving events, they cheered for her. amy lou was frightened and squealed out a little when betty made a "back" dive that was greeted with general applause. mrs. lee held her breath for a minute, afraid that betty would hit the diving board and gave a sigh of relief when that did not happen. carolyn, who sat beside mrs. lee, turned to her enthusiastically to say, "wasn't that _splendid_? betty is getting better and better!" "i hope she won't do that again, though," said betty's mother. "oh, that's perfectly safe for betty, mrs. lee. they wouldn't let her try it if she weren't used to it and betty can just do almost anything. besides, it isn't as close to the board when she does it as it looks. if you were right up at that end you'd see." "i see. i have heard betty talk about all this so much, but i must say that all the remarks about this and that sort of a stroke and the different kinds of diving have rather gone over my head. i've not been able to get to the little meets the girls have had. this is delightful, the big pool and all the excitement. no wonder the girls like it, but betty did not seem to be excited over it or care about taking first place. i wonder why?" "betty's pretty level-headed," laughed carolyn. "she's getting ready to do big things in her next two years, you see, big things for the g. a. a. so she isn't going to get all worked up now. i shouldn't wonder if she did get the best record for the diving, though. those other girls weren't half so good on that event, though that senior girl from north high is a wonder in swimming. wait till those speed tests--or events--come off and watch her. without her cap betty'd be a goldfish, kathryn!" mrs. lee consulted her program. it was a help to see everything down, in black and white. here was a certain sort of a stroke, and she could see it being done. "amy lou," said she, "watch how they do it. some day you will be doing that perhaps." "oh, yes," soberly said amy lou, watching the next group of contestants come in from out behind the curtains and stand in readiness. "i'm going to be a g. a. a." "the whole association, amy lou?" asked kathryn, who liked to tease a little. amy lou smiled a little. she didn't mind kathryn, who was always remembering her in some little way. "yes," said she. "i can swim now a little, up at grandma's, can't i mamma?" "yes, dear--but watch and keep still. the girls are going to start." amy lou had stopped jumping at the pistol shot and now leaned over with the rest, though she had to stand up to do it, to see the slim young bodies cleave the clear water of the pool, swim the length of it, turn, pushing their toes against the concrete wall of the pool and start for the other end. the diving included "front, back and running," the program said. then there were a "twenty-yard back stroke for speed, a twenty-yard side stroke for speed and a twenty-yard free style for speed," and carolyn explained that "free style" meant "do it any way you want to--just get there!" "will betty try to win on speed?" asked mrs. lee. "i doubt it. betty's working on trying to do everything just right, and grace and ease in the water, and keeping your head, i guess, from what i hear her say. you see, you have to do your breathing a certain way, though that doesn't seem to be any trouble to betty." "it looks painful to me," said mrs. lee. "watch betty and you won't think so." "they turn sideways and swallow the air, don't they?" said amy lou. "just about," laughed carolyn. "here comes betty again, amy lou." amy lou joined in the lyon high yell this time, to the great amusement of carolyn and betty, but they did not let the child see their smiles and mrs. lee did not make any objection. what was amy lou's small voice in the general uproar? no one girl was permitted to take part in any large number of events, thought there had not been this time too great a number of contestants who wanted to enter for the meet. betty was not tired and after the first diving event did not feel excited. there were only a few more people looking on, and the cheers were a part of it all. this was noted as "push off and coast across pool for speed" and to betty's surprise she was first across the pool. later there was a "relay" event, in which betty did well, her best, but was not first. that ended her part in the meet and she was satisfied. she took her shower and dressed without watching the rest, though carolyn exclaimed afterward when she found that betty had "missed the rest," and at an inter-school contest. "well," said betty, "why sit around in a wet bathing suit? i knew i could get dressed in time to hear the final results announced. of course, i was crazy for lyon high to win the meet, but even with my blanket around me i was a little chilly and i'd promised mother that i'd not take an unnecessary risks of cold. i did hate to miss one event, but i'd seen such a lot of swimming." yet betty had won some points for her school and she was, indeed, back where she could hear the announcement after the final event and to join in the wild cheering of feminine voices which marked the announcement that lyon high had won the meet by a narrow margin. it was well that it was so, for there had been some good swimming done by all the schools. "going to take the life-saving tests, betty?" asked lucia coletti, who chanced to be by betty as the crowd left the pool and the building. "no, not now, lucia. next year is time enough. i _might_ get ready for it, but i'm just learning a lot of things and trying the endurance stunts a little. perhaps i'll swim across to italy one of these days." lucia laughed. "that's what i'd like to do right now, though i prefer going on a steamer. i'm homesick to see my father," she added. "will you be going over this summer?" queried betty, though casually, for betty was not one to be curious. "no. mother says not," replied lucia, and betty did not ask whether or not the count would come to america. there was some trouble there, betty supposed. it did not always work when an american girl married a foreigner. but how dreadful for lucia who loved both parents, of course, if you were separated! why didn't people think about their children a little instead of themselves? "betty," said lucia, "mother is going to entertain for me this spring and you are the first one i want to invite. i haven't had you over at all." "but i haven't had you either," said betty. "we just couldn't manage parties some way this year with all that has been going on at school and mother so busy and father working so hard, too. you were the stranger to be invited." lucia slipped her hand inside of betty's bent arm and patted it. "but i know perfectly well that it was mother's place to show some attention to your father and mother. but mother has been considerably upset--about some of our affairs. she's been in the social columns of the papers all right, but she's not done any of the entertaining herself." it was rather an odd place for any confidences, betty thought, but lucia was likely to say things when she wanted to do it. no one could hear, however, as they went out of the open doors and ran down the steps together. lucia nodded good night and then went to where the murchison car waited for her. betty waited a few moments for her mother and amy lou to join her, but they took the street car home, sleepy as amy lou was by this time. for dick and doris, to their great disappointment, were showing signs of sore throat and measles was making a few absences at the junior high school. mrs. lee was hopeful that the sore throats were only the results of an early hike that the twins had taken together; and she had been sent off to the meet by her husband with the announcement that he was quite able to act as nurse and see that they took their medicine. fortunately the measles did not materialize, but doris had missed seeing the meet and dick had missed something else. both missed school for a few days, which loss had its compensations. it was true that neither betty nor her mother had known just what to do about paying any attention to the countess. the countess had not met her mother and had not said anything to her father about liking to have his wife call. the countess coletti had, of course, many friends of former days among the wealthy members of what was called society in the city. for this group mrs. lee had neither means, time nor any real interest, though no one was more likely to have friends. it was easy to make them, in the church, or in the other relations which living naturally brought about. "we belong to a different 'aristocracy,' betty," said mrs. lee. "we, too, can have a certain influence in the community, a good one, i hope, and a little circle of pleasant friends. one is always running across kindred spirits." "carolyn and kathryn are my chief ones," laughed betty. these remarks were made on the way home from the meet, when in a seat together, amy lou half asleep on their laps, they discussed what lucia had said. "of course you will not repeat to any of the girls lucia's reference to the countess and her being 'upset' about some of her affairs. it is important to your father that nothing we do is a mistake in reference to that family. we have made no mistake in waiting for them to take the initiative. it was a little odd for lucia to be so frank, but she has her worries, too, no doubt, and felt that she could trust you as a confidante." "she can," replied betty. "i wonder what sort of a party it will be? all the sorority will be there, of course, and probably ever so many girls that i do not know. lucia has some friends in the private schools, but she likes lyon high now and wouldn't leave it for any other school. you should have heard her tell me about how some of the girls tried to get her away. 'no, no, no,' she said, in that rapid italian way she has, 'i like this big school and everything they do. i've been in a private school. i shall have my high school diploma to show my father!' i imagine the count, then, doesn't object so much to lucia's going to school over here." "his troubles are in another line, i presume." "well, whatever their troubles are, i'm glad lucia came. she's _very_ interesting." so declared betty. chapter xviii: the countess entertains spring affairs came on with their hikes, their different activities, their work and their fun, till betty almost forgot what lucia had said to her, in the interest of other things. she saw very little of lucia now, for the sorority seemed to take up lucia's time, so far as her associations were concerned. betty was working hard on her studies. she had passed her mid-years with credit and now she was keeping up the standard for the second semester. it was not so hard as the freshman year's work, yet there were more distractions as she increasingly took part in the school's activities. however, there was no basketball. she made progress in swimming, took a little part in other athletic affairs, earned points and hoped that she would win "something or other" on honor night, that last function and climax of the g. a. a. the girls had wanted her to play baseball, but she "said them nay" as she stated at home. and in her free time she took up serious practice upon her violin, as well as regular lessons again. saturdays she saved for picnics and hikes, except a few hours devoted to study. mrs. lee had a little maid come in now to help at home, though doris and betty still had very light tasks, chiefly in looking after their own room and keeping things in order. school was exacting and the girls needed their time if they stood well in their studies, mrs. lee said. there was some discussion between the parents as to whether it was not outside affairs that took the girls' time and strength, but inasmuch as more of it was in the line of healthful activity than of late parties, the decision was to let the girls, particularly betty, just now, "have their chance" and their good times. the little maid needed the work, moreover, and it gave mrs. lee the freedom she needed to leave amy lou and get away from cares. betty was "crazy" to get into the junior orchestra another year. ted, who had been somewhat of an attraction, to be sure, would not be in the senior orchestra, but betty liked the idea, with or without any interesting boy. he had not invited betty to accompany him again to any school or city entertainment, but he had asked her to a picnic with a few chosen friends and she had had a wonderful time, she reported to the girls. however, ted said that chet and some of the other boys had said "hands off" about betty lee. so ted put it, and while he reported it jokingly, betty had an idea that it would make a difference. well, it was better than being invited and dropped without a reason, and no boy should think that she wanted his attentions! and of course ted was very much interested in this other girl. they both would be in the university next year. betty felt more grown up when she was with an older boy like ted and enjoyed the feeling. the junior girls and some of the senior girls knew betty and were quite inclined to be chummy, at least when thrown with betty at any gathering. the sophomores had a picnic, to which chet invited betty and one of the girls whom betty did not know so well, remarked: "well, the dorrance boys keep you in the family, don't they?" "oh, no," lightly answered betty, who did not like the remark, but did not know how to answer it. betty did not like to resent what was probably not meant to be annoying. from certain indications she was pretty sure that chet _had_ resented ted's taking her out and that ted had promised chet not to interfere. so the time flew, till in the lovely maytime mrs. lee was invited by the countess coletti to an afternoon tea at the murchison home, and betty was reminded of lucia's remarks. the countess was "being nice to mother" now, and mrs. lee reported a large gathering of charming ladies, some of them not so attractive or cultured, but many of them simple and interesting with the results of many opportunities for travel and reading, study and pleasure. "the countess herself is very delightful as a hostess, betty," said mrs. lee. "i feel sure that if she entertains for lucia it will be a gathering planned in every detail." the series of teas and other entertainment at the murchison home was followed "at last" by the arrival of invitations for lucia's friends, invitations with a "crest!" for the _countess coletti_ was entertaining for her daughter. "oh, dear, why aren't i lucia's friend and a little older?" sighed doris, whimsically, examining the pretty invitation. "i'd always keep this, betty, but if you don't care for it, let me have it." "you can borrow it any time you want it, but it has to go among the archives, dorry. i'm sorry you can't go; but it's very likely, if we stay here and father is in the same business, that you can go there some time." "but that isn't now," said doris, strictly adhering to fact. betty wondered whether it was a girls' party or whether the boys would be invited, but as she saw several invitations displayed among the boys at school, her unuttered question was answered. it seemed to be taken for granted that the countess did not expect the young gentlemen to bring the young ladies, though chet said, "see you at the party, betty. i hope i'm your partner at supper." budd leroy, also, who had shown recent signs of being interested in betty lee, made a similar remark about meeting her at lucia's, though he did not suggest himself as her partner. "do you suppose the countess will wear her 'tie-airy?'" budd added. "do countesses have tiaras?" asked betty. "i hope whatever she has she will wear it. what is the use of being a countess if you can't have some sign of it?" "sure mike," said slangy budd, who was to be very correct in his speech in the high society atmosphere at the murchison home a few nights later. betty felt very fine indeed, when the murchison car came for her. lucia had told her that day at school that it would. "we're taking care of my sorority and your little crowd, betty, which is my crowd, too, though they don't seem to know it since i joined the sorority. i didn't think it would make that difference." "do you really care about the girls, lucia?" "of course i do." "then i'll tell them, if you don't mind." "tell away," said this italian-american girl with a laugh. so here were both carolyn and kathryn in the car with peggy and another of the sorority girls. there was plenty of room for them to keep their fluffy dresses from being mussed and with great anticipations they arrived at the large place which lucia now called home. mr. murchison was a widower of some two years' standing. this accounted for the fact that the recent visit had been the first that mrs. lee had made there. there was no entertaining done until his sister, the countess, came home. mr. murchison had explained the situation to mr. lee early in their acquaintance and entertained mr. lee and other men friends at his club down town. there was an old, old grandmother, betty had heard, but lucia never talked about the household and betty, of course, never inquired. there were no class or sorority decorations here. the great rooms, of an old-fashioned type with their high ceilings, heavy woodwork, dark and carved, were fragrant with the odor of roses, which were lucia's favorite flowers. the walls bore some fine originals from the brush of famous artists and betty felt that she would like to wander through the rooms just to look at them. but human relations were more interesting yet. the countess did wear her tiara. perhaps lucia had suggested that the girls would like it. at any rate here was near-royalty with its jewels. lucia was in pink, very becoming to her style, and wore pink corals, necklace and bracelets. but lucia, in the language of society, was a sub-deb and must not be too gorgeous yet. handsome books were in the library. vases, tapestry, and rugs, exquisite ornaments, not in too great a profusion, indicated the wealth and taste that had collected them. poor mr. murchison, thought betty, to think he had to lose the wife that helped him make this home. but there again, betty was mistaken, for it was the murchison wealth and taste, including that of the countess coletti, that had made the old home what it was. mr. murchison received with the countess and lucia. betty had thought that possibly the sorority president would be asked to receive with lucia. but no, it was merely the family, distinguished enough to be sure. mr. murchison had not forgotten betty and met her with a kindly grace. "you are particularly welcome, miss lee," said he. "i have not forgotten how you and your father looked after lucia and my sister for me." the first comers were a bit overwhelmed with the elegance of everything, but the countess was cordial and easy and as the rooms filled up with familiar faces, the general stiffness disappeared. ted dorrance was there and a number of juniors, marcella, of course, and her friends of both junior and senior classes. some older boys betty did not know at all, as well as girls, airy and assured, that betty thought must be from the private schools of which lucia had spoken. but they were pretty and clever and with charming manners. betty was glad to meet some of them. mathilde was in her element, so far as her feelings was concerned, betty saw; but she felt sorry for her, for she was so evidently not of the elect, so far as those other girls were concerned. chet and the boys that she knew came around, with carolyn, kathryn and the other girls. lucia mingled with them all and the countess did not retire, as mothers have some times been known to do. even mr. murchison stayed until games and some dancing were started. then he disappeared. and lucia, too, had an orchestra to discourse sweet music, either for dancing or games or, later, for supper. but who should be her partner for a funny game of which betty had never heard before, but marcella's brother, the pirate of penzance! "i believe, i'm quite sure, indeed, that this is the fair titania," said he, as marcella introduced him to betty and told him that he was supposed to be betty's partner "for these games," said marcella. "do you know how to play this?" asked lawrence waite. "no, i don't," replied betty, as marcella left them. "then come on," said lawrence. "i know a secluded and not too secluded spot. let's talk. they'll let me do it because i'm not in school with the rest of you, and already i know lucia very well." lawrence waite, known as larry, explained to betty, as he escorted her to just such a spot as she had read about in the grown-up books. well, what of it? wasn't she past sixteen? why should she not have a handsome young man seating her in the conservatory by a fountain? it turned out to be some sort of a treasure hunt; but when ted rushed by and called, "come on, larry, get into the game after treasure," larry waved a careless hand and said, "i've found her." ted laughed, appreciating the point and betty naturally dimpled with amusement, but larry turned to her again, smiling, but not altogether in fun. "really, miss lee, i have wanted to meet you since that hallowe'en at our house." "it has been sometime, mr. waite," suggested betty demurely. "yes, but i've been away at college except at the christmas vacation. i'm home on a rush trip now. father wanted me to come, a business matter in which i could help him. i wanted to ask you if you minded that little affair. i was around looking for things for marcella, and i took a chance of frightening you, i know, when i lit that candle; but i had recognized you, that is, as titania, and i had to make a train and wanted to see what you really looked like. you were very good to take off your mask." "it was just great fun, mr. waite. i should think i didn't mind! it would have been very stupid just to have your candle go out and not to have a single thing happen, not even to look into the mirror." larry had half a mind to mention one more thing that he had been tempted to have happen when he saw betty's face under that shining hair, but he decided that it was not best. she might think it just his line, and she was too sweet anyhow and too young for any suggestion of a stolen kiss. pray heaven she went through high school and college as above anything doubtful as she was now! larry had asked his sister what sort of a girl betty lee was, for larry waite was really interested. "it was fun for both of us, then. i told at college that i had looked over a girl's shoulder in a mirror at hallowe'en and the fellows said, 'beware, larry.'" "i'm not a bit dangerous," laughed betty, though pleased. betty was modern enough not to be entirely unsophisticated and she did think that this was what the girls called his "line." but it was a jolly one, anyhow. she could safely have a good time with marcella's brother. he reminded her how as titania and the pirate of penzance they had tripped "the light fantastic" together and now, as her especial cavalier through the games and at supper, he really took her some distance on the path of pleasant acquaintance. there was no more on the personal line but they were as one on athletics and many other features of school life. betty was fascinated at his tales of college life and thought it must be great fun to be away at school. larry was quite popular with all the girls, betty saw, and she wondered how marcella had happened to assign him to her for the supper, for betty was too modest still to guess that he had made the arrangement with marcella, who was planning the arrangements with lucia and the countess. if any one had expected any italian dishes at supper she was doomed to disappointment. perhaps the countess was as glad to return to american food and cooking as are many travelers. at any rate it was the customary late evening supper, dainty and appetizing. lights, conversation, gay dresses, young faces, much laughter--betty never _would_ forget it she declared to doris the next morning as she described it in detail to her sister. "everybody and everything were lovely, dorry. i wish you could have been with me. and the countess coletti is a peach!" with which conclusion betty hopped out of bed and began to dress. "isn't it a pity," sighed doris, "that life can't be parties all the time? and think of it, betty; school is almost out and next year you'll be a junior!" "that is so," thoughtfully replied betty, but she was thinking just then of the "pirate of penzance." the high school pitcher or dick & co. on the gridley diamond contents chapters i. the principal hears something about pennies ii. dick takes up his pen iii. mr. cantwell thinks twice---or oftener iv. dave warns tip scammon v. ripley learns that the piper must be paid vi. the call to the diamond---fred schemes vii. dave talks with one hand viii. huh? woolly crocheted slippers ix. fred pitches a bombshell into training camp x. dick & co. take a turn at feeling glum xi. the third party's amazement xii. trying out the pitchers xiii. the riot call and other little things xiv. the steam of the batsman xv. a dastard's work in the dark xvi. the hour of tormenting doubt xvii. when the home fans quivered xviii. the grit of the grand old game xix. some mean tricks left over xx. a tin can for the yellow dog xxi. dick is generous because it's natural xxii. all roads lead to the swimming pool xxiii. the agony of the last big game xiv. conclusion chapter i the principal hears something about "pennies" clang! "attention, please." the barely audible droning of study ceased promptly in the big assembly room of the gridley high school. the new principal, who had just stepped into the room, and who now stood waiting behind his flat-top desk on the platform, was a tall, thin, severe-looking man of thirty-two or three. for this year dr. carl thornton, beloved principal for a half-score of years, was not in command at the school. ill health had forced the good old doctor to take at least a year's rest, and this stranger now sat in the thornton chair. "mr. harper," almost rasped out mr. cantwell's voice, "stop rustling that paper." harper, a little freshmen, who had merely meant to slip the paper inside his desk, and who was not making a disturbing noise thereby, flushed pink and sat immobile, the paper swinging from one hand. from the principal's attitude and his look of seriousness, something unusual was pending. some of the girls permitted their apprehension to be seen. on the faces of several of the boys rested a look of half defiance, for this principal was unpopular, and, by the students, was considered unjust. "it being now in the early part of december," went on mr. cantwell, "we shall, on monday, begin rehearsing the music for the special exercises to be held in this school on the day before christmas. to that end, each of you found, on returning from recess, the new christmas music on your desk." mr. cantwell paused an instant for this important information to sink in. several slight, little sighs of relief escaped the students, especially from the girls' side of the great room. this speech did not presage anything very dreadful to come. "this sheet music," continued mr. cantwell, "is to be sold to the pupils at cost to the board of education. this cost price is fifteen cents." again mr. cantwell paused. it was a trick of his, a personal peculiarity. then be permitted himself a slight smile as he added: "this being friday, i will ask you all to be sure to bring, on monday morning, the money, which you will pay to me. don't forget, please; each of you bring me his little fifteen pennies. now, return to your studies until the beginning of the fourth period is announced." as he bent his head low behind a bulky textbook, dan dalzell, of the sophomore class, glanced over at dick prescott with sparkling mischief gleaming in his eyes. dick, who was now a sophomore, and one of the assured leaders in sports and fun, guessed that dan dalzell was hatching another of the wild schemes for which dalzell was somewhat famous. dick even guessed that he knew about what was passing in dan's mind. though moderate whispering was permitted, at need, in the assembly room, there was no chance for dick and dan to pass even a word at this time, for almost immediately the bell for the fourth period of the morning's work sounded, and the sections rose and filed out to the various recitation rooms. to readers of the preceding volume in this series, dick & co. will need no introduction. all six of the youngsters were very well introduced in "the high school freshmen." such readers will remember their first view of dick & co. with brown-haired dick prescott as leader, the other members of this unique firm of high school youngsters, were tom reade, dan dalzell, harry hazelton, gregory holmes and dave darrin. the six had been chums at the central grammar school, and had stuck together like burrs through the freshman year at the gridley high school. in fact, even in their freshmen period, when new students are not expected to have much to say, and are given no chance at the school athletics, dick & co. had made themselves abundantly felt. our readers will recall how the board of education had some notion of prohibiting high school football, despite the fact that the gridley h.s. eleven was one of the best in the united states. readers will also recall the prank hatched by dick & co., by means of which the board was quickly shown how unpopular such a move would be in the city. our readers will also recollect that, though freshmen were barred from active part in sports, yet dick & co. found the effective way of raising plentiful funds for the athletics committee. in the annual paper chase the freshmen hounds, under dick prescott's captaincy, beat the sophomore hares---for the first time in many years. in the skating events, later on, dick and his chums captured, for the freshman class, three of the eight events. from the start, dick & co. had shown great ingenuity in "boosting" football, in return for which, many of the usual restrictions on freshmen were waived where dick & co. were concerned. in the nearly three months, now, that the new school year had gone along, dick & co. had proved that, as sophs, they were youngsters of great importance in the student body. they were highly popular with most of their fellow-students; but of course that very popularity made them some enemies among those who envied or disliked them. for one thing, neither dick nor any of his partners came of families of any wealth. yet it was inevitable that some of the boys and girls of gridley h.s. should come from families of more or less wealth. it is but fair to say that most of these scions of the wealthier families were agreeable, affable and democratic---in a word, americans without any regard to the size of the family purse. a few of the wealthier young people, however, made no secret of their dislike for smiling, happy, capable dick & co. one of the leaders in this feeling was fred ripley, son of a wealthy, retired lawyer. during the skating events of the preceding winter, dick prescott, aided by his chums, had saved the life of ripley, who had gone through thin ice. however, so haughty a young man as fred ripley, though he had been slightly affected by the brave generosity, could not quite bring himself to regard dick as other than an interloper in high school life. ripley had even gone so far as to bribe tip scammon, worthless, profligate son of the honest old janitor of the high school, to commit a series of robberies from the locker rooms in the school basement while dick carried the key as monitor there. the "plunder" had been found in dick's own room at home, and the young man had been suspended from the high school for a while. thanks, however, to laura bentley and belle meade, two girls then freshmen and now sophs, tip had been run down. then the police made tip confess, and he was sent away to the penitentiary for a short term. tip, however, refused to the last to name his accomplice. dick knew that ripley was the accomplice, but kept his silence, preferring to fight all his own battles by himself. so fred ripley was now a junior, in good standing as far as scholarship and school record went. so far, during this new year, ripley had managed to smother his hatred for dick & co., especially for dick himself. lessons and recitations on this early december morning went off as usual. in time the hands of the clock moved around to one o'clock in the afternoon, at which time the high school closed for the day. the partners of dick & co. went down the steps of the building and all soon found their way through the surging crowds of escaped students. this sextette turned down one of the streets and trudged along together. at first several of the other high school boys walked along near them. finally, however, the crowd thinned away until only dick & co. were together. "dan," said dick, smilingly, "something struck you hard this morning, when mr. cantwell asked us all to bring the music-money on monday." "he didn't say exactly 'money,'" retorted dan dalzell, quickly. "what prin. did say was that each one of us was to bring fifteen _pennies_." "yes, i remember," laughed dick. "now, we couldn't have held that mob when school let out," pursued dan. "and now it's too late. but say, if the prin. had only sprung that on us _before_ recess-----" "well, suppose he had?" interrupted greg holmes, a trifle impatiently. "why, then," retorted dan, mournfully, "we could have passed word around, at recess, to have everybody bring just what the prin. called for---_pennies_!" "hm!" grinned dave darrin, who was never slow to see the point of anything. "then you had a vision of the unpopular prin. being swamped under a deluge of pennies---plain, individual little copper cents?" "that's it!" agreed dan. "but now, we won't see more than a few before we go to school again monday. oh---wow! what a chance that takes away from us. just imagine the prin. industriously counting away at thousands of pennies, and a long line of boy and girl students in line, each one waiting to pass him another handful of _pennies_! say, can you see the prin.---just turning white and muttering to himself? but there's no chance to get the word around, now!" "we don't need to get the word around," smiled dick. "if we passed the word around, it might get to the prin.'s ears before monday, and he'd hatch up some way to head us off." "if you can see how to work the trick at this late hour, you can see further than i can," muttered dan, rather enviously. "oh, dick has the scheme hatching, or he wouldn't talk about it," declared dave darrin, confidently. "why, if all you want is to send the whole student body on monday morning, each with fifteen copper cents to hand the prin., that can be fixed up easily enough," dick pronounced, judicially. "how are we going to do it?" asked dalzell, dubiously. "well, let us see how many pennies would be needed? there are close to two hundred and fifty students, but a few might refuse to go into the trick. let us say two hundred and forty _times_ fifteen. that's thirty-six hundred, isn't it? that means we want to get thirty-six dollars' worth of pennies. well, we'll get them!" "_we_ will?" demanded dan, with a snort. "dick, unless you've got more cash on hand than the rest of us then i don't believe a dragnet search of this crowd would turn up two dollars. thirty-six? that's going some and halfway back!" "there are three principal ways of buying goods of any kind," dick continued. "one way is with cash-----" "that's the street we live on!" broke in harry hazelton, with a laugh. "the second way," dick went on, "is to pay with a check. but you must have cash at the bank behind the check, or you get into trouble. now the third way is to buy goods on credit." "that's just as bad," protested dan. "where, in the whole town, could a bunch of youngsters like us, get thirty-six dollars' worth of real credit?" "i can," declared dick, coolly. "you? where? with your father?" "no; dad rarely takes in much in the way of pennies. i don't suppose he has two dollars' worth of pennies on hand at any time. but, fellows, you know that 'the morning blade' is a one cent paper. now, the publisher of 'the blade' must bank a keg of pennies every day in the week. i can see mr. pollock, the editor, this afternoon, right after luncheon. he has probably sent most of the pennies to bank today, but i'll ask him if he'll have to-morrow's pennies saved for us." "say, if he'll only do that!" glowed dan, his eyes flashing. "he will," declared dave darrin. "mr. pollock will do anything, within reason, that dick asks." "now, fellows, if i can put this thing through, we can meet in my room to-morrow afternoon at one o'clock. pennies come in rolls of fifty each, you know. we'll have to break up the rolls, and make new ones, each containing fifteen pennies." dave darrin stopped where he was, and began to laugh. tom reade quickly joined in. the others were grinning. "oh, say, just for one look at prin.'s face, if we can spring that job on him!" chuckled harry hazelton. "we can," announced dick, gravely. "so go home and enjoy your dinners, fellows. if you want to meet on the same old corner on main street, at half-past two to-day, we'll go in a body to 'the blade' office and learn what mr. pollock has to say about our credit." "_your_ credit, you mean," corrected dave. after dinner dick & co. met as agreed. arrived at "the blade" office it was decided that dick prescott should go in alone to carry on the negotiation. he soon came out again, wearing a satisfied smile and carrying a package under one arm. "if i'm any good at guessing," suggested dave, "you put the deal over." "mr. pollock agreed, all right," nodded dick. "i have fourteen dollars here. he'll let us have the rest to-morrow." they hurried back to dick's room, over the bookstore that was run by mr. and mrs. prescott. "whew, but this stuff is heavy," muttered dick, dumping the package on the table. "mr. pollock sent out to the pressroom and had some paper cut of just the size that we shall need for wrappers." "did you tell pollock what we are going to do?" asked greg holmes. "not exactly, but he guessed that some mischief was on. he wanted to know if it was anything that would make good local reading in 'the blade,' so i told him i thought it would be worth a paragraph or two, and that i'd drop around monday afternoon and give him the particulars. that was all i said." inside the package were three "sticks" of the kind that are used for laying the little coins in a row before wrapping. "now, one thing we must be dead careful about, fellows," urged dick, as he undid the package, "is to be sure that we get an exact fifteen coins in each wrapper. if we got in more, we'd be the losers. if we put less than fifteen cents in any wrapper, then we're likely to be accused of running a swindling game." so every one of the plotters was most careful to count the coins. it was not rapid work, and only half the partners could work at any one time. they soon caught the trick of wrapping, however, and then the little rolls began to pile up. saturday afternoon dick & co. were similarly engaged. nor did they find the work too hard. americans will endure a good deal for the sake of a joke. monday morning, shortly after half-past seven, dick and his chums had stationed themselves along six different approaches to the high school. each young pranker had his pockets weighted down with small packages, each containing fifteen pennies. purcell, of the junior class, was the first to pass dick prescott. "hullo, purcell," dick greeted the other, with a grin. "want to see some fun?" "of course," nodded the junior. "what's going?" "you remember that prin. asked us, last friday, to bring in our fifteen pennies for the christmas music?" "of course. well, i have my money in my pocket." "_in pennies_?" insisted dick. "well, no; of course not. but i have a quarter, and i guess prin. can change that." dick quickly explained the scheme. purcell, with a guffaw, purchased one of the rolls. "now, see here," hinted dick, "there'll be such a rush, soon, that we six can't attend to all the business. won't you take a dozen rolls and peddle them? i'll charge 'em to you, until you can make an accounting." purcell caught at the bait with another laugh. dick noted purcell's name on a piece of paper, with a dollar and eighty cents charged against it. all the other partners did the same with other students. with such a series of pickets out around the school none of the student body got through without buying pennies, except fred ripley and clara deane. they were not asked to buy. meanwhile, up in the great assembly room a scene was going on that was worth looking at. abner cantwell had seated himself at his desk. before him lay a printed copy of the roll of the student body. it was the new principal's intention to check off each name as a boy or girl paid for the music. knowing that he would have a good deal of currency to handle, the principal had brought along a satchel for this morning. first of all, harper came tripping into the room. he went to his desk with his books, then turned and marched to the principal's desk. "i've brought the money for the music, mr. cantwell." "that's right, mr. harper," nodded the principal. the little freshman carefully deposited his fifteen pennies on the desk. they were out of the roll. dick & co. had cautioned each investor to break the wrapper, and count the pennies before moving on. two of the seniors presently came in. they settled with pennies. then came laura bentley and belle meade. their pennies were laid on the principal's desk. "why, all pennies, so far!" exclaimed mr. cantwell. "i trust not many will bring coins of such low denomination." a look of bland innocence rested on laura's face. "why, sir," she remarked, "you asked us, friday, to bring pennies. "did i?" demanded the principal, a look of astonishment on his face. "why, yes, sir," belle meade rattled on. "don't you remember? you laughed, mr. cantwell, and asked each one of us to bring fifteen pennies to-day." "i had forgotten that, miss meade," returned the principal. then, as the sophomore young ladies turned away, a look of suspicion began to settle on the principal's face. nor did that look lessen any when the next six students to come in each carried pennies to the desk. twenty more brought pennies. by this time there was a stern look on the principal's white face. during the next few minutes after that only two or three came in, for dick had thought of a new aspect to the joke. he had sent messengers scurrying out through the street approaches with this message: "we're not required to be in the assembly room until eight o'clock. let's all wait until two minutes of eight---then go in a throng." so the principal had a chance to catch up with his counting as the minutes passed. so busy was he, however, that it didn't quite occur to him to wonder why so few of the student body had as yet come in. then, at . , a resounding tread was heard on the stairs leading up from the basement locker rooms. some two hundred boys and girls were coming up in two separate throngs. they were still coming when the assembly bell rang. as fast as any entered they made their way, with solemn faces, to the desk on the platform. as mr. cantwell had feared, the pennies still continued to pour in upon him. suddenly the principal struck his desk sharply with a ruler, then leaped to his feet. his face was whiter than ever. it was plain that the man was struggling to control himself against an outburst of wrath. he even forced a smile to his face a sort of smile that had no mirth in it. "young ladies and young gentlemen," mr. cantwell rasped out, sharply, "some of you have seen fit to plan a joke against me, and to carry it out most audaciously. it's a good joke, and i admit that it's on me. but it has been carried far enough. if you please---_no more pennies_!" "but pennies are all i happen to have, sir," protested dave darrin, stepping forward. "don't you want me to pay you for the music, sir?" "oh, well," replied the principal, with a sigh, "i'll take 'em, then." as dick & co. had disposed of every one of their little rolls of fifteen, few of the students were unprovided with pennies. so the copper stream continued to pour in. mr. cantwell could have called any or all of his submasters and teachers to his aid. he thought of it presently, as his fingers ached from handling all the pennies. "mr. drake, will you come to the desk?" he called. so submaster drake came to the platform, drawing a chair up beside the principal's. but mr. cantwell still felt obliged to do the counting, as he was responsible for the correctness of the sums. so all mr. drake could do was check off the names as the principal called them. faster and faster poured the copper stream now. mr. cantwell, the cords sticking out on his forehead, and a clammy dew bespangling his white face, counted on in consuming anger. every now and then he turned to dump two or three handfuls of counted pennies into his open satchel. gathered all around the desk was a throng of students, waiting to pay. beyond this throng, safely out of range of vision, other students gathered in groups and chuckled almost silently. clatter! by an unintentional move of one arm mr. cantwell swept fully a hundred pennies off on to the floor. he leaped up, flushed and angry. "will the young---gentlemen---aid me in recovering the coins that went on the floor?" he asked. there was promptly a great scurrying and searching. the principal surely felt harassed that morning. it was ten minutes of nine when the last student had paid and had had his name checked off. mr. cantwell was at the boiling point of wrath. just as the principal was putting the last of the coins into his satchel mr. drake leaned over to whisper: "may i make a suggestion, sir?" "certainly," replied the principal coldly. "yet i trust, mr. drake, that it won't be a suggestion for an easy way of accumulating more pennies than i already have." "i think, if i were you, sir, i should pay no heed to this joke-----" "joke?" hissed the principal under his breath. "it's an outrage!" "but intended only as a piece of pleasantry, sir. so i think it will pass off much better if you don't allow the students to see that they have annoyed you." "why? do the students _want_ to annoy me?" demanded mr. cantwell, in another angry undertone. "i wouldn't say that," replied mr. drake. "but, if the young men discover that you are easily teased, they are sufficiently mischief-loving to try other jokes on you." "then a good friend of theirs would advise them not to do so," replied mr. cantwell, with a snap of his jaws. that closed the matter for the time being. the first recitation period of the morning had been lost, but now the students, most of them finding difficulty in suppressing their chuckles, were sent to the various class rooms. before recess came, the principal having a period free from class work, silently escaped from the building, carrying the thirty-six hundred pennies to the bank. as that number of pennies weighs something more than twenty-three pounds, the load was not a light one. "i have a big lot of pennies here that i want to deposit," he explained to the receiving teller. "how many?" asked the teller. "thirty-six hundred," replied mr. cantwell. "are they counted and done up into rolls of fifty, with your name on each roll?" asked the teller. "why---er---no," stammered the principal. "they're just loose---in bulk, i mean." "then i'm very sorry, mr. cantwell, but we can't receive them in that shape, sir. they will have to be counted and wrapped, and your name written on each roll." "do you mean to say that i must take these pennies home, count them all---again!---and then wrap them and sign the wrappers." "i'm sorry, but you, or some one will have to do it, mr. cantwell." then and there the principal exploded. one man there was in the bank at that moment who was obliged to turn his head away and stifle back the laughter. that man was mr. pollock, of "the blade." pollock knew now what dick & co. had wanted of such a cargo of pennies. "i can't carry this infernal satchel back to school," groaned the principal, disgustedly. "some of the boys, when they see me, will realize that the satchel is still loaded, and they'll know what has happened to me at the bank. it will make me look fearfully ridiculous to be caught in that fashion, with the joke against me a second time! and yet i have a class immediately after recess. what can i do?" a moment later, however, he had solved the problem. there was a livery stable not far away, and he knew the proprietor. so to that stable mr. cantwell hurried, changing the satchel from one hand to the other whenever an arm ached too much. "this satchel contains a lot of currency, mr. getchel," explained the poor principal. "i wish you could do me the favor of having a horse hitched up and take this to my wife. will you do it?" "certainly," nodded the liveryman. "just lock the satchel; that is all. i'll have the bag at your home within fifteen minutes." so during the first period after recess mrs. cantwell was visited by getchel, who handed her the satchel, merely remarking: "mr. cantwell left this at my office, ma'am, and asked me to bring it down to you. it contains some money that your husband sent you." money? the good woman, who "loved" money too well to spend much of it, hefted the satchel. gracious! there must be a big lot of the valuable stuff. but the satchel was locked. mrs. cantwell promptly hunted until she found another satchel key that fitted. then she opened the bag, staring at the contents with big eyes. "what on earth can my husband have been doing?" she wondered. "surely he hasn't been robbing the salvation army christmas boxes! and the idea of sending me money all in pennies!" the more she thought about it the more indignant did mrs. cantwell become. finally, a little after noon, mrs. cantwell decided to take the stuff to the bank, have it counted and turned over into greenbacks. so she trudged up to the bank with it. the journey was something more than a mile in length. mrs. cantwell arrived at the bank, only to make the same discovery that her husband had made about the need of counting and wrapping the money before it could be deposited or exchanged. it was close to one o'clock, and the high school not far away. so, full of ire, mrs. cantwell started down to her husband's place of employment. once school let out for the day, a quarter of a thousand members of the student body went off, full of glee, to spread the news of the joke. as they hurried along many of the students noticed that mrs. cantwell was standing not far from the gate and that, at her feet, lay her husband's black satchel. several of the students were quick to wonder what this new phase of the matter meant. after school was dismissed fred ripley remained behind, strapping several books together. then, as he passed the principal's desk, he remarked: "i suppose, mr. cantwell, that some of the students thought that a very funny trick that was played on you this morning. while i am speaking of it, i wish to assure you, sir, that i had no hand in the outrage." "i am very glad to hear you say that, mr. ripley. some day i hope i shall have a notion who _did_ originate the practical joke." "i don't believe you would have to guess very long, sir," ripley hinted. "what do you mean?" "why, sir, whenever anything of that sort is hatched up in this school, it's generally a pretty safe guess that dick & co. are at the bottom of it all." "dick & co.?" repeated mr. cantwell. "dick prescott and his chums, sir," replied ripley, rapidly naming the five partners. then, having accomplished what he wanted, fred sauntered out. "i'll look into this further," thought mr. cantwell, angrily. "if i can satisfy myself that prescott was at the bottom of this wicked hoax then i---i may find it possible to make him want to cut his high school course short!" mrs. cantwell was waiting at the gate. "what on earth, abner, did you mean by sending me this great cartload of pennies?" demanded the principal's spouse. "here i've taken it up to the bank, and find they won't accept it---not in this form, anyway. now, i've carried it this far, abner, and you may carry it the rest of the way home." "why---er---er---" stammered the principal. "mr. getchel brought the satchel to me, and told me it was money you had sent me. but i want to say, abner, that of all the-----" at this moment the principal picked up the hateful satchel and the pair passed out of hearing of four young freshmen who had hidden near to learn what the mystery of the satchel meant. it was not long, either, before the further joke had become known to a great many of the students. chapter ii dick takes up his pen dick had no sooner ventured out on the street after dinner than he encountered the news of mrs. cantwell's meeting with her husband. but dick did not linger long to discuss the matter. his pockets now contained, in place of pennies, a few banknotes and many dimes, pennies and nickels, amounting in all to thirty-six dollars. he was headed for "the blade" office to settle with mr. pollock. "i think i can tell you a little story now, that may be worth a paragraph or two," dick announced after he had counted out the money and had turned it over to the editor. "you played a little joke on your new and not wholly popular principal, didn't you?" mr. pollock asked, his eyes twinkling. "yes; has the thing reached you already?" "i don't know the whole story of the joke," mr. pollock replied, "but perhaps i can tell you one side of it that you don't know." thereupon the editor described mr. cantwell's visit to the bank. "now, i've got a still further side to the story," dick continued, and repeated the story told by the freshmen of how mrs. cantwell also had carried the money to the bank, and then, still carrying it, had waited for her husband at the school gateway. editor pollock leaned back, laughing until the tears rolled down his cheeks. "i'm sorry for the good lady's discomfiture," explained the editor, presently. "but the whole story is very, very funny." "now, i guess you know all the facts," finished dick prescott, rising. "yes, but i haven't a single reporter about." then, after a pause, "see here, prescott, why couldn't you write this up for me?" "i?" repeated dick, astonished. "i never wrote a line for publication in my life." "everyone who does, has to make a start some time," replied mr. pollock. "and i believe you could write it up all right, too. see here, prescott, just go over to that desk. there's a stack of copy paper there. write it briefly and crisply, and, for delicacy's sake, leave out all that relates to mrs. cantwell. no use in dragging a woman into a hazing scrape." dick went over to the desk, picking up a pen. for the fist three or four minutes he sat staring at the paper, the desk, the floor, the wall and the street door. but mr. pollock paid no heed to him. then, finally, dick began to write. as he wrote a grin came to his face. that grin broadened as he wrote on. at last he took the pages over to mr. pollock. "i don't suppose that's what you want," he said, his face very red, "but the main facts are all there." laying down his own pen mr. pollock read rapidly but thoughtfully. the editor began to laugh again. then he laid down the last sheet. "prescott, that's well done. there's a good reporter lurking somewhere inside of you." thrusting one hand down into a pocket mr. pollock brought out a half-dollar, which he tendered to dick. "what am i to do with this?" asked the young sophomore. "anything you please," replied the editor. "the money's for you." "for me?" gasped dick. "yes, of course. didn't you write this yarn for me? of course 'the blade' is only a country daily, and our space rates are not high. but see here, prescott, i'll pay you a dollar a column for anything you write for us that possesses local interest enough to warrant our printing it. now, while going to the high school, why can't you turn reporter in your spare time, and earn a little pocket money?" again dick gasped. he had never thought of himself as a budding young journalist. yet, as mr. pollock inquired, "why not?" why not, indeed! "well, how do you think you'd like to work for us?" asked mr. pollock, after a pause. "of course you would not leave the high school. you would not even neglect your studies in the least. but a young man who knows almost everybody in gridley, and who goes about town as much as you do, ought to be able to pick up quite a lot of newsy stuff." "i wonder if i could make a reporter out of myself," dick pondered. "the way to answer that question is to try," replied mr. pollock. "for myself, i think that, with some training, you'd make a good reporter. by the way, prescott, have you planned on what you mean to be when you're through school?" "why, it isn't settled yet," dick replied slowly. "father and mother hope to be able to send me further than the high school, and so they've suggested that i wait until i'm fairly well through before i decide on what i want to be. then, if it's anything that a college course would help me to, they'll try to provide it." "what would you like most of all in the world to be?" inquired the editor of "the blade." "a soldier!" replied young prescott, with great promptness and emphasis. "hm! the soldier's trade is rather dull these days," replied the editor. "we're becoming a peaceful people, and the arbitrator's word does the work that the sword used to do." "this country has been in several wars," argued dick, "and will be in others yet to come. in times of peace a soldier's duty is to fit himself for the war time that is to come. oh, i believe there's plenty, always, that an american soldier ought to be doing." "perhaps. but newspaper work is the next best thing to soldiering, anyway. prescott, my boy, the reporter of to-day is the descendant of the old free-lance soldier of fortune. it takes a lot of nerve to be a reporter, sometimes, and to do one's work just as it should be done. the reporter's life is almost as full of adventure as the soldier's. and there are no 'peace times' for the reporter. he never knows when his style of 'war' will break out. but i must get back to my work. are you going to try to bring us in good matter at a dollar a column?" "yes, i am, thank you," dick replied, unhesitatingly, now. "good," nodded mr. pollock, opening one of the smaller drawers over his desk. "here's something you can put on and wear." he held out to the boy an oblong little piece of metal, gold plated. "it's a badge such as 'the blade' reporters wear, and has the paper's name on it," continued the editor. "you can pin it on your vest." "i guess i'd better leave that part out for a while," laughed dick, drawing back. "the fellows at school wouldn't do a thing to me if they caught me wearing a reporter's badge." "oh, just as you please about that," nodded mr. pollock, tossing the badge back into the drawer. "but don't forget to bring us in something good, prescott." "i won't forget, mr. pollock." as dick went down the street, whistling blithely, he kept his hand in his pocket on the half-dollar. he had had much more money with him a little while before, but that was to pay to some one else. this half-dollar was wholly his own money, and, with the prospect it carried of earning more, the high school boy was delighted. pocket money had never been plentiful with young prescott. the new opportunity filled him with jubilation. it was not long, however, before a new thought struck him. he went straight to his parents' bookstore, where he found his mother alone, mr. prescott being out on business. to his mother dick quickly related his new good fortune. mrs. prescott's face and words both expressed her pleasure. "at first, mother, i didn't think of anything but pocket money," dick admitted. "then my head got to work a bit. it has struck me that if i can make a little money each week by writing for 'the blade,' i can pay you at least a bit of the money that you and dad have to spend to keep me going." "i am glad you thought of that," replied mrs. prescott, patting her boy's hand. "but we shan't look to you to do anything of the sort. your father and i are not rich, but we have managed all along to keep you going, and i think we can do it for a while longer. whatever money you can earn, richard, must be your own. we shall take none of it. but i trust you will learn how to handle your own money wisely. _that_ is one of the most valuable lessons to be learned in life." to his chums, when he saw them later in the afternoon, dick said nothing of mr. pollock's request. the young soph thought it better to wait a while, and see how he got along at amateur reporting before he let anyone else into the secret. but late that afternoon dick ran into a matter of interest and took it to "the blade" office. "that's all right," nodded mr. pollock, after looking over dick's "copy." "glad to see you have started in, my boy. now, i won't pay you for this on the nail. wait until saturday morning, cutting all that you have printed out of the 'the blade.' paste all the items together, end on end, and bring them to me. that is what reporters call a 'space string.' bring your 'string' to me every saturday afternoon. we'll measure it up with you and settle." dick hurried away, content. he even found that evening that he could study with more interest, now that he found he had a financial place in life. in the morning gridley read and laughed over dick's item about the high school hoax. but there was one man who saw it at his breakfast table, and who went into a white heat of rage at once. that man was abner cantwell, the principal. he was still at white heat when he started for the high school; though, warned by prudence, he tried to keep his temper down. nevertheless, there was fire in mr. cantwell's eyes when he rang the bell to bring the student body to attention to begin the morning's work. chapter iii mr. cantwell thinks twice---or oftener "young ladies and young gentlemen," began the principal, "a very silly hoax was perpetrated on me yesterday. i do not believe you will have any difficulty in understanding what i mean. but the matter went beyond this school room. an account of the hoax was published in the morning paper, and that holds me up to severe ridicule. i trust that we shall not have any repetition of such childish, so-called jokes. i do not know yet what action i may or may not take in this matter, and can promise nothing. i can and do promise, however, that if any more such hoaxes are attempted i shall do all in my power to ferret out and summarily punish the offenders!-----" here the principal's own sense of prudence warned him that he had gone quite as far as was necessary or prudent. so he choked down his rising words and called for the morning singing. yet, as mr. cantwell uttered his last words his glance fell very sternly on one particular young member of the sophomore class. dick prescott. "prin. has it in for you, old fellow!" whispered dave darrin, as he and dick jostled on the way to a recitation. "but if he has---humph---it won't be long before he finds out that you had some help. you shan't be the scapegoat for all of dick & co." "don't say anything," dick whispered back. "i'll find a way to take care of myself. if any trouble is to come, i think i can take care of it. anyway, i won't have anyone else dragged into it." but the principal said nothing more during that school session. in the afternoon, however, when mr. cantwell took his accustomed walk after dinner, he met several acquaintances who made laughing or casual references to the yarn in the morning's "blade." "i've got to stamp this spirit out in the school," decided the principal, again at a white heat. "if i don't i'll soon have some real trouble on hand with these young jackanapes! the idea of their making me---the principal---ridiculous in the town! no school principal can submit to hoaxes like that one without suffering in public esteem. i'll sift this matter down and nip the whole spirit in the bud." in this mr. cantwell was quite possibly at error in judgment. probably the high school boys wouldn't have played such a prank on good old dr. thornton, had he still been their school chief. but, if they had, dr. thornton would have admitted the joke good-humoredly and would have taken outside chaffing with a good nature that would have disarmed all wit aimed at him. mr. cantwell, as will be seen, lacked the saving grace of a sense of humor. he also lacked ability in handling full-blooded, fun-loving boys. wednesday, just before one o'clock, the principal electrified the assembled students by saying, in a voice that was ominously quiet and cool: "when school is dismissed i shall be glad to have mr. prescott remain for a few words with me." "now it's coming," thought dick, though without any particular thrill of dismay. he waited while the others filed out. somehow the big building didn't empty as fast as usual. had mr. cantwell known more about boy nature he would have suspected that several of dick's friends had remained behind in hiding places of their own choosing. dick remained in his seat, coolly turning the pages of his text-book on ancient history. "mr. prescott," called the principal sharply. "yes, sir," responded dick, closing the book, slipping it into his desk, and rising as though to go forward. "no, no; keep your seat until i am ready to speak with you, mr. prescott. but it isn't necessary to read, is it?" "i was looking through to-morrow's history lesson, sir," dick replied, looking extremely innocent. "but, of course, i won't if you disapprove." "wait until i come back," rapped out the principal, leaving the room. he went out to see that the building was being emptied of students, but of course he failed to discover that a few were hiding as nearly within earshot as they could get. two or three of the teachers who had remained behind now left the room. the last to go was mr. drake, the submaster. as he went he cast a look at dick that was full of sympathy, though the submaster, who was a very decent man and teacher, did not by any means intend to foster mutiny in the heart of a high school boy. but mr. drake knew that mr. cantwell was not fitted either to command respect or to enforce discipline in the high school. when mr. cantwell came back he and the young soph had the great room to themselves. "now you may come forward, mr. prescott," announced the principal, "and stand in front of the platform." as dick went forward there was nothing of undue confidence or any notion of bravado in his bearing. he was not one of those schoolboys who, when brought to task by authority, try to put on a don't-care look. dick's glance, as he halted before the platform and turned to look at mr. cantwell, was one of simple inquiry. "mr. prescott, you are fully informed as to the hoax that was perpetrated on me yesterday morning?" "you mean the incident of the pennies, i think, sir?" returned the boy, inquiringly. "you know very well that i do, young man," retorted mr. cantwell, rapping his desk with one hand. "yes, sir; i am fully informed about it." "and you know who was at the bottom of it, too, mr. prescott?" the principal bent upon the boy a look that was meant to make him quail, but dick didn't quail. "yes, sir," he admitted, promptly. "i know at least several that had a hand in the affair." "and you were one of them?" "yes, sir," admitted the young soph, frankly. "i think i had as much to do with what you term the hoax, sir, as anyone else had." "who were the others?" fired the principal, quickly and sharply. "i---i beg your pardon, sir. i cannot answer that." "you can't? why not, mr. prescott?" demanded the principal. again the principal launched his most compelling look. "because, sir," answered dick, quietly, and in a tone in which no sign of disrespect could be detected, "it would strike me as being dishonorable to drag others into this affair." "you would consider it dishonorable?" cried mr. cantwell, his face again turning deathly white with inward rage. "_you_, who admit having had a big hand in what was really an outrage?" but dick met and returned the other's gaze composedly. "the board of education, mr. cantwell, has several times decided that one pupil in the public schools cannot be compelled by a teacher to bear tales that implicate another student. i have admitted my own share in the joke that has so much displeased you, but i cannot name any others." "you _must_!" insisted the principal, rising swiftly from his chair. "i regret to have to say, sir," responded prescott, quietly, "that i shall not do it. if you make it necessary, i shall have to take refuge behind the rulings of the board of education on that point." mr. cantwell glared at dick, but the latter still met the gaze unflinchingly. then the principal began to feel his wrath rising to such a point that he found himself threatened with an angry outburst. as his temper had often betrayed him before in life, mr. cantwell, pointing angrily to dick's place, said: "back to your seat, mr. prescott, until i have given this matter a little more thought!" immediately afterward the principal quitted the room. dick, after sitting in silence for a few moments, drew his history again from his desk, turned over the pages, found the place he wanted and began to read. it was ten minutes later when the principal returned to the room. he had been to one of the class rooms, where he had paced up and down until he felt that he could control himself enough to utter a few words. now, he came back. "prescott, i shall have to think over your admission before i come to any decision in the matter. i may not be able to announce my decision for a while. i shall give it most careful thought. in the meantime, i trust, very sincerely, that you will not be caught in any more mischief---least of all, anything as serious, as revolutionary, as yesterday's outrageous impudence. you may go, now---for to-day!" "very good, sir," replied dick prescott, who had risen at his desk as soon as mr. cantwell began to talk to him. as young prescott passed from the room he favored the principal with a decorous little bow. dave darrin, tom reade, greg holmes, harper and another member of the freshman class, came out of various places of hiding. as he went down the stairs dick was obliged to tread heavily enough to drown out their more stealthy footfalls. once in the open, harper and the other freshman scurried away, their curiosity satisfied. but, a moment later, when mr. cantwell looked out of the window, he was much surprised to see four members of dick & co. walking together, and almost out through the gate. "have they been within earshot---listening?" wondered the principal to himself, and jotted down the names of darrin, reade and holmes. the two freshmen, by their prompt departure had saved themselves from suspicion. on thursday nothing was said or done about dick's case. when friday's session drew toward its close young prescott fully expected to have sentence pronounced, or at least to be directed to remain after school. but nothing of the sort happened. dick filed out at the week's end with the rest. "what do you imagine prin. can be up to?" dave darrin asked, as dick & co. marched homeward that early friday afternoon. "i don't know," dick confessed. "it may be that mr. cantwell is just trying to keep me guessing." "if that's his plan," inquired reade, "what are you going to do, old fellow?" "perhaps---just possibly---i shall fight back with the same weapon," smiled dick. mr. cantwell had, in truth, formed his plan, or as much of it as he could form until he had found just how the land lay, and what would be safe. his present berth, as principal of gridley h.s., was a much better one than he had ever occupied before. mr. cantwell cherished a hope of being able to keep the position for a good many years to come. yet this would depend on the attitude of the board of education. in order not to take any step that would bring censure from the board, mr. cantwell had decided to attend the board's next meeting on the following monday evening, and lay the matter before the members confidentially. if the board so advised, mr. cantwell was personally quite satisfied with the idea of disciplining dick by dropping him from the high school rolls. "i'll protect my dignity, at any cost," mr. cantwell, murmured, eagerly to himself. "after all, what is a high school principal, without dignity?" monday afternoon dick prescott stepped in at "the blade" office. "got something for us again?" asked mr. pollock, looking around. "not quite yet," dick replied. "i've come to make a suggestion." "prescott, suggestions are the food of a newspaper editor. go ahead." "you don't send a reporter to report the board of education meetings, do you?" "no; those meetings are rarely newsy enough to be worth while. i can't afford to take up the evening of a salaried reporter in that way. but spencer generally drops around, at the time the board is expected to adjourn, or else he telephones the clerk, from this office, and learns what has been done. it's mostly nothing, you know." "spencer wouldn't care if he didn't have to report the board meetings at all?" "of course not. len would be delighted at not having anything more to do." "then let me go and report the meetings for you, on space." "my boy, a reporter would starve on that kind of space work. why, after you put in the whole evening there, you might come to the office only to learn that we didn't consider any of the board's doings worth space to tell about them." "will you let me attend a few of the meetings, and take my chances on the amount of space i can get out of it?" "go ahead, prescott, if you can afford to waste your time in that fashion," replied mr. pollock, almost pityingly. "thank you. that's what i wanted," acknowledged dick, and went out very well contented. when it lacked a few minutes of eight, that evening, all the members of the board of education had arrived. it was the same board as in the year before. all the members had been re-elected at the last city election, though some of them by small majorities. mr. gadsby, one of the members who had won by only a slight margin over his opponent, stood with his back to a radiator, warming himself, when he saw the door open. mr. gadsby nodded most genially to mr. cantwell, who entered. the principal came straight over to this member, and they shook hands cordially. mr. gadsby had been one of the members of the board who had been most anxious about having cantwell appointed principal; cantwell was, in fact, a family connection of mrs. gadsby's. "coming to make some report, or some suggestion, i take it, eh, cantwell?" murmured mr. gadsby in a low voice. "most excellent idea, my dear fellow. keeps you in notice and shows that your heart is in the work. most excellent idea, really." "i have a report to make," admitted mr. cantwell, in an equally low voice. "i---i find it necessary to make a statement about the doings of a rather troublesome element in the school. suspension or expulsion may be necessary in order to give the best ideas of good discipline to many of the other students. but i shall state the facts, and ask the board to advise me as to just what i ought to do in the premises." "ask the board's advice? most excellent idea, really," murmured mr. gadsby. "you can't go wrong then. but---er---what's the nature of the trouble? who is the offen-----" mr. gadsby was rubbing his hands, under his coat tails, as he felt the warmth from the steam radiator reach them. "why, the principal offender is named-----" here mr. cantwell paused, and looked rather astonished. "tell me, mr. gadsby, what is prescott, of the sophomore class, doing here?" the principal's glance had just rested on dick, who sat at a small side table, a little pile of copy paper on the table, a pencil in his hand. "oh---ah---prescott, richard prescott?" inquired mr. gadsby. "some of us were a bit surprised this evening to learn that prescott, though he will continue to attend high school, has also taken a position with 'the morning blade.' among other things to which he will attend, after this, cantwell, is the matter of school doings in this city. he is to be the regular reporter of school board meetings. rather a young man to wield the power of the press isn't he?" mr. gladsby chuckled at his own joke. "'power of the press'?" murmured mr. cantwell, uncomfortably. "surely you don't mean, gadsby, that this mere boy, this high school student, is going to be taken here seriously as representing the undoubtedly great power of the press?" "to some extent, yes," admitted mr. gadsby. "'the blade,' as you may know, is a good deal of a power in local politics. now, some of us---er---did not win our re-elections by any too large margins. a little dangerous opposition to---er---some of us---would mean a few new faces around the table at board meetings. mr. pollock is---er---a most estimable citizen, and a useful man in the community. yet mr. pollock is---er---cantwell---er---that is, a bit 'touchy.' no matter if pollock's reporter is a schoolboy, if we treated the boy with any lack of consideration, then pollock would most certainly take umbrage at what he would choose to consider a slight upon himself, received through his representative. so at these board meetings, young prescott will have to be treated with as much courtesy as though he were really a man, for pollock's hostility would be most disastrous to us---er---to some of us, possibly, i mean. but, really, young prescott is a most bright and enterprising young fellow, anyway---a very likable boy. _you_ like him, don't you, cantwell?" "ye-e-es," admitted the principal, though he added grimly under his breath: "i like him so well that i could eat him, right now, if i had a little worcestershire sauce to make him more palatable." "the board will please come to order," summoned chairman stone, rapping the table with his gavel. "mr. reporter, have you good light over at your table." "excellent, thank you, mr. chairman," dick replied. "er---aren't you going to stay, cantwell?" demanded gadsby, as the principal turned to leave the room. "no; the fact is---i---well, i want to consider my statement a little more before i offer it to the board. good evening!" mr. cantwell got out of the room while some of the members were still scraping their chairs into place. dick prescott had not openly looked in the principal's direction. yet the amateur reporter had taken it all in. he was grinning inside now. he had taken upon himself the work of reporting these meetings that he might be in a position to block any unfair move on the part of the principal. "i wonder what mr. cantwell is thinking about, _now_?" dick asked himself, with an inward grin as he picked up his pencil. that board meeting was about as dull and uneventful as the average. yet dick managed to make a few live paragraphs out of it that guilford, "the blade's" news editor, accepted. it still lacked some minutes of ten o'clock when young prescott left the morning newspaper office and started briskly homeward. "i didn't catch that board-reporting idea a day too soon," the boy told himself, laughing. "mr. cantwell was certainly on hand for mischief to-night. but how quickly he made his get-away when he discovered that his culprit was present as a member of the press! i guess mr. gadsby must have passed him a strong hint. but i must be careful not to have any malice in the matter. some evening when mr. cantwell does come before the board with some report i must take pains to give him and his report a nice little notice and ask 'the blade' folks to be sure to print it. then---gracious!" utterly startled, dick heard and saw an ugly brickbat whizz by his head. it came out of the dark alley that the sophomore was passing at that moment. and now came another, aimed straight for his head! chapter iv dave warns tip scammon there wasn't time to jump out of the way of that second flying missile. by an instinct of self-preservation young prescott, instead of trying to leap out of the way, just collapsed, going down to his knees. as he sank the missile struck the top of his cap, carrying it from his head. "hi! stop that, you blamed rascal!" it was dave darrin's voice that rang out, as that young man came rushing down the street behind prescott. dick in another second was on his feet, crouching low, and running full tilt into the alleyway. it was dick's way---to run at danger, instead of away from it. at his first bound into the alley, prescott dimly made out some fellow running at the further end. there was an outlet of escape down there---two of them, in fact, as the indignant pursuer knew. so he put on speed, but soon was obliged to halt, finding that his unknown enemy had gotten away. here dick was joined by breathless dave darrin, who had followed swiftly. "you go through there, dave; i'll take the other way," urged dick, again starting in pursuit. the unknown one, however, had taken advantage of those few seconds of delay to get safely beyond chase. so the chums met, soon, in a side street. "his line of retreat was good," muttered dick, rather disgustedly. "who was it, anyway?" dave indignantly inquired. "i don't know. i didn't see." "do you suppose it could have been tip scammon?" asked dave, shrewdly. "is tip scammon back from the penitentiary?" "got back this afternoon, and has been showing himself around town this evening," nodded dave. "say, i wonder if he could have been the one who ambushed you?" "i don't like to throw suspicion on anyone," dick replied. "still, i can't imagine anyone else who would have as much temptation to try to lay me up. tip scammon acted as fred ripley's tool, last year, in trying to make me out a high school thief. tip was sent away, and fred didn't have to suffer at all, because tip wouldn't betray his employer. but tip must have felt sore at me many a time when he was breaking rock at the penitentiary." the two chums walked slowly back to main street, still talking. "i saw you ahead of me, on the street," dave rattled on. "i was trying to overtake you, without calling, when that thing came whizzing by your head. say, dick, i wonder---" "what?" demanded prescott. "oh, of course, it's a crazy notion. but i was wondering if mr. cantwell could have it in for you so hard that he'd put anyone up to lying in ambush for you." dick started, then thought a few moments. "no," he decided. "cantwell may be erratic, and he certainly has a treacherous temper, and some mean ways. but this was hardly the sort of trick he'd go in for." "then it was tip scammon, all by himself," declared darrin, with great conviction. "but to go back to mr. cantwell," dick resumed, with a grin, "i must tell you something really funny. prin. went to school board tonight with a long, bright knife sharpened for me. but he didn't do a thing." then prescott confessed to being a "blade" representative, and told of the principal's visit to the board, and of his hurried departure. dave laughed heartily, though what seemed to amaze him most of all was that dick had found a chance to write for pay. "of course you can do it, dick," continued his loyal friend, "but i never thought that anyone as young as you ever got the chance." "it came my way," dick went on, "and i'm mighty glad it did. so-----" "wow!" muttered dave, suddenly, then started off at a sprint, as he muttered: "here's tip scammon now!" both boys moved along on a hot run. tip was walking slowly along main street, giving a very good imitation of one unconcerned. he turned when he heard the running feet behind him, however. his first impulse seemed to be to take to his heels. but the young jailbird quickly changed his mind, and turned to face them, an inquisitive look on his hard cunning face. "good evenin', fellers. where's the fire?" he hailed. "in my eyes! see it?" demanded dave darrin. his dark eyes certainly were flashing as he reached out and seized tip by one shoulder. "now don't ye git festive with _me_!" warned tip. "oh, we don't feel ready for anything more festive than a lynching party," muttered dave, hotly. "see here, you-----" "i s'pose ye think ye can do all ye wanter to me, jest because i've been doin' my stretch?" demanded tip, aggressively. "but don't be too sure. take yer hand offen my shoulder!" dave didn't show any sign of immediate intention of complying. "_take it off_!" insisted tip. but dave met the fellow's baleful gaze with a cool, steady look. tip, muttering something, edged away from under dave's extended hand. "now, ye wanter understand," continued young scammon, "that i can't be played with, jest because some folks think i'm down. if you come fooling around me you'll have to explain or apologize." "tip," questioned dave darrin, sharply, "why did you just throw two brickbats at dick prescott's head?" "i didn't," retorted tip, stolidly. "you _did_." "i didn't." "tip," declared dave, solemnly, "i won't call you a liar. i'll just remark that you and truth are strangers." "i ain't interested in what you fellers got to say," flared tip, sullenly. "and i don't like your company, neither. so jest skate along." "we're not going to linger with you, tip, any longer than seems absolutely necessary," promised dave, coolly. "but what i want to say is this: if you make any more attempts to do dick prescott any harm our crowd will get you, no matter how far we have to go to find you. is that clear?" "i s'pose it is, if you say so," sneered young scammon. "we'll get you," pursued dave, "and we'll turn you over to the authorities. one citizen like dick prescott is worth more than a million of your stamp. if we find you up to any more tricks against dick prescott, or against any of us, for that matter, we'll soon have you doing your second 'stretch,' as you have learned to call a term at the penitentiary. tip, your best card will be to turn over a very new leaf, and find an honest job. just because you've been in jail once don't go along with the notion that it's the only place where you can find your kind of company. but whatever you do, steer clear of dick prescott and his chums. i think you understand that. now, go!" tip tried to brazen it out, but there was a compelling quality in the clear, steady gaze of dave darrin's dark eyes. after a moment tip scammon let his own gaze drop. he turned and shuffled away. "poor fellow!" muttered dick. "yes, with all my heart," agreed dave. "but the fellow doesn't want to get any notion that he can go about terrorizing folks in gridley!" chapter v ripley learns that the piper must be paid scammon, however, knew one person in gridley whom he thought he could terrorize. he started in promptly to do it. at three the next afternoon young scammon loitered under a big, bare oak on one of the winding, little-traveled streets that led from gridley out into the open country beyond. in summer it was a favorite thoroughfare, especially for young engaged couples who wanted to loiter along the road, chatting and picking wild flowers. in winter, however, the place was usually deserted, being more than a mile out of the city. as tip lingered he caught sight of haughty fred ripley coming down the road at a fast walk. fred looked both angry and worried. tip, as soon as he caught sight of the young fellow who imagined himself an "aristocrat," began to grin in his evil way. a dull, sullen, red fired fred's cheeks when he caught sight of the one who was waiting for him. "ye're most nearly on time," tip informed the other. "see here, scammon, what in blazes did you mean by sending me a note like the one i got from you" demanded fred? tip only grinned. "what did you mean, fellow?" ripley insisted angrily. "i meant to get ye here, to let ye know what i had to say to ye," scammon retorted. "why, confound you, fellow---" fred began, stuttering a bit, but the other cut in on him in short fashion. "none o' that to me, now, fred ripley. d'ye hear? me an' you used to be pretty good pals, once on a time." at this charge, fred winced very plainly. "and maybe we'll be pals, now, too," tip pursued, with the air of one who believed himself to be able to dictate terms. "that is, for your sake, i hope we are, ripley." "what are you talking about? what do you want to see me about? come to the point in mighty few words," ripley commanded, impatiently. "well, now, first-off, last year, before i went away for my health---" tip grinned in ghastly fashion 'ye hired me to do a certain job for ye. right, so far, ain't i?" "possibly," assented fred, coldly. "ye hired me to get hold of keys that could be used on one o' the high school locker rooms," tip went on, cunningly. "ye hired me to steal some stuff from the coats o' the young gents that study there. then ye hired me to break inter dick prescott's room and get the loot inter his trunk. right, ain't i?" tip spoke assertively, making no effort to keep his voice low. "for goodness' sake don't shout it all over four counties," protested fred ripley, glancing apprehensively about him. his face was paler, now, from uneasiness. "oh, i ain't afraid about anyone hearing me," tip went on, unconcernedly. "d'ye know why, fred, my boy? because i done my stretch for the trick, and there ain't nuthin' more comin' to me on that score. if _you're_ 'fraid, jest go an' do yer stretch, like i did, an' then ye won't care who hears or knows!" tip laughed cunningly. fred's face darkened. he squirmed, yet found himself afraid to show anger. "so i dropped ye that note, tellin' ye to come here at three this aft'noon," scammon continued. "i told ye i hoped ye'd find it convenient to come, an' hinted that if ye didn't, ye might wish later, that ye had." "i'm here," retorted the ripley heir. "now, what do you want to say to me?" "i'm broke," tip informed ripley, plaintively. "stony! understand? i hain't got no money." "you don't expect me to furnish you with any?" demanded fred, his eyes opening wide in astonishment. "i paid you, in full, last year." "ye didn't pay me fer the stretch i done, did ye?" demanded tip, insolently. "how much did ye pay me for keeping my mouth closed, so you wouldn't have to do your stretch?" fred winced painfully under that steady, half-ugly glance of the other. "and now," continued scammon, in a half-hurt way, "ye think it's hard if i tell ye that i want a few dollars to keep food in my insides." "you've got your father," hinted fred. "sure, i have," tip assented. "but it's mighty little he'll do for me until i get a job and settle down to it." "well, why don't you?" asked fred ripley. "that's the surest way to get straight with the world." "when i want advice," sneered scammon, "i won't tramp all the way out here, an' ask _you_ for it. nope. i don't want advice. what i want is money." "oh, well, tip, i'm sorry for you and your troubles. here's a dollar for you. i wish i could make it more." fred ripley drew out the greenback, passing it over. tip took the money, studying it curiously. "ye're sorry just a dollar's worth---is that it? well, old pal, ye'll have to be more sorry'n that. i'll let ye off fer ten dollars, but hand it over quick!" fred's first impulse was to get angry, but it didn't take him more than an instant to realize that it would be better to keep this fellow quiet. "i haven't ten dollars, tip---on my honor," he protested, hesitatingly. "on yer---what?" questioned scammon, with utter scorn. "i haven't ten dollars." "how much have ye?" there was something in tip's ugly eyes that scared the boy. fred went quickly through his pockets, producing, finally, six dollars and a half. "i'll give you six of this, tip," proposed fred, rather miserably. "ye'll give me _all_ of it, ye mean," responded scammon. "and ye'll meet me to-morrow aft'noon with five more---something for interest, ye know." "but i won't have five dollars again, as soon as that," argued fred, weakly. "yes, you will," leered tip. "you'll have to!" "what do you mean?" demanded fred, trying to bluster, but making a failure of the attempt. "it'll take five more to give me lock-jaw," declared scammon. "i'm jest out of prison, and i mean to enjoy myself restin' a few days before i settle down to a job again. so, to-morrow, turn up with the five!" "i don't know where to get the money." "find out, then," sneered the other. "i don't care where you get it, but you've got to get it and hand it over to me to-morrow, or it'll be too late, an' gridley'll be too hot a place for 'ye!" "i'll try," agreed ripley, weakly. "ye'll do more'n try, 'cause if ye fail me ye'll have no further show," declared tip, with emphasis. "see, here, scammon, if i can find another five---somehow---that'll be the last of this business? you won't expect to get any more money out of me?" "the five that you're goin' to bring me tomorrow will be in full payment." "of all possible claims to date?" fred insisted. "yes, in full---to date," agreed scammon, grinning as though he were enjoying himself. "and there'll never be any further demands?" questioned fred. "never again!" scammon asserted, with emphasis. "you promise that, solemnly?" "on my honor," promised the jailbird, sardonically. "i'll try to get you the money, tip. but see here, i'll be in front of the drug store next to the post office, at just three o'clock to-morrow afternoon. you stop and look in the same window, but don't speak to me. if i can get the five i'll slip it into your hand. then i'll move away. you stand looking in the window a minute or so after i leave you, will you?" "sure," agreed scammon, cheerfully. "and don't do anything so plainly that any passerby can detect the fact that you and i are meeting there. don't let anyone see what i slip into your hand." "that'll be all right," declared tip scammon, readily enough. "and mind you, that's the last money you're ever to ask me for." "that'll be all right, too," came readily enough from the jailbird. "then good-bye until to-morrow. don't follow me too closely." "sure not," promised tip. "ye don't want anyone to know that i'm your friend, and i'm good at keepin' secrets." for two or three minutes young scammon remained standing under the bare tree. but his gaze followed the vanishing figure of fred ripley, and a cunning look gleamed in tip's eyes. fred ripley, when he had heard of tip going to prison without saying a word, had been foolish enough to suppose that that incident in his own life was closed. fred had yet to learn that evil remains a long time alive, and that its consequences hit the evil doer harder than the victim. chapter vi the call to the diamond---fred schemes recess! as the long lines filed rhythmically down from the second floor, thence to the basement, the leaders of the files quickly discovered something new posted on the bulletin board near the boys' locker rooms. as quickly as the files broke, there was such a rush to see the new bulletin that those who got the best places had to read aloud to others. this was what the bulletin proclaimed: notice. _the gymnasium will be open at . this afternoon for the gathering of all male students, except freshmen, who may be interested in trying to make either the school or second baseball teams for the coming season. gridley will have some notable rivals in the field this next year. information comes that several of school baseball teams will have better material and longer training for next season. it is earnestly desired that all members of the three upper classes who consider themselves capable of making either of the gridley high school baseball teams be on hand this afternoon, when as full plans as possible will be made. by order of the athletics committee of the alumni association. (signed) edward luce, b.b. coach._ a shout of approval went up from half of those present as purcell, of the junior class, finished reading. many of those who had no thought of making the school or second teams were filled with delight at thought of the training season being so soon to open. one of the boys who was pleased was fred ripley. he had handed that five-dollar bill to tip scammon the afternoon before, and now felt rather certain that he had closed the door on the whole scammon episode. like many another haughty, disagreeable person, ripley had, in spite of his treatment of others, a keen desire to be well thought of. the year before, in the sophomore class, fred had played as one of the pitchers in the second team, and had done fairly well on the few occasions when he had been given a chance. "there's no good reason why i can't make the post of pitcher on the school team this year," thought young ripley, with a thrill of hope and expectant delight. "going to show up this afternoon?" asked dave of prescott. "of course i am, darrin," answered prescott, as dick & co. met out on the sidewalk. "going to try to make the regular team?" "of course i am," declared dick, smiling. "and so, i hope, are every one of you fellows." "i'd like to," agreed tom reade. "then don't say you'd _like_ to; say you're _going_ to," admonished dick. "the fellow who doesn't quite know never gets much of any place. just say to yourself that you're going to be one of the stars on the school team. if you have to fall into the second team---don't be cast down over it---but make every possible effort toward getting on the top team. that's the spirit that wins in athletics," finished dick, sagely. "i'm going to make the school team," announced dave darrin. "not only that, but i'll proclaim it to anyone who'll be kind enough to listen. the school nine, or 'bust,' for me." "good enough!" cheered dick. "now, then, fellows, we'll all be on hand this afternoon, won't we, and on every other afternoon that we're needed?" dick & co. carried that proposition by a unanimous vote. "but see here, fellows," urged dick prescott, "just try to keep one idea in mind, please. there's a good deal of objection, every year, that athletics are allowed to interfere with studies. now, as soon as the end of recess is called to-day, let's every one of us go back with our minds closed to baseball. let us all keep our minds right on our studies. why can't we six help to prove that interest in athletics puts the scholarship mark up, not down?" "we can," nodded dave darrin. "good! i like that idea. we'll simply go ahead and put our scholarship away up over where it is at present." to this the other chums agreed heartily. luce, the coach for baseball, was one of the under submasters. he had made a record at college, for both baseball and scholarship. he was a complete enthusiast on the game of the diamond. the year before he had trained the school nine to a record that beat anything in the high school line in the whole state. his bulletin announced that he intended to try to make the coming nine the best yet. it didn't say that, in so many words, but the bulletin implied it. fred ripley did not hit upon the idea of improved scholarship. instead, that young man went into two classes, after recess, and reported "not prepared." then he settled back into a brown study of his chances in baseball. "i don't suppose dick & co. will have the nerve to try for anything better than the second nine," muttered fred to himself. "still, one can never tell what that crowd will have the nerve to do!" school out, fred hurried home faster than was his wont. he caught his father just as the latter was leaving the lunch table. "dad, can i have a few minutes' talk with you about one of my ambitions?" pleaded fred. "certainly, my boy," replied the wealthy, retired lawyer. "i'm glad, indeed, to hear that you have any ambitions. come into the library, if you can let your luncheon go that long." "if you don't mind, dad, i'd rather eat while i talk," urged fred. "i have to be back at school before three." "what---under discipline?" inquired the lawyer. "no, sir; it's baseball that i wish to talk about." "well, then, fred, what is it?" asked his father. "why, sir, we're going to get together on baseball, this afternoon. the start for the season is to be made early this year. gridley expects to put forth the finest high school nine ever." "i'm glad to hear that," nodded the lawyer. "school and college athletics, rightly indulged in, give the budding man health, strength, courage and discipline to take with him out into the battle of life. we didn't have much in the way of athletics when i was at college, but i appreciate the modern tendency more than do some men of my age." fred, though not interested in his father's praise of athletics waited patiently until his parent had finished. "i'm pretty sure, dad, i can make the chance of being the star pitcher on the school team for this coming season, if only you'll back me up in it." "why, as far as that goes," replied lawyer ripley, "i believe that about all the benefits of school athletics can be gained by one who isn't necessarily right at the top of the crowd." "but not to go to the top of the crowd, and not to try too, dad, is contrary to the spirit of athletics," argued fred, rather cleverly. "besides, one of the best things about athletics, i think, is the spirit to fight for leadership. that's a useful lesson---leadership---to carry out into life, isn't it, sir?" "yes, it is; you're right about that, son," nodded the lawyer. "well, sir, everett, one of the crack pitchers of national fame, is over in duxbridge for the winter. he doesn't go south with his team for practice until the middle or latter part of february. duxbridge is only twelve miles from here. he could come over here, or you could let your man take me over to duxbridge in your auto. dad, i want to be the pitcher of the crack battery in the school nine. will you engage everett, or let me hire him, to train me right from the start in all the best styles of pitching?" "how much would it cost?" asked the lawyer, cautiously. "i don't know exactly, sir. a few hundred dollars, probably." fred's face was glowing with eagerness. his mother, who was standing just behind him, nodded encouragingly at her husband. "well, yes, fred, if you're sure you can make yourself the star pitcher of the school nine, i will." "when may i go to see everett, sir?" asked fred, making no effort to conceal the great joy this promise had given him. "since you're to be engaged for this afternoon, fred, we'll make it to-morrow. i'll order out the car and go over to duxbridge with you.". it was in the happiest possible frame of mind, for him, that fred ripley went back to the high school that afternoon. he didn't arrive until five minutes before the hour for calling the meeting; he didn't care to be of the common crowd that would be on hand at or soon after two-thirty. when he entered, he found a goodly and noisy crowd of some eighty high school boys of the three upper classes present. ripley nodded to a few with whom he was on the best terms. settees had been placed at one end of the gym. there was an aisle between two groups of these seats. "gentlemen, you'll please come to order, now," called out coach luce, mounting to a small platform before the seats. it took a couple of minutes to get the eager, half-turbulent throng seated in order. then the coach rapped sharply, and instantly all was silence, save for the voice of the speaker. "gentlemen," announced mr. luce, "it is the plan to make the next season the banner one in baseball in all our school's history. this will call for some real work, for constantly sustained effort. every man who goes into the baseball training squad will be expected to do his full share of general gymnastic work here, and to improve every favorable chance for such cross-country running and other outdoor sports as may be ordered. "to-day, as we are so close to christmas, we will arrange only the general details---have a sort of mapping-out, as it were. but immediately after the holidays the entire baseball squad that enrolls will be required to start at once to get in general athletic condition. there will be hard---what some may call grilling---gym. work at the outset, and much of the gym. work will be kept up even after the actual ball practice begins. "early in february work in the baseball cage must begin, and it will be made rather severe this year. in fact, i can assure you that the whole training, this coming year, will be something that none but those who mean to train in earnest can get through with successfully. "any man who is detected smoking cigarettes or using tobacco in any form, will be dropped from the squad instantly. every man who enrolls will be required to make a promise to abstain, until the end of the ball season, from tobacco in any form. "in past years we have often been urged to adopt the training table, in order that no greedy man may eat himself out of physical condition. it is not, of course, feasible to provide such a table here at the gym. i wish it were. but we will have training table to just this extent: every member of the squad will be handed a list of the things he may eat or drink, and another list of those things that are barred. the only exception, in the way of departure, from the training list, will be the christmas dinner. every man who enrolls is in honor bound to stick closely to his list of permissible foods until the end of the training season. "remember, this year's work is to be one of the hardest work and all the necessary self-denial. it must be a disciplined and sustained effort for excellence and victory. those who cannot accept these principles in full are urged not to enroll in the squad at all. "now, i will wait five minutes, during which conversation will be in order. when i call the meeting to order again i will ask all who have decided to enter the squad to occupy the seats here at my right hand, the others to take the seats at my left hand." immediately a buzz of talk ran around that end of the gym. the high school boys left their seats and moved about, talking over the coach's few but pointed remarks. "how do you like mr. luce's idea, dick?" asked tom reade. "it's good down to the ground, and all the way up again," dick retorted, enthusiastically. "his ideas are just the ideas i'm glad to hear put forward. no shirking; every effort bent on excelling, and every man to keep his own body as strong, clean and wholesome as a body can be kept. why, that alone is worth more than victory. it means a fellow's victory over all sloth and bad habits!" "luce meant all he said, too, and the fellows know he did," declared dave darrin. "i wonder what effect it will have on the size of the squad?" there was a good deal of curiosity on that score. the five minutes passed quickly. then coach luce called for the division. as the new baseball squad gathered at the right-hand seats there was an eager counting. "forty-nine," announced greg holmes, as soon as he had finished counting. "five whole nines and a few extras left over." "i'm glad to see that gridley high school grit is up to the old standard," declared coach luce, cheerily, after he had brought them to order. "our squad, this year, contains three more men than appeared last year. it is plain that my threats haven't scared anyone off the gridley diamond. now, i am going to write down the names of the squad. then i will ask each member, as his name is called, to indicate the position for which he wishes to qualify." there was a buzz of conversation again, until the names had all been written down. then, after coach luce had called for silence, he began to read off the names in alphabetical order. "dalzell?" asked the coach, when he had gone that far down on the list. "first base," answered dan, loudly and promptly. "darrin?" "pitcher," responded dave. there was a little ripple of surprise. when a sophomore goes in for work in the box it is notice that he has a good opinion of his abilities. a few more names were called off. then: "hazelton?" "short stop," replied harry, coolly. "whew!" an audible gasp of surprise went up and traveled around. after the battery, the post of short stop is the swiftest thing for which to reach out. "holmes?" "left field." "it's plain enough," sneered fred ripley to the fellow beside him, "that dick & co., reporters and raga-muffins, expect to be two thirds of the nine. i wonder whom they'll allow to hold the other three positions?" several more names were called off. then came: "prescott?" "pitcher," dick answered, quietly. a thrill of delight went through fred. this was more luck than he had hoped for. what great delight there was going to be in beating out dick prescott! "reade?" "second base." "ripley?" "p-p-pitcher!" fred fairly stuttered in his eagerness to get the word out emphatically. in fact, the word left him so explosively that several of the fellows caught themselves laughing. "oh, laugh, then, hang you all!" muttered fred, in a low voice, glaring all around him. "but you don't know what you're laughing at. maybe i won't show you something in the way of real pitching!" "the first tuesday after the holidays' vacation the squad will report here for gymnastic work from three-thirty to five," called the coach. "now, i'll talk informally with any who wish to ask questions." fred ripley's face was aglow with satisfaction. his eyes fairly glistened with his secret, inward triumph. "so you think you can pitch, prescott?" he muttered to himself. "humph! with the great everett training me for weeks, i'll make you look like a pewter monkey, dick prescott." chapter vii dave talks with one hand the next afternoon fred and his father went over to duxbridge. they found the great everett at home, and not only at home, but willing to take up with their proposal. the celebrated professional pitcher named a price that caused lawyer ripley to hesitate for a few moments. then catching the appealing look in his son's face, the elder ripley agreed to the terms. the training was to be given at duxbridge, in everett's big and almost empty barn. that night lawyer ripley, a man of prompt habit in business, mailed his check for the entire amount. fred, in the privacy of his own room, danced several brief but exuberant jigs. "now, i've got you, dick prescott! and i've not only got you, but if you come in second to me, i'll try to keep in such condition that i pitch every important game of the whole season!" but the next morning the ripley heir received a sad jolt. in one of his text-books he ran across a piece of cardboard on which was printed, in coarse characters: "tuday, same plas, same time. bring ten. or don't, if you dare!" "that infernal blackmailer, tip scammon!" flared fred indignantly. in the courage of desperation fred promptly decided that he would ignore the scammon rascal. nor did fred change his mind. besides, this afternoon he was due at duxbridge for his first lesson under the mighty everett. so tip was on hand at the drug store beside the post office, but no fred came. tip scowled and hung about in the neighborhood until after four o'clock. then he went away, a black look indeed on his not handsome face. meanwhile, most of the people of gridley, as elsewhere in the christian world, were thinking of "peace on earth" and all that goes with it. the stores were radiant with decorations and the display of gifts. the candy stores and hot soda places were doing a rushing business. dick, who had been scurrying about in search of a few news paragraphs, and had found them, encountered dave darrin. being something of a capitalist in these days, when "the blade" was paying him two and a half to three dollars a week, prescott invited his chum in to have a hot soda. while they were still in the place laura bentley and belle meade entered. the high school boys lifted their hats courteously to the girls and dick invited them to have their soda with dave and himself. "we hear that baseball is going to be a matter of great enthusiasm during the next few months," said laura, as they sipped their soda. "yes; and the cause of no end of heartburnings and envies," laughed prescott. "from just after the holidays to some time in april every fellow will be busy trying to make the school team, and will feel aggrieved if he hits only the second team." "who's going to pitch for the school nine?" asked belle. "dick prescott," declared dave instantly. "i'd like to," nodded dick, "but i've several good men against me. darrin may take it all away from me. there are eight men down for pitching, altogether, so it isn't going to be an easy cinch for anyone." "the nine always has more than one pitcher. why can't _you_ make the position of pitcher, too?" asked belle, looking at dave. "oh, i may make the job of brevet-pitcher on the second nine," dave laughed goodhumoredly. "the only reason i put my name down for pitcher was so as to make the fight look bigger." "who are the other candidates for pitcher?" asked laura. "well, ripley's one," replied dave. "ripley? oh, _he_!" uttered miss bentley, in a tone of scorn. "i understand he's no fool of a pitcher," dick remarked. "i congratulate him, then," smiled laura. "on what?" "not being a fool in everything," returned laura. then she added, quickly: "i'm afraid that expresses my real opinion, but i've no right to say it." "there are two reasons why you shouldn't say it," added dave, gravely. "what are they?" laura wanted to know. "first of all---well, pardon me, but it sounds like talking about another behind his back. the other reason is that ripley isn't worth talking about, anyway." "now, what are you doing?" demanded belle. "oh, well," dave replied, "ripley knows my opinion of him pretty well. but what are you doing this afternoon?" "we're going shopping," laura informed the boys as the quartette left the soda fountain. "do you care to go around with us and look at the displays in the stores?" "that's about all shopping means, isn't it?" smiled dick. "just going around and looking at things?" "then if you don't care to come with us-----" pouted miss bentley. "stop---please do, i beg of you," dick hastily added. "of course we want to go." the two chums put in a very pleasant hour wandering about through the stores with the high school girls. laura and belle _did_ make some small purchases of materials out of which they intended to make gifts for the approaching holiday. as they came out of the last store they moved toward the corner, the girls intending to take a car to pay a little visit to an aunt of laura's before the afternoon was over. dick saw something in one of the windows at the corner and signed to dave to come over. the two girls were left, momentarily, standing on the corner. while they stood thus fred ripley came along. his first lesson in pitching had been brief, the great everett declining to tire the boy's arm too much at the first drill. so young ripley, after a twelve-mile trip in the auto through the crisp december air, came swinging down the street at a brisk walk. just as this moment he espied the two girls, though he did not see dick or dave. belle happened to turn as ripley came near her. "hullo, meade!" he called, patronizingly. it is a trick with some high school boys thus to address a girl student by her last name only, but it is not the act of a gentleman. belle resented it by stiffening at once, and glancing coldly at ripley without greeting him. in another instant dave darrin, at a bound, stood before the astonished fred. dave's eyes were flashing in a way they were wont to do when he was thoroughly angry. "ripley---you cur! to address a young woman in that familiar fashion!" glared dave. "what have you to say about it?" demanded fred, insolently. "this!" was dave darrin's only answer in words. smack! his fist landed on one side of fred's face. the latter staggered, then slipped to the ground. "there's the car, dick," uttered dave, in a low tone. "put the girls aboard." half a dozen passers-by had already turned and were coming back to learn the meaning of this encounter. dick understood how awkward the situation would be for the girls, so he glided forward, hailed the car, and led laura and belle out to it. "but i'd rather stay," whispered belle, in protest. "i want to make sure that dave doesn't get into any trouble." "he won't," dick promised. "it'll save him annoyance if he knows you girls are not being stared at by curious rowdies." dick quickly helped the girls aboard the car, then nodded to the conductor to ring the bell. a second later dick was bounding back to his chum's side. fred ripley was on his feet, scowling at dave darrin. the latter, though his fists were not up, was plainly in an attitude where he could quickly defend himself. "that was an unprovoked assault, you rowdy!" fred exclaimed wrathfully. "i'd trust to any committee of _gentlemen_ to exonerate me," dave answered coolly. "you acted the rowdy, ripley, and you'd show more sense if you admitted it and reformed." "what did he do?" demanded one of the curious ones in the crowd. "he addressed a young lady with offensive familiarity," dave replied hotly. "what did _you_ do?" demanded another in the crowd. "i knocked him down," dave admitted coolly. "well, that's about the proper thing to do," declared another bystander. "the ripley kid has no kick coming to him. move on, young feller!" fred started, glaring angrily at the speaker. but half a dozen pressed forward about him. ripley's face went white with rage when he found himself being edged off the sidewalk into the gutter. "get back, there, you, and leave me alone!" he ordered, hoarsely. a laugh from the crowd was the first answer. then some one gave the junior a shove that sent him spinning out into the street. ripley darted by the crowd now, his caution and his dread of too much of a scene coming to his aid. besides, some one had just called out, banteringly: "why not take him to the horse trough?" that decided fred on quick retreat. ducked, deservedly, by a crowd on main street, ripley could never regain real standing in the high school, and he knew that. as soon as they could dick and dave walked on to "the blade" office. here darrin took a chair in the corner, occasionally glancing almost enviously at prescott, as the latter, seated at a reporter's table, slowly wrote the few little local items that he had picked up during the afternoon. when dick had finished he handed his "copy" to mr. pollock, and the chums left the office. "dick, old fellow," hinted dave, confidentially, "i'm afraid i ought to give you a tip, even though it does make me feel something like a spy." "under such circumstances," smiled prescott, "it might be well to think twice before giving the tip." "i've thought about it _seventeen_ times already," dave asserted, gravely, "and you're my chum, anyway. so here goes. when we were in the department store, do you remember that the girls were looking over some worsteds, or yarns, or whatever you call the stuff?" "yes," prescott nodded. "well, i couldn't quite help hearing laura bentley say to belle that the yarn she picked up was just what she wanted for you." "what on earth did that mean?" queried dick, looking almost startled. "it means that you're going to get a christmas present from laura," dave answered. "but i never had a present from a girl before!" "most anything is likely to happen," laughed dave, "now that you're a sophomore---and a reporter, too." "thank goodness i'm earning a little money now," murmured dick, breathing a bit rapidly. "but, say, dave!" "well?" "what on earth does one give a girl at christmas?" "tooth-powder, scented soap, ribbons---oh, hang it! i don't know," floundered dave hopelessly. "anyway, i don't have to know. it's your scrape, dick prescott!" "yours, too, dave darrin!" "what do you mean?" "why, i saw belle buying some of that yarny stuff, too." "great scott!" groaned dave. "say, what do you suppose they're planning to put up on us for a christmas job? some of those big-as-all-outdoors, wobbly, crocheted slippers?" chapter viii huh? woolly crocheted slippers the night before christmas dick prescott attended a ball, in his new capacity of reporter. being young, also "green" in the ways of newspaper work, he imagined it his duty to remain rather late in order to be sure that he had all the needed data for the brief description that he was to write for "the blade." christmas morning the boy slept late, for his parents did not call him. when, at last, dick did appear in the dining room he found some pleasing gifts from his father and mother. when he had sufficiently examined them, mrs. prescott smiled as she said: "now, step into the parlor, richard, and you'll find something that came for you this morning." "but, first of all, mother, i've something for you and dad." dick went back into his room, bringing out, with some pride, a silver-plated teapot on a tray of the same material. it wasn't much, but it was the finest gift he had ever been able to make his parents. he came in for a good deal of thanks and other words of appreciation. "but you're forgetting the package in the parlor," persisted mrs. prescott presently. dick nodded, and hurried in, thinking to himself: "the worsted slippers from the girls, i suppose." to his surprise the boy found dave darrin sitting in the room, while, on a chair near by rested a rather bulky package. after exchanging "merry christmas" greetings with darrin, dick turned to look at the package. to it was tied a card, which read: "from laura bentley and isabelle meade, with kindest christmas greetings." "that doesn't look like slippers, dave," murmured dick, as he pulled away the cord that bound the package. "i'll bet you're getting a duplicate of what came to me," darrin answered. "what was that?" "i'm not going to tell you until i see yours." dick quickly had the wrapper off, unfolding something woolleny. "that's it!" cried dave, jubilantly. "i thought so. mine was the same, except that belle's name was ahead of laura's on the card." dick felt almost dazed for an instant. then a quick rush of color came to his face. the object that he held was a bulky, substantial, woven "sweater." across the front of it had been worked, in cross-stitch, the initials, "g.h.s." "gridley high school! did you get one just like this, dave?" "yes." "but we can't wear 'em," muttered dick. "the initials are allowed only to the students who have made some school team, or who have captured some major athletic event. we've never done either." "that's just the point of the gift, i reckon," beamed darrin. "oh, i see," cried dick. "these sweaters are our orders to go ahead and make the baseball nine." "that's just it," declared dave. "well, it's mighty fine of the girls," murmured dick, gratefully. "are you---going to accept yours, dave?" "accept?" retorted dave. "why, it would be rank not to." "of course," prescott agreed.. "but you know what acceptance carries with it? now, we've got to make the nine, whether or not. we pledge ourselves to that in accepting these fine gifts." "oh, that's all right," nodded dave, cheerily. "you're going to make the team." "if there's any power in me to do it," declared dick. "and you're going to drag me in after you. dick, old fellow, we've absolutely as good as promised that we will make the nine." dick prescott was now engaged in pulling the sweater over his head. this accomplished, he stood surveying himself in the glass. "gracious! but this is fine," gasped young prescott. "and now, oh, dave, but we've got to hustle! think how disgusted the girls will be if we fail." "we can't fail, now," declared dave earnestly. "the girls, and the sweaters themselves, are our mascots against failure." "good! that's the right talk!" cheered prescott, seizing his chum's hand. "yes, sir! we'll make the nine or bury ourselves under a shipload of self-disgust!" "both of the girls must have a hand in each sweater," dave went on, examining dick's closely. "i can't see a shade of difference between yours and mine. but i'm afraid the other fellows in dick & co. will feel just a bit green with envy over our good luck." "it's a mighty fine gift," dick went on, "yet i'm almost inclined to wish the girls hadn't done it. it must have made a big inroad in their christmas money." "that's so," nodded darrin, thoughtfully. "but say, dick! i'm thundering glad i got wind of this before it happened. thank goodness we didn't have to leave the girls out. though we would have missed if it hadn't been for you." "i wonder how the girls like their gifts?" mused dick. it was sheer good luck that had enabled these youngsters to make a good showing. a new-style device for women, consisting of heater and tongs for curling the hair, was on the market this year. electric current was required for the heater, but both laura and belle had electric light service in their homes. this new-style device was one of the fads of this christmas season. the retail price was eight dollars per outfit, and a good many had been sold before the holidays. the advertising agent for the manufacturing concern had been in town, and had presented "the blade" with two of these devices. despite the eight-dollar price, the devices cost only a small fraction of that amount to manufacture, so the advertising agent had not been extremely generous in leaving the pair. "what on earth shall we do with them?" grunted pollock, in dick's hearing. "we're all bachelors here." "sell 'em to me, if you don't want 'em," spoke up dick, quickly. "what'll you take for 'em? make it low, to fit a schoolboy's shallow purse." "hm! i'll speak to the proprietor about it," replied pollock, who presently brought back the word: "as they're for you, dick, the proprietor says you can take the pair for two-fifty. and if you're short of cash, i'll take fifty cents a week out of your space bill until the amount is paid." "fine and dandy!" uttered dick, his eyes glowing. "one's for your mother," hinted mr. pollock teasingly. "_but who's the girl_?" "two girls," dick corrected him, unabashed. "my mother never uses hair-curlers." "_two girls_?" cried mr. pollock, looking aghast. "dick! dick! you study history at the high school, don't you?" "yes, sir; of course." "then don't you know, my boy, how often _two girls_ have altered the fates of whole nations? tremble and be wise!" "i haven't any girl," dick retorted, sensibly, "and i think a fellow is weak-minded to talk about having a girl until he can also talk authoritatively on the ability to support a wife. but there's a good deal of social life going on at the high school, mr. pollock, and i'm very, very glad of this chance to cancel my obligations so cheaply and at the same time rather handsomely." so laura and belle had each received, that christmas morning, a present that proved a source of delight. "yet i didn't expect the foolish boys to send me anything like this," laura told herself, rather regretfully. "i'm sure they've pledged their pocket money for weeks on this." when belle called, it developed that she had received an identical gift. "it's lovely of the boys," belle admitted. "but it's foolish, too, for they've had to use their pocket money away ahead, i'm certain." dick and dave had sent their gifts, as had the girls, in both names. christmas was a day of rejoicing among all of the high school students except the least-favored ones. fred ripley, however, spent his christmas day in a way differing from the enjoyments of any of the others. a new fever of energy had seized the young man. in his fierce determination to carry away the star pitchership, especially from dick prescott, ripley employed even christmas afternoon by going over to duxbridge and taking another lesson in pitching from the great everett. chapter ix fred pitches a bombshell into training camp "one, two, three, four! one, two, three, four! "halt! rest!" "attention! overhead to front and back. commence! one, two, three, four!" coach luce's voice rang out in a solid, carrying tone of military command. the baseball squad was hard at work in the gymnasium, perspiring even though the gym. was not heated above fifty degrees. dumb-bell drill was going off with great snap. it was followed by work with the indian clubs. then, after a brief rest, the entire squad took to the track in the gallery. for ten minutes the high school young men jogged around the track. any fellow in the lot would have been ashamed to drop out, short of breath. as a matter of fact, no one was out of breath. mr. luce was what the boys called a "griller," and he certainly knew all about whipping a lot of youngsters into fine physical shape. this training work was now along in the third week of the new winter term. three times weekly the squad had been assembled. on other days of the week, the young men were pledged to outside running, when the roads permitted, and to certain indoor work at other times. every member of the big squad now began to feel "hard as nails." slight defects in breathing had been corrected; lung-power had been developed, and backs that ached at first, from the work, had now grown too well seasoned to ache. every member of the squad was conscious of a new, growing muscular power. hard, bumpy muscles were not being cultivated. the long, smooth, lithe and active "indian" muscle, built more for endurance than for great strength, was the ideal of coach luce. after the jogging came a halt for rest. luce now addressed them. "young gentlemen, i know, well enough, that, while all this work is good for you, you're all of you anxious to see the production of the regular league ball on this floor. now, the baseball cage will not be put up for a few days yet. however, this afternoon, for the rest of our tour, i'm going to produce the ball!" a joyous "hurrah!" went up from the squad. the ball was the real thing in their eyes. coach luce turned away to one of the spacious cupboard lockers, returning with a ball, still in the sealed package, and a bat with well wrapped handle. "i'll handle the bat," announced mr. luce, smiling. "it's just barely possible that i, can drive a good liner straighter than some of you, and put it nearer where i want it. until the cage is in place, i don't like to risk smashing any of the gymnasium windows. now, which one of you pitchers is ambitious to do something?" naturally, all of them were. yet none liked to appear too forward or greedy, so silence followed. "i'll try you modest young men out on my own lines, then," laughed the coach. calling to one of the juniors to stand behind him as catcher, luce continued: "darrin, as you're a candidate for pitcher, show us some of the things you can do to fool a batsman." dave took his post, his face a bit red. he handled the ball for a few moments, rather nervously. "don't get rattled, lad," counseled the coach. "remember, this is just fun. bear in mind that you're aiming to send the ball in to the catcher. don't let the ball drive through a window by mistake." a laugh went up at this. dave, instead of losing his nerve, flashed back at the squad, then steadied himself. "now, then, let her drive---not too hard," ordered mr. luce. dave let go with what he thought was an outcurve. it didn't fool the coach. he deliberately struck the ball, sending it rolling along the floor as a grounder. "a little more twist to the wrist, darrin," counseled the coach, after a scout from the squad had picked up the ball and sent it to this budding pitcher. dave's next delivery was struck down as easily. then darrin began to grow a bit angry and much more determined. "don't feel put out, darrin," counseled the coach. "i had the batting record of my college when i was there, and i'm in better trim and nerve than you are yet. don't be discouraged." soon dave was making a rather decent showing. "i'll show you later, darrin, a little more about the way to turn the hand in the wrist twist," remarked the coach, as he let dave go. "you'll soon have the hang of the thing. now, prescott, you step into the imaginary box, if you please." dick took to an inshoot. his first serve was as easily clouted as dave's had been. after that, by putting on a little more steam, and throwing in a good deal more calculation, dick got three successive balls by mr. luce. at two of these, coach had struck. "you're going to do first-rate, prescott, by the time we get outdoors, i think;" mr. luce announced. "i shall pay particular attention to your wrist work." "i'm afraid i showed up like a lout," whispered dave, as dick rejoined his chums. "no, you didn't," dick retorted. "you showed what all of us show---that you need training to get into good shape. that's what the coach is working with us for." "i'm betting on you and dick for the team," put in tom reade, quickly. "dick will make it, and i think you will, too, dave," added harry hazelton. "i wish i were as sure for myself," muttered greg holmes, plaintively. "oh, well, if i can't make the team," grinned dan dalzell, "i'm going to stop this work and go in training as a mascot." "look at the fellow who always carries luck in his pocket!" gibed hazelton, good-humoredly. coach luce was now calling off several names rapidly. these young men were directed to scatter on the gym. floor. to one of them mr. luce tossed the ball. "now, then," shot out luce's voice, "this is for quick understanding and judgment. whoever receives the ball will throw it without delay to anyone i name. so post yourselves on where each other man stands. i want fast work, and i want straight, accurate work. but no amount of speed will avail, unless the accuracy is there. _and vice versa_!" for five minutes this was kept up, with a steam engine idea of rapidity of motion. many were the fumbles. a good deal of laughter came from the sides of the gym. "myself!" shouted luce, just as one of the players received the ball. the young man with the ball looked puzzled for an instant. then, when too late to count, the young man understood and drove the ball for the coach. "not quick enough on judgment," admonished mr. luce. "now, we'll take another look at the style of an ambitious pitcher or two. ripley, suppose you try?" fred started and colored. next, he looked pleased with himself as he strode jauntily forward. "may i ask for my own catcher, sir?" fred asked. "yes; certainly," nodded the coach. "rip must have something big up his sleeve, if any old dub of a catcher won't do," jeered some one at the back of the crowd. "attention! rip, the ladylike twirler!" sang out another teasing student. "let her rip, rip!" a good many were laughing. fred was not popular. many tolerated him, and some of the boys treated him with a fair amount of comradeship. yet the lawyer's son was no prime favorite. "order!" rapped out the coach, sharply. "this is training work. you'll find the minstrel show, if that's what you want, at the opera house next thursday night." "how well the coach keeps track of minstrel shows!" called another gibing voice. "that was you, parkinson!" called mr. luce, with mock severity. "run over and harden your funny-bone on the punching bag. run along with you, now!" everybody laughed, except parkinson, who grinned sheepishly. "training orders, parkinson!" insisted the coach. "trot right over and let the funny-bone of each arm drive at the bag for twenty-five times. hurry up. we'll watch you." so mr. parkinson, of the junior class, seeing that the order was a positive one, had the good sense to obey. he "hardened" the funny-bone of either arm against the punching bag to the tune of jeering laughter from the rest of the squad. that was coach luce's way of dealing with the too-funny amateur humorist. fred, meantime, had selected his own catcher, and had whispered some words of instruction to him. "now, come on, ripley," ordered mr. luce, swinging his bat over an imaginary plate. "let her come in about as you want to." "he's going to try a spit ball," muttered several, as they saw fred moisten his fingers. "that's a hard one for a greenhorn to put over," added another. fred took his place with a rather confident air; he had been drilling at duxbridge for some weeks now. then, with a turn of his body, ripley let the ball go off of his finger tips. straight and rather slowly it went toward the plate. it looked like the easiest ball that had been sent in so far. coach luce, with a calculating eye, watched it come, moving his bat ever so little. then he struck. but the spit ball, having traveled to the hitting point, dropped nearly twenty inches. the bat fanned air, and the catcher, crouching just behind the coach, gathered in the ball. luce was anything but mortified. a gleam of exultation lit up his eyes as he swung the bat exultantly over his head. in a swift outburst of old college enthusiasm he forgot most of his dignity as a submaster. "_wow_!" yelled the coach. "that was a _bird_! a lulu-cooler and a scalp-taker! ripley, i reckon you're the new cop that runs the beat!" it took the high school onlookers a few seconds to gather the full importance of what they had seen. then a wild cheer broke loose: "ripley? oh, ripley'll pitch for the nine!" surged up on all sides. chapter x dick & co. take a turn at feeling glum "what's the matter with ripley?" yelled one senior. and another answered, hoarsely: "nothing! he's a wonder!" fred ripley was unpopular. he was regarded as a cad and a sneak. but he could pitch ball! he could give great aid in bringing an unbroken line of victories to gridley. that was enough. by now coach luce was a bit red in the face. he realized that his momentary relapse into the old college enthusiasm had made him look ridiculous, in his other guise of high school submaster. but when the submaster coach turned and saw parkinson butting his head against the punching bag he called out: "what's the matter, parkinson?" "subbing for you, sir!" that turned the good-natured laugh of a few on mr. luce. most of those present, however, had not been struck by the unusualness of his speech. dick and dave looked hard at each other. both boys wanted to make the team as pitchers. yet now it seemed most certain that fred ripley must stand out head and shoulders over any other candidates for the gridley box. dick's face shone with enthusiasm, none the less. if he couldn't make the nine this year, he could at least feel that gridley high school was already well on toward the lead over all competing school nines. "i wish it were somebody else," muttered dave, huskily, in his chum's ear. "gridley is fixed for lead, anyway," replied dick, "if ripley can always keep in such form as that." "can ripley do it again?" shouted one gridley senior. "try it, and see, ripley," urged mr. luce, again swinging his bat. fred had been holding the returned ball for a minute or two. his face was flushed, his eyes glowing. never before had he made such a hit among his schoolmates. it was sweet, at last, to taste the pleasures of local fame. he stood gazing about him, drinking in the evident delight of the high school boys. in fact he did not hear the coach's order until it came again. "try another one, ripley!" the young man moistened his fingers, placing the ball carefully. of a sudden his arm shot out. again the coach struck for what looked a fair ball, yet once more mr. luce fanned air and the catcher straightened up, ball in hand. pumph! the lazily thrown ball landed in ripley's outstretched left. he moistened his fingers, wet the ball, and let drive almost instantly. for the third time mr. luce fanned out. then fred spoke, in a tone of satisfied self-importance: "coach, that's all i'll do this afternoon, if you don't mind." "right," nodded mr. luce. "you don't want to strain your work before you've really begun it any other candidates for pitching want to have a try now?" as the boys of the squad waited for an answer, a low laugh began to ripple around the gym. the very idea of any fellow trying after ripley had made his wonderful showing was wholly funny! coach luce called out the names of another small squad to scatter over the gym. and to throw the ball to anyone he named. except for the few who were in this forced work, no attention was paid to the players. fred ripley had walked complacently to one side of the gym. a noisy, gleeful group formed around him. "rip, where did you ever learn that great work?" "who taught you?" "say, how long have you been hiding that thousand-candle-power light under a bushel?" "rip, it was the greatest work i ever saw a boy do." "will you show me---after the nine has been made up, of course?" "how did you ever get it down so slick?" this was all meat to the boy who had long been unpopular. "i always was a pretty fair pitcher, wasn't i?" asked fred. "yes; but never anything like the pitcher you showed us to-day," glowed eager parkinson. "i've been doing a good deal of practicing and study since the close of last season," fred replied importantly. "i've studied out a lot of new things. i shan't show them all, either, until the real season begins." fred's glance, in roaming around, took in dick & co. for once, these six very popular sophomores had no one else around them. "whew! i think i've taken some wind out of the sails of mr. self-satisfied prescott," fred told himself jubilantly. "we shan't hear so much about dick & co. for a few months!" "well, anyway, dick," said tom reade, "you and dave needn't feel too badly. if ripley turns out to be the nine's crack pitcher, the nine also carries two relief pitchers. you and dave have a chance to be the relief pitchers. _that_ will make the nine for you both, anyway. but, then, that spitball may be the only thing ripley knows." "don't fool yourself," returned prescott, shaking his head. "if ripley can do that one so much like a veteran, then he knows other styles of tossing, too. i'm glad for gridley high school---mighty glad. i wouldn't mind on personal grounds, either, if only---if-----" "if fred ripley were only a half decent fellow," harry hazelton finished for him. coach luce soon dismissed the squad for the day. a few minutes later the boys left the gym. in groups. of course the pitching they had seen was the sole theme. ripley didn't have to walk away alone to-day. coach luce and a dozen of the boys stepped along with him in great glee. "it's rip! old rip will be the most talked about fellow in any high school league this year," parkinson declared, enthusiastically. even the fellows who actually despised fred couldn't help their jubilation. gridley was strong in athletics just because of the real old gridley high school spirit. gridley's boys always played to win. they made heroes of the fellows who could lead them to victory after victory. fred was far on his way home ere the last boy had left him. "i'll get everything in sight now," ripley told himself, in ecstasy, as he turned in at the gateway to his home. "why, even if prescott does get into the relief box, i can decide when he shall or shall not pitch. i'll never see him get a _big_ game to pitch in. oh, but this blow to-day has hurt dick prescott worse than a blow over the head with an iron stake could. i've wiped him up and put him down again. i've made him feel sick and ashamed of his puny little inshoot! prescott, you're mine to do as i please with on this year's nine---if you can make it at all!" in truth, though young prescott kept a smiling face, and talked cheerily, he could hardly have been more cast down than he was. dick always went into any sport to win and lead, and he had set his heart on being gridley's best man in the box. but now----- dick & co. all felt that they needed the open air after the grilling and the surprise at the gym. so they strolled, together, on main street, for nearly an hour ere they parted and went home to supper. the next day the talk at school was mostly about ripley, or "rip," as he was now more intimately called. even the girls took more notice of him. formerly fred hadn't been widely popular among them. but now, as the coming star of the high school nine, and a new wonder in the school firmament, he had a new interest for them. half the girls, or more, were "sincere fans" at the ball games. baseball was so much of a craze among them that these girls didn't have to ask about the points of the game. they knew the diamond and most of its rules. incense was sweet to the boy to whom it had so long been denied, but of course it turned "rip's" head. chapter xi the third party's amazement eleven o'clock pealed out from the steeple of the nearest church. the night was dark. rain or snow was in the air. in a shadow across the street hung tip scammon. his shabby cap was pulled down over his eyes, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his ragged reefer. tip's eyes were turned toward the ripley home opposite. "to think o' that feller in a fine, warm, soft bed nights, an' all the swell stuff to eat at table!" muttered tip, enviously. "and then me, out in the cold, wearing a tramp's clothes! never sure whether to-morrer has a meal comin' with it! but, anyway, i can make that ripley kid dance when i pull the string! he dances pretty tolerable frequent, too! he's got to do it to-night, an' he'd better hurry up some!" soon after the sound of the striking clock had died away, tip's keen eyes saw a figure steal around one side of the house from the rear. "here comes rip, now. he's on time," thought tip. "huh! it's a pity---fer---him that he wouldn't take a new think an' chase me. but he's like most pups that hire other folks to do their tough work---they hain't 't got no nerve o' their own." fred came stealthily out of the yard, after looking back at the house. he went straight up to young scammon. "so here ye are, pal," laughed tip. "glad ye didn't keep me waitin'. ye brought the wherewithal?" "see here, tip, you scoundrel," muttered fred, hoarsely, a worried look showing in his eyes, "i'm getting plumb down to the bottom of anything i can get for you." "i told ye to bring twenty," retorted young scammon, abruptly. "that will be enough." "i couldn't get it," muttered fred. "now, see here, pal," warned tip, threateningly, "don't try to pull no roots on me. ye can get all the money ye want." "i couldn't this time," fred contended, stubbornly. "i've got eleven dollars, and that's every bit i could get my hands on." "but i've _got_ to have twenty," muttered tip, fiercely. "now, ye trot back and look through yer sunday-best suit. you have money enough; yer father's rich, an' he gives ye a lot. now, ye've no business spendin' any o' that money until ye've paid me what's proper comin' to me. so back to the house with ye, and get the rest o' yer money!" "it's no use, tip. i simply can't get another dollar. here's the eleven, and you'd better be off with it. i can't get any more, either, inside of a fortnight." "see here," raged young scammon, "if ye think ye can play-----" "take this money and get off," demanded fred, impatiently. "i'm going back home and to bed." "i guess, boy, it's about time fer me to see your old man," blustered tip. "if i hold off until to-morrer afternoon, will ye have the other nine, an' an extry dollar fer me trouble?" "no," rasped fred. "it's no use at all---not for another fortnight, anyway. good night!" turning, fred sped across the street and back under the shadows at the rear of the lawyer's great house. "i wonder if the younker's gettin' wise?" murmured tip. "he ain't smart enough to know that fer him to go to his old man an' tell the whole yarn 'ud be cheapest in the run. the old man 'ud be mad at rip, but the old man's a lawyer, an' 'ud know how to lay down the blackmail law to me!" feeling certain that he was wholly alone by this time, tip had spoken the words aloud or sufficiently so for him to be heard a few feet away by any lurker. shivering a bit, for he was none too warmly clad, young scammon turned, making his way up the street. fully two minutes after tip had gone his way dick prescott stepped out from behind the place where tip had been standing. there was a queer and rather puzzled look on dick's face. "so fred's paying tip money, and tip knows it's blackmail?" muttered the sophomore. "that can mean just one thing then. when tip held his tongue before and at his trial, last year, he was looking ahead to the time when he could extort money by threatening fred. and now tip's doing it. that must be the way he gets his living. whew, but ripley must be allowed a heap of spending money if he can stand that sort of drain!" how dick came to be on hand at the time can be easily explained. earlier in the evening he had been at "the blade" office. mr. pollock had asked him to go out on a news story that could be obtained by calling upon a citizen at his home. the story would be longer than dick usually succeeded in turning in. it looked attractive to a boy who wanted to earn money, so the sophomore eagerly accepted the assignment. as it happened, dick had had to wait a long time at the house at which he called before the man he wanted to see returned home. dick was on his way to "the blade" office when he caught sight of tip scammon. the latter did not see or hear the sophomore approaching. so dick halted, darting behind a tree. "now, what's tip doing down here, near the ripley place?" wondered prescott. "he must be waiting to see fred. then they must have an appointment. dave always thought that tip ambushed me with those brickbats at fred ripley's order. there may be something of that sort in the wind again. i guess i've got a right to listen." looking about him, prescott saw a chance to slip into a yard, get over a fence, and creep up rather close to scammon, though still being hidden from that scoundrel. at last prescott found himself well hidden in the yard behind tip. so dick heard the talk. now, as he hurried back to "the blade" office the young soph guessed shrewdly at the meaning of what he had heard. "now, what had i better do about it?" dick prescott asked himself. "what's the fair and honorable thing to do---keep quiet? it would seem a bit sneaky to go and tell lawyer ripley. shall i tell fred? i wonder if i could make him understand how foolish and cowardly it is to go on paying for a blackmailer's silence? yet it's ten to one that fred wouldn't thank me. oh, bother it, what had a fellow better do in a case like this?" a moment later, dick laughed dryly. "i know one thing i could do. i could go to fred, tell him what i know, and scare him so he'd fall down in his effort to become the crack pitcher of the nine! my, but he'd go all to pieces if he thought i knew and could tell on him!" dick chuckled, then his face sobered, as he added: "fred's safe from that _trick_, though. i couldn't stand a glimpse of my own face in the mirror, afterward, if i did such a low piece of business." prescott was still revolving the whole thing in his mind when he reached "the blade" office. he turned in the news story he bad been sent for. as he did so the news editor looked up to remark: "we have plenty of room to spare in the paper to-night, prescott." "yes? well?" "can't you give us a few paragraphs of real high school news? something about the state of athletics there?" "why, yes, of course," the young sophomore nodded. returning to the desk where he had been sitting, dick ran off a few paragraphs on the outlook of the coming high school baseball season. "did you write that high school baseball stuff in this morning's paper, dick?" asked tom reade, the next day. "yes." "you said that the indications are that ripley will be the crack pitcher this season, and that he is plainly going to be far ahead of all the other box candidates." "that's correct, isn't it?" challenged dick. "it looks so, of course," tom admitted. "but why did you give ripley such a boost? he's no friend of yours, or ours." "newspapers are published for the purpose of giving information," dick explained. "if a newspaper's writers all wrote just to please themselves and their friends, how many people do you suppose would buy the daily papers? fred ripley is the most prominent box candidate we have. he towers away over the rest of us. that was why i so stated it in 'the blade.'" "and i guess that's the only right way to do things when you're writing for the papers," agreed darrin. "it's a pity you can't print some other things about ripley that you know to be true," grumbled hazelton. "true," agreed dick, thoughtfully. "i'm only a green, amateur reporter, but i've already learned that a reporter soon knows more than he can print." prescott was thinking of the meeting he had witnessed, the night before, between fred and tip. after sleeping on the question for the night, dick had decided that he would say nothing of the matter, for the present, either to the elder or the younger ripley. "if fred found out that i knew all about it, he'd be sure that i was biding my time," was what dick had concluded. "he'd be sure that i was only waiting for the best chance to expose him. on the other hand, if i cautioned his father, there'd be an awful row at the ripley home. either way, fred ripley would go to pieces. he'd lose what little nerve he ever had. after that he'd be no good at pitching. he'd go plumb to pieces. that might leave me the chance to be gridley's crack pitcher this year. oh, i'd like to be the leading pitcher of the high school nine! but i don't want to win the honor in any way that i'm not positive is wholly square and honorable." then, after a few moments more of thought: "besides, i'm loyal to good old gridley high school. i want to see our nine have the best pitcher it can get---no matter who he is!" by some it might be argued that dick prescott was under a moral obligation to go and caution lawyer ripley. but dick hated talebearers. he acted up to the best promptings of his own best conscience, which is all any honorable man can do. chapter xii trying out the pitchers "oh, you rip!" "good boy, rip!" "you're the winning piece of leather, rip!" "get after him, dick!" "wait till you see prescott!" "and don't you forget dave darrin, either!" late in march, it was the biggest day of spring out at the high school athletic field. this field, the fruit of the labors of the alumni association for many years, was a model one even in the best of high school towns. the field, some six acres in extent, lay well outside the city proper. it was a walled field, laid out for football, baseball, cricket and field and track sports. in order that even the high school girls might have a strong sense of ownership in it, the field also contained two croquet grounds, well laid out. just now, the whole crowd was gathered at the sides of the diamond. hundreds were perched up on one of the stands for spectators. down on the diamond stood the members of the baseball squad. as far as the onlookers could see, every one of the forty-odd young men was in the pink of physical condition. the indoor training had been hard from the outset. weeks of cage work had been gone through with in the gym. but from this day on, whenever it didn't rain too hard, the baseball training work was to take place on the field. coach luce now stepped out of the little building in which were the team dressing rooms. as he went across the diamond he was followed by lusty cheers from high school boys up on the spectators' seats. the girls clapped their hands, or waved handkerchiefs. a few already carried the gold and crimson banners of gridley. besides the high school young people, there were a few hundred older people, who had come out to see what the youngsters were doing. for this was the day on which the pitchers were to be tried out. ripley was known to be the favorite in all the guessing. in fact, there wasn't any guessing. some, however, believed that dick, and possibly dave, might be chosen as the relief pitchers. dick himself looked mighty solemn, as he stood by, apparently seeing but little of what was going on. beside him stood dave. the other four chums were not far off. another wild howl went up from the high school contingent when two more men were seen to leave the dressing room building and walk out toward coach luce. these were two members of the athletic committee, former students at gridley high school. these two were to aid the coach in choosing the men for the school team. they would also name the members of the school's second team. "now, we'll try you out on pitching, if you're ready," announced mr. luce, turning to a member of the junior class. the young fellow grinned half-sheepishly, but was game. he ran over to the box, after nodding to the catcher he had chosen. luce took the bat and stood by the home plate. to-day the coach did not intend to strike at any of the balls, but he and the two members of the athletic committee would judge, and award marks to the candidates. "oh, we don't want the dub! trot out rip!" came a roaring chorus. coach luce, however, from this time on, paid no heed to the shouts or demands of spectators. the candidate for box honors now displayed all he knew about pitching, though some nervousness doubtless marred his performance. "now, run out rip!" came the insistent chorus again, after this candidate had shown his curves and had gone back. but it was another member of the junior class who came to the box for the next trial. "dead ball! throw wild and cut it short!" came the advice from the seats. then a sophomore was tried out. but the crowd was becoming highly impatient. "we want rip! we demand rip. give us rip or give us chloroform!" came the insistent clamor. "we'll come another day to see the dead ones, if you insist." coach luce looked over at fred, and nodded. the tumultuous cheering lasted two full minutes, for gridley was always as strong on fans as it wanted to be on players. fred ripley was flushed but proud. he tried to hold himself jauntily, with an air of indifference, as he stood with the ball clasped in both hands, awaiting the signal. ripley felt that he could afford to be satisfied with himself. the advance consciousness of victory thrilled him. he had worked rather hard with everett; and, though the great pitcher had not succeeded in bringing out all that he had hoped to do with the boy, yet everett had praised him only yesterday. one reason why fred had not absolutely suited his trainer was that the boy had broken his training pledge by taking up with coffee. for that reason his nerves were not in the best possible shape. yet they didn't need to be in order to beat such awkward, rural pitchers as prescott or darrin. for a while coach luce waited for the cheering for ripley to die down. then he raised his bat as a signal. fred sent in his favorite spit-ball. to all who understood the game, it was clear that the ball had not been well delivered. the crowd on the seats stopped cheering to look on in some concern. "brace, ripley! you can beat that," warned the coach, in a low tone. fred did better the second time. the third ball was nearly up to his form; the fourth, wholly so. now, fred sent in two more spitballs, then changed to other styles. he was pitching famously, now. "that's all, unless you wish more, sir," announced fred, finally, when the ball came back to him. "it's enough. magnificently done," called coach luce, after a glance at the two members of the athletic committee. "oh, you rip!" "good old rip!" the cheering commenced again, swelling in volume. coach luce signaled to dick prescott, who, coolly, yet with a somewhat pallid face, came forward to the box. he removed the wrapping from a new ball and took his post. the cheering stopped now. dick was extremely well liked in gridley. most of the spectators felt sorry for this poor young soph, who must make a showing after that phenomenon, ripley. "the first two or three don't need to count, prescott," called luce. "get yourself warmed up." fred stood at the side, looking on with a sense of amusement which, for policy's sake, he strove to conceal. "great scott! the nerve of the fellow!" gasped ripley, inwardly, as he saw prescott moisten his fingers. "he's going to try the spit-ball after what i've shown!" the silence grew deeper, for most of the onlookers understood the significance of dick's moistened fingers. dick drove in, tom reade catching. that first spit-ball was not quite as good as some that ripley had shown. but fred's face went white. "where did prescott get that thing? he's been _stealing_ from the little he has seen me do." a shout of jubilation went up from a hundred throats now, for dick had just spun his second spit-ball across the plate. it was equal to any that ripley had shown. "confound the upstart! he's getting close to me on that style!" gasped the astonished ripley. now, dick held the ball for a few moments, rolling it over in his hands. an instant later, he unbent. then he let drive. the ball went slowly toward the plate, with flat trajectory. "wow!" came the sudden explosion. it was a _jump-ball_, going almost to the plate, then rising instead of falling. three more of these dick served, and now the cheering was the biggest of the afternoon. fred ripley's mouth was wide open, his breath coming jerkily. three fine inshoots followed. the hundreds on the seats were standing up now. then, to rest his arm, dick, who was wholly collected, and as cool as a veteran under fire, served the spectators with a glimpse of an out-curve that was not quite like any that they had ever seen before. this out-curve had a suspicion of the jump-ball about it. dick was pitching easily, now. he had gotten his warming and his nerve, and appeared to work without conscious strain. "do you want more, sir?" called dick, at last. "no," decided coach luce. "you've done enough, prescott. mr. darrin!" dave ran briskly to the box, opening the wrappings on a new ball as he stepped into the box. after the first two balls dave's exhibition was swift, certain, fine. he had almost reached dick with his performance. ripley's bewildered astonishment was apparent in his face. "thunder, i'd no idea they could do anything like that!" gasped fred to himself. "they're very nearly as good as i am. how in blazes did they ever get hold of the wrinkles? they can't afford a man like everett." "any more candidates?" called coach luce. there weren't. no other fellow was going forward to show himself after the last three who had worked from the box. there was almost a dead silence, then, while coach luce and the two members of the athletics committee conferred in whispers. at last the coach stepped forward. "we have chosen the pitchers!" he shouted. then, after a pause, mr. luce went on: "the pitchers for the regular school nine will be prescott, darrin, ripley, in the order named." "oh, you dick!" "bang-up prescott!" "reliable old darrin!" "ripley---ugh!" and now the fierce cheering drowned out all other cries. but fred ripley, his face purple with rage, darted forward before the judges. "i protest!" he cried. "protests are useless," replied mr. luce. "the judges give you four points less than darrin, and seven less than prescott. you've had a fair show, mr. ripley." "i haven't. i'm better than either of them!" bawled fred, hoarsely, for the cheering was still on and he had to make himself heard. "no use, ripley," spoke up a member of the athletics committee. "you're third, and that's good enough, for we never before had such a pitching triumvirate." "where did these fellows ever learn to pitch to beat me?" jeered fred, angrily. "they had no such trainer. until he went south with his own team, i was trained by-----" fred paused suddenly. perhaps he had better not tell too much, after all. the din from the seats had now died down. "well, ripley, who trained you?" asked a member of the athletics committee. fred bit his lip, but dick broke in quietly: "i can tell. perhaps a little confession will be good for us all around. ripley was trained by everett over at duxbridge. i found out that much, weeks ago." "you spy!" hissed fred angrily, but dick, not heeding his enemy, continued: "the way ripley started out, the first showing he made, darrin and i saw that we were left in the stable. candidly, we were in despair of doing anything real in the box, after ripley got through. but i suppose all you gentlemen have heard of pop gint?" "gint! old pop?" demanded coach luce, a light glowing in his eyes. "well, i should say so. why, pop gint was the famous old trainer who taught everett and a half dozen other of our best national pitchers all they first learned about style. pop gint is the best trainer of pitchers that ever was." "pop gint is an uncle of mr. pollock, editor of 'the blade,'" dick went on, smilingly. "pop gint has retired, and won't teach for money, any more. but mr. pollock coaxed his uncle to train darrin and myself. right faithfully the old gentleman did it, too. why, pop gint, today, is as much of a boy-----" "oh, shut up!" grated fred, harshly, turning upon his rival. "mr. luce, i throw down the team as far as i'm concerned. i won't pitch as an inferior to these two boobies. scratch my name off." "i'll give you a day or two, mr. ripley, to think that over," replied mr. luce, quietly. "remember, ripley, you must be a good sportsman, and you should also be loyal to your high school. in matters of loyalty one can't always act on spite or impulse." "humph!" muttered fred, stalking away. his keen disappointment was welling up inside. with the vent of speech the suffering of the arrogant boy had become greater. now, fred's whole desire was to get away by himself, where he could nurse his rage in secret. there were no more yells of "oh, you rip!" he had done some splendid pitching, and had made the team, for that matter, but he was not to be one of the season's stars. this latter fact, added to his deserved unpopularity, filled his spirit with gall as he hastened toward the dressing rooms. there he quickly got into his street clothes and as hastily quitted the athletic field. therein fred ripley made a mistake, as he generally did in other things. in sport all can't win. it is more of an art to be a cheerful, game loser than to bow to the plaudits of the throng. "mr. prescott," demanded coach luce, "how long have you been working under pop gint's training?" "between four and five weeks, sir." "and darrin the same length of time?" "yes, sir," nodded dave. "then, unless you two find something a whole lot better to do in life, you could do worse than to keep in mind the idea of trying for positions on the national teams when you're older." "i think we have something better in view, mr. luce," dick answered smilingly. "eh, dave?" "yes," nodded darrin and speaking emphatically. "athletics and sports are good for what they bring to a fellow in the way of health and training. but a fellow ought to use the benefits as a physical foundation in some other kind of life where he can be more useful." "i suppose you two, then, have it all mapped out as to what you're going to do in life?" "not quite," dick replied. "but i think i know what we'd like to do when we're through with our studies." there were other try-outs that afternoon, but the great interest was over. gridley fans were satisfied that the high school had a pitching trio that it would be difficult to beat anywhere except on the professional diamond. "if anything _should_ happen to prescott and darrin just before any of _the big games_," muttered ripley, darkly, to himself, "then i'd have my chance, after all! can't i get my head to working and find a way to _make_ something happen?" chapter xiii the riot call and other little things "to your seat, mr. bristow! you're acting like a rowdy!" principal cantwell uttered the order sharply. fully half the student body had gathered in the big assembly room at the high school. it was still five minutes before the opening hour, and there had been a buzz of conversation through the room. the principal's voice was so loud that it carried through the room. almost at once the buzz ceased as the students turned to see what was happening. bristow had been skylarking a bit. undoubtedly he had been more boisterous with one of the other fellows in the assembly room than good taste sanctioned. just as naturally, however, bristow resented the style of rebuke from authority. the boy wheeled about, glaring at the principal. "go to your seat, sir!" thundered the principal, his face turning ghastly white from his suppressed rage. bristow wheeled once more, in sullen silence, to go to his seat. certainly he did not move fast, but he was obeying. "you mutinous young rascal, that won't do!" shot out from the principal's lips. in another instant mr. cantwell was crossing the floor rapidly toward the slow-moving offender. "get to your seat quickly, or go in pieces!" rasped out the angry principal. seizing the boy from behind by both shoulders, mr. cantwell gave him a violent push. bristow tripped, falling across a desk and cutting a gash in his forehead. in an instant the boy was up and wheeled about, blood dripping from the cut, but something worse flashing in his eyes. the principal was at once terrified. he was not naturally courageous, but he had a dangerous temper, and he now realized to what it had brought him. mr. cantwell was trying to frame a lame apology when an indignant voice cried out: "_coward_!" his face livid, the principal turned. "who said that?" he demanded, at white heat. "_i_ did!" admitted purcell, promptly. abner cantwell sprang at this second "offender." but purcell threw himself quickly into an attitude of defence. "keep your hands off of me, mr. cantwell, or i'll knock you down!" "good!" "that's the talk!" the excited high school boys came crowding about the principal and purcell. bristow was swept back by the surging throng. he had his handkerchief out, now, at his forehead. "some of you young men seize purcell and march him to my private office," commanded the principal, who had lacked the courage to strike at the young fellow who stood waiting for him. "will you fight purcell like a man, if we do?" asked another voice. "run cantwell out! he isn't fit to be here!" yelled another voice. mr. drake, the only submaster in the room at the time, was pushing his way forward. "calmly, boys, calmly," called drake. "don't do anything you'll be sorry for afterwards." but those who were more hot headed were still pressing forward. it looked as though they were trying to get close enough to lay hands on the now trembling principal. under the circumstances, mr. cantwell did the very worst thing he could have done. he pushed three or four boys aside and made a break across the assembly room. once out in the corridor, the principal dove into his private office, turning the key after him. secure, now, and his anger once more boiling up, mr. cantwell rang his telephone bell. calling for the police station, he called for chief coy and reported that mutiny and violence had broken loose in the high school. "that seems almost incredible," replied chief coy. "but i'll come on the run with some of my men." several of the fellows made a move to follow the principal out into the corridor. dick prescott swung the door shut and threw himself against it. dave darrin and tom reade rushed to his support. the other chums got to him as quickly as they could. "nothing rash, fellows!" urged dick. "remember, we don't make the laws, or execute them. this business will be settled more to our satisfaction if we don't put ourselves in the wrong." "pull that fellow prescott away from the door!" called fred ripley, anxious to start any kind of trouble against dick & co. submaster drake, forcing his way through the throng, calming the hottest-headed ones, turned an accusing look on fred. the latter saw it and slunk back into the crowd. bristow, still holding his handkerchief to his head, darted out of the building. submaster morton and luce, bearing the excitement, came up from class rooms on the ground floor. they entered by the same door through which bristow had left. over on the other side of the room, fearing that a violent riot was about to start, some of the girls began to scream. the women teachers present hurried among the girls, quieting them by reassuring words. "now, young gentlemen," called mr. drake, "we'll consider all this rumpus done with. discipline reigns and gridley's good name must be preserved!" this brought a cheer from many, for mr. drake was genuinely respected by the boys as a good and fair-minded man. such men as drake, morton or luce could lead these warm-hearted boys anywhere. stepping quickly back to the platform, drake sounded the bell. in an instant there was an orderly movement toward the desks. at the second bell all were seated. "in the absence of the principal," began mr. drake, "i-----" a low-voiced laugh started in some quarters of the room. "silence!" insisted mr. drake, with dignity. "school has opened. i-----" he was interrupted by a new note. out in the yard sounded the clanging of a bell, the quick trot of horses' feet and the roll of wheels. the boys looked at one another in unbelieving astonishment. then heavy steps sounded on the stairway. outside mr. cantwell's voice could be heard: "i'll take you inside, chief!" in came the principal, his face now white from dread of what he had done, instead of showing the white-heat of passion. after him came chief coy and three policemen in uniform. for at least a full half minute chief coy stood glancing around the room, where every student was in his seat and all was orderly. the boys returned the chief's look with wondering eyes. then mr. coy spoke: "where's your riot, principal? is this what you termed a mutiny?" mr. cantwell, who had gone to his post behind the desk, appeared to find difficulty in answering. "humph!" muttered the chief, and, turning, strode from the room. his three policemen followed. then there came indeed an awkward silence. submaster drake had abandoned the center of the stage to the principal. mr. cantwell found himself at some loss for words. but at last he began: "young ladies and young gentlemen, i cannot begin to tell you how much i regret the occurrences of this morning. discipline is one of my greatest ideals, and this morning's mutiny-----" he felt obliged to pause there, for an angry murmur started on the boys' side, and traveled over to where the girls were seated: "this morning's mutiny-----" began the principal again. the murmur grew louder. mr. cantwell looked up, more of fear than of anger in his eyes. mr. drake, who stood behind the principal, held up one hand appealingly. it was that gesture which saved the situation at that critical moment. the boys thought that if silence would please mr. drake, then he might have it. "pardon me, sir," whispered drake in cantwell's ear. "i wouldn't harp on the word mutiny, sir. express your regret for the injury unintentionally done bristow." mr. cantwell wheeled abruptly. "who is principal here, mr. drake?" "you are, sir." "then be good enough to let me finish my remarks." this dialogue was spoken in an undertone, but the students guessed some inkling of its substance. the submaster subsided, but mr. cantwell couldn't seem to remember, just then, what he wanted to say. so he stood gazing about the room. in doing this he caught sight of the face of purcell. "mr. purcell!" called the principal. that young man rose, standing by his seat. "mr. purcell, you made some threat to me a few minutes ago?" "yes, sir." "what was that threat?" "i told you that, if you laid hands on me, i'd floor you." "would you have done it?" "at the time, yes, sir. or i'd have tried to do so." "that is all. the locker room monitor will go with you to the basement. you may go for the day. when you come to-morrow morning, i will let you know what i have decided in your case." submaster drake bit his lips. this was not the way to deal with a situation in which the principal had started the trouble. mr. drake wouldn't have handled the situation in this way, nor would dr. thornton, the former principal. but purcell, with cheerfulness murmured, "very good, sir," and left the room, while many approving glances followed him. messrs. morton and luce shuffled rather uneasily in their seats. mr. cantwell began to gather an idea that he was making his own bad matter worse, so he changed, making an address in which he touched but lightly upon the incidents of the morning. he made an urgent plea for discipline at all times, and tried to impress upon the student body the need for absolute self-control. in view of his own hasty temper that last part of the speech nearly provoked an uproar of laughter. only respect for mr. drake and the other submasters prevented that. the women teachers, or most of them, too, the boys were sure, sided with them secretly. the first recitation period of the morning was going by rapidly, but mr. cantwell didn't allow that to interfere with his remarks. at last, however, he called for the belated singing. this was in progress when the door opened. mr. eldridge, superintendent of schools, entered, followed by bristow's father. that latter gentleman looked angry. "mr. cantwell, can you spare us a few moments in your office?" inquired mr. eldridge. there was no way out of it. the principal left with them. in a few minutes there was a call for mr. drake. then two of the women teachers were sent for. finally, dick prescott and three or four of the other boys were summoned. on the complaint of a very angry parent superintendent eldridge was holding a very thorough investigation. many statements were asked for and listened to. "i think we have heard enough, haven't we, mr. eldridge?" asked the elder bristow, at last. "shall i state my view of the affair now?" "you may," nodded the superintendent. "it is plain enough to me," snorted mr. bristow, "that this principal hasn't self-control enough to be charged with teaching discipline to a lot of spirited boys. his example is bad for them---continually bad. however, that is for the board of education to determine. my son will not come to school to-day, but he will attend to-morrow. as the first step toward righting to-day's affair i shall expect mr. cantwell to address, before the whole student body, an ample and satisfactory apology to my son. i shall be present to hear that apology myself." "if it is offered," broke in principal cantwell, sardonically, but superintendent eldridge held up a hand to check him. "if you don't offer the apology, to-morrow morning, and do it properly," retorted mr. bristow, "i shall go to my lawyer and instruct him to get out a warrant charging you with felonious assault. that is all i have to say, sir. mr. eldridge, i thank you, sir, for your very prompt and kind help. good morning, all!" "at the close of the session the principal wishes to see mr. prescott," read mr. cantwell from the platform just before school was dismissed that afternoon. dick waited in some curiosity. "mr. prescott, you write for 'the blade,' don't you?" asked mr. cantwell. "sometimes, sir." "then, mr. prescott, please understand that i forbid you to write anything for publication concerning this morning's happenings." dick remained silent. "you will not, will you?" "that, mr. cantwell, is a matter that seems to rest between the editor and myself." "but i have forbidden it," insisted the principal, in surprise. "that is a matter, sir, about which you will have to see the editor. here at school, mr. cantwell, i am under your orders. at 'the blade' office i work under mr. pollock's instructions." the principal looked as though he were going to grow angry. on the whole, though, he felt that he had had enough of the consequences of his own wrath for one day. so he swallowed hard and replied: "very good, then, mr. prescott. i shall hold you responsible for anything you publish that i may consider harmful to me." dick did print an account of the trouble at school. he confined himself to a statement of the facts that he had observed with his own eyes. editorially "the blade" printed a comment to the effect that such scenes would have been impossible under the much-missed dr. thornton. mr. cantwell didn't have anything disagreeable to say to dick prescott the next morning. purcell took up the burden of his studies again without comment. the principal did apologize effectively to young bristow before the student body, while the elder bristow stood grimly by. chapter xiv the steam of the batsman all of dick & co. had made the high school nine, though not all as star players in their positions. holmes had won out for left field, and hazelton for shortstop. as far as the early outdoor practice showed, the latter was going to be the strongest man of the school in that important position. dalzell and reade became first and second basemen. during the rest of march practice proceeded briskly. six days in every week the youngsters worked hard at the field in the afternoons. when it rained they put in their time at the gym. on the second of april coach luce called a meeting of the baseball squad at the gym. "we're a week, now, from our first game, gentlemen," announced the coach. "i want you all to be in flawless condition from now on. i will put a question to you, now, on your honor. has any man broken training table?" no one spoke or stirred. ripley, who had gotten over the worst of his sulks, was present, but he did not admit any of his many breaches of the training table diet that he was pledged to follow at home. "has any man used tobacco since training began?" continued the coach. again there was silence. "i am gratified to note that i can't get a response to either question," smiled mr. luce. "this assures me that every one of you has kept in the strictest training. it will show as soon as you begin to meet gridley's opponents in the field. "faithful observance of all training rules bespeaks a good state of discipline. in all sports, and in team sports especially, discipline is our very foundation stone. every man must sacrifice himself and his feelings for the good of the team. each one of you must forget, in all baseball matters, that he is an individual. he must think of himself only as a spoke in the wheel. "during the baseball season i want every man of you in bed by nine-thirty. on the night before a game turn in at eight-thirty. make up your minds that there shall be no variation from this. in the mornings i want every man, when it isn't raining, to go out and jog along the road, in running shoes and sweaters, for twenty minutes without a break; for thirty minutes, instead, on any morning when you can spare the time. "whenever you can do so, practice swift, short sprints. many a nine, full of otherwise good men, loses a game or a season's record just because this important matter of speedy base running has been neglected. "not only this, but i want every one of you to be careful about the method of sprinting. the man who runs flat-footedly is using up steam and endurance. run balanced well forward on the balls of your feet. throw your heels up; travel as though you were trying to kick the backs of your thighs. breathe through the nose, always, in running, and master to the highest degree the trick of making a great air reservoir of your lungs. we have had considerable practice, both in jogging and in sprinting, but this afternoon i am going to sprint each man in turn, and i'm going to pick all his flaws of style or speed to small pieces. we will now adjourn to the field for that purpose. remember, that a batsman has two very valuable assets---his hitting judgment and his running steam. wagons are waiting outside, and we'll now make quick time to the field." arriving there, coach luce led them at once to the dressing rooms. "now, then, we want quick work!" he called after the sweaters and ball shoes had been hurriedly donned. "now let us go over to the diamond; go to the home plate as i call the names. darrin ripley-prescott-reade-purcell-----" and so on. the young men named made quick time to the plate. "you're up, darrin. run! two bases only. halt at second! ripley, run! reade, run! not on your flat feet, ripley. up on your toes, man! reade, more steam!" then others were given the starting word. coach did not run more men at a time than he could readily watch. "prescott, throw your feet up behind better. you've been jogging, but that isn't the gait. holmes, straighten back more---don't cramp your chest!" so the criticisms rang out. luce was an authority on short sprinting. he had made good in that line in his own college days. "jennison, you're not running with your arms! forget 'em!" jennison promptly let his arms hang motionless at his sides. "come in, jennison!" called coach. jennison came in. "you mustn't work your arms like fly-wheels, nor like piston rods, either," explained mr. luce. "keep your elbows in fairly close to your sides; fists loosely closed and forward, a little higher than your elbows. now, all runners come in." gathering the squad about him, and demanding close attention, mr. luce showed the pose of the body at the instant of starting. "now, i'm going to run to first and second," continued the coach. "i want every man of you to watch closely and catch the idea. you note how i hold my body---sloping slightly forward, yet with every effort to avoid cramping the chest. observe how i run on the forward part of the ball of the foot---not exactly on the toes, but close to it. see just how it is that i throw my feet up behind me. and be very particular to note that i keep my hands and arms in just this position all the way. now, then, when you strike at a ball, and expect to hit it, have your lungs inflated ready for the first bound of the spurt. now---watching, all of you?" after an instant mr. luce shouted, "strike!" and was off like a flash. many of the boys present had never seen coach really sprint before. as they watched during the amazingly few seconds a yell of delight went up from them. this was sprinting! "did you all find time to observe?" smiled coach, as he came loping in from second base. "we all watched you," laughed dick. "but the time was short." "you see the true principle of the sprint?" "yes; but it would take any of us years to get the sprint down that fine," protested darrin. "don't be too sure of that," retorted coach. "some of you will have doubled the style and steam of your sprint by the time you're running in the first game. now, don't forget a word of what i've said about the importance of true sprinting. i've seen many a nine whose members had a fine battery, and all the fielders good men; yet, when they went to the bat and hit the leather, their sprinting was so poor that they lost game after game. from now on, the sprint's the thing! yet don't overdo it by doing it all the time. take plenty of rest and deep breathing between sprints. usually, a two-bag sprint is all you need. now, some more of you get out and try it." rapidly coach called off the names of those he wanted to try out. some of these young men did better than the starters, for they had learned from the criticisms, and from the showing of luce's standard form. presently the young men were standing about in various parts of the field, for none came in until called. "ripley," said mr. luce, turning to that young man, "you have the build and the lines of a good sprinter." "thank you, sir," nodded fred. "and yet your performance falls off. your lung capacity ought to be all right from your appearance. what is the trouble? honestly, have you been smoking any cigarettes?" "not one," fred declared promptly. mr. luce lifted the boy's right hand, scanning it. "if i were going to make such a denial," remarked coach coolly, "i'd be sure to have a piece of pumice stone, and i'd use it often to take away those yellowish stains." the light-brownish stains were faint on fred's first and second fingers. yet, under careful scrutiny, they could be made out. ripley colored uncomfortably, jerking his hand away. "better cut out the paper pests," advised coach quietly. "only one, once in a while," murmured the boy. "i won't have even that many after this." "i should hope not," replied mr. luce. "you're under training pledge, you know." all fred meant by his promise was that he would use pumice stone painstakingly on his finger tips hereafter. within the next few days, dick and darrin made about the best showing as to sprinting form, though many of the others did remarkably well. "ripley isn't cutting out the cigarettes," decided mr. luce, watching the running of the lawyer's son. "he proves it by his lack of improvement. his respiration is all to the bad." mr. luce was shrewd enough to know that, in fred ripley, he had a liar to deal with, and that neither repeated warnings nor renewed promises were worth much. so he held his peace. in a few days more, all the members of the athletics committee who could attend went to the field. a practice match between the first and second teams had been ordered. ripley consented to pitch for second, while dick pitched for the school nine. the latter nine won by a score of eleven to two, but that had been expected. it was for another purpose that the members of the athletics committee were present. after the game, there was a brief conference between coach and the committee members. "it is time, now, to announce the appointment of captain," called coach, when he had again gathered the squad. "purcell, of the junior class, will be captain of the nine. prescott, of the sophomore class, will be second, or relief captain." then the announcements were made for the second nine. and now the first game was close at hand. the opponent was to be gardiner city high school. gardiner possessed one of the strongest school nines in the state. coach luce would have preferred an easier opponent for the first regular game, but had to take the only match that he could get. "however, young gentlemen," he announced to the squad on the field, "the gridley idea is that all opponents look alike to us. your city and your school will demand that you win---not merely that you try to win!" "we'll win---no other way to do!" came the hearty promise. chapter xv a dastard's work in the dark thanks to the methods dick & co. had started the year before of raising funds for high school athletics through stirring appeal to the local pride of the wealthy residents of the city, the school nine had an abundant supply of money for all needs. through the columns of "the blade" prescott warmed up local interest effectively. tickets sold well ahead of the time for the meeting with gardiner city high school. "prescott, you've been picked to pitch for the gardiner game," coach luce informed the sophomore. "we're going to have almost the hardest rub of the season with this nine, on account of its being our first game. gardiner city has played two games already, and her men have their diamond nerve with them. keep yourself in shape, mr. prescott. don't take any even slight chance of getting out of condition." "you may be sure i won't," dick replied, his eyes glowing. "you know, mr. luce, that, though i played some on second football team last fall, this is the first chance i've had to play on the regular team." "as the game is close at hand," continued the coach, "i'd even be careful not to train too much. you're in as fine condition, now, as you can be this season. sometimes, just in keeping up training, a fellow has something happen to him that lays him up for a few days." "it won't happen to me, sir," dick asserted. "i'm going to take care of myself as if i were glass, until the gardiner game is over." "you won't get too nervous, will you?" "i may be a bit, before the game," dick confessed, candidly. "but after the game starts?" "once the game opens, i shall forget that there's any such fellow as prescott, sir. i shall be just a part of gridley, with nothing individual about me." "good! i like to hear you talk that way," laughed mr. luce. "i hope you'll be able to keep up to it when you go to the diamond. once the game opens, don't let yourself have a single careless moment. any single point we can get away from gardiner will have to be done by just watching for it. you saw them play last year?" "i did," prescott nodded. "gridley won, four to three, and until the last half of the last inning we had only one run. i thought nothing could save us that day." "nothing did," replied the coach, "except the hard and fast can't-lose tradition of gridley." "we're not going to lose this time, either," dick declared. "i know that i'm going to strike out a string in every inning. if i go stale, you have darrin to fall back on, and he's as baffling a pitcher as i can hope to be. and ripley is a wonder." "he would be," nodded mr. luce, sadly, "if he were a better base runner at the same time." it seemed as though nothing else could be talked of in gridley but the opening game. just because it was the starter of the season the local military band, reinforced to thirty-five pieces, was to be on hand to give swing and life to the affair. "are you going, laura?" dick asked, when he met miss bentley. "am i going?" replied laura, opening her eyes in amazement. "why, dick, do you think anything but pestilence or death could keep me away? father is going to take belle and myself. the seats are already bought." prescott's own parents were to attend. out of his newspaper money he had bought them grand stand seats, and some one else had been engaged to attend in the store while the game was on. "you'll have a great chance, dick, old fellow, against a nine like gardiner," said dave darrin. "and, do you know, i'm glad it's up to you to pitch? i'm afraid i'd be too rattled to pitch against a nine like gardiner in the very first game of the season. all i have to do is to keep at the side and watch you." "see here, dave darrin," expostulated his chum, "you keep yourself in the best trim, and make up your mind that you may _have_ to be called before the game is over. what if my wrist goes lame during the game?" "pooh! i don't believe it will, or _can_," dave retorted. "you're in much too fine shape for that, dick." "other pitchers have often had to be retired before a game ended," prescott rejoined, gravely. "and i don't believe that i am the greatest or the most enduring ever. keep yourself up, dave! be ready for the call at any second." "oh, i will, but it will be needless," dave answered. dalzell and holmes were other members of the school nine squad who had been picked for this first game. purcell was to catch, making perhaps, the strongest battery pair that gridley high school had ever put in the field. half of dick & co. were to make up a third of the nine in its first battle. "i'm getting a bit scared," muttered dan, the friday afternoon before the saturday game. "now, cut all that out," dick advised. "if you don't i'll report you to the coach and captain." this was said with a grin, and dick went on earnestly: "dan, the scared soldier is always a mighty big drag in any battle. it takes two or three other good soldiers to look after him and hold him to duty." "i'll admit, for myself, that i wish the druggist knew of some sort of pill that would give me more confidence for this confounded old first game," muttered greg holmes. "i can tell you how to get the pill put up," prescott hinted. "i wish you would, then." but greg spoke dubiously. "tell the druggist to use tragacanth paste to hold the pill together." "yes?-----" followed greg. "and tell the druggist to mix into each pill a pound of good old yankee ginger," wound up prescott. "take four, an hour apart before the game to-morrow." "then i'd never play left field," grinned greg. "yes, you would. you'd forget your nervousness. try it, greg." the three were walking up main street, when they encountered laura bentley and belle meade. "what are you going to do to-morrow?" asked laura, looking at the trio, keenly. "are you going to win for the glory and honor of good old gridley?" "dick is," smiled greg. "dan and i are going to sit at the side and use foot-warmers." "you two aren't losing heart, are you?" asked belle, looking at dick prescott's companions with some scorn. "n-n-not if you girls are all going to take things as seriously as that," protested greg. "every gridley high school girl expects the nine to win to-morrow," spoke laura almost sternly. "then we're going to win," affirmed dan dalzell. "on second thought, i'll sell my footwarmers at half the cost price." "that's the way to talk," laughed belle. "now, remember, boys---though dick doesn't need to have his backbone stiffened---if you boys haven't pride enough in gridley to carry you through anything, the gridley high school girls are heart and soul in the game. if you lose the game to-morrow don't any of you ever show up again at a class dance!" the girls went away laughing, yet they meant what they said. gridley girls were baseball fans and football rooters of the most intense sort. dave wanted to be abed by half past eight that evening, as coach luce had requested; but about a quarter past eight, just as he was about to retire, his mother discovered that she needed coffee for the next morning's breakfast, so she sent him to the grocer's on the errand. dick, while eating supper, thought of an item that he wanted to print in the next day's "blade." accordingly, he hurried to the newspaper office as soon as the meal was over. it was ten minutes past eight when dick handed in his copy to the night editor. "time enough," muttered the boy, as he reached the street. "a brisk jog homeward is just the thing before pulling off clothes and dropping in between the sheets." as dick jogged along he remembered having noticed, on the way to the office, tip scammon in a new suit of clothes. "tip's stock is coming up in the world," thought young prescott. "but i wonder whether tip earned that suit or stole it, or whether he has just succeeded in threatening more money out of ripley. how foolish fred is to stand for blackmail! i wonder if i ought to speak to him about it, or give his father a hint. i hate to be meddlesome. and, by ginger! now i think of it, tip looked rather curiously at me. he---oh!---_murder_!" the last exclamation was wrung from dick prescott by a most amazing happening. he was passing a building in the course of erection. it stood flush with the sidewalk, and the contractor had laid down a board walk over the sidewalk, and had covered it with a roofed staging. just as dick passed under this, still on a lope, a long pole was thrust quickly out from the blackness inside the building. between dick's moving legs went the pole. bump! down came dick, on both hands and one knee. then he rolled over sideways. away back in the building the young pitcher heard fast-moving feet. in a flash dick tried to get up. it took him more time than he had expected. he clutched at one of the upright beams for support. half a dozen people had seen the fall. stopping curiously, they soon turned, hurrying toward prescott. forgotten, in an instant, was the youngster's pain. his face went white with another throbbing realization. "the game to-morrow! this knee puts me out!" chapter xvi the hour of tormenting doubt "oh, no! that mustn't be. i've got to pitch in to-morrow's game!" prescott ground out the words between his clenched teeth. the consciousness of pain was again asserting itself. "what's the matter, prescott?" called the first passer-by to reach him. "matter enough," grumbled dick, pointing to the pole that lay near him. "see that thing?" "yes. trip over it?" "i did. but some one thrust it between my legs as i was running past here." "sho!" exclaimed another, curiously. "now, who would want to do that?" "anyone who didn't want me to pitch to-morrow's game, perhaps," flashed dick, with sudden divination. "what's this?" demanded a boy, breaking in through the small crowd that was collecting. "dick---you hurt?" it didn't take dave many seconds to understand the situation. "i'll bet i know who did it!" he muttered, vengefully. "who?" spoke up one of the men. but dick gave a warning nudge. "oh, well!" muttered dave darrin. "we'll settle this thing all in our own good time." "let me have your arm, dave," begged young prescott. "i want to see how well i can walk." the young pitcher had already been experimenting, cautiously, to see how much weight he could bear on his injured left leg. "take my arm on the other side," volunteered a sympathetic man in the crowd. dick was about to do so, when the lights of an auto showed as the machine came close to the curb. "here's a doctor," called some one. "which one?" asked dick. "bentley." "good!" muttered dave. "dr. bentley is medical examiner to the high school athletic teams. ask dr. bentley if he won't come in here. stand still, dick, and put all the weight you can on your sound leg." prescott was already doing this. dr. bentley, a strong looking man of about fifty, rather short though broad-shouldered, took a quick survey of the situation. "one of you men help me put prescott in the tonneau of my car," he directed, "and come along with me to prescott's home. the lad must not step on that leg until it has been looked at." dick found himself being lifted and placed in a comfortable seat in the after part of the auto. dave and the man who had helped the physician got in with him. barely a minute later dr. bentley stopped his car before the prescott book store. "you stay in the car a minute," directed the physician. "i want to speak to your mother, so she won't be scared to death." mrs. prescott, from whom dick had inherited much of his own pluck, was not the kind of woman to faint. she quickly followed dr. bentley from the store. "i'm hurt only in my feelings, mother," said dick cheerfully. "i'm afraid i have a little wrench that will keep me out of the game tomorrow." "that's almost a tragedy, i know," replied mrs. prescott bravely. the physician directing, the boy was lifted from the car, while mrs. prescott went ahead to open the door. dave darrin followed, his eyes flashing. dave had his own theory to account for this state of affairs. into his own room dick was carried, and laid on the bed. mrs. prescott remained outside while dave helped undress his chum. "now, let us see just how bad this is," mused the physician aloud. "it isn't so very bad," smiled dick. "i wouldn't mind at all, if it weren't for the game to-morrow. i'll play, anyway." "huh!" muttered dave, incredulously. dr. bentley was running his fingers over the left knee, which looked rather red. "does this hurt? does this? or this" inquired the medical man, pressing on different parts of the knee. "no," dick answered, in each case. "we don't want grit, my boy. we want the truth." "why, no; it doesn't hurt," dick insisted. "i believe i could rub that knee a little, and then walk on it." "i hope that's right," dave muttered, half incredulously. dr. bentley made some further examination before he stated: "i knew there was nothing broken there, but i feared that the ligaments of the knee had been strained. that might have put you out of the game for the season, prescott." "i'll be able to sprint in the morning," declared the young pitcher, with spirit. "you fell on your hands, as well, didn't you?" asked the physician. "yes, sir." "that saved you from worse trouble, then. the ligaments are not torn at all. the worst you've met with, prescott, is a wrench of the knee, and there's a little swelling. it hurt to stand on your foot when you first tried to do so, didn't it?" "yes, sir." "it would probably hurt a little less, now. no---don't try it," as dick started to bolster himself up. "you want that knee in shape at the earliest moment, don't you?" "of course i do, doctor." "then lie very quiet, and do, in everything, just what you are told." "i've got to pitch to-morrow afternoon, you know, doctor. and i've got to run bases." dr. bentley pursed his lips. "there's a chance in a thousand that you'll be able, prescott. the slight swelling is the worst thing we have to deal with, i'm glad to say. we'll have to keep the leg pretty quiet, and put cold compresses on frequently." "i'll stay here and do it," volunteered dave, promptly. "you have to pitch to-morrow, dave, if anything _should_ make the coach order me off the field," interposed dick, anxiously. "and you ought to be home and in bed now." "if mrs. prescott will put on the bandages up to one o'clock to-night that will be doing well enough," suggested dr. bentley. "i shall be in to look at the young man quite early in the morning. but don't attempt to get up for anything, do you understand, prescott? you know---" here dr. bentley assumed an air of authority---" i'm more than the mere physician. i'm medical director to your nine. so you're in duty bound to follow my orders to the letter." "i will---if you'll promise me that i can pitch," promised the boy fervently. "i can't promise, but i'll do my best." "and, dave," pressed dick, "you'll skip home, now, and get a big night's rest, won't you? there's a bare chance that you _might_ have to throw the ball to-morrow. but i won't let you, if i can stop it," prescott added wistfully. so dave departed, for he was accustomed to following the wishes of the head of dick & co. in such matters. mrs. prescott had come in as soon as the lad had been placed between the sheets. dr. bentley gave some further directions, then left something that would quiet the pain without having the effect of an opiate. "it all depends on keeping the leg quiet and keeping the cold compresses renewed," were the medical man's parting words. twenty minutes later dave telephoned the store below. darrin was in a state of great excitement. "tell dick, when he's awake in the morning," begged dave of mr. prescott, who answered the call, "that gridley pitchers seem to be in danger to-night. at least, _two_ of 'em are. i was right near home, and running a bit, when i passed the head of the alley near our house. a bag of sand was thrown out right in front of my feet. how i did it i don't quite know yet, but i jumped over that bag, and came down on my feet beyond it. it was a fearfully close call, though. no; i guess you hadn't better tell dick to-night. but you can tell him in the morning." though "the blade" somehow missed the matter, there were a good many in gridley who had heard the news by saturday morning. it traveled especially among the high school boys. more than a dozen of them were at the book store as soon as that place was opened. "how's dick?" asked all the callers. "doing finely," replied the elder prescott, cheerily. "great! is he going to pitch this afternoon?" "um---i can't say about that." "if he can't, mr. prescott, that'll be one of gridley's chances gone over the fence." dave was on hand as early as he could be. dick had already been told of the attempt on his chum the night before. "you didn't see the fellow well enough to make out who he was?" prescott pressed eagerly. "no," admitted dave, sadly. "after a few seconds i got over my bewilderment enough to try to give chase. but the dastard had sneaked away, cat-foot. i know who it was, though, even if i didn't see him." "tip scammon?" "surely," nodded darrin. "he's ripley's right hand at nasty work, isn't he?" "i'd hate to think that fred had a hand in such mean business," muttered dick, flushing. "don't be simple," muttered dave. "who wanted to be crack pitcher for the nine? who pitches to-day, if neither of us can? that would be a mean hint to throw out, if ripley's past conduct didn't warrant the suspicion." later in the morning there was another phase of the sensation, and dave came back with it. he was just in time to find dick walking out into the little parlor of the flat, dr. bentley watching. "fine!" cheered dave. "how is he, doctor?" "doing nicely," nodded dr. bentley. "but how about the big problem---can he pitch to-day?" "that's what we're trying to guess," replied the physician. "now, see here, prescott, you're to sit over there by the window, in the sunlight. during the first hour you will get up once in every five minutes and walk around the room once, then seating yourself again. in the second hour, you'll walk around twice, every five minutes. after that you may move about as much as you like, but don't go out of the room. i think you can, by this gentle exercise, work out all the little stiffness that's left there." "and now for my news," cried dave, as soon as the medical man had gone. "fred ripley ran into trouble, too." "got hurt, you mean?" asked dick quickly. "not quite," went on darrin, making a face. "when fred was going into the house last night he tripped slightly---against a rope that had been stretched across the garden path between two stakes." "but fred wasn't hurt?" "no; he says he tripped, but he recovered himself." "i'm afraid you don't believe that, dave?" "i ought to, anyway," retorted darrin dryly. "fred is showing the rope." "a piece of rope is easy enough to get," mused dick. "yep; and a lie is easy enough for some fellows to tell. but some of the fellows are inclined to believe rip, so they've started a yarn that gardiner high school is up to tricks, and that some fellows have been sent over in advance to cripple our box men for to-day." "that's vile!" flushed prescott indignantly, as he got up to make the circuit of the room. "the gardiner fellows have always been good, fair sportsmen. they wouldn't be back of any tricks of that sort." "well, fred has managed to cover himself, anyway," returned dave rather disgustedly. "he called his father and mother out to see the rope before he cut it away from the stakes. oh, i guess a good many fellows will believe ripley's yarn!" "i'm afraid you don't, dave;" "oh, yes; i'm easy," grinned darrin. "can you see two young ladies, richard?" asked mrs. prescott, looking into the room. "certainly, mother, if i get a chance. my vision is not impaired in the least," laughed dick. mrs. prescott stood aside to admit laura and belle, then followed them into the room. "we came to make sure that gridley is not to lose its great pitcher to-day," announced laura. "then your father must have told you that i'd do," cried dick, eagerly. "father?" pouted miss bentley. "you don't know him then. one can never get a word out of father about any of his patients. but he said we might call." the visit of the girls brightened up twenty minutes of the morning. "of course," said laura, as they rose to go, "you mustn't attempt to pitch if you really can't do it, or if it would hurt you for future games." "i'm afraid the coach won't let me pitch, unless your father says i can," murmured dick, with a wry face. few in gridley who knew the state of affairs had any idea that dick prescott would be able to stand in the box against gardiner. but the young pitcher boarded a trolley car, accompanied by dave darrin, and both reached the athletic field before two o'clock. dr. bentley was there soon after. in the gridley dressing room, dick's left leg was bared, while coach luce drew off his coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves. under the physician's direction the coach administered a very thorough massage, following this with an alcohol rubbing. when it was all over dick rose to exhibit the motions of that leg before the eyes of the doubtful physician. chapter xvii when the home fans quivered "is prescott going to toss!" "they say not." "it's a shame." "and there's a suspicion," whispered one of the high school speakers, "that the other name of the shame is fred ripley." "he ought to be lynched!" "but he claims that an attempt was made against him, also." "ripley never was strong on the truth." though the gossip about fred ripley was not general, the anxiety over pitcher prescott was heard on all sides. "it'll be a sure hoodoo if prescott can't pitch the season's first game," declared a man who seldom missed a high school game on the home diamond. before three o'clock the grand stand was comfortably filled. the cheaper seats beyond held about as many spectators as they were built to hold. the attendance, that day, was nearly three thousand. gardiner had sent a delegation of nearly one-tenth of this number. before three o'clock the band began to play. whenever the musicians launched into a popular baseball ditty the crowd joined with the words. "prescott is going to pitch!" "no, he isn't." "the word has just been passed around. besides, his name's down on the score card." "the score cards were printed yesterday." finally, curiosity could stand it no longer. a committee left the grand stand to go toward the dressing rooms building. but a policeman waved them back. "none but players and officials allowed in there," declared the officer. "we want to find out whether prescott is going to pitch," urged the spokesman. "i heard something about that," admitted the policeman. "what was it? quick!" "let me see. oh! prescott wants to pitch; the coach is half willing, but the doctor ain't certain." this was the best they could do, so the committee returned to their seats. but nothing was settled. at three-twenty, just as the band ceased playing, the compact bunch of gardiner fans sent up the yell: "here they come! our fellows! the only ones!" using their privilege as visiting team, the gardiner players were now filing on to the field for a little warming-up practice. "throw him down, mccluskey!" tooted the band, derisively. but the cheers from the wild gardiner fans nearly drowned out the instrumental racket. quickly the visitors had a practice ball in motion. now the home fans waited breathlessly. at last the band played again. "see the conquering hero comes!" gridley high school, natty and clean looking in their gray and black uniforms, with black stockings, caps and belts, came out on the field. instantly there was craning of necks to see if prescott were among the players. "there he is!" yelled one of the high school fans. "there's our dick! wow!" cheering went up from every gridley seat. the bleachers contributed a bedlam of noise. "for he's a jolly good fellow!" blared forth the band. girls and women stood up, waving fans, handkerchiefs, banners. another round of cheering started. dick walked quietly, looking neither to right nor left. yet the boy was wondering, in astonishment, if kings usually got such a welcome. by the time the cheering had ceased, fred ripley, also in uniform, strolled out and walked toward the sub bench. a hiss greeted ripley. it was not loud, nor insistent, and presently died out. but fred went as white as a sheet, then, with eyes cast downward, he dropped to his seat at the end of the sub bench. his chest heaved, for the greeting had unnerved him. "i wonder why i usually get that sort of thing, while that fellow prescott has a band to play him in," muttered fred. the bulk of the audience was now quiet, while the three hundred visiting fans roared out one of their school yells. then followed a noisy whooping of the gridley high school yell. coach luce had walked over to a post behind the sub bench. umpire foley, his mask dangling from his left hand, now summoned purcell and the gardiner captain. a coin spun up in the air. gardiner's diamond chieftain won the toss, and chose first chance at the bat. purcell's men scattered to their fielding posts, while the young captain of the home team fastened on his catcher's mask. the umpire took a ball from its package, inspected it, then tossed it to dick prescott, who stood in the box awaiting it. there was a moment's tense expectation, followed by the command that set all the real fans wild: "_play ball_!" gardiner high school had put up a husky young giant who stood beside the plate, a confident grin on his face as he swung the bat. dick moistened his fingers. the batsman saw that, and guessed what was coming. he didn't guess quite low enough, however, for, though he stooped and swung the stick lower, the ball went under it by three inches. "strike one!" called mr. foley, judicially. an imperceptible signal told purcell what was coming next. then it came---a jump ball. this time gardiner's batsman aimed low enough but it proved to be a jump ball. "strike two!" a howl of glee went up from all quarters, save from the gardiner visitors. again dick signaled. his third was altogether different---a bewildering out-curve. gardiner's batsman didn't offer, but purcell caught the leather neatly. "strike three, and out! one out!" announced the umpire. "whoop!" the joy from the home fans was let loose. with a disgusted look, gardiner's man slouched back to the players' bench. chapter xviii the grit of the grand old game in that half of the inning it was one, two, three---down and out! even fred ripley found himself gasping with admiration of prescott's wonderfully true pitching. yet the joy of the home fans was somewhat curbed when gridley went to bat and her third man struck out after two of the nine had reached bases. so the first inning closed without score. gardiner had found that gridley was "good," and the latter realized that even young prescott's pitching could not do it all. the first five innings went off quickly, neither side scoring. "it'll be a tie at dark," sighed some of the fans. "oh, well, a tie doesn't score against gridley," others added, consolingly. in the five innings dick prescott had to run twice. the first time he was left at first base. the second time he had reached second, and was cautiously stealing third, when gridley's batsman, captain purcell, struck his side out on a foul hit. "how's your wrist holding up?" asked purcell, in a low tone, as dick came in. "it feels strong. "do you think darrin had better have the rest of the game?" "not on account of my wrist." "but can you run the bases to the end?" "if it doesn't call for any more running than we've had," smiled dick. then he caught the ball, held it an instant, signaled, and let drive. it was the same gardiner batsman whom prescott had struck out at the opening of the game. this time the young giant got the range of the ball by sheer good guessing. crack! it soared. right field ran backward after the ball. now the gardiner fans were up and yelling like comanches. "leg it, prendergast!" the runner touched first bag, then darted on for second. right field was still after the ball. "whoop! he's pulverized the second bag!" "just look at third, old man, and come steaming home over the plate!" that runner had been well trained. he was close upon third base and going with unabated speed. he kicked the bag---then a warning cry told him that right field had the ball. a swift look over his shoulder, and prendergast fell back upon third just before the ball dropped into the third baseman's hands. "safe on third!" came the umpire's announcement. the ball arched over to dick prescott. purcell signaled him to let the ball come in over the plate. now the air was all a-tingle. the visitors had a run in sight. dick felt the thrill, but steeled himself against any impulsiveness or loss of nerve. he signaled the drive, then let go. three strikes and out, the ball all the while so closely under control that prendergast fidgeted but did not dare steal far from third. then came dowdy to the bat. he was far and away the best batsman from gardiner. prendergast began to edge in. "strike one!" from the umpire. crack! the leather hung low, a little to the left of shortstop, who raced after it. prendergast was going in at a tremendous clip. as shortstop reached the ball, he swooped down on it, stopped its rolling, and rising quickly, hurled it in across the plate. purcell was waiting, and made a good catch. it looked close. everyone eyed umpire foley. "runner safe home," he decided. there was a gasp of disappointment, but the decision was fair. prendergast had made good by a fraction of a second---and there was a man on first. "oh, dick! oh, prescott!" wailed the home fans. "we look to you." dick's answer was to strike the next man out, with never a chance for the man on first to steal away from dalzell and make second. then a short fly filled first and second. dick struck out a second man---then a third. but this was getting on gridley's nerves. despite prescott's fine pitching, it began to look as though gardiner high school was fitted for getting the only one or two runs that the game would witness. in the eighth, gardiner got a second run, but that inning closed with gridley as much "stumped" as ever. "why play the ninth?" yelled one of the visitor fans. "let's go and drink tea. gridley boys are nice little fellows, but-----" "how's that wrist?" asked captain purcell, anxiously, as the players changed places to begin the ninth. coach luce had stepped close, too, and looked anxious. "just a bit lame, of course," dick admitted. "but i'm going to pull through." "you're sure about it?" purcell asked. "sure enough!" the first gardiner man to bat went out on the third ball sent past him. then a second. now came prendergast to the bat, blood in his eye. he glared grimly at young prescott, as though to say: "now, i'll take it out of you for making a comedian of me the first time i held the stick!" dick felt, somehow, that prendergast would make good. the first ball that prescott put over the plate was a called strike. at the second serve--- crack! and prendergast was running. dan dalzell gauged the flight of that ball better than anyone else on the diamond. he side-stepped like a flash, falling back a couple of paces. then pulling the leather down out of the air, he leaped back to first. he was holding the ball in his left hand when prendergast, breathing fast, hopped at the bag. "runner out!" called umpire foley. prendergast stamped back, with a look of huge disgust. and now gridley came in at the bat. "it's no use! we're whipped!" that was the comment everywhere as gridley came in from the field prepared for a last effort. gridley's first and second men went bad---the first struck out, and the second knocked a foul bit that was caught. "greg, you've got to go to bat next," whispered dick to holmes, just a moment before. "oh, _don't_ you strike out. hit something drive it somewhere. remember gridley can't and won't lose! get the gridley spirit soaked into you instanter. chase that leather _somewhere_!" gardiner's pitcher, his face beaming, faced holmes, whom he did not regard as one of the team's heavyweights in batting skill. visiting fans were rising, preparing to leave the stand. "strike one!" "there he goes!" "strike two!" "it's all over." crack! greg was off like a colt. running was in his line. he had swatted the ball somewhere over into left field, and he didn't care where it landed. gardiner's left field was forced to pick up the leather. greg didn't know that anyone had the ball. he didn't care; he had to make first, anyway. he kicked the bag, turning for the second lap. then he saw the sphere coming through the air, and slid back. "runner safe on first!" gridley, with its nerve always on hand, felt that there was a ray of hope. the good, old, strong and fierce school yell went up. the soprano voices of the girls sounded high on the air. now dan dalzell came up to the plate, bat in hand. dan hadn't hit a thing during the afternoon, but he meant to do so, now. it was either that or the swan-song! "strike one!---" a groan came from gridley, a cheer from gardiner. but dan was not in the least confused. he was ready for the next ball. _biff_! it was the pistol shot for greg, who was off like a two-legged streak, with dan, ninety feet behind but striving to catch up. the ball came to first only a quarter-second behind dan's arrival. "both runners safe!" "oh, now, _purcell_!" the man now hovering over the plate knew he simply _had_ to do something. he was captain of the nine. he had caught like a pinkerton detective all afternoon, but now something was demanded of his brain and brawn. "strike one!" called the umpire, with voice that grated. "good-bye!" "strike two!" came again the umpire's rasping tones. even now gridley fans wouldn't admit cold feet, but the chills were starting that way. crack! "whoop!" then the battle-cry of gridley rose frantically from all the seats---purcell had made first base. "prescott!" "it's yours!" "_don't_ fall down!" schimmelpodt, a wealthy old german contractor, rose from his seat, shouting hoarsely: "bresgott i gif fifdy tollars by dot athletic committee bis you win der game vor gridley!" the offer brought a laugh and a cheer. schimmelpodt rarely threw away money. dick, smiling confidently, stood bat in hand. most other boys might have felt nervous with so much depending on them. but dick was one of the kind who would put off growing nervous until the need of steady nerves was past. it was always impossible for him to admit defeat. the game stood two to nothing in favor of the gardiner nine, but gridley had bases full. dick's help might not have been needed for all the uneasiness that he displayed. there was no pallor about his face, nor any flush. his hands grasped the willow easily, confidently. "strike one!" prescott had missed the ball, but it failed to rattle him. "strike two!" the boy was still undaunted, though he had lost two chances out of the three. again he tried for the ball. swish! it was a foul hit, out sidewise. gardiner's catcher darted nimbly in under the ball. home fans groaned. as for dick, he didn't turn his head to look. catcher had the ball in his fingers, but fumbled it. it slipped. "hard luck," muttered the standing gardiner fans, waiting to give their final cheer of victory. dick's next sight of the ball was when it sailed lazily over his head, into the hands of the man in the box. "i hope dick is bracing," groaned one of gridley's subs. "he isn't," retorted dave darrin. "he's just on the job, steady as iron, cool as a cucumber and confident as an american." gardiner's pitcher measured his man critically, then signaled the next ball. it came, just as dick, closely watching the pitcher, expected it to come, a swift, graceful out-curve. _bang_! at least it sounded like a gunshot. dick prescott struck the ball with all his might. he struck with greatest force just barely below the center of the sphere. it was a fearful crack, aimed right and full of steam and speed. "_wow_!" three base-runners, at the first sound had started running for all they were worth. dick's bat flew like a projectile itself, fortunately hitting no one, and prescott was running like greek of old on the olympic field. one man in! the ball had gone past the furthest limits of outfield. before it had touched the ground dick prescott touched first and started for second. gardiner right and left fields were running a race with center field. the latter was the one to get it, but his two supporters simply couldn't stand still. prescott kicked the second bag. almost at the same instant the second man was in. score tied! what about that ball? it was rolling on the ground, now, many yards ahead of the flying center-field. dick was nearing third, the man ahead of him fast nearing the home plate. centerfield had the ball in his hands, whirling as if on springs. third man safe home---dick prescott turning the third bag and into the last leg of the diamond. center-field threw with all his might, but the distance was long. second base had to stoop for the ball. even at that, it got past his hands. he wheeled, bolted after the ball, got it and made a throw to the catcher. out of the corner of his eyes, young prescott saw the arching ball descend, a good throw and a true one. yet, ere it landed in the catcher's hand, dick, by the fraction of a second, had sprinted desperately across the home plate. "runner safe home!" "whoo-oopee! wow! wow! wow!" rang the chorus of thousands. "four to two!" "what about gridley, _now_?" "what about dick prescott?" then words were lost in volleys of cheers. the gardiner fans who had risen to cheer slipped dejectedly down from the stand. and dick prescott? while running he had given no thought to his knee. now, as he dashed across the plate, and heard the umpire's decision, he tried to stop, but slipped and went down. he tried to rise, but found it would be better to sit where he was. the game was over. gridley, having made the winning runs in the last half of the ninth, the rules of the game forbade any further attempts to pile up score. one of the first of the great crowd to leap over into the field and cross the diamond was coach luce. he ran straight to the young pitcher's side, kneeling close by him. "you've given your knee a fearful twist, prescott. i could see it," said luce sympathetically. "what do i care?" dick called back, his face beaming. "the score's safe, isn't it?" had it not been for the state of his knee prescott would have been snatched up by a dozen hands and rushed across the field in triumph. but mr. luce waved them all back. dick's father and mother came hurrying across the field to see what was wrong with their boy. "let me lean on you as i get up, mr. luce," begged dick, and the coach was only too quick to help the boy to his feet. then, with the aid of luce's arm, dick was able to show his parents that he could walk without too much of a limp. "you did it for us, dick, old boy!" greeted captain purcell, as soon as he could get close. "did i?" snorted the young pitcher. "i thought there were four of us in it, with five others helping a bit." "it was the crack you gave that ball that brought us in," glowed purcell. "gracious, i don't believe that gardiner pitcher was ever stung as badly as that before!" the band was playing, now. as the strain stopped, and the young pitcher came across the field, leaning now on dave darrin's arm, the music crashed out again into "hail to the chief!" "you see, purcell. you're getting your share of the credit now," laughed dick. "the band is playing something about a captain, isn't it?" in the dressing room dick had abundant offers of help. fred ripley was the only silent one in the group. he changed his togs for street clothes as quickly as he could and disappeared. later, dave darrin and greg holmes helped dick on to a street car, and saw him safely home. that knee required further treatment by dr. bentley, but there was time, now, and no game depending on the result. "fred, i can't say much for your appetite tonight," remarked his father at the evening meal. "neither can i, sir," fred answered. "are you out of sorts?" "never felt any better, sir." "being out in the open air all this april afternoon should have given you an appetite. "i didn't do anything this afternoon, except sit around in my ball togs," fred grumbled. "i hope you'll have a few good games to pitch this season," his father went on. "you worked hard enough, and i spent money enough on the effort to prepare you." "you can't beat some people's luck---unless you do it with a club," grumbled fred, absently. "eh?" asked his father, looking up sharply from his plate. but the boy did not explain. late that night, however, breaking training rules for the tenth time, fred was out on the sly to meet tip scammon. the pair of them laid plans that aimed to stop dick prescott's career as high school pitcher. chapter xix some mean tricks left over mr. schimmelpodt had offered that fifty dollars in a moment of undue excitement. for two or three days afterward he wondered if he couldn't find some way out of "spending" the money that would yet let him keep his self-respect. finding, at last, that he could not, he wrote out the check and mailed it. he pinned the check to a half-sheet of paper on which he wrote, "rah mit prescott!" a few days later mr. schimmelpodt turned from main street into the side street on which dick's parents kept their store and their home. "ach! und dere is de door vot that boy lives by," thought mr. schimmelpodt, just before he passed dick's door. "yen der game over was, und i saw dot boy go down---ach!" for mr. schimmelpodt had suited the action to the word. out from under him his feet shot. but mr. schimmelpodt, being short and flabby of leg, with a bulky body above, came down as slowly as big bodies are supposed to move. it was rather a gradual tumble. having so much fat on all portions of his body mr. schimmelpodt came down with more astonishment than jar. "ach! such a slipperyishness!" he grunted. "hey, bresgott---! look out!" the door had opened suddenly at this early hour in the morning. dick, charged with doing a breakfast errand for his mother at the last moment, sprang down the steps and started to sprint away. at the first step on the sidewalk, however, dick's landing foot shot out from under him. he tried to bring the other down in time to save himself. that, too, slipped. dick waved his arms, wind-mill fashion in the quick effort to save himself. "bresgott," observed the seated contractor, solemnly, "i bet you five tollars to den cents dot you-----" here schimmelpodt waited until dick settled the question of the center of gravity by sprawling on the sidewalk. "---dot you fall," finished the german, gravely. "i---und i yin!" "why, good morning, mr. schimmelpodt," dick responded, as he started to get up. "what are you doing here." "oh, choost vaiting to see bis you do the same thing," grunted the contractor. "it was great sport---not?" "decidedly 'not,'" laughed dick, stepping gingerly over a sidewalk that had been spread thinly with some sticky substance. "can i help you up, mr. schimmelpodt?" the german, who knew his own weight, glanced at the boy's slight figure rather doubtfully. "bresgott, how many horsepower are you alretty?" but dick, standing carefully so that he would not slip again, displayed more strength than the contractor had expected. in another moment the german was on his feet, moving cautiously away, his eyes on the sidewalk. yet he did not forget to mutter his thanks to the boy. as dick now went on his way again, slipping around the corner and into a bakeshop, he noticed that his right wrist felt a bit queer. "well, i haven't broken anything," he murmured, feeling of the wrist with his left hand. "but what on earth happened to the sidewalk." as he paused before his door on the way back, he looked carefully down at the sidewalk. right before the door several flags in the walk appeared to be thinly coated with some colorless specimen of slime. "it looks as though it might be soft soap," pondered prescott, examining the stuff more closely. "it'll be dry in a half an hour more, but i think i had better fix it." in the basement was a barrel of sand that was used for sanding the icy sidewalk in winter. as soon as dick had run upstairs with the bread he went below, got a few handfuls of sand and fixed the sidewalk. at recess dick noticed just enough about his wrist to make him speak about it to submaster luce. "let me see it," demanded coach. "hm!" he muttered. "another peculiar accident, and only two days before our game with chichester! see dr. bentley about your wrist at his office this afternoon. i'm beginning to think, prescott, that it's a fortunate thing for you that the medical director is paid out of the fund. you'd bankrupt an ordinary citizen if you're going to keep on having these tumbles." dr. bentley's verdict was that, while the wrist was not in a condition that need bother men much in ordinary callings, yet, as a pitcher's wrist, it would need rest and care. "i've just got the tip that i'm to pitch in the chichester game," said dave, coming to his chum that afternoon. "yes; doe thinks i ought to look after this wrist---that it wouldn't stand extraordinary strain during the next few days. but, dave, old fellow, watch out! keep your eye on the sidewalks near your home. don't prowl in lonely places after dark. act as if you were made of glass until you get on the field at the chichester game." darrin glanced shrewdly at his friend, then nodded. "i'm on, dick! confound that fellow, ripley. and he's as slick and slippery as an eel. i don't suppose there is any way that we can catch him?" "if i knew a way i'd use it," growled prescott. "i'm sick of having this thing so onesided all the time. ripley plans, and we pay the piper. the blackguard!" "then you're sure ripley is at the bottom of these accidents?" "the accidents are planned," retorted dick. "who else would care to plan them, except that disagreeable fellow?" "i'd like to get just proof enough to justify me in demanding that he stand up before me for twenty rounds," gritted dave darrin. dave did take extraordinary care of himself, and was on hand to pitch at the game with chichester. this game, like the first, was on the home grounds. it was a close game, won by gridley, two to one. in some respects chichester's fielding work was better than the home team's. it was undying grit that won the battle---that and dave darrin's pitching. as the jubilant home fans left the ball grounds it was the general opinion that dave darrin was only the merest shade behind dick prescott as a pitcher. "either one of them in the box," said coach luce to a friend, "and the game is half won." "but how about ripley?" "ripley?" replied the coach. "he made a good showing in the tryouts, but we haven't had in the field yet. he will be, though, the next game. we play brayton high school over at brayton. it's one of the smaller games, and we're going to try ripley there." then the coach added, to himself: "ripley is presentable enough, but i believe there's a big yellow streak in him somewhere. i wouldn't dare to put fred into one of the big games requiring all the grit that prescott or darrin can show!" chapter xx a tin can for the yellow dog with ripley in the box gridley won its third game of the season, beating brayton high school by a score of five to two. "it ought to have been a whitewash against a small-fry crowd like brayton," coach luce confided to captain purcell. "what was our weak spot, coach?" "have you an opinion, captain?" asked the coach. "yes, but i'm afraid i'm wrong." "what is your idea?" "why, it seemed to me, mr. luce, that ripley went stiff at just the wrong times. yet i hate to say that, and i am afraid i'm unfair, for rip surely does throw in some wonderful balls." "you've struck my idea, anyway," responded mr. luce. "please don't say anything about it to the other men. but, between ourselves, captain, i think we'll do well to give ripley few and unimportant chances this season. most people can't see where real grit comes in, in baseball" "yet you think the lack of grit, or stamina, is just what ails rip?" asked captain purcell keenly. "you can judge, from what i've said," replied coach luce. "i'm glad then, coach, for it shows i wasn't so far off the track in my own private judgment." yet, to hear fred ripley tell about the game, it wasn't such a small affair. he judged his foemen by the fact that they had to contend with _him_. "five to two is the safest margin we've had yet," he confided to those who listened to him at the high school. "more than that, we had brayton tied down so that, at no time in the game, did they have any show to break the score against us. now, if luce and purcell fix it up for me to pitch the real games of the season" "oh, cut it out, rip," advised one listener, good-naturedly. "brayton is only a fishball team, anyway. not a real, sturdy beef-eater in the lot." the season moved on briskly now. dick pitched two games, and darrin one in between prescott's pair. dick's first game was won by a score of one to nothing; his second game, the return date against gardiner, was a tie. the game in which darrin pitched was won by a score of three to two. then came a game with a team not much above brayton's standing. "prescott and darrin must be saved for some of the bigger games," decided coach luce. "purcell, don't you think it will be safe to trust ripley to pitch against cedarville high school?" "yes," nodded the captain of the nine. "i don't believe cedarville could harm us, anyway, if we put left field or shortstop in the box." fred ripley was notified. at once cedarville became, in his talk, one of the most formidable nines on the state's high school circuit. "but we'll skin 'em, you'll see," promised fred, through the week. "be at the game, and see what i can do when i'm feeling well. cedarville has no chance." ripley was in high spirits all through the week. all through that saturday forenoon he moved about in a trance of exultation. yet, underneath it all, he was somewhat seedy in a physical sense, for he had been out late the night before to meet tip and hand over some money. late that saturday forenoon, lawyer ripley returned from a business trip. soon after he returned home, and had seen a man in his library, he went in search of his wife. "where's fred?" demanded the lawyer. "he went out up the street, to get a good walk," replied mrs. ripley. "you know, my dear, he is to pitch for gridley in one of the biggest games of the season this afternoon." "hm!" said the lawyer. "well, see here. let fred have his luncheon. don't say a word until then. as soon as he is over with the meal, send him to me in the library. don't give him any hint until he has finished eating." "is---is anything wrong?" asked mrs. ripley, turning around quickly. "just a few little questions i want to talk over with the boy," replied mr. ripley. it was shortly after one o'clock when fred stepped into the library. this apartment was really in two rooms, separated by folding doors. in the front room mr. ripley had his desk, and did his writing. most of his books were in the rear room. at the time when fred entered the folding doors were closed. "you wished to see me, sir?" fred asked, as he entered. "yes," said his father, pointing to a chair; "take a seat." "i hope it isn't anything that will take much time," hinted fred. "you know, sir, i've got to be at the field early this afternoon. i am to pitch in one of the biggest-----" "i'll try to be very brief," replied the lawyer, quietly. "fred, as you know, whenever i find i have more money about me than i care to carry, i put it in the private safe upstairs. your mother and i have a place where we hide the key to that old-fashioned safe. but, do you know, i have been missing some money from that safe of late? of course, it would be sheer impudence in me to suspect your mother." "of course it would," agreed fred, with feigned heartiness. he was fighting inwardly to banish the pallor that he knew was creeping into his cheeks. "have you any theory, fred, that would help to account for the missing of these sums of money?" pursued the lawyer, one hand toying with a pencil. "do you suspect any of the servants?" asked the boy, quickly. "we have had all our servants in the family for years," replied the lawyer, "and it would seem hard to suspect any of them." "then whom can you suspect, sir?" "fred, do you know, i have had a quiet little idea. i am well acquainted with the scrapes that young fellows sometimes get into. my experience as a lawyer has brought me much in contact with such cases. now, it is a peculiar thing that young fellows often get into very bad scrapes indeed in pursuing their peculiar ideals of manliness. fred, have you been getting into any scrapes? have you found out where your mother and i hide the key to the safe? have you been helping yourself to the money on the sly?" these last three questions lawyer ripley shot out with great suddenness, though without raising his voice. the effect upon young ripley was electrical. he sprang to his feet, his face dramatically expressive of a mingling of intense astonishment and hurt pride. "dad," he gasped, "how can you ask me such questions?" "because i want the answer, and a truthful one," replied the lawyer, coolly. "will you oblige me with the answer? take your time, and think deliberately. if you have made any mistakes i want you to be fair and honorable with me. now, what do you say, sir?" fred's mind had been working like lightning. he had come to the conclusion that it would be safe to bluff his denial through to the end. "father," he uttered, earnestly, in a voice into which he tried to throw intense earnestness and sincerity, "i give you my word of honor, as a ripley, that i know nothing more about the missing money than you have just told me." "you are sure of that, fred?" "sure of it, sir? why, i will take any oath that will satisfy-----" "we don't want any perjury here," cut in the lawyer, crisply, and touched a bell. the folding doors behind them flew open with a bang. as fred started and whirled about he beheld a stranger advancing toward them, and that stranger was escorting---tip scammon. the stranger halted with his jailbird companion some five or six feet away. the stranger did not appear greatly concerned. tip, however, looked utterly abashed, and unable to raise his gaze from the floor. "with this exhibit, young man," went on the lawyer, in a sorrowful tone, "i don't suppose it is necessary to go much further with the story. when i first began to miss small sums from the safe i thought i might merely have made a mistake about the sums that i had put away. finally, i took to counting the money more carefully. then i puzzled for a while. at last, i sent for this man, who is a detective. he has come and gone so quietly that probably you have not noticed him. this man has had a hiding place from which he could watch the safe. early last evening you took the key and opened the safe---robbed it! you took four five-dollar bills, but they were marked. this man saw you meet tip scammon, saw you pass the money over, and heard a conversation that has filled me with amazement. so my son has been paying blackmail money for months!" fred stood staggered, for a few moments. then he wheeled fiercely on scammon. "you scoundrel, you've been talking about me---telling lies about me," young ripley uttered hoarsely. "i hain't told nothing about ye," retorted tip stolidly. "but this rich man's cop (detective) nabbed me the first thing this morning. he took me up inter yer father's office, an' asked me whether i'd let _him_ explore my clothes, or whether i'd rather have a policeman called in. he 'splained that, if he had to call the poor man's cop, i'd have to be arrested for fair. so i let him go through my clothes. he found four five-spots on me, and told me i'd better wait an' see yer father. so i'm here, an' not particular a bit about having to go up to the penitentiary for another stretch." "it hasn't been necessary, fred, to question scammon very far," broke in the elder ripley. "that'll do, now, haight. since scammon volunteered to give the money back, and said he didn't know it had been stolen, you can turn him loose." the detective and tip had no more than gone when lawyer ripley, his face flushed with shame, wheeled about on his son. "so you see, fred, what your word of honor the word of a ripley---is sometimes worth. you have been robbing me steadily. how much you have taken i do not know as i have not always counted or recorded money that i put in the safe." fred's face had now taken on a defiant look. he saw that his father did not intend to be harsh, so the boy determined to brave it out. "haven't you anything to say?" asked the lawyer, after a brief silence. "no," retorted fred, sulkily. "not after you've disgraced me by putting a private detective on my track. it was shameful." that brought the hot blood rushing to his father's face. "shameful, was it, you young reprobate? shameful to you, when you have been stealing for weeks, if not for months? it is you who are dead to the sense of shame. your life, i fear, young man, cannot go on as it has been going. you are not fitted for a home of wealth and refinement. you have had too much money, too easy a time. i see that, now. well, it shall all change! you shall have a different kind of home." fred began to quake. he knew that his father, when in a mood like this, was not to be trifled with. "you---you don't mean jail?" gasped the boy with a yellow streak in him. "no; i don't; at least, not this time," retorted his father. "but, let me see. you spoke of an engagement to do something this afternoon. what was it?" "_i was_ to have pitched in the game against cedarville high school." "go on, then, and do it," replied his father. "i---i can't pitch, now. my nerves are too-----" "go on and do what you're pledged to do!" thundered lawyer ripley, in a tone which fred knew was not to be disregarded. so the boy started for the door. "and while you are gone," his father shot after him, "i will think out my plan for changing your life in such a way as to save whatever good may be in you, and to knock a lot of foolish, idle ideas out of your head!" fred's cheeks were ashen, his legs shaking under him as he left the house. "i've never seen the guv'nor so worked up before---at least, not about me," thought the boy wretchedly. "now, what does he mean to do? i can't turn him a hair's breadth, now, from whatever plan he may make. why didn't i have more sense? why didn't i own up, and 'throw myself on the mercy of the court'?" in his present mood the frightened boy knew he couldn't sit still in a street car. so he walked all the way to the athletic field. he was still shaking, still worried and pale when at length he arrived there. he walked into the dressing room. the rest of the nine and the subs were already on hand, many of them dressed. "you're late, mr. ripley," said coach luce, a look of annoyance on his face. outside, the first of the fans on the seats were starting the rumpus that goes under the name of enthusiasm. "i---i know it. but---but---i---i'm sorry, mr. luce. i---i believe i'm going to be ill. i---i know i can't pitch to-day." so coach luce and captain purcell conferred briefly, and decided that dave darrin should pitch to-day. darrin did pitch. he handled his tricky curves so well that puny cedarville was beaten by the contemptuous score of seventeen to nothing. meanwhile, fred ripley was wandering about gridley, in a state of abject, hopeless cowardice. chapter xxi dick is generous because it's natural "say, will you look at rip?" no wonder harry hazelton exploded with wonder as he turned to dan dalzell and greg holmes. in this warmer weather, the young men loitered in the school yard until the first bell. these three members of dick & co. were standing near the gateway when fred ripley turned the nearest corner and came on nervously, hurriedly, a hang-dog look in his face. what had caught harry hazelton's eye, and now made his comrades stare, was the new suit that fred wore. gone was all that young man's former elegance of attire. his stern father had just left the boy, after having taken him to a clothing store where fred was tricked out in a coarse, ready-made suit that had cost just seven dollars and a half. a more manly boy would have made a better appearance in such clothes, but it was past fred ripley. and he was miserably conscious of the cheap-looking derby that rested on his head. even his shoes were new and coarse. ripley hurried by the chums, and across the yard, to be met at the door by purcell, who stared at him in candid astonishment. "oh, say, rip!" demanded purcell. "what's the bet?" "shut up!" retorted ripley, passing quickly inside. "fine manners," grinned purcell to a girl who had also paused, impelled by excusable curiosity. dick, when he came along, heard the news from hazelton and the others. "what can be the cause of it all?" asked tom reade, wonderingly. "oh, some row with his father," decided dick slowly. "when i was up on main street i saw them both going into marsh's clothing store." "i asked poor old rip what the bet was," chuckled purcell as he joined the group. "say, if you want to have fun at recess," proposed dan dalzell, "let's about twenty of us, one after the other, go up and ask rip what the bet is, and how long it's for?" "say," retorted dick sternly, eyeing hapless dan, "i believe, if you got into a fight and knocked a fellow down, you'd jump on him and keep hammering him." "not much i wouldn't, old safety-valve," retorted dan, reddening. "but i see that you're right, dick. rip has never been any friend of ours, and to jump him now, when he's evidently down at home, would be too mean for the principles of dick & co." "i'd rather give the poor fellow a helping hand up, if we could," pursued young prescott musingly, "purcell, do you think there'd be any use in trying that sort of thing?" "why, i don't know," replied captain purcell, easy going and good hearted. "barring a few snobbish airs, i always used to like rip well enough. he was always pretty proud, but pride, in itself, is no bar to being a decent fellow. the only fellow who comes to harm with pride is the fellow who gets proud before he has done anything to be proud of. at least, that's the way it always hit me." "ripley certainly looked hang-dog," commented hazelton. "and he must feel mightily ashamed over something," continued dick. "i wonder if his father has found out anything about tip scammon and certain happenings of last year. that might account for a lot. but what do you say, fellows? if ripley has been a bit disagreeable and ugly, shall we try to make him feel that there's always a chance to turn around and be decent?" "why, i'd believe in trying to point out the better road to old nick himself," replied dave darrin warmly. "only, i don't believe in doing it in the preachy way---like some people do." "that's right," nodded dick. "see here, purcell, if ripley is looking down in the mouth at recess, why don't you go up to him and talk baseball? then call us over, after you've raised some point for discussion. and we'll tip two or three other fellows to join in, without, of course, getting a crowd." "i'll try it," nodded purcell. "though i can't guess how it will turn out. of course, if rip gives us the black scowl we'll have to conclude that no help is wanted." it was tried, however, at recess. purcell went about it with the tact that often comes to the easy going and big hearted. soon purcell had dick and dave with fred and himself. then the other chums drifted up. two or three other fellows came along. after some sulkiness at first fred talked eagerly, if nervously. on the whole, he seemed grateful. when dick reached home that day he felt staggered with astonishment. waiting for him was a note from lawyer ripley, asking the boy to be at the latter's office at half-past two. "i shall take it as a very great favor," the note ran on, "and, from what i know of you, i feel certain that you will be glad to aid me in a matter that is of vast importance to me." "what on earth is coming?" wondered dick. but he made up his mind to comply with the request. promptly to the minute dick reached the street door of the office building. here he encountered dave darrin and dalzell. "you, too?" asked dick. "it looks as though all of dick & co. had been summoned," replied dave darrin. on entering the lawyer's office they found their other three chums there ahead of them. tip scammon was there, also, looking far from downcast. lawyer ripley looked very grave. he looked, too, like a man who had a serious task to perform, and who meant to go about it courageously. "young gentlemen, i thank you all," said the lawyer slowly. "i am pursuing a matter in which i feel certain that i need your help. there has been some evil connection between scammon and my son. what it is scammon has refused to tell me. i will first of all tell you what i _do_ know. i am telling you, of course, on the assumption that you are all young men of honor, and that you will treat a father's confidence as men of honor should do." the boys bowed, wondering what was coming. lawyer ripley thereupon plunged into a narration of the happenings of the day before, telling it all with a lawyer's exactness of statement. "and now i will ask you," wound up mr. ripley, "whether you can tell me anything about the hold that scammon seems to have exercised over my son?" "that's an embarrassing question, sir," dick replied, after there had been a long pause. "do you know the nature of that hold?" "yes, sir." "may i ask how you know?" "i overheard a conversation, one night, between your son and tip scammon." "what was the substance of that conversation?" pressed the lawyer. "i don't quite see how i can tell you, sir," dick responded slowly and painfully. "i'm not a tale bearer. i don't want to come here and play the tittle-tattle on your son." "i respect your reluctance," nodded lawyer ripley. "but let me put it to you another way. i am the boy's father. i am responsible for his career in this world, as far as anyone but himself can be responsible. i am also seeking what is for the boy's best good. i cannot act intelligently unless i have exact facts. both my son and scammon are too stubborn to tell me anything. in the cause of justice, prescott, will you answer me frankly?" "that word, 'justice,' has an ominous sound, sir," prescott answered. "it is generally connected with the word punishment, instead of with the word mercy." "i suspect that my son has been your very bitter enemy, prescott," said the lawyer keenly. "i suspect that he has plotted against you and all your chums. would you now try to shield him from the consequences of such acts?" "why, sir, i think any boy of seventeen is young enough to have another chance." "and i agree with you," cried the lawyer, a sudden new light shining in his eyes. "now, will you be wholly frank with me if i promise you that my course toward my son will be one that will give him every chance to do better if he wants to?" "that's an odd bargain to have to make with a father," smiled dick. "it _is_," admitted lawyer ripley, struck by the force of the remark. "you've scored a point there, prescott. well, then, since i _am_ the boy's father, and since i want to do him full justice on the side of mercy, if he'll have it---will you tell all of the truth that you know to that boy's father?" dick glanced around at his chums. one after another they nodded. then the high school pitcher unburdened himself. tip scammon sat up and took keen notice. when dick had finished with all he knew, including the tripping with the pole, and the soft-soaping of the sidewalk before his home door, tip was ready to talk. "i done 'em all," he admitted, "includin' the throwin' of the brickbats. the brickbats was on my own hook, but the pole and the soft soap was parts of the jobs me and fred put up between us." "why did you throw the brickbats on your own hook?" asked lawyer ripley sharply. "why, you see, 'squire, 'twas just like this," returned tip. "after i'd done it, if i had hurt prescott, then i was goin' to go to your son an' scare 'im good an' proper by threatenin' to blab that he had hired me to use them brickbats. that'd been good fer all his spendin' money, wouldn't it?" "yes, and for all he could steal, too," replied lawyer ripley. "i didn't know nothing about his stealin' money," retorted tip, half virtuously. "i jest thought he had too much pocket money fer his own good, an' so i'd help him spend some of it. but, see here, lawyer, ye promised me that, if i did talk, nothin' i told yer should be used against myself." "i am prepared to keep that promise," replied mr. ripley coldly. the sound of a slight stir came from the doorway between the outer and inner office. there in the doorway, his face ghastly white, his whole body seeming devoid of strength, leaned fred ripley. "i had almost forgotten that i asked you to come here," said mr. ripley, as he looked up. "how long have you been here?" "not very long, perhaps, but long enough to know that dick prescott and the rest have been doing all they can to make matters harder for me," fred answered in a dispirited voice. "as it happens, they have been doing nothing of the sort," replied the lawyer crisply. "come in here, fred. i have had the whole story of your doings, but it was on a pledge that i would give you another chance to show whether there's any good in you. fred, i can understand, now that you've always thought yourself better than most boys---above them. the truth is that you've a long way to go to get up to the level of ordinary, decent, good american boyhood. you may get there yet; i hope so. but come, sir, are you going to make a decent apology to prescott and his friends for the contemptible things you've tried to do to them?" somehow, fred ripley managed to mumble his way through an apology, though he kept his eyes on the floor all the while. full of sympathy for the father who, if proud, was at least upright, dick and his chums accepted that apology, offered their hands, then tip-toed out, leaving father and son together. chapter xxii all roads lead to the swimming pool in the next few weeks, if fred ripley didn't improve greatly in popularity, he was at all events vastly quieter and more reserved in his manner. tip scammon had vanished, so far as common knowledge went. mr. ripley, feeling somewhat responsible for that scamp's wrong doing, in that fred had put him up to his first serious wrong doing, had given scammon some money and a start in another part of the country. that disappearance saved scammon from a stern reckoning with prescott's partners, who had not forgotten him. fred was again a well-dressed boy, also a well-mannered one. he had very little to say, and he kept his snobbishness, if any remained, well concealed. dick & co., after the scene in the lawyer's office, if not exactly cordial with the unhappy junior, at all events remembered that they had agreed to "forget." nor were prescott and his chums priggish enough to take great credit to themselves for their behavior. they merely admitted among themselves that any fellow ought to have the show that was now accorded to the younger ripley. baseball had gone off with an hurrah this season, though there had been an enormous amount of hard work behind all the successes. now, but one game remained. out of fourteen played, so far, only one had resulted in a tie; the others had all been victories for gridley. with the warm june weather commencement was looming near. one wednesday morning there was a long and tedious amount of practice over the singing that was to be offered at the close of the school year. "huh! i thought we'd never get through," snorted prescott, as he raced out into the school yard. "and we were kept ten minutes over the usual time for recess." "gee, but it's hot to-day," muttered tom reade, fanning himself with his straw hat. "oh, what wouldn't i give, right now, for a good swim down at foster's pond!" muttered purcell moodily. "well, why can't we have it?" suggested gint. "we couldn't get back by the time recess is over," replied purcell. "the end of recess would be when we _did_ get back, wouldn't it!" asked a senior. "let's go, anyway!" urged another boy, restlessly. as students were allowed to spend their recess quietly on the near-by streets, if they preferred, the girls generally deserted the yard. the spirit of mischievous mutiny was getting loose among the young men. nor will anyone who remembers his own school days wonder much at that. in june, when the end of the school year is all but at hand, restraints become trebly irksome. dick's own face was glowing. as much as any boy there he wanted a swim, just now, down in foster's pond. oh, how he wanted it! "see here, fellows," prescott called to some of the nearest ones. "and you especially, charley grady, for you're studying to be a lawyer." "what has a lawyer to do with the aching desire for a swim?" inquired grady. "well, post us a bit," begged dick. "what was it the great burke had to say about punishing a community?" "why," responded grady thoughtfully, "burke laid down a theory that has since become a principle in law. it was to the effect that a community cannot be indicted." "all of us fellows---_all_ of us might be called a community, don't you think?" queried dick. "why---er---aha---hem!" responded grady. "oh, come, now, drop the extras," ordered dick. "time is short. are we a community, in a sort of legal sense? just plain yes or no." "well, then, yes!" decided grady. "whoop!" ejaculated dick, placing his straw hat back on his head and starting on a sprint out of the yard. his chums followed. some of the fellows who were nearer the gate tried to reach it first. in an instant, the flight was general. "come on, rip! you're not going to hang back on the crowd, are you?" uttered one boy, reproachfully. "don't spoil the community idea." so fred ripely tagged on at the rear of the flight. "what is it, boys---a fire?" called laura bentley. a dozen girls had drawn in, pressing against the wall, to let this whirlwind of boys go by. "tell you when we get back," purcell called. "time presses now." it took the leaders only about four minutes to reach foster's pond. even ripley and the other tail-enders were on hand about a minute later. there was a fine grove here, fringed by thick bushes, and no houses near. in a jiffy the high school boys were disrobing. "and the fellow who 'chaws' anyone else's clothes, to-day," proposed dick, "is to be thrown in and kept in, when he's dressed!" "hear! hear!" dick was one of the first to get stripped. he started on a run, glided out over a log that lay from the bank, and plunged headlong into one of the deepest pools. then up he came, spouting water. "come on, in, fellows! the water's _grand_!" he yelled. splash! splash! the surface of the pond at that point was churned white. the bobbing heads made one think of huckleberries bobbing on a bowl of milk. splash! splash! more were diving in. and now the fun and the frolic went swiftly to their height. "this is the real thing!" vented one ecstatic swimmer. "down with 'do-re--mi-fa-sol!" "as long as we're all to be hanged together, what say if we don't go back at all to-day?" questioned purcell. there were some affirmative shouts, but dick, who had just stepped back on the bank for a moment shook his head. "don't be hogs, fellows!" he urged. "don't run a good thing into the ground. we'll have our swim, get well cooled off---and then we'd better go back looking as penitent as the circumstances seem to call for." "i guess it's the wise one talking," nodded purcell, as he climbed to the bank preparatory to another dive. for at least twenty minutes the high school boys remained at their delightful sport. then cries started here and there: "all out! all out!" reluctantly the youngsters began to leave the water. "now, don't let anyone lag," begged purcell. "as we ran away together, we ought all to go back together." so dressing went on apace. then the fellows began to look at each other, wonderingly. to be sure, they didn't stand so much in personal awe of the principal. but then mr. cantwell had the board of education behind him. there was superintendent eldridge, also, and back of it all, what parents might---oh, hang it, it began to look just a bit serious now. "who are the heroes here?" called out one fellow. "why?" demanded another. "well, we need our assured brave ones to lead going back." "that's where the baseball squad comes in, then," nodded purcell. "school nine and subs first, second team following. then let the chilly-footed ones bring up the rear." "we can go back in column of fours," proposed dick, as he fastened on his collar, "with no leaders or file-closers. then it will be hard to guess at any ring-leaders." "that's the best idea yet," agreed purcell. "then, fellows, a block from the school, let the baseball squad form first, and then all of the rest of you fall in behind in column of fours, just as you happen along." "and keep good ranks, and march the best you know how," urged dick. "unyielding ranks may suggest the community idea to prin." "then we won't have to explain it," laughed grady. "oh, come, now," shouted another, "don't flatter yourselves that we're going to get out of some tall explaining." a block from the school the order was given to form fours. this was quickly done. purcell, dick, darrin and dan dalzell composed the first four as the line turned into the yard. there at the main doorway the culprits beheld the principal. and that gentlemen certainly looked almost angry about something. the weather indications were for squalls in the high school. "go to your seats in the assembly room," said the principal, coldly, as the head of the line neared him. as the boys wore no overcoats it was not necessary to file down to the locker rooms first. they marched into the hat room just off of the assembly room. and here they found mr. drake on duty. "no conversation here. go directly to your seats," ordered mr. drake. the few girls who were not at classes looked up with eyes full of mischievous inquiry when the boys entered the big room. the principal and mr. drake took their seats on the platform. the late swimmers reached for their books, though most of them made but a pretense of study. almost at once there was another diversion made by the girls who were returning from recitations. then the bell was struck for the beginning of the next period. out filed the sections. the boys began to feel that this ominous quiet boded them no good. not until closing time did the principal make any reference to the affair. "the young ladies are dismissed for the day," he remarked. "the young gentlemen will remain." clang! then a dead silence fell over the room. it was broken, after a minute, by the principal, who asked: "where were you, young gentlemen, when the end of recess bell rang this morning!" no one being addressed, no one answered. "where were you, mr. purcell?" "swimming at foster's pond, sir." "all of you?" "all of us, sir, i think." "whose idea was it?" "as i remember, sir, the idea belonged to us all." "who made the first proposal?" "that would be impossible to say, now, sir." "do you remember anything about it?" "yes, sir." "what was it?" "i believe the fellows voted that mr. grady, who is studying to be a lawyer, should represent us as counsel." "ah! i shall be very glad, then, to hear from judge grady," the principal dryly remarked. "judge" grady bobbed up, smiling and confident---or he seemed so. as for the rest of the fellows, the principal's frigid coolness was beginning to get on their nerves. "mr. principal," began grady, thrusting his right band in between his vest buttons, "the illustrious, perhaps immortal burke, once elucidated a principle that has since become historic, authoritative and illuminating. among american and english jurists alike, burke's principle has been accepted as akin to the organic law and the idea is that a community cannot be indicted." it was a fine speech, for grady had real genius in him, and this was the first chance he had ever had. the principal waited until the budding legal light had finished. then mr. cantwell cleared his throat, to reply crisply: "while i will not venture to gainsay burke, and he is not here to be cross-examined, i will say that the indictment of the community, in this instance, would mean the expulsion of all the young men in the high school. to that form of sentence i do not lean. a light form of punishment would be to prohibit absolutely the final baseball game of the school season. a sever form would be to withhold the diplomas of the young men of the graduating senior class. i think it likely that both forms of punishment will be administered, but i shall not announce my decision to-day. it will come later. the young men are dismissed." clang! dismay would have been a mild name for what the fellows felt when they found themselves outside the building. of the principal, in a rage they were little afraid. but when the principal controlled his temper he was a man in authority and of dangerous power. after his own meal, and some scowling reflection, mr. cantwell set out to find his friend and backer in the board of education, mr. gadsby. that custodian of local education heard mr. cantwell through, after which he replied: "er---um----ah---my dear cantwell, you can't very well prohibit the game, or talk of withholding diplomas from the young men of the graduating class. either course would make you tremendously unpopular. the people of gridley would say that you were lacking in---era sense of humor." "sense of humor?" raged the principal, getting up and pacing the floor. "is it humorous to have a lot of young rascals running all over one's authority?" "certainly not," responded mr. gadsby. "you should---er---preserve discipline." "how am i to preserve discipline, if i can't inflict punishments?" insisted mr. cantwell. "but you should---er---that is---my dear cantwell, you should make the punishments merely fit the crimes." "in such an outrageous case as to-day's," fumed the principal, "what course would have been taken by the dr. thornton whom you are so fond of holding up to me as a man who knew how to handle boys?" "dr. thornton," responded mr. gadsby, "would have been ingenious in his punishment. how long were the boys out, over recess time?" "twenty-five minutes." "then," returned mr. gadsby, "i can quite see dr. thorton informing the young men that they would be expected to remain at least five times as long after school as they had been improperly away from it. that is---er---ah---he would have sent for his own dinner, and would have eaten it at his desk, with scores of hungry young men looking on while their own dinners went cold. at three o'clock---perhaps---dr. thornton would have dismissed the offenders. it would be many a day before the boys would try anything of that sort again on good old thornton. but you, my dear cantwell, i am afraid you have failed to make the boys respect you at all times. the power of enforcing respect is the basis of all discipline." "then what shall i do with the young men this time?" "since you have---er---missed your opportunity, you---er---can do nothing, now, but let it pass. let them imagine, from day to day, that sentence is still suspended and hovering over them." wily dick prescott had been to see mr. gadsby, just before the arrival of the principal. in his other capacity of reporter for "the blade" the high school pitcher had said a few earnest words to his host. mr. gadsby, with his eye turned ever toward election day and the press, had been wholly willing to listen. chapter xxiii the agony of the last big game "ya, ya, ya! ye gotter do somethings!" this from mr. schimmelpodt. that gentleman was waving one of his short, fat arms wildly. it may as well be stated that from the smaller extremity of that arm, namely, his hand---a small crimson and gold banner attached to a stick cut circles in the air. "go to it, gridley!" "get busy! you can't take a black eye at this end of the season." gridley high school with a season's record of one tied game and a long tally of victories, seemed now in dire straits. sides were changing for the last half of the ninth inning. gridley had taken seven runs. wayland high school, with six runs already to their credit, was now going to bat for the last inning unless the score should be tied. the perfect june day, just before commencement, had brought out a host. wayland had sent nearly four hundred people. the total attendance was past four thousand paid admissions. herr schimmelpodt, who, since his first enthusiasm, had not missed a game, was now among the most concerned. the band was there, but silent. the leader knew that, in this state of affairs the spectators wanted to make the noise themselves. "oh, you dick!" "strike 'em out as fast as they come up." "save gridley!" "aw, let somebody have a game," roared a voice from the wayland seats, "and we need this one!" "prescott, remember the record!" "no defeats this year!" "don't give us one, now!" dick & co. were in full force on the nine today. true, dave darrin sat only on the sub bench to-day, but he was ready to give relief at any moment if gridley's beloved pitcher, prescott, went under. holmes was out in left field; hazelton was the nimble shortstop; dalzell pranced at the first bag on the diamond; tom reade was eternally vigilant on second base. gridley's high school girls, devoted feminine fans as any in the world, were breathing soft and fast now. if only dick, backed at need by the outfield, could keep wayland from scoring further, then all was well. if wayland should score even once in this inning, it would make a tie and call for a tenth inning. if wayland scored twice---but that was too nerve-racking to contemplate. then a hush fell. the umpire had called for play. dick let drive with his most tantalizing spitball. the leather fell down gracefully under the wayland's batsman's guess, and purcell mitted the ball. "strike one!" a hopeful cheer went up from gridley seats, to be met with one word from wayland fans: "wait!" dick served the second ball. swat! there it went, arching up in the air, a fair hit. as fast as he could leg it went holmes after it, and with good judgment. but the ball got there before greg did. in a twinkling, the young left fielder had the ball up and in motion. tom reade caught it deftly at second, and wheeled toward first. but the runner saw his error in leaving first, and slid back in season. turning back, with his lips close together, dick tried a new batsman. two strikes, and then the visitor sent out a little pop-over that touched ground and rolled ere harry hazelton could race in and get it, driving it on to first base. "safe at first," called the umpire, and the other waylander had reached second. "o-o-o-h!" "don't let 'em have it, dick---_don't_!" the wail that reached his ears was pathetic, but prescott paid no heed. he was always all but deaf to remarks from the spectators. he knew what he was trying to do, and he was coming as close as a hard-worked pitcher could get to that idea at the fag-end of the game. the fatigue germ was hard at work in the young pitcher's wrist, but dick nerved himself for better efforts. despite him, however, a third batsman got away from him, and from greg, and now the bases were full. "_o-o-oh, dick_!" it was a wail, full of despair. though he paid no direct heed to it the sorely pressed young pitcher put up his left hand to wipe the old sweat out of his eyes. his heart was pounding with the strain of it. dick prescott, born soldier, would have died for victory, _just_ then. at least, that was what he felt. the wayland man who now stood over the plate looked like a grinning monkey as he took the pitcher's measure. "go to it, dickson---kill the ball!" roared the visiting fans. "just a little two-bagger---that's all!" dick felt something fluttering inside. in himself he felt the whole gridley honor and fame revolving during that moment. then he resolutely choked down the feeling. the umpire was signaling impatiently for him to deliver. dick essayed a jump ball. with a broadening grin dickson of wayland reached for it vigorously. he struck it, but feebly. another of those short-winded, high-arched pops went up in air. there was no hope or chance for hazelton to get to the spot in time---and wayland's man away from third was steaming in while purcell made the home plate at a bound. dick raced---raced for all he was worth, though his heart felt as if steam had shut down. across the grass raced prescott, as though he believed he could make history in fifths of seconds. in his speed he went too far. the ball was due to come down behind him. there was no time to think. running at full speed as he was, pitcher dick rose in the air. it looked like an incredible leap---but he made it. his hands pulled the slow-moving popball down out of the air. barely did dick's feet touch the ground when he simply reached over and dropped the ball at purcell. the captain of the gridley nine dropped to one knee, hands low, but he took the leather in---took it just the bare part of a second before the waylander from third got there. for an instant the dazed crowd held its breath just long enough to hear the umpire announce. "striker out! out at home plate. two out!" then the tumult broke loose. for an instant or two dick stood dizzy just where he had landed on his feet. umpire davidson came bounding over. "do you want to call for a relief pitcher, prescott?" "no---wayland pitched all through with one man!" back to the box marched dick prescott, but he took his time about it. he had need of a clear head and steadier nerves and muscles, for wayland had a man again at third, and another dancing away from second. there was plenty of chance yet to lose. "prescott ought to call you out," whispered fred ripley to dave. "and i'd get out there on the dead run, just as you would, rip. but you know how dick feels. wayland went through on one man, and dick's going to do it if he lives through the next few minutes!" while that momentary dizziness lasted, something happened that caused the young pitcher to flush with humiliation. sandwiched in between two strikes were called balls enough to send the new batsman to first, and again the bases were full. one more "bad break" of this kind and wayland would receive the tie run as a present. and then one more---it would be the high school pitcher handing the only lost game of the season as a gift to the visitors! dick braced himself supremely for the next man at bat. "strike one!" it wasn't the batter's fault. a very imp had sat on the spitball that prescott bowled in. "strike two!" the batsman was sweating nervously, but he couldn't help it. dick prescott had fairly forced himself into the form of the first inning. but it couldn't last. gink! it was only a little crack at the ball, struck rather downward. a grounding ball struck the grit and rolled out toward right infield. there was no shortstop here. the instant that prescott took in the direction he was on the run. there was no time to get there ahead of the rolling leather. it was dick's left foot that stopped it, but in the same fraction of a second he bent and swooped it up---wheeled. wayland's man from third base looked three fourths of the way in. captain purcell, half frantic, was doubled up at the home plate. into that throw dick put all the steam he had left in. the leather gone from his hand, he waited. his heart seemed to stop. to half the eyes that looked on, ball and runner seemed to reach the home plate at the same instant. the umpire, crouching, squinting, had the best view of all. it was an age before dick, with the mists before his eyes, heard the faraway words for which thousands waited breathlessly: "out at home---three out!" three disheartened base runners turned and slouched dispiritedly toward the dressing rooms. "you could have hit that ball a better swipe," growled wayland's captain to the last man at bat. the victim of the rebuke didn't answer. he knew that he had faced a pitcher wholly rejuvenated by sheer grit and nerve force. at its loudest the band was blaring forth "at the old ball game," and thousands were following with the words. wayland fans were strolling away in dejection, but gridley folks stood up to watch and cheer. the whole nine had done its duty in fine shape, but dick prescott had made himself the idol of the gridley diamond. when the band stopped, the cheers welled forth. the lion's share was for prescott, but darrin was not forgotten. even ripley, who had pitched three of the minor games, came in for some notice. dick? with the strain and suspense gone he felt limp and weak for a few minutes. under the cold shower he revived somewhat. yet, when he started homeward, he found that he ached all over. with the last game of the season gone by, dick half imagined that his right wrist was a huge boil. at the gateway schimmelpodt, that true devotee of sport, waited. as the young high school pitcher came forth herr schimmelpodt rested a fat hand on the boy's shoulder, whispering in his ear: "ach! but i know vere is dere a _real_ jointed fishpole. it was two dollar, but now it stands itself by, marked to one-nineteen. in der morning, bresgott, it shall be yours. und listen!" dick looked up into the blinking eyes. "dot fishpole for der summer use is goot fine! und venever you see me going by bis my vagon, don't you be slow to holler und ask me for a ride!" chapter xxiv conclusion commencement day! for a large percentage of high school boys and girls, the end of the sophomore year marks the end of their schooling. this was true at gridley as elsewhere. when the crowd came forth from commencement exercises at the opera house on this bright, warm june afternoon, there were not a few of the sophomores who were saying good-bye to the classic halls of instruction. not so, however, with dick & co. they were bound all the way through the course, and hoped to take up with college or other academic training when once good old gridley high school must be left behind. "what are you going to do this summer, prescott?" asked dr. bentley, gripping the lad's arm, as dick stood on the sidewalk chatting with dave darrin. "work, mostly, doctor. i'm getting near the age when fellow should try to bear some of the expense of keeping himself." "what will you work at?" "why, reporting for 'the blade.' i believe i can capture a good many stray dollars this summer." "good enough," murmured dr. bentley, approvingly. "but are you going to have any spare time?" "a little, i hope---just about enough for some rest." "then i'll tell you where you can take that rest," went on the medical man. "my family are going into camp for the summer, in three days. they'll be over at the lake range, on a piece of ground that i've bought there. you can get over once in a while, and spend a night or two, can't you? mrs. bentley charged me to ask you and darrin," added the physician. "belle meade is going to spend the summer in camp with laura." both boys were prompt with their thanks. "confound it," muttered dr. bentley, "i'm forgetting two thirds of my message at that. the invitation includes all of dick & co. now remember you'll all be looked for from time to time, and most heartily welcome." both boys were most hearty in their thanks. this took care of whatever spare time they might have, for dave, too, was to be busy a good deal of the time. he had work as an extra clerk at the express office. then the two girl chums came along. dick and dave strolled along with laura and belle. the other partners of dick & co. were soon to be seen, their narrow-brimmed straw hats close to bobbing picture hats. "your father gave us a message, laura," dick murmured to the girl beside him. "and you're going to accept it?" asked the girl quickly. "at any chance to be honestly away from work," dick promised fervently. "yet at my age a fellow must keep something of an eye toward business, too, laura." "yes," she answered slowly, glancing covertly at the bronzed young face and the strong, lithe body. "you're nearing manhood, dick." "just about as rapidly as you're growing into womanhood, laura," answered the boy. dave and belle were chatting, too, but what they said wouldn't interest very staid old people. gridley was prouder than ever of its athletic teams. the great record in baseball, with dick & co. in the team, was something worth talking about. lest there be some who may think that a season of baseball with no defeats is an all but impossible record, the chronicler hastens to add that there are, through the length and breadth of these united states, several high school teams every year that make such a showing. yet, in baseball, as in everything else, the record is reached only by nines like the gridley crowd, where the stiffest training, the best coaches and the best individual nerve and grit among the players are to be found. did fred ripley truly make good? what else happened? these and various other burning questions must now be answered in the chronicle of the time to which they belonged. so the reader is referred to the next volume in this series, which is to be published at once under the caption: "_the high school left end; or, dick & co. grilling on the football gridiron_." at the same time, no interested reader will allow himself to overlook the second volume in the "_high school boys' vacation series_," which runs parallel with this present series. all the wonderful summer vacation adventures that followed the sophomore year of prescott and his chums will be found in the volume published under the title, "_the high school boys' in summer camp; or, the dick prescott six training for the gridley eleven_." it is a thrilling story that no follower of the fortunes of these lads can afford to overlook. the end the half-back a story of school, football, and golf by ralph henry barbour illustrated by b. west clinedinst [illustration] to every american boy who loves honest, manly sport, this story is dedicated. contents. chapter i.--the boy in the straw hat. ii.--station road and river path. iii.--outfield west. iv.--the head coach. v.--a rainy afternoon. vi.--the practice game. vii.--a letter home. viii.--the golf tournament. ix.--an evening call. x.--the broken bell rope. xi.--two heroes. xii.--the probation of blair. xiii.--the game with st. eustace. xiv.--the goodwin scholarship. xv.--the boat race. xvi.--good-by to hillton. xvii.--the sacred order of hullabalooloo. xviii.--visitors from marchdale. xix.--a varsity sub. xx.--an old friend. xxi.--the departure. xxii.--before the battle. xxiii.--harwell _vs_. yates--the first half. xxiv.--harwell _vs_. yates--a fault and a requital. xxv.--the return. list of illustrations. a leap in the nick of time. joel's arrival at school. his next drive took him cleanly over rocky bunker. "stay where you are; the fellows are bringing a boat". the left-guard bore down straight upon joel. instantly the crimson crew seemed to lift their boat from the water. diagrams. plan of hillton academy golf links. diagram of second play. diagram of third play. positions, harwell _vs_. yates. chapter i. the boy in the straw hat. "how's craps, country?" "shut up, bart! he may hear you." "what if he does, ninny? i want him to. say, spinach!" "do you suppose he's going to try and play football, bart?" "not he. he's looking for a rake. thinks this is a hayfield, wall." the speakers were lying on the turf back of the north goal on the campus at hillton academy. the elder and larger of the two was a rather coarse-looking youth of seventeen. his name was bartlett cloud, shortened by his acquaintances to "bart" for the sake of that brevity beloved of the schoolboy. his companion, wallace clausen, was a handsome though rather frail-looking boy, a year his junior. the two were roommates and friends. "he'd better rake his hair," responded the latter youth jeeringly. "i'll bet there's lots of hayseed in it!" the subject of their derisive remarks, although standing but a scant distance away, apparently heard none of them. "hi, west!" shouted bartlett cloud as a youth, attired in a finely fitting golf costume, and swinging a brassie, approached. the newcomer hesitated, then joined the two friends. "hello! you fellows. what's up? thought it was golf, from the crowd over here." he stretched himself beside them on the grass. "golf!" answered bartlett cloud contemptuously. "i don't believe you ever think of anything except golf, out! do you ever wake up in the middle of the night trying to drive the pillow out of the window with a bed-slat?" "oh, sometimes," answered outfield west smilingly. "there's a heap more sense in being daft over a decent game like golf than in going crazy about football. it's just a kid's game." "oh, is it?" growled bartlett cloud. "i'd just like to have you opposite me in a good stiff game for about five minutes. i'd show you something about the 'kid's game!'" "well, i don't say you couldn't knock me down a few times and walk over me, but who wants to play such games--except a lot of bullies like yourself?" "plenty of fellows, apparently," answered the third member of the group, wallace clausen, hastening to avert the threatening quarrel. "just look around you. i've never seen more fellows turn out at the beginning of the season than are here to-day. there must be sixty here." "more like a hundred," grunted "bart" cloud, not yet won over to good temper. "every little freshman thinks he can buy a pair of moleskins and be a football man. look at that fellow over yonder, the one with the baggy trousers and straw hat. the idea of that fellow coming down here just out of the hayfield and having the cheek to report for football practice! what do you suppose he would do if some one threw a ball at him?" "catch it in his hat," suggested wallace clausen. "he _does_ look a bit--er--rural," said outfield west, eying the youth in question. "i fear he doesn't know a bulger from a baffy," he added sorrowfully. "what's more to the subject," said wallace clausen, "is that he probably doesn't know a touch-down from a referee. there's where the fun will come in." "well, i'm no judge of football, thank goodness!" answered west, "but from the length of that chap i'll bet he's a bully kicker." "nonsense. that's what a fellow always thinks who doesn't know anything about the game. it takes something more than long legs to make a good punter." "perhaps; but there's one thing sure, bart: that hayseed will be a better player than you at the end of two months--that is, if he gets taken on." "i'll bet you he won't be able to catch a punt," growled cloud. "a fool like him can no more learn football than--than--" "than you could learn golf," continued west sweetly. "oh, shut up! i know a mule that plays golf better than you do." "well, i sha'n't attempt to compete with your friends, bart." "there you both go, quarreling again," cried clausen. "if you don't shut up, i'll have to whip the pair of you." wallace clausen was about two thirds the size of cloud, and lacked both the height and breadth of shoulder that made west's popular nickname of "out" west seem so appropriate. clausen's threat was so absurd that cloud came back to good humor with a laugh, and even west grinned. "come on, wall--there's blair," said cloud. "you'd better come too, out, and learn something about a decent game." west shook his head, and the other two arose and hurried away to where the captain of the school eleven was standing beneath the west goal, surrounded by a crowd of variously attired football aspirants. west, left to himself, sighed lazily and fell to digging holes in the turf with his brassie. tiring of this amusement in a trice, he arose and sauntered over to the side-line and watched the operations. some sixty boys, varying in age from fifteen to nineteen, some clothed in full football rig, some wearing the ordinary dress in which they had stepped from the school rooms an hour before, all laughing or talking with the high spirits produced upon healthy youth by the tonic breezes of late september, were standing about the gridiron. i have said that all were laughing or talking. this is not true; one among them was silent. for standing near by was the youth who had aroused the merriment of cloud and clausen, and who west had shortly before dubbed "rural." and rural he looked. his gray and rather wrinkled trousers and his black coat and vest of cheap goods were in the cut of two seasons gone, and his discolored straw hat looked sadly out of place among so many warm caps. but as he watched the scene with intent and earnest face there was that about him that held west's attention. he looked to be about seventeen. his height was above the ordinary, and in the broad shoulders and hips lay promise of great strength and vigor. but it was the face that attracted west most. so earnest, honest, and fearless was it that west unconsciously wished to know it better, and found himself drawing nearer to the straw hat and baggy gray trousers. but their owner appeared to be unconscious of his presence and west paused. "i don't believe that chap knows golf from puss-in-the-corner," mused west, "but i'll bet a dozen silvertowns that he could learn; and that's more than most chaps here can. i almost believe that i'd loan him my new dogwood driver!" wesley blair, captain of the eleven, was bringing order out of chaos. blair was one of the leaders in school life at hillton, a strongly built, manly fellow, beloved of the higher class boys, adored from a distance by the youngsters. blair was serving his second term as football captain, having been elected to succeed himself the previous fall. at this moment, attired in the crimson sweater, moleskin trousers, and black and crimson stockings that made up the school uniform, he looked every inch the commander of the motley array that surrounded him. "warren, you take a dozen or so of these fellows over there out of the way and pass the ball awhile. get their names first.--christie, you take another dozen farther down the field." the crowd began to melt away, squad after squad moving off down the field to take position and learn the rudiments of the game. blair assembled the experienced players about him and, dividing them into two groups, put them to work at passing and falling. the youth with the straw hat still stood unnoticed on the side-line. when the last of the squads had moved away he stepped forward and addressed the captain: "where do you want me?" blair, suppressing a smile of amusement as he looked the applicant over, asked: "ever played any?" "some; i was right end on the felton grammar school team last year." "where's felton grammar school, please?" "maine, near auburn." "oh! what's your name?" "joel march." "can you kick?" "pretty fair." "well, show me what you consider pretty fair." he turned to the nearest squad. "toss me the ball a minute, ned. here's a chap who wants to try a kick." ned post threw the ball, and his squad of veterans turned to observe the odd-looking country boy toe the pigskin. several audible remarks were made, none of them at all flattering to the subject of them; but if the latter heard them he made no sign, but accepted the ball from blair without fumbling it, much to the surprise of the onlookers. among these were clausen and cloud, their mouths prepared for the burst of ironical laughter that was expected to follow the country boy's effort. "drop or punt?" asked the latter, as he settled the oval in a rather ample hand. "which can you kick best?" questioned blair. the youth considered a moment. "i guess i can punt best." he stepped back, balancing the ball in his right hand, took a long stride forward, swung his right leg in a wide arc, dropped the ball, and sent it sailing down the field toward the distant goal. a murmur of applause took the place of the derisive laugh, and blair glanced curiously at the former right end-rush of the felton grammar school. "yes, that's pretty fair. some day with hard practice you may make a kicker." several of the older fellows smiled knowingly. it was blair's way of nipping conceit in the bud. "what class are you in?" "upper middle," replied the youth under the straw hat, displaying no disappointment at the scant praise. "well, march, kindly go down the field to that last squad and tell tom warren that i sent you. and say," he continued, as the candidate started off, and he was struck anew with the oddity of the straw hat and wrinkled trousers, "you had better tell him that you are the man that punted that ball." "that chap has got to learn golf," said outfield west to himself as he turned away after witnessing the incident, "even if i have to hog-tie him and teach it to him. what did he say his name was? february? march? that was it. it's kind of a chilly name. i'll make it a point to scrape acquaintance with him. he's a born golfer. his calm indifference when blair tried to 'take him down' was beautiful to see. he's the sort of fellow that would smile if he made a foozle in a medal play." west drew a golf ball from his pocket and, throwing it on the turf, gave it a half-shot off toward the river, following leisurely after it and pondering on the possibility of making a crack golfer out of a country lad in a straw hat. over on the gridiron, meanwhile, the candidates for football honors were limbering up in a way that greatly surprised not a few of the inexperienced. it is one thing to watch the game from the grand stand or side-lines and another to have an awkward, wobbly, elusive spheroid tossed to the ground a few feet from you and be required to straightway throw yourself upon it in such manner that when it stops rolling it will be snugly stowed between you and the ground. if the reader has played football he will know what this means. if he has not--well, there is no use trying to explain it to him. he must get a ball and try it for himself. but even this exercise may lose its terrors after a while, and when at the end of an hour or more the lads were dismissed, there were many among them, who limped back to their rooms sore and bruised, but proudly elated over their first day with the pigskin. even to the youth in the straw hat it was tiresome work, although not new to him, and after practice was over, instead of joining in the little stream that eddied back to the academy grounds, he struck off to where a long straggling row of cedars and firs marked the course of the river. once there he found himself standing on a bluff with the broad, placid stream stretching away to the north and south at his feet. the bank was some twenty feet high and covered sparsely with grass and weeds; and a few feet below him a granite bowlder stuck its lichened head outward from the cliff, forming an inviting seat from which to view the sunset across the lowland opposite. the boy half scrambled, half fell the short distance, and, settling himself in comfort on the ledge, became at once absorbed in his thoughts. perhaps he was thinking a trifle sadly of the home which he had left back there among the maine hills, and which must have seemed a very long way off; or perhaps he was dwelling in awe upon the erudition of that excellent greek gentleman, mr. xenophon, whose acquaintance, by means of the anabasis, he was just making; or perhaps he was thinking of no more serious a subject than football and the intricate art of punting. but, whatever his thoughts may have been, they were doomed to speedy interruption, as will be seen. outfield west left the campus behind and, with the little white ball soaring ahead, took his way leisurely to the woods that bordered the tiny lake. here he spent a quarter of an hour amid the tall grass and bushes, fighting his way patiently out of awkward lies, and finally driving off by the river bank, where a stretch of close, hard sod offered excellent chances for long shots. again and again the ball flew singing on its way, till at last the campus was at hand again, and stony bunker intervened between west and home. stony bunker lay close to the river bluff and was the terror of all hillton golfers, for, while a too short stroke was likely to leave you in the sand pit, a too vigorous one was just as likely to land you in the river. west knew stony bunker well by reason of former meetings, and he knew equally well what amount of swing was necessary to land just over the hazard, but well short of the bluff. perhaps it was the brassie that was to blame--for a full-length, supple-shafted, wooden driver would have been what you or i would have chosen for that stroke--or perhaps west himself was to blame. that as it may be, the fact remains that that provoking ball flew clear over the bunker as though possessed of wings and disappeared over the bluff! with an exclamation of disgust west hurried after, for when they cost thirty-five cents apiece golf balls are not willingly lost even by lads who, like outfield west, possess allowances far in excess of their needs. but the first glance down the bank reassured him, for there was the runaway ball snugly ensconced on the tiny strip of sandy beach that intervened between the bank and the water. west grasped an overhanging fir branch and swung himself over the ledge. now, that particular branch was no longer youthful and strong, and consequently when it felt the full weight of west's one hundred and thirty-five pounds it simply broke in his hand, and the boy started down the steep slope with a rapidity that rather unnerved him and brought an involuntary cry of alarm to his lips. it was the cry that was the means of saving him from painful results, since at the bottom of the bank lay a bed of good-sized rocks that would have caused many an ugly bruise had he fallen among them. but suddenly, as he went falling, slipping, clutching wildly at the elusive weeds, he was brought up with a suddenness that drove the breath from his body. weak and panting, he struggled up to the top of the jutting ledge, assisted by two strong arms, and throwing himself upon it looked wonderingly around for his rescuer. above him towered the boy in the straw hat. chapter ii. station road and river path. traveling north by rail up the hudson valley you will come, when some two hours from new york, to a little stone depot nestling at the shoulder of a high wooded hill. to reach it the train suddenly leaves the river a mile back, scurries across a level meadow, shrills a long blast on the whistle, and pauses for an instant at hillton. if your seat chances to be on the left side of the car, and if you look quickly just as the whistle sounds, you will see in the foreground a broad field running away to the river, and in it an oval track, a gayly colored grand stand, and just beyond, at some distance from each other, what appear to the uninitiated to be two gallows. farther on rises a gentle hill, crowned with massive elms, from among which tower the tops of a number of picturesque red-brick buildings. then the train hurries on again, under the shadow of mount adam, where in the deep maple woods the squirrels leap all day among the tree tops and where the sunlight strives year after year to find its way through the thick shade, and once more the river is beside you, the train is speeding due north again, and you have, perhaps without knowing it, caught a glimpse of hillton academy. from the little stone station a queer old coach rumbles away down a wide country road. it carries the mail and the village supplies and, less often, a traveler; and the driver, "old joe" pike, has grown gray between the station and the eagle tavern. if, instead of going on to the north, you had descended from the train, and had mounted to the seat beside "old joe," you would have made the acquaintance of a very worthy member of hillton society, and, besides, have received a deal of information as the two stout grays trotted along. "yes, that's the 'cademy up there among them trees, that buildin' with the tower's the 'cademy buildin', and the squatty one that you can just see is one of the halls--masters they call it, after the man that founded the school. the big, new buildin' is another of 'em, warren; and turner's beyond it; and if you look right sharp you can see bradley hall to the left there. "here's where we turn. just keep your foot on that mail-bag, if you please, sir. there's the village, over yonder to the right. kind of high up, ain't it? ev'ry time any one builds he goes higher up the hill. that last house is old man snyder's. snyder says he can't help lookin' down on the rest of us. he, he! "that road to the left we're comin' to 's academy road. this? well, they used to call it elm street, but it's generally just 'the station road' nowadays. now you can see the school pretty well, sir. that squatty place's the gymnasium; and them two littler houses of brick's the laboratories. then the house with the wide piazza, that's professor wheeler's house; he's the principal, you know. and the one next it, the yellow wooden house, i mean, that's what they call hampton house. it's a dormatory, same as the others, but it's smaller and more select, as you might say. "hold tight, sir, around this corner. most of them, the lads, sir, live in the village, however. you see, there ain't rooms enough in the 'cademy grounds. i heard the other day that there's nigh on to two hundred and twenty boys in the school this year; i can remember when they was'nt but sixty, and it was the biggest boardin' school for boys in new york state. and that wa'n't many years ago, neither. the boys? oh, they're a fine lot, sir; a bit mischievous at times, of course, but we're used to 'em in the village. and, bless you, sir, what can you expect from a boy anyhow? there ain't none of 'em perfect by a long shot; and i guess i ought to know--i've raised eight on 'em. there's the town hall and courthouse, and the methodist church beyond. and here we are, sir, at the eagle, and an hour before supper. thank you, sir. get ap!" * * * * * hillton academy claims the distinction of being well over a century old. founded in by one peter masters, ll.d., a very good and learned pedagogue, it has for more than a hundred years maintained its high estate among boys' schools. the original charter provides "that there be, and hereby is, established ... an academy for promoting piety and virtue, and for the education of youth in the english, latin, and greek languages, in writing, arithmetic, music, and the art of speaking, practical geometry, logic, and geography, and such other of the liberal arts and sciences or languages as opportunity may hereafter permit, and as the trustees, hereinafter provided, shall direct." in the catalogue of hillton academy you may find a proud list of graduates that includes ministers plenipotentiary, members of cabinets, governors, senators, representatives, supreme court judges, college presidents, authors, and many, many other equally creditable to their alma mater. the founder and first principal of the academy passed away in , as an old record says, "full of honor, and commanding the respect and love of all who knew him." he was succeeded by that best-beloved of american schoolmasters, dr. hosea bradley, whose portrait, showing a tall, dignified, and hale old gentleman, with white hair, and dressed in ceremonious broadcloth, still hangs behind the chancel of the school chapel. dr. bradley resigned a few years before his death, in , and the present principal, john ross wheeler, a.m., professor of latin, took the chair. as professor wheeler is a man of inordinate modesty, and as he is quite likely to read these words, i can say but little about him. perhaps the statement of a member of the upper middle class upon his return from a visit to the "office" will serve to throw some light on his character, said the boy: "i tell _you_ i don't want to go through with that again! i'll take a licking first! he says things that count! you see, 'wheels' has been a boy himself, and he hasn't forgotten it; and that--that makes a difference somehow!" yes, that disrespectful lad said "wheels!" i have no excuse to offer for him; i only relate the incident as it occurred. the buildings, many of them a hundred years old, are with one exception of warm-hued red brick. the gymnasium is built of red sandstone. ivy has almost entirely hidden the walls of the academy building and of masters hall. the grounds are given over to well-kept sod, and the massive elms throw a tapestry of grateful shade in summer, and in winter hold the snow upon their great limbs and transform the green into a fairyland of white. from the cluster of buildings the land slopes away southward, and along the river bluff a footpath winds past the society house, past the boathouse steps, down to the campus. the path is bordered by firs, and here and there a stunted maple bends and nods to the passing skiffs. opposite the boat house, a modest bit of architecture, lies long isle, just where the river seemingly pauses for a deep breath after its bold sweep around the promontory crowned by the academy buildings. here and there along the path are little wooden benches to tempt the passer to rest and view from their hospitable seats the grand panorama of gently flowing river, of broad marsh and meadow beyond, of tiny villages dotting the distances, and of the purple wall of haze marking the line of the distant mountains. opposite long isle, a wonderful fairyland inaccessible to the scholars save on rare occasions, the river path meets the angle of the station road, where the coach makes its first turn. then the path grows indistinct, merges into a broad ten-acre plot whereon are the track, gridiron, baseball ground, and the beginning of the golf links. this is the campus. and here is stony bunker, and beyond it is the bluff and the granite ledge; and lo! here we are back again at the point from which we started on our journey of discovery; back to outfield west and to the boy in the ridiculous straw hat. chapter iii. outfield west. it was several moments before west recovered his breath enough to speak, during which time he sat and gazed at his rescuer in amazement not unmixed with curiosity. and the rescuer looked down at west in simple amusement. "thanks," gasped west at length. "i suppose i'd have broke my silly neck if you hadn't given me a hand just when you did." the other nodded. "you're welcome, of course; but i don't believe you'd have been very much hurt. what's that thing?" nodding toward the brassie, still tightly clutched in west's hand. "a bras--a golf club. i was knocking a ball around a bit, and it went over the cliff here." "i should think golf was a rather funny sort of a game." "it isn't funny at all, if you know anything about it," replied west a trifle sharply. the rescuer was on dangerous ground, had he but known it. "isn't it? well, i guess it is all in getting used to it. i don't believe i'd care much for tumbling over cliffs that way; i should think it would use a fellow up after a while." "look here," exclaimed west, "you saved me an ugly fall, and i'm very much obliged, and all that; but--but you don't know the first thing about golf, and so you had better not talk about it." he made an effort to gain his feet, but sat down again with a groan. "you sit still a while," said the boy in the straw hat, "and i'll drop down and get that ball for you." suiting the action to the word, he lowered himself over the ledge, and slid down the bank to the beach. he dropped the golf ball in his pocket, after examining it with deep curiosity, and started back. but the return was less easy than the descent had been. the bank was gravelly, and his feet could gain no hold. several times he struggled up a yard or so, only to slip back again to the bottom. "i tell you what you do," called west, leaning over. "you get a bit of a run and get up as high as you can, and try and catch hold of this stick; then i'll pull you up." the other obeyed, and succeeded in getting a firm hold of the brassie, but the rest was none so easy. west pulled and the other boy struggled, and then, at last, when both were out of breath, the straw hat rose above the ledge and its wearer scrambled up. sitting down beside west he drew the ball from his pocket and handed it over. "what do they make those of?" he asked. "gutta percha," answered west. "then they're molded and painted this way. you've never played golf, have you?" "no, we don't know much about it down our way. i've played baseball and football some. do you play football?" "no, i should say not," answered west scornfully. "you see," more graciously, "golf takes up about all my time when i haven't got some lesson on; and this is the worst place for lessons you ever saw. a chap doesn't get time for anything else." the other boy looked puzzled. "well, don't you want to study?" west stared in amazement. "study! want to? of course i don't! do you?" "very much. that's what i came to school for." "oh!" west studied the strange youth dubiously. plainly, he was not at all the sort of boy one could teach golf to. "then why were you trying for the football team awhile ago?" "because next to studying i want to play football more than anything else. don't you think i'll have time for it?" "you bet! and say, you ought to learn golf. it's the finest sport going." west's hopes revived. a fellow that wanted sport, if only football, could not be a bad sort. besides, he would get over wanting to study; that, to west, was a most unnatural desire. "there isn't half a dozen really first-class players in school. you get some clubs and i'll teach you the game." "that's very good of you," answered the boy in the straw hat, "and i'm very much obliged, but i don't think i'll have time. you see i'm in the upper middle, and they say that it's awfully hard to keep up with. still, i should really like to try my hand at it, and if i have time i'll ask you to show me a little about it. i expect you're the best player here, aren't you?" west, extremely gratified, tried to conceal his pleasure. "oh, i don't know. there's wesley blair--he's captain of the school eleven, you know--he plays a very good game, only he has a way of missing short puts. and then there's louis whipple. the only thing about whipple is that he tries to play with too few clubs. he says a fellow can play just as well with a driver and a putter and a niblick as he can with a dozen clubs. of course, that's nonsense. if whipple would use some brains about his clubs he'd make a rather fair player. there are one or two other fellows in school who are not so bad. but i believe," magnanimously, "that if blair had more time for practicing he could beat _me_." west allowed his hearer a moment in which to digest this. the straw hat was tilted down over the eyes of its wearer, who was gazing thoughtfully over the river. "i suppose he's kept pretty busy with football." "yes, he's daft about it. otherwise he's a fine chap. by the way, where'd you learn to kick a ball that way?" "on the farm. i used to practice when i didn't have much to do, which wasn't very often. jerry green and i--jerry's our hired man--we used to get out in the cow pasture and kick. then i played a year with our grammar-school eleven." "well, that was great work. if you could only drive a golf ball like that! say, what's your name?" "joel march." "mine's outfield west. the fellows call me 'out' west. my home's in pleasant city, iowa. you come from maine, don't you?" "yes; marchdale. it's just a corner store and a blacksmith shop and a few houses. we've lived there--our family, i mean--for over a hundred years." "phew!" whistled west. "dad's the oldest settler in our county, and he's been there only forty years. great gobble! we'd better be scooting back to school. come on. i'm all right now, though i _was_ a bit lame after that tumble." the two boys scrambled up the bank and set out along the river path. the sun had gone down behind the mountains, and purple shadows were creeping up from the river. the tower of the academy building still glowed crimson where the sun-rays shone on the windows. "where's your room?" asked west. "thirty-four masters hall," answered joel march; for now that we have twice been introduced to him there is no excuse for us to longer ignore his name. "mine's in hampton house," said west. "number . i have it all to myself. who's in with you?" "a fellow named sproule." "'dickey' sproule? he's an awful cad. why didn't you get a room in the village? you have lots more fun there; and you can get a better room too; although some of the rooms in warren are not half bad." "they cost too much," replied march. "you see, father's not very well off, and can't help me much. he pays my tuition, and i've enough money of my own that i've earned working out to make up the rest. so, of course, i've got to be careful." "well, you're a queer chap!" exclaimed west. "why?" asked joel march. "oh, i don't know. wanting to study, and earning your own schooling, and that sort of thing." "oh, i suppose your father has plenty of money, hasn't he?" "gobs! i have twenty dollars a month allowance for pocket money." "i wish i had," answered march. "you must have a good deal saved up by the end of the year." west stared. "saved? why, i'm dead broke this minute. and i owe three bills in town. don't tell any one, because it's against the rules to have bills, you know. anyhow, what's the good of saving? there's lots more." it was march's turn to stare. "what do you spend it for?" he asked. "oh, golf clubs and balls, and cakes and pies and things," answered west carelessly. "then a fellow has to dress a little, or the other fellows look down on you." "do they?" march cast a glance over his own worn apparel. "then i guess i must try their eyes a good deal." "well, i wouldn't care--much," answered west halfheartedly. "though of course that hat--" "yes, i suppose it is a little late for straws." west nodded heartily. "i was going to get a felt in boston, but--well, i saw something else i wanted worse; and it was my own money." "what was it?" asked west curiously. "a book." west whistled. "well, you can get a pretty fair one in the village at grove's. and--and a pair of trousers if you want them." march nodded, noncommittingly. they had reached the gymnasium. "i'm going in for a shower," said west. "you'd better come along." march shook his head. "i guess not to-night. it's most supper time, and i want to read a little first. good-night." "good-night," answered west. "i'm awfully much obliged for what you did, you know. come and see me to-morrow if you can; number hampton. good-night." joel march turned and retraced his steps to his dormitory. he found his roommate reading at the table when he entered number . sproule looked up and observed: "i saw you with outfield west a moment ago. it looks rather funny for a 'grind,' as you profess to be, hobnobbing with a hampton house swell." "i haven't professed to be a 'grind,'" answered joel quietly, as he opened his greek. "well, your actions profess it. and west will drop you quicker than a hot cake when he finds it out. why, he never studies a lick! none of those hampton house fellows do." march made no answer, but presently asked, in an effort to be sociable: "what are you reading?" "the three cutters; ever read it?" "no; what's it about?" "oh, pirates and smuggling and such." "i should think it would be first rate." "it is. i'd let you take it after i'm through, only it isn't mine; i borrowed it from billy cozzens." "thanks," answered joel, "but i don't believe i'd have time for it." "humph!" grunted sproule. "there you are again, putting on airs. just wait until you've been here two or three months; i guess i won't hear so much about study then." joel received this taunt in silence, and, burying his head in his hands, tackled the story of cyrus the younger. joel had already come to a decision regarding richard sproule, a decision far from flattering to that youth. but in view of the fact that the two were destined to spend much of their time together, joel recognized the necessity of making the best of his roommate, and of what appeared to be an unsatisfactory condition. during the two days that joel had been in school sproule had nagged him incessantly upon one subject or another, and so far joel had borne the persecution in silence. "but some day," mused joel, "i'll just _have_ to punch his head!" richard sproule was a member of the senior class, and monitor for the floor upon which he had his room. he had, perhaps, no positive meanness in him. most of his unpleasantness was traceable to envy. just at present he was cultivating a dislike for joel because of the latter's enviable success at lessons and because a resident of hampton house had taken him up. sproule cared nothing for out-of-door amusements and hated lessons. his whole time, except when study was absolutely compulsory, was taken up with the reading of books of adventure; and captain marryat and fenimore cooper were far closer acquaintances than either cicero or caesar. richard sproule was popularly disliked and shunned. in the dining hall that evening joel ate and relished his first hearty meal since he had arrived at hillton. the exercise had brought back a naturally good appetite, which had been playing truant. the dining hall takes up most of the ground floor of warren hall. eight long, roomy tables are arranged at intervals, with broad aisles between, through which the white-aproned waiters hurry noiselessly about. to-night there was a cheerful clatter of spoons and forks and a loud babel of voices, and joel found himself hugely enjoying the novelty of eating in the presence of more than a hundred and fifty other lads. outfield west and his neighbors in hampton house occupied a far table, and there the noise was loudest. west was dressed like a young prince, and his associates were equally as splendid. as joel observed them, west glanced across and saw him, and waved a hilarious greeting with a soup spoon. joel nodded laughingly back, and then settled in his chair with an agreeable sensation of being among friends. this feeling grew when, toward the end of his meal, wesley blair, in leaving the hall, saw him and stopped beside his chair. "how did you get on this afternoon?" blair asked pleasantly. "very well, thanks," joel replied. "that's good. by the way, go and see mr. beck to-morrow and get examined. tell him i sent you. you'll find him at the gym at about eleven. and don't forget to show up to-morrow at practice." the elder youth passed on, leaving joel the center of interest for several moments. his left-hand neighbor, a boy who affected very red neckties, and who had hitherto displayed no interest in his presence, now turned and asked if he knew blair. "no," replied joel. "i met him only to-day on the football field." "are you on the 'leven?" "no, but i'm trying for it." "well, i guess you'll make it; blair doesn't often go out of his way to encourage any one." "i hope i shall," answered joel. "who is mr. beck, please?" "he's director of the gym. you have to be examined, you know; if you don't come up to requirements you can't go in for football." "oh, thank you." and joel applied himself to his pudding, and wondered if there was any possibility of his not passing. apparently there was not; for when, on the following day, he presented himself at the gymnasium, he came through the ordeal of measurement and test with flying colors, and with the command to pay special attention to the chest-weights, was released, at liberty to "go in" for any sport he liked. despite his forebodings, the studies proved not formidable, and at four o'clock joel reported for football practice with a comforting knowledge of duties performed. an hour and a half of steady practice, consisting of passing, falling, and catching punts, left the inexperienced candidates in a state of breathless collapse when blair dismissed the field. west did not turn up at the gridiron, but a tiny scarlet speck far off on the golf links proclaimed his whereabouts. on the way back to the grounds a number of youthful juniors, bravely arrayed in their first suits of football togs, loudly denounced the vigor of the practice, and pantingly made known to each other their intentions to let the school get along as best it might without their assistance on its eleven. they would be no great loss, thought joel, as he trudged along in the rear of the procession, and their resignation would probably save blair the necessity of incurring their dislikes when the process of "weeding-out" began. although no special attention had been given to joel during practice, yet he had been constantly aware of blair's observation, and had known that several of the older fellows were watching his work with interest. his feat of the previous day had already secured to him a reputation throughout the school, and as the little groups of boys passed him he heard himself alluded to as "the country fellow that punted fifty yards yesterday," or "the chap that made that kick." and when the three long, steep flights of masters confronted him he took them two steps at a time, and arrived before the door of number breathless, but as happy as a schoolboy can be. chapter iv. the head coach. "upper middle class: members will meet at the gym at . , to march to depot and meet mr. remsen." "louis whipple, _pres't_." this was the notice pasted on the board in academy building the morning of joel's fifth day at school. beside it were similar announcements to members of the other classes. as he stood in front of the board joel felt a hand laid on his shoulder, and turned to find outfield west by his side. "are you going along?" asked that youth. "i don't believe so," answered joel. "i have a latin recitation at two." "well, chuck it! everybody is going--and the band, worse luck!" "is there a band?" west threw up his hands in mock despair. "is there a _band? is_ there a band! mr. march, your ignorance surprises and pains me. it is quite evident that you have never heard the hillton academy band; no one who has ever heard it forgets. yes, my boy, there _is_ a band, and it plays washington post, and hail columbia, and hilltonians; and then it plays them all over again." "but i thought mr. remsen was not coming until saturday?" "that," replied west, confidentially, "was his intention, but he heard of a youngster up here who is such an astonishingly fine punter that he decided to come at once and see for himself; and so he telegraphed to blair this morning. and you and i, my lad, will march--see?--with the procession, and sing--" "'hilltonians, hilltonians, your crimson banner fling unto the breeze, and 'neath its folds your anthem loudly sing! hilltonians! hilltonians! we stand to do or die, beneath the flag, the crimson flag, that waves for victory!'" and, seizing joel by the arm, west dragged him out of the corridor and down the steps into the warm sunlight of a september noon, chanting the school song at the top of his voice. a group of boys on the green shouted lustily back, and the occupant of a neighboring window threw a cushion with unerring precision at west's head. stopping to deposit this safely amid the branches halfway up an elm tree, the two youths sped across the yard toward warren hall and the dinner table. "you sit at our table, march," announced west. "digbee's away, and you can have his seat. come on." joel followed, and found himself in the coveted precincts of the hampton house table, and was introduced to five youths, who received him very graciously, and invited him to partake of such luxuries as pickled walnuts and peach marmalade. joel was fast making the discovery that to be vouched for by outfield west invariably secured the highest consideration. "i've been telling march here that it is his bounden duty to go to the station," announced west to the table at large. "of course it is," answered cooke and cartwright and somers, and two others whose names joel did not catch. "the wealth, beauty, and fashion will attend in a body," continued cooke, a stout, good-natured-looking boy of about nineteen, who, as joel afterward learned, was universally acknowledged to be the dullest scholar in school. "patriotism and--er--school spirit, you know, march, demand it." and cooke helped himself bountifully to west's cherished bottle of catsup. "this is remsen's last year as coach, you see," explained west, as he rescued the catsup. "i believe every fellow feels that we ought to show our appreciation of his work by turning out in force. it's the least we can do, i think. mind you, i don't fancy football a little bit, but remsen taught us to win from st. eustace last year, and any one that helps down eustace is all right and deserves the gratitude of the school and all honest folk." "hear! hear!" cried somers. "i'd like very well to go," said joel, "but i've got a recitation at two." cooke looked across at him sorrowfully. "are you going in for study?" he asked. "i'm afraid so," answered joel laughingly. "my boy, don't do it. there's nothing gained. i've tried it, and i speak from sad experience." "but how do you get through?" questioned joel. "i will tell you." the stout youth leaned over and lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. "i belong to the same society as 'wheels,' and he doesn't dare expel me." "i wish," said joel in the laugh that followed, "that i could join that society." "easy enough," answered cooke earnestly. "i will put your name up at our next meeting. all you have to do is to forget all the greek and latin and higher mathematics you ever knew, give your oath never to study again, and appear at chapel two consecutive mornings in thigh boots and a plaid ulster." despite west's pleas joel refused to "cut" his recitation, promising, however, to follow to the station as soon as he might. "it's only a long mile," west asserted. "if you cut across turner's meadow you'll make it in no time. and the train isn't due until three. you'll see me standing on the truck." and so joel had promised, and later, from the seclusion of the schoolroom, which to-day was well-nigh empty, had heard the procession take its way down the road, headed by the school band, which woke the echoes with the brave strains of the washington post march. to-day the aeneid lost much of its interest, and when the recitation was over joel clapped his new brown felt hat on his head--for west had conducted him to the village outfitter the preceding day--and hurried up to his room to leave his book and pad. "dickey" sproule was stretched out upon the lounge--a piece of personal property of which he was very proud--reading kenilworth. "hello!" cried joel, "why aren't you over at the lab? isn't this your day for exploding things?" sproule looked up and yawned. "oh, i cut it. what's the good of knowing a lot of silly chemistry stuff when you're going to be an author?" "i should say it might be very useful to you; but i've never been an author, and perhaps i'm mistaken. want to go to the station?" "what, to meet that stuck-up remsen? i guess not. catch me walking a mile and a half to see him!" "well, i'm going," answered joel. an inarticulate growl was the only response, and joel took the stairs at leaps and bounds, and nearly upset mrs. cowles in the lower hall. "dear me, mr. march!" she exclaimed, as together they gathered up a load of towels, "is it only you, then? i thought surely it was a dozen boys at least." "i'm very sorry," laughed joel. "i'm going to the station. mr. remsen is coming, you know. have i spoiled these?" "no, indeed. so mr. remsen's coming. well, run along. i'd go myself if i wasn't an old woman. i knew mr. remsen ten years ago, and a more bothersome lad we never had. he had number , and we never knew what to expect next. one week he'd set the building on fire with his experiments, and the next he'd break all the panes in the window with his football. but then he was such a nice boy!" and with this seemingly contradictory statement the matron trudged away with her armful of towels, and joel took up his flight again, across the yard to academy road, and thence over the fence into turner's meadows, where the hill starts on its rise to the village. skirting the hill, he trudged on until presently the station could be seen in the distance. and as he went he reviewed the five days of his school existence. he remembered the strange feeling of loneliness that had oppressed him on his arrival, when, just as the sun was setting over the river, he had dropped down from the old stage coach in front of academy hall, a queer-looking, shabbily dressed country boy with a dilapidated leather valise and a brown paper parcel almost as big. he remembered the looks of scorn and derision that had met him as he had taken his way to the office, and, with a glow at his heart, the few simple, kindly words of welcome and the firm grasp of the hand from the principal. then came the first day at school, with the dread examinations, which after all turned out to be fairly easy, thanks to joel's faculty for remembering what he had once learned. he remembered, too, the disparaging remarks of "dickey" sproule, who had predicted joel's failure at the "exams.". "who ever heard," sproule had asked scornfully, "of a fellow making the upper middle class straight out of a country grammar school, without any coaching?" but when the lists were posted, joel's name was down, and sproule had taken deep offense thereat. "the school's going to the dogs," he had complained. "examinations aren't nearly as hard as they were when _i_ entered." the third day, when he had kicked that football down the field, and, later, had made the acquaintance of outfield west, seemed now to have been the turning point from gloom to sunshine. since then joel had changed from the unknown, derided youth in the straw hat to some one of importance; a some one to whom the captain of the school eleven spoke whenever they met, a chum of the most envied boy in the academy, and a candidate for the football team for whom every fellow predicted success. but, best of all, in those few days he had gained the liking of well-nigh all of the teachers by the hearty way in which he pursued knowledge; for he went at caesar as though he were trying for a touch-down, and tackled the foundations of rhetoric as though that study was an opponent on the gridiron. even professor durkee, known familiarly among the disrespectful as "turkey," lowered his tones and spoke with something approaching to mildness when addressing joel march. altogether, the world looked very bright to joel to-day, and when, as presently, he drew near to the little stone depot, the sounds of singing and cheering that greeted his ears chimed in well with his mood. truly "all hillton" had turned out! the station platform and the trim graveled road surrounding it were dark with hilltonian humanity and gay with crimson bunting. afar down the road a shrill long whistle announced the approach of the train, and a comparative hush fell on the crowd. joel descried outfield west at once, and pushed his way to him through the throng just as the train came into sight down the track. west was surrounded on the narrow baggage truck by some half dozen of the choice spirits from hampton house, and joel's advent was made the occasion for much sport. "ah, he comes! the professor comes!" shouted west. "he tears himself from his studies and joins us in our frivolity," declaimed cooke. "that's something you'll never have a chance of doing, tom," answered cartwright, as joel was hauled on to the truck. "you'll never get near enough to a study to have to be torn away." "study, my respected young friend," answered cooke gravely, "is the bane of the present unenlightened age. in the good old days when everybody was either a greek or a roman or a barbarian, and so didn't have to study languages, and--" "shut up! here's the train," cried west. "now every fellow cheer, or he'll have me to fight." "hooray! hooray! hooray!" yelled cooke. "somebody punch him, please," begged west, and somers and another obliging youth thrust the offender off the truck and sat on his head. the train slowed down, stopped, and a porter appeared laden with a huge valise. this was the signal for a rush, and the darkey was instantly relieved of his burden and hustled back grinning to the platform. then joel caught sight of a gentleman in a neat suit of gray tweed descending the steps, and saw the pupils heave and push their ways toward him; and for a sight the arrival was hidden from view. then the cheers for "coach!" burst enthusiastically forth, the train was speeding from sight up the track, the band was playing hilltonians, and the procession took up its march back to the academy. when he at last caught a fair sight of stephen remsen, joel saw a man of about twenty-eight years, gayly trudging at the head of the line, his handsome face smiling brightly as he replied to the questions and sallies of the more elderly youths who surrounded him. joel's heart went out to stephen remsen at once. and neither then nor at any future time did he wonder at it. "that," thought joel, "is the kind of fellow i'd like for a big brother. although i never _could_ grow big enough to lick him." chapter v. a rainy afternoon. the following day joel arrived on the football field to discover the head coach in full charge. he was talking earnestly to wesley blair. his dress was less immaculate than upon the preceding afternoon, although not a whit less attractive to joel. a pair of faded and much-darned red-and-black striped stockings were surmounted by a pair of soiled and patched moleskin trousers. his crimson jersey had faded at the shoulders to a pathetic shade of pink, and one sleeve was missing, having long since "gone over to the enemy." in contrast to these articles of apparel was his new immaculate canvas jacket, laced for the first time but a moment before. but he looked the football man that he was from head to toe, and joel admired him immensely and was extremely proud when, as he was passing, blair called him over and introduced him to remsen. the latter shook hands cordially, and allowed his gaze to travel appreciatingly over joel's five feet eight inches of bone and muscle. "i'm glad to know you, march," he said, "and glad that you are going to help us win." the greeting was so simple and sincere that joel ran down the field a moment later, feeling that football honors were even more desirable than before. to-day the throng of candidates had dwindled down to some forty, of whom perhaps twenty were new men. the first and second elevens were lined up for the first time, and joel was placed at left half in the latter. an hour of slow practice followed. the ball was given to the first eleven on almost every play, and as the second eleven were kept entirely on the defensive, joel had no chance to show his ability at either rushing or kicking. remsen was everywhere at once, scolding, warning, and encouraging in a breath, and the play took on a snap and vim which wesley blair, unassisted, had not been able to introduce. after it was over, joel trotted back with the others to the gymnasium and took his first shower bath. on the steps outside was west, and the two boys took their way together to the academy building. "did you hear remsen getting after bart cloud?" asked west. "no. who is cloud?" "he plays right half or left half, i forget which, on the first eleven," answered west, "and he's about the biggest cad in the school. his father's an alderman in new york, they say, and has lots of money; but he doesn't let bart handle much of it for him. he played on the team last year and did good work. but this season he's got a swelled head and thinks he doesn't have to play to keep his place; thinks it's mortgaged to him, you see. remsen opened his eyes to-day, i guess! whipple says remsen called him down twice, and then told him if he didn't take a big brace he'd lose his position. cloud got mad and told clausen--clausen's his chum--that if he went off the team he'd leave school. i guess few of us would be sorry. bartlett cloud's a coward from the toes up, march, and if he tries to make it unpleasant for you, why, just offer to knock him down and he'll change his tune." "thank you for telling me," responded joel, "but i don't expect to have much to do with him; i don't like his looks. i know the boy you mean, now. he's the fellow that called me names--'country,' you know, and such--the first day we had practice. i heard him, but didn't let on. i didn't mind much, but it didn't win my love." west laughed uproariously and slapped joel on the back. "oh, you're a queer sort, march. i'd have had a fight on the spot. but you--say, you're going to be an awful grind, march, if you keep on in your present terrible course. you won't have time for any fun at all. and i was going to teach you golf, you know. it's not nice of you, it really isn't." "i'll play golf with you the first afternoon we don't have practice, west, honestly. i'm awfully sorry i'm such a crank about lessons, but you see i've made up my mind to try for the--the--what scholarship is that?" "carmichael?" suggested west. joel shook his head. "no, the big one." west stared. "do you mean the goodwin scholarship?" "yes, that's the one," answered joel. west whistled. "well, you're not modest to hurt, march. why, man, that's a terror! you have to have the greek alphabet backward, and never miss chapel all term to get a show at that. the goodwin brings two hundred and forty dollars!" "that's why i want it," answered joel. "if i win it it will pay my expenses for this year and part of next." "well, of course i hope you'll make it," answered west, "but i don't believe you have much show. there's knox, and reeves, and--and two or three others all trying for it. knox won the schall scholarship last year. that carries two hundred even." "well, anyhow, i'll try hard," answered joel resolutely. "of course. you ought to have it; you need it. did i tell you that i won a masters scholarship in my junior year? yes, i did really. it was forty dollars. i remember that i bought two new putters and a jolly fine caddie bag." "you could do better than that if you'd try, west. you're awfully smart." "who? me?" laughed west. "pshaw! i can't do any more than pass my exams. of course i'm smart enough when it comes to lofting out of a bad lie or choosing a good club; but--" he shook his head doubtfully, but nevertheless seemed pleased at the idea. "no, i mean in other ways," continued joel earnestly. "you could do better than half the fellows if you tried. and i wish you would try, west. you rich fellows in hampton house could set such a good example for the youngsters if you only would. as it is, they admire you and envy you and think that it's smart to give all their time to play. i know, because i heard some of them talking about it the other day. 'you don't have to study,' said one; 'look at those swells in hampton. they just go in for football and golf and tennis and all that, and they never have any trouble about passing exams.'" west whistled in puzzled amazement. "why, march, you're setting out as a reformer; and you're talking just like one of those good boys in the story books. what's up?" joel smiled at the other boy's look of wonderment. "nothing's up, except that i want you to promise to study more. of course, i know it sounds cheeky, west, but i don't mean to meddle in your business. only--only--" joel hesitated. "only what? out with it!" said west. they had reached the academy building and had paused on the steps. "well, only--that you've been very kind to me, west, and i hate to see you wasting your time and know that you will wish you hadn't later, when you've left school, you know. that's all. it isn't that i want to meddle--" there was a moment of silence. then: "the idea of your caring!" answered west. "you're a good chap, march, and--i tell you what i'll do. i _will_ go in more for lessons, after next week. you see there's the golf tournament next saturday week, and i've got to put in a lot of hard practice between now and then. but after that i'll try and buckle down. you're right about it, march, i ought to do more studying, and i will _try_; although i don't believe i'll make much of a success as a 'grind.' and as to the--the--the rest that you said, why, i haven't been extraordinarily kind; i just sort of took to you that day on the campus because you looked to be such a plucky, go-ahead, long-legged chap, you know. i thought i'd rescue you from the ranks of the lowly and teach you golf and make a man of you generally. instead of that"--west gave one of his expressive whistles--"instead of that, why, here you are turning me into a regular 'masters hall grind.' thus do our brightest dreams fade. well, i'm oil. don't forget the upper middle class meeting to-night. they're going to vote on the class crew question, and we want all the votes we can get to down the fellows that don't want to pay the assessment. good-night." and outfield west took himself off toward his room, his broad shoulders well back, and his clear, merry voice singing the school song as he strode along. joel turned into the library, feeling well satisfied with the result of his meddling, to pore over a reference book until supper time. the following morning joel awoke to find a cold rain falling from a dull sky. the elms in the yard were dripping from every leaf and branch, and the walks held little gray pools that made the trip to breakfast a series of splashes. in the afternoon joel got into his oldest clothes and tramped over to hampton house. the window of west's room looked bright and cheerful, for a big wood fire was blazing on the hearth within. joel kicked the mud from his shoes, and passing through the great white door with its old-fashioned fanlight above, tapped at west's room. a faint response from beyond the portal summoned him in. the owner of the room was sandpapering a golf shaft before the fire, and a deep expression of discontent was on his face. but his countenance lighted up at sight of his visitor, and he leaped to his feet and drew a second armchair before the hearth. "you're a brick, march! i was just wishing you roomed near enough so that i could ask you to come over and talk a bit. isn't it a horrible day?" "it's awfully wet; but then it has to rain sometimes, i suppose," answered joel as he took off his overcoat. "yes, but it doesn't have to rain just when a fellow has fixed to practice golf, does it?" west growled. joel laughed. "i thought the real, simon-pure golfer didn't mind the weather." "he doesn't as long as he can get over the ground, but the links here is like a quagmire when it rains. but never mind, we'll have a good chummy afternoon. and i've got some bully gingersnaps. do you like gingersnaps?" joel replied in the affirmative, and west produced a box of them from under the bed. "i have to keep these kinds of things hid, you know, because blair and cooke and the rest of the fellows would eat them all up. by the way, i made up a list of the things you'll have to get if you're going in for golf. here it is. of course, i only put down one of each, and only a dozen balls. i'll get the catalogue and we'll reckon up and see how much they come to." "but i don't think i can afford to buy anything like this, west," answered joel doubtfully. "nonsense! you've got to! a fellow has to have _necessities_! what's the first thing on the list? read 'em off, will you?" "driving cleek," read joel. "yes, but never mind the clubs. there are seven of them on the list and you can get pretty fair ones for a dollar and a half each. what's next?" "but that makes ten dollars and a half," cried joel. "of course it does. and cheap enough, too. why, some of mine cost three dollars apiece! what's next?" "one dozen silvertowns." "correct; four dollars. mark it down. next?" "caddie bag," responded joel faintly. "a dollar and a half. next." "but, west, i can't afford these things." "nonsense, march! still--well, you can call the bag a dollar even; though the dollar ones aren't worth much. mine cost five." "but you have coat and trousers down. and shoes, and--" "well, you can leave the shoes out, and get some hobnails and put them on the soles of any good heavy shoes. then there's gloves. they cost about a dollar and a half. as for trousers, you _can_ do with ordinary ones, but--you've got to have a coat, march. a chap can't swing a club in a tight-fitting jacket like the one you've got on. now let's reckon up." "there's no use in doing that, west," laughed joel. "i can't buy one of these things, to say nothing of the whole list. i'm saving up for my football togs, and after i have those i sha'n't be able to buy anything else for months." west settled his chin in his hand and scowled at the flames. "it's too bad, march; and i put your name up for the golf club, too. you will join that, won't you? you must, now that i've put you up. it's only a dollar initiation fee and fifty cents dues." "very well, then, i'll join the club," answered joel. "though i don't see what use there is in it, since i haven't anything to play with and wouldn't know how to play if i had." "well, i'm going to teach you, you know. and as for clubs and things, why, i've got some oldish ones that will do fairly well; a beginner doesn't need extra good ones, you see. and then, for clothes--well, i guess fellows _have_ played in ordinary trousers and coat; and i've played myself in tennis shoes. and if you don't mind cold hands, why, you needn't have gloves. so, after all, we'll get on all right." west was quite cheerful again and, with a wealth of clubs--divers, spoons, bulgers, putters, baps, niblicks, and many other sorts--on the rug before him, chattered on about past deeds of prowess on the links until the room grew dark and the lamps in the yard shone fitfully through the rain, by which time a dozen clubs in various states of repair had been laid aside, the gingersnaps had been totally demolished, and west had forgotten all about the meanness of the weather and his lost practice. then cooke and somers demanded admission, to the annoyance of both west and joel, and the lamps were lighted, and joel said good-night and hurried back to his room in order to secure a half hour's study ere supper time. chapter vi. the practice game. "first and second eleven rushes and quarters down the field and practice formations. backs remain here to kick!" shouted wesley blair. it was a dull and cold afternoon. the last recitation was over and half the school stood shivering about the gridiron or played leapfrog to keep warm. stephen remsen, in the grimiest of moleskins, stood talking to the captain, and, in obedience to the command of the latter, some fifteen youths, clad for the coming fray, were trotting down the field, while eight others, backs and substitute backs on the two teams, passed and dropped on the pigskin in an endeavor to keep warm. the first and second elevens were to play their first real game of the season at four o'clock, and meanwhile the players were down for a stiff thirty minutes of practice. joel march shivered with the rest of the backs and waited for the coach and the captain to finish their consultation. presently blair trotted off down the field and remsen turned to the backs. "browne, meach, and turner, go down to about the middle of the field and return the balls. cloud, take a ball over nearer the side-line and try some drop-kicks. post, you do the same, please. and let me see, what is your name?" addressing a good-looking and rather slight youth. "ah, yes, clausen. well, clausen, you and wills try some punts over there, and do try and get the leg swing right. march, take that ball and let me see you punt." then began a time of sore tribulation for joel; for not until ten minutes had passed did the ball touch his toe. his handling was wrong, his stepping out was wrong, and his leg-swing was very, very wrong! but he heard never a cross word from his instructor, and so shut his lips tight and bore the lecture in good-humored silence. "there," announced remsen finally, "that's a lot better. now kick." joel caught the ball nicely, and sent it sailing far down the field. "that's a good kick, but it would have been better had you landed higher up on your foot. try and catch the ball just in front of the arch of the foot. you take it about on the toe-cap. remember that the broader the surface that propels the ball the greater will be the accuracy--that is, the ball has less chance of sliding off to one side when the striking surface is large. here's your ball coming. now try again, and remember what i have said about the swing at the hip. forget that you have any joints at all, and just let the right side of you swing round as it will." then remsen passed on to the next man and joel pegged away, doing better and better, as he soon discovered, every try, until a whistle blew from the middle of the field and the players gathered about the captains on the fifty-five-yard line. joel was down to play left half on the second eleven, and beside him, at right, was wills, a promising lower middle boy, who was an excellent runner, but who, so far, had failed to develop any aptitude for kicking. cloud and clausen occupied similar positions on the first eleven, and behind them stood wesley blair, the best full-back that hillton academy had possessed for many years. the full-back on the second eleven was ned post, a veteran player, but "as erratic as a mule," to use the words of stephen remsen. the first eleven was about six pounds heavier in the line than the team captained by louis whipple, who played at quarter, and about the same weight behind the line. it was a foregone conclusion that the first would win, but whether the second would score was a mooted point. joel felt a bit nervous, now that he was in his first game of consequence, but forgot all about it a moment later when the whistle blew and greer, the big first eleven center, tore through their line for six yards, followed by wallace clausen with the ball. then there was a delay, for the right half when he tried to arise found that his ankle was strained, and so had to limp off the ground supported by greer and barnard, the one-hundred-and-sixty-pound right tackle. turner, a new player, went on, and the ball was put in play again, this time for a try through left tackle. but the second's line held like a stone wall, and the runner was forced back with the loss of a yard. then the first eleven guards fell back, and when the formation hit the second's line the latter broke like paper, and the first streamed through for a dozen yards. and so it went until the second found itself only a few yards from its goal line. there, with the backs pressed close against the forwards, the second held and secured the ball on downs, only to lose it again by a fumble on the part of post. then a delayed pass gained two yards for the first and a mass at left tackle found another. but the next play resulted disastrously, for when the ball was passed back there was no one to take it, and the quarter was borne back several yards before his own astounded players could come to his assistance. "that about settles cloud," whispered post to joel, as they hurried up to take the new position. "that was his signal to take the leather through right end, and he was fast asleep. remsen's laying for him." but the advantage to the second was of short duration, for back went the first's guards again, and down came the ball to their goal line with short, remorseless gains, and presently, when their quarter knelt on the last white line, the dreaded happened, and blair lay between the posts with half the second eleven on top of him, but with the ball a yard over the line. an easy goal resulted, and just as the teams trotted back to mid-field the whistle sounded, and the first twenty-minute half was done. the players wrapped themselves warmly in blankets and squatted in the protection of the fence, and were immediately surrounded by the spectators. remsen and blair talked with this player and that, explaining his faults or saying a good word for his work. in the second half many of the second eleven went into the first, the deposed boys retiring to the side-lines, and several substitutes were put into the second. joel went back to full, ned post taking clausen's place at right half on the first eleven and turner becoming once more a spectator. it was the second eleven's ball, and joel raced down the field after the kick-off as far as their twenty-yard line, and there caught blair's return punt very neatly, ran three yards under poor interference, and was then seized by the mighty greer and hurled to earth with a shock that completely took the breath out of him for a moment. but he was soon on his feet again, and whipple gave him an encouraging slap as he trotted back to his place. the next play was an ordinary formation with the ends back, and the ball passed to left end for a run back of quarter and through the line outside of guard. it worked like a charm, and left end sped through with joel bracing him at the turn and the left half going ahead. four yards were netted, meach, the substitute left half, being tackled by post. in the mix-up that followed joel found himself sprawling over the runner, with cloud sitting astride the small of his back, a very uncomfortable part of the body with which to support a weighty opponent. but he would not have minded that alone; but when cloud arose his foot came into violent contact with joel's head, which caused that youth to see stars, and left a small cut back of his ear. "that wasn't an accident," muttered joel, as he picked himself up and eyed cloud. but the latter was unconcernedly moving to his position, and joel gave his head a shake or two and resolved to forgive and forget. a play similar to the last was next tried with an outlet on the other side, outside tackle. but it resulted in a loss of a yard, and at the next down the ball was thrown back to joel, who made a poor catch and followed it with a short high punt to the opponent's forty yards. "your head's cut, march," said wills, as they took up the new position. joel nodded. "cloud," he answered briefly. "punch him," answered wills. "he's mad because he made such a bull of his play in the other half. if he tries tricks with me--" "if he does, let him alone, if you want to stay on the team," said joel. "that sort of thing doesn't help. watch your chance and spoil a play of his. that's the best way to get even." the next ten minutes were spent in desperate attack on the part of the first and an equally desperate defense by the second eleven. twenty yards of gain for the former was the result, and the half was nearly up. on a first down blair ran back and joel, whispering "kick!" to himself, turned and raced farther back from the line. then the ball was snapped, there was a crossing of backs, and suddenly, far out around the right end came cloud with the pigskin tightly clutched, guarded by post and the left end. it was an unexpected play, and the second's halfs saw it too late. meach and wills were shouldered out of the way, and cloud ran free from his interference and bore down on joel, looking very big and ugly. it was cloud's opportunity to redeem himself, and with only a green full-back between him and the goal line his chances looked bright indeed. but he was reckoning without his host. joel started gingerly up to meet him. the field was streaming down on cloud's heels, but too far away to be in the running. ten yards distant from joel, cloud's right arm stretched out to ward off a tackle, and his face grew ugly. "keep off!" he hissed as joel prepared for a tackle. but joel had no mind for keeping off; that cut in his head was aching like everything, and his own advice to wills occurred to him and made him grin. cloud swerved sharply, but he was too heavy to be a good dodger, and with a leap joel was on him, tackling hard and true about the runner's hips. cloud struggled, made a yard, another, then came to earth with joel's head snugly pillowed on his shoulder. a shout arose from the crowd. the field came up and joel scrambled to his feet. cloud, his face red with chagrin and anger, leaped to his feet, and stepping toward joel aimed a vicious blow at his face. the latter ducked and involuntarily raised his fist; then, ere greer and some of the others stepped between, turned and walked away. "that will do, cloud," said remsen in sharp, incisive tones. "you may leave." and with a muttered word of anger cloud strode from the field, passing through the silent and unsympathetic throng with pale face and black looks. "first's ball down here," cried greer, and play went on; but joel had lost his taste for it, and when, a few minutes later, neither side having scored again, time was called, he trotted back to the gymnasium in a depressed mood. "you did great work," exclaimed outfield west, as he joined joel on the river path. "that settles cloud's chances. remsen was laying for him anyhow, you know, and then that 'slugging!' remsen hates dirty playing worse than anything, they say." "i'm sorry it happened, though," returned joel. "pshaw! don't you be afraid of cloud. he's all bluster." "i'm not afraid of him. but i'm sorry he lost the team through me. of course i couldn't have let him go by, and i don't suppose it could have been helped, but i wish some one else had tackled him." "of course, it couldn't have been helped," responded west cheerfully. "and i'm glad it couldn't. my! isn't cloud mad! i passed him a minute or two ago. 'you ought to try golf, bart,' said i. you should have seen the look he gave me. i guess it was rather like 'rubbing it in.'" and west grinned hugely at the recollection. "how about the tournament, west?" asked joel. "fine! there are twelve entries, and we're going to begin at nine in the morning. i did the fourth hole this afternoon in two, and the eighth in three. no one has ever done the fourth in two before; it's the bogey score. don't forget that you have promised to go around with me. they say whipple is practicing every morning over in turner's meadow. what with that and football he's a pretty busy lad, i dare say. don't forget, nine o'clock day after to-morrow." and outfield west waved his hand gayly and swung off toward hampton house, while joel entered the gymnasium and was soon enjoying the luxury of a shower bath and listening to the conversation of the others. "there'll be a shake-up to-morrow," observed warren as he rubbed himself dry with a big, crimson-bordered towel. "mr. remsen wasn't any too well pleased to-day. he's going to put greer on the scrub to-morrow." "that's where you might as well be," answered the big center good-naturedly. "the idea of playing a criss-cross with your right end on the side-line!" "we took two yards just the same," replied warren. "we gave it to you, my lad, because we knew that if you lost on such a fool play your name would be--well, anything but thomas 'stumpy' warren." the reply to this sally was a boot launched at the center rush, for tom warren's middle name was in reality saalfield, and "stumpy" was a cognomen rather too descriptive to be relished by the quarter-back. greer returned the missile with interest, and the fight grew warm, and boots and footballs and shin-guards filled the air. in the dining hall that evening interest was divided between the golf match to be played on the following saturday morning and the football game with the westvale grammar school in the afternoon. golf had fewer admirers than had the other sport, but what there were were fully as enthusiastic, and the coming tournament was discussed until joel's head whirled with such apparently outlandish terms as "bogey," "baffy," "put," "green," "foozle," and "tee." whipple, blair, and west all had their supporters, and joel learned a number of marvelous facts, as, for instance, that whipple had "driven from purgatory to the hill in five," that blair was "putting better than grimes did last year," and that "west had taken four to get out of sandy." all of which was undoubtedly intensely interesting, but was as so much sanskrit to joel; and he walked back to his room after supper with a greatly increased respect for the game of golf. chapter vii. a letter home. one of joel's letters written to his mother at about this time contains much that will prove of interest to the reader who has followed the fortunes of that youth thus far. it supplied a certain amount of information appreciated only by its author and its recipient: facts regarding woolen stockings; items about the manner in which the boy's washing was done; a short statement of his financial condition; a weak, but very natural, expression of home-longing. but such i will omit, as being too private in character for these pages. "... i don't think you need worry. outfield west is rather idle about study, but he doesn't give satan much of a show, for he's about the busiest fellow i know in school. he's usually up a good hour before breakfast, which we have at eight o'clock, and puts in a half hour practicing golf before chapel. then in the afternoon he's at it again when the weather will let him, and he generally spends his evenings, when not studying, in mending his clubs or painting balls. then he's one of the canvassers for the class crew; and belongs to the senior debating club, which draws its members from the two upper classes; and he's president of the golf club. so you can see that he's anything but idle, even if he doesn't bother much about lessons. "he's naturally a very bright fellow; otherwise he couldn't get along with his classes. i grow to like him better every day; he's such a manly, kind-hearted fellow, and one of the most popular in school. he's rather big, with fine, broad shoulders, and awfully good-looking. he has light-brown hair, about the color of cousin george's, and bright blue eyes; and he always looks as though he had just got out of the bath-tub--only stopped, of course, to put his clothes on. i guess we must be pretty old-fashioned in our notions, we maine country folks, because so many of my pet ideas and beliefs have been changed since i came here. you know with us it has always gone without dispute that rich boys are mean and worthless, if not really immoral. but here they're not that way. i guess we never had much chance to study rich people up our way, mother. at the grammar school all the fellows looked down on wealthy boys; but we never had any of them around. the richest chap was gilbert, whose father was a lumberman, and gilbert used to wear shoes that you wouldn't give to a tramp. "i suppose west's father could buy mr. gilbert out twenty times and not miss the money. outfield--isn't it a queer name?--spends a lot of money, but not foolishly; i mean he has no bad habits, like a few of the fellows. i hope you will meet him some time. perhaps i could have him up to stay a few days with me next summer. he'd be glad to come. "no, my roommate, sproule, doesn't improve any on acquaintance. but i've got so i don't mind him much. i don't think he's really as mean as he makes you believe. he's having hard work with his studies nowadays, and has less time to find fault with things. "you ask how i spend my time. dear little mother, you don't know what life in a big boarding school like hillton is. why, i haven't an idle moment from one day's end to the next. here's a sample. this morning i got up just in time for chapel--i'm getting to be a terrible chap for sleeping late--and then had breakfast. by that time it was quarter to nine. at nine i went to my mathematics. then came latin, then english. at twelve i reported on the green and practiced signals with the second squad until half past. then came lunch. after lunch i scurried up to my room and dug up on chemistry, which was at one-thirty. then came greek at half past two. then i had an hour of loafing--that is, i should have had it, but i was afraid of my to-morrow's history, so put in part of the time studying that. at a little before four i hurried over to the gymnasium, got into football togs, and reached the campus 'just in time to be in time.' we had a stiff hour's practice with the ball and learned two new formations. when i got back to the 'gym' it was a quarter past five. i had my bath, rubbed down, did two miles on the track, exercised with the weights, and got to supper ten minutes late. west came over to the room with me and stayed until i put him out, which was hard work because he's heavier than i am, and i got my books out and studied until half an hour ago. it is now just ten o'clock, and as soon as i finish this i shall tumble into bed and sleep like a top. "i can't answer your question about mr. remsen, because i do not know him well enough to ask about his home or relatives. but his first name is stephen. perhaps he is a relative of the remsens you mention. some day i'll find out. anyhow, he's the grandest kind of a fellow. i suppose he's about thirty. he has plenty of money, west says, and is a lawyer by profession. he has coached hillton for three years, and the school has won two out of three of its big games during those years. the big game, as they call it, is the game on thanksgiving day with st. eustace academy, of marshall. this fall it is played here.... "please tell father that i am getting on well with my studies, but not to hope too much for the goodwin scholarship. there are so many, many smart fellows here! sometimes i think i haven't a ghost of a show. but--well, i'm doing my best, and, after all, there are some other scholarships that are worth getting, though i don't believe i shall be satisfied with any other. west says i'm cheeky to even expect a show at the goodwin.... all the professors are very nice; even 'turkey.' his real name is durkee, and he is professor of english. he is not popular among the fellows, but is an awfully good instructor. the principal, professor wheeler, is called 'wheels,' but it sounds worse than it is. every one likes him. he is not at all old, and talks to the fellows about football and golf; and west says he can play a fine game of the latter when he tries. "i have been elected to the golf club and have joined. it costs a dollar and a half for this year, but west wanted me to join so much that i did. there are a lot of nice fellows in it--the sort that it is well to know. and i am going to try for the senior debating club after the holidays.... tell father that he wouldn't be so down on football if he could see the fellows that play it here at hillton. mr. remsen is head coach, as i have told you. then there is an advisory committee of one pupil, one graduate, and one professor. these are wesley blair, mr. remsen, and professor macarthur. then there is a manager, who looks after the business affairs; and a trainer, who is professor beck; and, of course, a captain. wesley blair is the captain. the second eleven is captained by tom warren, who is a fine player, and who is substitute quarter-back on the first or school eleven. in a couple of weeks both the first and second go to training tables: the first at one of the boarding houses in the village and the second in the school dining hall. when that happens we go into training for sure, and have to be in bed every night at ten sharp and get up every morning at seven. i'm pretty sure now of a place on the second, and may possibly make the first before the season's done.... "of course, i want the overcoat. but you had better send it as it is, and i will have the tailor here in the village cut it over. he is very moderate in charges and does good work, so west tells me, and in this way it will be sure to fit right. thank father for me, please.... good-night.... "your loving son, "joel." the opportunity to inquire regarding stephen remsen's family connections presented itself to joel on the day preceding the golf tournament and the football game with westvale. on account of the latter there had been only a half hour of light practice for the two squads, and joel at half past four had gone to his room to study. but when it came time to puzzle out some problems in geometry joel found that his paper was used up, and, rather than borrow of his neighbors, he pulled on his cap and started for the village store. october had brought warm weather, and this afternoon, as he went along the maple-bordered road that leads to the post office he found himself dawdling over the dusty grasses and bushes, recognizing old friends and making new ones, as right-minded folks will when the sun is warm and the birds sing beside the way. he watched a tiny chipmunk scamper along the top of the stone wall and disappear in the branches of a maple, looked upward and saw a mass of fluffy white clouds going northward, and thought wistfully of spring and the delights it promised here in the hudson valley. the golden-rod had passed its prime, though here and there a yellow torch yet lighted the shadowed tangles of shrub and vine beneath the wall, but the asters still bloomed on, and it was while bending over a clump of them that joel heard the whir of wheels on the smooth road and turned to see a bicyclist speeding toward him from the direction of the academy. when the rider drew near, joel recognized stephen remsen, and he withdrew toward the wall, that the coach might have the benefit of the level footpath and avoid the ruts. but instead of speeding by, remsen slowed down a few feet distant and jumped from his wheel. "hello, march!" was his greeting as he came up to that youth. "are you studying botany?" joel explained that he had been only trying to identify the aster, a spray of which he had broken off and still held in his hand. "perhaps i can tell you what it is," answered remsen as he took it. "yes, it's the purple-stemmed, _aster puniceus_. isn't it common where you live?" "i've never noticed it," answered joel. "we have lots of the _novoe-anglioe_ and _spectabilis_ in maine, and some of the white asters. it must be very lovely about here in spring." "yes, it is. spring is beautiful here, as it is everywhere. the valley of the hudson is especially rich in flora, i believe. i used to be very fond of the woods on mount adam when i was a boy here at hillton, and knew every tree in it." they were walking on toward the village, remsen rolling his bicycle beside him. "it's a long while since then, i suppose, sir?" queried joel. "i graduated from hillton ten years ago this coming june. i rowed stroke in the boat that spring, and we won from eustace by an eighth of a mile. and we nearly burned old masters down to the ground with our roman candles and sky rockets. you room there, don't you, march?" "yes, sir; number ." "that was billy mathews's room that year. some time if you look under the carpet you'll find a depression in the middle of the floor. that's where billy made a bonfire one night and offered up in sacrifice all his text-books. it took half an hour to put that fire out." remsen was smiling reminiscently. "but what did he burn his books for, sir? was it the end of the year?" "no, but billy had been expelled that day, and was celebrating the fact. he was a nice old chap, was billy mathews. he's president of a western railroad now." joel laughed. "that bonfire must have made as much commotion as some of the explosions in number , mr. remsen." "hello! are my efforts in pursuit of science still remembered here? who told you about that, march?" "mrs. cowles. she said you were forever doing something terrible, but that you were such a _nice_ boy." remsen laughed heartily as he replied: "well, don't pattern your conduct on mine or mathews's, march. we weren't a very well-behaved lot, i fear. but i don't believe our pranks did much harm. in those days football wasn't as popular as it is to-day, at hillton, and fellows couldn't work off their surplus animal spirits thumping a pigskin as they can now. football is a great benefactor in that way, march. it has done away with hazing and street brawls and gate stealing and lots of other deviltry. by the way, how are you getting on with the game?" "i think i'm getting the hang of it, sir. i'm having a hard time with drop kicking, but i guess i'll learn after a while." "i'm sure you will. i'm going to have blair give you a bit of coaching in it next week. he'll have more time then, after he has finished with this golf business. don't get discouraged. peg away. it's worth the work, march, and you have the making of a good back as soon as you learn how to kick a goal and run a little faster. and whenever you're puzzled about anything come to me and we'll work it out together. will you?" "yes, sir, thank you." "that's right. well, here's where i turn off. have you time to come and pay me a visit?" "not to-day, i'm afraid, mr. remsen. i'm just going to the post office for some paper, and--" "well, come and see me some time. i'm pretty nearly always at home in the evenings and will be very glad to see you. and bring your friend west with you. that's my headquarters down there, the yellow house; mrs. hutchins's. if you cut across the field here it will save you quite a distance. good-by; and get to bed early to-night, march, if you can. there's nothing like a good sleep before a game." "good-by," answered joel. then, "mr. remsen, one minute, please, sir," he called. "are you any relation to the remsens that live near clairmont, in maine, sir?" "why, i shouldn't wonder," answered remsen, with a smile. "i think i've heard my father speak of relatives in maine, but i don't recollect where. why do you ask?" "my mother wrote me to find out. she's very much interested in people's relatives, mr. remsen, and so i thought i'd ask and let her know. you didn't mind my asking you, did you?" "certainly not. tell your mother, march, that i hope those remsens are some of my folks, because i should like to be related to her friends. and say, march, when you're writing to your mother about me you needn't say anything about those explosions, need you?" "i don't think it will be necessary, sir," laughed joel. "very well; then just mention me as a dignified and reverend attorney-at-law, and we'll keep the rest a secret between us." chapter viii. the golf tournament. it was saturday afternoon. the day was bright and sunny, and in the shelter of the grand stand on the campus, where the little east wind could not rustle, it was comfortably warm. the grass still held much of its summer verdancy, and the sky overhead was as deeply blue as on the mildest spring day. after a week of dull or stormy weather yesterday and to-day, with their fair skies, were as welcome as flowers in may, and gladness and light-heartedness were in the very air. on the gridiron westvale grammar school and hillton academy were trying conclusions. on the grand stand all hillton, academy and village, was assembled, and here and there a bright dress or wrap indicated the presence of a mother or sister in the throng. the westvale team had arrived, accompanied by a coterie of enthusiastic supporters, armed with tin horns, maroon-colored banners, and mighty voices, which, with small hopes of winning on the field, were resolved to accomplish a notable victory of sound. on the side-line, with a dozen other substitutes whose greatest desire was to be taken on the first eleven, sat joel. outfield west was sprawled beside him with his caddie bag clutched to his breast, and the two boys were discussing the game. west had arrived upon the scene but a moment before. "we'll beat them by about a dozen points, i guess," joel was prophesying. "they say the score was twenty to nothing last year, but remsen declares the first isn't nearly as far advanced as it was this time last season. just hear the racket those fellows are making! you ought to have seen blair kick down the field a while ago. i thought the ball never would come down, and i guess westvale thought so too. their full-back nearly killed himself running backward, and finally caught it on their five-yard line, and had it down there. then greer walked through, lugging andrews for a touch-down, after westvale had tried three times to move the ball. there's the whistle; half's up. how is the golf getting along?" "somers and whipple were at look off when i came away. i asked billy jones to come over and call me when they got to the hill. i think whipple will win by a couple of strokes. somers is too nervous. i wish they'd hurry up. we'll not get through the last round before dark if they don't finish soon. you'll go round with me, won't you?" "if the game's over. they're playing twenty-minute halves, you know; so i guess it will be. i hope blair will let me on this half. have you seen cloud?" "yes; he's over on the seats. who has his place?" "ned post; and clausen's playing at right. i'm glad that blair is doing such good work to-day. i think he was rather cut up about getting beaten this morning." "yes; wasn't that hard luck? to think of his being downed by a cub of a junior! though that same junior is going to be a fine player some day. he drives just grand. he had too much handicap, he did. remsen didn't know anything about him, and allowed him ten. here they come again." the two elevens were trotting out on the field once more, and joel stood up in the hope that blair might see him and decide to take him on. but joel was doomed to disappointment, for the second half of the game began with practically the same line-up. the score stood six to nothing in favor of hillton. the playing had been decidedly ragged on both sides; and remsen, as he left the team after administering a severe lecture, walked past with a slight frown on his face. "well, i guess i'll go over and see if i can hurry those chumps up some." west swung his bag over his shoulder and turned away. "when the game's done, hurry over, march. you'll find us somewhere on the course." joel nodded, and west sauntered away toward the links. the second half of the game was similar to the first, save in that remsen's scolding had accomplished an awakening, and the first put more snap into its playing. six more points were scored from a touch-down by the hillton right end, after a thirty-yard run, followed by a difficult goal by blair. but the westvale rooters kept up their cheering bravely to the end, and took defeat with smiling faces and upraised voices; and long after the coach containing them had passed from sight their cheers could still be heard in the distance toward the station. the bulk of the spectators turned at the conclusion of the match toward the links, and joel followed in his football togs. at home hole he found whipple and west preparing for the deciding round of the tournament, and the latter greeted him with a shout, and put his clubs into his keeping. then whipple went to the tee and led off with a long drive for the first hole, and the round began. west followed with a shorter shot and the march was taken up. the links at hilton consists of nine holes, five out and four in. the entire length of the course is a trifle over one and a half mile, and although the land is upland meadow and given to growing long grass, yet the course is generally conceded to be excellent. the holes are short, allowing the round to be accomplished by a capable player in thirty-two strokes. the course has thirteen bunkers of varying sizes, besides two water hazards at the inlet and outlet of the lake. the lake itself is spoiled as a hazard by the thick grove of trees on the side nearest the academy. sometimes a poor drive lands a ball in that same grove, and there is much trial and tribulation ere the player has succeeded in dislodging it from the underbrush. while generally level, the course is diversified by slight elevations, upon which are the putting greens, their red and white flags visible from all parts of the links. as has been said, the holes are short, the longest, lake hole, being four hundred and ninety-six yards, and the shortest, the first, but one hundred and thirty-three. outfield west once spent the better part of two weeks, at great cost to his class standing, in making a plan of the links, and, while it is not warranted accurate as to distances, it is reproduced here with his permission as giving a clearer idea of the ground than any verbal description. play had begun this morning at nine o'clock, and by noon only somers, whipple, and west had been left in the match. blair had encountered defeat most unexpectedly at the hands of greene, a junior, of whose prowess but little had been known by the handicapper; for, although blair had done the round in three strokes less than his adversary's gross score, the latter's allowance of six strokes had placed him an easy winner. but blair had been avenged later by west, who had defeated the youngster by three strokes in the net. in the afternoon somers and whipple had met, and, as west had predicted, the latter won by two strokes. and now west and whipple, both excellent players, and sworn enemies of the links, were fighting it out, and on this round depended the possession of the title of champion and the ownership for one year of the handicap cup, a modest but highly prized pewter tankard. medal play rules governed to-day, and the scoring was by strokes. [illustration: plan of hilton academy golf links] whipple reached the first green in one stroke, but used two more to hole-out. west took two short drives to reach a lie, from which he dropped his ball into the hole in one try. and the honors were even. the next hole was forty yards longer, and was played either in two short drives or one long drive and an approach shot. it contained two hazards, track bunker and high bunker, the latter alone being formidable. whipple led off with a long shot that went soaring up against the blue and then settled down as gently as a bird just a few yards in front of high bunker. he had reversed his play of the last hole, and was now relying on his approach shot for position. west played a rather short drive off an iron which left his ball midway between the two bunkers. whipple's next stroke took him neatly out of danger and on to the putting green, but west had fared not so well. there was a great deal of noise from the younger boys who were looking on, much discussion of the methods of play, and much loud boasting of what some one else would have done under existing circumstances. west glanced up once and glared at one offending junior, and an admonitory "_hush!_" was heard. but he was plainly disturbed, and when the little white sphere made its flight it went sadly aglee and dropped to earth far to the right of the green, and where rough and cuppy ground made exact putting well-nigh impossible. professor beck promptly laid down a command of absolute silence during shots, and some of the smaller youths left the course in favor of another portion of the campus, where a boy's right to make all the noise he likes could not be disputed. but the harm was done, and when play for the third hole began the score was: whipple , west . even to one of such intense ignorance of the science of golf as joel march, there was a perceptible difference in the style of the two competitors. outfield west was a great stickler for form, and imitated the full st. andrews swing to the best of his ability. in addressing the ball he stood as squarely to it as was possible, without the use of a measuring tape, and drove off the right leg, as the expression is. despite an almost exaggerated adherence to nicety of style, west's play had an ease and grace much envied by other golf disciples in the school, and his shots were nearly always successful. whipple's manner of driving was very different from his opponent's. his swing was short and often stopped too soon. his stance was rather awkward, after west's, and even his hold on the club was not according to established precedent. yet, notwithstanding all this, it must be acknowledged that whipple's drives had a way of carrying straight and far and landing well. joel followed the play with much interest if small appreciation of its intricacies, and carried west's bag, and hoped all the time that that youth would win, knowing how greatly he had set his heart upon so doing. there is no bunker between second and third holes, but the brook which supplies the lake runs across the course and is about six yards wide from bank to bank. but it has no terrors for a long drive, and both the players went safely over and won academy hole in three strokes. west still held the odd. two long strokes carried whipple a scant distance from railroad bunker, which fronts ditch hole, a dangerous lie, since railroad bunker is high and the putting green is on an elevation, almost meriting the title of hill, directly back of it. but if whipple erred in judgment or skill, west found himself in even a sorrier plight when two more strokes had been laid to his score. his first drive with a brassie had fallen rather short, and for the second he had chosen an iron. the ball sailed off on a long flight that brought words of delight from the spectators, but which caused joel to look glum and west to grind the turf under his heel in anger. for, like a thing possessed, that ball fell straight into the very middle of the bunker, and when it was found lay up to its middle in gravel. west groaned as he lifted the ball, replaced it loosely in its cup, and carefully selected a club. whipple meanwhile cleared the bunker in the best of style, and landed on the green in a good position to hole out in two shots. "great gobble!" muttered west as he swung his club, and fixed his eye on a point an inch and a half back of the imbedded ball, "if i don't get this out of here on this shot, i'm a gone goose!" march grinned sympathetically but anxiously, and the onlookers held their breath. then back went the club--there was a scattering of sand and gravel, and the ball dropped dead on the green, four yards from the hole. "excellent!" shouted professor beck, and joel jumped in the air from sheer delight. "good for you, out!" yelled dave somers; and the rest of the watchers echoed the sentiment in various ways, even those who desired to see whipple triumphant yielding their meed of praise for the performance. and, "i guess, out," said whipple ruefully, "you might as well take the cup." but outfield west only smiled silently in response, and followed his ball with businesslike attention to the game. whipple was weak on putting, and his first stroke with an iron failed to carry his ball to the hole. west, on the contrary, was a sure player on the green, and now with his ball but four yards from the hole he had just the opportunity he desired to better his score. the green was level and clean, and west selected a small iron putter, and addressed the ball with all the attention to form that the oldest st. andrews veteran might desire. playing on the principle that it is better to go too far than not far enough, since the hole is larger than the ball, west gave a long stroke, and the gutta-percha disappeared from view. whipple holed out on his next try, adopting a wooden putter this time, and the score stood fifteen strokes each. the honor was west's, and he led off for end hole with a beautiful brassie drive that cleared the first two bunkers with room to spare. whipple, for the first time in the round, drove poorly, toeing his ball badly, and dropping it almost off of the course and just short of the second bunker. west's second drive was a loft over halfway bunker that fell fairly on the green and rolled within ten feet of the hole. from there, on the next shot, he holed out very neatly in eighteen. whipple meanwhile had redeemed himself with a high lofting stroke that carried past the threatening dangers of masters bunker and back on to the course within a few yards of west's lie. but again skill on the putting green was wanting, and he required two strokes to make the hole. once more the honor was west's, and that youth turned toward home with a short and high stroke. the subsequent hole left the score "the like" at , and the seventh gave whipple, , west . "but here's where mr. west takes the lead," confided that young gentleman to joel as they walked to the teeing ground. "from here to lake hole is four hundred and ninety-six yards, and i'm going to do it in three shots on to the green. you watch!" four hundred and ninety-odd yards is nothing out of the ordinary for an older player, but to a lad of seventeen it is a creditable distance to do in three drives. yet that is what west did it in; and strange to relate, and greatly to that young gentleman's surprise, whipple duplicated the performance, and amid the excited whispers of the onlookers the two youths holed out on their next strokes; and the score still gave the odd to west-- to . "i didn't think he could do it," whispered west to joel, "and that makes it look bad for your uncle out. but never mind, my lad, there's still rocky bunker ahead of us, and--" west did not complete his remark, but his face took on a very determined look as he teed his ball. the last hole was in sight, and victory hovered overhead. now, the distance from lake hole to the home hole is but a few yards over three hundred, and it can be accomplished comfortably in two long brassie drives. midway lies the hill, a small elevation rising from about the middle of the course to the river bluff, and there falling off sheer to the beach below. it is perhaps thirty yards across, and if the ball reaches it safely it forms an excellent place from which to make the second drive. so both boys tried for the hill. whipple landed at the foot of it, while west came plump upon the side some five yards from the summit, and his next drive took him cleanly over rocky bunker and to the right of the home green. but whipple summoned discretion to his aid, and instead of trying to make the green on the next drive, played short, and landed far to the right of the bunker. this necessitated a short approach, and by the time he had gained the green and was "made" within holing distance of the flag, the score was once more even, and the end was in sight. and now the watchers moved about restlessly, and joel found his heart in his throat. but west gripped his wooden putter firmly and studied the situation. it was quite possible for a skillful player to hole out on the next stroke from whipple's lie. west, on the contrary, was too far distant to possess more than one chance in ten of winning the hole in one play. whether to take that one chance or to use his next play in bettering his lie was the question. whipple, west knew, was weak on putting, but it is ever risky to rely on your opponent's weakness. while west pondered, whipple studied the lay of the green with eyes that strove to show no triumph, and the little throng kept silence save for an occasional nervous whisper. then west leaned down and cleared a pebble from before his ball. it was the veriest atom of a pebble that ever showed on a putting green, but west was willing to take no chances beyond those that already confronted him. his mind was made up. gripping his iron putter firmly rather low on the shaft and bending far over, west slowly, cautiously swung the club above the gutty, glancing once and only once as he did so at the distant goal. then there was a pause. whipple no longer studied his own play; his eyes were on that other sphere that nestled there so innocently against the grass. joel leaned breathlessly forward. professor beck muttered under his breath, and then cried "s--sh!" to himself in an angry whisper. and then west's club swung back gently, easily, paused an instant--and-- forward sped the ball--on and on--slower--slower--but straight as an arrow--and then--presto! it was gone from sight! a moment of silence followed ere the applause broke out, and in that moment professor beck announced: "the odd to whipple. thirty-two to thirty-three." then the group became silent again. whipple addressed his ball. it was yet possible to tie the score. his face was pale, and for the first time during the tournament he felt nervous. a better player could scarce have missed the hole from whipple's lie, but for once that youth's nerve forsook him and he hit too short; the ball stopped a foot from the hole. the game was decided. professor beck again announced the score: "the two more to whipple. thirty-two to thirty-four." again whipple addressed his ball, and this time, but too late to win the victory, the tiny sphere dropped neatly into the hole, and the throng broke silence. and as west and whipple, victor and vanquished, shook hands over the home hole, professor beck announced: "thirty-two to thirty-five. west wins the cup!" chapter ix. an evening call. the last week of october brought chilling winds and flying clouds. life at hillton academy had gone on serenely since west's victory on the links. the little pewter tankard reposed proudly upon his mantel beside a bottle of chow-chow, and bore his name as the third winner of the trophy. but west had laid aside his clubs, save for an occasional hour at noon, and, abiding by his promise to joel, he had taken up his books again with much resolution, if little ardor. hillton had met and defeated two more football teams, and the first eleven was growing gradually stronger. remsen was seen to smile now quite frequently during practice, and there was a general air of prosperity about the gridiron. the first had gone to its training table at "mother" burke's, in the village, and the second ate its meals in the center of the school dining hall with an illy concealed sense of self-importance. and the grinds sneered at its appetites, and the obscure juniors admired reverently from afar. joel had attended both recitations and practice with exemplary and impartial regularity, and as a result his class standing was growing better and better on one hand, and on the other his muscles were becoming stronger, his flesh firmer, and his brain clearer. the friendship between him and outfield west had ripened steadily, until now they were scarcely separable. and that they might be more together west had lately made a proposition. "that fellow sproule is a regular cad, joel, and i tell you what we'll do. after christmas you move over to hampton and room with me. you have to make an application before recess, you know. what do you say?" "i should like to first rate, but i can't pay the rent there," joel had objected. "then pay the same as you're paying for your den in masters," replied west. "you see, joel, i have to pay the rent for number hampton anyhow, and it won't make any difference whether i have another fellow in with me or not. only, if you pay as much of my rent as you're paying now, why, that will make it so much cheaper for me. don't you see?" "yes, but if i use half the room i ought to pay half, the rent." and to this joel stood firm until west's constant entreaties led to a compromise. west was to put the matter before his father, and joel before his. if their parents sanctioned it, joel was to apply for the change of abode. as yet the matter was still in abeyance. richard sproule, as west had suggested rather more forcibly than politely, was becoming more and more objectionable, and joel was not a bit grieved at the prospect of leaving him. of late, intercourse between the roommates had become reduced to rare monosyllables. this was the outcome of a refusal on joel's part to give a portion of his precious study time to helping sproule with his lessons. once or twice joel had consented to assist his roommate, and had done so to the detriment of his own affairs; but the result to both had proved so unsatisfactory that joel had stoutly refused the next request. thereupon sproule had considered himself deeply aggrieved, and usually spent the time when joel was present in sulking. bartlett cloud, since his encounter with joel on the field the afternoon that he was put off the team, had had nothing to say to him, though his looks when they met were always dark and threatening. but in a school as large as hillton there is plenty of room to avoid an objectionable acquaintance, so long as you are not under the same roof with him, and consequently cloud and joel seldom met. the latter constantly regretted having made an enemy of the other, but beyond this regret his consideration of cloud seldom went. so far joel had not found an opportunity to accept the invitation that remsen had extended to him, though that invitation had since been once or twice repeated. but to-night west and he had made arrangement to visit remsen at his room, and had obtained permission from professor wheeler to do so. the two boys met at the gymnasium after supper was over and took their way toward the village. west had armed himself with a formidable stick, in the hope, loudly expressed at intervals, that they would be set upon by tramps. but remsen's lodgings were reached without adventure, and the lads were straightway admitted to a cosey study, wherein, before an open fire, sat remsen and a guest. after a cordial welcome from remsen the guest was introduced as albert digbee. "yes, we know each other," said west, as he shook hands. "we both room in hampton, but digbee's a grind, you know, and doesn't care to waste his time on us idlers." digbee smiled. "it isn't inclination, west; i don't have the time, and so don't attempt to keep up with you fellows." he shook joel's hand. "i'm glad to meet you. i've heard of you before." then the quartet drew chairs up to the blaze, and, as remsen talked, joel examined his new acquaintance. digbee was a year older than west and joel. he was in the senior class, and was spoken of as one of the smartest boys in the school. although a hampton house resident, he seldom was seen with the others save at the table, and was usually referred to among themselves as "dig," both because that suggested his christian name and because, as they said, he was forever digging at his books. in appearance albert digbee was a tall, slender, but scarcely frail youth, with a cleanly cut face that looked, in the firelight, far too pale. his eyes were strikingly bright, and though his smiles were infrequent, his habitual expression was one of eager and kindly interest. joel had often come across him in class, and had long wanted to know him. "you see, boys," remsen was saying, "digbee here is of the opinion that athletics in general and football in particular are harmful to schools and colleges as tending to draw the attention of pupils from their studies, and i maintain the opposite. now, what's your opinion, west? digbee and i have gone over it so often that we would like to hear some one else on the subject." "oh, i don't know," replied west. "if fellows would give up football and go in for golf, there wouldn't be any talk about athletics being hurtful. golf's a game that a chap can play and get through with and have some time for study. you don't have to train a month to play for an hour; it's a sport that hasn't become a business." "i can testify," said joel gravely, "that out is a case in point. he plays golf, and has time left to study--how to play more golf." "well, anyhow, you know i _do_ study some lately, joel," laughed west. joel nodded with serious mien. "i think you've made a very excellent point in favor of golf, west," said digbee. "it hasn't been made a business, at least in this school. but won't it eventually become quite as much of a pursuit as football now is?" "oh, it may become as popular, but, don't you see, it will never become as--er--exacting on the fellows that play it. you can play golf without having to go into training for it." "nevertheless, west," replied the head coach, "if a fellow can play golf without being in training, doesn't it stand to reason that the same fellow can play a better game if he is in training? that is, won't he play a better game if he is in better trim?" "yes, i guess so, but he will play a first-class game if he doesn't train." "but not as good a game as he will if he does train?" "i suppose not," admitted west. "well, now, a fellow can play a very good game of football if he isn't in training," continued remsen, "but that same fellow, if he goes to bed and gets up at regular hours, and eats decent food at decent times, and takes care of himself in such a way as to improve his mental, moral, and physical person, will play a still better game and derive more benefit from it. when golf gets a firmer hold on this side of the atlantic, schools and colleges will have their golf teams of, say, from two to a dozen players. of course, the team will not play as a team, but the members of it will play singly or in couples against representatives of other schools. and when that happens it is sure to follow that the players will go into almost as strict training as the football men do now." "well, that sounds funny," exclaimed west. "digbee thinks one of the most objectionable features of football is the fact that the players go into it so thoroughly--that they train for it, and study it, and spend a good deal of valuable time thinking about it. but to me that is one of its most admirable features. when a boy or a man goes in for athletics, whether football or rowing or hockey, he desires, if he is a real flesh-and-blood being, to excel in it. to do that it is necessary that he put himself in the condition that will allow of his doing his very best. and to that end he trains. he gives up pastry, and takes to cereals; he abandons his cigarettes and takes to fresh air; he gives up late hours at night, and substitutes early hours in the morning. and he is better for doing so. he feels better, looks better, works better, plays better." "but," responded digbee, "can a boy who has come to school to study, and who has to study to make his schooling pay for itself, can such a boy afford the time that all that training and practicing requires?" "usually, yes," answered remsen. "of course, there are boys, and men too, for that matter, who are incapable of occupying their minds with two distinct interests. that kind should leave athletics alone. and there are others who are naturally--i guess i mean-unnaturally--stupid, and who, should they attempt to sandwich football or baseball into their school life, would simply make a mess of both study and recreation. but they need not enter into the question of the harm or benefit of athletics, since at every well-conducted school or college those boys are not allowed to take up with athletics. yes, generally speaking, the boy who comes to school to study can afford to play football, train for football, and think football, because instead of interfering with his studies it really helps him with them. it makes him healthy, strong, wide-awake, self-reliant, and clearheaded. some time i shall be glad to show you a whole stack of careful statistics which prove that football men, at least, rather than being backward with studies, are nearly always above the average in class standing. march, you're a hard-worked football enthusiast, and i understand that you're keeping well up with your lessons. do you have trouble to attend to both? do you have to skimp your studies? i know you give full attention to the pigskin." "i'm hard put some days to find time for everything," answered joel, "but i always manage to make it somehow, and i have all the sleep i want or need. perhaps if i gave up football i might get higher marks in recitations, but i'd not feel so well, and it's possible that i'd only get lower marks. i agree with you, mr. remsen, that athletics, or at least football, is far more likely to benefit a chap than to hurt him, because a fellow can't study well unless he is in good health and spirits." "are you convinced, digbee?" asked remsen. digbee shook his head smilingly. "i don't believe i am, quite. but you know more about such things than i do. in fact, it's cheeky for me to argue about them. why, i've never played anything but tennis, and never did even that well." "you know the ground you argue from, and because i have overwhelmed you with talk it does not necessarily follow that i am right," responded his host courteously. "but enough of such dull themes. there's west most asleep.--march, have you heard from your mother lately?" "yes, i received a letter from her yesterday morning. she writes that she's glad the relationship is settled finally; says she's certain that any kin of the maine remsens is a person of good, strong moral character." when the laugh had subsided, remsen turned to west. "have you ever heard of tommy collingwood?" "wasn't he baseball captain a good many years ago?" "yes, and used to row in the boat. well, tommy was a good deal better at spinning top on academy steps than doing lessons, and a deal fonder of playing shinney than writing letters. but tommy's mother always insisted that tommy should write home once a week, and tommy's father wrote and explained what would happen to tommy if he didn't obey his mother; and as tommy's folks lived just over in albany it was a small thing for tommy's father to run over some day with a strap; so tommy obeyed his parents and every week wrote home. his letters weren't long, nor were they filled with a wealth of detail, but they answered the purpose in lieu of better. each one ran: 'hillton academy, hillton, n.y.,' with the date. 'dear father and mother, i am well and studying hard. your loving son, thomas collingwood.' "well, when christmas recess came, tommy went home. and one day his mother complimented tommy on the regularity of his correspondence. tommy looked sheepish. 'to tell the truth, mother, i didn't write one of those letters each week,' explained tommy. 'but just after school opened i was sick for a week, and didn't have anything to do; so i wrote 'i am well' twelve times, and dated each ahead.'" digbee accompanied the other two lads back to the yard, and he and march discussed studies, while west mooned along, whistling half aloud and thrashing the weeds and rocks with his cudgel, for the tramps refused to appear on the scene. he and digbee went out of their way to see joel safely to his dormitory, and then joel accompanied them on their homeward way as far as academy building. there good-nights were said, and joel, feeling but little inclined for sleep, drew his collar up and strolled to the front of the building, where, from the high steps, the river was visible for several miles in either direction. the moon was struggling out from a mass of somber clouds overhead, and the sound of the waters as they swirled around the rocky point was plainly heard. joel sat there on the steps, under the shadow of the dark building, thinking of many things, and feeling very happy and peaceful, until a long, shrill sound from the north told of the coming of the . train; then he made his way back to masters, up the dim stairs, and into his room, where dickey sproule lay huddled in bed reading the three guardsmen by the screened light of a guttering candle. chapter x. the broken bell rope. joel arrived at chapel the following morning just as the doors were being closed. duffy, the wooden-legged doorkeeper, was not on duty, and the youth upon whom his duties had devolved allowed joel to pass without giving his name for report as tardy. during prayers there was an evident atmosphere of suppressed excitement among the pupils, but not until chapel was over did joel discover the cause. "were you here when it happened?" asked west. "when what happened?" responded joel. "haven't you heard? why, some one cut the bell rope, and when 'peg-leg' went to ring chapel bell the rope broke up in the tower and came down on his head and laid him out there on the floor, and some of the fellows found him knocked senseless. and they've taken him to the infirmary. you know the rope's as big as your wrist, and it hit him on top of the head. i guess he isn't much hurt, but 'wheels' is as mad as never was, and whoever did it will have a hard time, i'll bet!" "poor old duffy!" said joel. "let's go over and find out if he's much hurt. it was a dirty sort of a joke to play, though i suppose whoever did it didn't think it would hurt any one." at the infirmary they found professor gibbs in the office. "no, boys, he isn't damaged much. he'll be all right in a few hours. i hope that the ones who did it will be severely punished. it was a most contemptible trick to put up on duffy." "i hope so too," answered west indignantly. "you may depend that no upper middle boy did it, sir." the professor smiled. "i hope you are right, west." at noon hour joel was summoned to the principal's office. professor wheeler, the secretary, and professor durkee were present, and as joel entered he scented an air of hostility. the secretary closed the door behind him. "march, i have sent for you to ask whether you can give us any information which will lead to the apprehension of the perpetrators of the trick which has resulted in injury to mr. duffy. can you?" "no, sir," responded joel. "you know absolutely nothing about it?" "nothing, sir, except what i have been told." "by whom?" "outfield west, sir, after chapel. we went to the infirmary to inquire about 'peg'--about mr. duffy, sir." the secretary repressed a smile. the principal was observing joel very closely, and professor durkee moved impatiently in his seat. "i can not suppose," continued the principal, "that the thing was done simply as a school joke. the boy who cut the rope must have known when he did so that the result would be harmful to whoever rang the chapel bell this morning. i wish it understood that i have no intention of dealing leniently with the culprit, but, at the same time, a confession, if made now, will have the effect of mitigating his punishment." he paused. joel turned an astonished look from him to professor durkee, who, meeting it, frowned and turned impatiently away. "you have nothing more to tell me, march?" "why, no, sir," answered joel in a troubled voice. "i don't understand. am i suspected--of--of this--thing, sir?" "dear me, sir," exclaimed professor durkee, explosively, turning to the principal, "it's quite evident that--" "one moment, please," answered the latter firmly. the other subsided.--"you had town leave last night, march?" "yes, sir." "you went with outfield west?" "yes, sir." "what time did you return to your room?" "at about a quarter to ten, sir." "you are certain as to the time?" "i only know that i heard the down train whistle as i left academy building. i went right to my room, sir." "was the door of academy building unlocked last night?" "i don't know. i didn't try it, sir." "what time did you leave mr. remsen's house?" "a few minutes after nine." "you came right back here?" "yes, sir. we came as far as academy building, and west and digbee went home. i sat on the front steps here until i heard the whistle blow. then i went to my room." "why did you sit on the steps, march?" "i wasn't sleepy; and the moon was coming out--and--i wanted to think." "do you hear from home very often?" "once or twice a week, sir." "when did you get a letter last, and from whom was it?" "from my mother, about three days ago." "have you that letter?" "yes, sir. it is in my room." "you sometimes carry your letters in your pocket?" "why, yes, but not often. if i receive them on the way out of the building i put them in my pocket, and then put them away when i get back." "where do you keep them?" "in my bureau drawer." "it is kept locked?" "no, sir. i never lock it." "do you remember what was in that last letter?" "yes, sir." "was any one mentioned in it?" "yes, sir. mr. remsen was mentioned. and outfield west, and my brother, and father." "is this your letter?" professor wheeler extended it across the desk, and joel took it wonderingly. "why, yes, sir. but where--i don't understand--!" again he looked toward professor durkee in bewilderment. "nor do i," answered that gentleman dryly. "march," continued the principal, as he took the letter again, "this was found this morning, after the accident, on the floor of the bell tower. do you know how it came there?" joel's cheeks reddened and then grew white as the full meaning of the words reached him. his voice suddenly grew husky. "no, sir, i do not." the words were spoken very stoutly and rang with sincerity. a silence fell on the room. professor wheeler glanced inquiringly at professor durkee, and the latter made a grimace of impatience that snarled his homely face into a mass of wrinkles. "look here, boy," he snapped, "who do you think dropped that letter there?" "i can't think, sir. i can't understand it at all. i've never been in the tower since i've been in school." "do you know of any one who might like to get you into trouble in such a way as this?" "no, sir," answered joel promptly. then a sudden recollection of bartlett cloud came to him, and he hesitated. professor durkee observed it. "well?" he said sharply. "i know of no one, sir." "humph!" grunted the professor, "you do, but you won't say." "if you suspect any one it will be best to tell us, march," said professor wheeler, more kindly. "you must see that the evidence is much against you, and, while i myself can not believe that you are guilty, i shall be obliged to consider you so until proof of your innocence is forthcoming. have you any enemy in school?" "i think not, sir." the door opened and remsen appeared. "good-morning," he said. "you wished to see me, professor?" "yes, in a moment. sit down, please, remsen." remsen nodded to joel and the secretary, shook hands with professor durkee, and took a chair. the principal turned again to joel. "you wish me to understand, then, that you have no explanation to offer as to how the letter came to be in the bell tower? recollect that shielding a friend or any other pupil will do neither you nor him any service." joel was hesitating. was it right to throw suspicion on bartlett cloud by mentioning the small occurrence on the football field so long before? it was inconceivable that cloud would go to such a length in mere spite. and yet--remsen interrupted his thoughts. "professor, if you will dismiss march for a while, perhaps i can throw some light on the matter. let him return in half an hour or so." professor wheeler nodded. "come back at one o'clock, march," he said. outside joel hesitated where to go. he must tell some one his trouble, and there was only one who would really care. he turned toward hampton house, then remembered that it was dinner hour and that outfield would be at table. he had forgotten his own dinner until that moment. in the dining hall west was still lingering over his dessert. joel took his seat at the training table, explaining his absence by saying that he had been called to the office, and hurried through a dinner of beef and rice and milk. when west arose joel overtook him at the door. and as the friends took their way toward joel's room, he told everything to west in words that tumbled over each other. outfield west heard him in silence after one exclamation of surprise, and when joel had finished, cried: "why didn't you tell about cloud? don't you see that this is his doing? that he is getting even with you for his losing the football team?" "i thought of that, out, but it seemed too silly to suppose that he would do such a thing just for--for that, you know." "well, you may be certain that he did do it; or, at least, if he didn't cut the rope himself, found some one to do it for him. it's just the kind of a revenge that a fellow of his meanness would think of. he won't stand up and fight like a man. here, let's go and find him!" "no, wait. i'll tell professor wheeler about him when i go back; then if he thinks--if he did do it, out, i'll lick him good for it!" "hooray! and when you get through i'll take a hand, too. but what do you suppose remsen was going to tell?" joel shook his head. they found sproule in the room, and to him west spoke as follows: "hello, dickey! you're not studying? it's not good for you; these sudden changes should be avoided." sproule laughed, but looked annoyed at the banter. "joel and i have come up for a chat, dickey," continued west. "now, you take your robinson crusoe and read somewhere else for a while, like a nice boy." sproule grew red-faced, and turned to west angrily. "don't you see i'm studying? if you and march want to talk, why, either go somewhere else, or talk here." "but our talk is private, dickey, and not intended for little boys' ears. you know the saying about little pitchers, dickey?" "well, i'm not going out, so you can talk or not as you like." "oh, yes, you are going out, dickey. politeness requires it, and i shall see that you maintain that delightful courteousness for which you are noted. now, dickey!" west indicated the door with a nod and a smile. sproule bent his head over his book and growled a response that sounded anything but polite. then west, still smiling, seized the unobliging youth by the shoulders, pinioning his arms to his sides, and pushed him away from the table and toward the door. joel rescued the lamp at a critical moment, the chairs went over on to the floor, and a minute later sproule was on the farther side of the bolted door, and west was adjusting his rumpled attire. "i'll report you for this, outfield west!" howled sproule through the door, in a passion of resentment. "report away," answered west mockingly. "and if i miss my latin i'll tell why, too!" "well, you'll miss it all right enough, unless you've changed mightily. but, here, i'll shy your book through the transom." this was done, and the sound of ascending feet on the stairway reaching sproule's ears at that moment, he grabbed his book and took himself off, muttering vengeance. "have you looked?" asked west. "yes; it's not there. but there are no others missing. who could have taken it?" "any one, my boy; bartlett cloud, for preference. your door is unlocked, he comes in when he knows you are out, looks on the table, sees nothing there that will serve, goes to the bureau, opens the top drawer, and finds a pile of letters. he takes the first one, which is, of course, the last received, and sneaks out. then he climbs into the bell tower at night, cuts the rope through all but one small strand, and puts your letter on the floor where it will be found in the morning. isn't that plain enough?" joel nodded forlornly. "but cheer up, joel. your uncle out will see your innocence established, firmly and beyond all question. and now come on. it's one o'clock, and you've got to go back to the office, while i've got a class. come over to my room at four, joel, and tell me what happens." remsen and the secretary were no longer in the office when joel returned. professor durkee was standing with his hat in his hand, apparently about to leave. "march," began the principal, "mr. remsen tells us that you were struck at by bartlett cloud on the football field one day at practice. is that so?" joel replied affirmatively. "does he speak to you, or you to him?" "no, sir; but then i've never been acquainted with him." "do you believe that he could have stolen that letter from your room?" "i know that he could have done so, sir, but i don't like to think--" "that he did? well, possibly he did and possibly he didn't. i shall endeavor to find out. meanwhile i must ask you to let this go no further. you will go on as though this conversation had never occurred. if i find that you are unjustly suspected i will summon you and ask your pardon, and the guilty one will be punished. professor durkee here has pointed out to me that such conduct is totally foreign to his conception of your character, and has reminded me that your standing in class has been of the best since the beginning of the term. i agree with him in all this, but duty in the affair is very plain and i have been performing it, unpleasant as it is. you may go now, march; and kindly remember that this affair must be kept quiet," joel turned with a surprised but grateful look toward professor durkee, but was met with a wrathful scowl. joel hurried to his recitation, and later, before west's fireplace, the friends discussed the unfortunate affair in all its phases, and resolved, with vehemence, to know the truth sooner or later. but joel's cup was not yet filled. when he returned to the dormitory after supper, he found two missives awaiting him. the first was from wesley blair: "dear march" (it read): "please show up in the morning at burke's for breakfast with the first eleven. you are to take the place of post at l.h.b. it will be necessary for you to report at the gym at eleven each day for noon signals; please arrange your recitations to this end. i am writing this because i couldn't see you this afternoon; hope you are all right. yours, "wesley blair." joel read this with a loudly beating heart and flushing cheeks. it was as unexpected as it was welcome, that news; he _had_ hoped for an occasional chance to substitute post or blair or clausen on the first team in some minor game, but to be taken on as a member was more than he had even thought of since he had found how very far from perfect was his playing. he seized his cap with the intention of racing across to hampton and informing west of his luck; then he remembered the other note. it was from the office, and it was with a sinking heart that he tore it open and read: "you are placed upon probation until further notice from the faculty. the rules and regulations require that pupils on probation abstain from all sports and keep their rooms in the evenings except upon permission from the principal. respectfully, "curtis gordon, secretary." chapter xi. two heroes. one afternoon a week later outfield west and joel march were seated on the ledge where, nearly two months before, they had begun their friendship. the sun beat warmly down and the hill at their backs kept off the east wind. below them the river was brightly blue, and a skiff dipping its way up stream caught the sunlight on sail and hull until, as it danced from sight around the headland, it looked like a white gull hovering over the water. above, on the campus, the football field was noisy with voices and the pipe of the referee's whistle; and farther up the river at the boathouse moving figures showed that some of the boys were about to take advantage of the pleasant afternoon. "some one's going rowing," observed outfield. "can you row, joel?" "i guess so; i never tried." west laughed. "then i guess you can't. i've tried. it's like trying to write with both hands. while you're looking after one the other has fits and runs all over the paper. if you pull with the left oar the right oar goes up in the air or tries to throw you out of the boat by getting caught in the water. paddling suits me better. say, you'll see a bully race next spring when we meet eustace. last spring they walked away from us. but the crew is to have a new boat next year. look! those two fellows row well, don't they? remsen says a chap can never learn to row unless he has been born near the water. that lets me out. in iowa we haven't any water nearer than the mississippi--except the red cedar, and that doesn't count. by the way, joel, what did remsen say to you last night about playing again?" "he said to keep in condition, so that in case i got off probation i could go right back to work. he says he'll do all he can to help me, and i know he will. but it won't do any good. 'wheels' won't let me play until he's found out who did that trick. it's bad enough, out, to be blamed for the thing when i didn't do it, but to lose the football team like this is a hundred times worse. i almost wish i _had_ cut that old rope!" continued joel savagely; "then i'd at least have the satisfaction of knowing that i was only getting what i deserved." west looked properly sympathetic. "it's a beastly shame, that's what i think. what's the good of 'believing you innocent,' as 'wheels' says, if he goes ahead and punishes you for the affair? what? why, there isn't any, of course! if it was me i'd cut the pesky rope every chance i got until they let up on me!" joel smiled despite his ill humor. "and i've lost half my interest in lessons, out. i try not to, but i can't help it. i guess my chance at the scholarship is gone higher than a kite." "oh, hang the scholarship!" exclaimed west. "but there's the st. eustace game in three weeks. if you don't play in that, joel, i'll go to 'wheels' and tell him what i think about it!" "it's awfully rough on a fellow, out, but professor wheeler is only doing what is right, i suppose. he can't let the thing go unnoticed, you see, and as long as i can't prove my innocence i guess he's right to hold me to blame for it." "tommyrot!" answered west explosively. "the faculty's just trying to have us beaten! why--say, don't tell a soul, joel, but blair's worried half crazy. they had him up yesterday, and 'wheels' told him that if he didn't get better marks from now on he couldn't play. what do you think of that? they're not _decent_ about it. they're trying to put us _all_ on probation. why, how do i know but what they'll put _me_ on?" outfield hit his shoe violently with the driver he held until it hurt him. for although joel was debarred from playing golf there was nothing to keep him from watching west play, and this afternoon the two had been half over the course together, west explaining the game, and joel listening intently, and all the while longing to take a club in hand and have a whack at the ball himself. "that's bad," answered joel thoughtfully. "it would be all up with us if blair shouldn't play." "and that's just what's going to happen if 'wheels' keeps up his present game," responded outfield. "who are those chaps in that shell, joel? one looks like cloud, the fellow in front." joel watched the approaching craft for a moment. "it is cloud," he answered. "and that looks like clausen with him. why isn't he practicing, i wonder?" "haven't you heard? he was dropped from the team yesterday. wills has his place. post says, by the way, that he's sorry you're in such a fix, but he's mighty glad to get back on the first. he's an awfully decent chap, is post. did you see that thing he has in this month's hilltonian about cooke? says the fac's going to establish a class in bakery and put cooke in as teacher because he's such a fine _loafer_! say, what's the matter down there?" the shell containing cloud and clausen had reached a point almost opposite to where west and joel were perched, and as the latter looked toward it at west's exclamation he saw cloud throw aside his oars and stand upright in the boat. clausen had turned and was looking at his friend, but still held his oars. "by jove, joel, she's sinking!" cried outfield. "look! why doesn't clausen get out? there goes cloud over. i wonder if clausen can swim? swim? come on!" and half tumbling, half climbing, west sped down the bank on to the tiny strip of rocks and gravel that lay along the water. joel followed. cloud now was in the water at a little distance from the shell, which had settled to the gunwales. clausen, plainly in a state of terror, was kneeling in the sinking boat and crying to the other lad for help. the next moment he was in the water, and his shouts reached the two lads on the beach. cloud swam toward him, but before he could reach him clausen had gone from sight. "what shall we do?" cried west. "he's drowning! can you swim?" for joel had already divested himself of his coat and vest, and was cutting the lacings of his shoes. west hesitated an instant only, then followed suit. "yes." off went the last shoe, and joel ran into the water. west, pale of face, but with a determined look in his blue eyes, followed a moment later, a yard or two behind, and the two set out with desperate strokes to reach the scene of the disaster. as he had taken the water joel had cast a hurried glance toward the spot where clausen had sunk, and had seen nothing of that youth; only cloud was in sight, and he seemed to be swimming hurriedly toward shore. joel went at the task hand over hand and heard behind him west, laboring greatly at his swimming. presently joel heard his name cried in an exhausted voice. "i--can't make--it--joel!" shouted west. "i'll--have to--turn--back." "all right," joel called. "go up to the field and send some one for help." then he turned his attention again to his strokes, and raising his head once, saw an open river before him with nothing in sight between him and the opposite bank save, farther down stream, a floating oar. he had made some allowance for the current, and when in another moment he had reached what seemed to him to be near the scene of the catastrophe, yet a little farther down stream, he trod water and looked about. under the bluff to the right cloud was crawling from the river. west was gone from sight. about him ran the stream, and save for its noise no sound came to him, and nothing rewarded his eager, searching gaze save a branch that floated slowly by. with despair at his heart, he threw up his arms and sank with wide-open eyes, peering about him in the hazy depths. above him the surface water bubbled and eddied; below him was darkness; around him was only green twilight. for a moment he tarried there, and then arose to the surface and dashed the water from his eyes and face. and suddenly, some thirty feet away, an arm clad in a white sweater sleeve came slowly into sight. with a frantic leap through the water joel sped toward it. a bare head followed the upstretched arm; two wild, terror-stricken eyes opened and looked despairingly at the peaceful blue heavens; the white lips moved, but no sound came from them. and then, just as the eyes closed and just as the body began to sink, as slowly as it had arisen, and for the last time, joel reached it. there was no time left in which to pause and select a hold of the drowning boy, and joel caught savagely at his arm and struck toward the bank, and the inert body came to the surface like a water-logged plank. "clausen!" shouted joel. "clausen! can you hear? brace up! strike out with your right hand, and don't grab me! do you hear?" but there was no answer. clausen was like stone in the water. joel cast a despairing glance toward the bluff. then his eyes brightened, for there sliding down the bank he saw a crowd of boys, and as he looked another on the bluff threw down a coil of new rope that shone in the afternoon sunlight as it fell and was seized by some one in the throng below. nerved afresh, joel took a firm grasp on clausen's elbow and struck out manfully for shore. it was hard going, and when a bare dozen long strokes had been made his burden so dragged him down that he was obliged to stop, and, floundering desperately to keep the white face above water, take a fresh store of breath into his aching lungs. then drawing the other boy to him so that his weight fell on his back, he brought one limp arm about his shoulder, and holding it there with his left hand started swimming once more. a dozen more strokes were accomplished slowly, painfully, and then, as encouraging shouts came from shore, he felt the body above him stir into life, heard a low cry of terror in his ear, and then--they were sinking together, clausen and he, struggling there beneath the surface! clausen had his arm about joel's neck and was pulling him down--down! and just as his lungs seemed upon the point of bursting the grasp relaxed around his neck, the body began to sink and joel to rise! with a deafening noise as of rushing water in his ears, joel reached, caught a handful of cloth, and struggled, half drowned himself, to the surface. and then some one caught him by the chin--and he knew no more until he awoke as from a bad dream to find himself lying in the sun on the narrow beach, while several faces looked down into his. "did you get him?" he asked weakly. "yep," answered outfield west, with something that sounded like a sob in his voice. "he's over there. he's all right. don't get up," he continued, as joel tried to move. "stay where you are. the fellows are bringing a boat, and we'll take you both back in it." "all right," answered joel. "but i guess i'll just look around a bit." and he sat up. at a little distance a group among which joel recognized the broad back of professor gibbs were still working over clausen. but even as he looked joel was delighted to see clausen's legs move and hear his weak voice speaking to the professor. then the boat was rowed in, the occupants panting with their hurried pull from the boathouse, and joel clambered aboard, disdaining the proffered help of west and others, and clausen was lifted to a seat in the bow. on the way up river joel told how it happened, west throwing in an eager word here and there, and clausen in a low whisper explaining that the shell had struck on a sunken rock or snag when passing the island, and had begun to sink almost immediately. "and cloud?" asked professor gibbs. there was no reply from either joel or clausen or-west. only one of the rowers answered coldly: "he's safe. i saw him on the path near the society building. he was running toward warren." a silence followed. then-- "you've never learned to swim, clausen?" "no, sir." "but it is the rule that no boy is allowed on the river who can not swim. how is that?" "i--i said i could, sir." "humph! your lie came near to costing you dear, clausen." then no more was said in the boat until the float was reached, although each occupant was busy with his thoughts. clausen was helped, pale and shaking, to his room, and west and joel, accompanied by several of their schoolmates, trotted away to the gymnasium, where joel was put through an invigorating bath and a subsequent rubbing that left him none the worse for his adventure. the story had to be told over and over to each new group that came in after practice, and finally the two friends escaped to west's room, where they discussed the affair from the view-point of participants. "when i got back to the bluff with the other fellows you weren't to be seen, joel," west was saying, "and i thought it was all up with poor old joel march." "that's just what i thought a bit later," responded joel, "when that fellow had me round the neck and was trying to show me the bottom of the river." "and then, when they brought you in, whipple and christie, and you were all white and--and ghastly like, you know"--outfield west whistled long and expressively--"then i thought you _were_ a goner." joel nodded. "and cloud?" he asked presently. "cloud has settled himself," responded west. "when he thought clausen was drowning he just cut and ran--i mean swam--to shore. the fellows are madder than hornets. as whipple said, you can't insist on a fellow saving another fellow from drowning, but you can insist on his not running away. they're planning to show cloud what they think of him, somehow. they wouldn't talk about it while i was around. i wonder why?" outfield stopped suddenly and frowned perplexedly. "why, a month or six weeks ago i would have been one of the first they would have asked to help! i'm afraid it's associating with you, joel. you're corrupting me! say, didn't i make a mess of it this afternoon? i got about ten yards off the beach and just had to give up and pull back--and pull hard. blessed if i didn't begin to wonder once if i'd make it! the fact is, joel, i'm an awful dab at swimming. and i ought to be punched for letting you go out there all alone." "nonsense, out! you couldn't help getting tired, especially if you aren't much of a swimmer. and now you speak of it i remember you saying once that you couldn't--" joel stopped short and looked at west in wondering amazement. and west grew red and his eyes sought the floor, and for almost a minute there was silence in the room. then joel arose and stood over the other lad with shining eyes. "out," he muttered huskily, "you're a brick!" west made no reply, but his feet shuffled nervously on the hearth. "to think of you starting out there after me! why, you're the--the hero, out; not me at all!" "oh, shut up!" muttered west. "i'll not! i'll tell every one in school!" cried joel. "i'll--" "if you do, joel march, i'll thrash you!" cried west. "you can't!--you can't, out!" then he paused and laid a hand affectionately on the other's shoulder as he asked softly: "and it's really so, out? you can't--" west shook his head. "i'm afraid it's so, joel," he answered apologetically. "you see out in iowa there isn't much chance for a chap to learn, and--and so before this afternoon, joel, i never swam a stroke in my life." chapter xii. the probation of blair. wallace clausen's narrow escape from death and joel's heroic rescue were nine-day wonders in the little world of the academy and village. in every room that night the incident was discussed from a to z: clausen's foolhardiness, march's grit and courage, west's coolness, cloud's cowardice. and next morning at chapel when joel, fearing to be late, hurried in and down the side aisle to his seat, his appearance was the signal for such an enthusiastic outburst of cheers and acclamations that he stopped, looked about in bewilderment, and then slipped with crimson cheeks into his seat, the very uncomfortable cynosure of all eyes. older boys, who were supposed to know, stoutly averred that such a desecration of the sacred solitude of chapel had never before been heard of, and "peg-leg," long since recovered from his contact with the bell rope, shook his gray head doubtfully, and joined his feeble tones with the cheers of the others. and then professor wheeler made his voice heard, and commanded silence very sternly, yet with a lurking smile, and silence was almost secured when, just as the door was being closed, outfield west slipped through, smiling, his handsome face flushed from his tear across the yard. and again the applause burst forth, scarcely less great in volume or enthusiasm, and west literally bolted back to the door, found it closed, was met with a grinning shake of the head from duffy, looked wildly about for an avenue of escape, and finding none, slunk to his seat at joel's side, while the boys joined laughter at his plight to their cheers for his courage. "you promised not to tell!" hissed west with blazing cheek. "i didn't, out; not a word," whispered joel. many eyes were still turned toward the door, but their owners were doomed to disappointment, for bartlett cloud failed to appear at chapel that morning, preferring to accept the penalty of absence rather than face his fellow-pupils assembled there in a body. but he did not escape public degradation; for, although he waited until the last moment to go to breakfast, he found the hall filled, and so passed to his seat amid a storm of hisses that plainly told the contempt in which his schoolmates held him. and then, as though scorning to remain in his presence, the place emptied as though by magic, and he was left with burning cheeks to eat his breakfast in solitude. joel and outfield were publicly thanked and commended by the principal, and every master had a handshake and a kind and earnest word for them. the boys learned that clausen had taken a severe cold from his immersion in the icy water, and had gone to the infirmary. thither they went and made inquiry. he would be up in a day or two, said mrs. creelman; but they could not see him, since professor gibbs had charged that the patient was not to be disturbed. and so, leaving word for him when he should awake, joel and west took themselves away, relieved at not having to receive any more thanks just then. but three days later clausen left the infirmary fully recovered, and joel came face to face with him on the steps of academy building. a number of fellows on their way to recitations stopped and watched the meeting. clausen colored painfully, appeared to hesitate for a moment, and then went to joel and held out his hand, which was taken and gripped warmly. "march, it's hard work thanking a fellow for saving your life, and--i don't know how to do it very well. but i guess you'll understand that--that--oh, hang it, march! you know what i'd like to say. i'm more grateful than i could tell you--ever. we haven't been friends, but it was my fault, i know, and if you'll let me, i'd like to be--to know you better." "you're more than welcome, clausen, for what i did. i'm awfully glad west and i happened to be on hand. but there wasn't anything that you or any fellow couldn't have done just as well, or better, because i came plaguey near making a mess of it. anyhow, it's well through with. as for being friends, i'll be very glad to be, clausen. and if you don't mind climbing stairs, and have a chance, come up and see me this evening. will you?" "yes, thanks. er--well, to-night, then." and clausen strode off. after supper west and clausen came up to joel's room, and the four boys sat and discussed all the topics known to school. richard sproule was at his best, and strove to do his share of the entertaining, succeeding quite beyond joel's expectations. when the conversation drew around to the subject of the upsetting on the river, clausen seemed willing enough to tell his own experiences, but became silent when cloud's name was mentioned. "i've changed my room, and haven't seen cloud since to speak to," he said. and so cloud's name was omitted from discussion. "i'm sorry," said clausen, "that i made such a dunce of myself when you were trying to get me out. i don't believe i knew what i was doing. i don't remember it at all." "i'm sure you didn't," answered joel. "i guess a fellow just naturally wouldn't, you know. but i was glad when you let go!" "yes, you must have been. the fellows all say you were terribly plucky to keep at it the way you did. when they got you it was all they could do to make you let go of me, they say." "the queerest thing," said west, with a laugh, "was to see post standing on shore and trying to throw a line to you all. it never came within twenty yards of you, but he kept on shouting: 'catch hold--catch hold, can't you? why don't you catch hold, you stupid apes?'" "and some one told me," said sproule, "that whipple took his shoes, sweater, and breeches off, and swam out there with his nose-guard on." "used it for a life-preserver," suggested west.--"did you get lectured, clausen?" "yes, he gave it to me hard; but he's a nice old duffer, after all. said i had had pretty near punishment enough. but i've got to keep in bounds all term, and can't go on the river again until i learn how to swim." "shouldn't think you'd want to," answered sproule. "are you still on probation, march?" asked clausen. "yes, and it doesn't look as though i'd ever get off. if i could find out who cut that rope i'd--i'd--" "well, i must be going back," exclaimed clausen hurriedly. "i wish, march, you'd come and see me some time. my room's warren. i'm in with a junior by the name of bowler. know him?" joel didn't know the junior, but promised to call, and west and clausen said good-night and stumbled down the stairway together. the next morning joel dashed out from his history recitation plump into stephen remsen, who was on his way to the office. "well, march, congratulations! i'm just back from a trip home and was going to look you up this afternoon and shake hands with you. i'll do it now. you're a modest-enough-looking hero, march." "i don't feel like a hero, either," laughed joel in an endeavor to change the subject. "i'm just out from greek history, and if i could tell mr. oman what i think--" "yes? but tell me, how did you manage--but we'll talk about that some other time. you're feeling all right after the wetting, are you?" and as joel answered yes, he continued: "do you think you could go to work again on the team if i could manage to get you off probation?" "try me!" cried joel. "do you think they'll let up on me?" "i'm almost certain of it. i'm on my way now to see professor wheeler, and i'll ask him about you. i have scarcely any doubt but that, after your conduct the other day, he will consent to reinstate you, march, if i ask him. and i shall be mighty glad to do so. to tell the truth, i'm worried pretty badly about--well, never mind. never cross a river until you come to it." "but, mr. remsen, sir," said joel, "do you mean that he will let me play just because--just on account of what happened the other day?" "on account of that and because your general conduct has been of the best; and also, because they have all along believed you innocent of the charge, march. you know i told you that when cloud and clausen were examined each swore that the other had not left the room that evening, and accounted for each other's every moment all that day. but, nevertheless, i am positive that professor wheeler took little stock in their testimony. and as for professor durkee, why, he pooh-pooed the whole thing. you seem to have made a conquest of professor durkee, march." "he was very kind," answered joel thoughtfully. "i don't believe, mr. remsen, that i want to be let off that way," he went on. "i'm no less guilty of cutting the bell rope than i was before the accident on the river. and until i can prove that i am not guilty, or until they let me off of their own free wills, i'd rather stay on probation. but i'm very much obliged to you, mr. remsen." and to this resolve joel adhered, despite all remsen's powers of persuasion. and finally that gentleman continued on his way to the office, looking very worried. the cause of his worry was known to the whole school two days later when the news was circulated that wesley blair was on probation. and great was the consternation. the football game with st. eustace academy was fast approaching, and there was no time to train a satisfactory substitute for blair's position at full-back, even had one been in reach. and whipple as temporary captain was well enough, but whipple as captain during the big game was not to be thought of with equanimity. the backs had already been weakened by the loss of cloud, who, despite his poor showing the first of the season, had it in him to put up a rattling game. and now to lose blair! what did the faculty mean? did it want hillton to lose? but presently hope took the place of despair among the pupils. he was going to coach up and pass a special exam the day before the game. professor ludlow was to help him with his modern languages and remsen with his mathematics, while digbee, that confirmed old grind, had offered to coach him on greek. and so it would be all right, said the school; you couldn't down blair; he'd pass when the time came! but remsen--and blair himself, had the truth been known--were not so hopeful. and remsen went to west and besought him to induce joel to allow him (remsen) to ask for his reinstatement. and this west very readily did, bringing to bear a whole host of arguments which slid off from joel like water from a duck's back. and remsen groaned and shook his head, but always presented a smiling, cheerful countenance in public. those were hard days for the first eleven. despair and discouragement threatened on all sides, and, as every thoughtful one expected, there was such a slump in the practice as kept remsen and whipple and poor blair awake o' nights during the next week. but whipple toiled like a trojan, and remsen beamed contentment and scattered tongue-lashings alternately; and blair, ever armed with a text-book, watched from the side-line whenever the chance offered. joel seldom went to the field those days. the sight of a canvas-clad player made him ready to weep, and a soaring pigskin sent him wandering away by himself along the river bluff in no enviable state of mind. but one day he did find his way to the gridiron during practice, and he and blair sat side by side, or raced down the field, even with a runner, and received much consolation in the sort of company that misery loves, and, deep in discussion of the faults and virtues of the players, forgot their troubles. "why, it wouldn't have mattered if you were playing, march," said blair. "for there's no harm in telling you now that we were depending on you for half the punting. remsen thinks you are fine and so do i. 'with march to take half the punting off your hands,' said he one day, 'you'll have plenty of time to run the team to the queen's taste.' why, we had you running on the track there, so you would get your lungs filled out and be able to run with the ball as well as kick it. if you were playing we'd be all right. but as it is, there isn't a player there that can be depended on to punt twenty yards if pushed. some of 'em can't even catch the ball if they happen to see the line breaking! st. eustace is eight pounds heavier in the line than we are, and three or four pounds heavier back of it. so what will happen? why, they'll get the ball and push us right down the field with a lot of measly mass plays, and we won't be able to kick and we won't be able to go through their line. and it's dollars to doughnuts that we won't often get round their ends. it's a hard outlook! of course, if i can pass--" but there blair stopped and sighed dolefully. and joel echoed the sigh. the last few days before the event of the term came, and found the first eleven in something approaching their old form. blair continued to burn the midnight oil and consume page after page of greek and mathematics and german, which, as he confided despondently to digbee, he promptly forgot the next moment. remsen made up a certain amount of lost sleep, and whipple gained the confidence of the team. joel studied hard, and refound his old interest in lessons, and dreamed nightly of the goodwin scholarship. west, too, "put in some hard licks," as he phrased it, and found himself climbing slowly up in the class scale. and so the day of the game came round. the night preceding it two things of interest happened: the eleven and substitutes assembled in the gymnasium and listened to a talk by remsen, which was designed less for instruction than to take the boys' mind off the morrow's game; and wesley blair took his examination in the four neglected studies, and made very hard work of it, and finally crawled off to a sleepless night, leaving the professors to make their decision alone. and as the chapel bell began to ring on thanksgiving day morning, digbee entered blair's room, and finding that youth in a deep slumber, sighed, wrote a few words on a sheet of paper, placed this in plain sight upon the table, and tiptoed noiselessly out. and the message read: "we failed on the greek. i'm sorrier than i can tell you.--digbee." chapter xiii the game with st. eustace. there is a tradition at hillton, almost as firmly inwrought as that which credits professor durkee with wearing a wig, to the effect that thanksgiving day is always rainy. to-day proved an exception to the rule. the sun shone quite warmly and scarce a cloud was to be seen. at two o'clock the grand stand was filled, and late arrivals had perforce to find accommodations on the grass along the side-lines. some fifty lads had accompanied their team from st. eustace, and the portion of the stand where they sat was blue from top to bottom. but the crimson of hillton fluttered and waved on either side and dotted the field with little spots of vivid color wherever a hilltonian youth or ally sat, strolled, or lay. yard and village were alike well-nigh deserted; here was the staid professor, the corpulent grocer, the irrepressible small boy, the important-looking senior, the shouting, careless junior, the giggling sister, the smiling mother, the patronizing papa, the crimson-bedecked waitress from the boarding house, the--the--band! yes, by all means, the band! there was no chance of overlooking the band. it stood at the upper end of the field and played and played and played. the band never did things by halves. when it played it played; and, as outfield west affirmed, "it played till the cows came home!" there were plenty of familiar faces here to-day; professor gibbs's, old "peg-leg" duffy's, professor durkee's, the village postmaster's, "old joe" pike's, and many, many others. on the ground just outside the rope sat west and a throng of boys from hampton house. there were cooke and cartwright and somers and digbee--and yes, wesley blair, looking very glum and unhappy. he had donned his football clothes, perhaps from force of habit, and sat there taking little part in the conversation, but studying attentively the blue-clad youths who were warming-up on the gridiron. a very stalwart lot of youngsters, those same youths looked to be, and handled the ball as though to the manner born, and passed and fell and kicked short high punts with discouraging ease and vim. but one acquaintance at least was missing. not bartlett cloud, for he sat with his sister and mother on the seats; not clausen, for he sat among the substitutes; not sproule, since he was present but a moment since. but joel march was missing. in his room at masters hall joel sat by the table with a greek history open before him. i fear he was doing but little studying, for now and then he arose from his chair, walked impatiently to the window, from which he could see in the distance the thronged field, bright with life and color, turned impatiently away, sighed, and so returned again to his book. but surely we can not tarry there with joel when hillton and st. eustace are about to meet in gallant if bloodless combat on the campus. let us leave him to sigh and sulk, and return to the gridiron. a murmur that rapidly grows to a shout arises from the grand stand, and suddenly every eye is turned up the river path toward the school. they are coming! a little band of canvas-armored knights are trotting toward the campus. the shouting grows in volume, and the band changes its tune to "hilltonians." nearer and nearer they come, and then are swinging on to the field, leaping the rope, and throwing aside sweaters and coats. big greer is in the lead, good-natured and smiling. then comes whipple, then warren, and the others are in a bunch--post, christie, fenton, littlefield, barnard, turner, cote, wills. the st. eustace contingent gives them a royal welcome, and west and cooke and somers and others take their places in front of the seats and lead the cheering. "rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah, hillton!" the mighty chorus sweeps across the campus and causes more than one player's heart to swell within him. "s-e-a, s-e-a, s-e-a, saint eustace!" what the cheer lacks in volume is atoned for by good will, and a clapping of hands from the hostile seats attests admiration. hillton is warming for the fray. greer and whipple are practicing snapping-back, the latter passing the ball to warren, who seizes it and runs a few steps to a new position, where the play is repeated. the guards and tackles are throwing themselves on to the ground and clutching rolling footballs in a way that draws a shudder of alarm from the feminine observer. stephen remsen is talking with the ends very earnestly under the goal posts, and post and wills are aiming balls at the goal with, it must be acknowledged, small success. then a whistle blows, the two teams congregate in the center of the field, the opposing captains flip a coin, the referee, a yates college man, utters a few words of warning, and the teams separate, st. eustace taking the ball and the home team choosing the northern goal. then the cheering lessens. st. eustace spreads out; cantrell, their center, places the ball; the referee's whistle sounds, the pigskin soars aloft, and the game is on. in charity toward hillton let us pass over the first half as soon as may be. suffice to tell that the wearers of the crimson fought their best; that whipple ran the team as well as even remsen could desire; that post made a startling run of forty yards, had only the st. eustace full-back between him and the goal--and then ran plump into that full-back's arms; that greer and barnard and littlefield stood like a stone wall--and went down like one; that wills kicked, and post kicked, and warren kicked, and none of them accomplished aught save to wring groans from the souls of all who looked on. in short, it was st. eustace's half from kick-off to call of time, and all because hillton had never a youth behind the line to kick out of danger or gain them a yard. for st. eustace was heavier in the line than hillton and heavier back of it, and with the ball once in her possession st. eustace had only to hammer away at center, guard, or tackle with "guards back" or "tandem," to score eventually. and that is what she did. and yet four times did hillton hold st. eustace literally on her goal-line and take the ball. and each time by hook or crook, by a short, weak punt or a clever, dashing run around end, did hillton win back a portion of her lost territory, only to lose it again at the second or third attempt to advance the ball. the halves were twenty-five minutes long, and in that first twenty-five minutes st. eustace scored but once, though near it thrice that many times. allen, st. eustace's right half-back, had plunged over the line for a touch-down at the end of fifteen minutes of play and terrill had missed an easy goal. then the grand stand was silent save for one small patch, whereon blue flags went crazy and swirled and leaped and danced up and down as though possessed of life. and over the field sped, sharp and triumphant, the st. eustace cheer. and the score stood: st. eustace , hillton o. the first half ended with the leather but ten yards from the north goal, and a great murmuring sigh of relief went up from the seats and from along the side-lines when the whistle sounded. then the hillton players, pale, dirty, half defeated, trotted lamely off the field and around the corner of the stand to the little weather-beaten shed which served for dressing room. and the blue-clad team trotted joyfully down to their stage, and there, behind the canvas protections were rubbed down and plastered up, and slapped on the back by their delighted coach and trainer. in the hillton quarters life was less cheerful during the ten minutes of intermission. after the fellows had rubbed and redressed, remsen talked for a minute or two. there was no scolding, and no signs of either disappointment or discouragement. but he cautioned the team against carelessness, predicted a tied score at the end of fifteen minutes, and called for three-times-three for hillton, which was given with reviving enthusiasm. a moment later the team trotted back to the field. "touch her down, touch her down, touch her down again! h-i-double-l-t-o-n!" chanted the wearers of the crimson; and--"st. eustace! st. eustace! st. eustace!" shouted the visitors as they waved their bright blue banners in air. the whistle piped merrily, the ball took its flight, and it was now or never for old hillton! stephen remsen joined the string of substitutes and found a seat on the big gray blanket which held browne and clausen. from there he followed the progress of the game. outwardly he was as happy and contented, as cool and disinterested, as one of the goal posts. inwardly he was railing against the fate that had deprived hillton of both the players who, had they been in the team, could have saved the crimson from defeat. wesley blair joined him, and with scarce a word they watched st. eustace revert to her previous tactics, and tear great gaping holes in the hillton line, holes often large enough to admit of a coach and four, and more than large enough to allow allen or jansen to go tearing, galloping through, with the ball safe clutched, for three, five? or even a dozen yards! no line can long stand such treatment, and, while the one-hundred-and-fifty-pound greer still held out, barnard, the big right-guard, was already showing signs of distress. st. eustace's next play was a small wedge on tackle, and although barnard threw himself with all his remaining strength into the breach he was tossed aside like a bag of feathers and through went the right and left half-backs, followed by full with the ball, and pushed onward by left-end and quarter. when down was called the ball was eight yards nearer hillton's goal, and barnard lay still on the ground. whipple held up his hand. thistelweight--a youth of some one hundred and forty pounds--struggled agitatedly with his sweater and bounded into the field, and barnard, white and weak, was helped limping off. for awhile st. eustace fought shy of right-guard, and then again the weight of all the backs was suddenly massed at that point, and, though a yard resulted, the crimson wearers found cause for joy, and a ringing cheer swept over the field. but littlefield at left-guard was also weakening, and the tackle beside him was in scarce better plight. and so, with tandem on tackle, wedge, or guard back, st. eustace plowed along toward the hillton goal, and a deep silence held the field save for the squad of blue-decked cheerers on the seats. remsen looked at his watch. "eighteen minutes to play," he announced quietly. blair nodded. he made no attempt to disguise his dejection. clausen heard, and suddenly turned toward the coach. he was pale, and remsen wondered at his excitement. "can't we tie them, sir?" he asked breathlessly. "i'm afraid not. and even if we could they'd break loose." clausen paid no heed to the sorry joke. "but they'll win, sir! isn't there anything to do?" remsen stared. then he smiled. "failing an extraordinary piece of luck, my lad, we're already beaten. our line can't hold them; we have no one to kick, even should we get a chance, and--" "but if blair was there, sir, or march?" "it might make a difference. hello! there they go through tackle-guard hole again. lord, six yards if an inch!" blair groaned and rolled over in despair. the whistle sounded, and as the pile of writhing youths dissolved it was seen that tom warren was hurt. out trotted the rubber. the players sank exhausted to the ground and lay stretched upon the sward, puffing and panting. two minutes went by. then whipple called for clausen. "clausen," cried remsen turning, "go in and--" but clausen was not to be seen. "clausen!" cried a dozen voices. there was no response, and browne was taken on instead, and warren, with an ankle that failed him at every step, struggled off the field. "what's become of clausen?" asked remsen. but no one could answer. the play went on. with the ball on hillton's twenty-yard line a fumble gave it to the home team, and on the first down browne gathered it in his arms and tried to skirt st. eustace's left end, but was thrown with a loss of a yard. a similar play with wills as the runner was tried around the other end and netted a yard and a half. it was the third down and four and a half yards to gain. back went the ball to post and he kicked. but it was a poor performance, that kick, and only drove the pigskin down the side-line to the forty-yard line, where it bounded in touch. but it delayed the evil moment of another score for st. eustace, and the seats cheered. "twelve minutes left," announced remsen. relentless as fate the st. eustace forwards surged on toward the opposing goal. two yards, three yards, one yard, five yards, half a yard, always a gain, never a check, until once more the leather reposed just in front of the hillton goal and midway between the ten and fifteen-yard line. then a plunge through the tackle-guard hole, followed by a tandem on guard, and another five yards was passed. the cheering from the wearers of the blue was now frantic and continuous. there was two years of defeat to make up for, and victory was hovering over the azure banner! "eight minutes to play," said remsen. "if we can only keep them from scoring again!" suddenly there was a murmur from the seats, then a cry of surprise from remsen's side, then a shout of exultation that gathered and grew as it traveled along the line. and around the corner of the stand came a youth who strove to lace his torn and tattered canvas jacket as he ran. remsen leaped to his feet, dropping his pipe unnoticed, and hastened toward him. they met and for a moment conversed in whispers. "it's joel march!" cried blair. "he's going to play!" exclaimed a dozen voices. "but he can't," cried a dozen others. "he's on probation." "he is! he is! he's going on! he's going to play!" and so he was. whipple had already seen him, and had sunk to the ground nursing an ankle which had suddenly gone lame. "time!" he cried, and obedient to his demand the referee's whistle piped. "give your place to post, wills!" he commanded, and then, limping to joel, he led that youth apart. "can you play?" he asked hoarsely. "yes." "then get in there at full-back, and, o march, kick us out of this bloody place! i'll give you the ball on the next down. kick it for all you're worth." he gave joel a shove. "all right, mr. referee!" the whistle sounded. forward charged st. eustace. but, gathering encouragement from the knowledge that back of them stood a full who would put them out of danger if the opportunity were given him, hillton stood fast. "second down, five yards to gain!" cried the umpire. again the wearers of bedraggled blue stockings surged and broke against the line. and again there was no gain. back of hillton, less than eight yards away, lay the goal-line. desperation lends strength. huddled together, shoulder to shoulder, the backs bracing from behind, the crimson-clad youths awaited the next charge. it was "the thin red line" again. then back went the ball, there was a moment of grinding canvas, of muttered words and smothered gasps, of swaying, clutching, falling, and "down!" was heard. "hillton's ball; first down," announced the umpire. what a cheer went up from the grand stand! what joy was in remsen's heart as the st. eustace full-back went trotting up the field and greer stooped over the ball! then came a pause, a silence. every one knew what to look for. squarely between the posts and directly under the cross-bar stood joel march, his left foot on the goal-line. back came the ball, straight and low into joel's outstretched hands. the line blocked long and hard. one step forward, an easy, long swing of his right leg, and joel sent the ball sailing a yard over the upstretched hands of the opposing line and far and high down the field. there it was gathered into the arms of the st. eustace full-back, but ere that player had put his foot twice to ground he was thrown, and the teams lined up on st. eustace's forty-five-yard line. then it was that the god of battle befriended hillton; for on the next play st. eustace made her first disastrous fumble, and christie, hillton's right end, darted through, seized the rolling spheroid, and started down the field. five, ten, fifteen, twenty yards he sped, the st. eustace backs trailing after him. "a touch-down!" cried remsen. "no, the half's gaining! he's got him! no, missed him, by jove! a-ah!" the run was over, and christie lay panting on the ground, with the triumphant st. eustace half-back sitting serenely on his head; for, although the latter had missed his tackle, christie had slipped in avoiding him. but cheers for christie and hillton filled the afternoon air, and the two elevens lined up near st. eustace's twenty-five-yard line, yet well over toward the side of the field. "if it was only in the middle of the field," groaned blair, "a place-kick would tie the score. how much time is there, mr. remsen?" "about two and a half minutes," answered remsen. "but i've an idea that, middle or no middle, whipple's going to signal a kick." "it can't be done," answered blair with conviction, "drop or placement! march is only fair at goals, and at that angle--" "what's the matter with the man?" cried remsen; "what's he up to?" for the hillton backs were clustered well up behind the line as though for a wedge attack. and as remsen wondered, the ball was put in play, the line blocked sharply, and christie left his place at right end, and skirting behind the backs received the ball by a double pass _via_ right half-back and ran for the middle of the field, the backs helping the end and tackle to hold the st. eustace right line. christie gained the center of the gridiron and advanced a yard toward the opponent's goal ere the st. eustace right half-back reached him. then there was a quick line-up, and joel took up his position for a kick. "well done, whipple!" cried remsen and blair in a breath. "but the time!" muttered remsen, "does he know--" "one minute to play!" came the ominous announcement. then, while a snap of the fingers could have been heard the length of the field, whipple glanced deliberately around at the backs, slapped the broad back of the center sharply, seized the snapped ball, and made a swift, straight pass to joel. then through the hillton line went the st. eustace players, breaking down with vigor born of desperation the blocking of their opponents. with a leap into the air the st. eustace left-guard bore down straight upon joel; there was a concussion, and the latter went violently to earth, but not before his toe had met the rebounding ball; and the latter, describing a high arc, sailed safely, cleanly over the bar and between the posts! and then, almost before the ball had touched the ground, the whistle blew shrilly, and apparent defeat had been turned into what was as good as victory to the triumphant wearers of the hillton crimson! hillton and st. eustace had played a tie. and over the ropes, rushing, leaping, shouting, broke the tide of humanity, crimson flags swirled over a sea of heads, and pandemonium ruled the campus! and on the ground where he had fallen lay joel march. chapter xiv. the goodwin scholarship. "but how did it all happen?" asked outfield west breathlessly. he had just entered and was seated on the edge of the bed whereon joel lay propped up eating his thanksgiving dinner from a tray. it was seven o'clock in the evening, and dickey sproule was not yet back. the yard was noisy with the shouts of lads returning from the dining hall, and an occasional cheer floated up, an echo of the afternoon's event. joel moved a dish of pudding away from outfield's elbow as he answered between mouthfuls of turkey: "i was up here studying at the table there when i heard some one coming up stairs two steps at a time. it was clausen. he threw open the door and cried: 'they're winning, march, they're winning! come quick! remsen says we can tie them if you play. it's all right, march. we'll go to the office and i'll tell everything. only come, hurry!' well, of course i thought first he was crazy. then i guessed what was up, because i knew that eustace had scored--" "you couldn't have known; you were studying." "well, i--i wasn't studying all the time, out. so up i jumped, and we raced over to the office and found professor wheeler there asleep on the leather couch under the window. 'it was cloud and i, sir, that cut the rope!' said clausen. 'i'm very sorry, sir, and i'll take the punishment and glad to. but march hadn't anything to do with it, sir; he didn't even know anything about it, sir!' professor wheeler was about half awake, and he thought something terrible was the matter, and it took the longest time to explain what clausen was talking about. then he said he was glad to learn that i was innocent, and i thanked him, and he started to ask clausen a lot of questions. 'but st. eustace is winning, sir!' i cried. he looked at me in astonishment. 'indeed, i'm very sorry to hear it,' he said. 'but it isn't too late now, sir,' said clausen. 'for what?' asked 'wheels.' 'for me to go on the team,' said i. 'you know, sir, you put me on probation and i can't play.' 'oh,' said he, 'but you were put on probation by the faculty, and the faculty must take you off.' 'but meanwhile hillton will be beaten!' said clausen. 'can't he play, sir? he can save the day!' wheels thought a bit. 'what's the score?' he asked. clausen told him. 'yes,' he said at last, 'run and get to work. i'll explain to the faculty. and by the way, march, remember that a kick into touch is always the safest.'" "isn't he a rummy old guy?" exclaimed west. "and then?" "then i struck out for the gym, got into my canvas togs somehow or other, and reached the field just about in time. luckily i knew the signals. and then after i'd kicked that goal that big eustace chap struck me like a locomotive, and i went down on the back of my head; and that's all except that they brought me up here and professor gibbs plastered me up and gave me a lot of nasty sweet water to take." "and clausen?" "from the little i heard i think cloud cut the rope and made clausen promise not to tell. and he kept his promise until he saw hillton getting beaten yesterday, and then he couldn't stand it, and just up and told everything, and saved us a licking." "didn't i tell you cloud did it? didn't i--" there came a knock on the door and in response to joel's invitation professor wheeler and stephen remsen entered. west leaped off the bed--there is a rule at hillton forbidding occupying beds save for sleep--and upset joel's tea. professor wheeler smiled as he said: "west, you're rather an uneasy fellow to have in a sick-room. get something and dry that off the floor there, please.--well, march, i understand you got there in the nick of time to-day. mr. remsen says you saved us from defeat." "indeed he did, professor; no one else save blair could have done it to-day. that goal from the twenty-five-yard line was as pretty a performance as i've ever seen.--how are you feeling, lad?" "all right," answered joel. "i've got a bit of a headache, but i'll be better in the morning." "your appetite doesn't seem to have failed you," said the principal. "no, sir, i was terribly hungry." "that's a good sign, they say.--west, you may take your seat again." the professor and stephen remsen occupied the two chairs, and west without hesitation sat down again on the bed. "march, i have learned the truth of that affair. bartlett cloud, it appears, cut the bell rope simply in order to throw suspicion on you. he managed to secure a letter of yours through--hem!--through your roommate, who, it seems, also bears you a grudge for some real or fancied slight. clausen, while a party to the affair, appears to have taken no active part in it, and only remained silent because threatened with bodily punishment by cloud. these boys will be dealt with as they deserve. "but i wish to say to you that all along it has been the belief of the faculty, the entire faculty, that you had no hand in the matter, and we are all glad to have our judgments vindicated. an announcement will be made to-morrow which will set you right again before the school. and now, in regard to richard sproule; do you know of any reason why he should wish you harm?" "no, sir. we don't get along very well, but--" "i see. now, it will be best for you to change either your room or your roommate. have you any preference which you do?" "i should like to change my room, sir. i should like to go in with west. he has a room to himself in hampton, and wants to have me join him." "but do you realize that the rent will be very much greater, march?" "yes, sir, but west wants me to pay only what i have paid for this room, sir. he says he'd have to pay for the whole room if i didn't go in with him, and so it's fair that way. do you think it is, sir?" "what would your father say, west?" "i've asked him, sir. he says to go ahead and do as i please." the principal smiled as he replied: "well, march, then move over to west's room to-morrow. it will be all fair enough. and i shall be rather glad to have you in hampton house. digbee is an example of splendid isolation there; it will be well to have some one help him maintain the dignity of study amid such a number of--er--well, say lilies of the field, west; they toil not, if you remember, and neither do they spin. don't get up in the morning if your head still hurts, march; we don't want you to get sick.--keep a watch on him, west; and, by the way, if he wants more tea, run over to the dining hall and tell the steward i said he was to have it. good-night, boys." "good-night, sir." remsen shook hands with joel. "march, i hope i shall be able to repay you some day for what you did this afternoon. it meant more to me, i believe, than it did to even you fellows. i'm going thursday next. come and see me before then if you can. good-night." when the door had closed outfield shouted, "hurrah!" in three different keys and pirouetted about the room. "it's all fixed, joel. welcome to hampton, my lad! welcome to the classic shades of donothing hall! we will live on pickles and comb-honey, and feast like the romans of old! we--" he paused. "say, joel, i guess cloud will be expelled, eh?" joel considered thoughtfully with a spoonful of rice pudding midway between saucer and mouth. then he swallowed the delicacy. "yes," he replied, "and i'm awful glad of it." but joel was mistaken; for cloud was not to be found the next morning, and the condition of his room pointed to hasty flight. he had taken alarm and saved himself from the degradation of public dismissal. and so he passed from hillton life and was known there no more. clausen escaped with a light punishment, for which both joel and west were heartily glad. "because when you get him away from cloud," said west, "clausen's not a bad sort, you know." richard sproule was suspended for the balance of the fall term, and was no longer monitor of his floor. perhaps the heaviest punishment was the amount of study he was required to do in order to return after christmas recess, entailing as it did a total relinquishment of mayne reid, scott, and cooper. and when he did return his ways led far from joel's. very naturally that youth had now risen to the position of popular hero, and unapproachable seniors slapped him warmly on the shoulder--a bit of familiarity joel was too good-natured to resent--and wide-eyed little juniors admired him open-mouthed as he passed them. but joel bore himself modestly withal, and was in no danger of being spoiled by a state of things that might well have turned the head of a more experienced lad than he. it is a question if outfield did not derive more real pleasure and pride out of joel's popularity than did joel himself. every new evidence of the liking and admiration in which the latter was held filled outfield's heart with joy. at last joel found time to begin his course in golf, and almost any day the two lads might have been seen on the links, formidably armed with a confusing assortment of clubs, outfield quite happy to be exhibiting the science of his favorite sport, and joel plowing up the sod in a way to cause a green-tender, had there been such a person on hand, the most excruciating pain. but joel went at golf as he went at everything else, bending all his energies thereto, and driving thought of all else from his mind, and so soon became, if not an expert, at least a very acceptable player who won commendation from even west--and where golf was concerned outfield was a most unbiased and unsympathetic judge. one afternoon whipple and blair, the latter once more free from probation, played a match with joel and west, and were fairly beaten by three holes--a fact due less, it is true, to joel's execution with the driver than west's all-around playing. but joel, nevertheless, derived not a little encouragement from that result, and bade fair to become almost if not quite as enthusiastic a golfer as west. at first, in the earlier stages of his initiation, joel was often discouraged, whereupon west was wont to repeat the famous reply of the old st. andrews player to the college professor, who did not understand why, when he could teach latin and greek, he failed so dismally at golf. "ay, i ken well ye can teach the latin and greek," said the veteran, "but it takes _brains_, mon, to play the gowf!" and joel more than half agreed with him. remsen departed a week after thanksgiving, being accompanied to the train by almost as enthusiastic a throng as had welcomed him upon his arrival. he had consented to return to hillton the following year and coach the eleven once more. "i had expected to make this the last year," he said, "but now i shall coach, if you will have me, until we win a decisive victory from st. eustace. i can't break off my coaching career with a tie game, you see." and christie occasioned laughter and applause by replying, "i'm afraid you're putting a premium on defeat, sir, because if we win next year's game you won't come back." he shook hands cordially with joel, and said: "when the election of next year's captain comes off, my boy, it's a pretty sure thing that you'll have a chance at it. but if you'll take my advice you'll let it alone. i tell you this because i'm your friend all through. next fall will be time enough for the honors; this year should go to hard work without any of the trouble that falls to the lot of captain." "thank you, mr. remsen," joel answered. "i hadn't thought of their doing such a thing. i don't see why they should want me. but if it's offered you may be sure i'll decline. i'd be totally unfitted for it; and, besides, i haven't got the time!" and so, when two weeks later the election was held in the gymnasium one evening, joel did decline, to the evident regret of all the team, and the honor went to christie, since both blair and whipple were seniors and would not be in school the next autumn. and christie made a very manly, earnest speech, and subsequently called for three times three for blair, and three times three for remsen, and nine times three for hillton, all of which were given with a will. as the christmas recess approached, joel spent a great deal of valuable time in unnecessary conjecture as to his chance of winning the goodwin scholarship, and undoubtedly lessened his chance of success by worrying. the winners were each year announced in school hall on the last day of the term. the morning of that day found outfield west very busy packing a heap of unnecessary golf clubs and wearing apparel into his trunk and bags, and found joel seated rather despondently on the lounge looking on. for west was to spend his vacation with an uncle in boston, and joel, although outfield had begged him to go along, asserting positively that his uncle would be proud and happy to see him (joel), was to spend the recess at school, since he felt he could not afford the expense of the trip home. west hesitated long over a blue-checked waistcoat and at length sighed and left it out. "isn't it most time to go over?" asked joel. "no; don't you be in a hurry. there's a half hour yet. and if you're going to get the goodwin you'll get it, and there isn't any use stewing over it," replied west severely. "as for me, i'm glad i'm not a grind and don't have to bother my head about such tommyrot. just sit on the lid of this pesky thing, joel, will you? i'm afraid that last coat was almost too much for it." but even suspense comes to an end, and presently joel found himself seated by west in the crowded hall, and felt his face going red and pale by turns, and knew that his heart was beating with unaccustomed violence beneath his shabby vest. professor wheeler made his speech--and what a long one it seemed to many a lad!--and then the fateful list was lifted from the table. "senior class scholarships have been awarded as follows," announced the principal. "the calvin scholarship to albert park digbee, waltham, massachusetts." joel forgot his unpleasant emotions while he clapped and applauded. but they soon returned as the list went on. every announcement met with uproarous commendation, and boy after boy arose from his seat and more or less awkwardly bowed his recognition. the principal had almost completed the senior list. "ripley scholarships to george simms lennox, new york city; john fiske, brookville, mississippi; carleton sharp eaton, milton, massachusetts; william george woodruff, portland, maine. masters scholarships to howard mcdonnell, indianapolis, indiana; thomas grey, yonkers, new york; stephen lutger williams, connellsville, rhode island; barton hobbs, farmington, maine; walter haskens browne, denver, colorado; and justin thorp smith, chicago, illinois." joel's hands were cold and his feet just wouldn't keep still. the principal leaned down and took up the upper middle class list. west nudged joel smartly in the ribs, and whispered excitedly: "now! keep cool, my boy, keep cool!" then joel heard professor wheeler's voice reading from the list, and for a moment it seemed to come from a great distance. "upper middle class scholarships have been awarded as follows:" there was a pause while he found his place. "goodwin scholarship to harold burke reeves, saginaw, michigan." west subsided in his seat with a dismal groan. joel did not hear it. it is doubtful if he heard anything until several minutes later, when the pronouncement of his name awoke him from the lethargy into which he had fallen. "masters scholarships to joel march, marchdale, maine--" "it's better than nothing, joel," whispered outfield. "it's fifty dollars, you know." but joel made no reply. what was a masters to him who had set his heart on the first prize of all? presently, when the lists were over, he stole quietly out unnoticed by his chum, and when west returned to the room he found joel at the table, head in hands, an open book before him. west closed the door and walked noiselessly forward in the manner of one in a sick-room, at length he asked in a voice which strove to be natural and unconcerned: "what are you doing, joel?" the head over the book only bent closer as its owner answered doggedly: "studying greek!" chapter xv. the boat race. the balance of that school year was a season of hard study for joel. it was not in his nature to remain long despondent over the loss of the goodwin scholarship, and a week after the winter term commenced he was as cheerful and light-hearted as ever. but his failure served to spur him on to renewed endeavors, and as a result he soon found himself at the head of the upper middle. rightly or wrongly--and there is much to be said on both sides--he gave up sports almost entirely. now and then west persuaded him to an afternoon on the links, but this was infrequent. the hockey season opened with the first hard ice on the river, and west joined the team that met and defeated st. eustace in january. there was one result of his application to study that joel had not looked for. outfield west, perhaps from a mere desire to be companionable, took to lessons, and, much to his own pretended dismay, began to earn the reputation of a diligent student. "you won't talk," growled west, "you won't play chess, you won't eat things. you just drive a chap to study!" as spring came in the school talk turned to baseball and rowing. for the former joel had little desire, but rowing attracted him, and he began to allow himself the unusual pleasure of an hour away from lessons in the afternoon that he might go down to the boathouse with west, and there, in a sunny angle of the building, watch the crews at work upon the stream. hillton was trying very hard to turn out a winning crew, and whipple, who was captain of the first eight, toiled as no captain had toiled before in the history of hillton aquatics. the baseball season ended disastrously with a severe drubbing for the hillton nine at the hands of st. eustace on the latter's home ground. the fellows said little, but promised to atone for it when the boat race came off. this occurred two days before class day, which this year came on june d, and very nearly every pupil traveled down the river to marshall to witness it. the day away from school came as a welcome relief after the worry and brain-aching of the spring examination, and joel, although he knew for a certainty that he had passed with the highest marks, was glad to obey outfield's stern decree and accompany that youth to the scene of the race. they went by train and arrived at the little town at noon. after a regal repast of soup and sandwiches, ice cream and chocolate éclairs, the two set out for the river side. the hillton crew had come down the day before with their new shell, and had spent the night at the only hotel in the village. the race was to be started at three, and west and joel spent the intervening time in exploring the river banks for a mile in each direction from the bridge, and in getting their feet wet and their trousers muddy. by the hour set for the start the river sides were thronged with spectators, and rival cheers floated across the sparkling stream from bank to bank. that side of the river whereon st. eustace academy lies hidden behind a hill held the st. eustace supporters, while upon the other bank the hillton lads and their friends congregated. but the long bridge, something more than a mile below, was common ground, and here the foes mingled and strove to outshout each other. the river is broad here below marshall, and forms what is almost a basin, hemmed in on either side by low wooded bluffs. from where joel and west, with a crowd of hillton fellows, stood midway upon the bridge, the starting point, nearly a mile and a half up stream was plainly visible, and the finish line was a few rods above them. west was acquainted with several of the st. eustace boys, and to these joel was introduced and was welcomed by them with much cordiality and examined with some curiosity. he had accomplished the defeat of their eleven, and they would know what sort of youth he was. while they were talking, leaning against the railing of the bridge, joel suddenly caught west's arm and drew his attention to a boy some distance away who was looking toward the starting point through a pair of field glasses. west indulged in a long whistle, plainly indicative of amazement. "who's that fellow over there?" he asked. one of the st. eustace boys followed the direction of his gaze. "well, you ought to know him. he knows you. that's bartlett cloud. he was at hillton last term, and left because he was put off the eleven; or so he says." "humph!" ejaculated outfield west. "he left to keep from being expelled, he did. he left because he was mixed up in some mighty dirty work, and knew that, even if they let him stay in school, no decent fellow would associate with him. and you can tell him from me that if he says i know him he's a liar. i don't know him from--from mud! i should think you'd be proud of him at eustace." "we didn't know that," answered the st. eustace boy in perplexity. "we thought--" "what?" demanded west as the other paused. "well, he said that the coach was down on him, and gave his place to your friend here, and--" "no," answered joel quietly. "i didn't take his place. he tried to strike me one day at practice, and remsen, our coach, put him off. that was all. afterward he--he--but it isn't worth talking about." "but i didn't know that st. eustace made a practice of taking in cast-off scamps from other schools," said west. the other lad flushed as he answered apologetically: "we didn't know, west. he said he was a friend of yours and so--but the other fellows shall know about him." then there was a stir on the bridge and a voice cried, "there they go to the float!" up the stream at the starting point two shells were seen leisurely paddling toward a float anchored a few yards off the right bank. the colors were easily distinguishable, and especially did the crimson of hillton show up to the eager watchers on the bridge. every eye was turned toward the two boats, and a silence held the throng, a silence which lasted until sixteen oar-blades caught the water almost together, and the two boats began to leave the float behind. then cries of "they're off!" were raised, and there was a general shoving and pushing for places of observation on the up-stream side of the structure, while along the banks the crowds began to move about again. it was joel's first sight of a boat race, and he found himself becoming very excited, while west, veteran though he was, breathed a deal faster, and talked in disjointed monosyllables. "side by side!... no, hillton's ahead!... isn't she?... eh ... you can't... see from here ... which is ... leading.... get another hold on my ... arm, ... joel; that one's black ... and blue! ... hillton's ahead! hillton's ahead by a half length!" but she wasn't. side by side the two shells swept on toward the first half-mile mark. they were both rowing steadily, with no endeavor to draw away, hillton at thirty strokes, st. eustace at thirty-two. the course was two miles, almost straight away down the river. the half-mile buoy was not distinguishable from where joel stood, but the mile was plainly in sight. some one who held a stop-watch behind joel uttered an impatient growl at the slow time the crews were making. "there'll be no record broken to-day," he said. "they're eight seconds behind already for the first quarter." but joel didn't care about that. if only those eight swaying forms might pass first beyond the finish line he cared but little what the time might be. the cheering, which had ceased as the boats left the start, now began again as they approached the finish of the first quarter of the course. "rah-rah-rah; rah-rah-rah; rah-rah-rah, hillton!" rang out from the right bank. "s, e, a; s, e, a; s, e, a; saint eustace!" replied the left bank with a defiant roar of sound that was caught by the hills and flung back in echoes across the water. "saint eustace! saint eustace! saint eustace!" "hillton! hillton! hillton!" then the cheering grew louder and more frenzied as, boat to boat, the rival eights passed the half-mile buoy, swinging along with no perceptible effort over the blue, dancing water. "anybody's race," said outfield west, as he lowered his glasses. "but hillton's got the outside course on the turn." the turn was no more than a slight divergence from the straight line at the one-mile mark, but it might mean from a half to three quarters of a length to the outside boat should they maintain their present relative positions. for the next half mile the same moderate strokes were used until the half-course buoy was almost reached, when hillton struck up to thirty-two and then to thirty-four, and st. eustace increased her stroke to the latter number. it was a race for the position nearest the buoy, and st. eustace won it, hillton falling back a half length as the course was changed. then the strokes in both boats went back to thirty-two, hillton seemingly willing to keep in the rear. on and on they came, the oars taking the water in unison, and shining like silver when the sun caught the wet blades. and back, the wakes seemed like two ruled marks, so straight they were. there was no let up of the cheering now. back and forth went challenge and reply across the stream, while the watchers on the bridge fairly shook that iron-trussed structure with the fury of their slogans. as the boats neared the three-quarter buoy it was plain to all who looked that the real race was yet to come. hillton suddenly hit up her stroke to thirty-four, to thirty-six, to thirty-eight, and, a bit ragged perhaps, but nevertheless at a beautiful speed, drew up to st. eustace, shoved her nose a quarter length past, and hung there, despite st. eustace's best efforts to shake her off. both boats were now straining their uttermost, and from now on to the finish it was to be the stiffest rowing of which each was capable. hillton _was_ ragged on the port side, and bow was plainly tuckered. but st. eustace also showed signs of wear, and there was an evident disposition the length of the boat to hurry through the stroke. joel was straining his eyes on the crimson backs, and west was vainly and unconsciously endeavoring to see through the glasses from the wrong end. the three-quarter mark swept past the boats, and hillton still maintained her lead. the judges' boat, a tiny, saucy naphtha launch, had steamed down to the finish, and now quivered there as though from impatience and excitement, and awaited the victor. suddenly there was a groan of dismay from the st. eustace supporters. and no wonder. their boat had suddenly dropped behind until its nose was barely lapping the rival shell. number four was rowing "out of time and tune," as joel shouted triumphantly, and although he soon steadied down, the damage was hard to repair, for hillton, encouraged by the added lead, was rowing magnificently. but with strokes that brought cries of admiration even from her foes st. eustace struggled gloriously to recover her lost water. little by little the nose of her boat crept up and up, until it was almost abreast with number three's oar, while cries of encouragement from bridge and shore urged her on. but now green, the hillton coxswain, turned his head slightly, studied the position of the rival eight, glanced ahead at the judges' boat, and spoke a short, sharp command. and instantly, ragged port oars notwithstanding, the crimson crew seemed to lift their boat from the water at every stroke, and st. eustace, struggling gamely, heroically, to the last moment, fell farther and farther behind. a half length of clear water showed between them, then a length, then--and now the line was but a stone-throw away--two fair lengths separated the contestants. and amid the deafening, frenzied shrieks of their schoolmates, their crimson-clad backs rising and falling like clock-work, all signs of raggedness gone, the eight heroes swept over the line winners by two and a half lengths from the st. eustace crew, and disappeared under the bridge to emerge on the other side with trailing oars and wearied limbs. and as they went from sight, joel, stooping, yelling, over the railing, saw, with the piercing shriek of the launch's whistle in his ears, the upraised face of green, the coxswain, smiling placidly up at him. chapter xvi. good-by to hillton. joel took the preliminary examination for harwell university in june, and left class day morning for home. he had the satisfaction of seeing his name in the list of honor men for the year, having attained a or b in all studies for the three terms. the parting with outfield west was shorn of much of its melancholy by reason of the latter's promise to visit joel in august. the suggestion had been made by outfield, and joel had at once warmly pressed him to come. "only, you know, out," joel had said, "we don't live in much style. and i have to work a good deal, so there won't be much time for fun." "what do you have to do?" asked west. "well, milk, and go to mill, and perhaps there will be threshing to do before i leave. and then there's lots of other little things around the farm that i generally do when i'm home." "that's all right," answered west cheerfully. "i'll help. i milked a cow once. only--say, what do you hit a cow with when you milk her?" "i don't hit her at all," laughed joel. "do you?" "i _did_. i hit her with a plank and she up and kicked me eight times before i could move off. perhaps i riled her. i thought you should always hit them before you begin." joel had not seen his parents since he had left home in the preceding fall, and naturally a warm welcome awaited him. mr. march, to joel's relief, did not appear to regret the loss of the goodwin scholarship nearly as much as joel himself had done, and seemed rather proud than otherwise of the lad's first year at the academy. in august outfield west descended at the little station accompanied by two trunks, a golf-bag, a photograph camera, and a dress-suit case; and farmer march regarded the pile of luggage apprehensively, and undoubtedly thought many unflattering thoughts of west. but as no one could withstand that youth for long, at the end of three days both joel's father and mother had accepted him unreservedly into their hearts. as for joel's brother ezra, and his twelve-year-old sister, they had never hesitated for a single instant. mr. march absolutely forbade joel from doing any of the chores after west arrived at the farm, and sent the boys off on a week's hunting and fishing excursion with black betty and the democrat wagon. west took his camera along, but was prevailed on to leave his golf clubs at the farm; and the two had eight days of ideal fun in the maine woods, and returned home with marvelous stories of adventure and a goodly store of game and fish. west was somewhat disappointed in the golfing facilities afforded by the country about marchdale, but politely refrained from allowing the fact to be known by joel. outside of the "pasture" and the "hill-field" the ground was too rocky and broken to make driving a pleasure, and after losing half a dozen balls outfield restricted himself to the pasture, where he created intense interest on the part of the cows. he found that he got along much more peaceably with them when he appeared without his red coat. in september, happy, healthy, and well browned, the two boys returned to hillton with all the dignity becoming the reverend senior. west had abandoned his original intention of entering yates college, and had taken with joel the preliminary examination for harwell; and they were full of great plans for the future, and spent whole hours telling each other what marvelous things awaited them at the university. joel's senior year at hillton was crowded with hard work and filled with incident. but, as it was more or less a repetition of the preceding year, it must needs be told of briefly. if space permitted i should like to tell of joel's first debate in the senior debating society, in which he proved conclusively and to the satisfaction of all present that the political privileges of a citizen of athens under the constitution of cleisthenes were far superior to those of a citizen of rome at the time of the second punic war. and i should like to tell of the arduous training on the football field and in the gymnasium, by means of which joel increased his sphere of usefulness on the eleven, and learned to run with the ball as well as kick it, so proving the truth of an assertion made by stephen remsen, who had said, "with such long legs as those, march, you should be as fine a runner as you are a kicker." and i should like to go into tiresome detail over the game with st. eustace, in which joel made no star plays, but worked well and steadily at the position of left half-back, and thereby aided in the decisive victory for hillton that remsen had spoken of; for the score at the end of the first half was, hillton , st. eustace ; and at the end of the game, hillton , st. eustace . joel and remsen became fast and familiar friends during that term, and when, a few days after the st. eustace game, remsen took his departure from the academy, no more to coach the teams to glorious victory or honorable defeat, joel of all the school was perhaps the sorriest to have him go. but remsen spoke hopefully of future meetings at harwell, and joel and west waved him farewell from the station platform and walked back to the yard in the manner of chief mourners at a funeral. outfield west again emerged triumphant from the golf tournament, and the little pewter mug remained securely upon his mantel, a receptacle for damaged balls. for some time the two missed the familiar faces of digbee and blair and whipple and some few others. somers and cooke still remained, the latter with radiant hopes of graduation the coming june, the former to take advanced courses in several studies. clausen was a frequent visitor to number four hampton, and both west and joel had conceived a liking for him which, as the year went by, grew into sincere friendship. those who had been intimate with wallace clausen when he was under the influence of bartlett cloud saw a great difference in the lad at this period. he had grown manlier, more earnest in tone and attainments, and had apparently shaken off his old habit of weak carelessness as some insects shed their skins. he, too, was to enter harwell the coming fall, a fact which strengthened the bond between the three youths. one resolve was uppermost in joel's heart when he began his last year at hillton, and that was to gain the goodwin scholarship. his failure the year before had only strengthened his determination to win this time; and win he did, and was a very proud and happy lad when the lists were read and the name of "joel march, marchdale, maine," led all the rest. and it is to be supposed that there was much happiness in the great rambling snow-covered farmhouse up north when joel's telegram was received; for joel could not wait for the mail to carry the good news, but must needs run at once to the village and spend a bit of his prospective fortune on a "night message." despite this fortune of two hundred and forty dollars, joel elected to spend his christmas holidays again at hillton, and outfield, when he learned of the intention, declined his uncle's invitation and remained also. the days passed quickly and merrily. there was excellent skating on the river, and joel showed west the methods of ice-fishing, though with but small results of a finny nature. cicero's orations gave place to de senectute, the greek testament to herodotus, and plane geometry to solid; and spring found joel with two honor terms behind him, and as sure as might be of passing his final examination for college. again in june st. eustace and hillton met on the river, and, as though to atone for her defeat on the gridiron, fate gave the victory to st. eustace, the wearers of the blue crossing the finish a full length ahead of the hillton eight. the baseball team journeyed down to marshall and won by an overwhelming majority of runs, and journeyed home again in the still of a june evening, bringing another soiled and battered ball to place in the trophy case of the gymnasium. and finally, one bright day in early summer, joel put on his best clothes and, accompanied by west and clausen, took his way to the chapel, where, amid an eloquent silence, professor wheeler made his farewell address, and old, gray-haired dr. temple preached the valedictory sermon. then the diplomas were presented, and, save for the senior class exercises in the school hall in the afternoon, class day was over, and joel march's school days were past. joel was graduated at the head of the class, an honor man once more; and outfield west, greatly to every one's amazement, not excepting his own, was also on the honor list. cooke passed at last, and later confided to west that he didn't know what he'd do now that they wouldn't let him stay longer at hillton; he was certain he would feel terribly homesick at harwell. west playfully suggested that he stay at hillton and take an advanced course, and cooke seemed quite in the notion until he found that he would be obliged to make the acquaintance of both livy and horace. a lad can not stay two years at a school without becoming deeply attached to it, and both joel and west took their departures from hillton feeling very melancholy as the wooded hill, crowned by the sun-lit tower, faded from sight. west went directly to his home, although joel had tried to persuade him to visit at marchdale for a few weeks. in july joel received a letter from outfield asking him to visit him in iowa, and, at the solicitation of his parents, he decided to accept the invitation. the west was terra incognita to joel, and he found much to interest and puzzle him. the methods of farming were so different from those to which he had been accustomed that he spent the first week of his stay in trying to revolutionize them, much to the amusement of both outfield and his father. he at length learned that eastern ways are not western ways, and so became content to see wheat harvested by machinery and corn cultivated with strange, new implements. he received one day a letter forwarded from marchdale which bore the signature of the captain of the harwell varsity football eleven. it asked him to keep in practice during the summer, and, if convenient, to report on the field two days before the commencement of the term. remsen's name was mentioned and joel knew that he had him to thank for the letter. the friends had decided to take a room together, and had applied for one in the spring. much to their gratification they were given a third floor room in mayer, one of the best of the older college dormitories. when the time came for going east both west and joel were impatient to be on the way. mrs. west accompanied the boys, and the little party reached the old, elm-embowered college town four days before the opening of the term. agreeably to the request of the football captain, joel reported on the field in football togs the day after reaching town, and was given a cordial welcome. captain button was not there, but returned with the varsity squad from a week's practice at a neighboring village two days later. mrs. west meanwhile toiled ceaselessly at furnishing the boys' room, and the result was a revelation to joel, to whom luxurious lounges and chairs, and attractive engravings, were things hitherto admired and longed for from a distance. and then, bidding a farewell to the lads, outfield's mother took her departure for home, and they were left practically rulers of all they surveyed, and, if the truth were told, a trifle sobered by the suddenness of their plunge into independence. and one warm september day the college bell rang for chapel and the two lads had begun a new, important, and to them exciting chapter of their lives. chapter xvii. the sacred order of hullabalooloo. picture a mild, golden afternoon in early october, the yellowing green of sailors' field mellow and warm in the sunlight, the river winding its sluggish way through the broad level marshes like a ribbon of molten gold, and the few great fleecy bundles of white clouds sailing across the deep blue of the sky like froth upon some placid stream. imagine a sound of fresh voices, mellowed by a little distance, from where, to and fro, walking, trotting, darting, but ever moving like the particles in a kaleidoscope, many squads of players were practicing on the football field. such, then, is the picture that would have rewarded your gaze had you passed through the gate and stood near the simple granite shaft which rises under the shade of the trees to commemorate the little handful of names it bears. had you gone on across the intervening turf until the lengthened shadow of the nearest goal post was reached you would have seen first a squad--a veritable awkward squad--arranged in a ragged circle and passing a football with much mishandling and many fumbles. further along you would have seen a long line of youths standing. their general expression was one of alertness bordering on alarm. the casual observer would have thought each and every one insane, as, suddenly darting from the line, one after another, they flung themselves upon the ground, rolled frantically about as though in spasms, and then arose and went back into the rank. but had you observed carefully you would have noticed that each spasm was caused by a rolling ball, wobbling its erratic way across the turf before them. around about, in and out, forms darted after descending spheroids, or seized a ball from outstretched hands, started desperately into motion, charged a few yards, and then, as though reconsidering, turned and trotted back, only to repeat the performance the next moment. and footballs banged against broad backs with hollow sounds, or rolled about between stoutly clad feet, or ascended into the air in great arching flights. and a babel of voices was on all sides, cries of warning, sharp commands, scathing denouncements. "straighten your arm, man; that's not a baseball!" "faster, faster! put some ginger into it!" "get on your toes, smith. start when you see the ball coming. this isn't a funeral!" "don't stoop for the ball; fall on it! the ground will catch you!" "jones, what _are_ you doing? wake up." "no, _no_, no! great scott, the ball won't _bite_ you!" the period was that exasperating one known as "the first two weeks," when coaches are continually upon the border of insanity and players wonder dumbly if the game is worth the candle. to-day joel, one of a squad of unfortunates, was relearning the art of tackling. it was joel's first experience with that marvelous contrivance, "the dummy." one after another the squad was sent at a sharp spurt to grapple the inanimate canvas-covered bag hanging inoffensively there, like a body from a gallows, between the uprights. there are supposed to be two ways to tackle, but the coach who was conducting the operations to-day undoubtedly believed in the existence of at least thrice that number; for each candidate for varsity honors tackled the dummy in a totally different style. the lift tackle is performed by seizing the opponent around the legs below the hips, bringing his knees together so that further locomotion is an impossibility to him, and lifting him upward off the ground and depositing him as far backward toward his own goal as circumstances and ability will permit. the lift tackle is the easiest to make. the dive tackle pertains to swimming and suicide. running toward the opponent, the tackler leaves the ground when at a distance of a length and a half and dives at the runner, aiming to tackle a few inches below the hips. a dive tackle well done always accomplishes a well-defined pause in the runner's progress. joel was having hard work of it. time and again he launched himself at the swaying legs, bringing the canvas man to earth, but always picking himself up to find the coach observing him very, very coldly, and to hear that exasperating gentleman ask sarcastically if he (joel) thinks he is playing "squat tag." and then the dummy would swing back into place, harboring no malice or resentment for the rough handling, and joel would take his place once more and watch the next man's attempt, finding, i fear, some consolation in the "roast" accorded to the latter. it was toward the latter part of the second week of college. joel had practiced every day except sundays, and had just arrived at the conclusion that football as played at harwell was no relation, not even a distant cousin to the game of a similar name played at hillton. of course he was wrong, since intercollegiate football, whether played by schoolboys or college students, is still intercollegiate football. the difference lies only in the state of development. at hillton the game, very properly, was restricted to its more primary methods; at harwell it is developed to its uttermost limits. it is the difference between whist over the library table and whist at the whist club. but all things come to an end, and at length the coach rather ungraciously declared he could stand no more and bade them join the rest of the candidates for the run. that run was two miles, and joel finally stumbled into the gymnasium tuckered out and in no very good temper just as the five o'clock whistle on the great printing house sounded. after dinner in the dining hall that evening joel confided his doubts and vexations to outfield as they walked back to their room. "i wouldn't care if i thought i was making any progress," he wailed, "but each day it gets worse. to-day i couldn't seem to do a start right, and as for tackling that old dummy, why--" "well, you did as well as the other chaps, didn't you?" asked outfield. "i suppose so. he gave it to us all impartially." "well, there you are. he can't tell you you're the finest young tacklers that ever happened, because you'd all get swelled craniums and not do another lick of work. i know the sort of fellow he is. he'll never tell you that you are doing well; only when he's satisfied with you he'll pass you on. you see. and don't you care what he says. just go on and do the best you know how. blair told me to-day that if you tried you could make the varsity before the season is over. what do you think of that? he says the coaches are puzzling their brains to find a man that's fit to take the place of dangfield, who was left-half last year." "i dare say," answered joel despondently, "but durston will never let me stop tackling that dummy arrangement. i'll be taking falls out of it all by myself when the yates game is going on. who invented that thing, anyhow?" but, nevertheless, joel's spirits were very much better when the two lads reached the room and west had turned on the soft light of the argand. and taking their books in hand, and settling comfortably back in the two great cozy armchairs, they were soon busily reading. hazing has "gone out" at harwell, and so, when at about nine the two boys beard many footfalls outside their door, and when in response to west's loud "come" five mysterious and muffled figures in black masks entered they were somewhat puzzled what to think. "march?" asked a deep voice. "yes," answered joel with a wondering frown. "west?" "yep. what in thunder do you want? and who in thunder are you?" "freshies, aren't you?" continued the inexorable voice. the maskers had closed and locked the door behind them, and now stood in rigid inquisitorial postures between it and the table. "none of your business," answered west crossly. "get out, will you?" "not until our duties are done," answered the mask. "you are freshies, nice, new, tender little freshies. we are here to initiate you into the mysteries of the sacred order of hullabalooloo. stand up!" neither moved; they were already standing, west puzzled and angry, joel wondering and amused. "well, sit down, then," commanded the voice. joel looked meaningly at outfield, and as the latter nodded the two rushed at the members of the sacred order of hullabalooloo. but the latter were prepared. over went the nearest armchair, down from the wall with a clatter came a rack of books, and this way and that swayed the forms of the maskers and the two roommates. the battle was short but decisive, and when it was done, joel lay gasping on the floor and outfield sprawled breathless on the couch. "will you give up?" asked the first mask. "yes," growled west, and joel echoed him. "then you may get up," responded the mask. "but, mind you, no tricks!" joel thought he heard the sound of muffled laughter from one of the masks as he arose and arranged his damaged attire. "freshman march will favor us with a song," announced the mask. "i can't sing a word," answered joel. "you must. hullabalooloo decrees it." "then hullabalooloo can come and make me," retorted joel stubbornly. "what," asked the mask in a deep, grewsome voice, "what is the penalty for disobedience?" "tossed in the blanket," answered the other four in unison. "you hear, freshman march?" asked the mask. "choose." "i'll sing, i guess," answered joel, with a grin. but west jumped up. "don't you do it, joel! they can't make you sing! and they can't make me sing; and the first one that comes in reach will get knocked down!" "oh, well, i don't mind singing," answered joel. "that is, i don't mind trying. if they can stand it, i can. what shall i sing?" "what do you know?" "i only know one song. i'll sing that, but on one condition." "name it?" answered the mask. "that you'll join in and sing the chorus." there was a moment of hesitation; then the masks nodded, and joel mounted to a chair and with a comical grimace of despair at west, who sat scowling on the couch, he began: "there is a flag of crimson hue, the fairest flag that flieth, whose folds wave over hearts full true, as nobody denieth. here's to the school, the school so dear; here's to the soil it's built on! here's to the heart, or far or near, that loves the flag of hillton.'" joel was not much of a singer, but his voice was good and he sang as though he meant it. outfield sat unresponsive until the verse was nearly done; then he moved restlessly and waited for the chorus, and when it came joined in with the rest; and the strains of hilltonians rang triumphantly through the building. "hilltonians, hilltonians, your crimson banner fling unto the breeze, and 'neath its folds your anthem loudly sing! hilltonians, hilltonians, our loyalty we'll prove beneath the flag, the crimson flag, the bonny flag we love!" the knights of the sacred order of hullabalooloo signified their approval and demanded the next verse. and joel sang it. and when the chorus came the maskers lost much of their dignity and waved their arms about and shouted the refrain so loud that doors up and down the hall opened and wondering voices shouted "shut up!" or "more! m-o-r-e!" for two minutes after. as the last word was reached joel leaned quickly forward toward an unsuspicious singer, and, snatching the mask from his face, revealed the countenance of louis whipple. and then, amid much laughter, the other masks were slipped off, and the remaining members of the sacred order of hullabalooloo stood revealed as blair, cartwright, somers, and cooke. and outfield, joining in the laugh at his own expense, was seized by cooke and waltzed madly around the table, while the rest once more raised the strains of hilltonians: "hilltonians, hilltonians, your crimson banner fling unto the breeze, and 'neath its folds your anthem loudly sing! hilltonians, hilltonians, we stand to do or die, beneath the flag, the crimson flag, that waves for victory!" chapter xviii. visitors from marchdale. despite joel's dark forebodings, he was at last released from tackling practice. and with that moment he began to take hope for better things. under the charge of kent, one of the coaches and an old harwell half, joel was instructed in catching punts till his arms ached and his eyes watered, and in kicking until he seemed to be one-sided. starting with the ball he no longer dreaded, since he had mastered that science and could now delight the coach by leaping from a stand as though shot from the mouth of a cannon. signals he had no trouble with. his memory was excellent, and he possessed the faculty of rapid computation; though as yet his brain had been but little taxed, since the practice code was still in use. at the end of the third week both varsity and scrub teams were at length selected, and joel, to his delight, found himself playing left-half on the latter. two match games a week was now the rule for the varsity, and joel each wednesday and saturday might have been found seated under the fence dividing the gridiron from the grand stand wrapped nearly from sight, if the afternoon was chilly, in a great gray blanket, and watching the play with all the excited ardor of the veriest schoolboy on the stand behind. one saturday prince, the varsity left-half, twisted his ankle, and joel was taken on in his place. they were playing amherst, and joel has ever since held that college in high esteem, for that it was against its eleven he made his _début_ into harwell football life. and how he played! the captain smiled as he watched him prance down the field after a punt, never content to be there in time, but always striving to get there first, and not seldom succeeding. once he succeeded too well. it was in the second half. blair--it was his first year on the team--was playing full-back. on a first down he punted the ball a long and rather low kick into amherst's territory. joel bowled over an amherst end who was foolish enough to get in the way and started down the field like an indian warrior on the war path. the harwell ends were a little in advance but off to the sides, and joel sprinted hard and easily passed them both. kingdon, the right half, gave him a good run, but he too was passed, and joel reached the amherst full-back just as that gentleman turned for the ball, which had passed unexpectedly over his head. the goal line was but thirty yards distant. joel saw only the full-back, the ball, and the goal line. he forgot everything else. a small cyclone struck the full, and when he picked himself up it was to see a crimson-legged player depositing the pigskin back of goal and to hear a roar of laughter from the seats! then he yelled "off side!" at the top of his lungs and tore down on joel, and, much to that young gentleman's surprise, strove to wrest the ball from him. it was quite uncalled for, and joel naturally resented it to the extent of pushing violently, palms open, against the amherst man's jacket, with the result that the amherst gentleman sat down backward forcibly upon the turf at some distance. and again the stands laughed. but joel gravely lifted the ball and walked back to the thirty-yard line with it. the center took it with a grin, and, as the five yards of penalty for off side was paced, joel was rewarded for his play with the muttered query from the captain: "what were you doing, you idiot?" but too great zeal is far more excusable than too small, and joel was quickly forgiven, and all the more readily, perhaps, since amherst was held for downs, and the ball went over on the second next play. but joel called himself a great many unpleasant names during the rest of the game, and for a long while after could not think of his first touch-down without feeling his cheeks redden. nevertheless, his manner of getting down the field under kicks undoubtedly impressed the coaches favorably, for when the scrub was further pruned to allow it to go to training table joel was retained. one bright october day joel and outfield went into town to meet the former's parents at the station; for mr. and mrs. march had long before made up their minds to the visit, and the two boys had been looking forward to it for some time. it was worth going a long way to see the pleasure with which the old farmer and his wife greeted the great long-legged youth who towered so far above them there on the station platform. joel kissed his mother fondly, patted his father patronizingly but affectionately on the back, and asked fifty questions in as many minutes. and all his mother could do was to gaze at him in reverent admiration and sigh, over and over: "land sakes, joel march, how you do grow!" it must not be thought that west was neglected. farmer march, in especial, showed the greatest pleasure at meeting him again, and shook hands with him four times before the street was reached and the car that was to carry them to the college town gained. the boys conducted the visitors to their room, and made lunch for them on a gas stove, outfield drawing generously on his private larder, situated under the foot of his bed. then the four hunted up a pleasant room in one of the student boarding houses, and afterward showed the old people through the college. there was a good deal to see and many questions to answer, since joel's father was not a man to leave an object of interest until he had learned all there was to be told about it. the elms in the yard were fast losing their yellow leaves, but the grass yet retained much of its verdancy, and as for the sky, it was as sweetly blue as on the fairest day in spring. up one side of the yard and down the other went the sightseers, poking into dark hallways, reading tablets and inscriptions, the latter translated by west into the most startling english, pausing before the bulletins to have the numerous announcements of society and club meetings explained, drinking from the old pump in the corner, and so completing the circuit and storming the gymnasium, where at last joel's powers of reply were exhausted and outfield promptly sprang into the breech, explaining gravely that the mattresses on the floor were used by doctor major, the director of the gymnasium, who invariably took a cat-nap during the afternoon, that the suspended rings were used to elevate sophomores while corporeal punishment was administered by freshmen, and that the queer little weights in the boxes around the walls were reserve paper weights. then the line of march was taken up toward sailors' field, where they arrived just in time to see the beginning of the practice game between the varsity and the scrub. joel had been excused from attendance that day, and so he took his seat beside the others on the grand stand and strove to elucidate the philosophy of football. "you see the scrubs have the ball. they must get it past the varsity down to the end of the field, where they can either put it down over the line or kick it over that cross-piece there. that's center, that fellow that's arranging the ball. he kicks off. there it goes, and a good kick, too. sometimes the center-rush isn't a good kicker; then some one else kicks off. blair has the ball. look, see him dodge with it. he gained ten yards that time." "oh!" it was joel's mother who exclaimed. "why, joel, that other man threw him down." "that's part of the game, mother. he did that to keep blair from getting the ball any nearer the scrub's goal. he isn't hurt, you see." "and do you mean that they do that all the time?" "pretty often." "and do _you_ get thrown around that way, joel?" "sometimes, mother; when i'm lucky enough to get the ball." "well, i never." "football's not a bad game, mr. march," west was saying. "but it doesn't come up to golf, you know. it's too rough." "it does look a little rough," answered mr. march. "do they often get hurt? seems as though when a boy had another fellow on his head, and another on his stomach, and another on his feet, and the whole lot of them banging away at once, seems like that boy would be a little uncomfortable." west laughed. "sometimes a fellow has his ankle sprained or a knee twisted, or a shoulder-bone bust, or something like that. but it isn't often anything worse occurs." "well, i suppose it's all right then. only when i was a boy we never went round trying to get our ankles sprained or our collar-bones broke; you young fellows are tougher than we were, i guess." "i shouldn't wonder, sir. i believe joel has been feeling pretty bad for a long time because he's got nothing worse than a broken finger." "what? broke his finger, did he? eh? he didn't write anything about it; what's he mean, getting broken to pieces and not telling his parents about it?" west glanced apprehensively at joel, but the latter had missed the conversation, being busy following the progress of barton, of the scrub, who was doing a long run along the side line. "well, it wasn't much of a break, sir. it's all right now, and i think he thought you'd be worried, you know. i'm sure if it had been anything important he would have written at once." "humph," grunted joel's father. "if he's going to break himself in pieces he'd better stop football. i won't have him taking risks. i'll tell him so!" the fifteen-minute half had come to an end, and the players were either resting on the ground or going through some pass or start under the tuition of a coach. suddenly joel looked down to see briscom, the scrub captain, climbing the seats. he ducked his bare head to the others and sank into the seat at joel's side. "look here, march, can you help us out the next half? they've taken webster on the varsity, and"--he lowered his voice to a confidential roar--"we want to make a good showing to-day." "of course," answered joel, "i'll come at once. can i get some togs from some fellow?" "yes. i'll ask whitman to find some. i'm sorry to take you away from your folks, but it's only fifteen minutes, you know." so when the whistle blew joel was at left half-back on the scrub, attired in borrowed plumage that came far from fitting him. and mrs. march was in a tremor of dismay lest some one should throw joel down as she had seen blair thrown. mr. march had not quite recovered from his resentment over his son's failure to apprise him of the broken finger, which, after all, was only broken in west's imagination, and viewed his advent on the field with disfavor. outfield began to wonder if his pleasant fiction regarding joel's finger was to lead to unpleasant results, when mr. march relieved his mind somewhat by suddenly taking interest in the career of his son, who was trying to make an end run inside dutton with half the scrub hauling, pushing, pulling, shoving him along. "er--isn't that likely to be bad for that finger of his?" "oh, no, sir," answered west. "he looks out for his finger all right enough. there, he made the distance. bully work. good old joel." "did he do well then, mr. west?" asked joel's mother. "of course he did, mother," answered mr. march disdainfully. "didn't you see him lugging all those fellows along with him? how much does that count, west?" "well, that doesn't score anything, but it helps. the scrub has to pass that line down there before it can score. what they're trying to do now is to get down there, and joel's helping. you watch him now. i think they're going to give him the ball again for another try around end." west was right in his surmise. kicks were barred to-day save as a last resort, and the game was favoring the scrub as a consequence. the ball was passed to the right half-back; joel darted forward like an arrow, took the ball from right, made a quick swerve as he neared the end of the line, and ran outside of the varsity right end, captain dutton, who had been playing pretty well in, in the expectation of another try through tackle-end hole. as joel got safely by it is more than likely that he found added satisfaction in the feat as he recalled that remark of dutton's the week before: "what were you doing, you idiot?" joel got safely by dutton, and fooled the sprightly prince, but very nearly ran into the arms of kingdon, who missed his tackle by a bare six inches. then the race began. joel's path lay straight down by the side line. the field followed him at a distance, and the most he could hope for was a touch-down near the corner of the field, which would require a punt-out. "ain't that joel?" cried mr. march, forgetting his grammar and his dignity at one and the same moment, and jumping excitedly to his feet. "ain't that joel there running? hey? they can't catch him. i'll lay joel to outrun the whole blame pack of 'em. every day, sir. hey? what?" "i think he's all right, sir, for a touch-down," answered west gayly. "hello, there's blair leaving the bunch. tally-ho!" "i don't care if it's a steam-engine," shouted mr. march, "he can't--i don't know but as he's gaining a little, that fellow. eh?" "looks like it," answered west, while mrs. march, with her hand on her husband's arm, begged him to sit down and "stop acting so silly." "geewhillikins!" cried mr. march, "joel's caught! no, he's not--yet--eh?--too bad, too bad. run, joel, he's got ye!" suddenly mr. march, who had almost subsided on his seat, jumped again to his feet. "here! stop that, you fellow! hi!" he turned angrily to outfield, his eyes blazing. "what'd he knock him down for? eh? what's he sitting on my boy for? is that fair? eh?" west and mrs. march calmed him down and explained that tackling was quite within the law, and that he only sat on him to prevent him from going on again; for blair had cut short joel's triumph fifteen yards from the goal line, and the spectators of the soul-stirring dash down the field were slowly settling again in their seats. mr. march was presently relieved to see joel arise, shake himself like a dog coming out of water, and trot back to his position. another five minutes, during which the scrub tried desperately to force the ball over the varsity's goal line, but without success, and the match was over, and briscom was happy; for the varsity had scored but once, and that on a fumble by the scrub quarter-back. joel trotted off with the teams for a shower and a rub-down, and west conducted his parents back to the gate, where they awaited him. on the way mr. march confided to west that "football wasn't what he'd call a parlor game, but on the whole it appeared to be rather interesting." in the evening the quartet went into town to the theater and joel's mother cried happily over the homely pathos of the old homestead, and outfield laughed uproariously upon the slightest provocation, and every one was extremely happy. and afterward they "electriced" back to college, as west put it, and the two boys stayed awake very, very late, laughing and giggling over the humors of the play and joel's broken finger. mr. and mrs. march left the next day at noon, and joel accompanied them to the depot, west having a golf engagement which he could not break. and when good-by had been said, and the long train had disappeared from sight, joel returned to college on foot, over the long bridge spanning the river, busy with craft, past the factories noisy with the buzz of wheels and the clang of iron, and on along the far-stretching avenue until the tower of the dining hall loomed above the tops of the autumn branches, entering the yard just as the two o'clock bell was ringing. chapter xix. a varsity sub. give a boy the name of being a hero and it will stick. joel was still pointed out by admiring hillton graduates to their friends at harwell as "march, the fellow who kicked the winning goal-from-field in the st. eustace game two years ago." and while joel had performed of late no doughty deed to sustain his reputation for valor, the freshman class accepted him in all faith as a sort of class hero, off duty for the moment, perchance, but ever ready to shed glory upon the class by some soul-stirring act. consequently when it was told through college that joel march had been taken on to the varsity eleven as substitute left half-back no one was surprised, unless it was joel himself. the freshman class wagged its head knowingly and said: "i told you they couldn't get on without march," and held its head higher for that one of its members was a varsity player. it is not a frequent thing to find a freshman on the varsity team, even as substitute, and joel's fame grew apace and many congratulations were extended to him, in classroom and out. blair was one of the first to climb the stairs of mayer and express pleasure at the event. he found joel seated in the window, propped up with half a dozen crimson pillows, attempting to sketch the view across the yard to send home to his sister. west was splicing a golf shaft and whistling blithely over the task. "hello, sophy," cried that youth, "have you come to initiate us into the sacred order of hullabalooloo? dump those books off the chair and be seated. march is such a beastly untidy chap," he sighed; "he _will_ leave his books around that way despite all i can say!" "these books, out," replied blair, "bear the name of one west on their title pages, and, in fact, on a good many other pages, too. what say you?" a look of intense surprise overspread the face of outfield. "how passing strange," he muttered. "and is there a chemistry note-book among them?" "i think so. here is one that contains mention of c h o, h so , and other mystic emblems which appear very tiresome; it also contains several pages filled with diagrams of the yard and plans of pompeii before the devastation." "yes," answered west, "that's my chem. note-book. it's been missing ever since tuesday. but those are not diagrams of the yard, my sophomoric friend; they're plans of the golf course." "well, just as you say. catch! say, march, i've just heard that you've made the varsity. i'm most splendidly glad, my young friend. you make three hillton fellows on the team. there's selkirk, and you, and yours tenderly; and we'll show them what's what when yates faces us. and i'll tell you a little fact that may interest you. prince won't last until the yates game, my lad. he's going silly in his ankle. but don't say i told you, for of course it's a dead secret. and if he gives out you'll get the posish. and then if you can make another one of those touch-downs in the yates game--" "shut up, please, blair!" groaned joel. "nonsense, you're all right. i heard button saying last week that nothing short of a ten-story house could have stopped you that day." "he must think me an awful fool," responded joel. "the idea of not remembering that i was off-side!" "pshaw; why, the first time i played against eustace at hillton i tackled the referee in mistake for the man with the ball! and threw him, too! and sat on his head!" west grinned. "and they _did_ say, blair, that you were feeling aggrieved against that referee because he had called you down for holding. and i _have_ heard that you weren't such a fool as you looked." "nothing in it, my boy," answered wesley blair airily. "mere calumny. am i one to entertain feelings of anger and resentment against my fellow men? verily, very much not. but he put me off, did that referee chap. he was incapable of accepting the joke. what is more depressing than a fellow who can't see a joke, march?" "two fellows who can't see--et cetera," answered joel promptly. "wrong, very wrong. i don't know what the answer is, but i'm quite certain it isn't that. well, i must be going. _i_ have studies. _i_ don't waste the golden moments in idleness. i grind, my young and thoughtless friends, i grind. well, i only came up to congratulate you, mr. march, of maine. i have done so. i now depart. farewell! never allow the mere fact of being off-side interfere with--" blair slammed the door just in front of a whizzing golf ball and clattered downstairs. presently he appeared on the walk beneath the window and wiggled his fingers derisively with the thumb against a prominent feature of his face. but at the first squeak of the window being pushed up he disappeared around the corner. joel's days were now become very busy ones. every morning he was awakened at seven, and at eight was required to be on hand at the training table for breakfast. the quarters were at old's, a boarding house opposite the college yard, and here in a big, sunny front room the two long tables were laid with numerous great dishes of oatmeal or hominy, platters of smoking steak, chops or crisp bacon, plates of toast, while potatoes, usually baked, flanked the meat. the beverage was always milk, and tall pitchers of it were constantly filled and emptied during this as well as the other meals. and then there were eggs--eggs hard boiled, eggs soft boiled, eggs medium, eggs poached--until, at the end of the season, the mere mention of eggs caused joel's stomach to writhe in disgust. during breakfast disabilities were inquired after, men who were known to have nerves were questioned as to their night's rest, and orders for the day were given out. this man was instructed to see the doctor, another to interview the trainer, a third to report to the head coach. the meal over, save for a half hour of practice for the backs behind the gymnasium the men were free to give all their energies to lessons, and so hurried away to recitation hall or room. at one o'clock the team assembled again for lunch, with books in hand, and at break-neck speed devoured the somewhat elaborate repast, each man rushing in, eating, and rushing out, with no attempt at sociability or heed to the laws of digestion. afternoon practice was at four o'clock. individual practice was followed by team practice against an imaginary foe, and this in turn gave place to a line-up against the second eleven. two stiff twenty-minute halves were played. then again individuals were seized on by captain and coaches and put through paces to remedy some fault or other. and then the last player trots off the field, and the coaches, conversing earnestly among themselves, follow, and the day's work is done. there are still the bath and the rub-down and the weighing; but these are gone through with leisurely while the day's work is discussed and the coaches, circulating among the fellows, inflict an epilogue of criticism and instruction. there remained usually the better part of an hour before dinner, and this period joel spent in his room, where with the lamp throwing its glow over his shoulder, he strove to take his mind from the subject of tackling and starting, of punting and passing, and fix it upon his studies for the morrow. for life was far from being all play that fall--if hard practice and strict training can be called play!--and joel found it necessary to occupy every moment not taken up by eating, sleeping, and practicing on the gridiron with hard study. it can scarcely be truthfully asserted that joel's lessons suffered by reason of his adherence to athletics, though a lecture now and then was slighted that he might use the time in pursuing some study that lack of leisure had necessitated his neglecting. but a clear head, a good digestion, and racing blood render studying a pleasure rather than a task, and joel found that, while giving less time than before to lessons, he learned them fully as well. one thing is certain: his standing in class did not suffer, even when the coaches were more than usually severe. joel's experience that fall, and many a time later, led him to conclude that the amount of outdoor athletics indulged in and the capability for study are in direct ratio. west, too, was a most studious young gentleman that term, and began to pride himself on his recently discovered ability to learn. to be sure, golf was a hard taskmaster, but with commendable self-denial he did not allow it to interfere with his progress in class. both he and joel had earned the name of being studious ere the end of the fall term, and neither of them resented it. unlike the preceding meal, dinner at the training table was a sociable and cheerful affair, when every man at the board tried his best to be entertaining, and when "shop," either study or football, was usually tabooed. the menu was elaborate. there were soup, two or three kinds of meat, a half dozen vegetables, sauces, the ever-present toast, pudding or cream, and plenty of fruit; and for drinkables, why, there was the milk, and sometimes light ale in lesser quantities. at one end of the table--whether head or foot is yet undecided--sat the captain, at the other end the head coach. other coaches were present as well, and the trainer sat at the captain's left. there was always lots of noise, for weighty things were seldom touched upon in the conversation, and jokes were given and taken in good part. when all other means of amusement failed there were still the potatoes to throw; and a butter chip, well laden, can be tossed upward in such a manner that it will remain stuck more or less securely to the ceiling. this is a trick that comes only with long practice, but any one may try it; and the ceiling above the training table that year was always well studded with suspended disks of crockery. bread fights--so named because the ammunition is more likely to be potatoes--were extremely popular, and the dinner often came to an end with a pitched battle, in which coats were decorated from collar to hem with particles of that clinging vegetable. his evenings usually belonged to joel to spend as he wished, though not unfrequently a blackboard talk by the head coach or a lecture by some visiting authority curtailed them considerably. he had always to be in bed by ten o'clock. but sleep sometimes, especially after a day of hard practice, did not readily come, and he often laid awake until midnight had sounded out on the deep-toned bell in the old church tower thinking over the events of the day, and wondering what fate, in the person of the head coach, held in view for him. and one night he awoke to find outfield shaking him violently by the shoulder. "wh-what's the row?" he asked sleepily. "you," answered outfield. "you've been yelling ' , ; , ; , ' for half an hour. what's the matter with you, anyhow?" "the signals," muttered joel, turning sleepily over, "that's a run around left end by left half-back. and don't forget to start when the ball's snapped. and jump high if you're blocked. and--don't--forget--to--" snore--snore! "well," muttered west as he stumbled against an armchair and climbed into bed, "of all crazy games--" but west was not in training and so possessed the faculty of going to sleep when his head struck the pillow. as a consequence the rest of his remark was never heard. chapter xx. an old friend. "march! joel march!" joel was striding along under the shadow of the chapel on his way from a recitation to mayer and his room. the familiar tones came from the direction of the library, and turning he saw stephen remsen trotting toward him with no regard for the grass. joel hurdled the knee-high wire barrier and strode to meet him. the two shook hands warmly, almost affectionately, in the manner of those who are glad to meet. "march, i'm delighted to see you again! i was just going to look you up. which way were you going?" "up to the room. can't you come up for a while? when'd you arrive? are you going to stay now?" "third down!" laughed remsen. "no gain! what a fellow you are for questions, march! i got in this morning, and i'm going to stay until after the yates game. they telegraphed me to come and coach the tackles. instead of going to your room let's go to mine. i've taken a suite of one room and a closet at dixon's on the avenue. i haven't unpacked my toothbrush yet. come over with me and take lunch, and we'll talk it all over." so joel stuck his books under his arm and the two crossed the yard, traversing the quadrangle in front of university and debouching on to the avenue near where the tall shaft of the soldiers' monument gleams in the sunlight. but they did not wait until remsen's room was gained to "talk it all over." joel had lots to tell about the hillton fellows whom he had not lost sight of: of how clausen was captain of the freshman eleven and was displaying a wonderful faculty for generalship; how west was still golfing and had at last met foemen worthy of his steel; how dicky sproule was in college taking a special course, and struggling along under popular dislike; how whipple and cooke were rooming together in peck, the former playing on the sophomore class team and going in for rowing, and the latter still the same idle, good-natured ignoramus, and liked by every fellow who knew him; how digbee was grinding in lanter with somers; how cartwright had joined the glee club; and how christie had left college and gone into business with his father. "and cloud?" asked remsen. "have you seen him?" "yes, once or twice. i've heard that he was very well liked when he left st. eustace last year. i dare say he has turned over a new leaf since his father died." "indeed? i hadn't heard of that." "west heard it. he died last spring, and left cloud pretty near penniless, they say. i have an idea that he has taken a brace and is studying more than he used to." "the chap has plenty of good qualities, i suppose. we all have our bad ones, you know. perhaps it only needed some misfortune to wake up the lad's better nature. they say virtue thrives best on homely fare, and, like lots of other proverbs, i guess it's sometimes true." then remsen told of his visit to hillton a few weeks previous. the eleven this year was in pretty good shape, he thought; greene, an upper middle man, was captain; they expected to have an easy time with st. eustace, who was popularly supposed to be in a bad way for veteran players. that same greene was winning the golf tournament when he was there, remsen continued, and the golf club was in better shape than ever before, thanks to the hard work of west, whipple, blair, and a few others in building it up. the two friends reached the house, and remsen led the way into his room, and set about unpacking his things. joel took up a position on the bed and gave excellent advice as to the disposal of everything from a pair of stockings to a typewriter. "it's a strange fact," said remsen as he thrust a suit of pajamas under the pillow, "that outfield west is missed at hillton more than any fellow who has graduated from there for several years past. perhaps i don't mean exactly strange, either, for of course he's a fellow that every one naturally likes. what i do mean is that one would naturally suppose fellows like blair or whipple would leave the most regrets behind them, for blair was generally conceded to be the most popular fellow in school the last two years of his stay, and whipple was surely running him a close second. and certainly their memories are still green. but everywhere i went it was: 'have you heard from outfield west?' 'how's west getting on at college?' and strange to say, such inquiries were not confined to the fellows alone. professor wheeler asked after west particularly, and so did briggs, and several others of the faculty; and mrs. cowles as well. "but you are still the hero there, march. the classic history of hillton still recounts the prowess of one joel the first, who kicked a goal from field and defeated thereby the hosts of st. eustace. and professor durkee shakes his head and says he will never have another so attentive and appreciative member of his class. and now tell me, how are you getting on with dutton?" so joel recited his football adventures in full, not omitting the ludicrous touch-down, which received laughing applause from his listener, and recounting his promotion to the position of varsity substitute. "yes, i saw in the paper last week that you had been placed on the sub list of the varsity. i hope you'll have a chance to play against yates, although i don't wish prince any harm. he's a good fellow and a hard worker. hello, it's one-fifteen. let's get some lunch." a half hour later they parted, joel hurrying off to recitation and remsen remaining behind to keep an appointment with a friend. after this they met almost every day, and remsen was a frequent caller at joel's room, where he with joel and outfield held long, cosy chats about every subject from enameling golf balls to the philosophy of kant and the original protoplasm. meanwhile the season hurried along. harwell met and defeated the usual string of minor opponents by varying scores, and ran up against the red and blue of keystone college with disastrous results. but one important contest intervened between the present time and the game with yates, and the hardest sort of hard work went on daily inside the inclosed field. a small army of graduates had returned to coach the different players, and the daily papers were filled, according to their wont, with columns of sensational speculation and misinformation regarding the merits of the team and the work they were performing. out of the mass of clashing "facts" contained in the daily journals but one thing was absolutely apparent: to wit, the work of the harwell eleven was known only to the men and the coaches, and neither would tell about it. at last, when chill november had been for a few days in the land, the game with the red and white clad warriors from ithaca took place on a wet and muddy field, and joel played the game through from start to finish, prince being engaged in nursing his treacherous ankle, which had developed alarming symptoms with the advent of wet weather. the game resulted in a score of twenty-four to five, the ithacans scoring a neat, but inexcusable, goal from field in the first half. joel played like a trojan, and went around the left end of the opposing line time and again for good gains, until the mere placing of the ball in his hands was accepted by the spectators as equal to an accomplished gain. wesley blair made a dashing charge through a crowded field for twelve yards and scored a touch-down that brought the onlookers to their feet cheering. dutton, the captain, played a steady brilliant interfering game, and kingdon, at right half-back, plunged through the guard-tackle holes time and again with the ball hugged to his stomach, and kept his feet in a manner truly marvelous until the last inch had been gained. but critics nevertheless said unkind things of the team work as they wended their way back over the sodden turf, and shook their heads dubiously over the field-goal scored by the opponents. there would be a general shaking up on the morrow, they predicted, and we should see what we should see. and the coaches, too, although they dissembled their feelings under cheerful countenances, found much to condemn, and the operations of bathing, dressing, and weighing that afternoon were less enjoyable to the breathless, tattered men. the next day the team "went into executive session," as joel called it, and the predicted shake-up took place. murdoch, the left guard, was deemed too slight for the place, and was sent to the side line, from where he presently crawled to a seat on the great empty stand, and hiding his blanketed head wept like a child. and there were other changes made. joel kept his place at left half, pending the bettering of prince's ankle, and blair was secure at full. but when the practice game began, many of the old forms were either missing or to be seen in the second eleven's line, and the coaches hovered over the field of battle with dark, forbidding looks, and said mean things whenever the opportunity presented itself, and were icily polite to each other, as men will be when they know themselves to be in the right and every one else in the wrong. and so practice that thursday was an unpleasant affair, and had the desired effect; for the men played the game for all that was in them and attended strictly to the matter in hand, forgetting for the time the intricacies of latin compositions and the terrors of coming examinations. when it was over joel crawled off of the scale with the emotions of a weary draught horse and took his way slowly toward home. in the square he ran against outfield, who, armed with a monstrous bag of golf requisites, had just leaped off a car. "hello, joel," he cried. "what's happened? another off-sider? have you broken that finger again? honest injun, what's up?" "nothing, out; i'm just kind of half dead. we had two thirty-minute halves, with forty-'leven coaches yelling at us every second, and a field like a turnip patch just before seeding. oh, no, there's nothing the matter; only if you know of any quiet corner where i can die in peace, lead me there, out. i won't keep you long; it will soon be over." "no, i don't, my flippant young friend, but i know something a heap better." "nothing can be better any more, out. still--well, what is it?" "a couple of hot lemonades and a pair of fat sandwiches at noster's. come along." "you're not so bad, out," said joel as they hurried up the street. "you have _moments_ of almost human intelligence!" chapter xxi. the departure. the backs and substitute backs, together with story, the quarter, captain dutton, and one or two assistant coaches, including stephen remsen, were assembled in bancroft . the head coach was also present, and with a long pointer in one hand and a piece of chalk in the other was going through a sequence for the benefit of the backs, who had been called a half hour ahead of the rest of the eleven. the time was a half hour after dinner. on the blackboard strange squares and lines and circles confronted the men in the seats. the head coach placed the tip of the pointer on a diagram marked "no. . criss-cross." "this is the second of the sequence, and is an ordinary criss-cross from left half-back to right half-back. if you don't understand it readily, say so. i want you to ask all the questions you can think of. the halves take positions, as in the preceding play, back of the line behind the tackle-guard holes. the ball goes to left half, who runs just back of quarter. right half starts a moment after the ball is put in play, also going back of quarter and outside of left half and receiving the ball at a hand pass from the latter, and continuing on through the hole between left end and tackle. right end starts simultaneously with left half, taking the course indicated, in front of quarter and close to the line, and interfering through the line for the runner." [illustration: nd play] "left end blocks opposing end outward. quarter clears the hole out for the runner. full-back does not start until the pass from quarter to left half is made. he must then time himself so as to protect the second pass. in case of a fumble the ball is his to do the best he can with through the end-tackle hole. if the pass is safe he follows left half through, blocking opposing left end long enough to keep him out of the play. "you will go through this play to-morrow and you will get your slips to-morrow evening here. now is there anything not clear to you?" apparently there was a great deal, for the questions came fast and furious, the coaches all taking a hand in the discussion, and the diagram being explained all over again very patiently by the head. then another diagram was tackled. [illustration: rd play] "the third of this sequence is from an ordinary formation," began the head coach. "it is intended to give the idea of a kick, or, failing that, of a run around left end. it will very probably be used as a separate play in the last few minutes of a half, especially where the line-up is near the side line, right being the short side of the field. you will be given the signal calling this as a separate play to-morrow evening. "full-back stands as for a kick, and when the signal is given moves in a step or two toward quarter as unnoticeably as possible; position in the diagram. he must be careful to come to a full stop before the ball is snapped back, and should time himself so that he will not have to stay there more than a second. the instant the ball is snapped full-back runs forward to the position indicated here by , and receives the ball on a short pass from quarter. left half starts at the same instant, and receives the ball from full as he passes just behind him, continuing on and around the line outside of right end. it is right half's play to make the diversion by starting with the ball and going through the line between left tackle and guard; he is expected to get through and into the play on the other side. left end starts when the ball is snapped, and passing across back of the forwards clears out the hole for the runner. quarter interferes, assisted by full-back, and should at all costs down opposing half. right end helps right tackle throw in opposing end. much of the success of this play depends on the second pass, from full-back to left half, and it must be practiced until there is no possibility of failure. questions, fellows." after the discussion of the last play a half hour's talk on interference was given to the rest of the eleven and substitutes, who had arrived meanwhile. remsen and joel left bancroft together and crossed the yard toward the latter's room. the sky was bright with myriads of stars and the buildings seemed magnified by the wan radiance to giant castles. under the shadow of university remsen paused to light his pipe, and, without considering, the two found themselves a moment later seated on the steps. from the avenue the clang-clang of car gongs sounded sharp and clear, and red and white and purple lights flitted like strange will-o'-wisps through the half light, and disappeared into the darkness beyond the common. the lights in the stores beamed dimly. a green shade in pray's threw a sickly shaft athwart the pavement. but even as they looked a tall figure, weariness emanating from every movement, stepped between window and light, book in hand, and drew close the blinds. "poor devil!" sighed remsen. "three hours more of work, i dare say, before he stumbles, half blind, into bed. and all for what, joel? that or--that?" he pointed with his pipe-stem to where jupiter shone with steady radiance high in the blue-black depths; then indicated a faint yellow glow that flared for an instant in the darkness across the yard where a passer had paused to light his pipe. "we can't all be jupiters, remsen," answered joel calmly. "some of us have to be little sticks of wood with brimstone tips. but they're very useful little things, matches. and, after all, does it matter as long as we do what we have to do as well as we can? old jupiter up there is a very fine chap undoubtedly, and if he shirked a minute or two something unpleasant would probably occur; but he isn't performing his task any better than the little match performed his. 'scratch--pouf' and the match's work's done. but it has lighted a fire. can you do better, mr. jupiter?" remsen made no reply for a moment, but joel knew that he was smiling there beside him. a little throng of students passed by, humming softly a song in time with their echoing footsteps, and glanced curiously at the forms on the steps. then remsen struck a match on the stone. "'scratch--pouf!'" he said musingly, relighting his pipe. in the act of tossing the charred splinter away he stopped; then he laid it beside him on the step. "good little match," he muttered. joel laughed softly. "march," asked remsen presently, "have you changed your mind yet about studying law?" "no; but sometimes i get discouraged when i think of what a time it will take to arrive anywhere. and sometimes, too, i begin to think that a fellow who can't talk more readily than i ought to go into the hardware business or raise chickens for a living instead of trying to make a lawyer out of himself." "it isn't altogether talk, march," answered remsen, "that makes a good lawyer. brains count some. if you get where you can conduct a case to a successful result you will never miss the 'gift o' the gab.' talking's the little end of the horn in my profession, despite tradition. "i asked for a reason, march," he went on. "what do you say to our forming a partnership? when you get through the law school you come to me, if you wish, and tell me that you are ready to enter my office, and i'll answer 'i'm very glad to have you, mr. march.' of course we could arrange for a regular partnership a year or so later. meanwhile the usual arrangement would be made. it may be that you know of some very much better office which you would prefer to go to. if you do, all right. if you don't, come to me. what do you say?" "but--but what good would i do you?" joel asked, puzzled at the offer. "i'd like it very much, of course, but i can't see--" "i'll tell you, march. i have a good deal of faith in your future, my boy. you have a great deal of a most valuable thing called application, which i have not, worse luck. you are also sharp-witted and level-headed to a remarkable degree. and some day, twenty or thirty years from now, you'll likely be _hard_-headed, but i'll risk that. by the time you're out of college i shall be wanting a younger man to take hold with me. there will be plenty of them, but i shall want a good one. and that is why i make this offer. it is entirely selfish, and you need not go searching for any philanthropy in it. i'm only looking a bit ahead and buttering my toast while it's hot, march. what do you say? or, no, you needn't say anything to-night. think it over for a while, and let me know later." "but i don't want to think it over," answered joel eagerly. "i'm ready to sign such a partnership agreement now. if you really believe that i would--could be of use to you, i'd like it mightily. and i know all about your 'selfishness,' and i'm very grateful to you for--for buttering your toast." later, when they arose and went on, remsen consented to accompany joel to his room, bribed thereto with a promise of hot chocolate. they found outfield diligently poring over a greek history. but he immediately discarded it in favor of a new book on the royal game which lay in his lap hidden under a note book. "you see," he explained, "old pratt has taken a shine to me, and i expected him to call this evening. and i thought at first that you were he--or him--which is it? and of course i didn't want to disappoint the old gentleman; he has such a fine opinion of me, you know." while outfield boiled the water and laid bare the contents of the larder, joel told him of remsen's offer. a box of biscuits went down with a crash, and outfield turned indignantly. "that's all very fine," he exclaimed. "but where do i come in? how about mr. west? where does he get his show in this arrangement? you promised that if i studied law, too, joel, you'd go into partnership with _me_. now, didn't you?" "but it was all in fun," protested joel, distressedly. "i didn't suppose you meant it, you know." "meant it!" answered outfield indignantly. "of course i meant it. don't you expect i appreciate level-headedness and sharp-wittedness and applicationousness just as much as remsen? why, i had it all fixed. we were to have an office fitted with cherry railings and revolving bookcases near--near--" "a good links?" suggested remsen smilingly. "well, yes," admitted outfield, "that wouldn't be a half bad idea. but now you two have gone and spoiled it all." "well, i tell you, west," suggested remsen, "you come in with us and supply the picturesque element of the business. you might look after the golf cases, you know; injuries to bald-headed gentlemen by gutties; trespassing by players; forfeiting of leases, and so forth. what do you say?" "all right," answered outfield cheerfully. "but it must be understood that the afternoons belong to the links and not to the law." so stephen remsen and joel march sealed their agreement by shaking hands, and outfield grinned approval. one afternoon a few days later outfield pranced into the room just as dusk was falling brandishing aloft a silver-plated mug, and uttering a series of loud cheers for "me." joel, who had returned but a moment before from a hard afternoon's practice, and was now studying in the window seat by the waning light, looked languidly curious. "a trophy, joel, a trophy from the links!" cried west. "won by the great me by two holes from jenkins, jenkins the previously great, jenkins the defeated and devastated!" he tossed the mug into joel's lap. "i'm very glad, out," said the latter. "won't it help you with the team?" "it will, my discerning friend. it will send me to new york next month to represent harwell. and lapham says i must go to lakewood for the open tournament. oh, little outie is some pumpkins, my lad! it was quite the most wonderful young match to-day. jenkins led all the way to the fifteenth hole. then he foozled like a schoolboy, and i holed out in one and went on to the cheese box in two." "i'm awfully glad," repeated joel, smiling up into the flushed and triumphant face of his chum. "if you go to new york it will be after the big game, and, if you like, i'll go with you and shout." outfield west executed a war-dance and whooped ecstatically. "will you, joel? honest injun? cross your heart and hope to die? then shake hands, my lad; it's a bargain! now, where's my chemistry?" the days flew by and the date of the yates game rapidly approached. the practice was secret every afternoon, and the coaches lost weight eluding the newspaper reporters. prince disappointed joel by returning to the varsity with his ankle apparently as well as ever, although he was generally "played easy," and joel often took his place in the second half of the practice games. and at last the thursday preceding the big game arrived, and the team and substitutes, together with the trainer and the manager and the head coach and two canine mascots, assembled in the early morning in the square and were hustled into coaches and driven into town to their train. and half the college heroically arose phenomenally early and stood in the first snow storm of the year and cheered and cheered for the team individually and collectively, for the head coach and the trainer, for the rubbers and the mascots, and, between times, for the college. the players went to a little country town a few miles distant from the seat of yates university, and spent the afternoon in practicing signals on the hotel grounds. the next day, friday, was a day of rest, save for running through a few formations and trick plays after lunch and taking a long walk at dusk. the yates glee club journeyed over in the evening and gave an impromptu entertainment in the parlor, a courtesy well appreciated by the harwell team, whose nerves were now beginning to make themselves felt. and the next morning the journey was continued and the college town was reached at half past eleven. the men were welcomed at the station by a crowd of harwell fellows who had already arrived, and the harwell band did its best until the team was driven off to the hotel. there for the first time the men were allowed to see the line-up for the game. it was a long list, containing the names, ages, heights, and weights of thirty-six players and substitutes, and was immediately the center of interest to all. "thunder!" growled joel ruefully, as he finished reading the list over blair's shoulder, "it's a thumpin' long ways down to _me!_" chapter xxii. before the battle. "harwell, harwell, harwell! rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah, harwell!" the lobby grew empty on the instant, and outside on the steps and on the sidewalk the crowd spread itself. the procession had just turned the corner, the college band leading. "the freshmen won!" cried a voice on the edge of the throng, and the news was passed along from man to man until it swept up the steps, through the lobby and to the dining room upstairs where the football men of the varsity team were impatiently awaiting lunch. "a good omen," said the head coach. below in the street admonitory thumps upon the great drum, with its college coat-of-arms on the head, were heard, and a moment later the shouts of the exuberant freshmen and their allies were drowned in the first strains of the college song. off came the silk hats of the frock-coated graduates and the plaided golf caps of the students, and side by side there in the sun-swept street they lifted their voices in the sweet, measured strains of the dear familiar hymn. and stout, placid-faced men of fifty, with comfortable bank accounts and incipient twinges of gout, felt the unaccustomed dimming of the sight that presages tears, and boyish, carefree students, to whom the song was as much an everyday affair as d marks and unpaid bills, felt strange stirrings in their breasts, and with voices that stumbled strangely over the top notes sang louder and louder. and upstairs in the dining room many a throat grew hard and "lumpy" as the refrain came in at the open windows. but, as the trainer muttered presently, it was only the freshmen who had won, and the real battle of the day was yet to come. and soon the band and the shouting parade wheeled away from beneath the windows and swung off up the street to make known far and wide the greatness of harwell, her freshmen, and the grandeur of their victory over the youngsters of yates. and, as the last cheer floated up from the procession as it disappeared around a far corner, lunch was served, and player and coach, trainer and rubber, substitute and mascot, drew up to the last meal before--what? victory or defeat? it was not a merry repast, that lunch before the fray. some men could not bring themselves to eat at all until the coaches commanded with dire threats. others, as though nothing out of the ordinary was about to take place, ate heartily, hungrily, of everything set before them. at the far end of the room joel march played with his steak and tried to delude himself into thinking he was eating. he felt rather upset, and weak in the joints, and as for the lad's stomach it had revolted at sight of the very first egg. but luckily the last meal before a game has little effect one way or the other upon the partaker, since he is already keyed up, mentally and physically, to a certain pitch, and nothing short of cold poison can alter it. in the streets below, for blocks in all directions, the crowds surged up and down, and shouts for harwell and yells for yates arose like challenges in the afternoon air. friends met who had not done so for years, enemies accorded enemies bows of recognition ere they remembered their enmity. the deep blue and the deeper crimson passed and counterpassed, brushed and fluttered side by side, and lighted up the little college city till it looked like a garden of roses and violets. and everywhere, over all, was the tensity that ever reigns before a battle. the voices of the ticket speculator and of the merchant of "offish'l score cards" were heard upon every side. the street cars poked their blunt noses through the crowd which closed in again behind them like water about the stern of a ship. violets blossomed or crimson chrysanthemums bloomed upon every coat and wrap, or hung pendant from the handle of cane and umbrella. the flags of harwell and yates, the white h and white y, were everywhere. shop windows were partisan to the blue, but held dashes of crimson as a sop to the demands of hospitality and welcome. at one o'clock the exodus from town began. along the road that leads to the football field hurried the sellers of rush cushions and badges, of score cards and pencils, of blue and crimson flags and cheap canes, of peanuts and sandwiches, of soda water and sarsaparilla, bent upon securing advantageous stands about the entrance. a quarter of an hour later the spectators were on the way. the cars, filled in and out with shouting humanity, crept slowly along, a bare half block separating them. roystering students swung arm in arm in eccentric dance from side to side across the street. ladies with their escorts hurried along the sidewalks. carriages, bright with fluttering flags, rolled by. bicycles darted in and out, their riders throwing words of salutation over their shoulders to friends by the way. in the windows along the route was displayed the bravery of blue banners. a window in a college hall was piled high with great comfortable-looking pillows, each bearing a great challenging y in white ribbon or embroidery. and overhead the sky arched a broad blue expanse from horizon to horizon. in this manner on some fair morning, centuries ago, did all greece wend its way to the stadium and the games of olympia. in the hotel the lunch was over and that terrible age between it and the arrival of the coaches was dragging its weary length along. joel and blair were standing by the window talking in voices that tried to be calm, cool and indifferent, but which were neither. "they're offering bets of ten to nine downstairs that yates wins," remarked blair with elaborate composure. "are they?" responded joel absent-mindedly, thinking the while of the signal for the second sequence. "i thought the odds were even." "they were until the news about chesney's shoulder got about." "but there isn't really anything the matter with his shoulder, is there?" "no. no one knows how the story got out. whipple was taking all he could get a while ago." "some one wants to see you at the door, march," called the trainer, and joel found outfield west, smiling and happy, waiting there. "how are you?" he whispered. "all right? how are the rest? great gobble, joel, but these yates johnnies are so sure of winning that they can't keep still! there's a rumor here in the lobby that yates's center is sick. know anything about it?" joel shook his head. "well, i'll see you out at the field. we're going out now; cooke, and caldwell, and some of the others. so long, my valiant lad. keep a stiff upper lip and never say die, and all that, you know. adios!" there was a cheer below, and blair, at the window, announced the arrival of the conveyances. instantly the lethargy of a minute before was turned to excited bustle and confusion. pads and nose-guards, jerseys and coats, balls and satchels were seized and laid aside and grabbed up again. cries for missing apparel and paraphernalia were heard on every side, and only a loud, peremptory command to "shut up!" from the head coach restored order and quietude. then the door was thrown open and down the narrow stairs they trooped, through the crowded lobby where friends hemmed them about, patting the broad backs, shouting words of cheer into their ears, and delaying them in their passage. into the coaches they hurried, and as the crowd about the hotel burst into loud, ringing cheers, the whips were cracked and the journey to the field began. the route lay along quiet, unfrequented streets where only an occasional cheer from a college window met their advent. restraint had worn off now, and the fellows were chatting fast and furiously. joel looked out at the handsome homes and sunny street, and was aware only of a longing to be in the fray, an impatient desire to be doing. briscom, the substitute centre, a youth of twenty-one summers and one hundred and ninety-eight pounds, sat beside him. "i was here two years ago with the freshman team," he was saying. "we didn't do a thing to them, we youngsters, although the varsity was licked badly. and all during the afternoon game we sat together and cheered, until at five o'clock i couldn't speak above a whisper. that was a great game, that freshman contest! it took three hours and a half to settle it. at the beginning of the second half there were only three men on our team who had played in the first. i was one of them. i was playing left guard. story there was another. he gave up before the game was through, though. i held out and when the whistle sounded, down i went on the grass and didn't stir for ten minutes. we had two referees that day. the first chap got hurt in a rush, and it took us half an hour to find a fellow brave enough to take his place. that _was_ a game. football's tame nowadays." across the coach rutland, the right guard, a big bronze-haired chap of one hundred and ninety-six, was deep in a discussion with "judge" chase, right end, on an obscure point of ruling. "if you're making a fair catch and a player on the other side runs against you intentionally or otherwise, you're interfered with, and the rules give your side fifteen yards," declared rutland. "not if the interference is accidental and doesn't hurt your catch," replied chase. "if the other fellow is running and can't stop in time--" "shut up, you fellows," growled captain button. "you play the game, and the referee will look after the rules for you." "if you go on," said briscom, "you must be careful about holding. de farge (the referee) is awfully down on holding and off-side plays. last year he penalized us eight times during the game. but he's all right, just the same. he's the finest little ref that ever tossed a coin." "i fear i won't get a show," mourned joel. "you can't tell," answered briscom knowingly. "last year there were two fellows ahead of me and i got on for twenty minutes of the last half. trueland bent his ankle, chesney hurt his knee, and condon got whacked on the head. watch the game every minute of the time, march, and learn how the yates halves play the game. then if you do go on you won't be in the dark." the coaches rolled up to the players' entrance to the field, and the fellows hopped out and disappeared into the quarters. the time was two o'clock. the gates were still thronged, although to the people already on the stands it was a puzzle where the newcomers were going to find seats. on the east side of the field yates held open house. from end to end, and overflowing half way around both north and south stands, the blue of yates fluttered in the little afternoon breeze till that portion of the field looked like a bank of violets. on the west stand tier after tier of crimson arose until it waved against the limitless blue of the sky. countless flags dipped and circled, crimson bonnets gleamed everywhere, and great bunches of swaying chrysanthemums nodded and becked to each other. all collegedom with its friends and relations was here; all collegedom, that is, within traveling distance; beyond that, eager eyes were watching the bulletin boards from maine to mojave. the cheering had begun. starting at one end of the west stand the slogan sped, section by section, growing in volume as it went, and causing the crimson flags and banners to dance and leap in the sunlight. across the field answering cheers thundered out and the bank of violets trembled as though a wind ruffled it. in front of the north stand the yates college band added the martial strains of the stars and stripes forever to the general pandemonium of enthusiasm. then along the west stand a ripple of laughter which grew into a loud cheer traveled, as a bent and decrepit figure attired in a long black frock coat and high silk hat, the latter banded with crimson ribbon, came into sight down the field. it was the old fruit seller of harwell, whose years are beyond reckoning, and who is remembered by the oldest graduates. on he came, his old, wrinkled face grimacing in toothless smiles, his ribboned cane waving in his trembling hand, and his well-nigh bald head bowing a welcome to the watchers. for it was not he who was the guest, for from time almost immemorial the old fruit seller has presided at the contests of harwell, rejoicing in her victories, lamenting over her defeats. down the line he limped, while gray-haired graduates and downy-lipped undergrads cheered him loyally, calling his name over and over, and so back to a seat in the middle of the stand, from where all through the battle his crimson-bedecked cane waved unceasingly. he was not the only one welcomed by the throng. a great jurist, chrysanthemumed from collar to waist, bowed jovial acknowledgment of the applause his appearance summoned. the governor of a state came too to see once more the crimson of his alma mater clashing with the blue of her old enemy. professors, who had put aside their books, beamed benevolently through their glasses as they walked somewhat embarrassedly past the grinning faces of their pupils. old football players, former captains, bygone masters of rowing, commanders of olden baseball teams, all these and many more were there and were welcomed heartily, tumultuously, by the wearers of the red. and through it all the cheers went on, the college songs were sung, and the hearts of youth and age were happy and glad together. then the cry of "here they come!" traveled along the field, and the blue-clad warriors leaped into the arena at the far end, and the east stand went delirious, and flags waved, and a tempest shook the bank of violets. "rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah, yates!" and almost simultaneously the west stand arose and its voice arose to the sky in wild, frenzied shouts of: "har-well, har-well, har-well, rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah, har-well! har-well! har-well!" for over the fence came the head coach, and big chesney, and captain dutton, story, the little quarter-back, and all the others, a long line of crimson-stockinged warriors, with joel march, briscom, bedford, and the other substitutes flocking along in the tag end of the procession. over the field the two elevens spread, while cheer after cheer met in mid-field, clashed, and rolled upward to the blue. then came a bare five minutes of punting, dropping, passing, snapping, ere the officials appeared from somewhere and gathered the opposing captains to them. a coin flashed in the sunlight, spun aloft, descended, and was caught in the referee's palm. "heads!" cried ferguson, the yates captain. "heads it is!" announced the referee. the substitutes retreated unwillingly to the side lines, the harwell men spread themselves over the north end of the gridiron, elton, the yates full-back, ground his heel into the turf and pointed the ball, the cheering ceased, the whistle piped merrily, the bright new ball soared aloft on its arching flight, and the game of the year was on. chapter xxiii. harwell _vs_. yates--the first half. that game will live in history. it was a battle royal between giant foes. on one hand was the confidence begat of fifteen years of almost continuous victory over the crimson; on the other the desperation that such defeat brings. yates had a proud record to sustain, harwell a decade of worsting to atone for. and twenty-five thousand persons watched and hoped and feared as the battle raged. down settled the soaring ball into the arms of kingdon, who tucked it under his arm and started with it toward the distant goal. but eight yards was all he found ere a yates forward crashed down upon him. then came a quick line-up on harwell's forty yards, and first prince, then kingdon, then blair was put through the line, each for a small gain, and the harwell benches shouted their triumph. again the pigskin was given to prince for a try through the hole between tackle and guard, but this time he was hurled back for a loss. the next try was kingdon's, and he made a yard around the yates left end. it was the third down and five yards were lacking. back went the ball for a kick, and a moment later it was yates's on her thirty-five yards, and again the teams were lining up. it was now the turn of the east stand to cheer, and mightily the shout rolled across the field. through came the yates full, the ball safely stowed in the crook of his elbow, the whole force of the backs shoving him on. three yards was his. another line-up. again the yates full-back was given the ball, and again he gained. and it was the first down on yates's forty-five-yard line. then began a rout in which harwell retreated and yates pursued until the leather had crossed the middle of the field. the gains were made anywhere, everywhere, it seemed. allardyce yielded time and again, and selkirk beside him, lacking the other's support, was thrust aside almost at will. the yates shouters were wild with joy, and the cheers of harwell were drowned beneath the greater outbursts from the supporters of the blue. harwell appeared to be outclassed, so far as her rush line was concerned. past the fifty-yard line went the ball, and between it and the next white streak, harwell at last made a desperate stand, and secured the ball. at the first play it was sent speeding away from blair's toe to the yates mid-field, a long, clean, high kick, that led the forwards down under it in time to throw the waiting back ere he had taken a step, and that brought shouts of almost tearful delight from the harwell sympathizers. back to her line-bucking returned yates, and slowly, but very surely, the contest moved over the lost ground, back toward the harwell goal. the fifty-five-yard line was passed again, the fifty, the forty-five, and here or there holes were being torn in the harwell line, and the crimson was going down before the blue. at her forty-yard line harwell stayed again for a while the onslaught of the enemy, and tried thrice to make ground through the yates line. then back to the hands of wilkes went the oval and again the heart-breaking rout began. yates. full-back elton, right left half-back half-back thompson, cushing, birch, quarter-back right right right left left left end tackle guard center guard tackle end o'callaghan, ferguson, morris, wilkes, allison, galt, fraser, left left left center right right right end tackle guard guard tackle end dutton, selkirk, allardyce, chesney, rutland, burbridge, chase, quarter-back story, prince, kingdon, left right half-back half-back blair, full-back harwell. harwell made her last desperate rally on her twenty-five yards. the ball was thrown to blair, who kicked, but not soon enough to get it out of the way of the opposing forwards, who broke through as the ball rose. it struck against the upstretched hand of the yates right guard and bounded toward the crimson's goal. the yates left half fell upon it. from there, without forfeiting the ball, yates crashed down to the goal line, and hurled elton, her crack full-back, through at last for a touch-down. for five minutes chaos reigned upon the east stand. all previous efforts paled into nothingness beside the outbursts of cheers that followed each other like claps of thunder up and down the long bank of fluttering color. upon the other side of the field no rival shouts were heard. it was useless to try and drown that niagara of sound. but here and there crimson flags waved defiantly at the triumphant blue. the goal was an easy one, though it is probable that it would have been made had it been five times more difficult; for elton was the acknowledged goal kicker par excellence of the year. then back trotted the teams, and as the harwell eleven lined up for the kick-off allardyce at left guard gave place to murdoch. the big fellow had given out and had limped white-faced and choking from the field. the whistle sounded and the ball rose into air, corkscrewing toward the yates goal. down the field under it went the harwell runners like bolts from a bow, and the yates half who secured the pigskin was downed where he caught. the two teams lined up quickly. then back, foot by foot, yard by yard, went the struggling harwell men. yet the retreat was less like a rout than before, and yates was having harder work. her players were twice piled up against the harwell center, and she was at last forced to send a blue-clad youth around the left end, an experiment which netted her twelve yards and which brought the east stand to its feet, yelling like mad. but here the crimson line at length braced and the ball went to its center on three downs, and the tide turned for a while. the backs and the right end were hurled, one after another, at the opposing line, and shouts of joy arose from the crimson seats as gain after gain resulted. thrice in quick succession captain dutton shot through the left end of the blue's line, the second time for a gain of five yards. the cheering along the west side of the great field was now continuous, and the leaders, their crimson badges fluttering agitatedly, were waving their arms like tireless semaphores and exciting the supporters of harwell to greater and greater efforts. nearer and nearer to the coveted touch-down crept the crimson line. with clock-work precision the ball was snapped, the quarter passed, the half leaped forward, the rush line plunged and strove, and then from somewhere a faint "down!" was cried; and the panting players staggered to their feet, leaving the ball yet nearer to the threatened goal line. on the blue's twenty-three yards the whistle shrilled, and a murmur of dismay crept over the yates seats as it was seen that captain ferguson lay motionless on the ground. but a moment's rubbing brought him to his feet again. "he's not much hurt," explained the knowing ones. "he wants to rest a bit." a minute later, while the ball still hovered about the twenty-yard line, yates secured it on a fumbled pass, and the tide ebbed away from the beleagured posts. back as before were borne the crimson warriors, while the yates forwards opened holes in the opposing line and the yates halves dashed and wormed through for small gains. then fate again aided the crimson, and on the blue's forty-seven-yard line a fake kick went sadly aglee and the runner was borne struggling back toward his own goal before he could cry "down!" and big chesney grinned gleefully as he received the leather and bent his broad back above it. canes, crysanthemums, umbrellas, flags, carnations, hats, all these and many other things waved frantically above the great bank of crimson as the little knot of gallant knights in moleskin crept back over their recent path of retreat and took the war again into the enemy's country. every inch of the way was stubbornly contested by the defenders, but slowly they were pushed back, staggering under the shocks of the crimson's attack. chesney, rutland, and murdoch worked together, side by side, like one man--or forty!--and when time was called for an instant on the yates twenty-five yards it was to bring galt, the blue's left tackle, back to consciousness and send him limping off the gridiron. his place in the line was taken by an old hilltonian, one dunsmore, and the game went on. and now it was the blue that was in full retreat and the crimson that pursued. nearer and nearer to the yates goal line went the resisting besieged and the conquering besiegers, and the great black score-board announced but eight more minutes of the first half remaining. but even eight were three more than were needed. for harwell crossed the twenty yards by tandem on tackle, gained the fifteen in two downs by wedges between tackle and guard, and from there on until the much-desired goal line was reached never paused in her breathless, resistless onslaught. it was wesley blair who at last put the ball over for a touch-down, going through between center and left guard with all the weight of the harwell eleven behind him. his smothered "down!" was never heard, for the west stand was a swaying, tumultuous unit of thunderous acclaim. up went the flags and banners of crimson hues, loud sounded the paean of praise and thanksgiving from thousands of straining throats, while below on the side lines the coaches leaped for joy and strained each other to their breasts in unspeakable delight. and while the shouting went on as though never would the frenzied shouters cease, the grim, panting yates players lined up back of their goal line, on tiptoe, ready at the first touch of the ball to the earth to spring forward and, leaping upward, strive to arrest the speeding oval. prone upon the ground, the ball in his hands, lay story. a yard or two distant blair directed the pointing of it. the goal was a most difficult one, from an angle, and long the full-back studied and directed, until faint groans of derision arose from the impatient east stand and the men behind the goal line moved restively. "lacing to you," said blair quietly. story shifted the ball imperceptibly. "more." the quarter-back obeyed. "cock it." higher went the end toward the goal. "not so much." it was lowered carefully, slowly. "steady." blair stepped back, glanced once swiftly at the cross-bar, and stepped forward again. "down!" story's left hand touched the grass, the yates men surged forward, there was a thud, and-- upward sped the ball, rising, rising, until it topped the bar, then slowly turning over, over in its quickening descent. but the nearly silent west stand had broke again into loud cries of triumph, and upon the face of the scoreboard appeared the momentous word, "goal!" again the ball was put in play, but the half was soon over and the players, snatching their blankets, trotted to the dressing rooms. and the score-board announced: "opponents, . yates, ." as the little swinging door closed behind him joel found himself in a seething mass of players, rubbers, and coaches, while a babel of voices, greetings, commands, laughter, and lament, confused him. it was a busy scene. the trainer and his assistants were working like mad. the doctor and the head coach were talking twenty to the second. everybody was explaining everything, and the indefatigable coaches were hurrying from man to man, instructing, reminding, and scolding. joel had only to look on, save when he lent a hand at removing some torn and stubborn jersey, or at finding lost shin-guards and nose masks, and so he found a seat out of the way, and, searching the room with his gaze, at length found prince. that gentleman was having a nice, new pink elastic bandage put about his ankle. he was grinning sturdily, but at every clutch of the web his lips twitched and his brow puckered. joel watching him wondered how much more he would stand, and whether his (joel's) chance would come ere the fatal whistle piped the end of the match. "time's up!" cried the head coach suddenly, and the confusion redoubled until he mounted to a bench and clapped his hands loudly above the din. comparative silence ensued. "fellows," he began, "here's the list for the next half. answer to your names, please. and go over to the door. fellows, you'll have to make less noise. dutton, selkirk, murdoch--murdoch?" "right!" the voice emerged from the folds of a woolen sweater which had stubbornly refused to go on or off. with a smile the head coach continued the list, each man responding as his name was announced and crowding to the doorway. "chesney, rutland, burbridge, barton--" a murmur arose from the listening throng, and chase, a tall, pale-faced youth, his cheek exhibiting the marks of a contact with some one's shoe cleats, groaned loudly and flung himself on to a bench, where he sat looking blindly before him until the list was finished. "story, prince--" "here!" called the latter, jumping from his seat. then a sharp, agonized cry followed, and prince toppled over, clutching vainly at the air. the head coach paused. the doctor and the trainer pushed toward the fallen man, and a moment later the former announced quietly: "he's fainted, sir." "can he go on?" asked the head coach. "he is out of the question. ankle's too painful. i couldn't allow it." "very well," answered the other as he amended the list. "kingdon, blair, march." joel's heart leaped as he heard his name pronounced, and he tried to answer. "march?" demanded the head coach impatiently; and "here, sir!" gulped joel, rushing to the door. "all right," continued the head coach. "there isn't time for any fine phrases, fellows, and if there was i couldn't say them so that they'd do any good. you know what you've got to do. go ahead and do it. you have the chance of wiping out a good many defeats, more than it's pleasant to think about. the college expects a great deal from you. don't disappoint it. play hard and play together. don't give an inch; die first. tackle low, run high, _and keep your eyes on the ball!_ and now, fellows, _three times three for harwell!_" and what a cheer that was! the little building shook, the men stood on their toes; the head coach cheered himself off the bench; and joel yelled so desperately that his breath gave out at the last "rah!" and didn't come back until the little door was burst open and he found himself leaping the fence into the gridiron. and what a burst of sound greeted their reappearance! the west stand shook from end to end. crimson banners broke out on the breeze, every one was on his feet, hats waved, umbrellas clashed, canes swirled. a youth in a plaid ulster went purple in the face at the small end of a five-foot horn; and for all the sound it seemed to make it might as well have been a penny whistle. the ushers waved their arms, but to no purpose, since the seats heeded them not at all, but shouted as their hearts dictated and as their throats and lungs allowed. joel, gazing about him from the field, felt a shiver of emotion pass through him. they were cheering _him_! he was one of the little band in honor of which the flags waved, the voices shouted, and the songs were sung! he felt a lump growing in his throat, and to keep down the tears that for some reason were creeping into his eyes, he let drive at a ball that came bumping toward him and kicked it so hard that selkirk had to chase it half down the field. "rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah, harwell! harwell! harwell! rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah, harwell!" the leaders of the cheering had again gotten control of their sections, and the long, deliberate cheer, majestic in its intensity of sound, crashed across the space, rebounded from the opposite stand, and went echoing upward into the clear afternoon air. "harwell!" muttered joel. "_you bet_!" then he gathered with the others about dutton to listen to that leader's last instructions. and at the same moment the east stand broke into cheers as the gallant sons of yates bounded on to the grass. back and forth rolled the mighty torrents of sound, meeting in midair, breaking and crashing back in fainter reverberations. they were singing the college songs now, and the merits and virtues of both colleges were being chanted defiantly to the tunes of popular airs. thousands of feet "tramp-tramped," keeping time against the stands. the yates band and the harwell band were striving, from opposite ends of the field, to drown each other's strains. and the blue and crimson fluttered and waved, the sun sank lower toward the western horizon, and the shadows crept along the ground. "there will be just one more score," predicted the knowing ones as they buttoned their ulsters and overcoats up at the throat and crouched along the side lines, like so many toads. "but who will make it i'm blessed if i know!" then harwell lined up along the fifty-five-yard line, with the ball in their possession, and the south goal behind them. and yates scattered down the field in front. and the linesmen placed their canes in the turf, the referee and the umpire walked into the field, and the stands grew silent save for the shrill voice of a little freshman on the west stand who had fallen two bars behind in "this is harwell's day," and needs must finish out while his breath lasted. "are you all ready?" asked the referee. there was no reply. only here and there a foot moved uneasily as weights were thrown forward, and there was a general, almost imperceptible, tightening of nerves and muscles. and then the whistle blew. chapter xxiv. harwell _vs_. yates--a fault and a requital. the kick-off came into blair's ready arms, the interference formed quickly, and the full-back sped down the field. one white line passed under foot--another; joel felt blair's hand laid lightly upon his shoulder, and ran as though life itself depended upon getting that precious ball past the third mark. but the yates ends were upon them. joel gave the shoulder to one, but the second dived through kingdon, and the runner came to earth on the twenty-three-yard line, with joel tugging at him in the hope of advancing the pigskin another foot. "line up quickly, fellows!" called story. the players jumped to their places. "_ -- -- !_" joel crept back a bare yard. "_ -- -- !_" kingdon leaped forward, snugged the ball under his arm, and followed by joel tried to find a hole inside left end. but the hole was not there, and the ball was instantly in the center of a pushing, grinding mass. "down!" no gain. story, worming his way through the jumble, clapped his hands. chesney was already stooping over the ball. joel ran to his position, and the quarter threw a rapid glance behind him. "_ -- -- _!" he placed his hand on the center's broad back. "_ -- _--!" the ball was snapped. joel darted toward the center, took the leather at a hand pass, crushed it against the pit of his stomach, and followed the left end through a breach in the living wall. strong hands pushed him on. then he came bang! against a huge shoulder, was seized by the yates right half, and thrown. he hugged the ball as the players crashed down upon him. "third down," called the referee. "three yards to gain." "line up, fellows, line up!" called the impatient story, and joel jumped to his feet, upsetting the last man in the pile-up, and scurried back. "_ -- -- _!" "_ -- _--!" back sped blair. up ran joel and kingdon. the line blocked desperately. a streak of brown flew by, and a moment later joel heard the thud as the full-back's shoe struck the ball. then down the field he sped, through the great gap made by the yates forwards. the harwell ends were well under the kick and stood waiting grimly beside the yates full-back as the ball settled to earth. as it thudded against his canvas jacket and as he started to run three pairs of arms closed about him, and he went down in his tracks. the ball lay on yates's fifty-three-yard line. the field streamed up. the big yates center took the ball. joel crept up behind the line, his hands on the broad canvas-covered forms in front, dodging back and forth behind murdoch and selkirk. "_ -- -- -- --_!" the, opposing left half started across, took the ball, and then--why, then joel was at the very bottom of some seven hundred pounds of writhing humanity, trying his best to get his breath, and wondering where the ball was! "second down. three and a half yards to gain." again the lines faced. joel was crouched close to quarter, obeying that player's gesture. they were going to try murdoch again. joel heard the breathless tones of the yates quarter as he stooped behind the opposing line. "a tandem on guard," whispered joel to himself. the next moment there was a crash, the man in front of him gave; then joel and story, gripping the turf with their toes, braced hard; there was a moment of heaving, panting suspense; then a smothered voice cried "down!" "third down," cried the referee. "three and a half yards to gain." "look out for a fake kick," muttered story, as joel fell back. the opposing line was quickly formed, and again the signal was given. the rush line heaved, joel sprang into the air, settling with a crash against the shoulders of chesney and murdoch, who went forward, carrying the defense before them. but the ball was passed, and even as the yates line broke the thud of leather against leather was heard. joel scrambled to his feet, assisted by chesney, and streaked up the field. the ball was overhead, describing a high, short arch. blair was awaiting it, and kingdon was behind and to the right of him. down it came, out shot blair's hands, and catching it like a baseball he was off at a jump, kingdon beside him. joel swung about, gave a shoulder to an oncoming blue-clad rusher, ran slowly until the two backs were hard behind him, and then dashed on. surely there was no way through that crowded field. yet even as he studied his path a pair of blue stockings went into the air, and a threatening obstacle was out of the way, bowled over by a harwell forward. the ends were now scouting ahead of the runners, engaging the enemy. the fifty-five-yard line was traversed at an angle near the east side of the field, and joel saw the touch line growing instantly more imminent. but a waiting yates man, crouchingly running up the line, was successfully passed, and the trio bore farther infield, putting ten more precious yards behind them. the west stand was wild with exultant excitement, and joel found himself speeding onward in time with the rhythmic sway of the deep "rah-rah-rah!" that boomed across from the farther side. but the enemy was fast closing in about them. the yates right half was plunging down from the long side, a pertinacious forward was almost at their heels. and now the yates full was charging obliquely at them with his eyes staring, his jaw set, and determination in every feature and line. the hand on joel's shoulder dropped, blair eased his pace by ever so little, and joel shot forward in the track of the full, his head down, and the next moment was sprawling on the turf with the enemy above him. but he saw and heard blair and kingdon hurdling over, felt a sharp pain that was instantly forgotten, and knew that the ball was safely by. but the run was over at the next line. kingdon made a heroic effort to down the half, and would have succeeded had it not been for the persevering forward, who reached him with his long arms and pulled him to earth. and blair, the ball safe beneath him, lay at the yates thirty-five yards, the half-back holding his head to earth. joel arose, and as he trotted to his position he looked curiously at the first finger of his left hand. it bore the imprint of a shoe-cleat, and pained dully. he tried to stretch it, but could not. then he shook his hand. the finger wobbled crazily. joel grinned. "bust!" he whispered laconically. his first impulse was to ask for time to have it bound. then he recollected that some one had said the doctor was very strict about injuries. perhaps the latter would consider the break sufficient cause for joel's leaving the field. that wouldn't do; better to play with a broken arm than not to play at all. so he tried to stick the offending hand in his pocket, found there was no pocket there, and put the finger in his mouth instead. then he forgot all about it, for harwell was hammering the blue's line desperately and joel had all he could do to remember the signals and play his position. for the next quarter of an hour the ball hovered about yates's danger territory. twice, by the hardest kind of line bucking, it was placed within the ten-yard line, and twice, by the grimmest, most desperate resistance, it was lost on downs and sent hurtling back to near mid-field. but yates was on the defensive, even when the oval was in her possession, and harwell experienced the pleasurable--and, in truth, unaccustomed--exultation that comes with the assurance of superiority. harwell's greatest ground-gaining plays now were the two sequences from ordinary formation and full-back forward. these were used over and over, ever securing territory, and ever puzzling the opponents. joel was hard worked. he was used not only to wriggle around the line inside of ends and to squirm through difficult outlets, but to charge the line as well, a feat of which his height and strong legs rendered him well capable. he proved a consistant ground-gainer, and with blair, who worked like a hero, and kingdon, who won laurels for himself that remained fresh many years, gained the distance time and again. but although the spectacular performances belonged here to the backs, the line it was that made such work possible. chesney, with his six feet four and a half inches of muscle, and his two hundred and twenty-nine pounds of weight, stood like a veritable gibraltar of strength. beside him rutland was scarcely less invulnerable, and murdoch, on the other side, played like a veteran, which he was not, being only a nineteen-year-old sophomore, with but one hundred and sixty-seven pounds to keep him from blowing away. selkirk gave way to lee when the half was two thirds over, but burbridge played it out, and then owned up to a broken shoulder bone, and was severely lectured by the trainer, the head coach, and the doctor in turn; and worshiped by the whole college. captain dutton played a dashing, brilliant game at left end, and secured for himself a re-election that held no dissenting vote. and barton, at the other end of the red line, tried his best to fill the place of the deposed chase, and if he did not fully succeed, at least failed not from want of trying. but it was little story, the quarter-back, who won unfading glory. a mass of nerves, from his head down, his brain was as clear and cool as the farthest goal post, and he ran the team in a manner that made the coaches, hopping and scrambling along on the side lines, hug themselves and each other in glee. so much for the harwell men. as for yates, what words are eloquent enough to do justice to the heroic, determined defense she made there under the shadow of her own goal, when defeat seemed every moment waiting to overwhelm her? every man in that blue-clad line and back of it was a hero, the kind that history loves to tell of. the right guard, morris, was a pitiable sight as, with white, drawn face, he stood up under the terrific assault, staggering, with half-closed eyes, to hold the line. joel was heartily glad when, presently, he fell up against the big yates center after a fierce attack at his position, and was supported, half fainting, from the field. the substitute was a lighter man, as the next try at his position showed, and the gains through the guard-tackle hole still went on. yates's team now held four substitutes, although with the exception of douglas, the substitute right-guard, none of them was perceptibly inferior to the men whose places they took. the cheering from the harwell seats was now continuous, and the refrain of "glory, glory for the crimson!" was repeated over and over. on the east stand the yates supporters were neither hopeless nor silent. their cheers were given with a will and encouraged their gallant warriors to renewed and ever more desperate defense. the score-board proclaimed the game almost done. with six minutes left it only remained, as it seemed, for yates to hold the plunging crimson once more at the last ditch to keep the game a tie, and so win what would, under the circumstances, have been as good as a victory. down came the harwell line once more to the twenty yards, but here they stopped. for on a pass from quarter to left half, the latter, one joel march of our acquaintance, fumbled the ball, dived quickly after it, and landed on the yates left guard, who had plunged through and now lay with the pigskin safe beneath him! it is difficult to either describe or appreciate the full depth of joel's agony as he picked himself up and limped back to his place. it was a heart-tearing, blinding sensation that left him weak and limp. but there was nothing for it save to go on and try to retrieve his fatal error. the white face of story turned toward him, and joel read in the brief glance no anger, only an almost tearful grief. he swung upon his heel with a muttered word that sounded ill from his lips. but he was only a boy and the provocation was great; let us not remember it against him. the yates center threw back the ball for a kick, and joel went down the field after it. as he ran he wondered if story would try him again. it seemed doubtful, but if he did--joel ground his teeth--he would take it through the line! they would see! just give him one chance to retrieve that fumble! a year later and he had learned that a misplay, even though it lose the game for your side, may in time be lived down. but now that knowledge was not his, and a heart-rending picture of disgrace before the whole college presented itself to him. then blair had the ball, was off, was tackled near the side line under the yates stand, and the two teams were quickly lined up again. the cheers from the friends of the blue were so loud that the quarter's voice giving the signal was scarcely to be heard. joel crept nearer. then his heart leaped up into his throat and stood still. "_ -- -- !_" there was no mistake! it was left half's ball on a double pass for a run around right end! the line-up was within eight yards of the east side line. the play was the third of the second sequence, in which joel with the other backs had been well instructed, and its chance of success lay in the fact that it had the appearance of a full-back punt or a run around the long side of the field. joel leaned forward, facing the left end. blair crept a few feet in. "_ -- --!_" began the quarter. the ball was snapped, blair ran three strides nearer, the quarter turned, and the pigskin flew back. joel started like a shot, seized the ball from the full-back's outstretched hands, and sped toward the right end of the line. the right half crossed in front of him, the right end and tackle thrust back their opponents, the left tackle and guard blocked hard and long. blair helped the right half in his diversion at the left end, and joel, with dutton interfering and blair a stride behind, swept around the end. the only danger was in being forced over the touch line, but the play worked well, and the opposing tackle seemed anchored. the yates end, from his place back of the line, leaped at them, but was upset by dutton, and the two went down together. the opposing left half bore down upon joel and blair, the latter speeding along at the runner's side, and came at them with outstretched arms. another moment and joel was alone. story and the half were just a mass of waving legs and arms many yards behind. joy was the supreme sensation in joel's breast. only the yates full-back threatened, the ball was safely clutched in his right arm, his breath came easily, his legs were strong, and the goal-posts loomed far down the field and beckoned him on. this, he thought exultingly, was the best moment that life could give him. behind, although he could not hear it for the din of shouting from the harwell stand, he knew the pursuit to be in full cry. he edged farther out from the dangerous touch line and sped on. the yates full-back had been deceived by the play and had gone far up the field for a kick, and now down he came, and joel found a chill creeping over him as he remembered the player's wide reputation. he was the finest full-back, so report had it, of the year. and of a sudden joel found his breath growing labored, and his long legs began to ache and seemed stiffening at the thighs and knees. but he only ran the faster and prepared for the threatened tackle. harwell hearts sank, for the crimson-clad runner appeared to waver, to be slowing down. suddenly, when only his own length separated him from his prey, the yates full-back left the ground and, like a swimmer diving into the sea, dove for the hesitating runner. there was but one thing that day more beautiful to see than that fearless attempt to tackle; and that one thing was the leap high into the air that the harwell left half made just in the nick of time, clearing the tackler, barely avoiding a fall, and again running free with the ball still safe! the yates player quickly recovered and took up the chase, and the momentary pause had served to bring the foremost of the other pursuers almost to joel's heels. and now began a contest that will ever live in the memories of those who witnessed it. panting, weary, his legs aching at every bound, his throat parching with the hot breath, joel struggled on. joy had given place to fear and desperation. time and again he choked down the over-ready sobs. behind him sounded the thud of relentless feet. he dared not look back lest he stumble. every second he expected to feel the clutch of the enemy. every second he thought that _now_ he must give up. but recollection of that fumble crushed down each time the inclination to yield, and one after another the nearly obliterated lines passed under foot. he gave up trying to breathe; it was too hard. his head was swimming and his lungs seemed bursting. then his wandering faculties rushed back at a bound as he felt a touch, just the lightest fingering, on his shoulder, and gathering all his remaining strength he increased his pace for a few steps, and the hand was gone. and the ten-yard line passed, slowly, reluctantly. "one more," he thought, "one more!" the great stands were hoarse with shouting; for here ended the game. the figures on the score-board had changed since the last play, and now relentlessly proclaimed one minute left! nearer and nearer crept the five-yard line, nearer and nearer crept the pursuing full-back. then, and at the same instant, the scattered breadth of lime was gone, and a hand clutched at the canvas jacket of the harwell runner. once more joel called upon his strength and tried to draw away, but it was no use. and with the goal line but four yards distant, stout arms were clasped tightly about his waist. one--two--three strides he made. the goal line writhed before his dizzy sight. relentlessly the clutching grasp fastened tighter and tighter about him like steel bands, and settled lower and lower until his legs were clasped and he could move no farther! despairingly he thrust the ball out at arms' length and tried to throw himself forward; the trampled turf rose to meet him.... * * * * * "the ball is over!" pronounced the referee. it was a nice decision, for an inch would have made a world of difference; but it has never been disputed. then dutton leaped into the air, waving his arms, rutland turned a somersault, and the west stand arose as one man and went mad with delight. hats and cushions soared into air, the great structure shook and trembled from end to end, and the last few golden rays of the setting sun glorified the waving, fluttering bank of triumphant crimson! chapter xxv. the return. "boom! boom!" thundered the big drum. "tootle-toot!" shrilled the fife. "tarum! taroom!" growled the horns. the harwell band marched through the archway and defiled on to the platform. the college marched after. well, perhaps not all the college; i have heard that a senior living in lanter was too ill to be present. but the incoming platform was thronged from wall to track, so it was perhaps as well that he didn't come, because there positively wasn't room for him. "what is it?" asked a citizen in a silk hat of a gayly decorated youth on the outskirts of the crowd. the latter stared for full a minute ere the words came. then he cried: "here's a fellow who wants to know what we're here for!" and a great groan of derision went up to the arching roof, and the ignorant person slunk away, yet not before his silk hat had been pushed gently but firmly far down over his eyes. punishment ever awaits the ignorant who will not learn. "glory, glory for the crimson, glory, glory for the crimson, glory, glory for the crimson, for this is harwell's day," sang the throng. "boom! boom! boom!" thundered the big drum. "tootle-toot!" shrilled the fife. "now, fellows, three times three, three long harwells, and three times three!" shouted the master of ceremonies hoarsely. "rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah, harwell! harwell! harwell! rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah, harwell!" shrieked the crowd. "louder! louder!" commanded the remorseless youth on the baggage truck. "nine long harwells! one, two, three!" "har-well! har-well! har-well! har-well! har-well! har-well! har-well! har-well! har-well!" the sound crashed up against the vaulted station roof and thundered back. and none heard the shriek of the incoming train as it clattered over the switches at the entrance of the shed, and none saw it until it was creeping in, the engineer leaning far out of the cab window and waving a red bandanna handkerchief, a courtesy that won him a cheer all to himself. then out tumbled the returning heroes, bags in hands, followed by the head coach and all the rest of the attendant train. and then what a pushing and shouting and struggling there was! there were forty men to every player, and the result was that some of the latter were nearly torn limb from limb ere they were safe out of reach on the shoulders of lucky contestants for the honor of carrying them the first stage of the journey to college. there were some who tried to hide, some who tried to run, others who enjoyed the whole thing hugely and thumped the heads of their bearers heartily just to show good feeling. joel was one of the last to leave the car, and as he set foot on the platform a hundred voices went up in cheers, and a hundred students struggled for possession of him. but one there was who from his place of vantage halfway up the steps repelled all oncomers, and assisted by a second youth of large proportions seized upon joel and setting him upon their shoulders bore him off in triumph. "boom! boom!" said the big drum. and the procession started. down the long platform it went, past the waiting room doors where a crowd of onlookers waved hats and handkerchiefs, and so out into the city street. joel turned his head away from the observers, ashamed and happy. there was no let-up to the cheering. one after another the names of the players and substitutes, coaches and trainer, were cheered and cheered again. "out of the way there!" cried joel's bearers, and the marching throng looked about, moved apart, and as joel was borne through, cheered him to the echo, reaching eager hands toward him, crying words of commendation and praise into his buzzing ears. "rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah, march!" "one!" shrieked a youth near where joel soon found himself at the head of the procession, and the slogan was taken up: "two! three! four! five! six! seven! eight! nine! ten! e-lev-en!" "now give me your hand, joel!" cried the youth upon whose left shoulder he was swaying. joel obeyed, smiling affectionately down into the upraised face. then he uttered a cry of pain. one of the fingers of his left hand was bandaged, and outfield west dropped it gingerly. "not--not _broke_?" he asked wonderingly. joel nodded. "aren't you _proud_ of it?" whispered his chum. "yes," answered joel simply and earnestly. "may i take it, too?" asked the other youth. joel started and looked down into the anxious and entreating face of bartlett cloud. he grasped the hesitating hand that was held up. "yes," he answered smilingly. and the big drum boomed, and the shrill fifes tootled, and the crimson banners waved upon the breeze, and every one cheered himself hoarse, and thus the conquering heroes came back to the college that loved them. and joel, a little tearful when no one was looking, and very happy always, was borne on the shoulders of west and cloud, friend and enemy, at the very head of the procession, honored above all! [illustration: "listen, what was that?" whispered frank.--_page ._] frank armstrong drop kicker by matthew m. colton author of "frank armstrong's vacation," "frank armstrong at queen's," "frank armstrong's second term," etc., etc. with four halftone illustrations by arthur o. scott [illustration] new york hurst & company publishers copyright, , by hurst & company contents chapter page i. a new enterprise ii. failure and a providential rescue iii. queen's transportation company iv. burton's arrival v. the water carnival vi. an old rival's stratagem vii. coals of fire viii. a swim for life ix. saved x. profits of queen's ferry xi. the hazers' waterloo xii. class nines xiii. frank's football education xiv. the telegraph company xv. frank taken to warwick xvi. the warwick game xvii. frank saves the game xviii. mrs. bowser's cat xix. in the bell tower xx. a heavy penalty xxi. gamma's desperate tactics xxii. saved by the wires xxiii. end of gamma tau illustrations "listen, what was that?" whispered frank. _frontispiece_ page frank turned just in time to see a flash of white disappearing beneath the surface. "it's choctaw!" cried the codfish. "who can read choctaw?" down it went to the ground, rose and was sent spinning on its long flight from frank's toe. frank armstrong, drop kicker chapter i. a new enterprise. on a certain warm afternoon in the early part of july any one passing along the main street of the little summer resort of seawall might have observed, had he chanced to glance seaward, a trim sloop riding easily at anchor, her milk-white mainsail swaying idly in the scarce-moving breeze. the water was like glass, excepting that here and there it was wrinkled for a moment by a puff of wind which passed instantly, leaving the mirror-like surface as before. midway of the sloop's cockpit sat the ancient mariner himself, nodding. his back was braced against the gunwale and his pipe hung on his chest--a gentle-looking old man with a long, grizzled beard, taking his siesta as even nature seemed to be taking hers that afternoon. his toil-worn hand hung over the gunwale, and, had one been near enough, the old man might have been heard to snore softly. a quarter of a mile up the bay there appeared three black specks in the water. they might have been corks merely, but as they came steadily along you could have imagined them to be seals. they came nearer, swimming noiselessly, scarcely making a ripple. now they were right alongside the sloop. two of the seals, or whatever the dark forms were, glued themselves close under the sweep of the stern. the third swam cautiously toward the outstretched hand of the ancient mariner, and tweaked one of the fingers which hung within reach of any fish that might be bold enough to try a bite at the tempting morsel. instantly the ancient was in motion and the "seal" disappeared below the surface in a twinkling. "shiver my bloomin' timbers, what was that?" yelled the mariner as he jumped to his feet. "some ding-busted dog-fish trying to make a meal?" and he reached for his pike-pole to do execution to the attacking dog-fish. at this burst from the ancient there came from under the stern an answering burst of laughter. another and still another joyful chuckle followed, and in an instant there bobbed up three heads to the astonished gaze of the occupant of the boat. "you young rapscallions, so it wasn't a dog-fish after all," said the ancient. and then, rubbing his eyes, he looked again. "bust my bulkhead, if it isn't little frank armstrong!" "surest thing you know, captain silas," shouted frank, treading water and keeping his hands going at the same time with a fin-like motion that held him out of the water to his shoulders. "come on out, jimmy; come out, lewis; no use hiding now." "well, i swan!" was all captain silas could say, for it was indeed the old captain himself. "what are you doin' away out here in the bay? you're worse nor a parcel of fish." "oh, captain," cried jimmy turner, shooting out from the boat on his back and splashing water in lewis carroll's face, "we expected to have a lot of fun, but this galoot of a lewis had to snigger out loud, and that spoiled everything." "you sniggered yourself," retorted lewis. "we couldn't help it," said frank. "did it scare you much, captain?" "well, i reckon it wouldn't have scared me so much if i hadn't been dreaming i was hauling in a big sword-fish, and just as i was going to grab him with my gaff, up he jumps and grabs my hand. i give such a jump that i near fell out the other side o' the boat." the boys laughed again and splashed water. "come on into the boat," said the captain, grinning at the joke that had been played on him. "come on in and let's see how you look," and he held out a gnarled hand to frank, who seized it and was soon over the side. jimmy followed easily, but it took two of them to get lewis aboard, who, in spite of all his athletic endeavors, continued to grow more like an ordinary washtub every day. but finally, after much tugging, they landed lewis safely. the three swimmers sat and dripped water over captain silas' seats. "must have come into a fortune, captain," exclaimed frank, looking over the trim boat and aloft at the white sail, which was now swinging a little more widely with the land breeze. "oh, no," was the reply. "couldn't make much outen my old fishing job, so i took my little nest-egg outen the bank and put it in this here boat." "going pirating?" inquired jimmy. "not 'xactly that, kinder social piratin' maybe. i carry the city swells that want to go fer a sail. it pays better nor lobsters." "just a different kind of lobster, eh?" broke in lewis. "i take parties out for sails at twenty-five cents the head," continued the captain, not noticing the interruption by lewis, "but it's been bad business these last two or three days, not a breeze big enuff to blow a han'kerchief. so i was havin' a snooze when you fellers give me such a start," and the old man grinned pleasantly. "but it's breezin' up a bit now and maybe we can have a sail before the sun goes down. want to come?" "you bet we do!" was the simultaneous response of the three, who had scattered themselves comfortably around on the little deck forward with their faces up to the blue sky. "hadn't you better go and git some clothes on your backs? you'll freeze to death in them there skinny little bathing suits of yours." "oh, no, we'll be as warm as toast. see, our suits are nearly dry. we've put in most of the time these last two weeks in these rigs and we're used to it," said frank. the breeze was picking up every minute, and the captain, casting an eye to the pier end without seeing any prospective passengers, and apparently nothing loth to have back with him again the three spirited youngsters, began to pull up his anchor and make ready. in this the boys helped, and soon the sloop was heading off down the bay careening to the freshening breeze. "gee whiz!" sighed jimmy, prone on his back and stretched out like a star-fish, arms and legs extended, "but this beats school all hollow." "and what ye been doin' at school? learnin' your lessons, i s'pose?" said the captain, who had heard the remark. "s'pose your heads are just crammed full of knowledge, eh?" "not exactly that," replied frank, grinning. "there are a lot of blank spaces in my cranium that haven't been touched yet. but lewis is fearfully educated." "yes," added jimmy jokingly, "he's what they call a high-stand man." "wouldn't think it," said the old man, scrutinizing lewis closely. "i'd say he was a wide-stand man," still looking lewis over critically. frank and jimmy laughed heartily at this, and the captain joined in when it was explained to him that this particular kind of stand had nothing to do with the physique. "i say, captain," said frank, coming down from the deck to where captain brown sat at the tiller, "can't we do something to help you run the ship?" "she don't need no running mor'n she's doin' now. all you got to do is just keep 'er steddy, same's i'm doin' now. you're not big enuff to steer. i'm 'fraid she'd wallop ye all about in a heavy sea." "oh, i don't mean sailing her; i'm not much on that. but couldn't we help with the passengers? couldn't we put up the gangplank or put it down or whatever you do with it?" continued frank. "we are three husky fellows, and we want to do something to keep in training." "trainin', what fer?" said the old man. "oh, just training for football. we want to be ready for the fall and have our muscles hard and our wind good." "yes," broke in lewis, "we are going to be on the football team this fall up at queen's school. frank is going to be drop kicker, and i----" "oh, ho," laughed jimmy from his place up in the bow-sprit, where he had just stretched himself full length, face downward, with his legs coiled about the timber to keep himself from rolling into the sea, "did you hear lewis say 'we'? lewis has to keep in condition, so please, captain, give him some heavy work to do; let him spank the spinnaker and reef the anchor and splice the jib-boom." "i could do any of them," said lewis, throwing out his chest; and the captain chuckled. "i tell you," he said, "we can let lewis dust the mains'l; that would give him good exercise. but leavin' jokin' behind, ef ye want somethin' to do, why don't you get a motor boat and take out people for little runs among the islands here, same as i do? lots o' people want to go quicker nor i can go, but i wouldn't touch one of the pesky things." "by jiminy!" exclaimed frank, "that's an idea!" "yes, and where's your motor boat coming from?" said jimmy. "motor boats cost something, and i don't see any good, kind gentleman coming around handing us one." "we might hire one," said lewis, "and pay the rent from our profits. if we had luck we might be able to buy her by fall." "yes, and a house and lot and two yachts," said jimmy, who was skeptical about the plan. "guess i know where you boys might pick up one cheap," broke in the captain, as he dexterously swung the boat over on the starboard tack and headed her up the bay. "old man simpkins has a motor boat he hasn't used for mor'n a year. it's layin' hitched up to his wharf down turner's point way." "oh, i know who he is," said frank. "lives in that big house by the pine grove a little way this side of the point." "that's the feller," said the captain. "has a little girl, all kinder crippled up with some disease or other. comes down to sail with me two or three times a week. had a son at college who died of fever or something. it was his boat. that's the reason the boat's never used, i guess; old gentleman don't care for it no more." "great whippoorwills, but there's our chance!" said frank. "jimmy, get over your pessimism and think up some scheme for renting that boat. why, man," as jimmy just grinned, "there's millions in it. we'll organize a company." "i'll be with you on condition that you'll let me steer it," said jimmy. "you can be captain if you want to." "all right, my son, you may, and i'll take care of the motor," said frank. "that's a job for the best man." "and what am i to be?" said lewis. "can't i be skipper, or something like that?" "you'll be the ballast," said jimmy, grinning from his perch on the bow-sprit. he had turned over on his back now and was balancing precariously, one toe hooked in a coil of rope at the foot of the mast being his only anchorage from a bath in the cool green sea racing along a couple of feet below him. "we are talking as if we had the boat in commission already. but 'nothing venture, nothing have,' as the old saying goes. i'm going down to-morrow to see mr. simpkins and try my powers of persuasion on him." "beware of the dog," warned jimmy. "dog or no dog, i'm going to try." "what's this navigation company going to be called?" inquired lewis. "the name will be the 'queen's ferry,'" said frank. "sounds like an old english romance, but it's good," commented jimmy; "the queen's ferry, armstrong, captain, carroll, first mate----" "i don't want to be first mate," corrected lewis. "i want to be a skipper." "well, if you want to have such a lively name go ahead and take it. if skipper means anything speedy, you've got the most terrifically misplaced confidence in yourself i ever saw,--but if you must, you must, so you are to be the skipper." "and james turner will be first mate and helmsman," said frank. "aye, aye, sir," came the response. "now, that being done, we've got to have an agent to drum up our business, to see that the great and waiting public may know that at last in seawall there is a proper conveyance; a guide and courier, a kind of advertising man who will present our magnificent possibilities in transportation." the three boys looked at each other. "the codfish!" they shouted in chorus. "the codfish is the man. and he's coming to visit me in a week," added frank. "too long to wait," said jimmy, shaking his head. "we are losing profits every minute. let's telegraph him to come now. 'do it now'--or before--is my motto." "good!" said frank; "we'll telegraph to-night and offer him the job. let's see, this is thursday; we ought to begin our trips monday. yes, monday's the best day to begin anything on. we might get started on saturday if the codfish comes right away." "did you kids ever hear tell of countin' chickens before they was hatched?" broke in the voice of captain silas. "you haint got the boat yit," and the old man chuckled. "but that's the way youth do run on. and then how about drivin' poor old captain silas brown out of bisness with one o' them fast motor boats?" "oh, captain, do you think it would hurt your trade? we wouldn't do it for the world. we'll give it up. i didn't think of that," cried the generous boys in a breath. "go along with you, 'twon't hurt me. i was only jokin'. there'll be more than we all can do and i'm a thinkin' you'll get tired of it pretty quick. i'll help you all i can to git hold of the old boat, but don't ever ask me to go to sea in one o' the consarned things. 'member what happened to your old boat last year?" the boys looked at each other. "you bet we do!" they exclaimed in a breath. "but there are to be no matches aboard any boats i command in the future," cried frank. "well, here we are back again," said the captain, as he brought the _seagull_, for such was her name, up into the wind. "i'll take you off in my dinghy in a minnit." "thank you, captain, for a fine sail and a brilliant idea, and we won't bother you to take us off; we have our fins," said frank. "see you later," and one after the other the boys popped into the water like so many porpoises, and, led by frank, swimming a graceful and easy overhand, they went ploughing up the beach in the direction of the armstrong cottage. "water rats, nuthin' but derned water rats," said the old man, as his kindly eye followed the three swimmers pulling rapidly away towards the shore. chapter ii. failure and a providential rescue. "dad," said frank that night at the supper table, "we boys are going into the transportation business. got any objection?" "into the what?" said mr. armstrong, pausing in the act of filling his healthy son's plate for the second time. "transportation, if you please, sir," said frank, grinning and reaching for the full dish. "it's like this: old captain silas says there are lots of people about here who want to take little cruises around the islands these fine days. that's condition no. ." "condition no. ," repeated his father, smiling. "go on." "and condition no. is, three strong, husky, able-bodied seamen, jimmy turner, lewis, and your dutiful son, who want to make some money and keep ourselves busy at the same time." "what about old captain silas himself?" inquired mrs. armstrong. "can't he take care of all the excursionists himself? or does he want to take you boys into partnership?" "no, mother, this is going to be a rapid passenger service," and in a few words he outlined the plan put into his head that afternoon by the old captain's remark. "the only things we need now are a ship and a manager." "not much, is it?" said mr. armstrong, laughing. "perhaps colonel powers would let you have his yacht." "oh, dad, i'm not joking. we are in a fair way to have both. at least we know where there's a motor boat, and the codfish was born to be a manager of the outfit. it is providential. we'll get him here ahead of time." "where's your motor boat?" inquired mrs. armstrong, smiling indulgently at her son's eagerness. "it is anchored down the shore a ways, belongs to mr. simpkins, and we're going to tackle him to-morrow. i think i can show him," added frank, cocking his head on one side, wisely, "that there would be good money in it for him to rent it. we can charge twenty-five cents a head for all passengers. let's see," counting on his fingers, "we ought to be able to carry half a dozen besides our crew if the boat's any size,--that'd be a dollar and a half for a trip of an hour. and we can make four or five trips a day, sure. that'd be seven dollars and fifty cents a day, and, six days a week, that'd be about forty-five dollars," triumphantly. "running expenses ought not to be more than fifteen dollars, and that would leave thirty dollars to divvy up between the four of us." frank's ambitions were running away with him. "and besides that, we'd have a better time than doing nothing. can't we do it, dad?" "well, i don't see any very strong objections," returned mr. armstrong, smiling at his wife across the table, "but if you are figuring on that boat of mr. simpkins' i wouldn't build my scheme too high, for it might tumble. mr. simpkins wouldn't probably be interested in dividends, for he has a pile of money, and, besides that, he is a pretty crusty old gentleman." "crusty or no crusty, we are going down to see him in the morning, provided you and mother don't say no." it was finally agreed in the family that there would be no objection. "they will soon get tired of it, mother," said mr. armstrong, "and it's dollars to pins that mr. simpkins will set the dog on them instead of handing over his motor boat, even though he doesn't use it himself." "and only one thing more," cried frank, in great glee that his parents threw no obstacle in the way of the queen's ferry company. "the codfish is coming down to make us a visit next week. can't we have him down right away? we need his head in this big venture." "glad to have him come along. we would like to see this wonderful roommate of yours, wouldn't we, mother?" said mr. armstrong. "whoop!" shouted frank, "then we'll telegraph. i'm off to meet the other officers of the company." the result of the conference between the captain, the helmsman, and the skipper was that this telegram was dispatched to the codfish: "big transportation company formed. you are elected manager. no work, big profits. come on next train. "(signed) frank, lewis, jimmy." about the middle of the next forenoon the boys met at the armstrong household and girt up their loins, or, in other words, nerved themselves for the negotiations with mr. simpkins. "you do the talking, frank," said jimmy. "you have the gift of gab. i'll guard the way and lewis can protect us from the dog." "protect nothing," said lewis. "i'm too important a member of this company to fatten any bulldogs in this neighborhood." "if any one is to be sacrificed on this expedition, it might as well be you," retorted jimmy. "skippers are always the first to be sacrificed." bantering each other, the three boys made their way down the shore walk, and boldly ascended the path to the big yellow house where mr. simpkins lived in solitary grandeur. they might have retreated before this point had not they strengthened their drooping spirits with a hurried inspection of the motor boat moored to the little pier. a long, racy-looking boat it was, lying close on the water and with every evidence of speed. the lines swept back from the bow in a graceful curve to a rather full beam at midships, and then swung in slightly as they approached the stern, ending abruptly in a square hull. the motor was covered by a rubber tarpaulin, and so they were not able to tell much about it. a generous bulk testified, however, to ample power to drive the craft at high speed. a kind of canvas awning partially protected the interior woodwork of the boat, but in spite of this the craft had a forlorn appearance. "she's a little the worse for weather, but she's a beauty in spite of it," exclaimed frank, as he looked her over. "she has _the foam_ knocked galley-west," he added. "that's a fact," was jimmy's only comment. he thought of the poor old _foam_ lying at the bottom out in the bay there. "well, here goes," said frank, and he led the way up the wide and imposing steps of the simpkins homestead. "here's where the queen's ferry transportation company sees the light or is buried thirty fathoms under. 'screw up your courage to the sticking point,' as hamlet said, and follow me." the big door opened to their ring and they stepped within in a huddled group. ten minutes later three dejected youths might have been seen making their way slowly towards seawall. disappointment was written deeply on each countenance. "he's what i call an old skinflint," said jimmy savagely. "didn't want the boat, wouldn't sell it, or lend it, or rent it," and he kicked an inoffensive shell out of the track. "a regular dog-in-the-manger," commented lewis. "well, that's settled, anyway," said frank, taking a long breath. "we've no ship, and of course we can't sail without a ship." in their disappointment the boys hunted up captain silas brown, who was hoisting his mainsail to the breeze and preparing for the prospective trippers. the old man listened to their story. "i'll tell you what i'll do," he said. "i need some one to help me out fer a day or two with this old craft. i've got a touch of the rheumatiz, and i'm not so smart as i might be." together they talked it all over and decided that that very afternoon the boys were to ship as able-bodied seamen. this somewhat cheered the officers of the defunct queen's ferry company. suddenly frank sprang up. "great scott, fellows, we forgot to telegraph the codfish! no use of him coming now. let's wire him the disaster. we don't want to get him here under false pretenses." the three boys hurried off to the telegraph office. arrived there, they called for a blank and frank was just getting the sad information down in the form of a telegram, when the clerk behind the counter said: "you're the fellows who sent a message to g. w. gleason at yarmouth this morning?" "yes." "well, here's an answer. it has just come in, pretty quick work that." frank tore the end off the yellow envelope, for it was addressed to him, and read: "don't care for the salary, too much money already, but the job with no work appeals to me. i'll be at seawall to-morrow night at six o'clock if the train stays on the track. "(signed) the codfish." "well, here's a pickle! but never mind, i know mother and father won't mind," said frank. "so let him come." the codfish was a great favorite with the three, in spite of his sharp tongue and rather unusual ways. they were not sorry that he was coming. that afternoon our trio reported to captain silas brown just as he was making up his party of voyagers at the end of seawall pier. it turned out to be a gallant sailing day. a steady wind blew from the southwest, making the _seagull_ dance merrily alongside the float to which the captain had drawn her to take on his passengers, of whom there were an unusually large number, attracted probably by the fair prospects for the afternoon. they were mostly women and children, and the three new assistants made themselves very useful at lending a hand as the passengers stepped into the rocking sloop. soon all were aboard and the mooring ropes were cast off. the sloop moved swiftly away down the bay under the guidance of captain silas on what proved to be an eventful voyage. the day was a glorious one, and the wind strong enough to heel the _seagull_ over till her bright green underbody showed well above the water on the windward side. every now and then a stronger puff of wind laid the _seagull_ so far over that her lee side was buried under the foaming water. but the passengers had confidence in the steady hand of captain silas, and chatted merrily, for the cockpit was protected from wave tops by a high wooden edge, and there was apparently no danger. the occasional dash of spray which came aboard was just enough to add zest to the outing, and the passengers enjoyed the lively dance of the sloop over the rolling water. [illustration: frank turned just in time to see a flash of white disappearing beneath the surface.--_page ._] all of a sudden, when rounding the point off high island, there came a violent blast of wind which plucked the hat from the head of a little girl who had sat all the while very quietly with her maid on the leeward side of the sloop. she jumped to her feet, made a desperate grab for the flying head-covering, lost her balance, and pitched head first into the water. she was lost to sight in an instant, a big wave breaking over her head as she went down. at the scream of the maid, frank, who had been standing on the little deck forward with one arm around the mast, turned just in time to see a flash of white disappearing beneath the surface. "she is drowned! she is drowned!" screamed the maid, jumping to her feet and wringing her hands wildly. "oh, she's drowned!" the other women in the boat began to scream and point to the place where the little girl had gone down. with frank, to think was to act. without waiting to throw off any clothes, he made a flying leap for the spot where he had last seen the white dress; but so great had been the momentum of the boat, that when he struck the water he was some yards away from the spot. hampered as he was with his clothes and hindered by the breaking waves, he swam desperately, using his most powerful strokes. before he could cover the distance he saw a white sleeve and the top of a head appear above the surface for an instant and disappear immediately. half a dozen strokes carried him to the place, but the drowning girl had gone down for the second time. for a few moments only, frank paddled around waiting for the child to come to the surface. he had heard that a drowning person comes to the surface three times. "i won't risk it," he said to himself. "she may never come up again, and the water must be deep here." he stopped swimming, turned his back to the waves, took a deep breath, and dived straight for the bottom. how cold and strange it felt, and how quiet after the tumult he had left above him! the impulse of his dive soon ended, and yet there was no bottom, so he began to swim straight downward. his eyes were open and he could see quite plainly within a radius of ten feet. straining his eyes, he looked into the gloomy depths as he swam. what was that gleam of white far below him? it must be the girl's dress. how his head cracked with the pressure of the water, but on he went downward, ever downward. he was below the clear light, but the thought that he was nearing the drowning child gave him the power of a grown man. he swam on almost blindly, and with the strength of despair, because he knew it was the only chance to save a life. in the blackness of the depths he lost the gleam of white, then recovered it, lost it again, and after two or three strokes touched something which felt like seaweed. his hand closed instinctively, although he could see nothing now, and he realized with a great feeling of joy that it was the child's hair which had floated upward. he wound his hand securely in it, and struck madly for the surface with splitting head and bursting lungs. it could only have been a few seconds, but to frank it seemed an eternity before his head bobbed into the clear sunlight and he was able to take a great gulping breath. he felt as weak as a baby, but he had strength enough to pull his burden to the surface and turn on his back. "good boy," said a voice behind him. "let me take her. look out for yourself." frank turned his head and saw jimmy at his elbow. he resigned the little girl, who showed no signs of life, to his friend, and lay panting on the surface, the water breaking over him every now and then. he had barely strength left to work his hands fin-like to keep afloat, while captain silas maneuvered the sloop back to the spot where the two boys were struggling in the water. soon life buoys were thrown out to them, and a minute later the sloop, with her head to the wind and her mainsail snapping and cracking, lay close alongside. in a jiffy the unconscious girl, frank, and jimmy were pulled aboard the boat, where frank lay gasping like a fish out of water. well acquainted with and skilled in the methods of resuscitation, the old captain worked over the little girl, who lay as limp as a rag on the deck while the maid wept hysterically and several of the other women cried in sympathy. "ding bust it," cried the old man at last, "what ye crying about? she's not drownded, i tell ye. she's coming to." and the captain was right. first there was a little quiver of the eyelids, then a faint sigh from her lips, and finally a soft moan. "thank god!" said the captain. "the pore little girl will be all right in a few minutes. but i say, it was a narrow squeak. frank armstrong, you deserve the carnegie medal for that same trick." frank was on his feet again, and, although white and a little sick, he was able to help jimmy with the tiller, while the captain kept up his ministrations to the little girl, who opened her eyes at last and looked about her. "you'll be sound as a dollar in half an hour," said the captain, as he finally turned her over to the maid, who had by this time quieted down. captain silas went aft and took the tiller from the boys. "that was a good turn you did for old man simpkins," he observed. "that's his little girl you saved from a watery death. guess he'll feel different about that motor boat now," and the old captain smiled grimly. before the _seagull_ reached the dock the participators in what had nearly been a tragedy were rapidly recovering. frank was still wobbly on his legs, but quickly recovered his spirits. "thank you, old man," he said to jimmy as they disembarked. "if it hadn't been for you, both of us would have gone down. i didn't have the strength to keep even myself up and i wouldn't have let her go down alone." the two friends gave a silent pressure of the hand. "it was nothing," said jimmy. "i went after you as quickly as i could. it seemed to me you were down fully five minutes, and i had about given you up when your head bobbed through the surface." "seemed to me i was down about an hour, and i guess i must have been fifteen or twenty feet under when i got her. but it's all over now, and i'm glad." the gallant rescue was the talk of seawall that night. captain silas sat at the end of the pier with a group around him, and frank's daring deed lost nothing by the captain's telling. but frank was silent on the matter himself and denied that he had done anything to talk about. from him, his father and mother could only get the bare facts that he had jumped overboard and pulled in a little girl who had had the bad luck to fall into the water. chapter iii. queen's transportation company. the six o'clock train the next night brought with it the codfish in all his glory. he was radiant in a natty gray flannel suit, and sported a lavender tie and socks to match, with a dash of the same color in his hat band. "welcome to our city, codfish!" shouted frank, who with jimmy and lewis had been at the station long before the train from the north was due. "gentlemen," returned that individual as he descended mincingly from the parlor car, while a porter dragged two great suit-cases stuffed to bursting after him, "i am charmed with this reception. but where's the band?" "the only one i see," said jimmy laughingly, "is the one on your hat, and it sounds like a flock of trombones. don't you know you are liable to shock these sedate villagers with that raiment of yours? you might be arrested as a disturber of the peace." "you see in me not a shocker," replied the visitor, "but the great animator. business will pick up as soon as i am well established in your rural midst. children cry for me and all that sort of thing. but what's this job you have for me?" "oh, i'm sorry to say it's all off. we were about to telegraph you again to stay where you were, when we had your message saying you were coming." "all right, i'll take the next train back." "you'll take nothing back for about three weeks. we'll tell you what we had up our sleeve. here, jones"--to the village expressman--"take these miniature trunks down to my father's house," said frank. "we'll walk, if you feel able to take so much exercise, mr. gleason." "not used to it, of course, but i'll make an exception this time. now, fire away on this scheme of yours." as they trudged along, frank, aided by jimmy and occasionally by lewis, told of the conception and the smash of the scheme. "but never mind," he added, "we can find enough to do. we'll teach you to swim like a fish----" "no, you won't. i'm not a fish in spite of my name. i will fight before i'll swim, and goodness knows i'd hate to fight, for it's most exhausting." the boys all laughed at the whimsical codfish, for they all knew that he wasn't half so backward in athletic things as he tried to persuade them that he was. "hello," said frank, giving a whistle of surprise as he approached the house. "we have company. by crickets, it is--it is mr. simpkins! now, i wonder if his little girl hasn't got over her ducking yet." "principal people of the village here undoubtedly to welcome me," said the codfish. "'spose i'll have to make a speech and all that sort of thing. beastly bore; you shouldn't have let them know i was coming." by this time frank had mounted the steps of the house. "this is my son frank, mr. simpkins," said mr. armstrong. frank came forward and received a hearty handclasp from mr. simpkins. "my boy," said the latter, "when you were at my house this morning, i little thought that i'd have to thank you for saving my daughter's life. i do thank you from the bottom of my heart, and i want to ask your pardon for my seeming bluntness this morning." "oh, that was all right, sir. i happened to be handy to-day and helped to pull the little girl out of the water. that was all. and as for the motor boat, it was a matter of business and we couldn't come to terms. no one's fault." mr. simpkins smiled at the businesslike youngster who talked so clearly to the point. "well, i appreciate your quality more now than i did this morning, and i've come up not only to thank you, but to tell you that the motor boat you want is yours." "oh, i couldn't think of taking it! i did nothing to earn it," said frank, much embarrassed by the kindly tone and offer. "now i insist," said the visitor. "the boat is doing me no good whatsoever, and you might as well have it. it belonged to a son of mine who is gone, and i haven't had the heart to let it be used or even to sell it. in view of the obligation you have placed me under, my boy, i can square things with you partially, at least, by giving you the boat. it has not been used much and i'm sure it is in good condition. if it is not in good condition, i'll put it that way, so you can begin your transportation, as you call it, at once." "i'm awfully much obliged," said frank, "but it's too much of a gift for what i did. won't you let us buy it from you?" there was a sound of muffled protest from the boys at the other end of the veranda where they had withdrawn, although still within earshot of the conversation that was going on. "the boy is right, mr. simpkins, it is too much of a gift," said mr. armstrong. "i think his argument is good." "well, then," said mr. simpkins, turning again to frank, "make me an offer. i'm willing to sell to you and in some way discharge some of my debt. you are willing to buy, i think you said this morning." "yes, sir, but i'm afraid it would cost too much for us." "i don't know," said the old gentleman; "the boat's not doing me any good. let's see; i'd sell her for a hundred dollars and put her in running shape. how's that? and you can pay me half of that amount at the end of this summer and the other half a year later. will you take her?" there was a murmur of approval at the other end of the veranda, and frank, as soon as he could find his voice, exclaimed: "you bet we'll take her! i mean--thank you, sir; we will take her on those conditions." mr. simpkins smiled slyly at mr. armstrong, who, being later appealed to by his son, readily gave his consent to the deal, adding, "and i'll back frank and his chums in this venture." "i can already see that i'm dealing with a young man who will make good his word," said mr. simpkins. "and now i must be going. i'll have a man look over the boat to-morrow morning, and if everything is all right with the engine you can take possession at once. i'll have my man show you how to run her, but i imagine it won't take you long to learn. good night, all." you can readily imagine the jubilee that took place when mr. simpkins was out of hearing. the four boys grabbed each other and danced a wild highland fling. mr. and mrs. armstrong looked on laughing as the boys thumped each other on the back and shouted. "boys, boys, you won't leave a board in the veranda, and the neighbors will think you've taken leave of your senses," admonished mrs. armstrong. "and, anyway, it's time for supper, and mr. gleason must be hungry after his long ride." "dear old mum, you would dance, too, wouldn't you, if you had just bought a ship for a song, same as we have? here, salute the captain of the new transportation company!" his mother slipped her arm over her son's shoulder and kissed him gravely on the cheek: "thus i salute captain armstrong." "that's the best salute ever, mother. better than twenty-one guns in the navy." "and where do we come in, in these salutes," said the codfish. "aren't we important members of the company?" "i could kiss you all, to-day," said the motherly woman; "i'm so happy for your sakes. but there goes the bell. we'll have something more substantial than salutes." there was great planning at that supper of passenger carrying, swimming, racing and the like, things that all energetic boys on a summer vacation would enjoy. "if david were only here our party would be complete," said jimmy. "and where is he?" inquired gleason. "we hope he'll be in seawall next month. he is in europe now," returned frank; "and we will keep our purchase a secret from him at present. when he gets back we will suddenly burst on his vision in all our glory." "good old david," said jimmy; "won't he be glad? we can take him along as member of the crew. he'd make a ripping coxswain." "i don't know what a coxswain has to do, but he'd be all right for any job," said lewis. "and with all this crew you propose," said mr. armstrong, "where are you going to put your passengers?" "oh, don't worry about that, dad; she's a big boat. wait till you see her. are you willing to advance us running expenses for gasoline and oil till we get our first money on fares?" "provided it isn't more than a hundred dollars a day," returned his father, laughing. the next morning was spent down at the simpkins wharf with the mechanic. there was little to do. the motor was one of the best types, but while it had been idle it had acquired some rust. the pistons stuck hard in the cylinders for a time, but they were soon freed and the engine turned over as smoothly as the day it left the shop. when the batteries were renewed, the carburetor adjusted and the gas and oil tanks filled, the mechanic gave the fly wheel a sharp turn. instantly there was an explosion; another and another followed, and as the motor picked up speed under the careful manipulation of the mechanic, the explosions from the exhaust settled down into a steady purr. "that's a peach of an engine," said frank to the mechanic. "how much speed do you think the boat has?" "dunno," replied the mechanic; "mebby twenty miles, mebby more. don't think there's many around here that'll get away from her very much. now we're ready to see how she goes." the ropes which fastened the motor boat to the pier were thrown off and slowly the craft was backed from her berth. "take the wheel," said the mechanic, indicating frank, "and i'll look after the motor. we'll see what she can do." frank sprang to the wheel and after a little maneuvering headed her down the bay. "she steers like a bicycle," he cried. "gee whiz, isn't it great?" as the speed increased, the boat lifted her nose clear out of the water under the push from the powerful motor, and a white-capped wave rolled away from either side. they passed several sailing boats that seemed almost motionless by contrast. frank ranged up alongside another motor boat bound in the same direction and soon left it in the distance. then, after a long, sweeping turn, he headed back to the wharf, where mr. simpkins stood. "she's all right, i see," said that gentleman, "and evidently hasn't lost her speed." "i should say she hadn't," said frank. "we went like an express train. are you sure you still want to hold to your bargain, mr. simpkins?" "oh, yes; i'm glad my old boat has fallen into such appreciative hands. maybe i'll take a ride with you, when you have begun your ferry service. she isn't as handsome as she was before the weather got at her sides, but a lick of paint here and there will repair all the damage." "if our profits are big enough, we can lay her up this winter and give her a new dress," suggested jimmy; "but there's no time now." "if you are satisfied that you can run her," continued mr. simpkins, "and she is ready, there's no reason you can't take her now. what do you say?" "say? why, we say yes, if you don't mind. we can be getting used to her before we begin to make business runs. how about it, mates?" said frank, turning to his crew. of course the crew were of one mind. the mechanic was landed on the pier, and under the hands of her new crew, the _black duck_, for that was the name of the craft, shot once more into the sparkling waters of the bay. this time jimmy was at the wheel and frank manipulated the motor. halfway to the seawall pier the boys met the _seagull_, with a party aboard. jimmy swung in close and the crew of the motor boat gave such a yell as startled the old salt at the tiller of the _seagull_. "well, i'll be swizzled," they heard him say as they flashed by, and turning, with his arm on the tiller, he waved a friendly hand as they dashed on. before the day was over the boys had familiarized themselves thoroughly with their new possession, and the farther they went the more wonderful did they consider their luck in having such a craft. the next morning the town of seawall was startled in its morning walk by notices posted conspicuously as follows: queen's transportation company. a marvellous opportunity to see the magnificent scenery of seawall bay by motor boat. roomy accommodations. courteous attendants. every convenience. for the small sum of cents. start made from seawall pier every hour. first trip a. m. to-day. per order board of directors. the notice was prepared by the ready pen of the codfish, and it was given an added interest by a slap-dash drawing of a motor boat coasting down the side of a big wave, while little fishes and big fishes stood on their tails in astonishment. of course, every one who read went down to the pier at the hour named, and the young navigators started out on their first trip with every seat taken. during the trip the codfish acted as a kind of guide to the party and pointed out the "magnificent scenery," adding many fictitious details as the _black duck_ plowed along. the passengers, when landed at the starting point after an hour's trip, voted it the best ride they had ever taken and made way for a new boatload. it was a day of rushing business for the new company, and the profits before nightfall came to something over ten dollars. chapter iv. burton's arrival. this first day of business was the index of many days to come, and the money rolled in rapidly. "a little while more, fellows, and we will own half of her," said the captain, as they laid up to the pier one fine day waiting for passengers. "which half, captain," inquired the codfish; "bow or stern?" "never mind which," returned frank. "you keep on with your superb management and we will have a property here worth while. here comes another load for us. there's about two dollars in this for us. hustle up, my hearties, and be ready to lend a hand, fatty." this to lewis, who never disturbed himself unless under orders. lewis crawled laboriously over the gunwale onto the float. "well, well, well," said a young man of the party who had just come upon the float. "if my eyes do not deceive me, the captain of that ocean-going motor boat is none other than my old friend, frank armstrong!" frank, who had been fussing with the motor, raised his head. "mr. burton!" he exclaimed. "glad to see you! i didn't know you were around here." "i can say the same to you. how long have you been a navigator?" he added, as the party of young folks climbed aboard. "and there's jimmy and your little fat friend. my, this is quite a reunion. arrived only a day or two ago." the boys grinned their pleasure at the meeting. "do any swimming now?" said burton as the boat got under way. "oh, yes, we take the mornings for that. we do a little in athletics up at queen's school and we're kept in training, especially for football." "oh, yes, you are a freshman up there." "no, we are in our second year," said jimmy proudly. "i beg your pardon," said burton, laughing; "it is hard to be taken for a freshman when you've got away beyond that unhappy period. now, it is fortunate, frank, you've kept up your swimming, because i want you to come down to turner's point next week and show some of those fellows how we used to swim down in florida. can you come?" "can't leave my transportation job very well," replied frank. "oh, hang your transportation job! there will be no one to transport that day. every one will be down to the carnival. you know what a crowd we had last year, and it's going to be a bigger affair than ever. there'll be lots of people to come down from seawall. why don't you run a special excursion, swim in the meet and take your crowd back home in the evening? there you are, business and pleasure combined." "sounds good to me," said frank. "how about it for you, jimmy, and you, codfish and lewis?" "oh, come along," said burton. "i'll put you down, frank, in the hundred-yard race or anything you want to go in for. they've made me master of ceremonies again. and you will be interested to know that your old rival, peters, is back at the point and swimming better than ever. he's been practicing, he told me, hoping for the chance to get back at you. don't you want to take another fall out of him?" frank's eyes brightened. "i wouldn't mind," he added slowly. "i'm stronger than i was a year ago, but i don't know that i've improved the stroke you taught me." "i'm sure it's all right," said the buoyant burton. "i'll come up to-morrow morning and see what you've been doing in the way of speed, and after looking you and jimmy over i can tell the distance you can swim best. is it a go?" "it's a go for me," said frank. "me, too," said jimmy. "ditto," said lewis. "and how about mr. gleason?" said burton. "the codfish, in spite of his name, hates the water except in the bathtub," said jimmy. "but he'd be a fine scorer, eh, codfish?" "anything the captain says is good enough for me," said the codfish. "he's the boss. i'm on a salary and under orders." "well, you can be an ornament to the stake boat, or the float, or anywhere you want to be. it's settled that you are to come?" said burton. the boys nodded. burton went back to his party and the boys gave their attention wholly to navigation to the end of the trip. "don't forget, now; i'm going to be up your way in the morning. be all ready in your suits," burton called back over his shoulder, as with his friends he left the seawall pier. next morning the boys met early at the old swimming place and were splashing about trying various strokes, when burton's black head showed in the water a quarter of a mile off shore. "by the great horn spoon," said jimmy, "there he is, swimming up, and it's nearly a mile from the point." "he must be a wonder," said the codfish; "i wouldn't take all that exercise if you were to give me the _black duck_ and all her feathers. but there's no accounting for tastes. i'm overcome thinking how much energy he is wasting." the codfish was perched on a dry bit of rock. his raiment was as immaculate as ever, but the tone of it was pink this morning. "hello, boys," shouted burton as he approached. "ready, i see. now," as he pulled himself up on the rocks, "i want to see what you've accomplished since i saw you. in with you, frank." frank plunged into the water and swam a little distance, using the crawl stroke to the best of his ability, while burton observed him closely. "'tisn't quite right. look," and the coach dived off the rock and shot over to frank. "you ought to bring your hand clear out of the water. don't reach too far and don't let it go too deep; just like a paddle, you remember. your leg kick is good. get your arms right and there will be nothing to it." frank tried to follow the instructions as well as he could, and his efforts pleased his instructor, who shouted from his perch on the rock to which he had returned: "fine, fine, that's the way; now only one breath to half a dozen strokes; you waste too much time breathing." "same as me," commented the codfish from his perch. frank finished his lesson, and jimmy and lewis were sent in for some instruction. burton began to call for the crawl stroke, but both boys confessed they had never been able to learn it very well. they disliked burying their faces in the water, and so got along much better with the old overhand and breast strokes. burton tried to show them just how it was done, and was in the water and out of it half a dozen times coaching, but neither of the swimmers caught the idea. "well, never mind, let it go to-day and swim me a hundred yards, the three of you. frank, you take the crawl, and let the other two use what they want to. get ready, go!" the boys splashed into the water each in his different way, frank easy and graceful, jimmy determined but rather clumsy, and lewis like a walrus. "see how frank pulls away from them," said burton, now left alone with the codfish. "that boy is a wonder in the water. why, they're not any match for him at all, and only last year both of them could beat him. that's what comes of sticking to a thing. frank was determined to learn that stroke and he got it. the others thought there was nothing in it and didn't try hard." the swimmers reached the other side of the little rocky inlet and were heading back towards the starting point, with frank well in the lead, but he slowed up and finished easily, while the others pulled themselves up on the rocks almost exhausted. "we're no match for frank at all," said jimmy, puffing. "he has a motor attached to him somewhere." "it is the motor of perseverance, my son," said burton. "you would do better in a long race, i think. did you ever swim an eighth of a mile--the yards?" "yes, but not in a race," answered jimmy. "you'll be as good as any of the rest of them at the distance, so i'll put you down for the race. and lewis, we'll put him in for the plunge." "what's that?" said lewis. "just like this," and suiting the action to the word burton sprang from his rock, put his hands before him as he flew through the air, struck the water cleanly as a knife, and after disappearing a moment from view came to the top floating. his body traveled rapidly forward in a straight line, arms and legs held rigidly extended and the face buried. fifty feet from the rock, when his momentum had about ended, he turned over on his back and raced back to the starting point. "that's the way you do it," he said, as he climbed up, shaking the water out of his hair. "let's see you try it, lewis." "it's easy," said lewis, and took the dive. he landed flat as a pancake, nearly knocking all the breath out of his body, stretched out his arms and legs, as he had seen burton do, but didn't move five feet from the point where he struck the water. after lying on his face and imagining himself traveling forward, he looked up, disgusted, to note what little progress he had made, only to see his companions howling with laughter. "isn't so easy as it looks, is it?" said burton. "but keep at it." he illustrated again, and lewis, after one or two attempts, readily caught the idea. as there was no work to the job of plunging, he took a fancy to it, and before the morning's coaching was over was doing pretty well. "there," said burton finally, jumping up, "that's all the time i can give you this morning. all of you work every morning, but don't do too much. you have a week before the meet comes off. see you later." "can't we come a little way with you?" said frank. "sure, glad to have you," and frank and jimmy took the water with burton. they headed out clear of the rocks and turned down the shore at a distance of perhaps a hundred yards from land. lewis and the codfish walked leisurely down the sand, watching the three heads as they bobbed along in the waves. "you ought to take every chance you can get," said burton, as the three swam easily side by side, "to swim longer distances. there's no telling how handy it might come in, supposing you were pitched off a boat some day. the way to do, is to take it easy like we are now and use all your strokes. when you get tired with one, take another. that change rests you almost as much as stopping. use one arm over first, and then another," illustrating as he went along, "and if you get very tired, turn over on your back and float a while with your hands well over your head like this." again he illustrated. the three swam on for two or three hundred yards, the boys drinking in the instruction of the expert and trying to put into practice all that he was telling them. little did they think that they would need all and more than they were able to show in the way of strength and endurance in a short time. "well, good-by, boys; i've got to make time now," shouted burton. "maybe i'll see you before the meet, but if i don't, remember it is thursday week at four o'clock. be sure to come," and he was gone in a cloud of spray kicked up by his arms and legs as he started on his long swim down the shore. "good-by," echoed both boys, and with quickened pace they drew toward the shore and soon joined lewis and the codfish. chapter v. the water carnival. business still held good, and less than two weeks after the queen's ferry began its traffic there was money enough in the treasury to pay all running expenses and leave enough for the first installment of fifty dollars for mr. simpkins. "it isn't due until the end of the summer," said frank, "but we might as well pay it, and there's five dollars over for captain silas. that's for the idea." "and please, sir, where does the crew come in?" inquired the codfish. the boys were all seated on the veranda of the armstrong home. after dinner, with paper and pencil they had gone over their daily earnings, with the result that the decision to pay up had been made. all voted unanimously. "oh, you will get your reward by and by. isn't it enough to have such company as ours without pay?" queried lewis. "say, codfish," said jimmy, "that poster of yours was a dandy." he referred to the one that the codfish had spent the greater part of the day before preparing, and it was the announcement of the special excursion to turner's point on thursday. the codfish had put his best efforts on the work, and, like the others that had preceded it, it was embellished with drawings illustrating the coming carnival. "codfish is a genius and no mistake," laughed frank. "this outfit wouldn't be anywhere without him, and when the season is over we will vote him double pay." "i was brought here under false pretenses," said that individual in what he tried to make an aggrieved tone. "your telegram said: 'no work, big pay,' and since i arrived i've done nothing but work and haven't seen a red cent." "just a telegraph operator's mistake, i guess," said frank. "perhaps we wired you 'big work, no pay'--wasn't that it, jimmy?" "sure it was--something like that. but the codfish enjoys working for love. he has too much money already; he said so himself." "what time does your excursion start to-morrow?" inquired mrs. armstrong. "three o'clock, sharp," was frank's answer. "we take a holiday to-morrow so as to be ready for the big meet." "do you suppose you could take mother and me along if we pay regular fare?" inquired mr. armstrong, stepping up behind them. "pay nothing," said jimmy and the boys in a breath. "we'll take you as a super-cargo." "i'm afraid of your speedy boat," said mrs. armstrong. "john, we will ride down on the trolley car." "do come with us, mum; we will take care of you, and it will be more fun than a trolley. it's nearly a mile down there, and besides you will have a great place to watch from the boat. come along," frank pleaded. the result was that mr. and mrs. armstrong agreed to go down to the point in the _black duck_. that night all turned in early, but frank's slumbers were broken by dreams of the black head of a swimmer that he could not quite overtake bobbing along in front of him. the head looked singularly like that of his old rival peters. at three o'clock next day frank had the great honor of assisting his mother and father to their places in the _black duck_. captain silas had already started off with his boat loaded to the gunwale with people from seawall whose destination was the water carnival at turner's point, and, thanks to the wonderful and enticing posters that the codfish had prepared, there were twice as many people on the dock to go down in the motor boat as could be accommodated. "show your business instincts, frank; give up the swim this afternoon and make a double trip to the point. i hate to see the queen's ferry lose so many good dollars. peters will lick you, anyway," said the codfish. "he will, like a duck," retorted jimmy, who for once thought that the codfish was in earnest. "no," said frank, "this is a holiday. we made our first payment this morning and there are other days to work in. this is an outing." when the _black duck_ arrived at turner's point the whole place was alive with color and movement. scores of rowboats were drawn up alongside the hundred-yard course that had been laid out by burton, between two floats. sailboats with their mainsails down and jibs stowed, lay at anchor a little farther away. crowds of the people of the point were on the water front and all was expectancy. frank edged his boat in toward the public float and discharged his passengers. "mother, there are so many boats here that i think you and father better come and sit in the stand, where you can have a better view. we will make fast the _black duck_ here." "it would be better," said mr. armstrong. so the party threaded their way to the stand, which was built on the long pier, and took places there. "now, since you are all comfy," said frank, "i'll be off and see when my race comes. i may not be back again. don't get excited and fall off, mother," he warned. and he darted away. "good luck to you, son," his father called after him. he turned and waved his hand, and hurried along to the dressing room. like all water carnivals, the first events were of minor character. a sack race in which the swimmers were encased in a bag up to the waist caused endless mirth as, hampered by the bag which did not allow them the use of their legs, they floundered along, struggling and splashing. then came an obstacle race in which the swimmers had to climb over obstacles placed in the course. some did not try to climb, but dived underneath, and were declared out of the race for fouling. others attempted to climb and fell back into the water with a splash. then came the first real trial of skill, the preliminaries of the hundred-yard race. there were so many entries that three heats had to be run off, four in a heat, the first two to qualify. peters was drawn for the first trial, frank noticed. he watched his rival keenly as the first four took the water, and saw with a little sinking of the heart that the tall, slender peters was far and away better than his competitors. he swam a powerful trudgeon stroke, which carried him rapidly and easily. peters did not spurt. he did not have to, but finished easily in the lead of his nearest competitor by ten feet; and, instead of getting upon the float at the far end of the course, just to show that he was not exhausted he swung around and came back at even a faster clip than he had held in the race. as he pulled himself up on the float, he gave frank a glance from under his heavy brows, but did not show that he recognized him. "that's the lad for my money," observed a bystander. "did you see how easy he won that trial?" "he's the best here, i guess," said a companion. "there's a fellow here called armstrong, but i don't think he has any business with peters. that fellow's a cracker-jack," and they both gazed after the lad with admiration. frank heard, but said nothing. his friends were with him, jimmy in a natty bathing suit, lewis still in his regular street clothes, for the plunge did not come till later, and the codfish in immaculate flannels with flowing blue tie and socks to match. in a minute the next four were sent off in a nip-and-tuck race, at the end of which the announcer bawled out: "second trial goes to hatch, with burley second!" hatch also swam back to the float, as had peters, and was helped out by the latter, who complimented him on his winning the trial. frank noticed that the two swimmers, as they walked to the dressing room, cast a glance in his direction. they were speaking in low tones. "they're great pals, those two," said one of the nearby spectators. "and they're hatching up something for you, frank," said jimmy in a whisper. "i don't like the looks of either of them." "guess not," returned frank. "here we go," he added as the third trial was called. "take it easy," admonished burton, as frank balanced on the edge of the float and waited for the signal to go. "bang!" went the pistol. frank was rather slow in getting off, while his three competitors were almost ahead of the pistol. one of them did indeed beat the pistol, but as he dropped back before the first fifty yards had been covered, no attention was paid to the incident by the referee. swimming easily, frank was within touching distance of the leading man twenty-five yards from the finish line. but he did not exert himself very much. he let the leader work hard, being satisfied with second place, which was just as good as first, for both first and second qualified to enter the finals. when it was announced that bates had won the heat with armstrong second, there was a great commotion among the members of the armstrong family on the stand. "oh, dear, wasn't it too bad that frank couldn't win?" said mrs. armstrong, disappointment on every line of her face. her husband chuckled. "don't be worried, sarah, that's only a preliminary. second place gives him a chance to swim in the final trial." mrs. armstrong was comforted. "he was saving himself, i think," said the father. frank swam the few yards to the shore and walked slowly down the beach. he was met by codfish and lewis, who excitedly inquired why he didn't take first place. frank only smiled. "what did you want me to do," he said; "tire myself out?" "he did exactly right," said the astute codfish. "his real race is coming with peters a little later." meantime the exhibition of high diving had begun from a tower built on the outer edge of the pier, with platforms jutting out every ten feet up to the height of forty-five feet, the lowest one being five feet above the water. from these varying platforms an expert gave a series of dazzling evolutions--somersaults, back dives, swan dives, and finally a double somersault from the very top platform, which made the ladies scream with apprehension. but the diver struck the water like an arrow and bobbed up instantly, waving a joyful hand to the crowd. as soon as the diving was over the race was called, with six entries, among them jimmy. at the outset he lagged behind and seemed to be hopelessly out of the race, but, urged on by the cries of his seawall friends, he got his second wind when half the distance was over and began to pull up on the leaders. one by one he overtook and passed them until only one was left ahead of him. for the last twenty yards it was a scramble between these two, but jimmy's hand shot out and touched the float a fraction of a second ahead. during the excitement that followed on the float, a boat was rowed rapidly over from the side of the course, containing among others a stout lady, who wore an enormous picture hat. even at a distance it could be seen that she was rather clumsy looking. her hands were covered by coarse cotton gloves and her face was concealed by a white veil. evidently it was the intention of the rowers to land her on the swimmers' float. in a moment the rowboat drew alongside the float. every one was watching the strange maneuvers of the boat and laughing at its queer occupant as it drew up to the float. there was much wondering as to what the lady could want. as the boat touched the edge of the float she stood up awkwardly and put one foot on the float, pushing with the other one in the boat to help herself up. of course, you all know what happened. the boat, instead of giving her the support she desired, shot away with her vigorous push. the queer woman lost her balance, toppled over backward, fell with a resounding crash into the water and sank, cotton gloves and all. immediately there was a cry from the spectators, and lewis, who happened to be standing nearest, without thought of his clothes, went over after her like a hero. almost immediately he appeared clutching something desperately. it was the skirt of the drowning woman. how he pulled to save her from a watery grave! but he pulled too savagely, for the skirt was left in his hands, and the woman sank like a stone. then the feather on that gorgeous picture hat came into view. lewis grabbed at the hat. that, too, came away in his hand, and he threw it on the float, debating with himself whether or not he would go to the bottom after her, as frank had dived a few days before for the drowning girl. he thought it strange that no one of all those swimmers came to help him, but he had been trying so desperately to do his duty that he had not looked up. a roar of laughter now caused him to look, and to his amazement every one on the float was convulsed, holding their sides and swaying back and forth. just then, right alongside him, bobbed up the round and smiling face of bunny taylor, the fattest boy of the point. a bedraggled wig of long hair floated out behind him and one cotton-gloved hand grabbed the side of the float. then the truth dawned on lewis. he had been the victim of a hoax. it wasn't a woman at all who had fallen overboard. he climbed out of the water and dashed for the dressing room while the crowd laughed and shouted. "poor old lewis," said frank, chasing after him. "it was too bad you were so near. that is one of the regular tricks at a water carnival. some one made up as a woman falls overboard, and sometimes an innocent and unsuspecting bystander, not on the inside, jumps in and rescues the drowning 'lady.' it's hard luck that it was you." lewis was almost in tears. "i certainly must have looked like a goat, jumping in after that galoot." "you were a hero," said the codfish, who had followed, "a real out-and-out first-class hero. if she hadn't been the most elusive woman in the world, you would have saved her for sure. but it's always safer to grab them by the neck than by the skirt; always remember that, lewis." "oh, shut up," said lewis, still ruffled. "i only wish it had been you, you walking advertisement for a gents' furnishing store!" "i tell you what you can do to even up with this crowd--go out and win the plunge," said frank, comforting him. "you can do it, and then they won't have the laugh on you. hurry up, there's the first call for the event." lewis got out of his wet street clothes, put on his water costume and walked rather sheepishly out on the float. there he was greeted with such a storm of cheers and hand-clapping that he forgot his chagrin and fell into a better humor--so good a humor, indeed, that he went determinedly at the work in hand and won the event by a clean five feet from the best plunger that turner's point could offer. "bully boy," said burton, as lewis passed him on the float, headed for the dressing room. "you turned the tables on them." whereat lewis grinned more broadly than ever. chapter vi. an old rival's stratagem. the great event of the day, the finals of the hundred yards' swim, was reserved for the last. all the other events were over and every one was looking eagerly forward to the trial of speed between frank armstrong and peters, for every one who had watched the early heats in this event knew that it lay between these two for first place. it was seawall against the point, or even more than that, for peters was one of the best swimmers at the school he attended in new york city. it was then seawall against the country! no wonder excitement ran high. "all ready for the finals in the hundred yards' swim," shouted the referee through his megaphone. out of their dressing rooms ran the six swimmers and lined up on the edge of the float. there was much craning of necks in the stand and everywhere to get a good look at the contestants. "my money on peters," said the individual who had proclaimed himself earlier in the day. "he'll show your seawall champion the way." "he'll show him the way to lose, maybe," said the codfish. "they can't beat that boy armstrong." every one was taking sides as to the outcome, while the referee was stationing the six young athletes on the float edge. little time was lost in preliminaries. "are you ready?" queried the high-pitched voice of the referee. "get set!" "crack!" went the pistol, and as if shot from a cannon the six hit the water together. peters with a longer spring immediately shot out in front of the bunch, his arms flying like flails and his long legs beating the water rhythmically. "hurrah, see peters go! he'll win easily," cried the friends of the new yorker. "wait a minute; the race is just beginning," said another. "wait till armstrong strikes his gait. there, see him go up!" frank was indeed gaining. in none of his races was he ever able to get under way fast at first, but he could always quicken up when he had been going for a few seconds. this was what happened now. slowly but surely he drew up on peters and bates, the friend of peters, who had won the heat from frank. at the half distance, he had shaken off three competitors and was closing on the fourth. slowly he gained, when suddenly bates, just ahead of him, swerved from his course. frank looked up just in time to prevent running into him, but he was obliged to change his direction a trifle in order to pass. the swerve lost him ground, for peters at this moment seemed to put on a fresh burst of speed. over the last twenty yards the race was a terrific one, the partisans of both sides yelling like mad for their favorites. on the boys came like whirlwinds. the water churned up into spray as they smashed through it. thirty feet from the float frank took his last look and his last gulp of air for that race, then, burying his head, he put every pound of strength he had left into driving himself forward. he was now so close to peters that he could feel the eddy of water from his hand as it swept backward. ten feet from the float, he fairly threw himself out of the water. he was alongside the leader now, and next thing he knew he crashed full tilt into the float. he raised his head to hear the shout: "peters wins! peters wins!" it was true frank had touched only a fraction of a second too late. it was peter's race. frank dropped off the float and swam back slowly, all but exhausted. jimmy was at the starting float, and as he lent the tired racer a hand to mount to the planks, his face was white with rage. "wasn't good enough, was i?" gasped frank. "good enough!" yelled jimmy; "of course you were. that chump who was swimming behind peters got in your way. i saw him cut across and block you." "i don't think so," said frank; "he was all in and didn't do it on purpose." "i know better than that, and i'd swear it was a put-up job. you can beat peters any day from ten yards to a million miles," said the indignant jimmy. "i kicked to the referee about it, but he wouldn't allow a foul because bates didn't touch you. did he?" "no," said frank; "i had to shift a little for him and it put me out a bit. i don't think it made any difference in the race. peters was too fast for me." "get out," said jimmy, still hot and angry; "you know he isn't. i'd bet my boots you could beat him any day, and if i were you, i'd challenge him for a race with no one around to get in your way." "i've had enough for to-day," said frank. "we ought to get dressed and headed for home as soon as we can. there are some black clouds coming up over there in the west." it was as frank said. the day had been a warm one and thunder heads were now showing in the west. down toward the horizon the clouds were piled thick and black, and every now and then the denser masses were edged by a little ribbon of fire. the lightning was beginning to play. the top of the pile was still white, for the lowering sun was shining full upon it; but soon this white top, climbing rapidly, shut off the sun. the wind had just begun to pick up in puffs and eddies and the sailboats were scudding about like anxious swallows, when mr. armstrong hurried up to the dressing room where frank was getting into his clothes. "mother and i have a chance to go back on the trolley. hurry up, son," he said. "it looks so bad over there to the west," jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the towering thunder-heads, "that i think you had better wait till the storm is over. mother is nervous about your going to seawall in the _black duck_." "oh, i guess we could get home all right," said frank. "it isn't going to be very heavy, is it?" for answer there came a blinding flash, and almost on its heels a roar of thunder that made the bathing houses dance on their foundations. the wind was running before the storm with almost hurricane force, lashing the sea into whitecaps. "gee whiz!" exclaimed jimmy, "that must have hit somewhere nearby. see the old _black duck_ jumping." the _black duck_ was indeed jumping, even though she was bound securely and lay partly in the lee of the dock. the wind and the rain came together, scattering the stragglers on the walks to places of shelter. in a few minutes the sea was beaten white and high waves sprang up like magic, their tops white-capped by the fierce drive of the gale. "it is so heavy it can't last," said the codfish, gingerly side-stepping a rivulet of water that broke through the shelter of the boys. "just like a chap who goes too hard at the first of his race--can't stick it out," he added sagely. but this particular storm did stick it out for some time. after an hour, however, the wind dropped almost as suddenly as it had sprung up, the thunder muttered itself out, and the sea began to go down. lacking the pressure of the gale behind it, the whitecaps soon disappeared, but in their place ran a long swell, down which the little sailboats at anchor coasted and rose again to the next, like some kind of a seabird. "we will have a tippy time of it going home," observed the codfish, as in the last few sprinkling drops the boys sought the wharf. "yes, and we aren't going to have much company, i guess," said frank. "their pedal extremities have congealed, evidently," observed the codfish. "here comes your father to say, 'no, thank you, frank, we will go up on the trolley to-night; we don't care for coasting.'" the boys laughed. for that was just about what mr. armstrong had come to repeat. "and i guess the others of your excursion are going back the same way," he added. "i saw the slocums light out for seawall in an automobile five minutes ago." "i'll wait a little while," said frank, "for my party, and then if they don't come i'll dig out for home, too." "i wouldn't wait too long," was his father's parting observation as he turned to go. "mother says she wishes you would leave the boat down here to-night and come for it in the morning. how about it?" "oh, there's no danger. we'll be home in a jiffy. the tide is low and i'll have to go outside of pumpkin island to avoid the reef. don't worry about us. the four of us could take her to new york to-night. couldn't we, jimmy?" "sure thing," said that individual, who rather enjoyed the prospects of the trip up. lewis and the codfish were not so hopeful, but they said they would stand by the ship. mr. armstrong turned again and left the boys with a last warning word. "where did the human fish, peters, go to?" inquired the codfish, as jimmy fussed with the motor and frank sponged off the seats. very little water had entered the boat, most of it having been shed by the very efficient awning which covered her from bow to stern. "don't know," said frank. "i wasn't interested in him after i saw that he hit the float first." "oh," said lewis, "i saw him jump into his motor boat with that chap who got in your way, just as soon as the race was over, and light out. guess they were trying to get down to the peters' dock before the storm came on so hard." "he had good nerve, starting then," said jimmy. "or bad judgment," said the codfish. "sometimes the one looks like the other." "here, stop getting sarcastic and help with these ropes," growled frank. "they are all in hard knots. what indian tied them like this?" soon they freed themselves and the motor, under slow speed, began to revolve. they backed slowly out from the dock. nothing was left of the gay scene of an hour or two before. "funny what a little water will do," observed the codfish, turning to look at the deserted stand, pier and floats. "yes, and it's funny what a little wind will do to water," commented frank as the _black duck_ got under way. he was driving her over the waves at a little angle and she pitched and rolled tremendously. the codfish didn't like it at all, and lewis, after five minutes of this kind of going, began to look white in the failing light. frank headed his craft well out beyond the pumpkin to avoid the treacherous rock teeth that showed white in a long broken line. he had a great respect for their destroying abilities. the tide, too, was on the turn, and he dreaded getting caught in the suck of it. many boats had met disaster there. so he headed her straight out into the bay, so straight indeed that the codfish finally cried out: "where in thunder are you heading for--france, or is it spain?" "don't be impatient," said the captain, "we'll turn in a minute." he had hardly spoken the words when the motor began to miss fire. instead of the steady hum of the exhaust, it was now an irregular chattering. the boat checked materially as the pistons choked in the dead cylinders. frank threw on more gas and for a minute or two the engine picked up and resumed its regularity. then it missed, sputtered, choked, gave one or two expiring explosions and died completely. "well, this is a nice mess you've got us into, isn't it?" whimpered lewis. there was a note of grave anxiety in his voice. "i didn't want to come, but i thought you knew all about your old boat." "what's the matter, old mother goose?" cried the codfish whimsically. "we're not dead yet. keep your lip stiff. frank will have it fixed in a minute." frank was working over the batteries with a face on which worriment showed in spite of himself. he gave the battery box a shake, tightened up the connections and cranked the motor. there were half a dozen explosions and silence fell again, broken only by the lapping of the running tide against the _black duck's_ sides. hastily he disconnected the wires and tried for a spark on the individual batteries. then he connected the batteries in series, and tried again. there was a faint flash, very different from the long, hot spark from full batteries. frank dropped the terminals and looked up into the faces of the three boys, who were intently watching him. "what's the matter?" inquired jimmy. "batteries?" "just that and nothing else. there isn't enough juice in the whole lot of them to light a grain of powder." "nice pickle we're in," grumbled lewis. "isn't it up to the captain to have his batteries all right?" "oh, shut up," commanded jimmy. "it isn't frank's fault that the old batteries are in trouble." "no," said frank; "i renewed them, you remember, only day before yesterday--six brand new ones, at twenty-five cents per. the rain must have got in somehow and short-circuited them. the shaking by the motor gave them life enough to carry us out here and then they died. see, there isn't a bit left." he tried again, rubbing the ends of the terminals together, but for all the result in the way of ignition they might as well have been made of wood. "well, never mind," said jimmy, "we're drifting the right way. look at us go! that's seawall over there, and while we are going sideways, like a crab, we may fetch up all right." "sure thing," said frank, "we are going sideways and fast, too. the tide here runs like a mill-race, but night is coming faster than we are going, and it's going to be as black as your shoes in ten minutes." "that's an encouraging sign," said the codfish, "for my shoes are yellow, and i don't mind yellow nights in the least." the codfish was always cheerful under difficulties. not so lewis. he grumbled and growled and blamed everybody for the plight in which they found themselves. "if i don't turn up by dark, mother will have a fit," he added. "well, i guess all our mothers will have fits," observed frank quietly, "but that isn't going to help us out of this trouble." "do you know how the drift of this tide goes?" inquired the codfish. "it might sweep us in shore far enough so that one of you fish-men could jump overboard and swim ashore for help." "yes, that's a good scheme. owing to the curve of the seawall shore we are now about a mile out. the current splits on flat rock, which ought to be showing pretty soon if we have light enough. if we have luck to swing over to the shore side of the rock we will drift pretty close, but if we go on the outside of it we are likely to go on up the coast or out to sea." "fine mess we're in," growled lewis, who grew more nervous as the night drew down over the waters. "oh, say something new," snapped the codfish sharply. "we've heard that for a long time. can't you think up an original remark?" lewis glowered in silence, muttering to himself. jimmy sat down on the bottom of the boat and began to tinker with the batteries, while frank and the codfish stood up and peered into the gathering darkness. "listen, what was that?" whispered frank. "didn't you hear some one calling?" the four huddled together close. jimmy left his tinkering and lewis forgot his hard luck for the moment. chapter vii. coals of fire. the four boys stood in the waist of the boat straining their ears for a repetition of the sound that had floated out over the black waters. "there it is again," whispered frank. "it seems to be dead ahead." again they held their breaths and listened. "help, help," came a faint voice. there was no mistaking it this time. "some one in trouble, and worse off than we are," said the codfish. "there it is, louder." "hello! hello! help! help!" came floating to their ears. "some one drowning out there," said lewis, shivering. again rose the cry, this time shriller and stronger. "i believe it is some one on flat rock," said frank. "i can't see, but the rock ought to be just ahead of us. what can any one be doing there? flat rock is all under water at high tide. that would be a bad fix, for certain sure." "let's give a call," added frank. the boys, uniting their voices, shouted: "what's the matter? who is it?" quite near now came the hail: "we are wrecked on a big rock here. come and help us. the tide's coming up and we'll be washed off. please hurry!" the voice dwindled off into nothing as if the speaker was in deadly fear and had no breath to state his troubles further. "jiminy crickets!" said jimmy. "we are not in much of a way to help any one, but we've got to do something for that fellow. give me the painter. i can see the outline of the rock. let me take the rope and i'll jump overboard and tow her. you handle the rudder, frank." frank was about to object to this arrangement, preferring to take the cold bath himself, when jimmy grabbed the rope's end and dived overboard. he struck out for the rock, which was outlined by a line of white where the running tide fringed its edge. the boys on the boat watched anxiously as he ploughed along. it was a small pull at best that he could give the _black duck_, but as both were going with the current, the pull that he did give was sufficient to guide the craft in the direction of the dark mass just ahead. "look out, frank, i'm touching," shouted jimmy over his shoulder. "pull your rudder sharp over to starboard." frank did as he was bid and the nose of the _black duck_ barely grazed a big black boulder just awash. "there, keep her steady," jimmy commanded. "let the tide carry her up and i'll pull her around into this little cove." "she'll bump, won't she?" queried frank anxiously. "no, it looks like deep water there just behind that rock you missed, and the pull of the tide won't bother much. i'll hitch this painter here." jimmy finished his work and straightened up, peering into the darkness, from which came a plaintive voice: "please hurry up! the tide's coming in and we'll be washed off. please come quick." "how many are there of you?" frank sang out. "two of us. we were knocked up here by the thunder storm and the boat is stove in. hurry, hurry, won't you? the tide is rising." "why doesn't he come down to us, whoever he is?" said the codfish. "there's a channel of water between this rock we are on," said jimmy, who was in a little better position to see, "and the place where those fellows are wrecked, and it's running like mad. can't you hear it boil?" it was as he said. the rock seemed to be in two sections, separated by a channel perhaps fifty feet wide, which looked black and threatening in the half gloom. jimmy began climbing over the slippery footing in the direction of the channel. "hold on there," shouted frank, "i'm going with you. you mustn't go there alone." "oh, don't leave us here," wailed lewis. "what, with me to protect you?" cried the codfish scornfully. "nothing will happen to you, you big baby," said frank, as he began to strip off his clothes. "i'm not going to let jimmy tackle that job alone. wait for me, jimmy; i'll be with you in a minute." he was stripped in a minute and lowered himself carefully over the side. with the water up to his waist, he found footing on the rock and edged his way carefully out to where jimmy stood. meantime the pleading voice on the other side of the channel kept calling for the rescuers to make haste. it was filled with a deadly anxiety, as well it might be, for the tide was pouring in from the sea with full power, gushing and eddying among the nooks and crannies of the big rock which obstructed its path. it sounded strangely like a low hum of voices and had a sinister and threatening tone, like the tone of a mob. "i don't like the look of this channel a little bit," said jimmy as he and frank worked their careful way across the slimy rock, occasionally slipping and grabbing each other for support. now they reached the edge of the swiftly running channel. "nothing to do but try it," said frank. "if these shipwrecked people can't swim, we will be as badly off as ever. come on, here goes." frank waded out to his waist in the swift current. the water tugged and pulled at him as if bent on destroying him. suddenly he found himself beyond his depth and began to swim. jimmy was at his elbow. the water caught them with its full force and whirled them along. but in spite of the current they made progress across it, and puffing and panting they pulled up on a shelving part of the main body of the rock, and staggered to their feet. the shipwrecked boys, seeing their rescuers at hand, rushed down to them shouting for joy, but the leader of the two staggered back as he came face to face with frank. "frank armstrong!" he gasped. "peters!" cried frank and jimmy in a breath. "great scott!" said the former, "we didn't know it was you." "please don't go away and leave me," whined peters. "we're in an awful fix." "we don't intend to go and leave you, but we are in a bad fix ourselves." "please take us off here," continued peters. there were tears in his voice. "we have a boat," said jimmy, "on the other side of that channel, but our motor is dead. the only thing we can do is to take you aboard her and wait till morning, or till some search party comes out for us." at this peters sank down on the rock and covered his face with his hand. "i can't swim that channel," he cried. "i don't dare try it. it serves me right. i put up a game to beat you this afternoon and was so ashamed of it afterward that i didn't stay a minute, but jumped into my boat and put out for home----" "and were caught in the storm?" interrupted frank. "yes. the wind kicked up such a sea that i couldn't cross it and had to run ahead of it. i tried to get around in the lee of this rock, but the wind drove me onto a ledge out there and knocked a hole in the bottom of the boat, and she sank." "and you swam here?" "yes, we were barely able to make it. we crawled up here and laid down till the storm went over. we've been here yelling ever since." "the storm drove every one in, so there wasn't much chance of your being heard. the wind, blowing in the direction it did, carried your voices out to sea. we barely heard you, although we were quite near," said frank. "you were awfully good to come to us. i'm sorry i played such a dirty trick on you. will you forgive me?" and peters held out his hand. "that's all right, peters," said frank, grasping the outstretched hand. "forget about it. you could probably have beaten me, anyway." "no, i couldn't," said the repentant peters. "i hated you for winning last year and i wanted to make sure you wouldn't this year. oh, i'm ashamed of myself," and peters hung his head. "i don't want the prize for that race, and i won't take it." "come, never mind, we'll race again some day on even terms," said frank, "but the main business now is to get over to the other side of this channel and get into the boat. we have no power, but we have a bottom under us, and it won't do us any harm to sleep out for one night, i guess." "it will be a kind of a lark," said jimmy, but his voice didn't have much enthusiasm in it. "the only thing that is bothering me," said frank, "is what mother and father will think, and your mother and father, and lewis's. they will be crazy thinking that some trouble has come to us." "say," said peters, who, now that he had confessed his sins, took on a brighter mind, "isn't there something in your boat we might pull out and set afire as a kind of a signal? i've no doubt that there are people watching over there on the shore. couldn't we try it?" "that's a good idea, peters," exclaimed jimmy. "we could yank out some of the boards from the cabin, put a little gasoline on them and have a bonfire here. that would show them on shore where we are and some one could pick us up in a jiffy." "good!" said frank. "we'll do it. it will save a lot of worry for our people if they know we are not drowned. let's get back and try it." so saying, he turned and made his way down to the edge of the channel which separated them from the boat. the three boys followed him cautiously. it was almost pitch dark now, and the water looked more forbidding than ever. "i'll lead off," said frank, "and you fellows follow me. keep as close in line as you can and look out for the sunken rocks." peters was shivering, partly with the cold and partly with terror. it had been a night of peril for him, and he did not have the animal courage of either frank or jimmy, or even of bates, who had scarcely said a word, but followed sullenly behind. frank was in the water to his waist now, but suddenly hailed the boat: "hey, codfish!" "hello," sang out the codfish. "we've found them and we're coming back," yelled frank at the top of his voice, for the wind was beginning to breeze up with the incoming tide. "have an eye out for us; we'll be with you in five minutes. come on," he said, turning to the boys behind him, "it's now or never! this channel is getting wider and there's nothing to be gained by waiting." he took another step and began to swim. the others followed silently. soon they were gripped by the current and began their fight to the other side. the current was more savage, if anything, than when jimmy and frank had crossed it a few minutes before. desperately they battled with it for their lives. "i can't make it," groaned peters from behind. "i can't make it. help me!" "don't give up," shouted frank encouragingly. "keep at it, old fellow," and frank stopped swimming for a moment till peters drew alongside him. elbow to elbow the two boys swam, as they had swum but a few hours before in the race, but now it was a battle for life. frank's encouraging words buoyed up the new yorker's drooping spirits. "only a few strokes more," he kept repeating. "stick it out." bates swam doggedly behind without a word. "i'm touching," yelled jimmy. "i'm touching. we're safe, we're safe!" the shout put heart into peters, who drove ahead with all his remaining strength, and soon the four lay panting on a little shelf of rock with more bare rock just in front of them. they were indeed over the worst part of it. but just as they struggled to safety, there came a tremendous yelling from the direction of the boat. "come quick, come quick, we're adrift!" it was the voice of the codfish. now lewis joined in: "quick, quick, we are adrift!" frank and jimmy sprang to the higher rocks and made for the boat, slipping, stumbling and rolling. they could not in the darkness see where they were going, and in the scramble they bruised their knees and tore their hands. the barnacles cut frank's bare feet, but he dashed on in the direction of the cries. jimmy was close on his heels and the others straggled behind, vaguely aware that some new trouble had come to crown their misfortunes of the night. what they worst feared from the shouts of the boys on the boat was only too true. in some manner the tugging at the boat of wind and tide had loosened the knot jimmy had put in the painter, and the _black duck_ was moving swiftly away from the rock with the two boys aboard, borne on the bosom of the tide. when frank reached the place where they had left the boat moored, only the dim outline of the _black duck_ was visible, and in a moment even that was lost to view. for a few minutes the shouts of the codfish and lewis could be heard, but soon those, too, died out, except when brought faintly in the lulls of the rising wind. "there goes our hope of safety," said frank. "now we _are_ in a pretty fix, and no mistake." chapter viii. a swim for life. "we're in for it now!" said jimmy in a voice which trembled in spite of himself. and indeed it looked bad for the four boys, trapped on a barren rock soon to be covered by the swiftly rising tide. "it's all my fault," he continued. "i thought i tied her fast. i'm going to be the means of drowning all of us. oh, dear! oh, dear!" peters was in a state of collapse. he had sunk down on a boulder too indifferent to notice that his feet were in the water. what did it matter now? they had no chance for their lives. "let's call for help," he cried, as none of the boys had moved, and raising his voice he shrieked: "help! help!" out there the wind which was blowing in from the sea, bearing with it little wisps of night fog, carried his words away. there was not even a cheering echo. apparently the others were too much discouraged at the outlook even to cry for help. in the silence that followed each of the boys could hear his heart beat above the lapping of the waters. peters turned suddenly and savagely on frank: "well, what are you going to do, stand there like a statue and see us all drown? oh, do something!" he wailed. frank was standing as rigidly as a statue, indeed. he was looking out over the dark stretch of tossing water. his face was toward the shore. he had hardly heard peters' last cry for help, so intently was he gazing and deliberating. "there's only one way," he said at last, turning to jimmy. "and what's that?" was the query. "swim it," replied frank steadily. even jimmy started back appalled, and peters, who was stepping nervously around, sank again on the rocks, weak at the very suggestion. "it must be a mile," said jimmy. "yes," said frank, measuring the distance to the lights, which twinkled along shore like far-off stars, "it is more than that. the bay curves well in off seawall." "it is a chance," said jimmy, "but a slim one." "oh, i can't do it," shrieked peters. "we might as well stay here and drown. it would be better than drowning out there in the dark." "some one might pick us up," suggested jimmy, "or perhaps the _black duck_ will be sighted and give the alarm." the offering was not a very hopeful one, and jimmy's tone was not even as hopeful as the offering. frank shook his head. "it's a slim chance, as you said," he replied slowly, "and meantime the water is creeping up here very fast. look, that big boulder is out of sight now under the tide. no, there's nothing but swim for it." peters jumped up in a frenzy. "i tell you i won't do it. i'll stay here and drown. i won't try to swim it. if you had had any sense you would have tied that boat securely. you'll be the cause of my death." peters was wild with fear. "would you have been any better off if we hadn't come?" said frank, turning sharply on his companion. "anyway, i didn't mean to ask you to swim ashore," he added in a milder tone; "i meant i would swim it myself." "and leave us here to drown?" whined peters. "no, i'll try it to save you. i'll go for help." "you mustn't, frank," exclaimed jimmy, coming up to him and taking hold of his shoulder. "it would be sure death." "well, it's sure death to stay here, isn't it?" said frank. "the tide is coming in like a racehorse and even as we are talking about it the water is creeping up. i'll go now." "we'll go together," said jimmy determinedly. "i will not let you go alone." "what, and leave us here?" cried peters. "for goodness sake, what do you expect? you won't swim and you don't want us to swim. don't you see, you coward, that it's the only chance we have?" jimmy was all out of patience with this boy for whose safety they had placed themselves in such a plight. "keep a stiff upper lip and we'll have some one back here in a jiffy." peters seemed not to hear. he sat down again plainly sobbing. "_you'll_ stay with me, bates," he blurted out. "don't you leave me." "i couldn't if i wanted to," said that silent boy. "i couldn't make half the distance. i never swam a mile in my life." "all right, then," said jimmy. "you two go onto the highest point of this rock, and every now and then make all the noise you can on the chance that some one might hear you," and he began stripping off what few clothes he had on. "hold on," said frank. "this is my job, jimmy. there's no use of both of us trying to swim it. you stay here----" he got no further. "what do you take me for?" burst out jimmy indignantly. "i'm going with you and that settles it. we might be able to help each other. i can't do anything waiting here, and i might be of some help to you. let's not spend any more time arguing about it. i'm ready." he was, as he said, ready. and be it known that frank, while he was willing to undertake the peril of the trip alone, felt better that his friend and tried companion would be with him through the terrors of the water. he did not argue any more about it, but stretched out his hand in the darkness, and the two boys clasped hands in a long, firm grasp. "all right, here we go!" said frank. "good-by, peters; keep your courage up and stick to the highest part of the rock." peters merely whimpered and bates said not a word. it was a strange sight to see there in the gloom, that of our two heroes stripped to the skin, their bodies showing white in contrast to the black rock and the still blacker water. free of all hampering clothing, they were ready for the trial of strength against the threatening monster--the sea. quickly they waded out on the shelving rock, gasping as the cold water struck them with its chill. another step and they were in deep water and struck out bravely for the far-distant shore. "let's keep close together," said frank, as they were caught by the full force of the tide and whipped away from the rock. "if we get separated we will never get together again." jimmy, at this, swam up close to frank, and elbow to elbow the boys drove ahead. the waves were running high but were not white-capped, which was a most fortunate thing for the swimmers, for the tide and the wind were traveling in the same direction. side by side they swam, climbing up the long black slopes and slipping down easily into the trough between the waves, but making good progress. their white arms swung rhythmically above the water. "it's like coasting," said jimmy, "only it's more exciting." "yes, it's great fun," said frank, but it was not the heartiest response in the world. "seems like when we go down in the hollows that we'd never come up again. and it seems as if we were going backwards. do you feel that way?" "yes," said jimmy; "there's nothing to gauge yourself by, but," casting an eye over his shoulder, "there's nothing to be seen of the island. i guess we are going ahead all right." nothing further was said for a time, the boys saving their breath for more important work. with every ounce of strength in their sturdy young bodies they forged ahead, now down "in the hollows," as frank had called them, with the water towering above them and not a light visible but the light of the stars over their heads; now up on the crest of a wave where for an instant they caught the twinkle of the shore lights and steered for them, heartened by the sight. "look, jimmy," said frank, "that big light over there to the left must be on seawall pier. take a look at it when you come up on the next wave. isn't it?" as jimmy slid up the slope to the top. "i guess it is," sputtered the latter who, in the endeavor to see, had been met with the slap of a little wavelet which filled his nose and eyes with salt water. "it ought to be about there if our bearings are right." "well, we'll make for it," said frank, "and we must keep to the left all the time, for the pull of the tide will take us away up the coast if we don't look out. what's the matter?" frank had heard a splash and a gurgle from jimmy, and then a succession of rapid strokes on the water. "what's wrong?" he shouted, as he got no answer. frank stopped swimming and began to tread water. his heart was in his throat. something had happened. "what's the matter?" he cried out again, and his voice rang with a strange appeal over that waste of water. "gee whiz!" said jimmy, "that was awful. it nearly scared me to death." "what nearly scared you to death?" queried frank, relieved to hear his companion's natural tone in spite of the shake in it. "something bite you?" "no," replied jimmy, after he recovered his breath, "but i ran my arm right through a big jelly fish that was probably lying just under the surface of the water." "horrors!" said frank, who hated the cold, slimy, slippery things even in daylight. how much worse it would be, he thought, to run into one in the pitch darkness of night! jimmy now swam up. "i'm all right again, but for a minute i thought i was going to die. i was swimming the overhand when, as i drove my under-hand ahead, i stuck it right through the body of this nasty, slimy thing. it slipped right up to my shoulder and stuck there. i thought sure something had me by the arm, and i stopped swimming and sank." jimmy, at the memory of it, raised his arms and smote them upon the water, throwing up a shower of spray. the action relieved his nerves. "don't do it again, please," said frank. "look ahead there, just to the right of the pier light! i think that's a light in our window! i wonder if mother set it there for me. we don't seem any nearer, do we?" "maybe we're being carried out to sea," said jimmy, but he was sorry the next minute that he had said it. frank made no answer. he was thinking of the comfortable sitting room at seawall, and wondering if his father and mother were hovering anxiously around there, or on the veranda looking seaward. perhaps they might be even now down at the end of the pier. yes, they would be down at the pier waiting. or perhaps they were getting searchers to scour the bay for them. but would they find them, or would the sea next morning toss up on the shore two white bodies limp and bedraggled? "i'm doing the best i can, mother," frank whispered to himself, as on the wave crest he caught a fleeting glimpse of the lights, and the water in his eyes was not all from the wave top that at that moment went over him. he wondered about the two boys who had been left behind. how far had the water gained on their little island of rock? if he and jimmy got to land and gave the warning, was there still time to get back and save them from the sea that must be even now creeping up on their feet? he shuddered in spite of himself. it was bad enough to be out here struggling with the sea, but it was something to do. it would be a hundred times worse back there waiting, waiting, watching the tide creep nearer and nearer to the last refuge on the highest point of the rock. he struck out more determinedly with the thought of the lone watchers in his mind. he must save them. chapter ix. saved. suddenly from the shore there shot up into the air a long, curving streak of fire. then came a dull, booming explosion, and the dark sea was lit up for a moment. the darkness which followed seemed even more black than before. "a rocket!" shouted frank. "they're giving us a signal." "gee," said jimmy, after a moment, "it feels good to know they're thinking of us, but it doesn't help much." "there goes another one!" rocket after rocket now split the air, marking distinctly the place for which they were heading. the boys redoubled their efforts, swimming side by side with a steady over-arm stroke. something of the horror of the darkness and the mystery of the rolling waters was taken away by the thought that the people on shore knew of their distress and were trying to help. but little could those on shore know how really bad their plight was. the rockets were being sent up as a guide to a disabled boat. they could not know that the long, brilliant sweep of light was being watched by two boys struggling for their very lives on the surface of the water itself. "we must be halfway there, don't you think?" said jimmy, in a labored breath. "we've come a long distance, for the lights look brighter. can't you see lights moving on the shore?" returned frank. "let's stop and look." the boys stopped, trod water and raised themselves high as they reached the crest of a wave. frank was right. the lights they saw were the lights of many lanterns, for the whole town of seawall had turned out. boats were being manned and people ran hither and thither on the shore peering out to sea. "come on now," shouted frank, who felt heartened by what he had seen, "let's break the record for the rest of the distance," and, putting down his head, he tore ahead, followed by jimmy more slowly, but just as determined. they had been plugging away for perhaps five minutes when frank heard a cry behind him. he stopped instantly and listened. "jimmy," he called shrilly, "jimmy!" there was no answer. frank, with a sweep of his hand, turned face about and dashed back over the course he had come. a dozen strokes brought him to his companion, whose white face on the surface was his only guide. "what is it, jimmy, old fellow?" he cried, as he drew alongside. "cramp," said jimmy feebly. "it came suddenly in my side. i couldn't swim and i couldn't take breath enough to yell out. it just doubled me up." "here," said frank, "rest on me and try to straighten out," for jimmy was still doubled up. jimmy lay back and rubbed his side vigorously, while frank slipped an arm under his head and with the other kept afloat. "it was my fault," he said encouragingly, as jimmy rubbed the kink out of his side. "that rocket made me crazy to get to shore." "no, it wasn't your fault, at all," replied jimmy, in a stronger tone. "it was the cold water. i felt it a while back and thought i could fight it off by working hard, but it got me at last, struck suddenly just like a knife. i'm all right now; come on," and, turning over on his face again, he struck out weakly. frank was at his elbow watching for any weakness, but as jimmy continued going smoothly he lengthened out his own stroke and soon they were back at the old swing. the halt, however, although only for a few minutes, had lost them ground, for during the time that they were not swimming the tide had carried them steadily ahead--but not shoreward. they were still far from safety. now they changed their course a little more to the left so as to cut across the current, and bore steadily for the lights which seemed to increase in size. they wasted no more words except occasionally one would say: "you there?" the answer would come back from the other: "o. k." or "all right." they had no extra breath to spare. the distance was surely lessening, but so was the strength of these two heroic lads. how heavily swung their arms! every few minutes they changed the stroke. sometimes it was one arm over, sometimes the other, and again it was the trudgeon or the breast stroke, whichever offered a little rest. both were nearly exhausted, but with the courage of despair they swam on, neither admitting to the other that he was almost done for. they did not dare to float, for that meant being carried beyond their haven of safety. if they passed the little indentation where seawall lay it was good-by to everything, for they would be carried into the wide waters of the outer bay and must miserably perish. this knowledge spun their failing strength out to the last slim thread. away ahead the lights danced merrily. it seemed to frank as if there were millions of them jumping up and down and swinging sideways. how friendly they looked, but how utterly useless to help! how deadly heavy his arm felt! there was no force left in him. how nice it would be to lie still and rest! he stopped swimming and sank. the cold under-current chilled him and awakened him to the fact that he was giving up. "i won't give up! i won't give up!" he said between his clenched teeth, and he struck out stronger than before. jimmy was splashing feebly behind. "we're nearly there, old fellow," gasped jimmy. "nearly," returned frank. "keep it up. let's shout." they stopped and shouted, but it was scarcely more than a croak and could not have been heard fifty yards. "let's swim," said jimmy, "shouting is no good out here." his voice was scarcely more than a whisper. again they resumed their weary drive ahead. suddenly out of the darkness between them and the shore came a hail: "ha-yo, ha-yo, ha-yo!" instantly the boys stopped swimming and turned their faces in the direction of the sound. "ha-yo, ha-yo, ha-yo!" came the call again, this time nearer. they tried to answer the heartening hail but had not strength enough to send their voices far. they stood in the water close together and with straining eyes tried to pierce the darkness. then in the momentary lull of rushing waters they heard a drumming. "a motor boat!" cried frank joyously. "and i see a light. it's coming this way. oh, it is going to pass us! let's yell!" together the two raised as loud a shout as they could. in a moment the drumming stopped. again the two lads in the water shouted: "here! here! here!" the drumming began and the light at the bow, which showed plainly now, although the boat itself was still hidden, swung and lurched as the motor boat swept around in a curve. with rescue in sight the boys threw their last energy into a fusillade of shouts and soon, "ha-yo, where are you?" came a hail from the boat. "look out, look out, you'll run us down," yelled the boys. a bell rang; the motor stopped and cut silently through the waves only a few yards away. "here, here!" shouted frank. "great cæsar!" said a voice from the boat, "it is some one in the water. stop her quick," as the boat was driving past the boys with her momentum. "back her! back her!" yelled the voice now in great excitement. "we've found them. they're in the water." in a less time than it takes to tell it the captain had maneuvered the boat to within reaching distance of the two in the water. strong hands reached over the sides and quickly pulled them to safety. neither could stand. they sank down into the bottom of the boat. frank looked up and saw his father standing over him. "back to flat rock, quick," gasped frank. "quick, there are two boys out there!" "why, flat rock is under water at this time of the tide," said the man at the helm wheel. "not yet. oh, not yet! we left two boys there, and they will be washed off in a few minutes if you do not hurry." instantly the captain ordered full power ahead, and away the boat shot in the direction of the lonely rock. the two lying in the bottom of the boat were made as comfortable as possible, and between them they told the story of what had happened since they put out from turner's point on that eventful night. as the boat neared the rock the men aboard raised a great shout and were surprised to hear a feeble cry from what seemed to be the surface of the water. maneuvering carefully, guided by the calls from the water, the boat crept nearer and nearer to the sounds. no sign of a rock was visible, but the strong light at the bow showed two lads standing, their hands clasped together, knee-deep in water. they were on the very highest point of the rock. quickly they were pulled into the boat, chilled almost to death by the long exposure. like frank and jimmy, however, both peters and bates were soon wrapped in the coats of the men aboard, and made as warm as possible. "now," said frank, "the only thing to be done is to find the _black duck_." "we'll land you boys first," said the captain, and he drove his boat for seawall, while the steady purr of the motor deepened into a roar. the waves shot away from her bows in a shower of foam as she raced ahead. what a yell went up from the seawall people as the boat neared the pier, and the glad news was shouted over the water that the boys were safe and sound! the rescued quartette were quickly put ashore. as they touched the float, queer figures that they were, all bundled up in the coats of the men, shouting was heard from the water. "we've found them!" called a voice. and even as they waited, in spite of the urgings to hasten to the house and dry clothes, a motor boat slipped into the circle of light thrown by the big lamp on the end of the pier, and behind it came the _black duck_ on the end of a tow line! and in the boat sat lewis and codfish quite calm and collected. they had been picked up by one of the searching parties. you can imagine what a reunion took place that night in the armstrong house! even peters, the cause of some of the trouble, was welcome; but that individual was none too comfortable, and was only too glad when his father's automobile drew up at the door to carry him to his own home. it was a night of jubilation, and the whole of seawall joined to make a celebration of the wonderful feat of the two swimmers. chapter x. profits of queen's ferry. for a week after the wreck on flat rock, and the swim and rescue which followed, the queen's transportation company did a rushing business. people came from far and near to take a look at the boys who were the central figures in the adventure, and incidentally they took a trip on the _black duck_ itself. the boat was none the worse for its jaunt with a dead engine up the bay on that eventful night, but thereafter frank carried an extra set of batteries for any similar emergency that might arise. peters and his chum, bates, had the _nautilus_--peters' boat--raised and repaired. the injury done the boat in the storm was not great, as it happened that she had been driven into a bight in the rocks where, after she had sunk, the pounding of the waves did not reach her. both boys disappeared from turner's point. later it was learned that they had gone to another shore resort, and they were seen no more around the point that summer. the whole incident was closed when frank was awarded the medal for the hundred-yard swim, the presentation being made by burton himself. but it was a long time before the memory of that night swim left frank and jimmy. they could laugh about jimmy's experience with the jelly fish now. "but it was no laughing matter when it happened," was jimmy's only comment. about two weeks after the night in question the boys were seated around the big table in the armstrong sitting room and frank was figuring. "and there's the total for our summer's work," he said, pushing a sheet covered with figures over to his father. mr. armstrong laid aside his magazine, took the sheet and ran his eyes over the figures. "pretty good," he said, smiling. "this means that you have about paid for your boat." "that's just about what it does," said frank proudly. "look, there are our earnings--$ . . gasoline has cost us $ . , oil $ . , batteries $ . , and we gave the old captain $ . , and that leaves us . shy." "figures all right, does it?" said his father. "sure your totals are correct?" "sure as shooting," said jimmy. "we've been over them three times." "nothing outstanding, no rides on the _black duck_ unpaid for?" "you bet they're not," said the codfish. "i saw to it, as manager of this concern, that no one sneaked aboard without first surrendering his cash for our coffers." "good, then," chuckled mr. armstrong. "i was about to give you a dollar for that trip to turner's point, but i'll keep it." the boys looked at each other. "it's a fact," said frank. "dad got past you, codfish," and they all laughed. "pay up, dad, but that was only fifty cents. our fare was twenty-five cents." "well," said mr. armstrong, laughing, "i'll pay you twenty-five cents each for mother and me, and fifty cents for the trip we didn't get. here's your cash," and he laid down a new dollar bill. "hurrah!" cried the codfish, "that balances our account and five cents to the good! this concern stands free of all debts and has five cents in the treasury. captain frank webfoot armstrong, we salute you," and suiting the action to the word the boys all rose to their feet and bowed gravely to the captain, who acknowledged the salute with a joyful wave of the hand. "and to-morrow at about nine," said frank, "we will pay our last installment to mr. simpkins and the boat is ours. what say?" "agreed," said the others. "and," added the codfish, "let's take a vacation. i'm all worked to a frazzle with the responsibility of secretary, treasurer, manager, press agent, artist and general goat of this transportation company." "poor old codfish!" said jimmy. "he speaks well." "he has the wisdom of a solomon," cried frank; "and besides, jimmy, we ought to get in some work on football before we go back to queen's. what would you fellows say if we were to tie the _black duck_ up to the dock to-morrow and try a little drop kicking?" "great," said jimmy, "but where's the ball?" "you don't think i'd come down here without one, do you?" said frank contemptuously. "i brought a nice new one along with me and all we need is a pump to blow it up with." "oh, i've got a bike pump," said lewis. "just the thing," remarked frank. "shoot up and get it and we will put the ball in condition to-night." lewis hurried off as fast as he could go and frank dragged forth the football. the lacings were eased up, and when lewis got back a little later with his pump, the four of them set to work to inflate the interior rubber bag. it was quite a job, as any one knows who has tried it, but after much puffing and much struggling with the lacings, and much sage and useless advice from the codfish, the rubber bag was blown up tight and tied, and the ball was ready for use. and the boys were also about ready for bed. it was with very deep pride that frank, escorted by his three companions, rang the doorbell in the simpkins house the next morning, and laid the last installment, a few minutes later, on the desk of the old gentleman himself, who sat there smiling pleasantly at the boys. "i admire your pluck, boys," he said. "here's a receipt in full. thank you for your promptness. if you do all your work in the world as well as you have begun, you will surely succeed. i am glad to have made your acquaintance and i shall always feel under a great indebtedness to you, master armstrong." when they were outside, jimmy said: "and i thought he was an old skinflint the first day we saw him about the motor boat!" "you can't always tell how sweet an orange is by its skin," remarked the codfish. "now look at me----" "yes, look at you," said frank. "drown him! drown him!" cried the boys, rushing at the codfish. they were in high fettle this morning. with the receipt in full in his pocket, it was with a sense of complete ownership that frank stepped into the _black duck_ and took the wheel. "i want to thank you, fellows, for helping me," he said, turning to the three. "we are part owners in this old craft." "thank nothing," said jimmy, who was as glad as frank that the debt had been lifted. "haven't we had all the good rides? she belongs to you. we are only the able-bodied seamen." "frank's right," said the codfish, "we are part owners. i consider that my services entitle me at least to the paint on her." "and much there is of it," said frank, laughing. "but no matter what you say, she's as much yours as mine. and now for seawall and football practice." "i wasn't much at _this_ game," said lewis, "but football is where i shine." "shine like a bucket of mud," said the codfish. laughing and jollying each other in the highest spirits, they headed the _black duck_ for seawall. she shot ahead through the water like a veritable duck. "guess she knows who owns her this morning," observed jimmy, grinning, as frank laid her alongside the dock with a nicety of calculation as to speed and distance. the _black duck_ was tied up securely and the boys, after getting the ball, made for the little playground which had been established by some of the public-spirited citizens of seawall several years before our story opens. "where are your goal posts, kids?" inquired the codfish, as they hurried along. "you can't kick goals without something to kick at, sonny." this was directed at frank. "tut, tut," said that individual, "i've heard of people kicking goals without a ball. but i'm going to see whether i can kick the ball first or not." "do you know anything about it?" "not a thing. horton showed me something about it one day last fall, and i've watched him coaching a lot. you just take the ball on a long pass from the center----" "and i'm the center," broke in lewis. "yes, you're the center, all right," said frank. "lewis passes the ball. i catch it----" "you mean you catch it if you can," interrupted the codfish. "don't interrupt your superior officer, or i'll fire you," said frank. "as i was saying, i catch the ball, turn it around so that the lacing is up, and then drop it----" "the way lewis used to drop it----" "not quite, but i drop it end first on the ground, and give it a wallop with my toe as it is rising." "sounds very pretty," said the codfish. "and what does jimmy do?" "oh, he lies on his stomach when we kick from placement and holds the ball for me." "no work at all to that. i'd do that much any day," commented the codfish. "but here we are. now i'll take this very comfortable rustic chair here in the shade, and see how you put these theories into practice. if i get warm i'll ask some of you to come over here and fan me," and he strolled over and dropped with a sigh of comfort into a park bench. "now let the fun begin." the fun began at once. on the first pass, lewis threw the ball away over frank's head, and the next time dribbled it along the ground, but after half a dozen tries he finally got it to frank, who made a fair attempt at a drop kick. it wouldn't have filled coach horton with glee, but he managed to boot the ball a little distance. "wonderful kick!" shouted the codfish from his place in the shade of the tree. "keep it up; you'll win the game in a minute. wake me up when you do." frank paid no attention, but continued to work steadily. gradually he began to get the right angle on the ball as he dropped it from his hands. the kicks rose higher and truer as he went on. jimmy watched and criticised his friend, for although jimmy knew very little about kicking the ball he was a natural football player. he kicked clumsily, but still he knew how it should be done, although he could not do it well himself. by the end of the practice the boys were covered with perspiration, for the day, although in the latter part of august, was hot in spite of the sea breeze; and like everything that frank entered into, he had played with a tremendous zeal and concentration. nothing was half-hearted with him, and when other boys were with him in any of his enterprises, they caught his spirit. "all over for to-day, boys," cried the codfish, coming forward, stretching, but assuming the tone of a coach. "that's enough, kids. report at four to-morrow. very rotten practice," he added, "at least, as much as i saw of it, for i'm free to confess that the humming of the bees and the song of the football put me to sleep." together the four ambled back to the armstrong cottage, where the three heated boys exchanged their perspiration-soaked clothes for bathing suits, took a dip in the sea and swam a half dozen impromptu races. they raced back and forth like so many dolphins, diving, swimming under water, splashing and shouting, then ran up the beach, rolled in the sand and dashed back into the water. after an hour of this they were ready to don regular clothes again. the first day of football practice was the index of many others like it. the remaining mornings of vacation were given to the motor boat and the afternoons to drop-kicking practice, swimming and running. as time progressed both jimmy and frank gained perceptibly in physical condition and even fat lewis seemed less flabby. finally came the day of the codfish's departure. he had long overstayed his visit as it had been first planned. "i've got to get back home and lay in a new supply of duds," he said, "but i'll meet you at queen's before another moon has waxed and waned." he got a great send-off at the seawall station as you may well suppose, for in spite of his rather odd ways and sarcastic tongue he was a most likable boy. "he sees the funny side of everything," said frank, as the codfish, waving his handkerchief from the end of the fast-disappearing train, faded from view, "but he is true-blue all the way through." "which is a rhyme, mr. armstrong," said jimmy; "and while we are fond of athletes, we can't stand any more poets. we have one here with us, you know--lewis." lewis swelled up at this. for ten days more the three, now left alone, kept up their daily work. september was ushered in by a few days of quite cold weather, and this gave them the chance to do more rugged football work. frank and jimmy practiced falling on the ball, lewis acting the part of the coach, who rolled the ball in their direction. then they practiced picking the ball up at full gallop, and after that they worked at grabbing it on the bound. "never could see the sense in falling on the ball, anyway," said frank, after he returned from a race down the field, having snatched a bounding ball and tucked it securely under his arm, "particularly if you have a clear field ahead of you." "right-oh," returned jimmy, "but you've got to be sure the field is clear. the old game used to be 'play it safe,' but in the new one it is all right to take a chance. but make it sure when you go after it." "all right, mr. coach," said frank. "i'm not such a shark at this game as you, but i'll do my best. my game is baseball. i don't think i'll ever be heavy enough for the gridiron. do you think i will?" "sure thing," said coach jimmy turner. "i bet you'll make the team before you get through queen's, and all the quicker when they find out that you're a drop kicker." "i'd like to make it," said frank wistfully, "but i think i'd better stick to baseball. i know a little about that game." finally came the last day on the _black duck_, and they made it a long cruise. they went down as far as the point, circled flat rock, measuring the distance with narrowed eyes that they had covered in the long night swim, and finally, the tide being right, even penetrated up the river as far as tub island, and then back through the tumbling water under the railroad bridge. the next day the _black duck_ was laid up for the winter in berry's boat house, and the boys, after a parting swim and run on the beach, said good-by to seawall and turned their faces toward queen's school. chapter xi. the hazers' waterloo. it was the second day after queen's opened for the fall term. the students, separated for the summer months, had met like brothers and clasped hands. everywhere were heard greetings. "glad to see you again, old pard. what were you doing all summer?" that was the favorite form of address, and when a group met they all talked together as fast as their tongues could rattle. the boys had been scattered at mountain, seashore, lake and forest. some had had the great trip across the ocean to foreign countries. others had been at their dull little homes on the farms, but they all had something to tell. some of the faces were missing. a few boys had dropped out. two had been drowned in a boating accident on one of the mountain lakes; but all of our old friends put in their appearance. there was wee willie patterson, as diminutive as ever; tommy brown, long and skinny, but brown as a berry from tramping in the hills; david powers, fresh from the big ocean liner; and last, but by no means least in this story, chip dixon and his own particular crowd. these first days and nights were not prolific of deep study. experiences had to be recounted and books were in the background. our friends changed their headquarters to the more pretentious honeywell hall, but fortune did not bring them all in one entry. jimmy and lewis had rooms in the third entry on the second floor. frank, david and the codfish, were roommates the same as before. it would have been difficult indeed to have separated frank and david, and under no circumstances would the codfish have allowed himself to be detached from this company. bit by bit david got the whole story of the doings at seawall during the summer. "i wish i had been with you instead of at the other side of the world," he said. "i was lonesome a good deal of the time, thinking what a ripping time you fellows were having around the old shore." "and we were lonesome for you, too," said frank. "we missed you. it would have been complete if you had been an officer in the queen's transportation company. but there's another year coming." by degrees the boys slipped back into their school work habits. seawall was forgotten for a time at least. all thought was centered on the great fall sport of football, or at least all thought outside of the classroom and study periods, and i'm afraid some of it even there. our friends trod the paths of queen's with a new sense of ownership. were they not now in their second year and lords of their particular realm--honeywell hall? last year they had been at school only on suffrance of the second class boys--so it had appeared to them--but the year had moved them along to a new and quite wonderful superiority. "have you noticed," said the codfish one night, "what a very small fry this bunch is, that has so recently entered our sacred halls of learning?" the speaker put the question to the full court that sat in frank's room one night after supper. "you mean the freshmen, i suppose," said jimmy. "you're the rightest chap i know," said the flowery codfish. "yes," said frank, "they are a year younger than we uns, but i noticed some pretty husky fellows there in the yard to-day." "most of them look as if they had just come from mamma's lap just the same, and i think it's a sin for these second year guys to be hazing the dear little mites," said the codfish, with a great show of disapprobation. "who's hazing them?" inquired frank. "future tense, webfoot, future tense," cried the codfish. "i guess they've escaped so far." "well, what's all your virtuous indignation about, old chappie?" said jimmy. "the stick is in pickle for them, for i overheard a little conversation to-day that made me think as i think." "you have long ears. where did you hear it?" queried david. "coming around the corner of warren hall to-night i interrupted a little conference. some one said 'cheese it,' and then the bunch began to talk very loud about the prospects for the football team." "was that a suspicious circumstance?" asked jimmy. "something in the cut of their jib, as captain silas might say, made me think they were not so much interested in the football team at that moment as they pretended to be. my instincts as a detective got the better of my natural modesty--ahem, ahem--and after walking along a little ways, i sneaked back like the thug in the play and dodged behind that little jog in the wall." "go on, sherlock." "and what happened then?" "were they planning to kidnap old pop-eye?" these questions were fired at the codfish in rapid succession. "no, gentlemen of the court of inquiry," replied the codfish, planting his gorgeously attired feet on the table end and leaning back against the window seat, "they were planning an attack on two poor, little mamma boys who have our old rooms at no. ." "the brutes!" "the scoundrels! the worse than kidnappers!" howled jimmy, making a great ado about it. "and what did you do--walk in and clean out the gang?" "do i look like a fellow who would get mixed up in the common bruising business? look at me and answer me that! no, i leave such brutal tactics to you, turner and armstrong, and to such rough fellows as david powers and lewis carroll." "hear, hear!" cried the chorus. "go on, and what happened then?" "well, i came up here and now tell my tale to unsympathetic ears. if you had a spark of human kindness in you, one little chunk of the milk of humanity in you, you'd sally forth and save these children from the ruthless grasp of this marauding bunch of baby destroyers. but as you do not seem to be interested, i'll go and tip these innocent lambs off to the fact that they are going to be seared, and bid them dust out." "who were the gents you heard plotting, sherlock?" inquired frank. "oh, i couldn't make them all out," returned the codfish, "but i'm sure of bronson and whitlock and colson. two or three of the others had their backs to me. it was too dark to recognize them, and they didn't speak loud enough." "three chumps, if ever there were chumps," said jimmy indignantly. "they ought to be in better business. wouldn't it be a joke to give them some of their own medicine?" "there speaks a hero, a real carnegie medal hero!" cried the codfish. "i've an idea," said frank. "hurrah, frank has an idea!" shouted the codfish. "shut the door and bar the windows for fear it escapes," and he ran to close the door and slam down the window. "out with it, master drop kicker. it can't get away now." "sit down, you lunatic," said frank, laughing at the antics of his roommate. "my idea is just this," and they put their heads together and talked in such low whispers that it was impossible to hear just what plan was being laid. it is sufficient to know that about a quarter of an hour before the time that the codfish had said the date for the attempted hazing had been set, jimmy and frank stole quietly up the well-known stairway to no. warren hall. the remainder of the party stayed on the far side of the yard as a kind of reënforcement in case of need. the two new boys were in the study and were startled at the knock on the door. but they let our friends in, and stood with inquiring attitudes. apparently they were ignorant of the hazing traditions of queen's. "what's your name?" asked frank, addressing himself to the larger of the two. "mine's hopkins," said the boy addressed. "and mine's hewlett," said the other eagerly. "and where do you both come from?" "milton." "glad to see you," said frank, extending a hand first to one and then the other, while jimmy followed suit. "and that's a reason why we are going to do as we are going to do, eh, jimmy?" inquired frank. "you bet it is. can't let milton be thrown down." "did you boys ever hear of hazing?" said frank. "oh, yes," said one of the boys, "but they don't do any such things as that at queen's, do they?" and there was a note of alarm in his voice. "you are not hazers, are you?" "well, not if we can help it," said jimmy. "but it happens that we are going to have a little party in your room to-night. we used to live here ourselves once and we like to come back." "yes," said frank, "we are to have some callers here in a few minutes and we want to give them a warm reception. if you don't mind, we'd like to occupy your bedroom for about five minutes." the occupants of no. looked puzzled and dazed at the presumption of the intruders, so frank took them into his confidence, and in a few words told them what was about to take place. "oh, oh," gasped the new boys, "thank you so much for telling us!" "no trouble at all," laughed jimmy; "it's a chance of a lifetime. i've been aching to use my muscles for the last three days." "now all you boys have to do is to get into that clothes closet and keep still as mice. don't even peep, or the cat's out of the bag." the boys were only too glad to do as they were told and made for the clothes closet with alacrity. they were not the adventurous kind that enjoy roughing it. a chance to escape a mauling was accepted instantaneously. "hurry up, jimmy, it's nearly eight o'clock. the pirates will be here in a minute if they live up to schedule." he had hardly finished speaking when the chapel clock boomed out the hour of eight. both boys dived for the inner room, stripped off their coats, pulled down the blinds and, jumping into the little cot beds, pulled the coverlets up to their chins. they lay there and shook with laughter. "what if the gang should send up a dozen kidnappers and carry us both out and duck us?" said frank, in a whisper. "'tisn't likely they'll send more than two or three," was jimmy's answer. "they would be afraid of attracting attention. they'll figure that two's enough for these little candy kids. i don't think----" what jimmy didn't think will never be known to history, for he was interrupted by a ringing knock on the study door. "there they are; cover up," whispered frank. "keep the coverlet up to your chin or they'll recognize you." "not a chance of it in here, unless they have a light, and they wouldn't chance that unless they are masked." the knock was repeated, and there still being no answer some one kicked the door. "open up, freshmen," said a gruff voice. "that's bronson, sure," said jimmy. "what's wanted?" shouted frank, in a weak sort of voice. "we're in bed." "oh, you are, are you?" said another voice. "well, we'll come in and sing you a lullaby, eh, boys?" "there's a bunch of them," whispered jimmy, "we're in for it." "let 'em come," whispered frank, in answer. "we'll show 'em a thing or two." the door of the study was pushed violently open now and footsteps sounded outside the bedroom door. "where are you runts?" said the gruff voice, the one that had first been heard. they could hear the owner of the voice bumping around among the furniture. "you ought to have lights for the convenience of your visitors. oh, there you are in your downy little couches for the night," said the voice again, and a hand grabbed the portières between the study and the bedroom and jammed them back. "what do you want?" said jimmy, in a plaintive voice, into which he tried to put as much fear as possible. "just want to see two cunning little things in their nighties. have you said your prayers?" there was a laugh at this, and both boys on their backs in bed concluded that there were three of their enemies. "yes," said frank, "we always do that. please, sir, what do you want?" "we want you, angel face," said the foremost of the trio, and striding into the room he reached for the bed clothes. just what happened that leader of the hazing gang never quite knew. but as he reached out, something struck him hard right in the stomach. it was jimmy's head. that individual had been curled up in bed waiting for what was about to happen, and as bronson bent over, jimmy uncoiled himself. with his head boring into bronson's big body, he surged forward with all the force of his sturdy frame. reënforced by frank, who sprang instantly at jimmy's attack, the two forced bronson backward through the doorway and into the faces of the other two waiting there. into bronson's companions they crashed and the whole crowd went smashing to the floor with frank and jimmy on top. bronson fought and kicked and hit blindly in the dark, all the while making desperate efforts to reach the door; but frank and jimmy, whose eyes had become accustomed to the dark while they lay waiting, could see fairly well, and directed their blows with telling effect. jimmy landed a stinging thump on bronson's nose, and when he took his hand away he felt something warm and sticky on his knuckles. it was blood. bronson, thrashing around on the floor with frank and jimmy on top of him, was begging for mercy. his two companions had gathered themselves up in the dark and beat a hasty retreat down the stairs, with only the thought of getting away with their lives. frank, a straddle of the big bully's neck, and jimmy on his stomach, plugged him right and left; and when they had punished him to their heart's content, and had him almost in tears, they grabbed him by the legs, dragged him to the door and into the entry and then, springing nimbly back into the room, slammed the door and locked it. in spite of his hammering, bronson picked himself up with astonishing alacrity and tore down the steps of warren hall as if the fiend himself were after him, while frank and jimmy rolled around on the floor in a paroxysm of laughter. pale and trembling, the two rightful occupants of no. came from the closet and lit the gas. their eyes met a scene of destruction. scarcely anything was left standing in the corner of the room where the hurricane of fighting had taken place. but the destruction was nothing in comparison with what they had been saved from, and they thanked their rescuers almost with tears in their eyes. frank and jimmy slipped on their coats, helped hopkins and hewlett to straighten up the furniture and departed. "they will let you alone in the future, or i make a mistake," said frank, laughing as he went out. he had lost some skin from his nose in the scuffle, but otherwise he was none the worse. "i'll bet bronson will think you two are worse than a den of wildcats!" said jimmy, and his grin stretched from ear to ear. bronson and his companions did not learn of the trick that had been played upon them till some time afterward, but when they did know they laid plans for vengeance of which you will hear later. chapter xii. class nines. "have any of you fellows seen the football schedule?" inquired jimmy one night after queen's had been open about a week. "our rising young journalist, david powers, ought to know all about it," said the codfish. "only thing i know is that it contains the same old lot, with warwick on the end of it. how about it, david?" "the schedule was published in the _mirror_ last spring after dr. hobart approved it, and it isn't the same old thing by a good deal. dixon took on some pretty strong schools. don't you remember how you sneered at it, saying that it was big enough for the york freshmen, and that queen's would be a second rater long before the big game came on?" "you don't expect me to remember what i said three or four months ago?" retorted the codfish. "it's bad enough to have to remember a week. why don't you publish the old thing again?" "being live editors, we did that very thing, and if you hadn't been asleep you would have seen it. here's the paper," returned david. "oh, very well, boy, you may bring it to me," said the codfish lazily. frank picked up the latest copy of the _mirror_ and launched it at the codfish's head. "thank you very, very much," said that individual; "i always like polite little boys. yes, here she is, third page. some schedule, that----" he announced, as he read; "listen: "october th--hillside academy at queen's. "october th--burrows at queen's. "october th--milton high school at milton. "october th--taylor hall at oakland. "november d--porter school at queen's. "november th--warwick at warwick." "what's going to be left of this queen's school eleven when that's over?" inquired the codfish. "why, i wouldn't give a plugged nickel for queen's chances." "you're a pessimist!" said jimmy. "have you been down to see us work?" "have i been down? oh, master turner, what a question! of course i've been down, and that's the reason i'm pessimistic." "oh, we're not so bad," said jimmy, laying aside his book to argue a little. "we might get away with one or two of them, even if we did lose most of our good players." "_most_ of your good players? why, you lost _all_ of them, didn't you?" "where does jimmy come in?" inquired frank mildly. "and where does frank come in?" questioned jimmy quietly. "mutual admiration societies never affected my judgment," said the codfish. "jimmy can't play all the game behind the line, and frank the drop kicker hasn't grown up yet into the husky giant that you are, turner. anyway, dixon wouldn't have frank on the team if he could help it. you forget that chip owns the school, don't you?" "not a bit of it, and frank might get his chance sooner than you think, mr. critic," said jimmy. "did you notice what a shine horton took to him to-day?" "don't be sarcastic, now," said frank. "horton had some of us kicking down on the field to-day, and he said that my style was all wrong and i'd never be any good until i changed it. but i'm not to be considered at all. i'm going out for the fall baseball." "sensible boy," said the codfish. "you are wasting your glad young days down on that football field, for as long as dixon runs the captain you will have a pretty slim show. maybe when he gets through here and into a wider field for his politics, you may be allowed to do something, unless he hands his curse down to his successor." the talk of the boys uncovered the situation down on the football field. dixon, in spite of his excellent knowledge of the game, was so thoroughly bound up with the society of gamma tau that, even at the risk of weakening the team, he played his favorites. frank and jimmy had come out at the first call for candidates on the eleven. jimmy, with his natural ability to play the game, could not very well be kept off, society or no society, because the back field was weak without him; frank, with less knowledge of the game and with chip's secret grudge still against him, stood little chance. horton had given frank an opportunity once or twice on the second team, but as frank was green, he was soon replaced. "he's too light," dixon said to his coach one night after practice, "and doesn't seem to have much football sense. it's no use in bothering with him." and, although horton was a good coach, such little remarks as these, frequently repeated, had their effect on the older man's judgment. he overlooked frank when substitutions were to be made in the progress of practice, and finally forgot about him--remembering only, perhaps, that he appeared to have a knack of kicking, albeit in very bad form. horton, however, was one of the old school of coaches who had not much use for a kicker. it was his particular hobby that the eleven should be strong enough to carry the ball. and, it might as well be set down now as later, he lost a good many games by having no adequate punter or drop kicker. finally the blow fell, and in the second cut of the candidates, frank read his name among those "who need not report for football practice again." frank was not particularly sorry, because he recognized his shortcomings in the game of football. he secretly longed to be at the game which came most naturally to him--namely, baseball. but his friends up in honeywell hall raised their voices in protest. "i think it's a shame," said the codfish indignantly, "but do you remember i told you so?" "don't you care, boys," said frank. "don't worry about me. i'm going to have a little baseball now and, mr. codfish, i want you to help me with my call for candidates. most of the school nine fellows are playing on the eleven, so we can have the whole place to ourselves." "what would you say to an organization of class baseball," suggested the codfish, "same as they do at the colleges? here's a fine golden fall going to waste. i've been thinking of it for some time, but we had no leader. but now that our thousand-dollar beauty, frank armstrong, has been kicked off the eleven, the gap is filled. with the leader at hand, all we want is a press agent." "hear, hear!" "and we have one right ready to our hand--mr. david powers, journalist! what's the use of having these cards to play if you don't play them? sez i." "what's that you're saying about me?" inquired david, looking up from an essay that he was composing for next day's english literature lesson. "i was saying," said the codfish glibly, "that we had a scoop for you--a red hot story that will make the readers on the _mirror_ sit up and shout hallelujah! they always do that when they see an interesting article in the _mirror_, eh, david?" continued the codfish. "now, as mark anthony said: 'lend me thine ears.' it's like this. can't you cook up, dish up, or write, if you prefer ordinary grammatical terms to culinary ones, an article which will go into the next issue of the _mirror_, suggesting an inter-class baseball series which shall begin now and last as long as the weather holds good, then sleep like the ground-hog through the winter, and continue in the spring? what says our aspiring literary genius?" "good idea," said david. "wonderful!" said jimmy. "i'll resign from the football eleven." "where am i to play?" inquired lewis, "short-stop or second base?" "you'll be the boy who carries the bats and brushes off the homeplate," said the codfish, "and maybe if you're very good we may let you bring the water." "thank you for nothing," retorted lewis. "and as the _mirror_, thanks to our progressive friend and erstwhile rope-climber, david, has changed its shirt and appears nice and clean once a week instead of twice a month, it ought to make its appearance about thursday of this week. there's no time to lose. bring on your pens and paper and let's get that article ready." the boys entered into the spirit of the thing, and before they turned in for the night had produced in brief form a plan for inter-class baseball. each class, including the freshmen, was to organize a nine, and there was to be a series of games between these nines, the two having the highest percentage to meet for a final match. "it's up to you, codfish, to figure out the schedule and the percentages," said frank. "we'll call you the unofficial scorer." "at what salary, please?" "we'll give you a cheer after it's all over." "o. k. then i'll accept. let the cheer be a long one and a strong one." the announcement in the _mirror_ which came out a few days after the talk in honeywell, had a surprisingly quick recognition. leaders in each class got to work and organized, and before the end of the week the diamonds were covered with boys working with might and main to win a place on the nine of their particular class. frank, of course, was quickly chosen as the leader of his class team, and after a day or two gathered together the best of a dozen boys who had put in an appearance for his particular nine. but frank missed the services of his old backstop, jimmy, who, in spite of his statement that he would resign from the football team, still held his place in the back field of the school eleven. his allegiance to the eleven was made the subject of one of the nightly discussions in honeywell hall. "i thought you were going to be with us, half-back turner," said the codfish, one night. "you are throwing your energies away, down there on the gridiron with horton and chip and the rest. come up and have a little fun with the real sports." "i'd like to, i tell you," said jimmy wistfully. "it's no fun getting banged about two hours a day, but i've got to stick to the ship even if there are rats in it. when i said i'd resign i was only joking." "nice way to crawl out of it," growled the codfish. "we need your services. frank has to pitch to that fellow button who lives upstairs, and he can't hold the ball. it needs a real red-head like you to hold our young matthewson." "that's right, jimmy, stick to your guns," said frank. "while it's not the best eleven that ever was, it is still the school eleven and i wish i could help it. i'd chuck this baseball series." "oh, you traitor!" shouted the codfish. "jimmy, we're going to have our first clash of the season, as the newspapers say, next thursday afternoon; can't you come over and see us wallop that bunch of third-year pill tossers?" "if you don't start it too early i might get over," said jimmy, "but as long as the practice is on i've got to stick there. and i kind of like the uphill fight." "don't you let him bother you, jimmy," said frank. "he's an a number one josher. since you are good enough to play for the school, it's your job to stay there and do your best." "what do you call your nine?" said jimmy. "oh," murmured the codfish, "it's a pretty, pretty name--the piratical pippins. i selected it from a hundred names, more or less. it was the worst i could think of." "it sure is bad enough. and what are your opponents called?" "the hilarious hitters--so-called because they can't hit anything--and the rough rowdies of the upper class. these are all alliterative names, you see," explained the codfish, "and each has a significance which would not easily penetrate your cranium." "have the freshmen a nine?" "sure, and a good one, too. we call them the toy toddlers." "and which of these aggregations do you play thursday?" inquired jimmy. "let's see, where's my schedule?" lisped the codfish, as he fumbled in his coat pocket. "here we are--'pippins versus the hilarious hitters, game called at p. m. umpire, snooks'--and he's that fellow with the lopsided eye, but he makes a great umpire." jimmy laughed. "i'll be over to see you if i can. now i've got to go and lay in a deep store of knowledge for to-morrow. i'm away. good night." "good night," echoed the boys, and jimmy trotted downstairs whistling. you can imagine that gamma tau did not view the baseball series with pleasure. the eleven, loaded with favorites as it was, did not at any time hold the attention of the school, and now that there was a rival attraction, still fewer of the fellows went down to watch the practice. dixon and captain wheeler, well knowing the state of mind of the school, still fretted about the matter, and things were not improved when practically the whole school turned out for the first of the class series, in which the pippins crossed bats with the hitters. frank captained the pippins and pitched, and he pitched so well that his nine won, seven runs to two. the hitters, true to their name, got only four hits off his delivery. "this armstrong is getting too popular altogether," said dixon the night after the game, as he and captain wheeler with several others of the gamma boys got together in dixon's room. "well, what are you going to do about it?" grumbled wheeler. "he has a right to do something, hasn't he? since he's no good on the eleven, we can't keep him from playing baseball." "i'm afraid he'll make trouble for us, with that redheaded friend of his, turner. they've got a pretty strong combination there, and not one of them is in the society. there's powers, who is going to be a force on the _mirror_ some of these days. he's the best man on it now, with the exception of the chairman, miller." "well, what are we going to do about it, i'd like to know?" "we can pull his teeth by getting him into gamma," returned chip. "your first attempt wasn't very successful," returned wheeler. "no," said chip, making a wry face. "but we'll try it again. i think if we got him and several of his pals into gamma, we could bring so much influence to bear on them that we could sew them up." "i don't know about that," said wheeler, "he's just the kind of a fellow that's hard to sew up, and he is making himself stronger every day." "what would you say to my asking him again? the second elections come off two weeks from to-night. we might land him, and then we'd be in clover." "well, maybe. we might go over and try some night," ventured wheeler. "we might bust up his baseball work by calling him over to the school football squad again. he looked to me as if he might make a kicker, and horton was saying only this afternoon that we've got to develop some one, since you get worse every day." "thank you for the compliment!" growled wheeler. "and if we can't spoil some of this popularity wave, i've got another scheme. the blamed little fool could have anything he wants if he only came over to us." "unfortunately he doesn't see it that way," said wheeler, "but if you think best we'll send our committee over to see him monday night." "agreed," said chip, and the conference closed. the determination to bring frank and turner over into the camp of gamma tau was strengthened by the disastrous defeat of the queen's school on the following saturday by two touchdowns to nothing. chapter xiii. frank's football education. it is needless to say that the attempt of the society of gamma tau to gather frank and jimmy into its fold in order to put a curb upon their growing popularity, failed, in spite of the fact that it had been advanced with the greatest care. the most persuasive members of the campaign committee, as it was called, had been sent to the two rooms in honeywell hall, and the glib-tongued committee men, after clearing out all but the intended candidates, used every argument. "what possible objection can you have to taking an election to gamma?" said the chief of the gamma expedition to frank. "gamma is the oldest and most powerful society in the school, and runs about everything here," he added. it was an unfortunate slip of the tongue and gave frank his chance. "that's just the trouble with gamma. as you say it runs everything, and as far as i can judge, it doesn't run anything very well." "that's a rather bold thing for a second-year boy to say," suggested one of the trio. "most of your class would be mighty glad to get a chance to come into it." "i can't help it," returned frank. "i mean what i say. i am only a second-year boy as you have told me, but i've been here long enough to know my way around. i can see very plainly that gamma is not helping the school, but hurting it, and i always supposed that the main business of a society was to help the school and not the members of the society." "but all the big fellows are with us," said hastings, a boy who had been elected because his roommate played on the eleven, but who himself was not an important part of the school life. "they may be big on the athletic teams, but i don't see that they are doing much else. why don't you take in some one besides the athletic fellows? there's my roommate, david powers, or gleason, they both have more brains than i have." "no, we want you to come first. they will come later, if you come." "oh, so that's it, is it? well, gentlemen," said frank, with so much determination that the committee men gave him up as a bad job, "i appreciate the honor you offer me, but i think i can do more for the school by staying outside. some day i hope to see the gamma recognize the boys for what they are worth, and not for the distance they can punt a football or throw a baseball. it used to be that way, and if i can help in my little way to putting it back that way, i'll do so." "this is your last chance, you know," said hastings. "if you turn us down this time you can never wear the gamma pin." "well, i guess i can never wear it, then, for i wouldn't agree with gamma about most things. it is better for all of us." "all right, it's settled," said hastings, "but you're going to be a sorry kid some day." "i doubt it," said frank shortly. and that ended the interview. nearly the same thing was repeated in turner's room, for jimmy and frank were one in their determination not to be drawn into the society, as they knew that once in it they would have to be governed by it, and that didn't suit their fancy at all. dixon and wheeler were furious when it was reported to them that both boys had again turned down the invitation. "they'll regret that to the day of their death!" chip stormed. "the impudent little upstarts! the gamma will smash them, see if it don't." wheeler said nothing, but the scowl on his face boded no good for our friends in honeywell hall. two days after the interview in frank's room, and when the class baseball series was in full swing, frank was sent for by boston wheeler and told to report on the football squad the next afternoon. the codfish was wild. "it's as plain as the nose on your face," he said to lewis, "what they're after; they're going to bury him on that football squad, hold him there and finally give him no chance at all." the subject of the discussion appeared at that moment, and the codfish whipped around on him. "are you going down on the gridiron?" "no help for it," said frank gloomily. "wheeler came over himself to-night and told me to come down. i told him i was no good, but he insisted that they needed a punter. horton, also, has suddenly discovered that i'm a kicker." "i'd refuse," snorted the codfish. "and get the school down on me? no, i can't do that. if they really want me i'll be glad to help. and if i can't, i've got to take my medicine and have neither the fun of our baseball series nor the glory of football. i'm going to try hard to develop myself especially for drop kicking. gamma or no gamma, it is the queen's school eleven and not the gamma eleven. i'd be a pig not to do what i can to help, little as it may be." "well, maybe you're right," reluctantly admitted the codfish, "but i haven't your forgiving nature. hey," he called to david, who had just come into the room, "frank's going to shyster the baseball end of it and go down to the gridiron just because wheeler wants him. what do you think about it?" "just one thing. he can't do anything else." "all right, then, down goes the house of baseball, because there's not another pitcher on the staff of the piratical pippins to make a dent in a pound of butter at six feet." it was indeed with great reluctance that the captains of the baseball nines heard of the break that had been made in their ranks. practice fell off materially in the following few days, and before the end of the week the nines had disbanded, at sight of which the leaders of gamma grinned to themselves. so far their plan was working well. frank's opportunity had been smashed, and they promised themselves that he would not have another one if they could help it. frank, although called over to the football squad, was lost in the ruck. he had missed nearly two weeks of practice, which in so short a season as football is a serious matter. once he was sent in at end on the second team but did not distinguish himself. in the punting and drop kicking, which was taken before regular practice, he showed an aptitude. horton began to take more notice of him, and on several occasions took him aside and coached him on the proper step and swing of his leg in meeting the ball. dixon did not relish these attentions to frank, and did all in his power to keep him out of the practice. at night in the room jimmy labored with frank and endeavored to teach him what he knew of the play of a half-back. jimmy was considered the best back on the queen's eleven. thick-set, stocky, short, strong of leg and thick of neck, and with a trick of running low, he was hard to stop. he was fast, too, because he never took any roundabout way for the hole that was opened for him, and when the hole wasn't open for him he often made it himself by sheer strength. on defense he was a regular demon. wherever the ball was, there might be found jimmy's flaming top-knot. never for a moment was he deceived by any tricks that the opponents might play. his eye was glued to that ball, and he was always in front of it. so, with this knowledge, jimmy proved a good and patient teacher, and always after supper the center of the study was cleared of tables and chairs, and frank and jimmy worked for half an hour or so with a ball before taking up the regular lessons. frank learned quickly and, when he had a chance, put his knowledge into operation. in this, what might be called secret practice, frank learned to handle the ball quickly without fumbling it, to shift it rapidly from hand to arm-pit, and to take just the right position on his feet. it was surprising how much skill he was able to acquire in the narrow space of a room. once jimmy, in illustrating how the offensive half-back could help his tackle, pressed lewis and the codfish and david into service. "now, lewis, you are the opposing guard. stand here," commanded jimmy. lewis was dragged into position, protesting, and assumed the attitude of a crouching guard with his hands on his knees. "and you now, coddy, you stand here at his right. you're the defensive tackle." "good!" said the defensive tackle. "it's a pleasant job, how much do i get?" "you'll get all that's coming to you in a minute." "it won't rumple up my hair, will it?" "no, don't stand too far out there. that's it, keep your place and look pleasant. now, frank, you're the right half-back and you've got to carry the ball. here, david, you snap it back; you don't need to get down, just face frank and toss it to him. that's it, right there where you are. now i'll give the signal. remember, frank, you cross over behind me. i'm going to help the offensive tackle to block off his opponent. you see i haven't any offensive tackle or guard here, but it will do to illustrate. now, ready all!" jimmy yelled this last as if he were outside on the football field, so earnest was he in his work. david snapped or tossed the ball to frank, who dashed across behind jimmy. jimmy threw himself against the unresisting opposing "tackle" and "guard." over they went like nine pins, lewis fetching up in the fireplace and the codfish under the window seat! there was a howl of laughter from frank, david and jimmy, but it wasn't echoed by the defensive "tackle" and "guard." instead they picked themselves up very carefully and felt of themselves. "where's the automobile that hit me?" said the codfish, in a rueful tone, feeling his shins tenderly. "some one get a shovel, please," groaned lewis, "and dig these ashes out of my left ear." he was a sight. "all right!" yelled jimmy, "line up quick, and i'll show you how the cross-buck ought to be played!" "oh, no you don't," said the codfish, edging away. "you can't show me a cross-buck or a tame-buck or a golden-buck or any other kind of a buck this evening. i've had all i want of football instructions. if you and frank want to continue your jolly little game, go and borrow a few saw-horses." "why, what's the matter?" inquired jimmy innocently, while frank stood holding the ball and grinning. "i have nothing to say about lewis, but if you imagine i'm a chopping block," grumbled the codfish, whose hair had been seriously rumpled and his immaculate clothes mussed up, which he didn't relish a bit, "you have six more guesses and you'll never get one of them right." "oh, i say," said jimmy, "this is in the interests of science, you know. we've got to teach frank football, somehow." "you can teach him anyhow," said the codfish, "but you can't make a roman holiday out of me again. science is all right, but it can't be allowed to flourish at the expense of my dignity. look at our poor friend, lewis carroll." the sight was so comical that even the codfish got over his grouch and laughed. "that's what we get every day," said jimmy. "i wonder if the school knows how many hard knocks its football players get. you've got to take what's coming to you without a whimper. if a fellow is tender he better keep out of football." "or out of the fireplace, eh, lewis?" cried the codfish. "or from under the window seat," retorted lewis, who by this time had made himself again presentable by a liberal supply of soap and water. there was no more football practice that evening; and thereafter when the floor space was cleared away for jimmy's illustration of the tactics of the back field, the codfish and lewis always found it convenient to be absent on important business. the fall drew on with rapid pace. sometimes the football eleven of queen's seemed to be getting together, but it was only seeming; for, lacking the right spirit, the eleven had no fight in it. captain wheeler often chafed at the interference of his quarter-back, chip dixon, whose bitter feeling toward frank he could not understand. dixon had forgotten frank's generous attitude the night of the supposed drowning of tommy brown in the gamma initiation, and remembered only that frank had beaten him out in several of his ambitions. it seemed to be forever in his mind that frank had beaten warwick with the freshman nine, and he lost no opportunity to hurt him in the eyes of the coach and the rest of the players. but, in spite of his disadvantages and of the scant attention he got on the field, frank continued to improve. under the loving coaching of jimmy at night and much observation and practice on the field, he forged ahead in the knowledge of the game; and once, called in by horton to replace the full-back when the school eleven held the second on its five-yard line, he kicked a neat goal from the field. "good boy!" said horton that night, as the teams trudged off to the gymnasium. "you are getting the knack of it. i'd give good money if you were twenty pounds heavier. but you'll grow. keep at it, and you'll surely get a chance at the eleven next year." this praise from the coach, heard by dixon, rankled in the latter's heart. he set to work planning for an overthrow of frank's hope, the results of which will be seen later on. dixon was so busy working off his grudge or trying to do it, that he played poor ball, much to the exasperation of coach horton. the next day after frank's drop kick, chip was warned for a rough and ugly piece of work in the practice, and after some words with the coach, was sent to the side lines in disgrace. walker, the little quarter on the second team, was pulled over to the position at quarter on the first team, and to the astonishment of every one, the coach, after running his eye over the possible candidates to fill the quarter's position on the second eleven, ordered frank to take his place. "he handles the ball like a flash," said horton, in defense of what he had done, when the captain protested; "he's as fast as lightning and, if my dope isn't wrong, he'll make a dandy quarter. he's too light to play anywhere else. we'll give him a trial." horton's change proved to be a stroke of genius, for frank, although not well acquainted with the signals or accustomed to the place, proved to have a natural aptitude for the position, and it was only a few days till he began to find himself. his punting, although not great in distance, was accurate, and so quick were his movements that he put a life and ginger in the second team which brought about a vastly different condition on the field. dixon was finally recalled to his old position on the school eleven, but frank had improved so much that walker came back to the second as frank's substitute. jimmy was overjoyed at the turn affairs had taken, and every minute that he had to spare from lessons he coached frank on tricks of the back-field play. for hours together the two worked on the handling of the ball from center, jimmy playing center, of course. frank improved with wonderful rapidity. his baseball playing helped him in handling the ball, and as the season advanced he began to rival, except in experience, the resourceful dixon himself. he had even an advantage of the latter, for he could punt and drop kick as well. chapter xiv. the telegraph company. "what's that you have?" said frank, coming in one night after supper and finding the codfish handling a kind of an instrument composed of bright polished brass set on a wooden base. gleason was examining it closely. "that, my inquisitive young sir, is nothing more nor less than a telegraph instrument." "where did you get it? make it, buy it or pinch it?" inquired frank. "i bought it, kind sir. i was down at the queen's station to-night getting off some of my important business by telegraph, and his nibbs down there, the telegraph operator, recognizing in me a man of excellent perceptions, invited me in." "and you got away with some of the tools. does he know it?" "oh, yes, sir, he knows it. i sat there and watched him tapping away. he told me it was new york on the other end of the wire, after he had called up. i didn't believe him, and he told me if i didn't believe, i could prove it for myself by simply touching two little posts that he pointed out." "and you touched?" "yes, if you must know the details, i touched it, and incidentally i jumped about six feet in the air. it gave me a shock, you see." "and then you realized that it really was new york on the other end of the wire?" queried frank, who knew something about telegraphy because he had studied it in a series of articles in the boys' magazine. "sure, i realized at once that it was new york, for i've heard that new york is a shocking city. now, then, will you be good?" "put him out! put him out!" said david, looking up. "electrocute him, i should say," cried jimmy. "he ought to be given two thousand volts in the neck for that." "well, if you will draw down these things on your heads, keep on interrupting my story. i asked the gent if it took much brains to learn it, and he had the nerve to tell me it didn't take much of any, and added that he thought i could just about accomplish it. if i had been a fighter like redhead here, i'd have been insulted, but as it was i kept a dignified silence." "well, when did you make away with the instrument?" "all in good time, kind friends. he showed me how easy it was to wiggle the little key, and i tried it myself. if i had stayed another half hour, i would have been an accomplished operator." "and how about the instrument?" "well, finally, i got so much interested in the little clicker that he said he would sell me something that i could learn on, and he brought forth this attractive affair and agreed to sell it to me for twenty-five dollars." "oh, oh, and you bit, did you?" "i said he agreed to sell it, note my words carefully. i made him a counter offer of three dollars and a half for it, and he said 'it's yours.' and, generous soul that he was, he gave me an instruction book which i also have, if i haven't lost it," and the codfish began to search hastily through his pockets. "there it is," he said, holding it up--"how to learn telegraphy--a complete analysis of the entire system of the morse alphabet--with the complete code for all letters, figures and punctuation marks. there's a bargain at three-fifty. eh, what?" "cheap at half the money," said frank. "hand it over." he turned the pages over thoughtfully. "say, this gives me an idea. why wouldn't it be a good scheme to have a little telegraph line of our own?" "where to--new york? i insist it shall not be connected with new york. i had enough of new york to-night. it's too shocking." "quit your fooling. if you get off that new york joke again i'll punch your head. no, i really mean it. we could have a lot of fun with a telegraph line. we might have an instrument here and one in jimmy's room. we might even connect up with wee willie patterson who seems to have deserted us this fall." "i say," said jimmy, "it would be a great stunt. we could use it as a kind of alarm clock. when i sleep over, the codfish can rattle a little on it and i'll be awake in a jiffy." "thank you," said the codfish. "i vote against it, if i'm to be the alarming fellow." "and," continued frank, "we might run a wire down to queen's station and get the night operator to send to us for practice." "yes, i imagine he'd love to do it," quoth the codfish. "he seems so much like a generous fellow, particularly when you show him money." "well, let's show him money, if he won't do it without it." david agreed with frank that it would be a good scheme to have a telegraph line; and the long and the short of it was that the next night a descent was made on murphy, the night operator at the station who, after much haggling about the price, agreed to run a private wire from the station to queen's school and equip it with two sets--because only two sets were available. murphy also agreed that for this sum he would furnish enough "juice" from the station batteries to make a sending current on the wire, and moreover he would "send" for fifteen minutes every night when the boys desired. the boys went back to queen's and scraped together enough money between them to pay ten dollars down, and murphy, as good as his word, commenced stringing the wire the next day. as the line was to be kept a secret, it took a somewhat crooked path, dodging this way and that way to avoid conspicuous places. it cut across the river from the station, was bracketed on a tree, then took half a dozen leaps among the trees across the roof of an old house long unoccupied, and finally climbed the slope to queen's school, well hidden among the trees. perhaps the most difficult part of the work was getting the wire on honeywell hall itself so as not to attract the attention of the caretakers, who would undoubtedly have made short work of it. the heavier wire was ended on a bracket on a great elm that swayed over the roof of honeywell. from this bracket a very fine copper wire was stretched to the room of jimmy and lewis, which was fortunately on the rear of the hall. from there it was an easy matter to bring it across and down a rain spout to the sill of frank's window. when the whole job was completed, much of it under cover of darkness, so well had it been done that unless you had been looking for such a wire you might have looked over a hundred times and seen nothing unusual. when the circuit was complete, murphy attached the instruments and returned to the station. "i go on duty to-night at seven o'clock," he said, "and i'll cut the wire in and see how she works." the boys were in high spirits about the successful completion of the job, and waited with eagerness to hear the signals murphy was to send them. "wouldn't it be a joke," said the codfish, as the hour for the opening of the great telegraph line came and went, "if it didn't work?" "we'd be out ten dollars," remarked david. "but look at the fun we've had!" "there speaks a true sporting proposition, gents," said the codfish. but the line was not to be a failure. suddenly, while the boys were discussing their probable bad bargain, the little brass-armed sounder jumped into life and began to dance like mad. "how well he talks!" said the codfish, who couldn't read a letter. "i think it's about the most intelligent language i ever listened to. don't sit there, frank, pretending you know all about it," for frank had his ear glued on the sounder and was trying hard to make out what was coming. [illustration: "it's choctaw!" cried the codfish. "who can read choctaw?"--_page ._] "no, i can't make it out, it's too fast for me; i can read a little if i haven't forgotten. i wish he'd send slower." by degrees the sounder stopped its mad dancing and began to work slowly. "listen," said frank, and he seized a pencil, "it's something he wants us to hear. i'll write it down." frank began scratching as the sounder clicked on. and this is what he got: "_do ntfo rgett hat youow eme fi vedol lars._" "it's choctaw!" cried the codfish, who had been leaning over frank's shoulder as the message came in. "who can read choctaw? david, don't speak up too quick. and frank thinks he's an operator! shades of my grandmother, what a message!" frank had been staring at the page. finally he burst out laughing. "oh, it's a joke, is it? it looks funny enough to be a joke. explain it, please." "the only trouble is, that i didn't get the spaces right between the words. see, when you space it right the choctaw becomes the following: '_don't forget that you owe me five dollars_'." "what an insulting thing to send over our own wire first crack out of the box!" said the codfish. "of course we owe him five dollars, and if he were a gentleman he wouldn't remind us of it, particularly when we haven't got it in our clothes." frank's unexpected display of the ability to read the telegraph by sound, was a great incentive to the others of our quintet of boys, and they worked with might and main. pasted in each room was a large white card ornamented in the codfish's best style with the morse alphabet and figures spread boldly thereon, and this is what they studied morning, noon and night, and sometimes in between: a--dot dash. b--dash and three dots. c--two dots space dot. d--dash two dots. e--one dot. f--dot dash dot. g--two dashes dot. h--four dots. i--two dots. j--dash dot dash dot. k--dash dot dash. l--one long dash. m--two dashes. n--dash dot. o--dot space dot. p--five dots. q--two dots dash dot. r--dot space two dots. s--three dots. t--one short dash. u--two dots dash. w--dot two dashes. x--dot dash two dots. y--two dots space two dots. z--three dots space dot. --dot dash dash dot. --two dots dash two dots. --three dots dash dot. --four dots dash. --three dashes. --six dots. --two dashes two dots. --dash four dots. --dash two dots dash. --one long dash (longer than letter l). "and murphy says that's all a fellow needs to know, to do almost any kind of telegraphing. sounds easy, doesn't it?" said frank, one day. "and it is easy to remember the signals themselves, but when they come flying over the wire it's a different story." "how are you getting on with the telegraph?" inquired david, one night of lewis, who was listening to the measured ticking of the instrument. "great," said lewis, "i guess i'll be able to take a job on the railroad pretty soon." "get out," said jimmy scornfully. "lewis makes a great fuss about it because he can tell such little things as _e_ and _i_ and _h_ and things like that. i can do better than that myself. i have a speaking acquaintance with the big, forbidding fellows like _q_ and _x_ and all the high dignitaries." for a time the lessons suffered by the introduction of this new toy, but by and by it began to take its natural place in the day or night. they picked up the reading wonderfully quickly and, as the days went on, murphy was able to take a faster gait. perhaps they didn't understand all of it, but it was a great joy to be able to pick out small words as the instrument rattled along. all of the boys were able to "send" pretty well, which as every one knows is the easy part of telegraphing. it is the receiving that is so difficult. often frank and jimmy held labored conversations over the wire when murphy had cut out and left them to themselves, and it generally happened that they were obliged to stick their heads out of the window to confirm by voice what had been said and to fill in the gaps which were not clear. the codfish frequently used the wire to play tricks. one night jimmy was awakened by a desperate clatter on the instrument. the call of jimmy's room was _jc_, and they were both hard letters for our friend, the codfish. he was rattling away at this _jc_, _jc_, _jc_, as fast as he could go. jimmy sprang up and answered. "_it's very cold down here_," clicked the instrument; "_come on down and put another blanket on me_." jimmy was furious. "_i'll come down_," he wired back, "_and put a club on you_." "_ha, ha, ha, ha!_" laughed the codfish on the wire. but they got a lot of fun out of it and some profit, for they were learning something which they might some day be able to turn to account. little did any of them realize that it would, at no very distant date, play a prominent part in an important incident in their school life. chapter xv. frank taken to warwick. while the advent of the telegraph line occupied the attention of our friends in the evenings, it must not be thought that they were any the less intent on the football doings in the afternoons. the end of the season was drawing rapidly to a close and only one game--that with porter school on the queen's grounds--remained on the schedule to be played, with the exception of the final match with warwick. this latter game was to be played at warwick, which was considered a disadvantage, as the queen's eleven seemed to fight better on home grounds. it will be remembered that the warwick game was played at queen's the previous year. these matches always alternated--one year at warwick and the next at queen's, and so on. after frank had won his place on the second eleven, there was a general brace by the school eleven. dixon, seeing his position in danger of being invaded by frank, put forth his best efforts, and he was so clever a quarter that when he did his best he was hard to beat. horton was delighted with the change and attributed it in a considerable degree to the dashing play of frank armstrong, who had been, as he expressed it, "a regular find." then came the porter game. "this is our test," said jimmy the friday night before it was played. "if we get away with this one, there's a chance that we can pull off the warwick game." "a fighting chance, yes," said the clear-headed codfish. "you may be able to hold them, but i don't see how you can score against their defense. warwick is as good or better than last year. the only way you can beat a strong defense, under these rules that the football fathers have doped out, is to have a drop kicker." "well, we haven't got one, so we'll have to get off a forward pass or something tricky, and catch those big guys napping. it all depends on what we can do to-morrow." the boys turned in early. frank fell asleep with hopes of a chance at to-morrow's game in his head. it was a glorious day, and every one far and near turned out to see the test of the school eleven against the strapping boys from porter. knowing well the erratic course that the queen's eleven had been steering, the invaders, who came gayly decked as for a celebration, freely expressed themselves as to the size of the score. they would not consider for a moment that the score might be against them. nearly all, excepting the most optimistic of the queen's followers, were shaking in their shoes because a defeat to-day meant disaster a week later. a victory would hearten the team so much, that they might even triumph over the proud and confident eleven up the river. from the moment of the first clash of the lines the porter boys showed their superiority. they took the ball and on straight rushes carried it far down the field, only to lose it when they seemed to be sure of scoring. red-headed jimmy was everywhere on defense. half a dozen times the porter runner with the ball was through the line, but was nailed with deadly precision by this half-back. dixon also played magnificently. he was playing to hold his place, and although frank, sitting on the side-lines wrapped up in a blanket, saw his opportunity for a trial disappearing through the brilliant play of chip, he could not but admire it. time after time the porter school eleven carried the ball half the length of the field. stone, their full-back, out-punted wheeler, and their ends covered the long punts with deadly certainty. porter played harder and harder and made ten yards of ground to one for queen's, but they were met down around the -yard line with so fierce a resistance that they could go no further. twice they made weak attempts to drop-kick a goal, but each time the trials failed. once a queen's end recovered the ball and carried it yards down the field, where he was felled by the porter tackle, who outran him. this hammering game went on for three quarters, but, in the fourth quarter, queen's seemed to gain strength. twice they stopped the porter rushes at midfield, and with unsuspected power carried the ball inside the -yard line, only to be stopped when success seemed certain. quickly the minutes flew by. dixon drove his men with increasing speed in spite of the fact that they were about ready to drop. they responded to the call splendidly. it was the best football they had shown the whole fall, but in spite of their best efforts porter stood a barrier to the goal line, and the whistle blew with the game a tie, without scoring by either side. "i was praying that they'd call you in and give you a trial, frank," said jimmy that night, "when we were down on their goal line. but, after a conference, dixon thought he could take it across and wheeler thought so, too. and they failed. it would have been an easy drop--right in front of the posts. if i had been captain i'd have tried it every time i got inside the -yard line, but horton doesn't think that way." "wait till you get to be captain," said the codfish, "and you'll have them kicking goals all over the field, eh, old speed?" "well, i'd be a little freer with them than the captain is. but it's his team and i'm not grouching. as the fellow in the poem says: "'mine not to reason why, mine but to do or die.'" "and you died, i notice, and you'll die some more up at warwick next saturday," prophesied the cold-hearted codfish. very little was done on the gridiron during the week preceding the warwick game. the players were rested after the hard struggle they had gone through with the porter school team. there was some secret practice and several trick plays were run over. the last work-out was on wednesday afternoon. "only light drill to-morrow," announced horton, "and nothing at all on friday." "do you know the signals of the first eleven?" inquired horton of frank when he was coming out of the shower bath that night. "i've picked up most of them, yes, sir," said frank. "i thought so," said horton, grinning, "by the way you played on defense. here's a set of them. get them well in your head. perhaps we may need you to-morrow." frank's heart took a great leap in his breast. "'perhaps we will need you to-morrow,'" he kept repeating to himself. "but after all it is only 'perhaps.' well, that's better than nothing." that night horton's "perhaps" kept him awake half an hour longer than usual, and he went to sleep finally to dream of the clash of battle in which he had a part. thursday was given to signal drill, short, sharp and snappy. the bleachers were well filled with boys who had come down in an organized mass to try out their new songs. as the players rolled and tumbled around on the ground, the sharp cheer rang out, and at its end was the name of a player. "come on, get into this, now," shouted the cheer leaders-- "'rah, 'rah, 'rah, 'rah, 'rah, 'rah! queen's!--_wheeler!_" the boys raised their voices with a will. even the second and third substitutes came in for their share, and frank felt a strange thrill run down his spine as he heard his own name, "_armstrong_," snapped out by the bleachers. that it was well down toward the end of the list and not among the important members did not particularly matter. it meant that he was a possible candidate for the team and that was enough to fill him almost to bursting with happiness. and his joy was not lessened on seeing the bulletin near the gymnasium door, pasted there by horton, after the practice. his name was among those who were to take the train for warwick saturday afternoon. it seemed to the boys that saturday would never come, but come it did at last, a glorious day in early november. the exodus for warwick began early. the queen's boys went by train, by automobile, by team, and some of those given to pedestrianism even walked the five miles up the river. every queen's boy bore his banner or badge of blue and gold, the school colors. some carried them modestly while others flaunted their flags to the breeze and made sure that the entire populace would know that they came from queen's, and that they were sure of victory. "isn't it great," said jimmy, as he and frank hurried for the : train which was to take the team to warwick, "to see this turn-out? it makes me feel as though i could play my head off when the whistle blows." boys who have not attended a preparatory school or college can hardly understand the intense feeling of loyalty which a body of students has for its teams. they may be good or they may be poor, but since they represent the school, if the school has any spirit in it at all, the boys are behind the teams. this intense loyalty often actually makes a team strong that would otherwise be indifferent or distinctly poor. and so it was with the queen's school eleven that saturday with which our story deals. the bad record of the season was forgotten for the time, and every player who wore the blue and gold felt himself nerved to do his best, or more than his best, because his schoolmates were with him heart and soul. "i've a hunch that we are going to win this game," said jimmy as the train neared warwick on its short run. "of course we are," said big wheeler, overhearing the remark. "don't believe anything but that and we'll show them who's who, and don't you forget it." at the little warwick railroad station a hundred boys who had preceded the team and all those on the train gathered around the team as it alighted from the car and, with hats off, gave it a ringing cheer. then, as the players piled headlong into the 'bus that was to carry them to the warwick grounds, the crowd fell into line four deep and followed along, occasionally sending up a cheer to vary the school marching song. and in this martial array queen's invaded their rival's grounds. "let them sing," said a warwicker who sat in a group of boys on the library steps as the queen's phalanx went swinging along, proud and haughty under the banners of blue and gold; "they will be quiet enough after the game is over." the warwick crowd were confident of victory, and the remark of the boy on the steps of the library reflected the feeling of every one in the school. and they had good reason to feel confident. the warwick eleven was a strong one, most of whose members had played together for two years. the team had won all its games by big scores, and what served to make assurance almost certain, was an easy victory over porter two weeks before the day queen's had played the same team to a tie. the warwickers would not even admit that queen's had a chance to get within striking distance of the warwick goal on straight offensive strength. "of course, there's always danger of a fumble or something," said those who liked to consider themselves fair to the other fellow, "but the chances are against that." warwick also made a brave showing with their school colors. flags hung from the dormitory windows, and over the door of the gymnasium was draped an enormous warwick flag. down on the big flagstaff by the track house another flag--maroon with a big white "w"--floated lazily in the breeze. boys gathered in doorways and on the walks and discussed with eagerness the coming struggle. the game was scheduled for two o'clock and long before that hour the crowds were streaming across the playing fields in the direction of the football stands. suddenly was heard the music of a band, and soon it swung into view from behind the library where the warwick procession had been formed; and after it came a long tail of boys, hands on each other's shoulders, skipping and dancing along in the peculiar zig-zag step. the crowds opened to make room for this procession, and some joined in the warwick songs as the band thundered out the melody. but you may be sure that the queen's boys refrained from taking part in the warwick jollification. they did do their best, however, to make their own songs heard above the din. soon the crowds filed into the stands and were seated by the ushers, who were distinguished from their fellows by a big maroon silk badge on their coat lapels. the ushers, in spite of their duties, managed to keep one eye on the field where the members of the two teams were running through the signals. queen's had the west and warwick the east stand, and during the preliminaries hurled defiance at each other across the brown gridiron. warwick, with a greater body of supporters, kept up a steady yell, varied now and then by a song. the queen's followers, gathered compactly into two or three sections of the stand, made their presence known by their snappy school yell. the cheer leaders worked incessantly, and whenever there was any evidence of lagging, heckled the sections through their megaphones: "come on here, this isn't a whispering match! what did you come up here for?" and such like taunts. suddenly a hush fell on the crowds on both sides of the field. wheeler, captain of queen's, and burns of warwick, with the referee, met at midfield. they shook hands and held a little conference. after a minute or two the referee snapped a coin into the air. the crowds could not hear what was said, but as burns turned away and waved his hand to the north end of the field, the warwick cheer leaders interpreted the sign as meaning, and rightly, too, that warwick had won the toss and had taken the north end of the field, which was favored by a little breeze. the information imparted to the warwick stand by the megaphones, a cheer burst out spontaneously. the rattle of yelling went the length of the stand. in another instant warwick's measured yell, beaten by the waving arms of half a dozen cheer leaders working in unison, rolled out on the crisp air as the teams trotted to their places. a moment later the whistle blew and the great game was on. chapter xvi. the warwick game. from the moment the whistle blew the two teams went at each other like tigers, warwick endeavoring to overcome the lighter boys of queen's by sheer force, a thing that was made possible by the superior weight of their team. taking the ball from the kick-off, the warwickers began a slashing attack which resulted in long gains. biglow, the right half-back on warwick, slipped through, time and time again, between the queen's tackle and the end, and when the end drew in he went outside. five minutes after the ball was put in play, warwick was inside the queen's -yard line. the latter was fighting desperately, but the forwards did not seem to be able to solve the play which was being sent at them, and the queen's secondary defense had to take the punishment. jimmy was at the bottom of every pile and repeatedly was the only player of queen's who stood between warwick and a touchdown. "touchdown, touchdown, touchdown!" howled the maroon stands. "you've got 'em going! no hope for queen's!" the queen's followers cried valiantly and incessantly: "hold them! hold them!" but even the most enthusiastic and hopeful of the boys who wore the blue and gold could not fail to see the impending disaster. down on the side-line the substitutes crouched, gritting their teeth and thrusting an imaginary shoulder against the warwick invaders as the two lines met. "there they go again!" yelled a queen's boy. "it's a touchdown--no, it isn't--turner has him!" and turner did indeed have him. biglow had sliced in between the tackle and end and was getting up speed, when the fiery jimmy set sail for him. biglow, in his endeavor to elude him, cut across the field. jimmy forced him farther and farther out, until, the side-line being near at hand, biglow endeavored to side-step the tackler. he failed dismally, and the next moment jimmy's arms encircled his legs and jimmy's sturdy shoulder struck his thigh, carrying biglow with the ball clear off his feet and backward toward his own goal. biglow's head struck the ground with a resounding thump. the ball flew from his arms and bounced crazily around. half a dozen forms shot for it, and instantly there was a pile which was quickly dug apart by the referee. big wheeler lay with the ball tucked securely under his body. you might have thought it a queen's touchdown the way the followers of the blue and gold leaped into the air, shouted, danced and hugged each other. "_turner, turner, turner!_" shouted the crowd. "oh, what a tackle!" "good boy, turner! good boy, wheeler!" yelled queen's; and then the leaders got to work and gave a regular cheer for each of the boys who had saved, for a time at least, the queen's goal line. the warwick stand was as still as death. a touchdown had been snatched away from them by the red-head! wheeler immediately kicked out of danger, sending the ball spinning far down the field, from which position warwick again took up the march. the queen's forwards did better this time. they had learned a little more about their opponent's attack and checked the advances a little, but could not stop them. more slowly but just as surely the ball went back. biglow bored through and went around the end, making up the difficult yards that had been lost by his previous fumble. he ran low and hard and scarcely ever failed to make his distance. once with five yards to go on the last down, the warwick quarter worked a pretty forward pass and made the necessary distance. across the center of the field came the warwick football machine, irresistible and deadly. chip shouted from the back field instructions to the line to get low and charge fast and hard. they tried to follow orders, but were bowled over by the fierce onslaught of the bigger line they were facing. jimmy slapped the linemen on the back and encouraged them after each scrimmage, and endeavored with wheeler to work the team up to desperate heights of defense. but all seemed useless. on came the warwick team, and now they were at the -yard line. with the necessity for a close guarding of the back field territory diminishing, the queen's backs crept in closer and made the warwick players work even harder for what they earned. but even then the big maroon team made its distance, and, with a first down, the ball lay just inside the -yard line. again queen's was fighting hard to stave off a touchdown. the boys in the stand called almost despairingly to "hold them," while pandemonium reigned on the opposite side of the field. the warwick players looked smiling and confident as they settled themselves for a scrimmage, while queen's was tense and anxious. "put it over this time!" yelled warwick. "make it sure!" the warwick quarter stood up straight, looked over the backs of his crouching forwards, sized up the positions of the defensive backs and then gave his signal rapidly. the lines met with a crash! but there was a mistake in signals, and the back that was to take the pass from the quarter wasn't where he should have been. the quarter, borne off his feet by the fierce charge of the queen's line, cried "down!" from the bottom of a squirming mass. it was second down and yards to gain, which somewhat dimmed the jubilation on the warwick side. "they'll try a forward pass now," said frank to one of the other substitutes. together they had been crawling down the side-lines on their hands and knees, watching with intense eagerness the great fight their comrades had been making against heavy odds. "why doesn't jimmy move out a little? there he goes; he's on to it, i guess. no, he's going back again. what are they going to try?"--for the quarter had called his men together after giving part of the signal and was instructing them probably in the play that was to come off. suddenly the team sprang back into position, crouching low with finger-tips on the ground. "sixteen--sixty-two--forty," shrieked the warwick quarter. the ball flew straight back to biglow, who took half a dozen steps to the right to draw the defense in that direction. then he stopped and shot it far out to the left in the direction of the warwick end, who had edged out without apparently attracting any attention. but while the ruse had fooled nearly every one, it had not fooled jimmy or his captain. they had guessed the play and even before biglow had stopped, were already in motion toward the waiting warwick end. the ball flew straight, but just as it was about to settle into the arms of the warwick end, big wheeler made a leap into the air and succeeded in touching the ball with the tips of his fingers. it was enough to deflect it from its course, and jimmy, racing behind, was under it like a flash before it touched the ground. he tucked it under his arm and was off down the field like lightning, while wheeler, his speed unchecked by the leap, tore along at his side! as it happened, the pass had carried the ball well to the left side of the field, and most of the players of both teams were out of the possibility of either helping or hindering the runner. there were two of the warwick players besides biglow, the back who had thrown the ball--the left tackle and the outwitted end--who were within reaching distance, and they went after jimmy full tilt. wheeler turned aside and put the end, the most dangerous man for the moment, out of the play by slowing up suddenly in front of him. then he threw himself headlong in front of biglow, who went sprawling head first on the ground. this left the tackle, a boy named robinson, the only hope of warwick to prevent a touchdown, for jimmy had a clear field to the warwick goal. and what a race it was! jimmy, short and stocky, ran as if his life depended on it. he fairly flew over the ground, but the long-legged robinson gained on him. the stands forgot to cheer in watching that race. despite jimmy's best efforts, the tackle still gained on him. he had crossed the center of the field and was bearing directly for the goal posts, with every energy bent on reaching them. forty-five, forty, thirty-five, thirty--the lines flew by, and still he kept ahead. at the -yard line robinson was a stride behind, but a few yards farther jimmy felt robinson's hand touch his shoulder, as the tackle reached for him. the touch was like an electric shock and jimmy fairly leaped away, but the big tackle was not shaken off. in two strides more he had again reached jimmy, and he launched himself with all his might against the queen's half-back, gripping his legs as he fell. jimmy felt those steel-like fingers grappling him and gave a last despairing effort. he twisted out of the other's hold, spun completely around, and, staggering blindly, fell over the goal line with the ball gripped in both hands and with knees curled, drawn up to defend it from any attack! but there was no attack, for the two runners had outdistanced all the rest. queen's had scored! what a shriek split the air over the queen's stands! the cheer leaders forgot their work entirely, and did nothing but jump up and down and toss their megaphones into the air, careless whether they landed on the ground, on their own heads or on the head of some one else. after perhaps two minutes of this din, the leaders suddenly remembered that they were supposed to get organized sounds out of the spectators, and for the space of several minutes, they worked their already tired throats to the limit of endurance in the short cheer--"now hip! hip!"--the long cheer, and a final rousing yell for "_turner, turner, turner!_" the warwick crowd, unable to believe their eyes, sat dumfounded. every one was trying to explain to every one else just how it had happened--burns had failed to have one of his backs on the lookout for just such an emergency; the pass had been too slow; the end had been too far out. these and a dozen other excuses the warwick sympathizers had to offer, but meantime the scoreboard at the end of the field showed the indisputable fact that, explanations or no explanations, the score stood: queen's-- . warwick-- . wheeler made a sorry exhibition of a kick-out and sent the ball over the head of the catcher. it hit the ground, and of course there was no chance for a try at the goal. what should have been an easy point for queen's was thus lost to them. "come on now, fellows!" shouted the warwick captain. "we'll get that touchdown in five minutes!" "we'll get it all back again and half a dozen more, too!" said robinson tauntingly to chip, as the two teams moved to their places for the next kick-off. but before half a dozen plays had been made, the whistle sounded to end the first quarter. excitement reigned in the stands during the intermission and when the teams faced each other for the second quarter, the interest was intense. "go for them, warwick!" yelled a voice in the front row of the warwick stand. "eat 'em alive!" and the warwick team did its best to follow this cannibalistic advice. taking up the former smashing game, warwick quickly carried the ball far down the field, but just when queen's was beginning to settle desperately to work, a fumble in the warwick back field, which was recovered by queen's, relieved the strain and wheeler sent the sphere spinning back down the field. warwick, nothing daunted, with the same old methods, came back as determinedly as ever. queen's seemed unable to stop them anywhere excepting once inside their own -yard line at the urgings of the stands, when the line stood up to its work like heroes and threw the warwick runner back on the last down for a loss and took the ball; and once again when an onside kick was partially blocked and the ball recovered by jimmy turner. warwick had played so desperately hard to overcome the queen's lead, that they were tiring perceptibly as the minutes went on. they had carried the ball two or three times the length of the field if all their gains were counted, but just when distance counted most, down by the queen's goal, something would go wrong. not only the warwick bodies but their spirits were lagging, and they were as glad as the players of queen's when the whistle blew to end the half. the score had not been changed and the hopes of the queen's followers, as well as those of the team itself, had risen wonderfully. the two teams trudged off rather slowly to their dressing rooms to be sponged off and talked to and rested during the fifteen minutes of intermission, leaving behind them a babel of talk on both sides of the field, interrupted every now and then by a school song or a series of cheers from one side or the other. it was all most friendly between the halves. queen's boys and warwick boys tumbled down from the stands and hobnobbed with each other. queen's was jubilant, while in every warwick boy's face one could read plainly: "wait and see what we'll do in the second half." the intermission passed rapidly. the appearance of the big maroon players was the signal for a roar from the warwick stands, broken into immediately by a like demonstration from queen's when the blue-stockinged boys trotted onto the field from the opposite end, as spry-looking as if they had not gone through a hard half. little time was lost in preliminaries. the warwick captain, who had the kick-off, slapped his hands together and shouted confidently to his team-mates to "follow the ball hard." down the field the queen's players were scattered in defensive array, grim and defiant. "ready, captain wheeler?" cried the referee. wheeler waved his hand as a signal that he was. "ready, captain burns?" the stands were so quiet that burns' answer--"all ready, sir!"--could be plainly heard. the whistle shrilled sharply, the ball flew in a long curve down the field, settling in turner's arms, who, after covering ten yards, was slammed to the earth. the last half of that memorable battle was on. during the intermission, the codfish, lewis and david had squeezed themselves onto the sacred benches of the substitutes as near as they could get to frank, and the four boys, with muscles stiffening at each crash of the lines, watched the tide of battle swing up and down the gridiron. warwick played furiously at the beginning, and although, as in the first half, they lost valuable territory by fumbles and misplays, gradually burns steadied his team. after a particularly disastrous fumble, taking the ball at their own -yard line, burns' maroon-stockinged warriors began a great advance. four and five yards were reeled off at every clip, and once when there was danger of being held burns worked a beautiful forward pass for twenty yards. warwick was now on queen's -yard line, and their football machine was working with deadly precision. "now we have them!" yelled burns jubilantly. "squeeze that ball, you backs, and make it go!" the signal was snapped out, there was a crash of meeting bodies and burns himself, with his head down, bored through the line like a drill until he met wheeler and jimmy; but when the pile which followed was pulled apart, the ball was five yards nearer the queen's goal line. "they can't hold them!" said the codfish in a tense whisper, as the lines prepared again for the scrimmage. "oh, if the line would only give our backs a little chance, we might stand them off yet! there they go! oh, thunder, look at that!" this exclamation was brought forth by a pretty double pass worked by the warwick backs. the feint toward the queen's left end threw the defense off their balance, and before they recovered hudson, the fleet full-back of warwick, who had been saved for just such an opportunity as had now arrived, was off like the wind. the queen's end was bowled over neatly by burns, and the way to the goal line was clear excepting for dixon. warwick had used so many straight plays into the line that the clever and quickly worked pass came as a great surprise to every one, and the warwick stands, quiet for a moment, burst into a great yell as they saw a touchdown coming, or thought they saw it, at least. dixon moved up to meet hudson, crouching ready for the tackle. the boy with the ball feinted to the inside of chip. dixon lunged to meet him, but hudson quickly side-stepped and with an extra speed slipped outside of him and was clear. dixon dived after him, but missed and lay sprawling on the ground. the momentary check of hudson gave jimmy a chance at the runner, however. he started across, badly bothered by the warwick tackle, but finally got clear and came over the field like a whirlwind. hudson saw him coming, and, fearing to be intercepted, began to edge off toward the side-line. jimmy pressed him hard in spite of his superior speed, and when hudson was only five yards from the goal line, jimmy made a last effort and threw himself at the runner with all his strength. the blow knocked hudson off his feet. he half turned in the air, struck on his shoulder and actually bounded over the goal line. it was a magnificent attempt on jimmy's part, but it failed, and warwick had crossed the queen's line with points enough resulting to tie the score! it was now warwick's turn to yell, and they did it with an energy which far surpassed their best previous efforts. queen's by rights should have been silent, but they yelled almost as loudly as did their friends in the opposite stand, for turner's wonderful try to get hudson brought every one to his feet cheering. "five feet more," said frank, "and turner would have had him sure." "who'd have thought the old mule could run that way?" cried the codfish. "i'll never call him slow any more." "you can always figure on jimmy doing his best and a little more," returned frank. "good old jimmy! but what's the matter with dixon?" this, as dixon got up and began twisting and turning his right wrist. "the matter is," returned the codfish, "that chip is getting ready to give a good excuse for missing his tackle." the team gathered around chip without paying any attention to the jubilation of the warwick crowd, which extended even to the team itself. horton ran out on the field to the little knot of queen's players and after half a minute's examination of chip's wrist came back to the side-lines, while the warwick team prepared for a kick-out. the ball had crossed the line far over toward the side of the field, and it was not thought possible to kick a goal if the ball were brought straight out, because of the difficult angle. chapter xvii. frank saves the game. "what's the matter with dixon?" inquired the codfish, as horton sat down on the ground just in front of our friends. "he says he hurt his wrist in the first half and again just now," replied the coach gloomily. "if he's hurt as bad as he acts, it's all over with us. there goes the ball," he added, glancing over his shoulder. "good kick! fine catch, too, even if it does beat us!"--for hudson had caught burns' kick-out right in front of the posts. "they can't miss it from there." nor did warwick miss it. burns took most deliberate aim, while the little quarter-back, lying flat on his stomach, tilted the ball this way and that. when it was just right, burns moved forward and swung his foot. every one watched the ball's flight with straining eyes. "goal!" shouted the referee, and the warwick crowd, which had settled back on the stand, again sprang up, yelling like mad. the point just scored meant a victory, even if no more scoring was done. a great white figure appeared in the blank space, which up to this time had decorated warwick's place on the scoreboard. at the sight warwick redoubled its yells. "one, two, three, four, five, six!" chanted the crowd, while the teams trotted back to their places on the field. "five minutes left in this quarter," called burns to his team; "do that over again! come on now, hard!" and hard it was, for with the taste of a well-earned touchdown in their mouths, the warwick team played like demons; and before the whistle blew burns had crossed the line for another touchdown. but no goal was kicked, the angle being a hard one. the queen's colors were drooping like their players, and the boys began to ask each other: "how much more is it going to be?" "looks bad, frank," said the codfish gloomily, "we can't hold 'em. i wish they'd let you get in." "no chance, old fellow," returned frank. "chip seems to be all right, and i think he'd play till he died rather than let me on if he is really hurt." "yes, he's a dog-in-the-manger, for sure." dixon did appear to be all right, and when the queen's team lined up for the last quarter there were no substitutions. "it's all over but the shouting, fellows," cried a big warwick cheer leader. "get into this cheer--hip, hip," and the warwick cheer split the air. "they are pretty confident, frank," ventured david, who, though eager as the others, had taken very little part in the conversation on the side-lines. "yes, they certainly are," said frank. his face was long. "queen's has made a good fight out there, but they are not strong enough in the line. what a wonder jimmy turner is!" this as jimmy piled the warwick interference up so solidly that the runner with the ball could not get past it, and was easily nailed for a loss. but warwick still held the ball, and was driving through the queen's line again and again to a first down. the queen's supporters sat stupefied on the stand and only occasionally raised a half-hearted cheer. wheeler seemed to be played out, and had missed tackle after tackle, and twice jimmy had stood alone as a defensive back to stop everything that came his way. in the few times that queen's was able to get possession of the ball, chip ran the team badly and seemed to have forgotten all he knew about the game of football. when he had a chance, he did not make the best of it, and horton actually tore his hair and dug his heels into the turf over on the side-line. finally, losing all patience, he jumped up from his seat and ran down along the line of substitutes. "armstrong! where's armstrong?" he shouted. "here, sir!" said frank, jumping up, his heart thumping like a trip-hammer. "go out there and take dixon's place, and for pity's sake get that team together. they are playing like the team from an old ladies' home." frank pulled his sweater off with a jerk, tossed it to david--who had hardly time to shout out, "good work!"--and raced onto the gridiron. "who's going in?" was the query that ran through the stands. "why, that's armstrong, the kid who played on the second team a while," said some one better informed than his neighbors. "he's going in at quarter in dixon's place. dixon is all in, i guess." "a long cheer for armstrong!" howled the cheer leaders. but frank never heard it. he dashed over to where dixon was beginning his signal, for queen's had recovered a fumbled ball on her own -yard line. frank reported first to the referee and then stepped ever and touched dixon on the shoulder. "i'm to take your place," he said quietly. "get out!" said dixon, and crouched behind the center ready to receive the pass. but the whistle shrilled and the referee ran up among the queen's backs. "queen's has twelve men on the field, mr. wheeler. who is going to play your quarter? decide quickly." "armstrong, sir," returned wheeler. "dixon, go to the side-line." chip stood up and glared hard at wheeler. then he turned, dropped his head and walked slowly off the field, never once looking back. when he was off the playing surface, the whistle spoke again and the battle was on once more, this time with armstrong in charge of the attack. the first play frank gave was stopped without an inch of advance, and warwick spectators howled with derision. "it's all the same to us!" cried one loud-mouthed boy in the front row, just opposite where the teams were lining up at that moment. "no hope for queen's. take the ball away from them! we want another touchdown." before frank gave his signal on the second down, wheeler called his players around him. with heads close together they had a little heart-to-heart talk, while warwick shouted from the stands: "come on, you kids, play ball! don't delay the game." the head-to-head group fell apart, settled to their crouching positions, and frank snapped the signal out sharply. back came the ball to frank and, scarcely checking it a moment in its flight, he tossed it to jimmy, who shot out to the right, which happened at that moment to be the long side of the line. frank fell in behind him. the tackle dived at jimmy as he sliced past, but missed. burns was right there, however, having followed the runner with the ball out toward the center of the field, and now he reached jimmy's waist with powerful arms. the defensive end came in full tilt, also, to help his captain to make sure of the tackle. but just as jimmy felt himself falling from the impact of burns, he squirmed half way around, and even as he pitched headlong to the ground with the deadly clasp of burns on his hips and the none too loving embrace of the end's arms around his neck, he tossed the ball to frank. before either the half-back or the end could recover, frank, continuing at full speed, had swept clear of the defense, turned in like lightning and was off down the field! ahead of frank loomed the quarter, the only player between him and the glory which lay in the form of a touchdown far down the field. full at the quarter he charged, gaining speed with every step. he did not hear the wild cries of encouragement which went up from his schoolmates. there was only one thought in his mind--how to pass that player who stood waiting, eagerly crouching. frank's training on the track stood him in good stead now. he was fresh, too, and he was making the best of both circumstances. directly at the quarter-back he raced, apparently to run him down, but when he was within ten feet of him, he suddenly swerved to the right and ran straight across the field toward the side-line. the quarter-back, fearing frank's speed, followed him out with all the pace his tired limbs could muster. but just when he seemed to have frank cut off there, the latter suddenly stopped, evaded the rushing tackle that was intended to lay him low, and went straight down the field. his stop, although but for an instant, brought the warwick reserves up to him. one by one they tried to reach him, but eel-like he evaded them. it was one of the prettiest pieces of dodging running that had ever been seen on the warwick field. but despite his wonderful luck and pluck he was finally caught from behind, and thrown with a crash to the ground at warwick's -yard line. he had covered nearly fifty-five yards, the longest run of the day. and, excepting the help that jimmy had unwittingly given him in tangling up the half and the opposing end, he had accomplished the run unaided, as his tired team-mates had not been able to follow the pace down the field and were outdistanced. with first down at the -yard line, queen's took on a great determination, and in three tries--a quarter-back run and two dashes past tackle by jimmy--the ball was finally within striking distance of the warwick goal. but here the advance ended. the next play was thrown back a yard or two by the desperate warwick team, and a short forward pass barely made up the lost ground. then came a conference and frank dropped back to the -yard line. "he's going to try for a field goal, by jiminy," cried the codfish, who had nearly had a fit of apoplexy through joy at frank's splendid run. "and he'll do it. watch him!" warwick kept up a steady yell, probably with the intention of disturbing the young quarter-back, but if that was the idea, it had no effect on frank whatsoever. the ball lay on the ground in the center's hand a little to the right of the center of the field, and the angle was not a bad one, although not an over-attractive one. in the storm of cat-calls from warwick, frank measured the distance carefully with his eye. the protection for the kicker formed quickly, and then came the signal. with as little hurry as if he had been practicing down at seawall, frank took the ball from the center's long pass, turned it over quickly but carefully, so that the seam lacing was away from him, dropped it to the ground, and as it rose again, swung his foot against it. the ball swept upward to its greatest height, described a long crescent downward, struck the cross-bar fairly in the middle, bounded into the air and fell--on the other side! the yell that the reawakened queen's stand gave might have been heard as far as queen's school itself, but the cause of it all trotted quietly back with his team to the center of the field without looking to right or left. "what did i tell you!" shouted the codfish, waltzing wildly around lewis. "you can't beat that kid! there, that score looks better," as the scorer changed the queen's figures to . "we'll beat them yet. whoop!" the score seemed to put new life into queen's, and after the kick-off, which was made by queen's to warwick, the latter made little headway in the rushing game. in the very first attempt to kick, the queen's right guard, by a great effort, got through the defense and blocked the ball squarely. a desperate scramble ensued, and despite the orders of the referee to "get up" and "let go," the pile which formed like magic where the ball had been had to be dug apart one by one. at the very bottom jimmy was found with the ball under his chin and both arms wrapped around it, as if it were the dearest possession he had ever known. it was queen's ball on the warwick -yard line. once, only, did wheeler order a rush. warwick stopped that with deadly determination, throwing back even the redoubtable jimmy. then again frank dropped far behind the line. he stood exactly on the -yard line and again measured with the greatest care the distance to the goal posts. "you can't do it, armstrong; you can't do it!" sang out the first rows of the warwick benches in a vain attempt to disturb the poise of the boy on whom all eyes were turned. but they might as well have tried to disturb a statue. one of frank's gifts was concentration, and perhaps he never concentrated his mind on anything in his life more strongly than he did on that occasion. "i must! i must!" kept ringing in his brain. wheeler disposed his protection for the kicker with great care, for on the success of the play hung the issue of the day. three points would tie the score. there were only a few minutes of time now remaining in the last quarter of the match. no wonder the players took their places with minute care. when all was ready frank gave the signal. back came the ball, as straight and true to his hands as a bullet. down it went to the ground, rose and was sent spinning on its long flight from frank's toe. but it rose none too soon, for big robinson had beaten down the queen's defense, leaped high into the air and in his slash for the ball missed it only by the fraction of an inch. but he had missed it, which was the important point, and it swept up as true as a compass needle to the pole. on, on it went, rising higher and higher, and revolving rapidly on its short axis. would it carry? on that thought every mind was concentrated. now the ball turned, dipped downward, fell almost straight--but cleared the far side of the bar by ten feet at least! [illustration: down it went to the ground, rose and was sent spinning on its long flight from frank's toe.--_page ._] the queen's demonstration which broke loose at this entirely overshadowed anything that had ever been heard on that field, and it was still in progress when the teams lined up for the final minutes of the play. all the fire had gone out of warwick's play. they could do no more than fight off the buoyant queen's team till the whistle blew. and when it did blow, there was a wild flight of boys from the queen's stand, which for a moment completely swallowed the tired but happy little knot of football warriors. and then they were heaved into sight on the shoulders of the admiring crowd and carried around the gridiron protesting. for half an hour queen's assumed complete control of that football field, dancing wildly around in a long snaky dance while their songs and cheers rent the air. they did not forget in their joy, however, to stop in front of the center section of the warwick stand and give a hearty cheer for the rival school. gradually the crowds broke up and streamed off in the direction of the station. "one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven!" chanted the joyous queen's school contingent. that night a bonfire at queen's lit the sky with a yellow light which was seen for miles around, and caused the story that the whole of queen's school had burned to the ground. armstrong's name was on every tongue, for through his wonderful drop kicking queen's had gone into history as having, with two field goals, tied a game in which at the outset they seemed not to have the slightest chance. frank bore his honors modestly and said it was nothing but luck. but his particular friends didn't think it was "just luck," and took no pains to conceal their belief that he was the greatest drop kicker ever, past, present or future! chapter xviii. mrs. bowser's cat. "the question before this honorable board," began the codfish, as he stretched himself out one night in frank's morris chair before frank's comfortable blaze, thus displaying his characteristic hosiery of vivid color, "is, what has become of mrs. bowser's cat? don't all speak at once." it was a cold day in the middle of january. football had been laid away on the shelf for two months. the ticklish period of examinations before the christmas holidays was a thing of the past, and all examinations had been passed successfully by our friends, although lewis had had a tight squeeze. frank, jimmy, the codfish, lewis and david were gathered around the blazing fire. books had been tossed aside for the night, when the codfish propounded his question. "the poor thing couldn't stand that hymn in chapel this morning," said frank. "when you raised your voice she skipped to the tall timbers." "i don't blame her, do you, frank?" inquired jimmy. "the codfish has a voice which would drive a biped crazy, to say nothing of a quadruped or even a centipede. he sings on both sides of the note and never hits it." "what happened to the old cat, anyway?" broke in lewis, as the codfish was about to come back at jimmy with hot shot. "ask the codfish," returned frank. "he was on the aisle where the whole thing happened. maybe he was responsible for the presence of tabby, and if he was, he has first-hand information of the greatest importance. out with it, codfish." "not guilty!" said the accused, stretching himself still further till his feet touched the fender. "i got tangled up with the bowser family once, and once is enough. i stand before you guiltless of the dastardly deed." "who brought the cat in, anyway?" "give it up," said the codfish. "some one of those fresh young things on the east aisle. the proctors are looking for him, and if they find him and mrs. bowser gets her hand on him, there will be a funeral at some rural household, i'm thinking." "she certainly did set up a howl this morning," said jimmy, "when----" "who, the cat or mrs. bowser?" inquired frank. "the cat, my smart young drop kicker; and then she--the cat, not mrs. bowser--flew out with her tail the size of a muff." "and like the last lines of the story, she was never seen nor heard of again," added jimmy dolefully. "poor mrs. bowser!" said frank. "poor tabby!" said the codfish. "mrs. bowser still has her nice, warm, comfortable house, while poor pussy is probably out in the cold somewhere. why doesn't the fool cat have sense enough to go home?" he continued. "i would." "probably the fear of hearing your voice is in her heart, and she would have to pass honeywell hall to get back home." the incident that the boys were discussing was the appearance that morning at prayers of a sleek black cat. evidently she had been picked up by some one of a mischievous turn of mind and smuggled into the chapel. prayers were just over. the boys were in the middle of the fine old tune of "america," and had reached the first line of the third verse, "let music swell the breeze," when there was a piercing howl, and a furry bunch of animation, which proved to be a black cat, shot across the open space of the chapel just below the platform and between that and the first row of seats. the volume of tone instantly diminished as heads were turned and necks craned to see what was happening. pussy ran up the steps of the platform, took one wild look at dr. hobart and then tore down the aisle for the door. hands shot out here and there to interrupt the meteor-like passage of the black cat, but she dodged them all and, uttering high-pitched yowls, reached the chapel door and disappeared. from that moment no one had seen her. during the day the news had spread around that mrs. black cat, who bore the euphonious name of "pandora," had been kidnapped. a search was instituted. the chapel building had been searched and the dormitories next to it, but neither hide nor hair of pandora had come to light. mrs. bowser was distracted. the guilty boy or boys who smuggled the cat into the chapel had gone undetected, although there had been much cross-questioning and some little detective work by the proctors. "well, i'd like to find pandora," said frank. "i don't forget that mrs. bowser helped us out of a bad scrape last year, when lewis got the tags mixed up on the ice-cream consignment and sent the poor lady the wrong box." "same here," said the codfish. "i'd take a hand in the rescue myself, if it wasn't so blooming cold to-night." "that's just it, it is so blooming cold that poor pussy is likely to freeze to death. if she's inside, she's all right." "of course she's inside, you blithering idiot," said the codfish, yawning. "any cat that knows enough to sing 'america' isn't likely to be so dumb as to stay out in zero weather, is she? perhaps she wasn't kidnapped at all----" "cat-napped, you mean," corrected jimmy. "well, cat-napped, then. perhaps she's just a good religious cat and came in to prayers like any freshman. whatever her intention was, i can't help it. but there's one thing i do know," and the codfish sat up and wagged his forefinger impressively. "what?" "that i'm going to my downy couch, cat or no cat." he rose to his feet, gave a prodigious stretch and ambled off in the direction of the bed chamber. "well, i must be going, too," said jimmy. "i'll take a turn with you," said frank. "come on, david, a whiff of this sharp air will do you good." "can't," said david. "i've got to work on an editorial for the _mirror_." "all right, i'll go alone. i'll only be a minute." together the three boys, jimmy, lewis and frank, clattered out of the dormitory and stepped rapidly up the walk. "by jove!" said frank, "i'd like to walk about five miles. isn't this air wonderful?" and he drew in a deep breath of the frosty air. "about fifty feet is enough for me," grunted lewis, and as they reached his entry, "i'll drop off this procession right here. ta, ta. if you fellows are found frozen stiff as lot's wife in the morning, i'll say i told you so." "lot's wife wasn't frozen," said jimmy; "she was petrified. your biblical education has been neglected." "you fellows will be both petrified and frozen in about five minutes, if you hang around there correcting your betters on biblical matters," retorted lewis, and he dashed up the stairs. "come on!" shouted frank to jimmy; "i'll race you to the other end of the yard and back--one, two, three, go!" away the two tore at breakneck speed down the walk. the chapel lay at the far end of the walk on which the boys were having their little race, and it was to be the turning point. frank reached the wall of the tower first, touched it and turned a step or two ahead of jimmy. the latter trying to make a quick turn slipped and fell to the ground with a crash. frank stopped and came back. "acknowledge you're licked," he said, helping jimmy to his feet. "i'm licked, all right, and i'm also skinned, all right," grumbled jimmy. "ouch! i've knocked more skin off my hip than i did all through the football season." he limped around rubbing the injured member. "i've got a bottle of arnica at the room; come on back and i'll fix you up," laughed frank. "sorry, old man, but you can't run till you stretch your legs more. they're too short." "i don't want arnica; i want some nice tough skin. if you have any of that down there to spare, i'll go back with you. s-s-s-s-h--what was that?" jimmy's ear had caught a sound like a long-drawn-out cry. "didn't you hear it, frank?" "you have a singing in your ears, jimmy," said frank. "come along, i'll give you my arm." "there it is again," said jimmy in a whisper. "listen!" as they stood with their heads cocked, there came a long wail as of something in distress. it sounded half human, half animal, and was quite terrifying. it seemed to come out of the air above them. "great peter, what is it?" said jimmy, clutching frank by the arm. frank began to laugh. "it does sound bad, certainly. she's trying to get the tune of 'america' just right, i guess. it's the cat, or i miss my guess." "and for pity sake, where is she?" gasped jimmy, turning his face skyward where the stars glittered in the frosty atmosphere. "the mystery is explained," said frank. "mrs. bowser's cat has somehow or other got into the tower. she doesn't like it a bit, and she wants to go home." "i guess that's the explanation," returned jimmy. "but i don't see how she's going to get home to-night, unless we can get up there." "and if we don't get up, she'll probably never go home," said frank. "it must be terribly cold up there. it is all open up in the belfry, and it's dollars to doughnuts she'll be as stiff as lewis said lot's wife was, by morning." to emphasize his words, another wail floated out on the night air. it seemed more pitiful than before and weaker. "poor pandora is getting discouraged," cried jimmy. "we've got to get her somehow." for answer, frank strode to the big front door of the chapel and tried the knob, with jimmy at his heels. "just as i thought," he said; "it is locked." the boys stood and looked at each other. "guess we'd better go and hunt up the janitor," said jimmy. "he can bring her down. i don't want to take any more chances. i've lost all the skin i want to lose to-night." "there's a little door around on the other side," said frank, "which the janitor uses to go in and out of the building, but i suppose that's locked, too. let's try it. if we can't get in, we'll have to report the whereabouts of pandora. but just for the fun of the thing, i'd like to get that tabby cat and take her back to the lady who is worrying about her. it would square us a little for that bad job we did to the travel club last winter." he was already on his way to the little door at the back of the tower, and jimmy tagged along behind, protesting. "no use, frank," he said. "old bonesey"--the nickname applied to the chapel janitor by the boys because he was so lean and bony--"keeps that door locked as tight as a drum. some one stole the clapper of the bell a few years ago and he is particular about that door. we'd better go and report that pussy is in the tower, and then skip for bed. it's getting late." but frank was not listening. just about the time jimmy reached the end of his protest, frank reached the door, which was all in darkness, sunk as it was in the deep wall of the tower, which was at this point perhaps three feet thick. "here we are," he said as he grasped the handle. "and here's luck--it's open. old bonesey slipped a cog to-night. come on." frank stepped over the threshold. jimmy followed cautiously. the hall was as dark as pitch, not even the faintest ray of light penetrating into the place to help them. frank, leading, stumbled along and fell over something in the passageway, startling jimmy half out of his wits. "come back here, you chump," he cried in a subdued voice. "i don't like this." "come on!" whispered frank, who had regained his feet and was advancing. "this passage brings us out into the vestibule of the chapel, and once there we can get into the tower easily. there's a ladder or stairs or something from the back of the gallery." "yes, i know that," returned jimmy in a half whisper, for the gloom of the place chilled him more than the biting air; "but how are we going to climb it in the dark?" "oh, it's easy," said frank. "come on, i'll lead and you can come behind. i'm going to make a try for that cat." "all right," said jimmy almost sulkily, "go on, but if you break your blooming neck you needn't blame me for it," and he shuffled after frank. soon they came out of the passageway and, as frank said, they were in the vestibule leading to the chapel. from that vestibule the doors led into the various aisles of the chapel, and at the farther end of the vestibule rose a circular flight of stairs which led to the gallery and on to the belfry, as the boys well knew. toward this they made their way cautiously. a little light from the stars came in through the windows at the far end of the vestibule. frank led on, feeling along the wall and stepping cautiously. they both felt a little queer to be alone in such a place and in such a manner in the dead of night, but, as frank said afterward, they were on an errand of mercy, and having set out on the mission they would not turn back. soon they struck the wall at the far end of the vestibule from which they had entered, and a little feeling around gave them the lower step of the winding stairway. "here she is!" said frank. "take hold of the rail. our troubles are half over." "i think they are only beginning," grumbled jimmy. "i'd much rather be in bed than here any day." "any night, you mean. come on. this is easy." jimmy didn't think so, but he would have followed frank anywhere that frank would lead. it was plain that he didn't like the errand, judging from sundry grunts that came from him as they edged up the stairs. without mishap, the two rescuers climbed steadily on. at times their passage was lighted by a flicker of outside light which came through the narrow slits of windows, and at times they were in absolute blackness. at last they came to a landing, which frank carefully felt over to make sure there were no holes through which they might tumble. the examination was satisfactory. "now, there ought to be a short ladder from here up into the belfry where pandora is probably freezing to death, for she hasn't howled since we started." he had hardly spoken the words when a wail just above their heads showed them they were on the right track. "all right, pussy, we're on the way; keep a stiff upper lip! here's the ladder, jimmy. i knew it must be here somewhere. be careful, it seems to be about straight up and down." jimmy had just set his hand to the ladder and frank was up in the darkness somewhere above him, when there was a tremendous crash just above their heads and the whole tower seemed to rock with the noise! chapter xix. in the bell tower. "jumping cats!" cried jimmy; "what was that? frank, are you there?" "certainly i'm here. what's the matter with you to-night? you're nervous, i guess. that was nothing but the clock striking the quarter hour. it's a quarter past nine. sounds a bit startling up here in this narrow space." "i thought the whole top of the tower had blown off," said jimmy with a shiver. "it doesn't sound half so loud down in the yard." "and good reason for that, for we are up here about forty feet, and it isn't cold or anything, either! hello, i'm up against the roof! no, it's the trap door." "want any help?" said jimmy just below frank's heels. "no; i'm pushing it up with my head. wow! what was that?" as there came a scratching and clawing from just above him. "oh, my, i do believe it was pandora, herself. she must have been sitting on that trap door. poor thing! she must have thought it was an earthquake. come on, i'm through," said frank in a whisper--although why he whispered he could not have told himself, for there was none to hear him in that high belfry excepting the cat and the bell. jimmy struggled through the small hole in the floor and stood alongside frank at last in the belfry. just in front of them swung the big bell which tolled out the hours of the day and night. through the slender open arches the boys could see, dimly outlined, the school buildings, with here and there a twinkling light in the dormitories, and farther off the lights in the houses of the village. it was bitter cold. "well, here we are," said jimmy, "at last." "and where's our cat?" said frank. "it's a little like looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack to find a black cat in a blacker belfry. i hope you are satisfied now that it was a wild goose chase," grumbled jimmy, when they had searched with foot and hand in all possible places of the narrow space. "a wild cat chase, maybe," said frank chuckling. "pussy, pussy, poor old pussy, where are you? there she is, or i'm a flatfish," cried frank. "look--over your head!" jimmy looked, and there, ten feet over his head, in the upper tower and above the beams which supported the bell mechanism, he saw two fiery eyes gleaming. "it's awful to see those two balls of yellow fire and nothing else visible," said jimmy. "it's uncanny. now, what are we going to do?" "why, go for her," said frank, reaching for a beam above his head and pulling himself up to it. "i only wish i had david's arms now. he could beat that old cat climbing any day. come on." "well, i suppose i might as well," said jimmy with a sigh of resignation. "since i started out to hunt a wild cat with a boy who has lost his senses, i might as well go on," and he started to climb after frank. their climb now led them out of the little circle of half light which they had had in the belfry itself. above their heads was the blackness of absolute night. unlike the lower part of the tower, the upper portion was not pierced by either light or air holes. just out of reach burned the yellow eyes of the cat, who had changed her position several times, each time mounting higher as the boys followed. she evidently had suspicions as to their intentions and was going to keep out of what she thought was harm's way. "pussy, pussy, poor pussy!" said frank coaxingly. "we're not going to hurt you, you idiotic cat." this, as the two gleaming spots of light disappeared for a moment and appeared higher up in the tower. "i wonder what they call a cat 'poor pussy' for, anyway," said jimmy wrathfully. "of all the stupid asinine creatures, a cat is the most stupid, or this one is. here we are in danger of breaking our necks and freezing to death to save her from freezing her toes, and she hasn't sense enough to help us." "stop abusing pandora, you unfeeling kid," said frank, "and give me a match if you have it. i'm stuck. nothing more to reach." "i don't think i have any, but if i'd known you were going to do a stunt of this kind, i'd have had three boxes with me." "and spoiled all this exciting climb! go on, feel in your pockets. i have none." jimmy, thus adjured, stood on his beam, leaning against the stones of the tower, and went carefully through his pockets. "here's one; no, that's the wrong end of it--here's about a quarter of a match, and, oh, joy! here's a whole one!" "noble youth, you came well prepared," said frank, laughing. "light the quarter match." "all ready," said jimmy; "here goes!" he struck the match carefully against the beam just over his head and a pale gleam showed in the darkness, lighting the place where they stood faintly. it flickered a moment and went out, leaving them in a gloom that seemed the thicker because of the brief light. "good!" grunted frank. "poor pussy, mrs. bowser's angelic pandora, is within reach, almost. the masons left these little beams here probably for poor pussies to climb up on, and i know where my next step is. stay where you are, and i'll have her in a moment, and keep that last match ready for emergencies." there was a sound in the darkness of frank's feet scratching against the wall, prolonged grunting, and then frank announced that he had pulled himself to the next beam. there followed a frightened protest from pandora, but frank's voice sounded triumphant. "i've got the rascal. there you are," soothingly, "you see we weren't going to kill you. all right, old man, i'm coming. light your other match so i can get my toe on that brace." frank had indeed captured pandora, who, now that the chase was ended and she found only gentle hands upon her, snuggled down on the shoulder of her protector and began to purr. the trip back was even more difficult for frank than the ascent, for he was hampered by the cat and did not have the free use of both arms. he swung from his perch at last with his feet dangling in the air, vainly trying to find with his toes a secure footing. "quick, jimmy, light the match!" there was a scratch from jimmy's direction, and in the light that flared up, frank found his resting place and settled on it. "whew, that was a hard one! now we're all right. the rest is easier. go on down first, and i'll follow, for i can do without you, now; and be careful, for i don't want to have to carry you back as well as the cat." "don't you worry about me. bring your old cat and i'll take care of myself. jiminy, i'm nearly frozen stiff, and if i ever get back to----" before he finished his sentence, a sound came up to their ears from the belfry just below them. the boys listened intently, while the cat purred softly on frank's shoulder. "some one coming into the belfry!" whispered jimmy. there was an unmistakable murmur of voices and in a moment through the trap door in the belfry floor, which frank and jimmy had left open, there appeared an indistinct form. another and still another appeared in the opening, one after the other. "four of them," whispered jimmy, who being a little lower was able to get a better view of the belfry floor; "what on earth can they be doing up here at this time of night?" the two boys, perched on their narrow beams, were not kept long in suspense, for one of the intruders began to speak. his voice was low, hardly more than a whisper, but it carried up clearly to the listeners overhead. "have you got the rope there?" said the voice. "yes, here it is." "all right, we'll tie up its tongue first. gee, but it's cold here!" "will it freeze all right, do you think?" inquired another voice, evidently addressing the first speaker. "freeze, you galoot, of course it will; solid as a rock, and they won't get it out till spring." a low chuckle followed. "what in the name of time are they doing?" said jimmy. "taking the tongue out of something and freezing it! can it be a cat?" "your mind runs to cats to-night," frank whispered back. "those chaps are going to do something to the bell." "drop the cat on them," said jimmy. "they'd think it was the old boy himself." "no," returned frank, who had crouched down till his mouth was about level with jimmy's ear. "let's wait and see what they intend to do. keep still as a mouse." the boys below had already begun work on the big bell. "for the love of mike, don't let that tongue hit. i can't get the thing out. it is held by some kind of a dingus that is riveted in. some one will have to hold it, while the rest of us turn the bell up." from below came the sound of puffing and grunting. "easy," said some one, "for heaven's sake, hold that tongue so it doesn't hit, or we'll have the whole school on our necks. there," continued the same voice, "good work. now, prop this beam under that side of her, and the job is done." "all but the water," said another voice. "fine business," said the first voice. "now shoot it along quick and get a move on you." there were sounds of footsteps going down the ladder below the belfry, and when the last scratching sound had died away jimmy spoke up: "now, what in the great horn spoon are they at?" "it's easy," returned frank. "you heard about the water. that explains the whole business. you know when i fell in the lower corridor? what do you suppose i fell over?" "i don't know; what was it?" "a bucket of water. i slopped some of it over and my trouser leg is wet now and frozen." "i don't see that that explains anything." "well, it does. those chaps have turned the bell upside down and propped it there, and they mean to pour it full of water and let it freeze, as it certainly will in this weather. and, as one of them said, it will stay there till spring, unless old bonesey digs it out with a pick." "what a trick!" ejaculated jimmy. "let's go down and knock the prop out from under the bell!" "yes, and make an awful rumpus! no, let's wait and see. some scheme may offer itself which will be better than that. s-s-s-s-h, here they come again." struggling and puffing with their exertions, two of the four boys appeared with buckets of water and each deposited the contents of the buckets in the overturned bell. "about two more will do the trick," said one of the plotters, and away they went again. in five minutes' time the whole four reappeared, and between them they carried more water. "douse her in!" said the leader, and there was a splashing sound as the bell filled up. "won't old bonesey be savage when he finds this in the morning?" chuckled one of the youngsters. "bonesey won't be a circumstance to dr. hobart. what are you doing there?" this was directed to one of the boys, who appeared to be fussing at the bell. "want to see if this prop is all right. it isn't half caught. give me a lift, and we'll shove the prop farther under. it's a wonder it didn't slip out." the four boys gathered together. there was a shuffling noise as they got themselves set, and the leader said: "now, altogether." just how it happened will never be known. in their endeavor to make the overturned bell more secure in its position, in some manner they disturbed the prop. "look out, she's giving way," yelled one of them, and the next instant the tower was filled with the noise of splashing water and the wild clangor of the bell as it swung on its big beam. pandora trembled and sunk her claws into frank's shoulder hard enough to make him yell out with pain. jimmy uttered a shout and started to scramble down, but in the darkness he missed his footing and fell with a crash to the swimming floor of the belfry. in the midst of the alarm, pandora, with a wild shriek, flew from frank's shoulder, gained the belfry floor and whisked out of sight through the open trap door, through which came the noise of the retreating footsteps of the boys who were responsible for all the trouble. the rumpus in the bell tower awoke the whole school to activity. windows banged up in the dormitory and boys in scanty clothing stuck their heads out into the frosty night. from warren and from honeywell came the howls of "fire! fire! fire!" a high-pitched voice in one of the half-open windows added to the confusion with "murder! police!" footsteps began to patter on the walks and lights flashed here and there below. it seemed hardly a minute before butler, a proctor of the school, followed closely by two or three boys, appeared at the opening in the belfry floor. a strange sight met the gaze of the early arrivals on the scene. they saw frank sitting in a pool of water working over jimmy, who had struck his head a hard blow either on the floor or on a beam in his fall. he was only about half-conscious of what was taking place. "what's going on here?" said butler sternly. "what are you boys doing in this tower and how did you get here?" "we came up here to get mrs. bowser's cat, which we heard crying in this belfry, but the main thing is to get turner to his room. he fell and cut his head." frank's hands were stained with blood which oozed out of the cut on his friend's forehead. "while we were up in the tower," pointing overhead, "some fellows came up and tried to fill the bell with water, so that it might freeze and stop it from ringing, i suppose." "oh, they did, did they?" inquired butler with an icy smile. "did you stop them?" "no, sir, we were planning to jump down and scare them, when something happened. the bell capsized and the fellows ran away. turner jumped or fell trying to get down to see who it was." "it's a pretty likely story," said butler again. "you'll have a chance to tell that to dr. hobart in the morning, sir." frank was indignant at the tone of disbelief, but he said nothing and gave all his attention to jimmy, who, by this time, was coming back to his senses and had staggered to his feet. with a good deal of difficulty they got him down the ladder to the broader stairs beneath. the entrance of frank and jimmy to the former's room threw the codfish and david into consternation, accompanied as they were by an irate proctor and old bonesey, who had been aroused by this time and who had hurried to the chapel to find the wildest excitement reigning. "i'll report this to dr. hobart immediately, and you will have to face a very disagreeable charge, young man," said butler, turning to go. "all right, sir," said frank calmly, "i'll answer all the charges that are made, and satisfactorily, i think." "i advise you to tell the truth about the whole thing," said butler, giving frank a searching glance; "it will be the best course." "i'm not in the habit of telling anything but the truth," said frank, and turned his attention to his roommates, who were impatient to hear what had happened. frank told the story quickly, but admitted, when he looked at it calmly, that it certainly had a very queer appearance. "butler is a regular old kill-joy, anyway," snorted the codfish. "he's the fellow who had potter fired last year for being off the school grounds after ten o'clock. he is a suspicious old spy and every one in the school hates him." "but he stands sky-high with the doctor," said david gravely. "never mind, frank, cheer up; all is not lost that's in danger. your previous reputation is good, even if you did try to freeze up the chapel bell!" the boys discussed the possibility of trouble in the incident long after jimmy left the room. david foresaw difficulty. chapter xx. a heavy penalty. on the way out of chapel the next morning butler, the proctor, handed a note to frank and another to jimmy. frank opened the envelope and read the curt message: "frank armstrong. "sir: you will come to the office of dr. hobart at ten o'clock this morning and show reason why you should not be suspended from queen's school for meddling with the chapel bell last night. "very truly yours, "a. m. cooper, _secretary_." "very pretty note i have," said frank. he pursed up his lips and gave a low whistle, at the same time handing the letter to jimmy. "mine is sharp and to the point," said jimmy, grinning feebly, and he handed the one that he had received to frank as they walked slowly along. the notes were identical, with the exception that the names were different. "how do you suppose that man butler is so stupid as to think we did that little trick last night?" said jimmy scornfully. "i'd like to punch his nose for him." "it does look stupid, that's sure, but when you consider it as i have done, you'll have to admit that we seem to be in the wrong." "oh, get out, we can prove we had nothing to do with it," said jimmy hotly. "how? it looks as if we had been caught with the goods on, unless some one saw the real perpetrators of the alleged joke." jimmy was finally obliged to admit that it didn't look so good as he had thought at first. there was an indignation meeting over in honeywell, in which all our friends participated. all talked at once and butler was threatened with destruction in every key. but in spite of the disgust of every one that frank and jimmy should be under suspicion, every one also recognized that appearances were against them. "the only hope for you," said david, who had been thinking hard over the subject, "is to find the real fellows and make them confess." "they're likely to," snorted the codfish. "they will save their own skins if they can." at ten o'clock frank, with jimmy at his heels, knocked on the door of dr. hobart's room in warren hall, and a moment later they were in the presence of the doctor himself. the latter did not look up for a time, but sat writing at his desk for several minutes while the boys shifted uneasily from foot to foot. finally the doctor laid aside his pen, swung about on his swivel chair and transfixed frank with his piercing eye. the glass eye stared straight ahead stonily. "what were you young men doing in the tower of the chapel last night?" the question was shot suddenly by dr. hobart, so suddenly that both boys almost jumped. "wait, let us have mr. butler here." he turned and pressed a button which connected with a room near his own where mr. butler was waiting. the proctor came in. "sit down, mr. butler," said dr. hobart. "what is the accusation against these young men, mr. armstrong and mr. turner? what did you find in the tower last night?" thus admonished, mr. butler told of his being disturbed in his room at about half-past nine. the bell began to clang wildly. he ran to the front door of the chapel, and finding it locked, remembered that there was a door in the rear. that door he found open. as quickly as possible he got a light and climbed the tower to the floor of the belfry where he found "this young man," indicating turner, lying on the floor in a pool of water, nearly unconscious, with armstrong working over him. "and what did you make of that, mr. butler?" inquired the doctor in a cool and even voice. "they said that they had been chasing a cat and that turner had fallen and hurt himself, and put the blame for meddling with the chapel bell onto some unknown boys who had preceded them," mr. butler finished, smiling sarcastically. "well," said dr. hobart, turning to the boys; "what have you to say to this?" "what mr. butler says is the truth," answered frank, looking the doctor steadily in the eye; "but there were a number of things that happened before he came." "yes, and what were they?" "we went up to find mrs. bowser's cat, which had come into the chapel in the morning----" "or was brought in," interrupted mr. butler. "i do not know how she got in, but she got in somehow, and when the boys tried to catch her she became frightened and hid." "and you came to the conclusion that she liked belfries and had hidden up there." "no, sir," said jimmy. "frank came out to have a walk before going to bed. i had been in his room and as it was cold we raced up to the chapel, where i slipped and fell. while we were standing there, we thought we heard a cat crying up in the tower." "and why didn't you report it?" said the doctor. "it was late," frank returned, "and when we found the small door in the tower open, we thought we might be able to find her ourselves and return her to the lady, who was much worried about the loss of her pet. we were particularly anxious to get it for mrs. bowser." "very generous-minded, indeed," said the doctor, stroking his chin. "and so you went up alone?" "yes, sir, we went up alone, and while we were in the upper part of the tower, the boys who were disturbing the bell came up. we heard them planning to do something, but could not make out what it was at first." "and why didn't you make your presence known?" inquired the doctor. both boys looked at each other. why hadn't they? this was the question that each was asking himself. "we were waiting," said frank, after a noticeable hesitation, "to find out, if we could, who they were. but they spoke so low that we could not recognize their voices, nor could we see who they were because there was so little light." "so, so," said the doctor musingly; "and what then?" "when they had put the water in the bell and were working at the prop which held the bell in the position they wanted it, something gave way and the bell swung back to its natural position. turner, here, started to get down, then slipped and fell. when i saw him fall, i started after him and let go of the cat, which flew down stairs. mr. butler found us, as he says he did, but we were not responsible for what happened to the bell." the doctor heard the recital to the end, while mr. butler smiled sarcastically and knowingly, glancing from the boys to the stern old gentleman who was cross-questioning them. after deliberating a full minute, dr. hobart spoke again: "you said a moment ago that you were particularly anxious to get the cat for mrs. bowser. why were you particularly anxious?" "because," blurted out jimmy, "she helped us out of a scrape once." he could have bitten his tongue off after he had said it, but it was too late to draw back. "so," said the doctor, pricking up his ears. "and what was the scrape?" "oh, just an accident," said frank. "yes, and what kind of an accident?" there was nothing for it but to tell the story of the wrong box which had reached mrs. bowser's house the winter before. frank told it in a straightforward fashion, but he could feel the blood mounting to his face. the doctor stiffened perceptibly as he listened. frank refrained from bringing either the codfish or lewis into the story. "so you are in the habit of practical joking?" he said coldly. "it is a poor business, my young gentlemen, and it must be stopped. we will have no practical jokers around queen's school. this is a place for study and not for pranks. your case has been much weakened by what i have just heard. it seems to me i remember, too, armstrong, that you played a practical joke on some one by pretending to be drowned last year, did you not, and disturbed the whole school? i remember you were before me at that time." "he took the place of a boy who was being hazed," jimmy burst out hotly, "and it served the hazers right." "yes, turner, perhaps it did, but i remember it disturbed the school. in the face of the tendency for practical joking that these incidents seem to prove," turning to frank, "can you expect me to believe you are guiltless in the matter of the bell?" the tone was sharp and the glance which accompanied it keen and penetrating, but frank replied steadily: "we had nothing to do with the bell, sir." "is this your fur glove, armstrong?" said the doctor, opening a drawer of his desk and producing a glove which frank thought he recognized as his own. he stepped forward, looked it over carefully, and finally turned the wristband back, where, plainly inked, were the letters "f. a." "yes, sir, that is my glove." "and this one," continued dr. hobart. "did you ever see this before?" handing him another glove, the counterpart apparently of the first. "yes, sir, that is also my glove. it's the mate of the one you showed me first." "very well, armstrong. one of these gloves was found by mr. butler in the chapel belfry and the other in your room; is that not so, mr. butler?" "yes, dr. hobart. i found that glove," indicating the first one shown, "under the bell this morning, and the other lay on the top of his trunk in his sleeping room, where i went to look for evidence this morning." the boys stared at each other in amazement and from dr. hobart to their accuser. "i do not see how the first glove got up there," said frank at last. "i was in my bare hands when i went out last night, as i only meant to be gone a few minutes." "mr. butler, please bring that young man in here." the proctor walked from the room, was gone a few minutes and returned, followed by none other than chip dixon. dixon nodded curtly to the two boys and faced the doctor jauntily. "you say, dixon, that you saw these two boys entering the rear door of the chapel last night?" inquired the doctor, indicating the supposed culprits by a jerk of his head in the direction of frank and jimmy. "i did not say it was turner and armstrong. i said i saw two boys near the door, and that it looked like these two here. one of them had something in his hand which looked like a bucket." "which one was that?" "armstrong, sir; or at least the one i took to be armstrong." "what time was that?" "i think it was about a quarter past nine or perhaps a little later." "we were just under the belfry at that hour," jimmy snapped out. "the clock striking the quarter startled me. i remember it well." frank nodded in approval. "it may have been earlier," continued dixon. "i didn't think anything much about it till after the racket in the tower. then i remembered that i had seen some boys around the chapel, and recalled that they looked like turner and armstrong." "that will do, dixon, you may go," said the doctor. when dixon had left the room, the doctor turned to our friends again. "you do not look like boys who would do such silly mischief as that of last night, but all these stories fit together with such nicety that i am forced to believe that you were responsible. these little things that look like jokes sometimes have a very serious result. for instance, that water which filled the bell came down and badly damaged the ceiling in the robing room on the ground floor, and, moreover, it ruined a valuable etching, a gift from one of our alumni, which hung there in that room." "but we did not do it," said frank, "nor did we have anything to do with it in any way, shape or manner." his voice was trembling as he spoke. jimmy was too savage to speak, but stood glowering at the doctor. unfortunately the doctor, although a distinguished scholar, was not entirely in sympathy with his pupils. he sometimes forgot that he had been young himself once, and there were not a few in the school who said that "old-pop-eye" had always been as old as he was then. he was too much immersed in the technical side of his school work and school problems to acquaint himself with the units that made up his school. he was apt to judge harshly. and his judgment in this case was harsh. "in view of all the circumstances," said the doctor, after studying the boys for a minute or two, "i should suspend you both from queen's school or dismiss you entirely. we want boys here who come to study and not to play idle tricks and destroy school property. i feel convinced that you were concerned in this work of last night, for the evidence is strongly against you. i can perhaps put no greater punishment upon you than to say to you that for the remainder of the school year you can take part in no athletics as the representatives of queen's school. i understand that you both have played on school teams." the doctor paused. "if i find you concerned in any other escapades of this character, i have no other course than to ask you to withdraw from the school." jimmy was about to burst forth in violent denial, but stopped and held himself in check. frank said very calmly, "dr. hobart, i say it again: i had nothing to do with this affair of last night; neither had turner. i think i can prove it to your satisfaction some day. may we go?" "yes," said the doctor, who had turned to his desk again. the boys almost staggered from the room and down the stairs. it had been an unexpected blow. at the foot of the stairs, lewis, the codfish and david were waiting. they bore them off to honeywell, where the whole scene in the doctor's office was rehearsed. most uncomplimentary things were said about the doctor and almost murderous threats raised against the proctor, butler, who, the codfish protested, had "poisoned doctor hobart's mind against frank and jimmy." "and what's to become of our baseball nine?" cried the codfish. "and the hockey team, and the track contest?" echoed david. "i told you to let that blooming old cat stay where she had got herself," grumbled the codfish. "a black cat is unlucky. don't you remember poe's story about the black cat?" "she was unlucky enough for me," said frank ruefully. "but maybe we'll come out of it all right." "how do you suppose that glove of mine got up into the tower?" said frank. "i certainly didn't have my gloves with me. i wouldn't naturally have one in my pocket and one in my room." "i distinctly remember seeing them both on the trunk yesterday morning," said david. "i've been thinking about it since you told what butler found." "i know positively," cried frank eagerly, "that i didn't have them on yesterday. i didn't have occasion to use them." "then it's a put-up job," said the codfish. "some one who has it in for you sneaked in here and got that glove for a purpose." "who could it be, do you suppose?" questioned jimmy. "dixon wouldn't do such a trick in spite of his general meanness and his disposition toward frank. and who else is there?" "gamma tau!" said the codfish suddenly. "they have members in this dormitory and it would be the easiest thing in the world to get in here, for the door is never locked. the gloves were in plain view on the trunk." "i think you have the answer," said david. "frank has been too popular to suit our friends, the gammas, ever since he won fame as a drop kicker. now this talk of another society has set them going, but i say, it was a dirty way to do it." "well, we'll beat them yet," said jimmy, jumping up and smashing a fist into the palm of the other hand. "and if i ever get a real good chance at dixon, i'll give him a thumping he won't forget for fifty years!" "and i'll help you," said the codfish, throwing out his narrow chest and thumping it valiantly. at which all laughed. chapter xxi. gamma's desperate tactics. queen's school took the disbarment of frank armstrong and jimmy turner from athletics as a serious blow to their chances in baseball and on the track. even the gamma tau boys, who bore no particularly kindly feeling toward these two, missed their strengthening presence--or at least they seemed to. there were some who, whatever they might have said before the school, inwardly rejoiced that "these disturbers of the peace" had been neatly shelved by old pop-eye. chip dixon was among the latter. he could never repress a smile when he met frank or jimmy. and jimmy ached to take him in hand and show him something that might not have been good for dixon. but the opportunity did not come and peace was preserved. hockey came and went, and the school team, captained by dixon and filled up with his followers from gamma, lost miserably to warwick. jimmy and frank watched the game from the side of the improvised rink on the wampaug. "there are better players among the freshmen," said jimmy contemptuously, "but they have no chance. i could pick up a team among the class teams that would beat the school team at hockey to a frazzle." and jimmy spoke the plain truth. chip had followed his usual method of picking out his team from his society, and he had no eyes for their faults. but the school was fretting under the burden of gamma tau and of dixon himself. how much longer he was going to be allowed to boss everything was a matter of speculation in many a room after books were laid aside. "thank goodness, it is his last year!" said lewis one night, when the possibility of the continuance of dixon as a dictator was being discussed. "yes, but there is howard hotchkiss coming along. he is sure to be the next boss." hotchkiss was in the third class. he was not an athlete, but a masterful fellow who could be depended upon to keep the prestige of the school in the hands of gamma and not let it get away for a moment. "the threatening storm against the gamma is growing every day," said david, "and when it comes, there is bound to be fun. two of the editors on the _mirror_, pickering and westover, refused the last elections and they are hot for an opposition society." "will it come, do you think?" inquired frank. "i wouldn't be surprised to see the sentiment of the class blaze out into action at any moment. only to-night pickering suggested a class meeting for a conference on a new society. he has been talking it over with a lot of his friends, and he feels pretty sure we could put something through if we all got behind it. the only trouble is that there are so many toadies to the old society of the gamma who say one thing and do another. most of them grab for a chance to get into gamma like a drowning man grabs at a straw." "i'm for a new society," said frank, "which will have its elections on merit, and which will make no distinctions between athletes, good students, or good fellows who are neither athletes or brilliant at their studies." "oh, ho, i think i have heard you say that the gamma could be reformed!" said the codfish derisively. "that was before i knew much about it. they are so hardened and set in their own notions that the only way to reform them is with a good big club." a few days later the subject of a new society came up again, and on the night of a certain day in may about a dozen of the prominent boys in the class met in frank's room to talk it over together. before the boys separated, it had been agreed to call a meeting of the class in the big room of the library, where the whole matter was to come up. there was to be a general debate on the subject, and armstrong, as befitted his position as an athlete in the class, was to make the principal speech. in the room were, of course, several friends of gamma tau, and it was not long before the information had penetrated to dixon and other leaders of the old society. "going to form a new society, are they? well, we'll see about that! the school isn't big enough for what it has now in the way of societies. we'll pack that meeting full of our own men of the class and block everything they try. we'll see what they can do to old gamma!" meanwhile, the queen's baseball team continued to lose steadily. with frank out of the game, there was no pitcher who could do even passable work. dixon, in desperation, gave up his position behind the bat to the substitute catcher, a fellow named watson, and went into the box himself. but he only lasted for one game, the game with porter school, in which the latter fairly buried queen's under the score of to ! it was then that resentment began to show itself in even the mildest of the students. the feeling was particularly strong in the second class, of which our friends were members. david powers wrote an article on the situation for the _mirror_, but the article never appeared in that paper, for the chief editor of the paper, under whose eye the article fell, was a gamma boy, and he thought it too outspoken. david powers promptly resigned from the paper, and the reason of his resignation soon became known to the class and the school at large. the incident strengthened the determination of every one to have a fight with gamma to the death, and particularly roused our friends in honeywell. affairs came rapidly to a climax. david and the codfish put their heads together and prepared a poster calling on the class to meet in the library room set aside for meetings of the class by the school authorities. the school woke up one morning in the latter part of may to find the posters boldly displayed on tree trunks and on various conspicuous points about the school. the announcement of the meeting was ripped down by the gamma boys, who well knew what was going on, but the poster had had its effect and every one was on tip-toe. at last the eventful day arrived. the codfish and david, with the help of lewis and jimmy, had spent many hours on the constitution of the society. fifteen boys were to be chosen from the second class and they were to be selected on merit. two members of the teaching staff were to be taken into the society as honorary members and they were to be consulted in the elections. david, who had spent days on the work, had searched the constitutions of all the school societies he could get hold of and had, with his associates, selected the best from them and rejected what seemed not suitable for the new society. the draft of the constitution was to be presented that night before the class meeting in the library, where discussion would be open. frank, who was looked upon as a popular leader, had been chosen, as we have said, to present the whole matter at the meeting. "if i'm going to do this stunt," said frank, after the boys had returned to their room after supper that evening, "you've all got to clear out and let me have a little time to myself. i've got to think what i'm to say." "all right, napoleon," said the codfish, "we'll skip and let you compose yourself. if any big thoughts stick, look us up," and he scampered out of the door, eager to talk the coming great event over with others of his class. frank was left alone, and he set himself to work up a speech that should present the matter to his classmates. he was before his little desk in honeywell thinking hard and chewing the end of a lead pencil as an aid, when there came a rap on the half-open door. frank turned around and saw a small boy standing just outside the door. "hello, son, what is it?" he said, turning again to the matter before him. "please, are you frank armstrong?" "i'm that chap," said frank, scratching away with his pencil. "well, please," said the boy, "there's a man wants to see you." "that's nice; where is he?" "down at the baseball field." "down at the baseball field!" echoed frank. "why doesn't he come up here? i haven't time to go down to the baseball field to see a man. i've got important business on to-night. tell him i'll see him to-morrow. i haven't time to see him to-night, unless he comes up here." "oh," said the boy, "he said this was very important for you; that he had some news to tell you about the trouble in the bell tower." frank gave a long whistle and stood up, interested at once. he looked at the clock over the mantel. it was half past seven and the meeting was set for eight o'clock. "he said he could tell you who did the mischief in the bell tower and prove it to you," continued the boy, "but that he couldn't come up to your room." "i've half a mind to go and see this strange man who knows so much. i can be back in half an hour or less," he said half to himself. then to the boy, "all right, kid, i'll go along with you, for that business of the bell tower is something i'd like to get to the bottom of myself." then aside, "i'll pick up jimmy and the codfish and we'll see what he knows." "the man said you must come alone, for he doesn't want to be seen by any one at the school except yourself." "more mystery. all right, kid, tell him i'll be along in a minute and i'll be alone." the boy waited to hear no more, but darted out of the door and was off like a flash. frank followed more leisurely after folding david's draft of the constitution and putting it in his inside coat pocket, along with some of the scribbled notes of his speech. "i can think of what i'm going to say as i go along," he thought, "and no time is lost. i wonder why this fellow is so secret about the appointment." he picked up his cap from the desk, tripped gayly down the steps and out into the yard. none of his friends happened to be in view, and he hurried on in the gathering twilight across the yard, down past the end of warren hall, and down the pitch of the hill to the playground below. over in the distance the baseball stand loomed darkly. but on the open field there was still plenty of light. he headed directly for the baseball stand, whistling brightly. "what on earth can this man have to tell me?" he said over and over to himself. "well, i'll know presently." he had now come to the outfield of the baseball diamond. peering ahead into the shadow cast by the stand, he thought he saw a figure moving. advancing to the diamond itself he spoke out loudly: "hullo, any one here want to see me?" a figure slouched out of the shadow and approached frank to within a distance of ten or fifteen feet. "you are frank armstrong?" said a voice that frank had never heard before. "yes," answered frank. "what is all this about? if you have anything to tell me, tell it to me quick, for i've got to get back." "it's pretty important news for you, kid," said the man, coming a step or two closer. "i happen to know all about that affair, who did it, and why it was done, and i've got the proofs for you. look at that paper," he added, drawing a folded sheet of white paper from his pocket and handing it to frank. frank reached for the paper, took it, and bent his head in the dim light to read the writing. as he did so, the strange man sprang upon him, threw an arm around his neck and held him as securely as in a vise. the attack had been so sudden that frank was powerless to make the faintest resistance. and even had he had the chance, he would have been helpless in that fierce clasp. "hey, bill," called his captor, "come over here and help me truss him up. we've got him, all right." there was a sound of feet running across the grass, and in an instant two more men appeared from the shadow of the baseball stand. each seized an arm of the captured boy, and the man who had made the first attack released his hold on frank's neck. "what's this all about?" said frank huskily. the stranger had nearly choked the wind out of him in the tight grasp in which he had held him until help arrived. "i have no money." "we don't want your money, kid," said one of the men. "we just want you, and everything will be easy for you if you come along without kicking." "come along where?" "never mind, that's our little secret." frank opened his mouth to yell for help, but a big hand immediately closed over it and shut off his cry. "come, none of that!" "put that towel over his mouth!" said one of his captors. a towel was whipped out by one of them and in a jiffy he was effectually prevented from making any outcry, and it had been so placed that he could not see. "now, come along, young fellow, we're not going to eat you." two of the men linked their arms in his, and, preceded by the third, they set out at a rapid pace toward the path that ran down along the river edge. frank tried to hang back, but he was firmly urged forward, and, seeing the uselessness of resistance in the face of such overwhelming odds, he gave up and went along quietly, waiting a chance to escape by some stratagem. after a walk of a few minutes, frank's captors halted and turned toward the river. frank felt the cold chills race up and down his spine as he stood, held firmly between the two. "what does it all mean?" he thought to himself. the man who had preceded them disappeared for a moment in the alder bushes which fringed the bank. in a moment his voice sounded from below: "the boat's here; hurry it up and let's get it finished." half walking and half sliding, they reached the water's edge. without any ceremony frank was forced into the boat, the others followed, and one of the men, after pushing off, began to row rapidly. two or three hundred yards down stream he beached the boat, sprang out and held her, while the others, still grasping frank, scrambled out awkwardly. the boat was pulled up a little and then, in the same order as the procession had started, it continued on what seemed to be an old road overgrown with grass. five minutes of twisting and turning through trees and tangled shrubbery, during which time frank, by moving his face muscles, had uncovered one eye, brought them to a house, but it was shrouded in the deepest gloom. no lights shone from its windows and no sounds of life came from within. all was dreary and desolate, and a chill struck to frank's heart as he suddenly recognized the place. it was the jackson house on the back road to hamilton, and it was reported to be haunted. some deed of blood had been done there years before and the house since that time had been vacant. after nightfall few ventured that way. queer lights were said to have been seen about the house at night. the road was little traveled by man or beast at any hour. through a broken gate hanging crazily by one hinge the procession passed, and up the overgrown walk to the door. halting here, the leader fumbled in his pocket and produced a key, which he inserted in the lock of the door. there was a grinding sound as the bolt shot back. "here's where you stay for a few hours, young fellow," said one of his captors. "nice comfortable shack. you'll have lots of visitors in there and you needn't be a bit lonesome." frank fought hard against his imprisonment. he struggled and scratched and kicked with all his might, and braced against the door jamb. but he was soon overpowered and pushed within. the door was jerked back quickly and frank was alone in the haunted house. turned by the key on the outside, the lock shot squeaking back into its socket. just then the clock on the queen's school tower boomed the hour of eight! chapter xxii. saved by the wires. finding himself trapped, frank threw himself on the door and wrenched at the knob with all his strength. it held firm. again and again he drove his shoulder against the panels, but the door, though old, was stout, and resisted his savage attacks. soon he gave up in despair the attempt to escape that way. "i'm kidnapped for sure," he said aloud, and his voice sounded strangely hollow in that empty hallway. he shivered, for, although the night outside was mild and warm, inside there was a deadly chill in the air as if the sunlight had never touched it. a half moon was hanging in the sky and lit the countryside faintly, but in here was the deepest gloom. tiny slits of light came through the chinks here and there in the boarded windows and cast long knife-like bars across the floor, but instead of lighting the place they actually made it seem blacker because of the contrast. frank was not a coward, but he would have given a good deal to be safely out of the place. the whole house seemed full of noises. he turned his back to the door and faced the stairway, which, now that his eyes were becoming accustomed to the gloom, he could make out dimly. he could trace it about half way up to the floor above, where it disappeared into utter blackness. as he strained his eyes and ears a board creaked near him, as if a human foot had trod on it. he recoiled as if shot and turned his eyes in the direction of the noise. but there was no repetition of the sound. away down the hall where his vision could not penetrate came a rustle as of silk, and then what appeared to be a few stealthy steps; then silence, broken only by the sighing of the night wind around the corners of the house. it was all frank could do to keep from yelling with fright, for the noises of the old house had gripped his nerve. but by degrees, as he stood there with his back to the door, he gained control of himself. there was nothing to hurt him, he argued with himself; the noises were only natural ones; the rustlings were perhaps made by the wings of birds that had made their nests in the old house, finding entrance through the chimney, maybe, or through a broken upper window. "oh, what a dummy i am," said frank to himself, "to allow myself to be caught this way! i have been spirited off here and locked up for a while so that gamma may have its own way up at the library meeting. but david and jimmy and the codfish can carry it through as well or better than i could. they can present the scheme and read the constitution--the constitution," he gasped aloud; "i have it in my pocket!" his hand flew to his pocket. there it was, sure enough, a bulky bundle of papers. "that settles it. i've got to get out of this hole somehow." there was a determined ring to his voice as it echoed from the bare walls. he left his place by the outer door and turned into the room on the right, the door of which stood partly open. guided by the chinks of light he examined the windows one after the other. two of them were broken, but they were securely boarded up from the outside. the window at the side of the room had not even a sash. raising his foot he drove it here with all his might against the barricading boards, but they did not budge to his repeated blows. he gave up this room as a bad job, and felt his way into the hall once more and across it to the opposite front room. here he had no better luck. the windows were securely shut and boarded like the windows in the other room. at one of them, where there was an opening of several inches between the boards and where the light came through more strongly than at any other of the windows, he smashed the glass with his foot and, getting hold of the edge of the board, tried to wrench it loose with his hands. he might as well have tried to shake down the door post. the nails, driven in years before, had probably rusted, and the boards would have had to be split to fragments before the nails would release them. nothing daunted, frank kept on. he pushed open doors that squeaked on rusty hinges and battered at the barriers across the windows. once in his rounds he caught his toe on some obstruction on the floor and fell headlong. the crash woke the echoes in the old house and set in motion scores of mice and rats that went scurrying, squeaking and chattering across the floors. retracing his steps, frank once more found himself, without further mishap, in the hall where he had started his futile round. "i'll try it upstairs," he said, and advanced boldly toward the upper regions of the house. the stairs creaked and groaned horribly as he ascended, and he heard the patter of the feet of rats as they scurried before him. it was none too pleasant a sound. two of the rooms he tried on the second floor brought no better result, but in the third, at the back of the house, he found a displaced board and a broken sash. "so this is where our friends, the birds, get in," he said. "the question is, can i get out?" he stuck his head through the opening and looked down. below there was nothing but blackness. "i don't dare risk it. i might break my neck in a cellarway if i dropped." he drew in his head, refreshed by the breath of free night air, and continued his search. stumbling through the gloom of the upper hall, his hand came in contact with a ladder. he gave it a jerk, but it was nailed securely to the floor. "the attic!" he exclaimed aloud; "if there's a skylight and i can get out on the roof perhaps i can make some one hear." up the ladder he went. if it was black below, it was still blacker where he was now penetrating, for not even a ray of moonlight entered. the air was close and stifling, and in the attic of the old house, where he found himself in a few moments, he could scarcely breathe. his entrance there disturbed some night birds that had taken possession of the place, and they flew about uttering angry cries and dashing so close to him that he could feel the fanning of air from their wings. with his arm across his face, he felt for a ladder which must lead to the skylight, if indeed there was a skylight in the roof above. after traversing half the length of the house and colliding with the corner of the chimney, his hand touched wood. it was another ladder, and his heart jumped with joy at the touch. the rounds were covered with a thick layer of dust, deposited there through many years of disuse. up its short length frank went cautiously till his head touched the roof. he felt around carefully till his hand touched a hasp. with a sudden jerk he pulled it aside and with his head pressing against the skylight, bored upward. to his great joy the heavy skylight moved and swung up on its rusty hinges, and in another moment he was out on the roof of the house with the stars above his head. what a relief it was to be out of that dismal house! the horrors of it lay below him, but was he any better off? could he make any one hear him, and, if they did hear him, would any one be likely to come to such a place? wasn't he in as bad a fix as before? these questions jumped into his brain in rapid succession. "help! help!" frank raised his voice and shouted. again and again he shouted, but there was no answering hail. off to the left he could plainly see the lights of queen's school. as a bird flies, it was not more than half a mile from his perch to the library where his friends were holding their meeting and no doubt wondering where he was. what were they thinking of him? he began hitching along on the roof toward the front of the house, his intention being to attempt a descent, hand over hand, along the roof's edge to the eaves, where, if he could see the ground, he might risk a drop. hitching along laboriously, frank encountered an obstruction when he was halfway to the end of his journey. he felt of it. it was an insulator, and stretching away from it on both sides was a wire of small diameter. "telephone," said frank to himself. "how i wish i had an instrument." he climbed over it and went on. suddenly he stopped: "by jove, i wonder if that is our wire to queen's station? it certainly comes down this way." he was thinking hard. "it _is_ the wire!" he shouted joyfully. "i remember now murphy said he put an insulator on this old house because there were no trees near to take the span." instantly he turned back to the wire. on one side of the insulator the wire was stretched tightly, but the other side hung sagging. he reached out and pulled on the slack side and found that he could draw it up a foot or more. "just the thing!" he exclaimed joyfully. "now we'll see what happens!" straddling the roof, frank again took hold of the slack loop of the wire and pulled with all his strength. when he had hauled it as tight as possible, he reached down and put a coil around his foot, and was overjoyed to find that he could hold the wire in position that way, although the strain almost pulled him apart. then, taking his knife, he began to saw at the wire. when he had made a little notch in it he worked it back and forth, bending it this way and that, and suddenly it fell apart. "hurrah!" shouted frank. "now we'll see if any one hears me." taking a broken end of wire in each hand he began tapping them together. carefully he called: _f-f-f-f-f-f_; _jc-jc-jc-jc_. these were the calls of his own room and of jimmy's. he was using the ends of the broken wire to send morse signals. after each attempt, with fingers moistened to accentuate their sensitiveness to any return signal, he waited. thus calling and waiting he kept on for several minutes. "they're probably all in the library, but murphy ought to hear me if the wire is cut in at the station." varying the call of _q_, which was the station, with calls of _f_ and _jc_, frank kept on, but with the strain of the wire pulling on his foot and cutting into the flesh he was nearly exhausted. suddenly in response to his call of _f-f-f_ came a shock which made him jump. some one had opened a telegraph key somewhere on the line. the current had been broken and closed. he tapped slowly, making the letters very plain so that no one could misunderstand, "_c-o-m-e q-u-i-c-k h-a-u-n-t-e-d h-o-u-s-e f-r-a-n-k_." over and over he repeated his message. suddenly there came a succession of electric thrills along the wire as if a key had been rattled rapidly, and frank received the signals plainly through his moistened fingers "_o-k._" he had been heard and understood. with a sigh of relief, he let go of the loose end of the wire and shook it free of his foot. the released wire went swishing down the roof and the connection was broken for good. carefully frank made his way back to the skylight and backed down the ladder into the darkness beneath. "i'll be ready for them--if they come," he added dubiously. "and the back room where the board is off is more comfortable in spite of the rats than this sharp roof." down among the startled birds that beat madly around the attic he went again, down the second ladder to the floor, and then made his way to the back room, where he settled himself on the window ledge waiting for his rescue, if rescue it was to be. frank found himself in comfort compared to his position on the roof, but he soon began to wonder whether he had not better, after all, take a chance of a drop in the darkness. he got up, examined the opening, found it too small to squeeze through, and was preparing to make the best of it on his ledge, when his ear caught the sound of a step in the lower part of the house. he stood up with body bent forward listening intently. there was no imagination about it this time. it was a slow step, sometimes shuffling, then again firm and quick. occasionally it stopped, seemingly irresolute. then it began again. whatever or whoever it was, the owner of the step appeared to be going the round of the rooms. now it was on the stairs ascending. frank listened with his heart in his mouth. slowly the step came on, reaching the landing, stopped, began again and came on shufflingly in his direction. frank stepped on the window ledge and reached for the opening between the boards. suddenly a light flared up, and through the open door frank saw a boy standing with a lighted match in his hand. it lit the gloom only for a moment and went out in the draft. frank, startled by the sight, gave a yell. there was an answering groan, the sound of a falling body and then silence. almost at the same moment shouts were heard outside. frank sprang to the opening and answered the hail with all the power of his lungs: "here, here, 'round at the back of the house!" there was the sound of crashing through the tangle of shrubbery and a voice from below--jimmy's voice--calling, "what in thunder are you doing there?" "taking a moonlight meditation," returned frank flippantly; "but hurry up, i've had enough. rip off a board on one of the lower windows if you can. i'm in trouble up here." lights flashed below and the sound of several different voices came to frank's ears. reassured by the presence of his friends, frank groped his way to the door in front of which his visitor had fallen. he found the huddled heap of humanity, touched the face and felt it warm, which relieved him greatly. from below came the sound of ripping wood and breaking glass, and, in another minute, jimmy, with a lantern in his hand, bounded up the stairway, followed by lewis and several other boys. all were astonished to see frank, his face streaked with dust and grime, standing by the side of a prostrate figure. the rays of the lantern were directed to the face of the one on the floor. "bronson!" all exclaimed in a breath. "great scott!" cried jimmy in amazement, "what are you fellows doing here and what's the matter with bronson?" bronson, who had fainted from fright when he heard frank's yell in the darkness, now opened his eyes and sat up, looking around dazedly. suddenly he seemed to remember: "don't leave me! don't leave me!" he cried piteously, grabbing jimmy by the legs. "i'll tell all about it, but don't leave me here. he'll come back." "tell us what? who'll come back?" ejaculated jimmy. and there on the floor bronson poured out his story in broken sentences and with hanging head. he told how the gamma had planned the kidnapping of frank to break up the meeting, with the hope that the attempt to form a new society might be checked and the absent boy discredited. the attempt, as it proved, had been partly successful, for, despite the eloquent words of the codfish and david, who had striven to hold it together until frank could be found, the gamma element in the meeting had broken it up. it was on jimmy's return to the room that he had heard frank's signal and gone in search of him. "was dixon in this scheme?" said frank, when bronson finished. "yes," was the answer. "and was he responsible for the affair in the bell tower?" "no; whitlock, colson and i were the ones in that. but i'll make it right with dr. hobart. i'll confess everything. only don't leave me here, please don't." on the way back to queen's school, bronson freely confessed his part in the affair of the haunted house. he had been detailed by dixon to see that the men who had been hired to spirit frank away, carried out their part of the work, and he was hidden near the path when frank was marched past him. just as he started to leave, there arose alongside of him the gigantic figure of a man, who, muttering something about being on his property, drew him to the back of the house and, entering by the cellarway, left him there, fastening the door on the outside. more dead than alive from fear, bronson had heard frank shuffling around on the floor above him, and then, when the noise ceased, with a few matches he had in his pocket he started to find his way out. during frank's absence on the roof he had gained the first floor, and it was he whom frank heard when he returned to his post by the broken window. the shock of frank's voice when bronson, searching for a means of escape, had penetrated to the second floor, was too much for his shaking nerves, and he collapsed on the floor. the men who had kidnapped and carried off frank were three men from the village, one of whom was a locksmith, which accounted for his possession of a key to the old house. it later came out that the gigantic man who had captured and incarcerated bronson, was none other than a half-witted negro of the village, who was abroad at all times of the night, and who, unknown to any one, had a way of entering and leaving the old house by an open cellarway. it was probably he who, by showing lights in the house at night, had terrified the villagers into the belief that the place was haunted. before bronson was allowed to go that night, he was taken to frank's room, where, under the dictation of the codfish, he wrote and signed a full confession of the part he had played in the bell tower incident, and of his knowledge of the kidnapping of frank. chapter xxiii. end of gamma tau. the next morning the school was startled by the announcement that dixon, bronson and whitlock were not to be found. during the night, either separately or together, they had packed their suit-cases and departed, leaving instructions for the forwarding of the remainder of their goods. murphy, the night operator, reported later that they had been seen boarding the early morning train for milton. dixon, alone, left word behind him. the note was directed to the manager of the queen's baseball association and contained his resignation as captain of the nine. "it was just as well he went," said jimmy, when he heard the news, "or there would have been the biggest scrap on that this school ever saw. after what he did to frank last night, he was going to get the worst licking that a kid ever got," and jimmy flexed his arms and clenched his fists. "i think i'd have taken a hand at him, myself!" said frank. "me, too," said the codfish. "if ever i'd have laid this on him," indicating his right fist, "he would go home in an ambulance." "or you would have, eh, scrappy old codfish?" said lewis. "i don't know but i'd have had a shy at him, myself." dixon's departure cleared the atmosphere of the school at once. you may be sure that no time was lost in carrying bronson's confession to doctor hobart, and that stern old man, quick to repair the wrong he had done to jimmy and frank, called them to his office. "young gentlemen," he said, "i have an apology to make to you. i see i was wrong and i am glad that i was wrong. you are reinstated in all the privileges of the school. i hope you will pardon an old man for leaning too strongly on circumstantial evidence, furthered by untruthful testimony." it was a joyful crowd that met that afternoon on the diamond. by unanimous consent of the school nine, frank armstrong was elected acting-captain to fill out the remainder of the term, and when practice began every boy who could get there was on the bleachers to watch. jimmy took his place behind the bat and caught and threw with his old-time ability. frank pitched wonderful ball and threw the spectators into an enthusiasm of cheering when he struck out batsman after batsman of the second nine as they faced him. after the chapel exercises next morning, dr. hobart announced to the whole school there assembled, that he had visited the punishment for the misdoings in the bell tower upon the wrong boys, and then publicly expressed his sorrow that he had made a mistake. "the real perpetrators, with one exception," he added, "have left school, and that one exception has not yet been dealt with. i have further to say that the society of gamma tau, which has been responsible for this and other disturbances, is from this day forth abolished and any boy in the future, either offering an election to or accepting one from this society, should any attempt be made to carry it on in secret, will be summarily dismissed from queen's school." to the surprise of every one, the abolition of gamma tau was not taken seriously to heart by the school. its domination had for some years become irksome, and even the members of it, with the exception of a few of its leaders, among whom was howard hotchkiss, admitted that it was a good thing for the school to have it done away with. whether the killing of the society by dr. hobart's edict had anything to do with it or not, or whether it was the snap that frank and jimmy put into the team, none could say, but it was certain that for one cause or another the school rallied around the nine like one man. from a disorganized body the nine was brought into playing form in remarkably short time, and in the last of the preliminary games of the season won over the strong butler academy by six runs to one. jimmy and frank worked like trojans, in these last days of the term, to get the team into shape for the warwick game. and the school was back of them. by presence and by voice every one helped at the practice. finally, at the end of examinations, the day of the great contest came around. warwick, with a nine strong and experienced, came down to queen's confident of wiping out the stain of defeat of the previous june. robinson, the left tackle of the warwick eleven, was captain of the nine and played first base. he had heard, as had every one in warwick, of the resignation of dixon as captain and the incident helped to further their belief that queen's would be, as he said, "easy picking." down with the warwick team came a great crowd of heelers to see the "funeral," as one of them expressed it. the "funeral" did not come to pass in just the way that warwick had expected. for three innings it was nip and tuck between the two nines without a run being scored on either side. frank was in great form, and, while he used few curves, he was able to put the ball exactly where jimmy wanted it; and between the two of them they had the warwick batters swinging wildly at balls which they could not hit. in the fifth inning, through a hit and an error by the queen's right fielder, warwick scored a run, and in the sixth added two more. this was the signal for great yelling in the warwick sections of the stand, but queen's came back with two earned runs in the seventh. jimmy's two-base hit started the trouble. frank's great pitching, when the bases were full with only one out, cut warwick out of what looked like a certain score in the eighth inning, but the queen's batters could do nothing against warwick in this inning. the game came to the ninth without further runs, and queen's still one behind. warwick tried desperately to get a runner across, and with their fastest man on third, when hits were not forthcoming, tried to work the squeeze play. frank and jimmy nipped the runner neatly at the plate. opinions were freely expressed that queen's would not score, but when taylor, the queen's first baseman, came up and singled, the queen's heelers let loose a howl of joy. their glee was cut short when taylor, in trying to steal second, was thrown out. with one gone, frank came to the bat. "you are due for a hit," said jimmy, as he left the bench. "get on and i'll bring you in." frank clenched his bat and faced the warwick pitcher with determination in his eye. up to the present time he had done nothing in the way of hitting, and the warwick pitcher held him rather cheaply. twice he sent the ball across the plate for strikes, and twice the ball went wide. "give him a good one," howled a warwick boy; "let him hit it if he can. he couldn't hit a barn!" straight over the plate came the next ball, and frank met it with a short powerful swing. away flew the ball over the third baseman's head, struck the ground in short left field, and, with a spin on it, rolled on and on over the close-cropped grass. the left fielder chased it desperately, but before he got his hands on it, frank had turned second. the left fielder slammed it straight and hard, and frank dived for the last fifteen feet, beating the ball to third only by inches. as he stood on the bag and dusted himself with his cap, jimmy sauntered easily to the plate. "come on," said jimmy to the warwick pitcher, when the yelling had died down; "come on, and i'll do it again just like that," and he grinned at the worried boy in the box. the ball flew wide. "don't lose your nerve," taunted jimmy; "put it over." again the warwickian tied himself up into a knot and again flew the ball. it was to jimmy's liking. he swung a full swing with all the force of his sturdy young body behind it, and, in the language of the diamond, hit it "right on the nose." just what happened to that ball no one knows to this day. it rose on its long flight between third and short stop, carried over the head of the left fielder like a golf ball cleanly hit, struck far beyond him and rolled down among the alder bushes which fringed the river. the fielder tore after it, disappeared from view, and, after a minute or two, came back holding up both hands. they were empty. but it would have made no difference whether he had had the ball at that time or not, for jimmy had completed the circuit of the bases, and the bat boy was picking up the scattered bats and mitts by queen's bench. queen's had won the game! it was a glorious finish to a season that had begun in anything but glory, and then and there, before the queen's team left the bench, after a rousing cheer had been given for the defeated warwicks, frank armstrong was elected captain for the following year, while the queen's stands yelled their approval. "it was worth all our trouble for that last inning, wasn't it?" said jimmy. and frank, grinning happily, admitted that it was. the further doings of frank armstrong and his friends at queen's school will be told in the next volume of this series, entitled "frank armstrong, captain of the nine." the end. * * * * * transcriber's notes: obvious punctuation errors repaired. italic text is denoted by _underscores_. pg. , "euphoneous" changed to "euphonious" (the euphonious name) pg. , "preceptibly" changed to "perceptibly" (stiffened perceptibly)