“Tom Rover, you’ve—er—insulted me!” he gasped as he came up. “You’ve humiliated me before the whole class! I’ll—I’ll—” The dudish student was so full of wrath he could not speak.
“Take a cough drop and clear your throat Billy,” suggested Tom, coolly. “Don’t get so excited, you might drop dead from heart disease.”
“How dare you put that—er—that advertisement of Gumley’s Red Pills on my back?” stormed the stylishly-dressed one.
“‘Gumley’s Red Pills for Red-Blooded People,’” quoted Spud, from the poster. “Say, they are fine, Willie. Didn’t you ever take ’em?”
“No, and I don’t want to. I want Tom Ro—”
“Say, if you haven’t taken any of Gumley’s pills you don’t know what you’ve missed,” went on Spud, with a wink at the others. “Why, there was a man over in Rottenberg who was flat on his back with half a dozen fatal diseases. The doctors gave him just three days to live,—three days, think of it! His wife nearly cried her eyes out. Then along came this Gumley man with a trunk full of his Red Pills for Red-Blooded People. He didn’t exactly know if the dying man was red-blooded or not, but he took a chance and gave the fellow sixteen pills, four after breakfast, four after dinner, four after supper and four on retiring, and the next day, what do you think happened? That man got up and went to work, and he’s been at his Job ever since.”
“Yes, and not only that,” added Tom, earnestly. “That man organized a tug-of-war team,—the plumbers against the Local Conclave of the R. W. Q. Society,—and they’ve had three tug-of-war matches, and he has pulled the R. W. Q. Society over the line every time. Talk about pills that are worth their weight in gold! Why, Gumley’s Red Pills for Red-Blooded People are worth their weight in diamonds, and you ought to get down on your bended knees and thank somebody for having been given the opportunity to advertise them.”
“Oh, you make me—er—tired, don’t you know,” gasped William Philander. “It was a—er—a horrid trick. All the class were laughing at me. And when I opened my Greek book, out fell one of those horrid bills! And then I dropped another bill on the platform, and—oh, it was awful! I’ll never forgive you, Tom Rover, never!” And William Philander stalked away, still clutching the poster in his hand.
“Poor William Philander!” murmured Sam. “It was rather a rough joke, Tom.”
“Oh, it will do him good,” was the answer. “He’s too uppish to live.”
“Yes, he wants some of the conceit knocked out of him,” added Stanley. “But come on, if we are going for a walk, let us get started.”
“Wish I had been in the classroom to see the fun,” mused Tom, his old-time grin overspreading his face. No matter how old Tom got he’d never give up his boyish pranks.
The crowd of students were soon on the way in the direction of the Sanderson farm. But at the first turn in the road they left that highway, and following a path across a pasture lot, plunged into the depths of what was known as Lanker’s woods. Through the woods ran a fair-sized stream of water, and at one spot there was an old dam and the remains of a saw mill, now going to decay.
“Sam, don’t you wish you had the old Dartaway back,” remarked Stanley, presently. “You used to cover this part of the country pretty well with that flying machine?”
“I’ve never wanted it back since it got smashed up on the railroad track,” was the answer. “Flying was good enough, but I don’t think I was cut out for a birdman.”
“I’d like to go up again some day,” put in Tom. “But not regularly. I’d rather travel in an auto, or behind a fast horse.”
“Give me a horse every time,” said Songbird. And then he warbled softly:
“To rush along at railroad speed,
In auto, or on wings of air,
Is well enough for some, I think,
To make you jump and make you stare.
But when I journey roundabout,
I’ll take a horse, or maybe two,
And then I’ll—I’ll—”
“And then I won’t bust any tires And walk home feeling pretty blue!”
added Tom. “Say, that’s right, Songbird, although you can’t burst tires on a flying machine,” he added.
“That isn’t just the way I was going to finish the verse,” said the would-be poet. “But it will do.”
On went the boys, deeper and deeper into the woods, chatting gaily and occasionally singing snatches of college songs. Sam kept close to his brother and he was glad to note that Tom was acting quite like his old self.
“What he needs is plenty of fresh air and rest from studying,” thought the younger Rover. “Hang it all, it was a mistake for Tom to get down to the grind so soon. He ought to have taken a trip out West, or to Europe, or somewhere.”
Presently the students came out on the bank of the stream and there, in the sunshine, they rested on a fallen tree and some rocks. It was pleasant to watch the swiftly-rushing water, as it tumbled over the stones.
“The brook is pretty strong on account of those rains we had,” remarked Sam.
“Yes, I never saw it so swift,” answered Stanley.
“Humph! this is nothing,” announced Spud. “I saw it once when it ran so swiftly that the water couldn’t make the turn at the bend below here and ran right up the hill and over on Shelby’s barn, drowning sixteen cows! And some of the water hit the barn roof and bounced off into the chimney of Shelby’s cottage and put out the fire, and—”
“Wow, Spud! put on the soft pedal!” interrupted Sam.
“Oh, it’s absolutely true. Some day I’ll show you the tombstone they erected over the sixteen cows. It’s of granite and a hundred and ten feet high.”
“Never mind the tombstone,” interrupted Tom. “What I want to see is the match box Shelby stored that water in after it hit the barn.” And at this sally a general laugh went up.
On the boys went again, and half an hour later reached the abandoned saw mill. All that was left was the dam with the broken wheel and one end of what had once been a long, low, one-storied building.
“Let’s have a look inside,” suggested Stanley, and led the way, and the others followed. Sam was the last to enter, coming directly behind his brother and he saw Tom suddenly put his hand to the back of his head and stop.
“Does it hurt again, Tom?” he whispered, kindly.
“Just a—a—spasm!” gasped poor Tom, and then he drew a long breath. “There, it’s gone now,” he added, and walked on. Sam sighed and shook his head. What was this queer condition of Tom going to lead to? It made him shiver to think of it.
There was but little to see in the old mill. It was a damp, unwholesome place, and the boys soon came out again. Not far away was a well hole, rather deep and partly filled with water.
Tom was the first to notice this hole, which was partly covered with rotted boards. Of a sudden he commenced to grin, as if he scented a huge joke. He ran up and rearranged the rotted boards, so they completely covered the hole. Then in the center he placed the bright-colored cap he had been wearing, and hurried along, to the path leading beside the dam.
“Hi, Stanley!” he called out, as the others came from the mill. “Get my cap, will you? The wind blew it off. It’s back there somewhere.”
“I see it!” shouted Stanley.
“I see it, too,” came from Spud, who was close by. “I’ll race you for it, Stan.”
“Done!” was the reply, and side by side the two collegians raced for the cap.
“An apple for the fellow who wins!” shouted Sam, who saw nothing wrong in what was going on.
“Leg it, both of you!” added Songbird.
Side by side Stanley and Spud sped over the uneven ground in the direction of the cap. Then both made a plunge forward in true football style. In a heap they landed on the rotted boards, each catching hold of the coveted headwear. Then came
an ominous crash, and both boys disappeared headlong into the well hole!
“Look! Look what has happened!” shrieked Sam, in dismay.
“They are in the old well!” gasped Songbird.
“Ha! ha! ha! Ho! ho!” came from Tom, and he shook with laughter. “Isn’t that the dandy joke? I thought Stanley would go in, but I didn’t expect to catch the pair of ’em.”
“Tom!” cried Sam, in new horror. “You didn’t really mean—”
“Sure I did. I put my cap there on purpose. Say, they had some tumble, didn’t they?” And Tom commenced to laugh again—a strange laugh that didn’t sound like him at all.
“They’ll be drowned—we must save them!” exclaimed Sam, hoarsely. “Songbird, what can we do?” he added, turning to his chum.
“I don’t know—maybe we can throw ’em a rope—if there is one around.”
“Let ’em crawl out—it’s easy enough,” came from Tom. “Don’t you spoil the joke.” And he commenced to laugh again.
“Tom, don’t act as if you were crazy!” said Sam, catching him by the arm and shaking him. “Those fellows can’t get out without help—it’s too deep! And the sides may cave in on top of them! And there is water down there, too! We must help them, and at once.”
Tom stared at his brother in bewilderment. Then of a sudden the look of fun died out of his face and was succeeded by a look of horror and terror combined.
“Did I do that, Sam? Oh, what a foolish thing to do! Yes, we must help them! What shall I do? I’ll jump down after them if you say so!” And Tom started forward.
“No, don’t do that!” Sam held him back. “We’ll get a rope, or a long pole. Don’t go too close or you may cave the top of the well in on ’em.”
“Yes, we must get a rope, or a pole,” gasped poor Tom and ran off on a search. “And I thought I was having a good joke! Oh, I certainly must be going crazy!” he muttered.
In the meantime Songbird had thrown himself on his hands and knees and crawled to the edge of the old well hole. He called out several times, but got no reply. He heard a great floundering and splashing.
“Hi, you!” he continued. “Are you alive?”
“Sa—save us!” came the spluttered-out words, from Spud. “Sa—save us!”
“Are you both alive?” continued Songbird, anxiously.
“Yes,” answered Stanley. “But we need help, for the water is over our heads. Get a rope, or something, and be quick about it!”
“Hang on the best you can and we’ll help you,” was the answer.
“Well, don’t be too long about it, or we’ll be drowned!” came in a shivering tone from Spud.
CHAPTER IV
THE OLD WELL HOLE
The three youths at the top of the old well hole gazed around anxiously. All were looking for a rope, but no such article presented itself to their view. There was a bit of iron chain lying in the dead leaves nearby, but it was too short to be of service.
“I don’t see anything to use,” remarked Songbird, wildly. “Oh, Sam, this is awful!”
“Come on, I think I see something,” answered the younger Rover. “Tom, you can help bring it over.”
He took his half-dazed brother by the arm, more to keep him from approaching too close to the well than for any other reason, and the three boys raced to where a number of saplings were growing. Sam had noted that one of the saplings had been bent over by the wind and was partly uprooted.
“Maybe we can get it up—we’ve got to do it!” he cried. “Come, catch hold and pull for all you are worth!”
The others understood and laid hold of the young tree, which was all of fifteen feet high and several inches in diameter. It had but few branches, which was an advantage. They bent it down and pulled with a will, and out of the ground it came, so suddenly that the boys fell flat on their backs.
“Wait, I’ll break off some of the branches!” cried Sam. “Tom, Songbird, try to break off that twisted root. There, that will do. Now, if we can get it down the well they ought to be able to climb up on it.”
It was but the work of a few seconds to drag the sapling to the hole. Then it was lifted upright, so that the end might not dig into the sides of the well and cause a cave-in.
“Look out below there!” shouted Sam.
“Don’t knock any stones on us!” came back from Stanley. He and Spud had braced themselves on the sides of the old well, with the water up to their waists.
“We’ll be as careful as we can,” answered Songbird.
“Look out for dirt in your eyes,” added Tom. All the fun had died out of him and his face was full of concern.
Slowly and cautiously the three boys lowered the sapling into the old well hole. In doing this they had to stand close to the edge, and once they sent down a shower of loose dirt that caused a wild cry of alarm from below.
“Go slow!” cried Spud, presently. “I’ve got it,” he added, a second later. “Let her come,” and then the sapling was lowered until the roots rested on the bottom of the hole. The top was now several feet below the top of the old well.
“The old chain—just the thing!” cried Sam, and took it up.
“You had better come up close together,” suggested Songbird, peering down at those below. “Then, if the well caves in, you’ll be up that far anyway.”
This was thought good advice and Stanley and Spud determined to act on it. Stanley came first with Spud at his heels. The many small branches of the sapling afforded good holds, and as each of the youths was something of an athlete, both of them came up with comparative ease.
“Can’t get any higher,” remarked Stanley, when within two feet of the top of the sapling. “It’s almost ready to break now.”
“Catch hold of the chain!” cried Sam. “I’ll hold it. Tom and Songbird, you hold me, so I don’t fall in.”
Sam had the chain twisted around his right hand and he leaned far over into the well hole, his brother and Songbird holding him by his free arm. The loose end of the chain dangled close to Stanley and he grasped hold. Then came a short, hard pull, and Stanley came sprawling out on the grass. Then Spud crawled up a little higher and he was hauled out the same way.
Both boys were wet to the skin and covered with mud, presenting anything but an enviable appearance. For several seconds they sat on the grass, panting for breath.
“Phew! that was a close shave!” gasped Spud, presently. “I’m mightily glad the old well didn’t cave in on us!”
“We went down head first,” came from Stanley. “If it hadn’t been for the water we would have smashed our skulls!”
“And the water came close to drowning us,” added Spud; “And say, it was some cold, believe me,” and he shivered.
“You’d better race around in the sun a bit, or you’ll take cold,” said Sam.
“Take off your coat, Spud, and put on mine,” said Songbird, as he commenced to divest himself of his garment.
“Yes, and Stanley can have my coat,” came from Tom. He now looked relieved, but his eyes had a strange light in them.
“It’s queer how your old cap landed right on the top of the well,” remarked Spud. “Why didn’t the wind carry it to some safer place?”
At this remark Tom’s face grew suddenly red. He tried to speak and gave a gulp.
“There isn’t much wind now,” added Stanley. “How was it, Tom?”
“I—er—I—the wind didn’t blow the cap,” was the lame answer. Just then Tom wished he was a thousand miles away. He could not look his chums in the face.
“It didn’t blow the cap?” demanded Spud. “What do you mean?”
To this Tom did not answer. Sam wanted to speak, but did not know what to say. Songbird looked curiously at Tom.
“Say, look here!” burst out Stanley, striding forward. “Do you mean to say, Tom Rover, that you put that cap on t
he old well on purpose?”
“I—I—did,” answered Tom feebly. “I—er—I thought it was a—a joke.”
“A joke?” cried Spud, sarcastically.
“A joke, to put us in peril of drowning, or smothering to death!” roared Stanley. “If you call that a joke I don’t, and I want you to know it!” And in a sudden passion he doubled up his fists and sprang towards Tom.
But Sam rushed between the pair.
“Stanley, don’t, please don’t!” he cried. “Tom made a mistake,—he knows it now.”
“He’ll know it after I am done with him!” cried the other, hotly. “He’s not going to play a joke on me that puts me in danger of my life! I’ll take it out of his hide!” And he tried to get past the younger Rover.
But still Sam held him back.
“Stanley, don’t touch him. You know how sick he’s been. He isn’t himself. Let it pass. He’s as sorry as any of us that it happened; aren’t you, Tom?”
“Sure I am,” answered Tom, readily; but his tone of voice was that of one who didn’t care much, one way or the other. Tom was not himself, that was certain.
“Humph, maybe he’s sorry and maybe he isn’t,” muttered Stanley. “I guess he ought to have a thrashing. Anyway, I am done with him,” and he flung back the coat Tom had offered him.
All in the crowd looked at Tom, expecting him to say something more. But Tom shut his mouth tightly and walked away, up the river path. He was without his coat. Sam picked up the garment and made after his brother.
“Tom, come back here!”
“I won’t, Sam. You can stay with them if you want to. I’ll take a walk alone,” was the moody answer, and Tom walked faster than ever.
“Of all the mean things to do!” murmured Spud, shaking his head slowly. “I would never have thought it of Tom Rover, never!”
“Tom hasn’t acted just right since he came back to Brill,” said Songbird, in a low tone, “You know he got an awful crack on the head, and, somehow, he’s been different ever since. I wouldn’t lay it up against him, if I were you fellows.”
The Rover Boys Megapack Page 273
