DAN BUYS A TICKET
The next day was Sunday and there was church in the village in the
forenoon and a big dinner afterwards, and at two o’clock Dan and Gerald
were sprawled out in 28 Clarke, making a not very convincing pretense
at studying when Arthur Thompson called. He glanced doubtfully at
Gerald as he found a seat.
“Want him to hear?” he asked. Dan nodded.
“It doesn’t matter, I guess. What luck did you have?”
Thompson drew a list from his pocket and tossed it over.
“The ones with crosses opposite are sure,” he explained, “and those
with circles are doubtful. The rest are promised to Jake.”
“I don’t mind going out, if you like,” said Gerald.
“Not a bit of it,” answered Dan. “Stay where you are. It’s only about
the election of the Second Class Admission Committee. I’ve decided to
run with Thompson, that’s all.” He studied the list in his hand.
“Well, you did better than I did, Thompson,” he said finally. “I saw
six fellows before church and got only two. You’ve got three.”
“And two doubtful.”
“How doubtful?”
“Well, Murdock says he has half promised but will vote for you if Jake
will let him off, and Simms said he doesn’t care who’s elected, but
thinks Jake ought to have it again if he wants it. I told him you were
the better man of the two and he said he guessed that was so and would
think it over.”
Dan shrugged his shoulders.
“Simms doesn’t like me and you can count him out. Well, I’ve still got
three fellows to see; couldn’t find them this morning. One of them,
Brewster, has gone home; has quinsy or tonsilitis or something.”
“So I heard. He will be back this week, though, I guess. And the
election is two weeks away. Maybe we can find the rest of the votes in
that time. How many more do we need, Vinton?”
“Five; we’ve got ten and have to have fifteen.”
“I think you can count on Murdock, and that makes eleven.”
“That leaves four and only three fellows to get them from. Some one
will have to vote twice.” Dan smiled as he handed back the list.
“Who are the two besides Brewster?” Arthur asked.
“Hammel and Lowd.”
Arthur shook his head. “Hammel may be all right; I don’t know much
about him; but Caspar Lowd is a particular friend of Hiltz.”
“He isn’t now,” said Gerald, looking up from his book. “They had some
sort of a row last spring.”
“That so? Well, if you can get those two, Vinton, you’ll be short only
one vote; and that may just come by accident; or some fellow may change
his mind before election.”
“I guess that’s the only hope,” said Dan. “Do you know Brewster?”
“Only to speak to.”
“That’s about the limit of my acquaintance. But I guess it doesn’t
matter. I’m going to get his home address from the office and write to
him this evening.”
“That’s a good scheme. And I wouldn’t wait too long, for Jake may think
of the same thing. As the motto says, ‘Do it now!’”
“I will.” Dan laid his book down, pulled himself out of his chair and
reached for his cap. “Want to walk over that way? I’ll be back in a
minute, chum.”
Gerald nodded and Dan and Arthur went out and made their way across to
Oxford. They found Mr. Forisher, the secretary, at his desk and Dan
made his request. The secretary laid his pen down and swung around in
his swivel chair to the card catalogue behind him.
“Brewster must be getting very popular,” he remarked dryly. “This is
the second time within an hour I’ve been asked for his address.” Dan
and Arthur exchanged glances.
“Who asked before, sir?” Dan questioned. “Was it Hiltz?”
“Hiltz, yes. Well, the address is―― Here, I’ll write it down for you.”
He did so and Dan took it, thanked him and hurried out.
“When does the first mail go East, Arthur?” he asked.
“I don’t know, but I guess on the afternoon train. If you write that
now and take it down to the station and post it on the train――――”
“Just what I mean to do. No use going to the room; I’ll write it in the
library. Come on.”
The library was deserted, save for two preparatory youngsters who were
whispering and giggling together in a corner and an older boy who was
seated at one of the broad tables writing. Arthur pressed Dan’s arm.
“There he is now,” he whispered. Hiltz hadn’t heard or seen them and
they retreated quickly and noiselessly.
“He’s writing to Brewster this minute,” murmured Arthur, when they
were back in the dim corridor. “You run over to my room and write the
letter and I’ll stay here and see what Jake does with his. If he posts
it in the box at the door you’ll have half a day on him, for they don’t
collect from there until six to-night.”
“All right,” answered Dan. “Got paper and envelopes there?”
“In the left-hand drawer. Merrow’s there; make him show you.”
Dan hurried off to Arthur’s room in Whitson. Harry Merrow was not in,
but he had no trouble finding writing materials and soon had his brief
letter written. As he returned around the corner of Oxford Arthur and
Jake Hiltz sauntered out of the building together and Hiltz crossed the
steps, raised the lid of the letter box and deposited his letter. Dan
smiled. The two came down the steps and Dan nodded as he reached them.
“Hello, Hiltz,” he said. “Hello, Thompson.”
Hiltz returned his greeting affably, for he liked to stand in with the
fellows of prominence, and Thompson asked Dan where he was going.
“Just for a walk. Want to come along?”
“Yes, if you don’t go too fast. I ate too much dinner. So long, Jake.”
Hiltz had evidently intended joining them, but Arthur’s dismissal
changed his mind. “So long,” he muttered.
Dan and Arthur descended The Prospect and when out of earshot Dan asked:
“Did you see the letter?”
“Yep; it was for Brewster all right.”
“Then this is where we get ahead of him,” chuckled Dan. “What time does
that train go through?”
“About a quarter past three, I think. By Jove, though!”
“What?”
“We’re a couple of idiots! It doesn’t stop unless there’s some one to
get off or on! I’d forgotten that.”
“So had I,” answered Dan glumly. “When’s the next one?”
“Not until evening, I guess, and that’s the one Jake’s letter will go
on. Smart, aren’t we?”
“Got any money on you?”
“About a dollar; why?”
“Lend it to me until we get back, will you?”
“Of course, but what are you going to do?”
“Buy a ticket to New York,” answered Dan grimly.
“To New York! But you don’t want to go to New York!”
“I want to stop that train, though. I’ll buy a ticket and they’ll flag
the train. You take the letter and post it in the slot on the mail
car. Then I’ll decide to postpone my trip.” Dan laughed at Arthur’s
expression of admiring awe.
“You’re a wonder! I’d never have thought of that! But won’t they be
peeved?”
“Let them. I’ve got a perfect right to buy a ticket and have the train
stopped. If I change my mind about going at the last minute it’s no
one’s business but mine. What time is it, I wonder.” He glanced at his
watch. “Let’s hit it up a bit, Thompson. I’d hate to lose the train!”
Thompson laughed enjoyably. “Gee, I wouldn’t have missed this for a
farm!” he said. “Can’t you just see the conductor’s face when you don’t
get on the train?”
The little station was empty when they reached it save for the presence
of the agent who, tilted back in his chair at the telegraph desk at
the open window, was yawning behind his Sunday newspaper.
“Does the express that comes along about three-fifteen stop here?”
asked Dan.
“No,” replied the agent, glancing up briefly, “not unless there’s some
one to get on or off.”
“That’s all right, then. I’d like a ticket for New York, please.” The
agent glanced at the clock and laid down his paper. It almost exhausted
the combined resources of the two boys to pay for the ticket, but they
managed it and had a little to spare.
“Any baggage?” asked the agent. Dan told him no, and they followed him
out and watched him set the signal. The next moment the train whistled
across the river at Greenburg and when the agent came back along the
platform Dan and Arthur were bidding each other an affecting and almost
tearful good-by.
“You drop me a line, Thompson,” begged Dan, “and tell me how
everything’s going. Take good care of Jake and the faculty, won’t you?
And see that Kilts wears his goloshes when it’s damp.”
“Look after yourself, Vinton,” begged Arthur. “You’d better wire me
from the city, so I’ll know you’re all right and won’t worry.”
“I will. Good-by!”
“Good-by, old man, good-by. Do be careful of yourself and watch out for
automobiles at the crossings.”
“I will. And you be good to the faculty while I’m gone. See that Noah
gets his warm milk every morning. My love to Old Toby. Good-by!”
“Good-by, Vinton.” They wrung each other’s hands and dashed a few
unmanly tears from their eyes as the big locomotive charged clanging
down upon them with brakes set and rasping. Arthur hurried after it up
the platform with the letter in his hand. The vestibule doors swung
open and the porters leaned inquiringly out as the train stopped.
“Express for New Haven, Bridgeport, Stamford, and New York!” called the
conductor. “All aboard!”
Dan, hands in pocket, surveyed the conductor with a thoughtful frown.
“Who’s going? You, sir?” The conductor glanced impatiently from the
agent to Dan. The agent hurried across the platform.
“This is your train, boy! Hurry up and get on.”
Dan shook his head slowly. Up the platform Arthur was sauntering back
with a broad smile on his face.
“I guess I won’t go, thanks,” said Dan. “I’ve just remembered that I
didn’t bring my pyjamas.”
[Illustration: “‘I guess I won’t go, thanks,’ said Dan.”]
“_What!_” The conductor glared at the agent. “What did you set that
signal for?”
“He bought a ticket,” answered the agent aggrievedly, “and said he
wanted to go to New York.”
The conductor sprang up the steps, waving his hand to the impatient
engineer.
“The next time,” he called crossly, “you’d better decide what you
want to do! This isn’t a trolley car! All right!” The vestibule doors
slammed shut and in another moment the express was entering the cut,
the last car flirting by in a cloud of dust with an insulted air.
“You’re a nice one,” charged the agent. “Thought you wanted to go to
New York. Want to get me in trouble, do you?”
“I do want to go to New York,” answered Dan earnestly. “I’d like
nothing better. But when I got to thinking it over I decided that I
oughtn’t to expect the school to get along without me.”
“Oh, you did!” said the agent suspiciously, looking from Dan’s
preternaturally sober countenance to Arthur’s trembling mouth. “One of
your fool tricks, I suppose. I got a good mind to report this to Doctor
Hewitt, I have.”
“I don’t see why you need be so impatient with me,” complained Dan
plaintively. “What difference does it make whether I got on the train
or not? You ought to be glad that I’ve listened to the voice of duty.”
“Yah!” muttered the agent, turning on his heel and retiring to the
station. Dan smiled sweetly and winked at Arthur.
“Did you post it?” he asked.
“Sure!”
“Good.” Dan drew his ticket to New York from a pocket and observed
it reflectively. “I guess I won’t want this for a while,” he said.
“Guess the money will be more useful.” He followed the agent inside and
knocked on the window.
“Well, what is it now?” inquired the official as he slammed the window
up.
“I’d like to have you redeem this for me, if you please, sir,” said Dan
politely. The agent glared from the ticket to Dan. Then he picked it up
and tossed it onto the table.
“All right. Come around in a couple of weeks and you’ll get the money.
But if you try any more fool tricks like this on me I’ll go up to
school and report you!”
Down crashed the window. Dan viewed Arthur sorrowfully and led the
way out of the station. They laughed and chuckled over the episode
all the way back to school, and it was only when they parted at the
first entrance to Whitson that Dan’s thoughts reverted to more serious
matters. Then:
“I guess Hiltz doesn’t know yet that I’m running against him, Thompson.
He was much too pleasant to me.”
“No, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t. But he will find out pretty soon; some
of the fellows will tell him. Then he _will_ be mad!”
“I guess I can stand it,” replied Dan philosophically. “Anyway, now
that I’ve started this thing I’m going to see it through. And I’m going
to win out if it’s anyhow possible, Hiltz or no Hiltz!”