AN UNEXPECTED CLEW
Four lads sat in various ungraceful if easy attitudes in the room of our
heroes one evening. Four--for Frank Simpson was now an accredited member
in full and regular standing of the "Big Four," as they were coming to
be called.
Frank had moved his belongings into the apartment of the three chums,
who were now four, for he found their comradeship congenial, and they
liked him immensely.
It was a week after the announcement by Dr. Churchill of the setback the
college had received in the opening of the legal battle.
Football practice had, naturally, gone on as usual, and there was a more
hopeful look on the faces of the captain and coach. The team was playing
more as a unit. Kicks were being handled better, the ball was being
advanced with greater certainty in the games with the scrubs, and it
looked as if Randall would come into her own again. They had played
another minor game, and had rolled up a surprisingly big score.
"But the trouble of it is," said Tom, as he got in a more comfortable
position on the creaking sofa, "the trouble of it is that Boxer Hall is
doing just as well. She's cleaning up everything that comes her way."
"But we have a look-in at the championship," declared Sid.
"Yes, if we win the game Saturday against Pentonville Prep," agreed
Phil.
"Oh, we'll do that all right," declared Frank.
The football situation in the Tonaka Lake League was peculiar that year.
In spite of the fact that Randall had not done well and had been beaten
by Fairview, the latter college had "slumped" so after her victory over
Randall that she was practically out of it as regards the championship.
Should Randall win the game against Pentonville, which was almost a
foregone conclusion, there would be a tie between Boxer Hall and the
college of our heroes for the championship. It was this knowledge which
made the players, coach and captain a trifle nervous, for so much
depended on the final struggle that was close at hand.
Would it be Randall or Boxer Hall that would carry off the honors of the
gridiron?
"Well, we'll play our heads off, that's all I can say," remarked Tom,
as he glanced over the sporting pages of a paper. "I see that they're
trying some new kicking game at Boxer."
"Yes, they're always after fads," declared Phil. "But straight football,
with some of the old-fashioned line bucking, such as we play, and two
halves, are good enough for me."
"Same here," agreed Sid.
"I guess nothing will come of that law business before the final game,
eh, fellows?" went on Tom, who seemed anxious about it.
"No danger of a decision from the courts right away," said Frank. "From
what I can hear, our lawyers are going to get back at Langridge and his
partner in some new kind of an injunction or a _lis pendis_ or a
_whang-doodle_. That may make it look like a white horse of another
color."
They talked of football and the legal tangle at some length, and were
deep in a discussion about a certain wing-shift play, when tramping
footsteps were heard down the corridor.
"Holly Cross," ventured Sid.
"Dutch Housenlager or--an elephant," predicted Tom. "He walks as though
he had his football shoes on."
"Perhaps he's coming to suggest another trick on the proctor or
Pitchfork," suggested Phil, for the latest attempt of Dutch was a
standing joke against the fun-loving student.
"Hello, Dutch!" greeted Tom, as the big guard entered. "Anything wrong?"
"No. Why?"
"Oh, I didn't know, but I thought you looked as if you just met the
proctor, who made you sweep and dust his room."
The others joined in the laugh against Dutch.
"Oh, can you fellows ever forget anything?" he asked, in accents of deep
disgust, as he looked about for a place to sit down. "Where's the seat
of honor, anyhow?" he demanded. "Am I to sit on the floor?"
"Oh, suit yourself," remarked Phil. "Our seat of honor hasn't yet come
back from the realms of mystery."
"No, hang it all!" exclaimed Sid. "I'd give a good deal to know who has
our old chair."
"What! Haven't you got that back yet?" asked Dutch. "Seems to me if I
were you I'd make it a point to go in the room of every fellow in
college until I found it."
"We've practically done that," declared Phil. "In fact, we've done
everything but offer a reward, and I guess we'll have to do that next."
"Just what sort of a chair was it that you lost?" asked Frank Simpson.
"I've heard a lot about it since I came to Randall, but I don't exactly
know whether it is a Turkish rocker or a Chinese teakwood affair with a
cold marble seat."
"It was the easiest chair you ever sat in!" declared Tom.
"A regular sleep-producer," was Sid's opinion.
"Nothing like it ever known when you came in all tired out from football
practice, as I did to-night," spoke Phil. "It rested you all over, and
now we only have the couch, and Tom or Sid have that all the time now,
so I don't get a chance at it."
"Get out, you syndicated cynic!" cried Tom. "You're always on the 'lay'
when I come in. But, Frank, seriously, this chair of ours was the real
thing. It was a beaut, and I haven't been able to find one like it
since. It was an heirloom!"
"It was a relic of the dark ages!" broke in Dutch. "Say, Simpson, you'd
ought to have seen it! That chair was broken in the back, the seat was
humped up like a camel with the heaves, both cylinders were cracked,
the gears were stripped smooth, the differential was on the fritz,
there wasn't a tire on it without a puncture, it had the pip and the
epizootic, and, to crown it all, when you sat down in it you never knew
whether you were going to get out of it alive or were a prisoner for
life on hard labor."
"Soak him!"
"Traitor!"
"Put him out!"
"Roll him under the sofa!"
"That'll do for you, Dutch!"
These were only some of the things that Tom and his mates called at the
big guard as he went on slandering the precious chair. Frank Simpson sat
an amused witness of the little scene.
"It was pretty big, wasn't it?" he ventured, at length. "That chair, I
mean."
"As if we were talking of anything else," retorted Phil. "Yes, it was
big and heavy and clumsy--about fifty years old, I guess, and it
disappeared just before the clock went off on a vacation, and came back
so unexpectedly. By the way, fellows, we're as far from that mystery as
ever."
"Don't speak of it!" begged Sid.
"Did your chair have a sort of reddish-brown cover on it?" went on
Frank.
"That may have been the color once," broke in the irrepressible Dutch,
"but it was sky-blue pink when it walked away, for these fellows used to
empty their ink bottles on it, and use the upholstery for a blotter."
"Cheese it!" cried Tom. "Yes, Frank, the cover was a reddish-brown."
"And were the legs carved with claws, and the arms with lions' heads?"
went on the Californian.
"Exactly! Say!" cried Phil, "like the dervish in the story of the camel,
have you got our old chair?"
He arose, and fairly glared at Frank. The latter, too, had been growing
more serious as he proceeded with his questions. Sid and Tom leaned
forward eagerly, and Dutch looked on, wondering what was coming next.
"I haven't got your chair," went on Frank, "but when I know what kind it
is, as I do now for the first time, I think I can give you news of it."
"Then, for the love of Mike and the little fishes, speak!" cried Tom.
"Or forever after hold your peace," chimed in Dutch, solemnly.
"Where's our chair?" demanded Phil, dramatically.
"I was passing a second-hand store, the proprietor of which also does
upholstering as a side line," went on Frank, "when, happening to glance
into the left-hand--no, I think it was the right-hand--window, I
espied----"
"Oh, put on more steam!" begged Tom.
"I saw a chair," went on the Californian, "a chair that I am sure must
be yours. It was exactly as you have described it. I thought it looked
to be quite a relic."
"Where is that second-hand place?" cried Phil and Tom in a breath, while
Sid grew so excited that he grabbed Frank by the arm, and held to him as
if he, too, might vanish as had the chair. "Where is it? Where is it?"
"In Haddonfield, on a little side street that runs up from the depot. I
don't know the name of it," answered Simpson.
"Decker Street," supplied Tom. "About the only place we didn't look,
fellows. I didn't know there was a second-hand place there."
"There's only this one!" said Frank. "But he has your chair!"
"Hurrah!" cried Phil. "On the trail at last! Where's my cap?" and he
began looking about the room.
"Where you going, this time of night?" demanded Dutch.
"Over to Haddonfield to get that chair, of course," replied the
quarter-back. "Come on, Sid and Tom."
They were enthusiastically hunting about for their hats and coats, which
were never put in the same place twice.
"I'll go along and show you," volunteered Frank. "But he may be closed
now. It's after nine. We won't get to town until nearly ten."
"We'll make him open up if we have to get the police," declared Sid.
"Sure!" exclaimed Tom.
"Fellows, it's too late to go to-night," said Dutch, seriously. "You
can't run any chances of Zane catching you, especially as the big game
with Boxer is so near at hand. If you're caught it may mean being ruled
off the team, and you ought not to take chances."
The four hesitated. It was their chair against the eleven, for they knew
that there had been a number of college rule violations of late, and the
proctor was unusually strict. They might be caught and punished.
"Morning will do," insisted Dutch, who, if he did not care much for the
chair, did have the interests of the eleven at heart.
"It won't do, but I suppose we'll have to wait," conceded Phil, slowly.
"Jove! It's tough to almost get your hands on it, and then have to hold
back. Why didn't you tell us this before, Frank?"
"I didn't see the chair in the window until day before yesterday, and
then I never thought it could be yours, until we got to talking about it
to-night."
"And to think that we may have it back to-morrow," murmured Tom. "It
seems too good to be true! I wonder how it ever got away?"
"I don't know that, but I do know that we'll chain it fast when we have
it again," declared Phil, and then they made Frank tell all over again
how he had happened to see it, and how it looked.