Read the book: «The Rushton Boys at Rally Hall: or, Great Days in School and Out», page 5
CHAPTER XII
OFF FOR RALLY HALL
As Teddy had clearly foreseen, all that had happened before was as nothing, when Uncle Aaron learned that his cherished watch was gone, probably forever.
He stormed and raged and wondered aloud what he had done that he should be saddled with such a graceless nephew. It was in vain that Mr. Rushton offered to make good the money loss.
“It isn’t a matter of money,” he shouted. “I’ve had that watch so long that it had come to be to me like a living thing. I wouldn’t have taken a dozen watches in exchange for it. Big fool that I was ever to come to Oldtown.”
All the amateur detective methods of the village constable ended in nothing. And as day after day passed without news, it began to be accepted as a settled fact that the culprits would never be found.
One happy day, however, came to lighten the gloom of Uncle Aaron. And that was the day that the Rushton boys said good-by to Oldtown and started for Rally Hall.
“Thank fortune,” he said to himself, “they’re going at last! A little longer and I’d be bankrupt or crazy, or both.”
But if Uncle Aaron was delighted to have them go, nobody else shared that feeling, except Jed Muggs.
That worthy was in high glee, as he drove up to the Rushton home on that eventful morning, to take them and their trunks to the railroad station at Carlette.
Although he had made a pretty good thing, in a money way, out of the accident, charging Mr. Rushton a great deal more than would have made up the damage, he had by no means forgiven Teddy for the fright and the shock he had suffered on that occasion. The Fourth of July incident of the painted horses, of which he firmly–and rightly–believed Teddy to have been the author, also still “stuck in his crop.”
The old coach and horses swung up to the gate, and Fred and Teddy came out. They had had a private parting with their parents, and now the whole family, including Bunk, had come out on the veranda to see them off.
Mr. Rushton was grave and thoughtful. Mrs. Rushton was smiling bravely and trying to hide her tears. Uncle Aaron looked perfectly resigned. Old Martha was blubbering openly.
The trunks were strapped on and the boys jumped inside the coach. Jed climbed to the driver’s seat, chirruped to his horses and they were off amid a chorus of farewells.
Those left behind waved to them until they were out of sight. But in the last glimpse that the boys had of the old home, they saw that their mother was sobbing on her husband’s shoulder, while Martha’s apron was over her face.
They themselves were more deeply stirred than they cared to show, and for some time they were very quiet and thoughtful.
They chanced to be the only passengers that morning, and Jed, having no one else to talk to, turned his batteries on them.
“So you’re goin’ to leave us, be you?” he remarked, chewing meditatively on a straw.
“Yes,” answered Teddy, the light of battle coming into his eyes, “and we hate to tear ourselves away from you, Jed. You’ve always been such a good pal of ours.”
“It breaks us all up to leave you,” chimed in Fred, “and we wouldn’t do it if it weren’t absolutely necessary. I don’t know how you are going to get along without us.”
“A heap sight better than I ever got along with yer!” snapped out Jed. “I won’t be lyin’ awake nights now, wonderin’ what rascality you kids will be cookin’ up next.”
“And this is all the thanks we get for trying to make things pleasant for you all these years!” exclaimed Teddy, in mock despair.
“The more you do for some people, the less they think of you,” and Fred shook his head mournfully.
“I tell you young scalawags one thing, and that ain’t two,” Jed came back at them. “Ef it hadn’t be’n fer me, you two might be behind the bars this blessed minit.
“I ain’t never writ ter the gover’ment yit, about you interferin’ with the United States mail,” he went on magnanimously. “Yer pa and ma is nice folks an’ I don’t want ter make no trouble fer them. Perhaps I oughtn’t ter hush the matter up, me bein’, as yer might say, a officer of the gover’ment when I’m carryin’ the mails”–here his chest expanded–“an’ maybe the hull matter will come out yet and make a big scandal at Washington. Yer actually busted up gover’ment prope’ty. That padlock on the mail bag wuz bent so that I had ter git a new one – ”
“Yes,” interrupted Fred, “father said that he paid you a dollar for that.”
“I’ve seen those same padlocks on sale in the store for twenty-five cents,” added Teddy.
“That’s neither here nur there,” said Jed hastily. “The nub of the hull thing is that if it hadn’t been fer me, yer might be doin’ the lock step in Atlanta or Leavenworth, or some other of them gover’ment jails. How would yer like that, eh? And wearin’ stripes, an’ nuthin’ but mush and merlasses fer breakfast, an’ guards standin’ around with guns, an’ – ”
But what other dismal horrors might have been conjured up by Jed will never be known, as at that moment they came up alongside the railroad station at Carlette, and more pressing things demanded his attention.
“Great Scott, Teddy!” exclaimed Fred, as they jumped down, “the whole gang is here!”
Sure enough, it seemed as though all the juvenile population of Oldtown had turned out to give them a royal send-off.
They ran up to the boys with a shout.
“It’s bully of you fellows to walk all this distance to say good-by,” said Fred, and Teddy echoed him.
“We’d have come up to the house,” explained Bob Ellis, “but we knew you’d have a whole lot to say to your own folks, and we didn’t want to butt in.”
“We’re all dead sore at your leaving the town,” said Jim. “It won’t seem like the same old place with you fellows out of it.”
There was a general chorus of assent to this from the other boys.
“We hate to leave the old crowd, too,” said Fred. “But, of course, we’ll be back at holidays and vacation times. I only wish you fellows were going along with us.”
“That would be great,” agreed Jack. “But no such luck for us.”
“I don’t know how we’re going to fill your place on the football and baseball teams,” mourned Tom Barrett. “We’ll be dead easy for the other teams now.”
“Don’t you believe it!” said Fred heartily. “You’ll find fellows to take our places that will be better players than we ever dared to be.”
“Nix on that stuff!” said Jim. “You know well enough that you put it all over every other fellow in town.”
The locomotive whistled at the nearest crossing, and a moment later the train came into sight.
There was a perfect hubbub of farewells, and amid a chorus of good wishes that fairly warmed their hearts, the boys swung aboard. Even Jed thawed out enough to wave his hand at them in semi-friendly fashion.
“I’ll keep it dark,” he called after them, “that is unless the gover’ment gits after me, on account of – ”
But the rest was lost in the rattle of the train.
The Rushton boys were off at last.
CHAPTER XIII
ANDY SHANKS, BULLY
The train was a long one, consisting of seven cars, beside the smoker, but, as the homeward rush after summer vacations was in full swing, it was pretty well filled, and the boys found it hard to get two seats together.
It was only after they had gone through the first three coaches, that they saw their opportunity.
About the middle of the fourth car, a back had been turned so that two seats faced each other.
Only one passenger was occupying this space, a large overgrown boy, about sixteen years old. His face was heavy, and his loose mouth and protruding eyes gave him a most unpleasant expression. A traveling cap was pulled down part way over his eyes, and he looked up from under the peak of this with a cold, piggy stare, as the boys paused beside the seats.
Filling up the rest of the seat beside him was a raincoat and a tennis racket. On the seat facing him he had deposited a heavy suit case, that filled it from end to end.
Fred and Teddy stood beside him for a moment without speaking, taking it for granted that he would take his suit case from the seat and put it on the floor. He did nothing of the kind, however, and continued to gaze at them insolently.
The surprise that Fred felt at first was rapidly giving place to a different feeling, but he restrained himself, and asked, pleasantly enough:
“Beg pardon, but would you mind putting your suit case on the floor, so that we may have the seat?”
“Of course, I’d mind,” came the ungracious answer. “There are plenty of other seats in the train, if you’ll only look for them.”
A red flush began to creep up Fred’s neck, which to any one who knew him would have been a danger signal. But he put out a hand to restrain Teddy, and answered patiently:
“Perhaps there may be, though I haven’t been able to find them, but I just happen to want this one,” and he pointed to where the suit case was resting.
“Nothing doing!” sneered the other. “Guess again!”
Fred came of fighting stock. One of his ancestors had fought in the battle of Kings Mountain, and another had scoured the seas under Decatur in the War of 1812.
He had been taught to keep his temper under restraint and never to provoke a quarrel. But he had been trained also never to dodge trouble if it came his way in any case where his rights or his self-respect were involved.
Like a flash, he grasped the heavy suit case and put it on the floor, its owner giving a howl as it came down on his toes. At the same instant, Teddy swung the back of the seat so that it faced the other way, and the boys dropped into it.
The rage of the flabby-faced youth was fearful. He started to his feet, his eyes popping from his head in his excitement.
“You–you – ” he spluttered. “I’ll – ”
“Well,” replied Fred, turning and looking him straight in the face, “what’ll you do?”
Before the resolute glow in Fred’s eyes, the bully weakened.
“You’ll find out what I’ll do,” he mumbled. “I’ll–I’ll get you yet.”
“All right,” remarked Fred calmly. “You can start something whenever you like. I’ll be ready for you. No car seat hog can try any such game with me and get away with it.”
The fellow slumped back in his seat, mouthing and muttering. Nor was his defeat made less bitter by noting the smiles of approval with which the other passengers greeted the incident.
“Good work, son,” laughed a grizzled old farmer, sitting across the aisle. “That’s the way to take the wind out of his sails.”
“What you got to say about it?” growled Andy, glaring at him.
“Whatever I choose to,” was the answer, “and there’ll be plenty more to say if you give me any of your impudence.”
Andy subsided, but for the rest of the journey his little eyes glowered with rage as he kept them fixed on the boys in front.
“He’s a sweet specimen, isn’t he?” chuckled Teddy.
“I’d hate to have to live under the same roof with him,” answered Fred, little thinking that for the next nine months they would have to do just that thing.
“Starting off with a scrap the first thing!” laughed Ted. “Wonder what mother would say to that?”
“I think she’d say we did just right,” answered Fred, “and I’m dead sure that father would.”
Nothing further happened to mar the pleasure of their journey. The country through which the train was passing was entirely new to the boys, and, in the ever changing panorama that flew past the windows, they soon became so absorbed, that they almost forgot the existence of their unpleasant fellow-traveler.
“Green Haven the next stop!” sang out the brakeman.
“Here we are,” said Fred, as the boys began to gather up their traps. A little quiver of excitement ran through their veins. They were on the threshold of a new life. It was the most momentous step they had ever taken.
With a clangor of the bell and hissing of steam, the train slowed up at the station.
Green Haven was a smart, hustling little town, much larger than Oldtown. There was a row of stores stretching away from the station, quite a pretentious hotel, and the spires of three churches rose above the maples that bordered the village streets. There was the hotel bus drawn up beside the depot, and alongside this a much larger one, used by the students in going to and from Rally Hall, which was a little more than a mile from the town.
“Quite a crowd of people getting off here,” commented Fred, as he stepped into the aisle of the car.
“Yes,” answered Teddy. “Hello, the bully is gone!” he exclaimed, as he glanced at the seat back of him.
“Sure enough,” rejoined Fred. “There he goes, now,” and he indicated the rear door of the car, through which their ugly neighbor was just disappearing.
“I wonder if he lives in Green Haven,” said Teddy. “If he does, we may run across him once in a while.”
“Something pleasant to look forward to,” laughed Fred, as they stepped down to the station platform.
There was a large crowd of young fellows at the station, and there was a noisy interchange of greetings, as others stepped from the train. Everybody seemed to know everybody else, and the boys felt a little forlorn, as they looked over the gay throng and saw no face that they knew.
They were making their way toward the bus, when a tall, manly young fellow, who had been watching them, came to meet them. His keen grey eyes were kindly and humorous, and he wore a friendly smile that made the boys warm to him at once.
“I don’t know how good a guesser I am,” he laughed, as he held out a hand to each, “but I’ll bet you fellows are going to Rally Hall.”
“Guessed it right, the first time,” smiled Fred, as he and Teddy grasped the extended hands.
“Good,” was the answer. “Then we’re fellow sufferers, and we’d better get acquainted right away. Melvin Granger is my handle. What are the names you fellows go by?
“Brothers, eh?” he went on, when the boys had introduced themselves. “That’s dandy. It won’t be half as lonesome for you at the start as it would be if either of you came alone. Still, there’s a bunch of good fellows here, and it won’t be long before you’ll feel at home. I think you’ll like them, most of them, that is. Of course, there is, here and there, an exception – ”
He paused just here to nod carelessly to a passer-by.
“How are you, Shanks?” he said indifferently.
The boys followed the direction of his glance, and Teddy clutched Fred’s arm.
“Why!” he exclaimed, “that’s the fellow we had the scrap with on the train.”
“Scrap,” repeated Granger, laughing. “Well, I don’t wonder. Scrap is Andy’s middle name. He,” and his eyes twinkled, “he’s one of the ‘exceptions’ I just mentioned.”
CHAPTER XIV
“HARDTACK” RALLY
“Well,” commented Fred, as they made their way toward the bus which was filling up rapidly, “I’m glad that he’s the exception and not the rule. A very little of him will go a good way with me.”
“Yes, that’s a case where ‘enough is plenty,’” assented Granger.
The Rushton boys’ bags were slung into a wagon standing alongside the bus and their trunks followed. Then the lads took the only seats remaining in the bus, the door slammed to and they were on their way to Rally Hall. The students inside were in high spirits, and as the Rushton boys looked around at their companions they were ready to believe Melvin Granger’s statement that they were all around good fellows. Brown as berries from their summer outings, full of the zest of living, their bright eyes and boisterous laughter showed that they were kindred spirits to the newcomers.
“I don’t see our grouchy friend here with the rest,” Fred remarked, as he looked around.
“Not with the common herd,” grinned Melvin. “There he goes now,” as they heard the honk of a horn, and an automobile swept by, leaving a cloud of dust behind it.
In the driver’s seat, holding the wheel, was their acquaintance of the train, while slumped down beside him was a smaller youth, with little, shifting eyes and a retreating chin.
The fellows in the bus looked at each other understandingly.
“Andy and his valet,” one of them remarked.
“Yes,” replied Granger, to the unspoken question in the eyes of the brothers, “he’s got an auto of his own. Keeps it in a garage down in the village.”
“To tell the truth,” he went on, “that’s half the trouble with Shanks. He has more money than is good for him. His father’s a millionaire they say–got a big woolen mill somewhere down in Massachusetts. But if he knows how to make money, he doesn’t know how to bring up a boy. Andy’s the only son, and his father lets him have all the money he wants, and doesn’t ask him what he does with it. He’s always been allowed to have his own way, and it’s only natural that he should think he owns the earth. And that’s one of the reasons he wanted to have four seats to himself in the train this morning, even if some one else had to stand.”
“One of the reasons, you say. What are the others?” asked Fred.
“Well, I guess the others must be set down to Andy’s unfortunate disposition,” laughed Granger. “There are other fellows here who have rich fathers, but they’re good fellows just the same.”
“Was that really his valet who was in the auto with him?” asked Teddy.
“No,” replied Melvin, with a smile, “that’s only the name the fellows gave to Sid Wilton. He plays second fiddle to Shanks. He’s always at his beck and call, and ready to fetch and carry for him. He jumps through the hoop and rolls over and plays dead whenever Andy gives the word.
“But here we are now,” the other youth went on, as the bus turned from the road into a broad avenue, shaded by elms and maples. “Behold, gentlemen and fellow citizens,” he jested, “the far-famed institution of learning known as Rally Hall!”
The boys leaned out eagerly to see what would be their home for many months to come.
Before them rose a massive building, three stories in height, made of pressed brick and with white granite facings. A wing at right angles to the main building on each side, gave it the form of three sides of a square.
A wide flight of stone steps led to the main floor, which was devoted to class rooms and the offices of the institution. On the second floor were the dormitories, varying in size, and containing from eight to twelve beds each. The rooms of the principal and teachers occupied the greater part of the third floor, while a section in the left wing was set apart for the janitor and the other employees of the school.
Before the building stretched a large campus, covering several acres. Most of it was lawn, although it was interspersed with bits of woodland. On one side of it was a large frame building, used as a gymnasium, and immediately adjoining was the athletic field. This was very large and was kept in superb condition. There were a number of tennis courts, but the major part was reserved for baseball and football. A full-sized diamond was surrounded with smooth turf that shone like green velvet, though browning a little in places under the September sun. A half mile running track encircled the whole field.
Directly in front of the Hall, at the foot of the gently sloping campus, lay Lake Morora. It was about two miles in length by three-quarters of a mile wide and was dotted by several tiny islands. It was the most beautiful body of water the boys had ever beheld, and they fell in love with it at once.
“My! isn’t it a peach?” murmured Teddy.
“It sure does make a hit with me!” agreed Fred emphatically.
“It’s a dandy, all right,” was Granger’s comment, “and the fellows have no end of fun on it. But come along now,” he added. “You’ll have plenty of time later on to ask ‘what are the wild waves saying?’ But just at present, we’d better hunt up old Hardtack.”
“Hardtack?” asked Fred wonderingly.
“Sure!” grinned Granger, “the boss of this shebang.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Fred, a light breaking in upon him, “you mean Dr. Hardach Rally?”
“Dr. Hardach Rally,” said Melvin, with mock solemnity, “is the very man I mean.
“Naturally,” he went on, “I don’t call him ‘Hardtack’ to his face. It wouldn’t be exactly healthy to do it.”
“Hardtack,” chuckled Teddy. “Wouldn’t Uncle Aaron have a fit if he knew the fellows called him that?”
“The name fits pretty well, too, I guess,” laughed Fred. “From what we’ve heard, he must be a terror.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” rejoined Granger. “He isn’t exactly a cooing dove in disposition, and if a fellow tries any monkey business, he comes down on him like a thousand of brick. Still, he’s not such a bad kind after all. He’s pretty severe, and he won’t stand for a shirk or a crook. But if a fellow’s white and tries to do the square thing, he’ll get along and not find Hardtack too hard to digest.”
By this time they had mounted the steps, and Granger, who had taken an instant liking to the boys and had made himself their “guide, philosopher and friend,” led the way to the private office of the head of Rally Hall.
A gruff “come in” was the answer to his knock, and they entered the study.
It was a large square room with a polished hardwood floor. Behind the flat mahogany desk sat Dr. Hardach Rally.
He was lean and spare and above middle height. He wore a pair of horn spectacles through which peered a keen, uncompromising pair of eyes. He gave the impression of a stern man, but nevertheless a just one.
“Good afternoon, Granger,” he said stiffly, and his eyes rested inquiringly on the two boys.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Rally,” replied Granger. “These friends of mine are Fred and Teddy Rushton. I met them at the railroad station.”
Dr. Rally shook hands with the newcomers and asked them to be seated. Then Granger excused himself and with a whispered “see you later” hurried from the room.
