THE CHUMS OF SCRANTON HIGH
On the Cinder Path
BY
DONALD FERGUSON
THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO.
CLEVELAND, O. NEW YORK, N. Y.
Copyright, MCMXIX
by
THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO.
Printed in the United States of America
by
THE COMMERCIAL BOOKBINDING CO,
CLEVELAND, O.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE FIVE NUT FORAGERS
II. ON THE OLD QUARRY ROAD
III. TALKING OF GHOSTS
IV. IN TRAINING FOR THE GREAT TOURNAMENT
V. TREACHERY IN THE AIR
VI. THE PROWLER
VII. CAUGHT IN THE ACT
VIII. LEON PROMISES TO REFORM
IX. SCRANTON IN GALA ATTIRE
X. WHEN MUSCLES COUNTED
XI. THE CRISIS IN CLAUDE'S LIFE
XII. STARTLING NEWS FROM THE JUGGINS BOY
XIII. TO THE RESCUE OF "K. K."
XIV. THE SEARCHING PARTY
XV. PROWLING AROUND THE QUARRY
XVI. A FRIENDLY "GHOST"
XVII. SCRANTON'S "OPEN HOUSE" DAY
XVIII. THE GREAT MARATHON RACE
XIX. ON THE FINAL MILE OF THE COURSE
XX. THE BOY WHO WON--CONCLUSION
THE CHUMS OF SCRANTON HIGH
CHAPTER I
THE FIVE NUT FORAGERS
The bright October sun was half-way down the western sky one Saturday
afternoon. Two-thirds of the Fall month had already gone, and the
air was becoming fairly crisp in the early mornings.
All around the forest trees were painted various shades of bright
scarlet, burnt umber brown and vivid gold by the practiced fingers of
that master artist, the Frost-King. Flocks of robins and blackbirds
were gathering rather late this year, preparatory to taking their
annual pilgrimage to the warm Southland. They flew overhead at times
in vast numbers, making a tremendous chatter.
A noisy bunch of crows cawed unceasingly amidst the treetops as a
large, lumbering old automobile passed along the country road, the
same filled with lively boys, and also a number of sacks stuffed to
their utmost capacity with what appeared to be black walnuts,
shell-bark hickories, butternuts, and even splendid large chestnuts.
Apparently, the strange and deadly blight that was attacking the
chestnut groves all through the East had not yet appeared in the
highly favored region around the town of Scranton, in which place the
boys in question lived, and attended the famous high school where Dr.
Carmack, also supervisor of the entire county schools, held forth.
The five tired lads who formed this nutting party we have met before
in the pages of previous stories in this series; so that to those who
have been fortunate enough to possess such books they need no lengthy
introduction.
First, there was Hugh Morgan, looking as genial and determined as
ever, and just as frequently consulted by his comrades, because his
opinion always carried considerable weight. Then came his most
intimate chum, Thad Stevens, who had played the position of backstop
so successfully during the summer just passed, and helped to win the
pennant for Scranton against the other two high schools of the
country, situated in the towns of Allendale and Belleville.
Besides these two, there was included in the party a tall chap who
seemed to be acting as chauffeur, from which it might be judged that
he had supplied the means for taking this nutting trip far afield;
his name was Kenneth Kinkaid, but among his friends he answered to
the shorter appellation of "K. K." Then came a fourth boy of shorter
build, and more sturdy physique, Julius Hobson by name; and last, but
far from least, Horatio Juggins, a rather comical fellow who often
assumed a dramatic attitude, and quoted excerpts from some school
declamation, his favorite, of course, being "Horatio at the Bridge."
It was "K. K." who got up the annual foraging expedition on this
particular year, and promised that they should go in style in the
antiquated seven-passenger car belonging to his father, who was a
commercial traveler, which car "K. K." often used, when he could
raise the cash to provide sufficient gasolene at twenty-five cents
per gallon. But on this momentous occasion each fellow had chipped
in his share pro rata; so that the generous provider of the big, open
car was not compelled to beg or borrow in order to properly equip the
expedition.
For ten days and more previously some of the boys had industriously
interviewed the farmers who stood in the market-place during the early
mornings, selling the products of their acres. Doubtless numerous
good mothers wondered what caused such an early exodus from warm beds
those days, since farmers had a habit of getting rid of their produce
at dawn, and driving off home while most schoolboys were indulging in
their last nap.
But, by various means, they had learned just where the nuts grew most
plentifully that season; and quite a list of available places had
been tabulated: to the Guernsey Woods for blacks; plenty of
shagbarks, and some shellbarks to be gathered over at the old Morton
Place, where no one had lived these seven years now; and they said
the chestnuts away up in that region miles beyond the mill-pond was
bearing a record crop this season, as if to make amends for lean
years a-plenty.
Scranton was one of the few places where the boys still yearned after
a goodly supply of freshly gathered nuts to carry them through a long
and severe winter. Somehow they vied with one another in the
gathering of the harvest of the woods, and often these outings
yielded considerable sport, besides being profitable to the nutters.
On one momentous occasion the boys had even discovered the hive of a
colony of wild bees, cut the tree down, fought the enraged denizens
by means of smoke and fire, and eventually carried home a wonderful
stock of dearly earned honey that would make the buckwheat cakes
taste all the sweeter that winter because of the multitude of
swellings it cost the proud possessors.
Hugh had been coaxed to join the party; not that he did not fully
enjoy such enterprises, but he had laid out another programme for
that afternoon. All through the morning these same lads had been
hard at work on the open field where Scranton played her baseball
games, and had such other gatherings as high-school fellows are
addicted. Here a fine new cinder path had been laid around the
grounds, forming an oval that measured just an eighth of a mile, to a
fraction.
All through the livelong day on Saturdays, and in the afternoons
during weekdays, boys in strange-looking running costumes of various
designs could be seen diligently practicing at all manner of stunts,
from sprinting, leaping hurdles, engaging in the high jump, with the
aid of poles; throwing the hammer; and, in fact, every conceivable
exercise that would be apt to come under the head of a genuine
athletic tournament.
For, to tell the secret without any evasion, that was just what
Scranton designed to have inside of another week--a monster affair
that included entries from all other schools in the county, and which
already promised to be one of the greatest and most successful meets
ever held.
Hugh and his chums were every one of them entered for several events;
indeed, it would have been like looking for a needle in a haystack to
try and find a single Scranton boy above the age of ten, and sound of
wind, who had not taken advantage of the generous invitation to place
his name on the records, and go in for training along a certain line.
Those who could not sprint, leap the bars, throw hammer or discus, or
do any other of the ordinary stunts, might, at least, have some
chance of winning a prize in the climbing of the greased pole, the
catching of the greased pig, the running of the obstacle race, or
testing their ability to hop in the three-legged race, where each
couple of boys would have a right and left leg bound together, and
then attempt to cross a given line ahead of all like competitors.
So even when they started out after lunch the whole five were a bit
tired; and a vast store of nuts, like the one they were fetching
home, cannot be gathered, no matter however plentiful they may be on
ground and trees, without considerable muscular effort on the part of
the ambitious collectors.
Consequently, every fellow was feeling pretty stiff and sore about
the time we overtake them on the way home. Besides, most of them had
zigzag scratches on face and hands by which to remember the
wonderfully successful expedition for several days. Then there was
Julius Hobson with a soiled handkerchief bound around his left thumb,
which he solicitously examined every little while. He had, somehow,
managed to catch a frisky little squirrel, which, wishing to take
home, he had imprisoned in one of his side pockets that had a flap;
but, desirous of fondling the furry little object, he had
incautiously inserted his bare hand once too often; for its long
teeth, so useful for nut-cracking, went almost through his thumb, and
gave his such an electric shock that in the confusion the frightened
animal managed to escape once more to its native wilds.
Hugh, as he went along toward home, was really taking mental notes
concerning the lay of the land, and with an object in view. He was
entered for the fifteen-mile Marathon race (an unusually long
distance for boys to run, by the way, and hardly advisable under
ordinary conditions), and one of the registering places where every
contestant had to sign his name to a book kept by a judge so as to
prove that he had actually reached that particular and important
corner of the rectangular course, had been the quaint little old road
tavern just half a mile back of them.
"You're wondering just why I'm so curious about the country up here,
I can see, fellows," Hugh was saying about the time we meet them;
"and, as we all belong to the same school, and our dearest wish is to
see Scranton High win the prize that is offered by the committee in
the Marathon, I don't mind letting you in. I know something about
this country up here, and have traced on a surveyor's chart the
ordinary course a fellow would be apt to take in passing from the
second tally post, that old tavern back of us, along this road to the
canal, and from there across the old logging road to Hobson's Pond,
where there's going to be the last registering place before the dash
for home. Well, I've figured it out that a fellow would save
considerable ground if he left this same road half a mile below, and
cut across by way of the Juniper Swamp trail, striking in again along
about the Halpin Farm."
His remarks created no end of interest, for there were several others
among the bunch who had also entered for that long-distance race;
and, naturally, they began to figure on how they might take advantage
of Hugh's discovery. It was all for the honor and credit of good old
Scranton High; so that it really mattered little just which fellow
crossed the line first, so long as he "saved the bacon."
"It sounds pretty fine to me, Hugh," said Julius, "only I don't like
one thing."
"What's that, Julius?" demanded the Juggins boy.
"By following that Juniper Swamp trail and the old road Hugh
mentions, we'd have to pass close to that deserted stone quarry; and
say, the farmers all vow it's sure haunted."