CHAPTER XI.
THE HAZERS' WATERLOO.
It was the second day after Queen's opened for the fall term. Thestudents, separated for the summer months, had met like brothers andclasped hands. Everywhere were heard greetings.
"Glad to see you again, old pard. What were you doing all summer?"
That was the favorite form of address, and when a group met they alltalked together as fast as their tongues could rattle. The boys hadbeen scattered at mountain, seashore, lake and forest. Some had hadthe great trip across the ocean to foreign countries. Others had beenat their dull little homes on the farms, but they all had somethingto tell. Some of the faces were missing. A few boys had dropped out.Two had been drowned in a boating accident on one of the mountainlakes; but all of our old friends put in their appearance. Therewas Wee Willie Patterson, as diminutive as ever; Tommy Brown, longand skinny, but brown as a berry from tramping in the hills; DavidPowers, fresh from the big ocean liner; and last, but by no meansleast in this story, Chip Dixon and his own particular crowd.
These first days and nights were not prolific of deep study.Experiences had to be recounted and books were in the background. Ourfriends changed their headquarters to the more pretentious HoneywellHall, but fortune did not bring them all in one entry. Jimmy andLewis had rooms in the third entry on the second floor. Frank, Davidand the Codfish, were roommates the same as before. It would havebeen difficult indeed to have separated Frank and David, and under nocircumstances would the Codfish have allowed himself to be detachedfrom this company.
Bit by bit David got the whole story of the doings at Seawall duringthe summer. "I wish I had been with you instead of at the other sideof the world," he said. "I was lonesome a good deal of the time,thinking what a ripping time you fellows were having around the oldshore."
"And we were lonesome for you, too," said Frank. "We missed you. Itwould have been complete if you had been an officer in the Queen'sTransportation Company. But there's another year coming."
By degrees the boys slipped back into their school work habits.Seawall was forgotten for a time at least. All thought was centeredon the great fall sport of football, or at least all thought outsideof the classroom and study periods, and I'm afraid some of it eventhere. Our friends trod the paths of Queen's with a new sense ofownership. Were they not now in their second year and lords of theirparticular realm--Honeywell Hall? Last year they had been at schoolonly on suffrance of the second class boys--so it had appeared tothem--but the year had moved them along to a new and quite wonderfulsuperiority.
"Have you noticed," said the Codfish one night, "what a very smallfry this bunch is, that has so recently entered our sacred Halls ofLearning?" The speaker put the question to the full court that sat inFrank's room one night after supper.
"You mean the Freshmen, I suppose," said Jimmy.
"You're the rightest chap I know," said the flowery Codfish.
"Yes," said Frank, "they are a year younger than we uns, but Inoticed some pretty husky fellows there in the yard to-day."
"Most of them look as if they had just come from mamma's lap justthe same, and I think it's a sin for these Second year guys to behazing the dear little mites," said the Codfish, with a great show ofdisapprobation.
"Who's hazing them?" inquired Frank.
"Future tense, Webfoot, future tense," cried the Codfish. "I guessthey've escaped so far."
"Well, what's all your virtuous indignation about, old chappie?" saidJimmy.
"The stick is in pickle for them, for I overheard a littleconversation to-day that made me think as I think."
"You have long ears. Where did you hear it?" queried David.
"Coming around the corner of Warren Hall to-night I interrupted alittle conference. Some one said 'cheese it,' and then the bunchbegan to talk very loud about the prospects for the football team."
"Was that a suspicious circumstance?" asked Jimmy.
"Something in the cut of their jib, as Captain Silas might say, mademe think they were not so much interested in the football team atthat moment as they pretended to be. My instincts as a detective gotthe better of my natural modesty--ahem, ahem--and after walking alonga little ways, I sneaked back like the thug in the play and dodgedbehind that little jog in the wall."
"Go on, Sherlock."
"And what happened then?"
"Were they planning to kidnap Old Pop-Eye?"
These questions were fired at the Codfish in rapid succession.
"No, gentlemen of the Court of Inquiry," replied the Codfish,planting his gorgeously attired feet on the table end and leaningback against the window seat, "they were planning an attack on twopoor, little mamma boys who have our old rooms at No. 18."
"The brutes!"
"The scoundrels! The worse than kidnappers!" howled Jimmy, making agreat ado about it. "And what did you do--walk in and clean out thegang?"
"Do I look like a fellow who would get mixed up in the commonbruising business? Look at me and answer me that! No, I leave suchbrutal tactics to you, Turner and Armstrong, and to such roughfellows as David Powers and Lewis Carroll."
"Hear, hear!" cried the chorus. "Go on, and what happened then?"
"Well, I came up here and now tell my tale to unsympathetic ears. Ifyou had a spark of human kindness in you, one little chunk of themilk of humanity in you, you'd sally forth and save these childrenfrom the ruthless grasp of this marauding bunch of baby destroyers.But as you do not seem to be interested, I'll go and tip theseinnocent lambs off to the fact that they are going to be seared, andbid them dust out."
"Who were the gents you heard plotting, Sherlock?" inquired Frank.
"Oh, I couldn't make them all out," returned the Codfish, "but I'msure of Bronson and Whitlock and Colson. Two or three of the othershad their backs to me. It was too dark to recognize them, and theydidn't speak loud enough."
"Three chumps, if ever there were chumps," said Jimmy indignantly."They ought to be in better business. Wouldn't it be a joke to givethem some of their own medicine?"
"There speaks a hero, a real Carnegie medal hero!" cried the Codfish.
"I've an idea," said Frank.
"Hurrah, Frank has an idea!" shouted the Codfish. "Shut the door andbar the windows for fear it escapes," and he ran to close the doorand slam down the window. "Out with it, Master Drop Kicker. It can'tget away now."
"Sit down, you lunatic," said Frank, laughing at the antics of hisroommate. "My idea is just this," and they put their heads togetherand talked in such low whispers that it was impossible to hear justwhat plan was being laid. It is sufficient to know that about aquarter of an hour before the time that the Codfish had said thedate for the attempted hazing had been set, Jimmy and Frank stolequietly up the well-known stairway to No. 18 Warren Hall. Theremainder of the party stayed on the far side of the yard as a kindof re?nforcement in case of need.
The two new boys were in the study and were startled at the knockon the door. But they let our friends in, and stood with inquiringattitudes. Apparently they were ignorant of the hazing traditions ofQueen's.
"What's your name?" asked Frank, addressing himself to the larger ofthe two.
"Mine's Hopkins," said the boy addressed.
"And mine's Hewlett," said the other eagerly.
"And where do you both come from?"
"Milton."
"Glad to see you," said Frank, extending a hand first to one and thenthe other, while Jimmy followed suit. "And that's a reason why we aregoing to do as we are going to do, eh, Jimmy?" inquired Frank.
"You bet it is. Can't let Milton be thrown down."
"Did you boys ever hear of hazing?" said Frank.
"Oh, yes," said one of the boys, "but they don't do any such thingsas that at Queen's, do they?" and there was a note of alarm in hisvoice. "You are not hazers, are you?"
"Well, not if we can help it," said Jimmy. "But it happens that weare going to have a little party in your room to-night. We used tolive here ourselves once and we like to come ba
ck."
"Yes," said Frank, "we are to have some callers here in a few minutesand we want to give them a warm reception. If you don't mind, we'dlike to occupy your bedroom for about five minutes."
The occupants of No. 18 looked puzzled and dazed at the presumptionof the intruders, so Frank took them into his confidence, and in afew words told them what was about to take place. "Oh, oh," gaspedthe new boys, "thank you so much for telling us!"
"No trouble at all," laughed Jimmy; "it's a chance of a lifetime.I've been aching to use my muscles for the last three days."
"Now all you boys have to do is to get into that clothes closet andkeep still as mice. Don't even peep, or the cat's out of the bag."
The boys were only too glad to do as they were told and made for theclothes closet with alacrity. They were not the adventurous kindthat enjoy roughing it. A chance to escape a mauling was acceptedinstantaneously.
"Hurry up, Jimmy, it's nearly eight o'clock. The pirates will be herein a minute if they live up to schedule." He had hardly finishedspeaking when the Chapel clock boomed out the hour of eight.
Both boys dived for the inner room, stripped off their coats, pulleddown the blinds and, jumping into the little cot beds, pulled thecoverlets up to their chins. They lay there and shook with laughter.
"What if the gang should send up a dozen kidnappers and carry us bothout and duck us?" said Frank, in a whisper.
"'Tisn't likely they'll send more than two or three," was Jimmy'sanswer. "They would be afraid of attracting attention. They'll figurethat two's enough for these little candy kids. I don't think----"
What Jimmy didn't think will never be known to history, for he wasinterrupted by a ringing knock on the study door.
"There they are; cover up," whispered Frank. "Keep the coverlet up toyour chin or they'll recognize you."
"Not a chance of it in here, unless they have a light, and theywouldn't chance that unless they are masked."
The knock was repeated, and there still being no answer some onekicked the door. "Open up, Freshmen," said a gruff voice.
"That's Bronson, sure," said Jimmy.
"What's wanted?" shouted Frank, in a weak sort of voice. "We're inbed."
"Oh, you are, are you?" said another voice. "Well, we'll come in andsing you a lullaby, eh, boys?"
"There's a bunch of them," whispered Jimmy, "we're in for it."
"Let 'em come," whispered Frank, in answer. "We'll show 'em a thingor two."
The door of the study was pushed violently open now and footstepssounded outside the bedroom door.
"Where are you runts?" said the gruff voice, the one that had firstbeen heard. They could hear the owner of the voice bumping aroundamong the furniture. "You ought to have lights for the convenienceof your visitors. Oh, there you are in your downy little couches forthe night," said the voice again, and a hand grabbed the porti?resbetween the study and the bedroom and jammed them back.
"What do you want?" said Jimmy, in a plaintive voice, into which hetried to put as much fear as possible.
"Just want to see two cunning little things in their nighties. Haveyou said your prayers?" There was a laugh at this, and both boys ontheir backs in bed concluded that there were three of their enemies.
"Yes," said Frank, "we always do that. Please, sir, what do you want?"
"We want you, angel face," said the foremost of the trio, andstriding into the room he reached for the bed clothes.
Just what happened that leader of the hazing gang never quite knew.But as he reached out, something struck him hard right in thestomach. It was Jimmy's head. That individual had been curled up inbed waiting for what was about to happen, and as Bronson bent over,Jimmy uncoiled himself. With his head boring into Bronson's big body,he surged forward with all the force of his sturdy frame. Re?nforcedby Frank, who sprang instantly at Jimmy's attack, the two forcedBronson backward through the doorway and into the faces of the othertwo waiting there.
Into Bronson's companions they crashed and the whole crowd wentsmashing to the floor with Frank and Jimmy on top. Bronson fought andkicked and hit blindly in the dark, all the while making desperateefforts to reach the door; but Frank and Jimmy, whose eyes had becomeaccustomed to the dark while they lay waiting, could see fairly well,and directed their blows with telling effect. Jimmy landed a stingingthump on Bronson's nose, and when he took his hand away he feltsomething warm and sticky on his knuckles. It was blood.
Bronson, thrashing around on the floor with Frank and Jimmy on topof him, was begging for mercy. His two companions had gatheredthemselves up in the dark and beat a hasty retreat down the stairs,with only the thought of getting away with their lives. Frank, astraddle of the big bully's neck, and Jimmy on his stomach, pluggedhim right and left; and when they had punished him to their heart'scontent, and had him almost in tears, they grabbed him by the legs,dragged him to the door and into the entry and then, springing nimblyback into the room, slammed the door and locked it.
In spite of his hammering, Bronson picked himself up with astonishingalacrity and tore down the steps of Warren Hall as if the fiendhimself were after him, while Frank and Jimmy rolled around on thefloor in a paroxysm of laughter.
Pale and trembling, the two rightful occupants of No. 18 came fromthe closet and lit the gas. Their eyes met a scene of destruction.Scarcely anything was left standing in the corner of the room wherethe hurricane of fighting had taken place. But the destruction wasnothing in comparison with what they had been saved from, and theythanked their rescuers almost with tears in their eyes.
Frank and Jimmy slipped on their coats, helped Hopkins and Hewlett tostraighten up the furniture and departed.
"They will let you alone in the future, or I make a mistake," saidFrank, laughing as he went out. He had lost some skin from his nosein the scuffle, but otherwise he was none the worse.
"I'll bet Bronson will think you two are worse than a den ofwildcats!" said Jimmy, and his grin stretched from ear to ear.
Bronson and his companions did not learn of the trick that had beenplayed upon them till some time afterward, but when they did knowthey laid plans for vengeance of which you will hear later.
Frank Armstrong, Drop Kicker Page 11