Tom Fairfields Pluck and Luck | Page 7

Feel like having some pop?"
"Not now, and if any of those fellows expect to make the eleven this fall I'll have to make them cut it out."
"Right! How's football coming on?"
"Oh, I've got some good material, and I expect more when the new fellows begin to arrive."
"Going to play Tom Fairfield?"
"I sure am, if he'll train properly, and I think he will. I want him for one of the backs. He's a sure ground gainer, quick on his feet, he holds the ball fast and he can kick well."
"I hope he makes good," went on Bruce. "Well, I'm going to cut away. I want to see the doctor, and arrange about my studies."
The two strolled over the green campus, arm in arm, and they had hardly gone a dozen steps before, from the little store of Pop Swab, there come pouring Tom and his friends, all talking at once.
"That's what we'll do!"
"A class matter of it--sure!"
"We'll work the Coventry game to the limit!"
"And if it comes to a fight----"
"They'll get all they want!"
These were only a few of the remarks that came to the ears of Bruce and Morse.
"Something doing back there," remarked the football captain, nodding his head toward the rear.
"Yes," agreed Bruce, "and I don't like it, either."
"Why not? It's only Tom and his chums talking over what they're going to do to Sam and Nick, I expect."
"Yes, and that's why I don't like it."
"Why not?" asked Morse.
"It may have a bad effect on the whole school. Class disputes always do. If a class doesn't hang together------"
"They'll hang------" began Morse, about to perpetrate the old joke of "hanging separately," when Bruce laughingly interrupted with the remark:
"Now that'll do you. There's a five spot fine for using that classic so early in the season. But you know what I mean. It won't do to have class dissension."
"No, you're right. But maybe it will work itself out."
While Bruce and Morse went their ways, Tom and his chums, talking excitedly, went to Tom's room. He had some new rods and a gun he wanted to exhibit, but, most of all, he wanted to give his friends the whole history of the summer's adventures.
"Now go ahead," invited Joe Rooney, when they were all seated, more or less comfortably, on the beds and chairs in the room of the three chums. "Let's have the whole yarn."
And Tom began, telling the story of the secret of the old mill. He had not proceeded far ere there came a knock on the door.
"Come!" invited Tom, after a moment's hesitation, during which he recalled that, as the term had not officially started, there could be no danger from prowling monitors, or suspicious professors. The door opened and Bruce Bennington entered.
"Hello, Bruce, old stock!" greeted Tom, rising and holding out his hand. "Glad to see you! Here, some of you fellows get up and give one of our betters a seat."
"Not a one! Not a one!" exclaimed Bruce, holding up a protesting hand. "The floor's good enough for me."
But several chairs being offered by admiring Sophomores, who knew how to appreciate one of the best-loved lads in Elmwood Hall, Bruce accepted a seat.
"Go ahead, Tom," he suggested. "Don't let me interrupt the festivities. I don't want to be the skeleton at the feast."
"Oh, I was only telling the fellows how Sam and Nick acted this summer," proceeded our hero. "And, as I was saying," he resumed, "they captured Bert, Jack and my friend, from home, Dick Jones.
"They sneaked up on 'em while I was away from camp, mauled 'em something fierce, and tied 'em up. Then they held em prisoners for several days------"
"On bread and water," interrupted Jack. "Don't forget that, Tommy my boy!"
"That's right," added Bert with a sorrowful sigh at the recollection. "I was nearly starved before you rescued us."
"And that's what they did," concluded Tom, telling the final details. "Now the question is, what had we better do to such cads when they come back to school and expect to be treated decently? What ought we to do?"
There was silence for a moment, and then Bruce Bennington asked quietly:
"May I say something?"
"Surest thing you know!" came promptly from Tom.
"Then I'm going to give you a bit or advice," went on the older lad. "You may follow it, or not, but I feel it's my duty to offer it. And it's this. I've heard the whole story now, and I know how you fellows must feel. But my advice is--to do nothing at all to Sam and Nick."

CHAPTER IV
HOW SAM TOLD IT
For a few seconds there was silence in Tom's room. All eyes were fixed on Bruce Bennington, but the latter bore the scrutiny well. Then came gasps of surprise, and one or two mutterings. Bruce heard them, and smiled.
"Come!" he invited with a laugh.