Now, the arrival of four pounds of nitroglycerine at the local express office was believed to show that the lunatic had had comrades, or else that the crazy man had been used merely as a tool.

Hemingway hurried off to the asylum, to interview the unfortunate one. All the plain clothes man succeeded in getting, however, was a rambling talk that didn't make sense.

Monday's "Blade" announced that the chief of police had been authorized to offer a reward of five hundred dollars for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the party or parties behind the criminal shipment of the giant explosive to Gridley.

Everyone believed that the frightened rich men had combined to offer the reward. Many wondered that the offered reward was not larger.

All of the student body at the High School were busy talking about the affair in the big assembly room before the session opened.

"I see where my parents have made a great mistake," sighed Frank Thompson.

"How?" demanded Ben Badger.

"Instead of wasting my time at the High School they should have apprenticed me to a good journeyman detective," grumbled Thomp.

"Oh, but couldn't I use that five hundred, if only my training had fitted me for such deeds as running down a nitroglycerine peddler!"

"It isn't anything to joke about," shuddered one of the girls. "It's awful! Would four pounds of the dreadful stuff destroy the town of Gridley?"

"No," Badger informed her; "but it would be enough to blow up several wood-piles and destroy a lot of clean Monday wash."

"There you go joking again," protested the girl, and turned away.

"Oh, well," declared Fred Ripley, "we must possess ourselves with patience. We shall soon know the whole truth."

"Do you really think so?" asked Purcell.

"It's one of the surest things conceivable," railed Ripley. "That bright constellation of freshmen known under the musical title of Dick & Co. will solve the whole affair wit, in forty-eight hours. Indeed, I'm not sure but Dick & Co., even at this moment, carry the secret looked in their breasts."

Fred glanced quickly around him to see how much of a laugh this had started. To his chagrin he found his bantering had fallen flat.

"Oh, well," gaped Dowdell, gazing out of the window near which he stood, "I know one important fact about the mystery."

"What's that?" asked half a dozen quickly.

"None of the five hundred is destined to come my way.

"That jest saddens a lot of us with the same conviction," muttered Ted Butler, shaking his head.

"But this I do know," continued Dowdell, "if the weather continues cold there'll be some elegant skating before the week is out."

Gridley did not slumber over the nitroglycerine mystery. Len Spencer, though he could gain no actual information, managed to have something interesting on the subject in each morning's "Blade." The people of Gridley talked of the mystery everywhere.

There was one other mild sensation this week that lasted for a part of a day. Tip Scammon came up for his trial. He pleaded guilty to the thefts from the High School locker room, and also guilty to the charge of entering the Prescott rooms in order to hide his loot in Dick's trunk. By way of leniency toward a first offender the court let Tip off with a sentence of fourteen months in the penitentiary. This sentence, by good behavior on the part of Tip, would shrink to ten months of actual imprisonment.

In every way the police and the prosecuting attorney tried to make Tip reveal the name of his confederate. But Tip, for reasons of his own, maintained absolute, dogged silence on this head, and went to the penitentiary without having named the person who met him in the alleyway that evening when Tip himself was caught.

The promise of skating was made good. Wednesday afternoon it was discovered that the ice in Gaylor's Cove was in splendid condition, and strong enough to bear.

Thursday a series of High School racing contests were planned for Saturday afternoon. There was so much money left over in the Athletics Committee's treasury that it was voted to offer a series of individual trophies for boy and girl skaters in different events.

Moreover, in these skating events members of the freshman class were to be allowed to compete.

"Now, see here, fellows," urged Dick, when he had gotten his partners aside, "some of the freshman class ought to be winners of some of the events. We want to give our class a good name. And, out of the six of us, there ought to be one winner for something. I wish you'd all do your best to get in shape. You'll all go over to the cove with me this afternoon, of course."

They did. More than a hundred of the student body, most of them boys, were on the ice that afternoon.

Some went scurrying by for all they were worth. These were training for the races.

Others gathered in the less traveled parts of the cove, which was a large one, and practiced the "fancy" feats. Tom Reade and Dan Dalzell put themselves in this class. Dick and his other partners went in for speed.

Friday afternoon there was an even larger attendance.

Gaylor's Cove was about half a mile long, with an average width of a quarter of a mile. At the middle the cove was open for a long way upon the river.

At some points on the river proper the ice was strong enough to bear. Near Gaylor's Cove, however, the river current was so swift that the river ice at this point looked thin and treacherous. No one ventured out on the ice just beyond the cove.

Friday night many a High School boy and girl studied the sky. There was no sign of storm, nor did the conditions seem to threaten a thaw. Saturday morning was cold and clear. The temperature, at noon, was just above freezing point, though not enough so to bring about a "thaw" in the ice.

By one o'clock Saturday afternoon Gaylor's Cove was a scene of great activity. Two thirds of the High School students were there, most of them on skates. There were three or four hundred other youngsters, and more than a hundred grown-ups.

"All we need is the band," laughed Dick Prescott, as he skated slowly along with Laura Bentley.

"The click-clack of the skates is enough for me," Laura replied.

"You are not down in any of the girls' contests, are you?" he asked.

"No; does that disappoint you, Dick?"

"N-no," he said, slowly. "Still, it's fine to see every event all but crowded."

"In how many events are you entered?" asked the girl.

"Only one, the freshman's mile. That will be swift work, and there are two turns, the way the course is to be laid out."

"Why didn't you enter more of the freshman events?" Laura asked.

"Well, it will take a lot of good wind to keep going at a swift pace for a mile. I want to save all my strength and wind for that one event."

"What is the prize in the freshman's mile?" asked Laura, fumbling in her muff for the card of the day's events.

"You noticed that handsome Canadian toboggan, didn't you?"

"The one with the side hand-rails?" Laura asked, looking up brightly into his face. "Yes; that ought to have been one of the prizes in the girls' events."

"Why?" queried Dick, looking a bit disconcerted.

"Why, those hand-rails are meant for timid girls to take hold of. A boy would never want a toboggan with hand-rails."

"Perhaps the fellow who's going to win the freshman's mile expects to invite some of the young ladies to go out tobogganing with him," hinted young Prescott.

"Is it fixed who shall win that race?" demanded Laura, teasingly.

"Hardly that," Dick rejoined, dryly.

"Then how do you know the coming owner's intentions, if you don't know who is going to win the race?" Miss Bentley insisted.

"Well, you see, it's this way?" Dick admitted, "I've made up my mind to win that race."

"So you regard the race as being as good as won by yourself?" smiled the physician's daughter.

"It's one of the rules of Dick & Co.," Prescott answered, as they turned and skated slowly back toward the center of the cove, "when we go into anything we consider it as good as won from the outset."

"Well, I like that spirit," Laura admitted. "Faint heart never yet won anything but a spill."

Laura had her card out by this time, and was studying it leisurely, trusting to her companion to guide her.

"I see Fred Ripley is entered for the grand event in fancy skating," she observed.

"Yes; are you interested in him?"

Something in the directness of the question caused the girl to bite her lips.

"Now, that's hardly fair, Dick," she cried, flushing with vexation. "No; the fact is, I'm hoping he'll lose."

"Why?"

"Because, Fred has never been very nice to you, Dick."

That was direct enough, and Dick flushed with pleasure.

"Thank you, Laura; that's more handsome than what I said to you."

"I accept your apology," she laughed. "Look! There goes Fred Ripley now! How foolish of him."

Fred was heading straight out of the cove toward the river. He was a fine skater, and now he was showing off at his best. He had adapted a "turn promenade" step from roller skating, and was whirling along, turning and half dancing as he sped along. It was a graceful, rhythmical performance. Despite the fact that young Ripley was not widely liked, his present work drew considerable applause from the spectators.

That applause acted like incense under the young man's nostrils. He determined to go farther out, maintaining his present step unbroken.

"Look out, Ripley!" warned Thomp. "The ice won't bear out there."

Fred didn't reply by as much as a look. He kept on out toward the thin ice.

Cra-a-ack! Splash! The thin ice had broken. Ripley, moving backwards, did not realize his fix until his feet; shot into the water. Down he came on his back, breaking more of the ice.

A yell, and he was gone below the surface.

And now everybody seemed shouting at once. A hundred people ran to and fro, shouting out what ought to be done.

"Get a rope! Run for a doctor! Bring fence rails! Telephone for the police!"

That's the usual way with a crowd, to think up things that others ought to do.

Dick Prescott espied Dave Darrin ahead. Dropping Laura's arm without a word, Dick skated swiftly up to Dave, called Darrin, then lightning. As he worked young Prescott shot out a few hurried orders.

Then another great cry went up. Dick Prescott was sprinting fast toward the thin ice. Close to where Fred Ripley had gone down there was another great rent in the ice.

Dick Prescott was "in the freeze," in quest of his enemy!



CHAPTER XIX

DICK & CO. SHOW SOME TEAM WORK

So suddenly and heavily did he break through the thin ice that Dick went underneath the surface.

"Help!" roared Fred, in a frenzy, as he came to the surface.

The skates on his feet clogged all his movements, and acted like lead.

"There's Ripley, but where's Prescott?" shouted several.

"A-a-ah!"

That last cry went up as a sound of relief, when Prescott's brown-haired pate, hatless, bobbed up close to where he had gone down.

"Good boy, Prescott!"

"Go in and get Ripley."

"Save yourself, anyway! Don't be over-foolish!"

A dozen more cries went up from cove and shore.

Yet it is doubtful if Prescott heard any of them.

In the first instant that his eyes came above the level of the water, Dick took in the details of Ripley's whereabouts.

Dick had to calculate at lightning speed.

"O Prescott," gasped Fred, when he saw his would-be rescuer, "can't you break the ice between us? I can't keep up much longer."

"Get hold of the edge of the ice, Ripley," called Dick. "Just rest lightly on it. Don't try to make it bear your weight—-it won't! It'll help hold you up, though, if you keep cool."

"Cool?" groaned Fred. "I'm freezing. In pity's name get to me quickly."

Fred was so wholly self-centered that it didn't occur to him that the freshman must be just as chilled as he himself was.

Dick's legs ached with the cold chill of the icy water. He was free of the weight of skates, however, and he trod water during the few seconds that he needed for making up his mind what it was best to do.

Much depended upon the help that those on shore gave, but Dick had left his orders with Dave Darrin, and he trusted the shore end to his capable lieutenant.

Fred, though hardly more than able to keep himself afloat, managed to reach the nearest edge of ice.

He clutched at it eagerly, then, disregarding excellent advice, he tried to climb out upon it.

There was another crash. With another yell, Ripley sank again, to the horror of those on shore.

But Prescott did not see this. The freshman, after trying to calculate the exact distance across the intervening ice, dived below the glassy surface. He was swimming, now, under the ice. As he swam the freshman kept his eyes open, swimming close to the ice, yet not touching it.

So he came up, in the open. But where was Fred?

"Ripley just sank!" came the hoarse chorus from shore and cove.

This was serious enough. He who sinks for the second time in icy waters, especially when hampered by skates, may very likely not come up again.

"It must have been about here that he went down," calculated Prescott, deliberately, as he swam through the open water. "Now, then!"

Down went Dick. To those looking on, it was heroic—-sublime? Yet it looked as though the rescuer must be dooming himself.

"One Prescott is worth a dozen Ripleys" murmured one man who, unable to swim, was obliged to stand looking uselessly on.

There were still many who were shouting confusing advice as to what others ought to do. A few were even running about trying to do something.

Dave Darrin was actually "on the job."

He had pressed Dick's other partners into service and as many of the High School boys as possible. They got off their skates in a rush.

"Tom," shouted Dave, "you and Greg get some of the fellows and rush down as many ties as you can from that pile by the railroad tracks. Dalzell, you and Harry get down at the edge of send him your way. Make a raft by laying four ties side by side, and lash the ends. Do it as quick as a flash. I'll be there by that time."

Tom and Greg quickly had a dozen men running for railroad ties, a pile of which stood less than an eighth of a mile away.

By the time that the man with ropes arrived, and two more behind him, bringing more, there were a dozen railroad ties on the ice by the outer edge of the cove. Harry Hazelton and Dan snatched short lengths of rope and knotted them around either end of the raft.

"Some of you men make another raft, just like that one!" shouted Dave, who, at the time, was busily engaged in making a noose at one end of a long coil of half-inch rope.

"Here, you two men get hold of the other end of this," ordered Dave, running up with the coil of rope.

Then, hardly waiting to make sure that they had the rope, Dave turned to Harry and Dan, calling to them to help him push the raft out beyond the cove. A dozen men and boys tried to help, all at once, but Dave and Harry saw to it that no speed was lost by blundering.

The raft was not difficult to push out over the ice.

"Now, let me have it alone," shouted Dave. "The ice may break at any point beyond."

So Dave tugged and pushed, guiding the small raft before him.

Cra-ack! Dave and the raft went through the ice, but Darrin quickly climbed up astride of the ties.

Out beyond, Dick was holding up Fred Ripley, whom he had found and brought to the surface. Fred's eyes were nearly closed. After his second drop below, the Ripley lad was nearly spent.

Glancing back, Dave saw that another raft was being pushed out by the two men who held the rope that was noosed under his shoulders.

"Now, halt where you are!" Dave Darrin shouted back. "Toss me a long rope that I can throw out to Prescott!"

The rope came swirling. Dave caught it easily enough. Then, still sitting on the raft, his legs, of course, in the water, Darrin recoiled the rope.

"Can you spare a hand to catch, Dick?" shouted Dave.

"Surely!" came back the steady answer.

The coil flew out across the thin ice. One end splashed in the water. Guiding the all but helpless Fred, Dick swam to the rope's end.

Further back the two men who held to the rope connecting with Dave had seated themselves across the second raft. If the ice broke at that point they would have little difficulty in making themselves safe.

"Ripley, stir yourself!" ordered Dick. "Can you take hold of this rope, and keep hold of it" Can you climb across the thin ice, holding onto the rope and being towed if the ice breaks?"

"I—-I—-I'm afraid," chattered Ripley. "You come with me!"

"It'll be a good deal easier if you can go first, and alone," spoke the freshman, rather sternly. "I think I can keep myself afloat until you get over to solid ice. Then the rope can be thrown back to me."

"I'm afraid, I tell you," insisted Fred, his teeth clicking against each other. "Can't you see that I'm all in?"

"You'll have us both all in, if you don't get some courage together," young Prescott insisted. "Come, be a man, Ripley!"

"I'm freezing to death here," moaned Ripley, closing his eyes.

Somehow—-he could never tell just how, afterwards, Dick managed to slip the rope under Fred's shoulders. With infinite effort—-for he had to keep them both afloat, the freshman double-knotted the rope.

"Come, now, you've got to help yourself across the ice, while Dave hauls on the line," urged Dick.

Fred made a motion as though to bestir himself but he did it so feebly that Prescott gave him a sharp pinch.

"Ouch!" flared Fred, now seeming to be wide awake. "Prescott, you have the upper hand here. Don't be a bully!"

"I don't want to," spoke Dick, quietly, trying to keep his own teeth from rattling. "But you've got to stir yourself, or else I must do it for you. Now, get started over the thin ice. Dave will haul. Never mind if the ice breaks under you; the rope is tied around you. You're sure to be hauled to safety if you help yourself. Now, then, Dave! Begin to haul in!"

It needed another pinch to make Fred Ripley bestir himself properly. He half whimpered in protest, but Prescott was past minding that.

Hardly had Ripley gotten his full weight upon the ice than it broke under him. He splashed into the water with a great howl, but alert Dave Darrin hauled in just enough of the rope. Ripley was safe, and could make the next attempt to get out on the ice.

Meanwhile, Prescott swam to another part of the ice edge. He rested his hands on that edge, not heavily, but just enough for some support. At the same time he kept his tired, aching, almost frozen legs in motion just to keep himself from growing any more numb.

Four times Fred Ripley broke through the thin ice, but each time Dave Darrin, astride the first raft, pulled in on the rope just in time.

After getting himself out of the water for the fifth time, Ripley crawled over stronger ice, and went on past the hole in which Dave sat on the raft.

Then Ripley was able to get to his feet, tottering toward the shore, shaking as though with fever and chills.

A cheer went up from those who watched. The enthusiasm would have been vastly greater had not the crowd had its eyes on Dick Prescott, who must yet be saved if aid could reach him before his numbed limbs could sustain him no longer.

"Get that rope off, Ripley," bawled Dave Darrin. "Hurry! I must throw it to Dick, or he'll go down!"

"I can't get it off," mumbled Fred, tugging vainly, almost aimlessly, as he still moved coveward.

As he was on staunch ice, now, three or four men ran toward him. One, with a sharp knife, waved the others away and quickly slashed the noose away from Fred's shoulders.

"Go on, you pup!" grumbled the man with the knife. "Now, we'll try to get help to the man!"

Fred was not too far spent to flash angrily at that taunt.

"You'd better be careful whom you speak to like that!" snarled Ripley. "You're a low-bred fellow, anyway!"

But the man who had slashed the rope free didn't even hear. He had turned toward Darrin, to make sure that Dave could draw the rope toward him fast enough.

"One of you people get Ripley's skates off for him, and help him ashore," called Tom Reade.

"Why don't you?" some one in the crowd answered.

"Because my job," retorted Reade, "is keeping my eyes on my chum, ready to help if anything comes up that I can do."

Four or five hurried to Fred's aid. He had been walking on his skates, which, at best, is an awkward style of locomotion. Two men held him up, while two of the H.S. boys quickly took off his skates. After that Fred, leaning on one of the H.S. boys, made much quicker time to the shore.

Here a man with a sleigh waited.

"Pile him in here," directed the driver. "Dr. Gilbert has gone up to the Avery House and is getting things ready. I'll have Ripley back in a jiffy."

"Oh, that's all right," sang out a boy in the freshman class. "But the main thing is to hustle back and be ready to take Dick Prescott."

"And I'll pray all through the round trip that you may get Prescott back to shore alive," fervently replied the driver, as he brought the whip down across the horse's back.

Dave Darrin, too, was chilled. That was why, when he had drawn all the rope in and had coiled it, he made a throw that fell short.

"Courage, Dick, old fellow," he shouted. "I'll get it to you, in a jiffy."

Nervously, quickly, Dave hauled in the rope. He coiled rapidly, yet with care.

"Now, may Heaven give me the strength to throw this coil far enough to do the trick!" prayed Dave Darrin, as he made the second cast.

There was frenzy behind that throw. Hurrah! There was four feet of rope to spare as it splashed into the open part where Dick still hung, though he was fast weakening.

"There's a noose on the end—-I fixed it, Dick! Get it over your head and under your shoulders!" bawled Dave Darrin.

It was only the coolness of a last desperate hope that enabled the freshman to adjust the noose sufficiently.

"All r-r-r-i-ight!" he called, unable to make any further effort to stop the rattling of his teeth.

"Come on, then!" cheered Dave.

It was team play between two freshmen, but it was worked out. Dick, after a while, reached solid ice. Tom Reade and Dan Dalzell risked themselves a good deal in going far out to meet him. But they got their leader and rushed him toward the cove.

Soon a dozen H.S. boys were running around Dick. Some of them had him upon their shoulders; others were trying to help.

As they rushed him across the cove to the sleigh that had just arrived, the cheering was deafening.

Others in the crowd had already run up along the road, which was lined as Dick and Darrin were driven along as fast as the horse could go. Tom Reade stood on the runners behind. As soon as the door of the hotel was reached, Reade aided the driver in rushing the boys inside.

Even here the cheering followed them in volleys.

"Come on—-into a cold room with you, at first," ordered Dr. Gilbert, appearing, while a dozen H.S. boys came in his wake. "You don't want to get near a fire yet. Strip them, both, lads, and rub them down for all you're worth. Don't mind peeling a little skin off!"

Dick and Dave were rushed into a room. With so many hands to help, they were soon stripped. Then rough Turkish towels were plied upon them until even their skins began to show the red of blood and life.

"Now, wrap blankets about them, and bring them into a warm room," ordered the doctor.

As they entered the other room they espied Fred Ripley, already seated in an arm-chair by the stove, a bowl of something hot in one hand.

The driver of the sleigh now came in.

"You lads will want something warm and dry to put on," he declared. "Give me your orders. The distance isn't far. I'll drive to your homes and get the clothes and things that you want."

"No, thank you," returned Ripley, stiffly. "I've already had a telephone message sent, and my father's auto will bring out what I need."

"But you youngsters will want something?" asked the driver, turning to the plucky freshmen.

Dick and Dave stated their requests, Prescott adding:

"But please be sure to make our parents understand that we're safe. We don't want them seared to death."

Fred Ripley took a long swallow of the steaming stuff in his bowl. As he did so he took a furtive glance in the direction of the freshmen.

Was he going to attempt to thank them for having risked their own lives to help him back to safety?



CHAPTER XX

OUT FOR THAT TOBOGGAN!

Ben Badger came to the shore edge of the ice, megaphone in hand announcing in stentorian tones:

"Our friends are safe—-even jolly. The sports will now go on!"

First on the card was a free-for-all dash of a half mile, standing start. The trophy was a regulation target revolver.

Badger, of the first class, and Purcell, of the sophomore, held the lead and all but tied each other at the outset. Third in order came Stearns, the agile little right end of the eleven. When half the distance had been traveled it was noticed that Stearns was creeping up on the leaders.

"Look out, Ben, or the little fellow will get you!" roared friends.

Stearns continued to gain, slowly. Purcell dropped back to third place. None of the other eight in the race seemed likely to do anything effective.

"A little more steam, Ben!"

"Stearns, you can get it!"

In the last eighth of the distance Stearns made good. Summoning all his football wind and speed the little right end closed and shot ahead. Not once in the remainder of the course did Ben Badger quite catch up with his smaller opponent. Stearns won by some fifteen yards.

The racers came slowly back, breathing harder than usual. As soon as jovial Ben felt equal to the task of further announcing, he picked up the megaphone, shouting:

"As I didn't win, all the further events are postponed!"

There was stupefied silence for a few moments. Grown people and the students looked from one to another. Then a guffaw started that swelled to a chorus of laughter.

"The next event on the card," called Ben, satisfied with the effect of his joke, "is the free-for-all fancy skating event. The contestants will come before the judges one at a time. Each entrant is limited to two minutes, actual time."

There should have been some girls entered in this event, but there were none. Six H.S. boys from the different classes came forward.

"Fred Ripley loses his chance," muttered some one.

"He had his chance. A fellow who prefers to skate into the freeze is counted out," replied Thomp.

Just as the contestants were moving out Greg Holmes came hurrying down to the ice.

"Am I too late?" he called.

"Not if you think you've got anything good," replied Badger.

Greg promptly proceeded to put on his skates, covertly watching the performance of the first fellow to show off. It was good work that Greg watched, but he thought he could beat it.

"You'll have to go last on the list," nodded Ben, as Greg came skating up.

Greg merely nodded, though inwardly he grinned. "That just suits me," he told himself. "The fellow who skates last will be freshest in the minds of the judges."

When it came Greg's turn he avoided most of the fancy figures that the other fellows had shown off amid much applause. Still, Greg showed a bewildering assortment of "eights," "double-eights" and some magnificent work along the "turn promenade" order that Ripley had been doing before the accident.

Then Greg came in, promenading backward on his skates.

"I'm going to fall," he called to the judges, "but it will be intentional."

"Fall it is, then," nodded Sam Edgeworth, one of the judges.

Greg was moving jauntily along, still doing the backward promenade. Suddenly one of his skates appeared to catch against the other. Down went Greg, backwards. Despite his announcement the moment before, a sympathetic murmur went up from many of the onlookers.

But Greg, sitting down suddenly as he did, pivoted around like a streak. Throwing his hands back of his head, he sprang to his feet. At the first he was doing the forward promenade. The whole manoeuvre, including the fall, had occupied barely four seconds. Now, wheeling into the back promenade Greg glided before the judges.

"Time," called the holder of the watch.

"I'm willing," nodded Greg. "And I'm willing any contestant who wants should try my stunt before the verdict is given."

The conference between the judges did not last long and Greg got the decision.

"The freshman mile will come along later," announced Ben, through the megaphone. "The committee want to put in a freak race first."

The "freak" was a quarter mile, nearly go-as-you-please. In this race each contestant had on his left skate, but no skate on the right foot. The contestant who reached the finish line first won—-"even if he slides on his back," Ben announced, sagely.

Tom Reade hurried onto the ice as one of the entrants in this race. He had practiced it well, and won it easily, securing a silver medal. Greg's prize had been a gold medal, but over this fact Tom allowed himself to feel no envy or disappointment.

Several other events came along in quick succession. Everyone seemed to forget that the freshman mile had not yet been skated.

It was called last on the list. Just as the skaters were moving forward some one detected a figure hurrying down the slope over the snow.

"Here comes Dick Prescott!"

"Is he going into the race after all?"

A lively burst of cheers greeted the freshman as he reached the edge of the ice.

Dick looked as cheery and as rosy as ever. No onlooker could see that Prescott's late adventure had injured him in the least.

"Going to race, Dick?" called some one.

"Surest thing," laughed the freshman, "if I can find my skates. If not, I'm going to try to borrow a pair of the right size."

"Here are your skates," called Laura Bentley, gliding forward over the ice. "I picked them up for you, and I've been holding 'em ever since.

"That's what I call mighty good of you," glowed Dick. "Thank you a thousand times."

Dick sat down on a wooden box. He could have had the services of half a dozen seniors to fasten on his skates, but he preferred to do it for himself.

Clamps adjusted, and skates tested, Dick struck off leisurely, going up before the starter and judges. These were grouped near the starting line.

"Standing start," announced Ben. "Each man exactly to the line. Pistol signal. False starts barred, and the usual penalties for fouling. Get on line, all!"

Then the starter moved forward, pistol in hand.

"On your marks!"

"Get set!"

Bang!

Dick, at the left end of the line, crouched forward somewhat. Nearly the whole of his right runner rested on the ice. His left foot was well forward, the toe of the skate dug well into the ice. His right arm pointed ahead, his left behind.

Crack! At the sound of the shot Dick let his right foot spring into the air. As it came down, ahead, he gave a vigorous thrust with his left. The style of start was his own, but it worked to a charm. A hearty cheer went up when the spectators saw that Dick was leading by five yards.

At the first turn, however, Prescott's adherents—-and they were many this afternoon—-felt a thrill of disappointment. Walter Hewlett, whose skating had been strong and steady so far, passed Dick at the turn.

"Hardly fair, after all," murmured several. "Of course, after what he's been through, no matter how much nerve Prescott may have, he can't be anything like up to his usual form."

Had Dick heard them he would have smiled. He knew that the skating was warming him up and taking away whatever of the chill had been left.

As they neared the second turn the distance between Dick and Hewlett was about fifteen yards. The other freshmen were far enough behind both not to appear to count.

Now Prescott turned on steam. He reached the second turn only eight yards behind Hewlett, and that latter freshman made the poorer turn.

Down the home stretch now! Dick began to work deep breathing for all he was worth. Instead of taking slow, deep breaths, he breathed rapidly, pumping his lungs full of air.

That rapid deep breathing started his heart to working faster, sent the blood bounding through his arteries.

It would have been exhausting if carried out too long. But now, on what was left of the home stretch, it acted almost like pumping oxygen into his lungs.

Swiftly the distance melted.

"Hurrah!" rang the yell. "There goes Prescott ahead!"

Not only ahead, but gaining in the lead. Five yards to the good, then ten, twelve, fifteen. Dick Prescott shot over the finish line a good eighteen yards ahead. Then the victor came to a stop, panting but happy.

Five minutes later, when all the congratulations were over, he skated up beside Laura Bentley.

"You saved my skates for me, Laura, and brought me luck all through. I want you to have the first ride on that toboggan."



CHAPTER XXI

THANKS SERVED WITH HATE

It didn't take long for the Gridley boys who were most interested in athletics to figure up that three out of the eight prizes offered had gone to the freshman class.

More than that, the three freshmen winners were all members of the firm of Dick & Co., Limited.

"Saturday's work, and some other things, show us that Dick & Co. are going to be heard from a whole lot in the athletics of future years at this school," Ben told Dick at recess Monday morning. "Whew! But I'm sorry I'm not going to be here to watch the progress of you freshmen!"

Monday afternoon, while he was eating the midday meal, just after school had been dismissed, Dick received, by messenger, a note from Lawyer Ripley, asking the young freshman to call at his office at three o'clock.

Though actually retired, the wealthy lawyer maintained an office in one of the big buildings on Main Street. To this office Mr. Ripley went once in a while, to transact business.

"As I haven't a dollar in the world," smiled young Prescott, "it is hardly likely that he has been engaged to bring a suit against me. Oh, hang it, I know! He means to thank me for hauling Fred out of the water. What an infernal nuisance!"

For a few minutes Dick was inclined to disregard the invitation. He spoke to his mother about it.

"Have you any good reason for not going?" asked Mrs. Prescott.

"No, mother; except that I don't like the Ripley crowd particularly. Then, besides, I have no use for being thanked. I'd have done as much for a tramp that I had never seen before."

"I am afraid you have reasons for disliking Fred Ripley," admitted Mrs. Prescott. "But has the elder Mr. Ripley ever given you any cause for disliking him?"

"No; of course not."

"Then wouldn't it be the part of courtesy for you to go, since he requests it?"

"But, if he wants to thank me, why shouldn't he come here?"

"My boy, it is one of the privileges of older persons to expect younger ones to come to them."

"I guess that's right," nodded Dick. "Oh, well, I'll go. But, if Mr. Ripley has anything to pass in the way of thanks, I hope he'll cut it short."

So, at three o'clock, Dick climbed the stairs and knocked at the office door.

The lawyer himself opened.

"Oh, how do you do, Prescott?" demanded Lawyer Ripley, holding out his hand. "I'm most heartily glad to see you. You didn't see anything of my indolent son on the street, did you?"

"No, sir," the freshman answered, adding, to himself:

"I should hope not!"

"Come into my private office won't you, Prescott?" asked the lawyer, leading the way through his outer office.

The elder Ripley placed a comfortable arm-chair for his freshman caller, asking him to be seated.

Though Lawyer Ripley was, ordinarily, a rather pompous and purseproud sort of man, it was plain that he realized a debt of gratitude, and meant to pay it as graciously as he knew how to do.

"You have performed a most valuable service for me, Prescott," began the Sawyer again, in a heavy, solemn voice.

"You are quite welcome to the service, Mr. Ripley, and I hope you won't think any more about it," Dick replied.

"But it is impossible that I forget it," replied the lawyer, raising his eyebrows in some astonishment. "You saved the life of my son, my only child."

"At not very much risk to myself, sir," smiled the freshman. "I was able, soon after, to go in and win a skating race."

"At not much risk?" repeated the lawyer. "Why, your life was in very considerable danger. Do you call that little?"

"Almost any of the High School fellows would have done it, Mr. Ripley."

"But none of them did."

"Because I happened to be right at hand, and jumped in first—-that was all," Dick insisted.

"Young man, I am not going to allow you to make little of the great service that you did me. I—-ah, here comes the young man we've been discussing." The lawyer changed the subject as Fred entered. "Frederick, you are late, and, on an occasion of this kind, I could hope that you would be more prompt."

"My watch was slow," replied Fred Ripley, using one hand to cover a slight yawn.

"Don't you see who is here?" demanded his father.

"Yes, sir."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"How do you do?" nodded Dick, for Lawyer Ripley was looking curiously from one boy to the other.

"Don't you—-er—-consider, Frederick, that it would be an excellent idea if you were to offer your hand to Mr. Prescott?" demanded the lawyer.

The ordeal was as distasteful to Dick as it could possibly have been to the Ripley heir. Yet Dick got quickly up out of his chair, accepting the slowly proffered hand of the sophomore.

"That's better," smiled the lawyer. "Now, I'll leave you two together for the moment."

The lawyer closed the door behind him as he stepped into the outer office.

Fred Ripley glanced covertly at Dick, who had remained standing. Even as big a sneak as young Ripley had shown himself at times to be, he knew perfectly well that he owed it, even to himself, to try to be gracious with the lad who had saved his life.

But Dick said nothing, nor did he glance particularly at the sophomore. That made it all the harder for Fred to find something to say. The clock in the room ticked. Dick, to relieve the awkwardness of the situation, strolled over to a window and stood looking out.

That, therefore, was the situation when Lawyer Ripley came back into the room.

"What a jovial, friendly pair!" railed the lawyer, who held a slip of paper in his hand, as he advanced toward the freshman.

"Prescott," declared the lawyer, "I can't tell you what is in my heart. I can't even pay you adequately for what you have done for me and for my boy. But I ask you to accept this as a slight indication, only, of what I feel."

Dick took the paper, glancing at it curiously. It was the lawyer's check for two hundred and fifty dollars.

"Accept it," begged the lawyer, in a rather pompous voice. "Do whatever you please with it."

Dick colored. "Whatever I please with it?" he asked, a bit unsteadily.

"Yes; certainly, of course," murmured the lawyer. "I have no doubt whatever that a live? healthy boy can find something to do with a check like that."

Flushing still more deeply, while Fred Ripley looked on, at first enviously, Dick Prescott tore the check into several pieces. The lawyer stared at him in amazement.

"I appreciate your intention, Mr. Ripley," Dick went on, his voice a bit husky, "and I thank you, sir. But I can't take any money."

"Can't take it?" repeated the astonished lawyer, while Fred Ripley fairly gasped.

"I can't accept money, sir, for an act of humanity."

"Oh! But I think I can convince you, my boy, that you can."

"I'm equally sure that you can't Mr. Ripley," persisted the freshman, smiling. "But again I thank you for the intention."

Lawyer Ripley was a good deal of a judge of human character. He began to feel sure that the freshman was speaking the truth.

Just at that moment some one entered the outer office. Mr. Ripley glanced out, then said:

"I shall have to ask you to excuse me for a few moments. Fred, of course you have just thanked Mr. Prescott again for his heroic act?"

"N-n-no, sir," stammered Fred.

"When I return I don't want to have to hear another answer like that," warned the lawyer, sternly. Then he closed the door behind him.

Dick turned, with a dry smile.

"Since you're under orders to thank me, Fred, get it over with quickly," laughed the freshman. "I'll help you all I can."

Young Ripley's better nature really was stirred for a moment.

"Of course I thank you, Prescott," he stammered. "It was a splendid thing for you to do. I—-I don't know as I had any right to expect it, either, for I've been pretty mean to you."

"I know," replied Dick, with the same dry smile. "You put Tip Scammon up to the High School locker thefts, to get me in disgrace, and unlucky Tip had to go to jail for it."

Fred Ripley glared at the freshman with terror-stricken eyes.

Then, without warning, Fred made a leap for ward, to clutch Dick by the throat.



CHAPTER XXII

THE ONLY FRESHMEN AT THE SENIOR BALL

Side-stepping, the freshman put up one arm to ward off further attack.

"Come, don't start a fight here, Fred," Dick cautioned the other, in a low tone. "For one thing, you couldn't win anyway. Besides, your father would hear the racket and come in."

"How do you know I put Tip up to that job?" demanded young Ripley, his face as white as chalk. "Did Tip tell you all about it?"

"Not a word."

"Then you don't know," cried Fred, in sudden triumph.

"If I didn't," grinned Dick, "you've just confessed it."

"You tricked me—-I mean it's a lie."

"No; it isn't, either," asserted Dick, coolly. "Though the second chap, in that mix-up in Stetson's alley one night, got away before I had time to recognize his face in the black darkness there, yet as I fell and grabbed for the chap's ankle, I noticed his trousers with the lavender stripe. I had seen those trousers on you before, Fred, and you're wearing them again at this minute."

Fred glanced downward, starting.

"You see," insisted the freshman, "there's no sense in denying that you put Tip up to the game that got him into the penitentiary."

"How many have you told this to?" demanded Fred, fright showing in his face.

"My chums suspect," Dick answered, frankly. "I'm pretty sure I haven't told anyone else."

"Good thing you haven't, then," retorted Fred, recovering some of his usual impudence. "My father is a lawyer, and he'd know how to make you smart if you started libelous yarns about me."

"Your father being a lawyer, I think he would also be likely to show an investigating turn of mind. You can put it up to your father if you want to, Fred."

Young Ripley winced. Prescott laughed lightly.

"Now, see here, Fred, I don't want to live on bad terms with anyone. You've got good points, I'm sure you have."

"Oh, thank you," rejoined the sophomore, with exaggerated sarcasm.

"And I'll be glad to begin being on good terms with you at any time, if you should ever really want such a thing," continued the freshman. "If you were a thoroughly good fellow, wholly on the level, like Badger, Thomp, Purcell, or any one of scores of fellows that we know, then I'd hate to know that you didn't like me. But, as to the kind of fellow you've sometimes shown yourself to be, Fred, I've been really glad that I wasn't your sort and didn't appeal to you."

At this style of talk the sophomore seemed all but crushed with mortification.

"Come, Fred," pursued Dick, not waiting for the other to answer, "be a different sort of chap. Make up your mind to go through the High School, and through life afterwards, dealing with everybody on the square. Be pleasant and honest—-be a high-class fellow—-and everyone will like you and seek your friendship. That's all I've got to say."

"It's quite enough to say," retorted Ripley, but he spoke in a low voice that had in it no trace of combative energy.

"Well, boys, how are matters going?" asked Lawyer Ripley, reentering. "Fred, have you remedied your boorishness by thanking Prescott?"

"Oh, yes, he has thanked me," Dick replied, cheerily. "And we've been chatting about—-some other matters. And now, Mr. Ripley, if you will excuse me, I feel that I must run along."

I have other things that I really must attend to."

"Won't you be more sensible, and let me make you a duplicate to the check you tore up?" asked the lawyer.

"Thank you, sir; but I don't want to; couldn't, in fact. My father and mother would be ashamed of me if I took home a check for such a service. Good afternoon, Mr. Ripley. So long, Fred."

Dick went out of the lawyer's offices almost breezily. Fred even found the nerve to respond to Dick's parting salutation with something very close to an air of cordiality.

The instant he reached the street Dick took in several deep breaths.

"Whew! It seems mighty good to be in the fresh air once more, after being in the same room with Fred Ripley," muttered the freshman.

"Hello, Dickens, kid," called a voice from behind, and an arm rested on his shoulder.

"Hello, Ben," replied Prescott, looking around.

"I just wanted to say that the senior ball comes off Saturday night of this week. You're going to get one of the few freshman tickets. The ticket allows you to invite one of the girls. Now, remember, freshie, we depend upon you to be there."

Dick started to object. Well enough he knew that there would be few freshmen at the senior dance, which was the most exclusive affair in the High School year.

"You can't kick," rattled on Badger. "You'll get thrashed, if you do. Didn't I tell you that there'll be very few freshman tickets sent out? Only six, in fact. Dick & Co. are going to hog all the freshman tickets. That's largely on account of what you youngsters have done for football and athletics in general. Lad, this is the last year that the seniors will have a chance to see anything of Dick & Co. So you simply can't stay away from the senior ball. Not a single member of Dick & Co. can be excused from attending."

"We'll see about it," replied Dick.

"No, you won't! It has all been seen to. The six of you are going to be on hand—-with six stunning girls, too!"

"I thank you, anyway; I thank you all heartily for this very unusual honor," Dick protested.

"That's all right, then; it's settled," proclaimed Ben Badger, with an air of finality. "The dance begins at nine. It's all stated on the ticket."

By the next day it was settled that Dick & Co. were going to attend. Besides the senior class, a good many of the juniors were also invited. There was to be a fair sprinkling of sophomores, but of the freshmen Dick & Co. were the only ones invited.

Up to the middle of the week Fred Ripley felt rather certain that he was to be invited. Then, feeling less certain, he went to Thomp and Badger.

"Say, fellows," began Fred, with a confident air, "I just want to mention the fact that I haven't received a card to the senior ball yet."

"Maybe you will, next year," suggested Thomp coolly.

Fred flushed, then went white.

"Oh, very well, if you mean than I'm to be left out," grunted Ripley.

"I'm afraid, Fred," hinted Badger, "that you were overlooked until the full number of soph tickets had been issued. It was an oversight, of course, but I'm afraid it's too late to remedy it."

Fred Ripley went away, furious with anger, for he already knew, as did everyone else in Gridley H.S., that Dick & Co. were to be among the elect at the senior ball. And Fred had been so sure of a card to the ball that he had gone to the length of inviting Clara Deane to accompany him to the affair. That young lady had most joyously accepted.

Now, as he walked home with Miss Clara this afternoon, Fred suddenly broke out:

"I say, Clara, you don't very much mind if we don't go to the senior ball, do you?"

"Yes," Miss Deane retorted. "Why, what's the matter, Fred. Didn't you receive an invitation?"

"Of course, I could get an invite," lied young Ripley. "But the plain truth is, I want to keep out of the affair."

"Why, what's the matter?" asked Clara, gazing at her escort in astonishment.

"Haven't you heard the news?"

"What news?"

"That mucker crowd, who call themselves Dick &s Co., have been invited."

"There's no harm in that, is there?" asked Clara Deane, quietly. "Why, they're quite popular young fellows; certainly the best-liked freshmen."

"Well, I don't like them," retorted Fred, sullenly.

"And so, after inviting me to go to the ball with you, now you're going to invite me to remain at home instead?"

"Oh, of course, if you really want to go, I'll see about it," muttered the sophomore.

But he didn't see about it, nor did Clara Deane again refer to the matter. However, being an enterprising girl, Miss Deane was not long in discovering that Fred was not going to the senior affair for the very good reason that he couldn't possibly get himself written down on the invitation list.

Apart from the moral side of the question it is rarely worth while to lie—-to a girl, especially.



CHAPTER XXIII

THE NITROGLYCERINE MYSTERY SPEAKS UP

In one phase of its social life Gridley H.S. was especially sensible. Since only a few of the boys could be expected to be able to afford evening dress suits, it was a rule that none, even the seniors, should appear at any of the class functions in these fashionable garments.

Hence, Dick & Co., when they arrived with their girl friends, did not feel out of place on the score of clothes.

Each of the freshmen wore his "Sunday" suit, and each wore a flower at his lapel.

Unfortunately, no limitations were placed on the dress of the girls. Therefore, while some rather plain frocks were in evidence, many of the girls were rather elaborately attired.

Laura Bentley, though her father's means rather permitted, did not "overdo" in respect of dress. Dick felt sure, however, as he offered his arm, and conducted her out on the floor, that Laura was quite the prettiest, sweetest-looking girl there.

All of Dick's chums felt satisfied with their partners of the evening, for each young man had invited the girl whose company he was sure to enjoy most.

Somehow, though they did not feel just out of place at the senior ball, the six young freshmen and their partners, all of the freshman class, happened to come together at one end of the hall.

"What do you all say," proposed Dick, "if, in the grand march, we freshies keep together, six couples all in one section?"

"We'll feel more comfortable, surely," grinned Dave Darrin.

"Why? Are you scared?" asked Laura, looking at him archly.

"Not so that the band-leader could notice it," replied Dave. "Yet I think we'd all be making more noise if this were a freshman dance."

"But the freshmen don't have a dance until just before commencement time," put in Belle Meade, who was there with Dave.

"Anyway, the seniors are not so very important," laughed Laura. "the average age of the freshman class is about fourteen or fifteen. The seniors are only three years older Pooh! Who's afraid?"

"I am," broke in Ben Badger, coming up behind them. "Desperately afraid."

"You? Of what?" asked Laura, turning around upon him.

"Afraid that I'm too late to write my autograph on your dance card," admitted Ben, with a rueful smile.

"But you're a senior," murmured Laura.

"Is that a crime?" demanded Ben, in a tone of wonder.

"Why, we were planning," put in Belle, "that the freshmen boys and freshmen girls should dance together this evening."

"I see a ray of hope," protested Ben. "I'm going to college, so I shall be a freshman again next year. Isn't that enough to entitle me to one—-square—-dance, anyway?"

Without waiting for another reply, Ben caught up Laura's card, and looked it over.

"May I have number nine, please?" he begged.

"Yes, thank you," Laura answered, so Badger scribbled his name.

"My hopes are rising," cried Frank Thompson, gliding into the group.

Thereupon other seniors and juniors came up. It wasn't long before Dick & Co. had to bestir themselves in order to be sure of having dances enough with the girls of their own class.

"You can retaliate, you know, by going after some of the girls of the two upper classes," suggested Laura.

"I don't believe I'll try that," Dick replied. "It's all right for the upper class boys to want to dance with some of the freshman girls, especially when the freshman girls are such a charming lot——-"

"Our thanks!" And six girls bowed low before him.

"But it would be regarded, I'm afraid, as rank impudence, if we little freshmen wanted to dance with senior or junior girls. When a freshman is in doubt the tip is 'don't!'"

The orchestra was playing a lively waltz that made most of the girls and many of the boys tap their feet restlessly.

The perfume of flowers was in the air. Lively chatter and merry laughter rang out.

"This is the brighter side of school life," murmured Dick, enthusiastically.

"One of the brighter sides," suggested Laura. "Your remark, as you made it, sounds ungrateful. It is a delight to be a High School student. There are no really dark sides to the life."

"But some sides are much brighter than others," Dick insisted. "I like study, and am glad I have a chance to go further in it than most young people get. Yet these class dances give us something that algebra, or chemistry, or geometry can't supply us."

"This is the brightest spot of the year," put in Tom Reade, in a low voice. "It must be the brightness of the girls' eyes that fill this part of the room with so much radiance."

"Bravo!" laughed Laura and Belle together.

"Have you been quiet the last fifteen minutes on purpose to think that up?" Dave asked enviously.

"Tom can say lots of nicer things than that," spoke up Bessie Trenholm, half shyly.

"Oh, can he?" demanded Harry Hazelton. "Please search your memory then, Bessie. Let's have a few specimens of what Tom can say under the influence of luminous eyes."

Bessie blushed. When she tried to speak she stammered.

"I—-I guess I can't remember anything," she pleaded.

Freshman laughter rang out merrily at this. But the waltz had ended, and now the prompter was calling for the grand march.

"Let's find our places," urged Dan Dalzell.

"We're on the side, so we might as well remain right where we are," proposed Dick. "That is, unless the floor manager or some aide comes along and chases us to the rear of the procession."

But no one interfered with the freshmen taking their places in the line just where they stood.

As the grand march ended the orchestra drew breath once or twice, then burst forth in a gallop. Dick offered Laura his guidance, and away they flew together. By the time the gallop ended the freshman couples were rather well scattered over the hall.

Dick danced well. He enjoyed himself immensely. So did his partners. Some of the freshman girls finally drifted off with upper class partners.

Toward midnight, Dick, alone, drifted to Dave Darrin and Harry Hazelton.

"I haven't a thing to do, now, for four dances, unless some senior drops dead," Dick remarked.

"I'm in as bad a plight," admitted Harry.

"And I," nodded Dave.

It wasn't many moments ere the other three partners happened along, all disengaged.

"We don't want to be wall-flowers," muttered Dick. "It's going to be more than half an hour from now before any of us are due to dance again. See here, fellows, what do you say to our getting our hats and coats and getting out into the air for a while? A ballroom, isn't the worst place in the world, but I'm so much a fresh air fellow, that I'm half stifling here."

"Good! Come along to the coatroom, then," nodded Greg Holmes.

"Going home?" asked Laura Bentley, in a tone of protest, as she whirled by on Thompson's arm and saw Dick & Co. headed for the coatroom.

She was gone before Dick could answer by word of mouth. But he saw her regarding him from the other end of the room, and smilingly shook his head.

"Feels good to be out, doesn't it?" asked Dan Dalzell, as the freshman sextette struck the open air.

"Yes; but what has happened to the blooming town?" demanded Greg Holmes.

Even this Main Street of Gridley presented a curious look. It was a freezingly cold December night and it looked to the freshman as though the senior ball must be the only live thing left in the little city.

All the stores were closed, and had been for some time. All lights were out in the nearest residences. At first the boys thought they beheld held a policeman standing in front of the First National Bank, half a block away, but a closer look revealed the fact that he was only some belated loiterer—-the sole human being in sight save themselves.

"Come off this other way, and let's go down the side street," proposed Dick.

"Yes; if we're to find signs of life anywhere, it will have to be on the smaller side streets," observed Greg Holmes.

Music wafted to them from the hall.

"There's life going on up there," remarked Dave. "We left it behind us."

"It isn't life," laughed Dick, "when some other fellow is dancing with your girl."

Along the side street the first corner was at the beginning of a broad back alley that ran parallel with Main Street.

Along this alleyway they turned.

"By looking up at the windows," suggested Prescott, "we may get some glimpses of the dance that are not so apparent when you're up in the hall."

True, as they passed by the rear of the dance hall they caught some glimpses of moving couples going by the windows, but that was all.

"And I want to remark," grunted Tom Reade, "that it's cold outdoors tonight."

"An outdoor fellow like you ought not to mind that," chaffed Dick

"Oh, I'll stand it as long as the rest of you do," challenged Reade.

Dick and Dave were in the lead, the other chums coming behind them in couples.

So Prescott and Dave Darrin were the first to catch a glimpse down the short lane that led from the alleyway to the back of one of the buildings.

Here stood a man, with cap drawn well down over his forehead. He was beside an automobile—-a big black touring car.

Dick saw and guessed. He almost jumped. Giving Dave's arm a quick squeeze, Prescott marched by without appearing to pay any heed to the man and the autocar.

Once past the lane, Dick kept on walking, but he turned and walked backwards. He signed to the other four, putting a finger to his lips for silence.

All six of the chums had guessed swiftly what the man and the auto, at that particular point, must mean!

"Keep walking, fellows," whispered Dick, as the other startled freshmen reached him. "And laugh—-loudly!"

Their forced laughter rang out. Then Dick, again at the head with Dave, started in on the first bars of the latest popular song. Again the chums understood, and joined in with a will.

When he had gone two hundred feet further, Dick countermarched his little force. Still singing they went back by the head of the lane, but not one member of Dick & Co. allowed himself to glance down the lane at man or automobile.

Then the song died out.

"I say, fellows," called Dave Darrin, banteringly, "we'd better get back to the hall if we don't want to find other fellows going home with our girls."

"I'll fight before I'll let that happen," proclaimed Dick Prescott.

"Hustle, then!" urged Dan.

Once out of the alleyway and into the side street the freshmen halted for an instant.

"Fellows," spoke Dick Prescott, "you all know what that means? One lookout in front of the bank, and another at the rear. An auto at the rear, too. Greg, you hustle to the police station as fast as you can make your feet fly. No use trying to find a place open where you can telephone. Come, the rest of you fellows."

There was a side entrance to the hall from the side street.

Dick and his four remaining chums ran in at this side door, that the man in front of the bank might not see them.

Up the stairs the freshmen rushed.

"Dave, take care of the orchestra," panted Dick. "The music mustn't stop for an instant after we get the fellows out."

Something in the looks of the five freshmen, as they burst into the hall attracted the attention of nearly everyone present.

Dick held up his hand as a sign for the dancing to stop. But Dave Darrin was already up on the platform, talking in the leader's ear, and the music did not cease.

As quickly as could be Dick got the upper classmen away from the girls, at the lower end of the hall.

"What is it? What can be the matter?" all the girls wanted to know.

But Dick called out, loudly enough to make himself heard:

"Young ladies, it is highly important that the music and the sounds of moving feet be kept up. Won't you young ladies please dance with each other until we bet back? Then we'll tell you an interesting story—-if you're good."

In the meantime Tom Reade was telling Thompson, Badger and Edgeworth, and as many more as could get close enough, what had happened.

"See here, fellows," spoke Thomp, "there's a big chance fer the crowd to win fun and glory for good old Gridley H.S. Seniors and Dick & Co. will steal down the alleyway, and be upon that lookout before he can say 'batter-cakes and coffee.' Juniors and sophs go in a bunch, prepared to catch the lookout on Main Street. All get your coats and come softly down the side stairs!"

In many gatherings the speed and comprehension with which all the Gridley High School boys acted would have been regarded as marvelous. But they were always in training for athletics. Team work and the spirit of speed and discipline prevailed among them.

Almost in a jiffy, so it seemed, the masculine part of the senior dance party was out on the sidewalk of the side street.

"Don't you juniors and sophs show yourselves on Main Street for a full sixty seconds, unless you hear us raise a row at the back of the bank," advised Dick.

Somehow, none of the upper classmen seemed to think it strange for young Prescott thus to take command. He and his chums had discovered the attempt on the bank, and it seemed natural, just now, for the freshman leader to lead the whole school.

On tiptoe Dick and his chums led the way into the alley, the seniors following just as stealthily.

When the freshmen were within thirty feet of the lane Dick Prescott held up his hand, then signed to all hands to make the grand rush forward.

Just an instant before the High School boys could start, the earth suddenly shook and swayed under them, while on the frosty night air there came a great, sullen, fearsome—-

BOOM!

That was the explosion designed to blow open the door of the bank's vault.



CHAPTER XXIV

THE CAPTURE OF THE BANK ROBBERS

In answer, a rousing defiance, the Gridley H.S. yell was roared out. And by this time, seniors Dick & Co. were in full motion.

"Four—-thirteen—-eleven!" bellowed Sam Edgeworth.

The football men heard that signal and understood the application of it.

Though the flying wedge is now no longer tolerated in football, there are other plays evolved from it, and the signal called for one. Edgeworth himself formed the point of the wedge.

"Freshies in the center!" he bawled back lustily.

As the High School crowd rushed around the corner, giving their vocal chords full play, Dick and his chums were hustled inside of the inverted "V" formation.

It was a human battering ram that launched itself into the lane—-filling that narrow passage, choking it.

One of the bank robbers was still on the lookout duty. At the first sound he had drawn his revolver, prepared to shoot right and left. But this avalanche of torsos, arms and legs was more than the fellow had bargained for.

If it be true that a community can't be indicted, then it is still truer that a community can't be murdered. The armed rascal gasped at the magnitude of his task of defense.

In another second he had been bowled clean over off his feet, and a half a dozen seniors were reaching for his weapon.

As Dick Prescott and his chums got out of the wedge they made a dash for the automobile.

At that same instant the air bore to them the battle-yell of juniors and sophs at the front of the bank.

The rear door of the building was yanked hastily open. Two masked men shot the rays of their bulls-eye lanterns out into the lane, while their right hands held revolvers.

Bang-bang! Bang-bang!

The rear door slammed, the robbers retreating behind that barrier.

In the first moment the High School boys themselves were a good deal startled, though they didn't make any effort to run.

Then the news pulsed swiftly through the senior crowd. The noise hadn't come from pistols. Dick & Co. had shut off any possibility of automobile flight by falling upon the tires with their pocket knives. Any robbers that could bluff their way through the crowd and start the engine would have to hobble along on flat tires!

The rear lookout of the robber band was now a safe prisoner in the hands of four stalwart seniors. Ben Badger had the fellow's revolver.

Out in front of the bank the juniors and sophs held the enemy at bay inside. The lookout, after trying to hold up the rush at the point of the pistol, had turned without firing, and had tried to get away. But four of the juniors had sprinted after him and caught him.

Thus the forces stood. Inside the bank building were at least two of the robbers, armed and presumably desperate. Yet they knew they couldn't shoot their way out through a multitude, either at the front or the back of the building.

On the other hand, the High School boys didn't care about rushing into a darkness that was held by armed men.

Thus the opposing sides stood holding each other at bay until new actors came upon the scene—-the police reserves.

Four officers ran to the front of the bank. Chief Coy and four more appeared in the lane among the High School boys.

"Now, young gentlemen, jump out, if you please!" rang the chief's order, "We've got to get inside at those fellows, and there may be a good many bullets flying."

"Huh!" objected Thomp. "We penned that gang up for you. Now, are you going to chase us off just as the real fun starts?"

"If you stay, it'll be at your own risk, then," answered Chief Coy, with a rather pleased grin, for he had followed the fortunes of Gridley H.S. on the football gridiron, and well enough he knew the school grit.

Pushing their way through, the police made their way to the closed rear door.

"Within, there!" summoned Coy, knocking lustily on the door. "You are surrounded, and may as well give up. Open the door, and come out, and you'll be safe."

There was a pause. Then a gruff voice demanded:

"If we open you don't fire on us?"

"Not if you come out with your hands held up high."

"All right, then. Give us time to open the door."

The light from the police dark lanterns played on the door as it swung open. Then two very crestfallen robbers, holding their hands well aloft, came out on the steps.

The windows of the hall, some distance away, had been thrown up. A lot of white-gowned girls, some with covered heads, and some not, looked wonderingly out at the spot lighted up by the dark lanterns.

Chief Coy and two of his officers quickly entered the bank. It was ten minutes before they reappeared.

"Somebody has done us the good turn of discovering this thing just in time tonight," announced Coy, with a grave face. "The vault door is blown entirely off, and the vault is stacked high with sacks of money. Who first discovered this thing anyway?"

"Don't you know?" called Ben Badger.

From a score of throats at once the information broke forth:

"Dick & Co.!"

"It'll be a good night's work for Dick & Co., then, when the bank directors meet" declared Chief Coy. "In three or four minutes more these robbers would have been going sixty miles an hour with an automobile loaded down to the guards with real money!"

The police party being large enough to take care of everything, it was not many minutes more before the High School boys were back in the hall. It took half an hour, however, for the young men to gratify the natural curiosity of the girls. At last the orchestra leader, tiring of the long delay, passed the word to his musicians. Then the music pealed out for that good, stirring old eulogy:

"For he's a jolly good fellow!"

In an instant bright-faced boys and girls caught up the refrain, making the hall shake with the din of their voices.

In the midst of it Thomp and Badger made a rush for Dick Prescott, caught him, and rushed him to the platform. But they had to hold him there.

"Speech! speech!" roared the boy and girl assemblage. There was a volley of hand-clapping.

But Dick, as soon as he could make himself heard, responded:

"You've got my number—-nothing but the freshman class. When a freshman is in doubt he doesn't dare do it!"

Suddenly turning, Dick bolted for the floor once more. Then the next number on the dance programme began, and laughter reigned.

But these events had not been in the dance programme, and it was now late. For an hour or more the chaperons had been fretting, so they brought the dance to a close. Then followed the merry bustle of departure, the hasty goodbyes, the rattling of wheels through the sleeping town and all was quiet in Gridley.

But many a household was awakened to hear the story of the attempted burglary and the part that Dick & Co. had taken in preventing it.



CHAPTER XXV

CONCLUSION

It isn't all play in a High School. A vast amount of study has to be mastered. There are nerve-racking examinations. It is a tremendously busy life despite its sport.

So here we would better take leave of Gridley H.S. so far as this volume is concerned.

It was soon known that, had not Dick & Co. taken their little walk the robbers would have gotten away with one hundred and twenty thousand dollars in cash.

As it was, however, all four men were in the police toils, and they were presently sent to the penitentiary, where they are serving long terms.

The bank directors did vote to reward the H.S. boys as individuals, but Dick & Co. and all the upper classmen refused to accept anything for their own pockets.

In despair, the directors finally hit upon the scheme of subscribing one thousand dollars to the funds of the Athletics Committee.

The catching of the bank robbers solved the nitroglycerine mystery. One of the safe-blowing quartette was recognized by the police as having been in Gridley at the time when that nitroglycerine package was received at the express office. Had they gotten their box in safety the robbers would have entered the bank that night, and there might have been a different story—-one of great loss to the bank.

Fred Ripley? His further story belongs to the following volume.

Dick & Co. went through their freshman year with credit all around.

When next we meet them we shall find them sophomores, with all the privileges of upper classmen. We shall meet these young sophomores in a sparkling tale of High School life and doings, ambitions and work, sports and pastimes. The next volume will be published under the title: "The High School Pitcher; or Dick & Co. on the Gridley Diamond." This will be a rousing story of baseball in particular, but likewise replete with other situations of absorbing interest to all high school boys and girls.

THE END