The meal was finally over. There was nothing of the home quiet in it at all. The Codfish well described it as "grab and guzzle and git."
Outside the early dusk had come and the lights of the dormitories twinkled out here and there to meet the moon which had just pushed her disk above the cloudless eastern horizon. The katydids kept up their ceaseless argument in the great elms overhead as Frank and Jimmy walked slowly arm in arm down the yard. Lewis had dashed off to his room to do some long over-due work on a recitation for the early morning hour.
From the other side of the yard came the sound of singing.
"That's the Glee Club tuning up," said Jimmy. "They sing out of doors until it gets too cold to be comfortable."
The song floated over to them beneath the dusky arbor of the elm trees:
Queen's School Days.Come all you jolly Queen's boysAnd harken to our song,We'll tell you all our school joys,We'll laugh both loud and long—Chorus.For we'll sing ha, ha,And we'll yell RAH, RAH,In a merry, merry roundelay.A laugh and a smile,We have them all the whileIn our happy, happy Queen's school days.When first I came to Queen's School,Way back in sixty-eight,O, wasn't I the green foolIn all this wide estate!I was a verdant youngster,As green as green as grass,They stuffed my head with knowledgeAll in the Freshman class.A year went by so swiftlyOn happy wings did soar,And then the masters made meA jolly Sophomore.And next a learned JuniorMy fate it came to be,The Profs. they set me climbingStraight up the Wisdom Tree.And then at last a SeniorWith dignity complete,The Freshmen, Sophs. and JuniorsAll kneeling at my feet.But now the fun is over;We draw a deep, deep sigh,Farewell to life in clover,Good-by old Queens, Good-by.
Queen's School Days.
Come all you jolly Queen's boysAnd harken to our song,We'll tell you all our school joys,We'll laugh both loud and long—Chorus.For we'll sing ha, ha,And we'll yell RAH, RAH,In a merry, merry roundelay.A laugh and a smile,We have them all the whileIn our happy, happy Queen's school days.When first I came to Queen's School,Way back in sixty-eight,O, wasn't I the green foolIn all this wide estate!I was a verdant youngster,As green as green as grass,They stuffed my head with knowledgeAll in the Freshman class.A year went by so swiftlyOn happy wings did soar,And then the masters made meA jolly Sophomore.And next a learned JuniorMy fate it came to be,The Profs. they set me climbingStraight up the Wisdom Tree.And then at last a SeniorWith dignity complete,The Freshmen, Sophs. and JuniorsAll kneeling at my feet.But now the fun is over;We draw a deep, deep sigh,Farewell to life in clover,Good-by old Queens, Good-by.
Come all you jolly Queen's boysAnd harken to our song,We'll tell you all our school joys,We'll laugh both loud and long—Chorus.For we'll sing ha, ha,And we'll yell RAH, RAH,In a merry, merry roundelay.A laugh and a smile,We have them all the whileIn our happy, happy Queen's school days.When first I came to Queen's School,Way back in sixty-eight,O, wasn't I the green foolIn all this wide estate!I was a verdant youngster,As green as green as grass,They stuffed my head with knowledgeAll in the Freshman class.A year went by so swiftlyOn happy wings did soar,And then the masters made meA jolly Sophomore.And next a learned JuniorMy fate it came to be,The Profs. they set me climbingStraight up the Wisdom Tree.And then at last a SeniorWith dignity complete,The Freshmen, Sophs. and JuniorsAll kneeling at my feet.But now the fun is over;We draw a deep, deep sigh,Farewell to life in clover,Good-by old Queens, Good-by.
Come all you jolly Queen's boysAnd harken to our song,We'll tell you all our school joys,We'll laugh both loud and long—
Come all you jolly Queen's boys
And harken to our song,
We'll tell you all our school joys,
We'll laugh both loud and long—
Chorus.
For we'll sing ha, ha,And we'll yell RAH, RAH,In a merry, merry roundelay.A laugh and a smile,We have them all the whileIn our happy, happy Queen's school days.
For we'll sing ha, ha,
And we'll yell RAH, RAH,
In a merry, merry roundelay.
A laugh and a smile,
We have them all the while
In our happy, happy Queen's school days.
When first I came to Queen's School,Way back in sixty-eight,O, wasn't I the green foolIn all this wide estate!
When first I came to Queen's School,
Way back in sixty-eight,
O, wasn't I the green fool
In all this wide estate!
I was a verdant youngster,As green as green as grass,They stuffed my head with knowledgeAll in the Freshman class.
I was a verdant youngster,
As green as green as grass,
They stuffed my head with knowledge
All in the Freshman class.
A year went by so swiftlyOn happy wings did soar,And then the masters made meA jolly Sophomore.
A year went by so swiftly
On happy wings did soar,
And then the masters made me
A jolly Sophomore.
And next a learned JuniorMy fate it came to be,The Profs. they set me climbingStraight up the Wisdom Tree.
And next a learned Junior
My fate it came to be,
The Profs. they set me climbing
Straight up the Wisdom Tree.
And then at last a SeniorWith dignity complete,The Freshmen, Sophs. and JuniorsAll kneeling at my feet.
And then at last a Senior
With dignity complete,
The Freshmen, Sophs. and Juniors
All kneeling at my feet.
But now the fun is over;We draw a deep, deep sigh,Farewell to life in clover,Good-by old Queens, Good-by.
But now the fun is over;
We draw a deep, deep sigh,
Farewell to life in clover,
Good-by old Queens, Good-by.
The boys came to a halt as they listened to the rollicking melody borne to their ears on the evening breeze. To Frank came the exquisite feeling of being a part of the school, and the song thrilled him out of all relation to its value as music.
"Great, isn't it?" and he looked up at the dark, gently swaying branches overhead and let his eye follow the long line of school buildings. "I was wondering only a little while ago," he said, "if it wouldn't be the best thing for me to go to work somewhere and give up school and college."
"Changed your mind about it so soon?"
"Yes, I guess I have. It's fine to be a part of a school like Queen's, and to meet all the fellows, and fight your little battles, and maybe win a few. I don't think I'll ever amount to much here, but I'm going to have a try at everything that comes my way."
"What did your father and mother say about your going to work?"
"O, mother didn't think much of it, but Dad, as usual, put it up to me. 'It's your own life, you know, and you've got to live it. If you want to go into business life now, I'll find you a good place to start, and if you want to take a few extra years broadening your education, there's Queen's ready to take you if you're ready for her.' And I'm glad I decided this way. It's going to be wonderful." He had forgotten the meeting with Dixon that afternoon, and the unhappy incident at his appearance on the scene. The black shadow of Gamma Tau which had fallen across his path did not trouble him.
Frank and Jimmy had traversed the length of the school walk down to the great iron gates at the Milton turnpike, and were returning up the yard. The group on the steps of Russell were still singing and were engaged at that particular moment with the closing chords of a popular tune. Then they broke out in a joyful and triumphant pean, the new football song, written by Arthur Stubbs, Jimmy informed Frank, "editor of theMirror, which maybe you don't know isthe great and buzzing school weekly. Sounds pretty good, doesn't it?"
They both listened as the song rolled out on the night air, doggerel sure enough, but given life and character by the vigorous way it was flung out:
See our team come marchingDown the white-barred field,Pushing back the foemen,Queen's will never yield.Charging fast and faster,Warwick's on the run,Disaster on disaster,And Queen's has just begun.Push them o'er the goal line,Roll them in the mold,Show them who's the master,Raise the Blue and Gold.Cheer the dusty victorsAs they turn away,Raise the shout to heaven,Hurray, hurray, hurray——
See our team come marchingDown the white-barred field,Pushing back the foemen,Queen's will never yield.Charging fast and faster,Warwick's on the run,Disaster on disaster,And Queen's has just begun.Push them o'er the goal line,Roll them in the mold,Show them who's the master,Raise the Blue and Gold.Cheer the dusty victorsAs they turn away,Raise the shout to heaven,Hurray, hurray, hurray——
See our team come marchingDown the white-barred field,Pushing back the foemen,Queen's will never yield.
See our team come marching
Down the white-barred field,
Pushing back the foemen,
Queen's will never yield.
Charging fast and faster,Warwick's on the run,Disaster on disaster,And Queen's has just begun.
Charging fast and faster,
Warwick's on the run,
Disaster on disaster,
And Queen's has just begun.
Push them o'er the goal line,Roll them in the mold,Show them who's the master,Raise the Blue and Gold.
Push them o'er the goal line,
Roll them in the mold,
Show them who's the master,
Raise the Blue and Gold.
Cheer the dusty victorsAs they turn away,Raise the shout to heaven,Hurray, hurray, hurray——
Cheer the dusty victors
As they turn away,
Raise the shout to heaven,
Hurray, hurray, hurray——
"The last line is to be shouted in unison," explained Jimmy, "and it will make a great noise when the whole school gets into it."
The air was catchy, and Frank found himself humming as he walked along:
"Show them who's the master,Raise the Blue and Gold."
"Show them who's the master,Raise the Blue and Gold."
"Show them who's the master,Raise the Blue and Gold."
"Show them who's the master,
Raise the Blue and Gold."
"If I can't do anything else, Jimmy, I can help the team by singing."
"Well, I'm thinking that singing won't save this Queen's School football bunch when we meet Warwick."
"Is Warwick strong this year? I saw they had cleaned up Dean without much trouble, but haven't noticed much about them."
"Strong!" ejaculated Jimmy, "I guess they are. They've taken everyone they've played into camp this fall, and they boast that Queen's scalp will dangle at their belts as the last and the best of the series. Like the fellow in Danny Deever, 'I'm dreading wot I got to watch' two weeks from Saturday—that's the date of the bloody battle down there on the gridiron," and Jimmy jerked his thumb in the direction of the meadow.
In their promenade the boys had almost reached the second entry in Warren Hall when they noticed a group of perhaps half a dozen fellows, a short distance up the walk. As Frank and Jimmy came up to the entry this group got in motion and approached them, and as they passed,one of the group jostled Frank off the walk. "Keep out of the way, Freshmen," said a gruff voice, but in spite of the attempt to disguise it, both boys recognized it instantly.
"Chip Dixon," they exclaimed in a breath.
"Now what is he hanging around here for with that bunch of his cronies, I'd like to know," said Jimmy. "I wonder if he has a notion of hazing you. By Jove, I'll bet you a dollar that's it. They were waiting for you to grab you, but seeing me here they probably gave it up for the time at least. Let's walk on."
"Why would they give it up? You talk like a Senior, and if I haven't been sleeping like old Rip Van, you're nothing more than a Freshman yourself. My head isn't as hoary as yours by three weeks, that's all."
"O, no, I've been through the mill and they never haze a fellow twice. They gave me a jolly roast though, and that let's me out for the rest of my natural school life."
"What did they do to you?" inquired Frank, who had heard of such doings on the persons of unsuspecting and confiding youth. "I supposed that hazing had been stopped here completely. TheMilton Gazettesaid that Doctor Hobart hadordered it stopped after they ducked that fellow in the river one night and he got his death from it."
"Yes; Dr. Hobart stopped hazing, and threatened to fire anyone he caught at it, but while that has stopped some of the worst of it maybe, it isn't dead by a long shot. They didn't do much to me, tied my hands and feet and rolled me down the hill over there, and gave me an egg shampoo and mussed me up considerable, but I came out of it all right. Dixon was in the gang that did for me, I think, but I'm not sure, because they were masked."
"Well, they're not going to haze me," said Frank, "if I see them first."
"Interference with your personal liberty resented, eh?"
"Yes, maybe. I wouldn't mind anybody but Dixon, and I certainly will not have such a galoot as he is mauling me around, if I have to fight the whole gang."
"Better not fight, Frank. Better take it good naturedly, and it will be over quick. If you resent, you're likely to get it harder."
"Well, if they really are out to haze me there's no help for it, but I'll have some fun, too," andhe stretched out his arm and flexed his muscles. "Haven't been paddling canoes around the Florida Everglades for nothing, Jimmy."
Jimmy grinned. "Better come up to my room just the same; no use courting a ruction. If they are after you, they may come around and not finding you in, may give it up and forget about it. Come on."
"Hanged if I do," said Frank. "I don't believe there's anything to it. You, having had your medicine, are suspicious. If they want me they will find me."
By this time the two had retraced their steps to Frank's entry. All was quiet. The singers had ended their melodious efforts and moved off. Only now and then a single figure could be seen hurrying along under the tree arches. The moon, rising higher in the sky, sent her beams through the branches, and brought out every object in the yard distinctly. No plotters against the peace of No. 18 were to be seen anywhere.
"False alarm, old man," said Frank, as they stood there scanning the school yard. "All is quiet on the Potomac. So long, see you in the morning. Gleason must be visiting, for there's no light in the room."
"Maybe you're right, but, just the same, turn the key when you go into your room. So long, see you in the morning."
"So long," echoed Frank, and turned and entered the arching doorway.
Frank climbed the steps of the first flight three at a leap. He wasn't afraid of Dixon and his gang even if they were on the warpath. "It's great to be back at school," he thought, and as he took the last few steps leading to the second landing, he hummed to himself the lines he had heard the fellows singing:
"Show them who's the master,Raise the Blue and Gold."
"Show them who's the master,Raise the Blue and Gold."
"Show them who's the master,Raise the Blue and Gold."
"Show them who's the master,
Raise the Blue and Gold."
"What's the matter with this stairway,—no light; they must be stingy with their gas," said Frank aloud. "Since Gleason isn't back yet, I'll have a session with these duds of mine and get my room to rights. To-morrow I'll start on this sitting-room ruin. Where did I put those blooming matches?" he added to himself as he opened his room door and stepped inside. "O, yes, I remember, on the corner of the mantel," and he headed for that point in the darkness of the room. He stumbled over a chair which didn't seem to be where it ought to be, certainly it wasn't therewhen he went out, but he reached the mantel and began to fumble for the box which he distinctly remembered was there.
"There's Gleason's stein," he said half aloud, as his hand touched a gigantic creation with a pewter top that he had noticed that afternoon, "and there's the alarm clock. I'm getting hotter. The matches were near the clock, I remember now."
Frank stood still and stretched his arm out trying to find the end of the shelf. His fingers touched something which made him thrill and recoil. But in spite of his quickness he felt something grasp his wrist sharply. He tried to draw away, but the hand, for such it was, tightened its grip and another came to the assistance of the first. Instantly there was the shuffling of feet, and with a rush he was surrounded. He felt many hands laid upon him roughly and insistently.
Frank fought desperately, hitting, kicking and trying with all his strength to wrench himself free. By twisting his arm sharply he managed for a moment, to break the hold that someone had on him, and shot his fist sharply out into the darkness with all his force. It found a soft marksomewhere on someone's face, and hurt, too, as a grunt attested. But he was grasped still more firmly and had no more chance to fight.
In the scuffle in the dark which followed, chairs were knocked over, the table was bumped into, and Gleason's gorgeous shade fell with a crash to the table, and then trickled off to the floor in many pieces. But Frank's struggles were useless, for he was borne backwards to the floor and pressed down by superior weight. Finally he lay on the floor with his hands pinioned to his sides, and a weight of bodies across his legs. Not a word had been spoken in the struggle, but now a voice whispered: "Strike a match, some of you. This Indian hit me on the nose and I'm bleeding like a stuck pig. And that won't make it any easier for him," the voice added, vindictively.
There was a scratching sound and a light flared up. Frank looked up from the floor to see himself surrounded by half a dozen fellows masked and completely disguised. Coats were turned inside out, collars up and caps reversed, the better to conceal their identity. The mask itself covered the face from the middle of the forehead to the upper lip, and, simple though it was, made recognition almost impossible, particularly in the dimlight from the low turned gas jet which the conspirators had set going.
Frank had been neatly trapped, and was helpless as a baby before the superior numbers. He was presently more helpless, for his hands were lashed behind him with a stout leather strap.
Frank studied his enemies from his lowly position on the floor, but could not remember ever having seen any of them, a thing that was not strange, since his school life had only begun that afternoon. He noted with satisfaction that one of his assailants was at the other side of the room trying to stop a flow of blood from his nose, which seemed to be copious, judging from the stains on the handkerchief which had been vigorously applied.
"Well, what are you going to do about it?" asked Frank at last, as his captors let him get on his feet. He was savage at himself for having been so easily caught.
"You'll see soon enough, Mr. Armstrong."
"No wonder," reflected Frank, "we were unable to see the bunch of hazers when they were snugly waiting in my own room, which they preparedby darkening with drawn curtains and shutting off the gas in the entry outside my door. No wonder the place was like midnight. It would have been better if I had taken Jimmy's advice."
"Come on," said the bloody-nosed one. Frank had a notion there was a familiar ring in it. It was like Dixon's voice and it wasn't. If it was Dixon's, he was trying hard to change the tone by talking down in his throat. "I'll watch that fellow," he thought. "If it's Dixon he'll give himself away."
At the word of command to move, two boys grabbed Frank, one by each arm, and another stepped behind him.
"Hold on," said one of them, "we've got to tie up his face or he'll be yelling for help, and that won't do." The words were hardly out of the speaker's mouth when Frank felt a muffler flung over his head and face. It was tied securely behind, effectually shutting out his vision and making it a difficult matter to raise an outcry. Then the march was continued.
"Sh-h-h—, someone's coming," said a voice just as they had reached the entry outside his own door, "quick, go up the stairs," and Frankfelt himself headed for the floor above the one they were on. A door banged below, and someone began mounting the stairs.
"What in thunder's this light out for? Some youngster with a poor sense of humor." It was Gleason's voice, and he was scolding to himself because of the murderous blackness. He came climbing up the stairs, stopped at his door, pushed it open and entered.
"Quick," commanded the voice ahead of Frank. "Make a break for the bottom and see that Armstrong doesn't get a chance to speak."
In another instant the captors and captured retraced their steps, a hand being slipped over Frank's mouth in addition to the muffler, to make sure of his silence.
"Bring him around back of Warren," whispered one of the leaders, and in a minute they had cut through the dark passage at the south end of Warren. Frank could not even make a guess where they were headed for, as he was not yet well enough acquainted with the lay of the buildings. He felt himself going down a grassy decline, then through some shrubbery which caught at his clothes, and then again where the grass seemed short and the turf firm. Itseemed like a lawn to him, but as he had been turned around two or three times, he had not the faintest notion after five minutes' travelling where he was.
"Where are you taking me?" he finally managed to mumble to the fellow who had a grip of him by the right arm.
"We're going to give you the stretching treatment, my son."
Frank was not acquainted with it. The voice went on:
"Don't you know that you committed a grievous sin, a very grievous sin, when you talked back this afternoon?" Frank said nothing. "You don't think you're guilty. Well, the highest court of justice in this school sat on your case to-night, condemned you, and turned you over to the executioners, and them's us."
"We are now on our way to the gallows," said a voice to his left in a sepulchral whisper.
Still no reply from Frank. He had made up his mind, since he was in their power, to take his medicine, no matter what it was.
The group tramped on in silence for several minutes, and then stopped abruptly.
"Here's the spot," said one.
"Got the rope?"
"Yes," and there was the sound of a coil of rope falling on the soft grass.
"Coffin ready?"
"Yes, all ready, waiting for the fresh guy that is to occupy it."
In spite of Frank's sturdy heart, a shiver ran down his spine. He felt as though he were in the grip of some horrible nightmare. Perhaps it was a dream after all. He pinched himself to see if he were awake. But the pinch made him wince, and the two fellows hanging onto his arms, one at each side, were too real to be any part of a dream. What could they be meaning to do to him? Of course, they wouldn't dare injure him, but——
"All ready," said a voice. "Prisoner, have you anything to say before you swing? No tongue, eh? Well, executioner, proceed."
There was a stir in the crowd, and Frank felt himself pushed forward into what he supposed was a circle. They wouldn't dare do it, he was saying to himself, but his nerve was sorely tried.
Suddenly there came the sound of someone running across the grass. "A pardon, a pardon for Frank Armstrong," said a new voice. "Hangingsentence commuted to the water cure and imprisonment for life!"
"Curses," growled the chief executioner. "Snatched from me grasp! We would have had him strung up in a minute. Why didn't you lose your way, Paul Revere?"
"Well, since we can't hang him, let's proceed to the water cure. Hurry it up," growled a voice, which in spite of an assumed gruffness put him strongly in mind of Dixon's.
Frank was seized again and they walked rapidly for several minutes in what seemed to him an opposite direction from which he had come the first part of the journey. Soon their footsteps sounded on wood, which echoed flatly to their tread. It seemed like a platform. And there was the faint sound of lapping water. Could it be the river? It was the river, and when the bandage slipped from his face he saw that they were standing on the boat-house float. The river ran past, dark and silent.
"Halt. Prisoner, attention!" commanded a voice, a new one to Frank.
"You can swim?"
"Yes."
"He's the wonderful boy champion of Milton," said a sneering voice.
"Stood the world's champion off on a ten-mile race," said one.
"Set new records from 12 inches to a foot," said another.
"And got the big head about it, and sassed our valiant quarterback."
How Frank hated the reporter who had printed the story about his swimming. He almost hated Burton for teaching and himself for learning how to swim. It seemed to be bringing him only trouble. He had done nothing to deserve it.
"We want a little exhibition, Mr. Champion Armstrong," said the voice again, which sounded more than ever like Chip's. "Strip."
"The water's too cold," said Frank, startled when he found it was their intention to put him into the river.
"Keep going when you are in. Who ever heard of a champion being afraid of cold water? Off with your clothes, and be quick about it. You've got a minute to shed them or in you go with them on."
Frank began reluctantly to undress, looking, out of the corner of his eye, at the dark surfaceof the river, silvery cold under the moon's rays. He watched for a possible avenue of escape, thinking that perhaps a bold dash might give him his liberty, but his captors formed a half circle about him, and the open side of the circle lay towards the black river.
Apparently there was nothing for it but to go in or be chucked in, and Frank chose the former. He slipped off his clothes, and put them in a pile on the float and turned toward the water.
"You've got to go across to the other side, Armstrong. If you renig we'll chuck your clothes in after you. And don't turn your head till you get there, or it will be worse for you."
Frank waited to hear no more, but sprang boldly out into the water. How the first touch of the cold water grabbed him! It was like a knife thrust, for the night was in the middle of October, and the coldness of the air had transferred itself to the surface. Below it was warmer, however, and he let his body sink to get the full benefit of the warmth, and struck out for the opposite shore, which was at this point perhaps seventy-five yards away. Soon the blood began to come back to his skin with a glow, and as he paddled away he thought it not so bad after all.
About midstream he slackened up a moment and looked back to the float, thinking perhaps he would be permitted to come back.
"Go on," commanded a voice, and seeing no help for it, Frank put down his head and dug for the opposite shore as fast as he could go. He reached the bank, which was gently shelving, in short order, pulled himself up and looked back.
The float was deserted, nor could a soul be seen anywhere, although the moon's rays lighted up the whole place as bright as day.
Even at that distance he could see his little pile of clothes by the side of the float. He heard the faint murmur of the river at his feet, and away off behind him in the marshes a big bullfrog singing his evening song with a chorus of deep-throated croakings.
"They've gone, unless they're planning some more trouble for me," said Frank, bitterly, to himself. "They must have ducked behind the boat-house and are now on the way back to the school in the shadow of the trees."
He pushed into the water, shivering, and set out for the float, which seemed a long distance away. The water slipped gurgling between hisfingers as he drew his hands through on the stroke, giving him a creepy sensation. He felt that the denizens of the river were staring at him, this strange white body so queerly afloat at such a time of night. He shuddered and drove faster for the float, and felt a great relief when his hand touched the wooden edge.
Frank pulled himself up, and looked carefully around. His tormentors had disappeared as absolutely as if they had been swallowed up in the river, and everything was as still as death except the frog chorus in the marshes, and the occasional cheep of a cricket on the river bank. Lights twinkled in the windows of Warren, and as he listened, the school bell boomed out the hour of nine thirty.
"Gee, whiz, I'll be locked out if I don't hurry," he whispered to himself, and he plunged into his clothes with the greatest alacrity, his teeth chattering. How the clothes stuck to him and clasped his wet skin clammily! "Never knew till now how handy a towel is," he muttered. But he was finally clothed, and a brisk run up through the field put the blood in circulation.
When Frank reached his room, Gleason was preparing for bed.
"Well, my night owl, where have you been? Thought maybe you'd got homesick so soon and had started for the busy city of Milton," was Gleason's greeting. Then, seeing Frank's hair wet, he added: "Been giving the mermaids a serenade, eh?"
"Yes, just been having a bit of a swim," said Frank. "Good thing for a fellow at night, you know, makes him sleep well."
"Great Scott!" was all Gleason could say. "Swimming at this time of night in the river! Well, my eye, you are a funny one. Web-foot, you are for sure and all. Well, you can use the river, but I prefer the good old porcelain bathtub for mine after September first."
"Nothing like the outdoors swimming, you know," said Frank, "and at night you don't startle the surrounding scenery. I'm off for bed. Good night."
"Good night," called Gleason, who had also dived into his sleeping-room. "I say, what were you doing up here when I was gone? I found my lampshade busted when I came, chairs upset, curtains drawn tight and all that. Little rough-house, eh?"
"Yes, just a little rough-house to celebrate my arrival at Queen's."
"Oh," said Gleason, "I found a leather wristlet over by the mantel when I was picking up the debris. Maybe it belongs to one of your friends."
"Maybe it does; where is it?"
"On the table there; if you dig around you will find it."
Frank went quickly to the table where the wristlet lay in plain sight. He picked it up, examining it curiously. It was made of leather about two inches wide, with two small brass buckles which allowed the strap to be drawn up tightly. Such wristlets were often worn to strengthen and protect a weak wrist. He had noticed that afternoon that two of the football squad wore just such wristlets as these. Could it be one of them? He turned the leather over and over, and started as his eyes fell on the initials C. D. inked on the inside of one of the straps. "Chip Dixon, by goodness! I'll keep this for future use. It may come in handy more ways than one, Mr. Dixon."
Next morning Frank made the acquaintance of Dr. Hobart, principal of Queen's School. The Doctor had the reputation of being severe, a terror to wrong doers, but gentle enough withal when things went right. He was a mere wisp of a man, about sixty years old, not over five feet tall, and with a thin, narrow face and parchment-like skin. His shoulders were bowed a little, perhaps with his weight of learning, for Dr. Hobart was considered one of the best of preparatory school leaders. Indeed, his reputation went far and wide, and the excellence of his school brought him pupils from many parts of the country.
The Doctor's distinguishing feature was his eyes, or rather eye, for he only had one which nature gave him. His natural left eye had many years before been injured and removed. It wasnow replaced by one of glass, and the fixed and unwinking position of it when the Doctor was aroused bored straight through the soul of the culprit before him and came out the other side, or so it seemed to the unfortunate who faced him, accused of misdeeds. It would be a brazen youth, indeed, who could stand before that penetrating glance from under the shaggy brows.
Frank had heard a good deal about the Doctor, and it was with some trepidation that he approached the august presence in his quarters on the first floor, third entry of Warren.
"Old Glass-eye is a ring-snorter," Gleason had told him. "They say he dines off freshmen. I'm a brave man, but I was glad when he was through with me. I was so flim-fazzled when he turned that glass orb of his on me that I couldn't have told whether the amateur hundred-yard record had set at ten seconds or half an hour."
But the Doctor was in one of his most amiable moods when Frank was ushered into his presence.
"This is the late-comer, is it?" he inquired, gently.
Frank interpreted it as a criticism, and hurried to say:
"Yes, sir. But I couldn't very well help being late. I was away for my health, and my parents didn't really intend to have me go to school till after Christmas, but I made such good progress that they thought it best to get me in as early as possible, after all."
"H'm; and I suppose you wanted to come?"
"Oh, yes, sir. I like school, and I hope to go to college if I can keep up my work here and pass the examinations."
"So you're going to college. That's good. We can give you the training here; the rest of it depends on yourself. Where do you expect to go to college, my young friend?" and the Doctor brought his baleful eye to bear on Frank.
"York, sir."
"Very good, very good. You are going in for athletics, Mr. Armstrong?"
"Just a little, sir. Do you advise it?"
"Yes, Mr. Armstrong, I advise athletics—just a little, as you say. But one thing I insist upon, that whatever you go in for, it must be wholeheartedly. The great curse of the present time is the spirit of dabbling. Don't be a dabbler." And the glass eye transfixed his hearer. "Whatever you do, do well. When you are in the class-room,do what you have to do. Make your time count. When you study, study; when you play, play. If you go out on the athletic field, make the most of it, and if you go into any sport, carry it to the highest point of development you can consistent with the time you have to give it. Athletics are only another kind of education, and carried on in the right way they very powerfully supplement the work of the class-room. And, above all things, play fair. Play hard, but play fair. Win if you can, but be a gentleman in your winning, and in your defeat, if you meet defeat, as you will in school and out of it. You have the appearance of quality in your face. You have a chance here to show what you can do in the class-room and on the field. Whatever you do, make yourself felt. Make yourself respected, but also make yourself felt. Respect your schoolmates worthy of respect, and make them respect you by your uprightness.
"I did not mean to make this a lecture, my boy," added the Doctor, pleasantly, the bushy eyebrows drawing into a kindlier line. "I want to help set you straight on this school road, which is not so easy as it may appear to you. If you ever want advice, and you think I can help you,come to me without hesitation. I am not so black, maybe, as I'm painted," and the Doctor's right eye assumed a kindly twinkle. "And now," he continued, "go over to Mr. Parks, whom you will find in Russell, and he will give you an outline of your school work and assign your classes. Good morning."
"By Jove! he's a brick," said Frank, as he hurried across the yard. "I thought I was going to find a bear, and he was nothing more than a kindly human being with a whole reservoir of good advice."
Mr. Parks, the assistant master, inducted Frank into the school routine, and the boy's school life began that morning auspiciously. He felt that he had made a good friend in the Doctor, and he was bent on satisfying his demand as far as studies were concerned. As to how he would make his way with his schoolmates, was another matter, and he approached it with less of a feeling of certainty.
In the early afternoon of that day Frank made a call on his old friend Jimmy, who was industriously working up his history; but when Frank put his head in at the door, the history book was shut with a snap.
"Hello, Web-foot, how did you get along last night? No hazers, I hope."
"Got along finely," said Frank, "in spite of lots of excitement. Took a forced swim in the Wampaug last night, preceded by a young scrap in No. 18, and this morning I had a session with the Doctor, who gave me enough good advice to keep me straight in line through the whole school course."
"The dickens you say!" exclaimed Jimmy. "You don't mean to say that they got you after all?"
"They certainly did, got me good and hard. Started out to stretch my neck down on the meadows somewhere,—that was the sentence they said,—and then changed their minds, not being willing to sacrifice a budding young genius like myself, and gave me the water cure."
"The water cure?"
"Yes, the water cure, which consisted in making me swim the river, after nine o'clock, and back in my bare pelt."
Jimmy was indignant. "By George, that was tough. Who did it?"
"Oh, I don't know; half a dozen fellows were waiting for me in my room, dumped me on thefloor, tied my hands, carried me off with a muffler around my face, and then, when I was half way across the Wampaug, skipped and left me."
"Was Chip Dixon in the gang that hazed you?"
"I couldn't tell. The fellows were all masked."
"It's a beastly shame," blurted out Jimmy. "It'll come out, see if it don't, and I wouldn't give a licked postage stamp for the chances of the fellows who did it, if it comes to the Doctor's ears. I've a notion to go out and play detective. To think that I was studying here quietly, and you were being ducked in the river not two hundred yards away!" And Jimmy jumped up and began to walk around the floor, threatening vengeance on the perpetrators of the outrage.
"Oh, don't you bother about it. It gave them lots of fun, and it didn't hurt me," said Frank. "The water sure was chilly when I struck it first, but the swim wasn't long. It made me sleep like a top. And perhaps some good may come out of it."
Jimmy continued to growl, but Frank laughed the incident away, and the talk turned on the afternoon's football practice which Horton had threatened would be a stiff one.
"Speaking of football," said Jimmy, "why don'tyou go out and do a little something for your newly adopted school?"
"Oh, I wouldn't be any good. I'd like to try it, all right. But I've got my work cut out for me, staying in school without mixing up in football this fall anyway. Maybe by the time hockey comes around I'll do some work if I'm standing well enough to escape the terrible eye of the Doctor. But for this fall at least I'll do most of my football work on the bleachers, and giving the right halfback of the eleven friendly advice."
"No luck like that for me. I guess I'm not much good and I don't stand well enough with the ruling powers. But maybe, bye-and-bye, I'll get a chance. In the meantime I'll keep pushing and learn all I can. Horton knows the game, doesn't he?"
"Yes, the way he spotted the bad play on both teams was a caution. He must have twenty pairs of eyes."
At this moment in the conversation Lewis strolled into the room. "I've decided," he announced with heavy dignity, "to cut out football. I've been getting on pretty well at it, and the coach doesn't want me to drop out now when I'm pretty sure of a place" (Jimmy and Frank exchangedwinks), "but I feel my studies need my time. I think I'll go out for the Whitney Fellowship. So you fellows will have to get along without my society down on the gridiron."
"Bad, too bad," murmured Jimmy. "Such a chance, too, for the team, just now when you'd be put in at center. It would be a great thing for Milton, too, to have a representative on the great Queen's School eleven. It would be headlines for the papers. Sorry you can't give it the time."
"And speaking of time," said Frank, "isn't it about time you were getting under way for the gym? I think I see the gathering of the clans from here," he added, looking out of the window in the direction of the field.
"Wonder what Mr. Dixon will feel like when Lewis announces his intention of retiring from the squad," said Jimmy, with a wink, as he prepared to leave.
"And I wonder what Mr. Dixon will do to one James Turner," retorted Lewis.
"Oh, I guess he won't bother him very much," said Frank.
"Is that so? Well, you don't know that youngsteras well as we do. You'll hear things about him when you've been here a little longer."
"I've heard some things and seen some others, and perhaps I know Mr. Dixon better than he thinks I do. And I'm not far wrong when I say that that young fellow will not bother Jimmy too much."
"Yes, you'll jump in and hand our lively young quarter a few straight digs in the ribs, I suppose."
"Maybe so, but he had better keep himself to himself."
"Oh, come on here, stop your scrapping. Come on and watch the emaciated Second, now that Lewis has left us, being smeared by the riotous First. Oh, I hate to think of it," cried Jimmy, dashing out of the door.
When the squad reported for practice at four o'clock sharp, Horton had on his business face and he lost no time in getting things moving. "I'm going to see if these two teams know anything about football at all. We've been dodging around here playing tag for a month. Now we've got to begin to play football. Let's have a little punting and see if you backs can hold the ball to-day."
The backs were divided into two squads, and two of the best punters were sent up to the middle of the field, with a center to snap the ball. Boston Wheeler—his Sunday name was Worthington, but Boston was handier, and better described him, as he came from that famous city known as "the Hub"—was punting the ball in long, lazy curves which carried thirty yards, and then dropped head first, much to the disgust of the racing backs.
"Mine," yelled Spud Dudley as with hands outstretched and neck craned he drove for one of Wheeler's high ones.
But he misjudged, as the ball dropped too straight for him and bounced around on the group. The wrath of the coach was drawn upon him instantly.
"What do you think you are catching, Dudley, a featherbed? Get under those high ones. They drop quick when they come spinning with the long axis parallel to the ground. Don't let them catch you napping. And haven't I told you to make a little pocket for the ball between your hands, which must be held closer together, and your chest? Then the ball can't get away from you. That's better, Freshman." This was directed toJimmy, who took a low end-over-end punt from Dobson, the other punter, at top speed. "I don't know where that Freshman got it, but he has the right idea about catching punts," Horton added.
Punting practice went on for five minutes or so, and then, after a brief signal drill between the First and Second elevens, the coach called both teams to the middle of the field.
"Now, this is the last practice game before the Barrows game, and I want you to do your best. You can win easily if you will only forget about yourselves, and play for the team. Let's see you do it. Come on, every one into it," and the whistle spoke out shrilly for the beginning of the practice game.
In spite of Horton's appeal for good playing, the sample of football that the First team gave was anything but encouraging. The coach was all over the field, exhorting his charges to their best efforts, but their best efforts fell very far short of what he wanted.
After the kick-off, the First had made some good gains through the Second's Line. Then Dutton missed his signals and lost a lot of ground. He stood dumbly with the ball in his hands while the opposing tackle came ripping through the line, seized him around the waist, and ran him ten yards back towards his own goal before Dutton could yell "down."
"Isn't that the limit of all things?" said the Wee One to Frank. They were sitting together on the bleachers with a bunch of other critics, passing judgment on the playing, good and bad, as they saw it enacted before them. The Wee One was a critic of no mean calibre. "Isn't thatthe limit of all things? If they could only perform an operation on the thing that Dutton calls his head and get some grey matter from a jackass and insert it, he might possibly remember some of the signals,—at least such little ones as 'straight through the line,' which is about all he's good for anyway."
"Guess Horton's going to have apoplexy now, isn't he?" inquired Frank, as he watched the coach striding about among the players, shaking his clinched fists. But Horton recovered himself, and commanded another scrimmage. This time the First pulled itself together, and under the urgings of the quarter and the vigorous coaching of Horton, tore through the Second for great gains. It was fast and furious, slang, bang, up-and-at-it-again football, and the Second was retreating down the field, doing its best to hold its ground, but being swept aside by the rushes of the giant Dutton.
It was first down on the Second's ten-yard line, and it looked like a touchdown. The First was about to take revenge for the rebuffs the Second eleven had been giving them for several days.
"Now," shrilled Chip at the top of his lungs, "put it over. 16—32—11."
"Hillard's signal for a tackle-shaving play," translated the Wee One, and Hillard was off like a shot for, say what you might about his uncertainty with the ball, he was extremely fast on his feet, and when he was able to hang onto the ball he could be depended on to make ground. But poor Hillard, whose star had been bright that afternoon, was in so great a hurry to start that he missed the more important matter of securing the ball firmly. It dropped to the ground. He made a step in its direction, but misfortune upon misfortune, kicked it with his foot and sent it rolling towards the end of the line where an alert end of the Second team pounced upon it.
The whistle in Horton's lips shrieked savagely, a signal to stop play. The First eleven gathered together stupidly, and scowled back savagely at the members of the Second, who stepped around elastically and grinned broadly.
"I wouldn't be in Hillard's place for a row of apple trees all in full bloom," ventured the Wee One. "Something's coming to him, all right. What did I tell you?" as Horton raised his voice so everyone could hear it:
"Hillard, you may go to the sideline. I've gotto have some one who can keep his fingers around a ball. You've thrown away all the good work your team has done. I won't need you again for some time." Horton delivered his sentence in a calm voice, and then turned towards the sidelines where some of the substitutes were seated. "Where's that Freshman who played on the Second yesterday afternoon?" he said. "Hey, there, Turner, take Hillard's place. We'll see if you can hold the ball."
"Hurray!" cried Frank, jumping to his feet in excitement, "Jimmy's going to get his chance. That's great, and he's got it in spite of Mr. Dixon."
"And that will peeve Dixon," chuckled the Wee One. "There they go."
Jimmy was on the field in a flash, and his sweater was slung behind him as he ran.
"Now," said Horton, "I'm going to give you a chance here, and if you make good you may get in the game to-morrow. Your business is just now to follow your signal, and hold onto the ball. The signals are the same you have been playing under. Come on." And the whistle sounded. "Here, First eleven, take this ball again on the fifteen-yard line and try it."
On the very first play, Dixon gave the ball to Jimmy, who, following close behind his tackle, who opened a convenient door in the opposing line, went half the distance to the goal line.
"Good work!" shouted the coach.
Dutton on the next down sliced between tackle and guard, and got three yards and first down.
"I hope they don't put it up to Jimmy to make that four yards," said Frank, "it looks like a mile."
"Well, I'll bet Chip gives him the ball. He won't give him anything easy to do, and Chip would rather not score than let him cinch Hillard's place."
The Wee One was right, for the next instant Jimmy had the ball, and was ploughing into the line with his head down. Then he was lost in a heaving mass, but somehow slipped out of it, emerged free, and threw himself across the goal line. The First had scored. "Good work, Freshman," said the coach, but the quarterback turned and walked up the field sulkily.
For the rest of the afternoon's practice Jimmy fairly outdid himself. When he went into the line the ball seemed to be a part of him, and he rarely failed to make his distance. With hisshort, strong legs, thick neck and powerful back, he bored and squirmed through the smallest holes. On defence he was in every pile, and generally at the bottom of it.
"That boy has real football instinct," said Horton to Mr. Parks, who came down to the gridiron to look on. "He is green yet, but he is going to make a good one, you will see. He doesn't know anything about carrying the ball, yet he carries it, and he doesn't know anything about the science of tackling, but he stops his man. Where on earth he learned what he has, I don't know."
And Mr. Parks agreed that a new football player had come to town.
Practice finally ended. Horton's "That's enough for to-day," brought Frank scampering down from the stand to walk joyfully along beside his old playmate to the gymnasium.
"Knew you could do it, Jimmy," he said, as he trudged along with the perspiring hero of the afternoon, who was well hooded up in a blanket to keep the rather chilly October breeze off his overheated body. "It was great to see you." Frank's eyes fairly shone with pleasure. He took a greater pride in it than if it had been his own success.
"Glad I gave up the game," said Lewis, now in everyday clothes. "Two great football players in one room would have been more than Warren could have supported, eh Frank?" Frank was so happy that he would have agreed to anything that afternoon.
Barrows came down in great force the next afternoon, and the light blue of the Academy was flaunted everywhere on the yard of old Queen's. The followers of Barrows freely boasted a coming victory for their eleven, and, if truth must be told, the eleven was worthy of the confidence expressed. Barrows Academy drew from an older class of boys than did the Queen's School, many of its inmates on graduation going directly into business, for which it, in a measure, fitted them.
"Did you see those giants on the Barrows team?" quoth the Wee One, meeting Frank on his way to a geometry recitation. "They must have imported them from the foundry."
"It's a fact, they do look mountainous alongside some of our fellows," admitted Frank, "but we ought to know more football, we certainly have the best coach."
"The coach part of it is all right," said theWee One, "and we know football, or, at least, ought to, but we don't seem to be able to get it out of our system."
The game was set for three o'clock, and long before that hour there was an exodus of the entire school, for class-room work on Saturdays closed at noon. The game was considered something of a test for Queen's, which had been playing very erratic ball all the year. There was a good deal of grumbling about the way that the Gamma was running things through its captain, Harding, and Chip Dixon, who seemed to have a powerful influence over Harding. A good many thought that the best players in the school were not having a fair trial, but as yet there had been no open revolt. Real rebellion against the rule of Gamma Tau still held off, but there were grumblings on the horizon which indicated a storm if things did not improve. And to-day was a chance for the crowd in control to show that they were playing the kind of ball expected from such a school as Queen's with such a coach as Horton.
Frank escorted Jimmy to the gymnasium that afternoon, where the teams were to dress for the fray, and the Freshman halfback was in a feverof excitement. Frank buzzed along with encouragement in every word.
"If I can only hang onto the ball," Jimmy would say, "but I had a notion yesterday two or three times that Dixon was trying to make it hard for me to get the pass. Once I nearly dropped it, and I was scared to death, for the coach was right alongside of me. My heart went as far down as my shin guards for sure."
"I'll watch him for any tricks like that," thought Frank, but to Jimmy he said never a word. It might only be Jimmy's imagination in his excitement.
"All I've got to say to you," said Horton to his charges when they were dressed and ready, "is to attend to business and play as a team, and think about what you are doing. These fellows are bigger than you, and you will have to outwit them. Use your heads and keep together. Now, skip."
In the first collision of the game, the big fellows from Barrows swept the lighter Queen's School back as though they were made of paper, and screams of delight rose from the stand where had gathered the hosts of Barrows. Down the field they went—five yards through tackle, tenyards around the end, five yards through center. Twice the attack had bowled Jimmy over after breaking down the line, and twice he had been able to stop the rush dead, without a gain. Once he had the joy of pushing the Barrows' halfback through the hole he came for at a loss of a yard.
"Look at Jimmy Turner, the Freshman," shouted the Wee One. "If they would all play like that kid we'd have a chance."
"What's Dutton doing,—Oh, what's he dreaming about? Missed his man. Did you ever see such a dope?"
"Turner got the Barrows' chap that time. Good for Jimmy."
"Hold 'em, Queen's, hold 'em."
But the Barrows' attack was not wonderfully varied, and little by little the advance was cut down as the Academy eleven began to approach the Queen's goal.
"Get together, get together, Queen's, and stop them," begged Captain Harding, and working like one, the boys responded to his cry.
It was third down on Queen's 12-yard line, with a yard to go, and the Barrows' backs held a consultation. The stands speculated as towhether they would try to carry it, or try a drop kick. For the latter piece of football, the aggressors were in a good position. But finally they elected to rush, and settled carefully down to position, balanced on their toes, and alert for the signal. If they could make their distance, it looked hopeless for Queen's, for the remaining yards to go for a touchdown would be easy, so the spectators figured.
The whistle shrieked, and the lines came together with a bang. Humphrey, the Barrows quarter, who had been playing a fine game and directing the team like a general, now made his first mistake. Thinking that the going was too hard through the line, he sent his fleetest halfback on a delayed pass out around right end. For a moment it looked as though he had made a master stroke. Campbell, the Queen's right end, was drawn in because he believed the play was to be made on the other side of the line, but Jimmy had interpreted correctly, too late, however, to warn Campbell. The Queen's tackle came through hard, and halted the Barrows' runner a minute, just long enough to let Jimmy get under way.
The Barrows' back ran behind an interferenceof the fullback, half and quarter, and it looked like a hopeless task to break this compact mass. Jimmy followed the interference out, crowding it back as well as he could, watching his chance. Suddenly he realized that the runner with the ball was outdistancing not only Jimmy himself, but his own interference. Jimmy felt that he could not handle them all, and he could not hope to get through the interference alone and get his hands on the runner. He did the only thing possible,—that is, he threw himself with unerring instinct against the knees of the interference, in a kind of side-dive. The effect was instantaneous. The interference was running so closely massed that there was no chance for them to dodge, and they went down over the Freshman's body in a tangle. The runner with the ball was so close that he, too, went sprawling, heels over head, and before he was able to get to his feet, big Boston Wheeler had pinned him down. It was Queen's ball.
How the Queen's stand did yell: "Turner, Turner, oh, you Turner!"
"Three cheers for Turner!"
"Rah, rah, rah, Turner, Turner, Turner!"
One might have thought there was only oneman on the Queen's School eleven. At the cheers for Turner, although his halfback's action had probably saved the team from a score, Dixon's face took on a sour look. There was too much Turner in the game to suit him. It was a malicious eye he turned on Jimmy.
From this point, Queen's took up the march down the field, and steadily, as Barrows had come into Queen's territory, so steadily did the Queen's eleven fight their way back, and gradually it began to dawn on the partisans of Queen's School that they had a chance. Five yards here and five yards there brought the play quickly to the Academy's 20-yard line. A penalty for holding set them back, but on a pretty fake kick Dutton went straight through center to the five-yard line.
"Touchdown, touchdown," yelled the Queen's bleachers.
"Good old Queen's, we have got the Wheel-barrows where we want them."
"All over, but the shouting."
First down and on the enemy's five-yard line. It looked certain.
But there are many slips in football as well as in the everyday walks of life, for on the next play there was a fumble, and an indescribablescramble to recover it. And when the scramble was over, an Academy boy was found on top of the leather. A groan went up from the Queen's crowd. Down among the tumbled players two stood erect, one was Turner and the other Dixon, and the former had his fists clinched.
"Turner fumbled," said some one.
"Did you see what happened?" Frank cried, excitedly, to Patterson, with whom he was sitting.
"Don't you think I have any eyes?" said the Wee One, indignantly. "It was a dirty trick. He gave the signal and threw the ball at Jimmy's hands. Didn't give him a chance to get it. It was a deliberate trick, a contemptible trick," he added.
A few minutes later the half ended, and Queen's came to the sidelines. Horton was raging.
"Turner, you disappointed me. Right in the time we wanted you most, you failed us."
"It wasn't——" began Jimmy.
"I don't want any excuses," said Horton, sharply. "Hillard, go in at right half and finish the game there."