THE TENNIS-GROUND MYSTERY.
By OLIVER K. ROSSE.
It was about half-past six, one brilliant morning in June, and theboys of Bidford School were dressing themselves, preparatory to"scudding" for the river, wherein to take their customary seven-o'clock"dip." Every one was out of bed, skipping to and fro, as lively asgrasshoppers, throwing wet sponges at one another, and indulging indivers other jocular vagaries, which sufficiently accounted for themany strange noises and the repeated loud bursts of laughter thatgreeted the listening ear.
The inmates of dormitory number one were the younger members of theschool, and the merriest and most popular of all were Caggles andBottlebury.
"I say, Bottlebury," cried Caggles, a youth who had a deal ofconfidence in his own powers, "I'll swim you this morning, and 'lick'you by a dozen yards."
"All right," said Bottlebury; "but you can bet your life I'll have thelaugh on you! I've been putting in a lot of practise lately."
"That's what you always say, 'Bot,' old bird."
"Well! it's right enough. Whoop! Here's a black beetle in one of myshoes!"
"Don't kill it! It's mine," cried a lanky youth, dashing forward.
"Look here, Fuzzy, you beast," said Bottlebury, "you'll get puncheduntil you're black and blue if you bring such disgusting creepingreptiles up here."
Fuzzy was an amateur naturalist, and delighted to keep a stock ofliving insects about his person, in pill-boxes.
"This fellow got loose," he said, as he fearlessly picked up thecoal-black beetle and popped it into the small cardboard prison whichhe had ready.
"I say, 'Cag,'" resumed Bottlebury, "it's our turn to roll thetennis-ground."
"So it is," said Caggles; "won't it be hot work if the sun hangs outall day!"
"I should say so!" assented his friend. "I say, though, you weredreaming like a madman last night."
"Was I?" laughed Caggles; "I'm an awful fellow to dream. I used to walkin my sleep, but I've got over that. They say it comes of having anactive brain."
"Aye; and they say that kids with active brains like that generallyturn out to be tip-top poets and authors."
"Do they?" said Caggles, suddenly imagining himself a budding genius.
"Oh," said Bottlebury, with delightfully refreshing candor, "I don'tsuppose it means anything in your case, you know."
"Why?" asked the disappointed Caggles, in an injured tone of voice.
"Well, I don't think you've got enough brains for 'em to be active.It'll be active nerves in your case. It's just the same, only it'sdifferent; see?"
"Was I talking in my sleep?" asked Caggles, anxious to change thesubject.
"I think so. I just caught something about 'moles,' but I went to sleeppretty soon after."
"Well, I've been wishing for a mole," said Caggles; "Tupman saysthey've got no eyes, and I say they have. I'm going to hunt for one ofthe little beggars, just to see who's right."
At that juncture the door was flung open, and Crieff, one of the oldestboys in the school, rushed into the dormitory, red and breathless, andminus his cap.
Now, Crieff was usually a very sedate fellow, and went about asstately as an Oriental grandee. His neck was rather long, and at everystride he stiffened his legs and bulged out his chest, so that he wassuggestive, somewhat, of a dignified stork.
The boys of the dormitory were astonished, therefore, to see him in sobreathless and limp a state.
"What's up?" asked Caggles, with mouth agape.
"The tennis-ground!" gasped Crieff, mopping his face with ahandkerchief.
The tennis-ground at Bidford School was reputed to be one of the finestin the whole neighborhood. It had been specially laid, and its smoothsurface was as level as a billiard-table. Every boy was proud of it,and Crieff tended it with the anxiety of a father.
"What's up with it?" asked two or three voices.
"Spoiled! Ruined!" said Crieff, almost with tears in his eyes.
"Never!" cried Bottlebury.
"It is. Somebody has dug holes all over it with a spade. I've just beendown and seen it."
"It was all right yesterday afternoon," said Caggles, with anexpression of disgust on his face.
"Some one must have done it in the night," said Crieff; "I believe it'sone of those village kids I thrashed last week for throwing stones."
"Very likely," said Caggles; "they'll do anything for spite."
"They used our spade, too," continued Crieff; "the one out of the shed.The lock of the door has been useless for some time, you know. Theymust have gone in and taken out the spade; I found it lying on theground."
The inmates of the dormitory stood aghast. A grand match betweenthemselves and a neighboring school had been fixed for this comingSaturday. Under the peculiar circumstances this, of course, would haveto be postponed.
Hastily finishing their toilet, the boys accompanied Crieff to thetennis-ground, where they saw that his account was only too true. Theground was dug up in a dozen places.
Exclamations of rage rose from the fast-increasing crowd of boys, andenergetic discussions were entered upon, until quite a confusing uproarprevailed.
"Whoever it was," said Caggles, almost bursting with wrath, "they oughtto be kicked."
"I say, Crieff," said Bottlebury, "do you think they'll come again?"
"I don't think so," was the answer; "still, they may. I'm just tryingto think of a way to catch the scoundrels."
"Put a lot of rat-traps about," suggested a small boy.
"Man-traps, you mean," said Caggles.
"Yes; that's it--man-traps," said the small boy.
"Where'll you get 'em from?" asked Caggles, as if bent on calling downderision on the youngster.
"Oh, anywhere--buy 'em," replied the small boy, in a vague way.
"But where from, you young ass?"
"Where they sell 'em;" and the small boy fled in time to miss Caggles'foot.
"Well," said Dumford, "if there's a doubt whether they'll pay us asecond visit, it'll be hardly worth while sitting up all night."
Suddenly Caggles gave a cry of extreme pleasure.
"I know a good plan," he said; "I'll get a ball of strong, thin twine,fasten one end to the spade in the shed, carry the ball across thefield, and up-stairs to the dormitory, and then tie the other end to mybig toe. If any one walks off with the spade, the string will pull mytoe and waken me. Then, down-stairs we go, and ask the midnight visitorif he wants any help."
Crieff laughed.
"It's a good idea," said he, "and there's no harm in trying it. It mayanswer and it may not. The schoolhouse isn't a hundred yards away."
"Very well," said Caggles, with a gleeful chuckle, "I'll get the twineand try it to-night. Let's roll the ground. They'll very likely to comeagain if they see we've patched it up."
This was done, the twine purchased, and that night Caggles got into bedwith his toe attached to one end of the string and the spade in theshed tied to the other.
Poor Caggles! He little thought what a laugh there was to be at hisexpense.
For a considerable time the inmates of No. 1 dormitory lay awake in astate of anxious expectation, half-expecting to see Caggles dragged outof bed and go hopping down the room, with his big toe nearly pulled outby the roots, so to speak. But nothing happened, and one by one theyclosed their eyes and went to sleep, until all were wrapped in slumber.Even Caggles--despite the uncomfortable sensation of the twine roundhis toe--was not long in succumbing to drowsiness, for he was verytired, having rolled the tennis-ground all that afternoon.
Just as the faint sounds of the schoolroom clock striking one floatedup-stairs, Bottlebury woke with a start, having dreamed that he wasfalling down a coal-mine. He wiped the perspiration of fear from hisbrow, rubbed his eyes, and sat upright. Then, turning his gaze in thedirection where Caggles always slept, he saw by the light of the moon,which streamed in at the window, that his chum was not to be seen.
His bed was empty!
In an instant Bottlebury was on
his feet.
"Wake up, you fellows!" he cried, as he dragged his trousers on. "Wakeup! D'you hear?"
Dumford popped up his head and asked what the row was over.
"Caggles isn't in bed," said Bottlebury excitedly; "he's felt thestring tug, I s'pose, and has hurried off without us."
In another minute every boy had donned his nether garments, and thenaway they went, pell-mell, down the darkened stairs.
As they rushed outdoors they descried a figure, clad in naught but anight-shirt, making for the tennis-ground.
"Why, that's Caggles!" said Dumford.
"What on earth has he come out like that for?" queried Bottlebury;"he'll catch his death of cold."
"Make no row," warned Dumford. "It strikes me there's somethingpeculiar about this affair. Let's follow him quietly."
Caggles made straight for the shed, and, opening the door, disappearedinside.
In a few seconds he reappeared with the spade in his grasp, and,walking up to the tennis-ground, began to dig.
The onlookers gasped with amazement, and a light dawned on their minds.
"He's asleep," whispered Dumford; "it was nobody but he who dug theground before."
"By Jove!" was all that the astonished Bottlebury could say--sounlooked-for was the revelation.
Suddenly Caggles was seen to fall to the ground. The twine had twistedround his legs and thrown him.
Bottlebury was quickly at his side and assisted him to his feet.
"What's this?" said Caggles, in great bewilderment, the fall evidentlyhaving brought him to his waking senses.
"Come along in," said Bottlebury; "you'll catch rheumatics, orsomething."
Caggles looked, in a dazed way, first at the spade and then at his nowgrinning companions.
"Did I do it?" he asked.
"I suppose so," replied Bottlebury; "but what in the name of goodnessmade you? What were you digging for?"
"Moles," said Caggles, after a slight pause, in which he shivered withcold; "I--I suppose I must have come out to look for moles."
And so he had. The assertion made by Tupman that moles were blind hadcaused him to long to test the truth of the statement. He even dreamedof the subject, following which a somnambulistic desire to dig formoles in the tennis-ground was born within him.
He never heard the last of the ludicrous adventure, and Bottlebury hada thorough good laugh at him.
The nocturnal mole-hunter thenceforth slept in a small room by himself,with the door securely locked and a patent "catch" on the window, "sothat"--as some one facetiously remarked--"he should not again havenecessity to tie spades to his toes."
Motor Matt's Race; or, The Last Flight of the Comet Page 18
