"Is that mucker going to run today?"
The questioner was Fred Ripley, and his voice was full of disgust. He glared at Dick Prescott, who was seated unconcernedly on a stone wall, awaiting the arrival of Tom Reade and Dan Dalzell, the only other members of Dick & Co. who were to figure in today's event.
"Is who going to run?" asked Ben Badger.
"That little mucker, Prescott?" insisted Fred.
"Yes," returned Badger, shortly.
"Gridley H.S. is getting worse and worse," growled Ripley. "Athletics ought to be confined to the best sort of fellows in the school. These little muckers, these nobodies, ought to be kept out of everything in which the real fellows take part."
"Don't be a cad, Ripley," retorted Badger, half angrily.
"Oh, I'm no great stickler for caste, and that sort of thing," Fred grumbled on. "I'm democratic enough, when it comes to that, and I associate with a good many fellows whose fathers don't stand as high in the community as mine does."
"That's really kind of you," mimicked Ben Badger, with another look of disgust at the rich lawyer's son. "Of course, you feel just as though anything that your father may have accomplished puts you in a rather more elect lot."
"Of course, it does," retorted Fred, drawing himself up stiffly. "Still, you know as well as anyone does, Badger, that I'm not stuck up just on account of family or position. I'm ready to give the friend's hand to any of the right sort of fellows. But what is that little mucker, Prescott? His parents peddle books and newspapers."
"They run a book and periodical shop, if that is what you mean," rejoined Ben, disgustedly, as he looked the young snob over for the third time. "Some mighty big people have done that in times past. As to position, Prescott's father isn't a rich man, nor a very successful one, but I wish I could look forward, some day, to being half as well educated as Dick's father is."
"A dreamer, a fool, a man who couldn't and didn't succeed," sneered Fred. "And his son will be a bigger mistake in life. I don't have anything to do with that kind of people and their friends."
"I'll wish you good-day, then," broke in Badger, crisply, and moved away. "I want to be reckoned as one of Dick Prescott's friends. He's one of the most promising young fellows in Gridley H.S."
Ripley let loose an astounded gasp. He stood still where Badger had left him, boiling over with rage. Had Ripley been wise, he would have chosen another time for anger. Any trainer or physician could have told this young snob that just before going off on a long race is the worst possible time for letting anger get the best of one. Anger excites the action of the heart to a degree that makes subsequent running performance a thing of difficulty.
Gridley H.S. was out for the October paper chase. This was an annual event, in which the sophomores, or third classmen, acted as the hares, while the freshmen played the part of the hounds. The course was six miles across country. Three courses, of equal length, were laid down, each with a different terminal. It was known, in advance, only to the hares, which course would be run over. But, which ever course was taken, it must be followed to the end. Five minutes' start was allowed to the hares. Then the hounds were sent after them in full yelp. By starting time for the hounds the hares were sure to be out of sight. An official of the first class, who followed the hares at the outset, gave the call when the five minutes were up. Beginning with that call the hares were obliged to scatter bits of paper, as they ran, all the way to the finish of the run.
All three of the courses were somewhat parallel during the first five minutes of the run, but, as the hounds had no means of knowing which course was the right one, the hounds had to divide their forces until the first of the paper trails was struck. Then the "baying" of the hounds who found the trail brought the other two parties of freshmen to them. Usually, four or five upper classmen ran with the hounds to decide upon "captures" in case of dispute. A hound overhauling a hare had to throw his arms around the prize, stopping him fairly for at least fifteen seconds. Then the hare was sent back, out of the race. Each hound was credited with the hare he captured.
Twelve hares ran, also twelve hounds. If the hounds captured seven or more of the hares ere the race was finished, then the hounds won. If they captured less than six, the hares won. If six hares were captured, then the race was a "tie." But, as will be seen, with the five minutes' start, and the hares averaging a year more of age, the sophomore class usually won this chase.
These rules had originated at Gridley, where the High School boys considered their form of the game superior to the rules usually followed.
This year, as in previous years, the sophomores felt confident of winning. The freshmen hounds averaged rather small in size, though little was known as to the freshmen running powers or wind. The sophomores were all good runners.
The contestants for positions on both teams had been tried out three days before, by a committee of men from the first class. The sophomores had not been allowed to see the freshmen run at these trials.
The start was to be made at three o'clock on this Monday afternoon. All the runners were now here, Reade and Dalzell having been among the last of the freshmen to come up. It was ten minutes before three.
"Half of the freshmen are a pretty mucky looking lot, aren't they?" asked Ripley, as he and Purcell, of the hares, strolled by.
"I hadn't noticed it," replied Purcell pleasantly. "I thought them a clean and able looking lot of young fellows."
"Humph! A pretty cheap lot! I call 'em," rejoined Ripley.
Dick Prescott heard and flushed slightly. He understood the allusion, coming from the source that it did. But Dick was bent on making a good run this afternoon, and kept his temper.
"Hares on the line!" shouted Frank Thompson, finally. He was to fire the shots that started the two teams, then was to run with the hounds to act as one of the judges of possible captures.
Purcell, who was captain of the hares, led his men forward to the line laid across the grass. Just before they formed, the captain gave some whispered instructions. Ben Badger was already at the line. He was to run with the hares during the first five minutes, then give the final signal for beginning to scatter the paper trail.
"On the line there, quick!" called Thompson, watch in his left hand, pistol in his right. "Ready!"
The hares, each with a bag of torn paper hanging over one hip, bent forward.
Crack! At the report of the pistol the hares bounded forward.In barely more than a minute afterwards they were out of sight.
Then followed some minutes of tedious waiting for the Gridley freshmen.
"Hounds to the line!"
Dick, who had been elected captain of the freshmen team, led his men forward on all easy lope. Dick took his place at the extreme left of the pursuing line, with Tom Reade next to him; then Dan Dalzell.
"Ready!" A pause of a few seconds. Crack!
The pistol sent the hounds away. They did not attempt to run fast. Captain Dick Prescott's orders were against that. The hounds moved away at an easy lope, for there were miles yet to be covered. Six miles, in fact, is more than average High School boys of the lower classes can make at a cross-country jog. A go-as-you-please gait was therefore allowed. Either hare or hound might walk when he preferred.
But for the first five minutes the hounds, who divided into three squads almost immediately, moved along at an easy jog. Every eye was alert for the first sign of a paper trail. There were six upper classmen running with the hounds. Ben Badger was somewhere ahead, hiding in order not to betray the trail. But, when he had been passed, Badger would jump up and run with the hounds, making the seventh judge.
"I wonder if we've a ghost of a show to win," muttered Tom Reade.
"Every show in the world—-until we're beaten!" replied Dick, doggedly. "It isn't in the Gridley blood to wonder if we can win—-we've got to win!"
After that Dick closed his lips firmly. He must save his wind for the long cross-country.
On the left the runners were now in a field. The center was moving along the highway, the right wing being in a field over beyond.
"Wow-oo! wow-oo! wow-oo!" sounded a deep, far-away chorus.
"There's the trail, away over to the right!" shouted Captain Dick."Come on, fellows!"
On an oblique line he led them, toward the road. They took a low stone wall on the leap, vaulting the fence at the other side of the road. The center squad had already overtaken the discoverers of the trail.
"Run easily. Don't try to cover it all in a minute. Save your wind!" admonished Dick to his own squad.
The upper classmen judges ran well behind the hounds. It was needful only that they be near enough to see and decide any disputed point of capture.
It was all of twenty-five minutes over a course that led across fields and through woods, ere the hounds caught the first glimpse of their quarry. Yet, all along, the paper trail was in evidence. One of the hares was required to strew the small bits of paper. When his bag was empty another hare must begin dropping the white bits.
"I'll bet Ripley dropped along here—-the trail is so mean and difficult," grunted Reade, disgustedly.
"There are the hares ahead—-I see two of them!" bellowed DanDalzell, lustily.
A chorus from the hounds responded an instant later. Yes; they had come in sight of the chase. But the rearmost hares were still a good half mile away. Then the hares disappeared into a forest, leaving only the paper trail as evidence of their presence.
"Brook ahead!" sang out Captain Dick. "Go easily and save some of your wind for jumping."
In a minute more they came to it. Most of the hounds knew when to start on the faster run that must precede the running jump.
Splash! splash.
Splash! spla-a-ash!
Four of the freshmen floundered in the knee-deep water. Well doused, they must none the less dash out of the cold water and continue on the chase.
"Keep a-moving, and you'll soon be dry and warm," Dick called backward over his shoulder. The four who had been badly wet ran heavily now, yet afraid of ridicule if they fell out. They were having their first taste of High School sports, which made no allowance for quitters.
Twenty minutes later a low hurrah went up from the freshmen hounds. Dawson, of the hares, found the pace too swift for him. With a slight pain in his side he lagged so that one of the hounds put on an extra spurt, then wound his arms around the sophomore.
"Fair capture!" bawled one of the judges, and Dawson, dropping out, sat down until he could get his wind back.
Within the next twenty minutes four more of the hares fell into the maws of the hounds.
Five captures! That was fine. Only two more needed, and less than two miles to cover.
The hares were, at this time, again out of sight in the woods ahead. But Captain Dick, having saved his wind well, now put on a slightly better spurt and jogged ahead, full of the purpose of capturing his second hare. One of the "catches" was already recorded to his credit.
"There's one of the hares," Dick flashed to himself, as he caught an indistinct glimpse of a sweater and a moving pair of legs ahead. "He seems to be losing his wind, too—-that fellow."
In a minute more Dick gave another gasp of discovery.
"It's Fred Ripley. I suppose it will be bitter medicine for him, ifImake the catch," thought the young captain of the hounds.
Though he was too manly, too good a sportsman to allow malice to creep in, Prescott certainly did do his best to overtake the lagging Fred.
Gradually, the young captain left the hares behind. But Badger, who was an easy runner, forged ahead so as to keep the leading hound in full sight.
Hearing some one running behind him, Fred Ripley glanced backward over his shoulder.
"The mucker!" gritted the lawyer's son. "He mustn't catch me—-he shan't!"
Yet vainly did Ripley try to put on more speed. He kept it up for a few yards, then knew that he was failing. That ill-advised anger before the start was surely telling on him now. Dick still kept forward, gaining a yard or so every few minutes.
"Keep back! Don't you dare touch me, you mucker!" hissed Fred sharply over his shoulder.
"Mucker?" retorted Prescott. "I'll pay you for that!"
At a bound he covered the distance, throwing first one arm, then the other, fairly around Ripley. Fred fought furiously to break the clasp, but was so winded that he couldn't.
"Let go of me! Your touch soils!" he cried, hoarsely.
But Dick still kept his hold, counting: "—-twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen!"
"Fair capture!" rumbled Ben Badger.
The other hounds, or their leaders, were stripping by now. Dick, at the judge's words, loosed his hold on Fred.
"You cur!" snarled Fred. Then, summoning all his remaining strength, Ripley hauled off and struck astounded Dick on the face, sending the captain of the hounds to the ground.
"Take that, mucker!" shouted the assailant.
Those of the hounds who had not shot by, halted in sheer amazement.
Like a flash Dick was on his feet, his eyes flashing, cheeks flushing crimson.
"Go on, hounds, go on!" he shouted. "I can take care of this one disgrace to Gridley H.S.!"
Ben Badger gave Captain Dick a shove. "Go on, Prescott! Go on, hounds!" roared Badger. "You've only one more capture to make. Run along, Dick! I'll take care of Ripley. He'll stay right here until you come back, or else he'll never have the nerve to show his face at Gridley H.S. again! Run, you hounds!"
Dick needed no farther urging.
Though he was naturally wild with anger, inside, he managed to keep that feeling down and back. He was captain of the hounds. He had his duty to his team and his class first of all to think about.
"Come on, hounds!" he shouted to those who had lagged at sight of the knock-down. "One more hare in our trap—-then we'll be back here!"
What he meant by being "back here" everyone present could guess. In fact, many wondered why there had not sooner been a fight between the freshman and his determined sophomore enemy.
Truth to tell, Dick, after that day in the school grounds, had been inclined to overlook the whole affair.
He was not afraid of Ripley. It was only that Dick's ordinary good nature had triumphed. He was not a brawler, yet could stand out for his rights when a need came.
A third of a mile further on another yell of triumph floated back to young Prescott, who had not yet regained the lead.
In a few moments more the last of the hounds came upon a flushed, joyous group of freshmen runners. With them were two of the judges and a sheepish-looking hare.
The freshmen hounds had won, and had bagged all the hares for which the game called. Let the five remaining hares keep on running to the finish, if they would. For the first time in seven years the freshmen hounds, led by Captain Dick Prescott, had won.
"Ki-yi-yi-yi-yi!" howled the exultant fourth classmen. "And another for Dick Prescott."
"Dick Prescott has other game on his hands now," spoke up DanDalzell, one of the late arrivals.
"What's the row?" demanded the freshman who had just bagged the seventh hare.
"Row? That's just it," nodded Dan. "Prescott caught Ripley—-"
"We saw that."
"But you didn't see the finish. Ripley, as soon as he was released, knocked Dick down."
"Andyoucame on with the hounds, Dick!" demanded Tom Reade, incredulously.
"Badger is keeping Ripley on ice until we get back," Dan supplied, hastily.
"Then let us get back quick!" begged Reade.
"Not too fast, though," objected Dan. "Remember, Ripley has been getting his wind back since he stopped. Give our Dick the same show."
No one thought of asking why Dick would need his wind now. To those who had heard the brief recital of facts it was plain that there could be but one finish to the afternoon's sport. Prescott's hand was sound, at last, and he could give an account of himself.
"Walk slowly, all hands," insisted Dan. "Dick, old fellow, on the way back, amuse yourself by getting in all the full, deep breaths that you can."
"I'll be all right," spoke Dick confidently.
It did not look that way to many of them. Dick was shorter, and weighed much less than did the sophomore who was waiting back there under the trees. Ripley had had a good deal of training in boxing, and was not a coward when he thought the odds on his own side. What none of the fellows knew, though, was that the lawyer's son, ever since that scene in the school yard, had been at his boxing lessons again with renewed energy.
"Play him for delay, at first, Dick," whispered Dan. "If Ripley can rush you, and get you excited, he'll have a better chance to win out. If you hold him off, hinder him and delay him, before long he'll lose some of his nerve. A fellow like Ripley will begin to go all to pieces, once he gets it into his head that he has a long and hard job before him."
"I'll do my best," Dick promised. "Hang it, if he hadn't knocked me down so treacherously, I wouldn't care about fighting. I don't care so much what hesays. Fred Ripley's mouth is the weakest part of him."
The sophomore was waiting, a sulky frown on his face. A few feet away Ben Badger, a grim look on his usually good-humored face, leaned against a tree, his arms folded.
Even had he wanted to get away from this, Ripley couldn't have done it. For a sophomore to find any excuse for getting out of a fight with a freshman would bring down upon the soph all the wrath and disgust of the disgraced third class.
"Come on, mucker! Take off your sweater and get ready to take your real medicine!" snarled Fred, harshly.
But Dick Prescott, young as he was, was much too wise to allow himself to be betrayed into anger. Instead, he halted a few feet away, looking with a significant smile at his enemy.
"As I understand it," replied Prescott, "the festivities that are soon to commence are to decide which is the mucker—-which will go down to the ground to eat his fill of dirt."
Badger, Thompson and Butler took upon themselves the direction of the coming "affair."
"See here, Ted, you look after Ripley's interests," proposed Badger.
"It's a mean job. I'd sooner have the other side of the bet," grumbled Ted Butler, in an undertone.
"I'll look after young Prescott," continued Ben Badger. "Thomp will do all the honors as referee."
Ripley was already peeling off his sweater.
"Get down to your fighting rig, Prescott," urged Badger, leading his principal to one side. "How are you, boy?" he whispered, anxiously. "Feeling right up to the fighting pitch?"
"I hate fighting," Dick answered, simply, speaking so that only his second could hear him.
"Of course it's necessary sometimes, but I can never quite help feeling that, at best, it's low-down business."
"So it is," assented Bed Badger, heartily enough. "But what about it in the case of a sneak like Ripley? If he didn't have other fellows' fists to fear he'd be unbearable."
"He is, anyway," muttered Dick, just before his head was covered by the sweater that Badger was helping him remove.
"You've been doing a lot of running this afternoon, gentlemen," declared Thompson, as the two combatants came toward him. "Do you each feel as though you had fighting wind left?"
"I've got as much as the other fellow," replied Dick.
"Don't you dare refer to me as a 'fellow'!" ordered Ripley, scowling.
"I'll call you a girl, then, if you prefer," proposed Dick, with a tantalizing grin.
"You don't know how to talk to gentlemen," retorted Fred, harshly.
"Be silent, both of you," ordered Thompson, sternly. "You can do your talking in another way.
"Can't begin too soon for me," uttered Ripley.
"One minute rounds for you, gentlemen," continued Thompson, then turned to another upper classman, requesting him to hold the watch. "Now are you ready?"
Ripley grunted, Dick nodded.
"Ready, then! Shake hands!"
"I won't," replied Dick, sturdily, ere Fred could speak. The latter, though he, too, would have refused, went white with rage.
"Take your places, then," directed Thompson, briskly. "Ready!Time!"
Fred Ripley put up a really splendid guard as he advanced warily upon the freshman. Dick's guard, at the outset, was not as good. They feinted for two or three passes, then Ripley let out a short-arm jab that caught Dick Prescott on the end of the nose. Blood began to drip.
Ripley's eyes danced. "I'll black both eyes, too, before I put you out," he threatened, in a low tone, as he fought in for another opening.
"Brag's a good dog," retorted Dick, quietly. The blow, though it had stung, had served to make him only the more cool. He was watching, cat-like, for Ripley's style of attack. That style was a good one, from the "scientific" view-point, if Ripley could maintain it without excitement and all the while keep his wind.
But would he? The freshman, though not much of a lover of fighting, had made some study of the art. Moreover, Dick had a dogged coolness that went far in the arena.
Suddenly, Dick let go such a seemingly careless shoulder blow with his left, straight for Ripley's face, that Fred almost lazily threw up his right arm to stop it. But to have that right out of the way was just what Prescott was playing for. Quick as thought Dick's right flew out, colliding with Ripley's mid-wind with a force that brought a groan from the taller fighter. Dick might have followed it up, but he chivalrously sprang back, waiting for Fred to make the first sign of renewal of combat.
"Time!" came from the boy with the watch.
"Kid, you're going to be all right; you've got your horse-sense with you," glowed Ben Badger, as he hurried Dick back under a tree. "Let me see what I can do to stop your nose running quite so red."
Soon the summons came that took the combatants back to the imaginary ring. Again they went at it, both sides cautious, for Ripley was puzzled and a bit afraid. He had not expected this little freshman to last for a second round. Before the second call of "time" came Ripley had managed to land two stinging ones on Dick's left cheek, but the freshman did not go down, nor even wilt under this treatment. He was proving the fact that he could "take punishment." Yet Dick did not land anything that hurt his opponent.
"You didn't half try this time," whispered Ben, as he attended his man in the "corner" under the tree.
"Come on, mucker!" yelled Ripley, derisively, when the two were summoned for the third round.
"Speak for yourself, fellow," Dick answered, coolly.
"I'm a gentleman, and a gentleman's son," proclaimed Fred, haughtily."You're a mucker, and the son of a mucker!"
"Time!"
Dick could stand an ordinary insult with a fair amount of good nature, when he despised the source of the insult. But now there was a quiet flash in his eyes that Badger was glad to see.
Ripley started in to rush things. In quick succession he delivered half a dozen stout blows. Only one of then landed, and that glancingly. Ripley was puzzled, but he had no time to guess. For Dick was not exactly rushing, now. He was merely fighting in close, remembering that he had two striking hands, and that feinting was sometimes useful.
"A-a-a-h!" The murmur went up, eagerly, as the onlookers saw Prescott land his right fist in solid impact against Ripley's right eye. Bump! Before Ripley could get back out of such grueling quarters Dick had landed a second blow over the other eye. Ripley staggered. A body blow sent him to his knees. Dick backed off but a few inches.
"One, two, three, four, five, six——-" droned off the timekeeper.
Fred Ripley tried to leap up, but, as he did so, Dick's waiting left caught him a staggering one on the nose that toppled him over backwards to the ground.
"One, two, three——-" began the timekeeper, but suddenly broke off, to call time.
"Prescott, you're a bird!" declared Ben Badger, exultantly, as he led his man away.
"I wouldn't have gone for him so hard," muttered Dick. "But the fellow started to get nasty with his mouth. Then it was time to let him have it."
Frank Thompson went over to Ripley, to see whether the latter wanted to continue the fight.
"That mucker took an unfair advantage of me, hitting me when I was getting up," grumbled Fred, who now looked a good deal battered.
"Prescott was right within the rules," declared Thompson. "You would have done the same thing if you had had the chance."
Fred growled something under his breath.
"Are you coming back to the ring?" demanded the referee.
Ripley hesitated. The yellow streak was strong in him, but he dreaded letting the others see it.
"I'd rather finish this up some other day," he proposed.
"You know you can't do that," retorted Thompson, disgustedly. "You either have to come up to the scratch, or admit yourself beaten."
"Admit myself beaten—-by that mucker?" gasped Ripley, turning livid.
"Then come up at the call of time," directed Thompson, and strode back to the battle ground.
The timekeeper called. Dick Prescott returned to his ground. Ripley stood back, leaning against a tree. He tried hard to look dignified, but one glance at his nose and eyes was enough to spoil the effect.
"Coming, Ripley?" demanded Thompson.
"Brace up, man, unless you want to admit your thrashing," urgedTed Butler.
"I'll attend to that mucker when I feel like it," growled FredRipley.
The form of the remark was unfortunate for the one who made it, for it caused one of the freshman class to call out exultantly:
"He sure doesn't feel like it just now. Look at him!"
"Come, if you don't hurry in you've get to admit the beating," muttered Ted Butler.
Ripley's reply being only a snort, Butler suddenly drew forth his handkerchief, rolling it rapidly into a ball.
"In default of a sponge," called Butler, "I throw this up for my man—-I mean principal."
"Ripley being unable to come to the scratch, the fight is awarded to Prescott," announced Frank Thompson.
"Whoop! Hoo-oo-ray!" The freshmen clustered about were wild with excitement.
"You'll have a fine time squaring this with the sophomore class," uttered Ted Butler, disgustedly. "Your class, Ripley, will be sore enough, anyway, over losing the paper chase for the first time that any of us can remember. Now, for a soph to be thrashed, in three rounds, by a little freshman——-"
Butler didn't finish, but, turning on his heel, walked over to join the rest.
There were two sophomores there who had come over at the end of the paper chase, but neither went to the assistance of his defeated classman. Ripley, alone, got his sweater back over his head. The crowd was around Dick Prescott, who felt almost ashamed of the fight, unavoidable as he knew it to have been.
When he had finished getting his clothes on, Ripley stalked moodily past the main group.
"You mucker," he hissed, "I suppose you feel swelled up over having had a chance to fight gentleman. You——-"
"Oh, Ripley, dry up—-do!" interjected Ted Butler. "You call yourself a gentleman, but you talk and act more like well, more like a pup with the mange!"
"A pup with the mange! Great!" came the gleeful chorus from a half score of freshmen.
"I'm not through with you, yet, Prescott!" Fred Ripley called back over his shoulder. "I'll settle my score with you at my convenience!"
Then, as he put more distance between himself and the other GridleyHigh School boys, Ripley added to himself:
"That settlement shall stop at nothing to put Dick Prescott in the dust—-where he belongs."
"Oh, freshie, but you've coolness and judgment," cried Thompson, approvingly. "And you've broken one cad's heart today."
"I'm sorry if I have," declared Dick, frankly, generously. "I wouldn't have had any heart in the fight if he hadn't started in to humiliate me. I wouldn't have cared so much for that, either. But he started to say something nasty about my parents, and I have as good parents as ever a boy had. Then I felt I simplyhadto fit a plug between Ripley's teeth."
Fred Ripley had pain in his eyes to help keep him awake that night. Yet he would have been awake, anyway, for his wicked brain was seething with plans for the way to "get even" with Dick Prescott.
For a week Gridley High School managed to get along without the presence of Fred Ripley. That haughty young man was at home, nursing a pair of black eyes and his wrath.
Yet, in a whole week, a mean fellow who is rather clever can hatch a whole lot of mischief. This Dick & Co., and some others, were presently to discover.
All outer wraps were left in the basement in locker rooms on which barred iron doors were locked. In the boys' basement were lockers A and B. Each locker was in charge of a monitor who carried the key to his own particular locker room.
As it happened Dick Prescott was at present monitor of Locker A.
If during school hours, one of the boys wanted to get his hat out of a locker the monitor of that locker went to the basement with him, unlocking the door, and locking it again after the desired article of apparel had been obtained.
Thus, in a general way, each monitor was responsible for the safety of hats, coats, umbrellas, overshoes, etc., that might have been left in the locker that was in his charge.
Wednesday, just after one o'clock one of the sophomore boys went hurriedly up the stairs, a worried look on his face. He went straight to the principal's office, and was fortunate enough to find that gentleman still at his desk.
"What is it, Edwards?" asked the principal, looking up.
"Dr. Thornton, I've had something strange happen to me, or to my overcoat, if you prefer to put it that way," replied Edwards.
"What has gone wrong?"
"Why, sir, relying on the safety of the looker, I left, at recess in one of my overcoat pockets, a package containing a jeweled pin that had been repaired for my mother. Now, sir, on going down to my coat, I found the pin missing from the pocket."
"Did you look thoroughly on the floor, Edwards?"
"Yes, sir; hunted thoroughly."
"Wait; I'll go down with you," proposed the principal.
Both principal and student searched thoroughly in the locker.Dick, as in duty bound, was still there, on guard at the door.
"Mr. Prescott," asked puzzled Dr. Thornton, did any student have admittance to the locker after recess today?"
"None, sir," answered Dick promptly.
"Hm! And you're absolutely sure, Mr. Edwards, that you left the little package in your overcoat pocket?"
"Positive of it, Dr. Thornton."
"It's so strange that it startles me," admitted the good principal.
"It startles me a good deal," confessed Edwards, grimly, "to think what explanation I am to offer my mother."
"Oh, well, itmustturn up," replied Dr. Thornton, though vaguely. "Anyway, Edwards, there has been no theft. The door is locked, and the only two keys to it are the one carried by the monitor and a duplicate which is kept locked in my own desk. You'll probably find it in one of your pockets."
"I have been through every pocket in my clothes at least seven times, sir," insisted the dismayed Edwards. "And that is a rather valuable pin," he added; "worth, I believe, something, like fifty dollars."
"Rest assured that we'll have some good explanation of the mystery before long," replied the principal as soothingly as he could.
Edwards went away, sore and disheartened, but there was nothing more to be said or done.
Thursday morning Dr. Thornton carried the investigation further, but absolutely no light could be shed on the missing pin.
But at recess it was Frank Thompson who came upstairs breathless.
"Dr. Thornton," he cried, excitedly, "it's my own fault, of course, but I'm afraid I've seen the last of my watch. It's one that father carried for a good many years, and at last gave me. The works are not very expensive, but the case was a gold one."
"How did you lose it?" inquired the principal, looking up over the gold rims of his spectacles.
"Why, I had to hurry to make school this morning, sir, and, as you know, it's a rather long walk. So I carried my watch in the little change pocket in my reefer in order to be able to look at it frequently. I reached the locker just in time not to be late, and forgot and left my watch in the reefer. When I went down just now I found the watch gone."
"Oh, but this is serious!" gasped Dr. Thornton, in dismay. "It begins to look like an assured fact that there is some thief at work. Yet Prescott alone has a key to that locker."
"Prescott is all right. He's no thief," put in Thompson, quickly.
"I agree with you, Mr. Thompson. I consider Mr. Prescott too manly a fellow to be mixed up in anything dishonest. Yet something is wrong—-very wrong. For the safety and good name of us all we must go to the bottom of this mystery."
That, of course, was all the satisfaction Thompson could expect at the moment. He went out to the remainder of his recess, feeling decidedly blue. Nor was Dr. Thornton any less disturbed.
When recess was over, the entire body of students was questioned in the general assembly room, but no light was forthcoming.
"Of course, in view of what has happened," counseled Dr. Thornton, "the young gentlemen will do well to leave nothing of value in their coats in the locker rooms. And while nothing distressing, has yet happened in the young ladies basement, I trust they will govern themselves by what has happened on the young men's side."
Dick Prescott felt much concerned over it all, though he did not imagine that anyone suspectedhimof any share in the disappearance of articles of value.
Friday there were no mishaps, for the very simple reason that no one left anything of value in the locker rooms.
On Monday Fred Ripley was back again. With the aid of a little help from the druggist the haughty young man presented two eyes that did not show any signs of having been damaged. Fred himself offered no comment on his absence. He seemed anxious to be on especially good terms with all of the upper classmen with whom he usually associated.
During the first period of the morning Ripley had no recitation on. He sat at his desk studying. Presently as permitted under the rules, he whispered softly with the boy seated behind him.
Then, suddenly, Ripley rose and tip-toed down the aisle to the desk. The principal himself sat there in charge.
"Dr. Thornton," began Ripley, in a low voice, "I was away last week, and so didn't hear all the school news. I have just learned about the locker room thefts, and so I'm uneasy. Just as the bell rang I was having trouble with the pearl and diamond scarf-pin that I often wear. There wasn't time to adjust it, so I dropped it in my overcoat pocket. I would like to go down to my coat, now, and get it."
"Prescott is reciting in IV. Physics," replied Dr. Thornton, rising. "However, in view of all that has happened, I think we shall do well to go down and call him out of class. I don't want any more valuable articles to be missing."
Principal and student went quietly to the floor below. Dr. Thornton thrust his head into the physics laboratory and quietly called Dick out, explaining what was wanted.
"You'll come, too, won't you, doctor?" asked Ripley.
The principal nodded without speaking. As the three reached the barred door, Dick inserted the key, then threw open the door. Fred marched over to his coat, thrusting his hand into a pocket.
"By thunder, it's gone!" gasped Fred.
In an instant Dr. Thornton bounded into the locker room. He himself explored every pocket in the boy's coat.
"Strange! strange!" muttered the bewildered principal.
"All the other thefts happened in this locker, didn't they?" inquiredRipley, suspiciously.
"Yes—-if thefts they were," admitted Dr. Thornton.
"Nothing missing from the other locker room?"
"Nothing."
"Doctor," went on Ripley, as though loath to utter the words, I hate to suggest anything of the sort. But—-er—-but—-has the monitor of this locker been searched after any of the—-er—-disappearances?"
"Ripley, you forget yourself!" cried the principal.
"What do you mean!" flared Dick, in the same breath, turning crimson, next going very white.
"Doctor, I'm sorry," spoke Ripley, with great seeming reluctance, "but that pin is a costly one. I ask that the monitor be searched!"
"Ripley, you don't realize what you are saying!" cried Dr. Thornton, gazing at the sophomore in very evident distress.
"I only know that I'm all broken up, sir, over losing my costly pin," persisted Fred. "And I know my father will be angry, and will raise a row at the School Board's meeting."
Dick Prescott, standing by, had turned from scarlet to white, and back again.
"But Ripley," explained the principal, almost pleadingly, "the act would be illegal. No one has a lawful right to search the person of anyone except a properly qualified police officer. And even the police officer can do so only after he has arrested a suspected person."
"Oh, then I suppose, sir, there's no show for me to get any real justice done in this matter," muttered Fred, with an air of feigned resignation.
But by now Dick Prescott felt that he must speak—-or explode.
"Dr. Thornton," he cried, chokingly, "the charge made against me, or, at least, implied, is an outrageous one. But, as a matter of justice to me, now that the hint has been cast, I ask thatyou, sir, search me right here and now."
"Then you've had time to hide the pin!" muttered Fred, in a very low voice.
Dick Prescott heard, but he paid no heed to the fellow.
"Dr. Thornton, will you search me—-now?" insisted the young freshman.
"But I don't want to, Prescott," appealed the principal. "I haven't the remotest suspicion of you, anyway, my dear boy."
"I ask the search, sir, just as a matter of justice," Dick insisted. "If it were not too strong a word, then I would say that Idemandto be searched here and now."
Suiting the action to the word, Dick Prescott, standing proudly erect, raised both arms over his head.
"Now, please, doctor, just as a matter of simple justice," begged the young freshman.
"Oh, very well, then, Mr. Prescott," sighed the principal. "ButI never had a more distasteful task."
Into one of the side pockets Dr. Thornton projected a shaking hand. He drew out only some scraps of paper, which he promptly thrust back. Then he inserted a hand in the jacket pocket on the other side.
"Ouch!" suddenly exclaimed the principal, in very real pain.
He drew the hand out, quickly. A drop of blood oozed up at the tip of his forefinger.
"Mr. Prescott," demanded Dr. Thornton, "what is that pointed object in your pocket?"
"What?" demanded Fred Ripley, tensely.
Dick himself thrust a hand into that pocket, and drew forth—-FredRipley's missing pin.
"What—-why—-who——-" gasped the freshman, suffocatingly.
"Oh, yes, of course," jeered Fred Ripley. "Astonished, aren't you—-you mucker?"
The last two words Ripley uttered in so low a tone that the principal, gazing in horrified fascination at the pin that he now held in his own hands, did not hear.
"You coward!" cried Dick, hotly, and clenched his fist, intent on driving it against the sophomore's face.
But Dr. Thornton knew enough about High School boys' fights, to galvanize himself into action. Like a flash he bounded between the two boys.
"Here, here, Prescott, none of that!" he admonished.
"I—-I begyourpardon, sir," gasped Dick, in a tone which made it very plain that he did not include his enemy in that apology.
"May I trouble you for my pin, sir, now that it has been recovered?" asked Fred, coolly.
"Why—-um!—-that depends," replied Dr. Thornton, slowly, speaking with a painful effort. "If you, or your father, have or would have any idea of a criminal prosecution, Ripley, then it would be improper to return your pin. It would have to be turned over to the police as an exhibit in evidence.Butdo you intend anything of that sort, Mr. Ripley?"
"Why, that's asyousay, doctor," replied the sophomore, quickly."It's a matter of school discipline, and belongs to your province.Personally, I know that I would rather not have this matter goany further."
"I—-I don't know what to do," confessed Dr. Thornton, in anxious perplexity. "In any event, before doing anything, I think I had better consult the superintendent and the Board of Education. Mr. Prescott, I will say, freely, that I am most loath to believe anything of this sort against you can be possible. There must be—-must be—-some—-er explanation. I—-I—-don't want you to feel that I believe your guilt as yet assured. I—-I——-"
Here Dr. Thornton broke down, dabbing at his eyes with his handkerchief. Almost unconsciously he passed the pin, which he was yet holding, to Fred Ripley.
"Lock the locker door, Mr. Prescott—-and give me the key," requested the principal.
Dick passed over the key, then spoke, with more composure than might have been expected under the circumstances:
"Dr. Thornton, I am as innocent of any thieving as you yourself can be. Sooner or later the right of this will come out. Then you will realize that I didn't steal anything. I'll prove myself innocent yet, sir."
"I hope so, my boy, I—-I—-hope so," replied the principal.
As they ascended, Fred Ripley stepped aside to let the other two go first. He was afraid to have Dick Prescott behind him just then.
No sooner had the trio entered the general assembly room than it quickly dawned on all the students of both sexes that something was unusually wrong.
Dick's face was red as fire. Had he been guilty of the thefts, he might have been cooler about it all. Conscious innocence often puts on the appearance of guilt.
Somehow, Dick got to his seat. He picked up a book, mechanically, and pretended to be deeply absorbed in study.
"What's up?" whispered the fellow seated behind Fred.
Ripley turned enough to raise his eyebrows significantly and let his questioner see him do it. Instantly all seated near the lawyer's son became intensely curious.
Wondering glances strayed from over book-tops, even from the far corners of the big assembly room.
Then the curious glanced at Dr. Thornton so often that the much disturbed principal soon called another teacher to the desk and left the room.
At recess, Purcell, of the sophomore class, was found in charge at the door of Dick's old locker room. Ripley held his tongue until he was out in the school yard. Then he broke loose before those who would listen to him—-and the number was large.
Dick & Co. had gathered by themselves in another corner of the yard. Here, however, they were soon joined by a small mob of the fellows, especially of the freshman class. Dick had his say. He didn't want to say much, but he related, in a straightforward way, what had happened.
"It's one of Fred Ripley's mean tricks," declared one of the freshmen. "Fred Ripley can't fool anyone. He put that pin in Dick's pocket himself."
"But two thefts—-two things were missed last week, when Ripley wasn't at school at all," spoke one boy, in an undertone.
"Yes; that's the queer part of it," agreed another boy. "Ripley couldn't have had anything to do with those other cases."
This latter was the view that was occurring to Mr. Thornton, as he sat in the principal's room, poring and pondering over the whole distressing matter.
Thompson and the other football leaders came trooping over to Dick & Co. as soon as they heard the noise. Prescott was a hero with the football crowd. There was no use in telling them anything against their little freshie hero.
"Prescott, it would look foolish to talk much," declared Thompson, in a voice that was husky from real emotion. "Just give me your hand, old man!"
Dick took the proffered hand, pressing it hard and gratefully. Then the rest of the football squad pressed forward, each insisting on a hearty handshake.
"Nobody except those who want to, will stomach this silly charge against Dick," grunted Tom Reade to Dan Dalzell. "See how it's turning out? Our old pal and leader is holding a regular reception."
"'Scuse me," begged Dan, hastily. "There's Laura Bentley beckoning to me."
He hastened over to the girl's side. There were tiny drops in the corners of Laura's eyes that looked like suppressed tears.
"Dan," she said, coming straight to the point, "we have heard, of course. What a silly charge! See here, you pals of Dick's are going to walk home with him from school this noon?"
"Surest thing that ever happened in the world," declared Dalzell, fervently.
"Just so," nodded Laura. "Well, if you won't think it strange or forward, six of us girls want to walk along with you boys. That will be a hint that the freshman class, if not the whole H.S., passes a vote of confidence in Dick Prescott, the most straightforward fellow in the class or the school."
"Bully for you, Miss Bentley!" glowed Dan. "We shall be looking for you young ladies when school lets out."
When the outside bell rang for reassembling, such a guard of honor had chosen to gather around Dick, and march in with him, that it looked more like a triumphal procession.
"I feel better," sighed the boy, contentedly to himself, as he dropped into his seat. "What a bully thing a little confidence is!"
When school let out, Dick & Co., each partner escorting one of the freshman girls, strolled down the street. A good many more of the students chose to drop in behind them. Dick could say nothing, but his heart swelled with pride.
"The way to get famous and respected, nowadays, is to steal something, and to get found out," sneered Fred Ripley, bitterly, to Clara Deane.
Straight to his own door did some two score in all of the GridleyH.S. students escort Dick Prescott.
"Three cheers for Dick!" proposed some one.
"And for Dick and Co.!" shouted another voice.
The cheers were given with gusto. So much noise was made, in fact, that Mrs. Prescott came to open the door.
Something in his mother's face—-a look of dread and alarm—-spoiled the cheering for Dick. As soon as he could he got inside the house.
Little did the young freshman suspect the ordeal that awaited him here.
"What's wrong mother? Have you heard——-" the boy began, as soon as the door was closed.
"Yes, Richard."
"But, mother, I am inno——-"
"Oh, Dick, of course you are! But this fearful suspicion is enough to kill one who loves you. Come! Your father is in the store. Dr. Thornton is upstairs. He and—-and—-a policeman.
"Policeman!" gasped Dick, paling instantly. "Do they mean to——-"
"I don't know just what they mean, Dick I'm too dazed to guess," replied his mother. "But come upstairs."
As Dick entered their little parlor he was dimly aware that the High School principal was in the room. But the boy's whole gaze was centered on a quiet little man—-Hemingway, the plain clothes man from the police station.
"Don't look scared to death, Prescott," urged Dr. Thornton, with a faint attempt at a smile. "We want to go through with a little formality—-that is all. This matter at the High School has puzzled me to such a degree that I left early today and went to consult with Mr. Hemingway. Now, he thought it best that we come around here and have a talk with you."
"I can begin that talk best," pursued Hemingway, "by asking you,Prescott, whether you have anything that you want to say first-off?"
"I can't say anything," replied Dick, slowly, "except that I know nothing as to how any of the articles missed at school came to vanish. Ripley's pin was found in my pocket today, and I can only guess that some one—-Ripley, perhaps dropped it in my pocket. Ripley has some feelings of enmity for me, anyway. We had a fight last week, and—-" Dick could not repress a smile—-"I thrashed him so that he was out of school for several days."
"But Ripley was not at school for the last few days, until today," broke in Dr. Thornton. "Now, a pin and a watch were missed while Ripley was not attending school."
"I know it, sir," Dick nodded. "As to those two articles I cannot offer even the ghost of an explanation."
"I don't like to accuse you of taking Ripley's scarf-pin, nor do I like to suspect him of putting up such a contemptible trick," explained Dr. Thornton, thoughtfully. "As far as the incident of the scarf-pin goes I am willing to admit that your explanation is just as likely to be good as is any other."
"Prescott, what did you do with the other pin and the watch?" shot in Policeman Hemingway, suddenly and compellingly.
It was well done. Had Dick been actually guilty, he might either have betrayed himself, or gone to stammering. But, as it was, he smiled, wanly, as he replied:
"I didn't do anything with them, Mr. Hemingway. I have just been explaining that."
"How much money have you about you at this moment?" demanded Hemingway.
"Two cents, I believe," laughed Dick, beginning to turn out his pockets. He produced the two copper coins, and held them out to the special officer.
"You may have more about you, then, somewhere," hinted the officer.
"Find it, then," begged Dick, frankly, as he stepped forward."Search me. I'll allow it, and shall be glad to have you do it."
So Policeman Hemingway made the search, with the speed and skill of an expert.
"No; you've no more money about you," admitted the policeman."You may have some put away, though."
"Where would it be likely to be?" Dick inquired.
"In your room, perhaps; in your baggage, or hidden behind books; oh, there's a lot of places where a boy can hide money in his own room."
"Come along and show me a few of them, then, won't you please?" challenged the young freshman.
Mrs. Prescott, who had been hovering near the doorway, gave a gasp of dismay. To her tortured soul this police investigation seemed to be the acme of disgrace. It all pointed to the arrest of her boy—-to a long term in some jail or reformatory, most likely.
"Madame," asked the plain clothes man, stepping to the door, "will you give your full consent to my searching your son's room—-in the presence of yourself and of Dr. Thornton, of course? I am obliged to ask your permission, for, without a search warrant I have no other legal right than that which you may give me."
"Of course you may search Richard's room," replied his mother, quickly. "But you'll be wasting your time, for you'll find nothing incriminating in my boy's room."
"Of course not, of course not," replied Hemingway, soothingly. "That is what we most want—-notto find anything there. Will you lead the way, please? Prescott, you may come and see the search also."
So the four filed into the little room that served Dick as sleeping apartment, study-room, den, library and all. Hemingway moved quickly about, exploring the pockets of Dick's other clothing hanging there. He delved into, under and behind all of the few books there. This plain clothes man moved from place to place with a speed and certainty that spoke of his long years of practice in this sort of work.
"There's nothing left but the trunk, now," declared the policeman, bending over and trying the lock. "The key to this, Prescott!"
Dick produced the key. Hemingway fitted it in the lock, throwing up the lid. The trunk was but half filled, mostly with odds and ends, for Dick was not a boy of many possessions. After a few moments the policeman deftly produced, from the bottom, a gold watch. This he laid on the floor without a word, and continued the search. In another moment he had produced the jeweled pin that exactly answered the description of the one belonging to Mrs. Edwards.
Dick gave a gasp, then a low groan. A heart-broken sob welled up in Mrs. Prescott's throat. Dr. Thornton turned as white as chalk. Hemingway, an old actor in such things, did not show what he felt—-if he really felt it at all.
"These are the missing articles, aren't they?" asked the policeman, straightening up and passing watch and pin to the High School principal.
"I believe them to be," nodded Dr. Thornton, brokenly.
Mrs. Prescott had staggered forward, weeping and throwing her arms around her son.
"O, Richard! Richard, my boy!" was all she could say.
"Mother, I know nothing about how those things came to be in my trunk," protested the boy, sturdily. After his first groan the young freshman, being all grit by nature, straightened up, feeling that he could look all the world in the eye. Only his mother's grief, and the knowledge that his father was soon to be hurt, appealed to the softer side of young Prescott's nature.
"Mother, I have not stolen anything," the boy said, more solemnly, after a pause. "I am your son. You believe me, don't you?"
"I'd stake my life on your innocence when you've given me your word!" declared that loyal woman.
"The chief said I was to take your instructions, Dr. Thornton," hinted Hemingway.
"Yes; I heard the order given," nodded the now gloomy HighSchool principal.
"Shall I arrest young Prescott?"
At that paralyzing question Dick's mother did not cry out. She kissed her son, then went just past the open doorway, where she halted again.
"I hesitate about seeing any boy start from his first offense with a criminal record," replied the principal, slowly. "If I were convinced that this would be the last offense I certainly would not favor any prosecution. Prescott, could you promise——-"
"Then you believe, sir, that I stole the things that you hold in your hand?" demanded the young freshman, steadily.
"I don't want to believe it," protested Dr. Thornton. "It seems wicked—-monstrous—-to believe that any fine, bright, capable boy like you can be——-"
Dr. Thornton all but broke down. Then he added, in a hoarse whisper:
"—-a thief."
"I'm not one," rejoined Dick. "And, not very far into the future lies the day when I'm going to prove it to you."
"If you can," replied Dr. Thornton, "you'll make me as happy as you do yourself and your parents."
"Let me have the watch and pin to turn over to the chief, doctor," requested Hemingway, and took the articles. "Now, for the boy——-?"
"I'm not going to have him arrested," replied the principal, "unless the superintendent or the Board of Education so direct me."
From the other side of the doorway could be heard a stifled cry of delight.
"Then we may as well be going, doctor. You'll come to the station with me, won't you?"
"In one moment," replied the principal. He turned to Dick, sorrowfully holding out his hand.
"Prescott, whatever I may do will be the result of long and careful thought, or at the order of the superintendent or of the Board of Education. If you really are guilty, I hope you will pause, think and resolve, ere it is too late, to make a man of yourself hereafter. If you are innocent, I hope, with all my heart, that you will succeed in proving it. And to that end you may have any possible aid that I can give you. Goodbye, Prescott. Goodbye, madam! May peace be with you."
Half way down the stairs Dr. Thornton turned around to say:
"Of course, you quite comprehend, Prescott, that, pending official action by the school authorities, you must be suspended from the Gridley High School!"
As soon as the door had closed Dick half-tottered back into his room. He did not close the door, but crossed to the window, where he stood looking out upon a world that had darkened fearfully.
Then, without having heard a step, Dick Prescott felt his mother's arms enfold him.