heels"At last Roy stumbled over a root, went head over heels into a clump of bushes."
"At last Roy stumbled over a root, went head over heels into a clump of bushes."
Roy shook his head, found a little breath and gasped:
"I'm—all right. Go ahead. I'll—follow—presently."
Chub glanced hesitatingly from Roy to the others. Then he nodded and went on. At a little distance he turned, waved a hand to the right and shouted something about the road. Roy nodded indifferently and then fell back onto the turf and didn't care a rap what happened. It was blissful just to lie there, stretch his aching legs and get his breath back. Anyone who wanted that dinkey pewter mug could have it, as far as he cared. Only—well, he did wish he could have finished! Then it occurred to him that he could, that if he went on he might even finish well up on the list. He judged that five minutes had passed since the others had left him. He already felt better and had regained his wind remarkably. Well, he'd just go on and have a try; maybe he could help win the mug for the Second Seniors. So he climbed to his feet and set off in the direction taken by Chub.
But a minute or so later he concluded that he had lost the way, for now the wind instead of being behind him was coming against his left cheek. Of course the wind might have swung around, but it was much more probable that he had unconsciously borne to the left. The best thing to do, he thought, was to get back to the road, which was somewhere in the direction he was going. So he pushed on, his trot becoming a walk as the bushes grew thicker and thicker about him. Ten minutes, fifteen minutes passed and he had found no road. Up and down little hills he went, across open stretches and through tangles of leafless bushes. He kept the wind against his left cheek and went on. It was getting toward twilight and was still cloudy and cold. His legs began to feel stiff and his feet would drag in spite of him. A half an hour must have passed—he had left his watch at school and so could only guess—and he was still travelling over wind-swept upland. He began to feel a bit uncomfortable; the prospect of spending the night up there wasn't enticing. Observing a little bush-crowned hill that looked higher than any he had yet found, he made his way to it. From the top he could perhaps see the road, or, failing that, discover where the river lay.
So he climbed up the rise, his feet slipping over loose gravel. At the top he paused and looked about him. There was no road to be seen, but behind him were a few twinkling lights, perhaps a mile away, and—yes, surely, that was the river over there, that ribbon of steely-gray! He would get to the river, he decided, at its nearest point and then follow along the bank until he found the school, if he did not stumble across a road or a house or something before that. So he got the direction firmly fixed in his mind, broke through the bushes in front of him, gave a cry of terror, grasped ineffectually at the branches and went plunging, crashing downward to lie in a silent, motionless heap thirty feet below.
HARRY FINDS A CLUE
When Chub left Roy lying gasping for breath in the bushes and took up the race again he was a good hundred yards behind Jack and Pryor, who were just dropping from sight beyond the brow of one of the little hills.
"Keep over that way—get back to the road," he turned and shouted. He saw Roy nod wearily. Then he set out in earnest to make up lost ground. That was the hardest bit of the whole run for Chub and it took him the better part of a mile to make up that hundred yards. Jack and Pryor did their level best to maintain their advantage. But when they were back on the road once more Chub was running even with them. Pryor tried to slip aside and make him take the lead and set the pace, but Chub was too wary. It could scarcely be called running now, for with less than a mile to go it became a question with each one of them whether they could stay on their feet long enough to finish and their pace was a slow jog that was little like the springy gait with which they had started out.
There was no breath wasted now in talk. They cast quick looks at each other, searching for signs of weakness and discouragement. It was every man for himself, Pryor struggling along with drooping head for the glory of the Middle Class, Jack resolved to win the honor for the First Seniors, and Chub equally determined to gain it for the Second Seniors. A quarter of a mile from the school, just as they turned into the Silver Cove road, Pryor's time came. He faltered once, stumbled, and Chub turning aside to avoid him, slowed down to a walk, his breath coming in agonized gasps. Chub and Jack went on without a turn of the head, side by side, their eyes glued doggedly on the red-tiled tower of the gymnasium visible now above the tree-tops a few hundred yards away. Then the road turned a bit and a group of waiting boys marked the corner of the school grounds.
Chub looked at Jack and the latter shook his head with a wry twisted smile. But when Chub threw his head back and strove to draw away from him Jack responded gallantly and refused to own himself beaten. So they had it nip and tuck down to the corner, pounding the hard road like cart horses and yet making but slow work of it, while the audience shouted them on, scattering away from the rail fence that they might have plenty of room. And they needed it. Twice Chub strove to throw his leg across the topmost bar and twice he failed. Jack, with set teeth, got over on the second attempt, and when Chub came tumbling after him he had a good six yards of lead. Ahead, at the gate across the field, stood Doctor and Mrs Emery and Harry.
"Hurry! Hurry!" cried the latter, dancing excitedly about. "Oh, it's Jack Rogers and Chub Eaton! Hurry, Jack! Hurry, Chub! Oh,can'tyou run faster?"
"Which do you want to win, my dear?" asked her mother smilingly. Harry answered breathlessly without turning.
"Oh, I don't know! Both!"
Meanwhile across the gridiron Chub and Jack, accompanied by applauding friends and partisans, were fighting it out gamely. Chub had almost made up the distance between him and Jack when the track was reached. Across the cinders they staggered, the gate and finish but a few yards away. Then fortune, thus far quite impartial, turned her face to Chub. Jack stumbled on the wooden rim of the track and, while he saved himself from falling, gave Chub his chance, and in another second the latter youth was through the gate and lying with tossing arms on the lawn. Jack finished a scant yard behind him and keeled over in his turn.
Horace Burlen set down the times on the list he held and others sprang to the aid of the exhausted runners. Then all eyes turned again toward the corner of the field, for someone was struggling over the fence there. Down he jumped and came trotting across, apparently much fresher than Chub and Jack. It was Townsend, of the Middle Class. When he was half way across the field a fourth runner appeared, made several attempts to surmount the bars, leaned against them a moment, and found his breath and then came over.
"It's Pryor," said Horace. "That's two for the Middlers, and one each for the First and Second Seniors."
"What was Chub Eaton's time?" asked Forrest as Townsend finished.
"Four and three-eighths minutes better than the record made four years ago by Gooch," answered Horace.
"Well, I'm glad Roy Porter didn't win," said Harry vindictively. Chub rolled over on his elbows.
"He went down and out—two miles back," said Chub. He looked across at Jack, who was sitting up and breathing like a steam-engine. "Sorry I beat you, Jack. I wouldn't have if you hadn't stumbled."
Jack nodded with a smile.
"Glad you won, old man," he said. "It was a tough old run, and you can bet I'm glad it's over. Phew! but I'm tuckered."
"Same here. That last mile was the dickens. There's someone else coming—two, three of them! One of 'em's fallen off the fence. Gee! I thought I'd never get over that thing!" He got up, followed by Jack, and passed through the gate. "Hello, Townsend! How was the road?"
"Rutty as anything and mighty hard running. I got a stitch in my side about a mile back and had to let up for a while. Passed Pryor moseying along down near the corner. Who's that coming?"
"Porter, by Jove!" cried Chub.
"Porter nothing!" said Horace. "That's Warren. And the next two are Glidden and Chase. That makes First and Second Seniors and Middlers tied for first so far. Chase is a Junior, isn't he?"
"Yes," answered Townsend.
Chase, a youngster of thirteen, made a plucky race across the field and beat Glidden of the Second Senior Class by three yards. Then for a while no more finished. Chub and Jack and the others disappeared into the gymnasium, and Doctor and Mrs. Emery returned to the Cottage. Harry, however, still remained. It was getting dim now, and when, after five or six minutes had passed, more runners reached the fence it was impossible to identify them. But when they drew near a shout went up. Two of them were First Seniors, one was a Middler and one a Junior. The First Seniors needed but one more runner now to give them the cup. And a few minutes later he came in the person of Bacon and received the biggest sort of a welcome. From then on until almost dinner time the others straggled in to find the finish deserted and to crawl weariedly up the gymnasium steps. Harry had taken her departure when Bacon had finished, returning to the Cottage through the gathering twilight, looking, unless her face belied her, rather disappointed, and telling herself over and over that she was awfully glad Roy Porter hadn't won.
Dinner that evening was a jolly meal. Every fellow was frantically hungry for his turkey and sweet potatoes and mince pie and the appropriate "trimmings." The First Seniors drank their sweet cider out of the mug they had captured, passing it from one to another like a loving cup. Perhaps there was no one there who had a bigger appetite or more to tell in the way of adventures than Sidney Welch, and he talked a steady streak until Chub told him he'd choke himself.
It was not until dinner was well-nigh over that Roy's absence was noted by any save Chub. But when, at half-past nine, he had not returned, the matter was reported to Doctor Emery and the telephone became busy. But neither Carroll nor Silver Cove knew anything of the missing boy. The Principal waited until eleven o'clock, and then a searching party was made up. Mr. Cobb and Mr. Buckman took charge and with four of the older boys and Chub, who was taken along to show where Roy had last been seen, left the Cottage at a little after eleven. They carried two lanterns and Jack Rogers had slipped a revolver into his pocket which, he said, could be heard where a shout couldn't. But he said nothing to the instructors about it, since firearms were forbidden and Jack feared confiscation. Mr. Emery saw them off from the Cottage porch and instructed Mr. Cobb to telephone him from Carroll or Silver Cove if he had a chance. It was as dark as pitch as they made their way across the field and found the road, and the wavering light from a couple of lanterns seemed only to accentuate the gloom. Once away from the school they began to call at intervals but got no response. Chub and Jack had some difficulty in finding the place where they had returned to the road from the uplands, but at last they discovered it and the party took off up the hill. It was soon after that that Mr. Buckman stopped and asked:
"How many are there in this party, anyhow?"
"Should be seven of us," answered Mr. Cobb. "Why?"
"Because, unless I'm much mistaken, I counted eight a minute ago. Who's that over there, the last one?"
"Warren, sir."
"No, I don't mean you. Who's next to you?"
There was a moment's silence. Then,
"Blest if I know, sir," answered Warren in puzzled tones.
"It's me," said an apologetic voice.
"Who's me?" asked Mr. Cobb moving toward the speaker.
"Harry," was the answer.
"Harry! Harry Emery?" exclaimed Mr. Cobb, forgetting his politeness.
"Yes, I—I thought I'd come along."
"Well, if that isn't the greatest! Did the Doctor say you could come?"
"I—I didn't ask him," answered Harry. "Please don't send me back, Mr. Cobb. I won't be in the way a bit and I can walk miles!"
"Send you back! Why, I can't send you back now—that is—not alone. I suppose you'll have to come, but supposing your mother finds you're missing?"
"Oh, she won't," answered Harry cheerfully. "She thinks I'm in bed and asleep. And I was—that is, I was in bed."
"Well, come along then, but see that you stick close to us," grumbled Mr. Cobb. "We don't want to loose any more persons to-night!"
So Harry trudged along at the tail of the party, keeping close to Jack Rogers and Chub and starting nervously when she heard strange noises in the bushes along the way.
It was slow going and when they were well up on the hills the night wind stung hands and faces. It was well upon midnight when Chub announced that they should have reached the place where he had left Roy. But a locality looks very different at night by the light of a wavering lantern than it does in the daytime, and when they had cast about for a while, calling and shouting, Chub was forced to acknowledge that he wasn't certain of the place.
"It ought to be about here," he said anxiously, "but somehow this doesn't look like it. It doesn't seem to me it was quite so hilly; and there weren't any trees about that I remember."
After a quarter of an hour more of unsuccessful search Mr. Cobb and Mr. Buckman held a consultation and decided that the best thing to do, unless they wanted to get lost themselves, was to stay where they were and wait for dawn. So they found a sheltered spot in the lee of a big rock and made themselves as comfortable as they could. Warren suggested a fire and a half-hour was spent in finding fuel within the radius of lantern-light. Finally, however, the flames were leaping and the sparks flying and the party regained some of their ebbing spirits.
search partyMr. Cobb and the search-party looking for Roy.
Mr. Cobb and the search-party looking for Roy.
"If he sees the light he will look it up," said Mr. Buckman. "That was a good idea of yours, Warren."
"What I'm afraid of," said Mr. Cobb, "is that he has met with an accident of some sort. Seems to me that if he had the use of his limbs he would have reached the school before this, or at least have communicated with us. Well, we'll have to make the best of things until the light comes. Better take a nap, fellows, if you can."
But they were in no mood for napping. The leaping flames lent their tinge of romance to a situation already sufficiently out of the common to be exciting and the boys wanted to live every moment of it. The uncertainty as to Roy's fate added a qualm of uneasiness, but when once Warren had got well into his story of the Wyoming outlaws who lived in a cave and robbed trains and stage coaches, even Chub forgot the purpose of the expedition for whole minutes at a time. I think Harry unconsciously dozed several times, although she always denied it indignantly. Now and then one of the party would mend the fire and then crawl back to the protection of the ledge and the waving bushes. Mr. Cobb followed Warren with some stories of Cornwall wreckers which he had read, and after that every member of the party save Harry, who happened to be very quiet about that time, contributed some tale of dark deeds. Presently Jack made the discovery that it was possible to see the branches of the wind-whipped bushes behind them. Chub climbed to the summit of the ledge and announced that there was light away down on the horizon toward the east. Then followed an hour of waiting during which the world gradually turned from black to gray. The fire died out for lack of fuel and the boys snuggled into the collars of their sweaters, for it seemed to grow more chill each moment. Then, when objects a few yards away could be distinguished, Mr. Cobb suggested that they "break camp." So they spread out in a line and took up the search again, calling as they went. The light grew quickly and in the east the sky took on a tinge of rose. Mr. Cobb stopped once and picked something from the ground.
"Must be slate quarries about here," he said. "There's a lot of broken pieces here and loose gravel. Yes, here's a hole," he went on, walking forward, "but they only went down a few feet. I wonder if there are more of them?"
Suddenly there was a cry from the other end of the line.
"Mr. Cobb, come see what I've found!"
It was Harry's voice and Mr. Cobb made his way to her where she stood at the edge of a thicket of leafless brambles.
"What is it, Harry?" he asked.
For answer she held up a tiny bit of crimson yarn.
"What do you make of this?" asked the instructor, looking at it in a puzzled way.
"I think it came from his sweater!" declared Harry triumphantly. "It was on that branch there."
"Good for you, Harry!" cried Chub, who had joined them ahead of the others. "Roy had his red sweater on and it's money to muffins that thread was pulled out as he went by."
"He didn't go by, though," said Harry. "He went through. Don't you see how the bushes are trampled down? Come on!"
A NIGHT IN THE QUARRY
When Roy regained consciousness and opened his eyes he found himself in pitch darkness. His head felt strangely dizzy and for a moment he lay still and strove to recall what had happened to him. Then he remembered and with a sudden fear at his heart moved cautiously. But although every bone in his body felt bruised he was able to climb to his feet. The effort however, left him so weak and dizzy that he reached out for support, found a branch and clung to it while a minute or two passed. And in clinging to it he became aware of the fact that his left hand hurt him a good deal. Presently, when he could stand without holding on, he felt of the aching member and found it swollen and sore to the touch. The trouble seemed to be at the wrist and he wondered whether in falling he had landed on it and broken it. But it didn't feel broken, for he could bend it and even wriggle his fingers, although it pained horribly to do it. Probably it was only a sprain or a dislocation; that could keep. Meanwhile he would like very much to know where he was.
When he had fallen he had caught a glimpse of a dark pit, the sides of which were hidden here and there by bushes. It had been the briefest sort of a glimpse, for he had stepped over the edge and, without a second's warning, had plunged downward into twilight darkness. He remembered clutching at a branch which came away in his hand, and he remembered crashing through a bush which had broken but not stopped his fall. Of what happened after that he could remember nothing.
Now he stepped cautiously forward, feeling in front of him with hands and feet. The ground was loose and uneven. Three short steps brought his hands in contact with a smooth expanse of stone. His fingers could find no place to clutch, even though he managed to fit the toe of one shoe into a niche a foot or so above the ground. He moved to the right through the darkness. But the wall of stone continued. Now and then it became uneven and his hands scraped over rough edges, but it offered no chance of escape. On and on he went. He knew that he must be describing something of a circle, since he was in a pit of some sort, but it seemed that he was edging straight away from where he had fallen. At last he found bushes and for a moment he had hope. But, although he wormed his way upward through them for the space of a few feet, at last he brought up against a perpendicular wall of rock and he was forced to retreat. He became conscious of a dim feeling of fright and strove to fight it down. His hands were moist and the perspiration stood on his forehead in little cold drops. He stopped and leaned against the wall behind him. As he did so he became aware of hundreds of little noises about him and a cold shiver travelled down his back. Then,
"Pshaw!" he muttered. "There's nothing here but birds and such things. Even snakes don't come out after dark. I guess I'm settled for the night and I might as well make the best of it. I dare say I've already been around this old hole half a dozen times. No, I haven't, though, for I've only found those bushes back there once. I'll go on, I guess; maybe there's a regular macadamized road out of here."
He moved on, whistling softly to keep from feeling discouraged. But his left wrist and hand pained frightfully, and presently he stopped and tried to find a position for it that would ease the ache. Finally he found his handkerchief, tied it about his neck and placed the injured arm through the improvised sling. It helped a little. After that he continued his search, but rather half-heartedly. He longed for light and fell to wondering what time it was. Presumably he had fallen in there about half-past four or maybe five. But there was no knowing how long he had lain unconscious. It might be eight o'clock or it might be well toward morning! He wished he knew!
Above his head, how far he could only guess, the night wind was whipping the bare bushes. Now and then a gust came down and made him shiver, but on the whole it was not uncomfortable down there as long as he was moving about. But he couldn't keep that up much longer, for his head was aching, his legs were stiff and lame and every movement sent little thrills of pain down his arm from elbow to fingers. He was glad now of his thick sweater and wished his legs were as warm as the upper part of his body.
For a while he sat on a little rock near the wall along which he had been travelling. Then he began to feel drowsy. That was fine, he thought; if he could only go to sleep he could forget his discomforts, and perhaps when he awoke it would be morning. So he felt about on the broken stone and moist gravel that formed the floor of his prison half fearsomely, afraid of encountering uncanny things in the dark. But his hands found only soil and rock and scant vegetation and he laid himself down gingerly out of respect to his aching body and closed his eyes. But for a while the discomforts of his couch made themselves too apparent to allow of slumber. Queer, stealthy little noises sounded about him and he imagined all sorts of things creeping toward him through the darkness. Once or twice he kicked his feet and cried "Scat!" loudly. Then he laughed at himself for his nervousness and strove not to think of the sounds. He wondered who had won the race and whether they had missed him at school: whether Chub had caught up with Jack and Pryor; what Chub was thinking about his disappearance. Then he started out of his drowsiness. Surely he had heard his name called! He sat up and listened intently. Then he called at the top of his voice half a dozen times. But he heard nothing more, and presently he lay down again with a sigh, eased the position of his throbbing arm and went quietly to sleep.
And the very next moment, as it seemed to Roy, he heard his name called again, quite loudly and distinctly this time, and opened his eyes, blinking, to find his prison filled with the grey, misty light of morning and to hear voices above him. Then came his name again, in the unmistakable tones of Mr. Cobb, and he had time to marvel smilingly that the football coach had really got his name right for once before he sat up and answered loudly. Then came sounds of crashing branches and Roy jumped dizzily to his feet.
"Look out!" he shouted. "There's a hole here. Look where you're going, Mr. Cobb!"
Then Mr. Cobb was kneeling above at the edge of the quarry looking down upon him anxiously and Harry's face appeared behind his shoulder, a rather white, frightened countenance in the pale light.
"Hurt, Porter?" asked Mr. Cobb.
"No, sir, just shaken up a bit."
"Well, thank Heaven! Can you climb out anywhere?" Mr. Cobb's eyes travelled dubiously about the pit.
"I don't believe so," answered Roy. "I tried to find a place last night." He turned and looked about him.
And his face went white at what he saw.
watch out"'Look where you're going, Mr. Cobb!'"
"'Look where you're going, Mr. Cobb!'"
In shape the quarry was a rough oval, its walls so steep that at first glance escape even in daylight seemed impossible. In many places the top of the wall overhung the bottom. Now and then a clump of grass or weeds showed against the dark and discolored face of the rock, and in a few places good-sized bushes had grown out. But all this Roy saw later. At present he was standing with his back to the bank, staring in fascinated dread at the center of the quarry. From the walls, all around, the ground sloped downward toward the center and only a few feet away from him was the margin of a pool some thirty feet in diameter. There was no slime on the top, no weeds about its edge and in the dim light of early morning the water looked black and ugly. Roy stepped nearer and looked down into its depths. Far below him jutting edges of rock loomed up but the bottom was not in sight. Shuddering, he retreated. Had he fallen a little farther away from the bank, or had he rolled over after falling, they would not have found him so easily. He muttered a little prayer of thanks to the Providence which had watched over him during the night and had guided his stumbling footsteps in safety. Then his head felt dizzy and he sat down suddenly on the bank of broken and crumbled slate and went off into a faint.
When he came to, Mr. Cobb was dabbing his face with a wet handkerchief and Jack Rogers and Chub were slapping his hands and arms. Perhaps it was the latter method which brought him around, for a dislocated wrist doesn't take kindly to blows! He yanked his injured hand away with a cry of pain and Mr. Cobb removed the sopping handkerchief.
"All right now, eh?" he asked kindly. "Hello, what's wrong there?" He took the boy's hand and examined it, his fingers probing skilfully. "How'd you do that? Fall on it?"
"I don't know," answered Roy. "It isn't busted, is it?"
"No, dislocated. Feel that bone sticking up there? We'll have to fix that right now, I guess. Hurts, doesn't it? Give me a couple of handkerchiefs, you chaps." Chub and Jack produced theirs and Mr. Cobb took a long leather wallet from his coat pocket and emptied it of its contents. "Just hold your hand out straight," he directed. Then, with one hand above the wrist and the other about the fingers he pulled steadily until the wrist slipped back into place. Roy winced a little, but after the lump had disappeared his whole arm felt easier. Mr. Cobb laid the leather wallet about the wrist and bound it tightly with the handkerchiefs.
"That'll do until we get back," he said. "Put it back in that sling of yours and keep it there, Porter. Now we'll see if we can get you out of here. Do you think you can walk?"
For answer Roy climbed to his feet.
"All right, only remember that you've had a pretty good shaking up and haven't had anything to eat since yesterday noon, and don't try to do too much. We'll see if we can't boost you up over here."
He led the way to the other side of the pool and Roy saw that a rough path zigzagged down the face of the bank there. So steep it was, however, that they had to help each other here and there, and it seemed a long time before Mr. Buckman and the others, awaiting them at the top, were able to reach down and pull them over the edge of the rock. Roy subsided breathless on the grass and looked about him. The sun was just topping the rising hill beyond and the world looked very sweet to him at that moment.
"That's where you went over," said Mr. Buckman, pointing across the pit. "We followed you up to the edge. You must have struck against that bush there and broken your fall; the branches are all broken, I noticed; a good thing you did, too, I guess."
"I remember falling into some branches," said Roy. "That's the last thing I do remember; when I woke up it was pitch dark."
"What's that?" asked Mr. Cobb. "Lose consciousness, did you? Did you hit your head? Here, let's have a good look at you, my boy." And, presently, "I should think you did! Doesn't that hurt when I press it?"
"A little," answered Roy.
"Hum! Guess you've got a pretty tough skull. Look at this place, Eaton. Must have come down on a small stone, I should say. Well, that'll wait until we get home. I wonder if we can carry him between us? Maybe one of you chaps had better run back and tell them to send the phaeton."
But Roy protested that he could walk every inch of the way and finally Mr. Cobb consented to let him try it, and the return journey began. Chub walked beside Roy, anxiously solicitous. Most of the party were frankly sleepy and worn out now that the excitement was over. Harry appeared to have lost interest in the whole affair. Not once, so far as Roy knew, did she even so much as glance in his direction.
"What's Harry doing here?" he whispered to Chub. And Chub recounted the happenings of the night; how Harry had joined the party unknown to them, how they had built a fire and waited for light and finally how Harry had discovered the bit of yarn torn from his sweater.
"It was fairly easy after that," said Chub. "We could see here and there where you had broken through the bushes, and once or twice we found your footprints. We knew they were yours on account of the spikes. If it hadn't been for Harry I guess you'd have been waiting yet. Though maybe you could have got up that bank alone."
Roy trudged on in silence for a while. Then,
"Who won?" he demanded eagerly. Chub grinned.
"I won the individual cup and First Seniors got the class cup," he said. "Jack and I had it nip and tuck all the way to the gate, and if he hadn't stumbled over the track he'd have beat me."
"I'm glad you got it," said Roy. "I was afraid you wouldn't catch up with them, after staying so long with me."
"I was a blamed idiot to leave you," answered Chub savagely. "I didn't deserve to win anything. Why, you came mighty near killing yourself!"
"Yes, I guess I did," said Roy thoughtfully. "But it wasn't your fault, you silly ass. I got all mixed up and couldn't tell where I was. And then, the first thing I knew I—I wasn't anywhere!"
"Tell me about it," said Chub.
But just then Mr. Cobb told Roy he had better not tire himself by talking and so Chub had to wait to hear his chum's adventures. An hour later Roy was fast asleep in his bed. They had served him with some milk-toast, scanty fare for a boy who had missed two meals, and he had promptly turned over and gone to sleep. In the middle of the forenoon the Silver Cove doctor appeared, re-dressed his wrist, put something on his head and left a tumblerful of some sort of nasty-tasting medicine. And the next day Roy was up and about again apparently as good as new save for his injured arm. This was carried in a sling for over a week, but he didn't mind that much.
The second morning after his rescue he went over to the Cottage and asked for Harry. Presently she came down to the parlor where he was awaiting her in front of the soft coal fire and he tried to remember the formal speech of gratitude he had fashioned. But it had gone completely from him. So he just held out his hand and said he was jolly much obliged to her for what she had done.
"Everybody says that if you hadn't seen that bit of red yarn I'd have been there yet," he declared.
Harry shook his hand formally, said she hadn't done anything, that she was very glad he had had such a fortunate escape and asked politely after his injury.
"Oh, the arm's all right now," said Roy.
After that conversation languished until Mrs. Emery came down and made Roy tell her all about it. And during the narrative Harry disappeared. It was quite evident that she hadn't forgiven him, thought Roy, as he took his departure. He didn't look back as he went down the drive and so failed to see somebody with red hair peering down from between the curtains of an upstairs window.
FORMING THE HOCKEY TEAM
"Candidates wanted for the Hockey team. All those who have played or would like to play please attend a meeting in the Gym at 4P.M.on Friday."J. S. Rogers,"T. H. Eaton,"Roy Porter."
"Candidates wanted for the Hockey team. All those who have played or would like to play please attend a meeting in the Gym at 4P.M.on Friday.
"J. S. Rogers,"T. H. Eaton,"Roy Porter."
This notice appeared on the board in School Hall the last day of November, and when, four days later, the meeting was called to order by Jack Rogers, there were some twenty-five fellows adorning the wooden benches in the locker room. A handful of the number had come for want of anything better to do, for it was a dismal, wet afternoon offering little encouragement to those whose tastes turned toward out-of-door pursuits. For once the line separating the "Burlenites" and the "Porterites" was not closely drawn, for there were not a few of the former present, their desire for a chance to play hockey overcoming their allegiance to Horace. Needless to say, however, neither Horace nor Otto was on hand.
"Somebody turn that switch," began Jack, "and give us some light. That's better. This meeting has been called by a few of us who want to get up a hockey team. I don't know much about hockey myself and so I'll let Porter do the talking. He started the thing, anyhow, and he ought to have the fun of speechifying to you. But I'd like to say that, as you all know, Hammond has been playing hockey for five or six years and has challenged us almost every year to play her. If Hammond has a team we ought to have one too. And if we have one maybe we can lick her at hockey just as we have at football." (Deafening applause.) "There's no reason why we shouldn't. Here, Roy, you tell them the rest."
Roy got up rather embarrassedly and faced the meeting.
"Well, all I've got to say is that hockey is a dandy game and we ought to have a team—if only to lick Hammond. (Renewed applause.) It isn't a difficult game to learn if a fellow can skate half decently and it doesn't require much of an outlay. We've talked to Mr. Cobb and he has secured permission for the formation of a team. And he knows something about the game himself and will help us all he can. Our idea was to build a rink along the river about where the old ferry landing is. Doctor Emery says we can use what lumber there is in the landing and shed to build the rink with. And I think there'll be more than we need. Then we'd get a pump and pump water in from the river."
"Why not play on the river?" asked a boy.
"Well, that was the idea in the first place," answered Roy, "but Mr. Cobb thought we'd better have a regular rink. It's hard to play without boundaries because your puck gets away from you and you have to chase it all around the shop. Then, too, Mr. Cobb says that half the time the ice would be too rough or too much broken up to allow of playing on it. We've figured it up and think the outside cost of the whole thing, rink, pump, goals and sticks won't be much over eighty dollars."
"How you going to raise it?" asked one of the audience.
"That's what we've got to decide on," said Roy. "I suppose we couldn't get nearly that much by subscription?"
Several shook their heads, and,
"I don't believe we could," said Chub. "But we might get half of it. If every fellow gave a dollar—"
"Seems to me," said the boy who had raised the question, "that the fellows who make the team ought to do the subscribing."
"I don't think so," said Jack. "If we made the football and baseball teams pay all their expenses I guess we wouldn't have them very long. It ought to be worth a dollar to every fellow here to have a good hockey team."
"That's so," assented Chub.
"Well," went on Roy, "I wanted to hear what you'd say about it, but I didn't think we could get the money that way, not all of it, I mean. So I thought of another scheme. Why couldn't we get up an entertainment of some kind and charge admission. How would that do?"
"Great!"
"Swell!"
"Fine and dandy!"
"Chub can sing 'The Old Ark's A-movin'!"
"Cole can do his card stunts!"
"Cut it out, fellows," said Jack. "Let's get the matter settled; it's getting late."
So they got down to business again and Jack, Chub and Roy were formed into an Entertainment Committee. After that Roy took the floor again.
"How many of you fellows will come out for practice?" he asked. Practically every hand went up. "How many have played hockey?" Twelve hands. "All right. We'll divide into two teams, first and second, and as fast as the fellows on the second show that they can play well they'll get onto the first. We probably won't be able to begin work on the ice until after Christmas Recess. But as soon as we can get some money we'll send for goals and sticks and pucks. Then we'll put one of the goals up here on the floor and practice shooting. Later we'll have another meeting, after practice has begun, and elect a captain and a manager. And as soon as we get the manager we'll send a challenge to Hammond. Now you fellows give your names to Chub Eaton before you go out, and watch for notices on the board in School Hall."
That was the beginning of the Ferry Hill School Hockey Association, which still flourishes and has to its credit several notable victories. It was Roy's idea from the first. He had played hockey a good deal and had seen many of the college and school games, and he had been surprised to learn that Ferry Hill had never had a team. It was easy to enlist Chub in the project of forming a club, and not very difficult to interest Jack. Mr. Cobb had been quite enthusiastic but doubtful of success.
"They've tried to form a hockey team two or three times," he said, "and never did it. But I don't want to discourage you chaps. I'll get permission from the Doctor, so you go right ahead. Try to get the whole school interested in it; that's the only way to do."
By the middle of December the old ferry house and landing had been demolished and the planks had been built into a three-foot barrier or fence enclosing a space sixty feet wide by one hundred and twenty feet long. All that remained was to flood the enclosed ground with water to the depth of four or five inches and allow it to freeze. A hand suction pump had been ordered from a dealer at Silver Cove, but there was delay and in the end it did not reach the school until two days before vacation. However, as December proved unusually mild, there was no harm done. Meanwhile the goals, pucks and sticks had arrived and practice at shooting and stick-handling was held five afternoons a week in the gymnasium. At the second meeting of the candidates the Entertainment Committee was able to report a plan for the entertainment. There was to be a minstrel show followed by a series of tableaux in the gymnasium the night before the beginning of Christmas Recess.
"Now," said Jack, who was explaining, "you chaps will have to get busy and interest every fellow you know in the affair. We want a good big crowd for the minstrels; we ought to have at least two dozen fellows. There will be another meeting here to-morrow night and I want each of you to bring me the names of fellows who are willing to take part. And you must let me know what they can do, whether they can sing or recite or do sleight-of-hand tricks, you know. And now I want to propose that we make Harry Emery an associate member of the Club. You see, we realized that we wouldn't be able to do much in the way of costuming without her help, so we laid the matter before her. And she went right into it; suggested the tableaux feature and offered to take part herself. (Laughter from the audience.) So I think she ought to be taken in."
"We ought to make Mr. Cobb and Mr. Buckman associate members, too," suggested Chub.
So Harry and the two instructors were duly admitted, and the meeting went into the plans for the entertainment. Sid, one of the most enthusiastic members present, reminded everyone that he could play the banjo, and Jack promised to let him do his worst. Roy was elected temporary captain and manager and Jack temporary treasurer. Then an assessment of fifty cents each was levied and Jack spent the best part of three days collecting the sums. He, Roy, Chub and two others had gone down into their pockets and advanced the money for the goals, sticks and pucks, and with Christmas Recess drawing near they were anxious to get some of it back. The rink was to be paid for in January and the pump on its arrival. It was going to be necessary to collect something over sixty dollars from the entertainment, and the committee was getting anxious. There was little time for rehearsal, and, with Horace and Otto doing all in their power to throw cold water on the scheme, Roy and his friends had plenty to worry them.
But Harry proved a brick. She went into it to the present exclusion of all else and made things hum. She talked it up everywhere she went with the result that the affair was extensively advertised before it was well on foot. Harry attended a girls' academy at Silver Cove, and she wasn't satisfied until every pupil there had faithfully promised to attend the entertainment. She also persuaded Mr. Buckman to take part, something that Jack and the others had failed at. Mr. Cobb had already consented to sing and do a monologue. Then Harry devised costumes and found them, levying on the wardrobes of most of her friends and acquaintances. And in spite of the fact that she and Chub and Jack and Roy met at least twice a day she still maintained her air of polite indifference toward the latter.
When the morning of the day of the entertainment arrived affairs seemed in the wildest chaos and even Harry lost her head for awhile. Some of the promised participators had backed down at the last moment, the principal soloist had a bad cold, the stage was still unbuilt, several of the costumes were yet wanting and Harris and Kirby, down for a duet and dance, weren't on speaking terms! And just as though all that wasn't enough to drive the committee distracted, Chub had appeared at breakfast with a long face and announced that he had forgotten to mail the poster to Hammond Academy. In support of the assertion he produced it, stamped and addressed. It had been lying in his pocket for three days. As Hammond with its seventy-odd students had been counted on to send quite a delegation, this was a hard blow. But Jack, with the cheerfulness of desperation, obtained permission to deliver the poster by messenger and sent Sid Welch across the river with it at nine o'clock.
That was certainly a day of troubles. Luckily there were few recitations for anyone. Jack and Chub spent most of the morning directing and aiding in the erection of the stage at the end of the gymnasium. The stage was a sectional affair which, when not in use, was stored in the furnace room. Unfortunately one section seemed to be missing, and putting the thing together was, as Chub said, like joining one of those geographical puzzles.
"You know the things, Jack; they're cut up with a scroll-saw into all sorts of wiggly pieces, and Florida insists on getting next to New Hampshire and Illinois won't fit anywhere except between South Carolina and Georgia."
"There must be a piece of this missing," answered Jack. "I'm going to have another look."
And presently he came back staggering under what looked like a length of board walk.
"Funny you fellows couldn't find this," he said disgustedly as he swung one end around against the wall and brought down six pairs of dumb-bells. "It was right in plain sight; they were using it for a carpenter's bench."
"Itisfunny," growled Warren. "Wonder they didn't make an ice-chest or a sewing-machine out of it!"
After that it was plain sailing until they came to the curtain. It was a beautiful thing, that curtain, fourteen feet wide and twelve feet long and bearing a picture of Niagara Falls in blue, green, purple and pink surrounded by a wreath of crimson cabbages—only they were supposed to be roses. Despite its beauty, work up and down it would not. Half way up it began to range itself in artistic folds, apparently forgetting all about the wooden roller at the bottom. Once it came down unexpectedly on Chub's head, and Chub danced around and shook his fist at it and declared that he'd cut holes in it for two cents. No one offered to put up the two cents and so the curtain was saved. In the end Jack manufactured a new pulley-block and after that the foolish thing worked charmingly every other time.
"All we'll have to do," said Warren disgustedly, "will be to make believe pull it up before we really mean to."
"Kind of disconcerting to the fellows on the stage," commented Jack, "but I guess that's what we'll have to do."
The drop curtain, showing a lovely sylvan glade in unwholesome shades of green, went up without trouble at the back of the stage, but the pieces at the sides, very frayed trees with impossible foliage, refused to stand up.
"We'll have to make props," said Chub. "I don't blame the old things for wanting to lie down; it makes me tired just to look at them."
But when, finally, the stage was set and the boys stood off at a respectful distance and examined it it really looked very well. Chub admired the effect of distance and wondered where the path led to. Warren said he'd like to meet the man who had chiseled out the statue under the trees and another fellow wanted to go bird-egging. Then they arranged the chairs and benches in rows. They had gathered chairs of all descriptions from all over the school and the effect was finely democratic. Doctor Emery's leather arm chair hobnobbed socially with a plain pine chair from the dining hall and Mr. Buckman's favorite hour-glass chair appeared to be trying to make an impression on Harry's rattan rocker, the latter looking very dressy with its pink silk head-rest.