“LANKY WALLACE LEADS!”
Boys of Columbia High in Track Athletics. Frontispiece (Page [119].)

The
Boys of Columbia High in
Track Athletics

OR

A Long Run That Won

BY
GRAHAM B. FORBES
AUTHOR OF “THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH,” “THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA
HIGH ON THE DIAMOND,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS

The Boys of Columbia High Series

By GRAHAM B. FORBES

12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.

THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH
Or The All Around Rivals of the School
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE DIAMOND
Or Winning Out by Pluck
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE RIVER
Or The Boat Race Plot That Failed
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE GRIDIRON
Or The Struggle for the Silver Cup
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE ICE
Or Out for the Hockey Championship
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH IN TRACK ATHLETICS
Or A Long Run That Won

GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

Copyright, 1913, by
GROSSET & DUNLAP

The Boys of Columbia High in Track Athletics

CONTENTS

THE
BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH
IN TRACK ATHLETICS

CHAPTER I
DISTANCE RUNNERS

“Our last year at good old Columbia High, fellows!”

“I just hate to think of it, Lanky!”

“We’ve had some great times during these four years, for a fact; and college can never take the place of this school. And what fierce battles we’ve had on the diamond and gridiron with our rivals of Clifford and Bellport! I’ll be mighty sorry to leave the old school behind.”

“Perhaps you miss your guess about me, boys. I may stick to Columbia for another year.”

“Shucks! expect us to believe that kind of talk, Frank Allen; when everybody knows you’re bound to graduate with the highest honors ever given at Columbia High?”

“Listen, then; and while we hold up here to get a breathing spell on our practice cross country run. I’ll tell you how it is.”

“Wish you would, Frank,” said the tall, thin lad, who was known as Lanky Wallace; though it was said that at home they called him Clarence. “Here’s our chum, Bones Shadduck, staring at you as if he reckoned he was up against the great Chinese puzzle. Open up and tell us!”

The three boys were in running costume, and had been swinging steadily along country roads, and across fields and farms, within five miles of the town of Columbia, for an hour or more. They were, with others, engaged in a cross country run; but as it was only intended to be a “bracer” for great events in the near future, these three contestants, all of whom had splendid records in past school races, had for company’s sake kept close together.

Columbia lay upon the bank of the Harrapin river, upon which stream the boys found great enjoyment, winter and summer. Not many miles below was Bellport, more of a manufacturing town; while Clifford lay up the river, and on the other bank.

As both of these enterprising towns had high schools, it was only natural that the pupils should feel a certain amount of rivalry in their various sports. And as a rule these were entered upon with that fine spirit of fairness that adds zest to any game where the competition is keen, and victory cheered to the echo.

In the first volume of this series, “The Boys of Columbia High; Or, The All Around Rivals of the School,” the reader is given an account of the school life of many of the characters; together with some of the indoor sports suitable to the season.

In the spring it was natural that baseball should be the leading topic in their minds; and some of the thrilling battles which they had with the neighboring teams of Clifford and Bellport will be found in the book, “The Boys of Columbia High on the Diamond; Or, Winning Out by Pluck.”

With the coming of summer and hot weather, baseball was almost forgotten; but a new source of amusement, as well as competition, arose, when an eight-oared shell came for the boys of Columbia High. Of course, not to be outdone, the rival schools must also embark in the same line. So a tournament was arranged on the Harrapin by some of the enterprising citizens of the three towns, who believed in giving their boys all the healthy outdoor sport they could. Many of the remarkable happenings that accompanied that summer carnival on the water you will find in the third volume, called “The Boys of Columbia High on the River; Or, The Boat Race Plot that Failed.”

Another school term found the rivals of the Harrapin just as eager to try conclusions with each other as ever. And as the tang of frost was in the air, naturally they could think of nothing but football. And so again they met and fought it out to a finish for the prize. An account of the fiercely contested games, where brawn and sinew were often outwitted by a little gray matter in the brain of a clever dodger, is given in “The Boys of Columbia High on the Gridiron; Or, The Struggle for the Silver Cup.”

Then came winter, with a sheet of ice covering the Northern river, and scores of boys were fairly wild to spend every spare hour upon it. They had glorious times that year along the Harrapin, as you will admit after finishing the fifth volume of the series, just preceding this story, and which bears the name of “The Boys of Columbia High on the Ice; Or, Out for the Hockey Championship.”

And now, with spring at hand, the talk was all of the great athletic event of the year, which had been arranged as a fitting wind-up of the finest class Columbia had ever turned out at a graduation time.

It was to be an open competition, and the pupils of Clifford and Bellport had received a special invitation to enter for the various field and track events on the long program.

Every fine day, when school was not in session, boys in running costume could be met, jogging steadily along the country roads. In the fields where the schools played all their outdoor games, groups of students were to be seen engaged in practicing putting the shot, high jumping, wrestling, sprinting short distances, each and every one filled with the spirit of the hour.

Indeed, Columbia was bubbling over with excitement, since the great day was now close at hand when all these tests to prove superiority were to be brought about before a record-breaking throng.

Columbia, in the past, had been very fortunate in downing her river rivals; but the boys of Clifford and Bellport were possessed of the true grit animating all lovers of clean sport, and they always came up smiling for a new test. Forgetting the bitterness of previous defeats, they were ever ready to affirm their belief in their ability to wrest the prize from the athletes of Columbia.

And as there had come many rumors of astonishing progress being made by these rival schools, many in Columbia went about with sober faces; and even hinted that they feared it was going to be a bad year for the famous school.

Frank Allen always bore a leading part in all these athletic doings; as did his particular chum, Lanky. And they were out on this Saturday, with another well-known long-distance runner, Bones Shadduck, to get their muscles in good trim for the grind of the Marathon that was to be the crowning event of the great meet so soon to come about.

They were the hope of Columbia High. No other boys ventured to compete with these long-distance runners when they took a notion to do their best. On this occasion they were not thinking of trying to break records, but meant to cover the ground, so as to become familiar with all its features.

The course had been plainly mapped out, and in several places the runners were allowed to exercise their discretion about choosing between several methods of arriving at one of the many stations where they were to be registered. That is, if a lad thought he could make better time by crossing the country between two roads, he was given that privilege; though warned that he might get bogged, held up by a marshy stretch of ground, or even lost in the big woods, if not fully familiar with the district.

Consequently it was not likely that anyone would take advantage of this choice, but all of them were apt to stick to the main roads, where the going was good.

Seeing that his two fellow runners were growing quite curious about the explanation of his assertion, Frank laughed good-naturedly, and remarked:

“Well, just wait till I wash the dust down my throat with a good drink at this spring here, and then I’ll tell you what I meant by saying I might stick to Columbia High another year.”

“Well, I want to say right now,” remarked Bones Shadduck, as he sucked at a long scratch on his hand, which he had received from a hanging vine in the brush they had just broken through, “that this thing of cutting across country to save a little time doesn’t strike me favorably. In the race I wager I keep close to the roads, and let others take chances of getting mired, or lost, if they want to.”

Three minutes later, having refreshed themselves at the cool gurgling spring, the trio of high-school boys stood for a minute or two before starting off again on their jogging run in the direction of the next road.

“Now, Frank, keep your promise,” warned Bones.

“Yes, I’ll be badgered if I can get head or tail of what he means,” Lanky Wallace declared, shaking his head in a way he had when in doubt.

“My folks seem to have an idea that they’d rather I was a year older before I went to college,” Frank began.

“Why, that’s funny, but I’ve been hearing a lot along the same line myself at home,” broke in Lanky.

“Ditto here,” affirmed Bones Shadduck.

“And so they had me talk with Professor Tyson Parke about it,” Frank continued; “and he said that he could arrange a post-graduate course that would take up the better part of the year, and put me in fine fettle for going into the freshman class at college.”

“Great scheme!” exclaimed Bones, “and just you see if I don’t put it up to my people at home.”

“Count on me to do the same,” remarked Lanky, enthusiastically. “Why, it would sort of break the school ties piecemeal, you see; and, besides, when you take a post-graduate course, you only go for an hour or so a day. That gives a fellow loads of time to take exercise outdoors. And I need a heap of that, believe me.”

“What do you say about starting on again?” asked Frank.

“How far do you think it is to that road?” Bones queried, sucking again at his bleeding hand, so that he might extract the last atom of poison that had come from the scratch of the creeper.

“Oh! about a mile, I reckon,” Frank made answer, as they began to run.

“Only hope it’s better going than the last one, then; that was fierce,” Bones went on to say, as he fell into his regular jogging pace, which the boys declared he could keep up for an unlimited number of hours; very much after the style of the Indian runners from Carlisle School, who got it from their ancestors, those dusky messengers who would journey hundreds of miles through dense forests, over mountains and deserts, with little or no rest.

“Looks like we might have a snap here for a change,” remarked Lanky, as they arrived on the border of what seemed to be a large pasture, which told that they were now on some farm where stock were kept.

So they mounted the rail fence. Frank remembered noticing at the time that this was built especially strong, and seemed to be even higher than usual; but then, as his mind was upon other subjects, he paid little attention to the fact.

They had about half crossed the field when Lanky suddenly came to a stop.

“Go on, fellows!” he called out; “I’ve got to tie my shoe again; I’ll catch up with you in a jiffy, before you get to the fence yonder.”

“Put a knot in that shoelace, Lanky,” said Bones, laughingly, over his shoulder; “that makes the fourth time you’ve dropped down to tie it. Try that game in the race and it might lose you your chance. It often hangs on a small thing; doesn’t it, Frank?”

Receiving no reply to his question Bones glanced up at the face of his chum. He found that Frank, while running steadily on, seemed to be apparently listening intently, for his head was cocked to one side.

“What did you hear, Frank; the halloo of some other runner who’s bogged over in that swamp?” demanded Bones.

“No; I thought I heard a snort, and it made me think of cattle,” replied Frank.

“Well, that wouldn’t surprise me a whit,” declared the other, immediately; “for I’ve seen signs of ’em all along, and I reckon this field is used for—oh! now I heard it, too, Frank! A snort, you said; well, I guess it was more than that. I’d call it a bellow, and an ugly one at that. There’s something moving over back of Lanky. I guess he sees it, for he’s on his feet now, looking. Wow, there comes a cow, streaking it out from those bushes, and heading straight for Lanky!”

“A cow!” ejaculated Frank; “that’s a bull, Bones, and the worst-looking one I ever remember seeing! We must be at the Hobson farm, and that’s the fierce old bull Jack was telling me about. He’ll get Lanky if our chum doesn’t do some tall sprinting right soon. Run, Lanky, run for all you’re worth! Make for that tree near the fence, and if he gets too close, climb up.”

Neither Frank nor Bones dared stand still, for the bull was heading in their direction, even while chasing the tall boy from Columbia High. And just then there were some “lively doings” in that pasture.

CHAPTER II
HELD BY THE ENEMY

Talking was out of the question just then. Every fellow was making his legs go about as rapidly as he knew how; with the bull charging down after them at full speed, his long tail flying in the air, while he at the same time emitted sundry half-muffled bellows that added wings to the flight of the cross country runners.

Speaking about the experience later on Bones Shadduck vowed that he broke all known records in covering the distance that separated himself and Frank from the friendly rail fence.

They sprang for the top of this as though they felt the hot breath of the angry bull. Then, feeling safe for the first time, and with their hearts beating like trip-hammers, the two boys turned to see what had become of their chum.

Lanky had been very much nearer the charging animal than either of his comrades, and he could not choose his course. With him the “longest way around” was not the “quickest way to the fire.”

Perhaps he had heard what Frank called out about the tree that happened to stand about thirty feet from the fence. At any rate, when he ran, he was heading directly for that point.

The bull charged at Lanky. It may have been simply because the tall runner happened to be the nearest moving object. Then again, Lanky had on a sleeveless running shirt upon which, back and front, was a big number seven in glowing red; for he had been known by that sign in the last match in which he took part. And, somehow or other, all bulls, and even some cows, seem to have a deep-seated hatred for that color.

Lanky ran as perhaps he never did before when on the home stretch, and with a rival pressing him hard at his elbow. He had a good reason for making record time. The prize was safety and a whole body. If he fell down those cruel-looking black horns of the bull, even though they had gilt balls at their ends, would be hooked under him to give him a toss in the air; after which the infuriated animal would gore and trample him.

LANKY RAN AS PERHAPS HE NEVER DID BEFORE.
Boys of Columbia High in Track Athletics. Page [12].

But Lanky knew he could not reach that fence in time to mount. The bull was able to cover ground even faster than the prize sprinter of the school. He might jump to one side at the critical moment—a practiced bull-fighter would doubtless have done this with ease; but then Lanky was a greenhorn when it came to such things. In fact, he could not remember ever having been chased by such an animal before.

The tree loomed before him. A few more desperate jumps and he would be able to dodge around it and escape the first mad rush of his enemy.

Frank was holding his breath. He could not remember suffering more mental agony than when sitting upon that fence watching his chum strive with every muscle in his bony frame to reach the tree ahead of the charging beast. And all because he and Bones were so utterly helpless to assist Lanky.

“Hurrah! he done it!” yelped Bones, with an utter disregard for grammar that might have shocked his teacher at school; but the boy was so excited that he hardly knew what he was saying.

Lanky, with a grand rally at the end, had actually managed to slide behind the big trunk of the tree. The bull went galloping past, unable to immediately bring his forward progress to a stop.

They saw Lanky roll over once or twice, and again Frank gave a gasp, fearing that the other might have received some injury in that fall calculated to prevent him from doing what he must to escape the next charge of the bull.

“There, he’s up again, and making for the tree!” snapped Bones, who could not repress his feelings for an instant.

“Climb up, if you can, Lanky!” shouted Frank; but enough time was not given for this performance, since again the bull was on the move.

Around and around the tree they went, the agile boy eluding each wild attempt on the part of his bovine enemy to get him. Again and again those horns would come against the trunk of the tree with a wicked crash; it seemed as if the animal was growing more and more furious as the seconds sped by without success attending his efforts.

All at once Bones gave a whoop.

“There he goes, Frank! Bully boy, Lanky; you fooled him that time, all right!”

The one who was in peril had made a quick upward leap, seized hold of a lower limb, which doubtless he had been looking at closely with a view to using it; and bringing into play some of his marvelous agility as a climber, he threw his lithe figure up until he could sit astride of the new perch.

But his enemy had by now become aware of what he was doing. The bull had been bellowing in an ugly way, and tossing the earth with his horns; and it was while this performance was going on that Lanky had taken advantage of the attention of the animal being turned away from him to make his upward leap.

Although the bull charged and even tried to reach his dangling legs, Lanky was able to draw them up in such a way that he felt safe.

Then Frank, for the first time, laughed. Since Lanky had managed to get beyond the reach of the black beast, and seemed uninjured after his close call, the humorous side of the adventure struck the other boys.

“Now will you be good, Lanky?” jeered Bones. “He’s got you nailed there in that tree good and fast. What word shall we take to your folks at home? Want to send ’em any message? Expect to get your meals by aeroplane or kite? He’s going to camp right there till you oblige him by coming down, believe me, Lanky.”

“Cut that chaff out, Bones, and be thinking up some scheme to coax the old sinner away!” called back the beleaguered one, who had climbed higher in the tree and could see his chums plainly as they sat upon the fence nearby.

“Huh! I suppose now you’d like me to step over there and call him away; wouldn’t you, Lanky?” demanded Bones. “But all the same I’m not goin’ to do it. There’s only one way you can get out of that tree.”

“Then tell me,” cried Lanky, eagerly.

“Grow some wings and fly!” answered Bones, with a loud laugh.

Frank saw that the situation, while not desperate, had its unpleasant features. He knew something about the persistency of bulls in general. He had heard of one that kept a farmer in a tree all night, and a good part of the next day, nibbling the grass whenever he got hungry, and always guarding the tree so that there was no chance whatever for escape. And the man might have died from weakness had not a neighbor happened to hear his shouts and shot the bull.

Lanky must be saved in some way or other, but just how to go about it was the question. At first Frank thought he might coax the bull by dropping over the fence at some distant part of the field. He tried it, but with no success whatever. The cunning bull declined to nibble at the bait. It was just as if he had decided that a boy in the tree was worth two in the field keeping close to the fence so that it could be scaled.

“It’s no go, Frank!” called out Bones, after the other had ventured as near to the animal as he deemed safe, without drawing his attention a particle. “You’ll have to try another dodge; or else Lanky’s going to stay in that tree till Christmas rolls around, or the Glorious Fourth.”

“For goodness sake, think up some way of getting him off, Frank!” called out the impatient prisoner of the lone tree.

“I’ve got a scheme!” cried Bones.

“Yes, you have!” Lanky answered in some derision; for he failed to have any great amount of faith in anything Bones Shadduck originated.

“Well, this one’s a corker, I tell you,” the boy on the fence went on, eagerly.

“All right, let’s hear it, and speak low so the bull won’t get on,” Lanky suggested, with mock respect.

“Besides it’ll give Frank and me a heap of fun watching you, Lanky.”

“Oh! it will, hey? Lots of fun, you say? I’ve no doubt you’re enjoying this game right well, Bones; but you’d laugh out of the other side of your mouth if it was you sitting up here, and me on the fence. But go on, tell us about it now.”

“Why, you want to watch your chance,” began Bones, soberly.

“Oh! do I? Chance for what?” demanded Lanky, derisively, for he seemed to feel that the other was only having sport with him.

“To catch the bull off his guard, when you might drop plump on his back. But if you do, Lanky,” Bones went on hurriedly, and with much apparent concern, “be sure you get a good hold, because he’s apt to jump and kick like a bucking bronco, and if he knocks you off it’s good-bye for yours. You’ll be a back number.”

Even Lanky was seen to grin at this wild proposition.

“Well, you are the punk thing, Bones, when it comes to helping a chum out of a hole,” he called out. “Frank, I know I can depend on you to hatch up some smart little trick to shake off this old buffalo that’s got me up a tree.”

“I’ve tried my best to coax him away, Lanky,” said Frank, starting to walk off; “but he won’t budge an inch, and it’s no use.”

“Hold on, Frank; sure now, you wouldn’t be for leaving me here in this fix, would you, and me that’s stood by you through thick and thin many a time? If I had to perch up here long my bones’d be too sore for me to enter any race for a month of Sundays. Where are you going, Frank?”

“To hunt up the farmhouse, and see if I can’t get Mr. Hobson to come to the rescue. I’ll be back before a great while,” was what Frank called out.

“Bless you for a true chum, Frank, I knew you wouldn’t leave me in the lurch; and here’s hoping that you find the farmer at home all right, or his man. Oh! laugh all you want to, Bones, but it isn’t so funny when you’re the frog that gets hit by the stones. Just you try it once and see.”

Time passed slowly to the beleaguered runner. He even complained of feeling a little cold, and talked to Bones about supper as though he began to fear that, after all, he would have to camp there in that tree the whole night.

“If you have to stay there, and it comes to the worst,” Bones had assured him; “mebbe now I might be able to throw a package of grub to you from the top of the fence here. I’m the boss thrower, you know, Lanky. Many a time I’ve got a runner at the home plate by lifting a fly I caught away out when I was playing left field for Ben Allison.”

“There comes Frank now,” the prisoner of the tree exclaimed, he having a greater range of vision than the boy who sat astride of the rail fence.

“Got the farmer trailing along, I hope?” ventured Bones.

“Well, if he has, I don’t see him yet,” replied the other dejectedly. “Reckon I’m just a-goin’ to sit here all night.”

“I can get a squint at Frank now, Lanky; and, say, what’s he got in his hand?”

“Looks like a clothesline to me, Bones,” replied the other, without much enthusiasm in his voice. “I thought Frank was smarter than that. If he thinks he’s going to lasso this big bull with that rope and hold him even one minute he’s sure got another guess coming to him.”

“Now, you leave all that to Frank,” advised the other. “You’ve been goin’ with him long enough to know that he’s smart about getting up schemes; yes, and carryin’ ’em out, too. Wait and see what he says, Lanky, before you decide about eatin’ your supper on a limb.”

Frank came hurrying along and just as Lanky had said, he was carrying what seemed to be a coiled clothesline, for the rope was certainly made of cotton and seemed rather thin at that.

“Where’s Farmer Hobson, Frank?” asked the boy on the limb.

“Gone with a load of stuff to Columbia, and won’t be home till late to-night,” came the reply, as Frank arrived opposite the spot where the determined bull kept watch and ward over his prize.

“And hasn’t he got a man?” wailed Lanky, as though he began to feel that everything was conspiring against him.

Frank went on calmly undoing the rope foot by foot, and testing it.

“Yes; but he’s sick on his back with lumbago, and couldn’t hobble out here; so I told him not to try, and that I’d find some way to get you out, all right.”

“I’m surprised at you, Frank,” ventured Lanky, wishing for information.

“In what way?” asked the other, coolly, once more starting to loop up the rope, as though getting ready to throw it.

“Why, even if you manage to get that rope over his horns it won’t hold a minute. Look at his broad chest and heavy shoulders, would you? Why, that bull could snap such a little rope five times over.”

“I reckon he could, Lanky,” Frank went on, laughing; “but you see, I don’t expect to use it on him as a lasso. Fact is, I mean it for you!”

“What’s that; goin’ to get it over my neck, and yank me out of this tree! I sure like that kind of talk. It shows a kind heart; but my neck is stretched as long as it can go; so you’ll have to think up some other dodge, Frank.”

“Listen,” said Frank, seriously. “If I throw this loop to you, or get Bones here to try it, do you think you could grab hold of it?”

“Try me!” said Lanky, laconically.

“Well, when you get the end, go as far as you can in your tree, and tie the doubled rope there. Afterwards I’m going to fasten the other end to this tree we’ve got on our side of the fence. Understand now what I mean, Lanky? You’ve got to do the tight-rope act; and come out of there by the aerial route, with Mr. Bull prancing under your heels, but unable to reach you. How do you like the scheme?”

CHAPTER III
THE GYPSY CARAVAN

“It’s a screamer!” exclaimed Lanky, immediately.

“What I call a peach!” ejaculated Bones Shadduck. “Say, what was I tellin’ you, Lanky; didn’t I say our Frank would get up a plan that was goin’ to beat anything you ever heard tell of? Oh! hurry up, and let’s get things started.”

“Well, suppose then you take this doubled rope, which I’ve coiled up, and see if you can land the end in the branches of Lanky’s tree.”

“And as near me as you can, Bones, remember,” advised the one most interested; “because he’s just a-listenin’ as if he knew what we were talkin’ about; and, if he gets half a chance, I reckon he’ll take that same rope and wrap it all around those gold-tipped horns of his.”

So Bones, after finding how he could stand on the top of the rail fence in a fairly steady fashion, took a survey of the situation, and decided just what amount of effort it would require to send the end of the doubled rope into the tree.

He started to wind up by whirling the coils around his head, after the fashion of a cowboy about to make a cast. Then, as Lanky, becoming impatient, begged him to make haste, Bones let fly.

His first attempt proved a failure, for the rope fell short. The bull seemed so curious about all these actions that he came over to look at the rope, which Bones was now dragging back in haste.

“Keep off there, you!” he called to the animal; “just go back and mind your own business, which I take it right now is to watch Lanky yonder,” and, as though understanding what was said, sure enough, the heavy-set animal turned immediately, trotting back under the tree, and looking up longingly at the imprisoned boy, while emitting a low bellow.

“Is that the best you can do, Bones?” demanded Lanky, wishing to spur the other on; “if it is, better let Frank take a turn, because I know he can make a longer throw than that was.”

“You wait,” answered the aroused Bones; “I can do better than that. Just thought I ought to make a try throw first. This time I’ll put a little more steam in it, and you get ready to grab, Lanky.”

“Right here, Bones, put her in my mitt!” called the other, holding out his hands as though he might be a catcher behind the rubber, calling to his slabmate how to toss them in.

Frank steadied Bones from below, so that he could feel on firmer footing. And this time the rope, flying far out, and uncoiling as it went, struck in among the lower branches of the tree.

“Catch hold, Lanky, quick!” cried the thrower of the lasso.

Lanky almost tumbled out of the tree in his eagerness to reach the rope; but fortunately it had caught on a branch, and he was able to get his hands on it.

“Now climb up, and pass it along,” called Frank.

“Yes,” added Bones, “there’s a hunky-dory place up yonder to tie it to, after you’ve doubled it like Frank said. That’s it, Lanky; put the rope around there, you know.”

Lanky understood and fastened the knotted end of the line to the upper branch of the tree—an especially strong one it was, too.

Afterwards Frank climbed the second tree beyond the rail fence; and as Lanky had tied his end of the doubled clothesline to an upper limb, Frank did the same.

There now stretched a taut doubled line, with a downward slant, from the tree under which the bull waited patiently for his prey to drop.

“Looks good to me!” announced Bones, as he changed his position on the fence so as to get a better view of the coming “stunt” of the thin chum.

“Course it does,” grumbled Lanky, as he prepared to trust himself to the slender line. “Think I’m a featherweight, do you, just because I’m thin; but bones weigh a heap, just you remember. What if she breaks, Frank?”

“It will hold you, all right, Lanky,” replied the other, confidently; “I tested the single line with my weight and it stood firm. Now that we’ve made it double, honestly, I believe it would hold even Buster Billings.”

As the boy mentioned was considered the fattest scholar, without exception, in any one of the three high schools, such positive information should have gone far toward giving Lanky confidence.

“All right, here I come, then. Phew! I hope the blooming old thing doesn’t give enough to let me down so he can poke his horns into me.”

That was really the only thing that Frank feared in the least. It was with more or less concern, therefore, that he saw Lanky get in readiness to start sliding along the rope. As this had a pretty good slant from the lone tree’s upper branches, he need not do any climbing, but just work his way along, and remember to hold on with a firm grip, no matter what happened.

“Wow! there he comes!” exclaimed Bones Shadduck, as the thin boy let go his hold above, and launched himself upon his aerial passage.

It was a strange sight indeed, with Lanky moving slowly but steadily down that doubled rope, and the prancing bull keeping directly underneath him, giving vent to all sorts of queer noises as he even reared up on his short hind legs and tried to reach Lanky’s long, dangling figure with his horns.

“Thank goodness, the rope holds!” cried Bones, who had been rather doubtful of its strength all along.

“And it doesn’t seem to sag so very much,” added Frank, mentally figuring how close bull and boy might come before Lanky found shelter across the line of fence. “It’s going to be a close shave, I’m afraid, though, Lanky; can’t you pull up your legs some; he might get you when you’re near the fence?”

“Sure he can,” remarked Bones. “You know what sort of gymnast Lanky is. Watch him put his feet in his pockets now.”

Of course, the dangling boy did not go quite that far, because in the first place he had no such thing as a pocket in his running togs, and even if he had, he felt no inclination to carry out the suggestion of humorous Bones. But he did throw one leg up over the line, and this took his form just so much further away from the ugly horns below.

In this fashion then Lanky passed over the fence, and was safe. The baffled bull seemed to know that his intended prey had escaped him. Perhaps he felt that the boy on the fence must be laughing at him. At any rate he made a sudden, wicked lunge in the direction of Bones, and that worthy, being taken by surprise, might have suffered if he had not allowed himself to simply fall in a heap on the ground outside of the rails.

Bang! came the rushing bull against the fence, which quivered before the onset, and might even have given way, only that it had been stoutly built to withstand such rushes.

“Bah! don’t you wish you could?” jeered Bones, struggling to his feet, his fright a thing of the past; and he made a face at the bull, that was just two feet away, although separated by that barrier of stout rails.

“How are you, Lanky; all right?” asked Frank, as the long figure of the rescued chum appeared in sight, dropping down out of the second tree.

“Well, I seem to be all here,” replied the other, with a broad smile; “but when that old beast was trying to reach me, I began to think he’d have my shins scraped, more or less. That was a bully good thought of yours, Frank. Queerest ride I ever took in all my life. Talk to me about toboggan slides—why, they’re not in it with a rope run, and a jumpin’ bull underneath.”

“Who’ll get the rope, Frank?” asked Bones.

“You can, if you feel like it,” replied the other, with a smile.

“Excuse me, but it’d have to be something more’n an old clothesline that would tempt me to go into that field again,” Bones declared.

“Well,” Frank went on, “fortunately there’s no need of anyone going right now, because I told the farmer’s wife what I meant to do to get Lanky out of there, and she said to leave the rope where it was. Her husband would get it later on, after the bull was in the barn for the night.”

“Let me have five minutes’ rest after that little slide, Frank,” entreated Lanky, “and then I’ll be ready to join you both in another run across to the road. It must have been the strain that told on me. Right now my heart is beating like fun.”

“Sure thing,” assented Bones; “mine is, too, because I thought that black beast was going to get me when he ducked my way with a whoop. Say, ain’t he just the limit now, fellows? Old Hobson’ll get in trouble with that critter some fine day. He ought not to keep such a wicked animal around.”

“Oh! well,” Frank remarked, “you know we really had no business going through his pasture. Even if you got hurt, your father couldn’t have recovered damages if Hobson chose to take it to the courts. When you trespass, you lose your rights up to a certain extent. How about it now, Lanky, feel like you could stand a grilling run again?”

“I’m as right as ever, Frank; and now that the whole thing’s over I’m ready to laugh at it as hard as the next one. It sure was the queerest thing that ever happened to me. A dog had me treed once—a bulldog that guarded an apple tree belonging to our next-door neighbor. Our apples were good, you know, but his seemed to be just the right kind I was lookin’ for.”

“What happened?” asked Bones.

“Why, the neighbor came along and called the dog off,” Lanky replied, with one of his customary shrugs; “me to the woodshed as soon as my dad heard about it, and—well, what’s the use saying anything more? I never like to think of that same interview, give you my word, fellows.”

They had by now started off again. Lanky seemed to show no signs of having suffered because of the strain he had just gone through. These thin, wiry boys are able to stand a tremendous lot of knocking about, without feeling any bad effects. Had it been Buster Billings, now, who was a prisoner in that tree, they could never have effected his release in the way Lanky was saved. His weight would have caused any line to sag, so that the poor fellow would have been an easy mark for the butting horns of the bull.

After leaving the farm of Mr. Hobson behind the runners found that they would have to pass over some more dubious ground. Frank realized that unless some better course was found than this it would be the height of folly for a runner to think he could save time by leaving the firm road, and taking to the cross country. And being a good, square sportsman he determined to do all he could to warn the Clifford and Bellport fellows against any such attempt. Still, they had the same privilege of examining the ground that the Columbia High boys did, and if it struck one of them that he cared to take chances that was really his own affair.

“There’s the road, fellows!” said Frank, after they had ploughed through a lot of soft ground, and were thoroughly disgusted with it all.

“Oh! happy day!” sang Lanky. “When you hear of me trying to take a short-cut on that same Marathon race, just engage a room for me at the insane asylum; won’t you?”

“But looky there, what under the sun have we got now, boys?” called out Bones, who happened just then to be a little in the lead of the runners.

“Wagons, hey?” exclaimed Lanky; “and all the colors of the rainbow at that. Jupiter whiz! did you ever see such a gay crowd? Say, Frank, these must be the gypsies that hang around Budd’s Corners every other summer; don’t you think so?”

“Just what they are,” came the reply; “but there’s twice as many this year as ever before.”

“And would you see the fine wagons they’ve got along?” remarked Bones, as they stood upon the lower fence rail to watch the caravan pass. “Most of ’em are fitted up, they tell me, like the cabin of a boat, with sleeping bunks and a cooking range. I’d just like to say that one of those wagons must be worth a heap of money. How do they make it all, Frank, do you think?” and he lowered his voice, for the head of the procession was now very close by, and the boy did not wholly like the looks of the swarthy men who drove those wagons along toward the first of the line.

“They do a lot of horse trading,” Frank replied; “and are mighty smart at it, too. The ordinary farmer has little chance against a gypsy in a trade; though he may think he’s some pumpkins, as they say. Those horses are a pretty good lot, let me tell you, fellows,” as the wagons began to pass by.

There must have been at least ten of them, all told, mostly new ones, with all the comforts known to modern wagon travelers. The boys watched the procession pass with considerable interest, and from the way the gypsies stared at them they excited almost as much curiosity, on account of their running clothes, as the gypsies did in them. And it was while they stood in this way that Lanky suddenly began to show a strange excitement, turning toward his chums with a puzzled look on his face.

“Say, perhaps you fellows didn’t see that little girl trying to attract our attention in one of those vans?” he remarked, with more or less eagerness. “The old gypsy woman pulled her down in a big hurry, but, Frank—Bones, I sure believe that she was holding out her baby hands to us, like she wanted to ask us to help her!”

CHAPTER IV
A MYSTERY OF THE WAGON

The other two boys looked at Lanky curiously, as if to see whether he could be in earnest, or only joking. Lanky was inclined, at times, to show an odd streak of humor, as Frank had long since found out.

But the long-legged chap certainly looked serious enough just then. His eyes followed the line of gypsy vans eagerly. If there was anything that appealed to Lanky Wallace it was a bit of mystery, and he had been known to bother his head for days and weeks over some trifling affair that the ordinary schoolboy would dismiss from his mind with a laugh.

“I tell you she did just what I said, fellows,” he persisted in saying; “held out her hands to me; and if ever there was a look of fear on a little girl’s face, I saw it on hers!”

“Oh, rats!” exploded practical Bones; “you’ve been reading some silly stuff about gypsies taking the children of rich people and holding ’em for a ransom. That might have happened years ago, or perhaps in Old England; but if you think it could to-day, and in America, why, you’re away off your base, Lanky. Reckon you ought to have been born about the year sixteen hundred and seven, instead of in this age.”

Frank, while doubting whether there could be anything in what seemed to be a far-fetched idea of the tall chum, was not so much inclined to “josh” him as Bones had been.

He and Lanky had known of a case where the haunting face of a young tramp had kept both of them guessing for a long spell, and the persistence of the tall chum had in the end brought the truth to light. And through that same dogged perseverance a long-lost son and brother was restored to his family; while Lanky had made a good friend in rosy-cheeked Dora, the pretty sister of Will Baxter.

“Tell me, Lanky,” he said, now, in as serious a tone as he could command, “was the child fair-haired, or a brunette; because, you know, all gypsies are dark?”

Lanky made a wry face, but stood to his guns.

“Sure, she did have a dark little phiz, Frank, that’s right; but, then, I reckon it’s the easiest thing in the world to change the skin, and dye the hair. Why, haven’t you had your hands turn brown with the juice of fresh walnuts every fall, when we laid in our winter stock, and hulled ’em? ’Course you have, and so has Bones here. I tell you, fellows, I’ll never get that look out of my head. If I wake up in the night, bet you a cookey I’ll think of it right away.”

Frank knew the obstinacy of his chum only too well. There never was a boy who would persist more in a thing than Lanky Wallace, though when he had the truth absolutely shown to him he would give up, and admit that he was wrong. Some people who did not fancy Lanky called him pig-headed and stubborn, but those who were better able to judge understood the difference between stubbornness and firmness.

“Well,” said Frank, “if that’s the way you feel about it, Lanky, there’s only one thing to be done. To satisfy yourself, you ought to see the child again. When you find out that she is only a little brown gypsy, sure enough, you’ll sleep easy again.”

At that Lanky smiled.

“I don’t know whether you’re just kidding or not, Frank,” he said; “but I’d just made up my mind to do that same, right now—follow the caravan, and try to get another glance at that face.”

“Well, you do rush things to beat the band!” ejaculated Bones. “We came out on this run to see how the cut-off might be, and to get a point on what we could do over the course; but seems to me running has been about the last on the list with the lot of us to-day. There was that adventure with the bull; and now here’s Lanky gone daffy over the brown face of a baby girl, that just happened to look sad at him after getting a spanking from her ma! Frank, do we go with him, or head off for ourselves right here?”

“Oh, suit yourselves, fellows!” said Lanky, quickly, for he was very touchy, and ready to resent anything like a favor grudgingly bestowed. “Just leave me alone and I’ll show up later.”

Frank, however, realized that somehow his chum was worked up over the matter more than he could remember having seen him for a long time. Perhaps it was the fact that his nerves had been shaken during his recent affair with the bull. Then again, there might be a slight possibility that Lanky was right with regard to the child.

“Oh, that’s all right, Lanky!” he remarked, soothingly. “I’m going where you lead, and if Bones objects he knows what he can do. Not that I take much stock in your kidnapping idea, because such things happen only once in a long time nowadays.”

“But you admit, Frank, that it could be; don’t you?” demanded the other, not at all shaken in his belief.

“Well, yes, there might be about one chance in a hundred, Lanky,” Frank replied.

“And I’m taking the hundredth chance,” said the other, doggedly, as he started off after the gypsy caravan, which had vanished entirely from view around a bend in the road while the three runners were holding this short conversation among themselves.

They sighted it again as soon as they had turned the curve in the road. As if by mutual consent Frank and Bones had fallen back, and allowed Lanky to have the post of honor in the van.

“If she does it again, Lanky,” remarked Bones, jeeringly, “just you give us the high sign; when we’ll jump in, and clear up the whole gypsy tribe, rescue the kidnapped princess, carry her home in triumph and receive a cool million or so from her happy dad, as a reward for our heroic achievement!”

“Oh! splash!” was all Lanky sent back over his shoulder, as he ran steadily on at that telling jog-trot that seemed never to tire the runner.

They rapidly overtook the caravan, for the horses were not trying to make any speed, having come a long distance, it might be, since sun-up; and, besides, the drivers knew they were within a few miles of the place where, once in so often, they made camp for several days, or a week at a time.

Lanky paid no attention to the rear wagons, but passed alongside and kept pushing on. He had eyes only for the most gorgeous van in the whole procession; since it had been at the side window of this he had seen the face that, somehow, appealed to his sensitive heart.

The door at the rear of the high wagon was almost wholly closed, Lanky noticed as he came along, though once he really thought he saw a face, surrounded by coils of black hair, in the opening, which could only belong to a gypsy woman.

He kept his eyes fastened on the side window, for he knew that his two skeptical chums were waiting for a sign and would be apt to decide one way or another, depending on what was to be seen. And, sure enough, a face did appear there, that of a child in the bargain, and a girl, too. But she simply stared at the odd costumes of the three boy runners, and seemed to hold them in the scorn a true gypsy child feels for the house-dweller.

Lanky was grievously disappointed. It seemed that he had been mistaken after all, and, always willing to “take his medicine,” as he called it, he prepared to accept the expected chaffing of Bones in a good spirit. Had that ended the matter, doubtless Lanky would have put it out of his mind for good and all, but as it happened there was a little sequel, and it is often upon these trifles that great events depend.

The three boys had passed the gorgeous van, and were pursuing their way along toward the leading wagon, when a sound came to their ears that was rather significant under the circumstances.

It was certainly very like the cry of a frightened child, quickly suppressed, and yet coming from the identical van toward which Lanky had drawn the attention of his chums.

All of them turned their heads to look, but only to meet the surly frown of the dusky gypsy who drove the pair of fine horses attached to the wagon, which, from its appearance, might shelter the queen of the roving tribe.

Frank knew that for Lanky to make any attempt to interfere with the gypsies at such a time would be the height of folly.

“Go on; don’t stop, Lanky!” he exclaimed, ready to push the other onward if he manifested a stubborn disposition, as though inclined to investigate.

“But, didn’t you hear it?” demanded the tall fellow, irresolutely.

“Move along there!” said Bones, as if in disgust; “why, whatever’s coming over our bold Lanky Wallace, when even the squalling of a gypsy kid gets on his nerves?”

“Go on, Lanky,” said Frank, in earnest tones; “you’ll only make trouble, and get in a fight, if you try anything here. Wait a while, and perhaps you can find out all you want without having a row.”

Realizing that Frank was right, as he generally was, Lanky again started on; but after passing the head of the gypsy caravan he slackened his pace enough to let his chum come alongside.

“You heard that, too; didn’t you, Frank?” he asked, eagerly.

“Of course I did, and so did Bones, because you know he spoke of a gypsy kid crying,” returned Frank, himself more than a little puzzled by now.

“It wasn’t the one at the window, because she was older, and besides, you saw her stare at us,” Lanky continued, in his old argumentative way. “No, sir; that one who started to scream was a smaller child, and must have been the same I saw before. Didn’t I say she held out her baby hands to me? And now, when she begins to cry, that old gypsy crone shuts her off quick. Frank, honest Injun now, I wouldn’t be surprised if she just took her by the throat and choked her to keep her still!”

“Oh, come, now, Lanky, you’re letting that wild imagination of yours just run away with you!” remarked Frank; but the other noticed that there was a serious expression on the face of his chum at the same time.

“You more’n half believe it yourself, Frank Allen, and you don’t dare deny it!” he exclaimed, heatedly.

“Tell me about that, will you?” Bones could be heard saying to himself, as he ran along just behind them, and evidently “listening for all he was worth,” as Lanky remarked later on; for despite his skepticism Bones was himself beginning to feel a little touch of the fever that was working on Lanky.

“Only this far,” Frank went on to say, in response to the accusation of his chum; “there might be something in what you’ve got on your brain. But the chances are ten to one, Lanky, that in the end it’ll prove to be only a little gypsy girl who has been bad and spanked by her ma.”

“Oh, now it’s only ten to one; is it?” demanded the other, quickly; “and a little while back the odds were a hundred to one. Shows that you’re falling to my idea pretty rapid, Frank. Now, I’ve been in gypsy camps heaps of times and so have both of you. Will you promise to give me a straight answer, if I ask you a question?”

“You know I will, Lanky,” said Frank.

“If it’s nothing personal, I’ll promise, too,” came from the cautious Bones, who may have had a few secrets of his own to which he did not wish to confess.

“Did you ever hear a gypsy child cry, either one of you?” demanded Lanky, with a triumphant look on his thin face, as though he felt that this question was what he would call a “clincher.”

Frank paused a brief time as if for reflection.

“I never did!” he finally replied, with emphasis.

“How about you, Bones?” pursued Lanky.

“Oh, well, I don’t remember about it,” replied the other; “but then, what does that prove? I reckon they do yell when they get a lickin’, just the same as other kids; only we never happened to be there when the old lady’s slipper was getting in its work.”

But Frank saw the point Lanky was making, and appreciated it, too.

“I’ve been told,” the tall boy went on to say, “that gypsies bring up their children about like the old Injuns used to do. They learn when little kids never to show what they feel. Never heard of a red Injun boy weepin’; did you, Bones? Well, I guess nobody ever did; and gypsies, they’re about in the same class.”

“Well, and even if that’s right, Lanky, how do we know but what the old queen was givin’ the baby its lesson in keepin’ from cryin’? Sure, somethin’ shut the noise off right quick, I acknowledge that. But you just can’t make me believe in any silly yarn like a stolen child, and such stuff. Bah! next thing you’ll be lookin’ for a strawberry mark on my left arm, and tryin’ to make out I was changed in the cradle.”

But Lanky would not take any notice of these slurs. Frank could see that he was deeply impressed with the idea that the little dark-faced girl at the window of the big van had actually appealed to him for help in her childish way. And, knowing Lanky as he did, Frank felt positive that this would not be the last of the affair.

“He’ll go to their camp and make trouble sooner or later,” Frank was saying to himself, as the three runners neared the outskirts of Columbia; “and I suppose it’s up to me to stick to a chum through thick and thin. Perhaps he’ll be cured if only he can see the kid and talk with the mother. However, I’ve got to back Lanky up, no matter what wild scheme he may hatch in that brain of his. Because he’s a good fellow, and one of the best chums I’ve ever had.”

And so the run over the course of the Marathon race that was to be a leading feature of the athletic meet had been productive of several thrilling incidents that would not soon be forgotten by the three lads who were chiefly concerned.

CHAPTER V
ON THE CAMPUS GREEN

“Come, brace up, Lanky; ’tisn’t time for your funeral yet!”

“Why, we haven’t even had the preliminary trial races yet to see who’s going to be chosen to represent Columbia High in the big athletic meet, and here’s one of our best Marathon boys getting cold feet!”

A group of lads stood around on the campus during recess, shortly before noon, comparing notes about the chances their school would have when up against the crack athletes of Clifford and Bellport.

Buster Billings had been the first speaker, the fat boy who has often figured in these stories of Columbia High, while the second one who was trying to cheer Lanky up, boy-fashion, by giving him a “dig,” was Jack Comfort, reckoned the best all-round shot-putter the school had ever known.

In the group were several others who have been familiar figures in the past. The good-looking boy who took no part in the conversation, seeming to be very quiet, was Ralph Langworthy. Once he had been known as Ralph West; and Frank Allen had been instrumental in solving a great mystery that hung over his head, thus finding his own true mother for the new chum.

Then there were Paul Bird, a very close chum of Frank’s; Bones Shadduck, Tom Budd, a boy who could never keep still, but must be turning hand-springs, or standing on his head, half of the time; Jack Eastwick, the great doubter of the school, who should have been named Thomas, everybody declared; “Jonsey,” who once upon a time gave out in a boat race, and put Columbia in a hole; and last of all “Red” Huggins, whose faculty for getting his tongue twisted when excited often resulted in queer expressions.

Lanky Wallace had been unusually grave all morning, and the boys noticed it, too. Of course, none of them knew what was ailing the tall student, for Frank alone was in the secret. And most of the talk they were flinging at Lanky now was done for the evident purpose of “getting a rise” from him. If he could be stirred up to give them some heated back talk they might find out what ailed him.

Truth to tell, some of them were feeling a little uneasy. Columbia would evidently have need of all her reserve stock of talent this spring in order to come out ahead in the various trials of skill with her bitter rivals. And Lanky was reckoned one of the shining lights in many a contest where agility and power of endurance counted.

“Cold feet, nothing!” the tall boy flung back at Jack Comfort. “When that happens you’ll find the moon made of green cheese, boys. Fact is, I’m just a little bothered to-day about somethin’ that’s got nothin’ to do with the athletic meet.”

“Been eating some grub that’s given you indigestion, p’raps?” suggested Jonsey.

“For goodness sake, Lanky, don’t get out of trim now; we need you the worst way, if we expect to wipe up the ground with those up and down-river fellows,” implored Paul Bird.

“That’s just what,” broke in Bones Shadduck; “ever since Lanky got treed by that bull he’s been in the dumps. For once he ran up against somethin’ he couldn’t beat, and it’s made him sore.”

The boys laughed, for they had all heard the story to the last particular.

“Well, all I know,” remarked Buster Billings, pathetically; “is that Clifford is just boiling over with confidence. I was up there last night to a little spread, and you never heard such talk in your life. Why, they feel dead sure they’re going to walk all over us this time.”

“Will they?” observed Jack Eastwick, in his customary sarcastic way, which had long ago become a settled habit with him; “maybe, maybe not. We’ve got some pretty husky specimens right here in old Columbia, and when the time comes we expect to pull down a few of those plums ourselves.”

“Bully for you, Jack!” cried Buster, patting the speaker encouragingly.

“I reckon I know what ails Lanky!” ventured Jonsey, who had a little bone to pick with the other, and lost no opportunity to give him a sly poke.

“Then tell us, or we’ll ride you on a rail!” threatened Jack Comfort.

“Dare I, Lanky?” asked Jonsey, not wanting to go too far.

“Sure. Just tell everything you know, or think, Jonsey. It won’t take long,” was the answering shot that came back.

“Well, the fact of the matter is, Lanky’s best girl’s gone back on him, because I saw her out riding with that new city fellow that came to Columbia a few months ago. He’s as fine a looker as you ever saw, the girls think, and pretty, rose-cheeked Dora Baxter seems to just take to Mr. Walter Ackerman.”

Jonsey had kept one eye out for an avenue of escape in case Lanky made a dive in his direction; he also counted on the others to hold the tall boy back, so as to give him a chance to escape; for he never could do it by simply running. But contrary to his expectations, Lanky made no offensive move. On the other hand, he even laughed in a strained way.

“That’s where you’re away off, Jonsey,” Lanky declared. “It’s a matter of mighty small difference to me whether Dora Baxter chooses to keep company with Walter Ackerman or not, because we’ve had a spat, and don’t speak when we pass by. And I want to ask you all right now, please keep her name out of any conversation you may happen to have about me after this.”

When Lanky spoke in that way they knew he meant it, and there was not one in all that group of his schoolmates who would venture to offend him by declining to regard his request.

“Well,” said Buster Billings, as if ready to give the puzzle up, “if none of the things we have mentioned is what’s ailing you, Lanky, for goodness sake, whatever it is, get it out of your system as quick as you can. You’re not the same kind of fellow we’re used to seein’ around. When you show up you give us all a cold shiver. Honest, now, it makes me think of spooks, graveyards and all that stuff just to look at you, Lanky.”

“Oh! does it?” jeered the other; “if that’s the case I’ll get a move on and step over to my chum, Frank Allen, who’s just come out of the classroom yonder. But before I go, fellows, just make your minds easy about me. If I am feeling sort of down in the mouth and serious-like just now, it isn’t going to affect my athletic stunts one little bit. I’m as fit as ever I was to run the race of my life. Frank knows, and he’ll tell you that same thing.”

“Are you?” said the doubter, Jack Eastwick; “maybe, maybe not. Time alone will tell that. Saturday the preliminary trials come off, and then we’ll get a pointer on what all our boys can do.”

But Lanky did not stop to listen to the “croaker.” Jack often threw cold water on everything with which he had any connection. It was very discouraging, to be sure, and more than once his schoolmates had threatened to hold him under the pump if he didn’t quit harping in that disagreeable way. For a little while Jack would manage to reform, only to break out later on; for habits are deep seated.

Apparently Lanky was more than eager to see Frank, judging from the way he hurried over to the other, as he issued from the school, stopping to speak to the old janitor, who was known among the boys as “Soggy.”

“Hello, Lanky!” was Frank’s greeting, as he eyed the other curiously; “seems to me I haven’t run across you this whole day up to now. But then I came late, as I had an errand to do for the professor, you see.”

“Yes, and it just happened that I wanted to get in touch with you, too,” remarked the tall boy, as he thrust his arm through Frank’s and started him walking so as to leave the janitor behind.

“Soggy was telling me that some of the boys had started to playing practical jokes on him again,” Frank remarked. “He’s got a notion that it must be that Bill Klemm and his cronies, Watkins Kline and Asa Barnes.”