style="font-size:15px;"> Jack reached his room, little the worse for his experience at the lake. He possessed a fine appetite, which he was soon appeasing by vigorous attacks on the food in the dining-room.
“I say, Jack,” called Nat, “have you heard the latest?”
“What’s that? Has the clock struck?” inquired Jack, ready to have some joke sprung on him.
“No, but Fred Kaler has composed a song about the race and your rescue. He’s going to play it on the mouth-organ, and sing it at the same time to-night.”
“I am not, you big duffer!” cried Fred, throwing a generous crust of bread at Nat, but first taking good care to see that Martin, the monitor, was not looking.
“Sure he is,” insisted Nat.
“Tell him how it goes,” suggested Bony.
“It’s to the tune of ‘Who Put Tacks in Willie’s Shoes?’” went on Nat, “and the first verse is something like this – ”
“Aw, cheese it, will you?” pleaded Fred, blushing, but Nat went on:
“You have heard about the glorious deeds
Of the brave knights of old,
But our Jack Ranger beats them all —
He jumped in waters cold
And rescued one whom he had beat
In a race that he had led,
And while he strove to find him,
Unto me these words he said:
“‘Never fear, I will rescue you, Dock —
Around you my arms I will lock.
I will pull you right out of the hole in the lake,
And then upon shore I will you safely take.
For though you tried to beat me,
In a boat race, tried and true,
I came out ahead, Dock, so
Wait and I’ll rescue you!’”
“How’s that?” asked Nat, amid laughter.
“Punk!” cried one student.
“Put it on ice!” added another.
“Can it!”
“Cage it!”
“Put salt on its tail! It’s wild!”
“Put a new record in; that one scratches.”
These were some of the calls that greeted Nat’s rendition of what he said was Fred’s song.
“I never made that up!” cried the musical student. “I can make better verse than that.”
“Go on, give us the tune,” shouted Sam.
“That’s right – make him play,” came a score of calls.
“Order, young gentlemen, order!” suddenly interrupted the harsh voice of Martin, the monitor. “I shall be obliged to report you to Dr. Mead unless you are more quiet.”
“Send in Professors Socrat and Garlach,” advised Jack. “They can keep order.”
“That’s it, and we’ll get them to sing Fred’s song,” added Sam Chalmers.
“Ranger – Chalmers – silence!” ordered Martin, and not wishing to be sent to Dr. Mead’s office the two lively students, as well as their no less fun-loving companions, subsided.
Quiet finally reigned in the regions of Washington Hall, for the students had to retire to their rooms to study. There were mysterious whisperings here and there, however, and occasionally shadowy forms moved about the corridors, for, in spite of rules against it, the lads would visit each other in their rooms after hours. Several called on Jack to see how he felt after his experience. They found him and Nat Anderson busy looking over some gun catalogues.
“Going in for hunting?” asked Sam.
“Maybe,” replied Jack. “Say, there are some dandy rifles in this book, and they’re cheap, too. I’d like to get one.”
“So would I,” added Sam.
“And go hunting,” put in Bony, cracking his finger knuckles, as if firing off an air-rifle.
“It would be sport to organize a gun club, and do some hunting,” went on Jack. “Only I’d like to shoot bigger game than there is around here. Maybe we can – ”
“Hark, some one’s coming! It’s Martin,” said Fred Kaler in a whisper.
Jack’s hand shot out and quickly turned down the light. Then he bounded into bed, dressed as he was. Nat followed his example. It was well that they did so, for a moment later there came a knock on their door, and the voice of Martin, the monitor, asked:
“Ranger, are you in bed?”
“Yes,” replied our hero.
“Anderson, are you in bed?”
“Yes, Martin.”
“Humph! I thought I heard voices in your room.”
Jack replied with a snore, and the monitor passed on.
“You fellows had better take a sneak,” whispered Jack, when Martin’s footsteps had died away. “He’s watching this room, and he may catch you.”
The outsiders thought this was good advice, and soon Nat and Jack were left alone.
“Did you mean that about a gun club?” asked Nat.
“Sure,” replied his chum, “but we’ll talk about it to-morrow. Better go to sleep. Martin will be sneaking around.”
Jack was up early the next morning, and went down to the lake for a row before breakfast. As he approached the float, where he kept his boat, he saw a student standing there.
“That looks like the new chap – Will Williams,” he mused. “I’ll ask him to go for a row.”
He approached the new lad, and was again struck by a peculiar look of sadness on his face.
“Good-morning,” said Jack pleasantly. “My name is Ranger. Wouldn’t you like to go for a row?”
Will Williams turned and looked at Jack for several seconds without speaking. He did not seem to have heard what was said.
“Perhaps he’s a trifle deaf,” thought Jack, and he asked again more loudly:
“Wouldn’t you like to go for a row?”
“I don’t row,” was the answer, rather snappily given.
“Well, I guess I can manage to row both of us,” was our hero’s reply.
“No, I’m not fond of the water.”
“Perhaps you
