The High School Rivals
CHAPTER I
"Nineteen hundred and twelve to the top steps! We're Second Form now! Top steps belong to the Second Form!" shouted four boys, redolent with health and life, as they dashed up the tree-lined walk leading to the Baxter High School, mounted the lower steps, and threw themselves into the coveted positions.
It was the opening day of school, and the spacious, shady grounds were alive with happy, wide-awake boys, and merry, laughing girls, renewing old acquaintances and closely scrutinizing all newcomers.
As the rallying cry rang out, other members of the Second Form broke away from those with whom they were talking and hastened to join the four leaders whom they hailed by the nicknames of Taffy, Soda, Lefty and Buttons, reminders of past exploits.
With envious glances at the proud Seconds, the Lower Form scholars gathered at the foot of the steps, eager to witness any fun that might transpire.
Conspicuous among them was a tall, thin boy, who carried a large bunch of books under his arm.
"Is that the meeting-place of the Second Form?" asked this lad, of the one nearest him.
"Uhuh."
"Thank you. I think I will join them."
"You'd better n——" began his informer, but before he could finish his warning, a hand was clapped over his mouth and warm lips whispered in his ears, "Let him go. He must be taught respect for the Upper Forms. Wait till Soda sees him."
Interference was now too late, had the Lower Form boy wished to finish his advice. For no sooner had the newcomer emerged from the ranks of the others standing at the foot of the steps than a girl, brunette, and very pretty, nudged her companion, who, though just as attractive, was of the blonde type, and giggled:
"Oh, Grace, look at that coming up the steps!"
This exclamation, being audible to the others, all the boys and girls turned their eyes in the direction of the new student, and watched his approach in a silence portentous in its intensity.
Even the newcomer felt its significance, and, as he reached the fourth step from the top, paused, hesitatingly.
Taking advantage of his evident embarrassment, the lad nicknamed Soda, making his voice very deep, demanded:
"What dost thou wish, Clothespin?"
The nickname was so appropriate that the boys and girls roared with laughter, adding still more to their victim's discomfiture.
Twice he cleared his throat, but the grinning faces of the boys and the mischievous eyes of the girls stifled his words and sent hot flushes to his cheeks.
"He's mine! I saw him first!" exclaimed another of the Second Formers, noting the newcomer's embarrassment. "Now, Clothespin, what is it you desire? Speak, or forever hold your tongue."
To the new student, the bantering seemed terribly real, and, after gulping several times, he stammered:
"Is this the Second Form?"
"Yea, verily, Clothespin, this is the Second Form—that is, the best part of it," returned Soda.
But if the students had been amazed by the newcomer's temerity in mounting the steps, they were dumfounded by his reply, as he bowed gravely:
"I am glad to meet you all. My name is James Appleby Bronson. I have passed my examinations to the Second Form."
An instant the students on the top step gazed from their new member to one another, then Soda arose, and, with a mocking wave of his hand, bowed low and commanded:
"Second Formers, rise and salute your fellow member, Mr. James Appleby Bronson, called Clothespin for short."
As though moved by a spring, the twenty-two members of the Second Form stood up and chorused:
"Welcome, Clothespin."
"Then I can sit with you?" asked the newcomer, looking toward Soda.
"You can sit on the top step, there by the railing," replied the leader, pointing to a place at the opposite side of the porch. "There are a few formalities to be settled before you can be really one of us."
Relieved that his torture was over for the moment, yet wondering what the "formalities" could be, Bronson started to take the seat by the rail, when the lad called Taffy exclaimed:
"Where are your credentials?"
"Credentials?" repeated the new student in surprise.
"Yes, your credentials. Didn't the Head give you a card?"
"Why, no. Mr. Vining said all I need do was to meet my instructors and enroll in the classes."
"It was very wrong in the Head to misinform you," began Taffy in mock solemnity, when he was interrupted by a voice shouting: "Here comes Bart Montgomery!"
Instantly cries of welcome greeted the announcement, and in the confusion Bronson was forgotten.
Glancing at the boy whose arrival had spared him further badgering, Bronson saw a tall, lithe fellow, with dark-hued, handsome face.
"Who is Montgomery?" he asked of the boy next him.
"What, you coming to Baxter and don't know Bart Montgomery?" returned the other. "Don't let anybody else hear you say so. He made the hit that won over Landon School last spring—the first time in four years. He's the best baseball and football player at Baxter, that's who Bart Montgomery is."
"No, he isn't, either," interposed another boy.
"Who's better?" demanded Bart's champion.
"Fred Markham."
"Don't you believe him, Clothespin!"
"Well, I don't know about his athletic standing, but I do know I don't like Mr. Montgomery's eyes," rejoined the latter; "he can't look you in the face."
This dispute had passed unnoticed in the welcoming of Bart. As he took his seat in the center of the Second Form students, Lefty exclaimed:
"Now we're all back."
"Not yet," returned Buttons.
"Who's missing?"
"Fred Markham."
"Oh, he'll not be back," sneered Bart Montgomery.
"Why?" chorused several of the boys, while all the others gathered closer.
"You know his father failed, don't you?" demanded Bart.
"Sure," said Buttons, "but how does that affect Fred?"
"He can win the Second Form Scholarship in Science—that'll give him cash enough, if he's short of money," protested another.
"Oh, it isn't lack of rocks that will keep him away," asserted Bart contemptuously.
"Then what will?" persisted Buttons.
All the former students who had returned to Baxter were aware that a rivalry had sprung up the previous year between Fred Markham and Bart Montgomery, due to the former's increasing ability, both in his studies and in athletics, which threatened to wrest the Form leadership from Bart. But they had supposed it to be an honest, schoolboy rivalry, and the tone in which Bart spoke of Fred surprised them.
As both boys were popular, they had many followers among their own and the Third Form students, and unconsciously these divided, Fred's supporters gathering about Buttons, who was championing their absent leader, the others about Bart.
Noticing that he had by far the most numerous following, Bart's pride got the better of his discretion and he retorted:
"If you want to know so much, I'll tell you. You know some men fail in order to make money."
"You mean Fred Markham's father failed dishonestly?" demanded Buttons.
So pointed was the insinuated accusation that, young people though they were, the other students realized its seriousness, and with solemn faces awaited Bart's reply.
The attention of all the scholars hanging upon the answer, none of them had noticed the approach of a well-built, manly young fellow, whose open, honest face and frank blue eyes were in striking contrast to the crafty, though handsome, features of Bart. As a result, the late-comer had reached the edge of the crowd just as Bart exclaimed:
"That's just what I mean. My father was the principal creditor. So I guess I know."
At these words there was a sharp intaking of breath by the divided groups, and Buttons retorted:
"I don't believe it. Fred Markham's father is an honest man."
"Thank you, Buttons," exclaimed a strained voice.
At the words, all eyes were turned in the direction whence they came, and as the boys recognized the speaker, shouts of "Here's Fred! Hello, Cotton-Top! Now say that to his face, you Bart!" filled the air.
"Who said my father was dishonest?" demanded Fred.
"Bart did!" chorused several.
Striding to where the calumniator stood, Fred looked straight in his face.
"Did you say my father was dishonest?"
But the accuser did not have the courage to say in the presence of the son what he had said in his absence, despite the fact that he overtopped Fred by a good two inches, and temporized:
"I said there was something queer about your father's failure. My father said so."
"You are right, Bart Montgomery. There was something 'queer' about it—but not on my father's side!"
"What do you mean?" snarled Bart.
"Anything you want to think," returned Fred.
Drawing back his right hand, Bart hissed:
"I'll teach you to say things about my father, you puppy! Even before yours failed mine could buy him and sell him."
"Because your father had more money doesn't make mine dishonest," retorted Fred, squaring himself to ward off the expected blow.
But before it could be delivered, a stern voice exclaimed:
"Boys, what does this mean?"
"The Head! The Head!" gasped several of the onlookers, and like magic the crowd of students melted away, leaving Mr. Vining, for it was the principal of the school, with Fred and Bart. A moment he gazed from one to the other of the lads.
"Second Formers should set an example of good behavior, not bad," he said. "Bart, come to my office at once. Fred, I shall expect you at the end of thirty minutes."