Frank Armstrong at Queens Page 6

  CHAPTER VI.

  HAZING AND THE WATER CURE.

  Frank studied his enemies from his lowly position on the floor, butcould not remember ever having seen any of them, a thing that wasnot strange, since his school life had only begun that afternoon. Henoted with satisfaction that one of his assailants was at the otherside of the room trying to stop a flow of blood from his nose, whichseemed to be copious, judging from the stains on the handkerchiefwhich had been vigorously applied.

  "Well, what are you going to do about it?" asked Frank at last, ashis captors let him get on his feet. He was savage at himself forhaving been so easily caught.

  "You'll see soon enough, Mr. Armstrong."

  "No wonder," reflected Frank, "we were unable to see the bunch ofhazers when they were snugly waiting in my own room, which theyprepared by darkening with drawn curtains and shutting off the gasin the entry outside my door. No wonder the place was like midnight.It would have been better if I had taken Jimmy's advice."

  "Come on," said the bloody-nosed one. Frank had a notion there was afamiliar ring in it. It was like Dixon's voice and it wasn't. If itwas Dixon's, he was trying hard to change the tone by talking downin his throat. "I'll watch that fellow," he thought. "If it's Dixonhe'll give himself away."

  At the word of command to move, two boys grabbed Frank, one by eacharm, and another stepped behind him.

  "Hold on," said one of them, "we've got to tie up his face or he'llbe yelling for help, and that won't do." The words were hardly outof the speaker's mouth when Frank felt a muffler flung over his headand face. It was tied securely behind, effectually shutting out hisvision and making it a difficult matter to raise an outcry. Then themarch was continued.

  "Sh-h-h--, someone's coming," said a voice just as they had reachedthe entry outside his own door, "quick, go up the stairs," and Frankfelt himself headed for the floor above the one they were on. A doorbanged below, and someone began mounting the stairs.

  "What in thunder's this light out for? Some youngster with a poorsense of humor." It was Gleason's voice, and he was scolding tohimself because of the murderous blackness. He came climbing up thestairs, stopped at his door, pushed it open and entered.

  "Quick," commanded the voice ahead of Frank. "Make a break for thebottom and see that Armstrong doesn't get a chance to speak."

  In another instant the captors and captured retraced their steps, ahand being slipped over Frank's mouth in addition to the muffler, tomake sure of his silence.

  "Bring him around back of Warren," whispered one of the leaders, andin a minute they had cut through the dark passage at the south endof Warren. Frank could not even make a guess where they were headedfor, as he was not yet well enough acquainted with the lay of thebuildings. He felt himself going down a grassy decline, then throughsome shrubbery which caught at his clothes, and then again where thegrass seemed short and the turf firm. It seemed like a lawn to him,but as he had been turned around two or three times, he had not thefaintest notion after five minutes' travelling where he was.

  "Where are you taking me?" he finally managed to mumble to the fellowwho had a grip of him by the right arm.

  "We're going to give you the stretching treatment, my son."

  Frank was not acquainted with it. The voice went on:

  "Don't you know that you committed a grievous sin, a very grievoussin, when you talked back this afternoon?" Frank said nothing. "Youdon't think you're guilty. Well, the highest court of justice in thisschool sat on your case to-night, condemned you, and turned you overto the executioners, and them's us."

  "We are now on our way to the gallows," said a voice to his left in asepulchral whisper.

  Still no reply from Frank. He had made up his mind, since he was intheir power, to take his medicine, no matter what it was.

  The group tramped on in silence for several minutes, and then stoppedabruptly.

  "Here's the spot," said one.

  "Got the rope?"

  "Yes," and there was the sound of a coil of rope falling on the softgrass.

  "Coffin ready?"

  "Yes, all ready, waiting for the fresh guy that is to occupy it."

  In spite of Frank's sturdy heart, a shiver ran down his spine. Hefelt as though he were in the grip of some horrible nightmare.Perhaps it was a dream after all. He pinched himself to see if hewere awake. But the pinch made him wince, and the two fellows hangingonto his arms, one at each side, were too real to be any part ofa dream. What could they be meaning to do to him? Of course, theywouldn't dare injure him, but----

  "All ready," said a voice. "Prisoner, have you anything to say beforeyou swing? No tongue, eh? Well, executioner, proceed."

  There was a stir in the crowd, and Frank felt himself pushed forwardinto what he supposed was a circle. They wouldn't dare do it, he wassaying to himself, but his nerve was sorely tried.

  Suddenly there came the sound of someone running across the grass. "Apardon, a pardon for Frank Armstrong," said a new voice. "Hangingsentence commuted to the water cure and imprisonment for life!"

  "Curses," growled the chief executioner. "Snatched from me grasp! Wewould have had him strung up in a minute. Why didn't you lose yourway, Paul Revere?"

  "Well, since we can't hang him, let's proceed to the water cure.Hurry it up," growled a voice, which in spite of an assumed gruffnessput him strongly in mind of Dixon's.

  Frank was seized again and they walked rapidly for several minutesin what seemed to him an opposite direction from which he had comethe first part of the journey. Soon their footsteps sounded on wood,which echoed flatly to their tread. It seemed like a platform. Andthere was the faint sound of lapping water. Could it be the river? Itwas the river, and when the bandage slipped from his face he saw thatthey were standing on the boat-house float. The river ran past, darkand silent.

  "Halt. Prisoner, attention!" commanded a voice, a new one to Frank.

  "You can swim?"

  "Yes."

  "He's the wonderful boy champion of Milton," said a sneering voice.

  "Stood the world's champion off on a ten-mile race," said one.

  "Set new records from 12 inches to a foot," said another.

  "And got the big head about it, and sassed our valiant quarterback."

  How Frank hated the reporter who had printed the story about hisswimming. He almost hated Burton for teaching and himself forlearning how to swim. It seemed to be bringing him only trouble. Hehad done nothing to deserve it.

  "We want a little exhibition, Mr. Champion Armstrong," said the voiceagain, which sounded more than ever like Chip's. "Strip."

  "The water's too cold," said Frank, startled when he found it wastheir intention to put him into the river.

  "Keep going when you are in. Who ever heard of a champion beingafraid of cold water? Off with your clothes, and be quick about it.You've got a minute to shed them or in you go with them on."

  Frank began reluctantly to undress, looking, out of the corner ofhis eye, at the dark surface of the river, silvery cold under themoon's rays. He watched for a possible avenue of escape, thinkingthat perhaps a bold dash might give him his liberty, but his captorsformed a half circle about him, and the open side of the circle laytowards the black river.

  Apparently there was nothing for it but to go in or be chucked in,and Frank chose the former. He slipped off his clothes, and put themin a pile on the float and turned toward the water.

  "You've got to go across to the other side, Armstrong. If you renigwe'll chuck your clothes in after you. And don't turn your head tillyou get there, or it will be worse for you."

  Frank waited to hear no more, but sprang boldly out into the water.How the first touch of the cold water grabbed him! It was like aknife thrust, for the night was in the middle of October, and thecoldness of the air had transferred itself to the surface. Below itwas warmer, however, and he let his body sink to get the full benefitof the warmth, and struck out for the opposite shore, which was atthis point perhaps seventy-five yards away. Soon the blood b
egan tocome back to his skin with a glow, and as he paddled away he thoughtit not so bad after all.

  About midstream he slackened up a moment and looked back to thefloat, thinking perhaps he would be permitted to come back.

  "Go on," commanded a voice, and seeing no help for it, Frank put downhis head and dug for the opposite shore as fast as he could go. Hereached the bank, which was gently shelving, in short order, pulledhimself up and looked back.

  The float was deserted, nor could a soul be seen anywhere, althoughthe moon's rays lighted up the whole place as bright as day.

  Even at that distance he could see his little pile of clothes by theside of the float. He heard the faint murmur of the river at hisfeet, and away off behind him in the marshes a big bullfrog singinghis evening song with a chorus of deep-throated croakings.

  "They've gone, unless they're planning some more trouble for me,"said Frank, bitterly, to himself. "They must have ducked behind theboat-house and are now on the way back to the school in the shadow ofthe trees."

  He pushed into the water, shivering, and set out for the float, whichseemed a long distance away. The water slipped gurgling between hisfingers as he drew his hands through on the stroke, giving him acreepy sensation. He felt that the denizens of the river were staringat him, this strange white body so queerly afloat at such a time ofnight. He shuddered and drove faster for the float, and felt a greatrelief when his hand touched the wooden edge.

  Frank pulled himself up, and looked carefully around. His tormentorshad disappeared as absolutely as if they had been swallowed up in theriver, and everything was as still as death except the frog chorus inthe marshes, and the occasional cheep of a cricket on the river bank.Lights twinkled in the windows of Warren, and as he listened, theschool bell boomed out the hour of nine thirty.

  "Gee, whiz, I'll be locked out if I don't hurry," he whispered tohimself, and he plunged into his clothes with the greatest alacrity,his teeth chattering. How the clothes stuck to him and clasped hiswet skin clammily! "Never knew till now how handy a towel is," hemuttered. But he was finally clothed, and a brisk run up through thefield put the blood in circulation.

  When Frank reached his room, Gleason was preparing for bed.

  "Well, my night owl, where have you been? Thought maybe you'd gothomesick so soon and had started for the busy city of Milton," wasGleason's greeting. Then, seeing Frank's hair wet, he added: "Beengiving the mermaids a serenade, eh?"

  "Yes, just been having a bit of a swim," said Frank. "Good thing fora fellow at night, you know, makes him sleep well."

  "Great Scott!" was all Gleason could say. "Swimming at this time ofnight in the river! Well, my eye, you are a funny one. Web-foot, youare for sure and all. Well, you can use the river, but I prefer thegood old porcelain bathtub for mine after September first."

  "Nothing like the outdoors swimming, you know," said Frank, "and atnight you don't startle the surrounding scenery. I'm off for bed.Good night."

  "Good night," called Gleason, who had also dived into hissleeping-room. "I say, what were you doing up here when I was gone? Ifound my lampshade busted when I came, chairs upset, curtains drawntight and all that. Little rough-house, eh?"

  "Yes, just a little rough-house to celebrate my arrival at Queen's."

  "Oh," said Gleason, "I found a leather wristlet over by the mantelwhen I was picking up the debris. Maybe it belongs to one of yourfriends."

  "Maybe it does; where is it?"

  "On the table there; if you dig around you will find it."

  Frank went quickly to the table where the wristlet lay in plainsight. He picked it up, examining it curiously. It was made ofleather about two inches wide, with two small brass buckles whichallowed the strap to be drawn up tightly. Such wristlets were oftenworn to strengthen and protect a weak wrist. He had noticed thatafternoon that two of the football squad wore just such wristletsas these. Could it be one of them? He turned the leather over andover, and started as his eyes fell on the initials C. D. inked on theinside of one of the straps. "Chip Dixon, by goodness! I'll keep thisfor future use. It may come in handy more ways than one, Mr. Dixon."