When school reassembled the following day the First Latin knew to a man
by nine o'clock that the cause of Shorty's "late" the previous day was a
letter from Lawton. Warned by Jim Hulker that the rector had taken
Hoover to the Clarendon, Briggs scouted miserably down the avenue on
their trail, filled with no one knew what nervous apprehension of
trouble to come, and, dodging in at the office a moment later,
ascertained from a bell boy that they had gone into a parlor on the
second floor. Briggs knew what that meant. The Doctor was
cross-questioning his sullen pupil, and there were all manner of things
Hoover might be driven into confessing if closely and scientifically
pressed, and what might that not mean for Briggs? Not five minutes
later, down they came, the Doctor erect, stately, and deliberate as
ever, Hoover slinking wretchedly alongside. A carriage had been called,
and into this Hoover was practically hustled by his preceptor, and
together they were driven away towards Fourteenth Street, and Briggs
was left behind. They were going to see Hoover's father, was the
apparent explanation, and it boded ill. A ten-minute walk took Briggs
over to the house of the Metamora. The hose carriage had just returned,
and was being washed. The Hulkers had dropped off at a certain
billiard-hall, said one of the firemen, and thither sped Briggs. It was
a resort much frequented by certain of the Columbia students in those
days, and there were a dozen or more scattered about the big room at the
moment. Over in a corner, whispering together, were the two Hulkers with
a brace of followers. Over against them, across the room,
ostensibly--even ostentatiously--engaged in a game of billiards, were
Joy and Julian, and all the little pluck that Briggs had left went
oozing out of his finger-tips at the sight. Quickly he slunk back into
the vestibule and crouched there, peering through the glazed doors,
uncertain what to do. A bar-boy, coming up from below at the moment with
cigars and mixed drinks on a tray, found him peering in through the
crack, and knew him at once.
"Sa-ay," whispered Briggs, the moment he discovered who had come. "Tell
Mr. Hulker I want to speak to him out here a minute, will you?"
The boy looked hard at him, made no reply, went deliberately in with his
tray-load, deposited the glasses on little tables near the big ones,
where a jovial party of Columbians were playing, collected his pay,
counted it carefully over, then with exaggerated impudence of manner
dawdled over to where the Hulker set were in eager conference in their
corner, and said something to them. Briggs saw, and so did Joy and
Julian, the backward toss of the head, the over-the-shoulder jerk of the
thumb towards the entrance, saw the four young fellows start and glance
questioningly thither; then presently, hands in pockets and head in air,
Hulker major came sauntering out, just as Julian caught sight of a
carroty head ducking behind the framework of the doorway.
"There's that sneak Briggs now," he quickly whispered to his chum. "What
are those fellows planning, do you s'pose?"
There was a brief confabulation in the hallway without, and then back
came Hulker,--no loitering now,--said a word or two to his fellows, and
the four picked up their canes and overcoats and started for the door.
The bar-boy went running after them.
"I'll pay you to-morrow," Hulker major answered, impatiently; and Julian
heard it. The boy was importunate, and glanced at the desk. The clerk
came out from behind his barricade.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Hulker, but the manager left strict orders that that
account must be settled before you could be served again. You told the
boy you would settle everything before you left, and to get those
cigars. Now, I've got to take the money out of the till and pay for 'em
if you don't."
Angrily, and with ugly words, the elder Hulker turned on the clerk. "I
haven't any money just now, I tell you. We've been at that fire all the
morning. It's too late to get a check cashed. I'll bring you the money
to-night, Billy, I'll swear to----"
But the controversy was cut short by the sudden entrance of the manager
himself. He was a man who prided himself on the "respectability" of his
place. Order and decorum were things he insisted on. Even the mildest of
sherry-cobblers, for which the bar was famous, was forbidden to the
student or youth who showed the faintest symptom of over-stimulation.
Case-hardened politicians and men about town avoided Martigny's, for the
reason that they could never get enough there. Student trade was
something he catered to only so long as it came through the well-bred
and well-behaved of their number. The Hulker set he much disapproved of
and had frequently cautioned, but money was an object, and for a time
those young fellows had it and spent it in abundance. Of late there had
come a change. Something had occurred to limit their supplies, and
within a month they had run up bills at every neighboring bar or
billiard-room where they could get credit, and now Martigny, after
thrice presenting his account, had drawn the line. Quietly but firmly he
told the elder that that bill must be settled then and there or it would
be sent by a messenger to his mother at once. It was impossible for the
players at the tables not to hear what was going on. There were sly
winks and quizzical glances. Columbiads, old or young, fought shy of the
Hulkers, but even they were unprepared for the scene that followed.
"I haven't got a cent with me, Johnny," protested the elder, while the
others crowded about in indignant chorus. "I swear I'll fetch it to you
to-night, or in two hours, if you must have it."
"You've sworn to the same effect twice before, Mr. Hulker," said the
manager, calmly, "and I cannot trust you. I was down in the bar-room
when your orders came for this round of drinks and cigars, and the boy
declared that you showed him gold, and declared further that you'd
settle the whole account. It's fourteen dollars and seventy-five cents,
and I want that money now."
"It ain't mine, Johnny. It was given me for a particular purpose,"
protested Hulker. "That was just bluffing. I didn't think he'd take it
in earnest."
"But he did, Mr. Hulker, and so did I, and so will your mother when my
messenger gets there ten minutes from now. Get your coat, Mr. Tracy," he
said, turning to his assistant. "I'll send you around with the message.
That's all, gentlemen. I won't detain you further than to say that you
will not be allowed in this room hereafter."
"Sa-ay, stop! Hold on!" cried Hulker. "Here, I'll--I'll pay it now. But
of all the dash, dash, dashed mean----"
"No bad language, Mr. Hulker," said Martigny, calmly. "A special
policeman is at the door." He glanced at the coin tendered by the
trembling hand of the leader. "Give Mr. Hulker five dollars and
twenty-five cents," said he, calmly, to the desk. "There's a friend of
yours peeking in at the door. You might inquire now what he wants." And
with unruffled civility the manager led the way to the door, closed it
after the crestfallen quartette, and came back thoughtfully chinking the
coins, just as Joy and Julian, laying aside their cues, hurried to the
desk to pay for their game.
"Was that red-headed specimen there yet when you came up, Martigny?"
asked Julian.
"Yes, sir; but he scuttled away down-stairs as soon as he saw me. Who is
he?"
"One of the Hulker set, and none of ours," was the brief answer, as
Julian's keen eyes took in the two coins Martigny was still mechanically
passing back and forth from the fingers of one hand to the other.
"Ten-dollar gold pieces," said he to Joy, as the two hurried down the
stairs and out on the busy street. There, "scooting" along in the keen
December wind, heads bowed and half hidden in high coat-collars, and
huddling together, the discomfited quartette, reinforced at the corner
by Briggs, were just turning to cross Broadway when a carriage came
driving rapidly by. Seated therein, erect and majestic, was the Doctor,
apparently lost in thought. By his side a pasty-faced young fellow,
with flitting, beady black eyes, glanced furtively out and recognized
his fellows, made some quick signal with the hand, waved it from the
window, and pointed towards the northeast corner of Madison Square.
"I'll bet I know what that means," said Julian, as the five halted,
irresolute, and gazed after the carriage. "Pop's had him in limbo for
over an hour, and the moment he gets out he wants those fellows to meet
him. We could find something worth knowing, old man, if we could see
them together again." But not until long after did Julian dream how
much.
The Doctor left Hoover at the steps of the brownstone mansion, saw him
safely within-doors, summoned the grave butler to his carriage, said a
few words in low tone, and was about to order "drive on," when he was
aware of two young gentlemen running up, panting a bit and red in the
face.
"Ha, Joy! Julian!" he cried, as they raised their caps. "What brings you
here?"
"What news of Lawton, sir? Doremus just told us there was a letter." And
to substantiate the story, Doremus himself came puffing after the pair.
"Where'd you hear it?" asked the Doctor of the third youngster, desirous
first of ascertaining where the leak occurred.
"I was over at the school a few minutes ago. The janitor told me, and
Mr. Halsey and Prime were just going away together."
"Just going away together! Why, I supposed everybody had left the
building an hour ago."
"So did I, sir, but John said Mr. Halsey had kept Prime. He was having a
long talk with him 'bout something, and John heard him say that now they
had proof it wasn't Lawton that took Joy's watch, and that they'd have
him back in less than a week."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Pop, now well-nigh as vehemently interested as his
pupils. "Then you young gentlemen will be wise to go direct to your
respective rooms and get to work on the lessons for to-morrow. It's
almost dark now. Be off with you!" and, with exaggerated sternness, the
cane was displayed.
"But was it so, sir? Have you heard of Lawton?"
"Yes," said the Doctor, instantly relapsing into the confidential manner
known only to the boys he trusted and liked. "He writes that he had been
ill, but is strong again, and we are going to try and fetch him back.
Now, no more until to-morrow. Off to your books!"
If John, the janitor, had not been in such a hurry to get home, he might
have given out some news that would have surprised them, and that was
that when Mr. Halsey and Shorty Prime left the school together they went
up the avenue instead of down, and, of all places in Gotham, Halsey led
straight to the house of 61 Hose. Out in front on the cobble-stones the
dainty white Zephyr was being sponged off and rubbed dry by three or
four red-shirted experts, who glanced up and grinned affably at "the
little 'un" and looked critically but in no surprise at the master. A
New York fireman of the late '50s thought it bad form to be unprepared
for anything. "Here are two who can back up my statements," said the
boy, with confident eyes, as he beckoned to the nearest member of the
Zephyr. "Will you tell Mr. Halsey where I met you on the way to the fire
this morning, and what we said?"
The hoseman straightened up and squeezed the dirty water out of a huge
sponge, shifted a quid in his cheek, thought a moment, and answered,
"Why, cert'nly, Shorty; right down there opposite the Harlem depot. We'd
hardly gone a block when I see this little fellow come a-running.
'What's a-fire, Shorty?' says I. 'Big house next the stable,' says he.
'Where's your cap?' says I. And he just kind a' nodded at the school as
he grabbed the rope. You ain't going to do nothing to him for coming to
give us a still on a fire, are you?" he asked, with something like
menace in his eye.
"No," said Halsey, with one of his rare smiles. "We're glad to know it.
That'll do, Prime. Come on." And Halsey, who never wasted a second of
time, touched his hat to the Zephyrs and went streaking off down the
avenue again, the tails of his worn black frock-coat streaming in the
breeze, Shorty, much disappointed because he wasn't called upon to
produce further evidence of prowess as a fireman, skipping along after
him. The lad's heart was bounding with excitement and joy. Another day,
and if successful in the quest on which she had already started, Mrs.
Park, George Lawton's mother, would have Snipe once more back in school,
and his accusers would stand confounded. Not for days had Shorty seemed
so like his old self, bright, buoyant, and chatting like a parrot, to
the discomfiture of a most tolerant home circle.
Morning came and all the school was early "on deck," and the news of
Snipe went buzzing from lip to lip, and Briggs nervously flitted from
group to group, swallowing snubs as though they were sugar. Meeker came
wearily in, his pale face paler than ever, his eyes seeking Halsey, who
glanced up and gravely shook his head, whereat the junior master made a
despondent gesture with both hands and went on into his own room. Beach,
his ruddy skin glowing with the exercise of a long, vigorous walk, swung
out of his top-coat and into his seat as though lessons were to begin at
the instant. He and Halsey merely exchanged nods. They were on
civil--not confidential--terms. The janitor came and reached for the
bell, lifted it by the handle from the table, and was turning with it
when, unaccountably, it was jerked from his grasp and went clanging and
clattering to the floor. The news of Snipe had restored heart to the
First Latin, and as one boy the class turned on John in voluble
sympathy. John dove for the bell, straightened up, and started anew,
when there was a jerk to the table, a snap, and the little clapper of
the bell shot half-way across the room. Turner dashed upon it and held
it up to public view, a fine steel wire firmly attached to it and
stretching to the leg of the table.
"Awe, see here, Mr. Beach, any boy that would play such a trick as that
ought to be packed out of school. I move you, sir, that it is the sense
of the First Latin----"
But Beach is in no mood for trifling. Bang! comes the heavy ruler on the
desk. "To your seat!" he orders. "Ten marks off for Turner," and the
class subsides, while John speeds away to borrow the bell from the shop
below, and the master mentally calls the roll. "One absentee, Hoover,"
he notes; instantly calls Bertram to his feet and begins the work of the
day. Poor work it proves to be, for between yesterday's fire and the
morning's tidings the First Latin has neglected its studies. Poorer it
proves after ten o'clock, at which hour a policeman appears at the door
and asks for the rector. Poorer still after a recess at twelve, at which
time Mr. Hoover himself drives up in his carriage, Halsey comes down to
meet him, and together they drive away. At any other time the fact that
Halsey was away from his post at the reassembly after recess would lead
to a riot, but the sight of the face of Hoover, _pater_, is more than
enough for the class. "He looks like a ghost," says Bliss. "What's
coming next?"
Nothing came--ahead of the Doctor. At the usual moment he appeared, and
as usual levelled his stick at the boy at the foot. "No
message--telegraphic?" he asked of Beach, after brief glance at the
missives on his desk. A shake of the head, an inaudible "no" framed by
the lips were the answers. A look of grave concern spread over the
Doctor's face. He glanced at his watch, turned to the window, then back
to the door, for the rustle of skirts, most unusual sound, could be
heard on the stairs. Another moment and there entered Mrs. Park, George
Lawton's mother. She reached the chair the Doctor promptly placed for
her, sank into it, limp and despairing, and burst into tears. "Doctor,
Doctor!" she wailed. "My boy has not been near Bridgeport. I couldn't
find a trace of him--or of any one who knew anything about him."