CHAPTER XII.
When school reassembled the following day the First Latin knew to a man by nine o'clock that the cause of Shorty's "late" the previous day was a letter from Lawton. Warned by Jim Hulker that the rector had taken Hoover to the Clarendon, Briggs scouted miserably down the avenue on their trail, filled with no one knew what nervous apprehension of trouble to come, and, dodging in at the office a moment later, ascertained from a bell boy that they had gone into a parlor on the second floor. Briggs knew what that meant. The Doctor was cross-questioning his sullen pupil, and there were all manner of things Hoover might be driven into confessing if closely and scientifically pressed, and what might that not mean for Briggs? Not five minutes later, down they came, the Doctor erect, stately, and deliberate as ever, Hoover slinking wretchedly alongside. A carriage had been called, and into this Hoover was practically hustled by his preceptor, and together they were driven away towards Fourteenth Street, and Briggs was left behind. They were going to see Hoover's father, was the apparent explanation, and it boded ill. A ten-minute walk took Briggs over to the house of the Metamora. The hose carriage had just returned, and was being washed. The Hulkers had dropped off at a certain billiard-hall, said one of the firemen, and thither sped Briggs. It was a resort much frequented by certain of the Columbia students in those days, and there were a dozen or more scattered about the big room at the moment. Over in a corner, whispering together, were the two Hulkers with a brace of followers. Over against them, across the room, ostensibly—even ostentatiously—engaged in a game of billiards, were Joy and Julian, and all the little pluck that Briggs had left went oozing out of his finger-tips at the sight. Quickly he slunk back into the vestibule and crouched there, peering through the glazed doors, uncertain what to do. A bar-boy, coming up from below at the moment with cigars and mixed drinks on a tray, found him peering in through the crack, and knew him at once.
"Sa-ay," whispered Briggs, the moment he discovered who had come. "Tell Mr. Hulker I want to speak to him out here a minute, will you?"
The boy looked hard at him, made no reply, went deliberately in with his tray-load, deposited the glasses on little tables near the big ones, where a jovial party of Columbians were playing, collected his pay, counted it carefully over, then with exaggerated impudence of manner dawdled over to where the Hulker set were in eager conference in their corner, and said something to them. Briggs saw, and so did Joy and Julian, the backward toss of the head, the over-the-shoulder jerk of the thumb towards the entrance, saw the four young fellows start and glance questioningly thither; then presently, hands in pockets and head in air, Hulker major came sauntering out, just as Julian caught sight of a carroty head ducking behind the framework of the doorway.
"There's that sneak Briggs now," he quickly whispered to his chum. "What are those fellows planning, do you s'pose?"
There was a brief confabulation in the hallway without, and then back came Hulker,—no loitering now,—said a word or two to his fellows, and the four picked up their canes and overcoats and started for the door. The bar-boy went running after them.
"I'll pay you to-morrow," Hulker major answered, impatiently; and Julian heard it. The boy was importunate, and glanced at the desk. The clerk came out from behind his barricade.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Hulker, but the manager left strict orders that that account must be settled before you could be served again. You told the boy you would settle everything before you left, and to get those cigars. Now, I've got to take the money out of the till and pay for 'em if you don't."
Angrily, and with ugly words, the elder Hulker turned on the clerk. "I haven't any money just now, I tell you. We've been at that fire all the morning. It's too late to get a check cashed. I'll bring you the money to-night, Billy, I'll swear to——"
But the controversy was cut short by the sudden entrance of the manager himself. He was a man who prided himself on the "respectability" of his place. Order and decorum were things he insisted on. Even the mildest of sherry-cobblers, for which the bar was famous, was forbidden to the student or youth who showed the faintest symptom of over-stimulation. Case-hardened politicians and men about town avoided Martigny's, for the reason that they could never get enough there. Student trade was something he catered to only so long as it came through the well-bred and well-behaved of their number. The Hulker set he much disapproved of and had frequently cautioned, but money was an object, and for a time those young fellows had it and spent it in abundance. Of late there had come a change. Something had occurred to limit their supplies, and within a month they had run up bills at every neighboring bar or billiard-room where they could get credit, and now Martigny, after thrice presenting his account, had drawn the line. Quietly but firmly he told the elder that that bill must be settled then and there or it would be sent by a messenger to his mother at once. It was impossible for the players at the tables not to hear what was going on. There were sly winks and quizzical glances. Columbiads, old or young, fought shy of the Hulkers, but even they were unprepared for the scene that followed.
"I haven't got a cent with me, Johnny," protested the elder, while the others crowded about in indignant chorus. "I swear I'll fetch it to you to-night, or in two hours, if you must have it."
"You've sworn to the same effect twice before, Mr. Hulker," said the manager, calmly, "and I cannot trust you. I was down in the bar-room when your orders came for this round of drinks and cigars, and the boy declared that you showed him gold, and declared further that you'd settle the whole account. It's fourteen dollars and seventy-five cents, and I want that money now."
"It ain't mine, Johnny. It was given me for a particular purpose," protested Hulker. "That was just bluffing. I didn't think he'd take it in earnest."
"But he did, Mr. Hulker, and so did I, and so will your mother when my messenger gets there ten minutes from now. Get your coat, Mr. Tracy," he said, turning to his assistant. "I'll send you around with the message. That's all, gentlemen. I won't detain you further than to say that you will not be allowed in this room hereafter."
"Sa-ay, stop! Hold on!" cried Hulker. "Here, I'll—I'll pay it now. But of all the dash, dash, dashed mean——"
"No bad language, Mr. Hulker," said Martigny, calmly. "A special policeman is at the door." He glanced at the coin tendered by the trembling hand of the leader. "Give Mr. Hulker five dollars and twenty-five cents," said he, calmly, to the desk. "There's a friend of yours peeking in at the door. You might inquire now what he wants." And with unruffled civility the manager led the way to the door, closed it after the crestfallen quartette, and came back thoughtfully chinking the coins, just as Joy and Julian, laying aside their cues, hurried to the desk to pay for their game.
"Was that red-headed specimen there yet when you came up, Martigny?" asked Julian.
"Yes, sir; but he scuttled away down-stairs as soon as he saw me. Who is he?"
"One of the Hulker set, and none of ours," was the brief answer, as Julian's keen eyes took in the two coins Martigny was still mechanically passing back and forth from the fingers of one hand to the other. "Ten-dollar gold pieces," said he to Joy, as the two hurried down the stairs and out on the busy street. There, "scooting" along in the keen December wind, heads bowed and half hidden in high coat-collars, and huddling together, the discomfited quartette, reinforced at the corner by Briggs, were just turning to cross Broadway when a carriage came driving rapidly by. Seated therein, erect and majestic, was the Doctor, apparently lost in thought. By his side a pasty-faced young fellow, with flitting, beady black eyes, glanced furtively out and recognized his fellows, made some quick signal with the hand, waved it from the window, and pointed towards the northeast corner of Madison Square.
"I'll bet I know what that means," said Julian, as the five halted, irresolute, and gazed after the carriage. "Pop's had him in limbo for over an hour, and the moment he gets out he wants those fellows to meet him. We could find something worth knowing, old man, if we could see them together again." But not until long after did Julian dream how much.
The Doctor left Hoover at the steps of the brownstone mansion, saw him safely within-doors, summoned the grave butler to his carriage, said a few words in low tone, and was about to order "drive on," when he was aware of two young gentlemen running up, panting a bit and red in the face.
"Ha, Joy! Julian!" he cried, as they raised their caps. "What brings you here?"
"What news of Lawton, sir? Doremus just told us there was a letter." And to substantiate the story, Doremus himself came puffing after the pair.
"Where'd you hear it?" asked the Doctor of the third youngster, desirous first of ascertaining where the leak occurred.
"I was over at the school a few minutes ago. The janitor told me, and Mr. Halsey and Prime were just going away together."
"Just going away together! Why, I supposed everybody had left the building an hour ago."
"So did I, sir, but John said Mr. Halsey had kept Prime. He was having a long talk with him 'bout something, and John heard him say that now they had proof it wasn't Lawton that took Joy's watch, and that they'd have him back in less than a week."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Pop, now well-nigh as vehemently interested as his pupils. "Then you young gentlemen will be wise to go direct to your respective rooms and get to work on the lessons for to-morrow. It's almost dark now. Be off with you!" and, with exaggerated sternness, the cane was displayed.
"But was it so, sir? Have you heard of Lawton?"
"Yes," said the Doctor, instantly relapsing into the confidential manner known only to the boys he trusted and liked. "He writes that he had been ill, but is strong again, and we are going to try and fetch him back. Now, no more until to-morrow. Off to your books!"
If John, the janitor, had not been in such a hurry to get home, he might have given out some news that would have surprised them, and that was that when Mr. Halsey and Shorty Prime left the school together they went up the avenue instead of down, and, of all places in Gotham, Halsey led straight to the house of 61 Hose. Out in front on the cobble-stones the dainty white Zephyr was being sponged off and rubbed dry by three or four red-shirted experts, who glanced up and grinned affably at "the little 'un" and looked critically but in no surprise at the master. A New York fireman of the late '50s thought it bad form to be unprepared for anything. "Here are two who can back up my statements," said the boy, with confident eyes, as he beckoned to the nearest member of the Zephyr. "Will you tell Mr. Halsey where I met you on the way to the fire this morning, and what we said?"
The hoseman straightened up and squeezed the dirty water out of a huge sponge, shifted a quid in his cheek, thought a moment, and answered, "Why, cert'nly, Shorty; right down there opposite the Harlem depot. We'd hardly gone a block when I see this little fellow come a-running. 'What's a-fire, Shorty?' says I. 'Big house next the stable,' says he. 'Where's your cap?' says I. And he just kind a' nodded at the school as he grabbed the rope. You ain't going to do nothing to him for coming to give us a still on a fire, are you?" he asked, with something like menace in his eye.
"No," said Halsey, with one of his rare smiles. "We're glad to know it. That'll do, Prime. Come on." And Halsey, who never wasted a second of time, touched his hat to the Zephyrs and went streaking off down the avenue again, the tails of his worn black frock-coat streaming in the breeze, Shorty, much disappointed because he wasn't called upon to produce further evidence of prowess as a fireman, skipping along after him. The lad's heart was bounding with excitement and joy. Another day, and if successful in the quest on which she had already started, Mrs. Park, George Lawton's mother, would have Snipe once more back in school, and his accusers would stand confounded. Not for days had Shorty seemed so like his old self, bright, buoyant, and chatting like a parrot, to the discomfiture of a most tolerant home circle.
Morning came and all the school was early "on deck," and the news of Snipe went buzzing from lip to lip, and Briggs nervously flitted from group to group, swallowing snubs as though they were sugar. Meeker came wearily in, his pale face paler than ever, his eyes seeking Halsey, who glanced up and gravely shook his head, whereat the junior master made a despondent gesture with both hands and went on into his own room. Beach, his ruddy skin glowing with the exercise of a long, vigorous walk, swung out of his top-coat and into his seat as though lessons were to begin at the instant. He and Halsey merely exchanged nods. They were on civil—not confidential—terms. The janitor came and reached for the bell, lifted it by the handle from the table, and was turning with it when, unaccountably, it was jerked from his grasp and went clanging and clattering to the floor. The news of Snipe had restored heart to the First Latin, and as one boy the class turned on John in voluble sympathy. John dove for the bell, straightened up, and started anew, when there was a jerk to the table, a snap, and the little clapper of the bell shot half-way across the room. Turner dashed upon it and held it up to public view, a fine steel wire firmly attached to it and stretching to the leg of the table.
"Awe, see here, Mr. Beach, any boy that would play such a trick as that ought to be packed out of school. I move you, sir, that it is the sense of the First Latin——"
But Beach is in no mood for trifling. Bang! comes the heavy ruler on the desk. "To your seat!" he orders. "Ten marks off for Turner," and the class subsides, while John speeds away to borrow the bell from the shop below, and the master mentally calls the roll. "One absentee, Hoover," he notes; instantly calls Bertram to his feet and begins the work of the day. Poor work it proves to be, for between yesterday's fire and the morning's tidings the First Latin has neglected its studies. Poorer it proves after ten o'clock, at which hour a policeman appears at the door and asks for the rector. Poorer still after a recess at twelve, at which time Mr. Hoover himself drives up in his carriage, Halsey comes down to meet him, and together they drive away. At any other time the fact that Halsey was away from his post at the reassembly after recess would lead to a riot, but the sight of the face of Hoover, pater, is more than enough for the class. "He looks like a ghost," says Bliss. "What's coming next?"
Nothing came—ahead of the Doctor. At the usual moment he appeared, and as usual levelled his stick at the boy at the foot. "No message—telegraphic?" he asked of Beach, after brief glance at the missives on his desk. A shake of the head, an inaudible "no" framed by the lips were the answers. A look of grave concern spread over the Doctor's face. He glanced at his watch, turned to the window, then back to the door, for the rustle of skirts, most unusual sound, could be heard on the stairs. Another moment and there entered Mrs. Park, George Lawton's mother. She reached the chair the Doctor promptly placed for her, sank into it, limp and despairing, and burst into tears. "Doctor, Doctor!" she wailed. "My boy has not been near Bridgeport. I couldn't find a trace of him—or of any one who knew anything about him."
