CHAPTER XXVIII.
A POOR JOKE.
“It must be you lost it in the fracas,” said one of the freshmen.
“Let’s look round for it.”
“Be careful not to step on it, fellows,” said another. “It must be on the floor here.”
“I don’t see how I lost it in the scuffle,” said Gooch. “See here; it was taken off this snap—or it came off,” he added, slowly.
Sidney’s manner plainly indicated a firm conviction that he had been robbed.
“When do you think you lost it?” asked Newton Billings, one of the freshmen.
“I had it before we hid from these bogus professors,” said Sid.
“Then it is probable you lost it in the struggle to hold onto Merriwell,” said Harry Rattleton. “It must be right around here.”
“What sort of a watch was it?” asked Irving Nash.
“It was a Waltham, gold, hunter’s case, with my monogram inside the front case. My mother gave it to me on my last birthday, and I would not take anything for it.”
This was enough to make the boys forget the offense of the fellows who had attempted the practical joke on them, and all set about searching for the watch. They took the light and went over the floor carefully. They moved the bed, peered into every corner and into the clothes press, but not one of them found the watch.
“Meers a history—I mean, here’s a mystery,” saidHarry Rattleton. “Astonishing disappearance. Watch out.”
Gooch seemed ready to dissolve in tears.
“I wouldn’t care so much if it hadn’t been a present from mother,” he said, huskily.
“A fellow who would steal it must be mighty mean,” said Newton Billings, and somehow it seemed that he looked at Frank Merriwell in a significant manner.
Billings was a freshman who envied Merriwell his popularity. Immediately on coming to college he had attempted to become a leader of his class, after the manner in which Merriwell had led the freshmen in the past. Billings and his clan carried things with such a high hand that it became necessary for somebody to take the conceit out of the fellow, and Merriwell had been selected to do the job, which he accomplished without difficulty.
From the time of his downfall Billings hated Merriwell, although pretending to be one of Frank’s greatest admirers. But he had never attempted to do Merry an injury, and was considered harmless.
“I hardly think there is a person who would deliberately pick a man’s pocket,” said Frank, slowly, looking around. “I don’t wish to think such a thing of anybody in the room.”
“Neither do I,” said Sidney; “and, of course, I can’t be sure I lost it here, although I think I did.”
“Well,” said Billings, “if it is found in the house, you will be sure to get it back. The gang in this house is strictly on the level.”
Sidney had to be satisfied with this, and then the lads returned to the consideration of the case against the three fellows who had hoaxed them.
It was decided after a time that, as punishment, one of the three should tell a story, one should make a speech, and one should sing a song.
Griswold was selected to tell the story, Creighton agreed to make the speech, while Merriwell was to sing a song.
The room was packed full of students, and Browning insisted that the punch should be sent round again before the fun began once more. Not a few of the fellows had taken too much already, but they were not the ones to protest against taking more.
Danny told a story, and it proved to be hilariously funny, as it was all about a “horse” on a student well known to them all.
More punch was absorbed.
Then Creighton mounted upon a chair and made a flowery speech, which was vociferously applauded.
More punch was disposed of by the merry crowd.
The sophomores were reckless in their hilarity. They were out for a racket, and they had it. They seemed to forget the barrier between them and the freshmen. Freshmen and sophs could be seen hanging on each other’s necks and pledging eternal affection over the flowing bowl. Fellows were friendly who would not recognize each other on the morrow. The freshmen were fearless of the older classmen. They addressed them familiarly, talked to them in a familiar manner, joked them and toasted them.
Sidney Gooch seemed trying to drown his grief with punch. Once in a while he would break out about his watch, but everybody else seemed to wish to forget all about that.
Newton Billings had a brannagan on. He slapped sophomores and juniors on the back and told them they were the “right kind of stuff.” He applauded Danny’s story and Charlie’s speech.
“’Ray!” he cried. “Whazzer matter wi’ us! We’re all ri’! What comes nex’? ’Sit Merriwell? ’Ray fer Merriwell!”
“This is getting pretty swift,” thought Frank. “I’ll sing, and then I’ll watch for an opportunity to skip in a hurry. Some of these fellows will have to be taken home on shutters.”
Browning seemed happy. There was a calm, sweet smile on his weary face as he ladled out more punch. At last the deadly stuff was getting in its work.
Frank sang “Those Evening Bells,” an old-time college song. He rendered it beautifully, assisted by several voices on the chorus, and a dozen fellows were extravagant with their praise.
“’S great!” declared Billings, getting beside Frank, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. “’S beautiful! You can shing, Merriwell! ’S w’at! Give us ’nozzer.”
Others urged Frank to sing again, and he saw they would not be satisfied if he refused. He struck into “Stars of the Summer Night.”
“Stars of the summer night,Far in yon azure deeps,Hide, hide your golden light,She sleeps, my lady sleeps.”
“Stars of the summer night,Far in yon azure deeps,Hide, hide your golden light,She sleeps, my lady sleeps.”
“Stars of the summer night,Far in yon azure deeps,Hide, hide your golden light,She sleeps, my lady sleeps.”
“Stars of the summer night,
Far in yon azure deeps,
Hide, hide your golden light,
She sleeps, my lady sleeps.”
This was another of the old-time college songs, seldom heard at Yale in these modern days, but the music of Merriwell’s voice, and the mellowing influence of the punch, moved one of the freshmen to tears.
“’S great!” murmured Billings, getting his arm about Frank’s neck and seeming to sob. “Merriwell, you’re a brick! Give fi’ hundred dollarsh ’f I could shing shame’s you can.”
“Make it something lively next time,” urged Irving Nash.
“Do!” cried several. “Give us something so we can come in on the chorus and bear down heavy.”
Bink Stubbs started to sing “Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay,”but that had seen its day and Bink came near getting himself killed.
“That’s all right, gentlemen,” he said, from his retreat behind the bed. “I didn’t mean any offense, and I beg your pardon, as the convict said when the governor passed his cell.”
“You are lucky to escape with your life,” said Rattleton. “Sing something late and catchy, Merry.”
Frank struck into one of the popular songs of the day, and the fellows all “made a stagger at it.”
As Diamond afterward declared, it was something awful.
“If this keeps up, the faculty is bound to come down on us,” Frank decided.
When the song was ended, Frank declared that he must go.
“Don’t!” cried Billings, clinging to Merry with affection that was not relished.
“It’s getting awfully late.”
“We won’t go home till morning,” somebody sang.
“How late?” said Billings, familiarly reaching into Frank’s vest pocket. “Where’s your watch, Merriwell? Oh, here she is. Wonder ’f I can see to tell what time ’tish?”
He took a watch out of Frank’s pocket and began to fumble to open it.
“Say,” exclaimed Merry, “aren’t you getting a bit too new? Hello! What is that, anyhow?”
Sidney Gooch started forward, uttering an exclamation of astonishment and satisfaction.
“That’s my watch, Billings!” he shouted. “Where did you get it?”
Billings looked up in a stupid manner.
“G’way!” he gurgled. “’S Merriwell’s watch. Got ’tout of his pocket.”
“It’s my watch!” cried Gooch, clearly. “See, fellows, there is my monogram on the inside of the front case! That is the watch that was stolen from me.”
Gooch snatched it from Billings’ hand.
Frank Merriwell arose to his feet. He was aware that every eye in the room was on his.
“Gentlemen,” he said, his voice calm and steady, “this looks to me like an attempt to get square with me for the little joke of a short time ago. If so, it strikes me as decidedly a mean way of getting back at me.”