Читать книгу Team-Mates - Ralph Henry Barbour - Страница 7

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“Cal!”

“Huh?”

“Wake up!”

“Huh?”

“Wake up, I tell you!” Ned shook his new roommate by the shoulder impatiently. “It’s half-past eleven.”

“Wha—say, what’s the matter?” John sat up in bed suddenly and made his inquiry in a loud, thoroughly awakened voice, staring dazedly about him, from the unfamiliar figure of Ned Brent to the great path of moonlight that flooded in through the bay-windows. Ned clapped a hand over John’s mouth.

“Shut up!” he said fiercely. “Want to wake Marm?”

But John, still befogged with sleep, was confused and alarmed. Where he was he couldn’t imagine; this was not his little attic room at home; and who the strange figure in ghostly attire might be he couldn’t imagine either. Safe to say, though, that he was there at the bedside for no good purpose; and when a hand closed over his mouth and he was told to “shut up,” John’s fighting blood surged within him! The next thing that Ned knew he was flying head over heels toward his own bed. He landed thereon with a force that made the springs creak protestingly and that sent him bounding up again in the air. And when he once more landed John was on him. There was no time for explanations. Ned grappled and avoided punishment by pulling John down upon him. Then they tossed and struggled, John striving to get to Ned’s throat and Ned striving just as desperately to roll him off and get the ascendancy. The bed swayed and groaned. Once John’s fingers reached Ned’s throat but were torn away again.

“Try to rob me, would you?” growled John vindictively.

“Let—go!” gasped Ned. “You—crazy—idiot!”

“Give up?” John asked.

But at that moment Ned got one leg free and, using it as a lever, sent John sprawling on to the floor between the beds. Ned tumbled off the other side and when his roommate had found his feet Ned was ready for him.

“What—what’s the matter—with you?” he panted.

John looked across stupidly. His arms, ready for another assault, dropped to his sides and he stared about the moonlit room.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“You’re in The Den, you wild idiot,” answered Ned. “Where did you think you were?”

“Oh! I—I didn’t know. What was the matter?”

“Nothing,” replied Ned crossly. “I tried to wake you up and you lit into me and nearly broke my back.”

“I’m sorry,” said John penitently. “I—I was kind of half asleep and—”

“Half asleep! Gee, I’m glad you weren’t awake, then!” Ned chuckled. “Know where you are now? Know who I am?”

“Yes, now I do,” replied John sheepishly. “Did I—hurt you?”

“No, but you tried hard enough!” Ned rearranged his pajamas. “Next time it’s necessary to wake you I’ll let someone else do it. You’ve pretty near torn this sleeve out by the roots.”

“I’m sorry,” muttered John. “I got awake and saw you there and didn’t know who you were. And then you put your hand over my mouth and I thought maybe you were a burglar or something. So I—I—”

“Tried to kill me. I know all about that, Boland; you don’t have to tell me anything that happened.” Ned put a foot on the edge of the window-seat and examined an ankle solicitously. “Well, come on now, if you’re really awake. The others are waiting.”

“Where? What to do?”

“Why, you’re going to be christened at the pond.”

“Am I? I thought that was just fooling,” said John uneasily. “Do I have to go?”

“You bet you do! And I’m going to give you an extra ducking for the way you’ve roughed me up, Cal. Aren’t afraid, are you?”

“N-no, I cal’late not, but—”

“Come on, then, and don’t make any noise. It’s a wonder, though, that Marm hasn’t been up already. It’s a good thing I thought to close the door.”

“But we ain’t—you ain’t going that way, are you?”

“What way? In pajamas? Of course. And you’re coming in that picturesque nightie of yours. Come on.” Ned opened the door and listened. Below stairs all was quiet, but from the end of the hall came the sounds of low whispers and an occasional giggle. Ned led the way in that direction, John following. In the Sun Parlor the rest of the boys were awaiting them, six figures in their sleeping clothes, five in pajamas of various shades and styles and patterns, and one, that of Claire Parker, in a chaste white night-gown.

“Thought you were lost,” whispered Sandy as Ned closed the door behind him. “You made a beast of a noise in there.”

“Yo heave ho!” chanted Spud softly. “Who’s first down?”

“You,” said Hoop. “We want something soft to fall on.”

“Fall on your head then,” answered Spud as he climbed to the window-sill. “Here goes.” He disappeared from sight and there was a thud on the roof of the shed below, followed an instant later by a second as Spud’s weight dropped to the turf. One by one the fellows followed. When it came Claire’s turn he displayed an inclination to hold back. But Sandy reassured him.

“It’s only six feet to the roof, Clara, and about eight to the ground. It won’t hurt you, honest. Go ahead.”

So Claire gathered his courage and made the descent safely and John followed. On the grass in the shadow of the woodshed they waited for Sandy and Ned and then, forming in single file, they entered the park and proceeded along the path which John had travelled that afternoon. Once out of sight and sound of the house, Dutch, who was leading, began to prance and cavort.

“All sing!” he called softly. Instantly the procession started a slow and mournful chant:

“Hush! Hush! Not a sound!

Spirits dread are hov’ring round!

To the Haunted Tarn we go

With our victims in a row.

Dark the night and dark the deed;

Prayers for mercy never heed.

We will drown them every one;

That’s the way we have our fun!

O-o-o-oh!”

The last word was uttered in hollow, shuddering tones that sent a little shiver down John’s back, in spite of the fact that he had been smiling a moment before at the ridiculous sight of half a dozen night-robed forms prancing along in the moonlight. The effect on Claire was apparent. He stopped and turned a frightened face to John, who was following.

“It’s all right, Parker,” said John reassuringly. “It’s only fooling, you know.”

“Yes, but I—I want to go back.”

“No, you don’t. It’ll be fine to have a dip in the pond. Besides, you don’t want them to think you’re scared, do you?”

“N-no.” So Claire went on just as Sandy commanded “No talking there!” The chant began again with another verse, ending as before in the mournful “O-o-o-oh!” The night was warm and the park was very still. A full moon sailed overhead and lighted the path save where the black shadow of an oak fell across it now and then. Walking with bare feet on the gravel wasn’t very pleasant, but aside from that neither of the “victims” was experiencing discomfort. Suddenly there was a sound of tinkling water and the pond came into view, black and silver, with the round moon reflected in the middle of it. The party followed the path to the lower end where the bridge stood. The shadows were heavy there and behind them the brook tinkled off into the darkness. The boys drew up in a semicircle with John and Claire between them and the edge of the pond.

“Can you swim?” asked Sandy.

“Yes,” John answered.

“A little,” replied Claire.

“Then we’ll take you first, Cal. All ready, Hoop and Fungus.”

The two named stepped forward.

“Want to take off that nightie?” asked Hoop.

“I cal’late I’d better,” said John, suiting action to word.

“Hang it on the bridge rail, Ned,” said The Fungus. “All right now, Sandy.” The Fungus and Hoop Ross joined hands behind John’s back and seized him under each knee.

“We christen thee Cal’late,” announced Sandy.

“Cal for short,” added Spud.

“Lean back,” said The Fungus. John obeyed and found himself lifted off his feet. He was swung back and forward twice and the last time Hoop and The Fungus gave a heave and he shot sprawling out into the dark pool with a mighty splash. He was up in a moment and found himself only waist deep. The water was warm and pleasant and he struck off leisurely toward the bridge.

“How is it?” asked Ned.

“Great! Come on in.”

“Please don’t throw me in,” begged Claire. “I don’t swim much.”

“All right,” answered Sandy. “We’ll take you over there in the shallow.” So the ceremony was repeated further around the pond, only this time the victim was held securely by Ned and Dutch and merely lowered into the water and brought up again laughing and sputtering. Then,—

“All in!” cried Sandy, and pajamas were tossed aside and one after another the boys shot into the water to emerge white and gleaming in the moonlight far out toward the center of the pond. It was great fun. They raced and played tricks on each other and dived from the bridge railing, the spray shooting up like cascades of diamonds in the moonlight. Claire contented himself with paddling around in the shallows, but John was a strong swimmer and matched his skill with the best of them. When, having exhausted all other means of amusement, they did “stunts” from the bridge he not only performed all the tricks that the others did, but showed them a side-dive that no one knew. Afterwards they crawled out on the turf at the upper end of the pond and lay in the shadows of the oaks and talked and spun yarns in the warm, silent night and watched the moon go sailing down the sky.

“Say,” said The Fungus, “it’s funny neither East House nor the Hall has ever got on to this, isn’t it?”

“Because we’ve been careful to keep it quiet,” answered Sandy. “And that reminds me, you two chaps. This is a secret, you know. Not a word to anyone outside West House. Understand?”

“I’ve often thought,” chuckled Spud, “what a joke it would be if Horace or Fussy or Jim or someone happened along some night and found us here.”

“Great!” said Dutch. “We’d get fired, though.”

“I don’t believe we would,” said Sandy. “But Horace would make us promise not to do it again. So I guess we’d better not get caught at it. Wonder what time it is. I guess we’d better be getting back.”

“Please don’t throw me in,” begged Claire

“Let’s have a race to the bridge,” Dutch proposed. “We’ll all line up here even and Clara can give the word.”

So it was done and there was a wild scamper over the grass, a plunge into the pond and a frenzied race back across the moonlit surface, John and Dutch and Sandy swimming a dead-heat. Then they found their night clothes and, holding them away from their dripping bodies, took the path back to the cottage. By the time West House was in sight they were dry and they stopped at the edge of the park and donned pajamas and night-gowns. Then they stole towards the back of the house, across the moonlit grass, and Dutch tried the kitchen door.

“Locked!” he whispered disgustedly, turning to Ned.

“Gee, I forgot to go down!” muttered Ned sheepishly. “I had so much trouble waking Cal that—”

“You’re a wonder!” growled Sandy. “This is a fine note. How do we get in?”

“Perhaps some of the windows are unlocked,” The Fungus suggested. “I’ll go around and try them.”

“I’ll take this side,” said Ned, “but I don’t believe we’ll find one undone.” Nor did they.

“All tight,” said Ned as he and The Fungus returned. Depressed silence followed the announcement. At last,—

“We’ll have to get in the way we got out,” said Spud. “Isn’t there a ladder in the shed?”

“Shed’s locked,” said Dutch. “I tried the door.”

“I’ve got it,” exclaimed Ned. “Two of you chaps put me up on the shed roof. I think I can make the window from there.”

“I don’t believe you can,” said Sandy doubtfully. “But you can try it.”

“I can do it. Then I’ll sneak down and open the Gobblery window. You and Dutch give me a leg-up, Sandy.”

Ned gained the roof without much difficulty and the others drew off to watch him essay the window of the Sun Parlor. To reach it he had to jump high enough to get his fingers over the window-ledge. He succeeded on the third attempt and then managed to pull himself up by his hands and squirm across. A minute later a window close at hand was noiselessly opened and the others crawled through. Everything progressed favorably until Ned, who was bringing up the rear of the procession, stumbled on the stairs. Those ahead raced frantically upward and were out of sight when Mrs. Linn’s door opened.

“Who is it?” she cried anxiously.

Ned, rubbing his shins, replied reassuringly.

“It’s me, Marm; Ned; I—I’ve been getting water.”

“Oh! You most scared me to death, Ned. Did you find some?”

“Yes’m, lots.” Ned heard an explosion of stifled chuckles from above where seven faces lined the railing. “Very nice water it was too, Marm. Good night. I’m sorry I woke you up. I didn’t mean to, but I stumbled.”

“Good night.” The matron’s door closed softly and Ned went on up to be seized by the others and gently pummeled.

“‘Very nice water it was!’” snickered Spud. “Aren’t you ashamed to lie to Marm like that?”

“I didn’t lie,” chuckled Ned. “It was nice water. I’m going to bed. Come on, Cal. Good night, you chaps. Somebody’s got my pajamas, I guess; these don’t fit; but they’ll do for tonight.”

Ten minutes later the only sound to be heard in West House was the gentle snoring of Dutch.