Allen Chapman - The Heroes of the School - or, The Darewell Chums Through Thick and Thin

“It will all come out right in the end,” went on the man with the crown. “Which way was he going?”

“He seemed headed in this direction,” replied Fenn.

“Then he will arrive in time for the audience,” said the King of Paprica. “I must bid you farewell now,” and with that he went into the hut and closed the door after him.

The boys stood for a few seconds gazing at the silent cabin with it’s odd inscription, and then Bart exclaimed:

“Come on! Let’s get out of here. First thing you know we’ll be getting crazy ourselves. This place isn’t safe!”

He hurried on through the woods and the others followed.

“What do you make of it?” asked Ned.

“Why, it’s plain enough,” spoke Frank. “The old man we met first is crazy, and this one is his keeper. He’s brought him out here into the woods to cure him, and he probably has to humor him by pretending to be a king. That’s all there is to it. I’ve often read of such cases.”

“Seems to me you’re fond of reading about lunatics,” said Bart.

“I am. I read all I can on such cases. It is very fascinating.”

“Excuse me,” broke in Ned. “I’d rather have something cheerful.”

“Oh, but you have no idea what strange fancies some of the unfortunates have,” said Frank earnestly. In his eyes there glowed a strange light, and his chums, looking at him, felt he had more than ever that queer air of mystery about him.

“Well, we’d better be moving faster than this or we’ll be held up again by the King of Paprica’s guard,” spoke Ned. “I think you’re wrong about it, Frank.”

“How do you mean?”

“I think both those chaps are crazy. It’s a puzzle to tell which one is worse.”

“I agree with you,” said Bart. “I wouldn’t want to meet either one of them here alone in the woods after dark.”

“Nonsense,” exclaimed Frank. “Why, a lunatic is the easiest person in the world to get along with. All you have to do is to humor him.”

“Let him kill you if he feels so disposed?” suggested Fenn.

“No, but if you should meet one, and he asks you to let him shoot you, fall in with his idea.”

“Hand him a gun, eh, Frank?” asked Bart.

“No, but, after he sees you are not going to oppose him, incidentally suggest that the moon is in the wrong quarter for a successful killing, or that the hour has not yet arrived, or that you have nine lives like a cat and that he had much better murder some one who has only one life. Ten chances to one he’ll agree with you and let you alone.”

“I guess that one chance would fall to me,” observed Fenn, “and I’ll give the lunatics a wide berth. You can have ’em all, Frank.”

“Well, I’ve read that’s the best way to act.”

“Oh, you and your reading!” exclaimed Ned. “Let’s talk about something cheerful.”

The boys hurried on through the woods. More than once they got off the path and had to spend some minutes finding it again, so they did not get home until nearly supper time.

“See you Monday,” called Frank to his chums, as he took the road that led to his uncle’s house.

“There’ll be a ball game next week, I guess,” came from Bart. “You may get a chance to play.”

“All right,” and Frank was off down the road.

“I’d like to see the inside of that hut,” observed Ned as he and the other two boys walked on.

“Still harping on that, eh?” asked Fenn. “I want to forget it.”

“Think we’d better mention anything about the queer men we saw?” asked Bart, as he and Fenn strolled through the shopping district, which was always a lively place on Saturday nights.

“Who to?”

“The police, of course.”

“I don’t see as it’s any of their affair. The men are harmless.”

“But they’re lunatics at large.”

“I guess it’s as Frank says, one is the other’s keeper. We’d better mind our own affairs. Besides Frank promised, for us, that we’d keep quiet.”

“Then I suppose we’d better. But maybe something will happen.”

“What, for instance?”

“They might murder some one.”

“Say, have you been reading any five-cent libraries lately?”

“No, but – ”

“Forget it,” counseled Fenn. “Ah, good evening,” he added, bowing to a pretty girl who passed them. “Excuse me, Bart. I want to speak to Jennie,” and Fenn left his chum.

“That’s the way,” growled Bart. “A fellow’s no good once he gets girls on the brain,” and he walked on alone, and quite disgusted with Stumpy.

“Oh, Fenn!” exclaimed Jennie Smith, as the boy joined her. “Isn’t it just like a play to see all the lights and the people hurrying back and forth? ‘All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players.’ I think that’s just grand! Oh I wish I could thrill large audiences!” she added, for her secret desire was to become an actress. “What is this I see before me! Is it a dagger, the handle – !”

But just then Jennie collided with a fat man in front of her. He turned, good-naturedly and remarked:

“No, young lady, I’m not a dagger, though I’d like to get thin enough to be taken for one.”

Jennie blushed, and Fenn was a little embarrassed. Soon after that Fenn bade Jennie goodnight.

Monday morning when the chums reached school there was a buzz of excitement among those gathered on the campus waiting for the nine o’clock gong to ring.

“Here they come now,” called some one. “We’ll see what they say.”

“What’s up?” asked Bart, as he saw the crowd of boys hurrying toward him and his chums.

“We’ve got a challenge!” exclaimed Lem Gordon, pitcher of the school nine, of which Bart was catcher.

“Who from?” asked Bart.

“The Lakeville Prep. school. It’s for Thursday. Dare we take ’em on?”

“We dare do all that may become our school,” paraphrased Frank. “Why not?” He did not play on the regular nine.

“They’re out of our class,” said Lem. “Haven’t lost a game this year, and they’re way ahead of us. Have better grounds and more time to practice.”

“Well, we don’t want to show the white feather,” said Fenn. “Maybe we’ll have a chance.”

“We sure will if Lem pitches as he did in the game two weeks ago,” spoke Bart. “That certainly won the game for us if anything did.”

“Your catching had a lot to do with it,” put in Lem, “and so did Ned’s fielding.”

“To say nothing of Stumpy’s work at short,” added Bart. “I say let’s give ’em a game. They can’t any more than wallop us!”

“Hurrah!” yelled the crowd of boys. “Three cheers for Bart!”

“Cut it out!” said Bart. “Think I’m a political candidate? We’ll go in with the idea of winning!”

Word soon went around that Bart, who was captain of the nine, had decided to accept the challenge which had come to Harry Mathews as manager of the team. The challenge had only arrived that morning and there were few of the high school boys who believed their nine stood any chance of winning.

The Lakeville Preparatory School was a private institution located about three miles from Darewell. It was attended by youths who were fitted for college there, and the pupils were, on the average, older and larger than the Darewell High School lads. Their nine had an enviable reputation in local sporting circles.

The high school boys were so worked up over the prospect of the game, with rivals they had never yet ventured to play, that there was less attention to lessons than usual among the members of the nine, and their supporters, that morning.

Fenn must have been thinking quite seriously of the pending contest for, when answering in the ancient history class the question: “Who was Cæsar’s greatest rival?” he replied solemnly: