.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 39799
   :PG.Title: Bobby Blake at Rockledge School
   :PG.Released: 2013-06-03
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Frank \A. Warner
   :DC.Title: Bobby Blake at Rockledge School
              or Winning the Medal of Honor
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1915
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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BOBBY BLAKE AT ROCKLEDGE SCHOOL
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      BOBBY BLAKE

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      at Rockledge School

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      or
      Winning the Medal of Honor

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      *By*
      FRANK A. WARNER

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      *Author of*
      "BOBBY BLAKE AT BASS COVE"
      "BOBBY BLAKE ON A CRUISE," Etc.

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      WHITMAN PUBLISHING CO.
      RACINE, WISCONSIN

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      Copyright, MCMXV, by
      BARSE & CO.

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      Printed in the United States of America

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   CONTENTS

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   CHAPTER

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I.  `"The Overland Limited"`_
II.  `Apples and Applethwaite Plunkit`_
III.  `Fred in Trouble`_
IV.  `An Eventful Afternoon`_
V.  `The Tale of a Scarecrow`_
VI.  `A Fish Fry and a Startling Announcement`_
VII.  `Financial Affairs`_
VIII.  `The Peep-Show`_
IX.  `Off for Rockledge`_
X.  `New Surroundings`_
XI.  `Getting Acquainted`_
XII.  `In the Dormitory`_
XIII.  `The Poguey Fight`_
XIV.  `The Honor Medal`_
XV.  `Getting Into Step`_
XVI.  `Hot Potatoes`_
XVII.  `Lost at Sea`_
XVIII.  `The Bloody Corner`_
XIX.  `The Result`_
XX.  `On the Brink of War`_
XXI.  `Give and Take`_
XXII.  `What Bobby Said`_
XXIII.  `Good News Travels Slowly`_
XXIV.  `Red Hair Stands for More Than Temper`_
XXV.  `The Winner`_

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.. _`"THE OVERLAND LIMITED"`:

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   BOBBY BLAKE AT ROCKLEDGE SCHOOL

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   CHAPTER I

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   "THE OVERLAND LIMITED"

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A boy of about ten, with a freckled face and
fiery red hair cropped close to his head, came
doubtfully up the side porch steps of the Blake
house in Clinton and peered through the screen
door at Meena, the Swedish girl.

Meena was tall and rawboned, with very red
elbows usually well displayed, and her straw-colored
hair was bound in a tight "pug" on top of
her long, narrow head.  Meena had sharp blue
eyes and she could see boys a great way off.

"Mis' Blake—she ban gone out," said Meena,
before the red-haired boy could speak.  "You
vant somet'ing?  No?"

"I—I was looking for Bobby," said the visitor,
stammeringly.  He and Mrs. Blake's Swedish girl
were not on good terms.

"I guess he ban gone out, too," said Meena,
who did not want to be "bothered mit boys."

The boy looked as though he thought she was a
bad guesser!  Somewhere inside the house he
heard a muffled voice.  It shouted:

"Whoo! whoo! whoo-whoo-who-o-o-o!"

The imitation of a steam whistle grew rapidly
nearer.  It seemed to be descending from the roof
of the house—and descending very swiftly.
Finally there came a decided bang—the landing of a
pair of well-shod feet on the rug—and the voice
rang out:

"All out!  All out for last stop!  All out!"

"*That's* Bobby," suggested the boy with the red
hair, looking wistfully into Meena's kitchen.

"Vell!" ejaculated the girl.  "You go in by the
dining-room door, I guess.  You not go to trapse
through my clean kitchen.  Vipe your feet, boy!"

The boy did as he was bade, and opened the
dining-room door.  A steady footstep was thumping
overhead, rising into the upper regions of the
three-story house.

The red-haired youngster knew his way about
this house just as well as he knew his own.  Only
he tripped over a corner of the dining-room rug
and bumped into two chairs in the darkened
living-room before he reached the front hall.

This was wide and was lighted above by ground-glass
oval windows on all three flights of stairs.
The mahogany balustrade was in a single smooth
spiral, broken by no ornament.  It offered a
tempting course from garret to ground floor to
any venturesome small boy.

"All aboard!" shouted the voice overhead.

"The Overland Limited," said the red-haired
boy, grinning, and squinting up the well.

"Ding-dong! ding-dong!  All aboard for the
Overland Limited!  This way!  No stop between
Denver and Chicago!  All aboard!"

There was a scramble above and then the
exhaust of the locomotive was imitated in a thin,
boyish treble:

"Sh-h! sh-h! sh-h!  Choo! choo! choo!
Ding-dong-ding!  We're off—"

A figure a-straddle the broad banister-rail shot
into view on the upper flight.  The momentum
carried the boy around the first curve and to the
brink of the second pitch.  Down that he sped
like an arrow, and so around to the last slant of
the balustrade.

"Next stop, Chi-ca-*go*!" yelled the boy on the
rail.  "All o-o-out! all out for Chicago!"

And then, bang! he landed upon the hall rug.

"How'd you know the board wasn't set against
you, Bobby?" demanded the red-haired one.
"You might have had a wreck."

"Hello, Fred Martin.  If I'd looked around and
seen your red head, I'd sure thought they'd flashed
a danger signal on me—though the Overland
Limited is supposed to have a clear track, you know."

Fred jumped on him for that and the two chums
had a wrestling match on the hall rug.  It was,
however, a good-natured bout, and soon they sat
side by side on the lower step of the first flight,
panting, and grinned at each other.

Bobby's hair was black, and he wore it much
longer than Fred.  To tell the truth, Fred had the
"Riley cut," as the boys called it, so that his hair
would not attract so much attention.

Fred had all the temper that is supposed to go
with red hair.  Perhaps red-haired people only
seem more quick tempered because everybody
"picks on them" so!  Bobby was quite as
boisterous as his chum, but he was more cautious and
had some control over his emotions.  Nobody ever
called Bobby Blake a coward, however.

He was a plump-cheeked, snub-nosed boy, with
a wide, smiling mouth, dancing brown eyes, and an
active, sturdy body.  Like his chum, he was ten
years old.

"Thought you had to work all this forenoon,
cleaning the back yard?" said Bobby.  "That's
why I stayed home.  'Fraid some of the other
fellows would want me to go off with them, and we
agreed to go to Plunkit's Creek this afternoon,
you know."

"You bet you!" agreed Fred.  "I got a dandy
can of worms.  Found 'em under that pile of
rubbish in the yard when I hauled it out."

"But you haven't cleared up all that old yard so
soon?" determined Bobby, shaking his head.

Fred grinned again.  "No," he said.  "I
caught Buster Shea.  He's a good fellow, Buster
is.  I got him to do it for me, and paid him a cent,
and my ten glass agates, and two big alleys, and
a whole cage-trap full o' rats—five of them—we
caught in our barn last night.  He's goin' to take
'em home and see if he can tame 'em, like Poley
Smith did."

"Huh!" snorted Bobby, "Poley's are *white*
rats.  You can't tame reg'lar rats."

"That wasn't for me to tell him," returned
Fred, briskly.  "Buster thinks he can.  And,
anyway, it was a good bargain without the rats.
He'll clean the yard fine."

"Then let's get a lunch from Meena and I'll
find my fish-tackle, and we'll start at once,"
exclaimed Bobby, jumping up.

"Ain't you got to see your mother first?"

"She knows I'm going.  She won't mind when
I go, as long as I get back in time for supper.
And then—she ain't so particular 'bout what I do
just now," added Bobby, more slowly.

"Jolly!  I wish my mother was like that,"
breathed Fred, with a sigh of longing.

"Huh!  I ain't so sure I like it," confessed
Bobby.  "There's somethin' goin' on in this
house, Fred."

"What do you mean?" demanded his chum,
staring at him.

"Pa and mother are always talkin' together,
and shutting the door so I can't come in.  And
they look troubled all the time—I see 'em, when
they stare at me so.  Something's up, and I don't
know what it is."

"Mebbe your father's lost all his money and
you'll have to go down and live in one of those
shacks by the canal—like Buster Shea's folks,"
exclaimed the consoling Fred Martin.

"No.  'Tain't as bad as that, I guess.
Mother's gone shopping for a lot of new clothes
to-day—I heard her tell Pa so at breakfast.  So it
ain't money.  It—it's just like it is before
Christmas, don't you know, Fred?  When folks are
hiding things around so's you won't find 'em before
Christmas morning, and joking about Santa Claus,
and all that."

"Crickey!  Presents?" exclaimed Fred.
"'Tain't your birthday coming, Bob?"

"No.  I had my birthday, you know, two months ago."

"What do you s'pose it can be, then?"

"I haven't a notion," declared Bobby, shaking
his head.  "But it's something about me.
Something's going to happen me—I don't know what."

"Bully!" shouted Fred, suddenly smiting him
on the shoulder.  "Do you suppose they're going
to let you go to Rockledge with me this fall?"

"Rockledge School?  No such luck," groaned
Bobby.  "You see, mother won't hear of that.
Your mother has a big family, Fred, and she can
spare you—"

"Glad to get rid of me for a while, I guess,"
chuckled the red-haired boy.

"Well, my mother isn't.  So I can't go to
boarding school with you," sighed Bobby.

"Well," said the restless Fred, "let's get a
move on us if we're going to Plunkit's."

"We must get some lunch," said Bobby,
starting up once more.  "Say! has Meena got the
toothache again?"

"She didn't have her head tied up.  But she's
real cross," admitted Fred.

"She'll have the toothache if I ask for lunch,
I know," grumbled Bobby.  "She always does.
She says boys give her the toothache."

Nevertheless, he led the way to the kitchen.
There the tall, angular Swede cast an unfavorable
light blue eye upon them.

"I ban jes' clean up mine kitchen," she complained.

"We just want a lunch to take fishing, Meena,"
said Master Bobby, hopefully.

"You don't vant loonch to fish mit," declared
Meena.  "You use vor-rms."

Fred giggled.  He was always giggling at
inopportune times.  Meena glared at him with both
light blue eyes and reached for the red flannel
bandage she always kept warm back of the kitchen
range.

"I ban got toothache," she said.  "I can't vool
mit boys," and she proceeded to tie the long
bandage around her jaws and tied it so that the
ends—like long ears—stood right up on top of her
head.

"But you can give us just a little," begged
Bobby.  "We won't be back till supper time."

This seemed to offer some comfort to the
hard-working girl, and she mumbled an agreement,
while she shuffled into the pantry to get the lunch
ready.  She did not speak English very well at
any time, and when her face was tied up, it was
almost impossible to understand her.

Sometimes, if Meena became offended, she
would insist upon waiting on table with this same
red bandage about her jaws—even if the family
had company to dinner!  But in many ways she
was invaluable to Mrs. Blake, so the good lady
bore Meena's eccentricities.

By and by the Swedish girl appeared with a box
of luncheon.  The boys dared not peek into it
while they were under her eye, but they thanked
her and ran out of the house.  Fred was giggling
again.

"She looks just like a rabbit—all ears—with
that thing tied around her head," he said.

"Whoever heard of a rabbit with red ears?"
scoffed Bobby.

He was investigating the contents of the lunch
box.  There were nice ham sandwiches, minced
eggs with mayonnaise, cookies, jumbles, a big piece
of cheese, and two berry tarts.

"Oh, Meena's bark is always worse than her
bite," sighed Bobby, with thanksgiving.

"And *this* bite is particularly nice, eh?" said
Fred, grinning at his own pun.

"Guess we won't starve," said Bobby.

"Besides, there is a summer apple tree right
down there by the creek—don't you know?  If the
apples are all yellow, you can't eat enough to hurt
you.  If they are half yellow it'll take a lot to
hurt you.  If they're right green and gnarly,
about two means a hurry-up call for Dr. Truman,"
and Fred Martin spoke with strong conviction,
having had experience in the matter.





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.. _`APPLES AND APPLETHWAITE PLUNKIT`:

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   CHAPTER II


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   APPLES AND APPLETHWAITE PLUNKIT

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Bobby found the little grape basket in which
he kept his fishing-tackle on a beam in the
woodshed.  Clinton was an old fashioned town, and
few people as yet owned automobiles.  There
were, therefore, not many garages, but plenty of
rambling woodsheds and barns.  When all the
barns are done away with and there are nothing
but garages left, boys will lose half their chance
for fun!

The Blakes' shed, and the stable and barn
adjoining, offered a splendid play-place in all sorts
of weather for Bobby and his friends.  There
were a pair of horses and a cow in the stable, too.
Michael Mulcahey was the coachman, and he liked
boys just as much as Meena, the Swedish girl,
disliked them.  This fact was ever a bone of
contention between the old coachman and Meena.
Otherwise Michael and Meena might have gotten
married and gone to housekeeping in the little
cottage at the back of the Blake property, facing
on the rear street.

"He ban *in*-courage them boys in their
voolishness," accused Meena.  "Me, I don't vant no boys
aroundt.  Michael, he vould haf the house overrun
mit boys.  So ve don't get married."

Just now Michael was not at the barn.  He had
driven Mrs. Blake to the neighboring city in the
light carriage, on her shopping trip.  Bobby and
Fred trailed through the back gate and down the
lane, leaving the gate open.  Later Meena had to
run out and chase the chickens out of the tomato
patch.  Then she tied the red bandage in a harder
knot and prepared to show herself a martyr to her
mistress when it came supper time.

Back of the Blake house the narrow street cut
into a road that led right out into the country.
There were plenty of houses lining this road at
first, but gradually the distance between them
became greater.

Likewise the dust in the road grew deeper.  It
was not a way attractive to automobiles, and it
had not been oiled as were many of the Clinton
streets.

"Let's take off our shoes and stockings and save
our shoes," suggested Fred.  "We'll go in swimmin'
before we come back, so we'll be all clean."

"Let's," agreed Bobby, and they sat down at
once and accomplished the act in a few moments.
They stuffed their stockings into their shoes, tied
the laces together and slung them about their
necks.  The shoes knocked against their
shoulder-blades as they trotted on, their bare feet scuffing
up little clouds of dust.

"We raise a lot of dust—just like the Overland
Limited," said Bobby, looking back.  Bobby had
once travelled west with his parents, and they had
come back by way of Denver.  He had never
forgotten his long ride in that fast train.

"Go ahead!" declared Fred.  "*I'm* the
Empire State.  You got to get up some speed to
beat *me*."

A minute later two balloons of dust could have
been seen hovering over the road to the creek—the
boys were shrouded in them.  They ran, scuffing,
as hard as they could run, and kicked up an
enormous cloud of dust.

They stopped at the stile leading into Plunkits'
lower pasture.  The boys from town never went
near the farmhouse.  Plunkits' was a big farm,
and this end of it was not cultivated.  If they went
near the truck patches, somebody would be sure
to chase them.  There always had been a feud
between the Clinton boys and the Plunkit family.

But there wasn't a swimming hole anywhere
around the town—or a fishing stream—like the
creek.  The Plunkits really had no right to drive
anybody away from the stream, for the farm
bordered only one side of it.  The city boys could go
across and fish from the other side all they wanted
to.  That had been long since decided.

The best swimming hole was below the boundary
of the Plunkit land, anyway, but this path across
the pasture was a short-cut.

"If we see that Applethwaite Plunkit and his
dog, what are we going to do?" asked Fred, as
they trotted along the sidehill path, white with
road dust from head to foot.

"Nothing.  But if he sees us, that's another
matter," chuckled Bobby.

"All right.  You're the smart one.  But what
will we do?"

"Run, if he isn't too near," said Bobby, practically.

"And suppose he *is* too near?"

"Guess we'll have to run just the same,"
returned Bobby, thoughtfully.  "He can lick either
of us, Fred.  And with the dog he can lick us both
at once.  That dog is real savage.  He's made him
so, Ap Plunkit has."

"I bet we could pitch on Ap and fix him," said
the combative Fred.

"Now, you just keep out of trouble if you can,
Fred Martin," advised Bobby, cautiously.  "You
know—if you get into a fight, you'll catch it when
you get home.  Your father will be sure to hear
of it."

"Well! what am I going to do if they pitch on
me?" demanded Fred.

"'Turn the other cheek,'" chuckled Bobby,
"like Miss Rainey, our Sunday-school teacher, says."

"Huh! that's all right.  A fellow's got two
cheeks; but if you get a punch in the nose, you
can't turn your other nose—you haven't one!  So
now!" declared the very literal and pugnacious
Fred.

Just then they came close enough to the creek
to see the willows along the hank.  At the corner
of the Plunkit fence there stood a big apple tree—a
"summer sweetnin'" as the country folk called it.

"Scubbity-*yow*!" ejaculated Fred Martin.
"See those apples?  And they're *yellow*!"

"Some of them are," admitted his chum.

"More'n half of them, I declare.  Say! we're
going to have a feast, Bob.  Come on!"

Bobby grabbed him by the sleeve.  "Hold on! don't
go so fast, Fred," exclaimed the brown-eyed
boy.  "Those apples aren't ours."

"But they're going to be," returned Fred, grinning.

"Now, you don't mean that," said Bobby,
seriously.  "You know you mustn't climb that tree,
or pick apples on *this* side of the fence.  Here's
where we crawl through.  Now! lots of the limbs
overhang this other side of the fence—and there's
a lot of ripe apples on the ground."

"Pshaw! the Plunkits would never know," complained
Fred.  But he followed Bobby through the
break in the pasture fence, just the same.

Bobby was just as much fun as any boy in
Clinton; Fred knew *that*.  Yet Bobby was
forever "seeing consequences."  He kept them both
out of trouble very often by seeing ahead.
Whereas Fred, left to himself, never would stop
to think at all!

They had come two miles and a half.  Where
were there ever two boys who could walk as far as
that without "walking up an appetite"?

"My goodness me, Fred!" exclaimed Bobby, as
they came to the clear-water creek in which the
pebbles and sand were plainly visible on the
bottom.  "My goodness me, Fred! aren't you
dreadfully hungry?"

"I could eat the label off this tomato can—just
like a goat!" declared Fred, shaking the can which
held the fishworms before his chum's face and
eyes.

"Then let's eat before we bait a hook,"
suggested Bobby.  "I don't care if Meena *does* have
the toothache.  She makes de-lic-ious sandwiches."

"Scubbity-*yow*!  I should say she did," agreed
Fred, sitting down cross-legged on the grass
under a spreading oak that here broke the hedge
of willows bordering the stream.

The boys soon had their mouths full.  It was not
yet noon, but the sun was high in the heavens, and
it twinkled down at them between the interlacing
leaves and twigs of the oak.  A little breeze played
with the blades of grass.  A thrush sang his heart
out, swinging on a cane across the stream.  A
locust whirred like a policeman's rattle in a tall
poplar a little way down the creek.  In the distance a
crow cawed lazily as he winged his way across a
field, early plowed for grain.

"This is a fine place," said Bobby.  "I just love
the country."

"This is the way it is at Rockledge," declared
Fred, proudly.

"How do you know?  You've never been there."

"But Sam Tillinghast, who comes to see us once
in a while, went to Rockledge before he went to
college.  He says Rockledge is right up on a bluff
overlooking Monatook Lake, and that a fellow can
have more fun there than a box of monkeys!"

"I never had a box of monkeys," said Bobby,
grinning, and with his mouth full.

"That's all right.  I wish you were going,"
said Fred, wagging his head.  "Don't you
suppose that's what's the matter at your
house—what your pa and your mother are thinking
about?"

"No," said Bobby, wagging his head, sadly.
"I guess it ain't nothing as good as going to
boarding school.  You see, they look so solemn
when I catch them staring at me."

"Maybe you've done something and they are
thinking of punishing you?" suggested Fred.

"No.  I haven't done a thing.  I really haven't!
I'd thought of that, and I just went back over
everything I've done this vacation, and I can't
think of a thing," decided Bobby, reflectively.

"Well, if it's something bad, you'll find out soon
enough what it is," said Fred, playing a regular
Job's comforter.

"And if it is something *good*, I suppose they'll
worry me to death—or pretty near—too, eh!"

"Mebbe if we could find a Gypsy woman she'd
tell your fortune and you'd know," said Fred.

"Yah!  I don't believe in such stuff," declared
Bobby.  "You remember that old woman that
came around selling baskets last spring and
wheedled that ten cents out of you?  She only
told you that you were going to cross water and
have a great change on the other side."

"Well, she knew!" exclaimed Fred, earnestly.
"Didn't I fall into the canal the very next day and
have to swim across it; and you brought me a
change of clothing from home?  Huh!  I guess
that old woman hit it about right," declared the
red-haired boy, with conviction.

Bobby chuckled a long time over this.  It
amused him a great deal.  He and his chum had
eaten up nearly the whole of Meena's luncheon—and
she had not been niggardly with it, either.

"I'm going to have some of those apples,"
declared Fred.  "Come on."

"All right," agreed Bobby, who had no
compunctions about taking the apples on this side of
the fence.  He believed that the Plunkits had no
claim upon the fruit that overhung somebody else's
land!  That is the usual belief of small boys in the
country, whether it is legally correct, or not.

When the chums bit into the yellow apples on
the ground they found that almost every one had
been seized by a prior claimant.  Fred bit right
through a soft, white worm!

"Oh! oh! oh!" exclaimed the red-haired boy,
and ran down to the creek's edge to rinse his
mouth.  "Isn't that awful?"

"Don't bite blindly," advised Bobby, chuckling.
"You were too eager."

"I'm going to have a decent apple," declared
Fred, coming back.

He jumped up, seized one of the lower branches
of the apple tree, and scrambled up to a seat on
a strong limb.  Several tempting looking "summer
sweetnin's" were within his reach.  He seized
one, looked it all over for blemishes and, finding
none, set his teeth in it.

"How is it?" asked Bobby, biting carefully
around a wormy apple.

"Fine," returned his chum, and tossed Bobby
an apple he plucked.

At that very moment a voice hailed them from a
distance, and a dog barked.  "There's that
Applethwaite Plunkit and his dog," gasped Bobby.

"Sure it is," said Fred, turning his gaze upon
the lanky boy of twelve, or so, and the big black
and brown dog that were running together across
the pasture.

"Now we're in for it!" exclaimed Bobby,
somewhat worried.





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.. _`FRED IN TROUBLE`:

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   CHAPTER III


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   FRED IN TROUBLE

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Fred sat kicking his bare heels together and
grinning over the fence at the Plunkit boy and
his dog.

"Get down out of that tree—you!" exclaimed
the Plunkit boy.

"Who says so?" demanded Fred.

"*I* do."

"Well, say it again," responded Master Fred,
in a most tantalizing way.  "I like to hear you."

Applethwaite Plunkit was not a nice looking boy
at all.  He had perfectly white hair, but he wasn't
an albino, for albinoes have pink-rimmed eyes.
His eyes were very strange looking, however, for
they were not mates.  One was one color, and one
was another.

There are many such afflicted people in the
world; usually they have one gray eye and one
brown one.  But Ap Plunkit had one eye that was
of a sickly brown color, while the other was of a
sickly green.  That means that the "whites" of
his mismated eyes were yellowish in hue.

Perhaps, because of this misfortune, the other
boys plagued him, and that had soured his temper.
He was very angry with Fred.

"Get out of that tree, you red-headed monkey!"
he shouted, "or I'll set my dog on you!"

"I won't do it, you white-headed donkey—and
your dog can't get me; not unless he can climb a
tree," added Fred, grinning again.

"I'll come over there and knock you out of it,"
threatened Ap.

"I'd like to see you do it," responded Fred,
swinging his feet again.

"I'll show you!" cried Ap, and he started for
the hole in the fence.  "Come on, Rove!" he called
to the dog.

The big dog followed his master.  He was part
Newfoundland and would have made a fine playmate
for any boy, if he had not been trained to be
ugly with all strangers.  When he got through the
fence and saw Bobby standing idly by, he growled
at him.

"Look out, Bob!" shouted Fred.  "He'll bite you."

"I'm not doing anything," said Bobby Blake.
"And you had better not set your dog on me, Plunkit."

"You fellers are too fresh," said the farm boy.
"My father says you're not to come around here—"

"Your father doesn't own this land, and your
father doesn't own this creek," whipped in Fred,
from the branch.

"You fellers came across our land to get here,"
declared Ap.

"How do you know *that*, Mr. Smartie?" asked
Fred.  He had just finished eating an apple.  He
threw the core at the dog and hit him on the nose.
Rover growled and then jumped up and snapped
at Master Fred's bare heels.

"Scubbity-*yow*!" shrieked the daring Fred,
kicking up his heels excitedly.  "Didn't get me
that time, did you?  I'm not *your* meat."

"You stop that, Ap," ordered Bobby.  "Call
off your dog."

He had not been altogether idle.  There was a
heavy club of hard wood lying nearby, and he
seized it.

"He'd better get down out of that tree or Rove
will eat him up," said Ap, boastfully.

"Those branches overhang this land.  The
apples don't belong to you any more than they do to
us," said Bobby, and he thought he was quite right
in saying so.

"Yah!" scoffed Ap.  "He had to climb the
tree-trunk to get there, and the tree's on *our* side
of the fence."

"Didn't neither, Mr. Smartie!" cried Fred, in
delight.  "I jumped up and grabbed a limb, and
pulled myself up.  Have an apple?" and he aimed
one of the hard, green ones at Ap.

"Don't you do that, Fred!" called up Bobby, in
haste.

"Well, then, I'll give it to the dog," said Fred,
throwing the apple to Rover.

"You come down out of that tree, and you stop
pelting my dog!" commanded Applethwaite
Plunkit.

"Yes—I—will!" responded Fred, biting into
another apple.

"Well!  I'll lick one of you, anyway!"
exclaimed Ap, who had been slily stepping nearer.

And immediately he threw himself on Bobby.
He caught the latter so unexpectedly that he
couldn't have used the club had he wished to.

"Come on, Rove!" shrieked Ap.  "Bite him,
boy—bite him!"

"You stop that!" shouted the red-haired boy in
the tree.  "Bobby hasn't done a thing—"

The dog growled and ran around the two struggling
boys.  Perhaps he was looking for a chance
to bite his master's antagonist.  At least, it looked
so.

Bobby Blake, although never a quarrelsome lad,
was no mollycoddle.  Attacked as he had been, he
struggled manfully to escape the bigger boy.  He
dropped the club, but he tore off Ap's hat and flung
it into the creek.

"Go for it, sir!  After it!" he screamed, and
Rover heard him and saw the hat.  That was one
of the dog's accomplishments.  He was a Newfoundland,
and retrieving articles from the water
was right in his line.

He barked and bounded to the edge of the steep
bank.  He evidently considered that, after all, his
master and Bobby were only playing, and this part
of the play he approved of.

The instant Bobby heard the splash of the big
dog into the water, he twisted in Ap's grasp,
tripped him, and fell on top of the larger boy.

"Oh! oh! oh!" gasped Ap.  "You're hurtin'
me—you're killin' me!  I can't breathe—"

"Scubbity-*yow*!" yelled Fred, giving voice to
his favorite battle-cry, and he dropped from the
apple tree, running to Bobby's help.

But Bobby got up and released the bawling
farm-boy at once.  "Come on, Fred," he said.
"Let's get out o' here."

"Why, you got the best of him!" cried Fred, in
disgust.  "Let's duck him!  Let's throw him in
after his old dog."

"No you don't," declared Bobby, seizing Fred's
hand.  "We're going to get out while we have the
chance.  I only tripped him and got the dog out
of the way so you could escape."

"Huh!" exclaimed Fred.  "I didn't get as
many apples as I wanted."

"I don't care.  You come on," said his chum.

"Whoever heard of the winning side giving way
like this?" grumbled the red-haired boy.
"Anyway," he added, picking up the club Bobby had
lost, "if that dog comes after us, I'll hit him."

Bobby picked up the box containing the remainder
of their luncheon, and led the way through
the bushes.  The dog had come ashore, and it and
Ap Plunkit were quickly out of sight.  Fred was
still grumbling about leaving the foe to claim "the
best of it."

"He'll pitch on us next time, just the same," he
declared.  "Why didn't you punch him when you
had him down, Bob?"

"Aw, come on!" said his chum.  "Always
wanting to get into a fight.  You keep that up
when you get to Rockledge School, and you'll be
in hot water all the time."

"Shucks!" grinned Fred.  "I'd like to be in
*cold* water right now.  The swimming hole isn't
far away.  Let's."

"We can't go in but once—you know we can't,"
said Bobby.

"Why not?" demanded Fred, quickly.

"Because we promised our mothers we wouldn't
go in but once a day this vacation."

"Huh!  That ain't saying but what we can take
off our clothes and put on our swimming trunks,
and stay in all day long."

"That would be just as dishonest as going in
two or three times, Fred," exclaimed Bobby.
"And you wouldn't do it.  Besides," he added,
grinning; "you know you tried that *last* summer,
and 'member what you got for it?"

"You bet you!" exclaimed the red-haired one.
"I got sunburned something fierce!  No.  I won't
do *that* again.  That's the day we built the raft on
Sanders' Pond, and oh, how I hurt!  I guess I do
remember, all right."

"No," said Bobby, after a minute.  "We'll go
fishing first, and then take a swim before we go
home.  That'll clean us up, and make us feel
fresh.  There's that old stump again, Fred.  I
believe there's a big trout lives under that stump.
Don't you 'member!  We've seen him jump."

"Ya-as," scoffed Fred.  "But that old fellow
won't jump for a worm.  He's had too many
square meals this summer, don't you know?  It'll
take a fancy fly, like those my Uncle Jim uses
when he goes fishing, to coax Mr. Trout out of the
creek."

"I'm going to try," said Bobby, who could be
obstinate in his opinion.

"I'll be satisfied if I catch a shiner," declared
Fred.  "I'll try off that rock yonder.  Come on!
There's a couple of dandy fishpoles."

Like real country boys, Bobby and Fred cut
poles each time they went fishing.  No need to
carry them back and forth to their homes in
Clinton and it did not take five minutes to cut and
rig these poles.

"What nice, fat worms," said Bobby, when
Fred shook up the tomato can.

"That's what the robin said," chuckled Fred.
"Know what my sister, Betty, said yesterday
morning?  You know it rained the night before
and the robins were picking up worms on the lawn
right early—before breakfast.

"Bet was at the window and one fat robin picked
up a worm, swallowed it, and flew right up into a
tree where he began to sing like sixty!  Bet says:

"'Oh! that robin gives me the *squirms*; how can
he sing that way when he's all full of those crawly
things?'"

"Now hush!" ordered Bobby, the next moment.
"I'm going to drop this nice fellow right down
beside that stump and see if I can coax
Mr. Trout up."

But Mr. Trout did not appear.  Bobby, with
exemplary patience, tried it again and again.  He
changed his bait and dropped a fresh worm into
the brown, cloudy water where he believed the
trout lay.

"You're not fishing," chuckled Fred, from his
station on the rock, a few yards away.  "You're
just drowning worms."

"Huh!" returned Bobby.  "I don't see any
medals on *you*.  You haven't caught anything."

"But I'm going to!" whispered Fred, swiftly,
and holding his pole with sudden attention.

Then, with a nervous jerk, he flung up the pole.
Hook and sinker came with it, and a tiny, wriggling,
silver fish, about a finger long, shot into the
air.  But Fred had not been careful to select his
stand, and he drove his line and fish up among the
branches of a tree.

"Now you've done it—and likely scared my
trout," exclaimed Bobby.

Fred, in his usual impulsive fashion, tried to
jerk back his line.  The hook and sinker were
caught around a branch.  The shiner dropped off
the hook and rested in a crotch of the branch.
No fish ever was transformed into a bird so quickly
since fishing was begun!

And while Bobby laughed, and held his sides,
Fred jerked at the entangled line again and again
until, stepping too far back, and pulling too hard,
the line chanced to give a foot or two, Master Fred
fell backwards and—*flop!* into the deep pool below
the rock he went!





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`AN EVENTFUL AFTERNOON`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER IV


.. class:: center medium

   AN EVENTFUL AFTERNOON

.. vspace:: 2

"On! oh! oh!—gurgle! gurgle! *blob*!  Help!
Give us a hand—"

Down Master Fred went again, and, his mouth
being open, he swallowed more of the murky
water of the creek than was good for him.  He came
up, coughing and blowing.

Bobby, although forced to laugh, extended the
butt of his own fish pole and Fred seized it.  In
half a minute he was on the bank, panting and
"blowing bubbles," as Bobby said.

"You can laugh—"

"I hope so," returned Bobby, turning to give
his attention to his own hook and line.  "Oh!"

Something was the matter down under that
stump; the water was agitated.  The taut line
pulled in Bobby's hands.

"Oh!  A bite!" cried he, picking up his pole.
"Oh, Fred!  I've hooked that old trout!"

Master Martin was too much taken up with his
own affairs just then to pay much attention.
Bobby, all of a tremble (for he had never caught a
trout over a finger long), began to "play" the fish
cautiously.  It seemed to be sulking down in its
hole under the old stump.  Bobby pulled on the
line gently.

Meanwhile Fred, getting his breath, began to
remove his saturated garments.

"I guess," he grunted, "we might as well go in
swimming right now.  Gee!  I'm wet.  And these
things will have to dry before I start home.  Oh!"

Bobby's line "gave" suddenly.  Bobby uttered
a yell, for he thought the trout had jumped.

Whatever was on his hook shot to the surface of
the brown pool.  Bobby went over backward on
the grass.  The point of his pole stood straight
up, and the hook was snapped out of the water.

There was a long, black, *squirmy* thing on the
hook.  As Bobby squealed, the eel flopped right
down into his face!

"Aw! ouch! take him off!" shouted Bobby, and
flung away his pole.

In a second the eel was so tangled in the fishline
that one might have thought it and the line had
been tied into a hard knot!  Fred was rolling with
laughter on the bank, his wet shirt half over his
head.

"Scubbity-*yow*!" he shrieked.  "Now you got
it.  You laughed at *me*, Bobby Blake.  See how
you get it yourself."

Bobby began to laugh, too.  He could see that
the joke was, after all, on him.

"And that's your big trout—ho, ho!" shouted
Fred.  "An old eel.  Kill him with a club, Bobby.
You'll never get him untangled if you don't."

"And he'll wiggle *then* till the sun goes down.
Just like a snake," declared Bobby, repeating a
boyish superstition held infallible by the boys of
Clinton.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Fred, at last pulling the wet
shirt off.  "I'm aching for laughing.  What a
mess that line's in."

"And how about your own!" demanded Bobby,
on a broad grin again, and pointing into the
branches of the tree where Fred had flung his
shiner.

"We're a pair of fine fishermen—I don't think!"
admitted Fred, in some disgust.

He got off the remainder of his wet clothing,
and slipped on his trunks.

"You might as well do the same, Bobby," he
advised, while he laid his clothing over the low
bushes back from the bank of the creek, where the
sun could get at them nicely.  "Look at your shirt.
All slime from that old eel."

"I wish he'd keep still a minute," said Bobby,
with some impatience.  "*What* were eels ever
made for?"

"They're good eating, some folks think.  But
I'd just as lief eat snakes."

"Some savages eat snakes," said Bobby, trying
to keep one foot on the tail-end of the eel, and
unwinding the fishline.

But the next moment the squirmy creature
wound itself up in the line again into a harder knot
than before.

"Looks just like the worm he swallowed,"
chuckled Fred.  "There! he's got the hook out of
his mouth.  Fling him back, Bobby!"

Bobby did so, pitching eel and line into the
water.  There was a flop or two and the wriggling
fish got free.  Then Bobby hauled in his line and
began to rebait the hook.

"I guess I'll try fishing somewhere else," he
said.  "I won't try here.  If there ever *was* a
trout under that stump, he's scared away."

"There never was a trout where an old eel made
his nest," scoffed Fred, struggling with his own
line.

"That eel didn't belong here," announced
Bobby, with confidence.  "What do you bet I don't
catch a trout to-day?"

"Never mind.  I've landed *one* fish," chuckled
Fred.

"Fish! what's it doing roosting in that tree,
then!" demanded Bobby, giggling.  "It's a bird."

Fred managed to untangle his own line, and in
doing so he shook the shiner out of the branches.

"Catch it!" he shouted.  "There it goes!"

"Plop!" the fish went right into the pool, and
with a wiggle of its tail disappeared.

"We're a couple of healthy fishermen," scoffed
Bobby.  "We land them, and then lose them."

"Le's go farther down stream.  We've made
so much noise here that we couldn't catch
anything but deaf fish—that's sure."

Bobby was quite agreed to this, and Fred in his
bathing trunks, leaving his wet clothing to dry on
the bushes, led the way along the creek bank.
Bobby followed with the can of worms.

They found another quiet place and this time
both took pains to cast their lines where no
overhanging branches would interfere with the tips of
their poles.  The creek was well stocked with
sunfish, yellow perch, shiners, and small brook trout.
Once—"in a dog's age," Fred's Uncle Jim
said—somebody landed a big trout out of one of the
deeper holes in the stream.

The boys fished for an hour, and both landed
perch and shiners.

"If we get enough of them we can have a fish
supper," declared Fred.

"At home?"

"Sure.  We can clean them—"

"Who'll cook them?  Our Meena won't,"
declared Bobby, with confidence.

"And I don't suppose our girl will, either.
Besides, we'd have to catch a bushel to give the
crowd at our house a taste, even," for there were
five young Martins at Fred's house, besides
himself, ranging from the baby who could just toddle
around, to Fred's fourteen year old sister, Mary.
There was another girl older than Fred, who was
the oldest boy.

"Just wish Michael Mulcahey would light a fire
in his stove and pan them for us," said Bobby,
wistfully.  "'Member, he did once!"

"Yes.  But we haven't caught enough yet."

"Hush!" murmured Bobby.  "I got another bite."

In a minute he had landed a nice, big sunfish.
He cut a birch twig then, with a hook on the end
of it, and strung his three fish.  Fred did the same
for his two, and the fish were let down into the cool
water, and were thus kept alive.

They moved farther down the creek after a bit,
and tried another pool.  The strings of fish grew
steadily.  It looked, really, as though they would
have enough for supper—and it takes a right good
number of such little fish to make a meal for two
hungry boys.

Not that they wanted food again so soon.  During
the afternoon they ate the rest of the lunch
and some apples to stave off actual hunger!

"I bet you get sunburned again," said Bobby.

"No, I won't.  I'm in the shade all the time."

"The wind will burn as well as the sun."

"But I'm not in and out of the water all the
time, like I was that day at Sanders' Pond.  Just
the same," added Fred, "I'm going into the creek
now.  There's a dandy place for fish just across
there."

"There's some stepping stones below.  I'll go
over with you," declared Bobby, winding up his
line.

Fred was not afraid of splashing himself.  He
ran across the stones laid in the bed of the creek.
Bobby came more cautiously, but he did not see
the wide grin on Fred's face as he stood on the far
side and watched his chum.

Bobby stepped on the rock in the middle of the
stream.  Just as it bore his full weight, and he
had his right foot in the air, stepping to the next
dry-topped rock, the one under him rolled!

The red-haired boy had felt that stone "joggle"
when he came across but he had leaped lightly
from it.  Bobby was caught unaware.

He yelled, and tried to jump, but the stepping
stone, under which the action of the water had
excavated the sand, turned clear over.  "Splash!"
went Bobby into the water.

He stood upright, but he was in a pool over his
knees, and the agitated water splashed higher.
His knickerbockers were as wet as Fred's clothes
had been when he waded out.

"Oh, oh, oh!" shouted Fred, writhing on the
grass.  "Aren't you clumsy?  Now you'll have
to take off *your* clothes to dry, Bobby."

"You might have told a fellow that rock was
loose," grumbled Bobby.

"And you might have told *me* that I was stepping
off into the old creek when I was jerking at
my line," retorted Fred.  "I got it worse than
you did."

Bobby removed his trousers and wrung them
out.  Then he put them on again.  "They'll dry
as good on me, as off," he said.  "Now, come on.
Let's go up along and see if we can't get some
more fish."

They whipped the creek for half a mile up
stream, and were successful beyond their hopes.
Both boys had a nice string of pan-fish when they
came to the deep swimming hole, which was only
a few yards below the corner of Plunkit's farm
Sphere the apple tree stood.

The sun was then sliding down toward the
western horizon.  Bobby's trousers were pretty well
dried.  He put on his bathing trunks, and followed
Fred into the pool.

Both boys were good swimmers.  There was a
fine rock to dive from and a soft, sandy bottom.
No danger here, and for an hour the chums
had a most delightful time.

Then Bobby brought his own clothes across to
the side of the creek where they had begun to
fish.  Fred brought the fishing-tackle and the two
strings of fish.  Then he trotted down the bank
to get his own clothes and their shoes and stockings.

Bobby was half dressed when he heard his chum
shouting.  "Bobby!  Bobby!" shrieked the red-haired boy.

Fearing that his chum was in trouble, Bobby
started for the sound of Fred's voice, on a hard run.

"I'm coming, Fred!  Hold on!" he shouted, as
loudly as he could.

In a few moments he came out into the open
place where Fred had carefully arranged his
clothing on the low bushes.  There wasn't a garment
there, and Fred came out of the brush, his face
very red and angry.

"What's the matter?" asked Bobby.

"Matter enough!" returned his chum.  "Don't
you *see*?"

"Not—not your clothes gone?" gasped Bobby.

"Yes they are.  Every stitch.  And your shoes,
too.  What do you think of *that*?"

"Why—why—Somebody's taken them?"

"Of course somebody has.  And it's your
fault," said Fred, very much provoked.  "If you
had helped me pitch in and lick that Ap Plunkit,
he wouldn't have dared do this."

"Maybe—maybe he'd have licked us," stammered Bobby.

"He'll—he'll just have to lick me when I meet
up with him next time, or else he'll take the
biggest licking *he* ever took," threatened the
wrathful Master Martin, wiping a couple of angry tears
out of his eyes with a scratched knuckle.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE TALE OF A SCARECROW`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER V


.. class:: center medium

   THE TALE OF A SCARECROW

.. vspace:: 2

"My goodness! you can't go home that way,"
said Bobby Blake, faintly.

He did not laugh at all.  The situation had
suddenly become tragic instead of comic.  Fred
could not walk back to Clinton in his
bathing-trunks—that is, not until after dark.

"I wish I had hold of that Ap Plunkit,"
repeated Fred Martin.  "*He* did it," he added.

"Oh, we don't know—"

"Of course we do.  He sneaked along there
after us and found my clothes, and ran away with
them—every one.  And your shoes and stockings,
too!"

"No he didn't, either!" cried Bobby, suddenly,
staring up into the tall tree over their heads.

"Eh?"

"There are the shoes and stockings—shoes,
anyway," declared Bobby, pointing.

It was a chestnut tree above their heads.  It
promised a full crop of nuts in the fall, for the
green burrs starred thickly the leafy branches.

Whoever had disturbed the chums' possessions
had climbed to the very tip-top of the chestnut
and hung the two pair of shoes far out on a small
branch.

"That's Ap Plunkit's work—I know," declared
Fred, with conviction.  "He climbs trees like a
monkey.  You see how long his arms are.  I've
seen him go up a taller tree than this."

"Maybe he's taken your clothes up there, too,"
said Bobby, going to the trunk of the tree.

"The mean scamp!" exclaimed Fred.  "How'll
we get them, Bob?  I—I can't climb that tree this
way."

"Neither can I," admitted his friend.  "But
wait till I run and get my clothes on—"

"And you'd *better* run, too!" exclaimed Fred,
suddenly, "or you won't find the rest of *your*
clothes."

Thus advised, Bobby Blake set out at once
for the spot where he had been dressing.  There
was no sign of Applethwaite Plunkit about—or of
any other marauder.  Just the same, when Bobby
was dressed and went down the creek side again
to Fred, he carried all their possessions with him.

That chestnut was a hard tree for Bobby to
climb—especially barefooted.  There were so
many prickly burrs that had dropped into the
crotches of the limbs, and, drying, had become
quite stiff and sharp.  He had to stop several
times as he mounted upward to pick the thorns
from his feet.

But he got the shoes and stockings, and, hanging
them around his neck, came down as swiftly as
he could.  Both boys at once sat down and put on
this part of their apparel.  Fred was almost
tempted to cry; but then, he was too angry to
"boo-hoo" much.

"I'll catch that Ap Plunkit, and I'll do something
to him yet," he declared.  "I'll have him
arrested for stealing my clothes, anyway."

"How can we prove he took them?  We didn't
see him," said Bobby, thoughtfully.

"Well!"

"I tell you what," Bobby said.  "Let's go up
to his house and tell his mother.  We *know* he did
this, even if we didn't see him.  Of course, we got
him mad first—"

"We didn't have to get him mad," declared
Fred.  "He's mad all the time."

"Well, we plagued him.  He just was getting square."

"But such a mean trick to steal a fellow's clothes!"

"Maybe his folks will see it that way and make
Applethwaite give them back."

"But I can't go up there to the house with only
these old tights on!" said Fred.

"No," and Bobby couldn't help grinning a
little.  "You wear my jacket."

"And if I have lost my clothes," wailed Fred,
"and have to go home this way, my father will give
it to me good!  Come on!"

"Let's each find a good club.  That dog, you
know," said Bobby.

"Sure.  And if we meet up with Ap, I'll be
likely to use it on him, too!" growled Fred, angrily.

Bobby decided that it was useless to try to
pacify his chum at the moment.  It seemed to
relieve Fred to threaten the absent Ap Plunkit, and
it did that individual no bodily harm!

So the boys found stout clubs and started up the
bank of the creek.  Fred was feeling so badly that
he did not pick more of the "summer sweetnin's"
when they came to the apple tree.

They crawled through the hole in the boundary
fence of the Plunkit Farm and kept on up the
creek-side.  First they crossed the pasture, then
they climbed a tight fence and entered a big
cornfield.  The corn was taller than their heads and
there were acres and acres of it.  It was planted
right along the edge of the creek bank, and they
had to walk between the rows.

"If old Plunkit sees us in his corn, he'll be
mad," said Fred, at last.

"This is the nearest way to the house, and we've
got to try and get your clothes," said Bobby,
firmly.

After that, he took the lead.  The nearer they
approached the farmhouse, the more Fred lagged.
But suddenly, in the midst of the long cornfield,
Master Martin uttered a cry.

"Look there, Bob!"

"What's the matter with you?  I thought it
was the dog."

"No, sir!  See yonder, will you?"

"Nothing but a scarecrow," said Bobby.

"Yes.  But it has clothes on it.  I'm going to
take them.  I'm not going up to that house
without anything more on me than what I've got."

Bobby began to chuckle at that.  It seemed too
funny for anything to rob a scarecrow.  But Fred
was pushing his way through the corn toward the
absurd figure.

Suddenly Fred uttered another yell—this time
his famous warwhoop:

"Scubbity-*yow*!  I got him!"

"You got who?" demanded Bobby, hurrying
after his chum.

"This is some o' that Ap Plunkit's doings—the
mean thing!  Look here!" and he snatched
the cap off the scarecrow's head of straw.

"Why—that looks like *your* cap, Fred," gasped
Bobby.

"And it *is*, too."

"That—that's just the stripe of your shirt!"

"And it is my shirt.  And it's my pants, and
all!" cried Fred.  "I'll get square with Ap
Plunkit yet—you see if I don't.  There's the old
ragged things this scarecrow wore, on the ground.
And he's dressed it in *my* things.  Oh, you wait
till I catch him!"

Meanwhile Fred was hastily tearing off the
garments that certainly were his own.  They were
all here.  Bobby kept away from him, and laughed
silently to himself.  It was really too, too funny;
but he did not want to make Fred angry with *him*.

"Now I guess we'd better not go to the
farmhouse—had we?" demanded Bobby.

"Let's go home," grunted Fred, very sour.
"It's almost sundown."

"All right," agreed his chum.

"He tore my shirt, too.  And we might never
have found these clothes.  I'm going to get
square," Fred kept muttering, as they struck
right down between the corn rows toward the
distant roadside fence.

Just as they climbed over the rails to leap into
the road they were hailed by a voice that said:

"Hey there! what you doin' in that cornfield?"

There was the Plunkit hopeful—otherwise
Applethwaite, the white-headed boy.  He sat on the
top rail near by and grinned at the two boys from
town.

"There you are—you mean thing!" cried Fred
Martin, and before Bobby could stop him, he
rushed at the bigger fellow.

He was so quick—or Ap was so slow—that Fred
seized the latter by the ankles before he could get
down from his perch.

"Git away!  I'll fix you!" shouted the farm boy.

He kicked out, lost his balance, and Fred let
him go.  Ap fell backward off the fence into the
cornfield, and landed on his head and shoulders.

He set up a terrific howl, even before he scrambled
to his feet.  By his actions he did not seem to
be so badly hurt.  He searched around for a
stone, found it, and threw it with all his force at
Fred Martin.  Fortunately he missed the town boy.

Immediately Fred grabbed up a stone himself
and poised it to fling at his enemy.  Bobby threw
himself upon his chum and seized his raised arm.

"Now you stop that, Fred!" he commanded.

"Why shouldn't I hit him?  He flung one at
me," declared the angry boy.

"I know.  But he didn't hit you.  And you
might hit him and do him harm.  Suppose you put
his eye out—or something?  Come on home,
Fred—don't be a chump."

"Aw—well," growled Fred, and threw the
stone away.

"You know you are always getting into a muss,"
urged Bobby, hurrying his chum along the road
toward town.  "What'll you do when you go to
Rockledge—"

"You got to go with me, Bob," declared Fred,
grinning.

"Oh!  I wish they'd let me," murmured his friend.

But as far as he could see then, no circumstances
could arise that would make such a wished
for event possible.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A FISH FRY AND A STARTLING ANNOUNCEMENT`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER VI


.. class:: center medium

   A FISH FRY AND A STARTLING ANNOUNCEMENT

.. vspace:: 2

They got home at early supper time, fish and
all.  But one look into the kitchen assured Bobby
that it was useless to expect Meena to pan their
catch for them.

The "rabbit ears" stuck up on top of her head
at a more uncompromising angle than ever.
Mr. and Mrs. Blake had not returned from town.  At
a late hour Michael Mulcahey had come back with
the carriage and announced that his mistress
would stay in town for dinner with Mr. Blake and
they were to be met at the 10:10 train.

Michael had just finished cleaning the carriage
and now sat with his pipe beside the stable door.
He was a long-lipped Irishman, with kindly,
twinkling eyes, and "ould counthry" whiskers that met
under his chin, giving his cleanly shaven,
wind-bitten face the look of peering out through a frame
of hair.

"'Tis a nice string of fish ye have, byes," he said.

"And I s'pose we got to give them to the cats,"
complained Fred.  "They won't cook 'em at my
house, and Meena's got the toothache."

Michael grinned broadly, puffing slowly at his
pipe.  "Clane the fish, byes.  There's a pan jest
inside the dure.  Get water from the hydrant.
Have ye shar-r-rp knives?"

"Oh, yes, Michael!" cried Bobby.

"Scale thim fish, then.  I'll start a fire in my
stove.  An' I've a pan.  Belike Meena, the girl,
will give ye a bit of fat salt por-r-rk and some
bread.  Tell her she naden't bother with supper.
We'll make it ourselves—in what th' fancy folks
calls 'ally-frisco'—though *why* so, I *dun*-no,"
added Michael.

He knocked the dottle out of his pipe and washed
his hands.  The boys, meanwhile, were cleaning
the little fish rapidly, and whispering together.
They were delighted with the coachman's suggestion.
It was just what they had been hoping for.
Fred even forgot his "grouch" against
Applethwaite Plunkit.

Bobby ventured to the kitchen door.  Meena
was just untying the red bandage, but the moment
she caught sight of him she hesitated.  She may
have felt another slight twinge of "face ache."

"Vat you vant?" she demanded.

Bobby told her what they were going to do.
Michael had his own plates, and knives and forks.
He had "bached it" a good many years before
he came to work for Bobby's father.  Meena saw a
long, quiet evening ahead of her.

"Vell," she said, ungraciously enough, for it
was not her way to acknowledge her blessings—not
in public, at least.  "Vell, I give you the pork
and bread.  But that Michael ban spoil you boys.
I vouldn't efer marry him."

"What did she say?" asked the coachman when
Bobby returned to the room over the harness
closets in which Michael slept—and sometimes
cooked.

"She says she won't marry you because you
spoil us," declared Bobby, winking at Fred.

"Did she now?" quoth Michael.  "So she has
rayfused me again—though it wasn't just like a
proposal *this* time.  Still—we'll count it so's to
make sure."

He gravely walked to a smooth plank in the
partition behind the door, and picked up the stub of a
pencil from a ledge.  On this board was a long
array of pencil marks—four straight, up and down
marks, and a fifth "slantingdicular" across them.
There were a great many of these marks.

Each of these straight, up and down, marks
meant "No," and the slanting mark meant
another "No"; so that Meena's refusals of the
coachman's proposal for her hand were grouped
in fives.

"The Good Book says Jacob sarved siven years
for Rachael, and then another siven.  He didn't
have nawthin' on me—sorra a bit!  When
Meena's said 'No' a thousan' times, she'll forgit
some day an' say 'Yis.'"

He went back to shaking the pan on the stove,
in which the cubes of salt pork were sputtering.
He mixed some flour and cornmeal in a plate, with
salt and pepper.  Wiping each of the little fish
partly dry, he rolled them in the mixture, and then
laid them methodically in rows upon a board.
When the fat in the skillet was piping hot, he
dropped in the fish easily so as not to splash the
hot fat about.  Then with a fork he turned them
as they browned.

As he forked them out of the hot fat, all brown
and crispy, he laid them on a sheet of brown paper
for a bit to drain off the fat.  Then the boys'
plates and his own were filled with the well fried
fish.

"There's just a mess for us," said Michael, as
they sat down.  "For what we are about to rayceive
make us tr-r-ruly grateful!  Pass the bread,
Master Bobby.  'Tis the appetite lends sauce to
the male, so they say.  Eat hearty!"

Bobby and Fred had plenty of the "sauce" the
coachman spoke of.  After the excitement and
adventures of the afternoon they had much to tell
Michael, too, and the supper was a merry one.

Fred had to go home at eight o'clock and an
hour and a half later it was Bobby's bedtime.
But the house seemed very still and lonely when
he had gone to bed, and he lay a long time listening
to the crickets and the katydids, and the other
night-flying insects outside the screens.

He heard Michael drive out of the lane to go to
the station and he was still awake when the
carriage returned and his father and mother came
into the house.  They came quietly up stairs,
whispering softly, but the door between Bobby's
room and his mother's dressing-room was ajar
and he could hear his parents talking in there.
They thought him asleep, of course.

"But Bobby's got to be told, my dear.  I have
bought our tickets—as I told you," Mr. Blake said.
"We can't wait any longer."

"Oh, dear me, John!" Bobby heard his mother
say.  "*Must* we leave him behind?"

"My dear! we have talked it all over so many
times," Mr. Blake said, patiently.  "It is a long
voyage.  Not so long to Para; but the transportation
up the river, to Samratam, is uncertain.
Brother Bill left the business in some confusion, I
understand, and we may be obliged to remain some
months.  It would not be well to take Bobby.  He
must go to school.  I am doubtful of the
advisability of taking *you*, my dear—"

"You shall not go without me, John," interrupted
Mrs. Blake, and Bobby knew she was
crying softly.  "I would rather that we lost all the
money your brother left—"

"There, there!" said Bobby's father, comfortingly.
"You're going, my dear.  And we will
leave Bobby in good hands."

"But *whose* hands?" cried his wife.  "Meena
can look after the house, and Michael we can trust
with everything else.  But neither of them are
proper guardians for my boy, John."

"I know," agreed Mr. Blake, and Bobby, lying
wide awake in his bed, knew just how troubled his
father looked.  He hopped out of bed and crept
softly to the door.  He did not mean to be an
eavesdropper, but he could not have helped
hearing what his father and mother said.

"We have no relatives with whom to leave him,"
Mrs. Blake said.  "And all our friends in Clinton
have plenty of children of their own and wouldn't
want to be bothered.  Or else they are people who
have *no* children and wouldn't know how to get
along with Bobby."

"It's a puzzle," began her husband, and just
then Bobby pushed open the door and appeared in
the dressing-room.

"I heard you, Pa!" he cried.  "I couldn't help
it.  I was awake and the door was open.  I know
just what you can do with me if I can't go with you
to where Uncle Bill died."

"Bobby!" exclaimed Mrs. Blake, putting out
her arms to him.  "My boy!  I didn't want you to
know—yet."

"He had to hear of the trip sometime," said
Bobby's father.

"And I'm not going to make any trouble," said
Bobby, swallowing rather hard, for there seemed
to be a lump rising in his throat.  He never liked
to see his mother cry.  "Why, I'm a big boy, you
know, Mother.  And I know just what you can do
with me while you're gone."

"What's that, Bobs?" asked his father, cheerfully.

"Let me go to Rockledge School with Fred
Martin—do, *do*!  That'll be fun, and they'll look out
for me there—you know they are *awfully* strict at
schools like that.  I can't get into any trouble."

"Not with Fred?" chuckled Mr. Blake.

"Well," said Bobby, seriously, "you know if I
have to look out for Fred same as I always do, *I*
won't have time to get into mischief.  You told
Mr. Martin so yourself, you know, Pa."

Mr. Blake laughed again and glanced at his wife.
She had an arm around Bobby, but she had
stopped crying and she looked over at her
husband proudly.  Bobby was such a sensible,
thoughtful chap!

"I guess we'll have to take the school question
into serious consideration, Bobs," he said.
"Now kiss your mother and me goodnight, and go
to sleep.  These are late hours for small boys."

Bobby ran to bed as he was told, and this time
he went to sleep almost as soon as he placed his
head upon the pillow.  But how he *did* dream!
He and Fred Martin were walking all the way to
Rockledge School, and they went barefooted with
their shoes slung over their shoulders,
Applethwaite Plunkit and his big dog popped out of
almost every corner to obstruct their way.  Bobby
had just as exciting a time during his dreams that
night as he and his chum had experienced during
the afternoon previous!

Nothing was said at the late Sunday morning
breakfast about his parents' journey to South
America.  Bobby knew all about poor Uncle Bill.
He could just remember him—a small, very brown,
good-tempered man who had come north from his
tropical station in the rubber country four years,
or so, before.

Uncle Bill was Mr. Blake's only brother, and
most of Bobby's father's income came from the
rubber exporting business, too.  Uncle Bill had
lived for years in Brazil, but finally the climate
had been too much for him and only a few months
ago word had come of his death.  He had been a
bachelor.  Mr. Blake had positively to go to
Samratam to settle the company's affairs and
Bobby's mother would not be separated from her
husband for the long months which must necessarily
be engaged in the journey.

Bobby felt that he *must* talk about the wonderful
possibility that had risen on the horizon of his
future, so, long before time for Sunday School, he
ran over to the Martin house and yodled softly in
the side lane for Fred.

Fred put his head out of a second-story
window.  "Hello!" he said, in a whisper.  "That
you, Bobby?"

"Yep.  Come on down.  I got the greatest
thing to tell you."

"Wait till I get into this stiff shirt," growled
Fred.  "It's just like iron!  I just *hate* Sunday
clothes—don't you, Bobby?"

Bobby was too eager to tell his news to discuss
the much mooted point.  "Hurry up!" he threw
back at Fred, and then sat down on the grassy
bank to wait.

He knew that Fred would have to pass inspection
before either his mother or his sister Mary,
before he could start for Sunday School.  He
heard some little scolding behind the closed blinds
of the Martin house, and grinned.  Fred had
evidently tried to get out before being fully
presentable.

He finally came out, grumbling something about
"all the girls being nuisances," but Bobby merely
chuckled.  He thought Mary Martin was pretty
nice, himself—only, perhaps inclined to be a little
"bossy," as is usually the case with elder sisters.

"Never mind, Fred," Bobby said, soothingly.
"Let it go.  I got something just wonderful to tell
you."

"What is it?" demanded Fred, not much interested.

"I believe something's going to happen that
you've just been *hoping* for," said Bobby, smiling.

"That Ap Plunkit's got the measles—or something?"
exclaimed Fred, with a show of eagerness.

"Aw, no!  It isn't anything to do with Ap
Plunkit," returned Bobby, in disgust.

"What is it, then?"

So Bobby told him.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`FINANCIAL AFFAIRS`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER VII


.. class:: center medium

   FINANCIAL AFFAIRS

.. vspace:: 2

Two boys in Clinton did not go to Sunday
School that day with minds much attuned to the
occasion.  Fred could scarcely restrain himself
within the bounds of decent behavior as they
walked from Merriweather Street, where both the
Blakes and the Martins lived, to Trinity Square,
where the spire of the church towered above the
elms.

The thought that Bobby was going with him to
Rockledge (Fred had jumped to that conclusion
at once) put young Martin on the very pinnacle
of delight.

"Of course, it would be great if your folks
would take you to South America," admitted
Fred, after some reflection.  "For you could
bring home a whole raft of marmosets, and
green-and-gray parrots, and iguanas, and the like, for
pets.  And you'd see manatees, and tapirs, and
jaguars and howling monkeys, and all the rest.
But crickey! you wouldn't have the fun we'll have
when we get to Rockledge School."

*Fun* seemed to be all that Fred Martin looked
forward to when he got to boarding school.
Lessons, discipline, and work of any kind, never
entered his mind.

That evening Mr. and Mrs. Blake, with Bobby,
went up the street to the Martin house, and the
parents of the two chums talked together a long
time on the front porch, while the children were
sent into the back yard—that yard that Buster
Shea had cleaned so nicely the day before, being
partly paid in rats!

When the Blakes started home, it had been
concluded that Bobby was to attend school with Fred,
and that if Mr. and Mrs. Blake did not return
from their long journey in season, Bobby was to
be under the care of the Martins during vacation.

"Another young one won't make any difference
here, Mrs. Blake," said easy-going Mrs. Martin.
"Really, half the time I forget how many we have,
and have to go around after they are all abed, and
count noses.  Bobby will make us no trouble, I
am sure.  And he always has a good influence over
Fred—we've remarked that many times."

This naturally made Mrs. Blake very proud.
Yet she took time to talk very seriously to Bobby
on several occasions during the next few days.
She spoke so tenderly to him, and with such
feeling, that the boy's heart swelled, and he could
scarcely keep back the tears.

"We want to hear the best kind of reports from
you, Bobby—not only school reports, but in the
letters we may get from our friends here in
Clinton.  Your father and I have tried to teach you
to be a manly, honorable boy.  You are going
where such virtues count for more than anything else.

"Be honest in everything; be kindly in your
relations to the other boys; always remember that
those weaker than yourself, either in body or in
character, have a peculiar claim upon your
forbearance.  Father would not want you to be a
mollycoddle but mother doesn't want you to be a
bully.

"You will go to church and Sunday School up
there at Rockledge just as you have here.  Don't
be afraid to show the other boys that you have
been taught to pray.  I shall have your father find
out the hour when you all go to bed, and at that
hour, while you are saying your prayers and
thinking of your father and me so far away from
you, I shall be praying for my boy, too!"

"Don't you cry, Mother," urged Bobby, squeezing
back the tears himself.  "I will do just as
you tell me."

It was arranged that Mr. Blake should take the
boys to school when the time came, but there was
still a fortnight before the term opened at
Rockledge.  Bobby and Fred had more preparations
to make than you would believe, and early on
Monday morning Fred came over to the Blake
house and the chums went down behind the garden
to have a serious talk.

"Say! there's fifty boys in that school," Fred
said.  "There's another school right across
Monatook Lake.  They call it Belden School.  There's
all sorts of games between the two schools, you
know, and we want to be in them, Bobby."

"What do you mean—games?" asked Bobby.

"Why, baseball, and football, and hockey on
the ice in winter, and skating matches, and
boating in the fall and spring—rowing, you know.
Lots of games.  And we want to be in them, don't we?"

"Sure," admitted his chum.

"It's going to cost money," said Fred,
decidedly.  "We'll have to get bats, and good
horse-hide balls, and a catcher's mask and glove, and a
pad, and all that.  We want to get on one of the
ball teams.  You know I can catch, and you've
got a dandy curve, Bobby, and a fade-away that
beats anything I've ever seen."

"Yes.  I'd like to play ball," admitted Bobby,
rather timidly.  "But will they let us—we being
new boys?"

"We'll make them," said the scheming Fred.
"If we show them we have the things I said—mitt,
and bats, and all—they'll be glad to have us
play, don't you see?"

"But we haven't them," suddenly said Bobby.

"No.  But we must have them."

"Say! they'll cost a lot of money.  You know
I don't have but a dollar a month," said Bobby,
"and I know Mother won't let me open my bank."

"Of course not.  That's the way with mothers
and fathers," said Fred, rather discontentedly.
"They get us to start saving against the time
we'll want money awfully bad for something.
And then we have to buy shoes with it, or
Christmas presents, or use it to pay for a busted
window.  *That's* what cleaned out my bank the
last time—when I threw a ball through Miklejohn's
plate-glass window on the Square."

"Well," said Bobby, getting away from *that*
unpleasant subject, "I have most of my dollar left
for this month, and Pa will give me another on the
first day of September."

"I haven't but ten cents to my name,"
confessed Fred.

"Then how'll we get new bats, and the mask,
and pad, and all?"

"That's what we want to find out," Fred said,
grimly.  "We'll have to think up some scheme
for making money.  I wish I'd cleaned our yard
Saturday instead of hiring Buster Shea."

"*That* didn't cost you much," chuckled Bobby.
"Only a cent—and you couldn't have sold the five
rats for anything."

"Aw—well—"

"Let's start a lemonade stand," suggested Bobby.

"No.  It's been done to death in Clinton this
vacation," Fred declared, emphatically.  "Besides,
the sugar and lemons and ice cost so much.
And you're always bound to drink so much yourself
that there's no profit when the lemonade's gone."

Bobby acknowledged the justice of this with a
silent nod.

"Got to be something new, Bobby," urged Fred,
with much belief in his chum's powers of
invention.  "*You* think of something."

"Might have a show," said Bobby.

"Aw—now—Bobby! you know that's no
good," declared Fred.  "We'd have to let a lot
of the other fellows into it.  Can't run a circus—not
even a one-ring one—without a lot of performers.
And they'd want the money split up.  We
wouldn't make anything."

"A peep-show," said Bobby, still thoughtfully
chewing a straw.

"Aw, shucks! that's worse.  The kids will only
pay pins, or rusty nails, to see *that* kind of a
show."

"No.  That's not just what I mean," Bobby
said, thoughtfully.  "Let's have a show that will
only need us two to run it, Fred.  Then we won't
have to divide the money with anybody else.  And
let's have a show that grown up folks will want to
see."

"Great, Bobby!  That's a swell idea—if we
could do it."

"I believe we *can* do it."

"Tell a fellow," urged Fred, excitedly.
"Grown folks have money.  We could charge
them a nickel—maybe a dime—"

"No.  A penny show," said Bobby, still chewing
the straw.  "Of course, it's got to be worth a
penny—and then, it'll have to be sort of a joke,
too—"

"Whatever are you trying to get at, Bobby
Blake?" demanded his chum in wonder.

"Listen here.  Now—don't you tell—"

He pulled Fred down beside him and whispered
into his ear.  The red-haired boy looked puzzled
at first.  Then he caught the meaning of his
chum's plan, and his eyes grew big and he began
to grin.  Suddenly he flung his cap into the air
and seized Bobby round the neck to hug him.

"Scubbity-*yow*!" he yelled.  "That's the greatest
thing I've ever heard, Bob!  And we can have
it right down 'side of my father's store."

Mr. Martin kept a grocery store on Hurley
Street, in a one-story building on one side of which
was an open lot belonging to the store property.
There was a side-door to the store-building opening
upon this lot, but not far back from the street.

For the next two or three days Bobby and Fred
were very busy indeed at this place and, with some
little help, they managed to erect a structure that
was made partly of old fence-boards and partly of
canvas.

The half-tent, half-shack was about ten feet
wide.  It had a sloping canvas roof.  It ran back
from the sidewalk far enough to mask the
side-door into Mr. Martin's store.

Mr. Martin was not in the secret of the nature
of the boys' proposed "show," but he was a good
natured man and made no objection to his son and
Bobby utilizing his side door.

"You see, we must have an 'entrance' and an
'exit'," Bobby explained.  "Folks can pass out
through the store after seeing our show."

"Sure," chuckled Fred.  "As long as we don't
call it 'egress,' nobody will be scared that it's some
strange and savage animal.  All right.  'Exit'
it is," and he proceeded to paint the sign, per
Bobby's instructions.

And that was not the only sign to be painted.
Fred was rather handy with a brush, and when all
the sign-painting was done, Bobby pronounced the
work fine.

In front of the tent, Bobby had built a little
platform with a box, waist high, before it.  Bobby
was to be the lecturer, or "ballyhoo," and was,
likewise, to sell the tickets.  The other boys were
eaten up with curiosity about the show, but neither
Bobby nor Fred would give them a chance to get a
look inside the shelter after the roof was on.

There was a canvas wall in the front, with a
very narrow entrance.  Inside that was a canvas
screen so that nobody peeking into the doorway
could see much of what lay beyond.  They had one
kerosene lamp to light the interior.

They made several other arrangements for the
opening of the show, and then there was nothing
to do but wait for Saturday to arrive.  On that
day many people from out-of-town came into
Clinton to market, and the Hurley Street stores were
well patronized all day long.  Bobby and Fred
knew they would not lack a curious company outside
the tent, whether they tolled many within or not.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE PEEP-SHOW`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER VIII


.. class:: center medium

   THE PEEP-SHOW

.. vspace:: 2

Very early on Saturday morning Bobby and
Fred went down to Hurley Street and hung the
painted banners upon the front of the show tent.
As to their beauty, there might have been some
question, but Fred had painted the words clearly,
and there could be no mistaking their meaning.

The sheets on which the signs were painted
stretched across the width of the tent, and the
upper line read:

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center

FOUR MARVELS OF THE WORLD

.. vspace:: 1

Underneath this startling statement, in no less
emphatic letters, appeared the following:

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   *ON EXHIBITION:*
   *The Strongest Man in the World*
   *The Handsomest Woman in the World*
   *The Prettiest Girl in the World*
   *The Smartest Boy in the World*

.. vspace:: 1

The surprising nature of these signs began to
draw a crowd almost at once—even before
breakfast.  The early comers were mostly boys, and
Bobby and Fred were not yet ready to admit the
curious.

The chums kept perfectly serious faces and
refused to answer any of the questions, or respond
much to the raillery of their young friends.

"You know that ain't so, Bobby Blake!"
exclaimed one boy.  "You can't have all those
people in that tent.  And where'd you get them?
Huh!  'Strongest man in the world.'  Who's
that?  Sandow, or John L. Sullivan?  Bet you
jest got a picture of Samson throwin' down the
pillars."

"That's what it is—just pictures!" agreed the
other curious ones.

Fred grinned at them and was—wonderful to
relate!—as silent as his chum.  They had agreed to
say nothing in response to the chaffing.

"And who was the handsomest woman in the
world?" scoffed another boy, who was rather
better informed than most of his mates.  "Cleopatra,
maybe!  And she was blacker than our
Phoebe who washes for my mother.  All
Egyptians are black."

"I'd just like to know who you think is the
prettiest girl, Bobby Blake?" demanded one of the
bigger girls who went to school with the chums,
her nose tip tilted to show her scorn.  "What do
you know about pretty girls?"

"If you want to see her, you can do so by
paying your penny by and by," said Bobby politely.

"Humph!  I'd like to see myself!" snapped
the young lady—and at once went home and
secured a penny for that very purpose!

"I s'pose you've got a photograph of your own
self in there for the smartest boy, Reddy
Martin!" suggested one of the big fellows who dared
give Fred this hated nickname.

"Well," drawled Fred, his eyes sparkling, "if
it lay between you and me who was the smartest,
I don't believe *you'd* get any medal."

The boys took turns breakfasting on crackers
and cheese in Mr. Martin's store.  Fred's father
was greatly amused by the signs in front of the
tent and he wanted a private view of the wonders.
But he was politely refused.

"We can't begin the show till Bobby's made the
lecture, Dad," declared Fred.  "And we're not
going to begin till there's a crowd on the street.
We'll pass them right into the store here, and I
bet you and the clerks will be too busy waiting on
customers to see the show at all," and he chuckled.

In only a single matter did the boys have help
in the arrangements for the show.  Mr. Blake,
without being in the secret of the show itself, had
written the lecture which Bobby was to deliver
outside the tent every time a crowd gathered.

Bobby put on a shabby drum-major's coat, with
one epaulet, which had been found in the Martins'
attic.  On his head he perched an old silk hat
belonging to his father, with the band stuffed out
so that it would not slip down over his ears and
hide his face entirely.

He beat upon a tin pan with a padded drum-stick,
and thus brought together the first crowd
before the show-tent at about nine o'clock.  His
ridiculous figure and the noise of the drumming
soon collected twenty or thirty grown people—mostly
men at that hour—beside a crowd of boys,
and a few timid girls who fringed the crowd.

Having called his audience together, Bobby,
with a perfectly serious face, began his speech
which he had learned by heart, and spoke as well
as ever he recited "a piece" on Friday afternoons
at school:

"Kind Friends:

"This wonderful exhibition has been arranged
for the sole purpose of extracting money from
your pockets and putting it into ours.  We make
this frank announcement at the start so that there
may be no misunderstanding.

"This marvelous Museum is not a charitable
institution nor is it for the benefit of any
philanthropic cause.

"It is merely an effort and an invention to
promote good humor; any person unable to appreciate
a joke on himself, or herself, is respectfully
requested not to patronize our stupendous and
surprising entertainment.

"Where before, in any conglomeration of
Wonders of the World, have four such marvelous
creatures been placed simultaneously on exhibition?

"Now, kind friends, but one person is admitted
to our entertainment at a time, and but one of
these advertised marvels will be exhibited to each
visitor.  This is a positive rule that cannot be
broken.

"The charge for our educational and startling
exhibit is but a penny—a cent—the smallest coin
of the realm.  It will not make you, and it cannot
break you.

"In addition, it is understood that the person
paying his, or her, entrance fee to this Museum
of Marvels, agrees to keep silent regarding what
is shown within, for at least twenty-four hours.
On that, and on no other terms, do we accept your
penny.

"If one should not be satisfied that a penny's
worth is given in exchange for the entrance fee,
the same will be cheerfully refunded.

"Now, kind friends, one at a time," concluded
Bobby, stepping down from the rostrum to the
narrow entrance to the tent.  "Form in line at
the right, please.  Have your pennies ready; we
cannot make change.  Doctor Truman is the first
to enter the Hall of Marvels.  Thank you,
Doctor!" as the cheerful, chuckling physician, bag in
hand, on his morning rounds to see his patients,
pushed forward to the entrance of the tent.

There was a good deal of hanging back at first.
Bobby had expected that.  And Fred might have
lost hope had he been outside where he could see
the crowd that began to dwindle away when
Bobby's funny speech was finished.

But in a moment the doctor's roar of laughter
from within the tent brought some of the
suspicious ones back.  The doctor appeared at the
store door, his plump sides shaking with laughter,
and wiping the joyous tears from his eyes.

"What is it, Doc?" asked an old farmer.
"What's them 'tarnal boys doin' in that tent?"

"Pay your penny and go in and see," exclaimed
Doctor Truman, hurrying away.  "If a laugh like
that isn't worth a cent, I don't know what is!"

Fred's whistle had announced the departure of
the first visitor by way of the shop door, and
Bobby urged up another:

"Don't crowd, kind friends.  The performance
will continue all day and this evening—or until
everybody desiring to do so has seen one of these
four Wonders of the World."

Jim Hatton, the harness maker, followed the
doctor.  He didn't laugh, but the curious ones
heard him exclaim, a moment after his disappearance:

"Well, I'll be jiggered!" which was Mr. Hatton's
favorite expression, and he came out of the
front door of Mr. Martin's shop, grinning broadly.

"What was it, Jim?" asked the same curious farmer.

"Can't tell ye, Jake.  See it yourself—'nless
you're afraid o' riskin' a penny to find out just
how smart our boys here in Clinton be," and
Mr. Hatton went off to his shop still grinning.

Somebody pushed forward the very girl who
had sharpened her wit on Bobby before the exhibition
opened.  She had her penny clutched tightly
in her hand.

"Don't you let go of that cent, Susie," advised
Bobby, grinning at her, "if you think you'll want
it again for anything.  For you won't be pleased
by what you see—maybe."

Susie tossed her head and went inside.  In just
a minute Fred blew his whistle and Susie, with
flaming cheeks, appeared at the front door of the
store.

"What was it, Susie?" demanded one of her friends.

"Which did you see—the strong man, or the
handsome lady, or the pretty girl, or the smart
boy?" cried another.

But Susie shut her lips tightly, glanced once at
Bobby, who was letting the curious old farmer
pass into the tent, and then she ran home.  The
curiosity of the boys and girls mounted higher
and higher.

The old farmer popped out almost as quick as
he popped in.  He was chewing a straw vigorously,
and his face was flushed.  It was hard to
tell for a moment whether he was mad, or not.

"Wal, Neighbor Jake, did yet git your money's
wuth?" demanded another rural character.

The bewhiskered old fellow turned on the
speaker, and gradually a grin spread over his
face.

"Say, Sam!" he drawled.  "You never had
none too much schoolin'.  Your edication was
frightfully neglected.  You pay that there boy a
cent and go in there, and you'll l'arn more in a
minute than you ever did before in a day!  You
take it from me."

Thus advised his neighbor pressed forward and
was the next "victim."  When he came out his
face was red likewise, while Jake burst into a
mighty roar of laughter and rocked himself to and
fro on the horseblock in front of the store door.

Soon the second farmer joined in the laughter,
and thereafter, for an hour, the two stood about
and urged everybody from out of town whom they
knew to enter the peep-show.

Occasionally Bobby mounted the platform,
banged on the pan, and lifted up his voice in the
speech Mr. Blake had written for him.  It coaxed
the people to stop before the show every time.
And between whiles, Bobby kept repeating:

"It is only a cent—and your money back if you
are not satisfied!  If it is a joke, keep it to
yourself and let the next one find it out.  Come on!
Have your pennies ready, please, kind friends.
See one of the four greatest wonders of the world."

At first none of the ladies who were out shopping
did more than stop and listen and wonder
among themselves "what that Blake boy was up
to now."  But the girl who worked in Mr. Ballard's
real estate office ran across the street to
see what the crowd was about, and was tempted
to enter the tent.

She came out giggling, and greatly delighted,
and pretty soon the girls who worked in the
offices and stores along Hurley Street, were
attracted to the show.  They all seemed to be highly
delighted, when they came out through the store.

"I declare!" exclaimed Mrs. Hiram Pepper, to
a neighbor, as they passed the peep-show again.
"I've a mind to see what that means."

"It's some foolishness," said her friend, who
was a rather vinegary maiden lady named Miss
Prissy Craven.  "I wonder what that boy's
mother can be thinking of!"

"Why, Mrs. John Blake is as nice a lady as
there is in town," declared Mrs. Pepper.  "And
I must say for Bobby that he's never in any
mischief.  He's full of fun—like any boy.  But there
ain't a *smitch* of meanness in him."

"Humph!" exclaimed the other lady, sourly.

"Now, you wait.  I'm going in," declared
Mrs. Pepper, fumbling in her purse for a penny.

She marched up to Bobby, eyeing him rather
sternly.  To tell the truth, for the first time the
young showman quailed.

"Maybe you'd—you'd better not go in, Mrs. Pepper,"
he mumbled.

"Why not?  Ain't it fit for a lady to see?"
demanded she, with increasing sternness.

"Oh, yes!" and Bobby *had* to giggle at that.
"But—but—Well, anyway, you mustn't tell, and
you can have your money back if you don't like
the show."

"Ha!" exclaimed Mrs. Pepper, "as though I
was worried about the loss of a penny," and she
went into the tent with her back very straight.

She came out shaking with laughter.  The tears
rolled down her face and she had to sit down on
Mr. Martin's steps to get her breath.  Miss
Prissy Craven demanded, sharply: "What under
the sun is the matter with you, Mis' Pepper?  I
never seen you behave so.  What is it in that tent
them boys have got?  I sh'd think it was a giggle
ball full o' tickle!"

"Ha, ha, ha!" chuckled the amused Mrs. Pepper.
"You go in yourself, Prissy, and see what
you think of it.  I can't tell you."

"I'm going!" announced the maiden lady, nodding
her head.  "But lemme tell you," she added
to Bobby, "if it's anything I don't like, you'll hear
about it when I come out."

Bobby looked across at Mrs. Pepper doubtfully,
but he had to grin.  The lady who was laughing
nodded to him vigorously, and he let Miss Craven
through.

In less than a minute she flounced through the
store and demanded, in her high, rasping voice:

"What did you mean by trickin' me that-a-way,
Mis' Pepper?  I never was so disgusted in all
my life.  A perfec' swindle—"

"You can get back your penny if you didn't
like it," suggested Bobby, trying hard not to
laugh.

"Well, I—"

But Mrs. Pepper broke in upon the angry
spinster's possible tirade: "Jest what did you see,
Prissy?" she asked the angry one, with emphasis.
Miss Craven's mouth remained open for fully
half a minute, but no sound came forth.  The
blood mounted into her face, and then she shut
her lips and started off hastily for her own home.
*Evidently she did not want to tell*!

This incident excited the curiosity of the
bystanders more than ever.  So far every person
seeing the show had "played fair" and had
refused to say what he or she had seen on the inside
of the tent.

Bobby had refused to let the smaller boys or
girls into the show, telling them that late in the
day they might see it for nothing.  That had been
agreed upon with Fred, for the proprietors of the
entertainment were afraid that the little folk
would be tempted to talk the matter over among
themselves and thus spoil the fun—as well as
reduce the receipts.

And the pennies came in faster than Bobby or
Fred had dared hope.  During the morning those
people who had business on Hurley Street came
to see the show, and to listen to Bobby as
"bally-hoo," and by noon-time wind of the peep-show
had gone all over town.

Bobby's mother, and Fred's, too, heard of it
from their husbands at luncheon, and they
decided to see what their young hopefuls were about.
Bobby was just a little bit scared when he saw his
mother; he didn't know whether she would see the
joke as his father had, earlier in the day—for
Mr. Blake had come out of the tent roaring with
laughter.

"It beats anything how those two youngsters
have got the whole town guessing," he had said
to Mr. Martin.  "And they have hit on a positive
human failing that shows more sober thought than
I believed either of them capable of."

"Dare you let your mother in to see this show,
Bobby Blake?" asked Mrs. Blake, seriously, when
the boy's lecture—which he now rattled off glibly
enough—was finished.

"There's no 'free list'," said Bobby, his eyes
twinkling.  "Pa told me to be sure not to let you
in unless you paid.  And I am sure, Mother, that
you will see the handsomest woman in the world,
if you want to, when you go inside."

"I declare! you have *me* puzzled, Bobby
Blake," said easy going Mrs. Martin.

"Just a minute, please!" urged Bobby, detaining
his chum's mother.  "You'll have to take your
turn.  But one person is allowed to enter at a
time.  This way! this way, kind friends!  The
line forms on the right.  Only a penny—a cent—the
smallest coin of the realm.  It won't make
you and it can't break you!"

The two mothers joined each other afterward
outside of Mr. Martin's store.  They looked into
each other's faces wonderingly.

"What do you think of those boys?" demanded
Mrs. Martin.  "What will they do next?"

"I—I don't know," admitted Mrs. Blake, with
a sigh.  "But I *do* fear that they will turn that
school they are going to this fall topsy-turvy!"





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.. _`OFF FOR ROCKLEDGE`:

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   CHAPTER IX


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   OFF FOR ROCKLEDGE

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Trade at the peep-show was brisk until
mid-afternoon.  Bobby and Fred had been able to get
only a bite of luncheon from the store "in their
fists," and had compared notes but seldom.

Bobby's trouser-pockets were borne down with
the weight of pennies.  In refusing to make
change it soon became very hard along Hurley
Street to obtain pennies at all.  All the copper
money in the town was fast coming the way of the
proprietors of the peep-show.

Neither Bobby nor Fred realized this fact—nor
what it meant to them—until after the First
National and the Old Farmers' Banks had closed
their doors for the day.  The storekeepers then
began running around to borrow copper money,
and it was some time before anybody knew what
made the scarcity of pennies in the storekeepers'
tills!

Meanwhile the financial adventure of Bobby
Blake and Fred Martin was prospering.

Bobby suddenly saw the long-armed, white-headed
Applethwaite Plunkit standing in the
crowd eying him while he delivered his talk.
The crowd before the rostrum laughed as usual,
and those who had been in to see the show urged
their friends to venture likewise.

The white-headed farm boy from Plunkit's
Creek was pushing forward to enter the show.
Bobby had hoped he would not venture, but when
Ap approached, Bobby made up his mind quickly.

"You can't go in, Applethwaite," he said,
decidedly.  "We don't want you."

"Why not!"

"Never mind why not," said Bobby, firmly,
looking straight into the flushed face of the boy
who had treated him and Fred so meanly just a
week before.  "But you can't go in."

"Ain't my cent just as good as anybody else's?"

"Not here it isn't," declared Bobby, who knew
very well that if the white head appeared in the
tent where the red head was, there would be an
explosion!  Besides, he did not trust Ap.  He
believed Ap would do all he could to break up the
show after he had seen it.

Ap began to bluster and threaten, but there
were too many grown folk around for him to dare
attack Bobby.  "You jes' wait," he whispered.
"I'll fix you some time."

Bobby did not know what Applethwaite might
try to do, and when he saw him a little later with
a group of boys who were pretty rough looking,
he was worried.  These boys stood across the
street from the show and Bobby was afraid they
were waiting for some slack time, when there were
no grown folk about, to "rush" the tent.

He called Fred out and told him what he feared
and Fred went through and told the biggest clerk
in his father's store.  The clerks were interested
in the two young showmen, for they had been into
the tent and were delighted with what they had seen.

The big fellow promised, therefore, to come
running and bring the other clerks to help, if the boys
whistled for assistance.  This plan quieted
Bobby's fears, and he gave his mind to the lecture,
and to coaxing the audience into the show, one by one.

Suddenly the young lecturer saw Mr. Priestly
in the crowd.  He flushed up pretty red when he
saw him, for Mr. Priestly was the minister at the
church the boys attended, and Bobby thought he
was about the finest man in town.

The clergyman was a young man who had made
a name for himself in University athletics, and he
had the biggest Boys' Club in town.  Bobby and
Fred were particular friends of the young
minister, and for a moment Bobby wondered if
Mr. Priestly would approve of the peep-show.

The gentleman's ruddy, smoothly shaven face
was a-smile as he listened to Bobby's speech, and
his blue eyes twinkled.  He was the first to reach
the tent entrance when Bobby stepped down from
the platform.

"Which wonder am *I* to see, Bobby?" he asked,
as he presented his penny to the youthful showman.

"We—we favor the clergy, Mr. Priestly," said
Bobby, hesitatingly, yet with an answering smile.
"*You* shall see two wonders."  Then he called in
to his partner: "Hey, Fred!"

"Hullo!" returned the red-haired one, coming
to the entrance.

"Here's Mr. Priestly," said Bobby, in a low
voice.  "I want you to show *him* the strongest
man in the world, and the very best man in Clinton!"

"Oh-ho!" cried Mr. Priestly.  "*That's* the way
of it, eh?" and he pinched Bobby's cheek as he
went into the tent.  "I believe I can guess your
joke, boys."

"Never mind! nobody else has guessed it,"
chuckled Fred, going before him.  "Stand right
there, Mr. Priestly."

The oil lamp was in a bracket screwed to a post
in the back of the tent.  Just where its light shone
best was a narrow red curtain.  Fred became
preternaturally solemn as he stepped forward and
laid his hand upon the cords that manipulated the
curtain.

"We will show you, Mr. Priestly," he said, "the
Strongest Man in the World—and as Bobby says,
the very *best* man in Clinton!"

He pulled aside the curtain and Mr. Priestly
saw his own reflection in a long mirror that had
been borrowed from the Martin attic.

"Well, well!" exclaimed the minister, nodding.
"And is this all your show?"

"Anybody who is not satisfied with what he
*sees*," returned Fred, chuckling, "can have the
entrance fee refunded."

At that the clergyman burst into a great laugh.
"You boys! you boys!  You certainly have them
*there*.  One must be dissatisfied with himself to
ask for the return of his penny.  I—I am not
altogether sure that this doesn't smack of a swindle;
but it certainly *is* smart.  You should show your
own face in the glass, Fred, when the younger
victims come in to see the Smartest Boy in the
World."

"No, sir," grinned Fred.  "Every fellow that
comes in is better satisfied to see his own
reflection, I reckon."

The clergyman went out, laughing.  That the
joke had kept up all day was the wonder of it.
The audience became smaller as supper time drew
near.

Then came Mr. Harrod, who kept the variety
and ice cream store down the street.  "Say," he
said to Bobby.  "You boys must have cornered
all the pennies in town.  I've got to have some.
I'll give you a dollar bill for ninety cents, Bobby
Blake."

"All right, sir," cried Bobby.  "Is a dollar's
worth all you want?  I'll send them down to your
store in a few moments."

"Send two dollars' worth," returned Mr. Harrod,
hurrying away.

"Hi, Betty Martin!" shouted Bobby to Fred's
"next oldest sister," who was on the fringe of the
crowd.  "Come here and count pennies—do, please!"

"Hi Betty Martin" stuck out her tongue
promptly and did not stir.  "Call me by my
proper name, Mister Smartie!" she said, sharply.

"Oh, me, oh, my!  I beg your pardon," laughed
Bobby.  "Miss Elizabeth Martin, will you please
count some of these pennies and roll them into
papers—right there on the box, please?"

"All right," said Betty, who did not like to be
called after any Mother Goose character.

She was a bright girl and she counted the
pennies correctly into piles of thirty, rolled them
up that way, carried six of the rolls down to the
variety store, and brought back a two dollar bill.

Then Mr. Martin needed copper money, and
Betty counted a dollars' worth out for him—at
the rate of exchange established by Mr. Harrod.

"Wow, Bobby!" murmured Fred, at the door
of the tent.  "We get them coming and going,
don't we?  Ten cents on the dollar, too!  We're
getting rich."

But the peep-show had had its run.  Not many
could be coaxed in after supper, and the boys
were tired, too.  They had not eaten a proper
meal all day, and Mr. Martin advised them to
shut up shop.

They took down the signs, put out the lamp,
and went into the back room of the grocery to
count the receipts.  The amount was far beyond
their expectations, and naturally Bobby and Fred
were delighted.

"It takes you to think up the bright ideas,
chum," said Fred, admiringly.

But Bobby looked thoughtful.  "I wonder if
Mr. Priestly thought it was just right?" he
murmured.  "I suppose we *did* fool them all," and he
sighed.

"Shucks!" exclaimed Fred.  "They didn't
have to be fooled if they didn't want to.  And
even Prissy Craven didn't come back for her
penny, did she?"

Only a few days more before they would start
for Rockledge School.  The chums bought the
bats and mask and other things they craved.
They packed their trunks two or three times over.
They carried the books they liked best, and many
treasures for which their troubled mothers could
see no reason whatsoever.

"Now, this can of pins and nails, Bobby," urged
Mrs. Blake, helplessly.  "What *possible* good can
they be?  I do not see how I am to get your
clothing into the trunk."

"Aw—Mother!" gasped Bobby.  "Don't throw
them away.  A fellow never can tell when he'll
want a pin—or a nail—or a button—or something.
Never mind putting in so many stockings.  Leave
the can—do, Mother!"

All the Clinton boys who had been the chums'
particular associates at school were greatly
interested in what they termed Bobby's and Fred's
"luck."  They all had to be told, over and over
again, of the expected wonders of Rockledge
School.

"And I bet you and Fred turn things upside
down there," said "Scat" Monroe, with an envious sigh.

"I bet we don't!" responded Bobby, quickly.
"Dr. Raymond is awfully strict, they say.
We'll have to walk a chalk line."

"Well, if Fred Martin ever walks a chalk-line,"
scoffed another of the fellows, "it'll be a mighty
crooked one!"

However, the night before the boys were to
start for Rockledge, the good natured groceryman
gave his son a long talk, and Fred went to bed
feeling pretty solemn.  For the first time, he
began to realize that he was not going away to
boarding school merely for the fun there was to be got
out of it!

"You haven't made much of a mark for yourself
in the Clinton Public School, Frederick," said
Mr. Martin, sternly; "but I do not believe that is
because you are either a dunce, or stubborn.  You
have been frittering away your opportunities.

"I am tired of seeing your name at the foot of
your class roster—or near it.  Inattention is your
failing.  You are going where they make boys
attend.  And if you do not work, and keep up with
your mates, you will be sent home.  Do you
understand that?

"And if you are sent home, you shall be sent to
another school where you'll have very little fun at
all for the rest of your life.  I mean the School
of Hard Experience!

"You shall be set to work in my store half of
each day, like a poor man's son, and go to the
public school the other half day, and your name will
be on the truant officer's list."

"And I guess he meant it," said Fred to Bobby
the next morning.  "Father doesn't often scold,
but he was mad at me for being so low in my
classes last term."

The boys started for the railroad station with
Mr. Blake, gayly enough, however.  When Bobby
had parted from his mother, he had to swallow a
big lump in his throat, and he hugged her around
the neck *hard* for a minute.  But he had forced
back the tears by the time they got to the Martins'
house.

There the other children were all out on the
front porch to bid their brother and Bobby
good-by.  "Hi Betty Martin" threw an old shoe
after them.

"For luck," she said.  "That's what they do
when folks get married."

"But Bobby and I aren't getting married,"
complained Fred, rubbing his right ear where the
shoe had landed.  "And, anyway, no girl's got a
right to shut her eyes tight and throw an old boot
like *that*.  How'd you know you wouldn't do some
damage?"

"That's the luck of it," chuckled Bobby.  "It's
lucky she didn't hurt you worse."





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.. _`NEW SURROUNDINGS`:

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   CHAPTER X


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   NEW SURROUNDINGS

.. vspace:: 2

The boys were so eagerly looking ahead that
they scarcely gave a backward glance at Clinton,
as the train rolled away.  Mr. Blake had his
paper and a whole seat to himself.  Bobby and
Fred occupied a seat ahead of him, and laughed
and chattered as they pleased.

"This is only Friday," said Fred, "and classes
don't begin at Rockledge until Monday.  We'll
have two whole days to get acquainted in.  Do
you s'pose there will be some of the boys at the
Rockledge station to meet us?"

"And a brass band, too, maybe—eh?" chuckled
Bobby.  "I guess nobody but the principal of the
school knows we're coming, Fred.  We'll be new
boys, and the bigger fellows will boss us around
at first."

"Huh! they can't boss *me* if I don't want to be
bossed," declared the pugnacious Fred.

"Don't you begin to talk that way," advised his
chum.  "We'll have to be pretty small potatoes at
first."

"I don't see why," grumbled Fred.

"You'll find out.  My father went to a boarding
school when he was a boy, and he told me," Bobby
explained.

They did not have to wait until reaching
Rockledge to learn something about the temper of the
boys with whom they would be associated.  At
Cambwell several students got aboard and came
into their car.  They were all older than Bobby
and Fred, and they were very noisy and self-assertive.

They sang, and joked together in the seats up
front.  Finally they spied the two boys from
Clinton sitting in the middle of the car.

"Hullo!" exclaimed a tall, thin, yellow-haired
boy who seemed to be a leader in the fun.
"There's a couple of kids who look as though
they'd just left home and mamma.  Bet they're
going with us."

One of the other boys said something in a low
tone, and then he and the yellow-haired one got
up and came down the aisle.

"Say!" said the second boy, who was short and
stocky and squinted his eyes up in a funny way
when he talked.  "Goin' to school, sonnies?"

"Yes, we are," said Fred, sharply.

"Rockledge or Belden?"

"Rockledge, if you please," said Bobby, politely.

"Huh!" said the tall boy, grinning.  "I don't
know whether it pleases us any to have you go to
Rockledge.  But it's lucky you're not bound for
Belden."

"Why?" asked Fred.

"We'd have to chuck your hats out of the
window.  We don't allow any Belden boys to ride in
this train with their hats on."

"And do the Belden boys throw the Rockledge
boys' hats out of the window?" asked Bobby,
innocently enough.

"If they're able.  But they ain't.  You sure
you are going to Rockledge?"

"You can wait till we get off the train and then
find out whether we tell the truth, or not," said
Fred, rather crossly.

"Say, young fellow! we don't like fresh fish
at Rockledge," warned the yellow-haired boy.
"If you're going there, you want to walk Turkey."

Bobby pinched Fred warningly, and both the
chums remained silent.

"I never did like the looks of red hair, anyway—did
you, Bill?" suggested the squinting chap,
grinning.

"No.  We'll have to dye it for him," said the
yellow-haired boy.  "What color do you prefer
instead of red?" he asked Fred Martin.

"Well, I wouldn't like it to be straw-colored,"
responded Fred, promptly, and with a meaning
glance at his interrogator's hair.  "Any other will
suit me better."

The yellow-haired boy flushed and his pale eyes
sparkled.  Fred stared back at him quite boldly,
for the ten year old was no coward, whatever else
he might be.

"Fresh fish—just as I told you," muttered the
other strange boy, scowling and squinting at the
same time.  He was a very ugly boy when he did
this.  "Both of them."

"Well!" began Bill, and then stopped.

The train had halted at another station the
moment before.  Somebody entered the front door
of the car, and at once the group of boys going to
Rockledge School set up a shout.

"Hi, Barry!"

"See who's come in with the tide!  Hey, Captain!"

"Hullo, Barry Gray!"

"Captain!  Captain!  How-de-do!"

Even the yellow-haired boy and his comrade
turned to look.  Bobby and Fred saw a handsome,
brown haired fellow coming down the aisle.  He
was fourteen or older.  He carried a light
overcoat over his arm and he was very well dressed.

He tossed his coat and bag into one of the racks,
and began shaking hands.  Everybody seemed
glad to see him.  As he quickly glanced down the
aisle his look seemed to quell Bill and the
squinting boy.

"He's going to butt in, of course," growled the
first named.

"Sure.  Feels his oats—"

The fellow with the squint said no more.  The
handsome fellow, whose name seemed to be Barry
Gray, came down the aisle almost at once.

"Hullo, Bill Bronson," he said, with some
sharpness.  "Up to your usual tricks?"

"It isn't any business of yours, Barry, what
Jack and I do," growled the yellow-haired boy.

"I'll make it my business, then," said Barry
Gray, laughing.  Then he turned directly to
Bobby and Fred.

"You kids going to Rockledge this term?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," said Bobby, quickly.

Barry Gray was not as tall as Bill Bronson, and
perhaps not as old, but he evidently was not afraid
of either of the bullies.

"Where are you from?"

"Clinton, sir," pronounced Bobby, again taking
the lead.

"What's your name—and your chum's?" asked Barry.

"My name is Bob Blake, and this is Fred Martin,"
said Bobby.

"Glad to know you," said the older boy, shaking
hands with both of them, and even Fred began
to forgive him for calling them "kids."

"Ever been to school before?" asked Barry.

"Not to boarding school," Fred said.

"Come on up and I'll introduce you to the
other fellows.  Don't mind Bill Bronson and Jack
Jinks, here," added Barry Gray, grinning at the
two retiring bullies.  "If they bother you much,
come to me.  I'm captain of the school this year,
and Dr. Raymond expects me to keep all of the
fellows straight.  Being a captain is like being a
monitor.  You understand!"

"Oh, yes, sir," said Bobby.

"And you needn't 'sir' me so much," said the
kindly captain.  "Come on, now—"

Bobby turned to ask permission of his father.
Barry at once saw that Mr. Blake was with the
chums from Clinton.

"Who's this, Bob?  Your father, or Fred's?"

"This is my father," said Bobby, politely.

The frank school captain stepped forward and
offered his hand.  "Glad to meet you, Mr. Blake,"
he said.  "You trust the boys with me.  I'll see
that they get in right with the other fellows, and
that they're not put upon too much."

"I'm sure of it," said Mr. Blake, smiling.  "I
shall feel better about leaving Bobby and Fred at
Rockledge, knowing that you will have an eye on
them."

"Oh, you can be easy about them," said Captain
Gray who, despite his natural conceit, seemed a
very nice fellow.  "Of course, they'll have to take
a few hard knocks, and the boys will 'run' them
some.  But they sha'n't be hurt."

"Huh!" muttered Fred.  "I guess we can take
care of ourselves."

Barry looked down at him and grinned.  "Yes,
I see you own red hair," he observed, and
Mr. Blake laughed outright.

Fred followed his chum and Barry Gray up the
aisle with rather a lagging step.  He felt his own
importance considerably, and he did not see why
he should be as respectful as Bobby was to the
captain of Rockledge School.

In a very few minutes Master Martin felt better.
The other boys were a lot more friendly than
Bill Bronson and Jack Jinks, who the chums
learned later, were two of the most troublesome
boys at the school.  Not many of the others liked
the bullies.

There were some fellows quite as young as
Bobby and Fred, but none of them were "greenies,"
like the chums from Clinton.

"Sure you'll have to be hazed!" explained a
fat, genial boy, named Perry Wise—called "Pee
Wee" because of his initials and his size.  "Every
fellow has to, that comes to the school.  But
Barrymore Gray won't let them go too far.  He's a
nice fellow, he is."

"I think he is fine," said Bobby, enthusiastically.

"He's pretty fresh, I guess," grumbled Fred.

"We don't call the captain of the school fresh,"
said Pee Wee.  "He has a right to boss us.  The
Doctor lets him.  Next to the teachers, Barry's
got more to say about things in the school than
anybody else."

This did not please Master Martin much.  He
wanted to be of some importance himself, and he
had never been used to giving in to other boys,
unless it was to Bobby Blake.

However, there was so much to hear, and so
many new people to get acquainted with that Fred
had little time to worry about Barry Gray.  The
chums found the time passing so quickly that they
were surprised when the train slowed down and
the brakeman shouted, "All out for Rockledge!"

There was no crowd of boys and no band.
Rockledge was a busy town, with oak-shaded
streets, great bowlders thrusting their heads out
of the vacant lots, and much blasting going on
where new cellars were being excavated.

There was an electric car line through the middle
of High Street, which turned off at the shore
of the lake (they learned this afterward) and went
as far as Belden.

Bobby and Fred, with Mr. Blake, took a car on
this line and crossed the railroad, finally
bringing up within sight of the grounds of Rockledge
School.

It was not a large school, and there were only
four buildings, including the gate-keeper's cottage
where all of the outside servants slept.  It had
once been a fine private estate, and Dr. Raymond
had made of it a most attractive and homelike
institution.

The doctor and his family, and his chief
assistant, lived in a handsome house connected with
the main building of the school by a long, roofed
portico.  This last building was of brick and
sandstone, and held classrooms, dining-rooms, the
kitchen department in one end of the basement,
and a fine gymnasium in the other.

In the upper stories were a hall, two large
dormitories in each of which were beds for twenty
boys, and five small dormitories for two boys each.
The ten highest scholars occupied these small
rooms, and from them was chosen the captain of
the school each June.

The junior teachers slept in this big building, too.

There were beautiful lawns, fine shrubs, winding,
shaded walks, and a large campus on which
were a baseball diamond, a football field, and
courts for tennis, basket-ball, and other games.

These facts Bobby and Fred gradually absorbed.
At first they were too round-eyed to appreciate
much but the fact that the place seemed
large, and that there positively was an immense
number of boys!  Fifty boys seemed to have
swelled to a hundred and fifty—and they all stared
at the newcomers.

Mr. Blake went immediately to the doctor's
study, taking Bobby and Fred with him.
Dr. Raymond was a tall, big-boned man, wearing very
loose garments and a collar a full size too large.
The big doctor had bushy side-whiskers, and his
chin and lip were very closely shaved.  He had
white, big teeth, and he showed them all when he
smiled.

His eyes were kindly, and wrinkles appeared
around them when he smiled, in a most engaging
fashion.  When he shook hands with Bobby and
Fred, some magnetic feeling passed from the big
man to the boys, so that the latter decided on the
instant that they liked Dr. Raymond!

"Manly little fellows—both," said the doctor,
to Mr. Blake, as the two gentlemen walked toward
the big windows at the end of the room, leaving
Bobby and Fred marooned, like two castaway
sailors, on a desert isle of rug near the door.

The doctor's study was enormously long, with
a high ceiling, and lined with books, save where a
fireplace broke into the bookshelves on one side.
There was a very large flat-topped desk, too,
several deep chairs, and a number of smaller tables
at which the older boys sometimes did their lessons.

"You'll find them just as full of fun and mischief
as a couple of chestnuts are of meat," said
Mr. Blake, with a chuckle.  "But I don't think
there is a mean trait in either of them.  My boy
has had, we think, rather a good influence over
Freddie Martin.  The latter's red hair is apt to
get him into trouble."

"I understand," said the doctor, nodding and
smiling.  "I try to leave the boys much to
themselves in the matter of deportment.  The bigger
boys are supposed to set the standard of morals,
and I am glad to say that I have never yet had
occasion to be sorry for beginning that way.

"We run Rockledge School on honor, sir.
Every year—in June—we present to the boy who
earns it, a gold medal stating that for the past
year he has shown himself to be worthy of
distinction above his fellows in a strictly honorable
way.

"This medal is not given for scholarship—yet
none but a fairly studious boy may earn it.  It is
not given for deportment strictly—though no boy
who is not gentlemanly and of manly bearing and
action, can win it.  The medal is not given for
mere popularity, for a boy may sometimes be
popular with his fellows, without having many of the
fundamental virtues of character which we hope
to see in our boys.

"The boy who won it last year, and is gone from
us now, stood ninth in his class only, and was not
much of an athlete—which latter tells mightily
among the boys themselves, you know.  Yet my
teachers and myself, as well as the school, were
practically unanimous in the selection of Tommy
Wardwell as the recipient of the Medal of Honor."

The gentlemen talked some few minutes longer.
Then Mr. Blake came to bid Bobby and Fred
good-by.  He shook hands gravely with his own son
and then took Fred's hand.

"You've got some trouble, some fun, and a lot
of work before you, Master Fred," he said.  "I
expect your father and mother will be anxiously
waiting for good reports about you."

Then he looked at Bobby again.  That youngster
was having great difficulty in "holding in."  His
father was going away—and going to a far
country.  Thousands of miles would separate
them before they would meet again.

"You got anything to say to me, Bobs?" asked
'Mr. Blake, briskly.

"Ye—yes, sir!" gasped Bobby.  "I—I got to
kiss you before you go, Pa!" and he flung his arms
around Mr. Blake's neck and for a minute was a
baby again.

He knew that Fred would think such a show of
emotion beneath him, and he saw the doctor
looking at him curiously.  Just the same, Bobby Blake
was glad—oh, how glad!—many and many a time
thereafter that he had bade his father good-by in
just this way.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`GETTING ACQUAINTED`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XI


.. class:: center medium

   GETTING ACQUAINTED

.. vspace:: 2

Pee Wee was the boy who first "took up"
the chums from Clinton.  The fat boy sat
on the steps of the doctor's house, idly whistling
and twiddling his fingers when Bobby and Fred
came out.  Perry Wise never stood when he could
sit, and never walked when he could stand, and
never ran when walking would get him to his goal
just as well.  He was the picture of peace just now.

"Hello, fellows!" he said.

"Hello!" returned Bobby.

"Is the Old Doc goin' to let you stay?" grinned
the fat boy.

"Huh! why shouldn't he?" demanded Fred,
quick to take offense.

"Cause you're so terrible green," chuckled Pee
Wee.  "They let the sheep loose sometimes to
crop the lawn, and they might eat you."

"Aw—you're too smart," said the abashed Fred.

Bobby only laughed.  He was glad to have his
mind taken up by something beside the fact of his
father's going away.

"Say!" said Pee Wee, cordially.  "Don't you
want to look over the place?"

"We'd be very glad to," admitted Bobby.

Pee Wee made no effort to rise at first.  He
merely bawled after another boy who was some
distance away:

"Hey, Purdy!  Don't you want to beau the
greenhorns around?"

Fred Martin doubled his fist again and scowled
at the placid fat boy, but Bobby warned him by a
shake of the head.  The boy addressed, who was
smaller than Pee Wee, but who was well out of his
reach, turned and made a face at the fat boy, saying:

"Do your own work, Fatty.  Don't try to put
it off on me."

Pee Wee was quite unmoved by this rough retort.
He looked around and hailed another lad:

"Jimmy Ailshine!  come on and show the newsies
all the lions, will you?"

"For why?" demanded the boy addressed.

"Aw—well—I have a stone bruise," explained
Pee Wee, hesitatingly.

"You must have it from sitting so much, then,"
declared Jimmy, with a loud laugh.  "You better
take them around yourself, or the captain will be
after you."

"You needn't show us about if it is very, very
painful," suggested Bobby, beginning to
understand the fat boy now.

"Guess we can find our way around alone,"
grunted Fred.

"Aw well! we won't row about it," said Pee
Wee, getting up slowly.  "But that stone
bruise—"

However, the trouble in question seemed, later,
to be of a shifting nature, for first Pee Wee
favored his right foot and then his left.

It must be confessed that Perry Wise was a
very lazy boy, but he was a good natured one, and
when once the exploration party was started, he
played the part of show-master very well indeed.

They went through the school rooms and up to
the dormitories first.  In the second dormitory,
where the smaller boys slept, in a pair of twin
beds in one corner, Bobby and Fred were billeted.

"And no pillow fights, or other ructions, after
'lights out,' unless you ask the captain first,"
warned Pee Wee.

"Seems to me this captain has a lot to say
around here," growled Fred.

"You bet he has.  And what he says he means.
And it's not healthy for anybody to do a thing
when he says '*don't*.'"

"Why not?" queried Master Fred.

Pee Wee grinned.  "You try it if you like," he
said.  "Then you'll find out.  Dr. Raymond says
experience is the surest, if not the best, teacher."

The dormitory was a big, light room, cheerfully
furnished, with a locker beside each bed for the
boy's clothes and personal possessions, and a
chair at the head of the bed.

That wall-space over the heads of the beds was
considered the private possession of each couple,
for the flaunting of banners, photographs, strings
of birds-eggs, shells, pine-cone frames, and a
hundred other objects of virtu dear to boyish hearts.

"You see, we can hang up a lot of stuff, too,
when our trunks come," whispered Fred to Bobby,
pointing to the blank spaces over their beds,
lettered only with the names: "Blake" and "Martin."

"You can see clear across the lake from the
window here," drawled Pee Wee, lolling on a sill.

The chums came to see.  Lake Monatook was
spread before them—a beautiful, oval sheet of
water, with steep, wooded banks in the east, and
sloping yellow beaches of sand at the other end.

Where the Rockledge School stood, a steep sandstone
cliff dropped right down to a narrow beach,
more than fifty feet below.  A strong, two-railed
fence guarded the brink of this cliff the entire
width of the school premises, save where the stairs
led down to the boat-house.

In the middle of the lake were several small
islands, likewise wooded.  The lake was quite ten
miles long, and half as wide in its broadest part.

Across from Rockledge School was the village
of Belden.  On a high bluff over there the new
boys saw several red brick buildings among the
trees.

"That's Belden School," explained Pee Wee.
"We have to beat them at football this fall.  We
did them up at baseball in the spring.  They're a
mean set of fellows anyway," added the fat boy.
"Once they came across here and stole all our
boats.  We'll have to get square with them for
that, some time."

"Come on," said Fred, who had begun to enjoy
pushing the fat boy, now—knowing that he had
been set the task of showing them around—and
was determined to keep their guide up to the
mark.  "We don't want to stay here till bedtime,
do we?"

"Aw-right," returned Pee Wee, with a groan.
"That's my bed next to yours, Blake.  Mouser
Pryde is chummed on me this year.  We call him
Mouser because he brought two white mice with
him to school when he first came.

"Shiner and Harry Moore have the beds on
your other side.  Shiner's the chap you saw down
stairs—Jimmy Ailshine.  He's a good fellow, but
awfully lazy," remarked the fat boy, with a sigh.

"What do you call yourself?" demanded Fred,
rather impolitely.

"Oh, *me*?  I'm not well—honest.  And that
stone bruise—"

It was then he began to favor the other foot,
and Bobby giggled.  Pee Wee looked at him
solemnly.  "What are you laughing at?" he asked.

Bobby pointed out that the stone bruise seemed
to have shifted.

"Aw, well! it hurts so bad I feel it in both feet,"
returned the fat boy, grinning.  "Come on."

They went down to the gymnasium.  It was a
dandy!  Bobby and Fred saw that it was a whole
lot better than the one Mr. Priestly had for his
Boys' Club in the Church House at home.

Then they inspected the outside courts, the ball
field, and the cinder track—which was an oval, on
the very verge of the cliff.

They met boys everywhere, and Pee Wee told
them the names of some of them, while a few of
about their own age stopped to speak to Bobby
and Fred.

Jack Jinks and the yellow-haired youth, Bill
Bronson, came up to the trio of smaller boys as
they stood by the railing that defended the cliff's
brink.

"So you're showing the greenies around, are
you, Fatty?" proposed Jack.  "Shown them the
stake where the Old Doctor ties up fresh kids and
gives them nine and thirty lashes if they as much
as whisper in class?"

"Yes," said Pee Wee, nodding.  "And I
showed them the straps there where *you* were
tied up last term, Jinksey."

"Aw—smart, aren't you?" snarled the squint-eyed
boy, while Bill Bronson grinned.

"This red-headed chap's going to be a favorite—I
can see that," said Bill, rolling the cap on
Fred's head with one hand, but pressing hard
enough to hurt.

"Let go of me!" cried Fred, hotly, jerking away.

"Don't you get too presumptuous, sonny,"
advised the yellow-haired youth.  "There's lots of
chance for you to get into trouble here."

"If I get into trouble with *you*," snapped Fred,
"it won't all be on one side."

"Keep still, Fred!" said Bobby.  "Let's come
on away," and he tugged at his chum's sleeve.

"That's a pretty fresh kid, too," said Jack,
eyeing Bobby with disfavor.

But the trio of younger boys withdrew.  "Those
fellows," said Pee Wee, "are always picking on
fellows they think they can lick.  If you don't
toady to them, they'll treat you awfully mean!"

"I won't toady to anybody—not even to that
captain," declared Fred.

"What!  Barry Gray?" cried Pee Wee, in surprise.

"Yes.  I don't like him—much," confessed the
belligerent Fred.

"You'll be dreadfully lonesome, then," chuckled
the fat boy.  "For 'most every fellow in the
school likes Barry.  He's captain of the baseball
team, and center in the football team.  He can do
anything, Barry can.  And the Old Doctor thinks
he is about right.  He was next choice after
Tommy Wardwell last year for the Medal of
Honor, and he'll likely get it this year."

"What's the Medal of Honor?" asked Fred, curiously.

Pee Wee grinned.  "It's something that no
red-headed boy ever won," he declared, mysteriously.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`IN THE DORMITORY`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XII


.. class:: center medium

   IN THE DORMITORY

.. vspace:: 2

By supper time Bobby and Fred knew ten
boys to speak to—without counting Jack Jinks,
Bill Bronson, and the school captain, Barrymore
Gray.  The latter they did not see at all again
until they beheld him sitting at the doctor's right
hand at the head of the "upper table," as they
soon learned to call the one around which the head
scholars and the assistant master sat with
Dr. Raymond.  The junior teachers sat at the heads
of the other tables and kept order.

Rockledge was divided into the Upper School
and the Lower School.  Bobby and Fred would
of course be in the Lower, but just how they
would be placed in classes they would not know
until the real business of the school opened on Monday.

The supper was plentiful, but plain.  Bobby
missed Meena's sweet cakes and hot tea-biscuit,
and Fred whispered that there was hayseed in
the strawberry jam, so he knew it was not "home made."

Pee Wee sat across the table from them and ate
steadily, showing beyond peradventure that his
plumpness arose from a very natural cause!

Until eight o'clock the boys were allowed to
frolic outside as they wished, no tasks being set
them as yet.  Bobby noticed that one of the junior
teachers was always within sight, while Captain
Barry Gray, and some of the older fellows, were
grouped on the main steps of the dormitory
building, swapping vacation experiences.

Bobby noticed that Barry was always very well
dressed—indeed, richly dressed, beside many of
the boys—so he made up his mind that the school
captain must come from a wealthy home.

Bill Bronson jingled money in his pockets and
wore a handsome gold watch and a diamond pin in
his tie.  Most of the smaller boys, however, were
no better dressed than Bobby and Fred.

Taken altogether, the boys who appeared at the
supper table were a bright and interesting looking
crowd.  Bobby was sure he was going to be happy
here, and Fred was already on terms of intimacy
with half a dozen of the chaps about their own age.

The boys from Clinton chanced to be the only
new ones to enter Rockledge this semester.
There was usually a long waiting list, but
Mr. Martin's influence had gained Bobby the chance
to attend with Fred, because the two boys were
chums.

Before they left the supper table the doctor
arose and walked down the line of smaller tables
and shook hands with each boy, called him by
name, and welcomed him again to the school.

To some he said a word of warning, but all in a
cheerful way that took the sting out of the
admonition.  He evidently knew the failings of each boy,
and had studied their characters carefully.

When he came to Bobby and Fred he placed a
hand on each boy's shoulder and said, so that all
the school could hear:

"Our two new friends.  I hope all of you will
welcome them kindly.  Make them feel at home."

This was before the evening run outside.
Bobby and Fred were taken into a noisy game of
"relievo," and the great clock in the tower
chiming eight was all that brought the fun to a close.

The students filed into the library and general
study-room on the first floor of the main building.
For an hour every night the boys were allowed to
read or play quiet games here.  It was a cheerful,
bright room, with rugs on the floor, and pretty
hangings, and comfortable chairs.  Although one
of the teachers was always present, there was a
feeling of freedom among the boys, and they could
talk or read, as they pleased—just so they were
not noisy.

When nine struck in the tower, they filed
upstairs to bed.  There was plenty of time to
undress and prepare for bed before the half hour
struck.  Bobby and Fred found that the older
boys in the small rooms were allowed to remain up
a half hour longer than those occupying the big
dormitories.

Captain Gray came in and advised the small
boys to lay their clothing carefully on their chairs
as they removed the garments.

"Part of the fire drill, you know," he said,
cheerfully.  "Coat and vest over the back of the
chair.  Pants folded nicely and laid across the
back, too.  Here, Pee Wee!  None of that!
Shake out your stockings and hang them on the
chair-round.  Shoes each side of the chair as you
take them off—right and left.  That's it."

He walked up and down between the rows of
beds.  He told Bobby and Fred just how to
distribute the remainder of their garments so that
they would be easily at hand if there came an alarm.

"Of course, there's no danger, and there are
plenty of fire escapes and all that," said the big
boy, cheerfully.  "But the Old Doctor insists
upon our being ready for any emergency.  Some
night you'll be waked up by the fire bell and find
drill is called.  Want to be ready for it."

Then he glanced again at Fred's chair.  "Hi,
Ginger!" he said.  "Put your boots straight.
Your left one's on your right side, and vice versa."

There was a good deal of fun at Fred's expense
when Barry had gone.  "Hi, Ginger!" resounded
from all parts of the room; Fred Martin had won
a distinctive nickname on the spot, and he didn't
like it much.

"I knew I shouldn't like that big fellow," he
confessed to Bobby.  "And I'll lick some of these
kids yet, if they keep on calling me Ginger."

"No, you won't," declared Bobby.  "You know
you won't.  They all have nicknames, too.  Yours
is no worse than 'Pee Wee,' or 'Shiner,' or 'Buck,'
or 'Skeets.'  They'll stick me with one yet."

"But 'Ginger'—"

"Aw, stop your kicking," advised his chum.
"It won't get you anywhere."

There was still a buzz of voices as the twenty
boys finished getting ready for bed.  The door
opened and Bill Bronson and Jack Jinks, from
their room across the hall, looked in.

"Sleep with an eye open, you kids," Bill ordered,
in a shrill whisper.  "Something doing by
and by."

"Oh, what, Bill?" cried Purdy, near the door.

"Somebody's got to ride the goat," chuckled
the squint-eyed boy, looking over his chum's
shoulder.

At that several of the others looked at Bobby
and Fred, and chuckled.  The two Clinton boys
did not hear this by-play.  Bill and his chum
looked over at the newcomers with wide grins.

Just at this moment Bobby was completely
ready for bed and he dropped upon his knees
before his chair at the head of the bed and
proceeded to say his prayers as he always did at
home.  Fred, after a moment's hesitation,
followed suit.

Instantly a hush fell upon the room.  The boys
who had been gabbling together stopped because
they saw the facial expression of those boys
grouped at the doorway.  Everybody turned to
look at the corner occupied by the chums from
Clinton.

The silence was but for a moment.  Then Bill
laughed and took one long stride to the nearest
bed.  He snatched up a pillow and sent it with
unerring aim and considerable force at the back
of Bobby's head.

The pillow reached its mark, and Bobby jumped.
But he did not rise until his prayer was
completed.  A second pillow came his way, while Jack
and some of the other spectators laughed immoderately.

Fred Martin jumped up with an angry exclamation.
Perhaps he did not finish his prayer at all.
He grabbed one of the pillows which had struck
his chum and made for Bill Bronson at the other
end of the room.

"You big bully!" he exclaimed, all the rage
which he had bottled up that day boiling over in
an instant, "You big bully!  Can't you leave a
peaceable fellow alone?"

He slammed the yellow-haired youth over the
head, and struck him so hard that the pillow-case
burst and the feathers began to fly.  Bill uttered
a roar of rage, and tried to seize him.

"Don't, Fred!  Stop!  Stop!" called Bobby,
from the other end of the room.

Fred Martin had gone too far to stop now.  He
expected to take a thrashing for his boldness, but
meanwhile he was filling Bronson's eyes and
mouth with feathers.

Jack Jinks put out his foot and tripped the
smaller boy up.  Fred fell with Bill on top of
him.  The bigger boy began to use his fists.

"No fair!  Let him up, Bill!" cried two or three.

"Shut up!" ordered Jack, putting his back
against the closed door.  "You kids that holler
will get all that's coming to you."

Bobby came running up the room to help his
chum, and at just that instant the door knob was
turned and the door was burst in, sending Jack
sliding half way across the room.

"Cheese it!" squealed Pee Wee, jumping into
bed with his trousers on.

But it was only Barry Gray who appeared.

"Hello!  Can't keep quiet the first night, eh?"
demanded the captain.  "What you doing in here,
Jack?"

Then he saw Bill Bronson on top of the struggling
Fred.  Bill had got in one savage punch and
there was blood flowing from Fred's nose upon the
burst pillow.

Captain Gray seized Bill by the back of his
collar and with both hands jerked him to his feet.
Bill squealed like a rat, thinking the Old Doctor
himself had come to Fred's rescue.

"Ow!  Ow!  Ouch!" he squealed.  "Aw—*you*!
Let me alone, Barry Gray.  This isn't any of your
business."

"All right.  I'll pass it up to the teachers if
you say so," snapped the captain.

"Aw—well—"

"Hold on!" commanded Barry, stepping in
front of Jack who was sneaking out of the room
"*You're* in this, too."

"No, I'm not," said Jack.

"You were holding the door," said Barry.
"Stop here till we hear what's the trouble."

Half a dozen shrill voices tried to tell him at
once.  But Barry pointed at Fred.  "*You* tell,"
he said.

"I hit him with the pillow," growled Fred,
ungraciously enough.

Barry glanced down the room toward Fred's
bed.  "It isn't your pillow," he said.  "Did he
shuck the pillow at you first?"

"No," said Fred, determined not to "snitch."

But Howell Purdy didn't feel that way about it.
He said to the captain:

"Bill Bronson began it.  He fired a couple of
pillows at Bobby Blake when Bobby was saying
his prayers.  Then Fred went for him."

Barry looked from Fred's flushed and bloody
face to Bobby's pale one.  He said nothing for a
moment to either of them, but turned on Bill Bronson.

"You know the rules.  You had no business in
this dormitory—neither you nor Jack."

"I suppose you'll tell on us," snarled Bill.
"Of course!  I knew what a tattle-tale you'd be
just as soon as the Old Doc appointed you captain
last June.  He did it so that he'd be sure to have
somebody to run to him with every little thing."

"Maybe," returned Barry, flushing.  "But he
doesn't call it a little thing for two boys to fight in
a dormitory."

"Yah!" snarled Bill.

"Give me a fair chance and I'll fight him
anywhere!" declared the belligerent Fred, sopping
the blood with a handkerchief that Bobby had
brought him.

"You are one plucky kid," said Barry, quickly.
"But if there has got to be a fight, it must be
between two fellows more evenly matched.  I leave
it to the room: Is a fight fair between Bronson
and Martin!"

"No!" cried the boys in chorus.

"But Bill Bronson started the fight, so he ought
to be accommodated," Captain Gray said.  "Isn't
that right?"

Some of the boys giggled.  Fred muttered:
"Let me fight him.  I'm not afraid."

"If Bill doesn't want me to go to the Doctor
with this, he'll have to abide by my decision, won't
he?" proceeded Barry, his eyes twinkling.

"Sure!" cried the crowd, led by Pee Wee, now
delighted by what they saw was coming.

"Aw, you're too fresh," grumbled the bully.

"That's not the question," said Barry.  "Do
you agree?"

"To what?"

"To have me set the punishment for this infraction
of the rules, instead of putting it up to the Old
Doctor?"

"Well!"

"You, too, Jack?" demanded Barry of the
squinting fellow.

"Yes," muttered the latter.

"All right.  Then I announce that as Bill wants
to fight, he shall be accommodated.  Jack is a
good match for him.  Isn't that so, boys?"

There was a storm of giggling.  The two bullies
looked at each other and grinned.  The idea of
them fighting each other was preposterous—or, so
it seemed.

"And for fear," said the captain, his eyes
twinkling, "that they won't play fair, if they are
matched in a regular fight, we'll make it a 'poguey
fight' to-morrow morning at nine—in the gym.
Now, you two fellows run to your rooms—and
show up at nine in the gym, or I'll come after
you."

He drove the bullies out of the room before him,
and then went himself.  There was a subdued
whispering and giggling all over the dormitory.

"What's a 'poguey fight'?" demanded Bobby,
of Pee Wee, in some alarm.

The fat boy was rocking himself to and fro on
the bed in huge delight, and could scarcely answer
for laughing.

"You wait and see," he finally chuckled, "It's
more fun than the Kilkenny cats!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE POGUEY FIGHT`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XIII


.. class:: center medium

   THE POGUEY FIGHT

.. vspace:: 2

Fred staunched his bleeding nose at the basin
in the corner, and then exchanged pillows with
Howell Purdy.  Fred slept on the burst one.

"I'll get into trouble anyway over this," Fred
growled in Bobby's ear.  "I wish I could have hit
that mean bully just once with something hard."

Bobby hadn't the heart to scold.  Fred had
attacked a much bigger boy than himself just
because that bully had flung a pillow at Fred's
chum.  That was the impulsive way of Fred
Martin.  Bobby knew that his chum was going to have
a hard row to hoe here at Rockledge, unless he
learned to control his temper.

Bobby Blake had some difficulty in getting to
sleep that night—and that was not usually the
case with him.  The plan of Bill and Jack to haze
the two newcomers to Rockledge had evidently
been stopped.  The dormitory was not disturbed
until morning, save that once in the night Pee Wee
had a nightmare and groaned and fought, until
the next fellow to him punched him and woke him up.

"Wow!" said the fat boy, "I thought I was up
in a balloon and they wanted to put me out instead
of dropping sandbags."

"Don't eat so much at supper; then you won't
dream such stuff," growled Mouser Pryde, punching
his pillow and settling down again.

The rising bell at half past six got everybody
but Pee Wee out of bed.  Mouser pulled off the
bed clothes, but that did not start the fat boy, and
finally, when the others were half dressed, Mouser
tiptoed over from the basins with a glass of water,
and let the drops trickle down, one by one, upon
Perry's fat neck.

"Ow! ow! ouch!" bawled Pee Wee.  "Something's
sprung a leak.  Let me up before I drown!"

He struck the floor before he was half awake
and landed in his bare feet upon a set of "jacks"
that Shiner had conveniently dropped on the rug.

"Ow! what are these things?  Wow!  I'll bet I
can't walk at all now."

"They hurt worse than the stone bruise, eh?"
asked Bobby, grinning.

"These fellows are always playing jokes on
me," grumbled Pee Wee.  "And I never do a
living thing to hurt them."

The fat boy *was* a tempting subject for a joke,
and he probably was the butt more often than
anybody else.

While they were dressing, Fred almost got in
a fight with Shiner because the latter called him
"Ginger."  Bobby took his chum aside.

"Now, Fred, that name's bound to stick," he
said.  "What's the use of getting mad at it?
They all like you; no use in making enemies.
Take it laughingly."

"That's because of Smartie Gray," grumbled
Fred.  "*He* called me 'Ginger' first."

"That isn't as bad as 'Bricktop'," suggested
Bobby, smiling.  "You ought to be glad it's no
worse.  I expect they'll find a nickname for me
pretty soon, that will be a corker!"

At seven the bell rang again and they all
marched down to breakfast.  Bill Bronson and
Jack Jinks scowled at Bobby and Fred on the
stairs, but the captain was near and they did not
say a word to the chums.

Before the boys separated, the first master,
Mr. Leith, said:

"Young gentlemen: Doctor Raymond will see
you all in the hall at eleven.  Nobody is to be out
of bounds this morning.  Be prompt at eleven,
remember.  You are excused."

Bobby thought Mr. Leith a very grim and
serious gentleman indeed.

As the smaller boys scurried out of the hall to
the porch, they found a steady stream of boys
going down the basement steps to the gymnasium.
Howell Purdy and Shiner were set, one on either
side of the doorway, where they whispered to those
who passed:

"Poguey fight in the gym at nine.  Don't
forget the poguey fight."

"What *is* that, Shiner?" asked Bobby.

"You don't want to miss it," grinned Shiner.
"You and your chum are at the bottom of it."

"But we're not going to fight," declared Bobby.

"No.  But Bill and Jack are.  No fear!"

Bobby and Fred did not go down into the basement
at once.  There was still an hour before the
time set by Captain Gray, the evening before, for
the mysterious "poguey fight."  Nobody whom
the chums asked would tell them any particulars.

"I expect I'll get into trouble over bloodying
that pillow," said Fred.  "What shall I tell them
if they ask me?"

"Say your nose bled," returned Bobby.  "If
they ask you *how* it came to bleed, that's another
question."

"Well, that's the question I'm afraid of."

"Wouldn't you tell on that Bill Bronson?"

"No.  The other boys would say I snitched.  I
hate him, but I won't snitch on him," declared Fred.

"Maybe nobody will ask you.  And Barry Gray
will take your side."

"I don't want him to take my side," growled
Fred.  "He's a big fellow, too, and expects to be
toadied to."

"You're making a mistake about him, I think,"
said Bobby, mildly.  He knew it was no use to
argue the matter with his chum.

They walked out across the campus to the
railing that bordered the edge of the bluff.  They
were standing there looking across the beautiful
lake, and talking, when there was a sudden
scrimmage over on one of the tennis courts.

"Hello! a fight!" exclaimed Fred, with lively
interest.

"Pshaw!" said Bobby, with some disgust.
"You're always looking for a fight!"

"I'm not either!  What do you call that?"
denied and demanded Fred in the same breath.

"It's the captain," said Bobby, slowly.  "And
some of the big fellows—I know! they're dragging
Bill Bronson and Jack Jinks away to the gym.
There's going to be something doing—"

Just then Pee Wee appeared at the corner of
the main building and yodled for the Clinton boys,
beckoning them across the campus with excited
gestures.

"Come o-o-on!" bawled the fat boy.

Fred grabbed Bobby's hand and started
running.  The chums were at the gym steps almost
as quickly as the big fellows and their captives.

"You let me alone, Barry Gray!" yelled Bill,
as he was shoved down the steps.  "I'll fix you for
this."

"Thanks, Billy Bronson.  I can do my own fixing.
You agreed to this, and you'll go through
with it," Barry said, firmly.

"*I* didn't do a thing," Jack was urging.

"Ah! but you're going to," chuckled Barry,
who seemed to have answers ready for both objectors.

The bullies were dragged below.  The smaller
boys followed.  Every boy in the school was
waiting in the gymnasium, and no teacher—not even
the athletic instructor—was present.

Some of the boys had been at work on the bars,
or the ladder, or otherwise using the gymnastic
paraphernalia.  They all gathered around in
interest to see what the big boys were going to do
with the bullies.

Bill Bronson and his chum kicked and struggled
for a time.  But there were enough to help Barry,
so that their struggles were useless.  The bullies'
shoes were quickly removed, despite their kicking.
Then a sort of harness made of straps was buckled
around both boys under their arms.  There was a
steel ring sewed into the crosspiece of each
harness at the back.

Somebody produced eight objects that looked
like huge boxing-gloves—only they were made of
cotton cloth stuffed with cotton-batting.  One of
these clumsy things was strapped on each foot,
and another on each hand.  The victims of the
joke were now unable to hurt any of their captors
when they struck out at them, and the crowd was
greatly amused as well as excited.

"Come on, now!" panted Barry.  "Boost them
up here.  Throw the rope over a couple of rungs
of the ladder, Max.  That's it."

The rope in question was a strong manilla, about
four feet long.  At each end was a snap, such as is
spliced upon the ends of hitch-ropes.

Two boys lifted each of the embarrassed prisoners,
and held them under the ladder.  The snaps
were fastened in the rings back of their shoulders.

There they hung, kicking and sprawling.  At
first Barry Gray and Max Bender, one of the other
big boys, held the victims.

"Here you are now," said Captain Gray,
sternly.  "You wanted to fight a fellow much
smaller than yourself last night, Bill; and you
agreed to take on a fellow nearer your size.
Here's Jack willing to accommodate you.  Now,
go to it, you chaps, and may the best man win!"

He and Max both stepped back, dragging their
prisoners with them, and then they let the two
helpless ones swing together.

Their heads bumped.  Bill let out a roar and
tried to kick Max with one of his muffled feet.
In doing so his other foot caught Jack above the
knee.

"Look out what you're doing—you chump!"
exclaimed Jack.  "Keep still, can't you?"

"Keep still yourself," growled Bill, as his
gyrating friend collided with him again with some
force.  He tried to push Jack away.  At once the
latter put out his mittened hand and punched Bill
between the eyes.

"Look out what you're doing!" yelled Bill,
striking madly at his opponent.

In a moment they were at it!  The poguey fight
was on.  The two erstwhile chums swung over the
rungs of the horizontally laid ladder, like the
famous Kilkenny cats, punched and kicked and
batted at each other in a most ridiculous manner.

They couldn't hurt each other very much, save
when they bumped heads, and that was not often.
But they grew madder every moment.

The spectators were delighted, and the harder
the combatants tried to strike each other, the
more ridiculous the whole thing appeared.

Why it was called "poguey" nobody seemed to
know, but Bobby discovered that it had long been
practiced at Rockledge School, and that usually
the two victims accepted the situation
philosophically and did not really get mad.

The two bullies, however, had never learned to
control their tempers.  Besides, both considered
that the other was somewhat to blame for their
predicament.

The battle continued, fast and furious.  Bill
Bronson's face was blazing.  Jack Jinks' was
very ugly indeed to look at.  If they could have
torn the gloves off their hands they would have
done so and struck each other with their bare
fists.

Suddenly Jack drew up his knee as they swung
together, and he caught Bill right in the belt.  It
was a solid blow and the victim uttered a cry of
anger and pain.  Captain Gray stepped forward
and stopped the two from swinging together again.

"Foul blow," he said, decidedly.  "You know
the penalty well enough, Jack.  When you're let
down, Bill's got the right to punch you with his
bare fist—if he likes."

"And if he does, I'll hand him all he's looking
for," declared the squint-eyed youth, glaring at
the boy who had been his chief friend.

"Do it, and you'll get what's coming to you!"
threatened Bill, just as angrily.

Barry winked at Max Bender.  "Let's take
them down.  I guess they won't be half so thick
hereafter—and then maybe some of the little
fellows will have a better time."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE HONOR MEDAL`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XIV


.. class:: center medium

   THE HONOR MEDAL

.. vspace:: 2

Bill Bronson and Jack Jinks were released
from their harnesses, and the "pillows"
were taken off their feet and hands, they went
to opposite ends of the gymnasium and had
nothing to say to each other.

Barry did not mention the foul blow and its
punishment, and none of the smaller boys dared
speak of it.  It was certain, however, that the
intimacy of the only two boys in the school inclined
to bully the smaller ones had taken a decided set
back.

The fun of the "poguey fight" was not to end
so quickly, however.  Some of the bigger boys
caught Pee Wee and Mouser Pryde, and fastened
them into the harness and put the mufflers on
their feet and hands.

The fat boy and his chum made no decided
remonstrance, and when they were swung up, they
made an earnest endeavor to give the fellows
all the fun they were looking for.  Their
gyrations certainly were amusing, and Bobby and
Fred laughed as loudly as any of the other boys.

But when the fat boy and Mouser were let down,
and Max and Barry grabbed the chums from Clinton,
for a moment, Fred was inclined to cut up rough.

"Aw, be a sport, Fred!" said Bobby, earnestly.
"If Pee Wee can stand it, *we* can."

So Fred thought better of "getting mad" and
for a while the two friends swung in the air and
punched and kicked at each other to the delight of
the other boys.  Bobby was very careful not to
anger the red-haired lad, and they came through
the poguey fight with smiling faces.  It was borne
in upon Bobby's mind more and more that Fred
Martin was going to have difficulty in keeping out
of trouble in this new environment.

At eleven o'clock the whole school filed up to
the hall on the second floor.  None of the teachers
were present and there was some little confusion
and noise at first.

Barry stepped forward and held up a hand for
silence.  "You fellows better take a tumble to
yourselves," he said calmly.  "You want to show
the Doctor that you don't have to be watched all
the time.  You all know—at least, all of you but
Bobby Blake and Fred Martin, and they are not
making the noise—that *this* isn't the place for
skylarking.

"We had our fun downstairs.  I hear the
Doctor coming now.  Let's give him a Rockledge
cheer when he comes in and then—silence!"

The door opened as he ceased speaking and the
tall, heavy-set principal with his quiet smile and
pleasant eyes peering through the thick lenses of
his glasses, appeared.

Captain Gray raised his hand again.  The
roomful of boys sprang to their feet.  Bobby
noted that many of them placed their left hands
upon the little blue and white enameled button
that they wore on the lapels of their coats, as they
shouted in unison:

   |  "One, two, three—*boom*!
   |  Boom—Z-z-z—ah!
   |  Rockledge!  Rockledge!
   |  Sword and star!
   |  Who's on top?
   |  We sure are—
   |  *Rock*-ledge!"
   |

Bobby and Fred had both noticed the blue and
white buttons with the star and sword upon them,
but they did not know what they meant.  Now
Bobby guessed that there was some society, or
inner circle at Rockledge School that they, as
newcomers, knew nothing about.

All the boys did not belong to it.  Pee Wee did
not wear a button, nor did many of the fellows
from their dormitory.  Bill Bronson and Jack
Jinks did not possess the badge, either.

Meanwhile, Doctor Raymond, smiling and bowing,
approached the rostrum.  Bobby—his mind
always on the alert—noted the little blue and
white spot against the dead black of the doctor's
coat.

"Well, boys!  I am extremely obliged to you, I
am sure," said the Doctor, bowing again.  "I am
just as sensitive to compliments as the next
person.  I hope you will always be as glad to see me
as you appear to be at this moment.

"Now, I shall not detain you for long.  You
know my little lectures have usually the saving
grace of brevity.  We have come together once
more to face a year of study.  Let us face it like
real men!  Star and sword, my boys!  The star
we are aiming for, and the Sword of Determination
will hew our way to the goal.

"There!  I will give you no homilies.  There
are but two new boys with us this year—Robert
Blake and Frederick Martin.  Give them a warm
welcome.  They only do not understand about our
Medal of Honor."

He suddenly opened his large hand and displayed
in its palm a five-pointed gold star, at least
two inches across, and with a beautiful
blue-velvet background.

"Here it is—all ready for the engraving.  At
the close of the school year, this medal will be
presented to the one among you who has won it by
studiousness, good conduct, manliness and general
popularity.

"It is not always the boy who sets out to win
the medal who really *does* win it.  You, who are
older, know *that*.  We teachers try not to influence
the opinion of the school in the choice of the
recipient of the Honor Medal.

"The winner must stand well in his classes, or
he cannot have the faculty vote.  His deportment
must be good, or we teachers cannot vote for him.
But you boys yourselves must—after all—choose
the winner.

"There are fifty of you in Rockledge School.
You have each, individually, a better chance to
understand your neighbors' characters than
anybody else.  You are quick to find out if there is
something *fine* in a lad's temper.  You will soon
learn the one who restrains himself under
provocation, who bears insult, perhaps, with confidence
in his own uprightness; who keeps straight on
his way without turning aside because of any
temptation.

"*That* is the sort of a lad who will win this
Medal of Honor," concluded the Doctor, very
seriously.  "Any boy—even the youngest—may
secure it.  It does not have to go to the boy at the
top of his class, nor to the oldest boy in the school.
You little chaps stand just as good a chance for it
as Captain Gray," and he rested his hand upon
Barry Gray's shoulder for an instant as though
there was some secret understanding between him
and the captain of the school.

"Now, I have talked enough.  School will
begin in earnest on Monday.  Remember, bounds
are as usual.  You little fellows, see Barrymore,
or some of the masters, if you are not sure of a
thing.  And remember that my office door is never
locked."

He went out quickly at the door behind the
platform.  Somehow, the boys felt rather serious,
and there was no shouting or fooling as they filed
out and down the stairs to the open air.

"Say! that was a handsome gold medal he
showed us," said Fred, with enthusiasm, to Bobby.

"Wasn't it?" returned his chum, with sparkling eyes.

"I'd like to get that myself," admitted the
red-haired one.

"Didn't I tell you, you'd have no chance at
*that*, Ginger?" chuckled Pee Wee's voice behind them.

"I see it," admitted Fred, without getting
angry.  "But it would be fine to win it, just the
same."

So Bobby thought.  He remembered what his
mother had said to him on one occasion, and
wondered if it were possible for *him* to win the gold
medal and present it to her when she returned
from that far journey which she and his father
were soon to take.

"She certainly would be proud of me then,"
thought Bobby Blake.  "I guess she'd think after
*that*, it would be safe to leave me alone
anywhere—yes, sir!  And I certainly would like to own
such a medal."

This set his mind to thinking upon the fact that
at daybreak the very next morning the ship on
which his parents had bought their stateroom
would sail from New York.  They were already
on the train which would bear them to the coast.

After they sailed it would be a long time before
he could even expect a picture post-card from
them—a month, at least.  And *then*, they would
be thousands of miles away!

He slipped away from Fred and Pee Wee and
went into one of the schoolrooms.  There was a
big globe there, and he timidly turned this around
and around until he found the pink splotch of
color which marked Brazil.

There was the gaping mouth of the Amazon,
with the big island dividing it, and the river on
the south side, against which was the black dot
marking the city of Para—where his parents
would land.

He thought of all he had ever heard or been
taught about the Amazon—"that Mighty River."  He
knew how the current of the vast stream met
the ocean tides and fought with them for supremacy.
He knew how the river overflowed its banks
in the rainy seasons and covered vast areas of
forest and plain.

The trader's station, to which his parents were
bound, was a thousand miles up the Amazon, and
then five hundred miles more up another river.
Why—why, if he fell ill, or anything—

He never realized until this moment just what
it would mean to have his mother and father so
far away.  It had been great fun to come to
Rockledge to school.  He liked it here.  He hoped he
would learn, and advance, and win his way with
both the boys and the teachers.

But to have a mother and father so many, many
miles away—especially to have a mother going
away from one just as fast as steam could take
her—

Bobby Blake put his arm on the big globe, and
laid his face against his jacket-sleeve.  His
shoulders shook.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`GETTING INTO STEP`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XV


.. class:: center medium

   GETTING INTO STEP

.. vspace:: 2

The routine of the school did not really
begin, as Dr. Raymond had said, until Monday
morning.  Yet by that time Bobby Blake and Fred
Martin felt as though they were really old
members of the Rockledge Fifty.

They had learned many of the stock stories of
school—legends of great fights with the boys of
Belden School, or of mighty games at football or
baseball or some other sport, in which victory had
perched upon the banners of Rockledge.

The loyalty of boarding school boys is second
only to family feeling or patriotic love for one's
country.  Bobby and Fred and the other boys of
Dormitory Two were just at that age when the
mind and heart are both most impressionable.

The new boys learned the school yell, or cheer,
which they had first heard given in eulogy of
Dr. Raymond.  They thought it the finest yell they
had ever heard.

They were told about the Sword and Star, too.
It was indeed an honor to wear the little blue and
white button.  One had to be at least one year at
Rockledge, to stand at a certain mark in
recitations, and to have a pretty clean record in
deportment, to gain entrance into the Order of the
Sword and Star.

It was true that such chaps as Pee Wee, and the
Mouser, as well as Shiner and Howell Purdy, were
rather skeptical about the value of membership in
the school secret society.  Dr. Raymond was a
member and that "looked bad" to those boys who
were out for fun.  And "f-u-n" spelled—in their
minds—"mischief," and vice versa!

Those first few weeks of the new school year,
however, passed without any very wild outbreak
upon the part of either the merely mischievous,
like Pee Wee and his mates, or by the really
disturbing element (which was small) headed by
Billy Bronson and Jack Jinks.

Those two worthies had, after a time, joined
forces again; but they were not as good friends
and co-workers as they had been before the
poguey fight.

Bobby and Fred really gave most of their
attention to studies.  The school at Clinton had
been graded so differently from this preparatory
institution, that the chums had to work hard to
pick up in some studies, while they were well
advanced beyond their mates in others.

Fred was inspired by Bobby's example to win
good marks for himself.  Even the stern master,
Mr. Leith, who looked over the work of the smaller
boys fortnightly, commented favorably upon what
the chums had accomplished.

In play hours the Lower School kept together
for the most part.  Here was where Fred
Martin's plans were proven smart.  The baseball
outfit that he and Bobby had purchased with their
peep-show money was welcomed with great
approval by the boys of Number Two Dormitory.

Bobby and Fred won their places on the Second
Nine at once.  They played the First Dormitory
Nine on Saturday of the first week of school, and
won.  Bobby's "fade-away," as Fred had prophesied,
puzzled the other nine's battery splendidly.

The next Saturday the victorious nine played
against a team of town boys and again won.
Captain Gray then began to take notice of the
victorious nine.  He coached them a little and then they
challenged a nine belonging to the Belden School
across the lake.

It was after the first of October when this match
occurred, and the Rockledge boys went across in
their own boats.  Although visiting a hostile
camp, the boys of Rockledge were very nicely
received by the older Belden boys.  Naturally, the
home team had the crowd with them, but Bobby
held the enemy down to ten hits and only six runs,
and the Rockledge nine won by two runs.

Although their hosts remained polite to the
visitors, Bobby and Fred saw very plainly that the
rivalry between the two schools was deep-seated.
They heard Captain Gray and Max Bender talking
to some of the big fellows of Belden, and both
sides were boasting of what the rival football
teams would do to each other on Thanksgiving Day.

On that day the Belden crowd would come over
to Rockledge, and from this time on, there was
little more baseball played by the Rockledge boys.
They were deeply interested in football.

In this game Bobby and Fred did not shine so
brightly, but they went into hard training with
the second junior team and under Captain Gray,
who coached the smaller boys as well as the first
team, learned a whole lot about football.

Meanwhile, not a word had come to Bobby from
his parents after they had sailed from New York.
He heard from Clinton every week, for Michael
Mulcahey painfully indited a scrawly letter to
him, enclosing sometimes a note from Meena.
Michael, having crossed from Ireland in a sailing
ship years before, was considered by Bobby a
marvel of sea-lore.  One time he wrote:

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent

"DERE BOBBY:—

.. vspace:: 1

"It ain't nawthin alarmin that we don't here
yet from Mistur Blake an his good lady an so I
tell Meena whos got the face ache most of the time
now and is just as good compny as a mad cat.
She's rayfused to marry me agin, an I do be
thinkin thats struck in an worries her face a lot.
Howsomever 'tis about your feyther and mother
Id write to cheer you up a bit.  I well remember
the long passage we made from the Ould Sod when
I kem to this counthry.  Twas head winds we had,
an its like head winds that has held the big ship
back thats takin Mistur Blake an his good lady to
these Brazils.  An tis a mortal far ways they do
be goin.  Mistur Martin says the offices in New
York hav had no wareless telegraf despatches
(what iver they be) from the ship since she was
off Hattie Ross—an whoever she is I dunnaw.
But if she's like most females, she's cranky, an
that accounts for the delay.

"Be good an ye'll be happy, aven if ye don't
have so much fun, from your friend and well
wisher, rayspectfully,

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent

"MICHAEL MULCAHEY."

.. vspace:: 2

This letter—and similar epistles—cheered
Bobby some, and Mr. Martin wrote him a jolly
little note, enclosed in a longer letter to Fred.
But Bobby could not help feeling worried
about the silence of his parents, especially at
night.

When he knelt to say his prayers (and most of
the other boys in Dormitory Two did likewise),
he remembered what his mother had said about
her praying for him at the same time every
evening, and sometimes he had to squeeze his eyes
shut tight to keep back the tears.

That the time on board the great steamship
going south to the Tropics, and the time in New
England was vastly different, did not enter
Bobby's mind.  It just seemed to him as though
his mother was very near him indeed as he knelt
before his chair.

For a sturdy, busy boy, however, there was not
much time for worriment.  Every day there was
something new; one could not be lonesome at
Rockledge.

The boys went from their beds to breakfast,
from their meals to work in the schoolroom, from
their lessons to play—a continual round of activities.

The athletic instruction interested the chums
from Clinton immensely, and until the real cool
weather set in, the boys of the school enjoyed
swimming in the lake every day.

Dr. Raymond hoped that, before long, he would
be able to build a gymnasium with a swimming
pool in a special building by itself.  This was
something to look forward to, however.

All aquatic sports did not stop when the frost
came.  There were plenty of boats belonging to
the school—from light, flat-bottomed skiffs which
the little fellows could not possibly tip over, to a
fine eight-oared shell manned by the bigger boys.
In this they raced the Belden School every June
before Commencement.

Wednesday and Saturday afternoons were holidays,
but without special permission the boys of
the Lower School could not go out of bounds.  On
Saturdays the bigger boys went to town if they
so desired, or took long tramps through the woods,
or rowed to the upper end of the lake.

If the smaller fellows wanted to go out of
bounds, usually a teacher went with them.  There
was a picnic of the Lower School on one of the
islands in the lake, however, that Bobby and Fred
were not likely to forget for a long time.

Pee Wee and Mouser got it up.  They first got
permission to take a cold dinner on Saturday and
row to the island.  There was a farmer whose
land joined the school property on the east.
From him they obtained several dozen ears of late
greencorn—nubbins, but sweet as sugar—and
some new potatoes.

They were excused from lessons that day at
eleven—all but Pee Wee himself.  He had been
lazy, as usual, and was behind in his work.  It
looked, for a time, as though the picnic had to be
delayed.

But urged on by the others, Bobby faced Mr. Carrin,
who had Pee Wee's class in history, and
begged the fat boy off.

"*Do* let him do the extra work to-night, sir,
after supper," begged Bobby.  "We were going
to have such a nice time, and Pee—I mean
Perry—got the picnic up, and—"

"It is a pity that Perry cannot spend a little of
his mind and effort on his lessons," said Mr. Carrin,
with a smile.

"Yes, sir.  I know, sir," said Bobby, eagerly,
"but he doesn't seem to be able to think of two
things at once."

"I guess that is right," chuckled Mr. Carrin,
who was a much more pleasant gentleman than
Mr. Leith.  "Tell him he may go, but I shall
expect a perfect recitation on Monday morning, first
thing."

"Huh!" growled Pee Wee, who had overheard
some of this.  "I'm glad enough to get off, Bobby
Blake.  But you needn't have told him I was
weak-minded."

Bobby grinned at him.  "What do you care if
you *are* a little bit crazy?  And I didn't tell him
anything new.  He was on to it."

The crowd rowed off in three boats.  There
were seventeen of them.  They went to the upper
island, which was the biggest, in an hour and a
half, and as soon as they landed they set to work
to build a fire and make the picnic dinner.

Of course, they were too hungry to wait until
the potatoes were baked, but as soon as the light
wood had burned down to ashes and coals, they
thrust the potatoes under the bed of the fire to
bake slowly.

Meanwhile they ate the sandwiches and cake
they had brought from school, and each boy cut
a stick, on the end of which he stuck an ear of
corn.  These ears they roasted in the flames.

Of course, they were scorched a little, but they
had butter and pepper and salt with which to
dress the corn and it *did* taste mighty nice!

"And there's pretty near a bushel of the potatoes,"
said Fred, happily.  "After the fire dies
down again, we can rake them out and eat them.
There's a big dab of butter left and plenty of salt
and pepper.  Crickey!  I could eat a peck of them
myself."

"We ought to have brought more potatoes and
corn along," suggested Pee Wee, licking his
fingers, "and hidden the stuff here somewhere.
Then we could come another day and have a bake
like this."

"Say! the corn wouldn't be much good," Bobby said.

"Scubbity-*yow*!" yelled Fred, suddenly.  "I
have it."

"Gee! you must have it bad," responded
Mouser.  "What kind of a battlecry *is* that?"

"Say!" went on Fred, without paying the least
attention to Mouser's question, "I've got the
dandy idea."

"Let's have it?" proposed Bobby.

"Let's build a shack, or a cabin, or something,
up there in the thick trees.  Nobody would ever
see it from the lake.  Then we can bring things
over to furnish it—on the sly, you know—"

"Why on the sly?" demanded his chum.

"Aw—well—if the other fellows knew it, they'd
come and bust it up, wouldn't they?"

"Not our fellows," declared Shiner.

"But you bet the kids from Belden would,"
urged Pee Wee.

"We could keep still about it, I s'pose," admitted Bobby.

"Well, then!" returned Fred.  "Now, we'd fit
it up, and store stuff in it for winter—nuts, and
popcorn, and 'taters, and turnips—"

"You can't bake turnips," objected Howell Purdy.

"Well! they're good raw, aren't they?" demanded
the eager Fred.

"It's a great old scheme," declared Jimmy
Ailshine, otherwise "Shiner."  "Let's get at it at
once.  Skeets Brody has his ax.  Come on!"

And the excited boys trooped away from the
beach and left the potatoes under the coals of the
campfire to finish cooking.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`HOT POTATOES`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XVI


.. class:: center medium

   HOT POTATOES

.. vspace:: 2

Bobby and Fred had already become leaders
to a degree, with the boys of their own age at
Rockledge School.  This suggestion of the
red-haired one about building a hut was accepted with
enthusiasm by the fifteen others in the present
crowd.

They trooped up into the thick grove that
crowned the summit of the rocky island.  Bobby
and Fred had been on many camping expeditions
at home, along the banks of Plunkit Creek.  They
wasted no time in discussing *how* they should build
a shelter with the materials at hand.

"Leave it to us, and we'll go ahead and show
you how to make a nice shack," promised Bobby,
when the others began to gabble as to how it
should be done.

"Good idea!" cried Pee Wee.  "Let's elect
Bobby Blake, captain.

"And Fred Martin, lieutenant," said Shiner.
"They both know what to do and we don't."

This was agreed to without a word of objection
from any of the fifteen.  Bobby took charge at once.

"Here are four trees," he announced, pointing
to four that stood almost in a square, some twelve
feet apart, and with nothing but saplings in the
square made by them.  "These will be our posts.
First we want to clean out all the small trees and
brush inside these big trees, and for some feet
around the outside—so we can work."

"Wish we had more axes," said Fred.

"We all have knives.  Those with knives can
cut off the smaller brush.  Skeets is really our
only woodsman.  Come on, Skeets, and let's find
four good trees for the cross-timbers."

They were all soon very busy.  Bobby did little
but show the others what to do and make measurements
with a piece of fishline.  Fred gave his
attention to cutting spruce boughs for walls and roof.

Skeets cut the four trees needed, they were
measured and notched at the ends and then lifted
into place—each end in a crotch of the low
branching trees Bobby had selected for the corner
posts of the hut.

The roof would not be exactly flat, for one
crotch was somewhat higher than the others, but
the four timbers lay firm, being lashed together
with black-birch withes.

Soon the other boys began to bring the spruce
boughs; but first Bobby laid several good sized
saplings across the string-pieces, to strengthen
the roof.

They worked so hard and with such enthusiasm
that they really forgot the potatoes under the
bonfire.  In two hours a heavy roofing of boughs lay
upon the poles, and the boys could all stand up
under it and be sheltered.

Suddenly Fred exclaimed: "Crickey!  Let's
see if those potatoes are done.  I'm as hungry as
a hound right now."

This set them all on a run.  It does not take
much to put an edge on a boy's appetite.  Just
the suggestion of the potatoes was enough.

"First at the fire!" yelled Howell Purdy, as he
hurried down through the grove, and over the
rocks.

"Bet you I make it first!" declared Shiner,
vigorously following the leader.

It was a stampede.  With whoops and shouts
the seventeen scrambled down the descent to the
shore.

Suddenly they halted.  Shiner and Howell, who
had been wrestling to put each other behind,
looked, too.  There was a crowd of boys around
their campfire on the shore.

"Who are they?" demanded Bobby, in amazement.

"Say! they're raking out our potatoes!" gasped
Fred Martin.

"They're Beldenites!" declared Pee Wee, panting,
and on the high ground behind.  "There's
their boats.  And there's half as many more of
them as there are of *us*."

"I don't care if they're two to one!" cried Fred
in anger.  "Those are our potatoes."

"Suppose they beat us and take away our
boats?" demanded Howell Purdy, falling back.
"You know—those Belden fellows can fight."

"Well! can't *we*?" demanded Fred Martin,
panting and doubling his fists.  "What are
we—babies?"

"We won't fight—yet," put in Bobby, calmly.
"Perhaps they don't realize that that is our fire
and our potatoes."

"What'll we do?" asked Pee Wee, by no means
anxious to advance.

"Come on," said Bobby; feeling dreadfully
shaken inside, but too proud to show it.  "Let's
talk to them."

"Better get some clubs and *go* for them,"
growled Fred.

"No.  They haven't clubs," declared Bobby.
"Let's not start any fight."

He and Shiner and Mouser proceeded along the
beach.  They saw the Belden fellows scrambling
for the hot potatoes, and shouting and skylarking.

"That's Larry Cronk—that fellow with the
curly hair.  Don't you remember, Bobby?  He
pitched for their club when we went over to beat
them that day."

"I remember.  And that's their first baseman—Ben
Allen."  Then Bobby raised his voice so
the Belden crowd could hear him: "I say! that's
our fire and those are our potatoes.  We were
just coming down to get them."

"Is that so?" sneered Larry Cronk, standing
up and laughing at the Rockledge boys.  "Well,
you came too late—do you see?"

"I'll throw a rock at him!" growled the
belligerent Fred.

"Keep still!" commanded Bobby.  Then to the
Beldenites he said: "That's not fair—or honest.
Those are our potatoes—"

Larry swung back his arm, and poised one of
the potatoes.  The next moment he flung it with
all his force at Bobby.  The latter just escaped it
by dodging.

"Mean thing!" yelled Fred, and he picked up a
stone on the instant (there were plenty of pebbles
on the beach) and flung it at the Belden's captain.

"That's right! let's drive them off!" cried Pee
Wee, from the rear.

Fred's stone was flung true and Larry Cronk
received it in the shoulder.  He yelled and
dodged, and at once the Belden boys let go a
flight of *hot potatoes*!

The potatoes burst wherever they struck—and
not a few of them landed upon the boys who had
hoped to feast upon the tubers.  This was adding
insult to injury, and the Rockledge boys were
greatly enraged.

"They're spoiling all our 'taters!" cried Pee
Wee—almost wailing, in fact.  "There! there's
another busted."

He had turned just in time to get the potato in
the back instead of in the chest.  Mouser and
Howell were jumping about and rubbing their
cheeks.  The hot potatoes burned as well as stung,
and although they were mealy enough to fly all
about when they burst—like miniature bombs—when
flung by a vigorous arm, they hurt more than
a little.

The Rockledge crowd broke before the flight of
hot potatoes, and seemed about to run back to
the woods.  But Bobby and Fred could not stand *that*.

"Hold on, fellows!" yelled Fred.  "We can
lick those chaps—I know we can!  Get some
stones!  They can't hurt more than hot potatoes."

Bobby did not delay in joining in the return
fusillade of stones.  Some of the pebbles landed
heavily.  Although outnumbering the Rockledge
boys by considerable, the Belden crowd began to
retreat toward its boats.

"Come on! push them!" yelled Fred, running ahead.

The others, thus encouraged, ran after him.
They reached their own boats and felt safe, then.
The Beldens could not get their craft away from
them.

At the fire there were a lot of the potatoes
scattered about and trampled into the sand.  Pee Wee
began yelling:

"Use the stones! use the stones!  Don't fling
those potatoes—we want them!"

This brought about some laughter, and the
Rockledge boys did not throw their missiles so
viciously thereafter.  The Beldens had gotten
enough, anyway.  Two of them were nursing bad
bruises on their heads, and were crying.  Bobby
was glad the battle was so soon over, for he was
afraid somebody would be seriously hurt.

The Belden youngsters scrambled into their
boats and pushed off from the island, while the
Rockledge boys collected all the potatoes they
could find, that had not burst, and enjoyed their
delayed feast with the sauce of having won it by
force of arms.

They did not finish the hut on the island that
day, but agreed to come back to complete it the
next half holiday—if they could gain permission.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`LOST AT SEA`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XVII


.. class:: center medium

   LOST AT SEA

.. vspace:: 2

And then there came an unhappy time indeed
for Bobby Blake.  In the back of his mind, for
weeks, had been the uncertainty about his father
and mother.  Now that uncertainty suddenly
developed into a great and lingering horror—a
horror from which not even the elasticity of youth
could easily rebound.

One morning Dr. Raymond sent a note into
Mr. Carrin's school.  Had not Bobby been so busy at
his work, he would have seen the pale faced teacher
grow still more pallid, and look at him.

Mr. Carrin arose and walked up and down the
room.  The boys soon discovered that he was not
watching them.  Occasionally he stole a glance at
Bobby, but he noticed no other boy.

Then, without saying another word, he went
out, and in a minute came back with Barry Gray.
Barry looked startled himself, and very serious.
He stood in the doorway and said:

"Blake!  Doctor Raymond wants you in his
office.  You are to come with me."

Bobby got up quickly, and with a suddenly
beating heart.  He believed he must have done
something to bring down upon his head the wrath of
the good Doctor.  He could not imagine what it
was, but he was frightened.

You see, Bobby had gotten it into his head that
possibly he *might* have a chance at the Medal of
Honor.  He was trying to be an exemplary
scholar for that reason—and because he knew it
would delight his absent father and mother, if he
gained such an honor.

Now, this sudden and unexpected call shocked
him.  Fred grabbed his hand secretly as he passed
his seat and squeezed it.  Bobby knew that his
chum, thoughtless as Fred usually was, appreciated
his present feelings.

When he reached the door, his own face was
aflame.  He knew all the boys of the Lower School
were looking at him.  Mr. Carrin, too, seemed to
be staring at Bobby in a strange way.

Barry put his arm across the smaller boy's
shoulder just as soon as the classroom door
closed behind them.

"Buck up, old man!" he said, with a funny
choke in his voice.  "Things are never so hard as
they seem at first.  And there's such a lot of
uncertainty about such reports—"

"What reports, sir?" asked Bobby, breathlessly.

"Didn't Carrin tell you a *thing*?" gasped
Barry, stopping short.

"No!  What have I done?  What's Doctor
Raymond going to do with me?"

"Why, you poor little kid!" ejaculated the big
boy, grabbing Bobby tightly again.  "You
mustn't be afraid of the Old Doc.  He wouldn't
hurt a fly.  And you're not in bad with him—don't
think it!"

"But what is the matter, then?" demanded Bobby.

"It's your folks, Bob," blurted out Barry.
"There's uncertain news about them—"

"They're not sick—not *dead*?" cried Bobby,
shaking all over.

"No, no!  Of course not," returned Barry,
heartily.  "Nothing as bad as that."

"What is it, then?"

"Why, it's only a shipwreck, or something like
that.  Of course they've been rescued; folks
always are, you know.  And they'll have lots of
adventures to write you about."

Bobby was speechless.  His pretty, delicate
mother *shipwrecked*!  Of course, his father would
save her, but she might get wet and catch cold;
that was the first thought that took form in his
mind.

"News has come about the big ship they sailed
away on," Barry Gray went on, cheerfully.
"Another ship has found part of the deckworks
of your father's steamship, all scorched and
burned.  There must have been a fire at sea."

"Well, don't you s'pose they could put the fire
out with so much water around?" asked Bobby,
seriously.

"That's right!" exclaimed Barry.  "But perhaps
the machinery was hurt, so the ship couldn't
be made to go.  There wasn't any sails to her, of
course."

"I see," said Bobby, gravely, nodding.

"So they had to take to the boats.  You know
how it is: Women and children first!  The
sailors are always so brave.  And the officers stand
by to the last—and if the ship sinks, the captain
always goes down with her, standing on the
quarter deck, with the flags flying.  You've read about
it, Bobby!"

"Sure!" choked Bobby.

"Of course there are always boats enough for
the passengers—and life-rafts.  And they float
about for a while and are either picked up by
other ships, or the natives row out in their canoes
and save them."

"Yes!" gasped Bobby, letting out the great fear
at his heart.  "But—but suppose she should get
cold?  You know she has a weak throat.  The
doctor always tells her to look out for
bron—bron-*skeeters*, or somethin' like that."

"*Who* has bronchitis?" demanded Barry, rather
puzzled.

"My mother."

"Oh! don't you know it's a warm climate down
there?  Sure!  It's in the Tropics.  No chance of
catching cold—not at all."

"Oh!" murmured Bobby, and he felt somewhat
relieved.

"And they've been picked up by some ship
bound around the world, maybe—that is why you
haven't heard from them.  You won't hear till
they touch at some port clear across the world,
from which they can send mail.

"Or perhaps," said the comforting captain,
"they have gone to some tropic island, where
boats don't often touch.  And the sailors will
build shelters for the passengers against the
coming of the rainy season, and then a boat-load of
volunteers will hike out looking for a civilized
port, and it will be months and months before
help comes to the island.

"Meanwhile," said the imaginative youngster,
his eyes glowing and his cheek flushed, "your
mother and the other ladies will get well and
strong, and all brown like Indians.  And the men
will have to dress in goat-skins, for their clothes
will wear out, and they'll learn to make fire by
rubbing two sticks together, and they'll have fights
with jaguars—But no!" exclaimed the big boy,
suddenly; "of course, there will be no harmful
creatures on an *island*.

"Say!  I guess they're having fun all right.
Don't you worry, Bobby."

They halted at the doctor's door, and Barry
rapped.  The voice of the big principal told them
to "Enter!" and the bigger boy pushed open the
door.

"Here he is, sir," said Barry, winking fast over
the head of the smaller boy at Dr. Raymond.
"I have just been telling him what a jolly good
time his folks are likely having right now.  It
must be *so* interesting to be shipwrecked."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE BLOODY CORNER`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XVIII


.. class:: center medium

   THE BLOODY CORNER

.. vspace:: 2

The news went over the school at noon, of
course, and most of the smaller boys eyed Bobby
Blake askance.  The boy himself seemed walking
in a kind of cloud; his mind was stunned, and
it was lucky that Dr. Raymond had said to him,
kindly:

"You are excused from recitations to-day, Robert."

The good doctor had spoken to him quite
cheerfully of the probable loss of the steamship on
which Mr. and Mrs. Blake had sailed from New
York.  The principal seemed to have taken his
cue from Barrymore Gray.

To tell the truth, what Barry had said cheered
Bobby more than anything else.  Even Fred
Martin was a trifle depressing.  Fred wanted to
give him his share in the bats and mask and other
baseball paraphernalia, and turn over to him, in
fact, most of his personal property, likely to be
dear to a boy's heart.

This was the red-haired boy's way of showing
sympathy.  But it did not help much.

The roseate picture Barry had drawn of the
shipwreck stuck in Bobby's mind.  He was very
glad his mother could not take cold down there,
even if she got her feet wet.

For several days the other boys were very
gentle with Bobby.  It did not make Bobby feel
very comfortable, but he knew they meant it
kindly.

Soon, however, their awkwardness wore off, and
they were as rough and friendly as ever, and he
liked it better.  Deep in his heart he kept
thinking all the time of his parents, and the
possibilities arising out of the wreck of the steamship.
Outwardly he was much the same as ever.

Only one thing Bobby Blake desired now more
than before.  He longed—oh! how he *did*
long—to win the Medal of Honor.  If his parents were
shipwrecked, and there was any suffering for
them in it, it seemed to Bobby that if he won the
Honor Medal at Rockledge School, that fact would
alleviate their misery, wherever they were!

Yet there was nothing of the mollycoddle about
Bobby.  Fun appealed to him just as strongly as
it ever did to any ten year old boy.

There were certain set rules of Rockledge
School that he would not break and that he kept
Fred from breaking.

"There's no fun in getting caught and held up
to the whole school as dishonorable," he told
Fred.  "We're expected to keep in bounds.  We
know the bounds well enough.  And if we want to
go out of them, we have only to ask, and give a
good reason, to get permission to go farther."

"Aw, they treat us as if we were a lot of
babies," growled Fred Martin.

"They do nothing of the kind," Bobby replied.
"Doctor Raymond treats us as though we were
gentlemen.  He trusts to our *honor*.  I wouldn't
disappoint him for a farm!"

"We-ell!" sighed Fred.  "I suppose you're
right, Bobby.  I—I almost wish he didn't treat
us just this way.  There'd be some fun in busting
up the old rules!"

And that was where Dr. Raymond showed his
wisdom.  He knew how to manage boys with the
least amount of friction.

Weeks passed, full of work and play, and no
further news came of the lost steamship on which
Mr. and Mrs. Blake had sailed for Brazil.  The
wreckage had been sighted off the Orinoco, and
the name of the steamship was plain upon the
wreck.  But it might have drifted a long way after
the catastrophe.  Just *where* the ship had been
burned, nobody could guess.

No boat from her, no word from her captain or
crew, came to the owners in New York.  She had
been a freight boat, carrying on that trip scarcely
a score of passengers.

Much of this Bobby did not hear, or understand.
He clung like a limpet to the imaginative idea of
a shipwreck that Barrymore Gray had drawn for
him.  And it was well that this was so.

Thanksgiving came and went.  The Belden
school came over in the forenoon to Rockledge
and its football team was nicely thrashed by the
Rockledge eleven.  The Lower School went
almost mad with delight; and Fred Martin and
Larry Cronk, the Belden boy, came almost to
blows on the campus.

Neither of the Lower Schools had forgotten the
hot potato fight on the island.  Ere this, Bobby
and his friends had completed their camp and had
begun to furnish it, but they hoped the youngsters
from Belden would learn nothing about the hideout.

One thing pleased Bobby and Fred immensely
at Thanksgiving.  A big box came to them from
Clinton.  In it were all sorts of good things made
by Meena and Mrs. Martin, fall apples and pears
picked by Michael Mulcahey, candy from Mr. Martin's
store, and gifts from Fred's sisters and
smaller brothers.

The Second Dormitory had a great feast after
hours one night, of which even Captain Gray
knew nothing.  Bill Bronson and Jack Jinks got
onto it, and the small boys had to bribe the two
bullies with some of the choicest of their stores.
Nevertheless, the midnight feast went off very
smoothly.

There were a few more cases for the medical
attendant to see to at Rockledge School after
Thanksgiving than usual.  The midnight feast
coming so soon after the big Thanksgiving dinner,
played havoc in the ranks of the smaller boys.

Pee Wee had what Bobby declared to be "internal,
or civil war," and went to the hospital in
Dr. Raymond's house for three days.  He came
out wan and interesting looking, declaring that he
had lost pounds of flesh!  But he proceeded to get
his avoirdupois back again very promptly.

It was a full week before the school was back
on its usual working basis—and the midwinter
holidays only a month away.  The teachers
spurred the lazy scholars, and helped the dull
ones, and out of this pushing in classes arose the
trouble that became a very serious affair indeed
for both Fred Martin and Bobby Blake.

Fred was not always bright in arithmetic.  One
morning he made a ridiculous blunder, and the
whole class laughed at him.  Mr. Carrin reprimanded
Fred for his inattention, and as they filed
out for recreation before dinner, Sparrow
Bangs—named so because he had a whole cage-full of
tame sparrows down at the gatekeeper's
cottage—made fun of the red-haired boy.

Fred had been angered by the teacher's
sharpness.  Now he turned on Sparrow in a terrible
passion.

"What's that you say?  I'll give you a punch
you'll remember."

"Aw, no you won't!" returned Sparrow.
"And I'll say it again, Ginger!  You've no time
to play catch—you'll have to study the
multiplication table, like Mr. Carrin said."

Fred rushed at the teasing lad, but Pee Wee and
Howell Purdy came between them.

"Cheese it!" said the fat boy.  "You two
fellows want to get into trouble?  Right under the
schoolroom windows, too!"

"Well, he's got to stop nagging me," cried
Fred, very red, and puffing very hard.

"Who are you, Ginger, that I should be so
awfully careful of?" sneered Sparrow.  "You're
not so much!"

"I'll show you—"

"Stop it! stop it, Fred!" advised Bobby,
catching his chum by the arm.  "Come on, I want to
throw you a few fast ones.  We mustn't get out
of practice, even if we *can't* play a regular game
until next spring."

"There he goes!" cried Sparrow.  "His boss
takes him away.  Great lad, that Ginger is.
Afraid to say his soul's his own.  Bobby Blake
just bosses him around—"

It was all over, then!  Fred flung off Bobby's
hand and rushed at his tormentor.  Smack! his
fist shot into Sparrow's face.

Half a dozen of the boys then got between the
antagonists.

"You want to get us all into trouble?" growled
Mouser, one of those who held Fred Martin.
"Cut it out.  If you've got to fight, there's the
'bloody corner.'  Do it right."

The chums had heard of "the bloody corner,"
but since their appearance at Rockledge School
there had been no real pugilistic encounter
between any of their mates.

Down in the far corner of the grounds—oh! a
long way from the buildings—behind a tall hedge
of hemlock, there had once been a toolshed.  It
had been removed and the corner was just a heap
of soft sand.  No matter how hard the frost was,
this sand did not freeze.

And here, from time immemorial, had been
arranged the school fights.  Whether the good
Doctor was aware that in this arena was fought out
such feuds as could not be otherwise settled,
nobody knew.  Usually the fights were arranged by
the older fellows, and the captain of the school
was supposed to be present and see fair play.

It spoke well for Barrymore Gray that thus far
under his régime, not a fight had occurred in
"bloody corner."

The belligerents—Fred and Sparrow—were
separated for the time, but as Bobby and his friend
started to run to dinner when the big gong rang,
Shiner stopped them.

"Hey, Ginger," said he.  "Are you game to
fight Sparrow?"

"I'm going to fight him," declared the red-haired
boy, showing his teeth.  "He can't get out of it."

"Oh! he's not trying to," said Shiner.  "In
fact, he told me to put it up to you.  He wants to
knock your head off."

"He'll have a fine time trying it," declared
Fred, hotly.  "I'll show him—"

"Aw, drop it!" begged Bobby.  "You don't
want to fight Sparrow—and he doesn't want to
fight you."

"Better keep out of this, Bobby Blake,"
advised Shiner, importantly.  "Sparrow says
Fred's afraid, anyway—"

"I'll show him!" cried the maddened red-haired boy.

"Bluffing's all right," sneered Shiner.  "But
will you *fight*?"

"Give me a chance!"

"Aw-right.  We'll put it up to the captain and
you and Sparrow can get together down in the
corner."

"With gloves? and have Barry Gray boss it?
No, I won't," declared the pugnacious Fred.
"Sparrow's trying to get out of it.  I'll box him
in the gym.  But if he's got the pluck of a flea,
he'll come down to the corner with his bare
fists—and you and Bobby here are enough to see fair
play."

"Whew!" whistled Shiner, his eyes dancing.
"Do you mean it?"

"You'll find out that I do," threatened Fred,
wagging his head.

"You sha'n't fight that way, Fred!" cried
Bobby.  "The School won't stand for it."

"You mean that bully, Barry Gray, won't stand
for it.  He always wants to boss."

"You game to see them through, Bobby?" demanded
Shiner.

"If you don't want to come with me, I'll get
Pee Wee," growled Fred.

"No," said Bobby, in great trouble.  "If you
mean to fight Sparrow, of course I'm going to
stand by you."

"And keep your mouth shut about it?" snapped
Shiner.

"Bobby's no snitch," exclaimed Fred, hotly.
"If we're caught, it won't be because either
Bobby or I tell."

"Nuff said," declared Shiner, shortly.  "I'll
see Sparrow again and put it up to him.  We'll
find a time when nobody else will be around.  Be
ready," and Shiner went off whistling, evidently
feeling his importance in the matter.

Bobby felt pretty badly.  He did not want to see
Fred fight at all.  And he certainly did not want
him to meet Sparrow Bangs in this way.  A sparring
match was one thing, but a fist fight, deliberately
arranged, and held in secret, was an entirely
different matter.

"You can't do it!" he said to Fred, greatly
disturbed.  "Dr. Raymond might send you home."

"I don't care if I'm sent home twice!"
exclaimed the hotheaded Fred.  "I am going to
thrash that fellow, or he'll thrash *me*."

Bobby wanted to shake Fred—he could have hit
his chum himself!  And yet—he couldn't desert
him.  They had come here to this school,
strangers.  They had agreed to stand by each other,
through thick and thin—of course without a word
being said about it!  Boys do not talk about their
friendships like girls.

If Fred were wrong, Bobby could be angry with
him, but he could not desert him.  If his chum
intended to fight Sparrow Bangs in this
disgraceful way, Bobby would "second" him—of course
he would!

If Dr. Raymond should hear of it and suspend
them both from school, it could not be helped.  He
knew very well that he was running a risk of
losing all chance for the Medal of Honor; yet he
would stick to his chum.

He was unhappy that night—very, very
unhappy.  Fred and he said little when they were
alone.  Shiner came to him and whispered, at
bedtime, that there would be a chance to "pull
off" the fight the next noontime after dinner.
They could cut the mid-day study hour to do it,
without being caught.

Beyond his determination to stand by Fred,
right or wrong, Bobby wanted his chum—as long
as he *would* fight—to win!  He advised him in the
morning:

"Now, Fred, eat a good breakfast—a *big* breakfast.
But you're going to go light on dinner."

"I know," grunted the red-haired one.

"Don't drink much water at dinner time,
either.  If you think you'll be tempted too much,
keep out of the dining-room."

"No," growled Fred.  "They'll think I'm afraid."

"All right.  But eat lightly," urged Bobby.

For once something was going on in the Lower
School that the whole crowd of boys was not "on
to."  Shiner and Sparrow had been as mum as
Fred and Bobby.

The two combatants did not even scowl at each
other; they kept apart.  They did not want any
of the other boys to suspect.

Howell Purdy asked Bobby if "Ginger wasn't
going to knock Sparrow's head off?" and Bobby
dodged the question adroitly.

It seemed to Bobby as though that forenoon
would never come to an end.  At half past eleven
the Lower School was let out.  Bobby took Fred
into the gymnasium and they put on the gloves
together for a little practice.

With the experience they had had before, and
the instruction of the Rockledge athletic teacher,
for boys of their size, Bobby and Fred were quite
proficient in the so-called manly art.

Sparring, as a game like baseball or tennis, is
splendid exercise and good training for mind and
temper.  It may, or may not, lead to fisticuffs
among boys.  Certainly boys who spar together
in a gymnasium are much less likely to have rude
fights as the outgrowth of sudden temper.  They
respect each other's prowess too much.

Fred was careful at dinner.  As soon as they
could, he and Bobby slipped out, and made their
way to the distant corner, and by a roundabout
way so that they could not be seen.  Five minutes
later Sparrow and Jimmy Ailshine appeared.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE RESULT`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XIX


.. class:: center medium

   THE RESULT

.. vspace:: 2

Just who would have won in that battle
between Fred Martin and Sparrow Bangs remains
one of the unsolved mysteries of Rockledge School.

It was never finished.  The quartette of boys
had made one mistake.  They should have taken a
fifth youngster into their confidence and set him
on watch.

Mr. Leith, the head master under Dr. Raymond,
always took a constitutional around the grounds
after the midday meal.  Not often did he cross
the campus, for he was not a man given to spying
upon his young charges.

But this day the campus seemed to be deserted.
It was a cold day, and most of the boys had
remained indoors to take advantage of the hour of
study before afternoon lessons.

He came down the railing that defended the
cliff's edge, and he heard, as he approached the
notorious "bloody corner," boyish voices.

"That's it, Sparrow!  Hit him again!"
shrieked one voice.

"Let him hit me—I'll give him as good as he
sends!" spoke up another voice.

There was the instant sound of blows interchanged.
The teacher could not doubt what was going on.

"Boys! boys! how dare you fight?" he
demanded, and strode toward the hedge of hemlock
trees, his coattails flapping behind him.

The fight had not continued long.  Both boys
had removed their coats and vests and caps.
They were hard at it indeed when Mr. Leith's
voice smote upon their ears.

"Cheese it!" gasped Shiner.  "Leith's onto us!"

With the fear of being apprehended in all their
minds, the four boys sprang for the underbrush,
on the other side of the corner.  They knew which
way the teacher was coming.

The two belligerents had picked up their
discarded clothing, but as they got under cover Fred
gasped:

"Scubbity-*yow*! I've dropped my cap."

"Keep on!" exclaimed Bobby.  "I'll get it."

He was so earnest to shield his chum from the
result of his wrong doing, that he forgot his own
danger.  If Fred's cap were found, Mr. Leith
would know it, and Fred would be called upon to
explain.

Bobby darted back while the other boys scudded
through the bushes.  He saw the cap on the
ground just inside the open space.  He sprawled
all over it, grabbed it up, and then was stricken
motionless and dumb by the voice of the master
who stepped into view:

"Robert!  What does this mean?"

Bobby shook all over, but he stuffed the cap into
the breast of his jacket.

"Robert, stand up!" commanded the teacher.

Bobby did so.  He looked timidly across at the
gentleman.  Certainly Mr. Leith was a very stern
looking man!

"Come here, Robert," said Mr. Leith.

Bobby crossed the sandlot at a slow crawl.  Mr. Leith
cleared his throat, removing his eyeglasses
to wipe them.  On the instant, as the boy reached
the fence, he flung Fred's cap through the rails
and out over the edge of the cliff.  It disappeared
like a shot.

"What was that, sir?" demanded Mr. Leith,
putting on the eyeglasses and looking at Bobby
again.

The boy hesitated.  The gentleman repeated:

"What was it?  I saw you throw something away."

"It—it was a cap," said Bobby.

"A cap?  Not your own cap?" exclaimed the
teacher, in surprise.  "You have your own cap on."

"No, sir.  Not my own cap," admitted Bobby.

"Whose cap was it, then?"

Bobby was silent.  He looked up at Mr. Leith
pleadingly.  That gentleman knew well enough
what was in the boy's mind.  He, too, understood
boys pretty well, but he did not believe in
handling them just as the old Doctor did.

"Do you hear me, young man?" he asked,
harshly.

"Yes, sir."

"Why do you not answer me?"

Bobby wanted to cry out and plead with him.
Mr. Leith had no *right* to ask such a question!
That is the way the boy looked at it.  The teacher
was tempting him to do the meanest thing in a
boy's catalog of sins.

He was asking Bobby to *snitch*!

"I—I can't tell you, sir," stammered the boy.

"You mean you are determined not to tell me?"
repeated Mr. Leith.

Bobby was silent, but still looked straight into
his face.  No frown could make Bobby Blake drop
his eyes in shame.

"Two boys were fighting here just now," said
the teacher, slowly and sternly.  "Isn't that so?"

"Yes, sir," said Bobby, quietly.

"Barrymore Gray was not here?" asked the
other, sharply.

"Oh, no, sir.  Barry knew nothing about it,
sir," cried Bobby.

"Ah!  Indeed?  Then this fight was a strictly
private affair?"

Bobby looked miserable, but said nothing.

"How many boys were here?"

Bobby wagged his head negatively.  "I—I can't
tell you, sir."

"Nor the names of the boys who fought?"

"No, sir."

"You know who they are?"

"Oh, yes, sir."

"And you refuse to tell me?"

"I—I can't tell!" gasped Bobby, both hands
clutched tightly upon the breast of his jacket.  It
seemed to him as though the teacher must see the
pounding of his heart.

"Robert," said Mr. Leith, "I do not like such
actions as this.  I will not allow a boy to refuse
me answers to perfectly proper questions.  Go to
your class-room.  You must not go to the
gymnasium, nor out of doors at all, until I bid you.
When you are not in classes, remain in your dormitory.

"I am disappointed in you, Robert.  You have
shown yourself to be a studious boy heretofore
and not a ruffian."

"Oh, sir—"

"Silence!  You may not have been one of the
boys fighting; but you were aiding and abetting
a ruffianly encounter between two of your
schoolmates.  It cannot be overlooked.

"I had hopes of you, Robert.  We all had.
Dr. Raymond himself had commended your course
since you came to Rockledge.  But no boy who
wishes to stand in the honor class can break the
rules of the school and then refuse to stand the
full punishment for his act."

"Oh, Mr. Leith!" cried Bobby, brokenly.  "I
am not trying to get out of anything.  Truly I'm
not!  Punish me all you want to, sir, but *don't*
ask me to tell on the other boys.  I can't do that."

"We shall see, Robert," said the teacher,
grimly.  "Return to your class-room."

Now began a very terrible time for Bobby
Blake—or so it seemed to the heartsick boy.  He
held a secret that he could not speak of, and his
refusal to reveal it broke down his chances of
gaining that Honor Medal on which he had set his
hopes.

Of course, it never entered his mind for a
moment that he *could* tell—even though the other
boys did not realize what he had been through with
Mr. Leith, and what his punishment was.

Fred and Sparrow, made friends by the emergency,
with Jimmy Ailshine, waited for Bobby in a
secure hiding place known to all four; but Bobby
did not come.  When they got back to the classroom
at half past one, Bobby was there ahead of them.

His face was very red; he may have been crying,
but Fred could not tell.  The latter slipped a
brief note to him:

"Did he catch you?"

Bobby nodded, but did not write back.  Fred,
after a while, slipped over another written
question:

"Where's my cap?"

This time Bobby replied: "At the foot of
the cliff.  He doesn't know any of you.  Keep
still."

"Good old sport, Bobby," quoth Fred to Sparrow,
when recitations were over and they filed
out.  "Scubbity-*yow*! that was a soaker you gave
me on the jaw.  It's sore yet."

"I believe I'm going to have a black eye,"
revealed Sparrow, with pride.

They went off together, inseparable friends for
the time being.  Bobby remained behind, taking
his books into the big study.

Mr. Leith did not speak to him again.  In fact,
nobody came near him before supper.  When the
boys came in, giggling and talking, just as unable
as usual to settle down quietly to the meal until
an adult eye was turned threateningly upon them,
Bobby entered, too, but with such a lump in his
throat that he felt that he could scarcely swallow
a mouthful.

Nobody noticed his condition but Pee Wee, and
he only to seize upon the pudding that Bobby
could not touch.  "You act as if you had the
mumps and couldn't swallow," whispered the fat
boy.  "But what you can't eat I'll get rid of for
you, Bobby."

Three wistful days passed.  Bobby remained
indoors, and the boys knew that he was being
punished.  Only three knew what for, and they did
not know how much.

"Good old scout, Bobby!" said Shiner, clapping
him on the shoulder.  "Wild horses wouldn't get
anything out of you, eh!"

Fred began to eye his chum askance.  Thoughtless
as the red-haired one usually was, he began to
worry.

Then Mr. Leith called Bobby to him again.

"Will you tell me who was fighting down there
at the corner?" he asked.

"Please—please do not ask me, sir!" begged
the boy.

"Ahem! you are still stubborn, are you!"

"Ye—yes, sir," said Bobby, not knowing what
else to say.

"Very well.  I shall keep you indoors no longer.
I see that gentle means will not cure *your* trouble.
At the last, I should have been tempted to keep the
matter to myself and give you a chance for the
medal.  But I see leniency is wasted upon you.

"You may have your freedom, Robert.  Nothing
you can do now will wipe out the fact that you
have deliberately refused to answer my questions.
That is all."

*And Bobby Blake forgot the Doctor's office door
was unlocked!*

He accepted the punishment of Mr. Leith as
final.  He knew he had lost all chance of winning
the Medal of Honor.  Young as he was, it seemed
to him as though his punishment was almost too
great for him to bear!





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`ON THE BRINK OF WAR`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XX


.. class:: center medium

   ON THE BRINK OF WAR

.. vspace:: 2

To everybody else, affairs at Rockledge School
seemed to go on as ever.  There were hard
lessons, and easy lessons (the former predominating,
the boys thought) and there were many, many
good times as the season advanced.

Monatook Lake froze completely over.  At first
the boys were not allowed upon it; but when
a team of horses, hitched to a pung, had been
driven from shore to shore—from the edge of
Rockledge town to Belden—word was given from
the teachers' desks that skating on the lake within
so many yards of the boathouse, would be allowed.

The gate-keeper set stakes, to which little red
flags were attached, at the corners of the
ice-bounds, and for a few days, at least, the
Rockledge boys were satisfied with the restrictions.

They saw the Belden boys skating on their side
of the lake, too, and other boys, from the two
villages, who did not go to either school, skated where
they pleased.

On half holidays bounds were released, but if
the boys wished to skate the length of the lake a
teacher went along.  Owing to the feeling
between the boys of the two schools, Dr. Raymond
did not even test the Lower School with Barry
Gray for monitor.

Bobby, of course, entered into all these sports.
Even Fred thought that his chum's punishment
had ended, and likely enough the red-haired boy
had forgotten all about his interrupted fight with
Sparrow Bangs.

Fred and Sparrow were the best of friends.
To tell the truth, Bobby Blake was somewhat
gloomy these days—he was not as much fun as
usual.

Fred put it down to the fact of the mystery
regarding Mr. and Mrs. Blake.  Of course, a fellow
could not be very jolly when he did not know for
sure whether his father and mother were dead or
alive!

However, Fred did not see how he could help
his chum.  He did his best to liven Bobby up; but
was not very successful at it.  It did really seem
to Fred as though Bobby "gloomed about"
altogether too much.

"It's all right for a fellow to feel badly about
his folks," said Ginger to Sparrow, who had
become his confidant for the time being, "but you
can't get him out of his grouch."

"He's trying to be too good," scoffed Sparrow.
"I bet he's aiming to get the medal."

"Scubbity-*yow*!" ejaculated Fred.  "That
would be great!"

"Pshaw! he can't get it.  No Lower School boy
ever got it.  I expect Barry Gray will be medal
man *this* year."

"He won't get *my* vote," declared Fred,
shaking his head.

"Why not, Ginger?"

Fred was used to this nickname now, and did
not get mad at it, but he shook his head, and said:

"Just for *that*.  Barry nicknamed me.  He's
too fresh."

"Aw, pshaw! you're prejudiced," laughed Sparrow.

None of the boys realized what the matter was
with Bobby.  And he would not tell Fred that he
had anything to do with forming the cloud under
which Bobby suffered.

The silence of his father and mother—the
uncertainty about them—*did* trouble Bobby
continually.  Yet he had a deep-seated hope that all
would come out right about them.  Barry Gray's
comforting words regarding the shipwreck had
fired his imagination.

The thought, however, that no matter how well
he stood in his classes, or how high his marks of
deportment were, he could not win the Medal of
Honor, disturbed the boy's mind.

Christmas week came.  Bobby and Fred had
intended to go home to Clinton for the short
holiday, but the very day the term closed a great
snowstorm set in.  It snowed so heavily the first
night that the railroads were blocked.  Dr. Raymond
would not let any of the boys leave the
school, save two or three who lived near and whose
people came for them in sleighs.

The good doctor telegraphed to the parents of
his boys instead, and great preparations were
made for a dinner and celebration at the school
which would make the boys forget their disappointment.

Presents could arrive by express, too, by New
Year's, and Dr. Raymond said that the actual
distribution of gifts at Rockledge would be advanced
one week.  New Year's should be celebrated like
Christmas.

The two and a half days' snow covered the lake
two feet deep on a level.  The ice had been more
than a foot thick when it began to snow.  In fact,
the Rockledge and Belden icemen had been getting
ready to cut, but would now have to put it over
until after New Year's, because of the scarcity of
labor.

There was no danger on the ice.  There was not
one airhole anywhere between the shore-fronts of
the two schools—a stretch of nearly four miles of
level, glistening snow.

The boys of the Rockledge Lower School had
had much fun, on half holidays, up the lake at the
island where the winter camp had been built; but
that was a long way to go over the snow.  Nobody
had ever tried snowshoeing and skiing, and the
authorities at the school rather frowned upon
these sports.  However, the field of snow between
the bluffs on which the rival schools were built
was a vast temptation for a hundred active boys.

There was a snowball skirmish between the
larger boys of the two schools the very first day
after the storm ceased.  Captain Gray and his
crowd had met a bunch of Beldenites ("Bedlamites,"
the Rockledge boys called their rivals) near
the first island—a little, rocky cone, now a snowy
mound, and with only a few trees upon it.

The fight had been fast and furious as long as
it lasted, but it was rather a good-natured one,
after all.  Finally Captain Gray and the captain
of the Belden School met for a few minutes'
conversation.  In that few minutes a challenge was
given and accepted.  Unless the teachers
interfered, it was arranged to have a general snow
battle between the schools.

Free from lessons, and with most of the
ordinary rules relaxed, Captain Gray could plan a
coup that the enemy would not possibly expect.
It had been agreed that the coming battle should
be fought near the island, which was about in the
middle of the lake between the two schools.

That night, after supper, Captain Gray picked
a dozen boys to help him—and not all big boys,
for Bobby and Fred were among them—and they
slipped out of the house.

"We'll get the bulge on those Bedlamites,"
chuckled the captain.  "Come on, now.  Run!"
and he set off in the lead.

He would not tell what was afoot, but every boy
was excited enough to follow and obey.

They crossed the campus and went down the
long flight of stairs to the boathouse.  The cold
was so intense, and the wind had blown so hard
while it was snowing, that they crunched along
right on top of the drifts, and the walking was
easy.

There was no moon, but the stars gave them
light enough.  Besides, it is never really dark
when the snow covers the ground.

The twelve boys speeded across the white
expanse.  Bobby and Fred were proud that they
had been chosen by the bigger fellows to take part
in this mysterious adventure.

Captain Gray insisted upon several snow-shovels
being brought along, and as soon as they
reached the island, he put them all to work.  The
idea was to fortify the islet and hold it against
the expected attack next day of the Belden School.

"This will be a surprise to them," declared
Gray, proudly.  "I saw right off that whichever
side could get this island and hold it, would have
an advantage.

"Building breastworks down on the pond is all
right, but from this height we can throw snowballs
right into any breastworks that those fellows
can build.

"A bunch of us will come out here to-morrow
morning with our breakfasts in our hands (I've
fixed it all up with Mary, the cook) and we'll hold
this island till the crowd on both sides gets here."

Two hours' work under the direction of Barry
turned the island (which was barely ten yards
long) into a veritable fort.  Within that time, the
twelve boys had built the fortress, partly of
bowlders that had been well placed by Nature,
and pieced out the rock buttresses with thick
walls of snow.

The party got back to school just before the
retiring bell rang, and escaped a scolding only
because the rules were relaxed for the holidays.
In the cold, chilly dawn, half a dozen of the boys
of Dormitory Two were awakened by the bigger
fellows.  Bobby and Fred were among them.

"Aw, crickey!" gaped Fred, burrowing in the
pillow.  "I don't want to get up now."

Bobby was out of bed in a moment.  "Come
along!  It's going to be fun, Fred," he said.

Fred was lazy.  He burrowed deeper.  In
about thirty seconds a large, juicy snowball,
scooped off the window sill by Max Bender, was
thrown into the back of Fred Martin's neck.

"Yee-ow!" yelled the startled Ginger, and rose
up to fight back.  The big boy ran, however,
chuckling, and all Fred could do was to dress,
grumblingly.

"All these big fellows are fresh," he confided
to Bobby.

"I wonder what *we'll* be when we are as big as
they are, and boss the school?" returned his more
thoughtful chum.

That feazed Fred a little.  By and by—as he
finished his dressing—he admitted:

"Well, Bobby, I'd never thought of that!"

The guard thus called to duty by Captain Gray
gathered, shivering, in the kitchen.  Good natured
Mary had risen an hour earlier than usual and
made a big can of coffee, and there were
sandwiches and doughnuts.

"Worth getting up early for, that's sure,"
announced Fred, becoming more content.  "Won't
Pee Wee be sore because he's not in this?"

They marched away with shovels and sleds.
Overnight the smaller boys had made a lot of
snowballs and they had been packed in boxes and
put on the sleds.  But before the early procession
started, Barry examined all the boxes, and finding
that somebody had made "soakers," he dumped
them out.

"Let me catch any of you boys icing the
ammunition, and I'll tend to you," he promised,
angrily.

"Aw, those Bedlamites busted Frankie Doane's
head open with a soaker last winter," complained
Sparrow Bangs.

"We won't be mean just because they've been,"
declared Captain Gray.  "You see that you're not
guilty, Sparrow."

"Gosh!" muttered Fred, in Sparrow's ear,
"don't that sound just like Bobby?"

"You bet!  They're a pair.  Guess Bobby's a
copy-cat.  He's following in Barry's 'feet-prints.'"

"Don't you say that!" flamed up Ginger, at
once.  "Bobby has *always* been like that.  He's
the fairest chap that ever was.  If anybody's the
copy-cat, it's old Captain Gray!"

Neither of the boys in question beard this, and
it was just as well perhaps that they didn't.

It was scarcely daylight when the party reached
the island.  They did not see a Belden boy
stirring on the farther bank of the lake.  After
setting the tasks to be done by these guards, Barry
went back to the school, leaving Max Bender in
charge of the fortress.

Max was rather a lazy fellow, and he always
let the smaller boys do his work—if they would
agree.  He was good natured enough about it.

He sat down in a sheltered place, and had Bobby
and Fred cut the under branches of the firs for
firewood, and they soon had a nice little fire going.

This might attract the attention of the enemy
to the fort, but Max did not care for that.

"You boys keep on making snowballs.  You'll
have to make them outside the fort—down on the
ice, there, and then you can draw them in on the
sleds.  Get busy now."

"What are *you* going to do?" demanded Ginger
Martin, rather perkily.

"Never you mind, youngster," returned Max.
"You never read of the officers in authority
getting on the firing line, do you?  I've got to stay
up here and keep watch, and plan the defense of
the island."

"Oh, crickey!" exclaimed Ginger, scornfully.
"You're a regular Napoleon—*not*!"

And it was a fact that, had the younger boys
holding the fort depended upon Bender's watchfulness,
the Beldenites would have been upon them
unannounced.

Naturally the boys making snowballs did so on
the side of the island facing Rockledge School.
The island hid from them the Belden side of the
lake.

But suddenly Bobby, who had dragged in a
heavy sled load of snowballs, and was packing
them securely in a pile behind an upper
fortification, chanced to stand up to stretch his limbs and
looked over the breastwork.

"Oh, look here!" he yelled.  "Here's the
Bedlamites right onto us!"

And it was true.  The captain of the rival
school had seen what the Rockledge boys were
about—or he had suspected it, seeing the smoke
of Max Bender's fire.

He had brought out his whole crew, and the
vanguard of Belden boys was now but a few yards
from the shore of the snow-covered and embattled
island.  They were making the attack in silence,
and hoped to take the garrison of the fort by surprise.





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.. _`GIVE AND TAKE`:

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   CHAPTER XXI


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   GIVE AND TAKE

.. vspace:: 2

Bobby was scared at first by his sudden
discovery.  Here the Belden boys were coming on
the rush, and there was only a handful of
Rockledge boys—ten in all—at the island, to stand the
unexpected charge.

Hi Letterblair, the captain of the Belden School,
was at the head of the charging column.  He and
eight of the biggest boys of Belden were very near
the island already.

Directly in the rear of the vanguard were a
dozen smaller boys with schoolbook bags over
their shoulders.  Bobby knew by the bulky
appearance of these receptacles, that they were full
of snowballs.

Some distance behind were the rest of the
Belden boys, dragging sleds heaped with
ammunition.  The entire force of the enemy was
approaching.

Bobby wheeled about, even before he cried out,
save for that first exclamation of surprise, to
look at the Rockledge shore.  There was not
another Rockledge boy in sight save those at the
island.

"What's the matter!" lazily demanded Max
Bender, warming his hands over the tiny blaze.

"Look!  Look!" repeated Bobby, turning to
point again.  "Here they come!"

"Here *who* come?" asked Bender, jumping up.

He shuffled up to the place where Bobby stood.
One look he gave and then vented his amazement
in a long whistle.

"My goodness!" he muttered.  "They've got
us beaten before we even begin."

"Aren't we going to fight?" demanded Bobby,
with energy.

"What! fight the whole bunch—just us few?"

"Of course.  We've got the island—"

"And a fat time we'd have trying to keep it,"
grunted Max.

"Why, you're a quitter!" exclaimed the smaller
boy, under his breath.  He whirled and waved his
hands to the boys below, busy making snowballs.
"Get up here, fellows—in a hurry!" he cried.
"Here come the Bedlamites."

"Scubbity-*yow*!" was Ginger Martin's
response, and the red head came on the run.  A
fight was meat and drink to Fred.

The other boys hurried up the slope, too.
Bobby yelled to them to bring in the sleds and all
the ammunition.

In making the fortress the evening before, and
in rolling "snow bombs" to fling down upon the
heads of the enemy should they get to close
quarters, the island itself had been for the most part
swept clean of snow.  The bulwarks of the
fortress were as tall as most of the boys defending it
at the present moment.

"We're going to get licked," muttered Max
Bender again.

Sparrow grinned at Ginger.  "I always
believed Bender was a softie," he whispered.
Ginger nodded, but he looked at Bobby.

"We've *got* to hold on here till Captain Gray
gets over with reinforcements," the boy from
Clinton was saying, eagerly.

"Sure we have!" agreed most of the ten, in
chorus.

"And the way to do it is not to let those Belden
fellows see how few in numbers we are," said
Bobby, thoughtfully.  "We have heaps of
ammunition.  We'll beat them off till Captain Gray
comes."

"We can't do it," declared Max Bender, with
conviction.

Fred turned on him with his face as well as his
hair aflame: "You're a healthy lieutenant, you
are!" he snarled.  "Why didn't Captain Gray
leave a baby in command?  Come on! you can
fling snowballs, can't you, like Bobby says?"

"Well—But these fellers will surround the
island and then they'll get us," croaked Max.

Sparrow laughed sneeringly.  It was Bobby
who replied.

"If you propose to run, you start now before
the fight begins," he said, gravely.  "Then they'll
think we're sending a messenger for reënforcements,
not that one of our side is a coward and
is running away."

"Hurrah!" yelled Sparrow.

"Scubbity-*yow*!" exclaimed Ginger.  "Now
he's got it."

Max Bender was actually pale.  He was scared
to fight and he was scared to run!  In truth his
position was pitiable.

But Bobby Blake gave the big fellow very little
attention.  The other boys just naturally looked
to Bobby to lead them.

"Don't show yourselves, fellows, if you can help
it.  Don't throw too quickly; we don't want to
waste ammunition.  Let's all line up along here
now, and one of us peek over and give the word
to fire—"

"I'll do that!" cried the excited Mouser Pryde.

"Yes you will!" sneered Fred.  "I'd like to
see you.  Bobby's bossing this."

"That's right!" exclaimed Sparrow, generously.
"If this big simpleton, Bender, won't take
the lead, let Bobby do it."

"Sure! let Bobby do it!" shouted the others.

Bobby, his eyes flashing, his cheeks red with
excitement, did not argue the point.  Of course
he wanted to lead—what boy would not?

Besides, he believed they could hold the
Beldenites off until reinforcements came.  Max Bender
stood beside him, packing a snowball tighter, and
said nothing.  Bobby jumped up and looked over
the high parapet.  It was almost two feet across
at the top, and lots thicker at the bottom.  The
inside was cut straight up and down, but outside
it sloped.

Bobby could stand upon a rock and see over the
top of the wall.  Hi Letterblair and his crowd was
now quite near.  When Bobby popped up Hi saw
the Rockledge boy.

"Hurrah!" yelled the Belden leader.  "Come
on, fellows!  Charge!"

"Let's fire at them, Bobby!" gasped Fred,
fairly dancing up and down in his eagerness.

"No.  They're too far away yet.  Hold your fire."

"Till we see the whites of their eyes—just like
Bunker Hill!" exclaimed Sparrow Bangs.

"They'll hammer the life out of us if they get
up here," grumbled Max.

Bobby turned on him suddenly.  Big as Bender
was, he was doing all he could to scare the rest of
the garrison.

"You be still!" commanded Bobby.  "If you
won't fight, run; but if you stay with us, you keep
your mouth shut and throw snowballs as hard as
you can!"

And actually, big as he was, the pale faced Max
did not reply!

Bobby whirled back to look over the parapet.
His eyes danced and he was so excited that he
could scarcely keep still.

"Now!" he cried.  "Up and at them!  Fire
three each, and then drop down.  And take
aim—*do* take aim!"

Most of the boys obeyed him.  The snowballs
flew in a shower upon the advancing enemy.
With the advantage of their position, the
Rockledge boys pelted the on-comers well.

Belden's leader brought up his whole force
before he attempted to reply to the fusillade.
Letterblair knew that they would have to get nearer
to pelt their missiles at the garrison with any
precision.

Behind the wall of snow and rock, Bobby said:

"Now, three more snowballs.  Get ready!"  Each
boy could hold two missiles in his left hand
while he threw the third.  The idea was to get in
the fusillade and then drop out of sight before the
enemy could return the compliment.

"All ready?" cried Bobby again.  "Come on,
now!  Let them have it!"

Up jumped the nine youngsters and saw that Hi
Letterblair and his crew was now very near the
island.

"Shoot!" yelled the captain of the Belden boys.

They were at a disadvantage, however.  They
had to throw up, while the Rockledge garrison
threw down.

The missiles from the island-fortress descended
upon the charging enemy with considerable force.
Before the Beldens could return the fire, Bobby
and his crowd dropped out of sight again.

The Beldens cheered.  Bobby popped up, saw
that they were still advancing, and gave the order
for another volley.

"At them again!" he shouted.

Fred was yelling his battle-cry like a crazy boy,
and Shiner and Sparrow were scarcely less
excited.  In the midst of one of Fred's vociferous
shouts, *slam* came a snowball right into his mouth!

"Oh! oh! that was a soaker!" cried Sparrow.

Fred was hopping mad.  He wanted to keep
on firing at the enemy when Bobby gave the
command to dip down for another supply of ammunition.

"Obey the captain!" bawled Howell Purdy.

"Get ready!" called Bobby, steadily.  "Don't
throw so wild.  They are getting too near for
comfort."

"They'll just give us *fits* when they get up
here," murmured the shaking Max.

"I never *did* see such a lump of uselessness,"
grumbled Mouser.  "Did you, Bobby?"

"Come on!" shouted the young leader of the
defenders.  "Give them as good as they
send—and take what they send us laughing."

The Rockledge boys popped up again.  Their
last volley had stopped the Belden boys.  Some
of the youngsters had run away with the ammunition.
Hi Letterblair had halted his party to make
new snowballs.

"Give it to them!" shouted Bobby, and down
upon the attacking party hurtled another
well-aimed volley.

They drove the besiegers back several yards,
but now Hi Letterblair saw that there was but a
small garrison on the island.  He saw only boys
from the Rockledge Lower School, and it was
evident that Captain Gray was not present.

He called a council of war, and soon the Belden
party began to spread out and quickly surrounded
the island.  Bobby and his crowd were completely
hemmed in.

"What did I tell you?" whined Max Bender.
"Now we *can't* get away at all."

"You had your chance to go," Bobby said,
with scorn.  "We can beat the whole crowd off—for
awhile, at least.  We have plenty of snowballs."

"But there's not much snow to make any
more," said Howell Purdy.

"We should worry!" exclaimed Sparrow.
"We'll throw them just as fast as we can, as
long as they last."

"No use in trying to throw so far," advised
Bobby.  "We have the advantage of them,
anyway.  They have to throw higher than we do."

Soon a shower of snowballs was flung at every
head which appeared above the ramparts.  Nor
could Bobby and his friends remain in hiding all
the time.  If they did so, the Beldens would soon
charge and rout them by the weight of superior
numbers.

It was only by returning the enemy's fire with
vigor and precision that the Rockledge boys held
the fort at all.  Hi Letterblair had ten or a dozen
big boys massed to make a charge; Bobby could
see that.

Therefore the young leader of the defending
party urged his followers to concentrate their
attack upon the captain of the Belden School.

"Keep them off! we've *got* to keep them off till
Captain Gray gets here," panted Bobby.

"Hurrah! here they come!" yelled one of the
smaller boys, suddenly.

Bobby shot a glance toward the Rockledge
shore.  Indeed, there they did come!  With
Captain Gray and the school flag at their head, the
bulk of the Rockledge boys were coming across
the snow-covered lake towards the island.

"Keep still! don't wake them up!" begged
Bobby, before anybody else could cheer.  "If the
Bedlamites don't know they're coming till they
get here—why, all the better."

The appearance of reënforcements put pluck
into Max Bender.  He began to hurl snowballs
with more precision and with more force.  He
became very active.  Hi Letterblair's crew of big
boys charged only half heartedly.

The boys behind the ramparts almost smothered
them before the attacking party got upon the
island.  They had chosen the easiest ascent, but
only one of the attackers reached the snow-wall.

Instantly half a dozen hands reached for this
plucky enemy, and it was Max who hauled him
over into the fort and sat on him.

"Hurrah! we've got a prisoner!" yelled Howell
Purdy, dancing up and down.

"What'll we do with him, Bobby?" demanded Fred.

"Huh!  *I* captured him," grumbled Max.  "I
guess I'll do what I please with him."

"While we're fooling with that fellow, the
others will get up here," declared Shiner.

"Come on! here they come!" shouted Bobby,
who was ever on the watch.

The second charge of Hi and his cohorts was
resultless to either party.  And then, almost
immediately, Captain Gray and the rest of the
Rockledge boys came upon the Beldens.

Hi Letterblair ordered his party to face about,
and brought up the smaller boys from the other
side of the island.  At once the garrison of the
fort leaped upon the ramparts and drove down a
withering fire upon the enemy.

Thus held between two fires, the Beldenites
were driven back around the island, and out of
shot from the fortress.  Captain Gray ordered his
army to spread out and hold them at bay.

They had dragged out from the shore thousands
of snowballs.  The Rockledge party had ammunition
enough to last for hours, both in the fort and
on the sleds.

Captain Gray hurried into the fort.  Max had
let the prisoner up and the boys were all dancing
about excitedly.

"You fellows did fine!" cried Barry Gray, his
eyes shining.  "Max! you're all right!  You held
them off in fine shape."

"They gave us a hard rub, Barry," said the big
fellow, coolly.  "And I yanked this chap inside
when they charged."

His statement was perfectly correct—as far as
it went; but for Max to accept praise for the
defense of the fort struck most of the smaller boys
dumb.  Not Fred Martin, however.

"Well I never!" gasped the red-haired boy.
"Will you listen to *that*?  Talk about the brass
cheek of him!"

"What's the matter with you, Ginger?"
demanded Max, scowling.

"Say! do you think you can get away with it?"
shouted Fred.  "*You* getting thanked for
holding this island?  Why, Barry," he cried, turning
on the captain, with blazing eyes, "that big
simpleton wanted to give up the fort and run away
when he saw the Bedlamites coming.  Yes he did!
I'll leave it to Sparrow and the rest of the boys."

Sparrow shouldered his way to the front.
"That's right, captain," he said.  "Max was
having a fit of shivers here, and wouldn't give orders.
Bobby fought us."

"Sure he did!" cried Shiner and Howell Purdy
together.  "It was Bobby who did it.  We'd have
been whipped, if it hadn't been for Bobby."

"Well, did I say he *didn't* do his share?"
snarled Max Bender, the wind all taken out of his
sails.  "I—I had a headache, anyway.  And I
*did* grab this fellow prisoner."

He looked around for the boy in question.  But
while they had been arguing, the Belden boy had
slipped out of the fort and made his escape.





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.. _`WHAT BOBBY SAID`:

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   CHAPTER XXII


.. class:: center medium

   WHAT BOBBY SAID

.. vspace:: 2

The battle between the Rockledge and the
Belden Schools continued furiously until noon.  The
former had the advantage because of their
entrenchments on the island, but Hi Letterblair was
not a bad general, and Barry and his helpers were
often put to it to hold the enemy in check.

At one time when the Rockledge troops made a
sally, four of them were captured and were held
prisoners for an hour.  Then they were rescued,
Bobby and Fred being of the rescuing party.

Altogether the snow-battle was carried on in
good temper, but there could not help being some
rough work, especially when it came to hand-to-hand
encounters.

Fred Martin and Ben Allen, one of the Lower
School boys on the other side of the lake, had a
short and vigorous fist fight in one scrimmage,
and the captains put them out of the battle and
sent them back to their respective schools in disgrace.

Noon came and an armistice was declared until
the next morning at nine o'clock.  It was agreed
that the battle should begin just as it left off—with
Rockledge holding the island against Belden.

The masters of both schools had begun to take
an interest in the snow fight and that afternoon
Dr. Raymond gave a pleasant talk to his boys in
the big study, on the science of battle formation
and military maneuvers.

The boys were interested.  Captain Gray tried
to put into execution in the next forenoon's
fighting some of the advice the Old Doctor had given
them.  But Hi Letterblair had been advised by
his instructors, too.

The teachers from both schools walked over to
the island to watch the fight.  It was a less
rough-and-tumble affair than that of the previous day's
battle, and in the end Rockledge lost the fort and
island to the enemy.

Time was called, and both sides retired to renew
the battle on the third morning.  Captain Gray
instructed his followers just what to do, and, at
the beginning of the third morning's attack,
Rockledge had recovered the fort, and captured half
the Belden School in less than an hour!

It was great fun, and the boys learned to keep
their tempers better as the fighting continued on
more scientific lines.  A storm came on and
spoiled the fun, however, for the rest of the week.

Captain Gray came to Bobby and said:
"You're all right!  I've been getting the facts
about that fight you put up at the island, holding
off the Belden crowd, and it was smart of you.

"I thought Max Bender had more gumption in
him.  But he's a big bluff.  Well! we won't talk
about him.  But I've told the Old Doctor what
you did—"

"I didn't do any more than the other fellows,"
said Bobby, rather sheepishly.  "They all put up
a good fight."

"Sure!  But they all say you did it—you kept
them at it, and told them what to do.  And Hi
Letterblair says he'd have taken the fort right
then, if it hadn't been for you.  Oh, you can't
escape the credit for it, old chap!"

Bobby knew that, although the boys might praise
him, and even the Old Doctor himself might be his
friend, there was one member of the faculty who
did not approve of him.  Mr. Leith seldom spoke
to him, save when it was necessary in class-room.

New Year's Day came, and the presents from
home were given out in the big hall after breakfast.
It was a time of great hilarity and fun; but Bobby
had hard work to keep back the tears when there
were put into his hands presents addressed in his
mother's and his father's writing—presents
prepared far back in the summer before they had
gone on that fatal voyage, and left in the care of
Mrs. Martin.

Michael Mulcahey and Meena had not forgotten
the boy, either.  Their little presents breathed of
love and friendship.  Meena had a tender place
in her heart for Bobby, after all.  Michael wrote
that she had refused to marry him on Christmas
day, for the seven hundred and fifteenth time!

It was hard work by this time for Bobby Blake
to believe that Gray's imaginary shipwreck was
the real truth.  Surely, if his parents were alive,
some word must come from them.

The owners of the steamship that had been lost
had never heard from any survivor.  The newspapers
had ceased to speak of the affair.  It had
become one of the many marine mysteries recorded
within the last few years.

"S'pose you shouldn't ever hear about them
till you grew up, Bobby?" suggested Fred, with
awe.  "They'd come home, and find you grown
up and living in the same house, and—"

"I wouldn't be living there," declared Bobby,
choking back that big lump that *would* rise in his
throat.

"Where'd you be?" demanded Fred, in wonder.

"When I'm big enough, I'll go off and look for
them."

"You will?  Way down to Brazil?"

"I'd search all over South America.  Maybe
some bad tribe of natives has them.  I'll find and
rescue them," said Bobby, nodding his head.

"Scubbity-*yow*!" cried the ever enthusiastic
Fred.  "That'll be great.  I'll go with you, and
we'll hide in the jungle, and catch a native and
make him show us the way to the village where the
captives are held.

"Crickey, Bobby! you'd make out you were a
magician, and you'd have a storage battery, and
things, and you'd show them blackies more magic
than they ever saw before, and they'll kill their
old medicine man and make you chief of the tribe.

"And then we can get into the temple where
your folks are held prisoners, and release them.
We'll all get out through the secret passage and
take enough gold and precious stones with us to
load a donkey, and come home as rich as mud!
Say! it's a great idea."

"Well! what do you think of *that*?" was
Bobby's comment.  "You must have been reading
some of Sparrow's story-papers."

"Huh! they're jolly good stories."

"Wait till the Old Doctor catches him at it,"
said Bobby.  "Those are just foolish stories.
Nothing ever really happens like it says in those
stories."

"Aw—well," said Fred, grinning, "it would be
great if they *did* happen, wouldn't it?"

Lessons began right after New Year again, and
it seemed harder than ever to buckle down to
them because of the fun that week between
Christmas and the first of the year.

"Wish it would be vacation all the time,"
grumbled Pee Wee, who had spent several days in
bed because of the way he had abused his stomach.

"Goodness, Pee Wee!" exclaimed Bobby.  "If
every day was a holiday, you'd be sick all the
time."

"No I wouldn't," returned the fat boy, who had
figured the thing all out.  "If we had holiday
dinners every day, I'd get used to them and wouldn't
get sick.  See?"

Although Bobby had concluded that he had no
chance at all for the Medal of Honor, he tried to
stand as well as he could in his classes, and never
again did Mr. Leith, or anybody else, catch him in
an infraction of the rules of the school.

Not that he refused to go in for any legitimate
fun, but he kept out of mischief, and did his best
to keep his chum and the other boys of the Lower
School out of trouble, too.

After that first snow-ball fight with Belden at
the island, Bobby Blake became quite an influence
among the smaller boys of Rockledge.  The story
of his taking charge of the defense of the island,
after the defection of Max Bender, was common
property, although Bobby himself would never
discuss the matter.

Off and on, there was both snow and ice for two
months following the great battle, but the boys
had only the two half holidays a week in which to
play on the frozen lake.

By and by the lake became unsafe, too, and,
after a time came the spring thaw, the ice went
out, and the boys could get into the boats again.

Every morning when he got up, Bobby ran to
the window first of all and sniffed the moist, sweet
air.  Spring was on the way.  And spring sets
the blood to coursing more swiftly in the veins of
every healthy boy.

For two months the boys of the Second Dormitory
had not seen their camp in the woods on the
larger island at the other end of Lake Monatook.
When it was whispered around that there was a
chance for a trip there the next Saturday, all were
agreed.

Bobby and Pee Wee were the committee to
"rustle up" the necessities for a feast at the camp.
No potatoes and corn this time of year; the school
commissary department had to be approached.

No boy in the school, save Barry Gray himself,
had more influence with Mary, the head cook, than
Bobby Blake.  Like the other servants about
Rockledge, the good woman knew all about the loss
of Bobby's parents at sea.  Besides that, he was
always polite and friendly, and never mischievously
tried to raid the pantry.

Pee Wee's influence lay in his inordinate love
for sweet cakes and the like, for which he was
always willing to spend his pocket-money.  Many
of the fat boy's dimes and quarters reached
Mary's palm for "bites" between meals.

It chanced to be a good day with Mary, and the
committee of two got the promise of a big hamper
of good things for the first picnic of the year.
Bobby had refused to be one of those who asked
for the privilege of going up the lake.  He knew
that the request would have to be made to
Mr. Carrin or Mr. Leith, and neither of them, he
feared, were favorably inclined to him.

The permission was granted, however, and the
crowd of nearly twenty boys raced down to the
boathouse immediately after they were released
from study at eleven o'clock on Saturday morning.

They had three boats, four boys at the oars in
each.  Some of the big fellows were going to get
out the shells and begin practicing for the June
regatta, but Bobby and his friends were eager to
see their old camp.

"If those Bedlamites haven't found it and
busted the camp all up," grumbled Pee Wee,
pulling at an oar.  "'Member how they pelted us
with hot potatoes that time?"

"I hope they'll keep on their own side of the
lake this spring," said Mouser.

"I expect they have as much right at the islands
as we have," ventured Bobby.  "Only it ought to
be 'first come, first served.'"

"We'll serve them out nicely, if they bother us
this spring," grunted Fred, who was likewise pulling.

"We'll beat them as we did in the snowball
fight," cried Shiner.

"If we can spell 'able,'" laughed Bobby.

"Aw, we'll spell it all right, won't we,
Ginger?" demanded Sparrow Bangs.

"Let me at them—that's all," boasted Fred.

When they got to the upper island, there was
nobody there.  They pulled their boats ashore
and went up into the wood.  There was the shack
they had built the previous fall, almost as good as
new.

Of course, the roof was rotting and wet, but it
was pretty dry inside and they patched up the
walls and roof in a little while.

Then they built a fire, made cocoa, opened a can
of condensed milk, and spread out the sandwiches
and pie that Mary had furnished.  In the midst
of the picnic, a chunk of sod popped right into the
tin cup out of which Pee Wee was drinking.

"Oh! who did that?" demanded the fat boy.

In a moment a big sod came slap into the fire,
and scattered the burning brands.  Then followed
a fusillade from the woods on two sides of the camp!

"The Bedlamites!  I see that Larry Cronk!"
yelled Howell Purdy.

The feast was spoiled.  The boys from the rival
school had pulled up a lot of soft, wet turf, and
they bombarded the boys from Rockledge nicely.

It was an uneven fight at first, for the picnickers
had been totally unprepared for such an attack.

Nobody wanted to run, however, and Bobby and
Sparrow stemmed the tide of defeat with pine-cones,
until their mates could cut clubs and come
to close quarters.

The Rockledge boys were driven out of their
camp.  With great hilarity, Larry Cronk and his
mates held the camp, and drove off their
antagonists every time they attacked.

"They're too many for us," growled Fred,
when the Rockledge crew finally retired.
"Why! there are four boatloads of them."

"I tell you," whispered Shiner, "let's get back
at them."

"Crickey! we've been back at them enough,"
complained Pee Wee.  "I'm beaten black and
blue.  And look at our clothes—all mud!  We'll
hear about this, when we get back to the school."

In fact, it was a sorrowful and angry group
that went down to the boats.  These were on one
side of the island, while those belonging to the
Belden boys were beached on the other side.

Shiner had whispered his bright idea to Bobby
and some of the others.  Bobby was a little slow
to accept it, but finally was convinced.  The
Beldens were watching them from the summit of the
rocks.

Only one of the Rockledge boats was pushed
into the water.  Bobby, Shiner, Sparrow and
Skeets Brody got in and took up the oars.  They
rowed away around the island.

Meanwhile the other boys collected a lot of
pebbles as though they proposed to attack the
Beldenites again.  This would have been foolish,
however, for the enemy had much the better position.

The two gangs were not above threats shouted
to each other and make-believe dashes from either
side.  With volleys of stones and sod they kept up
the interest in the fight for half an hour.

Then suddenly there came a shriek from some
boy left on the other side of the island as a
sentinel.  He came flying, yelling his distress.

"Into the boats, boys!" Fred Martin
commanded.  "Bobby's got them."

They pushed off the two remaining boats and
jumped in.  At that moment the absent Rockledge
boat appeared around the end of the island, and
strung behind it, in one, two, three, four order
were the boats belonging to the Belden boys.  The
latter were marooned.

"We've beaten them this time!" yelled Howell
Purdy, with delight.

"You bet!" agreed Pee Wee.  "We've been
more'n a year getting them fixed just right.
'Member, Ginger, I told you and Bobby how those
Bedlamites stole *all* our boats once?  How about
it now?"

There was great hilarity indeed.  The boys
from Rockledge manned the Belden boats and the
whole flotilla pulled toward the south shore.  At
this place the lake was quite five miles wide and
the island was in the middle.  So the pull was
quite arduous.

Besides, the wind had come up and there was a
threatening black cloud mounting the sky.  Soon
thunder began to mutter in the distance, and the
lightning tinged the lower edge of this cloud.

The first heavy thunder shower of the season
was approaching.

As they rowed to the mainland, the Rockledge
boys could see their enemies standing disconsolately
on the shore, and wistfully looking after
their boats.

"They'll get a nice soaking," declared Shiner.
"Oh! maybe I'm not glad!"

"So am I," said Fred.  "And we'll hide these
boats—eh?"

"Sure," agreed Sparrow Bangs.  "I know a
dandy place right down at the edge of Monckton's
farm.  They wouldn't find them in a week of
Sundays in the mouth of that creek."

The rain had begun to fall before the boys
reached the shore.  It was a lashing, dashing rain,
with plenty of thunder and the sharpest kind of
lightning.  Several of the Rockledge boys were
afraid of thunder and lightning, but they all took
shelter in an old tobacco barn—the farmers of the
Connecticut Valley raise a certain quality of
tobacco.

For an hour the storm continued.  Then the
thunder died away, and the rain ceased.  By that
time it was almost dark, and the boys stood a good
chance of being belated for supper.

They hid the stolen boats and went home in
their own.  As they rowed steadily down the edge
of the lake, they looked out across the darkening
water to the island, and did not see a spark of
light there.

"Maybe they haven't a match," said Bobby,
suddenly, after a little silence.

"I should hope not!" snapped Fred.

"Anyway, there's no dry wood after this rain,"
said his chum.

"Good!" repeated the red-haired one.

"They're going to have a mighty bad time,"
ruminated Bobby.  Fred only grunted, and Bobby
fell silent.

Just the same, there was a troublesome thought
in Bobby Blake's mind.  He had little to say after
they got to the school, and remained silent all
through supper.

The boys had changed their clothes.  The
clouds had blown away and it was a starlit evening.
They had their choice of playing outside for
a while, or going to the big study until retiring
hour.

"I say," said Shiner, going about quickly
among the Second Dormitory lads, "Bobby wants
us all in the gym.  Something doing."

Jimmy Ailshine was a good Mercury.  He got
most of the boys who had been to the island
together, in five minutes.

Bobby looked dreadfully serious; Fred was
scowling; Sparrow looked as though he did not
know whether to laugh, or not.

"Go on, Bobby!" advised Pee Wee, yawning.
"What's doing!"

"I'll tell you," shot in Bobby, without a
moment's hesitation.  "We've done an awfully
mean thing, and we've got to undo it."

"What's *that*?" demanded Howell Purdy, in
amazement.

"What we did to those Bedlamites," said
Bobby, firmly.  "We mustn't let them stay there
all night.  Some of us have got to take their boats
back so that they can get ashore."





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.. _`GOOD NEWS TRAVELS SLOWLY`:

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   CHAPTER XXIII


.. class:: center medium

   GOOD NEWS TRAVELS SLOWLY

.. vspace:: 2

The crowd of scatterbrained youngsters were
smitten speechless for the moment.  They stared
at Bobby Blake, and then looked at each other
curiously.  Pee Wee was the first to find his
voice.

"Aw, cheese it, Bobby!" he drawled.  "You're
kidding us."

"No.  We've done a mean thing.  We'll get
them into trouble over to their school—"

"Good enough!" cried Howell Purdy, in delight.

"And maybe we'll get into trouble because of
it, too," went on Bobby, seriously.  "But whether
we do, or we don't, we oughtn't to leave those
fellows over there on the island all night.  It's a
mean trick."

"Say! haven't they played many a mean trick
on us?" demanded Pee Wee, excitedly.

"That has nothing to do with it," said Bobby,
still seriously.  "It's cold and wet on that island.
Maybe they are all soaking wet from the
rain-storm.  Suppose they should get cold—all of
them—some of them—only *one* of them?"

This was rather a grave way to put it.  Bobby
was not much more thoughtful than other boys
of his age—and he not eleven; but the thing had
gripped him hard.

"I tell you," he said, quietly, "if none of you
will go back with me, I'll go alone."

"Shucks!" exclaimed Pee Wee, "you couldn't
row up there alone, Bobby Blake, let alone
tugging those four boats after you."

"Well! and he doesn't have to—see?" snapped
Fred Martin, dragging on his cap over his red
hair.  "I guess *two* of us can do something."  He
grinned rather sheepishly at Bobby.

"Three," said Sparrow Bangs, briefly.

"Me, too," said the Mouser.  "You can stay
home, if you want to, Pee Wee.  *I'm* going."

"Oh—very well!" groaned the fat boy.  "You
can count me in."

"And me!  And me!" cried several.

In the end there were two boats full of
volunteers who left the Rockledge boathouse, known
only to the man who had charge of it, and rowed
up to Monckton's farm.  There they dragged the
four Belden boats out of the mud, and towed them
across to the island.

It was pretty dark, for there was no moon.  The
marooned youngsters heard them coming and
began to shout, believing that it was a rescue party
from their own school.

Bobby and Fred stood up and yelled to them
to come down to the shore for their boats.  There
was a good deal of bandying talk, and the two
sets of boys said some sharp things to each other,
but they separated without a fight.

"They'll tell, of course, and the Old Doctor
will make an investigation," said Fred, as they
pulled for home.

"Sure!" groaned Shiner.

"But it won't be so bad for us as it would have
been if we'd left them there for their own folks
to find, and kept their boats hid," Pee Wee
observed, with more thoughtfulness than he usually
showed.

"And the Belden boys will be a deal more
comfortable, eh?" chuckled Bobby.

There *was* an investigation.  The Doctor
conducted it himself.  He went "back to the year
one," as Barry Gray said, and considered all
the causes of the rivalry between the two schools,
and what each had done to the other.

The hot potato fight was taken into consideration,
as well as the fact that the Belden schoolboys
had once stolen every boat the Rockledge
boys possessed, and hidden them for a week.

Then he rendered his decision: No party of
boys without a teacher was to go to any of the
islands.  None of the boys were to venture across
the lake to the Belden shore.

These decisions were repeated by the head of
the Belden School, and from that time on there
was less friction between the two institutions.

But, meanwhile, Dr. Raymond had heard all
about Bobby Blake's action in the matter of the
return of the boats to the marooned boys.  He
said nothing to Bobby about it, but he talked with
his assistants.

This, too, made Bobby more popular with his
mates.  It had been the right thing to do, and,
after all, boys respect a boy who is willing to do
the right thing, even if it may make him
unpopular for the time being.

The popularity that Bobby was winning at
Rockledge School, however, was of a lasting kind.
If Bobby said a thing, he meant it.  If he made a
promise, he stuck to it.  He was no shirk, and no
"goody-goody," and it began to be whispered
around (goodness only knows how the story
started) that Bobby might have a chance for the
Medal of Honor if it was not for "Old Leith."

"What's Leith got it in for him for?"
demanded the hot-headed Fred Martin.  "What's
Bobby ever done to him?"

"Something about Bobby's not giving away a
fight," said Pee Wee, who had got the news pretty
straight from a waitress, who had heard
Mr. Leith and Mr. Carrin talking about it.

"Aw, get out!" muttered Fred, rather abashed.
He suddenly remembered the fight he had started
with Sparrow.

"Never was a Lower School boy yet that won
the medal," said How Purdy.

"But we'd all pull for him—wouldn't we?"
demanded Mouser.  "I like Bob all right."

"I do, too," said Skeets Brody.  "He was the
only fellow that would stay in and play checkers
with me, when I had the sore throat."

"He's done a lot of things for me," admitted
Howell.  "I haven't forgotten them."

"Well!" sighed Pee Wee.  "I couldn't count
the times Bobby's given me his pudding at supper."

"I guess we all like him," Sparrow said.
"He's square as he can be.  Old Leith hasn't
anything against him, I don't believe.  It's just
his meanness."

"No," said Pee Wee.  "It's because Bobby
wouldn't tell on somebody.  I put it up to Bobby
myself, and he got mad and told me to mind my
eye," and the fat boy grinned.

"Well! it gets me," said Shiner.  "There
haven't been many fights this year that Bobby
could have been in.  And he's not quarrelsome."

Fred said nothing.  He was thinking hard, and
from the expression on his face, it was apparent
that his thoughts were not of a pleasant nature.

Bobby Blake certainly would have been
surprised, had he known how his mates were talking
about him.  He went on his usual course now-a-days
without much thought for the Medal of
Honor.

Only, he did his best.  For his absent mother's
and father's sake, he did his best.

Where were they?  The question was with him
always.  Deadened somewhat by time, the pain
of his loss smarted just the same.  He seldom
mentioned the mystery, even to Fred.  Nevertheless,
there was at least one time in every day
when he remembered it.

He was as earnest in his prayers at night for
his parents' safety as ever he had been.  He
believed that some time he should hear good news.

It is famous that bad news travels quickly,
while good news has leaden feet.  It was so in
this case.

The spring advanced.  Mr. and Mrs. Blake had
sailed from New York early in September, and
nine months had nearly gone since then.  The
discovery of burned wreckage from the ship on
which they had sailed was all the news that had
ever come back to the United States regarding
it.

There arrived in the port of Baltimore one day
a bluff-bowed, frowsy-looking old two-stick
schooner, with a tarnished figure-head under her
patched bowsprit, dirty sails, and a bottom
undoubtedly thick with barnacles.

She was the *Ethelina*, and she loafed into her
dock as though she had never hurried within
the knowledge of her owners.  One of her owners
stood upon her deck and gave orders—Captain
Adoniram Speed.

His crew was partly made up of South American
half-breeds, and the bulk of the crew of the
steamship on which the Blakes had sailed, so long
before, from New York.

The captain brought letters for various
people from a trading station far up a tributary of
the Amazon.  Had not a sharp reporter, nosing
about for news on the Baltimore docks, gotten
into conversation with Captain Speed, it is likely
that the newspapers would never have obtained
the full story of the loss of the steamship in question.

She had burned only a few hundred miles off
the mouth of the Amazon.  It was rough weather
at the time and two of the boats' crews and most
of the passengers had lost their lives before the
*Ethelina* came loafing along and had taken the
remainder of the survivors aboard.

The *Ethelina* was bound for an up-river
station.  She had no reason for touching at Para
or any other big city of Brazil.  She kept right
on her course, and her course chanced to be the
route to be followed by Mr. and Mrs. Blake, who
were among the few passengers rescued.

The old hooker sailed up the Amazon, and
several hundred miles up the tributary on which was
situated the town of Samratam, which was the
Blakes' goal.

The Blakes left letters for the captain of the
*Ethelina* to bring back to civilization.  Captain
Speed had not considered it necessary to hurry
these letters along.

He had waited to bring them himself, to mail
at Baltimore.  Good news surely had traveled
slowly in this case.  Almost at the time the old
schooner was being warped into her dock at
Baltimore, Mr. and Mrs. Blake, in good health,
expected to leave Samratam for the United States!

The letters came in good time to Clinton, and
to Rockledge School.  Dr. Raymond sat before his
great, flat-topped desk one warm May morning
staring at a letter written on thin notepaper, with
a packet of similar letters, wrapped in an
oiled-paper wrapper, before him on the desk.

Somehow his spectacles were clouded, and he
had to take them off and wipe them twice before
he could finish reading the business-like lines.

The second time he wiped the glasses and set
them astride his big nose, he saw a small figure
standing in the open doorway.

"Ha!  Robert!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, sir."

"I sent for you, Robert," said the master of
Rockledge School, in a very gruff voice—gruffer
than usual, in fact.

"Yes, sir?" returned Bobby, timidly.

In spite of everything, he could not help being
more than a little frightened of Dr. Raymond.
He was so big, and he was so gruff when he spoke,
and he had such searching eyes—usually—when
he looked at one.

But stop!  There was something entirely
different about Dr. Raymond's eyes on this occasion.
If Bobby Blake had not known that it was impossible,
he would have believed that there were tears
in the Doctor's eyes.

"Robert," the gentleman said, finally, seeming
to have some difficulty in getting his words out.
"Robert, did you ever hear the old saying that 'no
news is good news'?"

Bobby had no answer.  His lips opened.  He
really *thought* he said "Yes, sir."  But there was
such a roaring in his ears, and his heart suddenly
pounded so hard, that he could scarcely hear.

The furniture began to go around him in a sort
of stately dance—and the good doctor went with
the furniture!  It was very curious.  Bobby tried
to rub his eyes free of the water that welled up,
with his coat sleeves.

"Yes, Robert; 'no news is good news.'  We
haven't heard for months from those whom we
wished to hear from.  But always I have told you
to keep up heart—"

Bobby could stand no more.  He flung himself
forward, around the corner of the great desk.
He grabbed at the Doctor's coatsleeve before he
could swim away from him again.

"My mother! my father!  You've heard—?"

"They're all right, Robert! they're all right!"
exclaimed the Doctor—and did his voice break
strangely as he said it?  "There, there, my boy!
They're safe as can be and here's a whole packet
of letters for you from them.  Don't cry, my boy—"

But Bobby wasn't crying.  It seemed to him
that he never should cry again.

"Tell me!" he gasped, still clinging to the
Doctor's arm.  "Did—did she get her feet wet?  Or
is she all right?  She didn't get the—the
bron-skeeters, did she?  Father was always afraid of
that, if she got cold."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`RED HAIR STANDS FOR MORE THAN TEMPER`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXIV


.. class:: center medium

   RED HAIR STANDS FOR MORE THAN TEMPER

.. vspace:: 2

June had come.  The regatta on Monatook
Lake was but a few days away; Commencement
followed.  Even the boys of the Lower School
were working hard to make up lost lessons these days.

Captain Gray was to graduate, and with him
Max Bender and five of the other big boys.
There would be at least seven new scholars to
come to Rockledge the next September, for there
were never less than fifty boys at the school
and—as has been said—Dr. Raymond always had a
waiting list.

Mr. Leith devoted most of his time to the older
boys; but every fortnight, at least, he went over
the reports of the entire school.  He was a stiff
and stern master, but he considered himself just.
For that reason he called Bobby Blake to his
desk one day and said:

"Robert, I am sorry there is a serious fault
marked against you.  In recitations you have
done better than any boy in the Lower School
and better than most in the Upper.  But I do not
like a stubborn boy; we can none of us—we
teachers, I mean—excuse such a fault as that.  I hear
good reports of you in every direction, and your
name has been mentioned among the few who
stand a chance of winning the Medal of Honor.

"It is a most serious matter for a boy to
refuse to answer proper questions put to him by
those who have him in charge.  You must learn
this *now*.  To obey is your duty.  Do you realize
that?"

"Yes, sir," said Bobby in a low tone, and
swallowing hard.  "I understand, sir."

What he understood was that, if he had been
willing to tell on his chum, and Shiner, and
Sparrow, he might have won the medal.  *But he could
not do that*!

He had never thought of taking the matter up
with Dr. Raymond.  An older boy—Captain
Gray, for instance—might have gone to the
Doctor and stated his side of the case.  But Bobby
did not question for a moment the right of
Mr. Leith to put in that report against him.

It was pretty hard for the boy to bear.  He
wanted so much to write his parents that he had
won the distinction of the gold medal Dr. Raymond
had shown them on that first day of school.
The Lower School was solid for Bobby and
many of the older lads admired the pluck and
good humor of the boy from Clinton.  His
strongest partisans were Fred Martin and Sparrow
Bangs, who admired him so much because he was
so different from themselves, perhaps.

Pee Wee was Bobby's staunch champion, too.
The fat boy boldly declared his admiration for
the Clinton boy in any company.

"There isn't another boy like him," Pee Wee
said in gymnasium one day, when Bobby was
absent.  "Say! there's not one of you big fellows
but what he's done a favor for—and more than
once.  I say—"

"Come! you needn't froth at the mouth over
it," growled Max Bender.

"Huh! *you* haven't anything to say against
Bobby," declared Pee Wee.

"I know I haven't," returned Max, red to his
ears.  "I'd vote for him right now.  Barry can't
get the medal anyway.

"He doesn't stand well enough in Latin and
physics for one thing," pursued Max.  "He
knows it.  Barry's a good fellow, and the Old
Doc. is proud of him, I reckon; but he never was
a bone for work."

Pee Wee was inspired by this statement to
"root" all the harder for Bobby Blake.

"He can get it, I know!" the fat boy kept
saying.  "There isn't another boy in the school
stands as good a chance."

"But if Mr. Leith is bound not to vote for him,
what chance is there for Bobby?  Tell me that,
now?" demanded Fred Martin.

"What's Old Leith got against him?" asked
one of the other boys.

"Oh, it's that fight," said Pee Wee, with a side
glance at Fred.

"You've said that before," Skeets Brody observed.
"I don't know about any fight Bobby's
been in since he came here."

"Oh, *he* wasn't in it," returned Pee Wee.

Fred's face colored deeply.  He waited his
chance and got the fat boy aside.  "What's all
this about Bobby fighting?" he demanded.  "You
know something more than you're telling."

"*You* know," said the fat boy.

"No, I don't!"

"Yes, you do; and Sparrow knows, and Shiner
knows—"

"That old thing!" exclaimed Fred.  "Who
told you about it?  And it happened months ago."

"Old Leith doesn't forget easily.  You and
Sparrow had a scrap, didn't you?"

"Who told you so?"

"Never you mind.  I know you are as thick
as thieves now," grinned Pee Wee.  "But there
was a time when you and Sparrow were going
to knock each other's heads off.  Isn't that so?"

"Aw—it wasn't a fight," growled Fred.

"And Bobby was in it."

"What if he was?"

"Leith knows.  He caught Bobby somehow.
And Bobby wouldn't tell on the rest of you," said
Pee Wee.  "That's how he got in bad with Mr. Leith,
and it's what is going to keep him out of
winning that medal—yes, it is!"

"Wow!  I didn't know it was like that," gasped
the red-haired boy.  "Bobby ran back for my
cap.  I remember now.  I thought Leith only
punished him by keeping him shut in for three days."

"Huh! that's the *how* of it, is it?"

"He never said a word about it," declared
Fred, gulping.  "He's never peeped that Old
Leith was holding it up against him."

"I know," declared Pee Wee, nodding.  "He
tried to make Bobby tell on you fellows, and Bobby
wouldn't.  So that busted up his chance of
getting the medal."

"Why!" murmured Fred, "he's been working
just as hard for it all the time."

The fat boy seemed to have a little better
appreciation of Bobby's character than his own chum.
"Why!" he said.  "I reckon Bobby would do his
best anyway.  He's that kind of a fellow."

Fred went to the dressing room and slowly got
out of his gymnasium suit and stood under the
shower.  He was puzzled and disturbed.  It was
not his way to think very deeply.

But red hair stands for something besides a
quick temper.  Such hair usually belongs to a
warm heart.  Fred, if thoughtless, was as loyal
to his chum as Damon was to Pythias, and all
boys have read the story of those famous friends.

Fred had taken it for granted that Bobby's
punishment, on that long-past occasion, was
completed when he had remained indoors at
Mr. Leith's command.  Fred did not suppose it had
gone farther.

Bobby had never said a word.  Of course, he
*would not* have! that was Bobby's way.

It smote Fred Martin hard that if Bobby lost
his chance to win the medal, it would be partly
his fault.  And Bobby had tried to keep him out
of the fight with Sparrow, in the first place!

The fight had not done him, or Sparrow, or
Shiner, a bit of harm.  He and Sparrow had been
the best of friends ever since that day in the
"bloody corner"!  But poor Bobby—

"It's a mean shame," Fred muttered to himself.
"Old Leith's not fair.  What business has
he got holding that against Bobby!  He's
punishing Bobby for *our* sins.  It's a shame!"

Thinking about it, or talking about it, was not
going to help his chum in the least.  Fred had
been a little afraid that some of the reports that
had gone home to his father would call forth from
Mr. Martin sharp criticism.  He knew he did not
stand any too well in his own classes, and in deportment.

He had not been caught in any great fault.
However, if Mr. Leith knew that he had been
fighting that day in the corner, it would mean a
big, black smear on his report for the year.
That was just as sure as could be.

"And Dad said if I didn't show up good this
year, he'd take me into the store and make me
run errands, and send me back to public school,"
thought Master Fred.

"Gracious! that would leave Bobby here alone.
Not to come back to Rockledge next fall—"

The red-haired boy could not bear to think of
such a calamity.  It was certainly most awful to
contemplate.

He got into his clothing and wandered out of
the gymnasium.  Nobody chanced to speak to him
and he stood on the school steps for some minutes
turning a very hard problem over in his mind.

And then a thought, like a keen-bladed rapier,
stabbed Fred right in his most vulnerable
point—his conscience!

"What does it matter if Bobby *does* appear
cheerful?  *You're wrong*!

"Oh, crickey!" groaned the red-haired boy,
and he turned square around and climbed the
steps.  With dragging footsteps he made his way
to Mr. Leith's class-room, where he knew he
should find the master correcting examination
papers.

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Pee Wee, having gotten hold of one end of
the thread, unraveled the whole piece in short
order.  He soon had the truth out of Sparrow and
Shiner about the long-forgotten fight in "bloody
corner."

The fat boy was something more than a gossip,
however.  He, whose mind seemed usually interested
mainly in food, proved that he could think
of something else.

He wasted little time on the Lower School but
it was not long before every other boy at
Rockledge knew how Bobby had pluckily—and
silently—suffered for the wrong three other boys had
done.

Pee Wee knew that the threat of the loss of
the medal had hung over Bobby all the time.
He—and the other boys, too—knew that Bobby's
record was otherwise clean.

"Vote for Bobby Blake—he's all right!"
became the rallying cry all over the school, and
even Captain Gray took it up.

"You know, fellows," he said to his particular
chums, "I haven't a ghost of a show for the
medal.  I'd like to get it, but your votes wouldn't
win it for me.  And I declare! beside Bobby, I
don't think I deserve it."

The boys had a chance to express their
individual opinion about the winner of the medal by
secret ballot, several days before the actual vote
was taken.  In this way the teachers learned just
who was most popular with the boys at large.

A slip was given each boy in class, on which
was printed "First Choice," "Second Choice,"
"Third Choice."  Every fellow in the Lower
School wrote Bobby's name against each choice!

And when the teachers, Mr. Leith and Mr. Carrin,
came to count the votes from the other boys,
Bobby's name predominated by a good majority.
There were still some faithful to Barry Gray, and
one or two other boys were named for the medal;
but on every slip save two, Bobby's name appeared
as either first, second, or third choice.  Those two
particular slips did not have Barry Gray's name
on them, either, and the astute teachers recognized
the handwriting of Bill Bronson and Jack Jinks!

If, after this first ballot, there were names
voted for, whose owners could not possibly win
the medal, because of their standing with the
teachers, the fact was to be made known by the
Doctor.  The whole school waited, most anxiously,
for Dr. Raymond's decision in this case.

The regatta came in between.  That was the
great sporting event of the spring between the
two schools which faced each other on opposite
sides of Lake Monatook.

There were two-oared races, four-oared races,
and then the big race of the day—the trial of speed
between the eight-oared shells.  The Rockledge
boys thought Captain Gray and the others, in
their white jerseys with a crimson "R" on each
side, were "a pretty nifty crew," when they
entered their boat and pushed out to the starter's
place.

The Belden crew had rowed over from their
side of the lake.  The course was laid on the
Rockledge side and was two miles in length—a
mile straight away, then round the post and
return to the starting point.

The younger boys forgot all other things and
rooted for Gray and his crew with all the strength
of their lungs.  They were massed on a part of
the bluff where they could see the whole race,
and their friends and parents and the townspeople
were on hand in force to add to the excitement
of the occasion.

Clinton was too far away for Mr. and Mrs. Martin
to come to the closing exercises of the
school.  Mr. Martin could not leave his store
long enough for that, and there were too many
children at home for Fred's mother to leave for
over night.

The chums got warm letters from them, and
there were presents for both Fred and Bobby.
When the latter saw his mother's handwriting on
his package, and knew that she had thought of
this time so long ahead, and prepared for it, he
was more touched than he had been by the Christmas
presents that had reached him from the same
source.

Fred was rather woebegone these last few days.
"Wow! wait till Dad sees my report," he said,
hopelessly.  "He'll be sorry he sent me this watch
and chain."

Nevertheless, both lads wore their watches very
proudly.  They were just what they had longed
for, and although the timepieces were not very
valuable, they were good, practical instruments.

The boys held them now, as they watched the
racing shells, and came pretty close to knowing
by how many seconds the Rockledge crew beat the
Belden, when the shells raced down to the
starter's boat.

There was an extra supper that night.  Mary
baked an enormous cake, with candles on it, and
the date of the winning of the boat race traced
in pink frosting.  This was set down in the
middle of the upper table, and Captain Gray had the
honor of cutting it.  A good-sized piece was sent
around to each boy, and Gray was called on for a
speech.

The handsome, well-dressed lad was not afraid
to speak in public.  He was a bit forward but
goodhearted.  Yet perhaps the Doctor was just
as well suited that Barrymore Gray should not
be in line for the Medal of Honor.

There was a certain conceit about his
character which had always troubled the good doctor;
yet Barry had carried off the duties of his
captaincy with success.

Frank Durrock was appointed captain for the
coming year, and *he* was called on for a speech,
too, having rowed bow in the winning shell.
Frank was another sort of a boy.  He could only
nod his thanks and sit down in confusion.

The youngsters cheered Barry and laughed at
Frank; yet they all liked the latter pretty well, too.

The Doctor himself covered Frank Durrock's
confusion by making a little speech.  His last
words were: "And now, boys, to-morrow we
decide upon the winner of the Medal of Honor.  All
electioneering must cease to-night, you know.
Be prepared to-morrow to settle for yourselves
who is the most popular candidate.  You are dismissed."





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.. _`THE WINNER`:

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   CHAPTER XXV


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   THE WINNER

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Pee Wee was so full of tickle that he was not
sleepy!  His father and mother had been up for
the regatta, and were staying at the Rockledge
Hotel until the school closed for the year.

Mr. Wise was a rich man and he could afford
to do about anything that Pee Wee wanted him
to do.  There was something now on Pee Wee's
mind and, as Fred said, "he'd have to get it out
of his system or he couldn't go to sleep."

"Wait till the other boys are asleep," whispered
the fat boy.  "I'm going to keep pinching
Mouser so he'll keep awake.  You fellows pinch
each other."

The beds of Bobby and Fred, and Pee Wee and
Mouser Pryde, were side by side.  It rather
tickled Bobby and Fred to think they should keep
each other awake in the way the fat boy suggested;
but that he carried it out in Mouser's case was
very evident from the occasional grunts and
objections from the latter.

The chums from Clinton kept themselves awake
by asking each other riddles, and telling stories.
Fred had one "giggly" joke that went as
follows: "Say, Bobby, do you know they're going
to close the public library down town?"

"What for?" demanded his chum.

Just then Pee Wee's shrill whisper reached
them: "Cheese it!  Come here, fellows.  I have
something to tell you—honest!"

The dormitory was quite silent, save for the
four boys in the corner.  Fred slipped out of bed
and Bobby followed him.  Pee Wee and Mouser
were sitting up in their own beds.

"Now listen," whispered the fat boy.  "Just
as soon as school's out, my folks are going to Bass
Cove.  We go there every summer.  It's a dandy
place—you bet!"

"All right.  We've heard about that before,"
said Mouser, yawning.  "You might let a fellow
go to sleep and wait till morning to tell us your
chestnuts."

"I've a good mind not to tell *you* at all,"
grunted Pee Wee.

"Say! you're not telling any of us very fast,"
whispered Fred, giving the fat boy a poke.  "Get
busy! some of the others will wake up."

"I'll tell you," whispered Perry Wise, earnestly.
"I have the grandest father!  He says I
can have you three down to Bass Cove, if your
folks will let you come.  What do you know about
*that*?"

"Oh—fine!" gasped Fred, when he could get his
breath.

All three of the boys had heard about that
summer place.  Pee Wee was never weary of talking
about it.

"Sure he'll let us come?" demanded Mouser,
wide awake on the instant.

"That's what I said.  I've been asking him in
my letters.  And he saw you to-day—and mother,
too—and he said 'yes.'  He liked you all—'specially
Bobby—and he says you all can come."

"Say!" gasped Fred.  "That'll be great.
Won't it, Bobby?"

"I should say," admitted his chum.  "And I
was wondering what would become of me before
my folks got home again."

"We'll go clamming, and crabbing, and fishing,
and sailing—oh, crickey!" gasped Fred, with his
head under the bedclothes, "what won't we do?"

"It will be great," admitted Bobby, with a sigh
of longing.  "I just hope your folks will let us go."

This hope was realized, as my readers may
learn if they meet Bobby and Fred in the next
volume of this series, entitled: "Bobby Blake at
Bass Cove; Or, The Hunt for the Motor Boat *Gem*."

The four giggled, and whispered, and talked
the matter over for another hour before they could
close their eyes.  The outlook for the summer
vacation was first in their mind, too, when they
awoke in the morning.

But this was an important day at Rockledge
School.  Even the expected pleasures of a
summer at Bass Cove must be put temporarily in the
background.

In the afternoon the graduating exercises were
to be held—called at Rockledge "the commencement
exercises."  In the evening the boys entertained
socially all their friends and relatives who
could or would come to the school.

There was something else—something that
loomed almost as big to some of them as the
graduation of the seven head boys.

After breakfast the whole school filed up to the
big hall.  It was a serious occasion, and even
Fred Martin was not "cutting up" this morning,
and was one of those who most solemnly reached
their seats.

All the teachers were sitting on the platform
with Dr. Raymond.  The old captain of the school,
and the new captain, each stood at a door in the
back of the room to see that nobody slipped out,
and to collect ballots when the time came.

"Now, boys," said the good Doctor, rising
and smiling at the fifty.  "This is a serious
occasion yet it is a happy one, too.  It should be
happy for you all, because your teachers have
found among you at least one boy who is worthy
of the high honor of receiving the medal," and
he displayed the gold star as he had on that first
day, nine months before.

"It is happy for us on the platform," and he
made a little bow to the gentlemen with him,
"because you have found one among you whom so
many seem to admire.  And we know what you
admire him for.

"It is unhappily impossible for every boy voted
for to win the medal.  That is understood.  Not
alone must he be popular with you all, but he
must have stood high in every study and in his
deportment as well.  Several of those voted for
the other day in the informal balloting by the
school, cannot possibly receive the approval of
myself and the other masters.

"Master Gray, unfortunately, is not eligible;
neither is Masters Durrock, Converse, or Spelt.
There is no dishonor attached to the records of
these boys, but there are other reasons—reasons
connected with their standing in class—that make
it impossible for us teachers to agree on either
of these names.

"Now, boys, on the ballot now handed around,
you will have but one choice.  And it looks as
though your choice had already been indicated.
Let me assure you that, if that is so, your
teachers are, one and all, in favor of your choice."

There was a murmur of approval—almost a
cheer—when the doctor had done speaking.  Lots
of the boys turned to smile at Bobby.  He
suddenly found himself very red in the face.  Fred
looked delighted.  Pee Wee could scarcely keep
in his seat.

Barry Gray and Frank Durrock passed the
papers swiftly, and gathered them again in a few
minutes.  That the school was almost unanimous
could not be doubted.

Mr. Leith and Mr. Carrin counted the slips.
There was a bunch of them on one side of the
table and only a few on the other side.  The
doctor rose, smiling with satisfaction.

"My dear boys!" he said, ringingly.  "It is a
joy to me to find you so nearly unanimous.  And
you have chosen the boy of whom, above all others,
we approve.

"Robert Blake! stand up."

*Then* they cheered.  It was impossible to
silence the Lower School, at least, for fully three
minutes.  Bobby stood, blushing and trembling
during this "unseemly riot."

"Robert," said Dr. Raymond, quietly, at last,
"you have been a good boy here, and an
exceptionally faithful scholar.  I have watched your
course for the year with interest.  You have won
out under circumstances that were most trying.

"You boys have a code of morals of your own.
I know it.  'Thou Shalt Not Tell Tales' seems
greater to you than any other commandment.
And I confess I do not uphold the tale-bearer.

"If a boy does wrong, he should tell on himself.
*That* is being honorable.  Especially if he
knows that because of his wrong-doing any other
fellow is suffering.

"You all know that Robert bore a burden of
punishment for months which he did not really
deserve.  There is another among you, however—and
I'm proud of him!" and the doctor flashed
a single glance toward Fred Martin's red hair
and red face, "who came forward when he
understood, and did his all to remove the black mark
from Robert's record.

"It makes me happy to know that I have such
boys as these in Rockledge School.  I do not
believe there are fifty boys anywhere—in any
school—any finer than *my* boys," declared the Doctor,
with growing enthusiasm.

"And I have never presented the Medal of
Honor to any of my boys with greater pride than
I shall feel when I pin this star upon Robert
Blake's coat this afternoon."

The school cheered again.  Even Mr. Leith
smiled at the enthusiasm displayed by the
youngsters.  They formed in line, Barry and Frank
Durrock lifted Bobby to their shoulders, and the
procession marched down stairs and out, and
around the campus.

Bobby felt terribly disturbed.  It seemed to
him as though his ears would never stop burning.

They made too much of it.  He was delighted
that he could tell his mother and father of his
success, and show them the gold star.  But he
could not see just how he had won it, nor how
he had won the boys' enthusiastic approval.

There was another honor for him, too.  He was
selected as one of the new members of the school
secret order—The Sword and Star.  *That* went
with the winning of the medal without question.

"Wow!" sighed Pee Wee, "he can hit as hard
as any fellow in the Lower School, when he boxes.
And he's good fun, and is not afraid to get into
a game of fun, even if the teachers scowl on it
a little."

"Huh!  I guess not," grunted Fred.  "That's
right about Bobby.  He's not afraid of *any*\thing.
That is, he's not afraid to do anything that isn't
mean."

And that being a most just expression of his
character, we will say good-by for the present to
Bobby Blake and his friends.

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   THE END

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