“Boss” Russell was waiting for Jeff when, a little later than his usual hour for reporting, he appeared in the editorial rooms of the Freeman. There was a smile on the usually grim face of the editor.
“Hello, my boy. Been waiting to see you. Want to congratulate you and thank you for last night’s work. We beat the town on both stories. The first editions of the Sun and the Call were out without a line of it and when we bloomed forth with the news about the wreck and Hammond and the bonds, they tumbled all over themselves to rewrite our stories to run in the second editions. It was great work and I’m ready to do almost anything within reason for you, Thatcher,—that is, if you want me to. Mr. Davidson called me up at my home this noon, however, and told me that he had a plan for you that sounds better than anything I can do for you. Have you been to see him yet?”
“You bet I have, Boss,” said Jeff, still jubilant over the result of his interview with the bank president.
“Good. Are you going to accept his proposition?” asked the editor.
“Why—er—I want to. That is, if it is all right with you, sir.”
“Boy, I wouldn’t stand in your way a bit. Indeed, I’ll help you. You can be school reporter again when—er—I understand there’s a reason why you can’t handle the job this term.”
“There is,” said Jeff ruefully. “All special privileges have been denied me and I suppose I’ll have to sweat out my punishment when I go back. But I’ll take my medicine the same as I always have.”
“That’s the boy, Thatcher. And remember, if you ever want to come back into newspaper work and I’m still boss here, why just you come and knock on my office door. But go back to Pennington now by all means. I’m interested in that old school, too. Had a son who graduated from there back in 1910. You don’t remember him, of course. He played baseball; was captain in his senior year.”
“Oh, is that so. Bud Russell, wasn’t he? Shucks, I’ve seen his name on the list of captains any number of times. Played catcher, didn’t he? Sure. Gee, I want to make that team this year. I’m going out for it and try mighty hard.”
“Good, and if you make it, I’m going over to Montvale and see you play. When are you getting through here?”
“As soon as possible, Boss. I don’t want to waste a day’s time. I’ll have to plug like the dickens to catch up with my classes now. I’ve been out nearly three weeks and it’s getting close to the end of March now.”
“Well, my boy, you can get through now. No, work to-night. Dig out that list of obits, run in on the hospital and—er—yes, look in at the Pipe Fitters’ Association Ball at Concordia Hall. Then you can get through. I’ll have a new man on the job to-morrow.”
“Very good, sir,” said Jeff smiling for the first time as Boss called off the list of his assignments.
And so Jeff made his last rounds of the undertaking establishments, visited Memorial Hospital for the last time, looked in at Concordia Hall, and came back to the editorial rooms, to pound the old typewriter for the last time.
After his copy had been turned in he purposely stayed around the noisy editorial rooms for some time, for despite the fact that he was glad to be going back to Pennington in the morning, he was loath to leave that noisy, paper-littered room with its many busy typewriters, its array of desks, its battery of clicking telegraph instruments and the many busy men who were working feverishly to get out the first morning edition.
But when a lull came in the press of work he said good-by to his friends on the staff and shook hands again with Boss Russell.
“Good-by, my boy. Be a good kid and make the team. Stop in at the cashier’s office and get your envelope. There will be ten dollars extra in it for your part in last night’s scoop—shush—not a word—you earned it.” He held up his hand in protest as Jeff thanked him.
Then he gripped Jeff’s hand again, very heartily.
“So long, my boy. Don’t let any one put anything over on you.” And Jeff left the editorial rooms with Boss Russell’s last words for some reason reoccurring in his mind.
“Don’t let any one put anything over on you,” he mused. “Well, now, I wonder if any one will try. Shouldn’t be surprised if Gould and Pell tried to get back at me for a certain unpleasant affair, but I don’t think they can put much over on me if I keep my eyes open. Then, again, maybe I’m too suspicious. Bet they are both good fellows when you know ’em.” And dismissing the idea he hurried home and to bed so as to be up and abroad early in the morning.
It was not a long trip by trolley from New City, across Wading River bridge and out to the suburbs of Montvale where Pennington Institute was located, but Jeff Thatcher, all eagerness to go back to the old school, was up betimes and off on an early trolley car. He arrived while chapel was still in session, and waited patiently in Dr. Livingston’s office until the Headmaster returned to his desk.
“Hello, Thatcher,” was the cheery greeting when he saw Jeff as he entered his office. “Heard you were coming back. That’s simply bully of Mr. Davidson. Fine work you did, too, Thatcher. Er—of course, you realize that you still have a penalty hanging over you. No special privileges this term and you cannot leave the school grounds for two weeks without special permission.”
“Yes, sir, I realize it. I’ll take my medicine, sir,” said Jeff.
“Good. That’s a fine chap. Well, let’s forget the late unpleasantness. Go back to your class. Take your old room, and no more fighting. I think Wade Grenville will be glad to see you. I’ve noticed he hasn’t been in the best of spirits since you left.”
Wade was glad to see him. So was Buck Hart and Cas Gorham and Brownie Davis and Rabbit Warren and all the rest of the fellows, when he met them at Freshman’s corner, the northeast corner of the building where for school generations members of the Freshman class at Pennington gathered at odd times.
“Whoops, he’s back. He’s here again. Dr. Livingston told us about it yesterday,” cried Wade, rushing up to him and pouncing on him good-naturedly.
“Oh, boy, our young hero has returned,” affectionately shouted Buck Hart.
“Rah for the hundred thousand dollar bond hero,” yelled Rabbit Warren enthusiastically.
A dozen boys had gathered around Thatcher by that time, all celebrating his return gleefully and all wanting to know the details of his brief adventure in the business world and his thrilling experiences with the wrecking crew.
And while he was in the midst of this hub-bub two Sophomores turned the northeast corner and strolled past the group. Thatcher looked up in time to look full into the face of Gould. For a moment he was slightly embarrassed. Then he smiled and nodded cordially to his former antagonist indicating very plainly that any malice he might have harbored had disappeared.
But Gould refused to meet him half way. He did not return the nodded greeting. Instead he turned to little Birdie Pell, who still followed him like a shadow, and remarked with the utmost sarcasm in his voice.
“Well, well, I see our young movie hero has returned. The school is saved from certain disaster.”
And Birdie, not always an appreciative audience for his older companion, refused to laugh.
“The dirty mucker,” exclaimed Wade Grenville indignantly.
“Oh, let him wait. Jeff fixed him once. He’ll fix him again when they go out for baseball. Jeff, you’ve simply got to win the job of holding down third and cut him out of it,” said Rabbit.
“I’m going to try blamed hard you can bet on that. When is Mr. Rice going to call for candidates?”
“Very soon. I think they are fixing up the cage in the gym. for indoor practice now. That means that notices should be posted for candidates to report mighty soon,” said Buck.
Just at that moment Brownie Davis joined the group coming from the direction of the gym.
“All out for baseball, fellows. Coach Rice is just sticking a notice on the bulletin board for candidates to report in the gym. to-morrow afternoon,” he said with a great show of importance at being the first to deliver the welcome news.
“Wow, that listens good,” exclaimed Thatcher enthusiastically. “Come on, let’s have a look at it,” and the group rushed over toward the gym. and gathered around the bulletin board where Mr. Rice was just putting the last thumb tack into his very important announcement.