FALCON BOOKS

The Mercer Boys’ Mystery Case

BY CAPWELL WYCKOFF

When Cadets Don and Jim Mercer and their friend Terry Mackson were ordered by Colonel Morrell of Woodcrest Military Academy to gather together all the school trophies, they were able to find all except one—the cup awarded to the Class of 1933. What had happened to the cup was a mystery the boys were determined to solve. And little by little Don and Jim uncovered a strange story and unraveled a mystery that had puzzled school authorities for years. The Mercer boys uphold the honor of Woodcrest against a conspiracy of silence and dishonor.

Other titles in The Mercer Boys’ Series:
THE MERCER BOYS’ CRUISE IN THE LASSIE
THE MERCER BOYS AT WOODCREST
THE MERCER BOYS ON A TREASURE HUNT

The caretaker took Don to Mr. Gates.

The Mercer Boys’
MYSTERY CASE

by CAPWELL WYCKOFF

THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY
CLEVELAND AND NEW YORK

Falcon Books
are published by THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY
2231 West 110th Street · Cleveland 2 · Ohio

W 2
COPYRIGHT 1948 BY THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY
MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Contents

[1. The Glories of the Past] 9 [2. The Class of 1933 Trophy] 20 [3. A Mystery Uncovered] 28 [4. A Visit to Mr. Long] 38 [5. The Alumni Dinner] 48 [6. Added Mystery] 57 [7. The Trustees’ Meeting] 65 [8. An Old Score Settled] 73 [9. Terry Engages in an Argument] 83 [10. The Eagles Disappear] 91 [11. The Hunt in the Swamp] 101 [12. The Eagles Are Rescued] 109 [13. The Call for Help] 118 [14. Inside Gates’ House] 128 [15. Arthur Gates’ Letter] 136 [16. News from Inside] 140 [17. Mr. Proctor Gets the Bag] 146 [18. The Published List] 150 [19. A Conversation in the Dark] 158 [20. The Digger in the Garden] 170 [21. The Cup at Last] 177 [22. Direct Action] 185 [23. The Mystery Is Solved] 195 [24. The Alumni Dance] 206

THE MERCER BOYS’
MYSTERY CASE

Chapter 1
The Glories of the Past

A group of pleasant-looking young men, neatly dressed in the spruce, gray uniforms of the cadet corps of Woodcrest Military Institute, stood at ease in one of the halls downstairs in Locke Hall. They were representatives from the various classes, ranging from the senior, or first class, to the third or sophomore class. As yet the two representatives from the fourth or freshman class had not arrived, and it was for these two cadets that the others were waiting.

“A special meeting, huh?” spoke up Cadet Don Mercer, one of the representatives from the third class. “Anybody got any idea what Colonel Morell has in mind?”

“I haven’t,” replied Senior Cadet Captain Bob Hudson. “I guess none of us have. Farley and I got a notice to report to the study room here for a special meeting, and that’s all we know.”

“Here comes the rest of the party,” announced the second class representative, as the two fourth class men hurried up. “Now as soon as the colonel comes we can get down to business.”

It was a fall day at the military academy, and Colonel Morrell, the headmaster, had sent word early in the day that he wished to meet the leaders of the various classes briefly after the last lesson period. The boys were waiting now, talking light-heartedly among themselves, for they were all friends of long standing, except for the two men from the fourth class, who were newcomers.

Don Mercer, the cadet who had spoken first, was now entering his second year at Woodcrest Military Institute. With his brother Jim and his friend Terry Mackson he had entered the academy the previous year. Jim, Terry and Don were old friends, and their first real adventures had taken place two summers ago, when they had gone for a summer cruise and had captured some marine bandits, details of which were related in the first volume of this series, The Mercer Boys’ Cruise in the Lassie. In the second volume, The Mercer Boys at Woodcrest, they came to military school and helped to solve the mystery of old Clanhammer Hall and to rescue their beloved headmaster, Colonel Morrell. Then, on the previous summer the three chums had taken a trip to Lower California with a former history teacher, Professor Scott, where, after many thrilling adventures, they had uncovered the buried wreck of a Spanish treasure ship. All of this, told in The Mercer Boys on a Treasure Hunt, had contributed to make their lives adventurous and active, and they were now back in school to take up the duties and pleasures of a new fall term.

Don and Jim Mercer were both healthy-looking young boys in their late teens, curly-haired, and well-built. Their friend Terry was tall, bony and red-headed, chiefly noted for a cheerful disposition and a wide grin.

A short fat man came rapidly down the hall, a good-humored-looking man who was nearing old age but who was not allowing it to get the better of him. He was clad in the gray uniform of a cadet colonel, the sight of which brought the cadets to instant attention, although the colonel himself, and not the uniform, inspired their respect and sincerity. He was the idol of the school, for his sympathetic understanding had won all of the student body to him, and the young men of the cadet corps would have cheerfully gone to the end of the world for their headmaster. When the colonel approached the cadets, he gestured with his hand and said, “Rest.”

“Well, young men, all here I see,” remarked Colonel Morrell, as he opened the door of the study room. “Come right in and be seated. Make yourselves at home, as you generally do when you come here to study.”

The colonel chuckled at his own joke. He knew that sometimes other things than study went on in the study rooms, but he had always known how to give his lively boys enough rope with which to have a good time, and at the same time just how far to go with them on the point of study. The result had been that the cadets had their fun and still kept up a good average of scholarship. They appreciated the headmaster’s sally and entered the room. The colonel sat down in a large chair and they sat on the long window seats facing him.

“All of you are wondering what is in the wind, no doubt. I’ll get to the point at once. All of you know that I have planned for some time to turn old Clanhammer Hall into an Alumni Hall. It has outgrown its usefulness as a school building, and yet its associations are so fine that we don’t wish to tear the place down.” He smiled at Don and continued. “Inasmuch as it once served the part of a prison for Mercer and me, we feel more sentiment for it than the rest of you do! But it is really a fine old place, and it will be the most fitting place in the whole school for our Alumni Hall.

“Now, in order to make that hall live in the memory of the men who will come back here on annual visits we must find all of the trophies that teams in the past have won. What made me think of it was this: I went into an old closet on the top floor of this hall yesterday and down in a corner I found a moth-eaten blue banner which the class of 1893 won in a football championship. I don’t know if it is the right of a soldier to be sentimental, boys, but I couldn’t help feeling as I saw the faded blue color and the small white letters that some fine young fellows had fought very hard in days gone by for that particular piece of cloth and what it represented, and that the bottom of an obscure closet was not the place for it. Later on, when I thought it all over I realized that we have been mighty careless here at Woodcrest in the matter of our trophies and the glories of the past.”

“I have often wondered why we didn’t have trophies around the school,” smiled Cadet Douglas, Don’s brother representative of the class.

“The whole trouble is that we have never had a regular committee to attend to that matter,” the colonel explained. “Each class has won some kind of a trophy in years gone by and has cared for it just as they wanted to. Some few of them were hung up in the various study halls, some in the assembly room, and I’m afraid some of them have just been carelessly stowed away somewhere. I want all of you men, as representatives, to scour the halls from end to end and unearth as many of these emblems of victory as can be found. We’ll check up against a list until we have all the trophies that Woodcrest ever received.”

“Have you a list of all trophies, sir?” asked Hudson.

“No, but I know where we can get one. Ever since the founding of the school we have had our school magazine, the Woodcrest Bombardment, and surely each number will tell of the class winning any emblem and what that emblem was. Fortunately, you will find a complete set in the library, each monthly volume intact, and you will find the set of the greatest value in your quest. My suggestion is that the representative read through the school notes of each book and find out just what each class won and then make a list up, against which we will check the recovered cups, flags, banners or whatever we have.”

“When we get them all it is your plan to place them in Clanhammer Hall, isn’t it?” Don asked.

“Yes, that is my thought. Early this winter I want to open the old historic hall as the Alumni Hall. At that time I want to have the old graduates come back and see the banners and cups hanging on the walls, showing them that we of today appreciate their struggles, their spirit and their loyalty. Nothing keeps a school up like the spirit of loyalty and the remembrance of past deeds of courage and self-sacrifice. You boys can see how it is. If you won a silver cup for Woodcrest this year by hard, determined struggle you wouldn’t want to come here to school ten years from now and find out that no one remembered the first thing about it or even so much as knew where the trophy was. I want all of those old students to come back here and see that the school remembers them and appreciates what they have done in the past to make the institution a place to be proud of.”

“That’s what I’d like to see,” murmured Farley.

“Of course you would, we all would. Well, suppose we meet again on Friday afternoon at the same time and see what we have discovered? If you want to get into any closet or room that is locked up just let me know and I’ll gladly give you the key. That will be all, boys.”

After the colonel had left the room the cadets gathered to talk the situation over. They were all in favor of his plan and they felt confident that they would succeed in bringing to light all of the trophies of the past. Hudson suggested that they go directly to the assembly hall and make out a list of the things to be found in there. As there was still some time before drill they went in a body to the assembly room.

Douglas had a pad and pencil and noted down the trophies as they were called. In the general assembly room they found four banners, two silver cups, one silver football with a figure of a man running the ball mounted on it, and a wooden shield with two small cups on it, the result of a debating team victory. When these items had been written down they all bent over the pad in Douglas’ hand.

“The red banner, the baseball trophy, is dated 1901,” remarked Hendon, of the second class. “How far back do we have to go in the search?”

“How old is the school?” asked a fourth class man.

“The date on Clanhammer Hall is 1885,” supplied Don.

“Then that is the date of the school,” replied Hudson. “Clanhammer Hall is the original building, you know. I guess we’ll find the initial number of the Bombardment is dated that year, too. So it looks as though we’d have to dig back a number of years.”

“Yes, but the school didn’t win a trophy every year,” grinned Farley. “A good old school and all that, but it didn’t win something every year.”

“Perhaps not, but pretty nearly,” came back Don. “Don’t forget, there were baseball, football, basketball, track, debating and tennis teams, to say nothing of swimming teams. I guess we’ll find there are quite a few trophies when we come to look for them.”

The call for drill sounded and the cadets quickly separated to assemble with their several units. Don was now a lieutenant in the infantry, but Jim was far ahead of him in his particular section, the cavalry unit, the first man in the history of the school to attain that honor who was not in the second or first class. His steady attention to drill and his heroism in saving Cadet Vench on Hill 31 had placed him in that responsible position. Terry was, to use his own expression, “still coaxing the big ladies to speak out in meeting,” by which he meant he was still serving in the artillery, around his beloved guns, whose workings fascinated him.

That evening in their room Don told Jim and Terry about the hunt for trophies. He had obtained some copies of the school magazine and together they pored over the early school notes. They found that there had been many trophies in days gone past.

“There must be some up in the storage room in the attic,” Jim said.

“Yes, and I saw a battered cup in the locker of the senior study room,” Terry said. “Looked like somebody heaved it at somebody else. After it has been repaired it will do very nicely to put on a shelf.”

“I’m glad the colonel is going to fix up the old hall and set up the prizes,” Don said. “I think every school should take pride in its past history.”

In the days that followed the committee of young soldiers were very busy. During their spare hours between study, drill and classes, they scoured the school for trophies. The results were astonishing. From old closets, from lockers, from under window seats and from the storage room they brought cups, flags and banners. For some time they were baffled in their search for a big silver cup, but at last found it in the workshop of a former janitor, down in the cellar of the old school. Some of the flags came from the walls of dormitories, though most of them were in Locke Hall, the main hall of the school.

A careful list had been made from the back numbers of the school paper and at last all trophies but one had been found. By checking up they found that a silver cup, given to the class of 1933, was nowhere to be found. Had they gone to the colonel at once they would have saved themselves a lot of fruitless searching, but they did not and so after fairly turning the school upside down they had to admit failure.

“We’ll have to admit we’re licked on that cup,” Hudson decided. “The meeting is to be this afternoon and if there is a corner in this school that we haven’t peeked into I don’t know where it is!”

The colonel met them that afternoon and was pleased with their good work. Hudson explained that fifteen flags and banners, three silver footballs, a number of trophy shields and ten cups had been found.

“These represent victories in every department of work, both athletic and scholastic,” the cadet captain said. “The oldest banner is dated 1887 and is for a football championship. The last trophy is a silver cup dated 1947 and brings our list up to date. From now on we can keep a better record of our trophies and set them up in Clanhammer Hall as we get them.”

“A total of fifty-five trophies,” put in Douglas. “There are quite a number of shields with descriptive plates and small silver cups on them, the prizes of debating teams.”

“Are they all in good order?” asked the colonel.

“Most of them are,” replied Hudson. “Suppose we take a look at them soon and you may see for yourself. One or two of the cups have been bent and the banners are somewhat dirty and in some cases decidedly moth-eaten. But the lettering is all intact, even on the 1887 banner, and I’m sure we can exhibit them without fear of their falling apart.”

“Then you have made a success of the job,” began the colonel, but Hudson stopped him.

“I’m afraid we haven’t quite done that, sir,” he said. “We cannot find the silver cup donated to the class of 1933 anywhere.”

The colonel looked puzzled. “I don’t remember that cup. What are the details?”

“According to the issue of the Bombardment of that time the cup was awarded by Melvin Gates to the school with the highest rate of individual scholarship, and Woodcrest won it, in fact, the son of the donor won the cup. Well, we cannot find that particular cup anywhere in the school.” He paused as a look of recognition came over the colonel’s face. “Do you remember it, sir?”

The colonel spoke slowly. “Yes, boys, from the details you have given, I do remember that cup. There is a story connected with it, a story that is by no means pleasant. I do not know where the cup is, but I’ll tell you the story of its strange disappearance.”

Chapter 2
The Class of 1933 Trophy

The cadets looked astonished and interested and waited in respectful silence as the headmaster thought for a moment to refresh his memory. Then, with the facts in his mind, he related the story.

“In 1933 there was some talk in the local newspapers about high scholarship among the preparatory and military schools and the idea was expressed that military schools gave so much thought and time to drill and military duties that it was impossible for them to produce a high rate of scholarship,” the colonel began. “In the years which have passed since then we have shown here at Woodcrest that such was not the case, that we have turned out scholars as well as gentlemen and soldiers. I ignored it at the time, but one of the trustees, a man who is still trustee, Melvin Gates, became very much incensed over the article in the papers and took steps to challenge it. He conferred with me and I finally agreed to put up at least three cadets whom I thought to be the smartest in their classes, against any three from a preparatory school, and, after an elimination, to allow my brightest scholar to compete against another student from a preparatory school. This was done, and the boy who took the honors in this school was the Arthur Gates you mention, the son of the man who was to donate the cup. He beat the other two boys and won first place.

“A nearby preparatory school, Roxberry, then put forward its best scholar and the examination was held. It embraced every branch of the studies which every scholar is supposed to have had at this stage of preparatory school life, and to the joy of all Woodcrest students, Arthur Gates won it. The questions had been prepared by professors from Roxberry and instructors from this school and the two young men took the examination in a room entirely by themselves. The other student received a marking of ninety-five but Arthur Gates answered every question one hundred per cent. A truly remarkable thing when you think of it, and Woodcrest was mighty proud of him for it.”

“Should think it would be!” murmured Douglas.

“The editor of the paper publicly agreed that he had been wrong in his estimation of military institutions and apologized. Roxberry graciously accepted defeat and we were just ready to award the cup to Arthur Gates when a very unfortunate thing happened. The cup disappeared!

“Just at this point I’ll have to go back a little bit and tell you this fact: One of the cadets who was runner-up with Gates was a class captain named George Long. Long was a fine young man, with a splendid career before him, and he tried hard but was defeated by Gates. After his defeat he became entirely different from his usual self, turned quiet and moody and was seen to talk to Gates privately many times, at which times Gates seemed to say no, as though Long was making him some dishonorable proposition. Even when Gates won the scholarship for the school he was not happy and refused to congratulate him at all. We all put it down to jealousy and a bad school spirit, a thing which was hard to believe, for Long was always a gentleman, but that was his attitude. I suppose that he wanted to win that scholarship himself, as it was his last year in Woodcrest, and it was certain that some college, hearing of his success, would have awarded him a scholarship, which is just what they did to Gates, eventually.

“The senior Mr. Gates had turned the cup over to me and had asked me to present it to his son, as that would look better than it would for him to give it, but I wanted one of the student body to present it, as a mark of honor from the cadet corps. But if I did that Long would have to be the one to present it, as he was senior class captain and also captain of the infantry, and I didn’t know how he would feel about it. So I asked him and he said that there was nothing wrong between Gates and himself and that he would gladly present the cup for the student body.

“I therefore turned the cup over to Cadet Captain Long on the night before the general assembly and he took it to his room. When the next day came all of the cadets assembled in the auditorium and there were guests of the school and representatives of the press in the room. But Captain Long was missing and I could not understand the circumstances. I began the exercises, hoping that he would come, but he did not and before long I was at the point where Arthur Gates was to have been presented with the cup.

“I immediately sent a cadet in search of Long, and the messenger found him in his room, frantically going through every drawer and corner of the room. The cup had been stolen, he declared, sometime in the morning. I had to go up there myself, to find him half-distracted, turning everything inside out in his quest for the cup. It was not found, and I was forced to go back to the auditorium and explain the theft of the cup. The place was in an uproar and Melvin Gates was furious, but all we could do was to make young Gates stand up and honor him that way. There was simply no cup to be found and that was all there was to it.

“Afterward I had my hands full. The senior Gates wanted to arrest Long, believing him a thief, but although I didn’t believe he was I couldn’t understand what had happened to that cup. Gates himself, that is, Arthur Gates, had been in Long’s room on the night before and had seen the cup on Long’s dresser, and it had been there when Long went to bed and when he got up in the morning. It was after chapel that he had first noticed that it was gone, and he had hunted around for it without saying anything to anyone about it. Long had no roommate, so there was no suspicion there. I thought myself that he might have hidden the cup for a joke or even in a mean spirit, but he insisted that he had not done so.

“The newspapers rapped the cadet ‘honor’ severely and it was no easy task to remain patient under it all. Long did not resign or do anything foolish, he finished out the year, but under a distinct cloud. Arthur Gates took the loss of his cup calmly, continued to be Long’s friend, and even made a fine speech about it all in assembly. The elder Gates was finally pacified and things died down, but search as we might, we never did find that cup.

“As I have said, Long finished out the year and graduated, but it was a hard job. You know it is the custom to clap when a senior goes up and receives his diploma, but when the cadet captain of the entire school went up there was only a silence, a brutal, condemning silence. I saw his face redden and harden as I gave him his diploma, and I pressed his hand hard, but he simply dropped mine and went back to his seat with his head held high. That looks as though he was not guilty and I’d like to think so, but the fact remains that everything is dead against Mr. Long. He had never been gracious about Gates’ victory over him and never in the least bit generous in any way about it all, and no one could blame the cadets for feeling the way they did. I was severely scored by the papers for not dismissing him from school for neglect of duty if for no other cause, but I felt that would do no good and so I never went to such a limit. I will confess that I hoped and hoped that the cup would turn up some day and we’d find out it was just some prank or mistake, but it never did.

“We have had alumni meetings each year and Long never comes to any of them. I have purposely written to him more than once, although I don’t know if that is quite wise, for the old graduates might turn the cold shoulder to him when they met him. But I wanted to see if he would come and face them in spite of it all, but he evidently does not want to do so. Gates doesn’t come very often, in fact there are some fellows who have never returned to visit the old school once they left it, but that much is to be expected.

“Well, that’s the story of the 1933 class trophy, boys. We have always called it that because both Gates and Long belonged to the senior class of 1933 and that class represented the whole school. It isn’t a pretty story and I’m sorry that it ever happened. I guess we can count that trophy out and you may cross it off your list.”

The colonel sighed as he concluded and the boys sat for a moment in silence. The honor and courage of his boys was a live issue with the colonel and it hurt him to think that any of them should not be worthy. Even though it had happened a number of years ago it was always a fresh hurt to him, and they suspected that he had always had an affection for Long.

“We’re very sorry to hear that, Colonel Morrell,” said Hudson, at last. “It certainly is mysterious, but all signals point to this Long. Very well, we’ll cross that particular item off our list.”

“Yes, the sooner we forget all that, the better,” the colonel nodded. He got up briskly. “Suppose we go and take a look at the cups and banners now.”

They filed out of the room and went down the hall to a smaller study room, where the school trophies had been placed. The colonel looked them all over with evident enjoyment, recalling incidents and stories about almost every one. He was well pleased with their work and expressed it.

“Now, the next step will be mine,” he announced. “I’m going to have the old hall thoroughly cleaned and then some needed work done in it. After that we’ll have our first big alumni meeting and you boys will be on duty that night, to share in the fun and listen to the talks. I thank you kindly, boys, for your good work. In the future we’ll see to it that the school trophies are properly taken care of and that it will never be necessary for another committee to go around and pick up flags and cups.”

“Well, that ends that,” remarked Farley, as the cadets prepared to separate. “We’ll have to add a few more to the collection this fall and winter.”

“Yes,” agreed Hudson. “Too bad about that 1933 cup.”

“It certainly is,” agreed Don, as the others nodded silently. “I’d like to get ahold of that cup and make it talk! No telling what it would say!”

“You are right there,” laughed a third class man. “They say that dead men tell no tales, and I guess lost cups don’t either!”

Chapter 3
A Mystery Uncovered

That night Don settled himself in his chair to study. Jim was across the room intent on history and Terry was visiting down the hall. The redheaded boy was unusually bright in his studies; he was going through Woodcrest on a scholarship which he had won, and he seemed to get along with very little study. So he was able to do a little visiting, while the others found that they must bury themselves in their books.

Don and Jim studied for some time and then Don felt that he had his lesson clearly in his mind. He glanced around the room and his eyes fell on some back numbers of the Bombardment, copies of which had helped in the search for the trophies. This copy at which he was looking was dated 1933, and Don idly looked through it, scanning the school and athletic notes of the period.

Presently a particular notice attracted his attention. It was an item in the school notes department, and read as follows: “John Mulford, our efficient and pleasant janitor for the past six years, left us quite unexpectedly this past week. We were unable to learn just why he left us. For the next few days the students will do well to thank their lucky stars that it is the spring and not the winter of the year.”

Don passed the notice off lightly, wondering what it was that interested him in it at all. His eyes swept up the column and something else drew his attention. It was also a brief paragraph, but it started an idea in his mind.

“There has been a let-down to the social activities of the senior class since the regrettable affair of the Gates Scholarship Cup, but we hope that such a condition of affairs will soon mend.”

His eyes narrowed slowly. Carefully he read the first note and then the second and tried to construct a picture in his mind. He placed the magazine back on the table and sat back in his chair, his eyes half closed. Jim looked up from his book.

“Better go to bed, instead of falling asleep there, kid,” he advised.

“I’m not falling asleep, Jim,” Don answered. “Listen here, I’ve got something on my mind, and I want your advice.”

For some time he talked to Jim, who forgot his lessons in his interest. At last Jim slowly nodded his head.

“It sounds good to me. Are you going to tell the colonel in the morning?”

“Yes, the first chance that I get.”

Just before his first class the next morning Don found Colonel Morrell in his study. The colonel motioned him to a seat.

“What is on your mind this morning, Don?” asked the headmaster.

“I was reading one of the back numbers of the Bombardment last night,” Don replied. “And in it the distressing affair of the Gates Cup was mentioned. Right underneath it was mentioned the fact that a janitor by the name of John Mulford disappeared, or rather left the school for some unknown reason. Wasn’t he suspected?”

“Yes, he was,” returned the colonel, promptly. “In fact, I had him watched, but he didn’t take a thing out with him.”

“I see. Could it have been possible that he came back and got something later on?”

“Possible, but I don’t think so. No, I’m pretty sure that he didn’t have anything to do with it, in spite of his oddly abrupt leaving.”

“My thought is that Mr. Long was never guilty, Colonel Morrell,” Don went on. “I feel that something strange was connected with that whole case, and that your former captain suffered a grave injustice. I wonder if you’d allow me to do something?”

“What do you want to do, Mercer?”

“Do you know where this former janitor went?” Don asked.

“When he left here he went to live in Ashland, a small manufacturing town seventy miles east of here. I had to write to him once to send him some money due him, so I know that much. But whether or not he lives there now I don’t know, of course.”

“I see. Can you find that address and will you allow me to go to Ashland and talk to this man Mulford?”

For a brief instant the colonel studied Don’s earnest face and then he nodded shortly. “Yes, I can do all of that,” he said. “You will want to go on a Saturday afternoon, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir. You have faith in my idea, colonel?”

“Not as much faith in your idea as I have in you,” returned the colonel. “I know what you are capable of. I too have never believed Long guilty, and I’d like to see him cleared.”

“Thank you,” said Don, as he left the room. “I’ll go next Saturday, Colonel Morrell.”

Nothing more was said on the subject until the following Saturday morning, at which time the colonel gave Don a slip of paper with the name of a street in Ashland on it. While the other cadets were out on the field waiting for a football game to begin Don left the school and boarded a train for Ashland.

“I don’t know that this isn’t a wild goose chase for fair,” he reflected, as the swift train bore him across the country. “But I’m willing to make an attempt to find out what happened to that cup.”

It was late in the afternoon when he reached the manufacturing city, and after some inquiries he located the street on which the former janitor had lived. Don finally found the house, a narrow affair of red brick, sandwiched in between high rows on either side. He rang the bell and at last it was answered by a tall, thin girl.

“Does Mr. Mulford live here?” Don asked, raising his hat. He was not dressed in his uniform, as that would have attracted too much attention, but was clad in a plain everyday dress suit.

“Yes, he does,” was the gratifying answer. That was all the girl said, and she seemed to be waiting for something else.

“Can he come to the door?” Don went on, seeing that she did not intend to say anything more.

“No, he can’t. He ain’t walked for seven years,” was the startling answer. “He’s crippled!”

“Oh,” exclaimed Don. “I’m very sorry to hear that. Then I suppose I can’t see him?”

“Sure you can, if you’ll come upstairs,” the girl said. “On business, is it?”

“Yes,” answered Don.

The girl led the way up a flight of dark stairs into a small room which was hot and in which a variety of cooking odors hung in the air. An old man was sitting in a wheel chair near a window, looking out into the gathering darkness of the street below. He had a pale face and white hair, and Don could see that his lower limbs were thin and gathered up.

“Somebody here to see you on business, pa,” said the girl, and to Don’s relief she quit the room at once.

Mulford looked curiously at Don, who was not certain what to do. He had not expected to find the former janitor a cripple and he wondered if he should question a man in this condition. Mulford spoke up in a voice that was full and strong.

“What did you wish to see me about, young man?” he asked. “Sit down, won’t you?”

Don sat down facing the man. “I am from Woodcrest School, Mr. Mulford,” he began. “I understand that you were once janitor there, and I came to see you about something that happened years ago. But perhaps I had better not say anything about it. I didn’t expect—didn’t——”

“You didn’t expect to find me a cripple, eh?” finished Mulford, quietly. “I wasn’t one when I left the school. So you are one of the cadets there? I’m glad to know you. I liked all of those boys when I was there. What can I do for you?”

“Well, it’s rather a delicate subject,” began Don. “Mr. Mulford, if you feel that I’m prying into any of your private affairs you just tell me to get out of here and I’ll go. But first let me tell you a story. You remember George Long and Arthur Gates, don’t you? They were students there when you left so unexpectedly.”

Mulford’s face was a study. He looked fixedly at Don and was silent for a moment. Then he said something that astonished the cadet.

“Yes, I knew them. I’m glad you came here, young man. I’ve had something on my mind for a number of years and I want to get it off. I haven’t had the nerve to write to Colonel Morrell about it myself, but I have wanted to. You want to know about that silver cup, don’t you?”

Don was staggered. He nodded.

“As soon as you mentioned the name of Gates and George Long I knew what you had in mind,” the man said. “You want to know what I know about that cup. I’ll tell you right now that I didn’t take it myself, and if you had come to me some years ago I would have driven you out of the door. But this ailment of mine has tamed me down a whole lot and I’ve had nothing to do but think for several years. Do you people at the school think I took it?”

“Colonel Morrell doesn’t,” Don answered. He went on to tell of the search for the trophies of the past and the story of the missing cup. “For years George Long has been suspected of having taken that cup,” he went on. “He graduated under a cloud and has never come near the school since. What we are trying to find out, even at this late date, is whether he did take it or not.”

“I thought something like that would happen,” the former janitor said, closing his eyes. “I’m responsible for it, too. No, young man, George Long didn’t take that cup. Arthur Gates stole that cup himself, on the morning it was to have been presented to him!”

“What! He stole his own cup!” cried Don, open-mouthed.

“Yes, and I saw him do it. He came out of Long’s room with it in his hands, trying to get it under his coat, and I saw what was going on. There was only one thing to do, and Gates did it. He paid me a handsome sum to keep quiet and leave the school, and I did it. At that time I was very poor, and the money which I earned in such an easy manner came in mighty handy. But as years went on I found it wasn’t easy. The thing weighed me down, and today I’m glad to get it off my chest.”

“But why in the world should Gates have stolen his own cup?” asked Don.

“That I don’t know; I can’t help you there, Mr.——”

“Mercer,” supplied Don.

“Mr. Mercer, that you must learn from someone besides me. I don’t know. I only know that he paid me to keep quiet and to leave. He even got me a good job here in Ashland. But after a while I bitterly regretted the fact that I had ever seen him come out of the room, and I hated myself for taking the money. Dishonesty is a heavy, dragging burden, Mr. Mercer.”

“It must be,” Don admitted, dazed at his success. “But you needn’t regret the fact that you saw Gates come out of that room. If you hadn’t, we would never have found out that Arthur Gates took the cup, and Long would never have been cleared. As it is now we can clear him.”

“How about me?” demanded the man. “Am I to be dragged into the light at this late day? Can’t you cover me up some way?”

“I don’t know,” said Don, frankly. “I think that before we ever clear Long we’ll make a great effort to find out why Gates took his own cup. If we don’t things will be pretty cloudy. Tell me this, have you ever heard of or from Gates since?”

“No, and I never made any effort to. When he paid me my money and got me the job I had nothing further to do with him. As I told you before, I was in pressing need of both the money and the job, but now, as I look back, I’d sooner have been poor and at the same time honest. That is all I can tell you about it, Mr. Mercer, but I’m glad to get that off of my chest.”

Don rose to go. “I sincerely thank you, Mr. Mulford. I think I can see how we can clear up everything without involving you any further. I guess if we go to Gates and tell him what we know he will be glad to confess without allowing any such disgraceful story to get into the newspapers. He is a very prosperous businessman now, and he would be willing to keep things quiet.” He extended his hand and Mulford shook it.

“Good luck to you, Mr. Mercer, and whatever you do in life, keep away from anything shady,” the former janitor said, in parting.

The daughter of the man came in at that moment and at her father’s command she showed Don to the door. He went directly to a restaurant and ate a hearty supper, turning the amazing disclosure over and over in his mind. Before very long he was again on the train.

“Well, this is turning into a royal mystery,” he reflected on the way back to school, “I certainly would like to know why Arthur Gates should have taken the trouble to steal the very cup which was to be turned over to him!”

Chapter 4
A Visit to Mr. Long

Don allowed Sunday to go by without saying anything to the colonel about the cup and the story attached to it. He had already told it all to his brother and Terry, and they spent fruitless hours trying to figure out why Gates had stolen his own cup.

“Beats me,” Jim finally confessed, giving it up in despair.

“It is something like that old story of the man who stole his own wedding present,” suggested Terry. “Only, that fellow had some plan in mind when he did it. He wanted to stop the wedding.”

“Arthur Gates had some scheme in mind, don’t doubt that,” Don said, seriously. “But what was it?”

On Monday he told his story to the colonel. The headmaster was astonished and in one sense pleased.

“Then Long is innocent!” he exclaimed. “That’s splendid! My former cadet comes out with flying colors!”

“But another one does not!” Don reminded him.

“Well, yes, that is so,” admitted the colonel. “But still I would rather see it the way it is than to have to think George Long is guilty. Not that I wish to see either or any of my boys guilty of dishonor, but what I mean is this: Long was such a fine clean fellow that it hurt to think that anything was wrong with him. Gates, on the other hand, was not so straightforward. I can’t even say that he was dishonest, but he was less frank than the cadet captain.”

“I see what you mean.” Don nodded. “But now we will have to admit that Gates was dishonest, for he allowed the blame to settle on Long and never said anything about it at all.”

“That is so,” the colonel said. “What do you propose next? Shall Long be told of the story?”

“Privately, yes,” Don replied. “But suppose we keep it rather quiet for a time? We do want to find out just why Gates took it, and a significant story may underlie his reason. My plan is to have a regular committee go and call on Mr. Long!”

“To see if he can add anything to the facts gathered?” the colonel asked.

“Yes, just that. It may be that he has since found out something that will help. It won’t do any harm to try. Do you know where he is living?”

“The last time I wrote to him he was living in White Plains. I’ll give you his address and you can write and ask for an appointment.”

“Do you think that is wise?” Don asked.

“Why not?”

“Well, he may still be hurt at the way the whole thing was received years ago and tell us very briefly but politely that he will not be at home to us. My plan is to drop in on him some evening and then he will have to receive us.”

After thinking it over the colonel agreed that Don’s plan was best and they decided on a committee. As they desired to keep the thing as quiet as possible it was finally agreed that Don, Jim and Senior Cadet Captain Hudson should do the calling on George Long. As soon as lessons were over Don hunted up the cadet captain and told him what was in the wind.

He was deeply interested and when Jim found that he was to be part of the committee his joy was great. Terry was slightly disappointed, but felt that he would eventually have some part in things. At least, he would hear how things turned out, and that in itself served to comfort him.

It was one night during the following week that the three cadets composing the committee arrived in White Plains. They started early in the afternoon and it was nearly eight o’clock when they arrived in the city. Their first step was to go into a drugstore and look up the name of George Long.

“Here it is,” the tall senior captain said, pointing the name out to his companions. “He is still living at the address that the colonel gave us. Now, if he is at home we’ll be in luck.”

After some inquiry they found the street and half way down it a neat white house. There was a light in the living room and sounds of a radio could be heard as they stood on the front porch. Hudson touched the bell and they waited.

“Here’s hoping he won’t throw us out,” whispered Jim.

“He won’t,” Don promised. “Not when I tell him what I have learned.”

A very pleasant looking man in his early thirties opened the front door and turned on the front porch light. His face was thoughtful and he carried himself with an erect carriage that revealed his military training. In unconcealed astonishment he surveyed the three trim-looking cadets in their gray uniforms and gray overcoats. Quickly his eyes flashed to the W. M. I. on their hats and he knew that they came from Woodcrest Military Institute. His face was a study.

“Are you Mr. George Long?” asked Don, whom the others had agreed would be the spokesman of the party.

“Yes, I am,” the man responded. “Won’t you step in?”

The three cadets stepped inside a comfortable hall, removing their hats and loosening their overcoats as they did so. Long continued to look fixedly at them.

“We have come to see you on some very important business, Mr. Long,” said Hudson, as there was a slight pause.

“Come in the living room,” Long invited, leading the way. It was evident that he was deeply puzzled and fighting to get a grip on himself.

As they entered the living room, a neat, vigorous lady of about the same age as Long got up quickly from an easy chair in which she had been sitting. She looked from the cadets to her husband.

“If it is on business, George, I’ll leave you to yourselves,” she began, but Don quickly interrupted her.

“Please do not go,” he said. “I am sure you will be quite anxious to hear what we have to say to Mr. Long. Before we go any further I want to introduce my companions and myself. This is Senior Cadet Captain Hudson, and this is my brother, Mr. Mercer. I am Donald Mercer, of the third class at Woodcrest.”

“I’m glad to know you,” Long said, having regained some of his composure by this time. “This is Mrs. Long. Won’t you be seated?”

He turned off the radio music and they all sat down, the Longs expectant and the cadets cool. Don spoke slowly and calmly.

“Mr. Long, we have come to ask you to tell us what you know about that unfortunate affair of the Gates trophy of 1933.”

A sudden dark look passed over the man’s face and his eyes blazed. His voice had lost its friendliness when he spoke again.

“I had hoped you weren’t here to talk about that,” he said, excitement in his tone. “I won’t answer a single question. I never was a thief!”

The three cadets sat unmoved and Don went on unevenly. “It was thought by a great many that you were, and it is still thought. There are very few persons in the world who know that you never were, but before very long everyone will know it. I think you will answer questions, Mr. Long, and willingly so, since it will help us to solve the whole mystery of that cup.”

Mrs. Long was sitting up eagerly in her chair and her husband was staring. “Do you mean to say that you have found out anything about that cup?” Long asked, eagerly.

“I found out several things,” Don answered. “But I think the wisest thing would be to hear what you have to say first. It may help us a lot, and then we’ll tell you what we know. You may save yourself most of the details, for Colonel Morrell, who has always believed in you, has told us most of them.”

“I know that the colonel has always believed in me, and I’m mighty proud of the fact,” Long said. “Well, gentlemen, I must first beg your pardon for my outburst. The subject has long been a deep hurt to me, so you can understand just how I felt.”

“Perfectly,” nodded Hudson, the others assenting.

“Well, you know that the Gates cup was turned over to me and that it disappeared on the day of the presentation. I’m afraid that is all there is to it. I was accused by the senior Gates, but generously protected by Arthur.”

A swift glance passed between the cadets, a glance which the Longs noticed and wondered at. Don again took the lead.

“Are you sure you have told us everything, Mr. Long?” he asked, looking directly into the former cadet captain’s eyes. “Can’t you tell us why you went around so glumly after Gates won the chance to compete against Roxberry, and again in the same manner after he had won against that school and had claimed the highest honors? It looked to everyone then as though you were jealous, but we have a feeling that there was something else. Suppose you tell us now.”

Long hesitated, and his wife reached over and touched his arm. “George, you must tell everything to these boys. I know that you consider it honorable to keep quiet, and that you have done so for all of these years during which you have been cruelly misjudged, but I think it is high time you made some effort to clear yourself.”

Long came to a decision. “Very well, boys. I’ll tell you everything. Perhaps I’ve been foolish to keep it all to myself in this way, but I’ve thought it the honorable thing to do. The reason I looked so glum at the time Arthur Gates won in the competition examinations and later again Roxberry, is simply because Gates won them dishonestly!”

“Both of them?” asked Jim sharply.

“Yes, both of them! Copied his answers out of textbooks for the elimination and later bribed a professor from Roxberry on the big examination! His money did it, and the professor mentioned gave him a complete list of the questions to be answered before the interscholastic contest. No wonder he won hands down!”

“How did you learn this?” Don asked.

“I knew, judging by our class records, that I should have defeated Gates in the eliminations. But I didn’t say anything until he won the big event with one hundred per cent. Then, on the night that I first placed that cup on my dresser, I pinned him down to the facts and made him confess that he had stolen the entire thing. Gates was always rather weak and he admitted it readily, even telling me the methods employed.

“As you can imagine, I was utterly appalled. We were always a school noted for our cadet spirit and our honor, and it had been literally smeared by Gates’ hideous act. The next day he was to step up on the platform and take a cup that belonged to another school, or at least one which he had not won cleanly, and he was going to do it with a smile on his face. Boys, I’m no cry-baby, but I did cry a bit then for the utter hopelessness of a man who would do that. Now I know where I was wrong. I should have dragged him to the colonel or have beaten the life out of him, but I thought I knew of a better way. I talked for two solid hours to him about honor and then left him alone in my room, after he had promised to write down a confession and stand clean. It wasn’t an easy thing to do on his part, but he agreed, and he said he’d write it where it would be eternal and there would be no mistake about it. I didn’t understand that, but I went outside for a walk, to cool off in the fresh air.

“And on the next morning the cup was there, but it later disappeared. He stepped up to the platform and took all the honors, and that knocked the theory I had held in the head. I thought that he had had the trophy stolen in order that he wouldn’t have to accept it, thinking that he’d back out altogether. But he didn’t. As I said before, he was mighty generous about it all, but of course, he had to be. He knew I was in a position to grind him to powder with a word, and he acted accordingly. I think that is the only reason his father didn’t prosecute me.”

“The story gets blacker each time we hear it,” murmured Hudson.

“That explains a whole lot,” Don said. “Now, I’ll tell you what we know.” He began at the point where he had read the notice of the resigning janitor in the issue of the Bombardment and told it to the finish. “So you can see, Mr. Long, that Gates stole his own cup. I guess he did it so as not to have to accept it.”

“Perhaps he was brazen enough to accept all of the praise, but the cup was too much for him, and he knew he could not face that,” Mrs. Long suggested.

“And yet that doesn’t make it any the less dishonorable,” Jim interposed.

“You still think there is some other reason for taking his own cup?” asked Long.

“I’m afraid so,” confessed Jim. “Simply taking the cup, and still accepting all of the honors doesn’t seem logical.”

They talked on for some time, the Longs delighted at the good fortune which had come to them. It had grown so late that the cadets knew they could not return to the school that night. They talked of going to a hotel but the Longs promptly vetoed the suggestion, declaring that they could and would put them up for the night.

The cadets gladly accepted the invitation, and knowing that they were in no hurry, spent a happy evening with the Longs. Now that some of the bitterness was lifted from his mind George Long talked freely of the days during which he had been in the school.

“For the time being nothing will be said publicly,” Don told Long, as they were leaving the next day. “We are not yet satisfied as to why Gates took the cup and we mean to make an effort to find out. In time, however, you will be completely cleared.”

“With as many of them as are still alive,” said Long quietly. “Some of them were killed in the war. I was in the war, too, and it is just by the mercy of the Almighty that I am not resting there now.”

With the thanks and good wishes of the Longs echoing in their ears, the three cadets left and were soon on the way back to Woodcrest.

Chapter 5
The Alumni Dinner

“I don’t know whether this case gets better or worse as it goes on,” remarked the colonel, after Hudson, Don and Jim had told him Long’s story.

“As far as the proposition of clearing Long is concerned, it’s turning out just right,” Hudson remarked.

“That’s right,” the colonel agreed. “But now I find that Woodcrest didn’t win the interscholastic scholarship contest at all. In time the truth will have to be made known and then we will receive an additional black eye.”

“Perhaps not, sir,” Don put in. “When the professor from Roxberry who sold the examination to Gates is known they may wish to keep it quiet. There is no way of telling just how it will all turn out.”

“Maybe so,” the colonel replied. “Now, let me tell you what I plan to do. In about three weeks I am going to have the first alumni dinner in Clanhammer Hall, when we will change the name of the place to Alumni Hall. I am going to write to Arthur Gates to attend that affair and while he is here we’ll see if there is anything to be learned about the events of the past. Gates has never attended an alumni dinner before, possibly because he has feared to meet Long at one.”

“Then how will you get him to attend this one?” Jim asked.

“I’m going to write and tell him that as this is the most important meeting that we have ever had it is absolutely necessary that we have the winner of the interscholastic contest with us.” The colonel’s face became suddenly red and his gray eyes glinted dangerously. “I’m sorry to think that I’ll have to shake hands with him and pretend that he is the same as any other man, but that is the only thing I can do under the circumstances. It is all important that George Long be cleared and that we find out why Gates took that cup. That is as much as we can do right now, and I’ll let you know when something new turns up.”

They left the colonel then and for the next week very nearly forgot the affair of the cup. They were now in the full swing of their school life, enjoying it as never before. Both Don and Jim were on the football squad, and although they were not permitted to play in every game they did get some part in most games. The red-headed boy was still with the track, rapidly making a name for himself as a fast and steady runner.

At the end of a week the colonel called Don and the senior cadet into his office. He had a letter in his hand.

“I just received a reply to my letter,” he stated. “Arthur Gates will be here on the night of our alumni dinner. He writes to say that he has never had the opportunity to come before, but that he’ll be very glad to come and help open Clanhammer as the new Alumni Hall. That’s very nice of him, I’m sure. If he knew what we know, he wouldn’t come near the school.”

“That’s true,” nodded Don. “What are your plans for the evening?”

“I haven’t decided as yet,” the headmaster admitted. “But I shall want you and Hudson and Jim to be in the room and watching Gates. I am going to ask most of the seniors to act as waiters, and I’ll see to it that you and Jim are on the table with Gates.”

On Monday of the following week a corps of carpenters and painters swooped down on old Clanhammer Hall and went to work. In between periods and after school the cadets watched them with interest. Old and rotting boards were ripped off and new ones put in their places, old paint was scraped and in a short time the old building stood out in glowing splendor. Leaves were raked up and broken windows replaced. The hall was completely transformed.

On the inside the work was even more thorough. Old benches were torn out, one or two old partitions followed, and the entire left side of the original school was turned into a huge dining hall. In the days of its infancy Clanhammer had had a small dining room, because enrollment had been small there. Now two classrooms joined with that original room made up the new and spacious alumni dining room.

Upstairs was left pretty much as it had been and then the new furniture was moved in. Long tables and plenty of chairs composed the new equipment, and in a few days the new sign, Alumni Hall, was painted over the front door.

A number of seniors had been chosen as waiters and Don and Jim had been told to join them. On the night of the dinner they assembled early in the kitchen of the hall and began preparations. The kitchen had been refitted and at present was full of steam and the odors of half a dozen foods. The cooks had their hands full watching the restless cadets, who sampled the food at every opportunity.

“I’m warning you,” shouted Pat Donohue, the chief cook, as he wiped the perspiration from his red face. “The next fellow I see dipping bread in the gravy will catch a frying pan back of his ears! Don’t you boys never get fed during meal times?”

“No, Pat,” said one of the seniors, gravely. “Your food is so good that we never get enough of it! Don’t blame us for snitching a little now and then, for it is out of this world!”

“Humph,” snorted the cook, suspiciously. “That sounds fine, but I got a sneaking suspicion you just said it to make me feel good. Get your fingers out of that salad!”

“Isn’t there anything we can have without being jumped on for it?” demanded Hudson.

There were a half dozen rolls which had fallen into some heavy grease earlier in the evening. They were now on a plate nearby and the grease did not show. Pat pointed to them.

“There’s some fine rolls that you can have,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. A dozen hands reached for the rolls and the lucky ones began to eat hastily. But in a minute there came a chorus of protesting cries.

“What in the world did you put in these rolls?” gasped a senior, as he tasted the grease.

“Who, me?” asked Pat, innocently. “I didn’t put nothing in ’em. I guess they was that way when they came. I dunno, I haven’t tasted ’em.”

After that the cadets let the food alone. By this time they could hear the old graduates coming in, and soon the old hall echoed and re-echoed to the talk and laughter of the old students. From time to time the alumni wandered within sight of the busy corps of waiters, and then the cadets got a glimpse of them.

Working busily the cadets soon had the supper on the table and then the graduates marched in, the old-timers in the lead and the others following.

Just before they sat down the colonel beckoned to Hudson and spoke to him in a low tone. “The man at my right is Arthur Gates,” he said. “Not on this table, but on the second table. Just watch him closely and see what his reaction is to any announcement about class trophies.”

Hudson nodded and carried the message to Don and Jim. The meeting opened with a word of thanks by the colonel and then with a noisy scraping of chairs the old cadets sat down. It was now a busy period for the young waiters. They walked rapidly from the kitchen to the dining room, putting on the food, replenishing the supply of rolls, and seeing to it that everyone was well served.

It was during a pause between courses that Don and Jim got their first real look at Arthur Gates. He was sitting at the end of the second table, conversing with some of his old classmates. He was stout and pale, wore glasses and had very little hair on his head. His eyes were shifty and they decided, even discounting what they knew about him, that they did not like him.

After the final coffee cups had been cleared away several speeches were made. They recalled the earlier days of the school, when the colonel was a very young man, and one of them told of mistaking him for the janitor.

Eventually Gates was called upon and the three boys listened to him in amazement. He spoke of the glorious year in which the school had won the cup and seemed not in the least abashed.

Jim whispered to Don, “I’ll be doggone glad when we can produce proof and show that fellow up. Can you imagine a guy like that taking credit while Long is in disgrace?”

“I won’t mind spiking his guns,” whispered Don indignantly, in return.

Gates concluded his speech in a burst of handclapping, in which the colonel did not take part. The headmaster rose slowly and addressed the gathering.

“I have a very pleasant surprise for you, gentlemen. During the last few months I have had a committee of my boys look through the school for the trophies of former years. They have recovered every one of them, and in a very short time I shall show them to you. Every one, gentlemen.”

The three cadets looked quickly at Gates. He was paying strict attention to Colonel Morrell and his face had become very pale. Nervously his hands crumpled the tablecloth.

“I have made over one room into a trophy room,” continued Colonel Morrell. “In that room you will find the walls lined with the emblems which speak of the glories of the past, the standards for the winning of which you gave so much courage and loyalty. Cups, flags, banners, shields—all are there and in looking at them I am sure you will find many a stirring memory. I propose that we now go directly to the trophy room and look over the collection, and I challenge any of you to show me wherein we of the present day have left a single historic trophy out.”

There was a pushing back of chairs and the graduates followed the colonel out of the dining room into a smaller room which had been beautifully decorated. The last glimpse that the three cadets had of Gates he was close on the heels of the colonel.

“I guess I see the colonel’s point,” whispered Hudson, as they prepared to clear the tables. “Wait until you hear what he has to say.”

The next two hours were busy ones, as the cadets were compelled to clear all the tables, eat, and help stack away the piles of dishes. When they returned to the empty dining room they found that most of the guests had left the hall. After a time the colonel sought them.

“Did you observe anything?” he asked guardedly.

“Mr. Gates looked ill at ease when you said you had all of the trophies,” Don answered.

The colonel nodded. “I watched him closely when we got into the Trophy Room,” he said. “His eyes eagerly swept the room, and after that he seemed ill at ease no more. He saw that the class of 1933 cup was not there. But he must have known that it was not there in the first place.”

“He must have the cup at home somewhere,” said Jim.

“I believe he has. But listen while I tell you what happened. One of the graduates said, ‘Too bad we haven’t the interscholastic cup of 1933.’ There was a dead silence and then Gates said, ‘Let’s forget that altogether, fellows.’ I guess he would like everyone to forget about that cup.”

“No doubt,” agreed Hudson. “Well, what is the next move?”

“Let’s wait awhile,” answered the colonel. “I had a talk with Gates and he told me that he and his family were about to move here to Portville to live! That may mean something definite in the future.”

Chapter 6
Added Mystery

A number of cadets, clad in the regulation football pants, and blue and white jerseys of Woodcrest football team ran swiftly around the track back of the school. It was the custom of Coach Briar to give his men a single lap around the field after a strenuous workout, and the team was winding up for the day. Don and Jim held their place well in the front with the leaders.

The lap completed they rushed down the steps that led into the basement and with a series of wild whoops piled into the locker rooms. A hissing sound announced that the showers had been turned on, and a film of steam vapor spread rapidly over the room. Jerseys came off on the double and more than one helmet rolled unheeded across the dusty floor.

Coach Brier walked in slowly and looked with approval at his charges. They were in fine condition and had won every game of the season. At no time in the year had they been in any danger of losing, and the fighting spirit was more than gratifying to the athletic coach.

The tumult in the locker room increased with each passing moment. Half a dozen young huskies had found themselves stripped at the same time and a wild rush for the showers resulted. There was pushing and shoving and shouting, which would have disturbed the nerves of someone less stout in that respect than the popular coach. But he merely smiled and looked on, wisely confining his talk to football subjects.

“Only one more team to play, coach,” shouted Quarterback Vench, of the third class. “We ought to be able to take them.”

“Don’t be too sure,” warned the coach.

“We’ll sure take one healthy crack at them,” put in Douglas, who ran in the backfield for Woodcrest.

“Is there any chance of playing Dimsdale this year, coach?” cried Hudson, from the back of the room.

A look of gravity spread over the genial face of the coach. As if by magic the uproar in the room ceased. Hudson had struck a sore point.

In the past Woodcrest had played an annual game with Dimsdale, a preparatory school close by. The contest had been the big event of the whole fall season and the rivalry had been keen. But in recent years there had been no games between the two schools, owing to an unfortunate affair that took place after one of the games on the Woodcrest home field. At that time Woodcrest had defeated Dimsdale for five years straight, and in the game that followed the preparatory school had won. The fact went to the heads of the students of the rival school, and besides painting the 12 to 0 score on the side of the school with white paint they had ruthlessly broken windows and wrecked some school furniture. The cadets’ battalion had formed and had given the rioters a severe beating, although they were supposed to merely chase them off the grounds. From that time forward there had been no games.

However, that had happened years ago and there was no thought that it would happen again. Each year the cadets clamored to play against Dimsdale and each year they were refused. As the years went on the situation became harder. Insolent Dimsdale scholars openly booed the cadets and the boast was common with Dimsdale students that the Woodcrest school was afraid to play them. In large bodies the Dimsdale rooters came to the cadet games and openly cheered for the rivals of the cadets, no matter who or what they were. It was as much as flesh and blood could stand, and to old veterans like Hudson and Barnes and Berry, the flashing backfield men, it was especially bitter to think that they must graduate without a chance to play their detested foes.

To Hudson’s question the coach looked troubled. “I don’t know, Hudson,” he said. “You know what the attitude of Melvin Gates is.”

Don stopped tying his shoe to look up. “What has Melvin Gates to do with it, coach?” he asked.

“Everything,” responded the coach, gloomily. “It so happens that he is the chief trustee and that he donates the most money to the school. Although Colonel Morrell owns the school it is really run by a board of trustees, and the head trustee is Melvin Gates. He has never gotten over the affair of the last Dimsdale game, and he positively refuses to allow the school to play the other outfit. As he holds most of the power I suppose the colonel can’t risk losing his support, so we have to go without our game each year.”

“Is he the only one against it?” Jim asked.

“Yes,” nodded the coach. “The only one.”

Vench snorted in disgust. “Can you beat that? Just because something happened long ago he has to act like a spoiled baby about it! That’s what I call fine, noble sportsmanship!”

“You don’t know much about it,” grumbled Hudson. “This is only your second year. Wait until you have had to swallow their insults for four years. Why, look at the Roxberry game, and what those guys did. Started yelling every time the signals were called, so that we couldn’t get them. If I had my way I’d turn the whole corps loose to clean ’em off the field.”

Young Major Rhodes, former cadet captain of the senior class and now chief drill instructor, drifted in just then. “I agree with Hudson,” he said, quietly. “I had to put up with it for four years and then finally graduated without getting a chance to play against them. I think we’ve been wrong about the whole thing from start to finish. Suppose a delegation of you fellows go and see the colonel and tell him that the whole school wants to play Dimsdale.”

“What good will that do?” asked Coach Brier.

“I don’t know that it will,” confessed Rhodes. “But I do know that there will be a meeting of the trustees on Friday and at that time the colonel can put it up to them again.”

“And get turned down once more,” snapped Berry, to whom Dimsdale was a nightmare.

Rhodes shrugged his broad shoulders. “I don’t know, but you can at least try. Someday the break has got to be made, and the sooner the better.”

“Do you think this year would be a good one to play Dimsdale?” inquired a substitute, timidly. “They are Class A champions, you know, and they have a powerful team.”

“I wouldn’t care how big their team is,” declared halfback Barnes. “Just put me where I can rip holes in their line, that’s all!”

The coach looked at the boys silently for a time. “All right, boys,” he said. “I guess there is no harm in trying out Rhodes’ suggestion. Suppose you three veteran backfield men consider yourselves a committee and approach the colonel on the subject. Let’s see if we can get any action this year.”

That night Don consulted earnestly with Jim and the result was a letter which he wrote to his father. After that they waited, with the rest of the school, for the decision of the trustees.

What the young substitute had said about Dimsdale was true. They were at present occupying the exalted position of champions of the Class A divisions, and they boasted a powerful, line-smashing team. In one sense it was not a wise year to start playing the old rivals again, for the Woodcrest team was small and fast, but in no way compared with the other school as far as bulk of players was concerned. But the cadets were mad clean through and did not hesitate to take on the other school, in anticipation at least.

The colonel received the committee of three and expressed with them the desire of renewing relations with the preparatory school. He promised to take the matter up with his board of trustees and see what he could do with the one obstinate member.

“It is time that Mr. Gates got over his prejudice,” he admitted. “We’ll see what we can do.”

On the day of the trustee meeting Don received a letter from home and he and Jim read it over with satisfaction. Don nodded across the table to Jim as he finished it.

“I guess it won’t make any difference which way the meeting goes now,” he stated.

On the following day when the team finished their workout, the coach was not with them. He had gone into the school building to find out the result of the trustee meeting. The players stood around with sweaters and coats as protection against the sharp November wind. Before long they saw the coach come from the main hall and walk slowly toward them.