SONGBIRD MAKES A DISCOVERY
"It's all up with me," said Tom to his brothers when he met them in
the hall. "I can't go to town."
"Why not?" asked Sam.
"Got to remain in my room until Doctor Wallington sends for me."
"What have you been doing, Tom?" came from Dick.
"Nothing." And then Tom told of what had occurred in the office. His
brothers listened with much interest.
"This is the work of some enemy," said Sam quickly.
"And the one who got hold of the dress-suit case," added Dick. "Tom,
do you suspect any one?"
"Only in a general way--Koswell, Flockley, Larkspur, and that crowd."
"It's too bad."
"Say, but that picture was a sight!" cried the fun-loving Rover, and
gunned broadly. "No wonder old Sharp was mad. I'd be mad myself,
especially if it was a photo of my best girl."
"I hope the doctor doesn't keep you in the room all day," said Sam.
"You and Dick might as well go to town without me," returned Tom with
a sigh that he endeavored to suppress. "Your staying here won't do me
any good."
"What will you do?"
"Oh, read or study. It will give me a chance to catch up in my Latin.
I was a bit rocky in that yesterday. I can bone away until the
president sends a special message for me."
"Want us to get anything for you?" questioned Dick.
"Yes, a good fat letter from--well, a fat letter, that's all."
"Postmarked Cedarville, and in Nellie Laning's handwriting," came from
Sam slyly.
"I didn't know they postmarked letters in handwriting," answered Tom
innocently.
"Oh, you know what I mean."
"Sure, Sam, for I know you're looking for a letter, too. Well, run
along, children, and play," said Tom, and a minute later Sam and Dick
set off for Ashton.
Tom did not feel as lighthearted as his words would seem to indicate.
He knew that the charge against him was a serious one, and he saw no
way of clearing himself. The finding of the box with his name on it
seemed to be proof positive against him.
"No use of talking, the minute I get to school I seem to get into
trouble," he soliloquized. "Wonder if they'll put me in a cell, like
old Crabtree did at Putnam Hall? If they do I'll raise a kick, sure as
eggs are unhatched chickens!"
Tom sat down to study, but he could not fix his mind on his lessons.
Then he heard somebody come along the hallway and turn into the next
room.
"Must be Songbird, or else one of the servants," he thought. "Guess
I'll take a look." If it was Songbird, he could chat with his friend
for a while.
He went to the next room. As he opened the door he saw Songbird, with
his back toward him. The so-styled poet was waving his arms in the air
and declaiming:
"The weeping winds were whispering through the wood,
The rolling rill ran 'round the ragged rock;
The shepherd, with his sunny, smiling face,
Was far away to feed his flitting flock.
Deep in the dingle, dank and dark--"
"I thought I heard an old crow bark!"
finished Tom. "Say, Songbird, how much is that poetry by the yard--or
do you sell it by the ton?" he went on.
At the sound of Tom's voice the would-be poet gave a start. But he
quickly recovered. He scowled for a moment and then took on a look of
resignation.
"You've spoiled one of the best thoughts I ever had," he said.
"Don't you believe it, Songbird," answered Tom. "I've heard you make
up poetry worth ten times that. Don't you remember that little sonnet
you once composed, entitled 'Who Put Ink in Willie's Shoes?' It was
great, grand, sublime!"
"I never wrote such a sonnet!" cried Songbird. "Ink in shoes, indeed!
Tom, you don't know real poetry when you see it!"
"That's a fact, I don't. But, say, what's on the carpet, as the iceman
said to the thrush?"
"Nothing. I thought I'd write a few verses, that's all. Thought you
were going to town with Sam and Dick?"
"Can't." And once again Tom had to tell his story. He had not yet
finished when Songbird gave an exclamation.
"It fits in!" he cried.
"Fits in? What?" asked Tom.
"What I heard a while ago."
"What did you hear?"
"Heard Flockley, Koswell and Larkspur talking together. Koswell said
he had fixed you, and that you were having a bad half hour with the
president."
"Where was this?"
"In the library. I was in an alcove, and they didn't see me. I was
busy reading some poetry by Longfellow--fine thing--went like this--"
"Never mind. Chop out the poetry now, Songbird. What more did they
say?"
"Nothing. They walked away, and I--er--I got so interested in making
up verses I forgot all about it until now."
"I wish you had heard more. Do you know where they went to?"
"No, but I can look around if you want me to."
"I wish very much that you would. I can't leave, or I'd go myself."
A few more words followed, and then Songbird went off to hunt up the
Flockley crowd. On the campus he met Max Spangler.
"Yes, I saw them," said the German-American student in answer to a
question. "They are down along the river, just above the boathouse."
"Thank you."
"I'll show you if you want me to," went on Max.
"You might come along, if you have nothing else to do," answered
Songbird.
The two walked toward the river, and after a few minutes espied
Flockley and the others sitting on some rocks, in the sun, talking
earnestly.
"I want to hear what they are saying," said Songbird. "I have a
special reason." And at Max's look of surprise he told something of
what had happened.
"If Koswell is that mean he ought to be exposed," said Max. "I don't
blame him for playing a trick on old Sharp, but to lay the blame on
Tom--why, that's different."
"Will you come along?"
"If you want me to."
"I don't want to drag you into trouble, Max."
"I dink I can take care of myself," answered the German-American
student.
The pair passed around to the rear of the spot where Flockley and his
cronies were located. Here was a heavy clump of brushwood, so they
were able to draw quite close without being seen.
The talk was of a general character for a while, embracing football
and other college sports, and Songbird was disappointed. But presently
Jerry Koswell began to chuckle.
"I can't help but think of the way I put it over Tom Rover," he
exclaimed. "I'll wager old Sharp will make him suffer good and
proper."
"Maybe they'll suspend Rover," said Bart Larkspur. "But that would be
carrying it pretty far, wouldn't it?"
"They won't suspend him, but he'll surely be punished," came from Dudd
Flockley. "By the way, are you sure it was a photo of Sharp's best
girl?"
"Yes; but she isn't a girl, she's a woman, and not particularly
good-looking at that," answered Jerry Koswell.
"Well, Sharp isn't so very handsome," answered Larkspur. "His nose is
as sharp as his name."
"I suppose Rover will wonder how somebody got hold of that case of
pencils and crayons," remarked Flockley. "If he--"
"Hello, Max!" cried a voice from behind the bushes, and the next
moment a stout youth landed on Max Spangler's back, carrying him down
with a crash in the brushwood. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
At the interruption the whole Flockley crowd started to their feet,
and turning, beheld not only Max and the boy who had come up so
suddenly, but also Songbird. The latter was nearest to them, and
Koswell eyed him with sudden suspicion.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded, while Max and his friend were
wrestling in a good-natured way in the bushes.
"Oh, I've been listening to some interesting information," answered
Songbird.
"Playing the eavesdropper, eh?" came from Flockley with a sneer.
"If so, it was for a good purpose," answered the would-be poet warmly.
"Say, Jerry, you want to look out for him!" cried Larkspur warningly.
"He rooms with Dick Rover, remember. They are old chums."
"I know that," said Koswell. He faced Songbird again. "How long have
you been here?" he cried angrily.
"That is my business, Koswell. But I heard enough of your talk to
know how you tried to put Tom Rover in a hole. It's a mean piece of
business, and it has got to be stopped."
"Bah!"
"You can 'bah!' all you please, but I mean what I say. To play a joke
is one thing, to blame it on a fellow student who is innocent is
another. As the poet Shelley says--But what's the use of wasting
poetry on a chap like you? Max, you heard what was said, didn't you?"
By this time the German-American student was free of his tormentor, a
happy-go-lucky student named Henry Cale. He nodded to Songbird.
"Yes, I heard it," he said, and gave Koswell a meaning look.
"Fine business to be in, listening around corners," sneered Larkspur.
"Say that once more and I'll punch your head!" cried Max, doubling up
his fists.
"What are you fellows going to do?" questioned Koswell. He was
beginning to grow alarmed.
"That depends on what you fellows do," returned Songbird.
"Why--er--do you think I am going to the doctor and--er--confess?"
"You have got to clear Tom Rover."
"Our word is as good as yours," said Larkspur.
"Then you are willing to tell a string of falsehoods, eh?" said
Songbird coldly.
"I didn't say so."
"But you meant it. Well, Larkspur, it won't do. I know about this, and
so does Max. Koswell has got to clear Tom Rover, and that is all there
is to it."
"Will you keep quiet about me if I clear Rover?" asked Jerry Koswell
eagerly.
"That depends on what Tom Rover says. I am going right to him now and
tell him what I heard."
"And I'll go along," said Max. He turned to Henry Cale. "You will have
to excuse me, Henry. This is a private affair of importance."
"Sure," was the ready answer. "I wouldn't have butted in if I had
known something was doing," and Henry walked off toward the college
buildings.
"Just tell Tom Rover to wait--we'll fix it up somehow," cried Jerry
to Songbird and Max as the pair departed. "It's all a--er--a mistake.
I'm--er--sorry I got Rover into it--really I am."
"No doubt of it, now!" answered Songbird significantly. "Evildoers are
usually sorry--after they are caught!"