“Mumps will win beyond a doubt!” was the cry, as the lad from the Hudson River forged still further ahead.
“My skate is loose!” cried Larry, and a second later the skate came off and flew fifty feet away.
By this time Dick and Fred were coming up, slowly but surely. It seemed to be nip-and-tuck between them, and the friends of each cheered wildly.
“Go it, Dick; you can come in second anyway!”
“Make him follow you, Fred! You can do it if you try!”
On and on went the racers, Mumps still ten feet ahead, Fred and Dick side by side, and the others in a bunch just back of them.
But the strain was now beginning to tell upon Mumps, who had pushed himself too much from the start. Halfway to the finish from the turning point Dick and Fred began to crawl up, until they were less than a yard behind him, one at either hand.
“Go it, Mumps! They are catching you!”
Mumps did try to increase his speed, but his wind was gone and he could hardly strike out. The finish was now in sight, and the boys began to shout on every side:
“Go it, every one of you!”
“Hurrah! Mumps, Dick, and Fred are a tie!”
It was true the three boys were side by side. But presently both Dick and Fred made extra efforts and forged ahead.
“It’s your race, Fred!”
“It’s yours, Dick!”
But it was neither’s race—for with a shout both whizzed over the line at the same instant.
“A tie!”
“And Mumps ain’t in it!”
“Three cheers for Dick and Fred!” shouted Frank Harrington, and the cheers were given with a will. By this time the play hour was over, and all of the skaters rushed back to the Hall, to get ready for the drill previous to supper. It is needless to add that each lad brought an extra big appetite with him.
All of the Royer boys noticed that Dan Baxter did not turn up at roll call, nor did the bully put in an appearance that night. “Got a day off,” said Mumps, but that was all he could tell.
Late on the following day Tom was walking toward the gymnasium when he caught sight of Baxter just entering the school grounds. He at once ran toward the bully.
“Baxter, I want to have a talk with you,” he said sharply, as he looked the bully squarely in the face.
“Do you?” was the uneasy answer. “All right, fire ahead.”
“Hadn’t you better come up to the dormitory? We can have it all to ourselves, for the others are either in the gymnasium or on the lake.”
“Well, I was going up to our dormitory anyway,” answered Baxter, and stalked off, leaving Tom to follow him. Once they were in the dormitory occupied by the bully and his set, Baxter locked the door.
“Now out with what you have got to say, and be quick about it,” he growled.
“I want to know who that man was, you met in the tavern in Cedarville.”
“Didn’t meet any man in particular. Met half a dozen in general.”
“You know the man I mean—the tall fellow, with a scar on his chin.”
“Oh, that fellow? I think his name is Nolly. He’s a book agent, and I promised to buy some histories from him,” and Baxter pretended to yawn, as if he was not especially interested.
“You are not telling the truth, Baxter,” answered Tom, undaunted by this show of nerve.
“Do you mean to say I lie, Rover? Take care, or you may be sorry for what you say!”
“You can’t pull the wool over my eyes, Baxter. That man’s name is no more Nolly than mine is George Washington or yours William McKinley.”
“Isn’t it? Then perhaps you know his real name.”
“I do. His name is Arnold Baxter.”
Had a bomb exploded at Baxter’s ear he would not have appeared more astonished.
“Say, who told you that?” he demanded fiercely and caught Tom by the arm.
“Let go of me, Dan Baxter.”
“I say, who told you that?”
“I heard his name in the woods. He was with the man who robbed my brother Dick of his watch, when we were at home.”
“Stuff and nonsense!” growled the bully, but he was very pale, and his voice shook with emotion. “That man’s name is William Nolly. He used to know my father. That is why I helped him along by giving him an order for the histories. I don’t really want the books.”
“If you was helping him, how is it that Sam and I saw you taking a roll of bills from him down at the tavern?”
Again Baxter started. “You didn’t see no such thing!” he roared, regardless of his grammar. “I—that is—he gave me some change, that is all. Here are the books I bought,” and he pointed to a package he had been carrying.
“It’s a made-up story,” retorted Tom. “He gave you money, and my opinion is that that man is your father, and that he is no better than the man with whom he associates.”
The words had scarcely left Tom’s lips than Baxter leaped upon him—like an enraged animal and hurled him to the floor. “I’ve a good mind to—to kill you for that, Rover!” he hissed. “Take it back, or I’ll choke you to death!” and his strong hand sought Tom’s throat.
“Will you!” came in a gasp, and now Tom turned over and threw the bully to one side. “I guess two can play at this game. Take that!” and he struck Baxter a heavy blow on the side of the face. In a moment they had clinched and were trying their best to throw each other.
Suddenly came a rattle of the door knob. “Boys! Boys! What does this mean?” It was George Strong’s voice. “Open the door instantly.”
“Keep your mouth shut!” whispered Baxter, as he again shook his fist in Tom’s face. “Not one word—on your life!”
Then he disengaged himself, adjusted his collar and tie, which had become rumpled, and unlocked the door. At once the head assistant strode into the dormitory.
“Have you two been fighting?” he demanded.
“We were only boxing a bit, sir,” answered Baxter, before Tom could speak. “No harm intended, sir.”
“You were making a good deal of noise,” answered George Strong dryly. “What have you to say, Rover?”
“I have this to say, Mr. Strong,” answered Tom boldly. “I would like to interview Captain Putnam without delay.”
“Don’t you dare—” began Baxter, when a wave of the teacher’s hand cut him, short.
“About what, Rover?”
“About this affair, and about Baxter, sir. I am not a telltale, but certain things have happened which I think Captain Putnam should know for his own sake and for the reputation of his school.”
“You—you imp!” hissed Baxter. He wanted to spring at Tom, but now George Strong caught him and held him fast.
“Baxter, you had best come with me—and you too, Rover.”
“To see Captain Putnam?” queried Tom.
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to go,” blustered the bully. “Let Rover tell his yarn—I don’t care. It will be only another of his lies.”
“Then you shall go to the guardroom,” said the teacher. “Rover, you may go to see the captain alone.”
“I will sir—at once,” and Tom made away. He had no sooner departed than George Strong marched Baxter off to the guardroom previously described. As the pair passed down the stairs they encountered Mumps coming up.
“Hullo, Dan, what does this mean?” asked Mumps in wonder.
“I’m under arrest,” laughed Baxter bitterly. “And for nothing, too.”
“Silence!” commanded George Strong. “If you have done nothing wrong, you will soon be released.”
“You bet I will,” rejoined Baxter insolently, and then, watching his chance, he made a sign which Mumps well understood. The sign meant “Come and help me if you can.”
Mumps nodded to show that he understoo
d. Then he pretended to go up to the dormitory, while the head teacher conducted Baxter to the guardroom, locked the impudent one in, and walked away with the key.
CHAPTER XX
THE BULLY LEAVES PUTNAM HALL
“So you wish to see me, Rover? Very well, come right in and sit down,” said Captain Putnam, who sat in front of his desk, making up some of his accounts for the month just past.
Tom came in and sat down. It must be confessed he was a trifle nervous, but this soon wore away.
“I came to tell you something and to ask your advice,” he began. “You remember what happened to me when I ran away into the woods just after arriving at the Hall?”
“Very well, Thomas,” and the captain smiled.
“Well, when Sam and I went to Cedarville to buy our skates we saw Dan Baxter in the tavern there, in company with the man with a scar on his chin. This man gave Baxter some bank bills.”
“What! At the tavern?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Please tell your story in detail, Rover,” and now Captain Putnam swung around so that he might get a full view of his pupil’s face.
And Tom told his story from beginning to end just as I have set it down in the foregoing pages.
“I am certain this man is some relative of Baxter,” he concluded. “And I am equally certain he is not an honest fellow.”
“Humph!” Captain Putnam arose and began to pace the heavily carpeted floor. “Rover, this is a serious charge.”
“I understand that, Sir. But you can’t blame us boys for trying to get back Dick’s watch and trying to—to—”
“Bring the guilty party to justice? Certainly not! But it would seem the man with a scar is not the thief.”
“No, but he is the boon companion of the thief.”
“That is true—unless there is some grave mistake. But you are right about one thing, the man is really Baxter’s father, and his name is Arnold Baxter.”
“And why does he travel around under the name of Nolly?”
“That is the mystery. I met Mr. Baxter only once—when he placed his son in my care. At that time I was certain he was wearing a wig and a false mustache. The scar was on his chin, although he tried to hide it. I have never seen him since. When any money is due from him he sends it to me by mail and does not ask for any receipt. I once asked Baxter about his parents, and he said his mother was dead and he didn’t know exactly where his father was, as the latter was a great traveler and went everywhere.”
“I see.”
“If you are right, and the man is a rascal, it is to his credit that he is trying to bring his son up as a gentleman. Perhaps he doesn’t want Daniel to know anything of the past. Do you follow me?”
“I do, sir. But if this is so, would he take his son into the tavern?”
“Perhaps—everybody is not so opposed to drinking as I am.”
“Well, if Mr. Baxter is a bad man, I rather think Dan is a chip of the old block,” rejoined Tom bluntly. “But be that as it may, all I want to get hold of is that thief and Dick’s timepiece.”
“I will question Baxter closely,” answered Captain Putnam. “But I do not wish to hold him guilty of something of which most likely he knows nothing.”
George Strong had by this time come in, and he was sent to bring Baxter. He was gone but a few minutes when he came back in high excitement.
“Baxter has broken out of the guardroom!” he, exclaimed. “I cannot find him anywhere!”
“Did you look in the dormitory?”
“Yes, sir; and his valise is gone, and his trunk is empty of all of value.”
“Humph!” Captain Putnam’s brow contracted. “This looks very suspicious.”
At that moment one of the smaller cadets came in with a note in his hand.
“I just met Baxter running down the road!” exclaimed the little fellow. “He gave me this for you, Captain Putnam.”
At once the proprietor of the Hall tore open the communication and read it half aloud:
“Good-by to Putnam Hall forever. It is full of fellows who are no good and run by a man I never liked. No use of following me, for I am going to join my father, and I don’t mean to come back.
“DAN BAXTER
“P. S.—Tell the Rover boys I shan’t forget them, and some day I shall take pains to square accounts.
“D. B.”
“The foolish boy,” was the captain’s comment. “But perhaps he has done what is best, for it might have been necessary to dismiss him.” For a long while those at the Hall wondered how Baxter had escaped. Only Mumps knew and he kept the secret to himself. A duplicate key to the door of the guardroom had done the trick.
As Baxter was not followed, nothing more was spoken of him for the time being, and after several days the cadets settled down to their regular work as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. A hunt was instituted by Dick for Arnold Baxter and Buddy the thief, but no trace of the pair came to light.
The Christmas holidays were now at hand and the closing days at Putnam Hall were given over to several entertainments. One of these consisted of a stage performance of a play called “A Christmas in a Tenement,” given by twelve of the boys. Three of the lads, including Tom, took female parts, and the audience laughed itself sore over the antics that were cut up.
Many living in the vicinity came to the entertainment; including all of the Lanings and also Dora Stanhope and her mother; who was now almost as well as ever.
“It was fine!” said Nellie Laning to Tom. “But, oh, Tom, what a girl you did make!”
“Wouldn’t you like me for a sister?” queried Tom.
“A sister! Oh, dear!” cried Nellie, and began to laugh again.
“You looked like a female giraffe!” put in Grace Laning. “Sam acted a little boy splendidly. Sam, don’t you want a stick of candy?”
“Yes, mammy, please,” squeaked Sam, just as he had on the stage, and another laugh went around.
In the meantime Dick had drawn Dora to one side. “What is the news?” he asked anxiously.
“Nothing new,” sighed Dora. “Josiah Crabtree has gone to Boston on business. I am afraid I cannot keep that marriage off much longer. He seems bound to marry mother, and even if she feels like drawing back she hasn’t the courage to tell him so.”
“It’s a shame,” murmured Dick. “Well, remember what I said, Dora, if I can ever help you I will.” And he squeezed her hand. Before they separated he gave her a silk handkerchief he had purchased at Cedarville, one with her initial in the corner, and she blushingly handed over a scarf made by herself. Dick was very proud of that scarf, although Tom and Sam teased him about it unmercifully.
Of course the boys had received letters from their uncle and aunt regularly, yet they watched eagerly for the hour that should bring them within sight of the farm with its well-known buildings. The journey to Oak Run proved uneventful, and here Jack, the hired man, met them with the carriage.
“Glad to see you, lads,” he said—with a grin.
“Seems quite natural like.”
“So it does, Jack!” cried Tom. “Let ‘em out, for we want to get home!”
The snow was falling, and by the time the farmhouse was reached it was several inches deep. “We’re in for a sleigh ride before we go back,” said Sam.
Their uncle and aunt stood at the door to receive them. “Welcome home! Merry Christmas!” came from both, and each of the boys gave a warm handshake to Randolph Rover and hearty kiss to their Aunt Martha. Past troubles were all forgotten.
This was Christmas Eve, and the boys stayed up late, cracking nuts by the blazing log fire and having a good time generally.
In the morning Dick was the first one awake.
“For gracious’ sake!” he ejaculated, staring at the chimney piece. “There hung his own stocking and also one e
ach belonging to Tom and Sam. Each was filled with goodies such as he knew only his Aunt Martha could make.
“Sam and Dick, wake up, we’ve struck a bonanza!” he cried, and hauled both from under the covers. All laughed heartily, and marched down to the dining room with the stockings over their shoulders.
“A merry Christmas to Uncle Randolph from all of us,” said Tom, handing over a much coveted volume on agriculture. “And a merry Christmas to Aunt Martha from three bad boys,” added Sam, and turned over a fancy work-basket, both presents having been purchased at Ithaca on the journey home.
“Ha! Just what I desired!” said Randolph Rover, adjusting his spectacles. “I am very much obliged, boys—I am, indeed!”
“Such a pretty basket!” murmured Mrs. Rover. “It was very good of you!” and she, hugged each lad in his turn. Then came more presents—neckties, collars, and gloves for the boys, besides a book for each written by a favorite juvenile writer.
“The snow is two feet deep!” said Dick, after an inspection, when breakfast had come to an end. “We’re booked for the house today!”
“We’ll wait until afternoon,” said Mr. Rover.
It was a happy time, even if they were snowed in. Soon the warm sun came out and brought the snow down a little. “Best kind of sleighing now,” said the hired man, and drove around the biggest sleigh on the place. All tumbled in, and the party did not return until after midnight.
CHAPTER XXI
SOMETHING ABOUT THE PAST
During holiday week the boys took occasion to tell their uncle all of the particulars concerning the tramp called Buddy, Arnold Baxter, and his son the bully. It is needless to state that Randolph Rover listened to their story with interest.
“I would like to meet this man with a scar on his chin,” he said. “Speaking of him reminds me of something that happened years ago.”
“What was it, Uncle Randolph?” questioned Tom.
“Your father had an enemy who had a scar on his chin.”
“What!” cried Sam. “Could it have been this Arnold Baxter?”
“Hardly, although such a thing is possible. This man was a Westerner, and laid claim to some property owned by your father. They had a quarrel, and the fellow shot your father in the arm and then ran away. I never learned any of the particulars.”
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