Chapter III: Part 3

"You'll find out the day of the meet," he said.

* * * * *

Seventeen of an enrollment of two hundred were entrants in the famed ski jump which was the event responsible for the big turn-out of spectators. Seldon Prep was one of the few northern schools giving attention to ski jumping and the fact was recognized by news reel camera men who stationed themselves below the incline with cameras commanding a range of the landing area. With ice skating and bob-sled races out of the way, the course along the ski slide and beyond it was lined with a colorful winter crowd. The sky was overcast with just a suggestion of snow in the air. Newspapers, having gotten wind of the Southern boy's participation in the meet, had advertised Reed Markham as the "dark horse" so that spectators were discussing him and trying to pick him out.

Seldon's method of operating the ski jump was a system of her own. Sam Hartley, as defending champion, was entitled to jump last. The other competitors were required to draw lots for places and a sober-faced Reed winced as he found that he had drawn number "one."

"So I've got to start the meet," Reed murmured to himself. "Here's a tough break right off."

"Remember," warned Coach Turner, who was the official in charge, "for distance to be counted on your jumps, you must land clean, on your skis, and continue. What happens after that, of course, is of no consequence. But no jumps will be recognized if the jumper falls in landing. Is that clear?"

The contestants nodded and looked to their skis. All were atop the hill which provided a fine view of the surrounding country ... the Seldon Prep school buildings and grounds on the right ... straight ahead and precipitately down in the valley--the town of Seldon. The Rapid River separated the town from the school property. The clearing in which the skiers were to land was a park on the Seldon Prep end of the bridge. Skiers completing the jump successfully would carry on, passing over the bridge and coming to a stop on the other side the river. Either that or turn their skis sidewise and bring up short, risking a tumble into the banked snow on the sides around the clearing. To the left, looking from the top of the hill, was open country. The landscape today looked particularly attractive since a thin coating of additional snow had fallen the night before. The sliding lane was dotted black with humanity ... the dots merging into a blotter-like area below where the skiers were to finish.

"Suppose you're all ready to _take_ us?" queried Sam as he skied over beside Reed who had knelt to be sure his feet were firmly fastened to the skis.

Reed gave no answer. In truth, his heart was pounding like mad. He did not dare venture a comment for fear his voice would quaver. This thing of demonstrating before a crowd he felt to be hostile; schoolmates waiting to ridicule, and in a sport he had attempted to master within a short, concentrated period, had all tended to affect Reed's nerves. Thousands had watched the glider contest and he had not cared. But never had he wanted so much to make good ... to give these swell-headed Northerners a Southern spanking--where it hurt the worst--in their own sport.

"Each contestant gets three qualifying jumps," announced Director Turner. "And three chances to better the marks of his opponents. If he fails he, of course, drops out. Are you ready, Reed Markham?"

"Yes, sir!" said Reed, and wondered in a flashing thought, what his father would say if he could see him now.

"Course clear!" came the shout from below and the small figure of an official, looking up, waved a green flag at him.

Conscious that every eye was on him, the fellow from down South prepared to take-off. He surveyed the incline up which he must shoot and calculated the breeze which was blowing, taking these factors into account as though he were about to leave the ground in a glider.

"Well, here goes!" he said, and caught his breath as he whizzed down the slide.

A white ribbon of snow passed him with almost express train speed; he saw a kaleidoscopic sea of faces, crazily distorted as he shot downward; heard the excited murmur of the crowd which broke into a wild "Ah!" as he crouched and took the air. Below him a rough horseshoe of humanity, blurred trees, houses, the river ... and down, down, down ... swooping low ready for the landing ... he was wavering, losing his balance ... something wasn't quite right....

"A great take-off!" breathed champion Sam Hartley, following the Southerner's flight. "But he's going to crash!... Too bad!..."

Striking on one ski, Reed desperately tried to keep his feet but was catapulted instead, landing head first in a mound of snow and narrowly missing a rim of spectators. Willing hands reached for him and pulled him out, shaken and gasping.

"You all right?" asked the official who had waved him down.

"Yes," Reed reassured, recovering his skis.

"Too bad, kid!" sympathized an onlooker. "That first jump of yours might have been a record if you'd kept your feet."

Reed glanced at once at his landing place. He had come down beyond the hundred foot mark.

"Well," was his comment, "all I can do is try again!"

"The boy's got nerve!" somebody nearby remarked.

* * * * *

Champion Sam Hartley's first jump gave early evidence of his superb form when he broke his own record with a leap of one hundred and eleven feet. He mounted the hill, grinning jubilantly and eyeing the fellow from down South who was about to take off on his second try, as much as to say, "Beat that, if you can, you _beginner_!"

"He's good all right," Reed conceded. "This gliding through the air and keeping your balance without wings of any kind is no small trick. When you land it's usually harder, too."

Setting himself grimly, Reed leaned forward.

"He's off!" cried the crowd.

Hurtling off the incline, body perfectly poised, the only contestant from the South carried well over the landing field and came down as gracefully as a bird. This time there was no wavering, his return to earth was as beautifully maneuvered as a pilot's three point landing. There followed a mighty cheer from the crowd!

"Holy smoke!" gasped Sam, staring. "I believe he's ... yes, sir--that Georgia riddle has topped my mark. The question is--how much?"

A few seconds later the crowd thrilled at the megaphoned announcement that Reed Markham, number one, had been credited with a jump of one hundred and thirteen feet, six inches!

"Hey, Sam!" kidded Tom Carrow who was now third with a jump of ninety-eight feet. "You've got your work cut out for you!"

"Don't I know it?" Seldon's champion returned. "I can't let that baby beat me. I'd never hear the last of it--after all the razzing I've handed him."

For the first time since he had come to Seldon Prep, Reed Markham was supremely happy as, with the plaudits of the crowd resounding in his ears, he toiled up the ice-coated hill to the starting place. Let this Sam Hartley person top this mark if he could. Now the ski was distinctly on the other foot! Sam had broken his own mark and he, Reed, who had taken up skiing but a month before, had topped that! Pretty good for a Southern boy who apparently wasn't considered much good at all!

"Great stuff!" greeted Sam, considerably to Reed's surprise. "That's the greatest jump I ever saw!"

"Thanks," said Reed, and scowled. "What else can Hartley say?" he asked himself, trying to explain the champion's gesture of sportsmanship. "But I'll bet those Northerners are really burning up!"

Trying desperately, the defending champion failed to equal even his previous distance on the next two jumps. Reed, meanwhile, reserving his right as the leading jumper, did not take his turns. And, when each of the other rivals failed in their third tries to better the mark, Reed felt his nerves tingling as the fellow he detested strapped on his skis for his last attempt.

"He can't beat it!" something told Reed. "I'm going to win! I'm just a novice ... a rank amateur ... but I'm going to beat this cocksure Northerner. They will laugh at a Southerner, will they? This'll fix 'em, and maybe I won't have something to write Dad!"

Reed was still exultant as a breathless crowd, pulling for the local favorite to come through, cheered mightily with Sam Hartley's all-important take-off. Reed followed Sam's form as it swept majestically off the incline and sailed outward over the clearing. His eyes strained with sudden concern as he noted that Sam had made a prodigious leap and was coming down close to his own record distance. Sam struck the slope, wavered, thrashed his arms violently to keep his feet, succeeded and continued on down over the bridge amid a mad tumult.

"He did it! He topped that Markham fellow's distance!" shouted a spectator. "What ski jumping! Records being broken right and left!"

Reed felt nervous perspiration ooze out upon him. Now he had it all to do over again. This was hair-raising, blood-chilling competition. Reduced now, just to the two of them, it would be a bitter fight to the finish ... a battle with no quarter asked and no quarter given ... between North and South.

A tickled Sam Hartley, accepting congratulatory pats on the back, stationed himself below to await his Southern rival's next jump. He waved his defiance at the figure on top of the hill. Reed Markham would have to surpass one hundred and fifteen feet to take the lead from the champ.

"I guess that finishes him!" Sam said in a low tone to overjoyed schoolmates. "But, boy--he's made me do some tall jumping!"

* * * * *

Racing down the slide, determined to best his previous jumps, Reed fairly shot out into space.

"Good night!" exclaimed Sam, face sobering. "That guy's a regular kangaroo!... Hey! Look out, kid!... Look out the way!"

It happened quickly--a couple of playful kids chasing each other across the snow and one of them directly in the path of the descending ski jumper. Reed, looking down, saw that his landing was to be fraught with peril for himself as well as the youngster. There was only one thing to do. With complete disregard for himself he twisted his body in air, hurled himself forward and, just clearing the startled kid, struck the ground on the tips of his skis, upended and rolled and slid for some feet, finally colliding with a tree, where he lay, stunned. Even so, the point of his landing was in excess of the distance Sam had made, indicating that, had he been able to come to earth without incident, Sam's record might once more have been eclipsed.

"How are you, fellow?" asked Sam, the first one to him, sitting the dazed Reed Markham up and looking him over, anxiously.

"I--I'm all right, I guess. I--I missed the kid, didn't I?"

"Yeah, that scamp's okay," Sam reassured. "That was a nervy thing you just did. Too bad it had to spoil your jump. You're too shaken up. We'd better call this a day. I'm awfully sorry--really!"

Sam helped Reed to his feet. Director Turner came hurrying up; the crowd commenced gathering around.

"Give me just a minute," Reed pleaded. "I've got two more jumps coming. I...!"

"_Two_ more?" exclaimed Sam. "You've got _three_. We're not counting that one."

"Thanks," said Reed, and gave the fellow he detested a questioning glance. These Northerners were more chivalrous than he had thought.

"You've jumped enough," declared Coach Turner, taking Reed's arm. "You've done wonders as it is...."

"No!" insisted Reed, his soft eyes taking on a look of grim determination. "Whenever a fellow crashes, he's got to go up and take-off again. That's an old glider rule. I'm all right. Make way for me, will you please?"

"Well, I'll be dogged!" cried Sam, in sheer admiration, as the fellow he had pestered brought an ovation from the crowd by starting the long climb up the hill.

"A Markham never quits!" Reed was repeating to himself as he went toward the top.

And he was repeating it after he had failed in two more jumps, the first of which resulted in another tumble and the second falling short by half a foot.

"You've still another jump if you feel like it!" Sam offered.

"No," said Reed, extending his hand in token of surrender. "You win!"

"I'll never feel quite right about this," said Sam, as he gripped the hand of the fellow he had dubbed "Softy." "You're some guy, Reed! You made me break my own record twice to top you. I'm sorry it's taken us fellows so long to get to know you ... but I'm glad of one thing...!" He paused, grinning.

"What's that?" asked Reed, feeling his heart suddenly go out to this Northern foeman.

"I'm glad," said Sam, "that you didn't have snow in Georgia! Man--a guy who can jump like you did in a month's time...!"

Coldness--imaginary and otherwise--vanished quickly after that as fellow schoolmates gathered around for the privilege of shaking the Southerner by the hand ... and, as if to prove that the Northern warmth was to remain--the next day brought a heavy thaw!

IN WRONG RIGHT

They picked me to do the dirty work because I was a special friend of Eddie Summers and they didn't think he'd suspect me.

Eddie was the leader of the freshest bunch of Freshies that ever got fresh at Lillard High. He'd made things miserable for us Sophs all year and the worst thing about it, he'd slipped out of every trap we'd set for him. The other Freshies didn't cut so much bait with us. Eddie was the rudder to the Freshman ship ... and once we put the rudder out of commission we knew the first year boat would flounder like a fish trying to make a cross country hike.

Pete Dean, leader of our forces, had prided himself on being a commander-in-chief second only to General Pershing and a few other notables not worth mentioning. To have an insignificant mortal, wearing the green skull cap insignia of the Freshman ranks, consistently outwit and thwart his best laid plans for keeping the first year fellows in their places, was only to add fuel to the day when the Sophs should drive through to a high and mighty revenge.

"He can't get away with it every time," Pete insisted, the morning after we saw the Freshman colors of green and white rippling in the breeze from the reed-like flag-staff on top of the Lillard High belfry.

"But who's going up and get those colors down?" I asked, not caring to volunteer for reasons plainly obvious!

"If anyone'll tell me how that human fly climbed up there and tied those colors to the top of that flag pole without breaking his neck and dislocating both ears ... I'll get it down!" exploded Pete.

But he knew blamed well that nobody could tell him! And anyhow, when Principal Sawyer spotted those colors he posted a notice on the bulletin board saying that he'd expel anyone who tried to take 'em down.

Obadiah Erasmus Tucker got hot under the collar, too. The idea of any lower classman cutting such capers! As president of the Student Government League he felt called upon to declare himself against all stunts and hazing. Obadiah was a Senior now and he'd never gotten over the humiliation of having to wear a green cap his Freshman year.

I wish you could have seen Obadiah. He was the personification of dignity plus. No wonder they elected him president of the United Classes of Lillard. He never did anything improper. He was a polished example of law and order. And how he loved to enforce regulations! Obadiah looked upon "his truly" as the exalted head of a school court for the promotion of inter-class peace. The Seniors held the balance of power in this funny government which Obadiah had helped to form, because the Seniors were supposed to be the most experienced. The other classes were represented according to their place in the scheme of things. Real important decisions had to have the endorsement of the faculty but we got a lot of fun out of thinking that we governed ourselves anyway.

I guess a person has to have dignity to be looked up to ... or else they must be tall. Obadiah was both. He was the tallest fellow in school besides holding his head the highest. Eddie Summers was the only one who could come near him for altitude. Obadiah looked like a piece of pulled taffy. Everything about him was long. He had a long face, a long nose, a long neck, long arms and longer legs. Maybe that's why it was so hard for him to unbend ... lots of longitude but hardly any latitude. His face was so long that he couldn't laugh with it. Nothing ever seemed to strike him funny. I'll bet you couldn't have tickled him if you'd teased the bottoms of his feet with a straw. And if you laughed at anything yourself he acted like you'd violated half the constitution which called for a respectful attitude at all times.

Honest, Obadiah had us thinking he was a Swiss cheese and we didn't amount to anything but the holes. He was very important and superior. I guess now it was because he wore double-lensed, shell-rimmed glasses and his hair always stuck up straight on his head. The glasses used to use his nose as a toboggan slide and he was always taking a long finger and shoving them back up where they belonged. He had just about as much trouble with his pants. Every time he sat down he pulled up about a yard of the legs so's he wouldn't stretch the creases out of the knees.

But I started to tell you about the Freshies and the sweet little job I was picked to handle. You can imagine how good the Freshies felt at getting their colors up to stay. And you won't have to twist your imagination out of shape to figure what an eyesore those colors were to us, being the first thing we saw coming to school and the last on going home, as the belfry could be seen several blocks away!

The oldest landmark about Lillard High was the watering trough. It stood between the sidewalk and the road, just off the campus on James street. There weren't many horses left in Lillard to use the trough but the water was artesian and many folks used to get it to drink. The town had run a pipe up on the outside of the trough next to the sidewalk where folks could wet their whistles. The trough was about ten feet long, three feet wide and four feet high, made of concrete. There were steps leading up to the fountain from the sidewalk. The basin of the trough was about thirty inches deep and covered with specimens of moss which the botany professor said was full of Amoebæ.

It had been the history of Lillard High that when any fellow got too fresh he somehow got acquainted with the watering trough. The water, coming from a well, was about as cold as water could be. One plunge in the trough was usually enough to shrink swelled heads or cool anyone's ambition.

"I can't help it if it is mid-winter," declared Pete Dean at a special called meeting of the Sophs, "We've got to put a stop to Freshy rule. It's the trough for Eddie Summers...!"

"A guy with that name ought not to mind the winter," remarked one of our class wits, which was me.

"That being the case, you're elected to assist in the dousing program," delegated Pete.

"No fair! Just because I live next to that bird's no sign...."

"Oh, come on! You know him better'n we do. You've gone around together. It 'ud be a cinch to...."

"Well, what's your plan?" I asked, coming to the point. I was just as anxious to see Eddie hit the trough as anyone else. He might have been a friend of mine but class strife was class strife!

"My plan's this," outlined Pete. "Obadiah's laid down some pretty strict rules and we can't afford to get caught, so we've got to get Eddie alone when there's no one to see us or help him out. The best time's after dark ... say, tomorrow night ... and the only way to do it is for Ralph here (pointing at me) to find some excuse for going out with Eddie and lead him by this trough. We'll be hiding and we'll pounce upon him so quick he'll be in the icy deep before he knows what's hit him!"

The fellows liked the idea fine ... all except me. I'd a lot rather have been one of the dousers because it wasn't likely Eddie would be able to figure out who they were. But I was sure to catch it in the neck as soon as the Freshies heard about it.

"Here's your chance to be the class martyr," offered Pete. "I only wish I was in your shoes!"

"So do we!" chimed in the other fellows with all sorts of enthusiasm since they knew they couldn't be.

There was no use trying to crawl out of it. I was the unanimous choice and according to Roberts' rules of order my say didn't count. The next thing was to hit upon a scheme for luring Eddie out of the house to the scene of his Waterloo. We'd occasionally gone to the movies together and it struck the bunch as a logical idea for me to date Eddie up. Doug Fairbanks was opening at the Grand theatre in "Robin Hood" and Eddie would be crazy to see that because he had always imagined he resembled Doug. The only resemblance I could see was that Doug and Eddie both belonged to the human race ... but we won't argue about that.

Well ... when I asked Eddie if he'd like to go, at noon-hour the next day, he hesitated a few moments as if thinking, then said, appreciative like, "Don't care if I do!"

"Good! I'll call for you at the house at seven-thirty tonight," I replied, my heart pounding sort of funny.

That afternoon word was passed around among the Sophs that the ducking was going to be pulled off as per schedule. James street was the shortest way down town. We lived half a block off James street on Adams street and it was a sure bet that we'd take the one and only route down past the watering trough on our walk to the Grand theatre.

It was cold enough to wear an overcoat when I set out from the house that night. I almost thought I was going to lose my nerve ... it seemed like such a shame--taking advantage of poor, innocent Eddie that way. And it made me "B-r-r-r!" to think of the sensation he'd have when he flopped into that liquid refrigerator. I remembered the time when a bunch of us fellows thought we'd imitate polar bears and jumped in the bay through a hole in the ice. Never again!

It was a dark night, too. This would be in our favor. The campus was shaded by huge pine trees and the watering trough was in the middle of the block so that the light from the arcs on either corner just barely reached. Without the moon it was almost pitch dark through that stretch.

I rang Eddie's door bell ... feeling more and more like handing in my resignation but what could I do now? After a few minutes Eddie came to the door but I saw through the glass that he didn't have his hat or coat on. His face looked grave.

"Sorry, Ralph," Eddie announced. "There's sickness in the family and I'll just have to call it off tonight. I'm sorry I couldn't let you know sooner ... but I kept thinking I could get away until the last minute."

"Oh--that's all right," I said, feeling disappointed and relieved at the same time. "I hope it's nothing serious?"

"No ... I guess not...." Eddie answered, not mentioning who was sick. "It's only serious for the time being."

Well,--here was a nice howdy do! After leaving Eddie I stopped outside his house, wondering what move to make next. The fellows would be expecting me to show up with him any minute now. I'd better go down and tell the boys it was all off ... and explain just why so's I wouldn't get the blame for not going through with my part in the proceedings.

Obadiah Erasmus Tucker lived the second house from the corner off the intersection of James and Adams streets, just a block from the school. Of course it had to be my luck to run into him as I passed the house. He was on his way down to the Chamber of Commerce to attend a civic meeting that he wanted to write up for a civics lesson.

"Why, good evening, Ralph!" Obadiah said to me. He had an old way about him that made you feel like he was doing you a favor to speak to you. "Snappy weather, eh what?"

"Yes,--pretty lively," I replied, feeling uneasy as Obadiah hit it off alongside me. I was thinking of his running into the fellows at the trough and that he'd know right away we were up to some devilment and have us called on the carpet the next day or report us to the principal.

I shifted over to the side nearest the trough so I could give the fellows the high sign at the first opportunity but when we got up close there wasn't a one in sight and I began to think they'd gotten wise and skidooed when all of a sudden there was a noise like the radio report of the democratic convention ... only worse ... and black forms swooped around from the street side of the trough and from behind every nearby tree.

For a second I couldn't figure out what it was all about ... until I heard Obadiah give a yell ... and the next thing I knew there was a flock of arms hoisting him in the air ... and before I could shout or do a thing ... Plop! he went, right into the middle of the watering trough!

There was the grandest splashing and sputtering you ever heard for the next few seconds. The air seemed full of Obadiah's arms and legs. He kicked hard enough to send him most half way across the English channel but he couldn't make any headway in the watering trough except down.

Every time Obadiah's head came to the top, Pete Dean, who was standing on the steps, shoved it under again, yelling, "Souse him good, fellows! He needs it!"

They were making such a commotion, splashing his dignitary up and down, that it was all I could do to make myself heard. I rushed up to Pete, grabbed him by the arm and hollered in his ear, "Cheese it, you big boob! It's Obadiah!"

Just then one of the fellows caught sight of Obadiah's double-lensed goggles which had sloshed over the side of the trough and he let out a whoop like he was shot in ten places at once.

"Great razzberries!" exclaimed Pete, his eyes sticking out of his head. "Beat it, guys!"

The fellows didn't wait to help Obadiah out ... they just jerked him to a sitting position in the trough and left him sputtering and gasping and blowing water like the cross between a garden spray and a whale with two spouts.

I was too stunned to move ... and when I did begin to think of locomotion I heard some new noises around me and saw some other black forms come dashing across the alley. Then it dawned on me like a flash. Eddie had outwitted us again. He'd seen through my invitation somehow. He'd tipped off the Freshies and they had waited, in hiding, figuring on catching us Sophs flat-footed at the trough. But they'd not counted on unforeseen circumstances any more than we had ... so they were a little late in arriving.

Right here's one time where I used my head for something besides growing a hair on. I didn't have a second to lose. The Freshies were almost on me. I gritted my teeth and ran up the steps and plunged into the watering trough beside Obadiah.

* * * * *

Cold? Oh, boy! Cold? The minute I hit the water it felt like my backbone was one long icicle ... and when I rolled over and sat up I thought I had about a hundred sets of teeth. Poor old Obadiah! He hardly seemed to know what was going on except that he was holding down half the country of Greenland and had a chunk of the North pole in one hand.

"Now we've got you!" someone cried, close to my ear.

Hands reached in and grabbed Obadiah and me, dragging us out of the trough like a couple of wet meal bags. Obadiah was as limp as a wet bathing suit. His arms and legs were all tangled up and he was doubled into a knot so's not to expose any more of his anatomy than he could help. I wasn't exactly comfortable myself. If it hadn't been so dark I'll bet you could have seen steam coming off our clothes.

Eddie was the first one I saw when I got out. He gave me a triumphant laugh.

"Thought you'd put it over on me, didn't you?" he taunted. "No one sick at our house but the cat!"

"You'll be sick in a minute," I assured him, getting a strangle hold on my teeth.

"Who's this bird?" a Freshie asked, stooping over Obadiah who was trying to persuade his knees to hold him up.

Say--when the fellows saw who it was I thought they'd drop dead where they stood. They were the scaredest bunch I ever looked at.

Obadiah couldn't talk yet but his eyes weren't frozen shut. He was using 'em to spot every boy in the crowd. A cat didn't have anything on Obadiah the way he saw in the dark.

"Why--why Mr. Tucker ... what are you doing here?" asked Eddie, in a voice that shook worse than mine.

"Th-th-that's wh-wh-what I w-w-want to know!" stuttered Obadiah, having an awful time keeping from biting his tongue. "A-A-And I'm g-g-going to f-f-find out!"

This declaration was what I'd been waiting for. I stepped over where Obadiah could see me.

"I guess they thought you were one of the Sophomores, too," I said, putting over my thunderbolt.

I could hear the Freshies gasp. But what could they say? All they could do was to break out with nervous perspiration.

It was the first time that the president of the Student Government League had taken any notice of dripping me!

"Wh-wh-what! D-d-did they th-th-throw y-y-you in, too?" he stammered. "W-w-well, up-up-upon m-m-my w-word! I'll m-m-make th-th-them p-p-pay for th-th-this!"

Here's where Eddie Summers came up for air.

"The Freshies didn't do it, Mr. Tucker! It was the Sophs ... they...." he started to explain.

"Y-y-you c-c-can't t-t-tell me th-th-that! I know a-a-all about it! And besides ... I-I'm p-p-pretty n-n-near frozen t-to d-d-death. I-I'll attend to y-y-you f-f-fellows in the m-m-morning. Th-th-there'll be a s-s-special meeting of the League t-t-to t-t-take up your cases. R-R-Ralph, h-h-hadn't y-y-you b-b-better c-c-come over t-t-to my h-h-house wh-wh-while I g-g-get a doctor?"

Obadiah's teeth were making a sound like a freight train clattering over a cattle guard at a railroad crossing. He was getting worse right along. Eddie did have presence enough of mind to offer to help him home.

"H-h-help m-m-me h-h-home?" Obadiah glowered, "S-s-such imp-p-p-pert-t-tinence!" He shook a shaky fist at the leader of the subdued Freshies. "G-g-get along with you, b-b-before I l-l-lose m-m-my t-t-temper!"

The boys backed off, kind of bewildered like ... as if they didn't know just what would be the proper caper,--but when they got a little ways off they broke into a run and scattered mighty quick.

I picked up Obadiah's glasses and he stood for a minute with his knees leaning together, trying to put them on ... but his hands shook so hard that he couldn't locate his nose. He finally gave up trying and took a couple of steps toward home ... peering around like he was afraid some distinguished citizen of Lillard would pass by and see him in his undisguised state. But the coast was clear.

Obadiah didn't object when I took hold of his arm. Our clothes sounded crinkly and crackly like as we walked ... but somehow I was a lot warmer than I had been. And I was just getting to the place where I could begin to see how funny everything was. When we got to the corner I couldn't hold it in any longer. I busted right out laughing.

"Wh-what's the m-m-matter?" asked Obadiah, alarmed.

"Something tickles me," I said, laughing some more as I helped him up his front steps.

"Y-y-you're h-h-hysterical ... th-th-that's what's the m-m-matter," he said, getting excited, "Y-y-your condition's s-s-serious!"

Nothing must do but that I come in while his mother calls the doctor and my folks and runs around like a Japanese coolie laying out dry clothes for both of us and pouring hot water in the tub.

When I saw the outfit Mrs. Tucker had put out for me to wear I had another fit of laughing which Obadiah thought would send me into convulsions.

A suit of flannel underwear with the shirt and drawers separate; an old pair of long pants, which Mrs. Tucker said would warm my legs up; and a cast-off smoking jacket which had belonged to Mr. Tucker before he got a new one last Christmas--that hung around me like a lean-to tent. Maybe I didn't look like the cat's moustache!

Well--the doctor finally got there and after examining Obadiah he advised a brisk rubbing and plenty of hot drinks and hot water bottles ... but said he didn't think there'd be any ill effects as the victim had stood the shock better than the victim had expected.

"I wish you'd look after poor Ralph. He's propped up in the chair out there," I heard Obadiah say in a disappointed voice. "I think he's even worse off than I am!"

The doc came out and gave me the once over. He looked as though he couldn't believe his eyes. I was sitting with my legs stuck out over another chair so that the ends of the trousers hung empty like I didn't have any feet. I didn't have any arms either ... and the sleeves to the coat hung like they do from a hanger. Then there was nothing under my coat but the underwear which fitted around my neck as loose as a horse collar.

"I'm suffering from a complication of clothes," I whispered to the doc ... and then there was two of us laughing instead of one.

Obadiah sent his mother in to see what was up. And at the same time my folks arrived with some of my own clothes.

"The boy's all right," said the doc, after he got his second wind. "All he needed was a good laugh ... and I've just finished giving it to him!"

He winked at me as he went out the door.

I didn't get a chance to see the other fellows till school commenced next day and then it was too late to explain what had happened. There was an air of direful expectancy among the Sophs ... and the Freshies moved about in fear and trembling.

Sure enough! The bell rang for a special session of chapel the very first thing. We shuffled into the assembly room ... most of the school wondering what it was all about. Principal Sawyer was on the platform with the president of the United Classes of Lillard. It was evident right off the bat that the meeting had not been called for entertainment purposes.

"Everyone but the Freshman and Sophomore boys is excused from this chapel to attend regular classes," said the principal.

There was a murmur of curiosity and a lot of confusion as the room was cleared and the fellows who were left, gathered in two bunches up toward the front.

When things had quieted down so that every fellow was having a good time listening to his heart skip beats, Obadiah got up at a nod from Principal Sawyer and walked to the edge of the platform, glaring down at us.

Honest--I felt like snickering again! All the kink was out of his stand-up hair and he looked like he'd shrunk two good inches. He reminded me of a drooping water lily ... but mad? Say, he was the living embodiment of all the righteous indignation in the world!

"There has come to the attention of the Student Government League a very grave case of hazing," Obadiah started. "A case which, I regret to say (which he didn't) must be dealt with severely. It concerns the ducking of a Sophomore in the ... in the watering trough...!"

The Sophs glanced in my direction in dumbfounded surprise. The Freshies looked glum.

"Such an offense is bad enough in warm weather," Obadiah continued, "but in mid-winter, (he shuddered) it is absolutely and positively criminal!"

I felt like saying "Amen!" to that. Obadiah stopped to clear his throat and to tap himself on the chest like he was afraid he was going to get a cold on his lungs.

"As you all know, the League has the first power to act on matters relating to the willful misconduct of students," said Obadiah, as if he'd memorized what he was going to say. "At a meeting of the Emergency Committee this morning it was decided that, if strict measures are necessary to prevent further ... er ... further violence ... the League is prepared to take them!"

Obadiah's hair began to stand on end like a porcupine's quills. I could tell he was getting ready to shoot a broadside. So could everyone. But no one could tell where he was going to hit.

"The Freshman class this year has been a trouble breeder. Even the Freshman representative admits that...."

Time out while the Sophs all heaved a big sigh of relief!

"... and it is my understanding that this activity has largely been due to one member who, I have reason to know, was especially prominent in last night's doings...!"

All eyes went to Eddie who sat looking like there was sickness in the family and he was _it_. I just had to smile when I thought of the turn things had taken. But the smile came off the very next minute.

"It therefore pains me to report that, in consideration of past offenses and because of his continued disregard for regulations or authority, the Student Government League respectfully recommends to the faculty and Principal Sawyer that Mr. Edward Summers be expelled from Lillard High School!"

Obadiah laid a long hand against his long face and waited to observe the effect of this recommendation upon those present in the assembly room.

We were stunned all right. I really hadn't thought Obadiah would go that far. I didn't want to see Eddie get put out of school. It was easy for anyone to tell that Obadiah was trying to get around a bad situation by making an example of Eddie. But what worried me most was that Principal Sawyer looked like he was going to back up the recommend!

There wasn't a sound for about two good breaths, when suddenly Eddie jumped to his feet, eyes gleaming.

"Excuse me, sir. It was the Sophs who ducked you!"

Have you ever been some place during a storm when the air all at once seemed full of electricity? Well, you'll know how we felt then--our skin prickled!

Obadiah gave Eddie a look like he didn't have any use for a fellow who would try to shift the blame.

"Prove it!" he challenged.

"I can't," said Eddie, and sat down again.

Obadiah smiled soberly. You'd have to see him do it to appreciate how anyone could smile soberly. He was sure Eddie had been trying to spoof him.

I couldn't stay out of the rumpus any longer. It had gotten beyond a class proposition now. So up I bolted.

"If he can't prove it ... I can!" I said, in a loud voice.

Suffering fireworks, what a commotion! The fellows almost fell out of their seats. Obadiah gaped at me, mouth open clear to his wisdom teeth. Principal Sawyer jumped to his feet and came to the front of the platform.

Pete Dean, sitting right behind me, just about yanked my coat tails off.

"Shut up, you poor fish!" he whispered. "Want to get us all in dutch?"

"I'm going to speak the truth and nothing but the truth!" I said, determined to make a clean breast of everything. The Freshies acted as if they were going to applaud but the Sophs looked like they were going to use their hands for some other purpose as soon as convenient.

"If you can shed any light on this unfortunate happening we should be glad to hear from you," invited Principal Sawyer.

Obadiah didn't appear so enthusiastic.

"I can shed all the light there is to be shed," I replied, diplomatic-like, "but I want to know first ... if I prove Eddie's not guilty ... will you reinstate him?... I mean, put him back in school?"

The principal of Lillard High looked at the president of the United Classes of Lillard and the president looked at the principal. They shook their heads "yes."

"All right!" Then I explained the whole business--how we Sophs had planned to duck Eddie; how I was elected to call at his house and walk him past the trough; how Eddie got wise to our game and tipped off the Freshies who waited in the alley to waylay us; how I ran into Obadiah as I was going down to the trough to tell the fellows the plan fell through; how, in the darkness, the fellows mistook the head of the Student Government League for Eddie and flopped him in the trough before I could think of Jack Robinson, much less say it,--and how I jumped in when the Freshies came running up, to make it look like they'd ducked Obadiah and me.

"So if there's any expelling to be done--you'd better begin on us," I concluded.

It was so still for a few minutes that you could have heard a handkerchief drop. Obadiah looked like he'd been deprived of the opportunity of a life time. He and the principal went into a conference and they talked a long while ... so long that we all got restless and began to scrape our feet around on the floor.

At last Principal Sawyer stepped forward and Obadiah sank down in a chair, crestfallen.

There was a twinkle in the principal's eyes as he started to speak. I believe he'd have laughed outright--now that he had the straight of things--if he hadn't had lots of self control.

"Thanks to Ralph Duncan's explanation the recommended action against Edward Summers has been withdrawn...."

The boys started to cheer ... they just couldn't help it ... but the principal raised his hand.

"However, you are all placed on probation for the rest of the term," he said, which didn't sound so good. "Let this be a lesson to you. Report to your next hour classes!"

"You're a swell class martyr, you are!" reproved Pete, as we left the room. "Tie the Freshies up in a bow knot last night and untie them this morning!"

There wasn't anything I could say to that ... so I kept mum.

But the next morning, when Pete and I came to school, I happened to look up at the belfry.

Holy smoke! The Freshman colors were gone!

Pete beat me to expressing what popped into our heads at the same time.

"Eddie Summers ... the nervy cuss ... risked his fool neck to dip his colors to us. Well, I'd like to see him get expelled for that!"

THE SKI POLICE

Snow started falling in Centerville on Friday night and continued with the aid of a forty mile gale until late Monday. "A regular old-fashioned blizzard," old settlers declared, as telephone lines were swept down and roads made impassable. For the first time in years schools were closed and inhabitants set themselves to the prodigious task of digging out.

"Greatest weather in the world for skiing!" Bill Stewart announced gleefully to his two chums.

"Yes," said Phil Black, grinning, "with snow ten and fifteen feet deep in spots. If you ever fall off your skis, you're apt to disappear for good!"

"Snowshoes would really be the thing," replied Max, "but there's seldom such a snow as this. I doubt if there's a couple pair of snowshoes in all Centerville."

"Skis will be okay if we're careful," urged Bill. "I'd like to ski up to our shack on Mountain Ridge. What do you say?"

The two chums looked at one another consultingly. The hill that was known as Mountain Ridge could be seen to the west. It towered majestically among the lesser hills which bounded the valley in which Centerville reposed.

"We might make an all day outing of it," considered Max. "Take our packs and lunch and eat in the shack. Too bad we can't just cut across country and save a couple miles but the climbing's too steep. There'll be some great natural slides coming back. I'm game to go. How about you, Phil?"

"Majority rules," smiled Phil. "Count me in. When do we start?"

"How's ten o'clock tomorrow morning?" Bill proposed.

"Suits us," Phil and Max responded.

* * * * *

The woods after the great snow were a gorgeous sight. Fir trees plastered white; bare trees coated limb for limb; shrubbery weighted down and all but the highest buried from view; hillsides lost in a glossy expanse; tips of telephone poles all that could be seen in drifted sections; occasionally a glimpse of old Mother Earth in windswept areas; everything in the crisp out-of-doors bearing mute or glowing testimony of the storm's handiwork.

Reaching the top of Mountain Ridge after a leisurely trip of three hours, the chums gazed about in spellbound admiration of the spectacle.

"Never saw anything like this!" Max exclaimed, finally. "It gives me the feeling of being somewhere that no one else has been before ... as though we're members of an exploring party. Look--our ski tracks are the only sign of any humans about. No one has broken a trail up through here since Thursday!"

"Naturally not," said Bill. "This is a little used road we're standing on anyway. It probably won't be cleared for several weeks yet."

"Yes, but the main road was the same," reminded Phil. "There weren't any tracks a mile after we left town."

"I guess you're right," Bill was forced to admit. "Well, then--we _are_ alone! Pioneers, you might say ... blizzard trail blazers!"

The three chums laughed, directing their glances toward the town of Centerville, a black and white patch three miles below them. Their shack commanded an even better view, located as it was upon a ledge just beneath the brow of Mountain Ridge.

"Let's get on to the shack," urged Bill. "I'm cold. We could stand a good fire in that makeshift fireplace of ours."

"Hold on!" cried Max, excitedly. "Did you say a minute ago that we were standing on the road?"

"Well, I should have said we were standing some eight feet above the road," corrected Bill, "the snow's sure filled in this bank here."

"I'll say it has!" Max rejoined, scraping with his ski across a blackened surface, "and it's completely covered an automobile!"

"_What?_"

Unbelievingly, the two chums knelt down beside Max and felt with their hands.

"Good grief!" cried Phil. "We're actually standing on the top!"

"Say--maybe this party got lost in the storm and froze to death in the car!" suggested Bill.

It was an unpleasant thought. Each chum felt his spine tingle uncomfortably.

"We'd better dig down and investigate," decided Max. "Good thing I brought this collapsible snow shovel along!"

Unslinging the shovel, Max straightened out the handle and snapped it in place.

"We'll take turns," prompted Bill. "Boy, what do you know about this? Talk about a thrill!"

"It's a sedan," Max announced, a few minutes later. "Whew! Take the shovel, Phil!"

Quickly uncovering one side, the boys soon found themselves standing on the running board and scraping the snow from the ice-glazed windows.

"I almost hate to look in," said Max. "It gives me the creeps."

"Got to do it," insisted Bill, and pressed his nose against the glass opposite the driver's seat. "Pretty hard to see anything. The snow on the other side makes it dark in here. Pass us your flashlight, Phil."

"Here you are!"

Max and Phil awaited Bill's findings.

"Huh!" he grunted, finally. "It's abandoned! Funny place to leave a car. There's not a decent shelter within several miles of this spot. I wouldn't be surprised if, when the snow disappears, some bodies will be found on old Mountain Ridge."

"We'd better uncover the license number so we can report it when we get back to town," suggested Max.

"Good idea!" approved Bill.

"It's M-617-503," Phil announced, after more digging and kicking the crusted snow off the plate. "Better make a note of it."

"That's what I'm doing," said Max, producing pencil and paper. "I'll bet this wasn't the only car that was stalled by the storm and has been buried in drifts. We'll probably hear of plenty of others when we get news from outside."

"Yeah," grinned Bill, "the farmers are probably entertaining a lot of stranded tourists along the main roads. Well, I'm glad we didn't find anybody in the car. It would have sort of put a damper on our outing."

"You said it," agreed Phil. "Well, the sooner we hit the shack now, the better I'll like it. I'm chilled through myself."

Arrived at the highest point on the ridge, the chums gazed down upon the ledge below which supported their shack. This ledge sloped off steeply as the hill descended into the valley with several smaller hills serving to diminish the sharp decline. The hillside was sparsely covered with trees and underbrush and presented a picturesque sight at the moment.

"Look!" cried Phil. "The snow's cleared away in front of our shack ... and there's smoke coming out the chimney!"

The discovery left the two chums temporarily spellbound.

"It's the automobile party without a doubt!" Bill gasped, finally. "They've found our shack and they've been snowed in. Lucky thing for them they could get under cover!"

"They must have about burned up our wood supply by now," ruminated Max.

"And I'll be surprised if they're not close to starving," added Phil. "Let's go around and down to the ledge. Careful your skis don't get away with you ... this is dangerous business along here."

Edging down with great caution, the three chums skied onto the ledge and breathlessly approached the door of their shack which had been freed of snow as well as one window.

"Maybe they won't be glad to be reached by someone!" whispered Max. "Shall I rap, Bill?"

"Sure," grinned Bill, "it's our shack but it's occupied, so we're just visitors."

Max lifted his hand and tapped lightly on the door with the backs of his knuckles. There was an immediate stir inside and muffled voices. The chums glanced at each other questioningly as the door opened a crack and the gaunt figure of a man was disclosed who covered them with a revolver. When the stranger saw who it was, he gave vent to a hollow laugh and lowered the weapon.

"It's just three kids," he said to evident companions behind him. "Hello, boys--how the devil did you find this place?"

"It happens to be our shack," replied Bill, nudging Phil and Max, warningly.

"Oh, ho! It does, eh?" said the man, eyeing them shrewdly and opening the door that his two roughly dressed comrades could see the visitors. "Well, we're much obliged for a hideaway out of the storm!"

"You said it!" echoed the short, stocky man, bluntly.

"Been skiing, eh?" observed the third of the trio, a dark-skinned, dark-eyed individual. "I wondered how you got up here. Road open yet?"

"Everything's closed," Phil reported. "Worst storm in history. Don't look like things would be really cleared for three or four days yet."

The men were seen to be exchanging meaningful glances.

"Come in, boys!" invited the man who had opened the door. "Sorry we have to mess your place up."

"We no can help," apologized the stubby stranger.

"That's all right," assured Bill, warily. "We won't come in, thanks. We just thought we'd have a look at the shack to see if it was okay before we went back to town."