ON THE EVE OF THE STRUGGLE
On the morning after the discovery of the loot hidden under the floor of
the closet at 34 Gannett Hall Teeny-bits awoke with the feeling that he
had been experiencing a nightmare in which disaster and unhappiness had
fastened a death-like clutch upon him. It scarcely seemed possible that
those events with which the evening had been crowded were real.
The speech at the mass meeting, the discovery of Snubby Turner sliding
down the side of the fire rope and breaking into Campbell's room, the
incident with Mr. Stevens, the summons to Doctor Wells' office, the
visit to Gannett Hall and the astounding secret that revealed itself
when the boards of the closet were lifted,--all those events seemed like
strange imaginings. Teeny-bits jumped from bed and opened the door of
the closet. The little marks that he and Doctor Wells had made with the
paper-knife were sufficient evidence to bring back the reality of each
incident and to plunge Teeny-bits into a gloomy perplexity from which
not even the crisp brightness of the November day or the prospect of the
Jefferson game could divert his mind.
The worst of it was that there seemed to be nothing that he could do
except await developments; he thought of going to Snubby Turner and
demanding an explanation of the part that Snubby had played in breaking
into Tracey Campbell's room, but he could not bring himself to make what
would be nothing less than a serious accusation of his friend. He
determined to wait.
Throughout the day it seemed to Teeny-bits that he was leading two
lives,--the one absorbed in the personal problem that had been thrust
upon him, the other concerned with the mechanical performance of the
various duties that came his way. He attended classes, ate his meals and
took part in the regular football practice, but his mind was elsewhere.
Coach Murray was the first to notice that everything was not quite
right. When the practice was two thirds over he spoke to Teeny-bits.
"Aren't you feeling fit?" he asked.
"I'm all right," replied the half-back.
"I'm afraid you've been working a little too hard," said the coach.
"We'll call that enough for you to-day."
Doctor Wells had a habit of conferring with Mr. Stevens in matters that
concerned his personal relationship with the members of the school. He
had a great respect for the English master's understanding of character.
On Tuesday morning he summoned Mr. Stevens to his office and put a blunt
question.
"What do you think of Holbrook--Teeny-bits, as they call him?"
"Why, I've always liked him," said Mr. Stevens.
"Are you quite sure of him?"
For an instant Mr. Stevens did not answer, and then he said quickly:
"Yes, I----, oh, I'm sure he's all right. In fact, I've considered him
as the same type--though, of course, with a different background--as
Neil Durant; and you know what I think of Neil."
If Doctor Wells had noticed the slight pause which preceded the English
master's reply, he gave no sign. "I agree with you," he declared. "But I
want to tell you about a puzzling incident that happened last night."
Briefly, but omitting no important detail, Doctor Wells told Mr. Stevens
of the unsigned letter that accused Teeny-bits, of his conference with
the newcomer and of the visit to Gannett Hall. When the Head described
the discovery of the stolen property beneath the floor of Teeny-bits'
closet, the expression on Mr. Stevens' face changed.
"You actually found those things in his room!" exclaimed the English
master. He was sitting in the same chair in which Teeny-bits had sat
just twelve hours before.
Doctor Wells, sitting opposite, smiled slightly at the surprise in Mr.
Stevens' voice; he had heard just such a quality of surprise mingled
with indignation in the voice of Teeny-bits.
"It astonishes you as much as it did me," said the Head. "What do you
think of it?"
Mr. Stevens sat and looked into the fire and did not answer the
question. The room became so quiet that the clock on the mantel seemed
to raise its voice,--as if suddenly it had become animate and wished to
make itself heard. It ticked out a full minute and sixty seconds more
and then--as it were--became silent, for the voice of the English master
drowned it out.
"That put a real problem up to me," he said. "I didn't know at first
what to do, but I think I see clearly now. Something happened last
night--something I couldn't quite explain; I've been puzzling over it.
Unless I were sure--well sure that you know just what weight to give to
outward appearances, I shouldn't tell you this; everything considered,
however, I think you ought to know it. The incident happened last night
only a few minutes before you asked me to send Holbrook over to you."
While Doctor Wells listened with an intentness that was revealed by the
lines of his contracted brows, Mr. Stevens described how he had found
Teeny-bits crouching in the shrubbery behind Gannett Hall and mentioned
the newcomer's confusion at being discovered.
"I've always believed that character inevitably expresses itself in a
person's face," said Doctor Wells, "and I have come gradually into the
conviction that I can read faces. I _thought_ I had made no mistake in
this case--and I think so still. But they say there _are_ exceptions to
the general rule. I don't know--well, for the present, the only thing to
do is to wait. Time is a great revealer of secrets."
On Wednesday and Thursday the Ridgley football team went through light
signal practice which was intended, as Coach Murray said, to "oil the
machinery" and "polish off the rough spots." Thursday afternoon the
whole school marched down to the field to watch the practice and to test
their cheering and their songs.
At dark when the team was in the locker building Coach Murray announced
that there would be no practice on Friday. "I want you to _forget
football_ from now until Saturday," he said. "Imagine that no such game
ever existed. To-morrow, go on a little walk somewhere or take it easy
in any way you like, but don't bother your brains with any football
thinking."
On Friday afternoon Tracey Campbell, at the suggestion of Bassett,
decided to "forget football" by taking a little tour in his father's
automobile. Tracey telephoned home, discovered that the elder Campbell
was out of town, and had little difficulty in persuading his mother to
send the chauffeur over to Ridgley with the car. Tracey suggested that
he might take along one or two members of the football team, but Bassett
made a remark or two that caused the substitute back to change his mind.
After driving to the "mansion" and leaving the chauffeur, Tracey and
Bassett rode out into the country and came back by the way of
Greensboro. Their conversation had been none too pleasant, for there
were certain things between them that furnished grounds for differences
of opinion. But Bassett was clever--more clever than most of the members
of Ridgley School believed him to be--and he had a way of putting his
finger on weak spots and causing irritation that resulted in action. As
on two previous occasions, the pair stopped at Chuan Kai's Oriental
Eating Palace, and there Bassett gave voice to what he considered as a
finality.
"Well," he said, "if Teeny-bits weren't on hand for the game, of course
you'd play in his place, as you deserve to, and then you'd get your
letter and the runabout."
"Well, he'll be there, so don't worry yourself about that," said
Campbell. "He's on the inside and nothing you can do--got a match? I'm
going to smoke."
"Didn't you tell me one time that Chuan Kai had a regular den upstairs
where no one ever went--except the Chinks?"
"I guess so," said Tracey.
"The trouble with _you_," was Bassett's next remark, "is that you can't
see a real chance when it's right in front of your nose. Now listen, and
I'll tell you something."
The result of the conversation that went on between Bassett and Campbell
during the next quarter of an hour was that Campbell finally got up from
the table and said:
"We'll talk to Chuan Kai."
As an outcome of what passed between the two members of Ridgley School
and Chuan Kai, an agreement was made which involved the payment of a
certain amount of money. Chuan Kai counted the bills and slipped them
out of sight within the folds of his loose-fitting coat. He had more
than one reason for undertaking to help these two young members of the
white race; they had money which moved from their pockets to his pockets
and they had promised him more; the owner of the building in which Chuan
Kai had established the business of the Oriental Eating Palace was
Campbell, the leather dealer. Third reason, and greatest in the Chinese
mind, was the fact that years ago, but not so long but that the memory
of it was as vivid as a lightning flash on a black night, Campbell--who
had not been above turning his hand to various undertakings that, though
murky of purpose, were productive in returns--had circumvented certain
laws that prevented a yellow man from gaining entrance to the land of
the Americans. The father of this youth held Chuan Kai in the hollow of
his hand, and Chuan Kai knew that a few words spoken to the
enforcers-of-law would send him away from these shores, where living
came so easily, back to China where stalked a specter which he had
reason to fear with the fear of one whose heart trembles like the heart
of a field mouse that hears the cry of the long-taloned owl. Those
reasons trooped through the Oriental's mind as his black eyes shifted
from the face of Campbell to the face of Bassett.
"You understand," said Bassett. "It's an initiation for one of our
school societies and it must be always a secret--never tell any one we
had anything to do with it. You understand?"
Yes, Chuan Kai understood; he knew English and he knew well enough what
societies were; this he imagined was a "play" society, the kind with
which young Americans amused themselves, quite unlike some societies he
knew about.
Chuan Kai called out suddenly two words that sounded to Bassett and
Campbell like "_Ka-wah changsee_", and within twenty seconds one of the
Chinese waiters stood in the doorway with an expectant look in his eyes.
More words of Chinese like pebbles rattling over stones and falling into
water flowed from the singsong lips of Chuan Kai. The waiter went away
and came back with a broad-shouldered Chinaman whose sleeves were rolled
up, revealing sinewy yellow muscles. Campbell and Bassett guessed that
he came from the kitchen where he had been cutting meat, for his hands
were red and the apron he wore was stained. Chuan Kai spoke to these two
hench-men at some length; they replied in guttural syllables that
signified understanding.
A little after dark, on that same Friday evening, Teeny-bits came back
from supper at Lincoln Hall and went up to his room. He had taken a walk
with Neil Durant and Ned Stillson and had made up his mind that he would
go to bed early and keep his thoughts away from the things that were
troubling him. He had started to undress and had removed his shirt and
collar, when some one shouted up from below:
"Oh, Teeny-bits, you're wanted on the telephone."
Teeny-bits pulled on a sweater and went downstairs. In answer to his
inquiry he heard a voice--an unnaturally gruff voice, he remembered
afterwards--telling him startling news. His father, old Daniel Holbrook,
had been hurt--a train had struck him at the station--Teeny-bits was
wanted at home at once.
Waiting to hear no more, he hung up the receiver and without pausing to
tell any one where he was going, hurried out of Gannett Hall and ran
across the campus toward the hill-road that led down to the village of
Hamilton a mile away. He had covered half the distance when he saw an
automobile just ahead of him standing beside the road. As he approached,
he noticed that, though the lights were out, the engine was running; he
determined to explain the emergency and ask for a ride to the village.
He never made the request, however, for as he came abreast of the car he
heard a sharp whistle close beside him and was suddenly assailed by two
dark figures that sprang upon him and, almost before he could struggle,
bore him to the ground.
Teeny-bits had been in many a rough-and-tumble wrestling match and was
able to take care of himself in competition with any ordinary opponent,
even when weight was against him; he struggled desperately, but within
the space of a very few seconds he realized that he was helpless. At the
first onslaught something that felt like a voluminous cloth had been
thrown over his head and he found himself enveloped in its folds; he
tried to cry out for help, but his voice was muffled and ineffective.
Though unable to see his assailants, he kicked and struck out with
desperation, but all to no avail. His feet were brought together and
fastened with the same material that covered his head and pinioned his
arms to his body. In a moment he felt himself raised from the ground and
realized that he was being lifted into the automobile. Hands fumbled at
the cloth about his head, tightening the folds over his mouth and eyes,
loosening the folds over his nose so that, though he could neither see
nor talk, he could breathe without difficulty.
The whole attack had been carried out swiftly, and it was so entirely
different from anything that Teeny-bits had experienced that he felt
dazed and bewildered. The automobile was moving rapidly now, as he could
tell by its tremulous motion and its frequent lurches. No sound that
would aid him in identifying his assailants came to his ears, however,
and he could only helplessly await the next development. A cautious
tightening of his muscles convinced him quickly that it was of no use
whatever to strain against his bonds. Whoever these men were who had
bound him in so strange a manner, they had done their work well. Minutes
passed, and still the automobile rolled on swiftly; whither it was
carrying him--north or south or east or west--Teeny-bits had no way of
knowing. Finally it began to move more slowly and after a few moments
vibrated as if passing over cobble-stones.
Teeny-bits knew instantly when it came to a stop, for the vibrations
ceased. Only a moment passed before he felt himself lifted by two pairs
of hands and a moment later realized by the sound and the motion that he
was being carried up a long flight of steps. He heard a door open and
shut and he sniffed a strange odor; food cooking and smoke, it seemed to
suggest, but strange food and strange smoke. Another flight of steps was
mounted, another door was opened, and Teeny-bits felt himself deposited
upon something that seemed like a mattress. He tried to speak, to ask
where he was and what his captors intended, but only muffled mumblings
came from his lips. He heard the door close and knew that he was alone.
A feeling of despair, the equal of which he had never experienced, swept
over him; he was in the power of nameless enemies whose purposes were
unknown and perhaps sinister.
For a long while Teeny-bits lay in dumb misery, while one dismal thought
after another marched through his mind. On the eve of the big game--the
game in which for long weeks his hopes had been fastened, first with
interest and then with an almost feverish anticipation--he had been
mysteriously spirited away. Now he would not even witness the great
struggle between his school and its ancient rival--to say nothing of
playing and winning his R. But there were other thoughts. What of his
father,--old Daniel Holbrook? Teeny-bits now suspected that the
telephone summons was part of a plan to entice him away from the school,
but, of course, there was a possibility that an accident had occurred
and that even now Daniel Holbrook was hovering between life and death,
and wondering why Teeny-bits did not come to him. There was still
another thought: circumstances had cast about him a cloud of suspicion
which was evident to two persons whose respect he wished to
retain,--Doctor Wells and Mr. Stevens. What would their feeling toward
him be when they learned that he had disappeared from the school without
saying a word to any one? They could arrive at only one conclusion: that
he was guilty of stealing from his schoolmates and that, fearing to face
the charges against him, he had run away like a coward. If the worst
should happen--if he should not come out alive from the predicament in
which he now found himself--his name would be remembered forever as that
of one who had neither honor nor courage.
Those thoughts seemed to Teeny-bits more than he could bear, and
suddenly a feeling of bitter rage welled up within him against the
unknown enemy who had caused him all this misery. He could not believe
that Snubby Turner had anything to do with it. The only persons in
Ridgley School whom he had reason to suspect were Bassett and Tracey
Campbell. He made up his mind that if he ever escaped from his present
predicament he would go straight to those two members of Ridgley School
and ask them point-blank if they were at the bottom of his troubles. If
they could not come forth with an answer that rang true, he would give
them both a thrashing that they would never forget. He would welcome a
chance to meet them singly or as a pair. He began to struggle at his
bonds and was soon dripping with perspiration from his efforts. After a
time he saw the uselessness of it and, almost exhausted, lay breathing
deeply the close atmosphere of the room.
The night before the "big game" at Ridgley School resembled the lull
before a storm; word had been passed as usual that the dormitories were
to be quiet and members of the school were to keep away from the rooms
of the football players, who, of course, needed, on this night of all
nights, a sound and long sleep. In Lincoln Hall, at meal time, there had
been a hum of eager conversation: the Jefferson team had arrived in
Hamilton and had gone to comfortable quarters at Grey Stone Inn, three
miles from the school. They would remain at the inn until just before
the game, when they would come to the field in automobiles. Several of
the Ridgleyites who had been in the station at the time of the visitors'
arrival reported that the Jefferson players were "huskies" and that
Norris, the renowned full-back, was the biggest "of the lot." The main
body of Jefferson students would arrive by special train at noon on
Saturday.
Many a member of Ridgley School on this eve of the great struggle was
filled with a feeling of restlessness; it seemed that the minutes were
dragging with indescribable slowness, that the night would never pass
and that the hour would never come when the referee would blow his
whistle to start the contest upon which the Ridgley hopes and fears were
centered.
Among those restless spirits who longed for some way to speed the
minutes was Snubby Turner. He had gone down to the Hamilton Station and
had come away not at all reassured by the sight that had met his eyes.
The representatives of Jefferson School were a formidable looking lot,
and it increased Snubby's peace of mind not at all to have had a close
view of Norris' athletic form. He sensed a feeling of overflowing
confidence in these big sons of Jefferson, and he longed to talk to some
one who could dispel his doubts and drive away the insidious fears that
were gnawing at what he called his "Ridgley spirit." In these
circumstances he would have gone to Teeny-bits, or he might even have
imposed upon the hospitality of Neil Durant,--if he had not known that
loyalty to the school demanded that he should not bother any member of
the eleven. He finally sought consolation by going down to the basement
of Gannett Hall to pay a visit to old Jerry. He found the ancient
janitor's assistant leaning back in a rickety chair reading by the light
of an unshaded electric bulb. The old man put the volume down upon his
knee and looked at Snubby with eyes that seemed to be gazing on distant
scenes.
"What kind of book is that?" asked Snubby. "A novel?"
Old Jerry thrust his head forward slightly, as if seeing his visitor for
the first time, and said:
"There's _ijeers_ in this book, I wanter tell yer. It's about an awful
smart feller who had ways of his own in gettin' at the bottom o'
things--kind of a detecative chap."
Snubby looked at the title and saw that it was "The Mystery of the
Million Dollar Diamond."
"It does a man good sometimes to exercise his brains on meesterious
happenin's," said old Jerry, "and you know we got plenty o' reason to
study up things o' that sort."
"Yes, we have; but I'm not half as much interested in that stuff just
now as I am in the Jefferson game. Who do you think's going to win?"
Old Jerry laid the book carefully aside on his table, looked at his
questioner seriously for a moment and said:
"I got my ijeers about that too, but it don't do no good to tell
everythin' that is millin' aroun' in your head. Now I once heared of a
feller who had a job forecastin' the weather for a noospaper, and he'd
allus say right out _positive_ whether it 'ud rain or shine--it was
allus goin' to be bright and clear or dark and stormy--and along come a
spell o' weather and every day for a week he said it was going to rain,
and I'll be singed if there was a cloud in the sky all through them
seven days--and the feller lost his job. Now the way I look at the game
is this: we got a big chance to win and we got a big chance to lose, and
if we do the things we oughter do it's goin' to be bright and fair, and
if we do the things we hadn't oughter do it's goin' to be dark and
stormy,--and I got my ijeers which is which. But, as I said, it don't do
too much good to tell _everythin'_ you know."
"It'll be an awful fight," said Snubby; "a terrible fight every single
minute of the time, and I'll bet you two cents to a tin whistle that
when that Jefferson crowd of heavy-weights gets through they'll know
they've been playing somebody. I wish there were something I could do.
I'm so doggone restless that I don't believe I'll sleep a wink
to-night."
Old Jerry gave voice to a cackle of mirth. "Bet you'll sleep all right,"
he said. "I never yet seen a feller like you that didn't sleep when the
time come for it, and as for helping, I guess you'll do your part if you
keep on believin' that Ridgley School can't be beat and when the game is
goin' on you yell your dumdest to encourage the team."
"Well," said Snubby, "I suppose you want to go on readin' that
lurid-looking book of yours, so I'll be going up to my room, I guess."
"It ain't so lurid," said Jerry, "but it's interestin' 'cause it's kind
o' teachin' me how to put two and two together so's they'll figger up to
make four, if you know what I mean, and then I'm a mite stirred up
myself about that game to-morrer and it's quietin' to my nerves."
So Snubby Turner left his friend in the little basement room, walked
quietly up the stairs to his room and made up his mind that the best
thing for him to do was to turn in.
Mass meetings, preliminary games and final practice were over and
everything now awaited the climax of the season. By half-past nine
lights were going out in the dormitories and presently quiet reigned
over the white buildings on the hill and the stars, sending down their
radiance from a clear sky, presaged fair weather for the great contest.
The light was out in Teeny-bits' room and no one in the school--with the
exception of two persons--doubted that the smallest member of the eleven
was not sleeping soundly beneath the roof of Gannett Hall.
Saturday morning dawned as fair as the fairest day in the year; there
was a nip in the air that suggested winter, but as the morning wore on,
the mounting sun mellowed the chill until the "old boys"--men who had
played for Ridgley and Jefferson twenty years before and who had come
back to view once again the immortal combat between the "best school in
all the world" and her greatest rival--slapped each other on the back
and said:
"Perfect football weather!"
All roads led to Ridgley--or seemed to--on this day of days. The trains
came rolling into the Hamilton Station, discharged their burdens of
humanity and rolled on. Automobiles by the score climbed the long hill
to the school,--automobiles bearing the fluttering red of Ridgley and
the fluttering purple of Jefferson. There were shouts of greeting and
shouts of gay challenge, honking of horns and a busy rushing here and
there that suggested excitement, anticipation and hopes built high. And
then came the special train from Jefferson--the Purple Express, so
named--bearing hundreds of cheering students and a brass band of twenty
pieces which led the procession into Lincoln Hall to the strains of the
Jefferson Victory Song,--a fiendish piece of music in the ears of
Ridgley's loyal sons, a stirring pean of confidence and challenge in the
ears of those who waved aloft the purple. At Lincoln Hall the Jefferson
guests--according to immemorial custom--sat down to a luncheon that
Ridgley School provided. A year later the compliment would be returned.
The band played, the visitors cheered, the song leader jumped on a table
and swung his arms in time to the latest Jefferson song,--and all
Ridgley School knew that Jefferson was having the time of her life. She
had come to her rival with the best team in her history and she meant to
enjoy every moment of a triumph which she was confident would be
colossal. In all this excitement Teeny-bits' absence was not at first
noticed. At breakfast some one asked for him and some one else said:
"I guess he's already eaten and gone; he probably didn't want to listen
to our football gossip."
During the course of the morning two members of the faculty called for
him--Doctor Wells and Mr. Stevens. They had an identical thought in
mind--though neither knew that the other was thinking it. They were busy
in extending the hospitality of Ridgley to the members of the Jefferson
faculty and in greeting the "old boys" who had returned for the big
game, but both wanted to have a word with Teeny-bits,--to tell him that
they had confidence in him and that they knew everything would turn out
right in the end and that they should watch him with special interest
this afternoon and knew that he would forget everything else and play
his best for Ridgley. They left word for him at the dormitory.
This was no ordinary game of football--Ridgley-Jefferson games never
were ordinary--and this would transcend all past contests between the
two schools. Jefferson was said to be irresistible; the Ridgleyites knew
that the spirit of their team was irresistible, and when two
"irresistible" forces come together something must give way. From
Springfield, the nearest large city, came numerous copies of the
_Springfield Times_ with pictures of all the players and statistics in
regard to age, weight and height. The largest amount of space was given
to Norris, the Jefferson full-back, but Neil Durant came in for his
share and a paragraph was devoted to Teeny-bits who was described in
these words:
"The Ridgley left-half will be the lightest player on the field; he
cannot be expected to do much against the heavy Jefferson line, but he
has gained a reputation as a shifty runner and deserves to be watched on
open plays."
At noon, when Teeny-bits did not appear for the special luncheon that
was served to the members of the team in the trophy room of the
gymnasium, Neil Durant and Coach Murray began to make inquiries.
"Where's Teeny-bits?"
Nobody had an answer.
"He'll probably be along pretty soon," said the coach. "He ought not to
be late to-day, though."
When the luncheon was half-eaten Neil Durant got up and announced that
he was going to send some one to look for the missing member of the
team. He found Snubby Turner and asked him to run up to Gannett Hall and
look for Teeny-bits.
When Snubby came back at the close of the meal with the report that
Teeny-bits was not in his room and that nobody, as far as he could
discover, had seen him all the morning, Neil Durant said:
"Maybe he went home. We'll probably find him down at the locker
building."
But when the members of the team arrived at the field half an hour later
in order to prepare themselves leisurely for the game, Teeny-bits had
not appeared.
"That's mighty queer," Neil said to Ned Stillson. "I can't understand
it. If he doesn't come we'll have to play Campbell in his place--and
somehow I haven't much faith in Campbell. I'm going to call up Mr.
Holbrook at the Hamilton station and find out if he knows anything about
Teeny-bits."
In answer to Neil's call, Mr. Holbrook's assistant reported that Mr.
Holbrook had gone home to dinner and was not coming back till late in
the afternoon; he was going to the game.
"The Holbrooks haven't a 'phone in their house, have they?" asked Neil.
"No, they haven't," came the reply.
"Well, do you know where Teeny-bits is?"
"Why, up at the school, I suppose; I haven't seen him," was the answer.
It was evident that Mr. Holbrook's assistant had no information; Neil
hung up the receiver and said to himself:
"Well, if his father is coming that's a good sign. When Teeny-bits shows
up, I'll give him a lecture that'll make his hair stand on end."
At quarter-past one, when the Ridgley team ran out on the field for
warming-up practice, Coach Murray looked over the squad and yelled
sharply:
"Campbell, get out there in left-half and let me see you show some
_pep_."
The tone of his voice was like a whiplash, and every member of the team
knew that he was angry clear through.
Already the stands were beginning to fill with the friends of Ridgley
and of Jefferson, though the cheering sections were as yet empty. In two
long columns, stepping in time to the music of their respective bands,
the Ridgleyites and the Jeffersonians were marching to the field.