“Gordon, you see around you a lot of fellows who never have and never will back down from any reasonable undertaking,” said Tom Fisher. “But the idea of stealing a cow, taking her into the grounds and hoisting her up to the top of the belfry, overpowering and binding every sentry who stands in our way—Great Cæsar’s ghost! Gordon, you must be taking leave of your senses.”
“And as for taking the butcher’s big bull-dog up to the top story of the building, tying a tin can to his tail, and starting him on a run down four pairs of stairs and through the halls—that’s another thing I don’t approve of,” said Duncan.
“I guess not,” said another of the fellows. “I wouldn’t touch that dog for a million dollars. We are in for anything new that promises to be either interesting or exciting, but, as Tom says, it must be something reasonable. Think up some other plans.”
The boys had by this time reached Cony Ryan’s house. Led by Tom Fisher they mounted the steps, and passing through a narrow hall entered a neatly furnished little parlor whose walls, could they have found tongues, would have told some strange and amusing stories of the scenes that had been enacted there. It was brilliantly lighted, and a cheerful fire burned in the grate.
“This looks as though Cony was expecting us, doesn’t it?” said Tom, gazing about the room with a smile of satisfaction. “Take off your overcoat, Gordon, and sit down. Make yourself at home.”
“Do you know,” added Duncan, “that this house was built and furnished with the money that the academy boys have put into Cony’s pocket? Years ago, when he was nothing but a poor fisherman and lived down there on the bank of the river in a little shanty about half the size of this room, it occurred to him that he might turn an honest penny by supplying the students with milk and pies. He drove a thriving trade until some of the teachers began to suspect that he was putting something stronger than water in his milk, and then they shut down on him and he was forbidden to enter the grounds. But that didn’t trouble him any. The boys had got in the habit of spending their extra dimes with him, and since he couldn’t come to them any more, they fell into the way of going to him. Why, Gordon, if you could look over some of his old registers, you would find in them the names of men who are known all over the land.”
Just then a side door opened, admitting a portly, white-bearded old fellow, dressed in a modest suit of black, who was greeted by the students in the most uproarious manner. They crowded around him, all trying to shake his hands at the same time, while Cony, for it was he, beamed benevolently upon them over his spectacles. This was the first time he had seen any of them since the close of the last school term.
“You see we are all on hand again, Cony,” said Duncan, when the greetings were over. “And if you will trot out a few plates of your pancakes, you will find that we are as hungry as ever. By the way, did you know a boy of the name of Gordon who used to attend this academy?”
“Gordon of Mississippi?” exclaimed Cony, who, having a retentive memory, never forgot the names of any of his patrons. “I should say so. He has spent many a pleasant evening in this room.”
“Well, here is one of his boys,” continued Duncan. “Mr. Ryan, Mr. Donald Gordon.”