"T
HEREhe is!" breathed Greg, who ran with the foremost rank of pursuing boys, as they turned into Abbott Street.
A policeman saw the commotion and ran fastafter the crowd of youngsters. As the officer caught up with Ross he found out that they were "chasing Fits."
Though the man ahead ran rapidly, the foremost boys gradually overtook him. The policeman, too, was well in the front of the running.
Then the fugitive stumbled and fell to the ground. He sat up, but made no further move to get away.
"I may as well give meself up," remarked the recent fugitive resignedly. "The law is always sure to git a feller."
"Why, this isn't Mr. Fits!" ejaculated Dick and Greg in the same accent of disgust.
"Who's going to gimme fits?" demanded the man, looking stupidly about him, while the crowd circled him and the policeman peered down into his face. "Who's going to gimme fits, I ask? Will it be Jack Ryan?"
"This fellow is Dock Breslin, a teamster," muttered the policeman disgustedly. "Who said it was the thief that the chief wants so badly?"
"I—I thought it was, when I saw him," stammered Greg Holmes, rather abashed now. "He's the same build as Fits, and looked like him at a distance. And this man, Breslin, was peering around the corner and acting suspiciously. He ran away, too, when we started after him."
"I'll go with ye, peaceable like," promised Dock Breslin, getting upon his feet and addressing the blue coated one. "'Twas Jack himself swore out the warrant, I suppose."
"What warrant?" demanded the policeman.
"Didn't he swear out one?" insisted Breslin.
"Who?"
"Jack Ryan. 'Twas meself that gave Ryan a big wallopin' this afternoon, all on account of a bit of a dispute we had. Jack swore he'd be even with me, and I heard he'd sworn out a warrant against me," explained Breslin, who had the air of one stupidly rejoicing that his suspense was ended.
"I heard of no warrant for you, Dock, when the night watch had the orders read before we came out to-night," replied the policeman.
"Then Jack didn't do it?" demanded Breslin.
"If he did, he didn't let the police know about it," laughed the policeman. "If there'd been a warrant against you, Dock, the orders would have been read to the night watch at the station house. Did you run from the boys because you thought there was a warrant against you?"
"I did," the teamster admitted.
"Then Jack Ryan will be laughing at you to-morrow," grinned the officer. "Go home, Breslin, and behave yourself. Boys, you'd better scatter."
It was not long after that that Gridley Grammar School boys were at home and in bed. By morning they were on the street again, as there was still some of the holiday vacation left.
There was news, too, this morning. The Dodge house had been entered late in the night, but the Dodge coachman, returning late, had caught sight of a burglar near an open dining room window. In investigating more closely the coachman had scared the burglar, who leaped from the window, struck the coachman over the head, and then vanished. But the coachman's description of his assailant tallied with the personal appearance of Mr. Fits.
"Then the bold scoundrel is still operating in Gridley?" passed from mouth to mouth. "What nerve!"
"The thief is likely to stay here for a night or two longer," the chief of police warned business men along Main Street. "The truth appears to be that the rascal whom the boys have named Mr. Fits is without funds to get away. The loot that Dick & Co. found out at the camp was what the scoundrel had expected to take away with him and sell. That stuff not being in his possession, he must steal something else on which to raise money before he can go far from here."
"Why doesn't the rascal try some other town,then, where he's not as well known?" inquired Mr. Dodge.
"Because he has houses that he and his confederates, now locked up in jail, had spotted for robbery," replied the police chief. "Burglars don't usually enter a house until they've looked it well over and know just about what they expect to find. I'll have all my men alert to-night, and well to do people will do well to be on the lookout, too. As soon as this 'Mr. Fits' gets loot enough he'll probably leave Gridley."
That same forenoon Dick, Dave and Tom, acting as a self-appointed committee, called on Lawyer Ripley at that gentleman's office. They thanked the lawyer for the use of the camp, and mentioned the burning down of the cook shack.
Hardly had they begun to speak when Fred Ripley sauntered into his father's office. Silently Fred stepped over to a part of the office that lay behind his father's back.
"How did the fire happen?" inquired the lawyer. "Some of you young men just a bit frisky and careless?"
Fred, from behind his father, scowled at the three Grammar School boys. It was plain enough that he dreaded having his father told the truth. Nor did Dick and his chums want to tell if it could be avoided. They had all of a schoolboy's aversion to carrying tales.
"No, sir; it wasn't carelessness on the part of any of our party," Prescott answered truthfully.
"Oh, well, it doesn't matter, at any rate," the lawyer assured them. "The whole camp is worth nothing in these days, and the shack was the least valuable part of all. If it's burned down, then it's gone. Mrs. Dexter wouldn't want any of you boys made uncomfortable over the affair for a moment, so you needn't tell me another word about it. But the cabin is still standing, and you may want to use it again. As Mrs. Dexter'sattorneyand agent, I offer you the use of it at any time when you please. You needn't even come to ask my permission. The use of the cabin belongs solely to you boys, and it's yours at any time without asking."
Dick & Co. took their leave promptly, and Fred escaped, for the time being, an investigation by his stern father.
"I hear that word is going around to the wealthy people in town to look out for Mr. Fits to-night," remarked Tom, as the trio of Grammar School boys returned to the street.
"That lets our families out," laughed Dick.
"Are you so very sure of that?" Dave inquired. "Fits might pay one of our homes a visit by way of revenge—yours, for instance, Dick."
"I don't believe he'll do it, just for revenge," Prescott replied, with a shake of his head. "Fits is probably superstitious, and he has most likely come to the conclusion that he runs to bad luck in pursuing our crowd. All of his ill luck, and that of his confederates, now in jail, has come through bothering us."
"Don't be too sure that you won't have another visit from the rascal," warned Tom. "Dick, Mr. Fits knows you're the leader of our crowd, and that's why he'll single out your house, if any, for a visit of revenge."
"I'd like to stay awake and see," smiled Dick. "Yet I'm almost certain that I'd fall into a sound doze before midnight."
During the day there were a lot of the Central Grammar School boys to be met, and each one had to have some account of the wonderful snowbound days. By evening Dick had very nearly forgotten the possible danger from Mr. Fits.
After supper Dave sauntered into the Prescott store.
"Dan wasn't out to-day," Dave announced. "At least, if he was, he failed to see any of us. Let's walk down to his house and see if anything is wrong with him."
Dick agreeing, the two chums turned down a dark side street on their way to Dalzell's.
At the darkest point on the street the two boys had to pass a collection of shanty like buildings, which contained a contractor's offices, a junk-shop, a second hand dealer's storehouse and a big stable in which the contractor's work-horses were kept.
"These old rookeries will go by when Gridley real estate gets to be just a little more valuable," grunted Dave, as he picked his way gingerly in the darksome spot.
"It's really a disgrace to the town, this place," replied Dick. "Hullo! Who's moving there? O-o-oh—say!"
They were just at the head of the narrow alley-way leading down to the stable. Up this alley-way a man had been picking his prowling way in the dark. At the hail from Dick Prescott the man turned, as though to glide back into the shadow.
But now, suddenly, the fellow wheeled like a flash and bounded into the path of the two Grammar School boys.
"I reckon this time will be as good as any other!" announced Mr. Fits, with an ugly laugh that showed his fang like teeth.
"J
UPITER!But we've got you!" flared Dave Darrin.
"Have you?" retorted Mr. Fits sarcastically. "Hold me tight, then. But this is a lucky meeting for me. I can settle all the old scores with you two. Yell, if you think it will bring any help to you."
"We know better," replied Dick coolly, though he was tingling inside. "We've got to handle you ourselves."
"Get busy at handling me, then," leered Mr. Fits. "Prescott, I'm going to begin by handling you in a way that'll make Darrin run."
"Don't you believe it!" retorted Dave angrily. "I may be killed, but I promise you that I won't run except to chase you, you ugly brute!"
"We'll see!" chuckled the wretch.
With that he reached out for Dick, who was standing his ground. Just then a lithe figure shot in between the boys and their promised assailant.
"Stand back, you hound!" ordered the newcomer angrily. "This is a matter for men. You and I will attend to each other!"
"Old Dut!" breathed Dick Prescott in the intensity of his astonishment.
"Yes, it's I," announced the principal of the Central Grammar coolly. "This is more in my line."
Mr. Fits had been pushed back from the spot by the energetic fist of Mr. E. Dutton Jones. But now the brute came back, cautiously, crouching and leering.
"Who are you, anyway!" demanded Mr. Fits.
"Oh, I'm one of the town's schoolmasters," replied Old Dut dryly. "As for you, I imagine you're that doubtful celebrity, Mr. Fits—otherwise a thief."
"Get out of this!" warned the rascal darkly. "This is no place for schoolmasters."
"On the contrary," retorted Old Dut, as coolly as before, "this is just the proper place for me, for I've appointed myself to teach you a lesson, my man. Throw off your overcoat, I don't want to take you unfairly."
As Old Dut spoke he "shucked" his own coat, tossing it to the curb.
"Wait, Mr. Jones, and we'll get a policeman," urged Dick.
"Wait and see how badly I'm going to need one," returned the schoolmaster.
"This affair is none of your business," growled Mr. Fits.
"Yes, it is!" insisted the principal of Central Grammar. "You were going to attack two of my boys. If you'll go along peaceably to the police station with me, then I'll let you off from a thrashing. But don't try to run away, for I warn you that I've kept up fairly well the sprinting of my old college days."
"I won't go with you, and I won't run," uttered Mr. Fits defiantly.
"Then get off your coat, for I'm going to start in," Old Dut warned the wretch.
Something in the schoolmaster's eye and voice told Fits that he would do well to get himself in trim at once. Off came his hat and coat.
"Look out, you ferrule-tosser!" jeered Mr. Fits, and led off with one fist after the other.
It had often been remarked, in undertones by Grammar School boys, that Old Dut was fine at thrashing boys, but that it would be different if he had a man of his own size to tackle.
Right now Dick Prescott and Dave Darrin were treated to a sight that they never forgot. In point of size Old Dut was somewhat over-matched. At the same time his opponent was a younger man. Yet it looked like a battle of giants. For some moments Old Dut had all he could do to hold his own. He took severe punishment, but gave back the same kind. Then, all of a sudden, Fits showed signs of wanting to getaway. But Mr. E. Dutton Jones followed him up persistently, and at last a hard blow stretched the thief on the ground.
"Don't try to get up," Old Dut warned the fellow, "until I announce that I am ready for you."
With that the principal put on his coat once more, while Dave, with a very respectful air, passed the principal's hat.
"Now, you may get up," nodded Old Dut. "Put on your hat and coat."
Mr. Fits obeyed, next remarking whiningly:
"As you got the best of it, now I suppose you are ready to let me go."
"I never let a thief go, if I can help it," Old Dut retorted, gripping one of the fellow's wrists. "We'll walk along together, my friend, until we reach the police station. And woe unto you if you start anything funny!"
So it happened that, within five minutes, Mr. Fits was turned over to the members of a rejoicing police force. At the station house Mr. Fits described himself more especially as being one John Clark. Whether that was really his own name no one in Gridley ever found out.
Clark took his arrest philosophically enough. Now that he was behind bars, with no help for his situation, he became almost goodnatured. Ere long he admitted all of the charges againsthim. It was he who had entered the Prescott flat and had taken away Dick's watch and the fan intended for Dick's mother. Clark told freely how he and his confederates had taken toll from the Christmas shoppers, confessing also that they had had a number of houses "located" for burglary.
The prisoner told, also how he had found a megaphone in the little "lumber loft" of the cook shack, and how, with this, he had improvised the ghostly sounds. He had also found in that loft the snowshoes on which he had escaped from Constable Dock.
Clark—Mr. Fits—went away to prison for a long term, and Gridley heard no more about him. The recovered stolen property was turned over to the owners after the trial. Dr. Bentley was so overjoyed at the recovery of his prized heirloom watch that he presented each member of Dick & Co., except the leader, with a silver watch and chain. As Dick now had the watch bought for him by his parents, he received from Dr. Bentley a handsome pair of racing skates.
Mrs. Prescott wore her fan proudly the next time that she attended a performance at the local opera house. Other Gridley folks whose property had been recovered by the Grammar School boys were equally delighted.
The reader may be disappointed that FredRipley was not immediately punished for his meanness to the young campers, but it may be remarked in passing that fellows of Ripley's kind are always caught up with and punished sooner or later.
Boys filed in from one coatroom, girls from another, at the stroke of nine on the following Monday morning.
Tap! sounded a bell, and instantly the young people in their seats came to order, hands folded on desks before them.
"Young ladies and gentlemen," began Old Dut, in his usual schoolmaster tone, "I trust that you have all enjoyed your mid-winter vacation immensely. I hope that you have brought back here refreshed bodies and minds. Have you?"
"Yes, sir," came from all quarters of the schoolroom.
"The report cards given the pupils on the first of February will show whether you have answered accurately or impulsively," continued the principal. "I shall not expect too great performance from you this morning, but I warn you all that I shall not be jovially inclined to overlooking inattention or skylarking. Master Dalzell, were you whispering?"
"No, sir," Dan answered truthfully.
"That is well. Any young man who has justspent many days communing with grand old Nature should feel it beneath his dignity to whisper to mere mortals. Master Hazelton, you are moving uneasily in your seat. Be calm; you will not have to cook your own dinner to-day. Miss Bentley, it is hardly fair to smile so knowingly. For aught of evidence that may be presented, Master Hazelton may be a very excellent cook. Only his late camping comrades really know—and I'm certain they won't expose him. Attention! Turn to page 46 of your singing books."
After the singing exercises had been finished Old Dut announced:
"Master Reade and Miss Kimball will pass around with this composition paper. Each member of the class will have twenty minutes in which he will write a brief but interesting description of something that he saw, and which impressed him, during the vacation just closed."
Then, for some minutes, all was quiet save the scratching of pens through the room. Yet Old Dut, expert reader of pupils' eyes and glances, presently cast a bombshell by declaring in his dryest tone:
"Any pupil who writes anything believed to be funny will be required to explain before the class just what he considers the joke to be. Hewill then also be required to laugh three times at his own joke."
Here we will leave the Grammar School boys—and girls—for the present. However, we shall catch up with them again in the next volume in this series, which deals with spring sports, adventures and mysteries, and with a jolly good round of all the phases of public school life that interest young readers. This next volume is published under the title, "The Grammar School Boys in the Woods; Or, Dick & Co. Trail Fun and Knowledge."
Really good and new stories for boys and girls are not plentiful. Many stories, too, are so highly improbable as to bring a grin of derision to the young reader's face before he has gone far. The name of ALTEMUS is a distinctive brand on the cover of a book, always ensuring the buyer of having a book that is up-to-date and fine throughout. No buyer of an ALTEMUS book is ever disappointed.
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Every dealer in books carries the ALTEMUS books.
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Transcriber's NotesObvious punctuation errors repaired.Both "someone" and "some one" were used in this text. This was retained.The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text willappear.
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
Both "someone" and "some one" were used in this text. This was retained.
The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text willappear.