CHAPTER XTHE SCENE IN RIPLEY'S ROOM"I kept the door open a little," began Pond, "so that I could hear any one who might come up the stairs. Most of the fellows were down on the ball-ground or had gone off on the hills, so there wasn't very much going on. I think I'd been waiting more than an hour before I heard a sound that was in any way suspicious, and I'll own up I began to be a little tired. I thought there wasn't any one going to come and I'd about made up my mind there wasn't any use in watching any longer, and I was just about to get a book and go to reading when I heard a step on the lower stairway. Of course there wasn't anything very bad in that, for I knew some of the fellows would be running in and out on a half-holiday, but there was something a little strange in this particular case. The fellow would come up two or three steps--and he didn't make very much noise about it either--and then he'd stop a minute before he came on.""Was there only one?" inquired Ward, deeply interested in what Pond was relating."Only one then. Well, the fellow came up to the floor on which your room is and then he stopped. I couldn't see him of course, as he'd gone up to your door, I judged. I didn't just know what to do, and when I'd made up my mind to go out and take a peep over the railing, I heard the fellow come back to the head of the stairs and give a low whistle. You'd better believe I was excited about that time, but I managed somehow to keep quiet and wait. Pretty soon another fellow came up the stairs, and then I heard them go through the hall and stop, as I thought, before your door.""Go on, go on," said Ward quickly, as Pond seemed to hesitate a moment."Well, I crept out of my room, and I wasn't making very much noise either, you can believe, and as I went down the stairway a few steps, trying hard all the time to keep perfectly quiet, I bent over and took a peep at your hall. There were two chaps right in front of your door.""What were they doing?""They were working at the lock with a key which one of them took out of his pocket. Somehow the key didn't work very well, for I've a notion that Mike hadn't told them about the new locks he'd put on your door and mine.""Too bad," said Ward. "Well, what did they do then?""One of them happened to look up and he saw me peeking at them. I tried to dodge back so that they couldn't see me, but I was too late; they'd spied me. They made a rush through the hall and up the stairs to my room, but I'd got inside before they'd come, and bolted the door. They coaxed and teased me to open up for 'em, but I wasn't to be caught by any such chaff as that, and then they began to threaten me with all sorts of terrible things. They tried too, to open my door with a key, but it wasn't of any use, and if they had had a key that would have fitted the lock it wouldn't have helped them any, for the door was bolted on the inside, you see.""Who were the fellows?""One of 'em was Ripley; he rooms over in East I think, but I didn't know who the other was. I could tell him if I saw him again, though, I'm sure of that."Ward sat silent for a moment. He knew Ripley well. He was in the class below him. He had never regarded him as a vicious boy, and the worst thing he knew about him was that he belonged to the "Tangs." He also recalled the fact that he was a great admirer of Tim Pickard, and while he was not an intimate friend, he had seen him many times in Tim's company. He was a boy Tim could easily influence and would follow any orders the leader might give him.The mystery was becoming somewhat cleared now. Doubtless Tim was the one to whom Jack had given Mike's bunch of keys, and he had not only gone to Jack's room and obtained the bat they wanted, but he had taken the keys to Ward's and Pond's rooms from the ring at the same time. It was all clear now, and Ward felt a great relief as he satisfied himself that Jack was innocent of any knowledge or share in the stacking of his room."You've done well, Little Pond," said Ward warmly, as he rose to depart. "I think we can put a stop to this particular line of fun now. I think I'll go over and begin the operation at once.""Where are you going, Ward? Can't I go with you?" called Little Pond from the head of the stairway; but Ward was already in the lower hall and made no reply. He wanted to be alone now and while his heart was hot within him to carry out the further plan he had already quickly formed.The eager boy walked swiftly across the campus toward East Hall. He was not at all sure that he would find Ripley in his room, but he would at least find out whether he was or not, and as the bell for supper would soon be rung he wished to do that much before he went to the dining hall.As he drew near East Hall he saw a crowd of boys returning from the ball-ground. Their presence in the building might greatly complicate matters, so he increased his speed and leaping up two steps at a time he ran up the stairs to the third floor and rapped on the door of Ripley's room.Ripley himself opened the door, but as soon as he saw who his caller was, he tried to shut the door in his face. Ward, however, was too quick for him, and slipped into the room, and then he himself shut the door and instantly bolted it.He was thoroughly angry now. Ripley plainly betrayed his guilt and alarm by his manner, and as Ward looked at him a moment in silence the first impulse in his heart was to mete out a summary and just punishment for the sneaking outrage of which he had been guilty.As Ward glanced about the well-furnished room and contrasted it with his own somewhat bare apartments in West Hall, his bitterness increased. Was it not enough that he should be compelled to go without many of the things which such a fellow as Ripley had for the asking, without also having to suffer all the petty annoyances which the latter chose to inflict upon him? His anger was clearly manifest, for the troubled lad was in a towering rage, and as he realized that the boy he thought had stacked his room so many times was at last in his power, his first and natural impulse was to express his feelings in a manner which Ripley might not enjoy, but which he would certainly remember.Ripley evidently was alarmed. His pale face and trembling hands plainly revealed that. He stood watching his caller, and not a word had as yet been spoken.Suddenly Ripley started toward the open window. Ward instantly suspected that he was about to call to the crowd of boys who were then on the ground below and stood talking together near the entrance.Before the boy could reach the place, however, or open his lips to call to his friends, Ward leaped before him, and standing with his back to the window, he said to the frightened lad before him:"None of that, Ripley; keep away from these windows. I'll fix it so that they won't do you any good," he quickly added, as he instantly turned and removed the prop which held the window up. The sash fell and Ripley perceived that it would be useless to call for help, and that he stood alone before the angry young senior."Now, Ripley, I've come over to have it out with you." Ward spoke slowly and in a low tone of voice, but the very quietness of his manner increased the alarm of the boy before him."I-I d-don't know what you mean, Ward Hill; what have I done?""What have you done?" retorted Ward, his voice rising as his anger broke forth. "What haven't you done? Who's stacked my room almost every day? Who's poured kerosene over my bedding? Who's done the thousand and one contemptible things that no one but a sneak and a coward would ever think of doing?" Ward's anger was rapidly increasing and as he enumerated his woes, each fresh mention of them served to enrage him the more."I never stacked your room, Ward Hill; I've never been in it since I've been in the Weston school; I never touched your bedclothes or your lamp; I haven't been in West Hall but once since I came back to school this fall. Honest, Ward, I'm telling you the truth; I am, Ward. Won't you believe me?"All the fear of the lad seemed to speak in his words and voice, and for a moment Ward was almost staggered. And yet had not Little Pond told him less than half an hour before that he had seen this very lad trying to get into his room? Had Pond been mistaken? No, it could not be possible. The very manner of Ripley betrayed his guilt."Ripley," said Ward more slowly, "you were seen in West Hall this very afternoon when you were trying to get into my room. You can't deny that." He waited a moment, but the boy before him did not speak."If the truth was known," continued Ward, "I believe you've got the very key you tried to use in your pocket now. What were you doing there?" he added sternly."I was there this afternoon, but it was my first turn--I mean the first time I'd been there. I haven't been in West Hall before this term."Ward hesitated. Possibly Ripley was speaking truly. He knew that Tim was shrewd and it might be that he had used different boys to do his bidding at various times. The expression which Ripley had unconsciously let slip, that it was his first turn, might understood in that light. However, his disposition had been clearly manifest, even by his own confession, and Ward's feeling of anger instantly returned."Ripley, you've got that key to my room I believe in your pocket now. Hand it over to me and I'll let you off this time.""Not if I know myself," replied Ripley, his courage having evidently in a measure returned as he perceived Ward's momentary hesitation."You won't give it to me?""No, I won't give it to you," replied Ripley still more boldly."Then I'll take it."And as he spoke Ward quickly sprang forward and grasped the boy by the shoulder.Instantly all of Ripley's fears returned. Before Ward fairly realized what was occurring he had emitted three or four shrieks for help."Help! help! Come! come! Help me! Help! Help!"If Ward had not been so angry and startled by the unexpected sounds he would have laughed. He had not harmed the boy, for he had only grasped him roughly by the shoulder. But evidently Ripley was thoroughly alarmed by Ward's manner and believed that his last hour had come.In a moment there was a rush of boys up the stairway and they were pounding upon the door eagerly striving to open it or break it in.Taking advantage of Ward's momentary confusion, Ripley slipped from his grasp and hastily drew back the bolt of the door and flung it wide open. A dozen or more boys rushed into the room, Tim Pickard at their head, and stopped a moment in surprise as they gazed at the two boys.Scarcely a word had been uttered, however, before Ward heard some one speaking in the doorway. He instantly recognized the voice as that of Mr. Crane, and his anger gave way to a feeling of embarrassment."What's the meaning of this?" said Mr. Crane quietly, though his manner was somewhat stern. "I want you all to go immediately to your own rooms."The boys started to obey at once, Ward being the last to pass Mr. Crane, who stood holding the door open for them to go through."I'm surprised, Hill," he said quietly as Ward passed him. "You will come and explain this later to me, I am sure.""I'm ready to explain it now," said Ward eagerly."Not now, Hill," said Mr. Crane, smiling for the first time as he marked the eagerness of the lad. "Come over to-morrow evening.""I'll come," said Ward quickly. "I don't want you to think too badly of me, Mr. Crane.""And I don't want to. I hardly think I shall have to," he added, as he noted Ward's manner."May I go down to Speck's room now--I mean Jack's--I mean Jack Hobart's?""Yes, if you think it will be safe?" said Mr. Crane quietly. "From the sounds that came from this room I thought that murder at least was being committed, and I don't want to hear a repetition of these ear-splitting screeches."Ward left the teacher and going down to Jack's room was speedily admitted. Then he soon related the entire story before Jack and his chum Berry.The boys listened soberly and when at last the story was ended, Jack said: "Well, Ward, it's a relief to me that you've dug the thing out. You made one mistake, though.""What's that?""You ought never to have tried to chastise Ripley when he was in East Hall. Don't you know by this time that there's no fooling in any building Mr. Crane has charge of?""I wasn't going to chastise Ripley. All I was going to do was to take the key away from him. Of course that isn't any good, now that there's a new lock on my door; but it would be positive proof that Ripley had a hand in it, you see.""And what good would that do you, I'd like to know? Suppose you did have the proof; you wouldn't take it over to the doctor, would you?""No, I don't suppose I would," said Ward slowly. "I never told on a fellow yet.""And you're not going to begin now. It's hard lines for you, old fellow, I know that as well as you do; but it's just one of the things a chap's got to straighten out for himself. He can't report it, you know; that would only make a bad matter worse.""I suppose you're right," said Ward soberly. He was thinking of his evening interview with Mr. Crane. He had intended to relate the circumstances just as they were, and felt positive that the teacher would sympathize with him rather than blame him.Jack's words, however, he at once realized were true. In accordance with the false code of honor of the school, he could not cure his evils by seeking outside help. And the boys he knew were merciless in carrying out their own ideas of justice and honor."No, Ward; you've got to look at it just as it is. Some of the fellows are down on you, but I don't believe it'll last. I don't honestly. How can it with such a fellow as I know Ward Hill to be? It's against all reason.""And meanwhile I'm to sit down meekly and thank these fellows who upset my room every day, am I?""Not at all. Not at all. But Ripley isn't the one to blame. You've got to go to the fountain head of all the trouble, as Dr. Gray so kindly informs us every day in the chapel.""Well, Tim Pickard's the one at the bottom of it all," said Ward."So he is, my young friend, and he's the one to fix. Now I'm sure, with the help of Luscious here and your humble servant, you can do it, and do it this very night too.""I don't see how," said Ward gloomily."No you don't; but if you'll listen with both ears I'll explain the little project I have in mind, and soon the weary valedic will put his enemies to flight, or words to that effect."And Jack at once began to explain his "project."CHAPTER XIJACK HOBART'S PROJECT"There's no other way out of it," began Jack, "except for you to take the matter into your own hands, Ward. You can't report it to the teachers, and you can't be expected to let it go on without doing something to protect yourself. I think even Mr. Crane wouldn't expect anything less than that of you.""But I don't see just what I'm to do," protested Ward. "Of course I know now that Tim Pickard is the one who's stirring the trouble up, though I've been satisfied all the time that he was the ringleader. I don't see what I can do, unless I fight him.""That's one way out of it," replied Jack, who perhaps was not entirely averse to a settlement of troubles by that primitive and brutal method. "But you don't need to do that just yet. You can hold that till later, though I'm not sure but you might save yourself a deal of trouble by pitching into Tim now. It may have to come to that in the end. Still, I think it would be better to try my plan first."Ward smiled as he thought of Jack in the role of a peacemaker. He appreciated fully Jack's spirit and life, and he well knew how he enjoyed anything that partook of the nature of tests of physical strength in the school. His last words, in which with apparent reluctance he had counseled his friend to postpone the method his boyish heart decidedly preferred, had been spoken in a tone which made Berry laugh aloud."Let's hear your plan, Jack," said Ward."It's nothing more than giving Tim a dose of his own medicine.""What do you mean? that I'm to stack his room?""That's exactly my meaning. You grasp it quickly, as Mr. Blake sometimes tells me--no, I mean you, Ward--in his classes. Yes, sir, that's the thing for you to do, for it's the only thing a fellow like Tim Pickard will appreciate. 'Hoist with his own petard.' Isn't that something you've heard somewhere, sometime?""I think I have heard the expression before. How am I to do it, Jack?""Just as easily as falling off a log. Tim rooms down at Ma Perrins', as you know, and has a room all to himself. Now to-night after supper, my friend, here, Luscious, will send for him to come up to our room. I think it very likely that Luscious will have something to say about the nine, and Tim won't wait long after hearing that Luscious Berry has something to say about that, for if he's interested in anything it's the work and the prospects of the nine, you know.""Yes, I know," replied Ward somewhat gloomily. Tim Pickard's work and interest in the nine was a subject on which he had very strong feelings at that time."Well, Luscious will get him up here and he'll hold him with his glittering eye,à laancient mariner, and he'll have so many bright speeches to make, that Tim won't be able to get away from him. Meanwhile you and I'll step down to Tim's room and rearrange it for him, don't you see? I'm going into this with you, Ward, and see if I can't help you to put a stop to these rascally proceedings.""Yes, but----""There isn't a 'but' about it," interrupted Jack. "I know what you were going to say, but it isn't worth saying, Ward. I know all the fine phrases about 'stooping' and 'belittling yourself,' and all that sort of stuff, but it's no time for indulging in such nonsense. Here you are bothered to death by Tim's pranks. You don't want to bother him, or have anything to do with him, for the matter of that. I understand all these things. But you can't study; you won't be the valedic; you can't report the trouble to the faculty. What can you do? Just nothing, but take the matter into your own hands and do the thing that will put a stop in the shortest time to all this nonsense. Do you see the point?""Yes, I see----""Well, I'm glad for once in your life that you're able to see the point.""And I'm glad that for once in your life you can make a point clear," said Ward with a laugh."Well done, my friend, I've hopes of you yet. Now, I say it's all fair to feed Tim with his own food and from his own spoon. Why my father was telling me the last time I was home about a trick a fellow named Bram Martling played in the 'neutral ground,' away back in the Revolution. It seems that this same Bram, which is short as I understand it for Abraham, was a young officer in the Continental army, and once when he came home he found the Tories and British had been burning the houses around there just for the fun of seeing 'em burn, I fancy. Well, Bram was pretty well stirred up when he found out what was going on, so he just quietly got a dozen young fellows together, and they met over by Wolfert's Roost on the Hudson, and took two whaleboats and pulled down to Morningside Heights in the night. Then they crept up and set fire to Oliver De Lancy's great house, and got away without one of them being caught. They thought 'twas a great deed in those days, and made out that the aforesaid Bram was quite a hero. But he stopped the Tories from burning houses after that, let me tell you. It makes all the difference in the world whether you are the burner or the burnee.""And you think----?""Be silent, my young friend. This fable, which I have just related for your special benefit, teaches that in bad things as well as in good it is much more pleasant to give than to receive. Now, for your own good, and for the good of Tim Pickard too, you are simply compelled to let him know just how good it is to have one's room stacked. It must be done thoroughly and at once. Who was it that said, 'if 'twere well done when it is done, then 'twere well if it were done quickly'?""I guess it was Shakespeare," said Ward laughing; "but you got the quotation twisted a bit. The way it reads is----""Oh, bother the way it reads, you know what I mean. Now, Luscious, you tell Ward if you don't think what I've said is true.""I think, Ward," said Berry, "that Jack's right. I don't see that you can do anything else. You've got to put a stop to the racket and Jack's plan is a good one."For a moment Ward did not speak. Somehow he knew that Henry would not go into the scheme, and he had a very decided opinion that Mr. Crane would not approve. Indeed, the teacher had at one time said to him that it was a good deal better to suffer wrong than to do it. One wrong did not make another wrong right. Ward needed no one to tell him that.Yet there was the trouble all the time threatening to become worse and it was certainly bad enough as it was, and Henry and Little Pond were both made to suffer too for his unpopularity. Jack's plan might work well. Who could say? The specious reasoning of boys who would not intentionally do anything very bad also appealed to him.But more than all was Jack's evident friendship and interest. Ward was well aware of the risks the impulsive lad would be incurring in entering into the project with him. Tim Pickard's enmity in the Weston school was no light matter, and Jack, even more than Ward, fed upon the good will of his companions. Jack might feel hurt if he should refuse now to enter into the project, when his only motive for proposing it had been the desire to aid him. Ward felt that he could not refuse."Well, Jack," he said at last, "I'm obliged to you, and I think your suggestion is worth trying.""Good for you, old man," said Jack eagerly, rising from his chair as he spoke. "Now we'll do it this very night. You go right up to your room just as soon as you've had your supper, and as soon as Luscious and I have had ours I'll have him bring Tim back with him to our room. Then, when the coasts are clear, I'll make a break for your room and we'll soon fix Tim's room out in great shape. There goes the bell now. Your afflictions will soon be over, the wicked will cease to trouble you, and the weary valedic will be at rest."The boys at once left East Hall, Ward going to the dining hall and Jack and Berry starting toward Mrs. Perrins', where they both took their meals.Somehow, Ward had no feeling of elation. Again and again he tried to persuade himself that Jack's scheme was all right and that now he would put an end to all his difficulties. But there were misgivings in his heart all the time. Try as he would to convince himself that he was taking a legitimate and justifiable method of protecting himself, he could not shake off the feeling that if he should be discovered in the act, or if Mr. Crane should learn of it, the affair would appear in a far different light.However, he did not mention the plan or his own misgivings to his room-mate, and it was with a feeling of relief he heard Henry say to him, when together they left the dining hall, "I'm going over to Dr. Gray's a little while, Ward. Will you come too?""No, I think not at present," said Ward. "I guess I'll go over to our room and keep out visitors. I don't want to have to tack down carpets to-night.""I don't believe they'll trouble us now that we've a new lock on the door," said Henry, laughing as he spoke. He did not urge Ward to accompany him and soon departed.Ward walked slowly on toward West Hall and entered his room. He had not been there long before Jack came, and he at once followed him out of the building."It's all right, Ward," said Jack eagerly. "Luscious has taken Tim up to our room and he'll keep him there for an hour.""But how shall we get into his room?" inquired Ward."Oh, that's all easy enough. Ma doesn't keep the front door locked, and if she happens to see me come in, she'll only think I've come back for something I left. It'll be all right; you needn't have any fears about that.""Jack," said Ward slowly, "I've been thinking this thing over and I don't want you to get your fingers burned.""That's good of you," and Jack laughed. "Any one to hear you talk would think I was the fellow in trouble. Don't bother your head about me. I'll be all right.""That isn't just what I mean. I think you'd better stay down by the door or out in the hall and let me go up to Tim's room alone. There isn't any use in your going, and besides that, I think you can help more if you stay there and keep watch.""Maybe you're right," replied Jack thoughtfully. "I'll tell you what I'll do, Ward, I'll stay in the hall and wait for you to go up and fix the room and then I'll come in for the finishing touches. I don't believe you know how to do the thing up in the latest and most approved manner."The boys were now in front of Mrs. Perrins' house, and glancing quickly up and down the street to make sure that they were not observed, they quickly crossed over the street and approached the door.Having found this unlocked, they entered and stood for a moment in the hallway. One of the servants was in the dining room and glanced up at them as they came in, but at once recognizing Jack, she paid no further attention to them and went on with her duties."It's all right," whispered Jack. "Go right up to Tim's room, it's the one right over the dining room, you know. I'll be up too in a few minutes and help you to put the finishing touches on."Ward turned and started at once up the stairway. A heavy carpet was on the floor and deadened the sound of his footsteps. The lad was excited and his heart was beating rapidly, but his presence was not discovered and he soon made his way swiftly and silently to the door of Tim's room.Suppose the door should be locked! Ward had not thought of that, nor had Jack mentioned it. He almost wished that it was; but as he turned the knob, the door opened and he at once entered, gently closing the door behind him.And now he was in Tim Pickard's room. The lamp upon the table was burning, and the room seemed to be flooded with a soft and mellow light which served to increase the luxurious appearance of all about him.What an elegantly furnished room it was! In spite of his excitement, Ward could not fail to notice that. Pictures were hanging on the walls, the floor had a rich, soft carpet upon it, a little fire was burning in the open grate, just sufficient to take away the chill of the early autumn air. The study table was covered with books and papers, the chairs were beautifully upholstered, and the bed, which stood in one corner of the room, was not much like the rude little affair in his own room, Ward thought.Indeed, for a moment Ward stopped and looked about him, deeply impressed by the contrast to his room in West Hall. And why should Tim Pickard, with all his money and comforts, wish to torment him by a series of petty and constant annoyances?The thought made Ward's heart bitter and hard. It was unjust, mean, contemptible. Jack was right. The only way in which he could defend himself was to let Tim understand just what it meant for a fellow to have his room all upset.Hark! What was that? Ward stopped and listened intently as he heard some one moving in the hall. Suppose he should be discovered in the room! He felt like a thief. What could he say or do to explain his presence if he should be discovered?The sound of the footsteps passed and Ward breathed more freely. What he was to do, he must do quickly. Where should he begin? He started toward the bed to tear that in pieces, but quickly changing his purpose, he turned again to the study table. That was the proper spot at which to begin.As he approached, the light of the lamp fell full upon the photograph of a woman's face looking up at him from a beautiful frame on the table. It almost seemed to him as if the eyes could see him and were looking at him with a reproving, reproachful glance. That must be Tim's mother, he thought. He knew that she was dead, for Tim had told him many a time of the fact that his father--"the governor," as Tim called him--was the only one he had to look after him or to whom he had to report.Perhaps if his mother were alive, Tim would be a different fellow. It seemed to Ward, as he stood gazing at the picture, as if the woman were pleading with him. For a moment he thought of another woman in the far-away village of Rockford. His mother was living, and he had no such excuse as Tim had for failing to do what he knew was right. And how grieved she would be if she knew he had been stealing like a thief into another fellow's room. Ward almost started, for it seemed as if he could hear the sound of her voice. And there was the face of Tim's dead mother still looking up at him."I can't do it! I can't do it! I'd be no better than Tim Pickard if I did. I'd be doing the very same thing which made me so mad when he did it," groaned Ward.The troubled boy quickly turned to leave the room Jack might think what he chose; he simply could not bring himself to do what he had planned.As he approached the door, his heart seemed almost to cease to beat. Some one was coming. He could hear the footsteps as they came nearer the door. The frightened boy looked quickly about him for a place of concealment, but none could be found. In a moment the door was opened and Tim himself was standing before him with a look of mingled anger and astonishment plainly expressed upon his face.CHAPTER XIIMR. CRANE'S WORDS"What are you doing here?" said Tim angrily, as soon as he recovered from his surprise."I came over to stack your room.""You did? You did?" said Tim, as if he could hardly believe what he had heard.His astonishment arose not from the fact that Ward should have come for the purpose which he so calmly expressed, but from the fact that he should have stated it so boldly. The one part Tim could readily understand, but the other was something he could not comprehend. To him there was but one explanation, and that was that Ward was somehow openly defying him, and Tim's anger was correspondingly increased.With all his faults Tim Pickard was no coward, as the word is ordinarily used. That is, he had no fears of a physical contest, and as he stood in the doorway before him Ward readily perceived what a fine specimen of young manhood in its bodily form Tim was. Tall, with broad shoulders and with the fire and force of vigorous health manifest in every phase of his bearing, he would not be an antagonist whom most boys would care to meet.Ward himself was no weakling. Though he was not so large as Tim, his compact and well-knit frame betokened physical powers of no mean order. And his quiet bearing served to increase the impression of his fearlessness too, and for a moment the two seniors stood quietly facing each other, each being conscious of the fact that a contest between them would be no light affair."Well, why don't you stack it then?" said Tim at last with a sneer. "Here's the room and you've got my full consent to go ahead--if you can.""I'm not going to stack it," said Ward quietly."Oh, you're not? Well, that's kind of you, I must say," laughed Tim. "Well, if you're not going to stack it, will you leave or shall I put you out? I don't want any sneaking hypocrite prowling around here.""I shall leave, but you won't put me out," replied Ward, his face flushing as he spoke."Well, leave then, will you? You can't do it too soon to suit me."Ward did not stir.Tim's face flushed with anger and he advanced a step nearer the table, and Ward braced himself for the conflict which now appeared to be inevitable.Before anything could be done, however, the door was suddenly pushed open and Jack burst into the room. A hasty glance at the two boys revealed at once to him the condition of affairs, and taking a position between the two, he said:"Here now, quit this, will you?""You don't suppose I'm going to sit down quietly and let a fellow go to work stacking my room, do you?" said Tim. "This sneak says that was just what he came for.""No, I don't believe you'd do any such thing," replied Jack; "neither do I think you would think Ward Hill would be likely to do any such thing, either. If he came over here to stack your room, it's no more than you deserve, and he'd be only paying off old scores.""I never stacked his room," replied Tim evasively."No, you never had the nerve to do that openly, but you can set such fellows as Ripley and Choate and a lot of others up to it. Oh, you needn't beg off, Tim Pickard. I know you through and through, and so does Ward Hill too; and if he came over here to set your room up, he knows, and I know, and you know, and I know you know that we know, you're only being paid off in your own coin."Tim was silent, and Jack quickly perceiving his advantage, went on. "Now, look here, you fellows. You can't get into any scrap here, not so long as I'm in the room. The first thing you know Ma Perrins would be at the door, and you know she would report the thing at once to Doctor Gray. Then what would happen? You, Tim, aren't in very good shape for receiving an invitation to come up and confer with him about 'the best interests of the school,' as he puts it. You know what would follow mighty sudden. And Ward here isn't in just the best position in the world for a faculty meeting, though I think he'd be in a good deal better one than you, Tim, for he's only trying to protect himself. Even a worm will turn, and I don't believe Doctor Gray would blame a fellow too much for taking the law into his own hands and trying to put a stop to having his room stacked every day of his life.""But I haven't stacked his room, I'm telling you," interrupted Tim."Oh, give that ancient and antiquated aphorism a period of relaxation, will you, Tim? That doesn't work here, let me tell you. I know what I'm talking about.""But I don't see what this sneak thinks he's going to gain by stacking my room," persisted Tim. "I shouldn't have to set it up again myself. I'm no West Hall pauper. I don't have to take care of my own room. Thank fortune, I've got some one to do my dirty work for me.""Yes, that's what you're always doing, Tim Pickard," retorted Jack angrily, as he saw Ward flush at the brutal words; "you're always getting some one to do that for you. But let me tell you one thing, this stacking of Ward's room has got to be stopped.""Who's going to stop it, I'd like to know?" replied Tim boldly."Oh, there's more than one way of doing that," replied Jack quietly. "Now, if you don't want to be sent home again for good and all, you'll see to it that Ward Hill's room isn't troubled again. That's all I've got to say about it.""What'll you do? Go and report it to Doctor Gray?""I'm not telling what'll be done, but I am telling you that it isn't going to happen again. I know you and you know me, and you know too that I don't talk for the fun of hearing my own voice. Come on, Ward," he added, "you'll not be bothered any more after this. Good-bye, Tim," he called out as he and Ward together left the room.But Tim made no response.Neither of the boys spoke until they were in front of East Hall, then as Ward turned to go to his own room, Jack said, "What was the trouble? You had time enough to rip the carpet apart, to say nothing of upsetting everything in the room.""I can't explain it, Jack; I don't know just why I didn't, but I couldn't do it, and that's all there was about it. When I got into the room, it all came over me what a mean, contemptible thing it was, and how I felt toward Tim for his work in West Hall; and on his table was a picture of his dead mother appearing to look reproachfully at me. It seemed to me that I couldn't do it, and if I did I'd be doing the very thing that set me so against him. And so I couldn't, and that's all there is about it.""You're a queer chap," said Jack thoughtfully. "I thought I knew you pretty well, but I've got to give you up, I'm afraid. Ma Perrins came out into the hall while I was on guard there, and as I saw she looked a little surprised to see me, I went into the parlor with her just to quiet her fears and give you a chance to put in your fine work. I was horrified when I saw Tim rush into the house like a young whirlwind, and before I could call to him he was up the stairs as if he'd been shot out of a gun. You'd better believe I cut short my interview with Ma and made a break for Tim's room. I was half afraid I'd find only a few small pieces of you and Tim left, and that I'd have to beg the loan of one of Ma's platters to bring you home on. But I can't make you out, Ward. I hardly know now why you didn't fix Tim's room so that it would have been a living monument of your ability in that line. That's what I'd have done."As Ward made no reply, Jack added: "Well, never mind, old fellow! Perhaps it's just as well. Tim won't bother you again, that is, I mean you won't have your room stacked again. You can rest easy about that.""Thank you, Jack. You've been a good friend to me, and I need friends too.""Don't mention it," replied Jack impulsively, as he reached forth his hand and shook Ward's warmly. "Good-night.""Good-night, Jack."When Ward, returned to his room, Henry was there and working over his lessons. At first he was tempted to tell his room-mate all about his experience, but fearing that Henry like Jack might misunderstand him he remained silent, and soon took his seat at his own table and began to work on his lessons.It was some time, however, before he could bring his mind to bear upon his task. The scene in Tim Pickard's room kept rising before him. His anger and the part Jack had taken were still vivid. What a good fellow Jack was, Ward thought, and he appreciated his aid the more when he realized what it might mean for the impulsive lad to bring upon himself the anger of the "Tangs." And yet how fearless he had been, and in what a manly way he had taken his stand. Even then Ward could almost hear his words as he told Tim that the trouble in West Hall must cease. Would Tim heed? Somehow Ward felt that he would, at least in so far as the stacking of his room was concerned; but in other ways doubtless he would be made aware that Tim had not forgotten him. And Tim was one who never forgot.At last he succeeded in banishing from his mind for the time, the recollection of the scene in Mrs. Perrins' house, and gave himself wholly to his work. On the following night Ward started to go to Mr. Crane's room. Somehow he dreaded the interview, and yet go he must. Mr. Crane he knew would expect him to come, and that scene in Ripley's room must be explained to his satisfaction.Ward had thought over the matter many times, but as yet had arrived at no satisfactory course for him to follow. One thing was certain, and that was that he could not tell Mr. Crane about Tim Pickard. That was against the school's code of honor, and Ward's own feelings forbade it as well.He was still undecided what to do when he rapped on Mr. Crane's door and was at once admitted by the teacher himself.Apparently Mr. Crane had not changed, nor did he seem in any way suspicious of the boy before him. And yet that very quietness was most impressive to Ward, and had ever been the one element in the teacher's character and bearing which had most influenced him.After a few general words Ward felt that he could bear it no longer, and breaking in somewhat abruptly, he said:"Mr. Crane I want to put a case before you.""Yes?" said Mr. Crane, lifting his eyes inquiringly, but not otherwise changing his manner."I want to know just what you would do. You seem to understand boys so well.""I don't just know what I should do, if I didn't understand a little more clearly than I do now what was expected of me," answered Mr. Crane, smiling slightly as he spoke."Well, it's just this way. Suppose a fellow--I mean a boy--had come up to the Weston school, and was here a year. Suppose too, that he hadn't done very well. He'd neglected his work and was a great disappointment to his father and mother, and to his teachers, to say nothing of himself. Then suppose he'd fallen in with a set of the fellows--I mean boys--who were up to all sorts of mischief and he'd gone in with them, though all the time he didn't feel right about it. Then suppose he'd failed in his examinations at the end of the year, but that he tried to make them up during the summer. We'll say he came back to school and was able to go on with his class. When he came back he tried to break off with his old associates, but he didn't find it a very easy thing to do. They wouldn't believe in him, and when at last they found he really was trying to do differently, then they tried to make his life a burden to him."Ward stopped a moment as if he expected some kind of a reply, but as Mr. Crane was silent he resumed his story."Well, if it didn't sound too much like telling tales, we'll suppose these fellows--I mean students--tried to do all they could to make life a burden for the boy. They put him off from the nine, they prejudiced the minds of the new boys against him, and some of the old ones too. But that wasn't all. They played all kinds of tricks on him, and worst of all they began to stack his room. I don't know that you understand what that means?" added Ward quickly."I think I understand," said Mr. Crane quietly."Well, this boy--I mean fellow--no, I don't, I mean boy--would find his room all upset every day. His carpet would be torn up, he'd find that water had been poured on his bed, and sometimes the oil from his lamp would be added too. The fellow--boy I mean--really wanted to study, but he had to take lots of his time from his lessons to set his room to rights. Finally he went at it and found out who was doing the mischief. He discovered that some one had a key to his room, but he found out too, that the fellow--I mean boy--who had the key wasn't the one who was stacking his room. He kept out of it himself, but set other fellows--I mean boys--up to it. And the worst of it all was that they were picking on Little P--I mean on a little fellow who rather looked up to this boy for help."Well, finally the boy fixed a trap and caught the one who was trying to get into his room that day. He went over to his room and started to make him give up the key--but--but--he was interrupted, and somehow he didn't do it. Then he went down to the fellow's room--the one at the bottom of it all--and was going to stack his room well, so as to let him know how it felt. But when he got there he somehow couldn't bring himself to do it, and while he was hesitating, the fellow in whose room he was came back and there was a great row."No, there was no fight," he hastily added, as he saw the question in the teacher's eyes; "but the fellow didn't know but the boy was trying to stack his room. Now, there's the story, Mr. Crane. I wish you'd tell me what you would do if you were that boy."For a few moments Mr. Crane was silent, but at last he said: "Hill, I'll try to be entirely frank with you. In the first place, I think I should honor the boy who had gained the victory over himself in that fellow's room. He couldn't afford to do the very same thing he despised in the other fellow."Ward's face flushed with pleasure, for he felt that praise from Mr. Crane was praise indeed."I'm not done yet," resumed Mr. Crane quietly. "Then, if I were that boy, I think I should begin to question myself and see if there was any just cause for the school being down upon me. It may have been that that boy was somewhat conceited, and a little selfish. He was all the time perhaps thinking how the school ought to appreciate everything he did, and he did not have quite the necessary courage to face calmly the results of his own misdeeds.""But, Mr. Crane," protested Ward, "the fellow knew he'd done wrong. He wasn't trying to crawl.""Perhaps so, but it is also possible that he thought he ought to be praised unduly for simply turning about and doing his duty. In the main, Hill, boys are just; and while doubtless injustice creeps in at times, it is still true that if a fellow has trouble, he ought not only to think of that, but of what he may be doing to bring it upon himself.""Then you think the boy ought to keep still and let his room be stacked every day, do you?""Not at all; I want him to cure that in the right way, but I want him also to think not only of the stacking, but of the reason for its being stacked.""It was stacked because he broke with the fellows he'd been going with," said Ward bitterly."In part, yes; but in part, no. Think it over, Hill, and come and see me again in a week.""Good-night, Mr. Crane," said Ward somewhat abruptly, as he left the room.He felt hurt and humiliated. Somehow he had thought Mr. Crane would speak very differently. Was that to be the reward for trying to do better? It seemed to him that he had been abused and misunderstood, and in no very amiable frame of mind Ward walked back to West Hall.
CHAPTER X
THE SCENE IN RIPLEY'S ROOM
"I kept the door open a little," began Pond, "so that I could hear any one who might come up the stairs. Most of the fellows were down on the ball-ground or had gone off on the hills, so there wasn't very much going on. I think I'd been waiting more than an hour before I heard a sound that was in any way suspicious, and I'll own up I began to be a little tired. I thought there wasn't any one going to come and I'd about made up my mind there wasn't any use in watching any longer, and I was just about to get a book and go to reading when I heard a step on the lower stairway. Of course there wasn't anything very bad in that, for I knew some of the fellows would be running in and out on a half-holiday, but there was something a little strange in this particular case. The fellow would come up two or three steps--and he didn't make very much noise about it either--and then he'd stop a minute before he came on."
"Was there only one?" inquired Ward, deeply interested in what Pond was relating.
"Only one then. Well, the fellow came up to the floor on which your room is and then he stopped. I couldn't see him of course, as he'd gone up to your door, I judged. I didn't just know what to do, and when I'd made up my mind to go out and take a peep over the railing, I heard the fellow come back to the head of the stairs and give a low whistle. You'd better believe I was excited about that time, but I managed somehow to keep quiet and wait. Pretty soon another fellow came up the stairs, and then I heard them go through the hall and stop, as I thought, before your door."
"Go on, go on," said Ward quickly, as Pond seemed to hesitate a moment.
"Well, I crept out of my room, and I wasn't making very much noise either, you can believe, and as I went down the stairway a few steps, trying hard all the time to keep perfectly quiet, I bent over and took a peep at your hall. There were two chaps right in front of your door."
"What were they doing?"
"They were working at the lock with a key which one of them took out of his pocket. Somehow the key didn't work very well, for I've a notion that Mike hadn't told them about the new locks he'd put on your door and mine."
"Too bad," said Ward. "Well, what did they do then?"
"One of them happened to look up and he saw me peeking at them. I tried to dodge back so that they couldn't see me, but I was too late; they'd spied me. They made a rush through the hall and up the stairs to my room, but I'd got inside before they'd come, and bolted the door. They coaxed and teased me to open up for 'em, but I wasn't to be caught by any such chaff as that, and then they began to threaten me with all sorts of terrible things. They tried too, to open my door with a key, but it wasn't of any use, and if they had had a key that would have fitted the lock it wouldn't have helped them any, for the door was bolted on the inside, you see."
"Who were the fellows?"
"One of 'em was Ripley; he rooms over in East I think, but I didn't know who the other was. I could tell him if I saw him again, though, I'm sure of that."
Ward sat silent for a moment. He knew Ripley well. He was in the class below him. He had never regarded him as a vicious boy, and the worst thing he knew about him was that he belonged to the "Tangs." He also recalled the fact that he was a great admirer of Tim Pickard, and while he was not an intimate friend, he had seen him many times in Tim's company. He was a boy Tim could easily influence and would follow any orders the leader might give him.
The mystery was becoming somewhat cleared now. Doubtless Tim was the one to whom Jack had given Mike's bunch of keys, and he had not only gone to Jack's room and obtained the bat they wanted, but he had taken the keys to Ward's and Pond's rooms from the ring at the same time. It was all clear now, and Ward felt a great relief as he satisfied himself that Jack was innocent of any knowledge or share in the stacking of his room.
"You've done well, Little Pond," said Ward warmly, as he rose to depart. "I think we can put a stop to this particular line of fun now. I think I'll go over and begin the operation at once."
"Where are you going, Ward? Can't I go with you?" called Little Pond from the head of the stairway; but Ward was already in the lower hall and made no reply. He wanted to be alone now and while his heart was hot within him to carry out the further plan he had already quickly formed.
The eager boy walked swiftly across the campus toward East Hall. He was not at all sure that he would find Ripley in his room, but he would at least find out whether he was or not, and as the bell for supper would soon be rung he wished to do that much before he went to the dining hall.
As he drew near East Hall he saw a crowd of boys returning from the ball-ground. Their presence in the building might greatly complicate matters, so he increased his speed and leaping up two steps at a time he ran up the stairs to the third floor and rapped on the door of Ripley's room.
Ripley himself opened the door, but as soon as he saw who his caller was, he tried to shut the door in his face. Ward, however, was too quick for him, and slipped into the room, and then he himself shut the door and instantly bolted it.
He was thoroughly angry now. Ripley plainly betrayed his guilt and alarm by his manner, and as Ward looked at him a moment in silence the first impulse in his heart was to mete out a summary and just punishment for the sneaking outrage of which he had been guilty.
As Ward glanced about the well-furnished room and contrasted it with his own somewhat bare apartments in West Hall, his bitterness increased. Was it not enough that he should be compelled to go without many of the things which such a fellow as Ripley had for the asking, without also having to suffer all the petty annoyances which the latter chose to inflict upon him? His anger was clearly manifest, for the troubled lad was in a towering rage, and as he realized that the boy he thought had stacked his room so many times was at last in his power, his first and natural impulse was to express his feelings in a manner which Ripley might not enjoy, but which he would certainly remember.
Ripley evidently was alarmed. His pale face and trembling hands plainly revealed that. He stood watching his caller, and not a word had as yet been spoken.
Suddenly Ripley started toward the open window. Ward instantly suspected that he was about to call to the crowd of boys who were then on the ground below and stood talking together near the entrance.
Before the boy could reach the place, however, or open his lips to call to his friends, Ward leaped before him, and standing with his back to the window, he said to the frightened lad before him:
"None of that, Ripley; keep away from these windows. I'll fix it so that they won't do you any good," he quickly added, as he instantly turned and removed the prop which held the window up. The sash fell and Ripley perceived that it would be useless to call for help, and that he stood alone before the angry young senior.
"Now, Ripley, I've come over to have it out with you." Ward spoke slowly and in a low tone of voice, but the very quietness of his manner increased the alarm of the boy before him.
"I-I d-don't know what you mean, Ward Hill; what have I done?"
"What have you done?" retorted Ward, his voice rising as his anger broke forth. "What haven't you done? Who's stacked my room almost every day? Who's poured kerosene over my bedding? Who's done the thousand and one contemptible things that no one but a sneak and a coward would ever think of doing?" Ward's anger was rapidly increasing and as he enumerated his woes, each fresh mention of them served to enrage him the more.
"I never stacked your room, Ward Hill; I've never been in it since I've been in the Weston school; I never touched your bedclothes or your lamp; I haven't been in West Hall but once since I came back to school this fall. Honest, Ward, I'm telling you the truth; I am, Ward. Won't you believe me?"
All the fear of the lad seemed to speak in his words and voice, and for a moment Ward was almost staggered. And yet had not Little Pond told him less than half an hour before that he had seen this very lad trying to get into his room? Had Pond been mistaken? No, it could not be possible. The very manner of Ripley betrayed his guilt.
"Ripley," said Ward more slowly, "you were seen in West Hall this very afternoon when you were trying to get into my room. You can't deny that." He waited a moment, but the boy before him did not speak.
"If the truth was known," continued Ward, "I believe you've got the very key you tried to use in your pocket now. What were you doing there?" he added sternly.
"I was there this afternoon, but it was my first turn--I mean the first time I'd been there. I haven't been in West Hall before this term."
Ward hesitated. Possibly Ripley was speaking truly. He knew that Tim was shrewd and it might be that he had used different boys to do his bidding at various times. The expression which Ripley had unconsciously let slip, that it was his first turn, might understood in that light. However, his disposition had been clearly manifest, even by his own confession, and Ward's feeling of anger instantly returned.
"Ripley, you've got that key to my room I believe in your pocket now. Hand it over to me and I'll let you off this time."
"Not if I know myself," replied Ripley, his courage having evidently in a measure returned as he perceived Ward's momentary hesitation.
"You won't give it to me?"
"No, I won't give it to you," replied Ripley still more boldly.
"Then I'll take it."
And as he spoke Ward quickly sprang forward and grasped the boy by the shoulder.
Instantly all of Ripley's fears returned. Before Ward fairly realized what was occurring he had emitted three or four shrieks for help.
"Help! help! Come! come! Help me! Help! Help!"
If Ward had not been so angry and startled by the unexpected sounds he would have laughed. He had not harmed the boy, for he had only grasped him roughly by the shoulder. But evidently Ripley was thoroughly alarmed by Ward's manner and believed that his last hour had come.
In a moment there was a rush of boys up the stairway and they were pounding upon the door eagerly striving to open it or break it in.
Taking advantage of Ward's momentary confusion, Ripley slipped from his grasp and hastily drew back the bolt of the door and flung it wide open. A dozen or more boys rushed into the room, Tim Pickard at their head, and stopped a moment in surprise as they gazed at the two boys.
Scarcely a word had been uttered, however, before Ward heard some one speaking in the doorway. He instantly recognized the voice as that of Mr. Crane, and his anger gave way to a feeling of embarrassment.
"What's the meaning of this?" said Mr. Crane quietly, though his manner was somewhat stern. "I want you all to go immediately to your own rooms."
The boys started to obey at once, Ward being the last to pass Mr. Crane, who stood holding the door open for them to go through.
"I'm surprised, Hill," he said quietly as Ward passed him. "You will come and explain this later to me, I am sure."
"I'm ready to explain it now," said Ward eagerly.
"Not now, Hill," said Mr. Crane, smiling for the first time as he marked the eagerness of the lad. "Come over to-morrow evening."
"I'll come," said Ward quickly. "I don't want you to think too badly of me, Mr. Crane."
"And I don't want to. I hardly think I shall have to," he added, as he noted Ward's manner.
"May I go down to Speck's room now--I mean Jack's--I mean Jack Hobart's?"
"Yes, if you think it will be safe?" said Mr. Crane quietly. "From the sounds that came from this room I thought that murder at least was being committed, and I don't want to hear a repetition of these ear-splitting screeches."
Ward left the teacher and going down to Jack's room was speedily admitted. Then he soon related the entire story before Jack and his chum Berry.
The boys listened soberly and when at last the story was ended, Jack said: "Well, Ward, it's a relief to me that you've dug the thing out. You made one mistake, though."
"What's that?"
"You ought never to have tried to chastise Ripley when he was in East Hall. Don't you know by this time that there's no fooling in any building Mr. Crane has charge of?"
"I wasn't going to chastise Ripley. All I was going to do was to take the key away from him. Of course that isn't any good, now that there's a new lock on my door; but it would be positive proof that Ripley had a hand in it, you see."
"And what good would that do you, I'd like to know? Suppose you did have the proof; you wouldn't take it over to the doctor, would you?"
"No, I don't suppose I would," said Ward slowly. "I never told on a fellow yet."
"And you're not going to begin now. It's hard lines for you, old fellow, I know that as well as you do; but it's just one of the things a chap's got to straighten out for himself. He can't report it, you know; that would only make a bad matter worse."
"I suppose you're right," said Ward soberly. He was thinking of his evening interview with Mr. Crane. He had intended to relate the circumstances just as they were, and felt positive that the teacher would sympathize with him rather than blame him.
Jack's words, however, he at once realized were true. In accordance with the false code of honor of the school, he could not cure his evils by seeking outside help. And the boys he knew were merciless in carrying out their own ideas of justice and honor.
"No, Ward; you've got to look at it just as it is. Some of the fellows are down on you, but I don't believe it'll last. I don't honestly. How can it with such a fellow as I know Ward Hill to be? It's against all reason."
"And meanwhile I'm to sit down meekly and thank these fellows who upset my room every day, am I?"
"Not at all. Not at all. But Ripley isn't the one to blame. You've got to go to the fountain head of all the trouble, as Dr. Gray so kindly informs us every day in the chapel."
"Well, Tim Pickard's the one at the bottom of it all," said Ward.
"So he is, my young friend, and he's the one to fix. Now I'm sure, with the help of Luscious here and your humble servant, you can do it, and do it this very night too."
"I don't see how," said Ward gloomily.
"No you don't; but if you'll listen with both ears I'll explain the little project I have in mind, and soon the weary valedic will put his enemies to flight, or words to that effect."
And Jack at once began to explain his "project."
CHAPTER XI
JACK HOBART'S PROJECT
"There's no other way out of it," began Jack, "except for you to take the matter into your own hands, Ward. You can't report it to the teachers, and you can't be expected to let it go on without doing something to protect yourself. I think even Mr. Crane wouldn't expect anything less than that of you."
"But I don't see just what I'm to do," protested Ward. "Of course I know now that Tim Pickard is the one who's stirring the trouble up, though I've been satisfied all the time that he was the ringleader. I don't see what I can do, unless I fight him."
"That's one way out of it," replied Jack, who perhaps was not entirely averse to a settlement of troubles by that primitive and brutal method. "But you don't need to do that just yet. You can hold that till later, though I'm not sure but you might save yourself a deal of trouble by pitching into Tim now. It may have to come to that in the end. Still, I think it would be better to try my plan first."
Ward smiled as he thought of Jack in the role of a peacemaker. He appreciated fully Jack's spirit and life, and he well knew how he enjoyed anything that partook of the nature of tests of physical strength in the school. His last words, in which with apparent reluctance he had counseled his friend to postpone the method his boyish heart decidedly preferred, had been spoken in a tone which made Berry laugh aloud.
"Let's hear your plan, Jack," said Ward.
"It's nothing more than giving Tim a dose of his own medicine."
"What do you mean? that I'm to stack his room?"
"That's exactly my meaning. You grasp it quickly, as Mr. Blake sometimes tells me--no, I mean you, Ward--in his classes. Yes, sir, that's the thing for you to do, for it's the only thing a fellow like Tim Pickard will appreciate. 'Hoist with his own petard.' Isn't that something you've heard somewhere, sometime?"
"I think I have heard the expression before. How am I to do it, Jack?"
"Just as easily as falling off a log. Tim rooms down at Ma Perrins', as you know, and has a room all to himself. Now to-night after supper, my friend, here, Luscious, will send for him to come up to our room. I think it very likely that Luscious will have something to say about the nine, and Tim won't wait long after hearing that Luscious Berry has something to say about that, for if he's interested in anything it's the work and the prospects of the nine, you know."
"Yes, I know," replied Ward somewhat gloomily. Tim Pickard's work and interest in the nine was a subject on which he had very strong feelings at that time.
"Well, Luscious will get him up here and he'll hold him with his glittering eye,à laancient mariner, and he'll have so many bright speeches to make, that Tim won't be able to get away from him. Meanwhile you and I'll step down to Tim's room and rearrange it for him, don't you see? I'm going into this with you, Ward, and see if I can't help you to put a stop to these rascally proceedings."
"Yes, but----"
"There isn't a 'but' about it," interrupted Jack. "I know what you were going to say, but it isn't worth saying, Ward. I know all the fine phrases about 'stooping' and 'belittling yourself,' and all that sort of stuff, but it's no time for indulging in such nonsense. Here you are bothered to death by Tim's pranks. You don't want to bother him, or have anything to do with him, for the matter of that. I understand all these things. But you can't study; you won't be the valedic; you can't report the trouble to the faculty. What can you do? Just nothing, but take the matter into your own hands and do the thing that will put a stop in the shortest time to all this nonsense. Do you see the point?"
"Yes, I see----"
"Well, I'm glad for once in your life that you're able to see the point."
"And I'm glad that for once in your life you can make a point clear," said Ward with a laugh.
"Well done, my friend, I've hopes of you yet. Now, I say it's all fair to feed Tim with his own food and from his own spoon. Why my father was telling me the last time I was home about a trick a fellow named Bram Martling played in the 'neutral ground,' away back in the Revolution. It seems that this same Bram, which is short as I understand it for Abraham, was a young officer in the Continental army, and once when he came home he found the Tories and British had been burning the houses around there just for the fun of seeing 'em burn, I fancy. Well, Bram was pretty well stirred up when he found out what was going on, so he just quietly got a dozen young fellows together, and they met over by Wolfert's Roost on the Hudson, and took two whaleboats and pulled down to Morningside Heights in the night. Then they crept up and set fire to Oliver De Lancy's great house, and got away without one of them being caught. They thought 'twas a great deed in those days, and made out that the aforesaid Bram was quite a hero. But he stopped the Tories from burning houses after that, let me tell you. It makes all the difference in the world whether you are the burner or the burnee."
"And you think----?"
"Be silent, my young friend. This fable, which I have just related for your special benefit, teaches that in bad things as well as in good it is much more pleasant to give than to receive. Now, for your own good, and for the good of Tim Pickard too, you are simply compelled to let him know just how good it is to have one's room stacked. It must be done thoroughly and at once. Who was it that said, 'if 'twere well done when it is done, then 'twere well if it were done quickly'?"
"I guess it was Shakespeare," said Ward laughing; "but you got the quotation twisted a bit. The way it reads is----"
"Oh, bother the way it reads, you know what I mean. Now, Luscious, you tell Ward if you don't think what I've said is true."
"I think, Ward," said Berry, "that Jack's right. I don't see that you can do anything else. You've got to put a stop to the racket and Jack's plan is a good one."
For a moment Ward did not speak. Somehow he knew that Henry would not go into the scheme, and he had a very decided opinion that Mr. Crane would not approve. Indeed, the teacher had at one time said to him that it was a good deal better to suffer wrong than to do it. One wrong did not make another wrong right. Ward needed no one to tell him that.
Yet there was the trouble all the time threatening to become worse and it was certainly bad enough as it was, and Henry and Little Pond were both made to suffer too for his unpopularity. Jack's plan might work well. Who could say? The specious reasoning of boys who would not intentionally do anything very bad also appealed to him.
But more than all was Jack's evident friendship and interest. Ward was well aware of the risks the impulsive lad would be incurring in entering into the project with him. Tim Pickard's enmity in the Weston school was no light matter, and Jack, even more than Ward, fed upon the good will of his companions. Jack might feel hurt if he should refuse now to enter into the project, when his only motive for proposing it had been the desire to aid him. Ward felt that he could not refuse.
"Well, Jack," he said at last, "I'm obliged to you, and I think your suggestion is worth trying."
"Good for you, old man," said Jack eagerly, rising from his chair as he spoke. "Now we'll do it this very night. You go right up to your room just as soon as you've had your supper, and as soon as Luscious and I have had ours I'll have him bring Tim back with him to our room. Then, when the coasts are clear, I'll make a break for your room and we'll soon fix Tim's room out in great shape. There goes the bell now. Your afflictions will soon be over, the wicked will cease to trouble you, and the weary valedic will be at rest."
The boys at once left East Hall, Ward going to the dining hall and Jack and Berry starting toward Mrs. Perrins', where they both took their meals.
Somehow, Ward had no feeling of elation. Again and again he tried to persuade himself that Jack's scheme was all right and that now he would put an end to all his difficulties. But there were misgivings in his heart all the time. Try as he would to convince himself that he was taking a legitimate and justifiable method of protecting himself, he could not shake off the feeling that if he should be discovered in the act, or if Mr. Crane should learn of it, the affair would appear in a far different light.
However, he did not mention the plan or his own misgivings to his room-mate, and it was with a feeling of relief he heard Henry say to him, when together they left the dining hall, "I'm going over to Dr. Gray's a little while, Ward. Will you come too?"
"No, I think not at present," said Ward. "I guess I'll go over to our room and keep out visitors. I don't want to have to tack down carpets to-night."
"I don't believe they'll trouble us now that we've a new lock on the door," said Henry, laughing as he spoke. He did not urge Ward to accompany him and soon departed.
Ward walked slowly on toward West Hall and entered his room. He had not been there long before Jack came, and he at once followed him out of the building.
"It's all right, Ward," said Jack eagerly. "Luscious has taken Tim up to our room and he'll keep him there for an hour."
"But how shall we get into his room?" inquired Ward.
"Oh, that's all easy enough. Ma doesn't keep the front door locked, and if she happens to see me come in, she'll only think I've come back for something I left. It'll be all right; you needn't have any fears about that."
"Jack," said Ward slowly, "I've been thinking this thing over and I don't want you to get your fingers burned."
"That's good of you," and Jack laughed. "Any one to hear you talk would think I was the fellow in trouble. Don't bother your head about me. I'll be all right."
"That isn't just what I mean. I think you'd better stay down by the door or out in the hall and let me go up to Tim's room alone. There isn't any use in your going, and besides that, I think you can help more if you stay there and keep watch."
"Maybe you're right," replied Jack thoughtfully. "I'll tell you what I'll do, Ward, I'll stay in the hall and wait for you to go up and fix the room and then I'll come in for the finishing touches. I don't believe you know how to do the thing up in the latest and most approved manner."
The boys were now in front of Mrs. Perrins' house, and glancing quickly up and down the street to make sure that they were not observed, they quickly crossed over the street and approached the door.
Having found this unlocked, they entered and stood for a moment in the hallway. One of the servants was in the dining room and glanced up at them as they came in, but at once recognizing Jack, she paid no further attention to them and went on with her duties.
"It's all right," whispered Jack. "Go right up to Tim's room, it's the one right over the dining room, you know. I'll be up too in a few minutes and help you to put the finishing touches on."
Ward turned and started at once up the stairway. A heavy carpet was on the floor and deadened the sound of his footsteps. The lad was excited and his heart was beating rapidly, but his presence was not discovered and he soon made his way swiftly and silently to the door of Tim's room.
Suppose the door should be locked! Ward had not thought of that, nor had Jack mentioned it. He almost wished that it was; but as he turned the knob, the door opened and he at once entered, gently closing the door behind him.
And now he was in Tim Pickard's room. The lamp upon the table was burning, and the room seemed to be flooded with a soft and mellow light which served to increase the luxurious appearance of all about him.
What an elegantly furnished room it was! In spite of his excitement, Ward could not fail to notice that. Pictures were hanging on the walls, the floor had a rich, soft carpet upon it, a little fire was burning in the open grate, just sufficient to take away the chill of the early autumn air. The study table was covered with books and papers, the chairs were beautifully upholstered, and the bed, which stood in one corner of the room, was not much like the rude little affair in his own room, Ward thought.
Indeed, for a moment Ward stopped and looked about him, deeply impressed by the contrast to his room in West Hall. And why should Tim Pickard, with all his money and comforts, wish to torment him by a series of petty and constant annoyances?
The thought made Ward's heart bitter and hard. It was unjust, mean, contemptible. Jack was right. The only way in which he could defend himself was to let Tim understand just what it meant for a fellow to have his room all upset.
Hark! What was that? Ward stopped and listened intently as he heard some one moving in the hall. Suppose he should be discovered in the room! He felt like a thief. What could he say or do to explain his presence if he should be discovered?
The sound of the footsteps passed and Ward breathed more freely. What he was to do, he must do quickly. Where should he begin? He started toward the bed to tear that in pieces, but quickly changing his purpose, he turned again to the study table. That was the proper spot at which to begin.
As he approached, the light of the lamp fell full upon the photograph of a woman's face looking up at him from a beautiful frame on the table. It almost seemed to him as if the eyes could see him and were looking at him with a reproving, reproachful glance. That must be Tim's mother, he thought. He knew that she was dead, for Tim had told him many a time of the fact that his father--"the governor," as Tim called him--was the only one he had to look after him or to whom he had to report.
Perhaps if his mother were alive, Tim would be a different fellow. It seemed to Ward, as he stood gazing at the picture, as if the woman were pleading with him. For a moment he thought of another woman in the far-away village of Rockford. His mother was living, and he had no such excuse as Tim had for failing to do what he knew was right. And how grieved she would be if she knew he had been stealing like a thief into another fellow's room. Ward almost started, for it seemed as if he could hear the sound of her voice. And there was the face of Tim's dead mother still looking up at him.
"I can't do it! I can't do it! I'd be no better than Tim Pickard if I did. I'd be doing the very same thing which made me so mad when he did it," groaned Ward.
The troubled boy quickly turned to leave the room Jack might think what he chose; he simply could not bring himself to do what he had planned.
As he approached the door, his heart seemed almost to cease to beat. Some one was coming. He could hear the footsteps as they came nearer the door. The frightened boy looked quickly about him for a place of concealment, but none could be found. In a moment the door was opened and Tim himself was standing before him with a look of mingled anger and astonishment plainly expressed upon his face.
CHAPTER XII
MR. CRANE'S WORDS
"What are you doing here?" said Tim angrily, as soon as he recovered from his surprise.
"I came over to stack your room."
"You did? You did?" said Tim, as if he could hardly believe what he had heard.
His astonishment arose not from the fact that Ward should have come for the purpose which he so calmly expressed, but from the fact that he should have stated it so boldly. The one part Tim could readily understand, but the other was something he could not comprehend. To him there was but one explanation, and that was that Ward was somehow openly defying him, and Tim's anger was correspondingly increased.
With all his faults Tim Pickard was no coward, as the word is ordinarily used. That is, he had no fears of a physical contest, and as he stood in the doorway before him Ward readily perceived what a fine specimen of young manhood in its bodily form Tim was. Tall, with broad shoulders and with the fire and force of vigorous health manifest in every phase of his bearing, he would not be an antagonist whom most boys would care to meet.
Ward himself was no weakling. Though he was not so large as Tim, his compact and well-knit frame betokened physical powers of no mean order. And his quiet bearing served to increase the impression of his fearlessness too, and for a moment the two seniors stood quietly facing each other, each being conscious of the fact that a contest between them would be no light affair.
"Well, why don't you stack it then?" said Tim at last with a sneer. "Here's the room and you've got my full consent to go ahead--if you can."
"I'm not going to stack it," said Ward quietly.
"Oh, you're not? Well, that's kind of you, I must say," laughed Tim. "Well, if you're not going to stack it, will you leave or shall I put you out? I don't want any sneaking hypocrite prowling around here."
"I shall leave, but you won't put me out," replied Ward, his face flushing as he spoke.
"Well, leave then, will you? You can't do it too soon to suit me."
Ward did not stir.
Tim's face flushed with anger and he advanced a step nearer the table, and Ward braced himself for the conflict which now appeared to be inevitable.
Before anything could be done, however, the door was suddenly pushed open and Jack burst into the room. A hasty glance at the two boys revealed at once to him the condition of affairs, and taking a position between the two, he said:
"Here now, quit this, will you?"
"You don't suppose I'm going to sit down quietly and let a fellow go to work stacking my room, do you?" said Tim. "This sneak says that was just what he came for."
"No, I don't believe you'd do any such thing," replied Jack; "neither do I think you would think Ward Hill would be likely to do any such thing, either. If he came over here to stack your room, it's no more than you deserve, and he'd be only paying off old scores."
"I never stacked his room," replied Tim evasively.
"No, you never had the nerve to do that openly, but you can set such fellows as Ripley and Choate and a lot of others up to it. Oh, you needn't beg off, Tim Pickard. I know you through and through, and so does Ward Hill too; and if he came over here to set your room up, he knows, and I know, and you know, and I know you know that we know, you're only being paid off in your own coin."
Tim was silent, and Jack quickly perceiving his advantage, went on. "Now, look here, you fellows. You can't get into any scrap here, not so long as I'm in the room. The first thing you know Ma Perrins would be at the door, and you know she would report the thing at once to Doctor Gray. Then what would happen? You, Tim, aren't in very good shape for receiving an invitation to come up and confer with him about 'the best interests of the school,' as he puts it. You know what would follow mighty sudden. And Ward here isn't in just the best position in the world for a faculty meeting, though I think he'd be in a good deal better one than you, Tim, for he's only trying to protect himself. Even a worm will turn, and I don't believe Doctor Gray would blame a fellow too much for taking the law into his own hands and trying to put a stop to having his room stacked every day of his life."
"But I haven't stacked his room, I'm telling you," interrupted Tim.
"Oh, give that ancient and antiquated aphorism a period of relaxation, will you, Tim? That doesn't work here, let me tell you. I know what I'm talking about."
"But I don't see what this sneak thinks he's going to gain by stacking my room," persisted Tim. "I shouldn't have to set it up again myself. I'm no West Hall pauper. I don't have to take care of my own room. Thank fortune, I've got some one to do my dirty work for me."
"Yes, that's what you're always doing, Tim Pickard," retorted Jack angrily, as he saw Ward flush at the brutal words; "you're always getting some one to do that for you. But let me tell you one thing, this stacking of Ward's room has got to be stopped."
"Who's going to stop it, I'd like to know?" replied Tim boldly.
"Oh, there's more than one way of doing that," replied Jack quietly. "Now, if you don't want to be sent home again for good and all, you'll see to it that Ward Hill's room isn't troubled again. That's all I've got to say about it."
"What'll you do? Go and report it to Doctor Gray?"
"I'm not telling what'll be done, but I am telling you that it isn't going to happen again. I know you and you know me, and you know too that I don't talk for the fun of hearing my own voice. Come on, Ward," he added, "you'll not be bothered any more after this. Good-bye, Tim," he called out as he and Ward together left the room.
But Tim made no response.
Neither of the boys spoke until they were in front of East Hall, then as Ward turned to go to his own room, Jack said, "What was the trouble? You had time enough to rip the carpet apart, to say nothing of upsetting everything in the room."
"I can't explain it, Jack; I don't know just why I didn't, but I couldn't do it, and that's all there was about it. When I got into the room, it all came over me what a mean, contemptible thing it was, and how I felt toward Tim for his work in West Hall; and on his table was a picture of his dead mother appearing to look reproachfully at me. It seemed to me that I couldn't do it, and if I did I'd be doing the very thing that set me so against him. And so I couldn't, and that's all there is about it."
"You're a queer chap," said Jack thoughtfully. "I thought I knew you pretty well, but I've got to give you up, I'm afraid. Ma Perrins came out into the hall while I was on guard there, and as I saw she looked a little surprised to see me, I went into the parlor with her just to quiet her fears and give you a chance to put in your fine work. I was horrified when I saw Tim rush into the house like a young whirlwind, and before I could call to him he was up the stairs as if he'd been shot out of a gun. You'd better believe I cut short my interview with Ma and made a break for Tim's room. I was half afraid I'd find only a few small pieces of you and Tim left, and that I'd have to beg the loan of one of Ma's platters to bring you home on. But I can't make you out, Ward. I hardly know now why you didn't fix Tim's room so that it would have been a living monument of your ability in that line. That's what I'd have done."
As Ward made no reply, Jack added: "Well, never mind, old fellow! Perhaps it's just as well. Tim won't bother you again, that is, I mean you won't have your room stacked again. You can rest easy about that."
"Thank you, Jack. You've been a good friend to me, and I need friends too."
"Don't mention it," replied Jack impulsively, as he reached forth his hand and shook Ward's warmly. "Good-night."
"Good-night, Jack."
When Ward, returned to his room, Henry was there and working over his lessons. At first he was tempted to tell his room-mate all about his experience, but fearing that Henry like Jack might misunderstand him he remained silent, and soon took his seat at his own table and began to work on his lessons.
It was some time, however, before he could bring his mind to bear upon his task. The scene in Tim Pickard's room kept rising before him. His anger and the part Jack had taken were still vivid. What a good fellow Jack was, Ward thought, and he appreciated his aid the more when he realized what it might mean for the impulsive lad to bring upon himself the anger of the "Tangs." And yet how fearless he had been, and in what a manly way he had taken his stand. Even then Ward could almost hear his words as he told Tim that the trouble in West Hall must cease. Would Tim heed? Somehow Ward felt that he would, at least in so far as the stacking of his room was concerned; but in other ways doubtless he would be made aware that Tim had not forgotten him. And Tim was one who never forgot.
At last he succeeded in banishing from his mind for the time, the recollection of the scene in Mrs. Perrins' house, and gave himself wholly to his work. On the following night Ward started to go to Mr. Crane's room. Somehow he dreaded the interview, and yet go he must. Mr. Crane he knew would expect him to come, and that scene in Ripley's room must be explained to his satisfaction.
Ward had thought over the matter many times, but as yet had arrived at no satisfactory course for him to follow. One thing was certain, and that was that he could not tell Mr. Crane about Tim Pickard. That was against the school's code of honor, and Ward's own feelings forbade it as well.
He was still undecided what to do when he rapped on Mr. Crane's door and was at once admitted by the teacher himself.
Apparently Mr. Crane had not changed, nor did he seem in any way suspicious of the boy before him. And yet that very quietness was most impressive to Ward, and had ever been the one element in the teacher's character and bearing which had most influenced him.
After a few general words Ward felt that he could bear it no longer, and breaking in somewhat abruptly, he said:
"Mr. Crane I want to put a case before you."
"Yes?" said Mr. Crane, lifting his eyes inquiringly, but not otherwise changing his manner.
"I want to know just what you would do. You seem to understand boys so well."
"I don't just know what I should do, if I didn't understand a little more clearly than I do now what was expected of me," answered Mr. Crane, smiling slightly as he spoke.
"Well, it's just this way. Suppose a fellow--I mean a boy--had come up to the Weston school, and was here a year. Suppose too, that he hadn't done very well. He'd neglected his work and was a great disappointment to his father and mother, and to his teachers, to say nothing of himself. Then suppose he'd fallen in with a set of the fellows--I mean boys--who were up to all sorts of mischief and he'd gone in with them, though all the time he didn't feel right about it. Then suppose he'd failed in his examinations at the end of the year, but that he tried to make them up during the summer. We'll say he came back to school and was able to go on with his class. When he came back he tried to break off with his old associates, but he didn't find it a very easy thing to do. They wouldn't believe in him, and when at last they found he really was trying to do differently, then they tried to make his life a burden to him."
Ward stopped a moment as if he expected some kind of a reply, but as Mr. Crane was silent he resumed his story.
"Well, if it didn't sound too much like telling tales, we'll suppose these fellows--I mean students--tried to do all they could to make life a burden for the boy. They put him off from the nine, they prejudiced the minds of the new boys against him, and some of the old ones too. But that wasn't all. They played all kinds of tricks on him, and worst of all they began to stack his room. I don't know that you understand what that means?" added Ward quickly.
"I think I understand," said Mr. Crane quietly.
"Well, this boy--I mean fellow--no, I don't, I mean boy--would find his room all upset every day. His carpet would be torn up, he'd find that water had been poured on his bed, and sometimes the oil from his lamp would be added too. The fellow--boy I mean--really wanted to study, but he had to take lots of his time from his lessons to set his room to rights. Finally he went at it and found out who was doing the mischief. He discovered that some one had a key to his room, but he found out too, that the fellow--I mean boy--who had the key wasn't the one who was stacking his room. He kept out of it himself, but set other fellows--I mean boys--up to it. And the worst of it all was that they were picking on Little P--I mean on a little fellow who rather looked up to this boy for help.
"Well, finally the boy fixed a trap and caught the one who was trying to get into his room that day. He went over to his room and started to make him give up the key--but--but--he was interrupted, and somehow he didn't do it. Then he went down to the fellow's room--the one at the bottom of it all--and was going to stack his room well, so as to let him know how it felt. But when he got there he somehow couldn't bring himself to do it, and while he was hesitating, the fellow in whose room he was came back and there was a great row.
"No, there was no fight," he hastily added, as he saw the question in the teacher's eyes; "but the fellow didn't know but the boy was trying to stack his room. Now, there's the story, Mr. Crane. I wish you'd tell me what you would do if you were that boy."
For a few moments Mr. Crane was silent, but at last he said: "Hill, I'll try to be entirely frank with you. In the first place, I think I should honor the boy who had gained the victory over himself in that fellow's room. He couldn't afford to do the very same thing he despised in the other fellow."
Ward's face flushed with pleasure, for he felt that praise from Mr. Crane was praise indeed.
"I'm not done yet," resumed Mr. Crane quietly. "Then, if I were that boy, I think I should begin to question myself and see if there was any just cause for the school being down upon me. It may have been that that boy was somewhat conceited, and a little selfish. He was all the time perhaps thinking how the school ought to appreciate everything he did, and he did not have quite the necessary courage to face calmly the results of his own misdeeds."
"But, Mr. Crane," protested Ward, "the fellow knew he'd done wrong. He wasn't trying to crawl."
"Perhaps so, but it is also possible that he thought he ought to be praised unduly for simply turning about and doing his duty. In the main, Hill, boys are just; and while doubtless injustice creeps in at times, it is still true that if a fellow has trouble, he ought not only to think of that, but of what he may be doing to bring it upon himself."
"Then you think the boy ought to keep still and let his room be stacked every day, do you?"
"Not at all; I want him to cure that in the right way, but I want him also to think not only of the stacking, but of the reason for its being stacked."
"It was stacked because he broke with the fellows he'd been going with," said Ward bitterly.
"In part, yes; but in part, no. Think it over, Hill, and come and see me again in a week."
"Good-night, Mr. Crane," said Ward somewhat abruptly, as he left the room.
He felt hurt and humiliated. Somehow he had thought Mr. Crane would speak very differently. Was that to be the reward for trying to do better? It seemed to him that he had been abused and misunderstood, and in no very amiable frame of mind Ward walked back to West Hall.