GERALD WATCHES
There was a sensation the next morning when Mr. Collins announced after
Chapel that the hockey cup had disappeared from No. 28 Clarke. “It is
only to be supposed,” said the assistant principal, “that whoever took
the cup out of the room did so as a joke. If the person will return the
cup this morning, before dinner-time, I shall consider it a joke, too,
although a joke in rather poor taste. If the cup is not returned by
that time I shall see that the offender is punished. The Pennimore Cup
is school property and there is, as you all know, a severe penalty for
damaging or removing property belonging to the school. Aside from this
consideration, the cup is needed to-morrow when Broadwood comes here to
play hockey, and it should be the effort of every fellow to see that it
is returned promptly to the office or to the manager or captain of the
hockey team.”
The school in general accepted the disappearance of the cup as a very
excellent jest, and fellows begged each other playfully to “give it
up. We know you’ve got it. Be good and hand it back!” But when, in the
afternoon, it was learned that the missing trophy had not been returned
the amusement changed to indignation. By that time Alf was thoroughly
worried, and the short practice went somewhat listlessly. Gerald had
seen Harry Merrow and had learned from that youth, first swearing him
to secrecy, that Jake Hiltz had been on the river for at least half
an hour after Gerald had stopped on the bridge. After that Harry knew
nothing of Hiltz’s whereabouts. Gerald reported this to Dan and Alf and
Tom after practice.
“I say let’s find Hiltz and put it up to him,” said Dan impatiently.
“We could say that he was seen in the building yesterday afternoon.”
“That would be a lie, wouldn’t it?” asked Tom mildly.
“Well, isn’t a lie excusable in a case of this sort?” retorted Dan.
“I don’t think so. You don’t, either, Dan. A lie’s a lie, no matter
when you tell it.”
“Well, what in thunder _can_ we do?” Dan demanded, yielding the point
without argument.
“We can’t do anything,” said Alf bitterly, “except wait in the hope
that whoever took the cup will bring it back before the game to-morrow.”
“But that’s poppycock,” said Dan. “If he had been going to return it he
would have done it to-day before dinner and got off without trouble.
Now he knows that Collins will make it hot for him. I wouldn’t be
surprised if we never saw that cup again!”
“Nonsense!” said Tom.
“Of course,” said Gerald, “if it didn’t come back dad could have
another made; he’d be glad to, I know. But――――”
“Meanwhile we’ve got to tell Broadwood that we’ve lost it!” interrupted
Alf.
“We haven’t lost it; it’s been stolen,” Tom corrected.
“It amounts to the same thing. We haven’t got it, have we? They’ll
think it’s a fine joke and have the laugh on us.”
“Let them,” said Tom. “If we beat them to-morrow I guess they can laugh
all they want to.”
“Maybe we won’t beat them,” muttered Alf discouragedly.
“Oh, buck up, Alf! Of course we’ll beat them!” said Dan heartily.
“Let’s forget about the cup until to-morrow. There’s nothing more we
can do. Don’t let it get on your nerves, Alf; you want to be able to
play your best game, you know.”
“I’m afraid it’s got on my nerves already,” replied Alf with an attempt
at a smile. “Well, you’re right, though; we’ve done all we can do,
that’s certain. Unless we find Hiltz and choke him until he ’fesses up.”
“I don’t believe he has it――somehow,” mused Dan.
“I know he has!” said Gerald positively.
“How do you know it?” Tom demanded. But Gerald only shook his head.
“I just do,” he answered. “I――I feel it!”
“I wish you could see it instead of feeling it,” said Alf, with a
laugh, as he got up. “Hang that cup, anyway! I’m going to supper. A
fellow has to eat, I guess.”
“I’m sure I have to,” said Tom, following his example. “I’ve got
an appetite to-night, too. I suppose that under the unfortunate
circumstances I ought not to be hungry, but I am.”
“So am I,” said Dan quite cheerfully. “Anyway, we won’t find the cup
by sitting here and talking about it. I’m not going to think any more
about the pesky thing. Perhaps it will show up in the morning somehow.
Come on, Gerald.”
“I’m not hungry,” answered his roommate dolefully.
“Oh, yes, you are,” said Dan laughingly. “Or you will be when you get
to commons. Think of the nice hot biscuits, Gerald!”
Gerald, however, refused to be comforted and followed the others over
to Whitson with lugubrious countenance. Truth, though, compels me to
state that ten minutes later Gerald was doing quite well with those
same hot biscuits!
Saturday morning came and the mystery of the Pennimore Cup was
still unexplained. Mr. Collins made another plea for its return and
threatened to expel the one who had taken it if it was not forthcoming
at once. The students listened in respectful silence, but no one arose
dramatically and produced the missing cup. All sorts of theories were
going the rounds by now. The most popular one was to the effect that a
professional thief had seen the cup in the window in Greenburg and had
followed Gerald back to school and had later sneaked up to his room and
stolen it. It was quite plausible and there was a general sentiment
to the effect that Gerald had had a lucky escape from being robbed on
the way from Greenburg, in which case he might have been killed by
the desperate burglar. Few any longer believed that the cup had been
taken as a practical joke, and, when dinner-time arrived and it had not
appeared, even Alf and Dan and Tom abandoned their first suspicions.
Only Gerald was obdurate.
“Hiltz took it,” he affirmed stoutly, “and he’s got it now.”
And nothing any of the others could say in any way affected his
conviction.
Alf gave up hoping. His dejection, however, had turned to anger,
and Dan was glad to see it, since it promised better results on the
rink than the captain’s half-hearted, down-in-the-mouth condition of
yesterday.
“As soon as the game is over,” declared Alf wrathfully, “I’m going
straight to the police. That’s what we ought to have done yesterday
morning instead of letting Collins sputter about it all this time.
Maybe if we had we’d have the cup now.”
“I guess we’d better tell Collins first, though,” said Dan. “If the
police are to be called in I suppose he’d better do it.”
“Well, I’ll tell him. But if he doesn’t get the police I will. The
whole thing’s a disgrace to the school!”
The hockey game was to start at three, and an hour before that time
the advance guard began to arrive from Broadwood and Greenburg. It
was a glorious day, cold enough to keep the ice hard and mild enough
to allow spectators to watch the game in comfort. There was scarcely
a ripple of air, and what there was blew softly out of the southwest
and was too kindly to bite ears or nip noses. At half past two three
big coaches climbed the hill containing the Broadwood team and as many
of its loyal supporters as had been able to crowd into the vehicles.
Others had already arrived on foot and more followed. As it was
Saturday afternoon many Greenburg enthusiasts swelled the throng of
students, and long before either team appeared on the ice the rink was
fringed four deep with spectators and all sorts of contrivances had
been fashioned by late arrivals from which to look over the heads of
those in front. French had requisitioned as many settees as he could
find, and these were supplemented with boxes and planks, and finally
the locker room in the gymnasium was almost denuded of its benches and
would have been quite cleared had not Mr. Bendix happened along and
forbidden farther spoliation.
Gerald accompanied Dan to the gymnasium when it came time to get
dressed. Gerald’s work was over for the season and to-day, like the
members of the Second Team and its substitutes, he was only a member of
the audience. He hung around while the others got into their playing
togs, good-naturedly helping here and there. Broadwood was dressing
upstairs. When the team were ready Alf spoke to them quietly and
confidently, begging them to keep together and not to sacrifice team
work for individual effort. Then, clad in coats or dressing gowns,
with their skates, shoes, and sticks in hand, they filed out of the
gymnasium and walked down to the rink.
Their appearance was the signal for an outburst of cheers that lasted
for several moments. A minute or two later they took possession of
the rink and began warming up. The ice was in fine shape, hard and
smooth, and the skates rang merrily as they charged up and down. Sticks
clashed and pucks flew back and forth, often whizzing into the crowd
and causing heads to duck. Broadwood appeared soon and received her
meed of acclaim. Then for some ten minutes the teams practiced. Yardley
wore white running trunks over dark blue tights, white shirts and blue
knitted caps. Broadwood was attired in dark-green stockings, khaki
knickerbockers, green shirts and green caps. The shirts bore, as a
rule, a white B intersected by crossed hockey sticks. Of the Yardley
players, five flaunted on their shirts a blue Y with a smaller H and T
at right and left. At a minute or so after three the referee called the
teams together and read them the usual lecture in regard to tripping,
body checking, and so on. Then he tossed a coin, Alf called it, and the
Blue took the north goal. The line-up was as follows:
Hanley, l. e. r. e., Took
Goodyear, l. c. r. c., Warner
Roeder, r. c. l. c., Cosgrove
Durfee, r. e. l. e., Graham
Felder, c. p. c. p., Little
Loring, p. p., Murray
Vinton, g. g., Chisholm
Silence fell as the referee held his whistle to his lips in the center
of the rink and prepared to drop the puck.
“Now, get your men, fellows, and play fast!” called Alf.
The whistle blew and the puck dropped to the ice. There was a moment’s
clashing of sticks and then it went back to Durfee who started along
the boards with it. The enemy was on him in a moment, though, and
Graham, captain of the Green, stole away with it, Durfee slashing
wildly at his feet and stick.
“Cut that out, Durf!” shouted Alf. “Play the puck! Get in there,
Felder, and break that up!”
Broadwood had managed to get into formation, her four big forwards
strung out across the rink and skating hard, with the puck sidling
back and forth from one to another. But it is one thing to reach the
threshold and quite another to enter the door. Felder sent a Broadwood
player spinning and Goodyear, close behind, whipped the puck away and
started back with it. In a twinkling the attacked were the attackers
and Yardley swung up the ice with Broadwood in hot pursuit. Across went
the disk to Hanley. Took, of Broadwood, challenged unsuccessfully and
Hanley passed back to Roeder, who shot. But his aim was poor and the
puck banged against the boards to left of goal. There was a spirited
scrimmage for its possession and finally Broadwood got away with it.
After that the play stayed close to the center of the rink, neither
one side nor the other being able to get by the opposing defense. Time
was called frequently for off-side playing, which slowed the game up
considerably.
The first score was made by Broadwood at the end of eight minutes. She
had carried the puck down along the boards on the left, and Yardley
had foiled her attempts to uncover long enough to shoot until the puck
was past the front of the goal. Then Took evaded Goodyear and Felder
and slipped the disk out in front of the cage. There was a wild mix-up
for an instant and then the Broadwood sticks waved and Broadwood
sympathizers shouted. The Green had drawn first blood, the puck getting
past Dan’s skate and lodging against the net just inside of goal.
“Never mind that!” called Alf. “Get after them. And play together,
fellows!”
Yardley evened things up shortly afterwards, and there was no fluke
about that score. The forwards worked the puck down to within six yards
of goal and Hanley made a difficult shot from the side. In less than
a minute more the Blue had scored again, Goodyear slamming the disk
through from a scrimmage. Then Broadwood stiffened, and for awhile
Yardley was kept busy defending her goal. Dan made some remarkable
stops that wrought the audience up to a high pitch of excitement and
enthusiasm, but with only a few moments to play the Green evened things
up with its second tally, the puck going by Dan into the cage knee
high and at such a clip that, as he said afterwards, he scarcely saw it
from the time it left the ice until it was reposing coyly at the back
of the net. So the first half ended with the score 2 to 2, and it was
anybody’s game.
The two teams seemed to be pretty evenly matched, for, although
Broadwood outskated her opponent, Yardley had the better of the
argument when it came to stick work. At passing Broadwood was more
adept and at shooting Yardley appeared to excel, although so far she
had had fewer opportunities to prove it. As the teams went off the ice
Alf called to Gerald, who was standing near by:
“Say, Gerald, will you do something for me?” he asked. “I told Tom to
bring that leather wristlet of mine from the room and he forgot it.
Would you mind running up and getting it? You’ll find it somewhere
around; on the mantel, I think, or maybe on the table. This wrist of
mine is as weak as anything.”
“Yes, glad to,” answered Gerald. “On the mantel or table, you say? And
if not there, look for it, I suppose?” he added laughingly.
“Well, it’s there some old place. I saw it this morning. You might look
on top of the bureau. Thanks, Gerald.”
Gerald hurried off up the path toward the gymnasium. He didn’t want
to miss any of the game, and wouldn’t if he could find the wristlet
and get back within the ten minutes allowed for intermission. At the
gymnasium corner he cut through between that building and Merle Hall
and crossed the Yard toward Dudley. He didn’t meet a soul, nor was
there anyone in sight. Yard and buildings were alike deserted and all
the school was down at the rink.
The object of his journey wasn’t found at once, for it was in none of
the places mentioned by Alf. But after a minute Gerald discovered it on
the floor, where it had probably dropped from the top of the bureau. He
thrust it into his pocket, closed the door behind him and hurried back
along the corridor. But at the entrance he stopped short and, after a
moment, drew cautiously into the shadow. For across the corner of the
Yard, at the farther entrance of Whitson, stood Jake Hiltz.
“What’s he doing up here?” muttered Gerald to himself. “Why isn’t he
down at the rink? I’m sure I saw him there before the game.”
Hiltz wore a long, loose ulster and appeared to be deep in a study of
the sky. He stood there fully two minutes, while Gerald watched from
his concealment. But while he was ostensibly regarding the heavens
as though trying to decide whether it was wise to venture out without
an umbrella, Gerald thought that his gaze frequently roamed to the
buildings around the Yard as though to make certain that there were
no eyes regarding him from the windows. At last his mind seemed to be
set at rest, as far as the weather was concerned, for, with his hands
thrust into his coat pockets, he stepped down from the doorway and
started briskly along the path toward Dudley, whistling carelessly. And
between his body and his left arm the big ulster appeared to Gerald to
bulge suspiciously.
With a fast-beating heart Gerald turned and sped back and down the
corridor to No. 7. Once inside he closed the door without quite
latching it, crossed the room and dropped out of sight of door or
windows between the two narrow beds. Then he waited.