BAD NEWS FROM HOME
Years ago, it was the custom, for a certain style of stories, to begin
something like this:
“Bang! Bang! Seven redskins bit the dust!”
Then, after the sensational opening, came a calm period wherein the
author was privileged to do some explaining. I shall, with your
permission, adopt that method now, with certain modifications, and tell
my new readers something about Randall College, and the lads whom I
propose to make my heroes. It is, perhaps, rather an inopportune time to
do it, but I fear I will find none better, since Tom and his chums are
so constantly on the alert, that it is hard to gain their attention for
a moment, after they are once started.
And so, while the bob containing the girls, in whom our friends are so
much interested, is swinging toward the dangerous hollow, and when Tom
and the others are preparing to execute a risky manœuvre to save them,
may I be granted just a moment? My former readers may skip this part if
they choose.
It was in the initial volume of this “College Sports Series,” that I
introduced Tom Parsons and his chums. The first book was called “The
Rival Pitchers;” and in it I told how Tom, a raw country lad, came to
Randall College with a big ambition as regards baseball, and how he made
good in the box against long odds. In the second book, “A Quarter-back’s
Pluck,” I told how Phil Clinton won the big championship game under
trying conditions, and in “Batting to Win,” there were given the
particulars of how Randall triumphed over her rivals, and how a curious
mystery regarding Sid Henderson was solved.
“The Winning Touchdown,” was another story of college football, and,
incidentally the book tells how Tom and his chums saved the college from
disaster in a peculiar way, and how Frank came to Randall and “made
good.” Frank had roomed elsewhere but was now with Tom, Sid and Phil.
Randall College was situated on the outskirts of the town of Haddonfield,
in the middle west. Near it ran Sunny River, a stream of considerable
importance, emptying into Tonoka Lake. This lake gave the name to the
athletic league--the league made up of Randall, Boxer Hall, Fairview
Institute and some other places of learning in the vicinity. Randall
often met Boxer Hall and Fairview on the gridiron or diamond.
Dr. Albertus Churchill, dubbed “Moses,” was head-master at Randall, Dr.
Emerson Tines, called “Pitchfork,” was the Latin instructor, and Mr.
Andrew Zane was the proctor.
There were other instructors, officials, etc., whom you will meet as the
story goes on. As for the students, besides the four “inseparables” whom
I have already named, I have already told you of some, though I might
mention Sam or “Snail” Looper, much given to night prowling, Peter or
“Grasshopper” Backus, who aspired to be a great jumper, and “Bean”
Perkins, who could always be depended on to “root” for his team in a
contest.
These lads were all friends of our heroes. Truth to tell, the lads had
few enemies. Fred Langridge and his crony Garvey Gerhart, had made
trouble for Tom and his friends, until the two bullies withdrew from
Randall, and went to Boxer Hall.
And now, having read (or skipped) this necessary explanation, you may
proceed with the story.
“He must be crazy!” called Tom to Sid, who, clanging the bell, was
seated not far from the brake-tender. “Clean crazy to try to coast the
hollow on his first trip.”
“He doesn’t know any better,” returned Sid, as he looked ahead at the
big bob which was nearing the dangerous turn.
“What’s Frank up to?” demanded Phil. “He’s steering for the hollow,
too.”
At this there was a scream of terror from some of the girls on the bob
of our heroes.
“Don’t do it! Don’t try it!” begged the one next to Frank.
“Keep quiet, please,” he requested in a tense voice. “I’ve got to save
them if possible.”
“I’m going to jump off!” a girl cried.
“Don’t you dare!” ordered the Big Californian, and there was that in his
voice which made her obey.
From the big bob in front, which was now only a little way ahead of the
Randall sled, came a chorus of shrill screams. There was a movement,
plainly seen in the bright moonlight, as if some of the girls were going
to roll off.
“Sit still! Sit still!” yelled Frank. “Jam on your brakes there,
Burton!” he added. “You’ll never make that turn!”
“All right, I get you!” sang out the newcomer on the hill, and
Phil gritted his teeth as he thought of his sister--and the other
girls--entrusted to a reckless youth like this.
There was a scraping sound, as one of the lads on Burton’s bob
pulled the cord that sent a chisel-like piece of steel down into the
snow-covered roadway. But the speed of the sled was not much checked by
this brake.
By this time the two big bobs were close together, and the dangerous
turn was almost at hand. All the other coasters on the hill, save a few
that were near the bottom, had stopped their sport to see the outcome of
the perilous ride.
“Look out, Frank, you’ll be into them!” yelled Tom, as he saw their bob
coming nearer and nearer to the foremost one. “Shall I jam on the
brakes?”
His hand was on the cord, and, in another moment he would have sent the
scraping steel back of the rear runner, into the frozen surface.
“No! No!” yelled Frank. “Don’t touch that brake, Tom! I want all the
speed I can get!”
“What are you going to do?” cried his chum.
“I’m going to head them away from the cut-off.”
“You can’t do it!”
“I’m going to!” retorted Frank grimly. “Easy on the brake, Tom.”
“All right! She’s off!”
The girls on both bobs were now quiet, but they were none the less in
great fear. The very danger seemed to make them dumb, and they looked
ahead with frightened eyes, waiting for they knew not what.
A moment later Frank’s plan was plain to his chums. Knowing the hill
as he did, familiar with every bump and hollow, he had decided, if
possible, to draw up alongside the foremost bob, between it and the
dangerous turn, which Burton did not seem able to avoid. Then Frank
would hold a straight course, if he could, and fairly force the other
sled out of danger.
It was a risky plan, but none other would serve to prevent the big,
new bob from shooting toward the smaller hill, with the certainty of
overturning.
“Steer to the right--more to the right!” yelled Frank to Burton. “I’m
coming up on your left!”
“I--I can’t!” was the answer. “My steering wheel is jammed!”
“You can never make it, Frank,” called Phil. “There isn’t room between
that bob and the turn to get in. You’ll upset us!”
“No, I won’t! Just sit still! I’m going to do it!”
There was a quiet determination in the voice of the Big Californian, a
comparatively newcomer at Randall.
With a rushing whizz Frank steered his bob up alongside of the other.
It was just this side of the dangerous turn, toward which Burton was
headed. He was unable to do anything toward guiding his sled, and the
brake, though jammed on full, only served partly to slacken the speed.
But this slackening was enough to permit the faster bob from Randall to
creep up, and just in time.
Steering with the utmost skill, Frank sent his bob as close as he dared
to the other. It was on his right, while on his left, dipping down with
dizzying suddenness, was the turning slope that might lead to danger, or
even death.
Frank thrust out his foot, and planted it firmly on the foremost sled of
the new bob. At the same time he twisted his steering wheel to the
right, so as to gain all the leverage he could toward forcing Burton’s
bob away from the turn.
For a moment matters hung in the balance. An inch or two to the left
would send both bobs crashing down the dangerous slope. There was a
shower of ice splinters in the moonlight, a chorus of frightened gasps
from the girls, and sharp breathing by the boys. Then the weight, and
true steering qualities, of the Randall bob told. Slowly but surely she
forced the other away, and, a moment later, as the defective steering
gear on Burton’s sled gave way, there was a mix-up, and both craft
overturned, while there came shrieks of dismay from all the girls.
[Illustration: FOR A MOMENT MATTERS HUNG IN THE BALANCE.]
But the upset had occurred in a soft bank of snow, and, aside from the
discomfort, no one was hurt.
“If it had happened ten feet back though--well, there’d been a different
story to tell,” mused Tom, as he and his companions helped the girls out
of the conglomeration of sleds and drifts.
“What did you want to try anything like that for?” asked Phil of Burton,
when there was some semblance of calmness.
“Well, a fellow dared me to coast into the hollow, and I said I would.”
“You won’t do it again--with _my_ sister aboard,” growled Phil.
“No, indeed!” cried Madge Tyler. “If we’d known he was going to do that
we wouldn’t have ridden with him.”
“Oh, no harm’s done,” spoke Burton with a laugh. “I can soon fix that
steering gear, and we’ll have some fun yet.”
“No, thank you,” replied Miss Harrison. “I think we have had enough for
one night.”
“Come on our bob,” invited Tom eagerly. “It’s early yet.”
“Shall we?” asked Ruth, a sparkle of mischief in her eyes. “We’re not
really hurt, you know, and--well----”
“Oh, yes, let’s do it,” begged Miss Newton, and so, leaving Burton to
his damaged bob, the girls went with Tom and his chums. They had several
glorious coasts, under the silver moon, which shone with undiminished
splendor.
Hal Burton got his bob in shape again, and begged the girls to try a
ride, but they would not, and he was forced to content himself with
others.
“Maybe he’ll be unpleasant toward you, going back to Fairview in the
horse sled,” suggested Phil, to his sister.
“He didn’t hire that,” retorted Ruth. “We girls clubbed together and got
that, and invited the boys. But I think we’d better be going; it’s
getting late.”
There was one more last, jolly coast, and then the college girls and
boys wended their way from the hill, calling good-nights to each other.
“When are you coming over, Phil?” asked his sister, as she and the
others climbed in the big horse-drawn sleigh.
“Do you mean our _crowd_?” asked her brother, laughingly.
“Yes--_everybody_!” added Miss Tyler.
“To-morrow,” answered Tom promptly.
“Don’t!” retorted Miss Harrison. “We have an exam. the next day. Make it
Friday, and we’ll have a little dance.”
“Done!” shouted Sid.
“And he’s the old misogynist who used to hate the ladies!” chaffed Tom,
at his chum’s ready acceptance. There was a laugh, and then the four
inseparables, in the midst of groups of their friends, trudged on toward
Randall.
“There was some class to your steering, Frank, old man,” complimented
Tom, after some talk of the near-accident.
“That’s right,” agreed Phil. “I never thought he’d make it.”
“I just _had_ to,” was the response. “There’d have been a bad time, if
that chump had gone down into the hollow.”
“Of course,” put in Sid. “I wonder how he came to get in with our girls,
anyhow?”
“_Our_ girls!” cried Tom. “How many do you own, anyhow?”
“Oh, you know what I mean,” said Sid. Then the students fell to
discussing the matter, speculating as to what sort of a chap Hal Burton
might turn out to be.
“Well, we had a good time,” remarked Tom, a little later, as the four
entered the room they shared in common. “Hello!” he cried, “the clock
has stopped.”
He caught up a nickel-plated alarm timepiece, and began shaking it
vigorously.
“What are you trying to do?” gasped Phil indignantly, as he snatched the
clock from Tom. “Do you want to ruin it?”
“I was trying to make it go.”
“Yes, and get the hair-spring caught up so she’ll do two hours in the
time of one. Handle it gently, you vandal!” and he rocked the clock
easily to and fro, until a loud ticking indicated that it had started
again.
“And now for boning,” remarked Frank, as he sank into one of the twin
armchairs that adorned the room. One was a relic--an heirloom--and the
other had come to the boys in a peculiar manner. Both were old and worn,
but the personification of comfort--so much so that once you had gotten
into one you did not want to get out. Also it was hard work to arise
unassisted, because of the depth.
Tom took the other chair, and Sid and Phil shared the dilapidated sofa
between them. It creaked and groaned with their weight.
“I guess we’ll have to be investing in a new one, soon,” remarked Phil,
as he tenderly felt of the sofa’s ‘bones’. “This won’t last much
longer.”
“It will serve our time,” spoke Sid. “Don’t you dare suggest a new one.
It would be sacrilege.”
Tired, but happy and contented, and in a glorious glow from their
coasting, the boys began looking for their books, to do a last bit of
studying before the signal for “lights out” should sound.
“Where’s my Greek dictionary?” demanded Phil, searching among a litter
of papers on the table. “I’m sure I left it here.”
“The last I saw of it, you fired it at Dutch Housenlager the other day
when he stuck his head in the door,” remarked Tom.
“Oh, here it is,” announced Phil, unearthing the volume from under a big
catching glove. “Hello, Tom, here’s a letter for you! Special delivery,
too! Must have come when you were out, and Wallops, the messenger, left
it in here. Catch!”
He tossed the missive to Tom, who caught it, and ripped it open quickly.
“It’s from home,” he murmured, as he read it. Then a change came over
his face--a change that was instantly apparent to his chums.
“What’s the matter?” asked Sid softly. “No bad news I hope, Tom.”
“Yes--it is--very bad news,” replied Tom softly.