Kitabı oku: «Tom Fairfield's Schooldays: or, The Chums of Elmwood Hall», sayfa 9
CHAPTER XXII
THE BURNING EFFIGY
“That’s so!” exclaimed Tom, after a moment’s consideration. “I never thought of that. It would be just like Sam. Oh, but what’s the use worrying, anyhow? They’ll know, sooner or later, that we’ve escaped, and anything that sneak Heller can tell them won’t do us any harm. Come on to town.”
They headed into the storm, which seemed to become worse every minute, with the wind whipping the stinging flakes into the faces of the lads, who bent to the blast.
“I say!” cried Horace Gerth. “This is fierce!”
“The worst ever!” cried Jack.
“You can turn back, if you want to,” commented Tom, grimly. “Back to bread and water.”
“Not for mine!” exclaimed Bert Wilson.
“Me for a hot meal in town,” declared Tom. “I’ll stand treat if any fellows are short of cash.”
“Good!” cried several, as they trudged on.
It did not take very long to make the lads aware that they were in for a bad time. The snow was drifted heavily and the road to town, never good at the best, was almost impassable. As Tom had predicted, the trolley cars had long since ceased running, and there was not a vehicle track to be seen in the darkness, that was but faintly relieved by the white snow.
“We’re going to have a hard pull of it,” commented Jack, as he floundered to Tom’s side.
“That’s right. I wish we had had a better night for the escape, but we had to take our chance.”
“Oh, of course. But it will be all right when we strike the town, and get some hot coffee. How far is it, anyhow?”
“Oh, about two miles, I guess.”
“Two miles of this!” groaned Jack, as he bent his head to a particularly fierce blast. “It’s heavy going.”
On and on the boys floundered. The first enthusiasm was wearing off, and they became aware of the stinging cold and the fierce wind that cut through even the heaviest coats. But they did not think of giving up.
After an hour of tramping, during which the storm seemed to be doing its best to drive the boys back, and during which time several began to murmur discontentedly, Jack suddenly exclaimed:
“I say, Tom, do you think we’re on the right road?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
A halt was called.
“I can’t make out anything,” declared Jack. “It’s as dark as a pocket, and, even in day time, with this storm, we couldn’t see very far. My private opinion is that we are lost.”
“Lost!”
“Yes, that is, not seriously lost,” went on Tom, with a trace of jollity in his voice, “but just lost enough so that we can’t strike town to-night.”
“Then what are we going to do?” asked George Abbot.
“There you go again – the eternal question!” complained Jack. “We’ll have to go back, that’s all, I guess.”
“I don’t like to,” said Tom. “Let’s have another try for the road. That row of trees over there looks like it.” He pointed to a row dimly visible through the storm.
“Well, come on, one more try,” assented Jack, and though there was some grumbling, none of Tom’s followers deserted him.
On they floundered through the snow, only to find, when they go to the trees, that they were on the edge of a gully.
“But I know where we are, at any rate,” declared Bert. “I believe I can find our way back to school from here, even if I can’t lead you to town.”
“All right, then do it,” assented Tom wearily, for he was tired, and rather chagrined at the failure of his plan. “But, one thing, fellows, if we do go back we’ve got to make a showing.”
“How?” asked several voices.
“We’ll burn Skeel in effigy before we go in, and then they can do as they like to us.”
“Hurray!”
“That’s what!”
“We’ll have a demonstration,” went on Tom, “and the whole school will come out. We’ll take advantage of it to ask the fellows to contribute something to our support. We’ll get more food and then – well, we’ll see what happens in the morning.”
“We’re with you!” cried his chums.
They turned back, hardly any but what were glad to get the wind and stinging flakes out of their faces, and, led by Bert, they were soon on familiar ground.
“There’s Elmwood Hall,” said Jack to Tom, as they tramped on together through the storm, when a dull mass loomed up before them. “What’s the programme?”
“First to make the effigy.”
“How you going to do it?”
“Oh, I’ve had it planned for several days. In the barn I’ve got some old clothes hidden, and a hat just like Skeel wears. All we’ve got to do is to stuff the coat and pants with straw, tie a rope to it, hoist it on the flag pole halyards and set fire to it. Then things will happen of themselves.”
“I guess they will!” exclaimed Jack, admiringly.
It was quiet around the college when the Freshmen came back after their partly unsuccessful escape. That their going had been discovered no one doubted, but there seemed to be no one on the watch for them, and no undue excitement in Opus Manor.
“Now for the effigy!” exclaimed Tom, as he told the others his plans. “Jack and I, and a few of us are enough. The rest of you stand ready to give our yell as the fire starts.”
It did not take long, in the barn, and with the light of several lanterns which Tom had hidden, to make the effigy of Professor Skeel. It did not look much like him, but the hat added the necessary identification.
None of the school employees was about the stable, and the boys had easy sailing.
“Now to string it up, and set fire to it!” cried Tom.
“How you going to burn it when it’s up in the air?” asked Bert.
“I’ll make a sort of fuse of twisted straw that will hang down, and I can touch that off from the ground,” was the answer.
With their mates crowding around them, Tom and his chums brought out the effigy. A rope had been provided by our hero, who seemed to think of everything, and soon it was attached to the flag halyards and the image was mounting the pole through the blinding storm and darkness.
“Here we go!” cried Tom, as, with some difficulty he struck a match and set the straw fuse ablaze. “Now for the yell!”
It was given with a will as the fire slowly enveloped the effigy, and, in response, there was a rush from the dormitories of the various classes, for it was not late yet.
“Three hisses for Professor Skeel!” called someone, and it sounded as if a den of snakes had been loosed.
Brighter and brighter grew the flames. The effigy was shown in bold relief. All the college seemed pouring out, heedless of the storm.
A figure came running over the snow. A voice called out – a harsh voice:
“I demand that this outrage cease at once!”
It was Professor Skeel himself.
CHAPTER XXIII
TOM’S FIND
For a moment the Freshmen paused in their wild dancing about the pole, from which hung suspended the burning effigy. And then, as they saw the indignant figure of the disliked professor, and as they heard his demand, they broke out into a further storm of hisses that sounded above the blast of the wintry wind.
“Stop it! Stop it at once! Take down that disgraceful image!” demanded Professor Skeel. In spite of the crude way in which it had been made he – and others as well – could easily recognize that it was intended for him, by the hat. “Take it down!” he shouted.
“Never!” came the defiant cry from the Freshmen. They were not so cold now, but they were hungry and tired, and they saw in Professor Skeel the individual who, they believed, was responsible for their troubles.
“Three hisses for the professor!” called someone, and again they were given with vigor.
“Take it down! Take it down!” fairly screamed the enraged instructor. He looked around. The whole school was witnessing the spectacle of disgrace that had been arranged for his benefit. Every student was present, arranged in a big circle about the jubilant Freshmen, and most of the faculty had come to the doors of their residences to look on.
“I demand that this outrage cease at once!” cried Professor Skeel, but no move was made to heed his request. In fact, the Freshman only cheered themselves, and hissed him the louder.
Professor Skeel could stand no more. With glaring eyes he made a rush for the crowd of students, darting through the storm that still raged.
“Look out! Here he comes!” warned Jack to Tom.
“All right. I’m ready for him,” was the quiet answer. “But I don’t believe he’ll do anything more than try to pull down the image.”
“Will you let him?”
“I think not. Still I don’t want to get into a personal encounter with a teacher. Let’s form a ring around the pole, and prevent him from touching the ropes. The effigy will soon be burned out, anyhow.” The flames were eating the image slowly, as the cloth and straw was moist, and the snow flakes further dampened them.
“That’s a good idea!” commented Jack. “Hi, fellows, no surrender. We must protect our effigy!”
“That’s what!” came the rallying chorus, and under Tom’s direction the lads formed a cordon about the pole.
Professor Skeel was speeding through the drifts. He reached the nearest lads, and roughly thrust them aside. Tom had quickly whispered to those nearest the pole not to fight back, but to offer passive resistance. So, too, those on the outer edge did not make any hostile movement when the irate instructor went through them with a rush.
“Get away from that pole! Let me take that disgraceful image down! I shall insist upon the most severe punishment to every one concerned in this outrage!” stormed Professor Skeel.
“Stick to your posts!” cried Tom.
“As for you, Fairfield!” shouted the professor. “This will be your last appearance here! You incited the students to do this!”
“Correct guess!” whispered Jack with a grin.
Professor Skeel did not find it as easy as he had thought, to thrust the lads away from the pole, so that he might loose the ropes. As fast as he shoved one lad aside, in which operation no active resistance was offered, another Freshman took his place, and there was a constant shifting and whirling mass of students about the pole. It was utterly impossible for the professor to get to the ropes.
“This must stop! It shall stop!” he cried. “I – I shall be under the necessity of personally chastising you if you do not at once remove the image!” he added.
“Stick, boys!” sung out Tom.
“Then take the consequences,” shouted the instructor. He struck one of the smaller lads, who drew back his fist. In another moment there would have been presented the not very edifying sight of an encounter between teacher and pupil.
But Professor Skeel found himself suddenly clasped from behind, while Tom, worming his way to the side of the lad who had been hit, caught his upraised arm.
“It’s all right, Henry,” he called in his ear. “It’s all over I guess. Hammond has hold of Skeel.”
This was true. The big fat, jolly professor, seeing how matters were likely to turn out, had made his way into the throng, and had seized his colleague.
“You had better come with me,” he advised, quietly. “You are forgetting yourself, Professor Skeel. You can do no good here. The boys are past reasoning with.”
“I shall not go until they have taken down that disgraceful effigy of me.”
“It will soon burn down. Besides, Doctor Meredith is coming out to speak to them. I have sent for him. You had better come with me.”
Much against his will, Professor Skeel allowed himself to be led away. The boys had stopped hissing and cheering now, for they saw that the crisis had come, and that they were either to win their strike, or that some unusual measures would be taken.
“Here comes Merry!” exclaimed Jack in a hoarse whisper, as he descried the form of the venerable head of the school making his way through the storm. The burning effigy still gave light enough to see, reflected as it was by the snow on the ground and the swirling flakes in the air.
Professor Skeel left with Professor Hammond, and, as they passed the outer ring of Freshman, there came a cry:
“Three cheers for Professor Hammond!”
They were given with the “Tiger!” at the end.
Doctor Meredith made his way to where he could command a view of the class that had revolted.
“Young gentlemen!” he began in a mild voice.
“Three cheers for the Doctor!” were called for and given.
“Young gentlemen,” he went on, with a benevolent smile, “you will kindly cease this demonstration, and return to your dormitory.”
“Does that mean we win?” asked Tom respectfully. “We went on strike for better treatment in the Latin class. If we go back, and call the strike off, do we get it?”
“That’s what we want to know,” added Jack Fitch.
“And we want something to eat, too,” spoke Bert Wilson.
“You will return to your dormitory,” went on Doctor Meredith in an even voice. “This must go on no longer.”
“But what about the Latin class?” asked Tom persistently. “Are we to be prisoners? Aren’t we to be allowed to recite, or attend lectures?”
“I will settle all that tomorrow,” said the doctor. “I may state, however, that you will recite, if you do at all to-morrow, to another Latin instructor.”
“Hurray! That’s what we want to know!” yelled Tom. “Come on, boys!” he added. “Back to bed. The strike is over!”
“I don’t see how,” said Jack. “He hasn’t said that Skeel will be any different.”
“Aw, can’t you see through a hole in a millstone?” asked Tom. “Can’t you see that Skeel isn’t going to be our teacher any more?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that there’s going to be a shift. No more of Skeel’s Latin for us. The doctor has seen that it won’t do, and he’s put his foot down. Skeel can’t dictate to him any more. The strike is over – we’ve won, and it will be admitted to-morrow. Come on to bed.”
“But about the eats?” suggested Bert. “I’m half starved. What about the eats?”
“Young gentlemen!” spoke Doctor Meredith again.
Instantly there was silence.
“Young gentlemen, you will return to your dormitory. But you may first stop in the dining hall.”
“For bread and water?” asked some one.
“For – er – for your usual hot supper,” said the doctor, with a smile.
“Hurray!” yelled Tom. “The strike is sure over! We win!”
The last flickering embers of the burning effigy died out and the scene was almost dark. Doctor Meredith returned to his house. The other students turned back into their dormitories. The Freshmen made a break from around the flag staff and ran toward the place where a much-needed supper awaited them.
As Tom, with Jack at his side, hurried across the spot where Professor Skeel had struck the Freshman, our hero saw something black lying on the snow. He stopped and picked it up.
“Someone’s pocketbook,” he remarked. “I’ll look inside for a name, and return it. Oh, Jack, we win!”
“And we’re going to eat!” added Jack with a sigh of satisfaction. As they entered the dining hall they saw Sam Heller there. He had sneaked back when the others were escaping and had practically surrendered. He was hissed when this became known.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE SAVING OF BRUCE
“What have you there, Tom?” asked Jack. They were in their room, some time after the riot over the burning effigy, and following a more bountiful supper than they had partaken of in many a long day. They had talked over the events and Sam Heller’s desertion.
“Oh, but you should see those boys eat!” exclaimed Mrs. Blackford to her husband, after a visit to the dining hall.
“I don’t blame them,” was the answer. “I’m glad it’s over, and that they have won. I never did like that Skeel.” The monitor had confided to Tom that as soon as Doctor Meredith had word of the return of the students from their unsuccessful trip toward the town, he had ordered a big supper gotten ready. And now Tom and his chum were in their room, tired but happy.
“This,” remarked Tom, as he looked at the object to which Jack referred, “this is a pocketbook I picked up out on the campus near the flag pole. Some one dropped it during the excitement, I guess. I’ll see if there’s a name in it, so I can send it back.”
He opened it. There were some banknotes and a number of papers. Tom rapidly looked the latter over, and, as he caught sight of one, he uttered a whistle of amazement.
“What’s the matter?” asked Jack, who was getting ready for bed. “Whose wallet is it?”
“Professor Skeel’s.”
“Nothing remarkable in that; is there?”
“No, but it’s what I found in it. Now I know why he has such a hold over Bruce, and what that lad’s trouble is. Look here, Jack,” and the two boys bent their heads over a slip of paper.
“I should say so!” exclaimed Jack. “No wonder he looked troubled, and acted it, too. What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to save Bruce; that’s what I’m going to do.”
“How?”
“I don’t just know yet, but I’ll find a way.”
There was subdued excitement the next morning when the Freshmen filed down to breakfast, and the talk was of nothing but the uprising of the night before. Sam Heller was practically ignored, but he did not seem to mind.
“Are we to get bread and water this morning, Blackie?” asked Tom, of the monitor, at the same time playfully poking him in the ribs.
“No, sir, the usual meal.”
“And are we still locked in?” demanded Jack.
“No, sir, you can go wherever you like. Chapel I should imagine, first.”
“Oh, of course,” agreed Tom. “I want my eggs soft boiled,” he added most prosaically.
On the way to the morning devotions Tom pulled out the wallet.
“I guess I’ll send this over to Skeel’s house, instead of taking it myself,” he said to Jack. “It might raise a row if I went there.” And, requesting one of the assistant janitors to do the errand, Tom proceeded to chapel. Thus the wallet was returned to its owner, but minus a certain bit of paper.
“Well, you fellows certainly cut things loose!” exclaimed Bruce Bennington admiringly to Tom, as he met our hero later. “You won hands down. I wish I could do things as easily as you seem to do,” and he sighed. Tom noticed that the look of worry and trouble on the Senior’s face was deepened.
“Look here, Bruce!” exclaimed Tom. “I wish you would tell me exactly what your trouble is. Maybe I can help you.”
“No you couldn’t.”
“I think so,” and there was a peculiar note in Tom’s voice. “Tell me,” he urged. The two were walking by themselves over a deserted part of the snow-covered campus. The storm had ceased, and the day, though clear, was quite cold. The weather was crisp and fine.
“Hanged if I don’t tell you!” burst out Bruce. “I don’t know why it is, but I took a liking to you the first time I saw you. I had half a notion to tell you then, but I didn’t. I haven’t told anyone – I wish, now, I had. Now I’m going to tell you. It’s come to a show-down, anyhow. I was just on my way to see Professor Skeel. He’s at the bottom of my trouble, as you may have guessed. He has sent for me. The jig is up.”
“I’ll go with you,” volunteered Tom. “I fancy I know part of your trouble, at least.”
“You do?” burst out Bruce in amazement.
“Yes. Look at that,” and Tom held out a bit of paper.
“I say, Tom,” hailed Jack from a distance, as he came running up. “What are we to do? There’s a notice posted, saying we are to go to Latin recitation to Professor Hammond, temporarily, and then afterward the Freshmen are to meet Doctor Meredith and Professor Skeel. That looks as if we hadn’t won after all. The boys are anxious.”
“I’ll be with them in a little while,” answered Tom. “It’s all right. We win the strike all right, only things have to be adjusted formally I suppose. But I’ll say this. I’ll never apologize to Skeel, and he’s got to promise to be decent, or the strike will begin all over again.”
“Hurray! That’s the stuff!” cried Jack. “That’s what we want to know. But aren’t you coming to the lecture?”
“In a little while – yes. I’ve got something else on hand now, Jack.”
“All right!” called his chum, knowingly. “I’m on. See you later,” and he ran off. Jack turned to Bruce.
Over the face of the Senior had come a curious change. His trouble seemed to have vanished.
“Tom – Tom Fairfield!” he exclaimed. “You’ve done me a service I can never repay. Look here, this is a forgery!”
“A forgery?” asked the amazed Freshman.
“Yes, that’s never my signature to that promissory note! In fact, the whole note is forged. It’s a little like my writing, but I know I never signed it. Say, I’m free, now!”
“You’d better tell me more about it,” suggested our hero. “If I’m to have it out with Skeel for you, I’d better know all the facts.”
“Sure. I’ll tell you. It won’t take long. I made an idiot of myself, to be brief. You know my father is well off, and he makes me a good allowance. One of his rules, though, and one I never broke but once, was never to gamble, and another was never to sign a note. I broke both.
“Last year when I was a Junior I got in with a fast set of fellows. We didn’t do anything very bad, but one night there was a game of chance in one of the rooms. I was urged to play, and, not wanting to be a kill-joy, I foolishly agreed. I knew dad would never forgive me if he found it out, but I didn’t think he would. He had said I would have to leave school, and go to work, if I gambled, or signed a note.
“Well, I lost, as most anyone will if he keeps it up long enough. I lost all my ready money, and I got in debt. I had no way of paying, and the Junior to whom I was indebted suggested that I give him my I. O. U. for the amount. I did, scribbling a promissory note on a piece of paper. The sum was quite large, and I see now what a chump I was. But I expected to be able to pay in time, and the fellow said there was no hurry.
“But when my next allowance came I went out on a lark, and we did some damage that we had to pay for. This took all the cash I had, and I owed more. I dared not ask for additional money, for I did not want to explain to dad how foolish I had been on two occasions. I went to the Junior, told him my predicament, and he kindly offered to wait for his debt, though the note was overdue.
“Then, most unexpectedly, this Junior’s father died, and left him a lot of money. He left school in a hurry to arrange his affairs, and go abroad. The night before he left he wrote me a letter saying he had destroyed the promissory note, and said that I need not pay it, as it was a foolish debt at best.
“That made me happy until all at once the storm broke. Just before the close of school last term Professor Skeel sent for me. He told me he had a note of mine, and demanded payment. I was dumbfounded, and said I didn’t know what he meant.
“He explained that before leaving, this junior, whose name I won’t mention, had sold my promissory note to him, and that as he now owned it I must pay it to him. I said he was mistaken, and told about the letter I had.”
“Why didn’t you show it to him?” asked Tom. “That would have been good evidence.”
“Very foolishly I had destroyed it as soon as I read of my release from the obligation. I did not want a scrap of paper around to remind me of it. So I had no proof, and Skeel only laughed at me. He said he held the note, and he showed it to me hastily, but I thought it was the real thing. He threatened, if I did not pay, to tell dad, and I knew what that meant, for, somehow, Skeel had learned about the game of chance.
“And that was my trouble. It’s been hanging over me since last term and Skeel has been at me several times this term to pay up. He’s been putting the screws on harder and harder, and today was the last day. If I couldn’t pay he was to send word to dad, and demand the money from him. I did try to raise the cash to settle, and I’ve paid something on account, but I never could raise enough, for something always seemed to happen to use up my allowance, and I had no good excuse for asking for more.”
“Why didn’t you write to this Junior, asking if it was true that he had destroyed your note, as he said in his letter?” Tom inquired.
“I did, but I never could reach him. He went traveling in Europe. But it’s all right now. I see the whole game. The Junior did tear up my note, but probably Skeel found the pieces, somehow. He made a forged copy of the note, enlarged the amount, forged my name to it, and the Junior’s endorsement, and relied on my fear of publicity to make me pay. But I can now see that this is a fake!” and Bruce held up the document.
“Then the sooner we tell Skeel so to his face the better,” said Tom, firmly. “Come on, we’ll beard the tyrant in his den!”
And they went.
“You sent for me, Professor Skeel,” began Bruce, when he and Tom were admitted to the study of the unpleasant Latin teacher.
“I did, but I have no desire to see this young man!” and he glared at Tom. “I demand that he withdraw at once.”
“And I refuse!” exclaimed Tom. “I am here to represent Mr. Bennington, as – er – a sort of counsel.”
“Then he has told you of his folly, eh?” sneered the professor. “There is no longer need for me to keep quiet about it. Are you ready to pay that note, Bennington, or shall I inform your father about your debts of honor? Remember I came into possession of the note honestly, as the third party, and the law will recognize my claim. You are not a minor, and you can not plead that. I bought the note from the student to whom you gave it. Now, are you ready to pay, or shall I expose you?”
“I am not going to pay,” said Bruce, quietly.
“Then I’ll disgrace you!” stormed Mr. Skeel.
“Have you the note in question?” asked Tom, quietly.
“Yes, but what is that to you? I can produce it when the time comes,” and the professor tapped a black wallet lying on the table before him. It was the one Tom had found and returned.
“You need not trouble,” said our hero quietly. “We can produce the note now. Here it is – the forged note!” and he held it in view, but safely out of reach of the professor, who had sprung to his feet in rage and amazement.
“Wha – what!” he cried. “Where – where did you get that?”
Hurriedly, and with trembling hands, he began searching through the wallet.
“It was there – it’s here now,” said Tom, quietly. “And if you make any more threats, or attempt in any way to annoy my friend here, I shall lay the whole matter before Doctor Meredith,” went on the calm Freshman. “I don’t know but it is my duty to do it anyhow,” he added. “Forging notes and names is a serious crime.”
Professor Skeel sank back in his chair, his face the color of chalk. His lips moved, but, for a moment, no sound came forth. Then he hoarsely whispered:
“Don’t – don’t expose me – I – I’ll apologize. It was all – all a mistake. I – I – !”
He faltered, and Tom, not wishing to prolong the unpleasant scene, said to Bruce:
“Come.”
The two walked out, silently, Tom handing the forged note to his friend. No one had a claim on him now.
“Tom Fairfield, you have saved me from disgrace!” said Bruce feelingly, and the two clasped hands in a firm grip.
