CHAPTER IVLEN HOWARD AGAIN
For several moments I lay still, struggling to collect my thoughts. Then, pressing my hand to my head to relieve the numb, sickening sensation produced by the blow, I sat up and stared about me in the darkness.
The next instant a dark figure not ten feet before me scrambled up from the grass and dashed out of the gate. I was too much shaken up to think of pursuit, so I sat still, listening attentively to the rapidly receding footsteps.
From the sound of these I felt confident that there were but two persons; and they were certainly badly frightened, for they lost no time in covering ground, and were in a few seconds far down the road, out of earshot.
“Now what on earth could those fellows have been up to?” I wondered, as I sat silently awaiting developments.
As nothing further occurred, I concluded that the mischief must have been summarily postponed on account of my appearance.
Whoever the mischief makers were, and whatevertheir plans may have been, they could not have regretted my presence on the scene more than I did myself. My head was aching and throbbing, while the stinging sensation at the one side of my forehead, and a little stream of blood, which I could feel trickling down my cheek, showed me how severe the blow had been.
As I rose to my feet I groped about in the dark until I found my hat, which had rolled several feet away from me; and then, brushing off the dust, I stepped over to the spot where I had been sleeping, and examined the grass carefully to see if the mysterious visitors had left any traces behind them.
No results rewarded my search; so, as I was more interested in my own condition than in their plans, I decided to let the matter drop.
“We are quits,” I said to myself, as I walked away toward Colver Hall. “I gave you a bad scare, and you gave me a bad scar, though, after all, I think you have the best of the bargain. One thing is certain: the next time I fall in with any fellows bent on mischief, I’ll leave them to the tender mercies of proctor Murray. The rôle of night watchman doesn’t suit me at all.”
On reaching my room I lit the gas, and examined my face in the mirror which stood over the mantelpiece. The skin had been broken, but the cut was not deep, nor the wound so bad by any means as it might have been, considering the force of the blow. On washing away the blood, I found my forehead somewhatswollen and purple, but in other respects fairly presentable, so I felt there was cause for congratulating myself on escaping so luckily.
It seemed quite evident to me that the injury I had sustained had been purely accidental. It was more than probable that the two students, whoever they were, had been planning some escapade, and, when I suddenly rose and interrupted them, they had become startled, and had dashed off without waiting to learn who it was. Not seeing me in the dark, the last of the two had run straight over me, kicking me in the head. The appearance of the wound, the manner in which I had received the blow, and the effect it had in tripping up the runner and sprawling him out on the grass—all confirmed me in this solution of the matter.
“It will probably be explained to-morrow,” I thought; “for when I am seen at morning prayers with a black and blue forehead, the fellow who kicked me will no doubt recognize the mark and let me into the secret. I suppose they were Freshmen, and up to some of their tricks.”
I slept soundly all night in spite of my wound, and was awakened on the following morning by the sound of the college bell ringing for prayers.
Without losing a moment’s time I sprang out of bed and scrambled into my clothes as best I could in the few minutes I had to spare.
The night’s rest had refreshed me completely, and had relieved my head of all sense of pain, although thepurple bruise had deepened in color, and the swelling had scarcely diminished.
As I hurried down stairs and across the campus, the last taps of the college bell were sounding, so that I reached the chapel just as the doors were being closed. A small crowd of tardy students were pressing in, and they kept the main door open just long enough to prevent my being shut out. I was the last one in, and all alone I walked down the aisle to my seat, the object of the curious gaze of over one hundred and fifty pairs of eyes. This I was well accustomed to, for I prided myself on the exactness with which I could calculate the time needed to reach morning prayers, and I was usually one of the very last to enter.
But this morning my appearance must have been interesting, and it certainly aroused attention. A snicker ran along the lines of students as I passed the various pews, and several of those nearest the aisle plucked at my coat and gave vent to such whispered exclamations as “Oh, what an eye!” “Who built that lump on your forehead, Harry?” and so on.
As I took my seat Rod Emmons, who sat next to me, said,
“That’s a bad bruise, Harry. How did you get it?”
“I don’t know,” I replied.
“What an answer!” he exclaimed.
I laughed.
“I mean it all the same,” I said. “I got that bruisein the dark last night, and I am looking this morning for the fellow that hit me.”
Further conversation was interrupted by Professor Fuller, who came forward to the pulpit at this moment, and began prayers.
At the close, when the students were streaming out, some to breakfast and others to recitations, I received inquiries and expressions of sympathy from all sides; but though I made no secret of my mishap, no one seemed to know more of the affair than myself. As the morning progressed without my obtaining any new light on the subject, I concluded that the students whom I had interrupted the night before must have had a special reason for keeping silent.
“And besides,” I thought, “perhaps after all they were not students at all, but town fellows trespassing on the campus, and frightened off by my voice, thinking I was the proctor.”
In the belief that the matter would solve itself, if a solution was forthcoming, I decided to let it drop, and accordingly gave up inquiring about it.
During the recitation hour between four and five o’clock that afternoon, as I was speculating on the chances of my being called upon next to recite, some one nudged me, and a small, folded piece of paper was slipped into my hand. This, on opening, I discovered to be a note, which read as follows:
Dear Harry:Meet me at the north entrance to Warburton Hall at five o’clock sharp. Don’t fail, for I have something of importanceto tell you. Pass this word on to Tony Larcom. He must be there, too.Yours in haste,Ray Wendell.
Dear Harry:
Meet me at the north entrance to Warburton Hall at five o’clock sharp. Don’t fail, for I have something of importanceto tell you. Pass this word on to Tony Larcom. He must be there, too.
Yours in haste,
Ray Wendell.
Tony was reciting at the time, and making a fine botch of it, too, to the general amusement of the class. The meeting of the evening before had evidently interfered seriously with his preparation, for though he was making a brave fight, Professor Fuller caught him on a knotty question before which Tony’s wits availed him nothing. So down he sat, as smiling and unabashed as if he had scored a brilliant success. Then I handed Ray Wendell’s note to my neighbor, and saw it pass rapidly along the line. Tony read it, looked toward me, and nodded his head.
Immediately after the recitation he joined us, and together we hurried over toward Warburton Hall. Ray Wendell was standing at the north entrance, evidently awaiting us.
As we came up, Ray said,
“I’m glad you are prompt, for we’ve no time to lose.”
At this moment Len Howard came down the stairs, tennis racket in hand, and was about to pass us when he saw Ray.
“Hullo, Wendell,” he said; “when can you play tennis with me again?”
“I don’t know,” answered Ray. “Baseball will take all my time now, I think.”
“Then why not play me before the baseball season sets in? Couldn’t we have a few sets to-morrow?”
“I shall be away to-morrow,” said Ray.
“Then some time next week. How about Monday noon?”
“I can’t say; I may be too busy.”
“See here, Wendell, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll play you for fifty dollars a side, and put up the money at once. Now, there’s a chance for you.”
“I don’t play for money,” answered Ray coldly, “and, to be perfectly frank, Howard, I don’t care particularly to play at all. I understand that you had money up on that last series of games, and——”
“Well, and what if I did?” broke in Howard. “Is it any of your business?”
“It is none of my business whether you bet or not, but itissome of my business whom I play tennis with, and I say again, I don’t care to play.”
“Oh, pshaw, you are afraid to play me,” said Howard.
“If I wasn’t afraid to play you before, when I thought you were the better player, why should I be afraid now, when I know I can beat you?” rejoined Ray, with a slightly sarcastic accent.
“You can’t beat me—it was all luck—you couldn’t beat me again to save your life!” burst out Howard excitedly. “I tell you I’ll bet you anything that——”
“And I tell you that I won’t bet anything, and that baseball is all I have time for at present.” Here Ray turned away.
Howard stood irresolute for a moment, as if about to say something more; then wheeling sharply onhis heel, he exclaimed with a sneer, “Oh, you’re a coward!” and walked off.
Ray’s face flushed a moment as he looked after him. Then he bit his lip, and, turning to Tony, said,
“I think, perhaps, you were right about him, after all. He certainly seems to be nursing a grudge against me for some reason. Perhaps I had better play him again, and let him beat me badly. It might do him good. Anything to please him, of course.”
“Well, it wouldn’t help him much,” returned Tony, “unless you let him win back the money he lost on the last games with you.”
Ray made no answer to this, but caught up his notebooks, which had been resting on a box behind the door.
“Come up to my room,” he said, “I’ve a telegram from Slade to show you,” and he led the way up stairs.