"A touchdown for Lemington!"

"That's the way to do it!"

"Now, Higgins, make it a goal!"

Amid a wild cheering, the pigskin was brought out for the kick, and the goal was made.

"That's the way to do it!"

"Now for another touchdown!"

Again the pigskin was brought into play. But while it was still near the center of the field the whistle blew and the first half of the game came to an end.

Score: Lemington 6, Oak Hall 0.

It must be confessed that it was a sorry-looking eleven that straggled into the Oak Hall dressing-room to discuss the situation.

"You want more snap!" cried John Rand, the manager.

"They put up a trick on us!" grumbled Nat. "They got that touchdown by a fluke."

"Well, I wish we could make one in the same way," retorted Rand. Since being elected manager, he had had anything but an easy task of it to make the eleven pull together. Some of the old players wanted Dave, Roger, Phil, and the others back, and threatened to leave unless a change was made.

"This looks as if Oak Hall was out of it," whispered Phil to his chums, during the intermission.

"Oh, I don't know," returned Dave. "A touchdown and a goal isn't such a wonderful lead."

At the beginning of the second half it was seen that Guy Frapley and his fellow-players were determined to do something if they could. But they were excited and wild, and the captain could do little to hold them in. Several times they got confused on the signals, and once one of the new ends lost the ball on a fumble that looked almost childish. Inside of ten minutes, amid a mad yelling from the Lemington supporters, the ball was forced over the Oak Hall line for another touchdown, and another goal was kicked. Then, five minutes later, came a goal from the field.

"Hurrah! That's the way to do it!" yelled a Lemington supporter.

"Fifteen to nothing!" cried another. "Thought Oak Hall knew how to play football!"

"They ought to play some primary school kids!"

"You shut up!" screamed Nat Poole, in sudden rage. "We know what we are doing!"

"You ought to be an ice-man,—you're slow enough," retorted the Lemingtonite, and this brought forth a laugh, and made Nat madder than ever.

Again the ball was placed in play, and this time Oak Hall did all it could to hold its own. But it was of no avail. Lemington carried the air of victory with it, and its confidence could not be withstood. Again the ball was shoved over the line for a touchdown, and again the goal was kicked, amid a cheering that was deafening.

"It's a slaughter!" murmured Roger.

"I am afraid so," answered Dave. "Too bad! I am sorry for the school!"

"So am I," said the senator's son, and Phil and Ben nodded gravely.

The last five minutes of the game only served to "rub it in," as Shadow expressed it, for Lemington scored again, this time, however, failing to kick the goal. When the whistle blew the pigskin was on the Oak Hall twenty-five yard line.

Final score: Lemington 26, Oak Hall 0.

It is perhaps needless to state that the local supporters yelled and cheered, and blew their horns, and clacked their rattles until they were exhausted. It was a great victory, for in the past Oak Hall had been a formidable rival on the gridiron. The eleven cheered for Oak Hall, and were cheered in return; and then the visitors got out of sight as quickly as possible.

"A bitter defeat truly," said Doctor Clay, while driving back to the school. "Our boys did not seem to play together at all."

"It was very ragged work," answered Andrew Dale. "But it is no more than I expected, from what I saw in the practice games. Our eleven will be able to do but little unless it improves wonderfully."

"I believe you, Dale. Don't you—ah—think they would do better if Porter and Morr and Lawrence were in the line-up?"

"I certainly do. But they have been voted out, so I was told."

"Ahem!" Doctor Clay grew thoughtful. "What does Mr. Dodsworth think about it?" The party he mentioned was the gymnastic teacher, who took quite an interest in football, although not officially.

"He thinks Porter, Morr, Lawrence, and Plum ought to be put back on the eleven. He says it is a shame that they were put off in the first place."

"I believe our school is to play Rockville Academy next."

"Yes, and I just got a message over the telephone that Rockville won from Elmwood this afternoon, twelve to four. I know Elmwood has a strong eleven, so Rockville must be extra good this season."

"Exactly so; and that means, if our eleven is not greatly strengthened before we meet Rockville, we shall suffer another defeat," responded the master of Oak Hall, rubbing his chin reflectively.

"More than likely, sir."

"Too bad! In these days some folks think football and baseball quite as important—ahem!—as—er—some studies. It is a wrong idea, assuredly,—yet I—ahem!—I think it would be a very good thing if we could show the world that our students can play football as well as do other things."

"Football is a great thing at Yale, Harvard, and Princeton, Doctor."

"Yes, indeed! I remember well how I used to witness those stirring games, and how I would yell with the rest. Why, Dale, one year we had a quarter-back that was a corker. They couldn't stop him! He got the pigskin and skinned down the field like a blue streak, and—but, ahem! that is past history now," finished the doctor, bringing himself back to his usual dignity. "But I must look into this football matter more closely," he added with a speculative sigh.

Poole, Frapley, and their crowd had arranged for a banquet that night, and many others of Oak Hall had gathered boxes and barrels for bonfires. The banquet was a tame affair, and not a single fire was lighted.

"We are having frost early this year," said Luke, dryly.

"Yes, it came on suddenly, this afternoon," added Shadow.

"I'll wager you will hear something drop in the football team before long," went on Luke. "The school won't stand for such work as we had to-day."

"Who is to blame?"

"Rand, Frapley, Bemis, and Nat Poole."

"Then they better resign."

"Just what I say."

During the evening the talk throughout the school was largely about the game, and nearly every player was severely criticised. It was agreed that Bemis had acted in a thoroughly unsportsmanlike manner, and he was told that he would have to resign, and he agreed to do so. It was also agreed by the students generally that of the new players, Guy Frapley had done the best work.

"Give him proper support and he would be all right," said Dave. "But, in my opinion, the eleven as it now stands will never win a victory."

"And that is what I think, too," added Roger.



CHAPTER XVII

REORGANIZING THE ELEVEN

On Monday morning the students of Oak Hall were treated to a surprise. Directly after chapel service Doctor Clay came forward to make an address. He first spoke about the good work that the pupils were, generally speaking, doing, and then branched off about the football game, and the poor exhibition made on the gridiron.

"In the past I have not thought it proper for the head of this institution to take part in your football and baseball games, contenting myself with giving you an instructor in the gymnasium alone," he continued. "But I find that these sports now play a more or less prominent part in all boarding schools and colleges, and that being so, I have thought it wise to embrace all field sports in the gymnasium department. Consequently, from to-day your football elevens, your baseball nines, and your track athletics, and in fact all your sports, will be held under the supervision and direction of Mr. Dodsworth, your gymnasium instructor. He will be assisted by Mr. Dale, who, as you all know, was once a leading college football and baseball player. These two gentlemen will aid you in reorganizing your football eleven, and will do all in their power to give to Oak Hall the victories you all desire."

This announcement came as a bombshell to Rand, Frapley, Poole, and their cohorts, and it was equally surprising to all of the others who had played on the eleven.

"That means a shaking-up for us all right," said one of the players. "I can see somebody getting fired already."

"Do you suppose they intend to take the management away from me and Rand?" demanded Frapley. "I don't think that is fair. Rand was made manager by a popular vote."

"If they want me to resign, I'll do it," snapped the manager. He had been so severely criticised that he was growing tired of it.

"It's a shame that we can't run our club to suit ourselves," grumbled Nat Poole. "If the teachers are going to do it, maybe they had better do the playing too."

"Well, they'd play a heap sight better than you did, Nat," was the remark of another student.

Doctor Clay's announcement created such a stir that the students could think of little else during the day. All felt that from henceforth football, baseball, and track athletics would become a regular part of the institution.

In the afternoon a notice was posted up in the Hall and in the gymnasium, calling a special meeting of all who were interested in the football organization. The meeting was called for Tuesday afternoon at four o'clock, and the call was signed by Mr. Dodsworth and Mr. Dale.

"They are not going to let any grass grow under their feet," remarked the senator's son, as he and Dave read the notice.

"Shall you go to the meeting, Roger?"

"Of course. And you must go, too, Dave. I know Mr. Dale and Mr. Dodsworth want all the fellows to be there."

Following the posting of the notice came word that Rand had resigned the management of the eleven, and then came another notice calling for the election of a new manager.

"Let us put up Henry Fordham again," suggested Phil. "That is, if he is willing to run."

The football meeting was attended by nearly every student of Oak Hall, the gymnasium meeting room being literally packed. The only youth who was absent was John Rand.

Mr. Dale called the meeting to order, and made a neat speech, in which he advised the lads to act soberly and accordingly to their best judgment. He said the football game with Lemington had proved a great disappointment, and he sincerely trusted that the reorganized eleven would be able to lead the school to nothing but victories. He added that as Rand had resigned, they would first proceed to the election of a new manager, and then the rearranging of the eleven would be begun under the direction of Mr. Dodsworth and himself.

The teacher had scarcely finished his speech when Guy Frapley was on his feet.

"Mr. Dale, I wish to say something," he almost shouted. "As everybody here knows, I am the captain of the football eleven. What I want to know is, whether I am to be the captain of the eleven or not. If I am to be nothing but a figurehead, why, I'd rather get out."

It was an aggressive, almost brutal, manner of expressing himself, and it produced an uproar.

"Put him out!"

"Make him resign!"

"Tell him he has got to behave himself and make good!"

"Boys! Young gentlemen! We must have quietness!" cried Andrew Dale, raising his hand. And then he rapped for order.

"I'll resign!" shouted Guy Frapley, when he could be heard. "I don't want anything more to do with the old team, anyway!" And in a rage he forced his way out of the gymnasium. Several of his friends tried to get him to return, but without avail.

The departure of Frapley brought about a semblance of order, and presently the gymnasium instructor got up to talk. What he said was directly to the point. He said that he had prepared a list of names of former football players of Oak Hall, with a record of the work of each individual. This list would be used in making up the reorganized team.

"That's the talk!" cried one student. "That's the common-sense way of going at it."

"Merit is what counts every time," added another.

When a vote was taken for a new manager, Henry Fordham was elected almost unanimously. In accepting, the new manager stated that he was glad he was going to have the assistance of Mr. Dale and Mr. Dodsworth, and he hoped that from now on the club would pull together and pile up nothing but victories. This speech was well received and loudly applauded.

Then the list of football players of past seasons was read. Dave was placed at the top of the list, with Phil, Plum, Roger, and Sam following in the order named. Nat Poole's name was sixteenth, much to his disgust.

"I suppose that means that I can't play on the eleven," he growled.

"You may become a substitute," answered Mr. Dodsworth.

"Not much! If I can't play on the eleven, I know what I'll do—I'll pack my trunk and go home!"

"Do it right away!" shouted a voice from the rear of the room.

"You'll never be missed, Poole," added another.

"All right, I'll leave!" shouted Poole, purple with rage, and then he left the meeting as abruptly as Guy Frapley had done. At the door he shook his fist at the crowd. "You just wait—I'll fix Oak Hall for this!" he added, sourly.

"How foolish!" murmured Luke. "Nat will never make any friends by acting like that."

"Do you think he'll leave Oak Hall?" questioned another boy.

"Perhaps,—if his father will let him."

Following the departure of Nat Poole came the reorganizing of the football eleven. Dave was placed in the position he had occupied the year before, and Phil, Roger, Sam, and Plum followed. Of those who had played against Lemington only five were retained—those who had been on the eleven one and two years previous. All the other players were told they would have to enter the scrub team, for a try-out for the substitute bench.

It filled Dave's heart with pleasure to get back in his old position. He was unanimously chosen as captain of the eleven, and he called for some practice every afternoon that week,—a call that was indorsed by Mr. Dodsworth, Mr. Dale, and the new manager.

"We have got to get right down to business—if we want to beat Rockville," said Dave, to the others. "I understand they put up a stiff game with Elmwood. If we are beaten, all the fellows who were put off the eleven will have the laugh on us."

"We'll do our best," cried the senator's son.

"It's a good thing we organized the Old Guard," said Phil. "That kept us in fine condition."

Practice commenced in earnest the next day, and was kept up every afternoon, under the supervision of Mr. Dale and the gymnasium instructor. Mr. Dodsworth perfected the eleven in signal work, and Andrew Dale showed them how to work several trick plays used effectively by the college he had attended.

Many of the students wondered what Guy Frapley, Nat Poole, and John Rand would do. On the day following the reorganization of the football eleven, all three students sent telegrams to their parents, and received replies the next day. Rand and Frapley left Oak Hall, and announced that they were going to Rockville Military Academy. Nat Poole had wanted to go, too, but Aaron Poole would not permit it, for the reason that he had paid for Nat's board and tuition in advance, and he was not the man to sacrifice one cent by such a move. Later on he wrote a letter, stating that he didn't believe in any such foolishness as football anyway, and Nat had better settle down to his studies and get some good of the money that was being spent on him. This letter angered Nat exceedingly, but he could do nothing without his parent's consent, and so he settled down as best he could.

"I shouldn't wonder if Rand and Frapley become cronies of Merwell and Jasniff," said Dave to Phil. And so it proved,—the four became quite intimate, and all of them vowed that sooner or later they would "settle accounts" with Dave for the trouble he and his chums had caused them. The ringleader of the four was Nick Jasniff, and he resolved to do something that would put Dave in the deepest kind of disgrace. Not to expose himself, he matured his plans slowly and with great caution.

Although Dave was doing all in his power to make the football eleven a good one, he was not permitted to devote all his spare time to that organization. Oak Hall, as my old readers know, boasted of a secret organization known as the Gee Eyes, those words standing for the initials G and I, which in their turn stood for the words Guess It. Dave and his chums were all members of this society, which was kept up mainly for the fun of initiating new members.

"The Gee Eyes meet to-night, Dave," said Buster Beggs on Friday morning. "Big affair—initiation of six new members. You must be on hand."

"I think I had better go to bed—so as to be in good trim for the football game," answered Dave.

"Oh, no, you must come!" pleaded Buster. "Phil and Roger, and all the old crowd have promised to be there."

"Well, I'll be on hand if you'll promise not to keep us out after twelve o'clock, Buster. The eleven has got to get its sleep, remember that."

"All right, we'll try to cut it short," answered Buster Beggs, who, this term, was the leader of the society, or Right Honorable Muck-a-Muck, as he was called.

"What are you going to do?" questioned Dave.

"That's a secret, Dave. But it will make you laugh. We are going to initiate the whole six at one time."

"Very well, I'll be there."

"One thing more, Dave," went on Buster, in a low voice. "Keep this from Nat Poole."

"But he is a member," urged Dave. "He has a right to know."

"If he knew he'd tell on us sure—he is down on the whole crowd. We are going to drop him."

"I see. Well, you are leader this term, Buster, so do as you please," answered Dave, and walked off to one of his recitations. Then Buster hurried off in another direction.

As soon as the two students were gone a third boy tiptoed his way from behind a coat rack, where he had been in hiding. The lad was Nat Poole.

"I thought something was in the wind!" murmured Nat to himself. "I must find out just where they are going, and what they are going to do,—and then I'll let Doctor Clay know all about it. Maybe if Porter and his crowd are caught red-handed they'll be put in disgrace, and then they won't be able to play that game with Rockville!"



CHAPTER XVIII

AN INITIATION AND WHAT FOLLOWED

"Are we all ready?"

"We are."

"Then forward—and make as little noise as possible until we are out of hearing of the school."

The Gee Eyes had assembled at the boathouse, under the leadership of Buster Beggs and Ben Basswood. Three of the number had gone ahead, taking with them the six new students who were to be initiated.

The members of the society had with them their robes and other paraphernalia, consisting of boxlike headgear, stuffed clubs, wooden swords, squirt guns, and other articles too numerous to mention. They hurried off into the woods, and there donned the robes and headgear, and lit their lanterns, for the night promised to be dark.

"I hope nobody has found us out," ventured Roger. "We don't want to get caught at this." He had received an inkling of what was coming.

"Oh, I guess we are safe enough," answered Dave. "Murphy said he would let us in."

"Say, talking about being let in puts me in mind of a story," came from Shadow. "A man stayed out later nights than his wife liked. One night he didn't come home until very late, and he stood on the sidewalk, afraid to let himself in. Along came a friend and asked him what he was doing. 'Please ring the bell and see if my wife is home,' said the man. So the friend rang the bell, and the next instant the door opened, and he got a broom over his head. 'Is she in?' asked the man on the sidewalk. 'Sure she is,' answered his friend. 'Go right in and you'll get a warm welcome!'" And at this story there was a general snicker.

A few minutes' walk brought the members of the Gee Eyes to a clearing in the woods. Here several lanterns had been hung up, casting a weird light of red, blue, and green. Those to be initiated were present, and surrounding them in a big circle, the members of the society commenced to chant:

"Flabboola! flabboola! See the victims, see! Flabboola! flabboola! Victim, bend your knee! Sinky panky! flabboola! Fall upon the ground! Sinky panky! flabboola! Sing without a sound!"

And then came a wild dancing around the victims, with a brandishing of clubs and swords.

"Hi! don't stab me!" roared one, as a sword was thrust suddenly in the direction of his stomach.

"Shut up!" murmured the victim next to him. "They won't hurt you."

"The Right Honorable Lord of the Reservoir will warm up the victims' backbones!" sang out Buster, in a hoarse bass voice. And then Shadow Hamilton, in his disguise, crept behind the nearest victim, and sent a stream of ice-water from a squirt-gun down the fellow's neck.

"Wow! wow!" yelled the student, trying to break away from the pair who held him. "Crimps! but that's cold!"

"'Tis for thy good we do this to thee!" said Shadow, solemnly, and then the next victim was treated to a similar dose. He submitted quietly, and so did the next fellow, but the fourth broke away, and started off in the direction of the school.

"Hi, come back here!" yelled several. "Don't you want to become a member?"

"I—I guess I've changed my mind!" stammered the youth. "I—er—I can't stand cold baths, nohow. If you—Hello, what's this!" And of a sudden he pitched over some dark object, and went headlong.

"Ouch!" came in another voice. "Ouch! What do you mean by kicking me in the ribs?" And a groan of pain followed.

"Who is behind those bushes?" asked Dave.

"Must be a spy!" returned Phil.

"A spy! A spy! Capture him!"

"Don't let him get back to the school!"

On the instant there was great excitement, and fully a dozen members of the Gee Eyes rushed forward and caught hold of the escaping victim, and the fellow over whom he had stumbled. Both were dragged forward, and the light of a lantern was turned on the unknown.

"Why, it's Nat Poole!"

"He was spying on us!"

"Maybe he was going to report us!"

"You le—let go of me!" stammered Nat. He put his hand to his side. "That fellow half killed me!" And he gave another groan.

"What were you doing in the bushes?" demanded Ben, sternly.

"Me? Why—er—nothing."

"Yes, you were."

"I'll wager a button he was going to report us!" exclaimed another student.

"It ain't so!" whined Nat. "Ain't I got a right to be here? I'm a member."

"No, you are not—you've been cast out!" answered a deep bass voice.

"If he wants to be one of us, he's got to be initiated all over again!" said Phil, in a disguised voice. "What say, boys, shall we do it?"

"Yes! yes! Put him with the others!"

"Sure thing! Nat, you are just in time!"

"We'll give you an initiation you'll never forget, a regular three-ply, dyed in the wool, warranted storm-proof initiation," added Ben, in tragic tones.

"I don't want to be initiated again!" howled the money-lender's son. "I've had enough of this society. You let me go!"

"Not to-night!" was the firm answer, and much against his will Nat was forced to go along with the crowd; and thus his plan to find out what they were going to do, and then carry the news to Doctor Clay, was nipped in the bud.

"We were lucky to catch Nat," whispered Dave to Roger, as the whole crowd proceeded through the woods, led by Buster and Ben. "I am certain he was spying on us for no good purpose."

"Exactly, Dave, and we want to watch him right along," returned the senator's son. "First thing you know, he'll be giving our football signals and tricks away to Rockville and the other schools we are going to play."

Nat had been forced to join the other victims, and the seven were marched a distance of a quarter of a mile. The crowd came out on the bank of the river, at a spot where several ice-houses had recently been erected.

"Now, we'll give you the famous slide for life!" cried Buster, and pointed to the upper portion of one of the ice-houses, where a big wooden slide led downward into the Leming River.

"I can't stand cold water!" cried the victim who had previously tried to run away.

"'Twill do you a power of good!" answered Sam, in a deep voice.

"Say, you ain't going to dump me into the river from that thing!" roared Nat Poole. "I won't stand it!"

"Then sit down to it, Nat!" came a voice from the rear.

Of a sudden the seven victims were blindfolded. Several protested weakly, but the others kept silent, for they knew it would do no good to attempt to hold back; indeed, it might make matters worse. Yet nobody in that crowd wanted a ducking, for the water was cold, and they were quite a distance from the school.

Some narrow stairs led to the upper portion of the ice-houses, and blindfolded as they were, the victims were forced to mount these and were then taken to a room in the back of one of the buildings.

"Now for Number One!" sang out Buster, and one of the victims was rushed forward to a slide.

"Hope you can swim, Carson!" said one of the hazers.

"The water isn't over ten feet deep," said another.

"Swim hard and then you won't take cold," added a third.

"If you find yourself really drowning, yell for help," put in a fourth.

"I—er—I don't think this is quite fair——" commenced poor Carson, and then he was tripped flat on his back and sent downward with a plunge. "Oh!" he screamed, and then continued to go down, with great rapidity, for the slide had been looked over by the boys, and made as smooth as possible. He shut his mouth tightly, expecting every instant to strike the chilling waters, but of a sudden his feet struck a heap of sawdust, and into this he slid up to his knees. Then eager hands seized him, and the bandage was torn from his eyes. In the semi-darkness he saw that he had not come down the slide over the water, but down another, which ended in the sawdust pit of the ice-house. He looked decidedly sheepish.

"Have a fine swim, Carson?" asked one of his tormentors.

"What a sell!" muttered the victim. "But anyway, it's better than the river!" he added, with much satisfaction.

One after another the victims were sent down the wooden slide. Some came down silently, like martyrs, while others yelled in alarm. Nat Poole was the last to be brought forward. He was well blindfolded.

"Be careful, Nat!" cried one student, gravely. "Don't hit your head when you go down."

"And don't scratch yourself on any of the nails," added another.

"As soon as you hit the water somebody will haul you in with a boathook," came from a third.

"I—I don't want to slide into the water, I tell you!" screamed the money-lender's son. "I'll catch my death of cold!"

"You run all the way back to school and get into bed and you'll be all right!" said a fourth hazer.

"I—I can't swim very well! You let me go!" And now Nat was fairly whining.

"Can't do it, Nat! Here is where you get a first-class, A No. 1, bath!" was the cry, and then the victim was sent flat on his back on the wooden slide. He let up a shriek of agony, and another shriek as he commenced to slide down. Then he lost his nerve completely, and uttered yell after yell, only ending when he struck the sawdust with such force that he turned a complete somersault and got some sawdust in his mouth and nose.

"My, but he certainly knows how to scream!" remarked Dave, as he and the others rushed below, to join the crowd. "I hope he doesn't rouse the neighborhood."

When the cloth was removed from Nat's eyes, and he had a chance to see where he had landed, he was the maddest lad present. All the other victims were laughing at him, and the club members almost doubled up in their mirth.

"Think you're smart, don't you?" he snarled. "But you just wait!"

"Want more of the initiation?" demanded Buster.

"No, I don't! You let me go! I'm going back to the school!"

"So are we, Nat, and you'll go with us," answered Shadow. "Don't let him get away from us!" he whispered to his friends.

"Well, this winds up the initiation," said Buster, throwing off his headgear, a movement that was followed by the others. "You fellows are now full-fledged members of the Gee Eyes."

"And I'm glad it is over," answered one of the victims. "Say, but that was a dandy shoot the chutes!" he added, half in admiration.

"It is not quite as firm as it might be," said Dave. "It needs more bracing up on the sides. The carpenters aren't done, I suppose."

"I thought it was mighty shaky myself," put in Phil. "Why, once I thought it was going down with us."

"Oh, it's as sound as a dollar!" cried Shadow. "Of course, with such a crowd——"

Shadow did not finish, for from above the boys in the sawdust pit, there came a sudden ominous cracking. In the semi-darkness of the night they saw a brace snap in twain. Another brace quickly followed, and then the wooden slide commenced to sway from side to side.

"It's coming down!" yelled Roger, hoarsely. "Get out of here quick—unless you want to be killed!"



CHAPTER XIX

SNEAK AGAINST SNEAK

It was a time of extreme peril for the boys in the sawdust pit at the bottom of the wooden slide, and nobody realized this more thoroughly than did Dave. In some manner the wooden bracings had become loosened, and the ponderous slide was in danger of coming down with a mighty crash on their heads. If it did this, more than likely some of the lads would be seriously injured, if not killed.

"Jump from the pit!" yelled Dave, and caught Phil by one hand and Roger by the other. All made a wild scramble, kicking the sawdust in all directions.

"Let me get out of here!"

"Confound this robe, I'm all tangled up in it!"

"My foot is caught! Help me, won't you?"

Such were some of the cries that arose, as, in a bunch, the boys tried to get out of the sawdust pit. All succeeded but Buster Beggs, who, while on the rim of the pit, slipped and fell back,—just as another brace snapped, and the ponderous wooden slide sagged still more.

"Help me!" yelled Buster. "Don't leave me, fellows!"

"Here, give me your hand!" cried Dave, turning back, and as the hand was thrust towards him, he gave a jerk that brought Buster out in a hurry. By this time most of the boys had run to a safe distance, and Dave and Buster lost no time in following.

"All here?" demanded Ben. The lanterns had been left behind, so that they could see only with difficulty.

A rapid count was made, and it was learned that all were safe. One student had scratched his face, and another had wrenched his ankle, but in the excitement these minor injuries were scarcely noticed.

"Thank fortune we are out of that!" panted Phil.

"I'm mighty glad I wasn't killed," added Luke.

"I wonder if the slide is really coming down after all," remarked Sam. "It doesn't seem to be moving any more."

All peered forth in the semi-darkness at the big wooden affair. It had sagged in the middle, and the top had twisted several feet to one side. Another brace looked as if it was on the point of breaking and letting it down still further.

"Better get out of here," said Nat Poole. "If the owner of the ice-houses finds this out he'll make you pay for the busted slide."

"Well, I think we ought to pay for it, anyway," answered Dave, quickly. "We broke it."

"Huh! I wouldn't pay a cent unless I had to," grumbled the money-lender's son.

"What about our lanterns?" asked Roger.

"That's so!" exclaimed Ben. "They are all up in the ice-house, or down in the sawdust pit."

"We can't leave them there,—they may set fire to something," said Phil.

"We'll have to get them," decided Dave.

"Oh, but that's dangerous!" cried one of the students who had just been initiated. "Why, the slide might come down just as we were getting the lanterns!"

"Yes, and I don't want to be killed for the sake of four or five lanterns," added another.

"It's not a question of the worth of the lanterns," said Dave. "We mustn't leave them here because of the danger of fire. If we left them, and the ice-houses burnt down, we'd have a nice bill to pay!"

"Oh, don't croak so much!" growled Nat Poole. "I'm going back to school. It's cold here."

"You stay where you are, Nat!" cried Ben, catching him by the arm. "You'll go back with the rest of us, and not before."

With caution Dave, followed by Phil and Shadow, approached the ice-house, and climbed up one of the ladders nailed to the side of the building. Then they ventured out on a corner of the slide, and secured two of the lanterns.

"We'll have to go down part of the slide for that other," said the shipowner's son.

"No, don't do that, for your weight may bring the slide down," returned Dave. "I'll get a long stick and see if I can't get the lantern with that."

A stick was handy, and fixing a bent nail in the end, Dave reached down, and after a little trouble secured the lantern. Then the boys went below and secured the lanterns in the sawdust pit.

"Hi! what are you boys doing here?" demanded an unexpected voice from out of the darkness, and by the light of the lanterns the students saw a man approaching. He had a stick in one hand and an old-fashioned horse-pistol in the other.

"Who are you?" questioned Buster, as leader of the Gee Eyes.

"Who am I? I am Bill Cameron, the owner of these ice-houses, that's who I am! And I know you, in spite of them tomfoolery dresses you've got on. You're boys from Oak Hall."

"You've hit the nail on the head, Mr. Cameron!" cried Phil. "Glad to see you!" And he walked forward and held out his hand.

"Who be you?" demanded Bill Cameron, and peered at the shipowner's son curiously. "Well, I declare, if it ain't the young man as stopped the runaway hoss fer my wife! Glad to see you!" And the ice-house man shook hands cordially. "Up to some secret fun, I suppose."

"Yes, sir."

"I thought I heard a yellin' around the ice-houses, and I told my wife I'd dress and come over and see what it meant. Hope you ain't done no damage," the man continued, somewhat anxiously.

"We have done a little damage, I am afraid," answered Phil. "But we are willing to pay for it."

"What did ye do?"

In as few words as possible Phil and some of the others explained the situation. They were afraid Bill Cameron would be angry, but instead he broke into a laugh.

"Ain't it the greatest ever!" he cried. "You ain't done no damage at all. The carpenters put that wooden slide up wrong, and I told 'em they'd have to take it down, and they started to-day. That's what made them bracin's bust. The hull thing is comin' down,—so what you did don't hurt, nohow."

"I am very glad to hear that!" cried Phil, and the others said practically the same. Then they bade good-night to the ice-houses' owner, and hurried in the direction of Oak Hall.

"It's a good thing, Phil, that you knew Mr. Cameron," said Dave, on the way. "But you never told me about stopping a runaway horse for Mrs. Cameron."

"Oh, it wasn't much!" answered the shipowner's son, modestly. "It happened last June, just before we started for Star Ranch. The horse was running along the river road, and I got hold of him and stopped him, that's all. Mrs. Cameron was going to tell Doctor Clay about it, but I got her to keep quiet."

"Phil, you're a hero!" And Dave gave his chum's arm a squeeze that made Phil wince, but with pleasure.

Murphy, the monitor, was on the watch for them, and let them in by a back door. All lost no time in getting to their dormitories and in undressing and going to bed. Everybody in the crowd was satisfied over the initiations but Nat Poole. His plot to expose Dave and his chums had failed, and he was correspondingly sour.

"But I'll fix them yet," muttered the money-lender's son, to himself. "Just wait till they start to play Rockville, that's all!" And the thought of what he had in mind to do made him smile grimly.

It must be confessed that some of the football players felt rather sleepy the next morning. Dave was sleepy himself, and this alarmed him not a little.

"If we lose the game with Rockville to-day it will be our own fault," he said, to the crowd that had participated in the Gee Eyes' doings. "We should have gotten home at least an hour earlier than we did last night—or rather this morning." And then he made each player take a good rubbing down and just enough exercise to limber up his muscles.

Dave had not forgotten what had been said about Nat Poole, and directly after breakfast he called Chip Macklin to one side. As my old readers know, Chip had once been the sneak of the school, and he knew well how to hang around and take notice of what was going on.

"Chip, I've got some work for you," said Dave, in a low voice. "I may be mistaken—in fact, I hope for the honor of the school that I am. But I don't trust Nat Poole. He is down on some of us because we have gotten back on the eleven, and you'll remember how chummy he used to be with Jasniff and Merwell, who are now going to Rockville,—and with Rand and Frapley, and they are now going to the academy also. I am afraid that Nat——"

"That Nat will try to sell you out?" finished Chip, his little eyes snapping expectantly.

"Yes. He may give our signals away, or something like that."

"I see. And you want me to watch—and report, if I see anything wrong?"

"Yes."

"I'll do it. I'd like to catch him—for he never treats me decently," added Chip.

It had been decided that some of the boys should go to Rockville by boats and others by carriages and on their bicycles and motor-cycles. The eleven were to go in the school carryall, and Mr. Dodsworth and Andrew Dale were to go with them.

Owing to the change in the academy management, but little had been done to the athletic field, and when the Oak Hall club arrived, they found the grounds rather uneven and poorly marked.

"Bad for really good playing," remarked Dave.

"You'll have to be on your guard," warned Andrew Dale. "This field should have been rolled down after the last storm."

The grandstand was rather a small affair, and it speedily became filled with visitors, for the annual football game between the two schools was always a great drawing card. Flags and banners were much in evidence, and so were horns and rattles.

"I wonder if any outsiders we know are present?" remarked Roger to his chums, as they walked across the field.

"Somebody is waving from the corner of the stand," answered Phil. "I think it is Miss Rockwell."

"It is, and Miss Feversham is with her, and so is Mr. Rockwell," answered Dave, and then the boys took off their caps in salutation. And then they recognized a number of other friends.

The eleven had just turned into its dressing-room, to prepare for the game, when Chip Macklin came running in all out of breath.

"I want to see Dave!" he gasped, and then, as soon as the pair had walked to a corner, he went on: "I caught Nat."

"What doing?" demanded Dave, quickly.

"Giving all of your signals away to Merwell, Jasniff, and one of the Rockville football players. He started to tell about your trick plays when he saw me standing near, and shut up."

"Where is he now?"

"In the grandstand, with some girl."

"I will attend to this at once, Chip. Come with me."

Dave led the small student out of the dressing-room, and called Andrew Dale and Mr. Dodsworth. Quickly the situation was explained. The school teacher looked shocked, and the gymnastic instructor was disgusted.

"I will take care of Poole," said Mr. Dale, in a strained voice. "Mr. Dodsworth, you had better arrange for a change of signals."

"I will," answered the gymnastic instructor. And then Andrew Dale hurried off, and Dave returned to the dressing-room, accompanied by Mr. Dodsworth. The signals were re-arranged, and so were the signs for some of the new trick plays.

"Now then, boys, let me give you a bit of advice," said Mr. Dodsworth, when they were ready to go out on the field for practice. "From what I have heard Rockville has good staying powers, and will try to tire you out. Your move is to go at them with a jump and make your points early in the game—and then hold them down. Now do your best—and don't give in until the last whistle blows!"



CHAPTER XX

THE GREAT GAME WITH ROCKVILLE

"Dave, I think I see a chance of catching Rockville napping," said Roger, just before the practice began.

"You mean, if they try to take advantage of our signals?"

"Yes. If they feel sure we are going to do one thing and we do another, they'll get left."

"Well, they'll deserve to get left—if they try to profit by any such work."

"Maybe the eleven won't stand for it."

"Oh, I don't know. Rockville is hungry for a victory over us, and they may think all is fair in love and war and football," broke in Phil.

As each eleven came on the gridiron it was roundly cheered. The Rockville supporters at once commenced their well-known slogan:

"Rockville! Rockville! You'll get your fill Of Rockville!"

And immediately Oak Hall replied with its own well-known cry:

"Baseball! Football! Oak Hall Has the call! Biff! Boom! Bang! Whoop!"

And then from both sides arose a great din of horns and rattles. In the rear of the field were several automobiles and they, too, let off their horns and screech whistles, adding to the noise.

The practice at an end, the toss-up followed, and this was won by Rockville, and they elected to take the ball. Out on the gridiron spread the two elevens, each player eager to do his best. Then the whistle blew, there came a kicking of the pigskin, and the great game was on.

The play was fast and furious from the start, and in a very few minutes Dave and his chums understood that to gain a victory was going to be no easy thing. Rockville had the advantage in weight, and long practice had put every man in the pink of condition.

But the trick that Nat Poole had tried to play bore unexpected results. The kick-off was a good one, but the pigskin was caught by Phil and he brought it back almost to the center of the gridiron, being aided by clever interference on the part of Roger and Plum. Then the signal was given to carry the ball through the center. The Rockville players thought it was a signal to run around the left end, and moved accordingly. Up the field came the pigskin, and before Rockville could recover from the error made, Plum had the ball within four yards of the goal line. Here, however, he was downed so heavily that the wind was knocked completely out of him.

"That's the way to do it! Hurrah for Oak Hall!"

"Now, shove it over, fellows!"

"They didn't follow their signals at all!" whispered one player to the Rockville captain.

"I know it," was the low answer. "Don't depend on the signals after this."

But the damage had been done, and two minutes later Oak Hall obtained a touchdown, Roger carrying the ball over the line. Dave made the kick, and the pigskin sailed neatly between the posts. Then what a cheering went up, and what a noise from the horns and rattles!

"That's the way to do it!"

"First blood for Oak Hall! Now keep up the good work!"

As quickly as possible the ball was brought once more into play, and now the contest waged fast and furious. Back and forth went the pigskin, first in the possession of one eleven, and then in the possession of the other. There was a fine run around the right end by Roger, and another by a player for Rockville. Then came a mix-up, and each side had to retire a player, while Rockville was penalized several yards for an off-side play.

"Five minutes more!" came the warning, and then in a fury Rockville tried to form a flying wedge—such a move being permissible that year. The shock was terrific, and in spite of all their efforts to stand firm, Oak Hall broke, and the pigskin was carried over the line. Then the goal was kicked—and the whistle blew, and the first half of the great game came to an end.

Score: Oak Hall 6, Rockville 6.

Panting for breath, for that last shock had been a telling one, the Oak Hall players filed into the dressing-room, there to rest and to receive such attention as they needed.

"Well, it is still our game as much as theirs," said Dave, trying to cheer up his men. "But we want to go at 'em hammer and tongs in the second half."

"Try that right-end trick as early as possible," advised Mr. Dodsworth. "I don't think they'll be looking for it. That mix-up on signals bothered them some."

"Did Mr. Dale see Poole?" asked Roger.

"Yes, and Poole was sent back to the school in care of one of the carriage drivers," answered the gymnastic instructor.

Down in the grandstand the supporters of Rockville and of Oak Hall were having lively discussions over the merits of the two elevens. Among the Rockville students were Jasniff, Merwell, and Frapley.

"I hope we wax 'em in the second half!" said Merwell to Jasniff.

"How much money did you put up, Link?" asked Jasniff.

"All I could scrape up—thirty-five dollars."

"And I put up forty dollars."

"With the Oak Hall fellows?"

"No, with some sports from the town."

"Just what I did. Of course, I hope we don't lose! If we do I'll be in a hole until my next remittance comes."

"Oh, Rockville has got to win!" said Jasniff, loudly. "We can't help but do it."

"This is Oak Hall's game!" cried a voice from the other end of the grandstand, and then a cheer went up, followed by another cheer from the local supporters.

"Say, when do we get back at Dave Porter?" asked Merwell, while the cheering was going on. "I'm getting tired of waiting."

"We'll get back at him very soon now," answered Jasniff. "If what Doctor Montgomery tells me is true, everything will be ready about Thanksgiving time."

"Can you depend on the doctor?"

"I think so. He is almost down and out, and will do anything for money," answered Nick Jasniff, and then the talk came to an end, as the second half of the game began.

Both elevens had been urged to do their best, and the play was as spirited as before. Rockville was unusually aggressive, and one of the players tackled Phil unfairly, giving his shoulder a severe wrench. A protest was at once made by both Phil and Dave, and amid a general wrangle the Rockville man was retired.

"Never mind, they are going to put Ross in!" was the cry. "He'll show 'em what he can do!" Ross had been a favorite player in years gone by, but had not been allowed to play before because he was behind in his studies. Now, however, it was seen that he was sorely needed, and the Rockville faculty gave the desired permission to fill the vacancy.

Ten minutes of play found the pigskin near the center of the field. Then, for the first time, Dave saw a chance to use the right-end trick which Mr. Dodsworth had suggested, and gave the necessary signal. At once the entire eleven was on the alert.

The trick consisted in sending the ball over to the right, back to center, and then to the right again, some players meanwhile rushing to the left as a blind. The movements were made with rapidity, and Rockville was caught napping. Up came the pigskin in Plum's arms, and he turned it over to another player, who in turn passed it to Dave. Then Dave saw a clear space and dove for it. He was followed and tackled, but shook himself loose, and dropped on the ball directly over the goal line.

A roar went up.

"Another touchdown for Oak Hall!"

"Now for another goal!"

Amid a wild cheering the try for goal was made. But a keen wind had sprung up, and the goal was missed by a few inches.

"Never mind, that makes the score eleven to six in Oak Hall's favor."

Once again the ball was brought into play. There were but seven minutes of time left, and Rockville played like demons, hurling themselves again and again at their opponents. But Dave felt that enough had been accomplished, and gave the signal to be on the defensive, and thus Rockville was held back, and the most it could do was to get the ball on Oak Hall's thirty-five yard line. And then the fateful whistle sounded, and the great game came to a close.

Final score: Oak Hall 11, Rockville Academy 6.

It was a well-earned victory, and the Oak Hall eleven were warmly praised by their friends and the public in general, while many condemned the military academy for the roughness shown.

"Oh, it was too lovely for anything!" said Vera Rockwell, when Phil and Roger sauntered up, waiting for the carryall to take the eleven back to Oak Hall.

"It was indeed!" added Mary Feversham. "We compliment you, and we compliment Mr. Porter, too," she added, her eyes beaming brightly.

"A well-fought game," was Mr. Rockwell's comment; and then the boys passed on, to join their fellows.

Of course the majority of the Rockville supporters felt blue over the outcome of the game, and they lost no time in leaving the grandstand and disappearing from view. Jasniff and Merwell went also, but in another direction.

"This leaves me high and dry," growled Merwell. "I won't have a cent to spend for two weeks."

"Let us see if we can't borrow some money," suggested Jasniff.

"I'd like to know who from? All the fellows who bet have lost their money."

"Then we'll have to hit somebody who didn't bet—some of the goody-goody fellows," and he laughed bitterly.

"Like Porter, eh?"

"Yes, Porter never bets, nor drinks, nor smokes. I can't understand how he makes himself popular, can you?"

"It's his smooth way. But some day he'll be found out and dropped," answered Merwell.

"He'll be dropped when we work our little game against him," returned Jasniff, with an evil look in his eyes.

Never had the carryall contained a happier crowd of students than those who rode back to Oak Hall after the game. They sang, cheered, and whistled to their hearts' content, and nearly drove Horsehair wild with their antics, climbing out of the windows and over the roof of the turnout.

"Bless my heart, but you must be careful!" pleaded the driver. "I don't want to hurt no-buddy on this trip!"

"Oh, Horsehair, we can't hold ourselves down!" answered Phil. "Such a victory isn't gained every day."

"Yes, sir, I know, sir. But them hosses don't know nothin' about football, an' fust thing you know they'll run away," pleaded the carryall driver.

"We'll take a chance," put in Roger, brightly. "Now, then, all together!" And out on the air rolled the old school song to the tune of Auld Lang Syne, and then followed a cheering that could be heard for half a mile.

"Bonfires to-night!" announced Buster Beggs. "The biggest yet."

"Say, that puts me in mind of a story——" began Shadow, but what he wanted to tell was lost in a tooting of horns and a clacking of rattles that lasted until Oak Hall was reached.



CHAPTER XXI

THANKSGIVING, AND A SNOWBALLING CONTEST

The celebration that night was a grand affair, and Doctor Clay allowed the students to remain out until midnight. Many bonfires were lighted, and the boys danced around, sang songs, and played many practical jokes on each other and on Horsehair and Pop Swingly. Shadow was in his element, and was permitted to tell a dozen or more of his yarns, much to his own satisfaction if not of his listeners.

The only boys who felt blue were Nat Poole and the lads who had played against Lemington and then been put off the eleven. Nat had received a sharp lecture from the doctor and then been sent to his room, to remain there until the following morning. He wanted to pack up and go home, fearing the jeers of his fellow-students when they learned of his meanness, but he did not dare to make this move, for his father had written him a sharp letter, telling him to finish out the term at Oak Hall or otherwise to go to work,—and Nat did not want to go to work.

Of course the victory over Rockville made Dave and his chums feel good. The whole eleven were warmly congratulated by the doctor, and by Mr. Dale and Mr. Dodsworth.

The game with the military academy was followed by a number of other contests, and the school made a fine record for itself, winning six games out of eight. The two games lost were with college boys, and these players were all considerably heavier than the Oak Hall lads. The last game took place on Thanksgiving Day, and was witnessed by Dave's father and Mr. Wadsworth, and also by Laura and Jessie. Oak Hall won this contest by a score of 18 to 11.

"Oh, it was grand, Dave!" cried Jessie, after the boys had left the gridiron. "That run you made was the best ever!"

"You all did well," said Laura.

"It makes my blood tingle, and I feel like getting into the game myself," said Oliver Wadsworth. "It was a clean-cut contest from start to finish."

Phil and some of the other boys were going home, and soon said good-by. Mr. Porter and Mr. Wadsworth went off with Doctor Clay, and that left Dave and Roger with the two girls. As Senator Morr was at home from Washington, it was decided that the young folks should pay Roger's home a visit for the rest of the day, Mr. Porter and Mr. Wadsworth coming there in the evening to take Laura and Jessie back to Crumville.

The young folks made a jolly party as they boarded the train. They turned over one of the double seats and sat facing each other, and laughed and chatted until Hemson was reached. Here a carriage awaited them, and they were driven to the Morr mansion, where they received a warm greeting from the senator and his wife.

The girls had much to tell about themselves, and then asked about matters at the school. They were indignant to learn that Nat Poole had exposed the football signals.

"It is just like him—the sneak!" cried Jessie. "Oh, Dave, I hope you don't have anything more to do with him."

"I am willing to let him alone if he will let me alone."

"Do you hear anything from Link Merwell?" questioned Laura.

"Not much. But I understand he and Nick Jasniff have it in for me."

"Then, Dave, you must be on your guard," cautioned his sister. "I think Merwell is a regular snake in the grass—his actions at the ranch prove it—and Jasniff is no better."

"Jasniff is worse," said Roger. "He is a brute."

The boys and girls spent a happy evening together, and all too soon Mr. Porter and Mr. Wadsworth arrived to take Laura and Jessie back to Crumville. The boys hated to see them go, and went to the depot with them. There was some warm handshaking, and then the train rolled away, and the boys went back to the house.

"Splendid girls, both of them," was Roger's comment, and Dave quite agreed with him. But he was thinking more about Jessie than his sister,—and it is quite likely Roger was thinking more about Laura.

The boys remained at Roger's home until Saturday afternoon, and then returned to Oak Hall. The air was heavy and very cold, and they were glad to get out of the carryall, rush into the school, and warm up.

"Feels like snow to me," said Dave; and he was right. It started to snow that night, and kept it up for the greater part of Sunday, so that by Monday the ground was covered to the depth of a foot or more.

"Hurrah, for a snowballing match!" cried Buster. "Everybody in the line after school."

"Let us choose sides," suggested Ben. "Instead of having an Army of the North and an Army of the South, we can have——"

"An Army of Red and an Army of Blue," finished Dave. "What do you say to the red sweaters against the blue sweaters?"

As many lads of the school wore red sweaters, and about an equal number wore blue, the idea caught on instantly, and at the noon recess the two armies, of Red and of Blue, were hastily organized. Each numbered twenty-five recruits, and Roger was made the leader on one side and Sam Day the leader on the other. With Roger went Dave and Phil, while Ben, Buster, and Shadow sided with Sam. Roger's side was the Army of Red, and they made themselves a big red flag, with the initials O. H. on it. Not to be outdone, Sam's army made a big blue flag, also with the school initials.

It was decided that the Army of Blue was to take a position in the woods, and that the Army of Red was to try to dislodge them and force them to retreat. If either army was driven back two hundred yards it must give up its flag and count itself beaten.

After school half an hour was allowed for getting ready, and most of that time was consumed in making snowballs and in fortifying the edge of the woods by throwing up a snowbank. Then a bugle belonging to one of the students sounded out, and the great snowball battle began.

It was certainly a hot contest, and the snowballs flew in all directions, and many a "soldier" received one in the body or in the head. Sam had placed his followers with care, and try their best the Army of Red could not dislodge them.

"I have a scheme," said Phil, after the battle had lasted for fully half an hour, and while the boys were pausing to manufacture fresh "ammunition" in the shape of snowballs. "Let us rush up and then pretend to retreat. They'll think they have us on the run, and as soon as they leave the woods and that snowbank, we can turn on 'em again, and wallop 'em."

"If you try that, be sure of one thing," said Dave. "Have plenty of snowballs on hand. Otherwise that fake retreat may become a real one."

"We'll make a lot of snowballs," said Roger. "Pitch in, everybody!"

In a little while, the Army of Red was ready for the movement Phil had suggested. Then Roger explained just how it was to be carried out. They were to advance on the left wing of the Blues and then retreat in the direction of the road. As soon as the Blues came from cover, they were to drive them—if they could be driven—to the upper edge of the woods and across the field beyond.

"Now then, all together!" cried the senator's son. "And make them think you are really retreating, at first."

Forward went the Army of Red, throwing snowballs wildly. Then came a shower of balls in return, and several of the Reds were seen to fall, as if knocked down. Then came a pause, and several lads started to go back.

"Stop! Don't run!" yelled Roger. "Don't run!" But as this was part of the deception, those in retreat kept on backing away.

"Hurrah! we've got 'em on the run!" came from the woods, and in a trice several of the Army of Blue appeared on the top of the snowbank. "Come on, let us chase 'em!"

Over the snowbank came the Army of Blue, carrying all the snowballs it could manage. The Army of Red continued to retreat, each boy loaded down with ammunition. Then, just as the edge of the woods was cleared, a loud whistle sounded out.

It was the signal to turn, and like one man the Army of Red faced about, and let fly a heavy volley of snowballs, directly in the face of the enemy. The Blues were taken completely by surprise, and almost dazed. Then came another volley of snowballs, and a dozen lads were struck, in the head and elsewhere.

"Wow!" yelled one boy. "Say, what are we up against?"

"Let 'em have it!" came the rallying yell of the Reds. "Down with 'em! Drive 'em to cover!" And on they came with a rush, throwing their snowballs with all the accuracy possible. The severe onslaught demoralized the other army for the time being, and two boys broke and ran—then half a dozen more—and then the whole army.

"Stop! Turn and face 'em!" yelled Sam. "Give it to 'em hot!" But this was not to be, for the reason that the Blues were out of ammunition. They ran close to the woods, but were driven from that cover by a flank movement, and then took to the field, trying to manufacture snowballs as they ran.

"We've got 'em going—don't let up!" cried Dave, and, having stopped to make a few more snowballs, he pushed on, with Roger and half a dozen others beside him. Phil carried the flag, and all made for where the enemy had its flag of blue. Then came an exchange of snowballs at close range, and poor Phil was hit in the face. He dropped the flag, and Dave picked it up.

"Much hurt, Phil?" asked Roger, anxiously.

"I guess not," was the plucky reply. "Go on and wax 'em!" And then Phil turned back for a moment to catch his breath.

At the edge of the field was a ridge, and back of this a deep hollow. Sam decided to take a stand behind the ridge, and so directed his followers.

"But look out for the holes," said one of the boys. "Some nasty ones around here."

The battle soon waged as fiercely as ever. On came the Army of Red with a fresh supply of ammunition, and snowballs flew in all directions. Poor Sam was struck in the ear, and the carrier of the flag was hit in the arm and in the mouth. Down went the flag, and before the carrier could pick it up, three of the enemy pounced upon him, and while two held him, the third captured the all-important trophy.

"Hurrah! We've got their flag! Now drive 'em along!" was the cry.

"We must get the flag back!" called out Sam. "Now then, all together!" And again the battle went on.

"Now, for a final rush!" said Roger, after the blue flag had been taken to the rear. "We are going to win! Come on!" And he led the way.

Near the top of the ridge, the Red and the Blue fought fiercely, for all the boys were now thoroughly warmed up. Back and forth surged the long lines, and for several minutes it looked as if the Blues might succeed in driving the Reds back. Once Dave came close to losing the flag, and only saved it by sending two of the enemy sprawling headlong in the snow.

At last the Reds managed to reach the top of the ridge, and from that point send down a fierce shower of snowballs. The Blues could not withstand this fire, and broke and ran.

"Hurrah! the victory is ours!" yelled several of the Reds.

"Let us clinch it, and make 'em cry for mercy!" shouted one of the victorious army, and forward he went, and nearly all of the others after him.

"Be careful!" cried Dave. "There are a lot of holes around here! Somebody may break a leg."

His voice was drowned by the shouts of those who had won, and over the ridge and towards the hollow poured the victors and vanquished—the latter trying to dodge the fresh shower of snowballs.

"It's all over—let up!" yelled one boy of the Army of Blue. "Let up, can't you?"

"One last shower, fellows!" cried Roger. "Now then, all together!"

The snowballs were delivered, and then came a pause, as all realized that the battle was at an end. Then, from the far end of the hollow, came an unexpected yell:

"Help! help! I am down in a hole and can't get out! Help!"



CHAPTER XXII

IN WHICH THE SHOES COME BACK

"Somebody is in trouble!"

"Who is it?"

"Where is he?"

"It is Tom Hally!" cried Roger, mentioning one of the new boys at Oak Hall. "He must have fallen into one of the holes near the big hollow."

"Come on and see what is the matter," said Dave, and dropping the flag, he sped in the direction of the cries, and a dozen others followed.

When they reached the spot from which the cries for help had proceeded they could see nothing of Tom Hally.

"He was here a minute ago—I saw him!" declared a student named Messmer. "He must have gone down out of sight!"

"Be careful that somebody doesn't go down on top of him," cautioned Roger.

He had hardly spoken when there came a cry from Messmer, and, looking in his direction, the other boys were horrified to see him sink into the snow up to his waist.

"Hi! hi! help me!" yelled Messmer. "Quick, something has me by the foot!"

"Maybe it's Hally, at the bottom of the hole!" burst out Dave.

"Let us make a chain and haul him out," suggested Phil.

This suggestion was considered a good one, and in a twinkling a long line was formed, the boys taking hold of each other's hands. Dave was at one end of the line, and he approached Messmer with caution.

"Help me!" gasped Messmer. "Something is dragging me down!"

"Take hold of my hand," answered Dave. "Hold tight!"

Messmer did as requested, and then Dave gave the other boys the signal to haul away.

"But be careful," he added. "Otherwise the line may break, and some more of us will go in the hole."

The students hauled steadily and cautiously, and slowly but surely Messmer came out of the snowy hole. As his feet came into view it was seen that a pair of hands were clasped around one of his ankles.

"Tom Hally is there!" shouted Dave. "Be extra careful, or he may slip back!"

He had hardly spoken when Messmer's foot came up with a jerk. The unfortunate boy below had let go, being probably too exhausted to keep hold.

"Oh, Dave, what shall we do?" gasped Roger. He stood next in the life line.

"Make two lines!" cried Dave. "Here, you get hold of one of my feet, and Messmer can get hold of the other. Now don't let go, whatever you do. I'll go down after Hally."

"But the danger——" began Ben.

"We can't leave Hally to smother to death there, Ben. Now then, hold tight," answered Dave.

The two lines were formed, each end boy holding tight to one of Dave's ankles. Then Dave threw himself down in the snow and wormed his way to the edge of the hole. Several feet below he saw one of Tom Hally's hands sticking up, the fingers working convulsively. He made a clutch and got a firm grip of the wrist.

"Haul away!" he called. "But be easy, or the edge of the hole may cave in!"

Under Dave's directions the boys hauled away with care, and presently poor Tom Hally came to the surface of the snow, and was dragged to a safe spot. He was all but exhausted, and too weak to stand.

"Here, we'll carry you to the school!" cried Roger, and he and some others made a "chair," and thus the unfortunate lad was carried to Oak Hall, where he was placed in a rocking chair in front of a fire.

"I went down all of a sudden," he explained, when he could talk. "I yelled for all I was worth, and I saw some of you running towards me. Then I went out of sight, and the next I knew Messmer's feet were on my head. I caught hold of one foot and was dragged almost to the surface. Then my strength gave out,—and I hardly know what I did after that."

"Dave pulled you out," answered Phil. "He saw one of your hands sticking out of the snow, and he got us fellows to form two lines, with him on the end."

"I am very thankful," said Tom Hally, and he gave Dave's hand a warm squeeze. "I shall never go near that hollow again!"

"It's a dangerous place in the winter time," said Roger. "We should have known better than to have retreated in that direction."

"Well, the Army of the Red won!" cried one of the students. "Say, wasn't it a dandy battle!"

"It certainly was!" answered several others.

Doctor Clay was much alarmed to learn that Hally and Messmer had gone down in a hole in the snow, and he came to see how the former was getting along. Then he praised Dave and his chums for their bravery in effecting a rescue.

In the past Hally, who was a rather silent student, had had little to say to the other boys, but now he spoke to Dave, and asked him quite a number of questions concerning himself and the other occupants of dormitories Nos. 11 and 12.

"I'd like to be in with your bunch," said he, wistfully. "I don't like our crowd very well."

"Where are you?" asked Dave.

"In No. 13—with Nat Poole and his crowd."

"They aren't very much of Nat's crowd any more, are they?"

"Oh, several boys still stick to him. But he makes me sick."

"Well, I am sorry, Hally, but our rooms are filled up," said Dave.

"Poole is down on you, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"He told me you and he had had a lot of trouble."

"So we have—but I claim it was mostly Nat's fault. He does some pretty mean things."

"So he does, for a fact," and Tom Hally nodded earnestly. "He is down on Maurice Hamilton too, isn't he?"

"Yes, but Shadow never did him any harm. It's just Nat's mean disposition," returned Dave; and there the conversation had to come to an end.

But that talk, coupled with the fact that Dave and his chums had so bravely gone to Tom Hally's rescue, produced an unexpected result. Two days later, when the occupants of dormitories Nos. 11 and 12 got up, they were surprised to find, just inside of one of the doors, a big pasteboard box, securely tied with a heavy cord.

"Why, what's this?" asked Phil, who was the first to see the box.

"Must be a Christmas box!" cried Dave. "And yet it is rather early in the season for that."

"Is it addressed to anybody?" questioned Ben.

"Nothing on it," announced Roger, after an inspection. "Maybe the box was placed in this room by mistake."

"Let us open it and see what is inside," suggested Polly Vane.

"I second that motion," added Luke. "Hope it's got some nice Christmas pies in it."

"Maybe it's a trick," cautioned Shadow. "Go slow on opening it."

The boys pushed the box to the center of the dormitory with care, and then Roger cut the cord with his pocketknife.

"You open it," said Phil to Dave.

"I am not afraid," answered Dave, and took off the cover.

And then what a shout went up!

"Our shoes, and boots, and slippers!"

"Where in the world did this come from!"

"Say, I thought my shoes were gone for good!"

"Are they all here?"

"I guess so. Let us sort 'em out and see."

Hastily the box was turned over, and the contents dumped on the floor. Then began a general sorting out, lasting for several minutes.

"One of my gym. shoes is missing," announced Phil.

"Perhaps one of the other fellows has it," suggested Dave, and the shipowner's son started a fresh search. But it was of no avail. Every shoe, slipper, and boot that had been taken had been returned excepting one of Phil's foot coverings.

"Well, I don't care much," said Phil. "These shoes were about worn out, anyway."

"Where do you suppose this box came from?" asked Ben, and then he gazed curiously at Shadow, and the others did the same.

"I—I suppose you think—that is, you imagine I—er—I had something to do with this," stammered the boy who had on several occasions walked in his sleep.

"Do you know anything about it, Shadow?" asked Dave.

"Not the first thing!"

"Did you dream of anything last night?"

"Yes, I dreamed about a—er—a——" stammered the sleep-walker. "I—er——Oh, it wasn't about shoes, or anything like that."

"Well, what was it?" demanded Roger, sternly.

"It was about a party, if you must know. I dreamt I took a girl, and we had a nice time dancing and playing games. There weren't any shoes in it," and poor Shadow got redder than ever.

Dave looked the box over with care. It was a common pasteboard box, with nothing on it in the way of writing or advertising.

"This certainly is a mystery," he said, slowly. "First the shoes disappear, and now they come back. I give it up."

"Somebody has been playing a trick on us!" declared Roger. "The question is, who?"

"I don't know of anybody who would do such a thing, excepting it was Nat Poole," declared Ben.

"Well, there is no use of taxing Nat with it," declared Dave. "For he would deny it point-blank, unless you could prove it against him."

The boys talked the affair over until it was time to go down to breakfast, but they could reach no conclusion regarding the mystery.

"Maybe it will never be explained," said Buster.

"Well, even so, I am glad to get my shoes and slippers back," lisped Polly Vane.

A few days after the restoration of the foot coverings there came a thaw and then a sudden cold snap. Ice began to form on the river, and soon it was thick enough for skating, much to the joy of the students, for nearly all of them loved to skate. Some of the boys had ice-boats, and these were also brought out for use.

"I understand that Rockville is going to put out a strong ice-hockey team this winter," said Roger to Dave one day. "They are going to challenge us, too."

"Well, we'll have to make up a team to beat 'em," answered Dave.

"That won't be so easy," declared another student. "They have some great skaters and hockey players at the military academy this season. They've got one player who is a star."

"Who is that?"

"Will Mallory. He came from down East, and he is the slickest ice-hockey player you ever set eyes on."

"Well, if they challenge us we'll do our best," declared Dave, and some others said the same.

The next day, after school, Dave had occasion to go to Oakdale on an errand. Roger was going along, but at the last minute had to stay behind, so Dave went alone.

He had scarcely passed out of the school grounds when he noticed that he was being followed. A tall, thin man had stepped from behind some oak trees, and was coming after him.

"I wonder what that chap was doing around the school?" the youth asked himself.

He walked along rapidly, and the man did the same. Then Dave slackened his pace, and the follower did likewise.

"He doesn't want to catch up to me, that's sure," thought the youth. "Maybe he is afraid I'll recognize him. Wonder who he is?"

He turned and looked back. But the man had his overcoat pulled up and his soft hat pulled far down, and Dave could see little of his face.

"This is a mystery," mused Dave. "I am going to speak to him," and he stopped short and waited for the mysterious individual to come up.



CHAPTER XXIII

HOOKER MONTGOMERY'S STRANGE REQUEST

The stranger approached slowly, as if hoping Dave would go on before he came up. Once he looked towards the fields on either side of the road, as if thinking to turn off. But no side road was at hand, so he had to either come on or turn back.

"Why, it is Doctor Montgomery!" said the lad to himself, as he recognized the man. Then, as he got still closer, Dave saw that the so-styled doctor looked shabby and dissipated. His nose was exceedingly red, as if he had been drinking, and his overcoat was much worn and so were his shoes.

"How do you do?" he said, somewhat gruffly, as he came up to where Dave was standing.

"How are you?" returned Dave, coldly, and stepped aside, as if to let the doctor pass. But instead of doing this the traveling physician came to a somewhat unsteady halt.

"Your name is Dave Porter, isn't it?" he queried, trying hard to steady a voice that liquor had rendered nervous.

"It is."

"I guess you know me, Doctor Montgomery."

"Yes."

"Going to Oakdale?"

"I am."

"So am I. If you don't mind I'll walk with you. I want to talk to you."

"What do you wish?" demanded Dave. The road was rather a lonely one, and he did not fancy the doctor for a companion.

"I've been wanting to see you for some time, Porter," answered Hooker Montgomery, hesitatingly, as if not knowing how to begin. "Fact is, I went up to the school hoping to meet you."

"Why didn't you call for me if you wanted to see me?"

"Well—er—the fact is, Doctor Clay and I are not on good terms, that's why. To tell you the truth, I once sold some of my medicines to some of his hired help, and he didn't like it. He thinks my medicines are not—er—reliable. But they are, sir, they are—more reliable than those of most physicians!" And Hooker Montgomery tried to draw himself up and look dignified. But, to Dave, the effort was a failure. He could read the fellow thoroughly, and knew him to be what is commonly called a fakir, pure and simple.

"What did you want of me?" asked Dave, as they walked on in the direction of Oakdale.

"I wished to see you on an important business matter."

"Business? What business?"

"I will come to that presently, Porter. But it is important, very important, I can assure you. I was going to ask you to call at a certain place in Rockville and see me about it."

"What place?"

"A boarding-house at which I am stopping. It is a very nice place, located on the river, and kept by a lady named Dunn—Mrs. Margaret Dunn."

At once Dave remembered the letter picked up on Bush Island—the letter written by Doctor Montgomery, and asking Jasniff to meet him at Dunn's on the river. In that communication the doctor had said he would aid Jasniff all he could, provided the Rockville student would assist him in some transaction involving little risk—which would mean that there must be something "shady" about it.

"Can't you explain the business to me without my going to Rockville?" he asked.

"I cannot. I have some things at the boarding-house—some letters and documents—I wish to show you. Day after to-morrow is Saturday. Can't you come to Rockville in the afternoon and see me? I can assure you, sir, it is very important, very important indeed!" And Doctor Montgomery gave Dave a mysterious look.

"Do the letters and documents concern me personally?"

"They concern you, and—shall I tell you? Yes, I will! They concern you and your sister. But don't ask me to say more now. I will explain all when you come to see me."

Dave began to think rapidly. This fellow was friendly with Jasniff and probably with Merwell also. Once Merwell had caused Laura Porter much annoyance by holding certain letters she had written. Was it possible Merwell still had some of her letters, and was he planning to make more trouble because of them?

"I don't understand this business, Doctor Montgomery," he said, frankly. "If it was so important why didn't you write to me, or telephone?"

"I will explain. This is important to you and your sister. It would hurt your reputation to make anything public. I want to do things on the quiet, see? Acting entirely in your interests, Porter. You will understand it all when you call and—er—see the letters and documents, and the photographs, especially the photographs."

"All right then—I'll come—if I can get off."

"About three o'clock in the afternoon?"

"Between three and four."

"Very good, sir, very good indeed. You will not regret coming, I can assure you, sir. But one thing more. Let me caution you to say nothing to your school friends of this visit. I wish you to come entirely alone."

"Why alone?" demanded Dave, suspiciously.

"Because I wish to protect myself as well as you and your sister. I want no witnesses to our meeting, as I wish to avoid all trouble. I shall be alone, and I wish you to be alone also."

"This is a mighty strange proceeding."

"Possibly, Porter. But you will understand everything when you call. You need not be afraid. At present I am the only boarder Mrs. Dunn has, and she is old and somewhat deaf. The house is on the river road, the fourth place above the sawmill. It is painted light yellow. You can't miss it."

"And you won't tell me any more at present?"

"I cannot. But on Saturday afternoon, if you will come to me alone, you shall know all."

"Very well."

"And one thing more, Porter. I am going to do you and your family a great favor."

"Well?"

"I am a poor man. I could have made money out of my remedies had I charged as some physicians do, but instead I wished to aid humanity, and so sold my priceless medicines for a song. Yes, I am poor, sir, and I need money. If I aid you——" Hooker Montgomery paused suggestively.

"If you really do me a favor, you shall be well paid for it, Doctor Montgomery," replied Dave, promptly.

"You mean that?" And now the doctor's voice took on a sudden note of keen interest.

"I do."

"They tell me your folks are rich."

"We are well off."

"Ah, ahem! Very good! Then if I do a very great favor for you probably you will—er—appreciate it."

"Yes, sir."

"Then it is settled, Porter, and I shall look for you about three o'clock on Saturday sure. And you are to come entirely alone."

"I understand. But, listen, Doctor Montgomery," went on Dave, and his voice grew stern. "There is to be no underhanded work in this. If there is—well, you'll get the worst of it."

"Oh, no; nothing of that sort, I can assure you, sir! You have absolutely nothing to fear," answered the man hurriedly, but his eyes were rather shifty as he spoke.

"All right, I'll be on hand,—if I can get away."

They had now gained a crossroads, and here the doctor halted. He looked at Dave as if on the point of speaking again, then simply jerked his head in an attempted dignified fashion, and hurried off, around a bend and out of sight.

It would be hard to analyze Dave's feelings as he proceeded on his errand to Oakdale. He wondered if Doctor Montgomery was acting on his own account or for Merwell and Jasniff, and he also wondered what the mysterious letters and documents and photographs could be. Was it possible that Laura had once given her photograph to Merwell, or had it taken when in that rascal's company? If the latter was true, Merwell would know that the Porters would give a good deal to get the picture, and have the negative destroyed.

"Perhaps it is only a scheme to get me to Rockville and to some place where Jasniff and Merwell can lay hands on me," he mused. "They'd like nothing better than to black my eyes and pound me to a jelly. If I go there alone I'll have to keep my eyes wide open."

Then Dave remembered what the doctor had said about being a poor man and needing money. Perhaps the fellow thought to "bleed him," not only in the interest of Jasniff and Merwell, but also for himself.

"He'll not get a cent out of me unless he has something of real value to turn over to me," Dave decided. "If it's only a blackmailing scheme, he'll find me as sharp as himself." He could make nothing of the fact that the doctor had at first tried to avoid him.

He was half tempted to tell Roger and Phil about the affair, but at last decided to see it through alone. If there really was something in it about private letters and photographs he would prefer that his chums know nothing of it.

All that evening and throughout Friday, Dave was very thoughtful. His chums noticed it, and Roger and Phil both asked what was wrong.

"Nothing wrong," he answered, with a faint smile.

"You've got something on your mind, Dave," went on the senator's son. "Struck a new girl, or has Jessie struck a new fellow?"

"Not as bad as that, Roger. I was just wondering if I should buy a red necktie or a blue one."

"Rats! It's a girl, I'll wager a new hat."

"Or else Dave is thinking out some new essay with which to capture a prize," suggested Phil.

"Don't you worry about me," answered Dave. "Come on out and have a skate," and thus the subject was dismissed, for the time being.

The Leming River was in fine condition for skating, and fully two score of students were out, some cutting fancy figures, and a few racing. Among the number was Nat Poole, clad in a new crimson sweater and wearing a brand new pair of long hockey skates.

"Nat is training for hockey," said Roger. "He says he is going to organize a team."

"Well, we'll organize one, too," answered Dave. "I always did like field hockey, and I know I'd like it on the ice."

"Come on, Dave!" shouted Ben, circling up on his skates, and doing a "spread eagle."

"Come on where?"

"Get into the race! We want you, and Phil, and Roger, too."

"What race is that?"

"Mr. Dodsworth wants all the big boys in it. It's a race up the river for a mile, and back to the boathouse. The winner gets a silver lead-pencil sharpener."

"All right, I'm in that!" cried the shipowner's son. "I need a sharpener."

"So do I," added Roger. "How about it, Dave?"

"I'll go in, although my skates are not as sharp as they might be."

A crowd had gathered to see the race, and in a few minutes the contestants were lined up by the gymnastic teacher. The starters numbered fourteen, and included Nat Poole, Dave, Roger, Phil, Shadow, Ben, and Plum.

"All ready?" asked Mr. Dodsworth. "Then go!" And away went the long line, the skates flashing brightly in the clear sunlight, and the onlookers cheering, and uttering words of encouragement to their favorites.



CHAPTER XXIV

A RACE ON SKATES

"Go it, everybody!"

"May the best skater win!"

"Don't try to skate too fast, Ben. Remember, the race is two miles long!"

"Hello, there goes one fellow down!"

"It's Luke Watson. He has lost his skate."

The last report was correct, and as the skate could not be adjusted without the loss of some time, Luke gave up, and watched the others.

Nat Poole was exceedingly anxious to win the race, and he had been partly instrumental in getting up the contest. His new skates were of the best, and it must be admitted that Nat was no mean skater.

Phil had good skates and so had Roger. Dave's skates were only fair, and were very much in need of sharpening.

Away went Nat at top speed, soon drawing half a dozen yards ahead of his competitors. Behind him came a student named Powers, and then followed Ben, Roger, Phil, Dave, and the others.

"I don't think I can win!" sang out Dave to his chums. "These skates slip too much. But I'll do my best."

"Come on, you slow-coaches!" cried Ben, merrily, and then he shot forward until he was abreast of Nat. Seeing this, the money-lender's son put on an extra burst of speed, and went ahead again.

"Say, Nat Poole is certainly skating well!" cried one of the onlookers. "He'll make a record if he keeps it up."

"I don't think he can keep it up," answered another.

In a very few minutes the turning point was gained, and Nat made a sharp curve and started back. The turn brought him directly in front of Dave.

"Clear the track!" he roared. "Clear the track, I say!"

"Clear the track yourself!" answered Dave. Nevertheless, as Nat came closer, he swerved a little to one side so that the money-lender's son might pass. As Nat swept on he swung his arms freely, and one fist took Dave in the side.

"Foul! foul!" cried several who saw the move.

"It was his own fault!" Nat retorted. "I told him to get out of the way!" And off he started for the finishing line.

Dave said nothing, but kept on, reaching the turning point a few seconds later. Phil and Roger were just ahead of him, and Plum was beside him.

"Go on and win!" he shouted. "I can't keep up with these skates!"

"Here goes for a finish!" yelled Phil, and darted ahead, with Roger at his heels. Then Plum flashed forward, and soon the three were side by side, with Dave about three yards to the rear, followed by Powers.

Coming down the homestretch, Nat Poole thought he had it all to himself. He was glad of it, for he had set such a fast pace at the start that he was becoming winded, and he had to fairly gasp for breath. He looked over his shoulder, and as nobody was near he slackened his speed a little.

"Keep it up, Nat!" yelled one of his supporters. "Go it, old man!"

"Morr and Lawrence are crawling up!"

"So is Plum!"

These last cries startled Nat, and he sought to strike out as he had at the start. But his wind was now completely gone—and the finishing line was still a quarter of a mile away.

"There goes Morr to the front!"

"Lawrence is after him, and so is Plum!"

"Here comes Basswood!"

"What's the matter with Porter? He is dropping behind."

"He said his skates were dull."

"Oh, that's only an excuse!" sneered one of the students who had been put off of the football eleven that term.

"It's true," answered Tom Hally. "I saw the skates myself. Can't you see how he slips when he strikes out?"

On and on went the skaters. Nat was still ahead, but now Roger and Phil came up on one side, and Gus Plum on the other, while Ben came up close in the rear. Behind Ben was Dave, determined to see the race out even if he did not win.

With the finishing line but a hundred feet away, Phil, Roger, and Gus Plum shot to the front. Then Ben followed. Nat Poole tried to keep up, but could not. Then of a sudden Dave went ahead also.

"Nat is dropping behind!"

"He put on too much steam at the start!"

"There goes Porter ahead of him!"

"See, Morr, Lawrence, and Plum are even!"

"Yes, and there comes Ben Basswood up to them!"

"Here they come! Clear the way, everybody!"

With a rush the skaters came on. For one brief instant Roger was ahead, but then the others put on a burst of speed, and over the line they came, amid a great yelling and cheering.

"A tie between Morr, Plum, and Lawrence!"

"And Basswood and Porter tied for second place!"

"Nat Poole wasn't in it, after all."

"My skate got loose," grumbled Nat, as he came up slowly. "If it hadn't been for that I would have won."

"That's an old excuse, Nat!" shouted a boy in the rear of the crowd. "Invent something new!" And a laugh went up, that angered the money-lender's son greatly. He took his defeat bitterly, and lost no time in leaving the ice and disappearing from view.

"A fine race!" declared Mr. Dodsworth, "But I don't know how I am to award the prize."

"Cut it in three parts," suggested Buster.

"Say, that puts me in mind of a story," came from Shadow. "An old Irishman was dying and wanted to make his will. 'How do ye want to lave yer money, Pat' asked his friend. 'Sure,' says Pat; 'I want to lave it all to me woif an' me four childer, equal loike, so ivery wan gits a quarter!'"

"We might have another race," suggested Mr. Dodsworth. "That is, if you are not too tired—I mean, of course, a race between those who were tied."

"Oh, let us cut sticks for it," suggested Phil.

"That will suit me," said Plum.

"Me, too," said the senator's son. "I am too tired to race again."

So the three lads drew sticks for the prize, and Gus Plum won.

"Hello! I'm in luck!" cried Gus, and looked much pleased. The silver lead-pencil sharpener was passed over to him, and he thanked the gymnastic instructor warmly for it.

"I am glad he got it, since it pleases him," said Phil to Roger, and the senator's son nodded in agreement.

The only boy who felt sore over the race was Nat Poole, and he continued to declare that he would have won had his skate not come loose.

"But just wait," he said, to some of the students. "I'll show 'em what I can do when we get to playing hockey." And that very night he started in to organize an ice-hockey team. He did not consult Mr. Dodsworth or Andrew Dale, fearing that they would not favor his selection of players.

"They have nothing to do with hockey," Nat explained to his friends. "All they have to look after is baseball and football, and track athletics. Doctor Clay didn't say a word about ice hockey, or field hockey, either." This was true, the master of the Hall having probably forgotten all about those sports. Nevertheless, it was understood by the majority of the students that all games and contests held with parties outside of Oak Hall were to come under the supervision of the gymnastic instructor and Andrew Dale.

"What are you going to do with yourself to-morrow afternoon?" asked Roger of Dave, on going to bed Friday.

"I have a little business to attend to in Rockville, Roger."

"Is that so? Want me to go along?"

This was a question Dave had dreaded to have asked, and he hardly knew how to answer. He determined to be as frank as possible.

"No, Roger. I am sorry, but the party I am going to see asked me to come alone."

"Oh, all right. I just thought I'd mention it."

"If it hadn't been for that I should like very much to have you and Phil along," continued Dave, earnestly. "But I can't take anybody."

"Must be going to see a girl," and the senator's son looked at his chum quizzically.

"No, it is not a girl. Now please don't ask me any more questions."

"Just as you say, Dave," answered Roger, and then began to get ready to go to bed. He could not help but wonder what the business was, and why Dave was so secretive about it.

In the morning Dave had to go through the same kind of a scene with Phil. The shipowner's son was as much mystified as Roger, and after Dave had departed, the pair walked into the warm gymnasium to talk the matter over.

"Dave has something on his mind," said Roger. "I noticed it yesterday."

"So did I, Roger. What is it, do you suppose?"

"I don't know, excepting it may be about Merwell and Jasniff. He said it wasn't about those girls."

"Do you think he is going to meet Merwell and Jasniff in Rockville?"

"Possibly. I can't think of anything else."

"If Dave got into trouble, I'd like to be on hand to help him."

"So would I. But I guess Dave knows how to take care of himself." And then the subject was dropped, and the two students began to exercise with some Indian clubs.

In the meantime, Dave was on his way to Rockville. As the road was clear of snow he used his bicycle, and soon covered the distance to the town. He passed along the river road to the sawmill, and then kept his eyes open for Mrs. Dunn's house.

"This must be the place," he said to himself, as he reached a dilapidated residence, located in what had once been a fine flower garden, but which was now a tangle of rank bushes and weeds. The gate was off, and leaping from his wheel, he trundled his bicycle along the choked-up garden path to the front piazza. Then leaving his wheel against a tree, he mounted the steps and rang the old-fashioned turn bell.