Читать книгу: «Bobby Blake on the School Nine: or, The Champions of the Monatook Lake League», страница 6

CHAPTER XIV
GLOWING HOPES

The boys all laughed at Fred’s declaration, though they hoped ardently that it would turn out to be true.

“Well,” conceded Frank, “confidence is a good thing, especially if there is good hard work back of it. One thing is certain, and that is if any team beats Rockledge it will know it’s been in a fight.”

“I suppose Larry Cronk will be pitching for Belden,” mused Fred.

“I suppose so, and he’s a corking good pitcher too. But Bobby beat him the last time he faced him and I guess he can do it again.”

“Trust Bobby,” replied Fred loyally.

“Well, I’ll have to go now,” concluded Frank. “I’m glad you boys think the league is going to be a good thing.”

“The best thing that ever happened,” declared Sparrow.

“I’m tickled to death with it,” agreed Fred.

“Hits me awful hard,” said Bobby.

“Monatook Lake League sounds mighty good to me,” added Skeets.

“There’s a lot of work to be done yet in getting it fairly started,” observed Frank. “We’ll have to work out a schedule of dates and decide on the kind of pennant we’re going to have and a bunch of things like that. But we’ll have plenty of time for that, and everything will be running slick as grease by the time the season begins. And remember what I said, Fred, about cutting out all hard feelings,” he concluded.

“I’ll do it all right,” answered Fred. “I don’t like the fellow and I never will, but I’ll forget all about that when it comes to working for the good of the team.”

“That’s the way I like to hear you talk,” returned Frank with a smile, as he went away.

“What did Frank mean by that?” asked Skeets curiously.

“Oh, it’s about that Tom Hicksley,” Fred replied. “Frank has heard that he’s a good ball player, and if he is, he wants him on the nine. He heard Bobby and me talking of the scrap we had with him this morning, and he doesn’t want trouble in the team.”

“Maybe Frank’s right, at that,” conceded Skeets. “But I don’t know that it’s good dope to have a fellow like that on the nine, no matter how good a player he is. He’ll be wanting to run things and perhaps break up the whole team.”

“We’ll hope not,” said Bobby. “At any rate, there’s no use worrying about it yet. He may not be so good a player as Frank has heard he is, and may not play on the team at all.”

“We’ll have to look over our baseball togs and see if they’re in good shape,” said Fred. “I know the spikes on my shoes need sharpening.”

“And I’ll have to pound that new baseball glove of mine until it’s good and soft and has a big hollow in the middle,” added Bobby. “We mustn’t overlook the least thing that’s going to help us to win.”

“Won’t the Clinton boys open their eyes if we can tell them when we go home for the summer vacation that we’re the champions of the Monatook Lake League?” gloated Fred.

“Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched,” laughed Sparrow. “It’s a long time yet before the end of the season.”

“It’s all over but the shouting, the way I look at it,” persisted Fred defiantly.

“Don’t wake him up, he is dreaming,” mocked Skeets.

“The pennant bee is buzzing in his bonnet,” laughed Sparrow.

For that matter, they all heard the buzzing of the same bee, and it was a very pleasant sound to them. To these four eleven-year-old boys the words “league” and “pennant” conveyed a sense of dignity and importance that they had never felt before.

From that time on, baseball took up a large part of their thoughts, even though the ground was covered with snow and the lake held fast in icy fetters.

The gymnasium was warm and comfortable, and though they had no regular cage and the limited space did not give much chance for batting practice the boys got in quite a lot of pitching and catching. And this was quickened by the news that came to them that Belden had taken up the idea of the league with as much enthusiasm as they had, and were already predicting that they would be the victors in the coming struggle. It was said that two of the new Belden boys were hard hitters and could “send the ball a mile.”

“But we heard something like that before the last game, and we licked them just the same,” remarked Fred, who expected to play short stop, the same position he had held the previous season.

“Belden’s bark is worse than its bite,” confirmed Bobby. “But because they didn’t come through the last time doesn’t say they won’t now. We’ll have to be right up on our toes all the time. It isn’t going to be a walkover for anybody.”

The study hours at Rockledge were not excessive, and had been arranged with a view of giving the growing boys all the time they needed for wholesome exercise and recreation. Dr. Raymond knew that a well trained mind and strong body must go together in order to get the best results. And on the occasions of the big baseball and football games he was always sure to be present as a keenly interested spectator.

Mr. Carrier, too, the second assistant on the teaching staff, had himself been an athlete in his college days, and his advice and coaching on the diamond and the gridiron were very valuable to the Rockledge boys.

With the lake so near at hand, there were plenty of winter sports. The smooth level of the ice, stretching away for miles in every direction, made skating a delight and offered a splendid field for hockey games. On all fine afternoons and every Saturday from morning till night, the ice was alive with darting figures, and rang with the music of steel against the frozen surface and the merry laughter of the skaters as they cracked the whip or flew by in impromptu races.

There was plenty of snow on the ground this year and this gave a chance for some good coasting. Most of the boys had sleds, and Bobby had brought along the splendid one that he had received as a Christmas present.

He had had considerable trouble in settling on a name. Billy Barry’s suggestion that it be called “Lightning” and Betty Martin’s laughing idea that it ought to be called “Oyster,” because it “slipped down so easily,” had received due consideration, but Bobby had finally settled on “Red Arrow.” This seemed to him to cover both its color and its speed. And that speed could not be questioned. It certainly shot down hill like an arrow from a how. None of the other sleds at the school could do such fetching.

Naturally Bobby took great pride in his sled, and the runners were rubbed with emery and oil until they were as smooth as silk and shone like silver.

There were several good hills in the vicinity of the school, but most of them were dangerous; one because it crossed the railroad at its base and others because cross streets, along which there was much travel, offered chances for collisions. These were therefore forbidden to the boys.

On one hill, however, they were permitted to coast whenever they wanted to do so. This stretched away from the town, and there were no cross streets throughout its entire length. It was absolutely safe, and as it was very long and reasonably steep, the boys felt no special regret at not being allowed to use the other hills.

For several days before Lincoln’s Birthday the weather had been mild and there was a considerable thaw. The snow on the hill had become soft and mushy and coasting had been impossible.

This interfered with the plans of the boys in Bobby’s dormitory, who had expected to have a big coasting carnival on the night of the holiday, when there would be a full moon. Now it looked as if the ground might be bare.

But on the eleventh of February there came a sudden change in the weather that gladdened the hearts of the would-be coasters. The thermometer fell rapidly until it was ten degrees below zero. The hill froze solid and was even better than it had been before, because the water from the melting snow now formed a glare of ice over the whole surface.

Bobby and his chums were jubilant over the change as they got together in the gymnasium after breakfast on the morning of the holiday.

“Isn’t it just bully?” cried Fred, doing a handspring.

“The hill will be like glass,” gloated Mouser.

“I’ll bet we fetch further than we ever did before,” exulted Bobby, who could see himself scudding like the wind on his trusty Red Arrow.

“But, gee! won’t it be tough climbing up to the top again,” put in Pee Wee, who liked well enough to ride down but hated the task of walking back.

“Don’t worry, Pee Wee,” chaffed Fred. “We wouldn’t let a hard-working fellow like you walk back. We’ll take turns drawing you up on our sleds.”

“Sure we will,” added Sparrow. “We’ll just fight for the privilege.”

“I’d hate to have Pee Wee bark his shins again,” laughed Bobby.

The boys were so engrossed in the lively give and take that none of them noticed that Tom Hicksley, who had been practicing on the rings and had been near enough to hear their conversation, had quietly slipped out of the gymnasium.

There had been no open trouble between him and Bobby and his friends since that morning when the coming of Mr. Carrier had stopped the quarrel. None of the boys took any special pains to avoid him but had simply left him alone. Hicksley had cast sullen and angry glances at them as they passed him on the campus or in the halls, but they cared nothing for that. They did not doubt that he was nursing his grudge and would lose no chance to get back at them if he could, but they felt able to take care of themselves.

As a matter of fact, Hicksley had only two friends in the school. These were Bill Bronson and Jack Jinks, the two most detested boys at Rockledge. They were of the same type as Hicksley, mean and tyrannical. They were two of the largest pupils and took advantage of their size to make themselves thoroughly disliked by the other boys.

They had “cottoned” to Hicksley at once, recognizing him as a kindred spirit, and the three were almost constantly together.

Bronson and Jinks belonged to neither of the dormitories, but occupied one of the smaller rooms together.

To this room Hicksley went straight from the gymnasium and rapped on the door.

CHAPTER XV
SPOILING THE FUN

There was a scurrying within the room and Hicksley heard the sound of a window being hastily thrown up. Then after a long pause the door was slowly opened.

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” said Bronson in a tone of relief.

“Sure it is,” replied Hicksley tersely. “Who did you think it was? What’s the matter with you fellows anyway. Any one might think I was a cop, from the time you took to open the door.”

“Worse than that,” grinned Bronson. “I thought you might be Dr. Raymond or one of the teachers. We were smoking. Now you’ve made us throw away two perfectly good cigarettes and freeze ourselves by opening the window to get the smoke out of the room. Shut the window again, Jack. It’s only Tom.”

“Well, I’m not going to tell on you,” replied Hicksley. “That is,” he added with a grin, “if you’ve got another cigarette left for me.”

It was strictly against the rules to smoke, but in the opinion of these worthless fellows rules were made only to be broken, and all three were soon puffing away, after making sure that the door was securely locked.

Bronson was a tall, thin boy, with straw-colored hair. Jinks was shorter, but very stocky. A squint that made his small eyes look smaller still gave him a most unprepossessing appearance.

“Well, what’s up?” asked Bronson, seeing from Hicksley’s manner that he had something to propose.

“I’ve just heard something that gave me an idea of how to get even with that Bobby Blake and the bunch of boobs he goes with,” replied Hicksley.

“Hope it’s a good idea,” said Bronson. “Anything that will down those fellows you can count me in on.”

“Same here!” ejaculated Jinks. “I never had any use for any of that crowd.”

“Let’s have it, Tom,” broke in Bronson impatiently. “Don’t keep us waiting.”

“They’re planning to have a big coasting time to-night,” explained Hicksley. “I heard them talking about it when I was down in the gymnasium just now. And while I was listening I thought of a way to queer the whole thing.”

This sounded promising, and the interest on the faces of the others grew intense.

“What is it?” they asked in the same breath, leaning forward eagerly.

Hicksley lowered his voice a trifle and rapidly outlined the plan that had come to him.

He was fully satisfied with its reception, for both of his hearers roared with delight.

“It’s just bully!” cried Bronson.

“Best thing I’ve heard since Hector was a pup!” ejaculated Jinks.

“That’ll put a spoke in their wheel all right,” gloated Hicksley.

“Won’t they feel sore?”

“They’ll be frothing at the mouth.”

“We’ll have to be hiding somewhere near by where we can see the whole thing,” said Bronson.

“I wouldn’t miss it for a hundred dollars,” chuckled Jinks.

“They’ll sing small for a long time after that,” grinned Hicksley. “But now if you think the plan is all right, we’ll have to figure out just how to go about it. It’ll be a lot of hard work, and I don’t want to do it myself. I don’t suppose you fellows want to muss yourselves up either.”

“I’ll tell you what!” exclaimed Bronson. “Do you know who Dago Joe is?”

“He’s that Italian fellow down town who goes about doing odd jobs, isn’t he?” queried Hicksley.

“That’s the one,” Bronson assented.

“Well, what about him?” asked Hicksley.

“Just this,” Bronson answered. “He’s just the fellow for this job. He’s got a hand cart, and that will make it easy for him. Then, too, a dollar will look as big to him as a meeting house. But even if he charges more than that we can all chip in and it won’t make very much for any of us.”

“I wouldn’t care if it cost us a dollar apiece,” said Jinks. “It would be worth it.”

They talked for a few minutes longer, and then decided that rather than let Hicksley do it alone they would all go down together to see Dago Joe.

But to their surprise, Joe was at first inclined to balk at the proposition. He was poor and had a large family to support and he needed every dollar he could get, but he seemed to fear that the plan that the bullies suggested might get him into trouble.

“I donta know,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and extending the palms of his hands. “Perhaps people nota like it. Maybe I be arrest.”

“Nonsense, Joe,” said Bronson. “There isn’t a chance in the world that anybody will get on to who did it. It will be after dark anyway. Be a sport and take a chance.”

“We’ll make it two dollars,” said Jinks. “It’s easy money and you’d be a fool not to take it.”

Joe still had some qualms, but when the boys raised the price to three dollars his scruples vanished.

“You can get the stuff down near the roundhouse,” suggested Jinks. “There’s always plenty of it there.”

Joe wanted his three dollars at once, but they compromised by paying him half down with a promise of the other half when the work was done.

“Now for the big blowout,” chuckled Jinks, as they wended their way back to the school.

“It’ll be a scream,” gloated Bronson.

“A perfect riot,” added Hicksley, who was in high feather, now that his scheme seemed in a fair way of going through.

As for Dago Joe, he was a busy man for the rest of the day and for some time after darkness fell.

There was an unusually good supper that night in honor of the holiday, and the boys did it full justice. But they would have lingered still longer at the table, if they had not been impatient to get out on the hill for their carnival of coasting.

The wind had died down, but the air was keen and brought a frosty glow to their eyes and cheeks as they made their way to the hill, drawing their sleds behind them by ropes that hung over their shoulders.

“We’ll make a new record to-night,” said Bobby jubilantly. “I shouldn’t wonder if we fetched as far as the bridge; and we’ve never done that yet.”

“If we don’t do it to-night we never shall,” replied Fred, as they came to the hill.

“It doesn’t seem as if the sleds could ever stop when they get started on ice like this,” exulted Mouser.

“I’ll tell you what let’s do,” suggested Sparrow. “The hill’s wide enough to hold six sleds going down at the same time. There’s just about seventeen or eighteen of us here. Let’s start out in a bunch of six at a time and go the whole length. Then, after that, we can have the separate races.”

“That’s all right,” agreed Fred. “The trouble is that each fellow will want to go off in the first six.”

“We’ll soon settle that,” replied Sparrow. “We’ll draw lots and then nobody will have any kick coming.”

This proposal was greeted with acclamation, and amid a great deal of chaff and laughter the lots were drawn.

The lucky ones happened to be Fred, Bobby, Mouser, Sparrow, Skeets and Pee Wee.

“We’ll let Pee Wee go in the middle,” laughed Fred, “and we’d better take care to keep close to the side of the road. He’ll need more room than any of the rest of us.”

“I’d hate to have him plunk into me,” grinned Bobby. “It would be a case for the doctor, for sure.”

“For the undertaker, more likely,” chuckled Mouser.

“You fellows think you’re smart, don’t you?” grunted Pee Wee. “All the same I bet I’ll fetch farther than any of you.”

“Hear who’s talking,” jibed Sparrow. “We’ll leave you so far behind you won’t be able to see us with a telescope.”

They ranged their sleds side by side and lay upon them flat on their stomachs, holding firmly on the sides in front in order steer correctly.

“Are you all ready?” asked Howell Purdy, who had been chosen to give the word.

“Ready,” they answered.

“Then go!” shouted Howell.

The six sleds shot forward with a rush.

CHAPTER XVI
WHO WAS GUILTY?

For the first third of the distance, the ice was as smooth as quicksilver, with never a lump or hummock to mar the surface. The sleds flew down the frozen surface, gaining a velocity that took the boys’ breath away and almost frightened them.

Then suddenly there was a jar, a chorus of shouts, and they were thrown headlong over the fronts of their sleds, landing in a confused heap of limbs and bodies, while the sleds relieved of their burdens swirled around aimlessly for a time and finally came to a stop.

A yell of consternation and alarm came from the mass, as the boys tried to struggle to their feet.

Those who had been left at the top of the hill, hearing the yells and knowing that some accident had happened, came slipping and scrambling down to the scene of the disaster.

They helped the half stunned victims to their feet, and for a time there was a wild hullabaloo of questions and answers as they tried to solve the mystery.

Fortunately none of them was badly hurt, though at the rate they were going it might very easily have turned out to be a tragedy.

Most of the boys had rubbed pieces of skin off their arms and legs, and Fred had a cut in his scalp from which the blood was flowing.

“What did it?” shouted Howell.

“I don’t know,” replied Bobby hesitatingly. His head was going round like a top.

“M-must have hit a tree trunk or something like that,” stammered Sparrow.

“That isn’t it,” replied Howell, looking around him. “There isn’t anything of that kind in sight as far as I can see. Just wait a minute till I get Sam Thompson’s flashlight.”

Luckily Sam had it with him and promptly handed it over.

Howell flashed it about him and gave a shout.

“It’s ashes!” he cried. “The whole hill’s littered with ’em.”

“Ashes?” came a chorus of surprised questions.

“That’s what it is,” declared Howell emphatically. “There are heaps and heaps of ’em. I’ll bet they reach clear down to the bottom of the hill.”

He went down further and confirmed what he had said. He had no trouble in walking, for he could not have slipped if he had wanted to. The whole lower surface of the hill was strewn with ashes that spoiled the coasting for that night utterly, and promised to ruin it for many days to come.

A wave of wrath and fierce indignation swept over the boys as they heard Howell’s report.

“Who could have done it?” was the question that came to the lips of all.

“Could it have been the town council?” suggested Skeets. “They might have done it to keep the horses from slipping.”

“They never did anything like that before,” objected Sparrow.

“And if they were the ones, they would have made a clean job of it and gone right up to the top of the hill,” said Mouser. “But you fellows will notice that it was perfectly clear for a long part of the way down.”

“Mouser is right,” declared Bobby. “Somebody did this just to spoil our fun.”

“And they wanted us to be fooled and get started down so that we’d get a tumble when we came to the ashes,” added Fred. “That’s why they left it smooth at the top.”

“Some of us might have been killed,” groaned Skeets, gingerly soothing an injured knee.

“And it’s only a bit of luck that we weren’t,” growled Fred.

“My shins are barked for fair,” moaned Pee Wee, “and that’s no joke this time either.”

“Whoever did it was a low-down skunk,” burst out Howell angrily.

“He might have been a murderer,” added Skeets.

“I’d like to have my hands on him for a minute,” declared Fred.

“Well, our fun is over for this night anyway,” said Bobby sadly.

“And for a whole lot of other nights,” put in Pee Wee. “Those ashes will get ground in and there’s no sweeping ’em off.”

“We’ll have to wait for another snow storm before we can do any more coasting,” wailed Sparrow.

It was a sorely disgruntled band of boys who gathered up their sleds and limped slowly to the top of the hill. One of the sleds was smashed and all had been more or less scratched and bruised.

Once at the top, they squatted down on their sleds and held a council of war.

“Now, fellows,” said Bobby, “we’ve got to get to the bottom of this thing somehow. The ashes didn’t come there of themselves. Somebody put them there, and whoever it was knew that we were out for a grand coasting bee to-night. So it must have been some fellow in the school.”

“I hate to think that there’s any fellow at Rockledge who could do such a dirty trick,” remarked Howell. “If we can find out who it was we ought to tell Doctor Raymond about it and have the fellow sent away from school.”

“No,” objected Bobby. “This is our affair and we oughtn’t to bring the teachers into it at all.”

“The question is who could have done it,” put in Skeets.

“Whoever did it is mean enough to steal sheep,” growled Fred.

“Or take the pennies from a dead man’s eyes,” added Mouser.

“I can figure out just three fellows in the school who could do a thing like that,” said Howell.

“Bill Bronson.”

“Jack Jinks.”

“Tom Hicksley.”

The answers came from as many different lips, and the readiness with which they were accepted was not at all flattering to the boys who bore the names.

“It may have been one of those three or all three together,” said Bobby, coming nearer to the mark than he knew.

“That reminds me,” cried Fred suddenly. “Tom Hicksley was practicing on the flying rings when we were talking this thing over in the gymnasium this morning.”

“That’s so,” chimed in Mouser. “And I remember now that he seemed to stop all of a sudden and slip away. I didn’t think anything about it then, but I remember it plainly now.”

“He owes some of us a grudge for what happened on the train,” remarked Pee Wee.

“And he said then he’d get even with us,” observed Fred.

“There’s one thing we fellows have forgotten,” said Skeets. “Whoever did this would want to be hiding around and see what happened. We ought to hunt them out and pay them up.”

This seemed likely enough and the boys looked eagerly about them.

“Doesn’t seem to be any place up here where they could hide without our seeing them,” remarked Mouser.

“No, but there’s a lot of bushes at the side of the road half way down the hill,” put in Sparrow. “Let’s go down there.”

They went down in a body. There was no one there, but as they got to the other side of the bushes they could faintly make out three figures retreating in the distance.

They were too far away to be recognized and they had too long a start to make it worth while pursuing them, but from their general size and build the boys had little doubt as to who they were.

“What did I tell you?” cried Fred. “I knew that they were the only ones who could do a thing like that.”

“It seems that the whole bunch of them are in it,” remarked Mouser.

“I’ll bet that Hicksley went straight to them and cooked this up when he left the gym this morning,” conjectured Sparrow.

“That makes something else we owe those fellows,” growled Skeets.

“We owed them enough without that,” said Howell. “The big bullies have tried to pester the life out of us ever since we’ve been at Rockledge.”

“Our turn will come,” replied Bobby with conviction. “But now, fellows, we might as well hustle back to the dormitory. There’s no use of staying here any longer.”

They made their way back to the school with very different feelings from those they had when they left it.

“A holiday spoiled,” grumbled Mouser.

“And there’s only two more holidays this month,” observed Sparrow.

“Two!” exclaimed Bobby. “There’s only one more and that’s Washington’s Birthday.”

“How about St. Valentine’s Day?” objected Sparrow. “That’s only two days from now.”

“Oh, that’s only a fake holiday,” replied Fred. “Lessons will go on just the same.”

“I don’t care whether it’s a fake holiday or a real one,” answered Sparrow. “I’m going to get a lot of fun out of it just the same.”