Читать книгу Jack Ranger's Gun Club: or, From Schoolroom to Camp and Trail - Young Clarence - Страница 6

Professor Garlach received the next day a neatly-written note. It was thrust under the door of his private apartment, just as he was getting ready to go to breakfast.

“Ach! Dis is a letter,” he said, carefully looking at the envelope, as if there was some doubt of it. “I vunder who can haf sent it to me?”

He turned it over several times, but seeing no way of learning what he wished to know save by opening the epistle, he did so.

“Vot is dis?” he murmured as he read. “Ha! dot is der best news vot I haf heard in a long time. Ach! now I gets me efen mid dot wienerwurst of a Socrat! I vill vanquishes him!”

This is what the German professor read:

“I am a lover of the Fatherland, and I understand that an insult has been offered her glory by a Frenchman who is a professor in the same school where you teach. I understand that he said a small body of the despised French beat a large army of Germans. This is not true, but I am in a position to prove the contrary, namely, that in the Hanoverian or Seven Years’ War, in 1756, a small troop of Germans, under Frederic II, defeated a large army of the French. The incident is little known in history, but I have all the facts at hand, and I will give them to you.

“The information is secret, and I cannot reveal to you my name, or I might get into trouble with the German war authorities, so I will have to ask you to proceed cautiously. I will deposit the proofs of what I say in the hollow of the old oak tree that stands near the shore of the lake, not far from the school. If you will go there at midnight to-night, you may take the papers away and demonstrate to your classes that the Germans are always the superiors of the French in war. I must beg of you to say nothing about this to any one. Proceed in secret, and you will be able to refute the base charges made against our countrymen by a base Frenchman. Do not fail. Be at the old tree at midnight. For obvious reasons I sign myself only

“Bismark.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Professor Garlach. “I vill do as you direct. T’anks, mine unknown frient! T’anks! Now vill I make to der utmost confusionability dot frog-eater of a Socrat! Ha! ve shall see. I vill be on der spot at midnight!”

All that day there might have been noticed that there was a subdued excitement hovering about Professor Garlach. Jack and his chums observing it, smiled.

“He’s taken the bait, hook and sinker,” said Jack.

When the class in history was called before him to recite, Professor Garlach remarked:

“Young gentlemens, I shall have some surprising informations to impart by you to-morrow. I am about to come into possession of some remarkable facts, but I cannot reveal dem to you now. But I vill say dot dey vill simply astonishment to you make alretty yet. You are dismissed.”

He had spoken quite loudly, and Professor Socrat, in the next room, hearing him, smiled.

“Ah,” murmured the Frenchman, “so my unknown friend, who was so kind as to write zis note, did not deceive me. Sacre! But I will bring his plans to nottingness! Ah, beware, Professor Garlach – pig-dog zat you are! I will foil you. But let me read ze note once more.”

Alone in the classroom, he took from his pocket a letter. It looked just like the one professor Garlach had received that morning.

“Ha, yes. I am not mistake! I will be at ze old oak tree on ze shore of ze lake at midnight by ze clock. And I will catch in ze act Professor Garlach when he make ze attempt to blow up zat sacred tree. Zat tree under which La Fayette once slept. Queer zat I did not know it before. Ha! I will drape ze flag of France on ze beloved branches. Ah! my beloved country!”

For this is the note which Professor Socrat received:

“Dear Professor: This is written by a true friend of France, who is not at liberty to reveal his name. I have information to the effect that the old oak tree which stands on the shore of the lake is a landmark in history. Under it, during the American war of independence, the immortal Washington and La Fayette once slept before a great battle, when their tents had not arrived. The tree should be honored by all Frenchmen, as well as by all Americans.

“But, though it is not generally known that La Fayette slept under the tree, Professor Garlach has learned of it in some way. Such is his hatred of all things French, as you well know, that he has planned to destroy the tree. At midnight to-night he is going to put a dynamite bomb in the tree, and blow it to atoms. He hopes the plot will be laid to the students. If you wish to foil him be at the tree at midnight. I will sign myself only

“Napoleon.”

“Ha! destroy zat sacred tree by dynamite!” murmured Professor Socrat. “I will be zere! I will be zere!”

It lacked some time before twelve o’clock that night, when several figures stole out of a dormitory of Washington Hall.

“Have you got everything, Jack?” asked a voice.

“Yes; but for cats’ sake, keep quiet,” was the rejoinder. “Come on now. Lucky Martin didn’t spot us.”

“That’s what,” added Nat Anderson. “Scouring sky-rockets, but there’ll be some fun!”

“Easy!” cautioned Jack as he led a band of fellow conspirators toward the lake.

They reached the old, hollow oak tree, of which Jack had spoken in his two letters to the professors, and which he had made the rendezvous for his joke. Into the hollow he thrust a bundle of papers. Then, some distance away from the tree, he stuck something else upright in the ground, and trailing off from it were what seemed to be twisted strings.

“Lucky it’s a dark night,” whispered Bony. “They won’t see each other until they get right here. What time is it now?”

“Lacks a quarter of twelve,” replied Jack, striking a match and shielding it from observation under the flap of his coat as he looked at his watch.

The boys crouched down in the bushes and waited. It was not long before they heard some one approaching in the darkness.

“That’s Garlach by the way he walks,” whispered Bob Movel.

“Yes,” assented Jack. “I hope Socrat is on time.”

The German professor approached the tree, anxious to take from it the papers that were to prove the valor of German soldiers. A moment later another figure loomed up in the darkness on the other side of the big trunk.

“There’s Socrat,” whispered Nat. “But what is he carrying?”

“Blessed if I know,” answered Jack; “but we’ll soon see.”

He struck a match and touched it to the end of the twisted strings. There was a splutter of flame, and some sparks ran along the ground. A moment later the scene was lighted up by glaring red fire, the fuse of which Jack had touched off. By the illumination the boys hidden in the bushes could see Professor Garlach, with his hand and arm down the hollow of the old oak tree. At the same time Professor Socrat rushed forward, and what he had in his hand was a pail of water.

“So!” cried the Frenchman. “I have caught you in ze act! I will foil you!”

“Don’t bodder me!” cried the German. “Ach! You would steal der evidence of your countrymen’s cowardice, vould you? But you shall not! I vill haf my revenge!”

“Stop! stop!” cried Professor Socrat. “You shall not destroy ze tree under which ze immortal Washington and La Fayette slept! You shall not! I, Professor Socrat, say it! Ha! you have already lighted ze dynamite fuse! But I will destroy it!”

Professor Garlach drew from the tree the bundle of papers. No sooner had he done so than Professor Socrat dashed the pail of water over him, drenching him from head to foot.

“Du meine zeit! Himmel! Hund vot you are! I am drowning!” cried the German, choking.

“Ha! ha! I have put out ze fuse! I have quenched ze dynamite cartridge! Ze tree shall not be blown to atoms! I will drape it wiz my country’s flag.”

From his coat the French professor drew the tri-colored flag, which he draped over the lowest branches of the old tree. Then, as the red fire died out, the boys saw the German make a spring for his enemy.

“Come on, fellows!” softly called Jack. “We’d better skip while they’re at one another.”

They glided from the bushes, while at the foot of the tree, in the dying glow from the red fire, could be seen two shapes struggling desperately together. From the midst came such alternate expressions as:

“Ach! Pig-dog! Frog-eater! Sauerkraut! Maccaroni! Himmel! Sacre! La Fayette!”

“Oh, but aren’t they having a grand time!” said Nat as he hurried along at Jack’s side. “It worked like a charm. But who would have thought that Socrat would have brought along a pail of water?”

“Couldn’t have been better,” admitted Jack, “if I do say it myself.”

“But won’t they find out who did it?” asked Bony.

“They may suspect, but they’ll never know for sure,” said the perpetrator of the trick.

“How about the bundle of papers you left in the tree?”

“Nothing but newspapers, and they can’t talk. But I guess we’ve livened things up some. Anyhow, they’ve spoken to each other.”

“They sure have,” admitted Sam, as from the darkness, at the foot of the tree, came the sounds of voices in high dispute.

The next day Professor Socrat passed Professor Garlach without so much as a look in the direction of the German, but when he got past he muttered:

“Ze La Fayette tree still stands.”

And Professor Garlach replied:

“Pig-dog vot you are! To destroy dot secret of history!”

Jack and his chums awaited rather anxiously the calling of the French and German classes that day, but neither professor made any reference to the happenings of the night previous. All there was to remind a passer-by of it were some shreds of a French flag hanging to the limbs of the tree.

“They must have ripped the flag apart in their struggle with each other,” said Sam as he and Jack passed the place.

Matters at Washington Hall went on the even tenor of their ways for about two weeks. The boys buckled down to study, though there was plenty of time for sport, and the football eleven, of which Jack was a member, played several games.

The weather was getting cold and snappy, and there were signs of an early and severe winter. These signs were borne out one morning when Jack crawled out of bed.

“Whew! but it’s cold!” he said as he pulled aside the window curtains and looked out. Then he uttered an exclamation. “Say, Nat, it’s snowing to beat the band!”

“Snowing?”

“Sure, and I’ve got to go to the village this afternoon. Look!”

Nat crawled out, shivering, and stood beside Jack.

“Why, it is quite a storm,” he admitted. “B-r-r-r-r! I’m going to get my flannels out!”

“No football game to-morrow,” said Jack. “I guess winter’s come to stay.”