“Well, I’m glad that is over!” murmured Terry, straightening his aching back.
Don ran swiftly up the front porch and rang the bell madly. It seemed an unusually long time before a very deliberate and correct butler opened the door. He stared at Don with expressionless eyes.
“Mr. Gates has been hurt,” Don cried. “Get his bed ready and open these doors wide, so that we can carry him upstairs.”
The butler came to life, his correctness vanished and he ran with undignified but practical haste up the front stairs, calling aloud for the younger Mr. Gates. Don opened the front doors as wide as they would go just as Arthur Gates and his wife appeared anxiously in the doorway. Without paying any attention to their frightened inquiries Don ran back to Douglas and Terry.
“Lift him gently,” Don said, and the three boys exerted all their care as they raised the elder Gates from the sled. At that same moment a car stopped at the front gate and the doctor, with Jim and Vench, jumped from the car. Arthur Gates lent a helping hand to the cadets and together they carried the old man up the front stairs and to his luxurious bedroom on the second floor. When they had laid him on the bed the boys quietly withdrew, leaving Gates, his wife and the doctor alone in the room with the injured man, while the agitated butler patrolled the upper hall.
“Do you suppose we had better beat it?” Douglas whispered, after Don had closed the front doors and kicked some loose snow outside.
“No, we’ll stay and see if his condition is serious,” Don replied.
“But his family is none too friendly with us,” Douglas persisted.
“I guess all that will be forgotten in a time like this,” Don answered.
The cadets waited. The house had become quiet after the first flurry of excitement and no one appeared to be downstairs. To Don this state of affairs was gratifying, for he had a plan in mind. Taking care not to seem too curious he edged away from the others, who were looking at some magazines on the table, and in time made his way around the downstairs floor on a tour of inspection, keeping a wary eye about for a possible maid or the upset butler.
He looked into a large room off the library in which the cadets were gathered and found that it was the dining room. From there he moved to the door which opened into a large living room, and he looked carefully at every object on the mantelpiece. There was a small study near that which he looked over, and then the hall and library. He returned to the others when his tour of inspection was over.
“The cup is not downstairs,” he reflected. “I didn’t think it would be in plain sight anywhere, but I wanted to make sure.”
After a considerable delay Arthur Gates came down the central stairs and joined them. His face was pale and he showed signs of anxiety, but his message was a cheering one.
“Nothing really serious,” he told them, in answer to their eager question. “There are no bones broken and outside of a bad bruising my father is all right. It was a narrow escape, however. Tell me how you found him and how you happened to get a doctor here so quickly.”
The boys told him and Gates was impressed. “It was very lucky for all concerned that you happened to be at that particular point in the woods,” he said. “My father had been over to Easton and was taking the old road home again. If he had remained there the result would have been far different. I don’t know how to express my appreciation to you.”
“Don’t try,” begged Don. “We were just lucky enough to be there at the time. We are glad to hear that your father is not in any danger.”
Gates’ eyes wandered to their uniforms. “You are cadets up at Woodcrest, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” the boys nodded. Gates was silent for a moment. “I shall see to it that Colonel Morrell knows of your service to us.”
“Don’t bother,” said Don, glancing at the clock. “We are late now and we’ll have to report our reason for staying over the limit, so the colonel will find it out from us. That will be sufficient. When you come right down to it, it didn’t amount to much on our part.”
“You fellows are too modest,” smiled Gates, as he saw them out.
They retrieved the bob-sled and started back for the school at a rapid pace. Terry whistled as they walked along.
“Well, it was quite a night,” he observed. “I’m glad the old gentleman wasn’t hurt badly.”
“So am I,” agreed Don. “But it all served one useful purpose. We know where the Gates home is and I know what the inside of it looks like. Don’t know if that will ever do us any good or not, but it may come in handy some day.”
Chapter 15
Arthur Gates’ Letter
The following day Don decided to walk to town and see if there was a letter for him at the postoffice. He expected one from his father. The others were studying so Don went alone to the town. He could have waited until the mail was delivered to the school, but that would be over the weekend, and he did not feel like waiting. He walked to town and entered the local postoffice.
A number of persons were waiting for their mail, so he took his place in line and waited patiently. A man ahead of him looked familiar to Don, and when the man had obtained his mail he turned away from the window and Don saw that it was Arthur Gates.
Gates had a number of letters in his hand, some of which he had received at the window and some of which he intended to mail. He passed Don and the boy paid no further attention to him. Don got his letter and left the window. As he did so he saw Gates walk to the door, open it, and as he was going out, drop a letter.
Don stepped forward and picked up the letter which Gates had dropped. The man was evidently in a hurry, for he passed out of the door and walked down the street rapidly. Thinking that the letter was one which Gates had intended to mail Don decided to drop it in the slot himself, but when he got to the mail opening he noted that the letter was addressed to Gates, and that it was postmarked Canada.
“Shucks,” he muttered in disgust. “Now I’ve got to go and catch him.”
With this thought in mind Don darted out of the door and looked down the darkened street for Gates, but he was not to be seen. He walked to the corner and looked up and down but without success. Gates was nowhere in sight. Feeling that he must go back and leave the letter with the postmaster Don was on the point of returning when a church clock struck the hour.
“Golly,” he reflected. “I haven’t time. I’ll have to get back to school at once, and on the double.”
There was no time to drop the letter off at Gates’ house and Don decided to put it in his pocket and take it around to the house on the following day when he took his regular Sunday afternoon walk. He thrust it deep into his pocket and half walking, half running, reached the school building just in time. Without even thinking of the letter which did not belong to him he hung up his overcoat and went to supper.
It was not until after supper that he again thought of the letter and then he went to the room. Jim and Terry were in the Recreation Hall, watching a game of chess between two upper classmen, and Don was alone in the room. He took the letter from his pocket, stared at it, thrust his hand quickly into the pocket and then uttered a cry of dismay.
“Wet!” he cried. “I must have gotten some snow in my pocket and it has soaked the letter through. Darn it, the glue on the envelope has come off.”
The envelope had indeed opened and the letter was wet through on one end. He decided to dry the paper and without any intention of looking at its contents pulled the dampened sheets out of the bedraggled envelope and spread them on top of the table.
“There, that will dry in a short time,” he thought. “Then I’ll seal it up and explain about it to Mr. Gates tomorrow.”
The last sheet was turned up toward him. He glanced at it and was about to turn away, when a word struck his attention. He looked down and then hesitated.
“Humph, I musn’t read this,” he thought. “I shouldn’t even have it. But—”
Then he decided to see what the word “cup” was about. He picked up the letter and read the paragraph. It read as follows:
“I understand your anxiety about that trophy cup that has caused all of the trouble, and I will do my best to help you. As long as I and George Long are the only ones who know the full story about that cup, I feel it my duty to help you in any way that I can. I was wondering why you didn’t take the thing to a jeweler and have the bottom scraped, but I can see what that would have meant, and the best thing is to get it away from your house. There is no telling who might some day get ahold of the thing and find out the truth, and with those cadets in the same town such a thing wouldn’t be wise. I will be down to see you in a week’s time, and when I return to Canada I’ll take the cup with me and will keep it safely in my cabin here. When you come to visit me next summer we can scrape the bottom ourselves or we can throw it in the river, whatever you say. Too bad you ever did such an outlandish thing.”
The letter was signed “Oliver Burgess.”
“Now, what the devil can that mean?” puzzled the astonished Don. “It is surely referring to the missing 1933 trophy, but I wonder what all that stuff about the scraping of the bottom means?”
Chapter 16
News from Inside
“So he is worrying about the cup, eh?” asked the colonel, when Don and Jim showed him the strange letter.
At the colonel’s suggestion they had read the entire thing, taking the responsibility upon themselves in view of the fact that every effort to clear George Long was justifiable. But outside of the one passage that Don had read there was no other clue in the letter.
“He seems to be,” Don answered. “What do you make of that part about scraping the bottom of the cup, sir?”
“I don’t know what to make of it,” the headmaster confessed. “It is very strange, and I’m afraid that we will have to get possession of the cup in order to find out just what all this mystery is. We must get the cup.”
“If we do get it, we’ll have to work fast,” Jim put in. “This friend of his is to take it away to Canada with him.”
“Yes,” agreed the colonel. “We will have to work fast. In the meantime, I shall have a copy of this letter made and then we’ll seal it up and one of you should take it to the postoffice and drop it in the incoming mail slot. In that way Gates will get it without ever knowing that it had been tampered with.”
The colonel had a copy made of the letter and then Don and Jim walked down to the postoffice and placed it in the proper slot.
In a day or two the colonel reported very satisfactory developments. He showed Don an advertisement in the town paper. The advertisement read as follows:
“Wanted: A butler for large household, must have previous experience and good references. Apply at any hour to 14 Portville Avenue and ask for Mr. Melvin Gates.”
“That ad just suits our purpose and couldn’t be better,” the colonel told Don.
“How so, sir?” asked Don, puzzled.
The colonel laughed. “I’ll show you this afternoon. Go to Captain Rhodes and tell him I have excused you from drill formation, then come and report to me. We will take a little drive together.”
After classes that day Don reported to Rhodes and repeated the colonel’s order, and the drill instructor readily excused him from duty. While the other cadets were drilling on the windswept field Don went to the colonel’s office to accompany the headmaster on his unknown journey. The colonel was ready for him and when Don entered he called up a local taxi agency and ordered a cab.
“We are going in style—and in secrecy,” the colonel chuckled, amused at the wondering look on the cadet’s face.
In due time the taxi arrived and the colonel and Don got into the cab, after the headmaster had given an order to the driver in a low tone. When they were safely underway Colonel Morrell told Don that they were going to call on the police.
“A sort of a diplomatic excursion,” he smiled. “The fewer who see us, the better.”
They rode down into Portville and stopped at last in front of the town hall, where the colonel alighted, paid his bill and then led Don inside and into a small private office, where they remained alone for some fifteen minutes. At last a small door opened and Captain Dorran of the local police came into the room. He was an old friend of the colonel’s and they shook hands heartily.
“This is one of my cadets, cap’n,” remarked the colonel, nodding to Don. “One of my very best, too, the young man who helped me out of that bad scrape last year.”
“Glad to know you, young man,” the police chief laughed. “I thought at first that the colonel was bringing you to me for business purposes!”
“We have some business on hand,” said the colonel, as Don shook hands with the police chief. “And we’ll want a little help from you.”
“Sit down, both of you,” Dorran invited. “Now what can I do to help you?”
“Don,” directed the colonel, “tell Captain Dorran the whole class trophy story up to date. Don’t leave a thing out.”
Don complied, being careful to remember and relate everything that had happened, and when he had finished the colonel nodded in approval.
“Yes, that is about right. What do you think of it, Dorran?”
The chief frowned. “This Arthur Gates is a pretty black character, isn’t he? What is it that you want me to do, Morrell?”
“There was an advertisement in the paper last night calling for a butler, and the Gates family placed the ad. I want you to scare me up a good detective that will pass as a butler, and have him placed in the house. When the man from Canada comes this butler-detective is to try and get hold of that cup, or at least to prevent it from going to Canada. Can you do that?”
“I think I can,” replied the chief promptly. “I’ll have Proctor come in.”
Mr. Proctor was called in and the colonel and Don saw he could play the part well. He looked anything but a detective, with his expressionless face, soft brown eyes and sleek hair. He did look every inch a soft-spoken, efficient butler. He was informed of the necessary details and ordered to either get the cup or at least keep it from going to Canada. Even before Don and the colonel left the station he was on his way to Gates’ place to apply, with references in his pocket that had served him more than once in similar cases.
“Well, what do you think of my plan?” the colonel asked his young companion on the way back to school in the cab.
“I think it should be just the thing to clear up all this business,” Don replied. “We know that the cup is in the house and the detective should be able to get hold of it. Once we get a good look at the thing we should be able to clear up all the mystery surrounding it and then George Long can be wholly cleared.”
“Yes, that’s what I think,” Colonel Morrell nodded. “When I do announce the story of George’s innocence to the world I don’t want any loose ends. I want to be able to tell the whole story. I think the detective is clever enough to get the cup and then we’ll be at the end of our problem.”
Some of the cadets were standing around the door when the cab stopped and they were surprised to see Don alight and hold the door open for the colonel, who got out and paid the driver. The colonel went on inside and Don lingered to talk to some of his friends. He came in for a lot of good-natured bantering for going riding with the colonel.
“It beats me,” said Lieutenant Thompson, with mock seriousness, “how some fellows do get along in this world. Here the rest of us go out and drill all afternoon, while Don goes riding in a taxi with the colonel! Some fellows have all the luck!”
The colonel kept Don fully informed of the progress of events at the Gates home. Mr. Proctor had become butler at the house and in two days’ time reported the arrival of the friend from Canada. As yet the detective had not been able to find the missing trophy, but he believed that it would soon be forthcoming.
The next report came in one evening while Don and Jim were making out a report in the colonel’s office. The telephone rang out and the colonel answered it. They heard him say: “What? That’s fine. Get hold of it in some way, and bring it right up to the school when you do. That’s good news. All right, and best of luck.”
He turned to the boys and lowered his voice. “That was Mr. Proctor,” he told them. “The friend from Canada is going home tomorrow, and in addition to his regular suitcase, which he brought with him, he is carrying a small black bag, and if he does not get an opportunity to get the bag in the house, he will follow the man to the railroad station and try to get it there. He’ll get it somehow, and I told him to bring it right up here to the school when he did get it.”
“That is good news from inside,” said Don, with satisfaction. “I hope he manages it.”
Chapter 17
Mr. Proctor Gets the Bag
Saturday evening, the telephone in Colonel Morrell’s office rang. After a short conversation he sent an orderly in quest of Don and Jim, as well as Douglas and Hudson. When they were all assembled he told them what he had in mind.
“I have just had a call from Mr. Proctor, boys. He has the black bag with the 1933 trophy in it!”
“He has?” cried Don. “That’s fine.”
“Yes, and he is on his way here now. I wanted you young men on the spot to get a good look at it as soon as I did. All we have to do is to wait until the detective comes.”
It took Mr. Proctor a good half hour to arrive, but at last they heard a taxi drive up to the front of Locke Hall and a door slam. A moment later and Mr. Proctor was with them, a satisfied expression on his sleek face. In his hand he carried a small black bag, of which he took excellent care.
“Well, so we have it at last, eh?” boomed the colonel. “How did you get hold of it?”
“I didn’t get it in the house at all,” the detective explained. “Mr. Burgess, the visitor from Canada, kept it so close beside him that I didn’t have a chance. I had to wait until after he was gone. I followed him down to the station and watched my chance, but it didn’t come until after I got on the train. He had placed it in the rack overhead and when we came to a small station I got up, took the bag and made for the door, just as he raised a cry. It was good and dark, so I just beat it away and took a cab here. I called you up from Orangeville, colonel.”
“I see,” said the colonel. “Well, now let’s have a look at that cup.”
Mr. Proctor went to work on the bag, which was locked, but with the aid of some keys and a huge knife forced the top open, while the cadets looked on in breathless interest. As the bag split open with a rush they all craned forward to see what was in it.
It was full of old newspapers, and nothing more.
For just a minute there was complete silence in the room. The boys looked from one to another and the detective looked as though his eyes would pop out with surprise and mortification. The colonel breathed hard.
“Looks as though something had been put over on you, Mr. Proctor,” he said quietly.
The detective nodded miserably. All the way to the school he had been congratulating himself on his cleverness and now it turned out to be but a mockery.
“Then he must have the thing in his suitcase!” he cried. “But I distinctly heard Gates tell him to take the cup in the black bag.”
“It looks very much as though they both knew you were on the trail and switched the cup to the suitcase,” Hudson remarked.
“If that is the case, the cup is lost, for it is on its way to Canada,” the colonel declared.
“I don’t see how they could have gotten onto me,” the detective cried. “I never did a better job in my life.”
“I have just thought of something,” ventured Don. “Do you remember the night you called up the school here and told the colonel all about it, Mr. Proctor?”
“Yes,” replied the man.
“Was Arthur Gates at home when you called?”
“Yes, but he was upstairs, for I made sure of that. Oh, he couldn’t have heard me!” the man protested.
“When I was at that house, on the night we took Mr. Gates home from the accident, I noticed a telephone upstairs. Do you suppose—”
“Ah!” almost shouted the detective. “That click on the wire!”
“Did it sound as though someone upstairs picked up the telephone receiver while you were talking?” pressed Don quietly.
“Yes,” acknowledged the detective. “Now that you put it that way, it did. I remember hearing a click while I was explaining things to Colonel Morrell, but I thought nothing of it. Somebody, probably Arthur Gates himself, must have heard that conversation.”
After the crestfallen detective had departed they talked it over, realizing that the game was up. There was now no hope of ever recovering the cup.
“I guess we’ll just have to go without knowing what was on that cup that made it worth while for Gates to steal,” the colonel admitted. “Now, the only thing for me to do is to have another Alumni meeting soon after Christmas and have Long there. At that meeting we’ll publicly clear him and let it go at that.”
“All I can say is that Mr. Proctor is not the best detective in the world,” said Douglas.
“No,” seconded the colonel. “He should never have called up from the house, or from any other place. He should have come directly here and told me things personally. Well, boys, that is the end of the cup affair. I thank you most heartily for your very real interest in it and your services to Mr. Long. That ends the matter of the 1933 class’s trophy as far as we are concerned, with the exception of the apology to Long.”
Chapter 18
The Published List
Christmas came and Woodcrest was almost deserted. For a whole week the school looked empty and forlorn as the boys went to their homes to spend the holiday season.
The Mercers and Terry had returned to Maine, separating for a brief week to be with their own families. The Mercer brothers thoroughly enjoyed the week at home, visiting friends, spending time with the family, and getting in some fine skating.
It was the day following New Year’s Day that the brothers returned to Woodcrest and once more plunged into the routine of school life. Things went along smoothly for a week, and then something unexpected happened.
Just as Don and Jim were cleaning up one evening for dinner Terry burst into the room, his eyes shining with excitement.
“A little excitement now and then, is relished by the best of men!” recited the red-headed boy.
“Admitting that I am the best of men, what is the excitement!” grinned Jim, carefully hanging up his towel.
“The Portville Bank was held up and robbed this afternoon!” came the startling answer.
“What’s that?” Don exclaimed.
“Sure enough,” affirmed Terry, bouncing down on the bed. “A big car drove up to the bank just before closing time and three masked men got out, walked into the place, forced their way into a couple of private vaults and ran off with a few thousand dollars, to say nothing of some valuable family plate.”
“Right in broad daylight?” asked Jim.
“Yes, bold as brass. It was all over so quickly that the police didn’t have a chance to do a thing about it. The bandits drove out of town before anything could be done in the way of turning in an alarm.”
“They must have had the thing planned for a long time ahead, to pull off a stunt like that in the daytime,” Don said. “They must be a slick bunch, to drive out of town in a car in broad daylight.”
The supper bell rang at that moment and they went downstairs, to find the corps buzzing with the news from town. Nothing else was talked of during the meal, for such things were unusual and it was the first time in its history that Portville had come in for such distinction. Scores of different plans for catching the bandits were advanced, some of which made the colonel smile.
“Too bad the authorities don’t request that you boys be put on the trail to run the outlaws down,” he suggested.
“If we were put on the job we’d do our best to catch those thieves,” Lieutenant Thompson boasted.
After the drill the cadets managed to straggle down into town to see if there was anything unusual, but they were disappointed. A number of the local police stood about, but that was the only sign that anything was wrong. Of course there were the extra knots of townspeople who buzzed and hummed, but as most of their talk was fruitless speculation the cadets paid no attention to it.
On the following day the Portville paper carried a screaming account of the robbery, in fact, there was little else in the paper but the news. Beside a dozen different accounts of the affair, given by the cashier and the clerks who had been eyewitnesses of the holdup, there were accounts of the activities of the police and promises for a speedy capture of the bandits. Pictures of the bank adorned the inside sheets, and the history of the institution took up an entire page.
It was Jim who found a paragraph of unusual interest in the account. Most of the cadets had contented themselves with a glance at the headlines of the paper, but Jim had taken the trouble to read the details. He lost no time in finding Don and Terry.
“Look here,” he commanded them, pointing to the paper. “I just found one item of interest to us. Did you fellows know that the private vault of the Gates family was robbed?”
“I had heard so,” Terry nodded. “Anything of value taken?”
“Yes, some very expensive silver plate. But this is what the paragraph says: ‘Besides a quantity of silver plate and some family heirlooms in the way of jewelry, a silver cup trophy, won at school by Arthur Gates, was also taken from the family vault.’”
“A silver cup, eh?” said Don, his eyes narrowing. “Now, can that be our silver cup?”
“Nope, it must be Gates’,” grinned Terry.
“You know what I mean,” rejoined Don, impatiently. “We thought that the friend from Canada took the cup back with him. Well, we may have been wrong all along, and Gates probably put it in the safe deposit vault at the bank.”
“I guess that is what happened,” Jim agreed. “Gates figured that we would think it went to Canada and would give up the search for it. And all the time it was right here in the town!”
“I think we had better show this article to the colonel,” decided Don. “If the police ever do catch these men we may be able to see the cup before Gates gets it back.”
The colonel was of the same opinion. “It may be another cup, of course,” he warned. “Gates went to other schools and he may have won other cups. I hope more honestly than he won the 1933 cup. But if we get a chance we’ll surely take a look at the cup the bandits took.”
It was a foregone conclusion that it would take months to catch the bandits and no one had much faith in the Portville police. But with brilliant swiftness the local police caught the bandit trio. Working on the theory that the man had only pretended to flee in some nearby woods the local representatives of the law combed the thickets thoroughly, to run down their astonished quarry in less than a week. The three men were surprised in bed in a lonely cabin in the nearby hills, and the entire proceeds of the bank robbery were found with them.
It developed later that the three men planned to bury the plate and divide the money, hoping to split up and leave the region singly, but the prompt work of the town police effectively prevented that. They were swiftly brought to justice and the first inkling that the cadets had of the fact was when the morning newspaper arrived at the school.
“Well, what do you know about that!” murmured Terry, as they scanned the paper. “I didn’t know the local police force had it in them.”
“They surprised everyone, perhaps even themselves,” smiled Don.
Jim was reading the account closely. “All of the effects of the Gates family were recovered,” he announced. “The cup is mentioned here again, but there is no description of it. I certainly would like to know what cup it is.”
“I guess we should be able to find out,” said Don. “Suppose we go down to the newspaper office and hunt up the reporter that took the account? Surely he should be able to tell us something about the cup, for it is more than probable that he saw it.”
At their earliest opportunity they went to town and to the newspaper office, where they asked for the reporter who had taken down the account of the robbery. He was a young man of a pleasant personality and he was very willing to talk to them.
“Just what is it that you want to know, boys?” he asked.
“In the account that you wrote up of the robbery you detailed the articles stolen from the different vaults,” Don said. “We saw that among the effects taken from the Gates family vault there was a silver cup mentioned. Did you see that cup?”
“Yes,” responded the reporter. “I saw all of the recovered articles. The cup was among them.”
“What did it look like?” Don asked, trying not to appear too interested.
“Why do you want to know?” countered the reporter.
“Mr. Gates won several cups in his school days, and he won one at Woodcrest,” Don answered. “We were just wondering if it was the Woodcrest cup that was stolen.”
The boys, when planning their method of procedure before coming to the newspaper office, had decided on that story. The reporter was satisfied at once.
“Why, I can’t tell you that exactly,” he said, slowly. “I didn’t notice anything but the date on it.”
“What was the date?” Terry asked quickly.
“The date was 1933,” was the answer.
“That was the Woodcrest cup,” nodded Don. “We were wondering up at the school, and we three fellows decided to stop in and see if that was the cup. Thanks a lot.”
“That is perfectly all right,” the reporter smiled. “Shall I ask Mr. Gates sometime if that was the cup?”
“No, it won’t be necessary,” Don replied, casually. “We know that it is the cup he won at Woodcrest, because he won one in that year. I suppose he locked it up in the vault again?”
“No!” was the unexpected reply. “He left all of the other valuables there, but he took the cup back to his home with him!”
“Maybe he feels so much pride in it that he wants it at hand,” suggested Jim as a venture.
“I don’t know, I’m sure, but I know that he took it home with him,” the reporter concluded.
When they had thanked him once more the boys left the office and started back to school, talking the situation over between them.
“Well, the cup is still in our midst, and we may have another try at it,” Don remarked.
“As long as it is at the house, yes,” agreed Jim. “Maybe he feels that it will be safest where he can keep an eye on it.”
“Um,” observed Terry, sarcastically. “All we have to do is to get in and get at it!”
“Something may turn up and give us the chance,” said Don, hopefully. “You never can tell.”
Chapter 19
A Conversation in the Dark
Early one February morning a committee of ladies and gentlemen waited on Colonel Morrell. He saw them come up the drive, and was surprised to note that the group was made up of a clergyman, two well-known businessmen, and two ladies whom he knew to be leaders of women’s activities in Portville. When they had all been seated in his office, the clergyman, a fine, straight-forward young man who was making good in the largest church in the town, broached the subject to him.
“Colonel Morrell,” began Dr. Bicknell. “You may be a bit surprised to see such a formidable gathering bear down on you, but I assure you that we have good intentions. I don’t know whether you have heard anything about it or not, but on Washington’s Birthday Portville is to celebrate its small but honored share in the events of the Revolutionary War. We are a committee in charge of arrangements and have come to ask you for you co-operation on that day. The center of attraction will be the old Gannon House and the picturization of the stirring events that happened in it.”
“The Gannon House?” asked the colonel. “I’ve heard of it, but I don’t just recall where it is.”
“It is the house at present occupied by Mr. Melvin Gates and his family. You know the place now?”
“Oh, yes, surely,” affirmed the colonel. “Now I do remember. That is the most historic house in Portville, eh?”
“Yes,” replied Dr. Bicknell. “At the time of the Revolution our armies were harried by one particular spy who seemed to find out every move that the Continental Army made. At last this spy was run down by two determined citizens of Portville, and was found to be a young teacher who lodged at the Gannon House. He was taken from the house by indignant patriots and hanged just outside the town. The act was most fortunate, for from that moment there was no more leaking of news to the British.
“On Washington’s Birthday we propose to have a pageant which will show most of that, all but the actual hanging, which people can dispense with, I imagine. The events leading up to the capture of the British spy were highly dramatic, and we wish to show them in the pageant, which will take place in the daytime. What we want you to do, Colonel Morrell, is to permit your boys to parade in the morning. There will be a parade of ex-service men, fraternal organizations and business clubs, to say nothing of the patriotic organizations, and we feel that the line of march would not be complete unless your splendid boys marched with us.”
“In the name of the cadet corps, I thank you,” acknowledged the colonel. “I shall be most happy to have the cadet units march in the parade. The boys haven’t been in a public parade for a number of years and it would do them good to get in one. Yes, I shall be very happy to allow the boys to parade.”
“That is very helpful, and we are grateful to you for your co-operation,” smiled the pleasant young pastor. “Now, there is one other thing we would like to request. In the evening there will be a public inspection of the Gannon House and at that time we would like to post some of your cadets at various points about the house, to act as guides or whatever else may come up. Can you see your way clear to let us use a few of your honor pupils, say one at the front and rear doors, and one on each side and the staircases? That will add an impressive tone to the whole thing.”
“Yes, that can be easily done,” promised the colonel. “I shall be glad to help in any way possible. I shall detail my captains and lieutenants to take posts in the house and do whatever else you wish them to do.”
The members of the committee once more thanked the colonel, and after a few plans were made they left him. In due time the news was circulated among the corps and the cadets looked forward with more or less pleasure to the event.
“It will be something different,” Terry expressed it. “Won’t I enjoy marching through town, the center of all eyes.”
“You mean the town will be the center of all eyes?” asked Jim, slyly.
“No, dope! I will be!”
“If I remember correctly, you will be perched on the rear of a gun carriage,” retorted Jim. “But just think of me, my boy! I’ll be sitting on a horse, the captain of the cavalry, as proud as you please, bowing to the ladies.”
“With all due respect to your exalted position,” grinned Terry. “I would advise you not to bow too much. You might tumble over the neck of the horse and bump your nose!”
“I guess I’ll be the only one who won’t shine at all,” said Don. “I’m just a poor, plain little infantry soldier! A lieutenant on foot doesn’t show up much.”
“I thought that Gates’ house looked like a very old one when we were in it,” said Don. “But I never guessed that it had such a history. Now that we know the history we can account for the huge doors, the massive bolts and the wide, spreading staircase.”
An account in the newspaper interested the boys. It related how, at a time when the British raided Portville, the Gannon family took their silver plate and buried it out in the garden. The British had stolen everything in sight, but the silver was later dug up by the members of the family and saved.
“I’d like to see the spot where it was buried, sometime,” said Terry. “That must have been an interesting sight. Imagine the men out in the garden in the dead of night, burying the boxes of silver plate!”
Parade orders were given two days before Washington’s Birthday and the cadets found themselves in for a busy time. Dress uniforms were brought out and cleaned, swords polished and bayonets rubbed down. Rifles were inspected and the horses well groomed, for the colonel was anxious for his boys to give a good account of themselves.
Good fortune fell to Jim. As an officer he had received a post inside the historic house. In high spirits he told Don and Terry of his good fortune.
“Nice going, kid!” approved Don, generously. “Where is your post to be?”
Jim made a wry face. “I’m not so sure that the post is a good one, for I am stationed at the back door. I won’t be able to see much of what goes on there, but at least I’ll be in the house.”
“Maybe we’re luckier than you are, at that,” chuckled the red-headed boy. “Those of us who are not to be on post in the house will be able to roam around the town, for the colonel has given us full liberty on that day. But just the same, I think I’d rather be in the house.”
“So should I,” nodded Don. “At any rate, keep your eyes open, Jim. There is no telling what you may see.”
“I’ll do that,” Jim promised.
On Washington’s Birthday the school showed the marks of feverish activity. After breakfast and the school exercises the corps assembled on the campus. It was indeed a splendid sight. The cavalry, with Captain Jim and Lieutenant Thompson at the head, assembled on the road in front of the campus, while the cadet brigade took up the campus. Back of the infantry the artillery unit stood at attention, the several guns polished to the last degree. All of the cadets were in dress uniform, with the tall military hats, the braided coats, and the white gloves. When the corps was fully formed and the orders of the day read, they started out to join the other divisions of the parade, the citizen units.
With the jangle of trappings the cavalry, in perfect formation four abreast, moved off down the road, and the infantry, also marching four abreast, with the band playing a lively march and the heels of the young men ringing out on the pavement, followed. A dull rumble to the rear marked the progress of the artillery division. When they struck the center of town they fell into place behind the patriotic clubs. The parade began at eleven o’clock.