Welled out the strains from hundreds of throats—the song of songs—the song that was always sung in times of victory, or when the teams on diamond or gridiron seemed to be putting up a losing fight—the song that had snatched many a victory from defeat.
Forth it rolled, deep-voiced and solemn, sung in the original Latin, in which it had been composedyears ago by a gifted graduate: “Aut Vincere, Aut Mori!”—“Either We Conquer, or We Die!”
It was the rallying cry to the battle that confronted the college.
Silence followed what was probably the most remarkable scene that had ever taken place at chapel in the history of Randall. A deep, heart-felt silence, which was almost as impressive as the unexpected singing had been. Some of the students were fairly panting from the emotion which had racked them, for they had been stirred as they seldom were before.
Slowly Dr. Churchill arose from the chair, and again approached the edge of the platform. His voice broke as he spoke a few words.
“Men of Randall, I thank you,” he said impressively and simply. “You may rest assured that nothing will be left undone to save the old college, which has no more loyal supporters than yourselves, and, I may add, than the gentlemen associated with me on the faculty.”
He paused a moment, as if he would say more, and then, with a motion of his hand, dismissed the assemblage. In silence the students filed out, and it was not until they were some distance away fromthe chapel, broken up into little groups, that they began discussing the situation. Even then it was in hushed voices, as if the enemies of Randall might be hiding about, listening for something of which they could take advantage.
“Wallops wasn’t far out,” remarked Tom, who, with Phil, Sid and some other friends, was walking slowly along.
“No,” came from the quarter-back, “but wouldn’t it get your Angora, though? To think of there being a flaw in the title all these years, and someone only just now taking advantage of it!”
“I wonder what can have become of the missing quit-claim deed?” ventured Sid.
“No telling,” remarked Holly Cross.
“Prexy said it was given by a Simon Hess,” went on Tom. “I’ve heard that name before, somewhere, but I can’t recall it.”
“I was telling you about our chair having been in the Hess family,” explained Sid. “Don’t you remember, I said it was one of the Hess heirlooms when we bought it of Hatterly, the Senior.”
“That’s right,” agreed Tom. “Fancy that now! Maybe next they’ll be accusing us of having the missing deed, because we have some of the Hess property.”
“Wehaven’tgot it, you mean,” put in Phil. “Our chair is still in a state ofnon est.”
“Haven’t you located that venerable piece of architecture yet?” asked Dutch Housenlager, with a sly putting forth of his foot, in an effort to trip Tom. Dutch was always up to some horse-play.
“No, we haven’t found it, and I guess we’re not likely to,” went on the end, as he spoiled the efforts of Dutch by hitting him a playful blow in the side. “The mystery of the clock is still unexplained. Our offer to trade back hasn’t had any takers.”
“Oh, you fellows make me tired, always talking about your old relics!” broke in Kindlings. “You had much better be considering some new football plays, or how to help Randall out of the hole she’s in.”
“Out of the hole some rascally lawyersgother in, you’d better say,” corrected Holly Cross. “This trouble never would have developed, if it hadn’t been that some legal sharps stirred it up, for the hope of a fat fee, I presume.”
“And Langridge’s father, of all lawyers!” put in Sid. “You’d have thought that since his son once went here, he’d have had the decency not to appear in the case, and would have left it for some one else.”
“Maybe he’s doing it on purpose, just because his son had to leave here,” suggested Tom.
“Shouldn’t wonder a bit,” agreed Captain Woodhouse. “But, say, don’t let this trouble geton your minds, fellows, so that you can’t play football. We’re going up against Newkirk day after to-morrow, you know, and while we’ll probably roll up a big score against ’em, we can’t take any chances. Hard practice this afternoon. We want to wipe up the field with the scrub.”
“We’ll be on hand, captain!” promised Phil, and the other players shouted their assents. The students went to their various studies, still talking over the scene of the morning, and what it portended.
It was learned, later in the day, that the best legal talent possible had been engaged to fight the claim of the Hess heirs for the Randall land, and that a vigorous search would be made for the missing quit-claim deed, without which the college could not prove a clear title to the property.
It also was hinted that Mr. Langridge was not altogether actuated by purely legal motives in prosecuting the claim against the college. When it became known that the father of Garvey Gerhart was associated with him in the law business, there were few students who did not believe that the two men were acting as much out of revenge because their sons had been forced from Randall, as from any other motive.
“But it will take some time to get the land away from the college trustees, even if they losethe case,” explained Frank Simpson, “so there won’t be any football games cancelled.”
He was in his uniform, and was walking out on the field with Tom and the others to the practice.
“I only wish he was going to be in the game with us against Newkirk instead of the Snail,” mused Tom, as the scrub and ’varsity lined up. “We’d stand a better chance to pile up a big score.”
But Sam Looper seemed to do better that afternoon, and was complimented by the coach for some good tackles he made, as well as for his ability in breaking through the scrub line.
“Oh, maybe he won’t be so bad,” conceded the captain, hopefully.
The practice was hard and gruelling, but it brought out a number of weak spots, which were impressed upon the players, that they might avoid them. Also some faults in plays were discovered, and measures taken to correct them.
There was more hard practice the following day, when the scrub, mainly through the fine playing of the new member, Frank Simpson, came perilously near scoring, which they had been prevented from doing of late. The big Californian was showing up wonderfully well, and he was making more friends by his sterling character.
At last came the time for the first regular ’varsitygame of the season, and though Newkirk was considered a sort of second-rate rival, there had been a marked improvement in her playing of late, so that the Randallites understood they were to have no walkover.
The grandstands were filled with a motley crowd of students, men and women spectators and pretty girls galore, for nearly all the feminine contingent of Fairview Institute was on hand, shrilly cheering, or singing for their favorite team, and waving the colors of their own college, intermingled with those of Randall or Newkirk. It is no exaggeration to say that the yellow and maroon of Randall predominated, and when Tom, Phil and Sid looked toward a certain section of grandstand A, which location had previously been brought to their attention, they saw three particularly pretty girls, waving the colors that meant so much to them.
“Madge, Ruth and Mabel are there,” announced Tom, as he followed his mates into the dressing room.
“Glad of it,” remarked Phil. “It sort of makes you feel as if you could play better when——”
“Your sister is looking on—or some one’s else sister, eh?” broke in Sid.
“Oh, dry up!” exclaimed Phil, as he looked to the shoulder pads on his canvas jacket.
Out on the gridiron trotted the Newkirk players,to be received with a salvo of cheers from the contingent of supporters who had accompanied them to the Randall grounds.
Then the home team followed, and Bean Perkins leaped to his feet, wildly brandishing a cane with the college colors streaming from it, while he led the cheering, and then added his powerful voice, as the students broke into the song: “We’re Going to Wallop ’Em Now!”
It was announced that the game would be played in two halves, and when Captain Woodhouse had conferred with Billy Bardeen, who ran the Newkirk team, they tossed for choice. Dan won, and elected to defend the north goal, which gave him and his men the advantage of a little wind. Newkirk was to kick off, and when Bardeen had teed the ball on a little mound of dirt in the centre of the field, he gave a glance to see if his men were ready. He gave the signal to the referee, and that official, after a confirmatory nod from Captain Woodhouse, blew his whistle.
With a little run, Bardeen planted his toe in the pigskin, which, straight and true, sailed to Randall’s ten-yard line, being caught by Sid Henderson, who rushed it back fifteen yards before he was downed by a fierce tackle by Ed Denton. There was wild cheering by Perkins and his mates at this, for it seemed to indicate that Newkirk was not as strong as she had been rated.
Sid slowly arose and planted his foot on the ball until Holly Cross came up.
“Line up!” yelled Phil, stooping down behind the big centre, and then he began calling the signal: “Fourteen—eighty-seven—one hundred and six—forty-two——”
He snapped his hands, and the ball came back to him. Like a flash it was passed to Joe Jackson, who hit the line for all he was worth, and tore through for two yards, the Newkirk players seeming to crumple to pieces under the smashing attack. There were more cheers at this, and when Sid Henderson tore off three yards more around left end, the Randall crowd went wild.
“Walk it up for a touchdown!” yelled Bean Perkins.
It did look as though the ball might be steadily advanced up the field for the coveted point, especially when Pete Backus managed to wiggle through between left guard and tackle for three yards more.
But then Newkirk took a brace, and held against the rushing tactics of her rival, so that, after getting the ball to within ten yards of the goal line, Randall tried for a field goal, and lost because the pigskin struck the post.
Once more Randall, after some scrimmages during one of which Tom got the ball, began the rushing tactics, and this time with such fiercenessand energy that inside of five minutes his mates had shoved Sid Henderson over the line for the first touchdown. Holly Cross kicked the goal, and there was a wild riot of cheers.
“That’s the way to do it; eh, Kindlings?” cried Tom, capering about in delight.
“We’d ought to have done it twice over in this time,” was the somewhat unsatisfactory response. “If we don’t look out, they’ll score on us.”
But there was no danger of that in the first half, when Randall got another touchdown and goal, and ended up with a field goal. Then indeed did Bean Perkins and his cohorts let loose, singing wildly, though they did not give the “Conquer or Die” song. There seemed to be no need for it.
Newkirk was downcast, but would not give up. When the second half was resumed, with some new players lining up against Randall, there was a moment when it seemed as if her rivals might menace her goal line, for they rushed the ball up with disheartening speed. The gains were mostly made through the unfortunate Sam Looper, who could not seem to hold, and Bert Bascome, his tackle, was not playing at his best.
“Put in Simpson,” suggested Tom to Kindlings, during the time taken out to enable the Newkirk players to try to get some wind back into their plucky quarter-back.
“I don’t like to put him in over the heads of men who have been on the scrub all season,” objected the captain.
“It will be worth while,” insisted Tom.
“Well, we’ll see,” promised Dan, and then play was resumed. Once more there was a gain through Sam, and partly because of a fear that his team would be scored upon, and partly in exasperation, Dan signalled for Frank to jump in.
There was a joyful look on the face of the big Californian as he took his place in the line, and the Snail rather ruefully retired.
“I guess I need more practice, or—something,” he admitted.
“Principally ‘something,’” agreed one or two of the scrub players.
Randall did not exactly need new life, for she practically had the fight won, but the advent of Simpson was good. He was a powerful player, knew the game and its tactics to perfection, and tore open great holes in the other line, through which the Randall backs plunged for substantial gains.
It looked to be easy sailing from now on, and when several more points had been scored for Randall, Captain Woodhouse gave orders for easier playing, as he wanted to save his men. It nearly cost them something, however, for Joe Jackson made a fumble, and the ball went to Newkirk.Then, wild to score, those players tore things loose, and shoved back the Randallites until it looked as if their goal line would be crossed.
There were many anxious hearts when the ball was on the twenty-yard mark, and when a trial for a field goal was made by Newkirk, there were prayers that it would fail. It did, and then the leather was quickly booted far enough away to preclude the possibility of further danger. Before Newkirk could rush it back five yards, the final whistle blew, and the first game of the season was over, with a score of thirty-two to nothing, in favor of Randall.
“Three cheers for the Newkirks!” commanded Bean Perkins, as he swung his gaily decorated cane, and the yells bore ardent testimony to the warm feeling felt for a defeated rival.
“Now, then, sing: ‘Though We Walloped You, We Love You’!” again ordered the cheer leader, and the song welled forth.
In turn, the Newkirk players cheered for their opponents, and though there was the bitterness of defeat in their hearts, none of this betrayed itself in their yells.
The big crowd scattered from the grandstands, and, pausing only to get rid of the worst of the dirt that marked them, our three heroes were soon walking side by side with Phil’s sister and her two companions.
“Oh, wasn’t it great?” demanded Miss Tyler, of Phil.
“Splendid!” cried Ruth Clinton.
“You certainly rolled up a great score againstthem,” was Miss Harrison’s contribution to the trio of opinions.
“We ought to be ashamed of ourselves,” declared Phil. “Newkirk isn’t in our class, and we only play them to sort of open the season, and for practice. Yet they nearly scored on us.”
“Oh, we didn’t do so bad,” was Tom’s opinion.
“I think we showed up pretty well, for a team that had to be patched up after we lost two of our best players,” came from Sid.
“Well, you fellows didn’t play so awful,” conceded the quarter-back, “but if Sam had been in much longer there’d have been a different story. Pete Backus is making out all right, and his practice in jumping does him good. But Sam——”
“Simpson helped a lot,” said the end.
“Yes, better than I thought he would. He didn’t get gridiron-fright because he was on the ’varsity, and his head seems to be about the same size as before, barring where he got kicked over the eye,” went on Phil. “Understand, I’m not knocking the team!” he explained quickly, for he saw the girls looking at him rather oddly. “Only I know, and so does Kindlings and Lighton, that we’ve got to do heaps better when we play Fairview and Boxer Hall.”
“Oh, our boys are going to beat you!” exclaimed Miss Tyler, with a mischievous glance at her chums.
“Yes, you have to stick up for Fairview,” declared Phil, “but wait and see.” He spoke confidently, yet there was an uneasy feeling in his heart. Both Boxer and Fairview had stronger teams than ever before.
The little party walked on, laughing and chatting, discussing the game at intervals. Phil had a chance to speak to his sister away from the others for a moment, and took advantage of the opportunity, to ask:
“Langridge hasn’t been pestering you with any of his attentions lately, has he, Ruth?”
“Indeed he hasn’t!” she exclaimed vigorously. “And if he does, Phil, I hope you won’t do as you did before, and make the other girls and me ridiculous.”
“I didn’t mean to do that,” replied the quarter-back, “only I’m not going to have him mixing in with anyone I care for.”
“And I presume that is intended as much for Madge as it is for me!” whispered Ruth, with a laugh at her brother’s blushes, which were visible under the bronze of his tan.
“Oh, don’t——” he began, and then the others came up.
“Well, what about us, fellows?” asked Tom, when the inseparables were in their room that night, rather sore and tired from the game.
“We can’t pat ourselves on the back, and voteourselves gold medals,” declared Phil. “I hear that Lighton and old Kindlings are having a consultation, and there may be a shift of some of the players.”
“I hope he puts me on the other end,” exploded Tom. “Bascome didn’t support me at all to-day.”
“Now, don’t get to feeling that way over it!” cautioned Phil, quickly. “That spirit makes a team go to pieces sooner than anything else.”
“Oh, I’m not going to disrupt the team!” declared Tom. “I think, though——”
He stopped suddenly, and appeared to be listening. Phil sat up on the old sofa, and Sid looked questioningly toward the door.
“Someone’s out in the corridor,” he whispered.
“Yes,” and Tom nodded. “Maybe they think we’re out, and they’re bringing back our chair.”
“Or the clock,” added Phil.
Tom arose, and tiptoed toward the portal. Before he reached it, there came a cautious knock on the panel.
“Shall we answer it, or pretend we’re not in?” he breathed to Sid. Then, without giving the latter time to answer, a voice called, in a hoarse whisper:
“I say, Tom, are you and the bunch in there?”
“It’s Dutch!” spoke Phil, in his natural tone. “Come on in, you old scout! What’s all the secret society business about, anyhow?”
Tom opened the door, and Billy Housenlager and Holly Cross stood revealed.
“Don’t yell so!” cautioned Dutch. “We’re going to haze that big chap—what’s his name?” and he turned to Holly.
“The one from California,” explained the centre rush.
“Oh, Simpson,” supplied Tom. “Haze him—what for? The hazing season is over.”
“Not for him,” explained Dutch, with a chuckle. “You see, he arrived late, and he didn’t get what was coming to him in his freshman year. So he has to take it now. Do you lads want to be in on it? If you do, don’t make any noise. He’s in a room nearly above you fellows, and he may suspect something and listen. Want to have some fun?”
“I don’t know—do we?” and Tom turned to his companions.
They hesitated a moment, and then Phil, with a long yawn, exclaimed:
“I don’t know as I care to. Too tired. You fellows can, if you like.”
“Not for mine!” came quickly from Sid. “I’ve got some butterfly specimens to mount.”
“Oh, you fellows make me tired!” declared Dutch, in accents of disgust. “Why don’t you be sports? Have some fun! Come on, Tom!”
“No; if Phil and Sid are going to stay in to-night,I’ll be with them. You and Holly can go ahead with the hazing. What’s it going to be?”
“Oh, it isn’t Holly and me alone,” explained Dutch, quickly. “A lot of the lads are in on it, but I suggested you chaps, and now you back out.”
“We never backed in,” replied Phil. “What are you going to do to Simpson, anyhow?”
“Make him swim Sunny River,” declared Dutch, with a chuckle. “That is, we’re going to chuck him in, and he’ll sink or swim.”
“That’s taking chances,” remarked Tom, quickly. Somehow, he did not like the idea of hazing the Californian. They had become too friendly with him, and Tom was glad his chums had declined to have a hand in it.
“No chances at all,” denied Dutch, vigorously. “We’ll be ready with a boat and ropes, in case he can’t swim. But I think he can.”
“I didn’t mean about that part of it,” went on the end. “But he may take cold.”
“Oh, piffle!” cried Holly Cross. “If he can’t stand a little wetting he’s no good. Besides, it’s warm to-night. Come on, Dutch; we’ll go back and tell the crowd that this bunch is doing its knitting, and can’t come.” His voice showed his contempt.
“Tell ’em anything you like,” retorted Sid, “and maybe before you’re through you’ll wish you’d stayed home and learned your lessons.”
“Aw, rats!” fired back Dutch, as he and his chum went down the corridor.
“Say, maybe there’s more truth than poetry in what you said,” commented Phil, after the door had been closed.
“In what?” asked Sid.
“About those fellows being sorry. You know, Simpson is a husky lad, and he may put up more of a fight than they give him credit for.”
“By Jove!” cried Tom, suddenly. “I believe you’re right, Phil. Those hazers are going to stack up against trouble, and what’s the matter with us seeing the fun?”
“How?” asked Sid.
“Go down to the river, and watch ’em throw Frank in.”
“Sure!” cried Phil; and a little later three figures stole cautiously out, crossed the campus, and took position well concealed in the now leafless shrubbery that lined the bank of the stream.
“Here they come!” suddenly exclaimed Tom, who had constituted himself a lookout. “And they’ve got him, too!”
“How can you tell?” demanded Phil.
“He’s the biggest fellow in the bunch.”
“I didn’t think he’d let them take him out of his room,” said Sid. “Maybe he’s in a blue funk.”
“You don’t know him,” declared Tom, quietly. “If I’m not mistaken, there’ll be some fun soon.”
“Keep quiet, or they’ll have the laugh on us if they see us,” cautioned Phil.
The hazers and their victim came nearer, and the voice of Dutch Housenlager could be heard declaiming in triumph:
“Now, then, fellows, we’ll initiate Mr. Simpson into the mysteries of the Mermaid Society. I believe you never were a member of that, were you, Mr. Simpson?” he asked, mockingly.
“Never, and I don’t want to join now,” came from the big Californian, who seemed strangely gentle in the hands of his captors.
“Oh, but you must, you know,” explained Holly Cross.
“Sure,” asserted Bascome. “You ought to have joined as a Freshman, but it’s not too late. Is the water nice and warm, Dutch?”
“Yes; I had it heated to seventy-two degrees this afternoon,” replied the fun-loving Housenlager.
“What! You’re not going to put me in the river to-night, are you?” demanded Simpson, in almost tragic tones.
“That’s our intention,” mocked Dutch.
“But I may catch cold. You oughtn’t to do a thing like this, boys,” pleaded Frank.
“Oh, listen to him!” mocked Bascome. “Let’s take him back to his mama!” and he imitated the crying of a baby.
“Oh, but, fellows, just consider,” begged the intended victim. “I—I may be drowned,” and his teeth seemed to chatter. “Please—please let me go!”
“Oh, yes—with bells on!” cried Holly, with a laugh.
“Say, I thought you said he’d make mincemeat of ’em?” whispered Phil. “Why, he’s a coward!”
“Maybe,” admitted Tom, somewhat puzzled. “I didn’t think he’d beg off like this.”
“Pshaw! It’s going to be a fizzle,” declared Sid.
“Now, then, all ready?” asked Dutch of his chums. “Get good holds, Holly and Bascome, and pitch him in.”
“Oh, let me go! Please let me go!” begged Simpson.
“Aw, cut it out! Be a sport!” urged Dutch. “It won’t hurt you, and if you can’t swim, we’ll pull you out. You’ve got to take your medicine, and you might as well make up your mind to it. In with him now, fellows!”
“Let her go!” cried Holly.
“No! Don’t! Stop!” cried the Californian, and his voice broke. “Please let me go—consider, fellows—you may regret this!”
“Regret nothing!” cried Dutch. “In with him!”
There was a struggle on the bank of the river,a series of surprised grunts and exclamations. Then a dark body went sailing through the air, and fell with a splash into the stream, while the shout that followed ended in a gurgle.
“There he goes!” cried Phil. “He’s in!”
Another dark body shot from the bank into the water.
“Why—why!” gasped Sid. “They’re hazing two! Who’s the other lad, I wonder?”
The second body made a great splash. Then, before it came to the surface, a third form hurtled through the air and made a great noise in Sunny River.
“Julius Cæsar’s grandmother’s cat’s kittens!” yelled Tom, careless of who heard him. “Simpson isn’t in the water at all, fellows!Look! look! There he is!He’s throwing the others in!He’s throwing ’em all in!”
“SIMPSON ISN’T IN THE WATER AT ALL, FELLOWS! HE’S THROWING THE OTHERS IN.”“SIMPSON ISN’T IN THE WATER AT ALL, FELLOWS! HE’S THROWING THE OTHERS IN.”
Phil and Sid stood beside their chum, and gazed on the scene, which was now partly illuminated by a half moon. They saw the big Californian standing in the midst of his would-be hazers, knocking them down right and left as they rushed at him, and then, as the hidden ones watched, they saw the new student grasp Holly Cross around the waist, and, by a wrestler’s trick, toss him over his back, and into the stream, where three forms were now swimming toward shore—three wet, miserable forms—three very much surprised lads—andHolly Cross joining them by the most direct route—by an air line, so to speak.
Into the water Holly fell with a splash, and after him went Dutch. Then, seeing their two ringleaders thus summarily disposed of, the other hazers ceased their attack on Simpson.
He stood in the midst of the throng, many of whom were just arising from some terrific left-handers.
“I told you that you might be sorry,” came in calm tones from the Californian.
“For the love of mustard, who are you, anyhow?” demanded Bascome, as he crawled dripping and shivering up on the bank. “Are you a champion strong man, or an elephant trainer?”
“Oh I spent one vacation traveling with a circus, and learned to do some throwing tricks,” modestly explained Simpson. “And now, gentlemen, I’ll bid you good-evening,” and before the crowd could stop him, had they been so disposed, he walked away.
That’s how Frank Simpson was hazed. Ask any old Randall graduates to tell you about it, and hear what they say.
Dripping, shivering, very much chagrined, and somewhat bruised and lame from their encounter with the student they had expected to haze so easily, Holly Cross, Dutch Housenlager and the others gathered in a little disconsolate group.
Tom, Phil and Sid, hiding in the bushes, and trying to stifle their snickers of mirth, looked at the scene, which was thrown into partial relief by the moon.
“I wonder how they feel?” came from Tom.
“Don’t let them hear you,” cautioned Phil, “or they’ll vow and declare that we were in on the game, and knew how it was going to turn out.”
“That’s right,” agreed Sid.
But now someone in the group of hazers spoke. It was the puzzled and dubious voice of Dutch Housenlager.
“I say, does anyone know what happened?” he asked.
“We must have been struck by a cyclone,” declared Holly.
“Or a waterspout,” added Bascome. “Bur-r-r-r-r! But it’s cold! I’m going to cut for college!”
“Who said he was easy?” demanded Holly Cross. “Was it you, Dutch?”
“Who, me? No, I never said such a thing! Perish the thought! Easy!”
“The hardest proposition I’ve stacked up against in a long while,” said another, rubbing his elbow. “Jove! how he did hit out!”
“And sosudden!” commented Dutch.
“Well, did you think he was going to send word on ahead when he was going to land on you?” asked Jerry Jackson. “Come on. We’ve had enough.”
“Too much,” added his brother. “I suppose this will be all over Randall in the morning.”
“Not if I have to tell it,” insisted Bascome. “But Simpson may squeal.”
“He’d be justified,” asserted another. “He has one on us, all right.”
“I believe he’s too square to say anything about it,” spoke Jerry.
And so it proved. The next morning, when the big Californian met his classmates, there was a calm smile on his face, but neither by word nor action did he refer to what had taken place.
But, somehow, the story leaked out. Perhaps it was because Tom, Phil and Sid could not refrain from publicly asking Dutch and the others how the hazing had resulted.
“Did you duck Simpson?” inquired Tom, as they were on their way to chapel next morning.
“Why didn’t you come and help with the fun, if you’re so anxious to know about it?” inquired Dutch, non-committally.
“Oh, we don’t care for baths in the river this time of the year,” remarked Phil, with a laugh, and then Dutch knew that the story was known, though Tom and his two chums said nothing about having been concealed where they had a grandstand view of the whole performance.
There were now busy days at Randall, for football was in full sway. As a result of the Newkirk game, several shifts were made by coach and captain, and hard practice was called for. The California lad was given a chance on the regular against the scrub, and there was talk that he would permanently replace Sam Looper. It was felt that Randall had not done herself much credit thus far on the gridiron, and there were many anxious hearts in consequence. But the members of the eleven made up their minds to do or die, and they went against the scrub so fiercely that several members of that unfortunate contingent had to go to the hospital for repairs,or else report disabled. Then the coach and captain smiled grimly, and were not so worried about the result of the Fairview and Boxer Hall games.
It was practice, practice, practice, early and late, until some of the members of the ’varsity felt like falling on the exacting Mr. Lighton and tearing him limb from limb. But they knew it was for their good, and that they needed it.
Our three friends were in their room one evening, talking of various matters, and incidentally speculating on the loss of their clock and chair. They had not had much time, of late, on account of football, to seek for clews, and they had about given up hope of recovering their possessions.
“Well, it will soon be time to go up against Fairview,” remarked Tom, as he looked critically at a big leather patch he had sewed on the shoulder of his canvas jacket. “I do hope we win.”
“Same here, old man,” added Phil, who was inspecting a new leather helmet he had just purchased. “I think——”
He was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Come in!” cried Sid, who was trying to study, but making little headway at it. Frank Simpson entered.
“Well, you fellows are nice and cozy here,” he remarked. “Am I intruding?”
“Not a bit! Come on in, and make yourself at home!” called Tom, heartily, shoving a pile ofmiscellaneous articles off one end of the sofa, to make room for the visitor.
“Just sit down sort of easy, please,” cautioned Sid, as he motioned toward the couch. “One of the bottom boards is loose, and it may come down, especially——”
“As I’m not exactly a featherweight,” finished Frank. “I’ll be careful. I got through with my stuff, and didn’t have anything to do, so I thought I’d drop in.”
“Yes, we live by the river; when you’re down that way, drop in,” said Phil, and there was a laugh at the joke and reference.
“I didn’t see you fellows out there,” remarked the lad from the West, with a motion of his head toward the stream.
“No, we had another engagement,” remarked Tom.
“Speaking of engagements, reminds me of something!” exclaimed Phil, pulling a note from his pocket. “Ruth wrote me yesterday to come over to Fairview to-night, and bring you fellows. There’s some sort of doings—giving a Greek play, or something like that, and a feed after it. I forgot all about it.”
“Say, you’re a nice one!” cried Tom, jumping up and looking at the new clock.
“I should say yes!” added Sid. “Is it too late to go now?”
“Guess not,” drawled Phil. “If you fellows think we can escape the eagle eye of Proc. Zane, I’m willing, are you?”
“Sure we are!” cried Phil and Tom, eagerly. “We can pull on our best duds, and catch the next trolley. Zane can go hang! I guess we can slip in all right!”
“I reckon I’d better be off then,” spoke Simpson, as he arose to go. “You haven’t any too much room to get dressed, all three at once.”
“No, don’t go,” begged Phil. “That is go and get togged up, and come back. Go along with us over to Fairview. My sister said she’d like to meet you. I was telling her about you.”
“Do you mean it?” asked the Californian earnestly, for he liked social pleasures, and he had not met any girls, as yet.
“Sure, come along!” urged Tom and Sid. “We can fix you up with a girl, I guess.”
“Kind of you,” murmured Frank. “I believe I will go.”
A little later, the four caught a trolley car for Fairview Institute, where they were met by Phil’s sister and the other young ladies, who were glad to see them. There was a little amateur theatrical, followed by a dance and supper, and Frank Simpson was made to feel very much at home, for the girls took to him at once.
It was long past midnight when our fourfriends alighted from the car, and stood for a moment, before starting toward their college.
“What’ll we do if we’re caught by Zane?” asked Tom, for there was every likelihood of that happening. They had known it all the while, but did not like to think of it when the fun was at its height.
“If he nabs us, we’ll have to put up with it,” said Phil.
“It’s easy enough to say,” commented Sid, “but you know Prexy made quite a talk about it the other day, and said that anyone who was caught out late would be severely dealt with. It might mean being barred off the team.”
“Jove! You don’t want that to happen,” remarked Frank. “Isn’t there some back way we can sneak in?”
“Proc. Zane knows ’em all,” asserted Tom. “We might try it around by the chapel, though. He isn’t there quite so often as he is around the court and campus.”
“Go ahead,” urged Phil, grimly. “Might as well be killed for a lobster as a crab.”
They stole silently forward, looking cautiously around for a sight of the proctor. They had almost reached the chapel, and were hoping that the remainder of the way would be clear, when Tom, who was in advance, suddenly uttered a hiss.
“What is it?” whispered Phil.
“Zane—right ahead there.”
Pausing in the shadows, they peered forward. There stood the proctor directly in the path they must cross to get into college.
“Just our luck!” groaned Sid, dismally.
They hesitated a moment, not knowing what to do. To be caught, just after the president’s solemn warning, might mean severe punishment.
“Can’t we——” began Tom, and then Frank Simpson, who was a little in the rear, suddenly uttered an exclamation.
“Fellows, look!” he called, in a hoarse whisper. “There’s a fire!”
Startled, they looked to where he pointed. Through the windows of the chapel could be seen little tongues of flame, leaping up inside. The building was ablaze.
For a moment, the boys did not know what to do. Then Tom called:
“Come on, fellows! We’ve got to put that out! There are extinguishers right in the vestibule, and we can break down the door. Lively! We’ve got to fight the blaze, and give the alarm! Ring the bell!”
They needed no other urging. Without another glance at the proctor, who had turned back toward the college, the four lads rushed silently toward the chapel. It was the work of but a moment for their sturdy shoulders to break in theouter door. Then, catching up several chemical extinguishers, they sprang in through the swinging inner portals. There was a lively blaze in the floor, just over the furnace.
“Douse it! Douse it!” yelled Tom, making a jump for it. “Someone ring the bell! Maybe we can’t control it!”
“I’ll do that!” yelled Simpson, and a moment later the deep, solemn tones of the great bell boomed out on the midnight air, while the hungry tongues of fire leaped higher and higher.
With a hissing sound, the chemical streams from the extinguishers spurted upon the blaze. The fire died down around the edges of the big hole that had been burned in the floor, but in the centre there was hot flame.
“Can we get it under?” panted Sid, who, having emptied one extinguisher—a small one—ran after another.
“We’ve got to!” declared Phil, trying to shield his face from the fierce heat.
“If we can only keep it down until the fellows come with the hose, we’ll do all right,” gasped Tom, choking from the smoke. There was a high pressure water service maintained at the college, hose being connected with a big tank, for the buildings were so far from town that the fire department could not easily get there.
Again and again the alarm boomed out from the big bell, rung by the vigorous arms of the Californian.The others kept playing the streams on the fire, retreating as it got hotter, and rushing in on it as they gained a momentary advantage.
“Aren’t they ever coming?” gasped Tom. The college lads had formed an amateur fire brigade, and had frequent drills.
“They’ve got to—pretty soon!” choked Phil.
“Here they come!” cried Frank, and he hastened down from the organ loft, where he had been pulling on the bell rope, catching up an extinguisher as he came. Soon he was adding his stream to the others.
Outside could be heard excited yells and shouts, and the rumble of the hand hose carts as the students rushed them toward the chapel.
In a short time Tom and his chums were being assisted by scores of their mates, who, in all sorts of nondescript garments, formed a strange contrast to our four heroes, in their immaculate dress suits—no, not immaculate any longer, for they were dripping from the chemicals, they were dirty and smoke begrimed, and Tom and Sid’s garments were scorched in several places by the sparks.
“Say, did you fellows stop to tog up before you came to the fire?” demanded Holly Cross hoarsely, as he directed a stream of water into the very heart of the blaze.
“Of course,” answered Tom, for he saw ProctorZane coming up with two pails of water to dash on the embers.
“Well, I’ll be——” began Holly, and Sid quickly stopped him with a punch in the ribs.
The fire, which had been discovered soon after it broke out, could not stand the combined assault of the water and chemicals, and, soon after the arrival of the student brigade, it was practically extinguished. It had started from an overheated flue, and had burned quite a hole in the floor, but, aside from that damage, the destruction of some pews, cushions and hymn books, the loss was comparatively slight. The valuable stained glass windows had not been harmed, though some of the delicate fresco work on the side walls was smoke-begrimed.
“Well, I guess that’s out,” remarked Dutch Housenlager, as he looked down into the basement through the burned hole in the floor.
“And very efficient work you young gentlemen did, too,” complimented the proctor. “If it had gotten much more headway, the chapel would have been consumed. May I ask who discovered the fire.”
There was a moment’s hesitation. Our friends realized what it might mean to tell justhowthey had discovered it. Their chums, among whom the story had quickly circulated, kept silent.
“I heard the alarm bell ring, and I jumped up,” said Jerry Jackson, innocently.
“So did I,” echoed his brother.
“Who rang the bell?” the proctor wanted to know.
“Could the heat waves have done it?” suggested Professor Newton, who was much interested in science. “It is possible,” and he looked up in the direction of the belfry, and shivered slightly, for he was only partly dressed.
“I rang the bell,” admitted Frank Simpson, in a low voice.
“Ah, then we have to thank you for discovering the fire and giving the alarm,” went on the proctor. “It was——”
“We all discovered the blaze at the same time,” remarked Tom, desperately, and he indicated his companions.
“That’s right,” agreed Sid and Phil. They made up their minds that they were in for it now.
“Oh, you saw it from your window, I presume,” went on Mr. Zane, “and you came out——”
Then, for the first time, he seemed to realize that the quartette were attired in dress-suits—wet, bedraggled, chemical-marked and scorched evening clothes—but still dress-suits.
“Oh, ah, er—that is——” he began.
“We were coming home from a dance over atFairview,” said Phil, doggedly, “and we saw the blaze.”
“Oh,” exclaimed the proctor, illuminatingly, and then, unconsciously perhaps, he looked at his watch, and noted the lateness of the hour. “You four young gentlemen will call at my office to-morrow—this morning,” he hastily corrected himself.
“Yes, sir,” answered Tom, with a grim setting of his jaw.
An examination showed that there were no sparks left, and the students were ordered to return to their rooms. The janitors were sent for, to remain on guard and place boards over the hole in the floor.
“Don’t you think he has nerve, to tell us to report to him, after what we did?” asked Tom, when, following a rather restless night, he and his chums were on their way to services the next morning. The chapel was not so badly burned, but that it could be used.
“Zane? Oh, he’sallnerve!” declared Sid. “I almost wish we’d let it burn!”
“Shut up, you anarchist!” cried Phil. “We’ll take our medicine.”
But there was none to take. The proctor met them on their way to chapel, and smiled as genially as was possible for him.
“Young gentlemen,” he said, “you need notreport at my office. Personally, I wish to thank you for the service you rendered to Randall College last night—or, rather, this morning,” and he smiled grimly. “Had it not been for you, we should have had no chapel in which to worship to-day. I thank you most sincerely,” and then Proctor Zane did an unheard-of thing. He shook hands with Tom and his chums.
“Well, what do you know about that?” gasped Phil, when the proctor had passed on.
“He didn’t say a word about our being out late,” came from Sid.
“Pinch me—I think I’m dreaming!” begged Tom, but they were all too interested in other matters to comply with his request.
Dr. Churchill referred to the fire in his remarks that morning, and the words of praise he bestowed on our heroes made them wish they were sitting over the hole in the floor, that they might sink through out of sight, and so hide their blushes.
Dutch Housenlager started to whistle, “See, the Conquering Hero Comes,” when he saw the four approaching, but Tom upset him with a quick tackle, and Dutch subsided.
The fire and football furnished fruitful topics for conversation among the students for some days to come, so much so that our heroes had little time to think about their missing chair andclock, until an unexpected happening brought the matter forcibly to their attention again.
They had been out together to a meeting in the gymnasium one night, and on their return, Phil, who was ahead, had some trouble opening the door.
“One of you fellows left your key in it when you went out,” he said, as he removed it, and inserted his own.
“Not me,” asserted Tom.
“Me either,” declared Sid. “I’ve got mine.”
“So have I,” added the end.
Phil said nothing until he had entered the room, followed by his chums. Then, turning on the light, he examined the key he had taken from the door.
“Fellows, look here!” he exclaimed. “Here’s a clew to our mysterious visitor and thief. This key is a false one, and has been filed down from some other kind. This thing is getting serious.”
Curiously, Phil’s chums crowded close to him, looking over his shoulder at the odd key. As he had said, it was one apparently filed down from a larger one of different pattern, so that it would open their door.
And fit their lock it did, as they soon demonstrated, for, though crude in finish, it threw back the catch as easily as did one of their own.
“Worse and more of it!” murmured Phil, as he tried the key. “The fellow, whoever he is, must have been just going in our room when we came along the corridor, and frightened him.”
“In that case, we ought to have seen him go past us down the stairs,” said Sid.
“No, he could use the back flight, that goes down into the janitors’ apartments,” suggested Tom.
“Say!” cried Sid. “I have it. Maybe he was here some time ago, and when he went out, heforgot his key. Let’s look and see if he took anything.”
“The sofa’s here, at any rate,” spoke Tom, with a sigh of relief. “But maybe something else is gone.”
“There are too many ‘may-bees’ for this time of the year,” declared Phil. “The fellow might have run away as we came up; he might have taken his time ransacking our rooms, for we were long enough in the gym; he may be here now; he may have brought back our chair and alarm clock—only he hasn’t,” he added, after a quick glance about the room. “But, as I said, what’s the use of speculating on whatmightbe. We’ve got to get busy and solve this puzzle. We’ve got some sort of a clew in this key.”
“Not much, though,” from Tom.
“I think a lot,” asserted Phil. “In the first place, it shows that it’s been made by an amateur, and by someone who knows a little about making keys. Therefore, as we say in geometry, we must look for a fellow who knows how to use a file and a hack saw, and who understands locks.”
“Are there any such in college?” demanded Sid.
“There may be.”
“Let’s put it up to Zane,” suggested Tom. “He’s friendly with us now, on account of the fire.”
“No!” exclaimed Phil, quickly. “Let’s work it out ourselves. I believe we can do it.”
“How?” Sid wanted to know.
“By keeping our eyes open.”
“We’ve been doing that a long time, and haven’t gotten any nearer to the mystery than we were at first.”
“That’s because we didn’t look in the right direction,” spoke Phil. “It has narrowed down now—the inquiry has, I mean. Before, we had to suspect every fellow in college. Now we need only look for one who has a mechanical turn of mind.”
“Frank Simpson has!” spoke Sid, quickly. “I saw him making a new kind of cleat for his football shoes the other day.”
“You’re a hot detective!” exclaimed Phil, with a laugh. “Our clock and chair were taken before Simpson came here.”
“That’s right,” agreed Sid, ruefully. “I wonder if the unknown visitor did anything to our new clock?” he went on, as he walked over to examine the timepiece. “Perhaps he left a note of explanation in it.”
But there was nothing, and the clock chimed out the time as cheerfully as ever, as though urging the new owners to never mind the mystery, since they had a better recorder of the hours than before. But the boys wanted their first love.
Our heroes were up early the next morning, to indulge in a practice run with the football squad—a little jaunt along the river, proposed by the exacting coach, with the idea of improving the wind of his men.
“Jove! but it’s getting cold!” remarked Tom, as rosy and glowing with health, he and his mates turned into the gymnasium for a shower, and vigorous rub before breakfast.
“Regular football weather,” agreed Sid. “Well, I feel as if I could tackle Boxer Hall and Fairview together now.”
“Keep on feeling that way,” urged the coach, grimly, as he passed by. “We all need it.”
An unexpected storm blew up that night, putting a stop to practice on the gridiron, and the squad had to be content with indoor work. The weather grew worse, and by night there was a gale blowing.
“Old King Winter isn’t far off, by the sound of that,” remarked Tom, who, with his chums, was in the room, studying or making a pretense of so doing. He arose, and, going to the window, where Sid was, looked out. There came a sharp dash of rain against the glass.
“It’s a peach of a night!” exclaimed Sid, as he turned back with a shiver to his comfortable nook on the old sofa.
“Yes, but we’re snug and cozy here,” murmuredPhil. “This is one of the best rooms in the college.”
“If we only had our old chair,” remarked Sid, rather sadly. He seemed to miss it more than the others, for it was his favorite place for study.
“Well, it won’t come back to-night, at any rate,” observed Tom. “Whew! Hear that wind!”
There came a sudden burst of fury on the part of the storm, that seemed to rock the very college. In the midst of its rage, borne on the wings of the wind and darkness, there came to the ears of the three lads a mighty crash.
It seemed to vibrate through the air, and then the echoes of it were swallowed up in the louder roar of the wind.
“What was that?” whispered Tom, in an awesome voice.
“Some building collapsed!” gasped Phil. “Come on, fellows, we must see what it was!” and he reached for his raincoat, the others following his example.
Out into the storm they raced, to find that the alarm of the crash had been general, and that students from all the dormitories, and also a number of members of the faculty, were hurrying from their rooms to learn what was the trouble.
“What was it?”
“Did you hear it?”
“Is it another fire?”
“I heard it was the gymnasium that had blown up.”
“Somebody told me that Prexy’s house was destroyed by a bomb.”
Questions and statements like those were heard on all sides, as the lads gathered in a group outside the college, or stood in the pelting rain on the campus.
The wind still blew with great violence, and the downpour was in keeping with it. Anxious eyes looked up to the sky to detect the shimmeringof flames, and were relieved when no glare met their gaze, though in that rain it would have been a big fire indeed that could have kept on burning.
“The noise was over that way,” declared Tom Parsons, pointing toward the gymnasium.
“No, it was over there,” and Phil indicated the river. “Maybe it was one of the boathouses.”
“I think it was out on the athletic field,” asserted Sid.
“Let’s go have a look,” proposed Holly Cross. “It was a great old crash, whatever it was.”
“Yes, it woke me up,” said Bert Bascome. “I was dozing over my Latin prose, and I dreamed we were playing Boxer Hall. I was making a touchdown, and smashed into a goal-post—that woke me up—or, rather, the racket did.”
“Well, make a real touchdown when we play Boxer, and we’ll forgive you,” put in Kindlings, joining the group of football players. “Come on, let’s investigate.”
As the students reached the gridiron they saw, even in the darkness, the cause of the crash. One of the largest grandstands had collapsed. The supports, weakened by the rain, had been unable to stand against the force of the wind, and had tilted over, letting the whole structure come slantingly to the ground, like some cardboard house upon which a heavy weight has fallen.
“For cat’s sake, look at that!” cried Phil.
“It’s a ruin!” added Sid, in despair.
“The biggest grandstand, too!” remarked Tom.
“Come on, fellows!” cried Holly Cross. “Maybe we can prop it up so it won’t go down any farther,” for part of the structure was still standing.
Holly started toward it, but had not advanced more than a few feet, when there came another sudden burst of fury on the part of the wind, and there was a second crash in the splintered and broken timbers.
“Come back!” yelled Dan Woodhouse. “You’ll be hurt! It’s going to fall apart!”
There was an instinctive retreat on the part of the throng of students, but the stand, after settling forward a little more, became stationary, and, aside from the flapping of a few loose boards, the wind seemed incapable of doing any more havoc.
“Well, wouldn’t that jar you!” exclaimed Dutch, as he carefully held Holly’s umbrella over his own head. “We’ll have to hustle to have that raised again.”
“Yes, and the game with Canton Military Academy comes off soon,” added Phil. “The carpenters will have to get busy in the morning. Where’s Kindlings?”
“Here I am.”
“Say Dan, we’ll have to have a meeting of the athletic committee right away, and take some action on this. If we can’t use that grandstand for the Canton game, we’ll lose a lot of money, and, goodness knows, we need the coin this year.”
“That’s right,” came in a chorus from the others. Mr. Lighton, the coach, came up just then, and agreed that immediate action was necessary, late as it was.
The students were walking about the ruined stand, oblivious to the pelting rain, and they might have stayed there a long time, had not Mr. Zane bustled up to inspect the wreck.
“Now, then, young gentlemen,” he said, “you had better all get back to your rooms. There is nothing more to see, and there might be some danger. The wind is increasing.”
“I hope no more stands blow down,” murmured Tom.
“Mr. Zane, we want to have a meeting of the athletic committee, to take measures for rebuilding the stand,” spoke the football captain. “May we?”
“To-night?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I’m going to make a report of this to Dr. Churchill, and you may come, if you like. Also Mr. Lighton, and two or three members of the committee.”
“Come on, Phil and Tom,” urged Dan, and the end and quarter-back followed. The other boys, finding the storm most unpleasant, now that the excitement was over, moved toward their rooms.
Proctor Zane stated the case to the president, and then Kindlings made his appeal.
“We want to arrange for the rebuilding of the stand at once,” he said, “as we expect a big crowd at the Canton game, and we need all the seats we can get.”
“Yes,” remarked Dr. Churchill, musingly. “I presume the athletic committee has the funds available to pay for the work.”
“No, we haven’t, Dr. Churchill,” answered Holly Cross, who acted as treasurer, “but we thought the amount could be advanced from the college treasury, and we could pay it back, as we did once or twice before. We’ll need quite a large sum, I’m afraid, for the stand is one of the big ones, and is flat on the ground.”
“Yes,” again mused the president. “Well, young gentlemen, I would be very glad indeed to advance the money from our treasury, but, I regret to say, that it is impossible.”
“Impossible!” repeated Holly.
“Yes, for the reason that there is no money in the treasury.”
“No money!” The students looked at each other aghast.
“No,” went on Dr. Churchill. “This legal complication regarding the missing quit-claim deed, and the lawsuit that has been started against the college, has made it necessary to spend considerable cash in the way of preliminary fees and court expenses. This has left the college without a running balance. In fact, Randall is poorer to-day than ever before. I might add that even money to pay the salaries of the faculty is lacking, and——”
There was something like a gleam of hope in the eyes of the youths, but it died away when the president, with a grim smile added:
“I will state, however, that the gentlemen of the faculty regard the financial difficulty as only temporary, and are willing to continue on without pay for a while, so you see there is no excuse for not attending lectures,” and the president’s eyes twinkled. “But that is why,” he continued, “I can not advance any sum for the rebuilding of the collapsed grandstand. I am very sorry, but it will have to stay down for the present.”
“Then we’ll lose on the Canton game,” spoke Sid in a low voice, “lose money, I mean.”
“It’s too bad we can’t have it put up,” came from Phil, as the lads filed from the president’s room, where the conference had taken place.“No use in having a meeting, if we can’t get the money.”
“Yes, there is too!” cried Tom Parsons, suddenly.
“Do you think we fellows can raise enough cash by ourselves?” demanded Kindlings. “I wish we could, but we can’t.”
“We can raise enough for what I am going to suggest,” declared Tom.
“And what’s that?”
“Enough for hammers and saws and nails.”