



Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net









                        Tom, Dick, and Harriet




[Illustration: At the finish]




                        Tom, Dick, and Harriet


                                  By
                          Ralph Henry Barbour

           Author of “The Crimson Sweater,” “The Half-Back,”
                  “For the Honor of the School,” etc.


                          With Illustrations
                            By C. M. Relyea


                            [Illustration]


                               New York
                            The Century Co.
                                 1907




                          Copyright, 1907, by
                            THE CENTURY CO.


                          THE DE VINNE PRESS




CONTENTS


 CHAPTER                                          PAGE
      I A MEETING ON THE ICE                         3
     II DICK SOMES IS PERSONALLY CONDUCTED          18
    III THE BRAND FROM THE BURNING                  32
     IV THE BEGINNING OF A GREAT SCHEME             52
      V THE F. H. S. I. S. HOLDS A MEETING          75
     VI ON THE ICE AND THROUGH                      94
    VII HARRY EVENS OLD SCORES                     107
   VIII THE IMPROVEMENT SOCIETY HAS A SETBACK      130
     IX ON THE TRAIL                               147
      X FOILED!                                    160
     XI THE ADVENTURES OF ESTRELLA                 177
    XII THE MYSTERY IS SOLVED                      200
   XIII THE _BOREAS_ TAKES THE ICE                 223
    XIV THE DOCTOR INTERVENES                      242
     XV THE RACE OF THE ICE-BOATS                  259
    XVI FORMING THE TRACK TEAM                     275
   XVII THE TREASURY IS LOOTED                     289
  XVIII THE SOCIETY AWAITS RESULTS                 308
    XIX METHUSELAH SUBSCRIBES TO THE FUND          319
     XX GOSSIP AND A MEETING                       331
    XXI MR. KEARNEY MAKES AN OFFER                 342
   XXII FERRY HILL VS. HAMMOND                     358




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


  At the finish                                           _Frontispiece_

                                                                    PAGE

  “‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Break your strap?’”                              7

  “‘Where do I live, do you suppose?’ he asked”                       41

  The imaginary letter                                                47

  A meeting of the Ferry Hill School Improvement Society              71

  “‘Mama, you mustn’t see!’ she cried. ‘It’s a secret!’”              77

  “Harry caught her sweater by the end of one sleeve and tossed
      it toward him”                                                 111

  “There was a full attendance of the Improvement Society”           123

  “‘I’m Sherlock Holmes’”                                            149

  “They scuttled hurriedly to the side of the road and subsided
      in the bushes”                                                 167

  “‘That’s the Insane Asylum’”                                       193

  “‘Ah, there!’”                                                     209

  The launching                                                      231

  “A half-mile away was the finish line”                             271

  Work out of doors                                                  291

  “‘It’s gone,’ wailed Harry”                                        305

  “‘And something else, too!’”                                       381




TOM, DICK, AND HARRIET




CHAPTER I

A MEETING ON THE ICE


There had been almost a week of zero weather and the Hudson River in
the neighborhood of Coleville and Ferry Hill was frozen hard and fast
from shore to shore. They were cutting ice below Coleville, and Dick
Somes had watched them for some time before crossing the river in the
teeth of a bitter east wind and reaching the shelter of the opposite
shore. There, with the trees protecting him from the icy blast, he
turned up-stream once more and skated more leisurely along the margin.

It was the middle of an afternoon in early January, to be exact, the
third day of the new year; and overhead sunlight and clouds held
alternate sway. But the sun, already nearing the summit of the distant
hills, held little warmth even when it managed to escape for a moment
from the flying banks of cloud, and Dick, accustomed though he was to
the intense cold of the western mountains and prairies, was glad to
escape for a while from that biting wind which apparently entertained
not the slightest respect for his clothing and which numbed him through
and through.

The river was nearly deserted. Directly across from him, nearly a
half-mile away, a few skaters were to be seen keeping to the smooth ice
near shore. A mile below black specks moved about in front of the big
ice-houses. But for the rest, Dick had the river to himself. Or, at
least, so he thought until, rounding a slight curve, he caught sight
of a figure seated on the edge of the bank. Perhaps the wind whipping
the tops of the trees drowned the ring of Dick’s skates, or perhaps
the girl with the brown sweater, gray skirt and white tam-o’-shanter
was too much absorbed with the broken skate strap in her hand to heed
anything else. At least, she was unaware of Dick’s approach, and so
that youth had ample opportunity to observe his discovery as he skated
slowly along.

Under the white tam-o’-shanter was a good deal of very red hair,
and under the red hair was a pretty, healthy face with rosy cheeks,
an impertinent little up-tilted nose, a pair of clear blue eyes and
a small mouth which, just at this moment, was pursed in a pout of
annoyance to match the frown on her forehead. The hanging skate and the
broken strap told their tale and Dick, on his way past, wheeled and
slid up to the distressed maiden.

“Hello,” he said. “Break your strap?”

The girl looked up with a start and studied him a moment in silence.
Then she tossed the longer piece of the offending leather to him and
he caught it deftly.

“Yes,” she said, “just look at the old thing! And I haven’t another and
I’m half a mile from home. Roy told me I ought to have the other kind
of skates and you can just wager I’m going to after this!”

“Well, you could have one of my straps,” answered Dick, “only I don’t
wear them.”

“Yes, and I could pick one off the trees only they don’t grow there,”
she answered sharply. Dick laughed and in a moment the girl joined him.

“I dare say it’s a joke,” she said, “but when you come out to skate you
don’t just like to have to sit on a rock and hold your foot in your
hand.”

“Oh, I can fix you up,” said Dick carelessly. “Here, wait a minute.” He
drew off his gloves, tossed them with the broken strap on to the bank
and drew the neck of his sweater down. “Out our way we generally mend
things with barbed wire, but there doesn’t seem to be any handy, so I
guess this’ll do until you get home.” With a final tug he brought forth
a blue four-in-hand necktie and held it forth.

[Illustration: “‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Break your strap?’”]

“But--but that’s your tie!” protested the girl.

“Yes, but I don’t need it. Besides, it’s old.”

“It looks brand-new,” answered the girl.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Put your foot out, please.”

“But it’ll spoil it, won’t it?” she asked.

“Don’t care if it does. I’ve got lots more, and I never liked this one
anyhow.”

“Well--” She put out the foot with the disabled skate and Dick
substituted the blue necktie for the broken strap. When the skate was
once more firmly in place and a nice blue bow-knot adorned the instep
of her shoe the girl broke into laughter.

“Isn’t it lovely?” she cried, wriggling her foot around and viewing it
at all angles. “Think of wearing neckties on your feet! I do wish I had
one for the other foot too!”

“Sorry I haven’t any more,” laughed Dick. “How would a handkerchief do?”

She shook her head.

“No, I tried using my handkerchief, but it wasn’t big enough. Cold,
isn’t it?”

“Awfully.” She got to her feet and tried the skate. It held well and
she turned a grateful countenance to Dick. “I’m very much obliged,”
she said sweetly; “and I’ll send the tie to you--or another one like
it--when I get home. Do you live around here? I’ve never seen you
before, I guess.”

“Oh, never mind,” he answered. “I don’t want it. You’ll have to go kind
of easy with it, though, I guess, or it’ll get loose.” He rescued his
gloves and drew them on his chilled fingers. “I’ll go along with you,
if you like, in case it comes undone.”

“I asked you a question,” she replied imperiously. He looked at her
amusedly.

“Oh, so you did,” he said. “You asked if I lived around here, didn’t
you?” The girl’s head went into the air and the corners of her mouth
came down.

“If you don’t care to answer, I’m sure you needn’t,” she said
haughtily. Dick laughed.

“Oh, I don’t mind. I live over there.” He nodded across the river. “I’m
at Hammond Academy.”

“Oh,” said the girl. “You talk as though you weren’t ashamed of it!”

“Ashamed of it?” he repeated in a puzzled way. “Why should I be? Isn’t
Hammond all right?”

“For those who like it,” she replied.

“Then you don’t like it,” he laughed. “Why not?”

“Because--because--” She stopped and drew the collar of her brown
sweater higher about her neck. “I’m going now,” she announced. “I don’t
think you need come. I’m very much obliged. And I’ll send the necktie
to you at Hammond.”

“Who are you going to send it to?” he asked.

“Oh! That’s so, who is it? I don’t want to know your name, but if you
like to tell me--”

He shook his head.

“I saw you first,” he said. “You tell me your name and then I’ll tell
you mine.”

The girl in the brown sweater had started off and Dick had taken his
place beside her. For a moment they skated in silence. Then:

“I’m Harry Emery,” she announced.

“Oh,” he answered indifferently. “And do you live around here?” She
turned upon him in surprise.

“You’re just pretending!” she said after a moment’s examination of his
countenance.

“Pretending what?”

“That you don’t know who I am. Why, every Hammond boy knows the girl
that beat their best skater last winter!”

“Did you do that?” he asked in admiration. “I’ll bet you couldn’t do it
this winter.”

“Why not?” she demanded.

“Because I don’t believe you could beat me.”

“Want to try it?” she challenged. He shook his head.

“Not while you’ve got one skate strapped on with a necktie,” he
answered. “But if you think you’d like a race some time you let me
know.”

She looked him over speculatively and what she saw must have impressed
her a little, for there was a note of uncertainty in her voice when she
said:

“I guess I could beat you, Mr. Conceit. I beat Schonberg last winter.
Can you skate faster than he can?”

“I don’t know. I never saw him.”

“Never saw him!” she cried. “How long have you been at Hammond?”

“Since about this time yesterday,” he replied smilingly.

“Oh!” she said. “You’ve just come? You weren’t there in the fall?”

He shook his head.

“Just got here yesterday afternoon and wish I was back where I came
from,” he answered cheerfully. “There’s only about a dozen fellows over
there and they’re the no-accountest lot I ever did see. I didn’t know
when the new term began and so I just moseyed up here to find out. It
doesn’t start until the day after to-morrow. Maybe by that time I’ll
get sick of it and pull my freight for home.”

“Run away, do you mean?” asked Harry Emery breathlessly.

“Oh, no, just change my mind. I haven’t paid my tuition yet, and I
guess I could light out if I wanted to, any time before school begins.
And I’ve got a good mind to do it.”

“Serves you right for not going to a--well, another school!” said the
girl.

“I suppose so. But I didn’t know. Dad’s lawyer in New York knew about
Hammond and said it was all right. So I came up. Maybe I’ll like it
better when the rest of the fellows get back.”

“No, you won’t,” answered Harry decidedly. “Why didn’t you come to our
school?”

Dick looked amused.

“Is it a girl’s school?” he asked.

“Of course not, silly! It’s Ferry Hill, and everybody who knows
anything says it’s the best school around here; the best school
anywhere!”

“Oh, boys and girls both, eh? I don’t think I’d like that.”

“But it isn’t!”

“Isn’t it? But if you go there--?”

“I don’t go to school there; I just live there. My father is the
Principal.”

“Oh, now I savvy,” said Dick. “Where is it? Is it nice? I’d like to
take a look at it.”

“It’s just up here a bit further,” answered Harry. “You can see it from
Hammond. Haven’t you noticed?” Dick shook his head.

“It’s on a hill,” continued Harry, “and you would have seen it if you
weren’t blind. It’s the nicest school there is, and the boys are dandy.
And we can beat Hammond at anything--foot-ball, base-ball, tennis,
hock--well, not hockey, maybe, but we’ve only played one year; but
we’ll beat them this year, at that, too!”

“Sounds like the real thing,” laughed Dick. “How big is it!”

“Well, it’s smaller than Hammond,” Harry acknowledged grudgingly, “but
it--it’s more select! There are forty-two boys this year; there were
forty-three last season when Otto Ferris was here.”

“What happened to him?” asked Dick.

“He got sick and went home. I’m glad of it; I hate him.”

“I tell you what you do,” said Dick after a moment. “You show me what
your school is like. Maybe if I get any more soured on Hammond I’ll
skate over with my trunk and try Ferry Hill.”

“Do you mean it?” cried Harry.

“Why not?”

“But--but you couldn’t!”

“Oh, yes I could. I can do as I like, I guess.”

“But they wouldn’t let you!”

“Who wouldn’t let me?”

“They--them--over at Hammond!”

“I’d like to see them try and stop me,” answered Dick with a laugh.
“I haven’t entered their school yet, you know, and I don’t owe them
anything but a day’s board and lodging. You produce your school, Miss
Emery, and I’ll look it over.”

“And if you like it you’ll come?” cried Harry, her blue eyes dancing.
Dick hesitated, then:

“Yes, I’ll come if I like it!” he answered.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Come on, then!” cried Harry. “I’ll race you to the boat-house!”




CHAPTER II

DICK SOMES IS PERSONALLY CONDUCTED


I don’t think Dick tried very hard to win that race; at least, he
exhibited no superhuman efforts; and the result was that Harry Emery
won by several yards, finishing on one skate and trailing a blue
streamer from the other foot like a banner of victory. She subsided on
the edge of the boat-house porch, smiling and triumphant.

“I won!” she cried.

“Easily,” answered Dick placidly.

“I told you I could,” continued Harry.

“I said so too, didn’t I?”

“No, you said I couldn’t; you know you did.”

“Guess I was wrong then.” There was a moment’s silence during which
they each busied themselves with their skates. Presently Harry laid
hers beside her and looked up with a frown.

“No, you were right,” she sighed. “I guess you can beat me. You weren’t
trying just now. You’re like everybody else; you think because I’m a
girl I’m not worth bothering with.”

“Nonsense! You skate finely,” answered Dick earnestly. “Better than any
girl I ever saw.”

“Any girl!” echoed Harry scathingly. “That’s it! Girls can’t skate!
Why, there isn’t one at Madame Lambert’s who can keep up with me for a
minute. I can skate faster than any boy here, too!”

“Well, that’s doing pretty well, isn’t it?” asked Dick with a smile as
he tossed his skates down beside hers.

“I don’t like to be beaten--by any one,” grieved Harry.

“Then you mustn’t race with me.”

“Pshaw! You’d be polite and let me beat you--as you did just now. I--I
hate polite people!”

“No, I wouldn’t,” said Dick grimly. “When you race with me you’ve got
to go as hard as you know how, for I’ll beat you if I can. And if you
can’t stand being beaten you want to keep out of it, Miss Emery.”

Harry studied him a moment in silence.

“I guess nobody likes to be beaten,” she said finally; “but I can stand
it as well as the next fellow. What’s your name?”

“Somes, Dick Somes; Richard for long.”

“My name’s Harriet ‘for long,’” she laughed. “But nobody calls me
Harriet; it isn’t a very pretty name, is it?”

“Harriet? I don’t believe I ever heard it before. I was wondering how
you came to be named Harry. Harry suits you better, I guess.”

“How old are you, Dick?”

“Sixteen last August.”

“I’m fifteen. Wouldn’t you think I was older?” she asked anxiously.

“Heaps,” he laughed. “I thought you were about twenty.”

“I don’t like to be made fun of,” replied Harry.

“There’s a good deal you don’t like, isn’t there?” he asked with a grin.

“I sha’n’t like you if you talk like that,” she answered severely.

“Then I sha’n’t come to your old school.”

“It isn’t an ‘old school!’” flashed Harry. “And I don’t care whether
you come or not!”

“Oh, yes, you do,” he answered soothingly. “If I don’t come we won’t
have that race.”

“I don’t want to race you!”

“Oh, all right. Then it’s me for Hammond again. I guess it’s the better
school of the two, anyway.”

“I’m sure it’ll suit you better,” she answered angrily. Then she caught
sight of the merriment in his eyes, hesitated and laughed softly.
“You--you almost made me angry,” she declared.

“Almost, eh? Then you must be a terror, Miss Emery, when you go the
limit. Aren’t you going to show me around? It’s getting late and I’m
freezing to death.”

“Come on,” answered Harry. “You can leave your skates here; they’ll
be all right. And here’s your tie. I’m afraid, though, it’s kind of
frazzled and--oh, it’s torn! Look!”

“Don’t you care,” he said. “Here, I’ll carry your skates.”

“No,” she answered decisively, “I’ll carry them myself. I don’t like to
be waited on.”

“I guess if I came here to school,” laughed Dick, “it would take most
of my time finding out what you didn’t like. I wouldn’t have any time
for lessons.”

“Do you like to study?” Harry asked.

“Pretty well; everything but languages. Which way do we go? Up this
path?”

“Yes. Oh, I forgot. That’s the boat-house there. We have a crew and we
race Hammond every spring. Last year we were beaten.”

“I never saw a boat race,” said Dick. “It must be good sport.”

“It’s perfectly great,” said Harry, “and awfully exciting! This is the
Grove and the buildings are up the hill, only you can’t see them yet.
I’ll go ahead and show you the way.”

The path wound through a thick growth of trees, maples and oaks and
others, climbing steadily upward. Presently the trees thinned and
ceased and Dick followed his guide through a gap in a breast-high
hedge which, as Harry informed him, marked “inner bounds.” I have no
intention of recording the fund of information which Harry showered
upon Dick’s defenseless head. Needless to say that she  her
remarks with the rose-tint of enthusiasm and drew a most alluring
picture of life at Ferry Hill. She rattled on breathlessly and
continuously after she had once become warmed up to her task and Dick’s
brain began to reel under the torrent of information.

He was shown Burgess Hall, with the dormitories and the dining-room,
School Hall, with its twilighted class rooms, the Cottage, where Harry
lived--Harry pointed out her room and described the furnishings
minutely, even to the pink paper on the walls--and the Gymnasium, which
was locked, and consequently remained a mystery for the present. Back
of the gym a gate in the hedge gave access to the Athletic Field, with
its snow-filled stands and gibbet-like goal-posts rising forlornly out
of the white waste. Harry said there was a running track there, but
Dick had to take her word for it. Then they retraced their steps and
Harry pointed out, at a distance, the stables and barns and the orchard
beyond.

“I’ll show you my menagerie some time,” she said. “It lives in the
barn. I’ve got a parrot, three lovely Angora kittens, a squirrel,
four guinea-pigs, six rabbits, lots and lots of white mice, heaps of
pigeons, and a dog.”

“Phew!” said Dick. “Is that all?”

“The dog’s name is Snip,” Harry continued. “He’s a fox terrier. Last
year I had two black rabbits and I called them Pete and Repeat, and
then there was a third and I had to call it Threepete. Isn’t that
silly?”

“I think it’s a pretty good name,” laughed Dick.

“Really? The parrot’s name is Methuselah; he’s awfully old, I guess,
but he’s a perfect dear. You’ll love Methuselah, Dick!”

“Maybe, but I don’t believe so. I don’t like parrots.”

“But he isn’t just--just an ordinary parrot,” said Harry earnestly.
“He’s awfully clever and wise; he knows heaps of things, really!”

“I like dogs and horses better,” answered Dick. “Have you got a horse?”

“No, there are two in the stable, but they don’t belong to me. Next
year, though, papa is going to get me a pony and a cart. Then I shall
drive to school every day.”

“Where’s your school?” Dick asked.

“Over there at Silver Cove. It’s a very nice school.”

They had reached the dormitory again and Dick stopped and looked about
him. It was getting dark rapidly and the campus, deep with snow,
looked bleak and forlorn. Even Harry had to acknowledge that fact to
herself and her hopes of inducing Dick to cast his lot with Ferry Hill
began to dwindle. Westward, above the tops of the trees which crowded
the <DW72>, lay the frozen river, and beyond, on the farther bank, a few
yellow points of light marked the location of Coleville and Hammond
Academy.

“Of course,” ventured Harry, “things don’t look very nice now, but you
ought to see them when the trees are out and--and all.”

But her voice didn’t hold much conviction and Dick merely nodded his
head as he turned toward the path down the <DW72>.

“Well, I’m much obliged for showing me around,” he said. “I’d better be
getting back.”

“Yes,” sighed Harry. “I--I’ll walk down to the river with you. You
might lose your way.” She didn’t have the courage to ask him whether
he liked Ferry Hill well enough to come there. She didn’t believe he
did. She wished he might have seen it in the morning when the sun was
shining warmly on the red brick walls and the sky was blue overhead.
She was disappointed. Dick seemed a rather nice sort, if somewhat
too--too self-assured, and it would have pleased Harry hugely to have
wrested a prospective student away from the rival school. Besides, the
sum of money which the advent of another student meant was not to be
sneered at; Ferry Hill’s expenses so nearly matched her income that
a half-year’s tuition and board might mean quite a little when the
accounts were balanced. Doctor Emery, as Harry well knew, had been
rather discouraged for the last two or three years. There was only the
one dormitory hall and forty-six boys filled it to overflowing, and for
that many students the expense was as great as it would be for twice
the number. The Doctor wanted a new dormitory, but didn’t know how he
was going to get it. With room for say twenty more students the school
would pay very well. As it was, it sometimes didn’t pay at all; there
were years when the books balanced the wrong way and the Doctor and his
family stayed at Ferry Hill all through the hot weather. Harry thought
of all this as she led the way down the hill through the dim grove,
and as a result what conversation ensued was somewhat spasmodic. At
the boat-house Dick busied himself with his skates and Harry looked on
silently; but finally:

“I don’t believe you had any idea of leaving Hammond, anyway,” she
exclaimed aggrievedly.

“Why not?” asked Dick.

“Because--because how could you, if your folks wanted you to go there--”

“My folks didn’t have much to do with it,” answered Dick, pulling his
gloves on. “There’s only my dad, anyway. He didn’t know anything about
the schools here and left it to his lawyer in New York. I said I didn’t
much care, and Mr. Warwick said he’d heard that Hammond was a very good
place, so after Dad sailed I came up here.”

“Is your father a sailor?” asked Harry.

“Oh, no,” laughed Dick, “he’s a mining man. He owns mines and buys
and sells them. My mother died a couple of years ago and we broke up
housekeeping and went moseying around, Dad and I. Then when he found
he’d have to go to London and Paris for two or three months he didn’t
know what to do with me. So I said I’d go to school somewhere in the
East; I’d never been very much, anyway. So that’s how it happened;
savvy?”

“Yes, but what’s ‘savvy’?” asked Harry.

“Oh, it means ‘Do you understand?’”

“Then if--if you did want to leave Hammond you could?” she asked. Dick
nodded.

“Sure as shooting! Why not? I told Dad I wouldn’t stay if I didn’t like
it, and he said in that case I could go back to Helena or join him in
London.”

“My!” exclaimed Harry. “Why don’t you go to London?”

“I’ve been there twice,” Dick answered.

“Then--then you--you’ll stay at Hammond?” asked Harry wistfully.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Dick. “Maybe.”

“And you didn’t like Ferry Hill?”

“Oh, yes, I did,” he answered stoutly. “It seems a mighty nice school.”

“But you won’t come?”

Dick hesitated, skating about backward and forward along the edge of
the ice and swinging his arms to keep warm.

“I don’t know,” he answered finally. “I’ll think it over. When does
school begin?”

“Day after to-morrow, but you’d have to get here to-morrow before six
in the evening.”

“Well, if I come--I’ll think about it anyway. And thanks for showing me
around. I’ve had a real jolly time. Good-night, Miss Emery.”

“Good-night,” answered Harry sadly. “I--I wish you’d decide to come.”

“Well, maybe I will,” he shouted back as he skated off. “But if I’m
not here by six to-morrow tell your father not to wait supper for me.
Good-night!” And laughing at his joke Dick Somes sped off into the
darkness across the frozen river.

Harry stood there shivering until she could no longer hear the ring of
his skates. Then she turned and went disappointedly back up the hill.




CHAPTER III

THE BRAND FROM THE BURNING


“Well, you old duffer! I thought you were going to meet me at the
station for the eleven o’clock.”

“I really meant to, Roy,” answered Chub Eaton, “but my train was nearly
an hour late and I got in just four minutes after you’d gone. How are
you? Did you have a good time Christmas?”

“Bully,” answered Roy Porter. “Did you?”

“Oh, swell! I wish you’d been out with me.”

“I wanted to go,” answered Roy gravely, “but my folks were afraid I’d
get lost in the smoke. I told them that was hard on Pittsburg, but--”

Roy rolled over backward on Sidney Welch’s bed just in time to avoid
the slipper which Chub hurled.

“But they said they knew the place, Chub,” he ended.

“You run away and play,” grunted Chub as he returned to the task of
unpacking his trunk.

They were in the Junior Dormitory and up and down the two sides of
the long room was bustle and excitement and noise. The last train
arriving before six o’clock was in and had brought its load of
students. Trunks and bags were being unpacked, greetings exchanged and
adventures related, and every one was doing his best to get settled
before dinner-time. Roy, who had arrived on an earlier train and
whose belongings were already stowed away in his locker in the Senior
Dormitory on the floor above, had met Chub on the arrival of the coach
and had carried one end of the battered steamer trunk up-stairs. Now
he was reclining comfortably on Sidney’s bed in direct violation of
the dormitory rules, and bothering his chum as much as possible. Sid,
by the way, a short, chunky boy of fifteen, was down at the far end of
the hall swapping marvelous tales of vacation experiences with Chase;
his voice, which was at the changing period, alternately dying away in
gruff whispers and soaring shrilly to a squeaky falsetto.

“Just listen to Sid,” chuckled Chub as he rolled a brown sweater up and
stuffed it into the locker. “Sounds as though he were knocking up flies
with his voice, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” answered Roy. “Say, Chub, did I ever tell you about the man who
went to Pittsburg?”

“Oh, you dry up,” answered Chub good-naturedly.

“But it’s a true story, honestly, Chub! Of course the man didn’t go
there just for fun; he had to; it was a matter of life or death,
I guess. Well, when he got back some one asked him if he’d seen
Pittsburg. ‘No,’ says he, ‘but I’ve been there!’”

“Go on,” answered Chub. “Have a good time. I don’t mind. I’d rather
live in Pittsburg where you can’t see than in New York where you don’t
want to.”

“I guess maybe that’s humor,” said Roy thoughtfully; “but
it’s--er--subtle, Chub, awfully subtle. Could you give me a hint? Just
tell me what letter the answer begins with!”

“I’ll tell you what letter your name begins with,” laughed Chub. “And
it comes between E and G.”

“What am I? A musical note?”

“No, a flat!”

“I suppose you think you’re sharp!”

Chub Eaton groaned loudly as he slammed the lid of his trunk down. He
was seventeen years of age, and looked older; was a trifle thick-set,
had brown hair that was almost brick-red, alert brown eyes, a
good-looking, expressive, good-humored face, and an ease of manner
and a self-assurance which his enemies called conceit and which his
friends loved him for. He was in his last year at Ferry Hill and
consequently in the First Senior Class. The preceding spring he had
succeeded himself as captain of the base-ball team. While well-liked by
almost every fellow in school, he had not attained to the popularity
which his companion commanded.

Roy Porter lacked his chum’s air of self-sufficiency and in looks and
manner unconsciously invited friendship. He was the school leader, and
reigned supreme with none to dispute his title. Besides that, until
the election following Ferry Hill’s defeat of Hammond on the latter’s
gridiron, a few weeks ago, he had been captain of the foot-ball team,
an honor alone sufficient to turn his head had that appendage not been
very stiffly attached. Unlike his predecessor in the office of school
leader, one Horace Burlen, who had left school the previous spring and
was now playing the precarious rôle of freshman in a near-by college,
Roy ruled with a gentle hand and maintained his sway by honest, manly
service in behalf of the school and his fellows. The younger boys
worshiped him, secretly resolved to be Roy Porters when they grew up,
and meanwhile copied his ties and stockings and cocked their hats as he
wore his.

Roy also was a First Senior and would graduate in June; and like
Chub--whose real name, by the way, was Thomas--was seventeen years old.
He was tall, well-built, athletic, with wavy light-brown hair, a frank
good-looking face and a pair of attractive gray-blue eyes.

“Say, Chub,” he exclaimed suddenly; “I almost forgot to tell you. What
do you suppose Harry’s been up to now?”

“Ask me something easier,” begged Chub.

“Swiping students from Hammond!”

“What!”

“Fact! She was down at the station and told me about it. It’s the
funniest thing you ever heard, Chub!” And Roy laid himself back on the
bed and laughed consumedly.

“Funny’s no word for it,” said Chub soberly. “I shall die of laughing
in a moment.”

“W-wait till I tell you!” gasped Roy.

“I am waiting, you gump! Stop that fuss and tell me! Don’t keep a
fellow waiting all day.”

“Well, listen.” And Roy recounted Harry’s meeting with Dick Somes,
embellishing the tale as fancy dictated, until Chub too was struggling
with his laughter.

“But--but she didn’t land him after all?” asked Chub.

“She doesn’t know yet. She told him he’d have to be here by six o’clock
to-night. She pretends she’s sure he’ll be here, but I guess he was
just fooling her.”

“Too bad,” said Chub. “Wouldn’t it have been great if he had left
Hammond and come here, eh? Wouldn’t we have had a peachy joke on them?”

“And wouldn’t they have hated Mr. Dick Summers, or whatever his name
is? But isn’t Harry the limit?”

“She’s plucky, all right,” answered Chub with a grin. “Fancy having the
cheek to try and--”

“Pluck a brand from the burning,” suggested Roy.

“Exactly! Suppose we run over to the Cottage and see if he’s shown up?”

“Oh, he hasn’t come,” answered Roy, glancing at his watch. “It’s two
minutes of six now.”

“What of it? He might have come half an hour ago and--” Chub, who was
facing the dormitory door, stopped and stared over Roy’s shoulder.
“Hello!” he ejaculated. Roy turned and followed his gaze.

Just inside the doorway stood a big, broad-shouldered, blond-haired
youth of apparently sixteen years of age. He wore a fur cap, a gray
sweater and dark knickerbockers, while in one hand was a suit case
and in the other a pair of skates. In spite of the fact that the
entire hall was observing him silently and curiously he appeared not
the least bit embarrassed; in fact his self-possession was then and
afterward something to wonder at. After a slow glance about the hall
he had turned his gray eyes on Chub and Roy. There was a careless,
good-humored smile on his singularly homely and at the same time
perplexingly attractive face.

“Where do I live, do you suppose?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” answered Roy, rising to go to him. “But I guess you
belong on the next floor. Did the Doctor tell you which dormitory you
were to go to?”

“Haven’t seen the Doctor,” was the calm reply. “I just got here. What
time is it, anyway?”

“Just six,” answered Roy.

“That’s all right then.” The newcomer set his bag down and placed his
skates on top of it. Then he threw his fur cap and gloves on to the
nearest bed and started to get out of his sweater.

But Chub, who had said no word so far, but upon whose countenance a
beatific grin had been growing and spreading with each instant, broke
the silence explosively.

[Illustration: “‘Where do I live, do you suppose?’ he asked”]

“Where’d you come from?” he shouted.

“Across the river,” answered the other.

“From Hammond?”

“Yep. From Hammond.”

Chub gave a whoop and hurdled the two intervening beds, landing on top
of the suit case, sending the skates clanging across the floor and
violently grasping the hand of the astounded youth.

“It’s he, Roy!” he yelled delightedly. “It’s the Brand from the
Burning!”

“That’s me,” laughed Dick Somes. “Did she tell you I was coming?”

“She said she expected you,” answered Roy; “but--well--”

“We didn’t think you’d have the cheek to do it,” ended Chub admiringly.
“Were they mad? How did you get away from them?”

“Oh, easy enough. I hadn’t entered, you see. So I paid them for two
days’ board and lodging, sent my trunk across by sleigh and pulled my
suit case after me. It was quick work,--had to be--but the only way I
could manage it. It scratched the suit-case up a bit, but that doesn’t
matter. I guess I’d better go and see the boss now and get my ticket
punched.”

“What ticket?” asked Roy.

“Oh, I mean see the Doctor, take out my papers, register, put my name
down, get enrolled, whatever you call it,” explained Dick. “Miss Emery
said I’d have to be here by six and I thought I wasn’t going to make
it. I lost my bearings skating across and headed away down-stream. That
made me late. When do we feed?”

“Right away,” answered Roy. “But you’d better go over to the Cottage
first. Chub and I’ll show you the way. This is Chub here; his full
name’s Mr. Thomas Eaton. By the way, your name’s Summers, isn’t it?”

“Somes,” was the reply. He shook hands warmly with Chub. “Glad to meet
you,” he said. Then he turned to Roy. “You’re Roy; I’ve forgotten your
last name, but Miss Emery spoke about you. Hope we’ll be friends.”
Then he faced the rest of the fellows who had edged as close as
politeness would allow and who had been watching the proceedings with
unconcealed interest. “My name’s Dick Somes,” he announced smilingly,
“and I’m glad to meet all you chaps. We’ll get acquainted later. Now if
you’ll lead the way,” he suggested to Roy, “I’ll get my name down on
the pay-roll.”

“Say, Somes,” said Chub, as they clattered down-stairs and across the
hall, “I don’t usually welcome strangers in quite such a demonstrative
way, you know, but Roy had just been telling me about Harry and you,
and it seemed such a blamed good joke that I just had to let out.”

“That’s all right,” Dick laughed. “I’m tickled to death to find some
one with what they call human emotions. Why, say, you chaps, I’ve been
hibernating over at Hammond for two whole days with a dozen wooden
Indians who wouldn’t even say ‘Good Morning’ to me until I shouted it!
Talk about your frozen faces! Phew! But you fellows act as though you
had blood in your veins! I thought maybe I could stand it over there,
but when the push began to drift in this afternoon I saw that I’d
either have to get out or do murder. They looked me over as though I
was some sort of a dime museum freak until I thought I’d have to eat
glass to please ’em. The first bunch feased me; I didn’t wait to see
what the rest looked like, but grabbed my pack and hit the trail, and
here I am. All I ask is kind treatment and a comfortable home.”

“Well, here we are,” laughed Roy. “I hope the Doctor will let you stay.”

“Oh, he will. I’ve got the money right here and a bunch of letters that
thick. And if he wants any more references I’ll refer him to Hammond.”

Roy rang the bell and in a moment the door was thrown open by Harry.

[Illustration: The imaginary letter]

“Hello, Chub!” she cried. But then her eyes wandered past him to Dick
Somes and her face lighted up. “Oh, it’s you!” she cried. “Father! He’s
here! It’s Dick Somes!”

“The Brand from the Burning,” murmured Dick as he followed the others
into the little parlor. Then Harry came dancing back and beckoned him
to the Doctor’s study. The door closed and Harry returned alone.

“I told you he would come!” she whispered excitedly to Roy. Roy
nodded. Then they sat, the three of them, like a trio of conspirators
and waited. Once in a while they exchanged smiles, and Harry and Roy
applauded Chub as he read from a blank sheet of paper, with widely
fantastic gestures, an imaginary letter recounting Dick’s virtues. Then
the door opened and the Doctor and Dick appeared together in the hall.

“Ah, boys,” said the Doctor, “I’m glad to see you again. You spent a
pleasant vacation, I hope. Now will you kindly take Somes over to Mr.
Cobb and ask him to assign him a bed in the Senior Dormitory? Thank
you. Good evening. I will see you here in the morning, Somes.”

They left Harry, jubilant, on the porch and returned through the
darkness to Burgess.

“How did it go?” asked Chub.

“All right,” answered Dick soberly. “Say, the Doctor’s fine, isn’t he?”
The others concurred and Dick went on:

“He wasn’t going to take me at first; said it wouldn’t be quite fair
to the Hammond folks. But I told him it was all off between them and
me and that if he wouldn’t take me here I’d go somewhere else. Then
I showed my credentials and he said finally that if I was in earnest
about it and really wanted to come here to learn and would abide by the
rules and all that he’d take me; and I said I would and we shook hands.
Then he laughed and said he guessed I’d get on.”

“Good enough,” said Roy. “We’ll find Cobb and then go down to supper.
Are you hungry?”

“Hungry! Man, I’m starved! I’ve been living on apple-sauce for
forty-eight hours! Why, I only have to close my eyes to imagine myself
a Golden Russet!”

“Golden Russet be blowed!” laughed Chub. “You’re a peach!”




CHAPTER IV

THE BEGINNING OF A GREAT SCHEME


Dick Somes, or “The Brand,” as Chub insisted on calling him, was a
success from the start. The circumstances attending his arrival at
Ferry Hill enveloped him in a mantle of romance, while to have thrown
over Hammond in favor of the rival school at once endeared him to
his new friends. Besides this, however, it was hard to resist his
personality. As Chub said one day in awed tones: “He’s just about as
homely as a mud fence, only somehow you forget all about it.” And you
did. You remembered only that his look was frank and kindly, his voice
wonderfully pleasant, and his laughter infectious. Before he had been
at Ferry Hill a week he knew every one of his forty-two companions
to speak to, and could call each one by his name without a mistake.
The younger boys tagged after him whenever they might, and the older
ones were frankly eager to be with him. He could talk interestingly on
a hundred subjects, and could be as breezy as a Kansas cyclone or as
staid and proper as young Cullum, of the Second Middle, who, on his
arrival from Boston the year before, had been promptly dubbed “Culture”
Cullum.

Born in Ohio, Dick had moved west with his parents at the age of six
years. Then had followed sojourns in a sod house in Nebraska, in a
log cabin in Montana, in an adobe shack in Colorado, and in a real
carpenter-built house in a Nevada mining town. After that the fortunes
of the Someses had mended rapidly until, when Dick was twelve, the
family was living comfortably in one of the finest residences of
Helena. For two years Dick attended school uninterruptedly, something
he had not done before. Then came his mother’s death and two years of
hotel life at home and abroad for him and his father. So, of course,
Dick had seen a good deal of the world for a boy of his age, had a keen
sense of humor, plenty of imagination, and could rattle off stories
that made his audience sit with wide eyes and open mouths. Dick never
spoke of wealth, but the impression prevailed generally that his father
was remarkably well off, and the fact that Dick had his own check-book
and could draw money from a New York trust company whenever he wanted
to naturally did much to strengthen that impression.

Harry took much credit to herself for Dick’s capture, and displayed at
all times a strong proprietary interest in him. For his part Dick liked
Harry immensely and endured her tyranny with unfailing good humor. At
Madame Lambert’s School, in Silver Cove, Harry became quite a heroine,
and the story of how she had induced a Hammond boy to come to Ferry
Hill was in constant demand for a fortnight after school began again.

Naturally enough, Dick’s closest friends were Chub and Roy--and, of
course, Harry; and I might include Sid Welch. Sid was fifteen and a
confirmed hero-worshiper. Last year he had transferred his allegiance
from Horace Burlen to Roy, and now appearances indicated that he was
about to transfer it again to Dick. Dick was very kind to him, as he
was to every one, but Sid’s youthfulness prevented him from any save
occasional companionship with the three older boys. To be sure, Dick
was only sixteen himself, but he seemed older than either Chub or Roy.
He had barely managed to convince Doctor Emery of his right to enter
the Second Senior class, and was working very hard to stay there.

One morning, a week or so after the beginning of the new term, Dick,
Roy, Chub, and Harry were seated, the two former on the grain chest
and the two latter on an empty box, in the barn. The big doors were
wide open and the morning sunlight fell across the dusty floor in a
long path of gold. The cold had moderated and that day the water was
dripping from the eaves, and the snow was sliding with sudden excited
rustlings from the roofs of the barn and sheds. Beyond the sunlight
the floor faded into the twilight of the building wherein the forms of
farm wagons and machinery were dimly discerned. From close at hand,
to be exact, from tiers of boxes and home-made cages ranged along one
side of the barn, came strange sounds; squeaks, soft murmurs, little
rustling noises, excited chatters, and now and then a plaintive me-ow.
The sounds came from the inhabitants of Harry’s menagerie, as Roy had
nicknamed the collection of pets. Overhead was the soft cooing of
pigeons, and outside in the warm sunlight many of them were wheeling
through the air and strutting about the yard. Dick had just been
formally introduced to the inhabitants of the boxes; to Lady Grey and
her two furry, purry kittens, to Angel and others of his family--white,
pink-eyed rabbits these--, to Teety, the squirrel, to Pete and Repeat
and Threepete, black rabbits all, to Snip, the fox terrier, to numerous
excitable white mice, and, last but not least, to Methuselah.

Methuselah was the parrot, a preternaturally solemn and dignified bird
as long as he refrained from conversation. When he spoke he betrayed
himself as the jeering old fraud that he was. Just at present he was
seated on Harry’s arm, his head on one side, and one glittering eye
closed. Closing one eye gave him a very wise look, and I fancy he knew
it. At Harry’s feet lay Snip, stretched out in the sunshine, and at a
little distance Spot, an Angora cat and the black sheep of the family,
sat hunched into a round ball of furriness and watched proceedings with
pessimistic gaze.

“When does the first hockey game come, Roy?” asked Chub.

“A week from Saturday, with Cedar Grove. By the way, Dick, can you play
hockey?”

“No, what’s it like?”

“Haven’t you ever seen a game?”

“Don’t think so. It’s a sort of shinny on the ice, isn’t it?”

“Something like that,” answered Roy. “You ought to learn. Harry says
you’re a dandy skater, and that’s half the battle.”

“Oh, I never could play games,” said Dick. “I’ve tried to catch a
base-ball, but I never could do it.”

“You come out for practice in a month or so,” said Chub, “and I’ll bet
you can learn how. Will you?”

“If you like. Do both you fellows play?”

“Yes, Roy plays first base and I play second.”

“Chub is captain,” added Harry.

“And where do you play?” asked Dick, turning to her.

“They won’t let me play,” answered Harry disgustedly. “I can play just
as well as Sid Welch, though!”

“Oh, come now, Harry,” laughed Chub, “Sid played a pretty good game
last year.”

“So could I if you’d let me. I can catch any ball you can throw, Chub
Eaton, and you know it!”

“Of course you can,” said Chub soothingly. “I’ll put you behind the bat
this year, Harry.”

“How far behind?” asked Roy. “Back of the fence?” Harry made a face at
him.

“I wouldn’t think of playing if you bar Harry out,” said Dick gravely.
“Harry rescued me from a life of idleness at Hammond, and brought me
over here where I’m buzzing my brain out trying to keep up with my
class, and I’m naturally awfully grateful to her. If you don’t let her
play you can’t have my invaluable services, Chub.”

“Look here, how about foot-ball?” demanded Roy.

“Me?” asked Dick. “I don’t know the first thing about it. The only game
I can play is chess.”

“But you ought to do something with those muscles of yours,” insisted
Roy. “Did you ever do any rowing?”

“Never even saw a race,” was the cheerful reply. “Oh, I’m no athlete,
me. The only thing I can do is ride and fish and shoot and throw a rope
and--and run a little.”

“Run?”

“Yes, on my feet, you know. Don’t you ever run hereabout?”

“Yes,” laughed Chub, “we run bases.”

“I couldn’t do that, I guess; a mile’s about my measure. Don’t you have
foot races here?”

“No, we don’t do anything in that line. Hammond has a track team, but
we haven’t. You should have stayed where you were put, if you want to
be a runner.”

“What’s the matter with getting up one of those things here?” asked
Dick. “One of those track teams? You’ve got a track, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but it’s not much good. We only use it for exercise,” said Roy.

“Couldn’t it be fixed up?”

“I don’t believe the Doctor would do it,” answered Roy. “You see, it
would cost a lot, and I know there isn’t much money to spend.”

“Why? Doesn’t the school make money?” asked Dick.

“Oh, yes, but not very much; does it, Harry?”

“Sometimes it doesn’t make anything; it loses,” replied Harry
cheerfully. “Then I wear my old dresses in the summer, and we stay
here at Ferry Hill; only sometimes I have to go and visit Aunt Harriet
Beverly, which is much worse than staying at home.”

“Must be a leak somewhere,” said Dick. “Why, with forty-three boys at
four hundred dollars a year, I don’t see why the Doctor doesn’t make
slathers of coin.”

“He used to,” said Harry; “but everything costs so much more nowadays,
you see. Papa says that if we had accommodations for twenty more boys
the school would make money.”

“What kind of accommodations?” asked Dick.

“Why, places to sleep and eat,” answered Harry.

“But if he’s losing money now with forty boys I should think he’d lose
half as much again with sixty,” said Chub.

“Didn’t you ever hear the saying that it costs as much to feed three
persons as it does two?” laughed Dick.

“Papa means,” explained Harry, “that the expenses wouldn’t be much
larger than they are now. It would take more food, of course, and--and
things like that, but there wouldn’t have to be any more teachers,
because papa and Mr. Cobb and Mr. Buckman could teach sixty boys just
as well as forty.”

“I see,” said Chub. “But--could he get twenty more boys? The school
isn’t quite full now, you know.”

“He could if he advertised in the magazines and papers,” said Harry.
“He never has advertised because he says it wouldn’t pay to do it
unless he could take lots more boys.”

“Well, I like the school as it is,” said Chub. “I think there is just
enough of a crowd here now. If it was much bigger we wouldn’t hang
together the way we do and we wouldn’t have half so good a time.”

“Yes, but I’d like the Doctor to make something,” said Roy. “I’d like
Harry to have new dresses in the summer and not have to visit her Aunt
Harriet,” he continued with a laugh. “Besides, if the school was making
plenty of money we could have a new boat-house, and an addition to the
grand stand and things like that, probably.”

“And a new running track,” added Dick. “I’m in favor of enlarging the
school!”

“Objection withdrawn,” said Chub. “Go ahead and do it.”

“Then, too,” said Roy, who had apparently been considering the matter
quite seriously, “we’d have a larger number of fellows to pick our
teams from. If we’ve been able to win from Hammond in most everything
in the long run with only half as many fellows as she has, what could
we do to her if we had three fourths as many?”

“Third class in algebra!” murmured Chub. “Mr. Somes may answer.”

“Not prepared,” said Dick promptly.

“But it’s so,” cried Harry. “Why, we could--we could simply lambaste
them!”

“Good for you, Harry!” laughed Chub.

“Yes, it is so,” pursued Roy earnestly.

“That’s why Hammond can have a track team and we can’t. She has nearly
ninety fellows this year to our forty-three. That means that she’s got
two chances to our one.”

“Oh, piffle!” scoffed Chub. “Why doesn’t she lick us then? We’ve beaten
her three times out of four at foot-ball, and we’re away ahead in
base-ball victories, and in rowing. No, sir, the reason we’ve been able
to lick her is just because we have so few fellows that we all stick
together and work for the school, and when we get a lot more here it
will be different and there’ll be cliques and things like that, and
half the school won’t speak to the other half.”

“That isn’t so at Hammond, I guess,” objected Dick. “From what little I
learned of the place the fellows stick together pretty well.”

“Besides, twenty more wouldn’t make much difference,” added Roy. “What
you say might be so if we had two or three hundred, like some of the
big schools; but not with sixty. I cast my vote with Dick; let’s
enlarge.”

“Yes, indeed,” cried Harry, “let’s! How’ll we do it?”

“Well, don’t let me interfere,” said Chub good-naturedly. “I’ll just
sit here and keep still while you do it. But don’t be long, because
I’ve got a lesson in just ten minutes.”

“Why, there’s only one way to do it,” said Dick promptly. “We must have
a new dormitory.”

“Oh, is that it?” asked Chub. “I’ll see if I can find one for you.”
He began to peer around on the floor. “I suppose one slightly used
wouldn’t do?”

“You dry up and blow away,” said Roy. “We’re talking business.”

“And if you want to come in on the ground floor,” said Dick, “now’s
your chance. If you wait you’ll have to pay a big price to join the
Society.”

“What’s it called? The Society of Hopeless Idiots?”

“No, sir; it’s called the Ferry Hill Improvement Society,” replied
Dick. “And its objects are to obtain a new dormitory, increased
attendance, a new running track and a track team.”

“Is that all?” jeered Chub. “It sounds so easy I guess I’ll have to
come in. You may put me down for president.”

“We’ll put you down for janitor, that’s what we’ll put you down for,”
said Roy scathingly. “Dick shall be president.”

“I decline,” said Dick. “I nominate Miss Harry Emery, Esquire.”

“No, Roy must be president,” answered Harry, “and I’ll be secretary and
treasurer, because I have more time than you fellows. And Dick must be
vice-president, and Chub--”

“I’ll be referee.”

“No, you’ll be second vice-president.”

“All right,” answered Chub cheerfully. “That’s me. I’m the one who
attends banquets and does the jollying. You folks do the work.”

“Look here,” said Roy soberly. “Are you fellows in fun or do you--do
you really intend to go into this?”

Chub grinned and Harry looked doubtful. Dick, however, answered
promptly.

“No, sir, there’s no fun about it!” he declared. “We’re going to do
it. Work on the new dormitory begins as soon as school closes in June.
Why not? What’s a dormitory, anyhow? Thirty thousand will build it, I
guess; and if we can’t scrape up that much before June we don’t deserve
it!”

“I’ll bet you anything he believes it!” said Chub in awed tones.

“Of course I believe it,” said Dick stoutly. “We’ll send letters to the
graduates asking for subscriptions, and we’ll get the fellows in school
interested and make them contribute. I’ll start the ball rolling myself
with fifty dollars.”

“Gee!” said Chub. “I can’t give much more than fifty cents, I guess.”

“You’ll give five dollars, anyhow,” declared Dick. “No subscriptions
received for less than five.”

“I’ll give five!” cried Harry eagerly. “I’ve got almost that much in my
bank.”

“Good! Fifty and fifteen are--”

“Is,” corrected Chub.

“_Am_--sixty-five,” said Dick. “That’s a good starter.”

“Sure!” laughed Roy. “We only need twenty-nine thousand nine hundred
and thirty-five more!”

“Oh, maybe it won’t take thirty thousand,” said Dick cheerfully. “I
only guessed at it. We’ll find out about that the first thing.”

“Well, there’s no harm in trying,” said Roy. “And it’ll be good fun
whether anything comes of it or not. But I vote that Chub be made
president because I’m going to be too busy during the next two months
to attend properly to the duties of the office. You see, hockey doesn’t
leave much time for other things.”

“Not me, though,” Chub protested. “I never was president of anything,
and don’t know what you do. Besides, I’m going to be pretty busy myself
in another six weeks. Base-ball candidates are coming out early this
year. Dick’s the man for president; he started the trouble and the
subscriptions. All in favor--”

“I’d just as lief serve as president,” said Dick, “only I may be busy
myself pretty soon.”

“What at?” asked Chub.

“Forming that track team. I’m going to be captain of it, you know.
Roy’s captain of the hockey team and you’re captain of the nine, and
I’ve got to be captain of something, myself.”

“Do you really mean that you’re going to try and get up a team?” asked
Roy.

“Yes, and I want you fellows to help me. Will you?”

“Sure,” cried Chub. “It’s a good scheme, Dick. I’ll wager there are
lots of fellows here who will be pleased purple to join.”

“Will _you_?”

“Me? Why, I can’t do anything.”

“How do you know? I dare say you can run bases, and if you can do that
maybe you can sprint. And Roy ought to make a good distance runner. You
say he was in the Cross Country last fall.”

“I’ll join,” said Roy. “I don’t suppose I can do anything, but I’m
willing to try.”

“Same here,” said Chub. “And while we’re about it, let’s start a few
other things. We haven’t got a croquet club, nor a sewing circle, you
know.”

[Illustration: A meeting of the Ferry Hill School Improvement Society]

“And if we started those, Harry could join,” laughed Dick.

“I should think you might let me join the track team,” said Harry. “I
can run as fast as anything, Dick!”

“As secretary of the F. H. I. S.,” replied Dick, “you will have no time
for trivial affairs, Harry. You’ve let yourself in for a lot of hard
work, if you only knew it. Now, I propose--”

“I propose,” exclaimed Chub, jumping up, “that I go to my recitation.
When’s the next meeting?”

“The secretary will issue a call for it,” answered Dick.

“Seems to me,” suggested Roy, “that the name ought to be the Ferry Hill
_School_ Improvement Society; people might think we were trying to
improve the Hill.”

“Settle it to suit yourselves,” cried Chub, making a dash for the door.
“I’m off.”

Methuselah, who had been dozing for some time, awoke startled, and
broke into angry remonstrances. “Well, I never did!” he screeched
hoarsely. “Can’t you be quiet? Stop your swearing! Stop your swearing!
Stop your swearing!”

And the first meeting of the small but very select Ferry Hill School
Improvement Society broke up in confusion.




CHAPTER V

THE F. H. S. I. S. HOLDS A MEETING


A few days later Harry sat at the little desk in her room, her feet
twined around the legs of her chair, her head very much on one side
and a pen in her hand. Before her, on the pink blotting-pad, were four
postal cards. Two were already written on, and a third was under way:

                                    FERRY HILL, N. Y., January 14.

    There will be a meeting of the F. H. S. I. S. at the rooms
    of the Society (this means the barn), at 4 o’clock on the
    afternoon of January 16th. As the object of the meeting is to
    perfect a permanent organization, a full attendance is desired.

                                    Respectfully,
                                             H. EMERY,
                                                   Sec’y and Treas.

Harry laid down her pen with a sigh of relief, and wiped some of the
ink from her fingers by rubbing them on the edge of the blotter. Then,
getting a new grip on the chair legs with her feet, she took up the
last postal. At that moment Mrs. Emery passed the open door, smiled and
entered.

“What are you doing, pet?” she asked, laying a hand on Harry’s
shoulder, and glancing at the postals.

“Oh!” Harry gave a start and looked up in surprise. “Mama, you mustn’t
see!” she cried. “It’s a secret!”

“A secret? Well, my dear, I wouldn’t write it on postals then,” laughed
her mother. “Don’t you know that any one can read it that way?”

“Well, it isn’t a secret--exactly,” explained Harry. “But it’s
something you and papa mustn’t know about, yet. Are you reading it?”

“No, I’ve stopped, dear. But what is the F. H. S. I. S?”

“That’s it! That’s the secret. It’s a society.”

[Illustration: “‘Mama, you mustn’t see!’ she cried. ‘It’s a secret!’”]

“Don’t you think, pet, that you are a little too young to belong to
secret societies?” asked Mrs. Emery smilingly.

“Not this kind, mama; this is--is a benevolent society.”

“Oh!”

“Yes, it’s for a worthy purpose.”

“Indeed? And what is the purpose, Harry?”

“Why, it’s to--now, there, mama, you almost made me tell you!” Harry
turned and pushed her mother away. “I’m not going to answer any more
questions!” She set her lips tightly and determinedly together.

“But, Harry,” said her mother teasingly, “you know you never can keep a
secret! You needn’t even try. You might as well tell me now as later.”

Harry shook her head violently, but refused to speak.

“Very well, then,” said Mrs. Emery sadly, “if you can’t trust me,
Harry, I suppose--”

Harry was not proof against this. She jumped up and threw her arms
about Mrs. Emery’s comfortable waist, and hugged tight.

“It isn’t fair!” she cried. “You’re trying to work on my feelings,
mama, and make me feel naughty; and then I’ll have to tell you! And it
isn’t my secret, dearest, not mine alone, and it wouldn’t be fair to
Roy and Chub and Dick if I told you. And after a while you’ll know all
about it, if you’ll only wait, and you and papa are to pick out the
site for the dormitory and--”

“Dormitory? What are you talking about, child?”

But Harry had clasped both hands to her mouth and was looking so
distressed that her mother took pity on her. “Very well, my dear, I
won’t ask you any more questions. But don’t get into mischief.” She
kissed Harry and retired smiling. Harry returned to the desk with a
loud sigh of relief and seated herself for the completion of her task.

“It was the nearest thing!” she thought. “I almost told it right out!
But just the same I think it was unkind of mama to say I couldn’t keep
a secret!”

When the last card was written she addressed them; one to Roy, one to
Chub, one to Dick, and one to herself.

“It’s more businesslike,” she declared silently. “Secretaries of
societies are such busy folks that I guess they are very likely to
forget engagements unless they have notices around where they can see
them.”

She was forced to own, however, that it wasn’t necessary to post her
notice with the others the following morning at Silver Cove. But then,
for that matter, it wasn’t absolutely necessary to post any of them!
She could just as well have handed them to the addressees; but sending
them through the mail made them seem far more important, and the whole
thing more real.

The second formal meeting of the Society therefore came off on
the following Wednesday afternoon, but without the desired full
attendance. For Roy was very busy on the rink where the hockey team was
getting ready for the game with Cedar Grove School three day later.
It was decidedly chilly in the “rooms of the Society” this afternoon,
and the members did not remove their wraps. A portion of the menagerie
made the mistake of supposing that feeding-time had arrived, and it
was some minutes before order was restored. Methuselah had such a lot
to say that Harry was forced to drop the canvas in front of his cage,
whereupon, after much disgusted muttering, he concluded that it was
really bed-time and that he would go to sleep.

“I suppose,” said Harry apologetically, “that I ought to read the
minutes of the last meeting; only there aren’t any.”

“In which case,” said Chub, “I move you, Mr. President, and
fellow-members, that the reading of the minutes be dispensed with.”

“I move so, too,” said Harry excitedly.

“You mean you second the motion,” Chub corrected. “Question, Mr.
President!”

“I guess we’ll worry along without parliamentary procedure,” laughed
Dick. “And I don’t believe it will be necessary yet awhile to keep the
minutes. Here’s the subscription list. I’ve put my name down for fifty
dollars. You two sign, and get Roy to. Then you had better keep it,
Harry. Now, are we going to take in more members or keep this thing to
ourselves? I’m in favor of having just us four, because if we have a
lot it will be hard to get anything done; the fellows will always be
wanting to speak and ask questions and all that. What do you say?”

“Four’s enough,” said Chub. And Harry nodded concurrence.

“All right. Now I’ve been asking questions, and I’ve found that Burgess
Hall cost twenty-seven thousand dollars. But it was built twelve years
ago, and Mr. Cobb says labor and materials have almost doubled in cost
since then. If that’s so Burgess would cost about forty-five thousand
to-day; but the new dormitory wouldn’t have to be more than half as
large because it would have to accommodate only twenty fellows, and
wouldn’t have to have a dining-room. But I think it ought to be built
in such a way that it could be added to later. I’ve been figuring for a
while on the thing, and I think we’ll need just about what I said the
other day, thirty thousand.”

“Well, let’s have enough while we’re about it,” said Chub dryly. “Maybe
we’d better say forty thousand.”

“So now the thing to do,” continued Dick, “is to write a letter saying
what we’re trying to do, and asking for subscriptions. We’ll have
it printed and send it around to the grads. I guess we can get hold
of their names all right, for the Doctor must have a list of them
somewhere.”

“Yes, he has,” said Harry. “There’s a big book of names and addresses
in the office.”

“But it’ll cost something for printing and postage, won’t it?” asked
Chub.

“Yes, and so we’ve got to have some ready money. I guess twenty-five
dollars will be enough for the present.”

“Well, but where is it coming from?”

“From the subscriptions. The treasurer must collect from us. I’ll pay
ten dollars now, and you fellows can give something, too. Then I’ll
give Harry a check for the rest of what I owe.”

“Oh, I’ll have something to treasure, won’t I?” cried Harry. “That’s
what a treasurer’s for, you know.”

“Yes.” Dick brought out his purse and selected two five-dollar bills
from the little roll of money it contained, and handed them to Harry,
who accepted them with shining eyes. “You must send me a receipt for
it, you know,” said Dick. Chub fished ruefully around in his trousers
pocket and finally produced a dollar and twenty cents.

“I guess I’ll keep the change,” he said, “but you can have the dollar.
Gee! I can just see that dormitory, Dick!”

“All right,” answered Dick good-humoredly, “you go ahead and have your
fun. How many fellows do you suppose have gone to school here?”

“Fury, I don’t know!” said Chub. “A whole bunch of ’em.”

“Well, how many usually enter in the fall?”

“This year there were fourteen new boys--counting you,” answered Harry.

“We’ll call it twelve,--just a dozen,” said Dick. “How long has the
school been running?”

“About thirty years, I think. Papa has had it twelve years, and I think
it was almost twenty years old then.”

“All right,” said Dick; “thirty times twelve is three hundred and
sixty. Some of them are either dead or have moved, nobody knows where,
I dare say, so we’ll call it three hundred. If each one gave five
dollars it would be--let me see--”

“Fifteen hundred,” said Harry, proudly.

“What! Nonsense! It must be more than that!”

“Yep. Fifteen hundred,” said Chub.

“But that can’t be right!” exclaimed Dick.

“It is, though,” Chub said with a smile. Dick looked thunder-struck.

“Fifteen hundred! Why, that won’t do any good! How much would each grad
have to give to make thirty thousand?”

“One hundred dollars,” answered Harry promptly.

“Well, that’s a lot,” said Dick thoughtfully; “because some of them
probably can’t afford that much.”

“Maybe some of them will give more,” suggested Chub.

“That’s so; some might give a thousand. If only ten of them would do
that then the others would have to give only seventy-five, or--well,
something like that.”

“I guess if we get ten dollars apiece out of them on the average we’ll
be doing well,” said Chub pessimistically.

“We’ve got to put it to them so that they’ll want to give a lot,” said
Dick. “We’ve got to get together and work up a letter that’ll make ’em
weep! Roy ought to help with that, and so I suggest we put that over
until the next meeting. Meanwhile let’s each get up what he thinks
would be about right and we’ll compare the--the appeals and work them
together next time. Then we’ll have it printed.”

“Before that, though,” said Chub, “we ought to talk it over with the
Doctor.”

“Yes, we’ll do that when we have the appeal written out,” answered
Dick. “And we’ll get him to let us have the names and addresses of the
grads. And after we’ve posted the letters we’ll get up a subscription
list and circulate it through the school. I’ve figured that we ought to
get two hundred and seventy dollars that way, without anything from the
Doctor, and I dare say he’d like to give something.”

“Of course he would,” said Harry. “Maybe he’d give--a hundred! You see,
we wouldn’t want to go away this summer, anyhow, if the dormitory was
being built.”

“I guess you won’t have to stay at home on that account,” murmured Chub.

“I think you’re horrid,” said Harry. “You’re making fun of it all the
time. If you don’t think it can be done, I don’t see why you don’t
leave the Society.”

“Because,” laughed Chub, “I never belonged to a society before, and I
like it immensely. I don’t say we won’t succeed, but I don’t believe
we’ll ever get the money by writing some letters to the graduates; that
is, not by just that alone.”

“What’s your idea?” asked Dick eagerly.

“I think we ought to get some one to give a big sum, say five or ten
thousand, as a starter. Then we could find out which of the old boys
are well off, and put it up to them; tell them So-and-So had given ten
thousand dollars and ask them to go and do likewise. Of course, every
grad ought to be allowed the privilege of contributing to the worthy
cause, but there’s no use expecting to get much that way. And when the
letters or circulars are sent out, a subscription blank ought to go
along.”

“That’s a good scheme,” said Dick thoughtfully. “How can we find out
who the wealthy grads are?”

“I dare say the Doctor knows,” said Chub. “Anyhow, we can ask him.”

“Yes, and don’t you think his name ought to go on the letter? Wouldn’t
it look more--more official?”

“I guess it would,” answered Chub. “I believe we ought to elect him
honorary something; isn’t that what’s usually done?”

“Honorary President,” suggested Dick.

“That’s lovely!” cried Harry. “He’ll be so pleased!”

“He’s elected then,” said Dick, and Chub nodded.

“Then I say we adjourn the meeting and get together again as soon as
we can when Roy can attend. The trouble is that he has hockey every
afternoon.”

“Except Monday.”

“All right then; Monday it is. That’s five days from now, and we’ll
have time to think up the letter to the grads. It’s settled then,”
added Dick, as he slid off the grain chest. “Now let’s go and watch Roy
practice hockey awhile.”

“Please don’t forget, Chub,” said Harry, “that you owe four dollars to
the treasury. And I must collect from Roy, mustn’t I? Do you think I’d
better open an account at the Silver Cove bank, Dick?”

“No, I guess you won’t have it long enough,” he laughed.

“But it’ll be a good deal of money to keep in the house,” Harry
objected. “Suppose some one stole it?”

“Then you’d have to make good,” said Chub. “By the way, Dick, isn’t it
customary to put the treasurer under bond?”

“I believe so. Can you give bond, Harry?”

“I don’t know what that is,” answered Harry; “but I know I’m going to
keep this money where no one can find it! You know a thief broke into
the house three summers ago when we were away, and stole papa’s winter
overcoat and a lot of silverware, and they never got him!”

“That’s right,” laughed Dick. “Don’t you take any risks with that
immense sum you have there, Harry.”

“I’ll have a good deal when Chub and Roy pay,” said Harry gravely, as
they left the barn and started along the road toward the dormitory.

“Well, I’ll settle with you Saturday,” said Chub. “I’m dead-broke now;
there’s only twenty cents between me and the cold world.”

“And it _is_ a cold world, too,” muttered Dick, pulling his sweater up
around his chin. “I don’t believe I want to stand in the snow and watch
those hockey players very long.”

“Just a little while,” pleaded Chub. “It’s lots of fun to see Harris
fall down; he can fall farther and harder than any fellow I ever saw.”

“Aren’t you going to play this year, Chub?” asked Harry.

“No, Glidden’s a heap better than I am, and, besides, I’ll be busy at
base-ball before the hockey schedule’s finished; so I thought I might
as well drop out of it.”

“Wait for me a minute,” said Harry when they reached the Cottage. “I’ll
put this money away in the house.”

They waited for her and then the three went down the hill to the
river, and along the bank to the rink where Roy and Kirby and Warren
and Harris and a dozen others were charging madly about the ice in the
teeth of a freezing gale.




CHAPTER VI

ON THE ICE AND THROUGH


When the thermometer on the north side of School Hall registers four
degrees below zero at noon it means cold weather; and that is just
what the thermometer did on Saturday. In sheltered angles where the
sun shone it was not so bad, but on the way across the campus, where
the wind blew unobstructed, fellows in knickerbockers moved rapidly,
Jack Frost in pursuit and pinching their calves sharply. By half past
three, what time the hockey game with Cedar Grove School was scheduled
to commence, the mercury had dropped another point and the audience
about the rink consisted of exactly six boys, among them Dick and Sid
Welch, and one girl. Of course the girl was Harry. I doubt if there
was another girl for miles up or down the river who would have braved
the cold that afternoon for the sake of sport and patriotism.

The rink is some three hundred yards down the shore from the
boat-house. Years before a ferry plied between this point and the
opposite town of Coleville, but with the completion of the new
bridge below Silver Cove the enterprise, like many similar ones in
the vicinity, had ceased to be profitable. Ultimately the boat had
disappeared and only the ferry house and landing remained. But that was
last year; now even those were gone, the lumber--such of it as was fit
for the purpose--having been used in the construction of the barrier
around the rink. Many of the old joists and planks, however, were too
rotten to hold nails and these had been left piled up on the beach.
Sid, struck by a brilliant idea, had looted the pile, and by the time
the game had begun a big bonfire was blazing merrily. The handful of
spectators divided their attention between the fire and the contest
until the first half was over, with the score three goals for Ferry
Hill and one for Cedar Grove. Then every one, players, spectators,
substitutes, and referee--who was Chub--gathered as near the flames as
safety permitted and alternately turned faces and backs to the warmth.

“You’re a wonder, Sid,” declared Roy. “If I had half your brain--!” He
shook his head eloquently, at a loss for words.

“Oh, Sid’s a great fellow for scheming how to be comfortable,” said
Billy Warren, who played right center for Ferry Hill. “Did you ever
hear about the contrivance he rigged up on his bed the first year he
was here?”

Every one replied that he had, except Harry; and Harry demanded to be
told.

“Well,” said Warren, “Sid used to go to sleep with two blankets over
him and the comforter over the foot of the bed, you know. Then along
toward morning it would get cold and Sid would want the comforter, but
he was too sleepy to reach down and get it.”

“That’s right,” interrupted Chub, whose bed was next to Sid’s in the
Junior Dormitory. “I used to find him all curled up in a ball in the
morning with his teeth chattering like--like--”

“I didn’t!” declared Sid.

“Shut up, Sid, you know you did,” said Warren. “Well, so what does Sid
do but get a piece of clothes-line and tie an end to each corner of the
comforter. Then when he woke up and found he was freezing to death all
he had to do was to take hold of the rope and pull the comforter up.
Oh, he’s a wonder, Sid is!”

“Just the same, it worked all right,” said Sid with a grin, as the
laugh went around. “And I wish I had that comforter now.”

“I don’t see how you could get much more on,” said Dick, as he viewed
Sid’s rotund appearance. “You look like a bale of sweaters now.”

“I’ve only got two on,” was the reply. “I was going to borrow Chub’s,
but he went and wore it himself.”

“How dare you, Chub?” laughed Roy. “You ought to have more
consideration for others.”

“Thunder!” replied Chub good-naturedly, “Sid would borrow everything I
have if I’d let him. As it is he wears more of my things than his own.
Last week I tried to find a pair of stockings and couldn’t; Sid had the
whole lot in his locker.”

“They had holes in them,” answered Sid gravely.

“They certainly had when you got through with them,” laughed Chub.
“Come on, fellows; time’s up.”

The two teams went back to the ice, peeling off sweaters and gloves,
and presently the game was on again. It was the first contest of the
year and the play was pretty ragged. But there were exciting moments,
as when Harris, who played point on the home team, got away with the
puck for a long race down the rink, passed to Fernald in front of
the Cedar Grove goal, captured the disk again on the quick return and
smashed it past goal-tender’s knees for a score. Toward the latter
part of the period the visitors weakened and Ferry Hill’s tally grew
rapidly, until at the final call of time the score stood 12-4 in
favor of the home players. Cheers were exchanged and the Cedar Grove
fellows hurried away toward the station. The others went back to the
replenished fire and leisurely donned their sweaters. Dick, who had a
moment before wandered away toward the edge of the river, called to Roy.

“What’s that thing over there?” he asked.

“What thing? Where?”

“Across the river. It looks like a boat, but I don’t see how any one
can sail a boat when there isn’t any water.”

“Oh,” answered Roy, joining him, “that’s an ice-boat, you silly galoot.
Haven’t you ever seen one before?”

“No, but I’ve seen pictures of them. I didn’t recognize it, though.
Say, that’s pretty slick, isn’t it? Look at the way it scoots around
over there! How the dickens is it made?”

“Oh, you make a frame-work of timbers kind of three-cornered like and
stick a skate or a runner at each corner, and put a mast in with a sail
or two, and have another runner at the back with a tiller for steering,
and there you are.”

“You don’t say? Well, that’s the most--er--enlightening explanation I
ever heard, Roy; lucid’s no name for it!”

“Well, it’s the best I can do,” Roy laughed. “If you want further
particulars I advise you to run over and take a look. I’m no
boat-builder.”

“That’s what I’ll do,” answered Dick, tightening the straps of his
skates. “Come along!”

“Are you crazy? Want me to freeze myself?”

“Freeze nothing! It’ll warm you up. Come on; it won’t take but a minute
or two.” Roy hesitated. Then:

“All right,” he consented, “I’ll go you. Only it isn’t likely that the
boat’s going to stay there and wait for us.”

“Bet you I can catch her if she doesn’t have too big a start,” said
Dick.

“Oh, sure!” scoffed Roy. “She only makes about thirty miles an hour!”

“Get out!”

“That’s right, though,” answered Roy. “They say some of them can do
pretty near a mile a minute in a good wind. I don’t know about that one
there, though; don’t think I ever saw her before; she’s got a red hull,
hasn’t she?”

“Yes, if you call that thing a hull,” replied Dick. “Are there any more
around here?”

“Two or three, I think.”

“Well, then, maybe I’ll let this one go if it tries to get away,” Dick
said. “Are you ready?”

Roy said that he was, but at that moment Chub hailed them.

“Where you fellows going?” he shouted.

“Across the river,” answered Roy. “Dick wants to study ice-boats. Want
to come?”

Chub and Harry and Sid joined them, the latter begging them to wait
until he could get his skates on.

“All right, slow poke,” answered Roy. “How about you, Harry? It’ll be
beastly cold out in the middle there.”

“Oh, I’m nice and warm,” answered Harry. “What did you say about an
ice-boat?”

“Dick never saw one before and he wants to go over and make the
acquaintance of that one over there. Whose is it, Harry? Do you know?”

“Yes, it belongs to Joe Thurston, Grace Thurston’s brother. He goes to
Hammond. She’s in my class at Madame Lambert’s.”

“Who, the ice-boat?” asked Chub.

“No, Mister Smarty, Grace Thurston. Anyhow, I said ‘it.’”

“You said ‘she!’”

“I said ‘it!’”

“Ladies! Ladies!” remonstrated Roy. “No disturbance, I beg of you!
Remember there’s a gentleman present.”

“Where?” asked Chub, looking carefully around.

“Here,” grunted Sid, tugging at a strap.

“For that lie, Sid,” answered Chub severely, “we will go and leave you.
Come on, fellows.”

“Wait, wait please!” begged Sid. “I can’t get the buckle in the right
hole. My fingers are frozen stiff. You might help a chap, Chub.”

“All right, I will if you’ll tell the truth. Are you a gentleman, Sid?”

“No,” answered Sid diplomatically. “It’s that fourth hole, Chub. That’s
it. Thanks.” He got up, hobbled to the edge of the ice and skated away.
“Neither are you, Chub!” he shouted tauntingly. Chub instantly gave
chase, leaving the other three to follow more leisurely. Across the
frozen river and a little further down-stream the ice-boat was skimming
up and down near shore, luffing, filling and turning in the brisk wind
as though trying her sails.

“That’s just about what she’s doing, I guess,” said Roy as they skated,
three abreast, a hundred yards or so behind the flying forms of Sid and
Chub. “Those sails are brand-new, I think. She’s coming around again.
If we were nearer now you could get a good view of her, Dick.”

“I’m going to try, anyhow,” answered Dick, as he dug his blades in the
black ice and sped away from them.

“Shall we try it, too?” asked Roy. Harry nodded her head.

“I’ll race you,” she cried, and, suiting action to word, darted off
after Dick. She had obtained a good lead before Roy had gathered his
wits together, and he realized that to attempt to overtake that flying
form was quite useless for him. He was a good skater, but Harry had
held the school supremacy for several years and had, as she had stated
to Dick, even beaten Hammond’s best talent the winter before. But Harry
had found more than her match at last, for, try as she could and did,
she could not gain an inch on Dick, who was putting in his best licks
in an endeavor to head off the ice-boat as it passed up-stream close
to the farther shore. In a trice Roy was left to himself. He saw that
he could not hope to intercept the boat even if the others did, and
so kept on diagonally across the river toward the ice-houses below
Coleville. Sid and Chub were still busy with their own affairs, the
former leading the latter a difficult chase, turning and doubling and
thus far avoiding capture. The wind swept across the ice with stinging
buffets against legs and face, and Roy rubbed his ears vigorously to
keep them from freezing. Presently he drew near where they had been
cutting ice and found that to continue on toward the shore and the
path of the returning boat he would either have to cross the cuttings
or skate for some distance up or down the river to get around them.
New ice had formed in the lanes and it looked fairly thick. Roy slowed
down and examined it. Then he struck at it with the heel of one skate,
found that it didn’t break, and skated quickly across. It was a narrow
lane down which the cakes of ice had been floated to the house and he
was soon over it. Then came thick ice again. He looked up the river.
The boat was still before the wind and had passed Dick while that
youth was some distance away. Now he had paused, apparently undecided
whether to remain there or to join the others down-stream. Harry had
already given up the chase and headed toward the ice-houses. Sid and
Chub were still chasing madly about in mid-stream. Roy shouted and
the wind carried his voice so well that both Harry and Dick heard and
waved to him. Then a wide expanse of new ice confronted him and as he
skated unhesitatingly on to it he noted the different sound which it
gave forth under his blades. And then, without the least warning, the
surface gave beneath him like paper and he was fighting for breath with
the green water ringing in his ears and clutching at his heart with icy
fingers.




CHAPTER VII

HARRY EVENS OLD SCORES


It seemed to Roy many long minutes before he ceased to sink and was
able to struggle upward again to the surface and daylight. Luckily
the current was sluggish at that point and when he came up he found
himself in the pool of broken ice. Afterward, remembering how thin that
ice proved to be, he wondered that it had held him for as long as it
had. But now, gasping for breath, choking and numbed with the cold,
his only thought was to find something to support him until help came.
He gave no outcry, it never occurred to him to do so, nor, for that
matter, had he breath for it. Weighted with skates and heavy clothing,
including the thick crimson sweater which he usually wore, he was
seriously handicapped from the start. And to make matters worse, the
thin ice broke under the slightest weight he put upon it. If he could
keep himself afloat long enough to break his way to the side of the
cutting and reach the thick ice he might hold on until some one reached
him. But the chill in his body threatened cramp every instant and made
him feel as weak as a kitten. Gasping and choking, he fought hard,
smashing the ice with one mittened hand and using the other to keep
himself afloat. Now and then, in spite of his efforts, the water with
its scum of floating ice fragments rose across his face, and each time
a dreadful fear gripped him. But he thrashed and fought his way back
again and again, each struggle leaving him weaker than before. There
was no time to look for succor; he saw only the horrid brittle surface
against which he battled. He could not tell whether he was working
toward thick ice or not.

By degrees hopelessness seized him and he began to feel indifferent;
the lower part of his body seemed to have left him; he believed that
he was working his legs in an effort to tread water, but there was no
sensation there. Once he stopped struggling, and only when the water
had closed over his eyes did he realize that he was sinking. Then,
terror mastering him, he fought blindly and impotently for an instant.
But the effort did not last; he was too weak now to even break the
imprisoning ice; a pleasant lassitude crept over him. It was no use, he
told himself; he was going to give up. And having reached that decision
he experienced a delicious sensation of relief. He had no thought of
drowning; he was merely going to rest, to sleep; and he was glad,
because he could not remember ever having been so dead tired! And then
two things happened simultaneously; he heard his name called and found
his fingers tightening about something that was not ice, something
that did not break and dissolve in his grasp. With a sudden return to
his senses he opened his eyes, said “Hello, Harry,” quite calmly and
closed them again. He did not remember much about it after that.

When Roy had shouted Harry had heard and waved to him. She was already
skating toward him, although a long distance away, and when, an instant
later, she had looked again to find only empty ice where he had been
she realized instantly what had happened. With a shrill cry of warning
to Dick, some distance behind, she flew onward, skating harder than
she had ever skated before. But the wind was almost dead ahead of her
and seemed to be striving to beat her back with its savage blasts. She
repeated a little prayer to herself over and over as she sped along,
in time to the ringing of her skates: “Please, God, let me be in time!
Please, God, let me be in time!” And presently, as she drew near, she
saw Roy’s head above the surface and was sure that her prayer would be
answered. Off came the brown sweater with the white F. H. upon it and
away blew Harry’s tam-o’-shanter across the ice. And then she was down
on her knees, crawling anxiously across the edge of the treacherous
surface.

[Illustration: “Harry caught her sweater by the end of one sleeve and
tossed it toward him”]

Roy, with white face and closed eyes, his light brown hair plastered
down upon his forehead, was beating the air feebly with his hands. With
a silent prayer for success Harry caught her sweater by the end of one
sleeve and tossed it toward him. It fell beside his hand but the wind
whipped it past. Again she tried, calling his name as she did so, and a
corner of the sweater fell under his grasping fingers and with relief
she felt the garment strain and tighten. Roy opened his eyes and looked
at her; even smiled a little, she thought; and said her name. Then she
was putting all her strength into keeping her place, for he had closed
his eyes again and seemed bent upon pulling her after him into the
water. But help was close at hand. With a shout of encouragement Sid
came racing up, followed breathlessly by Chub and Dick.

“Hold on a minute more,” cried Dick. “Get hold of my legs, Chub, and
I’ll work out to him.”

But even after Dick had seized Roy firmly by the hands and was himself
lying half in the water it was no easy task for the others. Chub had
Dick by the ankles and Sid held onto Chub, but it was slow work getting
back to solid ice. Yet in the end they succeeded, and Roy, dripping and
unconscious, lay safe.

“Is he dead?” whispered Sid brokenly.

“Not a bit of it,” Dick panted. “But we’ve got to get him home mighty
quick or he will catch cold and have pneumonia and all sorts of
things.” As he spoke he peeled off his sweater and wrapped it around
Roy’s shoulders. “Let me have yours, you fellows,” he commanded.

“Look!” cried Harry. “There’s the ice-boat!”

Chub’s signaling was unnecessary, however, for the two occupants of the
boat had already seen the catastrophe and were headed toward the group.
Harry’s sweater, as well as Chub’s and the two worn by Sid, were
thrown over Roy, and Dick and Chub were rubbing and slapping him when
the ice-boat rounded to and came up into the wind with flapping sail.

“Want any help?” asked one of the occupants.

“Yes, we want to get him home right away,” answered Dick. “Can you take
him aboard and get him to the Ferry Hill landing?”

“Sure! You pile out, Bob. Lift him in here, will you? There isn’t much
room, but I guess you can get him on somehow. That’s the ticket. Shove
her nose around, Bob. All right! I’ll meet you over there!”

The sail filled and the boat, with Roy lying like a log in the tiny
cockpit and Joe Thurston crouched beside him, leaped away. The others,
shouting their thanks to the marooned Bob, who, having no skates,
decided to stay where he was until his chum returned to pick him up,
hurried after the boat. At any other time they would have felt the
cold terribly, deprived as they were of their sweaters, but just now
they were far too excited. All talked at once as they raced along and
Harry was forced to listen to much enthusiastic praise of her pluck and
readiness. When they reached the landing the boat was up on the beach
and Joe Thurston had lugged Roy into the boat-house, where, warmed by
the piled-up sweaters, he was beginning to take an interest in life
once more. He waved a hand at them as they entered, but he still looked
pretty white and weak.

“Well, you’re a fine one, aren’t you?” asked Chub in simulated disgust.
“What were you trying to do? Commit suicide?”

“You mustn’t scold him!” cried Harry. “He almost drowned!”

“I guess I would have if it hadn’t been for you,” said Roy soberly.
“Thanks, Harry; you’re a trump.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” answered Harry flippantly, to hide the fact
that her lip was trembling. “Besides, I just evened things up. You
know,” she explained, turning to Dick, “I might have burned up to a
cinder last winter if it hadn’t been for Roy. My dress caught on fire
at an entertainment we gave and I came pretty near frizzling, I guess.”

“That’s so,” said Chub. “You two are even now.”

“Besides,” added Harry, “I didn’t do anything much, after all. It was
Dick and the others who got you out.”

“If it hadn’t been for you,” said Dick, “he wouldn’t have been there
when we reached the place. I didn’t know anything about it until I
heard Harry scream. Then I saw her hitting the high places down the
river and guessed what was up. Say, Harry, you sure did skate some!”

“I guess I’d better be getting back,” said Joe Thurston, edging toward
the door. “Bob will be frozen if I don’t. I hope you’ll be all right,”
he added to Roy.

“Thanks; and I’m awfully much obliged to you for bringing me across,”
answered Roy.

“That’s so,” said Dick. “It was mighty nice of you. Want any help with
the boat?” Joe protested that he didn’t. At the door he hesitated and
finally asked, looking at Dick:

“Say, are you the fellow that came to our school and left?” Dick nodded.

“I’m the chap,” he said. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing,” was the reply. “Only--” and this was said over his
shoulder as he went out--“only I’m sorry you didn’t stay!”

“Cheeky cuss!” muttered Sid.

“I think he meant it for a compliment,” laughed Chub.

“Of course he did!” exclaimed Harry. “And I think he’s a real nice boy,
and I’m going to tell his sister so. It’s too bad he goes to Hammond,
isn’t it?”

“Why don’t you kidnap him too?” asked Chub mischievously.

“Now what are we going to do with you, Roy?” interrupted Dick. “Want a
carriage or an automobile? Or do you think you can walk if we give you
a boost now and then?”

“Of course I can walk! And look here, you fellows, I don’t see that
it’s necessary for people to know about this, is it?”

“I guess the fellows’ll find out pretty quick,” said Chub.

“Well, don’t you go and tell them. How about you, Harry?”

“I won’t say anything unless some one asks me,” said Harry.

“That’s all right, then,” said Roy. “Here, take some of these sweaters;
you folks must be freezing to death. I’m as warm as toast now.”

“Doesn’t make any difference,” Dick declared. “You keep as many of
those around you as you can. And when you get up the hill you sneak up
to the dormitory and lie down and keep warm until supper time.”

“You ought to have some peppermint tea,” said Harry. “I’ll make some
and give it to Chub to take over to you. It’ll warm you up inside
beautifully!”

The program was carried out as arranged, and, save that for the rest of
the evening Roy felt rather played out, he experienced no unpleasant
results from his adventure. Of course the meeting of the F. H. S. I. S.
called for that evening did not take place, for although Roy professed
his readiness to attend, the others would not hear of it.

“You’ve had a shock,” declared Harry firmly, “and must be very careful
of yourself for several days. I’ll make some more peppermint tea for
you to-morrow, and, and--what are you making such a face about?”

“Oh, nothing, only couldn’t you manage to get a little sugar into it
the next time?”

“Didn’t I put any--” began Harry. “Oh, I didn’t, did I? I’m awfully
sorry, Roy! Was it terribly nasty?”

“Well, there are some things I haven’t tasted,” answered Roy
judicially, “but it was pretty bad, Harry.”

“I forgot all about the sugar,” Harry mourned, “but I’ll put in enough
the next time to make up!”

As Chub had predicted, the story of Roy’s accident and rescue was all
over school on Monday, while on Wednesday a graphic and highly-
account of it appeared in the Silver Cove paper. One result was that
Harry found herself once more in the glare of publicity at Madame
Lambert’s School and another was that Doctor Emery promulgated a rule
restricting skating on the river to the immediate vicinity of the
boat-house.

On Monday forenoon at eleven there was a full attendance of the
Improvement Society in the barn. It was such a busy meeting that it
is quite impossible to give an account of it in detail. Strange to
say, every one had tried his or her hand at composing an appeal to
the graduates, just as they had agreed to do, and each one read his
production aloud and listened good-naturedly to the criticisms from the
others which followed.

“What we’ve got to do now,” said Dick, “is take these four and work
them over into one. But I suppose there isn’t much hurry about that,
because we decided that the best way to begin is to make an appeal to
some chap with a lot of money and get him to give a lump as a starter.
To do that we’ve got to find out who the rich ones are. That means
taking the Doctor into the scheme the next thing. So I move that Roy
and Chub be appointed a committee of two to wait on him this afternoon,
or as soon as possible, and tell him about it. And Harry and I will get
to work on this circular.”

“Well,” said Chub, “if I must I must, but it seems to me that Dick
ought to take my place because he can talk a lot better and explain the
thing.”

[Illustration: “There was a full attendance of the Improvement
Society”]

“Let Roy do most of the talking,” advised Dick. “I have no objection to
taking your place, only you’re an old boy here and I’ve just come; he’d
pay more attention to what you said.”

“All right,” sighed Chub. “I’m the goat.”

“And Roy’s the goatee,” added Dick.

“Well, let’s do it this afternoon,” said Roy, “and get it over with.”

“Yes,” said Dick, “and we’ll meet again here this evening and hear the
committee’s report.”

“Hooray!” cried Chub. “That’s me! I’m a Committee!”

“You’re only half a one,” Roy objected. “I appoint myself chairman of
the committee.”

“Seconded,” said Chub. “The chairman does the talking, doesn’t he?”

“Don’t forget to tell papa that we’ve elected him honorary president,”
reminded Harry. “That will please him, I know.”

“Bet you he’ll kick us out!” murmured Chub.

“Don’t you worry,” laughed Dick. “Roy, as chairman, will receive all
the honors. You can dodge.”

Methuselah, who up to this point had been huddled silently in a corner
of his box, with only one beady eye showing, began to chuckle softly.

“Hello,” said Dick, “old ’Thuselah’s awake. I thought he was frozen up.
Hello, you old rascal!”

The parrot put his head on one side and walked slowly to the front of
the box.

“Howdy do?” he muttered.

“Pretty well, thanks,” answered Chub. “How are you?”

“Stop your swearing,” replied Methuselah severely. “Can’t you be quiet?”

“Well, that’s a nice way to answer a polite inquiry,” said Chub. “You
ought to teach him better manners, Harry.”

“I can’t teach him anything,” mourned Harry. “He knew all he knows now
when I got him. Roy and I tried one day to--”

“Roy,” observed Methuselah slowly, experimentally. Then, as though to
hide his embarrassment, “Well, I never did!” he shrieked. The four
stared at each other in astonishment. Harry found her voice first.

“That’s the first new thing he’s ever said!” she whispered in awe.

“See if he will say it again,” Dick suggested. But in spite of all
their coaxing Methuselah was obdurate. You would have thought he had
never heard the word in his life, much less pronounced it.

“Well, it shows who’s the favorite, anyhow,” laughed Chub.

Harry blushed a little and answered quickly:

“That’s because Roy has been nice to him, and doesn’t make fun of him.”

“Maybe,” teased Chub, “but I notice he doesn’t break out with my name
or Dick’s. And Dick just loves him; don’t you, Dick?”

“Of course I do,” answered Dick, walking over and rubbing Methuselah’s
head through the slats. “We’re pretty good friends considering that we
haven’t known each other very--_Ouch! Great guns!_”

“What’s the matter?” laughed Roy.

“Why, he pretty near bit my finger off! ’Thuselah, you’re a hypocrite.
After this when you want your old top-knot scratched you ask Roy; I’m
through with you.”

“Did he hurt you much?” asked Harry anxiously.

“No,” said Dick, “he just nipped me.”

“Oh, that was just a love-nip,” said Chub. “That’s the way he shows his
affection. He’s so fond of me that I have to keep away from him; I was
getting all black-and-blue spots!”

“You’re a naughty ’Thuselah,” said Harry sternly. “For that you shall
go to bed. Good-night.”

She let the piece of canvas fall over the front of the box. For a
moment there was silence. Then came a subdued rustling followed by
insulted mutterings:

“Well, I never did!” croaked Methuselah.

“Is the meeting over?” asked Chub. “Because I’ve got about two minutes
to find my books and get to class.”

“Yes,” answered Dick. “It’s adjourned until to-night at eight o’clock.”

“Then I’m off! This half of the committee has duties!”




CHAPTER VIII

THE IMPROVEMENT SOCIETY HAS A SETBACK


“You tell him,” said Roy, subsiding on to an inverted bucket with a
sigh.

“No, sir,” answered Chub; “you’re chairman and you’ve got to make the
report to the--er--meeting.”

“Well, you don’t have to tell me anything,” said Harry, who had just
entered and was unbuttoning the cape which she had worn across from the
Cottage. “Papa told mama about it at supper. He--he thinks it’s a joke!”

“That’s right,” said Roy ruefully, “that’s just what he does think.”

“But you told him it wasn’t, didn’t you?” Dick demanded impatiently.

“Yes, several times, but he only smiled and said he guessed it wasn’t
quite practical--”

“Practicable,” corrected Chub.

“Practical!”

“Practicable; I noticed especially and thought what a nice word it was.”

“Look here, I’m chairman, and if I say practical--”

“Practical it is,” said Chub. “I’ll lick the first fellow that says
anything else. I remember perfectly--”

“Cut it out, you two, and talk sense!” said Dick. “Do you mean that he
has forbidden us to go ahead with it?”

Roy looked at Chub and Chub looked at Roy, and presently each shook his
head.

“No, he didn’t forbid anything,” answered Roy finally. “He just laughed
and--and--”

“Acted as though he was humoring a couple of mild lunatics,” added Chub
resentfully.

“But what objections did he make?” Dick asked.

“Objections? Oh, he wasn’t very--what do you call it?--specific. He
thought at first we were fooling and then when we both told him we
weren’t, that we’d started the scheme and that we’d made him honorary
president, he--”

“Laughed as though he had a fit,” finished Chub, smiling broadly
himself in recollection.

“But what did he _say_?”

“Oh, he said he guessed we wanted a dormitory, but that we’d better not
force events--or something like that; said thirty thousand was a big
sum to raise and that maybe we’d better wait awhile and see--see how
things shaped themselves.”

“Whatever that means,” added Chub.

“Did he accept the honorary presidency?” Dick asked.

“I don’t know; he said something polite, but I don’t believe he was
much impressed.”

“But he didn’t decline it?”

“No; did he, Chub?”

“Nary a decline,” Chub chuckled. “He said something about you, Dick.”

“What was it?”

“Said he liked your enterprise, but maybe you’d better apply some of it
to your studies.”

“I’m disappointed in papa,” said Harry sorrowfully.

“Oh, well, don’t you care,” Chub replied cheerfully. “We’ve had a lot
of fun out of the scheme. I guess none of us really expected to make
a go of it, anyhow, so there’s no sense in being disappointed. I move
that the treasurer be instructed to return the subscriptions and that
the Ferry Hill School Improvement Society be declared disbanded.”

There was silence. Harry and Roy looked questioningly at Dick, who, in
turn, was gazing thoughtfully at the lantern.

“Any one second that?” continued Chub.

Again silence fell. Finally Dick looked up.

“There’s no use in you folks trying to bust up the society,” he said;
“because if you do I’ll organize it again.”

“What?” exclaimed Chub. “But what’s the use, Dick? We can’t do anything
without the Doctor’s help, and he’s as good as told us to forget it!”

“He hasn’t forbidden us to raise the money for a new dormitory,”
said Dick doggedly, “and I, for one, am going to go ahead. If any of
the rest of you want to stay in and help, all right; if not, you can
withdraw and I’ll go it alone.”

“I want to stay!” cried Harry promptly.

“Well--” began Roy.

“Oh, you can’t scare me,” said Chub. “If you want to go ahead, I’m
right with you. I don’t see what we can do, but I’ll stick as long as
any one. We’ll nail the flag to the mast, by jingo! ‘Shoot, if you
will, this old grey head, but spare your country’s flag! she said!’”

And Chub danced a jig on the barn-floor, his shadow leaping about huge
and grotesque against the wall.

“I don’t want to drop out,” declared Roy. “I’m as much in earnest about
this as any of you. But what’s your scheme, Dick?”

“Haven’t any,” answered Dick promptly. “But I’ll find one pretty quick.
Ferry Hill’s going to have that dormitory! You wait and see! It may
take longer than I thought, but it’s coming. I’ll think up a way, all
right; just you give me time.”

“Good for you!” said Chub soberly. “I believe you will, Dickums. And
I’m with you. I never believed much in that dormitory before, but
hanged if I can’t pretty near see it to-night!”

“You could make a fellow believe in any old thing, Dick,” laughed Roy.
“You ought to be a general or something in the army and lead forlorn
hopes.”

“What’s a forlorn hope?” demanded Chub. But no one paid any attention
to him.

“Then I’m still secretary and treasurer!” cried Harry. “I was _so_
afraid you were going to break up the Society!”

“No, we’re not going to do anything of the sort,” said Dick stoutly.
“We’re going right ahead, only we’re going to keep it quiet until we
get things started. We can’t look for help from the honorary president,
and so--”

“From who?” asked Roy.

“The honorary president, Doctor Emery. He hasn’t declined the office,
so he’s still it, whether he knows anything about it or not.”

“That’s lovely!” cried Harry, clapping her hands and beating her heels
against the grain chest on which she was seated. “It’s such a dandy
joke on papa!”

“Well, he won’t help us,” Dick went on, “and so we’ll have to make
a new start in a new direction. And I’ll have to find what that new
direction is. But you folks want to think about it, too; four heads are
better than one. And now, as it seems to be about a thousand degrees
below zero in here, I move we adjourn.”

“When’s the next meeting?” asked Harry.

“I don’t know. We won’t have another until somebody has thought up
something. We’ll adjourn subject to the call of the president.”

“That’s great!” said Chub. “I never did that before. It makes me feel
real chesty. The secretary and treasurer will kindly carry the lantern
so she won’t break her neck. I hope the next time we hold a meeting
the janitor will manage to have the rooms of the society a little more
comfortable as regards heat. I think I have chilblains.”

“Let’s discharge that janitor,” laughed Roy as they went out.

“All right,” agreed Dick. “Who is he?”

“Methuselah,” answered Chub promptly.

       *       *       *       *       *

Two days later Chub and Roy encountered each other in the campus. As
though at a prearranged signal each exclaimed:

“Where’s Dick?”

Then again, speaking together like members of a chorus:

“That’s what I was going to ask,” they added.

“What’s become of him?” added Roy. “I haven’t seen him more than twice
since Monday night.”

“Nor I, I guess. I thought maybe he was at the Cottage, but Harry says
she hasn’t seen him.”

“Was he at dinner?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Well, I wonder where--I tell you! Maybe he’s in the library. Did you
look there?” Roy shook his head.

“No, that seemed an unlikely place to find him. What would he be doing
there?”

“Search me,” said Chub. “Maybe he’s grinding. He’s been having a hard
old time lately, I guess, with Cobb; Cobb asked him in class the other
day if he had ‘an inherent antipathy’ for French.”

“What did Dick say?” asked Roy with a smile.

“Said no, he guessed it was ‘a constitutional repugnance!’”

“Lovely!” laughed Roy. “Was Cobb peeved?”

“No, he just sort of grinned and told Dick he’d better amend his
constitution. Let’s go over and see if he’s there.”

So they got into sweaters and gloves again and battled their way across
to School Hall. At first glance their search looked to be fruitless,
for none of the half-dozen boys about the big table in the library
proved to be Dick. But Roy stepped inside the door and spied their
quarry down in a corner of the room by the magazine shelves. He was
seated on the top of the little step-ladder with a magazine spread open
on his knees and his head bent closely above it. Roy and Chub tiptoed
softly toward him, but he heard them coming, and smiled placidly as
they drew near. Roy thought he turned the pages of the magazine, but
was not sure; at all events when Roy snatched it out of his hands it
was opened at an article entitled “The Art of Fly-Casting.”

“What are you reading that silly rot for?” he whispered. “Come on over
to the study-room and talk to us.”

But Dick shook his head calmly.

“I’m very comfortable here,” he answered. “I’m improving my mind.”

“Well, I don’t say that isn’t possible,” whispered Chub scathingly;
“but you’d better be studying other things than fly-casting. Come on,
Dick.”

But Dick was obdurate and as the rules forbade noise or scuffling in
the library they were forced to let him have his way. But they had the
satisfaction of telling him softly but earnestly what they thought of
him, and Chub even managed dexterously to get a grip on his neck and
force him to rub his nose against the magazine before leaving him.
When they reached the door and looked back Dick was once more intently
reading.

“Silly chump!” growled Chub as they reached the hall. “What’s he want
to study fly-casting for, especially at this time of year?”

“I don’t believe he was reading that at all,” answered Roy. “I think he
turned the pages before we got to him.”

“He did? Let’s go over after supper and look through that magazine. Did
you notice what it was?”

“Yes, but not what number; and as there’s a whole row of them I guess
we’d have a long hunt. We’ll make him tell us the truth when we get
hold of him.”

“All right. I’ll bet he’s up to something, though.”

But when supper was over and they looked around for Dick that person
had again disappeared. They searched the two dormitories and then
traveled across to the library again. There sat the missing one,
perched once more on the top of the step-ladder with a magazine before
him. This time they didn’t enter, for Mr. Buckman was on the other side
of the room and they knew he would not allow any conversation. For a
while they huddled about the radiator in the corridor and waited for
Dick to appear. But he didn’t come, and as each had studying to do,
presently they were forced to depart without him. But Dick couldn’t
hope to elude vengeance forever, and when bedtime came he found himself
in the hands of his enemies.

“How’s your mind coming on?” asked Chub very sweetly, as he pulled Dick
over backward on his bed and sat on him. “Improving, is it?”

“Know all about fly-casting by this time, I suppose,” remarked Roy, as
he rubbed the captive’s nose the wrong way. “It’s a fine thing to know
about, fly-casting, Dick.”

“Oh, great!” Chub agreed, jumping himself up and down to an accompaniment
of groans from Dick. “When I consider, Roy, how little I know about
fly-casting I’m utterly appalled at my ignorance. And think of the time
we’re wasting, too! Why, we might be out on the river all day long, Roy,
casting the merry little fly across the ice. Think of that, will you?”

“Let me up!” groaned Dick.

“What? Let you up? Why, Chub, I think you’re sitting on the gentleman!
How careless of you! Kindly remove yourself from the Champion
Fly-Caster of Ferry Hill School. Let him up, Chub, and he will cast a
few flies for us. Kindly look around, Chub, and catch a fly or two.”

“Don’t tell me,” begged Chub almost tearfully, “that this gentleman
here is Mr. Somes, the World-Famed Fly-Caster! Don’t tell me that I
have offered such an indignity to one so--so honored! I beg of you not
to tell me, Roy!”

“You get--off of me--or I’ll tell--you something--you won’t want
to--hear!” gasped Dick, kicking wildly.

“The gentleman seems uneasy, Roy,” said Chub. “Supposing you place your
thumb on his nose and bear down gently but firmly. There, that’s it! I
beg your pardon, sir? You will do what? You will kick-- Roy, did you
ever hear such language in all your life? Isn’t it disgraceful? Why,
he absolutely threatens us with bodily harm! My dear Mr. Fly-Caster,
let me beg of you to calm yourself! There, I feared you would hurt
yourself! That iron is quite hard, isn’t it! Broken your shin? Oh, I
trust not, Mr. Fly-Caster.”

“Let him up,” laughed Roy. “We’ll be late for bed, the whole bunch of
us.”

“Then let us _fly_,” said Chub. With a bound he cleared the bed just
ahead of the blow Dick aimed and went racing down-stairs to the Junior
Dormitory. Roy made for the washroom and as Dick was encumbered with
some of the bedclothes which had wrapped themselves about his legs
during the struggle, he reached it in safety and was able to stand off
the enemy with a tooth-mug filled with water until terms of peace were
agreed upon.

Strange to say, on the following day Dick was again mysteriously
missing, and this time he was not to be discovered anywhere. The
corner of the library was deserted, he was not in the dormitory or
the gymnasium, Harry had not seen him and, in short, he seemed to
have taken wings and flown. Roy and Chub were on their mettle and were
resolved to find him and bring him to book. But at four o’clock in the
afternoon, after a whole hour’s search, they were forced to own defeat.

“I don’t see where he _can_ be,” said Chub. “We’ve looked everywhere.
Look here! I’ll just bet that Harry knows where he is! Let’s go over
and make her own up.”

But Harry vowed that she knew nothing of Dick’s whereabouts and the
others were again stumped.

“It’s mighty funny,” growled Chub. “And he’s up to something too; you
mark my words! He’s up to mischief!”

“And we’re not in it,” grieved Roy.

“Oh!” cried Harry suddenly. “Have you tried the barn?”

“No!” answered the others in a breath. “Come on!”

They raced together along the curving drive and reached the barn quite
out of breath. Chub held up a warning finger.

“He must be in here,” he whispered. “We’ve looked everywhere else. So
let’s surprise him. Go easy and I’ll try the door.”

They tiptoed up and Chub lifted the wooden latch. The door yielded.
With a frightful yell Chub threw the door open and they darted in.
There was no one in sight.




CHAPTER IX

ON THE TRAIL


Roy and Chub stared at each other blankly.

“Well!” said Roy.

“Foiled again!” muttered Chub darkly.

The barn was dim save about the open door and where, high up, the late
sunlight found its way through the dusty window in the loft. They
peered about in the shadows, but saw nothing but Methuselah’s eyes
gleaming uncannily.

“Maybe he’s in the loft,” said Roy softly.

“Pshaw, there’s nothing up there but bats and spiders and dust,”
answered Chub. “What would he be doing here in the dark, anyhow? Come
on; I’m freezing.”

“Well, let’s yell out and see if he answers,” Roy suggested.

They called “Dick!” several times, but the only reply was from the
parrot, who chuckled wickedly in the darkness.

“Come on,” said Roy.

They left the barn, closing the door behind them, and walked briskly
back to the dormitory.

“The only way to do,” said Chub, “is to watch him and not let him know
it. After supper we’ll keep him in sight and when he sneaks off we’ll
follow him.”

“That’s it! We’ll be detectives,” agreed Roy with enthusiasm. “I’m
Sherlock Holmes.”

“I’m Vidocq.”

“Who’s he?”

“A French detective,” answered Chub. “He had Sherlock Holmes fried to a
frizzle. Besides, he was real.”

“I’ll bet you Holmes could have given him ten yards and beaten him,”
answered Roy stoutly.

[Illustration: “‘I’m Sherlock Holmes’”]

“Get out! And Sherlock Holmes is only a fellow in a book, anyway!”

“That doesn’t make any difference. He was the best ever. And I’m he.”

“All right. We’ll see who discovers the secret and nabs the criminal,”
said Chub. “That’s the real test. You ought to engage Sid as Doctor
Watson; you know Holmes always had to have Watson around to run his
errands and all that.”

“That’s all right; Doctor Watson didn’t do any of the real detecting;
he was just a sort of a substitute, and sat on the bench. What we ought
to do, Chub, is to disguise ourselves; every detective uses a disguise.”

“That’s so, but we haven’t got any,” laughed Chub. “Supposing, though,
we turn our sweaters inside out?”

During supper Dick was watched every moment. Every time he put his fork
to his mouth Chub scowled knowingly; every time he took a drink of
milk Roy looked meaningly at Chub; and when Dick called for a second
helping of cold meat the two detectives smiled triumphantly. When
Dick came out of the dining-hall Roy and Chub were standing near-by,
apparently deeply engrossed in conversation. Chub saw him coming.

“Don’t let him suspect,” he whispered hoarsely.

With amazing effrontery Dick joined them.

“What are you fellows up to?” he asked.

“Nothing,” answered Chub with great unconcern. “Just talking.”

“Yes,” agreed Roy, “just talking.”

“You don’t say!” responded Dick with a grin. “What are you going to do
to-night?”

“Study,” answered Chub promptly. “I’ve got a lot to do. And so has Roy.
We’re going to be busy.”

“That’s all right; so am I,” said Dick. “Don’t let me disturb you. See
you later.”

He put his cap on and walked unhurriedly toward the door.

“Watch him!” hissed Chub.

The door closed behind him. Silently they waited a moment. Then both
sprang toward the portal and as Roy put his hand on the knob it was
opened quickly from without and Dick confronted them.

“Hello!” he said quizzically. “Going to study outdoors?”

“N--no,” stammered Roy. “We were--”

“Just going to get a breath of air,” said Chub, coming to his
assistance.

“Oh,” said Dick, “well, you’ll find plenty of it out there.”

He held the door open and the other two sauntered out, trying to seem
at ease. The door closed behind them. They looked at each other and
smiled sheepishly.

“Where’s he going?” whispered Chub.

“Study-room, maybe. We’ll wait a bit and then go in. You go up-stairs
and I’ll look around down here. He’s on to us, isn’t he?” Chub nodded.

“Sure,” he answered. “But it won’t help him. Vidocq is on his
tail--trail, I mean.”

“And so is Sherlock Holmes,” muttered Roy. “Come on; we’ve been out
long enough to get the air.”

“I’ve got all I want,” replied Chub with a shiver as they entered the
corridor again. “You look in the study-room and I’ll go up-stairs.”

Roy nodded and they separated. Chub found both dormitories seemingly
empty, but to make certain that Dick was not in hiding he looked under
all the beds. This took some time and when he got down-stairs again
and sought Roy he was not to be found. There were several boys in the
study-room and as Chub entered unconcernedly Whitcomb looked up from
his book with a frown.

“It’s the middle window on the end,” he said. “And please shut it after
you; I’m getting tired.”

“What are you gibbering about?” asked Chub.

“Oh,” said Whitcomb, “I thought you were in it too.”

“In what?”

“The game--or whatever it is. First Dick Somes comes in and jumps out
of the window. Then Roy comes along and I tell him about it and he
jumps out. And neither of them closes the window after him, and I’m
tired of jumping up, and-- Hi! Where are you going? Well, say, _shut
it after you, will you_?” But Chub was outside, up to his knees in a
snowbank. Whitcomb sighed, pushed back his chair and slammed down the
window for the third time. “Isn’t it great to be crazy?” he muttered
disgustedly.

Of course Chub might just as well have gone out through the front
door, but he felt that that would have been far from professional. He
struggled out of the snowbank and peered about him. It was very dark
and very cold. Lights shone from the windows of School Hall and from
the Cottage, but there was no sound to be heard and there was no one
in sight. Chub realized that the correct thing to do was to examine
the snow for footprints, find the criminal’s and follow his track.
But he had no lantern, not even so much as a match, and so that course
was out of the question. He wondered where Roy had gone. Perhaps he
had discovered Dick and was on his trail. Well, it was bitterly cold
and there was no sense in standing there at the edge of the drive and
freezing to death. He’d go over to the library and see if either Dick
or Roy were there. He crossed to School Hall and as he turned the
corner to reach the doorway a figure detached itself from the shadows
in the angle of the wall and slunk across the path into a thicket of
leafless shrubbery. Chub paused and drew back into the darkness, his
heart thumping with excitement. The other chap was discernible, but
Chub could not distinguish his features. For several minutes the two
stood motionless, watching each other. Chub’s toes and fingers began to
ache with the cold. He wished Dick would go on so that he could move
after him and get warmed up a bit. Finally, just when Chub decided
that he would have to stamp his feet to keep them from freezing, the
other chap called across sternly.

“You might as well come out,” he said. “I see you and I know who you
are.”

Chub gave a snort of disgust and walked into the light.

“Is that you, Roy?” he called.

“Yes, is that-- Say, I thought you were Dick!” responded Roy
disappointedly, as he scrambled out of the thicket.

“That’s who I thought you were,” Chub answered. “Did you see him?”

“No, he jumped out of the window in the study-room. I went after him,
but when I got out he was gone. Then I came over to the library and
he wasn’t there. I was wondering where to look for him when you came
sneaking around the corner there. Where do you suppose he got to?”

“How do I know?” answered Chub shortly. “You’re a nice Sherlock Holmes,
you are!”

“And you’re a fine Vidocq,” replied Roy just as scathingly. Then they
laughed.

“Well, we mustn’t stand here in the light,” said Chub. “Because if he
is around here he will see us.” They drew back into the shadow and the
protection of the building. “What shall we do now?”

“I guess the best thing to do is to go back and get to work,” replied
Roy. “I’ve got some studying to do to-night.”

“So have I. I say, let’s let him go to thunder. Who cares where he is,
anyway? If he doesn’t want us to know what he’s up to I guess we can
worry along without knowing, eh? Besides--”

“_Hist!_” cautioned Roy. “_What’s that?_”

A figure emerged from the darkness and paused some thirty feet away.

“It’s Dick!” whispered Chub, gripping Roy’s arm tightly.

“He sees us,” Roy whispered back. “He’s watching us.”

There was a moment of suspense. Then:

“What are you boys doing there?” asked Mr. Buckman’s voice.

“Foiled again!” sighed Chub. “We’re just playing a--a sort of game,
sir,” he answered.

“Who are you?”

“Porter and Eaton, sir.”

“Well, have you got your lessons yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you take my advice and go indoors and get them.”

“Yes, sir; we were just going,” answered Roy meekly. The instructor
swung past them toward the entrance of School Hall and the boys went
silently back to the dormitory. As they entered the study-room Whitcomb
looked up wearily.

“I don’t want to be fussy,” he said, “but would you mind using one of
the other windows for a while? That one blows right on my back, and
I’ve got the sniffles now.”




CHAPTER X

FOILED!


The next day was Friday and as the hockey team was to play a hard game
on the morrow there was an hour of steady practice on the rink. That
kept Roy busy from the time he had finished with his last recitation
until it was time to get ready for supper. Chub too spent a busy
afternoon engaged in matters pertaining to the base-ball team, and so
when they met at supper neither he nor Roy was able to say whether Dick
had disappeared that afternoon. At all events he was in plain sight
now. Roy turned to Chub.

“See how queer he’s acting,” he whispered. “And he isn’t eating much of
anything; I’ve been watching him. Look, he doesn’t even know that his
fork is empty!”

It would have been very evident to a much less careful observer
than a detective that Dick was absent-minded and preoccupied that
evening. Once he laid down his fork and began tracing patterns on the
table-cloth with his thumb nail and several times he paused with his
glass of milk in mid-air to gaze frowningly into space.

“I’ll bet he’s thinking up some scheme to get that money,” said Chub,
after a few moments of amused observation. But Roy shook his head.

“I don’t think it’s that,” he answered. “He wouldn’t have to run away
out of sight every day to just think. He’s _doing_ something; you see
if he isn’t.”

“Well, he can just go ahead and do it for all I care,” said Chub. “I’m
not going to stand around in the snow to-night, I’ll tell you that.”

“Nor I,” replied Roy. “Besides, to-morrow will be the time to play
detective. We won’t have anything to do in the morning, Chub, so let’s
track him. Even if we don’t find out anything it will make him peeved.”

“I didn’t notice that he got much peeved last night,” observed Chub
dryly.

“Never mind; he won’t get away from us in daylight as easily as he did
then,” responded Roy. “And whatever he’s up to he will be sure to try
and sneak off in the morning. So let’s watch him, eh?”

“All right; Vidocq again takes up the relentless pursuit.”

“What we need,” said Roy, “is a clue. Every detective ought to have a
clue.”

“That’s so; supposing we ask him for one? We might tell him that if he
doesn’t give us a clue we’ll refuse to pay any more attention to him.”

“I guess he’d feel pretty bad,” laughed Roy.

After supper they went into the study-room and sat where they could
watch the front door. Presently Dick came down-stairs and passed out.
Roy and Chub looked at each other inquiringly, and Chub got half out
of his chair. But Roy shook his head.

“Let him go,” he hissed melodramatically. “Our time will come!”

After breakfast the next morning, which was Saturday and a holiday,
Chub and Roy went up to the Junior Dormitory and stationed themselves
at the windows overlooking the campus. Chub from his post of
observation had a clear view of School Hall and the path to the river,
while Roy could see the gymnasium, the Cottage and the path to the
village. They had left Dick at the breakfast table, but it was after
eight o’clock and he would have to leave the dining-room shortly. If
he came up-stairs they would hear him, while if he went out of the
building they could not fail to see him. But the minutes passed and
nothing happened to vary the monotony.

“Bet you he’s gone into the study-room and is reading,” said Chub
disgustedly. “He’s just mean enough to do that!”

“Well, he won’t read very long, I guess,” answered Roy cheerfully.
“Dick doesn’t care much for reading.”

Ten minutes passed.

“Anything doing, Sister Ann?” asked Chub boredly.

“Not much. Billy Warren and Pryor are going over to the gym and Sid and
Chase are throwing snowballs down here.”

“Oh, well, let’s call it off. It’s a dandy day and I’m not going to
waste it up here. Let’s go skating. We’ll get Harry and--”

“S-sh! There he goes!” whispered Roy hoarsely. Chub ran to the other
window.

“Don’t let him see us,” he said. “He’s going to the village, I’ll bet.
We’ll wait until he gets past the gym and then we’ll scoot down.”

Dick was swinging off along the path with long strides. In a moment he
had passed the gymnasium and was making for the gate in the hedge.

“Come on!” cried Chub.

Side by side they raced down-stairs, seized their caps from the rack
in the hall and then cautiously opened the door. Dick was out of sight.
They hurried after him. At the gate they paused and reconnoitered.

“It’s all right,” said Chub. “He’s just turning into the road toward
the Cove. Come on, but keep low.”

So they skulked across the athletic field and reached the road just in
time to see Dick pass around the first turn, some three hundred yards
away. It is a mile to Silver Cove and for that distance Chub and Roy
stalked Dick tirelessly. They had to keep at the side of the road lest
he should turn around and see them, and frequently, when the road ran
straight for some distance, they were forced to hide in the bushes or
behind walls. Luckily, however, there are many twists and turns between
Ferry Hill and Silver Cove, and so the detectives’ task was not so
difficult. Never once, as far as they could tell, did Dick look back.

“He doesn’t suspect,” said Roy triumphantly.

“No,” chuckled Chub, “little does he reck that the human bloodhounds
are hot upon his trail.”

“What’s reck?” asked Roy.

“Don’t you study English?” scoffed Chub.

“Yes, but I never heard of reck. I don’t believe there is such a word.”

“That’s all right, my boy. When we get back I’ll show it to you in a
book I was reading the other day. Look out!”

They scuttled hurriedly to the side of the road and subsided in the
bushes. Dick had stopped and was standing in the middle of the road
looking intently at what appeared to be a roll of paper which he had
taken from his pocket.

“Must be a map,” said Roy. “Perhaps he’s lost his way.”

Chub laughed. “Whatever it is, I wish he’d put it away again and go on.
There’s a peck of snow down the back of my neck.”

“Oh, little you reck,” said Roy cheerfully.

“You dry up,” growled Chub. “There he goes; come on.”

[Illustration: “They scuttled hurriedly to the side of the road and
subsided in the bushes”]

Dick had thrust the roll of paper back into an inner pocket of his coat
and was once more on his way.

Ferry Hill is only a small town and the business portion of it occupies
but a few blocks along the main street, which runs to the river and the
bridge. Dick turned to the left there, and Roy and Chub hurried after.
When they reached the corner they peeked cautiously around just in time
to see their quarry enter one of the stores.

“We mustn’t get too near,” said Roy, “or he will see us when he comes
out.”

“Let’s go over to the drug store, buy some hot chocolate and watch
through the window,” suggested Chub. That seemed a good plan and they
followed it. The drug store was almost opposite the shop which Dick
had entered and for several minutes the detectives sipped their hot
chocolate and watched for him to reappear.

“It’s a stationery store,” said Chub. “Wonder what he wants there.”

“When he comes out,” said Roy, “one of us might go over and find out
what he bought. That might give us a clue.”

“Yes, but we’d get separated. He is a dangerous man and we must stick
together for mutual protection. I wish he’d hurry up.”

They finished their chocolates and Chub bought ten cents’ worth of
lemon drops. They munched those for a while, their eyes fixed on the
door of the stationery store. Ten minutes passed. Then Chub grew uneasy.

“He must have come out,” he said.

“He couldn’t have. I’ve been watching every instant.”

“Then there’s a back door and he’s gone out that way!”

“Pshaw! Why would he do that? He didn’t know we were following him.”

“N-no; at least, I didn’t think he knew it. But it looks now as though
he did. If he doesn’t come out in five minutes we’ll go over. We can
make believe we want some pencils or something.”

“All right,” Roy agreed. They cast anxious glances at the store clock
from time to time. Never had five minutes taken so long to pass! But
finally:

“Come on,” said Roy. “Time’s up.”

“We’ll ask for some pencils if he’s there,” whispered Chub as they
crossed the street. The stationery store was small and as soon as they
had closed the door behind them they saw that Dick had vanished. The
only occupant was a middle-aged man who was arranging some boxes on one
of the shelves back of a counter.

“We’re looking for a fellow who came in here a while ago,” said Roy.
“Has he gone?”

“A young fellow about your age?” asked the shopkeeper. “Yes, he’s been
gone about twenty minutes. But he said you’d be along asking for him
and he left a note. Let me see; where did I put it?”

“A note?” faltered Chub.

“Here it is,” said the man. “I guess that’s for you, isn’t it?”

Roy took it and read the address: “Mr. Thomas Eaton, or Mr. Roy Porter.”

“Y-yes, that’s ours,” he muttered, looking sheepishly at Chub. That
youth had thrust his hands in his pockets and was whistling softly. Roy
unfolded the sheet of paper, read the message and handed it silently
across to Chub. Chub read it, refolded it carelessly and turned toward
the door.

“Well, there’s no use waiting,” he said. “By the way, I suppose he went
out the back way, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” replied the shopkeeper. “He wanted to know if he could get the
Ferry Hill road that way and I told him to keep to the left through the
alley, cross the field back of the saw-mill and--”

“I see. Did he get what he wanted here?”

The man chuckled. “Yes, but he said I wasn’t to tell you what it was
because it was a sort of a surprise to you boys.”

“Oh, he did, eh?” muttered Chub wrathfully as they went out. “He
thinks he’s mighty smart, doesn’t he? Let’s see that note again.”

“You put it in your pocket,” said Roy.

“Oh, yes, here it is:

    Dear Friends: A red sweater shows up great against the snow.
    Sorry I can’t wait for you.                         Dick.

“It’s all your fault. You might have known that he could see that
sweater a mile off.”

“I didn’t think he looked around once,” answered Roy meekly.

“Nor did I. But he did. He knew all the time we were following him. He
makes me tired. Let’s go home.”

“What’s the use? Now we’re here let’s bum around a while. It’s only
half-past nine.”

Roy’s advice prevailed. After a while their good-humor returned and
they found the laughable side of the adventure.

“Dick’s a cute one, all right,” said Chub admiringly.

“He surely is,” said Roy. “It isn’t many fellows could fool Sherlock
Holmes and Vidocq at the same time!”

“We’re a nice pair of detectives,” laughed Chub. “But we’ve got to get
even with him somehow, Roy, and we’re going to do it.”

“I say, let’s tell Harry about it. She’s got bully ideas--for a girl.
Maybe she can suggest something. What do you say?”

“All right. We’ll do it as soon as we get back.”

They had a pretty good time of it until after eleven; went through the
stamping works and saw them make tin cans and boxes, walked out on the
bridge a way, Roy standing treat for the tolls, and ended up at the
saw-mill. And it was at the latter place that they found their first
clue.

They were sitting on a pile of new boards, basking lazily in the
sunlight and watching the big band-saw eating its way through the logs,
when one of the men came by and saw them.

“Hello,” he said, “want to buy anything?”

“No, sir,” answered Roy. “We are just looking. Are we in the way?”

“Not a bit, not a bit. Glad to have you. Only there was a fellow here
the other day buying some stuff. He was about your style and I thought
maybe you wanted something too.”

“Was he a big fellow with yellow hair?” asked Chub eagerly. “With a
gray sweater on?”

“Yes, I think so. Friend of yours?”

“Yes, sir. What was he buying?”

“I don’t remember; some kind of lumber; two or three sticks, I guess.”

The man went on and Roy and Chub fell to speculating eagerly on the
meaning of Dick’s purchase.

“What’s he want with lumber?” asked Chub. “He couldn’t lug it back to
school with him!”

“Anyway, it’s a clue,” said Roy. “Even if it doesn’t tell us anything.
Let’s get home. We’ll find him and make him tell us.”

“He won’t, though,” said Chub.

They trudged back in the noonday sunlight over the snowy road and
had almost reached the school when one of the rattle-trap carriages
which hover about the Silver Cove station overtook them. They paid no
particular attention to it, save to draw to the side of the road out of
its way, until the occupant of the rear seat addressed them. Then they
looked up to see Dick lolling there at ease and smiling down at them as
he rattled by.

“You’d better hurry up,” he called. “It’s almost dinner time.”

“_What do you think of that!_” gasped Chub as the carriage left them
behind.

“He must have plenty of money,” said Roy. “They charge fifty cents to
bring you over from the Cove.”

“But he’s been over there all the morning when we thought he was back
at school! He--he’s just fooled us right and left! I wish I’d shied a
snowball at his silly head!”

“Wait till we get hold of him!” muttered Roy.




CHAPTER XI

THE ADVENTURES OF ESTRELLA


They were not able to take Harry into their confidence right away,
however, as by the time they reached school it lacked but a few minutes
of dinner time. And after that meal, when they called at the Cottage,
they found that Harry had not returned from Silver Cove but had
remained to take dinner with one of her girl friends in the village.
In the dining-room Roy and Chub had treated Dick with contemptuous
indifference and afterward had observed him pass out of the building
and across to the library with supreme unconcern. He smiled tauntingly
as he passed them in the corridor, but both Roy and Chub looked
impassively by him.

“Who’s your friend?” asked Chub audibly.

“Never met him,” responded Roy loftily. “Some low person.”

At two Roy had to go and get ready for the hockey game, and as Chub had
nothing better to do he went with him. During the half-hour of practice
preceding the game and during the contest itself he watched from the
side of the rink and, with Sid, Whitcomb, Pryor, Post and others
cheered the home team on to a well-deserved victory. Harry didn’t turn
up at the game--an unusual thing for her--and so it was not until after
supper next day that Roy and Chub found Harry. They called again at the
Cottage and were ushered by Mrs. Emery into the little parlor. Harry
joined them soon afterward and in a few moments was made acquainted
with the situation relating to Dick.

“It’s a mystery!” she declared excitedly.

“It surely is,” Roy answered. “And we want you to help us find out what
the silly chap is up to. Will you?”

“Yes, and I’ll be a detective too!”

“All right,” answered Chub, “but I don’t think I ever heard of a female
detective; did you, Roy?”

Roy shook his head, but Harry protested vigorously.

“There are female detectives,” she asserted stoutly. “I read of one
once in some book. She was awfully smart and found the stolen diamonds
after every one else had failed!”

“All right,” said Chub. “What was her name?”

“Why, it was--was--oh, dear, I’ve forgotten it!”

“Then I don’t see how you can be her,” teased Roy.

“I shall recall it,” answered Harry with dignity. “Besides, detectives
have aliases, don’t they?”

“Oh, the cheap ones do,” replied Roy. “Sherlock Holmes didn’t change
his name.”

“Did Vi--Vi--Vidocq?” asked Harry anxiously.

“Yes, often,” answered Chub. “He was the real thing, too. He caught
more desperate criminals than Sherlock Holmes ever thought of! And he
was great for disguising himself, too.”

“Oh, that’s it!” cried Harry. “I must have a disguise!”

“Wear your hair on top of your head,” suggested Roy laughingly.

“Put your shoes on the wrong feet,” added Chub.

“Never you mind,” said Harry with sparkling eyes. “I know what I shall
do. You wait and see. But if you recognize me--if you penetrate my
disguise, I mean, you mustn’t let on. You won’t, will you? Because it
might spoil everything.”

“You may depend upon us,” replied Roy gravely.

“We ought to have a password,” Harry continued. “So when we meet each
other we can communicate.”

“‘_R-r-r-revenge!_’” muttered Chub with a ferocious scowl. Harry
clapped her hands.

“That’s it! That’s the password! ‘Revenge!’ Don’t forget it.”

“Trust us,” said Roy. “We think of nothing else. ‘Revenge!’”

“‘Revenge!’” echoed Harry.

“‘Revenge!’” growled Chub.

Then they looked at each other and laughed enjoyably. And suddenly
Harry gave an exclamation of triumph.

“I remember!” she cried. “It was Estrella!”

“What was?”

“The name of that lady detective. Estrella--Estrella--oh, I can’t
remember her last name, but I guess Estrella will do, won’t it?”

“Yes, I should think so,” Chub said. “It’s a fine-sounding name, all
right. Roy, allow me to present you to Miss Estrella, the Lady Sleuth.”

“What’s a sleuth?” asked Harry anxiously.

“Oh, that’s just a slang name for detective.”

“Well, I don’t believe lady detectives would use slang,” she said. “So
I guess I won’t be a sleuth, if you don’t mind, Chub.”

“Have your own way about it. It doesn’t make much difference what you
call yourself, Harry, if you’ll only find out what Dick is up to.
He’s got to be punished for the way he has treated us all. It--it’s a
low-down trick, that’s what it is!”

“Yes, we owe him something,” Roy agreed. “And we’ll pay him back, too.
But we must try and make him think that we aren’t watching him any
more.”

“Yes, lull his suspicions,” said Chub.

“Then maybe he will get careless and we’ll catch him red-handed.”

“Red-handed!” echoed Harry with gusto. “Isn’t it lovely? I do wish I
could start to-morrow, but I suppose you can’t detect on Sunday!”

“Hardly,” Roy agreed. “But on Monday we’ll begin in earnest. We mustn’t
let him out of our sight a moment.”

“I don’t see how we can help letting him out of our sight,” Chub
objected. “We have our recitations to attend and Harry has to go to
Silver Cove.”

“Well, after school, then,” answered Roy. “In the afternoon
we’ll--we’ll--”

“Dog his very footsteps,” aided Chub. “I read that somewhere; good,
isn’t it?”

“Fine,” laughed Roy. “Little he recks--!”

“You dry up,” growled Chub good-naturedly, “and come on home.”

Harry went to the porch with them and there, at her suggestion, they
clasped hands and cried “_Revenge!_” together in a thrilling chorus.

“We meet anon,” said Chub. “Farewell!”

And thereupon Vidocq and Sherlock Holmes slunk away into the enveloping
darkness, and Estrella, muttering “_Revenge!_” under her breath, closed
the front door and stole stealthily into the library to ransack the
shelves for the detective story which recounted the adventures and
triumphs of her namesake.

The next day Dick was inclined to be chummy, but Roy and Chub repulsed
his overtures coldly. And in the afternoon he once more disappeared and
didn’t show up again until supper-time. He spent most of the evening in
the study-room, and although Roy and Chub watched him surreptitiously
they were unable to gather any incriminating evidence, since he did
nothing more enlightening than apply himself to his algebra lesson.

There was no hockey practice on Monday, and so when Roy had finished
his last recitation in School Hall he hurried across toward the
dormitory to dispose of his books, with the idea of then finding Dick
before that mysterious youth had whisked himself out of sight. But
before he had covered half of the distance between the two buildings he
had forgotten all about Dick. For on the steps of Burgess stood a most
remarkable figure. Roy stared and marveled. At first he thought he was
looking at an elderly woman, but the next moment he changed his mind,
for the small, slight form was youthful in spite of the attire. There
was a vividly blue cloth skirt which swept the ground, a black fur
cape, rather the worse for service, which reached almost to the waist,
a large hat with brown feathers and a heavy black veil which completely
hid the face. One hand clutched a silver-handled umbrella and the other
was lost in the folds of the voluminous skirt.

“Well, that’s a funny-looking scarecrow!” muttered Roy as he
approached. The lady, whoever she was, seemed to be viewing him from
behind the thick veil, and Roy ceased staring. But as he mounted the
steps he could not resist another look. Through the close meshes of the
veil he caught sight of two bright eyes and a rather impertinent nose,
and--

“_Revenge!_” said a smothered voice.

Roy stopped and stared with wide-open mouth.

“I--I beg your pardon, ma-am!” he faltered, uncertain whether he had
imagined it. “Did you speak?”

“_Revenge!_” said the voice again. Roy gasped.

“Harry!” he exclaimed incredulously.

“S-sh! Would you betray all?”

“Oh, but you’re a sight!” said Roy, standing off to obtain a better
view of her. “Where’d you get the clothes, Harry?” Then he leaned up
against the opposite railing of the porch and gave way to mirth. Harry
stamped her foot and thumped the silver-handled umbrella.

“Roy Porter, you’re just as mean as you can be!” she declared
aggrievedly. “And you can do your own detecting!”

“But, Harry,” Roy gasped, “if you could only see the way you look!”

“I don’t care; I fooled you all right enough, Mister Smarty!”

“That’s so; I thought you were an old woman at first! It’s a dandy
disguise, Harry.”

“Do you really think so?” Harry asked, somewhat mollified. “I had a
terrible time getting the things, because of course I couldn’t ask for
them; if I had, my disguise would have been no longer a secret, would
it?”

Roy shook his head.

“And so I had to swipe--borrow them, I mean, without saying anything to
mama. And if I should meet her wouldn’t she be surprised?” And Harry
giggled behind the veil.

“I’ll just bet she would,” laughed Roy. “Have you seen anything of--”

“S-sh! Some one approaches!” cried Harry. “Follow me, but take no
notice!”

Several boys had come out on to the steps of School Hall and were
looking curiously across. Harry seized the folds of the ridiculous
blue skirt and lifted it so that she could walk without tripping over
it. Then, raising the silver-handled umbrella in a gesture of caution
she turned and stole stealthily into the building. Roy, vastly amused,
followed. Harry crossed to the dining-room, opened the door and
beckoned. To enter the dining-room outside of meal-hours was strictly
against the rules, but Harry was a law unto herself, and Roy ventured
after her. Then she closed the door, turned the key in the lock and
raised the black veil.

“Now,” she said, “we are safe for the moment.”

“Yes, that’s all very well, but supposing Dick takes it into his silly
head to disappear while we are in here talking?”

“Then we must find him.”

“But we said we were going to watch for him and follow him. What’s the
good of letting him get away? I left him in School Hall and he will be
out in a few minutes.”

“We-ll, maybe we’d better go,” said Harry. “But I did want to talk to
you a minute.”

“All right, go ahead. What do you want to talk about?”

“Do you think Dick would recognize--would penetrate my disguise if he
met me?” she asked anxiously.

“I don’t believe he’d let you get near enough,” answered Roy with a
laugh. “I’ll bet if he saw you coming he’d run a mile!”

“Now you’re being mean again,” said Harry reproachfully.

“Well, honest then, Harry, I don’t believe your own mother would know
you!”

“But she’d know her clothes,” Harry said laughingly. “Supposing, then,
that I go over toward School Hall and wait for him to come out. Then I
can follow him and he won’t suspect anything.”

“All right, but I wouldn’t let him think you are after him,” Roy
advised.

“Of course I sha’n’t,” answered Harry indignantly. “Don’t you suppose I
know more about--about detecting than that? I’ll just make believe that
I’m a visitor looking around the school. And maybe I’ll meet him and
ask him some questions. Wouldn’t that be funny?”

“He’d know your voice in a minute,” said Roy.

“I’d disguise it, like this,” Harry replied, sinking her voice until it
sounded like the croak of a raven. “You couldn’t tell it was me, could
you?”

“I should say not!” Roy declared with emphasis. “You sound the way
Methuselah did the time he had a sore throat!”

“You’re not very complimentary,” said Harry with a pout. “But I suppose
detectives mustn’t mind that. Now I think we’d better go, don’t you?”

Roy agreed and Harry carefully lowered her veil. At the door she turned.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” she said. “I found that book last night
after you went, and my name is Estrella De Vere. Isn’t it lovely?”

“Fine and dandy!” answered Roy. “It sounds almost real.”

He remained inside until Harry had passed down the steps and was
sauntering with elaborate unconcern toward School Hall. Then he went
out on to the porch and watched. Harry, her blue skirt trailing
regally behind her, stopped in front of the entrance, leaned on her
umbrella and studied the architecture of the building. A group of boys
on the porch stopped talking and viewed her curiously. Presently, with
a nod of approval, Harry turned and walked slowly up the path toward
the Cottage, pausing at length to take in the details of that modest
structure quite as thoroughly. The boys on the porch, Roy observed,
were laughing and making fun of the queer figure. At that moment the
door of School Hall opened again and Dick hurried out and along the
path toward Harry, who had now turned and was sauntering back toward
the hall. As he went he cast a quick and cautious glance about him and
Roy, although he tried to draw back out of sight, knew that Dick had
seen him. Dick’s gaze now was on the person in the black veil. When he
reached the place where the path to the Cottage branched off from the
road to the barn he seemed to hesitate an instant. Then he turned to
the right toward the Cottage and Estrella De Vere.

By this time Harry had made up her mind to a desperate venture. As Dick
reached her she sank her voice to sepulchral tones.

“Pardon me, young man,” she said, “but can you tell me what building
that is?” She pointed the umbrella toward School Hall.

Dick stopped and touched his cap, looking very intently at the black
veil. But Harry kept her head averted as much as she could and
flattered herself that Dick was far from suspecting her identity. But
she did wish he wouldn’t look so hard!

“Yes, ma’am,” answered Dick. “That is the Biological Laboratory.” Harry
gave a gasp. “And further along,” pointing out the dormitory, “you see
the Astronomical Observatory.” Harry gasped again. Dick swung around
and indicated the gymnasium. “And that building, ma’am, is called Somes
Hall in honor of Mr. Richard Somes, who gave the money for it. It cost
two million dollars and contains the Phrenological and Optimistic
departments.”

[Illustration: “‘That’s the Insane Asylum’”]

Harry had a wild desire to giggle, but conquered it. She wondered
for an instant whether Dick knew her, after all, and was trying to
tease her. The expression of his face, which was one of the utmost
seriousness, told her nothing. She almost forgot to disguise her voice
as she answered him.

“Thank you so much,” she said. “And--and the small house here?”

“Oh, that’s the Insane Asylum,” answered Dick readily. “I have but one
case confined there at present, a young girl. It’s really very sad,
ma’am. I don’t think she will ever be any better. She imagines”--he
dropped his voice to a confidential whisper--“she imagines that she’s a
detective! Very sad, really!”

He touched his cap again, gravely and politely, and went on toward the
Cottage, leaving Harry a prey to conflicting emotions, the strongest
of which was exasperation.

“Now how did he know me?” she wondered. “I think he’s just as mean as
he can be!”

She stood motionless and watched Dick ring the bell. In a moment the
door was opened and he passed into the Cottage.

“And what do you suppose he’s gone there for?” she asked herself.
“Perhaps he’s going to tell mama that I’m out here with her old blue
skirt and fur cape on! Let him! I think he’s the meanest--!”

But at that moment the mystery was explained. She had put up one
hand to make certain of the arrangement of her veil, which since she
had first donned it had been giving her not a little trouble, and
discovered that it had become undone at the back, leaving exposed a
small expanse of red hair.

“That’s how he knew!” she exclaimed. “If it hadn’t been for that he’d
have been fooled just as Roy was! Beastly old veil! And I just know
he’s told mama and they’re having a lovely joke about it! I’m going in!”

She hurried to the Cottage and attempted the front door, only to find
that it was locked. Wrathfully she rang the bell. Steps sounded in the
hall, the door was opened a little and Mrs. Emery’s face appeared for a
brief moment. Then,

“Nothing to-day, thank you,” said her mother, and the door closed again
sharply before Harry had recovered from her surprise. Then she beat
upon the portal with the umbrella and stabbed at the button until the
bell fairly outdid itself. A window opened up-stairs and Mrs. Emery put
her head out.

“If you don’t go away at once,” she said, “I’ll call the man to put you
off the grounds. We don’t allow peddlers here.”

“I’m not a peddler!” cried Harry. “I want to get in! I’m Harry!”

“_What! Harry?_” exclaimed her mother. “Well, I am surprised!”

But Harry noticed that she was smiling broadly as she closed the window
and disappeared. In a moment the door was opened and Harry passed
inside, a little bit sulky.

“You knew it was me,” she declared. “You just did it to tease me!”

“What, knew you in those clothes?” asked her mother. “Why, how could I,
my dear? And with that veil over your face? And tied so neatly, too!”

“Yes, you did know; Dick told you! And he’s as mean as mean can be!”

“Dick? No, Dick didn’t tell me, my dear. But I saw you leaving the
house half an hour ago and found my blue skirt missing.”

“Where’s Dick?” demanded Harry.

“Oh, he’s been gone a long time, I guess. He came and asked if he might
pass through the house and go out by the back door; he said you and
he were playing a game called--Detective, wasn’t it? So I told him he
might and the last I saw of him from my window he was climbing over
the hedge into the ball field.”

Harry sank into a chair, the black veil trailing from one hand and the
silver-handled umbrella in the other.

“Foiled again!” she cried despairingly.




CHAPTER XII

THE MYSTERY IS SOLVED


Harry told her story later to Roy and Chub, who laughed immoderately
and, as Harry thought at first, somewhat unkindly. But after a while
she joined her laughter with theirs.

“Oh, he’s a peach!” declared Chub. “He’s too much for us!”

“Nothing of the sort!” said Harry. “He got the better of me to-day,
but--”

“A time will come!” suggested Chub.

“And I’ll catch him yet; you see if I don’t! He’s not so awfully smart.”

“Well, he seems to be a heap smarter than any of us,” said Roy. “I vote
we leave him alone. When he gets good and ready he will probably tell
us what he’s up to.”

“Leave him alone nothing!” said Chub. “Even if we can’t find out what
he’s doing, we can make his life a burden to him. And I, for one,
propose to do it. Look at the way he treated us in Silver Cove the
other day! Let him alone? I guess not!”

“No, indeed,” agreed Harry. “It’s war to the death!”

“‘Revenge!’” suggested Roy laughingly.

“You bet,” answered Chub.

The next day Dick, for some reason, refused to disappear or even
attempt to. And that was a great disappointment to Harry, who had
made all preparations to follow him and discover his secret--although
without the aid of a disguise. When they met, as they did several times
in the course of the day, Harry passed him with her small nose held at
a disdainful angle. Dick only grinned.

There was hockey practice that afternoon and Dick went down to the rink
to look on. Of course Harry and Chub followed at a discreet distance,
doing their best to appear unaware of his presence in the world.
During practice Dick stood across the rink and smiled amusedly at them
whenever they glanced across, a proceeding which drove Harry to heights
of exasperation. Once in a lull of practice Roy skated up to them.

“Do you see him over there?” he asked softly.

“Of course we do,” answered Harry disgustedly. “Do you think we’re
blind? He’s been grinning and grinning at us for half an hour.”

Roy shook his head gravely.

“Ah,” he muttered, “little he recks--”

Then he dashed away out of Chub’s reach.

But the next day brought triumph to Sherlock Holmes, Vidocq and
Estrella De Vere, proving the truth of the old adage which declares
that he laughs best who laughs last. For at noon Roy and Chub, tumbling
out of School Hall after a recitation, found Harry awaiting them. Her
eyes were dancing and she was all excitement.

“Revenge!” she whispered dramatically.

“Good! What’s up?” asked Chub.

“I have tracked him to his lair!” whispered Harry. “All is discovered!
The miscreant is in our power! Estrella De Vere has--”

“What do you mean, Harry? Have you found out about Dick?”

“I have discovered all! Listen!”

And Estrella De Vere, the Female Detective, with Sherlock Holmes on one
side and Vidocq on the other, passed down the path.

Ten minutes later Dick came out of School Hall and stood for a minute
on the porch, looking idly about him. The snow which had covered the
campus a foot deep a fortnight before was almost gone, and in places
the sere brown turf showed through the worn and tattered coverlid of
white. It was quite warm to-day, with a muggy atmosphere and a leaden
sky, almost too warm for snow, and yet feeling very much like it. There
was a steady _drip_, _drip_ from the eaves and ledges, and the walks
were showing borders of trickling water. Dick frowned and looked
anxiously into the sky. What he saw there seemed to please him but
little, for the frown deepened.

“Two or three days of this sort of weather,” he muttered half aloud,
“and the ice won’t be worth a cent.”

Then, looking carefully about him again, he went down the steps and
turned to the right toward Burgess. There were several boys in sight,
but, and this was suspicious, neither Chub, Roy, nor Harry was to be
seen. He took his books into the study room and deposited them on the
big table. Then, the room being deserted, he crossed to one of the end
windows and looked stealthily out. Apparently the coast was clear. But
he was taking no chances, and so he stole around to a front window
and viewed the prospect carefully from there. He seemed puzzled, for
he thrust his hands into his pockets, stared steadily for a whole
minute at the engraving of “Washington Crossing the Delaware,” which
adorned the wall above the fireplace, and whistled softly to himself.
Then, having apparently decided upon a course of action, he left the
study room, crossed the corridor and opened a door which gave on to
a descending stairway leading to the cellar. Down this he went very
quietly, reached the furnace room and from there gained the outer air
by way of a flight of stone steps. He was in a small stone-paved court
behind the building, with the hedge marking inner bounds but a few
paces away. There was a gate here, and making his way between a double
row of ash barrels he passed through it and plunged into the Grove.
Then he turned to the right and wound between the trees, crossing the
path to the boat-house and river at right angles, and keeping well out
of sight of the windows of the halls. Five minutes of this brought him
to the corner of the hedge. Here the trees ceased abruptly and gave way
to snow-covered fields. Crouching behind the hedge so that his head
was below the top of it, he followed it at right angles to his first
course until opposite the barn and stables. Here he raised his head and
reconnoitered. There was no one in sight and presently he was wriggling
his way through a hole in the hedge. From there he passed around the
back of the small stable and fetched up before a small door leading to
the basement of the barn. That door required careful handling, for it
hung only by one leather hinge. But Dick managed to get through it,
displaying a certain degree of familiarity with its idiosyncrasies, and
closed it behind him.

He found himself in total darkness, but without hesitation he crossed
the earthen floor and climbed a narrow flight of steps. As he went
upward the darkness gave way to gray twilight and when he reached the
main floor of the barn behind the cow stalls it was light enough to
allow him to see distinctly about him. So far he had made scarcely a
sound since entering the building, and now he crept very quietly along
until he could see the closed door. The barn was deserted save for
the inmates of the boxes across the bare floor, and even they were so
quiet that no one would have suspected their presence. Dick gave a sigh
of relief and walked less stealthily to the back of the barn where a
ladder led straight upward to the edge of the loft. He sprang nimbly
onto it and ascended until he could crawl over the edge of the upper
flooring.

In front of him was a space some thirty feet broad by twenty deep. On
one side it was used as a storage place for a couple of old sleighs,
the remnants of a windmill and similar discarded truck. On the other
side the remains of last summer’s hay was stowed in a mow which ran
along over the cow stalls. In the center of the loft, under the small
window, was a large packing-box and beside it was a small one. On
the larger one were spread several sheets of brown paper, pencils, a
square, a rule, a pair of dividers and other tools of the draftsman.
There was a good light from the window, in spite of the fact that its
four small panes were obscured with dust and spider webs.

Dick went to his improvised table, took up a piece of kneaded rubber
which lay there, and played with it while he studied the top sheet of
paper. It was pretty well covered with lines and figures, but only the
designer knew what they stood for. After a moment he drew the small box
up and sat down on it, discarded the eraser for pencil and rule and set
to work.

It was very quiet in the barn. Now and then Methuselah moved in his
cage and muttered unintelligibly or a bat squeaked somewhere overhead
in the darkness. Soon Dick was quite oblivious to everything save
the work before him. He drew lines with his pencil, used ruler and
dividers, set down figures on a smaller sheet of paper and multiplied
or added or subtracted, erased lines already drawn, and through it all
wore a deep frown which told how wholly absorbed he was in the task.
And so he didn’t hear the soft rustlings which came from the top of the
haymow a few feet away when three heads were thrust into view. Heard
nothing, in fact, until the silence was suddenly shattered by a sudden
“AH, THERE!”

[Illustration: “Ah, there!”]

He heard then; oh, yes, quite plainly!

Down dropped his pencil, over went the smaller box with a slam and Dick
was staggering away in an effort to find his feet, his face very white
and his mouth wide open for the exclamation of alarm which he was too
frightened to give. There followed a brief moment of silence during
which Dick stared at the three laughing, triumphant faces topping the
haymow. Then the color crept back into his cheeks and he slowly closed
his mouth.

“Humph!” he said at last.

“Move hand or foot,” cried Chub dramatically, “and you are a dead man!”

“We have you in our power at last!” added Harry. And--

“Little you recked,” said Roy.

Dick picked up the box and began to grin.

“Well, you caught me at last, didn’t you?” he asked. “But I don’t see
why Harry left off that lovely disguise of hers.”

“If you hadn’t seen my hair--” began Harry vehemently.

“Be careful what you say,” interrupted Chub, sliding down from the top
of the mow, “for it will be used against you.”

The others followed and Roy playfully dug Dick in the ribs.

“Old Smarty was caught at last, wasn’t he?” he cried.

“Took you long enough, though,” said Dick. “And gave you some good
exercise, too, eh?”

“We don’t deny, my boy, that you fooled us very nicely several times,”
answered Chub, “but the expression on your handsome countenance a
moment ago made up for everything.”

“I dare say,” laughed Dick. “I was scared stiff. How did you find out
about this drawing-room of mine?”

“That was Harry,” said Roy. “She came in here this morning before
school and let ’Thuselah out of his cage and he climbed up here and
wouldn’t come down. And as she had to hurry to school she came up and
got him and saw the things here. Then she told us about it and after
school we hurried over here and hid in the hay.”

“Well,” said Dick regretfully, “I wish I’d stuck to my first plan and
gone to the Cove instead of coming up here. Then you’d all have had a
nice quiet afternoon in the hay.”

“But you didn’t!” said Harry triumphantly. “And it was the female
detective that discovered you. Sherlock Holmes and Vidocq were
out-detected by Estrella De Vere!”

“Eh?” asked Dick.

Then they told him all about their impersonations and he thought it was
a huge joke, and mollified Harry completely by congratulating her on
her triumph over the others. Then they compared notes for the past week.

“Where did you go the day we followed you to the stationery store?”
asked Roy.

“I went out the back door and came around to the street and watched
from the next corner until you crossed and went into the store. Then I
went--about my business.”

“And that reminds me,” said Roy, “that we don’t know yet what you’re up
to. Are you going to ’fess up now?”

“Sure. I’d have told you all about it long ago if you hadn’t begun this
detective work. When I found what you were up to I thought I’d just
give you a run for your money.”

“Is it anything about the F. H. S. I. S.?” asked Harry. Dick shook his
head.

“No,” he replied. “The fact is that’s at a standstill, I guess. I’ve
had it in mind right along, but I can’t think of any way to go ahead.
How about you?”

“I haven’t thought of anything,” Harry confessed. And Roy and Chub
answered the same way.

“Well, it’ll come in time,” said Dick. “How about the funds, Harry? Got
them safe?”

“Yes, they’re--but maybe I oughtn’t to tell where I keep them.”

“Just as well not to, I guess,” Dick laughed. “Chub might get hard up
and borrow them.”

“Look here, Dick, what’s all this mean?” asked Roy, who was staring
perplexedly at the drawing on top of the packing-case. “Are you
inventing something?”

“Pshaw,” said Chub, “that’s just a problem in trig., isn’t it, Dick?”

“Well, you know all about it, so what’s the use of asking me?”

“No, go ahead and tell us, like a good fellow,” said Roy.

“Well, then, it’s the plan of an ice-boat.”

“Ice-boat!” exclaimed the others in chorus.

“Yes, why not?”

“But--but what’s it for?” asked Chub.

“To sail.”

“You mean you are going to make one?”

“Yes, it’s being made now.”

“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” Chub exclaimed. “Whatever put that into your
crazy head?”

“Oh, I’ve wanted it ever since I saw that one of Thurston’s the day
that Roy took a cold bath. So I found out all I could about the things;
read everything I could find, you know. That was what I was doing that
night in the library when you thought I was reading about fly-casting
or something.”

“Didn’t think anything of the kind,” Roy disclaimed. “I saw you turn
the pages as we came up.”

“Did you? All right. Well, I finally got some idea about the things and
had a talk with a fellow at the Cove. He builds boats, but has never
tried his hand at ice-boats before. He didn’t want to have anything to
do with it at first, but I finally got him interested. He said I’d
better go to some fellow at Poughkeepsie or somewhere who knew all
about them, but I told him I wanted it made where I could have a finger
in the pie. So he got busy. I made the drawings and he’s building
accordingly.”

“Is this it?” asked Roy interestedly, pointing to the plan before him.

“No, that’s only the sail-plan. The other’s at the Cove; Johnson has
it.”

“That’s what you bought the lumber for!” exclaimed Chub. Dick nodded.

“Yes. And I’ve bought a lot more since then. It’s costing like
anything, but it’s lots of fun. I want you all to go over with me
Saturday and have a look at it.”

“How big is it, Dick?” asked Roy.

“It’s just a smallish one,” was the answer. “Twenty-nine feet long by
eighteen wide.”

“Phew!” cried Roy. “It doesn’t sound small! When will it be done?”

“I don’t know; about a week, I guess. The worst thing is figuring
about the sails. You see, I don’t know very much about sailing; never
sailed anything in my life but a kite. So it’s puzzling, and I’m more
than half guessing. Maybe the fool thing won’t go when it is done.”

“Course it’ll go,” said Chub. “A sail’s a sail.”

“I think it’s perfectly grand!” said Harry with awe. “Will you take me
out in it, Dick, when it’s finished?”

“Of course; and if it does manage to go I’m going to send a challenge
to that Thurston chap.”

“Say, that’ll be bully!” cried Chub. “And I’m just dying to see the
thing. Can’t we go over before Saturday?”

“Maybe, but it won’t be very far along before that time. A lot of
the bolts and braces had to be made, and that takes time, you know.
Besides, that’s only three days from now.”

“What color are you going to paint it?” asked Harry.

“Well, I’d like to have her red,” answered Dick, “but I suppose it
wouldn’t do, for that’s Hammond’s color, and, besides, Thurston’s is
red.”

“Paint her blue,” suggested Roy.

“Pink,” said Chub.

“I guess I’ll have her green,” Dick said. “That shows up pretty well at
a distance.”

“And call her the _Shamrock_ or the _Erin Go Bragh_,” laughed Roy.
“What _are_ you going to call her, by the way?”

“Haven’t thought much about that yet. Usually they call ’em _Icicles_
or _Jack Frosts_ or _Blizzards_, but I’d rather have something a little
newer.”

“Well, you can name her after me if you want to,” observed Chub
modestly.

“Yes, call her the _Chump_,” said Roy.

“Let’s all think of names for it,” cried Harry. “We’ll write them down
so as not to forget them and then we’ll give them to Dick and he can
select one.”

“And the one whose name is selected,” suggested Chub, “gets a prize,
like--like not having to ride on the boat.”

“You’ll be glad enough to ride on her when you see her,” said Dick.

“Who? Me?” queried Chub. “Well, maybe so; I’m naturally of a brave and
reckless disposition. In fact, as far as I’m personally concerned I’d
like it, but there is the community to think of. Of course, I owe it to
the community to be careful of myself and not--”

“You’re talking a great deal of nonsense, Thomas H. Eaton,” said Harry.
“If Dick asks me to go with him I’ll go mighty quick!”

“If it’s any sort of a boat that’s just the way you will go,” observed
Roy dryly. “So quick you won’t know what’s happening to you.”

“It must be lovely!” cried Harry, clasping her hands and looking
enraptured.

“Has any one seen Thurston’s boat lately?” asked Chub.

“Yes,” Roy answered, “I see it pretty nearly every afternoon. It’s a
hummer, too. I think he goes over to school on it in the mornings and
back to the Cove in the afternoon, because I’ve seen him heading that
way several times about the time we get through hockey practice.”

“The only thing I’m afraid of,” said Dick, with an uneasy glance
through the grimy window, “is that we’ll have a thaw before I get her
ready.”

“That’s so,” Chub agreed, “it looks like that now. But you can’t tell;
it may be frozen tight again by morning. Where are you going to get
your sails, Dick?”

“At the Cove. There’s a fellow there makes them. And, say, you fellows,
I’ve got to finish this plan this afternoon so as to take it over
to-morrow. I don’t want to seem inhospitable, but if you’ll just let me
alone for about an hour I can do it.”

“Of course we will,” Harry declared. “We’ll go right away. Come on,
Vidocq, and Sherlock Holmes!”

“You’re sure you don’t want me to stay and help you?” asked Chub. “I’m
a terror at planning; once I planned a dog-house.”

“I’ll bet it was a peach!” jeered Roy.

“It was. I put a door at each end so Caesar could get in and out
easily, but the fool dog thought it was a tunnel and used to run
through it full-tilt like an express train.”

“Get out!” said Dick.

“Fact, really! He’d get a good start and go through like sixty; and he
used to whistle as he went in.”

“Chub Eaton!” cried Harry. “You come on home after that!”

“All right,” laughed Chub. “This is no place for genius, anyway. After
you, Miss Estrella De Vere.”




CHAPTER XIII

THE _BOREAS_ TAKES THE ICE


When Saturday came the four walked over to the Cove through a blinding
snow-storm to view the ice-boat. Dick piloted them down to the edge
of the river, where, in a little shed in Johnson’s Shipyard, were two
timbers bolted and braced together in the shape of a cross which Dick
declared was the ice-boat. The mast was ready but not yet stepped
and the narrow oval at one end which Dick called a cockpit was still
unfinished. Harry was distinctly disappointed.

“I’d be afraid to sail on that, Dick,” she confided earnestly. “I might
tumble off.”

Roy and Chub, however, were enthusiastic over the craft. The tapering
backbone of shining whitewood and the runner-plank of the same
material looked very business-like. Stays of steel wire led from
the runner-plank forward and back to the ends of the backbone, with
turn-buckles to tighten them. The rigging also, Dick explained, was to
be of wire. The sails were promised for the middle of the next week,
and on the following Saturday the boat was to be launched. On the way
back to school there was little opportunity for conversation, since
it was necessary to fight against the wind and sleet at every step.
But afterward, before a roaring fire in the study room, they discussed
the matter of a name. Harry had written down eleven names and Roy and
Chub had one or two to suggest besides. Harry’s suggestions, much to
her disappointment, didn’t find favor. Such names as _Ice Queen_,
_Reindeer_ and _Fleetwing_ were, Dick thought, rather too ladylike, as
he expressed it.

“I’d thought of _Storm King_,” said Roy tentatively.

“Not bad, but it doesn’t suggest speed,” Dick said. “How would
_Tempest_ do?”

“_Tempest_ sounds like rain,” Chub objected, “with thunder and
lightning on the side.”

“That’s so. What’s your name for it, Chub?”

“Oh, I’ve got just the thing,” answered Chub modestly. “What do you say
to _Polar Bear_?”

“Might as well call it _Teddy Bear_,” scoffed Roy. “Polar bears aren’t
fast.”

“Aren’t they, though? Did you ever have one chase you?”

“No, did you?”

“Lots,” answered Chub. “They can run like sixty!”

“Besides,” said Harry, “polar bears aren’t green, and the boat’s going
to be green.”

“Polar bears are green before they’re boiled,” said Chub flippantly.
“And anyway the boat isn’t painted yet. It could just as well be white
as green.”

“Why don’t you name it _Dick_?” asked Roy. “You’re about the fastest
thing on the ice I know of.”

“_Glacier?_” queried Chub.

“Icy, but slow,” said Dick.

“I know!” cried Harry. “_North Wind!_”

“That’s not bad, is it?” asked Dick. “Only I suppose it’s been used
dozens of times. I’ll put that down, anyway. Try again, Harry.”

Harry settled her chin in the palm of one hand and frowned intensely at
the leaping flames.

“_Blast!_” exclaimed Chub. “You speak of an icy blast, don’t you know?”

“Yes, but you’d think right away of dynamite,” laughed Dick.

“I suppose you would if you had no more poetry or romance in your soul
than you have, you wild Westerner!”

“Isn’t there a bird that lives on ice?” asked Harry suddenly.

“Never heard of one,” Roy laughed. “He’d get cramps.”

“I mean that lives where there’s nothing but ice, Smarty,” said Harry
indignantly.

“Then he’d have to eat it, wouldn’t he?”

“Quit your fooling,” said Chub. “Estrella De Vere is in earnest.
You are quite right, Harry. The little bird you are thinking of is
the ice-pick. It makes its nest in refrigerators and lives on lemon
ice-cream and pineapple sherbet.”

“I think you’re all horrid,” said Harry. “There is a bird, Dick, isn’t
there?”

“There’s the eider-duck,” answered Dick.

“Which plucks the feathers from its own breast and makes them into
eiderdown quilts,” added Chub. “We will call the boat the _Eiderdown
Quilt_.”

“Oh, cut it out, Chub,” said Roy. “Talk sense, can’t you?”

“You ask the impossible,” murmured Chub.

“Well, so far we’ve got only one worth considering,” said Dick. “That’s
_North Wind_. What do you think of it?”

“Sounds good to me,” said Chub.

“All right, I think,” Roy replied.

“Can’t think of anything better, any of you?”

Roy and Chub shook their heads.

“Well, we don’t have to decide on it yet,” said Dick. “And maybe we’ll
think of something else before Saturday. I’m going up-stairs; any one
coming?”

“Wait!” cried Harry. “I know!”

“Estrella De Vere has got an idea,” chanted Chub.

“I know the very thing,” went on Harry with sparkling eyes.

“Out with it,” said Roy.

“_Boreas!_”

The three boys looked at each other inquiringly.

“Boreas,” muttered Dick.

“Boreas,” echoed Roy.

“Boreas,” pondered Chub.

“That’s not half bad, is it?” asked Dick. “Boreas was--was--who was
he?”

“He was the north wind,” said Chub. “He’s in mythology, you know.”

“I like it,” Roy declared. “It sounds sort of blustery and cold
and--and--”

“_Boreas_ it is!” said Dick with decision. Chub leaped up and seized
Harry’s hand and shook it enthusiastically.

“I congratulate you,” he said earnestly. “You have won the prize and
won’t have to risk your life on the boat!”

“But it’s a good name, isn’t it, Dick?” Harry asked eagerly.

“Fine,” Dick replied. “I had a feeling all along that you would be the
one to find a name for us.”

“Well, what do you think of that?” asked Chub indignantly. “I could
have suggested Boreas long ago, only I wanted to give Harry a chance to
save her life.”

“Now we’ve got a name,” said Roy, “all that remains is to get the
boat. I wish it was next Saturday now, Dick.”

“So do I,” Chub chimed in. “Three cheers for the _Boreas_!”

Just a week later the _Boreas_ took the water--I should say ice. The
launching was not a ceremonious affair, nor was it largely attended.
There were present that Saturday morning Dick, Chub, the builder, four
small boys and the builder’s assistant. I mention them in the order of
their apparent importance. The _Boreas_, resplendent in new dark green
paint, was awaiting the ceremony on the edge of the ice, varnished
spars shining in the sunlight, creamy sails furled on the booms and the
wire rigging gleaming like silver strands.

[Illustration: The launching]

There may be some of my readers who have never met with a real live
ice-boat, and for their benefit a few words about the craft in general
may not be out of place. The plan of an ice-boat is practically a
triangle, the stern being the apex and each angle terminating in a
steel runner. The runner at the apex or stern is movable and does duty
as a rudder. But what might be called the deck plan of an ice-boat
shows an elongated lozenge enclosing a cross. The cross is formed by
the fore-and-aft timber, called the backbone, and the transverse timber
called the runner-plank. At the ends of the latter are attached the
fixed runners, and from a point near-by wire braces run forward to the
bow end of the backbone and aft to the stern, forming the outline of
the lozenge. At the extreme end of the backbone is the steering-box,
which corresponds to the cockpit of a water craft. This is usually
shaped like a flattened oval, cushioned or carpeted and is large enough
to hold two persons, one on each side of the backbone. The mast is set
forward of the intersection of the two timbers.

There are two popular styles of rig: the jib and mainsail--like a
sloop--and the lateen, a single sail triangular in shape. But whatever
rig is used, the effort is made to have the center of weight as low as
possible, and to this end the sails are made broad and low as compared
with the sails on water boats. By lowering the center of weight the
danger of capsizing is lessened.

The _Boreas_ was rigged with jib and mainsail. Doubtless experienced
ice-yachtsmen would have found much to criticize. Even Dick acknowledged
that the mast was far too short and the sail area much less than it
should have been. Also there were awkward points of construction
resulting from lack of knowledge. But Dick was very well satisfied for
all that, and Mr. Johnson viewed the result of his labor with pride. The
ceremonies attending the launching--which was really no launching at
all, since the boat was on the ice when the boys arrived at the
scene--were short and simple. Dick handed a check to the builder--a
rather good-sized check it was, too--and Chub, striking an attitude,
cried: “I christen you _Boreas_!” As Chub said, there wasn’t any bow in
sight and so it would have been idle to have brought even a bottle of
root beer along with them.

Dick unlashed the sails and hoisted them one after the other. They
looked very fine in the sunlight and he ran his eye over their expanse
of creamy whiteness with admiration. Then he and the builder turned
their attention to the mooring line, and Chub, curled up in the
steering-box with his hand on the tiller, sang “Mister Johnson, turn
me loose!” And a moment later they were gliding gently away from the
shore with the runners singing softly as they slid over the hard ice.
Dick took the tiller and the boat’s head turned up-stream. They waved
a good-by to the figures on the shore, and none too soon, for the
gleaming sails caught the wind fairly and the _Boreas_ began to gain
speed every moment.

“Say, can’t she go?” asked Chub, watching the shore go by with
amazement.

“She seems all right, doesn’t she?” replied Dick. “But she isn’t
really going now. The wind’s dead astern.”

“Well, it’s pretty good for a starter,” answered Chub. “A fellow feels
a little bit uneasy just at first, eh?”

“Well, it’s sort of funny, and that’s a fact,” owned Dick. “And until
I’ve learned a little more about the thing I’m not taking any chances.
There are several tricks I want to try.”

“How fast do you suppose we’re going?” asked Chub. Dick shook his head.

“Blest if I know. I was never on one before. We’ll call it fifteen
miles an hour.”

“Bet you it’s nearer thirty!” said Chub.

“When you go that fast you’ll know it,” Dick answered grimly. “Hold
fast now; I’m going to tack her a bit.”

“Don’t you think we’re going fast enough as--” began Chub.

But the inquiry ended in an exclamation of alarm as one runner lifted
itself off the ice and the boat heeled over.

“Is that safe?” asked Chub anxiously.

“Sure; two runners are enough any day,” Dick shouted back.

But he eased up on the helm and the boat settled back again, and Chub
gave vent to a sigh of relief. Dick looked over and smiled.

“You see,” said Chub apologetically, “I kind of like to keep in touch
with things.”

“Watch out for Thurston’s boat,” said Dick. “If we come across her
we’ll sort of get a line on our sailing ability maybe.”

“Don’t see anything of her,” answered Chub, “but my eyes are watering
so I can’t see much of anything. What’s that over there across the
river?” Dick turned to look.

“Coleville,” he answered.

“What!” cried Chub. “Already? Why, we haven’t been going a minute! Talk
about your automobiles!”

News of the ice-boat had got out days before, and when the _Boreas_
drew near to the landing at Ferry Hill most of the school was on hand
to welcome it. For a first attempt Dick’s handling of the craft as
he swung it around and ran it nose into the wind beside the landing
was very creditable. Dozens of eager hands aided to hold the boat and
numerous voices were raised in petition.

“Let me go with you, Somes?”

“You promised me, Dick! Don’t forget!”

“I’m going, ain’t I, Dick? Just for a minute, eh?”

“Don’t bother him! He can’t take every one, can you, Dick? He’s going
to take me this time and then the rest of you fellows will have your
chance.”

“I’m not going to take any one this time,” answered Dick. “I’m going to
get the hang of her and maybe I’ll turn her over. And I don’t want any
fellow to get hurt. I’ll give every one a ride when I get around to it.
Shove her bow off a bit, will you, Chub?”

Chub, who had disembarked not altogether unwillingly, obeyed and
the _Boreas_ darted away from the shore with Dick lying low in the
steering-box. For the next half-hour he put the boat through her
paces, while the group on shore watched. He had read everything he
could find on the subject of ice-yachting and there were many things
he wanted to settle to his own satisfaction. One of them was the fact
that an ice-boat will go faster across the wind than with it. Dick
was no sailor and at first the proposition had struck him as a bit
startling. “Many persons,” said his authority, “fancy that a yacht goes
faster before the wind than in any other direction, but this is not
necessarily so. If the wind is blowing at a velocity of ten miles an
hour, the yacht cannot possibly make more than that amount of speed.
In other words, the boat can travel no faster than the wind itself.
If it did the sails would be aback instead of drawing. It is on what
yachtsmen call a ‘reach’--that is, with the wind on the quarter or the
beam--that a yacht may sail faster than the wind is blowing.”

Dick proved this very speedily, for the _Boreas_, while she slid along
very well with the wind behind, instantly increased her speed when she
was sent on a tack. He also discovered among other things that it was
extremely unwise to move the tiller abruptly when the boat was going
fast. He tried it once and only saved himself from taking a flying leap
across the ice by the veriest miracle. But it was vastly exhilarating,
even in the little eight-mile breeze which was blowing up the river,
and when the boat was on a leeward reach with the windward runner high
off the ice and the runner-plank slanting up at a good angle, the
sensation he received was as near like that of flying as anything could
be, he thought.

He made up his mind that the next time he ventured out he would be more
warmly dressed, for the wind drove right through his sweater, and his
hands under his woolen gloves felt like pieces of ice. When, at last,
he headed back down the river on a broad tack for the landing he was
quite ready to exchange the steering-box of the _Boreas_ for a place
in front of the fireplace in the study-room. Willing hands helped him
pull the boat up on the bank and furl the sails. Then, with Harry and
Roy and Chub as immediate body-guard, he set off up the hill toward
the dormitory and dinner. To the latter he brought a most appreciative
appetite.

In the afternoon Roy had his first trip, and later, when he had been
safely returned to the rink for the hockey game, Chub took his place.
The _Boreas_ spun up the river for some fifteen miles and by the time
the cruise was over Chub had got over his nervousness and was as
enthusiastic an ice-yachtsman as ever wept in the teeth of a gale.




CHAPTER XIV

THE DOCTOR INTERVENES


I am sorry to say that for something like a fortnight past Dick’s
lessons had been suffering. He didn’t really intend that they should,
but when one is studying the science of ice-yachting and at the same
time superintending the building of a boat, one is likely to be pretty
busy; and that was the case with Dick. There wasn’t time for ice-boat
and lessons, too, and so he made the mistake of sacrificing the
lessons. And very soon he wished he hadn’t.

The weather held clear and bitterly cold, and on Monday the _Boreas_
was once more flying up and down the river. There was a light breeze,
but enough to make the boat show plenty of speed to leeward. Harry
had her first sail that afternoon and enjoyed it immensely. Dick was
careful to run no risk of capsizing and kept a safe distance from
rough ice. They ran down to Silver Cove in a series of long reaches
and then came back up the river before the wind. Off Coleville they
sighted Joe Thurston’s boat, but its skipper refused to come out and
try conclusions, although the _Boreas_ hovered tantalizingly about for
some time. The red boat hugged the shore closely and finally snuggled
up against the Hammond landing and dropped her sails. Although Dick was
anxious to race he was not altogether sorry to have the opportunity
deferred, for with Harry aboard he would not have wanted to let the
_Boreas_ out to full speed. But he made up his mind that to-morrow
afternoon he would run over to Coleville and make Thurston race with
him. But there’s never any knowing what twenty-four hours will bring
forth.

At breakfast the next morning Dick’s name was among those mentioned
by the Doctor and Dick was one of a half dozen boys required to pay
visits to the Doctor’s office at noon. Dick went out of the dining hall
feeling rather uneasy and wishing that he had given more attention to
his studies of late. Roy and Chub captured him outside and decoyed him
into the study room. They were both looking preternaturally solemn, and
Chub insisted on wringing his hand silently.

“Of course you can come back next year,” said Roy. “It isn’t likely he
will fire you for good.”

“That’s so,” said Chub. “Might as well look on the bright side of it.
And if you try you can study at home enough to keep up with your class.
Of course there’s the disgrace of it, but--well, you can live that down
in time.”

“Of course you can,” Roy assured him, evidently striving to be cheerful
in the face of adversity. “But we’ll miss you, Dick, like anything.”

“You bet we will,” Chub said. “And--er--you won’t want to take the
ice-boat home with you, I suppose. So I’ll take charge of it for you,
old man.”

“We both will,” added Roy. “Anything to oblige a friend.”

Dick listened with a sheepish smile on his face.

“Go ahead,” he said, “and have a good time. I don’t mind. Children must
be amused.”

“Ah, don’t let it harden you,” pleaded Chub. “Face it like a man and
live it down. After all, there are worse things in life--”

But Dick’s patience was at an end and Chub’s philosophizing was cut
short by the sudden necessity of defending himself against Dick’s
onslaught. A minute later Mr. Cobb, passing through the corridor, put
his head in at the door long enough to remark:

“Boys! No fooling in the study room, remember!”

The three disentangled themselves, panting and puffing, and proceeded
to repair their attire. Chub, with one end of his collar pointing
toward his ear, observed the torn button-hole out of the corner of his
eye and turned severely to Dick.

“I just hope he does fire you, you big Western brute! Look what you’ve
done to my collar.”

“Go and borrow one of Sid’s,” suggested Roy with a laugh.

“Well, we’re even,” Dick answered unruffledly. “My suspenders are
busted.”

After the final morning recitation Dick turned his steps toward
the office. Of course there was no question of being expelled, but
nevertheless he was anxious to know what awaited him. There were two
boys ahead of him and he had to wait in the library for almost half
an hour, and, naturally enough, that wasn’t pleasant. But finally the
suspense ended and he found himself facing the Doctor.

“Somes, I hear from Mr. Buckman and Mr. Cobb that you have been doing
very poorly in your studies of late, and my own observations bear out
their report. What’s the trouble?”

Dick was silent, searching for a reply that would be at once truthful
and not too self-incriminating.

“Maybe we made a mistake in putting you in the Second Senior Class.
I was in doubt about the advisability of it at the time, you will
remember. Perhaps you had better drop back a class. Does that appeal to
you?”

“No, sir,” Dick answered with emphasis.

“But if the lessons are too hard for you?”

“They’re not, sir.”

“They’re not? Well, that’s a refreshing thing to hear, Somes. I’ve just
been talking to several other boys and had begun to think that we were
driving the students too hard here. Then you don’t find the lessons too
difficult?”

“No, sir.”

“Then may I ask again what the trouble is? If they are not too
difficult why can’t you learn them?”

“I can, sir,” answered Dick after a moment’s pause. “I--haven’t been
studying very hard lately. I’m sorry, sir.”

“So am I. Because you are wasting your time, and you are wasting our
time. When you came here you told me that you would abide by the rules
and be diligent. Didn’t you, Somes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Exactly. And you haven’t been doing it. For some two weeks or so
you have been coming into class with your lessons half prepared. You
haven’t kept your part of the agreement, my boy. Supposing I were to
tell you that an agreement broken by one of the parties becomes void?
You realize what that would mean?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Dick troubledly.

There followed a moment of silence during which the Doctor, leaning
back in his chair and rolling his pen between his fingers, studied
Dick attentively. Then:

“I believe you have lately bought some sort of an ice-boat, Somes. Is
that correct?”

“Yes, sir. I got it Saturday.”

“Hum! Rather an expensive luxury for a boy of your age, it seems to me.
Do you think that your father would approve of your buying it if he
knew?”

“Yes, sir. He lets me buy what I like.”

“I see. How long have you been negotiating for this boat?”

“I--I ordered it about two weeks ago.”

“Rather a coincidence that, don’t you think, Somes? It looks to me as
though that ice-boat explained matters. What do you think?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What do you mean by ‘Yes, sir’?”

“I guess it does explain. I was so--so busy thinking about it, sir,
that I didn’t have time to study much,” answered Dick honestly.

“Have you sailed it yet?”

“I was out Saturday and yesterday, sir.”

“Like it, do you?”

“Yes, sir, very much.”

The Doctor was silent a moment. Then, smiling slightly, he asked:

“Do you know what I am considering, Somes?”

“I think so, sir. You’re going to take the boat away, I guess.”

“Not exactly. I couldn’t absolutely take it away from you, for it is,
of course, your property. But I could forbid you to use it while at my
school. You understand that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, what I am going to do is to forbid you to use it again until you
have caught up with your lessons. How long that will be depends on you.
Does that sound unjust to you?”

Dick studied his hands attentively.

“Recollect, please, that you came here first of all to study, to
work. A certain amount of play is very necessary, but when play
interferes with work it is time to call a halt. That appears to be
what has happened in your case, Somes. You have allowed yourself to
get far behind in your lessons. It can’t go on, you know. You’ve got
to turn over a new leaf if you want to stay here at Ferry Hill. You
acknowledged yourself that you can learn your lessons, and so I must
insist that you do so. This ice-boat seems to have proved a disturbing
element. So I propose to eliminate it for a while, until, in fact, you
have shown that you mean to keep your part of our agreement. Do you
think I am unjust?”

Dick gave over examining his hands and looked at the Doctor.

“No, sir,” he answered. “I guess you’re--pretty white.”

The Doctor bent his head to conceal the smile that trembled about his
mouth. Then:

“Well, that’s the way it stands then. Catch up with your studies and
you can go back to the ice-boat. But until then--leave it strictly
alone and try to forget about it. That’s all, I think. Good morning,
Somes.”

“Thank you, sir. Good morning.”

Dick found Chub after dinner and pulled him into a corner of the
corridor.

“Easy now,” Chub protested. “This is the last clean collar I’ve got!”

“Never mind your collar,” said Dick. “What I want you to do is to sail
the _Boreas_ down to Johnson’s this afternoon and tell him to look
after her for me until I call. Do you think you can do it?”

“Sail it? Of course I can,” said Chub. “But what--what’s the matter?
Has the Doctor been acting up?”

Dick told what had passed in the office, and at four o’clock Chub and
the _Boreas_ passed down the river. Dick, from the study room window,
watched them go and then turned with a sigh to his books.

       *       *       *       *       *

For the next week or so Dick studied desperately; even Roy and Chub,
who knew what he was capable of in the way of concentration, were
surprised at the zeal he displayed. All their efforts to entice him
out of the library or the study room in the afternoons went for naught
and in the end they were invariably forced to take their departure
without him, leaving him alone in his glory and often to the undisputed
possession of the room. Day after day of bright, cold weather came and
passed, days with crisp winds which would have brought joy to the heart
of the ice-yachtsman. Harry was very indignant at her father’s action
and confided to Roy and Chub that she had scolded him severely.

“I guess he felt pretty much ashamed of himself,” laughed Roy. “Is he
going to apologize to Dick?”

“N--no, he was very unreasonable,” answered Harry. “He said he guessed
things would have to stand the way they were.”

“You’ll have to manage him better than that,” Roy said with a shake of
his head. “Your authority is in danger, Harry.”

Saturday evening Dick took a brief vacation from study and there
was a meeting of the F. H. S. I. S. in the barn. But nothing was
accomplished, although ways and means were discussed for some time and
all sorts of schemes for raising the money were advanced.

“If only Ferry Hill had turned out a few dozen millionaires,” mourned
Chub. “Every school ought to graduate a millionaire a year.”

“Maybe some of the Ferry Hill grads are millionaires,” said Dick
thoughtfully. “If we only had a list of them we might be able to find
out.”

“I thought millionaires didn’t go to school,” said Harry. “They’re
self-made, aren’t they?”

“They always used to be,” Roy replied, “but I guess the new crop is
different.”

“Yes, they’re degenerating,” Chub added. “It’s the same way with
Presidents. It used to be that you couldn’t be President unless
you had been a poor boy and had worked on a farm. But look at the
Presidents nowadays! Just ordinary rich men! Why, most anybody can be
President now!”

“There’s a chance for you, Chub,” suggested Roy. “You never split a
rail in your life.”

“And I’m sure he never studied by the light of a log-fire,” laughed
Dick.

“I think it’s beautiful about Abraham Lincoln,” said Harry wistfully.
“I wish I had been born a poor boy so I could have done the way he did
and been President of the United States, and had a birthday after I was
dead, with flags and speeches and--and things!”

“I suppose if you were President,” said Chub, “you’d make Methuselah
Secretary of State, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, and you could be Secretary of the Navy, and Dick, Secretary of
War, and Roy--”

“Secretary of Agriculture,” Dick suggested.

“No, I’d make him my private secretary.”

“Roy always does have all the luck,” grieved Chub. “I’m mad; I resign
from the cabinet!”

And with Chub’s resignation the meeting broke up.

       *       *       *       *       *

On Wednesday Dick had made up his lost studies and the embargo on the
_Boreas_ was removed. And on the same day Harry sought him with tidings
of a challenge from Joe Thurston.

“He told Grace--that’s his sister, you know--to tell me to tell
you that he wanted to race you with his ice-boat. Its name is the
_Snowbird_. Isn’t that a pretty name, Dick? And he wants to race
to-morrow after school, and says he will meet you at the landing here
at half-past three.”

“But I can’t get the _Boreas_ up here by that time,” said Dick,
“unless--” he paused and thought a moment. Then, “All right,” he said.
“You tell his sister that I’ll be there, Harry.”

“But how can you get the boat?” she asked anxiously.

“I’ll go down in the morning before breakfast,” he answered. “Mr. Cobb
will give me permission all right. Did he say how far he wanted to
race?”

“No,” said Harry. “And, Dick, I suppose I couldn’t go with you, could
I? I’d like to awfully.” But Dick shook his head.

“I’d be afraid to have you,” he answered. “I guess I’d better go alone;
unless Thurston takes some one with him; if he does I’ll get Chub to go
with me. You couldn’t kill Chub if you tried.”

“Do you think you can beat the _Snowbird_?”

“Well, I guess the north wind is faster than any old bird ever made,”
laughed Dick. “But Thurston knows a heap more about sailing than I do,
I suppose, and that ought to help him a lot. But I’ll do my best.”

“And, Dick, you must have a Ferry Hill flag on the mast!”

“That’s so, but I’ll have to borrow one somewhere. I don’t own one.”

“You shall have mine,” cried Harry. “It’s a lucky flag, Dick, and if
you have it you just can’t help winning the race!”




CHAPTER XV

THE RACE OF THE ICE-BOATS


A bitterly cold, lowering day with a northeasterly gale blowing almost
straight down the river, nipping fingers and ears and noses. Now and
then a fitful flurry of snow, driving past like a miniature blizzard.

In front of the Ferry Hill landing two ice-boats, heads to the wind,
sails snapping and wire rigging singing in the blasts; one with red
hull and a cherry-and-black flag whipping from the masthead, the other
glistening in new green and bearing the brown-and-white banner of
Ferry Hill on high. About them some sixty boys from the rival schools,
turning and twisting in and out on their skates in an effort to keep
warm in the face of the biting gale. And over all a leaden, cheerless
sky.

The race was to be windward and return, a distance of about fourteen
miles. The starting-line was opposite the northern end of the
boat-house, the turning-point some seven miles up the river at a place
called Indian Head, where a small islet rose from the river near the
west bank to serve as a mark. The boats were to finish opposite the
boat-house. On the _Snowbird_ were Joe Thurston and his friend Bob
Cutler, while the _Boreas_ held Dick and Chub. Whitcomb, with a small
starting pistol in his gloved hand, was trying to push the crowd back
so that the boats might swing into the wind at the signal.

The warning was given, the rival skippers declared themselves ready
and the pistol barked, its sharp report being instantly whisked away
on the wind. The slender noses of the two boats were turned, the sails
filled slowly, and after a moment of seeming hesitation the _Snowbird_
and the _Boreas_ started slowly across the ice on the first tack to
starboard, while behind them the rival groups shouted encouragement
to the yachtsmen and defiance to each other. With every instant the
boats gathered headway, gliding across the glassy surface like gaily
hued dragon-flies above the surface of a pool. The white wings became
taut under the steady wind and the windward runners left the ice as the
boats heeled further and further. It was nip and tuck on that first
tack, the boats keeping their relative positions until the farther
shore was reached and the helms were put over. Around swung the crafts
and pointed their noses toward the right bank of the river.

On the _Boreas_ Dick and Chub lay on opposite sides of the backbone
which divided the steering-box into halves. Dick held the tiller. They
were wrapped in the warmest clothing they had been able to find, but
it was far from warm enough. The wind came slanting against them and
bored its way down necks and up sleeves. Fingers were already tingling
and foreheads aching.

“Cold!” shouted Dick above the singing of the runners and the whistle
of the wind. Chub nodded and made a grimace without taking his gaze
from the _Snowbird_, which, some fifty feet away, was bowling along
finely.

“She’s gaining,” said Chub presently. Dick turned and looked, glanced
at his sails and eased the helm a little. Then it was time to go about
again, since the shore was becoming dangerously near. The _Snowbird_
was already turning, slowing for a moment as she pointed dead to
windward and then springing away again as the gale slanted across the
sails. The _Boreas_ had lost and on this tack she was sixty or seventy
yards behind her rival. The latter’s larger sail area was telling.
Chub looked anxiously at Dick, but that youth was gazing across at the
_Snowbird_, a hand held in front of his face to break the wind. When he
turned there was a little frown on his face and he pointed the nose of
the _Boreas_ closer into the wind. For a while she seemed to be holding
her own. Then the _Snowbird_ went about again, this time on a mile-long
reach made possible by a bend in the river. The _Boreas_ was almost
half a minute behind now and Dick was growling things to himself that
Chub couldn’t catch. The wind seemed to be growing stronger, though
perhaps it was merely that it had a broader sweep here where the stream
turned toward the east.

“How fast?” asked Chub, his hand to his mouth.

“Twenty-five, I guess,” Dick shouted back.

Chub tried to whistle, but couldn’t. Beside them the ice was only
a blurred surface that rushed by without form or substance, a
grayish-green nothing, as it seemed, above which they were speeding
with a rapidity that almost took the breath away. The wind shrieked
and roared and strove to blow them from the box to which they were
clinging. A sudden flurry of snow rushed down upon them, hiding the
shore and the other boat from their sight, and blinding them so that
for a moment they had to close their eyes.

“Look out for the shore!” cried Chub, with a gasp. There was an
unintelligible word from Dick in reply as a gray shape suddenly sprang
out of the snow-mist. “Hold hard!” he shouted. Chub had just time to
obey when over went the tiller, there was a loud _slur--r--r_ as the
runners ground sideways against the ice and the _Boreas_ threw herself
about so suddenly that it was all the boys could do to keep their
places. Then a quick leap forward and the boat was on the other tack
and the snow-squall had passed. They looked eagerly for the _Snowbird_.
She had gained some, but not much. The _Boreas_ with a rush and a roar
swept after her. It was a short tack this time, since Hopple Rock lay
dead ahead off the west shore, and soon they were once more on the port
tack, the windward end of the runner-plank standing high above the ice.

“There’s the Head!” said Dick.

Perhaps two miles up the frozen river a somber rock, tree crowned,
arose from the gray ice like a rugged sugar-loaf. There was no
mistaking it, although neither Dick nor Chub had ever journeyed so far
up-stream. The boats must pass around it before they turned homeward.
Dick, as best he could, shading his eyes with one mittened hand,
studied the river. Then he moved the tiller slowly and cautiously
until the boat was heeled so far over that Chub was forced to cling
frantically to the backbone to keep from rolling off onto the ice. But
the boat responded with increased speed. Chub, with the tears streaming
from his eyes, held on, at once fearful and fascinated. Surely they
were flying through air and that grayness flowing swiftly beneath them
was cloud! It was hard to believe that they were on solid ice!

“Hold tight!” cried Dick.

Chub wondered how he could hold any tighter with his numbed and aching
fingers. Then the windward runner dropped quickly to the ice, the
_Boreas_ swung about on her heel and Chub found himself rolling over
against the backbone as the new tack began. Half a mile ahead the
_Snowbird_, a low streak of red topped with a snowy spread of sail, was
crossing in the opposite direction, the cherry-and-black flag at the
masthead standing out as stiff as though starched.

“She’s got us beaten!” said Chub.

But Dick made no answer. He was calculating his chances. It was evident
that the _Snowbird_ was going to round the rock on the starboard tack.
That meant, as Dick figured it out, that she would make two more
reaches first. But to Dick it seemed that perhaps something was to be
gained by hauling closer to the wind at the next turn and making a long
tack to port until a point was reached near the east shore and slightly
below the rock. From there he could round the mark with a short tack
to starboard and start home on a long course with the wind abeam. It
meant allowing the _Snowbird_ to gain now in the hope of cutting down
her lead later. So when the _Boreas_ again came about Chub found that
it was not necessary to hold on for dear life. The boat was headed
closer into the wind and the steering-box was no longer canted at an
alarming angle. The speed was less, but the boat demonstrated the fact
that she could do fast work when close-hauled. The _Snowbird_ crossed
twice ahead of them during the next few minutes and finally, just as
the _Boreas_ was nearing the end of her final reach to port, she shot
from around the island and turned homeward. Chub looked anxious and
perplexed. Then over went the helm once more, there was a sharp swirl
as the _Boreas_ swung about and the black rock rushed toward them. As
they skirted it the starboard runner was scarcely more than six yards
from the gray boulders that lay about it. Then the wind was behind
them and with a rush and a bound the _Boreas_ started toward home. The
_Snowbird_ was, as Dick estimated, three quarters of a mile ahead,
running fleetly on the opposite tack.

A stern chase is a long chase, they say, and the crew of the _Boreas_
found it so. And yet, before half the distance to the finish had been
reeled off, they knew that they were gaining slowly but consistently
on their opponent. Joe Thurston was making the mistake of sailing too
closely before the wind. Dick, on the other hand, strove to keep the
wind well on his beam, and while, in order to do this, it was necessary
to put the _Boreas_ on shorter tacks, the result was warranting it.
Little by little the green boat cut down the distance that separated
her from the red. But with three miles still to run it seemed that the
handicap was too large. The _Snowbird_ looked then very much like a
winner to Chub and he wondered how Harry would reconcile the defeat of
the _Boreas_ with the fact that her lucky Ferry Hill banner was flying
from the masthead. If the boats had made speed going up the river they
were simply flying now, although as the wind was behind them the
difference was not very appreciable to the boys. Thirty miles an hour
when you are scarcely a foot above the surface seems a terrific pace.

Two miles above Ferry Hill the _Snowbird_ was scarcely a quarter of a
mile ahead. She was starting on a long reach which, if all went well
with her, would be the last but one to bring her to the line. The
_Boreas_ was on the opposite side of the river and as she swung across
on a new tack it was evident that Dick was ready for any hazard. Chub
found himself in danger of rolling off onto the ice, while Dick seemed
every moment about to topple down upon him. The _Boreas_ was like
a boy standing on one leg and kicking the other into the air. Then
another change of course and it was Chub’s turn to go up. There were
moments when he vowed that if he reached home safely he would never
trust himself again on an ice-boat with Dick Somes. But they were
gaining every moment now and the quarter-mile lead was down to an
eighth. Suddenly Chub, who was peering ahead at the _Snowbird_, gave
an exclamation of surprise. The _Snowbird_, then in mid-stream, had
suddenly left her tack and had headed again toward the east shore.

“Ice-crack!” shouted Dick in explanation. “I saw it when we came up.”

“Better change your course then,” said Chub anxiously. But Dick only
shook his head. That the _Snowbird_ had decided to go around it and so
give him a good chance of winning was no reason why he should follow
suit. The _Boreas_ held her course. Chub glanced in alarm at the calm,
set face beside him and something he saw there quieted his fears. He
looked forward. Ahead, rushing toward them, was a black fissure, an
ice-crack which extended for over a hundred yards almost directly
across the ice. How wide it was Chub had no idea. Nor did he have time
for much speculation, for:

“_Hold for all you’re worth, Chub!_” cried Dick.

[Illustration: “A half-mile away was the finish line”]

Then a twelve-foot expanse of water and broken ice swept up to them,
Dick eased the helm until the boat was at right angles to the crack
and the fore runners struck the slightly raised edge of the fissure
at the same instant. Chub closed his eyes and held on convulsively.
The _Boreas_ rose bodily in the air, there was a momentary sensation
of being swept through space, and then the runners clanged down upon
the ice with a soft jar and the _Boreas_ was tearing along toward the
finish, having taken the gap with a twenty-foot leap as a hunter takes
a fence!

Chub opened his eyes. The crack was just a dark thread behind them.
Near at hand the _Snowbird_ was charging along with them neck and neck.
A half-mile away was the finish line and the groups of dark figures.

“Hold on!” cried Dick again. And this time there was exultation in
his voice. The _Boreas_ heeled to the blast and drew away from the
red boat, foot by foot, yard by yard. Twenty seconds--and there was
a gap between them! Thirty seconds--and there stretched the length of
a boat between! Forty seconds--and the _Boreas_ was charging past the
waving figures at the finish, the brown-and-white flag at the masthead
flapping in triumph. Dick had won by a scant ten yards!




CHAPTER XVI

FORMING THE TRACK TEAM


As though resolved that the _Boreas_ should rest for a while on her
laurels, the weather changed that night within the hour and when
morning dawned there was a warm southwest wind blowing up the river.
That afternoon Dick took Harry for a sail, but the wind by that
time had died down to a thin, warm breeze that scarcely filled the
sails, and in consequence the trip was not an exhilarating one. But
exhilarating or otherwise, it proved to be practically the last of the
season, for the warm weather held until the ice-cracks, air-holes and
expanses of rotten ice which quickly developed made ice-boating at once
dangerous and unpleasant. To be sure, there were occasional trips,
but the river never returned to a state making possible another race
between the _Boreas_ and the _Snowbird_, a race which Joe Thurston was
eager for and which Dick was not at all averse to. Finally the _Boreas_
was drawn up beside the landing and dismantled, the sails and rigging
being stored in the boat-house. As Chub poetically phrased it, “The
career of the good ship _Boreas_ has been brief, but ah, how glorious!”

February was a fortnight old when the school was thrown into a fever
of mild excitement by a notice posted on the bulletin board in School
Hall. The notice read as follows:

    It is proposed to form a Track Team, and a meeting for that
    purpose will be held to-morrow (Friday) afternoon in the Gym at
    4:15. All fellows are earnestly requested to be present.

                                                       ROY PORTER,
                                                      T. H. EATON.

I think you could have formed most anything at Ferry Hill just then,
from a Croquet Club to a Sewing Society. February is a dull time of
year, and the fellows were eager for anything which promised to supply
a new interest. For two weeks the rink had been unfit to play on,
and the river in scarcely better condition. Ferry Hill had won the
first six games of its hockey schedule, including the first contest
with Hammond. The second game with the rival school had been twice
postponed, and Roy was beginning to lose hope of ever being able to
play it, a thing which disgusted him not a little since the team had
shown itself to be an unusually good one and able, in his and the
school’s estimation, to cope successfully with any hockey team in the
vicinity. With skating and hockey at a standstill, base-ball practice
confined only to light work in the cage, and the golf links still half
a foot deep in snow, the forty-three students at Ferry Hill were ripe
for any excitement. And as a result the meeting on Friday afternoon was
about as well attended as it could possibly have been. Things went
with a rush from the start. Roy outlined the project and introduced
Dick Somes, who had hitherto remained in the background. It didn’t take
Dick more than two minutes of talking to have every fellow on the edge
of his chair with roseate visions of a track and field victory over
Hammond floating before his eyes.

“Say, Roy,” whispered Chub, “Dick’s father is some sort of a promoter,
isn’t he?”

“Yes, I think so; sells mines, doesn’t he? Why?”

“Nothing much, only I know now where Dick gets it!”

Before the meeting was over thirty-seven out of thirty-nine fellows in
attendance had put their names down for the track team and had agreed
to contribute two dollars apiece. And there wasn’t one of them who
wasn’t firmly convinced that he had the making of a sprinter, distance
runner, hurdler, jumper, pole-vaulter or weight-thrower!

“I’ve talked with Mr. Cobb,” said Dick, “and he’s right with us in
this; says there’s no reason why we shouldn’t be able to turn out a
dandy team. Of course, we mustn’t set our hearts on too much this
spring; we’re new at it yet, and it takes a couple of years to get the
stride. But I can’t see why we haven’t as good a chance to lick Hammond
as she has to lick us. (_Enthusiastic applause._) As soon as we’ve
elected officers we’ll get a challenge off to her, and I guess there’s
no doubt but what she’ll be glad to meet us. We haven’t got a very good
outdoor track just now, but we’re going to fix that in time. Meanwhile
we can do a whole lot of work indoors, and Mr. Cobb will arrange
it so that he will be on hand here three afternoons a week to give
instruction. But there mustn’t be any backing down, fellows. If you go
in to this you must keep it up. It may seem like hard work at first,
but after we get out of doors you’ll like it immensely. I’m not afraid
of your backing out then; only that you may get discouraged before
that. But if you’ll just remember all the time that we’re going to show
Hammond that we’re just as good on the cinder track as we are on the
gridiron and the diamond and the river, why, I guess you’ll stick it
out.”

Dick sat down amid hearty cheers and Roy proposed the election of
officers.

“I suppose,” he said, “that we’d better leave the selection of a
captain until a little later, until we’ve been together a while and
have seen who’s capable of heading the team. So that leaves us the duty
of selecting a manager and assistant manager. Nominations are in order.”

Warren proposed Roy for manager, but Roy declined, pleading a press of
other duties. Then Chub, who had his instructions, arose and nominated
Dick. Dick was unanimously chosen. The position of assistant manager
was not so quickly filled, but finally Sid Welch was put up and the
meeting accepted him hilariously, demanding a speech. But Sid refused
to make any remarks except to bob his head and mutter something about
being much obliged.

On Saturday afternoon the candidates got to work in the gymnasium. A
less optimistic person than Dick Somes would, I think, have been rather
discouraged by the prospect. Few of the candidates for the team had
ever seriously tried the work which they had selected. A good many of
them, in fact, had very hazy ideas of what they had let themselves
in for, and there was a deal of grumbling over chest-weights and
dumb-bells. But the grumbling always ceased when Dick drew near, and
his enthusiasm was contagious. Mr. Cobb shook his head afterward and
said he was afraid there wasn’t enough material there to make a team
that could hope to make a showing against Hammond. But Dick wouldn’t
listen to that.

“We may be weak in some events,” he said, “but we’ll have some good
sprinters, you mark my words, sir, and if we can get a lot of second
and third places we’ll make a good showing for a new team. I wish
every other fellow wouldn’t insist on being either a hurdler or a
hammer-thrower, though,” he laughed. “I can’t find but one chap who is
willing to go in for the pole-vault, and he’s only doing it as a favor
to me and will probably back out when he’s once tried it and has found
that he can’t do twelve feet the first time.”

Dick had purchased every book on the subject of track and field
athletics that he could hear of and was studying them diligently. He
knew, perhaps, as little at the start as any fellow in school in regard
to track and field work and training methods. But he talked with every
one who could help him, especially Mr. Cobb, and, as I have said,
studied all the literature to be found. The result was that by the time
outdoor work was reached he knew a good deal on the subject, although
much of his knowledge was as yet theoretical, and would have impressed
the wiliest veteran athlete as being an old hand. A portion of Dick’s
philosophy, if ever formulated in words, would have run something like
this: “Know how if you can; if you can’t, keep your mouth shut and look
wise.”

When, three weeks after the formation of the team, an election for
captain was held, the members suddenly realized that there was only one
among them who possessed the requisite knowledge to fill the office
successfully, only one whom they placed faith in. Six fellows got on
to their feet at the same moment and nominated Dick Somes and about a
dozen more seconded the nomination. Further nominations not following,
Dick was unanimously elected, accepting the honor with becoming
modesty. Sid was promoted to manager and Fernald became assistant.

“Well,” said Roy after the meeting was over, “that went all right.”

“According to program,” agreed Chub cheerfully.

“You fellows may think it was cheeky of me to get up the team and then
have myself elected captain,” said Dick, “but I know that I’m the only
fellow here who can see the thing through. And I suppose that sounds
conceited.”

“Well, it might from some one else,” said Roy, “but it doesn’t from
you, Dick. Anyhow, it’s just about so. If any fellow can make a track
team go here it’s you. And I hope you’ll succeed.”

“Oh, I’ll succeed all right,” answered Dick calmly. “Of course I don’t
look for many victories this year, but if we get the team started it’ll
keep a-going, and next year or the year after that we’ll show a few of
those conceited Hammondites what we can do.”

“I wish I had some of your confidence,” sighed Chub. “If I had I’d feel
better about base-ball.”

“Chub’s an optimist when it comes to other people’s affairs,” laughed
Roy, “and a confirmed growler about his own. Last year he was certain
we were going to get licked by Hammond; went around for two weeks
before the game looking as though he’d swallowed a barrel of pickles.”

“Were you?” Dick asked.

“Not a bit of it! We won, eight to seven.”

“It was a close call, though,” said Chub. “If you hadn’t--”

“Oh, Dick’s heard all about that,” interrupted Roy. “When are you going
to issue that challenge to Hammond, Dick?”

“Right away now. I told Sid to meet me this evening after supper and
we’d write it out. They’re probably still smarting over losing the
second hockey game to us and that will make them eager to lick us at
something else. I want them to propose their own grounds. In the first
place, ours won’t be fit for much this spring, and in the next place if
we’re beaten, as we’re pretty sure to be, we’ll be able to point to the
fact that Hammond had the advantage of being on her home field; as a
matter of fact, it won’t make much difference to us where we are. Then
next year, when we may have a chance of beating them, they’ll have to
come over here.”

“Well, if you aren’t the foxy one!” said Chub.

“Well, I don’t want the fellows to be discouraged when they’re beaten,”
responded Dick. “And the more excuses they have the less they’ll mind
a defeat. I guess I’ll leave you fellows here. I want to go to the
Cottage a minute to see Harry.”

“We’ll come along,” said Chub.

Dick smiled and shook his head.

“It’s a private matter,” he said. “You fellows run along.”

“What do you think of that?” exclaimed Roy. “He and Harry have been
mighty chummy for the last week or two, Chub. Wonder what’s up, eh?”

“You’ll find out presently,” said Dick.

They had been sauntering slowly along the path from the gymnasium and
now Dick turned to the right and walked across the wet turf.

“Where are you going?” demanded Roy.

“Just here,” answered Dick, stopping and looking off down the <DW72>
toward the river. “You get a great view from here, don’t you?”

“Yes,” answered Roy as they joined him. “What of it?”

“Nothing, only I’ve been thinking that this would be a fine site for
the new dormitory.”

“Gee!” exclaimed Chub. “I’d forgotten all about it. Anything doing yet?”

“N-no, not to speak of,” answered Dick as he turned back toward the
path. “Still, I rather think there’ll be a meeting before very long.”

“Isn’t he the mysterious chump?” asked Chub. “Bet you he’s thought out
a scheme. Have you, Dick?”

“I’ll tell you after a while,” was the answer. “So long.”

“Oh, well, of course we don’t want to know,” replied Chub. “Farewell, O
Man of Mystery!”




CHAPTER XVII

THE TREASURY IS LOOTED


Hammond accepted Ferry Hill’s challenge to a dual track meet with
alacrity, and, as Dick had hoped they would, suggested that it be
held on the Hammond oval. The only thing that Dick didn’t like was
the choice of dates offered, May 12 and June 16. The Hammond manager
explained that on other Saturday afternoons either the track team had
meets or the oval would be in use by the base-ball team. Dick would
have preferred a date about the last of May could he have had his
choice. Five of the more promising members of the team were members of
the base-ball nine as well, and Dick had that fact to bear in mind. It
would be impossible for them to take part in a meet after the first of
June, for then the important contests on the diamond began, notably the
three games with Hammond.

Dick and Sid and the manager of the rival team had a conference in
Silver Cove one afternoon, and the former were forced to agree on the
twelfth of May as the date of the meeting, since the June date was out
of the question for Ferry Hill and Hammond had no other dates to offer.
I fancy the Hammond representative wondered why Ferry Hill had sent
her manager along to the conference, because he took practically no
part in the proceedings save to agree instantly and enthusiastically
with whatever Dick said. All details were arranged, and Dick returned
to Ferry Hill very well satisfied with everything save the time agreed
upon.

[Illustration: Work out of doors]

“The trouble is, Sid,” he explained, “that it will take tall hustling
to get the team in any kind of shape by that time. It’s too early.
However, there’s no help for it and we’ll just have to do the best we
can. We’ll get up some sort of a class meet for the middle of April and
handicap games for some day about a week ahead of the Hammond meet. The
fellows have got to have some experience in real competitions. You and
I, Sid, are going to be two busy little boys from now on.”

And Sid looked grave and held himself half an inch taller.

A couple of days later the track team was picked. They had been at
work out of doors for over a fortnight and Dick and Mr. Cobb had had
opportunities to judge of the fellows’ performances. There had been a
few defections during the period of indoor drudgery, but on the whole
the candidates had stood by the cause very well. After the cut fifteen
fellows were left and they represented what Mr. Cobb and Dick Somes
considered the pick of athletic ability. The team, then, as finally
chosen, consisted of Chase, Cole, Cullum, Eaton, Fernald, Glidden,
Harris, Kirby, Porter, Post, Pryor, Somes, Townsend, Walker, and
Warren; and Manager Sidney Welch, of course. Sid had struggled gamely
for a place on the team, first trying to run the mile, then having a
fling at hurdles and finally striving to distinguish himself at the
broad jump. But his weight was against him and Dick was forced to limit
Sid’s participation in affairs to his managerial duties, and as Dick
attended to most of those himself Sid wasn’t overworked at any time
that spring.

On the whole the team promised to be fairly good; Mr. Cobb acknowledged
in April that his first judgment had been hasty. In the distances there
were four runners: Somes, Chase, Warren, and Townsend, all of whom
were doing very creditable work. Perhaps there was some disappointment
over Dick himself, for the story had spread throughout the school that
he was a wonder at the mile and his present performances were not
vindicating that reputation. But probably the fact that he had so many
affairs to attend to told against his track prowess. He didn’t seem to
do any troubling about it, anyhow, and it was very generally agreed
that if he continued to make as good a captain as he did at present
he would be doing his full duty. There was one real find, however, to
delight Dick’s heart. And that was Mr. Thomas H. Eaton, familiarly
known as Chub. Chub was doing great work in the 100-yards dash and very
creditable in the two-twenty. Running him close in the former event
was Walker, while at the longer distance Post was showing up well and
promised to become a fine sprinter in time. For the middle distances
there were Roy, Pryor and Kirby, none of them above the average. Kirby
was also hurdling and he and Glidden were showing up fairly well. The
pole vault had but one performer, Cullum of the Second Middle. Walker
and Cole were making hard work of the jumps, and in the weight events
Post, Harris and Fernald were struggling for supremacy.

The class meet was held the middle of April and, although no remarkable
records were established, it accomplished what it was intended to and
familiarized the participants with the work. The First Senior Class had
no trouble in winning the contest.

The purchase of such necessary things as jumping and vaulting
standards, poles, hurdles, shots and hammers had left very little of
the original sum subscribed, and so each member of the team was obliged
either to buy his own costume or be content with whatever he happened
to have that would answer. Most of them, however, were too eager to
appear in the white trunks with brown stripes down the legs and white
shirts crossed by a brown ribbon bearing the letters F. H. T. T. to
begrudge the cost, and long before the handicap games came off more
than a dozen such costumes could be counted on the athletic field of
an afternoon. It almost broke Sid’s heart not to be able to sport the
track regalia, but he found balm for his sorrow in a nice little brown
cloth cap bearing the “F. H. T. T.” in front.

Meanwhile the base-ball season had begun and Ferry Hill was reaping a
harvest of unimportant victories over early-season antagonists. Things
promised well this spring for the nine, and Chub was in fine feather.
And so, by the way, was Sid, for he was holding his place in left
field against all comers and learning to bat with the best of them.
Green Academy and Pottsville High and Prentice Military came and saw
and acknowledged defeat, falling victim to the elusive curves of Post
or Kirby. And April was half gone and the affairs of the F. H. S. I.
S. claimed scant attention from its members. Or so, at least, Roy and
Chub thought until one morning they received formal notices in Harry’s
writing to the effect that there would be a meeting of the society the
following evening at eight o’clock--“a full attendance desired.” A full
attendance was obtained. There wasn’t a member absent when Dick began
proceedings by producing some sheets of foolscap from his pocket.

“The president and secretary-treasurer of the society,” began Dick with
a smile, “have been getting busy on their own hooks lately, without
authority from the majority. When I’ve got through telling you what
we’ve been up to you can move a vote of censure if you like--”

“I move it right now,” interrupted Chub.

“--And as presiding officer I’ll rule it out of order.”

“Isn’t he haughty?” asked Chub admiringly.

“Go ahead and ’fess up,” said Roy. “I thought you two were up to
something last month, but since then I’ve kind of forgotten all about
it.”

“Then I suppose you haven’t thought out a scheme to get that thirty
thousand?” asked Dick. Roy shook his head. “And how about you, Chub?”

“Me? Bless you, I’ve been too busy thinking up schemes how to hit
Post’s in-shoots.”

“Well,” said Dick, “Harry and I have done the best we could. It didn’t
seem advisable to ask the Doctor for the names of the graduates.
To tell the truth, I was afraid he’d forbid us to go ahead with the
scheme. So Harry and I have been prospecting around ourselves and
we’ve managed to get hold of the names and addresses of fourteen men
who have graduated from here. We’re not sure about all the addresses,
but I guess we can reach them in time. Now what I propose to do is to
send personal letters to each of them and tell them just what we want
to do and ask them how much they’ll be willing to subscribe to set the
ball rolling. We’ve fixed up a letter here and I’ll read it to you in
a minute. Of course, we may not get a cent this way; it’s one of those
forlorn hopes that Roy was talking about.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that time that a ‘forlorn hope’ was a ‘touch’?”
asked Chub aggrievedly.

“To have the thing look right,” Dick continued, “we ought to have
some stationery printed, I think; just ‘Ferry Hill School Improvement
Society, Silver Cove, N. Y., Office of the Secretary and Treasurer’;
something like that. What do you think?”

“Sounds like the real thing,” answered Roy.

“Sure,” added Chub. “If you wrote me a letter on that sort of paper I’d
be so pleased I’d want to mortgage the house and send the money to you.”

“I think it would be perfectly dandy!” said Harry. “Let’s do it.”

“Moved and carried,” announced Chub. “Let’s hear the letter, Dick. I’ll
bet if you wrote it it’s a corker!”

“We wrote it between us,” answered Dick. Harry tried her best not to
look vain, but couldn’t smother the gratified smile that insisted on
showing itself. “Here it is.” Dick opened the folded sheets of foolscap
and began to read.

    “‘Dear Sir: The Ferry Hill School Improvement Society has been
    recently formed for the purpose of advancing the interests
    of that institution of learning, and securing much-needed
    improvements, of which the most important is a new dormitory.
    The School has outgrown its present equipment, and increased
    accommodation for more students is imperative if the usefulness
    of the School is to be continued. As an alumnus--(“That’s
    great!” Chub commented softly.)--you will, we are sure,
    desire to aid your _alma mater_. (“Perfectly swell!” breathed
    Chub admiringly.) It is desired to raise the sum of Thirty
    Thousand Dollars for the construction of a dormitory building
    capable of holding twenty boys. What portion, if not the
    whole, of the necessary amount will you subscribe? Letters
    similar to this have been sent to fourteen of the School’s
    more prominent graduates and a liberal response is confidently
    looked for. You will confer a great favor by corresponding at
    your earliest convenient opportunity with Miss Harriet Emery,
    Secretary-Treasurer, Ferry Hill School, Silver Cove, N. Y.
    Trusting that you will be able to aid this most worthy cause,
    I remain respectfully and fraternally yours, RICHARD SOMES,
    _President_.’”

Dick folded the letter and looked inquiringly about him. For a
moment there was no comment. Chub sat with his mouth wide open and a
countenance expressing awed and speechless admiration. Even Roy was
apparently too much impressed to speak. Harry waited self-consciously.
Finally,

“Well,” asked Dick, “any suggestions?”

“Not a one,” said Roy.

“Suggestions!” cried Chub, suddenly finding his voice. “Why, that’s
the swellest thing I ever heard! If that doesn’t fetch ’em--why--why
we don’t want their dirty old money! Talk about your language! There’s
more language there than I ever saw before in one pile!”

“This isn’t a silly joke,” protested Dick shortly. “If you think that
letter can be improved on, why, say so, but don’t get funny.”

“It can’t,” said Roy with conviction.

“No, sir,” agreed Chub.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” said Dick with a sigh of relief. “If we’ve
been over that thing once we’ve been over it twenty times. Haven’t we,
Harry?”

“Yes,” answered Harry. “I know it by heart, every word of it!” She
closed her eyes. “‘The Ferry Hill School Improvement Society has been
recently formed for the purpose of advancing the int--’”

“We’ll take your word for it,” laughed Roy. “Who’s going to write out
fourteen letters, Dick?”

“You, because you write better than any one else.”

“Pshaw,” said Chub, “they ought to be typewritten.”

“That’s so,” Dick agreed. “I didn’t think of that. It won’t cost much.”

“Seems to me,” said Roy, “we’re going to spend a lot of money and maybe
we won’t get any in return. We’ll have to pay for printing, paper, and
envelops, typewriting the letters, and for stamps. How much have we
got, anyhow?”

“Printing and typewriting won’t cost much,” said Dick. “Not over four
dollars; and we’ll only need twenty-eight cents’ worth of stamps. And
we’ve got--how much have we got in the treasury, Harry?”

“Sixty-four dollars and ten cents,” answered Harry very promptly.
“Twenty-four dollars and ten cents in money and a check for forty
dollars. Chub still owes ninety cents.”

“So I do,” murmured Chub embarrassedly. “I’d forgotten.”

“Well, that’s plenty,” said Dick. “We’ll get the printing and
typewriting done right away so we can mail the letters by Saturday.
You’d better let me have about five dollars, Harry, and I’ll give you
an account of what I spend.”

“You must give me a receipt then,” answered Harry, doubtfully, as she
slid off the grain chest.

[Illustration: “‘It’s gone,’ wailed Harry”]

“All right,” Dick laughed. “There’s nothing like doing things in a
business-like way. You and I’ll go over to Silver Cove to-morrow noon,
Chub, and--”

But Dick’s further remarks were lost for there was a sudden exclamation
of tragic dismay from Harry where, unnoticed by the boys, she had
climbed to a box under one of the old rafters.

“What’s the matter?” cried Roy.

“It’s gone!” wailed Harry.

“Gone? What? Where?”

“The money! I put it up here for safe keeping and now it’s gone! It’s
been stolen! And--and I’ve betrayed my trust!”




CHAPTER XVIII

THE SOCIETY AWAITS RESULTS


The three boys stared at Harry’s dismayed countenance in bewilderment.
Dick was the first to find his voice.

“What do you mean?” he exclaimed. “Our money? The--the funds of the
society?”

Harry, still perched precariously on top of the empty box, nodded
silently, looking down anxiously from face to face.

“But what--how did it come here?” demanded Roy.

“I put it up here on top of this rafter for safe keeping,” wailed
Harry. “I didn’t think it was safe to have so much money in the house;
one summer there was a thief broke in and stole a lot of things, you
know! So I put it in a little chamois bag and tied it up tight and put
it up here on this joist, right in the corner here. And now--now it’s
gone as anything!” And Harry’s voice hinted of tears.

“Don’t you care,” said Chub cheerfully. “We’ll find it all right,
Harry. It couldn’t have walked off by itself. We’ll have a good hunt
for it. Where is there a ladder?”

“I know,” answered Roy, disappearing into the shadows at the farther
end of the barn. Harry jumped down from the box and when the ladder
arrived it was placed against the rafter and Dick climbed up to where
he could look along the dusty ledge.

“Nothing here,” he said promptly. “It must have fallen down. Look
around underneath, fellows. Bring the lantern.”

“Stop your swearing,” exclaimed Methuselah mildly, his head stuck
interestedly out of his box. Dick, climbing down the ladder,
absent-mindedly stretched out his hand and was rewarded with a playful
nip which almost caused him to lose his footing. Roy had brought the
lantern and for some minutes the four searched carefully about the barn
floor. Methuselah, apparently elated at having nipped Dick’s finger and
much excited by the commotion, strutted and climbed about his cage and
chattered incessantly. In the end they had to acknowledge defeat. They
sat down and eyed each other questioningly.

“The only thing I can think of,” said Dick finally, “is that rats or
mice must have found it and carried it away.”

“I don’t believe there are any rats or mice here,” said Harry, “except
those in the cages. Spot caught them all ages ago.”

“Besides,” said Roy, “it was too big and heavy for a rat to lug away.”

“They might have chewed it to pieces, though,” Chub suggested.

“Then we’d have found the pieces,” said Dick.

“It was stolen,” said Harry solemnly.

“Who stole it?” Roy asked. Harry shook her head.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe, though, there was a tramp or some one
in the barn when I put it up there, and he saw me do it and went and
got it afterward.”

“Well, that’s possible,” agreed Dick. “But I don’t think any tramp
would get so far from the road as this, even for a place to sleep.
Besides, there’s Snip.”

“Snip sleeps at the Cottage,” said Harry.

“Well, if it was stolen, whoever stole it must have seen you put it
there, because no one would ever think of looking on top of a rafter
in a barn for money.” Dick hesitated. Then, “How about John, the
gardener?” he asked.

“Oh, he wouldn’t steal anything,” declared Harry emphatically.
“Besides, he wasn’t in here when I put the money there. Because when I
got back to the Cottage he was shoveling the snow from the steps.”

“How long ago did you put it there?” Chub asked. Harry thought a moment.

“About a month ago,” she answered.

“Then if it’s stolen,” Chub said, “I guess the fellow who got it has
spent it by this time. I’m glad I didn’t pay that ninety cents, anyhow.”

Roy laughed.

“There’s just one of us here,” he said, “who probably knows who took
it, and he can’t tell.”

“Who do you mean?” asked Chub.

“Methuselah, of course.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Harry. “That’s so, isn’t it? And to think that he can’t
tell us!”

“You might ask him,” Dick suggested. The others smiled; all save Harry.
She jumped up and walked gravely across to the cage. Methuselah ceased
his chatter as she drew near, put his head on one side and studied her
inquiringly with his beady eyes.

“’Thuselah,” said Harry, “won’t you please tell us who stole our money?”

The parrot blinked, ruffled his feathers and put one foot through the
bars until his yellow claws were clasped tightly about Harry’s finger.
Then he chuckled hoarsely.

“He does know,” said Harry sadly, “and he wants very much to tell me.
Don’t you, you old dear?”

“Roy!” said Methuselah suddenly and sharply. Harry started back in
alarm and the others broke into laughter.

“Give it back, Roy,” said Chub. “You might as well, you know; you’re
discovered.”

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” said Harry severely. “You mustn’t
tell lies, ’Thuselah.”

“He saw you all right,” laughed Chub. “Better ’fess up, Roy!”

“He’s a traitor,” said Roy, smiling. “I gave him a nickel to keep still
about it.”

“Well, the money’s gone,” said Dick, “and there’s no use in crying over
spilled milk. After all, we’re only out about twenty-four dollars. I’ll
write to the bank and tell them not to pay that check, if they haven’t
done it already. Meanwhile we’ve got to have money to get that printing
done and to pay for the typewriting and stamps. So I’ll advance it. If
we find the money again you can pay it back to me, Harry.”

“I shall make it up myself,” said Harry resolutely. “It may take me a
long time, but I’ll pay it all back.”

“Nonsense!” cried Roy.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” said Dick. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was. I shouldn’t have put it there. It was a very silly thing
to do. I ought to have put it in the bank.”

“That’s all right,” said Chub. “I guess every fellow is willing to
stand his share of the loss. And I tell you what I’ll do: I’ll pay that
ninety cents I owed next Saturday, as soon as I get my next allowance.”

“You mustn’t give it to me,” said Harry sadly. “I’m not going to be
treasurer any more.”

“Oh, yes, you are,” said Dick cheerfully. “As soon as we get some more
funds you’re to look after them. Isn’t she, fellows?”

“Of course,” answered Roy and Chub heartily.

“Besides,” said Roy, “I wouldn’t be surprised if we found that money
yet.”

“Going to give it back, are you?” asked Chub with a laugh.

“Cut it out,” answered Roy. “I’ll think I did swipe it if you keep on
talking about it.”

“Thunder!” exclaimed Dick suddenly. “It’s almost ten o’clock! We’ll get
the dickens if we don’t run for it. Grab the lantern and come on. The
meeting’s adjourned!”

Three days later the fourteen letters, neatly typewritten on paper
bearing the inscription “Ferry Hill School Improvement Society”
printed across the top in impressively large and black type, and
signed “Richard Somes, President,” were mailed to their destinations,
and there was nothing for the members of the society to do but await
results. The barn had been thoroughly searched by daylight, but the
missing chamois bag with the society’s funds had not been found. The
bank in New York had replied that Dick’s check had not been presented
and that if it was it would not be honored. For the rest, the members
accepted their losses philosophically, while Chub, to prove his faith
in the treasurer, paid over to her on Saturday the sum of ninety cents.
This, representing the entire assets of the society, Harry wore pinned
inside of her dress, in an envelop. And for the first day she felt
anxiously for it every few minutes.

April hurried along with uncertain skies and warm days, and Spring
Vacation came and went. By the first of May the cinder track was in
good hard condition and every afternoon the track team worked like
Trojans, every fellow animated by the resolve to do his full share
toward winning success in the meet with Hammond, now only a little more
than a week distant. Dick grew more hopeful as the days passed, and
after the handicap meeting on the Saturday before the Hammond games, he
even dared think of the possibility of a victory over the rival school.

“I can figure it out on paper,” he told Roy, “so that we win by three
points. But of course that means that every fellow must do a little bit
better than he did to-day.”

Roy had won the quarter-mile from Pryor and Kirby with a small handicap
and was consequently feeling pretty optimistic himself.

“I don’t believe Hammond’s team is so awfully good this year, anyhow,”
he declared. “They lost four of their best men last spring, you know.
If we were only a little better in the field events we might stand a
pretty good show of winning, Dick.”

“I know, but you can look for Cole to do some good work next Saturday
at the broad jump, and as for the hammer and shot, why, we’ve got just
as good men as they have, I guess. It’s the hurdles and pole-vault that
I’m worrying about. A chap can’t learn how to hurdle in two months.
Both Kirby and Glidden were as slow as cold molasses to-day, and Kirby
knocked down every bar except one in the two-twenty.”

“I thought you had Chase there in the mile for a while,” said Roy. “It
looked to me as though you were going to pass him at the beginning of
that last lap.”

“I thought so too,” answered Dick, “but he had more wind left than I
had. I don’t know why it is, but I haven’t been able to do anything
like my best this spring. I’ll have to get a move on next Saturday if
I’m going to win a point. I’d feel like the dickens if I didn’t, you
know.”

“Don’t you worry,” answered Roy. “You’ll do all right.”




CHAPTER XIX

METHUSELAH SUBSCRIBES TO THE FUND


Two days later, on Monday, there was a meeting of the F. H. S. I. S.,
the call having been hurriedly issued by the secretary-treasurer in
person. And when the members of the society were assembled in the barn
Harry produced triumphantly three letters.

“They came this morning,” she said excitedly, “and I haven’t opened
them yet. I thought you’d all like to be here when I did, you know.
Here’s two from New York and one from Cleveland, Ohio, and--and they
all feel as though they had something in them!”

“Bully!” cried Chub. “Open ’em up!”

“You do it,” said Harry, handing the letters to Dick. There was a
moment of silent suspense while Dick carefully slit the first envelop
with his knife. Out came a letter and--a check!

“How much?” cried the others in chorus. Dick looked at it, scowled and
glanced at the few lines in the letter. Then:

“Five dollars,” he said blankly.

There was a moment of disappointment, broken by Chub.

“Mail it back to him,” he said disgustedly.

“Try the next one,” murmured Harry. Dick did so. Again a check came
into sight.

“Fifty,” said Dick encouragedly.

“That’s better,” said Roy. “Try the next. Let’s know the worst.”

Dick opened the third letter, unfolded the sheet of paper within and
looked on all sides of it. There was no check.

“Rotten!” growled Chub. “What’s the beast say?”

“It’s all right!” cried Dick who had been reading the letter. “He
promises five hundred whenever we get ready to use the money!”

“That’s the stuff!” said Roy. “He’s all right, he is! What’s his
beautiful name?”

“Lemuel Fish,” answered Dick.

“Well,” said Roy, when the laughter had subsided, “he may not be much
on name, but he’s all right on promises.”

“He’s a promising man,” murmured Chub.

“You don’t think the promise is--is fishy?” asked Harry, and for a
moment didn’t know why the others laughed. “But I didn’t mean to make a
pun,” she declared earnestly.

“Oh, Harry,” teased Roy, “I saw you thinking that up whole minutes ago!
And such a weak pun, too!”

“I didn’t! I didn’t!” cried Harry, stamping her foot, between smiling
and frowning. Methuselah, who had so far been perched comfortably on
her shoulder and behaving himself thoroughly, resented being jarred and
so climbed down to the lid of the grain chest and from there to the
barn floor, sidling off into the semi-darkness behind the harness-room
with many cunning chuckles.

“Oh, he will pay all right,” said Dick. “He’s a railroad man according
to his letter-head, and railroad men are all rich, you know.”

“Are they?” asked Chub. “Let’s start a railroad instead of a dormitory,
then. What do you say?”

“Let’s see how much we’ve got subscribed,” suggested Roy. “Five hundred
and fifty and five and forty--”

“Wait,” cried Harry. “I’m secretary! I’ll make a list of the
subscriptions.” She started to work on the pad she carried, and the
others waited patiently while she frowned and labored. Presently,
“There!” she said. “Now listen:

    Dick                $50.00
    Roy                   5.00
    Chub                  5.00
    Harry                 5.00
    Lemuel Fish         500.00
    Charles A. Bliss     50.00
    J. L. Hughes          5.00
                        ------
          Total        $620.00
    Printing, etc.        4.30
                        ------
    Amount on hand     $615.70”

“Well,” said Chub, “that’s something, even if it is a long way from
thirty thousand.”

“And there are eleven people still to hear from,” said Harry hopefully.

“The one I wanted most to get a reply from,” said Dick, “hasn’t written
yet. I hope he will.”

“Who is that?” Roy asked.

“David Kearney.”

“What? The banker? Why, he’s worth millions!”

“That’s why I hope he’ll answer us,” said Dick dryly.

“Do you mean that he went to school here?” asked Chub incredulously.
Dick nodded.

“He was here for two years just after the school started, about
twenty-three years ago. I don’t think he graduated, though. But that
wouldn’t make any difference if he wanted to give us some money. He
gives lots, you know. Only last fall he gave a small fortune to some
little old college in Pennsylvania that no one ever heard of before.”

“I wish you’d registered that letter,” said Chub thoughtfully. “I
wouldn’t want it to miss him.”

“Seems to me it’s time he wrote, if he’s going to,” said Roy.

“Oh, men like Kearney are pretty busy, I guess,” said Dick. “There’s
plenty of time yet. I was rather hoping that he’d give a good big sum,
say ten or twenty thousand. If we could get some one to give that much
I’ll bet we wouldn’t have much trouble raising the rest.”

“I love the way Dick talks about ten or twenty thousand as though it
was fifty cents,” sighed Chub. “Why, if I saw twenty thousand dollars
coming along on the other side of the street, I’d be so scared I’d run
up an alley! But Dick--why, Dickums would just smile and walk across
and slap it on the back!”

“I think,” said Harry seriously, “that we’ve done awfully well. Why,
just think, when we began we didn’t have a cent! And now we’ve got over
six hundred dollars!”

“By the way, where are you keeping it, Harry?” asked Roy.

“Hold on! Don’t tell!” Chub cried. “He wants to swipe this, too!”

“Say, shut up about that, will you?” growled Roy. “I don’t mind a joke,
but you’re wearing it out, you know.”

“In the bank,” answered Harry. “I’ve opened an account; ‘Harriet Emery,
Treasurer’; and I’ve got a real bank-book! And if we let the money
stay in the bank for three months we’ll get three per cent. interest on
it!”

“Then I guess that’s the best way to get the thirty thousand,” laughed
Chub. “Just let it lie in the bank until the accumulated interest--”

“Steady!” cautioned Roy.

“--amounts to the other twenty-nine thousand four hundred.”

“You’re a chump,” said Dick. “And you won’t get three per cent. for
three months, Harry; it’s three per cent. a year.”

“Oh, is that it?” asked Harry disappointedly. “But I’d get something,
wouldn’t I?”

“Yes, one fourth of three per cent.” Harry began to figure earnestly.

“What I want to know,” said Chub, “is why you’ve got the money we lost
down on the subscription list.”

“Because,” answered Dick, “Harry insists that she’s going to pay it
back.”

“She’s going to do nothing of the sort!” exclaimed Roy indignantly.
“She may pay her five dollars back and we’ll all do the same, but
there’s no reason why she should pay it all!”

“That’s what I tell her,” Dick replied, “but you know Harry’s a little
bit--well, a little bit stubborn, Roy.”

“I’m not,” declared Harry, without raising her head from the tablet
upon which she was figuring. “And I am going to pay it back. It was in
my--my custody, and I am responsible. I’d like to know what folks would
do if treasurers could lose money entrusted to them and not have to pay
it back!”

“But you’re not a real treasurer--” began Chub.

“Why, Chub Eaton!” exclaimed Harry indignantly. “I am, too!”

“I mean,” exclaimed Chub lamely, “that you aren’t under bonds, you
know, and--”

“I don’t care. I’m going to make res--restitution!”

“I don’t believe,” said Roy just then in an odd voice, “that it’s going
to be necessary to make restitution.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Harry.

Roy pointed past her into the twilight of the barn.

“Ask Methuselah,” he said.

The others turned, following his outstretched finger with their
eyes. Out from under the shapeless form of a mowing machine walked
Methuselah, his beady eyes glittering in the gloom, his head cocked
on one side and his yellow beak closed over an object which at first
glance looked like a piece of brown paper folded into a tiny parcel.
In an instant Harry had swooped down upon the astounded bird and was
dancing back with a small chamois bag in her hand.

“It’s the money!” she cried. The boys crowded around her while she
untied the little pink string with trembling fingers and while
Methuselah, quite forgotten, smoothed his feathers and scolded
angrily. Out came the bills and coins and Dick’s check, all intact.

“Methuselah was the thief, I’ll bet a hat!” cried Chub.

“Sure,” agreed Dick. “But I don’t see how he ever got up on that
rafter.”

“Oh, he climbs around everywhere when I let him out,” said Harry
excitedly. “And he’s a terrible thief. Don’t you remember the time he
stole the turnip seeds and ate them?”

“Well, I’m glad he didn’t eat this,” said Roy. “I wonder where he found
it now.”

“Oh, he probably lugged it off somewhere and forgot all about it,” said
Dick. “And just now when he went roaming around he came across it and--”

“And he knew we wanted it,” completed Harry, “and brought it to us!
Isn’t he a darling?”

“Well, that’s all in the way you look at it,” Roy laughed. “Considering
that he stole it in the first place--and tried to put the blame on
me--!”

“I tell you what!” exclaimed Chub. “’Thuselah was mad because we
didn’t elect him to office and so he thought he’d make himself
assistant treasurer! Bet you that’s the way of it.”

Harry left the recovered treasure in Dick’s care and picked up the
disgruntled parrot, stroking his head and murmuring soothingly:

“He was des a booful ’Thuselah,” she cooed. “An’ he found the money, so
he did, and bringed it straight back, didn’t um?”

“Um did,” laughed Roy. “Um’s an old rascal.” But he scratched
Methuselah’s head with his finger, and the parrot closed his eyes and
looked forgiving.

“Look here,” said Chub. “We’d all got fixed to pay back that money, so
let’s do it. Then we’ll put this down as ’Thuselah’s subscription to
the cause. What do you say to that?”

“Beautiful!” cried Harry. She thrust the parrot into Roy’s arms and
flew to the grain chest. She was busy an instant with pencil and pad,
and then, “Here it is!” she cried:

“Methuselah ... $24.10.”




CHAPTER XX

GOSSIP AND A MEETING


Harry and Dick were sitting on the lower step of the little flight
leading to the Cottage porch. It was between ten and eleven of a
perfect May morning. The crumbling red bricks paving the short path
which led to the curving drive glowed warmly in the sun, and the little
blades of grass springing up between them were very green and pert. The
campus looked vastly different to-day from what it had that January
afternoon when Harry had introduced Dick to Ferry Hill. To-day there
was the bluest of blue skies overhead, and instead of the waste of snow
the grass stretched away on every side fresh and verdant. The Grove was
fast clothing itself in new, tender green, and beyond, at the foot of
the long hill, the river dimpled and shone in the sunshine. Something
of this occurred to Harry, I think, for she stopped pulling Snip’s
ear--an operation which that member of the group, half-asleep in the
sunlight, thoroughly approved of--and asked:

“Dick, do you remember the day I brought you up here to show you the
school? And how cold it was? And how nasty and dismal everything
looked? After you’d gone I never thought for a minute that you’d come
back.”

“Neither did I,” answered Dick with a little laugh. “I guess I’d have
stayed at Hammond and liked it all right if I hadn’t got there before
school opened. It seemed so beastly lonesome over there, and the
fellows who stayed during vacation were such a ghastly bunch, that I
just had to get out. It was a toss-up whether I’d come over here and
try this or hit the trail for home.”

“Are you sorry you came?” asked Harry anxiously.

“Not a bit,” replied Dick with convincing heartiness. “I like it, and I
like you and Chub and Roy. You’ve all been so decent to me, you know.
You’re all three mighty good fellows, Harry.”

Harry flushed and looked pleased.

“I--I guess we liked you,” she said. “I’m glad you like Roy and Chub,”
she continued. “I just love them! They’re--they’re the nicest boys I
ever knew, I guess; and you too, Dick.”

Dick shook his head sorrowfully.

“I’m jealous,” he said. “You put Roy and Chub first.”

“Well, you see, I’ve known them longer, Dick,” answered Harry
earnestly. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not a bit,” he laughed. “Besides, next year they won’t be here, and
you’ll have to like me best.”

Harry looked grave.

“That’s the trouble,” she sighed. “When you get to like a boy he goes
and graduates and then you never see him again. I don’t know what I’ll
do when Roy and Chub go.”

“Don’t know what I’ll do, for that matter,” growled Dick. “It’ll be
beastly lonely at first. Maybe I won’t come back myself.”

“Oh, Dick, you must!” cried Harry. “Why, then there wouldn’t be any
one! You’ve got to come back! You will, won’t you, Dick?”

“Maybe.”

“No, promise!”

“All right, I’ll come, Harry. You and I’ll have to comfort each other,
eh? Say, isn’t this a dandy day? Hope it’ll be like this Saturday, eh?”

“It’s going to be,” said Harry decisively. “John says we’re in for a
spell of settled weather, and he knows all about it; he never misses.”

“Well, I hope he’s right. I want a good hard track on Saturday.”

“Do you think we can beat them?” asked Harry.

Dick hesitated, then shook his head slowly.

“Honestly, I don’t. But I’m not telling the fellows that. It doesn’t
help any, that sort of talk. I tell them we can win if we do our level
best; and we can; the trouble is that every fellow can’t do his level
best when the time comes. Lots of them will be nervous, you know; can’t
help it. I may be myself. By the way, Sid got a note from their manager
yesterday asking if we would mind changing the order of events so that
the mile run will come last; he says two of their men who are going
to run the mile are in the low hurdles and they wouldn’t have time to
get their wind. I told Sid to write and say it would be all right. It
doesn’t matter to us, although I suppose if we insisted on having the
things run off the way we first agreed to we’d have a better chance to
win the meet.”

“But it wouldn’t seem quite fair, would it, to make those boys run in
the mile just after they’d been hurdling?”

“Well, it would be fair enough, I guess; that’s their lookout, you
know; only--well, I don’t want to win that way. I say let every fellow
have an even chance, and then the one that wins is the best man.”

“Are you going to practise this afternoon?” Harry asked.

“No, on account of the ball game with Whittier. But to-morrow we’ll
have a good stiff afternoon of it. Then Friday we’ll rest up. That
reminds me: Sid’s trying to get up a meet with Prentice Military
Academy for some time the last of June. I hope he fixes it, for if
he doesn’t the fellows won’t keep in training; and if they don’t it
will be all the harder to get in form again next year. I wish we were
sure of having a decent track here next spring. If only the dormitory
business had turned out better I guess the Doctor would have been
willing to spend some money on the field and track.”

“Do you think we’ll ever get the money for the dormitory, Dick?” asked
Harry wistfully.

“Sure to, sooner or later,” he answered stoutly. “But it’s slow going,
isn’t it? Haven’t had any more letters, have you?”

Harry shook her head.

“Not one. I think some people are too mean for anything!”

“Well,” Dick laughed, “I dare say they’ve got plenty of uses for their
money. We’ll get it yet. This summer I’ll strike dad for a thousand.
If he’s had good luck he will give it in a minute. And when we’ve got
two thousand pledged I guess your father will be willing to help us. He
will see then that we’re in earnest.”

“I’m sure he will,” said Harry. “And isn’t it too funny for anything
about his being honorary president and not knowing it? Oh, Dick! What
time is it?”

“Twenty of eleven,” answered Dick, looking at his watch.

“I’ll be late if I don’t go this minute! And I’ll have to run half the
way anyhow!”

“I thought you didn’t have to go until two on Wednesdays,” said Dick.

“Eleven; it’s that awful music. ‘Do, re, mi, fa, sol--’ Good-by.”

“Good-by,” answered Dick, getting up and looking around for his books.
“I’ll see you at the game this afternoon.”

“Yes,” called Harry from the door. “And I hope we win.”

“Oh, we can’t help it,” laughed Dick. “It’s a way we have at Ferry
Hill!”

But they didn’t win; not unless the score lied. Seven to five it was
when the last inning was over. Whittier Collegiate Institute had some
good batters on her team and they had little trouble in finding Post
and Kirby for twelve hits. Chub was inclined to be doleful after the
game.

“Rotten!” he repeated over and over.

“Not a bit,” said Dick. “The trouble was only that you fellows haven’t
been practising enough the last week. It’s my fault entirely. I’ve
been after you for track work, and you can’t do two things at once and
do them well. I’m sorry, Chub, but after Saturday I’ll let you alone.”

“Think that’s it?” asked Chub, more cheerfully. “Well, if it is, I
don’t mind so much. Whittier isn’t Hammond, after all. And if we make a
good showing Saturday I shan’t mind losing to-day’s game. What do you
say, Roy?”

“Me?” asked Roy, trotting away to the shower-bath. “Oh, I’m not
worrying about anything.”

Events proved John the gardener to be a real weather prophet, for
Saturday dawned clear and warm. The track and field meeting with
Hammond was to begin at half past two, and at half past twelve Harry,
music-roll in hand, was hurrying back along the dusty road from her
music-lesson, fearful that she wouldn’t get through luncheon in time
to cross to Coleville on the first launch. Silver Cove was half a mile
behind her and the tower of School Hall was already in sight above the
tree-tops when the sound of wheels reached her from the road behind.
A station carriage drawn by a dejected white horse and driven by a
freckle-faced youth of seventeen or eighteen years was approaching
unhurriedly from the direction of the Cove. In the rear seat, as Harry
saw when the carriage overtook her, sat a gentleman in a neat gray
suit, derby hat and brown gloves. The gloves were especially noticeable
since they looked very new and were clasped tightly about the handle of
a slenderly rolled umbrella which stood between his knees. He was about
forty years old, had a round, smiling face, shrewd brown eyes and a
short, bristly mustache which terminated at each side in a sharp, waxed
point. As the carriage jolted past in its little cloud of dust the
occupant of the back seat, who had been observing the pedestrian for
several minutes, laid a hand on the driver’s shoulder.

“Stop,” he said.

“Whoa!” commanded the boy. “Whoa, I tell yer! Can’t yer stop nohow, yer
pesky brute?”

The horse showed as little inclination to stop as before it had shown
to go, and when the vehicle finally drew up motionless, with the driver
still scolding fretfully at the steed, it was some little distance
beyond Harry. But it was quite evident that the occupants were awaiting
her, and so she hurried up to it under the smiling scrutiny of the
passenger. She had been walking fast, the forenoon was quite warm
and her face was flushed as a result. Also the dust had settled upon
her shoes and half way up her ankles, and Harry was sensible of not
appearing at her best, a fact which annoyed her since the immaculate
appearance of the stranger seemed to set a standard of neatness. Then
she was looking up into a pair of smiling brown eyes, and--

“How do you do?” said the man. “May I offer you a seat?”




CHAPTER XXI

MR. KEARNEY MAKES AN OFFER


Well, it really was warm, and she was in a hurry, and the man in the
carriage smiled so nicely, and--and the next thing Harry knew she was
sitting beside him, smoothing her skirts and trying to hide her dusty
shoes, and the horse was once more jogging along the road. She wasn’t
sure whether she had thanked him, so she determined to be on the safe
side.

“Thank you,” she said in her most polite and ladylike tones.

“Not at all,” he replied. “I’m under obligations to you, young lady. I
am delighted to have some one to talk to. So far my journey has been a
trifle dull. My friend on the front seat is not communicative and all
my efforts to find a subject of mutual interest have failed. I fancy he
is a very wise youth, he says so little. Did you happen to observe him
as we passed you?”

Harry nodded a trifle embarrassedly, for the subject under discussion
could hear every word.

“Yes? And did he strike you as having a most intelligent appearance?”

“He will hear you,” whispered Harry.

“That’s true,” replied the man. “So we mustn’t flatter him any more.
Many noble natures, I dare say, have been spoiled by flattery.”

The boy growled irritatedly at the horse, and the man turned to
Harry with raised brows and an expression which said: “There! Have I
over-praised him? Isn’t he wonderful?” Harry felt a strong inclination
to giggle, but refrained out of consideration for the boy’s feelings
and smiled instead. The man smiled back at her and after that they
suddenly seemed to have become very good friends.

“You live around here?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, at Ferry Hill,” answered Harry.

“Really? Now that’s where I’m bound. Then you must know the principal
there, Doctor Emery, I think his name is.”

“He’s my father,” answered Harry. “I’m Harry--that is, Harriet Emery.”

“O--oh!” said the man, and Harry thought he viewed her with a new
interest. “So you’re Miss Harriet, are you? Well, my name is--but
there, it isn’t polite to force one’s acquaintance on a lady.” Harry
didn’t see the logic of this, and would have intimated the fact had
he not gone on. “I used to go to school here myself a good many years
ago,” he said. “I suppose things have changed lots since then. New
buildings, of course, and everything thoroughly up-to-date?”

“There’s only one new building, I guess,” said Harry, “and that’s the
gymnasium. Was the Cottage there when you went to school?”

“Cottage? No, I think not. The Cottage is--”

“It’s where we live,” Harry answered. “There are only four buildings,
you know: School Hall, the dormitory, the gymnasium and the cottage.
But we’re trying to get a new--” Harry stopped suddenly. Then, “Oh!”
she cried, turning with eager eyes, “are you rich?”

“Well, that’s a difficult question to answer,” replied the man with a
laugh. “I would probably be called rich around here, but where I live
I’m only--well, let us say comfortably off. May I inquire your reason
for asking?”

“I suppose you think me very impolite,” said Harry earnestly, “but I
didn’t mean to be. I asked, because if you are rich we would like very
much to have you subscribe to the dormitory fund. Do you think you
could?”

“Possibly. Supposing you tell me something about it. For instance,
how much is it going to cost, and how much is already subscribed? But
perhaps you aren’t acquainted with the details?”

“Oh, yes, I am. I’m the secretary and treasurer of the society,
the Ferry Hill School Improvement Society, you know.” The man bowed
gravely, but his brown eyes held a disconcerting twinkle. “It--it’s
going to cost thirty thousand dollars,” Harry went on; “and we have got
six hundred and thirty-nine dollars and eighty cents.”

“I see; you’ve just started, then.”

“We’ve been at it four months,” answered Harry a trifle disconsolately.

“Really? Then you haven’t progressed very well, have you? What seems to
be the trouble?”

And Harry told him. She found a very attentive and sympathetic
listener, and she traced the progress of the undertaking from the
moment of its inception to the present time, becoming now and then very
eloquent and very incoherent. But her audience seemed to approve of her
enthusiasm and toward the end even seemed to catch it.

“I hope you’ll succeed,” he said when she had finished breathlessly. “I
really do. It was a big undertaking for four young folks like you, but
you’ve shown pluck. I’d like to meet this Dick Somebody; he seems to be
the kind of boy that grows up to big things. But you’ve all been mighty
plucky, I think. We’ll talk about it again, Miss Harriet. I suppose
this is where we turn in, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. If you tell him to drive to the Cottage you’ll find papa
there, I think, because it’s almost time for luncheon. We’re having it
a little earlier than usual on account of the track meet with Hammond
this afternoon.”

“Hammond!” exclaimed the man. “That sounds natural. When I went
to school here we used to have great fights with Hammond, regular
rough-and-tumble battles out on the island down there; and we played
base-ball with them, too; I used to pitch; thought pretty well of
myself, too; had an in-curve that used to puzzle them all! But we
usually got licked, though. How about it now?”

“We beat them more times than they beat us,” said Harry proudly. “We
have a dandy base-ball team this spring, and this afternoon we’re going
to meet them at running and jumping and hurdling--track athletics, you
know.”

“Really? This afternoon? My, I’ll have to see that! Going to beat them,
are you?”

“I don’t know,” said Harry. “I’m afraid not. You see, it’s our first
year at it; we never had a track team until Dick started it two months
ago; and so we aren’t very good yet. But next year--!”

“That’s what we used to say,” laughed the man. “And then when next
year came--why, we said it again! Do you know, I’d give a whole lot
to see Ferry Hill beat Hammond? I really would, Miss Harriet! I feel
the old antagonism rising up inside of me at the mention of the name
of Hammond. The fellows there now aren’t the ones I used to know, of
course; ‘Tricky’ Peters and Jerry Gould and--and what was that big
red-headed fellow’s name, I wonder! Prout! That was it; Prout! Dear
me, how I used to hate that fellow Prout! I wonder what became of him.
Jerry Gould has an office in my building and we’ve often talked over
old times. He declares he made a home-run off of me once, but I don’t
believe it, by Jingo! What time does this athletic contest take place?”

“At half past two, sir.”

“Just the thing! I’ll go and see it. Will you take me, Miss Harriet?
Good! And--and didn’t you say that this Dick Somebody got up the team?”

“Dick Somes; yes, sir.”

“And he’s the same one that’s president of the Improvement Society?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well, then. You see him and tell him that if he will lick Hammond
this afternoon I’ll subscribe to the dormitory fund, handsomely too!
What do you say?”

“I’ll tell him,” answered Harry breathlessly. “But--but I don’t
believe it will make any difference, because he’ll do the best he can
anyhow; and so will the other boys. But I’ll tell him, sir. How much
shall I say you’ll subscribe?”

“Well, now you’re getting right down to brass tacks, aren’t you?”
laughed the man. “I must think about that. Is this the Cottage? I’ll
have to beg some lunch, I guess. Do you suppose your mother will let me
have some?”

“Of course,” answered Harry eagerly. “I’ll invite you myself.”

“Thank you very much,” he answered with a smile. “And I’ll accept
before you change your mind. And after lunch we’ll have another talk
about this matter. You want a new dormitory and I want to see Ferry
Hill lick Hammond, and maybe we’ll be able to get together, eh? Stop
here, my boy.”

“Whoa thar! Whoa, I tell yer!” chided the freckle-faced driver. “Don’t
yer hear me, yer old galoot? Whoa, I say!”

Harry’s new friend jumped nimbly out and gallantly assisted her. Then
he paid the boy, adding a dollar for good measure.

“What are you going to do with it?” he asked.

“I dunno,” growled the boy. “Gedap!”

The carriage trundled away and the man looked admiringly after.

“I leave it to you, Miss Harriet,” he said in awed tones. “Did I
overestimate his intelligence one mite? Did I not rather err on the
side of moderation? And now shall we go in?”

As they entered Doctor Emery was crossing the hall, and Harry ran to
him.

“Papa,” she said, “here’s a gentleman who’s come to lunch with us. I
invited him and it’s all right. He used to go to school here and he’s
going to--to--”

“I’m very glad to see you, sir,” said the Doctor, shaking hands. “Very
glad to welcome one of our old boys back again, although I fancy you
were here before my day. May I ask your name, sir?”

“Kearney, David Kearney, Doctor. Yes, I left here before you took
hold; over twenty years ago it was. I met your daughter on the road,
begged the pleasure of her company and was rewarded with an invitation
to lunch. But if it is going to put Mrs. Emery to any trouble--”

“Why, not a bit, Mr. Kearney. We shall consider it an honor to
entertain a man who has--er--fashioned so successful a career, sir.”

“Thank you,” said Mr. Kearney gravely. “And I shall feel more honored
to lunch with the honorary president.”

“Eh?” asked the Doctor blankly.

“Why, I am not mistaken, am I?” asked the other with a twinkle in his
eye. “You occupy the position of honorary president of the Ferry Hill
School Improvement Society, do you not?” The Doctor’s gaze wandered to
Harry’s mischievous face and he smiled.

“I fear,” he said, “there is more here than I understand.”

       *       *       *       *       *

The launch was to make its first trip across to Coleville at half past
one, carrying the members of the team and a few privileged friends,
returning later for a second load of passengers. At a quarter past one
Dick, Roy, Chub and their team-mates were hurriedly changing their
clothes in the gymnasium, since it had been decided to dress before
crossing to Hammond. Dick was just knotting the cords of his bath-robe
about his waist when Sid put his head in at the dressing-room door and
called to him.

“Say, Dick! Harry’s outside and wants to see you right off; she says
it’s very important.”

“All right, tell her I’ll be there in a second, Sid. Get a move on,
fellows; it’s twenty minutes past.”

He followed Sid through the swinging doors and Roy and Chub, struggling
into their white and brown running costumes, viewed each other
inquiringly. Then Dick thrust the doors open.

“Roy and Chub!” he called. “Get something on and come out here quick!”

“Must be something doing,” said Chub excitedly as he laced his spiked
shoes. Then they too disappeared and it was the turn of the others to
wonder and speculate. Five minutes later Sid once more appeared.

“Dick says for every fellow to come out right away,” he announced.
“He’s got important news.”

A minute later they were all out on the porch, crowding around Dick.
Roy and Chub were beside him, and Harry was standing with sparkling
eyes and flushed cheeks on the stone railing behind them.

“What’s up, Dick?” asked Ed Whitcomb anxiously. “Hammond hasn’t
forfeited the meet, has she?”

“No,” answered Dick. “Shut up a minute, fellows; I’ve got something to
tell you.” When quiet was restored he went on. “It’s a long story, but
I’ve got to make it as short as I can, so if you have any questions to
ask wait until later on. You fellows know--or maybe you don’t know,
but it’s a fact--that we need another dormitory here at Ferry Hill.
The Doctor hasn’t much more than paid expenses the last few years. He
needs more boys, and that means more dormitory room. So a while back,
along in January, four of us--Harry and Roy and Chub and myself--got
up a sort of a club that we called the Ferry Hill School Improvement
Society. The purpose was to get money for a new dormitory. We talked
with the Doctor about it, but he thought we were just sort of fooling,
you know, and wouldn’t have anything to do with it. So we went ahead
alone. We sent letters to some of the graduates and we got about six
hundred dollars. There was one chap we wrote to who didn’t pay any
attention to our letter. You have all heard of him, I guess: Mr. David
Kearney.”

There was a chorus of assent.

“Well, he turned up here a couple of hours ago. Instead of answering
our letter he waited until he had a chance and came up here to see us.”

There was an incipient cheer which Dick waved down.

“He wants us to lick Hammond. He says that when he was here at school,
about twenty years ago, Hammond used to beat Ferry Hill almost all
the time. Mr. Kearney played on the ball team; used to pitch; and
when Harry told him we were going to meet Hammond on the track this
afternoon he said he was going to see it, said it would do him a lot of
good to see Ferry Hill beat Hammond just once at something.”

This time the cheer would not be denied, and Dick had to wait until it
had died down before he went on.

“So he has sent a message to us by Harry. ‘If,’ he says, ‘you beat
Hammond this afternoon, I’ll give the balance of the money needed for
the dormitory,’ which is--how much, Harry?”

“Twenty-nine thousand three hundred and sixty dollars and twenty
cents,” answered Harry promptly.

“_Ph--e--ew!_” whistled somebody, and for a moment bedlam broke loose.

“Now,” continued Dick as soon as he could make himself heard, “I know
you fellows don’t need this--this incentive to do your very best. You’d
have done that anyhow, merely for the sake of beating our rival over
there, for the sake of Ferry Hill! But you’re not going to do any less
now that you know that so much more depends on victory; you’re going
to do a little better than your best, fellows; you’re going over there
with a determination to lick Hammond and bring back the championship
and secure that new dormitory! Now let’s have a cheer for Mr. Kearney.”

And when it had been given,

“A cheer for Ferry Hill, fellows!” cried Dick.

And then, still shouting and cheering, they tumbled down the steps and
raced for the landing.




CHAPTER XXII

FERRY HILL VS. HAMMOND


The Oval at Hammond Academy lies on a broad plateau just beyond the
campus. Back of it the hill sweeps abruptly away, covered with a dense
growth of timber. From the top of the grand stand one can almost see
the river over the roof of the nearest dormitory. Nature has supplied
an ideal spot for an athletic ground and human hands have made the
most of it. There is an excellent quarter-mile cinder track twelve
feet wide, supplemented by a straight-away for the 220 yards’ dash
and the low hurdles. Inside the track is a perfectly level expanse of
well-kept turf which made the Ferry Hill visitors sigh with envy. The
grand stand is small but well-built and well-maintained, and at one
end of it there is a tiny building which serves as a dressing-room
and store-house. From its roof a short flag-pole to-day bore the
cherry-and-black banner of Hammond, while from an improvised staff at
the top of the grand stand floated a bedraggled Ferry Hill flag.

The day was warm and, since there had been no rain for some time, the
little breezes made miniature whirlwinds of dust along the track. By
half past two the stand was well filled. Ferry Hill had preëmpted the
south end, and her small band of supporters were cheering vigorously.
Below, about the starting-line for the 100 yards’ dash, a dozen
officials, instructors and students of the two schools, were awaiting
the contestants.

Near the curve of the field to the right the entries for the shot put
and broad jump had gathered, the white costumes with their dashes of
cherry-and-black or of brown gleaming brightly against the vivid green
of the level turf. The breezes fluttered the handkerchiefs laid along
the runway to indicate the points at which the jumpers were to find
their strides, and whipped the loose trunks tightly against straining
leg muscles as the white-clad bodies raced over the brown path.

The clerk of the course, a Hammond youth, bawled importantly for the
contestants in the trial heats of the 100 yards and presently eight
youths gathered at the head of the stretch. Three were Ferry Hill
entries and five wore the Hammond colors. Four at a time they sped down
the alleys and Ferry Hill found cause for rejoicing, for three of her
sprinters had qualified for the finals--Post, Eaton and Walker--while
only one Hammond man had made good.

Up on the grand stand Harry signified her delight by waving the
brown-and-white banner she carried. Beside her was Mr. Kearney, and
beyond him Mrs. Emery and the Doctor. The visitor had pleaded ignorance
and Harry was explaining volubly.

“There are twelve events, you see,” she said. “And in each one the
first four fellows count. The winner makes five points, the one coming
in second makes three, third place counts two and fourth place one.
That makes eleven points for each event, or 132 points for the meet.
And of course the team that wins a majority of the 132 points wins the
meet. Do you see what I mean?”

“I think so. But wouldn’t it be possible for each side to make half of
132 points? Then nobody would win, eh?”

“It would be a tie. But it doesn’t very often happen that way, Mr.
Kearney. I hope it won’t to-day, don’t you?”

“Yes, it’s better to have it decided one way or the other, I guess.
What are they going to do now?”

“I think this is the 120 yards’ hurdles; the high hurdles, they call
it. We won’t do much in this because we have only two fellows entered
and neither of them is much good. That’s Kirby, the tall one. He’s one
of the pitchers on the base-ball team.”

“I see. He’s a fine looking boy, Miss Harriet. Here they come! Hello,
some one’s taken a tumble!”

“It’s Glidden,” said Harry disappointedly. “We won’t get a single point
out of this, I’ll-- Oh, yes we will! Go it, Kirb! Go it! There! He was
second, wasn’t he?”

But when the megaphone was pointed in their direction, Baxter, official
announcer, gave Hammond first, second and fourth places and Ferry Hill
third.

“That makes Hammond 9 and Ferry Hill 2,” said Harry. “Well, we didn’t
expect anything in the high hurdles, so we’re really two points ahead,
aren’t we?”

“Half-milers this way!” called the clerk.

Ferry Hill had three candidates for this event, Porter, Pryor and
Kirby, to Hammond’s six. But both Roy and Pryor were expected to win
places, and Ferry Hill’s supporters cheered confidently. Then the
nine runners were poised on the mark, the pistol barked, and there was
a little struggle for the pole. As they swept by the stand Holmes of
Hammond was making the pace, with Pryor close behind him and Roy well
back in the bunch. At the first turn they strung out along the inner
rim of the track, the pace-maker taking it very easy indeed. Into the
back-stretch they went, nine white-clad bodies agleam in the sunlight,
and a cheer arose from where the brown-and-white flags fluttered as
Pryor stepped around Holmes and took the lead, setting a pace that
opened up several yards between them. After the next turn the runners
were well stretched out along the track, and as they swept into the
home-stretch and finished the first lap and the first half of the
distance it was evident that only five of the nine would dispute the
points. These were Porter and Pryor of Ferry Hill and Holmes, James and
Garrison of Hammond. Kirby apparently had not recovered from the high
hurdles and was running next to last, quite out of the race.

As the runners passed the stand the flags waved and the cheers urged
them on. It was Pryor, Holmes, James, Porter and Garrison now, and this
order was maintained until they were once more in the back-stretch.
Then Roy passed James and Holmes took the lead from Pryor. An eighth
of a mile from the finish the pace increased. Garrison dropped farther
and farther behind and Roy crept past Pryor. At the turn the latter,
run out, dropped behind James and finally was overhauled by Garrison.
Into the home-stretch sped the first three runners with scarce two
yards dividing first man from last. The stand was on its feet, flags
waving and voices straining. Then, twenty yards from the tape, James
of Hammond spurted magnificently and had passed the two ahead of him
before they knew it. Roy with a final effort worked loose from Holmes
and crossed the line a bare two yards back of James. Hammond 8, Ferry
Hill 3.

“Oh,” said Harry disappointedly, “that’s too bad. Dick was counting on
six points in the eight-eighty. Let me see, that makes the score 17 to
5 in Hammond’s favor. Isn’t that just too mean for anything?”

Mr. Kearney agreed smilingly that it was. “But it’s early yet,” he
said. “They’re putting up the strings again. What does that mean?”

“Final of the hundred yards’ dash,” answered Harry. “Oh, I do hope Chub
will win this!”

“Chub? Let me see now, he’s one of the four conspirators--I mean one of
the society, isn’t he?”

“Yes. His real name is Tom, you know. That’s he; the boy with the white
sweater over his shoulders; see?”

“Yes. So that’s Tom? And your name is Harriet; and then there’s a Dick,
too, isn’t there?”

“Why, yes, Dick Somes.”

“To be sure. And the fourth one?”

“Roy, the boy that just came in second in the half-mile.”

“Thank you,” said Mr. Kearney. “I think I have you straightened out
now. Shall we stand up so we can see this better?”

Ferry Hill was certain of three places in the 100 yards since she had
three of the four entries, but it was going to make some difference
which those places were. Chub and Post and Walker were crouching side
by side, each at the head of his alley, and with them was the lone
Hammond entry, a fellow named Ranck. Mr. Kearney ventured a mild pun on
the name, but Harry was too intent to heed it. Then the pistol broke
the stillness and the four leaped away from the mark and came charging
down the track. It was all over in an instant--to be exact, ten and two
fifths seconds--with Chub first by a yard and Ranck in second place.
Harry mourned the loss of second place but looked cheerful as she
scrawled a very big, black 8 to Ferry Hill’s credit. The score so far
stood Ferry Hill 13, Hammond 20; and that looked lots better than 5 to
17.

There was quite a field for the 220 yards’ dash, and three trial heats
were run before the participants in the finals were decided on. In the
end Ferry Hill won two places and Hammond two, Post and Chub Eaton
qualifying for the brown-and-white.

The quarter-mile run was a tame affair, Holmes of Hammond taking the
lead at the start and never being once headed to the tape. Roy won
second place again, followed by Pryor and Kirby, and Ferry Hill’s stock
went up several points. The score now stood 19 for the visitors and
25 for the home team. Things began to look more cheerful, and Dick,
looking over Sid’s shoulder as the manager reckoned up the points, felt
encouraged and even hopeful. But ten minutes later the prospect was
very black indeed. The result of the pole vault was made known, giving
Hammond 9½ points and Ferry Hill 1½, Cullum having tied a Hammondite
for third place. Then the best Glidden was able to do in the low
hurdles was to come in a bad fourth.

“The dickens!” wailed Sid. “That gives them 45½ to our 21½! I guess
it’s all over but the shouting, Dick.”

“And I guess we won’t have to do any of that,” was the answer. “Isn’t
the broad jump finished? I’m going over to see. By the way, what comes
next? Two-twenty dash? Where’s Chub? Find him and send him over to me,
Sid.”

But the announcer was already busy with his crimson megaphone, and Dick
stopped to listen. Ferry Hill had secured first and third places in the
broad jump and second, third and fourth in the shot put. Sid’s pencil
worked busily as the cheers swept across from the south end of the
stand.

“That’s better,” breathed Dick as he watched the totals appear. “Ferry
Hill 34½, Hammond 54½.”

“We’ve only gained four points,” objected Sid.

“Yes, but I didn’t look for anything much in either of those events,
and we got the big end of each. Give us six points in the high jump,
six in the hammer throw and five in the two-twenty, Sid, and see what
it foots up.”

“Only 51½,” said Sid.

“Is that all?” Dick frowned perplexedly. “We’ll have to find some more
somewhere, then. Oh, Chub! Chub Eaton! Where’s Post? Hurry him up; I
want to see you both.”

Affairs began to look up for Ferry Hill after the 220 yards’ dash, for
Post won handily and Chub found the tape a bare six inches ahead of
Ranck of Hammond. Another Hammondite, Custis, took fourth. And when the
time was announced it was found that Post had simply knocked the top
off of Hammond’s record for that event. The latter was 24⅖ seconds,
and Post had finished in 24 flat. Then came the results of the high
jump and the hammer throw, and Ferry Hill’s supporters went crazy with
delight. In each event the wearers of the brown-and-white had done
better than any one had dared expect. In the jump they had secured all
but two points and in the hammer throw Fernald had sent the weight 129
feet 6 inches, securing first place by over four feet from his nearest
competitor, Harris. Post had got third place, leaving only one point
for the cherry-and-black. And the score showed Ferry Hill ahead, 61½ to
59½!

Up on the stand Harry was dancing with glee, deaf to the smiling
remonstrances of her mother. Mr. Kearney, too, made no effort to
disguise his pleasure and excitement.

“Well, I fancy that means a victory for us, eh, Miss Harriet?” he
asked. “There’s only one more event, isn’t there?”

“Yes, the mile run,” answered Harry breathlessly. “And--oh, where’s
my pencil? Quick! Thank you. Oh, dear! We’ve got to get at least five
points or Hammond will win yet! We must get first place or second and
third! Oh, I don’t believe we can ever do it! There’s only Dick and
Chase; the others aren’t any good at all! Dick! Dick! You’ve got to
win!”

“Well, from what I’ve heard of him, I think he’s quite likely to,” said
Mr. Kearney smilingly.

“He hasn’t been doing very well, though,” grieved Harry. “You see, he’s
had so much to think about and attend to! I don’t see how it could be a
tie, but if it should--would--do we get the money?”

“I’d have to think about that,” answered Mr. Kearney gravely. “You
recollect that the terms called for a victory.”

“Oh, I know! But wouldn’t it be awful if we lost the dormitory by half
a point?”

“I suppose it would,” said he, looking smilingly at her pale face.
“Well, I won’t promise, Miss Harriet, but maybe in that case I might
give something, say a thousand or two. How would that do?”

“It--it would be better than nothing,” answered Harry without
enthusiasm. “Oh, I do wish they’d hurry!”

“It is a bit uncomfortable, this suspense. We ought to call this race
the Dormitory Stakes, eh?”

“It isn’t too late to cancel that wager, Mr. Kearney,” laughed the
Doctor, leaning across. But the other shook his head.

“I don’t want to, Doctor. That check will be cheap for a victory over
our old rival.”

“There!” cried Harry. “They’re on their marks! Why, Warren isn’t there!
That gives us only three men! Isn’t it dreadful?”

“Which is Dick Somes?” asked the visitor. Harry pointed him out with a
finger that trembled.

“The big boy with the yellowish hair,” she whispered. “And the little
one is Chase. And Townsend’s next to him on the left. The boy with
black hair, the one with the cherry-and-black ribbon across his shirt
is Connor! He’s Hammond’s crack distance runner. I--I hope he won’t
win!”

“So do I,” answered Mr. Kearney. “They’re off!”

The pistol broke sharply on the air and the field of eight runners
leaped forward.

“_Oh!_” breathed Harry. “It’s four times around, and I’m just sure I’ll
die before they finish!”

There’s nothing very spectacular about a mile race. It is rather a test
of endurance than of speed when compared to the middle distances and
sprints, and as the time for the distance is likely to be somewhere
around five minutes the pace is not fast enough to be inspiring to the
spectators. As the runners took the first corner they seemed rather to
be out for a gentle exercise jog than taking part in a race which, no
matter how it was won, would decide the fortunes of the day.

Ferry Hill had entered Dick Somes, Chase and Townsend. Warren had
intended to run, but at the last moment had funked it. For Hammond
there were Connor, Parish, White, Temple and Frothingham. Connor held
the Hammond record of 5 minutes 7⅗ seconds and Parish was credited with
something very close to that. The other wearers of the cherry-and-black
were unknown quantities. Dick had done the mile the year before in
about 5 minutes and 6 seconds, but so far this spring had not been
able to come within ten seconds of that time. Chase was still slower
and Townsend had absolutely no hope of being able to finish inside the
half-minute. But he was going to be useful.

At the beginning of the second lap he pushed to the front and took the
lead, none disputing it with him. For the next lap he set a hard pace.
Connor was running fifth, with Dick dogging him closely, stride for
stride. At half the distance Townsend drew aside, badly tuckered, and
the lead went to Temple of Hammond. By this time the eight runners were
strung out for fifty yards, with Temple, Parish, Chase, Connor and Dick
well together in the van. As they went by the stand on the beginning
of the third lap the cheering became frantic. As though in response,
Connor suddenly drew out and passed Chase. But Dick was close after
him, and at the turn they had settled down again. Temple gave the lead
to Parish and gradually dropped back. Then Chase began to lose and the
hearts of Ferry Hill’s supporters sank. It was Parish, Connor and Dick
now, with Temple and Chase fighting together yards behind. Then they
were crossing the line and the last lap had begun.

The voices of the judges announcing the fact were drowned in the shouts
of entreaty and encouragement that broke from the spectators.

“There’s only Dick left!” wailed Harry. “Chase is out of it entirely!
If Dick doesn’t win we’ll lose! Dick! Dick! Run! You’ve got to win,
Dick!”

But Harry’s frantic entreaty was lost in the babel of sound and the
runners took the turn, clinging closer to the inner rim of the cinder
track. Around the curve they went, Parish, Connor, Dick, one close
behind the other, heads up, elbows in, strides matched.

So far Dick had stood the strain well, but now the work was beginning
to tell on him. Breathing was getting difficult, his knees began to
feel a little bit uncertain and his head displayed a tendency to drop
back. He realized that to win better than second place was almost out
of the question. Both Connor and Parish were experienced runners, were
conducting the race according to some plan settled upon between them
and were not going to let their adversary pass if it was possible to
prevent it. And yet if Ferry Hill was to win the meet it was absolutely
necessary for him to reach the tape ahead of the others. If he came
in second and Chase, by good luck, came in fourth it would give them
four points, just enough to lose by one! So it was first place or
nothing--and Dick began to think it would be nothing.

He believed that somewhere on the back-stretch Parish would let
Connor by and at the same time try to block the enemy. Connor would
then hit up the pace, Parish would follow if he could and if not would
lag and make it necessary for Dick to run outside of him; and in the
last two hundred yards of the mile every effort, no matter how slight,
counts. The idea of risking all on a spurt, passing both opponents
and then trying to keep the lead to the tape occurred to him, but was
relinquished. He believed that he had enough strength left for a sprint
at the finish, but he doubted his ability to make the pace for the rest
of the distance.

The one encouraging thought that can come to one during a hard race
is that your opponent is probably just as tired and just as worried
as you are. And as Dick followed the others around the turn into the
back-stretch he made the most of that thought. If his own breath came
in scorching gasps from tired lungs so must that of Connor and Parish;
if his own legs ached, so must theirs; if he was at his wits’ end how
to get by them, they were at their wits’ end how to prevent him.

From across the field came the cheers of the watchers, but he was
scarcely aware of them. His whole mind was on the race, and he watched
Connor as a cat watches a mouse. For him the only sounds were the hard
breathing of the runners and the crunch of the cinders under foot. A
hundred yards behind, although he didn’t know it, Temple and Chase had
finished their battle and the former had won; Chase, with head thrown
back, was following gamely but hopelessly, already out of the race.

Yard by yard the back-stretch was conquered. The curve was already at
hand and still Dick’s opponents made no move. The three ran steadily
on, stride for stride. Perhaps they were waiting for him to try and
pass, hoping he would kill himself in a useless attempt to take the
lead. Well, he’d fool them! Then the wooden rim at his left began to
curve, and suddenly Connor had slipped from his place with a gasping
warning to Parish and had taken the lead. Dick went after him, but
as soon as he had drawn alongside of Parish that youth, watching for
him, quickly closed up behind Connor. Dick must either drop back to
third place again or run on the outside, covering more ground on the
turn than the enemy. Well, he was probably beaten anyway, and so he’d
stay where he was. Perhaps he could cheat Parish out of second place.
So around the turn they went, Connor hugging the pole in the lead,
Parish right behind him and Dick at his elbow. And now they were on the
home-stretch with the tape and the little knot of judges and timers
scarcely sixty yards away.

But what a distance sixty yards is when seventeen hundred have gone
before it! And what a deal may happen in that little stretch of cinder
path! The stand was almost deserted and the spectators were lined along
the track almost from the corner to a point beyond the finish, so that
the runners came on through a lane of gesticulating arms, waving flags
and caps and frantic noise.

Suddenly Connor’s head tipped back a little. Dick, watching, saw and
realized that the last struggle had begun. With a gasp for breath to
carry him on, he began his sprint at the same moment that Connor strove
to draw away. A dozen strides and Parish was no longer beside him. A
dozen more and he was almost even with the Hammond crack. But now his
breath threatened to go back on him utterly at every aching gasp and
his legs weighed hundreds of pounds. The hope of victory, born suddenly
back there by the turn, withered under the knowledge of defeat.

Then into his range of vision, standing sharply out against the
confusion of dark figures lining the track to the right, leaped a girl
in a white dress, a small, slim form with the reddest of hair and a
pale, entreating face. And in the moment that he saw her her hand shot
out toward him waving a little slip of white paper and beckoning him
on. And in the instant he remembered that there was more in this than
a victory over Hammond; that on his winning or losing depended the
success of the F. H. S. I. S.! To win meant a new dormitory for the
school; to lose--But he wasn’t going to lose now!

[Illustration: “‘And something else, too!’”]

Stride! Stride! Gasp! Gasp! He had an idea that Connor had vanished
into thin air; at least he was no longer at his elbow! Faces swept by
like strange blurs. The line was in front of him, half a dozen yards
away. He wondered why nobody spoke, why everything was so still; then
awoke to the knowledge that the shouting was deafening. Cries for
“Ferry Hill! Ferry Hill!” for “Hammond! Hammond!” rent the air. Another
stride--another--and then somebody got in his way and he couldn’t stop
and so tumbled over into somebody’s arms.

He had a dim idea that he was being dragged across the cinders. Then he
had no ideas at all for a minute. When he got a good, full hold on his
faculties again he opened his eyes to find Chub and Roy beside him. He
smiled weakly.

“Did I--win?” he gasped.

“Two yards to the good!” said Chub. “We’ve won the meet, Dick, by a
point: 66½ to 65½!”

“Yes,” cried another voice, “and something else, too! Look!”

Harry’s face, flushed, excited and radiant, bent over him as she held a
little slip of white paper before his eyes. Dick looked and read with
dizzy eyes:

    COUNTY NATIONAL BANK OF NEW YORK CITY.

    Pay to the order of Tom, Dick, and Harriet........
    Twenty-nine Thousand Three Hundred and Sixty and 20/100
    Dollars.

                                                 DAVID KEARNEY.


THE END




 Transcriber’s Notes:

 --Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).

 --Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.

 --Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.

 --Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.

 --The author’s em-dash style has been retained.






End of Project Gutenberg's Tom, Dick and Harriet, by Ralph Henry Barbour

*** 