Part 7

He was thoroughly angry now. Ripley plainly betrayed his guilt and alarm by his manner, and as Ward looked at him a moment in silence the first impulse in his heart was to mete out a summary and just punishment for the sneaking outrage of which he had been guilty.

As Ward glanced about the well-furnished room and contrasted it with his own somewhat bare apartments in West Hall, his bitterness increased. Was it not enough that he should be compelled to go without many of the things which such a fellow as Ripley had for the asking, without also having to suffer all the petty annoyances which the latter chose to inflict upon him? His anger was clearly manifest, for the troubled lad was in a towering rage, and as he realized that the boy he thought had stacked his room so many times was at last in his power, his first and natural impulse was to express his feelings in a manner which Ripley might not enjoy, but which he would certainly remember.

Ripley evidently was alarmed. His pale face and trembling hands plainly revealed that. He stood watching his caller, and not a word had as yet been spoken.

Suddenly Ripley started toward the open window. Ward instantly suspected that he was about to call to the crowd of boys who were then on the ground below and stood talking together near the entrance.

Before the boy could reach the place, however, or open his lips to call to his friends, Ward leaped before him, and standing with his back to the window, he said to the frightened lad before him:

"None of that, Ripley; keep away from these windows. I'll fix it so that they won't do you any good," he quickly added, as he instantly turned and removed the prop which held the window up. The sash fell and Ripley perceived that it would be useless to call for help, and that he stood alone before the angry young senior.

"Now, Ripley, I've come over to have it out with you." Ward spoke slowly and in a low tone of voice, but the very quietness of his manner increased the alarm of the boy before him.

"I-I d-don't know what you mean, Ward Hill; what have I done?"

"What have you done?" retorted Ward, his voice rising as his anger broke forth. "What haven't you done? Who's stacked my room almost every day? Who's poured kerosene over my bedding? Who's done the thousand and one contemptible things that no one but a sneak and a coward would ever think of doing?" Ward's anger was rapidly increasing and as he enumerated his woes, each fresh mention of them served to enrage him the more.

"I never stacked your room, Ward Hill; I've never been in it since I've been in the Weston school; I never touched your bedclothes or your lamp; I haven't been in West Hall but once since I came back to school this fall. Honest, Ward, I'm telling you the truth; I am, Ward. Won't you believe me?"

All the fear of the lad seemed to speak in his words and voice, and for a moment Ward was almost staggered. And yet had not Little Pond told him less than half an hour before that he had seen this very lad trying to get into his room? Had Pond been mistaken? No, it could not be possible. The very manner of Ripley betrayed his guilt.

"Ripley," said Ward more slowly, "you were seen in West Hall this very afternoon when you were trying to get into my room. You can't deny that." He waited a moment, but the boy before him did not speak.

"If the truth was known," continued Ward, "I believe you've got the very key you tried to use in your pocket now. What were you doing there?" he added sternly.

"I was there this afternoon, but it was my first turn--I mean the first time I'd been there. I haven't been in West Hall before this term."

Ward hesitated. Possibly Ripley was speaking truly. He knew that Tim was shrewd and it might be that he had used different boys to do his bidding at various times. The expression which Ripley had unconsciously let slip, that it was his first turn, might understood in that light. However, his disposition had been clearly manifest, even by his own confession, and Ward's feeling of anger instantly returned.

"Ripley, you've got that key to my room I believe in your pocket now. Hand it over to me and I'll let you off this time."

"Not if I know myself," replied Ripley, his courage having evidently in a measure returned as he perceived Ward's momentary hesitation.

"You won't give it to me?"

"No, I won't give it to you," replied Ripley still more boldly.

"Then I'll take it."

And as he spoke Ward quickly sprang forward and grasped the boy by the shoulder.

Instantly all of Ripley's fears returned. Before Ward fairly realized what was occurring he had emitted three or four shrieks for help.

"Help! help! Come! come! Help me! Help! Help!"

If Ward had not been so angry and startled by the unexpected sounds he would have laughed. He had not harmed the boy, for he had only grasped him roughly by the shoulder. But evidently Ripley was thoroughly alarmed by Ward's manner and believed that his last hour had come.

In a moment there was a rush of boys up the stairway and they were pounding upon the door eagerly striving to open it or break it in.

Taking advantage of Ward's momentary confusion, Ripley slipped from his grasp and hastily drew back the bolt of the door and flung it wide open. A dozen or more boys rushed into the room, Tim Pickard at their head, and stopped a moment in surprise as they gazed at the two boys.

Scarcely a word had been uttered, however, before Ward heard some one speaking in the doorway. He instantly recognized the voice as that of Mr. Crane, and his anger gave way to a feeling of embarrassment.

"What's the meaning of this?" said Mr. Crane quietly, though his manner was somewhat stern. "I want you all to go immediately to your own rooms."

The boys started to obey at once, Ward being the last to pass Mr. Crane, who stood holding the door open for them to go through.

"I'm surprised, Hill," he said quietly as Ward passed him. "You will come and explain this later to me, I am sure."

"I'm ready to explain it now," said Ward eagerly.

"Not now, Hill," said Mr. Crane, smiling for the first time as he marked the eagerness of the lad. "Come over to-morrow evening."

"I'll come," said Ward quickly. "I don't want you to think too badly of me, Mr. Crane."

"And I don't want to. I hardly think I shall have to," he added, as he noted Ward's manner.

"May I go down to Speck's room now--I mean Jack's--I mean Jack Hobart's?"

"Yes, if you think it will be safe?" said Mr. Crane quietly. "From the sounds that came from this room I thought that murder at least was being committed, and I don't want to hear a repetition of these ear-splitting screeches."

Ward left the teacher and going down to Jack's room was speedily admitted. Then he soon related the entire story before Jack and his chum Berry.

The boys listened soberly and when at last the story was ended, Jack said: "Well, Ward, it's a relief to me that you've dug the thing out. You made one mistake, though."

"What's that?"

"You ought never to have tried to chastise Ripley when he was in East Hall. Don't you know by this time that there's no fooling in any building Mr. Crane has charge of?"

"I wasn't going to chastise Ripley. All I was going to do was to take the key away from him. Of course that isn't any good, now that there's a new lock on my door; but it would be positive proof that Ripley had a hand in it, you see."

"And what good would that do you, I'd like to know? Suppose you did have the proof; you wouldn't take it over to the doctor, would you?"

"No, I don't suppose I would," said Ward slowly. "I never told on a fellow yet."

"And you're not going to begin now. It's hard lines for you, old fellow, I know that as well as you do; but it's just one of the things a chap's got to straighten out for himself. He can't report it, you know; that would only make a bad matter worse."

"I suppose you're right," said Ward soberly. He was thinking of his evening interview with Mr. Crane. He had intended to relate the circumstances just as they were, and felt positive that the teacher would sympathize with him rather than blame him.

Jack's words, however, he at once realized were true. In accordance with the false code of honor of the school, he could not cure his evils by seeking outside help. And the boys he knew were merciless in carrying out their own ideas of justice and honor.

"No, Ward; you've got to look at it just as it is. Some of the fellows are down on you, but I don't believe it'll last. I don't honestly. How can it with such a fellow as I know Ward Hill to be? It's against all reason."

"And meanwhile I'm to sit down meekly and thank these fellows who upset my room every day, am I?"

"Not at all. Not at all. But Ripley isn't the one to blame. You've got to go to the fountain head of all the trouble, as Dr. Gray so kindly informs us every day in the chapel."

"Well, Tim Pickard's the one at the bottom of it all," said Ward.

"So he is, my young friend, and he's the one to fix. Now I'm sure, with the help of Luscious here and your humble servant, you can do it, and do it this very night too."

"I don't see how," said Ward gloomily.

"No you don't; but if you'll listen with both ears I'll explain the little project I have in mind, and soon the weary valedic will put his enemies to flight, or words to that effect."

And Jack at once began to explain his "project."

*CHAPTER XI*

*JACK HOBART'S PROJECT*

"There's no other way out of it," began Jack, "except for you to take the matter into your own hands, Ward. You can't report it to the teachers, and you can't be expected to let it go on without doing something to protect yourself. I think even Mr. Crane wouldn't expect anything less than that of you."

"But I don't see just what I'm to do," protested Ward. "Of course I know now that Tim Pickard is the one who's stirring the trouble up, though I've been satisfied all the time that he was the ringleader. I don't see what I can do, unless I fight him."

"That's one way out of it," replied Jack, who perhaps was not entirely averse to a settlement of troubles by that primitive and brutal method. "But you don't need to do that just yet. You can hold that till later, though I'm not sure but you might save yourself a deal of trouble by pitching into Tim now. It may have to come to that in the end. Still, I think it would be better to try my plan first."

Ward smiled as he thought of Jack in the role of a peacemaker. He appreciated fully Jack's spirit and life, and he well knew how he enjoyed anything that partook of the nature of tests of physical strength in the school. His last words, in which with apparent reluctance he had counseled his friend to postpone the method his boyish heart decidedly preferred, had been spoken in a tone which made Berry laugh aloud.

"Let's hear your plan, Jack," said Ward.

"It's nothing more than giving Tim a dose of his own medicine."

"What do you mean? that I'm to stack his room?"

"That's exactly my meaning. You grasp it quickly, as Mr. Blake sometimes tells me--no, I mean you, Ward--in his classes. Yes, sir, that's the thing for you to do, for it's the only thing a fellow like Tim Pickard will appreciate. 'Hoist with his own petard.' Isn't that something you've heard somewhere, sometime?"

"I think I have heard the expression before. How am I to do it, Jack?"

"Just as easily as falling off a log. Tim rooms down at Ma Perrins', as you know, and has a room all to himself. Now to-night after supper, my friend, here, Luscious, will send for him to come up to our room. I think it very likely that Luscious will have something to say about the nine, and Tim won't wait long after hearing that Luscious Berry has something to say about that, for if he's interested in anything it's the work and the prospects of the nine, you know."

"Yes, I know," replied Ward somewhat gloomily. Tim Pickard's work and interest in the nine was a subject on which he had very strong feelings at that time.

"Well, Luscious will get him up here and he'll hold him with his glittering eye, _a la_ ancient mariner, and he'll have so many bright speeches to make, that Tim won't be able to get away from him. Meanwhile you and I'll step down to Tim's room and rearrange it for him, don't you see? I'm going into this with you, Ward, and see if I can't help you to put a stop to these rascally proceedings."

"Yes, but----"

"There isn't a 'but' about it," interrupted Jack. "I know what you were going to say, but it isn't worth saying, Ward. I know all the fine phrases about 'stooping' and 'belittling yourself,' and all that sort of stuff, but it's no time for indulging in such nonsense. Here you are bothered to death by Tim's pranks. You don't want to bother him, or have anything to do with him, for the matter of that. I understand all these things. But you can't study; you won't be the valedic; you can't report the trouble to the faculty. What can you do? Just nothing, but take the matter into your own hands and do the thing that will put a stop in the shortest time to all this nonsense. Do you see the point?"

"Yes, I see----"

"Well, I'm glad for once in your life that you're able to see the point."

"And I'm glad that for once in your life you can make a point clear," said Ward with a laugh.

"Well done, my friend, I've hopes of you yet. Now, I say it's all fair to feed Tim with his own food and from his own spoon. Why my father was telling me the last time I was home about a trick a fellow named Bram Martling played in the 'neutral ground,' away back in the Revolution. It seems that this same Bram, which is short as I understand it for Abraham, was a young officer in the Continental army, and once when he came home he found the Tories and British had been burning the houses around there just for the fun of seeing 'em burn, I fancy. Well, Bram was pretty well stirred up when he found out what was going on, so he just quietly got a dozen young fellows together, and they met over by Wolfert's Roost on the Hudson, and took two whaleboats and pulled down to Morningside Heights in the night. Then they crept up and set fire to Oliver De Lancy's great house, and got away without one of them being caught. They thought 'twas a great deed in those days, and made out that the aforesaid Bram was quite a hero. But he stopped the Tories from burning houses after that, let me tell you. It makes all the difference in the world whether you are the burner or the burnee."

"And you think----?"

"Be silent, my young friend. This fable, which I have just related for your special benefit, teaches that in bad things as well as in good it is much more pleasant to give than to receive. Now, for your own good, and for the good of Tim Pickard too, you are simply compelled to let him know just how good it is to have one's room stacked. It must be done thoroughly and at once. Who was it that said, 'if 'twere well done when it is done, then 'twere well if it were done quickly'?"

"I guess it was Shakespeare," said Ward laughing; "but you got the quotation twisted a bit. The way it reads is----"

"Oh, bother the way it reads, you know what I mean. Now, Luscious, you tell Ward if you don't think what I've said is true."

"I think, Ward," said Berry, "that Jack's right. I don't see that you can do anything else. You've got to put a stop to the racket and Jack's plan is a good one."

For a moment Ward did not speak. Somehow he knew that Henry would not go into the scheme, and he had a very decided opinion that Mr. Crane would not approve. Indeed, the teacher had at one time said to him that it was a good deal better to suffer wrong than to do it. One wrong did not make another wrong right. Ward needed no one to tell him that.

Yet there was the trouble all the time threatening to become worse and it was certainly bad enough as it was, and Henry and Little Pond were both made to suffer too for his unpopularity. Jack's plan might work well. Who could say? The specious reasoning of boys who would not intentionally do anything very bad also appealed to him.

But more than all was Jack's evident friendship and interest. Ward was well aware of the risks the impulsive lad would be incurring in entering into the project with him. Tim Pickard's enmity in the Weston school was no light matter, and Jack, even more than Ward, fed upon the good will of his companions. Jack might feel hurt if he should refuse now to enter into the project, when his only motive for proposing it had been the desire to aid him. Ward felt that he could not refuse.

"Well, Jack," he said at last, "I'm obliged to you, and I think your suggestion is worth trying."

"Good for you, old man," said Jack eagerly, rising from his chair as he spoke. "Now we'll do it this very night. You go right up to your room just as soon as you've had your supper, and as soon as Luscious and I have had ours I'll have him bring Tim back with him to our room. Then, when the coasts are clear, I'll make a break for your room and we'll soon fix Tim's room out in great shape. There goes the bell now. Your afflictions will soon be over, the wicked will cease to trouble you, and the weary valedic will be at rest."

The boys at once left East Hall, Ward going to the dining hall and Jack and Berry starting toward Mrs. Perrins', where they both took their meals.

Somehow, Ward had no feeling of elation. Again and again he tried to persuade himself that Jack's scheme was all right and that now he would put an end to all his difficulties. But there were misgivings in his heart all the time. Try as he would to convince himself that he was taking a legitimate and justifiable method of protecting himself, he could not shake off the feeling that if he should be discovered in the act, or if Mr. Crane should learn of it, the affair would appear in a far different light.

However, he did not mention the plan or his own misgivings to his room-mate, and it was with a feeling of relief he heard Henry say to him, when together they left the dining hall, "I'm going over to Dr. Gray's a little while, Ward. Will you come too?"

"No, I think not at present," said Ward. "I guess I'll go over to our room and keep out visitors. I don't want to have to tack down carpets to-night."

"I don't believe they'll trouble us now that we've a new lock on the door," said Henry, laughing as he spoke. He did not urge Ward to accompany him and soon departed.

Ward walked slowly on toward West Hall and entered his room. He had not been there long before Jack came, and he at once followed him out of the building.

"It's all right, Ward," said Jack eagerly. "Luscious has taken Tim up to our room and he'll keep him there for an hour."

"But how shall we get into his room?" inquired Ward.

"Oh, that's all easy enough. Ma doesn't keep the front door locked, and if she happens to see me come in, she'll only think I've come back for something I left. It'll be all right; you needn't have any fears about that."

"Jack," said Ward slowly, "I've been thinking this thing over and I don't want you to get your fingers burned."

"That's good of you," and Jack laughed. "Any one to hear you talk would think I was the fellow in trouble. Don't bother your head about me. I'll be all right."

"That isn't just what I mean. I think you'd better stay down by the door or out in the hall and let me go up to Tim's room alone. There isn't any use in your going, and besides that, I think you can help more if you stay there and keep watch."

"Maybe you're right," replied Jack thoughtfully. "I'll tell you what I'll do, Ward, I'll stay in the hall and wait for you to go up and fix the room and then I'll come in for the finishing touches. I don't believe you know how to do the thing up in the latest and most approved manner."

The boys were now in front of Mrs. Perrins' house, and glancing quickly up and down the street to make sure that they were not observed, they quickly crossed over the street and approached the door.

Having found this unlocked, they entered and stood for a moment in the hallway. One of the servants was in the dining room and glanced up at them as they came in, but at once recognizing Jack, she paid no further attention to them and went on with her duties.

"It's all right," whispered Jack. "Go right up to Tim's room, it's the one right over the dining room, you know. I'll be up too in a few minutes and help you to put the finishing touches on."

Ward turned and started at once up the stairway. A heavy carpet was on the floor and deadened the sound of his footsteps. The lad was excited and his heart was beating rapidly, but his presence was not discovered and he soon made his way swiftly and silently to the door of Tim's room.

Suppose the door should be locked! Ward had not thought of that, nor had Jack mentioned it. He almost wished that it was; but as he turned the knob, the door opened and he at once entered, gently closing the door behind him.

And now he was in Tim Pickard's room. The lamp upon the table was burning, and the room seemed to be flooded with a soft and mellow light which served to increase the luxurious appearance of all about him.

What an elegantly furnished room it was! In spite of his excitement, Ward could not fail to notice that. Pictures were hanging on the walls, the floor had a rich, soft carpet upon it, a little fire was burning in the open grate, just sufficient to take away the chill of the early autumn air. The study table was covered with books and papers, the chairs were beautifully upholstered, and the bed, which stood in one corner of the room, was not much like the rude little affair in his own room, Ward thought.

Indeed, for a moment Ward stopped and looked about him, deeply impressed by the contrast to his room in West Hall. And why should Tim Pickard, with all his money and comforts, wish to torment him by a series of petty and constant annoyances?

The thought made Ward's heart bitter and hard. It was unjust, mean, contemptible. Jack was right. The only way in which he could defend himself was to let Tim understand just what it meant for a fellow to have his room all upset.

Hark! What was that? Ward stopped and listened intently as he heard some one moving in the hall. Suppose he should be discovered in the room! He felt like a thief. What could he say or do to explain his presence if he should be discovered?

The sound of the footsteps passed and Ward breathed more freely. What he was to do, he must do quickly. Where should he begin? He started toward the bed to tear that in pieces, but quickly changing his purpose, he turned again to the study table. That was the proper spot at which to begin.

As he approached, the light of the lamp fell full upon the photograph of a woman's face looking up at him from a beautiful frame on the table. It almost seemed to him as if the eyes could see him and were looking at him with a reproving, reproachful glance. That must be Tim's mother, he thought. He knew that she was dead, for Tim had told him many a time of the fact that his father--"the governor," as Tim called him--was the only one he had to look after him or to whom he had to report.

Perhaps if his mother were alive, Tim would be a different fellow. It seemed to Ward, as he stood gazing at the picture, as if the woman were pleading with him. For a moment he thought of another woman in the far-away village of Rockford. His mother was living, and he had no such excuse as Tim had for failing to do what he knew was right. And how grieved she would be if she knew he had been stealing like a thief into another fellow's room. Ward almost started, for it seemed as if he could hear the sound of her voice. And there was the face of Tim's dead mother still looking up at him.