One returning pilgrim saw nothing to boast about in the snatching of this close game from Bellport. That was Lef Seller. All the way back he had been in more or less of a wordy war with various enthusiastic rooters on the trolley, and his remarks had been of a nature that almost caused him to be tossed overboard.
“His father may own this road, but that doesn’t excuse him for running down his own school!” declared one of the old graduates of Columbia High, in disgust.
Lef was in a very bitter frame of mind. To see Frank come out a winner was like gall and wormwood to his envious spirit. He racked his brain, with the idea of finding some way of “pulling that climbing duck down a peg,” as he muttered to himself.
As a rule, when Lef Seller set about discovering some means of playing a “trick,” as he called it, upon a school mate, he usually managed to get there, even though the gun he held sometimes kicked worse at the butt than it did damage from the muzzle.
“Be sure and come around after supper, Ralph. I’d ask you to go home with me now, but I know you want to wash up and get into some other duds. I’ll look for you,” remarked Frank, as the crowd went ashore and walked into the town.
“I’ll be there. This matter is a mighty serious one with me, and if your father will only give me a little help I’d be obliged,” and Ralph shook the hand of his friend warmly.
“Poor chap,” said Frank to himself, as he walked away and cast a glance over his shoulder to note that the other had dropped his chin upon his breast as though lost in sad thought. “It must be a nightmare of a time not to know who you are. And then there’s this money that comes every month from some unknown source. Whoever can it be sending it? Uncle Jim must tell, that’s all there is to it.”
Uncle Jim meant Judge James Decatur Allen, away down in New York. Frank had already appealed to him, but the lawyer in reply had said he did not feel able to explain the mystery, since he had given his word to his unknown client.
That night there was a council of war. Mr. Allen heard the whole story, and was deeply interested in the fortunes of poor Ralph.
“I’ll write to Jim to-morrow, and explain things. No matter if he has promised, he ought to take pity on you, Ralph, and give you a hint. If you knew it wasn’t your relatives who were sending this money, your mind would be at ease, I suppose?” was what the gentleman had said.