The Grammar School Boys Snowbound

Grammar School Boys Snowbound, by H. Irving Hancock

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Title: The Grammar School Boys Snowbound or, Dick & Co. at Winter Sports
Author: H. Irving Hancock
Release Date: March 10, 2007 [EBook #20789]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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The Grammar School Boys Snowbound
OR
Dick & Co. at Winter Sports
By
H. IRVING HANCOCK
Author of The Grammar School Boys of Gridley, The Grammar School Boys in the Woods, The High School Boys' Series, The West Point Series, The Annapolis Series, The Boys of the Army Series, The Motor Boat Club Series, Etc., Etc.
Illustrated
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY

COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY HOWARD E. ALTEMUS
[Illustration: "It's Fits--Mr. Fits Himself!"]

CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. REALLY A GREAT PLAN, BUT---- 7
II. DICK AND CO. FIND CAUSE FOR GLEE 25
III. THE CAMPAIGN TO COAX PARENTS 38
IV. "REMEMBERED"--BY MR. FITS? 52
V. DICK TRIES STRATEGY 62
VI. THE LOG CABIN'S TELLTALE HEARTH 68
VII. THE PROWLER OF THE NIGHT 79
VIII. WORMING THE TRUTH FROM A WHINER 88
IX. THE INTRUDER WHO TRIED TO BE BOSS 100
X. IN THE GRIP OF THE BIG BLIZZARD 107
XI. SIX BOYS AND ANOTHER IN COLD STORAGE 120
XII. BLIZZARD TOIL AND A MYSTERY 129
XIII. A VISITOR BY THE AIR ROUTE 140
XIV. THE MYSTERIOUS NOISES OF THE NIGHT 150
XV. DICK STRIKES A REAL FIND 155
XVI. KEEN ON THE TRAIL OF THE PUZZLE 165
XVII. HEN TURNS HIS VOICE LOOSE 175
XVIII. YOUNG MR. COME-BACK & CO. 186
XIX. NOT A LOVE FEAST 196
XX. THE COOK SHACK DISASTER 203
XXI. ON THE TRAIL BACKWARD 215
XXII. HEN DUTCHER IS MODEST 226
XXIII. THIS TIME IS AS GOOD AS ANY OTHER 236
XXIV. CONCLUSION 244

The Grammar School Boys Snowbound
CHAPTER I
REALLY A GREAT PLAN, BUT----
As Hen Dutcher came up to a group of boys on the ice, and slowed down his speed, he stuck the point of his right skate in the ice to bring himself to a full stop.
"Huh! You fellows think you're some smart on fancy skating, don't you?" he demanded rather scornfully.
"No," replied Dave Darrin shortly.
"You been showing off a lot, then."
"Hen," grimaced Dave, "I'm afraid you're going to miss your calling in life."
"Didn't know I had any," grunted Hen.
"Yes, you have; one of your own choosing, too."
"What is it?" asked Hen curiously.
"You're a walking anvil chorus."
"An anvil chorus?" repeated Hen Dutcher, the puzzled expression deepening in his face.
"Yes; wherever you go the fellows are sure to hear the sounds of 'hammering' and 'knocking.'"
A score of boys grinned, a dozen laughed outright. But Hen wasn't bright enough to see the point.
"What's an anvil got to do with it all?" demanded Hen in a puzzled tone. "An anvil belongs in a blacksmith shop."
"And that's where you ought to go, to do all your 'hammering' and 'knocking,'" explained Dave, as he skated slowly away.
"Huh! You think you're smart!" growled Hen, who still couldn't see why the other fellows had laughed.
"Hen," remarked Dick Prescott, "I'm afraid you're not up to concert pitch."
"Concert pitch?" repeated the dense one. "No, I know I'm not. Did I ever make any claim to being musical?"
"You see," hinted Greg Holmes, "the trouble with the Dutcher kid is that he's all ivory, from his collar-button up."
Another laugh greeted this assertion, but Hen only glared stupidly.
"Ivory is all white, anyway," Hen muttered. "So am I."
He swelled out his chest, did one or two fancy little things on skates, and tried to look important. But none of the other fellows in the group on the ice seemed inclined to take young Dutcher at his own valuation.
Hen Dutcher was a peculiar chap, at any rate. His worst fault, probably--but one that led to other faults--was his egotism. He was always thinking about himself and his own puny little interests. For the life of him, Hen couldn't understand why he wasn't popular with other fellows. He sometimes realized that he wasn't, but charged the fact up to the other fellows being "too stuck on themselves, or on those 'boobs,' Dick Prescott and Dave Darrin."
"Let's run Hen ashore and rub his face in the snow!" proposed one boy gleefully.
"You dassent!" flared up Hen. But half a dozen boys uttered a whoop and skated toward him. Hen wobbled on his skates an instant, then turned, intent on escape.
"Oh, say, fellows," called Dick, "don't be all the time picking on poor old Hen."
"We'll just wash his face," shouted back one of the pursuers.
Hen knew they meant it, and he was traveling down the ice, now, under full steam.
"Come on, fellows," called Dick, to Greg and to Tom Reade.