HOW DON GOT IN.
“Don’t be in too great a hurry. Let me get out of your sight,” said
Clarence Duncan, as he crept through the fence; and Don, whose
suspicions had not been aroused, was careful to obey. When he thought
that Clarence had been allowed time to reach the academy, he passed
through the opening and moved toward Dick Henderson’s post. He saw the
latter when he came out from behind his box and walked along his beat,
and remembering Tom Fisher’s words of caution—that it would not be safe
to approach Dick’s post openly for fear that the officer of the day or
the corporal might be somewhere within sight—Don sought concealment by
throwing himself at full length in the snow. He expected to see Dick
turn about and go behind his box again; and consequently he was not a
little amazed when the sentry took up a position directly in front of
him, and called for the corporal of the guard.
Don did not know what to make of it; but he _did_ know that if he stayed
where he was, detection and punishment were inevitable. He still had one
chance for escape, and he lost no time in improving it. He jumped up and
took to his heels, trusting to the darkness and to his uniform to
conceal his identity. He was very light of foot, and by doing some of
his best running, he succeeded in dodging around the corner of the
academy building just as the corporal threw open the door of the
guard-room. The signal, which had produced such an effect upon Dick
Henderson, he had given by the merest accident. It was one that Fisher,
by some oversight, had neglected to teach him, although he had let him
into the secret of all the other signs and pass-words.
“A miss is as good as a mile, but still that was a pretty close shave,”
said Don to himself, as he opened the back door and felt his way up the
stairs. “I can’t understand why Dick challenged me, unless it was
because my approach was discovered by somebody else who would have
reported him if he hadn’t tried to stop me.”
On reaching the second landing Don moved cautiously along the hall,
spelling the last syllable of the pass-word as he went. Greatly to his
surprise, he met with no response. When his hands came in contact with
the door, he began searching for the knob; but when he turned it, the
door did not open for him. It was locked.
“Now here’s a go,” thought Don, who did not know whether to laugh or get
angry over the predicament in which he so unexpectedly found himself.
“Where’s Fisher? He knew very well that I couldn’t get to my room
without assistance, and yet he has deserted me. If that is the sort of
fellow he is, he’ll not eat any more pancakes this winter at my
expense.”
Having satisfied himself that Tom was not on hand, as he had promised to
be, Don placed his ear close to the key-hole, and found that he could
distinctly hear the footsteps of the floor-guard, as he paced up and
down the hall on the other side of the door. There was a fellow who
could and would help him if he could only attract his attention.
Waiting, with all the patience he could command, until the sentry came
down to that end of the hall again, Don rapped softly upon the door, and
in a peculiar manner. The footsteps ceased on the instant; the sentry
was listening. Again Don gave the mystic signal—one quick rap; then,
after a little pause, three more raps, delivered in rapid succession,
and presently a voice came through the key-hole.
“B-l-e-r-s!” it whispered.
“R-a-m!” whispered Don, in reply.
“Who is it?”
“Gordon.”
A moment later a key rattled in the lock, the door swung open, and Don
stood face to face with the sentry.
“Where’s Fisher?” demanded the latter.
“That’s just what I should like to know,” answered Don. “He said he
would be here to let me in, but I haven’t seen anything of him.”
“He’s a pretty fellow,” exclaimed the sentry. “I don’t know whether you
can reach your room or not. The guards have been aroused, and I am
expecting the officer of the day every minute. But I’ll do the best I
can for you. Stay here till I come back.”
The sentry was not gone more than a quarter of a minute. He went as far
as the head of the stairs that led to the floor below, and then he
turned and ran back on tip-toe. “You’re too late,” said he. “The officer
of the day is down stairs, and he’ll be up here in a second. You might
as well come out and give yourself up, for the boy who comes after me
will not pass you.”
“I can’t help that,” replied Don, “I’ll not give myself up. That isn’t
my style.”
The sentry had seen many a boy in a tight corner, but he had never
before seen one who took matters as coolly as Don did. All the other
students of his acquaintance would have been frightened when they found
that every avenue of escape was closed against them; but Don was as
serene as a summer’s morning.
“You’re a plucky one,” said the sentry, “and I am sorry that I can not
help you. If my relief—Get out of sight, quick! _quick!_” he added, as a
heavy step sounded on the stairs. “That’s the officer of the day; and if
he finds this door unlocked, I shall be in as bad a box as you are.”
Don went back into the hall, his movements being quickened by a gentle
push from the sentry, who, having closed and locked the door, succeeded
in reaching his own hall just a second before the officer of the day
appeared at the head of the stairs. Close at his heels came the corporal
of the guard, who carried a lighted lantern in his hand.
“Sentry,” said the officer, “have any of your men left their rooms
to-night?”
“Not since I have been on post, sir,” replied the sentry. “The beds were
all occupied half an hour ago.”
“We will look into this matter, corporal,” said the officer; and as he
spoke he led the way to the farther end of the hall to begin an
examination of the rooms. The sentry knew that he would do this, and he
awaited the issue of events with no little uneasiness.
“Somebody is in for a regular overhauling,” said he to himself. “Of
course they will see that Gordon’s bed is empty, and the next question
to be decided will be: Who let him out, Porter or I? I know I didn’t do
it; Porter will be sure to deny it—he can keep a smooth face and tell a
lie easier than any boy _I_ ever saw—and unless I can prevail upon
Gordon to back up my statement, I shall be in a bad fix.”
This was the sentry’s only chance for escape, and it looked like a very
slim one. He was not at all acquainted with Don Gordon; in fact he had
never exchanged a word with him until that night, and consequently he
had no idea what Don would do when he was taken before the
superintendent and ordered to give the names of the floor-guard and of
the outside sentry who had permitted him to pass unchallenged. Would he
refuse to obey the order, as an honorable boy ought to do, or would he
seek to screen himself by making a clean breast of everything? While the
sentry was turning these matters over in his mind, the officer of the
day opened the door of Don’s dormitory.
“It’s all over now,” thought he, “and the next thing is the
investigation. I don’t believe I shall have another opportunity to speak
to Gordon to-night, for my relief ought to be along now; but I must see
him the first thing in the morning and find out what sort of a story he
intends to tell when he is hauled up. If he has nerve enough to keep a
still tongue in his head——”
The sentry brought his soliloquy to a close, and stood looking the very
picture of astonishment. Just then the officer of the day and his
attendant came out of Don’s room, and there was nothing in their faces
to indicate that they had made any discovery there. They looked into all
the other dormitories, and then came back to the lower end of the hall
and tried the door that led to the fire-escape. It was locked, and
everything seemed to be all right.
“Sentry,” said the officer of the day, in stern tones. “Are you sure you
are telling me the truth when you say that no one has passed you
to-night?”
“Yes, sir, I am,” answered the boy, looking his questioner squarely in
the eye. “No one has passed across this floor since I came on post.”
“When this matter has been sifted to the bottom, as it certainly will
be, a fine reckoning awaits somebody,” said the officer. “Corporal, we
will go to the next floor.”
When the two had disappeared, and the sentry’s ears told him that they
were making the round of the dormitories above, he pulled his key from
his pocket and quickly opened the door behind which Don Gordon stood
trying to make up his mind to something. He did not expect to get into
his room that morning, and the question he was trying to decide, was:
Should he stay there in the cold and take his chances of falling-in with
the rest of the Plebes when they were marched down to the drill-room to
answer to roll-call, or should he give himself up and ask permission to
sit by the guard-room stove until he was thawed out? He was very much
surprised when the door opened, and he saw the sentry beckoning to him.
“Gordon,” said the latter, in a hurried whisper. “You’re safe. Did you
put a dummy in your bed before you came out?”
Don replied that he did.
“Well, it must be a perfect one, for the officer of the day went in
there with a light and never saw anything to excite his suspicions. It’s
the greatest wonder in the world to me that he didn’t miss your
clothes.”
“My clothes were there,” answered Don, calmly. “I took my dress suit out
of the closet and put it on a chair by the side of my bed, turning the
coat inside out and doubling up the skirts of it so that it would look
like a fatigue coat. What did the old fellow have to say about it,
anyhow?”
The sentry could not waste much time in conversation, for every moment
was precious; but he said enough to give Don an idea of what had passed
between himself and the officer of the day, and to enable him to give
Fisher and Duncan a very accurate account of it.
“You have got Porter and me and all the rest of us out of a bad scrape,”
said the sentry, in conclusion. “Now keep mum, or if you speak at all
deny everything, and this night’s work will prove to be the most
bewildering piece of business in the way of guard-running that has ever
been done at this academy. Go to your room while the way is open to you,
and be quick about it.”
Don, whose teeth were chattering with the cold, lost no time in acting
upon this suggestion. His first act was to hang his dress-suit in the
closet, and his next to deposit in its place on the chair the suit he
had on and which he proceeded to pull off with all possible haste. Then
he tumbled into bed and turned his face to the wall just as the
floor-guard’s relief came up the stairs.
“That was another close shave,” thought Don, “and now comes something
else. I hope the investigation will not be a very searching one, for if
it is, the whole thing is bound to come out. I am always in for a good
time when I can have it without getting anybody into difficulty; but
when it comes to telling a deliberate lie about it—that’s a huckleberry
beyond my persimmon.”
“I say Don!” whispered Bert, from his bed.
“Great Moses!” was the culprit’s mental ejaculation. “Was he awake when
I came in? If he was, I am in for lectures by the mile.”
“I say, Don!” whispered Bert, in a louder tone.
“M!” said Don, drowsily.
“I thought I heard some one come in just now.”
“Very likely you did. The officer of the day has been in here.”
“The officer of the day!” repeated Bert, who had learned to dread that
official as much as some of the other boys disliked him. “What did he
want? Is there anything wrong?”
“He wanted to make sure that we were both safely stowed away in our
little beds. Wake me when you hear the morning gun.”
This was the substance of the story that Don told his two companions as
they strolled about the grounds arm in arm. They listened in amazement,
and complimented Don’s presence of mind in no measured terms. Don said
he didn’t look upon it as much of an exploit—that almost any boy could
have done the same thing under the same circumstances, adding—
“But there are two or three matters that I want cleared up, and at least
one on which I wish to come to the plainest kind of an understanding
with you. What made Henderson halt me?”
“I don’t know, I am sure,” replied Duncan. “He made the biggest kind of
a blunder, didn’t he?”
“I’ll tell you what _I_ think about it,” said Tom. “Dick probably knew
that there was somebody else watching you, and that if he didn’t
challenge you, he would be reported for neglect of duty.”
“That was the construction I put upon his conduct,” said Don.
“We can’t expect a fellow to get himself into trouble for the sake of
keeping another out of it, you know,” chimed in Clarence Duncan.
“Of course not. Now, Fisher, what was the reason you were not there at
that door to let me in?”
“I was to blame for that,” said Clarence. He knew Don would be sure to
ask that question, and while the latter was telling his story he had
leisure to make up his mind how he would answer it. “When I was running
toward the academy I heard footsteps in the guard-room, and believing
that the relief was being called, I dodged behind the building to wait
until they began the round of the posts. Just then Henderson challenged,
and shortly afterward some one ran by me and went into the academy
through the back door. I supposed it was you; and believing that I was
the last one to go in, I took pains to examine the doors leading out of
the fire-escape, knowing that they would all be tried by the officer of
the day when he came up to look into the rooms. In the door opening on
to your floor I found a key of which I took possession, supposing, of
course, that you had used it to let yourself in and forgotten to take it
away with you.”
“That was perfectly right, Gordon,” said Tom Fisher. “If the officer of
the day had found that key in the door, it would have knocked our night
excursions into a cocked hat. The teachers don’t even suspect that we
make use of the doors leading to the back stairs, and if they ever find
it out——”
“Then good-by to Cony Ryan’s pancakes,” said Duncan, finishing the
sentence for his companion. “What is that point on which you wish to
come to the plainest kind of an understanding with us?” he added, in the
hope of turning the conversation into another channel. He was afraid
that Don might begin a vigorous cross-questioning, and find a flaw or
two in the story he had told him regarding that key.
“It is this,” replied Don: “When that floor-guard, whatever his name is,
let me in, he told me to keep mum; or, if I opened my lips at all, to
deny everything. Now, that is something I’ll not do to please or screen
anybody.”
Don’s companions were utterly astounded. They withdrew their arms from
his, and stood off and looked at him.
“I didn’t think you were that sort of a chap,” said Fisher.
“Neither did I,” exclaimed Duncan. “We have been deceived in you.”
“You certainly have, if you picked me up for that kind of a fellow,”
answered Don, boldly, “and you had better drop me like a hot potato. All
the secrets you have intrusted to my keeping are perfectly safe with me;
but I want you to understand that I will not tell a barefaced lie, if I
should chance to be hauled up, to keep you or any one else out of
trouble.”
“Do you mean to say that you will confess if you are hauled up?”
demanded Duncan.
“If the superintendent asks me if I ran the guard last night, I shall
tell him the truth. That’s what I mean.”
“And give the rest of us away too?” exclaimed Fisher.
“By no means,” answered Don, quickly. “I didn’t say that. If he asks me
any questions I don’t want to answer, I can keep my mouth shut, can’t
I?”
“But will you? That’s the point.”
“If you think I can’t be trusted, you had better drop me,” was Don’s
reply.
It was plain that Tom and Clarence were very much disappointed in Don,
and that they did not know what to make of him. He had shown himself
perfectly willing to break the rules of the school, but his sense of
honor would not permit him to lie about it in order to escape
punishment. They had never before met a boy like him.
“I don’t believe such a fellow ever lived since the days of George
Washington,” thought Duncan; “and neither do I believe he means what he
says. If he is questioned, he will blow the whole thing, and some of us
will be sent down as sure as the world. Gordon won’t do to tie to—I can
see that with half an eye. If you will excuse me, fellows,” he added,
aloud, “I will go and ask Dick Henderson to give an account of himself.”
Tom would have been glad to go with Duncan, for he wanted an opportunity
to ask him what he thought of this boy who would not tell a lie when
circumstances seemed to demand it; but as he could think up no good
excuse for leaving Don just then, he remained with him, and Duncan went
off alone. Dick was easily found, for he was loitering about waiting for
a chance to speak to Duncan or Fisher. He expected that there was
trouble ahead, and he wanted it distinctly understood that if it came,
Duncan was the boy who was to blame for it.
“You’re a wise one, you are,” said he, when Clarence came up to him. “If
it hadn’t been for some hocus-pocus that I don’t begin to understand,
you would have got us all into a nice mess by your blundering. You told
me to halt the ninth man, but it turned out to be somebody besides Don
Gordon.”
“There’s where you are mistaken,” said Clarence. “It was Gordon and
nobody else.”
“But he gave the signal all fair and square,” replied Dick, “and I’d
like to know where he got it.”
“I am sure I don’t know. Fisher didn’t give it to him in my hearing, and
I didn’t suppose he had it. I don’t know whether to be glad or sorry
that you didn’t succeed in stopping him. He’s got a pocketful of money,
and paid our bill at Cony’s last night like a gentleman; but he’s no
good, and when the boys hear what he said to Tom and me just a few
minutes ago, I don’t think they will go on any more excursions with him.
He says that he will not blow on any of us, but if he is accused of
running the guard, he will acknowledge it, because he can’t tell a lie.”
“Humph!” exclaimed Dick, contemptuously. “Somebody ought to make him the
hero of a Sunday-school book. We don’t want anything more to do with
him.”
“That’s what I say. Now be on your guard, and be careful how you talk to
him.”
“But what shall I say to him if he insists on knowing why I challenged
him?”
“Tell him as Fisher did, that you had to do it in order to protect
yourself; that the officer of the day was talking with post No. 4, or
something of that sort.”
Greatly to the relief and surprise of Tom Fisher and his party, no
trouble grew out of that night’s work. The investigation came off that
forenoon, but the matter was not sifted to the bottom, as the officer of
the day had declared it should be, for the simple reason that it could
not be done. All the floor-guards and sentries who had been on duty
between the hours of ten in the evening and four in the morning were
subjected to a thorough examination; but nothing was drawn from them.
The innocent had nothing to tell, and the guilty ones were such adepts
at lying that they succeeded in escaping punishment, even if they did
not succeed in escaping suspicion. Dick Henderson said he had tried to
stop somebody who ran past him; but he was quite positive that he did
not know who he was. The officer of the day and the corporal of the
guard were certain that they had looked into every room on all the
floors, and that every bed was occupied. The only conclusion the
superintendent could come to was, that somebody had been outside the
grounds after taps; but who he was, and how he got out, were other and
deeper questions. He held a council of war with the teachers after
completing the examination of the sentries, and with them discussed
various plans for preventing such excursions in future, or, at least,
making them more difficult of accomplishment. One suggestion which he
decided to adopt was carried out that very afternoon.
Of course Don and his guilty comrades were very anxious to learn the
result of the investigation; and when the hour of recreation came, they
sent out some of their number to interview the sentries and
floor-guards. The reports these faithful scouts brought back were very
encouraging. The general impression among the sentries who had
faithfully performed their duty the night before seemed to be that,
although the teachers had their suspicions, they would not proceed any
further in the matter for the simple reason that nothing could be proved
against anybody. They were also united in the belief that in future the
buildings and grounds would be more closely guarded.
“Well, as soon as we find out what new precautions are to be taken, we
can lay our plans accordingly,” said Fisher to his friend Duncan. “What
is it, Bub?” he added, turning to Dick Henderson, who just then hurried
up with a face full of news.
“Come with me and see for yourselves,” answered Dick. “Last night’s work
was an unlucky thing for us, but I am not to blame for it.”
Dick led the way around the academy building and stopped in front of the
back door. It was open, and in the lower hall stood a carpenter who was
bending over a box of tools. Fisher and Duncan looked at Dick, but he
only shrugged his shoulders and waved his hand toward the man, as if to
say that if they wanted any information they could ask it of him. Taking
the hint, Tom inquired:
“What are you doing in there?—Anything broken?”
“Not that I know of,” replied the man, looking up to see who it was that
addressed him. “I am putting some new fastenings on these doors so that
you boys can’t slip out so easily of nights. I am afraid you are getting
to be a bad lot—a very bad lot,” he added, with a grin, as he picked up
three or four strong bolts and made his way up the stairs.
Clarence was thunderstruck, while Tom was so highly enraged that for a
minute or two he could not trust himself to speak.