As Dean seemed to be in the act of hurling to his captain, Teeny-bits won through to an open space; suddenly the quarter-back shifted and shot the ball, bullet-straight, into the hands of the half-back. Teeny-bits was running toward the Jefferson goal almost before he felt the hard leather touch his fingers; now or never was the instant to use every atom of his body in the one purpose of reaching the goal posts that were straight in front of him,—so near and yet so far away.

The whole Jefferson team realized in that fraction of a second when they saw the ball sail into the half-back's arms that their advantage, their prestige and their hope of glory in the annals of Jefferson football were at stake. They were after Teeny-bits like wolves on the trail of a rabbit, but only three of them had a chance to reach the Ridgley player. The first of these—the quarter-back—made the fatal mistake of underestimating Teeny-bits' speed. The half-back shifted direction slightly and eluded the grasp of the purple player. The other two were slightly in the rear and their only chance was to come up from behind and overtake the runner by superior swiftness. But they were not equal to it, and, although they tried valiantly and held their own, they did not succeed in gaining on the carrier of the ball as he crossed one white mark after another.



A roar like the pounding of a mighty sea against a craggy shore sounded in Teeny-bits' ears, but it seemed to him distant and detached from the thing he was doing. For the moment he was a living machine of speed with only one thought in his mind,—to reach that last white line, to cross it and to plant the pigskin ball behind the padded goal posts. He did it,—and lay panting on the ground while Neil Durant came running up and slapped him on the back and said words to him which Teeny-bits never remembered.

The captain kicked the goal which tied the score while a continuous din of unorganized shouting rose from the Ridgley stands. It was no moment for organized cheering. The cheer leader himself was leaping up and down, throwing his megaphone into the air and emitting war whoops which were drowned and assimilated by the volume of shouts that echoed back and forth.

The old-timers up there in the stands now began to breathe fast; this was not merely a good game of football, it was a wonderful game, a struggle in which extraordinary playing and fine spirit and brains and courage were united to make a combat that would live long in the memory of every person who witnessed it.

Up where the red was waving aloft, a white-haired man who did not understand the plays of football very well suddenly found that he had grasped the idea of this magnificent game. He was thumping the back of some one whom he had never seen before and giving voice to such yells of delight that the motherly-looking woman who sat beside him said to herself that he must suddenly have gone out of his senses.

"Teeny-bits did something wonderful, then, didn't he?" she shouted in his ear, and old Daniel Holbrook, her husband, shouted back:

"You bet your life he did; it was Teeny-bits; he ran all the way over the home plate or whatever they call it and made a score. I dunno but he's won the game all by himself."

In another part of the stands Doctor Wells was sitting beside Mr. Stevens.

"That was a magnificent run!" exclaimed the Head. "Magnificent! I declare—well—now we're even."

"Yes, we're even!" said the English master. "And I've discovered something."

"What?"

"Well, they say that the head of this school never gets excited, but just now when Teeny-bits was running you nearly pushed me out of my seat—and I think I heard a yell that came from your direction."

"Did I shout?" asked the Head.

"'Shout' isn't the word," said the English master. "Yell with a capital Y describes it."

"Back in '86, I used to play half-back myself," said Doctor Wells. "Here we are; they're at it again."

Ridgley kicked off to Jefferson and immediately was subjected to a fierce assault that taxed the utmost powers of endurance to withstand it. The Jefferson team was fighting harder than ever and playing with machine-like smoothness. They carried the ball for twenty-five yards and then punted, and downed Neil Durant in his tracks. Ridgley fought hard to advance the ball and gained a first down, then, meeting with no further success, punted. And so the ball see-sawed back and forth until the piping whistle of the timekeeper announced the close of the third quarter.

A feeling of great happiness and determination had been filling Teeny-bits' mind during these last few minutes. At the same time a curious impression had been making itself felt upon him,—an admiration for this big captain of the Jefferson team who fought so hard and so cleanly, who rallied his men after each successful assault by the Ridgley team, and like Neil Durant, inspired them to fight harder and harder.

There was no need for talking now. In the brief interval before the last period of the game began, Neil Durant, looking at his team-mates, saw in their faces determination and confidence. Nothing that he could say or that any one could say would alter their conviction that victory must rest with the red.

That last period was a phase of the game that could justly be called a climax. It began with a steady and determined march of the Jefferson team which, starting from the twenty-yard line, carried the ball forward by line plunges, by forward passes, by end runs and by sheer, dogged determination on and on until the purple eleven was within the very shadow of the Ridgley goal posts and Jefferson seemed to have the victory within her grasp. A terrific run by the captain planted the ball on the Ridgley four-yard line for a first down, and there was no person shouting for the purple who did not believe that he was about to witness that most glorious of football events—a well-earned touchdown, after a magnificent march the length of the field.

Big Tom Curwood was battered, the guards beside him were battered and the tackles crouched low as if they would welcome a chance to lie down flat on the brown earth and rest. Neil Durant spoke a word and they stiffened, the secondary defense moved closer to the line and the whole team in one mass met the Jefferson charge. Once, twice, and three times the purple backs plunged into the red line and each time they carried the ball forward a little more than a yard.

On that third try the referee dived into the mass in a manner that suggested to the watchers that the score had been made, but when he finally got his hands on the ball it was apparent that Jefferson still needed a few inches. The signal came quickly and the two avalanches of bone and muscle plunged against each other. The pile subsided and one after another the players on the fringe drew away until the referee could see the ball. There was a moment of tense expectancy and then the official waved his arm in a direction that brought forth a vast yell of joy from the Ridgley stands. Jefferson had been held; that leather oval had failed by inches to cross the last thin smear of white.

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER X

AT LINCOLN HALL

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER XI

MYSTERIES IN PART EXPLAINED

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you want?" she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who said that?" demanded Doctor Wells.

"Them two birds I'm tellin' yer about,—Bassett, the feller they called the Whirlwind, and Campbell. Now I ain't no reg'lar detecative, Doctor, but I got my ijeers, and that sot me to thinkin' hard and I knew somethin' uncommon suspicious was goin' on. A friend o' mine who was kinder detecatin' round as my assistant, you might say, slid down a fire-escape rope about that time and climbed into Campbell's room, but he didn't find nothin' and come away empty-handed."

"Who was that friend of yours?" asked Doctor Wells. "Was it Teeny-bits?"

"Now, Doctor," said old Jerry, "I ain't aimin' to keep anythin' back twixt you'n me, but there's certain things, you understan', that I can't—it wan't Teeny-bits——but further'n that——"

"All right, Jerry," said the Head. "I respect your point of view. Go on with your story."

"Well," said Jerry, "this friend of mine come to me this mornin' and says that Teeny-bits got accused of stealin' them things from the boys and that somehow or other all those gold trinkets and contraptions got found under his closet floor, and I wanter tell you, Doctor, that this Teeny-bits didn't do it and that them two bad birds, Campbell and Bassett, was at the bottom of all this deviltry, and there ain't been two sich underhanded, reckless, good-for-nothin' fellers in this school sence I took position here twenty year ago."

"Jerry," said the Doctor, "I value your judgment and I thank you for coming to me in this frank way and giving me the benefit of your ideas."

The interview was over. Old Jerry left the office of the Head mumbling to himself: "I got my ijeers and sometimes, by gorry, they's uncommon ijeers."

While Jerry had been talking with the Head, Snubby Turner, who had finished his explanation to Teeny-bits, had sought out Mr. Stevens and had said to him:

"I have just been discovering some things that make it necessary for me to tell you that last Monday night, while the football mass meeting was going on, I slid down a fire-rope and crawled into Tracey Campbell's room to see if I could discover if he was the one who had been stealing things from the fellows' rooms and that while I was doing it Teeny-bits came along and saw me, though I didn't know it at the time,—and that is the reason why you found him out there behind the dormitory."

"Turner," said the English master, "you've told me something that I am more than glad to hear. It clears up one element in a puzzling situation. I'm beginning to see light."

On this Sunday, Ridgley School, expecting to settle down into a comfortable enjoyment of the football triumph, found itself involved in a sensation which was the source of rumors that flew from dormitory to dormitory and from room to room with incredible rapidity. All day long hints, suggestions, stories—the product of fact, hearsay and fancy—were exchanged by every son of the school. At the morning service in the chapel Doctor Wells referred to the tragedy in grave terms.

"Unexpectedly," he said, "while we have been rejoicing over our victory, death has taken toll from among us; one of our number has passed suddenly from this world into the world beyond. By this tragic circumstance our thoughts are sobered and we find ourselves face to face with a sad and bitter incident—the termination of a life while it was still incomplete and unformed. I hope that the whole school will refrain from useless comment and will form no harsh or unjust judgments. This is a time for charity of thought."

Doctor Wells found many duties to perform in connection with the tragedy. Not until evening was he able to do what he had had in his mind to do from the moment when old Jerry called at his office. Another bit of news that came from Mr. Stevens—information that concerned Snubby Turner—had given him additional incentive to finish one phase of an unpleasant matter quickly. After the evening meal that night he summoned Mr. Stevens and Teeny-bits to his office, and there put certain questions to the new captain of the Ridgley eleven that brought out the whole story of the incidents that had occurred on the night before the big game.

Sitting in front of the open fire, Doctor Wells put his fingers together in the pose that was characteristic of him when he was deeply immersed in thought. The clock on the mantel piece ticked loudly in the silence of the room and Teeny-bits and Mr. Stevens sat pondering as profoundly as the Head. After a time Doctor Wells spoke, slowly, as if he were alone and were merely voicing the thoughts that flocked through his mind:

"This is the strangest series of circumstances that has come to my attention since I have been at Ridgley. It is hard to understand why two young fellows should harbor such an animosity for any other member of the school."

"Well," said Mr. Stevens, breaking in when the Head paused, "this Bassett was a strange character; there seemed to be something lacking in his nature; I shall have to admit that, although I made it a point to study him, I quite failed to understand him. I don't think you knew that on the day when Holbrook arrived at Ridgley, Bassett did certain things which resulted in a struggle, and that Holbrook got the better of him in a way that humiliated him before most of the roomers in Gannett Hall. Almost any young fellow would recover from a thing like that and very likely become good friends with his conqueror; in this case, however, it seems to have started a germ of jealousy and desire for revenge which grew out of all proportion to the incident. And then, of course, Campbell was displaced on the team by Holbrook. From what I know of those two young men I have come to the conclusion that Bassett, in his crafty way, had a certain strength of character which allowed him to dominate Campbell, whom I have always thought of as much the weaker mentally of the two. A psychologist could probably have told us strange things about Whirlwind Bassett."

"What is done can't, unfortunately, be undone," said the Head. "I regret more than I can say that we were not able to nip all this trouble in the bud—catch it at the beginning and prevent the tragic ending of it all." Doctor Wells sat up a little straighter in his chair at that moment and looked at Teeny-bits. "Holbrook," he said, "I want to tell you that I appreciate the fine sense of loyalty to a friend that prevented you from telling Mr. Stevens that you had seen Turner breaking into Campbell's room. That would have explained something that puzzled us. But we respect you for your silence."

"I knew that Snubby was honest," said Teeny-bits, "and, although I couldn't imagine why he was doing it, I couldn't suspect him."

Doctor Wells' comment was short. "You did right. A suspicious nature is one of the meanest things in the world." Again the Head was silent for a time and then the expression of his face changed. "Now about this Chinese business," he said; "I can understand the motive that was behind spiriting you away, but when I come to the rather extraordinary means of your escape, Holbrook, I will admit that my abilities as an amateur Sherlock Holmes are too feeble. As I understand it from what you have told us, these two Chinese in this Greensboro place seem to have been strangely affected by the mark on your shoulder. Have you any explanation of that?"

"I don't know whatever got into their heads," said Teeny-bits. "It's beyond me. They jabbered away at a terrible rate in Chinese and acted as if they were frightened."

"What is the nature of this mark?" asked Doctor Wells. "If you don't mind telling me."

"Why, it's nothing," said Teeny-bits, "except a mark that looks like a knife; a lot of the fellows have thought it was queer when they saw it in the shower-bath room, but I never thought much about it because it's always been there and didn't seem particularly strange to me."

"Mr. Stevens," said Doctor Wells, "I think you and Holbrook might go over to Greensboro sometime this week and see what you can find. It won't do any harm at least to try a little amateur detective work. I wonder——"

Doctor Wells paused as if he thought it would be better not to say what was in his mind. He had been about to mention something in regard to the information that old Daniel Holbrook had given him on the opening day of school,—the story of the accident at Hamilton station which had caused the sudden death of the unknown woman who was supposed to be Teeny-bits' mother. It had occurred to the Head that it might be just as well not to talk over those matters in the presence of Teeny-bits.

When Mr. Stevens and Teeny-bits got up to go Doctor Wells shook hands with them gravely.

"Holbrook," he said, "I haven't told you something that was in my mind last night when I heard the news that came from the football banquet. I was greatly pleased to learn that the Ridgley eleven had chosen you as captain. I know that you will make a leader of whom we can be as proud as we have been of Neil Durant."

Later Doctor Wells found occasion to tell Mr. Stevens the thing that he had omitted: the history of Teeny-bits' unexplained origin. With this information stimulating his mind to solve the mystery, the English master suggested to Teeny-bits that they lose no time in visiting Greensboro.



CHAPTER XII

A VISIT TO CHUAN KAI's

On Monday afternoon Mr. Stevens and the new football captain journeyed to the thriving young city. They went first to Stanley Square. Starting from the yellow brick market building with the tower and the clock, Teeny-bits attempted to retrace the steps that he had taken on that night when he fled from the place where the Orientals had held him prisoner. They went down one street and up another, turning this way and that, until Teeny-bits finally stopped and said:

"I'm afraid I can't remember just which way I came. I was pretty excited and I ran down these streets as fast as I could and it was dark, and I didn't think much about remembering where I came."

"Well," said Mr. Stevens, "there's one thing we can do. We'll ask the officer over there on the street corner where the Chinese places are, and perhaps that will lead us somewhere."

"At any rate," said Teeny-bits, "it must be very near where we are now, because I know I came from this general direction and I covered about the same amount of ground that we have covered since we left the square."

In answer to their inquiry the police officer informed them that there were four Chinese establishments in the city—two laundries and two restaurants.

The laundries proved to be near the center of the town, one on Main Street, the other on Clyde Street. Mr. Stevens, and Teeny-bits looked both of these establishments over, but Teeny-bits quickly announced that neither of them could be the place they were seeking. They were small and both were across the electric car tracks from Stanley Square. Teeny-bits remembered that on the night of his escape he had crossed no tracks until he reached the square.

The first of the restaurants which they visited backed up to the Greensboro River, a shallow stream which wound through the town. There was an alley in the rear which to Teeny-bits looked somewhat like the one down which he had hastened while the two Chinese had come pattering after him, but he did not remember that he had seen any water. They went inside, however, and questioned the wrinkled yellow man who, thinking them customers, came to take their order. He answered them in pidgin English, and Teeny-bits became convinced, after they had looked about the place, that this was not the scene of his imprisonment on Friday night.

They then went to the Oriental Eating Palace of Chuan Kai, but at Mr. Stevens' suggestion, before entering the restaurant, made a complete circuit of the building and examined its outward appearance. In the rear there was an alley.

"This looks like it!" declared Teeny-bits, and then he added: "But I couldn't swear that it's the one."

"Why don't we go up those stairs there and see what we find," said Mr. Stevens. "It's trespassing, I suppose, but all in a justifiable cause."

Quickly they let themselves in the rear door and began to mount the steps.

"That night," said Teeny-bits, "I remember that I came down two flights; this might be the place, but of course I didn't stop much to look around."

At the top of the second flight Mr. Stevens and Teeny-bits came to a narrow hallway from which opened two doors. Mr. Stevens knocked softly on the one at the right and, receiving no answer, pushed it open. They had expected to find no one in the room; to their surprise, a Chinese who had been lying on a "double-decker" bunk jumped down to the floor and stood looking at them with astonishment and fear in his face.

"This isn't the room, and I don't think I ever saw this fellow before," Teeny-bits whispered to the English master.

"We're looking for two Chinese who were in one of these rooms last Friday night," said Mr. Stevens to the Oriental. "Perhaps they're in the other room."

It was evident that the Chinaman who confronted them with startled eyes did not understand much English. He made no reply and continued to stare at them as if he thought it inexplainable that two white men should suddenly invade his sleeping quarters.

Mr. Stevens backed out of the room and somewhat to Teeny-bits' surprise immediately tried the other door. It opened upon a small square room, empty except for a table and four chairs which were arranged as if for a game of cards. Teeny-bits had expected to see a mattress lying on the floor, but nothing of the sort greeted his eyes and no one was in the room.

"This looks like the place, but somehow it seems changed," he said to Mr. Stevens.

At that moment they both heard a cry in Chinese and, as they whirled round, an answer came from the floor below and the sound of feet pattering down the stairway.

"There!" exclaimed Mr. Stevens, "I'm afraid your friends are running away. That fellow in the other room has given the alarm. Let's go down to the restaurant quickly and see what we can find."

Chuan Kai met the two with an inscrutable countenance. There was something about his eyes, however, that suggested to Teeny-bits and Mr. Stevens that he was not wholly unprepared for their call.

"Last Friday night," said the English master, "this young man was kept for several hours in one of the rooms upstairs. We should like to talk to the two Chinese who were kind enough to permit him to escape."

"No unne'stan'," said Chuan Kai, wrinkling his lips in a manner that showed his yellow teeth.

Mr. Stevens was patient. He repeated his request, laid his hand on Teeny-bits' shoulder, pointed toward the ceiling as he mentioned the room above and then held up two fingers as he spoke of the Chinese who had been present when Teeny-bits escaped. The only answer was a puzzled frown on Chuan Kai's wrinkled features; either the old man was bewildered by the request of his visitors or he was a good actor. Suddenly Mr. Stevens decided the latter, for he spoke rapidly and with considerable force:

"I think you understand English all right. Now tell me, where are those two men of yours? If you will let me see them quickly perhaps we can agree not to trouble you further. Now then, where are they?"

Chuan Kai smiled with such ingenuousness as he could summon. "Ai," he said. "You like to see my boys?"

He turned away from them quickly and cried out something in Chinese, at the same time throwing back a door which led to the kitchen.

"Come, look, see," he said as he turned back to Teeny-bits and Mr. Stevens. "You like see all boys."

In the kitchen which was disclosed to view were four Chinese in loose-sleeved shirts and aprons. They were engaged in cutting up meat and in mixing food over the fire. Among them Teeny-bits did not recognize either one of the Orientals who had acted so strangely at the sight of the knife mark.

"I don't think they're here," he said to Mr. Stevens. "As I remember it they were bigger than these fellows."

The English master turned to Chuan Kai and said, "We don't intend to cause you any trouble. This young friend of mine has a mark on his shoulder which looks like a knife. Two of your men acted strangely when they saw it. What can you tell me about it? Don't be afraid to speak up."

Chuan Kai and his four employees looked at their American visitors with every semblance of frank amazement and bewilderment.

"Well, we'll try one thing more," said Mr. Stevens. "Pull off your coat, Teeny-bits, and let them take a look at that mark."

Teeny-bits quickly threw off his coat and unbuttoned the soft collar of his shirt until he could pull back the linen and show the mark of the knife. The effect was more than the English master or Teeny-bits expected. The four Chinese, who had been observing in apparent astonishment this sudden performance on Teeny-bits' part, gazed at the mark and began to jabber among themselves in a manner that showed plainly enough their excitement and agitation. One of them even took a step nearer as if to obtain a clearer view. Chuan Kai, however, quickly brought their demonstration to an end. He exclaimed sharply in his singsong language and stepped toward them in a manner that had only one meaning,—a threat of violence. Instantly the four Chinese resumed their work over the meat and the kettles, and although they rolled their black eyes furtively toward Teeny-bits and the English master they said nothing more, nor could they be induced to show further sign of excitement.

Chuan Kai himself muttered in Chinese. Finally he smiled craftily, shrugged his shoulders and said to Mr. Stevens, "Where did boy get mark? These fellas (pointing to the four Chinese) think it's funny."

"Why do they think it's funny?" asked Mr. Stevens. But the Oriental had no answer to that and took refuge again in his assumed or actual unfamiliarity with English. For several minutes Mr. Stevens tried to get something further from the Chinamen but was unsuccessful and finally said to Teeny-bits who had buttoned his shirt and put on his coat:

"Well, I guess we've found out as much as we are able to from these fellows. Let's be going."

Chuan Kai, following them out to the street, was obsequiously polite. He even gave them a little box of Chinese nuts and candied fruit and pressed it upon them when they at first refused to accept it.

The result of the visit had not been satisfactory. Teeny-bits had been unable to discover either of the Orientals who had held him prisoner. Perhaps, as Mr. Stevens had suggested, these two had escaped down the alley when the young Chinese whom they had encountered in the upper room gave his cry of warning. The only significant incident had been when the four Chinese had shown excitement on viewing the mark on Teeny-bits' back.

"Of course, we could swear out a warrant and have the police investigate this whole matter," said Mr. Stevens, "but I am afraid that that would get us nowhere, for as you say, it would be pretty difficult for you to identify those men and we couldn't even prove that it was at Chuan Kai's place that you were held prisoner. I guess the next thing for us to do is to wait for some word to come from Tracey Campbell."

But no word of explanation came. For a few days Tracey Campbell lay in a semiconscious condition; he then grew rapidly better and at the end of the week was removed to the Campbell home.

The leather dealer, who had been away on a business trip at the time of the Ridgley-Jefferson game, had, of course, been summoned back to Greensboro by telegram. Twice he came to Ridgley School for a conference with Doctor Wells. His attitude on the occasion of his first visit was one of indignation and arrogance. He indicated to the Head that Ridgley School was responsible for the whole tragic incident and that explanations were in order. When he learned that his son was under accusation and that there was evidence to give weight to the case, his attitude underwent somewhat of a change. He was still in a warlike mood, however, and left Doctor Wells with the promise of getting at the root of the whole matter and exonerating his son. On the occasion of his second visit, however, his attitude was quite different. He now wished to hush up the whole affair and treat the thing as an unfortunate incident which could not be too quickly forgotten. Tracey Campbell would not return to Ridgley School. As soon as he recovered sufficiently to travel his father intended to send him to Florida. From certain remarks that the leather dealer made, it was evident to Doctor Wells that Tracey had confessed his part in the theft of the trinkets and money. In regard to the charge of being implicated in the kidnapping of Teeny-bits, Mr. Campbell declared that nothing had been proved against his son and in his opinion it was doubtless "all a story made up by that young Teeny-bits fellow in order to curry favor and win popularity."

And so the matter was left as far as the Campbells were concerned, though it was said that Mrs. Campbell called Doctor Wells on the telephone and in her shrill voice denied vigorously that her son had acted in any manner unbecoming to "the son of a gentleman" and that for her part she thought that the school was a poor one and that she wished they wouldn't have such games as football "which work the boys up to excitement and get them into a dangerous state of mind." No one took the pains to ascertain whether Tracey Campbell was actually expelled from the school or had merely been withdrawn. At any rate Ridgley School would see him no more and as the days went on, it seemed less and less worth while to investigate the circumstances which preceded the Jefferson game by calling upon Tracey Campbell to confess further details.

The visit of Bassett Senior to the school—Blow-Hard Bassett as he was known in certain sections of the West—was sadder and more pathetic. He was a big man who dressed gaudily; even the tragedy had not served to remove wholly from his appearance the garish quality that proclaimed his type. To Mr. Stevens and Doctor Wells his visit was a startling exemplification of that old saying: "Like father, like son." When they talked to him it was as if they were talking to Whirlwind Bassett grown into a man of fifty. His visit was an unpleasant incident,—he showed so plainly that he had made a failure of his duties as a father and he groped so helplessly in his grief for the reason why his boy, whose body he would carry back to the West, had by his own acts brought an unhappy termination to his career.

"I never understood him," he said to Doctor Wells, "and I suppose I haven't been just the right kind of father for him. He didn't have any mother after he was four years old, and even when he was a little feller I never seemed to have much luck in making him mind me. He was always doing something to cause a commotion of some sort, like running away or getting into mix-ups—nothing very bad, you know, just such things as young fellers are apt to do. Sometimes I talked to him but it never made much impression."

As Blow-Hard Bassett looked out of Doctor Wells' shaded windows there was a hint of moisture in his eyes. "He was a determined little feller," he remarked after a moment, "and when he'd get a notion in his head it seemed like nothing would shake it out. I remember one time when a mongrel dog that they had out on a ranch where we were staying bit him on the wrist and the little chap—I guess he was only eight years old—came bawling to me and says, 'He bit me, Pa; you've got to kill him!'

"I said, 'Don't you see, it was your fault; the dog wouldn't of bit you if you hadn't been teasin' him,' but he kept on begging me to kill the mongrel and when I wouldn't do it, he decided to take matters into his own hands—and what do you suppose he done? He got a six-shooter out of a holster that one of the cowboys had left lyin' around an' come up behind that dog while he was sunnin' himself beside the ranch house and blowed out his brains! You see, he just made up his mind to settle with that dog, and nothing that any of us could say made a bit of difference. I always thought he was going to be a smart man, but I never could get close to him, so to speak. It was just as if he belonged to some other man, and now, of course, I can't help wishing that I had somehow got to understand him better."

There was not much that Doctor Wells could say after that except to extend his sympathy and to express the wish that it had been possible for others as well as the father to understand and help the youth who had come to his untimely end.

November, with each day crisper than the last, slipped into December and one morning the school awoke to find a thin sifting of snow over the brown grass of the campus and the bare branches of the maple trees. The Christmas vacation suddenly became the subject of conversation, and to Teeny-bits it seemed that every one had a plan that promised pleasure and recreation. He felt a little lonely at the thought of seeing all these friends of his depart for the holidays and leave him to spend the vacation alone in the quiet little village of Hamilton; and then one evening after the last mail, Neil Durant came into his room with two opened letters in his hand.

"A couple of invitations," he said. "It's all fixed up, Teeny-bits. You're going home for Christmas with me and we're going up to Norris' place in the mountains for some winter sports. You remember he spoke about getting together, after the game. I thought then that I'd like to renew old times and now he writes that he wants us to come up to his place, which is a wonder, way back in the hills where there's great skiing and snowshoeing."

To Teeny-bits it seemed suddenly as if he had been dreaming and hoping for a long time that this very thing would happen. It was a wonderful chance for a good time—but it was to prove more than that for the new captain of the Ridgley football team.



CHAPTER XIII

DAYS OF PLEASURE

The holiday migration from Ridgley School began six days before Christmas. Within a few hours the dormitories on the hill, which for months had resounded to the sound of voices, suddenly became silent and almost deserted; a few members of the school lingered and half a dozen of the faculty remained to spend a part or all of the vacation on the hill, but the great majority set forth to the four quarters of the wind. Among those who took the morning train on that day of great exodus were Neil Durant and Teeny-bits Holbrook. Within three hours, as the engine dragged its load westward, the Ridgleyites who at the start had crowded two cars had diminished in number to no more than a score. Every large station along the way claimed two or three and as they left they shouted back farewells and, loaded down with suitcases, went out to greet the friends and relatives who had come to meet them. They all had a word for Neil Durant and Teeny-bits—a special word it seemed—for there was no question that recent events had ripened the friendships and enhanced the popularity of these two members of "the best school in the world."

What happiness this was, Teeny-bits said to himself, to be going on a vacation with a fellow like Neil Durant and to have evidence at every moment of the friendship of such a "good crowd" as these fellows who were piling off the train and yelling out their good-bys. It all made him feel how much the last three months had brought into his life, how much he owed to the generosity of old Fennimore Ridgley who, though long ago laid to rest in his grave, had made it possible by his gift for Teeny-bits to come to Ridgley School.

At two o'clock the train pulled into the station of Dellsport where Teeny-bits and Neil said good-by to the half dozen of their schoolmates who were going farther west. They found waiting for them in a closed car Mrs. Durant and Sylvia Durant, Neil's sister, who immediately made Teeny-bits feel at ease by talking about school affairs. It had been a tremendous disappointment, it seemed, to both Mrs. Durant and Sylvia that they had been unable to come to the football game which had resulted so gloriously for Ridgley.

"If it hadn't been for the influenza," said Sylvia, "you would have heard some terrible shrieking on the day of that game—I know I'd have yelled loud enough so that every one would have heard me, because there was nothing in the world that I wanted quite so much as to have Ridgley come through. And when we got Neil's telegram maybe I didn't make the windows rattle! And mother almost yelled, too."

"We had a terrible quarrel over the newspaper the next day," said Mrs. Durant, "and I finally compromised by letting Sylvia read the whole story aloud, so we know just what happened and how one of you evened the score at the crucial moment and how the other fellow carried the ball across at the end of the game."

Almost before Teeny-bits realized it he was talking to these two pleasant persons as if he had known them all his life.

"I want you to act just as if this were your own home," said Mrs. Durant when she had led the way into the Durant house on Bennington Street. "I shall have to call you Teeny-bits—and I hope you won't mind—because Neil has always spoken of you that way in his letters and 'Mr. Holbrook' would sound formal, wouldn't it?"

"It would make me feel like a stick of wood," said Teeny-bits. "I don't think any one ever called me that in my life. I've just been Teeny-bits and I guess I always shall be."

But Teeny-bits Holbrook could not help contrasting this luxurious home where every reasonable comfort was in evidence, where there were fireplaces and soft rugs and rich paintings, with his own poor little home in Hamilton where Ma Holbrook did the work and with her own hands kept everything shining and clean.

For six days he lived a life that he had never lived before. They skated at the country club where the new ice had formed over an artificial pond, drove out in the car over frozen roads to Waygonack Inn for dinner and danced in the evening, went to the theater and "took in", as Sylvia called it, two or three parties that were important incidents of the holiday festivities at Dellsport. Everywhere they encountered jolly crowds of young fellows and girls.

"Every one seems to fall for you, Teeny-bits," said Neil to the new captain of the Ridgley team one day, "and they all call you by your nickname. If you stayed round here very long you'd have them all wearing a path to our front door."

"You know why it is," replied Teeny-bits, "it's because I'm a friend of yours."

"You're off the track," said Neil, "you're wild, man. You've got a way with you without knowing it, and as for the girls around here—oh, my heavens!"

"I never realized before what an awful kidder you are, but anyhow I know I'm having the time of my life," said Teeny-bits.

But in spite of the gayety, Teeny-bits thought often of Ma Holbrook and old Dad Holbrook who for the first time in many years were spending Christmas alone. Early in the week he went down to the Dellsport shops with Neil and selected presents which he thought would please them both.

On the day before Christmas, Major-General Durant, who had been attending a conference in Washington, came home. Teeny-bits had expected to stand in awe before this high official of the United States Army; he was therefore somewhat surprised to find him a genial, easy-to-talk-to man who took obvious delight in getting back to the freedom and informality of his home. He was full of stories and keenly interested in Ridgley School affairs. He himself was the most prominent alumnus of Ridgley and had many an incident to tell Neil and Teeny-bits about the days when he himself had played on the football team.

Christmas passed all too quickly. The Durants celebrated it in the good, old-fashioned manner with a big tree in the living room where a roaring fire of logs sent myriads of sparks leaping up the chimney. There were gifts from all the family to Teeny-bits and not the least appreciated of the presents that came to the visitor was a pair of fur-lined gloves from Ma and Pa Holbrook, just such a pair as they would select,—warm and substantial.

Sylvia Durant seemed to have a way of understanding what a person was thinking about. "Isn't that a good present!" she said. "They're so warm and comfortable feeling. They'll be just what you'll need for the winter sports up at the Norris place."

There was not so great a difference after all, Teeny-bits said to himself, between this Christmas and other Christmases; though the surroundings were different, the same genial, kindly spirit brooded over this luxurious home in Dellsport as always brooded at Christmas time over the humble home in Hamilton. He could shut his eyes and imagine that Ma and Pa Holbrook were in the room taking it all in and looking about them with beaming faces.

And then it was all over. On the morning after Christmas Major-General Durant went back to Washington and Mrs. Durant and Sylvia went with him to spend the rest of the holidays in the Capitol City.

Neil and Teeny-bits, having seen them off, prepared to start northward to the Norris place in the Whiteface Mountains. Teeny-bits felt none too glad to leave the Durant home; those six days had been filled to overflowing with happiness.

"You're coming again," Sylvia had said, and when Teeny-bits had replied, "I hope so," she had added, "Why, of course you are. Every one wants you to."

It was a four-hour run by train to Sheridan and an hour by sleigh to the Norris cabin at Pocassett, a little settlement of camps and cottages at the foot of the Whiteface range of mountains. In the early afternoon Neil and Teeny-bits had arrived in the snow-covered country and were receiving the greetings of their Jefferson School friends. Ted Norris had driven down to the station to meet them in a two-seated sleigh and had brought with him Whipple, whom both Teeny-bits and Neil remembered as the Jefferson punter.

"How do you fellows feel—pretty husky?" asked Norris as they were going back toward the mountains. "Some of the crowd up at the camp want to tramp over the range on snowshoes to-night if it's clear and I didn't know but what we'd join them."

"That sounds good to me," declared Neil. "Teeny-bits and I have been leading the social life down in Dellsport and we're all fed up with parties and so on."

"Sounds good to me, too," said Teeny-bits, although he had to admit to himself that he wasn't exactly "fed up" with the good time in Dellsport.

The Norris place was a cabin built of spruce logs with an immense stone fireplace at one end of a long living room,—a comfortable backwoods place where one felt very close to the out-of-doors. Here the new arrivals found awaiting them Phillips, another member of the Jefferson eleven, and an athletic looking middle-aged man whom Norris introduced as his uncle, Wolcott Norris. There was no one else at the cabin except Peter Kearns, the cook and helper.

"It's all fixed up for to-night," said the older Norris; "we're going up the gulf and over the shoulder of Whiteface and then down to the Cliff House, where a sleigh will meet us and bring us back."

That evening tramp over the slopes of Whiteface Mountain was the beginning of a wonderful series of winter sports at Pocassett. The party that made the climb consisted of the six from the Norris place and twice as many more from other cabins and cottages that nestled in the snow at the foot of the mountains. While the growing moon hung overhead and shed its silver radiance over the white world, the snowshoers climbed the gulf by way of a trail that led among spruces and hemlocks, then up and out to the great, bare shoulder of the mountain. Gaining the ridge, they crossed and went plunging, sliding and leaping down in the soft snow that clothed the farther slope. It was a night to make one's blood run fast, and the whole crowd came back to the settlement at Pocassett in high spirits. The days that followed were filled with similar sports,—skating where the snow had been cleared from the surface of the Pocassett River, snowshoeing in all directions over the hills, fishing through the ice at Lonesome Lake and Wolf Pond and, on one or two nights, get-togethers with the crowd of young people who were occupying other camps near by.

Teeny-bits soon discovered that the vigorous, middle-aged man who had been introduced to him that first day as Ted Norris' uncle was in reality taking the place of the Jefferson football captain's father, who had died several years before. It seemed to him that here was the most intensely interesting man he had ever met. He was a mining engineer, and from little things that were said now and then it was evident that there was scarcely a quarter of the world into which he had not penetrated. A casual remark about India aided by a question or two from Phillips and Neil Durant brought forth a story of a trip into the jungles of that distant country; at another time the sight of a bare mountain-side called forth reference to a snow-covered range in China and led to interesting details of life in the Far East.

"Sometime you will have to take us on a trip to Japan or China or India or somewhere," said Ted Norris one night when the six of them were at supper.

"Well," said the mining engineer, "I'd like to do it. Who knows, perhaps sometime I can."

Teeny-bits Holbrook would have liked nothing better than to "pump" this man who had traveled so much, for he found stories of far lands intensely interesting, and when the first mishap of the vacation occurred he was somewhat envious of the victim, to whom it opened up an opportunity for closer acquaintance. On Thursday Neil Durant, in trying out a pair of skis on a steep slope behind the camp, crashed into a thicket of young pine trees and, although he came through with a grin on his face, he discovered that he had sprained his ankle and would not be able to join the crowd on the ski party that had been planned for Thursday evening. Wolcott Norris announced at supper that he also would stay behind; and thus it happened that the former captain of the Ridgley team sat with his bandaged ankle propped up on a chair in front of the fireplace while Wolcott Norris settled back comfortably to enjoy an evening of conversation. They talked about many things—travel, business, college and sports—before the subject got around to the Ridgley-Jefferson game.

"You know I was there," said the mining engineer, "and I don't think I ever spent a more interesting two hours. You fellows certainly had the game developed to a fine point and though of course I, as an old Jefferson boy, was yelling hard for the purple, I couldn't help handing you chaps a bit when you came through. And your friend Teeny-bits—now that I know him—measures up to the idea of what he was like, which I got from watching him play."

"Yes," said Neil, "he comes through—you can always count on him. Every one down at school fell for him from the start, partly, I suppose, because he was different from most of the fellows and then, of course, because he made good. Certain things about him attracted attention before he'd been in school very long."

"What things?"

"Well," said Neil, "a lot of things—one is the knife mark on his back."

"The what?" asked Wolcott Norris.

"Why a sort of birthmark that looks like a knife."

The mining engineer had been looking into the embers of the fire rather dreamily and talking in a low tone to Neil. He now half turned round and said in a voice that showed more than casual interest, "Tell me about it. It sounds interesting."

"Well," said Neil, "it's a mark, sort of brick colored, on his shoulder, that looks exactly like a knife or a dagger. I noticed it one day in the shower-bath room when Teeny-bits first came out for the football team."

"Has he always had it?"

"Yes, I guess so. I suppose it's just chance—the shape of it, but it is such an unusual looking thing that the fellows got interested in him and then of course there was the story about his mother being killed in a railroad wreck. That got around school some way; Teeny-bits himself told it, I think; so there isn't any harm in my repeating it. Some mighty nice people in Hamilton picked him up after a train accident which killed his mother and took him home. They finally adopted him, and gave him their name when they weren't able to find any of his relatives, and of course the mystery of that made the fellows all the more interested in him."

While the former captain of the Ridgley team had been saying these words the mining engineer had looked at him with an intentness that Neil had attributed to the fact that Teeny-bits' story was as interesting to him as it had been to the sons of Ridgley.

"You said that it was his mother who was killed in the railroad accident?"

"Yes," replied Neil, "I guess they never found out what her name was. That seems pretty horrible, but the Holbrooks, who adopted Teeny-bits, are mighty fine people. Daniel Holbrook is the station agent at Hamilton."

The mining engineer settled back in his chair, sighed rather heavily and gazed once more into the embers of the fire. "Well, Teeny-bits is a fine chap," he said finally, "and I don't wonder that the fellows fell for him."

"He nearly caused me nervous prostration," said Neil, "when he didn't show up at the game until the last minute, and the story about what happened to him and how the Chinese who had kidnaped him acted when they saw the knife mark on his shoulder is one of the strangest things I ever heard."

Wolcott Norris got out of his chair so quickly that Neil looked up in surprise. "What happened about these Chinese?" asked the mining engineer. "When did they come into it and how did they act?"

"That's another bit of mystery," said Neil. "There were a couple of fellows at school who didn't like Teeny-bits for one reason or another—jealousy, I guess—and according to general belief they patched up some kind of ridiculous plot to get Teeny-bits away from the school while the big game was being played. One of them was Teeny-bits' substitute and would have played if Teeny-bits hadn't been there. Maybe you read in the papers about the accident in which a fellow named Bassett was killed and another named Campbell got pretty badly hurt. Those were the two fellows—they wrecked a big machine running away after Teeny-bits showed up at the game. At least every one supposed they were trying to make a get-away. All Teeny-bits knows about the thing is that some one sent him a fake telephone message that his father—that is, old Daniel Holbrook—had been hurt, and when Teeny-bits was on the way home some men pounced on him and carried him over to Greensboro and shut him up in some sort of Chinese place. They had him all tied up and fixed so that he couldn't get away, they thought; but Teeny-bits squirmed around and tore his sweater half off and finally got almost loose, when back came two of these Chinamen and were tying him up again when they saw this mark on his back and they began to act as if they'd been mesmerized or something. They jabbered away and pointed at the thing, and while they were going through these tantrums Teeny-bits just walked out of the place and came home."

"That is strange," said the mining engineer, "mighty strange. Didn't he find out why they were frightened or what was behind it all?"

"No," said Neil, "I think the matter was sort of hushed up. They did a little investigating and it didn't seem to get them anywhere, and I guess the people at the school thought it wasn't worth while to follow it up any more. No one doubts that this Campbell fellow and Bassett were behind the business, and as far as the Chinese go I guess they were just superstitious or something. You must know them pretty well—you've traveled over there so much. Don't you?"

Apparently the mining engineer did not hear Neil's question, for he had turned again to the fireplace and was gazing into the embers in an abstracted manner. Neil did not feel like interrupting. For several minutes the room was silent, then Wolcott Norris suddenly turned and asked:

"When was that crowd coming back?"

The ski party on that night consisted of the three Jefferson football players, Teeny-bits and two brothers by the name of Williams who were from a camp a quarter of a mile down the valley. They planned to go up over the shoulder of Whiteface in the brilliant moonlight and shoot down a long, bare slope which was known as The Slide, where years before an avalanche had torn its way downward leaving bare earth in its wake. This V-shaped scar on the face of the mountain was now covered with a smooth expanse of snow—an ideal avenue for a swift and thrilling descent of the mountain. Teeny-bits had done more skiing in the last few days than he had done before in all the years of his life and had become enthusiastic over the sport. The sensation of sweeping down a slope and of speeding on with increasing swiftness until it seemed as if one were actually flying filled him with exhilaration and the real joy of living. He had never tried anything as steep as The Slide, but he had no fear of the place, and when, after a somewhat laborious climb, they had reached the peak and stood gazing down on the white way that stretched before them, he was eager to be off for the descent.

"Don't take it too fast," said Norris, "the slope is steeper than it looks. If you should want to slow up you can shoot over to the side and work against the slope a little."

The moon, now almost at the full, was shedding its ghostly light over the snow-covered mountains; by its brilliance the ski runners could see the surface of the slide, unbroken save for an occasional spruce which, having taken root in the scarred soil, was now thrusting up its dark branches through the blanket of white. Norris was the first to take off. He shot downward and as he gained momentum sent back a cry that floated up eerily. Teeny-bits poised at the edge and took a deep breath. This was living. Down there, growing smaller and smaller, a moving speck that seemed a mere shadow on the snow, was a new friend of his. It seemed strange that this was one of the outcomes of the Jefferson-Ridgley game: that from so desperate a struggle had arisen this opportunity to know the leader of the purple for whom he held a growing admiration. A fellow who fought so hard and so cleanly, who took defeat so wonderfully and who made such a good pal was only a little less to be admired than Neil Durant. Perhaps there was not any real difference in Teeny-bits' feeling for the two.

"I'm off," cried Teeny-bits; "see you at the bottom," and giving a strong thrust with his pole sent himself out upon the smooth surface.

With body bent slightly forward he took the first gentle slope and felt the exhilarating sensation of gathering speed as his skis carried him away from his friends. It was something between flying through the air and riding on the top of an undulating wave of water. Following Ted Norris' example he sent a shout back to the group on the crest and then gave himself completely to the joy of meeting each surprise of the snow with the proper adjustment of body and limbs that would enable him to make the descent in one unbroken slide. He had never taken so swift a flight,—it was as if he were rushing through space with scarcely any realization of the landscape round him.

Midway in The Slide, Teeny-bits suddenly found himself dodging a thicket of small spruce trees. He escaped them by swerving quickly, but he went too far to the left. Other small trees confronted him; his body brushed sharply against the branches, and then looming before him was an old monarch of the forest that somehow had escaped when the slide had scarred the mountain-side. Its gnarled branches, standing out vaguely in the half-light of the moon and stars like the arms of an octopus, seemed to Teeny-bits to rise up and seize him. He had the feeling that something was lifting him into the air, that he was going up and up into the silver face of the moon. It seemed also that at the same time there was a flash of light followed immediately by darkness.

One after another the ski runners at the top of The Slide took off and shot swiftly down the slope. None of them saw the huddled form at the foot of the ancient oak and it was only when the four had joined Ted Norris at the bottom of The Slide that they realized that something must have happened to Teeny-bits.

"Didn't any of you see him on the way down?" asked Ted Norris. "Maybe he broke his skis."

"He would have yelled at us, wouldn't he?" said one of the Williams brothers; "we'd better go back and look around."

It was not a difficult matter even in the indistinct night light to follow the marks of the skis. From the foot of the slide they mounted slowly, tracing backward the five double tracks and finally coming to the sixth, halfway down from the crest.



"Here they are," said Norris. "Here's where Teeny-bits swerved over toward the left."

Almost before the words were out of his mouth he gave a startled exclamation that brought the other four quickly to the foot of the oak tree, where, with arms stretched out in front of him, lay Teeny-bits. He had fallen in such an apparently comfortable position that it seemed to the five ski runners that he could not be badly injured, but when they turned him over they saw the dark mark of blood on the snow and became assailed with a great fear that the worst thing they could imagine had happened. Ted Norris' voice trembled a little as he said to the others, "We must get him down to the house as quickly as we can. Here, help me pick him up."

It was a strange procession which went down the slope of old Whiteface Mountain on that winter night,—an awkward looking group that made progress slowly because of the burden which it bore.

"You'd better go ahead to the Emmons place and get Doctor Emmons to come up to our camp quickly," said Norris to the older of the Williams boys. "You ought to get there about the time we do, and tell him to bring stimulants and everything that he may need."

Back in the Norris cabin Neil Durant had found that conversation between himself and the mining engineer lagged. For half an hour the elder Norris had sat apparently absorbed in his thoughts, and twice when Neil had made remarks he had answered in a manner that showed his mind to be far away. Neil himself was indulging in reveries when the sudden interruption came,—a sound of voices outside the cabin, an exclamation, a quick thrusting in of the door, and then the noise of persons talking awkwardly, as those who carry a heavy burden. The two at the fireplace turned in their chairs and saw immediately that something serious had happened.

"He crashed into a tree on the big Slide," said Ted Norris. "His body seems warm but we're afraid that—well, just look at his neck; it moves so queerly. Doctor Emmons ought to be here any minute. Bert Williams went down ahead to get him."

Within the space of a second, it seemed, Wolcott Norris had taken charge of the situation. Teeny-bits Holbrook was laid out on a cot which they brought in from one of the sleeping rooms and placed in front of the fire, and here a quarter of an hour later Doctor Emmons made his diagnosis.

"No, his neck isn't broken," said the surgeon, "so you needn't worry about that, and you can see from the color of his face that he isn't in immediate danger. He has a concussion, which isn't necessarily serious,—though that's a pretty bad blow he received on his head. Now with your help, Mr. Norris, we'll look him over for further injuries. There may be some broken bones to contend with also."

Without loss of time the surgeon, aided by the mining engineer, removed, most of Teeny-bits' clothing and began the process of examination by which he quickly established the fact that no bones had been broken and that the only injury from which Teeny-bits was suffering was the one to his head. During this examination one slight incident attracted the attention of Neil Durant and his friends who stood about speaking to each other in whispers. It occurred when Wolcott Norris, following instructions from the surgeon, with trembling hands uncovered Teeny-bits' back and revealed the dagger-like, terra-cotta mark upon his bare shoulder. For an instant the mining engineer had seemed about to faint; he wavered on his feet and groped suddenly for the support of a chair-back. To the watchers it had appeared that he had become momentarily unnerved by the unexpected accident, or that perhaps he had seen something in Teeny-bits' condition that was unfavorable. The surgeon, however, had quickly reassured them as they pressed forward a little closer by saying:

"He's sound from top-knot to toe except for that ugly smash on the head. Now we'll put these blankets over him and keep him quiet. If the concussion isn't bad he'll become conscious before very long."

But hour after hour passed and Teeny-bits did not regain his senses. He lay in a stupor, occasionally muttering thick and unintelligible words.

"There's no need of you fellows staying up," said Wolcott Norris at midnight. "The doctor and I will be here with Teeny-bits and the best thing you can do is go to bed."

After a time the Williams brothers went home and Whipple and Phillips followed the mining engineer's advice. Neil Durant and Ted Norris, however, refused to leave the room where Teeny-bits lay. They sat together by the fireplace and waited for an encouraging word from the surgeon.