Just after New-Year came a very heavy snowstorm. It lasted two days,
and when the boys went to school on the third morning, they had to wade
through drifts in some places as high as their shoulders. Even on a
level the snow was up to the knees of the smaller boys.
It was a huge frolic to most of them, and the best part of it was when
they found that, owing to some trouble with the furnace, there would be
no school in the boys’ department that day.
“Hurrah for a holiday!” shouted half a dozen voices, as the boys
tumbled pellmell down the stairs, not considering it necessary, under
the circumstances, to keep in line as usual.
“Won’t the girls envy us, though,” chuckled Dixon, lifting his cap with
great politeness as he saw two or three girls looking out of one of
their windows. “I’ve half a mind to go and smash _their_ furnace, so
they can get out too.”
“I would,” said Hamlin, dryly. He had long since arrived at the
conclusion that “Rosy” had “plenty of good points,” but even yet
Dixon’s frequent references to “the girls” were apt to vex him, and he
had never been willing to introduce his red-haired schoolmate to his
cousin Grace or any other of his girl friends.
“Say, fellows, why can’t we build a fort and have a snowball fight
instead of going home,” cried Reed. “The snow’s in prime condition.
Just see what balls it makes,” he added, catching up a handful of snow
and hastily fashioning it into a ball which he flung at Hamlin, who
dodged just in time to avoid it, and it landed full in Dixon’s mouth,
as he opened it to speak. He spluttered and gasped for a moment, but as
soon as he could get his breath, he dashed at Reed and rolled him in
the snow, rubbing a handful of it into his mouth.
“Ouch! ouch!” yelled Reed; “help, help, boys!” whereupon two or three
ran to his rescue, and the next moment, Dixon was treated to a dose of
his own medicine. He took it very good-naturedly; he always did take
everything good-naturedly. Even the boys that disliked him could not
deny that.
“Say we _do_ have a snowball fight. We may not have another chance this
year,” said Sherman.
“Professor would order us off. The girls couldn’t recite if we were
yelling outside here,” suggested Graham.
“That’s a fact! I forgot about the girls,” murmured Rosy, at which
somebody remarked:--
“First time in your life you ever forgot ’em, ain’t it, Rosy?” and
there was a general laugh at Dixon’s expense.
“Well, let’s go out on the vacant lots, then. No hospital or old
ladies’ home around there, is there?” said Barber.
“Never heard of any. Come on, then,” cried Hamlin, leading the way.
Presently he turned, and inquired:--
“What’ll we do for shovels and brooms? We can’t build a fort without
’em.”
“So we can’t,” said Reed, ruefully. “I forgot all about them.”
“Let’s borrow some,” suggested Graham.
“Where?” said Lee, with the touch of scorn in his voice that always
irritated the boys.
“Right here on this block,” retorted Graham promptly.
“As if the people in these houses would lend us their snow shovels,”
said Lee.
“If I get the shovels, will you agree to pay your share of the price?”
asked Graham.
“Of course; don’t I always pay my share of anything that’s going,” said
Lee, haughtily.
“All right,” said Graham as, with a grin at Hamlin, he ran up the steps
of the nearest house and rang the bell.
“Want your walk cleared?” he inquired of the servant girl who opened
the door.
“How much do you charge?” said the girl; “And where’s your shovel?”
“Where’s yours? Have you one?” replied Graham.
“Ye--yes,” said the girl, doubtfully.
“Well, tell your mistress that we’ll clear the steps and walk in fine
style, if she’ll lend us her shovel for an hour afterward.”
“Get along with ye,” said the girl, “we’d never set eyes on the shovel
again!”
At this, the crowd of boys on the sidewalk set up a shout of laughter,
but Graham persisted:--
“Ask the lady to come to the door a minute, please do! We’ll clear the
walk; honor bright, we will.”
As Graham spoke, the mistress appeared in the hall, and inquired of the
girl what the boys wanted. Graham’s face lighted up as he caught sight
of her, and he stepped forward, with his cap in his hand, saying:--
“I didn’t know that you lived here, Mrs. Hayes, but we boys want some
shovels and brooms to make a snow fort on the vacant lots over yonder.
We’ll clear off all the steps on this block, and the sidewalk too, if
we can have the use of half a dozen shovels for an hour, to build our
fort.”
“You can have ours, and welcome,” said Mrs. Hayes, “and I’ll give you
a note to the other people on the block. Of course you won’t forget
to bring back the shovels,” she added smiling. “You see I have several
brothers, and have known _them_ to forget such things, now and then.”
“We’ll return them, sure, before we begin our snowball fight,” Graham
answered; and soon, thanks to Mrs. Hayes’ note, half a dozen shovels
had been handed out to the boys, who took turns at using them, and so
quickly had the walks beautifully cleaned. Lee did his share under
protest, but he did it, and some of the boys would have done twice
as much themselves for the fun of seeing the Southern lad obliged to
handle the shovel.
Then the boys trooped over to the vacant lots, and set to work to build
their fort. The many hands made short work of it, even though the
fort they fashioned was of goodly dimensions; and as soon as it was
finished, Graham and another lad carried back the borrowed shovels.
Then the two came racing back, to take part in the choice of leaders
for the two parties.
A dozen names were proposed by different boys, but finally, Hamlin and
Griffin were selected. They at once proceeded to choose their followers
by first one, and then another, calling out a name.
In Hamlin’s party were Clark, Gordon, Freeman, Graham, Raleigh, Sherman
and Reed, while Griffin’s included his own friends, with Lee, Dixon,
and a few others. In all, there were sixty boys. The leaders tossed up
a penny for choice of position, and it fell to Griffin and his party to
hold the fort.
Then he and his men were allowed ten minutes to make and carry into
the fort as many snowballs as they could, for ammunition. Meantime,
Hamlin’s party was similarly employed, while he was discussing with one
or two of them the best plan of attack. It was decided to first make a
rush all together, and try to scale the walls all along the line. This
was done, but the attempt was a failure. The walls were too high to be
readily scaled, and such a storm of snowballs was showered down upon
the attacking party, that Hamlin was forced to call off his men, amid
exultant shouts from those in the fort.
Then Hamlin divided his men into two parties, ordering one, under
Clark’s leadership, to attack one end of the fort, while he himself led
the other half against the other end, thus obliging Griffin to divide
his force to repel the attack.
The two parties advanced all together against the fort until they
were quite near, then suddenly dividing, half turned to the left and
the other half to the right. Griffin hastily sent half of his men to
repel Clark’s party, while he, with the rest, beat back Hamlin and his
followers. Again and again the boys outside would succeed in climbing
almost to the top of the wall of snow, only to be met by a shower of
balls that filled eyes, ears and mouths, while strong hands pushed
and shoved them down the slippery walls, shouts and yells of derision
following them as they descended.
At last, Hamlin again called off his men to rest and gather a new stock
of ammunition.
“’Tisn’t much use, though, for us to snowball them,” grumbled Reed,
trying to get some of the snow out of his neck. “They can throw right
into our faces when we’re climbing their walls, but we can’t hang on
to those slippery snow banks, and throw up into their faces. They can
dodge and we can’t.”
“Dodge! I should say we couldn’t,” echoed Freeman. “Much as ever I
could hang on at all while Lee was dashing snow into my face for all he
was worth.”
“We’ll never take that fort by direct attack,” said Hamlin. “We’ve got
to use stratagem.”
“Any sort of gem you say, so long as it’s a taking sort,” responded
Reed.
“We might tunnel under, and so let them down unexpectedly,” suggested
Clark.
“But they’d see us doing it,” objected Graham.
“Mustn’t let them,” answered Clark.
“What’s your idea, Clark? How would you do it?” asked Hamlin.
“I’d make another attack at two points, so as to divide their force,
and make such a desperate fight that Griffin would need every man
he has, at those two points. Then, while the fight was going on,
one fellow might drop down at the bottom of the fort, and keeping
below those who were climbing the walls, so that those above in the
fort couldn’t see him, he might dig under the bottom of the wall. It
wouldn’t take many minutes for him to dig out a hole that he could
crawl into. Then he could loosen the snow above him, so that a little
extra stamping or pushing would break the wall through and let some of
those fellows down where we could capture them. And then we could pile
up through the opening, and so into the fort.”
“What do you say, Gordon? Think we could do it?” cried Hamlin eagerly.
“Looks as if we might, if we can find the right chap for that burrowing
trick.”
“If we only had a big mole here, now,” remarked Reed.
“I’ll be the mole, if nobody else cares to try it,” said Clark.
“I don’t believe that plan will hold water,” remarked one boy,
scornfully.
“It’s snow we want it to hold, not water,” was Reed’s quick response.
“We’ll give it a trial anyway,” said Hamlin. “Now then--are you all
ready? Well then, we’ll go for those walls again. Forward, march!”
On went the attacking party at a full speed, while those in the fort
braced themselves to repel the charge. Fast and furious flew the balls,
and in the cloud of snow, and amid the shouting, squirming, struggling
crowd trying to climb the walls, it was easy for Clark to drop
unnoticed at the bottom, where he had taken care to kick out an opening
as he approached the wall. Now, using his hands in decidedly mole-like
fashion, he began to burrow under, throwing the snow out behind him as
he dug.
Meantime, above and around him, the struggle went on, and so many hard
knocks were given and received, that some of the boys began to get
angry. The fun was changing to earnest.
Finally, Hamlin again called off his men, and as they gathered about
him, out of earshot of those in the fort, he said to Clark:--
“Couldn’t carry out your plan--eh, Clark? I was afraid it wouldn’t
work.”
“But it did work,” said Clark, quietly.
“Do you mean that you succeeded in undermining the wall?” cried Hamlin,
eagerly.
“Yes,” said Clark, “and it would only take a little more digging to
make it mighty unsafe for those fellows to dance any more jigs up
there.”
“But I don’t see any opening,” said Hamlin.
“No--I kicked some snow into the opening so they wouldn’t discover it
if any of ’em should come outside the fort.”
“Good for you, Clark,” cried Reed joyfully. “I tell you what, Hamlin,
I began to think I was getting tired of plain fighting up there. Some
of those chaps don’t fight fair. They whack altogether too hard about a
fellow’s head.”
“That’s so,” assented several.
“Yes, I think myself they pommeled us too severely this last time,”
said Hamlin; “but if Clark’s plan is a success, we’ll snake ’em out of
their snug quarters before long. How do you think we’d better go at it,
Clark?”
“I should think it would be best to make an attack at each end as we
did last time, and while you keep them busy so, I’ll go through my
tunnel again and pull down a little more snow under the middle. Then
I’ll back out and give a signal to let you know I’m ready, and then
both parties might drop down and make a dash for the walls in the
middle. Of course Griffin and his men will rush there, and the sudden
rush and weight will break through what’s left of the wall and down
they’ll tumble, and up we’ll scramble and swarm over the walls before
they can pick themselves up.”
“Tiptop plan,” said Gordon, and Hamlin added:--
“Yes, and we’ll carry it out, too. Now, boys, remember--pitch in and
carry the walls if you can, but keep your ears open for a whistle from
Clark, and when you hear it, follow me to the center.”
Derisive hoots and yells from Griffin and his men greeted the approach
of Hamlin and his party, but the latter went steadily on in silence.
Not a shout or a cry answered the taunts of the defenders, and again
the struggle was renewed, the boys scrambling up the walls, fighting
their way inch by inch, only to be thrust and pushed back as they
neared the top. Two did succeed in scrambling over the wall, but a
dozen strong arms seized them, and promptly rolled them over the
slippery barrier to the ground below.
In the midst of the struggle, a clear whistle sounded, and at the
signal, Hamlin’s voice rang out calling his followers to retreat.
They slipped down the walls and joined their leader, but instead of
retreating as before, they instantly made a dash for the walls in the
center.
Griffin shouted to his men, and all but two rushed to the threatened
spot to repel the enemy. As they did so, the walls gave way, and more
than half of the defenders rolled through the breach to the ground,
while yells and shouts of a different sort announced their surprise and
disgust at their unexpected descent.
The few who had not gone down in the slump, fought bravely, but they
were quickly overpowered by numbers, as over the walls scrambled Hamlin
and his men. It was their turn now to shout exultantly, as they seized
and made prisoner every boy that they could catch. Griffin’s men
looked rueful enough as they found themselves so cleverly trapped, and
some were not only rueful, but bitterly angry.
“Where’s Griffin,” cried Hamlin.
“There he is. Catch him--catch him!” shouted Lee, pointing to a white
figure just crawling out from under the mass of fallen snow.
“Surrender! Surrender!” shouted a score of voices, as the boys
surrounded Griffin.
“Oh, well, of course we must surrender, since you’ve got possession
of the fort; but you had to take it by trickery--not in fair fight,”
Griffin said, sullenly.
“All’s fair in love and war,” quoted Graham, gaily. “It was a perfectly
fair stratagem, and certainly a successful one, I think.”
“Who cares what _you_ think! Take that for a last shot!” and Griffin,
losing all control of his hot temper at these words from Graham, whom
he had never forgiven for winning the election, suddenly raised his arm
and flung a snowball he was holding in his hand--straight at Graham’s
face.
Clark was standing near Griffin, and as his quick eye saw the look
on the latter’s face and the sudden movement, he sprang forward, and
struck up Griffin’s arm, and the ball, instead of knocking Graham over,
went crashing through a big window in a fine house across the street.
A change came over every face, as the rattle of the falling glass was
heard.
“You’re in for it, now, Grif,” said one.
“’Twasn’t my fault. ’Twas Clark’s. What did you knock my arm up for?”
he added, turning angrily on Clark, and looking more than half inclined
to strike him.
Clark did not flinch, as he answered gravely:--
“That ball might have hurt Graham pretty badly, Griffin.”
“Hurt him! I should say so!” cried Hamlin. “A ball that would break a
window at this distance would have killed a fellow, sure. You must have
thrown it with tremendous force, Griffin.”
Griffin dropped his eyes and said, sulkily:--
“Well, what’s to be done about it? I’ve no money to pay for plate-glass
windows, and anyway, I think Clark’s the one to foot the bill--unless
we bluff it out. Here comes the man, now.”
The gentleman who was coming quickly towards the group might have been
excused for feeling that the limit of patience was reached in his case,
since this was the third time that season that his windows had been
broken by boys playing on the vacant lots. He was plainly very angry,
as he began abruptly:--
“Which of you broke my window?”
For a second, nobody answered, and the man was about to express his
opinion pretty freely, when Clark stepped forward.
“I am partly responsible for it, sir,” he said.
“Oh, you are--are you? Well, are you going to pay for it?”
“It shall certainly be paid for,” Clark replied, “but I can’t pay for
it to-day.”
“Oh, yes, I understand that,” said the man. “You can’t pay it to-day,
and if I let you off, you _never_ will pay it. I’ll see your father
about it. Where is he?”
Clark’s face grew suddenly white, and his clear eyes fell, while many
of those rough boys felt a most unusual thrill of pity and sympathy for
him. But he recovered himself quickly, and answered in a low voice:--
“I have no father to pay my bills, sir, but if you will not take my
word for it, I will give you a note to the firm I work for, and they
will see that you are paid.”
By this time the man’s anger had begun to cool off a little. He was a
shrewd reader of faces, and Clark’s straightforward glance and manly
air began to make an impression on him.
“What’s your name?” he asked gruffly.
“Stanley Clark.”
“Well, Mr. Stanley Clark, I suppose I’m a fool, but I’m going to trust
you. How long do you expect me to wait for my money?”
“How much will the glass cost?” inquired Clark.
“Five dollars; the glass and the putting in. It’s a big window, you
see.”
“Yes, I see,” said Clark. “Well, sir, you shall have the money before
the first of February. Will that do?”
“That will do,” and without another word the man turned away, saying to
himself, “I may be mistaken, but I believe that young chap is honest.
Anyhow, if he doesn’t keep his word, I’ll see the principal of the high
school. They were high school boys, and I could pick that one out among
a thousand.”
As the man departed, all eyes were turned on Griffin, and Hamlin voiced
the feeling of many when he said:--
“I call that right down mean and sneaky, Griffin. It is really you who
ought to pay that bill.”
“Here’s the man coming back again,” said Reed. And sure enough, the man
was returning, looking at something he held in his hand, as he came.
Facing Clark, he demanded:--
“Did you throw that snowball?”
“No, sir,” said Clark, “but if it hadn’t been for me, it would probably
not have gone through your window.”
“Ah!” said the man, “I’m glad _you_ didn’t throw it, and if it was
aimed at any boy’s head, that boy owes you a debt of thanks, at least.
See here; this was inside the ball. I was so mad before that I forgot
to show it to you,” and he held out a rough, jagged piece of brick.
“That would have knocked the breath out of a boy, if it had hit him
full in the face”; and leaving the brick in Clark’s hand, the man again
departed.
There was more than scorn and contempt now in the eyes that turned
towards Griffin, who, for the life of him, could not help cowering
under the fire of indignant glances and the words that followed.
“You’d better blame Clark for knocking up your arm,” said Hamlin,
and the man crossing the street smiled grimly as the clear, ringing
voice reached even his ears. “You might have slept behind prison bars
to-night, if it had not been for Clark’s quick eye and hand.”
“I wouldn’t have believed there was a fellow in the Central mean enough
to do a thing like that,” added Gordon.
“Well, see here now, fellows.” It was Graham who said this. “Are we
going to let Clark pay that debt for Griffin? I can’t, for one,” and
the look he gave Clark said what his tongue could not say before all
those listening ears.
“No! No!” shouted a score of voices.
“I _can’t_ pay it, ’n that’s all there is about it,” said Griffin, his
hands in his pockets and his eyes on the ground.
There was a moment of silence. Many of the boys knew that Griffin
belonged to a family that had no money to spare.
“Well,” said Graham, “if Griffin really can’t pay it, _I’m_ the one to
do it, and I will, though I can’t do it just now. Christmas cleared me
out entirely.”
“And me, too, of course,” said Hamlin; “that and the school dues that I
paid yesterday.”
“See here, boys, neither Clark nor Graham ought to foot that bill, and
I reckon we’re all pretty short just now. Say we all chip in and earn
it to-day,” was Reed’s suggestion.
“Earn it, how?” cried several voices.
“Shoveling snow,” was the prompt reply. “This snow is so heavy that
the fellows that usually go around to clear walks can’t begin to
cover the ground that they generally do. You see they haven’t cleared
anywhere about here yet. What’s the matter with our borrowing shovels
again over yonder, or anywhere we can get ’em, and each of us clearing
one sidewalk. At ten cents each, we’d raise six dollars that way in a
jiffy.”
“Three cheers for Reed. His head’s level!” called out one; and in two
minutes not a boy was to be seen on the vacant lots; not one except
Griffin. He stood there biting his nails, and scraping a hole in the
snow with the toe of his shoe. When the boys passed the lots with their
borrowed shovels, Griffin was gone.
Late that afternoon, somebody left at Hamlin’s door twenty-five cents
done up in a bit of paper, on which was scrawled the one word, “glass.”
“Griffin left that, I’m sure,” Hamlin said as he read the word. “I’m
glad he had grace enough to do that much.”
He did not know that the boy had earned that quarter clearing off snow
with a shovel that he had manufactured himself out of a broom-handle
and a piece of a soap-box. Even Griffin was not all bad.
A much astonished gentleman was the one who was called to his door that
evening to meet a delegation of high-school boys, one of whom handed
him a five-dollar bill to pay for his broken window.