“Didn’t you recognize those young fellows?”
“I did!” cried Tom, in a low voice. “They were Jerry Koswell and Bart Larkspur!”
“Koswell and Larkspur!” exclaimed Sam. “Are you sure?”
“Tom is right,” replied Dick.
“Who was the third fellow?”
“I don’t know. He looked like a farmer to me.”
“Did you see the money on the table?” broke out Tom. “They must have been gambling!”
“It looked that way to me, Tom.”
“If they were, all I’ve got to say, that third fellow better look out for Koswell and Larkspur,” continued Tom. “They are sharpers at cards, so Dudd Flockley once told me. He said they got him to put up his money a number of times and each time they won. He was inclined to think they didn’t play fairly.”
“Well, knowing them as we do, I’d say they wouldn’t be above cheating,” said Sam. “But what in the world can they be doing in this out-of-the-way place?”
“That remains to be found out,” replied his big brother. “Maybe they were on the road and ran here for shelter from the hailstorm.”
“I’m not afraid of them, Dick,” said Tom.
“Neither am I, Tom, you know that.”
“Then what’s the use of keeping out of sight? I’d rather go in there and give them a thrashing, like the one we gave them on that island.”
“Don’t forget we have the Dartaway here and they might take pleasure in ruining the craft or running off with her. Besides, I’d like to watch them a bit and find out a little about their plans. Remember, they want to play us some dirty trick.”
“There they go!” burst out Sam, at that instant, and motioned to the front of the cottage. All looked in the direction he pointed out, to see Koswell and Larkspur hurrying down a lane that led to a road running between the trees.
“You come back here! That wasn’t fair!” shouted the farm hand who had been playing cards with them. “Come back!” And he rushed to the front door of the cottage and waved his arm wildly.
“It was fair!” shouted back Jerry Koswell.
“Sure it was fair!” added Bart Larkspur. “We’d come back, only we are in a hurry.”
“You cheated me!” stormed the farm hand and shook his fist at the pair. But they paid no further attention, and soon the darkness and a bend of the road hid them from view.
The Rover boys waited a few seconds and then knocked on the back door of the cottage. The farm hand, a fellow named Dan Murdock, stamped over to the door and threw it open.
“What do you want?” he asked surlily. The loss of his money had made him ill-tempered.
“Why, hello, Murdock!” cried Sam. “I didn’t know you lived here.”
“Oh, so it’s you, Rover,” answered the farm hand. He remembered that he had once given Sam a ride and had been well paid for it. “Caught in the hailstorm?” he went on, a bit more pleasantly.
“Yes. These are my brothers,” added Sam. “We were out and we got lost. Can you tell us the best road to the college?”
“Of course. Walk through the woods back there. Then take the road to the left and at the cross roads turn to the right. You’ll see the signs, so you can’t go wrong.”
“And how far is it?”
“About two miles. You can take the road yonder, too, but that’s about a mile longer.”
“Do you live here?” asked Dick, curiously.
“I sleep here—me and two other hands. We get our meals up to Mr. Dawson’s house—the man we work for.”
“Oh, then this is the Dawson farm?” Dick remembered that Mr. Dawson supplied butter and eggs to the college.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m glad to know that, for we need some help. We were out in our flying machine and had to come down over there. We’ll want somebody to look after the machine until we can fix it up and take it away. Of course we’ll pay for what’s done,” he added.
“Oh, I heard tell of that flying machine!” exclaimed the farm hand. “You sailed over this farm a couple of hours ago.”
He was much interested and wanted to know all about the trip, and about the machine. He said Mr. Dawson was away, but that the Dartaway could be wheeled up into one of the big barns and left there until repaired. Then he agreed to get out a two-seated carriage and drive the boys over to Brill. Inside of half an hour the biplane was safely housed, and the whole party was on the way to the college.
Dick had warned Sam and Tom to remain silent concerning Koswell and Larkspur, and it was not until they were almost to Brill that he mentioned the fact that they had seen the pair running away from the cottage.
“Seen ’em, did you?” cried Dan Murdock. “Say, them fellers are swindlers, they are! They came in to git out of the hail and then they started to play cards, just to while away the time, so they said. They asked me to play, and as I couldn’t work just then, I consented, and then they got me to put up some money,—just to make it interestin’, they said. They let me win a little at first, and then they got me to put up more and more, and then they cheated me and wiped me out!”
“And how much did they get from you?” asked Dick.
“They got nearly all my savings—eighty dollars!” answered Dan Murdock, grimly.
CHAPTER XVIII
TOM AND HIS FUN
“Got eighty dollars from you!” murmured Dick. “That’s too bad!”
“It would be bad enough if I lost it fairly,” answered the farm hand. “But I am sure they swindled me.”
“Well, you ought not to gamble,” put in Sam, who had listened to the talk with interest.
“I suppose that’s true,” mumbled Dan Murdock. “But they said I might win a pile. Oh, I was a big fool—I know it now, even if I didn’t know it then. I wish I had stopped ’em from leaving.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“They went so sudden like—after they had my money. One of ’em took out his watch and said they’d miss the train, and away they started before you could say Jack Robinson! But there ain’t no train this time o’ day.”
“It was a trick to get away,” said Tom.
“Sure—I know that, now! Oh, if only I had my hands on ’em. Say, they don’t belong at Brill, do they?” went on the farm hand eagerly.
“No, although they used to go there,” answered Dick.
“Then you saw ’em?”
“Yes, we saw them running away.”
“What are their names?” and when Dick had mentioned them Dan Murdock shook his head slowly.
“I’ve heard of ’em before,” he said. “They used to hang around at the tavern. I was a big fool, no two ways about it! I guess they’ll keep out of my sight after this.”
“More than likely,” answered Dick.
When the boys arrived at the college they found an anxious crowd looking for them and the biplane. Songbird and Stanley and several others rushed to the carriage to greet them.
“Were you wrecked?”
“Did you get a bad tumble?”
“Where did you come down?”
So the questions ran on and the boys had to answer as best they could. Everybody seemed to be glad to learn that they had escaped from the fury of the sudden hailstorm—that is, everybody but Dudd Flockley and his new crony, Andy Yates.
“Just like the Rovers’ luck,” muttered Flockley, sourly. “They’d escape where everybody else would be smashed up.”
“Oh, they’ll get a smash, if you give ’em time enough,” answered Andy Yates, heartlessly. He was a student who courted attention and it galled him to see the Rovers the center of attraction.
As soon as Dick, Tom and Sam could get time to do so, they sent a message to Hope Seminary, informing the girls that they had gotten back to Brill in safety. This relieved much anxiety, for with the sudden co
ming of the wind and hail the girls had feared that the youths might be killed.
After such a strenuous adventure, the Rover boys were content to take it easy for some time. They sent to the city for a man to come and repair the Dartaway and then settled down to their studies. Then, after the biplane had been repaired, they went after the machine and brought it back to Brill, and it was placed in the gymnasium shed, with Abner Filbury to guard it, as before.
“Don’t you want to go up, Songbird?” asked Tom, one afternoon, after college hours.
“I—er—I don’t think so,” answered the student-poet, gravely.
“Rather make up verses about flying than fly, eh?”
“I—er—I think so, Tom.”
“What have you made up about airships, anything really fine, Songbird?”
“Well, I’ve written a few little verses, Tom. Would you like to hear them?”
“Sure!” cried the fun-loving Rover, and then Songbird commenced to recite:
“I spread my wings on the balmy air,
And float and float I know not where.
I rise, I fall, I fall, I rise,
For I am monarch of the skies!”
“Bang up, Songbird! Couldn’t be better!” cried Tom. “Give us another dip, like the small boy said of the ice-cream.” And the would-be poet continued:
“I rush along when skies are blue,
And when it hails I sail right through!
I feel—”
“Hold on, Songbird! You’ve got to change that line. We didn’t sail right through when it hailed—we came down just as quickly as we could.”
“Oh, that’s only a figure of speech,” answered the would-be poet loftily, and then he continued:
“I feel I can sail anywhere,
For I am monarch of the air!”
“Good for you!” put in Sam, who was present. “For A, No. 1, first-grade poetry apply to Songbird every time.”
“There are sixteen verses in all,” went on the poet, eagerly. “The next one begins—”
“Sorry, there goes the supper bell!” interrupted Tom. “Come on, we’ve got to eat, even if we miss the finest poem in the universe.”
“I—er—I didn’t hear any bell,” answered Songbird.
“You didn’t?” cried Tom, innocently. “Well! well! Come on in and see anyway!” And he dragged the would-be poet along and forced him into a crowd of students. “Guess I was mistaken,” he said soberly. “Too bad!” And off he, ran, and Sam ran after him.
“Well, it wasn’t half bad,” said the youngest Rover.
“That’s true, Sam,” returned Tom, and then he added with a sudden broad grin: “But how about an egg that was only half bad—would you want to eat it? Some day Songbird may write real poetry—but not yet.”
It was now ideal football weather and the football elevens, the regular and the scrub, were out daily for practice. Dick and Tom had been asked to play but both had declined, for they wished to pay attention to their studies, and the biplane took up all their spare time. Sam played a little on the scrub, but soon gave it up.
During those days Dick was more serious than usual, and neither Tom nor Sam bothered their elder brother. They knew he was thinking of his engagement to Dora, and also worrying over the business affairs of their father and their Uncle Randolph.
One day Tom and Sam took a short trip in the biplane and persuaded Stanley to go with them, and the next day they took out Spud. But nobody else of their chums cared to go.
“A new arrival tomorrow!” cried Sam, one evening. “Just from a trip to Paris, too.”
“Is it William Philander Tubbs?” queried Tom, looking up from the theme he was writing.
“You’ve struck it, Tom. Since you wrote to him about the socks he has been over to Paris. But he gets back to the grind tomorrow—comes in on the four-thirty train.”
“Say, let us get up a reception in William’s honor!” cried the fun-loving Rover; and as soon as the theme was finished he began to arrange his plans.
The next afternoon the Rovers and a crowd of their chums took one of the college carryalls and drove over to Ashton station to witness the sport. Tom had been to town early in the morning and had arranged matters with eight colored waiters from the hotel, and also with a local liveryman.
As the train came in the boys and a number of others were on the watch for Tubbs. As soon as they saw the dudish student alight, dress-suit case in hand, the Rovers rushed up to him.
“How are you, Sir William!” cried Dick, taking the dude’s hand gravely.
“Let me congratulate you, Lord Tubbs!” cried Sam, bowing low.
“Your Highness will find his carriage this way,” put in Tom, taking the dress-suit case and flinging it to one of the colored men.
“Why—er—weally, don’t you know, what does—er—this mean?” stammered poor William Philander, gazing around in astonishment.
And well might he be astonished, for there, before him, in a wide-open double row, stood the eight colored men, all dressed in black, with broad red sashes over their breasts and cockades of red paper in their hats. On the platform between the colored men was a bright red stair carpet, and this carpet led directly to where a carriage was in waiting. The carriage had four white horses, all decorated in red ribbons, and on the seat sat a driver, also decorated in red.
“Such an honor to have your Lordship condescend to come to Brill,” went on Tom, with a low bow.
“What did the Queen say when she decorated you?” asked Dick.
“It was a grand thing for the King to honor you so highly,” put in Sam.
“I certainly envy you,” came from Songbird, who was in the secret.
“Hope there is a good salary attached to the office,” was Stanley’s comment.
“I’ve heard it vas fife thousand pounds by the year!” vouchsafed Max.
“How the girls will fall in love with you when they hear of this,” sighed Spud.
“This way, your Excellency!” cried Tom, and led poor, bewildered Tubbs to the carriage.
“Thomas, my dear fellow, what—er—what does it mean?” gasped the dudish student, his eyes opening wider and wider.
“Oh, you can’t fool us, Tubblets,” whispered the fun-loving Rover. “You were going to keep it a secret, but we read all about it in the London paper one of the fellows sent over.”
“Read about—ah—what, please?”
“Why, how the king and queen knighted you, and all that, Philliam Whilander.”
“William Philander, please, Thomas. But—er—this is a mistake—”
“No, no, Tubby, my boy, no mistake at all, I assure you. This is in your honor solely. The college faculty did it—they couldn’t do less, to one so decorated, or knighted,—which is it, please? It’s the grandest thing that ever happened to Brill.”
“But don’t you know, I—er—I haven’t been—er—knighted, or anything else. I wasn’t in England, I went to Paris, and—”
“Now, now, my dear boy, don’t try that game,” said Tom, reproachfully. “We all know perfectly well that you were knighted and that you are now Sir Tubbs, P. X. C., and all that. We salute you!” And then Tom took off his hat. “Three cheers for Sir Tubbs!” he called loudly.
The cheers were given with a will, and a tiger added. Poor Tubbs was almost stricken dumb, and commenced to mop the perspiration from his forehead.
“Don’t crowd so close!” cried Tom, warningly. “His Lordship must have air! He isn’t used to so much excitement! Stand back! Now then, into the carriage, if you please!” And into the turnout went poor Tubbs, and the next instant his hat was snatched from his head and a tall, white beaver was placed in its stead. Then several medals of tin and brass were pinned to his coat, and the crowd set up a riotous cheering.
“Hurrah for Sir Tubbs!”
&
nbsp; “My, what an honor for Brill!”
“Nothing like having a real nobleman for a student!”
“Away we go! Pile in, boys!” cried Tom, and then there was a crack of a whip, and off the strange turnout started, with poor Tubbs on the seat looking more bewildered than ever, and followed by the great carryall with the yelling and singing students who had come to greet him.
CHAPTER XIX
STARTLING NEWS FROM HOME
“Here the conquering hero comes!”
“Say, but he looks like a real Lord, doesn’t he?”
“Don’t forget to bow to all the people you pass, Sir Tubbs!”
So the cries rang on, as the carriage and the carryall rolled away from the Ashton depot.
“Say, look here, what does this mean?” stammered the dudish student. “I tell you I’m no lord, or knight, or anything like that! I was over to Paris, not London, don’t you know. Weally, this is—er—very embarrassing!” he pleaded, wildly.
“Stand up and make a speech, when you get to the campus, Willie boy!” sang out Tom. “Give ’em something grand on high finance, or railroad building, or cooking beans, or something like that.”
“Why, Tom, weally, don’t you know, I know nothing of—er—railroads, or—er—beans. Please stop the carriage, I wish to get out. This is—er—awful, don’t you know!” fairly panted the dude. He had stood up, but now the carriage gave a jolt and down he sat very suddenly.
On through the town and straight for the college drove the two turnouts, the students yelling themselves hoarse. Many at Brill had been let into the secret, and when the grounds were reached a big crowd was congregated, to take part in the sport.
“Here they are!”
“Hurrah for Lord Tubbs!”
“How are you, Duke William Philander!”
“Do you wear the order of the Red Garter?”
“No, it’s the Blue Suspender he was decorated with.”
“Speech! speech!” came the cry from every side.
Then the carriage came to a halt and was immediately surrounded by a howling mob. A few had flowers that they threw at William Philander, while others had supplied themselves with stalks of celery, carrot and beet tops, and similar things, which they sent forward with force and directness.
The Rover Boys Megapack Page 247
