They slowly and sullenly handed over the contents of their pockets.

BOBBY BLAKE ON

THE SCHOOL NINE

OR

THE CHAMPIONS OF THE MONATOOK

LAKE LEAGUE

BY

FRANK A. WARNER

Author of “Bobby Blake at Rockledge School,”

“Bobby Blake on a Cruise,” “Bobby

Blake and His School Chums,” Etc.

ILLUSTRATED BY

R. EMMETT OWEN

PUBLISHERS

BARSE & CO.

NEW YORK, N. Y. NEWARK, N. J.

Copyright 1917

by

Barse & Co.

Bobby Blake on the School Nine

Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

BOBBY BLAKE ON THE SCHOOL NINE

CHAPTER I
FLYING SNOWBALLS

“Ouch!”

“That was a dandy!”

“How’s that for a straight shot?”

“Thought you could dodge it, did you?”

“Have a heart, fellows! I’ve got a ton of snow down my back already.”

A tumult of shouts and laughter rose into the frosty air from a group of boys, ranging in age from ten to twelve years, who were throwing and dodging snowballs near the railroad station in the little town of Clinton.

Even the fact that four of the group were on their way back to school after the Christmas holidays was not sufficient to dampen their youthful spirits, and the piles of snow heaped up back of the platform had been too tempting to resist.

As though moved by a single spring they had dropped the bags they were carrying, and the next instant the air was full of flying snowballs. Most of them found their mark, though a few in the excitement of the fray passed dangerously near the station windows.

Flushed and eager, the panting warriors advanced or retreated, until a stray missile just grazed the ear of the baggage man, who was wheeling a load of trunks along the platform. He gave a roar of protest, and the boys thought it was time to stop. But they did it reluctantly.

“Too bad to stop right in the middle of the fun,” said Bobby Blake, a bright wholesome boy of about eleven years, with a frank face and merry brown eyes.

“Bailey’s got a grouch on this morning,” remarked Fred Martin, better known among the boys as “Ginger,” because of his red hair and equally fiery temper.

“I never saw him any other way,” put in “Scat” Monroe, one of the village boys, who had come down to the station to bid his friends good-bye. “I don’t believe Bailey ever was a boy.”

“Oh, I guess he was—once,” said Bobby, with the air of one making a generous concession, “but it was so long ago that he’s forgotten all about it.”

“Perhaps you’d be grouchy too if you came near being hit,” ventured Betty Martin, Fred’s sister, “especially if you weren’t getting any fun out of it.”

Betty formed one of a party of girls who bad accompanied the boys to the station to see them off. With flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, these girls had stood huddled together like a flock of snowbirds, watching the friendly scuffle and giving a little squeal occasionally when a snowball came too close to them.

Fred looked at his sister coldly. He was very fond of Betty, but as the only boy in a large family of girls, he felt it was incumbent on him to maintain the dignity of the male sex. He had pronounced ideas on the necessity of keeping girls in their place, and Betty was something of a trial to him because she refused to be squelched.

“Of course, girls feel that way,” he said loftily. “They’re afraid of the least little thing. But men aren’t such scare-cats.”

“Men!” sniffed Betty scornfully. “You don’t call yourself a man, do you?”

“Well, I’m going to be some day,” her brother retorted, “and that’s more than you can say.”

This was undeniable, and Fred felt that he had scored a point.

Betty was reduced to the defensive.

“I wouldn’t want to be,” she rejoined rather feebly.

Fred cast a proud look around.

“Sour grapes!” he ejaculated.

Then, elated by his success, he sought rather imprudently to follow it up.

“As for me,” he declared, “I wouldn’t care how hard I was hit. I’d only laugh.”

Betty saw an opening.

“You wouldn’t dare let me throw one at you,” she challenged, her eyes dancing.

Fred went into pretended convulsions.

“You throw!” he jeered. “A girl throw! Why! you couldn’t hit the—the side of a house,” he ended lamely, his invention failing.

“I couldn’t, eh?” cried Betty, a little nettled. “Well, you just stand up against that post and see if I can’t.”

Fred was somewhat startled by her prompt answer to his taunt, but it would never do to show the white feather.

“All right,” he responded, and took up his position, while Betty stood some twenty feet away.

The laughing group of boys and girls gathered around her, and Bobby and Scat began to make snowballs for Betty.

“No, you don’t!” cried Fred. “I know you fellows. You’ll make soakers. Let Betty make her own snowballs.”

“What do you care, if you’re so sure she can’t hit you?” said Bobby slyly.

“Never you mind,” replied Fred, ignoring the thrust. “You leave all that to Betty.”

The boys desisted and Betty made her own missiles.

“How many chances do I have?” she asked. “Will you give me three shots?”

“Three hundred if you like,” replied her brother grandly. “It’s all the same to me.”

He stiffened up sternly against the post. Somewhere he had seen a picture of Ajax defying the lightning, and he hoped that he looked like that.

Betty poised herself to throw, but at the last moment her tender heart misgave her.

“I—I’m afraid I’ll hurt you,” she faltered.

“Aw, go ahead,” urged “Mouser” Pryde, one of the four lads who were leaving for school.

“Aim right at his head,” added “Pee Wee” Wise, another schoolmate who was to accompany Bobby and Fred to Rockledge.

“You can’t miss that red mop of his,” put in Scat heartlessly.

“N-no,” said Betty, dropping her hand to her side. “I guess I don’t want to.”

Fred scented an easy victory, but made a mistake by not being satisfied to let well enough alone.

“She knows she can’t hit me and she’s afraid to try,” he gibed.

The light of battle began to glow in Betty’s eyes, but still she stood irresolute.

“I’ll give you a cent if you hit me,” pursued Fred.

“My! isn’t he reckless with his money?” mocked Pee Wee.

“He talks like a millionaire,” added Mouser.

“A whole cent,” mused Bobby.

Fred flushed.

“Make it a nickel, then,” he said. “And if that isn’t enough, I’ll give you a dime,” he added, in a final burst of generosity.

“Have you got it?” Betty asked suspiciously. She knew that Fred was usually in a state of bankruptcy.

“I’ve got it all right,” retorted her brother, “and what’s more I’m going to keep it, because you couldn’t hit anything in a thousand years.”

Whether it was the taunt or the dime or both, Betty was spurred to action. She hesitated no longer, but picked up a snowball and threw it at the fair mark that Fred presented.

It went wide and Fred laughed gleefully.

“Guess that dime stays right in my pocket,” he chuckled.

“Never mind, Betty,” encouraged Bobby. “You were just getting the range then. Better luck next time.”

But the next shot also failed, and Fred’s mirth became uproarious.

“I might just as well have made it a dollar,” he mocked.

But his smile suddenly faded when Betty’s third throw caught him right on the point of the nose.

Fortunately the ball was not very hard. It spread all over his face, getting into his eyes and filling his mouth, and leaving him for the moment blinded and sputtering.

The girls gave little shrieks and the boys doubled up with laughter, which increased as the victim brushed away the snow and they caught sight of his startled and sheepish face. Betty, in swift penitence, flew to his side.

“Oh, Fred!” she wailed, “I hope I didn’t hurt you!”

To do Fred justice, he was game, and after the first moment of discomfiture he tried to smile, though the attempt was not much of a success.

“That’s all right, Betty,” he said. “You’re a better shot than I thought you were. Here’s your dime,” he added, taking the coin from his pocket.

“I don’t want it,” replied Betty. “I’m sorry I won it.”

But Fred insisted and she took it, although reluctantly.

“Too bad you didn’t make it a dollar, Fred,” joked Pee Wee.

“Couldn’t hit you in a thousand years, eh?” chuckled Scat.

“Oh, cut it out, you fellows,” protested Fred. “I didn’t dodge anyway, did I? You’ve got to give me credit for that.”

“That was pretty good work for short distance shooting,” remarked Bobby Blake, molding a snowball. “But now watch me hit that rock on the other side of the road.”

“Look out that you don’t hit that horse,” cautioned Betty.

But the snowball had already left Bobby’s hand. He had thought that it would easily clear the scraggy old horse that was jogging along drawing a sleigh. But the aim was too low, and the snowball hit the horse plump in the neck.

The startled brute reared and plunged, and the driver, a big hulky boy with pale eyes and a pasty complexion, had all he could do to quiet him.

He succeeded at last, and then, grasping his whip, jumped over the side of the sleigh and came running up to the boys, his face convulsed with rage.

CHAPTER II
A FRIEND INTERFERES

“Oh,” gasped Betty, “it’s Ap Plunkit!”

“Yes,” added Fred, “and he’s as mad as a hornet.”

Applethwaite Plunkit was the son of a farmer who lived a short distance out of town. He was older and larger than the rest of the boys gathered on the station platform, and they all disliked him thoroughly because of his mean and ugly disposition.

Bobby and Fred had had several squabbles with him when he had attempted to bully them, but their quarrels had never yet got to the point of an actual fight. But just now, as he strode up to them, it looked as though a fight were coming.

Bobby was a plucky boy, and though he never went around looking for trouble, he was always willing and able to take his own part when it became necessary. But Ap was a great deal bigger and heavier than he, and just now had the advantage of the whip. So that Bobby’s breath came a little faster as Ap came nearer. But he never thought of retreating, and faced the bully with an outward calm that he was very far from feeling.

“Which one of you fellows hit my horse?” demanded Ap, in a voice that trembled with rage.

“I did,” replied Bobby, stepping forward a little in advance of the group.

“What did you do it for?” cried Ap, at the same time raising his whip.

“I didn’t aim at the horse,” replied Bobby. “I was trying to hit a rock on the other side of the road.”

“I don’t believe it,” snarled the bully.

“I can’t help whether you believe it or not,” answered Bobby. “It’s the truth.”

“You needn’t think you’re going to crawl out of it that way,” Ap snapped back. “You hit my horse on purpose and now I’m going to hit you.”

He lifted his whip higher to make good his threat. Bobby’s fists clenched and his eyes glowed.

“Don’t you touch me with that whip, Ap Plunkit,” he warned, “or it will be the worse for you.”

“You bet it will!” cried Fred, rushing forward. “You touch Bobby and we’ll all pitch into you.”

“That’s what!” ejaculated Mouser.

“Sure thing,” added Pee Wee, who, though lazy and hard to rouse, was always loyal to his friends.

For a moment it seemed as though a general scrimmage could not be avoided, and the girls gave little frightened shrieks.

Ap hesitated.

“Four against one,” he muttered sarcastically. “You’re a plucky lot, you are.”

“Throw down that whip and any one of us will tackle you,” cried Fred hotly, his fiery temper getting the better of him.

But just then a diversion came from a new quarter.

A boy who was just about equal to Ap in age and weight, who had a lot of freckles, a snub nose, a jolly Irish face and a crop of red hair that rivaled Fred’s own, pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered.

“It’s Pat Moriarty,” cried Betty in relief.

“Hello, Bobby! Hello, Fred!” called out the newcomer cheerily. “What’s the rumpus here?”

“It’s this Ap Plunkit,” explained Bobby. “I hit his horse with a snowball by accident.”

“And the big coward’s brought his whip over to get even,” volunteered Fred.

“To git even is it,” said Pat, as his eyes fell on the bully, who was beginning to move backward. “Well, I’ll give him the chanst.”

He went over rapidly to Ap.

“Why don’t you tackle a feller of your size?” he asked scornfully. “Like me, fur instance?”

“You keep out of this,” muttered Ap uneasily.

“Keep out of it!” jeered Pat pugnaciously. “A Moriarty never keeps out of a scrap when he sees a big feller pickin’ on a little one.”

With a sudden movement he snatched Ap’s whip and threw it on the ground.

Resentment flared up in Ap’s eyes.

While the two antagonists stand glaring at each other, it may be well, for the benefit of those who have not followed the fortunes and adventures of Bobby Blake from the beginning, to give a brief outline of the preceding volumes in this series.

Bobby was the only child of his parents, who resided in the little inland town of Clinton. Although their hearts were bound up in their son, they had been sensible enough not to spoil him, and he had grown into a bright, manly boy, full of fun and frolic, and a general favorite among the boys of the town.

Fred Martin, whose family lived only a few doors away from the Blakes, was Bobby’s closest friend and companion. The boys were very different in temperament, and it was this very unlikeness, perhaps, which had made them chums. Fred had a hot temper which was constantly getting him into scrapes, and Bobby, who was much cooler and more self-controlled, was kept busy a good deal of the time in getting his friend out of trouble. They seldom had any differences between themselves and were almost constantly together.

Mr. Blake was once suddenly called to South America on business, and it was arranged that Mrs. Blake should go with him. What to do with Bobby during their absence gave them a good many anxious moments. They finally decided to send him to Rockledge School, of which they had heard excellent reports, and to Bobby’s great delight, Mr. Martin consented to let Fred go with him.

The school opened a new world for the boys. They had to study hard, but a lot of fun was mixed in with the work and they had many exciting adventures. They formed warm friendships, but there were two or three bullies in the school who tried to make their lives burdensome. How they finally defeated these petty tyrants and came out on top is told in the first volume of the series, entitled: “Bobby Blake at Rockledge School; or, Winning the Medal of Honor.”

The steamer on which Mr. Blake and his wife had sailed was lost at sea, and for a time it was feared that all on board had gone down with her. Bobby was heart-broken; so when news came later that his parents had been rescued his joy can be imagined. The end of the spring term was near, and Bobby and Fred accepted the invitation of one of their schoolmates, Perry (nicknamed “Pee Wee”) Wise, to spend part of the summer vacation on the coast, where Perry’s father had a summer home. There they had a splendid time. Their most stirring adventure involved the search for a missing boat. This is described in the second volume of the series, entitled: “Bobby Blake at Bass Cove; or, The Hunt for the Motor Boat Gem.”

They would have stayed longer at this delightful place, had it not been for a message brought to Bobby by an old sea captain who was a friend of Mr. Blake. He told Bobby that his parents were on their way home but would stop for a while at Porto Rico, where they wanted Bobby to join them. Bobby was wild to see his parents again, and his joy was increased when Mr. Martin said that he would go too and take Fred along. They expected adventure, but got more than they bargained for, and the story of how they were cast away and finally picked up by the very ship on which Bobby’s father and mother were sailing is told in the third volume of the series, entitled: “Bobby Blake on a Cruise; or, The Castaways of Volcano Island.”

Once more at home, the two boys were preparing to go back to Rockledge for the fall term, when they suddenly came into possession of a pocketbook containing a large sum of money. A strange series of happenings led them at last to the owner. In the meantime, their school life was full of action, culminating in a lively football game where Bobby and Fred helped to defeat Belden School, their chief rival. How well they played their part is shown in the fourth volume of the series, entitled: “Bobby Blake and His School Chums; or, The Rivals of Rockledge.”

The uncle of “Mouser” Pryde, one of Bobby’s particular friends at school, owned a shooting lodge up in the Big Woods, and he invited Mouser to ask some of his friends up there to spend part of the Christmas holidays. Bobby and Fred were members of the party, and they had a glorious time, skating, snowshoeing, fishing through the ice and hunting. In turn, they were themselves hunted by a big bear and had a narrow escape. Incidentally they were fortunate enough to rescue and bring back to his right mind a demented hunter who proved to be Pat Moriarty’s father. How they did this and won the everlasting gratitude of the red-headed Irish boy is described in the fifth volume of the series, entitled: “Bobby Blake at Snowtop Camp; or, Winter Holidays in the Big Woods.”

Pat and Ap seemed to be trying to outstare each other, and the rest waited in breathless silence during this silent duel of eyes.

But Ap’s eyes were the first to fall before the blaze in Pat’s.

“I’ll get even with that Bobby Blake yet,” he mumbled, stooping to pick up his whip.

“Well, the next time don’t bring along your whip to help you out,” replied Bobby.

“An’ when you feel like lookin’ for trouble, I can find it for you,” added Pat. “You’ll be rememberin’, Ap Plunkit, that I licked you once when you gave a hot penny to a monkey, an’ I can do it again.”

It was evident that Ap did remember perfectly well the fact which Pat referred to, for he did not seem to want to stay any longer in the Irish lad’s vicinity. He picked up his whip, went over to the wagon and climbed in. Then he took out his spite by giving his nag a vicious slash and drove away. But first he doubled up his fist and shook it at the boys, a gesture which they answered with a derisive shout of laughter.

“I think that Ap Plunkit is just horrid,” declared Betty, with a stamp of her little foot.

“I don’t blame him for feeling a little sore,” said Bobby, “especially before he knew I didn’t do it on purpose. But I guess he has a grudge against me anyway.”

“He was just looking for an excuse to make trouble,” put in Fred, “and it was just like him to bring his whip along. He never has played fair yet.”

“He’s got a yaller streak in him, I’m thinkin’,” chuckled Pat, a broad smile covering his jolly face. “I just couldn’t help buttin’ in when I seen him a swingin’ of that whip.”

“You always stand up for your friends, don’t you, Pat?” said Mouser admiringly.

“Sure thing,” grinned Pat. “Especially when they’re the best friends a feller ever had. I’ll never forget what Bobby and Fred have done for me an’ my folks.”

“Oh, that was nothing,” put in Bobby hastily.

“Nothin’!” exclaimed Pat. “It was just everything, an’ there isn’t a day goes by in our house but what we’re talkin’ about it.”

“How did you happen to be Johnny-on-the-spot this morning?” asked Bobby, anxious to change the conversation.

“I just was doin’ an errand at the grocery store when I heard some one say that you boys were goin’ off to school this mornin’,” answered Pat, “an’ I dropped everything an’ came down here on a dead run to say good-bye and wish you slathers of luck. I guess me mother will be after wonderin’ what’s keepin’ me, an’ she a waitin’ fur the butter an’ sugar,” he added, with a grin, “but she won’t care when I tell her what the reason was.”

“I wish you were going along with us, Pat,” said Bobby, who was genuinely fond of the good-hearted Irish boy.

“Yes,” drawled Pee Wee. “We’ve got a couple of fellows up at Rockledge that I’d like to see you handle just as you faced down Ap this morning.”

“If there’s any kind of a shindig, I’d sure like to be in the thick of it,” laughed Pat. “But I’ll trust you boys not to let them fellers do any crowin’ over you.”

“Right you are,” put in Mouser. “There aren’t any of ’em that can make Bobby and Fred lie down when they get their dander up.”

“Oh, dear,” sighed Betty, as the toot of the train’s whistle was heard up the track. “Here it comes. I just hate to have to say good-bye to you boys.”

“Never mind, Betty,” cried Bobby cheerily. “It won’t be so very long and you’ll hear from us every once in a while. And maybe we’ll be able to come home for a few days at Easter.”

There was a scurrying about as the boys got their hand-baggage together and brushed the snow from their clothes. The train had now come in sight, and a minute later with a great rattle and clamor and hissing of steam it drew up to the platform.

“All aboard!” shouted Mouser, and the four boys scrambled up the steps, Pee Wee as usual bringing up the rear.

They rushed up the aisle and were lucky enough to find two vacant seats next to each other. They turned over the back of one of them, so that two of them could sit facing the others, and tucked away their belongings in the racks and under the seats. Then they threw up the windows so as to have a last word with those they were leaving behind.

The girls had their handkerchiefs out ready to wave a good-bye, and Betty was applying hers furtively to one of her eyes.

“I hope your nose isn’t hurting you, Fred,” she questioned, the mischief glinting out in spite of the tears.

“Not a bit of it,” answered Fred hastily, as though the subject was not to his liking.

“And you’re sure you don’t need the ten cents?”

“Need nothing,” declared Fred, with the magnificent gesture of one to whom money was a trifle. “I’ve got plenty with me.”

Betty drew back a little, and Scat and Pat came along and grasped the four hands that were thrust out to meet theirs.

“Good luck, fellows,” said Scat. “I hope you’ll get on the baseball nine this spring and lay it all over the teams you play against.”

“We’re going to do our best,” Bobby replied.

“Good-bye, boys!” called out Pat. “I sure am sorry to have you goin’. It won’t seem like the same old place when you ain’t here no more.”

“Good-bye, Pat!” the four shouted in chorus.

“If you have any mix-up with Ap while we’re gone, be sure to let us know,” laughed Bobby.

“There won’t be any mix-up,” put in Fred. “Not if Ap sees Pat first, there won’t.”

“Ap will crawfish all right,” confirmed Mouser.

“He’s a wonder at backing out,” added Pee Wee.

The bell of the engine began to clang and the train started slowly out of the station. The little party left behind ran alongside until they reached the end of the platform, shouting and waving.

The travelers, with their heads far out of the windows, waved and called in return until they were out of sight and hearing.

“Betty’s a bully girl, isn’t she, Fred?” remarked Bobby, as they settled back in their seats. “You’re a lucky fellow. I wish I had a sister like her.”

“Ye-e-s,” assented Fred, rather hesitatingly. “Betty’s a brick. That is,” he added hastily, “as far as any girl can be. But don’t be wishing too hard for sisters, Bobby,” he went on darkly. “Girls aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”

“Especially when they know how to throw,” put in Bobby, with a roguish glint in his eyes.

Fred pretended to think this remark unworthy of an answer, but he rubbed his nose reflectively.

CHAPTER III
THE COMING STORM

For several minutes the boys were the least bit quiet and subdued. There is always something sobering in going away from home and leaving relatives and friends behind, especially when the parting is going to last for many months, and the warm-hearted farewells of the group at the station were still ringing in the boy’s ears.

But it is not in boy nature to remain quiet long, and their irrepressible spirits soon asserted themselves and caused the young travelers to bubble over with fun and merriment.

Besides, Pee Wee and Mouser had said good-bye to their parents the day before in their own homes, and had been stopping over night with their school chums in Clinton. Their depression was but for the moment and was over the thought of leaving behind so much fun and good will as they had found at their chums’ home town, and they helped Bobby and Fred to forget their feeling of homesickness.

There were not many other passengers on the train that morning, so that the boys had plenty of room and could give vent to their feelings without causing annoyance to others. They snatched each other’s caps and threw them in the aisles or under the seats, indulged in good-natured scuffling, sang bits of the Rockledge songs and cut up “high jinks” generally.

Fred and Mouser were seized by a longing for a drink of water at the same moment, and they had a race to see who would get to the cooler first. Fred won and got first drink while Mouser waited for his turn. But Mouser got even by knocking Fred’s elbow so that half the water was spilled over the front of his coat.

“Quit, I tell you, Mouser,” remonstrated Fred, half choking from the effort to drink and talk at the same time.

But Mouser kept on, until suddenly Fred saw a chance to get back at him.

“What does it say there?” he asked, pointing to some words engraved on the lower part of the cooler. “I can’t quite make the letters out from here.”

Mouser innocently bent over, and Fred, taking advantage of his stooping position, tipped his glass and sent a stream of water down his victim’s neck.

There was a startled howl from Mouser as the cold water trickled down his spine. He straightened up with a jerk and chased Fred down the aisle, while Bobby and Pee Wee went into whoops of laughter at his discomfiture.

“That’s no way to drink water, Mouser,” chaffed Bobby as soon as he could speak. “You want to use your mouth instead of taking in through the pores.”

“Oh, dry up,” ejaculated Mouser, making frantic efforts to stuff his handkerchief down his back.

“We’re dry enough already,” chuckled Pee Wee. “Seems to me it’s you that needs drying up.”

“You will jog my elbow, eh?” jeered Fred, who was delighted at the success of his stratagem.

“My turn will come,” grunted Mouser. “It’s a long worm that has no turning,” he added, getting mixed up in his proverbs.

Again the boys shouted and Mouser himself, although he tried to keep up his dignity, ended by joining in the merriment.

In the scramble for seats when they had first boarded the train, Bobby and Fred had had the luck to get the seat that faced forward. Mouser and Pee Wee had to ride backward and naturally after a while they objected.

“You fellows have all the best of it,” grumbled Pee Wee.

“That’s all right,” retorted Fred. “That’s as it should be. Nothing’s too good for Bobby and me. The best people ought to have the best of everything.”

“Sure thing,” Bobby backed him up. “The common people ought to be satisfied with what they can get. You fellows ought to be glad that we let you travel with us at all.”

“Those fellows just hate themselves, don’t they?” Mouser appealed to his seat mate.

“Aren’t they the modest little flowers?” agreed Pee Wee.

“What do you say to rushing them and firing them out?” suggested Mouser.

“Oh, don’t do that,” cried Fred in mock alarm. “Pee Wee might fall on one of us, and then there’d be nothing left but a grease spot.”

“Might as well have a ton of brick on top of you,” confirmed Bobby.

“I’ll tell you what,” grinned Pee Wee. “We’ll draw straws for it and the fellows that get the two longest straws get the best seats.”

“That would be all right and I’d be glad to do it,” said Fred with an air of candor. “Only there aren’t any straws handy. So we’ll have to let things stay as they are.”

“You don’t get out of it that way, you old fox,” cried Mouser. “Here’s an old letter and we’ll make strips of paper take the place of the straws.”

“All right,” agreed Fred, driven into the open. “Give me the letter and I’ll make the strips and you fellows can draw.”

“Will you play fair?” asked Mouser suspiciously.

Fred put on an air of offended virtue.

“Do you think I’m a crook?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” retorted Mouser in a most unflattering way. “A fellow that will pour water down my back when I’m trying to do him a favor will do anything.”

Fred looked at him sadly as though lamenting his lack of faith, but proceeded briskly to tear the strips. The boys drew and Bobby had the luck to retain his seat, but Fred had to exchange with Mouser.

“It’s a shame to have to sit with Pee Wee,” said Fred as he squeezed in beside the fat boy. “He takes up two-thirds of the seat.”

“The conductor ought to charge him double fare,” grinned Mouser.

Pee Wee only smiled lazily.

“Look at him,” jeered Bobby. “He looks just like the cat that’s swallowed the canary.”

“It would take more than that to make Pee Wee happy,” put in Fred. “A canary would be a mighty slim meal for him.”

“You’d think so if you’d seen how he piled into the buckwheat cakes this morning,” chuckled Bobby. “Honestly, fellows, I thought that Meena would have heart failure trying to cook them fast enough.”

“I noticed that you did your part all right,” laughed Pee Wee. “I had all I could do to get my share of the maple syrup.”

“Buckwheats and maple syrup!” groaned Mouser. “Say, fellows! stop talking about them or you’ll make me so hungry I’ll have to bite the woodwork.”

“We can do better than that,” said Fred. “Here comes the train boy. Let’s get some candy and peanuts.”

The boys bought lavishly and munched away contentedly.

“Look at the way the snow’s coming down!” exclaimed Fred, gazing out of the window.

“It is for a fact,” agreed Bobby.

“Looks as though it had settled in for a regular storm,” commented Mouser.

“Maybe it will be a blizzard,” suggested Pee Wee.

As a matter of fact, it appeared to be that already. The snow was falling heavily and shutting out the view so that the boys could scarcely see the telegraph poles at the side of the track. A fierce wind was blowing, and in many places the fence rails were almost covered where the snow had drifted.

“Hope we won’t have any trouble in getting to Rockledge,” remarked Fred rather apprehensively.

“Not so bad as that I guess,” said Bobby. “There’s one place though, a little further on, where the track runs through a gulch and that may be pretty well filled up if the storm keeps on.”

“I wonder if there’s anything to eat on the train if we should get snowbound,” ventured Pee Wee.

“Trust Pee Wee to think of his stomach the first thing,” gibed Fred.

“There isn’t any dining car on the train,” said Mouser. “And we’re still a good way from the station where it usually stops for lunch.”

“We’re all right anyway as long as the candy and peanuts hold out,” laughed Bobby.

“Yes,” mourned Pee Wee, “but there isn’t much nourishment in them when a fellow’s really hungry.”

The storm continued without abatement, and the few passengers that got on at the way stations looked like so many polar bears as they shook the clinging flakes from their clothes and shoes.

“Oh well, what do we care,” concluded Pee Wee, settling back in his seat. “There’s no use borrowing trouble. It always comes soon enough if it comes at all.”

“We ought to be used to snow by this time,” remarked Mouser. “After what we went through up in the Big Woods this doesn’t seem anything at all.”

“Listen to the north pole explorer,” mocked Fred. “You’d think, to hear him talk, that he’d been up with Cook or Peary.”

“Well, I’ve got it all over those fellows in one way,” maintained Mouser. “I’ll bet they never had a snowslide come down and cover the shack they were living in.”

“That was a close shave all right,” said Bobby a little soberly, as he thought of what had been almost a tragedy during their recent holiday at Snowtop Camp. “I thought once we were never going to get out of that scrape alive.”

“It was almost as bad when we were chased by the bear,” put in Fred. “We did some good little running that day all right. I thought my breath would never come back.”

“And the running wouldn’t have done us any good if it hadn’t been for good old Don,” added Mouser. “How that old dog did stand up to the bear.”

“He got some fierce old digs from the bear’s claws while he was doing it,” said Bobby.

“He got over them all right,” affirmed Mouser. “I got a letter from my uncle a couple of days ago, and he says that Don is as good as he ever was.”

The train for some time past had been going more and more slowly. Suddenly it came to a halt, although there was no station in sight. It backed up for perhaps three hundred feet, put on all steam and again rushed forward only to come to an abrupt stop with a jerk that almost threw the boys out of their seats.

They looked at each other in consternation.

CHAPTER IV
HELD UP

Once more, as though unwilling to admit that it was conquered, the train backed up and then made a forward dash. But the result was the same. The snorting monster seemed to give up the struggle, and stood puffing and wheezing, with the steam hissing and great volumes of smoke rising from the stack.

“We’re blocked,” cried Bobby.

“It must be that we’ve got to the gulch,” observed Fred.

“A pretty kettle of fish,” grumbled Pee Wee.

“We’re up against it for fair, I guess,” admitted Mouser. “But let’s get out and see how bad the trouble is.”

The boys joined the procession of passengers going down the aisle and jumped off the steps of the car into a pile of snow beside the track that came up to their knees. Pee Wee, who as usual was last, lost his balance as he sprang, and went head over heels into a drift. His laughing comrades helped him to his feet.

“Wallowing like a porpoise,” grinned Fred.

“You went into that snow as if you liked it,” chuckled Bobby.

“Lots of sympathy from you boobs,” grumbled Pee Wee, as he brushed the snow from his face and hair.

“Lots of that in the dictionary,” sang out Mouser. “But come ahead, fellows, and see what’s doing.”

The others waded after Mouser until they stood abreast of the locomotive.

It was a scene of wintry desolation that lay stretched before their eyes. As far as they could see, they could make out little but the white blanket of snow, above which the trees tossed their black and leafless branches. Paths and fences were blotted out, and except for the thin column of smoke that rose from a farmhouse half a mile away, they might have been in an uninhabited world of white.

“Looks like Snowtop, sure enough,” muttered Mouser, as he looked around.

The conductor and the engineer, together with the trainmen, had gathered in a little group near the engine, and the boys edged closer in order to hear what they were saying.

“It’s no use,” the grizzled old engineer was remarking. “The jig’s up as far as Seventy-three is concerned. I tried to get the old girl to buck the drifts, but she couldn’t do it.”

The boys thought it was no wonder that Seventy-three had gone on strike, as they noted that her cowcatcher was buried while the drift rose higher than her stack.

“It’s too bad,” rejoined the conductor, shaking his head in a perplexed fashion. “I’ve been worrying about the gulch ever since it came on to snow so hard. It wouldn’t have mattered so much if it hadn’t been for the wind. That’s slacked up some now, but the damage is done already.”

“What are you going to do, boss?” asked one of the trainmen.

“You’ll have to go back to the last station and wire up to the Junction for them to send the snow-plough down and clear the track,” responded the conductor. “Get a hustle on now and ask them to send it along in a hurry.”

The trainman started back at as fast a pace as the snow permitted, and the engineer climbed back into his cab to get out of the wind while waiting for help. The conductor started back for the smoking car, and as he went past, Bobby ventured to speak to him.

“How long do you think we’ll have to wait here?” he inquired.

“No telling, sonny,” the conductor answered. “Perhaps a couple of hours, maybe longer. It all depends on how soon they can get that snow-plough down to us.”

He passed on and Mouser gave a low whistle.

“Scubbity-yow!” cried Fred, giving vent to his favorite exclamation. “Two long hours in this neck of the woods!”

“And nothing to eat in sight,” groaned Pee Wee.

“I wish I’d let Meena put up that lunch for us this morning,” said Bobby regretfully. “My mother wanted me to bring one along, but I was in a hurry and counted on getting something to eat at the railroad lunch station.”

“What are we going to do?” moaned Pee Wee.

“Fill up on snowballs,” suggested Mouser heartlessly.

Pee Wee glared at him.

“I’m almost as bad as Pee Wee,” said Fred. “I feel as empty as though I hadn’t had anything to eat for a week. I could eat the bark off a tree.”