“It’s that young Bryant that’s at the bottom of it,” growled Ben
Holden. “He’s the freshest kid I ever saw.”
“Young rascals!” laughed Steve Lovell.
“I guess we’d better find them,” observed Dick Gardner grimly, “and
convince them of the――er――error of their way.”
“Rather!” said Waters. “Come on. I guess they’re upstairs.”
“Wait a bit,” counseled Stanley Pierce. “The best thing to do is to
make believe we haven’t seen this at all. Just leave it here and let
on we don’t know anything about it. Then, when we go up, each of us
will think of something we want done. See? I left my algebra in the
gym. I’ll send Kid for it. When he comes back one of you fellows send
him for something else. We’ll keep them busy until supper time and nip
this――this revolt in the bud.”
“All right,” agreed Ben doubtfully. He was always a bit doubtful,
or seemed so, of advice not given by himself. So they all trooped
upstairs, all save Sewall Crandall and Harold Cupples, who, being
lower middlers and but lately emancipated from the iron heel of
upper-classdom held a sneaking sympathy for the mutineers.
“Plucky kids, eh?” whispered Crandall, with a grin.
Cupples agreed, adding, however, “They’re making a lot of trouble for
themselves, though.”
Meanwhile the four seniors and the two upper middlers had climbed the
stairs. To their surprise none of the mutineers were to be found. Every
room was empty. “Try the gym,” suggested Pierce, and the gymnasium was
tried without results. Likewise the schoolroom. Then the search was
given over. “They’ll have to come back some time,” said Holden. “And
then we’ll get ’em.”
One of the places they didn’t look was the parlor. Had they walked in
there after reading the proclamation they would not only have found the
four missing juniors but would very likely have upset the equilibrium
of Mr. James Fairchild, who, against the remonstrances of his fellow
conspirators, held his ear to the keyhole.
After the tyrants had stamped upstairs, Bert, who during the momentous
period had reclined calmly on the brocaded divan, sat up, thrust his
hands into his pockets and frowned thoughtfully. “I guess we made a
mistake, fellows,” he said. “We ought to have been upstairs. They’ll
think now that we’re afraid of them. And we aren’t.”
“Not a bit!” declared Lanny stoutly, glancing apprehensively at the
hall door.
“N-no,” murmured Small nervously.
“So let’s go up now and face them, eh?” Bert said.
Dead silence greeted this suggestion. Lanny whistled softly and seemed
to be giving the plan careful consideration. Small became deeply
interested in the snow-covered and lamp-lighted drive and Kid, catching
Bert’s eye, winked mischievously.
“Sure,” he said, “let’s go up and defy them!”
“That’s all well enough for you,” said Small. “You’re such a little
fellow that they won’t hurt you!”
“I’m only a year younger than you are,” replied Kid warmly, “and I’m
’most as big. You’re afraid, that’s what’s the matter with you!”
“Cut it out, you two,” said Lanny. “What time is it?”
Bert peered at the ornate clock on the mantel. “’Most six,” he
answered. “We’ve got to go up pretty soon, whether we want to or not.”
That couldn’t be denied.
“Perhaps we’d better go now,” said Lanny. “It will look better. I kind
of wish, though, we hadn’t added that postscript at the last; it sounds
awfully cheeky.”
“Well, whose idea was it?” demanded Small. “I told you not to do it.”
“Oh, we might as well be killed for sheep as lambs,” remarked Bert
cheerfully. “Come on, fellows; brace up; they can’t kill us. But
remember, now, no shacking!”
“Let’s talk about something on the way up,” said Lanny. “It――it’ll
sound as though we weren’t scared.”
“Talk about me,” chirped up Kid pertly. “I’m awfully interesting.”
“Talk about the skating races Saturday,” said Lanny. “There’s a race
for juniors, you know. Who’s going in for it?”
With that Bert opened the door and the four crossed the hall with a bit
of a swagger and mounted the stairs, talking volubly but very much at
random.
“It’s a quarter of a mile,” said Lanny, “and I think that’s too short,
don’t you?”
“I must have my skates ground,” said Kid.
“Why don’t they have a handicap race?” asked Bert.
“The mile is sure to go to Ben,” said Small. “He’s a peach of a
skater.” Small’s voice was unnecessarily loud and Bert turned to him
with a frown.
“Quit swiping, Frye,” he hissed, adding in an equally penetrating
voice: “I shouldn’t think Holden could skate much; he looks so awkward.”
Small shuddered. Then they parted to seek their own rooms.
“Well, where have you been?” growled Ben as Bert entered Number 2.
“I’ve been waiting for you for half an hour.”
“Oh, just around,” replied Bert vaguely.
“Well, find my slippers for me.”
“Oh, no,” answered Bert. “We’re not doing that any more. It’s out of
fashion.”
Ben glared fearsomely. “We’ll see whether it’s out of fashion, my fresh
young kid!” He arose and started around the table after Bert. Bert held
his ground, although I’m not pretending that he was quite easy of mind.
“You touch me, Holden,” he said evenly, “and I’ll kick your shins. I’ve
given you fair warning.”
Then Ben seized him, Bert kicked him and there was a very pretty little
fracas for a minute or two, from which Bert emerged somewhat breathless
and unscathed and Ben with one painful contusion on his left shin. For
Ben, in spite of his bullying proclivities, was not cruel, and had
only sought to tweak Bert’s ears. Still, it wouldn’t do to acknowledge
defeat, and so as he drew off he said in a fierce tone: “Now, then,
find those slippers!”
But Bert shook his head. “Can’t, Holden; I’ve joined the union. Didn’t
you read the proclamation?”
“I don’t care about any proclamation,” replied Ben wrathfully. “_You
get those slippers!_”
“No, I won’t. What’s more, Holden, I’m through running errands and
waiting on you. I didn’t come here to be any fellow’s servant.”
“It’s the――the custom here, Bryant, and you’ve got to do it!”
“I don’t approve of the custom,” answered Bert coolly. “It’s a very
silly one. Why should I wait on you any more than you on me?”
“Because you’re a junior and I’m a senior. I’m older than you, and――――”
“If you’re older you’re also stronger,” said Bert, “and so you’re
better able to do things than I am. Anyway, I’m through. And so are the
others. We’ve struck.”
“We’ll see about that, you fresh kid! Once more, now; I shan’t ask you
again; will you get those slippers?”
“For the last time, Holden, I won’t.”
“Very well. You’ll be mighty sorry, though.” Ben took refuge in
dignity. “It isn’t likely that we’re going to stand for having a new
boy come in here――and disrupt the school. We――we’ll deal with you
later.”
Bert, without replying, washed for supper, and a moment later the bell
rang. Ben went down to the dining-room in his shoes. The twelve boys
sat at two tables, the seniors and upper middlers at one, presided
over by Mr. Folsom, and the lower middlers and juniors at the other,
under the supervision of Mr. Crane. Doctor Merton, with his wife and
daughter, occupied a small table at the end of the room. Whispering was
not countenanced, and so the mutineers could not compare notes. Lanny
looked flustered and defiant, Kid excited and happy and Small worried.
Once Bert encountered Nan’s eyes across the room and received a look
that he couldn’t fathom, not knowing that Nan had learned of the mutiny
and was doing her best to convey to him that she was just terribly
excited and was dying to hear all about it. Then Mr. Crane, helping the
last portion of cold roast beef, remarked:
“Well, you boys want to eat plenty, you know. There’s hard work ahead
this evening.”
This pleasantry elicited no response and he pretended to be surprised.
As a matter of fact, Mr. Crane had found the proclamation on the
mantel, had laughed over it with Mr. Folsom and had subsequently taken
it to Doctor Merton.
“Eh?” he went on. “Isn’t this the night we fix the slide, Crandall?”
“Yes, sir, I believe so,” replied Crandall.
“I thought so. Well, there’s plenty of snow. Last year you had rather
hard work, if I remember.”
“Yes, sir, we did.”
“How are you with a snow shovel, Bryant; pretty husky?”
“Only fair, sir. No good at all after dark.”
“How’s that?”
Bert shook his head. “I hardly know how to explain it, sir,” he
replied, “but I can’t seem to hold a shovel in the evening.”
“Dear, dear! Quite remarkable, Bryant. You must have a new sort of
disease.” Kid was grinning delightedly. “Well, you haven’t any trouble
of that sort, have you, Fairchild?”
“I’m afraid I have,” piped the boy. “The thought of a snow-shovel makes
me quite ill, sir.”
“Good gracious! The disease is catching! And you, Grey? Are you
experiencing the symptoms, too?”
“Yes, sir,” muttered Lanny.
“What? Why, this is――is surprising! I must ask the Doctor to look into
it. Frye, you――don’t tell me you have it, too!”
Small looked at his plate and nodded silently. Mr. Crane leaned back in
his chair astounded.
“Well, well! But let’s learn the worst, Crandall?”
“No, sir,” replied Crandall with a grin.
“Ah! And Cupples?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Good! There is hope! But what about the slide? You don’t think,
Bryant, that you could――ah――overcome this――this aversion?”
“No, sir,” answered Bert cheerfully. “It has a firm hold on me.”
“Really! And I can see by your countenance, Grey, that you, too, are
past recovery. And Frye, and Fairchild. Why, it looks to me as though
Crandall and Cupples would have to do all the work. That’s too bad.”
“I’m willing to do my share,” said Crandall, “but I don’t propose to go
out there and cover that slide alone.”
“But you’ll have Cupples to help you.”
“Not much, Mr. Crane. What’s the matter with the upper grade fellows
doing it?”
“Tut, tut, Cupples! You surely wouldn’t propose that seriously? Why,
they might get their feet cold!”
“I guess they have the same disease we have,” said Kid.
“Um; maybe; perhaps another form of it. Well, things look bad for the
slide, don’t they? Perhaps the Doctor and Mr. Folsom and I will have to
attend to it this time.”
Kid grinned at the idea. “I’d like to see you,” he said.
After supper, in the hall, Pierce remarked pleasantly:
“Well, juniors and lowers, this is the night we fix the toboggan slide,
you know.”
“Do you?” asked Kid interestedly. “May I come and watch you, Dick?”
A roar of laughter greeted this, even Ben being obliged to smile.
“You may come and get busy with a shovel and pail, little smarty,”
responded Gardner. “And all the rest of you. Now get a move on, for
you’ve only got about an hour before prayers.”
But Kid shook his head. “No, thanks. It’s too cold out there, Dick. The
doctor said I must be very careful of my health and avoid night air.”
Gardner frowned and glanced inquiringly at the others. Ben came to his
support.
“You fellows think you’re awfully smart, I suppose,” he said, “but
you’re making fools of yourselves. Either you go out and get that slide
ready or you keep off it altogether. It’s either work or no tobogganing
for you chaps.”
“I’d like to know when we’d get a show at it, anyway,” said Lanny.
“You fellows would be using it all the time. It would be just like the
rinks. A lot of fun we juniors get there!”
“You’re entitled to use the rinks whenever we aren’t practising,” said
Ben.
“What of that? You always are practising!”
“Then you can use the slide,” said Steve Lovell. “Come on, Lanny, don’t
be silly.”
“No, sir, we aren’t going to fix that slide,” responded Lanny,
emphatically. “We aren’t going to do any more errands for anyone, or
any more shacking.”
“You mean you won’t fix that slide?” demanded Ben.
“That’s what I mean!”
“We’ll be glad to go out and help,” remarked Bert calmly, “if you
fellows will do your share. That’s fair enough, isn’t it?”
“You’ll do it all or it won’t be done,” snapped Ben.
“Then it won’t be done,” said Bert.
The upper grade fellows went into secret session in front of the
fireplace. Crandall and Cupples attempted to persuade the youngsters to
give in, but without success. Then Ben announced the ultimatum.
“We are going to fix that slide ourselves,” he said sternly, “and if we
catch any of you juniors sliding on it we’ll wallop you good and hard.
Come on, fellows!”