ANDY SHANKS GETS BUSY
There were great times on the campus that night. By a special decree of
Dr. Rally, the regular study period was omitted, and after supper the
boys had full liberty to do as they pleased until bedtime, provided they
did not stray beyond the limits of the grounds.
They built a bonfire and paraded about it, carrying brooms to indicate
the clean sweep they had made of the game. They cheered the team in
general, and then cheered each separate member in particular. They
cheered the final touchdown and the boy who had made it. They cheered
Professor Raymond, and even raised a doubtful cheer for Dr. Rally. They
were ready to cheer for anything or anybody that offered them the
slightest excuse. They yelled for speeches from Granger, the captain,
and from Fred, the hero of the day.
Tony Dirocco brought out his violin and played a series of rollicking
tunes that set their feet to jigging and their hands to clapping. Billy
was made to sing his choicest songs until he was hoarse. Then they all
gathered on the broad steps, and lifted up their young voices in the old
school songs that swelled out into the night. And it was a tired, but
thoroughly happy crowd that scattered at last and went reluctantly to
their rooms.
Altogether, it had been one of the greatest days and nights that Rally
Hall had ever known. Fred had won his spurs and established his footing
firmly in the school. He had been popular from the first in his own
dormitory, but now he was known and liked by all the boys at the Hall.
Except, of course, by Andy Shanks, Sid Wilton, and a few of their
stripe. Andy, if possible, hated him now worse than ever. It had been
gall and wormwood for him when Fred had made the touchdown.
He, himself, had had an ambition to play on the team. He was big and
heavy enough for a place in the line. But he was stupid in getting the
signals and slow in running down under kicks. Besides, he was a trouble
maker on the team, disobeying the captain and quarreling with the other
members. They had tried him for a while, but he was of no use, and both
Granger and Professor Raymond had ruled him out.
So that he was doubly angered at Fred for having made a brilliant
success where he had scored a dismal failure. He had hoped to put Fred
in bad repute with the boys by giving him a beating. But since that day
on the campus when Fred had defied him and dared him to come on, he had
lost all ambition in that direction.
But he was more determined than ever to crush him by hook or by crook,
and he cudgeled his slow brain to find a way that would be safe for
himself and disastrous to Fred.
As the weeks went by, however, and nothing occurred to him, he began
almost to despair.
But the Evil One is said to "look after his own," and as the Christmas
holidays drew nearer, Andy had an inspiration.
The winter weather set in unusually early, and the air was sharp and
stinging. A score or more of the boys were down in the gymnasium,
chinning the bar and swinging in the rings.
"If this kind of weather keeps up," said Melvin, "it won't be long
before we have skating. There's ice forming on the lake now, down near
the edges."
"Over the ice-bound lake we fly,
Swift as the wind and free,"
chanted Tom Eldridge, as he made a flying leap from one horizontal bar
to the next.
"'Swift' all right, but it won't be 'free,'" grumbled Billy Burton. "I
won't feel 'free,' till I get those awful examinations off my mind.
They'll be here now in less than a week, and I can't think of anything
else."
"They'll be pretty tough, do you think?" asked Fred.
"Tough!" broke in Slim, "they'll be as tough as a pine knot. Professor
Raymond is a shark on algebra. He'd rather solve a problem than eat. And
because it's so easy for him, he thinks it ought to be easy for us, too.
He puts down corkers for us to do, and then looks at us in pained
surprise if we think they're hard. If I get through this time, it'll be
due to a special providence."
"I wish we knew what he was going to ask, beforehand," sighed Billy.
"Couldn't we bone up on them then? I'd get a hundred per cent. sure."
"Wouldn't it be bully, if we were mind readers, and knew just what
questions he was going to put on that printed list?" laughed Fred.
"The first glimpse we'll get of that printed list will be when they're
plumped down on the desk in front of us the day of the examination,"
said Ned Wayland. "They'll be kept snug under lock and key until then."
"Yes," chimed in Tom, "and the prof's so foxy that he doesn't even have
them printed in town, for fear that some copy might get into some of the
fellows' hands. He sends them away to some city to be printed, and
they're sent back to him by registered mail."
"I'll bet that was the package I saw him putting away in his desk
yesterday!" exclaimed Fred. "It was a long manila envelope, stuffed with
something that crackled, and it had a lot of sealing wax on it. I
noticed that he seemed to be very careful of it, and put it away under a
lot of other papers before he locked his desk."
"Likely enough, those were the examination slips," said Billy.
"We'll see them soon enough, but then it'll be too late to do any good,"
remarked Melvin.
The conversation took another turn and the subject was forgotten for the
time.
Andy, busy at one of the rings, had overheard the talk, although he had
not joined in it because of the terms on which he was with Fred and his
friends. He had pricked up his ears at Fred's laughing remark about mind
reading, and from then on he had followed closely all that had been said
about the papers. An idea had suddenly come into his mind, and a slow,
evil smile spread over his face as he turned it over and over.
Two nights later, Fred woke from his sleep about midnight, conscious
that something was bothering him. He found that it was the moon, which
was just then at the full, and was shining in his face. He rose, and
went to the window to draw down the shade.
The campus was flooded with light and Fred stood for a moment, enjoying
the beauty of the scene.
Suddenly, something moving beneath him attracted his attention.
The buildings threw a heavy shadow, made all the deeper by contrast with
the moonlight beyond. But Fred could just make out a moving figure
coming down the steps swiftly, and crouching as though to avoid
detection.
At first he thought it was the dog belonging to Big Sluper, the janitor.
But as the figure turned around the corner of the building, he saw that
it was a boy, rather slight in figure. His hat was drawn over his eyes
and his coat over the lower part of his face, so that it was impossible
to recognize him.
"That's queer," mused Fred. "I wonder who he was and what he was doing
at this time of night."
But the floor was cold and his eyes were heavy with sleep, and he did
not debate the problem long. He crept back into the warm bed, drew the
covers over him, and in a few minutes was fast asleep.