The Mercer Boys at Woodcrest
Page 3
“This is certainly one swell place,” commented Terry enthusiastically.
“Yes,” nodded Rhodes. “I love it. I don’t think there is any place I’d rather be.”
“Then you’ll be sorry to graduate,” observed Don.
Rhodes smiled. “No, I won’t. I’ll let you fellows in on a little secret of mine. After I have graduated Colonel Morrell, provided everything is all right, is going to make me permanent drill commander. So I will stay here for some years to come.”
“That’s great,” said Jim, heartily. “I hope, for your sake, that the colonel turns up all right.”
“I hope he turns up all right for his own sake. You fellows like this lake? Well, so do I, but even as beautiful as it is now, there is a time when I like it better. I like it in the winter, when it is a sheet of ice, and we have the best skating in the world. At night we build big bonfires along the shore and have a heck of a good time. That’s when you will like it.”
When they had rowed to the other end of the lake, which was little more than a brook, the boys changed places and Don and Terry took the oars. They rowed back toward the boathouse, keeping over near the further shore, away from the school. On the bank directly opposite the boathouse a fine tree bent over the water, and the boat drifted under this. The boys pulled in the oars and sat there talking.
The sun was going down in the west and the back of Woodcrest was bathed in a reddish-yellow light. All three of the main halls and old Clanhammer shared the light of the declining sun, and a pretty picture was created. After they had admired it for a time and had talked of many things, Rhodes looked at his watch.
“It isn’t exactly what you would call late, but maybe we had better be getting back. We can take our time about it and maybe get in a little fun in the gymnasium before suppertime. Shall we go?”
“All right,” agreed Jim, picking up an oar.
But Don held up his hand. “Wait a minute, you guys. Don’t pull out from under these trees, yet.”
“Why not?” inquired Rhodes. “What’s up?”
“Look toward Clanhammer Hall,” returned Don, who had been looking in that direction. “Look at that upstairs window, over to the right.”
The boys looked in the direction indicated by their chum. For a second they did not see anything, then suddenly a flash of light came from the window which Don had mentioned. It disappeared immediately and a second came, which was steadier than the first, then other flashes followed.
“Wonder what that is?” asked Terry.
“Don’t ask me,” shrugged Rhodes. “I thought there was no one in that place.”
Don turned to Jim. “Doesn’t that look to you like the Morse code?” he asked.
Jim nodded. “I think it is. Let’s see if we can catch anything.”
The four boys in the boat sat silently and watched the flashes from the house across the water. They knew that the signals were being made with a mirror, into which the descending sun was pouring its last rays. Flash followed flash, some of them long and some of them short. To Rhodes and Terry they meant nothing, but to the Mercer brothers, who had once been very familiar with the telegraph code, it was plain that two words were being repeated. When the flashes had ceased they looked at each other, startled.
“What did you make out of it?” asked Don.
“Why—why, it seemed to me, if I was reading correctly,” stammered Jim, “that whoever it was was signalling the words ‘No progress.’ Is that what you got?”
“Yes,” his brother nodded. “That is just what I got. ‘No progress’ is right.”
“But what in the world can ‘no progress’ mean?” asked Terry.
“I don’t know,” answered Don. “But it means that something is going on in that old hall.”
“But there is no one in the place,” objected Rhodes.
“Tell Charlie what you saw the day you got here, Terry,” suggested Jim.
Terry told his story and Rhodes was very interested. “That certainly is queer,” he commented, when Terry had finished. “It has always been understood here that no one was in the place. What an old man with a plate of food and candle could be doing in there is more than I can see.”
“I wonder where that signal was going?” mused Don, who had been watching the building intently. “It must have been directed to some point in the woods directly back of us. The message was in reality going right over our heads. Is there any kind of a building in the woods near here, Charlie?”
“As I remember it, there is an old farmhouse just back of us in the woods,” said Rhodes, after a moment of thought. “I recall seeing it on one or two hikes we took. That signal might easily have been directed to the farmhouse, at least to the upper windows of it. That is the only building anywhere within a radius of five miles.”
“Then that was the place where the message was received,” declared Jim, with conviction. “Can’t we hike over there now and take a look at the place? Is it very far?”
Rhodes shook his head. “Not very far. We can get there in fifteen minutes, and we can land from the boat here without being seen, thanks to the overhanging trees. Want to go?”
The others agreed at once and the boat was pushed to shore, where they got out and tied it firmly. Then, under the leadership of the upper classman, they took their way through the thick trees that grew back of the lake front.
They walked on for fifteen minutes through the dusk of woods, until, coming to a slight rise in the ground, they came in sight of the farmhouse. It was an old clapboard house, but kept in order nevertheless. The doors were in place and the windows were unbroken. A few unpainted boards of lighter color showed some attempt at repairs had been made. Weeds grew about the back yard in profusion. Standing in the rough yard near the back door was an expensive looking car. The boys halted in the shelter of some large trees to consider, well out of sight of anyone in the house.
“Look at the upper back windows,” directed Rhodes. “They are above the level of the tree tops, and from them anyone could plainly catch a signal from Clanhammer Hall. What shall we do, now that we are here?”
“I don’t see that there is anything to do,” returned Don. “We can’t go up to the place, and we know that it isn’t deserted. Perhaps——”
Jim grabbed his arm. “Pipe down,” he whispered. “Someone is coming!”
The back door of the house opened and a man came out. He was tall and thin and was clothed in a dark suit, long light overcoat. He wore a hat pulled down over his eyes. He looked all around as he stepped out of the door and then closed it behind him with a resounding slam. Reaching into his pocket he took out a key and placed it in the lock, turning it and trying the knob. This done he walked to the car, started his engine and rolled out of the yard.
The boys waited until he was well out of sight and then discussed further plans. Jim was cautious about going to the house but was overruled.
“It will be all right to go up and look in the windows,” Terry argued. “The man locked the door, and that’s a sure sign that no one is in the place.”
They approached the house carefully and looked in the back windows. The place was almost bare of furniture, but they did see a table and two old chairs in the kitchen. The rest of the house, at least downstairs, was totally empty. When they had made a tour of the place they gave it up.
“I doubt if there is anything upstairs,” said Don. “I imagine this man, whoever he is, simply comes here to receive messages from the hall. Perhaps at night they send them by flashlight. It certainly is a puzzler.”
Rhodes looked at his watch. “Boys, we’ll have to get going. We’ve got just time to make it for supper. I suppose we won’t accomplish anything by standing here wondering, so we may as well beat it.”
They retraced their steps hastily and rowed across the lake, where they put the boat away and went inside to wash up for supper. After the evening meal the four of them spent some time talking things over. Just before leaving them the senior said:
CHAPTER 5
The Man with the Key
Although the four cadets took care to keep their eyes wide open they saw nothing in the succeeding days to help them solve the mystery which they had run across. At times they discussed the subject and made guesses, but these generally ended in nothing, and there were times when they half believed that they might be making a mountain out of a mole hill. No news had been received as to the whereabouts of their missing colonel, and life at Woodcrest drifted on in the same efficient manner.
The arrival of a new cadet gave them something else to think about. One rainy day when the cadets were loitering about the halls waiting for the dinner call, a young fellow in his late teens arrived at the front door of Locke Hall. He was very dark, exceedingly well dressed, and carried himself with a swaggering air. He carried a suitcase plastered with foreign labels, and a cigarette drooped carelessly from one corner of his mouth. Gaining the center of the main hall he looked carelessly around. The cadets were standing in groups laughing and talking, and finally he addressed a third-class man.
“Say, sonny,” called the newcomer. “Where do I find the sign-on-the-dotted-line room?”
Considering the fact that Bertram, the third class cadet, was at least a year older than the newcomer, the term “sonny” was something out of the way. Talk ceased instantly among the cadets and they turned to look. Mr. Bertram answered with easy courtesy.
“That is the door down there,” he said.
The new man nodded easily. “Thanks, kid. Information is appreciated, I assure you. Is the agony man inside?”
“I beg your pardon?” asked Bertram.
“Is the clerk or headmaster or whoever officiates in there?”
“I think you will find someone in there who will take care of you,” returned the upper classman.
“I hope so. Somebody had better. I usually get what I want, you know.”
Mr. Bertram didn’t know anything about it and he looked fixedly at the boy. Totally unabashed at the looks cast in his direction the newcomer walked into the office, where an instructor was sitting behind the information desk.
The instructor looked up as the boy placed his suitcase on the floor. “How do you do?” he said, smiling pleasantly at the visitor. “What can I do for you?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said the boy. “Not an awful lot, I guess. My name is Vench, Raoul Vench.” He paused and waited, but Captain Chalmers said nothing.
“My name is Vench,” repeated the newcomer.
“Yes, Mr. Vench. Well, what can I do to help you?”
“Do you mean to say that you didn’t know I was coming?” demanded the new student.
Chalmers shook his head, his glance keen. “I didn’t know it. Perhaps Major Tireson did. Are you going to register with us?”
“I certainly am,” answered the boy. “My father sent your headmaster a letter and told him that I was coming. I should have thought he would tell you, so you could be on the lookout for me. Yes, I’m going to be a member of your cadet corps and I’m here to sign up. Pass over the articles and a pen, already dipped in ink, if you don’t mind.”
Captain Chalmers looked steadily at the boy for an instant and then his gaze wandered to the groups of cadets outside of the door. Suddenly he bit his lips to keep back a smile, a rather grim one, and then reached in the drawer of the desk, to take out some sheets of paper and a pen. With intense seriousness he dipped the pen into the ink and then looked at Vench.
“Not cold, are you?” he asked.
“No,” answered the boy with a stare. “Why?”
“I thought maybe you were,” returned the instructor. “You still have your hat on. And that cigarette, which will be your last for something like four years, is already burned out. As there isn’t anything in that wastebasket you might throw it in there.”
Vench looked closely at the teacher and seemed on the point of saying something, but evidently he changed his mind, for he took off his hat, threw away the cigarette and turned once more to the captain.
“What is your name, please?” asked the instructor.
“Raoul Mulroy Vench, of Murray Bay, Florida, lately from Quebec and points all over the world,” glibly answered the youth. “Age, 18, unmarried, nationality American citizen, though French-Canadian. How is that for a start, general?”
“That is a very good start,” gravely replied the captain. “I’m glad you recognized my rank, Mr. Vench.” He continued to write for a few minutes and then looked up. “Have you any money on you at present?”
Mr. Vench looked knowing. “I’m surprised at you, sir. I only arrive here and you want to borrow from me already! Yes, I have a few odd pennies on me. About two hundred dollars, I think.”
“Hand it over, please, Mr. Vench. At the end of the year it will be returned to you. While you are here you will be allowed just two dollars a week of it, with which you can pay your expenses.”
Vench threw back his head and laughed. “Two dollars!” he exclaimed. “My dear man, I was counting on that two hundred lasting me just for two months, and that would be stretching it. Is it a joke?”
“Not at all, Mr. Vench. Have you read over the rules of the institution? Surely you must have. You didn’t come here without knowing the rules and regulations. The cadets are busy with their studies and athletics and have almost no use for ready money except for cokes and sodas. Transportation to games is furnished free and money is not strictly needed. You see how it is.”
“Yes, I see,” grumbled Vench, handing over the money. “I expected to have a good time in this place, but I see I am quite mistaken.”
Again Chalmers glanced at the groups in the hall. “I think you will have at least an interesting time here, Mr. Vench. Now the next thing for you to do is report at the medical department for examination.”
“The second nuisance, eh?” sighed Vench. “That’ll be a waste of time, officer. I’m in tip-top shape.”
“For the sake of our teams, I am very glad to hear it, Mr. Vench. However, the rules require that you go through with an examination.” Chalmers beckoned to a cadet in the hallway. “Will you step here a moment, Mr. Sears?”
Mr. Sears stepped up and saluted the instructor, who returned it. “Take Mr. Vench to the medical department,” the teacher directed.
“Very good, sir.” Sears turned to Vench. “Right this way, sir.”
Vench grinned and picked up his bag. “Right with you, usher. Thanks a lot, officer.” He followed Cadet Sears down the hall, passing carelessly through the waiting throng. Captain Chalmers looked thoughtfully after him, and then, shaking his head, resumed his work.
The cadets in the hall had remained quiet during the conversation, every word of which they had heard plainly, but now that Vench was out of earshot they began to talk.
“Hey, how do you like that!” chuckled Terry to the group around him.
“Well,” drawled Chipps, rubbing his chin. “I don’t just know what to think. You’ve got to give me time. This is the first time I’ve ever seen anything like that.”
“I’m afraid he’ll have a whole lot to learn,” smiled Don.
“If he lasts long enough to learn anything,” said Jim.
“All in the line of duty,” added Rhodes. “We’ll have to help him lose some of his flipness and importance. What do you say, Lieutenant Sommers?”
“I’d say that the spirit of the corps will have a hard time sinking into him,” said Sommers, as the bell sounded.
Mr. Vench was fitted out with a uniform that afternoon and little more was seen of him. But on the following day he began his career at Woodcrest, and that career furnished amusement and some annoyance to the cadet body. The boy was thoroughly spoiled and almost unbearable. Two of th
e seniors and Terry tried to do the right thing by calling on him that evening, in an effort to make him feel at home. Terry returned to his room and reported in high disgust to Don and Jim.
“My gosh, what a sample of misdirected energy!” he exclaimed with a snort. “We tried to be decent to him in spite of what we saw this noon, but it was time wasted. Not that he was rude, but absolutely unbearable! Talks continually of his travels, his girl friends, who seem to swoon with grief if he doesn’t write daily, and his ability to do all of everything on the face of the earth. I’m through. I’m willing to try to be nice to any fellow who will be halfway human, but I draw the line on one who spends all of his time praising his own virtues.”
“Likes himself, eh?” inquired Jim.
“No,” snapped Terry. “Bows down and worships himself. I’m afraid that boy will run aground on trouble hard.”
“And yet,” said Don, slowly. “I imagine he could be a very nice guy if he wanted to be. Maybe he’ll come out of his shell sometime.”
“I’m glad you imagine it,” retorted Terry. “That’s as far as it is likely to go.”
“All right, Terry,” Jim grinned. “Hadn’t you better study your history? Any man that will try and tell his teacher, as you did today, that Blucher wasn’t at the battle of Waterloo, should brush up a bit, I think.”
“Okay, kid, I will. The only thing that surprises me is the fact that Vench wasn’t there, or related to Napoleon or something else. Maybe he was, I don’t know. That fellow is thoroughly spoiled.”
“A little too much money, no doubt,” said Don. “If we give him a chance he’ll get over it.”
“Optimist!” said Terry, beginning to study.
Few if any of the cadets were inclined to take Don’s view of Cadet Vench. During the following days he made himself objectionable in every way. Even in the drill he tried to show his superiority, but Lieutenant Sommers promptly checked him and after due and fair consideration reported his short-comings. Major Tireson rebuked the unruly cadet and he had no more use for the precise lieutenant. But Sommers took great pride in the squads that it was his duty to drill, and the cadets, always inclined to laugh at the dignity of the fussy lieutenant, upheld him in his act.