AN UNPLEASANT PROSPECT
"Say, I can't tell how much obliged to you I am," impulsively exclaimed
the young fellow with his arm in a sling. "That--that----"
"He's a brute, that's what he is!" broke out Andy. "Don't be afraid to
call him one."
"He sure is," came from Tom. "I just wish he'd rough it up a bit. I
wouldn't have asked anything better than to take and roll him around his
own barnyard. Talk about tackling a fellow on the gridiron--Oh me! Oh
my!"
"It was mighty nice of you boys to take my part," went on the young
fellow. "I'm not feeling very well. He's worked me like a horse since
I've been here, and that, on top of spraining my arm, sort of took the
tucker out of me. Then, when he came at me with the whip, just because I
said I couldn't work any more----"
"There, never mind. Don't think about it," advised Chet, seeing that the
youth was greatly affected.
"Do you live around here?" asked Andy.
"Well, I don't live much of anywhere," was the reply. "I'm a sort of
Jack-of-all-trades. My name is Lincoln Bardon--Link, I'm generally
called. I work mostly at farming, but I'll never work for Amos Snad
again. He's too hard."
"Where are you going after you leave here?" asked Frank Newton.
"Oh, I've got a friend who works on a farm over in Cherry Hollow. I can
go there and get a place. The farming season is on now, and there's lots
of help wanted. But I sure am much obliged to you for helping me get my
money. I've earned it and I need it. That mowing machine was broken when
he had me take it out of the shed."
"How'd he come to use the whip?" asked Andy.
"It was when I came back with the team, and said I couldn't work any
more on account of my arm. He has a lot of work to do," explained Link,
"and he ought to keep two men. Instead, he tries to get along with one,
and works him like a slave. I'm glad I'm going to quit."
"When I said my arm was hurt he didn't believe me. I insisted. One word
led to another and he came at me with the lash. Then you boys jumped in.
I can't thank you enough."
"That's all right," said Tom. "We were glad to do it. I like a good
scrap!"
And to do him justice, he did--a good, clean, manly "scrap."
"I wonder if he will bring that money?" remarked Ben Snow. "He's gone a
long time."
"Oh, he keeps it hidden away in an old boot," replied Link. "He'll have
to dig it out. But don't let me detain you."
"We like the fun," spoke Andy. "We'll stick around for a while yet."
And, while the boys are thus "sticking around," may I be permitted to
introduce them more formally to you, and speak just a word about them?
With their names I think you are already familiar. Andy Blair was a
tall, good-looking lad, with light hair and snapping blue eyes that
seemed to look right through you. Yet, withal, they were merry eyes, and
dancing with life.
Chet Anderson was rather short and stocky, not to say fat; but if any of
his friends mentioned such a thing Chet was up in arms at once. Chet, I
might explain, was a contraction for Chetfield; the lad being named for
his grandfather.
Ben Snow was always jolly. In spite of his name he was of a warm and
impulsive nature, always ready to forgive an injury and continually
seeking a chance to help someone. Clever, full of life and usually
looking on the bright side, Ben was a humorous relief to his sometimes
more sober comrades.
Quiet and studious was Frank Newton, a good scholar, always standing
well in his class, and yet with his full share of fun and sport. He was
a mainstay on the baseball team, where he had pitched many a game to
victory.
With the exception of Tom Hatfield you have now met the lads with whom
the first part of this story is chiefly concerned. Tom was one of the
nicest fellows you could know. His parents were wealthy, but wealth had
not spoiled Tom. He was happy-go-lucky, of a generous, whole-souled
nature, always jolly and happy, and yet with a temper that at times
blazed out and amazed his friends. Seldom was it directed against any of
them; but when Tom spoke quietly, with a sort of ring like the clang of
steel in his voice, then was the time to look out.
The five lads came from the same town, as has been said, and had been
friends, more or less, all their lives. With their advent at Milton
their friendship was cemented with that seal which is never
broken--school-comradeship. You boys know this. You men who may chance
to read this book know it. How many of you, speaking of someone, has not
at one time said:
"Why, he and I used to go to school together!"
And is there anything in life better than this--an old school chum? It
means so much.
But there. I started to tell a story, and I find myself getting off on
the side lines. To get back into the game:
Link Bardon had hardly finished telling his good Samaritan boy friends
of his trouble with Mr. Snad, when the burly farmer reappeared. Striding
up to his hired man--his former employee--he thrust some crumpled bills
into his hand, and growled:
"Now you get out of here as fast as you can. I've seen enough of you!"
"And I may say the same thing!" retorted Link. He was getting back his
nerve. Perhaps Andy and his chums had contributed to this end.
"Huh! Don't you go to gettin' fresh!" snapped Mr. Snad.
"Don't let him get your goat!" exclaimed Tom, with a cheerful grin.
"I've had enough of you young upstarts!" cried the farmer, turning
fiercely on Andy and his chums. "Be off!"
"Wait until we see if Link has his money all right," suggested Andy. "He
might ring in a counterfeit bill on you if you don't watch out."
"Bah!" sneered the farmer.
Link counted over his wages. They were all right.
"Now I'll get my things and go," he said, calmly.
"And don't you ever come around askin' me for a job," warned his former
employer.
"I guess there isn't much danger," spoke Tom, quietly. "Come on,
fellows. I'm hungry enough to eat two of Kelly's steaks."
They followed Andy, who again lightly leaped the fence into the road.
Link went on toward the house to pack up his few belongings. He waved
his hand toward the boys, and they waved back. They hardly expected to
see him again, and certainly Andy Blair never dreamed of the strange
part the young farmer would play in his coming life at Yale. Such odd
tricks does fate play upon us.
The Milton lads swung on down the road in the direction of Churchtown.
It was early evening by now.
"Some doings!" commented Chet as he slipped his arm into that of Andy.
"I should say!" exclaimed Ben. "Andy, you took the right action that
time."
"Well, I just couldn't bear to see that chap, with his arm in a sling,
being beaten up by that brute of a farmer," was the reply. "It got my
dander up."
"Same here," spoke Tom.
"You'd never know it, from the way you acted," put in Frank.
"Tom is always worst when he's quietest," remarked Andy. "Well, now for
a good feed. Let's cut through here, hop a car, and get to Kelly's
quicker."
"Go ahead, we're with you," announced Chet, and soon the lads were in
the "eating joint," as they called it.
"Broiled steak with French fried potatoes, Adolph!"
"Yah!"
"I want an omelet with green peppers!"
"Liver and bacon for mine!"
"Ham and eggs! Plenty of gravy!"
"Yah!"
"Coffee with my order, Adolph!"
"Yah!"
"And say, I want some of those rolls with moon-seeds on top, Adolph!
Don't forget!"
"Nein!"
"And my coffee comes with my steak, not afterward. Hoch der Kaiser!"
"Shure!"
"How's the soup, Adolph?"
"Fine und hot!"
"That's good! One on you, Tom!"
"Bring me a plate!"
"Oh, say, Adolph, make my order a chop instead of those ham and eggs."
"Yah!"
"And, Adolph."
"Yes, sir."
"I want a glass of milk, with a squirt of vichy in it. Don't forget."
"Nein, I vunt!"
"And speed up, Adolph, we're all in a hurry."
"Shure. You vos allvays in a hurry!"
The German waiter scurried away. How he ever remembered it all is one of
the mysteries that one day may be solved. But he never forgot, and never
made a mistake.
The boys were seated at a table in one of the small rooms of Kelly's.
They stretched out their legs and took their ease, for they felt they
had earned a little relaxation.
About them in other rooms, in small recesses made by the high-backed
seats, were other students. There was a calling back and forth.
"Hello, Spike!"
"Stick out your head, Bender!"
"Over here, Buster--here's room!"
"There's Bunk now!"
You could not tell who was saying what or which, nor to whom, any more
than I can. Hence the rather disjointed style of the preceding. But you
know what I mean, for you must have been there yourself. If not, I beg
of you to get into some such place where "good fellows," in the truest
sense of the word, meet together. For where they congregate it is always
"good weather," no matter if it snows or hails, or even if the stormy
winds do blow--do blow--do blow!
But at last a measure of quietness settled down in Kelly's, and the
chatter of voices was succeeded by the clatter of knives and forks.
Then came a reaction--a time when one settled back on one's bench, the
first tearing edge of the appetite dulled. It was at this time that Tom
Hatfield, leaning over to Andy, said:
"And so you are going to Yale?"
"Yes, I've made up my mind."
"Well, I congratulate you. It's a grand old place. Wish I was with you."
"Say, Andy!" piped up Chet Anderson, "if you go to Yale you'll meet an
old friend of yours there."
"Who, for the love of bacon?"
"Mortimer Gaffington!"
Andy's knife fell to his plate with a clash that caused the other diners
to look up hurriedly.
"Mortimer Gaffington!" gasped our hero. "For cats' sake! That's so. I
forgot he went to Yale! Oh, wow! Well, it can't be helped. I've made my
choice!"