FRANK’S SURPRISE
“Home!” exclaimed Sid.
“Going to leave?” inquired Phil.
“For good?” demanded the Big Californian. “Say now, that’s tough! I was
hoping this thing would at least hold off until after the games, Tom.
What’s the row?”
“Oh, that lawsuit business, I suppose. Dad doesn’t give any particulars.
He just says: ‘Come home at once.’”
There was a silence among the inseparables for a moment or two, and then
Sid said:
“Say, let’s go to our room and talk this over. Maybe it isn’t so bad as
it seems.”
“What do you mean?” asked Phil, as they walked on.
“Well, maybe Tom is only called home temporarily. His dad may want some
help, or something like that, and he can come back in a short time. Let’s
think that, anyhow, and don’t go to getting up a farewell banquet.”
“Oh, come now!” objected Tom. “None of that farewell-feed business, even
if I do have to go.”
“You dry up!” commanded Frank. “I guess we’ll give you a banquet if we
want to, if you’re going to leave. But you’re not. I believe, as Sid
does, that it’s only temporary. You’ll start right away, of course?”
“As soon as Moses lets me. I can catch the midnight train, and be at
home in the morning. I guess it must be that dad needs my testimony, or
an affidavit or something in connection with the lawsuit. It will be
tried over again soon, and I helped dad on some of his books and papers,
when he went into that horse deal. I’ll go see Moses now, and get a
permit.”
“You’ll have to break training,” remarked Phil a bit regretfully, as Tom
walked toward the residence of Dr. Churchill. “You’ll have to work
doubly hard when you come back.”
“Oh, I guess Randall won’t lose much by my absence for a few days,”
answered Tom with a laugh. “There are enough fellows to hold her end
up.”
“What’s that?” cried Holly Cross, coming along at that moment. “No
treason, Parsons. Randall wants every loyal son to stand up for her
honor.”
“Oh, of course,” replied the pitcher. “I’ll be on the job later,” and
he explained about the telegram.
Holly was sorry, and expressed the hope that Tom would quickly be back.
Soon, having secured the necessary permission from the venerable
president, Tom was in his room with his chums.
“We’ll help you pack,” volunteered Phil. “You won’t need much but a pair
of pajamas and a toothbrush.”
“I guess that’s right,” agreed Tom. “If I have to stay home for good I
can send for the rest of my things.”
“Perish the thought!” exclaimed Sid, and, for the first time since the
receipt of the telegram, there came over the spirit of gaiety that had
existed, a cloud of apprehension and sorrow. For, though they all hoped
that Tom would not have to leave Randall, there was the ever-present
possibility that events would so shape themselves.
“Well, you’ll let us know, as soon as you hear, what the worst news is;
won’t you?” asked Frank, as he fairly threw himself on the old couch.
“We want----”
But the rest of Frank’s sentence was lost in a momentous cracking sound,
a splintering of wood and a tearing of cloth. Then a cloud of dust
filled the room, and following the crash, there came a melancholy voice,
saying:
“Oh sweet spirits of nitre! Now I have gone and done it! She’s busted!”
“What?” cried Sid.
“Who?” demanded Tom.
“The old couch. I--I sat down too hard on it. The back is broken, I
guess. Lend me a hand, somebody!”
Frank tried to struggle to his feet, but he had been pinned fast between
the collapsed parts of the couch, and had to be fairly pulled out.
“Well, I should say you had done it,” remarked Sid mournfully, as he
surveyed the wreck of the old sofa.
“Can’t it be mended?” asked Tom, trying to raise the two ends. The couch
was like a ship with a broken back.
“Sure it can be fixed,” put in Frank, rubbing his hips where he had been
pinched. “It’s only those extra boards that were nailed on last term. We
can put fresh ones on--stronger ones, or, if we can’t----”
Frank hesitated, and a cunning look came over his face.
“Well, what?” asked Tom suspiciously.
“Oh, nothing,” answered Frank vaguely. “I--er--I guess it can be fixed
all right.” He bent over the sofa, and began propping up the ends on
piles of books. “It’ll do to sit on, if you do it carefully, until I
can nail it up in the morning,” he added.
“Well, don’t _you_ sit on it,” warned Phil significantly.
“And for cats’ sake, don’t let him wind the clock, or he’ll bust the
spring of that,” added Tom.
“Keep out of that chair!” cried Sid, as Frank was about to sink into one
of the big pieces of furniture. “You’re a regular vandal. Everything you
touch you bust.”
“No, don’t sit there, either,” put in Phil, as Frank turned toward the
other chair.
“Where will I sit then?”
“On the floor. That’s solid enough,” spoke Tom.
By turns they examined the couch, the three shaking their heads
mournfully at the author of the mischief, until, when the joke had been
carried far enough, they turned their attention to Tom, and assisted him
in his rather limited preparations for the trip. They escorted him to
the station shortly before train time, their prayer for a special
dispensation in regard to being out late, having been granted.
“Don’t forget to wire as soon as you have any news,” begged Sid as they
left their chum, and Tom promised. He kept his word, for there was a
message for the three before noon the next day.
The general surmise was correct. Tom’s presence was only needed in order
to sign some affidavits in relation to the lawsuit, and he stated that
he would be back at Randall the next day.
“Then we’ve got to get up a sort of celebration!” cried Frank, dancing
about with the telegram in his hand.
“Surest thing you know!” agreed Sid. “We’ll have a spread in our room,
Zane or no Zane.”
“And to-night let’s take in a theatre,” suggested Frank. “I’m in funds.
Just got my allowance. I’ll blow you fellows.”
“Wow! You are a sport!” declared Phil, clapping the Big Californian on
the back.
They took a chance on “running the guard,” in going to the theatre that
evening, and, later Phil and Sid both agreed that Frank had acted rather
strangely. After buying the theatre tickets the big lad offered to treat
his chums to sodas, and, while these were being consumed, he made an
excuse to slip out of the drug store.
“I just want to go next door to telephone,” he said. “I’ll be right
back.”
“There’s a telephone here,” suggested the drug clerk, as Frank started
out.
“I never can hear good over that ’phone,” the Californian said. “I’ll
go in the furniture shop next door. I’ll be right back.”
“What’s he got up his sleeve now, I wonder?” spoke Phil.
“Give it up,” was his chum’s reply. “Maybe something about Tom’s
spread.”
The boys enjoyed the play, and were fortunate enough to get back to
college unobserved. Frank offered no explanation of his telephone
message, and Sid and Phil did not think to ask questions.
The next day, when Phil and Sid were practicing on the field, a
messenger came to summon Frank. The big lad hurried off, unheeding the
calls of his chums.
“What in the world is up?” asked Phil wonderingly.
Sid could not guess, but when Frank returned, about an hour later, they
both “put it to him straight.”
“Why, there’s no mystery about it,” said Frank calmly. “I just went in
to fix the old sofa. I got a new kind of brace for the back and seat and
I wanted to glue ’em on in daylight. Don’t any of you fellows sit on it,
if you get to the room before I do, or you’ll bust it worse than ever.”
They promised, but Frank took good care that they did not precede him
to the room. As the three entered together, having surreptitiously
arranged for the spread, Phil and Sid saw the sofa was covered with a
winding sheet.
“For cats’ sake!” cried Sid. “What’s that for?”
“Is anybody dead?” demanded Phil.
“No, it’s--er--the sofa,” explained Frank. “I just put that on so nobody
would sit on it by mistake until it was dry. Come on, now, Tom will be
here pretty soon. Let’s get ready for him. Have we got enough to eat?”
“I should hope so,” replied Sid, looking at the numerous packages, and
then rather suspiciously at the sofa.
Tom was due to arrive about eight o’clock, and a little crowd of his
friends was at the station to meet the train.
“Everything all right?” greeted Frank, as the tall pitcher stepped to
the platform.
“Yes, we’re all ready for the lawsuit now, though I can’t say how it’s
coming out. How are things here?”
“Fine,” replied Holly Cross. “We’re going to blow you--it’s Frank’s
surprise.” And forthwith they escorted the returned one to college.
It required no little ingenuity on the part of the lads to get to the
room of the inseparables unchallenged, but it was finally accomplished.
“For the love of mustard, what’s that?” demanded Tom, as he saw the
sheeted sofa.
“Oh, that’s Frank’s work of reparation,” answered Phil. “He’s fixed the
sofa. Isn’t it dry yet, you old Mugwump?”
“Yes, I think it is,” answered Frank. Then, taking his position near the
article of furniture, he began cutting the string that held the sheet in
place. He had tied it securely, a measure of precaution that alone had
prevented Phil and Sid from lifting the veil to see what sort of a
repair job the Big Californian had done.
“Boys,” went on Frank, as at last he was ready to pull off the sheet, “I
have a little surprise for you.”
“Surprise!” repeated Tom blankly.
“Spring it!” ordered Dutch Housenlager.