The Rover Boys Megapack

by Edward Stratemeyer

As luck would have it, William Philander Tubbs just then occupied a tent alone, his two tent-mates being on guard duty for two hours as was the custom during encampment.

  The aristocratic cadet lay flat on his back, with his face and throat well exposed.

  “Now, be careful, Sam, or you’ll wake him up,” whispered Tom.

  One cadet held a candle, while Sam and Tom blackened the face of the sleeping victim of the joke. The burnt cork was in excellent condition and soon William Philander looked for all the world like a coal-black darkey.

  “Py chimanatics, he could go on der stage py a nigger minstrel company,” was Hans Mueller’s comment.

  “Makes almost a better nigger than he does a white man,” said Tom, dryly.

  “Wait a minute till I fix up his coat for him,” said Fred Garrison, and turned the garment inside out.

  A moment later all of the cadets withdrew, leaving the tent in total darkness. Then one stuck his head in through the flap.

  “Hi, there, Private Tubbs!” he called out. “Wake up!”

  “What—ah—what’s the mattah?” drawled the aristocratic cadet, sleepily.

  “Captain Putnam wants you to report to him or to Mr. Strong at once,” went on the cadet outside, in a heavy, assumed voice.

  “Wants me to report?” questioned Tubbs, sitting up in astonishment.

  “Yes, and at once. Hurry up, for it’s very important.”

  “Well, this is assuredly strange,” murmured William Philander to himself. “Wonder what is up?”

  He felt around in the dark for a light, but it had been removed by Tom and so had all the matches.

  “Beastly luck, not a match!” growled Tubbs, and then began to dress in the dark. In his hurry he did not notice that his coat was inside out, nor did he discover that his face and hands were blacked.

  Captain Putnam’s quarters were at the opposite end of the camp, and in that direction William Philander hurried until suddenly stopped by a guard who chanced to be coming in from duty.

  “Halt!” cried the cadet. “What are you doing in this camp?” he demanded.

  “Captain Putnam wants me,” answered Tubbs, thinking the guard wanted to know why he was astir at that hour of the night.

  “Captain Putnam wants you?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s strange. How did you get in?”

  “In? In where?”

  “In this camp?”

  “Oh, Ribble, are you crazy?”

  “So you know me,” said Ribble. “Well, I must say I don’t know you.”

  “You certainly must be crazy. I am William Philander Tubbs.”

  “What! Oh, then you—” stammered Ribble, and then a light dawned on him. “Who told you the captain wanted to see you?”

  “Some cadet who just woke me up.”

  “All right, go ahead then,” and Ribble grinned. Behind Tubbs he now saw half a dozen cadets hovering in the semi-darkness, watching for sport.

  On ran William Philander, to make up for lost time, and soon arrived at the flap of the tent occupied by Captain Putnam.

  “Here I am, Captain Putnam!” he called out. And then, as he got no reply, he called again. By this time the captain was awake, and coming to the flap, he peered out.

  “What do you want?” he asked, sharply. “You sent for me, sir,” stammered Tubbs.

  “I sent for you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I have no recollection of so doing,” answered Captain Putman. “Where are you from?”

  “From?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Why, I am—ah—from this camp,” answered the puzzled Tubbs.

  “Do you mean to tell me you belong here?” questioned the now astonished master of Putnam Hall.

  “Of course, Captain Putnam. Didn’t you send for me? Somebody said you did,” continued William Philander.

  “Sir, I don’t know you and never heard of you, so far as I can remember. You must be mixed up.

  “I mixed up? I guess you are mixed up,” roared Tubbs, growing angry. “If I don’t belong to this camp, where do I belong?”

  “How should I know? We have no negroes here, to the best of my knowledge.”

  “Captain Putnam, what do you mean by calling me an—ah—negro?” fumed William Philander.

  “Well, aren’t you one? I can’t see very well.”

  “No, sir; I am not a negro, and never was a negro,” answered Tubbs, getting more and more excited. “I shall report this to my parents when I arrive home.”

  “Will you in all goodness tell me your name?” queried Captain Putnam, beginning to realize that something was wrong.

  “You know my name well enough, sir.”

  “Perhaps I do, and perhaps I don’t. Answer me, please.”

  “My name is William Philander Tubbs.”

  “Tubbs! Is it possible!”

  “Somebody came to my tent and said you wanted to see me.”

  “Well, did you think it was necessary to black up to make a call on me?”

  “Black up?” repeated William Philander. “That is what I said?”

  “Am I black, sir?”

  “Yes, as black as coal. Look at yourself in this glass,” and the captain held out a small looking glass and also a lantern.

  When Tubbs saw himself in the glass he almost had a fit.

  “My gracious sakes alive!” he groaned. “How ridiculous! How did this happen? Why, I look like a negro!”

  “Is anything amiss, Captain Putnam?” came from the next tent, and George Strong appeared.

  “Nothing, excepting that Private Tubbs has seen fit to black up as a negro and call upon me,” answered the master of the academy, with a faint smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

  “I didn’t black up!” roared William Philander. “It’s all a horrid joke somebody has played on me while I was asleep! You don’t want me, do you?”

  “No, Tubbs.”

  “Then I’ll go back, and if I can find out who did this—”

  A burst of laughter from a distance made him break off short.

  “They’re laughing at me!” he went on. “Just hear that!”

  “Go to bed, and I will investigate in the morning,” answered Captain Putnam, and William Philander went off, vowing vengeance.

  “Just wait till I find out who did it,” he told himself, as he washed up the best he could in some cold water. “I’ll have them in court for it.” But he never did find out, nor did Captain Putnam’s investigation lead to any disclosures.

  William Philander’s trials for that night were not yet at an end. On the march to the camp some of the cadets had picked up a number of burrs of fair size. A liberal quantity of these had been introduced under the covers of Tubbs’ cot immediately after he left the tent.

  Having washed up as best he could, the aristocratic cadet blew out the light he had borrowed and prepared to retire once more. He threw back the covers and dropped heavily upon the cot in just the spot where the sharpest of the burrs lay.

  An instant later a wild shriek of pain and astonishment rent the air.

  “Ouch! Oh my, I’m stuck full of pins! Oh, dear me!”

  And then William Philander Tubbs leaped up and began to dance around like a wild Indian.

  “What’s the matter with you, Billy?” asked one of his tent-mates, entering in the midst of the excitement.

  “What’s the matter?” roared poor Tubbs. “Everything is the matter, don’t you know. It’s an ah—outrage!”

  “Somebody told me you had blacked up as a negro minstrel and were going to serenade your best girl.”

  “It’s not so, Parkham. Some beastly cadets played a joke on me! Oh, wait till I find out who did it!” And then William Philander began to moan once more over the burrs. It was a g
ood quarter of an hour before he had his cot cleaned off and fit to use once more, and even then he was so excited and nervous he could not sleep another wink.

  “William Philander won’t forget his last night with the boys in a hurry,” remarked Tom, as he slipped off to bed once more.

  “You had better keep quiet over this,” came from Dick. “We don’t want to spoil our records for the term, remember.”

  “Right you are, Dick. I’ll be as mum as a clam climbing a huckleberry bush.”

  The boys were tired out over the march of the afternoon and over playing the joke on Tubbs, and it was not long before all of the Rovers were sound asleep. The three brothers had begged for permission to tent together and this had been allowed by Captain Putnam, for the term was virtually over, ending with the dismissal of the cadets at the last encampment parade.

  On guard duty at one end of the field was a cadet named Link Smith, a rather weak-minded fellow who was easily led by those who cared to exert an influence over him. At one time Link Smith had trained with Lew Flapp and his evil associates, but fortunately for the feeble-minded cadet he had been called home during the time when Lew Flapp got into the trouble which ended by his dismissal from Putnam Hall.

  Link Smith was pacing up and down sleepily when he heard a peculiar whistle close at hand. He listened intently and soon heard the whistle repeated.

  “The old call,” he murmured to himself. At first he did not feel like answering, but presently did so. Then from out of the gloom stalked a tall young fellow, dressed in the uniform of a cadet but with a face that was strangely painted and powdered.

  “Who is it?” questioned Link Smith, uneasily.

  “Don’t you know me, Link?”

  “Lew Flapp!” cried the weak-minded cadet.

  “Hush, not so loud, Link. Somebody might hear you.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to visit the camp,” answered Lew Flapp.

  CHAPTER IV

  WHAT THE MORNING BROUGHT FORTH

  Link Smith was much surprised by Lew Flapp’s assertion that he wanted to visit the camp during the middle of the night and when practically everybody was asleep.

  “What do you want to come in for?” he asked, feeling fairly certain that Flapp’s mission could not be as upright and honest as desired.

  “Oh, it’s all right, Link,” answered the big bully, smoothly.

  “But what do you want?”

  “Well, if you must know, I want to talk to a couple of my old friends.”

  “Why can’t you talk to them to-morrow, after they leave school?”

  “That won’t do. I want them to do something for me before they leave the academy.”

  “It’s a strange request to make, Lew.”

  “Oh, it’s perfectly square, I assure you. You see, it’s this way: I want them to get some proofs for me,—to prove that I am not as black as the follows reported to Captain Putnam.”

  Now, it is possible that some other cadet would not have been hoodwinked in this fashion by the bully, but Link Smith swallowed the explanation without a second thought.

  “Oh, if that’s what you want, go ahead,” said he. “But don’t tell anybody I let you in.”

  “I shan’t say a word if you don’t,” answered Lew Flapp. “By the way,” he went on, with assumed indifference, “they tell me the Rover boys have cleared out and gone home.”

  “No, they haven’t,” was Link Smith’s prompt answer.—They are right here.”

  “Are you sure, Link?”

  “Of course I am. They are bunking together in the last tent in Street B, over yonder,” and the feeble-minded cadet pointed with his hand as he spoke.

  “Is that so! Well, I don’t care. I don’t want to see them again until I can prove to Captain Putnam that they are a set of rascals.”

  “Are you going to try to get into the academy again, Lew?” asked Link, curiously.

  “Not much! I’ll be done with Captain Putnam just as soon as I can show him how he mistreated me and how the Rovers are pulling the wool over his eyes.”

  “Everybody here thinks the Rovers about perfect.”

  “That’s because they don’t know them as well as I and Rockley do.”

  A few words more passed, and then Lew Flapp slipped into the camp lines and made his way between the long rows of tents.

  He had gained from Link Smith just the information he desired, namely, the location of the Rover boys’ sleeping quarters. He looked back, to make certain that Link was not watching him, and then hurried on to where the Rovers rested, totally unconscious of the proximity of their enemy.

  “I’ll show them what I can do,” muttered Lew Flapp to himself. “I’ll make them wish they had never been born!”

  At last the tent was reached and with caution he opened the flap and peered inside. All was dark, and with a hand that was none too steady he struck a match and held it up.

  Each of the Rover boys lay sleeping peacefully on his cot, with his clothing hung up on one of the tent poles.

  “Now for working my little plan,” murmured Flapp, and allowed the match to go out. In a second more he was inside the tent, moving around cautiously so as not to disturb the sleepers.

  The bully remained in the tent all of ten minutes. Then he came out as cautiously as he had entered, and fairly ran to where Link Smith was still on guard.

  “Did you see them?” asked the feeble-minded cadet.

  “I did, and it’s all right, Link. Now, don’t tell anybody I visited the camp.”

  “Humph! do you think I want to get myself in trouble?”

  “Good-night.”

  “Good-night.”

  And in a moment more Lew Flapp was out of sight down the country roadway and Link Smith was pacing his post as before.

  Bright and early the camp was astir, and at half-past seven o’clock a good hot breakfast was served, the cadets pitching into the food provided with a will.

  “And now for Putnam Hall and the grand wind-up,” said Tom, as he finished his repast.

  “And then to go home and prepare for that grand trip on the houseboat,” came from Sam.

  “Which puts me in mind that we must see who will go with us,” said Dick.

  “Songbird Powell says he is more than willing,” answered Tom. “And I know Dutchy will fall all over himself to become one of the party.”

  “I think Fred Garrison will go,” said Sam. “He said he would let me know as soon as he heard from his parents.”

  Captain Putnam had expected to begin the march to the Hall by half-past eight, but there were numerous delays in packing the camping outfit, so the battalion was not ready for the start until over an hour later.

  The cadets were just being formed to start the march when several men appeared at the edge of the field.

  “There’s them young soldiers now!” cried one. Come on and find the rascals!”

  “What do you want, gentlemen?” demanded George Strong, who happened to be near the crowd.

  “Who is in charge of this school?” asked one of the men.

  “Captain Victor Putnam is the owner. I am his head assistant.”

  “Well, I’m Josiah Cotton, the constable of White Corners.”

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Cotton?”

  “I’m after a feller named Dick Rover, and his two brothers. Are they here?”

  “They are. What do you want of them?”

  “I’m goin’ to lock ‘em up if they did what I think they did.”

  “Lock them up?” cried George Strong, in astonishment.

  “That’s what I said. Show me the young villains.”

  “But what do you think they have done?”

  “They broke into my shop an’ stole some things,” put in another of the men.

  “
That’s right, they did,” came from a third man. “Don’t let ‘em give ye the slip, Josiah.”

  “I ain’t a-goin’ to let ‘em give me the slip,” growled the constable from White Corners.

  “When was your shop robbed?” demanded George Strong, of the man who had said he was the sufferer.

  “I can’t say exactly, fer I was to the city, a-buying of more goods.”

  “Mr. Fairchild is a jeweler and watchmaker, besides dealing in paints, oils, glass, an’ wall paper,” explained the constable. “He carries a putty considerable stock of goods as are valuable. Yesterday, or early last night, when he was away, his shop was broken into and robbed.”

  “And what makes you think the Rovers are the thieves?” asked George Strong.

  “We got proof,” came doggedly from Aaron Fairchild. “We’re certain on it.”

  By this time, seeing that something was wrong, Captain Putnam came to the scene. In the meantime the battalion was already formed, with Major Colby at the head and Dick in his proper position as captain of Company A.

  “I cannot, believe that the Rover Boys are guilty of this robbery,” said the master of Putnam Hall after listening to what the newcomers had to say. “What proof have you that they did it?”

  “This proof, for one thing,” answered Josiah Cotton, and drew from his pocket a memorandum book and the envelope to a letter. In the front of the memorandum book was the name, Richard Rover, and the envelope was addressed likewise.

  “The thief dropped that,” went on the constable.

  “Where did you find these things?”

  “On the floor of the shop, in front of the desk.”

  “Anybody might have dropped them.”

  “See here, Captain Putnam, do you stand up fer shieldin’ a thief?” roared Aaron Fairchild. “To me this hull thing is as plain as the nose on my face.”

  As Aaron Fairchild’s smelling organ was an unusually large one, this caused the master of Putnam Hall to smile. But he immediately grew grave again.

  “This is a serious matter, Mr. Fairchild. I do not wish to shield a thief, but at the same time I cannot see one or more of my pupils unjustly treated.”

  “Are ye afraid to have ‘em examined?”

  “By no means. I will call them up and you can talk to them. But I advise you to be careful of what you say. The Rover boys come from a family that is rich, and they can make it exceedingly warm for you if you accuse them wrongfully.”