CAPTURED BY THE ENEMY.
The meal was finally over. There was nothing of the home quiet in it
at all. The Codfish well described it as "grab and guzzle and git."
Outside the early dusk had come and the lights of the dormitories
twinkled out here and there to meet the moon which had just pushed
her disk above the cloudless eastern horizon. The katydids kept up
their ceaseless argument in the great elms overhead as Frank and
Jimmy walked slowly arm in arm down the yard. Lewis had dashed off to
his room to do some long over-due work on a recitation for the early
morning hour.
From the other side of the yard came the sound of singing.
"That's the Glee Club tuning up," said Jimmy. "They sing out of doors
until it gets too cold to be comfortable."
The song floated over to them beneath the dusky arbor of the elm
trees:
QUEEN'S SCHOOL DAYS.
Come all you jolly Queen's boys
And harken to our song,
We'll tell you all our school joys,
We'll laugh both loud and long--
_Chorus._
For we'll sing ha, ha,
And we'll yell RAH, RAH,
In a merry, merry roundelay.
A laugh and a smile,
We have them all the while
In our happy, happy Queen's school days.
When first I came to Queen's School,
Way back in sixty-eight,
O, wasn't I the green fool
In all this wide estate!
I was a verdant youngster,
As green as green as grass,
They stuffed my head with knowledge
All in the Freshman class.
A year went by so swiftly
On happy wings did soar,
And then the masters made me
A jolly Sophomore.
And next a learned Junior
My fate it came to be,
The Profs. they set me climbing
Straight up the Wisdom Tree.
And then at last a Senior
With dignity complete,
The Freshmen, Sophs. and Juniors
All kneeling at my feet.
But now the fun is over;
We draw a deep, deep sigh,
Farewell to life in clover,
Good-by old Queens, Good-by.
The boys came to a halt as they listened to the rollicking melody
borne to their ears on the evening breeze. To Frank came the
exquisite feeling of being a part of the school, and the song
thrilled him out of all relation to its value as music.
"Great, isn't it?" and he looked up at the dark, gently swaying
branches overhead and let his eye follow the long line of school
buildings. "I was wondering only a little while ago," he said, "if it
wouldn't be the best thing for me to go to work somewhere and give up
school and college."
"Changed your mind about it so soon?"
"Yes, I guess I have. It's fine to be a part of a school like
Queen's, and to meet all the fellows, and fight your little battles,
and maybe win a few. I don't think I'll ever amount to much here, but
I'm going to have a try at everything that comes my way."
"What did your father and mother say about your going to work?"
"O, mother didn't think much of it, but Dad, as usual, put it up to
me. 'It's your own life, you know, and you've got to live it. If
you want to go into business life now, I'll find you a good place
to start, and if you want to take a few extra years broadening your
education, there's Queen's ready to take you if you're ready for
her.' And I'm glad I decided this way. It's going to be wonderful."
He had forgotten the meeting with Dixon that afternoon, and the
unhappy incident at his appearance on the scene. The black shadow of
Gamma Tau which had fallen across his path did not trouble him.
Frank and Jimmy had traversed the length of the school walk down to
the great iron gates at the Milton turnpike, and were returning up
the yard. The group on the steps of Russell were still singing and
were engaged at that particular moment with the closing chords of a
popular tune. Then they broke out in a joyful and triumphant pean,
the new football song, written by Arthur Stubbs, Jimmy informed
Frank, "editor of the _Mirror_, which maybe you don't know is the
great and buzzing school weekly. Sounds pretty good, doesn't it?"
They both listened as the song rolled out on the night air, doggerel
sure enough, but given life and character by the vigorous way it was
flung out:
See our team come marching
Down the white-barred field,
Pushing back the foemen,
Queen's will never yield.
Charging fast and faster,
Warwick's on the run,
Disaster on disaster,
And Queen's has just begun.
Push them o'er the goal line,
Roll them in the mold,
Show them who's the master,
Raise the Blue and Gold.
Cheer the dusty victors
As they turn away,
Raise the shout to heaven,
Hurray, hurray, hurray----
"The last line is to be shouted in unison," explained Jimmy, "and it
will make a great noise when the whole school gets into it."
The air was catchy, and Frank found himself humming as he walked
along:
"Show them who's the master,
Raise the Blue and Gold."
"If I can't do anything else, Jimmy, I can help the team by singing."
"Well, I'm thinking that singing won't save this Queen's School
football bunch when we meet Warwick."
"Is Warwick strong this year? I saw they had cleaned up Dean without
much trouble, but haven't noticed much about them."
"Strong!" ejaculated Jimmy, "I guess they are. They've taken everyone
they've played into camp this fall, and they boast that Queen's scalp
will dangle at their belts as the last and the best of the series.
Like the fellow in Danny Deever, 'I'm dreading wot I got to watch'
two weeks from Saturday--that's the date of the bloody battle down
there on the gridiron," and Jimmy jerked his thumb in the direction
of the meadow.
In their promenade the boys had almost reached the second entry
in Warren Hall when they noticed a group of perhaps half a dozen
fellows, a short distance up the walk. As Frank and Jimmy came up to
the entry this group got in motion and approached them, and as they
passed, one of the group jostled Frank off the walk. "Keep out of
the way, Freshmen," said a gruff voice, but in spite of the attempt
to disguise it, both boys recognized it instantly.
"Chip Dixon," they exclaimed in a breath.
"Now what is he hanging around here for with that bunch of his
cronies, I'd like to know," said Jimmy. "I wonder if he has a notion
of hazing you. By Jove, I'll bet you a dollar that's it. They were
waiting for you to grab you, but seeing me here they probably gave it
up for the time at least. Let's walk on."
"Why would they give it up? You talk like a Senior, and if I haven't
been sleeping like old Rip Van, you're nothing more than a Freshman
yourself. My head isn't as hoary as yours by three weeks, that's all."
"O, no, I've been through the mill and they never haze a fellow
twice. They gave me a jolly roast though, and that let's me out for
the rest of my natural school life."
"What did they do to you?" inquired Frank, who had heard of such
doings on the persons of unsuspecting and confiding youth. "I
supposed that hazing had been stopped here completely. The _Milton
Gazette_ said that Doctor Hobart had ordered it stopped after they
ducked that fellow in the river one night and he got his death from
it."
"Yes; Dr. Hobart stopped hazing, and threatened to fire anyone he
caught at it, but while that has stopped some of the worst of it
maybe, it isn't dead by a long shot. They didn't do much to me, tied
my hands and feet and rolled me down the hill over there, and gave me
an egg shampoo and mussed me up considerable, but I came out of it
all right. Dixon was in the gang that did for me, I think, but I'm
not sure, because they were masked."
"Well, they're not going to haze me," said Frank, "if I see them
first."
"Interference with your personal liberty resented, eh?"
"Yes, maybe. I wouldn't mind anybody but Dixon, and I certainly will
not have such a galoot as he is mauling me around, if I have to fight
the whole gang."
"Better not fight, Frank. Better take it good naturedly, and it will
be over quick. If you resent, you're likely to get it harder."
"Well, if they really are out to haze me there's no help for it,
but I'll have some fun, too," and he stretched out his arm and
flexed his muscles. "Haven't been paddling canoes around the Florida
Everglades for nothing, Jimmy."
Jimmy grinned. "Better come up to my room just the same; no use
courting a ruction. If they are after you, they may come around and
not finding you in, may give it up and forget about it. Come on."
"Hanged if I do," said Frank. "I don't believe there's anything to
it. You, having had your medicine, are suspicious. If they want me
they will find me."
By this time the two had retraced their steps to Frank's entry. All
was quiet. The singers had ended their melodious efforts and moved
off. Only now and then a single figure could be seen hurrying along
under the tree arches. The moon, rising higher in the sky, sent her
beams through the branches, and brought out every object in the yard
distinctly. No plotters against the peace of No. 18 were to be seen
anywhere.
"False alarm, old man," said Frank, as they stood there scanning the
school yard. "All is quiet on the Potomac. So long, see you in the
morning. Gleason must be visiting, for there's no light in the room."
"Maybe you're right, but, just the same, turn the key when you go
into your room. So long, see you in the morning."
"So long," echoed Frank, and turned and entered the arching doorway.
Frank climbed the steps of the first flight three at a leap. He
wasn't afraid of Dixon and his gang even if they were on the warpath.
"It's great to be back at school," he thought, and as he took the
last few steps leading to the second landing, he hummed to himself
the lines he had heard the fellows singing:
"Show them who's the master,
Raise the Blue and Gold."
"What's the matter with this stairway,--no light; they must be
stingy with their gas," said Frank aloud. "Since Gleason isn't back
yet, I'll have a session with these duds of mine and get my room to
rights. To-morrow I'll start on this sitting-room ruin. Where did I
put those blooming matches?" he added to himself as he opened his
room door and stepped inside. "O, yes, I remember, on the corner of
the mantel," and he headed for that point in the darkness of the
room. He stumbled over a chair which didn't seem to be where it ought
to be, certainly it wasn't there when he went out, but he reached
the mantel and began to fumble for the box which he distinctly
remembered was there.
"There's Gleason's stein," he said half aloud, as his hand touched
a gigantic creation with a pewter top that he had noticed that
afternoon, "and there's the alarm clock. I'm getting hotter. The
matches were near the clock, I remember now."
Frank stood still and stretched his arm out trying to find the end of
the shelf. His fingers touched something which made him thrill and
recoil. But in spite of his quickness he felt something grasp his
wrist sharply. He tried to draw away, but the hand, for such it was,
tightened its grip and another came to the assistance of the first.
Instantly there was the shuffling of feet, and with a rush he was
surrounded. He felt many hands laid upon him roughly and insistently.
Frank fought desperately, hitting, kicking and trying with all his
strength to wrench himself free. By twisting his arm sharply he
managed for a moment, to break the hold that someone had on him, and
shot his fist sharply out into the darkness with all his force. It
found a soft mark somewhere on someone's face, and hurt, too, as a
grunt attested. But he was grasped still more firmly and had no more
chance to fight.
In the scuffle in the dark which followed, chairs were knocked
over, the table was bumped into, and Gleason's gorgeous shade fell
with a crash to the table, and then trickled off to the floor in
many pieces. But Frank's struggles were useless, for he was borne
backwards to the floor and pressed down by superior weight. Finally
he lay on the floor with his hands pinioned to his sides, and a
weight of bodies across his legs. Not a word had been spoken in the
struggle, but now a voice whispered: "Strike a match, some of you.
This Indian hit me on the nose and I'm bleeding like a stuck pig. And
that won't make it any easier for him," the voice added, vindictively.
There was a scratching sound and a light flared up. Frank looked up
from the floor to see himself surrounded by half a dozen fellows
masked and completely disguised. Coats were turned inside out,
collars up and caps reversed, the better to conceal their identity.
The mask itself covered the face from the middle of the forehead to
the upper lip, and, simple though it was, made recognition almost
impossible, particularly in the dim light from the low turned gas
jet which the conspirators had set going.
Frank had been neatly trapped, and was helpless as a baby before the
superior numbers. He was presently more helpless, for his hands were
lashed behind him with a stout leather strap.