THE CUP IS FOUND
“Andy, I wish you’d wrap some tape around here,” said Alf, presenting
his wrist to the trainer. “I sent Pennimore up for my wristlet but I
guess he couldn’t find it.”
“Lame, is it?” asked Andy. “That’ll fix it. Tell Hanley not to
over-skate, cap. He missed a dozen passes last half. There you are,” he
added, as he snipped the end of the tape with his scissors. “Are you
going to put the subs in at the end?”
“Yes, if I can, Andy. Give me the word when there’s a minute or two
left, will you? All right, fellows! Now let’s get this game. Hanley,
you’ve got to stop getting ahead of the line. You’re missing the pass
time and again. Keep back, man; take your position from Roeder and
watch the puck. Durf, you’ve got to quit slashing with that stick or
you’ll be sitting on the boards; the referee’s got his eye on you.
Don’t get ruled off, for the love of Mike! We’ve got all we can do to
win with seven men, let alone six. Come on now and let’s get this game
and nail it down!”
“What’s this we hear about no hockey cup, Loring?” asked the Broadwood
captain, skating up as Alf jumped into the rink.
“Oh, it’s a bit of mean luck, Graham,” answered Alf. “Some one bagged
it out of the room the other day and we haven’t laid eyes on it since.
We thought, of course, that some smart Aleck had taken it for a joke,
but I guess now it was really stolen.”
“That’s hard luck,” said Graham. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see the cup
myself, but I heard it was a dandy.”
“It was. It will be all right, of course; I mean that if it doesn’t
turn up there’ll be another to take its place, but I suppose we can’t
get a new one made for a month or so. I’m awfully sorry about it, and I
feel rather cheap, too, having to ’fess up to you chaps that I’ve let
it get away. If I could find the fellow who took it I’d come pretty
near wringing his fool neck!”
The Broadwood captain smiled sympathetically and the referee’s whistle
summoned the players. The spectators, who had many of them left their
positions to wander about, scurried back to the rink side. Joe
Chambers searched feverishly for his notebook――for the _Scholiast_ would
have a full and detailed account of the game in its next issue. Harry
Merrow squirmed his way to the front row between two good-natured
Greenburg citizens; Tom and Paul Rand mounted their box near one corner
of the rink; Andy Ryan snapped his bag shut and compared his watch with
that of the timer’s; Yardley and Broadwood cheered vociferously; the
referee tossed the puck down between the impatient sticks and the last
half began.
Up on the hill at that moment, in No. 7 Dudley, Gerald was crouching
on the floor and listening anxiously for the sound of footsteps in the
corridor. They came finally, drawing nearer and nearer, and at length
stopping outside the door. There was a knock, then silence. Another
knock, and the door swung softly inward. Cautious footsteps crossed
the floor to the table. Gerald raised his head above the level of
Tom’s bed. Hiltz, his eyes fixed anxiously on the windows and his ears
straining for sounds in the building, fumbled under his big ulster.
Then the familiar maroon-colored bag appeared and he laid it on the
table, the cup and base betraying their presence by muffled rattling
that sounded startlingly loud in the silent room. Hiltz turned away,
still listening intently, and took one step across the carpet. Then his
gaze left the windows, traveled half around the room and fell full on
Gerald’s.
Hiltz uttered no sound, but the color fled from his face, leaving it
white and drawn. His wide, startled eyes held Gerald’s for a long
moment. It was Gerald who finally broke the tension and the silence. He
arose, brushed the dust from his knees and seated himself on Alf’s bed.
[Illustration: “His wide, startled eyes held Gerald’s for a long
moment.”]
“Well?” he said.
The color crept back into Hiltz’s cheeks and his expression of fright
gave place to one of sullen defiance.
“Well?” he echoed.
“You’ve brought it back,” said Gerald, nodding at the cup. “I said all
along that you had taken it.”
“I didn’t take it!” said Hiltz defiantly. “I found it――just now――by
accident, and――――”
“Where did you find it?” asked Gerald coolly.
“In the cellar――in Whitson,” replied Hiltz, after the barest instant of
hesitancy.
“How did you happen to go there?” asked Gerald with a smile. “You were
at the rink half an hour ago.”
“I went to get something.”
“Yes, and you got it, and there it is. What’s the use of lying about
it, Hiltz?”
Hiltz’s gaze wandered to the door. Then he shrugged his shoulders and
sat down in a chair by the table.
“That’s right,” he said. “I took it. I guess you know why.”
Gerald shook his head. “I don’t believe I do, Hiltz. Why?”
“To make trouble for you and Vinton, of course,” answered the other
recklessly. “I didn’t want the old cup; I wasn’t stealing it. I meant
to bring it back last night and put it in your room, and I tried to,
but there wasn’t any chance. There were always fellows about, and after
what Collins said I didn’t want to be caught. I guess you’ve got me
where you want me now, Pennimore. Of course, I might deny the whole
thing,” he went on musingly, “and say that you made up the story, but I
guess no one would believe me.”
Gerald considered judicially. Then he shook his head.
“No, I don’t believe they would. You see, Hiltz, we all suspected you
from the first, but we couldn’t prove anything. If you ask me, I think
it was a silly thing to do.”
“I don’t ask you,” said Hiltz angrily. “I don’t give a hang what
you think. You don’t like me and I don’t like you, and you can go to
Collins this minute, but I don’t have to listen to any of your fool
opinions.”
“Why didn’t you bring it back Friday morning, when you had a chance,
and say that it was only a joke?” asked Gerald curiously.
“Because I wasn’t ready to. You and that fool Vinton weren’t worried
enough then.”
“I don’t believe either Dan or I worried half as much as Alf did.”
“Well, I’m not crazy about Alf Loring,” answered Hiltz with a shrug.
“He did all he could to help Vinton beat me for the committee. It was
none of his business.”
“Perhaps not. The only reason Dan wanted to beat you was so I could get
into Cambridge. You kept me out last year, you know.”
“Who said so?”
“It doesn’t matter. I know it’s so.”
“Well, what if I did? I had a right to vote against you, hadn’t I? We
don’t want any of your sort in Cambridge.”
“My sort? Just what is my sort?” asked Gerald.
“Oh, you know; stuck-up, purse-proud chaps like you don’t mix with the
rest of us. You think just because your father has gobs of money that
you’re a little better than we are. How did he make his money, anyway?”
“Honestly,” answered Gerald quietly.
“Yah! That’s likely, isn’t it?”
“It’s so, anyhow. He didn’t get it by lying and stealing, Hiltz.”
“What do you mean by that?” demanded the other suspiciously.
“Well, that’s what you’ve done, isn’t it?” said Gerald. “You lied about
me after the cross-country trial and now you’ve stolen this cup.”
“I’ve a good mind to go over there and make you eat those words, you
little stuck-up cad!” blazed Hiltz, half rising from his chair.
“I’m not afraid of you,” retorted Gerald, the color rushing to his
face. “You did lie when you said I cheated and you did steal that cup!”
“I didn’t steal it, I tell you! I only took it to worry you fellows,
and I meant to bring it back before you needed it this afternoon. And
I would have if Collins hadn’t threatened to expel the fellow who took
it.”
Gerald glanced at his watch.
“Well, I’m glad you returned it when you did,” he said, “for now, if
Broadwood wins, we’ll be able to hand it over to her.” He glanced from
the cup to Hiltz and then examined his hands frowningly for a moment.
Finally:
“Look here, Hiltz,” he said, glancing across, “I never did anything to
you personally to make you hate me so, did I?”
“Personally, no,” answered Hiltz. “I’d like to see you!”
“Well, why have you got it in for me so?”
Hiltz’s gaze fell and he shuffled his feet impatiently.
“Oh, I just don’t like you. Tubby Jones was my best friend here until
Vinton made it so hot for him he had to leave school. And then you came
and took Tubby’s place in No. 28, and so――” Hiltz’s voice dwindled
uncertainly into silence.
“I don’t see what I could do about it,” said Gerald with spirit.
“Tubby left school because he got into some sort of trouble. That left
Dan alone and he asked me to come in with him. It doesn’t make much
difference to me, Hiltz, whether you like me or don’t like me, only――I
haven’t done anything to you and I’d rather not have anyone down on me
if I can help it. You say I’m stuck-up, but I don’t believe I am. I
know there are dozens and dozens of fellows here who are smarter and
nicer than I am and who haven’t got wealthy fathers. Last year, when I
first came here, lots of fellows used to call me names; Money-bags,
and Miss Nancy, and things like that. But they don’t do it this year
and so I――I was thinking that they had forgotten about it and――and sort
of liked me. I can’t help it if my father has a lot of money, Hiltz. I
don’t see what that has to do with me as long as I act decently.”
Hiltz was silent, his gaze fixed on his shoes.
“Do you?” asked Gerald after a moment.
“Maybe not,” growled Hiltz. “I didn’t say I had any very good reason
for disliking you; I just said I――did.” Gerald smiled and Hiltz looked
up suddenly and saw it. “Oh, I know what you’re after,” he broke out.
“You want me to eat humble pie and beg you to let me off and not tell
Collins! Well, I won’t, by Jove! You can go ahead and tell him now. I
can stand it. Being fired isn’t going to kill me.”
“I don’t want you to do anything of the sort,” answered Gerald warmly.
“I’ve never thought of telling Collins.”
Hiltz viewed him incredulously.
“You haven’t! Why not?”
“Why should I? You say I don’t like you. Well, I suppose I don’t. I
couldn’t very well after the way you’ve put it on me whenever you’ve
had the chance. But I don’t think I dislike you――very much. And I
guess if you were decent to me I could be decent to you, Hiltz. Anyway,
I’m sure I don’t want you expelled.”
“Then――what will you do?” asked Hiltz rather more humbly.
“Take the cup down to the rink and hand it over to French or Alf and
tell them I found it in this room.”
“Oh,” said Hiltz, his gaze returning to his shoes. “And not say
anything about me?”
“Not a word. Do you think anyone saw you come up the hill?”
“I don’t believe so. I left the rink just before the first half was
over and everyone was looking at the players.”
“Then if I were you I’d go to my room and stay there until the fellows
get back. No one will know then that you didn’t stay through the game.
Now I’d better take this down or the game will be over.”
Gerald got up and put the cup under his arm. Hiltz arose, too, and
stood hesitating doubtfully by his chair. At last:
“Well, I guess that’s the best thing to do,” he said. “And――oh, I guess
you know how I feel about it, Pennimore. It’s decent of you, I’ll say
that, and I――I appreciate it. My folks would feel like the dickens
if Collins expelled me.” He walked to the door, opened it and faced
Gerald again. “I guess you and I won’t――” he hesitated, hunting his
words――“won’t have any more trouble, Pennimore.”
Then he disappeared and Gerald heard his footfalls dying away in the
corridor. For a minute Gerald stood there frowning intently at the
closed door. Then he smiled slightly, glanced again at his watch and
left the building to hurry across the Yard and down the hill with the
Pennimore cup hugged tightly under his arm.