CHAPTER IVTHE PICTURE SHOW
Andy’s chums looked curiously at him. Chet’s chance remark had brought back to them the memory of the old enmity between Andy Blair and Mortimer Gaffington, the rich young “sport” of Dunmore. It was an enmity that had happily been forgotten in the joy of life at Milton. Now it loomed up again.
“That’s right, that cad Mort does hang out at New Haven,” remarked Tom. “That is, he did. But maybe they’ve fired him,” he added, hopefully.
“No such luck,” spoke Andy, ruefully. “I had a letter from my sister only the other day, and she mentioned some row that Mort had gotten into at Yale. Came within an ace of being taken out, but it was smoothed over. No, I’ll have to rub up against him if I go there.”
“Well, you don’t need to have much to do with him,” suggested Frank.
“And you can just make up your mind that I won’t,” spoke Andy. “I’ll steer clear of him from the minute I strike New Haven. But don’tlet’s talk about it. Where’s that waiter, anyhow? Has he gone out to kill a fatted calf?”
“Here he comes,” announced Ben. “Get a move on there, Adolph!”
“Yah!”
“And don’t wait for my French fried potatoes to sprout, either,” added Chet.
“Yah, shure not!”
“Oh, look who’s here!” exclaimed Tom, nodding toward a newcomer. “Shoot in over here, Swipes!” he called to a tall lad, whose progress through the room was marked by friendly calls on many sides. He was a general favorite, Harry Morton by name, but seldom called anything but “Swipes,” from a habit he had of taking or “swiping” signs, and other mementoes of tradesmen about town; the said signs and insignia of business later adorning his room.
“Got space?” asked Harry, as he paused at the little compartment which held our friends.
“Surest thing you know, Swipes. Shove over there, Frank. Are you trying to hog the whole bench?”
“Not when Swipes is around,” was the retort. “I’ll leave that to him.”
“Half-ton benches are a little out of my line,” laughed the newcomer, as he found room at the table. “Bring me a rarebit, Adolph, and don’t leave out the cheese.”
“No, sir, Mr. Morton! Ho! ho! Dot’s a goot vun! A rarebit mitout der cheese! Ach! Dot is goot!” and the fat German waiter went off chuckling at the old joke.
“What’s the matter, Andy, you look as if you’d had bad news from your best girl?” asked Harry, clapping Andy on the shoulder. “Cheer up, the worst is yet to come.”
“You’re right there!” exclaimed Andy, heartily. “The worstisyet to come. I’m going to Yale——”
“Hurray! Rah! rah! That’s the stuff! But talk about the worst, I can’t see it. I wish I were in your rubbers.”
“And that dub Mortimer Gaffington is there, too,” went on Andy. “That’s the worst.”
“I don’t quite get you,” said Harry, in puzzled tones. “Is this Gaffington one of the bulldog profs. who eats freshmen alive?”
“No, he’s a fellow from our town,” explained Andy, “and he and I are on the outs. We’ve been so for a long time. It was at a ball game some time ago. Our town team was playing and I was catching. Mort was pitching. He accused me of deliberately throwing away the game, and naturally I went back at him. We had a fight, and since then we haven’t spoken. He’s rich, and all that, but I don’t like him; not because I beat him in a fair fight, either. Well, he wentto Yale last year, and I was glad when he left town. Now I’m sorry he’s at Yale, since I’m going there. I know he’ll try to make it unpleasant for me.”
“Oh, well, make the best of it,” advised Harry, philosophically. “He can’t last for ever. Here comes my eats! Let’s get busy.”
“So Mort will be a sophomore when you get to New Haven, will he?” asked Frank of Andy.
“He will if he doesn’t flunk, and I don’t suppose he will. He’s smart enough in a certain way. Oh, well, what’s the use of worrying? As Harry says, here come the eats.”
Adolph staggered in with a well-heaped tray containing Harry’s order, and he and his chums finished their meal talking the while. The evening wore on, more students dropping in to make merry in Kelly’s. A large group formed about the nucleus made by Andy and his chums. These lads were seniors in the preparatory school, and, as such, were looked up to by those who had just started the course, or who were finishing their first year. In a way, Milton was like a small college in some matters, notably in class distinction, though it was not carried to the extent it is in the big universities.
“What are you fellows going to do?” asked Harry, as he pushed back his chair. “I’m feeling pretty fit now. I haven’t an enemy in theworld at this moment,” and he sighed in satisfaction. “That rarebit was sure a bird! Are you fellows out for any fun?”
“Not to-night,” replied Andy. “I’m going to cut back and write some letters.”
“Forget it,” advised Harry. “It’s early, and too nice a night to go to bed. Let’s take in a show.”
“I’ve got some boning to do,” returned Frank, with a sigh.
“And I ought to plug away at my Latin,” added Chet, with another sigh.
“Say, but you fellows are the greasy grinds!” objected Harry. “Why don’t you take a day off once in a while?”
“It’s easy enough for you, Swipes; Latin comes natural to you!” exclaimed Tom. “But I have to plug away at it, and when I get through I know less than when I started.”
“And as for me,” broke in Chet, “I can read a page all right in the original, but when I come to translate I can make two pages of it in English, and have enough Latin words left over to do half another one. No, Swipes, it won’t do; I’ve got to do some boning.”
“Aw, forget it. Come on to a show. There’s a good movie in town this week. I’ll blow you fellows. Some vaudeville, too, take it from me. There’s a pair who roll hoops until the stagelooks like a barrel factory having a tango dance. Come on. It’s great!”
“Well, a movie wouldn’t be so bad,” admitted Tom. “It doesn’t last until midnight. What do you say, fellows?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” came from Andy, uncertainly.
“I’ll go if you fellows will,” remarked Frank.
“Oh, well, then let’s do it!” cried Tom. “I guess we won’t flunk to-morrow. We can burn a little midnight electricity. Let ’er go!”
And so they went to the moving picture show. It was like others of its kind, neither better nor worse, with vaudeville acts and songs interspersed between the reels. There was a good attendance, scores of the Milton lads being there, as well as many persons from the town and surrounding hamlets.
Our friends found seats about the middle of the house. It was a sort of continuous performance, and as they entered a girl was singing a song on a well-lighted stage. Andy glanced about as he took his seat, and met the gaze of Link Bardon. He nodded at him, and the young farmer nodded back.
“Who’s that—a new fellow?” asked Harry, who was next to Andy.
“Not at school—no. He’s a hired man we found being beaten up by an old codger of afarmer when we walked out this afternoon. We took his part and made the farmer trot Spanish. I guess Link is taking a day off with the wages we got for him,” and he detailed the incident.
The show went on. Some of the students became boisterous, and there were hisses from the audience, and demands that the boys remain quiet. One lad, who did not train in the set of Andy and his friends, insisted on joining in the chorus with one of the singers, and matters got to such a pass that the manager rang down the curtain and threatened to stop the performance unless the students behaved. Finally some of the companions of the noisy one induced him to quiet down.
Following a long picture reel a girl came out to sing. She was pretty and vivacious, though her songs were commonplace enough. In one of the stage boxes were a number of young fellows, not from Milton, and they began to ogle the singer, who did not seem averse to their attentions. She edged over to their box, and threw a rose to one of the occupants.
Gallantly enough he tossed back one he was wearing, but at that moment a companion in front of him had raised a lighted match to his cigarette.
The hand of the young man throwing the rose to the singer struck the flaring match and sentit over the rail of the box straight at the flimsy skirts of the performer.
In an instant the tulle had caught fire, and a fringe of flame shot upward.
The singer ceased her song with a scream that brought the orchestra to a stop with a crashing chord, and the girl’s cries of horror were echoed by the women in the audience. The girl started to run into the wings, but Andy, springing from his seat on the aisle, made a leap for the brass rail behind the musicians.
“Stand still! Stand still! Don’t go back there in the draft!” cried Andy, as he jumped upon the stage over the head of the orchestra leader and began stripping off his coat.
CHAPTER VFINAL DAYS
“Fire! Fire!” yelled some foolish ones in the audience.
“Keep still!” shouted Tom Hatfield, who well knew the danger of a panic in a hall with few exits. “Keep still! Play something!” he called to the orchestra leader, who was staring at Andy, dazed at the flying leap of the lad over his head. “Play any old tune!”
It was this that saved the day. The leader tapped with his violin bow on the tin shade over his electric light and the dazed musicians came to attention. They began on the number the girl had been singing. It was like the irony of fate to hear the strains of a sentimental song when the poor girl was in danger of death. But the music quieted the audience. Men and women sank back in their seats, watching with fear-widened eyes the actions of Andy Blair.
And while Tom had thus effectively stopped the incipient panic, Andy had not been idle. Working with feverish haste, he had wrapped hisheavy coat about the girl, smothering the flames. She was sobbing and screaming by turns.
“There! There!” cried Andy. “Keep quiet. I have the fire out. You’re in no danger!”
“Oh—oh! But—but the fire——”
“It’s out, I tell you!” insisted Andy. “It was only a little blaze!”
He could see tiny tongues of flame where his coat did not quite reach, and with swift, quick pats of his bare hands he beat them out, burning himself slightly. He took good care not to let the flames shoot up, so that the frantic girl would inhale them. That meant death, and her escape had been narrow enough as it was.
As Andy held the coat closely about her he glanced over toward the box whence the match had come. He saw the horror-stricken young men looking at him and the girl in fascination, but they had not been quick to act. After all, it was an accident and the fault of no one in particular.
The stage was now occupied by several other performers, and the frantic manager. But it was all over. Andy patted out the last of the smouldering sparks. The girl was swaying and he looked up in time to see that she was going to faint.
“Look out!” he cried, and caught her in his arms.
“Back this way! Carry her back here!” ordered the manager, motioning to the wings. “Keep that music going!” he added to the orchestra leader.
They carried the unfortunate little singer to a dressing room, and a doctor was summoned. One of the stage hands brought Andy’s coat to him. The garment was seared and scorched, and rank with the odor of smoke.
“If you don’t want to wear it I’ll see Mr. Wallack, and get another for you,” offered the man.
“Oh, this isn’t so bad,” said Andy, slipping it on. “It’s an old one, anyhow.”
He looked curiously about him. It was the first time he had been behind the scenes, though there was not as much to observe in this little theatre as in a larger one. Beyond the dropped curtain he could hear the strains of the music and the murmur in the audience. The show had come to a sudden ending, and many were departing.
As Andy was leaving, to go back to his chums, the doctor came in hastily, and hurried to the room of the performer.
“Say, some little hero act, eh, Andy?” exclaimed Chet, as Andy rejoined his friends.
“Forget it!” was the retort. “Tom, here, had his wits about him.”
“All right, old man. But you never got down the field after a football punt any quicker than you hurdled that orchestra leader, and made a flying tackle of that singer!” exclaimed Tom, admiringly. “My hat off to you, Andy, old boy!”
“Same here!” cried Chet.
The young men in the box were talking to the manager, and the one who had knocked the lighted match on the stage came over to speak to Andy, who was standing with his chums in the aisle near their seats.
“Thanks, very much, old man!” exclaimed the chap whose impulsive act had so nearly caused a tragedy. “It was mighty fine of you to do that. I had heart failure when I saw her on fire.”
“You couldn’t help it,” replied Andy. “They ought not to allow smoking in places like this.”
“That’s right. Next time I throw a rose at a girl I’ll look to see what’s going to happen.”
The theatre was almost deserted by now. All that remained to tell of the accident was the smell of smoke, and a few bits of charred cloth on the stage.
A man came out in front of the curtain.
“Miss Fuller wants to see the young fellow who put out the fire,” he announced.
“That’s you, Andy!” cried his chums.
“Aw, I’m not going back there.”
“Yes, she would like to see you. She wants to thank you,” put in the stage manager. “Come along.”
Rather bashfully Andy went back. He found the singer—a mere girl—propped up on a couch. Her arms and hands were in bandages, but she did not seem to have been much burned.
“I’m sorry I can’t shake hands with you,” she said, with a smile. She was pale, for the “make-up” had been washed from her face.
“Oh, that’s all right,” responded Andy, a bit embarrassed.
“It was awfully good and brave of you,” she went on, with a catch in her voice. “I don’t—I don’t know how to thank you. I—I just couldn’t seem to do anything for myself. It was—awful,” and her voice broke.
“Oh, it might have been worse,” spoke Andy, and he knew that it wasn’t just the thing to say. But, for the life of him, he could not fit proper words together. “I’m glad you’re all right, Miss Fuller,” he said. He had seen her name on the bills—Mazie Fuller. He wondered whether it was her right one, or a stage cognomen. At any rate, he decided from a casual glance, she was very pretty.
“You must give me your address,” the girlwent on. “I want to pay for the coat you spoiled on my account.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” and Andy was conscious that he was blushing. “It isn’t hurt a bit. I’ll have to be going now.”
“Oh, you must let me have your name and address,” the girl went on.
“Oh, all right,” and Andy pulled out a card. “I’m at Milton Prep.,” he added, thinking in a flash that he would not be there much longer. But then he did not want her to send him a new coat.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave now,” said the doctor kindly. “She has had quite a shock, and I want her to be quiet.”
“Sure,” assented Andy, rather glad, on the whole, that he could make his escape. One of his hands was blistered and he wanted to get back to his room and put on some cooling lotion. He would not admit this before Miss Fuller, for he did not want to cause her any more pain.
The girl sank back on a couch as Andy went out of the dressing room. But she smiled brightly at him, and murmured:
“I’ll see you again, some time.”
“Sure,” assented the lad. He wondered whether she would.
Then he rejoined his chums and they left thetheatre. There was a little crowd in front, attracted by the rumor that an actress had been burned. As Andy and his friends made their way through the throng to a car he heard someone call:
“Dat’s de guy what saved her!”
“You’re becoming famous, Andy, my boy!” whispered Tom.
“Forget it,” advised his chum.
The boys reached their dormitory with a scant minute or so to spare before locking-up time, for the rules were rather strict at Milton. There were hasty good-nights, promises to meet on the morrow, and then quiet settled down over the school.
Andy went to his room, and for a minute, before turning on the light, he stood at the window looking over the campus. Many thoughts were surging through his brain.
“It sure has been one full little day,” he mused. “The scrap with the farmer, dousing the sparks on that girl, and—deciding on going to Yale!
“Jove, though, but I’m glad I’ve made up my mind! Yale! I wonder if I’ll be worthy of it?”
Andy leaned against the window and looked out to where the moonlight made fantastic shadows through the big maples on the green. Before his eyes came a picture of the elm-shaded quadrangleat Yale, which once he had crossed, hardly dreaming then that he would ever go there.
“Yale! Yale!” he whispered to himself. “What a lot it means! What a lot it might mean! What a lot it often doesn’t signify. Oh, if I can only make good there!”
For some time Andy had been vacillating between two colleges, but finally he had settled on Yale. His parents had left him his choice, and now he had made it.
“I must write to dad,” he said. “He’ll want to know.”
It was too late to do it now. They had not come back as early as they had intended. The bell for “lights out,” clanged, and Andy hastily prepared for bed.
“Only a few more days at old Milton,” he whispered to himself. “And then for Yale!”
The closing days of the term drew nearer. Examinations were the order of the day, and many were the anxious hearts. There was less fun and more hard work.
Andy wrote home, detailing briefly his decision and telling of the affair of the theatre. For it got into the papers, and Andy was made quite a hero. He wanted his parents to understand the true situation.
A letter of thanks came from the theatre manager, and with it a pass, good for any time, forAndy and his friends. In the letter it was said that Miss Fuller was in no danger, and had gone to the home of relatives to recover from the shock.
Andy was rather surprised when he received, one day, a fine mackinaw coat, of the latest style. With it was a note which said:
“To replace the one you burned.”
There was no name signed, but he knew from whom it came.
CHAPTER VITHE BONFIRE
“This way, freshmen! This way!”
“Over here now! No let-outs!”
“Keep ’em together, Blink! Don’t let any of ’em sneak away!”
“Wood! Everybody bring wood!”
“Look out for that fellow! He’s a grind! He’ll try to skip!”
“Wood! Everybody get wood!”
The cries echoed and re-echoed over the campus at Milton. It was the final night of the term. The examinations were over and done. Some had fallen by the wayside, but Andy and his chums were among those elected.
They had passed, and they were to move on out of the preparatory school into the larger life of the colleges.
And, as always was the case on an occasion of this kind, a celebration was to mark the closing of the school for the long summer vacation. The annual bonfire was to be kindled on thecampus, and about it would circle those lads who were to leave the school, while their mates did them honor.
Thus it was that the cries rang out.
“Wood!”
“More wood!”
“Most wood!”
The town had been gleaned for inflammable material. The ash boxes of not even the oldest citizen were sacred on an occasion like this. For weeks the heap of wood had accumulated, until now there was a towering pile ready for the match.
And still the cries echoed from the various quarters.
“Freshmen, get wood!”
“On the job, freshmen!”
More wood was brought, and yet more. The pile grew.
“Gee, this is fierce!” groaned a fat freshman, staggering along under the burden of two big boxes. “Those fellows want too much. I’m going to quit!”
“Look out! Don’t let ’em hear you!” warned a companion. “They’ll keep you carting it all night if you kick.”
“Kick! (puff) Kick! (puff) I ain’t got wind enough to do any kickin’. I’m (puff) all (puff) in!”
“Oh, well, it’s all in the game. We’ll be out of this class next term, and we can watch the other fellows sweat! Cut along!”
“Wood! Wood over here!”
“Where’s Andy Blair?”
“I don’t know. Oh you Swipes! What you got!”
“All right! This’ll make a flare, all right!”
“Oh, for the love of Peter! Look what Swipes has!”
Harry, otherwise “Swipes” Morton, was convoying four laboring and perspiring freshmen who were carting over the campus a big box that had ones contained a piano.
“Oh, you Swipes!”
“Where’d you crab that?”
“Say, ain’t he the little peach, though!”
“Oh wow! What a lark!”
“I guess this won’t make some nifty little blaze, eh?” demanded Harry. “Eh, Andy?”
“Sure thing! Where’d you get it?”
“Over back of Hanson’s store. He used it for a coal box, but I made these boobs dump out the anthracite and cart it along. Maybe I ain’t some nifty little wood gatherer, eh?”
“You sure are, Swipes!” came the admiring retort from many voices.
“Wood!”
“More wood!”
Still the pile grew apace. And with it grew the fun, the jollity, the excitement, the cries and the spirit of the school.
Dr. Morrison, the head master, and his teachers, had wisely retired to their rooms. On such an occasion as this it is not wise on the part of discerning professors to see too much. There are matters to which one must shut one’s eyes. And Dr. Morrison, from contact with many boys, was wise in his day and generation.
For he knew it would be only honest, clean fun; and what matter if there was much noise and shouting? What matter if the fire blazed high? The boys never so far forgot themselves as to endanger the school buildings by their beacon, which was kindled well out on the big campus.
What if numerous rules were cracked or broken? It only happened once a year. And what if ginger pop and sandwiches were surreptitiously introduced into the dormitories? That, too, need not be seen by the authorities.
“Wood! More wood!”
“Where’s Tom Hatfield?”
“Yes, and Chet Anderson?”
“Over here boys!”
“Heads up!”
“Slap on Swipes’s piano box!”
“Oh, what a find!”
You could not have told who was saying whichor what. It was all one happy, unintelligible jumble.
“Light her up!”
It was the signal for the kindling of the fire.
A score of matches flared in the darkness of the June night. The straw and paper piled under the chaos of wood blazed with puffs of flame. The wood caught and the tongues of fire leaped high, bringing into bold relief the faces of the lads who joined hands and circled about the ruddy beacon.
“Hurray!”
“That’s the stuff!”
“Let her burn!”
“Say, that’s a dandy, all right!”
“Biggest in years!”
“Well, we want to give the boys a good send-off!”
“Look at old Swipes’s piano box sizzle!”
The shouting and excitement grew. The fire blazed higher and higher. The campus was bright with yellow gleams.
“Here’s good-bye to old Milton!” chanted Andy.
“That’s right! Good-bye to the old school!” echoed Chet, and there was not much joy in his tones.
“Now, fellows, the old song. qlMilton Forever!’” called Ben, and the melody burst forth.
Hardly was it finished than the silence that succeeded was broken by the strident tooting of an auto horn.
“What’s that?” cried Andy. “Who’s coming here in a car?”
“On the campus, too! It’s against the rules!” cried Chet.
“It’s some fresh fellow from town trying to butt in,” someone called.
“Come on!” yelled Andy. “We’ll upset him, fellows! The nerve of him!”
CHAPTER VIILINK AGAIN
There was a rush of the celebrating seniors toward the place where the disturbance arose. Then others left the big bonfire to see the fun.
An automobile horn tooted discordantly—defiantly, Andy thought.
“Who has had the nerve to come in here, of all nights—on the one when we have our fire?” he thought. “It can’t be any of the freshmen; they wouldn’t dare.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Ben in Andy’s ear, as he trotted beside his chum.
“We’ll upset his apple cart—that’s the least we’ll do, for one thing.”
“I should say yes!” chimed in Chet. “Surely!”
They had now reached the spot where, from all appearances, was located the center of disturbance. A crowd of the freshmen, whose labors in gathering wood for the fire had now ceased, were gathered around a large touring car that, in defiance of all rules and customs,had been run to the very center of the school campus.
“Come down out of that!”
“Get away from here!”
“You fellows have nerve!”
“Puncture their tires!”
These are only a few of the cries and threats hurled at those in the auto—four young fellows who seemed anxious to make trouble not only for themselves, but for the school boys, whose celebration they had interrupted.
The campus was a sort of sacred place. It stood in the midst of the school buildings and dormitories, and, though visitors were always welcome, there was a rule against vehicles crossing it, for the turf was the pride not only of the students, but the faculty as well. So it is no wonder that the sight of a heavy auto rolling over the lawn aroused the ire of all.
“Get out of the way there, you fellows, if you don’t want to be run over!” snapped the youth at the steering wheel of the auto. “I’ll smash through you in another minute!”
“Oh, you will, eh?”
“Isn’t he the sassy little boy!”
“Yank him out of there!”
The freshmen surrounding the auto thus reviled those in the car.
The auto had come to a stop, but the enginewas still running, free from the gears. Now and then, as he saw an opening, the lad at the wheel would slip in his clutch and the car would advance a few feet. Then more of the school boys would swarm about it, and progress would be impeded.
“Smash through ’em, old man!” advised one on the rear seat. “We don’t want to stay here all night!”
“That’s right; run ’em down,” advised his companion. “We’re—we’re—what are we, anyhow?” he asked, and it did not need a look at him to tell the cause of his condition. In fact, all in the auto were in a rather hilarious state, and the running of the car over the campus had been the result of a suggestion made after a too-long lingering in a certain road-house, where stronger stuff than ginger ale was dispensed.
“We’re all right—noshin matter us,” declaimed one. “Run ’em down, ole man!”
“Look out! I’m going through you!” cried the lad at the wheel. The freshmen in front of the car parted instinctively, but before the young chauffeur could put his threat into execution, Andy and his chums had reached the machine.
“Get out of here!” cried Andy, and, reaching up, he fairly pulled the steersman from his seat. The chap came down in a rush, nearly upsetting Andy, who, however, managed to yank the lad to his feet.
“Pull ’em all out!” came the cry from Tom, and a moment later he, with the aid of Ben, Chet and Frank, had pulled from the car the other young men, who seemed too dazed to resist.
“Hop in that car, Peterson,” ordered Andy, to a freshman who could operate an auto. “Run it out to the street and leave it. Then we’ll rush these chaps out to it and chuck ’em in. We’ll show ’em what it means to run over our campus.”
All this time Andy had kept hold of the collar of the youth whom he had pulled from the car. Then the latter turned about, and raised his fist. He had been taken so by surprise that he at first had seemed incapable of action.
At this moment the big bonfire flared up brightly, and by its glare Andy had a look at the face of the lad with whom he had clashed. The sight caused him suddenly to drop his hold and exclaim:
“Mortimer Gaffington!”
“Huh! So it’s you, is it, Andy Blair? What do you mean by acting this way?” demanded Mortimer, the shock of whose rough handling had seemed to sober temporarily. “What do you mean? I demand an apology! That’s what I do. Ain’t I ’titled to ’pology, fellers?” and he appealed to his chums.
“Sure you are. Make the little beggar ’pologize!”leered one. “If he was at Yale, now, we’d haze him good and proper.”
“Yale!” cried Tom Hatfield. “Yale fires out such fellows as you!”
“Mortimer Gaffington!” gasped Andy. “I rather wish this hadn’t happened. Or, rather I wish it had been anyone but he. I can see where this may lead.”
“You goin’ ’pologize?” asked Mortimer, trying to fix a stern gaze on Andy.
“Apologize! Certainly not!” cried Andy, indignantly. “It is you fellows who ought to apologize. What would you do if some one ran an auto over Yale Campus?”
“Ho! Ho! That’s good. That’s rich, that is!” laughed one who had been yanked out of his seat by Tom Hatfield. “That’s a good joke, that is! An auto on Yale campus! Why we bulldogs would eat it up, that’s what we’d do!”
“Well, that’s what we’ll do here!” cried Chet, angered by the supercilious tone of the lad. “Come on, boys; run ’em off Spanish fashion!”
It needed but this suggestion to further rouse the feelings of the Milton lads, and in an instant several of them had grabbed each of the trespassers. Andy stepped back from Mortimer. Because of the already strained relations between himself and this society “swell,” he did not wish to take a part in the proceedings.
“Come on! Run ’em off!” was the rallying cry.
The auto had already been steered out on a road that circled the campus, and was soon in the street. Then, heading their victims toward the old gateway that formed the chief entrance to the school the Milton lads began running out the intruders.
“You wait! I—I’ll fix you for this,—Andy Blair!” threatened Mortimer as he was rapidly propelled over the campus.
“Forget it!” advised Chet. “Rush ’em, fellows!”
And rushed off Mortimer and his companions were. They were fairly tossed into their auto, and then, with jeers and shouted advice not to repeat the trick, the school boys turned back to their fire.
Andy had lingered near the spot where he had hauled Mortimer out of the auto. He was thinking of many things. He did not forget what had happened to the intruders. Indeed it was nothing short of what they deserved, for they had deliberately tried to harass the school boys, and make a mockery of one of the oldest traditions of Milton—one that held inviolate the beautiful campus.
“Only I wish it had been someone else than I who got hold of Mort,” mused Andy. “He’llbe sure to remember it when I get to Yale, and he’ll have it in for me. He can make a lot of trouble, too, I reckon. Well, it can’t be helped. They only got what was coming to ’em.”
With this thought Andy consoled himself, but he had an uneasy feeling for all that. The students came trooping back, after having disposed of Mortimer and his crowd.
“You missed the best part of the fun,” said Chet to Andy. “Those fellows thought a cyclone struck them when we tossed ’em into the car. They don’t know yet whether they’re going or coming back,” and he laughed, his mates joining in.
“Yes?” asked Andy, non-committally.
“What’s up?” asked Tom, curiously. “You don’t act as though it had any flavor for you. What’s the matter?”
“Oh, well—nothing,” said Andy. “Come on, let’s get back to the fire, and have a last song. Then I’m going to pack. I want to leave on that early train in the morning.”
“Same here. Come on, boys. Whoop her up once more for Old Milton, and then we’ll say good-bye.”
“I know what ails Andy,” spoke Tom in a low tone to Frank, walking along arm in arm with him.
“What?”
“It’s about that fellow Gaffington. Andy’s sorry he had a run-in with him, and I don’t blame Andy. He had trouble before, and this will only add to it. And that Gaffington is just mean enough, and small-spirited enough, to make trouble for Andy down there at Yale. He’s a sport—but one of the tin-horn brand. I don’t blame Andy for wishing it had been someone else.”
“Oh, well, here’s hoping,” said Frank. “We all have our troubles.”
“But those fellows won’t trouble us again to-night,” declared Chet, laughing. “They’ll be glad to go home and get in bed.”
“Did you know any of ’em, Andy, except Gaffington?” asked Tom.
“No, the others were strangers to me.”
“How do you reckon they got here, all the way from New Haven?”
“Oh, they didn’t come from Yale,” declared Andy. “The university closed last week, you know. Probably Mort had some of his chums out to visit him in Dunmore. That was his car. And he wanted to show ’em the sights, and let ’em see he could run all over little Milton, so he brought ’em out here. It isn’t such a run from Dunmore, you know.”
“I reckon that’s it,” agreed Tom. “Well, they got more than they were looking for, that’sone consolation. Now boys, whoop her up for the last time.”
Again they gathered about the blazing fire, and sang their farewell song.
The annual celebration was drawing to a close. Another group of lads would leave Milton to go out into the world, mounting upward yet another step. From then on the ways of many who had been jolly good comrades together would diverge. Some might cross again; others be as wide apart as the poles.
The fire died down. The big piano box commandeered by “Swipes” was but a heap of ashes. The fun was over.
There were cheers for the departing senior lads, who, in turn, cheered the others who would take their places. Then came tributes to the industrious freshmen.
“Good night! Good night! Good night!” was shouted on all sides.
Less and less brilliant grew the fire. Now it was but a heap of glowing coals that would soon be gray, dead and cold ashes, typical in a way, of the passing of the senior boys. And yet, phoenix-like, from these same ashes would spring up a new fire—a fire in the hearts that would never die out. Such are school friendships.
Of course there were forbidden little feasts in the various rooms to mark the close of the term—spreadsto which monitors, janitors and professors discreetly closed their eyes.
Andy and his friends gathered in his apartment for a last chat. They were to journey to their home town on the morrow and then would soon separate for the long summer vacation.
“Well, it was a rare old celebration!” sighed Tom, as he flopped on the bed.
“It sure was!” agreed Chet, with conviction. “I hope I have as much fun as this if I go to Harvard.”
“Same here, only I think I’ll make mine Princeton,” added Ben. “Oh, but it’s sort of hard to leave Milton!”
“Right you are,” came from Andy, who was opening ginger ale and soda water.
And, after a time, quiet settled down over the school, and Dr. Morrison and his colleagues breathed freely again. Milton had stood steadfast through another assault of “bonfire night.”
The next morning there were confused goodbyes, multiplied promises to write, or to call, vows never to forget, and protestations of eternal friendship. There were arrangements made for camping, boating, tramping and other forms of vacation fun. There were dates made for assembling next year. There was a confused rushing to and fro, a looking up of the time of trains, hurried searches for missing baggage.
And, after much excitement, Andy and his chums found themselves in the same car bound for Dunmore. They settled back in their seats with sighs of relief.
“Hear anything more of Mort and his crowd?” asked Tom of Andy.
“Not a thing.”
“I did,” spoke Chet. “They were nearly arrested for making a row in town after we got through with ’em.”
“Hum!” mused Andy. “I s’pose Mort will blame me for that, too. Well, no use worrying until I have to.”
At Churchtown, where the train stopped to give the boys at least a last remembrance of Kelly’s place, several passengers got on. Among them was a young man who seemed familiar to Andy and his chums. A second look confirmed it.
“Why, that’s the Bardon chap we took away from that farmer!” exclaimed Frank.
“That’s right!” cried Andy. “Hello, Link!” he called genially. “What you doing here?”
“Oh, how are you?” asked the farm lad. “Glad to see you all again,” and he nodded to each one in turn. He did not at all presume on his acquaintance with them, and was about to pass on, when Andy said:
“Sit down. How’s your arm?”
“Oh much better, thank you. I’ve been working steadily since you helped me.”
“That’s good. Where are you bound for now?” went on Andy.
“Why, I’m going to look up an uncle of mine I haven’t seen in years. I hear he has a big farm, and I thought I’d like to work for him.”
“Where is it?” asked Andy.
“In a place called Wickford, Connecticut.”
“Wickford!” exclaimed Andy. “Why that’s near New Haven, and Yale—where I’m going this fall. Maybe I’ll see you there, Link.”
“Maybe,” assented the young farmer, and then, declining Andy’s invitation to sit with the school lads, he passed on down the car aisle.