Andy at Yale
R >> Roy Eliot Stokes >> Andy at YaleANDY AT YALE
OR
THE GREAT QUADRANGLE MYSTERY
BY
ROY ELIOT STOKES
THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO.
CLEVELAND, O. NEW YORK, N. Y.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, MCMXIV, by
SULLY AND KLEINTEICH
Printed in the United States of America
by
THE COMMERCIAL BOOKBINDING CO.
CLEVELAND, OHIO
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
I. A Horse-Whipping 1
II. Good Samaritans 12
III. An Unpleasant Prospect 19
IV. The Picture Show 28
V. Final Days 36
VI. The Bonfire 45
VII. Link Again 51
VIII. Off For Yale 63
IX. On The Campus 72
X. Missing Money 78
XI. "Rough House" 85
XII. A Fierce Tackle 94
XIII. Bargains 102
XIV. Dunk Refuses 113
XV. Dunk Goes Out 123
XVI. In Bad 131
XVII. Andy's Despair 138
XVIII. Andy's Resolve 146
XIX. Link Comes To College 150
XX. Queer Disappearances 158
XXI. A Gridiron Battle 166
XXII. Andy Says 'No!' 177
XXIII. Reconciliation 185
XXIV. Link's Visit 193
XXV. The Missing Watch 198
XXVI. The Girls 205
XXVII. Jealousies 213
XXVIII. The Book 219
XXIX. The Accusation 230
XXX. The Letter 237
XXXI. On The Diamond 245
XXXII. Victory 256
XXXIII. The Trap 281
XXXIV. Caught 291
XXXV. For The Honor Of Yale 300
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ANDY AT YALE
CHAPTER I
A HORSE-WHIPPING
"Come on, Andy, what are you hanging back for?"
"Oh, just to look at the view. It's great! Why, you can see for twenty
miles from here, right off to the mountains!"
One lad stood by himself on the summit of a green hill, while, a little
below, and in advance of him, were four others.
"Oh, come on!" cried one of the latter. "View! Who wants to look at a
view?"
"But it's great, I tell you! I never appreciated it before!" exclaimed
Andy Blair. "You can see----!"
"Oh, for the love of goodness! Come on!" came in protest from the
objecting speaker. "What do we care how far we can see? We're going to
get something to eat!"
"That's right! Some of Kelly's good old kidney stew!"
"A little chicken for mine!"
"I'm for a chop!"
"Beefsteak on the grill!"
Thus the lads, waiting for the one who had stopped to admire the fine
view, chanted their desires in the way of food.
"Come on!" finally called one in disgust, and, with a half sigh of
regret, Andy walked on to join his mates.
"What's getting into you lately?" demanded Chet Anderson, a bit
petulantly. "You stand mooning around, you don't hear when you're spoken
to, and you don't go in for half the fun you used to."
"Are you sick? Or is it a--girl?" queried Ben Snow, laughing.
"Both the same!" observed Frank Newton, cynically.
"Listen to the old dinkbat!" exclaimed Tom Hatfield. "You'd think he
knew all about the game! You never got a letter from a girl in your
life, Frank!"
"I didn't, eh? That's all you know about it," and Frank made an
unsuccessful effort to punch his tormentor.
"Well, if we're going on to Churchtown and have a bit of grub in
Kelly's, let's hoof it!" suggested Chet. "You can eat; can't you, Andy?
Haven't lost your appetite; have you, looking at that blooming view?"
"No, indeed. But you fellows don't seem to realize that in another month
we'll never see it again, unless we come back to Milton for a visit."
"That's right!" agreed Ben Snow. "This _is_ our last term at the old
school! I'll be sorry to leave it, in a way, even though I do expect to
go to college."
"Same here," came from Tom. "What college are you going to, Ben?"
"Hanged if I know! Dad keeps dodging from one to another. He's had all
the catalogs for the last month, studying over 'em like a fellow going
up for his first exams. Sometimes it's Cornell, and then he switches to
Princeton. I'm for the last myself, but dad is going to foot the bills,
so I s'pose I'll have to give in to him."
"Of course. Where are you heading for, Andy?"
"Oh, I'm not so sure, either. It's a sort of toss-up between Yale and
Harvard, with a little leaning toward Eli on my part. But I don't have
to decide this week. Come on, let's hoof it a little faster. I believe
I'm getting hungry."
"And yet you would stop to moon at a view!" burst out Frank. "Really,
Andy, I'm surprised at you!"
"Oh, cut it out, you old faker! You know that view from Brad's Hill
can't be beat for miles around."
"That's right!" chorused the others, and there seemed to have come over
them all a more serious manner with the mention of the pending break-up
of their pleasant relations. They had hardly realized it before.
For a few minutes they walked on over the hills in silence. The green
fields, with here and there patches of woodland, stretched out all
around them. Over in the distance nestled a little town, its white
church, with the tall, slender spire, showing plainly.
Behind them, hidden by these same green hills over which they were
tramping this beautiful day in early June, lay another town, now out of
sight in a hollow. It was Warrenville, on the outskirts of which was
located the Milton Preparatory School the five lads attended. They were
in their last year, would soon graduate, and then separate, to go to
various colleges, or other institutions.
School work had ended early this day on account of coming examinations,
and the lads, who had been chums since their entrance at Milton, had
voted to go for a walk, and end up with an early supper at Kelly's, a
more or less celebrated place where the students congregated. This was
at Churchtown, about five miles from Warrenville. The boys were to walk
there and come back in the trolley.
They had spent two years at the Milton school, and had been friends for
years before that, all of them living in the town of Dunmore, in one of
our Middle States. There was much rejoicing among them when they found
that all five who had played baseball and football together in Dunmore,
were to go to the same preparatory school. It meant that the pleasant
relations were not to be severed. But now the shadow of parting had cast
itself upon them, and had tempered their buoyant spirits.
"Yes, boys, it will soon be good-bye to old Milton!" exclaimed Chet,
with a sigh.
"I wonder if we'll get anybody like Dr. Morrison at any of the colleges
we go to?" spoke Ben.
"You can't beat him--no matter where you go!" declared Andy. "He's the
best ever!"
"That's right! He knows just how to take a fellow," commented Tom.
"Remember the time I smuggled the puppy into the physiology class?"
"I should say we did!" laughed Andy.
"And how he yelped when I pinched his tail that stuck out from under
your coat," added Ben. "Say, it was great!"
"I'll never forget how old Pop Swann looked up over the tops of his
glasses," put in Frank.
"Dr. Morrison was mighty decent about it when he had me up on the
carpet, too," added Tom. "I thought sure I was in for a wigging--maybe a
suspension, and I couldn't stand that, for dad had written me one
warning letter.
"But all Prexy did was to look at me in that calm, withering, pitying
way he has, and then say in that solemn voice of his: 'Ah, Hatfield, I
presume you are going in for vivisection?' Say, you could have floored
me with a feather. That's the kind of a man Dr. Morrison is."
"Nobody else like him," commented Andy, with a sigh.
"Oh, well, if any of us go to Yale, or Princeton, or Harvard, I guess
we'll find some decent profs. there," spoke Ben. "They can't all be
riggers."
"Sure not," said Andy. "But those colleges will be a heap sight
different from Milton."
"Of course! What do you expect? This is a kindergarten compared to
them!" exclaimed Frank.
"But it's a mighty nice kindergarten," commented Tom. "It's like a
school in our home town, almost."
"I sure will be sorry to leave it," added Andy. "But come on; we'll
never get to Kelly's at this rate."
The sun was sinking behind the western hills in a bank of golden and
purple clouds. Two miles yet lay between the lads and their objective
point--the odd little oyster and chop house so much frequented by the
students of Milton. It was an historic place, was Kelly's; a beloved
place where the lads foregathered to talk over their doings, their
hopes, their fears, their joys and sorrows. It was an old-fashioned
place, with little, dingy rooms, come upon unexpectedly; rooms just
right for small parties of congenial souls--with tall, black settles,
and tables roughened with many jack-knifed initials.
"We can cut over to the road, and get there quicker," remarked Andy,
after a pause. "Suppose we do it. I don't want to get back too late."
"All right," agreed Tom. "I want to write a couple of letters myself."
"Oh, ho! Now who's got a girl?" demanded Chet, suspiciously.
"Nobody, you amalgamated turnip. I'm going to write to dad, and settle
this college business. Might as well make a decision now as later, I
reckon."
"We'll have to sign soon, or it will be too late," spoke Chet. "Those
big colleges aren't like the small prep. schools. They have waiting
lists--at least for the good rooms in the campus halls. That's where I'd
like to go if I went to Yale--in Lawrance Hall, or some place like
that, where I could look out over the campus, or the Green."
"There are some dandy rooms in front of Lawrance Hall where you can look
out over the New Haven Green," put in Ben. "I was there once, and how I
did envy those fellows, lolling in their windows on their blue cushions,
puffing on pipes and making believe study. It was great!"
"Making believe study!" exclaimed Andy. "I guess they do study! You
ought to see the stiff list of stuff on the catalog!"
"You got one?" asked Chet.
"Sure. I've been doping it out."
"I thought you said you hadn't decided where to go yet," remarked Frank.
"Well, I have," returned Andy, quietly.
"You have! When, for the love of tripe? You said a while ago--"
"I know I did. But I've decided since then. I'm going to Yale!"
"You are? Good for you!" cried Tom, clapping his chum on the back with
such energy that Andy nearly toppled over. "That's the stuff! Rah! Rah!
Rah! Yale! Bulldog!"
"Here! Cut it out!" ordered Andy. "I'm not at Yale yet, and they don't
go around doing that sort of stuff unless maybe after a game. I was
down there about a month ago, and say, there wasn't any of that
'Rah-rah!' stuff on the campus at all. But of course I wasn't there
long."
"So that's where you went that time you slipped off," commented Chet.
"Down at Yale. And you've decided to sign for there?"
"I have. It seemed to come to me as we walked down the hill. I've made
my choice. I'm going to write to dad."
They walked on silently for a few moments following Andy's remarks.
"'It was the King of France,
He had ten thousand men.
He marched them up the hill,
And marched them down again!'"
Thus suddenly quoted Chet in a sing-song voice, adding:
"If we're going to get any grub at Kelly's, it's up to us to march down
this hill faster than we've been going, or we'll get left. That other
crowd from Milton will have all the good places."
"Come on then, fellows, hit her up!" exclaimed Frank. "Hep! Hep! Left!
Left!" and they started off at a good pace.
They reached the country road that led more directly to Churchtown, and
swung off along this. The setting sun made a golden aurora that June
day, the beams filtering through a haze of dust. The boys talked of many
things, but chiefly of the coming parting--of the colleges they might
attend.
As they passed a farmhouse near the side of the road, and came into view
of the barnyard, they saw two men standing beside a team of horses
hitched to a heavy wagon. One was tall and heavily built, evidently the
farmer-owner. The other was a young man, of about twenty-two years, his
left arm in a sling.
The boys would have passed on with only a momentary glance at the pair
but for something that occurred as they came opposite. They saw the big
man raise a horse-whip and lash savagely at the young man.
The lash cracked like the shot of a revolver.
"I'll teach you!" fairly roared the big man. "I'll teach you to soldier
on me! Playin' off, that's what you are, Link Bardon! Playing off!"
"I'm not playing off! My arm is injured. And don't you strike me again,
Mr. Snad, or I'll----"
"You will, eh?" burst out the other. "You'll threaten me, will you?
Well, I'll teach you! Tryin' to pretend your arm is sprained so you
won't have to work. I'll teach you! Take that!"
Again the cruel whip came down with stinging force. The face of the
young man, that had flamed with righteous anger, went pale.
"Take that, you lazy, good-for-nothing!"
Again the whip descended, and the young man put up his uninjured arm to
defend himself. The farmer rained blow after blow on his hired man,
driving him toward a fence.
"Fellows! I can't stand this!" exclaimed Andy Blair, with sudden energy.
"That big brute is a coward! Are you with me?"
"We sure are!" came in an energetic chorus from the others.
"Then come on!" cried Andy, and with a short run he cleared the fence
and dashed up toward the farmer, who was still lashing away with the
horse-whip.
CHAPTER II
GOOD SAMARITANS
"Here! Quit that!" exclaimed Andy, panting a bit from his exertion.
"Drop that whip!"
The farmer wheeled around, for Andy had come up behind him. Surprise and
anger showed plainly on the man's flushed face, and blazed from his
blood-shot eyes.
"Wha--what!" he stammered in amazement.
"I said quit it!" came in resolute tones from Andy. "Don't you hit him
any more! You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Using a whip! Why don't
you take some one your size, and use your hands if you have to. You're a
coward!"
"That's right!" chimed in Chet Anderson.
"It's a blooming shame--that's what it is!" protested Tom Hatfield.
"Let's make a rough-house of him, fellows!"
"What's that?" cried the farmer. "You threaten me, do you? Get out of my
barnyard before I treat you as I did him! Get out, do you hear!"
"No!" exclaimed Andy. "We don't go until you promise to leave him
alone," and he nodded at the shrinking youth.
"Say, I'll show you!" blustered the big farmer. "I'll thrash you young
upstarts----"
"Oh no, you won't!" exclaimed Tom, easily. And when big Tom Hatfield,
left guard on the Milton eleven, spoke in this tone trouble might always
be looked for. "Oh, no you won't, my friend! And, just to show you that
you won't--there goes your whip!"
With a quick motion Tom pulled the lash from the man's hand, and sent it
whirling over the fence into the road.
"You--you!" blustered the farmer. He was too angry to be able to speak
coherently. His hands were clenched and his little pig-like eyes roved
from one to the other of the lads as though he were trying to decide
upon which one to rush first.
"Take it easy, now," advised Tom, his voice still low. "We're five to
one, and we'll certainly tackle you, and tackle you hard, if you don't
be nice. We're not afraid of you!"
Perhaps the angry man realized this. Certainly he must have known that
he would stand little chance in attacking five healthy, hearty
youngsters, each of whom had the glow of clean-living on his cheeks,
while their poise showed that they were used to active work, and ready
for any emergency.
"Get out of this yard!" roared the farmer. "What right have you got
interfering between me and my hired man, anyhow? What right, I'd like to
know?"
"The right of every lover of fair-play!" exclaimed Andy. "Do you think
we'd stand quietly by and let you use a horse-whip on a young fellow
that you ought to be able to handle with one hand? And he with his arm
in a sling! To my way of thinking, you ought to be ashamed of yourself."
The farmer growled out something unintelligible.
"We ought to do you up good and brown!" exclaimed Tom, his fists
clenched.
"He's only playing off on me--he ain't hurt a mite!" growled the farmer.
"He's only fakin' on me."
"I certainly am not," spoke the young fellow in firm but respectful
terms. "I sprained my arm unloading your wagon, Mr. Snad, and I can't
drive the team any more to-day. I put my handkerchief around it because
the sprain hurt me so. I certainly can't work!" His voice faltered and
he choked. His spirit seemed as much hurt as his body--perhaps more.
"Huh! Can't work, eh? Then get out!" snarled Mr. Snad. "I want no
loafer around here! Get out!"
"I'm perfectly willing to go when you pay me what you owe me," said the
helper, quietly.
"Owe you! I don't owe you nothin', you lazy lout!" snapped the farmer.
"You certainly do. You owe me twelve dollars, and as soon as you pay me
I'll get out, and be glad to go!"
"Twelve dollars! I'd like to see myself giving you that much money!"
grumbled the farmer. "You ain't wuth but ten dollars at the most, an' I
won't pay you that for you busted my mowin' machine, an' it'll take that
t' pay for fixin' it."
"That mowing machine was in bad order when you had me take it out,"
replied the young fellow, "and you know it. It was simply an accident
that it broke, and not my fault in the least."
"Well, you'll pay for it, just the same," was the sneering reply. "Now
be off!"
"Not until I get my wages. You agreed to pay me twelve dollars a month,
and board me. My month is up to-day, and I want my money. It's about all
I have in the world; I need it."
"You'll not get it out of me," and the farmer turned aside. Evidently he
had given up the idea of further chastising his hired man. The presence
of Andy and his chums was enough to deter him.
"Mr. Snad, I demand my money!" exclaimed the young farm hand.
"You'll not get it! Leave my premises! Clear off, all of you," and he
glared at the schoolboys.
"Mr. Snad, I'll go as soon as you give me my twelve dollars," persisted
the youth, his voice trembling.
"You'll get no twelve dollars out of me," snapped the man.
"Oh, yes, I think he will," spoke Andy. "You'd better pay over that
money, Mr. Snad."
"Eh? What's that your business?"
"It's the business of everyone to see fair play," said Andy.
"And we're going to do it in this case," added Tom, still in even tones.
"Are you? Well, I'd like to know how?" sneered the farmer.
"Would you? Then listen and you will hear, my friend," went on Tom.
"Unless you pay this young man the money you owe him we will swear out a
warrant against you, have you arrested, and use him as a witness against
you."
For a moment there was a deep silence; then the farmer burst out with:
"Have me arrested! Me? What for?"
"For assault and battery," answered Tom. "We saw you assault this young
man with a horse-whip, and, while it might take some time to have him
sue you for his wages, it won't take us any time at all to get an
officer here and have you taken to jail on a criminal charge. The matter
of the wages may be a civil matter--the horse-whipping is criminal.
"So, take your choice, Mr. Snad, if that's your name. Pay this young man
his twelve dollars, or we'll cause your arrest on this assault charge.
Now, my friend, it's up to you," and taking out his pocket knife Tom
began whittling a stick picked from the ground. Andy and his chums
looked admiringly at Tom, who had thus found such an effective lever of
persuasion.
The angry farmer glanced from one to the other of the five lads. They
gave him back look for look--unflinchingly.
"And don't be too long about it, either," added Tom, making the
splinters fly. "We're due at Kelly's for a little feed, and then we want
to get back to Milton. Don't be too long, my friend, unless you want to
spend the night in jail."
The farmer gulped once or twice. The Adam's apple in his throat went up
and down. Clearly he was struggling with himself.
"I--I--you----" he began.
"Tut! Tut!" chided Tom. "You'd better go get the money. We can't wait
all day."
"I--er--I----" The farmer seemed at a loss for words. Then, turning on
his heel, he started toward the house. He was beaten.
"I--I'll get it," he flung back over his shoulder. "And then I'll swear
out warrants for your arrest. You're trespassers, that's what you are.
I'll fix you!"
"Trespassers? Oh, no," returned Andy, sweetly. "We're only good
Samaritans. Perhaps you may have read of them in a certain book. Also we
are acting as the attorneys for this gentleman, in collecting a debt due
him. We are his counsel, and the law allows a man to have his counsel
present at a hearing. I hardly think an action in trespass would lie
against us, Mr. Snad; so don't put yourself out about it."
"That's the stuff!"
"Good for you, Andy!"
"Say, you got his number all right!"
Thus Andy's chums called to him laughingly as the farmer went into the
house.
CHAPTER III
AN UNPLEASANT PROSPECT
"Say, I can't tell how much obliged to you I am," impulsively exclaimed
the young fellow with his arm in a sling. "That--that----"
"He's a brute, that's what he is!" broke out Andy. "Don't be afraid to
call him one."
"He sure is," came from Tom. "I just wish he'd rough it up a bit. I
wouldn't have asked anything better than to take and roll him around his
own barnyard. Talk about tackling a fellow on the gridiron--Oh me! Oh
my!"
"It was mighty nice of you boys to take my part," went on the young
fellow. "I'm not feeling very well. He's worked me like a horse since
I've been here, and that, on top of spraining my arm, sort of took the
tucker out of me. Then, when he came at me with the whip, just because I
said I couldn't work any more----"
"There, never mind. Don't think about it," advised Chet, seeing that the
youth was greatly affected.
"Do you live around here?" asked Andy.
"Well, I don't live much of anywhere," was the reply. "I'm a sort of
Jack-of-all-trades. My name is Lincoln Bardon--Link, I'm generally
called. I work mostly at farming, but I'll never work for Amos Snad
again. He's too hard."
"Where are you going after you leave here?" asked Frank Newton.
"Oh, I've got a friend who works on a farm over in Cherry Hollow. I can
go there and get a place. The farming season is on now, and there's lots
of help wanted. But I sure am much obliged to you for helping me get my
money. I've earned it and I need it. That mowing machine was broken when
he had me take it out of the shed."
"How'd he come to use the whip?" asked Andy.
"It was when I came back with the team, and said I couldn't work any
more on account of my arm. He has a lot of work to do," explained Link,
"and he ought to keep two men. Instead, he tries to get along with one,
and works him like a slave. I'm glad I'm going to quit."
"When I said my arm was hurt he didn't believe me. I insisted. One word
led to another and he came at me with the lash. Then you boys jumped in.
I can't thank you enough."
"That's all right," said Tom. "We were glad to do it. I like a good
scrap!"
And to do him justice, he did--a good, clean, manly "scrap."
"I wonder if he will bring that money?" remarked Ben Snow. "He's gone a
long time."
"Oh, he keeps it hidden away in an old boot," replied Link. "He'll have
to dig it out. But don't let me detain you."
"We like the fun," spoke Andy. "We'll stick around for a while yet."
And, while the boys are thus "sticking around," may I be permitted to
introduce them more formally to you, and speak just a word about them?
With their names I think you are already familiar. Andy Blair was a
tall, good-looking lad, with light hair and snapping blue eyes that
seemed to look right through you. Yet, withal, they were merry eyes, and
dancing with life.
Chet Anderson was rather short and stocky, not to say fat; but if any of
his friends mentioned such a thing Chet was up in arms at once. Chet, I
might explain, was a contraction for Chetfield; the lad being named for
his grandfather.
Ben Snow was always jolly. In spite of his name he was of a warm and
impulsive nature, always ready to forgive an injury and continually
seeking a chance to help someone. Clever, full of life and usually
looking on the bright side, Ben was a humorous relief to his sometimes
more sober comrades.
Quiet and studious was Frank Newton, a good scholar, always standing
well in his class, and yet with his full share of fun and sport. He was
a mainstay on the baseball team, where he had pitched many a game to
victory.
With the exception of Tom Hatfield you have now met the lads with whom
the first part of this story is chiefly concerned. Tom was one of the
nicest fellows you could know. His parents were wealthy, but wealth had
not spoiled Tom. He was happy-go-lucky, of a generous, whole-souled
nature, always jolly and happy, and yet with a temper that at times
blazed out and amazed his friends. Seldom was it directed against any of
them; but when Tom spoke quietly, with a sort of ring like the clang of
steel in his voice, then was the time to look out.