The Rover Boys in the Jungle | Page 4

demanded Hans, his light-blue eyes wide open with interest.
"Why, don't you know that we are here to learn how to fight Indians?" went on Tom, with a side wink at those around him.
"No; I dink me dis vos von school only."
"So it is -- a school to learn how to shoot and scalp."
"Schalp! Vot's dot?"
"Cut an Indian's top-knot off with a knife, this way," and Tom made an imaginary slash at Hans' golden locks.
"Ton't do dot!" stammered the German boy, falling back. "No, I ton't vant to learn to schalp, noputty."
"But you are willing to fight the Indians, are you not?" put in Sam. "We are all going to do that, you know."
"I ton't like dem Indians," sighed Hans. "I see me some of dem vonde by a show in Chermany, und I vos afraid."
At this a laugh went up. How much further the joke would have been carried it is impossible to say, but just then a bell rang and the boys had to go into the classroom. But Tom remembered about the Indians, as the others found out about a week later.
As the majority of the scholars had been to the Hall before, it did not take long for matters to become settled, and in a few days all of the boys felt thoroughly at home, that is, all but Jim Caven, who went around with that same sneaking look on his face that Tom had first noticed. He made but few friends, and those only among the smaller boys who had plenty of pocket money to spend. Caven rarely showed any money of his own.
With the coming of spring the cadets formed, as of old, several football teams, and played several notches, including one with their old rivals, the pupils of Pornell Academy. This game they lost, by a score of four to five, which made the Pornellites feel much better, they having lost every game in the past. (For the doings of the Putnam Hall students previous to the arrival at that institution of the Rover boys see, "The Putnam Hall Series," the first volume of which is entitled, "The Putnam Hall Cadets." - Publisher)
"Well, we can't expect to beat always," said Tom, who played quarterback on the Putnam team. "We gave them a close brush."
"Yes, and we might have won if Larry hadn't slipped and sprained his ankle," put in Sam. "Well, never mind; better luck next time. We'll play them again next fall." Sam was right so far as a game between the rival academies was concerned, but none of the Rover boys were on hand to take part in the contest -- for reasons which the chapter to follow will disclose.
With the football came kite-flying, and wonderful indeed were some of the kites which the boys manufactured.
"I can tell you, if a fellow had time he could reduce kite-flying to a regular science," said Dick.
"Oh, Dick, don't give us any more science!" cried Sam. "We get enough of science from, Uncle Randolph, with his scientific farming, fowl-raising, and the like. I would just as lief fly an old-fashioned kite as anything."
"Dick is right, though," put in Fred Garrison. "Now you have a big flat-kite there, three times larger than mine. Yet I'll wager my little box kite will fly higher than your kite."
"Done!" cried Sam. "What shall the wager be?"
"Ice cream for the boys of our dormitory," answered Fred.
"All right, but how is a fellow to get the cream if he loses?"
"That's for him to find out, Sam. If I lose I'll sneak off to Cedarville, as Dick did once, and buy what I need."
"Ice cream for our room it is," said. Frank.
"And mum's the word about the wager, or Captain Putnam will spoil the whole affair if he gets wind of it."
"Make me stakeholder," grinned Tom. I'd just like to lay hands on about two quarts of chocolate cream."
"There won't be any stakeholder," said Dick.
"But when is this kite-flying contest to come off?"
The matter was talked over, and it was decided to wait until the next Saturday, which would be, as usual, a half-holiday. In the meantime some of the other boys heard there was going to be a contest, although they knew nothing of the wager made, and half a dozen other matches were arranged.
Saturday proved to be cool and clear with a stiff breeze blowing directly from the west. This being so, it was decided, in order to get clear of the woods in front of the Hall, to hold the contests on Baker's Plain, a level patch of ground some distance to the westward.
The cadets were soon on the way, shouting and laughing merrily over the sport promised. Only a few remained behind, including Jim Caven, who gave as his excuse that he had a headache.
"I'm glad he is