The Rushton Boys at Rally Hall: or, Great Days in School and Out

CHAPTER XV
LEARNING THE ROPES

The boys sat there, silently studying the new “master of their fate,” and wondering how they would get along with him. He, in turn, looked them over carefully. Then he leaned forward and took some papers from his desk.

“I was expecting you,” he said, glancing at two letters he held in his hand. “Your father wrote me that you would reach here to-day.

“I have also here a letter from your uncle, Mr. Aaron Rushton,” he went on. “He is a very close friend of mine, and I gather that it was through his suggestion that your father decided to send you here.”

Fred murmured an assent, while Teddy’s heart sank, as he tried to imagine what Uncle Aaron had said about him in the letter.

Dr. Rally sat up straight in his chair. It was significant that it was not an easy revolving chair, but as stiff and perpendicular as the doctor himself.

“The matter of your studies and assignment to classes,” Dr. Rally continued, “will be looked after by Professor Raymond, my chief assistant. I will send you to him in a moment. But first, I want to say one word.

“The discipline of the school is strict, and it must be obeyed. Sometimes”–here he glanced at Uncle Aaron’s letter and then let his gaze fall on Teddy, who squirmed inwardly–“a boy comes here who thinks that he is going to run the school. He never makes the same mistake a second time. That is all.”

He gave the boys directions how to find Professor Raymond, and they found themselves out in the hall, surprised at the briefness of the interview, but relieved that it was over.

“Say!” exclaimed Fred, “he didn’t have so much to say, after all.”

“He didn’t talk very much, if that is what you mean,” corrected Teddy, who was unusually thoughtful, for him, “but he said a good deal.”

“I wonder what Uncle Aaron told him in his letter,” mused Teddy. “I’ll bet he just skinned me alive.”

“Oh, well, don’t you care,” Fred consoled him. “Your cake is dough with Uncle Aaron, and I suppose it will always, unless he finds his watch and papers.”

“Do you suppose he ever will?” asked Teddy, for at least the hundredth time, and rather wistfully.

“We’ll keep on hoping so, anyway,” replied Fred. “But here’s the room the doctor told us to go to.”

They found Professor Raymond to be a young man, alert and vigorous and full of snap. He was very friendly and cordial, and the boys liked him from the start.

He examined the boys as to the point that they had reached in their studies, and carefully looked over the reports they had brought from their teachers in the Oldtown school. These proved exceedingly satisfactory. Fred’s work had been really brilliant, while Teddy, despite his love of mischief, had held a very creditable rank in his studies.

The professor assigned them to their classes and gave them all necessary directions as to the hours of study and times for recitations. Then he consulted a slip he took from his desk.

“I’m going to put you boys in Dormitory Number Three,” he said finally. “There are ten beds in there, and just two have been left vacant. I’ll give directions for your trunks and bags to be sent up there, and you can unpack and get your things arranged in the wardrobe and locker that stand at the heads of your beds. By the time you get rested and freshened up, it will be nearly time for supper.”

Dormitory Number Three, they found to be a very large and airy room in the front of the building on the second floor, and commanding a splendid view of the lake. There were ten single beds, with ample space between them, and at the head of each was a wardrobe and locker. At the foot was a washstand with all the necessary appliances.

The dormitory was intended for sleeping purposes only. On the floor below, there were special study rooms, where the boys were supposed to prepare their lessons for the next day’s recitations.

Fred and Teddy had just begun to wash, when Granger came through the door like a whirlwind.

“Well, by all that’s lucky!” he exclaimed. “So Raymond’s put you in here, has he? I was hoping he would. Now that’s what I call bully!”

“That’s what we call it, too, if this is your dormitory,” said Fred, who had seldom formed so strong a liking for any one on such short acquaintance.

“I’ve slept here for the last two years,” replied Melvin, “and I think it’s the best dormitory in the whole school. Look at the view from here.” His sweeping gesture took in the lake, rippling in the glow of the western sun.

“It’s a pippin, all right!” assented Fred.

“It sure is!” echoed Teddy.

“And we’ve got a ripping lot of fellows in here, too,” went on Melvin. “All of them are the real goods. There isn’t a snoop or a sneak in the bunch. All of them are old timers, except two fellows that came in two days ago. One of them is named Garwood, who comes from out West somewhere. The other is Lester Lee from somewhere down on the coast of Maine. I don’t know much about them yet, but I like them first-rate from what I’ve seen of them so far. I think we’re going to be a regular happy family, as soon as we get going, and I’m mighty glad you fellows are going to be in the crowd.”

Nobody was gladder than Fred and Teddy themselves. Although they had not confessed it, even to each other, they had felt a sort of dread of the first few days at school. They had not known but what it might take weeks before they could establish their footing and begin to feel at home. Yet here it was only a few hours, and this friendly, big-hearted boy had taken them right in, as cordially as though he had known them for years. If they were to suffer from loneliness or homesickness, it would not be Melvin Granger’s fault.

“Here come some of the fellows now,” he said, as a noisy group burst into the room and began to make use of wash basins and towels. “I won’t stop to introduce you now. The supper gong will ring in about five minutes, and they’ll be breaking their necks to get ready in time. When we get up here again after supper and study hours, I’ll trot them all out, and they can tell you the sad stories of their lives.”

As he had predicted, the splashing of water and brushing of hair were interrupted a few moments later by the clanging of the gong that told a hundred or more hungry boys that supper was ready. There was no need of a second summons, and with a last hasty touch to their incomplete toilets, they came trooping into the immense dining-room that covered an entire floor in one of the wings.

There were eight long tables, at the head of each of which was one of the teachers. Dr. Rally sat apart, in state, with his family, at a private table in one corner of the room. For this, all the boys inwardly thanked their stars. Not one of them would have cared to eat under the direct glare of the head of the school.

Fred and Teddy were glad to find that they had been assigned to the table over which Professor Raymond presided. Melvin, too, was at the same table, a little higher up.

The food was plentiful and well cooked, and although Fred and Teddy would not have minded having one or two of the dainties that old Martha was so adept in preparing, it was plain that her prophecy of their early death from starvation was not going to be fulfilled. They made a most satisfactory meal, marred only by the fact that Teddy’s piece of pie was devoured by some unknown neighbor while he was talking to Fred.

He was game, however, and not being able to swallow the pie, swallowed his resentment, making a mental vow to get even, if he should ever discover the culprit.

A half an hour for rest and recreation followed the supper. Then the bell rang for a study period of two hours. At the end of this time work was over for the day, and the boys sought their dormitories to do as they chose till bedtime. All lights were to be out by ten o’clock.

The boys came into Number Three with a clatter and a bang. When they were all there, Melvin lifted his hand to hush the racket.

“Hi, there, you fellows,” he shouted. “Keep still for a minute. I want to say something.”

The tumult subsided, as the boys came crowding around him.

“Gentlemen,” he said, with mock dignity–“I know I flatter you, but no matter–I want to introduce you to two new roommates, Fred and Teddy Rushton.”

CHAPTER XVI
A JOLLY CROWD

There was a general bow and smile on the part of all, as the boys acknowledged the introduction, and then Melvin became more personal:

“You have here before you,” he said to the Rushton boys, assuming the air and tone of a “barker” at a seaside show, “the most gorgeous collection of freaks ever gathered under one tent. Positively, gentlemen, an unparalleled aggregation of the most astonishing wonders of nature now in captivity, assembled by the management without regard to expense from all quarters of the civilized and uncivilized world. So remarkable, gentlemen, are these specimens of the animal world that they have even been taught to walk, talk and eat like human beings. Some have even gone so far as to say that they are human, although this opinion is not maintained by those who know them best.

“And what do I charge you, gentlemen, for gazing at this mammoth collection of monsters and missing links? Do I charge you a half a dollar? I do not. Do I even ask you for a quarter? I do not. Do I even set you back to the extent of a dime? I do not. Do I even extract from your vest pocket the humble jitney? No, gentlemen, a thousand times, no!

“This amazing show is free, gentlemen, absolutely free, free as the air, free as the sunshine, free as good advice, free as – ”

He ducked, just as a pillow flew past his head.

“Jo-Jo, the dog-faced boy, did that,” he explained; “whenever he hears me say ‘free’ he thinks it means that he’s to be free with me. But I don’t mind, because he never hits anything.”

There was a general laugh, and Granger abandoned his showman’s attitude.

“This is Billy Burton, the sweet singer of the Wabash,” he said, indicating a stocky youth with a shock of red hair. “We call him the Indiana Nightingale, because he’s so different. You ought to hear him sing ‘We Give the Baby Garlic, So that We Can Find Him in the Dark!’ The sentiment’s so strong, it brings tears to your eyes.”

“You’re pretty good at music yourself, Mel,” retorted Billy.

“I?” said Melvin in surprise. “Why I don’t know one note from another. I don’t think I could play a jewsharp or a hand-organ. What kind of music am I good at?”

“Chin music,” replied Billy.

Melvin was fairly caught, and the boys howled.

“You got me that time, Billy,” Melvin cried. “But, talking of music, here’s the real goods in that line,” and he laid his hand on the shoulder of an olive-skinned Italian boy, with delicate features and large dark eyes.

“This is Tony Dirocco,” he went on; “Tony’s a count or some other high muckamuck in his own country, and he’s studying here while his father is at Washington on some diplomatic business or other. But Tony doesn’t care half as much about books as he does about music. Say, when he gets hold of a violin he fairly makes it talk. Real high brow stuff, you know, operas and things like that, the kind that goes right up and down your spine and takes your heart out by the roots. Just wait until he gives us one of his concerts all by himself.”

Tony shook hands with a shy smile, and the boys made up their minds that they were going to like him immensely.

“Now for our Spanish athlete,” said Granger, “the man who ‘throws the bull.’ This is Slim Haley,” and he nodded toward a fat chubby fellow who must have weighed close to two hundred pounds. His broad face was wreathed with smiles, and his eyes twinkled with fun, as he came forward.

“This puny infant,” went on Melvin, “can tell the most wonderful stories you ever heard, and tell them with such an innocent air that sometimes you almost believe him. He’s got Baron Munchausen skinned a mile. He was telling me one to-day about a rabbit, and I sat watching him, expecting every minute to see him choke.”

“Oh, come off, Mel,” laughed “Slim.” “You see,” he said, turning to the boys, “the trouble with Mel is that he hasn’t imagination enough to understand anything he hasn’t seen himself. Now that story of the rabbit – ”

“Let’s hear it, and judge for ourselves,” suggested Fred.

“Why, it was like this,” said Slim. “It was out in the Western League, and they were having a close game of ball. It was in the ninth inning, with two men out and one run needed to win.

“The man at the bat, one of the best sluggers on the team, soaked the ball good and plenty on a line to centre field. It hit a rabbit, who was browsing near the centre field fence. Of course it scared him, and he came streaking in and reached second base just before the batter.

“Down the line went the rabbit toward third, with the batter legging it right after him. The rabbit touched third and then, frightened at the crowd in the bleachers just behind third, it turned around and scooted for the home plate. It crossed the plate with the batter right at its heels, just as the ball was thrown in. But although the batter touched the plate just before the ball got there, the umpire called him out.”

“I don’t see why,” interrupted Teddy.

“Of course there was a big kick about it,” said Slim smoothly, “but the decision went, just the same. The umpire said the rabbit paced the runner and made him run faster than he otherwise would, and so he got to the plate before the ball.”

There was a dead silence, while the boys watched Slim, as though they expected the fate of Ananias to overtake him.

Fred coughed significantly.

“You see,” said Slim mournfully, to Granger, “he doesn’t believe it either. You’ve poisoned his mind against me. You’ve taken away my reputation. Why, if you don’t believe it,” he went on, in pretended indignation, “I can take you out there and show you the very grounds where the thing happened! I can show you the very base that the rabbit touched! I can show you the bleachers where the crowd sat that frightened the rabbit! If the rabbit’s alive still, perhaps I can show you the rabbit! If – ”

“That’ll do,” said Melvin solemnly. “The court finds you guilty, and condemns you to twenty years of truth-telling.”

“That’s a cruel and unusual punishment,” put in Billy Burton, “and the Constitution forbids that kind.”

“I’m only making the punishment fit the crime,” answered Melvin. “I’m ashamed of you, Slim. Now you go way back and sit down, while I introduce the rest of these infants.”

The remaining “infants,” so disrespectfully alluded to, were duly made known to the boys in a similar jovial way. There was Ned Wayland, who was introduced as the heaviest batter on the baseball team, and Tom Eldridge, who had kicked the deciding goal in their last game of football with a rival school.

Finally, there were Lester Lee and Bill Garwood, of whom Melvin had less to say, because they had just come, and he knew them hardly better than he did the Rushton boys themselves.

But Fred and Teddy felt from the start that there was something in these newcomers that attracted them strongly.

Bill Garwood, they found, was a quiet, reserved youth, who gave one the impression of latent force. His eyes that looked straight into theirs were clear and frank, and there were the tiny wrinkles beneath them that come from looking off into far spaces. On the ranch at Snake River from which he came, he had lived far from neighbors, and he seemed a little shy and awkward amid the abounding life at the Hall. But, underneath his quiet exterior, one felt that he had sterling qualities and in case of trouble would be a good friend to have at one’s back.

Lester Lee impressed them with equal favor. He was tall and lean, and his face was as bronzed as a sailor’s. This did not surprise the boys when they learned that he had lived in the lighthouse at Bartanet Shoals on the coast of Maine. He was jolly and full of fun, and had a magnetic way with him that put him on cordial terms with the boys at once.

When at last they were undressing, seated on their adjoining beds, Fred turned to Teddy, who had just given a low chuckle.

“What’s the joke?” he asked.

“I was thinking that the joke was on Uncle Aaron,” replied Teddy.

“How’s that?”

“Why, he thought he was punishing us by having us sent here,” answered Teddy, “and I’ll just bet that we’re going to have the best time of our lives.”

“Provided we don’t have a run in with Andy Shanks,” suggested Fred, yawning.

“Yes,” said Teddy thoughtfully, “we’ve got to look out for that fellow.”

“I don’t think he knows we’re here yet,” continued Fred. “He didn’t seem to see us when he spoke to Granger this afternoon.”

“He’ll find it out soon enough,” remarked Teddy, “and when he does, look out for squalls.”

And the squalls were not long in coming.

CHAPTER XVII
TEDDY’S JOKE

Two weeks went by with amazing swiftness, and it looked as though Teddy’s prediction was going to be realized. Certainly, so far, they were having, in Fred’s words, “a whale of a time.”

All the newness and rawness had worn off, and they felt as fully at home at Rally Hall, as they might have felt in months, if they had started under less favorable conditions.

All the boys in their own dormitory had learned to like them thoroughly, and among the rest of the boys outside they were general favorites.

There were, to be sure, a few exceptions. And chief among these were the bully, Andy Shanks, and his toady, Sid Wilton, together with two or three others who hung about Shanks, because of his money and the “good times” he could give those who sought his favor.

Andy, in the crowd at the station, had not seen the boys get off the train and enter the bus. So that he was entirely taken aback, when, on the following day, he had come face to face with them on the campus.

He stepped back with an ugly sneer.

“So you’re here, are you?” he whipped out.

“No,” said Fred coolly, “I’m somewhere else.”

“None of your lip now!” snarled Shanks, thrusting out his jaw and putting his pasty face close to Fred’s. “I’m not used to taking back talk from any fellow in this school.”

“You’d better get used to it then right away,” was the retort, “because I give it to you straight that you’re going to get plenty of it, if you come fooling around me. And I give you the tip to steer clear of me, if you don’t want to get something besides talk.”

The bully was clearly at a loss to know what to do, when he found his bluff called in such a determined manner. He had been used to having things largely his own way. His money was accountable for this, in part, and then, too, he was much larger and stronger than most of the boys in the school.

He measured Fred with his eye from head to foot, and what he saw did not serve to increase his confidence. Fred was tall and muscular, and Andy saw again in his eyes the fighting look that had cowed him in the train.

Still it was hard for him to believe that, when the test came, this newcomer would not back down as most of the other boys had done. Besides, quite a crowd of the fellows had come up now, scenting a fight in prospect, and it would ruin his reputation among them if he retreated now before them all.

“I’ve a good mind to give you a thump in the jaw,” he growled.

“Don’t hesitate on my account,” said Fred politely.

The snicker that came from the crowd at this remark maddened Andy.

“I won’t,” he shouted, and made a move to strike.

Like a flash, Fred shed his coat.

“Come on then,” he cried, “and I’ll give you the licking that you’re aching for.”

There was a delighted stir among the other fellows, as they formed a ring around the two. Their sympathies were all with Fred, although few expected him to win against the bully of the school.

Only one voice was lifted for Shanks.

“Soak him, Andy,” piped up the shrill voice of Sid Wilton, his toady, whom most of the boys disliked even more than they did Andy, if that were possible.

But Andy, at that moment, was not showing any great eagerness to “soak” his antagonist. If Fred had flinched in the slightest degree, he would have been upon him. But as he looked into the flashing eyes that met his defiantly, the “yellow streak” that is in most bullies began to show in Andy. His pallid face grew whiter and a blue tinge showed about his lips.

With the eyes of all upon him, however, he saw no way of retreat, and began to take off his coat.

It was noticeable, though, that he did this with great deliberation.

Suddenly a look of relief came into his eyes as he saw an approaching figure.

“Here comes Professor Raymond,” he said, trying to put into his words a tone of disappointment. “We’ll have to put this off till some other time. Mighty lucky for you, too, or I’d have done you up good and proper,” he flung at Fred, all his courage returning when there was no longer any demand for it.

“Let’s go down to the gymnasium and have it out there,” suggested Fred. But Andy pretended not to hear. He slipped on his coat hurriedly, and, in company with Sid Wilton, strolled off in one direction, while most of the boys scattered in the other.

Professor Raymond sauntered up to a little group, composed of Fred, Teddy, Billy Burton and “Slim” Haley.

His keen eye took in the flushed face of Fred and the air of suppressed excitement among the others. He guessed pretty well what had been about to happen, and, knowing Andy for what he was, he had little doubt as to who had provoked the row. In his secret heart he would not have been at all sorry to have that young cub get the whipping he richly deserved.

Still, of course, he could not tolerate any breach of the rules of the school, which strictly forbade fighting.

He paused and looked keenly from one to the other.

“Any trouble, boys?” he asked.

“No, sir,” answered Fred respectfully, “that is, not yet.”

“Nor at any other time, I hope,” said his teacher. “Remember, boys, no fighting.”

But he did not pursue the matter further, and, after chatting a moment, went on, with a little smile upon his lips. In his own college days he had been the lightweight champion of his class. There was good red blood in Professor Raymond.

“That ‘not yet’ was a good one,” grinned Billy Burton. “I see a whole lot of trouble coming in the near future.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” answered Fred, who was firmly convinced in his own mind that Andy would still force him to give him the thrashing that he needed.

“And I guess that most of the trouble will be for Andy,” said Slim. “Did you notice how he tried to crawfish just now? And how glad he was to see the prof coming? It was a life-saver for Andy.”

“Yes,” laughed Billy, “he reminded me of two fellows that got into a fight. Half a dozen men rushed in, crying, ‘hold them, stop them.’ The fellow who had been getting the worst of it hollered out: ‘That’s right, boys, five of you hold him. One’ll be enough to hold me.’”

“It sure wouldn’t have needed many to hold Andy back,” chuckled Slim.

As the days passed on, however, the affair simmered down and perhaps would have died a natural death, if a bit of mischief on Teddy’s part had not revived it.

Andy, one day, brought out on the campus a placard, on which was written “Kick me.” A bent pin at the top enabled him to fasten it to the coat of some unsuspecting boy. Then Andy would give him a vigorous kick, and when the victim protested, would show him the invitation.

Under ordinary conditions it would only have been a harmless joke, and would have been taken in good part. But Andy’s vicious nature and love for causing pain made him kick so hard and cruelly that his victims felt rage and resentment. But as he carefully chose only the smaller boys, they did not dare to retaliate.

But after a while they were all on their guard, and the brave Andy, seeing no more worlds to conquer, laid the placard on a bench and forgot it.

Teddy caught sight of it, and the impulse seized him to give the bully a taste of his own medicine. He slipped up behind him and fastened the card to his coat amid the awestruck silence of those who saw him.

Bill Garwood, who had seen with indignation what Andy had been doing, promptly accepted the invitation. He swung his foot and it landed fair on Shanks, who turned with a roar of rage.

“What did you do that for?” he howled.

“Because you asked me to,” said Bill, deftly unhooking the placard and showing it to him.

“Ted Rushton put that on you,” shrilled Sid Wilton, who came hurrying up. “I saw him do it.”

Bill was husky, while Teddy was smaller, and Shanks, true to his nature, reached for what seemed to him the easier game. Teddy stoutly stood his ground, but before the bully could reach him, Bill Garwood’s hand was on his collar, his knuckles boring deep into his neck.

“No, you don’t,” he said, as he yanked him back. “What kind of a sport are you, anyway? You’ve been kicking these fellows twice as hard as I kicked you, but the minute you get a taste of it, you go off the handle. And anyway, if you want to do any fighting why don’t you pick out a fellow of your size? I’m about your size. Do you get me?”

There was no doubt of his meaning, and his perfect readiness to stand by his meaning was so evident, that Andy concluded discretion to be the better part of valor. He turned away sourly, shooting a look at Teddy, which, if looks could kill, would have left him dead upon the spot.

For both Fred and Teddy a storm was brewing.