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Title: The Mercer Boys' Mystery Case
Author: Wyckoff, Capwell
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Mercer Boys' Mystery Case" ***
[Illustration: FALCON BOOKS]
The Mercer Boys’ Mystery Case
BY CAPWELL WYCKOFF
When Cadets Don and Jim Mercer and their friend Terry Mackson were
ordered by Colonel Morrell of Woodcrest Military Academy to gather
together all the school trophies, they were able to find all except
one—the cup awarded to the Class of 1933. What had happened to the cup
was a mystery the boys were determined to solve. And little by little
Don and Jim uncovered a strange story and unraveled a mystery that had
puzzled school authorities for years. The Mercer boys uphold the honor
of Woodcrest against a conspiracy of silence and dishonor.
Other titles in _The Mercer Boys’ Series_:
THE MERCER BOYS’ CRUISE IN THE LASSIE
THE MERCER BOYS AT WOODCREST
THE MERCER BOYS ON A TREASURE HUNT
[Illustration: The caretaker took Don to Mr. Gates.]
_The Mercer Boys’_
MYSTERY CASE
_by CAPWELL WYCKOFF_
[Illustration: Falcon Books]
THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY
CLEVELAND AND NEW YORK
Falcon Books
_are published by_ THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY
_2231 West 110th Street · Cleveland 2 · Ohio_
W 2
COPYRIGHT 1948 BY THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY
MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Contents
1. The Glories of the Past 9
2. The Class of 1933 Trophy 20
3. A Mystery Uncovered 28
4. A Visit to Mr. Long 38
5. The Alumni Dinner 48
6. Added Mystery 57
7. The Trustees’ Meeting 65
8. An Old Score Settled 73
9. Terry Engages in an Argument 83
10. The Eagles Disappear 91
11. The Hunt in the Swamp 101
12. The Eagles Are Rescued 109
13. The Call for Help 118
14. Inside Gates’ House 128
15. Arthur Gates’ Letter 136
16. News from Inside 140
17. Mr. Proctor Gets the Bag 146
18. The Published List 150
19. A Conversation in the Dark 158
20. The Digger in the Garden 170
21. The Cup at Last 177
22. Direct Action 185
23. The Mystery Is Solved 195
24. The Alumni Dance 206
THE MERCER BOYS’
MYSTERY CASE
Chapter 1
The Glories of the Past
A group of pleasant-looking young men, neatly dressed in the spruce,
gray uniforms of the cadet corps of Woodcrest Military Institute, stood
at ease in one of the halls downstairs in Locke Hall. They were
representatives from the various classes, ranging from the senior, or
first class, to the third or sophomore class. As yet the two
representatives from the fourth or freshman class had not arrived, and
it was for these two cadets that the others were waiting.
“A special meeting, huh?” spoke up Cadet Don Mercer, one of the
representatives from the third class. “Anybody got any idea what Colonel
Morell has in mind?”
“I haven’t,” replied Senior Cadet Captain Bob Hudson. “I guess none of
us have. Farley and I got a notice to report to the study room here for
a special meeting, and that’s all we know.”
“Here comes the rest of the party,” announced the second class
representative, as the two fourth class men hurried up. “Now as soon as
the colonel comes we can get down to business.”
It was a fall day at the military academy, and Colonel Morrell, the
headmaster, had sent word early in the day that he wished to meet the
leaders of the various classes briefly after the last lesson period. The
boys were waiting now, talking light-heartedly among themselves, for
they were all friends of long standing, except for the two men from the
fourth class, who were newcomers.
Don Mercer, the cadet who had spoken first, was now entering his second
year at Woodcrest Military Institute. With his brother Jim and his
friend Terry Mackson he had entered the academy the previous year. Jim,
Terry and Don were old friends, and their first real adventures had
taken place two summers ago, when they had gone for a summer cruise and
had captured some marine bandits, details of which were related in the
first volume of this series, _The Mercer Boys’ Cruise in the Lassie_. In
the second volume, _The Mercer Boys at Woodcrest_, they came to military
school and helped to solve the mystery of old Clanhammer Hall and to
rescue their beloved headmaster, Colonel Morrell. Then, on the previous
summer the three chums had taken a trip to Lower California with a
former history teacher, Professor Scott, where, after many thrilling
adventures, they had uncovered the buried wreck of a Spanish treasure
ship. All of this, told in The _Mercer Boys on a Treasure Hunt_, had
contributed to make their lives adventurous and active, and they were
now back in school to take up the duties and pleasures of a new fall
term.
Don and Jim Mercer were both healthy-looking young boys in their late
teens, curly-haired, and well-built. Their friend Terry was tall, bony
and red-headed, chiefly noted for a cheerful disposition and a wide
grin.
A short fat man came rapidly down the hall, a good-humored-looking man
who was nearing old age but who was not allowing it to get the better of
him. He was clad in the gray uniform of a cadet colonel, the sight of
which brought the cadets to instant attention, although the colonel
himself, and not the uniform, inspired their respect and sincerity. He
was the idol of the school, for his sympathetic understanding had won
all of the student body to him, and the young men of the cadet corps
would have cheerfully gone to the end of the world for their headmaster.
When the colonel approached the cadets, he gestured with his hand and
said, “Rest.”
“Well, young men, all here I see,” remarked Colonel Morrell, as he
opened the door of the study room. “Come right in and be seated. Make
yourselves at home, as you generally do when you come here to study.”
The colonel chuckled at his own joke. He knew that sometimes other
things than study went on in the study rooms, but he had always known
how to give his lively boys enough rope with which to have a good time,
and at the same time just how far to go with them on the point of study.
The result had been that the cadets had their fun and still kept up a
good average of scholarship. They appreciated the headmaster’s sally and
entered the room. The colonel sat down in a large chair and they sat on
the long window seats facing him.
“All of you are wondering what is in the wind, no doubt. I’ll get to the
point at once. All of you know that I have planned for some time to turn
old Clanhammer Hall into an Alumni Hall. It has outgrown its usefulness
as a school building, and yet its associations are so fine that we don’t
wish to tear the place down.” He smiled at Don and continued. “Inasmuch
as it once served the part of a prison for Mercer and me, we feel more
sentiment for it than the rest of you do! But it is really a fine old
place, and it will be the most fitting place in the whole school for our
Alumni Hall.
“Now, in order to make that hall live in the memory of the men who will
come back here on annual visits we must find all of the trophies that
teams in the past have won. What made me think of it was this: I went
into an old closet on the top floor of this hall yesterday and down in a
corner I found a moth-eaten blue banner which the class of 1893 won in a
football championship. I don’t know if it is the right of a soldier to
be sentimental, boys, but I couldn’t help feeling as I saw the faded
blue color and the small white letters that some fine young fellows had
fought very hard in days gone by for that particular piece of cloth and
what it represented, and that the bottom of an obscure closet was not
the place for it. Later on, when I thought it all over I realized that
we have been mighty careless here at Woodcrest in the matter of our
trophies and the glories of the past.”
“I have often wondered why we didn’t have trophies around the school,”
smiled Cadet Douglas, Don’s brother representative of the class.
“The whole trouble is that we have never had a regular committee to
attend to that matter,” the colonel explained. “Each class has won some
kind of a trophy in years gone by and has cared for it just as they
wanted to. Some few of them were hung up in the various study halls,
some in the assembly room, and I’m afraid some of them have just been
carelessly stowed away somewhere. I want all of you men, as
representatives, to scour the halls from end to end and unearth as many
of these emblems of victory as can be found. We’ll check up against a
list until we have all the trophies that Woodcrest ever received.”
“Have you a list of all trophies, sir?” asked Hudson.
“No, but I know where we can get one. Ever since the founding of the
school we have had our school magazine, the _Woodcrest Bombardment_, and
surely each number will tell of the class winning any emblem and what
that emblem was. Fortunately, you will find a complete set in the
library, each monthly volume intact, and you will find the set of the
greatest value in your quest. My suggestion is that the representative
read through the school notes of each book and find out just what each
class won and then make a list up, against which we will check the
recovered cups, flags, banners or whatever we have.”
“When we get them all it is your plan to place them in Clanhammer Hall,
isn’t it?” Don asked.
“Yes, that is my thought. Early this winter I want to open the old
historic hall as the Alumni Hall. At that time I want to have the old
graduates come back and see the banners and cups hanging on the walls,
showing them that we of today appreciate their struggles, their spirit
and their loyalty. Nothing keeps a school up like the spirit of loyalty
and the remembrance of past deeds of courage and self-sacrifice. You
boys can see how it is. If you won a silver cup for Woodcrest this year
by hard, determined struggle you wouldn’t want to come here to school
ten years from now and find out that no one remembered the first thing
about it or even so much as knew where the trophy was. I want all of
those old students to come back here and see that the school remembers
them and appreciates what they have done in the past to make the
institution a place to be proud of.”
“That’s what I’d like to see,” murmured Farley.
“Of course you would, we all would. Well, suppose we meet again on
Friday afternoon at the same time and see what we have discovered? If
you want to get into any closet or room that is locked up just let me
know and I’ll gladly give you the key. That will be all, boys.”
After the colonel had left the room the cadets gathered to talk the
situation over. They were all in favor of his plan and they felt
confident that they would succeed in bringing to light all of the
trophies of the past. Hudson suggested that they go directly to the
assembly hall and make out a list of the things to be found in there. As
there was still some time before drill they went in a body to the
assembly room.
Douglas had a pad and pencil and noted down the trophies as they were
called. In the general assembly room they found four banners, two silver
cups, one silver football with a figure of a man running the ball
mounted on it, and a wooden shield with two small cups on it, the result
of a debating team victory. When these items had been written down they
all bent over the pad in Douglas’ hand.
“The red banner, the baseball trophy, is dated 1901,” remarked Hendon,
of the second class. “How far back do we have to go in the search?”
“How old is the school?” asked a fourth class man.
“The date on Clanhammer Hall is 1885,” supplied Don.
“Then that is the date of the school,” replied Hudson. “Clanhammer Hall
is the original building, you know. I guess we’ll find the initial
number of the _Bombardment_ is dated that year, too. So it looks as
though we’d have to dig back a number of years.”
“Yes, but the school didn’t win a trophy every year,” grinned Farley. “A
good old school and all that, but it didn’t win something every year.”
“Perhaps not, but pretty nearly,” came back Don. “Don’t forget, there
were baseball, football, basketball, track, debating and tennis teams,
to say nothing of swimming teams. I guess we’ll find there are quite a
few trophies when we come to look for them.”
The call for drill sounded and the cadets quickly separated to assemble
with their several units. Don was now a lieutenant in the infantry, but
Jim was far ahead of him in his particular section, the cavalry unit,
the first man in the history of the school to attain that honor who was
not in the second or first class. His steady attention to drill and his
heroism in saving Cadet Vench on Hill 31 had placed him in that
responsible position. Terry was, to use his own expression, “still
coaxing the big ladies to speak out in meeting,” by which he meant he
was still serving in the artillery, around his beloved guns, whose
workings fascinated him.
That evening in their room Don told Jim and Terry about the hunt for
trophies. He had obtained some copies of the school magazine and
together they pored over the early school notes. They found that there
had been many trophies in days gone past.
“There must be some up in the storage room in the attic,” Jim said.
“Yes, and I saw a battered cup in the locker of the senior study room,”
Terry said. “Looked like somebody heaved it at somebody else. After it
has been repaired it will do very nicely to put on a shelf.”
“I’m glad the colonel is going to fix up the old hall and set up the
prizes,” Don said. “I think every school should take pride in its past
history.”
In the days that followed the committee of young soldiers were very
busy. During their spare hours between study, drill and classes, they
scoured the school for trophies. The results were astonishing. From old
closets, from lockers, from under window seats and from the storage room
they brought cups, flags and banners. For some time they were baffled in
their search for a big silver cup, but at last found it in the workshop
of a former janitor, down in the cellar of the old school. Some of the
flags came from the walls of dormitories, though most of them were in
Locke Hall, the main hall of the school.
A careful list had been made from the back numbers of the school paper
and at last all trophies but one had been found. By checking up they
found that a silver cup, given to the class of 1933, was nowhere to be
found. Had they gone to the colonel at once they would have saved
themselves a lot of fruitless searching, but they did not and so after
fairly turning the school upside down they had to admit failure.
“We’ll have to admit we’re licked on that cup,” Hudson decided. “The
meeting is to be this afternoon and if there is a corner in this school
that we haven’t peeked into I don’t know where it is!”
The colonel met them that afternoon and was pleased with their good
work. Hudson explained that fifteen flags and banners, three silver
footballs, a number of trophy shields and ten cups had been found.
“These represent victories in every department of work, both athletic
and scholastic,” the cadet captain said. “The oldest banner is dated
1887 and is for a football championship. The last trophy is a silver cup
dated 1947 and brings our list up to date. From now on we can keep a
better record of our trophies and set them up in Clanhammer Hall as we
get them.”
“A total of fifty-five trophies,” put in Douglas. “There are quite a
number of shields with descriptive plates and small silver cups on them,
the prizes of debating teams.”
“Are they all in good order?” asked the colonel.
“Most of them are,” replied Hudson. “Suppose we take a look at them soon
and you may see for yourself. One or two of the cups have been bent and
the banners are somewhat dirty and in some cases decidedly moth-eaten.
But the lettering is all intact, even on the 1887 banner, and I’m sure
we can exhibit them without fear of their falling apart.”
“Then you have made a success of the job,” began the colonel, but Hudson
stopped him.
“I’m afraid we haven’t quite done that, sir,” he said. “We cannot find
the silver cup donated to the class of 1933 anywhere.”
The colonel looked puzzled. “I don’t remember that cup. What are the
details?”
“According to the issue of the _Bombardment_ of that time the cup was
awarded by Melvin Gates to the school with the highest rate of
individual scholarship, and Woodcrest won it, in fact, the son of the
donor won the cup. Well, we cannot find that particular cup anywhere in
the school.” He paused as a look of recognition came over the colonel’s
face. “Do you remember it, sir?”
The colonel spoke slowly. “Yes, boys, from the details you have given, I
do remember that cup. There is a story connected with it, a story that
is by no means pleasant. I do not know where the cup is, but I’ll tell
you the story of its strange disappearance.”
Chapter 2
The Class of 1933 Trophy
The cadets looked astonished and interested and waited in respectful
silence as the headmaster thought for a moment to refresh his memory.
Then, with the facts in his mind, he related the story.
“In 1933 there was some talk in the local newspapers about high
scholarship among the preparatory and military schools and the idea was
expressed that military schools gave so much thought and time to drill
and military duties that it was impossible for them to produce a high
rate of scholarship,” the colonel began. “In the years which have passed
since then we have shown here at Woodcrest that such was not the case,
that we have turned out scholars as well as gentlemen and soldiers. I
ignored it at the time, but one of the trustees, a man who is still
trustee, Melvin Gates, became very much incensed over the article in the
papers and took steps to challenge it. He conferred with me and I
finally agreed to put up at least three cadets whom I thought to be the
smartest in their classes, against any three from a preparatory school,
and, after an elimination, to allow my brightest scholar to compete
against another student from a preparatory school. This was done, and
the boy who took the honors in this school was the Arthur Gates you
mention, the son of the man who was to donate the cup. He beat the other
two boys and won first place.
“A nearby preparatory school, Roxberry, then put forward its best
scholar and the examination was held. It embraced every branch of the
studies which every scholar is supposed to have had at this stage of
preparatory school life, and to the joy of all Woodcrest students,
Arthur Gates won it. The questions had been prepared by professors from
Roxberry and instructors from this school and the two young men took the
examination in a room entirely by themselves. The other student received
a marking of ninety-five but Arthur Gates answered every question one
hundred per cent. A truly remarkable thing when you think of it, and
Woodcrest was mighty proud of him for it.”
“Should think it would be!” murmured Douglas.
“The editor of the paper publicly agreed that he had been wrong in his
estimation of military institutions and apologized. Roxberry graciously
accepted defeat and we were just ready to award the cup to Arthur Gates
when a very unfortunate thing happened. The cup disappeared!
“Just at this point I’ll have to go back a little bit and tell you this
fact: One of the cadets who was runner-up with Gates was a class captain
named George Long. Long was a fine young man, with a splendid career
before him, and he tried hard but was defeated by Gates. After his
defeat he became entirely different from his usual self, turned quiet
and moody and was seen to talk to Gates privately many times, at which
times Gates seemed to say no, as though Long was making him some
dishonorable proposition. Even when Gates won the scholarship for the
school he was not happy and refused to congratulate him at all. We all
put it down to jealousy and a bad school spirit, a thing which was hard
to believe, for Long was always a gentleman, but that was his attitude.
I suppose that he wanted to win that scholarship himself, as it was his
last year in Woodcrest, and it was certain that some college, hearing of
his success, would have awarded him a scholarship, which is just what
they did to Gates, eventually.
“The senior Mr. Gates had turned the cup over to me and had asked me to
present it to his son, as that would look better than it would for him
to give it, but I wanted one of the student body to present it, as a
mark of honor from the cadet corps. But if I did that Long would have to
be the one to present it, as he was senior class captain and also
captain of the infantry, and I didn’t know how he would feel about it.
So I asked him and he said that there was nothing wrong between Gates
and himself and that he would gladly present the cup for the student
body.
“I therefore turned the cup over to Cadet Captain Long on the night
before the general assembly and he took it to his room. When the next
day came all of the cadets assembled in the auditorium and there were
guests of the school and representatives of the press in the room. But
Captain Long was missing and I could not understand the circumstances. I
began the exercises, hoping that he would come, but he did not and
before long I was at the point where Arthur Gates was to have been
presented with the cup.
“I immediately sent a cadet in search of Long, and the messenger found
him in his room, frantically going through every drawer and corner of
the room. The cup had been stolen, he declared, sometime in the morning.
I had to go up there myself, to find him half-distracted, turning
everything inside out in his quest for the cup. It was not found, and I
was forced to go back to the auditorium and explain the theft of the
cup. The place was in an uproar and Melvin Gates was furious, but all we
could do was to make young Gates stand up and honor him that way. There
was simply no cup to be found and that was all there was to it.
“Afterward I had my hands full. The senior Gates wanted to arrest Long,
believing him a thief, but although I didn’t believe he was I couldn’t
understand what had happened to that cup. Gates himself, that is, Arthur
Gates, had been in Long’s room on the night before and had seen the cup
on Long’s dresser, and it had been there when Long went to bed and when
he got up in the morning. It was after chapel that he had first noticed
that it was gone, and he had hunted around for it without saying
anything to anyone about it. Long had no roommate, so there was no
suspicion there. I thought myself that he might have hidden the cup for
a joke or even in a mean spirit, but he insisted that he had not done
so.
“The newspapers rapped the cadet ‘honor’ severely and it was no easy
task to remain patient under it all. Long did not resign or do anything
foolish, he finished out the year, but under a distinct cloud. Arthur
Gates took the loss of his cup calmly, continued to be Long’s friend,
and even made a fine speech about it all in assembly. The elder Gates
was finally pacified and things died down, but search as we might, we
never did find that cup.
“As I have said, Long finished out the year and graduated, but it was a
hard job. You know it is the custom to clap when a senior goes up and
receives his diploma, but when the cadet captain of the entire school
went up there was only a silence, a brutal, condemning silence. I saw
his face redden and harden as I gave him his diploma, and I pressed his
hand hard, but he simply dropped mine and went back to his seat with his
head held high. That looks as though he was not guilty and I’d like to
think so, but the fact remains that everything is dead against Mr. Long.
He had never been gracious about Gates’ victory over him and never in
the least bit generous in any way about it all, and no one could blame
the cadets for feeling the way they did. I was severely scored by the
papers for not dismissing him from school for neglect of duty if for no
other cause, but I felt that would do no good and so I never went to
such a limit. I will confess that I hoped and hoped that the cup would
turn up some day and we’d find out it was just some prank or mistake,
but it never did.
“We have had alumni meetings each year and Long never comes to any of
them. I have purposely written to him more than once, although I don’t
know if that is quite wise, for the old graduates might turn the cold
shoulder to him when they met him. But I wanted to see if he would come
and face them in spite of it all, but he evidently does not want to do
so. Gates doesn’t come very often, in fact there are some fellows who
have never returned to visit the old school once they left it, but that
much is to be expected.
“Well, that’s the story of the 1933 class trophy, boys. We have always
called it that because both Gates and Long belonged to the senior class
of 1933 and that class represented the whole school. It isn’t a pretty
story and I’m sorry that it ever happened. I guess we can count that
trophy out and you may cross it off your list.”
The colonel sighed as he concluded and the boys sat for a moment in
silence. The honor and courage of his boys was a live issue with the
colonel and it hurt him to think that any of them should not be worthy.
Even though it had happened a number of years ago it was always a fresh
hurt to him, and they suspected that he had always had an affection for
Long.
“We’re very sorry to hear that, Colonel Morrell,” said Hudson, at last.
“It certainly is mysterious, but all signals point to this Long. Very
well, we’ll cross that particular item off our list.”
“Yes, the sooner we forget all that, the better,” the colonel nodded. He
got up briskly. “Suppose we go and take a look at the cups and banners
now.”
They filed out of the room and went down the hall to a smaller study
room, where the school trophies had been placed. The colonel looked them
all over with evident enjoyment, recalling incidents and stories about
almost every one. He was well pleased with their work and expressed it.
“Now, the next step will be mine,” he announced. “I’m going to have the
old hall thoroughly cleaned and then some needed work done in it. After
that we’ll have our first big alumni meeting and you boys will be on
duty that night, to share in the fun and listen to the talks. I thank
you kindly, boys, for your good work. In the future we’ll see to it that
the school trophies are properly taken care of and that it will never be
necessary for another committee to go around and pick up flags and
cups.”
“Well, that ends that,” remarked Farley, as the cadets prepared to
separate. “We’ll have to add a few more to the collection this fall and
winter.”
“Yes,” agreed Hudson. “Too bad about that 1933 cup.”
“It certainly is,” agreed Don, as the others nodded silently. “I’d like
to get ahold of that cup and make it talk! No telling what it would
say!”
“You are right there,” laughed a third class man. “They say that dead
men tell no tales, and I guess lost cups don’t either!”
Chapter 3
A Mystery Uncovered
That night Don settled himself in his chair to study. Jim was across the
room intent on history and Terry was visiting down the hall. The
redheaded boy was unusually bright in his studies; he was going through
Woodcrest on a scholarship which he had won, and he seemed to get along
with very little study. So he was able to do a little visiting, while
the others found that they must bury themselves in their books.
Don and Jim studied for some time and then Don felt that he had his
lesson clearly in his mind. He glanced around the room and his eyes fell
on some back numbers of the _Bombardment_, copies of which had helped in
the search for the trophies. This copy at which he was looking was dated
1933, and Don idly looked through it, scanning the school and athletic
notes of the period.
Presently a particular notice attracted his attention. It was an item in
the school notes department, and read as follows: “John Mulford, our
efficient and pleasant janitor for the past six years, left us quite
unexpectedly this past week. We were unable to learn just why he left
us. For the next few days the students will do well to thank their lucky
stars that it is the spring and not the winter of the year.”
Don passed the notice off lightly, wondering what it was that interested
him in it at all. His eyes swept up the column and something else drew
his attention. It was also a brief paragraph, but it started an idea in
his mind.
“There has been a let-down to the social activities of the senior class
since the regrettable affair of the Gates Scholarship Cup, but we hope
that such a condition of affairs will soon mend.”
His eyes narrowed slowly. Carefully he read the first note and then the
second and tried to construct a picture in his mind. He placed the
magazine back on the table and sat back in his chair, his eyes half
closed. Jim looked up from his book.
“Better go to bed, instead of falling asleep there, kid,” he advised.
“I’m not falling asleep, Jim,” Don answered. “Listen here, I’ve got
something on my mind, and I want your advice.”
For some time he talked to Jim, who forgot his lessons in his interest.
At last Jim slowly nodded his head.
“It sounds good to me. Are you going to tell the colonel in the
morning?”
“Yes, the first chance that I get.”
Just before his first class the next morning Don found Colonel Morrell
in his study. The colonel motioned him to a seat.
“What is on your mind this morning, Don?” asked the headmaster.
“I was reading one of the back numbers of the _Bombardment_ last night,”
Don replied. “And in it the distressing affair of the Gates Cup was
mentioned. Right underneath it was mentioned the fact that a janitor by
the name of John Mulford disappeared, or rather left the school for some
unknown reason. Wasn’t he suspected?”
“Yes, he was,” returned the colonel, promptly. “In fact, I had him
watched, but he didn’t take a thing out with him.”
“I see. Could it have been possible that he came back and got something
later on?”
“Possible, but I don’t think so. No, I’m pretty sure that he didn’t have
anything to do with it, in spite of his oddly abrupt leaving.”
“My thought is that Mr. Long was never guilty, Colonel Morrell,” Don
went on. “I feel that something strange was connected with that whole
case, and that your former captain suffered a grave injustice. I wonder
if you’d allow me to do something?”
“What do you want to do, Mercer?”
“Do you know where this former janitor went?” Don asked.
“When he left here he went to live in Ashland, a small manufacturing
town seventy miles east of here. I had to write to him once to send him
some money due him, so I know that much. But whether or not he lives
there now I don’t know, of course.”
“I see. Can you find that address and will you allow me to go to Ashland
and talk to this man Mulford?”
For a brief instant the colonel studied Don’s earnest face and then he
nodded shortly. “Yes, I can do all of that,” he said. “You will want to
go on a Saturday afternoon, won’t you?”
“Yes, sir. You have faith in my idea, colonel?”
“Not as much faith in your idea as I have in you,” returned the colonel.
“I know what you are capable of. I too have never believed Long guilty,
and I’d like to see him cleared.”
“Thank you,” said Don, as he left the room. “I’ll go next Saturday,
Colonel Morrell.”
Nothing more was said on the subject until the following Saturday
morning, at which time the colonel gave Don a slip of paper with the
name of a street in Ashland on it. While the other cadets were out on
the field waiting for a football game to begin Don left the school and
boarded a train for Ashland.
“I don’t know that this isn’t a wild goose chase for fair,” he
reflected, as the swift train bore him across the country. “But I’m
willing to make an attempt to find out what happened to that cup.”
It was late in the afternoon when he reached the manufacturing city, and
after some inquiries he located the street on which the former janitor
had lived. Don finally found the house, a narrow affair of red brick,
sandwiched in between high rows on either side. He rang the bell and at
last it was answered by a tall, thin girl.
“Does Mr. Mulford live here?” Don asked, raising his hat. He was not
dressed in his uniform, as that would have attracted too much attention,
but was clad in a plain everyday dress suit.
“Yes, he does,” was the gratifying answer. That was all the girl said,
and she seemed to be waiting for something else.
“Can he come to the door?” Don went on, seeing that she did not intend
to say anything more.
“No, he can’t. He ain’t walked for seven years,” was the startling
answer. “He’s crippled!”
“Oh,” exclaimed Don. “I’m very sorry to hear that. Then I suppose I
can’t see him?”
“Sure you can, if you’ll come upstairs,” the girl said. “On business, is
it?”
“Yes,” answered Don.
The girl led the way up a flight of dark stairs into a small room which
was hot and in which a variety of cooking odors hung in the air. An old
man was sitting in a wheel chair near a window, looking out into the
gathering darkness of the street below. He had a pale face and white
hair, and Don could see that his lower limbs were thin and gathered up.
“Somebody here to see you on business, pa,” said the girl, and to Don’s
relief she quit the room at once.
Mulford looked curiously at Don, who was not certain what to do. He had
not expected to find the former janitor a cripple and he wondered if he
should question a man in this condition. Mulford spoke up in a voice
that was full and strong.
“What did you wish to see me about, young man?” he asked. “Sit down,
won’t you?”
Don sat down facing the man. “I am from Woodcrest School, Mr. Mulford,”
he began. “I understand that you were once janitor there, and I came to
see you about something that happened years ago. But perhaps I had
better not say anything about it. I didn’t expect—didn’t——”
“You didn’t expect to find me a cripple, eh?” finished Mulford, quietly.
“I wasn’t one when I left the school. So you are one of the cadets
there? I’m glad to know you. I liked all of those boys when I was there.
What can I do for you?”
“Well, it’s rather a delicate subject,” began Don. “Mr. Mulford, if you
feel that I’m prying into any of your private affairs you just tell me
to get out of here and I’ll go. But first let me tell you a story. You
remember George Long and Arthur Gates, don’t you? They were students
there when you left so unexpectedly.”
Mulford’s face was a study. He looked fixedly at Don and was silent for
a moment. Then he said something that astonished the cadet.
“Yes, I knew them. I’m glad you came here, young man. I’ve had something
on my mind for a number of years and I want to get it off. I haven’t had
the nerve to write to Colonel Morrell about it myself, but I have wanted
to. You want to know about that silver cup, don’t you?”
Don was staggered. He nodded.
“As soon as you mentioned the name of Gates and George Long I knew what
you had in mind,” the man said. “You want to know what I know about that
cup. I’ll tell you right now that I didn’t take it myself, and if you
had come to me some years ago I would have driven you out of the door.
But this ailment of mine has tamed me down a whole lot and I’ve had
nothing to do but think for several years. Do you people at the school
think I took it?”
“Colonel Morrell doesn’t,” Don answered. He went on to tell of the
search for the trophies of the past and the story of the missing cup.
“For years George Long has been suspected of having taken that cup,” he
went on. “He graduated under a cloud and has never come near the school
since. What we are trying to find out, even at this late date, is
whether he did take it or not.”
“I thought something like that would happen,” the former janitor said,
closing his eyes. “I’m responsible for it, too. No, young man, George
Long didn’t take that cup. Arthur Gates stole that cup himself, on the
morning it was to have been presented to him!”
“What! He stole his own cup!” cried Don, open-mouthed.
“Yes, and I saw him do it. He came out of Long’s room with it in his
hands, trying to get it under his coat, and I saw what was going on.
There was only one thing to do, and Gates did it. He paid me a handsome
sum to keep quiet and leave the school, and I did it. At that time I was
very poor, and the money which I earned in such an easy manner came in
mighty handy. But as years went on I found it wasn’t easy. The thing
weighed me down, and today I’m glad to get it off my chest.”
“But why in the world should Gates have stolen his own cup?” asked Don.
“That I don’t know; I can’t help you there, Mr.——”
“Mercer,” supplied Don.
“Mr. Mercer, that you must learn from someone besides me. I don’t know.
I only know that he paid me to keep quiet and to leave. He even got me a
good job here in Ashland. But after a while I bitterly regretted the
fact that I had ever seen him come out of the room, and I hated myself
for taking the money. Dishonesty is a heavy, dragging burden, Mr.
Mercer.”
“It must be,” Don admitted, dazed at his success. “But you needn’t
regret the fact that you saw Gates come out of that room. If you hadn’t,
we would never have found out that Arthur Gates took the cup, and Long
would never have been cleared. As it is now we can clear him.”
“How about me?” demanded the man. “Am I to be dragged into the light at
this late day? Can’t you cover me up some way?”
“I don’t know,” said Don, frankly. “I think that before we ever clear
Long we’ll make a great effort to find out why Gates took his own cup.
If we don’t things will be pretty cloudy. Tell me this, have you ever
heard of or from Gates since?”
“No, and I never made any effort to. When he paid me my money and got me
the job I had nothing further to do with him. As I told you before, I
was in pressing need of both the money and the job, but now, as I look
back, I’d sooner have been poor and at the same time honest. That is all
I can tell you about it, Mr. Mercer, but I’m glad to get that off of my
chest.”
Don rose to go. “I sincerely thank you, Mr. Mulford. I think I can see
how we can clear up everything without involving you any further. I
guess if we go to Gates and tell him what we know he will be glad to
confess without allowing any such disgraceful story to get into the
newspapers. He is a very prosperous businessman now, and he would be
willing to keep things quiet.” He extended his hand and Mulford shook
it.
“Good luck to you, Mr. Mercer, and whatever you do in life, keep away
from anything shady,” the former janitor said, in parting.
The daughter of the man came in at that moment and at her father’s
command she showed Don to the door. He went directly to a restaurant and
ate a hearty supper, turning the amazing disclosure over and over in his
mind. Before very long he was again on the train.
“Well, this is turning into a royal mystery,” he reflected on the way
back to school, “I certainly would like to know why Arthur Gates should
have taken the trouble to steal the very cup which was to be turned over
to him!”
Chapter 4
A Visit to Mr. Long
Don allowed Sunday to go by without saying anything to the colonel about
the cup and the story attached to it. He had already told it all to his
brother and Terry, and they spent fruitless hours trying to figure out
why Gates had stolen his own cup.
“Beats me,” Jim finally confessed, giving it up in despair.
“It is something like that old story of the man who stole his own
wedding present,” suggested Terry. “Only, that fellow had some plan in
mind when he did it. He wanted to stop the wedding.”
“Arthur Gates had some scheme in mind, don’t doubt that,” Don said,
seriously. “But what was it?”
On Monday he told his story to the colonel. The headmaster was
astonished and in one sense pleased.
“Then Long is innocent!” he exclaimed. “That’s splendid! My former cadet
comes out with flying colors!”
“But another one does not!” Don reminded him.
“Well, yes, that is so,” admitted the colonel. “But still I would rather
see it the way it is than to have to think George Long is guilty. Not
that I wish to see either or any of my boys guilty of dishonor, but what
I mean is this: Long was such a fine clean fellow that it hurt to think
that anything was wrong with him. Gates, on the other hand, was not so
straightforward. I can’t even say that he was dishonest, but he was less
frank than the cadet captain.”
“I see what you mean.” Don nodded. “But now we will have to admit that
Gates was dishonest, for he allowed the blame to settle on Long and
never said anything about it at all.”
“That is so,” the colonel said. “What do you propose next? Shall Long be
told of the story?”
“Privately, yes,” Don replied. “But suppose we keep it rather quiet for
a time? We do want to find out just why Gates took it, and a significant
story may underlie his reason. My plan is to have a regular committee go
and call on Mr. Long!”
“To see if he can add anything to the facts gathered?” the colonel
asked.
“Yes, just that. It may be that he has since found out something that
will help. It won’t do any harm to try. Do you know where he is living?”
“The last time I wrote to him he was living in White Plains. I’ll give
you his address and you can write and ask for an appointment.”
“Do you think that is wise?” Don asked.
“Why not?”
“Well, he may still be hurt at the way the whole thing was received
years ago and tell us very briefly but politely that he will not be at
home to us. My plan is to drop in on him some evening and then he will
have to receive us.”
After thinking it over the colonel agreed that Don’s plan was best and
they decided on a committee. As they desired to keep the thing as quiet
as possible it was finally agreed that Don, Jim and Senior Cadet Captain
Hudson should do the calling on George Long. As soon as lessons were
over Don hunted up the cadet captain and told him what was in the wind.
He was deeply interested and when Jim found that he was to be part of
the committee his joy was great. Terry was slightly disappointed, but
felt that he would eventually have some part in things. At least, he
would hear how things turned out, and that in itself served to comfort
him.
It was one night during the following week that the three cadets
composing the committee arrived in White Plains. They started early in
the afternoon and it was nearly eight o’clock when they arrived in the
city. Their first step was to go into a drugstore and look up the name
of George Long.
“Here it is,” the tall senior captain said, pointing the name out to his
companions. “He is still living at the address that the colonel gave us.
Now, if he is at home we’ll be in luck.”
After some inquiry they found the street and half way down it a neat
white house. There was a light in the living room and sounds of a radio
could be heard as they stood on the front porch. Hudson touched the bell
and they waited.
“Here’s hoping he won’t throw us out,” whispered Jim.
“He won’t,” Don promised. “Not when I tell him what I have learned.”
A very pleasant looking man in his early thirties opened the front door
and turned on the front porch light. His face was thoughtful and he
carried himself with an erect carriage that revealed his military
training. In unconcealed astonishment he surveyed the three trim-looking
cadets in their gray uniforms and gray overcoats. Quickly his eyes
flashed to the W. M. I. on their hats and he knew that they came from
Woodcrest Military Institute. His face was a study.
“Are you Mr. George Long?” asked Don, whom the others had agreed would
be the spokesman of the party.
“Yes, I am,” the man responded. “Won’t you step in?”
The three cadets stepped inside a comfortable hall, removing their hats
and loosening their overcoats as they did so. Long continued to look
fixedly at them.
“We have come to see you on some very important business, Mr. Long,”
said Hudson, as there was a slight pause.
“Come in the living room,” Long invited, leading the way. It was evident
that he was deeply puzzled and fighting to get a grip on himself.
As they entered the living room, a neat, vigorous lady of about the same
age as Long got up quickly from an easy chair in which she had been
sitting. She looked from the cadets to her husband.
“If it is on business, George, I’ll leave you to yourselves,” she began,
but Don quickly interrupted her.
“Please do not go,” he said. “I am sure you will be quite anxious to
hear what we have to say to Mr. Long. Before we go any further I want to
introduce my companions and myself. This is Senior Cadet Captain Hudson,
and this is my brother, Mr. Mercer. I am Donald Mercer, of the third
class at Woodcrest.”
“I’m glad to know you,” Long said, having regained some of his composure
by this time. “This is Mrs. Long. Won’t you be seated?”
He turned off the radio music and they all sat down, the Longs expectant
and the cadets cool. Don spoke slowly and calmly.
“Mr. Long, we have come to ask you to tell us what you know about that
unfortunate affair of the Gates trophy of 1933.”
A sudden dark look passed over the man’s face and his eyes blazed. His
voice had lost its friendliness when he spoke again.
“I had hoped you weren’t here to talk about that,” he said, excitement
in his tone. “I won’t answer a single question. I never was a thief!”
The three cadets sat unmoved and Don went on unevenly. “It was thought
by a great many that you were, and it is still thought. There are very
few persons in the world who know that you never were, but before very
long everyone will know it. I think you will answer questions, Mr. Long,
and willingly so, since it will help us to solve the whole mystery of
that cup.”
Mrs. Long was sitting up eagerly in her chair and her husband was
staring. “Do you mean to say that you have found out anything about that
cup?” Long asked, eagerly.
“I found out several things,” Don answered. “But I think the wisest
thing would be to hear what you have to say first. It may help us a lot,
and then we’ll tell you what we know. You may save yourself most of the
details, for Colonel Morrell, who has always believed in you, has told
us most of them.”
“I know that the colonel has always believed in me, and I’m mighty proud
of the fact,” Long said. “Well, gentlemen, I must first beg your pardon
for my outburst. The subject has long been a deep hurt to me, so you can
understand just how I felt.”
“Perfectly,” nodded Hudson, the others assenting.
“Well, you know that the Gates cup was turned over to me and that it
disappeared on the day of the presentation. I’m afraid that is all there
is to it. I was accused by the senior Gates, but generously protected by
Arthur.”
A swift glance passed between the cadets, a glance which the Longs
noticed and wondered at. Don again took the lead.
“Are you sure you have told us everything, Mr. Long?” he asked, looking
directly into the former cadet captain’s eyes. “Can’t you tell us why
you went around so glumly after Gates won the chance to compete against
Roxberry, and again in the same manner after he had won against that
school and had claimed the highest honors? It looked to everyone then as
though you were jealous, but we have a feeling that there was something
else. Suppose you tell us now.”
Long hesitated, and his wife reached over and touched his arm. “George,
you must tell everything to these boys. I know that you consider it
honorable to keep quiet, and that you have done so for all of these
years during which you have been cruelly misjudged, but I think it is
high time you made some effort to clear yourself.”
Long came to a decision. “Very well, boys. I’ll tell you everything.
Perhaps I’ve been foolish to keep it all to myself in this way, but I’ve
thought it the honorable thing to do. The reason I looked so glum at the
time Arthur Gates won in the competition examinations and later again
Roxberry, is simply because Gates won them dishonestly!”
“Both of them?” asked Jim sharply.
“Yes, both of them! Copied his answers out of textbooks for the
elimination and later bribed a professor from Roxberry on the big
examination! His money did it, and the professor mentioned gave him a
complete list of the questions to be answered before the interscholastic
contest. No wonder he won hands down!”
“How did you learn this?” Don asked.
“I knew, judging by our class records, that I should have defeated Gates
in the eliminations. But I didn’t say anything until he won the big
event with one hundred per cent. Then, on the night that I first placed
that cup on my dresser, I pinned him down to the facts and made him
confess that he had stolen the entire thing. Gates was always rather
weak and he admitted it readily, even telling me the methods employed.
“As you can imagine, I was utterly appalled. We were always a school
noted for our cadet spirit and our honor, and it had been literally
smeared by Gates’ hideous act. The next day he was to step up on the
platform and take a cup that belonged to another school, or at least one
which he had not won cleanly, and he was going to do it with a smile on
his face. Boys, I’m no cry-baby, but I did cry a bit then for the utter
hopelessness of a man who would do that. Now I know where I was wrong. I
should have dragged him to the colonel or have beaten the life out of
him, but I thought I knew of a better way. I talked for two solid hours
to him about honor and then left him alone in my room, after he had
promised to write down a confession and stand clean. It wasn’t an easy
thing to do on his part, but he agreed, and he said he’d write it where
it would be eternal and there would be no mistake about it. I didn’t
understand that, but I went outside for a walk, to cool off in the fresh
air.
“And on the next morning the cup was there, but it later disappeared. He
stepped up to the platform and took all the honors, and that knocked the
theory I had held in the head. I thought that he had had the trophy
stolen in order that he wouldn’t have to accept it, thinking that he’d
back out altogether. But he didn’t. As I said before, he was mighty
generous about it all, but of course, he had to be. He knew I was in a
position to grind him to powder with a word, and he acted accordingly. I
think that is the only reason his father didn’t prosecute me.”
“The story gets blacker each time we hear it,” murmured Hudson.
“That explains a whole lot,” Don said. “Now, I’ll tell you what we
know.” He began at the point where he had read the notice of the
resigning janitor in the issue of the _Bombardment_ and told it to the
finish. “So you can see, Mr. Long, that Gates stole his own cup. I guess
he did it so as not to have to accept it.”
“Perhaps he was brazen enough to accept all of the praise, but the cup
was too much for him, and he knew he could not face that,” Mrs. Long
suggested.
“And yet that doesn’t make it any the less dishonorable,” Jim
interposed.
“You still think there is some other reason for taking his own cup?”
asked Long.
“I’m afraid so,” confessed Jim. “Simply taking the cup, and still
accepting all of the honors doesn’t seem logical.”
They talked on for some time, the Longs delighted at the good fortune
which had come to them. It had grown so late that the cadets knew they
could not return to the school that night. They talked of going to a
hotel but the Longs promptly vetoed the suggestion, declaring that they
could and would put them up for the night.
The cadets gladly accepted the invitation, and knowing that they were in
no hurry, spent a happy evening with the Longs. Now that some of the
bitterness was lifted from his mind George Long talked freely of the
days during which he had been in the school.
“For the time being nothing will be said publicly,” Don told Long, as
they were leaving the next day. “We are not yet satisfied as to why
Gates took the cup and we mean to make an effort to find out. In time,
however, you will be completely cleared.”
“With as many of them as are still alive,” said Long quietly. “Some of
them were killed in the war. I was in the war, too, and it is just by
the mercy of the Almighty that I am not resting there now.”
With the thanks and good wishes of the Longs echoing in their ears, the
three cadets left and were soon on the way back to Woodcrest.
Chapter 5
The Alumni Dinner
“I don’t know whether this case gets better or worse as it goes on,”
remarked the colonel, after Hudson, Don and Jim had told him Long’s
story.
“As far as the proposition of clearing Long is concerned, it’s turning
out just right,” Hudson remarked.
“That’s right,” the colonel agreed. “But now I find that Woodcrest
didn’t win the interscholastic scholarship contest at all. In time the
truth will have to be made known and then we will receive an additional
black eye.”
“Perhaps not, sir,” Don put in. “When the professor from Roxberry who
sold the examination to Gates is known they may wish to keep it quiet.
There is no way of telling just how it will all turn out.”
“Maybe so,” the colonel replied. “Now, let me tell you what I plan to
do. In about three weeks I am going to have the first alumni dinner in
Clanhammer Hall, when we will change the name of the place to Alumni
Hall. I am going to write to Arthur Gates to attend that affair and
while he is here we’ll see if there is anything to be learned about the
events of the past. Gates has never attended an alumni dinner before,
possibly because he has feared to meet Long at one.”
“Then how will you get him to attend this one?” Jim asked.
“I’m going to write and tell him that as this is the most important
meeting that we have ever had it is absolutely necessary that we have
the winner of the interscholastic contest with us.” The colonel’s face
became suddenly red and his gray eyes glinted dangerously. “I’m sorry to
think that I’ll have to shake hands with him and pretend that he is the
same as any other man, but that is the only thing I can do under the
circumstances. It is all important that George Long be cleared and that
we find out why Gates took that cup. That is as much as we can do right
now, and I’ll let you know when something new turns up.”
They left the colonel then and for the next week very nearly forgot the
affair of the cup. They were now in the full swing of their school life,
enjoying it as never before. Both Don and Jim were on the football
squad, and although they were not permitted to play in every game they
did get some part in most games. The red-headed boy was still with the
track, rapidly making a name for himself as a fast and steady runner.
At the end of a week the colonel called Don and the senior cadet into
his office. He had a letter in his hand.
“I just received a reply to my letter,” he stated. “Arthur Gates will be
here on the night of our alumni dinner. He writes to say that he has
never had the opportunity to come before, but that he’ll be very glad to
come and help open Clanhammer as the new Alumni Hall. That’s very nice
of him, I’m sure. If he knew what we know, he wouldn’t come near the
school.”
“That’s true,” nodded Don. “What are your plans for the evening?”
“I haven’t decided as yet,” the headmaster admitted. “But I shall want
you and Hudson and Jim to be in the room and watching Gates. I am going
to ask most of the seniors to act as waiters, and I’ll see to it that
you and Jim are on the table with Gates.”
On Monday of the following week a corps of carpenters and painters
swooped down on old Clanhammer Hall and went to work. In between periods
and after school the cadets watched them with interest. Old and rotting
boards were ripped off and new ones put in their places, old paint was
scraped and in a short time the old building stood out in glowing
splendor. Leaves were raked up and broken windows replaced. The hall was
completely transformed.
On the inside the work was even more thorough. Old benches were torn
out, one or two old partitions followed, and the entire left side of the
original school was turned into a huge dining hall. In the days of its
infancy Clanhammer had had a small dining room, because enrollment had
been small there. Now two classrooms joined with that original room made
up the new and spacious alumni dining room.
Upstairs was left pretty much as it had been and then the new furniture
was moved in. Long tables and plenty of chairs composed the new
equipment, and in a few days the new sign, Alumni Hall, was painted over
the front door.
A number of seniors had been chosen as waiters and Don and Jim had been
told to join them. On the night of the dinner they assembled early in
the kitchen of the hall and began preparations. The kitchen had been
refitted and at present was full of steam and the odors of half a dozen
foods. The cooks had their hands full watching the restless cadets, who
sampled the food at every opportunity.
“I’m warning you,” shouted Pat Donohue, the chief cook, as he wiped the
perspiration from his red face. “The next fellow I see dipping bread in
the gravy will catch a frying pan back of his ears! Don’t you boys never
get fed during meal times?”
“No, Pat,” said one of the seniors, gravely. “Your food is so good that
we never get enough of it! Don’t blame us for snitching a little now and
then, for it is out of this world!”
“Humph,” snorted the cook, suspiciously. “That sounds fine, but I got a
sneaking suspicion you just said it to make me feel good. Get your
fingers out of that salad!”
“Isn’t there anything we can have without being jumped on for it?”
demanded Hudson.
There were a half dozen rolls which had fallen into some heavy grease
earlier in the evening. They were now on a plate nearby and the grease
did not show. Pat pointed to them.
“There’s some fine rolls that you can have,” he said, a twinkle in his
eye. A dozen hands reached for the rolls and the lucky ones began to eat
hastily. But in a minute there came a chorus of protesting cries.
“What in the world did you put in these rolls?” gasped a senior, as he
tasted the grease.
“Who, me?” asked Pat, innocently. “I didn’t put nothing in ’em. I guess
they was that way when they came. I dunno, I haven’t tasted ’em.”
After that the cadets let the food alone. By this time they could hear
the old graduates coming in, and soon the old hall echoed and re-echoed
to the talk and laughter of the old students. From time to time the
alumni wandered within sight of the busy corps of waiters, and then the
cadets got a glimpse of them.
Working busily the cadets soon had the supper on the table and then the
graduates marched in, the old-timers in the lead and the others
following.
Just before they sat down the colonel beckoned to Hudson and spoke to
him in a low tone. “The man at my right is Arthur Gates,” he said. “Not
on this table, but on the second table. Just watch him closely and see
what his reaction is to any announcement about class trophies.”
Hudson nodded and carried the message to Don and Jim. The meeting opened
with a word of thanks by the colonel and then with a noisy scraping of
chairs the old cadets sat down. It was now a busy period for the young
waiters. They walked rapidly from the kitchen to the dining room,
putting on the food, replenishing the supply of rolls, and seeing to it
that everyone was well served.
It was during a pause between courses that Don and Jim got their first
real look at Arthur Gates. He was sitting at the end of the second
table, conversing with some of his old classmates. He was stout and
pale, wore glasses and had very little hair on his head. His eyes were
shifty and they decided, even discounting what they knew about him, that
they did not like him.
After the final coffee cups had been cleared away several speeches were
made. They recalled the earlier days of the school, when the colonel was
a very young man, and one of them told of mistaking him for the janitor.
Eventually Gates was called upon and the three boys listened to him in
amazement. He spoke of the glorious year in which the school had won the
cup and seemed not in the least abashed.
Jim whispered to Don, “I’ll be doggone glad when we can produce proof
and show that fellow up. Can you imagine a guy like that taking credit
while Long is in disgrace?”
“I won’t mind spiking his guns,” whispered Don indignantly, in return.
Gates concluded his speech in a burst of handclapping, in which the
colonel did not take part. The headmaster rose slowly and addressed the
gathering.
“I have a very pleasant surprise for you, gentlemen. During the last few
months I have had a committee of my boys look through the school for the
trophies of former years. They have recovered every one of them, and in
a very short time I shall show them to you. Every one, gentlemen.”
The three cadets looked quickly at Gates. He was paying strict attention
to Colonel Morrell and his face had become very pale. Nervously his
hands crumpled the tablecloth.
“I have made over one room into a trophy room,” continued Colonel
Morrell. “In that room you will find the walls lined with the emblems
which speak of the glories of the past, the standards for the winning of
which you gave so much courage and loyalty. Cups, flags, banners,
shields—all are there and in looking at them I am sure you will find
many a stirring memory. I propose that we now go directly to the trophy
room and look over the collection, and I challenge any of you to show me
wherein we of the present day have left a single historic trophy out.”
There was a pushing back of chairs and the graduates followed the
colonel out of the dining room into a smaller room which had been
beautifully decorated. The last glimpse that the three cadets had of
Gates he was close on the heels of the colonel.
“I guess I see the colonel’s point,” whispered Hudson, as they prepared
to clear the tables. “Wait until you hear what he has to say.”
The next two hours were busy ones, as the cadets were compelled to clear
all the tables, eat, and help stack away the piles of dishes. When they
returned to the empty dining room they found that most of the guests had
left the hall. After a time the colonel sought them.
“Did you observe anything?” he asked guardedly.
“Mr. Gates looked ill at ease when you said you had all of the
trophies,” Don answered.
The colonel nodded. “I watched him closely when we got into the Trophy
Room,” he said. “His eyes eagerly swept the room, and after that he
seemed ill at ease no more. He saw that the class of 1933 cup was not
there. But he must have known that it was not there in the first place.”
“He must have the cup at home somewhere,” said Jim.
“I believe he has. But listen while I tell you what happened. One of the
graduates said, ‘Too bad we haven’t the interscholastic cup of 1933.’
There was a dead silence and then Gates said, ‘Let’s forget that
altogether, fellows.’ I guess he would like everyone to forget about
that cup.”
“No doubt,” agreed Hudson. “Well, what is the next move?”
“Let’s wait awhile,” answered the colonel. “I had a talk with Gates and
he told me that he and his family were about to move here to Portville
to live! That may mean something definite in the future.”
Chapter 6
Added Mystery
A number of cadets, clad in the regulation football pants, and blue and
white jerseys of Woodcrest football team ran swiftly around the track
back of the school. It was the custom of Coach Briar to give his men a
single lap around the field after a strenuous workout, and the team was
winding up for the day. Don and Jim held their place well in the front
with the leaders.
The lap completed they rushed down the steps that led into the basement
and with a series of wild whoops piled into the locker rooms. A hissing
sound announced that the showers had been turned on, and a film of steam
vapor spread rapidly over the room. Jerseys came off on the double and
more than one helmet rolled unheeded across the dusty floor.
Coach Brier walked in slowly and looked with approval at his charges.
They were in fine condition and had won every game of the season. At no
time in the year had they been in any danger of losing, and the fighting
spirit was more than gratifying to the athletic coach.
The tumult in the locker room increased with each passing moment. Half a
dozen young huskies had found themselves stripped at the same time and a
wild rush for the showers resulted. There was pushing and shoving and
shouting, which would have disturbed the nerves of someone less stout in
that respect than the popular coach. But he merely smiled and looked on,
wisely confining his talk to football subjects.
“Only one more team to play, coach,” shouted Quarterback Vench, of the
third class. “We ought to be able to take them.”
“Don’t be too sure,” warned the coach.
“We’ll sure take one healthy crack at them,” put in Douglas, who ran in
the backfield for Woodcrest.
“Is there any chance of playing Dimsdale this year, coach?” cried
Hudson, from the back of the room.
A look of gravity spread over the genial face of the coach. As if by
magic the uproar in the room ceased. Hudson had struck a sore point.
In the past Woodcrest had played an annual game with Dimsdale, a
preparatory school close by. The contest had been the big event of the
whole fall season and the rivalry had been keen. But in recent years
there had been no games between the two schools, owing to an unfortunate
affair that took place after one of the games on the Woodcrest home
field. At that time Woodcrest had defeated Dimsdale for five years
straight, and in the game that followed the preparatory school had won.
The fact went to the heads of the students of the rival school, and
besides painting the 12 to 0 score on the side of the school with white
paint they had ruthlessly broken windows and wrecked some school
furniture. The cadets’ battalion had formed and had given the rioters a
severe beating, although they were supposed to merely chase them off the
grounds. From that time forward there had been no games.
However, that had happened years ago and there was no thought that it
would happen again. Each year the cadets clamored to play against
Dimsdale and each year they were refused. As the years went on the
situation became harder. Insolent Dimsdale scholars openly booed the
cadets and the boast was common with Dimsdale students that the
Woodcrest school was afraid to play them. In large bodies the Dimsdale
rooters came to the cadet games and openly cheered for the rivals of the
cadets, no matter who or what they were. It was as much as flesh and
blood could stand, and to old veterans like Hudson and Barnes and Berry,
the flashing backfield men, it was especially bitter to think that they
must graduate without a chance to play their detested foes.
To Hudson’s question the coach looked troubled. “I don’t know, Hudson,”
he said. “You know what the attitude of Melvin Gates is.”
Don stopped tying his shoe to look up. “What has Melvin Gates to do with
it, coach?” he asked.
“Everything,” responded the coach, gloomily. “It so happens that he is
the chief trustee and that he donates the most money to the school.
Although Colonel Morrell owns the school it is really run by a board of
trustees, and the head trustee is Melvin Gates. He has never gotten over
the affair of the last Dimsdale game, and he positively refuses to allow
the school to play the other outfit. As he holds most of the power I
suppose the colonel can’t risk losing his support, so we have to go
without our game each year.”
“Is he the only one against it?” Jim asked.
“Yes,” nodded the coach. “The only one.”
Vench snorted in disgust. “Can you beat that? Just because something
happened long ago he has to act like a spoiled baby about it! That’s
what I call fine, noble sportsmanship!”
“You don’t know much about it,” grumbled Hudson. “This is only your
second year. Wait until you have had to swallow their insults for four
years. Why, look at the Roxberry game, and what those guys did. Started
yelling every time the signals were called, so that we couldn’t get
them. If I had my way I’d turn the whole corps loose to clean ’em off
the field.”
Young Major Rhodes, former cadet captain of the senior class and now
chief drill instructor, drifted in just then. “I agree with Hudson,” he
said, quietly. “I had to put up with it for four years and then finally
graduated without getting a chance to play against them. I think we’ve
been wrong about the whole thing from start to finish. Suppose a
delegation of you fellows go and see the colonel and tell him that the
whole school wants to play Dimsdale.”
“What good will that do?” asked Coach Brier.
“I don’t know that it will,” confessed Rhodes. “But I do know that there
will be a meeting of the trustees on Friday and at that time the colonel
can put it up to them again.”
“And get turned down once more,” snapped Berry, to whom Dimsdale was a
nightmare.
Rhodes shrugged his broad shoulders. “I don’t know, but you can at least
try. Someday the break has got to be made, and the sooner the better.”
“Do you think this year would be a good one to play Dimsdale?” inquired
a substitute, timidly. “They are Class A champions, you know, and they
have a powerful team.”
“I wouldn’t care how big their team is,” declared halfback Barnes. “Just
put me where I can rip holes in their line, that’s all!”
The coach looked at the boys silently for a time. “All right, boys,” he
said. “I guess there is no harm in trying out Rhodes’ suggestion.
Suppose you three veteran backfield men consider yourselves a committee
and approach the colonel on the subject. Let’s see if we can get any
action this year.”
That night Don consulted earnestly with Jim and the result was a letter
which he wrote to his father. After that they waited, with the rest of
the school, for the decision of the trustees.
What the young substitute had said about Dimsdale was true. They were at
present occupying the exalted position of champions of the Class A
divisions, and they boasted a powerful, line-smashing team. In one sense
it was not a wise year to start playing the old rivals again, for the
Woodcrest team was small and fast, but in no way compared with the other
school as far as bulk of players was concerned. But the cadets were mad
clean through and did not hesitate to take on the other school, in
anticipation at least.
The colonel received the committee of three and expressed with them the
desire of renewing relations with the preparatory school. He promised to
take the matter up with his board of trustees and see what he could do
with the one obstinate member.
“It is time that Mr. Gates got over his prejudice,” he admitted. “We’ll
see what we can do.”
On the day of the trustee meeting Don received a letter from home and he
and Jim read it over with satisfaction. Don nodded across the table to
Jim as he finished it.
“I guess it won’t make any difference which way the meeting goes now,”
he stated.
On the following day when the team finished their workout, the coach was
not with them. He had gone into the school building to find out the
result of the trustee meeting. The players stood around with sweaters
and coats as protection against the sharp November wind. Before long
they saw the coach come from the main hall and walk slowly toward them.
“Walks very slowly, something like a funeral march,” observed Hudson,
with a gloomy shake of his head.
When Brier reached them he did not waste any words. He shook his head
and spread out his hands with a gesture that told the whole story.
“Same as ever, boys,” he announced briefly. “Gates refuses to allow us
to play Dimsdale.”
Barnes and Berry took off their helmets at the same moment and slammed
them on the ground viciously. Hudson turned away, a lump in his throat.
His last ambition, that of playing against Dimsdale, was frustrated, and
the fact hurt. Growls came from the rest of the squad. Vench gritted his
teeth and sneered at the narrow-minded attitude of the chief trustee.
Only Don and Jim kept silent, and as they were new members on the
football team the fact was not noticed.
“That means giving it up for at least another year, I suppose,” shrugged
Rhodes.
“Maybe until Gates dies, I don’t know,” returned the coach.
“Blessings on him and all his money!” murmured Barnes, sarcastically.
After the customary lap around the field the boys went back to dress,
annoyed and growling at the situation. It was not until they were in
their own room that Don spoke his mind.
“Jim, I believe that there’s something more to this than we can see on
the surface,” he said.
“What do you mean?” his brother asked.
“I mean that I don’t think Melvin Gates is keeping us from playing
Dimsdale simply because of the after-game riot of years ago. Why in the
world should he be so particular? Every student wants to play and every
trustee wants to let us, but still he holds out. I think there is some
added mystery in it all, and that he has some deep and secret reason for
not wanting us to play Dimsdale!”
Chapter 7
The Trustees’ Meeting
On the following morning Don sought out the colonel and asked for a few
minutes to talk over an important matter. At the colonel’s invitation he
sat down and came at once to the point.
“Colonel Morrell,” he began. “You only tolerate Mr. Gates’ attitude
because he is the senior trustee and actually controls the school by his
money, isn’t that so?”
The colonel was astonished but he nodded frankly. “Yes, that is so. Of
course, Mr. Gates has been a trustee for a good many years and there is
something else to consider besides his money, but I’ll admit that plays
a big part. It costs something to run the school and his generosity has
made a lot of things possible that we would otherwise have done
without.”
“Of course,” responded Don. “Is his obstinate attitude confined simply
to this matter of football, or does he make things unpleasant for you in
other ways, Colonel Morrell?”
“In some other things he is very disagreeable, too,” the headmaster
said. “But in the matter of the football game he is unusually so. What
makes you ask?”
“If you had someone else to take his place, who would advance as much
money as he does, and with not nearly as much trouble, would you
consider running directly against Mr. Gates?” Don went on, ignoring the
colonel’s question.
The colonel thought for a moment. “Yes, I think I would,” he admitted,
slowly. “As I told you before, Mr. Gates has made things pretty
disagreeable for me on several occasions. He has a sort of stranglehold
on the school simply because of his wealth and that makes it hard for
the rest of the trustees and myself. In other words, if he wants a thing
done his way he has only to say so and tap his pocketbook and we all
have to do as he wants us to.”
“That’s just about what I thought,” nodded Don. “Now, I’ll tell you what
I have in mind, Colonel Morrell. When I was home last summer I talked to
my father quite a bit about the school and he shares my enthusiasm for
it. When I heard of the trouble you had with Mr. Gates about the
football situation I wrote to him and asked him if Mr. Gates ever got
disgusted and left the trustee body would he consider becoming a trustee
in Gates’ place, providing he was elected to the body. He wrote back and
said that he would.”
The colonel digested the news slowly. “That is very nice of your father
and I certainly appreciate it,” he said at last. “But of course I could
not simply ask the senior Gates to resign so that I could put another
man in his place.”
“I wouldn’t want you to do that,” answered Don, quietly. “But this is
what I mean. You know that the entire student body wants to play
Dimsdale and that one man alone is holding us back. What I propose is
this. Suppose a committee consisting of two representatives from each
class waits on Mr. Gates and tells him plainly that the school is
determined to play our rival? If he is unruly and threatens to resign
we’ll just allow him to resign and my father will take his place.”
“I see now what you are getting at,” cried the colonel. “We won’t be
driving him out, but he will be driving himself out! It will give us an
opportunity to see if he is simply bluffing and at the same time you
boys will get your game. Personally, nothing would suit me better than
to see that game played. I think it is high time that the unfriendliness
of years standing is done away with and that athletic and other
relations be restored between this school and Dimsdale.”
“Then you approve of my plan?” asked Don.
“I certainly do. The issue will then be squarely up to Mr. Gates and it
will be up to him to decide what course to pursue. I won’t have anything
to say about it, nor will the other trustees, and if he wishes to resign
your father will take his place. Nothing could be more clear-cut than
that.”
“When will there be another meeting of the trustees?” inquired Don.
“In three days’ time. We did not get all business finished at the last
meeting, due mostly to the football discussion, and we must meet again
then.”
It was agreed that Don should inform the captains and lieutenants of
each class to appear before the trustees and explain their stand. After
he had left the colonel’s office he went to class and later hunted up
the cadets whose presence would be required. All of them were instructed
to keep things quiet until after the meeting of the trustees, and all
agreed to do so.
On the night of the meeting the selected cadets were ready and met
outside the colonel’s office. Hudson and Berry represented the first
class, Douglas and Don the third. The trustees had arrived and were
inside, settling themselves and talking.
The colonel opened the door and allowed them to march in, where they
faced the slightly astonished trustees. They soon made out Melvin Gates,
a tall, thin man with burning bright eyes and a lofty air about him.
Colonel Morrell came briefly to the point.
“These cadets, gentlemen, represent the student body, and are here to
speak for themselves. As you remember, at the last meeting it was
decided that the school was not to play Dimsdale, now or ever, according
to Mr. Gates. I passed that message on to the corps, but it seems that
they refuse, for once, to accept the decision.”
Melvin Gates straightened up in his chair and shot a bitter look toward
the stalwart cadets. “Oh, they refuse to accept it, do they?” he said,
in a rasping voice.
The colonel looked at Hudson, who spoke up in reply. “Yes, Mr. Gates,
the student body refuses to accept the decision. We are taught good
sportsmanship here at Woodcrest and the doctrine that men are to be met
and treated like men. We feel that it is unfair to brand the Dimsdale
school of today with the stigma of a set of rowdies of the past, so we
are here to respectfully protest the ban against playing them.”
“I don’t care what you are here to protest!” shouted Gates, rising in
excitement. “I have refused to give my sanction to this game, or to the
proposition of renewing any kind of relations with Dimsdale school, and
I will not retract one word of it.”
“It is most unfortunate that you feel that way, sir,” replied the senior
Cadet Captain. “For we are going to play them as soon as possible!”
There was a gasp from the assembled trustees and Gates’ face reddened.
He snapped around on the silent headmaster.
“Morrell, are you going to allow this to go on?” he demanded.
“I do not see that I can do anything about it,” said the colonel. “It is
the fervent wish of the entire corps that we play Dimsdale, and I am
heartily in favor of it myself.”
“You know what this will mean to the school!” cried the angry Gates. “I
will resign and withdraw every cent of my money.”
“I should be sorry to see you do that, Mr. Gates,” returned the colonel.
“But I am not going to thwart my boys any longer.”
“All right, sir, all right,” ground out the trustee. “Then I resign, at
once! How will you manage to get along without my money, Morrell? Answer
me that!”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” put in Don. “But my father has agreed to
become a trustee in your place if you should resign.”
Gates was taken aback. A murmur arose from the other trustees and more
than one satisfied look was exchanged. The chief trustee shook with
rage.
“Oh, very well, gentlemen, very well! If that is the way you feel about
it, I see that there is nothing left for me to do but to resign. This is
a pretty cheap game to play, Morrell.”
“It isn’t a game at all!” retorted the colonel, with spirit. “How long
do you suppose these young men were going to submit to the rule of one
man on a question like this? Don’t you see that for years you have made
these young men the laughing stock of the neighboring preparatory
schools, and that we have been questioned on all sides as to our
sportsmanship? It was only a matter of time, Mr. Gates, and I was simply
lucky enough to have Mercer’s father offer to take your place if you
resigned.”
“Had it all planned out, eh?” snarled Gates. “Mercer’s father prepared
to step in as soon as I stepped out!”
“Yes, but you can’t blame anyone if you want to step out,” returned the
colonel. “If you will resign, someone must take your place. We will
receive your resignation at any time, Mr. Gates.”
“You’ll get it soon,” the trustee promised. “Let me tell you, nothing
good will come of all this. The idea of you young cadets wanting to play
Dimsdale this year! Why, everybody knows that they will run away with
you!”
The cadets flushed and Berry replied. “We will try hard to make them run
after us, and not away with us, sir.”
“They’ll make a laughing stock of you!” shouted the irate trustee.
Colonel Morrell turned to his cadets. “You may go, boys,” he said.
“Spread the news that Woodcrest will play Dimsdale!”
The cadets saluted and left the room and in a short time the news was
flying all over the school. The cadets went wild and the coach was
enthusiastic. On the next day a formal challenge was sent to the rival
school, and in another day the reply was received.
“We play ’em on November 24th,” said the coach, briefly. “I hear that
they plan to wipe up the ground with us!”
“That is what you hear!” smiled Hudson, grimly. “Wait until you see the
game!”
Chapter 8
An Old Score Settled
A low, gray ceiling of clouds hung over the field at Woodcrest when the
cadet team came out to play that November afternoon. Stands were
crowded, and as the team entered the field a cheer went up from the
Woodcrest section and a yell of derision from the Dimsdale side of the
field. Briefly, the cadet team looked at the beefy Dimsdale team across
the field, where they were running signals. Grim mouths, bright eyes,
and hearts filled with determination marked the silent purpose of the
young soldiers.
When the news of the coming game with the Class A champions had been
circulated around town great had been the derision. The two teams were
in different classes, the preparatory school ranking in the higher Class
A division and the military school in the lighter Class B aggregation.
Woodcrest had not lost a game nor had Dimsdale, in each class. Crushing
power lay with the preparatory school machine and nothing but the stings
of years of insults and determined purpose with the cadets. Those who
cared for such things had made heavy bets against the cadet team and the
feeling was general that Woodcrest was in for a bad beating.
The football coach had not said much to his team, but he had said just
enough. He told them that the feeling was against their chances of
winning, that the whole thing was looked upon as foolishness, and that
Dimsdale was frankly considering it nothing more than a practice game.
This was their chance, he told them, to settle once and for all an old
score, and his only plea was that they play like gentlemen and forget
revenge.
“Because if you think of it merely as a revenge, you are sure to lose,”
the coach wound up. “Bad sportsmanship spoils and defeats any game.
Knowing you as I do and just how you feel, I know you’ll play your
hardest, and my only request is that you play clean and hard.”
It was therefore a silent, grim group which trotted out on the gridiron
and started to run through signals. Derisive yells and cat-calls came
from the opposite side of the stands. They fell on heedless ears, or at
least on unresponsive ones. Quarterback Vench called his signals
quietly, the ball was snapped with calm accuracy, and although the
hearts of the soldiers beat rapidly there was no outward sign to show
that they were burning with an eager fire inside.
The cadet band struck up and played well, the cadets marching across the
field to the grandstand side which they were to occupy. When they were
seated the two teams began to take their places. Hudson, the Dimsdale
Captain and the official met in the center of the field, the coin was
tossed, and Dimsdale won the toss. They decided to kick and the teams
lined up.
The ball was placed, the Dimsdale captain looked up and down his line to
make sure that everything was ready. Tensely the cadets, spread out in
receiving formation, waited. For an instant the field was in silence.
Then, as both captains nodded, the referee blew his whistle sharply and
the bitter game was on.
There was a thud as the ball was kicked and sailed in a long arc to the
waiting arms of half-back Barnes. He tucked it under his arm securely
and bounded off to the left side of the field. Realizing that he was in
danger of outrunning his guards he slowed slightly and ranged himself
behind Hudson, Berry and Vench. Behind this wall he ran the ball back to
the center of the field before being downed. Lazily the preparatory
players untangled themselves from the heap, but the cadets snapped into
line with a spirit that showed their purpose.
Don and Jim were benched, as they were in nearly every game. In the
following year, and their senior year they expected to play on the team
regularly, but as yet they were only substitute. Jim played in the line
in practice and Don had once or twice played halfback. Well wrapped in
their heavy parkas they sat on the edge of the players’ bench, wholly
absorbed in the game.
Vench called his signals and the ball was snapped to Berry, who made
five yards through tackle. It was apparent that Dimsdale was playing
lazy football. The team was heavy enough to hold the cadets from any
dangerous threat and that was all they were doing. The next two plays
did not gain anything and Vench kicked out of danger. The ends got down
under the ball and brought the Dimsdale captain to earth with a telling
slam.
Dimsdale began a march which was alarming, but an accident changed the
situation. Berry pounced on the ball when the right halfback fumbled it.
Woodcrest was on the forty-five yard line and prospects were good.
“Those guys are playing awfully sleepy football,” Don said to Jim.
“Vench had better take advantage of it and get the ball across.”
The same idea seemingly occurred to the little quarterback. He surveyed
the team before him over the backs of his teammates and then suddenly
bent down. Calmly and quickly his signals came.
The ball snapped back. Berry, Barnes and Hudson doubled up and ran
toward the right side of the field, and the Dimsdale team swung in that
direction. Vench, the ball buried deeply in his stomach, swung left and
let loose all of his speed. For a moment there was a wild mixup on the
right side of the line and then Dimsdale woke up, but too late.
Vench was away and down the field and the goal was close at hand. He
crossed it with the nearest Dimsdale player three feet in back of him. A
wild roar went up from the Woodcrest stand and the Dimsdale team looked
bewildered. Vench was slapped and shaken by his enthusiastic teammates
and then they prepared to kick the ball. The kick was made successfully
and the score stood seven to nothing for Woodcrest.
Now, however, it was a different Dimsdale team that lined up for the
kick. Energy took the place of indifference. Helmets were pulled on
tightly, belts hitched, feet kicked ridges in the field and an aroused
and dangerous foe faced the cadet team. But they found a wideawake
outfit waiting for them, and the game went on with a punch. This time
the prep school team drove forward with purpose and held the cadet team
to four straight downs, Vench declining to kick.
When the ball finally passed to Dimsdale the drive began. The smaller
team was not able to hold the Class A group. Steadily they stormed down
the field until they were under the shadow of the goal and a touchdown
seemed the only final result. It was then that a merciful break came to
Hudson.
This game against Dimsdale had been Hudson’s dream for years, and he was
anxious to distinguish himself. His opportunity came with dazzling
suddenness. Impatient at the time taken to put the ball over the goal
line, and fearful that the half would end, for they were now in the
second quarter, the Dimsdale quarterback called for a forward pass. The
ball went to their left halfback, who tossed it like a bullet to the
left end, hovering at that moment down near the goal.
Hudson had been slow to get away when the ball had been snapped and he
was blaming himself for it, when he saw the ball come speeding through
the air, over his head. He leaped into the air as though there were
springs on his feet. The ball stopped in the cup of his hands and he
landed, hesitated, slightly dazed, and then, with a bound that carried
him forward, began to run up the field, to the opposite goal posts,
which seemed miles and miles away.
A frantic roar burst from both stands and the Dimsdale players turned
and threw themselves at him. One went down under his cleated feet and he
avoided him, a second he straight-armed with no uncertain force and then
he broke away on a long run. Chaos broke loose in the stands and the
captain, his supreme chance with him and up to him, ran as he had never
run before, to cross the goal line at top speed and touch the ball to
earth amid a terrific uproar. The goal had barely been kicked before the
whistle blew, ending the half.
Down in the locker room the coach was quietly encouraging. “You are
doing splendidly, boys,” he smiled. “It is hurting the pride of the A
champions terribly to have a score of 14 to 0 against them. You can all
see we owe the last score, with all due credit to Hudson’s run, to the
quarterback’s error. They were sure to drive over the goal, but he made
the mistake of tossing a pass, which Hudson speared. The next time they
begin to drive, look out!”
The coach turned out to be a true prophet. Dimsdale received the
kick-off in the second half and drove with crushing force right down the
field and over the line for their first touchdown. The cadets were
unable to hold them and the goal was kicked, making the score 14 to 7.
The drive was accompanied by rough handling on the part of the heavier
players, and two of the cadets were slightly injured and had to be
replaced. Jim was sent in and played guard, while Don waited for his
chance.
“Well, it’s a cinch we’ll never beat them at straight football,”
remarked Vench, as the quarter ended, the cadets failing to gain an inch
either through the line or around the ends. “They roll over us like a
steam roller! We’ll have to hold them down somehow!”
But the cadets were unable to do so. Once more the preparatory players
drove the lighter players before them like grass and scored a touchdown.
They failed to kick the goal and the score stood 14 to 13.
“They are going to drive again,” murmured the coach, to a friend. “My
boys can’t hold them on a drive.”
And drive they did. They punched holes yards wide in the lighter team’s
line, rolled over them in waves, and steadily forced them back. In one
of these smashes Berry was hurt and was helped off the field. The coach
looked over his players and nodded to Don.
“Go in for Berry, Mercer,” he said, and was none too hopeful when he
said it for Don’s playing was not spectacular and the coach wished that
he had a star just at that moment.
Don tossed aside his parka and ran on the field, grateful for a chance,
but not at all glad that Berry had been crippled for the time being. He
reported to the referee and then, pulling his helmet down over his
forehead and tightly around his ears, took his place in the backfield
and bent down to catch the signals.
Dimsdale lost the ball on downs and the cadets got it almost in the
shadow of the goal posts. It looked very much as though the usual thing
would happen, the failure to advance and the necessity of a kick to save
themselves, or losing the ball right there. The ball was snapped and a
scant two yards were made.
Don played an average, ordinary game, carrying the ball twice for short
gains and playing his part as interference. He found himself opposed to
one large player on the other side who began to rough him with
unnecessary force. It was the right halfback, a heavy-set individual who
threw all of his weight with paralyzing force on Don at every
opportunity. Don made no complaint, because it was part of the game for
the other fellow to drop him whenever possible, and for some time he
tried to believe that the man was not stepping out of bounds, but before
long he knew this wasn’t so.
He carried the ball again and the same player tackled him, rolling him
over and thudding down on him violently. The breath was knocked out of
him and he wobbled slightly when he got up, but he said nothing, partly
from a lack of breath and partly from a desire not to complain. But when
the same man viciously dug him with his elbow he protested.
“Keep your elbow to yourself or I’ll report it to my captain,” he warned
him.
“Aw, run and tell your mama, soldier boy!” was the derisive answer.
Don made no reply but his eyes blazed as he went back to the place he
occupied. The next few plays were grim and hard-fought. The cadets had
managed to make first down and still held the ball.
“Are you all right?” Vench said to Don, as they formed again.
“Yes, only that big circus wagon over there is roughing me every chance
he gets!” snapped Don.
“They are all doing it,” replied the plucky little quarterback, wearily.
He had worked with all his strength and was ready to drop. He fumbled
the ball on the next pass and it rolled away. Immediately, every
available player sprang toward the ball, but luckily a cadet fell on it,
saving it for his team.
“Three downs, eight yards to go,” groaned the coach. “They’ll never make
it, and Dimsdale will make another march down the field. It won’t even
do any good to kick.”
Don had run toward the rolling ball, to be met by his heavy rival and
knocked flat. There was no excuse for it, as there had been no danger
that he would recover the ball, but he went flying, nevertheless, to
land with jarring force on his stomach. With his breath whistling
through his set teeth he staggered to his feet and walked to Vench, his
eyes burning.
“Let me run that ball!” he hissed in the quarterback’s ear. “Just give
me a chance to run that ball once!”
Chapter 9
Terry Engages in an Argument
Mr. Vench had passed the ball more than once to Don without anything
spectacular having happened, but he was willing to do it once more. One
look at the flushed face of his friend showed him that Don was mad clear
through and that he could be counted upon to put at least as much of a
punch into the play as anyone. Accordingly, after a brief nod and a
sweeping glance over the two tense teams Quarterback Vench bent over the
center.
“19-84-6-10-2” he called, and the ball was snapped to him. The play
meant that Don was to take the ball through tackle and guard, on the
right side of the line.
The long, tapering fingers of Vench rested lightly but firmly on the
ball and he swung it on to Don, who was passing him on a dead run, his
head down, his eyes alert. Don’s eager hands swept the ball out of the
quarterback’s grasp and he hurled himself into the gap which his
teammates had opened between guard and tackle. For a single moment there
was utmost confusion and then the Dimsdale players became aware that he
had the ball. Those who were still on their feet swung in toward him.
They met a fighting-mad young savage. The first man clutched at Don’s
flying legs, only to be hurled violently to one side like a piece of
paper. A second lunged and felt his one hand slide off the halfback’s
jersey. Then, up in front of Don loomed the big, beefy bruiser who had
aroused his anger. There was a determined look in this man’s face as he
lunged at the running back.
Straight as a ramrod Don’s hand shot out in the approved straight-arm,
to catch the player squarely in the face. His head went back suddenly
and he was pushed to one side, to drop limply to the ground, surprised
and stunned. He had met his match and had received the worst of it. Don
swept on out into the open field and began a run that brought the stands
to their feet. Past the two half backs, narrowly missed by the Dimsdale
fullback, and running a nip and tuck race with the enemy fullback Don
beat the nearest man over the goal line by inches and touched the ball
to the ground as the exhausted Dimsdale quarterback fell over him.
A mighty roar went up that lasted for at least three minutes and in that
period a try for a goal was made but the ball missed the uprights by
inches. They were taking their places once more when the whistle blew,
ending the game with the score standing at 20 to 13 in favor of
Woodcrest.
To the Class A champions the defeat was a crushing one and they left the
field utterly humbled. To the cadets, suffering under the insults and
sneers of years, the victory was more than sweet, and the score caused
special rejoicing. Don was made much of and the coach assured him of a
star’s position on the team in the following season.
“Nothing but pure fighting spirit won that game for you, boys,” the
coach told them in the locker room. “Those fellows could parade through
you for a touchdown every time they wanted to, but it was your
alertness, as typified by Hudson’s catch of the forward pass, and your
sheer determination, as Mercer showed, that took the game, not to
mention the intelligent handling of the little quarterback. Man to man
you were outplayed and outweighed, but you beat a mighty good team by
courage and fighting spirit.”
During the game Terry was engaged in an unexpected argument. It was the
custom at Woodcrest when they had a game of any kind to place cadets at
the entrances of the rival grandstand to direct people to their seats or
to stop any horse play in the stands. As Terry was not on the football
squad he was assigned to the task of standing guard at one end of the
visitors’ grandstand.
Terry did not mind in the least. He was dressed in his dress parade
uniform and for the time being had a little authority, even though it
was limited to bossing small boys and directing people to seats. There
were enough girls in the stand near him to make him anything but sorry
that he had on his best uniform, and he could see the game perfectly.
Terry had no fault to find with his post.
Before the game started many couples and groups had passed him and
entered the stands, picking their own seats, and the red-headed cadet
did not move. He was only to pick seats when it became crowded, and not
even then unless requested, so he contented himself with watching the
people as they passed him and entered the stand. All of them were
friends of the preparatory school team and they carried red banners with
a black D on them. A number of young men sat very near where Terry was
standing and they looked him over and made a few would-be funny remarks
to which Terry paid no attention.
When the Woodcrest team trotted out some of the Dimsdale supporters
booed it heartily and the blood rushed to Terry’s cheeks. For the moment
he regretted the fact that he was not on the football team and playing
in today’s game. Grimly he pictured himself smashing wide holes through
the opposite lines and the prospect was pleasing. He decided that he had
had enough of running and that on the next gathering of football
candidates he would surely be there.
Something that was being said by the well-dressed youths near him
attracted his attention at this point. One of them, in a plaid wool
shirt and gray flannel slacks, was addressing a few of his friends.
“It’s a wonder these soldier boys ever got up the nerve to play us,” he
announced. “Of course, it will be a walk-away with ’em. Alongside of our
fellows they look like a kindergarten.”
Terry rolled his head uneasily, much as though his collar was too tight
and choking him. It was not his business to argue with visitors who
might occupy the grandstand and he knew it. In the end, the score would
speak for itself and it would be foolish to pick and bicker about it.
Nevertheless, his one foot beat the boards of the grandstand flooring
impatiently.
“What’s been the matter with this cadet team for so long?” asked one of
the boys. The lad in the plaid shirt took it upon himself to answer
that.
“They’ve been afraid to meet us,” he said, with conviction. “Those
fellows haven’t wanted to meet us, and I don’t know what made them do
such a foolish thing this year. Silliest thing I ever heard of.”
This was too much for the red-headed cadet. He swung around on the group
just back of him, at the same time pointing to the furry individual in
the plaid shirt.
“Look here, mister!” he growled. “Let me correct you on one point. The
student body of this school has been dying to get a crack at your school
for years, in fact, for every year the games haven’t been played. But
I’ll tell you why the games haven’t been played. We have had a trustee
named Gates who holds a grudge against Dimsdale because of some rough
work they pulled off years ago when they won a game. While we had this
trustee we couldn’t play you, because he controlled the school, but he
is gone now and that is why we’re playing you.”
“Well, that was pretty poor sportsmanship,” protested the boy from the
other school.
“Oh, I agree with you perfectly there,” replied Terry, earnestly. “Very
bad sportsmanship, but it happened. This year we purposely got him to
resign in order to play you and resume athletic relations with your
school. Maybe you’ll win the game, and then again, maybe you won’t, but
I just didn’t want you to go around with the idea that Woodcrest has
been afraid to play you in the past.”
With that Terry walked away, leaving the boys somewhat impressed. Terry
noted that a man well along in years was looking at him as he walked
down the steps and when Terry moved near him the man spoke.
“I heard what you said to those fellows,” he said, nodding to the boys.
“So it’s been old man Gates who has kept the two schools from playing,
eh?”
“Yes, he has kept bad feelings alive between the schools for a number of
years,” Terry replied. “But I guess that business is about over. I don’t
know why he had to be so bitter about it, but some folks hang onto a
grievance like grim death!”
“Yes, and Gates is just that kind,” nodded the man. “But I wonder if he
hasn’t got a good idea in doing it?”
“I don’t know,” Terry said. “What do you mean?”
“Did you ever know that Gates’ son was put out of Dimsdale years ago for
dishonesty?” the man asked.
Terry was instantly alert. “No, I never knew that. Young Gates went to
school here, you know. Is that the same one?”
“Yes, Arthur Gates is the same one. He was put out of Dimsdale for
dishonesty in his lessons at examination time when I went there, some
years ago. I had no idea that it was Gates who was forbidding your
school from playing against my Alma Mater, but now I think he must have
been doing it deliberately, to keep you folks from knowing about his
son.”
“Yes, but that seems foolish,” Terry argued. “It was hardly possible
that anything would be said about his son.”
“It might come out accidentally,” the man said. “Or perhaps Gates is
sore at the school in general. I still believe that Gates did it
intentionally.”
So did Terry and for the next few moments he was so busy with his
thoughts that he did not notice the people who passed him. In a few
minutes the game began and he was lost in the details of the struggle.
Great was his rejoicing when the cadet team put the ball over in the
first quarter and at the groans which came from those beside him Terry
chuckled gleefully.
And when Don crashed the line for his thrilling run down the field
Terry’s joy knew no bounds. He tossed his hat and cheered loudly. When
the people began to pour from the stands he waited until the party of
young men, now strangely silent, passed him. Then, in a voice like that
of the young man in the plaid shirt he said: “Of course, it will be a
walk-away with ’em. Alongside of our fellows they look like a
kindergarten.”
The young men looked around and Terry smiled. “Pardon me,” said the
red-headed boy. “Can you tell me who won the game?”
“Aw, go run around the lots!” snorted the leader, and Terry chuckled.
That night there was no studying done. A huge bonfire was kindled and
until late they enjoyed themselves around it. The football team, held
down to training for some weeks, was now allowed to break from the rules
and eat something more sweet than substantial.
“And so that is why the Gates’ have kept things at dagger points between
the two schools, is it?” asked Don, when Terry told the events of the
afternoon.
“Yes,” nodded Terry. “Young Gates in particular seems to be a bird of
very black feathers!”
Chapter 10
The Eagles Disappear
Colonel Morrell was interested when Don told him what Terry had learned.
He had never known that young Gates had gone to Dimsdale.
“It seems that a lot is coming out concerning that man all at once,” the
genial headmaster remarked, running his hand through his gray hair.
“Unfortunately, it does not happen to be of the best, either. I think I
will write to the headmaster of Dimsdale and confirm that, because we
don’t want to pin anything on Gates if it doesn’t belong there.”
“No,” admitted Don. “He has a bad enough name now, and there is no use
in adding to it.”
After the big game the school settled down to a few quiet days of normal
routine. Now that the old and bitter score had been settled the cadets
felt satisfied and they found that outsiders had a deeper respect for
them. The lofty airs of Dimsdale students had quite vanished and the two
schools looked forward to playing annual games.
The colonel informed Don that Terry’s information was correct.
“Professor Strong, the headmaster of Dimsdale, writes to say that Gates
was a pupil there some years ago and that he was dismissed for
dishonesty,” the colonel said. “It appears very much as though his
failings run along the one line.”
On the following Wednesday after the big game a startling thing
happened. A group of the cadets were talking around the door of the
classroom when a cadet from Clinton Hall joined them. It was early in
the day and none of the boys from Locke had been outside yet.
“What’s the excitement, Apgar?” asked Jim noting the flushed face of the
cadet.
“Didn’t you fellows hear what happened last night?” the cadet cried.
“The eagles are gone!”
“What? The eagles gone?” a dozen voices cried out.
“Sure, sawed right off at the base. Some of the fellows are out there
looking at them now.”
Instantly there was a wild rush for the front door of Locke Hall.
Interest and excitement ran high. The eagles referred to were two huge
ornaments placed on the wide steps leading up to the main hall, and they
had been donated to the school by an army officer who had learned his
first military tactics at Woodcrest. They were made of hollow brass,
stood four and one half feet high, and had looked bravely out across the
campus for a number of years, a very real part of the makeup of the
cadet school. They had always seemed immovable, and to be told that they
had been carted off was a distinct shock to the young soldiers, to whom
they were a source of intense pride.
Don, Jim and Terry reached the front steps as soon as any of the others
and took in everything at a glance. The parapet of the steps looked
strangely bare without the great brass birds, and the cadets hurried to
look at the spot where they had stood. Sure enough, they had been sawed
off close to the stone, and only an iron stem with some flakes of
fillings remained to show where they had been.
“Now, who in the world could have done that?” gasped Hudson, looking
about him in a dazed way.
“Whoever did it must have been awfully careful about it,” ventured
Berry. “It was done in the night and no one heard it, apparently.”
“Somebody had better hunt up the colonel,” suggested a cadet, and in a
few minutes the headmaster was out on the steps, his face grave and
thoughtful.
They kept a respectful silence while the colonel looked on the stone
rampart and examined the rough stumps of iron upon which the eagles had
been mounted. He then looked over the assembled cadets.
“None of you gentlemen heard any sound of sawing during the night, did
you?” he questioned.
None of the cadets had heard anything. By this time almost the entire
corps had assembled. Barnes reminded the colonel that the previous night
had been a very dark one.
“True,” nodded the colonel. “It looked like a storm and I remember that
there was no moon and no stars. Well, this is a pretty serious business,
boys.”
“It’s a pretty small kind of a trick,” growled Hudson.
“We’ll have to get to the bottom of it as soon as possible,” the colonel
went on. “No clues as yet, eh?”
“Here is one!” cried Lieutenant Thompson, suddenly straightening up. He
had bent down, looking around the ground just beyond the steps. They all
looked curiously, to see that he held a small red book in his hand. The
colonel took it and looked it over, and a gasp went up from those
nearest him.
“A Dimsdale year book, eh?” boomed the colonel.
It was indeed a small instruction book with the words “Dimsdale School”
printed across the cover. A murmur of understanding went up from the
students.
“A little revenge for the football defeat,” cried Vench, voicing the
sentiment of all of them.
“It looks very much like it,” nodded the colonel, pocketing the book. “A
very unfortunate way to feel, to put it mildly. I’m glad you found that
book, Thompson, though I’m sorry it had to be just the way it looks.”
Before anything more could be said the class bell rang out and the
cadets started for their classes, talking it over between them. Vigorous
resentment was felt against the rival school.
“Too bad those fellows have to be such poor sports,” growled Terry, as a
group of the third class men made their way down the hall.
“They can’t seem to take defeat graciously or even without crying about
it,” Don said, regretfully.
“Did you fellows see the date on that rule book?” Jim asked.
“No, what was the date?” Vench asked.
“I was near enough to see it plainly. It had 1938 on it. Isn’t that a
pretty old rule book for a Dimsdale student to be carrying?” Jim asked.
“It does seem odd, if you look at it that way,” Don assented. “You are
sure it was a 1938 book?”
“Oh, yes. I saw it at close range.”
The school buzzed with the news all day and knots of cadets talked it
over from every angle. The colonel was unusually silent and in the late
afternoon he sent three seniors as a committee to Dimsdale to protest
and lay the matter before the school authorities there. When they came
back there was a session with the colonel and then more and eager talk
around the building. Hudson had been on the committee and he entertained
a big group in his room just before study period. The cadets stood
around or sat on his bed and drank in his words.
“The headmaster there was pretty well put out about it all,” the senior
captain told his audience. “He looked through the book and was unable to
identify it as the property of any of the students. Did you guys know
that the book was an old 1938 one?”
Some of them knew it. Hudson went on: “Professor Strong said that to his
knowledge there is not a 1938 instruction book in the school, and he
doesn’t know of a single student who has a book as old as that. He
expressed his regret that such a thing happened, but he does not believe
for a minute that Dimsdale fellows did it. The only thing that makes it
look bad is the fact that they lost that game last Saturday and of
course it looks exactly as though they were out for revenge and took it
out on our eagles. The student council over there is going to take up
the matter and push it hard, because it looks bad for the whole school.”
“I hope they didn’t have anything to do with it,” Berry declared
promptly. “I hope the little book was just a plant, because I hate to
think those fellows are such downright poor sports. But, as you say, it
looks bad in the face of the past game.”
“We’ll all have to do a little detective work from now on,” Barnes
suggested. “Let’s see if we can’t find someone who met suspicious
characters around here on that night, or something that will give us a
clue.”
“It might be a good stunt to go over to Dimsdale and rummage around in
their boathouse or the sheds back of the school,” a senior said, but the
majority were against that.
“Not right now,” Hudson declared. “That would be the surest way to start
trouble. Let’s wait until something more definite than that little book
points to Dimsdale as the guilty party. We all think somebody from that
school took the eagles, but until we have positive proof we’ll give ’em
the benefit of the doubt.”
“But isn’t it funny that no one heard them cut the eagles off?” asked
Vench.
“I wouldn’t say so,” Thompson replied. “You see, they were cemented into
the stone by a single rod. Now, it was no trouble at all to slip a thin
metal saw in between the base of the eagles and the stone and saw
through. An iron saw doesn’t make much noise and it probably didn’t take
much time. Whoever did it knew just how to go about it.”
There the matter rested for the time being, but the cadets continued to
wonder and speculate. The student council of the rival school met and
presented a resolution that they believed the students of Dimsdale to be
not guilty in the matter of the theft of the brass eagles. Professor
Strong talked with the colonel by telephone and informed him that he
could not find a 1938 rule book in the institution nor could he find a
single student who had a book as old as that. Further check, which was
fairly accurate, revealed the fact that every Dimsdale boy had been in
his room on the night of the mysterious affair, though there was nothing
to show that some few students might not have sneaked from the building
after lights were out. All these facts made some impression on the more
thoughtful cadets, but it was not enough to make them feel altogether
sure that the rivals had no hand in the affair.
“Too bad about it all,” sighed Don. “Just when the relations between the
schools were being mended so nicely! But we’ve simply got to find those
eagles.”
“Yes,” Terry agreed. “No one has found out a thing, as yet. Apparently
no one saw any suspicious characters around on that night and nothing
has been learned down in the town. I’m afraid we’ll have to look further
afield for them.”
On the following day Jim showed a dispatch from the weekly town paper to
some of the cadets. Under an editorial heading, entitled “The Revival of
Ancient Rowdyism,” there followed a long article about the notoriously
poor sportsmanship of Dimsdale.
“See who the author is?” Jim asked as they pored over the dispatch.
“The editor, of course,” said Douglas.
“No,” Jim denied. “Look at this passage.” He read it to them all. “‘A
prominent citizen of this town, one of the newest and most influential
of our local citizens, tells us that he is not in the least bit
surprised at the turn things have taken. This citizen, formerly a
trustee at Woodcrest, has stood out for years past as unalterably
opposed to the resumption of relations between the two schools, having
had occasion years ago to witness more than once the regrettable lack of
honor and sportsmanship on the part of Dimsdale students. It is
altogether too bad that young men, growing up in institutions of this
kind, where they are fitting themselves to take an active part in the
affairs of life, should have so little respect for the principles of
decency and honor.’”
“Now, who wrote that?” Jim challenged.
“The editor,” said Don. “But Melvin Gates stood at his elbow when he did
it.”
“I can’t understand it,” Vench said. “He certainly seems determined to
keep alive bad feelings between the schools.”
“All in all, that editorial is quite unfair to Dimsdale,” Hudson
declared. “Maybe a few fellows from that school did saw off the eagles,
but there was no occasion to slam the whole school that way.”
When Don, Jim and Terry were alone in their room Don said, “Melvin Gates
is taking an awful chance by writing, or being party to the writing of,
such a piece as that. What is to hinder someone from coming out and
telling the truth about his son?”
“Perhaps he figures that if they did, Woodcrest people would naturally
take his part against Dimsdale. I wonder if you fellows are getting the
same idea that I am?” Jim advanced.
“Perhaps we are,” Terry replied, slowly. “Are you beginning to think
that Gates had the eagles stolen to keep alive bad feeling and to make
us think he was right all along?”
“That is just what I think!” said Jim. “Just a sort of a petty revenge.
Now all we have to do is to prove it!”
Chapter 11
The Hunt in the Swamp
“Guess what I just found?” smiled Cadet Jim Mercer, joining a group at
the piano in the recreation room.
Douglas was playing the piano and Don, Terry, Vench and Hudson were
standing around listening. Jim had been at Inslee Hall visiting a friend
and had just popped into the recreation room. It was in the evening just
before study period.
“The pot at the end of the rainbow!” laughed Vench. “Lot of people been
hunting for that a long time!”
“I wouldn’t be likely to find that at night, would I?” retorted Jim. He
unbuttoned the overcoat and dipped his hand into his jacket pocket.
“This is what I found.”
He produced a long, thin instrument of steel, at the sight of which the
assembled boys cried out. It was nothing less than a steel saw, slightly
rusty from exposure to the weather. One end of it had been broken off.
“Ah, ha!” cried the senior captain, examining it closely. “A steel saw!
That thing was used to saw off the base of our eagles!”
“No doubt about it!” murmured Douglas.
“And that isn’t all,” Jim went on, turning it over. “See the name on the
other side of it?”
Stamped into the steel was the name “Henry Rose.” They looked puzzled,
and Jim went on to explain.
“Henry Rose is the name of the maker of the steel saw. All we have to do
is to find out which hardware store in this town, or in an adjacent
town, sells Henry Rose saws. That ought not to be hard.”
“No,” agreed Terry. “Where did you find it, Jimmie boy?”
“In the grass at the end of the campus. I took a short cut across from
Inslee and my foot struck something in the grass. I wouldn’t have paid
any attention to it, only it flew across the grass with a zipping sort
of a sound and it aroused my curiosity. So I picked it up, and when I
saw what it was I knew it must have been part of the game.”
“Shall we show it to the colonel?” asked Don.
“Not right away,” advised Hudson. “Tomorrow is Saturday and we have half
day off. Suppose we fellows go down to Portville and do a little
snooping on our own account. We may be able to scare up a clue or two.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Jim nodded. “There is only one hardware store
in town, so we shouldn’t have any trouble.”
On the following afternoon the six cadets entered the hardware store of
John J. Potts. Mr. Potts himself, a little, energetic man, bustled up to
them, rubbing his hands.
“Hello, boys,” inquired Mr. Potts. “What can I do for you today? I have
nothing in the way of swords or bayonets, but perhaps you’ll want
something more useful, a can opener, for instance.”
Having delivered himself tactfully of his feeling toward war and the
implements of war, Mr. Potts laughed and the cadets smiled pleasantly.
Mr. Potts was harmless and they knew it. Jim showed him the broken blade
and the others watched him closely.
“Do you keep Henry Rose steel saws?” Jim asked.
Mr. Potts took the saw, examined it, and nodded. “Yes, I do. Nice blade,
just the right play and solidity to it, retails for—”
“Never mind that,” Jim cut him short, sensing Mr. Potts’ desire to talk
at length. “Have you sold any lately?”
“I sold three of them to Peter Cozoza last week,” replied the
Storekeeper, promptly.
“When was it?” Vench asked, eagerly.
“Last Monday,” Mr. Potts supplied. The cadets exchanged glances.
“Who is Peter Cozoza?” Hudson put in.
“He is a laborer, lives over on Meadow Street, out by the swamps.”
“He didn’t say why he wanted them, I suppose?” Don inquired.
“Oh, no,” protested Mr. Potts. “And of course I didn’t ask him. I’m not
in the habit of asking people what they buy things for, you know!”
“I know it!” returned Hudson, gravely. “You wouldn’t do anything like
that, Mr. Potts!”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Potts agreed, eyeing him suspiciously. “I never ask no
questions. What do you boys want to know what Peter bought the blades
for?”
“We want to hire him to do a job for us,” Jim said, gravely. “Colonel
Morrell is thinking of building a new school and he wants Peter to saw
up the lumber for him!”
“For lands sake! You don’t saw up lumber with a steel metal-cutting
blade. Look here, are you boys poking fun at me?”
The boys looked from one to the other in silence and then Douglas shook
his head. “It is horribly bad manners to poke at anyone, Mr. Potts. We
wouldn’t think of it. Well, thanks for your information. So long.”
The cadets walked out of the local hardware store, leaving Mr. Potts in
an uncertain frame of mind. He shook his head and went back to work,
addressing his clerk briefly.
“Them cadets must be crazy. Such looney talk I never heard!”
On the way out to the unkempt street that had been named Meadow Street
Don chuckled.
“Mr. Potts never asks questions, gentlemen! But he was just dying to
know what we had in mind!”
“I’ll say,” laughed Hudson. “And if we had told him it would have spread
all over town like wildfire.”
There were only four or five houses on Meadow Street and they had no
trouble in finding the one owned by the laborer Peter Cozoza. The man
was not home and his small, undersized wife stared in awe at the six
erect cadets who so completely blocked up her back door. She was
somewhat charmed because they took off their military hats while they
talked to her and they spoke gently and courteously, something with
which Mrs. Cozoza was none too familiar. She told them, in answer to
their inquiry, that her husband was not at home.
“Not at home, Mrs. Cozoza?” Jim replied, blankly. Douglas addressed the
little woman next.
“Was he at home last Wednesday night?”
Don grasped his arm warningly. “I’m not altogether sure we ought to ask
her that, Doug,” he cautioned. “Might get her in trouble with the
husband. You know how these people are.”
But the little woman answered frankly enough. “No, mister, he go out
last Wednesday night, I not know where. Since then he go down in the
swamp a lot. You see, his boots muddy.”
She pointed to a pair of muddy rubber boots that stood beside the stove.
Jim quickly snapped up the lead offered.
“Down in the swamps?” he asked. “Which way? That way?”
He pointed at random toward the black swamp that crept up close to the
house, but Mrs. Cozoza shook her head. “No, down the path, there.” She
pointed to a path that showed faintly through the trees.
“Oh, I see,” smiled Jim. “Well, that is all, thank you.”
They left the woman standing in the doorway, frankly puzzled, and looked
at the path that led into the swamp. Hudson looked at his watch.
“We’ve got time to follow the path a little way, at least,” he
announced. “The fact that the man goes into the swamp may not have any
bearing on the thing at all, and then again, it may. I suppose you all
think it worth looking into?”
They all agreed on that point and took the path into the swamp. When
they had entered the dark, rank woods they were compelled to spread out
in single file and keep to the path, which in some places was little
more than a mere ribbon. A false step would have meant a wet and muddy
foot. Thick bushes grew close to the path and brushed against their
coats as they made their way into the damp swamp.
“This is a first class swamp, by golly,” commented Vench. “That guy must
have something good in here to make him want to dive into a place like
this very often.”
After they had followed the path for at least a quarter of a mile, they
came to a kind of island in the midst of the swamp mud. The ground here
was a little harder than the rest, although it did not take a very
determined kick to drive a heel down into soft black soil. They spread
out on this island and beyond a clump of bushes they came upon a
ramshackle hut.
“Hooray, there is the castle before us!” cried Terry.
“A hobo’s castle, by the looks of it,” Don said, as they approached it.
“Hope there’s nobody here now.”
The hut was not large and appeared to be about the size of a one-car
garage. A door, which was closed, faced them, and one window was in the
place, a glassless window that stared at them like a vacant eye. Hudson
thrust his head cautiously in this opening.
“Only empty space greets us,” he said.
“Nothing in there at all?” Douglas asked.
Vench went around and opened the door. “Looks like a couple of bags of
potatoes in one corner,” he called.
They thronged in the narrow door and Don poked one shoe against the bags
in the corner. Then, as a look of understanding passed over his face, he
turned swiftly to the others.
“Here are the eagles!” he cried.
“I thought as much,” whooped Hudson, tearing at the mouth of the bag
nearest him. “Sure enough, here they are.”
They swiftly tore the sacking away and the brass eagles were disclosed,
swathed in straw. A thorough examination showed that they had not been
damaged.
“So here is where they were taken,” murmured Vench, looking around the
hut.
“Yes, and who would ever think of looking for them out here?” put in
Douglas. “If it hadn’t been for Jim’s chance discovery we would never
have thought to look here.”
“Things worked out in great shape all around,” Jim said. “Well, now that
we have the big birds, what—”
“Look!” cried Don, suddenly. “Here come some men!”
Chapter 12
The Eagles Are Rescued
Looking out of the window of the hut the cadets saw three men coming
down the swamp pathway toward the hut. They were apparently laborers.
Two of them were big men, the third was short but sufficiently heavy to
be formidable. A single look convinced the boys that the men were coming
toward them for no good purpose.
“I’ll bet those characters mean to take our eagles away from us,” Vench
said in a low voice.
Hudson clenched his fists. “If they do, they’ll be up against one of the
finest fights of their lives,” he promised, his jaw set determinedly.
“We’re not going to give up the eagles now that we have them in our
hands.”
“That’s right,” Don backed him up. “We’ll put up a fight. Suppose we
spring a surprise on them?”
“How do you mean, spring it?” Terry asked.
“Suppose only three of us go out and start walking away with the eagles?
Then, if they mean to fight, they’ll charge three of us, and the others
can charge them from the rear. What do you say to that?”
“It’s a good idea,” Hudson said, briskly. “Don, Terry and I will go
first, while Doug, Vench and Jim wait, ready to turn the tide if they
should attack us. Are we all ready? Let’s go.”
Carrying the eagles between them Don, Hudson and Terry left the hut in
the swamp and began to cross the open space before the shack. The three
cadets in reserve watched them from their post and waited. When the
three men saw the cadets coming they halted.
“Hey, where you go?” the short man called out, scowling sullenly.
“We’re going back to school with these eagles,” Hudson replied, his
heart beating a trifle more rapidly than usual. “Then we’re going to see
to it that the fellows who stole the eagles go to jail for it!”
A frightened look passed between the men and the short man whispered
something to his companions. One of the taller men growled loudly.
“They’re only chucking a bluff. I’m for beatin’ them up and pitchin’ the
eagles into the swamp. That’s to teach them soldier boys to mind their
own business!”
“I guess it is pretty much our business when you come and steal our
ornaments off of the front steps!” growled Terry, his cheeks showing a
red that did not appear there very often. “You big overgrown bullies get
out of the way or we’ll put you in the mud instead of the eagles!”
The big man pushed up his sleeves and advanced threateningly. “Let’s
spread a little o’ this nice black mud on these kids,” he invited.
“It’ll take some of the freshness out of them.”
Seeing that they meant business, the cadets dropped the eagles and
waited on the defensive.
Hudson deliberately picked out the biggest man and drove at him,
avoiding his grasping hands and planting a light tap on his chest. Terry
was exchanging lively blows with the other big man and the little man
ran at Don. He did not seem to be as determined about it as the other
two did, and Don, noting the fact, decided to finish him off rapidly. He
ducked under the outflung arm of the short man, allowed him to flop half
across his back, and then, with a well-timed heave, sent him flying over
his back, to land heavily in the mud. Before he could get up Don leaped
on him and a vigorous threshing battle ensued.
The two big men were more than a match for Terry and Hudson and they
were out to deliberately break bones and hurt as viciously as possible.
Under any other circumstances the reserve cadets would have held in for
a time, but realizing the character of the men who were opposing their
friends the three cadets rushed out of the hut and threw themselves on
the men. Vench made a flying tackle at the man who was trying to crush
Terry in his arms and Douglas and Jim rushed Hudson’s foe. Before this
onrush the men went down in the mud.
“The whole confounded school is here!” yelled the leader as he went
down.
“Speaking of dipping us in the mud,” panted Hudson. “Try it yourself!”
And he deliberately pushed the head of the man so that his nose burrowed
into the soft soil.
Realizing that they were in a bad position the two big men exerted all
their strength in the struggle and finally broke away from the lighter
cadets. They wasted no time but fled down the path, leaving the boys
winded and bruised, for the fight, though short, had been determined.
Vench was for chasing them, but Hudson was against it.
“Nothing doing,” he cried. “Those men know the path and we don’t. Don’s
still got his man.”
The short laborer had made a strong effort to get away from Don, but the
cadet had held onto him grimly, knocking him down with each attempt to
get up. The others went to his aid and they hauled both Don and the man
to their feet. The man gave one despairing look around and then,
realizing that he was trapped, whimpered brokenly.
“Please! No send Peter to jail! Peter not a bad man! I not mean to hurt
you!”
“Are you Peter Cozoza?” asked Don, wiping the mud from his face and his
overcoat.
The man nodded miserably. “Oh, please, not de jail. Think, mister,
Maretta and de five keeds! What dey do if Peter in jail?”
“You won’t go to jail,” Douglas reassured him. “All we want you to do is
to talk. Did you saw the eagles off up at the school?”
The man nodded. “I was paid to do it, mister! Peter not a bad man, but
he need de money so bad!”
The cadets understood readily. “Sure, we know that, Peter,” Don said.
“You were paid to cut them off. Who paid you to go up to our school and
cut off the eagles?”
The man hesitated, but feeling that the truth would serve him better
than a lie, spoke out. “A man name Mr. Gates, up at the big house, he
tell me!”
“Sure!” nodded Jim, grimly. “Of course, it would be Mr. Gates.”
“But why?” asked Vench.
“Oh, just to make us feel that he was right about his stand against
Dimsdale,” Don answered, wearily. “Just a petty, babyish revenge, that
is all. He got these three men to take away the eagles so that it would
cast reflections on Dimsdale. Maybe he even hoped to plant the eagles on
their property later on, I don’t know. Or, if they were never found he
would allow the suspicion between the two schools to rankle for years to
come. You can’t say anything bad enough about a man like that.”
“You bet you can’t,” agreed the captain. “How did you know we were down
here, Peter?”
“My wife, she tell me when I stop up there with my two friends,” the
laborer replied.
“You just listen here, Peter,” Terry lectured. “In the future you stop
having such kind of friends, do you hear? We’re going to be good to you
and not take you to jail, just because we wouldn’t want to be mean to
your wife and the kids, see? But if we ever catch you hanging around
with bad men like that again, we’ll see that you go away to the big
prison for years and years. See, Mr. Peter?”
“Yes, yes!” the man agreed, eagerly. “I will make good friends always,
like you!”
“Thanks for the compliment!” laughed Hudson. “Now, we’d better get out
of here. Peter, you show us the way down the path, and no funny
business!”
They picked up the brass eagles, which were quite heavy, and following
Peter, lugged them down the path. It was growing dark and it seemed a
long way back, but in time they stood in the back yard of the Cozoza
house.
“Another thing, Peter,” Don said to the laborer, as they prepared to set
out for the village. “We want you to keep quiet about the whole thing.
If you don’t, we’ll have to go back on our promise about the jail. If
Mr. Gates should ask you about the eagles you tell him some of the
soldier boys came and took them away, and that you couldn’t stop them.
Outside of that we want you to keep your mouth closed about the whole
business. Understand?”
“Yes, sir. I keep ver’ quiet!” the man promised.
They left him and trudged down to the village. The eagles were getting
heavier all the time and Jim proposed that they hire a cab to take them
up to the school.
“Good idea,” approved Douglas. “These things get heavier with every
step. I guess we can scare up a dollar or two between us, can’t we?”
They found that between them they had a few dollars and they hailed a
passing cab. Gratefully they piled in and told the driver to take them
to Woodcrest.
“What you got in them bags, boys?” the driver, a town character, said as
they drove up the hill toward the school.
“Flower pots!” returned Terry, promptly.
“You don’t say!” cried the driver, sending out a cloud of smoke from his
battered pipe. “Must have quite a number of pots in those bags!”
“Oh, we have,” Terry returned. “You see, the colonel is thinking of
relandscaping the whole school, so we’re going to put plenty of flowers
around.”
Almost the first one that they met in the hall when they carried the
rescued eagles into the school was the colonel himself.
“Where in the world have you been, boys?” the headmaster cried. “And
where did you collect all that mud?”
“We’ve been putting in a strenuous afternoon getting back the eagles,
sir!” replied the senior captain. “Here they are.”
The story was swiftly told and then the cadets went upstairs to clean
up. Like wildfire the story ran around the building and the six boys
were admired by the others for their work.
It was decided to send a public apology to Dimsdale for holding that
school in suspicion, and this was done and graciously accepted. Then
Dimsdale acted by having a scorching editorial printed in the town paper
in answer to the one suggested by Melvin Gates. The conduct of his son
years ago was broadly hinted at and the good name of the Gates family
was crushed once and for all in that locality.
“Do you think that will drive them out of the town?” Don and Jim asked
the colonel, as they were discussing the editorial with him.
“I don’t know,” the colonel replied, slowly. “I hardly think so, for
they only recently bought the house they are living in and that may be a
big factor in keeping them here. I hope they do stay, for I’m still
hopeful that we’ll find out why young Gates took that cup. Of course,
this editorial practically ruins the family with decent people, but the
Gates’ have money enough to keep to themselves and pass it off.”
“You yourself did not say anything to Melvin Gates, did you?” Don asked.
“No, that wasn’t necessary. As you saw for yourselves, the Dimsdale
editorial was a scorcher and that was enough. Gates’ trick was simply an
attempt at petty revenge that backfired. We’ll just have our eagles
remounted and forget all about the whole thing.”
“OK,” nodded Jim. “Now that the Gates family is well established in
Portville, perhaps we can learn something important about that cup
business.”
Chapter 13
The Call for Help
Mr. Terry Mackson chuckled and looked over the edge of his blanket at
the other two beds in the room. In the farthest bed Jim Mercer was
sleeping with just a bit of noise proceeding from his throat. On the bed
near Terry, Don slept in silence, his face turned toward the red-headed
boy. Terry glanced back at the window and then put one bare foot out of
bed.
It was the morning of the second Saturday in December and the weather
man had sprung a surprise on the cadets. When they had gone to bed on
the previous night it had been cold and clear, but during the night the
weather had magically changed. Terry, lightest sleeper of the three
friends, had awakened early, to find the world wrapped in a whirling,
blowing snowstorm, the soft white flakes banked in little piles against
their windows.
For a single moment Terry had lain there contemplating the beauty of the
early morning scene and then the light of mischief had dawned in his
gray eyes. Consulting his watch he perceived that it was almost time for
the bugle to blow, so he had no compunctions about what he intended to
do. With the grace of a stalking cat the red-head crept to the window
and scooped in a handful of snow. Keeping a wary eye on the two sleepers
he made himself about five small sized snowballs and placed them on his
bed. Then he dipped his hands once more into the wet snow and gathered a
large quantity.
Making his way with extreme caution he reached Jim’s bed and gently
pulled the covers off that young man’s feet. Against the warm feet of
the boy he placed the snow, and then, bounding over to Don, he placed a
small pile on his forehead. From there it was but a single bound into
bed, where he pulled up the covers over his chin, and carefully hiding
the snowballs, pretended to sleep.
It was not a moment too soon. Jim sat up suddenly, drawing his feet in a
convulsive movement toward him. A running trickle of cold water woke Don
at the same time.
“Hey, who piled snow against my feet?” demanded Jim, knocking the cold
stuff onto the floor with a single sweep.
“Probably the same one who put a mound of it on my head,” retorted Don,
and the two brothers looked suspiciously at Terry.
But this aspect baffled them for a moment. Apparently, the red-head was
fast asleep. Only a very little part of him showed above his cover, and
a gentle sound, indicating deep breathing, came from the bed. But the
more the brothers looked, the more suspicious they became.
“That looks too innocent to suit me,” Jim announced, and began to get
out of bed.
“Yes, I doubt that peaceful, dreamy look on his homely face,” chimed in
Don, throwing off his covers.
The boy in bed stirred and apparently woke up, flashing them a happy
smile. “Good morning, Don; good morning, Jim,” he greeted, quietly. Then
he sat up and looked with wondering astonishment out of the window. “Why
bless my soul, it has snowed, hasn’t it?”
“Yes,” replied Jim, coming nearer. “And let me tell you, Chucklehead,
that it has been a remarkable storm. It snowed right in under my covers
and piled up against my feet, and there was even a little mound on my
brother’s head!”
“No!” cried the red-headed boy, in astonishment.
“Yes,” cried Jim. “And now we’re going to hang you out the window to get
a little snow on you!”
“No, you’re not!” retorted Terry, bringing five melting snowballs into
sudden view. “Here is where the artillery goes into action!”
Five snowballs sped in rapid succession across the room, three of them
landing on Jim and Don. They managed to dodge the other two, and then,
seeing that his ammunition was exhausted, they helped themselves to some
snow from the window sill and faced him. Terry quickly raised a wall of
bed covers before him.
“Don’t bother to make snowballs,” Jim begged. “I think we ought to do
something useful with the snow. That lad’s face is dirty!”
“I see what you mean,” Don nodded. “It is kind of red. Too much of that
red thatch on top of his head, and the color runs down on his face.
Think we ought to wash it off?”
“Yep! Let’s get busy,” said Jim, earnestly.
“You keep away from me with that stuff!” grunted the boy, as they hurled
themselves on him. But the two brothers tore down his cover wall and
proceeded to wash his freckled face vigorously, not without damage to
themselves and their pajamas, for Terry fought like a wildcat. In the
midst of the melee the bugle rang out.
Abandoning their fun the boys began to dress rapidly, chattering away
about the welcome snow. It promised them a variety of sport, in the
nature of snow battles and sledding, and they were eager to get out and
into it.
“Luckily, it is only a half day,” whooped Don, slipping into his coat.
“We can get out into the snow soon after dinner. It’s coming down
steadily.”
When they got downstairs they found only a few cadets ahead of them.
Hudson was one of them. He stood out on the front steps, admiring the
view across the rolling fields and hills. His back was toward the boys
and Don quietly packed a snowball and threw it at him. It hit the senior
captain on the back of the neck and he whirled around, grinning,
intending to say something.
But he closed his mouth with a snap and waited. Just above Don’s head
was a tiny shed roof, and Hudson saw what was going to happen. A puffy
drift had gathered there and a fierce swirl of wind hit it at the
precise moment that he turned around. Hudson grinned broadly as the
miniature snowslide hit Don on the shoulders, knocking off his hat and
sifting in powdery masses down his neck. Don coughed and sputtered in
surprise.
“Very neatly and efficiently done,” cried Hudson lifting his hat
politely to the snow drift. “I thank you!”
All through the morning classes the cadets were impatient and when the
noon meal was over they piled out into the snow with zest and a sense of
pleasure. By this time it had stopped snowing, leaving about a foot of
snow carpeting the ground. The sun came out briefly and the cadets were
alarmed lest it do some damage, but in the long run it turned out to be
their friend. It melted enough of the white material to make it watery
and then the cold air promptly froze it, making a delightful surface for
coasting.
“Tonight we can go coasting on Nelson Hill!” cried Lieutenant Thompson.
Nelson Hill was a long stretch of sloping hillside less than a half mile
west of the school, and the majority of the cadets were preparing to
spend the evening with their sleds. Most of them had already started for
the hill with barrel staves and miscellaneous wood, with which to build
fires on top of the long slope. When Terry, Don, Jim and Vench stood
around considering, the distressing fact was brought home to them that
they had no sled.
“The seniors have got sleds,” remarked Vench. “And so have the second
class men. I guess that the newer men are out of luck.”
Douglas approached them, excitement showing in his hurry. “You guys got
a sled?” he hailed.
“No,” replied Jim. “Have you?”
“I know where there is one!” was the satisfying reply. “There is an old
bob-sled down in the boathouse, with a broken runner, that we can fix
up. What do you say?”
“Is the iron runner broken?” Don asked quickly.
“No, but a wooden support is. The iron on it is all right, outside of
being a bit rusty. Suppose we fix it up?”
The cadets needed no further invitation but rushed to the boathouse
without delay, there to find the old bob-sled of which Douglas had
spoken. The broken wooden support, running from the body of the sled to
the iron runner, was not a serious problem, and between them they soon
managed to get it out and substitute another one for it.
“There!” cried Jim, proudly. “As good as new, by golly!”
“Well, just about,” agreed Vench. “If it was new it would have a little
less dust on it, but as an A number one sled it is OK.”
“We’ll soon clean the dust off it,” decided Douglas, and they got some
water from the gym, a brush and soap, and went to work with a will, with
the result that the sled was soon in a different condition.
“Too late to try her out before supper,” decided Don, glancing out at
the gathering darkness. “But we’ll go over to the hill after we eat.”
As soon as the evening meal was over Woodcrest Military school was
nearly deserted, almost all of the cadets going toward the distant hill.
Only a few boys, more interested in warm quarters and books, remained in
the school to miss the fun.
The friends ran down to the boathouse, uncovered the bob, which they had
hidden under some loose canvas, and placing it on the snow, pulled it at
a rapid pace toward Nelson Hill. It took them a good half hour to get
there, as it was uphill most of the way. The cadets who had arrived
before them had lighted fires, which blazed against the black sky like
flaming beacons, and by the light of these fires the cadets were
coasting. The hill was long and sloping and gave them a good ride, and
by the same token, a good stiff walk up again.
The hill was covered with sleds. Shouts of laughter and merry yells
echoed and re-echoed over the surrounding country as the cadets enjoyed
the fun. Generosity prevailed, the cadets loaning their sleds to those
who had none, while the lenders warmed themselves around the fires and
waited for the borrowers to toil up the hill again.
“Well, what say to our first trip down?” called Douglas, planting the
bob firmly on the brow of the hill.
“OK,” agreed Vench, sitting on the sled. Douglas eyed him with vast
disapproval.
“What are you going to do, sit on the sled?” he demanded.
“Certainly,” retorted Vench. “What am I supposed to do, stand on it?”
“You ought to know enough about tobogganing to lie down,” Douglas said.
“Only girls sit up. Do you want me to clasp my hands around your tummy
and scream when we hit a bump?”
“Aw, go chase yourself!” growled Vench, lying down on the front of the
sled. Jim and Terry followed and Don squirmed on top of them. There was
now just room enough for Douglas.
“All set?” inquired Douglas, taking hold of the rear of the sled.
“Let her go!” the others cried, and Douglas gave the bob a push. It
began to tilt over the top of the hill and moved slowly down. Douglas
sprang on, kneeling on the little space left for him, and the bob, with
its heavy load, began to move with increasing speed down the hill. It
did not immediately gain a great rate of speed for the runners were
still a little rusty, but it picked up gradually, until it was fairly
flying down the hill.
Past single sleds they went, Vench steering dexterously in and out
between them, passing cadets toiling up the snowy slopes, who turned to
stare after them. One or two light bumps were encountered, which caused
the sled to jump a few inches from the ground, and they literally flew
through the air, to land with a jarring thud a little further on. In
this way they reached the bottom of the hill and kept going on the level
ground, to stop finally a long way from the point at which they had
started.
“That was great!” cried Don, springing up.
“The fires look to be a long way up in the air,” observed Vench, and
they looked up to the top of the hill.
The fires looked far away from where they were, sending licking yellow
flames against a deep black sky. A number of black dots were streaking
down the hill in their direction, but the bob had gone further than any
of them because of its weight.
“Now I suppose we have got to walk up again,” said Terry. “Too bad we
can’t push a button and make the hill reverse for us!”
“Why go up right away?” asked Jim. “Here is a smaller hill. Want to try
it?”
A few yards from them a smaller slope showed, on which the hard snow
gleamed from the faraway fires.
“We’ll run right down into the woods, if we go down this hill,”
cautioned Don. “However, I’m perfectly willing. Want to try it?”
The others agreed and with another push they dipped down this second
hill, taking a long ride in between the trees that closed over their
heads and shut out all light. But when they came to compare notes they
found that sentiment was not very keen for this hill.
“Nothing to it,” declared Vench.
“The snow is packed harder on the long hill,” Jim decided. “No use using
these little ones when we have a perfectly good big one.”
“No,” agreed Douglas, gathering up the rope of the bob-sled. “Well, we
might as well begin our upward hike.”
“Wait a minute!” cried Don. “Did you hear a crash just then?”
None of them had. “Must have been some snow falling, or an old tree
crashing down,” Terry suggested. They turned to go back but once more
Don stopped them.
“Listen!” he cried. “Someone’s calling!”
They stopped and were silent for a long interval, but there was no
sound. Vench laughed.
“Don’s hearing things,” he said. “We’ll have to get him back to the top
of the hill right away.”
“No, I tell you I did hear something,” insisted Don. “Listen, there it
is again!”
This time, clearly and distinctly on the night air, a call echoed
through the woods.
“Help!” cried a faint muffled voice. “Help, somebody!”
Chapter 14
Inside Gates’ House
“Someone is in trouble!” cried Vench, as the startled cadets looked at
each other in the dense gloom.
“Yes, and we had better get on the job,” announced Don, with decision.
“The call came from over this way.”
“Shall we leave the bob here?” Douglas asked.
“Might as well,” Jim nodded. “It will only be in the way. We can easily
find it when we come back.”
There was no sound from the one who had called out a few moments ago,
but the boys had the direction in mind, so they struck off into the
tangle of the woods without further delay. They had gone about two
hundred yards when they came upon a country road which had been cut
through the woods.
“I wonder if the call came from this road?” mused Don, as they halted in
perplexity.
“I think it did,” Terry replied. “I don’t believe that it was in the
woods. Shall we split into two parties?”
“You mean one go up and one down the road?” Don asked.
“Yes. You and I will go east and Vench, Doug and Jim can go west. We’ll
sing out if we see anything.”
This plan was agreed to and the boys set out, Terry and Don running
along the road in the general direction of Portville. But they had not
gone far before someone whistled back of them.
“That’s Jim,” Don said, as they halted. “They must have found something.
Let’s go back.”
Accordingly, they turned around and ran back, passing the spot where
they had split and continuing on until they came to a bend in the
snow-covered road. Around this bend they found the other boys gathered
around a small automobile, the nose of which was smashed against a tree.
The three boys were busy around the car as Don and Terry hastened up. By
the faint light of the one headlight that was burning the two boys could
see that a figure was hunched over the wheel of the club coupe. The
others were trying to pull the man out and finding it a trying task, for
the driver was tightly pinned by the wheel, which had rammed into his
stomach.
“His feet are free,” announced Douglas, who had been giving his
attention to them. Don grasped the bent steering wheel and exerted all
of his strength. It yielded a little and he tugged some more.
“Pull, you guys,” he commanded, and they drew the body of the driver
from the car. The man was unconscious and groaned slightly. When they
had placed him on the snow in the road they saw that it was Melvin
Gates.
“Somebody run and get the bob-sled,” directed Don, and Vench and Douglas
dashed into the woods at once. Quickly and efficiently Don ran his hands
over the man’s arms and legs.
“No bones broken that I can feel,” he announced. “However, he may be
internally injured, and it is possible that some of his ribs are broken.
I wonder if we ought to move him?”
“We’ve got to,” decided Terry as the others appeared with the big sled.
“He must be taken home or to a doctor’s at once. We’ll lift him gently
onto the sled and get going right away.”
There was a blanket in the car and this they spread on the sled. Then,
with infinite care they placed the limp body of the elder Gates on the
sled and covered him up protectingly. Don and Douglas took the rope and
began to pull the sled, while Terry, Jim and Vench brought up the rear
and helped by pushing.
“Don’t you thing somebody had better run ahead and get a doctor?” asked
Vench.
“Yes,” nodded Don. “We’re not far from Portville, and we’ll take Gates
right to his home. Suppose you and Jim run ahead and get a doctor, and
we’ll take Mr. Gates to his own house.”
“OK,” cried Jim, and he and Vench set off at a brisk trot and soon were
lost to sight down the winding road.
“Car must have skidded on the road,” observed Douglas, as they pulled
the sled with its silent burden.
“It did,” agreed Don. “I noticed the marks on the snow. This old road
must be a shortcut to Portville and Mr. Gates was taking it on the way
home from wherever he has been. The snow just at that point was pretty
hard and slippery and the car hit the tree, buckling up. That was the
crash that I heard.”
“It must have been,” Douglas replied. “Do you think he’ll die?”
“Hard to tell,” shrugged Don. “We can’t be sure how badly he is hurt
inside. I hope we aren’t far from Portville.”
They were not, but it seemed like a longer journey than it actually was.
Terry helped greatly by pushing and guiding the sled over obstructions
and places that would have jarred the man. Now and then they heard low
groans from Mr. Gates, but he did not regain consciousness.
Don knew the Gates’ home by a description which the colonel had given
him and they had no difficulty in finding it. Since there was no
hospital nearby they knew that their best plan was to get Gates to his
own home as soon as possible. It was with a vast sense of relief that
they ran the bob-sled up the driveway of the Gates home and came to a
halt before the wide front doors.
“Well, I’m glad that is over!” murmured Terry, straightening his aching
back.
Don ran swiftly up the front porch and rang the bell madly. It seemed an
unusually long time before a very deliberate and correct butler opened
the door. He stared at Don with expressionless eyes.
“Mr. Gates has been hurt,” Don cried. “Get his bed ready and open these
doors wide, so that we can carry him upstairs.”
The butler came to life, his correctness vanished and he ran with
undignified but practical haste up the front stairs, calling aloud for
the younger Mr. Gates. Don opened the front doors as wide as they would
go just as Arthur Gates and his wife appeared anxiously in the doorway.
Without paying any attention to their frightened inquiries Don ran back
to Douglas and Terry.
“Lift him gently,” Don said, and the three boys exerted all their care
as they raised the elder Gates from the sled. At that same moment a car
stopped at the front gate and the doctor, with Jim and Vench, jumped
from the car. Arthur Gates lent a helping hand to the cadets and
together they carried the old man up the front stairs and to his
luxurious bedroom on the second floor. When they had laid him on the bed
the boys quietly withdrew, leaving Gates, his wife and the doctor alone
in the room with the injured man, while the agitated butler patrolled
the upper hall.
“Do you suppose we had better beat it?” Douglas whispered, after Don had
closed the front doors and kicked some loose snow outside.
“No, we’ll stay and see if his condition is serious,” Don replied.
“But his family is none too friendly with us,” Douglas persisted.
“I guess all that will be forgotten in a time like this,” Don answered.
The cadets waited. The house had become quiet after the first flurry of
excitement and no one appeared to be downstairs. To Don this state of
affairs was gratifying, for he had a plan in mind. Taking care not to
seem too curious he edged away from the others, who were looking at some
magazines on the table, and in time made his way around the downstairs
floor on a tour of inspection, keeping a wary eye about for a possible
maid or the upset butler.
He looked into a large room off the library in which the cadets were
gathered and found that it was the dining room. From there he moved to
the door which opened into a large living room, and he looked carefully
at every object on the mantelpiece. There was a small study near that
which he looked over, and then the hall and library. He returned to the
others when his tour of inspection was over.
“The cup is not downstairs,” he reflected. “I didn’t think it would be
in plain sight anywhere, but I wanted to make sure.”
After a considerable delay Arthur Gates came down the central stairs and
joined them. His face was pale and he showed signs of anxiety, but his
message was a cheering one.
“Nothing really serious,” he told them, in answer to their eager
question. “There are no bones broken and outside of a bad bruising my
father is all right. It was a narrow escape, however. Tell me how you
found him and how you happened to get a doctor here so quickly.”
The boys told him and Gates was impressed. “It was very lucky for all
concerned that you happened to be at that particular point in the
woods,” he said. “My father had been over to Easton and was taking the
old road home again. If he had remained there the result would have been
far different. I don’t know how to express my appreciation to you.”
“Don’t try,” begged Don. “We were just lucky enough to be there at the
time. We are glad to hear that your father is not in any danger.”
Gates’ eyes wandered to their uniforms. “You are cadets up at Woodcrest,
aren’t you?”
“Yes,” the boys nodded. Gates was silent for a moment. “I shall see to
it that Colonel Morrell knows of your service to us.”
“Don’t bother,” said Don, glancing at the clock. “We are late now and
we’ll have to report our reason for staying over the limit, so the
colonel will find it out from us. That will be sufficient. When you come
right down to it, it didn’t amount to much on our part.”
“You fellows are too modest,” smiled Gates, as he saw them out.
They retrieved the bob-sled and started back for the school at a rapid
pace. Terry whistled as they walked along.
“Well, it was quite a night,” he observed. “I’m glad the old gentleman
wasn’t hurt badly.”
“So am I,” agreed Don. “But it all served one useful purpose. We know
where the Gates home is and I know what the inside of it looks like.
Don’t know if that will ever do us any good or not, but it may come in
handy some day.”
Chapter 15
Arthur Gates’ Letter
The following day Don decided to walk to town and see if there was a
letter for him at the postoffice. He expected one from his father. The
others were studying so Don went alone to the town. He could have waited
until the mail was delivered to the school, but that would be over the
weekend, and he did not feel like waiting. He walked to town and entered
the local postoffice.
A number of persons were waiting for their mail, so he took his place in
line and waited patiently. A man ahead of him looked familiar to Don,
and when the man had obtained his mail he turned away from the window
and Don saw that it was Arthur Gates.
Gates had a number of letters in his hand, some of which he had received
at the window and some of which he intended to mail. He passed Don and
the boy paid no further attention to him. Don got his letter and left
the window. As he did so he saw Gates walk to the door, open it, and as
he was going out, drop a letter.
Don stepped forward and picked up the letter which Gates had dropped.
The man was evidently in a hurry, for he passed out of the door and
walked down the street rapidly. Thinking that the letter was one which
Gates had intended to mail Don decided to drop it in the slot himself,
but when he got to the mail opening he noted that the letter was
addressed to Gates, and that it was postmarked Canada.
“Shucks,” he muttered in disgust. “Now I’ve got to go and catch him.”
With this thought in mind Don darted out of the door and looked down the
darkened street for Gates, but he was not to be seen. He walked to the
corner and looked up and down but without success. Gates was nowhere in
sight. Feeling that he must go back and leave the letter with the
postmaster Don was on the point of returning when a church clock struck
the hour.
“Golly,” he reflected. “I haven’t time. I’ll have to get back to school
at once, and on the double.”
There was no time to drop the letter off at Gates’ house and Don decided
to put it in his pocket and take it around to the house on the following
day when he took his regular Sunday afternoon walk. He thrust it deep
into his pocket and half walking, half running, reached the school
building just in time. Without even thinking of the letter which did not
belong to him he hung up his overcoat and went to supper.
It was not until after supper that he again thought of the letter and
then he went to the room. Jim and Terry were in the Recreation Hall,
watching a game of chess between two upper classmen, and Don was alone
in the room. He took the letter from his pocket, stared at it, thrust
his hand quickly into the pocket and then uttered a cry of dismay.
“Wet!” he cried. “I must have gotten some snow in my pocket and it has
soaked the letter through. Darn it, the glue on the envelope has come
off.”
The envelope had indeed opened and the letter was wet through on one
end. He decided to dry the paper and without any intention of looking at
its contents pulled the dampened sheets out of the bedraggled envelope
and spread them on top of the table.
“There, that will dry in a short time,” he thought. “Then I’ll seal it
up and explain about it to Mr. Gates tomorrow.”
The last sheet was turned up toward him. He glanced at it and was about
to turn away, when a word struck his attention. He looked down and then
hesitated.
“Humph, I musn’t read this,” he thought. “I shouldn’t even have it.
But—”
Then he decided to see what the word “cup” was about. He picked up the
letter and read the paragraph. It read as follows:
“I understand your anxiety about that trophy cup that has caused all of
the trouble, and I will do my best to help you. As long as I and George
Long are the only ones who know the full story about that cup, I feel it
my duty to help you in any way that I can. I was wondering why you
didn’t take the thing to a jeweler and have the bottom scraped, but I
can see what that would have meant, and the best thing is to get it away
from your house. There is no telling who might some day get ahold of the
thing and find out the truth, and with those cadets in the same town
such a thing wouldn’t be wise. I will be down to see you in a week’s
time, and when I return to Canada I’ll take the cup with me and will
keep it safely in my cabin here. When you come to visit me next summer
we can scrape the bottom ourselves or we can throw it in the river,
whatever you say. Too bad you ever did such an outlandish thing.”
The letter was signed “Oliver Burgess.”
“Now, what the devil can that mean?” puzzled the astonished Don. “It is
surely referring to the missing 1933 trophy, but I wonder what all that
stuff about the scraping of the bottom means?”
Chapter 16
News from Inside
“So he is worrying about the cup, eh?” asked the colonel, when Don and
Jim showed him the strange letter.
At the colonel’s suggestion they had read the entire thing, taking the
responsibility upon themselves in view of the fact that every effort to
clear George Long was justifiable. But outside of the one passage that
Don had read there was no other clue in the letter.
“He seems to be,” Don answered. “What do you make of that part about
scraping the bottom of the cup, sir?”
“I don’t know what to make of it,” the headmaster confessed. “It is very
strange, and I’m afraid that we will have to get possession of the cup
in order to find out just what all this mystery is. We must get the
cup.”
“If we do get it, we’ll have to work fast,” Jim put in. “This friend of
his is to take it away to Canada with him.”
“Yes,” agreed the colonel. “We will have to work fast. In the meantime,
I shall have a copy of this letter made and then we’ll seal it up and
one of you should take it to the postoffice and drop it in the incoming
mail slot. In that way Gates will get it without ever knowing that it
had been tampered with.”
The colonel had a copy made of the letter and then Don and Jim walked
down to the postoffice and placed it in the proper slot.
In a day or two the colonel reported very satisfactory developments. He
showed Don an advertisement in the town paper. The advertisement read as
follows:
“Wanted: A butler for large household, must have previous experience and
good references. Apply at any hour to 14 Portville Avenue and ask for
Mr. Melvin Gates.”
“That ad just suits our purpose and couldn’t be better,” the colonel
told Don.
“How so, sir?” asked Don, puzzled.
The colonel laughed. “I’ll show you this afternoon. Go to Captain Rhodes
and tell him I have excused you from drill formation, then come and
report to me. We will take a little drive together.”
After classes that day Don reported to Rhodes and repeated the colonel’s
order, and the drill instructor readily excused him from duty. While the
other cadets were drilling on the windswept field Don went to the
colonel’s office to accompany the headmaster on his unknown journey. The
colonel was ready for him and when Don entered he called up a local taxi
agency and ordered a cab.
“We are going in style—and in secrecy,” the colonel chuckled, amused at
the wondering look on the cadet’s face.
In due time the taxi arrived and the colonel and Don got into the cab,
after the headmaster had given an order to the driver in a low tone.
When they were safely underway Colonel Morrell told Don that they were
going to call on the police.
“A sort of a diplomatic excursion,” he smiled. “The fewer who see us,
the better.”
They rode down into Portville and stopped at last in front of the town
hall, where the colonel alighted, paid his bill and then led Don inside
and into a small private office, where they remained alone for some
fifteen minutes. At last a small door opened and Captain Dorran of the
local police came into the room. He was an old friend of the colonel’s
and they shook hands heartily.
“This is one of my cadets, cap’n,” remarked the colonel, nodding to Don.
“One of my very best, too, the young man who helped me out of that bad
scrape last year.”
“Glad to know you, young man,” the police chief laughed. “I thought at
first that the colonel was bringing you to me for business purposes!”
“We have some business on hand,” said the colonel, as Don shook hands
with the police chief. “And we’ll want a little help from you.”
“Sit down, both of you,” Dorran invited. “Now what can I do to help
you?”
“Don,” directed the colonel, “tell Captain Dorran the whole class trophy
story up to date. Don’t leave a thing out.”
Don complied, being careful to remember and relate everything that had
happened, and when he had finished the colonel nodded in approval.
“Yes, that is about right. What do you think of it, Dorran?”
The chief frowned. “This Arthur Gates is a pretty black character, isn’t
he? What is it that you want me to do, Morrell?”
“There was an advertisement in the paper last night calling for a
butler, and the Gates family placed the ad. I want you to scare me up a
good detective that will pass as a butler, and have him placed in the
house. When the man from Canada comes this butler-detective is to try
and get hold of that cup, or at least to prevent it from going to
Canada. Can you do that?”
“I think I can,” replied the chief promptly. “I’ll have Proctor come
in.”
Mr. Proctor was called in and the colonel and Don saw he could play the
part well. He looked anything but a detective, with his expressionless
face, soft brown eyes and sleek hair. He did look every inch a
soft-spoken, efficient butler. He was informed of the necessary details
and ordered to either get the cup or at least keep it from going to
Canada. Even before Don and the colonel left the station he was on his
way to Gates’ place to apply, with references in his pocket that had
served him more than once in similar cases.
“Well, what do you think of my plan?” the colonel asked his young
companion on the way back to school in the cab.
“I think it should be just the thing to clear up all this business,” Don
replied. “We know that the cup is in the house and the detective should
be able to get hold of it. Once we get a good look at the thing we
should be able to clear up all the mystery surrounding it and then
George Long can be wholly cleared.”
“Yes, that’s what I think,” Colonel Morrell nodded. “When I do announce
the story of George’s innocence to the world I don’t want any loose
ends. I want to be able to tell the whole story. I think the detective
is clever enough to get the cup and then we’ll be at the end of our
problem.”
Some of the cadets were standing around the door when the cab stopped
and they were surprised to see Don alight and hold the door open for the
colonel, who got out and paid the driver. The colonel went on inside and
Don lingered to talk to some of his friends. He came in for a lot of
good-natured bantering for going riding with the colonel.
“It beats me,” said Lieutenant Thompson, with mock seriousness, “how
some fellows do get along in this world. Here the rest of us go out and
drill all afternoon, while Don goes riding in a taxi with the colonel!
Some fellows have all the luck!”
The colonel kept Don fully informed of the progress of events at the
Gates home. Mr. Proctor had become butler at the house and in two days’
time reported the arrival of the friend from Canada. As yet the
detective had not been able to find the missing trophy, but he believed
that it would soon be forthcoming.
The next report came in one evening while Don and Jim were making out a
report in the colonel’s office. The telephone rang out and the colonel
answered it. They heard him say: “What? That’s fine. Get hold of it in
some way, and bring it right up to the school when you do. That’s good
news. All right, and best of luck.”
He turned to the boys and lowered his voice. “That was Mr. Proctor,” he
told them. “The friend from Canada is going home tomorrow, and in
addition to his regular suitcase, which he brought with him, he is
carrying a small black bag, and if he does not get an opportunity to get
the bag in the house, he will follow the man to the railroad station and
try to get it there. He’ll get it somehow, and I told him to bring it
right up here to the school when he did get it.”
“That is good news from inside,” said Don, with satisfaction. “I hope he
manages it.”
Chapter 17
Mr. Proctor Gets the Bag
Saturday evening, the telephone in Colonel Morrell’s office rang. After
a short conversation he sent an orderly in quest of Don and Jim, as well
as Douglas and Hudson. When they were all assembled he told them what he
had in mind.
“I have just had a call from Mr. Proctor, boys. He has the black bag
with the 1933 trophy in it!”
“He has?” cried Don. “That’s fine.”
“Yes, and he is on his way here now. I wanted you young men on the spot
to get a good look at it as soon as I did. All we have to do is to wait
until the detective comes.”
It took Mr. Proctor a good half hour to arrive, but at last they heard a
taxi drive up to the front of Locke Hall and a door slam. A moment later
and Mr. Proctor was with them, a satisfied expression on his sleek face.
In his hand he carried a small black bag, of which he took excellent
care.
“Well, so we have it at last, eh?” boomed the colonel. “How did you get
hold of it?”
“I didn’t get it in the house at all,” the detective explained. “Mr.
Burgess, the visitor from Canada, kept it so close beside him that I
didn’t have a chance. I had to wait until after he was gone. I followed
him down to the station and watched my chance, but it didn’t come until
after I got on the train. He had placed it in the rack overhead and when
we came to a small station I got up, took the bag and made for the door,
just as he raised a cry. It was good and dark, so I just beat it away
and took a cab here. I called you up from Orangeville, colonel.”
“I see,” said the colonel. “Well, now let’s have a look at that cup.”
Mr. Proctor went to work on the bag, which was locked, but with the aid
of some keys and a huge knife forced the top open, while the cadets
looked on in breathless interest. As the bag split open with a rush they
all craned forward to see what was in it.
It was full of old newspapers, and nothing more.
For just a minute there was complete silence in the room. The boys
looked from one to another and the detective looked as though his eyes
would pop out with surprise and mortification. The colonel breathed
hard.
“Looks as though something had been put over on you, Mr. Proctor,” he
said quietly.
The detective nodded miserably. All the way to the school he had been
congratulating himself on his cleverness and now it turned out to be but
a mockery.
“Then he must have the thing in his suitcase!” he cried. “But I
distinctly heard Gates tell him to take the cup in the black bag.”
“It looks very much as though they both knew you were on the trail and
switched the cup to the suitcase,” Hudson remarked.
“If that is the case, the cup is lost, for it is on its way to Canada,”
the colonel declared.
“I don’t see how they could have gotten onto me,” the detective cried.
“I never did a better job in my life.”
“I have just thought of something,” ventured Don. “Do you remember the
night you called up the school here and told the colonel all about it,
Mr. Proctor?”
“Yes,” replied the man.
“Was Arthur Gates at home when you called?”
“Yes, but he was upstairs, for I made sure of that. Oh, he couldn’t have
heard me!” the man protested.
“When I was at that house, on the night we took Mr. Gates home from the
accident, I noticed a telephone upstairs. Do you suppose—”
“Ah!” almost shouted the detective. “That click on the wire!”
“Did it sound as though someone upstairs picked up the telephone
receiver while you were talking?” pressed Don quietly.
“Yes,” acknowledged the detective. “Now that you put it that way, it
did. I remember hearing a click while I was explaining things to Colonel
Morrell, but I thought nothing of it. Somebody, probably Arthur Gates
himself, must have heard that conversation.”
After the crestfallen detective had departed they talked it over,
realizing that the game was up. There was now no hope of ever recovering
the cup.
“I guess we’ll just have to go without knowing what was on that cup that
made it worth while for Gates to steal,” the colonel admitted. “Now, the
only thing for me to do is to have another Alumni meeting soon after
Christmas and have Long there. At that meeting we’ll publicly clear him
and let it go at that.”
“All I can say is that Mr. Proctor is not the best detective in the
world,” said Douglas.
“No,” seconded the colonel. “He should never have called up from the
house, or from any other place. He should have come directly here and
told me things personally. Well, boys, that is the end of the cup
affair. I thank you most heartily for your very real interest in it and
your services to Mr. Long. That ends the matter of the 1933 class’s
trophy as far as we are concerned, with the exception of the apology to
Long.”
Chapter 18
The Published List
Christmas came and Woodcrest was almost deserted. For a whole week the
school looked empty and forlorn as the boys went to their homes to spend
the holiday season.
The Mercers and Terry had returned to Maine, separating for a brief week
to be with their own families. The Mercer brothers thoroughly enjoyed
the week at home, visiting friends, spending time with the family, and
getting in some fine skating.
It was the day following New Year’s Day that the brothers returned to
Woodcrest and once more plunged into the routine of school life. Things
went along smoothly for a week, and then something unexpected happened.
Just as Don and Jim were cleaning up one evening for dinner Terry burst
into the room, his eyes shining with excitement.
“A little excitement now and then, is relished by the best of men!”
recited the red-headed boy.
“Admitting that I am the best of men, what is the excitement!” grinned
Jim, carefully hanging up his towel.
“The Portville Bank was held up and robbed this afternoon!” came the
startling answer.
“What’s that?” Don exclaimed.
“Sure enough,” affirmed Terry, bouncing down on the bed. “A big car
drove up to the bank just before closing time and three masked men got
out, walked into the place, forced their way into a couple of private
vaults and ran off with a few thousand dollars, to say nothing of some
valuable family plate.”
“Right in broad daylight?” asked Jim.
“Yes, bold as brass. It was all over so quickly that the police didn’t
have a chance to do a thing about it. The bandits drove out of town
before anything could be done in the way of turning in an alarm.”
“They must have had the thing planned for a long time ahead, to pull off
a stunt like that in the daytime,” Don said. “They must be a slick
bunch, to drive out of town in a car in broad daylight.”
The supper bell rang at that moment and they went downstairs, to find
the corps buzzing with the news from town. Nothing else was talked of
during the meal, for such things were unusual and it was the first time
in its history that Portville had come in for such distinction. Scores
of different plans for catching the bandits were advanced, some of which
made the colonel smile.
“Too bad the authorities don’t request that you boys be put on the trail
to run the outlaws down,” he suggested.
“If we were put on the job we’d do our best to catch those thieves,”
Lieutenant Thompson boasted.
After the drill the cadets managed to straggle down into town to see if
there was anything unusual, but they were disappointed. A number of the
local police stood about, but that was the only sign that anything was
wrong. Of course there were the extra knots of townspeople who buzzed
and hummed, but as most of their talk was fruitless speculation the
cadets paid no attention to it.
On the following day the Portville paper carried a screaming account of
the robbery, in fact, there was little else in the paper but the news.
Beside a dozen different accounts of the affair, given by the cashier
and the clerks who had been eyewitnesses of the holdup, there were
accounts of the activities of the police and promises for a speedy
capture of the bandits. Pictures of the bank adorned the inside sheets,
and the history of the institution took up an entire page.
It was Jim who found a paragraph of unusual interest in the account.
Most of the cadets had contented themselves with a glance at the
headlines of the paper, but Jim had taken the trouble to read the
details. He lost no time in finding Don and Terry.
“Look here,” he commanded them, pointing to the paper. “I just found one
item of interest to us. Did you fellows know that the private vault of
the Gates family was robbed?”
“I had heard so,” Terry nodded. “Anything of value taken?”
“Yes, some very expensive silver plate. But this is what the paragraph
says: ‘Besides a quantity of silver plate and some family heirlooms in
the way of jewelry, a silver cup trophy, won at school by Arthur Gates,
was also taken from the family vault.’”
“A silver cup, eh?” said Don, his eyes narrowing. “Now, can that be our
silver cup?”
“Nope, it must be Gates’,” grinned Terry.
“You know what I mean,” rejoined Don, impatiently. “We thought that the
friend from Canada took the cup back with him. Well, we may have been
wrong all along, and Gates probably put it in the safe deposit vault at
the bank.”
“I guess that is what happened,” Jim agreed. “Gates figured that we
would think it went to Canada and would give up the search for it. And
all the time it was right here in the town!”
“I think we had better show this article to the colonel,” decided Don.
“If the police ever do catch these men we may be able to see the cup
before Gates gets it back.”
The colonel was of the same opinion. “It may be another cup, of course,”
he warned. “Gates went to other schools and he may have won other cups.
I hope more honestly than he won the 1933 cup. But if we get a chance
we’ll surely take a look at the cup the bandits took.”
It was a foregone conclusion that it would take months to catch the
bandits and no one had much faith in the Portville police. But with
brilliant swiftness the local police caught the bandit trio. Working on
the theory that the man had only pretended to flee in some nearby woods
the local representatives of the law combed the thickets thoroughly, to
run down their astonished quarry in less than a week. The three men were
surprised in bed in a lonely cabin in the nearby hills, and the entire
proceeds of the bank robbery were found with them.
It developed later that the three men planned to bury the plate and
divide the money, hoping to split up and leave the region singly, but
the prompt work of the town police effectively prevented that. They were
swiftly brought to justice and the first inkling that the cadets had of
the fact was when the morning newspaper arrived at the school.
“Well, what do you know about that!” murmured Terry, as they scanned the
paper. “I didn’t know the local police force had it in them.”
“They surprised everyone, perhaps even themselves,” smiled Don.
Jim was reading the account closely. “All of the effects of the Gates
family were recovered,” he announced. “The cup is mentioned here again,
but there is no description of it. I certainly would like to know what
cup it is.”
“I guess we should be able to find out,” said Don. “Suppose we go down
to the newspaper office and hunt up the reporter that took the account?
Surely he should be able to tell us something about the cup, for it is
more than probable that he saw it.”
At their earliest opportunity they went to town and to the newspaper
office, where they asked for the reporter who had taken down the account
of the robbery. He was a young man of a pleasant personality and he was
very willing to talk to them.
“Just what is it that you want to know, boys?” he asked.
“In the account that you wrote up of the robbery you detailed the
articles stolen from the different vaults,” Don said. “We saw that among
the effects taken from the Gates family vault there was a silver cup
mentioned. Did you see that cup?”
“Yes,” responded the reporter. “I saw all of the recovered articles. The
cup was among them.”
“What did it look like?” Don asked, trying not to appear too interested.
“Why do you want to know?” countered the reporter.
“Mr. Gates won several cups in his school days, and he won one at
Woodcrest,” Don answered. “We were just wondering if it was the
Woodcrest cup that was stolen.”
The boys, when planning their method of procedure before coming to the
newspaper office, had decided on that story. The reporter was satisfied
at once.
“Why, I can’t tell you that exactly,” he said, slowly. “I didn’t notice
anything but the date on it.”
“What was the date?” Terry asked quickly.
“The date was 1933,” was the answer.
“That was the Woodcrest cup,” nodded Don. “We were wondering up at the
school, and we three fellows decided to stop in and see if that was the
cup. Thanks a lot.”
“That is perfectly all right,” the reporter smiled. “Shall I ask Mr.
Gates sometime if that was the cup?”
“No, it won’t be necessary,” Don replied, casually. “We know that it is
the cup he won at Woodcrest, because he won one in that year. I suppose
he locked it up in the vault again?”
“No!” was the unexpected reply. “He left all of the other valuables
there, but he took the cup back to his home with him!”
“Maybe he feels so much pride in it that he wants it at hand,” suggested
Jim as a venture.
“I don’t know, I’m sure, but I know that he took it home with him,” the
reporter concluded.
When they had thanked him once more the boys left the office and started
back to school, talking the situation over between them.
“Well, the cup is still in our midst, and we may have another try at
it,” Don remarked.
“As long as it is at the house, yes,” agreed Jim. “Maybe he feels that
it will be safest where he can keep an eye on it.”
“Um,” observed Terry, sarcastically. “All we have to do is to get in and
get at it!”
“Something may turn up and give us the chance,” said Don, hopefully.
“You never can tell.”
Chapter 19
A Conversation in the Dark
Early one February morning a committee of ladies and gentlemen waited on
Colonel Morrell. He saw them come up the drive, and was surprised to
note that the group was made up of a clergyman, two well-known
businessmen, and two ladies whom he knew to be leaders of women’s
activities in Portville. When they had all been seated in his office,
the clergyman, a fine, straight-forward young man who was making good in
the largest church in the town, broached the subject to him.
“Colonel Morrell,” began Dr. Bicknell. “You may be a bit surprised to
see such a formidable gathering bear down on you, but I assure you that
we have good intentions. I don’t know whether you have heard anything
about it or not, but on Washington’s Birthday Portville is to celebrate
its small but honored share in the events of the Revolutionary War. We
are a committee in charge of arrangements and have come to ask you for
you co-operation on that day. The center of attraction will be the old
Gannon House and the picturization of the stirring events that happened
in it.”
“The Gannon House?” asked the colonel. “I’ve heard of it, but I don’t
just recall where it is.”
“It is the house at present occupied by Mr. Melvin Gates and his family.
You know the place now?”
“Oh, yes, surely,” affirmed the colonel. “Now I do remember. That is the
most historic house in Portville, eh?”
“Yes,” replied Dr. Bicknell. “At the time of the Revolution our armies
were harried by one particular spy who seemed to find out every move
that the Continental Army made. At last this spy was run down by two
determined citizens of Portville, and was found to be a young teacher
who lodged at the Gannon House. He was taken from the house by indignant
patriots and hanged just outside the town. The act was most fortunate,
for from that moment there was no more leaking of news to the British.
“On Washington’s Birthday we propose to have a pageant which will show
most of that, all but the actual hanging, which people can dispense
with, I imagine. The events leading up to the capture of the British spy
were highly dramatic, and we wish to show them in the pageant, which
will take place in the daytime. What we want you to do, Colonel Morrell,
is to permit your boys to parade in the morning. There will be a parade
of ex-service men, fraternal organizations and business clubs, to say
nothing of the patriotic organizations, and we feel that the line of
march would not be complete unless your splendid boys marched with us.”
“In the name of the cadet corps, I thank you,” acknowledged the colonel.
“I shall be most happy to have the cadet units march in the parade. The
boys haven’t been in a public parade for a number of years and it would
do them good to get in one. Yes, I shall be very happy to allow the boys
to parade.”
“That is very helpful, and we are grateful to you for your
co-operation,” smiled the pleasant young pastor. “Now, there is one
other thing we would like to request. In the evening there will be a
public inspection of the Gannon House and at that time we would like to
post some of your cadets at various points about the house, to act as
guides or whatever else may come up. Can you see your way clear to let
us use a few of your honor pupils, say one at the front and rear doors,
and one on each side and the staircases? That will add an impressive
tone to the whole thing.”
“Yes, that can be easily done,” promised the colonel. “I shall be glad
to help in any way possible. I shall detail my captains and lieutenants
to take posts in the house and do whatever else you wish them to do.”
The members of the committee once more thanked the colonel, and after a
few plans were made they left him. In due time the news was circulated
among the corps and the cadets looked forward with more or less pleasure
to the event.
“It will be something different,” Terry expressed it. “Won’t I enjoy
marching through town, the center of all eyes.”
“You mean the town will be the center of all eyes?” asked Jim, slyly.
“No, dope! I will be!”
“If I remember correctly, you will be perched on the rear of a gun
carriage,” retorted Jim. “But just think of me, my boy! I’ll be sitting
on a horse, the captain of the cavalry, as proud as you please, bowing
to the ladies.”
“With all due respect to your exalted position,” grinned Terry. “I would
advise you not to bow too much. You might tumble over the neck of the
horse and bump your nose!”
“I guess I’ll be the only one who won’t shine at all,” said Don. “I’m
just a poor, plain little infantry soldier! A lieutenant on foot doesn’t
show up much.”
“I thought that Gates’ house looked like a very old one when we were in
it,” said Don. “But I never guessed that it had such a history. Now that
we know the history we can account for the huge doors, the massive bolts
and the wide, spreading staircase.”
An account in the newspaper interested the boys. It related how, at a
time when the British raided Portville, the Gannon family took their
silver plate and buried it out in the garden. The British had stolen
everything in sight, but the silver was later dug up by the members of
the family and saved.
“I’d like to see the spot where it was buried, sometime,” said Terry.
“That must have been an interesting sight. Imagine the men out in the
garden in the dead of night, burying the boxes of silver plate!”
Parade orders were given two days before Washington’s Birthday and the
cadets found themselves in for a busy time. Dress uniforms were brought
out and cleaned, swords polished and bayonets rubbed down. Rifles were
inspected and the horses well groomed, for the colonel was anxious for
his boys to give a good account of themselves.
Good fortune fell to Jim. As an officer he had received a post inside
the historic house. In high spirits he told Don and Terry of his good
fortune.
“Nice going, kid!” approved Don, generously. “Where is your post to be?”
Jim made a wry face. “I’m not so sure that the post is a good one, for I
am stationed at the back door. I won’t be able to see much of what goes
on there, but at least I’ll be in the house.”
“Maybe we’re luckier than you are, at that,” chuckled the red-headed
boy. “Those of us who are not to be on post in the house will be able to
roam around the town, for the colonel has given us full liberty on that
day. But just the same, I think I’d rather be in the house.”
“So should I,” nodded Don. “At any rate, keep your eyes open, Jim. There
is no telling what you may see.”
“I’ll do that,” Jim promised.
On Washington’s Birthday the school showed the marks of feverish
activity. After breakfast and the school exercises the corps assembled
on the campus. It was indeed a splendid sight. The cavalry, with Captain
Jim and Lieutenant Thompson at the head, assembled on the road in front
of the campus, while the cadet brigade took up the campus. Back of the
infantry the artillery unit stood at attention, the several guns
polished to the last degree. All of the cadets were in dress uniform,
with the tall military hats, the braided coats, and the white gloves.
When the corps was fully formed and the orders of the day read, they
started out to join the other divisions of the parade, the citizen
units.
With the jangle of trappings the cavalry, in perfect formation four
abreast, moved off down the road, and the infantry, also marching four
abreast, with the band playing a lively march and the heels of the young
men ringing out on the pavement, followed. A dull rumble to the rear
marked the progress of the artillery division. When they struck the
center of town they fell into place behind the patriotic clubs. The
parade began at eleven o’clock.
It was a fine parade from start to finish. A number of ex-service men
led the van, with the town organizations following. They made up fully
one-half of the parade and then came the Woodcrest Military Institute
corps. Afterward, everyone gave praise to the young soldiers from the
school up in the hills. The cavalry was superb, the infantry marched
with precision, every foot in step and every white glove swinging with
accuracy, the flags drooping colorfully and the young men erect. The
field guns rolled along looking grim and effective, and when the parade
finally came to an end the colonel was more than satisfied.
In the afternoon the pageant was held and the cadets, no longer under
orders, watched the display. Fortunately, the Gannon House stood back
from the street and was favored with wide lawns, and the people who came
to see the spectacle, and that included practically the entire town,
were all able to see the display. Actors dressed in the costumes of
Revolutionary times took part and it proved to be most entertaining. A
young man came to the door of the Gannon House, dressed in the Colonial
costume, and asked for lodging, explaining that he was a teacher and
wanted to earn his living in the town. He was graciously received by the
Gannon family and installed as one of the family. But no sooner had this
young man settled himself than he began to entertain strange visitors.
Very erect men visited him, listening to his low-spoken talk with great
attention and then going away. At night the teacher left the house,
wrapped in a great cloak, explaining to Mr. Gannon, who asked his
purpose, that he was merely walking for exercise and recreation. Then
came two patriots who pretended great friendship for the young teacher
and watched him at night, crouching beneath the windows to do so. Toward
the end of the pageant they unmasked the spy and Mr. Gannon was the
first to condemn him to the fate of hanging. The last scene showed the
Gannon family hearing from the lips of American officers that no more
information was “leaking” to the British.
The pageant was well given and the spectators enjoyed it. Gates’ house
was then opened to the public for a supper, which was served to the
members of the committee. At eight o’clock the doors were formally
opened to the general public, and Jim took his post at the back door.
Hudson, as senior captain of the corps, occupied the central position at
the front door. Other captains and lieutenants had posts throughout the
house. There were two cadets on the lower floor, one in the center of
the house and another in the huge, Colonial kitchen, a cadet on the
central staircase and one on the landing of the second floor. One cadet
stood post on the third floor, where the quarters of the servants still
stood unchanged since the days of the building of the house. And at the
back door stood Jim.
He was not sure that his post was the best in the world, but he did have
an active one. Early in the evening numbers of townsfolk, some of them
brilliantly dressed, entered the house and were led through it by
members of the Daughters of the American Revolution, who were all
dressed in costumes of that period. When they finished inspecting the
house they went to the grounds in the back and kept Jim active. When he
heard a step on the other side of the door he would step quickly to the
door, open it wide and step back, holding it open until the persons had
passed through and then closing it. The yard had been lighted only in
the immediate vicinity of the house. The back gardens remained in
darkness.
Of course much was seen of the Gates family. Melvin Gates, who had
recovered from his accident, was everywhere in evidence, easily the
center of the affair. A few knew that the senior Gates was more than
delighted at the entire circumstance, as it was raising him vastly in
the eyes of the townspeople in general. He had not himself offered his
house for inspection, but had been very willing when the subject had
been broached to him by the leaders of the movement. Arthur Gates was
also much in the public eye as he moved with immense sociability around
the house, his wife beside him, bowing and smiling. When the party
happened to be composed of persons of wealth and distinction in
Portville the bow and the smile became very genial indeed.
However, not only the rich and influential came that night to the old
Gannon House, but also the poor and humble. Many a plain working man,
interested in the history of his country or the structure of the house,
came to look through it and Jim opened the door to such as well as to
the others who swept by him with a swish of costly garments. To all of
them Jim extended the same unfailing courtesy.
Toward nine o’clock in the evening a man who looked to be a laborer
passed out of the back door and went into the garden. Jim noted that the
man looked at his watch and then seemed to be waiting. After a time he
went down to the gardens, losing himself in the blackness beyond the
electric lights.
Not fifteen minutes after he had gone there was another step inside the
kitchen and Jim quickly opened the door. Arthur Gates stepped out,
looked all around him without paying any attention to Jim, and then set
off at a rapid pace for the garden, following the same direction taken
by the man. Jim was curious at once.
“I’d like to know what is going on,” he reflected. “I wonder if I ought
to go down and see? Very few people are coming through any more, and
besides, if I do leave my post, it will be thought I did so to run an
errand. I guess I’ll take a chance on it.”
Seeing that no one was about Jim slipped quickly to the side of the yard
and away from the glare of the lights. Then, following a path which
wound down into the farther reaches of the place he moved forward,
treading with infinite care, avoiding gravelled walks where possible and
fairly creeping over them when they could not be avoided. In a short
time he reached the garden and saw ahead of him in the darkness two
forms.
A screen of bushes loomed between him and the two men and Jim crouched
as he made his way to them. Once in their shelter he was able to hear
plainly what was being said.
“—close against the back wall,” Gates was saying.
“You want me to mark the spot so you’ll know the place?” the man asked.
“No,” replied Gates. “I don’t care if I never see it again.”
“Not valuable, eh?” the man asked, cautiously.
“No, only a trinket I won at school, but I’m sick and tired of having it
around. It is better off buried. But never mind that; all you have to do
is to bury the thing. I don’t want it done by daylight, either. Will you
do it tomorrow night?”
“Sure, around ten o’clock. I got to work up until that time. Right here
will be all right eh?” the laborer said.
“Yes. I’ll pay you well for it, but you are to keep your mouth shut.
Good heavens! this thing you’re to bury isn’t worth a dollar, and yet
I’ve had more trouble with it than if it cost a thousand. Now, let’s get
back and you be sure to go to work tomorrow night.”
With that they separated and Jim could see them going toward the house,
but the laborer branched off and left the grounds while Arthur Gates
went in the back door. Before he went to his post again Jim looked
carefully around the garden where he stood. There was a high wall nearby
and he knew that he was at the end of the property.
Then he went back to his post, taking care to approach it from the side
of the house, casually and as though he was coming from an errand. Once
more he took up his post at the back door.
“So Gates is going to bury the cup?” he reflected. “And it had given as
much trouble as though it cost a thousand dollars. Of course, it may not
be the cup, after all, but I’ll bet it is. Well, we’ll just dig it up as
soon as he gets it planted!”
In another hour all inspection of the Gannon House was over and it once
more became simply the home of the Gates family. The cadets on post
assembled and marched up to the school reporting in from duty, and soon
after that Jim was relating his remarkable story to Don and Terry.
Chapter 20
The Digger in the Garden
“This must be the place!”
Jim whispered it cautiously and the two shadows with him nodded
silently. Don and Terry crouched down beside him behind the high wall
which ran back of the home of Arthur Gates.
It was on the following night, and three cadets were there with the full
permission of Colonel Morrell. Jim, after his talk with his friends, had
gone straight to the headmaster with the story. The colonel had also
been of the opinion that it was the cup that Gates planned to bury. He
agreed that it would be best for them to watch the digging and to get
the object at once, before the time elapsing would give the ground a
chance to freeze. So the three cadets crouched behind the wall bordering
Gates’ place on this February night.
“You think this is the right spot?” Don whispered.
“Yes,” returned Jim. “What time is it?”
Terry consulted a watch with a lighted dial. “Just five minutes of ten,”
he replied. “We got here just in time.”
They had reached the property a few minutes before and had skirted the
wall, halting at the place which Jim had believed to be opposite the
spot where Gates and the man had conferred on the previous night. They
straightened up and Jim reached upward, finding that he was just able to
place his fingertips on the top of the wall.
“Give me a boost up,” he ordered.
Don cupped his hand and by the aid of this step Jim sprang onto the
wall. For a moment there was silence as he peered down into the garden
inside, and then he leaned toward them.
“This is the place,” he whispered. “Come on up.”
Terry formed the step by which Don joined his brother on the wall and
then they both pulled the red-head up. Jim then looked carefully back of
him.
“There are no lights back of us,” he said. “I’m pretty sure that no one
can see us.”
They settled themselves to wait and the minutes dragged by. It seemed an
age, though it was in reality only fifteen minutes when Terry hissed
warningly.
“Somebody is coming!”
They crouched low as they saw a bobbing light coming down the path
toward them. It was a man with a lantern and as he drew nearer they saw
that it was a short man, whom Jim recognized as the man who had talked
with Gates. Near the wall the man halted, and placed a wooden box on the
ground. Setting the lantern down, and without looking around him, he
dropped a pick and shovel from his shoulder. He took up the pick, raised
it above his head and brought it down with a thump on the hard earth.
The boys, when talking the situation over at school, were agreed that
Gates had received his idea from the newspaper account of the burying of
the silver plate by the Gannon family. When they saw the wooden box on
the ground they were firmly convinced that it held the disputed silver
cup, for it was just the right size.
The digger in the garden worked steadily at his task, breaking the stiff
earth with his pick and then shovelling it away with his shovel. He had
made a hole perhaps three feet deep when something wholly unexpected
happened.
There was a sudden flash of fire back of the watching cadets and they
were bathed in an embarrassing glow of light. Turning startled heads
over their shoulders they saw that a garage nearby had caught fire and
that a pan of oil was blazing up to the sky. The man working in the
garden looked up with a grunt of fright, but fortunately not in their
immediate direction, for the glare was spreading and he looked slightly
to one side of them. Seeing how things stood the three cadets dropped
from the wall swiftly and with as little noise as possible, crouching at
the bottom of the wall outside Gates’ property. The glare died down
abruptly.
“Did he see us?” questioned Don, eagerly.
“No,” whispered Jim. “But that was a narrow escape.”
“You bet,” agreed Terry. “There we were, sitting on the wall like three
chickens! That was a lucky escape.”
“We had better wait here until he finishes his digging,” Jim suggested.
“Listen; he has gone back to work.”
They could hear the man resume his digging. But it was unfortunate that
they could not see into the garden, for real trouble was coming their
way rapidly.
Arthur Gates, uneasy over the affair, had been standing at an upper
window when the flare had illuminated the sky, and clearly and
distinctly he had seen the three cadets on the wall. Uttering an
exclamation the man ran from the house and made his way to the digger.
Unknown to the boys a rapid interchange of words followed and then Gates
took up the box and went back to the house. The man who was doing the
digging dropped his shovel and waited a moment, until he was joined by
the caretaker of the property. Some whispering passed between them and
then they silently made their way to a gate in the wall.
The three cadets crouched there in the blackness of the night beside the
wall and waited. They strained their ears to hear continued sounds of
the digging but they heard nothing.
“He must be finished,” Terry whispered.
“I should think that we would hear him replacing the dirt,” suggested
Jim.
“Suppose you go aloft and see?” said Don, in a low voice.
Jim straightened up and Don gave him a hand to the top of the wall. Once
there Jim peered carefully over to see how far the man had gotten in his
work. But in a moment he was down again.
“The man is gone!” he told them, in wonder.
“Then he has finished,” concluded Don, but Jim shook his head.
“I don’t know why he should be. The lantern is still there and the hole
is open, but the box is gone!”
“Gone?” the others cried guardedly.
“Yes, and I don’t see a sign of the man,” Jim replied.
“Let me take a look,” Don directed briefly.
When he had been hoisted up he made the same observation that Jim had.
The three boys were puzzled.
“Confound that fire!” growled Terry. “If it hadn’t been for that we
would know what was going on.”
“It doesn’t look very good to me,” observed Jim.
They waited for a moment, undecided as to what to do. The only sound
that reached their ears was the sound of men in the nearby garage, who
had put out the unexpected fire and who were talking about it. They were
not near enough to cause the cadets any misgivings, however.
“Give me another boost,” said Don, but Jim caught his arm in a firm
grasp.
“Listen!” commanded his brother.
There had been a faint sound near them, along the wall, the sound as of
a small stick breaking. There was no further noise but they had heard
that one plainly. A suspicion leaped into Don’s mind.
“Maybe someone saw us and they are after us,” he whispered.
No sooner had he spoken than two distinct shadows loomed up before them
along the wall.
“Run, you guys!” cried Jim.
They dashed away from the wall as fast as they could go toward the open
field, the two men hard at their heels. Jim and Terry were slightly
ahead of Don and running swiftly, breaking their way recklessly through
the bushes that barred their way. Don had been a bit slower but was
sufficiently ahead of his pursuers to keep him out of danger. They ran
in the general direction of the school, trusting to luck to keep them
out of holes and other pitfalls.
But Don was the unlucky one. Jim and Terry veered to the right across
the fields but Don kept on going, failing to follow their lead closely.
When he noticed that they had changed their course he swung around to
follow them. There was nothing ahead of him, but as he ran forward he
felt himself flung back abruptly, to tumble breathless to the ground.
Before him was a long chicken run, with high chicken wire strung from
pole to pole to pole, and Don had run against this net in the dark, to
be playfully tossed for a considerable loss.
It proved to be a fatal loss. Just as he scrambled to his feet the two
men swooped down on him and two pairs of strong arms gripped him. He
struggled but the men held him fast.
“Let go of me,” he demanded, somewhat breathlessly.
“Nothing doing, bub,” growled the man who had been digging. “You come
along with us.”
“Where are you taking me?” Don asked, as they led him along.
“Back to the house,” replied the other, an older man. “We want to find
out what you were doing snooping around there. I’m caretaker at the
house and I can have you arrested for trespassing.”
Don had a pretty fair idea that Arthur Gates would not have him arrested
but he realized that he was in a tough spot.
Chapter 21
The Cup at Last
There was nothing more said until they reached the house, where Don was
quickly ushered into the presence of Arthur Gates. The man was seated in
the library when they entered, with a book in his hand, and he looked up
in apparent surprise when Don was brought in.
“What is this, Garry?” he asked of the caretaker.
“Caught this fellow trespassing on the grounds, sir,” said the
caretaker.
“You did not!” denied Don. “You caught me way over in the next field.”
“But you must have been on the grounds, in order for Garry to have seen
you,” declared Gates, putting his book down. He looked keenly at Don.
“Why, you are one of the cadets from Woodcrest, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” nodded Don. “I am.”
“What are you doing out at this late hour?” asked Gates. “Taking French
leave, I suppose?”
“Yes,” said Don, seeing his course.
“You should be in bed by this time at the school,” Gates went on. “What
were you doing on my property?”
“I haven’t been on your property yet,” said Don.
“The wall is my property,” flashed Gates.
“Oh, so you saw me on the wall?” questioned Don.
Gates bit his lip. He had not intended to say so much. “Never mind who
saw you there; you were there.” He turned to the other two. “You may go
now.” To the laborer he said: “I won’t need you any more tonight, Tom.
Drop around to see me in the morning.”
The two men went out and Gates turned to Don once more. “Now, young man,
what is your name?”
“Mercer,” replied Don.
“What were you snooping around here for tonight, Mercer?”
“Three of us were out on a lark and we looked over your wall on the way
back,” replied Don.
“You were sitting on the wall,” accused Gates.
“Yes, we sat on the wall,” confessed Don. “But we didn’t trespass on
your property and so you can’t hold us. All you can do is report us to
the colonel.”
“I think you were prowling around here for something else, young man,”
growled Gates, rising.
“What for?” asked Don, looking straight into Gates’ eyes.
“How should I know?” the man evaded. “I’m going to take you into custody
for a time at least, Mercer. You come with me.”
“Where are you taking me?” Don asked, as Gates took hold of his arm.
“Never mind asking so many questions, but come along. Don’t make any
resistance or I shall call in the police. By the way, aren’t you one of
those cadets who brought in my father from that accident?”
“Yes,” acknowledged Don.
“Too bad you had to mix yourself up in this business.”
“What business are you talking about?” asked Don pointedly.
“Never mind that. What became of your companions?”
“I suppose they got away.”
“Well, I’ll find out who they were and have them punished, too. Now, out
this way.”
Curiously Don followed his captor out into the hall and up the big
staircase to the second floor, down that hall and up a flight of stairs
to the third floor. Coming to a door there Gates opened it and thrust
Don inside, closing the door after him. A moment later and Don heard a
key rattle in the lock. Then the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps
came to his ears.
He attempted to move around the room and bumped into something sharp
that poked into his waist. Striking a match that he found in his pocket,
Don saw that he was in a billiard room and that he had bumped the table.
Seeing a light switch on the wall he moved toward it and turned on the
lights. Then he looked curiously around his prison.
There were no windows in the room, but a skylight gave it illumination
in the daytime. If necessary Don was sure that he could jump from the
table to the skylight and make his way to the roof, but he had no
intention of trying it at present. Instead, he went to the door and
tried it carefully, finding it locked.
“They won’t keep me in here long,” he thought grimly. “I’ll raise such a
racket that he’ll be glad to let me out. But I wonder if that will be
the best thing to do?”
He began to shake the door, to try its strength, and at last pressed
against the lock with all his strength. Although that had no effect on
the lock directly it had an unexpected outcome. There was a step out in
the hall, and the key was turned in the lock. When the door was thrown
open Don stared into the face of a butler.
He was the first one to recover himself. “Oh, thanks a lot for opening
the door,” he said, carelessly, seeing his way out. “Someone must have
turned the key in the lock.”
“But what—who are you, sir?” the surprised butler stammered.
“I’m an acquaintance of Mr. Gates,” said Don. “I came up here with him
and he left me to go down stairs. Someone must have turned the lock
while I was in here.”
“But, sir,” protested the butler. “No one has been past this door. I
sleep in the next room and I came out before going to bed because I
heard you rattle the door.”
“And that was very kind of you,” said Don. He saw that the butler was
not overly bright and that he would probably have no trouble with the
man. “It must have been an accident, my getting locked in here. Well,
I’ll go downstairs and join Mr. Gates. Thank you very much.”
“You are very welcome, sir. But—”
“But what?” inquired Don, frowning at the man. “Do you think I am a
burglar, man? Can’t you see the uniform I have on? I’m a cadet at
Woodcrest School.”
“No offense meant, sir,” hastily replied the butler. “It was
just—hum—irregular, sir, and I wondered. Goodnight, sir.”
“Goodnight,” responded Don, hoping that Gates had not heard the talking.
Apparently he had not, for there was no movement as he walked cautiously
down to the second floor. The butler had gone back to his room and no
one was in the hall. The young cadet was undecided as to what to do now
that he was free.
“I ought to make a good effort to get hold of that cup, now that I am in
the house,” he reasoned. “But I don’t know how to go about it.”
He tiptoed along the second floor hall, determined to go to the lower
floor and look around down there for the cup. He was not greatly worried
about the whole situation for he knew that the colonel was back of him
in whatever he did, and even in the event that the Gates family got
highhanded about things he was sure that the significant word spoken to
them would serve to cool their temper. So he had some degree of comfort
in the fact that it would probably come out right in the end. And when
he stopped to think of the heavy injustice that George Long had suffered
all these years because of the flagrant villainy of these same people he
had no scruples against prowling around Gates’ house.
A light showed under the door of the room into which the cadets had
carried Melvin Gates the night of the accident and Don stopped there,
struck by an idea. He moved up close to the door and listened, being
rewarded by the murmur of voices inside. Although they were pitched in a
low key he was nevertheless able to make out what was being said.
“But you cannot keep that young man a prisoner,” he heard Melvin Gates
say.
“Well, what am I going to do with him?” his son asked impatiently.
“I do not know, Arthur. You think he was prowling around to find that
cup?”
“Oh, of course!” cried the son, wearily. “That cup has cost me more
anxiety than anything I ever had anything to do with in my life!”
“That is entirely your own fault, Arthur. If you had not been so
dishonest all of your life you wouldn’t be in such a fix.”
“Don’t preach to me, father,” snapped the son, angrily.
“It is too bad I didn’t preach to you when you were smaller, instead of
filling your pockets with money that you didn’t have the sense to take
care of. Where is the cup now?”
“I threw it in the closet in my study, at the end of the hall,” was the
answer, which sent a thrill of hope through Don.
There was a rustle inside the room, much as though someone was getting
out of bed. “Tomorrow we’ll dispose of that cup by melting it in the
furnace,” said the elder Gates. “Wait until I get a bathrobe on and
we’ll go up and interview that young man in the billiard room.”
Don waited to hear no more. Arthur Gates had given him the clue he
needed and like a shot he darted off down the hall to the room at the
end. This was the room which tallied with the brief description the man
had given, but Don poked his head carefully in the door before entering,
as he did not wish to walk into anyone’s bedroom.
But it was a small study which lay before him. In the dim light which
flooded in from the hall he could see the outline of a table, an easy
chair and a pile of books on the table. On the other side of the room he
made out a door. He entered the room and made his way to it, finding it
slightly open. At that moment he heard the two Gates leave the room of
the older man and begin to mount the stairs to the third floor.
Don’s groping hands encountered a wooden box on the floor of the closet.
It seemed to be the same size as the one which had been in the garden
that night, and as there was no other object on the floor or on the
single shelf he was sure that he had at last come across the 1933 class
trophy.
“I’ve got the cup at last,” he reflected. “Now, the big job is to get
out of this house!”
Chapter 22
Direct Action
Terry and Jim ran with all the speed they could muster across the
fields, believing that Don was close behind them.
But Jim finally realized that no one was close to them and he came to a
halt, calling to Terry in a low tone. The red-headed boy stopped and
joined him.
“Did we lose our pursuers?” Terry panted.
“Yes,” gasped Jim, gulping in the fresh air. “And I’m afraid that we
have lost Don!”
“Isn’t he around?” cried Terry.
“No. I don’t know what has happened to him. I heard him pounding along
after us and then I lost the sound. Maybe he just branched off in
another direction.”
“Let’s give him the old signal,” urged Terry, puckering up his lips. He
whistled in a low, penetrating note, the signal which had always been
known to the three friends and which had been agreed upon before they
had left on their night’s quest. The sound went across the fields but
there was no answer, though they strained their ears to listen.
“I wonder if those men caught Don?” said Jim.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” reassured Terry. “I guess he just got separated
from us. Before we came out we agreed to meet under the lamp post in
case we got separated. Let’s go over to the street and see if he is
waiting there.”
Together they crossed the lots and emerged on the street upon which the
Gannon House faced, approaching the lamp light with some degree of
caution. But after they had waited in the shadow of a tree for ten
minutes they were both forced to the same conclusion.
“Not a doubt in the world that he was captured,” sighed Terry.
“I’m afraid so,” agreed Jim. “If he had gone off in another direction he
would surely have come here directly. At this moment he must be a
prisoner in Gates’ house.”
“What are we going to do about it?” demanded Terry practically.
“What can we do?” asked Jim helplessly.
“I think we need a little direct action,” said Terry. “Let’s go back to
the house and see if we can get a look at him. We may even be able to
set him free.”
“OK, I’m willing,” responded Jim, moving off down the street. “Perhaps
they have turned him over to the police.”
“That isn’t likely to do them any good,” explained Terry. “We have the
colonel back of us and have nothing to worry about. Anyway, I think that
Don will drop a word or two that will give ’em something to think
about.”
“Take it easy now,” warned Jim, as they drew close to the gate before
the big house. “No telling who is snooping around the grounds.”
Seeing no one in immediate range of vision they flitted across the
sidewalk and entered the grounds of the old place. Keeping close to the
hedge they made their way along it up to the house and then paused.
“Lights are none too plentiful in the house,” whispered Terry.
There was only one lighted room in the downstairs. A low light burned in
a bedroom on the second floor and two rooms were lighted on the third
floor. With one accord, after a hasty glance around, the two cadets
crept to the window and looked under the shade into the library.
“No one in there,” Jim whispered.
The room was empty. A single reading lamp burned in the place but there
was no sign of life. At that moment Terry nudged his companion’s arm.
“Say! Doesn’t something occur to you?”
“No,” said Jim. “What?”
“It was under this same window that the patriots stood and saw that spy
school teacher talking with British officers!”
“Gee, that’s right,” mused Jim. “But we have one consolation. The Gates’
won’t take Don out and hang him!”
“No,” agreed Terry, with a half chuckle. “But they’ll want to do it to
us if they catch us around here.”
“You missed your cue,” grinned Jim. “You should have said that we are
doing all the hanging around here!”
“Oof! Bad pun,” snorted Terry. “But what are we going to do now?”
“Golly, I don’t know,” admitted Jim. “There is no question that Don is
in the house, and that we have got to get in and rescue him. But how the
devil are we to do it?”
“Don’t know how many of my ancestors were burglars!” said Terry, grimly.
“But let’s see how we stand in regard to windows.”
He reached up and pushed on the frame of the window but found that it
was locked. He tried another with the same result.
“Careless people!” he grunted. “Leave their windows locked every night!”
“Perhaps we can find one open on the other side of the house,” suggested
Jim. “Suppose we take a look.”
They passed around the back of the house, but just as Jim turned the
corner of the kitchen pantry he stopped and crouched down, pulling his
companion with him.
“What’s up?” Terry whispered.
“Caretaker prowling around,” returned Jim. “Keep still, he’s coming this
way.”
The form of a man loomed up before them and they held their breath as
the man passed within five feet of them. When he had turned the corner
of the house back of them they breathed in relief.
“Narrow escape, that,” commented Chucklehead.
“Yeah,” agreed Jim. “Well, I guess he has gone around to the other side
of the house. Lucky thing he didn’t come and catch us under the window.
Let’s look this side over before he returns.”
They crept along the side of the house, examining windows and testing
them, but they were all firm. At last the two friends drew back under a
tree.
“It’s no use,” groaned Jim. “We can’t get into the house.”
“It would be a rough joke on us if Don wasn’t in there, after all,”
commented the disappointed Terry.
“But he must be. Too bad we can’t get at the second floor windows.
Surely a bedroom window must be open.”
“No doubt. But who wants to climb into a bedroom, to have a lady yell
blue murder or get shot at?”
“I hope it wouldn’t be as bad as all that. Say! This tree arches right
over that porch roof!”
Jim had been looking up into the branches of the tree thoughtfully and
now his friend followed his gaze. He saw that the tree, which grew so
close to the house, extended at least two strong limbs a few feet over
the roof of the porch shelter.
“There isn’t any reason why we shouldn’t climb this tree and drop onto
the roof,” Terry said. “There are four windows that we can reach.”
“Yes, and the roof can’t be seen from the street,” Jim pointed out.
“Think we had better go to it?”
“Yes, I do. The trunk of the tree isn’t so big that we can’t climb it.
But I’m afraid that we’ll get our uniforms fearfully dirty, because
we’ll have to take off our overcoats to climb.”
“Bother the uniforms!” cried Jim, impatiently. “We can have them
cleaned. I’m going up.”
“Wait until I take a look around, to see if the gentleman is still
taking a walk,” suggested Terry. “Stay here and keep close to the tree
until I get back.”
With this final word the red-head glided off into the darkness and was
lost to Jim’s sight. Two or three minutes passed, and Jim was just
growing restless, when young Mr. Mackson rejoined him.
“Coast is clear,” he informed him. “The caretaker is around on the other
side and just bound for the back garden. I don’t think we’ll be troubled
with him. So here goes my overcoat.”
Without wasting further time the cadets slipped out of their heavy coats
and Terry dropped his carelessly on the ground nearby. But Jim shook his
head at that.
“Don’t leave the coats lying around here,” he warned. “That fellow may
be back at any time, and we don’t want him to find the coats while we
are up aloft.”
“Good head you have, Jimmie boy,” approved Terry. “Never thought it of
you. Let’s park them behind these bushes, close to the porch.”
When the two boys had stowed the overcoats away so that there was no
likely chance that they would be found, they returned to the foot of the
tree and Terry gave Jim a boost as far up the tapering trunk as he
could. From his shoulders Jim began his climb and stuck doggedly to it
until he reached a small limb below the level of the tin roof. Then he
called down for Terry to follow him.
His friend had a much harder job of it because he had to start from the
ground but he moved slowly and surely upward. It was some years since
Terry had “shinnied” up a tree and he found it hard work, but, resting
at intervals, he soon joined Jim at the small limb. Without words they
moved on, and before long wormed their way out on a limb that hung
suspended over the roof.
“Be awfully careful when you drop on that roof,” whispered Jim. “Try to
land on your toes and don’t thump if you can help it.”
Jim then swung down under the limb, hanging by his hands, and measured
the distance to the roof. It was a matter of less than a foot, he
discovered, and with his toes pointing downward he let go and dropped.
There was scarcely a sound as he landed.
“Come on,” he whispered.
Terry swung down under the limb and after a moment of steadying himself
dropped to the roof. Jim steadied him as he landed and they stood
together on the tin surface and looked around.
“Hooray, a partially opened window!” breathed Jim.
Close to them a window had been left open some few inches and they made
their way to it quietly. Both of them felt a tingle of excitement.
“We’ll want to get into the upper hall, if possible,” said Terry,
guardedly. “Let’s hope this isn’t a bedroom. What does it look like?”
Jim was in the lead and he peered into the room, finally raising the
window noiselessly in order to see better. He turned to his waiting
friend.
“It doesn’t seem to be a bedroom,” he informed him. “Looks more like
some kind of a study. I can see a table and an armchair, and a little
light comes in from the hall. I guess this is just the kind of a room we
are looking for.”
“Then let’s get in and go a-snooping,” urged Terry.
Jim raised the window fully and stepped into the room, Terry following
closely at his heels. They paused to make out their surroundings, when
Terry gripped Jim’s arm tightly.
“Somebody in this room!” he hissed.
Before Jim could move someone stepped out of the closet and confronted
them. For a single instant there was a silence that froze them, and then
the light from the hall fell on the features of the one who stared at
them.
“Don!” they whispered.
A sigh of pure relief broke from the one who had stepped out of the
closet. “Boy, oh boy,” Don returned. “You two fellows scared me out of a
year’s growth!”
“You gave us a mighty good start, too,” returned Terry as they moved
close to him. “What are you doing in here?”
“I have the cup!” Don replied.
“No fooling?” gasped Jim.
“Yes, it was in that closet. Listen, we have got to get out of here. The
two Gates—”
A cry broke out on the third floor and a door slammed. They waited to
hear no more.
“Quickly, out the window with you,” cried Don. “We’ve got to clear this
house on the double!”
Terry skipped through the window like lightning and Jim threw himself
after him. Just before Don followed he could hear Arthur Gates roaring
at the butler on the third floor. He joined his companions on the roof.
“Go on down and I’ll toss the cup to you,” he told Jim.
“Shall I take a chance by dropping off the roof?” asked Jim.
“No,” said Don. “You might break a leg, and you don’t know where you’ll
land.”
Jim measured his distance and jumped up, catching the limb and swinging
out on it with the agility of a monkey. He slid down the tree and
dropped safely to the ground.
“Drop the cup,” he called.
Don dropped the cup over the edge of the roof and it fell to the ground.
It was still boxed and he had no fear that any harm would come to it.
Terry was already in the tree and swinging down toward the ground.
Jim, leaning down to pick up the box, felt himself gripped by a strong
hand, which fastened itself on his shoulder. Before he could cry out he
was dragged upright, to find himself in the grasp of the caretaker.
Terry landed at the foot of the tree and was immediately seized by the
other hand of the man. So taken by surprise were they that for the
moment they uttered no sound.
“Goodnight!” flashed through the mind of the red-headed boy. “The end of
a perfect day!”
Chapter 23
The Mystery Is Solved
It was a black moment for the two cadets in the grasp of the caretaker.
With the cup in their possession and the task to which they had set
themselves almost successfully completed it was little short of
heartbreaking to miss the mark in this fashion. The man who held them
was a big and powerful man and they knew by the iron grip upon their
shoulders that resistance was out of the question. It was possible for
them to put up a fight, of course, but it would probably take them so
long that the entire effort would be useless.
Terry was the first to recover his wits. The man who held them was not
looking up into the tree; he looked in grim satisfaction at them and
apparently had no knowledge of the presence of Don above him. Terry
realized that the other must be warned quickly.
“Well, Mr. Caretaker,” he said, loudly. “You seem to have taken my
friend and me prisoners. What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to run you kids down to the town lockup in a mighty big hurry
and put you behind the bars for housebreaking,” the man replied.
A very slight scraping noise in the tree above them ceased abruptly as
the sound of the different voices could be heard on the night air. For a
second there was an agony of doubt in Terry’s mind, but the man did not
look up.
“You can’t prove that we were housebreaking,” said Jim, the idea
suddenly dawning upon him.
“I can’t, heh?” snorted the man. “Then why else—”
The sentence was never completed. Something big and heavy that closely
resembled a boy in a gray uniform shot down out of the tree, landing
with all force upon the shoulders of the caretaker. Under the impact of
Don’s body the man fell forward, losing his hold on the shoulders of Jim
and Terry. Don went down too, but was up like a shot.
“Beat it as fast as you can!” he cried, seeing that Jim had the box in
his hand.
“The overcoats!” cried Jim, as Terry darted forward.
“Got ’em,” the boy shouted. “Let’s go!”
A roar burst from the man as he scrambled to his feet, slightly dazed by
the force and suddenness of the encounter. At the same time the side
door of the house opened and the butler appeared. But by this time the
three cadets were running like frightened deer over the lawn in the
direction of the street.
“There they go!” shouted the caretaker. “Stop them!”
He began to run in their direction, but he was no match for the fleet
cadets. By the time he reached the street the cadets were turning the
corner a block away and were soon lost to sight. Back at the house
Arthur Gates snorted with rage.
“Wait until I get dressed, Arthur,” commanded the senior Gates. “Order
the car out at once.”
“Where are you going?” the son asked.
“Right up to the school to make the colonel pay dearly for this
outrage!” shouted Melvin Gates, entering the house.
Meanwhile the three were on their way to the school, talking over their
lucky escape.
“Let’s take the back streets, fellows,” Don advised. “There was quite an
uproar at Gates’ house and we don’t want to meet up with any police who
might be suspicious. Of course we could explain things to the chief but
the thing we want to do is to get back to the school as fast as we can.”
“OK,” agreed Terry. “I guess we had better get into our overcoats, Jim.
We’re pretty heated up and we don’t want to catch cold.”
“No, we don’t,” said Jim. “Here, you hold the cup, Don.”
When they had put on their coats Terry chuckled. “I want to compliment
you on being a huge success as a sky rocket, Don! The way you shot down
out of that tree onto that fellow’s shoulders was a treat!”
“I couldn’t have done it if you and Jim hadn’t been so prompt to warn me
of what was going on down there,” said Don. “I had no idea, from up in
the tree, that there was anyone else down there with you.”
“He must have been prowling around and heard us up there,” Jim said. “I
didn’t hear him come up and the first thing I knew about him was when he
grabbed my shoulder. It was a good thing that he thought there were only
two of us.”
“When I dropped out of the tree I saw him, but it was too late to do
anything about it,” explained Terry. “My first impulse was to yell to
Don, but that would have been the worst thing I could have done.”
“Yes,” smiled Don. “As it was, it turned out for the best. He certainly
went flying. Somebody coming fellows, and it looks like a policeman!”
“Had we better duck him?” whispered Jim.
“I think we had,” admitted Don. “He must know that cadets aren’t usually
on the streets at this hour and the least he’ll do is to question us. He
may even want to go up to the school with us, and we don’t want that.”
“No, we don’t,” Terry supplied. “He hasn’t seen us yet, so let’s slide
in here.”
There was a garage close by with a narrow alley running alongside it and
the boys quickly glided into it. But this particular policeman strolled
right by the place and was soon lost in the darkness of the long street.
When they were sure that he was safely out of sight they emerged from
their hiding places.
“Whew, that was close, too,” commented Terry, as they resumed their way.
“It would have been bad for us if we had been caught,” admitted Jim.
“Let’s hustle up to the school.”
The streets were all deserted and the houses black, for the hour was
late. The three cadets met no one else as they hastened on to the
school. They entered the grounds with a sense of profound relief.
“I hope that the colonel is still up,” Don said.
“He will be,” predicted Terry. “He knew what an errand we went on and
he’ll be waiting for us.”
Terry proved to be a true prophet. When they entered the school office
they found the colonel there waiting for them. He was impatiently
tapping a long letter-opener on the desk, and at the sound of their
entrance he sprang to his feet, glancing sharply at the clock.
“We beg to report ourselves back, Colonel Morrell,” said Don, saluting
and smiling at the same time. The others saluted at once and the colonel
somewhat hastily returned it.
“And I’m more than glad to see you back here,” the colonel exploded.
“I’ve been worrying about you. Did you have any luck?”
“Unless I am greatly mistaken we have the cup right with us, in this
box,” said Don quietly. He placed it on the desk.
“We’ll open it and see,” the colonel stated.
A hammer was procured from a nearby closet and with a few swift blows
the colonel broke open the wooden box. As the last board fell away a
somewhat tarnished silver cup was disclosed to view. The colonel raised
it from the box and they looked at the inscription on the side. It read:
“Presented to Woodcrest Military Institute by Melvin R. Gates for
Excellence in Scholastic Effort. Won by Arthur F. Gates of the Senior
Class, April 7, 1933.”
“That’s the cup,” murmured Jim.
Without a word the colonel turned it up so they could all see what was
written on the bottom. All of them craned forward to read the brief
message which had been written deep into the silver by the aid of a pin
or knife.
The message was simple but tragic. It read: “I cheated. Arthur Gates.”
There was a moment of silence on the part of the colonel and his loyal
cadets. Then the colonel said very quietly, “You see what it means,
boys?”
“I think I do,” nodded Don in a low voice. “After Gates had promised
Long that he would confess his dishonorable action he said he would
write it where it would stand for good. Long didn’t know what he meant
by that, but when he had left the room Gates scratched that confession
on the bottom of the cup with a sharp instrument.”
“Yes,” went on the colonel. “Long never knew of that, and during the
night Gates must have experienced a change of heart, so he took the cup
on the following morning. He knew that Long would expose him if he went
back on his promise to confess, so he stole that cup in order to create
an atmosphere that would make Long the butt of ridicule if he ever came
out with the story of Gates’ dishonesty.”
“How can a man with any sense of common decency do a thing like that?”
wondered Jim.
The colonel shrugged his shoulders. “I’m very much afraid that Arthur
Gates was never a shining light of virtue. We have found out that he was
dismissed from at least one school for an offense such as he committed
here. You can see that he would never have the courage to face the
school and say, ‘Gentlemen, I cheated.’ Under Long’s persuasion he
relented long enough to write the confession on the cup, but I guess he
bitterly regretted his act later.”
“The cup was a nightmare to him,” said Jim. “He didn’t have the nerve to
take it to a jeweler, so he kept it hidden in his own house.”
“Things are getting pretty bad,” murmured Terry, staring at the simple
confession on the cup. “A fellow can’t tell a lie without having it come
back after him years later!”
“That’s something a man can never escape,” replied the colonel briefly.
“But tell me how you got the cup.”
Don related his share and the other two boys had just finished telling
their part in the adventure when there was the sound of a car stopping
outside the school door. The sound of determined footsteps followed and
then the hall door was opened. Don, guessing what was in the wind,
pushed the cup from sight under the colonel’s desk. A slight nod from
the portly headmaster showed that he grasped the situation.
Melvin Gates strode into the office with his son Arthur at his heels.
The elder Gates was fairly bristling and his son wore a blustering air
that deceived no one. Melvin Gates shot a triumphant glance at the
assembled party and then addressed the colonel.
“Look here, Morrell, do you know that these boys have been breaking into
my house tonight?” he rasped.
“Yes,” said the colonel.
“You do, eh?” shouted the irate man. “Maybe you sent them to do it, eh?”
“No,” the colonel denied. “I only told them to go to your garden, but as
long as they found it necessary to go into your house I’m glad of it!”
The elder Gates became purple in the face and Arthur stepped forward.
“Look here, Colonel Morrell, this is no joking matter. I’m going to have
these boys locked up!”
The colonel only smiled. Melvin Gates rapped the desk with his cane.
“So you teach your boys housebreaking, do you, colonel?” he cried.
“Why no,” said the colonel, thoughtfully. “That isn’t part of the
program. But we do teach them to play the game of life honorably and to
put forth every ounce of their strength to find out the truth and do the
square thing!”
“Oh, what nonsense are you talking now?” growled Melvin Gates.
The eyes of the colonel blazed as he reached under his desk and brought
up the silver cup. “This is the preaching that speaks for itself, Gates.
After you have taken a good look at the bottom of this cup I want to
hear you say that you intend to lock my boys up!”
The faces of the two turned pale when they saw the inscription on the
bottom of the cup. Melvin shot an angry glance at his son.
“I told you to get rid of that thing long ago,” he cried.
“These boys have been after that cup for months, Mr. Gates,” went on the
colonel. “It was for that purpose that they broke into your house
tonight, and I want you to understand definitely that I heartily back
them up, and so will the world in general when it knows the story.”
“But see here, Morrell, you are surely not going to let this thing get
out?” begged Melvin Gates. “I have shielded this boy of mine from his
folly and weakness for years, and it will be perfectly terrible if it
gets out now. Think of our good name in this town, man!”
“How many times have you and your son thought of George Long, carrying
the stigma of a thief all of these years?” blazed the colonel, seeming
to swell up in his honest wrath. “Have you ever given him or his name
any consideration? If it was simply a case of covering up a weak moral
escapade of your boy which had not hurt anyone but himself I would
gladly help you by saying nothing. But you have had no thought for the
burden that George Long has been compelled to carry with him. Under the
circumstances I have no sympathy for you, Mr. Gates, and I warn you that
Long shall be cleared publicly as soon as possible.”
“Colonel Morrell,” said Melvin Gates, putting on an air of cunning that
turned the boys against him even more, “I have a little money in this
world. Now, if we can come to some sort of an agreement on this thing,
I’ll make it well worth—”
But the colonel became red in the face with suppressed anger. He pointed
toward the door.
“Get out of my school, both of you!” he quivered. “I won’t have my clean
young boys insulted by your presence here any longer. If you think you
can buy my tongue with your money you are badly mistaken, Melvin Gates.
Please take your son and leave the school at once, sir.”
Realizing that any more talk would be a pure waste of time the father
and son withdrew, gloom written on their faces. When they had gone the
colonel turned to his grave-faced cadets.
“Boys, your work is over, and you may report to your quarters. If any
discipline officer says anything to you because of absence from your
rooms tonight, refer him to me. I commend you on your interest and
courage in this matter, and Mr. Long shall know the full particulars.
The cadet corps will be proud of you. Goodnight, boys.”
Silently the cadets saluted, returned the colonel’s goodnight and went
to their room.
Chapter 24
The Alumni Dance
“I see the next Alumni affair will be a dance,” Don remarked, looking
across the table to Jim, who was studying.
“Yes. Looking in the _Bombardment_, are you?” his brother replied.
“Sure. I guess that is the affair at which Colonel Morrell intends to
clear George Long,” Don went on.
“It is. There will be a dinner and a dance and then the colonel will
tell his story. It will be a pleasant evening for Long and his wife.”
“Goodness knows they have it coming to them,” mused Don. “I’d hate to go
around for a number of years with a cloud like that hanging over me. If
I met an old fellow student I’d have to be prepared to see suspicion
showing in his face or even to meet with outspoken slighting. It has
been a fearful burden and I’m glad that it is to be lifted soon.”
“So am I,” agreed Jim. “Mr. Long must think we have forgotten him,
though. So many months have gone by since we went to see him about the
matter. Here it is the last of February already.”
“Yes, time has passed rapidly. It won’t be long before the spring is at
hand.”
“That was a terrible tongue-lashing that the colonel gave Gates the
other night, wasn’t it?”
“Nothing more than he deserved,” retorted Don, promptly. “Just imagine,
he wanted to pay the colonel to keep quiet and let Long go on with this
blight on his good name! Just as the colonel said, if the whole thing
had been some failing of the son’s in which he had injured no one but
himself, why we’d all be glad to keep still and give the man a chance.
But that particular type of outrage calls for extreme measures.”
“Right you are. Where is that red-headed friend of ours?”
“Out visiting,” grinned Don. “That boy surely has a multitude of
friends!”
Terry returned to the room just before the lights went out and brought
some news with him. But before he told them the news he played one of
the tricks of which he was so very fond. When he approached the room he
tapped on the door sharply, turned the knob and stepped briskly into the
room. Imitating to perfection the tones of Officer of the Section he
called out:
“Attention, gentlemen! Stand at attention for inspection, please!”
Once a day their rooms were rigidly inspected and although the officer
of that section was not in the habit of calling them to attention so
pointedly the boys fell into the trap. Terry’s voice was so like that of
the officer that the two boys put down their books, leaped to their feet
and were just about ready to stand at attention when they caught sight
of the grinning face of their friend.
“Ho, ha!” roared Terry, seeing the look of disgust on their faces.
“Wasn’t that a pretty picture? I almost expected you to salute,
gentlemen!”
“We’re going to salute you so that you won’t sit down for some time to
come,” growled Jim, moving around the table with his chemistry book in
his hands. Don leaped at Terry and bore him to the bed. The red-head was
too weak to offer any resistance and Jim paddled him vigorously with the
book, until he cried for mercy.
“I just heard something that will interest you,” Terry said, when the
fooling had stopped.
“What is it?” asked Jim. “Out with it, or we’ll paddle you some more!”
“The Gates family has moved out of town!” Terry said.
“I’m glad of it,” cried Don, promptly. “I’ve always thought it too bad
that such rascals should live in that fine, historic old place.”
“That isn’t such a sanctified place,” observed Jim. “Don’t forget the
spy that lived there.”
“But the spy had even purer motives in life than the Gates family did,”
Don defended. “The house is really a historic relic and I think some
fine American family ought to live in it.”
“I see your point,” nodded Jim. “So the Gates’ skipped, did they?”
“Yes, moved out completely,” Terry replied. “No one seems to know just
where they did go. Of course, they were dreading the time when the
colonel will tell the truth about them.”
“Oh, sure,” Don said. “Well, we’re not a bit sorry to see the last of
them. For a number of years the school has actually suffered from
contact with father and son and nothing is lost by their going.”
“By the way,” observed Terry. “What is to be done about the matter of
that scholarship that Woodcrest won so many years ago from Roxberry?
When the story is published the preparatory school will find out that we
didn’t win the contest fairly.”
“I imagine that it will be held all over again, or the matter entirely
dropped,” Jim said. “I’m pretty sure that Roxberry won’t care to say
much when they find that one of their professors gave Gates the list of
questions before the exams.”
That proved to be the case. The scholarship contest was never held again
and nothing was said by the Roxberry Alumni when the story got into the
papers. As for the dishonest professor, nothing more was ever heard of
him.
Just before the Alumni Dance certain cadets were appointed for the posts
of honor at the affair. A good many of the first classmen served as
waiters, but the cadets who had been most active in the establishing of
George Long’s innocence were given posts of honor at the long tables at
which the guests ate. In this class Don, Jim, Terry, Hudson, Douglas and
Vench found themselves on the night of the affair.
The colonel had made it a point to gather together all of the men of the
former 1933 class who could come and he was delighted to find that all
but five members of that class were present. Three of these men lay in
graves overseas and many more from that class were ex-servicemen from
the United States Army. Two members lived so far away that they were
unable to get there. Many from other classes were there and it was an
impressive gathering.
Mr. and Mrs. Long entered late and were just in time to sit down at the
table. The cadets and the colonel felt that Long had been purposely
late, so as not to have to face any unpleasantness that would have
spoiled Mrs. Long’s evening. Long had in his heart another and more
chivalrous purpose, of which his wife alone was aware. He did not want
to make any of his former classmates feel cheap by cutting him at first
and then having to apologize afterward.
The cadets were seated at the head of each table, a procedure that
puzzled the members of the alumni, for they had never seen such an
arrangement before, and they wondered why it had been done. They were
not long in finding out. After the dishes had been cleared away the
colonel arose. Beside him, on either side, sat Mr. and Mrs. Long,
purposely placed there so that no one could slight them. The colonel
spoke amidst an impressive silence.
“Gentlemen of the Alumni Association, I wish to tell you a story that
combines all the elements of tragedy, drama and fine courage. I will
waste no words in telling it for I predict that after I am through you
will all of you have some hand-shaking and talking to do. I wish the
members of the class of 1933 to pay special attention to my story.”
Here the colonel reached under the table and brought forth the class cup
which had been the cause of all the trouble and placed it on the table.
A murmur went around and Long turned pale with conflicting emotions. And
in the silence that followed the colonel carefully and quietly told the
whole story.
“And gentlemen,” wound up the colonel, when the murmurs of amazement and
indignation had subsided, “I wish to present to you the cadets you have
just heard about. These are the men who tracked this thing to its lair.
Mr. Donald Mercer, Mr. James Mercer, Mr. Hudson, Mr. Vench, Mr. Douglas
and Mr. Mackson, please stand up so that everyone can see who you are.”
A storm of handclapping greeted the modest cadets as they stood in their
places and instinctively the men of the school alumni stood up and
saluted the red-faced cadets. With a sense of the fitness of things the
uniformed cadets briskly returned the salutes and sat down. The colonel
now turned to Mr. Long.
“Mr. Long, please stand up.” As Long obeyed: “Gentlemen of the Alumni,
there is nothing that is necessary for me to say, except that in the
name of the school I apologize for the tremendous wrong done Mr. Long. I
present to you gentlemen in all his unspotted honor Cadet Captain George
Long!”
This time the present cadets rose with the company and clapped heartily
for George Long. Tears ran down Mrs. Long’s face and she was not in the
least ashamed for them. When the applause had died down Long said a few
words to the assembled men, thanking such of them who had believed in
him and graciously excusing those to whom the facts had looked so black
that they could not help suspecting him. Then the supper formation broke
up and Long was deluged with those who wished to shake his hand and
express their delight and beg his pardon for their past conduct.
The cadets came in for an overwhelming amount of praise and then the
entire body of alumni and their wives went over to the school hall for
dancing. Both Mr. and Mrs. Long embarrassed the boys with their thanks
and praise. During the evening all of the honor cadets danced with Mrs.
Long.
When it was all over the boys went back to their room and prepared for
bed. The evening had been a happy one for them and they discussed it
gravely, thankful for their opportunity to have been of service to
George Long.
“It must have been a wonderful feeling for him,” Don remarked, as he
washed for bed.
“Yes, indeed,” agreed Terry. “It was a happy evening for Mrs. Long,
too.”
“I’d rather be George Long, with all his years of carrying the shadow,
than Arthur Gates, whose life has practically been a failure,” Jim
observed.
“You’re dead right,” Don assented. “Well, now the mystery is solved, and
I wonder what we’ll do next? Settle down to a tame life, probably.”
On the following morning they looked out of the windows at a bleak,
rain-washed day. Jim growled in disgust.
“Golly, what rain!” he grumbled. “It is fairly coming down in buckets.
That means indoor sports for a time.”
“Yes, and it looks like the kind of a rain that lasts a while,” sighed
Don.
Terry grinned with his usual cheerfulness. “Don’t let a little water
dampen your spirits, my boys,” he advised. “A little rain won’t alter
our lives!”
[Illustration: Endpapers]
Transcriber’s Notes
--Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public
domain in the country of publication.
--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
dialect unchanged.
--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the
HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)
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