GOOD-BYE TO BRILL
“Say, that was an explosion!”
“Who was that stood so close?”
“Was he hurt?”
These and a number of other cries and questions came from the students of
Brill who had witnessed the setting off, by Tom and Sam, of the last of
the fireworks.
As for the two Rover boys, they knew not what to say. Both stared
helplessly for a moment at Professor Sharp.
“Hi! hi!” spluttered that individual. “Stop it! Do you want to blow me to
pieces? Oh, I’m all on fire!” And, seeing that his coat had ignited from
some of the sparks, he commenced to dance around in terror.
“Here—wait, Professor!” called out Tom. “Let me knock out that fire!” And
he began to beat out the flames with his hands.
“Don’t—don’t hit me so hard, Rover!” snarled the professor, for in his
excitement Tom was pounding away harder than intended. Sam also came
forward to put out the sparks, and so did Dick and some others.
“Here, give me that broom, Tubbs!” cried the eldest Rover, and catching
the article, Dick whipped off the red sweater and then used the broom to
sweep from Asa Sharp what was left of the fire.
In a few seconds more the danger was over. In the meanwhile a big crowd
commenced to collect around the instructor and those who had set off the
fireworks.
“This is an outrage!” fumed Professor Sharp. “An outrage! I’ll have the
law on you for it!” And he glared savagely at Tom and Sam.
“I don’t see how you can blame us, sir,” answered Tom, stoutly. “We were
just setting off the fireworks when you ran right into the midst of
them.”
“Nonsense! nonsense! You did it on purpose!”
“You certainly ran right into the things, just as we had lit them,” said
Sam. “I don’t see how you can blame us for that.”
“You’ll see! I shall report to Doctor Wallington at once!” stormed Asa
Sharp, and hurried off with his face drawn down in sour determination.
“Phew! I guess we are in hot water, Tom!” whispered Sam.
“I don’t see how he can blame us, Sam.”
“Well, in one way, we had no right to set off the fireworks.”
“Indeed! And why not, on the last day of the term, I’d like to know? The
doctor saw us, and he didn’t say anything about stopping.”
“I really think it was Professor Sharp’s fault,” said Allen Charter, who
had been standing near. “He certainly ran right into the midst of the
lighted fireworks. I saw him do it.”
“Will you say a word for us, Charter, if we are reported to the Head?”
asked Tom.
“Certainly.”
“And so will I,” added Stanley.
“And I—if you won’t make me carry that horrid broom any longer,” lisped
William Philander Tubbs.
“Say, I guess I’m as much to blame as anybody!” came from Spud, who had
followed Asa Sharp from the college building. And then he told of what
had happened between himself, Filbury and the instructor.
“I doubt if you hear any more about it,” said Charter. And he was
practically right. The subject was barely mentioned by Doctor Wallington,
and neither Tom nor Sam were censured for what had occurred. And that was
fair, for the Rover boys had really not been to blame.
Later in the evening the college boys had something of a feast. A number
had “chipped in” and bought some soda water, ginger ale, ice-cream and
cake in Ashton, and the improvised feast was held in the boathouse, which
was strung with lanterns. Several of the students made speeches, others
sang, and Songbird was called on to recite an original poem, a request
that pleased him greatly.
“Say, boys, Brill is a great place after all!” remarked Dick, when he and
his brothers were retiring for the night “At first I thought I shouldn’t
like it quite as well as dear old Putnam Hall, but I am gradually
changing my mind.”
“This place grows on one,” returned Tom. “I suppose by the time we finish
up here we’ll hate to leave, just as we hated to leave old Putnam.”
“Well, we won’t be college boys so very long,” remarked Sam. “Almost
before you know it, we’ll be men and out in the world of business.”
“And settled down, maybe, with a family of children to support,” added
Tom, with a grin.
After the strenuous times of the evening before, the Rovers were glad to
take it easy on Tuesday. They finished the last of their packing and Tom
played a last joke on William Philander Tubbs by placing in the trunk of
the fastidious student a pair of old overalls and three old farm hats
found in the barn of Brill. They were hidden in the middle of the dude’s
things, and he locked up the trunk without discovering them.
“I hope he unpacks that trunk when the ladies are around,” said Tom.
“Then he can show ’em how he used to play farm hand, and wear three big
straw hats at a time.”
“It’s too bad to part!” sighed Songbird. “Wish we were all going on
another treasure hunt!” And then he commenced to warble softly:
“I love to sail the briny deep!
The briny deep for me!
I love to watch the sunlit waves
That brighten up the sea!
I love to listen to the wind
That fills the snowy sails!
I love to roam around the deck——”
“And eat the fishes’ tails!”
interrupted Tom. And then he went on:
“I love to swim upon the sand,
And dance upon the brine,
And write my name in salty waves,
And hope for dinner time
To come, so I can eat my fill
Of sea-foam snaps and cream;
And stand upon the quarter-deck
A halfback of the team!”
“Humph! do you call that poetry?” snorted Songbird. “It sounds as much
like it as a dog’s bark sounds like a hymn!”
“Well, it would be a ‘him’ if he was a gentleman dog!” retorted Tom, and
then Songbird turned away in momentary disgust. But soon his good humor
returned and Tom and the others allowed him to “spout poetry” to his
heart’s content.
It had been arranged that the Rovers, Dora, and the Laning girls should
meet at the Ashton depot, and it is needless to say that the three boys
were on time. They were alone, for Songbird and Stanley and some of their
other chums were going to take different trains.
“Don’t forget to let me hear from you this summer!” said Songbird, on
parting.
“Oh, we’ll be sure to write,” answered Dick. “Come and see me—if you get
anywhere near my home,” said Stanley.
“We’ll remember that,” returned Tom.
The boys were taken to Ashton depot in an automobile belonging to the
college. Their trunks and dress-suit cases had preceded them, and as soon
as they arrived they had their baggage checked straight through to Oak
Run.
“I see the girls’ trunks,” announced Sam, who had been looking the pile
of baggage over. “We could get them checked, too, if we had their
tickets.”
“Wonder where the girls are?” came from Tom, as he looked at his watch.
“How much time, Tom?”
“Ten minutes yet—and this train will most likely be late.”
Rather impatiently the Rover boys walked up and down the platform.
Presently they saw one of the Hope carryalls coming and went to meet it.
“They aren’t in that,” cried Sam, disappointedly.
“Another carriage coming from Hope?” queried Tom, of the carryall driver.
“Two of ’em,” was the reply.
The second carriage arrived a minute later. It contained six girls and
among them was Grace.
“Dora and Nellie are in the last carriage,” announced the younger Laning
girl. “I came on ahead to get the trunks and bags checked.”
“We’ll do that,” answered Sam promptly. “Got the railroad tickets?”
“Yes, here they are,” and Grace handed the tickets over.
It took several minutes to check the baggage, for the agent was busy, and
all of the Rovers gave a hand in shifting the heavy trunks out to a place
close to the tracks. Then Dick looked at his watch.
“Time for the train now,” he announced. “Wonder why that carriage doesn’t
get here?”
“Dick is getting nervous,” said Sam, with a wink.
“Oh, you are all right—with Grace here,” retorted his brother.
Tom had gone up to a bend of the road to take a look. Now he came back
with a shrug of his shoulders.
“Nothing but a farm wagon in sight,” he announced. “And the horses are
kicking up such a dust I can’t see behind it.”
“Oh, Tom, is it time for the train?” asked Grace, anxiously.
“It’s three minutes past the time,” answered Dick.
“Maybe the train is a good deal late,” said Sam, hopefully. “I’ll ask the
agent.”
He went off and in the meantime the others continued to watch the country
road leading to the railroad station. All they could see was a cloud of
dust that betokened the coming of a big farm wagon, on the front seat of
which sat an old farmer.
“The train is coming!” cried Sam in dismay, on returning. “The agent says
it will be here in about two minutes.”
“Two minutes!” burst out Dick and Tom.
“Oh, they’ll get left!” moaned Grace. “What shall we do? I can’t go home
alone! And I’ve got their tickets!”
“Perhaps the agent will hold the train a bit,” suggested Dick.
“I hear the train now!” cried Sam, as a distant whistle sounded through
the air. A moment later they saw the cars, making a broad curve around
the distant hills.
Dick ran to the man who sold tickets and looked after the baggage.
“Say, we are waiting for some more passengers—some young ladies from Hope
Seminary,” he explained. “Can’t you hold the train till they come?”
“Not much!” was the sharp answer. “The train is late already, and orders
are to make as short a stop as possible.”
“They are coming!” yelled Tom. “I see them away down the road!”
“Oh, call to them to hurry!” burst out Grace.
“They can’t hear me,” answered Tom. “They are coming as fast as the team
can go.”
“Won’t you hold the train just a couple of minutes?” pleaded Dick.
“No, sir!” And the agent spoke with a positive snap in his voice.
Dick looked across the tracks. The farm wagon had come up, and on the
seat he recognized the fat and jolly Mr. Sanderson, the father of the
girl they had once saved from the annoyances of Dudd Flockley and Jerry
Koswell.
“I’ll get Mr. Sanderson to do the trick for me!” he muttered to himself,
and ran to where the farm wagon had come to a halt.