NAT POOLE WANTS TO KNOW
That evening Dave was on his way to the school library, to consult a certain work of reference, when he ran into another student who suddenly grasped him by the shoulder. It was rather dark where the pair confronted each other, and for the instant our hero did not recognize the fellow.
“What do you want?”
“I want to speak to you for a minute, Dave Porter,” said the other, in a voice that trembled a trifle.
“Oh, it’s you, Nat,” answered Dave, as he recognized the son of the Crumville money-lender. “What do you want?” He rather imagined that the youth wished to pick another quarrel with him.
“I—I want to talk in private with you,” returned Nat, and looked around, to see if anybody else was near.
“What about?”
“You were out walking this afternoon and met that wild man, so I heard.” 92
“That is true.”
“You tried to catch him, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Roger Morr, Buster Beggs, Gus Plum, and I did our best to collar him, but he was too fast for us. He ran down to the river, got into a rowboat, and rowed away.”
“So I heard. And I heard something else,” continued the boy from Crumville. “When you called to the man to stop he answered back, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Will you please tell me what he said?” And Nat’s voice had an eager ring in it.
“He told us to beware and go back, or we’d get into trouble.”
“Didn’t he say something more than that?”
“Oh, yes, a great deal more.”
“He called himself something, didn’t he?”
“Yes. Look here, Nat, what is this to you? Why are you so interested?” queried Dave, for he could easily perceive that the other youth was more than ordinarily anxious to know the particulars of what had occurred.
“I—I—want to—er—know, that’s all. Did he call himself anything?”
“Yes; he thinks he is the King of Sumatra.”
“He called himself that?” asked Nat, with increased excitement. 93
“Yes, two or three times. But see here, Nat––”
“Will you please tell me how he looked? Was he tall and rather thin?”
“Yes.”
“And what kind of hair did he have?”
“Brownish-red, as near as I could make out, and very long. And he had rather a long beard and a large nose,” went on our hero.
At this brief but accurate description of the wild man, Nat Poole paled a trifle and uttered something of a gasp.
“Whe—where did he go?” he faltered.
“He rowed down the river just as fast as he could. I don’t know how far he went, for the bend hid him from view,” answered our hero. “Say, Nat, do you think you know that man?”
“Why—er—know him? Of course I don’t know him,” was the stammered-out reply. “But I—I think—maybe—I’ve met him.” And then, to avoid further questioning, Nat Poole hurried away. Our hero could do nothing but stare after him.
“That is mighty queer,” mused Dave, as he turned into the library to consult the reference book. “If Nat doesn’t know the man, why was he so anxious? He acted scared to death when I said the fellow called himself the King of Sumatra.” 94
Dave remained in the school library for a half an hour and then joined Phil, Roger, and the others in Dormitory Number Twelve. He found the students discussing a talk Roger had had with Nat Poole only a few minutes before.
“Nat called me out in the hallway,” said the senator’s son. “He wanted to know all about that wild man, and he wanted to make dead certain that he had called himself the King of Sumatra.”
“That is certainly queer—on top of what happened to me,” said Dave, and told of the interview he had had.
“Well, this is a puzzle,” declared Phil, slowly. “What do you make of it, Dave?”
“I think Nat imagines he knows the wild man.”
“That’s the way it looks to me,” added the senator’s son.
“Say, you don’t suppose that wild man has anything to do with the fellows Nat used to train with—Jasniff, Merwell, and that crowd?” questioned Buster.
“It’s possible, but I don’t think so,” returned our hero. “He is surely a crazy individual, and as nobody around here seems to know him, he must be a stranger to these parts.”
“But what would make Nat so interested?” asked little Chip Macklin. 95
“Give it up,” answered Roger.
“Maybe he has something to tell, but won’t tell it to us,” ventured Phil. “He may go right to the doctor.”
But if Nat Poole went to the master of Oak Hall, or to anybody else at that institution, the boys did not hear of it. He asked no more questions about the wild man, and when any of our friends came near him he immediately walked away, thus avoiding an interview.
The proposed meeting of the athletic committee of Oak Hall was held on Saturday afternoon in the gymnasium and was well attended. An even twenty names had been put up for the regular baseball nine of the institution. Of these names, fifteen belonged to old students and five were those of newcomers to Oak Hall. As he had said he would do, Gus Plum had handed in his name, and so had Sam Day and some of our other friends. But Dave, Phil, and Roger were conspicuous by their absence.
“See here, Porter, you’re going to play, aren’t you?” asked the former manager.
“No,” answered Dave, quietly but firmly.
“Why not?”
“Well, in the first place, I have too many back lessons to make up, and in the second place, I hope to graduate this coming June, and I want to make a record for myself, if possible.” 96
“But you can do that and play on the nine, too,” urged the manager.
“I don’t think so. I’d like to play,” continued our hero, wistfully, “but I don’t see how I can.”
“This isn’t fair, Porter. We really need you.”
“Oh, it isn’t as bad as that,” returned Dave, with a faint smile. “You’ve got Gus Plum to pitch, and some of the others. There are plenty of good ball-players here this term.”
“I don’t know about that,” answered the manager, with a grave shake of his head. “I wish you’d come in.”
“Not this year,” said Dave; and then the two separated.
Phil and Roger were likewise urged to try for the nine, but they followed Dave’s example. Then a tentative nine was formed, with Gus Plum as pitcher, and also a “scrub” nine, with one of the newcomers to Oak Hall in the box. Practice was to start on Wednesday afternoon of the following week.
“Too bad we couldn’t take part,” sighed the shipowner’s son. “I’d like to wallop the Rockville Military Academy fellows just once more!”
“Well, we can’t have everything,” answered Dave. “I want to graduate with the highest possible honors, and that means plenty of hard boning.” 97
“And a fellow can’t bone and play ball, too,” added Roger.
“We might—if old Haskers would be easy on us,” murmured the shipowner’s son.
“Now, see here, Phil,” said Dave, almost sternly. “Don’t ask Haskers for any more favors. He has done all that can reasonably be expected of him.”
“All right, just as you say,” grumbled Phil. But his manner showed that he was not altogether satisfied.
A week went by, and Dave and his chums applied themselves diligently to their studies. During that time nothing more was heard of the wild man, and the excitement concerning that strange individual again died down. But the folks living in the vicinity of the woods back of Oak Hall were on their guard, and it was seldom that women and children went out alone.
The boys were doing very well in their studies, and Dave received warm words of encouragement from Andrew Dale. He had made up nearly all the back lessons imposed upon him by Job Haskers, and that dictatorial teacher could not help but be satisfied over the showing made. Roger was also doing well, and poor Phil was the only one who was backward, although not enough to cause alarm.
“I’ll get there, but it comes hard,” said the 98 shipowner’s son. “I should have asked old Haskers for more time.”
“Don’t you do it,” answered Dave. “Come, I’ll help you all I can.” Which he did.
One day there came a letter to our hero which gave him great satisfaction. He read it carefully, and then hastened off to communicate the news to Phil, Roger, and Ben.
“It’s a letter from my Uncle Dunston,” he explained to his chums. “If you will remember, he said he would hire a lawyer to take up that Mrs. Breen case against Professor Haskers.”
“What does he say?” asked Roger, quickly.
“I will read it to you,” answered Dave, and read the following:
“You will be glad to learn that Mr. Loveland, one of our lawyers, has gotten a settlement for Mrs. Breen out of your teacher, Mr. Haskers. He had quite a time of it, Haskers declaring that he did not owe as much as the widow said he did. The lawyer said he would sue for the full amount, and then Haskers came to see him. Mr. Loveland says the teacher wanted to learn who had hired him to stir the matter up, and mentioned some students’ names. But the lawyer gave him no satisfaction at all, and at last Haskers paid up in full, took his receipt, and got out. I instructed Mr. Loveland to put his charges for services on our bill, so Mrs. Breen will get the entire amount 99 collected. I am going to take it to her in person, and see to it that it is wisely invested for her benefit.”
“Good!” cried the senator’s son. “That will help the old lady a great deal.”
“Say, I’ll bet old Haskers was sore when he forked over that money,” was Ben’s comment. “No wonder he’s been looking like a thundercloud lately.”
“Yes, and he’d let out on us—if he dared,” said Phil. “But he doesn’t dare.”
“Don’t be too sure of that, Phil,” said Dave, seriously. “There is no telling what he will do—later on, when he thinks this affair has blown over.”
“Humph! I am not afraid of him,” declared Phil, recklessly.
“If he tries any of his games we’ll expose him,” added Ben.
“Better go slow,” advised Roger. He, too, felt that Job Haskers might become very vindictive.
Spring was now at hand, and a week later came the first baseball game of the season. It was a contest with Esmore Academy from Daytonville and held on the Oak Hall grounds. Quite a crowd was present, including some of the town folks. Gus Plum was in the pitcher’s box for the 100 Hall, and Sam Day was on first base, and Chip Macklin on third.
“I hope we win!” cried Dave.
“I hope you do,” answered Vera Rockwell, who was present with some other girls. “But why are you not playing?” she went on.
“Not this term,” said our hero, with a smile, and then he spoke of his studies.
“I suppose it is noble of you to give up this way,” she said. “But—I’d like to see you play.”
The contest proved a well-fought one, and was won by Oak Hall by a score of eight runs to five. At the conclusion there was a great cheering for the victors.
“This means bonfires to-night!” cried Roger, as the gathering broke up.
“Yes, and a grand good time!” added Buster Beggs.