“DID YOU BOYS TAKE ANYTHING FROM MY BOAT?” ASKED THE MAN.“DID YOU BOYS TAKE ANYTHING FROM MY BOAT?” ASKED THE MAN.
“DID YOU BOYS TAKE ANYTHING FROM MY BOAT?” ASKED THE MAN.
“Take anything? What do you mean?” demanded Sid, sharply.
“Something is missing from one of the lockers.”
“We certainly took nothing from your boat,” said Tom, stiffly. “What is missing?”
“Many things,” was the answer. “Among others, a number of trophy cups belonging to Boxer Hall College. I had them to repair, polish and engrave, and now they are gone from my boat. Someone must have taken them!” and he looked at the boys. The four chums felt their anger rising.
Frank Simpson was the first to take definite action. He looked sharply at the man, as the latter gave the surprising information about trophies, and then, in a low voice, said to his companions in the barge:
“Let’s go ashore, fellows.”
“What for; to be insulted again?” asked Tom. “I’m not going to stand for that fellow’s insinuations. Who is he, anyhow?”
“I don’t know,” answered Frank, “and for the very same reason that I, neither, do not intend to stand for any imputation, I want to go ashore. Give way!”
They urged their heavy craft shoreward.
“They are certainly gone,” went on the man, as he continued to rummage about in the wreckage of his boat. “And it means a big loss to me. If you boys were here——”
“Say, just hold on a minute, my friend,” interrupted Frank, in that cool way of his. “Just goa bit slow about making cracks. It might not be altogether healthy!” and the eyes of the Big Californian glowed.
“But I tell you it’s a big loss!” went on the man. “I must find the things—money won’t pay for them!”
“Now suppose we go at this thing systematically,” suggested Frank, his chums, by common consent, letting him assume the leadership. “We don’t any of us know you, except that we all recall seeing you land on the main shore in your motor-boat a day or so ago. It was this same boat, I take it.”
“The same,” answered the man. “And now——”
“Wait,” suggested Frank, holding up his hand. “As for us, we’re Randall College students, as you can easily verify. We’ll give you our names—fellows, cards,” and Frank handed over one of his own, the others doing the same.
“That’s all right,” spoke the man, in half-sullen tones; “but that isn’t going to bring back my stuff.”
“Do you think we took it?” snapped Frank, and there was a warning glint in his eyes.
“No—not exactly—but you lads were at my boat, you say, and this is the first time I’ve seen it since I left it with those cups and other valuables in.”
“Well, that’s a long way from proving that we took anything,” went on Frank. “It’s laughable, or, it would be if it wasn’t so serious.”
“Who are you, anyhow?” burst out Tom Parsons, unable to restrain his curiosity longer. “This thing is getting too deep for me. How did you come to have the Boxer Hall trophy cups?”
“Perhaps I had better explain,” went on the man. “I am Edward Farson, and I’m in the jewelry business in Haddonfield. I’ve only recently started up, and I’m working a new line of trade. I am an expert repairer and mender of old jewelry, and I find that many residents along the river here, as well as out in the country, have old jewelry they want made into modern forms.
“As I happened to own a motor-boat I decided to use that in making calls along the river, and I have been quite successful. Then learning that the colleges hereabouts had many cups and trophies that grew tarnished, or were broken, I solicited orders in that line. I also do engraving, putting the names of the winners and all that on the cups.
“The other day—the time I remember now when I saw you at Mr. Borden’s dock—I had collected quite a few pieces of jewelry, some from customers, some from the students at Fairview Institute, and a number of trophy cups from Boxer Hall.
“I had a call to make at Mr. Borden’s, and,leaving the jewelry and cups in a box in one of the lockers of the boat, I ran my craft in the boathouse, as you saw, locked it up, and went up the hill to call on Mrs. Borden. As the box of valuables was rather heavy I did not want to carry it with me. I thought it would be safe.”
“We heard you remark as much,” interpolated Sid.
“Yes? Well, I expected to be back right away, but when I got to the house I found unexpected news awaiting me. There had come a telephone message from the clerk in my store, who knew that I was to be at Mrs. Borden’s at a certain time. I had told him to that effect, as my elderly mother is very ill, and I wanted to be kept informed of her condition. The doctor communicated by wire with my clerk, and the latter left with Mrs. Borden a message to the effect that my mother was sinking, and that I was to hasten if I wanted to see her alive.
“That, as you may suppose, drove from my mind all thoughts of the valuables left in my boat. Or, if I did think of them at all, it must have been to hope that they would be safe, locked in the boathouse as they were, and with no one but myself—as I supposed—knowing of them.
“Mrs. Borden, whom I have known for some time, as soon as she had given me the message about my mother, offered me the use of a horseand carriage to get to my mother’s house, which is quite a way back from the river, off in the country.
“I accepted and drove away, never even mentioning to Mrs. Borden about the jewelry in the locker of my boat. I said I would, on my return, collect the things she wanted repaired. Then I hastened to my mother.
“I found the dear old lady quite ill, and for a time her life was despaired of. But she rallied, and when my sister came to take charge of matters, I decided to come back to my business. But, in the meanwhile, as you know, there was the flood.
“When I went back to the Bordens, it was to find that their boathouse had been washed away by the high water, carrying my craft with it down to the lake. I was nearly crazy, not only at my own loss, but over the missing valuables, which I knew I could never replace. I borrowed a small boat to-day, and set off in search of my launch. I looked in several places where it might have lodged, and when I saw you boys—well, you know the rest,” and the jeweler concluded with a pathetic air, as though his troubles was too much for him.
“It’s rather a queer story,” commented Frank. “As for our part in it, it is just as we told you. We landed here by accident, and saw the wreckof the boat. We assumed what had happened, but we saw nothing of any box of cups and jewelry. Then we rowed away and met you.”
“I’m much obliged to you for the information,” said Mr. Farson, “and I—of course—I’m bound to believe you,” he went on, a bit awkwardly. “Then you didn’t see a trace of them?”
“Of course not!” cried Phil. “Don’t you believe us?”
“Oh, yes—yes, of course. I only thought that maybe, as my boat is so broken up, and the parts scattered about, that you might have looked farther along the shores of the island. The box may have held together, and be lodged somewhere.”
“Perhaps it has,” said Frank, calmly. “I’d advise you to look thoroughly. You might find it. Come on, fellows,” and he led the way back to the boat.
Tom Parsons acted as though he intended to speak, but Sid nudged him in the ribs, and the youth kept quiet.
Mr. Farson stared after the boys as though much disappointed at their desertion, and then, looking to the fastening of the rowing craft in which he had come ashore, he began walking along the edge of the island, where many signs of the high water still remained.
“What did you want to come away for in sucha hurry?” asked Tom, in a low voice, when they were some distance out. “You were on your high-horse for fair, Frank.”
“And why shouldn’t I be? Do you think I was going to stay there, and help him hunt, after he practically insulted us the way he did? As if we knew anything about his musty old jewelry!”
“That’s right!” broke in Phil. “I wouldn’t lift my hand to help him, after he made that implied accusation. We didn’t see any of his stuff!”
“Oh, so that’s the reason,” replied Tom. “Well, I guess it was a good one, Frank.”
“Those Boxer Hall lads will be up in the air all right when they learn that their trophies are gone,” suggested Sid. “I wonder if there were any of the ones they won in the last meet?”
“They didn’t get many,” chuckled Frank. “But it will be quite a loss to them. However, it’s none of our funeral. I wouldn’t trust any of my jewelry to a man who would go off and leave it in a motor-boat for a night and a day.”
“Oh, well, he didn’t mean to. When he got that message about his mother, I suppose it flustered him,” said Tom, in extenuation.
“It’s hard to blame him,” commented Frank. “But he’s in a pickle all right. Now let’s do some fast rowing.”
They hit up the pace, but they did not have enough practice to maintain it, especially in theheavy barge, and soon they were all panting, while the oars took the water raggedly, and Sid caught a crab that nearly sent him overboard.
“I guess we need some coaching,” admitted that lad, when he had recovered himself. “We’re not racers yet, by a long shot. Slow down a bit, fellows.”
“Oh, we’re too soft!” complained Frank. “We’ll never amount to anything in a shell if we can’t stand this. Think of a four-mile row at top speed.”
“But we’ll be in better shape for it after a course of training and some coaching,” declared Phil. “Then, too, we’ll have this Summer vacation to practice in.”
At slower speed they rowed up to their boathouse dock, and were soon strolling across the campus to their room, discussing the events of the last few hours.
“I can’t get over the nerve of that jeweler!” exclaimed the Big Californian. “He nearly got me going.”
“I could see that,” commented Tom. “It was a good thing we came away when we did.”
“Oh, well, he wasn’t exactly responsible for what he said. Be a bit charitable,” advised Sid.
“Well, how’s the racing game progressing?” asked Holly Cross, as he met our friends. “Whenis that second-hand shell coming so we can practice?”
“That’s up to Dan Woodhouse,” explained Tom. “Kindlings is chairman of that committee. Let’s look him up.”
“I wonder if Boxer Hall will row us in the Fall?” asked Bricktop Molloy, strolling up. “It will make a double season for them.”
“I don’t believe they’ll dare refuse when we’ve beaten them at almost everything else,” spoke Frank. “But we’ll soon know about that. Dutch Housenlager said he had written to their crew captain and coach, and expected an answer soon.”
“They ought to be glad to row us,” commented Tom. “It will give them a chance to get more cups to replace those they lost.”
“How lost?” asked Holly Cross. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, it’s a great story!” cried Sid, and he proceeded to relate, aided by his chums, the incident of the smashed motor-boat.
“Too bad,” commented Bricktop. “I know how we’d feel if such a thing happened here. But that fellow may find his stuff. Here comes Pete Backus. Hi, Grasshopper!” he called, to a long lad who imagined he was a champion jumper, “are you going to try for the crew?”
“I sure am,” was the confident answer. “Iused to row a lot when a kid, and I guess I haven’t forgotten.”
“He’s too light by fifteen pounds,” declared Frank, in a low voice. “About one hundred and sixty is a good average.”
“Thank goodness we’re all of us that,” said Tom, looking at the chums gathered about him.
“Are there going to be single races?” asked a lad, stepping up to join the group. He was a well dressed chap, reputed to be wealthy in his own right. His name was Reginald Boswell.
“Why, yes, Reggie,” said Tom, in the drawling tones affected by the other, “we count on having single shells. Are you going to compete?”
“Aw, say, I wish you wouldn’t call me Reggie. I hate that name!” exclaimed the lad, who was completing his Freshman year. “Cawn’t you call me just—er—Boswell?”
“How would Bossy do for short, me lad?” asked Bricktop. “Not that you’re a calf, you know; but Bossy has a sweet sound, thinkest thou not so, my comrades?” and he appealed to his chums with accompanying winks.
“Aw, I say now, quit spoofing me, cawn’t you?” appealed the rich lad. “Bossy is too rotten silly, you know,” and he drew a scented handkerchief from the pocket of his rather loud, and swagger clothes, which, as he always took the trouble to inform all who appeared interested, were made in“Lunnon.” Mr. Reginald Boswell had traveled abroad, it seemed.
“You ought to be thankful for any nickname, Bossy,” put in Holly Cross. “It isn’t every Freshman who is thus honored. It’s going to be Bossy or nothing.”
“Oh, but I say, Reggie isn’t as bad as that!”
“Bossy or nothing!” insisted Bricktop.
“Well, then, tell me about the single shells,” went on the rich student, evidently deciding to accept the less of two evils. “I’d like to row in those contests.”
“Well, I guess you can—if you can make good,” said Frank. “Come on, fellows,” and he linked his arms in those of Sid and Tom, and walked them off toward their dormitory, followed by others of the chums, leaving Bossy, as he was generally called after that christening, to contemplate them with mingled feelings.
“Silly rotters!” he murmured after the manner of some of his English acquaintances. “I’ll show them I can row, though!”
The news of the loss of the Boxer Hall cups was soon known all over Randall, and, in the next day or so, it was generally talked of, for there was a reward offered by the distracted jeweler, an article appearing in the local paper about it.
“I guess he didn’t find any trace of them on the island,” commented Sid.
“The box is probably at the bottom of the lake,” was Tom’s opinion.
It was several days after this that the four chums were in Haddonfield, partaking of a little supper after a vaudeville entertainment. There strolled into the restaurant some lads from Boxer Hall, among them one or two members of the eight-oared crew.
“Hello, Dave!” greeted Tom and the others.
“Too bad about your trophies; wasn’t it,” added Phil.
“Rotten!” conceded Dave. “Some of them were old timers, too.”
“I—er—I understand that you lads were thefirstto discover the loss,” put in Harry Cedstrom, one of the new students at Boxer Hall, and a member of the crew. There was a strange emphasis on the word “first.”
“Thefirstto discover it—what do you mean?” asked Frank Simpson, bristling up.
“I mean that you were first at the wrecked boat that had held the box of jewelry,” went on Harry, while some of his companions nudged him to keep him quiet.
“We happened to be there,” admitted Frank, in a quiet voice that, to his friends, always presaged an outburst of righteous indignation. “We saw the wrecked boat, and called the attention of the owner to it. We went back with him, and thenhe told us his loss. That’s how we happened to be the first, after Mr. Farson himself.”
“Oh, I see,” spoke Harry. “Then you were at the boatbeforehe was?”
“Cut it out; can’t you?” demanded Dave of his friend, in a hoarse whisper.
“Yes,” said Frank quietly, “we were there before Mr. Farson,” and he looked the other student straight in the eyes.
“And you didn’t see anything of our cups?”
“Just what do you mean?” demanded Frank quietly, half rising in his chair, while Tom laid a hand on him in restraint.
“Oh,” went on Harry easily, “I thought maybe you fellows might have taken our trophies——”
“Hold on!” cried Frank, and he arose with such suddenness that his chair overturned. Tom arose also, and clung to the arm of the Big Californian, whispering rapidly:
“Quiet, Frank. Keep quiet! Don’t have a row here!”
“In a joke!” finished Harry Cedstrom with an attempt at a smile. There was a dead silence in the groups of students.
Frank Simpson stared at the Boxer Hall lad for a moment, and then sank back in the chair which Sid Henderson had replaced for him. Harry seemed to breathe easier, and certainly there were looks of relief on the faces of his companions.
“A joke?” repeated Frank, grimly. “Well, if that is your idea of a joke, all I have to say is that your early education was sadly neglected. Fellows, I guess it’s my treat. Some more of those seltzer lemonades, waiter,” and turning his back, with studied indifference, on the Boxer Hall lads, Frank began to chat with his friends.
There was an uneasy movement among the students from Boxer Hall.
“I tell you he insulted me!” Harry could be heard to fiercely whisper, as he made an effort to rise.
“Now you sit right still!” said Dave Ogden, firmly. “If there was any insulting done, it was on your part first. I tell you to drop it. Randall is our rival, in more ways than one, but no one ever yet accused her of unfair tactics—least of allany of those fellows. You cut it out, Cedstrom, or you won’t know what happened to you!”
“That’s right,” chimed in Pinky Davenport, another Boxer lad. “That was a raw thing for you to say, Cedstrom, and it might make trouble for us.”
“I don’t care!” exclaimed the other, defiantly. “I wanted to take those fellows down a peg. The idea of them thinking they can row us!”
“Well, we’ll give them all the chance in the world,” declared Dave, good-naturedly; “but I think they’ll never see the bow of our shell in an eight-oared race. It takes more than one season to turn out champions.”
“That’s right,” agreed Pinky. “But you go a bit slow, Cedstrom. Those fellows are good friends of ours, even if they are rivals.”
“All right—no harm intended,” said the other, seeing that he had gone too far.
Aside from uneasy glances from time to time toward their rivals, our friends showed no further interest in the unpleasant incident. It had not come to the notice of others in the restaurant, for the students were in a room that, by custom, was set aside for their exclusive use.
“You got his number all right, Frank,” commented Phil.
“That’s what,” chimed in Sid.
“Well, I wasn’t going to stand for any cracklike that,” declared Frank. “Especially from a Freshman. He may have meant it, and he may not, but the time to put the screws on is in the beginning.”
The two parties broke up soon after that, most of the Boxer Hall boys nodding friendly good-nights to their rivals as they passed out.
“What’s the matter, Frank?” asked Tom, a little later, as they gathered in their common study, and the tall pitcher “flopped” down beside his chum on the old sofa. At once there was a cracking, splintering sound, and Sid cried out in alarm.
“Cheese it, you fellows! Do you want to spoil that completely? Remember it’s an invalid.”
“I should say so!” cried Tom, getting off as carefully as a skater goes over thin ice, while Frank held his breath. “I didn’t mean to come down so hard.”
“Oh, student spare that couch,Touch not a single spring.In sleep it resteth me,As nice as anything!”
“Oh, student spare that couch,Touch not a single spring.In sleep it resteth me,As nice as anything!”
Thus Phil misquoted, adapting it to suit his needs.
“Punk!” commented Tom.
“Fierce!” cried Sid. “That’s an old one.”
“Say, you fellows don’t know good poetry when it comes up and shakes hands with you,” declaredPhil, in disgusted tones. “I’m going to frame that.”
“We’ll have to have a new frame for the couch if Tom does any more of his gymnastic stunts,” declared Frank, as he looked to see what damage had been done. “The back’s nearly broken again,” he added.
“Kindly forgive me,” spoke the pitcher, in contrite tones. “But those two hulks have the armchairs, and I wanted some place to rest. I guess we’ll have to invest in another chair, if that couch is only going to hold one.”
“We will not, you vandal!” exclaimed Phil. “Sit on the alarm clock, if you want to, or flop down on the floor, or to go to bed; but you don’t go getting any new, modern, ugly, incongruous furniture into this den.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” Tom hastened to explain. “I meant pick up a second-hand one somewhere.”
“That mightn’t be so bad,” admitted Frank.
“But say, what ails you, anyhow?” went on Tom, turning to the Big Californian, as though to change the subject. “I was asking you that when they raised this row about the old couch.”
“Don’t you call that an ‘old couch’ unless in terms of the deepest respect!” cried Phil.
“I meant it strictly in the Pickwickian sense,” Tom hastened to explain. “But, Frank, is there anything up?”
“Well, yes, there is,” admitted the other.
His chums looked at him curiously.
“I hope you didn’t take that Boxer Hall puppy’s remarks seriously,” went on Tom.
“Not seriously, no; and yet what he said has set me to thinking.”
“Hurray! Frank’s thinking at last!” cried Sid. “Send word to Pitchfork, and he’ll give you a double stunt in Latin.”
“No, but seriously,” went on the Big Californian, “you heard what he said. In a joking way, as I really think he meant it, he suggested that we might know something of the missing cups and jewelry, seeing that we were first on the scene—or, at least, as far as is known. Now if he thought that—even in a joke—and the jeweler thought it seriously—as I am convinced he did—though he soon passed it up—why shouldn’t other people?”
“Do you think they do?” asked Sid.
“They might, and what I’ve been thinking is that we can’t afford to have even the slightest suspicion hanging over us.”
“But does there?” demanded Tom.
“I don’t know—there’s a possibility that there might. You see, fellows, wecouldhave taken those things!”
“We could!” cried Phil.
“Certainly. Just figure it out for a moment,” went on Frank. “We might as well look at thisthing fairly and squarely. Say that box of jewelry was in the wrecked boat when we found it on the point of Crest Island. Say we found it to contain the Boxer Hall trophies. We could have taken them even for a joke; couldn’t we?”
“Yes, but we didn’t,” declared Phil.
“No, but that won’t stop people from thinking so. They may set it down as a college prank, but, even so, they’ll think it just the same.”
“Well?” asked Sid, as Frank paused.
“Well, that’s what I was thinking of when Tom plumped down, and broke the sofa.”
“I didn’t break it.”
“You came mighty near it,” went on Frank. “I was turning that over in my mind after what happened in the restaurant, and I’ve got something to propose.”
“What is it?” demanded Phil, leaning forward so interestedly and suddenly that the old armchair creaked and groaned dismally, and a cloud of dust arose from its ancient upholstery.
“I think we ought to go back to Crest Island, and make a search. We may find that box of cups and jewelry caught in some cleft of the rocks, or we may find——”
Again Frank paused.
“What?” asked Tom.
“A clue to who did take it—if it was taken.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Sid exclaimed:
“Frank’s dead right! We’ll go to Crest Island to-morrow and hunt for clues.”
Eagerly the matter was discussed, and in the end all four agreed that they would make the search. Then came an hour of studying, and the lights went out.
“Oh, for the love of baked beans!” exclaimed Tom, as they were all settled comfortable in bed. “Somebody stop that clock, will you? I’ll furnish the toothpick.”
“Get up and do it yourself,” directed Frank. “I’m too comfortable.”
“So am I,” said Sid.
“Same here,” came from Phil.
“Then I suppose I’ve got to,” groaned Tom, and in the end he did. Then, with the fussy, little alarmer quiet, the chums dropped off, their thoughts lasting longest on the prospective races, and on the queer muddle of the lost trophies.
“Well, here’s where the boat was,” said Tom, as they landed on Crest Island the next afternoon.
“But it’s gone now,” added Phil.
“Yes, probably Mr. Farson had it towed away on a barge to see if he could save any of it. My opinion is that it wasn’t worth it,” said Sid.
“Well, let’s scatter, two going down one shore of the island, and two on the other,” suggestedFrank. “When the boat struck on the rocks, and split, the things in the lockers may have floated one way or the other.”
“If they didn’t sink,” put in Tom. “A box of jewelry would be pretty heavy.”
“If it sank, so much the better,” declared the Big Californian. “Then it would lodge, and when the waters went down, as they did after the flood, it would still stay there. Scatter and hunt.”
They took his advice, and for an hour or more searched. Then Tom, who was with Frank, on the eastern shore, sprang toward a clump of bushes in which was caught some driftwood.
“I’ve found something!” he cried. “It looks like the seat lockers of a motor-boat.”
“It is,” declared his chum, as he hurried to Tom’s side.
There, in the debris that had settled around the roots of the bush when the waters had subsided, was part of a boat locker. It was split and broken, but the cover was still on it. Eagerly Tom lifted it and, as he did so he uttered a cry of delight.
“Here it is!” he shouted. “The jeweler’s box! It has his name on it!”
“Open it!” exclaimed Frank, as Sid and Phil came hurrying to join their two chums.
Tom lifted the cover.
“Empty!” he cried, blankly.
The four chums stared, almost uncomprehendingly, into the open box. It was of good size, capable of holding several trophy cups, with compartments, velvet lined, for smaller pieces of jewelry.
“The things all fell out!” cried Tom. “They must be scattered around here somewhere. Let’s look,” and he started off.
“No use,” said Frank, quietly.
“Why not?” asked Tom, in wonder.
“Because those things never fell out of that box,” went on the Big Californian.
“Why didn’t they?” demanded Phil. “When the box was knocked around in the water, or even inside the locker, why wouldn’t it be split open and the things fall out?”
“It wasn’t split, as you can easily see,” went on Frank, calmly, “and the cover wasn’t forced open by banging against the rocks. It was opened by some slender instrument being shoved under the catch, and then pried upon. See, there are themarks. No rocks ever made those,” and he showed several scratches in the shiny surface of the box, near the clasp. The scratches went entirely under the broad brass fastener, showing that something thin enough to have been employed in this way was used. As Frank had said, no rock against which the case might have been tossed by the storm-waters, could have done it.
“Well, let’s take it to Mr. Farson,” went on Sid. “We’ll tell him how we found it, and he can then see that we had nothing to do with taking the things—even in a joke. Let’s hurry back to town.”
“Let’s do nothing of the sort!” exclaimed Frank quickly.
“Why not?” demanded his chums in chorus.
“If you want tongues to wag any more—if you want a real suspicion to be cast on us, where there’s only the faintest one now—if you want to make real trouble, take that box to Mr. Farson. If you don’t, and if you want to get at the real facts in this case, just keep quiet about it.”
For a moment there was silence, and then Tom objected:
“Well, maybe it’s clear to you, Frank, but I can’t see it that way.”
“Me either,” declared Phil.
“Why, it’s as simple as anything,” declared the Big Californian.
“Well, maybe it is,” admitted Sid, “but kindly translate. It’s too deep for us.”
“Look here,” went on Frank. “That jeweler saw us at the wreck; didn’t he?”
“No question about that,” admitted Tom.
“And we helped him look around. We were here first; and we said we didn’t see anything of the stuff.”
“No question about that,” admitted Sid, following Tom’s lead.
“And now here we go and find the empty box—it has every appearance of having been forced open by human hands. We take it to Mr. Farson, and say—‘Here’s your box, Mr. Jeweler; but it’s empty—that’s just how we found it, honest it is!’ Say, wouldn’t he smell a rat right away, and think we had the stuff?”
“No question about that,” declared Phil. “That ends it! Frank is right, we’ll have to keep mum about this for our own sakes, though I don’t like it. It makes us look guilty.”
“Not a bit of it,” declared Frank, stoutly. “It gives us a chance to find out who the guilty party is.”
“Who do you suppose it is?” asked Tom.
“I haven’t the least idea,” answered the California lad, quickly. “Someone may have been on the island before we were, and found, and rifled, the box; or that person may have comeafter we did. That’s one thing we’ve got to find out—and it isn’t going to be any cinch, take it from me!”
They all examined the box, and then looked about the place where it had been found, for other clues. But they found none—no other parts of the wrecked boat seemed to be there.
As they were coming away, to get to their boat and row to Randall, Tom stooped and picked from the ground a bit of gaudily-colored silk, a plaid of many colors, in a sort of ribbon.
“What’s that?” asked Sid.
“Looks like part of a Scotch necktie,” replied the tall pitcher.
“Let’s have a look,” suggested Frank, as he closely examined the piece of silk. “That’s no part of a necktie!” he exclaimed. “It’s a piece of a Mexican silk handkerchief of all the colors of the rainbow. I’ve seen ’em on sale out in my state. The Mexicans and some other folks are fond of sporting them, but they were always too rich for my blood. But, fellows, do you notice one thing about this?” and he held it up for inspection.
“Do you mean it might have been worn by the jeweler, and dropped in his motor-boat?” asked Tom.
“Itmighthave been worn by the jeweler, but not very likely,” said Frank. “In the first place,notice that it shows no signs of having been wet, except by the dew. It was never in the flood, or it would have mud on it. And I don’t believe it was worn by the jeweler, and dropped here; otherwise, having good eyesight, as all jewelers and watch repairers have, he would have seen his box.”
“Then you think——,” began Sid.
“That it was dropped here by someone who was on this island either before, or after, we were here the first time; by someone who found the box, opened it, and took the stuff away,” finished Frank.
“And who that person was it’s up to us to find out,” declared Tom.
“Exactly. And here’s another thing,” went on Frank, “this piece of silk is torn off in a long strip, cleanly, and it looks to me as if it might have been one of several so torn, or ripped, to make a bundle of the cups and jewelry. If we can find a handkerchief like this, with a strip torn off, we’ll come pretty close to the person who has the Boxer Hall cups,” finished the Big Californian.
“Maybe the fellow tore off a couple of strips, used the main part of his handkerchief in which to wrap his stuff, and left one strip here by mistake,” suggested Phil.
“Maybe,” admitted Frank. “Well, we’ve got about all we can find here, I guess. I vote we get back, and talk this matter over among ourselves. And, mind, not a word to a soul!”
All promised and then, carefully concealing in their boat the jewelry box, with the piece of silk inside, they rowed back to college.
But the discussion they brought to bear on the matter in their room later, failed to throw any light on the subject. All the conclusion they could come to was that if they found the owner of the gaudy handkerchief they might find the possessor of the jewelry.
In the days that followed rowing matters occupied much of the attention and the talk of the Randall students. The chairmen of the various committees called meetings, and made reports of progress to the general athletic body. The offer of the alumni to provide a fine boathouse, and a rowing equipment, was formally accepted, and the required promise made.
There was no lack of material for an eight-oared shell—two in fact—several fours, a couple of doubles, and one or two singles. In response to a request for a list of what was needed, it was decided to ask for one first-class eight-oared shell, for two fours, two doubles, and three singles, though the gift committee, naturally, would do as they thought best. This would give plenty of craft in which to practice. In view of the expense of the eight-oared shell it was decided that the students themselves would subscribe enough to purchase a second-hand eight for practice.
They learned of one in good condition, that could be had at a bargain, also a single and a four, and, as it would take some time for the generous old graduates to provide their equipment, it was voted to buy the second-hand ones for use the remainder of that Spring.
“That will give us a little time for practice,” decided Kindlings, who had the matter in charge. He had been elected temporary captain of a tentative eight crew; a temporary arrangement, as it would not be known, until the coach had selected the crew, who would row in the different craft. There would be try-outs as soon as possible.
The old boathouse would have to answer until the new one was built, but, to accommodate the many students who now thronged it, a temporary addition was built, the coming warm weather making it unnecessary to have it very substantial.
The interest in rowing increased every day. Our four chums and their friends were perhaps the foremost in showing their delight in the coming events.
Boxer Hall had been communicated with, as had Fairview Institute, and both had agreed to enter into triangular-league contests that Fall, the details to be arranged later.
The second-hand shells had been ordered, and Mr. Lighton agreed to do the water coaching, in addition to looking after the baseball lads, forthe affairs of the diamond were beginning to hold the attention of many. Of course our friends did not lose interest in baseball because of the coming water sports.
Meanwhile no further trace of the missing cups or jewelry had been found. No one claimed the reward offered by Mr. Farson, to which the Boxer Hall Athletic Association added a substantial sum for the recovery of their trophies. Our friends said nothing of their find, and, though there was hardly a breath of suspicion against them, even in Boxer Hall, still they fretted.
“We’ve just got to find out who took those things!” cried Tom, one afternoon, coming back from a row on the river.
“That’s right!” agreed his chums.
A number of the ordinary rowing boats had been secured, and Mr. Lighton spent some time giving the lads an idea of the rudiments of getting down to the right stroke. Of course with toe stretchers, and sliding seats, there would come a vast change, so he did not want to go too deeply into the matter until the right craft were at hand.
“Well, what shall we do this afternoon?” asked Sid, as he yawningly tossed aside a book that he had dipped into on coming to his room after a lecture.
“I’m for a row!” exclaimed Tom.
“We ought to do some baseball practice,” suggestedPhil. “We’ve sort of been letting that slide.”
“Let’s do a little of——” began Frank, when the door flew open, and in came Kindlings, all excited.
“It’s come!” he cried.
“What?” chorused the others.
“The new shell—I mean the second-hand eight—the boat we’re going to do our practice in! I just got word from the freight office that it’s there. Let’s get a truck, and have it carted to the river. I’m crazy to get in and go for a row!”
“Hurray! That’s the stuff!” cried Tom. “Come on, everybody!” and he led the way, the others following.
“Well, now we have it, what shall we do with it?”
“Say, but it’s a frail thing all right!”
“Looks as if one good stroke would split it in two.”
“And that will hold eight men!”
“Nine, counting the coxswain, you gump! Didn’t you ever see an eight-oared shell before?”
“Not so close at hand! Say, but it’s flimsy all right.”
“Oh, I guess we’ll find it stiff enough for us.”
These were only a few of the comments, and questions, propounded by the students of Randall as they gathered about the new shell—or, rather, the second-hand one—that had been purchased in order to give them practice while the new outfit was being made.
Following the enthusiastic announcement of Kindlings, as detailed in the last chapter, the more eager of the rowing contingent, including our fourheroes, had gone to the freight depot, and, procuring a truck had, with great care and patience, transported the boat, well swathed in burlap, to the river. Later, under the direction of Coach Lighton, they had attached the outriggers, gotten out the oars, given the boat another coat of varnish, oiled it well, and now it rested in the water alongside the dock, as lightly as a swan, if not as gracefully.
“It looks more like a water-spider than anything else,” commented Jerry Jackson, one of the Jersey twins.
“Here! Can that!” cried Tom. “No finding fault with our boat, or we’ll duck you.”
“That’s what!” declared Dutch Housenlager. “Let’s get in and take a try!” he proposed, starting toward the frail craft, and preparing to step in it.
“Here! Hold on!” cried Mr. Lighton, in accents of alarm. “That’s no way to get into a shell. Now you fellows just hold your breaths until I give you a few points.”
The lads—a score or more—all of whom hoped to make the eight, while others felt that they would be satisfied in the fours, or singles, had gathered around. They had all helped to get the shell into shape, pending the arrival of some more of the second-hand craft. Now they were eager to try their skill.
“It is too early to pick out the crew yet,” said Mr. Lighton, “as I don’t know what any of you can do. So I suggest that you all have a try, and those that develop the most aptitude will come in for more consideration. Have you thought of anyone for permanent captain? Wait, though, I guess you’d better let that go until you see how you make out in rowing. And, as for the coxswain—who wants to be coxswain?” he asked.
“Don’t all speak at once,” he added whimsically. “Remember that, while it’s a post of honor, the coxswain doesn’t row, though by steering he assumes almost as much responsibility as all the rest put together, for a well-steered boat often means a winning one. We want a light weight for coxswain,” and he looked over the assembled group.
No one volunteered and the coach went on:
“Well, at the risk of seeming egotistical, I’ll assume that post myself, for the time being, though I’m a bit heavy. I think I can coach you better from that position—at least at the start. Now then, I guess we’re ready. Whom shall we try first?”
Once more he looked around.
“Holly Cross,” he called, and that lad stepped forward, then: “Kindlings, Phil Clinton, Tom Parsons, Frank, Sid,” went on the coach.
A pause.
“Yes, come ahead, Housenlager,” said the coach, as Dutch made an eager move. “Let’s see, that’s seven. Where’s Bricktop. Not here. Joe Jackson.”
“I’m afraid I’m a bit light,” said the Jersey twin.
“Well, perhaps you are. You may fill in later, though, as coxswain, or row in one of the other boats. I guess——”
“I’d like to row!” exclaimed someone.
Reginald Boswell stepped forward, a smile of confidence on his face.
“I’ve done considerable of it,” he added, with an air of assurance. To do him justice he was a well-built lad, and those who had seen him out on the river knew he could pull a good oar. Whether he had racing qualities in him remained to be seen.
“Very well,” said the coach, quietly. “We’ll give you a trial. That makes the eight. Now then, who’ll be for stroke? Simpson, I think I’ll try you. You look as though you could set the pace. For number seven—um! Parsons, you try that, though we may change later. Remember that number seven, who sits directly behind stroke, has almost as important a position, for he has to pick up the stroke promptly, and the rest of the crew is dependent, in a great measure, on what number seven does.
“Now, let me see. Boswell, you’ll be bow oar.Phil Clinton number two, Sid Henderson at three, Housenlager at four, Woodhouse number five, and Cross at six. Now I guess we’re all ready. Steady the boat there, some of you, while the crew gets in.”
Dutch Housenlager once more eagerly started for the boat, and extended his foot to step down into it at his designated seat.
“Wait! Wait!” cried the coach. “Don’t get into a shell that way. Remember that it’s almost as thin as its name indicates. Put your foot lengthwise of the keelson, not athwart, or you may force your heel or toe through the sides. Have all of you your rubber-soled shoes on?”
“Sure,” replied Dutch, a bit abashed. A glance showed that all were in sufficiently regular rowing costume.
“Now, while we’re at it, I might as well tell you how properly to get in a shell,” went on the coach. “You may all listen, as you can’t tell whom it may fit.
“In the first place take your oar, and, if you’re to row on the side of the shell that happens to be nearest the float at the time, lay your blade on the platform. If you’re on the water side, lay the blade flat on the surface of the water.
“Now get in, facing the stern, being careful to step lengthways, as I told Housenlager. Stoop down, with a hand on either gunwale, and loweryourself into your seat. You will of course notice the seats slide back and forth, that you have outriggers instead of gunwale oarlocks, and that there are stretchers, or loops under which to thrust your toes.
“Once in your seat, ship your oar by thrusting the handle in through the outrigger oarlock from outside. Sit straight, not to one side, and squarely face the handle of your oar, have your shoulders a bit back, and your elbows close to your flanks. I’ll give you more points as we go along.
“Hold your oar with the outside hand close to the end of the handle, but not over the edge of it. You get more power from your outside hand, remember. The ‘outside’ hand, strange as it may seem, is the one nearest the centre of the boat, and the inside one, that nearest the ‘loom,’ spoon, body or blade of the oar. Put the other hand not more than two and a half inches from the outside hand. Thumbs underneath, or toward the bottom of the boat, of course; though some men row with the thumb of one hand in the same position as the fingers.
“And now then, to give you brief instructions in how to row. First give a full, fair reach out over your toes, with both arms perfectly straight, dip your oar in the water—plunge it in with force. Get a good hold on the water with the blade, and the instant it is immersed, pull with all your might,and then follow through, as we say, with a long, firm stroke without vibration or wavering.
“Then, with a light finish, get your oar blade clear of the water cleanly, feather light, low and quick—into the water again all together with a ‘chug’—another pull and—there you are—you’re rowing!”
There was silence for a moment, and then Tom remarked:
“Sounds easy; doesn’t it?”
“Yes, and some of you will find it easy,” remarked Mr. Lighton, with a smile. “Others will not. But we can tell soon who the rowers are going to be, though that is not saying that, with practice, some of those who seem the least fitted may not become very proficient.”
“I once belonged to a swell New York club,” remarked Reginald Boswell.
“Why did they put you out, Bossy?” asked Kindlings, with a wink at Sid.
“They didn’t—I resigned,” and the rich lad shot an indignant glance at his tormentor.
“Same thing,” remarked Kindlings.
“Now then, get into the shell, and we’ll try a little spin,” called the coach, and he watched carefully as each of the eight lads followed his instructions more or less accurately. Some were a bit awkward, but all were careful to at least step into the shell properly.
“Push off,” commanded the coxswain-coach, as he took his seat in the stern, with the tiller ropes in his hands. “You will notice that some of you are on what is called the stroke side—that is, with your oars on the same side as Frank Simpson, who faces me. So when I say ‘stroke side pull,’ it means that only those on that side, or at my right hand, are to row.
“Oppositely, some of you are on what is known as the bow side, or with your oars on the side on which sits Boswell, the bow oar. That is on my left. Though, of course, you all sit in the middle of the boat. So when I give orders for the stroke oars to do certain things I mean for those on Frank’s side to obey. Now then, row, stroke oars!”
Four blades shot back and took the water, not all at once, as they should have done, but fairly well for the first time. As the craft was heading down stream, with the stroke oars nearest the float, this manœuver tended to swing the craft farther out into the river to clear the dock.
“Row, bows!” came the order, and the others, dipping their blades, slewed the craft around until she was straight again, and far enough out to enable a good start to be made.
“Very good!” complimented the coach. “Now then, row all!”
The frail shell, like some grotesque waterspider, darted ahead, the water swirling under the broad blades.
“Hurray!” yelled the crowd along the bank and on the dock.
“They’re off!” shouted Jerry Jackson.
“The first spin!” added his brother. “I wonder if we can turn out a winning crew?”
“Of course we can, Joe me lad!” cried Bricktop Molloy, coming up at that moment. “Of course that’s not sayin’ it wouldn’t be much better with me in the boat, but it can’t be helped now. I’m a bit late,” he added. “Ten thousand maledictions on Pitchfork for detainin’ me. But who’s that at bow?”
“Bossy,” some one told him.
“That calf! Sure he can row though!” the Irish student added, half-admiringly, as he watched the efforts of the rich lad.
The shell was well out in the river now, spinning along at a rapid pace. Of course it was far from being at racing speed, but even a little power sent the knife-like boat along at a great rate, so little resistance was there.
“Steady all!” called Mr. Lighton, in a low voice, as he noticed a tendency to splash on the part of some. “Get your oars in the water with force. Get hold of the water all together. When you do, it will sound like a stone falling in—a chug—a noise like a ‘rotten egg’, as it is called.Try for that. The eight oars ought to sound like a single pair when you learn to row in unison.
“Pick it up a little faster, bow!” he called to Boswell.
“This is the way I learned to row,” came the retort from the bow oar.
“Well, you’ll have to unlearn some things,” retorted the coach, grimly.
“Don’t look so worried, Tom,” he went on a little later. “You’re picking up your stroke fairly well. Frank, a little more forward—reach out well over your toes. That’s better. Now let’s hit it up a little.”
They had been rowing about twenty strokes per minute—rather slow, and, as Mr. Lighton indicated an increase, Frank followed, until they were doing twenty-four, a substantial advance. As they rowed along, Tom glanced away from Frank’s rising and falling back, and said in a low voice:
“Here comes Boxer Hall!”
“Silence number seven—eyes in the boat—on the man in front of you!”
Thus the coach called to Tom, but there was no sting in his words, and the tall baseball pitcher of Randall knew that it was for the good of himself and the crew. Nothing is so important in a race as to save one’s wind, and to keep one’s eyes fairly glued on the back of the man in front of one. For on unison, and in rowing exactly in time with every other man in the shell, does the race depend.
“Never mind Boxer Hall,” went on Mr. Lighton. “We’re going to beat her, but we won’t unless we learn how to keep our eyes in our own boat. Steady there, Sid!”
On came the Boxer Hall eight. They were rowing down the stream, as were our friends, but the rival college shell was in the rear, having gone up stream earlier in the day, being now on the return trip.
“Don’t try to race them when they pass us,”cautioned Mr. Lighton, who had not even turned his head to see the approaching shell behind him. “It will be a temptation, I know, but we are not ready for a spurt yet.”
“Are we going to let them pass us?” demanded the rich lad, almost forgetting to row.
“Don’t talk!” came sharply from the coxswain. “It’s your business to row, Boswell, if you want to be in this eight. You almost lost a stroke then, and see how the boat slews! I have to shift the rudder to correct it, and in a race that might mean the loss of considerable distance. Pick up your stroke, and don’t race!”
The face of the rich lad expressed disappointment, and his was not the only one. Certainly it was a bit galling to let Boxer Hall—their ancient rival—pass them, and the first time Randall was out in her eight, too!
But afterward all admitted the wisdom of the course taken by the coach. They were in no condition to race, and, green as most of them were as to how to behave in a tricky shell, they might have had an upset. Not they would have minded that, but they would have been the laughing-stock of Boxer Hall.
On came the rivals, the oars being feathered beautifully. They took the water with that peculiar chugging sound that always denotes a well-trained crew.
“Listen, all of you,” advised Mr. Lighton in a low voice. “That’s what I mean by the ‘rotten-egg’ sound. It’s when the oar blade is plunged under water as you begin your stroke. Try to attain it—after they pass.”
The Boxer Hall lads, rowing perhaps a trifle faster than they had been doing, sitting perhaps a trifle straighter, and pulling a bit harder—a natural showing off—came opposite the shell containing our friends of Randall.
“Want to try a little spurt?” called Dave Ogden, from the coxswain’s seat.
“No, thank you—we’re just out for practice. It’s our first spin,” replied Mr. Lighton. “Some other time.”
“Why not now?” murmured Boswell.
“Silence in the bow!” exclaimed the coach, sharply.
“You’re a martinet!” retorted the rich lad, but in so low a voice that only Phil, sitting in front of him, heard.
Not a lad in the Boxer Hall shell spoke, though several nodded in friendly fashion at their acquaintances in the Randall boat. They were evidently well trained, and were saving their wind.
On they rowed, passing those who hoped to prove themselves formidable rivals by the following Fall. And in spite of the command of Mr. Lighton for all eyes to be in the boat, hardly alad of the eight but glanced enviously at the smoothly-swinging shell, that looked so trim and so neat. For, in spite of the work expended on the second-hand craft, it showed what it was.
“But it won’t be long before we have a better one,” thought Tom.
“Row easy, all,” came the command from the coach, when the Boxer Hall boat had passed around a bend of the stream.
The stroke was slackened, to the relief of all, for, though they were sturdy lads, rowing was a form of exercise to which they were not much accustomed, especially in a shell. The strangeness of the seats, the toe stretchers, and the outriggers added to their confusion, so that the fatigue was almost as much one of attention and brain power as of muscle.
“Now for a turn against the current,” remarked the coach, when they had gone on a mile or two more. “This will give you some resistance to work against.”
The shell was turned, after a fashion, Mr. Lighton being anxious not to bring too much strain on the outriggers, the turning action always involving this.
“Give way!” came the command, and the shell started back up stream.
This was harder work, but the coach, desiring to know if he had any members on the crew whowere likely to prove of less service than the others, kept them all up to a good stroke. There was some panting when the float was reached, a larger crowd than before being there to welcome the first tentative crew. But, to do the lads justice, not one but had stood the strain well, even the fault-finding Boswell.
“Well rowed for the first time!” complimented Mr. Lighton. “Now, then, a good shower bath and a rub-down, and then some light exercise to keep from getting stiff, for you have used muscles to-day that seldom came into play before. Now who’s for another crew?” and he picked out eight more lads, who went off in the shell.
“That was great!” cried Tom, as, with his three particular chums he started for the gymnasium.
“It sure was,” agreed Sid. “I never thought I could do so well.”
“And I never knew I could do so rotten!” came from Frank. “I used to think I was some pumpkins with an oar, but this has taken all the conceit out of me.”
“Same here,” agreed Phil. “But I think we’re on the right road.”
“Boxer Hall did fine,” went on Tom. “I give them credit for that. I wish we’d started at rowing years ago. It’s a shame it was so neglected at Randall.”
“It was dandy of those old grads to think to put us in the way of it once more,” went on Sid. “We’ll have to pass them a vote of thanks.”
Thus talking the boys went into the gymnasium, whence they emerged a little later, glowing, and feeling the spring and buoyancy of youth.
“Hello, what’s this?” asked Phil, as they entered their room, and saw some letters on the table.
“From the girls!” cried Tom, as he saw a certain hand-writing.
“Here, you’ve got mine!” declared Frank, making a grab for the epistle in Sid’s hand.
“Beg your pardon old man—so I have. I’ll trade,” and soon the four lads were busy perusing four notes.
“They’re going to have a dance,” spoke Tom. “A week from to-night. Will we go? I guess yes! That is, I don’t think we have any date for that evening.”
“If I have I’ll break it,” said Sid, quickly.
“Listen to the old misogynist—him as wouldn’t used to speak to a girl!” cried Phil. “Oh, what a change! What a change!”
“Dry up!” commanded Sid, making a reach for his chum, who nimbly escaped by leaping behind the sofa.
“Say, this is pretty indefinite,” went on Tom. “They just ask us to come, and don’t say who’s to take who, or anything like that.”
“And there are a new lot of fellows at Fairview,” said Frank. “I move that we go over and make sure of our girls. I don’t want to get left.”
“I should have thought Ruth would be more definite,” put in Phil. “But say, we’ve got time to run over and back before grub. Come on.”
Regardless of the fact that they had just come in from a hard row, they soon got into their “semi-best suits,” as Sid called them, and hurried to the trolley that would land them at the co-educational institution.
“There are the girls!” exclaimed Tom, who, being in the lead, as he and his chums crossed the campus a little later, saw the four; Ruth, Madge Tyler, Mabel Harrison and Helen Newton.
They paired off—as they always did—and soon were walking in different directions. Tom was with Ruth Clinton, and after the matter of the dance had been settled, and she had agreed to accompany him, as doubtless the other girls had done for the other lads, the tall pitcher, with a glance at his pretty companion remarked:
“New pin, Ruth? Where did you get it?” and he looked at her collar-fastening.
“Hush!” she exclaimed, looking quickly around. “Don’t tell Phil!”
“Why not?” Tom wanted to know. “Doesn’t he want you to have jewelry?”
“Yes, but listen, you remember that dear old-fashionedbrooch I used to wear? The one with the secret spring in the back, that, when you pressed on it, showed a little picture of me. Do you remember that?”
“Do I? I should say I did! And how you dropped it at a dance once, and I had to crawl down under the palms in the conservatory to get it.”
“And you in your dress suit, poor boy!” and Ruth laughed. “I should say you might well remember it. But, Tom, this is serious,” and she grew grave at once. “I’ve lost that brooch!”
“Lost it—how?”
“Or, rather, it’s been stolen, and I don’t dare tell Phil. You know the clasp was broken, or something was the matter with it. That’s the reason it fell off that time you had to hunt for it.”
“And did it drop again? Tell me where, and I’ll search until——”
“No, Tom, it wouldn’t do any good,” and Ruth sighed.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s been stolen!”
“Stolen!”
“Yes. Listen. I feel dreadfully about it. You know it was a gift from my grandmother. She is a dear, old-fashioned lady, and she has lots of lovely old-fashioned jewelry. She always said she disliked the present styles, and when she gave methat pin she made me promise to wear it, and never be ashamed of it, even if it was a century old.
“Of course I promised, for the pinwasa beauty. And grandmother always said that if I took good care of it, and wore it whenever I went out, she would leave me her lovely string of pearls. Of course I would have worn the pin without that. And now it’s been taken!”
“Taken! By someone here at college?”