Tom Fairfield's Schooldays, by Allen Chapman, a Project Gutenberg eBook.

For a moment the Freshmen paused in their wild dancing about the pole, from which hung suspended the burning effigy. And then, as they saw the indignant figure of the disliked professor, and as they heard his demand, they broke out into a further storm of hisses that sounded above the blast of the wintry wind.

“Stop it! Stop it at once! Take down that disgraceful image!” demanded Professor Skeel. In spite of the crude way in which it had been made he—and others as well—could easily recognize that it was intended for him, by the hat. “Take it down!” he shouted.

“Never!” came the defiant cry from the Freshmen. They were not so cold now, but they were hungry and tired, and they saw in Professor Skeel the individual who, they believed, was responsible for their troubles.

“Three hisses for the professor!” called someone, and again they were given with vigor.

“Take it down! Take it down!” fairly screamed the enraged instructor. He looked around. The whole school was witnessing the spectacle of disgrace that had been arranged for his benefit. Every student was present, arranged in a big circle about the jubilant Freshmen, and most of the faculty had come to the doors of their residences to look on.

“I demand that this outrage cease at once!” cried Professor Skeel, but no move was made to heed his request. In fact, the Freshman only cheered themselves, and hissed him the louder.

“All right. I’m ready for him,” was the quiet answer. “But I don’t believe he’ll do anything more than try to pull down the image.”

“I think not. Still I don’t want to get into a personal encounter with a teacher. Let’s form a ring around the pole, and prevent him from touching the ropes. The effigy will soon be burned out, anyhow.” The flames were eating the image slowly, as the cloth and straw was moist, and the snow flakes further dampened them.

“That’s a good idea!” commented Jack. “Hi, fellows, no surrender. We must protect our effigy!”

“That’s what!” came the rallying chorus, and under Tom’s direction the lads formed a cordon about the pole.

Professor Skeel was speeding through the drifts. He reached the nearest lads, and roughly thrust them aside. Tom had quickly whispered to those nearest the pole not to fight back, but to offer passive resistance. So, too, those on the outer edge did not make any hostile movement when the irate instructor went through them with a rush.

“Get away from that pole! Let me take that disgraceful image down! I shall insist upon the most severe punishment to every one concerned in this outrage!” stormed Professor Skeel.

“As for you, Fairfield!” shouted the professor. “This will be your last appearance here! You incited the students to do this!”

Professor Skeel did not find it as easy as he had thought, to thrust the lads away from the pole, so that he might loose the ropes. As fast as he shoved one lad aside, in which operation no active resistance was offered, another Freshman took his place, and there was a constant shifting and whirling mass of students about the pole. It was utterly impossible for the professor to get to the ropes.

“This must stop! It shall stop!” he cried. “I—I shall be under the necessity of personally chastising you if you do not at once remove the image!” he added.

“Then take the consequences,” shouted the instructor. He struck one of the smaller lads, who drew back his fist. In another moment there would have been presented the not very edifying sight of an encounter between teacher and pupil.

But Professor Skeel found himself suddenly clasped from behind, while Tom, worming his way to the side of the lad who had been hit, caught his upraised arm.

“It’s all right, Henry,” he called in his ear. “It’s all over I guess. Hammond has hold of Skeel.”

This was true. The big fat, jolly professor, seeing how matters were likely to turn out, had made his way into the throng, and had seized his colleague.

“You had better come with me,” he advised, quietly. “You are forgetting yourself, Professor Skeel. You can do no good here. The boys are past reasoning with.”

“It will soon burn down. Besides, Doctor Meredith is coming out to speak to them. I have sent for him. You had better come with me.”

Much against his will, Professor Skeel allowed himself to be led away. The boys had stopped hissing and cheering now, for they saw that the crisis had come, and that they were either to win their strike, or that some unusual measures would be taken.

“Here comes Merry!” exclaimed Jack in a hoarse whisper, as he descried the form of the venerable head of the school making his way through the storm. The burning effigy still gave light enough to see, reflected as it was by the snow on the ground and the swirling flakes in the air.

Professor Skeel left with Professor Hammond, and, as they passed the outer ring of Freshman, there came a cry:

Doctor Meredith made his way to where he could command a view of the class that had revolted.

“Young gentlemen,” he went on, with a benevolent smile, “you will kindly cease this demonstration, and return to your dormitory.”

“Does that mean we win?” asked Tom respectfully. “We went on strike for better treatment in the Latin class. If we go back, and call the strike off, do we get it?”

“You will return to your dormitory,” went on Doctor Meredith in an even voice. “This must go on no longer.”

“But what about the Latin class?” asked Tom persistently. “Are we to be prisoners? Aren’t we to be allowed to recite, or attend lectures?”

“I will settle all that tomorrow,” said the doctor. “I may state, however, that you will recite, if you do at all to-morrow, to another Latin instructor.”

“Hurray! That’s what we want to know!” yelled Tom. “Come on, boys!” he added. “Back to bed. The strike is over!”

“I don’t see how,” said Jack. “He hasn’t said that Skeel will be any different.”

“Aw, can’t you see through a hole in a millstone?” asked Tom. “Can’t you see that Skeel isn’t going to be our teacher any more?”

“I mean that there’s going to be a shift. No more of Skeel’s Latin for us. The doctor has seen that it won’t do, and he’s put his foot down. Skeel can’t dictate to him any more. The strike is over—we’ve won, and it will be admitted to-morrow. Come on to bed.”

“But about the eats?” suggested Bert. “I’m half starved. What about the eats?”

“Young gentlemen, you will return to your dormitory. But you may first stop in the dining hall.”

The last flickering embers of the burning effigy died out and the scene was almost dark. Doctor Meredith returned to his house. The other students turned back into their dormitories. The Freshmen made a break from around the flag staff and ran toward the place where a much-needed supper awaited them.

As Tom, with Jack at his side, hurried across the spot where Professor Skeel had struck the Freshman, our hero saw something black lying on the snow. He stopped and picked it up.

“Someone’s pocketbook,” he remarked. “I’ll look inside for a name, and return it. Oh, Jack, we win!”

“And we’re going to eat!” added Jack with a sigh of satisfaction. As they entered the dining hall they saw Sam Heller there. He had sneaked back when the others were escaping and had practically surrendered. He was hissed when this became known.

CHAPTER XXIV
THE SAVING OF BRUCE

“What have you there, Tom?” asked Jack. They were in their room, some time after the riot over the burning effigy, and following a more bountiful supper than they had partaken of in many a long day. They had talked over the events and Sam Heller’s desertion.

“Oh, but you should see those boys eat!” exclaimed Mrs. Blackford to her husband, after a visit to the dining hall.

“I don’t blame them,” was the answer. “I’m glad it’s over, and that they have won. I never did like that Skeel.” The monitor had confided to Tom that as soon as Doctor Meredith had word of the return of the students from their unsuccessful trip toward the town, he had ordered a big supper gotten ready. And now Tom and his chum were in their room, tired but happy.

“This,” remarked Tom, as he looked at the object to which Jack referred, “this is a pocketbook I picked up out on the campus near the flag pole. Some one dropped it during the excitement, I guess. I’ll see if there’s a name in it, so I can send it back.”

He opened it. There were some banknotes and a number of papers. Tom rapidly looked the latter over, and, as he caught sight of one, he uttered a whistle of amazement.

“What’s the matter?” asked Jack, who was getting ready for bed. “Whose wallet is it?”

“No, but it’s what I found in it. Now I know why he has such a hold over Bruce, and what that lad’s trouble is. Look here, Jack,” and the two boys bent their heads over a slip of paper.

“I should say so!” exclaimed Jack. “No wonder he looked troubled, and acted it, too. What are you going to do about it?”

There was subdued excitement the next morning when the Freshmen filed down to breakfast, and the talk was of nothing but the uprising of the night before. Sam Heller was practically ignored, but he did not seem to mind.

“Are we to get bread and water this morning, Blackie?” asked Tom, of the monitor, at the same time playfully poking him in the ribs.

“Oh, of course,” agreed Tom. “I want my eggs soft boiled,” he added most prosaically.

“I guess I’ll send this over to Skeel’s house, instead of taking it myself,” he said to Jack. “It might raise a row if I went there.” And, requesting one of the assistant janitors to do the errand, Tom proceeded to chapel. Thus the wallet was returned to its owner, but minus a certain bit of paper.

“Well, you fellows certainly cut things loose!” exclaimed Bruce Bennington admiringly to Tom, as he met our hero later. “You won hands down. I wish I could do things as easily as you seem to do,” and he sighed. Tom noticed that the look of worry and trouble on the Senior’s face was deepened.

“Look here, Bruce!” exclaimed Tom. “I wish you would tell me exactly what your trouble is. Maybe I can help you.”

“I think so,” and there was a peculiar note in Tom’s voice. “Tell me,” he urged. The two were walking by themselves over a deserted part of the snow-covered campus. The storm had ceased, and the day, though clear, was quite cold. The weather was crisp and fine.

“Hanged if I don’t tell you!” burst out Bruce. “I don’t know why it is, but I took a liking to you the first time I saw you. I had half a notion to tell you then, but I didn’t. I haven’t told anyone—I wish, now, I had. Now I’m going to tell you. It’s come to a show-down, anyhow. I was just on my way to see Professor Skeel. He’s at the bottom of my trouble, as you may have guessed. He has sent for me. The jig is up.”

“I’ll go with you,” volunteered Tom. “I fancy I know part of your trouble, at least.”

“I say, Tom,” hailed Jack from a distance, as he came running up. “What are we to do? There’s a notice posted, saying we are to go to Latin recitation to Professor Hammond, temporarily, and then afterward the Freshmen are to meet Doctor Meredith and Professor Skeel. That looks as if we hadn’t won after all. The boys are anxious.”

“I’ll be with them in a little while,” answered Tom. “It’s all right. We win the strike all right, only things have to be adjusted formally I suppose. But I’ll say this. I’ll never apologize to Skeel, and he’s got to promise to be decent, or the strike will begin all over again.”

“Hurray! That’s the stuff!” cried Jack. “That’s what we want to know. But aren’t you coming to the lecture?”

“All right!” called his chum, knowingly. “I’m on. See you later,” and he ran off. Jack turned to Bruce.

Over the face of the Senior had come a curious change. His trouble seemed to have vanished.

“Tom—Tom Fairfield!” he exclaimed. “You’ve done me a service I can never repay. Look here, this is a forgery!”

“Yes, that’s never my signature to that promissory note! In fact, the whole note is forged. It’s a little like my writing, but I know I never signed it. Say, I’m free, now!”

“You’d better tell me more about it,” suggested our hero. “If I’m to have it out with Skeel for you, I’d better know all the facts.”

“Sure. I’ll tell you. It won’t take long. I made an idiot of myself, to be brief. You know my father is well off, and he makes me a good allowance. One of his rules, though, and one I never broke but once, was never to gamble, and another was never to sign a note. I broke both.

“Last year when I was a Junior I got in with a fast set of fellows. We didn’t do anything very bad, but one night there was a game of chance in one of the rooms. I was urged to play, and, not wanting to be a kill-joy, I foolishly agreed. I knew dad would never forgive me if he found it out, but I didn’t think he would. He had said I would have to leave school, and go to work, if I gambled, or signed a note.

“Well, I lost, as most anyone will if he keeps it up long enough. I lost all my ready money, and I got in debt. I had no way of paying, and the Junior to whom I was indebted suggested that I give him my I. O. U. for the amount. I did, scribbling a promissory note on a piece of paper. The sum was quite large, and I see now what a chump I was. But I expected to be able to pay in time, and the fellow said there was no hurry.

“But when my next allowance came I went out on a lark, and we did some damage that we had to pay for. This took all the cash I had, and I owed more. I dared not ask for additional money, for I did not want to explain to dad how foolish I had been on two occasions. I went to the Junior, told him my predicament, and he kindly offered to wait for his debt, though the note was overdue.

“Then, most unexpectedly, this Junior’s father died, and left him a lot of money. He left school in a hurry to arrange his affairs, and go abroad. The night before he left he wrote me a letter saying he had destroyed the promissory note, and said that I need not pay it, as it was a foolish debt at best.

“That made me happy until all at once the storm broke. Just before the close of school last term Professor Skeel sent for me. He told me he had a note of mine, and demanded payment. I was dumbfounded, and said I didn’t know what he meant.

“He explained that before leaving, this junior, whose name I won’t mention, had sold my promissory note to him, and that as he now owned it I must pay it to him. I said he was mistaken, and told about the letter I had.”

“Why didn’t you show it to him?” asked Tom. “That would have been good evidence.”

“Very foolishly I had destroyed it as soon as I read of my release from the obligation. I did not want a scrap of paper around to remind me of it. So I had no proof, and Skeel only laughed at me. He said he held the note, and he showed it to me hastily, but I thought it was the real thing. He threatened, if I did not pay, to tell dad, and I knew what that meant, for, somehow, Skeel had learned about the game of chance.

“And that was my trouble. It’s been hanging over me since last term and Skeel has been at me several times this term to pay up. He’s been putting the screws on harder and harder, and today was the last day. If I couldn’t pay he was to send word to dad, and demand the money from him. I did try to raise the cash to settle, and I’ve paid something on account, but I never could raise enough, for something always seemed to happen to use up my allowance, and I had no good excuse for asking for more.”

“Why didn’t you write to this Junior, asking if it was true that he had destroyed your note, as he said in his letter?” Tom inquired.

“I did, but I never could reach him. He went traveling in Europe. But it’s all right now. I see the whole game. The Junior did tear up my note, but probably Skeel found the pieces, somehow. He made a forged copy of the note, enlarged the amount, forged my name to it, and the Junior’s endorsement, and relied on my fear of publicity to make me pay. But I can now see that this is a fake!” and Bruce held up the document.

“Then the sooner we tell Skeel so to his face the better,” said Tom, firmly. “Come on, we’ll beard the tyrant in his den!”

“You sent for me, Professor Skeel,” began Bruce, when he and Tom were admitted to the study of the unpleasant Latin teacher.

“I did, but I have no desire to see this young man!” and he glared at Tom. “I demand that he withdraw at once.”

“And I refuse!” exclaimed Tom. “I am here to represent Mr. Bennington, as—er—a sort of counsel.”

“Then he has told you of his folly, eh?” sneered the professor. “There is no longer need for me to keep quiet about it. Are you ready to pay that note, Bennington, or shall I inform your father about your debts of honor? Remember I came into possession of the note honestly, as the third party, and the law will recognize my claim. You are not a minor, and you can not plead that. I bought the note from the student to whom you gave it. Now, are you ready to pay, or shall I expose you?”

“Yes, but what is that to you? I can produce it when the time comes,” and the professor tapped a black wallet lying on the table before him. It was the one Tom had found and returned.

“You need not trouble,” said our hero quietly. “We can produce the note now. Here it is—the forged note!” and he held it in view, but safely out of reach of the professor, who had sprung to his feet in rage and amazement.

“It was there—it’s here now,” said Tom, quietly. “And if you make any more threats, or attempt in any way to annoy my friend here, I shall lay the whole matter before Doctor Meredith,” went on the calm Freshman. “I don’t know but it is my duty to do it anyhow,” he added. “Forging notes and names is a serious crime.”

Professor Skeel sank back in his chair, his face the color of chalk. His lips moved, but, for a moment, no sound came forth. Then he hoarsely whispered:

“Don’t—don’t expose me—I—I’ll apologize. It was all—all a mistake. I—I—!”

He faltered, and Tom, not wishing to prolong the unpleasant scene, said to Bruce:

The two walked out, silently, Tom handing the forged note to his friend. No one had a claim on him now.

“Tom Fairfield, you have saved me from disgrace!” said Bruce feelingly, and the two clasped hands in a firm grip.

CHAPTER XXV
A MISSING PROFESSOR

“Young gentlemen,” began Doctor Meredith, as he faced the assembled Freshmen class in the chapel, where he had requested that they meet him, “this is a solemn occasion. I hardly know what to say to you. Never, in the history of Elmwood Hall, have we gone through what has transpired in the last few days. We have never had a strike, nor an occasion for one. We have never had a burning in effigy.

“I am at a loss what to say. I have tried to sit as an impartial judge in this matter, and so far, I have to admit that there is some right on both sides, and a great deal of wrong on one side—which side is yet to be determined.”

Tom wanted to say something, but he refrained. The doctor was speaking too solemnly to be interrupted.

“I have considered this matter from all standpoints,” went on the head master, “and I have tried to see my duty. I want to do what is right by all. For that purpose I have asked you to meet here, and I will now go a step further and will send for Professor Skeel. Perhaps, when we have a mutual conference, all differences will be explained, a new system can be devised and all will go on peacefully and quietly, as it always has at Elmwood Hall.

“I will ask our worthy janitor, Mr. Demosthenes Miller to step over to Professor Skeel’s house, and request him to come here.”

It was about an hour after Tom’s dramatic interview with the Latin instructor. Our hero and Bruce had parted, Tom to go to Latin class, and, later, with all the Freshmen in that division, to attend the special meeting.

While the janitor was gone there was a painful silence. Then the footsteps of the returning messenger were heard. He came in alone.

“Yes, sir. Disappeared—vanesco as the classic Latin puts it. His servant just informed me that the professor packed up a few of his belongings, and went to town to catch a train. He will have his other things sent after him. So he will not be here. He also left word that he would not come back.”

For a moment there was a silence. Then came a long breath of relief from the students. It was echoed by Doctor Meredith.

“This—er—this—rather simplifies matters,” he said, a bit nervously. “I had it in mind to have Professor Skeel beg your pardon, and you, as a class, to beg his. Then matters would have gone on as before. But this simplifies matters. Professor Skeel, it seems, is no longer a member of the faculty of Elmwood Hall. I do not understand it, but I fear he has left for good.”

“And I know it—I don’t fear it,” murmured Tom. “I’m glad of it, too. It saves me the disagreeable duty of branding him as a forger. All’s well that ends well? I suppose.”

“The purpose of this meeting having been accomplished,” went on Doctor Meredith, “you may consider yourselves excused. You will report for Latin recitation to Professor Hammond, until further notice, and I will engage a new classical professor as soon as possible.”

“Three big ones for the Freshmen class,” called Tom, when the first two had been given.

“And three cheers for Tom Fairfield, the best leader in Elmwood Hall!” shouted Jack Fitch, swinging his cap.

That the roof remained on the chapel after all that excitement speaks a good word for the workmen who placed it there. Certainly such cheering was never before heard in the old school.

“No more Skeel!” exulted Jack, as he walked out of chapel, his arm linked in Tom’s.

“Nothing but fun from now on,” declared Tom, “and it will soon be spring and baseball.”

“I don’t know. I’ve got to wait and see how dad and mother make out in Australia, I suppose. I must write and tell them all that happened here.”

What Tom did when school closed may be learned by reading the next volume of this series, to be called, “Tom Fairfield at Sea; or, The Wreck of the Silver Star.”

“And so Skeel forged that note?” asked Jack, when he and his chum were in their room that night.

“Yes, it was a rank copy of Bruce’s signature. And he had raised the amount, too. I guess he was after money, all right.”

And this was so. Bruce was a different lad, from then on. His face was always smiling, as it had been before his trouble.

“I never can thank you, Tom, for what you did for me,” he said. “Only for you Skeel would have carried out his threat, and his forgery never would have been discovered in time to prevent my disgrace. But I’ve made a clean breast of it to dad, and though he gave me a hard calling down, he’s forgiven me. Oh, I feel so glad!”

“And so do I,” added Tom. “We’re going to have a new Latin prof. I understand. A jolly young fellow.”

“That’s good. Here comes Demy. I wonder what he wants?” spoke Bruce, as the studious janitor approached, with a book as usual.

“I fear I have made a grave mistake,” said Mr. Miller. “In announcing the disappearance of Professor Skeel the other day I used the Latin word vanesco. I see now that I used the wrong tense. Will you kindly set me right.”

“Demy!” exclaimed Tom, “if you will kindly follow the example of Professor Skeel, and vamoose, it will be all the same. We’ll give you a Latin lesson later. And, in the meanwhile, here is a dollar to buy a dictionary,” and Tom passed over a bill to the man who was always a friend to the students.

As for Professor Skeel he was not heard of again for some time. But the lads of Elmwood Hall did not care. They had Tom Fairfield, who became more of a leader than ever after his successful strike. As for Sam Heller, he led a miserable life as a Freshman—ignored by nearly all.

“Come on in to town,” invited Bruce that night. “I’ll treat you fellows to a good feed, Tom. And I’ve fixed it with Merry, so we won’t have to hurry back.”

“Good!” exclaimed our hero, and on his way with his chums to a good time, we will say good-bye to him for a time.

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The Saddle Boys of the Rockies
The Saddle Boys in the Grand Canyon
The Saddle Boys on the Plains
The Saddle Boys at Circle Ranch
The Saddle Boys on Mexican Trails

Dave Dashaway the Young Aviator
Dave Dashaway and His Hydroplane
Dave Dashaway and His Giant Airship
Dave Dashaway Around the World
Dave Dashaway: Air Champion

The Speedwell Boys on Motorcycles
The Speedwell Boys and Their Racing Auto
The Speedwell Boys and Their Power Launch
The Speedwell Boys in a Submarine
The Speedwell Boys and Their Ice Racer

Tom Fairfield’s School Days
Tom Fairfield at Sea
Tom Fairfield in Camp
Tom Fairfield’s Pluck and Luck
Tom Fairfield’s Hunting Trip

Fred Fenton the Pitcher
Fred Fenton in the Line
Fred Fenton on the Crew
Fred Fenton on the Track
Fred Fenton: Marathon Runner

Stories of the great west, with cattle ranches as a setting, related in such a style as to captivate the hearts of all boys.

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CHAPTER XXIII TOM’S FIND

CHAPTER XXIV THE SAVING OF BRUCE

CHAPTER XXV A MISSING PROFESSOR

CHAPTER XXIII
TOM’S FIND

CHAPTER XXIV
THE SAVING OF BRUCE

CHAPTER XXV
A MISSING PROFESSOR