Kitabı oku: «The Mark of the Knife», sayfa 8

The next event in this struggle between the red and the purple was a kick from behind the goal line by Neil Durant, – the longest punt that had ever been seen on the Ridgley field. It flew for sixty yards, went over the head of the Jefferson quarter and rolled down the field end over end. The purple player finally overtook it and attempted to recover the lost ground, but Ned Stillson checked his career and Jefferson lined up on her own thirty-yard line. She bravely attempted to repeat her heartbreaking advance and gained a first down; but the Ridgley team suddenly became an impenetrable barrier. A punt a moment later fell into the arms of Teeny-bits, who carried it back fifteen yards to his own forty-yard line.

As the teams lined up Neil Durant said, loud enough for the whole two elevens to hear, "Now comes our turn," and the fight for a decision began anew. Three substitutes came in now to bolster the Jefferson line, and Coach Murray sent in two Ridgley players to take the place of the left tackle and the right end, who were evidently pretty far gone.

In eight plays Ridgley advanced the ball thirty-five yards with Teeny-bits figuring in two, Stillson in two and Neil Durant in four. The captain then made a plunge through center and before he was stopped had planted the ball on Jefferson's eight-yard line. Teeny-bits tried to squirm through the purple line but was thrown back. Stillson gained two yards and Dean, who had reserved his captain for the final efforts, then gave the signal that called upon the full-back to carry the ball. Neil went into the line as if he had been hurled from a catapult. He dove into the opening that Tom Curwood, with a last burst of desperate strength, had made, took three steps and was astride the goal line. Norris made the tackle, but he was an instant too late; the big captain of the Ridgley team fell across the line and hugged the leather oval close to the brown earth while pandemonium reigned and the members of the red team hurled their headgears into the air.

Neil limped when he got to his feet and motioned to Tom Curwood to make the kick. Big Tom wobbled out in front of the goal posts and tried his best to add a point for the glory of Ridgley, but his foot wavered and the ball flew to the left of the goal posts. On the Scoreboard the figures remained: Ridgley 20 – Jefferson 14.

The kick-off, two or three plays, – and then the timekeeper blew his piping note which brought to an end the struggle that was the true climax of all the games that had been played by the red and the purple since one school had stood on the hill above the town of Hamilton and another school had stood among the elms that sheltered the sons of Jefferson.

CHAPTER X
AT LINCOLN HALL

For a few seconds after the game ceased members of the two elevens sat or lay in the positions that they had occupied when the whistle had announced the expiration of time. They felt somewhat dazed, – on the one side overwhelmed with the wonderful thought that victory was theirs; on the other stunned with the bewildering thought that the impossible had happened, bringing defeat and disappointment.

Teeny-bits felt as if he wanted to rest where he had fallen in the last scrimmage with his body against the brown earth and let the happiness of victory sink in slowly, but suddenly he was aware that a howling mob had descended from the stands, that the members of the Ridgley team were surrounded by frenzied schoolmates who were insisting on lifting them up on their shoulders and carrying them off the field. He saw Neil Durant struggling in the grasp of half a dozen yelling Ridgleyites and the next moment felt himself lifted bodily and carried forward jerkily. He tried to resist but did not have the strength; and so he let them raise him up and transport him where they wished. It was a queer sight that met his eyes as he looked round him and saw his team-mates' heads and shoulders bobbing up and down above the milling crowd.

Never had Ridgley enjoyed a triumph more. Old-timers and young fellows alike were joining in the snake dance. Old Jerry, the janitor, was there prancing about in a comical, stiff-legged way; Mr. Stevens and half the faculty were there and every member of the school, while mothers, sisters and friends looked down from the stands and wished that they too might join the whirling mob.

The members of the team finally escaped from those who wished to honor them and made their way to the locker building where they sat and talked for a few minutes, regained their breath, rubbed their bruises and looked each other over. Outside they could hear the howling of the paraders and the booming of the bass drum as a line was being formed to march from the field to the school.

Meanwhile the Jefferson team, occupying another part of the locker building, was making ready to leave. In the shower-bath room the members of the two teams came together and exchanged such words as befit losers and winners when the fight has been fair and square and fast from beginning to end. While Neil Durant was dressing, Norris came over and held out his hand.

"Neil," said the captain of the Jefferson team, "I didn't believe that you could get away with it and I want to tell you that I think you have a great team. I never played against an eleven that could begin to equal it."

It was not easy for the Jefferson captain to say those words and it was not easy for Neil to reply.

"Oh," said the Ridgley captain, "I guess the breaks came our way. I feel as if I had been playing against a bunch of Bengal tigers. If we ever played again you'd probably trim the life out of us."

"I'd like to meet that little chap who played left-half for you," said Norris. "I never quite saw his equal."

Neil Durant called Teeny-bits, and the half-back shook hands with the captain of the Jefferson eleven.

"When you came on the field," said Norris, "I said to myself, 'I guess we can stop that fellow all right,' but before we got through I dreaded to see the quarter pass you the ball."

Teeny-bits did not know what to say, but he laughed and looked the big fellow in the eyes and remarked that he had had a "lot of luck" and that every time he tried to tackle Norris he felt as if he were trying to hold up a steam engine.

"Well," said Norris, "it's all over and I wish I were going to see more of you fellows. Why don't you come down to see me, Neil, and renew old times, and bring Holbrook along?"

After he was gone Teeny-bits turned to Neil and said, "I call that one fine fellow. He ought to have come to Ridgley."

According to its immemorial custom the Ridgley team, whether or not it was victorious in the struggle with its ancient rival, met in Lincoln Hall for a banquet a few hours after the close of the game. On this night while the rest of the school was busily engaged in heaping up piles of wood, rubbish, barrels and every imaginable kind of inflammable material, the members of the team gathered to discuss the victory and to hear the speeches that Coach Murray, as toastmaster, called for with the voice of authority. Any member of the eleven whom Mr. Murray singled out knew that it was his duty to get up on his feet and attempt to make a speech, although it probably was a much more difficult thing for him to do than to break through the Jefferson line.

Neil Durant had his say and thanked the members of the eleven for their loyalty and courage in a way that made them feel more than ever that he was the best captain in all the history of Ridgley football. Ned Stillson tried to keep out of sight by slumping down in his seat and getting behind big Tom Curwood, but Coach Murray singled him out and ordered him to stand up and make a speech. Every one laughed at Ned, and big Tom Curwood thought that the right half-back's attempt at oratory was so funny that he laughed louder than any one else until he heard Coach Murray's fatal words: "All right, Tom, you're next!" whereupon his features "froze" in a look of embarrassment. The roar that went up when Tom's face became suffused with red nearly caused the big center to claw his way out of the room and escape to the outer air. He cleared his throat two or three times and then, much to the surprise of every one, went through the ordeal as if he had prepared his speech hours in advance.

"I want to tell you fellows," said big Tom, "that I was scared pink, blue and green when that game started – those Jefferson linesmen and those husky back-field runners of theirs looked so fierce. I really wasn't afraid of them but I was afraid of the thought that we were going to get licked. What really woke me up and made me feel that those fellows couldn't do a thing to us was to see the way Neil Durant and young Teeny-bits got going. I want to tell you that when I saw the captain go larruping into that bunch and when I heard the thump that Norris made when Teeny-bits brought him down I said to myself that I ought to be in a nursery for infants if I couldn't do a little rampaging on my own account. I know I didn't do a thing except let 'em walk over me, but I wasn't scared after that first minute and I knew that we couldn't lose if Neil and Teeny-bits didn't get laid out."

To Teeny-bits it was a surprise to hear his name linked in this way with that of his captain. In his own opinion he had, aside from the one fortunate play in which he had crossed the Jefferson goal line, contributed very little to the Ridgley victory, but as the evening went on and one player after another joined his name with that of Neil Durant, he saw that these big fellows with whom he had been so closely associated during the past few weeks felt, for some miraculous reason, that he had helped them to maintain their spirit and to carry the fight to Jefferson.

When it came Teeny-bits' turn, Coach Murray said: "We'll now hear from the chap who nearly gave us nervous prostration by forgetting that Ridgley was going to play a little game of football to-day."

As Teeny-bits stood up he thought of telling the members of the team why he had been late to the game, but he instantly decided that it was better to make his explanation alone to Neil Durant or the coach. He merely said:

"I had a pretty good reason for not getting to the field before I did, – I am going to tell Mr. Murray and Neil about it later. I haven't much to say regarding the game except that I knew we could win because we had the spirit to do it and because Neil was showing us the way all the time. To play on the eleven which beat a team that fought as hard and as clean as the Jefferson crowd is an honor that makes me dizzy. I began to dream about it a few weeks ago; now that it's come true I can hardly believe it."

Teeny-bits sat down and a few moments later the balloting began to elect a new captain for the Ridgley team. It was Neil Durant's last year and the big leader of the red eleven, before starting the procedure that would result in the choosing of his successor, said to his team-mates:

"It is our custom, as you all know, to choose a football captain at the dinner following the Jefferson game. It has always been done without nominations – simply by balloting. I'll pass around these slips of paper and I want you to write on them the name of the man who in your opinion, regardless of friendship, will make the leader who will best carry on Ridgley football tradition."

All of the members of the team knew that this was coming, of course, and they took it solemnly and in silence. There were no suggestions passed from one to another; each received a paper from the captain, wrote down a name and returned the folded slip to Neil, who made a second round of the big table. The captain turned the ballots over to the coach who quickly unfolded and counted them. When he was through, of the fifteen ballots – one for each member of the team who had played in the big game – fourteen were piled in front of his right hand and one remained in front of his left hand. He whispered a word to Neil Durant who immediately got to his feet and said:

"Fellows, you have elected a real leader; one who has grit and spirit and who always thinks of the team before he thinks of himself, a fellow who does much and says little; Teeny-bits Holbrook is the captain of the Ridgley eleven. In view of the fact that he is the only one here who voted for some one else we'll call it a unanimous election."

Teeny-bits looked from one face to another with such an expression of bewilderment and astonishment that every one knew that he was dazed with surprise. They were all looking at him and he realized that they counted on him to say something. He got up and attempted to fulfil their expectations but he never was quite sure what he said, although he knew that they cheered and yelled and that presently he sat down. Within a few minutes Coach Murray brought the banquet to a close and they all went out to watch the celebration which was already well under way.

The band that had done almost continuous service during the afternoon had been retained and was now engaged in booming out – somewhat raucously and discordantly but nevertheless effectively – the Ridgley songs, principally the Ridgley victory song. Above the din sounded the boom, boom of the bass drum – not always in time with the music – and the members of the team discovered that Snubby Turner had persuaded the "artist" who wielded the padded sticks to relinquish his noise-producing instruments and that Snubby, at the head of the band, was drumming away to his heart's content and every few seconds giving voice to a yell that expressed his supreme happiness in the outcome of the afternoon's struggle. Every one laughed at Snubby and felt himself inspired by the example to yell louder and contribute with more abandon to the demonstration around the fire.

As Teeny-bits looked at Snubby, he said to himself again that it was impossible that this genial and loyal son of Ridgley was guilty of stealing from members of the school or being in any way connected with the incidents that had contributed to his own former unhappiness. He made up his mind that he would, within the next twenty-four hours, have a talk with Snubby and attempt to arrive at an explanation of the mysterious events which were still puzzling his mind.

Until midnight the red sparks mounted above the tops of the Ridgley maples, – mounted until they seemed to join with the stars that on this crisp autumn night looked down from clear skies upon the scene of revelry.

Only two members of Ridgley School were absent from the celebration and no one at the time missed them, – Tracey Campbell, substitute left half-back of the football team, and Bassett, the self-named Western Whirlwind.

Parades and speeches and cheering, torchlight wavering against the white buildings, huge banners held aloft with the stirring figures, 20 to 14, emblazoned in red upon them, and then gradually as the night grew old, a lessening of sound and a dimming of light, – that was the way of Ridgley's festivity. Finally the members of the school made their way back to the white dormitories; the great day was over; the pleasure that remained was the pleasure of retrospection, of thinking over each detail of the victory, of re-living the struggle and of reading the accounts of the game in the newspapers. In those papers the sons of Ridgley were destined to find not only the glowing account of the game, which they knew would greet their eyes, but also news of a startling and unexpected nature.

CHAPTER XI
MYSTERIES IN PART EXPLAINED

On the morning following the Jefferson game, Ridgley School, somewhat stiff after the strenuous hours of struggle and victory, but feeling utterly contented with the world and more than ever convinced that there was no school quite like the one that stood on the hill among the maples, awoke and prepared to settle itself leisurely to the enjoyment of glorious memories. The first person who opened a newspaper intended to undergo the pleasant experience of allowing the lines of printed words to recall to mind the deathless moments of Ridgley accomplishment and triumph. After his eyes had taken in the headlines that announced the victory of the red, however, they were arrested by heavy type that announced a tragedy. Two members of the school had been the victims of an accident and one of them had lost his life. The reporters' story of the occurrence read as follows:

"On Saturday afternoon while Ridgley was earning its triumph over Jefferson and while the sounds of cheering echoed across the field, death came to one member of the school and serious injury to another. No one witnessed the tragedy. Mr. Osborne Murchie, while driving along the State road from Greensboro to Springfield yesterday at about three o'clock, came upon a seven-passenger car which had crashed through the railing and had rolled down the embankment at the beginning of Hairpin Turn and lay at the bottom of the gulch in a demolished condition, with two young men pinned beneath the wreck. With the aid of a friend who accompanied him, Mr. Murchie pried up the car and removed from beneath it the dead body of a young man which was later identified as that of J. M. Bassett, a student at Ridgley, whose home is in Denver, Colorado. The other young man, Tracey Campbell, son of the prominent leather dealer, who was unconscious and suffering from severe injuries, was conveyed to the hospital at Greensboro, where it is said that he has a fair chance of recovery.

"There are certain matters in regard to the tragedy that have not yet been explained: first, why on this day when all members of the school were attending the game at Ridgley Field were these two students driving away from the school? No one has been able to tell where the young men were going or how the accident occurred. The assumption is that while traveling at high speed they attempted to take the sharp turn too swiftly. The machine, which was wrecked beyond repair, belonged to the father of Tracey Campbell."

The news flew from room to room, from dormitory to dormitory, with the rapidity of wireless. It was as if the story had suddenly been blazoned across the clear November sky above the Ridgley campus; in one moment, it seemed, the whole school knew that Whirlwind Bassett had come to his end under tragic circumstances and that Tracey Campbell was lying in the Greensboro hospital with an even chance of recovery. It was difficult at first for many a member of Ridgley School to believe that the tragic news was true, – so vivid is life, so unreal seems death. They could not quite imagine Bassett – Whirlwind Bassett – lying dead out there at the bottom of Hairpin Gulch.

Certain incidents which previously had seemed quite unworthy of attention now assumed proportions of importance. A third-year student named Gilmore who had sat in the Ridgley stands beside Bassett recollected that the self-styled "Whirlwind" had risen from his seat at the start of the game, had made his way out of the stands and had not returned. Fred Harper and one or two others of the Ridgley football substitutes remembered that Campbell, after coming off the field when Teeny-bits had arrived, had slipped out through the opening under the stands and had not returned. Most of the members of the squad remembered that Campbell had not appeared at the locker building during the rest-period between the halves and recollected that it had occurred to them that he was "playing baby" because of the fact that he had lost his chance to start the game. There seemed to be no sufficient explanation, however, of the simultaneous exit of Bassett and Campbell. The last person who had seen them, according to rumor, was one of the ticket-takers at the field-gates who said that just after the game began he caught a glimpse of Campbell driving his father's big car down the street toward Hamilton with some one beside him in the front seat.

To certain members of Ridgley School the tragedy served as a last link in a chain of circumstantial evidence that had gradually been involving Campbell and Bassett. Among those persons were Neil Durant and Snubby Turner.

On the previous evening Teeny-bits Holbrook had not been so absorbed in the celebration that he had not found time to say to the captain and the coach what he had in his mind. While the sounds of the revelers still rose over the campus the three had gone into Neil Durant's room, and there Teeny-bits had told of the false telephone message, of the struggle in the road, of how his unknown assailants had carried him away and kept him prisoner, of his fight to escape, of the strange action of his Chinese captors when they discovered the mark of the knife, of his escape and finally of his return to the Holbrook home and his long sleep.

"It sounds like a pretty wild story, I know," he had said to his two friends, "but it's true, every word of it, and I don't know why in the world it all happened or whatever made those Chinamen let me go when they saw my birthmark."

Coach Murray and Neil Durant had readily admitted that they thought it was an extraordinary story but the idea did not enter their minds that it was not true in every detail, for they knew that what Teeny-bits Holbrook said could be relied upon to the minutest detail. For half an hour they sat talking it over, suggesting possible motives and trying to fathom the meaning of the mystery. Two things Teeny-bits did not mention: the incident of finding Snubby Turner breaking into Campbell's room and the accusatory letter that had led to the discovery of the stolen loot. Those things, he felt, were matters not to be discussed even with two such good friends as Mr. Murray and Neil Durant. There was one person, however, with whom he wished to discuss that phase of the strange circumstances in which he had become involved; he had already made up his mind that very few hours should pass before he would have a heart-to-heart talk with Snubby Turner. He was weary, however – bone and muscle and brain weary – and as the sounds of the celebration diminished he mounted the stairs to his room for a well-earned sleep.

In the morning Teeny-bits went to see Snubby Turner early, – before the newspapers brought the first information of the tragedy. Snubby, still in his pyjamas, let the new captain of the Ridgley eleven into his room and blinked happily at his visitor.

"Oh, what a day, and oh, what a night!" he said. "It was the best thing that ever happened and I'm glad I didn't miss it." Then genial Snubby held out his hand to Teeny-bits and added: "Ridgley owes you a lot and I'm mighty glad that the fellows made you captain. Every one says that you're the man for the job."

Teeny-bits was embarrassed by Snubby's words, for they made it all the more difficult to say what was in his mind.

"Thanks, Snubby," he said, and paused, – "I came down here because I wanted to ask you a question that has been bothering me for nearly a week. You remember last Monday night when we had the mass meeting?"

A queer look came over Snubby's face. "Yes, I remember that night all right."

"Well," said Teeny-bits, "you know the fellows got me up on the platform and made me say something, and then, instead of sitting down, I went out and started to come back to the dormitory. That was about nine o'clock and no one was stirring on the campus because all the fellows had gone to the mass meeting."

Teeny-bits was silent for a moment as if waiting for Snubby to say something, but Snubby only continued to look at him with the same queer expression of expectation that had come into his face at first mention of the mass meeting.

"Well," continued Teeny-bits, "you know, something happened. I was coming along pretty close to Gannett Hall when I saw some one sliding down a fire-escape rope and getting into Campbell's window. Of course, that made me think of the things that had been stolen from the fellows' rooms and so I stepped into the bushes out there behind the dormitory and waited until the fellow came out and I saw who it was."

"Yes," cried Snubby, whose face had suddenly become red, "and of course you've been thinking all this time that I was the one who got away with the money and things?"

"No!" said Teeny-bits. "There's where you're wrong; I haven't been thinking any such thing. I know that there's some other explanation and I want you to give it to me, Snubby, – for more reasons than one. I'll tell you something that I'm sure you don't know. That same night, Doctor Wells called me over to his office and showed me a letter that some one had written, saying that I was the one who had stolen the things."

"That you were the one?" echoed Snubby with a look of amazement.

"Yes," declared Teeny-bits, "that I was the one, and of course I told Doctor Wells that it wasn't true and he believed me, but it said in that letter that the things were hidden under the floor of my closet and when Doctor Wells and I went up to my room after the lights were out in the dormitories, we found all that stuff, including Harper's sailing trophy, Ned's gold knife, your watch and all the other trinkets that anybody has missed ever since things began to disappear!"

"But that didn't make Doctor Wells believe that you had stolen the stuff!" cried Snubby. "He wouldn't think just because – "

"But something else happened, too," said Teeny-bits. "When I was crouching in the bushes behind the dormitory and just after you had crawled back into your room that night, Mr. Stevens came along and found me there, and I couldn't make any explanation, you know, and so I don't see how they could help thinking that I did it – because Doctor Wells always talks things over with Mr. Stevens."

"Why didn't you tell them that you had seen me coming down that fire-escape?" demanded Snubby.

"You know why I didn't do that," Teeny-bits replied, "and you know that I knew you were all right, but for heaven's sake tell me what it's all about, because I want to get this mystery out of my mind and have it over with."

"I can see the whole thing as clear as crystal now!" exclaimed Snubby, "but I guess I was an awful fool to take such a chance in breaking into Campbell's room. It was Campbell and Bassett that I was after. Old Jerry put me wise to something he had overheard them say, and, like a chump, I was trying to do a little private detective work because I wanted to get back my watch and all those other things. Now this is all I know about it and I am terribly sorry that I went butting into things and was responsible for bringing trouble to you – "

Snubby Turner was not destined to continue his explanation at that moment, for before he had time to go on with what he had in mind the sound of excited exclamations came from the corridor, and some one, after knocking loudly on the door, turned the knob and thrust in his head. Teeny-bits and Snubby saw that it was Fred Harper.

"Have you heard the news?" the newcomer cried. "Bassett's been killed and Campbell's in the hospital pretty nearly done for, too! It's in the newspapers. Look here!"

Behind Fred Harper were half a dozen other Ridgleyites, and Snubby Turner's room quickly became crowded with members of the school whose attention had been attracted by the exclamations. Meanwhile Snubby Turner slipped out of the room and ran down to the basement to consult Jerry, the janitor's assistant; he remained in the old fellow's box-like room for several minutes.

The result of the conversation that went on between them was that old Jerry pulled a celluloid collar out of a pasteboard box and announced gruffly and with unmistakable determination that he was "goin' over to see the Doctor." It was not often that old Jerry adorned his neck in any manner, and now he felt that it was entirely unnecessary to put on a tie. The shining collar itself fastened with a button which, if not gold at least had the appearance of the precious metal, was evidence that he was bound upon an important mission and when he arrived at Doctor Wells' house and rang the door bell his fearsome features wore such a murderous expression that the maid who came in answer to his summons was startled.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"I wanter see the Doctor!" said Jerry and glowered so fiercely that the girl started to close the door.

With surprising agility the old man thrust his foot into the crack and when the girl said: "The Doctor is very busy; he's received some bad news and he won't want to talk with you," old Jerry repeated: "I wanter see the Doctor!" and added an imperative "Now!" which caused the girl to come to the conclusion that here was a determined and desperate man. She announced to Doctor Wells that "that terrible looking old janitor" was outside and that he was "bound to come in."

Doctor Wells immediately came out to the door and ushered old Jerry into his office where the grizzled janitor's assistant sat on the edge of one of the big chairs and, holding his hat in his hand, announced to the head of the school the following:

"I got my ijeers and they ain't no common ijeers either, Doctor."

"I know you have, Jerry," said Doctor Wells, who from twenty years' acquaintance with the old-timer was aware that no small matter had induced him to invade what he had always considered as no less than sacred territory.

"Yes," said Jerry, "ijeers are common until they get backed up by facts, Doctor, and then they's uncommon. The boys was tellin' me the news about Bassett and Campbell. I says I knew them birds wouldn't come to no good end. I ain't one to talk agin one of them as has passed on, Doctor, but them was bad birds. Here's how I come to know it. I got eyes and ears sharper'n Tophet, even if I be nigh on to seventy and perhaps a little more, and I heard things along back that sot me to suspicionin' them two, and I kind o' says to myself it was my duty to the school to detect around a mite and find out what was goin' on. They didn't like Teeny-bits at all – not at all. They had it in for Teeny-bits (for some reason old Jerry added an l to Findley Holbrook's nickname) from the very start, and one night when I was standin' in a dark corner of the corridor I heared Bassett sayin' he'd get even with him. And then after the money and contraptions begun to disappear from the rooms I overheared 'em talkin' again and what they says, Doctor, was this: 'I got 'em in there all right. Now all you need to do is write the letter on your father's typewriter. No one'll know.'"