CHAPTER VIII

GERALD LIES LOW

March hurried along toward April, and Spring Recess drew near. This lasted one week, and Gerald was not looking forward to it with much pleasure. His father was still absent from home, and Gerald would be forced to spend the vacation in the big house in Fifth Avenue, with only the servants for company. To be sure, Tom, who lived in New Jersey, had asked Gerald to visit him for a couple of days, and that would help some; but, on the whole, he expected to pass rather a dull and lonesome time. He had half a mind to remain at Yardley, where there would be at least a handful of boys whose homes were too far distant to allow of their making the journey. Dan, who lived out in Ohio, was to spend the recess with Alf in Philadelphia. Gerald had wanted Dan to come home with him, but Alf had spoken first. Gerald grew daily more down-hearted as the first of April approached.

To most of the fellows, however, the nearing vacation brought a restlessness and excitement that were manifested in a growing disinclination to study and an increasing inclination toward mischief. School was to close on Thursday, and the exodus was to commence Friday morning. By Tuesday even the baseball and track candidates exhibited a disposition to dawdle and loaf; and Payson, the baseball coach――he was football coach as well――had a few sarcastic remarks to make when the last practice was over Wednesday afternoon. His hearers, however, felt that he was justified, and were too contented with the outlook to resent the wigging he gave them.

“He might have said a whole lot more,” said little Durfee, captain and shortstop of the team, as he and Dan left the gymnasium together. “We certainly have been playing like a lot of chumps lately.”

“Yes, we’re all thinking too much about vacation, I guess,” Dan assented. “But it will be different after we get back again.”

“I hope so. Gee, but I want to win this year, Dan.” Durfee laughed at his own earnestness a moment later. “I suppose you always do if you happen to be captain,” he added.

“Of course. That’s the way I feel about football. I wanted Yardley to win last year bad enough, but it seems to me that if we get licked next fall, I’ll just want to throw myself in the river. It does make a difference, Harry. How is the pitching situation shaping, old man?”

“About the way you see,” answered Durfee, with a shrug of his square shoulders. “I guess it’ll be Reid for the big games, but he isn’t doing much. Servis hasn’t a thing but a whole lot of speed, Dan; and if he gets cornered, he goes up in the air like a skyrocket.”

“That’s funny, too,” said Dan, “for when he isn’t playing ball, Servis is as cool and collected as a――a cucumber.”

“I know. I’m hoping he will get over it a bit after he’s been through more. We’ll work him in every game we can, whether we win or lose. After all, it’s only the Broadwood game I give a rap about. Snow and Wallace have the making of good pitchers, I think, and we’re going to do all we can for them; but this thing of making pitchers for next year and not having a really first-class one now isn’t much fun. I suppose, though, that next year’s captain will thank me. And may be that will be you, Dan.”

“Not likely. Especially as I’m football captain.”

“That’s so; I’d forgotten that. Well, here I am. Hope you have a dandy time, Dan. Keep in training, won’t you? So long.”

Harry Durfee disappeared into the dormitory, and Dan went on to his room. When he opened the door he found Alf sprawled out on the window-seat reading. He tossed the paper aside when he saw Dan.

“Hello,” he said. “Where’d you get to? What did you think of Payson’s few well-chosen words? Not bad for an impromptu speech, eh? He has a neat little way of saying things, hasn’t he?”

“I agree with Harry Durfee,” answered Dan. “And Durfee says Payson might have given it to us a lot hotter for the way we’ve been soldiering on him.”

“Huh! Durfee’s captain; and captains are always on the side of law and order. Personally, I am an insurgent to-day. I’m agin the gov’ment, Dan! I want to do something desperately wicked. Let’s revive the S. P. M. and raise a little Cain.”

“You’d better let the S. P. M. sleep in its grave,” laughed Dan. “Not, however, that I don’t feel a little coltish myself,” he added, rolling Alf suddenly off the window-seat and taking his place. There ensued a minute’s engagement, from which both boys emerged breathless, disheveled, and laughing.

“Let’s do something, Dan,” said Alf, as he returned his necktie to its accustomed place under his waistcoat. “Honest, I’ve got to do something or bust. Let’s pie somebody’s room for him.”

“No fun in that. Besides, everybody’s in their room now.”

“That’s so. Say, Dan, Friday’s April Fool’s Day. I’d like to work a nice big hoax on some one.”

“You might fool Old Toby by staying at school instead of going home,” suggested Dan.

“Don’t be an ass! Think of something, can’t you?”

“All I can think of is supper,” replied Dan, with a laugh.

“Your soul’s in your tummy,” said Alf, disgustedly. “Well, leave it to me. If I can think of something, are you in on it? Something big――and――er――awe-inspiring?”

“Sure,” answered Dan. “Go ahead and think. I’m off to commons.”

I fear there wasn’t much studying done at Yardley that evening. A spirit of unrest had seized the fellows, and there was much coming and going across the Yard and in the dormitory corridors. There were trunks to be brought from the storerooms, and loaned articles to be recovered, and, in some cases, debts to be settled. Every one made at least one call that evening. Some fellows, possessed by an excess of sociability, seemed determined to visit every friend and acquaintance in school. As for the morrow, well, it was a well-known fact that instructors were lenient on the last day of a term, and one could always manage to “fake” a bit if necessary.

In 7 Dudley a council of conspirators was going on. Callers there had found a locked portal and no response to their demands. The conspirators were Tom, Alf, and Dan. Alf was speaking.

“We’ve been ridiculously well-behaved all term,” he was saying, “and now I think we deserve a little fun. Besides, what’s the good of a secret society that never does anything?”

“It would be fun, all right,” said Dan, “but it’s a long way to go to get it.”

“Yes,” drawled Tom, “and if faculty catches us, we’ll be soaked for it good and hard. Guess you can count me out on it, Alf.”

“Oh, don’t be a pup!” begged Alf. “Faculty isn’t going to catch us. Even if it did, what’s the odds? It isn’t anything but a perfectly good joke; absolutely harmless. I’ll bet all the others will be crazy to go.”

“Crazy to go, yes,” answered Tom, ambiguously. “You’ll have plenty without me. I don’t want to get in wrong just now and be kept off the Track Team, thank you.”

“Oh, you make me tired, Tom! Why, look here. I tell you no one can possibly know. I’ll have everything ready, and all we’ll have to do is to sneak quietly away to-morrow night, get the things from where I leave them, go over to Broadwood and do the trick. It won’t take us five minutes there, and we’ll be home and in bed by one o’clock. And think of the fun Friday morning, when those fresh-water kids get up and view the scene!”

“The trouble is, we won’t be there to see it,” objected Dan.

“We’ll hear about it afterward, though,” replied Alf, with a grin. “And I don’t have to be there to see it; I can see it now. Come on, Tom; be a sport.”

“Oh, all right, I’ll see you through, but I’ll bet a doughnut we get into trouble. Still, what’s a little trouble, after all? The world is full of it. But don’t you think it would be a lot safer if just we three attended to it?”

“Not so much fun, though,” said Alf. “The more the merrier. We’ll have to do our packing some time during the day, fellows.”

“Why? We won’t have to leave before about half-past ten,” said Dan. “I can do mine in a half hour. One thing that’s mighty comforting is, that if faculty does hear of it, we’ll be out of the way by then.”

“Oh, faculty will hear of it all right,” said Tom. “How about little Geraldine, Dan?”

“I guess we’d better leave him out of it. He’s a bit tender to be mixed up in such doings. Besides, he wouldn’t want to go if he knew about it.”

“Wouldn’t he!” exclaimed Alf, with a grin. “You tell him and see what he says!”

“No, he isn’t to hear anything about it,” replied Dan, firmly. “I don’t mind being called up myself, but as Gerald’s father holds me kind of responsible for the kid’s behavior, I prefer to have him stay out of it.”

“All right,” agreed Alf. “I’ll see the others, though, and I guess we’ll have a merry little expedition.”

It was all very well, however, for Dan to talk about leaving Gerald out of the fun, but not so easy to do it. It didn’t take Gerald long the next day to discover that something was up. Alf appeared in 28 Clarke just before dinner, breathless and mysterious, with his shoes muddy from the road to Greenburg, and led Dan out into the corridor to consult with him in whispers. Gerald said nothing then, but it was very evident to him that something was afoot, and that whatever it was, he was not to be invited to participate.

In the afternoon Dan was absent from the room; and when, seeking him, Gerald walked into 7 Dudley, the conversation stopped suddenly, and an air of constraint was apparent until Gerald invented an excuse for retiring. Not being in a mood to welcome solitude, he crossed over to Whitson and ascended to Number 20. He found both Arthur Thompson and Harry Merrow at home. As usual, the latter was deep in his stamps, while Arthur, his trunk pulled into the middle of the room, was packing.

“I haven’t started yet,” said Gerald, morosely, seating himself on Harry’s bed, for the reason that the chairs and the other bed were strewn with Arthur’s clothes.

“You haven’t?” Arthur observed him in mild surprise. “Aren’t you going to?”

“To-night’s time enough.”

“Yes, only――” He leaned over Gerald, and dropped his voice. “What time are we going to start?”

“Start where?”

“Why, you know, S. P. M.”

“Oh!” said Gerald. “I guess we’re going to start late, aren’t we?”

“I suppose so. Loring didn’t say when, but I guess it will have to be late if we aren’t going to get nabbed.” He chuckled. “Prout’s going to leave his window unlocked so I can get in that way in case the door’s locked when we get back.” Suddenly an expression of blank dismay came into his face. “Jehoshaphat!” he murmured. “Loring said I wasn’t to mention it to you! I was thinking you knew!”

“Well, that’s all right,” responded Gerald, easily. “I do know now. I think it was mighty mean of Alf and Dan to try to keep me out of it.”

“Well, he said――” Arthur paused, and looked speculatively at Harry. That youth was apparently much too absorbed in his stamps to hear anything, and Arthur went on _sotto voce_. “Loring said Dan didn’t want you to get mixed up in it in case the faculty learned about it and made trouble. And I promised I wouldn’t tell you. Gee, I’m an awful ass!”

“No harm done,” said Gerald, soothingly. “I knew something was up, and I meant to find out what it was, too. You might as well tell me all about it now, Arthur.” But Arthur shook his head.

“No, I said I wouldn’t.”

“But you have! And I think it’s rotten mean not to, after I went and got you into the S. P. M.”

“Well, I’ll tell you this much then, Gerald. It’s a joke we’re going to play on――on some one to-night. That’s all. And if we should get caught at it, we’d probably be fired――put on probation anyway. And you don’t want to get put on probation now, do you?”

“I wouldn’t care,” replied Gerald, stoutly. “If you fellows can risk it, I don’t see why I can’t. Who’s in it?”

“Oh, you know; the S. P. M. I guess they’re all going――except you.”

“Except me, yes,” murmured Gerald. “Oh, all right if you don’t want to tell, Arthur. That’s all right. Maybe it would be silly to risk probation just to play a silly old joke on some one. And I was on probation last year, you know. I guess it’s going to be pretty risky, too. You’re almost sure to get caught when you come back.”

“Get out! Every one will be asleep before that. If they don’t see us start out, we’ll be all right, I guess.”

“When are you going to start?” asked Gerald, with a fine show of indifference.

“I don’t know; I’ve got to ask Loring.” Then Arthur looked at Gerald suspiciously and grinned. “You’re trying to pump me, aren’t you?”

“The idea!” murmured Gerald, deprecatingly.

“Yes, you are, Mister Smarty. Say, you’re foolish like a fox, aren’t you? Well, I won’t tell you any more.”

“I don’t care. It doesn’t concern me any. Only I think it’s silly to get into trouble just for a few minutes’ fun.” Gerald paused. “Then, besides,” he said, “I wouldn’t want to play a joke on him any way, because he never did anything to me.”

Arthur grinned. “Go on, you little ferret! See what you find out.”

“Oh, if you think I’m trying to pump you,” said Gerald, with great dignity, “I’ll get out! And I hope you forget to pack everything you’ll need at home!”

Gerald left in apparent high dudgeon, deaf to Arthur’s invitations to remain and superintend the packing; but as he scuttled down the stairs and across to his own room, he chuckled softly several times and seemed in very good humor. He began the packing of his own trunk at once; and when Dan came hurrying in a few minutes before six, the trunk was locked and strapped, and Gerald was giving attention to his suit case.

“Well, you’re smart,” said Dan, approvingly. “That’s what I’ve got to get busy and attend to. We got to chinning over there, and I forgot all about packing. I’ll get at it after supper, and then I guess we’d better both get to bed pretty early. You’re going up on the nine-seven, aren’t you, with the rest of us?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” answered Gerald. “Any way, I guess it will be a pretty good plan to get a lot of sleep to-night. Traveling,” he added, demurely, “is very tiresome, isn’t it?”

“Very,” agreed Dan.

After supper, Dan set about his packing, and Gerald helped him. The task was completed about half-past eight, and then Dan announced carelessly that he guessed he’d run over to Dudley for a few minutes. “I want to see Alf about something,” he added. “If I were you, Gerald, I’d get to bed pretty soon. If I come back late, I’ll be quiet so as not to wake you.”

“All right,” answered Gerald, suppressing a yawn. “But you needn’t be especially quiet. You know nothing short of an earthquake can wake me after I’m once asleep, Dan.”

As soon as the door was closed behind his roommate, Gerald hurriedly removed his outer clothes, pulled pajamas on, found a book, and dashed into bed. As it proved, his hurry wasn’t necessary, for Dan didn’t return for over an hour, during which time Gerald, propped up in bed, read comfortably. When he heard Dan’s footsteps he hid the book under the pillow, turned his face from the light and feigned sleep. Dan pottered around quietly for some fifteen or twenty minutes convinced that Gerald was fast asleep, and then put out the light and crept into his own bed. Although Gerald didn’t dare turn over to make sure, he was pretty certain that Dan had, like himself, removed only his shoes, coat, vest, and trousers.

For the better part of an hour the two boys lay there silently and pretended to be asleep. I fancy it was harder for Dan than for Gerald, for the latter was entertained by the thought that he was hoaxing Dan. At last――it was some time after the clock had struck ten――Gerald heard his roommate’s bed creak, and then the soft patter of feet on the floor. Dan was getting into his outer clothes again. Gerald lay still and waited for a space, but Dan took so long that Gerald couldn’t resist the impulse to scare the other, so he yawned and stretched and turned over in his bed. Deep silence settled over the room. Gerald smiled in the darkness.

Finally, Dan took heart and continued his preparations, and presently Gerald heard the door open almost noiselessly and close again. At once he was out of bed and groping for his trousers. He had had the forethought to leave his clothes near by, and to arrange them so that he could get into them easily. He didn’t dare take time enough to lace his shoes. He merely thrust his feet into them, tucked the strings out of the way, and followed Dan.

Downstairs he crept. The door, locked at ten o’clock every night by Mr. Collins, the Assistant Principal, was ajar. He opened it cautiously and looked out. No one was in sight. The night was mild, and a half-moon sailed in and out of a cloudy sky. Closing the door behind him, Gerald crept along in the shadows of the buildings until he had reached the front of Oxford. He knew that the others would meet somewhere, and believed that from here he was certain to see or hear them.

And, as it proved, he hadn’t long to wait. Presently seven forms crept around the corner between Oxford and Whitson, and he buried himself more deeply in the shadow. They went by without suspecting him, and took the path that led down the hill toward Wissining. Gerald paused long enough to lace his shoes, and then keeping at a respectful distance, followed silently.