"Then trot him out and let him get busy!" came the urgent demand.

"Wait just a few minutes, fellows. We want it really dark," urged Captain Prescott.

At last, when he judged it dark enough, Dick stepped forward, Captain Ted Teall at his side.

"Friends," Dick explained, "Teall has been good enough to agree to start the blaze tonight."

"South Grammar fellows this way, please!" called Teall. "Now, friends, please don't any of you make any noise until we Souths have a chance to say just a few words. All ready, South Grammars? Then three cheers for the Central Grammar School, winners of the school baseball league series. Let 'em rip out loudly!"

The cheers were given, followed by a tiger.

"Is Hi Martin, captain of the North Grammar nine, here?" called Ted Teall.

But Hi wasn't, or else he kept his presence very quiet.

"Hi wouldn't he here," jeered some one. "He didn't win—-couldn't win—-and he's sore."

Again Ted called for Hi Martin, though still without success.

"Then I'll have to light the fire alone," Ted declared. "I had hoped that the captains of both of the walloped teams might share the honor."

Tom Reade and Dave Darrin hastily emptied a five-gallon can of oil on the old boxes and barrels and other pieces of wood.

"All clear?" called Ted.

"All clear," nodded Tom Reade.

"Then I'll light the blaze," shouted Ted. "This is a lot easier than winning ball games," he added good-naturedly.

Three or four wind-proof matches Teall struck on a box and tossed into the oil-soaked pile of combustibles. In a moment the increasing heat of the blaze drove him back several yards.

Higher and higher mounted the red and yellow flames. Hundreds stood about, their faces fully illumined by the big glow.

"It's going to be a great one," Ted called to Dick, as the latter came toward him.

"Finest bonfire I've ever seen," Prescott answered.

"But—-" began Teall, a puzzled look on his face. Then—-sniff! sniff! "Queer stuff, that! What a stuffing smoke it makes. I wonder what it is that burns with such a sharp smell?"

"It must be pitch," replied Dick Prescott, also sniffing. "Whew! How sharp it is!"

Ted began to sneeze. Dick followed suit. Presently all of the boys who were standing at all near the blazing pile found themselves sneezing, coughing or sputtering at a great rate. Some of the men, further away, caught the acrid fumes.

"This is a mean trick some one has played on us," cried Dick, falling back before the stifling odors.

"I hope you don't think I did a mean thing like that?" demanded Teall anxiously.

"I'm sure you didn't," Prescott answered. "You're full of tricks, Ted Teall, but you're a real sportsman after you've been beaten."

"Say, can this possibly be any of Hi Martin's work?" demanded Tom Reade, as the boys fell back steadily from the bonfire.

"Only one objection to suspecting Hi," retorted Teall.

"What's that?" asked Greg. "Too proud?"

"No," snapped Teall. "Hi hasn't brains enough to think up anything."

"This is just like boys. It's really what one gets for turning out to a boys' bonfire!" growled one man between fits of coughing, as he rapidly got away from the fire. It's an abominably mean trick!"

"Who did it?" asked another man.

"Oh, you can't find that out now," replied still another. "You all know the way that boys hang together in mischief. No one would tell you, or dare to tell you, if he knew."

"I'd like to know the boy, for about one minute!" snapped one stout, red-faced man, down whose cheeks the tears were trickling. "It's that loutish trick of putting red pepper on a fire. No one but a feeble-minded boy would think of playing an old, moth-eaten trick like that!"

"It would pay us to get out of here quickly, if any one suspected us," whispered Fred Ripley to his friend.

"Sh! Shut up!" returned Dodge in a hoarse whisper. "It isn't best for us to be seen whispering. Look innocent."

From behind a heavy hand descended abruptly on either coat collar, taking firm hold.

"Here are the young apes who played the trick!" roared an angry voice. "I just heard them whispering about it, and when I was finishing supper I remember that I looked out of the window and saw these boys fooling about the pile."

"What did you put on the fire?" demanded a man, stepping in front of the now frightened youths, who were hemmed in so that they could not escape.

"Red pepper," returned Ripley sullenly. He spoke before he thought, thus admitting his guilt and Dodge's.

"You idiot!" hissed Bert.

"You're both of you idiots," retorted the captor, who had now released both young men. "Besides being a mean, detestable trick, it's as old as the world. That red-pepper trick was invented by some stupid lout who lived thousands of years before the Flood."

"What shall we do with these imps?" demanded a voice.

"There must be some High School boys here," said the man who had first seized the humiliated pair by their collars. "Let the High School boys decide what is to be done with them."

"We don't care what's done with a pair of simpletons like them," spoke up Ben Tozier. "Let the crowd go as far as it likes with such a pair."

"Don't you dare do anything to us" screamed Ripley, now beside himself with rage. "It will go hard with any one who interferes with us.

"Ha! ha! Ho! ho!" roared some of the crowd. "Listen to the half-witted pair!"

While another man spoke up jovially:

"I'll tell you what to do with them. They came here to spoil the fun of the Grammar School boys. Let the Grammar School boys dispose of these stupid fellows as they choose."

"I tell you," raged Ripley, "that it will go hard with any one who interferes with our comfort. There are laws in this land."

"Look at what doesn't want its comfort interfered with!" jeered another voice. "This comes from a lout who interfered with our comfort by putting several cans of red pepper on the bonfire. Turn 'em over to the Grammar School boys. Boys, what do you want to do with this pair?"

"We'll make 'em run the gauntlet," spoke up Spoff Henderson eagerly.

In a twinkling, so it seemed, a long double row of Grammar School boys was formed down the street. Some of these boys had light twigs or sticks; others stood ready to use their hands.

"Start 'em!" yelled Spoff. Some one did start the pair. Bert and Fred sullenly refused to run, but quickly changed their minds. Down the street they raced, Ripley in advance, between two parallel lines of Grammar School boys. Sticks were laid over them, or hands reached out and administered cuffings. It was a grotesque sight. Long before they reached the end of the double line Bert and Fred yelled for mercy, but got none. With final blows they were turned loose and vanished into the night. Within a few minutes the pepper in the bonfire had burned out. Then the revelers drew nearer, piling on other combustible stuff.

Thus was fittingly observed the victory of Dick Prescott's nine in winning the local Grammar School championship.



Chapter XVIII

HI'S SWIMMING CHALLENGE

The reader may be sure that the members of his baseball squad had reminded him of his promise to tell them what the man on the clubhouse steps said.

"I promised I'd tell you, if you won that game," Dick admitted.

"Yes, yes!" the other boys pressed.

"But I didn't say when I'd tell you, did I?"

"You're not going to try to sneak out of it that way, are you, Dick?" Dave Darrin demanded, as the boys met on Main Street the following morning, Saturday.

"I'm not going to sneak out of it at all, as you fellows ought to know," Dick replied. "I'm going to tell you—-when the proper time comes."

"When will that be?" asked Greg. "And that's all we'll get out of him, no matter how how much we talk!" muttered Tom Reade.

"Here comes Hi Martin," announced Greg. "He has Bill Rodgers with him."

"It can't be about baseball, anyway," said Dick. "I think Hi has his fill of that game."

"Good morning," was Martin's greeting, as he and Rodgers approached. "I have a message for you from North Grammar."

"Deliver it, and we'll sign on the book for it," retorted Reade.

"We're not satisfied to rest the claims of the North Grammar on baseball alone," Hi went on.

"I shouldn't imagine you would be," Dick smiled.

"Therefore we are going to challenge you to another form of contest."

"A talking match?" Tom wanted to know.

"No, sir. I bear from the North Grammar boys a challenge to Central Grammar to meet us in swimming matches in the river. The contests must be so arranged as to show which school may hold the championship in swimming. Are you afraid to meet us in the water?" Hi asked.

"Afraid? No," Dick retorted. "But why didn't you fellows spring this on us earlier? Next week Thursday will be graduating day."

"Well, we can swim the Saturday after," Hi proposed.

"But we'll be graduated then. We won't be Grammar School boys any more," protested Dick.

"Is that the way you're going to get out of the challenge that we've issued?" Martin demanded scornfully.

"No; and you certainly know better," Dick retorted. "But how can we hold a school contest when we're no longer enrolled in the school that we're supposed to represent?" Dick insisted.

"You can if you want to," Hi sneered. "But I can see that you fellows don't care about meeting us in a swimming contest. All right; then I'll go back and tell the North Grammar fellows that Central funks.

"There's a way that we can arrange it, I think," put in Dave Darrin, who had been listening intently. "Dick, why can't we get Old Dut to authorize us to represent Central Grammar within a day or two after graduation? If he says it's all right, then surely, even though we have just graduated, we'll be able to represent our old school."

"We can talk that over with Mr. Jones," Dick nodded.

"My idea is that you fellows are afraid to say 'yes' to our challenge, sneered Martin.

"You may go on thinking that, if it gives you any pleasure," said Dick coolly. "But if you really want our answer, we'll give it to you on Monday afternoon."

"The Monday after Christmas?" jeered Hi.

"We'll give you our answer next Monday afternoon," Dick rejoined a bit stiffly.

"Is the South Grammar to be in this?" asked Dave.

"No; we don't want that crowd," Hi answered quickly before Rodgers could speak.

"Then the contest won't be for the championship of Gridley, will it?" Dick inquired.

"Yes, it will," Hi assured him.

"I don't see how it can be, when it's only between two out of the three Grammar Schools in the town," Dick argued.

"The challenge is issued only to Central Grammar," wound up Hi, turning to leave. "And if you haven't accepted before Monday evening, we of the North Grammar will hold that you have backed out and don't dare meet us. Oh, by the way, Prescott, you'd better look out for Ripley and Dodge. They mean to get square with you for what happened last night."

"Get square with me for it?" laughed Prescott, unafraid. "All right, but that's rather rich! Why, I had nothing to do with it."

"They blame you a good deal for it," added Hi, "and they declare that they're going to get even with you."

"All right; let them try it," Dick nodded.

"What do you think of this swimming challenge?" asked Dave quickly.

"Why, I think," Dick replied, "that it will bear looking into closely. There may be some trick about it, and we must look out that we are not roped into some funny game. We'll see the fellows at school on Monday."

"Hi Martin is probably the best swimmer among the Grammar School boys of Gridley," Tom suggested.

"I think that he most likely is," Dick agreed. "If he proposes to stand for North Grammar, and wants us to put up one candidate against him, then Hi would probably take the race. If we take the challenge, either we ought to insist on a team race, or else on a number of separate events by different fellows, each event to count for so many points on the score. In any match of singles Hi Martin might win. If we go into this at all, we must look out that it isn't fixed so that Hi Martin, alone, can carry off the championship for his school."

"The very fact that Hi proposed it makes me suspicious that he has some trick in reserve," Tom urged.

"I like the general idea," spoke up Greg. "Any swimming contest that is a real match between the schools, instead of between individuals, will be good sport and arouse a lot of school interest. There are a lot of fairly good swimmers in our school, too."

"We'll talk it over with the fellows, and with Old Dut also," Dick went on. "Of course we have no right to act for the school unless the other fellows are willing."

When Dick left his chums at noon it was with an agreement to meet on Main Street again at half past one.

At fifteen minutes past one the telephone bell rang in the little bookstore.

"Have you a copy of Moore's Ballads?" asked a masculine voice.

"Yes," replied Mr. Prescott; "in different styles of bindings and at different prices."

The bookseller then went on to describe the bindings and named the prices. The customer at the other end of the wire seemed to prefer an expensive volume, which came at four dollars.

"Can you deliver the book immediately, with a bill, to Mrs. Carhart, at the Gideon Wells place?" continued the voice at the other end.

"Yes; I think so," replied Mr. Prescott.

"The book must be delivered within the hour," continued the voice, "as Mrs. Carhart is going on a journey and wishes the book to read while on the train."

"I will deliver the book within fifteen minutes," Mr. Prescott promised. "At the Gideon Wells place, did you say? I didn't know that it had a tenant."

"Mrs. Carhart has taken the place for the summer. I will rely upon you to deliver the book immediately. Thank you; good-bye."

"I suppose you have an appointment with the crowd, Dick," smiled his father, as he hung up the receiver. "I don't like to get in the way of your fun, but I shall have to ask you to deliver the book, for the profit on that volume is too large to be overlooked."

"I don't mind going," Dick answered. "I can get back just a little late. I'm all ready as soon as you have the book wrapped and the bill made out."

Three or four minutes later Dick left the store. At the corner of Main Street he looked to see whether any of his chums were visible, but none were. So he turned and started, traveling fast.

Had young Prescott answered the 'phone call himself he very likely would have suspected that the voice of the customer was that of Bert Dodge disguised. However, as it was, the Grammar School boy had no suspicion whatever. He made part of the distance at a jog trot. He was soon in the less thickly inhabited part of the town, down in a section of large estates, many of which were used only as summer homes.

"This Mrs. Carhart must be a new-comer in Gridley," reflected Dick, as he hastened along. "I hope she'll buy a lot of books of us at as good prices."

He came now to the corner of the Wells estate, the grounds of which were some eighty acres in extent. He passed the corner and ran along toward two great elms that grew just inside the trim wall.

Just as he reached these elms two figures started up from behind the wall beyond. The same two figures leaped over the wall, confronting the Grammar School boy.

"Howdy, Prescott," called Bert Dodge, with a mocking grin.

"We were just saying that we'd rather see you than any one else on earth," leered Fred Ripley, as he stepped in the Grammar School boy's path.

"I haven't any time to waste on you two just now," Prescott answered coldly, trying to step around the pair.

"Then you'll take the time," scoffed Bert, reaching out to seize Dick by the shoulder.

Fred Ripley aimed an unexpected blow that sent the lad to earth and the book flying several feet beyond.



Chapter XIX

DAVE DARRIN FLASHES FIRE

"That was just like you—-it was so cowardly and low down!" cried Dick hotly, as he leaped to his feet.

He was now near the package containing the book. Doubtless he could have snatched up the book and sprinted to safety. But that was not his way of meeting so great an affront.

"Don't you get saucy!" warned Fred, edging in closer. Bert Dodge veered around so that be could attack Dick from one side.

"It would be honoring you too much to talk to you in any vein," Dick retorted sarcastically. "You're a pair of the most worthless rowdies in Gridley."

"Go for him, Bert!" called Ripley.

"Why don't you?" sneered Dick, making a leap forward, straight at Ripley.

Dodge swung in from behind, hitting Dick over the head. But Prescott's movement, in the same moment, made the blow only a glancing one.

Bump! Dick landed on Fred Ripley's nose with force and weight enough to make the lawyer's son stagger.

"Pound his head off, Bert!" howled Ripley putting a hand to his injured nose.

But Dick wheeled just in time to avoid a treacherous blow from the rear. With all the fury of the oppressed, Prescott leaped in, planting one foot heavily on some of Bert's toes and striking a blow that landed over that indignant youth's belt-line. Bert fell back, panting.

"If you two have enough now," remarked Dick more coolly, "I'll pick up my package and go on about my business."

"You can wager you won't get away until we've settled with you!" snarled Dodge. "Rip, never mind your nose. Help me close in on this scamp and show him what we can do to a fellow that we don't like."

In another moment Dick was the center of a cyclone, or so it felt to him. Both boys were larger and stronger, even if not quite as quick as he. They rained blows upon him.

"Don't try to holler," jeered Fred Ripley. "That won't do you any good. We'll tell you when you've had enough. Take it from us and never mind your own opinions."

Dick did not answer. Sore and winded, he fought with all the spirit that was in him.

So busy were all three of the boys, that none of them noted the approach of a light express wagon drawn by a single horse. The driver hauled up, a few yards away, then advanced, driving whip in hand.

Slash!

"O-o-o-h!" yelled Fred Ripley, as he felt the whip land on his legs.

Slash! slash!

"Quit that, you fiend!" begged Bert Dodge, doubling up and screaming with pain.

"I'll quit when I think you've had enough!" hissed Dave Darrin, his face ablaze with anger, his eyes flashing fire.

Slash! slash! slash!

Dave plied the whip relentlessly until he had inflicted half a dozen more blows on the legs of each High School boy.

"If you try to run away," warned Dave, "either of you, I'll run after you and lay on ten times as much as I'm giving you."

"Quit, now, Dave," urged Dick, running to his chum and laying a hand on Darrin's active right arm. "They've had lots—-plenty. Such things as they, can't stand a man's dose."

"I'm not a bit tired," retorted Dave ironically. "Besides, I rather enjoy this exercise."

"We'll have you arrested, Dave Darrin!" moaned Ripley.

"You will, eh?" Dave demanded, breaking away from Prescott's restraining hold and making for Fred.

"No, no, no!" cried Ripley, cowering.

"Yes, we will—-you can wager we will!" yelled Dodge from a safer distance.

"Arrested—-for what?" demanded Darrin.

"For assaulting us," returned Bert Dodge. "Oh, you'll catch it!"

"Have I been guilty of any more of an assault than I found you fellows engaged in", Dave asked coolly. "Don't you think you'd look rather funny in court when it was known why I laid the whip over you?"

"We'll get the better of you, just the same," yelled Ripley, who had now retreated to the side of his friend and felt bolder. "My father's a lawyer—-the smartest in the town."

"And he's also a gentleman," broke in Dick. "I wish his son took after him. As for arrest—-and trouble in court—-bosh! Try it on!"

Prescott now walked coolly to where his little package lay, and found it uninjured.

"How did you happen to come along on the wagon?" Dick asked, as Fred and Bert limped away from their Waterloo.

"One of the express company's drivers was late coming back from dinner, and there was a package that had to be delivered at once," Darrin answered. "The manager offered me ten cents to make the delivery. I am glad that I took the job. Where are you going?"

"In there," Prescott answered, pointing to the house. "I've got to deliver this book collect to a Mrs. Carhart."

"Get up on the seat and I'll drive you in there," proposed Dave. "Though I don't believe there's any one living in the house. All the front doors and windows are boarded up."

After five minutes of doorbell ringing Dick concluded that he would find no Mrs. Carhart there.

"I guess I understand," nodded Prescott. "Either Dodge or Ripley must have sent that 'phone message. That was their way to get me alone where they could both handle me without much danger of interference."

"It turned out finely—-for them," chuckled Dave, as both boys climbed back to the seat of the wagon. "But say, do you think they could really make any trouble for me for using the whip over them?"

"I don't know. I don't believe they'll try, anyway," Dick answered thoughtfully. "It wouldn't be very nice for Fred to have his father find out how his son spends his time and pocket money."

Dave drove back to Main Street, letting Dick off at his corner. Down the side street a few doors and into the bookshop he hurried.

"Back again?" was Mr. Prescott's greeting. "What was the matter—-the volume not satisfactory!"

"No such party at the address," his son answered. "But I think I can explain why the order was 'phoned in."

Dick then proceeded to narrate what had happened. His father listened with growing anger.

"What a low, worthless trick that was to play," he cried. "Dick, if you'll stay here and attend the store I'll step around to Mr. Ripley's office and speak to him about it. Then I'll go over to the bank and see Bert's father."

"Don't, dad; please don't," begged the boy.

"It seems to me that such action is highly necessary," maintained Mr. Prescott.

"I hope you won't do it, dad. The best way to treat boys' rows is to let them settle among themselves. If you interfere in this matter, dad, I shall get a name among other boys for running to my father for protection. That will turn the laugh on me all over town. I'd much rather fight my own battles and take an occasional pounding."

"Well, perhaps you're right about it," admitted his father thoughtfully. "At all events, I'm glad to see that your disposition is to take care of your own troubles. I won't interfere, though I am certain that Mr. Ripley would like to know something about this affair."

"I already do know something about it," gravely announced a voice behind them. There stood Lawyer Ripley, who had dropped in to buy a magazine.

"I shall be glad if you will tell me more about this," the lawyer went on solemnly.

Gladly would Dick have gotten out of it. He was inclined to say very little, though what he did say was added to by his father.

"Is this the book, in this package?" inquired Mr. Ripley, as be picked up the parcel.

"Yes," nodded Mr. Prescott.

"And the price?"

"Four dollars."

"Mr. Prescott, kindly charge this book to my account, unless I return it by Monday morning," the lawyer went on. "I shall try to see young Darrin this afternoon. Then I shall question my son when I return home. I don't consider it fair to condemn him unheard, but if I find that he had such a part in this afternoon's affair as has been described, then I shall tell him that he is bound to take goods that he has any part in ordering. In that connection, when I hand him his next allowance of pocket money, I shall keep out four dollars and hand him the book in place thereof. That ought to make him rather careful about ordering goods in which he is not really interested."

"But, as I now recall the voice over the telephone," urged Mr. Prescott, "I am inclined to think that it was young Dodge's voice, disguised, that I heard."

"If my son had any share in the transaction, it will make no difference," replied Lawyer Ripley very gravely. "This book will then become a part of his small library, and at his own personal expense. I thank you both. Good afternoon."

"Well, of all the queer turn-overs, that's the best!" grinned Dick appreciatively, after the lawyer had gone. "Wouldn't I like to see Rip when he gets that book of ballads handed him as the larger part of his pocket allowance!"

"It's certainly a clever way for his father to handle the affair," smiled Mr. Prescott. "However, in making the charge for the book I shall deduct the profit. Like yourself, son, I don't want to profit by tale-bearing. And now, why not run out and see if you can find your young friends? I don't believe I shall need you further this afternoon."

Inwardly Dave Darrin was a good bit disturbed when, a few minutes later, Lawyer Ripley walked into the express office and inquired for him. Fred's father asked a good many questions, which Dave answered truthfully though reluctantly.

"Assuming that the affair was as you describe, Darrin," stated the legal man at last, "I wish to thank you for teaching the young man what must have been a needed lesson."

When Dave learned from Dick, a little later, the story of Fred's unintentional purchase of a four-dollar book, there was a big laugh.



Chapter XX

ARRANGING THE SWIMMING MATCH

"See no reason why you can't represent this school in an athletic meet a day or two after graduation," said Old Dut, when asked about it. "If the North Grammar boys believe they excel at that sport, they should be given a chance. Naturally they are disappointed over finding themselves at the bottom of the list in baseball."

"Go after 'em to-day, Dick!" yelled the boys. "Perhaps we can beat them in the water, too."

"Find Hi Martin this afternoon and settle it," added others.

"I won't serve alone," Dick retorted, shaking his head. "If you fellows want me to serve on a committee and will give us full powers to act, I'm willing."

"I think that will be the best way to go about it, boys," approved Old Dut. "There should be a committee, and then you must be prepared to stand by any arrangements that the committee may make."

"What's the matter with choosing a committee of ten?" proposed Toby Ross.

"Too many," smiled Old Dut wisely.

"There'd be too much talking then. A committee should have but a very few members."

"Are nominations in order?" queried Spoff Henderson.

"Yes," nodded Old Dut. "Since I've been consulted, I'll preside at this yard meeting."

"Then I nominate Dick Prescott, Dave Darrin and Greg Holmes," Spoff continued.

"Second the motion," called Ross.

Old Dut put the motion, which was carried. "As Master Prescott was first named," announced the principal, "he will naturally be the chairman of the committee."

"I move the committee have full powers in arranging for the race," Spoff added.

This was also carried. That afternoon, when school was out, the boys hurried along Main Street, keeping a sharp lookout for Hi. At last they espied him, with Bill Rodgers.

"What are you going to do about the swimming race?" called Hi from across the street.

"This is our committee, duly appointed by the Central Grammar boys," Dick called back. "When will your committee be ready?"

"We're ready now," answered Hi. "Come over here and we'll talk about it."

Hi leaned against the fence on his own side of the street, determined not to concede anything to the Central Grammar boys.

"Have you two been regularly appointed as a committee?" asked Prescott.

"We don't have to be," Hi answered indifferently. "We know what we're talking about."

"You'll have to be regularly appointed by your school before we'll talk with you," Dick retorted.

"You're afraid to meet us in a swimming match," Hi jeered.

"So afraid," Prescott answered, "that we've appointed a committee regularly; but you fellows, who have been doing all the talking, aren't willing to get together and elect a regular committee to represent your school."

"You're afraid, I tell you," sneered Hi, while Bill Rodgers grinned.

"No; we're ready to arrange the match when your school sends a regular committee."

"Come on over here and talk it over, if you're not afraid," urged Hi Martin.

"We can't talk it over with you, as you've admitted that you don't represent your school."

"Well, then, we do represent it," claimed Hi.

"That statement comes too late. Hi, we'll meet you at this same place at half past four to-morrow afternoon. If you fail to show up it will be all off. And your committee will have to bring a note, signed by your principal, naming the members of your committee and stating that it has been regularly appointed. We'll bring the same from our principal.

"I guess the swimming match between the two schools is all off, then," yawned Martin. "You fellows don't want to go into it, for you know you'd be beaten stiff. That's why you try to hedge behind a committee."

"It's all off if you fellows don't go at it in a regular way," Dick contended firmly. "We're not going to enter a match and then find that you and Bill Rodgers represent no one but yourselves."

"What's all the noise about?" good-naturedly asked Reporter Len Spencer, who, turning the corner, had halted behind Prescott and his friends.

Dick explained the situation.

"Prescott is right," decided Len. "Martin, if the boys at your school are not enough in earnest to arrange the contest through an authorized committee, then folks will understand that the North Grammar didn't really want a swimming contest."

"But we do want one," blustered Martin.

"Then go about it in a regular way, after consulting your principal, as the Central Grammar boys have done," urged Len. "And, instead of meeting here on a corner, you can meet at my desk at the 'Blade' office."

Hi Martin was "stumped" at this point, and he knew it. If he backed out now he would make himself and his school ridiculous.

"All right," agreed the North Grammar boy reluctantly.

"Don't forget to bring a note from your principal to the effect that the boys named are the regular school committee," Dick called after him.

"We'll do the thing in our own way," Hi retorted. "Come along, Bill."

"I thought Martin might be up to some tricks," muttered Dick Prescott.

"If he is, tricks won't help him or his school," laughed Len. "We'll see this thing put through in regular shape."

So, on Tuesday afternoon, Dick and his fellow members of the committee were at the "Blade" office punctually.

At ten minutes past the time no boy from the North Grammar had appeared.

"You won't have to wait much longer," smiled Len. "It looks as though the North Grammar boys were bluffing."

At ten minutes of five Dick and his chums rose to leave the "Blade" office.

"Wait a minute," urged Len at the door. "I believe I see your rivals coming now."

Hi Martin, Bill Rodgers and Courtney Page strolled rather indolently up to the door and entered.

"You're late," said Len crisply. "If you boys go into a race, I believe you'll be just as late at the finish."

"There wasn't any use in hurrying," grunted Eel. "There's lots of the day left."

"Unless you regard an appointment as a gentlemen's agreement, and to be kept," marked Len Spencer, rather severely. "I have been giving up my time to this affair of yours, and my time is worth something. But take seats. Have you boys any paper to show that you represent your school?"

"Yes," admitted Hi, producing an envelope. "Our principal gives us the proper authority."

Len read the note, nodding. "The Central Grammar boys have also produced their authority to act, so now we can get down to the details of the contest. The North Grammar boys are the challengers, are they not?"

"Yes," claimed Hi.

"Then what sort of a swimming contest do you propose?" Len asked.

"Each school to appoint its best swimmer, and arrange a half-mile race between the champions of the two schools," Hi answered promptly. "The school whose champion wins is to be declared the champion in swimming."

"We expected that," nodded Dick, "and we won't agree to it. If this match is to be held for the school championship, then there should be several boys entered from each school——say five, six or seven from each school. Then the contest would really represent the schools."

"But one boy would win, just the same, in any case," retorted Martin. "What difference would it make?"

"The way that I propose," urged Dick, "no single boy could win for his school. Suppose we enter seven boys from each school. Then the school whose seven boys are in ahead of the seven boys on the other side will win the contest. In other words, of the fourteen swimmers, one is bound to come in last of all. The school to which this last-in swimmer belongs is the school that loses the match."

"Huh! I don't see anything in that idea," retorted Hi. "That, perhaps, wouldn't mean anything at all for the school that happened to have the one best swimmer of all."

"It would make it impossible for either school to enter one real swimmer and six dummies, and still win the match," Dick argued. "My plan will stop the contest from being a one-boy race and will give the contest to the school that has the best average swimmers."

"Huh! I don't see it," said Hi doggedly.

"I think Prescott has the better of the argument," broke in Len Spencer, who had sat tapping his desk with a pencil.

"Then I don't care much for your idea, either, Spencer," retorted Martin.

"It may be that my idea isn't any good," nodded Len indulgently. "I won't even claim that I know anything about sports. But you must surely know who the umpire is in any such dispute. It's always the editor of the local paper. So, Martin, if you won't agree with Prescott, and if you won't admit that I know anything about it either, suppose we lay the question before the editor of the 'Blade.' I think he's in just now."

"As for me," spoke up Bill Rodgers, breaking his silence, "it seems to me that Prescott's idea is good and fair."

"What do you say to that kind of stuff, Page?" inquired Hi quickly.

"I—-I—-er—-well, I am agreeable to anything that pleases the rest of you," stammered Courtney Page, by nature, a sail trimmer.

"You're a chump, then," Hi retorted elegantly. "The whole reason why Prescott objects to one boy representing each school is that he's afraid I can out-swim any boy that Central Grammar can produce."

"And I take it, Martin," Dick retorted, "that your reason for insisting on the one-boy race, is due to your belief that you can win from any one boy. Very likely you are the fastest and strongest swimmer in any Gridley school. But a race with seven boys on a side will better represent the average abilities of the two schools. In baseball we tried to find out which school had the average best players. We didn't try simply to find out which school could boast of the one star player."

"That's right," nodded Len Spencer.

"Prescott, you're afraid to race with me, you or any other one fellow in Central Grammar!" exclaimed Hi indignantly.

"No; I'm not afraid to swim against you," Dick declared quietly. "I won't have the championship between the two schools rest on any such race, but I'll enter a separate race against you—-any distance—-this in addition to a seven-fellow race between the schools."

"Now, I guess you haven't a leg left to stand on, Martin," smiled Spencer. "Prescott proposes a seven-fellow race between the schools, the school responsible for the last man who comes in to lose the contest. That is to be for the school championship. Then, if you think you can outswim Prescott, he agrees to enter an individual and personal race with you."

"If Prescott and I swim against each other, then we won't swim in the seven-fellow race, anyway." protested Hi.

"I'll agree to that," Dick nodded.

After some more talking the details were arranged. Len reduced them to writing and the committees for both schools signed.

"I'll publish this in the 'Blade' to-morrow morning," said Spencer. "Then the whole town will know the terms of the race."

Friday, if pleasant, was the date chosen, the seven-fellow race to begin as soon as possible after two P.M., the personal race between Prescott and Martin to follow. Such details as choosing the officials of the race were to be left to the principals of the two schools.

"It's all settled, then, gentlemen," said Spencer, rising and holding out his right hand. "If you don't see me before you may be sure of my being on hand to report the races themselves. I shall do all I can to encourage schoolboy sports in Gridley. I've a notion, too, that there will be on hand Friday a goodly showing of High School athletes. The young men of the High School will naturally want to look over the contestants and see who is going to make good material for the High School teams."

"I'm thankful to say," retorted Hi stiffly, "that I do not expect to attend Gridley High School. My father is going to send me to one of the best prep. schools in the country. Page and Rodgers are going to good schools, too."

"I hope none of your fathers will be disappointed," remarked Spencer gravely. "Personally, I consider the Gridley High School one of the best schools in the United States."

"It will do, of course, for those who really can't afford to go to better and more select schools," Hi conceded. "Prescott, look out that you don't get drowned when you're practicing to beat me on Friday."

"I'm not really sure that I shall practice swimming before Friday," Dick smiled in answer. "I'm going to be pretty busy until after graduation."

"Dick," asked Greg seriously, when the three chums were by themselves, "have you any idea in the world that you can win out against Hi Martin?"

"Oh, I may not win," Prescott replied. "Yet, if I don't I'll promise you to be the hardest pace-maker that Hi Martin ever had behind him in the water."



Chapter XXI

OLD DUT GIVES WISE COUNSEL

Boys attired in their best tip-toed about in creaking new shoes, resplendently polished for the occasion. Every boy had a flower in his upper button-hole.

Exhibition Hall, usually so bare and barnlike in appearance, was now a jungle of potted plants and ferns, with clumps of bright flowers everywhere.

Over the broad stage hung a fourteen-foot American flag. Flags of other nations, in smaller bits of bunting, trailed off on either side. The piano stood before the center of the stage, down on the floor. Grouped near were the music stands and chairs for other members of the orchestra on this festal day of graduation.

Here and there women teachers still superintended little squads of girls who were putting on the last bright touches of ornamentation. One teacher was drilling a dozen much-dressed-up boys of the seventh grade, who were to act as ushers on this great Thursday afternoon. It was half an hour before the doors were to be opened.

Curiously enough, there were no eighth-grade pupils present. These were assembled in Room 1, on the floor below, seated behind the desks that had been theirs during the school year.

"Young ladies and gentlemen," began Old Dut, rapping on his desk and rising. As he looked about there was a curious expression on his face, and some water in his twinkling eyes.

"I am going to take occasion to say the last few words that I shall have a chance to say to you confidentially and in private," continued the principal. "I am conscious that I am taking one of my last looks at you all as my pupils. I might call this the dying class, if it were not for the fact that, for most of you, to-day will be the real birth. You will go forth into the world to-day, the larger portion of you. You will leave school behind and tackle the world as budding men and women. You will begin soon to grapple with the work, the problems, the toil—-the tears and the joys that come with the beginnings of grown-up life. Those of you who are to be favored with a chance to go further in your education, and who will be schoolboys and schoolgirls yet a while, I most sincerely congratulate. For those who, on the other hand, will step straight from Exhibition Hall into the world of work—-aye, and the world of deeds and triumphs, too—-I bid you to be of good cheer and courage!

"Be bold, true and loyal! If you have any wonder, any misgivings as to what the world and life may have in store for you, I tell you that these are questions that you will decide mainly for yourselves. It's the hardest thing in this universe to down any man or woman who faces grown-up life with a good and honest claim on the good things of existence. Yet on this subject one word more. Uprightness of heart, of word and deed are not alone sufficient. There is one more great quality that you must link with general honesty and loyalty. Castle Great cannot be stormed except by those who move forward with backbone—-Courage! Be bold, steadfast, unwavering. Never lose anything that you justly want through fear that you can't get it. Go after it! The soldier is the type of courage and a good one. Yet you don't find more than one of our soldiers of life in a military uniform. There are soldiers, boys, in every crowd that you mingle with on the street. Be one of them yourselves!

"Boys, be brave, but be gentle. Remember that the bravest men are gentle as any woman. As a soldier proves his courage by his conquests, so must you prove your courage, if you have any to show, by your achievements in the life that starts to-morrow for most of you. Honor and courage! Together they will carry you to lofty heights. If you fail, then reflect that you don't possess these two qualities of manhood. Get these qualities—-at no matter what cost—-and start out again to victory.

"Girls, be women. Stop and think what it means to be women. All the sweetest, truest and gentlest attributes of the human race. Be women, every minute of your lives, and you will have reached heights where not even the most soldierly boys may follow you. Be women, and the men of our race will reverence and honor you.

"Young ladies and gentlemen, this day comes to me once in every year. It is an old practice with me, as I see each class go forth in our last hour together, to feel that I am watching the departure of the best and truest class that I have yet taught. But this year I am moved more than ever to that feeling. There are those among you who have shown me traits of character that have filled me with even more much more than my usual amount of faith in the future of the American nation. Young ladies and gentlemen, my fellow citizens, permit me to thank you for your loyal work to make this graduating class what it is, and what it is destined to become. Go forth to uphold the traditions of Gridley and the glory of America, and may God bless you, one and all."

His voice rather husky, and his eyes a little more wet, Old Dut sank back into the well-worn chair from which he had taught so many eighth-grade classes.

"Three cheers for our principal!" proposed Danny Grin. The cheers were given lustily, with half a dozen tigers.

"Master Dalzell," replied Old Dut, "coming from the boy who, as the records show, has been disciplined more frequently in the last year than any other pupil present, I consider that a tribute indeed."

"I meant it," said Dan simply.

Later the pupils of the five upper grades marched solemnly into Exhibition Hall, the appearance of the graduating class being greeted with applause by enthusiastic relatives and friends. The orchestra played triumphal marches until all had marched in to their seats.

Then the orchestra paused, only to begin a moment later with the first measures of the opening chorus, sung by more than three hundred youthful voices. It was the usual medley, contributed by pupils who could really sing and by others who really couldn't. An undertone of varying discord ran along under the truer melody.

Then, after his name had been called by the principal, Dick Prescott rose. Very stiff and starched, and painfully conscious of the creaking of his shoes as he went forward in that awesome stillness, Dick ascended the platform, advanced to the front center, made an elaborate bow, and then, in an almost scared voice he began to tell the assembled hundreds of grown-ups why they were there as though they didn't know already. This performance, which admitted of very few gestures, was stated on the programme to be "The Salutatory." From his being chosen to render this address, it was easily to be inferred that Dick was regarded as the brightest boy of the class.

Then other exercises followed. Two members of the Board of Education also had pieces to speak. One told of the educational policy and methods followed in the Gridley schools, on which subject he knew vastly less than any of the eight smiling teachers present. The other member of the Board of Education gave a lot of chilled advice to the members of the graduating class, he did this at much greater length and with far less effect than Old Dut had lately done in his last private talk with his class.

There were a lot of other pieces to be spoken, most of them by the youngsters. There were songs, also exercises in vocal gymnastics. Pupils of the lower classes displayed their expertness at mental arithmetic. Then, after more singing, the superintendent of schools, who had just arrived, mounted the platform and presented each graduating one with a diploma, showing that the recipients had faithfully and successfully completed their Grammar School course.

More music, after which Laura Bentley, a pretty little vision in white cloud effects, with yards of pink ribbon for the sunshine, stepped to the platform, made her bow and launched into the valedictory.

"And now," called Old Dut from the audience, "the old eighth grade is no more. The exercises are over. I thank all who have contributed to make this occasion so pleasant."

"Three cheers for Old—-Mr. Jones, the principal!" yelled Dan Dalzell, as the scrambling to get out began. Needless to say, the cheers were given. Now that the ordeal was over, it was nothing to the discredit of fine Old Dut that the youngsters would have cheered a yellow dog had they been so requested.

Old Dut had slipped down to the egress. There he shook hands with each graduate, wishing them all possible success in life.

"And be sure to come back to these exhibitions whenever you can in after years," the principal called as the last members of the late class were going down the stairs.

"Dick," chuckled Harry Hazelton, as they descended, "when Old Dut was calling on you to go forward and do your little stunt, did you notice the fly on the left side of his nose that he was trying to brush off without letting any one see the move? Ha, ha, ho!"

"Shut up, Hazy," growled Prescott almost savagely. "Haven't you any idea of reverence? We're going down these steps for the last time as Central Grammar boys. I'd rather do it in silence, and thoughtfully."

"Isn't Dickins the queer old chap?" demanded Harry Hazelton, falling back by Reade's side.

"It's a pity you couldn't be queer, just for once, and hold your tongue until we are outside the good old schoolyard," grunted Tom.

"They're a pair of cranks," muttered Harry to Dave Darrin.

"Imitate 'em for once," Darry advised dryly. "Remember, it's the cranks who make the world go around."

For the most part, both boys and girls got their hats very quietly. Then they passed out into the open, walked across the yard and gathered in little groups outside, each holding his beribboned diploma in his right hand.

"It's all over," sighed Tom Reade outside the gate. "Somehow, I wish that I had another year to go—-or else that I'd been a little more decent to Old Dut."

"It was a good old school," sighed Dick, looking back almost regretfully. "And, by the way——-"

"Speech, Dick!" cried a dozen of the boys, crowding around him.

"Get out!" laughed Prescott. "I spoke my piece two hours ago."

Yet the boys continued to crowd about him.

"He's going to tell us now what the man on the clubhouse steps said!" proclaimed Danny Grin hopefully.



Chapter XXII

HI HEARS SOMETHING ELEVATING

"Do you fellows really want to know what the man on the clubhouse steps said?" Prescott asked, looking about him with a tantalizing smile.

"Do we?" came in a chorus.

"Hurry up and tell us!"

"Quit your kidding," begged Tom Reade. "Dick, we've waited for months to have the mystery solved. Now, surely, we ought to know. Look at these diplomas; they certify that we know everything else. So trot on the speech of the man on the clubhouse steps."

"Or look for trouble!" added Harry Hazelton warningly.

Dick appeared to hesitate. The boys around him, highly curious, thought he was debating within himself whether or not to give the desired information.

"Come, get swift," desired Spoff Henderson.

"See here, fellows, I'll tell you what I'll do," proposed Dick at last.

"You'll tell us what the man on the clubhouse steps said," broke in Toby Ross.

"Yes," Dick agreed; "but you'll have to let me do so on my own conditions and in my own way. You see this diploma?" holding it up. "I've been working hard for eight years to win this document. Now I'm going to hurry home and put this in a place of safety. After that I'll put on my everyday clothes, and then I'll meet you at the usual corner on Main Street at five o'clock. If any of you fellows really want to know, then, what the man on the clubhouse steps said, I'll tell you."

"You won't postpone telling us, and you won't try to crawl out of it?" pressed Dave Darrin.

"On my honor, I won't," Dick promised.

"On your honor, you won't tell us what the man on the clubhouse steps said?" demanded Tom Reade suspiciously.

"On my honor, I won't try to dodge out of it, or postpone it a minute beyond five o'clock. On my honor I'll tell you, at five o'clock, to-day, what the man on the clubhouse steps said."

"Good!" cried many voices.

"Will many of you be there?" Dick inquired.

"We'll all be there," declared Spoff Henderson. "But, remember, Dick Prescott, you're in honor bound to tell us at last."

"You won't find me dodging or up to any tricks," Dick agreed solemnly. "Until five o'clock, then."

Dick started along. At first quite a crowd went with him, but by degrees the number decreased until only his own five immediate chums were with him.

"Say," suggested Reade suddenly, "since you're going to make a public, show of this, Dick, you ought to let our little crowd in on a private view."

"What do you mean?" Prescott quizzed.

"You know well enough what I mean," Tom retorted. "You ought to tell our own little crowd in advance what the man on the clubhouse steps said."

"Do you really think so?" Prescott asked.

"I do," affirmed Tom.

"And so do the rest of us," asserted Dave Darrin.

"Well——-" Dick paused hesitatingly.

"Come, hurry up!" begged Greg.

"It's no more than fair to us," insisted Dan.

"On the whole," Dick continued, "I don't believe it would be fair to the other fellows."

"You big tease!" blurted Harry Hazelton indignantly.

"No; I don't mean to tease you," Dick rejoined, his eyes twinkling. "But I believe in playing fair in life. Don't you, fellows?"

"What has this to do with being fair?" demanded Tom.

"Why, just this: I promised to tell you all at five o'clock. Now, if I were to tell a special few before that time, it would be a bit unfair!"

"Not a bit," retorted Dave. "You've had us dangling from the string longer than you have the rest of the crowd. Therefore, we ought to know the answer before the other fellows."

"It's a question of conscience with me," Dick replied soberly.

"Humph!" snorted Tom. "Well, I suppose we may as well give it up, fellows. The only way we could worm it out of Dick would be to rub his nose in the dirt. And he might fight if we did. This is where I have to leave you. So long! I'll meet the army at five o'clock."

Smiling broadly, Dick went on his way home. He put away his diploma, next removing his best suit and laying it carefully away. Then he donned his more accustomed clothes and ran down to the store.

"It was a very enjoyable exhibition, Dick," said his father.

"And I suppose our son feels that he's a man now?" smiled Mrs. Prescott.

"No; I'm not, mother, and I don't want to be in any hurry, either. There's too much fun in being a boy. And now I've an appointment to meet a lot of the fellows."

"Don't let that appointment make you forget supper time," his mother called after him.

Spoff Henderson and Toby Ross were already at the place of appointment.

"Here comes Dick!" called Spoff. "Now, tell us."

"Wait until the crowd gets here." returned Prescott.

"Ain't you the mean one?" growled Toby. "And we ran all the way home and back."

"Too much hurry is said to be one of the greatest American sins," laughed Dick.

"Well, you're going to tell us, anyway, aren't you?" pressed Spoff.

"Yes; but give the crowd a chance to get here."

Dave and Dan came along, then Tom, Harry and Greg. Tolman and a few other fellows hurried up.

"You might tell us all about that business, now," suggested Tolman.

"I see some more fellows coming up the street," Prescott replied. "I don't have to tell more than once."

Five minutes later there were more than thirty boys at the corner, and still others were in sight, coming from both ways.

"Say, get busy, Prescott!" called some of the newer corners.

"Let the crowd all get here," Dick insisted.

Presently the crowd numbered more than fifty a lot of their elders, seeing such an unusual crowd of youths on one corner, halted curiously near by. Then Reporter Len Spencer came along.

"What's all the excitement?" demanded Len, ever keen for local news. One of the boys exclaimed to him what was in the wind.

"Then you'd better hurry up with your statement, Dick," Len advised. "There'll be a riot here soon."

"Five o'clock was the time named," Prescott rejoined.

Just then the town clock began to strike.

"It's five o'clock now, Dick," called Greg.

"Yes," nodded Dick, "and I'm ready at last to redeem my promise."

"He's going to tell us!"

"Hurrah!"

"Shut up! We want to hear."

"You are all assembled here," Prescott continued, "to hear just what it was that the man on the clubhouse steps said."

"Cut out the end-man explanations. Give us the kernel!" shouted one boy.

"What the man on the clubhouse steps said," Dick went ahead, "should be a model to everyone. It is of especial value to all who are tempted to talk too fast and then to think an hour later."

"Yes, but what did he say—-the man on the clubhouse steps?" howled Harry Hazelton.

"You will know, in a minute," Dick assured his hearers. "Yet, before telling you, I want to impress upon you that, whenever you are tempted to be angry, to be harsh in judgments, or when you can think only ill of your neighbor, then you should always hark back to just what the man on the clubhouse steps said."

There was a pause and silence, the latter broken by Danny Grin demanding impatiently:

"Well, what did he say?"

"You see," Dick explained, "the man was all alone on the clubhouse steps."

"Yes, yes."

"And he wasn't exactly sociable by nature."

"Go on!"

"As I have explained," smiled Dick Prescott, "the man on the clubhouse steps was alone, and——-"

"Get ahead faster!"

"So, being alone, he just naturally said——-"

"Well?" breathed the auditors. "Well?"

"He just naturally said—-nothing!"

"What?"

Dick dodged back, laughing. There were a few indignant vocal explosions among the assembled youngsters, followed by dangerous calm and quiet.

"Whenever you find yourself under trying circumstances, or when anger is surging within you, fellows, believe me, you'll always find it wiser to say just what the man on the clubhouse steps said—-which was nothing," Dick urged.

"And you got us all the way up here, at an appointed time, just to hear that?" demanded Spoff Henderson.

"It's worth the time it has cost you," Dick urged.

"Rush him fellows!" bawled Toby Ross. "Don't let him escape!"

Indeed, there was no time or chance for getting away. Dick Prescott was rushed, caught and pinned.

"What'll we do with him?" rose the chorus.

"To the fountain! Duck him!"

With a cheer the boys started, carrying Dick along on the shoulders of a few tightly-wedged boys.

Dick's chums made no effort to rescue him. Indeed, perhaps they felt that he deserved what was right ahead of him. But they ran along in the press of boisterous lads.

Len Spencer, grinning hard, rushed along at the head of the juvenile mob.

"Boys, you'd better reconsider!" shouted the young reporter. "Don't write yourselves down as louts. The man on the clubhouse steps, on account of just what he said, proved himself one of the sages of the ages. Prescott, in telling you just what he said, has performed a public service, if only you fellows were bright enough to comprehend."

"Get out of our way, Spencer!" ordered Spoff Henderson. "As sure as guns we're going to duck Dick Prescott in the public fountain."

"If you won't listen to reason, then," roared Len, using his long legs to put him well in advance of the juvenile mob, "then I'll use enchantment to spoil your foolish work. You shall not duck Prescott! Hi, pi, yi, animus, hocus pocus! That enchantment will foil you!"

Having reached the fountain, Len drew aside dramatically.

"In with him!" shouted the youngsters.

Then they halted in sheer amazement. For the first time the boys noted that no water was running in the fountain, and that the basin underneath was wholly dry.

"My enchantment has worked," chuckled Len.

"How did you do it?" demanded one puzzled youngster.

"Never mind," Len retorted mysteriously. "Now, if you don't instantly put Dick Prescott on his feet and leave him alone, I'll work an enchantment that will raise hob with every boy who lays as much as a finger on Dick."

So Prescott was allowed to slide down to his feet. He was laughing, enjoying every moment of the fun.

"We could have run him down to the next fountain," suggested one of the schoolboys.

"It would do you no good, and Prescott no harm," Len retorted dryly. "At three o'clock this afternoon the fire department turned off all of the public fountains in order to clean 'em."

Now Dick's late tormentors began to feel that they had been badly "sold" all around. After the manner of boys, they grinned sheepishly, then more broadly and finally ended by laughing heartily. But the crowd did not break up at once. All waited, with a vague hope that some kind of mischief would happen.

A smaller boy went by, calling the evening newspaper. Tom Reade bought one and stood at the edge of the crowd, reading.

"Here comes Hi Martin!" called someone. That youth had just turned a corner, swinging from his left hand a pudgy rubber bag of the kind that is used for holding a wet bathing suit.

"Hello, Prescott," was Hi's greeting. "Are you all ready to be left behind in the spray tomorrow?"

"If you can leave me there," Dick smiled. "Been out for a practice swim, have you?"

"Yes," nodded Hi; "and if you had seen my speed this afternoon you'd have been scared away from the river for to-morrow."

"Well, I hope one of us wins," grinned Dick.

"One of us?" sniffed Hi. "Of course, one of us has to win when there are only us two in that race. And, after I beat you to-morrow," Hi added consequentially, "I'll be off and away for a good time. Saturday father is going to take our family to New York for three weeks."

"Going to stop at one of the big hotels there?" Reade inquired, looking up from his newspaper.

"Of course we are," Hi rejoined, swelling out his chest. "We shall stop at one of the biggest and finest hotels in the city."

"Then don't get a room too high up from the ground," advised Tom. "I've just been reading in the evening paper that the city authorities in New York have taken all the elevators out of all the biggest hotels."

"Why?" demanded Hi.

"The paper says it's because the elevators are considered too dangerous," Tom replied innocently.

"I don't believe it," scoffed Hi. "Why, how could people get up to their rooms on the fifteenth or eighteenth floor of one of the skyscraper hotels?"

"Oh, well," Tom replied artlessly, "according to the paper the hotels are all going to be equipped with safety-raisers."

"Safety-razors?" demanded Hi Martin blankly. "You idiot, what good would safety-razors be for getting people up twenty floors in a hotel?"

There was a moment's pause. Then a few chuckles came, followed by a few more.

"Whoop!" yelled Danny Grin. Snatching the bathing suit bag from Hi's hand, Dalzell got a good hold on the tie strings, then swung the bag, bringing it down on the top of Hi's head.

"Run along home, Martin!" jeered Dan. "If don't tumble before bed time, then ask your father how it is that dangerous elevators can be replaced with safety-raisers. Here's your bag. Scoot—-before an idea hits you!"

Red-faced and angry, but still puzzled, Hi snatched at his bathing suit bag and hastily decamped.

"Now he'll beat you at swimming or die tomorrow," predicted Dave grimly.



Chapter XXIII

WHO WON THE SWIMMING MATCHES?

Thanks to Len Spencer's interest in schoolboy athletics, there was a goodly crowd gathered at the river bank the next afternoon. Many people came out in boats. There were at least a dozen launches, including the one that bore Len Spencer, who had been chosen to conduct the races.

The owner of a two room boathouse which adjoined a long wharf had yielded to Spencer's request for a loan of this property. In the boathouse the two school teams disrobed and donned their bathing suits.

Dave Darrin had been called upon to captain the swimming squad from the Central Grammar. With him were Tom, Greg, Dan, Harry, Henderson and Ross. It was as good and representative a team as Central Grammar could furnish.

Bill Rodgers captained the squad from North Grammar. Bill had had his fellows three times in the water, and was proud of them.

Just ten minutes before the time for calling the contestants Dave Darrin led his squad from the boathouse. Out along the pier they ran and dived in.

"The water's just fine for swimming to-day," ecstatically remarked Tom Reade, as he came up, blew the water from his mouth and took a few strokes. "In fact, the water's too fine."

"Too fine?" queried Dave. "How so?"

"Why, it makes a fellow feel so fine," retorted Tom, "that I'm afraid it will make us all winners, and then there won't be any glory for either school."

The North Grammar boys now splashed in. Len Spencer, who had just seen to the placing of the further stake boat, now returned in the launch.

Both the squad race and the individual contest were to be for a quarter of a mile straightaway, with the start from a moored raft down the river.

"Every one pile aboard!" called Len, the launch that he was on gliding in at the pier. Wet swimmers dropped into the launch until it was filled. Then another small gasoline craft took aboard the left-overs. The crowd preferred to remain at this end of the course to see the finish.

"It won't take North Grammar long to wind your crowd up in the water," declared Hi Martin, as he and Dick stood at the end of the pier watching the departure. Both were already in their bathing costumes.

"Maybe not," Dick assented. "Yet you mustn't forget one fact, Hi."

"What is that?"

"You mustn't forget that our fellows have already got their winning gait on this season."

"Humph! We'll see."

"It won't take us long, either," Dick continued. "There, the fellows are piling on the raft."

From the distance the spectators could see the two swimming teams lining up on the raft. They could also make out that Len Spencer was addressing the boys from the raft.

Bang! It was the warning shot. Spectators along the Gridley shore crowded close to the bank to get a better view.

Bang! At the second shot fourteen boys dived into the water almost in the same second. Fourteen heads came up, one after another, and the young swimmers settled down to their work. A launch followed along on each side of the course, to pick up any who needed help.

"It was thoughtful of some one to provide launches for the Central swimmers," leered Martin.

"I hope neither launch will be needed for any of our fellows," Dick responded. "If either school has to have a fellow picked up, then of course that's the school which loses the race."

Hi didn't answer. Despite his confident brag, he was now very anxious over the outcome.

Along came the swimmers, all doing well, making a fine showing for a crowd of fourteen boys whose average age was only fourteen years.

From time to time spectators cheered favorite boys in either squad.

"Central wins!" yelled one enthusiast, as the swimmers neared the stakeboat off the pier.

"Don't you believe it," yelled another. "Wait for the finish."

There wasn't long to wait. As the swimmers came nearer it was seen that Dave Darrin was ahead of all the swimmers, though Tom Reade was pressing him hard. Behind Tom came Bill Rodgers, then Greg Holmes, next two more North Grammar boys. Dan was next, with Harry following. The three tailenders were North Grammar boys.

"Central Grammar wins handily," announced Len Spencer through a megaphone.

Hi Martin's face darkened. "Anyway, I'll have the satisfaction of showing Dick Prescott my heels all the way up the course," he grunted.

"Now, you two individual racers tumble aboard, and get ready for your work," warned Len, as the launch ran in alongside the pier.

"Wipe him up, Dick!"

"Don't show him any mercy, Hi!"

Various other comments wafted to the pair as they sat in the launch facing each other.

"Some of those people must think we can both win," laughed Dick good-humoredly.

"I'll soon show you that only one of us can win," retorted Hi almost savagely.

Arrived at the raft, Len Spencer spoke briefly:

"At the first shot of the pistol you two youngsters take up your positions, ready to dive. At the second shot, or as soon after as you wish, you may dive and begin the race. Either contestant who dives before the second shot is heard will be disqualified and then the race will go to the other contestant."

Dick waited, tingling with the desire to win, though he knew that Martin was a splendid swimmer for his age.

"Are you ready?" asked Len in a low voice. Both boys nodded.

Bang! Len fired a revolver into the air, calling the attention of all spectators. Dick and Hi stepped nimbly to the edge of the raft, poising with hands pointed.

Bang! The splash was simultaneous as the swimmers struck the water. Each swimmer made a shallow dive and came up. Hi at once dropped into an overhead stroke, Dick relying upon a side stroke.

For the first seventy-five yards, as nearly as the onlookers could judge, the boys swam nose and nose.

"I'll tire this fellow out with a good pace, and then take a better one," thought Hi Martin. "I'm going to make a finish that will stop Dick Prescott from bragging whenever he sees me around hereafter."

Dick still swam well, but gradually Martin stole ahead of him.

"Where's Prescott now?" jeered a dozen North Grammar boys.

"Centrals, send out a launch to tow your champ! Then maybe he'll make better time."

Hi swam steadily and rapidly until he had more than half covered the course. Then he ventured on a look behind him.

"Prescott won't catch up all day," grinned Hi to himself. "Oh, I'm glad I insisted on this individual race!"

Gradually, and, to those on shore it seemed painfully, Dick gained on the leader. Still, when the race was almost over, Hi was well in the lead.

"Hi Martin! Hi Hi Hi!" yelled the North Grammar boys, dancing and tossing their caps in their glee. "Prescott, where art thou? Say, what did you try to get into the race for?"

"Now, I'll show the folks a few things," Hi resolved, putting on the best spurts of speed that were in him. It was truly a fine performance for a Grammar School boy.

Yet, to the amazement of most of the onlookers, Dick also was doing some very speedy swimming now. A yard he gained on Martin, then another and another. When they were still fifty yards from the stakeboat Dick suddenly changed his stroke and surged ahead, distinctly in the lead.

"Confound the human steam launch!" gasped Hi, almost choking, as he saw the powerful strokes of the swimmer ahead. "He'll make me look like a fool if I don't haul up on him—-and the distance left is so confoundedly short!"

Now it could be seen that Martin was exerting every ounce of energy and strength that he possessed. Yet still young Prescott gained.

Then Martin foolishly lost his head altogether.

"If I can't win I'll make it look like a fluke!" he gritted.

Just as Dick was nearing the stakeboat, Hi threw up one hand.

"I've got a cramp!" he shouted. "Help!"

To some on shore he appeared about to sink. Dick passed the stakeboat, then turned like a flash and swam back toward Hi.

"Prescott wins!" called Len Spencer.

A few more strokes brought Dick up to where Hi pretended to flounder.

"Keep quiet, Hi, and let me get a hold on you," Dick offered. "I'll have you at the pier in a jiffy."

"You get away from me," snarled Martin. "I don't want any of your kind of help."

With that Hi appeared to forget his recent complaint of "cramp," for he made a lusty plunge toward the pier and pulled himself up.

Then, an instant later, he must have remembered, for he assumed an expression of pain and limped.

"There's that mean cramp again," he muttered. "I'd have won by a good many yards if it hadn't been for that."

Some of the Central Grammar boys nearby were impolite enough to laugh incredulously.

"Oh, I've dropped my handbag into the river!" exclaimed one woman to another suddenly, at the end of the pier.

The other woman turned, giving a quick, startled glance toward the water.

"I—-I don't know how it happened," gasped the loser. "There it is, away down the stream, floating toward that boathouse. Oh, Master Prescott, do you feel able to go and get it for me?"

"I'll do it with pleasure, madam," Dick nodded. He looked for a moment. Then, seeing a black floating object, he started after it, his stroke apparently none the weaker after his swift race.

It had floated nearly under the boathouse at the water end. The building in question belonged to the estate next to that from which the swimming contests had been conducted. This boathouse was closed, for the owners had not yet come to Gridley for the summer. The windows of the little green building were shuttered from the inside. Over the water the walls came down to within six inches of the present level of water.

Keeping his eyes turned toward the black, floating object, Dick swam easily to the spot. The black object floated under the open sidewall into the boathouse. Just as Dick got there he dived, duck fashion, head first, and passed to the interior of the boathouse at the river end.

As he came up inside Dick's first discovery was that of artificial light in the boathouse. Then his gaze rested on the platform end over the land.

"Amos Garwood here, of all places!" gasped the astonished Grammar School boy.



Chapter XXIV

CONCLUSION

The mentally queer inventor had rigged up a bench just under shelves on which rested tools and boat supplies.

Just at the moment the inventor had his back turned to the water as he stood working at his bench. Dick was able to look at him while not in immediate danger of being seen himself.

How quietly the Grammar School boy trod water! He hardly dared breathe, for fear of giving an alarm.

Yet, even in all his astonishment, Prescott did not forget to let one hand close over the handle of the black bag whose recovery had brought him here.

"I can't do anything with Garwood alone," reflected Dick swiftly. "I must get out, if I can, without making a noise, and then give the hurry alarm. That fellow is mixing something, and, if he isn't stopped soon, he's quite likely to blow up the boathouse, himself included."

Fortunately there was sufficient depth of water at this outer end of the boathouse. Prescott let himself sink so quietly that there was barely a ripple above his head. Next, with a few cautious strokes, he carried himself past the hanging side wall and into the open upstream.

"Gracious, but no wonder Garwood has been able to keep away from pursuers," thought the boy excitedly, as he swam steadily up toward the other pier. "He has a place where not even a Sherlock Holmes would ever think of looking for him. Why, he could work, sleep and eat there and never give a sign of his presence!"

"Did you get it?" called the owner of the handbag eagerly.

"Yes, ma'am," Dick replied.

"The bag wasn't open, was it?"

"No, ma'am."

"Let me have it quickly, please. Oh, I'm so thankful! Here is my purse with all the money safe and sound. Wait, Master Prescott, I must reward you suitably."

"No; I thank you," Dick replied, his color rising. "Your thanks are enough. I've been taught that courtesy can't be repaid with cash. You are very, very welcome to any service that I was able to do you."

As Dick hurried into the Central Grammar "dressing room" he found all five of his chums waiting to rub him down and help him dress.

"Here, give me that towel, and get out on other business in a hurry!" begged Dick. "Dave! Tom! Amos Garwood is in the boathouse below here, working at a bench. Get some of the men and rush down there to make a capture. Greg, run and see to it that a launch moves down to the river end of the boathouse in case Garwood tries to get out that way when he hears the alarm!"

Prescott's chums darted out in a hurry. Dick half dried himself in a few frenzied dabs with the towel. Then he pulled on his clothing faster than ever before.

He got outside on the pier just in time to see Dave and Tom leading a dozen men stealthily toward the door of the boathouse. Out on the water Len Spencer's launch, with half a dozen men in it, stood as river sentinel.

While those approaching the boathouse door were still more than a score of feet away there came a startling interruption.

Bang! sounded inside. The door of the building strained an instant, but did not give way.

"That's our old friend, Amos bang-bang, to a dot," muttered Tom dryly, as the advancing party of men and boys halted.

"I don't care about fooling with a dynamite factory," remarked one of the men.

Dick, at a dead run, joined the party.

"Come along!" he cried. "Let's break down the door and find out whether the poor fellow is hurt."

"Yes! And have that 'poor fellow' hand you a peck of nitro-glycerine for a surprise," retorted a man.

"Come on, fellows! We can get the door down without help," Dick called, appealing to his chums.

All five of them rallied to his support. It took but a few sturdy shoulder blows to complete the work of the explosion and break the lock of the door.

Dick took one quick look inside.

"Tom, run and 'phone for a physician!" Prescott called back. "Poor Garwood is unconscious, and cut. He's bleeding. Poor chap, with his lop-sided mind and his 'mastery of the world' imaginings!"

Reade sped away. As soon as the crowd found there was no danger there was a rush to the scene. Darrin and three friends managed to hold the crowd somewhat at bay, while Prescott assisted two women in trying to bring the injured man to.

"I hope he doesn't get away this time," thought Dick. "If Garwood remains at large much longer he'll fix up a bang-bang that will carry him clean into the next world!"

While those having the injured man in charge waited they explored the boathouse. Of the explosive materials not a particle was found. Evidently it had all gone up in smoke. But, in a far corner, the searchers discovered a package of gauze, and another of salve, with which poor Garwood had evidently attended to the burns resulting from former explosions. Later it was found that both packages came from a drugstore some twenty miles away, where the poor fellow had also bought his explosive materials from time to time. He must have walked the long distance at night when other people were abed, for the druggist stated that his customer came in, on each visit, as soon as the store was opened in the morning.

Blankets and a few groceries, found in the loft, explained the demented man's manner of housekeeping during the last few days.

It was half an hour ere a physician finally arrived in a touring car.

"The man doesn't appear to be badly hurt," declared the medical man. "It won't take us five minutes to get him into town and in the hospital, so I believe we had better start to revive him after we get him there."

Two strong men were found who were willing to sit in the tonneau, holding Amos Garwood's insensible body between them.

As the car started away a subdued cheer arose. The mystery and the vanishing of Amos Garwood were at an end at last. Those who had feared having a demented man at large in the community breathed more easily.

From the day of the race the summer vacation for the late Grammar School boys began in earnest. A few days later Dick and his swimming squad met a similar organization from the South Grammar, and a match was held on the river. As Prescott's squad again won, Central Grammar was now undisputed Grammar School champion on the water as well as in baseball.

Colonel Garwood tried to pay the offered reward to the members of Dick & Co., but the parents of the boys refused to entertain the idea.

Amos Garwood, not seriously injured in body, was soon well enough to be taken back to the sanitarium. Here his malady was found not to be severe. A year later he was discharged, fully cured of his delusions, and able once more to take his place as a useful member of society.

There does not remain a great deal more to be told.

Many of the boys who have appeared in these pages went no further in school life, but stepped out into the working world, there to fit themselves for the men's places in life.

The more fortunate ones, however, went to High School. All the members of Dick & Co. were thus favored in being able to go forward into the fields of higher education. We shall speedily meet with these manly American boys again, for their further doings will be described in the High School Boys' Series.

In the first volume of this series, "The High School Freshmen; Or Dick & Co.'s First Year Pranks and Sports," the friends of these six wide-awake boys will find them in a new field of action, and follow them through an exciting series of trials and triumphs. Dick & Co.'s interest in High School athletics, and the way in which they won a permanent place in the hearts of the older students is told so realistically in the first volume of this series as to make all readers long to know more about them.

All the big and little boys who wish to continue their friendship with Dick & Co. will find their further adventures related most entertainingly in the four volumes of the High School Boys' Series just published.

THE END