The High School Rivals

Or

Fred Markham's Struggles

BY FRANK V. WEBSTER

AUTHOR OF "THE BOYS OF BELLWOOD SCHOOL," "THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS," "THE YOUNG TREASURE HUNTER," ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1911, by
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

Printed in U. S. A.

BOOKS FOR BOYS

By FRANK V. WEBSTER

ONLY A FARM BOY
TOM, THE TELEPHONE BOY
THE BOY FROM THE RANCH
THE YOUNG TREASURE HUNTER
BOB, THE CASTAWAY
THE YOUNG FIREMEN OF LAKEVILLE
THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS
THE BOY PILOT OF THE LAKES
TWO BOY GOLD MINERS
JACK, THE RUNAWAY
COMRADES OF THE SADDLE
THE BOYS OF BELLWOOD SCHOOL
THE HIGH SCHOOL RIVALS
AIRSHIP ANDY
BOB CHESTER'S GRIT
BEN HARDY'S FLYING MACHINE
DICK, THE BANK BOY
DARRY, THE LIFE SAVER

THE HIGH SCHOOL RIVALS

CONTENTS

The High School Rivals

CHAPTER I

THE RIVALS

"Nineteen hundred and twelve to the top steps! We're Second Form now! Top steps belong to the Second Form!" shouted four boys, redolent with health and life, as they dashed up the tree-lined walk leading to the Baxter High School, mounted the lower steps, and threw themselves into the coveted positions.

It was the opening day of school, and the spacious, shady grounds were alive with happy, wide-awake boys, and merry, laughing girls, renewing old acquaintances and closely scrutinizing all newcomers.

As the rallying cry rang out, other members of the Second Form broke away from those with whom they were talking and hastened to join the four leaders whom they hailed by the nicknames of Taffy, Soda, Lefty and Buttons, reminders of past exploits.

With envious glances at the proud Seconds, the Lower Form scholars gathered at the foot of the steps, eager to witness any fun that might transpire.

Conspicuous among them was a tall, thin boy, who carried a large bunch of books under his arm.

"Is that the meeting-place of the Second Form?" asked this lad, of the one nearest him.

"Uhuh."

"Thank you. I think I will join them."

"You'd better n——" began his informer, but before he could finish his warning, a hand was clapped over his mouth and warm lips whispered in his ears, "Let him go. He must be taught respect for the Upper Forms. Wait till Soda sees him."

Interference was now too late, had the Lower Form boy wished to finish his advice. For no sooner had the newcomer emerged from the ranks of the others standing at the foot of the steps than a girl, brunette, and very pretty, nudged her companion, who, though just as attractive, was of the blonde type, and giggled:

"Oh, Grace, look at that coming up the steps!"

This exclamation, being audible to the others, all the boys and girls turned their eyes in the direction of the new student, and watched his approach in a silence portentous in its intensity.

Even the newcomer felt its significance, and, as he reached the fourth step from the top, paused, hesitatingly.

Taking advantage of his evident embarrassment, the lad nicknamed Soda, making his voice very deep, demanded:

"What dost thou wish, Clothespin?"

The nickname was so appropriate that the boys and girls roared with laughter, adding still more to their victim's discomfiture.

Twice he cleared his throat, but the grinning faces of the boys and the mischievous eyes of the girls stifled his words and sent hot flushes to his cheeks.

"He's mine! I saw him first!" exclaimed another of the Second Formers, noting the newcomer's embarrassment. "Now, Clothespin, what is it you desire? Speak, or forever hold your tongue."

To the new student, the bantering seemed terribly real, and, after gulping several times, he stammered:

"Is this the Second Form?"

"Yea, verily, Clothespin, this is the Second Form—that is, the best part of it," returned Soda.

But if the students had been amazed by the newcomer's temerity in mounting the steps, they were dumfounded by his reply, as he bowed gravely:

"I am glad to meet you all. My name is James Appleby Bronson. I have passed my examinations to the Second Form."

An instant the students on the top step gazed from their new member to one another, then Soda arose, and, with a mocking wave of his hand, bowed low and commanded:

"Second Formers, rise and salute your fellow member, Mr. James Appleby Bronson, called Clothespin for short."

As though moved by a spring, the twenty-two members of the Second Form stood up and chorused:

"Welcome, Clothespin."

"Then I can sit with you?" asked the newcomer, looking toward Soda.

"You can sit on the top step, there by the railing," replied the leader, pointing to a place at the opposite side of the porch. "There are a few formalities to be settled before you can be really one of us."

Relieved that his torture was over for the moment, yet wondering what the "formalities" could be, Bronson started to take the seat by the rail, when the lad called Taffy exclaimed:

"Where are your credentials?"

"Credentials?" repeated the new student in surprise.

"Yes, your credentials. Didn't the Head give you a card?"

"Why, no. Mr. Vining said all I need do was to meet my instructors and enroll in the classes."

"It was very wrong in the Head to misinform you," began Taffy in mock solemnity, when he was interrupted by a voice shouting: "Here comes Bart Montgomery!"

Instantly cries of welcome greeted the announcement, and in the confusion Bronson was forgotten.

Glancing at the boy whose arrival had spared him further badgering, Bronson saw a tall, lithe fellow, with dark-hued, handsome face.

"Who is Montgomery?" he asked of the boy next him.

"What, you coming to Baxter and don't know Bart Montgomery?" returned the other. "Don't let anybody else hear you say so. He made the hit that won over Landon School last spring—the first time in four years. He's the best baseball and football player at Baxter, that's who Bart Montgomery is."

"No, he isn't, either," interposed another boy.

"Who's better?" demanded Bart's champion.

"Fred Markham."

"Don't you believe him, Clothespin!"

"Well, I don't know about his athletic standing, but I do know I don't like Mr. Montgomery's eyes," rejoined the latter; "he can't look you in the face."

This dispute had passed unnoticed in the welcoming of Bart. As he took his seat in the center of the Second Form students, Lefty exclaimed:

"Now we're all back."

"Not yet," returned Buttons.

"Who's missing?"

"Fred Markham."

"Oh, he'll not be back," sneered Bart Montgomery.

"Why?" chorused several of the boys, while all the others gathered closer.

"You know his father failed, don't you?" demanded Bart.

"Sure," said Buttons, "but how does that affect Fred?"

"He can win the Second Form Scholarship in Science—that'll give him cash enough, if he's short of money," protested another.

"Oh, it isn't lack of rocks that will keep him away," asserted Bart contemptuously.

"Then what will?" persisted Buttons.

All the former students who had returned to Baxter were aware that a rivalry had sprung up the previous year between Fred Markham and Bart Montgomery, due to the former's increasing ability, both in his studies and in athletics, which threatened to wrest the Form leadership from Bart. But they had supposed it to be an honest, schoolboy rivalry, and the tone in which Bart spoke of Fred surprised them.

As both boys were popular, they had many followers among their own and the Third Form students, and unconsciously these divided, Fred's supporters gathering about Buttons, who was championing their absent leader, the others about Bart.

Noticing that he had by far the most numerous following, Bart's pride got the better of his discretion and he retorted:

"If you want to know so much, I'll tell you. You know some men fail in order to make money."

"You mean Fred Markham's father failed dishonestly?" demanded Buttons.

So pointed was the insinuated accusation that, young people though they were, the other students realized its seriousness, and with solemn faces awaited Bart's reply.

The attention of all the scholars hanging upon the answer, none of them had noticed the approach of a well-built, manly young fellow, whose open, honest face and frank blue eyes were in striking contrast to the crafty, though handsome, features of Bart. As a result, the late-comer had reached the edge of the crowd just as Bart exclaimed:

"That's just what I mean. My father was the principal creditor. So I guess I know."

At these words there was a sharp intaking of breath by the divided groups, and Buttons retorted:

"I don't believe it. Fred Markham's father is an honest man."

"Thank you, Buttons," exclaimed a strained voice.

At the words, all eyes were turned in the direction whence they came, and as the boys recognized the speaker, shouts of "Here's Fred! Hello, Cotton-Top! Now say that to his face, you Bart!" filled the air.

"Who said my father was dishonest?" demanded Fred.

"Bart did!" chorused several.

Striding to where the calumniator stood, Fred looked straight in his face.

"Did you say my father was dishonest?"

But the accuser did not have the courage to say in the presence of the son what he had said in his absence, despite the fact that he overtopped Fred by a good two inches, and temporized:

"I said there was something queer about your father's failure. My father said so."

"You are right, Bart Montgomery. There was something 'queer' about it—but not on my father's side!"

"What do you mean?" snarled Bart.

"Anything you want to think," returned Fred.

Drawing back his right hand, Bart hissed:

"I'll teach you to say things about my father, you puppy! Even before yours failed mine could buy him and sell him."

"Because your father had more money doesn't make mine dishonest," retorted Fred, squaring himself to ward off the expected blow.

But before it could be delivered, a stern voice exclaimed:

"Boys, what does this mean?"

"The Head! The Head!" gasped several of the onlookers, and like magic the crowd of students melted away, leaving Mr. Vining, for it was the principal of the school, with Fred and Bart. A moment he gazed from one to the other of the lads.

"Second Formers should set an example of good behavior, not bad," he said. "Bart, come to my office at once. Fred, I shall expect you at the end of thirty minutes."

CHAPTER II

FACING SUSPENSION

From behind trees and other points of vantage, scores of eyes had watched the headmaster, as, silent and with the gentle dignity that endeared him to his students, he entered the school building, followed by the unwilling Bart.

The town of Baxter would never have been distinguished from countless other prosperous country villages had it not been for the High School. And Mr. Vining's personality had made that institution what it was—the best in the county.

Never for an instant did the headmaster forget that he had once been a boy himself, wherefore he had been able to look with indulgence upon the harmless pranks of the lads and girls under his charge. It had been his good fortune to attract assistants who held the same general ideas, and, as a result, the one hundred and twenty pupils in the school were more like a big, happy family than anything else.

For the most part, the students lived in Baxter, but each year saw more and more scholars come from other towns.

Due to his understanding of young people, Mr. Vining had established the policy of allowing them to settle their differences themselves, only interfering in cases of unusual seriousness.

But fighting in public was tabooed—and because they knew this, the students had fled when his unheralded arrival had put a stop to the quarrel between Fred and Bart.

No sooner had he disappeared within the building, however, than the scholars emerged from their hiding places.

Swarming about Fred, they looked at him like one about to receive condign punishment.

"You're a nice one, you are, to get Bart in trouble on the very first day of school," came from the lad called Taffy.

"Then he shouldn't have said such things about my father," retorted Fred.

"And he called you a puppy," chimed in another.

"It isn't a nice word, but it doesn't seem to me as mean as saying such things about Mr. Markham," asserted the new Second Former to his neighbor.

"It don't, eh?" ejaculated the other. "Well, it's a good deal worse. 'Puppy' is the fighting word at Baxter."

Fortunately for Bronson, his remark had not been heard by any except the boy next him, or he would have been drawn into the wrangle which was growing serious again as Taffy exclaimed:

"Fiddlesticks! I'll bet you saw the Head coming or you'd never dared to face Bart. You know he can whip——"

"You know better than that, Taffy Brown," rejoined Fred, flushing at the charge.

"Besides, Bart can't whip Fred," interposed Buttons.

"He can't, eh? Bart Montgomery can whip any boy in the Second Form, and all but Sandow Hill in the First," returned Taffy.

"Guess again," derided several of Fred's followers.

"I'll go sodas for the entire Form that Fred can lick Bart!" Soda exclaimed.

The size of the wager for a moment dampened Taffy's ardor, and he growled:

"If Fred wanted to fight Bart, why didn't he wait till after school?"

"I'll tell you why, Taffy Brown," retorted Fred hotly. "I'm not going to stand by and let any one make such a statement about my father, no matter where it is or who is 'round."

These words, backed by the defiant determination expressed by Fred's face and attitude, brought a cheer from his supporters, while Bart's howled in derision.

"If you think I am afraid of Bart, I'll fool you!" exclaimed Fred, flushing. "I'll meet him to-night at seven, at The Patch."

"And I'll wager sodas for the Second Form, girls barred, against Taffy!" cried Soda.

"I'll just go you, but it's a shame to take your money, Soda. You'd better have any one who believes in Fred chip in, so you won't have to lose so much; sodas for ten Seconds will cost one dollar."

"Which you will have to pay," rejoined Fred's champion.

"Hooray! Here's Bart now!" shouted somebody who had seen the boy emerge from the building.

Instantly all eyes were focused upon the tall form of the boy who had just left the headmaster, while many were the surmises as to what had transpired at the interview. As Bart drew near, the scholars noticed that his swarthy face was flushed.

"I'll bet the Head gave him a fierce trimming," whispered Soda. But his remark was lost in the babel of voices that demanded to know what Mr. Vining had said.

Bart, however, was in no mood to gratify their curiosity, and, with only unintelligible mumbles in response to the questions, stalked moodily away among the trees, looking neither to the right nor to the left.

"My eye! but the Head must have scorched him!" commented Buttons.

"Well, he ought to," asserted Soda.

"It was Bart's fault, anyway. He had no business to——"

The opinion was never expressed, however, for suddenly a voice called:

"Fred, why don't you come to me when I send for you?"

And turning toward the direction whence it came, the boys beheld the headmaster standing on the porch of the building.

"I didn't know you had sent for me, Mr. Vining," responded Fred, pushing aside his fellows. "I thought you did not want me for half an hour."

"I asked Bart to tell you to come right in."

"I didn't hear him, sir. I am sorry."

"That shows just how white Fred is," declared Buttons vehemently. "He wouldn't say Bart didn't tell him—just said he didn't hear him."

"And it shows how mean Bart is," added Soda.

Regardless of their support of the two leaders of the Second Form, Baxter boys and girls were noted for their love of fair play, and this exhibition of pettiness by Bart surprised them into silence, which lasted until the headmaster and Fred were lost to sight within the school building.

Mr. Vining's office was on the right of the hallway, near the entrance, and although it was tastefully furnished, so intimately associated was it with reprimands and explanations that none of the scholars ever noticed how comfortable and attractive it was.

Pointing to a bench, the headmaster indicated to Fred to be seated, and himself dropping into a Morris chair, he studied the boy's face a moment before saying:

"Did I understand you to say that Bart did not tell you to come to me?"

"I said I did not hear him, sir."

"But you would have, had he done so?"

"The boys were calling out to him, so I couldn't hear very well."

"You're the same Fred, aren't you?" smiled Mr. Vining at the boy's refusal to implicate one of his fellow students. "Now tell me how the trouble started."

"I can't, sir!"

"Why?"

"Because I was not there when it began."

But Fred did not hesitate to describe his own actions.

"I'm sorry," commented the headmaster, when the recital was finished. "I'm afraid you will be obliged to hear a good many unpleasant——"

"But my father is not dishonest," interrupted Fred.

"It is natural for you to think so," returned Mr. Vining noncommittally. "As I said when I came upon you and Bart, you Second Form boys should set an example by obeying the rules. You know fighting in front of the school is forbidden, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why were you going to?"

"Because I shall defend my father's name anywhere, Mr. Vining."

"H'm! Baxter rules are made to be obeyed, Fred. To prevent a recurrence of this morning's scene, I must ask you to give me your word not to fight with Bart."

"I can't, sir."

"Why?"

"Because when the boys said I only stood up against Bart after having seen you coming——"

"Is that true?" interrupted Mr. Vining.

"No, sir. I was too busy watching Bart to see any one else."

"H'm. Go on."

"I said I would fight him to-night at seven."

IF YOU FIGHT, FRED, I SHALL SUSPEND YOU

Several minutes the headmaster gazed at the serious, manly face of the boy before him, then said:

"If you fight, Fred, I shall suspend you. Now you may go."

CHAPTER III

FRED'S SACRIFICE

It was with lagging feet and heavy heart that Fred left the office of the headmaster.

Bart's aspersions on his father had hurt him deeply, and Mr. Vining's refusal to agree with his own opinion of his parent's honesty had surprised him. But the deepest cut of all was the threat to suspend him should he fight with Bart. If he obeyed the headmaster, he knew all too well that his fellow students—that is, all except Margie—would attribute his action to fear of Bart, and he was also familiar enough with the nature of his rival to realize he would lose no opportunity to twist events to his own advantage.

Such a combination of circumstances was enough to perplex an older head than Fred's, and as he descended the steps, he felt a keen resentment against the headmaster for placing him in such a position. It was with relief, however, that he saw Margie had drawn the other girls off to a spot where they would be out of earshot, for he dreaded their scrutiny more than the rough comments of his fellows.

"He looks as solemn as an owl," exclaimed Buttons, who with Soda and his other staunch supporters had been awaiting his coming.

"The Head must be in a fierce frame of mind to-day," commented another.

"No wonder, with Fred and Bart getting into a mix-up at the very opening of school," returned Soda.

"Well, let's show Fred we intend to stand by him," exclaimed Buttons.

This suggestion met with ready response, and, with a rush, Fred's adherents gathered about him.

"Get a trimming?" queried one of them.

"Worse than that," responded Fred soberly. "I can't defend my father and myself against Bart."

"Whe-ew! How Bart and his crowd will crow!" lamented Soda. And from the expressions on the faces of the others it was evident he had voiced their sentiments.

"But why can't you? What did the Head say?" demanded Buttons.

Eagerly the others looked toward Fred.

"I will be suspended if I fight."

"Jumping grasshoppers! but that is a bad one!"

It had been the proud boast of Baxter that never but once had a student been suspended, whereas in the rival school of Landon suspensions were of almost yearly occurrence. The boys grew silent in the contemplation of the penalty.

It was at this juncture that the First Form students, led by Sandow Hill, reached the steps. With the majority of them Fred was a favorite, and as they noticed the serious expressions on the faces of the Second Form boys, several of them asked:

"What's the trouble? Why so glum, Cotton-Top?"

"He and Bart had a row. The Head came along, and now he's threatened Fred with suspension if he fights Bart," poured forth Buttons, going into details in reply to further questioning.

"Fred ought to be thankful," exclaimed one of the girls. "That big bully would make mincemeat of him."

"You girls go along into school," snapped Sandow. Then, turning to Fred, he asked: "Was there any limit set to where you couldn't fight?"

"Why, no," returned the boy, puzzled by the question.

"Then cheer up," laughed the leader of the First Form. "So long as the Head didn't set any specific limit, you can have your go with Bart anywhere not on school grounds."

This solution of the problem elicited shouts of approval from Fred's followers, but the boy most concerned did not share in the glee.

"I don't think that would be honorable," he interposed. "Mr. Vining said he would suspend me if I mixed it up with Bart."

"But he can't control your actions off school grounds," asserted Hal Church, another First Former.

The tone in which the words were uttered, together with their implication that Fred was not any too anxious to meet his larger rival, produced just the effect Hal had intended.

"I told Mr. Vining I would defend my father's name anywhere," flashed back Fred. "And I will. What he said to Bart, I don't know. But if you can persuade Bart to be at The Patch at seven to-night, I'll show him I'm not afraid of him."

"If we can persuade him?" ejaculated Taffy, who had joined the group just in time to hear Fred's challenge. "Say, it's all Lefty and I could do to keep him from coming back to have it out with you right here now."

"Good. Then have your man ready at seven, Taffy. Buttons, you have Fred on hand. I'll referee the go. Mum's the word. I'll make life unhappy for the boy who carries word of this to the Head," declared Sandow.

"Don't worry about us," asserted Buttons, while Taffy sneered: "You'd better have a doctor handy—or an ambulance. Fred'll need 'em."

Just then the ringing of the bell, calling the scholars to the general assembly room, made the boys forget the quarrel, and, trooping into the building, they took the benches on the right side, while the girls sat on the left, all facing the platform where the Head and his three assistants were seated.

After a short prayer, Mr. Vining welcomed his former students back, and then dilated upon the ideals of Baxter, laying particular stress upon submission to rules. At this reference to obedience, the boys looked at Bart and Fred, and many a face broke into a grin.

"And now we will have the drawing of desks," announced the headmaster, concluding his words of advice, and reaching for a box, into which he dropped some square pieces of paper. "As you know, the First and Second Forms sit together in Room one, and the Third and Fourth Forms in Room two. The three back rows of desks belong to the First and Third Forms, respectively.

"First Form, come forward. The numbers on the cards indicate the desk you can call your own for this school year. Miss Ayres, you may draw first."

Quickly the girl stepped to the platform, thrust her hand into the box, drew out a piece of paper and handed it to the headmaster.

"You have drawn number three, Miss Ayres. Church, you are next."

Rapidly the First Form made their drawings, and then more slips were placed in the box for the Seconds.

"I think we might be allowed to select our own desks," grumbled Bart, and, as the possibility of the two rivals drawing adjacent desks was thus suggested, the others became all attention.

Though he gave no indication of the fact, the headmaster had overheard Bart's remark, and for that reason called Fred to make the first selection, announcing "seventeen" as he read the slip the youth handed him.

"That's the best desk in the Second Form section," whispered several of the boys, while Buttons and Soda patted their chum lovingly on the back when he returned to his seat between them.

As one name after another was called, Bart became more and more glum, his sober face evidencing that he felt slighted at being compelled to wait.

"There's Clothespin, the new boy," murmured Soda, as Bronson walked awkwardly forward. "Wouldn't it be rich if he drew a better desk than Bart?"

"Eighteen," announced Mr. Vining. And the allotment proceeded till only Bart was left.

Eagerly the students had listened as one number after another was called and such close attention did they pay that it was not necessary for them to hear the figure "thirty-three" read to know that the only desk remaining for Bart was in the front row.

"I won't sit there!" growled the rich lad, as the fateful number was announced. "If a newcomer can force me into the front row, I'll do my studying at home."

"That is not the Baxter spirit, my boy," chided the headmaster. "You had an equal chance with the rest. Furthermore, it is very impolite to Mr. Bronson."

"I don't care. I won't sit way up front," retorted Bart, his ungovernable temper making him regardless of consequences.

This challenge of authority drove the kindly expression from Mr. Vining's face, and he cleared his voice to speak when Fred stood up, exclaiming:

"Montgomery can have my desk, and I'll sit up front."

"Thank you, Fred. Bart, because of Fred's sacrifice, you can have number seventeen. Bronson, I regret you should have suffered such rudeness at the hands of any Baxter boy."

This open rebuke to the haughty Bart delighted Fred's champions, and when the desks for the two other Forms had been assigned, they gloated over it as they filed outdoors.

In passing out it so happened that Fred and Bart were brought face to face.

"Grand-stand player!" hissed the bully.

"I don't play to grand stands, and you know it, Bart Montgomery. I was only thinking of the honor of Baxter," retaliated Fred.

"A Markham talking of honor," rejoined Bart.

Unknown to the boys, Mr. Vining had come up behind them, and, as he heard the bully's unkind words, he said:

"Fred, you may forget what I told you this morning."

CHAPTER IV

BRONSON'S CREDENTIALS

To Fred the lifting of the ban against his defending his father's name seemed the solution of all his troubles. In his joy he forgot to thank Mr. Vining, and when his remissness occurred to him he saw the form of the headmaster just entering his office.

"That sure was white of him," the boy muttered to himself. "I don't believe he realized what his threat of suspension meant to me."

Several of the boys had noticed Mr. Vining speaking to Fred, and as soon as the former had passed them, turned back, eager to learn what he had said.

Fred, however, was not disposed to gratify their curiosity, and vouchsafed them only a smile, tantalizing in its mystery.

"It must be good news," asserted Buttons, when his most diplomatic attempts to obtain the desired information had failed. "A few minutes ago your face was as long as a yardstick, and now you're grinning like a cat full of chicken."

"It is good news," laughed Fred, and then the sight of the boy for whom he had sacrificed his desk suggesting an avenue of escape from his too solicitous friends, he called: "Oh, you Bronson. Come and I'll show you where you will sit. Sandow Hill had seventeen last year, so you'll probably have a lot of cleaning out to do."

"It's lucky for you, Cotton-Top, that Sandow didn't hear you say that," came from a First Former. "But I shall tell him, and he'll attend to you, never fear. I don't know what Baxter is coming to when Second Formers can criticize their betters."

The austerity of the First Form student frightened Bronson.

"Do you suppose Mr. Hill will be angry at what you said?" he asked in a whisper.

"He may pretend to be," returned Fred, "but he won't be, really. The Firsts always put on a lot of airs. If you let them, they'll make your life miserable. Just don't take what they say seriously. But there's one thing you must remember—don't talk back to them. It's one of Baxter's unwritten laws that Lower Formers must not talk back to the Firsts."

"Are there many of these unwritten laws?" asked Bronson, alarmed at this constant outcropping of Baxter traditions. He was anxious not to violate any of them, and his own reception had been such as to convince him that unless he soon learned them, he would be in constant hot water.

"No-o, not so very many."

"Are they very hard to learn?"

"Oh, you'll catch on to them soon. Just keep your eyes open and you'll learn them. There's another, though, you should know, or you'll have to stand treat to the whole First Form. When the Firsts are going to classes or coming out, you must never walk in front of them. They have the right of way, just as we Seconds do over the other forms."

"Thank you, I'll remember."

"You'd better. Being new, some candy-loving girl will try to get you in front of her."

"But how can I help it?"

"Just step to one side, and say, 'After you, my dear First Former.' It makes 'em ripping mad."

Room No. 1, being located at the rear of the school building, had a separate entrance, and in reaching it, the boys were obliged to cross one end of the campus. As Fred and Bronson made their way to it, they saw several of the students kicking footballs.

"Are you on the team?" asked the newcomer.

"No, only Firsts make the School team. But I hope to make my Form team."

"Then how is it Montgomery could make the ball team and win the Landon game?"

"Because it's different with baseball. Any one can try for that. The Head says it isn't so dangerous."

By this time the two had reached No. 1, which was already swarming with students busily moving their belongings from their old desks to the ones they had just drawn.

"This will be a good chance for you to meet the Form," said Fred. And he introduced Bronson to Margie Newcomb, Grace Darling, Taffy Brown, Soda Billings, Shorty Simms and Ned Tompkins.

"You mustn't take what we do too seriously, Mr. Bronson," said Margie, as she cordially shook the newcomer's hand. "You will soon get accustomed to us. Oh, Alice," she cried, as the girl who had first espied Bronson when he mounted the steps entered the room, "Come here a minute."

But the girl, noting the presence of the new student, turned on her heel and went out.

At this snub, Margie bit her lip.

"Alice is miffed because Fred has more manners than her brute of a brother," explained Grace. "You'd better leave her and Mary alone, Marg."

"So she's Mr. Montgomery's sister?" asked Bronson, an amused light shining in his eyes. "They do seem alike."

"Oh, don't mind her. That's just the Montgomery way," interposed Fred. "She's really a mighty nice girl—when you know her. Come on, and I'll show you through the building."

After inspecting all the recitation rooms, the laboratory, and the gymnasium in the basement, the boys returned to No. 1.

As Fred and Bronson reached a spot whence they could see the latter's desk, both were surprised to behold an envelope attached thereto by a clothespin.

"Wonder what that is?" exclaimed Fred. Seizing the envelope, he glanced at the address, then handed it to his companion.

"A letter for me?" murmured the newcomer, in surprise. "Whom do you suppose it's from?"

"Why not open it and find out?" suggested Fred, striving to restrain a smile, for he had recognized the round, flourishing writing of Soda.

Quickly Bronson did this, his face assuming a look of perplexity as he scanned the contents. Twice he read the note, then asked:

"Who are the 'Big Six,' and where is 'The Witches' Pool'?"

Recognizing a plot of his chums to have fun with the newcomer, Fred said, ignoring the questions:

"Let me see the note."

But Bronson refused to give it to him.

"How can I tell who sent it, if I can't see the handwriting?" demanded Fred, surprised at such action.

"But I can't show it to you."

"Why?"

"The note says I mustn't."

"Look here, Bronson, you mustn't take things so seriously. This note is just to scare you. It doesn't mean anything. If you don't let me see it, we can't get back at the boys who sent it."

A moment more Bronson hesitated, then reluctantly handed it to Fred. The note ran as follows:

"Clothespin, bring your credentials to the Witches' Pool by eight o'clock to-night. By order of the Big Six. Show this to Cotton-Top at your peril."

"That's some of Soda's doings," said Fred. "I'm not surprised he didn't want you to let me know about it. But I wonder what he means by your credentials?"

"Why, the papers I must get to show I am a member of the Second Form, I suppose."

"What papers? Who's been telling you such stuff?"

"Soda." And briefly Bronson related to his new friend the incidents of his reception when he introduced himself.

So absorbed had both boys been in the note that not until the creaking of a door, cautiously opened, reached his ears did Fred realize the conspirators were on the lookout to see when the note was discovered. But at the tell-tale sound, he grabbed Bronson by the arm, and with a whispered "Come with me," led him rapidly out the side door and round to the back of the building.

"Where are you going?" eagerly inquired his companion, as Fred slackened his pace.

"To get even with Soda, of course."

"But he hasn't done anything to you."