CHAPTER XXIITHE MISHAP OF THE ARROWIn spite of his excitement, Ward Hill was not unmindful of the danger which attended the race. While the long road was kept clear of vehicles and passing teams by the boys who were stationed at intervals along the course, yet the speed with which the bobs swept over the smooth surface was terrific, and any little mistake on the part of either Jack or Tim was likely to prove very serious in its consequences.He knew that both the boys were skillful, and their control of the sleds had been superb up to this time, and that there apparently was no cause for the fear which somehow came upon him when they started on the third and last descent of West Hill.In a moment, however, all his attention was absorbed by the excitement of the race. While not so many of the boys had been on the summit when they started this time as had been there when the other two starts had been made, their feelings were more intense, and what they lacked in numbers they more than made up by their shouts. Each bob had now won a race, and the third trial would determine which should be the acknowledged champion of the school.It almost seemed as if the sleds themselves shared in the feelings of the boys. The road was in prime condition, and apparently there was nothing to prevent a full test of the speed of each sled.At any rate, it seemed to Ward, as he clung tightly to the body of the boy in front of him, as if the speed had very materially increased. And yet almost side by side the two bobs sped on down the hillside.Far away rose the shouts of the waiting boys as soon as they obtained a glimpse of the oncoming sleds; but almost before the sounds could be heard the bobs swept on and passed the scattered groups, and then again the shouts and cheers from below would be heard. No one on either sled spoke, however, for their feelings were too strong for utterance.Two of the bends of the road had been passed, and twice had both sleds shot through the air as they came to the sharp descents in the road, and while the speed of each had instantly been increased, as yet neither had gained any perceptible advantage over the other.As they approached the third bend, however, Ward could see that "The Arrow" was slightly in advance.Tim Pickard, who was steering "The Swallow," was now just abreast of Little Smith, who was seated in the center of the load which Jack's bob was carrying. The advantage, however, was too slight to be a source of much comfort to the anxious boys, and the slightest mistake on Jack's part might forfeit it all in a moment.Ward looked ahead of him and could see three boys standing directly in the pathway. They were all waving their arms and shouting together, but Ward thought nothing of their appearance, and was satisfied that they would do as all the others had done when the racers came nearer, and step aside to give them a free course down the hill.A shout arose from "The Arrow's" load as the boys still retained their places in the road, and as the bobs swept swiftly forward, the three still kept their places till the racers were almost upon them. They were shouting and waving their arms all the time, but no one thought of that, and as they darted quickly to the side of the road, the sleds came almost upon them."Look out, look out!" suddenly Ward shouted as he glanced at the other sled for it seemed to him that Tim had changed his course and was steering directly into "The Arrow.""Look out, look out!" he screamed again frantically as he saw that Tim evidently was trying to drive them off from the course. If one or the other did not instantly change there was sure to be a collision.All the boys on "The Arrow" looked up at Ward's shout of warning, and Jack glanced backward as he heard the call."Look out! look out, Tim!" he screamed in his excitement, but the course of "The Arrow" instantly was changed.Just how it all occurred Ward never knew; whether Jack had for a moment lost control of the sled as he looked backward, or the forward runners of "The Swallow" actually struck the bob he never could tell.There was for a moment a dull grating sound, as if "The Arrow" had grated on bare ground, and all the boys on it were thrown slightly forward by the sudden checking of the speed.However, it instantly became apparent that Jack had lost control of the bob. The swift-flying sled left the road, started directly down the bank, and before them, only a few rods away, was a low, rambling stone wall which still appeared above the crust of the snow. There was a shout of alarm from the watching boys by the roadside, a feeling of utter despair in Ward's heart as he perceived there was to be a crash of some kind. But before he or any of the boys could voice their alarm, or roll from the sled which was plunging ahead with no apparent slackening in its speed, there was a sudden shock, and the sled struck the wall, and in a moment Ward felt himself shooting through the air over the heads of his companions.He was only partially aware of the force with which he struck the hard, smooth crust at last and slid far ahead over its surface. He tried desperately to check his speed, but all of his efforts were without avail, till at last he came sharply against the stone wall which bordered the narrow field on its farther side.Even then he felt dull and stunned, and for a moment could not move. Just where he was or how he came to be there was not at first apparent to him.In a brief time, however, he was aware of the shouts and cries behind him and then staggered to his feet. His face and hands were bleeding and his clothing was torn in many places. But all that was instantly forgotten as he perceived from the actions of the boys, who had quickly gathered at the place where the accident had occurred, that something was wrong there. Stumbling, staggering forward, he made his way back, though it seemed to him that every bone in his body was aching and every step gave him pain.At last he reached the crowd, and as he approached, one of the boys noticing his appearance, turned to him and said quickly, "Are you hurt, Ward?""No, I think not," though even while he was speaking he was conscious of the wounds on his face and hands. "No, I think not much," he repeated; "but some of the boys here are, I fear," he hastily added.Before him stretched upon the snow lay the bodies of Henry, Big Smith, and Jack. The others of the party were standing about as if they were almost as dazed as he, and certainly their appearance was as bad as his own. Some had bleeding noses, some showed great bruises on their faces, and all had their clothing more or less torn by the accident."What is it? What is it?" he said hastily, as he pushed his way into the group and approached the three boys who lay stretched upon the snow. Beneath them some of the boys had placed their overcoats, while others had rolled theirs into rude pillows and placed them underneath the heads of the injured boys."Are they killed?" he added in a low voice as be gazed at them."No, they're not dead," said one in the group; "but Jack's got it the worst of all. He must have fallen under the bob, for his little finger had been almost cut off. The runners must have gone over it. We've tied his hand up with handkerchiefs as best we could. I don't think the other fellows are anything more than stunned. Here comes Mr. Blake," he added, as the tall teacher came running toward them.But Mr. Blake was not able to do anything more than the boys had done, and the confusion increased."Send for a doctor!" "Take them down on the sleds!" "Take the pillows out from under their heads!" "Rub them with snow!" were among the expressions now heard on every side, but no one seemed to be able to take the lead and the confusion increased."Here comes Mr. Crane!" shouted one of the boys, and in a moment the teacher approached the group. Tim's sled had gone on down the hill, and when it arrived at the end of the course, great was the astonishment of the assembled boys that it should be alone.In response to the many questions Tim disclaimed all knowledge of what had become of "The Arrow," simply declaring that he thought there had been an accident of some kind, but that he did not know just what it was.Mr. Crane had not waited to hear more, and had instantly pressed into service one of the horses and sleighs which had been halted near the place so that the racers might have a free course, and had started up West Hill.As he obtained a glimpse of the crowd which soon had assembled near the place of the accident, he had needed nothing more to inform him that something of a serious nature had occurred, and leaping lightly out, he left the horse in charge of one of the boys and ran swiftly to the crowd.The boys at once made way for him, and just as he bent over the boys Big Smith opened his eyes and stared wildly about him. Soon Henry too regained consciousness, and Mr. Crane at once proceeded to make an examination. Big Smith was declared to be all right, but with Henry it was impossible to determine whether his left arm had been broken or not. The slightly movement of it caused him intense pain, and Mr. Crane said:"We'll have to leave that for a surgeon to determine. We'll now look at this poor boy," and turning to Jack he began to make a further investigation.Jack was still unconscious, and soon it was decided to carry him back in the sleigh in which Mr. Crane had come. Ward pleaded that he might assist, but one look at him led the teacher to say, "You look as if you needed help yourself, Hill. No, I'll let one of the other boys assist me. Here's another sleigh," he added, as he saw that others had driven to the place. "Doubtless Boyd and Smith can be taken back in that."The arrangements were soon completed and the three boys were carried back to the school. To the offer to carry him and the other remaining boys on the sleds, Ward said: "No, sir, I don't want any more of that at present. I can't speak for the others; but for myself I'd rather crawl back on my hands and knees. Look at 'The Arrow' too, will you?" he added. "I guess her racing days are done.""The Arrow" was indeed in apparently a worse plight than that of any of the boys. The collision with the stone wall had torn it apart. One runner was broken loose and the seat lay several feet away from the body of the sled.It was only about a half-mile back to the school buildings, and in the midst of the constantly increasing crowd of boys who looked upon their injured companions much as if they were heroes, the racers returned. It was a procession in striking contrast with that which had started out.Just how they made the journey Ward never knew. He felt sore throughout the whole extent of his body, and every step caused him suffering, but somehow it was at last accomplished, and when he went up to his room, Henry was already in bed and one of the other boys, who roomed in West Hall, was there."How are you, Henry? Are you hurt much?" inquired Ward hastily."No, I think not. It's my arm that's the worst. It may be broken. The doctor is coming soon. But how are you, Ward? You look all torn into pieces.""Oh, I'm all right," replied Ward hastily. "I got a few scratches and bumps, but some hot water and arnica will soon fix me all right."And he proceeded immediately to carry out his own directions. But his heart was heavy when he thought of Jack and he could not entirely check the tears that rose in his eyes. Sore and bruised as he was he decided to go at once over to East Hall and learn how his friend was.What a good fellow Jack was, thought Ward. He would share anything he had with any or all who called upon him. And Tim Pickard! His heart grew bitter and hard when he thought of Tim's dastardly trick. He had been the one to blame for the accident, for doubtless his threatened collision had been the cause of "The Arrow's" leaving the road, and the dire events which had followed.Ward was a long time washing his wounds and bruises, and by the time he was ready to go over to East Hall, Doctor Leslie, the Weston physician, entered the room with the principal of the school.He at once began to make an examination of Henry and in a few minutes declared, "There are no broken bones. The left arm has had a bad sprain, and he'll have to carry it in a sling for a while, but I'm confident that otherwise he's not seriously injured and will be around again in a few days.""Do you think he had better go home?" inquired Doctor Gray anxiously."That remains to be seen," replied the physician; "but I hardly think it will be necessary.""You'd better look at Ward," said Henry, his face beaming in spite of the pain he was suffering, at the doctor's verdict. "He's been hurt too.""Only a few bruises and scratches," said Ward hastily. "But, doctor, have you seen Jack?"Doctor Leslie's face clouded as he said: "Yes, I have just come from his room.""How is he? How is he?" said Ward eagerly. "Is he badly hurt? I want to go over there right away.""You can't see him, if you do go," said the physician quietly. "I've left orders with Mr. Crane for no one to be admitted into his room. He's to keep the boys in the hall quiet too, and I've telegraphed for his mother.""Telegraphed for his mother?" said Ward aghast. "Is it as bad as that? Oh, doctor, is he going to die?""I trust not, but he is seriously injured. I've been compelled to amputate one of his fingers."Ward was almost overcome by the kind-hearted physician's words and for a moment he could not speak."I think, Hill," said Doctor Gray sympathetically, "that you had better be in bed yourself. Doctor Leslie, isn't there something you can do for him?"Doctor Leslie left a few directions and then departed with the principal to visit the other boys who had been on the unfortunate "Arrow." Much against Ward's will he was ordered to remain in his room that night and have his supper brought to him.The following morning, although he felt stiff and sore, he resolutely went down to the dining hall for his breakfast. Henry was in fairly good spirits also, but he was not to leave his room that day. The reports of Jack were not very encouraging and a gloom rested over all the school when the boys assembled in the chapel. The accident of the preceding day was the one topic of conversation and the subdued manners of all the boys showed how deeply they had been touched.At the close of the service Doctor Gray said: "It is not necessary for me to refer to the distressing accident which occurred yesterday. We all may rejoice that its effects were no worse, bad as they were. In view of the results, which might easily have been fatal, you will all readily understand why it is that from this time forward the use of so-called 'bobs' is strictly prohibited, and no coasting will be allowed except by special permission of the house teachers. I bespeak your sympathy for those who are confined to their rooms and trust you will do all in your power to aid those who are caring for them. You may now pass to your class-rooms."As the boys filed out of the chapel, many were the words of sympathy heard for Jack Hobart. The popular light-hearted boy would have rejoiced could he have heard the many expressions of interest and good-will, but at that time he cared for none of those things. Rolling and tossing upon his bed in his room in East Hall, he uttered no sounds except an occasional moan, and even the presence of his mother, who had arrived that morning, passed unrecognized by the suffering boy.Ward was passing to the Latin room and glanced up at the windows in Jack's room. How he did long to go there and do something to aid his friend! Never before he thought had Jack seemed so dear to him. What would life in the Weston school be without him? He almost groaned aloud at the suggestion.He was in a measure recalled from his sadness by Little Pond who rushed up to him and said: "Ward, I just heard something.""What is it?" said Ward, only slightly heeding the boy's eager words."I heard that some ashes had been sprinkled on the road where the accident occurred.""What?" said Ward, interested in a moment.He stopped and for several minutes conversed with his little friend and when he turned to enter the class-room, there was an expression upon his face which had never been seen there before.CHAPTER XXIIITHE INVESTIGATIONAs soon as the recitations were finished that morning, Ward sought out Little Pond and as they walked together to the dining hall, he said:"What did you mean by what you said about ashes having been sprinkled on the hill yesterday?""Brown told me," replied Little Pond. "Brown said he overheard Tim and Ripley talking together this morning before chapel. He wasn't trying to listen you know, but they take their meals at the same place, and as they came out of the house he heard Ripley say something about ashes and then Tim say 'Yes,' and that 'somebody must go up there right away.' Then they suddenly stopped short as they looked behind them and saw Brown so near them. Brown said they looked guilty too, and as they knew he was a good friend to Jack, they probably were afraid he had overheard them.""What did Brown do then?""Oh, he said that it flashed into his mind in an instant just what they'd been up to. He thinks that Tim had arranged with these fellows who stuck to the road yesterday, you remember, there by the last of those steep places till we were almost on them. Brown believes that they had sprinkled ashes over the path, or rather over one of the paths, and that they held their places as they did to drive 'The Arrow' right on to it. Then he thinks too that Tim steered in toward us a bit so as to drive us farther and make sure that we'd be held back.""The rascal," muttered Ward angrily."You don't really think Tim Pickard intended to force us out of the road, do you, Ward?" inquired Little Pond. "I think all he wanted--that is, if Brown's right--was to send us on to the ashes, so that we'd be held back and he'd get a chance to gain enough to let him keep the lead on the way down the hill. I can't believe he'd do anything so bad as to drive us into the wall.""Oh, Tim Pickard's all gentleness! He wouldn't harm any one! He'd never take a fellow out in a baby carriage and jostle him around over the rough ground, not he! He wouldn't stack a room. He wouldn't do anything that isn't just the proper thing to do! Oh no, Tim Pickard's too good for this world, I mean, of course, the Weston world, you know. For my part, I wish he was taken out of it too. Weston would be a very decent sort of a place without him."Ward spoke bitterly for his heart was hot against Tim Pickard and the "Tangs." Not that he believed that even Tim would deliberately plan to run the boys into such danger as the load "The Arrow" carried had incurred, but he was well aware of his bitter feeling against him, and to an extent against Jack as well, and also of his desire for "The Swallow" to win the race, and that he would stop at nothing to carry his point.However, he said nothing more to Little Pond, but as soon as he had finished his dinner, he hastened over to East Hall and had a long conversation with Brown, the result of which was that Brown and Baxter, another of the East Hall boys, soon after dinner started up West Hill to make some investigations near the place where the accident had occurred.Doctor Leslie came out into the hall as Ward departed and the troubled lad delayed for a moment to learn of Jack's condition."He's better, decidedly better," said the kind-hearted physician. "I think he's going to pull through all right if we have no setbacks. It was a great shaking up you boys had.""It certainly was for Jack and Henry," replied Ward. "The rest of us got a few bruises and scratches, but we don't mind such little things.""Well, I understand that a physician's services are not likely to be required in any similar cases very soon. I hear the principal has forbidden the use of bobs any more.""Yes, but our sled's all broken up, so we couldn't use it if we wanted to.""And that makes Doctor Gray's prohibition more easily borne, does it?" said Doctor Leslie with a smile.Ward made no response as he started toward West Hall. On his way Mr. Blake overtook him and as they walked on together, the teacher said: "Well, Hill, I hear that Hobart is likely to be about again soon. That was a very careless piece of work.""Careless? I don't understand what you mean," replied Ward angrily."Why, Timothy Pickard tells me that you were trying to cut across his path and get ahead of him in the race. That was hardly fair I think, and it ended just as all tricks are sure to end. I'm sure honesty is the best policy, even in a race between bobs.""Did Pickard tell you that?""Yes; I had quite an extended conversation with him this morning. Timothy has improved greatly since he returned to school this year, as you know, Hill. I confess I was somewhat dubious as to the advisability of receiving him back into the school, but Doctor Gray plainly understood him better than any of us did. There is a certain frankness about Timothy Pickard that I now greatly admire. He has had many conversations with me this year, and I am beginning to feel proud of him. There must be something about the Weston air which is highly conducive to manliness. And, Hill, while I am speaking, let me say that I should rejoice greatly if you too were disposed to manifest a little more friendly disposition toward your teachers. You must bear in mind that we are here for the sole purpose of aiding you, and yet you apparently are not eager to receive it."If Ward had not been so angry, he would have felt inclined to laugh. It was a new departure for Mr. Blake to assume the role of a helper among the boys. Indeed, at times Ward had felt so keenly the impositions of the boys upon him that he had been many times tempted to take his part. The tall, awkward, ungainly teacher had never been a favorite with any of them. Of his scholarship no one had any doubt, but apparently he was lacking in the appreciation of boy nature, and even then Ward recalled the many pranks which the various classes had played upon him. Even Doctor Gray's words in the preceding year, when he had almost begged of Ward and Henry to exert their influence to see that Mr. Blake's pathway was not made so rough, came back to him now.And here was Mr. Blake posing as a friend. Ward knew that in his heart the teacher desired to be popular in the school, but his desire had been so apparent as to cheapen his very efforts in that direction.As for himself, Ward had never felt drawn to him and in his heart he did not respect him. He had done his work in his classes, but never had he felt the slightest inclination to go to him as he had done so many times to Mr. Crane.And yet now he recalled the fact that he had heard and even noticed that Tim was disposed to be very friendly with the awkward teacher of mathematics. Just what he had in mind by such a course of action, Ward could not determine, but he was satisfied that Tim, to whom at the present time he was not disposed to impute any worthy act or motive, must have some deep-laid plans in mind.Ward's silence was not understood by Mr. Blake, and as they entered West Hall, the teacher said: "I am glad to see that you have been impressed by what I have said, Hill. You have shown an inclination to do better in your studies this term than you did last, but I trust you will also conform to the spirit as well as to the letter of the Weston rules and life."Ward said "Thank you" somewhat gruffly, and then hastened up the stairway to his room. Henry was there when he entered, and he at once related to him the outcome of his conversation with Brown, and also told him of the expedition of Brown and Baxter to West Hill.As he went on to relate the conversation with Mr. Blake, even the staid and sober Henry could not repress the smile which came at the thought of the new air which the teacher had assumed, and with Ward he agreed that Tim must have some deeper motive in his mind than was now apparent in cultivating the friendship of Mr. Blake.It had been decided that Henry was not to go home. While his arm pained him intensely, and he would be compelled to carry it for some time in a sling, the expense of a journey home and the loss of lessons combined to render his stay in the school desirable, and all that afternoon Ward studied steadily with him in getting out their work for the following day.After supper that night Brown and Baxter came over to Ward's room to report the result of their investigations at West Hill. It became evident at once by the expression upon their faces that they had something of interest to relate, and after closing and locking the door to prevent interruptions, Ward turned to them and said: "Well, let's have it, fellows. What did you find on the hill?""We had a funny kind of an experience," said Brown. "We got permission from Mr. Crane to be excused for a part of the study hour, so we started out right after dinner. We didn't want any of the fellows to see us, so we didn't go together till we got down by the bridge. We met there as we agreed upon and then started up the hill. Well, sir, whom do you suppose we saw when we got most up to the place where the accident occurred?""I don't know," said Ward. "Maybe it was Tim Packard.""No, Tim wouldn't be there, you can rest your soul on that. He never gets his fingers scorched as long as there's some one else to be had to pull his chestnuts out of the fire for him. It was Ripley.""Was he alone?" inquired Ward eagerly."We couldn't see any one else, though we both suspected some one might not be very far away, didn't we, Baxter?""Go on, go on," said Ward. "What was Ripley doing there?""Well, when we first saw him he was right in the road. Before I knew it, Baxter had called out to him and you never in your life saw a fellow so scared as Ripley seemed to be. He looked up, for he was on his knees there in the road right where 'The Arrow' left it, you see, and when he saw us coming he just jumped over the fence and made a bee line across lots for home. Oh, it was great fun, let me tell you. We called and called to him, but every time we shouted he just let out another length and the way he slipped over the crust then was a caution. I don't believe 'The Arrow' could have stood a ghost of a show with him. He never once stopped or looked behind him, and it wasn't but a few minutes before he was away down the hill, and pretty soon we could see him in the valley. But even then he never stopped to look back. My opinion is that he hasn't stopped yet. From the way he was going he made me think of the wandering Jew and that he never would stop anywhere, only I don't believe the wandering Jew ever could make such time as Ripley did. He was in dead earnest too, let me tell you.""Well, what then?" said Henry. "You didn't follow him?""No; after we recovered from our astonishment, for we'd never seen Ripley in a hurry before, you see, we put straight on up the hill. Pretty quickly we came to the place where the accident happened and then we began to make our investigations. We didn't have any trouble in finding the place, for the crust was all broken in and the holes that Big Smith made where he placed his tiny 'footies' remain even unto this day. My impression is that they'll find some hollows in the ground up there too in the spring when the snow is gone. 'Every time his foot comes down, the heel of his shoe makes a hole in the ground,' you know.""Oh, bother Big Smith's heels!" said Ward quickly. "He isn't here to defend himself, and it isn't fair to go for a fellow behind his back. What we want is your story.""That's what I'm giving you. Well, we went right at the road next, to see if we could find any of those ashes we'd heard so much about.""You didn't have any difficulty in finding what you were after, did you?" said Ward."Difficulty? Well, I should say we did. We searched up the road and then searched down the road, but not an ash could we find, sir, not even a little piece of one.""Well, what was Ripley doing up there then? What made him run when you came?""That's the very question we put to ourselves, my patient little lad, but the question was a good deal more easily asked than answered, let me tell you. If it hadn't been for my friend Baxter here we'd never have had it solved for us at all. But, you see, Baxter's a descendant of the great Baxter, and he knows a thing or two.""Who was the great Baxter?" said Henry solemnly. "I never heard of him.""Oh, he wrote a book, or took a rest, or did something, I don't know just what. But this Baxter took no rest. He made a great discovery. Just when I was about to declare the expedition a failure and was going to organize a retreatà laXenophon, my sweet-spirited friend dropped upon his knees. I was somewhat astonished, you may believe, to behold my comrade in that attitude, and was about to make a few simple inquiries as to the purpose in view, for I heartily approved of his conduct, I have no need of assuring you. But let Baxter tell his own story. He'll do it justice, a good deal better than I can with my poor stammering tongue, you see.""Baxter, will you tell us what you did?" said Ward. "The trip must have turned Brown's head.""Why, all there was of it, I saw that some of the snow had been dug out from the bank and it seemed to me it had been thrown on the road," said Baxter. "It was trodden down, but it showed that some one had stamped on it. Of course that made me suspicious and I just got down on my knees and began to dig with my hands. I didn't have to go very far before I found what we were after. Ashes had been scattered in the path, and then some one had gone up and covered it all over with snow, and had tried to pack it down so that it wouldn't show.""And that was what Ripley was doing?""Precisely. Precisely," said Brown. "Your massive brain has solved the riddle.""The rascals," said Henry angrily. "Where do you suppose they got the ashes?""Probably Timothy Pickard, Esquire, looked well to that," said Brown; "and he had planned to fix you fellows on your third trip down.""But if we'd struck the ashes fairly, it might have sent us flying in every direction, at the speed we were going," said Henry. "It was a dangerous as well as a cowardly trick.""Precisely so," responded Brown; "but you were saved from flying all abroad by the sled taking only one direction, and somehow you boys seemed to be inclined to follow it too.""I think it ought to be reported to Doctor Gray," said Henry indignantly. "I'm no tell-tale, but such a thing as that might almost have been murder.""And how will you prove that Tim did it? Or that any one did it, for the matter of that? As for Tim, he didn't do it, you don't need to be told that, I'm thinking," said Brown."And then there's Jack," said Ward. "He's suffered the most, but I don't think he'd want the thing reported. I don't believe we'd better do anything before he is well enough to hear all about it. Doctor Leslie thinks he'll get along all right now.""All except his little finger," said Brown. "But I think Ward's right. We don't want to report it before Jack knows all about it. We can keep our eyes open though, and may be we'll find out who did it. Somebody's rapping, Ward.""I know it," replied Ward. "Let him keep on, we don't want him in here, whoever he is."Nevertheless he went to the door, but he almost stumbled backward when he opened it, and beheld Tim Pickard and Ripley standing before him.He was too astonished to speak, but the new-comers did not wait for an invitation to enter the room, for they at once came in, and Ward not knowing what to make of the visit and the visitors, quietly closed the door and again locked it.CHAPTER XXIVUNEXPECTED VISITORSFor a few moments no one in the room spoke, and as the boys glanced at one another the embarrassment under which they were laboring seemed to increase. What could have induced Tim and Ripley to visit him, Ward could not conceive. The intensity with which he disliked both increased even as he looked steadily at them and waited for them to speak; for Ward had quickly decided that they must declare their errand without any questioning on his part.What an evil face Tim had, Ward thought. And yet his own face flushed slightly at the recollection that only a few months before this time he and Tim had stood much in the same position, had engaged in the same pranks, and had reaped the same result at the end of the year. But Tim apparently had sunk even lower, and while Ward was fully conscious of his own failures and falls, yet there was a little feeling of rejoicing that he certainly was now trying to do better. And his own heart rebelled against Tim and all his ways. Surely there was a wide difference between them now, for while they might have started from almost the same plane both had been moving steadily onward, but drifting apart, with the consequence that there was now a distance between them greater than either could conceive.And too, in that moment of awkward silence, Ward thought of how their positions had changed since the beginning of the present school year. Then Tim had seemed to be a leading force in the school. The boys, even those whose hearts were repelled by him, still outwardly acknowledged his position, and his word had been law with them in many ways. His wealth, his fine physique, his ability as a baseball player and a general athlete, had all their weight, as Ward himself was fully aware. And indeed, had he not himself felt the influence of all these things in the previous year, and been among those whom Tim had easily induced to follow him in his evil ways?Now, however, it was clearly evident to Ward that to a large extent Tim had lost in influence in the school, while he himself had risen in the estimation of his fellows. What had wrought the change? Was it the winning of the game from the Burrs? Doubtless that had not been without its influence, but it was something more than that, and although Ward Hill could not find a name for the cause of the change, and perhaps was not fully aware of the change itself, it was still due far more to something within him than to anything he had done which could be seen by his fellows.The struggle had been a difficult one, and what the sensitive, highly-strung lad had suffered no one but himself could know. And perhaps the battle was not entirely won even now, nor would it ever be until life itself should be ended, for no matter how high a person may rise there still lies the unattained before him. The successful merchant is not willing to rest on the laurels won; the statesman finds difficulties confronting him even when he has gained the coveted position, and even the schoolboy is not satisfied with the victories he has achieved, but is looking out upon fields all untrodden by him. And all this is because life is at work. When a man ceases to struggle he ceases to live. Dead men are never hungry. They rest from their labors, but the living rest for their labors.The main difference between Ward Hill and Tim Pickard lay not in the positions they then occupied, widely apart as these at the time seemed to be, but rather in the direction in which each boy was moving. Tim was slipping and drifting, and his direction was downward. Ward was struggling and striving, falling too many times in spite of all his endeavors, but the direction in which he was moving was after all steadily upward. If their relative positions were so far apart now, what would they be at the end of the journey?Not all of these thoughts had come to Ward in the awkward silence which had followed the unexpected entrance of Tim and Ripley, but a dim suggestion of some of them had made itself felt in the heart of the puzzled lad.In a moment, however, all his better impulses were swept away as he thought of the troubles Tim had brought upon them. The "stacking" of his room, and all the petty annoyances he had suffered at his hands in the earlier part of the year were as nothing now in contrast with the condition of Jack and Henry, and even his own body was not without its witnesses in the shape of bruises and sores.When he thought of Jack, Ward's anger quickly returned, and a harsh and bitter taunt arose almost upon his lips, but by a great effort he restrained himself. After all, who was he to taunt Tim with his shortcomings? Possibly Tim might not be entirely without flings to give him in return. No, silence was the better part now, and he need not stoop because Tim had fallen so low.Tim was the first to speak. Assuming an air of indifference and bravado, and looking boldly about the room he said "Well, we might as well have it out at the beginning as at any time, I suppose. We've come over to see what you intend to do about it.""Do about what, Tim?" said Ward. "Of what are you talking?"Tim laughed noisily, as he replied. "That'll do to tell the doctor, but it won't go here. You know as well as I do what we've come over here for.""You'll have to explain yourself," said Ward coldly."All right then, if you must have it; it's the accident. We came over to see about it. You might as well speak it right out now as any time, and it may save a heap of trouble.""I suppose by 'the accident' you mean the ashes you had sprinkled on the road on West Hill, and your trying to crowd 'The Arrow' upon them," said Ward."Now look here, fellows," said Tim with an air of assumed indifference, "it's all very well for you to talk about my steering into you. No one can ever say that I did that purposely. You can't hold two bobs going as swiftly as ours were right to a chalk line. It's simply impossible. You happened to have the lower side, that's all there was about it, anyway, and when 'The Swallow' veered a little from her course, why you thought we were coming straight for you. But even then you didn't have to leave the track, and you wouldn't have done it, only Speck lost his head. He looked behind him and, like Lot's wife, he had to suffer the consequences of his own mistake, and that's all there was to it."As none of the boys made any reply, Tim hastily continued. "And it's all true what I was saying about it's not being necessary for you to leave the track, even if we had gone out of our course a bit. We know it's so, because some of us have been up and examined the place again.""Is that what Ripley was running down the hill so for?" inquired Brown quietly.Ripley's face flushed as he said quickly: "I wasn't running away. If any of you fellows think you can go down West Hill across lots at a walk when the crust is as hard and slippery as it is now, why just try it, that's all I've got to say, and you'll sing a different tune. I couldn't stop and I couldn't turn around. I wasn't running away. What was there to run from, I'd like to know?""I'll tell you what you were running from, Ripley, if you want to know," said Brown."What was it?""Ashes."Ripley's face could not entirely conceal his alarm as he heard Brown's words, but he only laughed lightly by way of reply."Yes, sir," said Brown. "We found out all about it. We dug over the snow you had thrown on the road and then tried to tramp down so that it wouldn't show. We know all about that, my fleet-footed friend.""No one can say that either of us put any ashes on the road," said Tim boldly. "We didn't do it, we didn't have anything to do with it--if any ashes were scattered there, which, for my part, I very much doubt.""No one would ever accuse you of doing it," said Ward hotly. "You never yet had the manliness to stand up and have a decent share in the mean tricks you set the other boys up to. Oh, no, you probably didn't carry the ashes up the hill. No one would ever think of you as doing that. You'd rather have some one else do all your dirty work, and then you'll crawl out when the pinch comes.""Well, there's one thing I never did, anyway," replied Tim slowly, although his eyes betrayed the anger which Ward's words had aroused. "I never went back on my friends by the 'I am holier than thou' dodge. I never stooped to pose as a pious fraud after I'd been guilty of some things I could mention. Not much! If ever I went over to Dorrfield and had a supper at another fellow's expense and got drunk, I never whined and lied out of it, nor told of the other fellows, anyway. If I ever stole any examination questions, I never denied it. If I flunked when it came to the end of the year, I never bootlicked the teachers and tried the 'good little boy' dodge. Now suppose I did know that ashes were to be scattered on the path? What could I do about it, I'd like to know? If some of the fellows couldn't bear the thought of Jack Hobart, with such a crowd of bootlicks as he had on his bob, coming in ahead of 'The Swallow,' why whose fault was it, I'd like to know? I couldn't help it, could I? I've got enough to answer for myself, without taking on my shoulders every fellow that is despised by the school."The anger which Ward felt when Tim first began to speak soon gave way to shame and mortification as the brutal lad went on. All his thrusts went home, and Ward could hardly speak when Tim stopped. All his former disgrace came back upon him, and he felt as if every boy in the room must be regarding him as Tim pretended to himself.But Henry, who felt deeply for his room-mate, with flashing eyes quickly came to his assistance. Rising from the chair in which he had been seated and standing directly in front of Tim, he said: "Look here, Tim Pickard, you'll not gain anything by raking up old scores, or trying to get us off on the track of last year's work, whether it's true or false what you say. You know as well as I do that some of these things are not true; but I don't care anything about them, one way or the other. And you can't scare us in any such way, either. Now look here, Tim Pickard! do you see that arm of mine? I've got to carry it in a sling for weeks, and why? Just because of your sneaking trick. Jack Hobart's lost a finger and no one knows how long he'll be in bed, or whether he'll ever leave it alive or not, for that matter. Now what was the cause of it? Answer me, will you? Where did all these fellows get their bumps and bruises, and how does it happen that 'The Arrow' is smashed into pieces? Can you tell me that? You want to know what we're going to do about it, do you? Well, I could tell you mighty quick what I'd do if it was left to me. I'd go straight to Doctor Gray and lay the whole thing before him. We'd arranged for a square race with you, you know that. And I don't care whether you carried the ashes up there yourself or had some of your sneaking 'Tangs' do the work for you; it's all one to me. I don't think the fellow who would be guilty of such a mean, contemptible trick as that is fit to be in such a school as this. I haven't a bit of fear of being called a tell-tale. I'd think I was doing the very best that could be done. Yes, sir, if I could have my way I'd even get up a petition to the doctor to have you put out of the school. When you set the little fellows up to stacking rooms, I thought that was pretty small business for a senior to be engaged in, though I didn't think it was worth noticing; but when you come to do things that endanger our lives, it's another matter entirely, and I don't believe in mincing matters, either. If you'd settle down and behave yourself, there isn't a fellow in the Weston school that would do a thing against you; but it's time you put a stop to some of the things you're doing, and if you won't do it, then I claim the fellows themselves ought to do it for you."Henry ceased, and for a moment all the boys looked at him in astonishment. He was usually such a quiet fellow that the outburst seemed to them all the more remarkable. Even Tim apparently had been affected by Henry's righteous indignation; but in a moment he recovered himself and said:"That's just what we came over for. Then we are to understand, are we, that you intend to report the matter to the teachers?""No, Tim," said Ward, who now had somewhat recovered from his mortification. "No, Tim, we don't say we shall do that. We talked it all over and made up our minds that it wouldn't be quite fair to Jack to do that. He's suffered the most and he ought to have the most to say about what shall be done. We sha'n't do anything till he is better and can say what he wants.""Jack Hobart never will squeal, if you leave it to him; but it won't be left to him, I'm thinking. Some of these pious frauds will not be able to keep still and wait for him. Well, Ripley," he continued, rising as he spoke and turning to his companion, "we'll have to face the music, I suppose." And face the music they did for Dr. Gray in some mysterious way heard of their part in the almost fatal accident and immediately expelled Tim from school. He gave Ripley a severe reprimand but did not deal as severely with him, for the just master realized Tim's mastery over the weaker boy.Ward felt greatly relieved when he heard of Tim's expulsion. An evil genius had passed out of his life.
CHAPTER XXII
THE MISHAP OF THE ARROW
In spite of his excitement, Ward Hill was not unmindful of the danger which attended the race. While the long road was kept clear of vehicles and passing teams by the boys who were stationed at intervals along the course, yet the speed with which the bobs swept over the smooth surface was terrific, and any little mistake on the part of either Jack or Tim was likely to prove very serious in its consequences.
He knew that both the boys were skillful, and their control of the sleds had been superb up to this time, and that there apparently was no cause for the fear which somehow came upon him when they started on the third and last descent of West Hill.
In a moment, however, all his attention was absorbed by the excitement of the race. While not so many of the boys had been on the summit when they started this time as had been there when the other two starts had been made, their feelings were more intense, and what they lacked in numbers they more than made up by their shouts. Each bob had now won a race, and the third trial would determine which should be the acknowledged champion of the school.
It almost seemed as if the sleds themselves shared in the feelings of the boys. The road was in prime condition, and apparently there was nothing to prevent a full test of the speed of each sled.
At any rate, it seemed to Ward, as he clung tightly to the body of the boy in front of him, as if the speed had very materially increased. And yet almost side by side the two bobs sped on down the hillside.
Far away rose the shouts of the waiting boys as soon as they obtained a glimpse of the oncoming sleds; but almost before the sounds could be heard the bobs swept on and passed the scattered groups, and then again the shouts and cheers from below would be heard. No one on either sled spoke, however, for their feelings were too strong for utterance.
Two of the bends of the road had been passed, and twice had both sleds shot through the air as they came to the sharp descents in the road, and while the speed of each had instantly been increased, as yet neither had gained any perceptible advantage over the other.
As they approached the third bend, however, Ward could see that "The Arrow" was slightly in advance.
Tim Pickard, who was steering "The Swallow," was now just abreast of Little Smith, who was seated in the center of the load which Jack's bob was carrying. The advantage, however, was too slight to be a source of much comfort to the anxious boys, and the slightest mistake on Jack's part might forfeit it all in a moment.
Ward looked ahead of him and could see three boys standing directly in the pathway. They were all waving their arms and shouting together, but Ward thought nothing of their appearance, and was satisfied that they would do as all the others had done when the racers came nearer, and step aside to give them a free course down the hill.
A shout arose from "The Arrow's" load as the boys still retained their places in the road, and as the bobs swept swiftly forward, the three still kept their places till the racers were almost upon them. They were shouting and waving their arms all the time, but no one thought of that, and as they darted quickly to the side of the road, the sleds came almost upon them.
"Look out, look out!" suddenly Ward shouted as he glanced at the other sled for it seemed to him that Tim had changed his course and was steering directly into "The Arrow."
"Look out, look out!" he screamed again frantically as he saw that Tim evidently was trying to drive them off from the course. If one or the other did not instantly change there was sure to be a collision.
All the boys on "The Arrow" looked up at Ward's shout of warning, and Jack glanced backward as he heard the call.
"Look out! look out, Tim!" he screamed in his excitement, but the course of "The Arrow" instantly was changed.
Just how it all occurred Ward never knew; whether Jack had for a moment lost control of the sled as he looked backward, or the forward runners of "The Swallow" actually struck the bob he never could tell.
There was for a moment a dull grating sound, as if "The Arrow" had grated on bare ground, and all the boys on it were thrown slightly forward by the sudden checking of the speed.
However, it instantly became apparent that Jack had lost control of the bob. The swift-flying sled left the road, started directly down the bank, and before them, only a few rods away, was a low, rambling stone wall which still appeared above the crust of the snow. There was a shout of alarm from the watching boys by the roadside, a feeling of utter despair in Ward's heart as he perceived there was to be a crash of some kind. But before he or any of the boys could voice their alarm, or roll from the sled which was plunging ahead with no apparent slackening in its speed, there was a sudden shock, and the sled struck the wall, and in a moment Ward felt himself shooting through the air over the heads of his companions.
He was only partially aware of the force with which he struck the hard, smooth crust at last and slid far ahead over its surface. He tried desperately to check his speed, but all of his efforts were without avail, till at last he came sharply against the stone wall which bordered the narrow field on its farther side.
Even then he felt dull and stunned, and for a moment could not move. Just where he was or how he came to be there was not at first apparent to him.
In a brief time, however, he was aware of the shouts and cries behind him and then staggered to his feet. His face and hands were bleeding and his clothing was torn in many places. But all that was instantly forgotten as he perceived from the actions of the boys, who had quickly gathered at the place where the accident had occurred, that something was wrong there. Stumbling, staggering forward, he made his way back, though it seemed to him that every bone in his body was aching and every step gave him pain.
At last he reached the crowd, and as he approached, one of the boys noticing his appearance, turned to him and said quickly, "Are you hurt, Ward?"
"No, I think not," though even while he was speaking he was conscious of the wounds on his face and hands. "No, I think not much," he repeated; "but some of the boys here are, I fear," he hastily added.
Before him stretched upon the snow lay the bodies of Henry, Big Smith, and Jack. The others of the party were standing about as if they were almost as dazed as he, and certainly their appearance was as bad as his own. Some had bleeding noses, some showed great bruises on their faces, and all had their clothing more or less torn by the accident.
"What is it? What is it?" he said hastily, as he pushed his way into the group and approached the three boys who lay stretched upon the snow. Beneath them some of the boys had placed their overcoats, while others had rolled theirs into rude pillows and placed them underneath the heads of the injured boys.
"Are they killed?" he added in a low voice as be gazed at them.
"No, they're not dead," said one in the group; "but Jack's got it the worst of all. He must have fallen under the bob, for his little finger had been almost cut off. The runners must have gone over it. We've tied his hand up with handkerchiefs as best we could. I don't think the other fellows are anything more than stunned. Here comes Mr. Blake," he added, as the tall teacher came running toward them.
But Mr. Blake was not able to do anything more than the boys had done, and the confusion increased.
"Send for a doctor!" "Take them down on the sleds!" "Take the pillows out from under their heads!" "Rub them with snow!" were among the expressions now heard on every side, but no one seemed to be able to take the lead and the confusion increased.
"Here comes Mr. Crane!" shouted one of the boys, and in a moment the teacher approached the group. Tim's sled had gone on down the hill, and when it arrived at the end of the course, great was the astonishment of the assembled boys that it should be alone.
In response to the many questions Tim disclaimed all knowledge of what had become of "The Arrow," simply declaring that he thought there had been an accident of some kind, but that he did not know just what it was.
Mr. Crane had not waited to hear more, and had instantly pressed into service one of the horses and sleighs which had been halted near the place so that the racers might have a free course, and had started up West Hill.
As he obtained a glimpse of the crowd which soon had assembled near the place of the accident, he had needed nothing more to inform him that something of a serious nature had occurred, and leaping lightly out, he left the horse in charge of one of the boys and ran swiftly to the crowd.
The boys at once made way for him, and just as he bent over the boys Big Smith opened his eyes and stared wildly about him. Soon Henry too regained consciousness, and Mr. Crane at once proceeded to make an examination. Big Smith was declared to be all right, but with Henry it was impossible to determine whether his left arm had been broken or not. The slightly movement of it caused him intense pain, and Mr. Crane said:
"We'll have to leave that for a surgeon to determine. We'll now look at this poor boy," and turning to Jack he began to make a further investigation.
Jack was still unconscious, and soon it was decided to carry him back in the sleigh in which Mr. Crane had come. Ward pleaded that he might assist, but one look at him led the teacher to say, "You look as if you needed help yourself, Hill. No, I'll let one of the other boys assist me. Here's another sleigh," he added, as he saw that others had driven to the place. "Doubtless Boyd and Smith can be taken back in that."
The arrangements were soon completed and the three boys were carried back to the school. To the offer to carry him and the other remaining boys on the sleds, Ward said: "No, sir, I don't want any more of that at present. I can't speak for the others; but for myself I'd rather crawl back on my hands and knees. Look at 'The Arrow' too, will you?" he added. "I guess her racing days are done."
"The Arrow" was indeed in apparently a worse plight than that of any of the boys. The collision with the stone wall had torn it apart. One runner was broken loose and the seat lay several feet away from the body of the sled.
It was only about a half-mile back to the school buildings, and in the midst of the constantly increasing crowd of boys who looked upon their injured companions much as if they were heroes, the racers returned. It was a procession in striking contrast with that which had started out.
Just how they made the journey Ward never knew. He felt sore throughout the whole extent of his body, and every step caused him suffering, but somehow it was at last accomplished, and when he went up to his room, Henry was already in bed and one of the other boys, who roomed in West Hall, was there.
"How are you, Henry? Are you hurt much?" inquired Ward hastily.
"No, I think not. It's my arm that's the worst. It may be broken. The doctor is coming soon. But how are you, Ward? You look all torn into pieces."
"Oh, I'm all right," replied Ward hastily. "I got a few scratches and bumps, but some hot water and arnica will soon fix me all right."
And he proceeded immediately to carry out his own directions. But his heart was heavy when he thought of Jack and he could not entirely check the tears that rose in his eyes. Sore and bruised as he was he decided to go at once over to East Hall and learn how his friend was.
What a good fellow Jack was, thought Ward. He would share anything he had with any or all who called upon him. And Tim Pickard! His heart grew bitter and hard when he thought of Tim's dastardly trick. He had been the one to blame for the accident, for doubtless his threatened collision had been the cause of "The Arrow's" leaving the road, and the dire events which had followed.
Ward was a long time washing his wounds and bruises, and by the time he was ready to go over to East Hall, Doctor Leslie, the Weston physician, entered the room with the principal of the school.
He at once began to make an examination of Henry and in a few minutes declared, "There are no broken bones. The left arm has had a bad sprain, and he'll have to carry it in a sling for a while, but I'm confident that otherwise he's not seriously injured and will be around again in a few days."
"Do you think he had better go home?" inquired Doctor Gray anxiously.
"That remains to be seen," replied the physician; "but I hardly think it will be necessary."
"You'd better look at Ward," said Henry, his face beaming in spite of the pain he was suffering, at the doctor's verdict. "He's been hurt too."
"Only a few bruises and scratches," said Ward hastily. "But, doctor, have you seen Jack?"
Doctor Leslie's face clouded as he said: "Yes, I have just come from his room."
"How is he? How is he?" said Ward eagerly. "Is he badly hurt? I want to go over there right away."
"You can't see him, if you do go," said the physician quietly. "I've left orders with Mr. Crane for no one to be admitted into his room. He's to keep the boys in the hall quiet too, and I've telegraphed for his mother."
"Telegraphed for his mother?" said Ward aghast. "Is it as bad as that? Oh, doctor, is he going to die?"
"I trust not, but he is seriously injured. I've been compelled to amputate one of his fingers."
Ward was almost overcome by the kind-hearted physician's words and for a moment he could not speak.
"I think, Hill," said Doctor Gray sympathetically, "that you had better be in bed yourself. Doctor Leslie, isn't there something you can do for him?"
Doctor Leslie left a few directions and then departed with the principal to visit the other boys who had been on the unfortunate "Arrow." Much against Ward's will he was ordered to remain in his room that night and have his supper brought to him.
The following morning, although he felt stiff and sore, he resolutely went down to the dining hall for his breakfast. Henry was in fairly good spirits also, but he was not to leave his room that day. The reports of Jack were not very encouraging and a gloom rested over all the school when the boys assembled in the chapel. The accident of the preceding day was the one topic of conversation and the subdued manners of all the boys showed how deeply they had been touched.
At the close of the service Doctor Gray said: "It is not necessary for me to refer to the distressing accident which occurred yesterday. We all may rejoice that its effects were no worse, bad as they were. In view of the results, which might easily have been fatal, you will all readily understand why it is that from this time forward the use of so-called 'bobs' is strictly prohibited, and no coasting will be allowed except by special permission of the house teachers. I bespeak your sympathy for those who are confined to their rooms and trust you will do all in your power to aid those who are caring for them. You may now pass to your class-rooms."
As the boys filed out of the chapel, many were the words of sympathy heard for Jack Hobart. The popular light-hearted boy would have rejoiced could he have heard the many expressions of interest and good-will, but at that time he cared for none of those things. Rolling and tossing upon his bed in his room in East Hall, he uttered no sounds except an occasional moan, and even the presence of his mother, who had arrived that morning, passed unrecognized by the suffering boy.
Ward was passing to the Latin room and glanced up at the windows in Jack's room. How he did long to go there and do something to aid his friend! Never before he thought had Jack seemed so dear to him. What would life in the Weston school be without him? He almost groaned aloud at the suggestion.
He was in a measure recalled from his sadness by Little Pond who rushed up to him and said: "Ward, I just heard something."
"What is it?" said Ward, only slightly heeding the boy's eager words.
"I heard that some ashes had been sprinkled on the road where the accident occurred."
"What?" said Ward, interested in a moment.
He stopped and for several minutes conversed with his little friend and when he turned to enter the class-room, there was an expression upon his face which had never been seen there before.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE INVESTIGATION
As soon as the recitations were finished that morning, Ward sought out Little Pond and as they walked together to the dining hall, he said:
"What did you mean by what you said about ashes having been sprinkled on the hill yesterday?"
"Brown told me," replied Little Pond. "Brown said he overheard Tim and Ripley talking together this morning before chapel. He wasn't trying to listen you know, but they take their meals at the same place, and as they came out of the house he heard Ripley say something about ashes and then Tim say 'Yes,' and that 'somebody must go up there right away.' Then they suddenly stopped short as they looked behind them and saw Brown so near them. Brown said they looked guilty too, and as they knew he was a good friend to Jack, they probably were afraid he had overheard them."
"What did Brown do then?"
"Oh, he said that it flashed into his mind in an instant just what they'd been up to. He thinks that Tim had arranged with these fellows who stuck to the road yesterday, you remember, there by the last of those steep places till we were almost on them. Brown believes that they had sprinkled ashes over the path, or rather over one of the paths, and that they held their places as they did to drive 'The Arrow' right on to it. Then he thinks too that Tim steered in toward us a bit so as to drive us farther and make sure that we'd be held back."
"The rascal," muttered Ward angrily.
"You don't really think Tim Pickard intended to force us out of the road, do you, Ward?" inquired Little Pond. "I think all he wanted--that is, if Brown's right--was to send us on to the ashes, so that we'd be held back and he'd get a chance to gain enough to let him keep the lead on the way down the hill. I can't believe he'd do anything so bad as to drive us into the wall."
"Oh, Tim Pickard's all gentleness! He wouldn't harm any one! He'd never take a fellow out in a baby carriage and jostle him around over the rough ground, not he! He wouldn't stack a room. He wouldn't do anything that isn't just the proper thing to do! Oh no, Tim Pickard's too good for this world, I mean, of course, the Weston world, you know. For my part, I wish he was taken out of it too. Weston would be a very decent sort of a place without him."
Ward spoke bitterly for his heart was hot against Tim Pickard and the "Tangs." Not that he believed that even Tim would deliberately plan to run the boys into such danger as the load "The Arrow" carried had incurred, but he was well aware of his bitter feeling against him, and to an extent against Jack as well, and also of his desire for "The Swallow" to win the race, and that he would stop at nothing to carry his point.
However, he said nothing more to Little Pond, but as soon as he had finished his dinner, he hastened over to East Hall and had a long conversation with Brown, the result of which was that Brown and Baxter, another of the East Hall boys, soon after dinner started up West Hill to make some investigations near the place where the accident had occurred.
Doctor Leslie came out into the hall as Ward departed and the troubled lad delayed for a moment to learn of Jack's condition.
"He's better, decidedly better," said the kind-hearted physician. "I think he's going to pull through all right if we have no setbacks. It was a great shaking up you boys had."
"It certainly was for Jack and Henry," replied Ward. "The rest of us got a few bruises and scratches, but we don't mind such little things."
"Well, I understand that a physician's services are not likely to be required in any similar cases very soon. I hear the principal has forbidden the use of bobs any more."
"Yes, but our sled's all broken up, so we couldn't use it if we wanted to."
"And that makes Doctor Gray's prohibition more easily borne, does it?" said Doctor Leslie with a smile.
Ward made no response as he started toward West Hall. On his way Mr. Blake overtook him and as they walked on together, the teacher said: "Well, Hill, I hear that Hobart is likely to be about again soon. That was a very careless piece of work."
"Careless? I don't understand what you mean," replied Ward angrily.
"Why, Timothy Pickard tells me that you were trying to cut across his path and get ahead of him in the race. That was hardly fair I think, and it ended just as all tricks are sure to end. I'm sure honesty is the best policy, even in a race between bobs."
"Did Pickard tell you that?"
"Yes; I had quite an extended conversation with him this morning. Timothy has improved greatly since he returned to school this year, as you know, Hill. I confess I was somewhat dubious as to the advisability of receiving him back into the school, but Doctor Gray plainly understood him better than any of us did. There is a certain frankness about Timothy Pickard that I now greatly admire. He has had many conversations with me this year, and I am beginning to feel proud of him. There must be something about the Weston air which is highly conducive to manliness. And, Hill, while I am speaking, let me say that I should rejoice greatly if you too were disposed to manifest a little more friendly disposition toward your teachers. You must bear in mind that we are here for the sole purpose of aiding you, and yet you apparently are not eager to receive it."
If Ward had not been so angry, he would have felt inclined to laugh. It was a new departure for Mr. Blake to assume the role of a helper among the boys. Indeed, at times Ward had felt so keenly the impositions of the boys upon him that he had been many times tempted to take his part. The tall, awkward, ungainly teacher had never been a favorite with any of them. Of his scholarship no one had any doubt, but apparently he was lacking in the appreciation of boy nature, and even then Ward recalled the many pranks which the various classes had played upon him. Even Doctor Gray's words in the preceding year, when he had almost begged of Ward and Henry to exert their influence to see that Mr. Blake's pathway was not made so rough, came back to him now.
And here was Mr. Blake posing as a friend. Ward knew that in his heart the teacher desired to be popular in the school, but his desire had been so apparent as to cheapen his very efforts in that direction.
As for himself, Ward had never felt drawn to him and in his heart he did not respect him. He had done his work in his classes, but never had he felt the slightest inclination to go to him as he had done so many times to Mr. Crane.
And yet now he recalled the fact that he had heard and even noticed that Tim was disposed to be very friendly with the awkward teacher of mathematics. Just what he had in mind by such a course of action, Ward could not determine, but he was satisfied that Tim, to whom at the present time he was not disposed to impute any worthy act or motive, must have some deep-laid plans in mind.
Ward's silence was not understood by Mr. Blake, and as they entered West Hall, the teacher said: "I am glad to see that you have been impressed by what I have said, Hill. You have shown an inclination to do better in your studies this term than you did last, but I trust you will also conform to the spirit as well as to the letter of the Weston rules and life."
Ward said "Thank you" somewhat gruffly, and then hastened up the stairway to his room. Henry was there when he entered, and he at once related to him the outcome of his conversation with Brown, and also told him of the expedition of Brown and Baxter to West Hill.
As he went on to relate the conversation with Mr. Blake, even the staid and sober Henry could not repress the smile which came at the thought of the new air which the teacher had assumed, and with Ward he agreed that Tim must have some deeper motive in his mind than was now apparent in cultivating the friendship of Mr. Blake.
It had been decided that Henry was not to go home. While his arm pained him intensely, and he would be compelled to carry it for some time in a sling, the expense of a journey home and the loss of lessons combined to render his stay in the school desirable, and all that afternoon Ward studied steadily with him in getting out their work for the following day.
After supper that night Brown and Baxter came over to Ward's room to report the result of their investigations at West Hill. It became evident at once by the expression upon their faces that they had something of interest to relate, and after closing and locking the door to prevent interruptions, Ward turned to them and said: "Well, let's have it, fellows. What did you find on the hill?"
"We had a funny kind of an experience," said Brown. "We got permission from Mr. Crane to be excused for a part of the study hour, so we started out right after dinner. We didn't want any of the fellows to see us, so we didn't go together till we got down by the bridge. We met there as we agreed upon and then started up the hill. Well, sir, whom do you suppose we saw when we got most up to the place where the accident occurred?"
"I don't know," said Ward. "Maybe it was Tim Packard."
"No, Tim wouldn't be there, you can rest your soul on that. He never gets his fingers scorched as long as there's some one else to be had to pull his chestnuts out of the fire for him. It was Ripley."
"Was he alone?" inquired Ward eagerly.
"We couldn't see any one else, though we both suspected some one might not be very far away, didn't we, Baxter?"
"Go on, go on," said Ward. "What was Ripley doing there?"
"Well, when we first saw him he was right in the road. Before I knew it, Baxter had called out to him and you never in your life saw a fellow so scared as Ripley seemed to be. He looked up, for he was on his knees there in the road right where 'The Arrow' left it, you see, and when he saw us coming he just jumped over the fence and made a bee line across lots for home. Oh, it was great fun, let me tell you. We called and called to him, but every time we shouted he just let out another length and the way he slipped over the crust then was a caution. I don't believe 'The Arrow' could have stood a ghost of a show with him. He never once stopped or looked behind him, and it wasn't but a few minutes before he was away down the hill, and pretty soon we could see him in the valley. But even then he never stopped to look back. My opinion is that he hasn't stopped yet. From the way he was going he made me think of the wandering Jew and that he never would stop anywhere, only I don't believe the wandering Jew ever could make such time as Ripley did. He was in dead earnest too, let me tell you."
"Well, what then?" said Henry. "You didn't follow him?"
"No; after we recovered from our astonishment, for we'd never seen Ripley in a hurry before, you see, we put straight on up the hill. Pretty quickly we came to the place where the accident happened and then we began to make our investigations. We didn't have any trouble in finding the place, for the crust was all broken in and the holes that Big Smith made where he placed his tiny 'footies' remain even unto this day. My impression is that they'll find some hollows in the ground up there too in the spring when the snow is gone. 'Every time his foot comes down, the heel of his shoe makes a hole in the ground,' you know."
"Oh, bother Big Smith's heels!" said Ward quickly. "He isn't here to defend himself, and it isn't fair to go for a fellow behind his back. What we want is your story."
"That's what I'm giving you. Well, we went right at the road next, to see if we could find any of those ashes we'd heard so much about."
"You didn't have any difficulty in finding what you were after, did you?" said Ward.
"Difficulty? Well, I should say we did. We searched up the road and then searched down the road, but not an ash could we find, sir, not even a little piece of one."
"Well, what was Ripley doing up there then? What made him run when you came?"
"That's the very question we put to ourselves, my patient little lad, but the question was a good deal more easily asked than answered, let me tell you. If it hadn't been for my friend Baxter here we'd never have had it solved for us at all. But, you see, Baxter's a descendant of the great Baxter, and he knows a thing or two."
"Who was the great Baxter?" said Henry solemnly. "I never heard of him."
"Oh, he wrote a book, or took a rest, or did something, I don't know just what. But this Baxter took no rest. He made a great discovery. Just when I was about to declare the expedition a failure and was going to organize a retreatà laXenophon, my sweet-spirited friend dropped upon his knees. I was somewhat astonished, you may believe, to behold my comrade in that attitude, and was about to make a few simple inquiries as to the purpose in view, for I heartily approved of his conduct, I have no need of assuring you. But let Baxter tell his own story. He'll do it justice, a good deal better than I can with my poor stammering tongue, you see."
"Baxter, will you tell us what you did?" said Ward. "The trip must have turned Brown's head."
"Why, all there was of it, I saw that some of the snow had been dug out from the bank and it seemed to me it had been thrown on the road," said Baxter. "It was trodden down, but it showed that some one had stamped on it. Of course that made me suspicious and I just got down on my knees and began to dig with my hands. I didn't have to go very far before I found what we were after. Ashes had been scattered in the path, and then some one had gone up and covered it all over with snow, and had tried to pack it down so that it wouldn't show."
"And that was what Ripley was doing?"
"Precisely. Precisely," said Brown. "Your massive brain has solved the riddle."
"The rascals," said Henry angrily. "Where do you suppose they got the ashes?"
"Probably Timothy Pickard, Esquire, looked well to that," said Brown; "and he had planned to fix you fellows on your third trip down."
"But if we'd struck the ashes fairly, it might have sent us flying in every direction, at the speed we were going," said Henry. "It was a dangerous as well as a cowardly trick."
"Precisely so," responded Brown; "but you were saved from flying all abroad by the sled taking only one direction, and somehow you boys seemed to be inclined to follow it too."
"I think it ought to be reported to Doctor Gray," said Henry indignantly. "I'm no tell-tale, but such a thing as that might almost have been murder."
"And how will you prove that Tim did it? Or that any one did it, for the matter of that? As for Tim, he didn't do it, you don't need to be told that, I'm thinking," said Brown.
"And then there's Jack," said Ward. "He's suffered the most, but I don't think he'd want the thing reported. I don't believe we'd better do anything before he is well enough to hear all about it. Doctor Leslie thinks he'll get along all right now."
"All except his little finger," said Brown. "But I think Ward's right. We don't want to report it before Jack knows all about it. We can keep our eyes open though, and may be we'll find out who did it. Somebody's rapping, Ward."
"I know it," replied Ward. "Let him keep on, we don't want him in here, whoever he is."
Nevertheless he went to the door, but he almost stumbled backward when he opened it, and beheld Tim Pickard and Ripley standing before him.
He was too astonished to speak, but the new-comers did not wait for an invitation to enter the room, for they at once came in, and Ward not knowing what to make of the visit and the visitors, quietly closed the door and again locked it.
CHAPTER XXIV
UNEXPECTED VISITORS
For a few moments no one in the room spoke, and as the boys glanced at one another the embarrassment under which they were laboring seemed to increase. What could have induced Tim and Ripley to visit him, Ward could not conceive. The intensity with which he disliked both increased even as he looked steadily at them and waited for them to speak; for Ward had quickly decided that they must declare their errand without any questioning on his part.
What an evil face Tim had, Ward thought. And yet his own face flushed slightly at the recollection that only a few months before this time he and Tim had stood much in the same position, had engaged in the same pranks, and had reaped the same result at the end of the year. But Tim apparently had sunk even lower, and while Ward was fully conscious of his own failures and falls, yet there was a little feeling of rejoicing that he certainly was now trying to do better. And his own heart rebelled against Tim and all his ways. Surely there was a wide difference between them now, for while they might have started from almost the same plane both had been moving steadily onward, but drifting apart, with the consequence that there was now a distance between them greater than either could conceive.
And too, in that moment of awkward silence, Ward thought of how their positions had changed since the beginning of the present school year. Then Tim had seemed to be a leading force in the school. The boys, even those whose hearts were repelled by him, still outwardly acknowledged his position, and his word had been law with them in many ways. His wealth, his fine physique, his ability as a baseball player and a general athlete, had all their weight, as Ward himself was fully aware. And indeed, had he not himself felt the influence of all these things in the previous year, and been among those whom Tim had easily induced to follow him in his evil ways?
Now, however, it was clearly evident to Ward that to a large extent Tim had lost in influence in the school, while he himself had risen in the estimation of his fellows. What had wrought the change? Was it the winning of the game from the Burrs? Doubtless that had not been without its influence, but it was something more than that, and although Ward Hill could not find a name for the cause of the change, and perhaps was not fully aware of the change itself, it was still due far more to something within him than to anything he had done which could be seen by his fellows.
The struggle had been a difficult one, and what the sensitive, highly-strung lad had suffered no one but himself could know. And perhaps the battle was not entirely won even now, nor would it ever be until life itself should be ended, for no matter how high a person may rise there still lies the unattained before him. The successful merchant is not willing to rest on the laurels won; the statesman finds difficulties confronting him even when he has gained the coveted position, and even the schoolboy is not satisfied with the victories he has achieved, but is looking out upon fields all untrodden by him. And all this is because life is at work. When a man ceases to struggle he ceases to live. Dead men are never hungry. They rest from their labors, but the living rest for their labors.
The main difference between Ward Hill and Tim Pickard lay not in the positions they then occupied, widely apart as these at the time seemed to be, but rather in the direction in which each boy was moving. Tim was slipping and drifting, and his direction was downward. Ward was struggling and striving, falling too many times in spite of all his endeavors, but the direction in which he was moving was after all steadily upward. If their relative positions were so far apart now, what would they be at the end of the journey?
Not all of these thoughts had come to Ward in the awkward silence which had followed the unexpected entrance of Tim and Ripley, but a dim suggestion of some of them had made itself felt in the heart of the puzzled lad.
In a moment, however, all his better impulses were swept away as he thought of the troubles Tim had brought upon them. The "stacking" of his room, and all the petty annoyances he had suffered at his hands in the earlier part of the year were as nothing now in contrast with the condition of Jack and Henry, and even his own body was not without its witnesses in the shape of bruises and sores.
When he thought of Jack, Ward's anger quickly returned, and a harsh and bitter taunt arose almost upon his lips, but by a great effort he restrained himself. After all, who was he to taunt Tim with his shortcomings? Possibly Tim might not be entirely without flings to give him in return. No, silence was the better part now, and he need not stoop because Tim had fallen so low.
Tim was the first to speak. Assuming an air of indifference and bravado, and looking boldly about the room he said "Well, we might as well have it out at the beginning as at any time, I suppose. We've come over to see what you intend to do about it."
"Do about what, Tim?" said Ward. "Of what are you talking?"
Tim laughed noisily, as he replied. "That'll do to tell the doctor, but it won't go here. You know as well as I do what we've come over here for."
"You'll have to explain yourself," said Ward coldly.
"All right then, if you must have it; it's the accident. We came over to see about it. You might as well speak it right out now as any time, and it may save a heap of trouble."
"I suppose by 'the accident' you mean the ashes you had sprinkled on the road on West Hill, and your trying to crowd 'The Arrow' upon them," said Ward.
"Now look here, fellows," said Tim with an air of assumed indifference, "it's all very well for you to talk about my steering into you. No one can ever say that I did that purposely. You can't hold two bobs going as swiftly as ours were right to a chalk line. It's simply impossible. You happened to have the lower side, that's all there was about it, anyway, and when 'The Swallow' veered a little from her course, why you thought we were coming straight for you. But even then you didn't have to leave the track, and you wouldn't have done it, only Speck lost his head. He looked behind him and, like Lot's wife, he had to suffer the consequences of his own mistake, and that's all there was to it."
As none of the boys made any reply, Tim hastily continued. "And it's all true what I was saying about it's not being necessary for you to leave the track, even if we had gone out of our course a bit. We know it's so, because some of us have been up and examined the place again."
"Is that what Ripley was running down the hill so for?" inquired Brown quietly.
Ripley's face flushed as he said quickly: "I wasn't running away. If any of you fellows think you can go down West Hill across lots at a walk when the crust is as hard and slippery as it is now, why just try it, that's all I've got to say, and you'll sing a different tune. I couldn't stop and I couldn't turn around. I wasn't running away. What was there to run from, I'd like to know?"
"I'll tell you what you were running from, Ripley, if you want to know," said Brown.
"What was it?"
"Ashes."
Ripley's face could not entirely conceal his alarm as he heard Brown's words, but he only laughed lightly by way of reply.
"Yes, sir," said Brown. "We found out all about it. We dug over the snow you had thrown on the road and then tried to tramp down so that it wouldn't show. We know all about that, my fleet-footed friend."
"No one can say that either of us put any ashes on the road," said Tim boldly. "We didn't do it, we didn't have anything to do with it--if any ashes were scattered there, which, for my part, I very much doubt."
"No one would ever accuse you of doing it," said Ward hotly. "You never yet had the manliness to stand up and have a decent share in the mean tricks you set the other boys up to. Oh, no, you probably didn't carry the ashes up the hill. No one would ever think of you as doing that. You'd rather have some one else do all your dirty work, and then you'll crawl out when the pinch comes."
"Well, there's one thing I never did, anyway," replied Tim slowly, although his eyes betrayed the anger which Ward's words had aroused. "I never went back on my friends by the 'I am holier than thou' dodge. I never stooped to pose as a pious fraud after I'd been guilty of some things I could mention. Not much! If ever I went over to Dorrfield and had a supper at another fellow's expense and got drunk, I never whined and lied out of it, nor told of the other fellows, anyway. If I ever stole any examination questions, I never denied it. If I flunked when it came to the end of the year, I never bootlicked the teachers and tried the 'good little boy' dodge. Now suppose I did know that ashes were to be scattered on the path? What could I do about it, I'd like to know? If some of the fellows couldn't bear the thought of Jack Hobart, with such a crowd of bootlicks as he had on his bob, coming in ahead of 'The Swallow,' why whose fault was it, I'd like to know? I couldn't help it, could I? I've got enough to answer for myself, without taking on my shoulders every fellow that is despised by the school."
The anger which Ward felt when Tim first began to speak soon gave way to shame and mortification as the brutal lad went on. All his thrusts went home, and Ward could hardly speak when Tim stopped. All his former disgrace came back upon him, and he felt as if every boy in the room must be regarding him as Tim pretended to himself.
But Henry, who felt deeply for his room-mate, with flashing eyes quickly came to his assistance. Rising from the chair in which he had been seated and standing directly in front of Tim, he said: "Look here, Tim Pickard, you'll not gain anything by raking up old scores, or trying to get us off on the track of last year's work, whether it's true or false what you say. You know as well as I do that some of these things are not true; but I don't care anything about them, one way or the other. And you can't scare us in any such way, either. Now look here, Tim Pickard! do you see that arm of mine? I've got to carry it in a sling for weeks, and why? Just because of your sneaking trick. Jack Hobart's lost a finger and no one knows how long he'll be in bed, or whether he'll ever leave it alive or not, for that matter. Now what was the cause of it? Answer me, will you? Where did all these fellows get their bumps and bruises, and how does it happen that 'The Arrow' is smashed into pieces? Can you tell me that? You want to know what we're going to do about it, do you? Well, I could tell you mighty quick what I'd do if it was left to me. I'd go straight to Doctor Gray and lay the whole thing before him. We'd arranged for a square race with you, you know that. And I don't care whether you carried the ashes up there yourself or had some of your sneaking 'Tangs' do the work for you; it's all one to me. I don't think the fellow who would be guilty of such a mean, contemptible trick as that is fit to be in such a school as this. I haven't a bit of fear of being called a tell-tale. I'd think I was doing the very best that could be done. Yes, sir, if I could have my way I'd even get up a petition to the doctor to have you put out of the school. When you set the little fellows up to stacking rooms, I thought that was pretty small business for a senior to be engaged in, though I didn't think it was worth noticing; but when you come to do things that endanger our lives, it's another matter entirely, and I don't believe in mincing matters, either. If you'd settle down and behave yourself, there isn't a fellow in the Weston school that would do a thing against you; but it's time you put a stop to some of the things you're doing, and if you won't do it, then I claim the fellows themselves ought to do it for you."
Henry ceased, and for a moment all the boys looked at him in astonishment. He was usually such a quiet fellow that the outburst seemed to them all the more remarkable. Even Tim apparently had been affected by Henry's righteous indignation; but in a moment he recovered himself and said:
"That's just what we came over for. Then we are to understand, are we, that you intend to report the matter to the teachers?"
"No, Tim," said Ward, who now had somewhat recovered from his mortification. "No, Tim, we don't say we shall do that. We talked it all over and made up our minds that it wouldn't be quite fair to Jack to do that. He's suffered the most and he ought to have the most to say about what shall be done. We sha'n't do anything till he is better and can say what he wants."
"Jack Hobart never will squeal, if you leave it to him; but it won't be left to him, I'm thinking. Some of these pious frauds will not be able to keep still and wait for him. Well, Ripley," he continued, rising as he spoke and turning to his companion, "we'll have to face the music, I suppose." And face the music they did for Dr. Gray in some mysterious way heard of their part in the almost fatal accident and immediately expelled Tim from school. He gave Ripley a severe reprimand but did not deal as severely with him, for the just master realized Tim's mastery over the weaker boy.
Ward felt greatly relieved when he heard of Tim's expulsion. An evil genius had passed out of his life.