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 25-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 onlyplayer 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 andbackward 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 couldnot 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 20-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 10-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 12 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 theirhands 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 succeededin 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. Hefairly 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 25-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—5.Warwick—0.
Queen's—5.Warwick—0.
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 formersmashing 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 10-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 scorehad 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 histeam-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 35-yard line, Burns' Maroon-stockinged warriors began a great advance. Four and fiveyards 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 23-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 opportunityas 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 andthrew 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, "thatChip 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.
"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, againsprang up, yelling like mad. The point just scored meant a victory, even if no more scoring was done. A great white figure 6 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 playtill 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 playedout, 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 playedon 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 30-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'swaist 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 himdown, 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 25-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 25-yard line, Queen's took on a great determination, and in three tries—aquarter-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 27-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 seamlacing 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 8. "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 21-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 33-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 thematch. 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!
DOWN IT WENT TO THE GROUND, ROSE AND WAS SENT SPINNING ON ITS LONG FLIGHT FROM FRANK'S TOE.DOWN IT WENT TO THE GROUND, ROSE AND WAS SENT SPINNING ON ITS LONG FLIGHT FROM FRANK'S TOE.—Page 225.
DOWN IT WENT TO THE GROUND, ROSE AND WAS SENT SPINNING ON ITS LONG FLIGHT FROM FRANK'S TOE.
DOWN IT WENT TO THE GROUND, ROSE AND WAS SENT SPINNING ON ITS LONG FLIGHT FROM FRANK'S TOE.—Page 225.
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 wildflight 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!
"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 youraised 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, therewill 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 justover. 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 Chapelhad 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 theMirror."
"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 havefollowed 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!
"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 dobelieve 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 areyou? 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 timemounting 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 wentcarefully 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'tgoing 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 asa 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 ashuffling 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 answerall 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.