The representation struck Tom as so comical that he was compelled to laugh outright; he simply couldn’t help it. It was just such a joke as he might have played years before, perhaps on old Josiah Crabtree, when at Putnam Hall.
“Ha! So you are even willing to laugh in my face, are you!” almost screamed Abner Sharp, and rushing at Tom he caught the youth and shook him roughly. “Do you—er—know that this lady is my—my affianced wife?”
“Let me go!” cried Tom, and shook himself loose. “Excuse me, sir. I know I hadn’t ought to laugh, but it looks so—so awfully funny!” And Tom had to grin again.
“Rover!” broke in the president of Brill sternly, “aren’t you ashamed to do such a thing as this?”
“Why—er—what do you mean, sir?”
“Just what I said.”
“Oh!” A light began to break in on the fun-loving Rover’s mind. “Do you think I did this?”
“Didn’t you?”
“Of course he did!” fumed Professor Sharp. “And now he is willing to laugh over his dastardly work!”
“I didn’t do it, sir,” said Tom firmly.
“You are certain?” It was the head of the college who asked the question.
“Yes, sir. I never saw that picture before.”
“But I have the proof against you!” fairly shouted Abner Sharp. “It is useless for you to deny your guilt.”
“I say I am not guilty.”
“Isn’t this your box, Rover?”
As Professor Sharp uttered these words he brought to light a German silver case which Tom had picked up in a curiosity shop in New York. The case had his name engraved on it, and contained pencils, crayons, and other things for drawing.
“Where did you get that?” demanded the youth.
“Never mind where I got it. Isn’t it yours?”
“Yes.”
“Ha! Do you hear that, Doctor Wallington?” cried Abner Sharp in triumph. “He admits the outfit is his!”
“So I see,” said the president of Brill, and if anything his face grew a trifle more stern. “Then you admit your guilt, Rover?” he questioned.
“What! That I defaced the photograph?”
“Yes.”
“No, sir! Didn’t I say I had never seen the picture before?”
“This photograph was in Professor Sharp’s room, on the mantel. The room was locked up, and the professor carried the key. This box was found on the table, beside some books. You had some difficulty with the professor a day or two ago in the classroom.”
“I didn’t touch the picture, and I haven’t been near Professor Sharp’s room,” answered Tom stoutly. “If I was there, would I be fool enough to leave that box behind, with my name engraved on it? And if the door was locked how would I get in?”
“Did you lend the box to anybody?”
“No. The fact is, I—er—I thought I had left the box home. I—Oh!”
“Well?”
“I think maybe the box was in my dress-suit case, the case I lost. But it wasn’t in the case when it was left at my door that morning.”
“Oh, nonsense!” muttered Professor Sharp. “He is guilty, sir, and he might as well own up to it first as last.”
“I have told the strict truth!” cried Tom hotly. “I am not in the habit of telling falsehoods.”
“Have you any other proof against Rover, Professor Sharp?”
“Not now, but I may be able to pick up more later.”
“Hum! This is certainly a serious matter. Rover, you will go to your room and remain there until I send for you again.”
“Can’t I go down to town?” asked Tom.
“Not for the present. I intend to get to the bottom of this affair, if I possibly can. If you are innocent you shall not suffer. But at present it looks to me as if you were guilty. You may go.”
“But, sir—”
“Not another word at present. I have other matters to attend to. I shall call on you later. But remain in your room until I send somebody for you.”
An angry answer arose to Tom’s lips, but he checked it. In the college Doctor Wellington’s word was law, and he knew he would only make matters worse by attempting to argue. With a heavy heart he turned, gazed coldly at Professor Sharp, and left the office.
CHAPTER X
SONGBIRD MAKES A DISCOVERY
“It’s all up with me,” said Tom to his brothers when he met them in the hall. “I can’t go to town.”
“Why not?” asked Sam.
“Got to remain in my room until Doctor Wallington sends for me.”
“What have you been doing, Tom?” came from Dick.
“Nothing.” And then Tom told of what had occurred in the office. His brothers listened with much interest.
“This is the work of some enemy,” said Sam quickly.
“And the one who got hold of the dress-suit case,” added Dick. “Tom, do you suspect any one?”
“Only in a general way—Koswell, Flockley, Larkspur, and that crowd.”
“It’s too bad.”
“Say, but that picture was a sight!” cried the fun-loving Rover, and gunned broadly. “No wonder old Sharp was mad. I’d be mad myself, especially if it was a photo of my best girl.”
“I hope the doctor doesn’t keep you in the room all day,” said Sam.
“You and Dick might as well go to town without me,” returned Tom with a sigh that he endeavored to suppress. “Your staying here won’t do me any good.”
“What will you do?”
“Oh, read or study. It will give me a chance to catch up in my Latin. I was a bit rocky in that yesterday. I can bone away until the president sends a special message for me.”
“Want us to get anything for you?” questioned Dick.
“Yes, a good fat letter from—well, a fat letter, that’s all.”
“Postmarked Cedarville, and in Nellie Laning’s handwriting,” came from Sam slyly.
“I didn’t know they postmarked letters in handwriting,” answered Tom innocently.
“Oh, you know what I mean.”
“Sure, Sam, for I know you’re looking for a letter, too. Well, run along, children, and play,” said Tom, and a minute later Sam and Dick set off for Ashton.
Tom did not feel as lighthearted as his words would seem to indicate. He knew that the charge against him was a serious one, and he saw no way of clearing himself. The finding of the box with his name on it seemed to be proof positive against him.
“No use of talking, the minute I get to school I seem to get into trouble,” he soliloquized. “Wonder if they’ll put me in a cell, like old Crabtree did at Putnam Hall? If they do I’ll raise a kick, sure as eggs are unhatched chickens!”
Tom sat down to study, but he could not fix his mind on his lessons. Then he heard somebody come along the hallway and turn into the next room.
“Must be Songbird, or else one of the servants,” he thought. “Guess I’ll take a look.” If it was Songbird, he could chat with his friend for a while.
He went to the next room. As he opened the door he saw Songbird, with his back toward him. The so-styled poet was waving his arms in the air and declaiming:
“The weeping winds were whispering through the wood,
The rolling rill ran ’round the ragged rock;
The shepherd, with his sunny, smiling face,
Was far away to feed his flitting flock.
Deep in the dingle, dank and dark—”
“I thought I heard an old crow bark!”
finished Tom. “Say, Songbird, how much is that poetry by the yard—or do you sell it by the ton?” he went on.
At the sound of Tom’s voice the would-be poet gave a start. But he quickly recovered. He scowled for a moment and then took on a look of resignation.
“Yo
u’ve spoiled one of the best thoughts I ever had,” he said.
“Don’t you believe it, Songbird,” answered Tom. “I’ve heard you make up poetry worth ten times that. Don’t you remember that little sonnet you once composed, entitled ‘Who Put Ink in Willie’s Shoes?’ It was great, grand, sublime!”
“I never wrote such a sonnet!” cried Songbird. “Ink in shoes, indeed! Tom, you don’t know real poetry when you see it!”
“That’s a fact, I don’t. But, say, what’s on the carpet, as the iceman said to the thrush?”
“Nothing. I thought I’d write a few verses, that’s all. Thought you were going to town with Sam and Dick?”
“Can’t.” And once again Tom had to tell his story. He had not yet finished when Songbird gave an exclamation.
“It fits in!” he cried.
“Fits in? What?” asked Tom.
“What I heard a while ago.”
“What did you hear?”
“Heard Flockley, Koswell and Larkspur talking together. Koswell said he had fixed you, and that you were having a bad half hour with the president.”
“Where was this?”
“In the library. I was in an alcove, and they didn’t see me. I was busy reading some poetry by Longfellow—fine thing—went like this—”
“Never mind. Chop out the poetry now, Songbird. What more did they say?”
“Nothing. They walked away, and I—er—I got so interested in making up verses I forgot all about it until now.”
“I wish you had heard more. Do you know where they went to?”
“No, but I can look around if you want me to.”
“I wish very much that you would. I can’t leave, or I’d go myself.”
A few more words followed, and then Songbird went off to hunt up the Flockley crowd. On the campus he met Max Spangler.
“Yes, I saw them,” said the German-American student in answer to a question. “They are down along the river, just above the boathouse.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll show you if you want me to,” went on Max.
“You might come along, if you have nothing else to do,” answered Songbird.
The two walked toward the river, and after a few minutes espied Flockley and the others sitting on some rocks, in the sun, talking earnestly.
“I want to hear what they are saying,” said Songbird. “I have a special reason.” And at Max’s look of surprise he told something of what had happened.
“If Koswell is that mean he ought to be exposed,” said Max. “I don’t blame him for playing a trick on old Sharp, but to lay the blame on Tom—why, that’s different.”
“Will you come along?”
“If you want me to.”
“I don’t want to drag you into trouble, Max.”
“I dink I can take care of myself,” answered the German-American student.
The pair passed around to the rear of the spot where Flockley and his cronies were located. Here was a heavy clump of brushwood, so they were able to draw quite close without being seen.
The talk was of a general character for a while, embracing football and other college sports, and Songbird was disappointed. But presently Jerry Koswell began to chuckle.
“I can’t help but think of the way I put it over Tom Rover,” he exclaimed. “I’ll wager old Sharp will make him suffer good and proper.”
“Maybe they’ll suspend Rover,” said Bart Larkspur. “But that would be carrying it pretty far, wouldn’t it?”
“They won’t suspend him, but he’ll surely be punished,” came from Dudd Flockley. “By the way, are you sure it was a photo of Sharp’s best girl?”
“Yes; but she isn’t a girl, she’s a woman, and not particularly good-looking at that,” answered Jerry Koswell.
“Well, Sharp isn’t so very handsome,” answered Larkspur. “His nose is as sharp as his name.”
“I suppose Rover will wonder how somebody got hold of that case of pencils and crayons,” remarked Flockley. “If he—”
“Hello, Max!” cried a voice from behind the bushes, and the next moment a stout youth landed on Max Spangler’s back, carrying him down with a crash in the brushwood. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
At the interruption the whole Flockley crowd started to their feet, and turning, beheld not only Max and the boy who had come up so suddenly, but also Songbird. The latter was nearest to them, and Koswell eyed him with sudden suspicion.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, while Max and his friend were wrestling in a good-natured way in the bushes.
“Oh, I’ve been listening to some interesting information,” answered Songbird.
“Playing the eavesdropper, eh?” came from Flockley with a sneer.
“If so, it was for a good purpose,” answered the would-be poet warmly.
“Say, Jerry, you want to look out for him!” cried Larkspur warningly. “He rooms with Dick Rover, remember. They are old chums.”
“I know that,” said Koswell. He faced Songbird again. “How long have you been here?” he cried angrily.
“That is my business, Koswell. But I heard enough of your talk to know how you tried to put Tom Rover in a hole. It’s a mean piece of business, and it has got to be stopped.”
“Bah!”
“You can ‘bah!’ all you please, but I mean what I say. To play a joke is one thing, to blame it on a fellow student who is innocent is another. As the poet Shelley says—But what’s the use of wasting poetry on a chap like you? Max, you heard what was said, didn’t you?”
By this time the German-American student was free of his tormentor, a happy-go-lucky student named Henry Cale. He nodded to Songbird.
“Yes, I heard it,” he said, and gave Koswell a meaning look.
“Fine business to be in, listening around corners,” sneered Larkspur.
“Say that once more and I’ll punch your head!” cried Max, doubling up his fists.
“What are you fellows going to do?” questioned Koswell. He was beginning to grow alarmed.
“That depends on what you fellows do,” returned Songbird.
“Why—er—do you think I am going to the doctor and—er—confess?”
“You have got to clear Tom Rover.”
“Our word is as good as yours,” said Larkspur.
“Then you are willing to tell a string of falsehoods, eh?” said Songbird coldly.
“I didn’t say so.”
“But you meant it. Well, Larkspur, it won’t do. I know about this, and so does Max. Koswell has got to clear Tom Rover, and that is all there is to it.”
“Will you keep quiet about me if I clear Rover?” asked Jerry Koswell eagerly.
“That depends on what Tom Rover says. I am going right to him now and tell him what I heard.”
“And I’ll go along,” said Max. He turned to Henry Cale. “You will have to excuse me, Henry. This is a private affair of importance.”
“Sure,” was the ready answer. “I wouldn’t have butted in if I had known something was doing,” and Henry walked off toward the college buildings.
“Just tell Tom Rover to wait—we’ll fix it up somehow,” cried Jerry to Songbird and Max as the pair departed. “It’s all a—er—a mistake. I’m—er—sorry I got Rover into it—really I am.”
“No doubt of it, now!” answered Songbird significantly. “Evildoers are usually sorry—after they are caught!”
CHAPTER XI
HOW TOM ESCAPED PUNISHMENT
Dick and Sam were good walkers, so it did not take them long to reach Ashton. While covering the distance they talked over Tom’s dilemma, but failed to reach any conclusion concerning it.
“It’s too bad,” said Sam, “especially when the term has just opened. It will give Tom a black eye.”
“I don�
�t think he’ll stand for too much punishment, being innocent, Sam. He’ll go home first.”
“I was thinking of that. But we don’t want to be here with Tom gone.”
Arriving at Ashton, the boys hurried to the post-office. The mail for the college was in, and among it they found several letters from home and also epistles from Dora Stanhope and the Laning girls.
“Here’s one for Tom—that will cheer him up a bit,” said Dick, holding up one addressed in Nellie Laning’s well-known hand.
The boys sat down in an out-of-the-way corner to read their letters. Dick had a communication of ten pages from Dora, and Sam had one of equal length from Grace. Then there was one for all the boys from their father, and another from their Aunt Martha.
“The girls are coming next Wednesday,” said Dick. “I hope we can get down to the depot when they arrive.”
“Don’t forget poor Tom, Dick,”
“Yes. Isn’t it too bad?”
“Nellie will cry her eyes out if he is sent away.”
“Oh, we’ve got to fix that up somehow.”
Having read the letters carefully, the boys went to one of the stores to make some purchases, and then drifted down to the depot. A train was coming in, but they did not expect to see anybody they knew. As a well-dressed young man, carrying a suit case, alighted, both gave an exclamation:
“Dan Baxter!”
The individual they mentioned will need no introduction to my old readers. During their days at Putnam Hall the Rover boys had had in Dan Baxter and his father enemies who had done their best to ruin them. The elder Baxter had repented after Dick had done him a great service, but Dan had kept up his animosity until the Rovers imagined he would be their enemy for life. But at last Dan, driven to desperation by the actions of those with whom he was associating, had also repented, and it was the Rovers who had set him on his feet again. They had loaned him money, and he had gotten a position as a traveling salesman for a large wholesale house. How he was faring they did not know, since they had not seen or heard of him for a long time.
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