To his delight there was a message from his father, stating that at the last minute unexpected evidence had won the patent case for him, and he was now on the road to prosperity.
So it was possible for Joe to go to boarding school after all, and, to his delight, Tom Davis prevailed upon his parents to send him. So Joe and Tom went off together to attend Excelsior Hall, just outside of Cedarhurst, and about a hundred miles from Riverside.
Joe and Tom, who had each finished short courses in the Riverside High School, started for Excelsior Hall at the opening of the Fall term, and had spent the Winter, with the exception of the Christmas holidays, at the institution. They liked it very much, and made a number of friends as well as some enemies. Their chief foe, as well as that of nearly every other lad in Excelsior Hall, was Hiram Shell.
The months passed, and with the waning of Winter, Joe began to feel the call of the baseball diamond. He and Tom got out some old gloves and balls and bats, and in the seclusion of their room they played over again, in imagination, some of the stirring games of the Silver Stars. As yet, however, there had been no baseball activity at Excelsior, and Joe was wondering what sort of team there would be, for that there must be one was a foregone conclusion. Joe knew that before he picked out Excelsior Hall as his particular boarding school.
I might add that Dr. Wright Fillmore was the principal of Excelsior Hall. He was dubbed “Cæsar” because of his fondness for the character of that warrior, and because he was always holding him up as a pattern of some virtues to his pupils. Dr. Enos Rudden the mathematical teacher was one of the best-liked of all the instructors. He was fond of athletics, and acted as sort of head coach and trainer for the football and baseball teams.
As much as Dr. Rudden was liked so was Professor Rodd disliked. Professor Rodd, who was privately termed “Sixteen and a Half” or “Sixteen” for short (because of the number of feet in a rod) was very exacting, fussy and a terror to the lads who failed to know their Latin lessons.
And as we are at present immediately concerned with Professor Rodd, now I will go back to where we left him approaching the group of students, with wrath plainly written on his countenance.
“Who—who threw that ball—that snowball?” the irate instructor cried. “I demand to know. Look at my hat! Look at it, I say!” and that there might be no difficulty in the boys seeing it Mr. Rodd endeavored to take off his head-piece.
But he found this no easy matter, for the snowballs, hitting it with considerable force, had driven it down over his brow. He struggled to get it off and this only made him the more angry.
“Who—who threw those balls at me?” again demanded Professor Rodd, and this time he managed to work off his hat. He held it out accusingly.