Chester and June Arlington remained in Hudsonville that night and the
next day. On Monday they came back to Fardale, but Chester did not
return to the academy. He declined to go to the house where June had
been stopping, but ordered the best suite of rooms in the Fardale Hotel,
and there he went comfortably to bed.
Perhaps it was a mistake to say he went comfortably to bed, for he was
far from comfortable, as his back had been hurt badly, although the
Hudsonville doctors consoled him with the assurance that, with rest and
proper treatment, he would recover without any permanent injury.
June remained at the hotel to care for him as best she could, and Mrs.
Arlington was notified of his misfortune, with the result that she lost
no time in hastening to the side of her idolized son.
Dick had called at the hotel to see June a moment, and she showed him
the telegram that told her that her mother was coming with all speed.
"I don't know what will happen when mother gets here," confessed June,
"but there may be trouble. To tell the truth, I am afraid there will be,
for Chester is determined to tell her I gave you that locket, unless I
get it back."
Dick's heart sank a little, but he soon said:
"Then I suppose I shall have to give it up, for I do not wish you to get
into trouble on my account."
But she declined to take it.
"No," she said firmly. "I gave it to you, and you are to keep it. I want
you to promise to keep it, even though my mother demands it of you."
His heart rose at once.
"You may be sure I will do so," he said.
He was in very good spirits as he went whistling back to the academy. It
was just past midday, but the autumn sun was well over into the
southwest. The wind sent a flock of yellow leaves scudding along the
roadside like a lot of startled birds. The woods were bare, and there
was a haze on the distant hills. In spite of the bright sunshine, in
spite of the satisfaction in his heart, he felt vaguely the sadness of
autumn, as if the world itself were fading and growing old and feeble,
like a man that has passed the prime of life and is hurrying down the
hill that leads to decrepit old age and death. Always the autumn
impressed Dick thus. True he saw in it much of beauty, but it was a sad
beauty that made him long to fly to another clime where fallen leaves
and bare woods would not remind him of winter.
Not that Dick disliked the winter, for in it he found those pleasures
enjoyed by every healthful lad with a healthy mind; but it was the
change from early autumn to winter days that stirred his emotions so
keenly and filled him with that unspeakable longing for something that
was not his.
A stream ran through the little valley, the sunshine reflected on its
surface. Beyond the valley was a little grove, where a red squirrel was
barking, the clear air and favorable wind bringing the chatter of the
little creature to the lad's ears. Some one had started a fire on the
distant hillside, and the smoke rose till it was hurled away by the
sweeping wind.
Dick's eyes noted much of beauty in the landscape, for he was sensitive
to color, and the woods were gray and brown and green, the fields were
mottled with brown and green, for there remained a few places where the
grass was not quite dead, late though it was; the hills were misty blue
in the far distance, and the sky overhead was cloudless.
From a high point of the road he could look out on the open sea, and he
heard the breakers roaring on Tiger Tooth Ledge.
The squirrel in the grove seemed calling to him, the woods seemed to
beckon, and even the dull, distant roar of the sea struck a responsive
chord in his heart. A sudden desire came upon him to stray deep into the
woods and hills and seek to renew the old-time friendship and confidence
with nature and the wild things he had once been able to call around
him. Then he thought of Fardale, of the football-field, of his friends
at school, and, lastly, of--June.
"No," he muttered, "I would not give up my new friends for those I used
to know. The birds and squirrels know me no longer, but I have found
human friends who are dearer."
He resumed his whistling and trudged onward with a light heart.
That afternoon Dick worked earnestly with the scrub on the field, for
the weakness of the academy's line in the recent game with Hudsonville
had shown him that injury to one or two players simultaneously might
cause Fardale's defeat unless some remarkably good substitutes were
ready at hand to go in. And he had come to realize that first-class
substitutes were lacking.
The injured ones were improving as swiftly as could be expected, but it
was certain they would not get into practice until near the end of the
week, and Shannock might not be able to go on to the field for another
week to come.
At the opening of the season Fardale had resolved not to play with
Franklin Academy for reasons well known on both sides. A year before
Franklin had permitted a Fardale man and a traitor to play with its
eleven, and the traitor had dashed red pepper into Dick Merriwell's eyes
at a time when it seemed certain that the game would be won by the
cadets through young Merriwell's efforts.
Brad Buckhart "mingled in" and promptly knocked the pepper-thrower
stiff, after which the fellow had been exposed.
But Franklin's action in permitting the traitor to play on her team had
angered the Fardale athletic committee so that a vote was taken not to
meet her on the gridiron again. But the faculty at Franklin took a hand,
offered apologies, regrets, and made promises to look after the team in
the future. They felt a keen disgrace to have Fardale refuse to meet the
Franklin eleven. The result was that the Fardale athletic committee
finally withdrew the ban, and a date was arranged with Franklin.
This was the team Fardale had to meet on the following Saturday after
the game with Hudsonville, and to Dick's ears came a rumor that Franklin
had a remarkable eleven that had been winning games in a most alarming
manner.
To add to Dick's uneasiness came a report that Franklin had hired a
professional coach and that there were at least four "ringers" on the
team. Dick was not inclined to believe this at first, for it did not
seem possible such fellows would be permitted on the eleven after the
entreaty and assurance of the Franklin faculty.
Brad Buckhart resolved to investigate. Without saying a word to Dick,
who, he fancied, might object to "spying," the Texan paid a man to find
out the truth. The result was that, one day, he informed Dick there was
not the least doubt but the "ringers" were to be with the Franklin team.
"I can hardly believe it now!" exclaimed Dick, when Buck had explained
how he came by his knowledge. "How can they afford to do such a thing?"
"Well, pard," said the Westerner, "I hear that they're hot set to wipe
out the disgrace of last year's defeat, and then they won't care a rap
whether we play with them any more or not. That's what's doing over yon
at Franklin. I opine we'd better decline to play."
"No," said Dick. "We have no absolute proof that there are 'ringers' on
their team, although it is likely your man made no mistake. I shall
notify their manager at once that I have heard such a report, ask
concerning its correctness, and protest against the questionable men
being in the game."
"And then if they are in it just the same?"
"We'll play them," said Dick grimly, "and beat them. After that we can
decline to have any further athletic dealings with them."
"Partner, you're right!" exclaimed the Texan. "The only thing I fear is
that our team may not be up to its usual form. If it is, we can down
'em, 'ringers' or no 'ringers.'"
No reply came to Dick's note of protest until Friday, before the game
was to come off. Then the manager answered briefly that all the men on
his team were amateurs and were taking regular courses at Franklin
Academy.
"That settles it," said Dick. "I'd play him now if I had proof that he
had 'ringers' on his team. Then I'd relieve my mind after the game."