“Come Alice, help me carry this game into the house,” said Bart when the excitement over their arrival had quieted down a bit. His rabbits and the turkey were on the sled with the camp stuff.
“Is that all the luck you had?” asked Mr. Keene, as he came out on the porch to greet his son. “Why I thought you’d come loaded down. We didn’t buy anything for dinner, thinking you’d have enough.”
Bart knew by his father’s tone that he was only joking.
“We did have fine luck,” the boy replied, and then he told about the widow and how they had left her with plenty of food.
“Humph!” exclaimed Mr. Keene. “If you’d brought home any more game than you did, and hadn’t left her some I’d make you go back to Mrs. Perry without your dinner. You did right, Bart. I’m glad to hear it.”
Bart ate his Thanksgiving dinner with an appetitethat astonished even himself. Jennie Smith remained, as the guest of Alice, and she kept those about the table in lively mood, reciting bits of verse.
During the course of the meal Bart told of their trip, and more about the widow.
“We didn’t hardly know what to do when that blizzard came up,” he said. “Wonder if Jim went to meet us.”
“No, he came here and said he was expected to be at the end of the corduroy road for you,” Mr. Keene explained. “I said I guessed you boys would know what to do. Besides, it is doubtful if he could have gotten his wagon through the drifts.”
In the afternoon Bart’s chums came over. Ned said he had spoken to his father about the Perry family, and Mr. Wilding was going to get Jane a place to work. Mr. Keene expressed a wish to help the widow, and arrangements were made to see that she did not suffer any more for lack of food or clothing for herself and daughters. When the roads were better Mrs. Keene went to visit Mrs. Perry, and Jane secured a place in a store in Kirkville, so she could come home every night.
“Now if we could only find the widow’s son for her we’d have that family in pretty good shape,”remarked Bart to his chums one morning early in December as they were on their way to school after the Thanksgiving holidays. “Accidentally we were able to do quite a lot for them, but I’d like to do more.”
“I’m glad Jane has a place,” observed Fenn.
“Good thing it isn’t in Darewell,” said Frank.
“Why?” asked Fenn.
“Because you’d be hanging around the store where she was whenever you had the chance, Stumpy, to see her home.”
Frank did not dodge quickly enough to escape the snowball Fenn threw at him, and caught it on the head. But he laughed good-naturedly. It was the price for his joke and he was willing to pay it.
“Let’s go skating this afternoon,” suggested Bart. “The river edge is fine almost up to the Riffles.”
“Good!” exclaimed Ned. “We’ll have a race.”
School was dismissed for the day at three o’clock and as soon as they were out the boys hurried home for their skates. The weather was crisp and cold, just right for a fine spin up the frozen stream.
The four chums were soon gliding over the smooth surface on which were a number of other boys and girls enjoying the sport.
“We haven’t room to expand here,” said Bart, after they had skated around on the broad expanse of the river near the town. “Let’s go up a mile or two.”
His chums agreed, and they were soon racing up the stream toward the “Riffles” a shallower place where, in summer, there was good fishing.
“Let’s see who’ll be first to the dead pine!” cried Bart, pointing to a lightning-blasted tree on the river’s edge about a mile up. All four dashed off at top speed.
There was little difference in the ability of the boys when it came to skating. They were as much at home on the steel runners as they were on the baseball diamond, and were speedy skaters. Forward they went, stooping over to avoid the wind resistance as much as possible, the metal of their skates singing merrily in the crisp winter air.
“Now for the last rush!” cried Bart, as he put on an extra burst of speed. His companions responded to the call, but Bart had a little the best of them, and was first at the goal.
“I’ll beat you going back!” cried Ned.
“Let’s rest a while,” suggested Frank. “What’s that?”
The boys turned suddenly at the sound of loud shouting on the road which, at this point, ran closeto the river. It was someone trying to stop a team of horses, attached to a sleigh and, to judge by the noise, the animals were running away.
“Whoa! Whoa there!” cried the driver.
An instant later the team dashed from the road and came straight for the river, the driver trying in vain to stop them.
“It’s Sandy Merton!” exclaimed Bart.
Before the boys could say any more the horses had run out on the ice of the river, near the chums. Fortunately it was thick enough to bear the weight of the animals or it might have proved a disastrous runaway. As it was, Sandy, in trying to stop the horses, lost one rein. He pulled sharply on the other and the steeds, obeying it, turned quickly to the left. In an instant the sleigh, with its load of feed, in bags, was overturned on the ice and Sandy was spilled out.
“Quick! Grab the horses!” cried Bart, and the chums were soon at the bridles. But the animals appeared satisfied with the damage they had done, and stood still. Sandy picked himself up, for he was not hurt, and came to the heads of the horses. He looked at the overturned sleigh, with the bags of feed scattered on the ice, and murmured:
“I’ll catch it for this.”
“I rather guess he will,” said Bart in a low tone, as the temper of Silas Weatherby, for whom Sandy worked, was well known in that locality.
For a few moments Sandy stood surveying the scene. It looked as if it would take several men to set matters right, even if the sleigh was not broken. Then Sandy, with a sigh, set to work unhitching the horses. He led them from the ice and tied them to a tree on shore. Then he began moving the bags of feed so as to get a clear place around the vehicle. The chums watched him for a few minutes. They were thinking, as no doubt Sandy was, of that day when he had refused them a lift.
“It’s a good chance to get square,” murmured Bart to his companions. “We could sit down and watch him sweat over this, and laugh—but we won’t!” he added quickly. “That isn’t our way. We’ll get square with Sandy by helping him out in his trouble. That’ll make him feel just as badly as if we sat and laughed at him.”
It was an application of the Biblical injunction of heaping coals of fire, but it is doubtful if the boys thought of it in that light.
“Come on!” cried Bart. He began to take off his skates, and his chums followed his example. Then, to the great surprise of Sandy, they beganto help him move the bags away so they could get at the sled.
“Say—say—fellows—” began Sandy, as the thought of his own mean conduct, that day on the road, came to him. “Say—I don’t deserve this. I’m—”
“You dry up!” commanded Bart.
The four chums pitched in with a will and helped Sandy. They did not talk much, for, take it all in all, it was rather an embarrassing situation. Sandy did not know what to say, and the boys did not feel like entering into friendly conversation.
They did not care to be sociable with Sandy after what he had done, not only in regard to refusing them a ride, but in the matter of the oil barge. But they could not see anyone in such a plight as Sandy was, through no fault of his own, and not render assistance.
“The horses took fright and ran away,” Sandy explained, when most of the bags had been piled on shore. “I couldn’t stop ’em. The load was too heavy, and it was down hill.”
The chums did not answer. Sandy did not expect they would. The situation was too novel. But he was grateful for their help, and, doubtless resolved not to act meanly toward them in the future. The trouble with Sandy was he had nostrength of character. He was mean in spite of himself, and couldn’t help it.
When the bags were out of the way the five boys, by dint of hard work, managed to right the sleigh, which was a big double bob. It was not damaged to any extent and soon was ready to receive the bags of feed. They were piled in and the horses hitched up again.
“I’m—I’m much obliged to you fellows,” said Sandy in a mumbling tone. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a ride that day.”
Sandy meant that. He was much softened by what the chums had done.
“We’d made up our minds to get square with you,” said Bart, as he fastened on his skates. “And I think we did, Sandy,” and with that the four chums started off down the river, while Sandy drove the horses up into the road.
“Queer way to get square,” murmured Ned. “I’d like to punch his face.”
“This was the best way,” Bart replied, and, somehow, though perhaps they didn’t know just why, the chums agreed with him.
Christmas was approaching, and mingled with the joys of the holiday season, were thoughts in the minds of the four chums and all the other pupils, that school would close for two weeks.
“Next Wednesday is Christmas,” observed Bart one afternoon as the chums were on their way home. “School closes Tuesday for the two weeks, and we ought to mark the occasion in some way. Have you fellows heard of any celebration?”
“Nary a one,” replied Fenn.
“Well, there’s going to be something doing, all right.”
“Who’s going to do it?” asked Ned.
“Well, not the fellow who invited the cow to school,” replied Bart, referring to an incident for which Ned was responsible.
“You, maybe, eh?”
“Maybe,” and Bart winked his left eye.
There was little studying done on Monday of Christmas week, and less was in prospect for the following Tuesday. Some of the classes had arranged for informal exercises in their rooms and later there was to be a general gathering of all the pupils of the school in the large auditorium, at which Mr. McCloud the principal would make an address.
Monday night Bart was very busy in his room. There were odd noises proceeding from it, and when he came down a little later, and asked Alice to sew some strips of red cloth for him, she asked:
“What in the world are you up to, Bart?”
“I’m a knight, getting my armor ready for the conflict of battle,” he replied gravely. “Be ready for me when I return, for I may be covered with wounds and you can get lots of first-aid-to-the-injured practice.”
“Now, don’t do anything silly,” Alice advised.
“Far be it from me to do any such thing. You girls can attend to that part.”
“As if we girls were anywhere near as silly as boys are when they get started,” commented Alice, sewing away at the cloth. “Ouch! There, I’ve pricked my finger!” and she wiped away a few drops of blood.
“Here! Don’t get my uniform all spotted!” exclaimed Bart, as he saw Alice wipe her finger with the red cloth.
“Silly! How is blood going to show on this old red flannel?” asked Alice. “You’ll have to wait, Bart, until I wash my finger in an antiseptic solution,” and, laying aside the cloth, Alice hurried for her little box of remedies.
“I can sew it myself,” declared Bart, and he tried to, but he made awkward work of it, for he used a five cent piece in place of a thimble, at which Alice laughed when she returned. Under her skillful fingers, even though one was done up in a cloth, the work was soon completed.
It was about two o’clock when the pupils were assembled in the auditorium of the High School Tuesday afternoon. Professor McCloud delivered an address on the meaning of Christmas, telling of how ancient people celebrated it, and relating stories of the various nations that had beliefs in myths corresponding to Santa Claus, or St. Nicholas.
“Speaking of Santa Claus,” Mr. McCloud went on, as the closing remarks to his lecture, “I am reminded of—”
At that instant there was a jingle of bells out in the corridor, and before pupils or teachers, the latter all sitting on the raised platform in front, knew what it portended, a strange sight was presented.
Into the big room came a personage dressed in the usual Santa Claus costume, red flannel striped with white, a big white beard, his clothing sprinkled with something to represent snow, and, over his back a big bag.
But, oddest of all, was a little sleigh which St. Nicholas pulled in after him by a string. Hitched in front of it were eight tiny reindeer, made of plaster-of-paris, properly colored. Each animal was on a stand on wheels, and as St. Nicholas pulled them in with the sleigh, he shook the leadingstring, on which were bells, so that they jingled musically.
“Merry Christmas to all!” exclaimed St. Nicholas in a deep bass voice. “May I speak to them, sir?” and the figure turned to Professor McCloud, who, entering into the spirit of the occasion, nodded an assent. Neither he nor any of the teachers were prepared for the advent of Santa Claus. Some of the boys had suspected, but they were not sure.
“My sled and reindeer shrunk as soon as I struck this climate,” Santa Claus went on in his deep tones, which Ned was puzzling his brain over. He was wondering where he had heard them before. “Still I managed to come,” the red-coated figure went on. “I have a few gifts for some of the more faithful of my subjects.”
He slung the bag from his shoulder and began groping in it.
“Is Lem Gordon here?” he asked.
“Step up, Lemuel,” said Professor McCloud, for, though he did not know what was coming, he was willing to let the pupils have fun on such an occasion as this.
Rather sheepishly Lem, the pitcher on the High School nine, left his seat.
“I have heard of your good work last season,”Santa Claus went on, “and, as a reward for it I have brought you this. May it help you to win many games.”
With that he handed Lem a red, white and blue striped rubber ball, the kind given to babies so they can not hurt themselves.
The other pupils burst into laughter, and Lem blushed. He acted as though he was going to throw it at the head of St. Nicholas, but thought better of it and went to his seat.
“Fenn Masterson,” Santa Claus called next, and Stumpy went forward. “Fenn, I have heard how devoted you are to the ladies,” the speaker went on. “So I bring you this that you may never forget them,” and Fenn was given a doll dressed in the height of fashion. On the neck was a card which read: “I love Fenn and Fenn loves me.”
“Kiss her, Fenn!” called out Ned in a loud whisper, and poor Fenn, blushing to his ears, carried the doll back to his seat.
“I have here something for Ned Wilding,” the figure went on, and, as Ned, in response to the remorseless urging of his fellow pupils, went forward he was given a tin rattle box.
“Now James Eaton,” called Santa Claus, and James, who was very fond of dogs was given alittle woolly one that emitted a squeaky bark when gently punched in the stomach.
“William Sanderson!” called St. Nicholas, and a lad who did little else than fish in his spare time, was presented with a small pole and line, from which dangled a tin trout.
So it went on, until a score of the boys and several girls had been given toy presents bearing on their particular traits of character.
Meanwhile Ned and Fenn had been whispering to each other.
“Shall I do it now?” asked Ned, as St. Nicholas seemed to have reached the bottom of his bag.
“Yes,” whispered Fenn.
As Santa Claus prepared to leave, thinking perhaps his identity had not been penetrated, Ned walked forward.
“One moment,” he called, and St. Nicholas halted in the act of dragging out his tiny reindeer and sleigh.
“Though you have remembered us, you have forgotten yourself,” Ned went on. “Therefore, Mr. Bart Keene,aliasSt. Nicholas, on behalf of the pupils of the school I present you with this.”
Before Bart could get away Ned had torn the false beard from his chum’s face. Then, holding out what seemed to be a basket-ball, Ned suddenlyraised it high in the air and brought it down on Bart’s head. It broke with a loud sound, for it was paper blown up, and out flew a shower of confetti, which covered Bart’s red flannel uniform with tiny scraps of colored paper. Ned had brought it to use in playing a joke on someone else, but, at the last minute, discovering the identity of St. Nicholas, he had resolved on a different plan.
A loud shout of laughter went up at the surprised look on Bart’s face. He did not know what to say, and he shook his head to get rid of the confetti that clung even to his eyebrows. He had hoped to get away undiscovered but his chums had been too smart for him. He opened his mouth to speak, and the hickory nut he had placed in it to make his voice sound deep, dropped out and rolled on the floor. At this there was more laughter.
“Very well done, Bart,” observed Principal McCloud. “I think school is dismissed,” he added, as he and the other teachers joined in the laughter.
“Come again, Bart,” said Ned, as he and the other boys crowded about the impersonator of Santa Claus.
“Off with his uniform!” one of the boys called, and, before Bart could defend himself, he was being pulled this way and that, until the red suithe had gone to such trouble to make was a thing of shreds and tatters.
“It’s just like poor King Lear, being all torn apart by the winds,” exclaimed Jennie Smith, though some of her companions could not quite see the simile. “Oh, I would love to recite something,” she went on.
“Go ahead,” said Mary Tedwell. “I guess no one will hear you,” and she laughed rather maliciously.
“Mean old thing!” exclaimed Jennie. “She’s mad because she can’t recite poetry.”
Now Bart was entirely stripped of his Santa Claus suit, and the boys and girls, securing pieces of it, formed a ring about the lad and marched around singing any tune that came into their heads. The teachers had retired, leaving the pupils to finish in their own fashion the celebration attendant upon closing of school for the holidays as they knew there would be little trouble.
But all things must have an end and the merry frolic of the boys and girls was gradually brought to a close. Those who had received the odd presents from Bart were made to exhibit them, and many were the jibes and quips that accompanied the display.
On all sides and from scores of girls and boyscame the greeting, “Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year,” for school would not assemble again until the second week in January.
One by one the pupils left for home. The big auditorium became quieter and soon only the four chums, Alice and Jennie, and a few of their friends remained.
“Come on,” said Bart. “I’ll stand treat for hot chocolate at Fanton’s Drug Emporium.”
The boys and girls were a little later on their way to the “Emporium” as the sign in the window declared it to be.
“Coming to the entertainment Friday night?” asked Jennie of Fenn, when they were sipping the hot beverage.
“What entertainment?”
“The Y. M. C. A. is going to give one in the school auditorium. Moving pictures and some music. Alice and I are going.”
“Sure I’m coming,” Stumpy replied, though it was the first he had heard of it. But Stumpy wasn’t going to be left out if there were girls in it.
“Where you going?” asked Bart, overhearing the talk.
“Entertainment—school hall—Y. M. C. A.—Mov—ing pict—ures.”
The breaks Fenn made, in imparting the information, were caused by the sips of chocolate he took between his words.
“We’ll all go,” decided Bart. “We’ll be over our Christmas dinners by then.”
Finishing their chocolate the boys and girls walked together down the street on their way home. As they separated they wished each other the joys of the season.
Christmas, which came next day, was celebrated in Darewell much as it is celebrated every where in Christian lands. There was happiness in the homes of the four chums, not only at the gifts which they received, but also over those they gave. Each one remembered Mrs. Perry and her two girls, and, it is safe to say, it was the best Christmas the widow’s family had experienced since trouble came.
“If only Willie was home now,” Mrs. Perry said to Jane as they looked at the gifts which had come so unexpectedly to them, “we would be very happy.”
“Perhaps he will be with us next Christmas,” Jane remarked, trying to comfort her mother. “Let us hope so anyhow. We are much more happy than we were the day before Thanksgiving when everything seemed so black.”
“Yes, thanks to those good boys,” the widow replied. “Well, we will trust in Providence. Perhaps Willie may come back to us.”
The day of the Y. M. C. A. entertainment proved to be one of the coldest of the winter. It dawned with a dull leaden sky, filled with lowering clouds, and there was a nip to the air that made thick wraps a necessity. The wind, which had been blowing strongly in the morning, increased in violence as the day advanced until by evening it was blowing half a gale.
But the boys and girls who crowded into the school auditorium did not mind this. It only made their cheeks redder, and though the wind did toss and tumble the hair of the girls it only caused them to look all the prettier, at least so Fenn thought, and he ought to know.
“B-r-r-r! It’s a regular hurricane!” exclaimed Bart as he and Alice entered the hall, where they found a number of their friends. The entertainment had not yet begun.
“It must be getting colder,” observed Ned.
“What makes you think so?” asked Bart.
“Your nose is as red as a beet.”
“It feels half frozen,” Bart answered. “That comes of having such a big one. But it’s a sign of greatness you know.”
“If we let you tell it,” interposed Frank.
The hall soon filled up and the entertainment was started. There was vocal and instrumental music and recitations. Jennie Smith rendered “Horatius at the Bridge” with all the energy she was capable of, and the four chums applauded vigorously.
The wind was increasing in violence, and it rattled the windows so that at times it interfered with the singing. The janitor went about tightening the fastenings.
“It’s going to be a bad storm,” Bart heard the man murmur as he adjusted the catches. “I hope it doesn’t blow some of the chimneys down. One or two of ’em need pointing up, for the mortar’s most out of ’em.”
“Is there any danger?” asked Bart in a whisper.
“No, I hope not. The old tower—” but what the janitor would have said about the tower Bart did not hear, for the man had passed on and there came the chorus of a song which drowned his words.
But the janitor’s prophecy seemed likely to be true. The noise of the wind could be heard more plainly now. The windows did not rattle so much after being attended to, but the gale fairly madethe school building vibrate. The old tower the janitor spoke of was a tall, square affair, at one corner of the building. It was for ornamental purposes only, though it contained a large clock, and there was a winding stair in it that gave access to the mechanism.
A white screen was adjusted and moving pictures thrown upon it. The first series was that of battleships in practice evolutions and as the smoke rolled from the muzzles of the big guns a man behind the scenes beat a bass drum, to simulate the distant roar of the ordnance.
The audience watched one great ship as it came into view on the screen. A broadside was fired, and, as the white smoke rolled out there came a tremendous concussion that shook the entire school.
“He must have busted the drum that time,” thought Bart.
An instant later there came a terrifying crash so near at hand that everyone knew it was not the sound of the drum, nor their excited imagination. Nor was it the noise of the wind.
Then, down through one corner of the auditorium, fortunately in a place where no one was seated, crashing through the ceiling, came a mass of brick and mortar.
Before the echoes of that had died away theresounded another noise; a deep, dull sound, and the school again vibrated with the shock. Then the auditorium was in darkness, and through it came the voice of the janitor shouting:
“The tower has been wrecked and has fallen!”
For an instant silence followed the startling announcement, silence in which the wind seemed to join, for there came a lull in the gale. Then, as the gale resumed its furious blowing, the audience became fear-crazed and a mad rush ensued.
Women and girls were screaming at the tops of their voices. Men were shouting to one another to know what had happened. Boys were darting here and there seeking a means of escape from what they believed would prove a death-trap. The noise of bricks clattering to the floor could be heard and the school-house seemed, at least to the excited imaginations of some, to be on the point of toppling down.
The four chums, who were seated near each other, had jumped up at the first crash. Bart reached over to grab Alice and prevent, if possible, her being trampled under foot. Fenn had Jennie by the arm. Then the light from the moving picture machine, which had served to dispel the gloom,went out. The maddened rush became worse.
“Quick!” cried Frank. “Let’s give the school yell! Maybe it will quiet the rush until we can turn on the lights! There’s a switch on the wall here! Now, fellows altogether!”
His three chums heard him as if in a dream, but they comprehended.
“One, two, three!” cried Frank.
Then, above the noise of the gale, above the shrieks of the women and girls, above the hoarse calls of frightened men, arose the yell, given with all the power of the lungs of the four boys:
“Ravabava—Havabava—Hick! Hick! He!Dabavaba—Nabahaba—Snick! Snack! Snee!Why do we thus loudly yell?’Tis for our school: old Darewell!”
“Ravabava—Havabava—Hick! Hick! He!Dabavaba—Nabahaba—Snick! Snack! Snee!Why do we thus loudly yell?’Tis for our school: old Darewell!”
Never had the call been given under such circumstances. Never had it sounded more strangely. Never had it been more welcome.
For an instant there was a silence following the yell. It had momentarily drowned the cries from the panic-stricken ones. Before there was a chance for a continuance of the panic that had been halted, if only for an instant, Bart cried:
“There’s no danger. Wait until the lights are turned on!”
In another moment Frank had reached the switch and the place was brilliant with the gleam from scores of incandescent lamps. The rush had been stopped, for, as the crowd looked about, they saw there was no immediate danger.
In one corner of the auditorium there was a gaping hole in the roof, where the top part of the tower had crashed through. The floor in that section was covered with bricks and mortar, and several seats were crushed, but the audience had crowded up front and no one was hurt.
A moment later some of those in charge of the entertainment hurried to the platform and made an announcement.
A hasty investigation showed, it was said, that the tower had fallen mostly outward instead of toward the school, which accounted for only a small part of it hitting the roof. Had the entire pile of masonry toppled over on the auditorium there might have been a great loss of life. As it was the main school was in no danger, but, for fear the structure might have been weakened it was decided best to dismiss the audience at once.
“That wind must be pretty strong,” observed Bart as he and his chums, with Alice, Jennie, and some of the other girls, got outside.
“Oh! It certainly is!” cried Jennie as shestepped from the doorway. “I’m being blown away.”
The wind had caught her long cloak and whipped it up around her shoulders so that it acted like a sail. Jennie was being fairly carried along the street.
“There’s your chance, Fenn!” cried Frank. “Rescue a maiden in distress.”
Fenn did not stop to reply to his tormenter but caught Jennie by the arm and helped her to straighten her garment.
“Noble youth!” exclaimed Bart. “You shall be suitably rewarded.”
They all laughed, rather hysterically, it is true, at the nonsense talk, but it was a relief to their over-strained nerves for the shock of the accident had been a severe one.
They passed along and, as they got beyond the shelter of the school the full force of the wind was felt. It was almost a hurricane, and it was all they could do to walk along.
“No wonder it blew the tower down,” observed Ned. “Let’s take a look at the wreck.”
They walked around to the other side of the school. There, prone on the ground, though but a confused mass of bricks and mortar, was what had been the tower.
“There’s the clock!” exclaimed Frank, as he saw the dial of the timepiece some distance from the big mass of masonry. “See, it stopped just at ten.”
There were four dials to the clock, one for each side of the tower. The dials were of sheet iron with big gilt hands which were worked simultaneously by the one set of wheels and springs. This dial, to which Frank called attention, had fallen from its place, with the hands still attached to it, the rods to which they were fastened, and which served to turn them, having been cut off close to the back of the face.
“I’m going to take it home for a souvenir,” Frank said. “If they want it back they can have it.”
He picked up the dial, which was painted white with black numerals on it. As he did so he uttered an exclamation.
“What’s the matter?” asked Ned.
“It’s all mud, or something black,” Frank replied. “I’ve got it all over my hands.”
“Better let it alone,” advised Bart. “The wind will blow it away, and you with it, if you try to carry it.”
“I guess I can manage,” Frank responded, and though the gale did get a good purchase on theflat surface of the dial which was two feet in diameter, Frank clung to it and took it home with him.
“See you to-morrow!” called Fenn to Frank, as the latter turned off on a street that led to his uncle’s house. The others went in the opposite direction.
“We’ll come and take a look at the ruins by daylight,” suggested Frank. “Good-night.”
“Good-night,” called his chums, and the girls.
“Queer sort of a relic he’s got,” observed Bart.
“It’s just like him,” Ned rejoined. “Frank’s a queer chap anyhow.”
“I think he’s nice,” remarked Alice.
“So do I,” chimed in Jennie.
“Who said he wasn’t?” demanded Bart. “Can’t a fellow make a remark about his chum without being found fault with?”
“I don’t think it’s nice to say he’s queer,” Alice said.
“Why he admits it himself,” her brother put in. “He doesn’t care what we say about him. We call him queer about twice a week; don’t we fellows.”
“Sure,” replied Ned, coming to his chum’s support.
“Well, never mind,” Alice rejoined. “Let’s hurry home or we’ll be blown into the next county.”
It was such a cold blustery night, with the wind seeming to increase in violence rather than diminish, that all were glad when they reached their houses.
“It’s a pretty fierce gale,” remarked Mr. Keene, when his son and daughter had told him what had happened, “but I wouldn’t think it was strong enough to blow the tower down. Must have been weak somewhere.”
“The janitor said some of the chimneys needed new mortar in the cracks, and maybe the tower did also,” Bart said.
“I suppose the school authorities will investigate and see what caused it to fall,” his father went on. “It was a dangerous thing to let such a weak tower stay up.”
Bart stopped at Ned’s house the next morning to call for him, and then they intended to get Frank and Fenn to go together and take a look at the tower.
“Come on in,” Ned invited his chum at the door. “I’ve got a letter.”
“Who from?”
“My aunt, Mrs. Paul Kenfield, of New York. She wants me to come down for a week or two.You know, she wrote me some time ago inviting me for next summer. Now she says she wants me to come right away, and to bring you three fellows. I wrote her, after I got the first invitation that I’d like to take my chums with me.”
“That’s very kind of you,” replied Bart. “I guess I can go. When are you going to start?”
“Monday.”
“That will give you a week there. I don’t believe I could get ready so soon. I’ve got to help dad Monday.”
“Then you and the other boys could come afterward. Say on Tuesday or Wednesday,” suggested Ned.
“I’ll think about it,” his chum replied. “But come on, let’s go take a look at the fallen tower.”
Ned and Bart went to Fenn’s house, where they found Frank. The two were just on the point of starting out.
“Did you get your relic home safe?” asked Bart of Frank.
“You mean the clock dial? I did, though I thought at one time the wind would blow it away. I got that black stuff whatever it was on it, all over my clothes.”
“Was it paint?” asked Ned.
“No, seemed like some kind of smoke. I had hard work to get it off my hands.”
“Come on!” called Fenn. “There are crowds going to see the tower.”
“Well, what of it?” asked Ned. “They can’t carry it away; can they?”
“No,” replied Fenn, “but they’ll all get around it and we can’t see anything.”
“Oh we’ll get you a pair of opera glasses,” rejoined Frank.
“I guess you’re all just as anxious to see it as I am,” said Stumpy. “Come on.”
A fine, calm day, though cold, had succeeded the blustery one. As Fenn had said, the streets were filled with a large throng hastening to see the wreck of the tower. The falling of it had created more excitement than had been known in Darewell for some years.
“Say, you fellows are all right,” called Jim Nelson, as the four chums passed him. “That was a fine yell you gave. I’d a joined in, only—”
“Too much work, eh?” asked Frank, for Jim had the reputation, not altogether undeserved, of being the laziest boy in town.
“No, it wasn’t that exactly,” Jim replied, “but I couldn’t remember the words.”
“Why didn’t you come in on the tune?” asked Ned.
“Um,” was all Jim said. It was his usual reply when he did not want to take the trouble to answer in words. “Say,” he called a moment later, as the chums kept on, “are you going to the tower?”
“Yes; are you?” inquired Fenn.
“I was, but if you’re going that way would you do me a favor?”
“What is it?” asked Ned.
“Stop on your way back and tell me how it looks. No use of me going if you are. I’ll wait in the drug store here for you,” and Jim turned into the “Emporium.”
“We may not be back until late this afternoon,” Fenn said.
“That’s all right, I’m in no hurry. I can wait here as well as anywhere else,” and Jim went into the store and took a seat on one of the stools at the soda fountain, from whence he could look out of the window.
“Well, if that isn’t the limit!” exclaimed Ned.
“It’s a wonder he didn’t ask us to bring the tower around for him to look at,” said Bart.
“He would, only he was too lazy to think of it,” remarked Frank.
The boys found quite a crowd around the fallen mass of bricks, and many were the comments on the accident.
“Let’s go up and take a look at where the roof was broken through,” suggested Ned.
The chums started to enter the school intending to go to the auditorium, but, as they reached the stairs, for the building was open, they were met by Mr. Williamson, president of the Board of Education.
“You can’t go in, boys,” he said pleasantly enough.
“Is it dangerous?” asked Ned.
“Well, that’s what we’re trying to find out. We have some workmen looking over the ruins to see what repairs we will have to make. There’s quite a hole in the roof.”
“Will it interfere with the opening of school next week?” asked Bart.
“Do you wish it would?” asked Mr. Williamson.
The boys laughed, for the president had read their thoughts.
“We hope not,” Mr. Williamson went on. “By the way, you boys know almost everything that goes on in Darewell? Did you happen to hear of any one carrying off one of the clock dials? We can only find three in the ruins, and there were four.”
“I took one home with me last night,” said Frank promptly. “I wanted it for a relic. I hope there was no harm in that.”
“None in the world, if you still have it,” said Mr. Williamson. “You see we are trying to find out just what caused the tower to be blown down by the wind, and we want all the evidence we can get. Just keep the dial safely and, the next timeyou come up toward my store, leave it for me. You may have it back again after we are through with it, for we’ll have to have a whole new clock I expect.”
“Wonder what he expects to find from the clock face?” asked Ned, as the boys went back on the campus to get another look at the fallen tower.
“Probably wants to look into its open countenance and ask questions about how it feels to be blown down,” Bart replied.
“I hadn’t any idea they’d want that piece of the clock, or I’d never have taken it,” said Frank. “Lucky I saved it, or someone else might have carried it off and they’d never get it again.”
They took another look at the tower, though there was little they had not already seen, and then on Stumpy’s invitation to have some hot chocolate they strolled back to the “Emporium.” They found Jim still there, but he seemed to have fallen asleep.
“Put some chocolate near him, and see if he wakes up,” suggested Ned in a whisper.
The clerk, at the boys’ request, placed a glass of the steaming liquid close to Jim’s hand as it rested on the marble counter. Jim opened his eyes, looked at the beverage, glanced at the four chums waiting expectantly and then—closed hiseyes again without reaching for the chocolate.
“He’s lost his chance,” Fenn said. “I’ll drink it myself.”
He did so, and, as the boys were leaving, Jim appeared to rouse from his slumber. He seemed to remember the chocolate, for he put out his hand as if to grasp it. His fingers closed on the empty air.
“Did I drink it?” he asked of the chums, who stood laughing at him.
“Must have,” replied Ned.
“I don’t remember,” Jim said, in puzzled tones. “But it’s all right. I’m sleepy to-day. Is the tower still—?” Then the exertion of talking seemed to be too much for him, and he closed his eyes again.
“Come on,” said Ned. “I’ve got to get home and make arrangements for my New York trip.”
“Oh, yes, and I must find out when I can go,” Bart added. “We can have jolly sport there, fellows.”
There were several family councils that night. Ned’s plans were all made, and he had but to pack his trunk, ready to leave on the following Monday morning. The other chums, though, had to consult their relatives. It was inconvenient for some to let the boys go Tuesday, and Thursdaydid not suit any better. Finally a compromise was made and Wednesday, following the Monday on which Ned was to start, was fixed on.
Then came an announcement which changed the plans of the boys to some extent. Late Saturday afternoon it was stated that the damage to the school had been greater than was at first supposed. It would be impossible to make repairs so that classes might assemble the second week in January, and the institution was to close for a month. Not until February first, President Williamson stated, would the school open again.
“Say, this will just suit us!” cried Ned as he and his chums discussed the news that night. “We can stay so much longer. I know my aunt will be glad to see us, and the longer vacation we have the better she will like it. She’s fond of boys. All hers are grown up. She said I was to come and stay a month if I wanted to.”
“Fine!” exclaimed Bart. “I’ll have to pack a few more clothes in my trunk if we are to be gone longer than we first calculated.”
“So will I,” cried Fenn.
“Then it’s all settled,” said Ned. “I’ll go Monday and you follow Wednesday. You can find your way to the house I guess. It’s on West Forty-fourth street. Here’s the number. I’ll bethere to welcome you. Won’t we have fun though! I’ve never been in New York.”
The others had not either, and they spent some time discussing the pleasant prospects ahead of them.
Monday morning they all went down to the depot to see Ned off.
“Good-bye until Wednesday,” he called to his chums as they stood on the platform waving their hands to him. “I’ll meet you in New York sure.”
But it was a long time before Ned kept his promise.
The issue of the DarewellAdvertiserthat Monday afternoon contained some startling information. The three chums were standing in front of the drug store talking of their prospective trip when a newsboy ran past calling:
“Extra! Extra! Full account of the blowing up of the school tower with dynamite!”
“What’s that he’s yelling?” asked Bart.
“He said something about the school tower and dynamite,” replied Fenn. “Trying to sell his papers I guess.”
“Let’s get one and see if it’s a fake,” suggested Frank.
“Here boy! Give me one!” cried Bart, and the lad handed him a sheet, damp with paste from the press.
Staring at the three chums in big black letters was the heading:
SCHOOL TOWER DYNAMITED!Not Blown Down by Gale of Wind as FirstSupposed.BELIEVED TO BE BOYS’ WORK!Investigation Has Been Ordered by PresidentWilliamson of the Board of Education.FOUR LADS SUSPECTED!
“Well, what do you think of that!” exclaimed Bart when he had finished reading the head-lines. “Isn’t that the limit?”
“Limit! It’s the strangest thing I ever heard of,” cried Frank.
“Somebody has been stuffing the reporter,” suggested Fenn. “Let’s read the rest of it.”
Looking over Bart’s shoulders the two other lads read the account. It told in vivid language how the fact was discovered that the tower had been blown down by an explosive. Those nearest the tower when the crash came told of hearing a dull boom, that was not caused by the wind. Then came the sound as the bricks fell through the corner of the roof of the auditorium.
“But if other evidence was wanting,” the article went on, “it is easily found in the dials of the clock that was in the tower. The white faces bear the black marks of powder and an analysiswhich has been made shows the stains to have been caused by some powerful explosive, the exact nature of which is being kept secret by the authorities.
“It is understood from a reliable source, however, that dynamite was used, a small quantity being placed in the top of the tower. It is said that part of a dynamite cartridge has been found but this is denied by the police.
“That the work was that of mischievous boys, who, possibly did not appreciate the seriousness of their deed, is the opinion of the school authorities. This is borne out by the fact that a boy confessed to having carried off one of the powder-marked dials of the clock. Why he did this has not been disclosed, but Mr. Williamson has secured an admission from him that he did take the dial from the debris of the wrecked tower. This dial the president of the board has secured, together with the other three.
“It is alleged that four boys, who are often seen in each others’ company, and who have, before this, taken part in more or less harmless tricks, are suspected of blowing down the tower. One of them, it can be asserted on the highest authority, had the clock dial. An investigation has been started by the school authorities, and thefour boys in question, including the one who took the dial from the wreckage, will be called on to tell what they know. If the evidence, after a thorough sifting, points to them, it is understood that criminal action will be taken.”
“Did you ever hear the like?” cried Fenn.
“Wait, here’s something more,” said Bart. He pointed to a few lines of type at the bottom of the article. They read:
“Just as we are going to press we learn that one of the four suspected lads has hurriedly left town.”
“Come on!” cried Bart. “I’m going to make him take that back.”
“Make who take what back?” asked Frank.
“Why the editor of this paper. Can’t you see who he’s referring to in that last line? He means Ned! He means that Ned’s run away for fear he’ll be arrested! He means us when he says ‘four boys often seen in each others’ company!’ He’s accusing the Darewell Chums of blowing up the tower! Come on, we’ll make him deny this if he has to get out an extra!”
“Go slow,” advised Frank.
“Go slow! Yes, that’s always your way! Wait and let him say all he wants to about us! I guess not!”
“I say we’d better wait,” Frank went on quietly. “Of course you know, and I know, none of us had anything to do with the blowing up of the tower. I don’t believe it was blown up. I believe the wind did it, and some one has imagined all this and given the reporter a story of what he thinks is the truth. At the same time the school authorities may be going to have an investigation. It’s their privilege. Now if we go to the editor’s office and raise a row folks at once will jump to the conclusion that we had some hand in the explosion. Besides, it doesn’t say we are suspected.”
“It as good as says so,” Bart exclaimed. “Everyone will know they mean us.”
“At the same time the article doesn’t say so. That editor is cute enough for that. He doesn’t want a libel suit on his hands.”
“It might as well call us by the names,” Bart insisted. “Besides, that refers to Ned as plain as can be, and he isn’t here to defend himself. It’s our duty to go.”
“I tell you you’ll only make things worse if you go to the office of the paper,” Frank insisted. “The editor will ask you if you think the article refers to you. You’ll say it does, and he’ll say, in effect, ‘if the shoe fits put it on.’ These newspaper men are no fools. They have some basisfor what they write. Besides, you know I did take the dial.”
“So you did,” said Fenn.
“Did you give it back to Mr. Williamson?” asked Bart.
“Yes, I took it to the store as he asked me to.”
“But you didn’t make any admissions, did you?”
“How could I? There were none to make. You were with me when he asked me about the clock face and you heard all I said. When I left the dial in the store he was not there. I haven’t seen him since. The reporter is drawing on his imagination I guess for considerable of this.”
“I wonder if they are going to have an investigation?” said Bart.
“Let’s go and see Mr. Williamson,” suggested Fenn. “We can show him the article and he can tell us what to do. I think that’s the best plan.”
The other two chums agreed to this, and, each one having purchased a paper containing the startling news, they went to the hardware store of the president of the Board of Education.
Mr. Williamson was talking to some other members of the board, in his private office, when the boys entered the store. They sent word they wanted to see him, and in a little while, his visitorshaving gone, the president invited the chums in.
“Well, boys,” he began, “what can I do for you?”
“This article,” began Bart. “It seems to—”
“I have read it,” Mr. Williamson interrupted.
“Do you suspect us?” demanded Bart.
“That is hardly a fair question,” Mr. Williamson replied. “I shall probably be called upon to preside at the investigation and I can not discuss the case in advance of the hearing. I will say this however: We believe some boy or boys blew up the tower, little thinking of the terrible danger to which he subjected the entire school and that audience. We have no direct evidence, as yet, but we expect to get some. I may add that a hearing will be held to-night, and I would like you boys to be there. I understand Ned Wilding has gone to New York.”
“He went this morning,” replied Bart, “but he had planned to go long before this thing happened. We are going to join him Wednesday.”
“Indeed?” and Mr. Williamson looked a little surprised.
“What time is the hearing?” asked Fenn.
“At eight o’clock, in my office here.”
“We’ll be on hand,” spoke Bart.
All the members of the Board of Education, the school janitor, the chief of police, a detective, the fathers of Bart and Fenn, and Frank’s uncle were at the hearing. There was much testimony in an informal way, to the effect that the tower was wrecked by an explosion and not by the wind. So much was easily proved.
The next thing was to discover who had done the deed. The janitor said he had seen a boy hanging around the tower just before the entertainment began, but he could not give a good description. It might fit half the boys in Darewell.
There was no direct evidence against the chums. Bart had bought some powder in Mr. Williamson’s store a few days before the explosion, but he testified it was for his gun, which evidence was corroborated by Mr. Keene. The taking away of the clock dial by Frank was dwelt upon, and there seemed a disposition to make much of it, but the boy’s uncle bore out Frank’s statement that the dial had been placed among a lot of other relics and ornaments in his nephew’s room, and was not hidden away as though Frank wished to conceal any evidence. Ned’s sudden trip was explained, though it was manifest that some of the school commissioners looked with disfavor on it.
The affair ended, as far as the four chumswere concerned, in a sort of Scotch verdict of “not proven.”
“Does that end this inquiry?” asked Mr. Keene.
“For the time being,” replied Mr. Williamson.
“Then I demand that this committee issue a statement that there is not the slightest evidence against my son and his chums.”
“We will do nothing of the sort!” exclaimed Mr. Williamson.
“Then I shall take legal steps to compel you to.”
“And I will join you,” declared Mr. Masterson.
“This investigation will be continued later,” Mr. Williamson went on. “We have not finished. We are going to have some expert detectives here. Then perhaps we shall discover who perpetrated this outrage.”
“You may rest assured it was none of these boys,” said Mr. Dent. “I know my nephew and I know his chums too well even to suspect them.”
“That is all at present,” the president of the board remarked. “The meeting is adjourned.”
“But it leaves these boys under a cloud,” objected Mr. Keene.
“I am sorry but that cannot be helped,” was Mr. Williamson’s reply.