[Illustration: ONE EVENING IN THE WEEK THE JUNIORS WERE ALLOWED THE
FREEDOM OF THE GYMNASIUM.
_The Y. M. C. A. Boys of Cliffwood_ _Page 124_]
The
Y. M. C. A. Boys
of Cliffwood
Or
The Struggle for the Holwell Prize
BY
BROOKS HENDERLEY
Author of “The Y. M. C. A.
Boys on Bass Island” Etc.
_ILLUSTRATED_
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
BOOKS FOR BOYS
BY
BROOKS HENDERLEY
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
Price per volume, 60 cents, postpaid.
THE Y. M. C. A. BOYS SERIES
THE Y. M. C. A. BOYS OF CLIFFWOOD;
or The Struggle for the Holwell Prize
THE Y. M. C. A. BOYS ON BASS ISLAND;
or The Mystery of Russabaga Camp
(_Other volumes in preparation_)
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
Publishers New York
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
The Y. M. C. A. Boys of Cliffwood
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. OUT WITH THE BOYS ON HALLOWE’EN 1
II. A SCHEME THAT WENT WRONG 9
III. THE MAN WHO HAD FAITH 18
IV. SOME WONDERFUL NEWS 27
V. SETTING THE FOX TRAP 36
VI. TAKING THE BAIT 45
VII. ORGANIZING THE BOYS’ DEPARTMENT 54
VIII. THE FIGHTING PARSON 63
IX. IN SELF-DEFENSE 72
X. NAT ENTERS THE LIST 81
XI. HOW THE PLAN WORKED 91
XII. THE MAN WHO DID NOT KNOW BOYS 98
XIII. MET ON THE HIGHWAY 105
XIV. LESLIE ON GUARD 113
XV. COUNTER CURRENTS IN THE “GYM” 123
XVI. THE NIGHT ALARM 132
XVII. AT THE FIRE 140
XVIII. THE DARING RESCUE 147
XIX. HURRYING MATTERS ALONG 154
XX. THE DEACON SURRENDERS 162
XXI. THE BOYS’ LIBRARY 170
XXII. DID UNCLE SILAS’ EARS BURN? 177
XXIII. THE LURE OF THE STEEL RUNNERS 184
XXIV. A LESSON IN LIFE SAVING 192
XXV. DICK HAS A SELECT AUDIENCE 199
XXVI. BAD NEWS 207
XXVII. WHAT HAPPENED ON CHRISTMAS EVE 215
XXVIII. UNCLE SILAS, THE WIZARD 223
XXIX. THE END OF THE STRUGGLE 231
XXX. CONCLUSION 240
THE Y. M. C. A. BOYS OF CLIFFWOOD
CHAPTER I
OUT WITH THE BOYS ON HALLOWE’EN
“How’s that, fellows?”
“Everything’s lovely, and the _gate_ hangs high, not the goose!”
“Mr. Philpot is going to have some climb, believe me, before he gets it
down out of that big oak, as sure as my name’s Dan Fenwick!”
“And say, wouldn’t you like to see Farmer Hasty in the morning when he
rubs his eyes and stares up at his wagon, all taken apart, and strung
along the ridge-pole of his barn roof?”
“That was a cracking good idea of yours, Dick, and no mistake!”
“Hurrah for Hallowe’en, and all its fun!”
“What’s next on the programme, boys? We’re out for a good time tonight,
you know.”
“It isn’t much after eleven at that. Who’s got another clever joke laid
out?”
“I have; and when you hear what the game is you’ll all say it’s the
boss scheme of the lot, barring none.”
“Listen to Nat, will you? I wondered why he was lugging that bundle
around with him all the evening. I guess it’s got something to do with
his grand Hallowe’en prank.”
“It has, and a whole lot, Peg Fosdick,” proudly admitted the boy upon
whom all eyes were eagerly centered just then.
“Who’s the victim, Nat?” demanded one fellow, the same who had owned to
the name of Dan Fenwick.
“Who but that crusty old storekeeper, Jed Nocker,” said the big,
overgrown boy with a chuckle of delight. “Everybody else seems to have
just gone and clean forgotten all about _him_ tonight.”
At mention of this name all sorts of groans and catcalls arose from the
group of seven lads standing on a corner in a quiet, residential part
of the usually bustling mill town of Cliffwood.
“The meanest old codger in our town!” exclaimed one fellow, in sheer
disgust.
“And he hates all boys worse than he does snakes!”
“Cuffed my ears more’n once, let me tell you, for some little thing I
did in meeting.”
“Oh! my mother says Deacon Nocker believes every boy is as chock full
of original sin as an egg is of meat; and that the only way to get it
out is to keep on whaling the boy.”
“His pet saying is ‘spare the rod and spoil the child,’ I’ve heard
people say.”
“Huh! all the same that kind of tactics didn’t keep the Deacon’s only
boy from being wild,” chuckled Dan Fenwick, wickedly, as though it gave
him considerable pleasure to remember that in this particular case
guidance didn’t begin at home.
“Oh! they say Amos always was a bad egg, and that the old deacon
wrestled with him day after day. Then something came up, and Amos ran
away. The deacon scratched his name off his books, and refused to send
along a dollar, even when he heard Amos was married, and had a little
boy of his own.”
“Well, it was an oversight for us to let Jed Nocker off this
Hallowe’en, when we always had him on our list,” admitted the boy the
others had called Dick, and who, despite the fact that his clothes
looked well worn, seemed to be something of a leader among his mates.
“Then you agree to listen to my big scheme for giving him the scare of
his life, do you, Dick Horner?” demanded Nat, eagerly.
He very well knew that once Dick had stamped the idea O. K. the others
would hasten to follow suit, because they had great faith in Dick’s
ability as a pilot, whether in baseball, on the gridiron, or in such
rough-and-tumble sports as all town boys pursue so strenuously.
“I want to hear it first,” replied Dick, cautiously, showing that he
had a streak of discretion in his nature for all he was such a madcap.
“Suppose we adjourn to the sand lot up the street. It’s more retired
than this corner, and we can talk it over without any one running
across us.”
“A bright idea, Dick!” exclaimed another boy who had not as yet broken
into the conversation. Leslie Capes was known as a fellow of few
words, preferring to listen until he had mastered all the points of a
discussion before giving his particular views.
“Come along then, fellows,” urged the big, broad-shouldered Nat,
eagerly, leading the way along the street; “and ten to one you’ll say
my scheme is just the boss way to pay old Nocker back for all he’s done
to the boys of Cliffwood.”
While they are hurrying along toward the open sand lot spoken of, a
few explanations regarding the fun-loving lads may not come in amiss,
since these boys and others of the rising generation of Cliffwood are
destined to figure largely in our story.
Dick Horner was a clever young chap, though inclined to be headstrong
and wild. He lived in an humble cottage home with his little sister
Sue, his mother, a widow, and old “Grandpop” Horner, a Civil War
veteran, who had long been a striking figure in Cliffwood. The old
soldier with his white locks down almost to his shoulders lived pretty
much in the days of the dead and gone past, and could rarely talk
without bringing up the times when he had fought so well.
Pretty much all the Horners had to live upon consisted of the pension
a generous government paid the veteran yearly in installments, and a
small yearly sum from a meager investment in some industrial stocks,
so that Dick seldom saw anything like new clothes unless he earned the
money himself.
Dan Fenwick and Leslie Capes were Dick’s two most intimate chums. The
former was as full of the spirit of mischief as Dick himself, but when
it came down to a question of leadership, both of them readily yielded
the palm to Dick, whose will seemed to bend theirs.
Leslie’s folks were comfortably well off. In addition to this there was
an old indulgent uncle living with them, who could be prevailed upon
to keep Leslie well supplied with funds, though the money always came
accompanied with good advice. Uncle Henry believed in boys.
Peg Fosdick had once broken his leg, and ever since had walked with
a slight limp. At home and in school he was called Oscar, but the
temptation to dub him “Peg” had proved so strong that long ago he had
yielded to the inclination of his companions and readily answered to
that nickname.
The other boys were Andy Hale and Elmer Jones, both of them just
ordinary chaps without any remarkable traits of character. Both were
good-natured fellows, ready for fun, or even a little row for a change,
the type of boy you can always run across by the dozen in any American
town.
Cliffwood was something of a manufacturing town, by virtue of the
output of several mills that depended on the water power yielded by the
little Sweetwater River. Half a mile above the town lay the rapids,
with a fall of some fifteen feet or more. This natural advantage in
power had caused the erection of the big Bartlett Paper Mills, and
several other manufacturing establishments.
Cliffwood, on this account, had more than its share of workers, who, as
a rule, received fair wages, and were seemingly contented.
Dick Horner looked forward to the time when he would be big enough to
start to work and earn enough money to supply his dear mother with more
of the comforts of life. He hated to be so poor, and this desire to do
something for his mother was really one of the best things in the boy’s
nature.
Dick did not have so bad a reputation in the town as the big bully,
Nat Silmore, but all the same the stories that drifted to the ears
of his anxious mother often caused her gentle heart pain. Dick, upon
being appealed to, always promised to turn over a new leaf, and then
in the end his natural overflow of wild spirits led him into some new
mischief, for which in turn he would be sorry.
The vacant lot which Dick had in view was not far distant, so the seven
boys out for Hallowe’en sport soon arrived there. Eager to hear what
Nat had to say, the others clustered around the big fellow. As a rule
the others rather preferred Nat’s room to his company.
“Here we are waiting for you to give us the particulars of your grand
stunt, Nat,” remarked Dan, impatiently tugging at the other’s sleeve.
“Yes,” added Peg, “and the sooner you open up the quicker we can get
busy; that is, of course, if we think it’s a good idea.”
“Oh! I ain’t worrying myself about you backing out,” said Nat, with
fine scorn. “I’ve done some big things in my time, and if I do say
it myself this takes the cake for boldness. We’ll pay the crusty old
skinflint back for all the snappy things he’s done to the boys of
Cliffwood.”
“Get busy, Nat,” said Dick, shortly.
Somehow these few words seemed to have more effect on Nat than all the
urging of the other fellows. He knew Dick could veto the scheme if he
felt inclined, and since his own cronies were debarred from keeping him
company on this one wild night of the year, by reason of sickness, and
absence from town, Nat had to depend on Dick’s crowd for assistance in
carrying out his plan.
“All right, Dick, here goes then,” he hastened to say, as he started
to unwrap the bundle he had been carrying around with him. “You can
see just what I’ve toted along so as to be ready for business when the
right time came.”
“Why, it looks like a small drygoods store, I declare!” exclaimed Peg.
“Old sheets, fellows,” announced Nat, triumphantly. “D’ye know what
they can be used for? Any of you ever play _ghost_ in your lives? Well,
I have, and a sheet is always needed in the game.”
“Go on and tell us what you aim to do with the old sheets, Nat!” urged
Andy.
“Just this,” then replied the other eagerly. “We can creep through
the grounds of the empty Brandon place that lies next door to Jed’s
property. We’ll find some way to get inside his house, and just when
the town clock is striking midnight, we’ll start to groaning to beat
the band, and show up before the old chap. Dick here, who can throw his
voice so well, will do the talking, and tell him we’ve come from the
land of spirits to take him back with us. There, what d’ye think of my
scheme, fellows? Ain’t it a dandy?”