Dave Porter in the South Seas: or, The Strange Cruise of the Stormy Petrel

CHAPTER IX
ABOUT ATHLETIC CONTESTS

"You stole those things, you!" gasped Dave. He could scarcely utter the words. He shrank back a step or two, and his face was filled with horror.

"Yes, I did it," came from Shadow Hamilton.

"But – but – oh, Shadow, you must be fooling! Surely, you didn't really go to work and – and – " Try his best, Dave could not finish.

"I stole the things; or, rather, I think I had better say I took them, although it amounts to the same thing. But I don't think I am quite as bad as you suppose."

"But, if you took them, why didn't you return them? You have had plenty of time."

"I would return them, only I don't know where the things are."

"You don't know? What do you mean?"

"I'll have to tell you my whole story, Dave. Will you listen until I have finished?"

"Certainly."

"Well, to start on, I am a great dreamer and, what is more, I occasionally walk in my sleep."

"Yes, you told me that before."

"One morning I got up, and I found my clothes all covered with dirt and cobwebs and my shoes very muddy. I couldn't explain this, and I thought some of the fellows had been putting up a job on me. But I didn't want to play the calf, so I said nothing.

"Some days after that I found my clothing in the same condition, and I likewise found that my hands were blistered, as if from some hard work. I couldn't understand it, but suddenly it flashed on me that I must have been sleep-walking. I was ashamed of myself, so I told nobody."

"Well, but this robbery – " began Dave.

"I am coming to that. When Doctor Clay spoke about his stamp collection, I remembered that I had dreamed of that collection one night. It seemed to me that I must run away with the collection and put it in a safe place. Then I remembered that I had dreamed of the stick-pins at another time, and had dreamed of going to the boathouse to put them in my locker there. That made me curious, and I went down to the locker, and there I found – what do you think? One of the stick-pins stuck in the wood."

"A new one?"

"Exactly. That made me hunt around thoroughly, and after a while I discovered this, under my rowing sweater."

As Shadow finished, he drew from his pocket a doubled-up sheet of paper. Dave unfolded it, and saw it was a large sheet of rare American postage stamps.

"Did you find any more than this?"

The other youth shook his head.

"Did you hunt all around the boathouse?"

"Yes, I hunted high and low, in the building and out. I have spent all my spare time hunting; that is why I have had such poor lessons lately."

"Don't you remember going out to row during the night, Shadow?"

At this question, Shadow Hamilton started.

"What do you know about that?" he demanded.

"Not much – only I know you were out."

"Do you know where I went to?"

"I do not."

"Well, neither do I. I dreamed about rowing, but I can't, for the life of me, remember where I went. I must have gone a good way, for I blistered my hands with the oars."

"And yet you can't remember?"

"Oh, I know it sounds like a fairy tale, and I know nobody will believe it, yet it is true, Dave, I'll give you my word on it."

"I believe you, Shadow. Your being out is what has made you so tired lately. Now you have told me a secret, I am going to tell you one. Ike Rasmer saw you out on the river at night, passing Robbin's Point. And there is something stranger to tell."

"What is that?"

"Are you dead certain you were asleep on the river?"

"I must have been. I remember nothing more than my dream."

"Do you know that you were followed?"

"By Rasmer?"

"No, by Gus Plum."

"Plum!" gasped Shadow Hamilton, and his face turned pale. "Are – are you certain of this?"

"That is what Ike Rasmer told me," and then Dave related all that the old boatman had said.

"That makes the mystery deeper," muttered Shadow. "It puts me in mind of a story I once – but I can't tell stories now!" He gave a sigh. "Oh, Dave, I am so wretched over this! I don't know what to do."

"I know what I'd do."

"What?"

"Go and tell Doctor Clay everything."

"I – I can't do it. He thought so much of that stamp collection – he'll surely send me home – and make my father pay for the collection, too."

"I don't think he'll send you home. About pay, that's another question. In one sense, you didn't really steal the stamps. A fellow isn't responsible for what he does in his sleep. I'd certainly go to him. If you wish, I'll go with you."

The two talked the matter over for half an hour, and, on Dave's continual urging, Shadow Hamilton at last consented to go to Doctor Clay and make a clean breast of the matter.

They found the master of Oak Hall in his private office, writing a letter. He greeted them pleasantly and told them to sit down until he had finished. Then he turned around to them inquiringly.

It was no easy matter for Shadow Hamilton to break the ice, and Dave had to help him do it. But, once the plunge was taken, the youth given to sleep-walking told him his story in all of its details, and turned over to the doctor the stick-pin and the sheet of stamps he had found.

During the recital, Doctor Clay's eyes scarcely once left the face of the boy who was making the confession. As he proceeded, Shadow Hamilton grew paler and paler, and his voice grew husky until he could scarcely speak.

"I know I am to blame, sir," he said, at last. "But I – I – oh, Doctor Clay, please forgive me!" he burst out.

"My boy, there is nothing to forgive," was the kindly answer, that took even Dave by surprise. "It would seem that you have been as much of a victim as I have been. I cannot blame you for doing these things in your sleep. I take it for granted that you have told me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

"I have, sir, I have!"

"Then there is nothing to do but to investigate this as far as we can. Of course, I realize that it would cut you to have everybody in the school know of your sleep-walking habit."

"Yes, sir. But I shouldn't care, if only you could get back the stamps and the pins."

"Is Rasmer sure he saw Plum following Hamilton on the river?" asked the doctor, turning to Dave.

"That is what he told Morr, Lawrence, and myself the day we stopped at his boathouse for a new oarlock."

"Then I must see him and have a talk with him," said the master of Oak Hall; and after a few words more the boys were dismissed.

On the following morning, Doctor Clay drove down to Ike Rasmer's place. The boatman was pleasant enough, but he remembered that Gus Plum was one of his customers, and when questioned closely, said he could not testify absolutely to the fact that it had been Plum who had followed Hamilton on the river.

"You see, my eyesight ain't of the best, doctor," said Rasmer, lamely. "I saw Hamilton full in the face, but the other feller had his face turned away from me. I ain't gittin' nobody into trouble, 'less I am sure of what I am doin' – that's nateral, ain't it?"

"Very," answered Doctor Clay, coldly, and returned to the academy in deep thought. He realized that Ike Rasmer was now on his guard, and would tell no more than was absolutely required of him.

The next movement of the worthy doctor was to call Gus Plum into his office. The bully was anxious, but had evidently nerved himself for the ordeal.

"No, sir, I have not been out on the river at night this season," said he, blandly, in reply to the doctor's question. "I have not dared to go out so late, for I take cold too easily." And he coughed slightly.

This was all Doctor Clay could get from Plum, and he dismissed the bully without mentioning Hamilton or the missing pins and stamps. Then the doctor called in Andrew Dale, and the two consulted together for the best part of an hour; but what the outcome of that discussion was the boys were not told. A day later, however, Shadow Hamilton was told to change his sleeping quarters to a small room next to that occupied by Andrew Dale.

"Hello! Shadow is going to get high-toned and have a sleeping-room all to himself!" cried Roger, and would have asked some questions, only Dave cut him short.

"There is a good reason, Roger," whispered the country boy. "But don't ask me to explain now. If you question Shadow, you'll only hurt his feelings." This "tip" spread, and none of the boys after that said a word before Hamilton about the change. But later all came to Dave and asked what it meant.

"I wish I could tell you, but I can't, fellows. Some day, perhaps, you'll know; until then, you'll have to forget it." And that is all Dave would say.

The boys were too busy to give the mystery much attention. A series of athletic contests had been arranged, and all of the students who were to take part had gone into training in the gymnasium, and on the cinder-track which was laid out in the field beyond the last-named building. The contests were to come off on the following Saturday, and, to make matters more interesting, Doctor Clay had put up several prizes of books and silver medals, to be presented to the winners.

Dave had entered for a hurdle race, and Roger, Phil, and Ben were in various other contests. Dave felt that he would stand a good chance at the hurdles, for on Caspar Potts' farm he had frequently practiced at leaping over the rail fences while on the run. He did not know surely who would be pitted against him until Ben Basswood brought him the news.

"Gus Plum, Fanning, and Saultz are in the hurdle race," said Ben. "Plum says he feels certain he will win."

"Plum," repeated the country boy. "I knew the others were in it, but I didn't think Gus would take part."

"He went in right after he heard that you had entered. He says he is going to beat you out of your boots. He wanted to bet with me, but I told him I didn't bet."

"Is Nat Poole in the race?"

"No, he is in the quarter-mile dash, against me and six others. He thinks he will win, too."

"I don't think he will, Ben. You can outrun him."

"Anyway, I am going to try," answered Ben Basswood.

CHAPTER X
HOW A RACE WAS WON

It was a bright, clear day in early summer when the athletic contests of Oak Hall came off. All the academy boys assembled for the affair, and with them were a number of folks from the town, and also some students from the Rockville Military Academy, a rival institution of learning, as my old readers already know.

The contests began with pole vaulting and putting the shot, and, much to the surprise of all, Chip Macklin won out over half a dozen boys slightly larger than himself. Luke Watson also won one of the contests, and the banjo player and Macklin were roundly applauded by their friends.

"Dave Porter coached Macklin," said one small boy to another. "I saw him doing it. I can tell you, Chip is picking up."

"Yes," was the answer. "And he doesn't seem to be afraid of that bully of a Plum any more, either."

After the shot-putting and vaulting came the quarter-mile dash, for which Ben had entered.

"Go in and win, Ben!" cried Dave, to his old chum. "I know you can do it if you'll only try."

"Nat Poole will win that race!" came roughly from Gus Plum, who stood near.

"Hi, catch the ball, Gus!" sang out Nat Poole, from across the field, and threw a ball in Ben's direction. Plum leaped for the sphere, bumped up against Ben, and both went down, with the bully on top.

"Plum, you did that on purpose!" cried Roger, who was close by. "Shame on you!"

"Shut up! I didn't do it on purpose!" howled the bully, arising. "Say that again and I'll knock you down!"

"You certainly did do it on purpose," said Phil, stepping up quickly. "You ought to be reported for it."

"Aw, dry up!" muttered Plum, and walked away.

When Ben arose he could scarcely get his breath. He was not hurt, but the wind had been knocked completely out of him.

"I – I don't know if I can ru-run or not!" he gasped. "He came – came down on me like a ton of bricks!"

"Wait, I'll speak to Mr. Dale about this," said Dave, and ran off. As a result of the interview the contest was delayed ten minutes – another taking its place – much to the disgust of Gus Plum and Nat Poole, both of whom had reckoned on putting Ben out of the contest.

At the start of the quarter-mile dash Nat Poole and two others forged ahead, but Ben was on his mettle, and, setting his teeth, soon began to close up the gap.

"Go it, Ben!" yelled Dave. "You can win, I know it!"

"Sail right past 'em!" came from the senator's son. "Hump yourself, old man!"

"Make 'em take the dust!" added Phil.

Ben hardly heard the words, for he was now running with all his strength. He passed first one boy and then another, and then came abreast of Nat Poole. So they moved on to within a dozen paces of the finish. Then Ben made a leap ahead, and so did one of the other contestants, and Ben came in the winner, with the other boy second, and Nat Poole third. A roar went right across the field.

"Ben Basswood wins!"

"Jake Tatmon is second!"

"Nat Poole came in only third, and he boasted he was going to win, sure!"

As soon as the race was over, Nat Poole sneaked out of sight, behind some friends. He was bitterly disappointed, and could scarcely keep from running away altogether.

"You didn't fix him at all," he whispered to Gus Plum, when he got the chance. "He was in prime condition."

"I did the best I could – you saw him go down, with me on top of him," retorted the bully. "Now, don't you forget what you promised," he added, sharply.

"Oh, I'll keep my word, don't fear," growled Nat Poole. "I hate Dave Porter too much to let him win!"

There were some standing and running jumps, in which Roger and Phil won second and third places, and then came the hurdle race, in which Dave was to participate. In the meantime Nat Poole had shed his track outfit and donned his regular clothes and a rather heavy pair of walking shoes.

"Please let me pass," said he to the crowd in which Dave was standing, and, without warning, brought one of his heavy shoes down smartly on Dave's light, canvas foot-covering.

"Ouch!" cried the country boy, and gave Poole a quick shove. "What do you mean by stepping on my foot in that fashion, Nat Poole?"

"Oh, excuse me," said the Crumville aristocrat, coolly. "Didn't know it was your foot, Porter, or I shouldn't have stepped on it for anything."

"You've just about lamed me!" gasped Dave. The pain was still intense.

"Dave, I believe this is a put-up job!" said Ben, quickly. "Plum agreed to lame me so that Poole could win, and now Poole is trying the same trick on you for Plum's benefit."

"No such thing!" roared Nat Poole, but his face grew fiery red. "It was a pure accident. I don't have to lame Porter. Plum will win, anyhow."

"It certainly looks suspicious," said Shadow Hamilton. "He hadn't any business to force his way through our crowd."

"Oh, don't you put in your oar, you old sleep-walker!" growled Nat Poole, and then hurried off and out of sight behind the gymnasium. At the parting shot Shadow became pale, but nobody seemed to notice the remark.

"Can you go ahead?" asked Phil, of Dave.

"I think so," was the answer. "But that was a mean thing to do. He came near crushing my little toe."

Fortunately, several of the hurdles had not been properly placed, and it took some little time to arrange them properly. During that interval Roger dressed the injured foot for his chum, which made it feel much better.

"Are you all ready?" was the question put to the contestants, as they lined up. Then came a pause, followed by the crack of a revolver, and they were off.

The encounter with Nat Poole had nerved Dave as he had seldom been nerved before. Ben had won, and he made up his mind to do the same, regardless of the fact that Gus Plum and one of the other boys in the race were bigger than himself. He took the first and second hurdles with ease, and then found himself in a bunch, with Plum on one side and a lad named Cashod on the other.

"Whoop her up, Cashod!" he yelled out. "Come on, and show the others what we can do!"

"Right you are, Porter!" was the answering cry.

"Not much!" puffed out Gus Plum. "I'm the winner here!"

"Rats!" answered Dave. "You'll come in fifth, Plum. You're winded already!" And then, with a mighty effort, he leaped to the front, with Cashod on his heels. "Poole didn't do your dirty work well enough," he flung back over his shoulder as he took his fourth hurdle.

The taunts angered Gus Plum, and this made him lose ground, until, almost before he knew it, the third pupil in the race dashed past him. Then he found himself neck-and-neck with the fifth contestant.

"Here they come!"

"Dave Porter is ahead, with Cashod second!"

"Collins has taken third place!"

"Plum and Higgins are tied for fourth place!"

"Not much! Higgins is ahead!"

"And there goes Sanderson ahead of Plum, too! Phew! Wonder if that is what Plum calls winning? He had better study his dictionary!"

With a mighty leap Dave cleared the last hurdle, and came in a winner. Then the others finished in the order named, excepting that Gus Plum was so disgusted that he refused to take the last hurdle, for which some of the boys hissed him, considering it unsportsmanlike, which it was.

"My shoe got loose," said the bully, lamely. "If it hadn't been for that, I should have won." But nobody believed him.

"Dave, the way you went ahead was simply great," cried Phil. "It was as fine a hurdle race as I ever saw."

"Yes, and he helped me, too," said Cashod. "I was thinking Plum would go ahead, until Porter laughed at him. It was all right," and Cashod bobbed his head to show how satisfied he was.

If Nat Poole had been disgusted Gus Plum was more so, and he lost no time in disappearing from public gaze. The two cronies met back of the gymnasium.

"You hurt Porter about as much as I hurt Basswood," Plum grumbled. "If you can't do better than that next time, you had better give up trying."

"Oh, 'the pot needn't call the kettle black,'" retorted Poole. "You made just as much of a mess of it as I did. We'll be the laughing stock of the Porter crowd now."

"If they laugh at me, I'll punch somebody's nose. As it is, I've got an account to settle with Porter, and I am going to settle it pretty quick, too."

"What do you mean?"

"He jeered me while we were in the race. He has got to take it back, or there is going to be trouble," muttered the bully, clenching his fists.

In his usual bragging way Gus Plum let several students know that he "had it in" for Dave, and this reached the country boy's ears the next day directly after school.

"I am not afraid of him," said Dave, coolly. "If he wants to find me, he knows where to look for me."

Shortly after this Dave and some of his chums took a walk down to the boathouse dock. There they ran into Plum, Poole, and several of their admirers.

"Here is Porter now!" said one boy, in a low voice. "Now is your chance, Gus."

"Yes, let us see you do what you said," came from another.

Plum had not expected an encounter so soon, but there seemed to be no way of backing out, so he advanced quickly upon Dave, and clenched his fists.

"You can fight, or apologize," he said, loudly.

"Apologize, to you?" queried Dave, coolly.

"Yes, to me, and at once," blustered the bully.

"I am not apologizing to you, Plum."

"Then you'll fight."

"If you hit me, I shall defend myself."

"Hit you? If I sail into you, you'll think a cyclone struck you. If you know where you are wise, you'll apologize."

"On the contrary, Plum, I want to let you and all here know what I think of you. You are a bully, a braggart – and a coward!"

Dave's eyes were flashing dangerously, and as he gazed steadily at Plum, the latter backed away a step.

"You – you dare to talk to me like that?"

"Why not? Nobody ought to be afraid to tell the truth."

"Oh, don't stand gassing!" burst out Nat Poole. "Give it to him, Gus – give it to him good and hard."

"I will!" cried the bully, and making a quick leap, he delivered a blow straight for Dave's face.

Had the blow landed as intended, the country boy would undoubtedly have sustained a black eye. But Dave ducked slightly, and the bully's fist shot past his ear. Then Dave drew off and hit Plum a stinging blow on the chin.

"A fight! A fight!" was the rallying cry from all sides, and in a twinkling a crowd assembled to see the impromptu contest.