CHAPTER V

ON THE CAMPUS GREEN

“Come, brace up, Lanky; ’tisn’t time for your funeral yet!”

“Why, we haven’t even had the preliminary trial races yet to see who’s going to be chosen to represent Columbia High in the big athletic meet, and here’s one of our best Marathon boys getting cold feet!”

A group of lads stood around on the campus during recess, shortly before noon, comparing notes about the chances their school would have when up against the crack athletes of Clifford and Bellport.

Buster Billings had been the first speaker, the fat boy who has often figured in these stories of Columbia High, while the second one who was trying to cheer Lanky up, boy-fashion, by giving him a “dig,” was Jack Comfort, reckoned the best all-round shot-putter the school had ever known.

In the group were several others who have been familiar figures in the past. The good-looking boy who took no part in the conversation, seeming to be very quiet, was Ralph Langworthy. Once he had been known as Ralph West; and Frank Allen had been instrumental in solving a great mystery that hung over his head, thus finding his own true mother for the new chum.

Then there were Paul Bird, a very close chum of Frank’s; Bones Shadduck, Tom Budd, a boy who could never keep still, but must be turning hand-springs, or standing on his head, half of the time; Jack Eastwick, the great doubter of the school, who should have been named Thomas, everybody declared; “Jonsey,” who once upon a time gave out in a boat race, and put Columbia in a hole; and last of all “Red” Huggins, whose faculty for getting his tongue twisted when excited often resulted in queer expressions.

Lanky Wallace had been unusually grave all morning, and the boys noticed it, too. Of course, none of them knew what was ailing the tall student, for Frank alone was in the secret. And most of the talk they were flinging at Lanky now was done for the evident purpose of “getting a rise” from him. If he could be stirred up to give them some heated back talk they might find out what ailed him.

Truth to tell, some of them were feeling a little uneasy. Columbia would evidently have need of all her reserve stock of talent this spring in order to come out ahead in the various trials of skill with her bitter rivals. And Lanky was reckoned one of the shining lights in many a contest where agility and power of endurance counted.

“Cold feet, nothing!” the tall boy flung back at Jack Comfort. “When that happens you’ll find the moon made of green cheese, boys. Fact is, I’m just a little bothered to-day about somethin’ that’s got nothin’ to do with the athletic meet.”

“Been eating some grub that’s given you indigestion, p’raps?” suggested Jonsey.

“For goodness sake, Lanky, don’t get out of trim now; we need you the worst way, if we expect to wipe up the ground with those up and down-river fellows,” implored Paul Bird.

“That’s just what,” broke in Bones Shadduck; “ever since Lanky got treed by that bull he’s been in the dumps. For once he ran up against somethin’ he couldn’t beat, and it’s made him sore.”

The boys laughed, for they had all heard the story to the last particular.

“Well, all I know,” remarked Buster Billings, pathetically; “is that Clifford is just boiling over with confidence. I was up there last night to a little spread, and you never heard such talk in your life. Why, they feel dead sure they’re going to walk all over us this time.”

“Will they?” observed Jack Eastwick, in his customary sarcastic way, which had long ago become a settled habit with him; “maybe, maybe not. We’ve got some pretty husky specimens right here in old Columbia, and when the time comes we expect to pull down a few of those plums ourselves.”

“Bully for you, Jack!” cried Buster, patting the speaker encouragingly.

“I reckon I know what ails Lanky!” ventured Jonsey, who had a little bone to pick with the other, and lost no opportunity to give him a sly poke.

“Then tell us, or we’ll ride you on a rail!” threatened Jack Comfort.

“Dare I, Lanky?” asked Jonsey, not wanting to go too far.

“Sure. Just tell everything you know, or think, Jonsey. It won’t take long,” was the answering shot that came back.

“Well, the fact of the matter is, Lanky’s best girl’s gone back on him, because I saw her out riding with that new city fellow that came to Columbia a few months ago. He’s as fine a looker as you ever saw, the girls think, and pretty, rose-cheeked Dora Baxter seems to just take to Mr. Walter Ackerman.”

Jonsey had kept one eye out for an avenue of escape in case Lanky made a dive in his direction; he also counted on the others to hold the tall boy back, so as to give him a chance to escape; for he never could do it by simply running. But contrary to his expectations, Lanky made no offensive move. On the other hand, he even laughed in a strained way.

“That’s where you’re away off, Jonsey,” Lanky declared. “It’s a matter of mighty small difference to me whether Dora Baxter chooses to keep company with Walter Ackerman or not, because we’ve had a spat, and don’t speak when we pass by. And I want to ask you all right now, please keep her name out of any conversation you may happen to have about me after this.”

When Lanky spoke in that way they knew he meant it, and there was not one in all that group of his schoolmates who would venture to offend him by declining to regard his request.

“Well,” said Buster Billings, as if ready to give the puzzle up, “if none of the things we have mentioned is what’s ailing you, Lanky, for goodness sake, whatever it is, get it out of your system as quick as you can. You’re not the same kind of fellow we’re used to seein’ around. When you show up you give us all a cold shiver. Honest, now, it makes me think of spooks, graveyards and all that stuff just to look at you, Lanky.”

“Oh! does it?” jeered the other; “if that’s the case I’ll get a move on and step over to my chum, Frank Allen, who’s just come out of the classroom yonder. But before I go, fellows, just make your minds easy about me. If I am feeling sort of down in the mouth and serious-like just now, it isn’t going to affect my athletic stunts one little bit. I’m as fit as ever I was to run the race of my life. Frank knows, and he’ll tell you that same thing.”

“Are you?” said the doubter, Jack Eastwick; “maybe, maybe not. Time alone will tell that. Saturday the preliminary trials come off, and then we’ll get a pointer on what all our boys can do.”

But Lanky did not stop to listen to the “croaker.” Jack often threw cold water on everything with which he had any connection. It was very discouraging, to be sure, and more than once his schoolmates had threatened to hold him under the pump if he didn’t quit harping in that disagreeable way. For a little while Jack would manage to reform, only to break out later on; for habits are deep seated.

Apparently Lanky was more than eager to see Frank, judging from the way he hurried over to the other, as he issued from the school, stopping to speak to the old janitor, who was known among the boys as “Soggy.”

“Hello, Lanky!” was Frank’s greeting, as he eyed the other curiously; “seems to me I haven’t run across you this whole day up to now. But then I came late, as I had an errand to do for the professor, you see.”

“Yes, and it just happened that I wanted to get in touch with you, too,” remarked the tall boy, as he thrust his arm through Frank’s and started him walking so as to leave the janitor behind.

“Soggy was telling me that some of the boys had started to playing practical jokes on him again,” Frank remarked. “He’s got a notion that it must be that Bill Klemm and his cronies, Watkins Kline and Asa Barnes.”

“They’re sure a bad lot,” commented Lanky, drily. “Ever since Lef Sellers was hustled off to military school by his dad because he made such a racket in town that the authorities threatened to send him to the reform school, Bill has tried to fill his shoes as the town bully, and bad boy generally.”

“And some say he’s even worse than Lef ever was,” added Frank; “but see here, Lanky, what’s up?”

“Now please tell me why you think anything is?” demanded the other.

“Well,” Frank went on, with a good-natured laugh, “I can see it in your face that you’ve got something to tell me. You may fool some of the fellows, but you can’t me, old chum. Open up and let’s hear what it is. Anything connected with the big meet we’re all talking so much about?”

“Nope,” replied Lanky, tersely.

“I hope you haven’t been running across the trail of that Walter Ackerman, and doing what you once threatened to do, Lanky?”

The other sneered at this.

“Don’t see any scratches or bruises on my phiz; do you, Frank?” he remarked; “and as I calculate that Walter is something of a scrapper himself, I couldn’t polish him off without showing the signs; could I? Shucks! forget him, won’t you? If Dora chooses that city chap before me, she’s at liberty to do it. I’m not going a foot out of my way to please her and make her think she’s the only one in Columbia worth looking at. There are plenty of girls.”

But however brave his words, Lanky did not deceive the keen eyes of Frank Allen, who happened to know what a tremendous hold the red-cheeked Dora had upon the affections of the tall boy.

“Well, let’s change the subject, Lanky,” he said. “You didn’t deny it when I remarked that _something_ was exciting you. What is it? Anything that concerns me?”

“That’s just according to whether you mean to keep your word, and join me in my little look through that gypsy camp this afternoon or to-morrow morning,” was the quick response of the other.

“Oh that’s what ails you; is it?” exclaimed Frank, stopping to look once more into the eager face of his chum. “Why this new outburst? Have you heard anything more about that little girl you _thought_ called to you, and held her hands out as if she wanted you to take her away from a cruel prison?”

“Now you’re taking your turn at having a little fun with me, Frank,” said Lanky, in an aggrieved tone. “But you just wait a bit. No, I haven’t heard a single word, one way or the other, about any girl in the gypsy camp. But, by a funny accident, I _have_ learned about a child who was lost a month or so ago over in a Pennsylvania city; and, Frank, it was a little girl, too!”