The High School Rivals
Or
Fred Markham's Struggles
BY FRANK V. WEBSTER
AUTHOR OF "THE BOYS OF BELLWOOD SCHOOL," "THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS,"
"THE YOUNG TREASURE HUNTER," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1911, by
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
Printed in U. S. A.
BOOKS FOR BOYS
_By FRANK V. WEBSTER_
ONLY A FARM BOY
TOM, THE TELEPHONE BOY
THE BOY FROM THE RANCH
THE YOUNG TREASURE HUNTER
BOB, THE CASTAWAY
THE YOUNG FIREMEN OF LAKEVILLE
THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS
THE BOY PILOT OF THE LAKES
TWO BOY GOLD MINERS
JACK, THE RUNAWAY
COMRADES OF THE SADDLE
THE BOYS OF BELLWOOD SCHOOL
THE HIGH SCHOOL RIVALS
AIRSHIP ANDY
BOB CHESTER'S GRIT
BEN HARDY'S FLYING MACHINE
DICK, THE BANK BOY
DARRY, THE LIFE SAVER
_Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York_
THE HIGH SCHOOL RIVALS
CONTENTS
I THE RIVALS
II FACING SUSPENSION
III FRED'S SACRIFICE
IV BRONSON'S CREDENTIALS
V BRONSON TURNS THE TABLES
VI HIS FATHER'S FAILURE
VII MRS. MARKHAM'S RUSE
VIII FRED'S REWARD
IX THE SUPPER CLUB
X AN EVENTFUL WALK
XI FRED'S LETTER
XII BART'S SCHEME FAILS
XIII THE ELECTION
XIV LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS
XV THE SCHOLARSHIP IS AWARDED
XVI THE CALL FOR BASEBALL CANDIDATES
XVII THE PITCHING FIND
XVIII ON THE DIAMOND
XIX A VICTORY
XX AN INTERVIEW OF IMPORTANCE
XXI BART'S MEANNESS
XXII THE CLOUDS BEGIN TO LIFT
XXIII FRED AT WORK
XXIV AN ARREST
XXV ANOTHER VICTORY--CONCLUSION
The High School Rivals
CHAPTER I
THE RIVALS
"Nineteen hundred and twelve to the top steps! We're Second Form now!
Top steps belong to the Second Form!" shouted four boys, redolent with
health and life, as they dashed up the tree-lined walk leading to the
Baxter High School, mounted the lower steps, and threw themselves into
the coveted positions.
It was the opening day of school, and the spacious, shady grounds were
alive with happy, wide-awake boys, and merry, laughing girls, renewing
old acquaintances and closely scrutinizing all newcomers.
As the rallying cry rang out, other members of the Second Form broke
away from those with whom they were talking and hastened to join the
four leaders whom they hailed by the nicknames of Taffy, Soda, Lefty
and Buttons, reminders of past exploits.
With envious glances at the proud Seconds, the Lower Form scholars
gathered at the foot of the steps, eager to witness any fun that might
transpire.
Conspicuous among them was a tall, thin boy, who carried a large bunch
of books under his arm.
"Is that the meeting-place of the Second Form?" asked this lad, of the
one nearest him.
"Uhuh."
"Thank you. I think I will join them."
"You'd better n----" began his informer, but before he could finish his
warning, a hand was clapped over his mouth and warm lips whispered in
his ears, "Let him go. He must be taught respect for the Upper Forms.
Wait till Soda sees him."
Interference was now too late, had the Lower Form boy wished to finish
his advice. For no sooner had the newcomer emerged from the ranks of
the others standing at the foot of the steps than a girl, brunette, and
very pretty, nudged her companion, who, though just as attractive, was
of the blonde type, and giggled:
"Oh, Grace, look at that coming up the steps!"
This exclamation, being audible to the others, all the boys and girls
turned their eyes in the direction of the new student, and watched his
approach in a silence portentous in its intensity.
Even the newcomer felt its significance, and, as he reached the fourth
step from the top, paused, hesitatingly.
Taking advantage of his evident embarrassment, the lad nicknamed Soda,
making his voice very deep, demanded:
"What dost thou wish, Clothespin?"
The nickname was so appropriate that the boys and girls roared with
laughter, adding still more to their victim's discomfiture.
Twice he cleared his throat, but the grinning faces of the boys and the
mischievous eyes of the girls stifled his words and sent hot flushes to
his cheeks.
"He's mine! I saw him first!" exclaimed another of the Second Formers,
noting the newcomer's embarrassment. "Now, Clothespin, what is it you
desire? Speak, or forever hold your tongue."
To the new student, the bantering seemed terribly real, and, after
gulping several times, he stammered:
"Is this the Second Form?"
"Yea, verily, Clothespin, this is the Second Form--that is, the best
part of it," returned Soda.
But if the students had been amazed by the newcomer's temerity in
mounting the steps, they were dumfounded by his reply, as he bowed
gravely:
"I am glad to meet you all. My name is James Appleby Bronson. I have
passed my examinations to the Second Form."
An instant the students on the top step gazed from their new member to
one another, then Soda arose, and, with a mocking wave of his hand,
bowed low and commanded:
"Second Formers, rise and salute your fellow member, Mr. James Appleby
Bronson, called Clothespin for short."
As though moved by a spring, the twenty-two members of the Second Form
stood up and chorused:
"Welcome, Clothespin."
"Then I can sit with you?" asked the newcomer, looking toward Soda.
"You can sit on the top step, there by the railing," replied the
leader, pointing to a place at the opposite side of the porch. "There
are a few formalities to be settled before you can be really one of us."
Relieved that his torture was over for the moment, yet wondering what
the "formalities" could be, Bronson started to take the seat by the
rail, when the lad called Taffy exclaimed:
"Where are your credentials?"
"Credentials?" repeated the new student in surprise.
"Yes, your credentials. Didn't the Head give you a card?"
"Why, no. Mr. Vining said all I need do was to meet my instructors and
enroll in the classes."
"It was very wrong in the Head to misinform you," began Taffy in mock
solemnity, when he was interrupted by a voice shouting: "Here comes
Bart Montgomery!"
Instantly cries of welcome greeted the announcement, and in the
confusion Bronson was forgotten.
Glancing at the boy whose arrival had spared him further badgering,
Bronson saw a tall, lithe fellow, with dark-hued, handsome face.
"Who is Montgomery?" he asked of the boy next him.
"What, you coming to Baxter and don't know Bart Montgomery?" returned
the other. "Don't let anybody else hear you say so. He made the hit
that won over Landon School last spring--the first time in four years.
He's the best baseball and football player at Baxter, that's who Bart
Montgomery is."
"No, he isn't, either," interposed another boy.
"Who's better?" demanded Bart's champion.
"Fred Markham."
"Don't you believe him, Clothespin!"
"Well, I don't know about his athletic standing, but I do know I don't
like Mr. Montgomery's eyes," rejoined the latter; "he can't look you in
the face."
This dispute had passed unnoticed in the welcoming of Bart. As he took
his seat in the center of the Second Form students, Lefty exclaimed:
"Now we're all back."
"Not yet," returned Buttons.
"Who's missing?"
"Fred Markham."
"Oh, he'll not be back," sneered Bart Montgomery.
"Why?" chorused several of the boys, while all the others gathered
closer.
"You know his father failed, don't you?" demanded Bart.
"Sure," said Buttons, "but how does that affect Fred?"
"He can win the Second Form Scholarship in Science--that'll give him
cash enough, if he's short of money," protested another.
"Oh, it isn't lack of rocks that will keep him away," asserted Bart
contemptuously.
"Then what will?" persisted Buttons.
All the former students who had returned to Baxter were aware that
a rivalry had sprung up the previous year between Fred Markham and
Bart Montgomery, due to the former's increasing ability, both in his
studies and in athletics, which threatened to wrest the Form leadership
from Bart. But they had supposed it to be an honest, schoolboy rivalry,
and the tone in which Bart spoke of Fred surprised them.
As both boys were popular, they had many followers among their own
and the Third Form students, and unconsciously these divided, Fred's
supporters gathering about Buttons, who was championing their absent
leader, the others about Bart.
Noticing that he had by far the most numerous following, Bart's pride
got the better of his discretion and he retorted:
"If you want to know so much, I'll tell you. You know some men fail in
order to make money."
"You mean Fred Markham's father failed dishonestly?" demanded Buttons.
So pointed was the insinuated accusation that, young people though they
were, the other students realized its seriousness, and with solemn
faces awaited Bart's reply.
The attention of all the scholars hanging upon the answer, none of them
had noticed the approach of a well-built, manly young fellow, whose
open, honest face and frank blue eyes were in striking contrast to the
crafty, though handsome, features of Bart. As a result, the late-comer
had reached the edge of the crowd just as Bart exclaimed:
"That's just what I mean. My father was the principal creditor. So I
guess I know."
At these words there was a sharp intaking of breath by the divided
groups, and Buttons retorted:
"I don't believe it. Fred Markham's father is an honest man."
"Thank you, Buttons," exclaimed a strained voice.
At the words, all eyes were turned in the direction whence they came,
and as the boys recognized the speaker, shouts of "Here's Fred! Hello,
Cotton-Top! Now say that to his face, you Bart!" filled the air.
"Who said my father was dishonest?" demanded Fred.
"Bart did!" chorused several.
Striding to where the calumniator stood, Fred looked straight in his
face.
"Did you say my father was dishonest?"
But the accuser did not have the courage to say in the presence of
the son what he had said in his absence, despite the fact that he
overtopped Fred by a good two inches, and temporized:
"I said there was something queer about your father's failure. My
father said so."
"You are right, Bart Montgomery. There was something 'queer' about
it--_but not on my father's side_!"
"What do you mean?" snarled Bart.
"Anything you want to think," returned Fred.
Drawing back his right hand, Bart hissed:
"I'll teach you to say things about my father, you puppy! Even before
yours failed mine could buy him and sell him."
"Because your father had more money doesn't make mine dishonest,"
retorted Fred, squaring himself to ward off the expected blow.
But before it could be delivered, a stern voice exclaimed:
"Boys, what does this mean?"
"The Head! The Head!" gasped several of the onlookers, and like magic
the crowd of students melted away, leaving Mr. Vining, for it was the
principal of the school, with Fred and Bart. A moment he gazed from one
to the other of the lads.
"Second Formers should set an example of good behavior, not bad," he
said. "Bart, come to my office at once. Fred, I shall expect you at the
end of thirty minutes."