or get beaten at athletics and football; and then – ”
There came a loud hammering at the door.
“Enter Paddy and David!” cried Don.
Dave Merton alone entered, and closing the door behind him promptly fell over an armchair.
“Confound you fellows! why can’t you keep your room decent? A chap’s always breaking his shins when he comes here. Where’s Paddy?”
“What, have you become separated?” cried Don. “Light the gas, Wayne, and let us view the unaccustomed sight of Dave without Paddy.”
“He said he was coming up here after he dressed. I left him at the gym.” Dave stumbled against a straight-backed chair, placed it on its back just inside the door, and groped his way to a seat beside Don. “Hope he’ll break his shins too, when he comes,” he said grimly.
“What have you two inseparables been up to this afternoon?” asked Don.
“Oh, Paddy’s been doing stunts with a football, and he’s awfully annoyed over something, and I’ve been tossing a hammer around the landscape; that’s all.”
“And did you manage to break another goal post?”
“No; couldn’t seem to hit anything to-day, although I did come within a few yards of Greene.”
Another thunderous knocking was heard, and, without awaiting an invitation, Paddy came in, and the sound of breaking wood followed as he landed on the chair.
“I’m afraid I’ve bust something,” he said cheerfully, as he struggled to his feet. “And serves you right, too. Is Dave here?”
“Haven’t seen him,” answered Wayne.
“Wonder where the silly chump went to. Where are you, you fellows?” Paddy felt his way around the table and gropingly found a seat between Don and Dave. “He said he was coming up here before supper.” A faint chuckle aroused his suspicions and the sound of a struggle followed. Then Paddy’s voice arose in triumphant tones.
“’Tis you, yer spalpeen. There’s only one ugly nose like that in school.”
“Ouch!” yelled Dave. “Let go!”
“Is it you?” asked Paddy grimly.
“Yes.”
“Are you a spalpeen?”
“Yes, oh yes. Ouch!”
“All right.” Paddy deposited Dave on the floor and arranged himself comfortably in the window.
“Dave says you’re annoyed, Paddy. Who’s been ill-treating the poor little lad?” asked Don, when the laughter had subsided and Dave had retreated to the other window seat.
“Don, it’s kilt I am intoirely,” answered Paddy. “For thirty mortal minutes Gardiner had me snapping back the ball to that butter-fingered Bowles. If he doesn’t put another quarter-back in soon I shall hand in me resignation. And to make things worse Gardiner stayed up all last night and thought out a most wonderful new trick play, and to-day he tried to put us through it. And, oh dear! I wish you could have seen the backs all tearing around like pigs with a dog after them, bumping into each other, getting in each other’s way and all striking the line at different places and asking, please wouldn’t we let them through! Oh dear! oh dear! And that chap Moore, who plays center on the second, got me around the neck twice and tried to pull my head off. If he doesn’t quit that trick I’ll be forced to forget my elegant manners and slug him.”
“And he’ll wipe the turf up with you, and I hope he does,” said Dave, rubbing his nose ruefully.
“And the St. Eustace game only two weeks off,” continued Paddy, heedless of the interruption. “We’re in an awful state, fellows. I wish we had Remsen back to coach us. Gardiner’s all right in his way, but he doesn’t begin to know the football that Stephen Remsen does. We’re goners this year for sure.”
“Oh, cheer up,” answered Don. “You can do lots in two weeks. Look at the material we’ve got.”
“Yes, look at it,” said Paddy. “There isn’t a man in the line or back of it that’s played in a big game except Greene and myself.”
“But St. Eustace has a lot of new men this year, too.”
“Don’t you believe it, my boy. That’s what they say, but Gardiner told me yesterday that St. Eustace has five fellows on the team that played against us last year.”
“Does the game come off here?” asked Wayne.
“No, it’s at Marshall this year. We’re all going down, aren’t we, fellows?” asked Dave.
“Of course,” answered Don. “We will go and see Paddy slaughtered. Wayne will go along and we’ll teach him to sing ‘Hilltonians.’ By the way, I’ve been trying to persuade him that he ought to take up training for the track team. He will make a first-class runner. But he’s so terribly lazy and indifferent that it’s like talking to a football dummy.”
“Of course you ought to, Wayne,” exclaimed Paddy earnestly. “It’s your duty, my young friend. Every fellow ought to do everything he can for the success of the school. I’d try for the team if I could run any faster than I can walk.”
“Oh, well,” said Wayne, “I’ll see about it.”
“You ought to jump at the chance,” said Dave, in disgust. “It isn’t every chap that gets asked by the captain of the team. And, let me tell you – Hello! Six o’clock, fellows. Who’s for supper?”
“Every one,” cried Don, jumping up. “But I’ve got to wash first. Some one light the gas if they can find the matches.”
“Well, I’m off,” said Paddy.
“So’m I,” echoed Dave. “I say, Don, I’m coming over after supper to see if you can help me with that trigonometry stuff.”
“All right,” answered Don from the bedroom between splashes. “If you know less about it than I do I’ll be surprised.”
“Come on,” cried Paddy impatiently from the doorway —
“‘The time has come,’ the Walrus said,
‘To eat of many things;
Of apple sauce and gingerbread,
Of cake and red herrings!’”
CHAPTER IV
THE REVOLT BEGINS
Wayne lounged down the steps of the Academy Building, a little bundle of books under his arm, and listlessly crossed the grass to the wall that guarded the river bluff, from where an enticing panorama of stream and meadow and distant mountains lay before him. The day was one of those unseasonably warm ones which sometimes creep unexpectedly into the month of November, and which make every task doubly hard and any sort of idleness attractive. The river was intensely blue, the sky almost cloudless, and the afternoon sun shone with mellow warmth on the deep red bricks of the ancient buildings.
Wayne tossed his books on the sod and perched himself on the top of
