CHAPTER VIII
OWEN DUGDALE'S ANNOUNCEMENT
Another week of school had commenced, with winter now in full swing.
The weather seemed to have settled down to show what it could do, after such a long delay. It was making up for lost time, some of the boys declared. But then it could hardly be too cold for fellows warmly dressed, and who had their three hearty meals a day. The poor might complain, because they suffered, especially when such spells were prolonged.
Deacon Winslow was seen in town more frequently than usual, he leaving the work to the charge of his assistant for an hour or so at a time. He always carried a big basket in his wagon or sleigh; and those who knew his warm heart could easily understand that his visits were wholly at homes where there was none too much in the way of comforts and food.
During the earlier days of the week the talk was pretty much of winter sports. Ice hockey occupied a prominent place in the conversations that were carried on wherever three or more Scranton High fellows clustered, to kick their heels on the pavement, or sun themselves while perched on the top of the campus fence that would go down in history as the peer of the famous one at Yale.
During afternoons the hockey players gathered at the park, and each day saw them engaging in some sort of practice game,—their opponents being such fellows as could be gathered together to constitute a fair Seven.
Hugh seemed satisfied with the progress made, and Mr. Leonard, too, looked as if he felt well repaid for the trouble he was taking showing them certain clever moves that might reward them in a fiercely contested match.
Meanwhile the mystery concerning that robbery at Paul Kramer's Emporium had not yet been wholly solved. Leon Disney still languished in the lock-up at Police Headquarters, his folks having been unable to secure bail for him. They could not raise the amount themselves, and somehow there seemed to be no person in the whole community philanthropical enough to take chances with Leon, who was reckoned an exceedingly slippery individual, who would most likely run away before his trial came off, leaving his bondsman to "hold the bag," as the boys called it.
He was just as stubborn as ever in his denial of complicity in the robbery. Leon doubtless believed that a lie well stuck to was bound to raise up friends. There are always well disposed people whose sympathies are apt to be aroused when they hear of a case like this.