AMY TAKES A HAND
Clint told Amy about Penny's violin without mentioning the latter's
suspicion. Amy listened with darkening face and when Clint had ended
said: "Dreer, eh? It's the sort of thing you'd expect from him. What's
Penny going to do?"
Clint explained about the scholarship and Amy nodded. "I see. I guess
he's right. Dreer would be sure to go to Josh and Penny'd get what-for;
and then it would be good-bye, scholarship! Unless--" Amy paused
thoughtfully.
"Unless what?"
"Unless he could induce our friend Dreer to 'fess up."
"Not likely!"
"N-no, not very. Still--Well, I'm sorry for old Penny."
"Durkin asked me not to say anything about it, Amy."
"So you told me?" laughed the other.
"He said I might tell you. I guess he was afraid if the fellows learned
of it they'd cheer!"
Amy chuckled. "Bet they would, too! Where's my dear old German
dictionary?"
The two boys settled down at opposite sides of the table to study. After
a few minutes, Clint whose thoughts still dwelt on Penny's tragedy,
asked: "What made you think it was Dreer, Amy?"
"Eh? Oh, why, who else would it be? Shut up and let me get this piffle."
But a half-hour later, when Clint closed his Latin book and glanced
across, Amy was leaning back in his chair, his hands behind his head and
a deep frown on his forehead. "All through?" asked Clint enviously.
"Through?" Amy evidently came back with an effort. "No, I wish I were. I
was--thinking."
When nine o'clock sounded Clint sighed with relief and closed his book.
Amy got up and walked to the window and threw himself on the seat. "Look
here," he said finally, "Dreer oughtn't to be allowed to get away with
that cute little stunt of his."
"No, but how--"
"I've been thinking." Amy thrust his hands into his pockets and a slow
smile spread over his face. "Penny can't touch him, but that doesn't say
I can't. I haven't any scholarship to lose."
"But you can't go and knock Dreer down for what he did to someone else,"
objected Clint.
"Why can't I, if I want to?"
"But--but they'd expel you or--or something."
"I wonder! Well, maybe they would. Yes, I guess so. Consequently, I'll
knock him down on my own account--ostensibly, Clint, ostensibly."
"Don't be an ass," begged the other. "You can't do that."
Amy doubled a capable-looking fist and viewed it thoughtfully. "I think
I can," he responded grimly.
"Oh, you know what I mean, Clint. You haven't any quarrel with Dreer."
"I told him that the next time he talked rot about how much better
Claflin is than Brimfield I'd lick him. I gave him fair warning, and he
knows I'll do it, too."
"All right, but he hasn't said anything like that, has he?"
"Not that I know of, but"--Amy's smile deepened--"something tells me
he's going to! Come on over here where I won't have to shout at you."
Amy patted the window-seat. "That door isn't so awfully thick, I'm
thinking."
Clint obeyed, and for the next ten minutes Amy explained and Clint
demurred, objected and, finally, yielded. In such manner was the plot to
avenge Penny Durkin's wrongs hatched.
Two days later Harmon Dreer, looking for mail in Main Hall, came across
a notice from the post office apprising him that there was a registered
parcel there which would be delivered to him on presentation of this
notice and satisfactory identification. Harmon frowned at the slip of
paper a moment, stuffed it into his pocket and sought his nine-o'clock
recitation. A half-hour later, however, having nothing to do until ten,
he started off toward the village. He was half-way down the drive toward
the east gate before he became visible from the window of Thursby's room
on the front of Torrence. Amy, who had been seated at the window for
half an hour, at once arose, crossed the hall and put his head in at the
door of Number 14.
"Got him," he announced placidly.
Clint, who had cut a recitation to remain within call, and had been
salving his conscience by studying his French, jumped up and seized
his cap.
"He's about at the gate now," added Clint as they hurried down the
stairs. "We'll give him plenty of time, because we don't want to meet
him until he's half-way back. I knew he'd bite at that registered
parcel." Amy chuckled. "He couldn't even wait until noon!"
Fifteen minutes later Harmon Dreer, returning from the post office,
spied ahead of him, loitering in the direction of the Academy, two boys
of whom one looked at the distance of a block away very much like the
obnoxious Byrd. For choice, Dreer would have avoided Amy on general
principles, but in this case he had no chance, for, unless he climbed a
fence and took to the fields, there was no way for him to reach school
without proceeding along the present road. Neither was it advisable to
dawdle, for he had Greek at ten o'clock, it was now twelve minutes of
and "Uncle Sim" had scant patience with tardy students. There was
nothing for it but to hurry along, but the fact didn't improve his
temper, which was already bad. To walk three-quarters of a mile in the
expectation of getting a valuable registered parcel and then discover on
opening it that it contained only two folded copies of a daily newspaper
was enough to sour anyone's disposition! And that is what had happened
to Dreer. Someone, of course, had played a silly joke on him, but he
couldn't imagine who, nor did he for a moment connect Byrd's appearance
on the scene with the registered parcel. When he reached the two ahead
he saw that one was Byrd, as he had thought, and the other Thayer. They
were so deeply in conversation that he was almost past before they
looked up. When they did Dreer nodded.
"Hi, fellows," he murmured, without, however, decreasing his pace.
"Hi, Dreer!" responded Amy, and Thayer echoed him. "Say, you're just the
fellow to settle this," Amy continued.
"Settle what?" asked Dreer, pausing unwillingly.
"Why, Clint says--By the way, you know Thayer, don't you?"
Dreer nodded and Amy went on.
"Well, Clint says that Claflin played two fellows on her team last year
who weren't eligible. What were their names, Clint?"
"Ainsmith and Kenney," replied Clint unhesitatingly.
"Ainsmith!" exclaimed Dreer. "Kenney! Say, you don't know what you're
talking about, Thayer!"
"That's what I told him," said Amy eagerly. "They were all right,
weren't they? Clint says that last year was their first at Claflin and
that they didn't have any right to play on the team."
"Rot! Ainsmith's been at Claflin two years and Kenney three. Where'd you
get that dope, Thayer?"
"I heard it and I think I'm right," said Clint stubbornly.
"You can't be," persisted Amy. "Dreer went to Claflin last year, and he
knows, don't you, Dreer?"
"Of course I know! Besides, Claflin doesn't do that sort of thing,
Thayer. It doesn't have to! You'd better turn over; you're on
your back!"
"That's what I heard," persisted Clint.
"You're wrong!" Dreer laughed contemptuously. "Whoever told you that
stuff was stringing you. Well, I must get a move on. I've got a
ten o'clock."
"But wait a minute," begged Amy. "You've got time enough. Let's get this
settled." Dreer suddenly discovered that Amy was between him and the
Academy and that he had a detaining hand on his arm.
"Can't, I tell you! I'll be late! Besides, there's nothing to settle. I
know what I'm talking about. And if Thayer doesn't believe it all he's
got to do is to look in the Claflin catalogue. I've got one in my room
he can see any time he wants to."
"Sure, I know," said Amy soothingly. "I've told him you'd know all about
it." Amy turned to Clint impatiently. "Dreer went to Claflin--- how many
years was it? Two, Dreer?"
"Yes; that is, one and a half. I left in the Winter."
"Of course. Well, don't you see, Clint, he'd ought to know what he's
talking about?"
"Maybe he ought," replied Clint rudely, "but I don't believe he does. He
says Claflin doesn't do that kind of thing. If it's such a fine school
why didn't he stay there?"
"You bet it's a fine school!" returned Dreer heatedly. "It's the best
there is!"
"Oh, piffle," sneered Clint. "Better than Brimfield, I suppose?"
"Better than--Say, you make me laugh! There isn't any comparison.
Claflin's got it all over this hole every way you look!" Dreer paused
suddenly and cast a doubtful look at Amy. But for once Amy seemed
unconcerned by such sentiment. His smile even seemed approving! Dreer
warmed to his subject. "Of course, you fellows haven't been anywhere
else and think Brimfield's quite a school. That's all right. But I
happen to have gone to Claflin and I know the difference between a real
school and a second-rate imitation like this! Brimfield's a regular
hole, fellows, believe me! Gee, I must get on!"
"I wouldn't hurry," said Amy. Something in his tone caught Dreer's
attention and he glanced around apprehensively to find Amy removing
his coat.
"Wha--what do you mean, you wouldn't hurry?" he asked uneasily.
Amy hung his coat on a paling and placed his cap on top. Then he tugged
his belt in another hole. And all the time he smiled quite pleasantly.
Dreer moved backward toward the curb, but found Clint barring his way.
His anxious gaze searched the road for help, but in each direction it
was empty. He laughed nervously.
"What's the joke?" he asked.
"No joke at all, Dreer," replied Amy. "I gave you fair warning that the
next time you ran down the school I'd beat you. If I were you, Dreer,
I'd take off my coat."
"You dare touch me and it'll be mighty bad for you, Byrd! I'm not going
to fight you, and you can't make me."
"Suit yourself about that," replied Amy, stepping toward him.
Dreer thought of flight, but it looked hopeless. Besides, a remnant of
pride counselled him to bluster it out rather than run away. He
laughed, not very successfully. "Two against one, eh? Wait till fellows
hear about it! You won't dare show your faces, you two thugs!" Again his
gaze travelled along the empty, sunlit road. "Anyway, I didn't say
anything I didn't have a right to say. You asked me what I thought and I
told you. You--you made me say it!"
"I did, Dreer!" Amy shook his head gently. "Think again. Surely, I
didn't do that?"
"Well, he did," faltered Dreer. "And you put him up to it, I'll bet!
Don't you touch me, Byrd!"
"Put your hands up!"
"I won't! You're bullies! Two against one isn't fair!"
"Thayer won't touch you. I'll attend to you alone and unaided, Dreer.
Fair warning!"
"Keep away from me! You'd better! Don't you--"
Dreer picked himself up slowly from the sidewalk. There was a frightened
look in his eyes.
"I don't see what you're doing this for," he half whimpered. "I haven't
done anything to you."
"You spoke disrespectfully of the school, Dreer. I told you you mustn't.
I'm terribly fond of the dear old school and it hurts me to hear it
maligned. And then there's Durkin's violin, Dreer. Perhaps you haven't
heard about that."
A gleam of comprehension flashed in the boy's face and he backed up
against the fence. "I don't know anything about any violin,"
he muttered.
"Of course you don't, Dreer," replied Amy cheerfully. "I'm just telling
you about it. Someone went into his room day before yesterday and
smashed it. Isn't that a shame? _You_ wouldn't do a thing like that,
would you?"
"I didn't!" whined Dreer. "You haven't any right to blame me for it!"
"Who's blaming you for it? Perish the thought, Dreer! I'm just telling
you about it."
"Then you let me go, Byrd! I didn't hurt his old fiddle!"
"Tut, tut! You mustn't think I'm knocking you around on account of that.
Oh dear, no! I wouldn't have any right to do that, Dreer. What I'm doing
is punishing you for speaking disrespectfully of our dear old Alma
Mater. Look out for your face, Dreer!"
Dreer put up a half-hearted defence then, and for a moment the two boys
circled about on the dusty sidewalk, Dreer pale and plainly scared, Amy
smiling and deliberate. Then came a feint at Dreer's body, a lowering of
his guard and a quick out-thrust of Amy's left fist. The blow landed on
Dreer's cheek and he went staggering backward against the palings. He
was too frightened to cry out. With a hand pressed to his bleeding
cheek, he stared dumbly at Amy, trembling and panting. Clint, who had
watched proceedings from a few yards away, felt sorry for the boy.
"That's enough, Amy," he said. "He can't fight."
"Oh, yes, he can," returned Amy sternly. "He can fight when the other
fellow's smaller than he is, can't you, Dreer? And he's a very skilful
arm-twister, too. I haven't got him warmed up yet, that's all. We've
only started, haven't we, Dreer?"
"You--you brute!" muttered Dreer. "What do you want me to do? I--I'll do
anything you say, Byrd."
"Will you? Then come away from that fence so I can knock you over again,
you sneak!"
"He's had enough, Amy," pleaded Clint.
"Enough? Oh, no, he hasn't! When he's had enough he's going to tell us
who smashed Durkin's violin, aren't you, Dreer? And he's going to tell
us that he's been awfully mistaken in his estimate of Brimfield Academy,
too. Why, he's going to just love the dear old school before I get
through with him, Clint!"
"I--I tell you I didn't touch his violin," cried Dreer with a brief
flash of defiance.
"There! You see?" said Amy. "His memory is still weak, Clint. Come away
from the fence, Dreer."
"I won't! Let me alone! You've struck me twice, Byrd. That--that ought
to be enough." He ended with a sniffle.
"Sorry," said Amy, "but I've got to arouse that memory of yours. If you
won't come away from there, why--"
"Hello, hello!" said a voice. "What's the trouble, fellows?"
The three boys started. A few yards away, leaning on his cane, stood a
tall man of twenty-three or four years, a mildly surprised expression on
his good-looking face.