It was nearly five o’clock in the morning when they threw down their cards and started to make preparations for bed. Jack wondered anxiously what disposition would be made of him, but he was not left long in doubt. He was told to keep his seat in the chair and quickly and expertly the larger of the men bound his hands together behind the back of the chair. His feet were then tied firmly to the legs of the chair.
“Now I guess you stay put,” the man grunted as he straightened up and surveyed the job.
Jack had not uttered a word while he was being tied. He knew that a plea for mercy would be a waste of breath, so he kept quiet. After stuffing the stove full of wood they extinguished the light and the boy could hear them as they tumbled into the bunks, and a few minutes later the sound of heavy breathing told him that they were asleep.
For a time he strained at the rope in an effort to free himself, but it had been tied by a man skilled in the art, and all he accomplished was to chafe his wrists until it seemed as though they were rubbed raw. Realizing that he was causing himself pain and getting no results, he soon gave up the effort.
“Perhaps Bob could do it, but I can’t,” he thought.
Then he fell to wondering what object the men could have in bringing him there. Were they going to hold him for ransom? Or were they merely trying to save themselves from arrest for attempting to burn the bunk house? These questions and many others ran through his mind as he sat there in the darkness listening to the heavy breathing and snoring of the two Frenchmen.
How slowly the time passed. It seemed hours before the first hint of the approaching dawn crept in at the windows. The fire in the stove had been out for some time and the room was beginning to grow cold. He had tried to sleep, but his position in the chair was too uncomfortable to permit it and besides his arms were paining him severely due to the strain on them.
Slowly the light grew stronger until finally a beam of sunshine stole in at the east window, telling him that the weather had cleared. He knew that it must be nearly eight o’clock, but the two men gave no sign of waking. He was now thoroughly chilled through, and his arms ached as he had never believed it possible for arms to ache. Would they never wake and set him free? Another hour passed and still another. The pain was rapidly becoming unbearable and he had about made up his mind to shout, regardless of consequences, when he heard one of them stir. A loud yawn followed, and a moment later Pierre crawled out of the lower bunk. He stretched himself and came over to where Jack was sitting.
“You cold?” he asked with a broad grin.
“Rather,” Jack replied.
“Dat’s all right. I untie you, you mak’ fire queek,” and a moment later the boy was beating his arms about his body to restore the arrested circulation.
By the time he had the fire roaring up the chimney the other man was up, and soon the two sat down to breakfast. As before, Jack was forced to wait until they had finished, then he was told that he could go to it. He went without hesitation. The food was good and there was plenty of it and he made a hearty meal.
“They don’t intend to starve me at any rate,” he thought as he swallowed the last mouthful.
“Now you wash up and then you can sleep you want to,” Pierre growled as he got out the pack of cards.
Jack made short work of the dishes, and as soon as he had finished he tumbled into the lower bunk and, pulling the heavy blanket over him, he was almost immediately lost to the world and to his troubles as well.
When he awoke it was dark. For a moment he was uncertain where he was, but as memory returned he lay quiet and listened. Not a sound broke the deathlike stillness of the room.
“They must have gone out or I could at least hear them breathe,” he thought.
After waiting a few minutes longer, he crept softly from the bunk and carefully groped his way to the stove. It was stone cold.
“They must have been gone for some time,” he thought as he took from his pocket a small flashlight. “It’s funny they didn’t search me to see if I had any shooting irons,” he whispered to himself as he crossed the room to the closet where he found a small tin box filled with matches. “Guess they were too stupid to think of it,” he concluded, lighting the lamp on the table.
He next started a fire in the stove, for the room was already decidedly chilly, and as soon as it was going in good shape he sat down in front of it and started to think what his next move should be. Had the men really left for good, or were they playing some trick on him? were the questions which raced through his mind. Should he leave or stay? On the one hand he knew that he was miles from the nearest settlement or camp, and he very much doubted his ability to find his way through the woods in the darkness. He well knew what it meant to be lost in the Maine woods at that time of year. On the other hand, he shuddered at the thought of being tied up again to pass another night of agony. In fact the thought was unbearable.
He got up, and, going to the door, tried to open it, only to find that it was fastened on the outside. An examination of the windows showed that they were nailed down in such a way that it would be impossible to get them open without tools.
“Wonder if they thought I wouldn’t know enough to smash one of them if I wanted to get out,” he grinned as he went back to the stove. “I’ll wait long enough to get something to eat anyhow,” he decided, as he glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearly half-past six.
In the closet he found a package of flapjack flour and several cans of condensed milk. There was a little water left in the pail, and diluting the milk he soon had a batch of batter ready for the iron, and by the time the coffee had come to a boil he had eight richly browned cakes ready.
By the time he had finished his supper he had decided on his course of action. He would smash a window and climbing out hide in a tree from which he could watch the cabin. If the men had not returned by nine o’clock he would return and spend the night there. If on the other hand he should see them coming back, he would wait until they were inside and then steal away through the woods, preferring to take his chances in the forest rather than to be tied up again. But he had waited too long already. He had selected a stick from the pile in the corner and was on the point of attacking the window, when he heard someone at the door. A log was snatched away and the two men entered, barely giving him time to throw the stick back on the pile.
“You geet supper ready for us ver’ queek,” Pierre snarled as he flung his cap on the floor and sat down in front of the stove.
Knowing the folly of resisting, Jack made haste to obey and did his best hoping that, if he pleased them, they might not tie him up. But in this he was doomed to disappointment for, soon after eleven o’clock, having tired of playing cards, the big Frenchman tied him to the chair in much the same way as before. But this time, remembering a trick which Bob had taught him, he held his muscles as tense as possible while the rope was being tied. To his joy he found, when he relaxed, that the rope was much looser than on the previous occasion. He waited until heavy breathing told him that his captors were asleep and then began to try to work his hands free. For all of a half hour he struggled and tears of disappointment came to his eyes as gradually he realized that he could not do it. He could almost do it but not quite, and finally was forced to give up the attempt. But his position was much more comfortable than it had been before, for the looseness of the rope allowed him to rest his arms by moving them slightly when they began to ache.
Slowly the hours dragged past until, when he thought it must be nearly morning, he fell into a troubled sleep.
The dawn was just beginning to steal in at the window when he awoke with a start. The room was cold and he was chilled through. His arms felt numb and he restored the circulation by moving them slowly up and down as far as the rope would permit. An hour passed and then another and still no signs of life from the sleepers. Would they never wake and untie him?
He had again about reached the limit of his endurance when, happening to glance toward the window on the east side of the room, he saw something which made his heart leap. A face was pressed close against the window pane. A second glance revealed the fact that it was the face of an Indian and, in a moment, to his great delight, he recognized Kernertok.
As the eyes of the Indian rested on the boy bound to the chair, a look first of amazement and then of anger spread over his face. He stared at him for a moment and then disappeared, but a moment later Jack heard the door, which had not been fastened, slowly pushed open. Noiselessly the old man stole across the room and the next moment the rope which bound his wrists was cut and his arms were free. To free his feet was but the work of a moment, and standing up Jack placed his finger on his lips and pointed toward the bunks.
The Indian motioned for the boy to follow him, and was starting for the door when suddenly, without warning, Pierre sprang from his bunk and confronted them. As the Frenchman saw the Indian he let loose a loud cry and sprang for him. Kernertok met him with a blow on the chin which staggered him but did not knock him down, and in another second they were rolling on the floor, first one on top and then the other.
The cry had wakened the other man, and by the time Pierre and Kernertok had clinched, he was out of his bunk and rushing for Jack. But the latter, as soon as he had seen what had happened, had stepped quickly back to the pile of wood and picked up a round stick about two inches in diameter and eighteen inches long. Seeing the man coming for him, he did not hesitate but hurled the stick with all his might. It caught the Frenchman full on the forehead and he went down in a heap as though he had been shot.
“One out,” Jack muttered, as he turned to the two struggling on the floor.
He knew that the Indian was strong and wiry, but feared that he would be no match for the giant Frenchman should the latter succeed in getting a decisive hold. He quickly picked up the stick and was about to go to the old man’s aid when suddenly the latter broke away and sprang to his feet. Pierre, with a cry of rage, followed suit. But before he had time to spring again at the old man, an unexpected ally entered the fight. There was a fierce growl and a gray streak flashed through the air. Pierre went down, thrown off his balance by the impact. Vainly he tried with all his might to keep the huge jaws from his throat, as man and dog rolled over and over on the floor. But the dog had secured a hold and was not to be shaken off. Fortunate indeed was it for Pierre that Kernertok had taught Sicum not to kill, else the man’s throat would have been torn into slits by the sharp teeth. As it was the dog bit just hard enough to keep his hold. But it was plenty hard enough to take all the fight out of the Frenchman, and when, a moment later, Kernertok dragged the dog away, he made no attempt to rise.
“Good old Sicum,” Jack said as he threw his arms about the dog’s neck.
Sicum gave vent to a low whine as if to say that he was glad to have been of service.
“Git rope,” Kernertok ordered, and in another moment Pierre was tied hand and foot. He made no resistance as the dog stood close by showing his teeth.
The man’s throat, although bleeding, was but slightly torn, and after a hasty examination they turned their attention to the other man who still lay where he had fallen. He was breathing heavily and, as Jack bent over him, he slowly opened his eyes. He too had had all desire for fighting taken out of him, and offered no resistance as Kernertok bound his hands and feet.
A search through their pockets revealed no weapon more formidable than a pocket knife.
In a few words Jack told his friend what had happened and Kernertok in turn told how he was returning from a trip to a town in the northern part of the state and had just happened to glance in at the window in passing.
“It was a mighty lucky thing for me that you did,” Jack declared as he finished.
“What for you tie up young white boy?” the Indian asked Pierre, stepping close to where he was lying.
“We ’fraid he tell police we try burn bunk house, so we tak’ him off. No know what do wid heem,” the man replied sulkily. “We no mean hurt heem.”
“I thought probably that was it,” Jack declared.
After a short talk they decided to set the men free and leave them there.
“We be heap safe, they got no gun and we got Sicum,” the Indian declared after a thorough search had failed to reveal any firearms in the cabin.
“You follow us an’ Sicum kill you heap quick,” Kernertok warned them as he cut the rope which bound the smaller Frenchman’s hands together.
Leaving him to free his feet and to untie Pierre, they started for Kernertok’s cabin which he told Jack was about twenty miles to the southwest.
Bob slowly and painfully groped his way back to consciousness. It seemed as though his head was about twice its natural size and it ached with a dull heavy pain. With the return of his senses remembrance gradually drifted back and he slowly opened his eyes. Now he remembered opening the door and wondering if anyone was in the room. As he carefully felt of the back of his head a lump nearly the size of a hen’s egg thoroughly convinced him that there had been.
“You feel better, oui?”
He turned his head at the question and saw that Jacques was standing by the side of the bed on which he was lying. A small lamp, on the table at the opposite side of the room, illuminated the surroundings sufficiently for him to see that he was in the room which he now remembered to have entered.
“I—I guess so,” he said, swinging his feet to the floor and raising himself on one elbow. “I think I’m all here, but you can never tell,” he added, lying back again as his head began to swim. “But how’d you get in, Jacques?” he asked feebly.
“Heem let me in,” the Frenchman replied, pointing toward the foot of the bed.
Bob followed with his eyes and, for the first time, saw that a man sat in a rocking chair close to the wall of the room. A second glance convinced him that the man was Big Ben Donahue, but he did not look nearly as big now as usual, as he slouched in the chair.
What means of persuasion the Frenchman had used in gaining admittance to the office Bob did not ask, and Jacques volunteered no information on the subject.
As the brain cleared and the pain grew less intense, Bob noticed the look of dejection which overspread the man’s face. He looked, as he afterward told Jack, as though he had lost his last friend.
“Eef you can mak’ walk we go now,” Jacques said in a low tone, as he motioned for him to try if he was strong enough to stand.
Bob nodded assent and the Frenchman took hold of his arm and helped him to his feet. His head swam, but he gritted his teeth determined not to yield, and soon the dizziness began to pass.
“But Jack?” he questioned, glancing toward Big Ben.
“Heem not here. We go queek. I tell story on the way,” Jacques whispered, taking him by the arm and leading him from the room.
To Bob’s great surprise Big Ben offered not the slightest objection to their leaving. He had spoken no word since Bob’s return to consciousness. In fact he seemed totally indifferent as to their movements. Bob could not understand it, but having implicit confidence in Jacques, he followed him without a word.
The cold air seemed to clear the last remnant of cobwebs from his brain and as they made their way, slowly at first, through the deep woods, his strength rapidly returned. His head still ached, but the pain was slowly growing less and he did not mind it.
For some distance neither spoke a word, Bob being aware that he needed to save his breath and the Frenchman wise enough to encourage him to do so. But when they were about half way back to their camp, curiosity and worry got the better of him, and he stopped and leaned against the big tree.
“Jacques, was it Ben who hit me?” he asked.
“Oui, heem lam you one, all right.”
“Lam is about the word I guess,” Bob laughed. “But I don’t suppose I can blame him. I suppose he took me for a burglar. But what about Jack? You spoke back there as if you had found out something about him.”
“Oui, I tink two mans geet Jack. They try burn bunk house. Jack heem see ’em. They scared. Not know what do so take heem off up north. But I tink they no hurt heem.” Jacques hastened to add, as an exclamation of fear burst from Bob’s lips.
“But, Jacques, how did you find out all this? I don’t understand it.”
“Ben, heem tell me.”
“But how in the world did you make him do it? He isn’t in the habit of giving away that kind of information. And I never saw him act so funny as he did tonight. What does it mean?”
For a moment Jacques seemed to be lost in deep thought, then he said slowly: “I no can tell now. Sometime mebby, not now.”
Bob saw that his friend had a good reason for keeping his secret, and asked him no more questions about the man.
“All right, Jacques,” he declared. “I know you’d tell me if you could, but what are we going to do about Jack? He must be found.”
“Oui, we find heem. First geet home, geet rest, then go. But,” he added, reaching his hand around to his hip pocket, “I forgeet. Here what we came for,” and he held out a small square bottle.
Bob seized the bottle with a cry of joy and saw that it was about a third filled with a fine white powder.
“Where did you find it?” he asked eagerly.
“Heem gave it to me.”
“You mean Ben?”
“Oui.”
“But how in the name of—” Bob began and then stopped. “All right, old man, I won’t ask any questions,” he said, as he put the bottle in his pocket and started off again.
He had noticed that there was no label on the bottle and was somewhat disappointed. Still he realized that, if the bottle contained arsenic, the fact that it had been found in Donahue’s possession would be an important piece of evidence against him.
It was nearly three o’clock when they reached the office and, in spite of Bob’s assertion that he was all right and wanted to start at once on the search for Jack, the Frenchman insisted that he get a few hours’ sleep. Seeing that he was determined, Bob gave up the argument, knowing in his heart that the Frenchman was right.
“Eet ver’ dark now. Hard to follow trail. Mak’ bon time when light come,” was the argument which caused Bob to yield.
In the little bedroom which opened out of the office, they threw themselves on the cots without removing any of their clothes, and pulled a heavy blanket over them. Bob was not long in finding out that he was more tired than he had thought, and in a very short time he was sound asleep.
It was light when Bob awoke. He glanced over toward the other cot and seeing that it was empty he sprang to his feet and rushed out into the office.
A fire was roaring in the stove before which sat Jacques and Tom Bean.
“Sure and it’s meself thot would like ter know what yer mane by going off in the night without lettin’ me know about it,” he demanded in a stern voice; but the twinkle, which he was unable to keep out of his eyes, told Bob that Jacques had already explained things to him, and that he was not angry.
“When do we start?” he asked.
“Jest as soon as we get something forninst our belts,” Tom replied. “Come on wid yez. Breakfast is ready and we’ll be on the way in no time.”
They made short work of the meal and in less than twenty minutes they were out back of the bunk house searching for the trail. It was hard to pick up, as about three inches of snow had fallen during the early morning hours, but soon Bob’s sharp eyes spied a broken end of a branch and a few feet away another.
“Come on,” he shouted. “They headed north.”
Traces of the trail were few and far between, and they were often obliged to stop and hunt for some time before they could pick up the trail again, and any but skilled woodsmen would have been utterly at sea. But about ten o’clock, after they had covered about twelve miles, they lost the trail and, search as they would, they were unable to find it.
“It’s only about three miles from here to Kernertok’s cabin,” Bob said after they had been searching for all of a quarter of an hour. “What’s the matter with going there and getting him and Sicum? I’ll bet he can pick up the trail.”
But Jacques shook his head.
“Dog no geet scent after snow,” he declared.
“You don’t know Sicum,” Bob said. “That dog would smell Jack, if he knew that his life might depend on it, through a foot of snow. What say, Tom?”
“Sure and it’s meself as thinks the bye’s right. It’s worth a try anyhow.”
So they struck off to the east and in about three quarters of an hour the small log cabin hove in sight.
“Gee, but I don’t believe he’s home,” Bob said in a tone filled with disappointment, as he saw that no smoke was coming from the chimney.
A moment later his fear was confirmed when they found the door locked and repeated knocking brought no response.
“Now what’ll we do?” he asked, leaning against the cabin.
“Go back and try to pick up the trail,” Tom proposed, but Jacques shook his head.
“She no bon,” he declared. “No can find heem.”
“What then?” Bob asked.
“’Bout twenty mile up north ees Lake Chesuncook. I tink mebby they mak’ for dat lake. Cabin on shore. Mebby we find heem there. We try, oui?”
They were about to adopt this plan when suddenly Bob held up his hand.
“Listen,” he whispered.
All strained their ears.
“Hear that?”
“I don’t hear nothin’.” Tom replied; but Jacques, keener of ear, said:
“I hear dog.”
“And it’s Sicum,” Bob declared.
In a few moments the sound came again and this time it was heard plainly by them all. Bob put his fingers to his mouth and a shrill whistle sounded through the still forest. The sound had hardly died away when his quick ears caught the faint sound of an answering whistle.
“Hurrah! That’s Jack,” he shouted, dancing about in his excitement.
Quickly he repeated the whistle and this time it was answered much more plainly.
“Come on. Let’s go meet them,” he cried, and started off on the run without waiting to see if the others were following.
He met the dog first, and stopped to pet the animal, which almost upset him as he leaped upon him with short barks of joy.
He had hardly started off again before he caught sight of Jack and in another moment the brothers were in each other’s arms. Kernertok was not far behind and came in for his full share of the joyous greeting. Then Tom and Jacques came up and the reunion was, as Jack declared, complete.
They were soon in the little cabin belonging to the Indian, and a few minutes later a fire was sending its cheerful heat through the room. While Kernertok hustled about preparing a meal, the others were busy telling their stories. First Jack gave an account of what had befallen him, and as soon as he had finished, Bob told of the visit to the camp of their enemy in their search for him.
“But what happened to Big—” Jack began, but a warning glance from Bob caused him to stop in the middle of the sentence, and the others did not appear to notice the interruption.
In an amazingly short time the Indian had a meal of bacon and eggs, together with hot biscuits and coffee on the table, and it was a very merry party that sat down and gave thanks to the Giver of all good things.
Soon after three o’clock they said goodbye to Kernertok and started for camp, reaching there just in time for supper. Jacques had declared that he must be off early the following morning for the far North, and although the boys coaxed him to stay another day, he stuck to his purpose.
They were up early the next morning to see him off, and the first sign of the coming day was just showing in the east as the big Frenchman swung his long lash with a crack like a pistol shot over the heads of his huskies.
“Au revoir,” he shouted, as he fell in behind the sled. “I see you in der spring, oui?”
“You bet. Goodbye, Goodbye,” both boys called after him, and the next moment the vast forest had swallowed him.
“There goes a friend worth having,” Bob declared, as they turned back to the office.
“One in a thousand,” Jack added, pushing open the door.
A few moments later, when they were by themselves in the office, Tom having gone to the horse shed to give some orders to Sam, Jack said:
“I say, Bob, what was the idea in hushing me up so mysteriously yesterday, when I started to ask you about Ben Donahue?”
“I’ll be jiggered if I know what it’s all about,” Bob replied slowly. “I never was more surprised in my life than I was when I saw Ben sitting there in that chair as meek as Moses and then some. He didn’t so much as open his mouth and acted for all the world like a whipped puppy. I asked Jacques what it all meant, but he was about as communicative about it as a clam, and I didn’t really find out a thing. He said mebby he could tell me sometime. Do you know what I think? For some reason Ben is afraid of him. I don’t mean physically, but Jacques has got something on him sure as you’re alive, and it must be something pretty serious to make him come across with that bottle of arsenic; that is, if that’s what it contains, and we’ll know in a minute if it is.”
He drew the bottle from his pocket and, removing the stopper, dropped a little of the white powder on the hot stove. Instantly a white cloud arose.
“It’s the stuff all right,” he declared, as the well-known odor of garlic filled his nostrils.
“What are you going to do with it?” Jack asked.
“Take it down home with us and give it to father,” replied Bob as he put the bottle back in his pocket. “I don’t know whether he’ll want to make a charge against Ben or not. You know he’s apt to be pretty easy when it comes to a thing like that, and—”
“Anyhow,” Jack interrupted, “I guess Ben’ll think twice before he tries any more of his tricks to keep back father’s work now that he knows we have that bottle. Do you know, Bob,” he continued, “when Jacques got that bottle he saved the day for father, so far as that contract is concerned. At least that’s my opinion. The way things were going it was only a question of time when Ben would have hit on something which would have spilled the beans in good shape.”
“I guess you’re right about that,” Bob agreed. “He came pretty near doing it when he sent those fellows up to set fire to the bunk house. If they had succeeded it would have set us back a week or more. Father’s got you to thank for that.”
Jack’s face flushed at the praise and he tried to disclaim the credit, but Bob insisted that it was due him and finally he let it go at that.
“Do you think father’ll have any trouble in proving his title to the tract?” he asked.
“Don’t see why he should,” Bob replied. “He’s got the deed and it ought to be clear sailing I should think.”
“Well, it’s been a bully vacation,” Jack declared as he got up from his chair. “I suppose we’ve got to go tomorrow, but I sure do hate to leave the woods. But of course we want to spend a few days with the folks before we go back to the Fortress.”
“Sure we do. But come on and make it snappy,” Bob cried as he pulled on his mittens. “I feel like the fellow who put the pep in pepper this morning, and I want one more whack at those big spruces before we leave.”
So they spent the day with the crew, adding log after log to those already piled up on the shore of the lake, waiting for the breaking up of the ice in the spring.
The evening they spent with the men in the bunk house, telling stories and singing songs to the accompaniment of Bob’s guitar.
All too soon bedtime came, and they climbed into their bunks for their last sleep in the big woods until spring.
Tom was to drive them down to Greenville in time to catch the noon train for the south, and after breakfast all the men gathered about them to say goodbye, and tears shone in more than one pair of eyes as they shook hands with each man in turn.
“You mak’ der new man of me. De bon Dieu bless you,” said big Jean Larue, the tears streaming down his cheeks, as he gripped Bob’s hand as though he never wanted to let it go.
They reached Greenville just in time to get a bite to eat at the hotel before train time.
“We’ll be back in time for the river drive,” Bob shouted to Tom, as he waved his hand from the rear platform as the train pulled out from the station.
The next volume in this series will be “The Golden Boys on the River Drive.”
THE END
If you have enjoyed reading about the adventures of the new friends you have made in this book and would like to read more clean, wholesome stories of their entertaining experiences, turn to the book jacket—on the inside of it, a comprehensive list of Burt’s fine series of carefully selected books for young people has been placed for your convenience.
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In this series we follow the fortunes of two American lads unable to leave Europe after war is declared. They meet the soldiers of the Allies, and decide to cast their lot with them. Their experiences and escapes are many, and furnish plenty of good, healthy action that every boy loves.
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Frank Chadwick and Jack Templeton, young American lads, meet each other in an unusual way soon after the declaration of war. Circumstances place them on board the British cruiser, “The Sylph,” and from there on, they share adventures with the sailors of the Allies. Ensign Robert L. Drake, the author, is an experienced naval officer, and he describes admirably the many exciting adventures of the two boys.
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CAPTAIN JACK LORIMER; or, The Young Athlete of Millvale High.
Jack Lorimer is a fine example of the all-around American high-school boys. His fondness for clean, honest sport of all kinds will strike a chord of sympathy among athletic youths.
JACK LORIMER’S CHAMPIONS; or, Sports on Land and Lake.
There is a lively story woven in with the athletic achievements, which are all right, since the book has been O. K’d. by Chadwick, the Nestor of American Sporting journalism.
JACK LORIMER’S HOLIDAYS; or, Millvale High in Camp.
It would be well not to put this book into a boy’s hands until the chores are finished, otherwise they might be neglected.
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Jack and some friends he makes crowd innumerable happenings into an exciting freshman year at one of the leading Eastern colleges. The book is typical of the American college boy’s life, and there is a lively story, interwoven with feats on the gridiron, hockey, basketball and other clean honest sports for which Jack Lorimer stands.