arose from their places on the ground to kneel with heads bent and repeat the Lord’s Prayer. The dying fire crackled softly and its mellow light played upon the motionless forms, while overhead the white stars peered down through the dark branches as though they too were giving thanks to their Creator.
Then good night was said to the Chief and the fellows separated, the younger boys to climb the hill to Spruce Hall and the older to go to their own dormitory. Presently from across the clearing floated the slow sweet notes of the bugle sounding taps, and the lights in the junior hall went out. The seniors, however, still had a half hour before they must be in bed, and they made the most of it in various ways. When Nelson and Tom entered Maple they found three distinct pillow or “sneaker” fights in progress, and the air was full of hurtling missiles. On one bed two youths in pajamas were sitting cross-legged deep in a game of cribbage when a random shoe struck the homemade board with all the devastating effect of a bursting shell, and sent it, together with the quartet of pegs, over three bunks. Whereupon two voices were raised in rage, cards were dropped, and the ranks of the belligerents were swelled by two volunteers.
The senior dormitory was erected on the side of the hill, well off the ground for the sake of dryness, and was a simply but well-built structure some eighty feet long by twenty wide, with enough pitch to its gable roof to shed rain quickly and afford a sort of open attic under the rafters, where bags and wearing apparel were precariously hung from the beams or supported on occasional planks. The effect in the dim light was picturesque if not beautiful. There was a multitude of windows on either side, and at each end large double doors occupied a third of the space. As neither doors nor windows were ever closed, save during a driving rain-storm, the occupants of the narrow bunks ranged along each side of the hall practically slept out-of-doors. A big stove stood in the middle of the building. At the head of each bunk, secured to the wall, was a white-pine locker. Sometimes this was supplemented by a square of matched boards which let down to form a writing-table. Wooden pegs held the every-day attire, and trinkets were disposed along the horizontal joists. The bunks, wooden-framed cots, were guiltless of springs, and were furnished with mattresses, blankets, and pillows. At Chicora sheets were looked down upon as emblems of effeminacy. The fellows slept with their feet toward the walls. From a rafter hung a sheet of wrapping-paper bearing the warning “No Snoring Allowed!” Some one had crossed out the last word and substituted “Aloud.”
Nelson’s bunk was the last but one on the left, and in the opposite corner was Mr. Verder. At the farther end of the dormitory slept Dr. Smith. What light there was was given by two reflector lanterns at either end of the hall, although for purposes of card-playing, reading, or writing the fellows supplemented this dim radiance by lighting one or more of the lanterns which were part of each boy’s outfit. Aided by such extra illumination Nelson’s right-hand neighbor, a curly-haired youth of about sixteen, whose name later transpired to be Hethington, was busily engaged in patching a tennis racket with a piece of string. Near the middle of the hall, a big, good-looking chap with very red hair was entertaining two companions with a narrative that must have been extremely humorous, judging from the suppressed laughter that convulsed them. Nelson had noticed him at table and now concluded that he was Tom’s St. Eustace friend, Dan Speede.
Nelson undressed leisurely and got into his pajamas, the while examining the bed and his surroundings for a hint as to the trick which was to be played him. But there were no suspicious circumstances that he could see; the bed looked and felt all right, and of all the sixteen inhabitants of the dormitory not one was apparently paying him the least heed. When he considered it, the fact that every one seemed to be resolutely keeping his eyes from his direction struck him as of ill augury; even the boy with the tennis racket was unnaturally absorbed in his work. Tom Ferris came over in a pair of weirdly striped pajamas and sat chatting on the bed a moment until the lights were put out. Then there was a scrambling, a few whispered good nights, and silence reigned save for the sounds of the forest entering through the windows and doors. Nelson found the bunk rather different from what he was accustomed to, but the fresh night air felt good; there was a novel pleasure in being able to look out through the branches at the twinkling white stars, and he sighed contentedly and wished the worst would happen so that he could go to sleep.
But everything was very still. Minute after minute passed. He strained his ears for suspicious sounds, but heard nothing save the occasional creak of a bed. The suspense was most uncomfortable. He had about come to the conclusion that after all nothing was going to happen, and was feeling a bit resentful over it, when a sound reached him as of bare feet on the boards. He turned his head noiselessly and stared into the gloom. He could see nothing, and the sound had ceased. Probably he had imagined —
Bang!
Thud!!
Clatter!!!
Down went the bed with a jar that shook the building; down came a shower of water that left the victim gasping for breath; and Nelson and a big tin bucket rolled together onto the floor and into a very cold puddle.
Pandemonium reigned! Gone was the peaceful quietude of a moment before. From all sides came shrieks and howls of laughter and kindly counsel:
“Pick yourself up, Willie!”
“Swim hard, old man!”
“Try floating on your back!”
“Sweet dreams!”
“Did I hear something drop?” asked a voice.
“Very high sea to-night!” remarked another.
Nelson struggled free of the clinging folds of the wet blankets and stood up shivering in the darkness. It had been so sudden and so unexpected, for all the warning he had received, that he didn’t quite know yet what had happened to him. Then a match flared, a lantern was lighted, and the tennis-racket youth was holding it out to him.
“Did the water get you?” he asked calmly.
“Rather!” answered Nelson. “I’m soaked clear through!”
“Better get your panoramas off, then,” said Hethington. “I’ve got some dry ones you can have. I’ll look ’em up.” And he climbed leisurely out of bed.
By that time Tom had come to the rescue with an armful of dry blankets from an unoccupied bunk. The tin lard can was kicked out of the way, the wet mattress turned over, and the new blankets spread. Hethington tossed over the dry pajamas, and Nelson, his teeth chattering, got into them and looked about him. As far as he could see in the dim light white-robed figures were sitting up in their bunks regarding him with grinning faces. There was something expectant in both faces and attitudes, and Nelson realized that they were awaiting an expression of his feelings. With a glance that encompassed the entire assemblage, he remarked earnestly, but more in sorrow than in anger:
“Well, I hope you choke!”
A shout of laughter rewarded him, while a voice from the nearer dimness remarked audibly:
“I told you he’d be all right, Dan!”
Nelson examined the bed, but found that it could not be made to stand without the aid of tools. So, thanking Hethington again for his pajamas and eliciting a calm “All right,” and looking about for evidences of further surprises without finding them, he blew out the lantern and descended into his lowly couch. The last thing he saw, as the light went out, was the amused countenance of Mr. Verder across the dormitory.
Ten minutes later he was asleep.
CHAPTER III
SHOWS THAT A MOTOR-DORY CAN GO AS WELL AS STOP
When Nelson awoke the early sunshine
