The High School Boys' Canoe Club
or
Dick & Co.'s Rivals on Lake Pleasant
By H. Irving Hancock
CONTENTS
CHAPTERS
I. The "Splendid" War Canoe
II. "RIP" Tries Out His Bargain
III. Buying Fuel for a Bonfire?
IV. Hiram Pries a Secret Loose
V. Birch Bark Merchants
VI. Meeting the Fate of Greenhorns
VII. "Danny Grin" is Silent
VIII. What an Expert Can Do
IX. Dick Trembles at His Nerve
X. Putting Up a Big Scheme
XI. All Ready to Race, But-----
XII. Susie Discomfits a Boor
XIII. The Ripley Heir Tries Coaxing
XIV. The Liar has a Lie Ready
XV. At the Greatest of Feasts
XVI. A Scalp-Hunting Disappointment
XVII. The Good Word by Wire
XVIII. "Won't Win Against a Mudscow"
XIX. What Ailed Gridley?
XX. "Dinky-Rat Hot Sail!"
XXI. Nature Has a Dismal Streak
XXII. Fred is Grateful---One Second!
XXIII. Trentville, The Awesome
XIV. Conclusion
CHAPTER I
THE "SPLENDID" WAR CANOE
"It's the wreck of one of the grandest enterprises ever conceived
by the human mind!" complained Colonel W.P. Grundy, in a voice
broken with emotion.
A group of small boys grinned, though they offered no audible
comment.
"Such defeats often---usually, in fact---come to those who try
to educate the masses and bring popular intelligence to a higher
level," was the colonel's declaration, as he wiped away a real
or imaginary tear.
On a nearby lot stood a large show tent, so grayed and frayed,
so altogether dingy as to suggest that it had seen some summers
of service ere it became briefly the property of Colonel Grundy.
Near the entrance to the tent a temporary platform had been built
of the board seats taken from the interior of the tent.
Near the platform stood a grim-visaged deputy sheriff, conversing
with an auctioneer on whose face the grin had become chronic.
Some distance from the tent stood a group of perhaps forty men
of the town of Gridley.
"The whole outfit of junk won't bring five hundred dollars," predicted
one of these men. "How much did you say the judgments total?"
"Seventeen thousand four hundred dollars," replied another. "But
the man who attached the show has a claim for only six hundred
and forty dollars, so he may get most of his money."
Here the auctioneer stopped talking with the deputy sheriff long
enough to go over to the platform, pick up a bell and ring it
vigorously. A few more stragglers came up, most of them boys
without any money in their pockets.
Off at one side of the lot six boys stood by themselves, talking
in low tones, casting frequent, earnest glances toward the platform.
These youngsters were Dick Prescott, Dave Darrin, Greg Holmes,
Tom Reade, Dan Dalzell and Harry Hazelton. Collectively they
were known in the boydom of Gridley as Dick & Co.
Our readers are already familiar with every one of these lads,
having first been introduced to them in the "_Grammar School Boys
Series_," with its four volumes, "_The Grammar School Boys of
Gridley_," "_The Grammar School Boys Snowbound_," "_The Grammar
School Boys in the Woods_" and "_The Grammar School Boys in Summer
Athletics_." The varied and stirring exploits of Dick & Co.,
as told in these books, stamped the six chums as American boys
of the best sort.
Then, in "_The High School Freshmen_," the first volume of the
"_High School Boys Series_," our readers went further into the
history of Dick & Co., and saw how even freshmen may impress their
personalities on the life and sports of a high school. The pranks,
the fights, the victories and achievements of that first year
in high school had done much to shape the characters and mould
the minds of all six of our boys.
The present narrative deals with all that happened in the vacation
after Dick Prescott and his friends had finished their freshman
year. The summer now lay before them for whatever might come
to them in the way of work and pleasure. Though none of the six
yet knew it, the summer was destined to bring to them the fullest
measure of wonder and excitement.
And now let us get back to Dick & Co., that we may see just what
befell them.
"Pshaw! There comes Fred Ripley," exclaimed Harry Hazelton.
"And he probably has a few ten dollar bills in his pockets," remarked
Greg Holmes, rather enviously. "He will buy something."
Fred Ripley, as readers of "The High School Freshmen" remember,
was the son of a wealthy local lawyer, and a bitter enemy to Dick
Prescott and his friends.
"Fred just came here to buy something and then look at us with
his superior smile," grunted Hazelton. "What do you say if we
all walk away before the bidding begins?"
"Then Rip would grin," returned Tom Reade. "He'd know just why
we went away. I came here to see what's going to happen, and I
won't be chased away from here by Fred Ripley."
"Let's see if Fred can have any real fun with us," proposed Dick,
with a quiet smile.
"He can have fun enough with us, if he guesses why we are really
here," Dave Darrin uttered resentfully. "Ripley seems to think
that money is made and supplied to him just in order that he may
rub gall and wormwood into those whom he doesn't like!"
Fred kept well away from Dick & Co., though the six boys saw that
he occasionally sent a covert look in their direction.
"Time to begin," said the deputy sheriff, after glancing at his
watch.
Up to the platform jumped the auctioneer, bell in hand. Holding
it with both hands he again rang vigorously for a full minute.
The net result was to bring one shabby-looking man, two grammar
school boys without a cent of money, and three children of not
over four years of age into the lot.
"Ladies and gentlemen," began the auctioneer, in his glib tones,
"we are presenting to-day a most unusual opportunity. Prizes
will be distributed to many enterprising people of Gridley, though
these prizes are all so valuable that I trust none of them will
go for the traditional 'song.' It is seldom, indeed, in any community,
however favored it may be in general, that such a diversified
lot of excellent things is put under the hammer for purchase by
discriminating buyers! As you all know, Colonel W.P. Grundy's
Great & Colossal Indian Exposition & Aboriginal Life Delineations
has met with one of the too-common disasters of the road. This
great show enterprise must now be sold out in its entirety."
After an impressive pause, the silence was broken by a sob. Those
in the crowd who were curious enough to turn, beheld the colonel
with a handkerchief to his eyes, his shoulders heaving. Somehow
the colonel's noisy grief failed to excite the sympathy of those
assembled. It was suspected that the wrecked showman was playing
for sympathy.
"Such a wealth of treasures is here offered," continued the auctioneer,
"that for the first time in my career I confess myself unable
to decide which article or lot to lay before you first."
"You said that last week at Templeton," laughed a man in the crowd.
"Go on!"
Whereupon the auctioneer once more addressed his hearers in a
burst of vocal fireworks.
"I wonder what Prescott and his mucker friends are here to bid
on?" Fred Ripley was asking himself. "Whatever it is, if it's
nothing that I want for myself I'll bid it up as high against
them as I can. For, of course, they've pooled their funds for
whatever they want to get. They can't put in more than a quarter
apiece, so a dollar and a half is all I have to beat. I'll wager
they already suspect that I'm here just to make things come higher
for them. I hope they do suspect!"
It was just after the Fourth of July. The summer sun shone fiercely
down upon the assemblage.
"Perhaps, first of all," announced the auctioneer, after pausing
to take breath, "it will be the proper thing to do to offer the
tent itself. At this point, however, I will say that the foreclosing
creditor of the show himself bids two hundred dollars on the tent.
No bid, unless it be more than two hundred dollars, can be accepted.
Come, now, friends, here is a fine opportunity for a shrewd business
man. One need not be a showman, or have any personal need of
a tent, in order to become a bidder. Whoever buys this tent to-day
will be able to realize handsomely on his investment by selling
this big-top tent in turn to some showman in need of a tent.
Who will start the bidding at three hundred dollars?"
No one started it. After the auctioneer had talked for five minutes
without getting a "rise" out of any Gridley citizen, he mournfully
declared the tent to be outside of the sale.
"Has anyone here any choice as to what he wants me to offer next?"
questioned the salesman of the afternoon.
There was no response.
"Come, come, gentlemen!" rebuked the auctioneer. "Don't let the
July sun bake your intellects, or the first cool day that comes
along will find you all filled with unavailing regrets. Hasn't
some one a choice as to what should be offered next?"
Still receiving no reply, he heaved a sigh, then added:
"I see that we shall have to start action in some way. Therefore
we'll bring out something that is action personified, with grace
mingled. Bring out the ponies. Gentlemen, I am now going to
offer you your choice of eight of the handsomest ponies you ever-----"
"But there are forty ponies and thirty-two good wagon horses,"
piped up a business man in the audience.
"There were," corrected the auctioneer, mournfully. "But most
of the live stock was rented. Colonel Grundy had hoped to buy
the stock gradually out of the receipts of the show. All that
he owned in the way of live stock consisted of eight ponies.
And here they come! Beauties, aren't they?"
Despite the heat of the day it was as though a frost had settled
down over the scene. Many of the men present were butchers, grocers
or others who had hoped to pick up cheap horses to be used in
their business.
"Ponies are no good in this town," cried one man. "Lead 'em away.
Come on, neighbors."
"Wait, wait!" urged the auctioneer. "There are some bargains
yet to come that will interest you all. Since we have the ponies
on the spot let us begin to run them off. It will teach you all
how to bid quickly when you see wonderful bargains bought up under
your noses!"
The bidding, however, was lax at first. A stable boy mounted
one of the little animals, riding about at reckless pace.
"Now, start the bidding!"
After five minutes talking an opening bid of five dollars for
the pony had been made and this had been advanced to seven.
With all the zeal at his command the auctioneer drove the bidding
along. It reached fourteen dollars, and there stopped. At last
the pony was knocked down to a man who thought he could use the
animal in a very light delivery wagon.
"Now, gentlemen, wake up!" begged the auctioneer. "Let us have
some bidding worthy of the fair name of Gridley for good judgment
in business matters. Lead the roan pony forth."
Undoubtedly the first pony had been a fair bargain at fourteen
dollars. The bidding on the second animal began at ten dollars,
going quickly to eighteen. From that point the offers traveled
slowly until twenty-six dollars had been named. At this price
the pony was sold.
From that time on the ponies were "knocked down" rather briskly,
though the highest-priced one of the first seven brought only
thirty-one dollars.
Now came the eighth.
"You see what this animal is for yourselves, gentlemen," declared
the auctioneer. "We don't need to have this sleek little animal's
paces shown. We are in a hurry to get through. Who opens with
twenty dollars?"
"He is a handsome little animal, isn't he?" exclaimed Dick Prescott,
crowding forward and gazing at the pony with glistening eyes.
"I wish I had the money to buy him," whispered Dave Darrin.
"Maybe I couldn't use that kind of a cut-down horse!" glowed Tom
Reade, while Harry and Dan looked on longingly.
"That's what the muckers are here after!" thought Fred Ripley,
who had been watching them closely. "Now, no matter how much
money they may think they have, I'll show them how easy it is
for a fellow of my financial standing to step in and get the chestnut
pony away from them!"
"Who starts the bidding with twenty dollars?" demanded the auctioneer.
"Ten," finally responded a man in the crowd.
"Thank you. But, gentlemen, ten dollars is a shame for a beautiful
animal like this. Who makes it twenty? Start it right up now!"
Presently the bidding had reached sixteen dollars. Dick and his
chums had crowded still closer to the pony, looking on with lively
interest.
"Here's where I sting Prescott and his crew!" muttered Fred Ripley
under his breath. Then, aloud, he called:
"Twenty!"
"Thank you," smiled the auctioneer, nodding in Ripley's direction.
"Here is a young man of sound judgment and a good idea of money
values, as his manner and his whole appearance testify."
"Someone hold Rip, or he'll burst," laughed Greg Holmes in Dick's
ear.
But Fred thought the chums were conferring as to how far they
could go with what means the six of them might have at hand.
"They will get going soon," thought Fred gleefully.
Just then Dick Prescott piped up:
"Twenty-two!"
"Twenty-two? Thank you," bowed the auctioneer. "Another young
gentleman of the finest judgment. Who says twenty-five?"
"Twenty-three," offered Fred.
"Twenty-five," called Prescott promptly.
An instant after Dick had made this bid he felt heartily ashamed
of himself. He hadn't intended to buy the pony, and didn't have
the money. He had obeyed a sudden instinct to tease Fred Ripley,
but now Dick wished he hadn't done it.
"Twenty-six!" called young Ripley.
The auctioneer looked at Prescott, but the latter, already abashed
at his own conduct, made no further offer.
"Twenty-eight!" called a man in the crowd, who knew that the wealthy
lawyer's son usually got whatever he wanted very badly. This
new bidder thought he saw a chance to get the pony, then later
to force Fred to pay a still higher price for the animal.
"Thirty!" called Ripley, with a sidelong glance at Dick & Co.
"Did I hear you offer thirty-five?" queried the auctioneer, singling
out Dick Prescott.
But Dick remained mute. However, in the next instant Greg Holmes,
ere Prescott could stop him, blurted out with:
"Thirty-two!"
"Thirty-four!" called Ripley briskly.
Greg opened his mouth, but Dick nudged him. "Don't bid, Greg.
You'd feel cheap if you had to take the pony and couldn't produce
the money," Dick admonished him.
"Thirty-five!" called the man who had raised the bidding before.
"Thirty-six," from Ripley.
"Thirty-eight!" called the man.
"Thirty-nine!" offered Fred, though he was beginning to perspire
freely.
"Forty!" promptly offered the man.
"Forty-one!" said Fred.
And there it hung. After three minutes more of hard work on the
auctioneer's part the pony went to Ripley at forty-one dollars.
"I don't know what my father will say to me for this," groaned
the lawyer's son. "But, anyway, Prescott and his crew didn't
get the chestnut pony, and this is the last piece of live stock,
so there's none left for them."
He cast a triumphant look in the direction of those whom he termed
"the mucker boys."
"Rip was bidding to keep us from getting a look-in!" whispered
Tom Reade gleefully.
"That was what I thought," nodded Dick Prescott. "That was why
I threw in a couple of bids---just to make him pay for his meanness.
But I'm sorry I did it."
"Step up and pay your money!" ordered the auctioneer. "Don't
keep us waiting all day."
"Won't a deposit do?" demanded Fred, coming forward.
"Yes; we'll take fifteen dollars, and hold your purchase until
one hour after the sale closes," replied the auctioneer. "Then,
if you don't come along fast with the remainder, your deposit
will be forfeited."
"I'll raise the money all right," drawled Ripley, with an important
air, as he passed up three five dollar bills. "Give me a receipt
for this, please."
"You've money enough there to pay it all," said the auctioneer.
"Yes; but I may bid on something else," Fred replied.
"Good luck to you," laughed the auctioneer.
Presently along came a miscellaneous lot of the weapons that had
been used by cowboys and Indians connected with the show. The
auctioneer tried to close these out in one lot, but there were
no bids.
Several of the younger men did brisk, but not high bidding for
the rifles. These were disposed of.
Then tomahawks were offered for sale, singly. The first ones
offered went at an average of twenty-five cents each. At last
Dan Dalzell secured one for a nickel, paid his money and proudly
tucked his purchase under his arm.
"Bring out the grand war canoe!" called the auctioneer at last.
Now every drop of blood in Dick Prescott's body tingled. His
chums, too, were equally aroused. It was this that they had hope
of securing---if it went off at a price next to nothing!
So intensely interested were the six young high school athletes
in the proceedings now that each one steeled himself to prevent
betraying the fact. All were aware that Fred Ripley's malicious
eyes were watching them. If he suspected that they wanted the
canoe he could put the bidding up to a figure that would make
their wishes impossible of fulfillment.
Dick yawned. He looked intensely bored.
"Come along," proposed Dave in an audible voice. "There's nothing
here we can get."
"Yes; it's getting tedious," hinted Tom Reade.
Dalzell and Hazelton also appeared to lose all interest in the
auction.
"I was in hopes they'd want that canoe," muttered Fred Ripley,
feeling as though he had been cheated out of a great pleasure.
"As it happens I know all about that canoe. Wow! Wouldn't they
groan if they put up all their money for the canoe---_and then
found out_!"
Just then the canoe was brought out. It was bolstered up on a
long truck, drawn by a pair of horses. Twenty-eight feet long,
slender and of graceful lines, this canoe, with its oiled birch
bark glistening in the sun, was a thing of beauty. It was one
of the genuine articles that the show had carried---of real Indian
model and workmanship.
"Gaze upon it, gentlemen!" cried the auctioneer enthusiastically.
"Did you ever see the like of this grand war canoe? History
in every line of it! Picture to yourselves the bygone days in
which such a canoe, filled with painted braves, stole along in
the shadows fringing the bank of some noble stream. Portray to
your own minds such a marauding band stealing down stream upon
some settlement, there to fall upon our hardy pioneers and put
them to the death!"
"I'm glad I'm living now, instead of in those days," called a
man from the crowd, raising a laugh.
"Gentlemen, before you are through," suggested the auctioneer,
"one of you will be the proud and happy possessor of this magnificent
war canoe. It is a priceless gem, especially when considered
in the light of good old American history. Now, who will start
the bidding? Who will say, clearly and distinctly, thirty dollars?"
"We're not brave enough in these days!" called a voice from the
crowd.
"That's right, friends---have fun with me," retorted the perspiring
auctioneer. "But don't let this valuable, beautiful trophy get
away from you."
Yet, though the auctioneer labored for a full five minutes he
couldn't raise a bid.
"Take it away! Take it back!" ordered the auctioneer wearily.
"I was in hopes it would appeal to the artistic sense of this
town, but it doesn't! Take it away."
"If no one else wants it," drawled Dick Prescott, "I'll offer
two dollars."
"Thank you for good intentions, anyway," replied the salesman
on the platform. "Two dollars I'm bid. Who says ten? Now, do
wake up, friends!"
But the bidding lagged.
"This beautiful war canoe!" cried the auctioneer desperately.
"It was the pride of the show. A real Indian canoe, equipped
with gunwale seats and six Indian paddles. And only two dollars
offered. Gentlemen, do I hear three? No! Last call! It's
pitiful---two dollars!"
Dick Prescott and all his friends were now in the seventh heaven of
prospective delight. It seemed unreal, that they could get this
treasure for any such sum.
"If I must do it, I must," groaned the auctioneer. "Two I'm offered.
Does anyone say more. Make it four! No? Make it three! No?
Last call! Going, going-----"
In another instant the big war canoe would have been knocked down
to young Prescott at two dollars. Dick was "all on edge," though
he strove to conceal the fact.
"At two dollars, then!" groaned the auctioneer. "Two dollars!
All right, then. Going, going-----"
Just then the word "gone" would have been uttered, and the canoe
gone to Dick & Co.
"Three dollars!" called Fred Ripley.
There was a pause, while the auctioneer exhorted the crowd to
wake up.
"Four," said young Prescott, at last, but he spoke with pretended
indifference.
"Five," chimed in a man who now seemed to take an interest. The
bidding now went up slowly, a dollar at a time, with these three
bidders, until twelve dollars was reached. Then the man dropped
out. Dick was outwardly calm, though his chums shivered, for
they knew that their combined capital did not reach the amount
now being offered.
"I'm afraid that canoe is going to Dick's head," whispered Harry
Hazelton anxiously to Tom Reade.
"Let him alone," retorted Tom in a low voice. "It's one of Dick
Prescott's good points that he generally knows what he's doing."
"But we have only-----"
"Never mind if we're worth a million, or only a single dollar,"
interrupted Reade impatiently. "Watch the battle between our
leader and Rip, the Mean!"
Now the bidding became slower, fifty cents at a time being offered,
bids coming only when the auctioneer threatened to "knock down."
"I don't want to get this confounded canoe fastened onto me,"
grumbled Fred Ripley to himself. "I want to stick Prescott and
his crowd for all I can, but I must look out that I don't get
stung. I know better than to want that canoe, no matter how good
it _looks_!"
"Sixteen," said Dick at last, feeling more desperate inwardly
than his face showed.
"Sixteen-fifty," from Ripley.
"Seventeen," offered Dick, after a pause.
"Seventeen-fifty," announced Fred, after another long bait.
"Eighteen!" followed up young Prescott. He was in a cold perspiration
now, lest the fight be forced too far.
To his astonishment, Fred Ripley, an ugly sneer on his face, turned
his back on the bidding.
"Are you through, gentlemen?" demanded the auctioneer, after a
keen look in the direction of the lawyer's son.
"I am," Ripley growled over his shoulder.
"I am offered eighteen! Eighteen! Eighteen! Who says nineteen?
Make it eighteen-fifty! Who says eighteen-fifty? Eighteen and
a quarter! Are you through, gentlemen? Then going, going---gone!
Sold to Master Prescott at eighteen dollars. Young man, I congratulate
you. Walk right up and pay your money! All, or a deposit?"
Dick, who had been collecting loose change from his chums, now
came forward.
"I'll pay a deposit of seven dollars," he announced.
"Hand it here, then. Seven dollars; thank you. Here's your receipt.
Now, remember, Prescott, you have until the end of one hour after
the sale closes. Then, if you're not here with the other eleven
dollars, you must expect to forfeit this deposit."
"I know," Dick nodded.
Then he hurried off to his chums.
"Come along," he said, with desperate energy, as he led them away
from the field. On the sidewalk he halted.
"We've got it, fellows!" he exulted. "We've got it! Hooray!"
"Yes; we've got it, if we've got eleven dollars more---which we
haven't," Greg remarked.
"We've eleven dollars more to raise," Prescott went on hurriedly.
"Roughly, that's two dollars apiece. We must hustle, too."
"No hustle for mine," yawned Dan Dalzell. "I'll just step down
to my bank and get the money. Will two dollars be enough, Dick?"
"Stop that talk," ordered Dave Darrin, getting a grip on Dan's
shirt collar. "If you don't, I'll thrash you! Dick has a scheme.
Out with it, old chap!"
"The scheme is simple enough," said Prescott hurriedly. "We must
each get two dollars, and get it like lightning. That will come
to a dollar over the amount we need, but we shall need the extra
dollar, anyway. So hustle! Borrow the money from anyone who'll
let you have it. Offer to work the money out at any time---any
old kind of work. The only point is to come running back with
the money. Get it in any honest way that you can, and don't one
of you dare to fail, or we'll lose our deposit money and our canoe.
Start!"
Nor did Prescott lose any time himself, but raced down the street,
turned into Main Street and ran on until he came to the little
cross street on which stood the bookstore conducted by his father
and mother.
"Mercy, Dick! What makes you run so?" asked Mrs. Prescott. Dick
was rejoicing to discover that there was, at this moment, no customer
in the store.
"Mother," replied her son, "I want to borrow three dollars this
minute. I'll be responsible for it---I'll pay it back. Please
let me have it---in a hurry!"
Then, briefly, he poured out the story. Mrs. Prescott's hand
had already traveled toward the cash register.
"We're very short of money just now, my boy. Try to earn this
and pay it back quickly. You know, trade is slow in the summer
time, and we have several bills to meet."
"Yes, I'll pay it back, mother, at the first chance---and I'll
make the chance---somehow," promised young Prescott. "Thank you."
The money in his hand, Dick raced back to the lot where the show
tent still stood.
He was back before any of the others and waited impatiently.
Dave Darrin came up ten minutes later.
"Did you get it?" asked Dick anxiously.
"Yes," replied Dave laconically, pushing two one dollar bills
into Dick's hand.
One by one the other boys arrived. Each had managed to round
up his part of the assessment.
With thirteen dollars in his hand, Dick went up to the auctioneer's
clerk.
"I am ready to pay the other eleven dollars on the canoe," Prescott
announced, speaking as calmly as possible.
"All right," agreed the clerk. "But you'll have to find some
man you can trust to take the bill of sale. We can't pass title
to a minor."
"Why didn't you tell me that before?" Dick demanded.
"That's all right. It wasn't necessary before, but it is now.
Just find some man who will treat you all right and give you
the canoe. Then we'll take the money and make out the bill of
sale to him."
Fred Ripley now sauntered up, offering his money. He was given
the same directions for finding a man to whom title could pass.
Dick looked about him. Then across the lot, and over on the further
side of the street he saw his father.
Dick returned quickly to the lot with Mr. Prescott, explaining
the situation. The bookseller listened gravely, but offered no
objections. He stepped over, paid the money for Dick, then said:
"I must be going. Turn the canoe over to my son."
"Yes, sir," replied the auctioneer's clerk. "Men, haul out the
truck that has the canoe on."
Mr. Prescott had already walked away. Dick and his chums greeted
the coming of truck and canoe with a wild whoop. Then they piled
up on the truck to inspect their treasure.
Fred Ripley, returning with Mr. Dodge, a local banker, saw the
six youngsters climbing up to look at their purchase. A broad,
malicious grin appeared on Ripley's face.
"Sold! sold!" gasped Dave Darrin. Then his face flushed with anger.
For the canoe, which looked well enough on exhibition, proved
to have three bad holes in her hull, which had been carefully
concealed by the manner in which the craft had been propped up
on the truck.
The great war canoe looked worthless---certain to sink in less than
sixty seconds if launched!