“I don’t know,” admitted Brick. “But I’m sure going to find out, and when I do, you can bet he’ll get paid back for his low, sneaking work!”
Brick slept but poorly that night, for it had been impossible to remove all the sharp, pin-like burrs with which his blankets had been coated. He tossed and turned, and kept finding new spines that had penetrated through the woolen mass to irritate him. Muttering to himself, he at last drifted off to sleep. Later, he awoke for a moment, and looked across the tent, where some unseen person was crawling back into his bunk; but he thought nothing of it, and in the morning had forgotten all about it.
The morning was cloudy, and a cool wind swept down from the northeast. When Brick piled out of his uncomfortable bedclothes at Reveille, he thrust his feet into his shoes, as usual. But the state of those shoes was far from usual. Brick let out a yell of rage. His shoes were brim-full of icy water, and the strings were knotted a dozen times. He had to hurry to setting-up drill barefoot over the rough ground; and to crown it all, his bathrobe was missing, and he shivered in the raw breeze until he caught sight of the garment hung in a pine tree far below the parade ground. And he found that when he went to brush his teeth before breakfast, his tooth-paste tube had been stuffed with soap; but he did not find out until his mouth was burning with the choking stuff, and he was frothing and blowing sudsy bubbles, much to the delight of two small boys who scrubbed away beside him. He washed out his mouth, but the vile taste remained until long after the morning meal.
Brick began to wonder if he were bewitched. What was the meaning of this series of afflictions? He could find no trace of whoever had committed these acts. If it was Dirk Van Horn, he covered it up pretty well. Besides, why should Van Horn resort to such stealthy tricks, the acts of a cowardly soul? Van Horn had fought him the day before, and won fairly; why should he now begin a campaign of cockleburrs, watered shoes, and soapy tooth-paste?
The bewildered Brick spoke to his friend Lefty about it when the two were walking up from morning swim.
“And when I got back after breakfast, I found a big hoptoad in my clothes locker,” he concluded, “and nobody was around but a little kid from Tent Seven. Who do you suppose it can be, Lefty? How long will it go on? I swear, I’m about ready to soak somebody in the nose if I catch him getting into my things. Am I haunted, or what?”
“You are,” agreed Lefty promptly. “You’re haunted by some sneaking coward who is trying to get your goat. Van Horn fought you fair yesterday, didn’t he?” he went on in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Sure. I didn’t mind that. But the Millionaire Baby, although he has some crazy ideas, wouldn’t stoop to those tricks, I guess.”
“If he did, he wouldn’t stand a show of getting on the baseball team, Shawnee game or no Shawnee game,” said Lefty. “As long as I’m captain, we’ll have only square-shooters playing for Lenape. You comin’ down for practice this afternoon, eh?”
“You bet, if my glove hasn’t been stolen by that time. I swear, Lefty, I’m gettin’ so I’m scared to turn around, for fear somebody will swipe my pants when I’m not lookin’! But, say, do you think this Van Horn guy is really baseball material?”