The Boys of Columbia High on the Ice/Chapter 7
CHAPTER VII
FORCED TO PLAY
"Hold the wire!" exclaimed Lanky. "You've taken my breath away! Don't break off yet, please, Bill!"
"All right, if you say so. I'm on my way back to that snug little hangout up on Rattail Island; but there ain't no great hurry. I had my breakfast, thanks," came drifting over the wire.
Lanky by a great effort managed to recover his wits.
"Say, I want to thank you again for what you told me," he went on, quickly. "Some of us had an idea that way; but there wasn't any proof. Did I understand you to say you everheard Lef Seller and his crowd talking about doing us up, so we couldn't play Clifford?"
"That's about the stuff. I couldn't get all they said, but that covers the bill."
"Where was it this happened, Bill?" asked the eager boy at the other end of the wire, his eyes sparkling with satisfaction because his suspicions were proving sound.
"Right in town here, last night," came the reply.
"Yes I saw you here and wondered what brought you down from your camp," Lanky went on, with the hope that the other might say something calculated to bring light in the darkness, and dispel the ignorance that was setting him wild.
"I had some business here," observed the other, "and a friend miade me stop all night. I seen you goin' into your place, and beckoned to you to stop. I wanted to tell you about what I heard then, but you didn't hold up. So I thought I'd better call you up this here mornin' and put you wise."
"Where are you talking from?" asked Lanky; with difficulty restraining the eagerness in his voice; for he had suddenly conceived the idea that once this was known he would have little trouble in getting a clue that would open his eyes as to the identity of the hobo with the familiar face.
A laugh, short and inclined to be satirical, floated to his ears.
"Me? Oh! I reckon I found a nickel when I dug down in my jeans, and I've just squandered the same in the drug store for this public pay call. P'raps you might feel good if we ever met again, and pay me back for my extravagance," remarked the other.
"You bet I will, and with interest too! It's mighty good of you taking all this trouble for us boys. In the name of the Columbia Seven accept thanks, Bill. You must have a soft spot in your heart for boys, tramp or no tramp," Lanky could not help remarking.
"Oh! well, so-so. It ain't been so long ago since I was a boy too. There's some things I ain't forgot. That's all, Lanky. So-long!"
A click, and he knew that the interview was off. Lanky hung up the receiver at his end with a thoughtful look on his face. Why, instead of his having solved the mystery that overhung the identity of the fellow, things really seemed darker than ever.
"Sure he knows me, too, else why would he call me Lanky all the time? And then again he saw me going into my own gate last night! Now, how did he know this was my home? Um! blessed if I can make head or tail of it at all. Bill's going to be as great a mystery to me as the Man in the Iron Mask is in history. But I'd better be getting a move on if I want to warn the fellows before we start that game."
With that he clapped his cap on, drew an overcoat over his sweater, and skates in hand rushed from the house.
Five minutes later he burst into the corner drug store, where the public pay telephone booth was located to which the other had had reference. Lanky was of course well known to both the druggist and his assistant, the latter of whom he found on duty at that hour in the morning.
"Hello! Socrates, coming down to the river this morning?" was his first question; for Lanky had inherited the clever diplomatic habits of his legal parent, and knew just how to gradually approach the main issue.
"I hadn't thought of it, Lanky. Why, what's going on?" demanded the young drug clerk, one of Columbia's fans on the baseball bleachers, and a fellow quite devoted to every form of outdoor healthy sport.
"We're going to have a little rub with a scrub team, so as to keep in training for the great game with Clifford's Seven after Christmas. Better come down."
"I will, if I can get away. Saturday is a busy day with us, you see. I heard that you had challenged Clifford, and got their acceptance. Wish you luck, Lanky. It's punishment to me to be kept behind this counter when you fellows are out in the open having a jolly time," and Socrates Jones sighed as he spoke.
"By the way, did a fellow just use your 'phone here, a rather tall chap, looking kind of seedy; in fact he might pass for a hobo?" and Lanky put the question without betraying any unusual interest.
"Why, yes, now that you speak of it, there was such a fellow talking with somebody over the wire. I didn't pay much attention to him. It was none of my business so long as he stuck his little five-cent piece in the slot before he started work. I even reckoned he might be one of the telephone men that were around here last week."
"What made you think that?" asked the boy.
"Oh! perhaps it was the way he talked—just brushed in, remarked 'I want to use the telephone a minute,' and when I said 'all right' he stepped into the booth. Say, what do you know about him." and the clerk looked inquiringly at Lanky.
"Nothing," replied the other. "That's what's ailing me. He was talking with me over the wire. I met him yesterday up near Rattail Island, where he was fishing through the ice. He did me a little favor, and when he called me up here it was to add to the debt. But while there's something familiar about his looks I can't for the life of me place him. Didn't you know him, Socrates?"
The drug clerk had been born and brought up in Columbia, and was supposed to be acquainted with about every soul in town, by sight at least. He shook his head in the negative.
"Don't believe I ever saw him before, Lanky," was his disappointing reply.
"Sure now? Take another think. Suppose I told you that his name was Bill, would that help out any?" went on the anxious boy.
"I reckon I know fifty Bills, all told. Nothing, doing. Lanky. But if I happen to think of any stray' Bill not accounted for, why I'll promise to let you know," the accommodating drug clerk observed.
"That's what Frank said, but he didn't call me up. Well, let it go at that. Better drop around about ten, and size up our bunch. You've seen Clifford play, and your opinion about the chances we have, would be prized, Socrates."
"Thanks. That's nice of you, Lanky. I'll try and coax the governor to let me off for an hour or so," and with that Lanky left the shop.
As he drew near the river he found many boys and girls gravitating in that direction. News of the anticipated game with the Wanderers had seeped through the town in the mysterious manner that such things circulate, thanks to the telephone; and every youngster, as well as quite a few older people, made it convenient to find some excuse for being out at the hour set for the start of the hockey match.
Lanky was quickly on the ice, and skating up the river; for it had been decided that the best spot for such sport was about a quarter of a mile above the limits of the town.
Here the banks were quite far apart, and the wide stretch afforded a splendid scope for the energetic game, as well as the crowds that would likely gather to witness the play of the Columbia High Seven.
Already most of the committee had reached the spot. Some of them were busily engaged in marking off the place selected as best fitted for the game. This was a section one hundred and seventy-five feet long by sixty-five wide. The goals were set at either end, and in the middle of the line marking the termination of the field. These goal posts were some six feet apart and four feet high, being provided with the customary goal nets.
Lanky quickly skated up to where Frank was talking with several others, among them the players who expected to participate in the coming game.
Down the river he could see a squad of boys advancing, and from the fact that Lef Seller led the bunch it was easy to guess that these were to be the adversaries of the hard-working Columbia High team.
Whatever Lanky wanted to say, he thought it best to get through with before the coming of the enemy.
"Listen here, fellows," he began, drawing them closer around him.
"Hey, gather in; Lanky's got the latest news from the seat of war!"
"Here's where you get instructions on how to play championship hockey!"
"No fooling boys; this is something serious. I was called up on the 'phone a short time ago by a fellow who claimed that he heard Lef Seller and his crowd talking last night, and that there were things said that made him believe this game was arranged just to have a chance to lame a few of Columbia High's best players, and upset the big affair of next week," said Lanky, impressively.
"What's that?" demanded Jack Comfort, the cover point of the Seven.
"Just what I thought all along!" grumbled Bones Shadduck.
"Now, I had an idea that way myself. The question is, what are we going to do about it? Can we afford to play these rough Wanderers, knowing that they are only aching to crack us on the shins, or do one of a dozen things calculated to make us lame when the time for the Clifford match comes?" asked Lanky.
All of them instinctively looked to Frank. At a time like this his judgment was supreme in such matters.
"I've been thinking this over, suspecting some such dodge myself. It's a shame that we have to play such an unscrupulous crowd; but I don't see any decent way out of it. The only thing we can do is to keep our eyes wide open, and avoid giving them the chances they want for foul play. Besides, we must insist on having fair and efficient referee, assistant referee, umpires and time-keepers appointed. Any violation of the rules will cause the man to be thrown out."
"I prophesy that this game is going to end in a blooming old row," remarked Lanky, gloomily.
"Well, it will only be the fault of the other fellows if it does. We want to play a square game; but don't mean to stand for any trickery. Understand, fellows, keep your eyes open constantly; and make sure that you avoid off-side play, as that is what opens up opportunities for foul work. Here they come now, so nothing more can be said. Watch out!" and Frank skated off to see how the workers were getting on placing the two goal nets on the goal lines.
Lef was accompanied by a dozen or more fellows, all of whom belonged to the undesirable element in Columbia High School—boys who for various reasons were denied the privileges accorded their fellow students, either in connection with the societies, or the outdoor and indoor sports pertaining to athletics.
Well had Lef, with a vein of sarcasm in his nature, called his team the "Outcasts," for that was practically what its members were. Still, many of them were known as fast skaters and furious hockey players. If they could only be persuaded to play fair for a change, the chances of a pretty game might be good; but Frank knew Lef far too well to believe the fellow had any desire to do the right thing.
"Just as soon as the game begins to go against them they'll resort to their customary trickery. That's the time we must look out," was what he said to the referees and time-keepers, after they had been selected.
These were outsiders, in no way connected with either side, and they could be depended on to act squarely. Had it not been so, Frank would never have entered into play with that husky seven under the leadership of Lef Seller.
When the hour of ten arrived the river banks were fairly lined with spectators, for it had been requested that as few remain on the ice as possible, on account of the chances for its giving way under such an enormous weight.
The puck was faced in the middle, between the sticks of Frank Allen and Lef Seller, as the representatives of the rival teams. Back of Frank, Shadduck, as point, awaited the opening shock; and in his rear came Comfort as cover point, and then West, the goal. Shay as right wing, Bird left wing, and Wallace as rover completed the seven.
"Play!" shouted the referee, and immediately the puck was set in motion.