THE TRAMP AGAIN
"He's in a dead faint--give him air," ordered Dean Ritchie.
"Get a dipper of water," said Frank quickly, letting Bob slip gently to the
grass.
There was a pump just beyond the enclosure. Ned ran to it, and soon Frank
was sponging Bob's face with cool water.
"Who did it--and why?" spoke Bob suddenly and opening his eyes and sitting
up.
He drew up one foot with a wry face. As he did so Dean Ritchie gave a start
and a stare.
"Why," he cried, "your stocking is dripping with blood."
"The sole of my foot feels like a raw beef-steak," said Bob.
One of the boys had gone after the shoes that Bob had thrown off a distance
from the course.
"Ritchie," he said gravely, "feel there."
His leader took the shoe, ran his hand into it, and looked into it.
"Oh, shame! shame!" he exclaimed with a wrathy face. "Whoever did this
deserves to be tarred and feathered."
"What is it?" inquired Frank.
"An old trick among touts and welchers. Just feel, Jordan--some one got
into the gym last night and doctored these shoes."
"Doctored the shoes?" repeated Frank vaguely.
"Yes, they set in a light cushion sole, with a half dozen blade-pointed
brads under it that would break through after a little use. It's a wonder
that Upton's foot isn't ripped to pieces."
"It feels pretty near as if it was," said Bob, wincing. "Frank, I guess I'm
crippled for a few days. You'll have to help me get to our room."
There were dark frowns of indignation and suspicion among the group. The
Banbury crowd were making off with glum faces and uneasy haste.
"Stop!" sharply shouted Ritchie after them. "I accuse nobody, but I want to
say right here and now, and I want everybody to hear me, that I'm going to
ferret out the low sneak who put those brads in Bob Upton's shoes. When I
do, he leaves this school or I do, and one of us will have reason to
remember the drubbing of his life."
"They're a fine set, aren't they?" spoke Purtelle. "Fellows, I think this
circumstance should be reported to the faculty."
"No," dissented Bob Upton decidedly. "The rascals will reach the end of
their tether some time, and we can't prove who worked this mean trick."
They got Bob to his room. Ned did not go there with the crowd, but he
appeared a little later with a box of salve and some strips of cloth. He
fixed up Bob's injured foot so skilfully that Ritchie complimented him as
an expert surgeon.
Frank stayed with his friend, reading to him for a time. All the others had
gone away. Finally Bob fell asleep, and Frank strolled out on the grounds.
As he again entered the building bound for his room, he ran directly
against Ned as he turned down a corridor near the reception-room.
"Why, Ned," he exclaimed, "what are you doing here?"
Ned Foreman was almost crouching in a dark corner. He was trembling, and
his lips were white, and there was a marked terror in his eyes. Frank was
profoundly startled, almost shocked at the strange appearance of his
friend.
"That man is in there!" gasped Ned.
"In where?"
"The reception-room."
"What man do you mean?"
"Tim Brady."
"Oh!" uttered Frank, and a whole lot of light seemed to flood his mind in
an instant. "How do you know that?"
"President Elliott send word to me that a visitor wished to see me in the
reception-room. I just came down and looked in. That terrible man who calls
me his relative is in there talking to the president."
"What is he after?" asked Frank.
"Can't you see?" spoke Ned in a tone of great agitation and excitement. "He
has followed me clear here. He is going to drive me away from here, just as
he has driven me away from other places. I can't meet him--the cold chills
run all over me whenever my eyes light on him," and Ned shuddered.
"See here, Ned Foreman," said Frank, "you go right into that room. Brace
straight up to that miserable wretch, and defy him. Don't be a bit scared
at anything he may say to you. I'll do the rest."
"How--how can you?" stammered the terrified boy.
"Leave that to me. I know a lot I'll tell you afterward. Go ahead, now, and
don't you show one particle of fear. Leave the door ajar a little, just as
it is. I'm no eavesdropper, but on the present occasion I'm mightily
interested in seeing and hearing all that's going on."
There was something unaccountable about Ned Foreman's dread of his
professed relative. He passed into the reception-room, but he was trembling
all over and his face was pale and frightened.
President Elliott sat near a table, and the tramp whom Frank knew as Tim
Brady was standing up in front of him.
He did not look much like the fellow Frank had rescued Ned from at Tipton.
In his hand he carried a high silk hat. He was clean shaven, and his hair
was combed and plastered down over his bullet head. His clerical-looking
frock coat was buttoned up to the chin. His face was drawn in a
hypocritical expression of great concern.
"Ah, my boy! my boy!" he exclaimed, jumping about and rushing at Ned,
extending both hands as if about to greet some beloved friend.
Ned Foreman shrank from his obnoxious relative in horror.