THE FIRST BREAK
"Say, where in the name of Diogenes's lantern have you been, Tom?"
"Yes, come in you musty old deserter, and give an account of yourself.
You've been away so long that you must have forgotten the counter-sign."
"It was a girl, fellows--I can smell the perfumery!"
Thus Sid, Phil and Frank greeted the advent of our hero into the common
room, soon after he had left Boswell. Tom's brain had been so busy with
so many thoughts, after the sight of that torn handkerchief, that he had
eaten scarcely any supper, though his appetite just before that had been
of the best.
"Shove over; can't you?" was all Tom said to Phil, who was stretched out
on the old sofa.
"Sure I can. What's the matter? Got a grouch!"
"No, but I'm dead tired."
"Be careful how you flop," warned Sid, as he watched with anxiety Tom's
preparations to sit down. "That sofa doesn't gain strength with age--it
isn't like cheese in that respect."
"Where were you?" asked Phil, as Tom managed to find a resting place
without bringing forth from the sofa more than a protesting groan, and a
series of squeaks.
"Ruth and I were out for a row," said Tom shortly, knowing that the
truth would out sooner or later, and having nothing to conceal.
"Oh, ho!" exclaimed Sid.
"Where'd you go?" asked Phil, with brotherly interest.
"Crest Island. That's what kept me so long. I got her home in good
season though, and rowed slow the rest of the way."
"Crest Island!" exclaimed Frank. "Did you find any more clues, Tom?"
The tall pitcher hesitated. He was in two minds about what had taken
place that afternoon. Should he tell his chums the secret he thought
he had discovered, and get their opinions in working it out? Or should
he play a lone hand? A moment's thought convinced him. He would tell
all--that is, all save Ruth's secret. That he had no right to divulge.
"Well?" asked Frank, as his chum hesitated. "Did you find anything,
Tom?"
"I sure did, fellows," and he tossed on the table the card of Boswell,
and the strands of silk.
For a moment no one spoke, and then Sid, picking up the card remarked:
"This looks suspicious, Tom. Did you and Bossy quarrel over a girl,
and go to Crest Island to have a duel? It begins to look that
way--exchanging cards and all that."
"We didn't exchange cards," said Tom shortly. "I found that card near a
shack where a caretaker lives. And, by the way, fellows, we're going to
camp on Crest Island this Summer."
"We are?" cried Phil.
"I like the nice, easy way he has of laying out our vacation plans for
us," remarked Sid.
"Just as if he was our manager," added Frank.
"Well, I only thought it would be handy if we want to practice rowing,"
went on Tom, holding back the other reason. "We could get a boat, and
drop down to college here every day or so, take out the shell and have a
spin. If we want to beat Boxer Hall we've got to do some tall hustling,
and practice like all get-out!"
"Oh, I fancy I can practice rowing on Crystal Lake, where our folks
intend taking a cottage," said Sid. "No Crest Island for mine!"
"The girls are going to cottage there," went on Tom, with a fine
appearance of indifference. "Madge Tyler's folks have a neat little
shack there, and Ruth, Helen and Mabel are going to spend some time
with her."
"They are!" cried Frank.
"Why didn't you say so at first?" asked Sid, indignantly.
"I--er--I guess I can fix it to camp there," spoke Phil, just as if he
had never intended spending his vacation at any other place.
"Oh, you fellows were so sure you knew your own business that I didn't
want to butt in," went on the pitcher. "But, boys, what do you think of
that?" and he indicated the card and silk.
"It's the same material," spoke Frank after a bit, as he compared the
shreds Tom had pulled from the window-sill of the shack on the island,
with the torn strip found near the looted jewelry box.
"And what would you say if I told you that Bossy had a handkerchief of
that same pattern, with a strip torn off?" asked Tom, slowly.
"Has he?" asked Frank, looking sharply at his chum.
"He has."
"Then, by crimps! He's the fellow who has the cups and jewelry!" cried
Sid.
"Go easy," advised Phil. "That's the worst of you--always jumping to
conclusions."
"And why shouldn't I, when I can land on 'em as easily as I can on this
one? Isn't it as plain as can be?"
"Not altogether. We'd make fine specimens of ourselves if we went and
accused him on this evidence. You say, Tom, that you found this card
near the Mexican's shack?"
"Yes. And the shreds of silk there, too. It looks to me as if Bossy had
been there to buy a handkerchief. Two of 'em, if we're to believe him.
The Mexican probably has them as well as his 'push-work' as he calls
it," and he told all the circumstances of the visit to the island,
omitting only the search for Ruth's brooch.
"I guess that part is right," admitted Frank. "I mean about Bossy going
there to buy one of these gay handkerchiefs. But just because he did
doesn't make him guilty. In fact, what object would he have in taking
some trophy cups that he could get very little for if they were melted
up, and nothing for, if he tried to sell them as they were? No one
would buy them, for on the face of them they show what they are. Some
were engraved with the Boxer Hall fellows' names. And the other jewelry
wasn't so very valuable. Bossy wouldn't have any object in taking that.
He's got more money now, than is good for him."
"He might have been gambling, and gotten short of cash, and been afraid
of asking his folks," suggested Sid, remembering an ordeal he had gone
through in having a relative under similar circumstances, as I related
in "Batting to Win."
"I don't believe it," declared Frank. "To my mind I'd sooner suspect
this Mendez. He seems a fishy sort of character."
"Oh, I think he's straight," declared Tom. "I made some inquiries about
him while I was having grub. It seems some of the fellows here have been
buying stuff of him--last year when he was traveling around the country.
He bears a good reputation, and Hendell's father, who owns part of Crest
Island, was telling me that the property owners looked up his record
well before they let him succeed old Jake Blasdell as caretaker."
"Hum!" mused Frank. "It doesn't look as easy as it did at first, in
spite of these clues, Tom."
"That's right. Say, I'm not as much of a detective as I thought. I
wonder if that jeweler could be double-crossing us?"
"What do you mean?" asked Sid.
"I mean could he have lost the box of jewelry overboard before his boat
was carried away by the flood? If he did, he could make up the story
that he left it in the locker, and that someone else got it when the
boat was wrecked."
"That's possible, though not probable," admitted Frank. "Fellows, my
advice is that we put these things away, and forget all about them
to-night. In the morning we may see matters clearer. I've got to do
some boning anyhow. Put 'em away, Tom."
Soon only the ticking of the fussy, little alarm clock was heard,
mingled with the rattle of paper as books were leafed or as the lads
wrote out their lessons. Even the clock stopped after a bit, and the
sudden silence was so startling that Phil exclaimed:
"She's run down! Hope nothing's the matter with her," and he picked up
the timepiece with an anxious face.
"Probably got toothpickitis," suggested Tom. "Give it a shake."
Phil did so, with the result that a piece of toothpick did fall out, and
then the clock went on ticking again.
"That's better," sighed Phil, though often he had objected to the
incessant noise. "It would be like losing an old friend if that went
back on us."
He settled into the depths of one of the old armchairs, Sid being in
another, while Frank, who had succeeded to the sofa stretched out
luxuriously on that, having ousted Tom, who, on a stool drawn up to the
table, was making an ancient war map that was to be used in class the
next day.
Morning brought no clearer view to the puzzling problem of the clues to
the missing jewelry, and, having all agreed to keep silent about the
matter, the lads laid aside the articles and hurried to chapel. In the
several days that followed nothing new in that line developed.
There came several baseball contests, in which Tom and his chums
distinguished themselves. The long vacation was approaching, and more
or less "boning" had to be done if the lads intended to pass their
examinations. All these things, with the rowing practice, kept them busy
so that Tom, as was the case with the others, had little chance to see
the girls.
The other second-hand rowing craft were made good use of, and those who
were to go in the four were practically picked. So were the singles and
doubles, though of course a change might be made in the Fall, when new
material would come to Randall.
All eyes, and most of the interest, however, was on and in the eight.
On this Randall built her hopes of becoming champion of the river and
lake league. Though when word came of the fast time made by Boxer Hall
and Fairview in their practice spins, there were doubtful shakes of the
head, for Randall was nowhere near as good.
Then came the annual Boxer Hall-Fairview races. It was about an even
thing between the two colleges, until it came time for the eight-oared
contest. There was even a tub race, and the boys at Randall decided to
have one when it came time for them to take part in the regatta.
But Boxer won the eight with ease over Fairview, and when Mr. Lighton,
who with most of those who had practiced in Randall's big shell,
witnessed the exciting finish, he shook his head.
"We've got to do some tall hustling," he remarked, "and make some
changes. I'll start in on them to-morrow."
There was a larger number than usual at practice on Sunny River the next
day. All Randall seemed to be at the boathouse. Adjoining the old one a
start had already been made on erecting the new structure, presented by
the alumni. Word had been received that the new shells would be ready in
ample time for the Fall races.
"Young men!" exclaimed Coach Lighton, as the eight was slipped into the
water, "I'm going to make some radical changes in the crew, and I want
none of you to feel sore, because, you know, it is for the good of the
college. We have not been rowing well, of late, and there are several
faults to correct. The boat hangs a bit, and is a trifle heavy by the
stern. She drags. I know one reason for this, it is my own weight, and
so I am going to suggest that you now try one of yourselves as coxswain.
I am a little too 'beefy' for the place.
"Jerry Jackson, you take the tiller ropes. You've had more practice than
any of the others, and you're too light to hope to be at the oars."
"All right," agreed Jerry, cheerfully. After all it was an honor to
steer the eight.
"Simpson, you'll stay at stroke, and, Parsons, I'm going to send you
back a bit. No offense, but you're not quite quick enough in picking up
the stroke. I think it's your baseball arm that's at fault. Molloy, you
take Parsons' place, and Tom will go number three. From three, Henderson
will go to bow. He's about the right weight for there when we get
Jackson in as coxswain. And, Jerry, you'll want to shift your seat a bit
aft, to make up for the extra weight they've been carrying in me. That
will make a good change, I think."
There was some murmuring over the changes, and obviously nearly all were
pleased. Molloy especially, for he had been fretting lest he be kept out
of the eight. As for Tom he was rather glad, on the whole, that he did
not have the responsibility of picking up Frank's stroke, for it was a
responsibility, and it was telling on him. He had begun to realize that
his baseball pitching had made him a bit awkward in one arm.
"Say, where do I come in?" suddenly asked Boswell. "I was at bow, and
now--I'm nowhere, Mr. Lighton."
"I'll work you in another crew, Boswell," said the coach, sharply.
"But I want to be in the varsity."
"This isn't the varsity any more than any other collection of eight
rowers is. The varsity isn't picked yet, and won't be until the Fall."
"Well, this looks very much like the varsity to me," sneered Boswell.
"All the fellows in it are on the varsity nine----"
"That'll do you!" said the coach, snappily.
"Then I'm not to row at bow?"
"Not in this eight."
"Then I don't row at all!" and, with a fierce glance at the selected
rowers, the rich lad turned sharply and walked off to the dressing rooms.
"The first break," murmured Tom.
"Take your places," spoke the coach, quietly. "I'm going to follow you
in the launch. Jackson, make 'em do as you tell 'em!"