72CHAPTER VIIIAN UNUSUAL COMPACT
“He’ll do it—he is bound to do it!” cried Ben, as he and Phil hurried down to the dining-room.
“I think so myself, Ben,” answered the shipowner’s son. But, for some reason, he did not seem as joyful over the outcome of the interview as might have been expected.
“He won’t dare let this news become public property,” went on the other student. “He is too afraid of public opinion.”
“Ben, he thinks we got that lawyer to take the case up.”
“You told him we hadn’t.”
“But he didn’t believe it—I could tell that by his manner. And, Ben, do you know, after all, this looks to me as if we had, somehow, bribed him to be easy on us,” continued Phil, with added concern.
“Oh, don’t bother your head about that, Phil. We only asked for what is fair, didn’t we?”
“Yes, but––” And then the shipowner’s son73did not finish, because he did not know what to say. In some manner, Phil’s conscience troubled him, and he wondered what Dave and Roger would say when they heard of what had occurred.
During the meal that followed but little was said by any of the boys. Once or twice our hero looked at Phil, but the latter avoided his gaze. As soon as the repast was over, Phil rushed outside, followed by Ben; and that was the last seen of the pair until it was time to go to bed.
“They have been up to something, that is certain,” was the comment of the senator’s son.
“Well, we can only wait and see what turns up,” answered Dave, thoughtfully. “I don’t think I care to ask them.”
In the morning, when Dave got up he looked over to where Phil was in the habit of sleeping. The bed was empty, and the shipowner’s son was gone.
“Dressed half an hour ago,” said another of the dormitory inmates.
“Went off again with Ben, I’ll wager,” murmured Roger. Ben was in another room, across the hallway, that term.
Dave and Roger had been hard at work the evening before, doing their best to make up the lessons they had missed while away from the school. They doubted if Phil and Ben had studied at all. With considerable curiosity they awaited74the opening of the morning classes, to see what might happen. They felt that something was “in the air.”
Just before the last bell rang Phil and Ben appeared, their faces wreathed in smiles.
“It’s all right, fellows!” cried the shipowner’s son, merrily. “It’s all right!”
“Now we can take our time making up those missed lessons,” added Ben.
“You went to old Haskers?” queried Roger.
“We sure did,” answered the shipowner’s son.
“And told him about––” began our hero.
“Never mind what we told him, Dave,” interrupted Phil. “We did tell him that we wanted to make up the lessons but couldn’t do it in the time he had allotted. He argued it, at first, but now he has agreed to give us the same time Mr. Dale did, three weeks.”
“Good!” exclaimed Roger.
“You, or all of us?” asked our hero.
“All of us. I think he’ll speak to you at recess—he said he would.”
“What did he say when you—when you mentioned Mrs. Breen?” asked Roger.
“Hush, somebody might hear you!” returned Phil, in a whisper. “We have promised to keep that quiet.”
“But the poor woman––” began Dave.75
“Will get her money, never fear. A lawyer has already written about it, and old Haskers says he will pay up. He claims it is all a mistake. But he doesn’t want anybody at Oak Hall to get wind of it.”
There was no time to say more, and evidently neither Phil nor Ben felt in the humor to discuss the affair. The early morning lesson proceeded as usual, but it was noticed that Professor Haskers was much subdued in his manner towards the students.
“Porter and Morr, I wish to speak to you at recess,” said he, coming down to where the two lads sat. “Kindly remain here.”
When the other students had left the classroom the instructor came to our hero and his chum and motioned for them to follow him to a private room close by.
“I wish to speak to you about the lessons you are to make up,” said Job Haskers, after clearing his throat several times. “I understand that you want more time.”
“We would like to have more time, yes,” answered Dave, briefly, and looking the teacher full in the face.
“Can you do the lessons in three weeks?”
“Yes, Mr. Haskers,” said Dave, and Roger nodded his head.
“Then you can take that much time. But, remember,76I shall expect you to—to—er—to make up the lessons.”
“Yes, sir,” came from both students.
“If you need more time—or any assistance—possibly I can arrange it,” went on Job Haskers, eagerly.
“Thank you, if you give me three weeks I am sure I can make up the lessons to your satisfaction, Mr. Haskers,” came from our hero.
“And so can I,” added the senator’s son. “Anyway, I’ll try my level best.”
“Very well, then, we will let it stand that way.” There was a pause and the instructor bit his lip several times. “By the way, I—er—understand that there is a very unpleasant rumor going around concerning me,” he proceeded. “It is all a mistake which I shall try to clear up without delay. I trust that you will not attempt to—er—to circulate that rumor any further.”
“Mr. Haskers, do you mean about that affair with Mrs. Breen?” demanded Dave, bluntly.
“Yes. I have already explained to Lawrence and Basswood that it is a mistake, and that the widow will be paid all that is due her. But if this should—er—be mentioned here––” The teacher stopped short and looked sharply at Dave and Roger.
“Mr. Haskers, let us understand each other,” answered Dave, quickly. “I have no desire whatever77to get you or anybody else into trouble. Nor do I want to ask you for any favors. I think we are justly entitled to more time in which to make up those lessons, and now that you have granted that time, I shall do my best to make good. As for that Mrs. Breen affair, I think that poor old lady ought to have her money. I understand some lawyer is going to try to collect it for her. Well, if you settle the matter I shall feel very glad; and you can rest assured that I will not say a word about the matter to anybody in this school, or anywhere else.”
“You—er—you give me your word on that, Porter?” demanded the instructor, eagerly.
“I do.”
“And you, Morr?”
“Yes, sir,” answered the senator’s son.
“Who else is there who knows about this—er—unpleasant affair?”
“Phil Lawrence and Ben Basswood,” answered Roger.
“No other students?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Very well, then.” Job Haskers drew a breath of relief. “See that you keep your word. And about the lessons—if three weeks are not long enough, I may—er—be able to give you a little more time.”
“That time will be enough,” replied Dave.78
“We’ll make it with ease,” added Roger.
“Then that is settled, and you may go,” and so speaking, Job Haskers left the room. The two boys followed him, and went out on the campus.
“How did you make out?” questioned Phil, as he ran up to them.
“We got our time,” answered Roger.
“But let me tell you one thing,” said Dave. “After this Haskers is going to hate us worse than ever.”
“I don’t see why,” declared the shipowner’s son. “I think we are letting him off mighty easy.”
“He feels as if he had been forced into doing what we want,” went on Dave. “I think he looks at it as if you had used that Mrs. Breen incident as a club over him.”
“Well, it was a club in one sense, Dave.”
“I know it, Phil, and, although I am glad we have won out and gotten that extra time, still I am sorry that you and Ben went to him as you did.”
“Humph! did you think I was going to sit still and be put back into a lower class?”
“Maybe it might have been better if you had gone to Doctor Clay.”
“I don’t think so,” replied Phil, shortly; and then the school-bell rang again and all the boys had to go to their next classes.
In spite of the cloud that thus hung over the79affair, every one of the chums was glad of the extra time in which to make up the lost lessons. Not one of them had to grind away as hard as before, and Dave took a little time off, in which to send a letter to his father and another to Jessie.
The next day was warm and pleasant and, after school-hours, Roger proposed to Dave that they take a walk up the woods road back of the school.
“All right, a walk in the woods will do us good,” was the answer. “Shall we ask some of the others?”
“If you wish,” and in the end Phil went along, and also Buster Beggs and Gus Plum.
“My, but I had a run-in with old Haskers this afternoon,” said the stout youth. “I came close to carrying the matter to the doctor.”
“What was it about?” questioned Dave.
“Oh, nothing at all, to my way of thinking. I went to the library to get a book and he accused me of wasting my class time. He was very ugly. I won’t stand for much more of it,” grumbled Buster.
Dave said no more, but he and Roger exchanged glances. Evidently the irate instructor was going to “take it out of somebody,” as the saying goes.
The boys walked on and on, along the road, until Oak Hall was left far behind. Soon Buster80forgot his troubles, and the crowd were chatting gayly of many things.
“Call for candidates for the baseball team next Saturday,” announced Gus Plum. “I hope we get up a team this year that knocks the spots out of Rockville Military Academy and all the other institutions we cross bats with.”
“Are you going to try for the nine this term, Gus?” questioned Dave.
“Sure! Why not? You’ll try, won’t you?” went on the big youth, in surprise.
“No, I’ve decided not to go into athletics this term, Gus. I want to give all my time to my studies.”
“Yes, but the nine needs you, Dave!” put in Buster. “I heard some of the fellows talking about it only yesterday. They had you slated for your old position.”
“Well, if Gus wants to play, he can fill the box,” answered Dave.
“But we need more than one pitcher,” insisted Buster.
“There are plenty of new students coming along. I hear Thomas is a good one, and so is Ennis.”
“I’m not going to play, either,” said Roger. “I want to graduate with all the honors possible.”
“How about you, Phil?”
“I—I think I’ll play,” answered the shipowner’s81son, rather lamely. “I’ll see about it later.”
“Well, I don’t want to neglect my studies,” said Gus Plum. “But I have done some hard work this winter and so I am pretty well ahead. I didn’t lose time going to Cave Island, you know,” he added, with a smile.
“Well, it was worth it—losing that time,” answered Dave. “It saved Mr. Wadsworth from ruin, and that’s a good deal.”
“If the baseball nine––” commenced Buster, and then broke off short. “What was that?” he demanded, as a cry from a distance broke on the ears of all.
“It’s a woman’s voice!” cried Dave, quickly. “She is calling for help! Come on and see what is the matter!” And he started off on a run, with his school chums at his heels.
82CHAPTER IXTHE KING OF SUMATRA
The boys had been traveling along a broad highway that ran to a town on the other side of the woods. The trees were thick and so were the bushes, with here and there a big rock, covered with the dead vines of the summer previous.
At one point some distance ahead was an old stone house, standing where another road ran in the direction of the river. This house had not been inhabited for years, and the doors and windows were gone, and the falling of the chimney had smashed in a large portion of the sloping roof.
It was from in front of the old house that the cries for assistance came, and now the boys heard two voices, both somewhat girlish in tones.
“Oh, let me go! Please, let me go!” came, wildly.
“You have no right to touch us!” was added, in another voice.
“What’s the matter?” called out Dave, as83loudly as he could. But in his mind there had already flashed an inkling of what was going on. For some time past the wild man of that locality had not shown himself. Now, perhaps, he was again at his old tricks.
“Oh, make him go away!” screamed a girlish voice, and then, as our hero made a turn of the road, he caught sight of two girls standing near the old stone house. Back of them was another figure, that of a tall, powerful man, but this figure disappeared as if by magic, behind the ancient building.
“Why, Miss Rockwell!” exclaimed Dave, as he recognized a young lady from town whom he knew well. “And you, too, Miss Feversham! What is the matter?”
“That man—the wild man!” panted Vera Rockwell. “He—he—stopped us!”
“He wanted our purses!” added Mary Feversham, the other young lady.
“Where is he?” asked Roger and Phil, in a breath.
“He just ran behind the house—I saw him,” answered Dave. “Did he hurt you any?” he went on, anxiously, for he and Vera and Mary were good friends.
“No, but he—he scared us so!”
“Let us go after him!” put in Phil, quickly. He had taken Mary Feversham out a number of84times and the two were well acquainted. “Come on!” and he started around the house.
All of the others were not slow to follow. Behind the building they came upon a mass of weeds and bushes and in their midst the remains of an old well, long since caved in. What had once been a path led to the side road before mentioned.
“That’s the way he must have gone—down the side road!” cried the shipowner’s son.
“Supposing we see if we can catch him?” suggested Dave. “But somebody ought to go back, and stay with the girls,” he added thoughtfully.
“I’ll go back,” answered Phil. He was only too glad of a chance to talk to Mary, not having seen her for a long time.
“If that fellow comes back, whistle for us,” advised Roger.
Dave was already on the side road with Buster and Gus beside him, and the senator’s son quickly followed.
“Don’t go too fast or I—I can’t ke—keep up with you!” panted Buster.
“Do you see anything of him, Dave?” queried Roger.
“Not yet, but there is a turn just ahead. When we make that we’ll be able to see almost to the river.”85
All of the students sped on, the stout lad doing his best to keep up with the others. They reached the turn with Dave a step or two in advance.
“There he is!”
“I see him! Say, he’s wild-looking enough!”
“He is making for the river!”
“We ought to be able to catch him. We are four to one.”
Dave and Roger pressed forward with increased speed and poor Buster fell somewhat behind.
“I’m coming as fa—fast as I ca—can!” blurted out the fat youth. “Go on—I’ll get there sooner or later!”
“Pick up a stick, if you see one,” cried Dave, to Roger and Gus. “We may have a hot fight on our hands. That man ought to be in jail, or in an asylum.”
As they sped along, the three kept their eyes open and each presently armed himself with a fair-sized club. The wild man was running like a deer, pausing occasionally to turn and brandish his long arms at them savagely. They could see that his clothing was in tatters and that his hair and beard were long and unkempt.
“Hi! stop!” called out Dave, although he had but little hope of causing the man to halt. “We want to talk to you.”86
“Go back! Beware! Go back, or it will be the worse for you!” called the wild man. “Leave the King of Sumatra alone!”
“The King of Sumatra?” repeated Roger. “Say, he’s crazy sure enough, to imagine himself that!”
The boys continued after the wild man and urged him to stop. But instead of heeding them, he ran on the faster.
“He’s an athlete, when it comes to running,” remarked Dave, as he tried in vain to get closer to the man.
“They say crazy people are always strong,” answered the senator’s son.
“I’ve go—got to gi—give up!” panted Gus, and came to a halt. “Go—got a pa—pain in my side!” And he put his hand over his hip.
“All right, we’ll manage alone!” cried Roger. “I don’t think we can catch that fellow anyway,” he added, half under his breath.
Another turn of the woodland road brought the Leming River into plain view, at a point where the stream was both wide and deep. The wild man kept sprinting along and it was impossible for the boys to draw any closer to him.
“Shall we threaten to shoot him if he won’t stop?” asked Roger. Neither of the lads carried firearms.
“Stop!” cried Dave.—Page 87.
“Stop!” cried Dave.—Page 87.
“No, he might do some shooting on his own account,—if he is armed. Come on, he may fall, or something like that.”
Inside of three minutes more the wild man gained the shore of the river and disappeared around a point of rocks and brushwood.
“Be careful, Dave,” warned Roger. “He may spring out at you with a club.”
“I’ve got my eyes open,” was the ready reply.
Both advanced with caution, and soon came up to the nearest of the rocks. With clubs ready for use, the two youths continued to move forward. Then they came to a sudden halt. The wild man was no longer in sight. What had become of him?
“Maybe he ran into the woods,” suggested Roger.
“Perhaps, but—hark!” And our hero held up his hand. From a distance came a scraping sound, like something sliding over a rock.
“Look!” called out the senator’s son. “He’s got a boat! There he goes!”
Dave turned in the direction pointed out by his chum. Both saw a small rowboat sweep out from under some brushwood. In it stood the wild man, using an oar as a pole on the rocks.
“Stop!” cried Dave. “Stop, or you may be sorry for it.”
“You can’t catch the King of Sumatra!” yelled the wild man, and flourished his arms and87made a hideous face at them. Then he sat down on the middle seat of the craft, placed the oars in the rowlocks, and commenced to row rapidly down the stream.
“Well, that’s the end of the chase,” remarked Dave, in some disgust.
“That’s right, since we haven’t any boat,” returned Roger. “Wonder where he got that craft? I don’t think he bought it.”
“It isn’t likely. Probably he saw it somewhere along the river and simply appropriated it.” And this proved to be true.
The boys watched the wild man until a bend of the stream hid rower and craft from view. Then they turned back in the direction of the old stone house.
“Did you get him?” demanded Buster, who was waiting with Gus at the point where he had dropped out of the race.
“No,” answered Roger, and told why.
“He sure is a cute one,” went on the stout youth. “Say, if they don’t catch him soon, he’ll have this whole neighborhood scared to death.”
The students soon reached the old house. Here they found the two girls and Phil, the latter with a heavy stick in his hand, ready for any emergency. The girls had calmed down a little, but were still much agitated.
“We were to come home in my uncle’s carriage,”88said Mary Feversham. “But the horse got a lame foot and so we decided to walk. We had heard of the wild man, but did not think we would meet him. Oh, it was dreadful!”
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” asked Dave.
“Oh, no, but he frightened us so! He danced around us and caught us by the arms, and he wanted us to give him money! Oh, it was dreadful!”
“He ought to be in an asylum,” said Dave. And then he and Roger related how the wild man had escaped.
“I sha’n’t go out alone again,” said Vera Rockwell. “That is, not until that man is captured.”
“We’ll take you both home,” said Phil, promptly, looking at Mary.
“But we don’t want to keep you from what you were going to do,” said Vera.
“Oh, we were only out for a walk,” replied Dave. “We’ll walk to town with you. Maybe we’ll hear something more of this strange fellow.”
All turned back on the road that led close to Oak Hall, and after discussing the wild man from various points of view, the conversation turned to other matters. The girls told of what they had been doing during the past holidays and asked the boys about themselves.
“I heard that that horrid Jasniff is under arrest,”89said Vera to Dave. “I am glad of it. It is a pity that Merwell got away.”
“Perhaps,” answered our hero. “But, somehow, I sometimes think that Link Merwell will turn over a new leaf.”
Vera looked back, to make sure that none of the others were near.
“Just like Mr. Plum, I suppose you mean,” she whispered. “Oh, it was splendid, what you did for him, Dave!”
“Oh, I didn’t do much for Gus.”
“My brother thinks you did. He heard the whole story. It was brave and noble of you, it was indeed!” And Vera’s face showed her earnestness.
“Well, Gus has turned out a nice fellow. I wish Merwell would turn out as good.”
“But he helped to take those jewels.”
“That is true—and that will always be a black mark against him,” said Dave, soberly.
Soon all reached the outskirts of Oakdale and there, at one of the corners, the boys left the girls.
“Pretty late!” cried Gus Plum, consulting the watch he carried. “We’ll have to hike back lively, if we don’t want to be marked up for tardiness.”
“We can get an excuse, if we tell about the wild man,” said Buster. “I’ve hurried all I’m going to.”90
“We’ll certainly have a yarn to spin when we get back to the school,” was Phil’s comment.
At the entrance to the campus the boys, who were a little late, met the first assistant to Doctor Clay. As my old readers know Mr. Dale was as pleasant as Job Haskers was disagreeable.
“Had a fine walk, boys?” he asked, with a smile.
“We had an adventure,” answered Dave, and then he and his chums told what it was.
“Well! well! that wild man again,” mused the instructor. “This is getting truly serious. I was hoping he would leave this neighborhood. And so he calls himself the King of Sumatra? That is strange.”
“It certainly is strange,” answered Dave.
But how strange, our hero was still to find out.
91CHAPTER XNAT POOLE WANTS TO KNOW
That evening Dave was on his way to the school library, to consult a certain work of reference, when he ran into another student who suddenly grasped him by the shoulder. It was rather dark where the pair confronted each other, and for the instant our hero did not recognize the fellow.
“What do you want?”
“I want to speak to you for a minute, Dave Porter,” said the other, in a voice that trembled a trifle.
“Oh, it’s you, Nat,” answered Dave, as he recognized the son of the Crumville money-lender. “What do you want?” He rather imagined that the youth wished to pick another quarrel with him.
“I—I want to talk in private with you,” returned Nat, and looked around, to see if anybody else was near.
“What about?”
“You were out walking this afternoon and met that wild man, so I heard.”92
“That is true.”
“You tried to catch him, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Roger Morr, Buster Beggs, Gus Plum, and I did our best to collar him, but he was too fast for us. He ran down to the river, got into a rowboat, and rowed away.”
“So I heard. And I heard something else,” continued the boy from Crumville. “When you called to the man to stop he answered back, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Will you please tell me what he said?” And Nat’s voice had an eager ring in it.
“He told us to beware and go back, or we’d get into trouble.”
“Didn’t he say something more than that?”
“Oh, yes, a great deal more.”
“He called himself something, didn’t he?”
“Yes. Look here, Nat, what is this to you? Why are you so interested?” queried Dave, for he could easily perceive that the other youth was more than ordinarily anxious to know the particulars of what had occurred.
“I—I—want to—er—know, that’s all. Did he call himself anything?”
“Yes; he thinks he is the King of Sumatra.”
“He called himself that?” asked Nat, with increased excitement.93
“Yes, two or three times. But see here, Nat––”
“Will you please tell me how he looked? Was he tall and rather thin?”
“Yes.”
“And what kind of hair did he have?”
“Brownish-red, as near as I could make out, and very long. And he had rather a long beard and a large nose,” went on our hero.
At this brief but accurate description of the wild man, Nat Poole paled a trifle and uttered something of a gasp.
“Whe—where did he go?” he faltered.
“He rowed down the river just as fast as he could. I don’t know how far he went, for the bend hid him from view,” answered our hero. “Say, Nat, do you think you know that man?”
“Why—er—know him? Of course I don’t know him,” was the stammered-out reply. “But I—I think—maybe—I’ve met him.” And then, to avoid further questioning, Nat Poole hurried away. Our hero could do nothing but stare after him.
“That is mighty queer,” mused Dave, as he turned into the library to consult the reference book. “If Nat doesn’t know the man, why was he so anxious? He acted scared to death when I said the fellow called himself the King of Sumatra.”94
Dave remained in the school library for a half an hour and then joined Phil, Roger, and the others in Dormitory Number Twelve. He found the students discussing a talk Roger had had with Nat Poole only a few minutes before.
“Nat called me out in the hallway,” said the senator’s son. “He wanted to know all about that wild man, and he wanted to make dead certain that he had called himself the King of Sumatra.”
“That is certainly queer—on top of what happened to me,” said Dave, and told of the interview he had had.
“Well, this is a puzzle,” declared Phil, slowly. “What do you make of it, Dave?”
“I think Nat imagines he knows the wild man.”
“That’s the way it looks to me,” added the senator’s son.
“Say, you don’t suppose that wild man has anything to do with the fellows Nat used to train with—Jasniff, Merwell, and that crowd?” questioned Buster.
“It’s possible, but I don’t think so,” returned our hero. “He is surely a crazy individual, and as nobody around here seems to know him, he must be a stranger to these parts.”
“But what would make Nat so interested?” asked little Chip Macklin.95
“Give it up,” answered Roger.
“Maybe he has something to tell, but won’t tell it to us,” ventured Phil. “He may go right to the doctor.”
But if Nat Poole went to the master of Oak Hall, or to anybody else at that institution, the boys did not hear of it. He asked no more questions about the wild man, and when any of our friends came near him he immediately walked away, thus avoiding an interview.
The proposed meeting of the athletic committee of Oak Hall was held on Saturday afternoon in the gymnasium and was well attended. An even twenty names had been put up for the regular baseball nine of the institution. Of these names, fifteen belonged to old students and five were those of newcomers to Oak Hall. As he had said he would do, Gus Plum had handed in his name, and so had Sam Day and some of our other friends. But Dave, Phil, and Roger were conspicuous by their absence.
“See here, Porter, you’re going to play, aren’t you?” asked the former manager.
“No,” answered Dave, quietly but firmly.
“Why not?”
“Well, in the first place, I have too many back lessons to make up, and in the second place, I hope to graduate this coming June, and I want to make a record for myself, if possible.”96
“But you can do that and play on the nine, too,” urged the manager.
“I don’t think so. I’d like to play,” continued our hero, wistfully, “but I don’t see how I can.”
“This isn’t fair, Porter. We really need you.”
“Oh, it isn’t as bad as that,” returned Dave, with a faint smile. “You’ve got Gus Plum to pitch, and some of the others. There are plenty of good ball-players here this term.”
“I don’t know about that,” answered the manager, with a grave shake of his head. “I wish you’d come in.”
“Not this year,” said Dave; and then the two separated.
Phil and Roger were likewise urged to try for the nine, but they followed Dave’s example. Then a tentative nine was formed, with Gus Plum as pitcher, and also a “scrub” nine, with one of the newcomers to Oak Hall in the box. Practice was to start on Wednesday afternoon of the following week.
“Too bad we couldn’t take part,” sighed the shipowner’s son. “I’d like to wallop the Rockville Military Academy fellows just once more!”
“Well, we can’t have everything,” answered Dave. “I want to graduate with the highest possible honors, and that means plenty of hard boning.”97
“And a fellow can’t bone and play ball, too,” added Roger.
“We might—if old Haskers would be easy on us,” murmured the shipowner’s son.
“Now, see here, Phil,” said Dave, almost sternly. “Don’t ask Haskers for any more favors. He has done all that can reasonably be expected of him.”
“All right, just as you say,” grumbled Phil. But his manner showed that he was not altogether satisfied.
A week went by, and Dave and his chums applied themselves diligently to their studies. During that time nothing more was heard of the wild man, and the excitement concerning that strange individual again died down. But the folks living in the vicinity of the woods back of Oak Hall were on their guard, and it was seldom that women and children went out alone.
The boys were doing very well in their studies, and Dave received warm words of encouragement from Andrew Dale. He had made up nearly all the back lessons imposed upon him by Job Haskers, and that dictatorial teacher could not help but be satisfied over the showing made. Roger was also doing well, and poor Phil was the only one who was backward, although not enough to cause alarm.
“I’ll get there, but it comes hard,” said the98shipowner’s son. “I should have asked old Haskers for more time.”
“Don’t you do it,” answered Dave. “Come, I’ll help you all I can.” Which he did.
One day there came a letter to our hero which gave him great satisfaction. He read it carefully, and then hastened off to communicate the news to Phil, Roger, and Ben.
“It’s a letter from my Uncle Dunston,” he explained to his chums. “If you will remember, he said he would hire a lawyer to take up that Mrs. Breen case against Professor Haskers.”
“What does he say?” asked Roger, quickly.
“I will read it to you,” answered Dave, and read the following:
“You will be glad to learn that Mr. Loveland, one of our lawyers, has gotten a settlement for Mrs. Breen out of your teacher, Mr. Haskers. He had quite a time of it, Haskers declaring that he did not owe as much as the widow said he did. The lawyer said he would sue for the full amount, and then Haskers came to see him. Mr. Loveland says the teacher wanted to learn who had hired him to stir the matter up, and mentioned some students’ names. But the lawyer gave him no satisfaction at all, and at last Haskers paid up in full, took his receipt, and got out. I instructed Mr. Loveland to put his charges for services on our bill, so Mrs. Breen will get the entire amount99collected. I am going to take it to her in person, and see to it that it is wisely invested for her benefit.”
“Good!” cried the senator’s son. “That will help the old lady a great deal.”
“Say, I’ll bet old Haskers was sore when he forked over that money,” was Ben’s comment. “No wonder he’s been looking like a thundercloud lately.”
“Yes, and he’d let out on us—if he dared,” said Phil. “But he doesn’t dare.”
“Don’t be too sure of that, Phil,” said Dave, seriously. “There is no telling what he will do—later on, when he thinks this affair has blown over.”
“Humph! I am not afraid of him,” declared Phil, recklessly.
“If he tries any of his games we’ll expose him,” added Ben.
“Better go slow,” advised Roger. He, too, felt that Job Haskers might become very vindictive.
Spring was now at hand, and a week later came the first baseball game of the season. It was a contest with Esmore Academy from Daytonville and held on the Oak Hall grounds. Quite a crowd was present, including some of the town folks. Gus Plum was in the pitcher’s box for the100Hall, and Sam Day was on first base, and Chip Macklin on third.
“I hope we win!” cried Dave.
“I hope you do,” answered Vera Rockwell, who was present with some other girls. “But why are you not playing?” she went on.
“Not this term,” said our hero, with a smile, and then he spoke of his studies.
“I suppose it is noble of you to give up this way,” she said. “But—I’d like to see you play.”
The contest proved a well-fought one, and was won by Oak Hall by a score of eight runs to five. At the conclusion there was a great cheering for the victors.
“This means bonfires to-night!” cried Roger, as the gathering broke up.
“Yes, and a grand good time!” added Buster Beggs.
101CHAPTER XIBONFIRE NIGHT AT THE HALL
It was certainly a night long to be remembered in the annals of Oak Hall,—and for more reasons than one.
At the start, several bonfires were lit along the bank of the river, and around these the students congregated, to dance and sing songs, and “cut up” generally. None of the teachers were present, and it was given out that the lads might enjoy themselves within reasonable bounds until ten o’clock.
“Let’s form a grand march!” cried Gus Plum. “Every man with a torch!”
“Yes, but don’t set anything on fire,” cautioned Roger.
“Say, that puts me in mind of a story,” came from Shadow. “A fellow went into a powder shop to buy some ammunition. He was smoking a pipe, and the proprietor––”
“Whoop! Hurrah for Shadow!” yelled somebody from the rear, and the next instant the story-teller of the Hall found himself up on a102pile of barrels which had not yet been set on fire.
“Now then, tell your yarns to everybody!” came the cry.
“Speak loud, Shadow!”
“Give us all the details.”
“Tell us the story about the old man and the elephant.”
“No, give us that about the old maid and the mouse.”
“Let us hear about the fellow who was shipwrecked on the Rocky Mountains.”
“Or about how the fellow who couldn’t swim fell into a flour barrel.”
“Say, what do you take me for?” roared Shadow. “I don’t know any story about the Rocky Mountains, or a flour barrel either. If you want to hear––”
“Sure we do!”
“That’s the very yarn we’ve been waiting for!”
“Say, Shadow, won’t you please tell it into a phonograph, so I can grind it out to my grandfather when I get home?”
“Is that the story that starts on a foggy night, at noon?”
“No, this one starts on a dusty day in the middle of the Atlantic.”
“Say, if you fellows want me to tell a story, say103so!” grumbled Shadow. “Otherwise I’m going to get down.”
“No! no! Tell your best yarn, Shadow.”
“All right, then. Once two men went into a shoe store––”
“Wow! That’s fifty years old!”
“I heard that when a child, at my grandson’s knee.”
“Tell us something about smoke, Shadow!”
“And fire. I love to hear about a fire. It’s so warm and––”
“Hi! let me get down! Do you want to burn me up?” yelled the story-teller of the school, suddenly, as, chancing to glance down, he saw that the barrels were on fire. “Let me down, I say!” And he made a leap from the barrels into the midst of the crowd.
Shadow landed on the shoulders of Nat Poole, and both went down and rolled over. In a spirit of play some of the students near by covered the rolling pair with shavings and straw. Shadow took this in good part and merely laughed as he arose, but the money-lender’s son was angry.
“Hi, who threw those dirty shavings all over me?” he bawled. “I don’t like it.”
“Don’t mind a little bath like that, Nat!” called one of the students.
“But I do mind it. The shavings are full of dirt, and so is the straw. The dirt is all over me.”104
“Never mind, you can have a free bath, Nat,” said another.
“I’ll lend you a cake of soap,” added a third.
“I don’t want any of your soap!” growled the money-lender’s son. “Say, the whole crowd of you make me sick!” he added, and walked off, in great disgust.
“Phew! but he’s touchy,” was the comment of one of the students. “I guess he thinks he’s better than the rest of us.”
“Let’s give him another dose,” came the suggestion, from the rear of the crowd.
“Shavings?”
“Yes, and straw, too. Put some down his neck!”
“Right you are!”
Fully a dozen students quickly provided themselves with shavings and straw, both far from clean, and made after Nat, who was walking up the river-front in the direction of the boathouse.
Before the money-lender’s son could do anything to defend himself, he found himself seized from behind and hurled to the ground.
“Now then, give it to him good!” cried a voice, and in a twinkling a shower of shavings, straw, and dirt descended upon poor Nat, covering him from head to foot.
“Hi! let up!” spluttered the victim, trying to105dodge the avalanche. But instead of heeding his pleadings the other students proceeded to ram a quantity of the stuff into his ears and down his collar. Nat squirmed and yelled, but it did little good.
“Now then, you are initiated into the Order of Straw and Shavings!” cried one merry student.
“Just you wait, I’ll get square, see if I don’t,” howled Nat, as he arose. Then he commenced to twist his neck, to free himself from the ticklish straw and shavings.
“Come on and have a good time, old sport!” howled one of his tormentors; and then off the crowd ran in the direction of the bonfires, leaving Nat more disgusted than ever.
“I’ll fix them, just wait and see if I don’t!” stormed the money-lender’s son to himself, and then hurried to the Hall, to clean up and make himself comfortable.
In the meantime the march around the campus had begun, each student carrying a torch of some kind. There was a great singing.
“Be careful of the fire,” warned Mr. Dale, as he came out. “Doctor Clay says you must be careful.”
“We’ll take care!” was the cry.
The marching at an end, some of the boys ran for the stables and presently returned with Jackson Lemond, the driver of the school carryall,106commonly called Horsehair, because of the hairs which clung to his clothing.
“Come on, Horsehair, join us in having a good time.”
“Give us a speech, Horsehair!”
“Tell us all you know about the Wars of the Roses.”
“Or how Hannibal crossed the Delaware and defeated the Turks at the Alamo.”
“I can’t make no speech,” pleaded the carryall driver. “Just you let me go, please!”
“If you can’t make a speech, sing,” suggested another. “Give us Yankee Doodle in the key of J minor.”
“Or that beautiful lullaby entitled, ‘You Never Miss Your Purse Until You Have to Walk Home.’ Give us that in nine flats, will you?”
“I tell you I can’t make a speech and I can’t sing!” shouted out the driver for the school, desperately.
“How sad! Can’t speechify and can’t sing! All right, then, let it go, and give us a dance.”
“That’s the talk! A real Japanese jig in five-quarter time.”
There was a rush, and in a twinkling poor Horsehair was boosted to the top of a big packing-case, that had been hauled to the spot as fuel for one of the bonfires.107
“The stage!” announced one of the students, with a wave of his hand. “The World-Renowned Horsehairsky will perform his celebrated Dance of the Hop Scotch. Get your opera glasses ready.”
“What’s the admission fee?”
“Two pins and a big green apple.”
“I can’t dance—I ain’t never danced in my life!” pleaded the victim. “You let me go. I’ve got to take care o’ my hosses.”
While he was speaking Buster Beggs had come up behind Horsehair and placed something attached to a dark string on the box, between the driver’s feet. It was an imitation snake, made of rubber and colored up to look very natural.
“Oh my, look at the snake!” yelled several, in pretended alarm.
“Where? where?” yelled Horsehair.
“There, right between your feet! He’s going to bite you on the leg!”
“Take care, that’s a rattler sure!”
“If he bites you, Horsehair, you’ll be a dead man!”
“Take him off! Take him off!” bawled the carryall driver, and in terror he made a wild leap from the packing-box and landed directly on the shoulders of two of the students. Then he dropped to the ground, rolled over, got up, and ran as fast as his legs could carry him in the direction108of the stables. A wild laugh followed him, but to this he paid no attention.
“Well, we are certainly having a night of it,” remarked Dave, after the fun had quieted down for a moment. He spoke to Roger.
“Where is Phil?” asked the senator’s son.
“Went off with Ben, I think.”
“Where to?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s queer how much they keep together lately; isn’t it?” continued Roger.
“Oh, I don’t know. Of course that affair with Haskers may have something to do with it,” answered our hero, slowly.
“I wish Haskers would leave this school, Dave.”
“Oh, it won’t make much difference to us, if we graduate, whether he stays or not.”
“I know that. But, somehow, I don’t think he is a good man to have here, even if he is a learned instructor. He never enters into the school spirit, as Mr. Dale does.”
“Well, we can’t all be alike.”
“Would you keep him, if you were in Doctor Clay’s shoes?”
“I hardly think so. Certainly not if I could find another teacher equally good.”
The boys walked on until they found themselves at the last bonfire of the line, close109to where the school grounds came to an end. Here was a hedge, and beyond were the woods reaching up from the river.
“Nobody down by this bonfire,” remarked Dave. “Say, this is careless work,” he added. “The wind might shift and set the woods on fire.”
“I didn’t think they’d start a fire so far from the others,” answered his chum.
“Let us kick it into the water,” suggested our hero, and this they started to do, when, unexpectedly, a voice hailed them, and they saw a student sitting in a tree that grew in the hedge which separated the campus from the woods.
“Let that fire alone!” the youth called, angrily.
“Why, it’s Nat Poole!” exclaimed Roger, in a low voice. “Whatever is he doing in that tree?”
“I am sure I don’t know,” returned Dave.
“Is he alone?”
“He seems to be.”
“Do you hear what I say?” went on the money-lender’s son. “Leave that fire alone.”
“Did you build it?” asked Dave.
“I did, and I want you to leave it alone.”
“All right, Nat, if you say so,” answered Roger. “We thought it had been abandoned and that it might set fire to the woods.”
To this Nat Poole did not reply. Plainly he110was annoyed at being discovered in his present position. Dave and Roger looked around, to see if anybody else was in the vicinity, and then, turning, walked in the direction of the other bonfires.
“What do you make of that, Dave?” asked the senator’s son, presently.
“It looked to me as if Nat was waiting or watching for somebody, Roger.”
“So it did. The question is, Who was it?”
“I don’t know. But I’ve got something of an idea.”
“Some of the students?”
“No. That wild man.”