That something has already been hinted at before; it was simply that the conversation had turned upon Mark and his friends. And it did seem to be too good a chance to waste, to hide in the woods and listen to a dozen of your enemies discuss you.
The subject was brought up by way of our old acquaintance, Rogers. Rogers had had a dispute with Mallory a day or two ago which he had never yet told his classmates about; they urged him to, then, but he only shook his head. That, however, turned the talk to the Banded Seven. Parson Stanard had the pleasure of hearing himself referred to as a crane, a goggle-eyed pile of bones, etc. Baby Edwards cheerfully remarked that he thought Texas was a bluff from start to finish, and that he—Baby—could lick him in a minute. It took all six of the plebes to choke Texas and prevent his giving a yell of indignation at that insult.
Cheerful though these remarks were, nobody was touched up in quite such style as Mark, the chief offender. The whole twelve vied with each other in thinking up epithets to apply to him; in this Bull Harris, the host, set the lead.
“I’ll tell you what, fellows,” he said, after Gus Murray, amid great applause, had announced his intention of thrashing Mark in a few days. “I tell you, we’ve got to subdue that fellow some way. He’s succeeded in spoiling our fun all this summer. He’s ruined every bit of hazing! And if we don’t get rid of him somehow he’ll keep up his tricks through the winter. There’s nothing we attempt that he don’t spoil. It’s a wonder that he hasn’t found out about this affair to-night and tried to drive us off——”
“I wish he would!” put in Merry Vance. “By Heaven! he’d regret it!”
“You bet he would!” roared the crowd. “There are enough of us here to handle him,” Bull went on. “That’s the reason he don’t dare try it, for he’s nothing but a blamed coward. He wouldn’t dare show his face——”
It was just here that Bull Harris stopped. Do you ask why?
Perhaps you remember the story of Belshazzar’s feast and the proverbial handwriting on the wall. There is a very famous painting of that scene, which it will do no harm to describe. It represents the banquet hall of the king; there is a magnificent room and a table loaded with every conceivable delicacy. A rollicking, feasting crowd is grouped about it, with the king in state at the head. And on the wall behind them is the dreadful hand and its warning of destruction.
The king is like a man who has seen a ghost. His trembling finger is pointing, and his eyes are glazed with terror. And that is the best description that can be said of the boastful yearling, Bull Harris, at that moment.
The laughter had ceased in one instant, as if every man in the crowd had been struck dead. They were all of them staring, panting with horror no less than Bull’s. Standing in the shadow of the trees was a figure that seemed fairly to have paralyzed them.