Ward Hill, the Senior

by Everett T. Tomlinson

For a moment Ward was speechless as he gazed at the scene of confusion before him. Whoever had done the work had done it thoroughly, for not an article of furniture nor a picture on the wall had been left in its proper place. It was confusion worse confounded upon which he gazed.

Quickly recovering himself, Ward pushed his way into the room and closed the door behind him. As he examined the heaps and piles before him more carefully, he became more and more angry. It was such a senseless, malicious trick to play on him, that Ward felt the indignity the more. It was true he had known of such things having been done before in the rooms of other boys, and he had not thought much about it at the time, or had only laughed good-naturedly when he had heard of the deed; but it was an entirely different affair when it came home to himself.

"I think even Mr. Crane would be satisfied that I am angry enough now," Ward thought, smiling bitterly; "but I don't see that it is going to help me very much. If the fellow who did it was here, why then I might turn my anger to advantage."

But even then Mr. Crane's lesson came home to him. "I'll do as he suggested," thought Ward, "and I'll just turn in and set these things aright before I have time to get over it."

Angry as Ward was he realized that the mischief must be repaired, and that he must be the one to repair it.

But first of all he began to investigate the manner in which the mischief-maker had entered the room. The outside windows were fastened on the inner side, and no one could have entered through them, even if he had had the hardihood to make the attempt. The door had been locked when he had returned, but he soon satisfied himself that some one must have had a key and used it in his absence.

Naturally his first thought was of Tim Pickard, but Tim was down on the ballground and must have been there long before Ward had gone. Tim himself then could not have done it. Who was it? Ward thought over the boys who would have been most likely to be the guilty ones, but he could not arrive at any satisfactory conclusion. So many of the boys now were against him that it might have been any one of twenty whom he could name.

It was impossible for Ward to banish the thought of Tim Pickard as having been the prime instigator, however. He would be too shrewd to be directly implicated in the matter, Ward was well aware of that, but Tim could work indirectly. There were too many of the boys who were willing to curry favor with him by any means for him not to be able to find some one to "pull his chestnuts out of the fire for him," as Ward expressed it.

Satisfied that he must wait for a solution of the mystery, Ward took off his coat and resolutely set to work to restore the room to something like its former state. He quickly moved the furniture, and then after spreading out the carpet began to tack it to the floor.

He worked on steadily and as quietly as possible, for he had no desire to be disturbed in his labors or enter into any explanations which a visitor might desire to have made. Several times some one rapped upon his door, but Ward did not heed the interruption. He paused in his work long enough to satisfy himself that the visitor had departed, and then resumed his labor.