The train was a long one, consisting of seven cars, beside the smoker, but, as the homeward rush after summer vacations was in full swing, it was pretty well filled, and the boys found it hard to get two seats together.

It was only after they had gone through the first three coaches, that they saw their opportunity.

About the middle of the fourth car, a back had been turned so that two seats faced each other.

Only one passenger was occupying this space, a large overgrown boy, about sixteen years old. His face was heavy, and his loose mouth and protruding eyes gave him a most unpleasant expression. A traveling cap was pulled down part way over his eyes, and he looked up from under the peak of this with a cold, piggy stare, as the boys paused beside the seats.

Filling up the rest of the seat beside him was a raincoat and a tennis racket. On the seat facing him he had deposited a heavy suit case, that filled it from end to end.

Fred and Teddy stood beside him for a moment without speaking, taking it for granted that he would take his suit case from the seat and put it on the floor. He did nothing of the kind, however, and continued to gaze at them insolently.

The surprise that Fred felt at first was rapidly giving place to a different feeling, but he restrained himself, and asked, pleasantly enough:

“Beg pardon, but would you mind putting your suit case on the floor, so that we may have the seat?”

“Of course, I’d mind,” came the ungracious answer. “There are plenty of other seats in the train, if you’ll only look for them.”

A red flush began to creep up Fred’s neck, which to any one who knew him would have been a danger signal. But he put out a hand to restrain Teddy, and answered patiently:

“Perhaps there may be, though I haven’t been able to find them, but I just happen to want this one,” and he pointed to where the suit case was resting.

“Nothing doing!” sneered the other. “Guess again!”

Fred came of fighting stock. One of his ancestors had fought in the battle of Kings Mountain, and another had scoured the seas under Decatur in the War of 1812.

He had been taught to keep his temper under restraint and never to provoke a quarrel. But he had been trained also never to dodge trouble if it came his way in any case where his rights or his self-respect were involved.

Like a flash, he grasped the heavy suit case and put it on the floor, its owner giving a howl as it came down on his toes. At the same instant, Teddy swung the back of the seat so that it faced the other way, and the boys dropped into it.

The rage of the flabby-faced youth was fearful. He started to his feet, his eyes popping from his head in his excitement.

“You–you—” he spluttered. “I’ll—”

“Well,” replied Fred, turning and looking him straight in the face, “what’ll you do?”

Before the resolute glow in Fred’s eyes, the bully weakened.

“You’ll find out what I’ll do,” he mumbled. “I’ll–I’ll get you yet.”

“All right,” remarked Fred calmly. “You can start something whenever you like. I’ll be ready for you. No car seat hog can try any such game with me and get away with it.”

The fellow slumped back in his seat, mouthing and muttering. Nor was his defeat made less bitter by noting the smiles of approval with which the other passengers greeted the incident.

“Good work, son,” laughed a grizzled old farmer, sitting across the aisle. “That’s the way to take the wind out of his sails.”

“What you got to say about it?” growled Andy, glaring at him.

“Whatever I choose to,” was the answer, “and there’ll be plenty more to say if you give me any of your impudence.”

Andy subsided, but for the rest of the journey his little eyes glowered with rage as he kept them fixed on the boys in front.

“He’s a sweet specimen, isn’t he?” chuckled Teddy.

“I’d hate to have to live under the same roof with him,” answered Fred, little thinking that for the next nine months they would have to do just that thing.

“Starting off with a scrap the first thing!” laughed Ted. “Wonder what mother would say to that?”

“I think she’d say we did just right,” answered Fred, “and I’m dead sure that father would.”

Nothing further happened to mar the pleasure of their journey. The country through which the train was passing was entirely new to the boys, and, in the ever changing panorama that flew past the windows, they soon became so absorbed, that they almost forgot the existence of their unpleasant fellow-traveler.

“Green Haven the next stop!” sang out the brakeman.

“Here we are,” said Fred, as the boys began to gather up their traps. A little quiver of excitement ran through their veins. They were on the threshold of a new life. It was the most momentous step they had ever taken.

With a clangor of the bell and hissing of steam, the train slowed up at the station.

Green Haven was a smart, hustling little town, much larger than Oldtown. There was a row of stores stretching away from the station, quite a pretentious hotel, and the spires of three churches rose above the maples that bordered the village streets. There was the hotel bus drawn up beside the depot, and alongside this a much larger one, used by the students in going to and from Rally Hall, which was a little more than a mile from the town.

“Quite a crowd of people getting off here,” commented Fred, as he stepped into the aisle of the car.

“Yes,” answered Teddy. “Hello, the bully is gone!” he exclaimed, as he glanced at the seat back of him.

“Sure enough,” rejoined Fred. “There he goes, now,” and he indicated the rear door of the car, through which their ugly neighbor was just disappearing.

“I wonder if he lives in Green Haven,” said Teddy. “If he does, we may run across him once in a while.”

“Something pleasant to look forward to,” laughed Fred, as they stepped down to the station platform.

There was a large crowd of young fellows at the station, and there was a noisy interchange of greetings, as others stepped from the train. Everybody seemed to know everybody else, and the boys felt a little forlorn, as they looked over the gay throng and saw no face that they knew.

They were making their way toward the bus, when a tall, manly young fellow, who had been watching them, came to meet them. His keen grey eyes were kindly and humorous, and he wore a friendly smile that made the boys warm to him at once.

“I don’t know how good a guesser I am,” he laughed, as he held out a hand to each, “but I’ll bet you fellows are going to Rally Hall.”

“Guessed it right, the first time,” smiled Fred, as he and Teddy grasped the extended hands.

“Good,” was the answer. “Then we’re fellow sufferers, and we’d better get acquainted right away. Melvin Granger is my handle. What are the names you fellows go by?

“Brothers, eh?” he went on, when the boys had introduced themselves. “That’s dandy. It won’t be half as lonesome for you at the start as it would be if either of you came alone. Still, there’s a bunch of good fellows here, and it won’t be long before you’ll feel at home. I think you’ll like them, most of them, that is. Of course, there is, here and there, an exception—”

He paused just here to nod carelessly to a passer-by.

“How are you, Shanks?” he said indifferently.

The boys followed the direction of his glance, and Teddy clutched Fred’s arm.

“Why!” he exclaimed, “that’s the fellow we had the scrap with on the train.”

“Scrap,” repeated Granger, laughing. “Well, I don’t wonder. Scrap is Andy’s middle name. He,” and his eyes twinkled, “he’s one of the ‘exceptions’ I just mentioned.”

“Well,” commented Fred, as they made their way toward the bus which was filling up rapidly, “I’m glad that he’s the exception and not the rule. A very little of him will go a good way with me.”

“Yes, that’s a case where ‘enough is plenty,’” assented Granger.

The Rushton boys’ bags were slung into a wagon standing alongside the bus and their trunks followed. Then the lads took the only seats remaining in the bus, the door slammed to and they were on their way to Rally Hall. The students inside were in high spirits, and as the Rushton boys looked around at their companions they were ready to believe Melvin Granger’s statement that they were all around good fellows. Brown as berries from their summer outings, full of the zest of living, their bright eyes and boisterous laughter showed that they were kindred spirits to the newcomers.

“I don’t see our grouchy friend here with the rest,” Fred remarked, as he looked around.

“Not with the common herd,” grinned Melvin. “There he goes now,” as they heard the honk of a horn, and an automobile swept by, leaving a cloud of dust behind it.

In the driver’s seat, holding the wheel, was their acquaintance of the train, while slumped down beside him was a smaller youth, with little, shifting eyes and a retreating chin.

The fellows in the bus looked at each other understandingly.

“Andy and his valet,” one of them remarked.

“Yes,” replied Granger, to the unspoken question in the eyes of the brothers, “he’s got an auto of his own. Keeps it in a garage down in the village.”

“To tell the truth,” he went on, “that’s half the trouble with Shanks. He has more money than is good for him. His father’s a millionaire they say–got a big woolen mill somewhere down in Massachusetts. But if he knows how to make money, he doesn’t know how to bring up a boy. Andy’s the only son, and his father lets him have all the money he wants, and doesn’t ask him what he does with it. He’s always been allowed to have his own way, and it’s only natural that he should think he owns the earth. And that’s one of the reasons he wanted to have four seats to himself in the train this morning, even if some one else had to stand.”

“One of the reasons, you say. What are the others?” asked Fred.

“Well, I guess the others must be set down to Andy’s unfortunate disposition,” laughed Granger. “There are other fellows here who have rich fathers, but they’re good fellows just the same.”

“Was that really his valet who was in the auto with him?” asked Teddy.

“No,” replied Melvin, with a smile, “that’s only the name the fellows gave to Sid Wilton. He plays second fiddle to Shanks. He’s always at his beck and call, and ready to fetch and carry for him. He jumps through the hoop and rolls over and plays dead whenever Andy gives the word.

“But here we are now,” the other youth went on, as the bus turned from the road into a broad avenue, shaded by elms and maples. “Behold, gentlemen and fellow citizens,” he jested, “the far-famed institution of learning known as Rally Hall!”

The boys leaned out eagerly to see what would be their home for many months to come.

Before them rose a massive building, three stories in height, made of pressed brick and with white granite facings. A wing at right angles to the main building on each side, gave it the form of three sides of a square.

A wide flight of stone steps led to the main floor, which was devoted to class rooms and the offices of the institution. On the second floor were the dormitories, varying in size, and containing from eight to twelve beds each. The rooms of the principal and teachers occupied the greater part of the third floor, while a section in the left wing was set apart for the janitor and the other employees of the school.

Before the building stretched a large campus, covering several acres. Most of it was lawn, although it was interspersed with bits of woodland. On one side of it was a large frame building, used as a gymnasium, and immediately adjoining was the athletic field. This was very large and was kept in superb condition. There were a number of tennis courts, but the major part was reserved for baseball and football. A full-sized diamond was surrounded with smooth turf that shone like green velvet, though browning a little in places under the September sun. A half mile running track encircled the whole field.

Directly in front of the Hall, at the foot of the gently sloping campus, lay Lake Morora. It was about two miles in length by three-quarters of a mile wide and was dotted by several tiny islands. It was the most beautiful body of water the boys had ever beheld, and they fell in love with it at once.

“My! isn’t it a peach?” murmured Teddy.

“It sure does make a hit with me!” agreed Fred emphatically.

“It’s a dandy, all right,” was Granger’s comment, “and the fellows have no end of fun on it. But come along now,” he added. “You’ll have plenty of time later on to ask ‘what are the wild waves saying?’ But just at present, we’d better hunt up old Hardtack.”

“Hardtack?” asked Fred wonderingly.

“Sure!” grinned Granger, “the boss of this shebang.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Fred, a light breaking in upon him, “you mean Dr. Hardach Rally?”

“Dr. Hardach Rally,” said Melvin, with mock solemnity, “is the very man I mean.

“Naturally,” he went on, “I don’t call him ‘Hardtack’ to his face. It wouldn’t be exactly healthy to do it.”

“Hardtack,” chuckled Teddy. “Wouldn’t Uncle Aaron have a fit if he knew the fellows called him that?”

“The name fits pretty well, too, I guess,” laughed Fred. “From what we’ve heard, he must be a terror.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” rejoined Granger. “He isn’t exactly a cooing dove in disposition, and if a fellow tries any monkey business, he comes down on him like a thousand of brick. Still, he’s not such a bad kind after all. He’s pretty severe, and he won’t stand for a shirk or a crook. But if a fellow’s white and tries to do the square thing, he’ll get along and not find Hardtack too hard to digest.”

By this time they had mounted the steps, and Granger, who had taken an instant liking to the boys and had made himself their “guide, philosopher and friend,” led the way to the private office of the head of Rally Hall.

A gruff “come in” was the answer to his knock, and they entered the study.

It was a large square room with a polished hardwood floor. Behind the flat mahogany desk sat Dr. Hardach Rally.

He was lean and spare and above middle height. He wore a pair of horn spectacles through which peered a keen, uncompromising pair of eyes. He gave the impression of a stern man, but nevertheless a just one.

“Good afternoon, Granger,” he said stiffly, and his eyes rested inquiringly on the two boys.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Rally,” replied Granger. “These friends of mine are Fred and Teddy Rushton. I met them at the railroad station.”

Dr. Rally shook hands with the newcomers and asked them to be seated. Then Granger excused himself and with a whispered “see you later” hurried from the room.

The boys sat there, silently studying the new “master of their fate,” and wondering how they would get along with him. He, in turn, looked them over carefully. Then he leaned forward and took some papers from his desk.

“I was expecting you,” he said, glancing at two letters he held in his hand. “Your father wrote me that you would reach here to-day.

“I have also here a letter from your uncle, Mr. Aaron Rushton,” he went on. “He is a very close friend of mine, and I gather that it was through his suggestion that your father decided to send you here.”

Fred murmured an assent, while Teddy’s heart sank, as he tried to imagine what Uncle Aaron had said about him in the letter.

Dr. Rally sat up straight in his chair. It was significant that it was not an easy revolving chair, but as stiff and perpendicular as the doctor himself.

“The matter of your studies and assignment to classes,” Dr. Rally continued, “will be looked after by Professor Raymond, my chief assistant. I will send you to him in a moment. But first, I want to say one word.

“The discipline of the school is strict, and it must be obeyed. Sometimes”–here he glanced at Uncle Aaron’s letter and then let his gaze fall on Teddy, who squirmed inwardly–“a boy comes here who thinks that he is going to run the school. He never makes the same mistake a second time. That is all.”

He gave the boys directions how to find Professor Raymond, and they found themselves out in the hall, surprised at the briefness of the interview, but relieved that it was over.

“Say!” exclaimed Fred, “he didn’t have so much to say, after all.”

“He didn’t talk very much, if that is what you mean,” corrected Teddy, who was unusually thoughtful, for him, “but he said a good deal.”

“I wonder what Uncle Aaron told him in his letter,” mused Teddy. “I’ll bet he just skinned me alive.”

“Oh, well, don’t you care,” Fred consoled him. “Your cake is dough with Uncle Aaron, and I suppose it will always, unless he finds his watch and papers.”

“Do you suppose he ever will?” asked Teddy, for at least the hundredth time, and rather wistfully.

“We’ll keep on hoping so, anyway,” replied Fred. “But here’s the room the doctor told us to go to.”

They found Professor Raymond to be a young man, alert and vigorous and full of snap. He was very friendly and cordial, and the boys liked him from the start.

He examined the boys as to the point that they had reached in their studies, and carefully looked over the reports they had brought from their teachers in the Oldtown school. These proved exceedingly satisfactory. Fred’s work had been really brilliant, while Teddy, despite his love of mischief, had held a very creditable rank in his studies.

The professor assigned them to their classes and gave them all necessary directions as to the hours of study and times for recitations. Then he consulted a slip he took from his desk.

“I’m going to put you boys in Dormitory Number Three,” he said finally. “There are ten beds in there, and just two have been left vacant. I’ll give directions for your trunks and bags to be sent up there, and you can unpack and get your things arranged in the wardrobe and locker that stand at the heads of your beds. By the time you get rested and freshened up, it will be nearly time for supper.”

Dormitory Number Three, they found to be a very large and airy room in the front of the building on the second floor, and commanding a splendid view of the lake. There were ten single beds, with ample space between them, and at the head of each was a wardrobe and locker. At the foot was a washstand with all the necessary appliances.

The dormitory was intended for sleeping purposes only. On the floor below, there were special study rooms, where the boys were supposed to prepare their lessons for the next day’s recitations.

Fred and Teddy had just begun to wash, when Granger came through the door like a whirlwind.

“Well, by all that’s lucky!” he exclaimed. “So Raymond’s put you in here, has he? I was hoping he would. Now that’s what I call bully!”

“That’s what we call it, too, if this is your dormitory,” said Fred, who had seldom formed so strong a liking for any one on such short acquaintance.

“I’ve slept here for the last two years,” replied Melvin, “and I think it’s the best dormitory in the whole school. Look at the view from here.” His sweeping gesture took in the lake, rippling in the glow of the western sun.

“It’s a pippin, all right!” assented Fred.

“It sure is!” echoed Teddy.

“And we’ve got a ripping lot of fellows in here, too,” went on Melvin. “All of them are the real goods. There isn’t a snoop or a sneak in the bunch. All of them are old timers, except two fellows that came in two days ago. One of them is named Garwood, who comes from out West somewhere. The other is Lester Lee from somewhere down on the coast of Maine. I don’t know much about them yet, but I like them first-rate from what I’ve seen of them so far. I think we’re going to be a regular happy family, as soon as we get going, and I’m mighty glad you fellows are going to be in the crowd.”

Nobody was gladder than Fred and Teddy themselves. Although they had not confessed it, even to each other, they had felt a sort of dread of the first few days at school. They had not known but what it might take weeks before they could establish their footing and begin to feel at home. Yet here it was only a few hours, and this friendly, big-hearted boy had taken them right in, as cordially as though he had known them for years. If they were to suffer from loneliness or homesickness, it would not be Melvin Granger’s fault.

“Here come some of the fellows now,” he said, as a noisy group burst into the room and began to make use of wash basins and towels. “I won’t stop to introduce you now. The supper gong will ring in about five minutes, and they’ll be breaking their necks to get ready in time. When we get up here again after supper and study hours, I’ll trot them all out, and they can tell you the sad stories of their lives.”

As he had predicted, the splashing of water and brushing of hair were interrupted a few moments later by the clanging of the gong that told a hundred or more hungry boys that supper was ready. There was no need of a second summons, and with a last hasty touch to their incomplete toilets, they came trooping into the immense dining-room that covered an entire floor in one of the wings.

There were eight long tables, at the head of each of which was one of the teachers. Dr. Rally sat apart, in state, with his family, at a private table in one corner of the room. For this, all the boys inwardly thanked their stars. Not one of them would have cared to eat under the direct glare of the head of the school.

Fred and Teddy were glad to find that they had been assigned to the table over which Professor Raymond presided. Melvin, too, was at the same table, a little higher up.

The food was plentiful and well cooked, and although Fred and Teddy would not have minded having one or two of the dainties that old Martha was so adept in preparing, it was plain that her prophecy of their early death from starvation was not going to be fulfilled. They made a most satisfactory meal, marred only by the fact that Teddy’s piece of pie was devoured by some unknown neighbor while he was talking to Fred.

He was game, however, and not being able to swallow the pie, swallowed his resentment, making a mental vow to get even, if he should ever discover the culprit.

A half an hour for rest and recreation followed the supper. Then the bell rang for a study period of two hours. At the end of this time work was over for the day, and the boys sought their dormitories to do as they chose till bedtime. All lights were to be out by ten o’clock.

The boys came into Number Three with a clatter and a bang. When they were all there, Melvin lifted his hand to hush the racket.

“Hi, there, you fellows,” he shouted. “Keep still for a minute. I want to say something.”

The tumult subsided, as the boys came crowding around him.

“Gentlemen,” he said, with mock dignity–“I know I flatter you, but no matter–I want to introduce you to two new roommates, Fred and Teddy Rushton.”

There was a general bow and smile on the part of all, as the boys acknowledged the introduction, and then Melvin became more personal:

“You have here before you,” he said to the Rushton boys, assuming the air and tone of a “barker” at a seaside show, “the most gorgeous collection of freaks ever gathered under one tent. Positively, gentlemen, an unparalleled aggregation of the most astonishing wonders of nature now in captivity, assembled by the management without regard to expense from all quarters of the civilized and uncivilized world. So remarkable, gentlemen, are these specimens of the animal world that they have even been taught to walk, talk and eat like human beings. Some have even gone so far as to say that they are human, although this opinion is not maintained by those who know them best.

“And what do I charge you, gentlemen, for gazing at this mammoth collection of monsters and missing links? Do I charge you a half a dollar? I do not. Do I even ask you for a quarter? I do not. Do I even set you back to the extent of a dime? I do not. Do I even extract from your vest pocket the humble jitney? No, gentlemen, a thousand times, no!

“This amazing show is free, gentlemen, absolutely free, free as the air, free as the sunshine, free as good advice, free as—”

He ducked, just as a pillow flew past his head.

“Jo-Jo, the dog-faced boy, did that,” he explained; “whenever he hears me say ‘free’ he thinks it means that he’s to be free with me. But I don’t mind, because he never hits anything.”

There was a general laugh, and Granger abandoned his showman’s attitude.

“This is Billy Burton, the sweet singer of the Wabash,” he said, indicating a stocky youth with a shock of red hair. “We call him the Indiana Nightingale, because he’s so different. You ought to hear him sing ‘We Give the Baby Garlic, So that We Can Find Him in the Dark!’ The sentiment’s so strong, it brings tears to your eyes.”

“You’re pretty good at music yourself, Mel,” retorted Billy.

“I?” said Melvin in surprise. “Why I don’t know one note from another. I don’t think I could play a jewsharp or a hand-organ. What kind of music am I good at?”

“Chin music,” replied Billy.

Melvin was fairly caught, and the boys howled.

“You got me that time, Billy,” Melvin cried. “But, talking of music, here’s the real goods in that line,” and he laid his hand on the shoulder of an olive-skinned Italian boy, with delicate features and large dark eyes.

“This is Tony Dirocco,” he went on; “Tony’s a count or some other high muckamuck in his own country, and he’s studying here while his father is at Washington on some diplomatic business or other. But Tony doesn’t care half as much about books as he does about music. Say, when he gets hold of a violin he fairly makes it talk. Real high brow stuff, you know, operas and things like that, the kind that goes right up and down your spine and takes your heart out by the roots. Just wait until he gives us one of his concerts all by himself.”

Tony shook hands with a shy smile, and the boys made up their minds that they were going to like him immensely.

“Now for our Spanish athlete,” said Granger, “the man who ‘throws the bull.’ This is Slim Haley,” and he nodded toward a fat chubby fellow who must have weighed close to two hundred pounds. His broad face was wreathed with smiles, and his eyes twinkled with fun, as he came forward.

“This puny infant,” went on Melvin, “can tell the most wonderful stories you ever heard, and tell them with such an innocent air that sometimes you almost believe him. He’s got Baron Munchausen skinned a mile. He was telling me one to-day about a rabbit, and I sat watching him, expecting every minute to see him choke.”

“Oh, come off, Mel,” laughed “Slim.” “You see,” he said, turning to the boys, “the trouble with Mel is that he hasn’t imagination enough to understand anything he hasn’t seen himself. Now that story of the rabbit—”

“Let’s hear it, and judge for ourselves,” suggested Fred.

“Why, it was like this,” said Slim. “It was out in the Western League, and they were having a close game of ball. It was in the ninth inning, with two men out and one run needed to win.

“The man at the bat, one of the best sluggers on the team, soaked the ball good and plenty on a line to centre field. It hit a rabbit, who was browsing near the centre field fence. Of course it scared him, and he came streaking in and reached second base just before the batter.

“Down the line went the rabbit toward third, with the batter legging it right after him. The rabbit touched third and then, frightened at the crowd in the bleachers just behind third, it turned around and scooted for the home plate. It crossed the plate with the batter right at its heels, just as the ball was thrown in. But although the batter touched the plate just before the ball got there, the umpire called him out.”

“I don’t see why,” interrupted Teddy.

“Of course there was a big kick about it,” said Slim smoothly, “but the decision went, just the same. The umpire said the rabbit paced the runner and made him run faster than he otherwise would, and so he got to the plate before the ball.”

There was a dead silence, while the boys watched Slim, as though they expected the fate of Ananias to overtake him.

Fred coughed significantly.

“You see,” said Slim mournfully, to Granger, “he doesn’t believe it either. You’ve poisoned his mind against me. You’ve taken away my reputation. Why, if you don’t believe it,” he went on, in pretended indignation, “I can take you out there and show you the very grounds where the thing happened! I can show you the very base that the rabbit touched! I can show you the bleachers where the crowd sat that frightened the rabbit! If the rabbit’s alive still, perhaps I can show you the rabbit! If—”

“That’ll do,” said Melvin solemnly. “The court finds you guilty, and condemns you to twenty years of truth-telling.”

“That’s a cruel and unusual punishment,” put in Billy Burton, “and the Constitution forbids that kind.”

“I’m only making the punishment fit the crime,” answered Melvin. “I’m ashamed of you, Slim. Now you go way back and sit down, while I introduce the rest of these infants.”

The remaining “infants,” so disrespectfully alluded to, were duly made known to the boys in a similar jovial way. There was Ned Wayland, who was introduced as the heaviest batter on the baseball team, and Tom Eldridge, who had kicked the deciding goal in their last game of football with a rival school.

Finally, there were Lester Lee and Bill Garwood, of whom Melvin had less to say, because they had just come, and he knew them hardly better than he did the Rushton boys themselves.

But Fred and Teddy felt from the start that there was something in these newcomers that attracted them strongly.

Bill Garwood, they found, was a quiet, reserved youth, who gave one the impression of latent force. His eyes that looked straight into theirs were clear and frank, and there were the tiny wrinkles beneath them that come from looking off into far spaces. On the ranch at Snake River from which he came, he had lived far from neighbors, and he seemed a little shy and awkward amid the abounding life at the Hall. But, underneath his quiet exterior, one felt that he had sterling qualities and in case of trouble would be a good friend to have at one’s back.

Lester Lee impressed them with equal favor. He was tall and lean, and his face was as bronzed as a sailor’s. This did not surprise the boys when they learned that he had lived in the lighthouse at Bartanet Shoals on the coast of Maine. He was jolly and full of fun, and had a magnetic way with him that put him on cordial terms with the boys at once.

When at last they were undressing, seated on their adjoining beds, Fred turned to Teddy, who had just given a low chuckle.

“What’s the joke?” he asked.

“I was thinking that the joke was on Uncle Aaron,” replied Teddy.

“How’s that?”

“Why, he thought he was punishing us by having us sent here,” answered Teddy, “and I’ll just bet that we’re going to have the best time of our lives.”

“Provided we don’t have a run in with Andy Shanks,” suggested Fred, yawning.

“Yes,” said Teddy thoughtfully, “we’ve got to look out for that fellow.”

“I don’t think he knows we’re here yet,” continued Fred. “He didn’t seem to see us when he spoke to Granger this afternoon.”

“He’ll find it out soon enough,” remarked Teddy, “and when he does, look out for squalls.”

And the squalls were not long in coming.

Two weeks went by with amazing swiftness, and it looked as though Teddy’s prediction was going to be realized. Certainly, so far, they were having, in Fred’s words, “a whale of a time.”

All the newness and rawness had worn off, and they felt as fully at home at Rally Hall, as they might have felt in months, if they had started under less favorable conditions.

All the boys in their own dormitory had learned to like them thoroughly, and among the rest of the boys outside they were general favorites.

There were, to be sure, a few exceptions. And chief among these were the bully, Andy Shanks, and his toady, Sid Wilton, together with two or three others who hung about Shanks, because of his money and the “good times” he could give those who sought his favor.

Andy, in the crowd at the station, had not seen the boys get off the train and enter the bus. So that he was entirely taken aback, when, on the following day, he had come face to face with them on the campus.

He stepped back with an ugly sneer.

“So you’re here, are you?” he whipped out.

“No,” said Fred coolly, “I’m somewhere else.”

“None of your lip now!” snarled Shanks, thrusting out his jaw and putting his pasty face close to Fred’s. “I’m not used to taking back talk from any fellow in this school.”

“You’d better get used to it then right away,” was the retort, “because I give it to you straight that you’re going to get plenty of it, if you come fooling around me. And I give you the tip to steer clear of me, if you don’t want to get something besides talk.”

The bully was clearly at a loss to know what to do, when he found his bluff called in such a determined manner. He had been used to having things largely his own way. His money was accountable for this, in part, and then, too, he was much larger and stronger than most of the boys in the school.

He measured Fred with his eye from head to foot, and what he saw did not serve to increase his confidence. Fred was tall and muscular, and Andy saw again in his eyes the fighting look that had cowed him in the train.

Still it was hard for him to believe that, when the test came, this newcomer would not back down as most of the other boys had done. Besides, quite a crowd of the fellows had come up now, scenting a fight in prospect, and it would ruin his reputation among them if he retreated now before them all.

“I’ve a good mind to give you a thump in the jaw,” he growled.

“Don’t hesitate on my account,” said Fred politely.

The snicker that came from the crowd at this remark maddened Andy.

“I won’t,” he shouted, and made a move to strike.

Like a flash, Fred shed his coat.

“Come on then,” he cried, “and I’ll give you the licking that you’re aching for.”

There was a delighted stir among the other fellows, as they formed a ring around the two. Their sympathies were all with Fred, although few expected him to win against the bully of the school.

Only one voice was lifted for Shanks.

“Soak him, Andy,” piped up the shrill voice of Sid Wilton, his toady, whom most of the boys disliked even more than they did Andy, if that were possible.

But Andy, at that moment, was not showing any great eagerness to “soak” his antagonist. If Fred had flinched in the slightest degree, he would have been upon him. But as he looked into the flashing eyes that met his defiantly, the “yellow streak” that is in most bullies began to show in Andy. His pallid face grew whiter and a blue tinge showed about his lips.

With the eyes of all upon him, however, he saw no way of retreat, and began to take off his coat.

It was noticeable, though, that he did this with great deliberation.

Suddenly a look of relief came into his eyes as he saw an approaching figure.

“Here comes Professor Raymond,” he said, trying to put into his words a tone of disappointment. “We’ll have to put this off till some other time. Mighty lucky for you, too, or I’d have done you up good and proper,” he flung at Fred, all his courage returning when there was no longer any demand for it.

“Let’s go down to the gymnasium and have it out there,” suggested Fred. But Andy pretended not to hear. He slipped on his coat hurriedly, and, in company with Sid Wilton, strolled off in one direction, while most of the boys scattered in the other.

Professor Raymond sauntered up to a little group, composed of Fred, Teddy, Billy Burton and “Slim” Haley.

His keen eye took in the flushed face of Fred and the air of suppressed excitement among the others. He guessed pretty well what had been about to happen, and, knowing Andy for what he was, he had little doubt as to who had provoked the row. In his secret heart he would not have been at all sorry to have that young cub get the whipping he richly deserved.

Still, of course, he could not tolerate any breach of the rules of the school, which strictly forbade fighting.

He paused and looked keenly from one to the other.

“Any trouble, boys?” he asked.

“No, sir,” answered Fred respectfully, “that is, not yet.”

“Nor at any other time, I hope,” said his teacher. “Remember, boys, no fighting.”

But he did not pursue the matter further, and, after chatting a moment, went on, with a little smile upon his lips. In his own college days he had been the lightweight champion of his class. There was good red blood in Professor Raymond.

“That ‘not yet’ was a good one,” grinned Billy Burton. “I see a whole lot of trouble coming in the near future.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” answered Fred, who was firmly convinced in his own mind that Andy would still force him to give him the thrashing that he needed.

“And I guess that most of the trouble will be for Andy,” said Slim. “Did you notice how he tried to crawfish just now? And how glad he was to see the prof coming? It was a life-saver for Andy.”

“Yes,” laughed Billy, “he reminded me of two fellows that got into a fight. Half a dozen men rushed in, crying, ‘hold them, stop them.’ The fellow who had been getting the worst of it hollered out: ‘That’s right, boys, five of you hold him. One’ll be enough to hold me.’”

“It sure wouldn’t have needed many to hold Andy back,” chuckled Slim.

As the days passed on, however, the affair simmered down and perhaps would have died a natural death, if a bit of mischief on Teddy’s part had not revived it.

Andy, one day, brought out on the campus a placard, on which was written “Kick me.” A bent pin at the top enabled him to fasten it to the coat of some unsuspecting boy. Then Andy would give him a vigorous kick, and when the victim protested, would show him the invitation.

Under ordinary conditions it would only have been a harmless joke, and would have been taken in good part. But Andy’s vicious nature and love for causing pain made him kick so hard and cruelly that his victims felt rage and resentment. But as he carefully chose only the smaller boys, they did not dare to retaliate.

But after a while they were all on their guard, and the brave Andy, seeing no more worlds to conquer, laid the placard on a bench and forgot it.

Teddy caught sight of it, and the impulse seized him to give the bully a taste of his own medicine. He slipped up behind him and fastened the card to his coat amid the awestruck silence of those who saw him.

Bill Garwood, who had seen with indignation what Andy had been doing, promptly accepted the invitation. He swung his foot and it landed fair on Shanks, who turned with a roar of rage.

“What did you do that for?” he howled.

“Because you asked me to,” said Bill, deftly unhooking the placard and showing it to him.

“Ted Rushton put that on you,” shrilled Sid Wilton, who came hurrying up. “I saw him do it.”

Bill was husky, while Teddy was smaller, and Shanks, true to his nature, reached for what seemed to him the easier game. Teddy stoutly stood his ground, but before the bully could reach him, Bill Garwood’s hand was on his collar, his knuckles boring deep into his neck.

“No, you don’t,” he said, as he yanked him back. “What kind of a sport are you, anyway? You’ve been kicking these fellows twice as hard as I kicked you, but the minute you get a taste of it, you go off the handle. And anyway, if you want to do any fighting why don’t you pick out a fellow of your size? I’m about your size. Do you get me?”

There was no doubt of his meaning, and his perfect readiness to stand by his meaning was so evident, that Andy concluded discretion to be the better part of valor. He turned away sourly, shooting a look at Teddy, which, if looks could kill, would have left him dead upon the spot.

For both Fred and Teddy a storm was brewing.

Letters kept coming every week to the Rushton boys from the family at home. Mr. Rushton’s, although less frequent than his wife’s, were always bright and jolly, and seldom came without enclosing a check, which helped to cover the cost of many a midnight spread in the dormitory, when the boys were supposed to be in bed. Their friends were a unit in declaring that Mr. Rushton was a “real sport.”

Those of Mrs. Rushton came oftener, and were full of loving expressions and anxious advice to wear proper clothing and avoid rough sports and be careful about getting their feet wet. Although her chicks were no longer under her maternal wings, she brooded over them every moment, and was counting the days till they returned to her.

She often referred to Uncle Aaron, and the boys were sorry to learn that there was still no trace of the missing watch and papers. He had offered a reward and advertised widely, but had never received even a hint of their whereabouts.

“Old Hi Vickers is a swell detective–I don’t think,” sighed Teddy, after reading the latest letter.

“I blame myself, partly, for the loss of the watch,” remarked Fred regretfully. “I ought to have told somebody right away about those tramps hanging around. Then they might have been rounded up and chased out of town before they had a chance to break into the store.”

“You’re not to blame for anything,” said Teddy bitterly. “I’m the person that caused all the trouble. If I’d only had sense enough not to plug Jed’s horse that day, this whole thing wouldn’t have happened. If a prize were offered for ivory domes, I’d win it, sure.”