The sophomores had captured four more freshmen, and marched all of the crowd down to the river front, when the band under Dick, sixteen strong, appeared. The latter came on yelling like Indians, and flourishing their sections of hose, and sticks and other things.
“Let ’em go! Let ’em go!” was the rallying cry, and then whack! whack! whack! down came the rubber clubs and the sticks on the backs of the second-year students.
“Fight ’em off!” came from the sophomores.
“Chase ’em away!” yelled Dudd Flockley; but hardly had he spoken when Max discharged the squirtgun, and the water took Flockley in the eye, causing him to yell with fright and retreat. Then Max turned the gun on Larkspur, soaking the latter pretty thoroughly.
Attacked from the rear, the sophomores had to let go their holds on their victims, and as soon as they were released Sam, Songbird and the others ran to the right and the left and joined the force under Dick.
All told, the freshmen now numbered twenty-three, while the sophomores could count up but fourteen. The second-year students were hemmed in and gradually forced nearer and nearer to the bank of the river.
“Let up! let up!” yelled several in alarm. “Don’t knock us overboard!”
“It’s nothing but mud here! I don’t want my new suit spoiled!” cried one.
“I can’t swim!” added another.
“I’ve got an idea,” whispered Tom to the others near him. “Shove ’em in the mud and water, or else make ’em promise not to take part in the necktie rush.”
“That’s the talk!” replied Dick. He caught hold of the sophomore in front of him. “All shove, fellows!” And the second-year students were gradually forced to the very edge of the river at a point where there was a little water and a good deal of dark, sticky mud. Of course they fought desperately to push the freshmen back, but they were outnumbered, as already told.
“Now, then, every fellow who will promise not to take part in the necktie rush Monday will be allowed to go free,” said Dick loudly. “The others must take their ducking in the water–and mud.”
“Let me go!” roared Dudd Flockley. “I’m not going to have this suit ruined!”
“I don’t want to get these patent leathers wet!” cried Jerry Koswell, who had on a new pair of shiny shoes.
“Then promise!” cried Sam, and “Promise!” “Promise!” came from many others.
Without delay several of the sophomores promised, and they were allowed to depart. Then the others began to show fight, and three managed to escape, among them being Dudd Flockley. The others were forced into the water and mud up to their knees. Then they cried out in alarm, and while two finally escaped, the others also promised to keep out of the necktie contest.
“Just wait!” snarled Jerry Koswell as he at last managed to pull himself out of the sticky mud. “Just wait, that’s all!” His patent-leather shoes were a sight to behold.
“Not so much fun when you are hazed yourself, is it?” asked Sam coolly.
“We’ll give it to ’em yet,” put in Bart Larkspur. “Lots of time between now and the closing of the term.” And then he and Koswell ran off to join Dudd Flockley. The three went to their rooms and cleaned up as best they could, and then took a walk down the road in the direction of Rushville.
“It was that Dick Rover who led the attack,” said Dudd Flockley. “Do you know what I think? I think he is going to try to make himself leader of the freshies.”
“Just what I thought, too,” answered Larkspur. “And if that’s the fact we ought to do all we can to pull him down.”
“Tom Rover is the fellow I am going to get after,” came from Jerry Koswell. He had not forgotten how Tom and Sam had sent him to the floor in the presence of Minnie Sanderson.
The three students walked a distance of half a mile when they saw approaching them a trampish-looking man carrying what looked to be a new dress-suit case. They looked at the fellow rather sharply and he halted as he came up to them.
“Excuse me,” he mumbled, “but did any of you gents lose this case?”
“Why, it must be Rover’s case!” cried Flockley. Nearly every one in the college had heard about the missing baggage.
“I found it in the bushes alongside the road,” went on the tramp. “Thought it might belong to some of the college gents.”
“Let me look at it,” said Koswell, and turned the case around. “Yes, it’s Rover’s,” he added, seeing the initials and the address.
“Better take it up to the college,” put in Larkspur.
“Wait, I’ll take it up,” said Jerry Koswell suddenly. “This belongs to a poor chap,” he added to the tramp. “He won’t be able to reward you, but I will. Here’s a quarter for you.” And he passed over the silver piece.
“Much obliged,” said the tramp. “Want me to carry it up to the buildings?”
“No, I’ll do that,” said Koswell, and then he winked at his cronies. The tramp went on and the three watched him disappear in the distance.
“What did you do that for, Jerry?” asked Flockley with interest. He surmised that something new was afoot.
“Oh, I did it for the fun of the thing,” answered Koswell coolly. “But maybe I can work it in somehow against that Rover bunch. Anyway, I’ll try.”
CHAPTER VIII
THE COLORS CONTEST
The next morning Tom was much surprised to find his missing dress-suit case standing in front of his room door.
“Hello! How did this get here?” he cried as he picked up the baggage.
“What’s that?” asked Sam, who was just getting up.
“Look!” answered his brother, and brought the case in. “Somebody must have found it and left it here while I was asleep.”
“Very kind, whoever he was,” said Sam. “Are the contents all right?”
Instead of answering Tom placed the suit case on a chair and started to unlock it.
“Hello, it’s unlocked!” he murmured. “I thought I had it locked.”
He shoved back the clasps and threw the case open. The contents were much jumbled, but he had expected this from the fact that the bag had been jounced out of the carriage.
“I guess the stuff is all here,” he said slowly, turning over the clothing and other things. “Somehow, I thought I had more in the case, though,” he added presently.
“Don’t you know what you had?”
“Well–er–I packed it in a hurry, you know. I wanted to go fishing, and so I got through as soon as I could. Oh, I guess it’s all right.”
Tom was too lively a youth to pay much attention to his personal belongings. Often he hardly knew what suit of clothing he had on or what sort of a necktie. The only times he really fixed up was when Nellie Laning was near. Why he did that only himself (and possibly Nellie) knew.
Sunday passed quietly. Some of the boys attended one or another of the churches in Ashton, and the Rovers went with them. Dudd Flockley and his cronies took a walk up the river, and reaching a warm, sunny spot, threw themselves down to smoke cigarettes and talk.
“Well, what did you do about the dress-suit case, Jerry?” asked Flockley with a sharp look at his crony.
“Returned it, as you know,” was the answer, and Jerry winked suggestively.
“I’d have flung the bag in the river before I would give it to such a chap as Tom Rover,” growled Larkspur.
“You trust me, Larky, old boy,” answered Jerry Koswell. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Humph!”
“I said I returned the case, but I didn’t say I returned all that was in it.”
“What do you mean by that?” demanded Flockley. “If you’ve got a secret, out with it.”
Koswell looked around to make certain that no outsider was near.
“I kept a few things out of the bag–some things that had Tom Rover’s name or his initials on them.”
“And you are going to–” went on Flockley.
“I am going to use ’em some day, when I get the chance.”
“Good!” cried Flockley. “I’ll help you, Jerry!”
“And so will I,” added Larkspur. “If we work it right we can get Tom Rover in a peck of trouble.”
On Monday morning the college term opened in earnest, and once again the Rovers had to get down to the “grind,” as Sam expressed it. But the boys had had a long vacation and were in the best of health, and they did not mind the studying.
“Got to have a good education if you want to get along nowadays,” was the way Dick expressed himself. “If you don’t learn you are bound to be at the mercy of anybody who wants to take advantage of your ignorance.”
“Dick, what are you going to do when you get out of college?” asked Tom.
“I don’t know–go into business, I imagine.”
“Oh, he’ll marry and settle down,” chimed in Sam. “He and Dora will live in an ivy-covered cottage like two turtle doves, and–“
Sam got no further, for a pillow thrown by Dick caught him full in the face and made him stagger.
“Sam is thinking of what he and Grace are going to do,” said Dick. “And you and Nellie will likely have a cottage across the way,” he added, grinning at Tom.
“Really!” murmured Tom, and got as red as a beet. “Say, call it off,” he added. “Do you know we have the necktie rush this afternoon?”
“It won’t amount to much,” answered Sam. “Too many sophs out of it.”
“Don’t you believe it,” said Dick. “Remember, the juniors come into this as well as the sophs.”
“Say, I’ve thought of a plan!” cried Tom. “Greatest ever! I’m going to patent it!” And he commenced to dance around in his excitement.
“What’s loose?” asked Songbird, coming up at that moment, followed by some others. “Tom, have you got a pain in your inwards?”
“No, an idea–it’s about the same thing,” responded Tom gaily. “We want to get the best of the second and third-year fellows during the necktie rush, and I think I know how we can do it. We’ll all sew our neckties fast!”
For a moment there was silence, and then, as the others caught the idea, they commenced to laugh.
“That’s it!” cried Sam. “I’ll sew mine as tight as a drum!”
“I’ll rivet mine on, if that will do any good,” added Dick.
“Sure thing!” came from Songbird, and he commenced to recite:
“Oh, the sophs and the juniors will try To steal from the freshies each tie;
But they will not win,
For we’ll fight them like sin–“
“And bust ’em right plumb in the eye!” finished Tom. “Oh, say, but will you all sew your neckties fast?”
“Sure!”
“And we’ll tell the rest to do so, too,” added another freshman who was present.
The news soon circulated, and was kept from all but the first-year students.
It must be confessed that many of the students found it hard to fix their minds on their lessons that afternoon. One boy, Max Spangler, brought on a great laugh when the following question was put to him:
“What great improvement in navigation did Fulton introduce?”
“Neckties,” answered Max abstractedly.
“Neckties?” queried the instructor in astonishment.
“I–er–I don’t mean neckties,” stammered the German-American student, “I mean steamboats.”
When the afternoon session was over the students hurried to their various rooms. The sophomores and the juniors who were to take part in the contest talked matters over, and as far as possible laid out a plan of action. It was decided that the largest and heaviest of the second and third-year students were to tackle the smallest freshmen first, while the others were to hold the rest of the first-year men at bay.
“We’ll get fifteen or twenty neckties first clip that way,” said one of the sophomores, “and it doesn’t matter who we get them from. A little chap’s tie counts as much as that of a two-hundred pounder.”
In the meantime the freshmen were busy following Tom’s advice and sewing their ties fast to their collars, shirts, and even their undershirts. Then Dick, who had, unconsciously almost, become a leader, called the boys into an empty recitation-room.
“Now, I’ve got a plan,” said he. “We want to bunch up, and all the little fellows and lightweights get in the center. The heavy fellows can take the outside and fight the others off. Understand?”
“Yes!”
“That’s a good idea!”
“Forward to the fray!” yelled Stanley, “and woe be to him who tries to get my tie! His blood be on his own head!” he added tragically.
“Forward!” cried Sam, “and let our watchword be, ‘Die, but no tie!'”
“Now don’t get excited,” said Dick. “Take it coolly, and I’m certain that when the time is up we’ll have the most of our ties still on.”
It was the custom to go out on the campus at a given time, and when the chapel bell sounded out the hour Dick led the freshmen forward. They came out of a side door in a body and formed around the flagstaff almost before the sophomores and juniors knew they had appeared.
The seniors took no part, but three had been “told off” to act as referees, and they stood around as if inspecting the buildings and the scenery. The instructors, who also knew what was coming, wisely kept out of sight.
“Come on, and at ’em!” called out Dudd Flockley, and this cry was quickly taken up by all the others who were to take part in the contest.
“Hello! They know a thing or two,” said Frank Holden, who was the sophomore leader in the attack. “They’ve got the little fellows in the middle.”
As tightly as possible the freshmen gathered around the flagstaff. Each wore a necktie of the college colors and it was fastened as tightly as strong thread could hold it.
“At ’em!” was the yell of the second and third-year lads. “Tear ’em apart! Pull the ties from ’em!”
And then they leaped in at the big freshmen, and on the instant a battle royal was started. Down went four boys on the campus, rolling over and over. Others caught each other by the hands and shoulders and wrestled valiantly.
Dick and Tom were in the front rank, with Sam directly behind them. Dick was caught by Frank Holden, and the two wrestled with might and main. Frank was big and strong, but Dick managed to hold him so that all the sophomore leader could do was to get his finger tips on the sought-for necktie.
Flockley tackled Tom, and much to his surprise was tripped up and sent flat on his back. Mad with sudden rage, Flockley scrambled up and let out a savage kick for Tom’s stomach. But Tom was too quick for the sophomore, and leaped to one side.
“Foul!” cried Tom.
“Don’t do that again!” called one of the seniors to Dudd. “If you do you’ll be ruled out.” Kicking and punching were prohibited by the rules. All the boys could do was to wrestle and throw each other, and either try to pull the neckties away or hold on to them.
On and on the battle waged, each minute growing hotter. Many of the students were almost winded, and felt that they could not endure the struggle much longer. Dick, Tom and Sam managed to keep their neckties, although Sam’s was torn loose by two sophomores who held him as in a vise until Stanley came to his assistance. When the time was half up eleven neckties had been captured–two of them almost torn to shreds.
“At ’em!” yelled Frank Holden. “We haven’t begun yet!”
“Hold ’em back!” was Dick’s rallying answer. “Don’t let ’em get near the little fellows!”
Again the contest raged, and this time with increased bitterness. In the melee some few blows were exchanged, but it must be admitted that one side was about as much to blame for this as the other. Three additional neckties were captured, making fourteen in all. As thirty-seven freshmen were in the contest, the sophomores and juniors had to capture five more neckties to win.
“Only three minutes more!” sang out one student, looking at his watch. “At ’em! Rip ’em apart!”
“Three minutes more!” yelled Dick. “Hold ’em back and we’ll win!”
The enemy fought with increased fury, and one more necktie was taken–the collar and collar band coming with it. But then of a sudden the chapel bell tolled out the hour.
“Time’s up!” was the cry.
“And we win!” came from a score of freshmen in huge delight.
“Look out! Look out!” cried several small youths in the center of the crowd.
Crack! It was the flagstaff, and all looked in that direction. The pole, old and decayed, was falling. It looked as if it would crush all who stood in its path.
CHAPTER IX
TOM IN TROUBLE
“Look out, the flagpole is coming down!”
“Stand from under, or you’ll be killed!”
Crack! came from the pole, and now many saw that it was breaking off close to the ground. Some of the students had clung to it during the contest, and the strain had been too much for the stick, which was much rotted just where it entered the ground.
Those on the outside of the crowd ran away with ease, but not so those who were hemmed in. Two of the smallest of the freshmen, Billy Dean and Charley Atwood, could not move fast enough, and one fell over the other, and both went down.
“Save me!” gasped one of the lads.
“Don’t let the pole come down on me!” screamed the other.
The flagstaff was falling swiftly, and Dick and many others saw that it would fall directly across Dean and Atwood unless its progress was stayed.
“Hold it up! Hold it up!” yelled Dick. “Hold it up, or they’ll be killed!”
He put up his hands to meet the pole, which was coming down across the front of the campus. Tom did likewise, and so did Frank Holden, Stanley Brown, and several others, including an extra tall and powerful senior.
It was a heavy weight, and for the moment the boys under it thought they would have to let it go. Over came the pole, and when it rested on the boys’ hands the top overbalanced the bottom and struck the ground, sending the lower end into the air. As this happened Billy Dean and Charley Atwood were hauled out of harm’s way. Then the pole was dropped to the campus with a thud.
For several seconds all who stood near were too dazed to speak. Then a cheer arose for those who had held the flagstaff up long enough for the small youths to be rescued.
“Say, that was a close shave!” exclaimed Sam, He, like a good many others, was quite pale.
“It was indeed,” said a senior who had come up. “The fellows who held the pole up deserve a good deal of credit.”
“Dick Rover suggested it,” said Songbird, “Good for you, Dick!” he added warmly.
The falling of the flagstaff sobered the whole party of students, yet the freshmen were jubilant over the fact that they had won in the colors contest.
“And we’ll wear the colors this term,” cried Tom proudly.
“So we will!” called out others in a chorus. “We’ll wear ’em good and strong, too!” And they did. The very next day some of the lads came out with neckties twice the ordinary size, and with hat bands several inches wide, all, of course, in the Brill colors.
Billy Dean and Charley Atwood were much affected by what had occurred, and quickly retired from the scene. But later both of the small students thanked Dick and the others for what had been done for them. The broken flagstaff was hauled away by the laborers of the place, and inside of a week a new pole, much larger than the old one, and set in concrete, was put up.
For several days after the contest over the colors matters ran along smoothly at Brill. The Rover boys made many more friends, and because of his work during the necktie rush Dick was chosen as the leader of the freshmen’s class.
“On Friday I am going to fix Tom Rover,” said Jerry Koswell to Dudd Flockley. “Just wait and see what I do–and keep your mouth shut.”
“I’ll keep my mouth shut right enough,” answered Dudd, “but what’s in the wind?”
“I’m going to pay off Professor Sharp for some of his meanness–and pay off Tom Rover at the same time.”
“Give me a map of the proceedings. I’m too tired to guess riddles, Jerry.”
“Well, you know how Sharp called me down to-day in English?”
“Sure!”
“Well, I’ve learned that he just received a new photograph of some lady–I think his best girl. He has it on the mantle in his room. I’m going to doctor that picture, and I’m going to lay the blame on Tom Rover.”
“How will you do it?”
“By using something I got out of Rover’s dress-suit case.”
“Oh, I see!”
“Sharp will suspect Rover at once, because he and Rover had a few words yesterday.”
“Good! I hope he catches it well–Rover, I mean,” answered Dudd Flockley.
Saturday was more or less of a holiday at Brill, and the three Rover boys planned to go to town. Incidentally, they wished to learn if Dora Stanhope and the Laning girls had as yet arrived at Hope Seminary. They had received no letters from the girls since coming to Brill, and were growing anxious.
Tom was dressing to go to town when there came a knock on his door, and one of the proctors presented himself.
“Thomas Rover, you are wanted at the office immediately,” said the man.
“What for?” asked Tom.
“Don’t ask me, ask Professor Sharp,” answered the proctor, and looked at Tom keenly.
Wondering what could be the matter, Tom finished dressing, and in a few minutes presented himself at the office. President Wallington and Professor Sharp were both waiting for him.
“So you’ve come at last, have you, you young rascal!” cried Abner Sharp angrily. “How dare you do such an outrageous thing?”
“Gently, professor,” remonstrated the president of Brill. “You are not yet certain–“
“Oh, he did it, I am sure of it!” spluttered Professor Sharp. “I declare I ought to have him locked up!”
“Did what?” demanded Tom, who was much mystified by what was going on.
“You know well enough, you young reprobate!” stormed the instructor.
“See here, Professor Sharp, I’m neither a rascal nor a reprobate, and I don’t want you to call me such!” cried Tom, growing angry himself.
“You are, and I will have you to understand–“
“I am not, and if you call me bad names again I’ll–I’ll–knock you down!” And Tom doubled up his fists as he spoke.
“Rover, be quiet!” exclaimed Doctor Wallington, so sternly that both Tom and Professor Sharp subsided. “I’ll have no scene in this office. You must behave yourself like a gentleman while you are here. Professor, you must not call a student hard names.”
“But this outrage, sir!” spluttered the instructor.
“We’ll soon know the truth of the matter.”
“I’d like to know what you are talking about,” said Tom. “I haven’t committed any outrage, so far as I know.”
“Didn’t you do this?” cried Abner Sharp, and thrust under Tom’s nose a photograph of large size. The picture had once represented a fairly good-looking female of perhaps thirty years of age, but now the hair was colored a fiery red, and the end of the nose was of the same hue while in one corner of the dainty mouth was represented a big cigar, with the smoke curling upward. Under the photograph was scrawled in blue crayon, “Ain’t she my darling?'”
The representation struck Tom as so comical that he was compelled to laugh outright; he simply couldn’t help it. It was just such a joke as he might have played years before, perhaps on old Josiah Crabtree, when at Putnam Hall.
“Ha! So you are even willing to laugh in my face, are you!” almost screamed Abner Sharp, and rushing at Tom he caught the youth and shook him roughly. “Do you–er–know that this lady is my–my affianced wife?”
“Let me go!” cried Tom, and shook himself loose. “Excuse me, sir. I know I hadn’t ought to laugh, but it looks so–so awfully funny!” And Tom had to grin again.
“Rover!” broke in the president of Brill sternly, “aren’t you ashamed to do such a thing as this?”
“Why–er–what do you mean, sir?”
“Just what I said.”
“Oh!” A light began to break in on the fun-loving Rover’s mind. “Do you think I did this?”
“Didn’t you?”
“Of course he did!” fumed Professor Sharp. “And now he is willing to laugh over his dastardly work!”
“I didn’t do it, sir,” said Tom firmly.
“You are certain?” It was the head of the college who asked the question.
“Yes, sir. I never saw that picture before.”
“But I have the proof against you!” fairly shouted Abner Sharp. “It is useless for you to deny your guilt.”
“I say I am not guilty.”
“Isn’t this your box, Rover?”
As Professor Sharp uttered these words he brought to light a German silver case which Tom had picked up in a curiosity shop in New York. The case had his name engraved on it, and contained pencils, crayons, and other things for drawing.
“Where did you get that?” demanded the youth.
“Never mind where I got it. Isn’t it yours?”
“Yes.”
“Ha! Do you hear that, Doctor Wallington?” cried Abner Sharp in triumph. “He admits the outfit is his!”
“So I see,” said the president of Brill, and if anything his face grew a trifle more stern. “Then you admit your guilt, Rover?” he questioned.
“What! That I defaced the photograph?”
“Yes.”
“No, sir! Didn’t I say I had never seen the picture before?”
“This photograph was in Professor Sharp’s room, on the mantel. The room was locked up, and the professor carried the key. This box was found on the table, beside some books. You had some difficulty with the professor a day or two ago in the classroom.”
“I didn’t touch the picture, and I haven’t been near Professor Sharp’s room,” answered Tom stoutly. “If I was there, would I be fool enough to leave that box behind, with my name engraved on it? And if the door was locked how would I get in?”
“Did you lend the box to anybody?”
“No. The fact is, I–er–I thought I had left the box home. I–Oh!”
“Well?”
“I think maybe the box was in my dress-suit case, the case I lost. But it wasn’t in the case when it was left at my door that morning.”
“Oh, nonsense!” muttered Professor Sharp. “He is guilty, sir, and he might as well own up to it first as last.”
“I have told the strict truth!” cried Tom hotly. “I am not in the habit of telling falsehoods.”
“Have you any other proof against Rover, Professor Sharp?”
“Not now, but I may be able to pick up more later.”
“Hum! This is certainly a serious matter. Rover, you will go to your room and remain there until I send for you again.”
“Can’t I go down to town?” asked Tom.
“Not for the present. I intend to get to the bottom of this affair, if I possibly can. If you are innocent you shall not suffer. But at present it looks to me as if you were guilty. You may go.”
“But, sir–“
“Not another word at present. I have other matters to attend to. I shall call on you later. But remain in your room until I send somebody for you.”
An angry answer arose to Tom’s lips, but he checked it. In the college Doctor Wellington’s word was law, and he knew he would only make matters worse by attempting to argue. With a heavy heart he turned, gazed coldly at Professor Sharp, and left the office.
CHAPTER X
SONGBIRD MAKES A DISCOVERY
“It’s all up with me,” said Tom to his brothers when he met them in the hall. “I can’t go to town.”
“Why not?” asked Sam.
“Got to remain in my room until Doctor Wallington sends for me.”
“What have you been doing, Tom?” came from Dick.
“Nothing.” And then Tom told of what had occurred in the office. His brothers listened with much interest.
“This is the work of some enemy,” said Sam quickly.
“And the one who got hold of the dress-suit case,” added Dick. “Tom, do you suspect any one?”
“Only in a general way–Koswell, Flockley, Larkspur, and that crowd.”
“It’s too bad.”
“Say, but that picture was a sight!” cried the fun-loving Rover, and gunned broadly. “No wonder old Sharp was mad. I’d be mad myself, especially if it was a photo of my best girl.”
“I hope the doctor doesn’t keep you in the room all day,” said Sam.
“You and Dick might as well go to town without me,” returned Tom with a sigh that he endeavored to suppress. “Your staying here won’t do me any good.”
“What will you do?”
“Oh, read or study. It will give me a chance to catch up in my Latin. I was a bit rocky in that yesterday. I can bone away until the president sends a special message for me.”
“Want us to get anything for you?” questioned Dick.
“Yes, a good fat letter from–well, a fat letter, that’s all.”
“Postmarked Cedarville, and in Nellie Laning’s handwriting,” came from Sam slyly.
“I didn’t know they postmarked letters in handwriting,” answered Tom innocently.
“Oh, you know what I mean.”
“Sure, Sam, for I know you’re looking for a letter, too. Well, run along, children, and play,” said Tom, and a minute later Sam and Dick set off for Ashton.
Tom did not feel as lighthearted as his words would seem to indicate. He knew that the charge against him was a serious one, and he saw no way of clearing himself. The finding of the box with his name on it seemed to be proof positive against him.
“No use of talking, the minute I get to school I seem to get into trouble,” he soliloquized. “Wonder if they’ll put me in a cell, like old Crabtree did at Putnam Hall? If they do I’ll raise a kick, sure as eggs are unhatched chickens!”
Tom sat down to study, but he could not fix his mind on his lessons. Then he heard somebody come along the hallway and turn into the next room.
“Must be Songbird, or else one of the servants,” he thought. “Guess I’ll take a look.” If it was Songbird, he could chat with his friend for a while.
He went to the next room. As he opened the door he saw Songbird, with his back toward him. The so-styled poet was waving his arms in the air and declaiming:
“The weeping winds were whispering through the wood, The rolling rill ran ’round the ragged rock; The shepherd, with his sunny, smiling face, Was far away to feed his flitting flock. Deep in the dingle, dank and dark–“
“I thought I heard an old crow bark!” finished Tom. “Say, Songbird, how much is that poetry by the yard–or do you sell it by the ton?” he went on.
At the sound of Tom’s voice the would-be poet gave a start. But he quickly recovered. He scowled for a moment and then took on a look of resignation.
“You’ve spoiled one of the best thoughts I ever had,” he said.
“Don’t you believe it, Songbird,” answered Tom. “I’ve heard you make up poetry worth ten times that. Don’t you remember that little sonnet you once composed, entitled ‘Who Put Ink in Willie’s Shoes?’ It was great, grand, sublime!”
“I never wrote such a sonnet!” cried Songbird. “Ink in shoes, indeed! Tom, you don’t know real poetry when you see it!”
“That’s a fact, I don’t. But, say, what’s on the carpet, as the iceman said to the thrush?”
“Nothing. I thought I’d write a few verses, that’s all. Thought you were going to town with Sam and Dick?”
“Can’t.” And once again Tom had to tell his story. He had not yet finished when Songbird gave an exclamation.
“It fits in!” he cried.
“Fits in? What?” asked Tom.
“What I heard a while ago.”
“What did you hear?”
“Heard Flockley, Koswell and Larkspur talking together. Koswell said he had fixed you, and that you were having a bad half hour with the president.”
“Where was this?”
“In the library. I was in an alcove, and they didn’t see me. I was busy reading some poetry by Longfellow–fine thing–went like this–“
“Never mind. Chop out the poetry now, Songbird. What more did they say?”
“Nothing. They walked away, and I–er–I got so interested in making up verses I forgot all about it until now.”
“I wish you had heard more. Do you know where they went to?”
“No, but I can look around if you want me to.”
“I wish very much that you would. I can’t leave, or I’d go myself.”
A few more words followed, and then Songbird went off to hunt up the Flockley crowd. On the campus he met Max Spangler.
“Yes, I saw them,” said the German-American student in answer to a question. “They are down along the river, just above the boathouse.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll show you if you want me to,” went on Max.
“You might come along, if you have nothing else to do,” answered Songbird.
The two walked toward the river, and after a few minutes espied Flockley and the others sitting on some rocks, in the sun, talking earnestly.
“I want to hear what they are saying,” said Songbird. “I have a special reason.” And at Max’s look of surprise he told something of what had happened.
“If Koswell is that mean he ought to be exposed,” said Max. “I don’t blame him for playing a trick on old Sharp, but to lay the blame on Tom–why, that’s different.”
“Will you come along?”
“If you want me to.”
“I don’t want to drag you into trouble, Max.”
“I dink I can take care of myself,” answered the German-American student.
The pair passed around to the rear of the spot where Flockley and his cronies were located. Here was a heavy clump of brushwood, so they were able to draw quite close without being seen.
The talk was of a general character for a while, embracing football and other college sports, and Songbird was disappointed. But presently Jerry Koswell began to chuckle.
“I can’t help but think of the way I put it over Tom Rover,” he exclaimed. “I’ll wager old Sharp will make him suffer good and proper.”
“Maybe they’ll suspend Rover,” said Bart Larkspur. “But that would be carrying it pretty far, wouldn’t it?”
“They won’t suspend him, but he’ll surely be punished,” came from Dudd Flockley. “By the way, are you sure it was a photo of Sharp’s best girl?”
“Yes; but she isn’t a girl, she’s a woman, and not particularly good-looking at that,” answered Jerry Koswell.
“Well, Sharp isn’t so very handsome,” answered Larkspur. “His nose is as sharp as his name.”
“I suppose Rover will wonder how somebody got hold of that case of pencils and crayons,” remarked Flockley. “If he–“
“Hello, Max!” cried a voice from behind the bushes, and the next moment a stout youth landed on Max Spangler’s back, carrying him down with a crash in the brushwood. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
At the interruption the whole Flockley crowd started to their feet, and turning, beheld not only Max and the boy who had come up so suddenly, but also Songbird. The latter was nearest to them, and Koswell eyed him with sudden suspicion.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, while Max and his friend were wrestling in a good-natured way in the bushes.
“Oh, I’ve been listening to some interesting information,” answered Songbird.
“Playing the eavesdropper, eh?” came from Flockley with a sneer.
“If so, it was for a good purpose,” answered the would-be poet warmly.
“Say, Jerry, you want to look out for him!” cried Larkspur warningly. “He rooms with Dick Rover, remember. They are old chums.”
“I know that,” said Koswell. He faced Songbird again. “How long have you been here?” he cried angrily.
“That is my business, Koswell. But I heard enough of your talk to know how you tried to put Tom Rover in a hole. It’s a mean piece of business, and it has got to be stopped.”
“Bah!”
“You can ‘bah!’ all you please, but I mean what I say. To play a joke is one thing, to blame it on a fellow student who is innocent is another. As the poet Shelley says–But what’s the use of wasting poetry on a chap like you? Max, you heard what was said, didn’t you?”
By this time the German-American student was free of his tormentor, a happy-go-lucky student named Henry Cale. He nodded to Songbird.
“Yes, I heard it,” he said, and gave Koswell a meaning look.
“Fine business to be in, listening around corners,” sneered Larkspur.
“Say that once more and I’ll punch your head!” cried Max, doubling up his fists.
“What are you fellows going to do?” questioned Koswell. He was beginning to grow alarmed.
“That depends on what you fellows do,” returned Songbird.
“Why–er–do you think I am going to the doctor and–er–confess?”
“You have got to clear Tom Rover.”
“Our word is as good as yours,” said Larkspur.
“Then you are willing to tell a string of falsehoods, eh?” said Songbird coldly.
“I didn’t say so.”
“But you meant it. Well, Larkspur, it won’t do. I know about this, and so does Max. Koswell has got to clear Tom Rover, and that is all there is to it.”
“Will you keep quiet about me if I clear Rover?” asked Jerry Koswell eagerly.
“That depends on what Tom Rover says. I am going right to him now and tell him what I heard.”
“And I’ll go along,” said Max. He turned to Henry Cale. “You will have to excuse me, Henry. This is a private affair of importance.”
“Sure,” was the ready answer. “I wouldn’t have butted in if I had known something was doing,” and Henry walked off toward the college buildings.
“Just tell Tom Rover to wait–we’ll fix it up somehow,” cried Jerry to Songbird and Max as the pair departed. “It’s all a–er–a mistake. I’m–er–sorry I got Rover into it–really I am.”
“No doubt of it, now!” answered Songbird significantly. “Evildoers are usually sorry–after they are caught!”
CHAPTER XI
HOW TOM ESCAPED PUNISHMENT
Dick and Sam were good walkers, so it did not take them long to reach Ashton. While covering the distance they talked over Tom’s dilemma, but failed to reach any conclusion concerning it.
“It’s too bad,” said Sam, “especially when the term has just opened. It will give Tom a black eye.”
“I don’t think he’ll stand for too much punishment, being innocent, Sam. He’ll go home first.”
“I was thinking of that. But we don’t want to be here with Tom gone.”
Arriving at Ashton, the boys hurried to the post-office. The mail for the college was in, and among it they found several letters from home and also epistles from Dora Stanhope and the Laning girls.
“Here’s one for Tom–that will cheer him up a bit,” said Dick, holding up one addressed in Nellie Laning’s well-known hand.
The boys sat down in an out-of-the-way corner to read their letters. Dick had a communication of ten pages from Dora, and Sam had one of equal length from Grace. Then there was one for all the boys from their father, and another from their Aunt Martha.
“The girls are coming next Wednesday,” said Dick. “I hope we can get down to the depot when they arrive.”
“Don’t forget poor Tom, Dick,”
“Yes. Isn’t it too bad?”
“Nellie will cry her eyes out if he is sent away.”
“Oh, we’ve got to fix that up somehow.”
Having read the letters carefully, the boys went to one of the stores to make some purchases, and then drifted down to the depot. A train was coming in, but they did not expect to see anybody they knew. As a well-dressed young man, carrying a suit case, alighted, both gave an exclamation:
“Dan Baxter!”
The individual they mentioned will need no introduction to my old readers. During their days at Putnam Hall the Rover boys had had in Dan Baxter and his father enemies who had done their best to ruin them. The elder Baxter had repented after Dick had done him a great service, but Dan had kept up his animosity until the Rovers imagined he would be their enemy for life. But at last Dan, driven to desperation by the actions of those with whom he was associating, had also repented, and it was the Rovers who had set him on his feet again. They had loaned him money, and he had gotten a position as a traveling salesman for a large wholesale house. How he was faring they did not know, since they had not seen or heard of him for a long time.
“Hello! You here?” cried Dan Baxter, and dropped his suit case on the depot platform. “Thought you were at the college.”
“Came down for an airing,” answered Dick. He held out his hand. “How goes it with you, Dan?”
“Fine! Couldn’t be better.” Baxter shook hands with both boys, and they could not help but notice how clean-cut and happy he appeared, quite in contrast to the careless, sullen Dan of old.
“Come on business?” inquired Sam.
“Yes.”
“What are you selling?” asked Dick.
“I am in the jewelry line now, representing one of the biggest houses in the United States. I was going through to Cleveland, but I made up my mind to stop off here and see you. I heard from one of the old boys that you were here.”
“I am sure I am glad to see you, Dan,” said Dick, “and glad to know you are doing well.”
“Maybe you’ll be a member of the firm some day,” added Sam with a smile.
“I don’t know about that. I’m willing to work, and the traveling suits me first-rate. They pay me a good salary, too–thirty dollars per week and all expenses.”
“Good enough!” cried Dick.
“I came to see you fellows,” went on Dan Baxter in a lower voice. “I haven’t forgotten what you did for me when I was on my uppers. It was splendid of you. I realize it more every day I live. My father is with me now–that is, when I’m home. We are happier than we ever were before.”
“That’s good,” murmured Sam.
“I want to see you all. Where is Tom?”
“Up to the college.” Sam did not deem it necessary to go into particulars.
“I’d like to see him, too. I’ve got something for each of you.”
“What is that?”
“Before I tell you I want you to promise you’ll accept it. And by the way, you got that money back, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, will you accept what I want to give you? I want to show you I appreciate your kindness.”
“We didn’t expect anything, Dan,” said Dick.
“Oh, I know that, Dick, but please say you’ll take what I have for you. It isn’t so very much, but it’s something.”
“All right, if you want it that way,” answered the oldest Rover, seeing that his former enemy was very much in earnest.
Dan Baxter put his hand in an inner pocket and brought forth three small packages.
“This is for you, Dick, and this for you, Sam,” he said. “The other is for Tom. They are all alike.”
The two Rovers undid the packages handed to them. Inside were small jewelry cases, and each contained a beautiful stickpin of gold, holding a ruby with three small diamonds around it.
“Say, this is fine!” murmured Sam.
“Dan, we didn’t expect this,” said Dick.
“But you said you’d accept,” pleaded Baxter. “They are all alike, as I said before. I had the firm make them to order, so there is nothing else like them on the market. The three diamonds represent you three brothers, and the ruby–well, when you look at that you can think of me, if you want to. And another thing,” went on Baxter, his face flushing a trifle, “the pins are settled for. They didn’t come out of my stock. I mention this because–because–” The young traveling salesman stopped in some confusion.
“Dan, we know you are not that kind,” said Dick hastily.
“Well, I was, but I’m not that kind any longer–everything I do is as straight as a string. I paid for those stickpins out of my wages. I hope you will all wear them.”
“I certainly shall,” said Dick. “I shall prize this gift very highly.”
“And so shall I,” added Sam.
Dan Baxter had heard something about their search for the fortune on Treasure Isle, and as they walked over to the hotel for lunch the Rovers gave him some of the details. In return he told them of some of his experiences on the road while representing a carpet house and another concern, as well as the jewelry manufacturers. He told them of several of the former pupils of Putnam Hall, including Fenwick better known as Mumps, who he said was now working in a Chicago hotel.
“You boys can rest assured of one thing,” said Dan Baxter during the course of the conversation, “if I can ever do you a good turn I’ll do it, no matter what it costs me.”
“That is very kind to say, Dan,” answered
Dick. “And let me say, if we can do anything more for you we’ll do it.”
The three youths spent several hours together and then Sam and Dick said they would have to get back to college. Secretly they were worried about Tom.
“Well, please give the pin to Tom,” said Baxter, “and if you feel like it, write me a letter some day,” and he told them of the cities he expected to visit during his next selling tour. Then the Rovers and their one-time enemy separated.
“Not at all like the old Dan Baxter,” was Sam’s comment,
“He is going to make a fine business man, after all,” returned Dick. “Well, I am glad of it, and glad, too, that he and his father are reconciled to each other.”
Sam and Dick had covered about half the distance back to Brill when they saw a figure striding along the country road at a rapid gait.
“Why, say, that looks like Tom!” cried Sam.
“It is Tom,” returned his big brother.
“Do you suppose he has run away?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps the doctor has suspended him.”
“Hello!” called Tom as he came closer. “Thought I’d find you in town yet. Come on back and have some fun.”
“What does this mean, Tom?” demanded Dick, coming to a halt in front of his brother. He saw at a glance that Tom looked rather happy.
“What does what mean, my dear Richard?” asked the fun-loving Rover in a sweet, girlish voice.
“You know well enough. Did you run away?”
“No. Walked away.”
“Without permission?” asked Sam.
“My dear Samuel, you shock me!” cried Tom in that same girlish voice.
“See here, let us in on the ground floor of the Sphinx,” cried Dick impatiently.
“I will, kind sirs,” answered Tom, this time in a deep bass voice. “I went to the room and remained there about an hour. Songbird went out on a still hunt, Max with him. The two overheard Jerry Koswell and his cronies talking, learned Jerry did the trick, came back and told me, and–“
“You told the president,” finished Sam.
“Not on your collar button,” answered Tom. “I waited. The president sent for me. I went. He tried to get me to confess, and then the telephone rang, and that did the biz.”
“Say, Tom, are you crazy?” demanded Dick.
“Crazy? Yes, I’m crazy with joy. Who wouldn’t be to get free so easily?”
“But explain it,” begged Sam.
“I can’t explain it. As I said, the president tried to make me confess, and of course I had nothing to confess. When the telephone rang I heard one voice and then two others, one after another. I think they belonged to Koswell, Flockley and Larkspur, but I am not sure. The voices talked to Doctor Wallington about ten minutes. He got mad at first and then calmed down. I heard him ask, ‘In Professor Sharp’s room?’ and somebody said ‘Yes.’ Four times he asked for names, but I don’t think he got them. Then he went out of the office and was gone about a quarter of an hour. When he returned he said, ‘Now, on your honor, for the last time, Rover, did you mar that photograph?’ and I said ‘No,’ good and hard. Then he said he believed me, and was sorry he had suspected me, and he added that I could go off for the rest of the day and enjoy myself, and here I am.”
“And you didn’t squeal on Koswell & Company?” asked Sam.
“Nary a squeal.”
“Do you imagine they confessed?”
“I think they told the president over the ‘phone that I was innocent, maybe the three swore to it, but I don’t think they gave their names.”
“What did they mean about Sharp’s room?”
“I was curious about that, and I found out from one of the servants. Sharp found an envelope under the door. It contained a five-dollar bill, and on it was written in a scrawl, ‘For a new photograph.'”
“Koswell & Company got scared mightily,” mused Dick. “Well, I am glad, Tom, that you are out of it.”
“And as a token of your escape we’ll present you with this,” added Sam, and brought forth the package from Dan Baxter. Tom was much surprised, and listened to the story about the former bully of Putnam Hall with interest.
“Good for Dan!” he cried. “I’ll write him a letter the first chance I get.”
“And here’s a letter from Nellie,” said Dick, “and one from father, and another from Aunt Martha.”
“Hurrah! That’s the best yet!” exclaimed Tom. “I’ve got to read ’em all. Sit down and rest.” And he dropped down on a grassy bank and his brothers followed suit.
CHAPTER XII
IN WHICH THE GIRLS ARRIVE
“You may be sure of one thing, Tom,” remarked Dick while he and his brothers were walking back to Brill, some time later, “Jerry Koswell has it in for you. You had better watch him closely.”
“I intend to do so,” answered Tom. “But there is another thing which both of you seem to have forgotten. That’s about the dress-suit case. Did Koswell find it, and if so, did he take anything else besides the box of pencils and crayons?”
“He’ll never admit it,” put in Sam. “Not unless you corner him, as Songbird did about the photo.”
“He’ll have to tell where he got the box, Sam.”
“I doubt if you get any satisfaction.”
And Sam was right, as later events proved. When Tom tackled Koswell the latter said positively that he knew nothing of the dress-suit case. He said he had found the box on a stand in the hallway near Professor Sharp’s door, and had used it because it suited his purpose.
“But you saw it had my name on it,” said Tom.
“No, I didn’t. It was rather dark in the hall, and all I saw was that it contained pencils and crayons,” answered Jerry Koswell.
“Well, I don’t believe you,” answered Tom abruptly. “You did it on purpose, and maybe some day I’ll be able to prove it.” And he walked off, leaving Koswell in anything but a comfortable frame of mind.
Tom was curious to see how Professor Sharp would act after the affair. During the first recitation the instructor seemed ill at ease, but after that he acted as usual. Tom half suspected the professor still thought him guilty.
“Well, it was a pretty mean thing to do,” soliloquized the fun-loving Rover. “If anybody did that to a picture of Nellie I’d mash him into a jelly.”
All of the Rovers were awaiting the arrival of the girls with interest, and each was fearful that some poor recitation might keep him from going to meet them at the Ashton depot on Wednesday. But, luckily, all got permission to go to town, and they started without delay as soon as the afternoon session was ended.
“Where bound?” asked Songbird, in some surprise, as he saw them driving off in a carriage Dick had ordered by telephone.
“Going to meet Dora and Nellie and Grace,” answered Dick. “Do you–er–want to come along?”
“Oh, sure. I’ll see them all home myself,” answered the would-be poet with a wink of his eye. “No, thank you. I know enough to keep out of somebody else’s honey pot. Give them my regards,” he added, and strolled off, murmuring softly:
“If them love me as I love thee,
How happy thee and I will be!”
The boys got down to the depot ahead of time, and were then told that the train was fifteen minutes late. They put in the time as best they could, although every minute seemed five.
“Hello! There is Dudd Flockley!” exclaimed Sam presently, and pointed to the dudish student, who was crossing the street behind the depot.
“Maybe he came down to meet somebody, too,” said Tom. “More than likely there will be quite a bunch of girls bound for the seminary.”
At last the train rolled in, and the three Rovers strained their eyes to catch the first sight of their friends.
“There they are!” shouted Dick, and pointed to a parlor car. He ran forward, and so did his brothers. The porter was out with his box, but it was the boys who assisted the girls to alight, and Dick who tipped the knight of the whisk-broom.
“Here at last!” cried Dick. “We are so glad you’ve come!”
“Thought the train would never get here,” added Sam.
“Longest wait I’ve had since I was able to walk,” supplemented Tom.
“Oh, Tom, you big tease!” answered Nellie merrily, and caught him by both hands.
“Yes, we are late,” said Dora a bit soberly. She gave Dick’s hand a tight squeeze. They looked at each other, and on the instant he saw that she had something to tell him.
“How long it seems since we saw you last,” said Grace as she took Sam’s hand. Then there was handshaking all around, and all the girls and boys tried to speak at once, to learn how the others had been since they had separated after the treasure hunt.
“We’ll have to look after our trunks,” said Dora. “There they are,” and she pointed to where they had been dumped on a truck.
“I’ll take care of the baggage,” said Tom. “Just give me the checks.”
“And we’ve got to find a carriage to take us to Hope,” added Grace.
“All arranged,” answered Sam. “We are going to take you up. Dick is going to take Dora in a buggy, and Tom and I are going to take you and Nellie in a two-seated. The baggage can go in a wagon behind.”
“But I thought there was a seminary stage,” began Grace.
“There is, and if you’d rather take it–“
“Oh, no! The carriage ride will be much nicer.” And Grace looked at Sam in a manner that made his heart beat much faster than before.
“Do you know, it seems awfully queer to be rich and to be going to a fine boarding school,” said Nellie. “I declare, I’m not used to it yet. But I’m glad on papa and mamma’s account, for neither of them have to work as hard as they did.”
“Papa is going to improve the farm wonderfully,” said Grace. “He is going to put up a new barn and a carriage house and a new windmill for pumping water, and he has bought a hundred acres from the farm in the back, and added, oh, I don’t know how many more cows. And we’ve got a splendid team of horses, and the cutest pony you ever saw. And next year he is going to rebuild the wing of the house and put on a big piazza, where we can have rocking-chairs and a hammock–“
“Yum! yum!” murmured Sam. “The hammock for mine, when I call.”
“Built for two, I suppose,” remarked Dick dryly.
“Dick Rover!” cried Grace, and blushed,
“He’ll want it for himself and Dor–” began Sam.
“Here comes Tom,” interrupted Dick hastily. “All right about the baggage?” he asked loudly.
“All right. The trunks and cases will go to the seminary inside of an hour,” answered Tom, “so we might as well be off ourselves. We can drive slowly, you know.”
“Well, you can go ahead and set the pace,” answered his elder brother.
The buggy and the carriage were already on hand, and soon the boys and girls were in the turnouts, and Tom drove off, with Dick following.
As they did so they saw Dudd Flockley standing near, eyeing them curiously. They had to drive close to the dudish student, who was attired in his best, and he stared boldly at Dora and the Laning girls.
“What a bold young man!” was Dora’s comment after they had passed.
“He’s a student at Brill,” answered Dick. “Not a very nice kind, either.” Dick was much put out, for he did not like any young man to stare at Dora.
Ashton was soon left behind, and carriage and buggy bowled along slowly over a country road lined on either side with trees and bushes and tidy farms. Under the trees Dick allowed his horse to drop into a walk, and managed to drive with one hand while the other found Dora’s waist and held it.
“Dick, somebody might see you!” she half whispered.
“Well, I can’t help it, Dora,” he answered, “It’s been such a long time since we met.”
“Yes, it seems like years and years, doesn’t it?”
“And to think we’ve got to go through college before–before we can–“
“Yes, but Dick, isn’t it splendid that we are going to be so close to each other? Why, we’ll be able to meet lots of times!”
“If the seminary authorities will let you. I understand they are very strict.”
“Oh, well, we’ll meet anyhow, won’t we?”
“If you say so, dear.”
“Why, yes, dear–that is–Oh, now see what you’ve done!–knocked my hat right down on my ear! Now, you mustn’t–one is enough! Just suppose another carriage should come up–with somebody in it from the seminary?”
“I’ve got my eye open,” answered Dick. “But just one more–and then you can fix your hat. They’ve got to make some allowance for folks that are engaged,” he added softly, as he pressed her cheek close to his own.
“Are we engaged, Dick?” she asked as she adjusted her hat.
“Aren’t we?” he demanded. “Why, of course we are!”
“Well, if you say so, but–but–I suppose some folks would think we were rather young.”
“Well, I’m not so young as I used to be–and I’m growing older every day.”
“So am I. I am not near as young as I was when we first met–on that little steamboat on Cayuga Lake, when you and Tom and Sam were going to Putnam Hall for the first time.”
“No, you’re not quite so young, Dora, but you are just as pretty. In fact, you’re prettier than ever.”
“Oh, you just say that!”
“I mean it, and I’m the happiest fellow in the world this minute,” cried Dick, and caught her again in his arms. Once more the hat went over on Dora’s ear, but this time she forgot to mention it. Truth to tell, for the time being she was just as happy as he was.
But presently her face grew troubled, and he remembered the look she had given him at the depot.
“Something is on your mind, Dora,” he said. “What is it?”
“Dick, do you know that Tad Sobber is alive? That he escaped from that dreadful hurricane in West Indian waters?”
“Yes, I know it. But I didn’t know it until a few days ago, when Songbird Powell came to Brill He said he had met Sobber in Ithaca,”
“He came to see mamma.”
“I was afraid he would. What did he say?”
“He came one evening, after supper. It was dark and stormy, and he drove up in a buggy. Mamma and I and the servants were home alone, although Nellie had been over in the afternoon. He rang the bell, and asked for mamma, and the girl ushered him into the parlor. He asked the girl if we had company, and he said if we had he wouldn’t bother us.”
“Guess he was afraid of being arrested.”
“Perhaps so. He told the girl he was a friend from New York. I went down first, and when I saw him I was almost scared to death. I thought I was looking at a ghost.”
“Naturally, since you thought he had been drowned. It’s too bad he scared you so, Dora.”
“He said he had come on business, and without waiting began to talk about the treasure we had taken from the isle. He insisted upon it that the treasure belonged to him, since his uncle, Sid Merrick, was dead. When my mother came in he demanded that she give him some money and sign some papers.”
“What did your mother do?”
“She refused, of course. Then he got very wild and talked in a rambling fashion. Oh, Dick, I am half inclined to think he is crazy!” And Dora shuddered.
“What did he say after your mother refused to do as he wished?”
“He got up and walked around the parlor, waving his hands and crying that we were robbing him, that the treasure was his, and that the Rovers were nothing but thieves. Then mamma ordered him out of the house and sent the girl to get the man who runs the farm for us. But before the man came Sobber went away, driving his horse as fast as he could,”
“Have you heard from him since?”
“Yes. The next day we got an unsigned letter. In it Sobber said that, by hook or by crook, he intended to get possession of the treasure, and for the Rovers to beware,”
CHAPTER XIII
THE ROWING RACE
Having told so much, Dora went into all the particulars of Tad Sobber’s visit to the Stanhope homestead. She told of how Sobber had argued, and she said he had affirmed that the Rovers had falsified matters so that the Stanhopes and the Lanings might benefit thereby.
“What he says is absolutely untrue,” said Dick. “Father went over those papers with care, and so did the lawyers, and the treasure belongs to you and the Lanings, and to nobody else.”
“Don’t you think Sid Merrick fooled Sobber?” asked the girl.
“Perhaps, but I guess Tad was willing to be fooled. They set their hearts on that money, and now Tad can’t give it up. In one way I am sorry for him, and if a small amount of cash would satisfy him and set him on his feet, I’d hand it over. We put Dan Baxter on his feet that way.”
“Oh, but Baxter isn’t Sobber, Dick. Sobber is wild and wicked. I was so afraid he would attack mamma and me I hardly knew what to do. And his eyes rolled so when he talked!”
“Did he go to the Lanings?”
“No.”
“Probably he was afraid of your uncle. Mr. Laning won’t stand for any nonsense. I suppose your mother is afraid he’ll come back?”
“Yes; and to protect herself she has hired one of the farm men to sleep in the house. The man was once in the army, and he knows how to use a gun.”
“Then that will make Sobber keep his distance. He is a coward at heart. I found that out when we went to Putnam Hall together,”
“But you must beware of him, Dick. He may show himself here next.”
“It won’t do him any good. All I’ve got here is a little spending money. No, I don’t think he’ll show himself here. More than likely he’ll try to hire some shyster lawyer to fight for the treasure in the courts. But I don’t think he’ll be able to upset your claim.”
They had now reached Hope Seminary, and the conversation came to an end. The boys helped the girls to alight, and said good-by. Then they drove back to Ashton, where the buggy was left at the livery stable; and all piled into the carriage for the college. On the way Dick told his brothers about Tad Sobber.
“Dora is right. He is a bad egg,” said Sam. “I wouldn’t trust him under any consideration,”
“He is too much of a coward to attack anybody openly,” was Tom’s comment. “But as Dick says, he may hire some shyster lawyer to take the matter into the courts. It would be too bad if the fortune was tied up in endless litigation.”
“He’s got to get money to fight with first,” said Dick.
“Oh, some lawyers will take a case like that on a venture.”
“That’s true.”
Several days passed quietly, and the Rover boys applied themselves diligently to their studies, for they wished to make fine records at Brill.
“We are here to get a good education,” was the way Dick expressed himself, “and we want to make the most of our time.”
“As if I wasn’t boning away to beat the band!” murmured Tom reproachfully.
“I’d like to take the full course in about two years,” came from Sam.
“College studies are mighty hard,” broke in Songbird, who was working over his chemistry. “I don’t get any chance to write poetry any more.”
“For which let us all be truly thankful,” murmured Sam to Tom.
“Ten minutes more,” announced Dick, looking at his watch. “Then what do you say to a row on the river?”
“Suits me!” cried Tom.
“All right, then. Now clear out, and–silence!”
A quarter of an hour later the Rover boys and Songbird walked down to the river. There were plenty of boats to be had, and Dick and Tom were soon out. Songbird and Sam received an invitation to go for a ride in a gasolene launch owned by Stanley.
“Suits me!” cried the would-be poet. “I can row any time, but I can’t always ride in a motor boat.”
“Same here,” said Sam.
A number of craft were on the river, including one containing Jerry Koswell and Bart Larkspur. Koswell scowled as he saw Tom and Dick rowing near by.
“We’ll give ’em a shaking up,” he said to his crony, and turned their rowboat so that it bumped fairly and squarely into the craft manned by Tom and Dick. The shock was so great that Dick, who had gotten up to fix his seat, was nearly hurled overboard.
“See here, what do you mean by running into us?” demanded the oldest Rover on recovering his balance.
“Sorry, but it couldn’t be helped,” answered Koswell. “Why didn’t you get out of the way?”
“We didn’t have to,” retorted Sam, “and if you try that trick again somebody will get his head punched.”
“Talk is cheap,” sneered Larkspur.
“Say, I heard you fellows have been boasting of how you can row,” went on Koswell after a pause.
“We haven’t been boasting, but we can row,” answered Tom.
“Want to race?”
“When?”
“Now.”
“I don’t know as I care to race with a chap like you, Koswell,” answered Dick pointedly.
“You’re afraid.”
“No, I am not afraid.”
“Let us race them,” whispered Tom to his brother. “I am not afraid of them.”
“Oh, neither am I, Tom.”
“Well race you to Rock Island and back,” said Koswell, after consulting Larkspur.
“All right,” answered Dick.
“Want to bet on the result?” questioned Koswell. He was usually willing to bet on anything.
“We don’t bet,” answered Tom.
“And we wouldn’t with you, if we did,” added Dick. “I don’t think you are in our class, Koswell, and you never will be. At the same time, since you are so anxious to row against us, we’ll race you–and beat you.”
This answer enraged Jerry Koswell, and he dared the Rovers to wager ten dollars on the race. They would not, but others took up the bet, and then several other wagers were made.
Rock Island was a small, stony spot half a mile up the stream, so the race would be about a mile in length. Frank Holden was chosen as referee and umpire, and all of the contestants prepared for the struggle.
“Your boat is lighter than that of the Rovers,” said Holden to Koswell and Larkspur. “You really ought to give them some lead.”
“No. This is an even start,” growled Koswell.
“Very well, but it doesn’t seem quite fair.”
It was soon noised around that the race was to take place, and the river bank speedily became lined with students anxious to see how the contest would terminate.
“Now, Tom, take it easy at the start, but finish up strong,” cautioned Dick.
“I feel like pulling a strong stroke from the first,” answered Tom. “Let us do it, and leave them completely in the shade.”
“No. We must first try to find out what they can do.”
“Say, you’ve got to beat ’em,” came from Sam, as the launch came close. “If they win you’ll never hear the end of it.”
“They’re not going to win,” answered Dick, quietly but firmly.
“All ready?” asked Frank Holden, as the boats drew up side by side near the boathouse float.
“We are!” sang out Tom.
“Ready!” answered Jerry Koswell.
“Go!” shouted Frank.
Four pairs of oars dropped into the water simultaneously, and away shot the two craft side by side. There was no disguising the fact that Koswell and Larkspur were good oarsmen, and what was equally important, they had done much practicing together. On the other hand, while Dick and Tom could row well, they had pulled together but twice since coming to Brill.
“You’ve got your work cut out for you!” shouted Songbird. “But never mind. Go in and win!”
For the first quarter of a mile the two row-boats kept close together. Occasionally one would forge ahead a few inches, but the other would speedily overtake it. Then, however, the Rover boys settled down to a strong, steady stroke, and forged a full length ahead.
“See! see! The Rovers are winning!” shouted Max in delight.
“That’s the way to do it!” cried Stanley, “Keep it up! You’re doing nobly!”
“Show ’em the way home!” added Songbird.
“Pull, Jerry! Pull!, Bart!” screamed Dudd Flockley to his cronies. “Don’t let them beat you!”
Before long the island was reached, and the Rovers rounded it a length and a half ahead. This made Jerry Koswell frantic, and he called on Larkspur to increase the stroke.
“All right, I’m with you,” was the short answer.
The increase in the stroke speedily told, and inch by inch the second boat began to overhaul the first Then Tom made a miss, sending a shower of water into the air. At this the craft containing Koswell and Larkspur shot ahead.
“Hurrah! That’s the way to do it!” yelled Flockley in delight. “Even money on the green boat!”
“Take you,” answered Spud Jackson promptly. “How much?”
“A fiver.”
“All right.”
“Steady, Tom,” cautioned Dick. “Now, then Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Then bend to it. One, two, three, four.”
Again the Rover boys went at the rowing with a will, increasing their stroke until it was six to the minute more than that of Koswell and Larkspur. The latter were frantic, and tried to do likewise, but found it impossible. Inch by inch the Rovers’ craft went ahead. Now it was half a length, then a length, then two lengths.
“Say, there is rowing for you!” was the comment of a senior. “Just look at them bend to it!”
“Yes, and look at the quick recovery,” added another fourth-year student.
From two lengths the Rovers went three lengths ahead. Then Koswell missed a stroke, and tumbled up against Larkspur.
“Hi! What are you doing?” spluttered Larkspur in disgust.
“Cou–couldn’t hel–help it,” panted Jerry, He was all but winded, for the pulling had been too much for him.
“The Rovers win! The Rovers win!” was the shout that went up, and in the midst of the hubbub Dick and Tom crossed the line, winning by at least six lengths. Koswell and Larkspur were so disgusted that they did not even finish, but stopped rowing and turned away from the float.
“The Rovers win,” announced Frank Holden. “A fine race, too,” he added. “Let me congratulate you,” and he waved his hand pleasantly to Dick and Tom.
“I got a pain in my side, and that made me miss the stroke,” said Jerry Koswell lamely. “Some day I’ll race them again, and win, too.”
“You should have won this time,” growled Dudd Flockley when he was alone with his cronies. “I dropped twenty dollars on that race.”
“I never thought they could row like that,” was Larkspur’s comment. “I don’t think I want to row against them again.”
Dick and Tom were warmly congratulated by all their friends. It had been a well-earned victory, and they were correspondingly happy. Koswell was sourer than ever against them, and vowed he would “square up” somehow, and Larkspur agreed to help him. Dudd Flockley was glum, for his spending money for the month was running low, and it was going to be hard to pay the wagers he had lost.
CHAPTER XIV
WILLIAM PHILANDER TUBES
On the following Saturday the Rover boys went down to Ashton in the afternoon. They had arranged for the hire of a large touring car, with a competent chauffeur, and were to take Dora and the Laning girls out for a ride to another town called Toddville. Here they were to have supper at the hotel, returning to Ashton in the evening.
Lest it be thought strange that the girls could get permission from the seminary authorities to absent themselves, let me state that matters had been explained by Mrs. Stanhope and Mrs. Laning to the principal of Hope, so Dora and her cousins were free to go out with the Rovers whenever they could go out at all.
“We’ll have the best time ever!” cried Tom enthusiastically. “I hope you ordered a fine supper over the telephone, Dick.”
“I did,” was the reply. “Just the things I know the girls like.”
“And a bouquet of flowers,” added Sam. He knew that Grace loved flowers.
“Yes. I didn’t forget them, Sam,”
The boys arrived in Ashton a little ahead of time, and while waiting for the chauffeur of the car to appear they walked down to the depot to see if there would be any new arrivals on the Saturday special.
When the train pulled into the depot a tall, well-dressed youth, with an elaborate dress-suit case and a bag of golf sticks, descended from the parlor car and gazed around him wonderingly.
“Are you–ah–sure this is–ah–Ashton?” he inquired of the porter.
“Yes, sah,” was the brisk answer.
“Not a–ah–very large place, is it, now?” drawled the passenger.
“Look who’s here!” burst out Tom as he hurried forward.
“Why, it’s Tubbs–William Philander Tubbs!” ejaculated Sam.
And sure enough, it was Tubbs, the most dudish pupil Putnam Hall had ever known, and one with whom the cadets had had no end of fun.
“My dear old Buttertub, how are you?” called out Tom loudly, and caught the new arrival by the shoulder. “How are you, and how is the wife, and the eight children?”
“Why–ah–is it really Tom Rover!” gasped Tubbs. He stared at Tom and then at Dick and Sam. “What are you–ah–doing here, may I inquire? But please,” he added hurriedly, “don’t call me Buttertub, and don’t say I have a wife and children, when I haven’t.” And Tubbs looked around to see if anybody had overheard Tom’s remark.
“We go to school here,” said Dick as he shook hands. “Brill College.”
“Well, I never!” gasped the tall dude. “Brill, did you say?”
“That’s it,” put in Sam.
“I am going there myself.”
“You!” roared Tom. “Hail Columbia, happy land! That’s the best yet, Tubblets. We’ll have dead loads of fun. Did you bring your pet poodle and your fancywork, and those beautiful red and yellow socks you used to wear?”
“I hope you didn’t forget that green and pink necktie you used to have,” came from Sam, “and the blue handkerchief with the purple variegated border.”
“I–ah–I never had those things,” stormed Tubbs. “Oh, say, do you really go to Brill?” he questioned, with almost a groan in his voice.
“Sure as you’re born,” answered Dick. “We’ll be glad to have you there, William Philander. You’ll be a credit to the institution. We have a few fellows who dress well, but you’ll top them all. I know it.”
“Do you–ah–really think I can–ah–I will be as well dressed as the–ah–as anybody?” asked the dude eagerly. He was a fair scholar, but his mind was constantly on the subject of what to wear and how to wear it.
“Oh, you’ll lead the bunch, and all the girls at Hope will fall dead in love with you,” answered Tom.
“Hope? What do you mean?”
“That’s the seminary for girls. Fine lot of girls there, waiting to see you, Philliam Willander.”
“William Philander, please. So there is a girls’ school here, eh? That’s–ah–very nice. Yes, I like the girls–I always did. But, Tom, please don’t call me–ah–Buttertub. I think it’s horrid, don’t you know.”
“All right, Washtub, anything you say stands still,” answered Tom cheerfully. “I wouldn’t hurt your feelings for a million warts.”
“There is the carriage for Brill,” said Sam, pointing it out.
“Are you going with me?” asked the dude.
“No. We are not going back until this evening,” explained Dick. “We’ll see you later.”
“Only one other student going with you,” added Tom mischievously. “He’s kind of queer, but I guess he won’t hurt you.” He had seen an innocent, quiet youth, named Smith, getting into the college turnout.
“Queer?” asked Tubbs.
“Yes. Gets fits, or something like that. He won’t hurt you if you keep your hand to your nose.”
“My–ah–my hand to my nose?”
“Yes,” went on Tom innocently. “You see, he has an idea that folks are smelling things. So if you keep your hand to your nose he will know you are not smelling anything, so he’ll keep quiet.”
“I don’t–ah–know as I like that,” stammered William Philander.