CHAPTER XIX
DEFIES THE LAW
Dick strictly obeyed orders. He kept away from the river and contentedhimself with observing the progress of the crews through a pair offield-glasses from the study as long as the boats were down the river.When they passed up he went across the hall and called on Williams,always popping himself down on the window-seat and always remaininguntil the first or second boats had once more returned down stream.Williams informed him dryly that he was honored by his visits, butnot greatly interested in his conversation, which consisted upon suchoccasions of monosyllabic replies, usually made with his head half ayard out the window. As far as not thinking of rowing was concerned, itwas a downright impossibility; but he did try not to talk about it, andwas assisted by Trevor.
“How’d it go to-day?” Dick would ask with elaborate carelessness.
“Don’t know,” Trevor would grunt.
“Do you think Milton did better?”
“Can’t say.”
“I noticed you rowed about thirty-four going up.”
“Did we?”
“Did you? Don’t you know you did? Don’t you know anything?” Dick wouldexclaim in disgust.
“Not on that subject, so shut up!”
The varsity and second crews had been picked and sent to training-tableon the Monday following the visit to Taylor. The varsity went to“Mother” Burke’s, in the village, and the second had a nice, long tableall to themselves in dining-hall. Dick’s chair at the head of the boardwas vacant as yet, by request of Kirk, who explained that if Dick wasto keep his mind off rowing affairs the varsity training-table wasno place for him. But that was a long week to Dick, and he yearnedfor Saturday to come, even though, as he acknowledged, the enforcedleisure had already benefited him. His color was better, his appetitewas coming back, and he slept a good nine hours every night. Butnevertheless the inactivity was hard to bear, and he thought that neverbefore had the days lagged so.
The captaincy was still his, for Taylor’s accident had afforded him arespite. The boy’s knee was in bad shape, Dick learned, and it would beall of a month before he could be fit to take his place in the boat,although it had been agreed between him and Kirk that he should reportwith the other members of the crew at practice as soon as he was ableto get about; he could at least watch the others at work and keep upwith the march of events. He had sent a note to Dick the day followinghis fall.
“Friend Hope,” he wrote, “I guess you had best let that matter waituntil I’m out-of-doors again. This is beastly luck, but we must makethe best of it. Of course you understand that I shall hold you to yourpromise, so perhaps you had better work around toward you know what;kind of pave the way, you know. Send me an answer by Waters or Hayden.”
And Dick had answered “All right.”
The evil day was simply postponed, but meanwhile he would go ahead anddo what he could. Taylor’s agreement had already borne fruit in theshape of the acquisition to the varsity and second boats of Waters andtwo other oarsmen, all three seniors and experienced men. This hadpuzzled Kirk not a little, but he decided not to look a gift horse inthe mouth, and so said nothing; merely set the new candidates to workand thanked his stars.
When Saturday came, and Dick’s period of voluntary probation came to anend, rowing affairs at Hillton looked far more promising. Waters wasback at five in the varsity boat, and another of Taylor’s disciples,Whitman, had displaced the unfortunate Arnold at Number 2. Crocker wentback to his place at six, and Dick once more found himself with histoes in the straps and the stroke oar in his hands, and was greatlycomforted. He rowed in his old form that afternoon, and the rest of thecrew seemed to gather confidence and tone from him. The new material,despite their lack of training during the first of the season, fittedwell into their places, and the afternoon’s practice was, on the whole,decidedly encouraging.
The next morning Dick took his place at the head of the varsitytraining-table and ate his steak and baked potatoes and eggs with allthe relish in the world, and would have been entirely happy had itnot been for the knowledge that soon, another week at the most, hemust yield his position. It was hard to have performed the difficultpart, to have worked and planned ever since the preceding spring, tohave worried through discouragements and toiled through the grindingmonotony of the preliminary season, only to have to yield the honor toanother when things had at length begun to look hopeful. Well, it mightmean success in the race; and success was what he desired; only--well,he groaned when he pictured to himself the Crimson crew sweeping overthe line ahead of St. Eustace, and realized that not he, but RoyTaylor, would come in for the glory that belonged to a victorious crewcaptain.
The next evening, Monday, Trevor brought up a copy of The Hilltonianfor May, and Dick read aloud the article on the crew. After a summaryof rowing at Hillton in former years, the article continued: “Withfewer candidates to work with than in any year within memory, and witha lamentable lack of encouragement from the student body, Coach Kirkand Captain Hope have succeeded in forming a varsity and a secondcrew that compare favorably with any of recent years, and that aresuperior in most particulars to the eights of last spring. The returnto the varsity squad of Taylor, S., and Whitman, S., is cause forcongratulations, as both are excellent oarsmen and have had experience,Taylor in last year’s varsity boat, and Whitman in last year’s second.The varsity crew as at present made up is as follows: Captain Hope,Stroke; Jones, No. 7; Crocker, No. 6; Waters, No. 5; Nesbitt, No. 4;Milton, No. 3; Whitman, No. 2; Shield, Bow. Taylor will displace Jonesat No. 7, it is expected, when he returns to work, which will probablybe within the next fortnight.
“It is not surprising that Coach Kirk has selected these men to makeup the varsity squad, as they are easily the best oarsmen among thecandidates which presented themselves at the commencement of theseason. Four of these men rowed in last year’s varsity, and of thebalance two have had extensive experience in rowing. Coach Kirk saysthat the present selection is by no means final, and will be changedfrom time to time as he sees fit. Nevertheless, it is probable that thecrew which will row against St. Eustace will be made up practicallyas above. Beginning next week Coach Kirk will take the men out two bytwo in a pair-oar, following the practice of last year. The varsityand second squads will have gone to their training-tables by the timethis issue of The Hilltonian is published, and with that hard workmay be said to have begun. Altogether, rowing affairs at Hillton arein an encouraging condition, and a victory pronounced enough to wipeout the stigma of last year’s defeat at the hands of our rivals maybe confidently expected. The progress of the crews will be closelyfollowed by The Hilltonian, and a criticism of the work of the memberswill appear in our next issue.”
“I wish I was as certain of that pronounced victory as he is,” saidDick as he laid the sheet aside.
“Who’s ‘he’?” asked Trevor.
“Singer, I guess; he thinks himself an authority on rowing affairs,though I doubt if he knows an outrigger from a thwart; but he’s a goodfellow, all the same. Hello, what are you going to do with that?”
Trevor was balancing himself precariously on the head of the couch, andtaking a tennis racket from a nail on the wall.
“Going to get busy with it. Stewart and I are to play a bit to-morrow.I rather fancy I’ll enter for the tournament in June. I finished ratherwell in the singles last spring, you know. Carter, a senior chap, beatme in the semi-finals, 6-4, 4-6, 6-3.”
“I never played the game but once,” answered Dick, “and then I nearlyran myself to death. It was lots harder than a mile on the track.”
“Yes, I know; a chap always runs too much when he doesn’t know thegame. I like it. There isn’t much chance for golf this year, and so Ifancy I’ll go in for tennis.”
“Well, good luck to you,” replied Dick, “only don’t twist your ankleor anything like that and have to give up rowing.”
“Don’t you worry,” answered his roommate. He had secured the racket andwas examining the gut critically. “I fancy
I’ll need a new one for thetournament,” he muttered. Securing an old ball he slammed it aroundthe room for a while, until Dick, laying aside his book, arose in hiswrath and took both ball and racket away from him. After that he walkeddisconsolately around the table for several minutes, and at lengthsettled himself grudgingly to study. Dick had a hard lesson in Germanto master, and it was well on toward ten o’clock when he finally putdown his books, yawned, and strolling to the window, pushed aside thecurtains and peered out. Trevor was leisurely undressing in the bedroomwhen he heard Dick call to him excitedly.
“Fire, Trevor! Come look, quick!”
Trevor came, trailing his trousers after him by one leg, and leaned outbeside his chum. Just to the right of Warren Hall, in the direction ofthe village, shone a ruddy glow, and even as they watched a tongue offlame made itself visible.
“Where is that?” asked Dick. “It’s too far that way to be the Eagle.”
“Perhaps it’s the Episcopal Church,” answered Trevor, excitedly. “Let’sgo!” He struggled madly with his trousers.
“All right, hurry up,” said Dick. Then, “By Jove, Trevor, I’ll tell youwhat it is,” he called.
“What?” yelled Trevor from the bedroom.
“Why, Watson’s stables; they’re just about in that direction, and----”
“_What!_” screamed his chum. “Watson’s stables! Come on! Hurry!” Hedashed toward the door, coatless, hatless, his vest half on.
“Wait for your coat, you idiot!” called Dick. But the other wasclattering down the stairs, and so, seizing his own cap and Trevor’s,he followed. He caught up with Trevor half-way to the gate. “Here’syour cap,” he shouted.
“Oh, never mind that,” yelled Trevor. “Hurry up! Think of poor oldMuggins!”
“By Jove!” muttered Dick. “I’d forgotten him!” And he raced after. Asthey left the grounds the bell in Academy Building began to ring thealarm, while from the village other bells had already begun their noteof warning. The fire was hidden from their view now, but a rosy glarein the sky above the trees and intervening buildings told them that itstill raged. Opposite the post-office they overtook a group of men.“Know where it is?” asked Trevor. But they didn’t, and the two boyssped on, soon leaving them behind. But when they turned to pass theTown Hall Trevor gave a cry of joy:
“It isn’t the stables! It isn’t the stables, Dick!” And he was right;the fire was beyond them and more to the left. “By Jove,” he went on,“I believe it’s the church after all, or else---- What’s beyond that?”
“Beyond the church?” panted Dick. “Why, I don’t know; nothing exceptCoolidge’s, I guess. Do you suppose it’s that?”
“Must be,” answered Trevor. And then they turned aside as the volunteerfire department, with a rabble of curious men and boys following,rattled by. And now they could see plainly the squat tower of theEpiscopal Church standing out boldly against the yellow glare.
“It _is_ Coolidge’s!” cried Dick and Trevor in a breath, and ran yetfaster. When they reached the great, square boarding-house they foundit surrounded by a crowd of persons, many of them Hillton boys wholived in the village. The frame building was burning merrily, andthe flames had advanced to such a stage that it appeared doubtfulif the firemen could do much. But two lines of hose were stretchedand the pumps were manned, and the volunteer department attacked theenemy valiantly. The entire right corner of the house was ablaze fromcellar to mansard roof, the flames having gained undisputed sway ofthe three big rooms there. The hall, as the boys could see from theirposition near the front gate, was black with smoke which poured outthe open doorway in stifling volumes. Two men suddenly emerged fromit, staggering under the weight of a long couch which they released toready helpers in the yard. But when they started again for the doorwaythey were stopped by a man whom the two boys recognized as the townmarshal.
“Can’t let you go in again, Mr. Coolidge,” they heard him say. “Toorisky.” And he was deaf to the expostulations of the salvagers. As thefiremen took the first hose into the house the flames for a momentlighted up the hall, throwing the narrow staircase into relief. Themarshal pointed, and the two men apparently recognized the force of hisobjections, for they turned back and hurriedly set about getting thegoods with which the yard was strewn into places of safety.
“I wonder how they got Taylor out with his sprained knee,” said Dick toTrevor.
“Carried him, I fancy. I wonder where he is.” One of the lads who hadroomed in the doomed building, and who was watching the conflagrationwith sentiments divided between regret for his lost chattels and joyin the brilliant spectacle, caught Trevor’s eye. “I say, Simpson,” hecalled, “what did they do with Taylor?” But Simpson shook his headdoubtfully.
“I don’t know; guess they took him across to Cupples’s. I didn’t seehim at all.” A terrible fear gripped Dick’s heart. It showed in hisface, for Trevor gasped and looked about at a loss.
“But they _must_ have got him out, Dick,” he cried. “Wait, I’ll ask.”He darted toward the crowd in the yard. Dick followed. Mr. Coolidge,trembling with excitement and his recent exertions, stood mopping hisforehead just inside the gate, and recounting for the fifth time thestory of the fire’s origin. To him came Trevor.
“Taylor, sir?” he asked in tones that trembled despite that he toldhimself over and over that it was all right; that Taylor must surelyhave been rescued. “Roy Taylor, Mr. Coolidge? Did he---- Where was hetaken, sir?”
“Taylor?” faltered the boarding-house keeper. “Why--I--I---- Who sawthat Taylor boy?” he shouted, turning to the group about him. Thechatter ceased, and a silence fell that chilled Trevor and Dick to theheart. None answered for a moment. At last:
“He got out, didn’t he, George?” shrieked a woman’s voice, shrill-tonedand hysterical. “You know he got out, don’t you?”
But Coolidge only shook his head, his face growing ashen. “I--I don’tknow! I asked the boys; they said every one was out; you were here, andSarah, and----” A murmur of horror arose and grew. Dick, pale-faced andsick at heart, stared at the burning building. Suddenly in the streetvoices broke into exclamations of horror; there was a pushing here andthere; Dick turned and heard a cry: “Where are the firemen? They cansave him!” The next instant Carl Gray, white-faced and breathless,broke through the gate.
“There’s some one in that room back there! I saw a face at the window!I--it looked like Roy Taylor. Dick, is that you? What shall we do?”Carl seized him by the arms, staring miserably into his eyes, his handstrembling. For a moment Dick stared back at him. Then, throwing off hishands, he turned and without a word dashed toward the front door.
“Dick! _Dick!_” shrieked Trevor. “Come back, you fool!” He sped afterhis chum toward the house. “You can’t do it, Dick!” But Dick paid noheed; it is doubtful if he heard. Just before the porch stood themarshal with warning hand outstretched.
“Here, get back there! You can’t go in.” Dick tried to rush by, but theofficer seized him and held him firmly. Trevor came up panting. Dickviewed the marshal with angry eyes.
“Let me go!” he said fiercely. “There’s a boy upstairs! He’ll be burnedup, you fool!”
“A boy up there?” repeated the marshal doubtingly. “How do you know?”He eased his grip on Dick’s shoulder. Like a flash the latter shook offthe hand, seized the astounded officer about the neck, and with a quickjerk sent him sprawling, face down, on the gravel path. “Tell them toput up ladders!” he shouted to Trevor, and with a bound was up thesteps and had entered the doorway.
“Dick! Dick, come back!” shrieked Trevor. Through the murk of smokethe edge of the staircase was outlined in writhing flames, and for aninstant Trevor caught sight of Dick half-way up it. With a sob Trevorleaped toward the porch. But a strong hand seized him and brought himtumbling back to the ground.
“One of you’ll do,” said the marshal’s voice in his ear. “No use inyour both being burned up.”
“But he’ll be killed!” cried Trevor, striking out s
avagely at hiscaptor. “Let me go, you--you brute! Can’t you understand? Dick will bekilled!” But he was forced, struggling, gasping, sobbing, down the walk.
“Barnes!” bellowed the marshal’s voice, “there’s a boy up there. Thisyoungster will tell you about it. Get your ladder quick!”