Dave Porter and the Runaways: or, Last Days at Oak Hall

“Maybe he ran into the woods,” suggested Roger.

“Perhaps, but – hark!” And our hero held up his hand. From a distance came a scraping sound, like something sliding over a rock.

“Look!” called out the senator’s son. “He’s got a boat! There he goes!”

Dave turned in the direction pointed out by his chum. Both saw a small rowboat sweep out from under some brushwood. In it stood the wild man, using an oar as a pole on the rocks.

“Stop!” cried Dave. “Stop, or you may be sorry for it.”

“You can’t catch the King of Sumatra!” yelled the wild man, and flourished his arms and made a hideous face at them. Then he sat down on the middle seat of the craft, placed the oars in the rowlocks, and commenced to row rapidly down the stream.

“Well, that’s the end of the chase,” remarked Dave, in some disgust.

“That’s right, since we haven’t any boat,” returned Roger. “Wonder where he got that craft? I don’t think he bought it.”

“It isn’t likely. Probably he saw it somewhere along the river and simply appropriated it.” And this proved to be true.

The boys watched the wild man until a bend of the stream hid rower and craft from view. Then they turned back in the direction of the old stone house.

“Did you get him?” demanded Buster, who was waiting with Gus at the point where he had dropped out of the race.

“No,” answered Roger, and told why.

“He sure is a cute one,” went on the stout youth. “Say, if they don’t catch him soon, he’ll have this whole neighborhood scared to death.”

The students soon reached the old house. Here they found the two girls and Phil, the latter with a heavy stick in his hand, ready for any emergency. The girls had calmed down a little, but were still much agitated.

“We were to come home in my uncle’s carriage,” said Mary Feversham. “But the horse got a lame foot and so we decided to walk. We had heard of the wild man, but did not think we would meet him. Oh, it was dreadful!”

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” asked Dave.

“Oh, no, but he frightened us so! He danced around us and caught us by the arms, and he wanted us to give him money! Oh, it was dreadful!”

“He ought to be in an asylum,” said Dave. And then he and Roger related how the wild man had escaped.

“I sha’n’t go out alone again,” said Vera Rockwell. “That is, not until that man is captured.”

“We’ll take you both home,” said Phil, promptly, looking at Mary.

“But we don’t want to keep you from what you were going to do,” said Vera.

“Oh, we were only out for a walk,” replied Dave. “We’ll walk to town with you. Maybe we’ll hear something more of this strange fellow.”

All turned back on the road that led close to Oak Hall, and after discussing the wild man from various points of view, the conversation turned to other matters. The girls told of what they had been doing during the past holidays and asked the boys about themselves.

“I heard that that horrid Jasniff is under arrest,” said Vera to Dave. “I am glad of it. It is a pity that Merwell got away.”

“Perhaps,” answered our hero. “But, somehow, I sometimes think that Link Merwell will turn over a new leaf.”

Vera looked back, to make sure that none of the others were near.

“Just like Mr. Plum, I suppose you mean,” she whispered. “Oh, it was splendid, what you did for him, Dave!”

“Oh, I didn’t do much for Gus.”

“My brother thinks you did. He heard the whole story. It was brave and noble of you, it was indeed!” And Vera’s face showed her earnestness.

“Well, Gus has turned out a nice fellow. I wish Merwell would turn out as good.”

“But he helped to take those jewels.”

“That is true – and that will always be a black mark against him,” said Dave, soberly.

Soon all reached the outskirts of Oakdale and there, at one of the corners, the boys left the girls.

“Pretty late!” cried Gus Plum, consulting the watch he carried. “We’ll have to hike back lively, if we don’t want to be marked up for tardiness.”

“We can get an excuse, if we tell about the wild man,” said Buster. “I’ve hurried all I’m going to.”

“We’ll certainly have a yarn to spin when we get back to the school,” was Phil’s comment.

At the entrance to the campus the boys, who were a little late, met the first assistant to Doctor Clay. As my old readers know Mr. Dale was as pleasant as Job Haskers was disagreeable.

“Had a fine walk, boys?” he asked, with a smile.

“We had an adventure,” answered Dave, and then he and his chums told what it was.

“Well! well! that wild man again,” mused the instructor. “This is getting truly serious. I was hoping he would leave this neighborhood. And so he calls himself the King of Sumatra? That is strange.”

“It certainly is strange,” answered Dave.

But how strange, our hero was still to find out.

CHAPTER X

NAT POOLE WANTS TO KNOW

That evening Dave was on his way to the school library, to consult a certain work of reference, when he ran into another student who suddenly grasped him by the shoulder. It was rather dark where the pair confronted each other, and for the instant our hero did not recognize the fellow.

“What do you want?”

“I want to speak to you for a minute, Dave Porter,” said the other, in a voice that trembled a trifle.

“Oh, it’s you, Nat,” answered Dave, as he recognized the son of the Crumville money-lender. “What do you want?” He rather imagined that the youth wished to pick another quarrel with him.

“I – I want to talk in private with you,” returned Nat, and looked around, to see if anybody else was near.

“What about?”

“You were out walking this afternoon and met that wild man, so I heard.”

“That is true.”

“You tried to catch him, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Roger Morr, Buster Beggs, Gus Plum, and I did our best to collar him, but he was too fast for us. He ran down to the river, got into a rowboat, and rowed away.”

“So I heard. And I heard something else,” continued the boy from Crumville. “When you called to the man to stop he answered back, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Will you please tell me what he said?” And Nat’s voice had an eager ring in it.

“He told us to beware and go back, or we’d get into trouble.”

“Didn’t he say something more than that?”

“Oh, yes, a great deal more.”

“He called himself something, didn’t he?”

“Yes. Look here, Nat, what is this to you? Why are you so interested?” queried Dave, for he could easily perceive that the other youth was more than ordinarily anxious to know the particulars of what had occurred.

“I – I – want to – er – know, that’s all. Did he call himself anything?”

“Yes; he thinks he is the King of Sumatra.”

“He called himself that?” asked Nat, with increased excitement.

“Yes, two or three times. But see here, Nat–”

“Will you please tell me how he looked? Was he tall and rather thin?”

“Yes.”

“And what kind of hair did he have?”

“Brownish-red, as near as I could make out, and very long. And he had rather a long beard and a large nose,” went on our hero.

At this brief but accurate description of the wild man, Nat Poole paled a trifle and uttered something of a gasp.

“Whe – where did he go?” he faltered.

“He rowed down the river just as fast as he could. I don’t know how far he went, for the bend hid him from view,” answered our hero. “Say, Nat, do you think you know that man?”

“Why – er – know him? Of course I don’t know him,” was the stammered-out reply. “But I – I think – maybe – I’ve met him.” And then, to avoid further questioning, Nat Poole hurried away. Our hero could do nothing but stare after him.

“That is mighty queer,” mused Dave, as he turned into the library to consult the reference book. “If Nat doesn’t know the man, why was he so anxious? He acted scared to death when I said the fellow called himself the King of Sumatra.”

Dave remained in the school library for a half an hour and then joined Phil, Roger, and the others in Dormitory Number Twelve. He found the students discussing a talk Roger had had with Nat Poole only a few minutes before.

“Nat called me out in the hallway,” said the senator’s son. “He wanted to know all about that wild man, and he wanted to make dead certain that he had called himself the King of Sumatra.”

“That is certainly queer – on top of what happened to me,” said Dave, and told of the interview he had had.

“Well, this is a puzzle,” declared Phil, slowly. “What do you make of it, Dave?”

“I think Nat imagines he knows the wild man.”

“That’s the way it looks to me,” added the senator’s son.

“Say, you don’t suppose that wild man has anything to do with the fellows Nat used to train with – Jasniff, Merwell, and that crowd?” questioned Buster.

“It’s possible, but I don’t think so,” returned our hero. “He is surely a crazy individual, and as nobody around here seems to know him, he must be a stranger to these parts.”

“But what would make Nat so interested?” asked little Chip Macklin.

“Give it up,” answered Roger.

“Maybe he has something to tell, but won’t tell it to us,” ventured Phil. “He may go right to the doctor.”

But if Nat Poole went to the master of Oak Hall, or to anybody else at that institution, the boys did not hear of it. He asked no more questions about the wild man, and when any of our friends came near him he immediately walked away, thus avoiding an interview.

The proposed meeting of the athletic committee of Oak Hall was held on Saturday afternoon in the gymnasium and was well attended. An even twenty names had been put up for the regular baseball nine of the institution. Of these names, fifteen belonged to old students and five were those of newcomers to Oak Hall. As he had said he would do, Gus Plum had handed in his name, and so had Sam Day and some of our other friends. But Dave, Phil, and Roger were conspicuous by their absence.

“See here, Porter, you’re going to play, aren’t you?” asked the former manager.

“No,” answered Dave, quietly but firmly.

“Why not?”

“Well, in the first place, I have too many back lessons to make up, and in the second place, I hope to graduate this coming June, and I want to make a record for myself, if possible.”

“But you can do that and play on the nine, too,” urged the manager.

“I don’t think so. I’d like to play,” continued our hero, wistfully, “but I don’t see how I can.”

“This isn’t fair, Porter. We really need you.”

“Oh, it isn’t as bad as that,” returned Dave, with a faint smile. “You’ve got Gus Plum to pitch, and some of the others. There are plenty of good ball-players here this term.”

“I don’t know about that,” answered the manager, with a grave shake of his head. “I wish you’d come in.”

“Not this year,” said Dave; and then the two separated.

Phil and Roger were likewise urged to try for the nine, but they followed Dave’s example. Then a tentative nine was formed, with Gus Plum as pitcher, and also a “scrub” nine, with one of the newcomers to Oak Hall in the box. Practice was to start on Wednesday afternoon of the following week.

“Too bad we couldn’t take part,” sighed the shipowner’s son. “I’d like to wallop the Rockville Military Academy fellows just once more!”

“Well, we can’t have everything,” answered Dave. “I want to graduate with the highest possible honors, and that means plenty of hard boning.”

“And a fellow can’t bone and play ball, too,” added Roger.

“We might – if old Haskers would be easy on us,” murmured the shipowner’s son.

“Now, see here, Phil,” said Dave, almost sternly. “Don’t ask Haskers for any more favors. He has done all that can reasonably be expected of him.”

“All right, just as you say,” grumbled Phil. But his manner showed that he was not altogether satisfied.

A week went by, and Dave and his chums applied themselves diligently to their studies. During that time nothing more was heard of the wild man, and the excitement concerning that strange individual again died down. But the folks living in the vicinity of the woods back of Oak Hall were on their guard, and it was seldom that women and children went out alone.

The boys were doing very well in their studies, and Dave received warm words of encouragement from Andrew Dale. He had made up nearly all the back lessons imposed upon him by Job Haskers, and that dictatorial teacher could not help but be satisfied over the showing made. Roger was also doing well, and poor Phil was the only one who was backward, although not enough to cause alarm.

“I’ll get there, but it comes hard,” said the shipowner’s son. “I should have asked old Haskers for more time.”

“Don’t you do it,” answered Dave. “Come, I’ll help you all I can.” Which he did.

One day there came a letter to our hero which gave him great satisfaction. He read it carefully, and then hastened off to communicate the news to Phil, Roger, and Ben.

“It’s a letter from my Uncle Dunston,” he explained to his chums. “If you will remember, he said he would hire a lawyer to take up that Mrs. Breen case against Professor Haskers.”

“What does he say?” asked Roger, quickly.

“I will read it to you,” answered Dave, and read the following:

“You will be glad to learn that Mr. Loveland, one of our lawyers, has gotten a settlement for Mrs. Breen out of your teacher, Mr. Haskers. He had quite a time of it, Haskers declaring that he did not owe as much as the widow said he did. The lawyer said he would sue for the full amount, and then Haskers came to see him. Mr. Loveland says the teacher wanted to learn who had hired him to stir the matter up, and mentioned some students’ names. But the lawyer gave him no satisfaction at all, and at last Haskers paid up in full, took his receipt, and got out. I instructed Mr. Loveland to put his charges for services on our bill, so Mrs. Breen will get the entire amount collected. I am going to take it to her in person, and see to it that it is wisely invested for her benefit.”

“Good!” cried the senator’s son. “That will help the old lady a great deal.”

“Say, I’ll bet old Haskers was sore when he forked over that money,” was Ben’s comment. “No wonder he’s been looking like a thundercloud lately.”

“Yes, and he’d let out on us – if he dared,” said Phil. “But he doesn’t dare.”

“Don’t be too sure of that, Phil,” said Dave, seriously. “There is no telling what he will do – later on, when he thinks this affair has blown over.”

“Humph! I am not afraid of him,” declared Phil, recklessly.

“If he tries any of his games we’ll expose him,” added Ben.

“Better go slow,” advised Roger. He, too, felt that Job Haskers might become very vindictive.

Spring was now at hand, and a week later came the first baseball game of the season. It was a contest with Esmore Academy from Daytonville and held on the Oak Hall grounds. Quite a crowd was present, including some of the town folks. Gus Plum was in the pitcher’s box for the Hall, and Sam Day was on first base, and Chip Macklin on third.

“I hope we win!” cried Dave.

“I hope you do,” answered Vera Rockwell, who was present with some other girls. “But why are you not playing?” she went on.

“Not this term,” said our hero, with a smile, and then he spoke of his studies.

“I suppose it is noble of you to give up this way,” she said. “But – I’d like to see you play.”

The contest proved a well-fought one, and was won by Oak Hall by a score of eight runs to five. At the conclusion there was a great cheering for the victors.

“This means bonfires to-night!” cried Roger, as the gathering broke up.

“Yes, and a grand good time!” added Buster Beggs.

CHAPTER XI

BONFIRE NIGHT AT THE HALL

It was certainly a night long to be remembered in the annals of Oak Hall, – and for more reasons than one.

At the start, several bonfires were lit along the bank of the river, and around these the students congregated, to dance and sing songs, and “cut up” generally. None of the teachers were present, and it was given out that the lads might enjoy themselves within reasonable bounds until ten o’clock.

“Let’s form a grand march!” cried Gus Plum. “Every man with a torch!”

“Yes, but don’t set anything on fire,” cautioned Roger.

“Say, that puts me in mind of a story,” came from Shadow. “A fellow went into a powder shop to buy some ammunition. He was smoking a pipe, and the proprietor–”

“Whoop! Hurrah for Shadow!” yelled somebody from the rear, and the next instant the story-teller of the Hall found himself up on a pile of barrels which had not yet been set on fire.

“Now then, tell your yarns to everybody!” came the cry.

“Speak loud, Shadow!”

“Give us all the details.”

“Tell us the story about the old man and the elephant.”

“No, give us that about the old maid and the mouse.”

“Let us hear about the fellow who was shipwrecked on the Rocky Mountains.”

“Or about how the fellow who couldn’t swim fell into a flour barrel.”

“Say, what do you take me for?” roared Shadow. “I don’t know any story about the Rocky Mountains, or a flour barrel either. If you want to hear–”

“Sure we do!”

“That’s the very yarn we’ve been waiting for!”

“Say, Shadow, won’t you please tell it into a phonograph, so I can grind it out to my grandfather when I get home?”

“Is that the story that starts on a foggy night, at noon?”

“No, this one starts on a dusty day in the middle of the Atlantic.”

“Say, if you fellows want me to tell a story, say so!” grumbled Shadow. “Otherwise I’m going to get down.”

“No! no! Tell your best yarn, Shadow.”

“All right, then. Once two men went into a shoe store–”

“Wow! That’s fifty years old!”

“I heard that when a child, at my grandson’s knee.”

“Tell us something about smoke, Shadow!”

“And fire. I love to hear about a fire. It’s so warm and–”

“Hi! let me get down! Do you want to burn me up?” yelled the story-teller of the school, suddenly, as, chancing to glance down, he saw that the barrels were on fire. “Let me down, I say!” And he made a leap from the barrels into the midst of the crowd.

Shadow landed on the shoulders of Nat Poole, and both went down and rolled over. In a spirit of play some of the students near by covered the rolling pair with shavings and straw. Shadow took this in good part and merely laughed as he arose, but the money-lender’s son was angry.

“Hi, who threw those dirty shavings all over me?” he bawled. “I don’t like it.”

“Don’t mind a little bath like that, Nat!” called one of the students.

“But I do mind it. The shavings are full of dirt, and so is the straw. The dirt is all over me.”

“Never mind, you can have a free bath, Nat,” said another.

“I’ll lend you a cake of soap,” added a third.

“I don’t want any of your soap!” growled the money-lender’s son. “Say, the whole crowd of you make me sick!” he added, and walked off, in great disgust.

“Phew! but he’s touchy,” was the comment of one of the students. “I guess he thinks he’s better than the rest of us.”

“Let’s give him another dose,” came the suggestion, from the rear of the crowd.

“Shavings?”

“Yes, and straw, too. Put some down his neck!”

“Right you are!”

Fully a dozen students quickly provided themselves with shavings and straw, both far from clean, and made after Nat, who was walking up the river-front in the direction of the boathouse.

Before the money-lender’s son could do anything to defend himself, he found himself seized from behind and hurled to the ground.

“Now then, give it to him good!” cried a voice, and in a twinkling a shower of shavings, straw, and dirt descended upon poor Nat, covering him from head to foot.

“Hi! let up!” spluttered the victim, trying to dodge the avalanche. But instead of heeding his pleadings the other students proceeded to ram a quantity of the stuff into his ears and down his collar. Nat squirmed and yelled, but it did little good.

“Now then, you are initiated into the Order of Straw and Shavings!” cried one merry student.

“Just you wait, I’ll get square, see if I don’t,” howled Nat, as he arose. Then he commenced to twist his neck, to free himself from the ticklish straw and shavings.

“Come on and have a good time, old sport!” howled one of his tormentors; and then off the crowd ran in the direction of the bonfires, leaving Nat more disgusted than ever.

“I’ll fix them, just wait and see if I don’t!” stormed the money-lender’s son to himself, and then hurried to the Hall, to clean up and make himself comfortable.

In the meantime the march around the campus had begun, each student carrying a torch of some kind. There was a great singing.

“Be careful of the fire,” warned Mr. Dale, as he came out. “Doctor Clay says you must be careful.”

“We’ll take care!” was the cry.

The marching at an end, some of the boys ran for the stables and presently returned with Jackson Lemond, the driver of the school carryall, commonly called Horsehair, because of the hairs which clung to his clothing.

“Come on, Horsehair, join us in having a good time.”

“Give us a speech, Horsehair!”

“Tell us all you know about the Wars of the Roses.”

“Or how Hannibal crossed the Delaware and defeated the Turks at the Alamo.”

“I can’t make no speech,” pleaded the carryall driver. “Just you let me go, please!”

“If you can’t make a speech, sing,” suggested another. “Give us Yankee Doodle in the key of J minor.”

“Or that beautiful lullaby entitled, ‘You Never Miss Your Purse Until You Have to Walk Home.’ Give us that in nine flats, will you?”

“I tell you I can’t make a speech and I can’t sing!” shouted out the driver for the school, desperately.

“How sad! Can’t speechify and can’t sing! All right, then, let it go, and give us a dance.”

“That’s the talk! A real Japanese jig in five-quarter time.”

There was a rush, and in a twinkling poor Horsehair was boosted to the top of a big packing-case, that had been hauled to the spot as fuel for one of the bonfires.

“The stage!” announced one of the students, with a wave of his hand. “The World-Renowned Horsehairsky will perform his celebrated Dance of the Hop Scotch. Get your opera glasses ready.”

“What’s the admission fee?”

“Two pins and a big green apple.”

“I can’t dance – I ain’t never danced in my life!” pleaded the victim. “You let me go. I’ve got to take care o’ my hosses.”

While he was speaking Buster Beggs had come up behind Horsehair and placed something attached to a dark string on the box, between the driver’s feet. It was an imitation snake, made of rubber and colored up to look very natural.

“Oh my, look at the snake!” yelled several, in pretended alarm.

“Where? where?” yelled Horsehair.

“There, right between your feet! He’s going to bite you on the leg!”

“Take care, that’s a rattler sure!”

“If he bites you, Horsehair, you’ll be a dead man!”

“Take him off! Take him off!” bawled the carryall driver, and in terror he made a wild leap from the packing-box and landed directly on the shoulders of two of the students. Then he dropped to the ground, rolled over, got up, and ran as fast as his legs could carry him in the direction of the stables. A wild laugh followed him, but to this he paid no attention.

“Well, we are certainly having a night of it,” remarked Dave, after the fun had quieted down for a moment. He spoke to Roger.

“Where is Phil?” asked the senator’s son.

“Went off with Ben, I think.”

“Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s queer how much they keep together lately; isn’t it?” continued Roger.

“Oh, I don’t know. Of course that affair with Haskers may have something to do with it,” answered our hero, slowly.

“I wish Haskers would leave this school, Dave.”

“Oh, it won’t make much difference to us, if we graduate, whether he stays or not.”

“I know that. But, somehow, I don’t think he is a good man to have here, even if he is a learned instructor. He never enters into the school spirit, as Mr. Dale does.”

“Well, we can’t all be alike.”

“Would you keep him, if you were in Doctor Clay’s shoes?”

“I hardly think so. Certainly not if I could find another teacher equally good.”

The boys walked on until they found themselves at the last bonfire of the line, close to where the school grounds came to an end. Here was a hedge, and beyond were the woods reaching up from the river.