The Mark of the Knife Part 9

Snubby looked at the t.i.tle and saw that it was "The Mystery of the Million Dollar Diamond."

"It does a man good sometimes to exercise his brains on meesterious happenin's," said old Jerry, "and you know we got plenty o' reason to study up things o' that sort."

"Yes, we have; but I'm not half as much interested in that stuff just now as I am in the Jefferson game. Who do you think's going to win?"

Old Jerry laid the book carefully aside on his table, looked at his questioner seriously for a moment and said:

"I got my ijeers about that too, but it don't do no good to tell everythin' that is millin' aroun' in your head. Now I once heared of a feller who had a job forecastin' the weather for a noospaper, and he'd allus say right out _positive_ whether it 'ud rain or s.h.i.+ne--it was allus goin' to be bright and clear or dark and stormy--and along come a spell o' weather and every day for a week he said it was going to rain, and I'll be singed if there was a cloud in the sky all through them seven days--and the feller lost his job. Now the way I look at the game is this: we got a big chance to win and we got a big chance to lose, and if we do the things we oughter do it's goin' to be bright and fair, and if we do the things we hadn't oughter do it's goin' to be dark and stormy,--and I got my ijeers which is which. But, as I said, it don't do too much good to tell _everythin'_ you know."

"It'll be an awful fight," said Snubby; "a terrible fight every single minute of the time, and I'll bet you two cents to a tin whistle that when that Jefferson crowd of heavy-weights gets through they'll know they've been playing somebody. I wish there were something I could do.

I'm so doggone restless that I don't believe I'll sleep a wink to-night."

Old Jerry gave voice to a cackle of mirth. "Bet you'll sleep all right,"

he said. "I never yet seen a feller like you that didn't sleep when the time come for it, and as for helping, I guess you'll do your part if you keep on believin' that Ridgley School can't be beat and when the game is goin' on you yell your dumdest to encourage the team."

"Well," said Snubby, "I suppose you want to go on readin' that lurid-looking book of yours, so I'll be going up to my room, I guess."

"It ain't so lurid," said Jerry, "but it's interestin' 'cause it's kind o' teachin' me how to put two and two together so's they'll figger up to make four, if you know what I mean, and then I'm a mite stirred up myself about that game to-morrer and it's quietin' to my nerves."

So Snubby Turner left his friend in the little bas.e.m.e.nt room, walked quietly up the stairs to his room and made up his mind that the best thing for him to do was to turn in.

Ma.s.s meetings, preliminary games and final practice were over and everything now awaited the climax of the season. By half-past nine lights were going out in the dormitories and presently quiet reigned over the white buildings on the hill and the stars, sending down their radiance from a clear sky, presaged fair weather for the great contest.

The light was out in Teeny-bits' room and no one in the school--with the exception of two persons--doubted that the smallest member of the eleven was not sleeping soundly beneath the roof of Gannett Hall.

Sat.u.r.day morning dawned as fair as the fairest day in the year; there was a nip in the air that suggested winter, but as the morning wore on, the mounting sun mellowed the chill until the "old boys"--men who had played for Ridgley and Jefferson twenty years before and who had come back to view once again the immortal combat between the "best school in all the world" and her greatest rival--slapped each other on the back and said:

"Perfect football weather!"

All roads led to Ridgley--or seemed to--on this day of days. The trains came rolling into the Hamilton Station, discharged their burdens of humanity and rolled on. Automobiles by the score climbed the long hill to the school,--automobiles bearing the fluttering red of Ridgley and the fluttering purple of Jefferson. There were shouts of greeting and shouts of gay challenge, honking of horns and a busy rus.h.i.+ng here and there that suggested excitement, antic.i.p.ation and hopes built high. And then came the special train from Jefferson--the Purple Express, so named--bearing hundreds of cheering students and a bra.s.s band of twenty pieces which led the procession into Lincoln Hall to the strains of the Jefferson Victory Song,--a fiendish piece of music in the ears of Ridgley's loyal sons, a stirring pean of confidence and challenge in the ears of those who waved aloft the purple. At Lincoln Hall the Jefferson guests--according to immemorial custom--sat down to a luncheon that Ridgley School provided. A year later the compliment would be returned.

The band played, the visitors cheered, the song leader jumped on a table and swung his arms in time to the latest Jefferson song,--and all Ridgley School knew that Jefferson was having the time of her life. She had come to her rival with the best team in her history and she meant to enjoy every moment of a triumph which she was confident would be colossal. In all this excitement Teeny-bits' absence was not at first noticed. At breakfast some one asked for him and some one else said:

"I guess he's already eaten and gone; he probably didn't want to listen to our football gossip."

During the course of the morning two members of the faculty called for him--Doctor Wells and Mr. Stevens. They had an identical thought in mind--though neither knew that the other was thinking it. They were busy in extending the hospitality of Ridgley to the members of the Jefferson faculty and in greeting the "old boys" who had returned for the big game, but both wanted to have a word with Teeny-bits,--to tell him that they had confidence in him and that they knew everything would turn out right in the end and that they should watch him with special interest this afternoon and knew that he would forget everything else and play his best for Ridgley. They left word for him at the dormitory.

This was no ordinary game of football--Ridgley-Jefferson games never were ordinary--and this would transcend all past contests between the two schools. Jefferson was said to be irresistible; the Ridgleyites knew that the spirit of their team was irresistible, and when two "irresistible" forces come together something must give way. From Springfield, the nearest large city, came numerous copies of the _Springfield Times_ with pictures of all the players and statistics in regard to age, weight and height. The largest amount of s.p.a.ce was given to Norris, the Jefferson full-back, but Neil Durant came in for his share and a paragraph was devoted to Teeny-bits who was described in these words:

"The Ridgley left-half will be the lightest player on the field; he cannot be expected to do much against the heavy Jefferson line, but he has gained a reputation as a s.h.i.+fty runner and deserves to be watched on open plays."

At noon, when Teeny-bits did not appear for the special luncheon that was served to the members of the team in the trophy room of the gymnasium, Neil Durant and Coach Murray began to make inquiries.

"Where's Teeny-bits?"

n.o.body had an answer.

"He'll probably be along pretty soon," said the coach. "He ought not to be late to-day, though."

When the luncheon was half-eaten Neil Durant got up and announced that he was going to send some one to look for the missing member of the team. He found Snubby Turner and asked him to run up to Gannett Hall and look for Teeny-bits.

When Snubby came back at the close of the meal with the report that Teeny-bits was not in his room and that n.o.body, as far as he could discover, had seen him all the morning, Neil Durant said:

"Maybe he went home. We'll probably find him down at the locker building."

But when the members of the team arrived at the field half an hour later in order to prepare themselves leisurely for the game, Teeny-bits had not appeared.

"That's mighty queer," Neil said to Ned Stillson. "I can't understand it. If he doesn't come we'll have to play Campbell in his place--and somehow I haven't much faith in Campbell. I'm going to call up Mr.

Holbrook at the Hamilton station and find out if he knows anything about Teeny-bits."

In answer to Neil's call, Mr. Holbrook's a.s.sistant reported that Mr.

Holbrook had gone home to dinner and was not coming back till late in the afternoon; he was going to the game.

"The Holbrooks haven't a 'phone in their house, have they?" asked Neil.

"No, they haven't," came the reply.

"Well, do you know where Teeny-bits is?"

"Why, up at the school, I suppose; I haven't seen him," was the answer.

It was evident that Mr. Holbrook's a.s.sistant had no information; Neil hung up the receiver and said to himself:

"Well, if his father is coming that's a good sign. When Teeny-bits shows up, I'll give him a lecture that'll make his hair stand on end."

At quarter-past one, when the Ridgley team ran out on the field for warming-up practice, Coach Murray looked over the squad and yelled sharply:

"Campbell, get out there in left-half and let me see you show some _pep_."

The tone of his voice was like a whiplash, and every member of the team knew that he was angry clear through.

Already the stands were beginning to fill with the friends of Ridgley and of Jefferson, though the cheering sections were as yet empty. In two long columns, stepping in time to the music of their respective bands, the Ridgleyites and the Jeffersonians were marching to the field.

CHAPTER VIII

STRANGE CAPTORS

Teeny-bits Holbrook was not the sort to give up hope quickly. When, after struggling vainly against his bonds, he had exhausted his strength and had at last lain back panting for breath, he had begun to think,--to try in some way to devise a plan that would offer hope of escape. But there seemed to be no possible loophole, no stratagem or maneuver by means of which he could win release. Inaction was galling, and, after lying still for a long time, Teeny-bits again began to struggle and twist and squirm. These bonds with which his arms and hands and feet and legs were fastened did not give way under his most violent efforts and, as previously, he exhausted himself before he had accomplished anything.

For hours Teeny-bits alternated these periods of struggling and resting.

Twice he was aware that some one came into the room and went out,--evidently after watching him for a few moments. How much time had pa.s.sed since his captors had pounced upon him on the hill road to Hamilton he had no means of knowing, but it seemed likely that more than half the night had gone.

In one of his struggles Teeny-bits rolled off the edge of the mattress on which he had been lying; to his surprise he did not fall with a crash some two or three feet, as he would have fallen from a bed of the usual height, but merely dropped a few inches before coming in contact with the floor. Evidently the mattress rested on springs that were laid directly on the boards. Teeny-bits rolled himself this way and that until he brought up against a wall. He was about to roll in the other direction when he realized that the folds of cloth that bound him were caught against something; from the feeling--the slight pull that was exerted against the movement of his body--he came to the conclusion that it was a nail. He wriggled a few inches length-wise along the wall, and the sound of ripping cloth came to his ears,--a sound that brought a thrill of hope. If the bonds that imprisoned him were too strong to be broken by the power of his muscles, perhaps he could tear and rip them by edging himself back and forth against the sharp projection which, judging by sound, had already effected the beginning of what he desired.

By twisting and turning, he succeeded, in the course of the next five minutes, in gaining a certain amount of freedom for his arms.

When Teeny-bits had left his room in Gannett Hall to answer the telephone call he had pulled on a light sweater. Now it occurred to him that if he could catch the lower part of the sweater on the nail, he might, by working his body downward, pull the garment over his head and carry with it the stout cloth in which he was still swathed. At the cost of some skin sc.r.a.ped from his back, he got the nail fastened in the sweater and gradually succeeded in turning it inside out. In a minute or two he said to himself, exultantly, he would have his hands free, and then it would be quick and easy work to untie his feet.