AN ARREST
During the summer Bart had met several college men who were members of
their 'varsity teams, and from them he received many valuable ideas,
among which was the formation of a scrub eleven to play against the
school team.
Eagerly falling in with the plan, the candidates asked that Fred be
placed in charge.
Reluctantly, Bart agreed, for he feared that his rival would
out-general him, but the others were so insistent that he could not
refuse. But to lessen the possibility, he gave Fred only the poorest
players, with the exception of the unknown Bronson.
Understanding this action, Fred made no objection, however, and set to
work to develop his players, and so well did he succeed that by the
middle of the season the scrub eleven was able to keep the School Team
from scoring, whenever it felt inclined.
This success served to rouse all Bart's old hatred of his rival, and
so viciously did he always tackle Fred, that, fearing the star left
back would be seriously injured, Buttons, Bronson and Soda finally
prevailed upon him to feign a sprained ligament and keep out of the
game, except to run through signals.
But it was not until a week before the game with Landon, when Sandow
and Hal, who had been appealed to by Buttons, added their solicitations
to the others' that Fred consented.
When he reported his supposed injury, Bart tried to appear sorry, but
in his eyes there was a light of joy.
When the assembled crowds of Baxter and Landon supporters arrived for
the game, they were amazed to see that Buttons' name was down to play
left half-back, while Fred was listed among the substitutes.
At the discovery, the Baxter students and grads were furious, and in no
gentle manner they told Bart what they thought.
But he quoted Fred's own statement, that he had sprained a ligament,
in his defense, declaring that under the circumstances it would be
foolhardy to start him in the game rather than hold him in reserve. And
as the captain's word is absolute, the protestants were forced to be
content, though many secretly hoped that Buttons would be laid out at
an early stage of the game.
But had the grads prevailed upon Bart, they would have found another
obstacle.
When Buttons and Sandow went to Fred's house during the forenoon to
commiserate him, he was not there.
Early that morning he had been called to the long-distance telephone,
in the village central.
Wondering who could wish to talk with him, he was amazed to hear his
father's voice.
"Mr. Bronson will arrive in Baxter at ten this morning," Mr. Markham
said. "You are to get a buggy from the livery stable and meet him. He
will tell you what he wants you to do. I am sorry it is the day of the
game, but your being on hand means everything to me, to your mother and
to yourself."
"I'll be there, don't worry," replied Fred.
Hastening back to his mother, Fred imparted the news, and then whiled
away the morning as best he could until it was time to get the buggy
and drive to the train to meet Mr. Bronson.
Quickly jumping into the buggy, the lawyer told Fred to drive fast
until he was out of the village, as he desired his presence to remain
unknown.
In order the better to accomplish this object, the boy turned off Main
Street.
"That was a wise move," complimented Mr. Bronson. "I want you to drive
me to Mr. James Newcomb's. Your father told me he lived out of the
village."
"About a mile," replied Fred.
"What sort of a man is he?"
"Hard as nails."
"H'm. Is he fond of money?"
"Yes."
"Good." And, as he noticed the look of entreaty in the boy's eyes, Mr.
Bronson continued: "A very good friend of your father's has almost
secured control of the stock of Montgomery's bank. I have the power
to vote this stock. But I want five more shares, which I hope to get
from Newcomb. If I do, I shall call a meeting of the directors, oust
Montgomery, elect myself president, and start an investigation of the
bank's books--which I am convinced will give us the evidence we need to
proceed against Montgomery and Gibbs."
"But how will that help father?"
"The books will show when the money on your father's check was paid. I
hope also to find the check--which Montgomery refused to surrender--to
be compared with Gibbs' writing. By the way, Gibbs was in Manchester
trying to borrow money under an assumed name."
"Oh, I hope Marg's at home!" exclaimed Fred.
"Why?" asked the lawyer, smiling.
"Because she can make her father do anything."
"She's a good friend of yours?"
"Very."
"Then perhaps you had better explain matters to her before I talk with
Mr. Newcomb."
This plan agreed upon, Fred went into the house alone, and, to his
delight, found Margie, to whom he made things clear.
"Of course father'll do it!" she cried. "Come, we'll ask him together."
But although he listened intently, Mr. Newcomb refused to commit
himself, saying he would talk with the lawyer.
Briefly Mr. Bronson stated his purpose, offering two hundred dollars
apiece for the shares, just double their market price. And, shrewdly
judging the old man, he produced ten crisp one-hundred-dollar bills as
he spoke.
An instant Mr. Newcomb gazed at the money.
"Margie, get them shares of stock," he finally said.
Jubilant, Mr. Bronson saw to the transfer of the certificates, and
invited Mr. Newcomb to be at the bank at half-past two o'clock, saying
Fred's father had suggested his name as a director, an honor which
delighted the old man greatly.
Promising to meet Margie after the game, Fred and the lawyer reëntered
the buggy, arriving by a roundabout way at the boy's home.
On the way back from the stable, Fred saw Mr. Montgomery and Charlie
Gibbs ahead of him, talking excitedly as they walked along.
"I tell you, you _must_ go to the cave and destroy that check,"
declared the bank president.
"Not without you," returned Gibbs. "I'm no fool."
"Come on, then," growled the millionaire, and they abruptly turned from
Main Street, setting their course toward Spy mountain.
Scarcely able to contain himself, Fred rushed into a nearby store and
asked for pen and paper.
"Mr. Bronson," he wrote. "Get a horse quick, and a man, and drive to
the cave at the foot of Spy mountain. Gibbs and Montgomery have gone
there to tear up the check and other papers. I'm following them. Fred."
It was several minutes before he could find a boy to deliver the note.
When he did, he set out in pursuit of his father's enemies, whom he
kept in sight, creeping behind stone walls and fences, that he himself
might not be seen.
Handing the note to Mrs. Markham, the lawyer bade the messenger boy
guide him to the livery stable, where he hired a two-seated wagon and a
driver.
"Take me to the nearest justice of the peace," he directed.
"Si Newcomb's the only justice in Baxter," replied the man.
"Then get out to his house as fast as possible."
"What brings you back?" asked the old man, as he saw the lawyer enter
the house.
"Come into your office." And as the justice led him into a side room,
Mr. Bronson continued: "I want to swear out a warrant charging Charles
Gibbs with forgery."
Amazed, Mr. Newcomb asked for evidence, which the lawyer quickly
outlined, ending up by relating the conversation Fred had overheard.
"Always said Charlie was too all-fired cute," commented the justice, as
he made out the warrant. "Shall you want me at the bank?"
"Surely. Only as it's two now, we'd better say at three. Where is the
nearest constable?"
"Hen Jenkins, right side of the bank. He's----"
But Mr. Bronson was out of the house and in the carriage before the
justice could finish the sentence.
Fortunately, the constable was at home, and, after looking at the
warrant, he readily accompanied the lawyer.
"Now, let's see what good those horses are," said Mr. Bronson to the
driver, as he and Jenkins seated themselves in the carriage. "How long
will it take you to reach the cave at Spy mountain?"
"Twenty minutes."
"Make it fifteen, and I'll give you five dollars," exclaimed the lawyer.
Eager to win the bonus, the driver urged his horses to the utmost, and
in just fourteen minutes he drew rein at the end of the road leading to
the cave.
"They're only just inside the rocks! They're quarrelling!" exclaimed
Fred, emerging from the bushes where he had been hiding.
With the constable in front, Mr. Bronson, Fred and the driver hastened
along the path.
At the sound of footsteps, the president of the bank and Gibbs looked
up.
"Charlie Gibbs, I arrest you in the name of the law!" shouted Jenkins,
melodramatically.
Bitterly the man protested, but before the cold facts uttered by Mr.
Bronson, he grew silent.
"What time is it?" asked Fred.
"Two forty-five," replied the lawyer.
"Can--can I go to the game?"
"Yes, I'll drive you."
"You needn't. I can get a horse from Farmer Brown, and ride in
quicker." And like a flash, the boy was away.