The high school rivals : $b Frank Markham's struggles

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Title: The high school rivals : Frank Markham's struggles
Author: Webster, Frank V.
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The high school rivals : Frank Markham's struggles" ***

The High School Rivals

Fred Markham's Struggles

BY FRANK V. WEBSTER

AUTHOR OF "THE BOYS OF BELLWOOD SCHOOL," "THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS,"
"THE YOUNG TREASURE HUNTER," ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

Printed in U. S. A.

BOOKS FOR BOYS

_By FRANK V. WEBSTER_

ONLY A FARM BOY
TOM, THE TELEPHONE BOY
THE BOY FROM THE RANCH
THE YOUNG TREASURE HUNTER
BOB, THE CASTAWAY
THE YOUNG FIREMEN OF LAKEVILLE
THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS
THE BOY PILOT OF THE LAKES
TWO BOY GOLD MINERS
JACK, THE RUNAWAY
COMRADES OF THE SADDLE
THE BOYS OF BELLWOOD SCHOOL
THE HIGH SCHOOL RIVALS
AIRSHIP ANDY
BOB CHESTER'S GRIT
BEN HARDY'S FLYING MACHINE
DICK, THE BANK BOY
DARRY, THE LIFE SAVER

_Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York_

THE HIGH SCHOOL RIVALS

CONTENTS

I THE RIVALS

II FACING SUSPENSION

III FRED'S SACRIFICE

IV BRONSON'S CREDENTIALS

V BRONSON TURNS THE TABLES

VI HIS FATHER'S FAILURE

VII MRS. MARKHAM'S RUSE

VIII FRED'S REWARD

IX THE SUPPER CLUB

X AN EVENTFUL WALK

XI FRED'S LETTER

XII BART'S SCHEME FAILS

XIII THE ELECTION

XIV LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS

XV THE SCHOLARSHIP IS AWARDED

XVI THE CALL FOR BASEBALL CANDIDATES

XVII THE PITCHING FIND

XVIII ON THE DIAMOND

XIX A VICTORY

XX AN INTERVIEW OF IMPORTANCE

XXI BART'S MEANNESS

XXII THE CLOUDS BEGIN TO LIFT

XXIII FRED AT WORK

XXIV AN ARREST

XXV ANOTHER VICTORY--CONCLUSION

The High School Rivals

CHAPTER I

THE RIVALS

"Nineteen hundred and twelve to the top steps! We're Second Form now!
Top steps belong to the Second Form!" shouted four boys, redolent with
health and life, as they dashed up the tree-lined walk leading to the
Baxter High School, mounted the lower steps, and threw themselves into
the coveted positions.

It was the opening day of school, and the spacious, shady grounds were
alive with happy, wide-awake boys, and merry, laughing girls, renewing
old acquaintances and closely scrutinizing all newcomers.

As the rallying cry rang out, other members of the Second Form broke
away from those with whom they were talking and hastened to join the
four leaders whom they hailed by the nicknames of Taffy, Soda, Lefty
and Buttons, reminders of past exploits.

With envious glances at the proud Seconds, the Lower Form scholars
gathered at the foot of the steps, eager to witness any fun that might
transpire.

Conspicuous among them was a tall, thin boy, who carried a large bunch
of books under his arm.

"Is that the meeting-place of the Second Form?" asked this lad, of the
one nearest him.

"Uhuh."

"Thank you. I think I will join them."

"You'd better n----" began his informer, but before he could finish his
warning, a hand was clapped over his mouth and warm lips whispered in
his ears, "Let him go. He must be taught respect for the Upper Forms.
Wait till Soda sees him."

Interference was now too late, had the Lower Form boy wished to finish
his advice. For no sooner had the newcomer emerged from the ranks of
the others standing at the foot of the steps than a girl, brunette, and
very pretty, nudged her companion, who, though just as attractive, was
of the blonde type, and giggled:

"Oh, Grace, look at that coming up the steps!"

This exclamation, being audible to the others, all the boys and girls
turned their eyes in the direction of the new student, and watched his
approach in a silence portentous in its intensity.

Even the newcomer felt its significance, and, as he reached the fourth
step from the top, paused, hesitatingly.

Taking advantage of his evident embarrassment, the lad nicknamed Soda,
making his voice very deep, demanded:

"What dost thou wish, Clothespin?"

The nickname was so appropriate that the boys and girls roared with
laughter, adding still more to their victim's discomfiture.

Twice he cleared his throat, but the grinning faces of the boys and the
mischievous eyes of the girls stifled his words and sent hot flushes to
his cheeks.

"He's mine! I saw him first!" exclaimed another of the Second Formers,
noting the newcomer's embarrassment. "Now, Clothespin, what is it you
desire? Speak, or forever hold your tongue."

To the new student, the bantering seemed terribly real, and, after
gulping several times, he stammered:

"Is this the Second Form?"

"Yea, verily, Clothespin, this is the Second Form--that is, the best
part of it," returned Soda.

But if the students had been amazed by the newcomer's temerity in
mounting the steps, they were dumfounded by his reply, as he bowed
gravely:

"I am glad to meet you all. My name is James Appleby Bronson. I have
passed my examinations to the Second Form."

An instant the students on the top step gazed from their new member to
one another, then Soda arose, and, with a mocking wave of his hand,
bowed low and commanded:

"Second Formers, rise and salute your fellow member, Mr. James Appleby
Bronson, called Clothespin for short."

As though moved by a spring, the twenty-two members of the Second Form
stood up and chorused:

"Welcome, Clothespin."

"Then I can sit with you?" asked the newcomer, looking toward Soda.

"You can sit on the top step, there by the railing," replied the
leader, pointing to a place at the opposite side of the porch. "There
are a few formalities to be settled before you can be really one of us."

Relieved that his torture was over for the moment, yet wondering what
the "formalities" could be, Bronson started to take the seat by the
rail, when the lad called Taffy exclaimed:

"Where are your credentials?"

"Credentials?" repeated the new student in surprise.

"Yes, your credentials. Didn't the Head give you a card?"

"Why, no. Mr. Vining said all I need do was to meet my instructors and
enroll in the classes."

"It was very wrong in the Head to misinform you," began Taffy in mock
solemnity, when he was interrupted by a voice shouting: "Here comes
Bart Montgomery!"

Instantly cries of welcome greeted the announcement, and in the
confusion Bronson was forgotten.

Glancing at the boy whose arrival had spared him further badgering,
Bronson saw a tall, lithe fellow, with dark-hued, handsome face.

"Who is Montgomery?" he asked of the boy next him.

"What, you coming to Baxter and don't know Bart Montgomery?" returned
the other. "Don't let anybody else hear you say so. He made the hit
that won over Landon School last spring--the first time in four years.
He's the best baseball and football player at Baxter, that's who Bart
Montgomery is."

"No, he isn't, either," interposed another boy.

"Who's better?" demanded Bart's champion.

"Fred Markham."

"Don't you believe him, Clothespin!"

"Well, I don't know about his athletic standing, but I do know I don't
like Mr. Montgomery's eyes," rejoined the latter; "he can't look you in
the face."

This dispute had passed unnoticed in the welcoming of Bart. As he took
his seat in the center of the Second Form students, Lefty exclaimed:

"Now we're all back."

"Not yet," returned Buttons.

"Who's missing?"

"Fred Markham."

"Oh, he'll not be back," sneered Bart Montgomery.

"Why?" chorused several of the boys, while all the others gathered
closer.

"You know his father failed, don't you?" demanded Bart.

"Sure," said Buttons, "but how does that affect Fred?"

"He can win the Second Form Scholarship in Science--that'll give him
cash enough, if he's short of money," protested another.

"Oh, it isn't lack of rocks that will keep him away," asserted Bart
contemptuously.

"Then what will?" persisted Buttons.

All the former students who had returned to Baxter were aware that
a rivalry had sprung up the previous year between Fred Markham and
Bart Montgomery, due to the former's increasing ability, both in his
studies and in athletics, which threatened to wrest the Form leadership
from Bart. But they had supposed it to be an honest, schoolboy rivalry,
and the tone in which Bart spoke of Fred surprised them.

As both boys were popular, they had many followers among their own
and the Third Form students, and unconsciously these divided, Fred's
supporters gathering about Buttons, who was championing their absent
leader, the others about Bart.

Noticing that he had by far the most numerous following, Bart's pride
got the better of his discretion and he retorted:

"If you want to know so much, I'll tell you. You know some men fail in
order to make money."

"You mean Fred Markham's father failed dishonestly?" demanded Buttons.

So pointed was the insinuated accusation that, young people though they
were, the other students realized its seriousness, and with solemn
faces awaited Bart's reply.

The attention of all the scholars hanging upon the answer, none of them
had noticed the approach of a well-built, manly young fellow, whose
open, honest face and frank blue eyes were in striking contrast to the
crafty, though handsome, features of Bart. As a result, the late-comer
had reached the edge of the crowd just as Bart exclaimed:

"That's just what I mean. My father was the principal creditor. So I
guess I know."

At these words there was a sharp intaking of breath by the divided
groups, and Buttons retorted:

"I don't believe it. Fred Markham's father is an honest man."

"Thank you, Buttons," exclaimed a strained voice.

At the words, all eyes were turned in the direction whence they came,
and as the boys recognized the speaker, shouts of "Here's Fred! Hello,
Cotton-Top! Now say that to his face, you Bart!" filled the air.

"Who said my father was dishonest?" demanded Fred.

"Bart did!" chorused several.

Striding to where the calumniator stood, Fred looked straight in his
face.

"Did you say my father was dishonest?"

But the accuser did not have the courage to say in the presence of
the son what he had said in his absence, despite the fact that he
overtopped Fred by a good two inches, and temporized:

"I said there was something queer about your father's failure. My
father said so."

"You are right, Bart Montgomery. There was something 'queer' about
it--_but not on my father's side_!"

"What do you mean?" snarled Bart.

"Anything you want to think," returned Fred.

Drawing back his right hand, Bart hissed:

"I'll teach you to say things about my father, you puppy! Even before
yours failed mine could buy him and sell him."

"Because your father had more money doesn't make mine dishonest,"
retorted Fred, squaring himself to ward off the expected blow.

But before it could be delivered, a stern voice exclaimed:

"Boys, what does this mean?"

"The Head! The Head!" gasped several of the onlookers, and like magic
the crowd of students melted away, leaving Mr. Vining, for it was the
principal of the school, with Fred and Bart. A moment he gazed from one
to the other of the lads.

"Second Formers should set an example of good behavior, not bad," he
said. "Bart, come to my office at once. Fred, I shall expect you at the
end of thirty minutes."

CHAPTER II

FACING SUSPENSION

From behind trees and other points of vantage, scores of eyes had
watched the headmaster, as, silent and with the gentle dignity that
endeared him to his students, he entered the school building, followed
by the unwilling Bart.

The town of Baxter would never have been distinguished from countless
other prosperous country villages had it not been for the High School.
And Mr. Vining's personality had made that institution what it was--the
best in the county.

Never for an instant did the headmaster forget that he had once been a
boy himself, wherefore he had been able to look with indulgence upon
the harmless pranks of the lads and girls under his charge. It had been
his good fortune to attract assistants who held the same general ideas,
and, as a result, the one hundred and twenty pupils in the school were
more like a big, happy family than anything else.

For the most part, the students lived in Baxter, but each year saw
more and more scholars come from other towns.

Due to his understanding of young people, Mr. Vining had established
the policy of allowing them to settle their differences themselves,
only interfering in cases of unusual seriousness.

But fighting in public was tabooed--and because they knew this, the
students had fled when his unheralded arrival had put a stop to the
quarrel between Fred and Bart.

No sooner had he disappeared within the building, however, than the
scholars emerged from their hiding places.

Swarming about Fred, they looked at him like one about to receive
condign punishment.

"You're a nice one, you are, to get Bart in trouble on the very first
day of school," came from the lad called Taffy.

"Then he shouldn't have said such things about my father," retorted
Fred.

"And he called you a puppy," chimed in another.

"It isn't a nice word, but it doesn't seem to me as mean as saying
such things about Mr. Markham," asserted the new Second Former to his
neighbor.

"It don't, eh?" ejaculated the other. "Well, it's a good deal worse.
'Puppy' is the fighting word at Baxter."

Fortunately for Bronson, his remark had not been heard by any except
the boy next him, or he would have been drawn into the wrangle which
was growing serious again as Taffy exclaimed:

"Fiddlesticks! I'll bet you saw the Head coming or you'd never dared to
face Bart. You know he can whip----"

"You know better than that, Taffy Brown," rejoined Fred, flushing at
the charge.

"Besides, Bart can't whip Fred," interposed Buttons.

"He can't, eh? Bart Montgomery can whip any boy in the Second Form, and
all but Sandow Hill in the First," returned Taffy.

"Guess again," derided several of Fred's followers.

"I'll go sodas for the entire Form that Fred can lick Bart!" Soda
exclaimed.

The size of the wager for a moment dampened Taffy's ardor, and he
growled:

"If Fred wanted to fight Bart, why didn't he wait till after school?"

"I'll tell you why, Taffy Brown," retorted Fred hotly. "I'm not going
to stand by and let any one make such a statement about my father, no
matter where it is or who is 'round."

These words, backed by the defiant determination expressed by Fred's
face and attitude, brought a cheer from his supporters, while Bart's
howled in derision.

"If you think I am afraid of Bart, I'll fool you!" exclaimed Fred,
flushing. "I'll meet him to-night at seven, at The Patch."

"And I'll wager sodas for the Second Form, girls barred, against
Taffy!" cried Soda.

"I'll just go you, but it's a shame to take your money, Soda. You'd
better have any one who believes in Fred chip in, so you won't have to
lose so much; sodas for ten Seconds will cost one dollar."

"Which you will have to pay," rejoined Fred's champion.

"Hooray! Here's Bart now!" shouted somebody who had seen the boy emerge
from the building.

Instantly all eyes were focused upon the tall form of the boy who had
just left the headmaster, while many were the surmises as to what had
transpired at the interview. As Bart drew near, the scholars noticed
that his swarthy face was flushed.

"I'll bet the Head gave him a fierce trimming," whispered Soda. But his
remark was lost in the babel of voices that demanded to know what Mr.
Vining had said.

Bart, however, was in no mood to gratify their curiosity, and, with
only unintelligible mumbles in response to the questions, stalked
moodily away among the trees, looking neither to the right nor to the
left.

"My eye! but the Head must have scorched him!" commented Buttons.

"Well, he ought to," asserted Soda.

"It was Bart's fault, anyway. He had no business to----"

The opinion was never expressed, however, for suddenly a voice called:

"Fred, why don't you come to me when I send for you?"

And turning toward the direction whence it came, the boys beheld the
headmaster standing on the porch of the building.

"I didn't know you had sent for me, Mr. Vining," responded Fred,
pushing aside his fellows. "I thought you did not want me for half an
hour."

"I asked Bart to tell you to come right in."

"I didn't hear him, sir. I am sorry."

"That shows just how white Fred is," declared Buttons vehemently. "He
wouldn't say Bart didn't tell him--just said he didn't hear him."

"And it shows how mean Bart is," added Soda.

Regardless of their support of the two leaders of the Second Form,
Baxter boys and girls were noted for their love of fair play, and this
exhibition of pettiness by Bart surprised them into silence, which
lasted until the headmaster and Fred were lost to sight within the
school building.

Mr. Vining's office was on the right of the hallway, near the entrance,
and although it was tastefully furnished, so intimately associated was
it with reprimands and explanations that none of the scholars ever
noticed how comfortable and attractive it was.

Pointing to a bench, the headmaster indicated to Fred to be seated,
and himself dropping into a Morris chair, he studied the boy's face a
moment before saying:

"Did I understand you to say that Bart did not tell you to come to me?"

"I said I did not hear him, sir."

"But you would have, had he done so?"

"The boys were calling out to him, so I couldn't hear very well."

"You're the same Fred, aren't you?" smiled Mr. Vining at the boy's
refusal to implicate one of his fellow students. "Now tell me how the
trouble started."

"I can't, sir!"

"Why?"

"Because I was not there when it began."

But Fred did not hesitate to describe his own actions.

"I'm sorry," commented the headmaster, when the recital was finished.
"I'm afraid you will be obliged to hear a good many unpleasant----"

"But my father is _not_ dishonest," interrupted Fred.

"It is natural for you to think so," returned Mr. Vining
noncommittally. "As I said when I came upon you and Bart, you Second
Form boys should set an example by obeying the rules. You know fighting
in front of the school is forbidden, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why were you going to?"

"Because I shall defend my father's name anywhere, Mr. Vining."

"H'm! Baxter rules are made to be obeyed, Fred. To prevent a recurrence
of this morning's scene, I must ask you to give me your word not to
fight with Bart."

"I can't, sir."

"Why?"

"Because when the boys said I only stood up against Bart after having
seen you coming----"

"Is that true?" interrupted Mr. Vining.

"No, sir. I was too busy watching Bart to see any one else."

"H'm. Go on."

"I said I would fight him to-night at seven."

Several minutes the headmaster gazed at the serious, manly face of the
boy before him, then said:

"If you fight, Fred, I shall suspend you. Now you may go."

[Illustration: IF YOU FIGHT, FRED, I SHALL SUSPEND YOU]

CHAPTER III

FRED'S SACRIFICE

It was with lagging feet and heavy heart that Fred left the office of
the headmaster.

Bart's aspersions on his father had hurt him deeply, and Mr. Vining's
refusal to agree with his own opinion of his parent's honesty had
surprised him. But the deepest cut of all was the threat to suspend him
should he fight with Bart. If he obeyed the headmaster, he knew all
too well that his fellow students--that is, all except Margie--would
attribute his action to fear of Bart, and he was also familiar enough
with the nature of his rival to realize he would lose no opportunity to
twist events to his own advantage.

Such a combination of circumstances was enough to perplex an older head
than Fred's, and as he descended the steps, he felt a keen resentment
against the headmaster for placing him in such a position. It was with
relief, however, that he saw Margie had drawn the other girls off to a
spot where they would be out of earshot, for he dreaded their scrutiny
more than the rough comments of his fellows.

"He looks as solemn as an owl," exclaimed Buttons, who with Soda and
his other staunch supporters had been awaiting his coming.

"The Head must be in a fierce frame of mind to-day," commented another.

"No wonder, with Fred and Bart getting into a mix-up at the very
opening of school," returned Soda.

"Well, let's show Fred we intend to stand by him," exclaimed Buttons.

This suggestion met with ready response, and, with a rush, Fred's
adherents gathered about him.

"Get a trimming?" queried one of them.

"Worse than that," responded Fred soberly. "I can't defend my father
and myself against Bart."

"Whe-ew! How Bart and his crowd will crow!" lamented Soda. And from the
expressions on the faces of the others it was evident he had voiced
their sentiments.

"But why can't you? What did the Head say?" demanded Buttons.

Eagerly the others looked toward Fred.

"I will be suspended if I fight."

"Jumping grasshoppers! but that is a bad one!"

It had been the proud boast of Baxter that never but once had
a student been suspended, whereas in the rival school of Landon
suspensions were of almost yearly occurrence. The boys grew silent in
the contemplation of the penalty.

It was at this juncture that the First Form students, led by Sandow
Hill, reached the steps. With the majority of them Fred was a favorite,
and as they noticed the serious expressions on the faces of the Second
Form boys, several of them asked:

"What's the trouble? Why so glum, Cotton-Top?"

"He and Bart had a row. The Head came along, and now he's threatened
Fred with suspension if he fights Bart," poured forth Buttons, going
into details in reply to further questioning.

"Fred ought to be thankful," exclaimed one of the girls. "That big
bully would make mincemeat of him."

"You girls go along into school," snapped Sandow. Then, turning to
Fred, he asked: "Was there any limit set to where you couldn't fight?"

"Why, no," returned the boy, puzzled by the question.

"Then cheer up," laughed the leader of the First Form. "So long as the
Head didn't set any specific limit, you can have your go with Bart
anywhere not on school grounds."

This solution of the problem elicited shouts of approval from Fred's
followers, but the boy most concerned did not share in the glee.

"I don't think that would be honorable," he interposed. "Mr. Vining
said he would suspend me if I mixed it up with Bart."

"But he can't control your actions off school grounds," asserted Hal
Church, another First Former.

The tone in which the words were uttered, together with their
implication that Fred was not any too anxious to meet his larger rival,
produced just the effect Hal had intended.

"I told Mr. Vining I would defend my father's name anywhere," flashed
back Fred. "And I will. What he said to Bart, I don't know. But if you
can persuade Bart to be at The Patch at seven to-night, I'll show him
I'm not afraid of him."

"If we can _persuade_ him?" ejaculated Taffy, who had joined the group
just in time to hear Fred's challenge. "Say, it's all Lefty and I could
do to keep him from coming back to have it out with you right here now."

"Good. Then have your man ready at seven, Taffy. Buttons, you have Fred
on hand. I'll referee the go. Mum's the word. I'll make life unhappy
for the boy who carries word of this to the Head," declared Sandow.

"Don't worry about us," asserted Buttons, while Taffy sneered: "You'd
better have a doctor handy--or an ambulance. Fred'll need 'em."

Just then the ringing of the bell, calling the scholars to the general
assembly room, made the boys forget the quarrel, and, trooping into
the building, they took the benches on the right side, while the girls
sat on the left, all facing the platform where the Head and his three
assistants were seated.

After a short prayer, Mr. Vining welcomed his former students back, and
then dilated upon the ideals of Baxter, laying particular stress upon
submission to rules. At this reference to obedience, the boys looked at
Bart and Fred, and many a face broke into a grin.

"And now we will have the drawing of desks," announced the headmaster,
concluding his words of advice, and reaching for a box, into which he
dropped some square pieces of paper. "As you know, the First and Second
Forms sit together in Room one, and the Third and Fourth Forms in Room
two. The three back rows of desks belong to the First and Third Forms,
respectively.

"First Form, come forward. The numbers on the cards indicate the desk
you can call your own for this school year. Miss Ayres, you may draw
first."

Quickly the girl stepped to the platform, thrust her hand into the
box, drew out a piece of paper and handed it to the headmaster.

"You have drawn number three, Miss Ayres. Church, you are next."

Rapidly the First Form made their drawings, and then more slips were
placed in the box for the Seconds.

"I think we might be allowed to select our own desks," grumbled Bart,
and, as the possibility of the two rivals drawing adjacent desks was
thus suggested, the others became all attention.

Though he gave no indication of the fact, the headmaster had overheard
Bart's remark, and for that reason called Fred to make the first
selection, announcing "seventeen" as he read the slip the youth handed
him.

"That's the best desk in the Second Form section," whispered several of
the boys, while Buttons and Soda patted their chum lovingly on the back
when he returned to his seat between them.

As one name after another was called, Bart became more and more glum,
his sober face evidencing that he felt slighted at being compelled to
wait.

"There's Clothespin, the new boy," murmured Soda, as Bronson walked
awkwardly forward. "Wouldn't it be rich if he drew a better desk than
Bart?"

"Eighteen," announced Mr. Vining. And the allotment proceeded till only
Bart was left.

Eagerly the students had listened as one number after another was
called and such close attention did they pay that it was not necessary
for them to hear the figure "thirty-three" read to know that the only
desk remaining for Bart was in the front row.

"I won't sit there!" growled the rich lad, as the fateful number was
announced. "If a newcomer can force _me_ into the front row, I'll do my
studying at home."

"That is not the Baxter spirit, my boy," chided the headmaster. "You
had an equal chance with the rest. Furthermore, it is very impolite to
Mr. Bronson."

"I don't care. I won't sit way up front," retorted Bart, his
ungovernable temper making him regardless of consequences.

This challenge of authority drove the kindly expression from Mr.
Vining's face, and he cleared his voice to speak when Fred stood up,
exclaiming:

"Montgomery can have my desk, and _I'll_ sit up front."

"Thank you, Fred. Bart, because of Fred's sacrifice, you can have
number seventeen. Bronson, I regret you should have suffered such
rudeness at the hands of any Baxter boy."

This open rebuke to the haughty Bart delighted Fred's champions, and
when the desks for the two other Forms had been assigned, they gloated
over it as they filed outdoors.

In passing out it so happened that Fred and Bart were brought face to
face.

"Grand-stand player!" hissed the bully.

"I don't play to grand stands, and you know it, Bart Montgomery. I was
only thinking of the honor of Baxter," retaliated Fred.

"A Markham talking of honor," rejoined Bart.

Unknown to the boys, Mr. Vining had come up behind them, and, as he
heard the bully's unkind words, he said:

"Fred, you may forget what I told you this morning."

CHAPTER IV

BRONSON'S CREDENTIALS

To Fred the lifting of the ban against his defending his father's name
seemed the solution of all his troubles. In his joy he forgot to thank
Mr. Vining, and when his remissness occurred to him he saw the form of
the headmaster just entering his office.

"That sure was white of him," the boy muttered to himself. "I don't
believe he realized what his threat of suspension meant to me."

Several of the boys had noticed Mr. Vining speaking to Fred, and as
soon as the former had passed them, turned back, eager to learn what he
had said.

Fred, however, was not disposed to gratify their curiosity, and
vouchsafed them only a smile, tantalizing in its mystery.

"It must be good news," asserted Buttons, when his most diplomatic
attempts to obtain the desired information had failed. "A few minutes
ago your face was as long as a yardstick, and now you're grinning like
a cat full of chicken."

"It is good news," laughed Fred, and then the sight of the boy for whom
he had sacrificed his desk suggesting an avenue of escape from his too
solicitous friends, he called: "Oh, you Bronson. Come and I'll show
you where you will sit. Sandow Hill had seventeen last year, so you'll
probably have a lot of cleaning out to do."

"It's lucky for you, Cotton-Top, that Sandow didn't hear you say that,"
came from a First Former. "But I shall tell him, and he'll attend to
you, never fear. I don't know what Baxter is coming to when Second
Formers can criticize their betters."

The austerity of the First Form student frightened Bronson.

"Do you suppose Mr. Hill will be angry at what you said?" he asked in a
whisper.

"He may pretend to be," returned Fred, "but he won't be, really. The
Firsts always put on a lot of airs. If you let them, they'll make your
life miserable. Just don't take what they say seriously. But there's
one thing you must remember--don't talk back to them. It's one of
Baxter's unwritten laws that Lower Formers must not talk back to the
Firsts."

"Are there many of these unwritten laws?" asked Bronson, alarmed at
this constant outcropping of Baxter traditions. He was anxious not
to violate any of them, and his own reception had been such as to
convince him that unless he soon learned them, he would be in constant
hot water.

"No-o, not so very many."

"Are they very hard to learn?"

"Oh, you'll catch on to them soon. Just keep your eyes open and you'll
learn them. There's another, though, you should know, or you'll have
to stand treat to the whole First Form. When the Firsts are going to
classes or coming out, you must never walk in front of them. They have
the right of way, just as we Seconds do over the other forms."

"Thank you, I'll remember."

"You'd better. Being new, some candy-loving girl will try to get you in
front of her."

"But how can I help it?"

"Just step to one side, and say, 'After you, my dear First Former.' It
makes 'em ripping mad."

Room No. 1, being located at the rear of the school building, had a
separate entrance, and in reaching it, the boys were obliged to cross
one end of the campus. As Fred and Bronson made their way to it, they
saw several of the students kicking footballs.

"Are you on the team?" asked the newcomer.

"No, only Firsts make the School team. But I hope to make my Form
team."

"Then how is it Montgomery could make the ball team and win the Landon
game?"

"Because it's different with baseball. Any one can try for that. The
Head says it isn't so dangerous."

By this time the two had reached No. 1, which was already swarming with
students busily moving their belongings from their old desks to the
ones they had just drawn.

"This will be a good chance for you to meet the Form," said Fred. And
he introduced Bronson to Margie Newcomb, Grace Darling, Taffy Brown,
Soda Billings, Shorty Simms and Ned Tompkins.

"You mustn't take what we do too seriously, Mr. Bronson," said Margie,
as she cordially shook the newcomer's hand. "You will soon get
accustomed to us. Oh, Alice," she cried, as the girl who had first
espied Bronson when he mounted the steps entered the room, "Come here a
minute."

But the girl, noting the presence of the new student, turned on her
heel and went out.

At this snub, Margie bit her lip.

"Alice is miffed because Fred has more manners than her brute of a
brother," explained Grace. "You'd better leave her and Mary alone,
Marg."

"So she's Mr. Montgomery's sister?" asked Bronson, an amused light
shining in his eyes. "They do seem alike."

"Oh, don't mind her. That's just the Montgomery way," interposed Fred.
"She's really a mighty nice girl--when you know her. Come on, and I'll
show you through the building."

After inspecting all the recitation rooms, the laboratory, and the
gymnasium in the basement, the boys returned to No. 1.

As Fred and Bronson reached a spot whence they could see the latter's
desk, both were surprised to behold an envelope attached thereto by a
clothespin.

"Wonder what that is?" exclaimed Fred. Seizing the envelope, he glanced
at the address, then handed it to his companion.

"A letter for me?" murmured the newcomer, in surprise. "Whom do you
suppose it's from?"

"Why not open it and find out?" suggested Fred, striving to restrain a
smile, for he had recognized the round, flourishing writing of Soda.

Quickly Bronson did this, his face assuming a look of perplexity as he
scanned the contents. Twice he read the note, then asked:

"Who are the 'Big Six,' and where is 'The Witches' Pool'?"

Recognizing a plot of his chums to have fun with the newcomer, Fred
said, ignoring the questions:

"Let me see the note."

But Bronson refused to give it to him.

"How can I tell who sent it, if I can't see the handwriting?" demanded
Fred, surprised at such action.

"But I can't show it to you."

"Why?"

"The note says I mustn't."

"Look here, Bronson, you mustn't take things so seriously. This note is
just to scare you. It doesn't mean anything. If you don't let me see
it, we can't get back at the boys who sent it."

A moment more Bronson hesitated, then reluctantly handed it to Fred.
The note ran as follows:

"Clothespin, bring your credentials to the Witches' Pool by eight
o'clock to-night. By order of the Big Six. Show this to Cotton-Top
at your peril."

"That's some of Soda's doings," said Fred. "I'm not surprised he didn't
want you to let me know about it. But I wonder what he means by your
credentials?"

"Why, the papers I must get to show I am a member of the Second Form, I
suppose."

"What papers? Who's been telling you such stuff?"

"Soda." And briefly Bronson related to his new friend the incidents of
his reception when he introduced himself.

So absorbed had both boys been in the note that not until the creaking
of a door, cautiously opened, reached his ears did Fred realize the
conspirators were on the lookout to see when the note was discovered.
But at the tell-tale sound, he grabbed Bronson by the arm, and with a
whispered "Come with me," led him rapidly out the side door and round
to the back of the building.

"Where are you going?" eagerly inquired his companion, as Fred
slackened his pace.

"To get even with Soda, of course."

"But he hasn't done anything to you."

"Oh, yes, he has. He knows I am showing you around, so anything he does
to you is the same as though he did it to me; see?"

"Yes, I see," returned Bronson slowly, adding quickly, "I wonder if the
other boys would have been so decent to me, if you hadn't taken me in
tow?"

"Of course they would."

But Bronson held a different opinion, though he did not say so, and
all the way to the village store, whither Fred led him, he thanked
his lucky stars that the fair-haired boy had taken him under his
protection.

Arrived at the store, Fred walked to the back part and asked of the
clerk:

"Got any very smelly limburger cheese?"

"Sure."

"How much is it?"

"Fifty cents a pound."

"Then give me half a pound of the very smelliest."

"I'll pay for it," said Bronson, as the package was delivered to them,
adding, in fear that Fred might think his offer reflected on his
position, "it's only fair, you know, because you are helping me out of
a hole."

"All right. Now, we'll get a box, and you write on a card, 'My
Credentials--Clothespin,' then we'll have it wrapped up."

When this had been done, Fred persuaded the clerk to address the
package to "The Big Six, Care of Mr. Soda Billings, Baxter High School."

"I wish we could be there when they open it," exclaimed Bronson, as
they returned to the school building.

"We'll be in on the fun, don't worry. Just stay outside, here, and I
will deliver your credentials."

Cautiously Fred entered No. 1, laid the box on Soda's desk, and bolted
out of the door.

CHAPTER V

BRONSON TURNS THE TABLES

To the waiting boy the reappearance of his friend seemed instantaneous.

"Quick! To the campus; They mustn't see us near the building!" breathed
Fred.

To gain the football field was but the work of a few seconds, and when
Soda and his fellow conspirators rushed from the building, the two
boys were watching the punting and tackling of team aspirants to the
apparent oblivion of all else.

Not long did it take Buttons to descry Fred's yellow head, however, and
with a whoop, he dashed at him, followed by his companions, one of whom
bore the odoriferous box.

"What shall we do now?" asked Bronson nervously, as the shout reached
his ears.

"Nothing. It's their move. Pretend to be interested in the
practice--only keep your weather-eye open."

But though the newcomer tried to appear indifferent, when the
cessation of the footbeats and the sound of heavy breathing announced
the arrival of Soda and the others, he could not keep from looking
around to see what they were doing.

"Ha! ha! His guilty conscience makes him fearful!" cried Buttons
gleefully. "Clothespin, I'm surprised at you--not to say deeply
grieved."

Determined to make amends for having allowed his curiosity to get the
better of him, Bronson, ignoring the remark, looked at Fred.

"Who did you say that fellow with the ball is?" he asked.

"That's Tom Perkins, the best full back ever at Baxter," replied Fred,
with a wink of approval, never turning his head.

"But how can you tell when only Firsts are allowed to try for the team?"

"Oh, you can get a line on the men from their work on their Form teams.
Tom has played full back ever since he came to Baxter."

Surprised at their reception, Buttons and his companions stood quietly
until Fred began a history of football at Baxter, relating the most
exciting incidents of the annual games with Landon, and then launched
into the chances of the various candidates for making the 1912 team.

"Look here, Clothespin, it is customary at Baxter to answer when you
are spoken to," exclaimed Soda, as soon as Fred paused for breath.

"Beg pardon, did you address me?" asked Bronson, with a well-feigned
look of astonishment. "I was so interested in what Fred Markham was
telling me that I did not hear you. What did you say?"

"Good boy, Clothespin," exclaimed Fred between laughs, as he danced
with glee at Bronson's simulated surprise. "It isn't very polite, Soda,
to interrupt when I am telling a new member of our Form about the team,
especially when you smell so."

"Oh, shut up, Cotton-Top," snapped Soda. "Nobody's talking to you. Our
business is with Clothespin."

"Business?" repeated the latter innocently.

"Yes, business," broke in Buttons. "We received your credentials. They
are certainly strong. After due deliberation, however, we have decided
that as you did not deliver them in accordance with instructions, you
will not be accorded the privileges of the Second Form unless you eat
them."

As he uttered the last words, Buttons took the odoriferous limburger
from the box and started to jam it into Bronson's mouth.

But before he could do so, Fred caught his arm.

"Keep out of this, you Cotton-Top!" cried the other boys, jumping for
Fred. "This is none of your affair."

"Oh, yes, it is," grinned Fred, throwing aside Soda and skillfully
dodging the others who charged at him. Then sniffing loudly, he
continued: "I say, Buttons, you'd better run and take a bath."

"Bath nothing," retorted Buttons angrily. "It's this cheese."

Even his fellow-conspirators could not keep from laughing at the
indignation with which he repelled the charge.

"I'll stand treat for sodas if you'll come down to the store,"
exclaimed Bronson, deeming the moment opportune to try to make friends
with his tormentors. "That is, if we can go without missing classes."

"Sure we can go. There are no classes till afternoon," chorused several.

Laughing and talking, the boys started for the village, when Buttons
suddenly cried:

"I say, let's put the cheese in Bart's desk. He's gone home, and it
will make him furious."

The suggestion met with hearty approval, and after due consideration,
Shorty Simms was selected as the one to hide the limburger.

"We'll all go in," declared Soda, "then if any instructor sees us, he
won't be able to tell who did it, as he would if Shorty went alone."

Readily agreeing, the boys swarmed in a troop into the building, and
while Shorty, watching his chance, dodged to Bart's desk, opened the
top and placed the limburger as far back as possible, smearing some of
it in the cracks.

Gleefully the others watched, filing innocently from the room when the
deed was accomplished.

"Wow! but Bart'll raise an awful rumpus," opined several.

"Never mind about Bart. Come on to the store," exclaimed Soda. And,
linking his arm through Bronson's, as though fearful he might escape,
Soda hurried through the hall, the others following close behind.

But as they started down the steps, they were confronted by a group of
Firsts.

"Hey, you Seconds! Back to Number one and clean our desks for us."

At a glance Fred realized that he and his companions were outnumbered
by the Upper Formers, and, with that quickness of decision which was
destined to make him so good a football player, he whispered:

"The side door!"

Laughing derisively, thee Seconds turned and rushed into No. 1, hastily
swarming out the window and through the door.

So unexpected was the refusal to clean their desks, that for a moment
the Firsts stood motionless at the foot of the steps, then charged up.

But that moment of hesitation had been sufficient for Fred and his
followers to make good their escape, and as the Firsts rushed into No.
1, the last boy reached the campus and with a mocking wave of his hand,
Buttons shouted:

"Try the Thirds! They're slow but tame!"

CHAPTER VI

HIS FATHER'S FAILURE

Bronson's action in standing treat for Buttons and his crowd did much
to establish him in their good graces, and the lads soon became better
acquainted.

"I say, have you picked out your boarding-place, Clothespin?" Soda
asked presently. "If you haven't, we may be able to save you getting
into one of the 'Old Ladies' Homes.'"

"That's the Baxter name for several boarding-houses managed by elderly
maiden ladies," explained Fred. "They----"

But he was interrupted by Soda's announcement:

"The lunacy commission will now consider the sad case of Fred Markham,
star athlete of the Second Form, who is so far out of his head as to
call the harpies that collect the rent and dish out the prunes at the
'Old Ladies' Homes' _maiden ladies_. It----"

"I realize that all sense of politeness and respect for your elders
is lacking in you, Soda," broke in Fred, "but you must remember that
Bronson has been accustomed to associating with well-bred people."

This retort, interpreted in the spirit in which it was uttered, evoked
howls of delight from all but the victim of Fred's sarcasm, and Shorty
expressed their sentiments by saying:

"That ought to hold you for some time, Soda. Now, don't begin to talk
back. Remember, children should be seen and not heard."

"Your conversation may be edifying, but it is not enlightening as to a
boarding-house for Bronson," retorted Soda.

"I am deeply moved by your kind consideration of my welfare," smiled
Bronson, "and I thank you heartily. But that I may save you further
bother, I will tell you I have already arranged for quarters."

"Bet you're stung," declared Shorty, while the others chorused: "Where?"

"With Mr. Vining."

"The Head?" gasped the boys, flashing significant glances to one
another, the rising inflection of their voices proclaiming their
incredulity.

"Yes, he is an old friend of my family."

"Take me by the hand, somebody, and lead me away," groaned Soda. "Here
we invited Bronson to a party at the Witches' Pool, and he lives with
the Head."

Though the words were spoken in jest, the expressions on the boys'
faces showed that they were wondering whether or not their new Form
member would prove a spoil-sport.

Divining their thoughts, Bronson hastened to say:

"I hope the fact that I live with Mr. Vining will make no difference in
our relations. It was arranged between mother and him that I should not
be quizzed, no matter what happens at school."

"My eye! I wish I could live with the Head," lamented Shorty. "I
was quizzed by either him or Gumshoe regularly once a week--if not
oftener--all last year."

"We'll petition him to adopt you," cried Soda. "Who'll sign?"

But before the suggestion could be carried out, the blowing of a noon
whistle sent the boys to their respective homes for dinner.

The fun with the cheese, and the escape from the Firsts, had distracted
Fred's mind from the unpleasant events attendant upon his arrival at
school, but as he approached his unpretentious but comfortable home,
his rival's remarks recurred to him. Consequently it was a very sober
boy who entered the dining room of the Markham homestead.

Instantly realizing that her son's quietness--in striking contrast to
his usual good spirits--betokened something serious, Mrs. Markham was
about to ask the cause when Fred forestalled her by inquiring:

"Where's father?"

"He's gone to Manchester."

"Why?"

It was the hope of both Mr. and Mrs. Markham that they might keep the
full import of the failure from Fred, and in accordance with the plan
agreed upon between husband and wife when the former set out on his
trip--taken in reality to obtain a position--the woman replied:

"Your father has gone on business, Fred." And then, in an effort to
divert his mind from such dangerous ground, she continued: "How did
school start? Are there any new boys in your Form?"

Fred, however, was not turned so easily from his object, and, without
reply to his mother's questions, said:

"But if he has failed, I don't see how he has any business."

Realizing that her attempt to change the conversation was futile, Mrs.
Markham replied:

"He has gone to obtain a position, if possible."

This information appeared to Fred partially to confirm what his rival
had said, and it was with a very shaky voice he murmured:

"I'm sorry he went without talking to me."

During this conversation, neither mother nor son had more than tasted
the delicious dinner that was growing cold on the table before them,
and in one more attempt to divert Fred's thoughts, Mrs. Markham said:

"You will never make your football team if you don't eat."

The words suggested to Fred that he could not afford to sacrifice any
strength for his bout with Bart Montgomery by abstaining from food,
and, though it was with little relish, he ate his dinner.

When finished, he returned to his questioning, almost taking his
mother's breath away by asking:

"Did father make money by his failure?"

An instant Mrs. Markham was too amazed to speak. Then, quickly
recovering herself, she replied indignantly:

"No, indeed! Who put such an idea into your head?"

"Bart Montgomery."

Suppressing the groan this reply brought to her lips, for she was well
aware of the Montgomery family's pride and trouble-stirring tongues,
intuitively her mother's heart felt all her son would be made to suffer
by his rich Form mate, and, desirous of knowing the worst, Mrs. Markham
asked:

"What did that bully say?"

"He said father failed dishonestly, that his father was the principal
creditor, so he ought to know."

"The contemptible brute! Do you suppose if your father had made money
by his failure he would now be trying to find a position in order to
earn money with which to support us. Fred, your father is an honest
man--which is more than Bart Montgomery's mother can say about his
father, with all his wealth!"

"Hooray for you, mother! I wish I'd thought of that to say to Bart this
morning," exclaimed Fred. "But I'll say it the next time I see him."

Mrs. Markham's anger at the imputation her husband was dishonest had
carried her beyond the bounds of her customary caution, and, regretting
her indiscretion, she shook her head.

"You mustn't do anything of the sort, Fred. Promise me you won't."

"Why?" he demanded, surprised at this sudden change in his mother,
without replying to her request.

"Because it will only make it harder for your father."

"How?"

For several minutes Mrs. Markham was silent, evidently considering
whether or not the time had come when Fred should be told all the
ramifications of the failure. Finally deciding such a course would be
the wisest, she parried:

"If I tell you, will you promise not to make that remark to Bart?"

"I won't do so if it will hurt father."

This answer seeming satisfactory, Mrs. Markham said:

"Being business, there are some points I don't understand myself. But I
know enough to give you a general idea.

"When your father started his automobile supply business, he was
obliged to borrow some money for which he gave notes.

"People all said your father would not succeed. But when he did,
several of them grew jealous, and strove to make trouble for him by
buying up his notes.

"Mr. Montgomery heard about it, and, coming to your father, offered him
enough funds to pay off the notes, agreeing to accept interest and let
your father pay off the principle as he could.

"Believing the offer made in good faith, your father gratefully
accepted it. But it was not long before he discovered he was mistaken.

"Mrs. Montgomery has a sister who married Charles Gibbs. Being eager
to have her sister with her in Baxter, she asked her husband to start
Mr. Gibbs in business.

"Seeing your father's success, Mr. Montgomery decided to ruin your
father and set up his brother-in-law in the automobile supply business.

"Accordingly, he came to your father and told him he was sorry but he
must have his money. Your father protested, but Mr. Montgomery was firm.

"In despair your father tried to obtain money from the banks in nearby
towns, but, when inquiry was made, Mr. Montgomery said your father had
obtained the loan from him by misrepresentation and the banks refused
to lend."

"The sneak!" flashed Fred, his hands clenching as he thought of such
treachery to his father.

"As a last resort, your father tried to mortgage our house, but when
his title to the property was examined, it was found there was some
flaw in the deed.

"Your father insisted some one had tampered with the records, but to no
avail.

"Refused money on all sides, there was nothing left for him to do and
he was forced into bankruptcy."

In silence Fred digested the story for several minutes.

"I don't see how they can call father dishonest for that. He certainly
wouldn't change the deed," he said finally.

"That is the part I don't understand. They said your father had some
money on deposit in the Baxter National Bank, which had been withdrawn
before Mr. Montgomery could attach it."

"They mean father is hiding this money?"

"Yes."

"But why shouldn't he withdraw it?"

"The law says a bankrupt must not dispose of nor conceal any property
from his creditors."

"What does father say?"

"That he never signed the check on which the money was paid."

"Then he never did!" asserted Fred emphatically. "I'll bet Charles
Gibbs and Thomas Montgomery are mixed up both in the deed and the check
transaction."

"Hush, dear, you mustn't say such things! Both your father and I
believe as you do, but Mr. Montgomery is so powerful we can do nothing,
unless we have absolute proof," exclaimed Mrs. Markham, looking
anxiously about in fear that some one might have entered and heard the
remark.

"Don't worry, mother," exclaimed Fred, jumping from his chair and
running to her, as he saw the tears fall on her cheek when she finished
the story, "I'll get the proof!"

CHAPTER VII

MRS. MARKHAM'S RUSE

As Fred uttered the manly words, his mother raised her tear-stained
face, the light of hope shining in her eyes, threw her arms about him
and, her head resting on his shoulder, murmured, between her sobs:

"Oh, if you only could, my boy!"

"I will find the proof, if there is any," asserted Fred confidently,
"so cheer up, Momsy."

This sharing of his parents' burden seemed to Fred to draw him nearer
to them, and in this closer understanding he and his mother talked
matters over, during the course of which the clash with Bart, the
drawing of the desks and the joke with the cheese were related.

At the recounting of Bart's rudeness in refusing to occupy the desk he
had drawn, Mrs. Markham exclaimed:

"There is no saying so true, my son, as that gentleness is bred in the
bone. Gentle birth is a thing no money can buy. So long as it was a
Montgomery who was so insolent, I am glad that it was a Markham who
made amends. You must bring Bronson to the house."

Further confidences between mother and son were prevented, however,
by a loud rap on the side door--which opened into the dining
room--followed immediately by the entrance of a tall figure.

"How do you do, Mrs. Markham? Ready, Fred?" came from the newcomer.

"Sandow Hill, you'll scare the life out of me some day, coming in
so suddenly," cried Mrs. Markham, as she recognized the boy who had
entered so unceremoniously.

"I hope not, but I am so in the habit of running in here I almost
forgot to knock. You should give me credit for that, at least."

"Oh, you mustn't think I meant what I said seriously, Sandow, but now
that Mr. Markham has gone away, I am a bit nervous."

The leader of the First Form was about to comment upon this
announcement, when a significant glance from Fred warned him not to,
and instead he said:

"Ready for school, Cotton-Top? I thought I'd call and walk along with
you. I want to talk about organizing the Second Form football team."

"Yes, I'm ready," Fred replied, accepting the remark at its face value,
although he was well aware it was about his affair with Bart that
Sandow meant. "Wait until I get my cap." And going into the hall, he
quickly returned, his face aglow with pleasure, in his hand a dark blue
cap with the letters "S. F." worked in gold braid on the front.

"Thank you, Momsy," he cried, putting his arm around her waist and
kissing her affectionately. "It's a beauty. I was going to ask you to
make one and here you've given it to me as a surprise. Isn't it swell,
Sandow?"

"It sure is," asserted the leader of the Firsts, thus appealed to. "I
wish you'd make me one, Mrs. Markham, with the First's colors, crimson
with white initials."

"I shall be pleased to, Sandow. I believe I have some cloth of the
exact shade, so I can do it this very afternoon."

"That will be fine, Mrs. Markham, and it will help me out of a bad
hole. Several of the girls have offered to make my cap and I don't want
to decide between them. But I'd be delighted to wear one you made."

Smiling at the boy's ingenuous frankness, Mrs. Markham renewed her
promise to make his Form cap, adding:

"Sandow, won't you come to supper to-night? And Fred, you may bring
your new Form mate. I'll ask Sallie Ayres, Margie Newcomb and Dorothy
Manning."

At any other time, the boys would have hailed with delight the
prospect of an evening with the girls, for Sandow was very fond of
Sallie Ayres and Dorothy Manning, while Fred thought there was no one
quite so attractive as Margie Newcomb. But under the circumstances,
the suggestion filled them with consternation and they looked at one
another in blank dismay, which was no whit allayed by Mrs. Markham's
saying:

"So you're planning some mischief for to-night, are you? I thought
there was something in the wind when you called for Fred, Sandow. Of
course, if you prefer your pranks, why I will tell the girls not to
come."

"Then you've asked them?" blurted Sandow.

"Yes, this morning."

"But how did you happen to ask three?" inquired Fred, suspecting that
his mother, who looked upon the opening day of school with dread
because of the hazing that was usually indulged in, had proposed the
supper party in the hope that she could keep him at home. "You didn't
know about Bronson."

"Oh, yes, I did," returned Mrs. Markham, with a smile, "and I've
already invited him."

"When did you meet him?"

"I haven't met him, yet. I saw Mrs. Vining this morning on the street,
and she told me about his boarding with her and said she hoped you and
he would be friends. Just then the girls came along and I thought it
would be pleasant for Mr. Bronson if he could meet them. So I asked
them and sent him an invitation."

"Momsy, you're a fox! You mean you thought you could keep Sandow and me
at home where you could watch us," laughed Fred.

"Well, shall I tell the girls you prefer your skylarking to their
society?" inquired Mrs. Markham.

"If she does, your goose will be cooked with Margie," blurted Sandow,
and then, as he realized how disrespectful the voicing of his thoughts
sounded, he added, blushing:

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Markham. I spoke without thinking."

"Never mind, Sandow," laughed Fred's mother. "But I agree with you that
Margie will resent such action on Fred's part."

Confronted by such an embarrassing situation, the boy who was to meet
Bart in defense of his father's honor, was doing some rapid thinking.

"We'll have the party, Momsy," he replied. "Only please have supper at
seven instead of six." And without giving his parent the opportunity to
ask the reason for the late hour, Fred kissed her and dashed out the
door, followed by his schoolmate.

"Jiminy crickets! but this is a pretty mess!" lamented Sandow, as he
and Fred settled into a rapid walk. "How do you intend to get around
Bart? Put it off until to-morrow?"

"Not much! I'll meet him at five instead of seven."

"He won't agree, if he thinks it will be an accommodation to you."

"Oh, won't he?" returned Fred, smiling in a superior manner. "You just
wait and see. He'll jump at the chance!"

"Go ahead and tell me; I'm not good at puzzles."

"There's no mystery. I'll simply tell him that I'm going to a party and
want to get through with him first. He'll think he can give me a couple
of black eyes and shame me before the girls."

"Great head, Cotton-Top!--provided he doesn't close your peepers.
Bart's some scrapper. He told Hal he'd been taking boxing lessons
during the summer. It's because I wanted to give you a few points I
dropped in for you. Have you any idea how you are going at him?"

"Sure. The way Phil Thomas got him in our Form game with Landon last
year."

While the leader of the Firsts realized that Fred was strong and
agile, he had no idea the boy had already mapped out his plan of
campaign, and he asked in surprise:

"How do you mean?"

"Why, make his nose bleed. After Thomas hit Bart on the nose, he lost
his nerve."

Though the plan appealed to the First, he did not wish to say so, lest
Fred become overconfident, and he replied:

"But it's getting in the good blow that will be the difficulty."

"That's the truth," asserted a third voice. And turning, Fred and
Sandow were surprised to see Buttons close beside them.

"It's lucky it was you!" declared the First. "Guess we'd better change
the subject. I didn't realize we were so near the school. You two run
along and I'll arrange with Hal."

"Thought everything was fixed," remarked Buttons, as Sandow left them.

"Going to change the hour, that's all." And Fred told his chum about
the party, adding: "Can't you get Grace Darling and come over in the
evening?"

"Guess so. I promised to let her know how things came out."

"But she'll tell Marg."

"What of it."

"Marg'll tell Momsy and she'll worry her head off."

"Well, there's no use crying over what can't be helped. There's Bart
now. Will you ask him to change the time or shall I arrange with Taffy?"

"I will."

CHAPTER VIII

FRED'S REWARD

No sooner had Fred spoken than he started toward his rival.

By this time, a score or more boys were in sight and as they saw Fred
heading for Bart, they hastened their steps, keeping their eyes on both.

Bart Montgomery had also seen the boy he hated coming toward him and,
though he wondered what could be the reason, pretended not to notice
him, and it was not until Fred hailed him, with an "I say, Bart, just a
moment," that he looked in his direction.

"Well?" drawled the rich bully, as his rival came closer.

"I'm giving a supper to-night and I'd be obliged if you'd meet me at
five instead of seven. When I set the hour this morning, I did not know
about it."

As Fred spoke, the other boys had formed a circle about the two and
eagerly they awaited the bully's response.

For a moment, Bart was on the point of refusing. Then, as Fred had
hoped, he saw the chance of humiliating his rival before his friends
and sneered:

"_You_, giving a supper? Who's going?"

"That's none of your business, Bart Montgomery. Will you meet me at
five--or are you afraid to?"

"_I_ afraid to meet _you_? Say, if you'll take my advice, you'll
postpone your supper. You'll be more fit for bed and a doctor than a
supper."

This taunt drew shouts of approval from Bart's followers.

"Thank you. Five it is," said Fred, ignoring the others. And he walked
away to find Bronson, to whom he extended in person the invitation sent
by his mother.

Usually the forming of the classes and the assignment of lessons on
the opening day was a period of terror for the headmaster and the
instructors, but on this occasion, the boys were too excited over
the outcome of the quarrel between the rivals to cause any trouble.
Thus the tasks were soon completed, and the boys hastened to the
campus, while Fred and Bart were spirited away by Buttons and Taffy,
respectively.

The scene of the combat between the rivals was a tree-enclosed patch of
ground back of Hal Church's barn, beside the cattle run, and as the
hour of five approached forms of boys could be seen seeking the spot
cautiously, dodging out of sight at every sound.

Then followed a silence, broken now and again by subdued exclamations,
and finally the appearance of Fred and Buttons from between the trees,
showing that the fight was at an end.

"Why are we going this way?" asked Fred, as his chum led him along the
cattle run. "It looks as if I were afraid to be seen."

"Well, you're not exactly a fit exhibit for a beauty show," grinned his
chum, and then he suddenly gave three whistles, which were followed
immediately by the appearance of two girls from behind the bars at the
end of the cattle run.

"What in the world?" began Fred, then, recognizing the figures, he
exclaimed: "Why, it's Marg and Grace!"

"My, but you're the fine little guesser," chuckled Buttons. "Who did
you think they were, Alice and Mary Montgomery?"

His chum's sarcasm was lost on Fred, however, as, thinking only of the
position of the girls, he hastened toward them.

"Marg, you mustn't stay here! You never should have come!" he cried.

"But, I couldn't help it, Fred. I was so worried. Are you--did you--oh!
You're all blood! Did that big brute of a Bart get the best of you?"

The look that he read in the girl's eyes was so delightful to the
conflict-stained boy that he forgot all else and simply drank it in.

"For goodness sake! Speak, one of you, and relieve our anxiety. Marg
has been making my life miserable for the last hour," exclaimed Grace.

"An hour?" repeated both boys, in surprise.

"If not longer," smiled Grace. "I told her the thing wouldn't begin
till five, but that didn't make any difference. So _please_ tell us how
it came out."

"No, don't," protested Margie, her eyes on Fred's bespattered face. "I
can tell--and I don't want to hear it." Then, her affection asserting
itself, she put her hand on Fred's arm and breathed: "I'm so sorry! But
we won't care. He's bigger than you are, anyway."

"Um-m! You ought to be willing to take a licking every day if Marg
would talk like that to you," grinned Buttons.

"Well, I would," retorted the girl, a blush suffusing her pretty face,
as she realized the significance of her avowal. "I----"

Something about the expression on Buttons' face, however, suggested to
Grace that her chum's sympathy was wasted and she interrupted:

"Don't say another word, Marg. The boys are just drawing you on. I
believe Fred won."

But neither boy made any response.

"If you don't tell us, I'll never speak to either of you again,"
flashed Grace.

Alarmed at the prospect of such a dire calamity, Buttons said:

"Sure he won!"

A moment the girls looked at one another, then Marg exclaimed, looking
into Fred's face:

"Really? Did you _really_ beat that big brute of a bully, Fred?"

"Yes."

"Oh, I'm so glad!" cried the girl.

"I think you're a couple of mean things, to tease us so," declared
Grace. "Why didn't you tell us in the first place?"

"Because you talked so much we didn't have the chance, and then when he
saw you were so sure Bart won, we thought we'd let you have your own
way," grinned Buttons.

"Smarty!" snapped Grace.

But Margie was so proud to think the boy of her preference had defeated
the rich bully, that she did not share her chum's pique, declaring:

"I'm so happy, I don't mind your not telling us. Indeed, I think it's
pleasanter to find we were wrong."

A moment Buttons looked at the happy couple, then seized Grace by the
arm and started away, laughing:

"Come on, girlie, this is no place for us. Besides, you ought to be
nice to me. I was Fred's second."

Her anger being only simulated, Grace readily allowed herself to be led
away and as they went, Fred called:

"Come on back here! If you don't mind the invitation being a little
late, I want you both to come home to supper with me."

"Very kind of you, I'm sure," grinned Buttons, "but your mother invited
us this afternoon."

"But--why----"

"Your mother sent an invitation by me, when she learned about your
fight," exclaimed Grace.

"Then she knows?" gasped Fred.

"Evidently," grinned Buttons.

"Come on, then, quick! We must let Momsy know I won. She'll be worrying
her heart out," exclaimed the victor, as he seized Margie's hand and
broke into a run, followed by the others.

The arrival at the house affording Margie the first chance to catch
her breath long enough to speak, she put her face close to Fred's and
whispered:

"_One_ of the reasons I like you is that you are so thoughtful of
your mother. Another is because you were not afraid of that Bart
Montgomery."

CHAPTER IX

THE SUPPER CLUB

To the surprise of the happy four, they found the other boys and girls
awaiting them, and Fred was subjected to merry bantering for his
remissness in not being at home to welcome his friends.

"I didn't know you were coming to spend the _afternoon_," he laughed in
return, gazing significantly toward the clock whose hands pointed to
ten minutes before seven.

"My, but isn't he the stickler for form," commented Sandow. "Does your
majesty wish us to go out and wait until seven and then come in?"

"I told Mr. Hill I thought we would be too early," interposed Bronson
apologetically.

"You mustn't mind Fred, Mr. Bronson," quickly exclaimed Mrs. Markham.
"When you are better acquainted with him, you will know, he is always
joking. Besides, supper is ready, so, as you are all here, we can begin
just as soon as Fred makes himself presentable."

Flushing at this reminder of his uncouth appearance, the lad made his
excuses and started for his room.

"You're _more_ than forgiven," smiled Sallie Ayres, and from this
remark the boy realized that the result of the affair with Bart had
been made known to his mother and guests.

No sooner had Fred left the room than the girls offered to assist Mrs.
Markham in placing the food on the table.

"I say, Mrs. Markham, isn't there something we fellows can do, too?"
asked Sandow, following the girls to the kitchen. "We don't want to be
left in there alone."

"Let's make them put on aprons and wait on the table," suggested
Dorothy.

But Mrs. Markham laughingly protested, and so the boys were forced to
content themselves with watching the preparations.

"Oh, I wish we had something funny to put at Fred's plate," exclaimed
Margie, when the food was on the table. "Haven't you anything you can
think of, Mrs. Markham?"

"Dear me, I don't believe I have," replied the youth's mother, after a
moment's reflection.

"Bronson's got something," announced Sandow. "He made me wait for him
on the way over."

Expectantly the eyes of the others were turned upon their new
schoolmate.

"Oh, what is it?" cried Margie eagerly.

"I'm afraid it's rather silly," apologized Bronson.

"Never mind. Do hurry and show us before Fred comes," urged Grace.

Blushing profusely, Bronson put his hand in his pocket, drew forth a
paper bag and handed it to Mrs. Markham.

"Quick! Quick!" breathed the others, clustering around her, eager to
see the contents.

"O-oh! it's a candy Teddy Bear!" exclaimed Sallie.

"Fine!" chuckled Buttons. "Here, Mrs. Markham, please let me have that
bag. Sandow, you get a match."

Taking the bag, the boy tore out a small piece of paper, hastily wrote
on it, "You're all to the candy," thrust the match through the paper,
set the Teddy Bear on Fred's plate and then fixed the match in its arms
in such a way as to give the effect of a banner.

"But what does that expression mean?" asked Mrs. Markham, to whom the
slang was as so much Sanskrit.

"It means Fred's all right," interpreted Sandow. "Now, come away, I
hear him."

With hurried steps, the young people made their way to the other end
of the table, which they reached just as the fair-haired boy entered
the room.

"What's up? Why are you all in here?" Fred inquired, looking from one
to another of his friends.

"The girls wanted to help me put the supper on the table and Sandow and
Buttons could not bear to be separated from Sallie and Grace for so
long," smiled Mrs. Markham.

"I can understand that," returned Fred. "But there's something else.
Every one of you has a guilty expression."

"Hungry, you mean," corrected Buttons. "For pity's sake, take your seat
and don't keep us waiting any longer. My mouth's been watering for
some of Mrs. Markham's pumpkin pie ever since I was asked to supper.
Bronson, I told you this morning, you ought to let us select your
boarding place for you. Mrs. Markham's the best cook in Baxter. That's
why Fred always looks so sleek and superior."

Pleased and laughing at the boyish compliment, Fred's mother bade them
be seated.

So intent was the fair-haired boy in assisting Margie, that it was
several moments before he noticed his own plate.

[Illustration: "WELL, OF ALL THINGS," HE EXCLAIMED]

"Well, of all things!" he exclaimed, as his eyes rested on the sugared
sweetmeat. Then, as he caught sight of the inscription, he added,
recognizing the writing: "Buttons, I know it was your diffidence in
company that prevented you giving this to Grace. So permit me to do so
for you.

"You see, I know both their characteristics and sentiments, Bronson,"
added their tormentor, as he set the candy bear, with its banner,
beside Grace's plate.

Merrily the others laughed, while the boy and girl most concerned
blushed furiously.

"Just you wait, Cotton-Top," growled Buttons. But the threat was
accepted as the jest it was meant to be.

Healthy young people all, the evident relish with which they ate bore
eloquent testimony to the savoriness of Mrs. Markham's cooking.

"Now, go into the other room and amuse yourselves," said the happy
woman, when the meal was finished. But the young people refused,
declaring they would wash and wipe the dishes, which they did, despite
Mrs. Markham's protest.

With games, singing and dancing, the evening quickly passed and, all
too soon, the clock struck ten.

"Oh, dear, it seems as though I'd only just come," sighed Margie.

"Never mind, there'll be other nights," laughed Sandow.

"Yes, indeed. I hope you'll all come around often," smiled Mrs. Markham.

"Oh, wouldn't it be jolly to form a supper club," exclaimed Dorothy.
"Just we eight. We can take turns meeting at each other's house, once a
week."

Enthusiastically the others received the idea. To Mrs. Markham,
however, the suggestion was alarming, for she realized that it would
tax her already straitened circumstances severely, were she obliged to
provide supper for eight young people, even as often as once in two
months.

"I think once in two weeks would be often enough," she proposed.

"Yes, I think that would be better," agreed Margie, divining the
reason. "Mother said that I must give more attention to my music, if I
wanted to keep on with it, and evenings are the only time to practice
that I have."

"Then, we'll make it every two weeks," declared Fred, with a promptness
that evoked laughter from the others.

"As I suggested the idea, I invite you all to my house for the next
meeting," said Dorothy; and after bidding their hostess "Good-night,"
the young people discussed the club as they walked home.

All their homes were in the center of the village, save Margie's, for
which she and Fred had usually been glad. Indeed, as he walked along,
the boy was anticipating the pleasure of being alone with the girl
of his choice--when they were all startled to hear hurried footsteps
behind them.

"Look out for tricks," whispered Buttons. "This is hazing night."

Quickly each boy braced himself to shield, to the best of his ability,
the girl he was escorting.

Suddenly, the footsteps seemed to stop. Puzzled, the boys looked at one
another.

"There they go, on the grass next the road!" exclaimed Buttons
excitedly.

Quickly the others turned, but so heavy were the shadows, that they
were unable to distinguish the forms.

"How many did you see?" queried Sandow.

"Six."

"Recognize any of 'em?"

"Too dark."

The presence of six boys, who evidently did not wish to allow their
faces to be seen, on the street so late suggested but one idea to all
of the young people--that Bart was planning to waylay his rival, as he
returned from taking Margie home.

"H'm. Guess we'll all walk home with you, Margie," observed Sandow.

The girl, however, had been doing some rapid thinking.

"Oh, I'm not going home to-night," she exclaimed, giving her chum's arm
a significant pinch as she spoke, "I'm going to stay with Grace."

"What did you want to scare Marg for, Sandow?" snapped Fred, in none
too pleasant a tone.

"He didn't scare me," flashed the girl. But in her heart she knew that
only fear for Fred would have persuaded her not to go home.

"Your mother will be worried," asserted the boy.

"I'll telephone her."

All the others were relieved at this solution of the difficulty,
for they were fond of Fred, and they understood, all too well, the
significance of their being followed.

"Why won't all you girls stay at my house to-night?" asked Grace.
"Sister's away, so there'll be plenty of room. You can telephone, you
know."

For a moment, Sallie hesitated. But a nudge from Sandow caused her to
acquiesce.

This arrangement decided upon, the young people resumed their way.

After leaving the girls at Grace's home, the boys walked to the
Vinings' with Bronson, and then started back.

But not more than ten yards had they walked from the gate, when they
heard a hoarse cry:

"Here they come!"

CHAPTER X

AN EVENTFUL WALK

To the three boys, this cry was not surprising. Indeed, they had been
expecting an attack ever since Buttons had espied the six figures
sneaking through the shadows, and their only amazement was that they
had been allowed to escort the girls and Bronson to their homes,
without interference.

"Quick, link arms! Lower your heads, and we'll dash through them!"
whispered Sandow. "Use your elbows, like you do in football."

"Strike hard and low," added Buttons. "They mean business--or they
wouldn't have waited till we got the girls home."

Instinctively, each boy squared his shoulders at this voicing of the
thoughts that had been uppermost in their minds, ever since they
learned they were being followed.

"That's certain enough or there wouldn't be six of them to only three
of us," returned Sandow. "Crouch down, and we may be able to upset
'em."

"I say charge 'em," breathed Fred. "Bart'll expect us to back up
against the fence. So if we run hard, we can break through them."

That the rich bully was the leader of their pursuers, neither Sandow
nor Buttons doubted. But, knowing his disposition, they feared the
methods he might adopt under cover of darkness, realizing the attack
would centre on Fred.

Accordingly, as the fair-haired boy made his suggestion of charging,
Sandow whispered:

"Better make a wedge. You run in the lead, Cotton-Top, and Buttons and
I will shove you along."

To decide upon their line of action took the boys less time than it
does to describe it, and no sooner had the suggestion of the wedge been
made than the trio charged.

This move surprised Bart, for he it was. So eager was he to fall upon
his rival, that, in his excitement, his voice, when he gave the word
of the boys' approach, had been louder than he realized. Moreover, his
plan of attack, thoroughly in keeping with his nature, had been to fall
upon Fred and his companions from the rear.

In consequence, when he heard the thudding of their footsteps, the
bully lost his head.

"Out at them! Get Fred!" he snarled, leaping from his hiding place onto
the sidewalk, as he spoke.

Either because they had other ideas of how they should proceed, or
because the suddenness of their intended victims' action paralyzed
them, Bart's followers did not immediately obey.

And their delay was their leader's undoing.

With great force, Fred, backed by Buttons and Sandow, struck the lone
boy on the sidewalk, bowling him over as though he were a tenpin.

"There's no one else ahead," exclaimed Fred. "Guess we were too quick
for 'em. No use running any more."

The impetus of his companions was such, however, that though the boy at
the head of the wedge stopped running, as he spoke, the others carried
him along for several yards.

"That was too easy," grunted Buttons, in evident disappointment.

"Never mind, I reckon we shook Bart up some," chuckled Sandow. "Let's
keep going while we have the chance."

"What, run away from Bart Montgomery?" snorted Fred.

"Tut, tut! There's discretion in valor, Cotton-Top. Just take my advice
and get home as fast as you can."

"But I'm not going to run," protested Fred.

"Sure not. We'll just go up Main Street. The lights are still on
and Bart won't try any funny business on a street where he can be
recognized."

As in many other country towns, only the principal street of Baxter was
provided with street lamps and--because of the hard-headed economy of
the "Town Fathers" even these lamps were only lighted when the night
was dark.

"Sandow is right," agreed Buttons, after a moment's reflection.

"But it looks as though I were afraid," protested Fred.

"Fiddlesticks! You don't need to prove your courage," returned Sandow.
"Everybody in school admits that. So come along and go the way we want
you to."

With evident reluctance, Fred finally yielded, and the trio turned
their steps toward Main Street, which they reached without further
sight or sound of Bart and his companions.

The route of the three chums took them past the building of the First
National Bank.

Dismissing the unsuccessful attack by tacit understanding, the boys
were discussing the formation of the Second Form football team, when
Fred chanced to glance toward the bank building.

"Look there, by the second window! Can you see any one?" he asked
excitedly.

Pausing in their tracks, Buttons and Sandow peered in the direction
indicated.

"There's some one sneaking along the side, I think," whispered the
latter.

"Probably Bart and his crowd," suggested Buttons.

"Maybe, but I doubt it," returned the leader of the First Form.

"You don't suppose it is anyone trying to break into the bank, do you?"
queried Fred.

"I don't believe so," rejoined Sandow. "If they were, they'd be more
likely to work at the back of the building than on the side. However,
we'll stay here and watch a few minutes."

To this proposal the other boys agreed readily.

"Keep on talking, just as though we hadn't seen anybody," advised the
oldest of the trio. And though his companions obeyed, they continued to
keep a sharp watch on the bank building.

"They've seen us," exclaimed Buttons suddenly. "Look, they're going
back! Can't you see them, crouching down? I tell you, there's something
wrong!"

But just as the boy finished voicing his suspicion the flare of a match
flickered, revealing two men, searching the ground on their hands and
knees.

"Whoever it is has lost something," murmured Fred.

"But who are they?" demanded Buttons. "It may be only a bluff to throw
us off the track, now they realize they've been discovered."

"My eye! but you talk just like a story book detective," laughed
Sandow. "What do you want us to do, charge 'em, and cry 'hands up'?"

"Don't be a fool----" began Buttons, in angry retort, when a second
match flared, the light from which enabled the boys to see the faces of
the two men.

As they recognized them, the three chums looked at one another in
amazement.

"It's Mr. Montgomery and Mr. Gibbs!" exclaimed Fred, more to himself
than to his companions.

"That's who it is," agreed Sandow. "You'd have got us into a pretty
mess, if we'd given an alarm, wouldn't you, Buttons?"

"But what are they doing at the bank at this time of night?" demanded
the latter.

"Go ask them, if you're so mighty anxious to know--though I reckon Mr.
Montgomery has the right to go into the bank, of which he is president,
any time he wishes."

"That's just what he hasn't," returned Buttons. "It was only the other
day I heard father say no one should be allowed in the bank, from the
time the clerks leave at night, till they arrive the next morning."

"Well, I shouldn't advise you to repeat that to Mr. Montgomery," said
the leader of the Firsts. "Now we've found out no one is trying to rob
the bank, let's be going home."

With the resumption of their walk, Buttons and Sandow took up the
matter of the Seconds' football team. Repeatedly they asked Fred's
opinion or advice, but his answers showed that his mind was far away.

"I say, come back to earth. What are you dreaming about, anyway?"
demanded his Form mate, in disgust, as Fred replied to an important
question in regard to the make-up of the team with an "I don't know."

"I was thinking about Char--I mean I wish you two would remember about
what we saw at the bank and that this is the night of September 17,"
hastily corrected the boy.

"Sure, we'll remember," declared his chums.

"Thank you."

"But why?" persisted Buttons.

"I'll tell you sometime. Hello, I'm home. Didn't know we were so near.
Much obliged for your help. Good-night--and don't forget."

CHAPTER XI

FRED'S LETTER

So abrupt was their companion's departure, that Sandow and Buttons
gazed after him in amazement.

"Wonder what's buzzing in his head, that he wants us to remember
to-night?" exclaimed the Second Former, as, having seen Fred enter the
house, they resumed their way.

"Don't know, I'm sure."

"Somehow, he doesn't seem like the same chap."

"He isn't," asserted Sandow. "His father's trouble is worrying both his
mother and him. Then Mr. Markham has gone away."

"Skipped out?"

"No, indeed! I suppose he's looking for work. But I was going to say,
Fred takes the trouble hard--he's too sensitive."

"And Bart'll tease the life out of him."

"It's up to us to see he doesn't."

"How? If Bart hears of it, he'll be worse than ever."

"I know that. It's ticklish business, but I think we can work it."

"How?" repeated Buttons impatiently.

"Through the girls. I don't know one who doesn't like Cotton-Top----"

"Except Mary and Alice Montgomery," interrupted Fred's chum.

"You're wrong there, Buttons. I'm pretty sure they both like him.
Anyhow, the others all do--and you know how a girl can twist a fellow
round. Well, my idea is to have Sallie, Grace and Dorothy talk with the
others and get them to put it to their brothers and friends not to twit
Fred about his father."

"They'd never agree," declared Buttons. "Too many of the boys are
jealous of Cotton-Top, to be friends with him."

"But, I didn't say anything about being friends," rejoined the leader
of the Firsts. "I just said we could get them to agree, not to taunt
Fred about his father--they can keep on hating him or disliking him, as
much as they please. If the girls go about it right, I believe they can
put it through."

"Maybe you're right. Anyway, it's worth trying. I'll put it up to
Grace. But why not have Margie?"

"Because, she would queer the whole scheme. We've got to work this
thing carefully. The good of the school, or some dodge like that. Make
'em think it will hurt Fred's football playing for instance--when he's
needed to trim the Landon Seconds. Everybody knows how Margie feels
toward Cotton-Top, so if she tried to talk that way, the others might
suspect her motives."

"Guess you're right. Anyhow, I'll tell Grace."

"Good. I'll see Sallie and Dorothy. We must get them started to-morrow."

As they concluded this agreement, the loyal friends of the fair-haired
boy reached their homes--which were side by side--and, after repeating
their promise to help their friend, entered their respective houses.

In the meantime, the object of their solicitude was talking with his
mother.

His return had surprised the good woman, who, knowing the distance
Margie lived from the village centre, had not expected Fred for at
least half an hour.

"What brings you back so soon?" she asked, immediately suspecting
trouble and anxiously scrutinizing the boy, to see if he were injured.

"The girls decided to spend the night with Grace."

"I'm so glad you weren't obliged to take that long walk back alone. I
entirely forgot, until you were gone, that this was hazing night--or I
should have asked Sandow and Buttons to go out with you and Margie."

From the expression on the face and the look in the eyes of the mother
he loved so dearly, Fred realized that she would add to her already
heavy burden, worry over him, every time he escorted Margie to her home.

"Now, Momsy, you must quit worrying about me _right now_," he said,
affectionately putting his arm around her waist. "I'm old enough and
big enough and strong enough to take care of myself. You know, I like
Marg, and I like to walk home with her. But if you are going to be
nervous every time I do, I'll have to stop going with her--and I don't
want to."

"But I can't help being anxious about you, Fred. With your father away,
you are all I have. If anything should happen to you, I think it would
drive me crazy."

Never before had the boy realized the depth of the love his mother bore
him, and at its revelation he was sorely perplexed. Well he knew that
his rival would never cease his attempts to waylay him. Of the outcome,
should Bart make the trial alone, he had no misgivings, but he knew
the bully's nature too well, to think he would essay the deed single
handed. And in the light of his mother's remark, about the effect any
injury to him would have upon her, he was sorely perplexed.

"Oh, Momsy, you don't mean that," he exclaimed. "Any boy is liable to
get hurt. _Please_ say you don't mean it--and promise me not to worry."

"I'll try not to," agreed the lad's mother, evading an answer to his
first entreaty, and adding, hastily, "now, run to bed. I've locked up
the house, so everything is all right."

Glad of the opportunity to be alone, Fred kissed his mother and went to
his room.

Upon his return, he had intended to tell her of the incidents of his
walk, but her words had made him understand the recital would only add
to her worry, and he had refrained. But alone in his room, his mind
reverted to the discovery of Mr. Montgomery and his brother-in-law,
searching the ground by the bank.

"I wish I knew what it was they were hunting for," he muttered to
himself. "It must have been either valuable or important for them to
want to find it to-night, instead of waiting till to-morrow, when they
could search by daylight."

Then his chum's repetition of what his father had said, in regard to
Mr. Montgomery's going into the bank after hours, recurred to him, and
with it an idea so startling that he sat up in bed.

"If he and Charlie Gibbs go to the bank now, why couldn't they have
done so after father failed? They may be the ones who took father's
money on that bogus check!"

Amazing as this thought was, in the light of the evening's discovery it
seemed plausible. But the boy was too shrewd not to know that, in order
to obtain credence for such an accusation against the only millionaire
within a radius of fifty miles of Baxter, it would be necessary for him
to present overwhelming proof; and he dropped off to sleep, vowing to
obtain the evidence.

With the arrival of the mail the next morning, Fred received a letter
from his father.

As he recognized the handwriting, he uttered an exclamation of delight,
but his pleasure quickly disappeared as he perused the contents.

"Your father isn't hurt or ill?" queried Mrs. Markham, in alarm, as she
noted the change of expression on her son's face.

"No; he's well."

"Then, what is it? Let me have the letter."

"I'll read it to you," Fred compromised, for there was a part he did
not wish her to see, and he realized that by reading it aloud, he could
skip that portion.

"My dear son," he began, "you are now old enough to understand
something of the world, and to take part in life's struggles, though,
I had not thought to force you so to do. Since my failure, however,
money has been very scarce with us. I came to Manchester to get a
position." Then followed the part Fred did not desire his mother to
see. He deftly turned the page, continuing: "You must try to win the
Scholarship in Science. That would bring you $200, which would help
your mother.

"I want you to write to me once a week. Let me know exactly how your
mother is and any rumors you may hear about Charlie Gibbs. You will
doubtless hear many unkind things about me, but you will know _they
are false_, and circulated by my enemies.

"And now, my dear son, good-by. Be considerate of your mother, help
her and cheer her all you can--and never forget you are a Markham.

"Your loving father,
"BENJAMIN MARKHAM."

"P. S.--Tell your mother I will write to her to-morrow, when I expect
to have some good news."

As the boy finished, he quickly folded the letter, replaced it in the
envelope, put it in his pocket and picked up his school books, fearing
lest his mother should ask to see it. But so absorbed was she in her
thoughts, that never did such a request occur to her, until Fred was on
his way to school.

"My, that was a close shave," he said to himself, as, out of sight
of his home, he re-read the part he had omitted: "I went to see a
celebrated lawyer, Mr. Samuel Bronson, whom I wished to have represent
me in the matter of the forged deed and check. When he found I had no
money to pay him a large fee, however, he refused to take the case. I
am sorry, because his reputation and ability would have great weight.

"Before his refusal, he told me he had a son entering your Form in
Baxter. Do not let the father's action prejudice you against the son.
Remember, he is a stranger in Baxter, and treat him courteously."

"And to think I did what I did for a chap whose father won't help mine,
for lack of money," snorted Fred, as he tore the letter to shreds in
his anger.

CHAPTER XII

BART'S SCHEME FAILS

A moment later, Fred was ashamed of his outburst, and penitently he
made amends by being unusually cordial to Bronson, who joined him as he
passed the headmaster's house.

"You got home safely, I judge," exclaimed the new student.

"Yes, indeed," replied Fred, maintaining a silence upon the events of
the walk home.

"I'm glad. I was afraid Montgomery and his friends might make trouble
for you."

With various generalities, to which Fred gave monosyllabic assent or
dissent, as the case might be, Bronson kept up a conversation, and in
due course they reached the school grounds.

No sooner had they entered, however, than they realized something
unusual was afoot.

In groups of varying size, the girls were talking earnestly, some to
other girls and others to boys. But at the approach of Fred and his
companion they became silent, and the two boys were aware of many
covert glances as they passed up the tree-lined walk.

"Wonder what's up?" exclaimed Bronson.

"Don't know," returned his companion. "More stories about me, I
suppose, judging from the way they all stop talking and stare when I
come near."

With that super-sensitiveness, from which he was a sufferer, Fred had
ascribed the actions of his schoolmates to the matter of his father's
failure, and in no more forceful manner could he have shown his real
character, than by his next remark.

"I say, Bronson," he began, a little catch in his voice, "I don't think
it's a good plan for you to associate with me. I'm under a cloud, you
know, and it may queer you with the others."

"Of course, if you don't like me, I won't," returned the new student,
after a moment's silence.

"It isn't _that_," responded Fred hurriedly. "I _do_ like you. But I
was thinking of your own good--your success at Baxter, you know."

"If that's the only reason for your former remark, forget it,"
exclaimed Bronson emphatically. "I'd rather have your friendship than
that of anyone else in school. You were the only one who treated me
decently yesterday--and I don't forget such things."

"All right, Clothespin, if you feel that way. Goodness knows, I need
friends at this time, badly."

Fred's suspicions, however, did his schoolmates injustice. In line with
their plan of the previous night, Buttons and Sandow had sought Grace,
Sallie and Dorothy, early in the morning, and, after explaining matters
to them, had received their assurance of hearty coöperation in the
endeavor to shield Fred from taunts about his father, and the various
groups the sensitive boy had noticed were caused by the girls putting
into immediate effect their promise.

The sight of Margie standing alone on the porch, however, made Fred
forgetful of the others.

"Why are you here, and not with Grace?" he asked.

"They didn't seem to want me," replied the girl.

Only one reason for such apparent ostracism could Fred imagine, and at
the thought his face grew very serious.

"If they are going to leave you out because of me, I'll quit the
school," he declared vehemently.

"Don't be a goose, Fred," returned Margie, though there was a light in
her eyes that made Fred's heart beat faster. "Nobody's going to leave
either of us out of anything."

"Then why do they all stop talking when I come near, and stare at me?"
demanded the boy.

"Nonsense. It's just your imagination," temporized the girl, for,
having been apprised of Buttons' plan by Grace, and told why it would
not be politic for her to assist in promoting it, she feared the
evident suffering of the boy might force her into an explanation.

"Imagination, nothing. I guess I can see," retorted Fred. "Besides,
Bronson noticed it, too."

"Oh, well, have it your own way, if you like," pouted Margie. "I don't
think, though, it is very nice to contradict me so emphatically."

This rebuke sent a flush of contrition to Fred's cheeks, and while
he was stammering an apology the bell rang, and the students, whose
actions had caused all the boy's misgivings, hurried into school, those
who were near Fred hailing him cordially.

"There! Didn't I tell you you were mistaken?" breathed Margie, as she
walked to the general assembly room, by Fred's side.

The sudden change in the attitude of his schoolmates was more than Fred
could fathom, and so absorbed was he in trying to solve the mystery,
that the girl had left him to go to her side of the hall before he
thought of a reply.

The students were allowed to choose their own seats in chapel, the
only restriction being that each Form must sit by itself. According,
Fred, Buttons, Soda, Shorty and Bronson appropriated one bench, marking
the respective numbers of their seats in the class room on the back, in
pencil.

So engrossed was the fair-haired boy in this task, that he did not
notice his rival when he entered.

But his attention was quickly called to him by Buttons.

"We sure got Bart. Look at the court plaster on his face," chuckled the
boy, nudging his chum. "He's had to use three pieces."

Fred was not the only one who gazed with interest at the rich bully.
Indeed, there was scarcely a pair of eyes in the hall that was not
focused upon him, and, conscious of their scrutiny, Bart flushed,
dropping as quickly as he could into the seat Taffy had been saving for
him.

The hum of comment that greeted his appearance was quickly checked,
however, by the headmaster who arose and began the chapel service.

When this was concluded, Mr. Vining moved to the side of the table.

"You all know that one of the advantages afforded by the Baxter High
School is the Scholarship in Science. This Scholarship, which is open
to any member of the Second Form, amounts to two hundred dollars, a
sum worthy the best efforts of all members of the Form. The gentleman
who endowed it, Mr. Anthony Baxter, wisely stipulated that it should be
awarded upon the result of the mid-winter examinations. As all who wish
to try for the prize must make their purpose known, I therefore request
that aspirants enroll now."

As the headmaster ceased speaking, there was a buzz of whispering while
the students awaited the appearance of the entrants.

The work required of the participants was admittedly hard, requiring
such close application that members of the athletic teams had never
entered, being unable to carry both the study and the field practice.

Accordingly, it was with a gasp of dismay that the boys and girls
beheld Fred rise from his seat and advance to the platform.

"If you please, sir, I wish to enroll for the Scholarship," he said, in
a clear voice.

Restraining his surprise, for as teacher of the sciences, he knew that
Fred was none too good at them, Mr. Vining wrote down the boy's name.

The realization that Fred's action meant his desertion of the Second's
team, of which he, as left half-back, was one of the main supports,
filled the scholars with consternation. The Landon Second had been
weakened by the withdrawing from school of several of its strongest
players, and, in consequence, the students at Baxter had hoped their
team might this year obtain the victory, which had gone to their rivals
four times in succession. But, if Fred did not play, their hope would
be vain.

So absorbed were they, therefore, in consideration of this calamity
they did not notice that no one else had enrolled for the scholarship,
until Mr. Vining asked:

"Does no other student in the Second Form intend to enter? The
provisions of the gift declare there must be at least three
contestants, or there shall be no award, the sum reverting to the
endowment fund."

This fact thus recalled to them, interest once more centered in the
scholarship.

As no one responded to the headmaster's call, a smile spread over
Bart's face, which quickly disappeared, however, when Taffy got up.

"Sit down," hissed the bully.

"But I have as good a chance as Fred," returned the boy.

"Never mind if you have. You don't need the money. Fred does, and if no
one else enters, he can't get it."

Bart's voice, as he uttered these mean words, was intended to reach
only the boys on his bench. But Bronson, being on the end next to
Lefty, happened to hear them.

Realizing the significance of the forfeiture to his friend, the boy
quickly arose, went to the platform and enrolled. Scarcely had he done
so than there was a movement among the girls and Alice Montgomery
entered her name.

The expression on Bart's face as his sister's action frustrated his
plot to prevent the contest for the scholarship, was not pleasant to
see, but it happened that only Fred and Margie were looking at him.

The gates being thus let down, three more students, a boy and two
girls, enrolled, after which the entries were closed.

"You're a nice one, you are," growled Lefty, at Fred, as the students
passed from the hall. "What did you enter for? You haven't a ghost of
a show and you're leaving the team in the lurch. You're a traitor to
Baxter--that's what you are!"

"Oh, you can get along without me, Lefty. I'm not the whole team,"
retorted Fred.

"You're jolly right, you're not," exclaimed Bart, pushing his way to
where the two boys were standing.

"But he's the best half-back in Baxter," protested Lefty. "There's no
one can come anywhere near him."

"Well, I tell you one thing. Fred's dropping out will permit me to
play."

"What do you mean?" demanded several of the boys, in chorus.

Before the bully could explain, however, Sandow joined the group.

"Come down to the basement to elect the captain of the Second team," he
ordered. "There's plenty of time before classes, and I want to start
you at work to-day."

CHAPTER XIII

THE ELECTION

As captain of the First, or School team, Sandow was in charge of all
the sports for the lower Forms, so that his command to repair to the
basement, to elect the leader of the Seconds' football eleven, was
obeyed.

Swept along by the rush of his classmates, Fred was unable to escape
from them, until he reached the door leading to the gymnasium. But he
quickly took advantage of the opportunity, and in the semi-darkness,
which enveloped the stairs, his absence was not noted.

Scarcely had he started back, however, than he came face to face with
Alice Montgomery.

At the unexpected meeting, the girl flushed, then dropped her head with
the evident intention of passing without speaking.

But Fred did not propose to let her.

"I say, Al--Miss Montgomery, it was mighty good of you to enroll for
the Scholarship," he exclaimed impulsively. "If you hadn't come in, I
don't believe the others would--and the award would have been passed
for this year."

"Then your winning it means a great deal?" queried the girl, deciding
from the earnestness with which Fred spoke, that he probably had
entered more for the money involved, than for the honor.

"Indeed, it does, Miss Montgomery."

"I'm so glad--I mean I'm glad my entering gives you a chance to win the
Scholarship," she corrected hastily. "And--Fred--I wish you'd keep on
calling me Alice. 'Miss Montgomery' is my name to those I don't like."

And with this glimpse of her attitude upon the rivalry existing between
her brother and Fred, the girl hastened on her way to the classroom.

For a moment, Fred gazed after her in speechless amazement.

"Well, of all things!" he murmured to himself, when at last he had
recovered from his surprise. "It's lucky Bart wasn't round. He's brute
enough to be mean to his own sister."

Further consideration of Alice's words was prevented by the noisy
appearance of several boys from the basement.

"Hey, you Cotton-Top, what are you lallygagging up here for?" demanded
Soda, as he caught sight of Fred. "Get a move on and come down. We need
your vote."

Thus besought, the left half-back opened his mouth to speak, but the
others would not let him, seizing him and carrying him downstairs by
main force.

When Sandow had called the Seconds to order, he briefly asked for
nominations for captain.

Promptly, Taffy proposed Bart's name, while Soda performed the same
office for Fred.

No other names being suggested, the leader of the Firsts called for a
vote.

"Let's not have ballots--let's just state our preference, when our name
is called," suggested Lefty.

This proposition evoked a storm of protest, and, as time was pressing,
Sandow ordered ballots to be used.

"Just write the name of your preference on a piece of paper and bring
it to me," he directed.

Quickly the boys obeyed, and when all had cast their votes, the captain
of the school team counted them.

"The vote's a tie," he announced. "Seven for Bart and seven for Fred."

"Move we leave it to Sandow to choose the captain," exclaimed Buttons.

But action of this motion was prevented by Soda.

"There are fifteen who can vote, counting Clothespin," he shouted,
"and only fourteen votes have been cast. Who's missing?"

Attention thus directed to the fact that all the boys were not present,
they quickly counted noses, and Fred's absence was learned.

"Grand-stand play--to keep away when he knows his name will be voted
on," sneered Taffy.

"Probably thought he couldn't keep from voting for himself, unless he
stayed away," added Bart.

"Bet you voted for yourself," retorted Shorty.

But Sandow checked the controversy in its bud.

"Order!" he commanded. "Some of you go find Cotton-Top, and bring him
here."

It was in response to these instructions, that the boys dragged Fred,
so unceremoniously, down the stairs.

His arrival was greeted with shouts of delight from his followers, and
of derision from Bart's.

"What do you want of me?" inquired the boy, ignoring the greetings and
comments that were hurled at him.

"Why did you not come to the meeting when you knew it was the most
important of this semester, being for the purpose of electing the
captain of the Second football team?" demanded Sandow, assuming all
the dignity his position, as leader of the First Form, gave him. For,
though he was one of Fred's intimates, such was his conception of his
duty to Baxter, that he never allowed his friendships to interfere with
the good of the school.

"As my entrance for the Scholarship told you all, I have decided to
give up football for this year," began the boy.

"You mustn't desert the team!" "Traitor!" "How much is Landon paying
you?" were some of the cries that greeted this announcement.

Flushing at the charges, Fred squared his shoulders.

"Give me a chance to finish, will you?" he exclaimed hotly.

"Order!" demanded Sandow. "If any one else interrupts, he'll lose his
vote!"

This drastic ruling had the effect of silencing the boys, and Fred
resumed.

"When I found I could not play on the team, I--well, I decided I didn't
want to be present," he explained.

"But why can't you play and try for the scholarship, too?" demanded
Lefty.

"Because I'm not clever enough in science."

"Then give up science. You'll fall down on the scholarship, anyhow. But
if you stick to the team, we'll win from Landon, sure," declared Taffy.

"I may not obtain the scholarship--but I must try for it," returned
Fred quietly.

"Must need the money pretty bad," sneered Bart.

"Montgomery, for that nasty and uncalled-for remark, you lose your
vote," cried Sandow.

This decision threw the boys into an uproar, so great that it was heard
above stairs and members of the First and Lower Forms descended to
learn its cause.

Paying no attention to it, however, Sandow prepared more ballots, then
called upon the Seconds to vote again.

Before they could do so, however, Fred obtained permission to speak.

"As I shall not play this year, my name, of course, cannot be voted
upon. Inasmuch as the first ballot resulted in a tie, between Bart and
myself, I ask those who voted for me to support Bart."

[Illustration: "I ASK THOSE WHO VOTED FOR ME TO SUPPORT BART"]

"Good boy!" "That's the talk!" interrupted several.

"I, therefore, move that Bart Montgomery be elected captain of the
Baxter Second football team by acclamation," concluded Fred.

Although the boy's chums realized such sportsmanlike action was in
keeping with his character, its unexpectedness took their breath away,
and they stared at one another in silence, while Bart's adherents dared
not say anything, lest they prejudice their favorite's chances to
obtain the coveted honor without a contest.

"Any one second the motion?" asked Sandow, when several moments had
elapsed without such action.

But no one spoke.

"Second it, Buttons," exclaimed Fred, in a whisper, audible to all.

"Yes--I will--not," growled the boy.

"Do I hear any one second the motion?" asked Sandow again. "If not, we
will proceed to ballot."

The words drew the eyes of the boys to the speaker, and under cover
of their distraction, Fred made his way to Bronson, to whom he spoke
vehemently, with the result that just as the leader of the Firsts
started to hand out the ballots, a voice cried:

"I second the motion!"

Instantly the boys turned to see who had spoken, but they were too late.

"The motion is made and seconded that Bart Montgomery be elected
captain of the Second Baxter football team by acclamation," announced
Sandow. "All in favor say 'Aye.' Contrary, 'No.' The 'Ayes' have it."

"Snap judgment! Move a roll call!" protested Shorty Simms.

The leader of the Firsts, however, ignored the comment.

"In consequence of this vote," he continued, "I declare Bart Montgomery
elected to the captaincy. All members and candidates for the Second
be on the campus at three, this afternoon, for practice. Meeting's
adjourned."

Their favorite elected, Bart's followers crowded about Fred, slapping
him on the back, and telling him he was a good fellow, their anger at
his decision not to play forgotten in their triumph.

On the other hand, Fred's chums held aloof from him.

"I'd like to know who seconded that motion," snarled Buttons.

"And I," chorused Shorty. "We'd make him go some, eh?"

Fortunately for Bronson's piece of mind, he was out of earshot of these
threatening words, or he might have betrayed himself.

By this time, all the boys had gone upstairs, leaving Sandow, Hal
Church and Fred alone.

Going to the boy, the leader of the Firsts put his arm around Fred's
shoulder.

"Won't you really try for the team?" he asked. "The Second will never
have a good show against Landon."

"You know I'd like to, Sandow, but I can't," replied Fred, a catch in
his voice.

"You know the game, so you won't need much practice," urged Hal.

"More than I can give, though. I'll need every spare minute for
science."

"But what's the honor--" began Hal, when Fred interrupted him.

"It isn't the _honor_--it's the money," he said. "I want you fellows
to understand, so I'll tell you: father wrote me to try for the two
hundred because mother needs it. I'm not any too good at science, so
you see I've got to study like the old Harry. I don't want her or
father to think I am letting fun interfere with helping them."

As the two older boys listened to this manly statement, they understood
as never before the strength of Fred's character.

A moment or two they stood in silence, then each seized a hand
impulsively.

"I hope you'll win," said Sandow, and Hal echoed the sentiment.

CHAPTER XIV

LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS

Thankful was Fred for the Baxter tradition that gave to members of the
First Form precedence in walking about the building and grounds, for
because of it, he was enabled to let Sandow and Hal go upstairs alone.
In fact, he tarried longer than necessary in the basement, because he
felt in no mood for the comments and glances he knew would be bestowed
upon him, both on account of his having been instrumental in the
election of his rival to the captaincy and his decision to give up
football.

"Oh, I wish father would let me quit school and go to work," he
said to himself. "I believe it would be easier than to give up the
team--especially, when all the fellows are calling me a traitor to the
school."

As he gave voice to his feelings, Fred had reached the hall, which, to
his relief, he found free from his schoolmates.

But he was not so much alone as he thought.

"Who says you're a traitor?" demanded a voice solicitously.

In surprise, Fred turned quickly.

"Alice--you here?" he gasped. "I--I must have been thinking out loud. I
supposed every one was in class."

"I understand," said the girl, "and I'm sorry. Oh, so sorry, for
you, Fred. But you mustn't mind what the others say. They don't mean
anything--really. They're just thoughtless. They've never had any
trouble or--or sorrow--and so they don't realize. I think your action,
in giving the captaincy to my brother, was simply fine. Everybody's
saying so. Indeed, you're quite the hero of the school."

But the girl's attempt at merry raillery of her schoolmate failed.

"You would never say that if you'd heard what the fellows said when I
told them I couldn't play this year," returned Fred bitterly. "It's
hard enough, goodness knows, to give up the team. But when they call
you a traitor, it's almost more than a fellow can stand."

"Never mind, they only said it in the bitterness of their
disappointment at your decision. When they have had time to think it
over, they'll see the matter in its true light."

"I wish I could think so."

"Well, you can--and must. It's nice to be a football star, of course,
but there are much finer things in life."

"Bearing the taunt of traitor resignedly, for instance."

"Doing what you think is right, and sticking to it, no matter how much
suffering it entails--you mean," corrected the girl.

Under her friendly persistency, even Fred's self-pity could not long
stand.

"By Jove, Alice! You're the best cure for the blues I ever knew!" he
exclaimed impulsively. "If it hadn't been for you, I'd probably have
gone round for a week or so thinking myself a regular martyr."

"I'm glad I'm some use to somebody," laughed the girl, a wistfulness in
her tone. "Any time you feel the martyr attack coming on, let me know."

"I will; don't worry. By George! but we'll be late for class. Come on."

"I don't think I'll stay this morning," returned Alice. "I've a
headache. But you go in. Good-bye--and remember to let me know when you
feel the blues coming on."

In silence, Fred watched the girl pass down the steps of the school
entrance and along the shady walk.

"She's a brick!" he declared emphatically, adding, "if she only didn't
have a brother. But that's not her fault--and I shouldn't wonder if
there wasn't any love lost between them."

In this surmise, Fred was nearer the truth than he realized. Of the
three Montgomery children, Bart and Mary were as alike as two peas,
arrogant and snobbish. In striking contrast, Alice was quick of
sympathy and considerate of her fellows. And in consequence of this
wide difference in their natures, Bart and Mary made their sister's
life miserable with their bullying. With all her heart, Mary entered
into her brother's hatred of his rival, while Alice never lost the
opportunity of speaking a good word for Fred--a fact that did not tend
to lessen the breach between them. But this hostility to her Alice took
such pains to hide that even her mother and father were in ignorance
of it, attributing her frequent headaches, her aloofness and her
melancholy to ill-health.

"A girl like that can't be happy with a brother and sister like Bart
and Mary," mused Fred, as he watched her disappear down the walk. "I'll
bet she's lonesome. Now I think of it, I never see her round with any
of the fellows and girls. I'll speak to Marg about her the first time
I get a chance. If I can do anything for her in return for what she's
done for me, I'll be only too glad."

And, with this resolve, the boy entered the classroom. With a hurried
glance at Margie, given from long custom, he dropped into his seat
in the front row. But all through the morning Alice's face, with its
wistful expression, danced before his eyes as he tried to study.

At recess, he sought out Margie and poured out to her his thoughts
about Alice, concluding with the request that she be more friendly with
her and make her one of their intimates. But to his surprise, Margie
did not enthuse over the project, instead receiving the suggestion with
evident displeasure, and for the first time in their friendship they
parted in anger at one another.

During the afternoon and for the next two days, Fred strove to
propitiate the girl, but she kept aloof from him so persistently that
he finally gave up the attempt.

To the sorely-tried boy, this action on Margie's part seemed the last
straw to his burden, and he kept to himself entirely, repulsing the
awkward attempts at sympathy essayed by Buttons, Soda and Grace, and
only becoming his usual cheery self when in the presence of his mother.

When this self-imposed isolation had continued for a month, including
absence from two meetings of the supper club, as an excuse for which he
pleaded study, Buttons called Sandow and Soda into consultation.

"I don't know what it is, but something is eating the heart out
of poor old Cotton-Top," he declared when the three were securely
ensconced in his room.

"He's simply crazy over that science scholarship; that's all,"
vouchsafed Soda. "If he prefers books to his friends, why, I'm willing
he should have 'em, for my part."

"But it isn't study, I tell you," asserted Buttons. "It's something
else."

"How do you know?"

"Because he's getting worse and worse in science every recitation.
Honestly, it's painful to hear him stumble through the lessons. He's
queering his chance for the scholarship every day."

"Well, what do you propose to do about it?" demanded Soda, after a
silence of several minutes.

"If I knew, do you suppose I'd ask you?" snapped Buttons. "It's so we
could talk things over, I got you and Sandow to come over."

"Then suppose you give me a chance to speak," suggested the leader of
the First Form.

"Fire away," exclaimed the Seconds, in unison.

"There are several things, I reckon, that are the cause of Cotton-Top's
actions. In the first place, he's worried about money; in the second,
he feels all broken up over not being able to play on the team, and the
remarks you Seconds made when he told you--like a man--why he couldn't
play, cut him way down deep."

"But it _is_ a low-down trick to throw the team the only time we have a
chance against Landon," grumbled Soda. "I----"

"Careful there, what you say," cautioned Sandow, interrupting. "If one
of you fellows who are talking traitor had half the pluck Fred Markham
has, you'd be more decent. For your own special benefit, I'll tell you
something--but understand, it's not to go any further. Fred's father
asked him to try for the scholarship so his mother could have the
money."

In shamed amazement, the Seconds heard this statement.

"How do you know?" finally blurted Soda.

"Because Fred told me, after he elected Bart captain. I'll also tell
you it almost broke his heart to give up the team, meaning the loss of
the captaincy of the School Team next year, as it does, for he could
have been captain of the Second, if he desired."

"Poor old Cotton-Top! And here we, his best friends, have only been
making things harder for him," murmured Buttons contritely.

"Glad you're waking up to yourselves," returned Sandow. "I've been so
busy with the team I didn't know, until Sallie told me this noon, quite
how bad things were. When I did learn, I wanted to take you both by
the necks and knock your heads together."

"Instead of which, you accept an invitation to meet us peacefully--for
which we thank you," interposed Soda.

"Now, don't try to get funny. This is no joking matter, and I never was
more in earnest in my life. Fred is so sensitive that a little more
of the treatment you Seconds have been handing him, and he'll be down
sick. Then he'll surely lose the scholarship--to say nothing of the
expense."

"Well, since you're so wise, what do you want us to do?" snapped Soda,
whose very petulance showed that the straight-from-the-shoulder talk of
the school leader had produced the intended effect.

"Make him forget himself, of course."

"How?"

"Ask him to go to the campus to give Buttons points on playing left
half."

"But he wouldn't come."

"Have you asked him?"

"No."

"Then you don't know he won't. Put it to him he owes it to Baxter and
to Buttons, as his friend, to lend a hand."

"Don't believe he knows I'm playing left half," declared Buttons.

"Then tell him--and ask him to coach you."

"But how'll we get round the month we've hardly spoken to him?"
inquired Soda.

"Forget it. Just go to Cotton-Top and talk to him as though nothing had
happened. Then, Buttons, you and Grace get at Margie. It seems Fred
thinks Alice is lonesome, and so he asked Margie to take her into our
crowd, and, like a silly fool, Margie got on her high horse, instead of
realizing Fred only suggested the idea out of kindness."

"By Jove! I have it!" cried Buttons. "Why not have an extra meeting of
the supper club round at Fred's to-night?"

"Too much of a tax on Mrs. Markham," returned Sandow.

"We can get around that, by having the girls bring baskets and telling
Mrs. Markham we only decided after school to have the meeting."

"All right, fix it up. Only be sure to talk to Margie first, so she
won't sulk," advised Sandow.

"That's pretty fine for you two, but where do I come in?" demanded
Soda. "Here you bid me to a consultation, and then decide upon a plan
to be pulled off at a meeting of a club of which I'm not a member."

"That is sort of tough," chuckled Buttons. "Guess we'll have to invite
you. You can come as my guest. So long as we're going to take our
suppers, an extra won't make any difference."

"But I'll want a girl," protested Soda. "I don't want to sit around and
watch you all."

"All right. I'll have Grace ask Betty Brewer."

This proposal met with the approval of Soda, and the consultation ended
with Sandow's admonition to inform the girls without delay.

Eagerly the suggestion was accepted by all the members of the club,
though Margie demurred until Buttons told her Sandow had called her
silly--discreetly omitting the fool--and while the girls bustled about
their preparations, Buttons sought Bronson.

Fred was in his room studying when the boys and girls arrived.

"I'll call him," said Mrs. Markham.

"No; let me," pleaded Margie, and, amid the banter of the others, she
vanished from the room, returning in due course with Fred.

At the sight of his friends, the boy flushed, but Sandow and Sallie
diplomatically smoothed out any awkwardness, and under the spell of
their hearty cordiality, Fred became the merry companion of old.

But his cup of happiness was not yet filled.

While the girls were putting on their wraps, Bronson called Fred to one
side.

"Will you give me your father's address?" he asked.

"Why, yes, if you want it," replied the boy, his surprise at the
request evident in his face.

"I do. That is--my father does. Your father consulted him about some
matter and left without giving his address. Father wishes to write him
that he has changed his mind and will take his case."

CHAPTER XV

THE SCHOLARSHIP IS AWARDED

So eager was Fred to write his father about Mr. Bronson's change of
front, that he actually grudged the time necessary to escort Margie
home, and several times he hurried her so fast that at last she
poutingly suggested he let her go by herself if he were so anxious to
get back to his study.

"It isn't that, Marg," he explained contritely. "I've got some news for
father that will please him more than almost anything he could hear."

Then, acting on impulse, he related the incident of his father's visit
to the famous lawyer, the latter's refusal to handle the case, and the
development of the evening.

"And all this time, knowing his father's action, you've been kind and
courteous to that Clothespin? I never heard anything so fine," breathed
the girl proudly. But though her admiration of his attitude toward his
classmate was sincere, it was the realization that Fred had once again
restored her to his confidence, as indicated by his telling her of the
Bronson matter, that made the girl most happy.

Bitterly she reproached herself for having by her manner added to the
boy's suffering, and eagerly she strove to make amends.

"Remember what you asked me the day we quarrelled?" she exclaimed, her
voice scarcely more than a whisper.

"Do I remember? Well, I should say I did. I've gone over our talk
two or three times a day to see what I had said that could give you
offense."

"You foolish boy! It was all my fault, and--and now I want you to ask
me again."

"So you can pick another quarrel?"

"Don't be silly. I was just a jealous little goose. I might have known
it was only your consideration for others that led you to speak of
Alice as you did."

This confession gave both the young people happiness, and it was much
later than even Fred had supposed when he returned to his home, and,
going to his room, wrote the tidings to his father that were destined
to effect great changes.

At the cheery greetings with which Fred hailed them the next morning,
his schoolmates were first amazed, then delighted, and by the time
classes were over all memories and bitterness caused by the breach
were healed over and forgotten.

Indeed, so delighted were the Seconds to recognize in the boy the jolly
companion of old, that Taffy even asked Fred to go to the campus to
coach the back field of the Form team.

"But Bart might not like it," objected the boy, though the light in his
eyes showed his eagerness to place the benefit of his experience at the
service of the eleven.

"Sure he will. He'll be tickled to death," insisted Taffy. "Only last
night he told me he'd give anything if there was only some way you
could be persuaded to play. Between you and me, Buttons is fierce."

"Well, I can't play," sighed Fred. "But I'll do this much--I'll take
Buttons in hand, if you think that will help."

"That'll be the next best thing to having you in the line-up," declared
the boy joyfully, and he hurried away to carry to the desponding
captain and his coterie the tidings of Fred's agreement to coach
Buttons.

And Bart needed assistance. There were not enough of his clique to fill
all the positions on the eleven, and he had been obliged to draft some
of his rival's followers. In consequence, there had been a lack of
harmony, which the rich bully did not have the characteristics to stamp
out; and to make matters worse, the Lower Formers, having overheard
some of the Firsts discussing the prospects of the Second eleven,
openly declared Bart did not have the knowledge of the game possessed
by Fred.

At first, Taffy, Lefty and the others of his intimates had loyally
resented the charge, but as the season progressed with little or no
improvement in the eleven, in their hearts they were beginning to fear
its truth.

Accordingly, Taffy's tidings were joyously received, and when the
fair-haired boy appeared on the campus that afternoon, he was given an
ovation.

Such a demonstration was gall and wormwood to the rich bully, but,
realizing that if he were to obtain the wish of his heart and lead the
Baxter Seconds to their first victory over Landon in five years, he
must control himself, he managed to force a smile.

"Will you get in the game?" he asked, approaching his rival.

"Not to-day; thank you. Just run them through a few signals till I get
a line on their faults."

Quickly Bart did so, and as a result of the exhibition, Fred called
Buttons from the line-up and passed the remainder of the afternoon in
giving him personal coaching, the benefit of which was evident in the
scrimmage of the next day.

Fred's coöperation thus assured, the team improved rapidly. Moreover,
to his surprise, the boy found that instead of proving a handicap to
his class work, his lessons seemed to be mastered with less effort.

The scene of the annual contest between the Form elevens of Baxter and
Landon alternated between the two towns, and this year chanced to be
the one when the games were played at Landon. As the day approached,
Fred was importuned to go. But though it cost him many a pang, he was
obliged to decline, finally announcing the truth to Taffy, who came as
an emissary from Bart--that he could not afford the expense.

"If that's the only reason you're staying at home, I'll lend you the
money gladly," returned Taffy.

"Much obliged, but under my circumstances it would not be right to
borrow money for pleasure," responded Fred, and that he might get away
from the temptation, he turned on his heel and walked off.

When the result of Taffy's entreaties had been made known to the rest
of the team, the boys went into council, the result of which was that
they agreed to raise a subscription among themselves sufficient to
defray Fred's expenses.

But when Buttons sounded him on the proposition, Fred refused to accept
it.

"I'm not an object of charity," he exclaimed hotly.

"But it's not charity," protested his chum. "We shall need your advice
between halves. Because of that, the boys are willing to pay your way.
It's for the good of Baxter."

"No, it isn't, Buttons. I'm obliged to you all, of course. But you
ought to know that if my expenses are paid I'll be practically in the
position of a professional coach. That would prevent my playing on the
School Team next year--and I want to do that."

Before this new angle in the case Buttons was silent, and in despair
the boys gave up trying to persuade Fred to go with the team.

At last the eventful day of the contests arrived. Bright and early the
boys and girls, some accompanied by their fathers and mothers, flocked
to the station. And with their school flags and colors they presented a
brilliant scene, laughing and talking merrily.

As the members of the different teams arrived, they were greeted with
hearty cheers, and were immediately surrounded by their friends, who
offered advice and good wishes.

Attracting as little attention as he could, Fred moved among the happy
throng until he caught sight of Taffy, to whom he beckoned.

Walking with him to one end of the platform, he was talking to him
earnestly when several of the students espied him and surged toward
him, declaring they would take him with them by force.

Good-naturedly, Fred was trying to escape from them, when Bart suddenly
forced his way close to his rival.

"The boys seem to want you to go with them, but I understand you're too
poor. Here's ten dollars--enough to carry you down and back and leave
you something besides," he exclaimed, at the same time extending a bill
to Fred.

A gasp of amazement ran through the crowd of students and their elders,
then in expectant silence they stared at the fair-haired boy.

Flushing scarlet, Fred quivered as though he would leap at the brutal
bully, then turned on his heel and resumed his talk with Taffy.

"As I was saying," he began, his voice trembling with emotion, "you
must watch out for Phil Thomas, the Landon left guard. He'll try to
make Bart's nose bleed--the way he did last year. If he does, Bart'll
lose his head and the game will be lost."

More than two score of people were within earshot of these words, and
as they realized that the boy who had been so wantonly insulted in
public had not allowed his personal feelings to outweigh his desire to
have Baxter win, they broke into hearty cheers, many of them pressing
forward to shake Fred's hands.

"Ouch! this hurts more than the other!" he exclaimed, and, wriggling
like an eel, he slipped from the crowd with the same skill that made
him so hard a runner to tackle on the football gridiron.

But though the students were prevented from showing their sympathy to
Fred, they were able to let the rich bully know in what light they
regarded his action--which they did in no uncertain manner, turning
their backs on him, as with one accord, and paying no further attention
to him whatsoever.

Though they strove to regain their former lightheartedness, the
incident had cast a damper on their spirits, and many of Baxter's
supporters considered it an omen of disaster for the various teams.

Realizing the prolongation of such feeling would have a bad effect upon
the morale of the various elevens, Sandow, Hal and several other Firsts
went through the train rallying the students. And with such good effect
that when the train arrived at Landon they had practically regained
their former high spirits.

That both schools might be able to witness the game between the First
Teams, the contests between the Third and Second Forms were always
held in the morning.

But that the Baxter students were still determined to let Bart
understand they resented his treatment of Fred, was evident when the
elevens lined up. Only a handful were present to watch the contest
between the Seconds, the rest flocking to watch the Thirds.

The result of this wholesale boycott of the Second team was that it was
defeated by the overwhelming score of 30 to 4--despite brilliant work
by Buttons, who proved himself the star of the game--while the Thirds,
encouraged by the cheering of their schoolmates, won their game, 12 to
6.

Elated by their victory of their Seconds, which they had conceded to
Baxter, the Landon students declared the game between the Firsts was
already won--and such proved to be the case, for Sandow and Hal were
unable to defeat the entire Landon eleven, though the game was a tie, 0
to 0, until the last fifteen minutes of play, when the captain of the
Baxter team was obliged to leave the game, after which Landon scored a
touch-down, and won, to the score of 6 to 0.

Although it was a glum trainload of students who returned to Baxter in
the evening, the sting of defeat was soon forgotten.

In due course, the Christmas holidays came and passed, and with the
resumption of the session interest centered in the contest for
the Scholarship of Science, which would be decided on the tenth of
February, the first day of the mid-winter examinations.

Thanks to Fred's diligence and hard work, he was making rapid strides
toward mastering the subject, and as the school settled down after the
Christmas holidays, it soon became evident the Scholarship lay between
Fred, Bronson and Alice Montgomery.

As the day of the examinations approached, the excitement over the
award grew.

In some way, though Soda and Buttons declared they were innocent, word
had leaked out that Fred was working for the money rather than the
honor, and the presence of Alice in the contest gave the flavor of a
second rivalry between Fred and the Montgomerys.

Yet had they known that instead of seeking to take the prize from Fred,
Alice was, in reality, trying to make him win it, spending hours at
Margie's house explaining problems to him, rehearsing recitations and
coaching him in every way of which she could think, they would have
been amazed.

But in their ignorance of the secret friendship, they saw only the
family rivalry.

The wagering of money was strictly forbidden--and severely punished
when discovered--at Baxter, but the resourceful students had devised
a method to back their favorites, by agreeing to work problems in
mathematics or translate Greek, Latin, Spanish, French and German for
varying periods.

On the day previous to the examinations, Bart stalked haughtily into
the gymnasium during recess.

"I'll do mathematics, French, Spanish and German for the entire Second
semester against the same for a month that Alice wins over Fred," he
announced.

"Greek and Latin the same," cried Lefty.

"I'll give mathematics," announced Taffy.

"Wow! What a cinch!" cried Buttons, Soda and Shorty in chorus. "We'll
each take the three of you. No more worry about baseball and lessons.
Hooray!"

The eagerness with which the wagers were accepted rather surprised
Bart and his chums. But they had made the odds tempting on purpose,
and so confident were they of Alice's ability, that they bound the
agreements--according to Baxter tradition--by shaking hands.

At breakfast the next morning, Mrs. Montgomery announced to the rich
bully that Alice was ill in bed.

Instantly Bart rushed to her room and urged her to get up and take the
examination.

"But we've no end of wagers on you," he growled when she turned a deaf
ear to his entreaties.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Bart," exclaimed Mrs. Montgomery,
who had followed him. "The idea of you're caring more about your wagers
than your sister's health. Now go away, and mind you do not bother
Alice any more."

When Bart reported the indisposition of his sister at school, his chums
were in consternation.

"Serves you right," chuckled Shorty. "No one with sense would have
wagered such periods."

"But they're off," announced the bully.

"Not much!" exclaimed Buttons. "It's just the same as though Alice
failed to win. You made no conditions."

And with this decision, Bart and his chums were forced to be content.

"Oh, well, Bronson may beat Fred," suggested Taffy. "That'll let us
out."

As the four contestants came out of the examination room, they were
surrounded by their classmates, but in accordance with a suggestion
from the headmaster, they refused to discuss the examination, and went
immediately to their homes.

Realizing that the interval of suspense would prove hard on her son,
Mrs. Markham had asked Margie, Grace and Buttons to spend the afternoon
and evening with Fred. But despite their attempts to divert him, the
boy was silent and unresponsive.

Just as they sat down to supper, however, there came a rap at the door.

Opening it, Fred was surprised to see Bronson standing on the porch.

"Hello, Clothespin! Come in. You're just in time to eat," invited Fred.

"Thank you, but I can't. I'm going home to-night. I came over to bring
this note from Mr. Vining."

And before Fred could say anything, Bronson had hurried away.

A moment the boy turned the envelope over and over.

"Open it! Open it!" called the others.

In obedience, Fred did so.

And as he unfolded the letter, two bank notes fluttered to the floor.

CHAPTER XVI

THE CALL FOR BASEBALL CANDIDATES

For a moment Fred could scarcely believe his eyes, mechanically
stooping and picking up the crisp pieces of paper. Then, as he
caught sight of the letter "C" on each, he realized that he held two
one-hundred-dollar bills.

"I've won! I've won!" he cried. "Here, Momsy, these are for you!" And,
rushing to his mother, he placed the money in her hands.

Rejoicing in his success, the others expressed their delight in no
uncertain ways, while Mrs. Markham sank into a chair and beamed upon
them.

"What does the letter say?" inquired Grace suddenly, noticing that Fred
still held the sheet of paper in his hand.

"Jove! I'd forgotten. Listen:

"MY DEAR FRED:

"Accept my heartiest congratulations upon your success in winning
the Second Form Scholarship in Science. Knowing what this means to
you, I am enclosing the amount of the prize. As formal announcement
of the award will not be made until to-morrow morning, I request
that you only impart the news of your success to your good mother
until then. With best wishes,

"RICHARD VINING."

"Good for the Head. I always knew he was a brick!" exclaimed Buttons.

"It certainly is most considerate of him to relieve our suspense," said
Mrs. Markham.

But in the hour of his happiness, Fred's thoughts were not of himself.

"I wonder if Bronson knew what this envelope contained," he mused. "It
must have been rather hard on him if he did."

"Oh, don't worry about _him_," protested Margie. "This is an occasion
of jubilation, not mourning."

"That's what, Cotton-Top," chimed in Buttons. "Come in to the feast,
Mrs. Markham." And, seizing the happy woman by the arm, he led her to
the supper-table, whither the others quickly followed, and what had
promised to be a solemn meal was one of great merriment.

All at once, while the young people were enjoying themselves after
supper, Fred laughed aloud.

"What is it now?" demanded Buttons.

"You can't any of you go home," grinned Fred.

"Why not?" asked the others.

"Because the Head requested me not to let the fact of my winning be
known before to-morrow. If you go home, you'll tell about it. So you
must stay here."

"But we can't," protested the girls.

"It isn't a question of can; it's one of must," declared Fred.

"But mother will worry," persisted Margie.

"Yes; I'm afraid she will," interposed Mrs. Markham.

"I'll fix that," announced the winner of the prize.

"How?" inquired both girls.

"Go round to Buttons' and telephone to both your mothers."

"But you'll have to tell them you won over the phone--which would mean
the whole town," declared Grace.

"Trust me not to. I'll just say you are going to stay at our house, and
hang up the receiver before they can ask questions."

"Buttons may tell, though," suggested Margie.

"No, he won't. Will you?"

"Sure not. It's too decent of the Head to let us know Fred won to throw
him down."

In their hearts, Margie and Grace were only too delighted at the
thought of not going home, and, as the obstacles they had raised were
removed, they sighed resignedly.

Mrs. Newcomb and Mrs. Darling, however, proved less easy to assure,
and the boys found it necessary to take Buttons' mother into their
confidence before the desired permission was obtained.

"I'm so glad you won, Fred," declared the good woman. "You certainly
worked hard for it. Ever since that Bart Montgomery acted so
atrociously when you went down to see the football elevens off, I've
hoped it wouldn't go to Alice."

"You must not blame her for Bart's actions," exclaimed Fred. "Alice is
no more like the rest of the Montgomerys than I am."

"Which is some difference," chuckled Buttons. "Come on, Cotton-Top.
Let's get back. Now, mother, don't forget--you're keeping a secret."
And, with a merry laugh, the boys took their departure.

Exempt from the examinations because they had attained a daily average
of ninety per cent. or better, the four young people were aware the
notice of the Scholarship award would be placed on the bulletin-board
early, and they timed their arrival at school the next morning so that
Fred's success would be known first. But they had no idea of the manner
of his greeting.

No sooner had one of his Form mates caught sight of Fred's yellow head,
than he raised a shout, and in a flash all the students rushed out to
meet him.

"Three cheers for old Cotton-Top!" yelled Soda, hugging his chum.

With a will, they were given, and then repeated.

"Speech! Speech!" shouted some one, as the tumult subsided.

Instantly the cry was taken up, the boys and girls chanting in rhythm:

"Speech! Speech! Speech!"

Blushing, Fred tried to escape, but his schoolmates good-naturedly
hemmed him in on all sides.

"I appreciate your good will," he began at last, "but I never should
have won had not my friends helped me in my studying. Indeed, it is
they who deserve the credit, not I."

Fred had been on the point of saying Alice Montgomery, instead of
"friends," but as the words were on his tongue's end, he chanced to
see Bart's face, malignant with anger and disappointment, peering at
him from the edge of the crowd, and, fearing the bully would wreak his
vengeance on his sister, should he learn of her actions, he had wisely
refrained from paying such tribute to the girl.

But before he went home to dinner, he mailed Alice a note, in which he
attributed his success solely to her patient assistance.

The Scholarship thus awarded, the students settled down to the grind of
the mid-year examinations.

On the third day succeeding the public announcement of the award, Fred
received two letters. One he recognized as from his father, but the
other puzzled him.

"Who on earth do you suppose is writing me from Boston?" he exclaimed,
after scanning the postmark.

"There's only one way to find out when you receive a letter whose
authorship you do not recognize," smiled Mrs. Markham.

But Fred did not open the missive at once, preferring to read what his
father had to say.

In affectionate terms, Mr. Markham told Fred how proud he was of
him, and then explained that his winning the money for his mother
would enable him to use his salary to defray the expense of having a
handwriting expert examine the deed of his property, which had been
changed, and compare it with specimens of Charlie Gibbs' penmanship.

This statement suggested many possibilities to the mother and son; and,
in their discussion, the second letter was forgotten until, in Fred's
moving, it dropped to the floor.

Their attention thus recalled to it, Mrs. Markham bade him open it.

"Why, it's from Clothespin," the boy exclaimed, as he turned to the
signature. "And he's enclosed a check," he continued, turning to the
last page and discovering the substitute for money.

"Mercy me! What for? Do read what he says," urged Mrs. Markham.

"Dear Cotton-Top," he began, "I'm mighty glad you won out. I asked Mr.
Vining, and he told me before I left. Upon my arrival home, I found
father ready to take a business trip to Boston, and persuaded him to
let me go with him. But he is busy all day, and I'm lonesome--so he
asked if there were any of my schoolmates I should like to have visit
me. I told him you were the only boy I cared about, and he asked me to
send you this check and invite you to come down--you know he has been
interested in you ever since I wrote him after my arrival at Baxter how
kind you were to me when all the others made fun of me.

"Please come, Fred. Telegraph me what train you will take, and I will
meet you at the station. Expectantly,

CLOTHESPIN."

"Oh, Fred! Isn't that fine. I've hated to take the money you earned
and not give you some pleasure in return. And now this opportunity has
come. I'm so thankful. Why, the check is for fifty dollars. That will
buy you a new suit of clothes, and leave you enough for your fare down
and back."

The prospect of a trip to Boston was, indeed, enticing to the boy, yet
he hesitated about saying so.

"I wonder if I couldn't send the money to father instead of going?" he
asked.

"No, indeed. Mr. Bronson sent it to you to use in going to Boston.
Unless you wish to go, you have no right to it, and must return it."

"But you'll be too lonesome, Momsy."

"No, she won't, because I'll stay with her," announced a cheery voice,
and, turning, the mother and son beheld Margie, who had entered without
the formality of rapping, in time to hear the latter part of the
conversation. "You must go, Fred. You deserve a little pleasure, if
ever any one did."

Thus assured that his mother would not be alone, the boy decided to
start that very afternoon, and telegraphed Bronson to that effect.

The lawyer did not seem at all the formidable man Fred supposed him to
be, and Mr. Bronson, on his part, took a great liking to the manly boy,
of whose persecution by the rich bully, his son had told him.

Under cover of this cordiality, Fred plucked up courage one evening to
tell about the strange actions of Mr. Montgomery and Charlie Gibbs at
the bank.

Instantly the lawyer was all attention, and, after he had heard the
story once, he made the boy repeat it, questioning him searchingly upon
the incidents.

"H'm; if Montgomery is in the habit of going to the bank at night with
his brother-in-law, it will explain several things," he mused.

But though the boy sought to draw him out, he was unable, Mr. Bronson
dismissing the subject with the remark that Fred was too young to
understand such things. Yet, on the day of his return to Baxter, he
had the satisfaction of being asked by the lawyer to advise him of any
suspicious actions by either Mr. Montgomery or Gibbs.

After the opening of the second semester, the students amused
themselves as best they could after school hours until the call was
issued for candidates for the baseball team.

As any boy in good standing was eligible, the gymnasium was well filled
when Hal Church, who had been elected captain at the close of the
previous season, greeted the candidates.

"First, I'll take the names of those who played last year," he
announced.

Quickly the boys came forward, each stating the position for which he
intended to try.

Among the first to enroll was Bart, who declared he was out for
pitcher. Then followed Lefty, third base; Shorty Sims, shortstop;
Taffy, right field; Sandow, first base, and Fred, who signified his
intention of trying for second base.

"Don't put him down; he threw my football game to Landon," growled Bart.

If a bomb had been dropped among the boys, no greater consternation
could have been produced than by this remark.

"You know better than that, Montgomery," shouted Sandow above the babel
of voices.

"Do you mean to tell me if Fred had played we wouldn't have won?"
demanded Bart angrily.

"No, I don't."

"I thought not," sneered the rich bully.

"But I tell you what I _do_ mean," flashed the leader of the Firsts. "I
mean if you had kept your head after Thomas slugged your nose, and sent
Buttons against the line, instead of always signalling for the ball to
be given to you, the Seconds would have won--or at least made a better
showing."

This open charge of both incompetence and selfish desire to carry the
ball set Bart beside himself.

"You have no license to talk--your team didn't do wonders," he
retorted. "If----"

"Yes, it did! Yes, it did! Sandow held them to no score until he was
carried from the field," shouted several of the boys.

But Bart only grew more angry at these emphatic contradictions.

"I don't care what you say or think," he flared. "If that Fred Markham
plays on the Baxter baseball team, I won't, and I'm the only decent
pitcher in the school."

This defiance threatened to bring the rival factions to blows. But Hal
was equal to the occasion.

"I am captain of this team, Montgomery," he declared when he had
produced a semblance of order. "I want you to understand that, first,
last and all the time. As captain, I shall play the players I want--not
the ones you want."

"Humph!"

"If Fred Markham wants to try for second base, he can have all the show
in the world, and if he makes good, he'll play the bag in----"

"Then I won't pitch," snarled Bart.

At this second defiance, Hal was silent a moment.

"Who's throwing the school _now_?" he flashed. "You seem to think
you're running this team, but you're not. You'll either report for
practice at the grounds this afternoon at three o'clock, or you'll not
pitch a single ball for Baxter this season. Now leave the gymnasium,
so I can enroll the rest of the candidates."

"And if I don't?"

"I'll put you out!" retorted the captain, stepping down from the chair
on which he had been standing and forcing his way through the excited
throng of students.

CHAPTER XVII

THE PITCHING FIND

Instinctively Bart's intimates gathered about him, while Sandow and the
other boys, who had no liking for the rich bully, rallied around Hal.

Noting that the captain had the support of an overwhelming majority of
the students, Taffy seized Bart's arm.

"Don't make a fool of yourself," he counseled. "Hal's entirely within
his right as captain. If you don't go peacefully, he won't let you play
this year. Don't let your personal enmity lay you open to the charge of
throwing Baxter."

But, despite this sound advice, the rich bully refused to obey,
glowering at the approaching captain with sullen defiance.

Hal, however, was still master of himself, and when he was within a
yard of Bart, he stopped, and looked him straight in the eye.

"I'll give you one more chance," he said with cold deliberation. "Leave
the gymnasium immediately and report at three, or you'll not play on my
team."

Realizing that the captain was in deadly earnest, Taffy, Lefty and
several of the Firsts seized the bully and forced him up the stairs.

Fiercely Bart struggled to get free, but his friends were determined to
save him from himself, and continued to carry him along.

Just as he reached the top step, however, the bully made a desperate
stand.

"You may think you can dictate to me," he shouted. "But I'll show you,
Hal Church, you can't. I won't report at the grounds."

"Suit yourself," returned Hal quietly, then, turning to the other boys,
he exclaimed: "Whoever else wishes to try for the team, give me his
name."

When all who desired had signified their intentions, Hal found that
thirty candidates had enrolled, and, bidding them be at the grounds at
three that afternoon, he adjourned the meeting.

The necessity of going to classes immediately, prevented any discussion
of Bart's insubordination, but at noon the leaders of the school
gathered in consultation.

Though they all were agreed that Hal had adopted the only course
possible in order to maintain his authority, the fact remained that
Bart was a pitcher of great ability, and they had counted upon his work
to help defeat the nine from Landon.

Every boy who had ever pitched, or whom they thought could be made into
a pitcher, was discussed, but the only possibilities who had anything
of School Nine calibre were Holcomb and Sandow. Whether or not these
two boys could be developed, was a question, and it was a glum set of
athletes who went to their homes for dinner.

For some reason, Bronson had not attended the meeting, but he had heard
about Bart's objection to Fred and final defiance of his captain.

"Is Montgomery such a phenomenal pitcher?" he asked, as he walked home
with Fred.

"He's the best we've had at Baxter in years. Why, last year, even when
he was a Third, he held Landon to six hits in the second game. And he
can bat, too," declared his rival generously. "Indeed, it was his work
more than anything else that made the usual third game unnecessary."

"Aren't there any other fellows who can pitch?" inquired Bronson, after
a silence of several minutes. "You surely did not rely solely on a
Third Former to win from Landon."

"No. Jack Hastings pitched the first game, but he has graduated. I
guess the only thing for me to do is to tell Hal I have decided not to
play. Then Bart will come back and we'll win the championship again
this year."

"Are you crazy?" demanded his companion. "Even if you did that, Hal
could not let Montgomery play after his open defiance."

"But it's for the good of Baxter," insisted Fred.

His companion made no comment upon this statement, and again they
lapsed into silence.

"Have the entries for candidates closed?" Bronson suddenly asked.

"Why, no. A fellow can come out any time. But what makes you ask?"
inquired Fred eagerly.

"Just wanted to know," returned Bronson, smiling tantalizingly. "Here
we are at the Head's. See you this afternoon." And he turned in at the
gate.

Wondering what his friend meant by his mysteriousness, Fred continued
to his home, where he bolted his dinner, and then returned to school,
seeking Hal, whom he drew to one side.

"Bronson given in his name for the nine yet?" he inquired excitedly.

"No; why?"

Briefly Fred related the conversation that had passed between
Clothespin and him.

"What do you suppose he's driving at?" asked Hal, when the story was
finished.

"More than I know. Let's see if we can find him."

But though they searched diligently, Bronson was nowhere to be found,
and it was not until the candidates had assembled at the cage that the
puzzle was solved.

Just as Hal was ready to assign the players to their workouts, Bronson,
clad in a natty blue uniform, approached the captain.

Instantly all the other boys gathered around.

"With your permission, Mr. Church, I should like to try for pitcher,"
said Bronson, flushing under the gaze of the other candidates.

A gasp of amazement ran through the crowd at these words, and many were
the whispered comments.

"Ever played?" asked Hal, trying to conceal his surprise.

"Two years."

"Where?"

"I pitched at Hodgson's Military School."

"Are _you_ the Bronson who never lost a game for his team?" exclaimed
the captain, hope mingled with his astonishment.

"Yes; but it was the support I received that enabled me to establish
such a record," rejoined the boy.

"Hooray! We don't need Bart!" yelled Buttons joyously, while the other
boys slapped one another on the back, and jumped and capered in their
delight at the discovery of so classy a pitcher in the form of the
tall, awkward Second.

Hal was as pleased as the rest, but believing it not in keeping with
his dignity as captain to show his feelings, he took out the book in
which he had listed the names of the candidates and added Bronson's.

"Go into the box and pitch a few balls to Gregory, who'll do the major
part of our catching," commanded Hal, as he finished writing. "The rest
of you practice fielding. Lefty, you knock them grounders."

But though the boys all obediently took positions, they simply stood in
their places watching the new pitcher.

Conscious of the scrutiny, Bronson showed no signs of being rattled,
and with cool deliberation threw a half dozen balls which showed that
he had curves and speed.

"Great stuff!" whispered Sandow, who was standing with Hal behind the
pitching find. "Wonder if he's hard to hit?"

"We'll soon know," returned the captain. "Wait a minute, Bronson; I
want you to pitch a few with Sandow at the plate."

When the others heard the words, they grinned expectantly, for the
leader of the Firsts was the hardest hitter in the school.

"Will you call strikes and balls?" asked Bronson, turning to Hal.

"Why, yes; if you like."

"All right; I wish you would." And while Sandow settled himself at the
plate, Bronson turned his back and worked his fingers round the ball.

Believing in his heart that Hal would send for him, Bart had hung about
the building. But as he heard the shouts, his curiosity got the better
of his sulking, and he hastened to learn their cause, arriving just as
Sandow made ready to bat.

With none of the spectacular "wind-ups," of which Bart was so fond,
Bronson secured a sound footing, drew back his arm, took a quick swing,
and released the ball.

To Hal, Gregory and Sandow, it seemed to be one of those straight,
swift balls, and a grin suffused the batter's face as he prepared to
meet it.

But though he swung viciously, just as the ball was in front of the
plate, it jumped, and the bat missed it.

"Good boy! Great work!" shouted several of the onlookers, while Hal
called "Strike one!" and Sandow rapped the plate disgustedly with the
bat, bracing himself for the next ball.

Again Bronson served him the same sort, and again Sandow missed.

"Strike him out! Strike him out!" shouted the crowd.

"Shall I?" asked the boy, turning to Hal.

"If you can."

Once more Bronson worked his fingers and released the ball. But this
time it took a sudden drop, and Sandow's bat went over it.

"Three strikes!" cried Hal.

"Fluke! Fluke! Sandow hasn't got his eye back! Bet he can't do it
again," shouted Taffy.

But Bronson proved it was no fluke, and that he had remarkable control,
by not only striking out Sandow again, but two of the next best
batsmen, including Hal himself.

Satisfied that the Baxter High School had, indeed, received a valuable
acquisition, Hal told Bronson to take good care of his arm, and after a
short workout with the rest of the candidates, announced the practice
over.

To Bart, the ability of Bronson was a bitter blow, but, worst of all,
as the season wore on, he found that the boys did not even mention his
desertion of the nine.

At last, fearing he would lose his followers in school entirely, he
went to Hal and pleaded to be allowed to play. But the captain was
obdurate. Finally, however, as a matter of precaution in case anything
happened to Bronson, he agreed to let Bart practice in secret.

Fred, having the natural qualifications of a second baseman, had no
difficulty in beating out the other candidates for the position,
and he and Bronson worked out a secret code of signals to assist the
pitcher when men were on bases.

CHAPTER XVIII

ON THE DIAMOND

As it was Baxter's turn to play the first of the championship games
at Landon, when the day arrived it was none too sanguine a band of
students that accompanied the nine.

The Landon team was composed of unusually hard hitters, and the fact
that they were to play on their home grounds gave them an advantage
that only Bronson's ability to puzzle the batsmen could overcome.

Indeed, Baxter practically conceded the first game to their rivals,
pinning their hope for the championship to the return game at Baxter,
and to the third game, which the headmasters of the two schools had
agreed should be played on neutral ground in the town of Winthrop.

When the Baxter contingent, with banners flying, descended from
the train at Landon, they found the entire school and many of the
ball-loving townspeople on hand. And but one desire did they have--to
get a glimpse of Baxter's pitching find.

Early in the season word of Bronson's record at the Military Academy
had been received at Landon, and several of the nine had gone to their
rival's town to see him work in practice games.

But the alert Hal had foiled their attempts to get a line on Bronson
by sending Holcomb or Sandow to the box, with the result that the new
pitcher was still a mystery.

That this policy of secrecy had caused the Landon students worry and
had made the members of their nine nervous, was evidenced by the
questions they asked about Bronson's delivery.

But when the supporters of Baxter arrived on the diamond, they soon
discovered that their rivals did not intend to let any chance to win go
by.

As the teams trotted on to the field and spread out for warming-up
practice, the Landon rooters cheered lustily, and then, at a signal
from their cheer leader, producing tin horns from under their coats,
raised a tumult of strident discords.

Taken by surprise, the Baxter contingent was silent a minute, then
roared out their school yell defiantly.

But the human throats were no match for the tin ones, and, though the
Baxter students cheered loyally, the horns drowned them.

During this demonstration, Hal, Sandow, the headmaster, the
instructors, those of the alumni who were allowed on the diamond, and
the rest of the Baxter team and substitutes, and the entire squad of
Landon players, watched Bronson intently to see whether or not he
showed any signs of nervousness.

But the tall, awkward boy was the least excited of them all.

With a grin on his face, he stared at the Landon side of the field, and
then turned toward Hal.

"They seem to be after my scalp," he chuckled.

"And we'll get it, too!" shouted several of Landon's alumni who were
close at hand, looking Bronson over.

"I don't see any one who looks like an Indian on your nine," he
retorted good-naturedly, while the Baxter alumni slapped one another on
the back, assuming each "the kid would do." For they, and the Landon
grads as well, realized that if Bronson did not allow the taunts that
would be hurled at him to arouse his anger, he would be less likely to
get rattled.

Among the Baxter alumni who had been looking Bronson over was Jack
Hastings, who had pitched his nine to one victory the year before.

"I suppose Hal has told you what kind of balls the Landon veterans
like," he said, approaching the boy.

"Yes, I think I know all I can without actually facing them," Bronson
replied.

"Good. If you'll take my advice, though, you'll make the third and
fourth men up hit pop flies--they're the hardest batters on the team."

"I always try to strike out the first men who face me--it rather takes
the life out of the team," replied the pitcher quietly.

The matter-of-fact way in which Bronson spoke delighted his hearers.
But Hal put an end to further remarks by ordering his find to warm up.

Instead of letting himself out, Bronson only used enough speed to
limber his arm, and when he declared he was ready, Hal met the Landon
captain to toss the coin for choice of innings.

Luck smiled on Baxter, and Hal chose the field, thus assuring his team
the last chance at bat.

When the result of the toss was made known, the Baxter contingent
cheered wildly. Landon tooted its horns in defiance, but when the
visiting nine took their positions, there was a momentary lull.

Taking plenty of time, Bronson watched Gregory for a signal, but when
it came for an inshoot, he shook his head. Twice more he refused to
pitch the balls his catcher called for, and gave the signal for his
in-jump.

"Get an alarm-clock to wake that pitcher up," shouted a Landon man
through a megaphone.

But before the echo had died away, Bronson had sent the ball speeding
toward the plate.

With a grin, the batter struck at it--and missed.

"Strike one!" bellowed the umpire, while Baxter cheered.

Again Bronson pitched.

This time the batsman decided to see what sort of a ball was being
thrown at him, and as he saw it jump, he chuckled.

"I can eat those," he called to his teammates.

But the "strike tuh!" of the umpire banished the smile from his face as
he realized that a pitcher who had such control he could jump the ball
across the plate was one with whom to reckon.

Again Bronson refused Gregory's signals, indicating he would send
another jump.

In breathless silence, the spectators watched.

Bronson pitched, the batter swung, and the umpire shouted "Strike
three!"

Wildly the Baxter contingent cheered, for the man struck out had
been Mitchell, the Landon captain. And in the home section there was
corresponding gloom.

Nervously, the second batter approached the plate, and Bronson, taking
advantage of it, sent three out-shoots that, apparently travelling
straight for the man at bat, caused him to step back, then broke
beautifully and cut the plate.

Six balls pitched, and not a semblance of a hit, with the surest
batters down, gave the Landon captain a scare, and he ran to where his
schoolmates sat.

"For the love of Landon, get busy with those horns!" he shouted.

Valiantly the boys and girls responded. But in vain.

Bronson served the third man up a straight, swift ball, a drop, and an
in-jump, and the side was retired.

"Bronson! Bronson! Bronson!" chanted the Baxter contingent in
appreciation, until Hal waved for silence.

But Mitchell, who pitched for Landon, while not in his rival's class,
was a brainy player, and retired his opponents without a run, though
Sandow got as far as second on a hit through shortstop and a sacrifice
by Fred.

The next six innings passed without a score, though several scratch
hits were made off both pitchers.

In the first half of the seventh, however, in accordance with
instructions from Hal, Bronson eased up, and Landon made a single and
a double, getting a man on first and third, while the batter had one
strike and three balls and Mitchell was on deck.

Realizing that now was the time for their nine to score, if ever, the
Landon students howled and tooted their horns madly, striving their
utmost to rattle Bronson.

"Steady, Clothespin, and show 'em what you can do," encouraged Fred.
"Give him three in-shoots. He'll never hit at one with three balls on
you."

"Guess you're right," replied Bronson.

And to the relief of Baxter, the boy struck out the batter.

The man on first, however, had gone to second on the first ball
pitched, but with the man on third Gregory had not attempted to throw
him out.

Consequently, Bronson was still in a hole when Mitchell stepped to the
plate, a look of confidence on his face.

In his endeavor to rattle the battery, the man on second was taking a
long lead, hoping to draw a throw from Gregory, thus allowing his mate
on third to score.

But in this crisis, Fred and Bronson showed the result of their secret
practice.

As the latter made ready to pitch, Fred coughed.

Already Bronson's arm was taking its swing, but instead of sending the
ball to the plate, he turned completely around and shot the ball to
Fred.

CHAPTER XIX

A VICTORY

Had the boys not rehearsed this play many times, they never could have
worked it. Indeed, so swift was the ball that it almost knocked the
second baseman over, while sharp pains ran through his arms. But he
managed to hold the ball.

"Go back! Go back!" shouted the Landon contingent, as one man. "Don't
force third."

In a desperate dive, the runner strove to reach second base. But Fred
tagged him out.

[Illustration: FRED TAGGED HIM OUT]

During this play, the man on third had started for home.

Warned by his team mates, Fred whipped the ball across the diamond in a
low, straight throw.

"Runner out!" shouted the umpire, and a cheer of relief broke from the
Baxter throats.

Mitchell proved an easy out, shortstop to first base.

Hal's team retired in order in their half. No runs were scored by
either side in the eighth inning, and Landon failed to cross the plate
in their half of the ninth.

"Make it extra innings!" shouted the home enthusiasts. "That pitcher's
tiring!"

"Here's where we win, boys," exclaimed Hal to his men. "If a man gets
on a base, we've got to bring him home."

Inspired with determination, Taffy stepped to the plate.

The first ball pitched was straight and swift. Reaching for it, the boy
caught it square on the bat.

With terrific speed, the ball sailed between short and third.
Frantically the left fielder raced in, but the ball took a bad bound
and Taffy was safe on second before it could be fielded.

Sandow being at bat and Fred on deck, Mitchell elected to pass the star
hitter of the Baxter team to first, trusting to striking out Fred, as
he had done twice before, and forcing the others to hit pop flies.

When Taffy saw the plan, he went around to third, Sandow starting for
second the moment the ball left Mitchell's hand.

As he waited for this play, Fred was amazed to see the ball coming
straight and low--just the kind he liked.

Quickly tightening his hold on his bat, to the surprise of his team
mates and the Landon players, who had closed in, he swung with all his
might and caught the ball full.

At the crack of the bat, Taffy raced for home, while Sandow reached
third and hesitated.

"Keep going!" bellowed Hal.

"Home run! Home run!" roared the Baxter students, waving their banners
and jumping about joyously.

Fred's sudden decision to hit the ball had caught the Landon outfield
napping.

As the sphere sailed through the air, the center and right fielders
started for it. Racing at top speed, their eyes on the ball, they gave
no heed to one another.

Closer and closer they drew.

"Right field take it!" shouted Mitchell, in frantic endeavor to prevent
a collision.

But his command was too late.

With a thud, the two players came together, recoiled from the shock,
and went sprawling, while the ball dropped less than a yard away.

Realizing what was going to happen, Taffy crossed the plate leisurely,
followed by Sandow, and later by Fred.

"Three to nothing! Three to nothing!" roared the Baxter students. "Good
old Cotton-Top!"

Victory thus assured, the next two batters made little attempt to hit
the ball, and were easy outs.

Deliriously happy that they had won the game on Landon's grounds, the
Baxter students and alumni rushed onto the field, cheering and yelling
for Fred and Bronson.

But the two boys, shrinking from the demonstration, hastened to the
dressing-room, quickly donned their street clothes and slipped out,
going directly to the station and into the students' special train,
where they found Margie and Dorothy awaiting them by prearrangement.

Their tête-a-tête was short, however, for when their schoolmates
discovered the two boys whose playing had won the game, they refused to
leave them.

Elated with the victory, the students considered the championship
practically won, confident that on their own grounds they would have no
difficulty in winning the second game, which was to be played on the
second day following.

Having arranged for a meeting of the supper club at Fred's, the members
trooped gayly to the house upon arrival at Baxter.

In delight, Mrs. Markham listened to the glowing description of her
son's home run.

"Too bad you will be unable to play when Landon comes here," she
exclaimed.

"Fred not play?" gasped the others in consternation.

"I'm sorry, but he must go to Manchester. His father has sent for
him," explained Mrs. Markham.

"Can't he put it off?" pleaded Sandow. "One day won't make any
difference, will it?"

"Unfortunately, it will. The matter is of the utmost importance,"
replied Fred's mother.

"Then I must let Hal know, right after supper," declared the second
baseman.

The young people did not allow this news to dampen their celebration,
however, and the supper was a merry feast.

"Why does father want me, Momsy?" asked Fred, when he had a minute
alone with her.

"I don't know, son. He simply telegraphed for you to go to Manchester
on Wednesday; without fail."

Accompanied by the others, the boy sought Hal, who was forced to
make the best of the situation. But though the absence of his second
baseman would prove a serious handicap, he believed Bronson could pitch
the team to victory. Consequently, when he received a note from that
pitcher the next morning announcing that he, too, had been called to
Manchester by his father, he was in despair.

Quickly seeking Sandow, he discussed with him what was best to do.

"Use Bart," urged the leader of the Firsts. "He'll do his best to outdo
Clothespin's record, and with Fred out of the game, he'll have no
reason to throw it."

This move agreed upon, Hal summoned the bully by telephone.

"I want you to pitch to-morrow," exclaimed the captain when the boy
appeared.

"With Fred on second?"

"No; with Lefty. Johnson will take Lefty's place in the field."

"Where's Fred?"

"Out of town. Will you do your best, or will you sulk?"

"I sulk? Not when I have the chance to take down Bronson's swelled head
by showing him that he isn't the only fellow at Baxter who can pitch."

Satisfied with this retort, Hal ordered Bart to find Gregory and put in
some hard practice, while Sandow promised to drop round and pitch to
him that he might train his batting eye.

But when the students heard the two stars of the first game were to be
out of the second, they were glum indeed.

With the arrival of the Landon players and supporters, however, the
Baxter students put forth the appearance of confidence.

Again the Landon section used tin horns and it did not take the
students long to realize they bothered Bart.

In consequence, every time he wound up to pitch, they let loose a
broadside of discordant toots.

For five innings, the bully managed to hold his opponents runless, but
in the sixth he went all to pieces, and when Holcomb relieved him,
Landon had a lead of four runs.

Goaded to desperation by the caustic comments of their captain, the
Baxter boys sought to wrest victory from defeat, but in vain. And
Landon won, 4 to 1, thereby necessitating a third game at Winthrop.

CHAPTER XX

AN INTERVIEW OF IMPORTANCE

Bright and early on the day of the game, Fred and Bronson had taken the
train for Manchester, the three hours' journey being whiled away in
speculation as to the cause of their summons and the showing Bart would
be able to make against Landon.

Arrived at the city, Bronson accompanied Fred to the firm for whom Mr.
Markham was working, and, after being introduced, left the father and
son together while he went to his home.

After so many months' separation from his family, Mr. Markham had a
veritable avalanche of questions to ask.

"Why did you send for me?" asked Fred, when at last he had a chance to
get in a word.

"Mr. Bronson wants to see you," replied his father mysteriously.

"Do you happen to know why he sent for Clothespin?"

"He will tell you, Fred."

"Then it's about the same thing?" cried Fred excitedly.

"Yes."

"Oh, father, please tell me!"

"It's a matter of great consequence to us," replied Mr. Markham. "But
just what Mr. Bronson had in mind, I don't know. I do know this,
though, he has taken a great liking to you. Indeed, it was what his
son wrote about your kindness when school opened that caused him to
reconsider his refusal to take my case."

"How do you know?"

"He told me so. Now, just amuse yourself with the paper for a few
minutes while I attend to some things, and then we are to lunch with
Mr. Bronson."

"At his home?"

"No; at his office."

"He must have a funny office if he can have lunch in it," observed Fred.

"He will have it sent in," smiled Mr. Markham. "You must remember you
are in the city, son--where money can do anything."

"But why doesn't he take us to his house? That would save expense."

"Because the matter is very important, and he wants to be assured of
absolute privacy. Besides, a man is not supposed to let his business
affairs intrude upon his home."

His curiosity only whetted--instead of gratified--by these replies,
Fred possessed himself in peace as best he could while he waited for
his father.

At last Mr. Markham was ready, and the two soon arrived at the office
of the distinguished lawyer, where they found Clothespin awaiting them
with his father and two men who immediately went to another room.

Cordially Mr. Bronson greeted Fred, congratulating him on knocking the
home run that beat Landon.

"I suppose you consider me very inconsiderate for insisting upon your
presence here to-day," he said, smiling as they all seated themselves
around the table which had been set in another room in the lawyer's
offices.

"Oh, the team can get along without _me_. It's Jim who'll be missed,"
replied the boy.

"Don't you believe it, father," returned the school pitcher. "Bart
Montgomery has more speed than I have. He won the game last year."

"He may have more speed, but he hasn't your control nor jump,
Clothespin," returned Fred. "Besides, he gets rattled. Landon knows
that, and they'll certainly go after him with their tin horns."

"I'm sorry if I have jeopardized Baxter's chances of winning, but it
is just as well you boys should realize that business is of more
importance than baseball, or anything else," came from the lawyer.
"Furthermore, if your nine loses to-day, you still have an opportunity
to win on Saturday."

At the mention of business--the first reference that had been made to
the cause of their presence in Manchester--both boys pricked up their
ears. But to their disappointment, the lawyer turned the conversation
to other topics.

With the appetites of healthy young athletes, the lads did full justice
to the luncheon.

When all had finished, Mr. Bronson dismissed the waiter, requesting him
to send in the two men the Markhams had seen in the office.

"These are Mr. Howard and Mr. Abbot, Fred," said the lawyer, when the
men had entered. "They are investigators.

"The reason that I sent for you two boys is that I need help in a
matter concerning Mr. Markham's affairs, and I knew that I could trust
you implicitly. You mustn't even breathe a word of the matter to any
one.

"Charlie Gibbs is in Manchester for some purpose that Mr. Abbot and Mr.
Howard will soon learn. But he is here under a name not his own--that
of Henry Sanders.

"Fred, I want you to go to the Randolph Hotel and stay about the hotel
till you see Gibbs. When you do, go to him and address him by his
right name. He denied his identity day before yesterday.

"James, Abbot and Howard will be in the hotel also, but you must not
speak to them. They are to witness the meeting between you and Gibbs."

As the boys realized they were to play an important part in the
lawyer's plan to clear Mr. Markham's name, their eyes grew big with
excitement, and even Fred's father was surprised.

"But why do you need me, if Mr. Abbot and Mr. Howard are to be there?"
asked young Bronson.

"Because courts sometimes have a prejudice against the testimony of
professional investigators," replied his father. "Having seen Gibbs,
you know him."

Though both boys were consumed with anxiety to learn what bearing the
identification would have upon the case, they understood the nature of
the lawyer too well to ask questions.

"Here is ten dollars for your expenses," continued Mr. Bronson, handing
the money to Fred.

"But I won't need that much," protested the boy.

"You may--in case you are obliged to stay at the hotel a day or so.
Now, go right over there."

"What shall I say if Charlie Gibbs asks me what I am doing in
Manchester?" inquired Fred.

"Say you are looking for work," replied his father. "When you see him,
be sure and shake hands with him. That will make the identification
more complete; won't it, Bronson?"

"Yes, that's a good idea."

Eager to begin his watch, Fred hastened to the hotel, and dropped into
a chair near the elevator, where he proceeded, apparently, to read a
newspaper, though in reality he was looking over its edge at the people
who passed before him.

Scarcely had he seated himself than he saw the two investigators enter,
and finally Clothespin, all three of whom took chairs whence they could
watch Fred.

When evening came without Gibbs, the boy saw Howard approach the hotel
desk and heard him ask if Mr. Sanders had left.

"No; he's still here," replied a clerk, "but he's out."

At ten o'clock Fred took a room, returning to his vigil early the next
morning. As before, Howard inquired for Sanders, and learned that he
had not returned to the hotel the previous night.

The day and evening passed without his appearing, and when Friday also
went by without a sight of Montgomery's brother-in-law, the boys became
uneasy.

They had learned of Landon's victory, and each wanted to return to
Baxter in time for the deciding game.

As Fred was walking nervously up and down the lobby, just before six,
he saw the object of his search enter the hotel, go to the desk, and
then start toward the elevator.

"Why, hello, Mr. Gibbs!" exclaimed the boy from Baxter, suddenly
stepping forward.

At the name, Gibbs started, and cast a swift glance toward the hotel
desk to see if the clerks were looking toward him, finding to his
evident relief that they were not.

"Why, hello, Fred," he replied, with a poor attempt at a smile, and
limply shaking the hand the boy forced upon him, "what are you doing
_here_?"

"Came down to look for a job," replied Fred.

By this time, the man had recovered his composure.

"I should think you would have waited till after the game. But it's
just like a Markham to desert his friends when they need him," sneered
the man.

"Don't you mean a _Montgomery_, instead of a Markham?" asked Fred
meaningly.

But Charlie Gibbs never deigned a reply, and hurriedly entered the
elevator.

Smiling happily to himself, Fred lingered a few minutes in the hotel,
and then went outside, where he was quickly joined by Bronson and the
investigators, who congratulated him on his success and instructed him
to go to the lawyer's office.

But with their object accomplished, both boys began to think about
reaching Baxter in time to accompany the team.

"There's nothing more to keep us; is there, father?" asked James, after
the identification had been reported to Mr. Bronson and Mr. Markham.

"Nothing but dinner. Why?"

"Because we must get back and relieve Hal's mind."

"I'll telegraph him. You boys can go direct to Winthrop in the morning."

Fred's father, however, suggested that the long ride would tire them,
and it was finally arranged they should go that night to the scene of
the game, where, though they would arrive late, they could sleep until
noon, if they wished.

Accordingly, the boys wired Hal they would be at Winthrop in season to
play, and then passed a pleasant evening with their fathers.

"Tell your mother to keep up her cheer, Fred," said Mr. Bronson, as he
bade the boys good-night at the train.

"And tell her I'll be home for the Fourth of July," added his father.

Arrived at Winthrop at two in the morning, Fred and Bronson went to a
hotel, and were soon sound asleep.

CHAPTER XXI

BART'S MEANNESS

Not to be caught by any mischance, Hal brought Bart along with the
team. Word had been passed among the Baxter contingent that the two
stars of the first game would join the nine at Winthrop, and when they
reached the town, the students inquired anxiously for them.

But no one could give them any information. Much worried, Hal took his
team to the ball park, where they put in a good practice in order to
acquaint themselves with the diamond.

When the Landon supporters arrived, they rejoiced to learn that Fred
and Bronson were missing, declaring the game was as good as won.

Indeed, their prophecy seemed true, for as the time for the game
approached and the two boys failed to appear, the members of the Baxter
nine grew more and more nervous.

Vainly Hal and Sandow tried to rally them, but their words showed their
own anxiety, and, therefore failed.

Alone of all the team or supporters, Bart was happy. His mother had
brought a party of girls from out of town to see the game, and the
bully realized that if his pitching were not successful, he could lay
the defeat to his team mates' nervousness over the absence of Fred and
Bronson.

Meanwhile, unconscious of the worry they were causing, and exhausted by
the excitement of the identification and the long night journey, the
two boys were sleeping soundly.

Of a sudden, however, Fred woke up. Noting the bright daylight, he
aroused his companion.

"See what time it is; quick!" he exclaimed.

Sleepily, Bronson fumbled in his clothes, at last finding his watch.

"My eye! It's one fifteen!" he gasped.

"And the game begins at two," cried Fred. "Hal must be worried to
death. Quick! into your clothes. We'll get a bite to eat and hike out
to the park."

Into their clothes the boys literally flew, but as both realized the
necessity of a good meal, they did not hurry their dinner unduly,
setting out for the diamond at ten minutes before two in a carriage
which Bronson insisted upon hiring.

The seats were filled with followers of the rival nines, cheering,
tooting horns and singing, and the players were warming up when Fred
and Bronson rushed into the dressing-room.

Seizing their suits, which Hal had brought, they trotted onto the field
just as the two captains were tossing for innings.

As the Baxter students caught sight of the yellow head and the tall
form, they rose to their feet.

"Here they are! Here they are!" they roared.

Instantly the eyes of the teams and of all the Landon and Winthrop
spectators were focused upon the two late arrivals. The Baxter players
rushed toward them, howling with joy.

"Can I have time to warm up my pitcher?" asked Hal of the Landon
captain.

"No. You've got Montgomery ready," returned Mitchell.

But Hal did not propose to use the bully if he could help it.

"Hey, Bronson, are you fit to go right in?" asked his captain.

"I'd rather limber up a minute or two."

"Well, you can pass a couple of the Landon boys. That'll give you eight
balls," exclaimed Sandow. "You can hold 'em safe easy enough."

The tone in which the big first baseman spoke was none too pleasant,
for he thought Mitchell's refusal unsportsmanlike. But the Baxter
boys had their revenge in the flush the taunt brought to the Landon
captain's face.

As in the first game, Hal won the toss, and again chose the field.

"Shall you use me?" asked Bart of his captain, as his team mates
started for their positions.

"Not if Bronson goes right," replied Hal.

"Then I'm going up to sit with my friends. You can put in Holcomb or
Sandow, if Clothespin blows up," retorted the bully.

"I'd rather you'd stay on the field," declared his captain.

"But I'd rather be with my friends." And, turning on his heel, Bart
crossed the diamond, joining his mother and guests in the grand stand.

"Aren't you going to play?" exclaimed one of the girls.

"No; Markham's gang runs the team."

"But they shouldn't allow their jealousy to keep a good player like you
out of the deciding game," declared another member of the party.

"If you knew Markham, you'd understand," returned the bully, rejoicing
at the utterly false impression he had given of his rival.

Further effort to prejudice his friends was forgotten in the yell that
arose from the Landon stand.

"We've got him going! We've got him going!" howled the students.

Acting on Sandow's suggestion, Bronson had passed both the first and
second Landon batters, pitching balls that were impossible to hit, to
limber up.

But when the spectators saw the second player trot to first base, they
believed the wonder pitcher was having an off day, while the Baxter
supporters criticized Hal for sending Bronson to the box without
preliminary work.

As neither Sandow or Hal had taken the former's remark seriously, the
captain ran to Bronson.

"Hadn't I better let Holcomb work while you warm up for next inning?"
he asked anxiously.

"I'm warmed up, _now_," replied the pitcher. "Don't worry about me. I'm
going to cut loose. There's no other game to hold back for."

"All right; cut loose," grinned Hal, running back to his position in
center field.

"That captain must be crazy," declared the girl who had sympathized
with Bart, as Clothespin continued in the box.

"I told you Bronson was Markham's friend," sneered the bully, while
from the Landon side came blatant toots of glee.

But their joy was short lived.

With terrific speed, Bronson shot three strikes across the plate. Then
he served the next two batters in the same way.

Believing their star had found himself, the Baxter students taunted
their rivals by singing, "We were only teasing you."

But Bronson's work had more than retired the side. Mitchell, the Landon
pitcher as well as captain, had remembered Sandow's words, and as he
saw the boy settle down and throw nine strikes in as many balls, he
realized his team would have no easy battle. Consequently, he was so
nervous that he could not control his throws, and before Baxter was
retired three runs had crossed the plate.

In the next seven innings, Bronson struck out nine men, holding the
others to hits to the infield, never allowing a Landon man to get
beyond second base, while Baxter brought in one more run, made by Taffy.

As their side went to bat in the ninth, the Landon followers implored
them to hit out a victory.

"Strike 'em out, one, two, three!" yelled the Baxter students at
Bronson.

And as he retired the first man up, they howled with glee, which turned
to pandemonium as the second batter struck out.

Desperate, Mitchell ordered his player to strike at anything.

Crack! went his bat on the first ball pitched. With terrific force, the
ball sped straight for the pitcher's box.

"Let it go! Let it go!" yelled Fred at Bronson, while Hal ran in to
back up his second baseman.

In silence, the crowd held its breath.

That the yellow-haired boy would be able to stop, much less hold, the
ball seemed nigh impossible.

"Don't try for it. Let Hal take it!" cautioned Sandow.

But the second baseman never heard him.

With a "thwack" that resounded over the diamond, the ball struck the
pit in Fred's glove. But so tremendous was its force that the ball
raised the boy off his feet, and as he struck the ground again he
tripped and fell.

Madly the batter raced to first, while Hal came on to field the ball.

But before he reached his prostrate team mate, Fred held up his hand
with the ball firmly clutched in his mitt--and Baxter had won the
championship--4 to 0.

Hastening to their train that they might return to Baxter in time to
prepare the bonfire and arrange for the dance with which the winning of
the pennant was always celebrated, the students gave full vent to their
joy.

Winthrop being only about twenty miles from Baxter, Margie and Dorothy
had driven over to the game for the purpose of bringing Fred and
Bronson back with them.

Being too happy to hurry, it was dusk when they reached home, and by
the time they had finished supper the celebration was in full swing.

But Fred insisted he must see his mother before going to the campus,
promising to join Margie and the others at the dance.

In delight Mrs. Markham listened to the account of the trip to
Manchester and the winning of the game, and so long did they talk that
it was almost eleven before Fred reached the school building where the
dance was being held.

Margie was on the lookout for him, and as they entered, Bart and
several of the girls who had been with his party at the game were
standing near the door.

"There comes that crackerjack second baseman. I want to meet him
awfully," gushed one of the young women.

"Oh, do bring him over, Bart," pleaded the others.

Because of a lull in the music, many of the students and older people
who were in the vicinity, chanced to hear the remarks, and, knowing
Bart's hatred of his rival, listened eagerly for his response.

Aware of this attention, the bully surveyed Fred insolently, then
turned to the girls.

"I'm very careful whom I introduce to my friends. Knowing what I do of
the Markhams, I do not think you would care for this chap," he drawled.

CHAPTER XXII

THE CLOUDS BEGIN TO LIFT

In shocked amazement, Margie and the others heard this remark. The
girls in the Montgomery party blushed furiously, while Fred, his face
white with suppressed anger, stopped still, and then, speaking to the
girl by his side, turned as though he would leave the hall.

Among those who were within hearing of Bart's brutal words chanced to
be Mr. and Mrs. Vining, and Mrs. Anthony Baxter, widow of the founder
of the academy, who had brought her daughters from Boston to see the
game.

Speaking quickly to Mr. Vining, Mrs. Baxter raised her lorgnette and
calmly surveyed Bart from foot to head.

In evident obedience to her command, the headmaster hurried to Fred's
side, and spoke with him and the furiously blushing Margie who had
loyally remained with the boy.

Conscious of the sudden tension in the hall, all the others turned
toward the scene just in time to see Fred, Margie and Mr. Vining walk
toward Mrs. Baxter.

So intense was the silence that a pin dropped could have been heard.

Her scrutiny of Bart ended, the patroness of the school turned, saw the
boy and girl coming toward her, and advanced to meet them.

"So you are Benjamin Markham's son," exclaimed the gentlewoman,
extending her hand, as a cordial smile lighted her face. "I am
delighted to meet you, both on account of what you did for Baxter this
afternoon--I saw the game, you know--and because of the estimation in
which Mr. Baxter held your father. And this is Margie Newcomb," she
smiled, shaking the girl by the hand. "I am glad, my dear, _you_ have a
gentleman for an escort. I want you to know my daughters. I don't think
they have ever had the pleasure of meeting you."

Cordially the Baxter girls greeted Margie and Fred, and under their
diplomatic guidance, the girl and boy were soon chatting without
embarrassment.

Taking their cue from the action of Mrs. Baxter, others came up and
joined the group about Fred.

At the boy's humiliation at the hands of her son, Mrs. Montgomery had
smiled visibly. But at the rebuke, more stinging because it was so
deserved, the woman became conscience-stricken, and, with the best
grace possible, she gathered the members of her party and left the hall.

But though Mrs. Baxter, her daughters and Mr. Vining urged him, Fred
declined to dance, and with Margie and the other members of the Supper
Club quietly took his departure.

"Mother's going to have a spread ready for us," said Buttons, as soon
as they were outside of the building, "and we can dance, too, if we
like."

"Then let's go back and get Hal, Betty, Shorty, Ned and the Baxter
girls," suggested Sandow.

Readily the others agreed, deputizing Buttons and the leader of the
Firsts to invite the others, promising to wait for them at the entrance
to the grounds.

The unpleasant incident having cast a damper upon the celebrators, the
other young people were only too glad to accept the invitation. But it
was with trepidation that Buttons approached Mrs. Baxter.

"Surely my girls may go--provided you ask Mr. and Mrs. Vining and
myself," she smiled. And, quickly gathering their wraps, they left the
hall.

Asking Fred to walk with her, Mrs. Baxter adroitly questioned him about
his father's affairs, smiling at the diplomatic manner in which he
parried any leading questions.

"Do you suppose we could persuade your mother to come to the supper?"
she suddenly asked.

"Perhaps _you_ could," replied Fred. "It would do her no end of good.
She doesn't go anywhere, you know; she's so sensitive."

This reply raised the boy greatly in the estimation of the rich woman,
and she made a mental note that she would learn from Mr. Vining the
details of his circumstances which she had been unable to extract from
him.

As the others reached Buttons' house, they waited for Mrs. Baxter and
Fred.

"Don't pay any attention to us. We're going to take a little walk,"
exclaimed the matron gayly, as they joined the group.

"Margie, you'd better look out for mother," laughed Phyllis Baxter, and
merrily they watched as the two schemers started to get Mrs. Markham.

At the sight of her old friend, Fred's mother was overjoyed, and after
a few objections she consented to accompany them.

But her real pleasure came in the delight with which the young people
and Buttons' mother and father greeted her.

After the supper, the older people chatted while the young folks
danced, and it was with reluctance they finally went home.

The next few days were a round of gaiety attendant upon the graduation
of the First Form, after which the young people settled down to their
summer life.

The money from the scholarship had all but been used up, despite the
rigid economy experienced by Mrs. Markham; and with the freedom from
his studies, Fred decided to go to work.

Setting out with never a word of his purpose to his mother, the boy was
walking down Main Street, wondering to whom he should apply, when in
passing the bank, he noticed that an assistant clerk was wanted.

Resolutely he entered and stated his object to Mr. Herring, the cashier.

"You'll have to see Mr. Montgomery," said the official. "He happens to
be in his office now. Come in, and I will speak a good word for you."

But Fred was not prepared for the reception he received.

"What, _you_ want a position in _my_ bank?" exclaimed the president, as
Fred stated the purpose of his call.

"Yes, sir," replied the boy, missing the point of the question.

"I don't doubt it. I don't doubt it," mused Mr. Montgomery. "There are
also several men in jail who would like to work in my bank--and I
should as soon think of employing them as a Markham."

"Sir!" gasped Fred, squaring his shoulders.

But the president, the memory of Mrs. Baxter's affront to his wife
rankling in his mind, revelled in the opportunity to excoriate the son
of the man he had ruined.

"I can only attribute your impudence in applying to me for a position
to your ignorance of the fact that your father stole more than a
thousand dollars from this bank," he continued.

"That's not so, and you know it, Mr. Montgomery," retorted Fred angrily.

"Perhaps you can tell me who did take it, then?" sneered the president.

"Probably some of the men who come to the bank after hours," returned
the boy calmly.

Unconsciously clasping the arms of his chair, Mr. Montgomery scanned
the face of the boy searchingly. But it was as guileless as a doll's.

"Herring, take him away. You should have known better than to bring him
in," stormed the president.

"I only did it because I knew he was bright and needed work,"
apologized the cashier.

"Well, he'll have to go among strangers, as his father did, if he wants
to get any. No one will have him who knows him," exclaimed the bank
president, as Fred, scarlet with shame, went from the office.

It so chanced that the cashier had left the door of the president's
room open and during the scene Mrs. Baxter had entered the bank.

Hearing the loud voice of the president, she had listened and could he
have seen the expression that settled on her face, Mr. Montgomery would
have been alarmed.

Remaining until she was satisfied the interview was over, she told the
clerk she had merely called on some business with the president, and,
as he was apparently engaged, she would call again.

But instead, after making the necessary arrangements to leave her
daughters with the Vinings, she telegraphed her attorney to meet her in
Manchester, and took the first train for that city.

CHAPTER XXIII

FRED AT WORK

Deeply humiliated, Fred felt like going home, then threw back his head
and gritted his teeth.

"I'll show Mr. Montgomery I can get a job right here in Baxter," he
exclaimed, and, crossing the street, entered the town's hardware store,
asking the proprietor for any sort of a job.

"Don't want any one but a boy to run errands," replied the man. "I
suppose that's beneath you."

"No honest work is beneath me," rejoined Fred. "How much will you pay?"

"Three dollars."

"Raise me if I make good?"

"Yes."

"How soon do you want me?"

"This afternoon at one o'clock."

"All right, I'll be on hand."

Proud of her son's pluck, Mrs. Markham gave her permission, and Fred
was on hand promptly. And so ready and willing was he that before night
he was assisting the proprietor in many little ways.

Upon her arrival in Manchester, Mrs. Baxter went to the Maryland Hotel,
where she was joined, in due course, by her attorney from Boston.

"Harding, I want you to buy every share of stock possible in the First
National Bank of Baxter," she commanded, after the generalities of
greeting.

"But----"

"Don't 'but' me. Buy, no matter what you are obliged to pay. This is
not a matter of investment. It is one of retribution--and I think I can
afford it."

"Surely, Mrs. Baxter."

"Then carry out my instructions at your earliest opportunity. Now fetch
Samuel Bronson to see me."

Accustomed to the curt commands of the wealthy woman, her attorney
hastened to the offices of the distinguished lawyer, and soon returned
with him.

"I understand you are representing Benjamin Markham, Mr. Bronson," she
said, when the introduction had been completed.

"Yes, Mrs. Baxter."

"I want you to tell me just how his case stands. I am his friend and
desire to help him."

After courteously assuring himself on this point, Mr. Bronson briefly
told her all the details, adding that he was convinced Gibbs had
changed the record of the deed, had forged the check, and, in company
with Mr. Montgomery, had taken the money from the bank at one of their
evening visits.

"The great difficulty, however, is to prove these things," he concluded.

"Would it help if I should obtain control of the bank's stock?" asked
Mrs. Baxter.

"Undoubtedly."

Quickly Fred's benefactress told of her orders to attorney, and it was
agreed that the day she was in possession of the majority of the stock,
Mr. Bronson should go to Baxter as her representative, call a meeting
of the directors and elect himself president. And they further agreed
that no word of their plan should be communicated to the Markhams until
its success was assured.

But the task of securing control of the bank without arousing Mr.
Montgomery's suspicions was difficult, and it was not until late in the
fall that it was accomplished.

In the meantime, Mr. Markham had passed the Fourth of July with his
family, and Fred had made himself so valuable that his employer had
doubled his wage and allowed him to assist in keeping the books. But as
the time approached for the opening of school, Fred was in a quandary
whether to give up his work or his school. In his perplexity, he
appealed to his father, who, in turn, sought the advice of Mr. Bronson.

"By all means have Fred go back to school," counselled the lawyer. "If
you are short of money, I will gladly advance you some which you can
repay when you are on your feet again."

"You must be mighty confident I'm going to get back," smiled Mr.
Markham.

"I am."

The opening day of school found all the First Form back, and cordial
were their greetings to Fred.

After the formality of enrolling had been gone through, Bart summoned
the boys to lay out the football campaigns for the different Forms.

By virtue of his election as captain of the Second eleven the previous
fall, he had inherited the leadership of the School Team.

"If I've aroused any one's ill-will in the past, I want them to
remember it was in the past, and, forgetting it, to work with me to
wrest the championship from Landon this fall," he said. "By working in
harmony, each one doing his best, I think we can win--and if we do, the
Baxter 1912 football team will never be forgotten."

So unusual was such good nature in the rich bully, that Buttons, Soda,
Bronson and Fred were first amazed and then delighted.

"If he really means what he says, I shall come out and try for full
back," exclaimed Clothespin.

That the boy could kick the pigskin had never occurred to his
companions, but mindful of his prowess as a pitcher, they refrained
from poking fun at him.

"Ever play at the Military Academy?" laughed Shorty.

"Yes, indeed."

"What was your record there--never being thrown when running with the
ball?" grinned Soda.

"Oh, shut up," returned Bronson. "It wasn't my fault my record with the
nine was brought out."

"If you'll do as well with the eleven as on the diamond, we'll forgive
you," declared Buttons.

Just then Tompkins joined the group, fairly bubbling with excitement.

"What is it, Ned?" asked the group in chorus.

"I've got the dandy scheme. You all know 1912 is no ordinary Form, like
those that have graduated before us. But that we may carve ourselves
firmly into Baxter tradition, let's start the custom of a cane rush on
opening night."

"Won't do for us--too frivolous," returned Buttons judiciously. "But
it'll be a bully good stunt to put up to the Thirds and Seconds. The
Seconds are a scrawny bunch, anyway, this year, so the Thirds can give
them a good rush."

But, as luck would have it, the headmaster had come up as the boy
spoke, and he peremptorily refused to allow the rush.

"You for a spoil-sport," growled Ned at Buttons, as Mr. Vining left
them. "If you hadn't wanted to butt in and change my plan, we could
have gone about making arrangements, and wouldn't have been here when
the Head came along."

To make sure that all manner of hazing or rushing would be avoided,
Mr. Vining stated to the students, when they assembled for class and
lesson assignments in the afternoon, that suspension faced the first
boy discovered trying them. And his ultimatum was effective.

Being deprived of this amusement, the Firsts turned their attention to
football.

CHAPTER XXIV

AN ARREST

During the summer Bart had met several college men who were members of
their 'varsity teams, and from them he received many valuable ideas,
among which was the formation of a scrub eleven to play against the
school team.

Eagerly falling in with the plan, the candidates asked that Fred be
placed in charge.

Reluctantly, Bart agreed, for he feared that his rival would
out-general him, but the others were so insistent that he could not
refuse. But to lessen the possibility, he gave Fred only the poorest
players, with the exception of the unknown Bronson.

Understanding this action, Fred made no objection, however, and set to
work to develop his players, and so well did he succeed that by the
middle of the season the scrub eleven was able to keep the School Team
from scoring, whenever it felt inclined.

This success served to rouse all Bart's old hatred of his rival, and
so viciously did he always tackle Fred, that, fearing the star left
back would be seriously injured, Buttons, Bronson and Soda finally
prevailed upon him to feign a sprained ligament and keep out of the
game, except to run through signals.

But it was not until a week before the game with Landon, when Sandow
and Hal, who had been appealed to by Buttons, added their solicitations
to the others' that Fred consented.

When he reported his supposed injury, Bart tried to appear sorry, but
in his eyes there was a light of joy.

When the assembled crowds of Baxter and Landon supporters arrived for
the game, they were amazed to see that Buttons' name was down to play
left half-back, while Fred was listed among the substitutes.

At the discovery, the Baxter students and grads were furious, and in no
gentle manner they told Bart what they thought.

But he quoted Fred's own statement, that he had sprained a ligament,
in his defense, declaring that under the circumstances it would be
foolhardy to start him in the game rather than hold him in reserve. And
as the captain's word is absolute, the protestants were forced to be
content, though many secretly hoped that Buttons would be laid out at
an early stage of the game.

But had the grads prevailed upon Bart, they would have found another
obstacle.

When Buttons and Sandow went to Fred's house during the forenoon to
commiserate him, he was not there.

Early that morning he had been called to the long-distance telephone,
in the village central.

Wondering who could wish to talk with him, he was amazed to hear his
father's voice.

"Mr. Bronson will arrive in Baxter at ten this morning," Mr. Markham
said. "You are to get a buggy from the livery stable and meet him. He
will tell you what he wants you to do. I am sorry it is the day of the
game, but your being on hand means everything to me, to your mother and
to yourself."

"I'll be there, don't worry," replied Fred.

Hastening back to his mother, Fred imparted the news, and then whiled
away the morning as best he could until it was time to get the buggy
and drive to the train to meet Mr. Bronson.

Quickly jumping into the buggy, the lawyer told Fred to drive fast
until he was out of the village, as he desired his presence to remain
unknown.

In order the better to accomplish this object, the boy turned off Main
Street.

"That was a wise move," complimented Mr. Bronson. "I want you to drive
me to Mr. James Newcomb's. Your father told me he lived out of the
village."

"About a mile," replied Fred.

"What sort of a man is he?"

"Hard as nails."

"H'm. Is he fond of money?"

"Yes."

"Good." And, as he noticed the look of entreaty in the boy's eyes, Mr.
Bronson continued: "A very good friend of your father's has almost
secured control of the stock of Montgomery's bank. I have the power
to vote this stock. But I want five more shares, which I hope to get
from Newcomb. If I do, I shall call a meeting of the directors, oust
Montgomery, elect myself president, and start an investigation of the
bank's books--which I am convinced will give us the evidence we need to
proceed against Montgomery and Gibbs."

"But how will that help father?"

"The books will show when the money on your father's check was paid. I
hope also to find the check--which Montgomery refused to surrender--to
be compared with Gibbs' writing. By the way, Gibbs was in Manchester
trying to borrow money under an assumed name."

"Oh, I hope Marg's at home!" exclaimed Fred.

"Why?" asked the lawyer, smiling.

"Because she can make her father do anything."

"She's a good friend of yours?"

"Very."

"Then perhaps you had better explain matters to her before I talk with
Mr. Newcomb."

This plan agreed upon, Fred went into the house alone, and, to his
delight, found Margie, to whom he made things clear.

"Of course father'll do it!" she cried. "Come, we'll ask him together."

But although he listened intently, Mr. Newcomb refused to commit
himself, saying he would talk with the lawyer.

Briefly Mr. Bronson stated his purpose, offering two hundred dollars
apiece for the shares, just double their market price. And, shrewdly
judging the old man, he produced ten crisp one-hundred-dollar bills as
he spoke.

An instant Mr. Newcomb gazed at the money.

"Margie, get them shares of stock," he finally said.

Jubilant, Mr. Bronson saw to the transfer of the certificates, and
invited Mr. Newcomb to be at the bank at half-past two o'clock, saying
Fred's father had suggested his name as a director, an honor which
delighted the old man greatly.

Promising to meet Margie after the game, Fred and the lawyer reëntered
the buggy, arriving by a roundabout way at the boy's home.

On the way back from the stable, Fred saw Mr. Montgomery and Charlie
Gibbs ahead of him, talking excitedly as they walked along.

"I tell you, you _must_ go to the cave and destroy that check,"
declared the bank president.

"Not without you," returned Gibbs. "I'm no fool."

"Come on, then," growled the millionaire, and they abruptly turned from
Main Street, setting their course toward Spy mountain.

Scarcely able to contain himself, Fred rushed into a nearby store and
asked for pen and paper.

"Mr. Bronson," he wrote. "Get a horse quick, and a man, and drive to
the cave at the foot of Spy mountain. Gibbs and Montgomery have gone
there to tear up the check and other papers. I'm following them. Fred."

It was several minutes before he could find a boy to deliver the note.
When he did, he set out in pursuit of his father's enemies, whom he
kept in sight, creeping behind stone walls and fences, that he himself
might not be seen.

Handing the note to Mrs. Markham, the lawyer bade the messenger boy
guide him to the livery stable, where he hired a two-seated wagon and a
driver.

"Take me to the nearest justice of the peace," he directed.

"Si Newcomb's the only justice in Baxter," replied the man.

"Then get out to his house as fast as possible."

"What brings you back?" asked the old man, as he saw the lawyer enter
the house.

"Come into your office." And as the justice led him into a side room,
Mr. Bronson continued: "I want to swear out a warrant charging Charles
Gibbs with forgery."

Amazed, Mr. Newcomb asked for evidence, which the lawyer quickly
outlined, ending up by relating the conversation Fred had overheard.

"Always said Charlie was too all-fired cute," commented the justice, as
he made out the warrant. "Shall you want me at the bank?"

"Surely. Only as it's two now, we'd better say at three. Where is the
nearest constable?"

"Hen Jenkins, right side of the bank. He's----"

But Mr. Bronson was out of the house and in the carriage before the
justice could finish the sentence.

Fortunately, the constable was at home, and, after looking at the
warrant, he readily accompanied the lawyer.

"Now, let's see what good those horses are," said Mr. Bronson to the
driver, as he and Jenkins seated themselves in the carriage. "How long
will it take you to reach the cave at Spy mountain?"

"Twenty minutes."

"Make it fifteen, and I'll give you five dollars," exclaimed the lawyer.

Eager to win the bonus, the driver urged his horses to the utmost, and
in just fourteen minutes he drew rein at the end of the road leading to
the cave.

"They're only just inside the rocks! They're quarrelling!" exclaimed
Fred, emerging from the bushes where he had been hiding.

With the constable in front, Mr. Bronson, Fred and the driver hastened
along the path.

At the sound of footsteps, the president of the bank and Gibbs looked
up.

"Charlie Gibbs, I arrest you in the name of the law!" shouted Jenkins,
melodramatically.

Bitterly the man protested, but before the cold facts uttered by Mr.
Bronson, he grew silent.

"What time is it?" asked Fred.

"Two forty-five," replied the lawyer.

"Can--can I go to the game?"

"Yes, I'll drive you."

"You needn't. I can get a horse from Farmer Brown, and ride in
quicker." And like a flash, the boy was away.

CHAPTER XXV

ANOTHER VICTORY--CONCLUSION

Obtaining the horse without trouble, Fred galloped toward the campus.

And he was sorely needed. Buttons had been injured in the second
scrimmage, and Bart was forced to use Bronson, while the crowd yelled
for Fred.

No one could explain his absence, and the rumor started that he had
been kidnapped by Landon.

But Bronson was playing splendidly, and Baxter, though not able to
score, was holding Landon.

"If we can only find Fred before the second half, we'll win!" exclaimed
Sandow. And he and Hal corralled a score of boys and went in search of
the missing half-back.

Up and down the field the ball went, getting ever nearer the Baxter
goal line.

But to the relief of the home team supporters, time was called with the
ball on the twenty-yard line.

The players knew, however, that they could scarcely hope to hold Landon
during the second half, and it was a heart-heavy eleven that returned
to the field.

Scarcely had the play begun than Sandow and Hal ran in front of the
Baxter stands.

"We've found him! Fred's dressing!" they yelled.

Mighty was the roar that greeted these announcements, and as the
yellow-haired boy dashed onto the field, the people in the Baxter
stands cheered joyously.

"I've a good mind not to let you play, you sneaking sulker," hissed
Bart, as his rival came up to him.

"Sulker nothing! I had to show my father's lawyer where to find Charlie
Gibbs so they could arrest him," retorted Fred.

At the words, spoken low so that only he should hear them, for even in
his joy Fred was considerate of his rival's feelings, the bully's face
went white, and he staggered as though struck.

"Oh! Oh! I'm sick! I'm sick!" Bart gasped, and sank to the ground in
utter collapse.

Quickly the officials gathered round, while doctors, masters and grads
ran out from the side lines.

"He's done for!" declared Sandow. "Mr. Vining, name Fred acting
captain. He may save the day."

This the headmaster quickly did.

"Bronson, take Bart's place at full back," ordered Fred. "Come on, now,
boys. This is Baxter's year. Show 'em how we can get the ball."

The boy's words put new life into the Team, and when the Landon centre
put the ball in play, Fred was put through an opening made by Tompkins
and on top of the full back, who was ready to kick, knocking the ball
from him, while Taffy fell on it.

"Well done, Baxter!" roared their supporters.

Calling for the ball to be passed to him, Fred again found the hole
made by Tompkins, was through the Landon line and dodging the backs,
almost before the visiting players knew it.

"Oh, you Cotton-Top!" howled the Baxter rooters.

"Stop him! Down him!" yelled Landon.

Only the opposing full back was between Fred and the goal line, but
that player was charging at the yellow-haired boy like a maddened bull.

Suddenly the Landon man dove at Fred.

Scarcely breathing, the spectators watched.

But the half-back had been expecting the move, and, leaping in the air
and to one side, he escaped the outstretched arms and raced unhindered
across the goal line.

Wildly Baxter cheered, yelling and waving their banners, as Bronson
sent the ball spinning between the goal posts.

Desperately, Landon strove to hammer their way through the lighter line
of their opponents. But Fred resorted to a kicking game, and Bronson's
long spirals ever kept the Baxter goal out of danger.

With only three minutes more to play, and the ball his, Fred again
signalled for it to be passed to him, and carried it to the twenty-yard
line.

"Hold now! Bronson's going to drop a goal from the field!" whispered
the acting captain to his men. "I'm going to signal for an end play,
but Clothespin will kick."

Confused by such tactics, the Landon players did not know where the
ball was going, and, in consequence, Bronson received it, dropped back,
and, with a beautiful punt, sent it sailing toward the goal posts
before the visiting players were upon him.

Discouraged, the Landon men lined up for the kick off. But while the
ball was in the air, the whistle blew--and the game was over--won by
Baxter for the first time in six years.

"Fine, Fred, fine!" cried several of his friends.

"The best ever!" said Margie, and gave her hero a look that meant a
great deal.

"I must get home--I want to find out what is happening," said Fred to
the girl, and broke away from his fellow players and the others as soon
as possible.

When Fred arrived home, he found Mr. Bronson there, along with his
father.

"Charlie Gibbs has confessed to forging that check!" cried Mr. Markham.
"And he has also confessed to altering the deed."

"And what of Mr. Montgomery?" asked the son quickly.

"When we went to the bank he at first put up a great front," replied
Mr. Bronson. "But I soon showed him what authority I possessed, and
then he agreed to get out at once, provided he was not prosecuted. On
account of his family, your father has decided not to prosecute him."

"Well, I am glad of that," said Fred, and he thought of Alice
Montgomery and how she had befriended him.

"My name has been completely cleared," said Mr. Markham, with much
pride in his voice. "I shall start again in business here--at the old
stand."

"And I guess the Gibbs place will be shut up," said Fred.

"It is shut up already, and the officers of the law are in possession,"
answered the lawyer. "He overstepped himself as soon as he went to the
city and tried to borrow money under a false name."

At the wish of Mrs. Baxter, Mr. Bronson had been elected president of
the bank. A complete investigation revealed many crooked things done by
Mr. Montgomery, and he was glad enough to leave town, taking his whole
family with him. Later on, it was learned by Fred that Alice had left
the others, and, working her way through college, became a teacher in a
young ladies' seminary. Bart drifted West and then to Alaska, and that
was the last heard of him. Charlie Gibbs was sent to prison for a term
of five years.

"Well, the clouds have passed at last, mother," said Fred, one day,
after the excitement was a thing of the past.

"Yes, and I am truly thankful," responded Mrs. Markham.

"Come out, Fred!" yelled a voice from the street, and Soda appeared,
accompanied by Bronson. "Going to have a last game of football between
the First and Second Forms!"

"All right--I'm with you!" cried Fred good-naturedly, and ran to join
them; and here we will say good-by to the High School Rivals.

THE END

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The high school rivals : Frank Markham's struggles" ***

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